#the feeling of awe comes suddenly and unexpectedly when you need it most i think

[comfortfrogblog]

sometimes you wake up too early and you feel bad for a few minutes but then it sets in and suddenly there is a whole day ahead of you with experiences to be had and love to be given and love to be received

[maraschinomerry]

Hey! Can you write a george karim x reader fic with the “learning how to kiss” prompt?

Important Research

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader, mentions of Locklyle

Summary: You've fallen for your fellow researcher but are scared to act on it in case your lack of experience is off-putting. Little do you know, he feels the same and has decided to do what he does best to resolve it...

Content: kissing, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending

A/N: thank you so much for requesting! This is my first ever reader fic and it kind of got away from me, ngl, but I really hope you like it and constructive feedback is appreciated! Especially on the fact I used (name) to be where you'd insert your name, I found I like it that way when reading but do people prefer that, y/n or something else?

Word count: 2.7k

"Morning Georgie!" you chirped as you entered the kitchen of 35 Portland Row, smiling at the dishevelled figure at the dining table. It was clear he'd been up most of the night trying to research for your next case - dark circles barely offset by the glint from his crooked glasses, curly hair sticking out more than usual (you knew it only ever did this when he'd just woken up, which didn't appear as likely, or when he'd been running his hands through it in frustration), empty mug by the elbow he was using to prop himself up. The poor boy was running on caffeine. "Coffee?" you offered as you clicked the kettle on.

"Mmh," he mumbled, before realising he was in an actual conversation and not just talking to himself. "Thanks." You leant over to take his cup, fingers brushing the bare skin of his forearm, and you felt him unexpectedly twitch. The dark brown rings in the bottom of the mug had set firmly, he must have zoned out hours ago, so you fetched two clean ones and a couple of plates. If he hadn't made more coffee, he definitely hadn't eaten. Toast would do.

George was staring at the Thinking Cloth, willing his eyes to focus. He was vaguely aware of the sounds of you bustling about the kitchen, quietly humming to yourself, but beyond that his senses seemed to have abandoned him. Wait, perhaps not quite all. Suddenly, he registered the scent of coffee and something citrus. He forced himself to tune back in just as you pulled away, leaving behind a steaming cup and a plate of marmalade toast, sliced on the diagonal just how he liked it. You took a seat opposite him with a matching breakfast and a matching smile.

"Thanks, (name)."

"No problem. How's the research coming along?"

He sighed. "Not great. I need to cross-reference these sightings with that date we found at the Archives yesterday, but since they wouldn't let us take a copy of the file I've forgotten what it was so I'll have to go back again and check." You pushed back your chair and stood up with a bounce. He knew how much you shared his passion for research and loved the way you'd always listen to his ideas and share yours in return, but he didn't want you abandoning your plans for the day to fix his mistake. "It's fine, I'll go as soon as I've-" Hold on. You hadn't gone to the door. You'd come round to his side of the table.

"I wrote it down for you!" You were unable to contain your excitement. Leaning over his shoulder, you pushed his mug to the side to reveal a patch of your handwriting amongst the mess of his: "8th February 1986". He turned to you in awe and his breath caught in his throat.

Your face was so incredibly close to his, jawline curving gently past the tip of his nose as you beamed down at your handiwork. The fibres of your jumper tickled his cheek where it almost met your chest, and marmalade and coffee was replaced by the familiar scent of lavender and mint that he knew was uniquely you. When you turned to gauge his reaction at this new development, you narrowly missed bumping your noses together. You didn't pull away.

"You're incredible," he murmured. Oh god. "I mean… you're an incredible researcher… saved me a trip… thank you." Seeing him fumble his words, a band of pink spreading from his cheeks all the way up to the tips of his ears, was adorable. Finally you stepped back, and he was both relieved and disappointed until you gently booped the end of his nose and his brain short-circuited too much to decide how he felt.

—

Lockwood sauntered into the library. It had been a couple of days since you'd all wrapped up the last case, but he'd been so busy with paperwork and restocking that now he was ready to use this rare afternoon off to catch up on the news from around town with a magazine, alone in his favourite armchair. Instead he was met by you, curled up in the other chair. Your knees were tucked up to the bottom of the cushion you had clutched to your chest, and your chin was buried in the top of it. In all your time with the agency, even after the worst cases, he'd never seen you like this.

"Everything okay?" The question was soft, tender, but it still startled you. You began to hastily unfurl until you realised who it was, at which point you folded back in on yourself. Lockwood took that as a no. He made his way over to the armchair, knowing that if you wanted to talk about whatever was bothering you, you would in your own time. The silence was tense but not uncomfortable. Eventually, you spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

"I think George hates me."

Lockwood faltered.

What?

George?

The George who turned almost crimson every time you smiled at him? The George who claimed to hate physical contact, but linked arms with you whenever you went to the Archives together? The George who practically threw himself at a Wraith last week to protect you? The George who Lockwood had once caught face down on the Thinking Cloth after a particularly hard night, talking about you in his sleep? That George? He caught himself just before scoffing and saying you were being ridiculous. That wouldn't help matters.

"What makes you say that?" He prompted. Perhaps if he got to the root of your doubts he could help resolve them.

"I don't know, I just…" You huffed out a breath, already embarrassed by what you were about to let out. "Things were going so well and I really thought we were starting to get close. Like close close. So I tried leaning into it a little more but I can't follow through." The words were rushing out of you now, far too quickly for you to claw them back in before you said too much. "I really want to kiss him but I've never done that before so I don't want to scare him off, but I think I already have because I pushed things too far and now he keeps avoiding me. Like last night at dinner he could barely look at me and this morning he said he had to go and find some books but he wouldn't let me go with him and why would he do that unless I made him uncomfortable and now he doesn't want to be around me?"

Lockwood, who was being hit with a strong wave of déjà vu, had a good idea why George would do that.

"How did you know how to kiss Lucy the right way?"

The night before, the two boys had been in the basement, checking over their supplies, when George asked the question out of nowhere.

Lockwood chuckled, taken aback. "I don't think there really is a right way, mate."

"But you have to have done it properly, Lucy said it was like fireworks!" His words were complimentary (Lockwood almost preened as he'd never heard Lucy's side of their first kiss) but his tone was exasperated, almost bitter.

"Is this about (name)?" George opened his mouth and closed it again, his cheeks burning. That answered that. "You're not exactly subtle, George, and neither are they. I'm pretty sure they like you, and you know each other well enough that if you do decide to go for it, you'll be able to pick up on the cues they give off to tell you whether you're doing what's right for them. Hell, you do it when we're on cases, don't you?"

George pondered this for a moment. Lockwood had a point. When you were out, you often didn't even have to say a single word to know what the other was thinking, moving as one in moves that would have seemed choreographed to anyone who watched. But figuring all that out had been nearly a year in the making, and he didn't want to wait another year to make sure he got this right. He needed a head start.

"I'll be leaving early tomorrow morning. Beat the rush at the Archives. You won't… you won't tell them about this, will you?"

Lockwood swore he wouldn't.

True to his word, Lockwood divulged none of the previous night's events, as much as it would have put your mind at ease.

"I promise, he doesn't hate you. Maybe you should go and talk to him, prove it to yourself. I think he's in his room."

—

A delicate knock sounded on George's door.

"Come in," he called on instinct, head still buried in his book.

You tentatively opened the door, noticing the familiar smell of coffee and ginger biscuits before your eyes were drawn to the bed. George was laid on his stomach, one book in his hand and a couple of others scattered by his side. He smiled softly up at you as you lingered in the doorway.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" you asked.

"No, not at all, I'm just doing… some research. Nothing important." He'd paused in the middle of the sentence, quickly glancing from you to the book he was holding. His eyes widened a little and he hurriedly shoved them off the edge of the bed and kicked them under. With a deep breath to steady himself, he patted the space next to him. You made your way over, eyes trained on the floor.

He was so close you could have reached out and got this all over with in seconds. But you couldn't. Although your talk with Lockwood had been encouraging, you still weren't sure how far you were from the brink of pushing George away forever, a prospect you couldn't fathom. So you sat, fidgeting with your hands in your lap, trying to focus in spite of the dark eyes piercing into your very soul just inches away. Silence filled the close confines of the room.

"So…" George began hesitantly. "Did you want to talk to me about something?"

You bit your lip. "Yes. Um." You'd never been good at this bit. "Are we okay? I feel like you've been distant recently, and I- I miss you, Georgie. I thought maybe it was because I'd started getting more flirty and touchy with you and I know that isn't really your thing so if I've done something to make you uncomfortable-"

"Oh," George said simply. You balked. This was a mistake. Even if he ever wanted to speak to you again you'd be too embarrassed to do so. Tears began to prick at the corner of your eyes. You desperately hoped that George wouldn't notice. He did.

Seeing you on the verge of tears made something clench in George's chest. He'd seen you cry before, but had never been the cause and he hated knowing that this time he was.

"Wait no, please, I'm sorry," he fumbled. He had no idea how he was going to say what he needed to, but he couldn't stand another second of you being so upset. Cautiously, he reached his hand out towards yours, leaving it open to allow you to come to him. In case you were still unsure. In case he'd misread things. His heart leapt when he felt your fingers entwine with his. Allowing it to spur him on, he grounded himself by stroking his thumb across yours.

"I never wanted to push you away." Although he was assured of what he was saying, you couldn't help but miss the snarky confidence which usually laced his speech. "In fact I wanted you even closer." You both blushed. "But I was so worried that I was misreading things, and I don't know if you've realised but I have no idea what I'm doing and I didn't want to make things weird."

You giggled, a slight sniffle escaping as you wiped away the remnants of your tears. For such talented, intelligent researchers, you two really were idiots. "I was thinking the same thing! I don't have a clue about the right way to do all…" you nodded to your interlinked hands, "...this."

"Oh, Lockwood said there isn't really a right way."

You rolled your eyes. Trust Lockwood to have sent you up here for answers without so much as a hint that he'd already discussed it with George. Then again, here you were. You rescinded your eye roll and gave him a silent thanks.

"It's all well and good him saying that, look at how well it's going with Lucy!" You both laughed, the sound dissipating the last of the tension in the room. Testing the waters a little more, you leaned closer into George's side, breath hitching as he unlinked his hand from yours, taking it back with his other and wrapping his arm around your waist.

"That's why I thought it was worth doing a little extra research," he smirked. You gave him a puzzled look, and he toed out one of the books he'd kicked under the bed. It was a guide to body language. Below it, the corner of another book showed the word 'romance'. So that was why he went looking for books without you. The thought of him doing all this for you was so overwhelming, you nearly kissed him right there, but surely in one of those books it would have said something about a little build-up, right?

"Well you know," you raised your gaze from the books to his, allowing it to slide down to his lips and revelling in the fact that his did the same, "as important as research is, true science is incomplete without experimentation." By now your noses were touching, his breath fanning across your face. Your thoughts flickered briefly to George, in his apron and gloves, testing out the skull at different temperatures in the oven. It was one of the first moments that had endeared him to you. You smiled against his lips.

"I do love experimentation," he grinned, closing the gap between you.

His lips were a little chapped, but the kiss was soft and gentle as though he were still afraid you'd run away. The whole time, he hadn't let go of your hand, his other still around your waist, and you brought your free hand up to press against the nape of his neck, one finger brushing into his curls. His kisses were brief, uncertain, trying to pick up on all the cues you might be giving off while thoroughly distracted by the long-awaited sensation of your lips on his, but as you applied a little more pressure behind his head he immediately knew to tighten his grip on your waist and deepen the kiss. You gasped a little against him, and he began to pull back to make sure you were okay until your lips followed his. As you leaned closer, you teetered on the edge of the bed and frantically unclasped your hands to steady yourself. With a chuckle, George shifted himself back until he was resting against the headboard and took your hand once again to lead you into his lap. You met him eagerly. Both his hands now wrapped around your waist, thumbs rubbing rhythmically across your sides. Emboldened, you twisted your grip further into his hair and were pleasantly surprised when he moaned against your lips, a motion which gave you the faintest taste of those ginger biscuits.

Eventually, you pulled apart for breath, hands never leaving each other and foreheads pressed together. His rich brown eyes were darker than ever, sparkling up at you through his eyelashes.

"And that," you stopped to inhale a lungful of air, "is the dedication to research that makes us such a successful agency." You tried so hard to feign professionalism, but were undermined by rosy cheeks and a playful smile.

George leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. "Absolutely, I take my job incredibly seriously." Another kiss. "But in this case, I think I have to admit that Lockwood was right." You clasped a hand to your chest in pretend shock. George laughed and pulled you into a hug. "Don't tell him I said that."

[cafedanslanuit]

˗ˏˋ FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS ´ˎ˗

♡ chifuyu & mitsuya ♡ baji & kazutora ♡ hanma & draken ♡

♡    —    tags/warnings: afab reader + no pronouns, riding, semi-public sex, a bit of manhandling (receiving), overstimulation, unprotected sex (pls wrap it before tapping, baji curses a lot but what's new, biexual!baji is canon idc, handjobs/fingering (giving and receiving), they're all in their 20s - you're in college/working, jealousy, humour

♡    —    a/n: aaaa this is probably my favourite ones of the whole bunch!!! c:

BAJI KEISUKE ― the one whose mom you end up meeting

ABILITY TO SEPARATE SEX FROM FEELINGS ★★★★✩ DISCRETION ★★★★✩ POSSESSIVENESS ★★✩✩✩

You had an awful date on the same day that Baji got stood up after inviting a girl over. Knowing neither of you would get any action that night, you went over to his place and ordered some takeout. You complained to each other for a good portion of the night, falling then into laughter when you recalled your worst experiences in the dating world.

“We should just fuck each other― would be easier,” Baji snickered, making you laugh. You took another bite of your food when suddenly his words started making sense inside your head. Both of you turned to each other at the same time, eyebrows raised as you shared the same expression.

You set the rules before anything. The moment any of you even thought they were getting feelings, the whole thing was off. You were not going to ruin your friendship over sex. If anyone felt uncomfortable, sad, or was just reconsidering things, they needed to come up front and say it, for the sake of both of you.

The first kiss was awkward. However, your first time together was nothing short of fucking amazing.

Being friends let you have enough trust in each other to give directions, telling the other to change the way they were moving or to plainly stop.

You spent a whole afternoon showing him how to properly eat you out and now whenever he goes down on you, you have the most earth-shattering orgasms you’ve ever had. Baji told you he used some of your pointers with another girl he had been with and the next day his phone was ringing all day.

One day, however, disaster strikes. You were making out in his room, his hands already under your shirt when, unexpectedly, his mom bangs the door and demands Baji to open up.

You felt your heart dropping to your stomach as you scrambled to get him off of you. “You told me she would be out until tomorrow!” you whispered, to which he replied she must have forgotten something. He went to open the door and you prepared yourself to be slut shamed and kicked out of his apartment.

Turns out, Baji’s mom was a really nice lady.

She said she knew his son was going out on dates with someone and she wanted the chance to meet them. Since Baji had said no when she asked him for an introduction, she decided to create the opportunity herself. She apologised for scaring you and offered to prepare some tea to calm you down.

No more sneaking out in the middle of the night― now his mom asks you if you want some leftovers to go when she sees you leaving his son’s room. She even asks you when you are coming next so she can cook something you like so you can stay for dinner as well. She’s so sweet and gentle you can never say no, hoping she doesn’t think you’re actually dating his son.

“Your mom is adorable, but you should really move out,” you mentioned once after Baji’s mom had left for a meeting with her friends and the two of you were alone. He rolled his eyes and let himself fall onto his bed. “You think I haven’t tried?”

After the third time his mom had invited you for dinner, you knew you had to come clean. She was clearly being kind because she thought you would be part of the family someday, something that clearly wasn’t in your or Baji’s plans. When you tried and explained to her that you were just friends, she burst into laughter.

"Dear, it hasn't been that long since I was young, you know? I know what kind of special friendship you have with my son,” she said, and you could feel your face burning. “I'm only saying it's not too wild to think it could eventually develop into something more. That's how I ended up meeting Keisuke's dad anyway"

Ma’am―

Nothing made you happier than to find out Baji’s mom was spending the whole weekend at a resort with her friends. Mere seconds after making sure she was already there (and yes, Baji did ask for a photo), you were already on top of each other, tugging on each other’s clothes and throwing them on the floor.

Sitting on his bed and resting on his elbows, Baji watched as you bounced on his cock. You were wearing one of his old-tshirts, and even if you weren’t fully nude, he couldn’t stop thinking about how hot you were. How your thighs looked at you fucked yourself,  the sweatdrops gathering on your forehead and the sounds you were making as you threw your head back.

“C’mere,” he muttered. He pulled you down onto the bed with him and made you gasp in surprise as your chest crashed against his. Laughing, you looked up to him and, before you could say anything he started thrusting inside of you.

“Fuuuuck,” you sighed, feeling your eyes crossing as he found the perfect angle to make every part of your body scream. You held onto his shoulders as he kept on moving and buried your face on the crook of his neck. You muffled your moans against his skin, feeling your release coming soon.

Baji hissed, tapping your back with one of his hands. “Your nails, your nails―”

You immediately let go of the hold on his shoulders. “Shit, sorry,” you said, rubbing the affected area. As a reply, Baji spanked your ass.

“Cut your fucking nails,” he sneered, a devilish smile on his face as he resumed his pace.

You snorted. “Fuck you.”

“Trying to,” he reminded you, making both of you laughed. You were quickly flipped on your back, and Baji climbed on top of you, taking both your wrists and pinning them above your head.

Baji’s long hair formed a curtain on both sides of your head as he sunk himself inside you once more. Your legs circled his waist as he moved his hips even faster than before, determined to make you cum hard. While one of his hands still held your wrists, the other travelled down to your clit, rubbing gentle circles around and over it. He smirked at the loud curse that fell from your lips and watched satisfied as you broke apart, body shaking as you came around him.

He let go of your hands to rest on his forearms, chasing his own orgasm. Still coming down from your high, you grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head so he was looking at you, making him groan. You started meeting his thrusts, relishing in the overstimulation and not before long, Baji was coming too, muttering curses as his hips mercilessly crashed against yours.

Baji rolled to your side and both of you stayed in silence for a moment, trying to catch your breath. He was the first to clear his mind, lying on his side and looking at you.

“Are you doing anything on Saturday?”

“What, your mom is going away again?” you asked, chuckling. He playfully slapped your thigh and you turned your head at him with a smile. “Why?”

“There’s this guy I think you’ll like.”

You arched your eyebrow. “A guy?”

“Yeah! He’s great. Chifuyu knows him too. He’s single, has a place of his own and I think he’s an… uh… editor? Or was it a journalist?” he looked up at his ceiling, trying to remember.

“Is he at least cute?”

“I mean, he’s not me,” he rolled his eyes, making you laugh. “But he’s a good fuck.”

You snorted. “Did you―”

“Hey, take it as a Yelp review of sorts. It’ll be fun. And if not, we can always leave and fuck it out.”

You let out a long sigh as you considered your options. Baji was a good wingman after all, and it had been a while since you had been on a proper date. If anything, it was good both Baji and Chifuyu knew him. If they liked him, then you probably would too. You took another look at your friend, who looked expectantly at you.

“If it’s not, we’ll leave and fuck it out, but you’ll also buy me a pizza,” you countered.

“Deal,” he grinned. He let out a long yawn, stretching his arms and cracking his bones in the process. “Wanna watch Fear Street again?”

HANEMIYA KAZUTORA ― the one that gets jealous

ABILITY TO SEPARATE SEX FROM FEELINGS ★★✩✩✩ DISCRETION ★★★✩✩ POSSESSIVENESS ★★★★★

As many other friends with benefits situations start, yours started at a party. He mentioned he wasn’t ready for a commitment after spending time in prison, and you weren’t looking for anything serious. You still don’t remember what you were laughing about, but once it died down, you realised how close his face was to yours. It took him looking down to your lips for you to kiss him― and everything evolved from there.

While initially, he promised not to let anyone know, he really can’t help himself when you’re out together. His hands always end up on your hips, his chin resting on your shoulder or his arms around your body, gently pulling you towards him, no matter who you’re talking with. You had never pictured him as handsy, but he definitely was. Especially if you were talking to someone attractive (but we’ll get to that).

Kazutora’s behaviour makes it very easy for everyone to get suspicious about the nature of your relationship. It’s so obvious Baji ended up texting you, asking to come clean about what the fuck is happening between you two. You explained the situation and assured him no feelings were involved between the two of you, to which he just replied with an eye roll emoji.

Chifuyu is someone else who is very suspicious, but Kazutora and you decide he doesn’t need to know the details. Bold choice, since more than once you’ve locked yourselves in the backroom of the pet shop while Chifuyu was busy with some customers― but you can’t admit it’s not funny for Chifuyu to squint his eyes at you two, knowing something is going off but not being able to prove it.

Kazutora is very gentle with you and loves to stay up talking after you’re done with sex. Before taking your friendship to another level, you had never realised how playful he could be, how he can go from eating you out until you scream to teasing you about your smudged makeup and dishevelled hair.

You’re friends above everything. He’s the guy who will take you on motorcycle rides and speed until you’re laughing and screaming behind him, the one who crashes at your place when he gets himself locked out of his apartment, someone you can trust.

However, lately, you’ve noticed him not leaving your side at parties. He’ll see you laughing a little bit too much with someone and suddenly he has an arm around your back, his hand gently pressed on your arm. If you’re sitting down his hand ends up on your knee― always making sure the other person notices these subtle displays of possessiveness and relents all intentions of getting with you.

You’ve asked him for the reason behind this behaviour, but he always denies it and changes the subject 🙄.

Who was it this time? Ah, right, a blonde guy. His hair was slicked back and he had a charming smile, something that immediately caught your attention the moment he entered Chifuyu’s shop. He was looking for medicated food for his dog and ended up falling into conversation with you, showing you pictures of said dog and making you giggle like a high schooler. He was very good looking and you could tell he had a good build even with the green bomber jacket he was wearing.

It had been more than twenty minutes since he had already paid for the food, but it didn’t seem he was leaving any time soon. His forearms were resting over the top desk as he asked you questions about yourself. You had the biggest smile on your face and just as you took out your phone, ready to ask for his number, you felt a hand setting on your waist and someone standing right behind you.

You didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.

“Tora, I’m in the middle of―”

“I need you at the back of the shop, please.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

You turned your eyes to Chifuyu, who looked at your exchange with a raised eyebrow.

“Can’t Chifuyu help you?”

“Nope. He can’t,” Kazutora quickly said. His fingers drummed over your skin. “So?”

You looked at the blond guy with an uneasy expression. He was so handsome and you were sure he was just as interested as you were. You hadn’t been on any dates in a while, but he seemed like the perfect guy to take a chance on. You turned your head to tell Kazutora to fuck off, but every intention you had of doing so vanished as you locked your eyes with his golden ones. His long hair tied into a ponytail. His little mole under his right eye.

You still don’t remember what excuse you said to the guy, but in less than one minute Kazutora was desperately kissing you against a wall in the back room. Your fingers were threading on his now loose hair as you moved your lips against his, unable to help yourself. He quickly unbuttoned your shorts and lowered them down along with your panties, leaving you to step out of them while he undid his jeans.

“Tora, you need to stop getting jealous,” you said, noticing how out of breath you already were.

“That guy was bad news,” he replied, freeing his cock from his underwear. You swatted his hands away and started pumping him slowly. Kazutora groaned, resting his forehead against yours.

“How― how could he be ‘bad news’? We barely talked.”

“Did you see the way he was looking at you?” he muttered against your lips, his eyes closed as he gave in to the pleasure of your hand stroking him just right.

“Yeah, like he liked me. And I liked him too. What’s the problem with― fuck.”

Kazutora’s cold fingers slipped past your folds, making you shudder at the contact. He gathered some wetness in them before he started circling your clit. You bit back a moan and quickened the pace of your own hand, feeling him getting impossibly hard.

A few moments later, his hand left you, only to grab one of your legs and put it around his hip. Taking the hint, you guided him to your entrance, feeling your mind going blank as your friend buried himself into you.

Holding onto the last bit of rationale you had left, you put your hands on his cheeks, pushing him away just enough to be able to look at his eyes again.

“Tora, you― you can’t fall in love with me,” you whispered as he rocked his hips against you, slowly dragging his cock in and out.

Kazutora watched you in silence as he kept fucking into you, his eyes looking for something he didn’t seem to find in yours.

He pushed some of your hair away from your place and shook his head gently. “You think too highly of yourself.”

“I’m serious, you can’t― we can’t―”

Kazutora thrusts became faster and made all the words inside your head disappear. You held onto his shoulders and buried your face in his neck as he fucked deep into you, his muffled moans a fucking symphony only for you as he drove you closer to your edge. 

You knew you were meant to have this conversation sooner than later. But, in the back of Chifuyu’s pet shop, between your pending discussion, the blond guy and the suspicious owner of the store, there was nothing strong enough to take your mind off of Kazutora― and the way he gently kissed your neck as he made you fall apart around his cock.

[entiish]

what do you think about deceased fcs (if you don't mind me asking)? especially the actors/actresses that have died more than a decade ago, i think it's a shame that we can't use them in threads or create resources in case it upsets someone. not that i'm looking to do as much and i understand if in your rules it states you won't rp against a deceased fc, then that's fine but there has to be a line drawn somewhere else i should think?

hi, it's skye. (related/inspired by these posts x x ig!) not at all, ask away!! so i'm someone who originally felt it very hard to used deceased actors or to be okay with it particularly when i was younger, because there were and are younger actors who passed unexpectedly and seeing their faces often brought up a lot of sadness and grief as they were gone far before their time. however, i've developed a more thorough opinion on this topic.

as with my post about underage fcs where i explained the npc deal/masterlist/graphics pov (i wont restate here but if u need a refresh go have a peek; main point: most of my opinions are formed on my experience navigating these issues as an admin), i feel the same way with deceased actors but with a more finessed personal code. i don't use anyone who has passed recently, they deserve time and peace and the acknowledgement that they are a human being outside of their career. regardless of how integral they are to a universe, such as robbie as hagrid, we and they and everyone deserves time and respect. in the past, as npcs within a world, i have used sir christopher lee, who passed in 2015, and john hurt, who passed in 2017. so im clearly operating on a 'actors who passed of old age' point of view. i feel like in some cases, it is more disrespectful to recast them rather than honour their body of work as that character. some actors are a certain character, as sir christopher lee is saruman in LOTR. and if i decided to portray him as a canon indie character, or perhaps in a canon LOTR roleplay, i would (with permission of admins) use lee as a first and foremost preference.

this is where i have a few clear rules when it comes to honouring a deceased fc but incorporating them in your world via. graphics, family fc casting, npc roles in the world of ocs (or even as a canon character):

if you are not an admin, ask permission first. admins have the right to have final say in the world they create.

if you are an admin and you decide to incorporate them, i highly suggest positing the idea to your muns and seeing their opinions as i did. if you have used them from the outset, make sure that you've made that clear in your rules page, or somewhere.

if you are an indie, just tag appropriately.

do not use people who have passed in tragic circumstances, which includes passing from health conditions also. there are so many beloved actors that we have lost to these circumstances and, while it is sad to not use them, it's sadder still that their life was stolen and i don't think it's very fair to use their faces. that's just my preference though.

do not use people who have passed recently!!

i absolutely agree that it is a shame, but i feel it's more of a shame that they are no longer here. i know many actors who were young and in their prime who passed, i would adore using them, but i think that it comes down to moral comfortability overall. for example, i remember a lot of back and forth around chadwick boseman, and i've always been of the firm opinion that someone who lost their life to a disease so suddenly... it's just awful. it's sad for him, for his family, friends, community, for everyone. i don't believe we should use people, especially young people, who have passed unexpectedly and sadly. the loss of their life is SO much bigger than our need and desire to create and write, and i personally find it very had to look at some faces because their passing reminds me of person trauma and experience. i'm sure a lot of people find that too. honestly, sometimes i just hurt looking at certain people's faces bc it sucks so much they are gone.

in conclusion, there is a middle ground and there is a way to use and honour actors who are gone, but it shouldn't be focussed on those who were taken in their prime. most people, from what i have seen, have wanted to use people who have died from cancer, ODs, s--cide, m-rder, and other tragically horrid experiences... please don't, let their souls rest and let them be. i believe that it's bigger than us in those cases.

[mintmatcha]

quickie - dabi X hero!reader

Dabi x cis!fem reader

CW: public sex, voyeurism, standing sex, doll as a nickname, praise

 a/n: thanks to shan’s discover server for dealing with my bullshit creating this <3

   "We can't keep doing this."

The figure, leaned against the graffitied brick of a building, tosses back his hood as he takes another drag from his cigarette.  The black of his hair, streaked with the occasional red, shines under the streetlamp.  His burns are worse than the last time you’ve seen him, stretching from his face to his knuckles.

"You say that everytime." Dabi drops the cigarette butt and crushes it under the heel of his boot. "But you always come anyway."

You scuff your heel against the concrete, listening to how it echoes down the empty street. The dive bar you two stand in front of long ago cleared, all of the patrons disappearing into the night. 

Maybe heading home. Most likely not.

You should be heading home too.

"I'm only here because you asked me to be here." you ask cooly, forcing your eyes to stay glued to your phone. You don't look away until his tight grip clutches your shoulder. Against the chill of the night, his touch is comforting.

"Don't play coy." he scoffs, "I never asked you to be here, little hero."

You flinch at the nickname, checking your surroundings once again. Being recognized as a hero would mean trouble in this neighborhood. You already clearly don't belong; you had dressed nicely for a date- a date with another hero, someone good for you-

only to abandon him the moment this asshole texted you.

"I just told you I was bored," Dabi smirks, the stitches at the corners of his mouth pulling as he eyes you up, "And you decided to entertain me, apparently." 

You wish your heart wasn't beating out of your chest. You're not quite sure what it was about him- maybe the danger, maybe daddy issues, maybe the horrifying idea that you genuinely cared about him, maybe something entirely different- but you were wrapped around his fingers.

And he is well aware of it.

He hooks a finger under the strap of your dress and pulls it down and off your shoulder with a languid pace, eyes tracing over the exposed skin. "I like this. Kinda fancy, kinda skimpy-" His tongue runs over the edge of one of his incisors, his piercing catching the low light. "It's like you're asking for trouble."

You just shrug. "Maybe I am looking for trouble."

"I told you to stop playing coy." His hand cups your chin, dragging it up to look at him directly. His gaze is dark, hungry, and more than a little dangerous. "Are you here to get dicked down or what?"

You try to sound nonchalant, but your voice is high and tight in your throat. “If that’s what you want, I guess.” 

“Aw, come on now, lil hero. Don’t pretend to be a brat." he grins, pulling your head higher, “Lemme hear you say it. Tell me you came here to get fucked."

“I-” you hesitate.

“Come on, say it.” he takes your hand in his and, for a second, it's sweet- but then he guides it down to the front of his pants, cupping you over his crotch to feel the beginning of his excitement. "Say you wanna get fucked."

You swallow, and then gently squeeze his cock. "I want you to have sex with me."

"Nuh-uh. That's not what I said." he leans into you, lips brushing against yours, blue eyes never leaving yours, "Say you want me to fuck you."

"I want you to fuck me."

“Aw, dirty girl.” he purrs, "What would everyone think? The perfect sidekick, begging for a villain's cock?"

He closes the gap and catches the plush of your lip between his teeth- hard. You gasp and he doesn't waste the opportunity; his tongue finds yours, rushed and messy. 

The kiss breaks, a string of spit connecting your lips for a microsecond. "Turn around."

Before you can react, Dabi's hand grips your forearm and twists it behind you, forcing you against the wall. The prickle of the brick digs into your cheek, but you can't focus on the pain- only the heat of his hands: one holding you still, the over sliding up your skirt.

"H-here?" you whisper, but don't resist. "Someone could see."

"Yeah-" his chuckle is low, "That's the fun part." 

He's quick to flip the fabric up and over your ass, exposing your lacy panties to the night air. His palms your ass and shakes it, eyes glued to how it shakes and quivers under his touch.

"Very sexy." he coos almost mockingly, pulling the elastic of your panties so taut that it digs into your skin. You flinch when it snaps back, further pressing yourself into the wall, and Dabi laughs.

"Aw, sensitive little thing, aren'tcha?" he grinds against you, the rough fabric of his jeans doing nothing to hide the swell of his cock. It rubs between your ass cheeks, the friction of demin already burning. The only respite in the cool metal of his studded belt, smooth and slick against you.

"Are you sure you can handle this, baby?" he tugs you closer by the bicep, arching your back until your head falls back. Like this, he looks down at you, a wolfish grin on his face. "I'd be so sad if I broke you."

"No, you wouldn't-" your free arm slides down his front, thumb dipping into the waistband and fingers rolling over the buckle.

"Yeah, you're right." he helps you unclasp the buckle, the gentle tinkling the only sound that echoes down the empty street. It hits you then that, despite the late hour, someone could approach at any moment and catch you being fucked by a wanted criminal.

The scrape of denim is replaced by hot, smooth skin and a tickle of his happy trail. Dabi lets the weight of his cock fall against your folds and a warm trickle of precum grazes your cheek. The night only seems to be getting colder, but the latent heat of Dabi's skin only seems to build.

"Fuck--" he ruts up against you unexpectedly, "You're fucking dripping-" You can feel his cock sliding against you, the wetness of your arousal letting him easily slip between your thighs. The head of his cock ghosts near your clit, not nearly the pressure you need. "God, maybe I'll just fuck you like this-"

A whine escapes your throat before you can tamp it down. 

"Oh, don’t be a brat.” he pulls back, “I’ll make sure you get what you need.”

He digs into his pocket and pulls out a gold foil packet, flashing it to you. You two agreed on protection since the first hook up- your insistence. He quickly rips into it with his teeth and rolls the condom down, barely covering his length before he pushes against your entrance, his fat head easily popping inside despite the stretch. You expect him to fully bury himself in one stroke, like he always does, but he stays there inside you, his cock barely past the petals of your pussy. Impatiently, you wiggle back against him, desperate for more, but he braces against you.

"Slow down, now-" he clicks his tongue before pressing a surprisingly soft kiss into your temple. Then, he shoves you forward again, face smushed into the rocky brick. "Lemme enjoy this properly."

You teeter on your high heels, legs already shaking as he finally rolls his hips forward inch by inch. Under his breath, he mutters so low that you can't understand him, but you catch clippings of praise and curses.

His pace is unusually slow, letting you savor the fullness of his whole cock before he pulls back to the tip. His breath is uncomfortably warm against the back of your neck. The scent of ash and tobacco that clings to him makes your stomach turn, but you can't help but want more of it- more of him.

The hand of your hip, unnaturally warm, almost burning, slips around to the front of the panties, dipping into the fabric to trace supply circles around your clit. It's nice- soft and gentle-

but you don't fuck Dabi to be gentle.

With your free hand, you push against the wall, forcing him to sink into you, hard. "Fucking hell-" he chokes out a groan as you start bucking against him. He uses your forearm as leverage, pulling and pushing down his length faster and faster. "That's it-- bounce like that- oh, good girl-"

Your voice, pathetic and lewd, fills the stress, but Dabi does nothing to muffle it. Of course he doesn't- he likes the risk. He wants to be caught, wants people to see him splitting you in half. Anyone even remotely close would be able to hear the wet, sloppy sound of your pussy, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

Once you get the rhythm he wants, Dabi releases your arm and grabs on to the front of your dress, palming your tits through the fabric greedily. It's rough, almost bruising, squishing you solely for his pleasure.

"So soft," he breathes. After a moment, he decides the fondling isn't enough and wraps his fingers under the hem, digging into the fat of your chest. With a firm tug, he snaps the remaining strap, freeing one of your tits into the cool night air. You don't even have time to shiver before his hand takes it place against you. 

Dabi always runs warm, but something about sex- albeit the desire or the physical contact- makes him hot. The stroke of his hands, the lips across your shoulder blade, the dip of his stomach against your back- all of them leave ghosts, trails of goosebumps where heat used to be.

Even through the condom, his cock radiates heat deep inside your cunt, twitching and pulsing with every stroke. His fingertips never leave their mark, rolling your clit steadily. 

"Y-you gonna cum for me?" he says through his teeth, "Gonna let me f-feel it? Let me make you feel good? Oh, such a good girl for me--"

The pressure on your clit all at once becomes too much and you cum, knees wobbling and threatening to give out. Your pace threatens to falter, but Dabi muscles through it for you.

Dabi's lips find your neck, right below your jaw. A flick of the tongue is followed by the sharp pain of his teeth digging into the soft spot.  Overstimulation hits your quickly, your pussy twitching every stroke.

"'Is too much." you hiccup, reaching behind you blindly. You manage to caress his face, the staples warm and wet with his sweat. He nuzzles into the hand, a surprisingly sweet gesture.

"Just- just take it." he growls. The pace is suddenly lopsided, the rhythm gone as he starts to cum.

The gentle pulsing of his cock is immediately followed by pooling warmth. No, warmth is an understatement. It's hot, almost unbearably. You keen away from him, but he stays locked against you.

"G-get off," you hiccup, "You're t-too hot."

"You're not so bad yourself, doll." He withdrawals and quickly peels the condom off, tossing it to the side. He spins you around, running a thumb under your eye. Flecks of mascara and eyeliner stick to his skin. "Especially like this." he gestures to you as a whole. Running makeup, ripped dress, quivering legs, your own cum glossing your thighs- you look destroyed.

"You should walk around like this all the time." Dabi wipes his stomach with his shirt, haphazardly smearing the wetness more than cleaning it, before redoing his buckle. He takes his time, clearly not concerned about being exposed. "On second thought- nah. Just wear this for me." 

You shimmy your dress down, trying to cover your ass as quickly as possible. "You're disgusting." 

He throws his head back and laughs. "You didn't seem to think so a couple minutes ago." 

"Fuck you."

Dabi shakes a cigarette free from the carton and sticks it between his teeth. "Aw, doll-" he dots the tip with his finger and it alights, deep orange against the dark of the night. "You just did."

[pigeonp0st]

could u do nat taking care of r when r gets sick (pretty please i beg of u)? preferably lots of cuddles 🥺🥺

idk i just love soft!nat 🥺

Natasha Romanoff x Reader #5

Words: 1,689

Warnings: none?

Notes:

I didn’t really like how this one turned out but i’ve finally decided that staring at it in my drafts with disappointed isn’t gonna make it any better...so here it is. Thank you for requesting, and sorry for spelling mistakes. Hope you enjoy!

———

It started with a cold. Just a couple of sneezes, a runny nose, and a sore throat...the usual.

It started out with you trying your best to hide it. Hide the sickness. That plan went under the moment Natasha heard you sneeze during training... she had you confessing to your sins much too quickly.

Suffice to say she immediately kicked you out of the training area with demands to take some medicine.

So she was the first to realize that you were sick, and she was the first to realize you were getting worse instead of better. She’d pester you endlessly when you wouldn’t want to talk about it, and watch over you like a hawk.

It was sweet, but you also didn’t think it was necessary. You were sure you’d be fine in three or so days.

How wrong you were.

When you wake up with a 103° fever for the third day in a row it has you layed in bed for the whole day groaning about the inequalities of the world, and begging Natasha not to get a doctor for the 100th time.

You were fine. Totally fine.

Natasha watches you with a mix of amusement and concern from the corner of the room and suggests, gently, that maybe you’re not.

You peak over your covers to glare at her in something like betrayal. “I’d be fine if you’d stop pacing and come cuddle with me.”

She seems to think about her options for a long moment and right when you think she’s going to reject you she relents with a heavy sigh and gets into the bed.

She’s so blissfully cold it has you snuggling into her side immediately, both to warm her up and use her as your own personal ice pack.

“You’re burning up,” Natasha whispers, but she pulls you closer to her—like somehow if she’s close enough she can absorb some of your pain and make you feel just that little bit better. “If your fever rises even a little bit we’re going to the doctors, okay?”

She’s concerned and worried, and even though a stranger fussing over you is the last thing you want you know you have to give her this.

As soon as you nod your head in agreement some of the tension seeps out of her body, much to your relief. As ridiculous as it is, you’re worried about her worried about you—if that makes sense.

“Around 100,000 people died from the flu in 2019,” Natasha mumbles against your forehead. She adds quietly after a moment, “just in case you were wondering.”

You were not wondering. What the fuck.

“Nat...that statistic is mostly old people.”

“Yeah,” Nat agrees, “you’ll be fine.”

And despite your body's protest, and how much of a pain it is to pull away, you do, just so you can give Natasha an incredulous look so she knows just what you think about what she’s doing right now.

Her face is unexpectedly vulnerable when you see it. She isn’t trying to bother you...she’s just…she’s worrying herself crazy.

“Nat,” you sigh, ready to embark on the most comforting and articulate speech you can think of, but a sudden fit of coughs has you turning away hurriedly to muffle your face in a pillow.

When your lungs finally decide to stay in your body for now, and Natasha stops rubbing your back, you’re too tired to try and comfort her, so instead you mumble, on the verge of sleep, “if I die; just know I love you.”

Which, in hindsight, probably doesn’t help much.

But she doesn’t sound worried when she replies, just exasperated and fond. “I love you, too.”

———-

When you wake up again it’s to a bunch of kisses and beautiful red hair.

“Stop attacking me,” you grumble, trying to push her away, but you're not able to hide your smile. God, you love your badass (soft) girlfriend.

“Look who's not dead!”

Remembering your last words to her before you went to sleep has you finally opening your eyes and giving Nat a sheepish smile. Oops. “Look who really wants to get sick…”

“My immune system is stronger than yours,” Natasha scoffs, shoving both your medicine at you and a bottle of water.

“Asshole,” you mumble, moving to open the medicine bottle only to get stopped by a hand on your wrist. “What?”

“You need to eat first.”

Thus, starts the trip towards death.

————

“Oh my god, how much farther is it…”

Your fever is finally down and back to safer levels so naturally Natasha has insisted that you’re able to go to the kitchens yourself and sit outside to eat.

You need fresh air, she said.

The room is getting stuffy, she said.

It’ll be good for you, she said.

What a fucking devil.

“You’re literally the most dramatic person to ever grace this earth,” Natasha tells you for only the millionth time since the journey began. “Maybe if you stopped sliding against the wall and crawling on the floor like you got shot three times we’d get there faster.”

“Maybe if you’d help me—”

“I tried! But apparently i’m ruining your image.” She rolls her eyes when she says that, then turns away to grin like she thinks you won’t notice.

You’re a whipped idiot who's decided to make a complete full of yourself and waste what little energy you have just to get your girlfriend to laugh, and to prove to her that you’re doing better.

You’re definitely going to regret this later, but now, in the moment; This is totally worth it. No doubt.

————

Wanda is in the kitchen.

As soon as you see her you straighten up and stop leaning on the wall (and limping). Natasha laughs next to you when she notices.

“You’re doing better, Y/N?” Wanda asks, glancing over you before returning back to the soup she’s making. For you. She’s making soup for you.

You adore her. She’s your favorite person, she’s—

“Not your girlfriend,” Wanda interjects, amused, “and doing this as a concerned teammate, and because your girlfriend asked.”

“Yes, well I love you anyways. Your cooking has gotten very good,” you say, shooting her a grin while you practically bounce to the dining chair, in stark contrast to the way you were dragging yourself down the halls.

Natasha does a good job at trying to not look confused, but she clearly is. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Wanda informs her before you get the chance to.

“Favorite person for making you soup?” Natasha asks once Wanda’s done relaying your thoughts. She narrows her eyes at you then. “Not the person who has been taking care of you since you became an avenger, not the person who—”

“It’s very good soup, Nat.”

“Very,” Steve agrees from the living room.

Natasha sighs, takes a sniff of the soup, and resigns herself to the facts she’s faced with. “Yeah...it is.”

——-

“Close your mouth,” Natasha orders, tapping your chin. You listen, waiting patiently for the beep of the thermometer to signal it’s done.

When it does, Natasha pulls it back to study it. There’s a small lapse of anxious silence before Natasha reveals the results. Then...“Ninety-Nine. You’re officially a healthy woman.”

And with that, you’re finally free of the bed rest and able to walk the halls as a newly restored human being.

“I’m free,” you shout, tackling Natasha onto the bed and kissing her all over her face, completely overjoyed. “Natasha, I survived!”

You survived. It only took an exhausting week. When your fever went down a couple of days ago it spiked to 105° a bit after and you were sure you were going to suffocate in Natasha’s worry because of it. You had to go to the medical room...it was awful.

But now Nat laughs, and laughs, and then pulls you into a tight hug to stop all of the kissing. She seems to be unburdened and lighter now that she finally has the numbers she’s wanted.

“Loving you as much as I do is really just living in this constant state of worry and fear,” Natasha says when you’ve both settled down. “I do not like things being out of my control,” she admits, kissing the crown of your head. “Especially when it involves my heart.”

“Your heart,” you repeat, curious. “Is that what I am?”

“Ignoring the worry and fear part?” Natasha teases, quirking an eyebrow.

“We both know those feelings are accompanied with a multitude of good and beautiful emotions. I feel them too.”

Natasha smiles then, soft and gentle, and full of admiration. “Yes.”

You tilt your head. “Yes...what?”

“Yes, you are my heart. Or at least you feel like you are.”

At that, with a determination and seriousness that visibly shocks Natasha you say, “i’ll protect it. I’ll protect myself, and because you're mine also, I'll help protect you. Always.”

“Always,” Natasha agrees, her fingertips trailing across your cheek. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, embarrassed suddenly, “of course.”

————

“Are...are you serious?”

Natasha scowls into her tea and says nothing in response. This is fucking hilarious.

Your lovely girlfriend doesn’t seem to think so because the second she sees your face struggling not to laugh she begins glaring at you. “Don’t,” Nat warns. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

“I seem to recall you saying, and I quote, ‘my immune system is stronger than yours.’” You grin. “Oh how ironic this is.”

“I’m not sick—”

“Aw, but baby, the amount of tissues on the floor seem to be saying otherwise,” you gesture towards the growing pile, feeling absolutely no sympathy until Natasha glances at the pile with a sigh of defeat. She looks so small and sad covered in her pile of blankets...it simply won’t do. “Don’t fret, my love. I will take care of you, just as you took care of me,” you assure her, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

“First things first,” you tilt her chin up, “i’ll get Wanda to make you some soup so you can take some medicine.”

“I hate the world,” Natasha grumbles, mumbling some curses in russian.

“I love you, too.”

[rainileo]

hilariously unpredictable

bf!mingyu x (female reader)

warnings: pwp, somewhat domestic bf mingyu, sweet bf mingyu, best boy mingyu, ass play, spanking, ass biting (?), mingyu likes ass lol, unprotected sex, anal sex, choking, anal fingering, size kink, crying, dom mingyu, mingyu is very skilled sexually lol, pussy slapping, squirting, swearing

lmk if i miss anything (not completely proof read)

feedback is appreciated!

anon’s asked;

What would it feel like to try anal with Mingyu for the first time?

oh my god I can’t stop thinking about mingyu and pussy slapping

a/n: mingyu is our resident ass man,,, so obviously i had to write this lmao. the dialogue kinda lacks and sorry if it makes no sense )i was high writing this im sorry landjsk)

mingyu could be hilariously unpredictable sometimes.

especially in the bedroom. it could be confusing and unexpected when he would randomly come to you, curiously asking if you’d like to try something new in bed. it was surprising because he would always suggest the most random things, varying to very questionable kinks and positions, and so much more.

but it was good, his unpredictability left you on edge, always wondering what he would suggest next, and if it would be something new that you both like and so on.

that was one of the many reasons why you loved mingyu; he was so comfortable around you and could easily express himself around you without judgment. it was a both way type thing and it worked out for the two of you.

now the two of you were seated on the couch, him laying on top of you, head resting on your chest and gently stroking your side underneath yours (his) shirt.

“babe.” mingyu says flatly, looking up to you. the both of you were originally watching the movie until he caught your attention, the movie soon forgotten.

you knew this scenario all to well, recalling him always starting with the ‘babe’.

you turned to him and sigh, “yeah?” you question, tilting your head to the side. his hand that was rubbing your side now squeezes your waist, him now leaving gentle kisses on your chest. once again, you knew this situation all too well and was already preparing for him to suggest something.

“i was talking to the guys,” he says between kisses, “and...” he trails off, biting down into your skin roughly and looks up to you with those eyes. you bite your lip in anticipation, feeling yourself buzz in excitement, “and?” you question a little too quickly for your liking.

“i wanna try anal.” he throws out, squeezing your waist tightly in question and you feel your stomach toss at the proposal. again, he leaves you breathless from his unpredictability. you almost feel lightheaded thinking about it, wondering if it would be a hit or miss.

your heart begins to pound in your chest and you nod, smiling at him happily.

mingyu, being the best boyfriend he is, took you to the shower to help you clean, and he even went over precautions and rules to keep you comfortable and safe. he also fingered you to prepare you as well, stretching you out only using his spit for lubricant.

once the two of you finish, he carries you to the bedroom, sitting himself down on the edge of your shared bed and positioning you to stand between his legs.

you were both completely bare, water droplets still making their way down your damp bodies. the air was cold until his hands immediately find their usual spot on your ass, pulling you closer to him, pressing your chest against his and wrapping your arms around his neck.

his larger body immediately radiated heat on to you, causing you to shiver from the new found warmth. he found it incredibly endearing they way you were so small compared to him that even when he sat on your shared bed that was pretty high up off the ground, his form still towers over you.

“god i love how small you are.” he grunts out and leans in, kissing you roughly. you gasp out against his lips as he spanks your ass harshly; he then takes advantage of your open mouth and forcefully shoves his tongue in to your entrance to explore. you allow him in and continue to intensely make out.

your hands grip onto his shoulders, digging your nails into him as he roughly grabs your ass, spanking it again. you squirm on him and moan into his mouth out of reaction and he pulls away, leaving the two of you breathless, chests both heaving up and down.

the two of you sit in comfortable silence, both staring in awe at each other as the both of you are still slightly damp, swollen lips from the intense kisses and skin a light blush red from the heat of the moment.

but the heat of the moment is cut short when you open your mouth, “who the hell is going on about anal over there?” you randomly blurt out, ruining your sensual moment with mingyu. he burst out laughing at your sudden question, because he didn’t really have a valid answer either.

“it was in the moment,” he says between laughs. you laugh at his excuse and he continues, “it was just the direction of the conversation, just-,” he cuts himself off and pauses, closing his eyes to attempt to regain composure and so do you, successfully failing and laughing together again.

“-just don’t ask?” you finish his sentence, placing your small hands on his cheeks gently. he laughs out of his nose, snorting again cutely and leaning to you once more, pressing your noses together. he nods, agreeing with your comment, “yeah, just don’t ask.” he jokingly dismisses, leaning in to kiss you again, large hands roughly gripping your ass again. he smiles into the kiss and moves his tongue to lick against your bottom lip, making you whimper slightly.

the mood shifts back as you guys kiss for a few more minutes until he pulls away, moving down towards your neck and giving wet kisses all over it. he immediately finds your sweet spot, licking and sucking over it, causing you to moan and shift in front of him. he notes the way your chest rubs against his, your nipples getting harder every time you move. he bends over and leaves his original spot to move down to your boobs, giving them both missed attention by pulling your nipples occasionally and massaging them.

you watch down on him, playing with his hair and biting your lip in anticipation, revelling in the feeling of his mouth. he pulls away and suddenly grips your hips and turns you around in 180 degrees.

you yelp at the suddenness but allow him to manhandle you the way he wants. he moves his hands to your thighs underneath your ass and strokes the skin, pinching causing you to softly gaso. you brace yourself on his knees beside you and he hunches over, leaning down to your tailbone, giving it gentle kisses too.

you reach a hand around to grip his hair, threading your fingers through his locks and pulling as begins he digs his nails into your skin. you flip your hair to the side to get a better look at him and he looks up at you, giving you a devious smirk, biting harshly on the curve of you spine.

your eye brows knit together when he moves his hand between your thighs, index finger lightly brushing against your core. your breathing increases, the sounds of it resounding between the two of you. you shiver and goosebumps erupt along your skin as he strokes the inside of your thigh, avoiding where you needed him the most.

“fuck.” you spit, the gentleness of your voice contrasting the way he suddenly, not so gently slaps your pussy. you yelp and bite your lip, fingers gripping his hair tightly again.

he lifts his head back to level with yours to move your hair over your shoulder and kisses you gently, biting too. “you’re such a good girl for me.” the praise goes straight to you core and you squirm, awaiting his next move.

the friction immediately giving you pleasure. your eyes flutter close in reaction to his touches as he continues to play with you. he leans over to the side table with his other hand and reaches for your lube, speedily putting some on his finger in and going to your awaiting hole and pushing it in quickly and unexpectedly. your mouth drops open in surprise, moaning out and then biting your lip to conceal your noises. the feeling was still foreign but pleasurable. you revel in the slow building pleasure as he pumps his finger into you, his preparation ritual the exact same as he would with the other hole. your knees almost give out from the new pleasure, it all becoming overwhelming in your standing position, which you curse him for putting you in.

“more please,” you weakly let out, moving your hand down to your bundle of nerves to relieve yourself, roughly rubbing to assist in the achievement of pleasure and comfort.

over a few minutes he adds more fingers, slowly and soon enough he has four fingers knuckle deep inside you, pumping in and out of you. you finally indicate that you’re ready when you release a pleasured sigh. he notices and perks,

“are you ready?” he whispers against your spine and you whine, gripping his hair tighter to show your response (which is obviously yes). he smiles against your skin, removing his fingers and impressively picking you up by your rib cage and places you over his lap, straddling him. you’re still facing the opposite direction from him, wanting to see him but he uses your new position to push your chest forwards to kiss and bite at the supple skin of your ass.

you dig your nails into his thigh in reaction and wiggle your ass in his face teasingly. he takes that opportunity to spank you again, a red hand print blooming on your skin. he puts you back into your original position, pulling you against his chest by putting his hand around your neck, lightly asphyxiating you. “are you ready for my cock baby?” he says, now rubbing his dick against your rim, awaiting your approval.

you nod and you turn to face him and lean in to kiss him for the nth time. while you to kiss sloppily, he directs his cock to your hole and pushes in slowly. you whine into his mouth, gripping onto him aggressively, trying to find a way to distract yourself from the burning stretching pain.

“f-fuck, mingyu holy shit.” you never let go of your grip on him, probably leaving colourful marks that he will have to hide later. you struggle and you try to relax around him, as he is barely half way in you. he grunts into your ear and grips your neck harder. “fucking relax.” he demands and you whine out, closing your eyes and concentrating on relaxing.

sometimes mingyu's large dick could be really exciting when it’s in other places other than your ass, but then again you remember you felt the same way when you first fucked him, with the alternative hole.

once you’re finally relaxed, he easily slides fully into you. you let out a long moan, a hand moving to grip his hair between your fingers.“jesus fuck.” you let out against him, your breathing laboured from the new intense feeling. he smiles again at you reaction, now grinding your hips backwards and forwards on his dick.

he loves how uncensored you can become during sex and always finds it incredibly hot. you feel that he enjoyed that when he twitches inside you. “such a dirty mouth.” he comments and you whimper, moving your hips with his force that pushes them.

he moves his right hand between your legs and goes straight to your dripping core, rubbing over your wet hole, and the left moving to wrap around your waist to hold you flush against him.

his fingers easily slide in. you gasp and turn your head to look between your legs. you were dripping around his fingers, the wetness adding as lubricant.

“you fucking love being filled like this, don’t you?” he nuzzles his nose into the side of your face, simultaneously taking in your scent. he pushes on, his words going straight to your center, making you clench around his digits. you nod your head furiously and he chuckles into your ear.

his cock continues to slide in and out of you, the feeling of him against both your walls being practically euphoric.

his fingers strategically thrust inside of you, his thumb going to your clit and rubbing, causing you to moan out, face contorting out of pleasure.

the sensations were so overwhelming and you already felt yourself coming to your end, legs shaking around him.

his fingers and cock coincidentally hit your spots at the exact same time and you throw your head back onto his shoulder,

“fuck!” you let out, back arching and mouth dropping open. his fingers pick up their pace, his hips too; and you feel your end nearing, body practically on fire as sweat builds everywhere. you moan out his name and a string of curses.

his dexterity is mind blowing, to the way he strategically thrusts his hips up into you, his cock going balls deep into you, and the way his fingers pump at the perfect pace and to his thumb that immediately found your clit, and how he altogether manages to hold you against him. he just focuses on your pleasure, letting you build your release. you tightly clench around him with both holes and suddenly your squirting around his fingers, yours and his thighs, including the sheets, now soaked.

seeing you squirt and your essence falling everywhere, and the moan you were releasing is absolutely sinful and it fuels him as he removes his hands from your core and falls onto his back to start roughly fucking up into you. his feet planted onto the floor and yours beside his thighs. you begin to cry from the overstimulation, entire body shaking from the pleasure.

the both of you have completely lost focus as he chases his high and you slump forward onto his knees, his hands going back to your ass as he spanks it way harder than before and you growl and clench around him, too weak to pull yourself up.

“shit” he loudly rasps out, and you just let him fuck you like a doll, you arching your back for him to get a proper view of your center. he groans out, throwing his head back as his hips stutter. his orgasm creeps up on him and he sweats profusely, the physical activity drenching him, including your juices.

“cum in me.” you weakly command and he complies, holding his hips against your pelvis balls deep inside you. you weakly whimper when you feel his cum shoot deep inside you and your arms give out, falling forward between his legs. he lets his hips fall onto the bed as he slumps against the mattress, his grip on your hips letting up.

you both try to regain composure, closing your eyes and breathing heavily. he makes the first move by sitting up and pulling you up too. you tiredly pull yourself up with him, leaning into his back comfortably. he easily ou je you up to pull himself out of you and seats you on his lap. his body cradles you as he moves his fingers down between your thighs to pick up the excess cum that rests in you.

he brings his soiled fingers to your mouth and you take them in slowly, humming at the taste of the mixture of yours and his cum.

“you’re such a good girl for me.” he praises, and your bliss is ruined when he slaps your pussy unexpectedly. you squeal and close your legs around his hand instinctively.

“did you like it?” he questions, his tone is unmoving and it calms you, your heart rate slowing down again. he strokes your inner thighs calmly and you gulp and close your eyes, nodding in response, to tired to accumulate words. he sighs in content at your answer, letting himself relax with you. everything goes silent, and your warmth radiates off of each other, causing you to both have a light sheen of sweat across the both of you. “are you in pain?” the air is calm and your heart beats are the only noises that you both hear, he snuggles into your neck, inhaling your scent and shake your head no. you feel his body relax from your response, worried that he could’ve possibly hurted you.

the air is silent and still.

“let’s do it again.” the stillness is quickly broken when you finally gain the strength to speak. he quirks and chuckles, moving his mouth to your ear, “think you can take it?” his tone is dark again, as he speaks deep into your ear, causing you to shiver, pussy pulsing again.

“fuck yes.” that was all you had to say for him to shove your face into the mattress with your ass up, immediately starting another round.

[likeastarstar]

2:37 PM- Hoseok

(A/N: fuckboi hobiiiiiiiiiii I really like this one. Hopefully you guys do too! Feedback is appreciated)

He moved around in a way that had your eyes no matter what room you were in. Hands in his pocket, head tipped upwards like he was always the most relaxed person in the room. How did he do that, glide around with ease? It was hard not to think of him in less than decent scenarios when Hoseok was constantly walking around knowing he was hot shit.

Maybe you'd make a move if you weren't in a relationship, but for now even the thought of crossing the line felt illegal. You had been friends with Hoseok for years, flirted with him constantly, even slept with him once a couple months ago before you met your boyfriend. That was before though, now you put a respectful amount of distance between the two of you just in case your boyfriend was the jealous type.

You pushed the thought away and refocused on what you were supposed to be doing, which was setting up for your friend's surprise party with the rest of your friends. You attempted to hang up a sign before realizing it was crooked, pouting up at the large sign stubbornly. You got off the ladder you had used to put it up, trying to tell which side needed to be adjusted.

"Need help?"

You turned, eyes falling on no one other than Hoseok, sporting an amused smile on his face. You nodded silently, gesturing towards the sign, "It's not level."

He nodded and walked to one side of the banner pushing the ladder, lifting it slightly, "What about now?"

Hoseok's beauty was distracting even now, your eyes zeroing in on the way his biceps flexed and stretched trying to adjust the banner exactly. The bottom of his shirt lifted and you could see the muscles of his stomach flexing, smooth tanned skin glowing gold. You traced the way his fingers delicately moved around the banner, forgetting where you were for a moment.

He cocked his head towards you and said your name, snapping you out of your daydream. He had a knowing smirk on his face and pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth, stifling a laugh. You shook your head and stepped towards him, holding the ladder steady, "Just a little higher."

The two of you worked in silence for a moment, fixing the sign quickly. He stepped off the ladder and helped you carry the ladder back to the storage closet, following you as you led him to where it was meant to be put back, "I'm surprised you came to set up alone- don't you have a boyfriend?"

You shrugged slightly, avoiding his gaze for some reason, "He's busy."

Hoseok stared at you, raising his eyebrows slightly, "Why are you dating him?"

You frowned, looking around awkwardly as if someone was about to jump out and tell you you were being pranked. When no one did, you looked back at him with a slightly confused look on your face, pressing your lips into a flat line. Hoseok was leaning against the wall with an amused look on his face, a taunting smile on his face.

"What kind of a question is that?" You mumbled, looking away from his face quickly when you realized your cheeks were beginning to redden. "I dunno, he's nice to me...or whatever."

Hoseok snorted, crossing his arms and leaned towards you, "I guess if that's what you really want, good for you."

"Why wouldn't I want my boyfriend to be nice to me?" You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief.

Hoseok didn't answer, laughing dryly and sending you a pointed look instead. You widened your eyes at whatever he was insinuating, trying to ignore the heat pooling at your center. The air around you felt electrified, charged with a palpable energy you could taste.

"You don't know what I want in a relationship," You said stubbornly.

"I've known you for years, I've stuck my dick in you, I know you well enough to tell when you're bored- which you most definitely are." He said cockily, "Besides, don't think I haven't notice the way you stare at me. It's pretty obvious you want me to fuck you."

"That was awhile ago, things are different. You can't insult your way into my pants, you do know that, right?" You snorted, leaning against the wall of the storage shed as Hoseok shoved the ladder into the nearest empty space.

"Was I wrong though?" He asked, an innocent expression on his face, "Don't you want me to fuck you?"

You froze, staring at him with wide eyes. If you said no you'd be lying, if you said yes you'd be an awful person.

Hoseok maintained the cocky expression for a second too long before relaxing, melting into an amused smile and lazily taking a step back when he realized you weren't giving in, "Sorry- I'll stop messing with you. You can't blame me, you're fun to tease."

"You're not funny," You snarked, rolling your eyes.

Hoseok laughed and pushed you out of the shed lightly, closing the door behind you, "You used to think I was funny when you were single."

"I used to think the world was going to end in 2012- don't take it personally," You joked, leading the way back to the party. The pathway outside between the shed and the house was shady, a grove of trees making a neat archway hovering above your heads.

You heard Hoseok stifle a laugh behind you and you smiled despite yourself. He was fun to bitch at- you almost forgot. You had known him for years, considered him a good friend despite the recent gap between you to that you had consciously put between you. "Let's go see if anyone else needs help," You said quietly, starting to walk back to the house.

"Just- wait," He said, stopping suddenly. He grabbed your hand with ease and pulled you back, turning your head towards him and kissing you unexpectedly. One hand cupped your face and the other was on your shoulder, holding you in place lightly. You froze for a moment but kissed back as soon as you realized what was happening, reaching out to touch his torso gently. It was messy and dirty and all too forward but in that moment you didn't have a care in the world. His tongue teased at your lips before slipping past them as you smiled and kissed him back eagerly, slow, hazy, and reckless. You moved your hands to his hair, short pink strands between your fingers. His hands squeezed your ass before wrapping around your waist and pulling away from you slightly, hips still pressed against yours. He slowed down for a moment, flicking his eyes open and over to yours.

"Just," He mumbled, in between moving his lips from your mouth to your neck, "Let me know when you're sick of that guy. I can be nice to you too, or mean- whatever you want."

You bit your lip and felt nervous instantly, realizing what he was offering. All of this felt incredibly wrong but you couldn't bring yourself to stop, your head swirling around so much it was like you were drunk. The thought of ending things with your boyfriend had never crossed your mind before but your body seemed to warm to the idea, unless that was just because Hoseok's hands were currently on it. You pulled away and looked to see if anyone had spotted you, but everyone else was inside, working away.

"This is wrong," You said feebly.

"Maybe, but don't you want to know what it would be like? Doing something bad, for once?" He mumbled, "Tell me you don't like my hands on you- tell me you don't remember how good it felt to fuck me. Don't you want to do it again?"

Hoseok smelled like something warm and spicy- cinnamon burning through your senses. You breathed his scent in deeply, wishing he wasn't right. It did feel good- wrong, but so, so good. You felt him bite down on your neck and moaned slightly, blushing furiously in embarrassment after. Hoseok laughed lightly, sinking his hands into your skin like he had just caught his prey.

"It's okay," He said quickly, moving his face off of your neck and in line with yours, eyes boring into you. "I won't tell. It doesn't have to be now, or tomorrow. Just whenever- call me."

You couldn't help but lean into Hoseok, kissing him again despite yourself, "I think we have to go back inside soon."

"Come on," He sighed, backing away from you and taking a step towards the house. Your body felt cold without his hands on it, alone once more. "Let's go eat some cake or whatever."

You watched him walk a ways down the path, tilting your head slightly. Could you really be thinking about this? Why didn't you feel more guilty? Hoseok shoved his hands in his pockets again and turned his head back to you, raising his eyebrows towards you, "Coming?"

You nodded and hurried to catch up with him, admiring the way his lips stretched into a lazy smile.

masterlist.

[august-anon]

Are You Still?

I got hyperfixated on It a couple months ago and now here we are lol, this has been in my fic backlog for a while now. Hope you enjoy this one!

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Fandom: It (movies)

Ship(s): Reddie

Characters (lee/ler): Switch!Richie/Switch!Eddie

Word Count: 3879 words

Summary: Richie finds himself in a position that brings up some of the few fond memories he has from Derry. He decides to relive some of them.

[ao3 link]

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Richie yelped as his legs and feet were suddenly shoved roughly off the couch, startling him out of his doze. He glared up at the offender and saw Eddie, already glaring back at him as he took a seat on the other end of Bill’s couch.

“What the fuck, man?” Richie asked, bringing one of his legs back up to shove at Eddie’s shoulder with his foot.

“If you’re gonna sleep, go do it in a bed,” Eddie snapped back, crossing his arms. “Don’t take up the whole fucking couch with your freakishly long sasquatch legs. This isn’t even your couch anyway, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Richie rolled his eyes. “The others aren’t getting here for another two hours, I think I’m allowed a fucking nap.”

“If you went to sleep at a normal fucking time,” Eddie said, slicing his hand through the air, “you wouldn’t need to take so many naps. What the fuck do you even do all night? I get texts from you at like, three in the morning!”

Richie leaned forward with a grin. “Well, if you really want to know--”

“If this is a joke about my mom you better shut the fuck up right now.”

Richie tossed his head back with a laugh. “Alright, alright.”

Richie had enough self control to give the scene about two minutes to settle. Then, he swung his legs back onto the couch and draped them over Eddie’s lap.

“Hey!” Eddie said, trying to push his legs off. “Get off me, asshole! Stop taking up the whole couch!”

Richie tilted his head back and let out an obnoxious snoring sound. Eddie huffed out a frustrated breath and it took all of Richie’s stage skills to not start laughing at him.

Then, unexpectedly, Eddie swung his own legs up on the couch along with Richie’s. Richie startled, jerking his head up to give Eddie an odd look, but yelped when Eddie started kicking and shoving at Richie with his feet.

“What the hell, man?!”

Eddie didn’t reply. There was a grin growing on his face as he slid down the couch, trying to reach further with his feet. Richie found it entirely too adorable, which unfortunately distracted him from Eddie sending a foot flying toward his face. Richie yelped and barely dodged out of the way in time to save his glasses from Eddie’s wrath. The scene unlocked a memory in his mind, long buried despite regaining his memories from Derry.

 At this point, Richie only hogged the hammock as an excuse to get close to Eddie. It was honestly pretty uncomfortable, the hammock wasn’t meant for two people, even as `small as Eddie was, and it was a hassle to get them both to fit most of the time.

Which, surprisingly, was only partially where the kicking came in. The rest was because Eddie and Richie were just like that.

They were arguing loudly over the hammock again, which happened pretty much every time they were in the clubhouse together. Richie barely managed to dodge a foot, clearly aiming to hook around his glasses and throw them off his face. It was one of Eddie’s favorite moves, because it left Richie blind and annoyed, and it wasn’t exactly easy to annoy someone as annoying as Richie.

Before Eddie could go for his frames again, Richie grabbed his ankle, fighting for control of the limb. Eddie tried to tug his leg back, shouting a number of obscenities at Richie, but Richie just grinned a memory sparking in his mind.

“Hey Eds--”

“Don’t call me Eds, fucknut!”

“Are you still ticklish as fuck?”

Eddie’s eyes went wide and he started yelling even louder. Out of the corner of his eye, Richie caught Bev laughing at them while Stan rolled his eyes. They could shut the fuck up, in Richie’s humble opinion, this meant absolutely nothing at all, and Richie’s heart was totally not beating wildly out of his chest.

Richie started scratching his nails against the arch of Eddie’s socked foot, and Eddie’s obscenities quickly became interspersed with laughter. Richie couldn’t help but laugh along with him, wiggling his fingers along with his scratching to try and get an even better reaction.

“Fuck -- Richie, please!”

Richie smirked at him. “Begging already, Eddie Spaghetti? I know you can last longer than that.”

“Rich!!”

Foolishly, Eddie kicked at Richie with his other foot, trying to knock Richie’s hands off him. Instead, Richie let out his best evil laugh (it fell a little flat, Richie definitely needed to workshop it, but even still, a blush rose to Eddie’s adorable little ears) and grabbed Eddie’s other foot. Eddie shrieked and tried to escape, but Richie quickly pressed Eddie’s legs together before wrapping his own legs around Eddie’s knees to keep them there.

“Richie, don’t you fucking dare!”

“Oh, I dare, Eds.”

Richie immediately went back to scratching at Eddie’s arches, grinning when he burst back into loud laughter. He scrunched his soles and tried to shake Richie’s hands off, twisting and turning and kicking what little he could, but unable to get free from Richie’s hold. He couldn’t even flip the hammock over to knock them to the floor, though it was clear he was trying.

“What’s wrong, Eds, can’t get away?”

Even through his laughter, Eddie still managed to cry out, “Don’t you fucking call me that!”

As usual, Richie ignored him, moving down to tickle at his heels. Eddie tumbled into childish, high-pitched giggles that were so adorable that even Richie’s ears went pink. It was nothing compared to the flush suddenly filling Eddie’s face, though, all too aware of how he sounded.

“Cute cute cute!” Richie called out to him.

Eddie didn’t reply, he simply covered his giggling face.

“Aw, come on Eddie, don’t hide!”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Richie decided to be nice and stop embarrassing Eddie, moving his fingers up to tickle just under Eddie’s socked toes. Eddie’s hands dropped from his face as his eyes bulged out of his skull, shrieking and trying desperately to kick his legs out of Richie’s grasp. He tried to sit up to reach Richie’s hands, but Richie used one foot to push back against his chest while still pinning Eddie’s knees as best as he could.

“Richie!!”

Richie grinned. “Yes, Eddie my love?”

“Please!”

Richie chuckled under his breath and cocked his head to the side. “You know, you haven’t actually asked me to stop.”

Richie lightened his touch so Eddie was only giggling, and Eddie’s eyes widened in surprise. He stammered for a few seconds, even as he was giggling and panting, before he found his words.

“Yes-- Yes I have!”

“N-n-no you h-haven’t!” Bill helpfully called across the clubhouse.

Eddie went so red that Richie was almost worried he would burst a blood vessel in his face. He couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread across his face as Eddie glared at him.

“Well-- fucking stop, then!”

Richie stopped immediately, freeing Eddie’s legs. And he may have been an asshole, but he was at least nice enough to not mention the disappointment that crossed Eddie’s face when Richie finally freed him.

 “Hey Eds--”

Eddie’s scowled deepened, even as he kept his feet flying toward Richie’s glasses, trying to knock them off. “Don’t call me Eds, fucknut!”

Richie grinned brightly, trapping Eddie’s feet and legs in that same hold from so long ago. “Are you still ticklish as fuck?”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. He started kicking even harder, trying to free his legs before Richie could attack. Richie wiggled his fingers threateningly above Eddie’s socked feet.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Eddie shouted. “I will fucking kill you, don’t you fucking dare!”

Richie laughed. The whole situation was starting to give him a bit of deja vu, the only thing missing was the near-sickening swing of a shitty old hammock from all of Eddie’s squirming.

“Oh, I dare, Eds.”

Richie started scratching at Eddie’s arches with both hands, showing no mercy. Eddie burst into laughter immediately, trying and failing to tug his legs back. Just like when they were kids, Richie couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“Richie, come on!”

“Yes, Eddie?”

Eddie squealed at a particularly vicious wiggle of Richie’s nails against his skin, arching his back and scrunching his feet up. His feet wiggled and twisted in Richie’s grasp, and Richie play-growled as he tried to keep them still and tickle them at the same time.

“Hold still!” Richie said. “Or’ll I’ll go for your toes!”

Eddie gasped through his laughter, thrashing even harder. Richie laughed as he tightened his legs around Eddie’s own.

“Please!” Eddie yelled.

An evil grin spread across Richie’s face. “Please tickle your toes?”

Eddie yelled wordlessly.

“I think I will, since you asked so nicely.”

Richie dug his fingers into the fabric beneath Eddie’s toes, trying his best to tickle despite how scrunched up his feet were. He was really more tickling the balls of his feet at this point. Eddie howled and tossed his head back, more pleas and curses falling from his lips.

“Alright, that’s it,” Richie said. “If that’s how you’re gonna be--”

Richie started pulling Eddie’s socks off. Eddie desperately gripped them in his toes, squirming and kicking to dislodge Richie, but there was a smile on his face all the while even though Richie wasn’t actively tickling him. His dimples were bright and deep, even with the scar that cut through the one on his left cheek, and his ears were a bright pink. Richie’s heart stuttered in his chest.

Damn his stupid fucking childhood crush, coming back to bite him in the ass over 20 years later. How could he still be in love with Eddie Kaspbrack, even after all these years?

At least Richie was good at burying his feelings, especially before people could see them on his face. And Eddie, arguably the best at reading him (aside from Stan, at least, but Stan could read everyone like a book with no effort at all), was thankfully a little too distracted to notice Richie’s own pink cheeks and ears.

Richie finally managed to tug his socks off, throwing them somewhere else in the room. They could find them later. He made sure his grip wrapped around Eddie’s legs was properly tight before gathering up Eddie’s big toes in one hand. The other started spidering gently over Eddie’s heels, making him tumble into giggles just like when they were kids.

“You know, Eds, you haven’t changed one bit.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Eddie yelled through his giggles, the pink spreading down his ears and into his cheeks at the sound of himself.

His giggles weren’t as sweet and childish as they once were. They were deeper now, and less bright, but they were bubbly as ever and no less beautiful. Richie felt his own blush spread down his neck and he hoped Eddie didn’t notice that, either. Well, embarrassing Eddie had always been a great way of distracting him, before.

“You’re as adorable as ever, Spaghetti!” Richie said, wiggling his fingers just a tad higher so they just barely reached the bottom of his arches. “Ticklish as ever, too.”

Eddie shrieked and tried to scrunch his feet as Richie moved higher, but Richie kept his grip tight enough that he had no success. Slowly, he started inching his fingers even higher, moving towards Eddie’s toes. If he remembered correctly, this spot would get Eddie to scream.

“You know, Eddie,” Richie said conversationally, raising his voice to talk over Eddie’s laughter, “If you told me to stop, I would.”

“I did!” Eddie said.

“No you haven’t,” Richie replied at the exact same time as Bill, who Richie hadn’t even heard come back in the room.

Richie jumped, his tickling faltered for a moment, shooting a glare over at Bill.

“Fuck off,” he and Eddie said in unision. 

Bill raised his hands in surrender and left the room, muttering something about “weird flirting rituals.”

Well, fuck you, Billiam, because Richie was sure as hell not flirting, no sir.

He was just… tickling the shit out of the guy he’d been hopelessly in love with since he was eleven. It was no big deal. Just two bros being dudes.

Richie turned his evil grin back on Eddie once Bill had gone. “Last chance to stop this,” he said.

“Fuck you,” Eddie snapped, his blush going from pink to red.

Richie’s smile widened. It wasn’t anywhere near a “stop.”

He immediately started scratching his nails beneath Eddie’s toes, keeping his touch soft and gentle to start. It still had Eddie screaming in seconds, struggling desperately to pull his feet from Richie’s grasp.

“Asshole!” Eddie gasped through his laughter.

“That’s still not telling me to stop,” Richie said in a sing-song voice.

“Please! Rich!”

“That is also not telling me to stop. Are you sure you hate this as much as you pretend to?”

“Fuck!”

Richie cackled as Eddie thrashed around on the couch. He wiggled his fingers at the skin under his toes, twisted his fingers between them, and even scratched at the stems. The whole time, Eddie was going ballistic, tears of laughter building up in his eyes. Even through all this, he still hadn’t told Richie to stop. Richie was starting to wonder if he was going too far.

Then, Eddie started sitting up. Richie tried the same trick from when they were kids, using one of his feet to push at Eddie’s chest so he couldn’t reach Richie’s hands. The only issue was, Eddie was a lot stronger than when they were kids. He wasn’t that tiny little boy anymore, riddled with false illnesses, afraid he was as breakable as glass. He was still tiny, sure, but he was strong. Eddie worked out now (which Richie definitely appreciated, not that he would ever admit it).

Even weakened with his howling cackles, Eddie still managed to push his way up. His eyes were glowing with mirth, his face was bright and open with his unrepentant smile, and his cheeks were rosy and healthy. Richie couldn’t help the way his fingers faltered at the sight.

It was all the opening Eddie needed. His grin went from bubbly to feral in milliseconds and he tugged his feet out from Richie’s grip without any effort at all. Richie quickly realized that those were runner’s legs, because Eddie worked out, and that Eddie had been holding back that whole fucking time.

Richie had two epiphanies at once. One, Eddie had been letting Richie tickle him, he wanted it, and that set off all sorts of butterflies in his chest and stomach. Two, Richie was absolutely and totally fucked, which set off a whole different brand of butterflies.

“Eds-- Eddie, let’s talk about this--”

Eddie’s grin widened. “Don’t call me Eds.”

Then, Eddie lunged. Richie made a very embarrassing sounding yelp, that he very much hoped Eddie would keep to himself, and tried to scramble back over the arm of the couch. He failed, obviously, seeing as the only working out he’d ever done in his life was running from the clown and Bowers, and Eddie could probably run a marathon and not break a sweat.

Richie quickly found himself pinned underneath Eddie, Eddie’s weight straddling his thighs. Richie’s hands were still free, but he’d never been especially coordinated, and it only got worse with even the threat of being tickled.

Probably because of some subconscious desire of his to have wiggling fingers dig into every sensitive spot he has. Not that he’d ever admit any sort of desire out loud.

“Since you so mercilessly went for such a bad spot--”

“You were kicking me--!”

“-- I think I’ll return the favor.”

“Wait,” Richie cried, but it was pretty unconvincing given the giddy smile on his face. “Eddie, wait, no!”

Eddie took on a patronizing voice. “All you have to say is ‘stop.’”

That was totally unfair. Richie said “stop” when being tickled about as much as Eddie did, which was almost never.

Richie wasn’t given much time to think about that, however, because Eddie wasted no more time in digging into his hips. Which, even more unfair in Richie’s opinion, going for a death spot so soon, when Richie worked his way up to Eddie’s toes. 

He jumped and bucked as Eddie squeezed at his hips, which quickly turned to squealing and attempting to curl up when Eddie started scratching at the bones. Eddie’s nails, unsurprisingly, were a lot better manicured than Richie’s own, which meant they tickled like fuck. Richie felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin in the best of ways, and he chose to cover his flushing face with his hands instead of trying to shove Eddie off.

“Eds, please!”

Eddie hummed. “Mm, no. Tell me to stop, Rich.”

Richie wailed in ticklish embarrassment, now blushing for a completely different reason than Eddie being the cutest man on the planet. Now, he was fucking hot, all in control and making Richie lose his mind and shit, and he couldn’t even enjoy it because, as he said, he was losing his mind.

Well, he was blushing from that and the exertion of his laughter. Hopefully one could disguise the other.

“Cute cute cute,” Eddie said in a nasally, high-pitched voice, probably meant to mimic child-Richie.

Richie had a lot of things he wanted to say to that, not the least of which was a heartfelt love confession thanks to the object of his affections calling him fucking cute, but he went with a safer option instead.

“You’re shit at that!” He cried through his laughter.

Eddie’s tickling paused and Richie sucked in a few deep breaths, eyeing him warily. Eddie raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to fucking insult me right now.”

Oh shit.

Eddie shoved Richie’s shirt up and shimmied his jeans a little lower on his hips, sending all sorts of weird, conflicting messages through Richie’s brain. Then, while Richie was still trying to process that shit, Eddie ducked his head down and Richie lost all the breath he had regained.

He was shocked out of his stupor by the most torturous raspberry ever given in the history of mankind being blown against the dip of his hip. Richie was certain it was the loudest he had ever yelled, which was saying something because Richie was loud. He couldn’t gain enough control over his arms to do much more than grip Eddie’s hair. He didn’t bother trying to pull or push him away, he just held on for dear life as Eddie systematically destroyed him.

Richie howled and cackled and screamed, and Richie was glad that Bill was the only other one in the house because he really did not need every single Loser hearing him make these noises. Sure, they heard it echo in the clubhouse when they were kids, but Richie was an adult now and had to maintain some semblance of control and maturity.

Then again, Bill would probably spread this around like wildfire.

Just when Richie thought he’d reached peak ticklishness, Eddie somehow led him to an all new peak. Richie’s screams went silent as Eddie gently dragged his teeth against one of his hipbones. Ticklish sparks shot straight up Richie’s spine, too ticklishly keyed up to realize how fucking hot that was, and he bucked up with a strength he didn’t know he possessed. The two of them landed in a heap on the floor.

Richie landed on top of Eddie, whose legs wound up wrapped around his waist. Richie held himself up on his forearms, resting on the rug on either side of Eddie’s head. Richie was still panting for breath, the wide, tickle-induced smile still stretched across his face and a blush still travelling from his ears to his neck. Eddie was grinning up at him, the pink flush spreading through his cheeks once more.

Richie wasn’t sure who moved first. All he knew was that suddenly, they were kissing. They were both smiling too wide for it to be a particularly effective kiss, but it still sent magical sparks zinging through Richie’s chest. If this was how all of their tickle fights were going to end from now on, Richie was going to have to start them more often.

“Fuck,” Richie whispered when they pulled back.

Eddie pressed their foreheads together with a chuckle. “I guess that’s one way to do it.”

“You know,” Richie said, still whispering. “I only tickled you so much when we were kids because you were fucking adorable when I did, and I was practically in love with you.”

Eddie locked eyes with him.

“I don’t think you hated it as much as you pretended to, though,” Richie finished with a grin.

“Fuck you,” Eddie snapped, but there was no heat to it. “And now?”

“Now?”

“Why start a tickle fight now?”

Richie grinned. “Well, Eds--”

“Fuck you!”

“-- I gotta say, the years didn’t make you any less adorable.”

“Yeah?” Eddie whispered, and Richie felt Eddie’s legs tighten around his waist.

“Yeah.” And then, because Richie couldn’t be serious for more than two minutes at a time, he said, “Still not as cute as your mom, though.”

Eddie groaned, slapping his shoulder. “Beep beep, you fucking asshole. I thought we were having a moment.”

Richie raised his eyebrows. “We could have another, if you want.”

One of Eddie’s hands came up to thread through the hair at the nape of Richie’s neck. Just as he started to tug Richie down, just as their lips started to brush, there was a snort from the doorway that had them jumping apart. Richie barely avoided clunking his head against the end table as he sprang away from Eddie.

“Finally,” Bill said. “B-B-Bev owes me fifty d-dollars.”

“Fuck off!” He and Eddie shouted in unison. 

Bill laughed and raised his hands in surrender, leaving the room again. “D-don’t christen your n-n-new relationship on my rug.”

Richie scowled at Bill’s back until he was out of sight. Then, he turned his gaze back towards Eddie, who was already crawling towards him again.

“Wanna make out until the rest of the group gets here?” Eddie said with a grin.

Richie grinned back. “Only if I get to tickle you and you laugh into my mouth.”

Eddie laughed, already pulling Richie closer. “You’re so fucking weird.”

“You love it.”

Eddie sighed. “Unfortunately, I love you. Obnoxious as you are.”

Richie could barely stop smiling for long enough to press his lips to Eddie’s. Eddie shoved him back onto the floor, landing on top himself this time. Richie did end up skittering his fingers up and down Eddie’s sides and ribs, tasting the giggles that Eddie let out into his mouth. Eddie wasted no time in returning the favor, either, dragging his blunt nails across Richie’s skin to get him giggling against Eddie’s lips.

It was by far the best make-out session Richie had ever had. Partially from the tickling, Richie would never complain about that, but mostly because it was Eddie. Whenever the rest of the Loser’s arrived, they would be pretty hard-pressed to get Richie to stop kissing Eddie for even a moment. They had a lot of lost time to make up for.

[novelconcepts]

Prompt: Dani and Jamie first argument. Maybe the first time one of them sleeps on the couch (and doesn't sleep at all)

It’s such a stupid fight, Jamie thinks even as they’re having it. Such a stupid argument, she doesn’t quite know what kicked it off. Months and months on the road with Dani, months and months of learning all the little particulars of her--taste in music, dislike for repetitive tapping sounds, unpredictable sense of humor, awful propensity for replicating in private the accent of whatever state they’ve landed in today--and never once did they argue. Not really. She was beginning to think they never would--that Dani’s peculiar burden, her own peculiar resistance to logic, would keep them both safe from that which befalls all couples.

Silly. Silly to imagine, with the lovesick eyes of that honeymoon stage, and sillier now. The Dani she’d been met with at the start had been alternately strange and sad, hopeful and haunted, but she’d always been new. There’s a certain sweet charm that comes with novelty, making even the most irritating traits shine. Everything can be wiped clean with a kiss, when it’s new, or with wandering hands, or with a well-timed joke.

But months fade into more, and before she knows it, there’s nearly a year behind them. A year of them. A year of Dani’s smile growing stronger, of Dani’s hands shaking less, of her own belief that this is...good. Better than she could have imagined, letting her guard down. Better than anything she’s ever been granted in her life.

And now: 

Now a fight. Stupid. Small. Not like the closest they’ve come before now--Dani rolling her eyes at Jamie’s inability to make a bed, Jamie scoffing over Dani’s oddball methods of sorting laundry--but...stupid, nonetheless. She’d been tired. She’d snipped. Dani, unexpectedly, had snipped back.

And suddenly, they were arguing. Genuinely, for the first time, arguing--about Jamie’s tendency to shut doors, about Dani’s irreparable need to feign a smile. Both of them spotting that urge in the other which is so easily reflected in a mirror: to fix at all costs. To close off paths to darkness. To make it better, even if it means doing it in silence, or doing it alone.

Dani says, “If you’re going to keep walking away in the middle of a conversation--”

Jamie says, “Well, it’s not like you’re talking--”

It’s stupid. It’s silly. It shouldn’t be happening at all. Tired, she thinks. Tired, and it’s been raining for days, and the shop hasn’t been pulling the customers they’d expected this quarter. Dani has been quieter lately, it’s true, though not the way she’d been those first few weeks. Not the quiet of miserable baggage. Not the simple weariness of looking into the jungle for the eyes of a beast. 

Jamie can understand that. Jamie’s gotten good already at searching out those moments, at taking Dani’s hand--or leaving her to her peace--as needed. 

This, the normal of it all. This, she isn’t ready for. She’s never had a normal relationship, exactly; there had been bone shards and broken promises in the last one, and secrets tucked carefully away, and smiles that never met bright eyes. There had been a lot to unpack, to offer up on the altar of her own dignity. But normalcy? The normal edge of a woman’s voice when she’s just too tired to say the right thing? The normal cut of her own words when she’s just too off to play diplomat in response?

It’s new, and it’s weird, and it sits badly in her chest when Dani throws up her hands and says, “This isn’t getting us anywhere. I need a minute.”

She watches her stalk away, down the hall to the bedroom. Dani doesn’t slam the door. It almost makes it harder; if she’d done that, the intention behind the act would be clear, impossible to miss. If she’d done that, Jamie could piece it together: a shut door means keep out, means stay away, means don’t follow. 

The Dani who wakes from shuddering nightmares always wants her close.

The Dani who’d just shaken her head in exasperation? She can’t be sure.

A part of her wonders if this isn’t all her fault--if it’s the mark of a bad day she should have seen coming. She’s better about this, normally. She’s better at all of this. The woman who had just snipped and sliced, whose smile had been bitter-edged, isn’t unrecognizable; she’d known her so well from a year-old mirror. The woman who had threatened violence at every irritation. The woman who had grown thorns to prevent her own puncture wounds. Not a woman she’s ever been with Dani, really, but do these shadow parts of a self ever die? Has she tricked herself--tricked them both--into believing Dani’s love was enough to bury thirty years of habit in the ground?

Dani hasn’t shut the door, but she hasn’t come slinking back out with apology in her voice, either. And maybe that’s as it should be. Maybe that’s right. Hadn’t it been Jamie who had started it? She can’t be sure--there’s a strange fog around the conversation, an adrenaline-pumping, threat-level-high intoxication eating away at the memory already. Anger has a way of banishing good sense, and all detail along with it. Maybe she hadn’t started it, but she sure hadn’t let it die with a single snide remark.

And now, she thinks, sitting on the edge of the couch with a spreading unease, Dani can see. For good, for real, the bits of her she’d managed to hide away for a year. Dani can see the part of her she’d tried so hard to keep leashed since a meltdown in a rose garden.

Dani can see it, and doesn’t Dani carry enough? Isn’t Dani tired enough, without this added burden of someone else’s anger?

It’s not...peaceful. It’s rage. She shakes her head, presses a hand to her mouth, remembering the shiver in Dani’s voice. And maybe this hadn’t been rage, exactly--neither of them yelling, neither throwing things or landing harsh blows--but it hadn’t been peace, either. It leaves a sour taste in her mouth, a tremble in her legs, how little like them the evening has felt.

The door is open, but she can’t hear Dani moving around. Maybe she’s gone to bed. Maybe she’s decided enough is enough for one night. 

All right. It’s one night. What’s one night? There will be others--probably. Never any certainty to a thing like that, but she’s as near to sure as she can be. There will be other nights, and they’ll talk it through, but...not now. Not with Dani having left her here. Not with Dani sitting silent in the other room, probably letting her own anger twist around her like a shroud. 

The couch isn’t so bad. The knit blanket is too light for the spring chill, maybe, and the throw pillow is too small beneath her head, but she’s had worse. Years on a prison cot, for one. In comparison, this couch is paradise. 

A quiet paradise. 

A quiet, miserable paradise.

She exhales, reaching to switch off the lamp. One night. Admittedly, sleeping alone for the first time in a year feels wrong--incredible, how quickly she’s come to rely on the pressure of Dani’s arm around her middle, the soft brush of Dani’s breath against her shoulder--but she had started it. She’s almost certain now. She’d started it, and Dani had rightly left her to think on her mistake. Dani had rightly walked away and left her to mull it all over.

It works. It has always worked. Worked just fine back then, leaving a shadowed greenhouse for a few days to get her head on straight. Maybe Dani’s right about that tendency to shut doors, to lick her wounds in private. Maybe Dani’s right that it’s a habit too ingrown to break.

Probably. 

She’s too aware of everything--the breeze through the cracked window, the hum of the refrigerator, each creak-and-settle of the walls around her--in the dark. Too aware of how small she feels, stretched out beneath a thin blanket, her hands folded awkwardly on her stomach. Too aware of the way Dani had thrown up her hands, headed back down the hall, left her to pace the cage of her own stupid anger alone.

What was she even so upset about? That Dani had...what? Looked at her askance? Shaken her head? Not quite modulated her tone, and come out sounding as though the business taking a bit of a dip is Jamie’s fault? Dani hadn’t meant it like that. She’s sure neither of them had really meant any of it like it had come out--that, sometimes, words and tone get all muddied up and blow holes in things that ought to be strong enough to withstand any attack. Hadn’t they been over it and over it in therapy? That she needs to stop and breathe and calculate the intent, not the impact, of a person’s behavior?

Intent: mild irritation. A bad mood. Offense taken and dealt without really looking.

Impact: Dani in the bedroom. Her on the couch. Sleeping apart for the first time since leaving Bly. 

She closes her eyes. Tries to breathe. Tries to remember what it was like sleeping alone, all those months ago. Tries to remember how naturally it had come, stepping back from the others, going home to her own flat. 

That woman feels even further away than the one who’d used anger as armor. That woman feels too far to reach. 

“What are you doing?”

She jumps. Dani is standing in the hall, backlit by the bedroom light. Her expression is washed out, unreadable. 

“Sleeping,” Jamie says in a voice not quite calm, not quite stable. Dani makes a thin noise.

“On the couch?”

“You--” She sits up, clutching the blanket for support. “You said you needed space.”

“I said...” Dani takes a step nearer, and another. Her brows are drawn, Jamie can see now, her arms wrapped around herself as though for warmth. “I said I needed a minute.”

“Right.” This doesn’t feel like them. This feels even less like them than the argument had--because that, at least, had been petty and dumb. This feels too much like open water, uncharted, unexpectedly deep. “Wanted to respect that.”

“By sleeping on the couch.” Dani has stopped, still hugging herself, just out of reach. Jamie gropes up for the lamp, switching it on without looking. 

“Well...yeah. You said--”

“A minute, Jamie.” Is it her imagination, or is Dani trying not to smile? “You thought a minute meant the whole night?”

She doesn’t answer. Her throat is suddenly tight. Dani is looking at her, not with irritation, not with a fed-up grimace, but with a burgeoning smile. 

“Haven’t you ever had a weird spat with a girlfriend before?” 

Not trusting herself to speak, Jamie shakes her head. Not one like you. Not one carrying too much to manage. Not one I’ve fallen in--

“Well--neither have I, I guess.” Dani is almost grinning now, though there’s something jumpy about her eyes. Something like she’s trying, even now, to hide behind old habits. “That was...that was weird, right?”

“It was,” says Jamie carefully. She’s too off-kilter to read between the lines of Dani’s rictus grin. Too unbalanced to see what Dani is really trying to ask.

“It was weird,” Dani repeats, as if trying to convince herself. “And weird happens. Weird doesn’t mean...weird doesn’t mean we...”

Ah. There it is. She may have lain out here staring at the ceiling, parsing out her own guilt, but Dani was in there doing something worse. Dani was in that bedroom trying to determine how much of that fight was even her--and how much, maybe, belonged to a particularly weighty ghost.

She unfolds from the couch slowly, not sure if Dani is quite ready to be touched. She’s rocking a little, Jamie can see now, back and forth on her heels. Like she’s trying desperately to hold together. Like she’s coming ever-closer to unwinding. 

“Fights happen,” Jamie says. “Dumb ones, more’n most. I’m sorry for starting it.”

“You didn’t,” Dani says. “Did you?”

Her grin is loosening a little, the struts falling out along the way. In a minute, the whole thing is going to come down, and the expression waiting beneath will--Jamie suspects--look an awful lot like a woman freshly haunted. 

“I don’t know,” she says honestly, taking a hesitant step closer. “Does it matter? Sorry either way.”

“Me too,” Dani says, her voice small. “It was a--a bad day.”

“Yeah.” Her fingers are twitching at her sides, itching to reach out. Dani glances from her face to her hand, her smile flickering at last. 

“Can you, um. Can you come to bed anyway? Even if it’s not okay. Even if we’re--”

“We’re okay,” Jamie says, and knows it. Stupid, petty arguments full of bitter, petty words mean so little when stacked up to how Dani makes her feel. Even on bad nights, Dani makes her feel safer than anyone she’s ever known. 

She hopes Dani can say the same. Is determined, if Dani can’t yet, to make sure she leaves that exact legacy on Dani’s life. Safe. Secure. Loved. 

Dani is reaching out, pulling her close, her breath fast and sharp. “Can we make it a rule?” she asks into Jamie’s shoulder, her forehead pressing down hard. 

“What? Never go to bed angry?”

“Never go to bed apart.” With every stroke of Jamie’s hand across her hair, she seems to settle a little more. Seems to breathe a little easier. “You can be angry, I can’t--we can’t always help that. But come to bed anyway. Kiss me goodnight anyway. Can we make that promise?”

She sounds uncertain, and Jamie knows she’s remembering a final conversation with another person she’d loved. A last she hadn’t known was such until it was too late to take back. There hadn’t been room for forgiveness there, or apology, or a goodnight kiss. 

“Promise,” Jamie says, and knows it’s one she’ll keep faithfully to the end. However long they get. However much time. If they fight once a year or once a month, it won’t matter. Never go to bed apart. That’s doable. It’s the least she can do. 

“Does this mean,” Dani asks, voice muffled, “we’re official now?”

“Officially what?”

Dani shrugs one shoulder. She seems unwilling to remove her face from Jamie’s shoulder, to pull free of Jamie’s embrace. “I dunno. Isn’t this what real couples do? Argue?”

“Maybe.” She’s not sure either of them is standing on firm enough ground to say what real couples do, or don’t do, or shouldn’t do. She’s not sure relationships have enough ground rules to be drawn out and catalogued as such. 

What she is sure of is how Dani makes her feel. That she has, over the past months, been stepping closer and closer to a line. That she will, soon enough, tip over it into something that looks an awful lot like always. 

She could say it now. It might soothe Dani, to hear the words for the first time. But it wouldn’t feel quite right. Wouldn’t be quite what Dani deserves. It can wait. 

“I don’t think that part matters,” she says instead. “The arguing. I think the part that counts is what comes after.”

“Where I can’t stand five more minutes without you hugging me?” Dani sounds shaky, embarrassed. Jamie grips her a little tighter.

“That even when you want to throttle me, you still want me in that bed more.”

That, she thinks, is the mark of a relationship. Of their relationship, at least. Not the bickering. Not the silliness or the pettiness. The desire to make it right again as soon as it’s over. 

“Don’t like fighting with you,” Dani says. Jamie gives her a gentle shake. 

“I do hear it improves the sex.”

“I like the sex,” Dani says, almost sullenly, and Jamie laughs. 

“Well then. No reason to change things, is there?”

[ushidoux]

Hesitant (Ushijima x Fem!Reader)

Word Count: 3350 words (I can’t believe I wrote this much)

Summary: You find out why Ushijima has been a little hesistant about things getting too steamy between you. NSFW.

A/N: This is awkward af and quite cracky but hopefully in an endearing way.

---

Ushijima Wakatoshi was essentially perfect.

Just the right amount of unexpectedly charming and unintentionally hilarious, the man had a way of tugging at your heartstrings with even the most basic gestures. The way he reached for your hand instinctively when you met up with him after your college courses, the softening of his usual glower as he turned in your direction in response to your voice calling his name, or the short but sweet morning texts - all things that made your heart swell for him.

He was straightforward and most importantly, explicit with his actions from the very first moment you got involved. You never got the impression you were being strung along and despite how hyperaware you were about the ills of the current dating landscape, not once did you consider the possibility of getting ghosted or benched.

Weeks then months passed and you fell fast for him. You were in love.

In love with everything: his facial expressions, whether serious or smiling, his dedication to his craft, his warm, large hands, the timbre of his voice and the way it softened especially for you...

He was perfect.

But when your third month anniversary (not that you were keeping track, of course) came and passed and you had not yet had that kind of intimacy, you could no longer ignore the ache in your core he left you with after his lips parted from you minutes into a deep, passionate kiss...

Or worse - when he came from behind and held you tightly around the waist, the familiar but not-familiar-enough bulge between his legs pressing against your lower back and demanding your attention in a different way Toshi did.

In mere moments, every touch went from wanted and appreciated to craved and needed, and it began to hurt.

Why was he holding back?

“T-toshi?” You mumbled, interrupting your makeout session by pulling back from him as far as you could with your arms wrapped around his neck.

“Mm…?” His eyes connected to yours then slid back down to your lips, wanting, waiting for you to continue. Was he actually listening? You weren’t quite sure, but his hold on your hips firmed, keeping you steadily settled in his lap. He rested his chin on your shoulder, making sure to keep you close, and you could feel his heartbeat, slightly quickened as he waited for you to speak.

You wished he would look at you when you asked this next question but instead you pressed your cheek to his.

“Do you find me attractive?”

Your voice came out somewhere between soft and assertive, and you could feel Ushijima tense ever so slightly before straightening his back so that he was looking straight at you. His hands didn’t move from where they rested on your side and he remained very still, as he did often when he was unsure of what to do next.

His face remained unreadable and the behavior didn’t reassure you.

“Well, do you?” You pressed, your voice smaller this time.

“Why do you think otherwise?”

His deep voice was almost as quiet as yours, and he sounded almost apologetic. You felt a small weight land in the pit of your stomach, embarrassed to have made the mood so awful. But you couldn’t help what you wanted. You could feel that familiar heat rising within the space between your legs, and your breathing was getting quicker and raspier, and his hands had been roaming... A large hand had slipped under your shirt, then under your brassiere to palm and caress a breast, and suddenly his tongue was down your throat, and you knew soon he would stop and you would be left to smile and bite your lip while he hastily made up an excuse to leave.

Was it you? Was it him?

Your arms slowly slid down from around Ushijima’s neck and dropped into your lap. A small frown crossed his face very briefly in response and he gently withdrew his hands from where they held you.

You sat quietly together for a moment as you attempted to formulate words to express how you felt. Horny? Yes. Desired? You weren’t sure, and that was the issue.

“Sometimes, I feel like…,” you trailed off, carefully scrutinizing Ushijima’s face for a reaction. He continued to watch you cautiously, and you grimaced before continuing. Confrontation wasn’t your strong point, but communication was a must.

“I feel like things escalate and then… stop.” You paused there, and he tilted his head slightly. You mentally scolded yourself, knowing very well that you weren’t doing a great job of making sense, but in that surprisingly intuitive way of his, he seemed to know exactly what you meant.

“You don’t want me to stop,” he said, slowly.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you repeated, warmth flooding your cheeks once again. “U-unless you’re not ready to, you know, have sex... I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to coerce you into doing something that you don’t want to do, I just-”

You were interrupted by Ushijima’s hands finding their way back onto your hips again, and then standing you up completely straight so that he could rise to his full height. Seeing him tower over you now suddenly, you swallowed hard once. He could be so intimidating without meaning to, even if he was unequivocally sweet with you.

He let out a wistful sigh and ran a hand through his hair with his eyes closed before refocusing his gaze back onto you - you who were now standing awkwardly, twiddling your thumbs as you waited for him to decide to either tell you he was interested in touching and kissing but not outright having sex with you (but maybe some day!) or to just walk out the door never to be seen again without even bothering with an explanation.

Instead, he suddenly pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, to your surprise.

“Wait, Toshi! Now?” You almost shrieked as he almost hastily undressed his lower half in the middle of your apartment without a single qualm. He was already unfastening his belt before he stopped to look at you - a good thing because your heart was now beating so fast in your chest, you were sure you were going to become lightheaded enough to pass out.

“We can if you want to. I’ve wanted to for a while now,” he replied, and to those simple words, your heart started to flutter and both elated and aroused you were again.

“The problem is, I was, and still am, a little worried that I might hurt you,” he started, and you wondered why he would be concerned about such a thing up until his pants dropped to his ankles, and your eyes grew wide as you realized what the limiting factor may have been. No wonder he had been avoiding sex for so long.

“I’m a bit large down there, it turns out.”

Large is an understatement, you thought, your eyes glued helplessly to the thing hanging between his legs. For the second time tonight, you swallowed hard - for once, you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

---

One very efficient store trip, a couple extra-large condoms, and a generous amount of lube later, you knelt across from Ushijima onto your large bed, your heart pounding again. Both of you were now stripped down to the bare flesh and while you wanted to drool over the sight of his bare chest and indulge in the feeling of his weight pressed against your body, you found yourself movement paralyzed, unsure of what to do next.

You had felt silly asking him to redress again so you could go out and buy supplies, but the truth was you needed time to come up with a game plan. Anyone who saw that monster cock for the first time would take a pause. Would you be able to take all of that? Could anyone take all of that?

“___, are you okay? You’re staring.”

You were trying to figure out if the condoms would fit him, then thanked the heavens that you were on the pill anyway if the condoms broke by any chance. When he waved his hand in your face, you were brought back into the reality of the here and now. You nodded, but the thinly veiled distress on your always expressive face was starting to remind him of the many locker room jokes and nicknames he’d endured once he’d reached the end of puberty.

Spear Ushijima was the first to come to mind and he grimaced, then rested back into a sitting position, cross-legged on the bed.

“We don’t have to do anything, I understand.” he said, flatly. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed it, concerned that he would look too upset. He smiled now instead to mask his disappointment and reached his arms out for you.

“We can cuddle. Oh, but if you would prefer that I put my clothes back on, I could do that too,” he said hurriedly, getting up to make his way off the bed, but you interrupted him by moving close and pressing a hand on his chest.

“Wait.”

And his surprised expression turned to another smile, more genuine this time, and he relaxed into your touch.

“___,” he whispered your name softly. You smiled, then keeping your eyes in fierce contact with his, you reached down to wrap your fingers around his considerable length. Even only semi-hard, the girth was impressive and you could feel the warmth shuttling in as he became aroused. His mouth parted just slightly in surprise.

“Are you sure?” His voice was already thick with lust.

“Yes,” you whispered, “but we’ll have to take it slow.” You added a smile to that last part and leaned forward to peck him on the lips once before you started to stroke him up and down his shaft.

He let out a soft moan and leaned back, watching you carefully as you worked your hand up and down his penis. You could tell he was trying very hard to keep still and let things run at your pace, and you relished in the opportunity fully.

“That… feels really good, ____,” he offered, his voice low and husky, and encouraged by his words, you added another hand, offering a few more pumps to his length before the piece de resistance to your lovely handjob, the application of your soft lips to his waiting cockhead.

He was already leaking a little precum, you could tell by the salt on your tongue as you licked at the slit at the tip of his member. He let out a low groan, and you could feel his muscles tense beneath you as he rose quickly.

“Y-you don’t have to if you don’t want-” he started, but you wouldn’t let him interrupt what you had going on.

“I want to, Toshi!” You exclaimed, almost indignantly, and as if to supplant that claim, you descended as far down his shaft as you could go in a fluid motion, but then to your misfortune, you must have triggered your gag reflex because you choked once then twice, and pulled yourself back to cough once more.

“Babe, are you okay?!”

Ushijima shot up like a board to hold you steady by the shoulders while you coughed, and as tears started to form in your eyes, you took one glance at his intense look of concern and you burst into laughter.

“Why are you laughing?”

You doubled over onto him, laughing even more against his chest, which only made him more concerned as he wrapped you in his arms.

“I told you this was dangerous and this is why I held myself back, ___.”

You pulled back once more, tears welling into your eyes as you finally said through snorts:

“Can you PLEASE stop acting like your dick is a lethal weapon?”

The look on Ushijima’s face was that of such extreme shock that you were pretty sure you would never stop laughing, that your fate was now to perpetually cackle until you died of asphyxiation. He frowned again, and you felt just a little bad but still the mixture of stress and confusion and awkwardness and the sheer ridiculousness of the situation rendered you unable to stop.

And finally he added, “It might be funny to you but I’ve never done this before.”

That sobered you up enough that you actually did cease chuckling, and with a final, unintentional chuckle, you faced him seriously this time, your faces only inches apart.

“Is it really your first time?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

Another silence hung in the air, maybe because it was hard for you to believe that no one had ever touched him in this way or maybe because despite the fact that he looked either mildly irritated or severely embarrassed, you could still feel his erection hard against your lower belly and you weren’t sure if that meant you should continue (and to be honest, you really wanted to) or that sex was off the table for the time being.

But his arms were still wrapped around you, and you could feel the thump of his heart against your chest, and you wanted him, and you believed he wanted you too, and suddenly it was silly that you had been so intimidated in the first place.

Again you were caught staring into his eyes, and you felt warm again - different layering types of warm.

“Do you want to continue?” The two of you asked, almost in unison. You could hear the hint of persuasion, the please say yes in his voice.

You smiled, and pressed your lips to his again, and a hand went into your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss, and a hand went around your waist, securing you firmly against his body. Your arms wrapped around his neck as your tongues danced together again, and when your hand found its way again around his member, he tensed for a moment, but then in a decision to ignore his reservations, broke your embrace to pepper kisses along your neck and into your bosom.

You moaned and arched your back, gripping his member just a little tighter, and he took the opportunity to circle his tongue around your nipple before taking the mound in your mouth.

Consumed in the feeling of him suckling you, you were unprepared for the thick fingers that found their way around and then onto your clit, rubbing gentle circles that sparked waves of pleasure through you. Another moan escaped your lips as you closed your eyes, and then he slid a finger inside you, pressing just hard enough and in just the right place that you jerked almost violently against him.

His finger slipped out almost as fast as it had gone in.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, it felt good!” You reassured him. “P-please continue.”

He nodded, and replaced his finger, pressing more gingerly this time, using the slowing and deepening of your breaths to guide him. You occupied your mouth again with kisses along his collarbones, onto the expanse of his broad chest, pressing your breasts against him, rolling against him. His breaths also started to slow as he fell in rhythm with the way your hips moved, and when he finally couldn’t take it anymore, he flipped you over onto your back so that you lay beneath him.

A pause.

His olive eyes scanned you ravenously, and you could hear the hunger sealed within his breathy sighs, as he hovered over you. Your half-lidded eyes, your body warm and receptive and waiting for him, stating in every way possible that you wanted him - it was like a dream for him. He had wanted this for so long, to know what your insides would feel like around him, to know if he too, could make you scream his name in pleasure not pain, to do what his friends and teammates did with their partners, and now here you were, laid out for him like a whole meal.

“Are you ready?”

You didn’t look down at the warm, throbbing length resting on right on your pubic area, but instead at him, your gentle giant, and nodded.

“Yes.”

You closed your eyes and shivered ever so slightly at the sensation of lubricant being slathered right at the opening of your vagina. You could feel him repositioning himself right at your entrance, and trying to stay as relaxed as possible for him, you waited for him to enter you.

And he did, interlacing fingers with yours as he broke through your sopping entrance, feeling your hold tighten around his and hearing your breath hitch then relax as his cockhead made it through you.

Then he stopped so you could adjust to the stretch, and he rested on his elbows, trying to rub the wince out of your facial expression with a caress of the cheek.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded. “Keep going.”

He pushed a little further and you uttered another low moan with the painful, yet pleasurable stretch, and he almost felt guilty for how good you felt around him, how desperately he wanted to fill you up all at once, how aroused he was by the sound of your whimper as you felt him.

“K-keep going,” you mewled as soon as he stopped to let you adjust, and he worried that he really would tear you apart this time, but you clung to his chest again and his desire to go as far into your guts as possible was too much for him to bear.

A groan and he was in almost to the hilt, and he wiped the tears forming in your eyes as you endured the searing pain, the pressure of him stretching you to your limit. The fact that he wasn’t moving was starting to become excruciating for you, and you began to squirm under his weight, indicating your wishes.

“Are you okay, my love?” He murmured carefully.

“Toshi, m-move, please…”

He obliged, withdrawing just a bit to crash back into you, and you cried out but not in pain, in a strangled cry of pleasure.

“Toshi!”

Again!

He could hear the cry for more in the way you said his name and the force with which you dug your nails into his back and again he obliged, thrusting into you again, and you could feel your head spin.

Again!

He settled into a rhythm and stroke after stroke you could feel yourself wind up, your cries and moans and grunts of pleasure loud and clear for him, for all to hear.

“Toshi- ah~!”

His pace quickened every time you called his name and his angle changed so that he was deep enough that it was almost uncomfortable (almost), and he was now grunting, sweating, making sure to leave no part of you untouched. Your thighs clamped around his waist and you muffled your cries into the meat of his shoulder, clinging to him so tightly you thought you would meld into one.

Ushijima was moaning your name now, enthralled by the way your insides, your outsides clamped onto him, claimed his body for you, and he couldn’t believe he had been nervous about this part of the relationship, you had been perfect every other way…

Your coil snapped suddenly, and your orgasm rippled through you like electricity, and now he was muffling your moans with his tongue down your throat, fingers wrapped firmly around your jaw keeping you in place.

“You came?” He whispered in a gruff voice, now into the space between your breasts, his dick still throbbing and twitching within you. The thrum of yes vibrating through your body brought a grin to his face.

He rose up off your body again so he could look at your eyes, glazed over in a love-drunken haze, and finally, he was no longer concerned but confident - dare you say it, cocky - as he hovered above you.

“Let’s aim for at least twice tonight.”

A promise he kept.

The first time would be a time to remember, in more ways than one.

[topaziraphale]

Love to imagine that there were a few close calls with Gabriel where aziraphale had to pretend to smite crowley, which involved a lot of aziraphale pinning him down and a lot of sword bearing. Crowley very quickly finds out he has one hell of a kink ;)

    “Of course I’m letting you win,” Crowley answers, banishing the dirt and wrinkles from both his and Aziraphale’s clothes with a snap of his fingers. Then, on a whim, he clears off any lingering sweat beading on his skin. He can’t do anything about the flush on his face and neck, or the way his legs are still wobbling. “Can’t have you losing in front of your own lot, can we? They might try and help you out, y’know. Might be worse for me in the long run, ‘s only selfish.”

    Aziraphale’s frown deepens at the implication. “Oh. I assume this means I’ll have to let you overtake me when your people show up, then?”

    “Er, you won’t. Have to. Do that, I mean.” Crowley stammers. Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. “They won’t crawl all the way up here to talk to me,” he elaborates, “they’ve got the radio and telly for that.”

    “Oh,” Aziraphale says again, fumbling with the lowest button on his waistcoat for a moment. “Yes, quite right.” He smiles nervously. “Erm...” Crowley pretends he doesn’t notice the blush subtly rising on Aziraphale’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. “Well, knowing that, I must say that is very—”

    “—no—” Crowley groans in annoyance, knowing exactly where that sentence is going, throwing his head back and grimacing.

    “—kind of you to do, to let me win even though it’s all a ruse,” Aziraphale continues, his smile changing from nervous to irritatingly fond and knowing. “Rather considerate.”

    “Fantastic,” Crowley grumbles, his face burning brighter for a different reason now. “Really made my day with that one, you did.”

     In the short silence that follows, Crowley sniffs and looks down at his shoes, pretending to inspect them for any clumps of dirt. He realizes, belatedly, that neither of them cared to fix the messy state of the greenery and soil beneath them. It clashes with the rest of the neat, freshly mown blades of grass in this conveniently empty section of the park — a stark reminder of what just happened. The sight of it makes Crowley shiver. Suddenly his resolve to stay cool and collected vanishes into thin air. He hastily looks back up to find Aziraphale fiddling with the chain of his pocket watch, and he gulps.

    “Er,” he starts awkwardly, nearly freezing when Aziraphale makes eye contact with him. “Right, anyway, I just remembered I have something to do. It’s important. I’ll pick you up later, shall I?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He spins on his heel, turning his back on Aziraphale and shoving his hands in his pockets, making his smoothest attempt at nonchalance as he starts walking away. “I’ll meet you in the front of the bookshop.”

    “What? Wait,” Aziraphale calls. “You’re leaving already?”

    Crowley stops in his tracks, shock still, his breath hitching in his chest. He couldn’t have been found out. He wasn’t that loud, was he? Aziraphale doesn’t know, can’t know. If he knew…

    “Won’t be long,” says Crowley, gritting his teeth, hoping he doesn’t have to outright lie, hoping Aziraphale doesn’t push. “An hour, at most. We won’t miss our reservation.”

   “I… er, very well,” Aziraphale eventually says, sounding confused and a little hurt. “But, before you go, I need to ask you about… just now.”

    There’s a brief moment of silence, and Crowley holds his breath, chills cold as ice sliding from the back of his neck down along the knobs of his spine as fear builds in his lower gut. When Aziraphale speaks up again, his voice is slightly deeper than normal.

     “I hurt you this time, didn’t I?”    

      Crowley blesses under his breath. It takes all he has in him not to react outwardly, to lose his carefully constructed neutrality right then and there. Instantly, his mind plays back the stunt Aziraphale pulled only minutes ago.

    It’s practically routine for them at this point, really; it’s a way for them to get out of a damning situation in a pinch. If someone from work unexpectedly shows up, they pretend to be mortal enemies, doing what mortal enemies are obliged to do should they ever cross paths: fighting to the death. (Discorporation, in these cases — and even then, they only need to make the viewer think that a discorporation has taken place, should it ever go that far.) It’ll be seen as two adversaries busy with work, and whoever it was that checked in will usually leave within a minute or two to let them get back to it.

    They were taking a leisurely walk and having a (slightly heated, in the angel’s case) conversation about some of the menu changes at the Criterion, when Aziraphale suddenly kicked Crowley’s feet out from under him, pinning him face-down into the ground with his knee pressed onto his back. He had yanked his hair, forcing his head up, and swiftly brought the edge of a sword — having manifested the weapon from thin air — onto Crowley’s exposed neck. Crowley was hard in his trousers before he even realized what was happening, before he could even guess that Gabriel or any other one of those wankers was probably nearby, watching, and that Aziraphale was faking the attack like he had done many times before to keep them both safe.

    But for a moment, Crowley didn’t know that.

     As Crowley had grabbed fistfuls of dirt and grass and writhed under the perfect weight of Aziraphale’s body, he had thought it was real, and that Aziraphale really was going to smite him this time, and that he was truly at his mercy, finally getting everything he wanted. It was too much, the ringing in his head from falling to the ground, the pain in his spine, the white-hot burn in his scalp. Crowley couldn’t move and the sword was cold and sharp on the delicate skin of his neck and Aziraphale put his lips to his ear to whisper something and it sounded harsh and commanding and he whimpered—

    “Crowley?”

    Crowley blinks back to himself, his eyes wide behind dark lenses. He hears Aziraphale’s footsteps approaching him, the soft crunching of the grass beneath two Oxfords deafening amongst the low rumble of blood rushing through his ears.

     “No,” he blurts out, his voice thin. “I’m fine, it’s fine.”

    The footsteps stop. His entire body is trembling now, every inch of skin charged as if with electricity, surely to go off at the slightest touch. He clears his throat, vaguely wondering how much of a disaster it would be if he had to look Aziraphale in the face during all of this.

    “I’m fine,” he repeats in a more natural tone. “Don’t make a fuss over it, you didn’t hurt me.” You did. “Same as always, nothing different about it this time.” Hurt me again. And again and again, until my throat is raw from screaming, until my face is wet with tears. Make me beg for it.

    “It most certainly was not the same, you had no idea I was even going to attack you,” Aziraphale comments, sounding just this side of stern. Crowley’s stomach curls with something too close to pleasure from the tone of voice. Aziraphale sighs. “Are you quite sure I did not hurt you by accident?” he asks gently, because it’s just like him to have concern for Crowley’s well-being, even at the worst possible times. He takes one step closer, the space separating their bodies no bigger than an arm’s-length. Crowley can feel his stare burning right through his soul, can almost feel the heat radiating from his body. “I only ask because, ah, when you cried out, just then, you seemed…”

    Alarms blare in Crowley’s racing mind.

     Cried out, cried out.

    Aziraphale did hear him.

    And now he’s asking about it.

    Crowley goes from half-hard to fully erect so quickly that it makes him dizzy, his dick throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Aziraphale only has to take a couple steps toward him and circle around to his front, and then he’ll have full view of the state Crowley is in. Then Crowley would have to explain himself, and he would be mortified, he’d be so humiliated, and the fear of it only makes his cock harder. There’s just not enough self-preservation in his current, lust-crazed state of mind to not want anything more than that.

     “— truly distressed,” Aziraphale continues, pronouncing the words with the same caution one would use when walking on a tightrope. Crowley hears the faintest of wavers in his voice only because he’s known the bastard for too long. “I was afraid I used too much force this time.”

     You could have used more. Used all of it. Put me in my place. Burned me with your light until I’m nothing, until I’m dust at your feet. Please, angel…

     Crowley holds his breath again, the muscles in his neck tightening and his jaw aching with the effort it takes to kill the moan forcing its way up into his throat. His legs feel like jelly. The temptation to fall on his knees and admit it is palpable. He might as well come clean. Even if nothing happens now, Aziraphale will bring it up again later. That’s just how he is. Better to get it over with…

    “No,” he croaks. He’s blushing so hard that the skin on his face and scalp itches furiously. “I wasn’t, I didn’t…”

    “You’re sure?”

    “Yes.”

    “Truly?”

    “For Heaven’s sake, Aziraphale, I told you I’m alright,” Crowley snaps. More than alright. Crowley knows he’s going to revel in the ache for days, but he also knows, acutely, that he’s only jeopardizing himself more the longer he stays in this blasted park. He’s sure he wouldn’t be able to survive another round of questions; he can already feel his admittedly weak resolve slipping in the face of those warm, seaglass eyes, beckoning him to spill his guts and spew the awful, contemptible fantasies of being taken right there in the dirt, like he deserves, with a sword trained on his back and the angel’s name in his mouth. The only thing keeping him from doing it is his knowing how said angel would react — with an upturned nose and a look of disgust only reserved for the lowest of scum. He can’t do that to him, can’t be that to him.

“Oh, right then, that’s good,” Aziraphale’s voice suddenly pulls him out of his reverie, sounding disappointed, “that’s a relief.”

Crowley then hears the telltale rustle of clothes as Aziraphale fidgets, probably adjusting his waistcoat, before he calls out, “Well then, don’t let me keep you, dear fellow. Do mind how you go.”

    “Same to you,” he says back, feeling moderately guilty.

     He snaps his fingers, bringing himself to his flat. He lands on his back on his luxurious bed. The cool satin sheets do nothing to calm his rapid pulse or the lick of shame that follows as he claws at his belt, the zip’s teeth not daring to catch as he shoves his trousers down and takes himself in hand. The guilt instantly melts away, but the shame stays, however it only proves to spur him on even more.

    Aziraphale will forgive him by the time they meet back up for dinner.

------------------

((I originally meant to use a couple lines of dialogue as an answer to this ask but then it turned into a small little fic, thingy, yeah. Huge thanks to @divinehedonism for beta reading this for me!!))

[iamwhoami]

Are You With Me (Grey’s Anatomy)

Grey’s Anatomy

   When Y/N unexpectedly find out that she’s expecting, she suddenly finds herself having to figure out how to tell Jackson.

Warnings: Pregnancy???

Requested = Yes

“No...no, please no,” You whispered quietly as you stared at the stick in your hand.

   You were starting to lose hope that the first one you took was a false positive.

   It had all started a few weeks ago actually when you missed your period. That didn’t really alarm you since you were never regular and plus with all the stress that was on you right now, you figured that those were just the reasons. 

   Then, you started getting sick. Feeling nauseous, throwing up...all that fun stuff. 

But only in the morning. 

   Even then, you kept brushing it off, telling yourself that you had probably caught a stomach bug from a patient.

   It was the one and only Arizona Robbins that forced you to grab a pregnancy test (or two) from the pharmacy.

   So now here you were, locked in the bathroom in your apartment with three positive pregnancy tests. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

   You and Jackson hadn’t even started talking about kids and now you had to tell him you weren’t just thinking about having kids in the future, you were having one now.

This couldn’t be happening.

   You were deep in your swirling thoughts when your phone suddenly went off and you looked over to see a text message from Jackson.

Hey, do you wanna come over? I’ve made dinner for two...

   Did you? Not really. But at some point you’d have to tell him right? You quickly texted him back saying that you were leaving now

   Sighing, you decided to shove one of the pregnancy tests into your purse along with your phone before grabbing your coat and heading over to Jackson’s.

~~~

“Hey!” Jackson’s smiling face greeted you as he opened the door. “Come in!”

   You walked in and shook off your coat before hanging it up. Usually, it felt more casual but today you couldn’t help but feel out of place.

“I made fettuccine alfredo,” Jackson said, not noticing your tense body language, “Do you want some?”

   You swallowed, “Yeah, sure. That sounds good.”

   You took a seat on one of the bar stools at the island and Jackson soon placed a plate filled with a generous amount of pasta on it. He then helped himself to a plate and took a seat on one of the stools next to you.

   Normally, you would have finished the pasta in seconds, but your stomach was too nervous to have any sort of appetite so the best you could do was a few bites before you ended up playing with the food on your plate.

“Is everything okay?” Jackson asked, now noticing your strange behaviour. 

   This might have been a good time to tell him but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“Yeah, just a long day you know,” You replied, not completely lying. 

   It had been a long day but that wasn’t why you were acting different. 

   Jackson nodded, “It was a long day, do you want something to drink? Wine?”

“No,” You quickly declined, earning a strange look from Jackson. 

You had to think quickly to prevent any suspicions. 

“I think maybe I caught a bug or something from someone,” You explained, “I don’t think wine’ll make me feel any better.”

   Jackson nodded and for now, it looked like you were able to steer clear of the topic. 

   The rest of the dinner, you and Jackson talked about all the patients the two of you treated earlier in the day. By time he had finished, you had still barely touched your plate. 

   You knew he was concerned about that but he didn’t ask about it, much to your relief. 

   Before he could invite you to stay over, to quickly came up with a lame excuse about forgetting to your laundry in one of the machines in the apartment laundry room and thanked him for dinner.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” You told him.

   Jackson nodded, “Yeah, see you.”

~~~

   Okay, you were going to admit it. You were avoiding Jackson and there was no way around that.

   He had texted you last night once you got home and when you didn’t reply, he had called you multiple times though every time you just let the phone ring until it stopped by itself.

   When you had gotten to the hospital the next morning for your shift, you spotted Jackson talking to a nurse at the front desk and made a quick beeline for the hall that lead in the opposite direction. 

   While Jackson had specialized in Plastics, you specialized in Peds after realizing that there was just something special about working with kids. 

“Hey! Look who made it!” Arizona greeted you as she watched you start to go through the charts of the patients you had to see today.

   You sighed, “Yeah, I made it all right.”

“So what did the test say?” Arizona pried. 

   You knew what she was talking about but you played dumb anyway.

“What test?”

“You know what I mean,” Arizona said and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your eyes that were now slowly filling with tears on the charts.

   Arizona noticed your tears and quickly placed a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t need to say anything for her to know your answer to her previous question. 

“Have you told Jackson yet?” She asked you softly.

   You shook your head, “I was going to last night, he invited me over to dinner, but I chickened out.”

“You should tell him,” Arizona told you, “The sooner he knows, the better.”

“I know, I know,” You said, “And it’s not like I don’t want to tell him because I do. I want him to know.”

   Arizona nodded understandingly, “But you’re scared.”

   You scoffed, “More like terrified. I’m pretty much dropping a bombshell on him.”

“Well, my advice would be to just tell him,” Arizona said, “Get it over with.”

Both of you knew though that it was much easier said than done. 

“Yeah...okay,” You took a deep breath, “After shift, I’ll tell him, but right now, I have to check on Tracy Jenkins. It looks like she took a turn for the worst overnight.”

“Okay, yes, good luck!” Arizona told you before you hurried off.

~~~

   After a very long, exhausting, and horrible shift, you collapsed on one of the beds in the on call room. 

Today had been an awful day.

   Tracy Jenkins ended up coding and you weren’t able to restart her heart. She was eight years old. 

It wasn’t just Tracy though.

   Little Billy, born premature five days ago, had caught an infection and was now in critical condition. 

   Sixteen year old Molly Thompson was walking home from school when she was hit by a car. The driver was drunk. 

   She was still alive, but she was currently facing the possibility of paralysis while everyone waited for her to wake up from surgery.  

   You heard the door open before Jackson’s face suddenly loomed over you. 

“Long day huh,” He commented as he took a seat next to you.

“More like a rough day,” You groaned.

“Yeah...same,” Jackson sighed and you sat up.

   You were exhausted and felt like crap but you had said you were going to tell Jackson the news after shift and you didn’t plan on chickening out this time so...

“We need to talk,” Jackson said before you could say anything though.

   You nodded, “You’re right. We do.”

“I don’t know what I did,” Jackson kept going, “I keep racking my brain for anything I could have done but I can’t think of anything-”

“Jackson, stop,” You cut him off, “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what’s wrong? And don’t tell me nothing’s wrong Y/N because you know I know something’s wrong,” Jackson raised his eyebrows. 

   You took a deep breath, “Jackson, I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

“You’re...” Jackson’s voice faltered.

   You nodded, “I’m pregnant.”

“Okay...well...” Jackson seemed to be at a lost of words, “Maybe it was a false positive?”

“Maybe,” You bit your lip, “But I took three and they were all positive so unless I got three false positives...”

“Which is very unlikely,” Jackson said.

   You swallowed, “Yes. Which is very unlikely, but, I haven’t actually gotten any blood drawn or anything.”

More silence.

“Jackson, I need you to say something,” You finally told him, “I need you to say how you feel about this.”

“I mean,” Jackson put his hand on his head, “You just told me you were pregnant, I’m still comprehending things.”

   You sighed, “I’ll put it differently then. Are you with me or not?”

“Of course I’m with you,” Jackson quickly took his hand off his head and placed it on your hand instead, “I’m not leaving you, not now, not when you need me the most.”

   At those words, you burst into tears, not able to keep your composure any longer. 

“Hey...hey,” Jackson said softly as he scooted closer towards you, “It’s okay. We’ll figure things out.”

“I was going to tell you last night,” You spoke between your sobs, “But I got cold feet. I’m sorry.”

   Jackson wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “It’s okay. I’m just glad you told me.”

“I was scared,” You admitted, “I’m still scared.”

“You know what? So am I,” Jackson whispered, “But we’re gonna take this one day at a time. Together.”

You nodded and buried your face into his chest. 

“Does anybody else know?” Jackson asked you as he started stroking your hair. 

   You nodded again, “Only Arizona. She was the one who told me I should take a pregnancy test.”

“I think we should talk to her again,” Jackson said, “Get some blood drawn to see if those tests were right and then if they were, get an ultrasound done. You know, to check on our little bean.”

   You smiled, “Our little bean?”

“Well, little bean probably does exist so they need some sort of name,” Jackson explained, blushing a little. 

“Okay well...we’ll do what you just said in a little bit,” You agreed, “But I just need a moment with you.”

   Jackson opened his mouth to say something but before he got the chance, your pager went off and you quickly picked it up.

“Molly Thompson’s waking up,” You said and started getting up, “I need to be there.”

“Yeah of course,” Jackson replied, “I’ll meet you on the OB floor then when you’re done.”

   You nodded, “Sounds good.”

   You left the on call room feeling as if all the weight had just been lifted off your shoulders and you could now breathe again.

Everything was going to be okay.

[xtodorcki]

Connie smut??

“Unexpected,” Connie x Reader

Pls I’m so scared of not writing Connie right.

Summary: Connie ends up ghosting you as the Scout regiment gets more busy so you unexpectedly join the Scouts, making him regret his actions.

Warnings: a bit sad that turns into smut pls

Connie x Fem!Reader

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It was unexpected when Connie had stopped sending you letters or coming by your place during the weekends when he wasn’t working.

But as the scouts had gotten busier, you heard less from him and soon enough he disappeared as a whole. There were times when you would go over to the base to see if he was okay just to be told by his friends that he was ‘busy’ and couldn’t come to the door to talk to you.

After that you had a brief moment of feeling broken and sad. The chemistry you two shared was something you cherished deeply and held it close to your heart. You two were always close before he went off to the training corps and after he was done with that, he had admitted his feelings for you and wanted to move forward and you accepted.

He always knew how to make you laugh and make you happy. He knew you better than anyone and he also cared about you more than anything. He didn’t mean to ghost you but he just felt like it was better for you so you didn’t get hurt.

He didn’t want you worrying or wonder if he’ll make it back alive. He felt like you deserved better than him and he wanted to let you live happily even if that meant him ghosting you.

You thought he was a complete idiot. You knew about him always making dumb decisions without thinking them through and always doing something reckless so him ghosting you didn’t break you down heavily but it did hurt.

After some time, you had started to miss him to the point where his habits had passed on to you, making you be reckless and make that last minute decision to join the scouts.

Of course it wasn’t easy, it took time but you managed and you were a lot stronger than what people see you as.

Once you had managed to make it into the scouts, it wasn’t long until you were noticed by the top tier scouts, such as Levi and Hange.

When Connie’s eyes seen you the first day you came, being shown around and talked to by Hange, his heart had gone up to his throat. The way you still looked so beautiful, it had caught him completely by surprise. He was speechless.

Throughout the whole day he watched you train, watched you show your training skills to the scouts and impressed nearly everyone. He was so stunned, he couldn’t stop watching you and he started to regret leaving you behind all alone.

He loved you, of course he loved you way too much. You were a beautiful prize in his eyes, he was always grateful and appreciative to have someone like you.

Fuck, he missed you so much and just looking at you right now- he had to hold himself back from running up to you and hugging you, kissing you and so much more.

It didn’t take him long to finally get you alone, grabbing your arm and shoving you inside his bedroom on the base and closed the door behind him, he wasn’t utterly mad but he was shocked and upset you risked joining the scouts.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice quiet as his large eyes searched yours.

“Uhh, you mean what I’m doing at my own job?” You said in a confused tone and he shook his head.

“You know what I mean, Y/N.”

“Riiight, let me ask a better question. Why did you ghost me?” You abruptly said and it made a sad expesssion come across his face.

“It wasnt on purpose, I just- I felt like you were better off.” Connie simply shrugged and you stared at him like he was an idiot.

“Don’t tell me shit about what you thought was better for me. You were better for me, Connie.” You stared at him, growing irritated but you couldn’t stay mad at him.

You leaned over and gently punched his arm playfully, trying to hit some sense into him. You wanted to punch him in the face, you wanted to hurt him and make him feel the pain you felt when he left you with no answers but seeing his face had made your knees grow weak and you had no control of your sudden actions.

You were quick to cup his cheeks and smash your lips onto his, catching him off guard as his back hit the wall behind him but he didn’t hesitate to move his lips with yours, his hands reaching down to wrap around your waist.

You both had missed each other so much it was lingering off the both of you and into the air as the tension grew thick. Your heart had fluttered from the soft touch of his lips on yours, making you realize just how much you still love him.

Connie felt the exact same, seeing your face had brought so many memories back for him. From when you were kids to now, everything had flashed before his eyes and his love for you had blossomed once again, making him realize just how much of an idiot he was for disappearing on you.

You were the best thing to happen to him, you pushed him forward and encouraged him, wanting him to strive to be the best version of himself. You were one of a kind and he hated how he left you so suddenly and never gave it a second thought. You were worth more than that.

His heart had pounded inside of his chest, it felt like it was going to explode with happiness but also sadness from the lingering guilt he felt for hurting you. He didn’t deserve to have you here kissing him but he didn’t want to push away, he didn’t want you to slip away again.

He took the opportunity to lead you towards his bed, sitting down on the edge and instantly pulling you down on his lap with his hands, not wasting anymore time- afraid it’ll be ripped away. You were breathless against his lips, the soft touches and the way his tongue had slipped into your mouth- you had instantly melted against him.

He was your safe haven, he was your home, he was everything you needed and more.

Your small hands had moved down, wrapping your arms around his neck as your chests press against one another and soft hums left your lips before you ended up pulling back to catch some of your breath, your eyes connecting with his and you could see the hint of sparkle in them, making your heart flutter.

“I missed you so much, you have no idea.” Connie spoke up first, one of his hands cupping your cheek and the other rested on your hip as he stroked his thumb over your skin.

“I’m sorry.” He said again, the guilt weighing on him heavily and he hoped you would forgive him, maybe go back to the way things were before.

You shook your head, shushing him as your fingertips traced along his skin on the back of his neck. The sudden reminder of him ghosting you entered your mind but the way he apologized and looked genuine and looked upset with what he had done- it somewhat made your heart flutter.

Your lips landed on his again, trailing your hands down his chest and reached down to grab the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head and connected eyes with him. He was in awe, watching your movements and letting you take his shirt off before finally taking some control and tugging the uniform off your body.

He didn’t even let you do anything else but wrap your arms back around him as he left you half naked on his lap. His tongue running over his dry lips, his eyes scanning over your body and leaned over to pepper kisses down to your neck, leaving wet sloppy kisses down to your chest.

Reaching around, he was quick to unclip your bra and let it slide off your arms and onto the floor. His rough hands had replaced your bra and cupped your breasts gently, giving them a firm squeeze while sucking bruises on your soft skin, making soft breaths leave your parted lips.

“Connie,” The way his name slipped effortlessly from your lips had made a sudden switch in him flip.

The sudden feeling of what was happening and how your voice had brought him back to reality, making him realize just how badly he had fucked up and how much he missed you. It was all clouding inside of his head, almost making him lightheaded.

His soft eyes looked up at your face, his heart pounding inside of his chest and his hands slowly slipped down to grab a firm grip of your hips, almost tugging you closer to him even though you were already pretty close. He planted one kiss on your jawline, his fingertips brushing along your skin and grabbing the hem of your underwear.

The sudden actions of him moving to where you were laying down on his bed, his body hovering over yours and his fingers tugging the waistband before sliding your underwear down your legs painfully slow. He never usually took his time when in bed with you, not that it was always rushed- he just never fully got a chance to be able to have his way with you for hours because of the Scouts.

But this time was different, he couldn’t care less about his duties or what he was supposed to be doing right now, all he wanted was you and to let you know that his full attention was on you, no matter if this lasted minutes or hours.

His rough hands had grabbed a hold of your legs, spreading them apart in front of him and he couldn’t help but hum to himself, his eyes devouring every inch of your body and it had made your skin grow quite hot in seconds, the nerves kicking in and making you feel shy all over again.

But Connie didn’t care to notice, he was in awe of you and he finally leaned down, planting sloppy wet kisses up your leg and to your inner thigh. He had playfully sunk his teeth in your skin, leaving a nasty bruise and then trailing up to leave a few more. He wanted to make sure you were reminded of who you belong to.

You couldn’t even think straight, your mind clouded and the only thoughts you had were set on him. Your small hands had reached down and landed on the back of his head, there wasn’t much to grab but you insisted on trying to pull his head up to where you needed him the most, feeling him laugh against your thigh.

“Stop being so needy or else I’ll tease you all night.” He suddenly said, his eyes meeting yours and suddenly a lump had formed inside of your throat.

“Got it?” He asked, his fingertips digging into your thighs and you slowly nodded your head but the way he squeezed your thighs tighter, it made a soft noise slip from your lips.

“Got it, sorry.” You managed to mumble out and that satisfied him enough to continue his previous actions, making you almost whine.

“Good girl.”

The change in his behavior and the actions he’s never really done in bed before was all a new experience to you but you couldn’t complain, it was actually making you more wet as time went on and he knew that, that’s why he was going so damn slow but he also wanted to admire you like the gem you are.

Once he was high enough, still kissing the very top of your inner thigh, you could feel his breath hitting your core and it made you squirm beneath him, wanting to shut your legs but the firm grip he had on them, it was nearly impossible to try to pry them shut.

The way your skin felt like it was boiling hot, everything he was doing to you was making you all hot and bothered. He could tell just how bad you were aching just by the look of you but he played it off as if he wasn’t paying much attention to your whines and squirming body, instead he wanted to make this worth every second.

“Connie..” You said his name again, his big eyes meeting yours while he gave a firm squeeze of your upper thighs, smirking at you.

“Hm?” He was teasing you beyond what he has done before, making you all that impatient and needy, you were a complete mess and he knew that.

“C’mon, quit teasing.” You barely managed to stutter out considering how slow his hands were rubbing your thighs just below where you wanted his fingers to touch you most. He was driving you crazy.

“Teasing?” He tried to play it off, his smirk only growing wider and suddenly his fingers were hovering over your clit, gently brushing his fingers over it before firmly pressing them down and rubbed in a painfully slow motion.

You couldn’t even open your mouth to say anything else, you threw your head back against the mattress and kept your tight grip on his head as his fingers teased you, his eyes burning into your face as he watched. The way your face mixed with pleasure and your mouth parted open, a soft moan slipping out- it all made him hungry but he held himself back, this was about you.

“I’m going to make you beg for it all night.” His words were low but enough to make you buck your hips up into his hand and that had made him push them back down with his free hand.

He was going to make sure this lasted and have you a complete mess afterwards, no matter how many rounds it’ll take.

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was going to finish this but it’s pretty long enough, if anyone wants the rest then lmkkkk and I’ll make a part 2 <3

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* also sorry for last nights status of me being sad and unmotivated. It’s been a long few days and I just got too much in my head about whether or not my writings are good enough to be posted. Thank you to the ppl who messaged me or sent me kind stuff in my inbox, it’s highly appreciated and I’m forever grateful for every single one of you <33 all love

[pellucidity-is-me]

Poppy Pomfrey Hates Werewolves

Summary: The year is 1971, and Madam Pomfrey is finding it more difficult than expected to care for an eleven-year-old werewolf student. She turns to a late-night conversation with Minerva McGonagall in order to soothe her frustrations.

Wordcount: 3843

Poppy Pomfrey hated werewolves.

No, that wasn't the right wording. Poppy loved Remus very much; she thought that he was a clever, lovable boy who deserved to be at Hogwarts more than some of the other ridiculous buffoons (ahem: Potter and Black).

In fact, the Lupins in general were lovely people. Poppy remembered Remus' father, Lyall Lupin, from her first year at Hogwarts—he’d been six years older than she was and in a different House, so they hadn't been close. Yet she did remember that Lyall was a lot like Remus in the sense that he'd received very good marks and was usually quiet and mild-mannered. But his temper! Arguments with Lyall were bound to lead to a fight—either the Muggle way or the wizarding way; Lyall was willing to participate in either. Poppy saw Lyall in Remus often, even though she hadn't known Lyall very well. They looked alike, yes, but there was also something deeper. Both had odd interests and were a bit eccentric. Both were clever. Both had an unexpectedly honed sense of humor. And both (as Poppy knew from some of Hope's letters) were very prone to guilt.

Hope was Remus' mother, and Poppy liked her just as much as she liked Remus. She was a wonderful mother and a lot of fun. A stereotypical doting mother, really. Hope, like Lyall and Remus, was very funny, and Poppy often found herself laughing out loud at her letters. Poppy probably learned much more about young Remus than Remus would have been comfortable with, but Hope just couldn't help oversharing. Poppy suspected that she'd never before had anyone to talk to about Remus without fear of his lycanthropy getting out. Poppy liked Hope so much, in fact, that they had plans to meet during Christmas holidays. Poppy could see the two of them becoming very good friends.

Yes, Poppy was fond of Remus, as well as both of his parents. But she hated werewolves.

Not werewolves. Not really. Poppy hated lycanthropy. Poppy hated the fact that Remus had to go through unimaginable pain every single month. And he was so young! Four years old, that's how old he had been. It made Poppy feel ill sometimes, and it was the type of illness that even she—the most experienced school matron in the world, probably—could not cure.

It had gone relatively well for the first couple of months—well, not well, per se, but they’d survived. At least Remus had always been conscious and somewhat coherent afterwards. Remus had a habit of making jokes when he was uncomfortable, and it always made it easier to stop feeling so horrible when he was making the odd sarcastic comment. But the first December full moon was far worse than usual. 

When Poppy crawled through the tunnel the morning after the December full moon and saw Remus, unconscious on the floor and bleeding out, she nearly vomited. She wasn't ready for this! She couldn’t! She’d never had to do anything like this before, and this was absolutely terrible. He shouldn’t have to deal with that every month. She shouldn’t have to deal with this every month. 

How dare Dumbledore ask her to help him? She was only human. She couldn't see this, month after month and day after day. Such a young student. So small and thin and delicate. This was horrible for her, too!

And no one even asked her! It wasn't as if Dumbledore had said "Good morning, Poppy, would you be willing to care for a werewolf in September 1971?" No, he had flat-out told her that there was nothing she could do about it. She still remembered his exact words. A very special student... infected with lycanthropy... deserves a chance to learn, as all children do... Poppy will be caring for him after full moons... Don't try to protest his coming here, I have made my decision. Ridiculous. The man never asked anyone else's opinion. 

Poppy wouldn't have protested, though, and she felt even worse when she realized what she was insinuating. Remus, stay home and never come to Hogwarts? That wouldn't stop the transformations; that would only make them worse. Besides, having to see it was nothing compared to actually going through it... But still. It was so hard to think of it all—so difficult to be given a burden that no one, be it child or school matron, should have to carry.

Poppy was used to being able to help people. That was her job. She loved helping people. But there was no cure for lycanthropy, and it was far beyond Poppy’s abilities to comprehend, even, how terrible it must be for the eleven-year-old child... for a five-year-old child. Remus had endured countless full moons, and each one left him with injuries worse than some of the worst accidents that Poppy had ever seen. It made her sick.

Regardless of her feelings, though, Poppy now stood in the Shrieking Shack. Her wand was dangling limply from her hand as she stared at the deep gashes in the wall and the equally limp boy on the floor who had somehow—somehow—made them.

She couldn't help it at that point. She left. She couldn't look at him any longer; it was driving her mad.

She'd always thought magic to be a wonderful thing: capable of healing and helping and loving. But it wasn't. Magic wasn't all good at all. Here was the darker side—the horrific, awful, terrifying side that left eleven-year-old children so ill that they couldn't eat, turned them into horrifying beasts against their will, and then left them bruised and broken on the floors of their own torture chambers. Why did she even try? She couldn't change anything. She'd never help Remus Lupin, no matter how much time she spent soothing his worries and healing his injuries. He'd always have to go through this. There was no cure, and Poppy felt helpless. She hadn't felt this awful since she'd failed that student who spent half a year as a rock.

She’d only meant to leave for a bit (she needed more potions for Remus, anyhow, and she also needed a bit of air. Remus would be fine). But then she came across a panicking Slughorn who professed that a girl had drank too much of a potentially deadly potion and needed to be taken to St. Mungo’s. The girl’s parents weren’t available. Someone would have to take her.

When Professor John Questus, current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, offered to stay and look after Remus, Poppy couldn’t help but seize the opportunity to take a breather.

So she took the girl to St. Mungo’s herself and left Remus with the Defense professor. She needed some time away—some time to think things over. She knew that it was probably the better option to stay with Remus, but she couldn't. She couldn't help popping in every few hours over Floo to make sure that Remus had not died due to her negligence—but she stayed away, for the most part. And she talked to Remus' toad that had crept into her apron. He really was good conversation, even if he was slimy-looking and warty.

"What was your name? Bufo?"

Bufo blinked.

"Do you think I've failed?"

Bufo cocked his gross little head.

"People trusted me, and I just left. That's unacceptable."

Bufo croaked.

"I'm a terrible matron." Poppy felt tears well up in her eyes. She'd left Remus to John Questus. John Questus! He was probably asking Remus all sorts of uncomfortable questions and snapping at him for being too emotional when Remus needed love and comfort and care. Because that was what John Questus did. As a former Auror, he knew Healing magic, to be sure... but he just wasn’t the type of person to care for a scared child. 

Remus was injured, and Poppy had left him—left him!—all alone on the floor of the Shrieking Shack—the Shrieking Shack!—with no one to help him. What if he had woken up all alone and scared and in pain and waited, but no one came, and then the most horribly unsympathetic professor at Hogwarts showed up and told him that Poppy had left! Just left! Poppy didn't want to think of how awful Remus, who already mistakenly assumed that most everyone hated him, might have felt.

Suddenly, she felt a small weight on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw Bufo snuggling against her neck. Poppy sniffed and patted his leathery skin a bit—he wasn't so bad, after all.

And Remus seemed mostly okay when she'd returned to Hogwarts. John had missed one of his wounds, and it ended up becoming terribly infected. Poppy was angry with John at first, but it didn't take long before she realized that it was her fault. The man wasn't an experienced Healer, after all, even though he did know a bit of Healing magic. Remus was her job, and she'd abandoned him just because she was feeling emotional.

Now it was Tuesday, and Poppy was certain that Remus would sleep through the night. He was looking so much better, and Poppy had no doubt that he would be all right upon going back to classes on Wednesday. Even his arm was healing up, and he'd managed to walk around the Hospital Wing the other day without any problems—he even took a bath all by himself. So she left him in her office (under the watchful eyes of Bufo), and went to talk to Minerva McGonagall.

Minerva and Poppy had been in the same year at Hogwarts and had been acquaintances (despite the fact that they were in different Houses). Since Minerva had already been teaching when Poppy had become the matron, they'd only gotten closer. Poppy would consider Minerva to be her closest friend, even—they certainly saw a lot of each other. They'd been colleagues for about twenty years now. It was mad, how quickly the time flew.

Poppy knew that Minerva was uncomfortable around Remus (she never liked werewolves much), but it was clear that she was trying—Poppy appreciated that. And Remus seemed to enjoy Minerva's company (but then again, he seemed to enjoy everybody's company. Even John Questus', for some reason). Poppy had never spoken to Minerva about Remus one-on-one (though she tended to chatter about him during staff meetings), but she was sure that Minerva wouldn't mind.

She knocked on Minerva's door, and Minerva let her in with a smile. "Poppy. May I help you?"

"I... only need to talk." Poppy often came to Minerva to chat; despite Poppy's no-nonsense exterior and usually-immaculate bedside manner, she was frightfully emotional. Anyone who told the students that, though, would be getting a rather nasty hex that Madam Pomfrey "wouldn't be able to heal".

"Of course," said Minerva. "Come in; I'll make tea."

"Are you sure? It's late, and I don't want to keep you up."

"I'm sure. I was having trouble sleeping, anyway."

"Yes, I noticed that your hair is still up."

Minerva smiled and undid her bun. "It's been a long day. Do you know, Potter and Black still insist on calling me by my first name? Those insolent, disrespectful..."

"I can't believe that Remus is friends with them."

"Is this about Remus, then?" said Minerva, nearly laughing. "You have that same look on your face whenever you talk about him during the staff meetings."

Poppy rearranged her face. "Look? What kind of look?"

"You worry about him. Understandably so, of course."

"Yes, yes." Minerva offered Poppy a teacup, and she took it gratefully. "I just... I can't. Minerva, it's awful!"

Minerva sat back patiently with her own cup of tea, not even batting an eye. "Yes, I know."

It all came spilling out at once. "I've done research! We all have! Did you read the article in the paper? The Shrieking Shack, they call it. Shrieking? Wolves don't shriek, Minerva—people do! It's painful; it's hurting him! And his pain threshold is so incredibly high that I... I can't even... I can't even imagine how bad it is, to make him hurt enough to actually cry out. He's so thin and sickly and pale all the time, and he's so small and delicate for his age, and he... I can't get over his pain threshold! He doesn't even flinch when I heal a broken bone, Minerva. Doesn't even flinch. He walks all the way back to the castle, month after month, with worse injuries than... than anything, really.

"And he just has to live with it—wounds all over his body all the time, can't even heal up completely before the next full moon rolls around, can't eat properly on the day before, can't even attend class because he's feeling so sickly. He gets through injuries that would cripple a grown man... and complains less than a miffed Gryffindor when Slytherin wins the House Cup! And he has to live with it! All the time!"

Minerva looked appropriately saddened and kept listening silently. She was good at that.

"He was four, he told me. Four, nearly five. He was attacked by a fully-fledged werewolf—and he let slip that said werewolf attacked him on purpose!—when he was a little more than a toddler. I've seen the scar, and I know enough about injuries to know that it must have been life-threatening. And most of it is on his shoulder, just near his neck! Just... can you imagine? Being a four-year-old child and a werewolf biting you—only inches away from snapping your neck... and then living as one? He's traumatized! He has nightmares, Minerva! Still! After six years, and he flinches whenever I get close."

Minerva pursed her lips and refilled Poppy's tea, which she had spilled all over her lap. Poppy didn't even care at this point.

"I hate it. I hate it. I hate coming to the Shack and seeing him half-dead. I hate his complacent expression, like he's been through it many before... because he has! He has! It's... what, eighty times now? I don't know! And he probably doesn't even keep track, because it's such a normal thing now! That sort of thing should never be normal! And not for a child, especially. A child! Eleven, but he looks so much older—he's so much more mature than he should be—he's seen more than children should, been through more than I have! Merlin's beard. Sometimes I want him to yell at me and get angry over it all, because he never really has. Cool as a cucumber about the whole thing. He's FINE, he says!"

Tears were running down Poppy's face now, but she made no attempt to stop them. Minerva had seen her cry many, many times before. In fact, she'd cried most recently when she'd lost her favorite pair of slippers. It was hard, keeping it in all day for fear of frightening the students.

"And no one ever asks me how hard it is. No one ever talks about me. Plenty of people say "poor Remus", and goodness knows he deserves it, even if he doesn't want it. But no one even thinks about how hard it is for me—to help a child—with an incurable illness—that I can't do anything about! To watch him fight through unimaginable pain, to see him suffering, to watch him get feverish and pass out in the middle of a sentence and refuse to eat and drown his pain in books! He's just... in my office... for days, every single month... and I just have to go about my business, knowing that there's nothing I can do. There's no cure! He won't even let me help him before a full moon because potions and things irritate him on the full moon. There's nothing I can do! Think about it! I can't get over it!"

Minerva wordlessly handed Poppy a handkerchief, and Poppy blew her nose. "It's not just about him," Poppy said, calming down a little. "It's not just about me, either. It's just... it's something that made me realize how much darkness is in the world... how unfair things are... how people can suffer so much without deserving it. I knew, before. But I didn't really believe it... and now it's just all so overwhelming. There are so many hurting people in the world. Remus isn't even the only werewolf in Britain. And I can't help everyone. I'm confined to this school—this small school in a world full of billions of people—and I can't... even... help everyone... in the tiny school! I hate it."

Minerva spoke for the first time. "I know," she said, and stood up to embrace Poppy tightly. "I know." A minute later, she pulled away, and the front of her robes were wet from Poppy's tears. Poppy could sense helpful advice coming. "Do you want to know what I think?" Minerva asked quietly, and Poppy looked up at her with watery eyes.

"What?"

"We all have varying levels of pain. I think that all of us have a sort of pain that unimaginable to another. Such is life. We shouldn't dwell on the pain that we all inevitably have: instead, we should focus on the good things that we have. Remus Lupin is a... well, he's ill. But he has two wonderful parents who love him. His 'normal' is different from ours, but that doesn't mean he has a completely awful life. It's just a different kind of normal—a new normal."

Poppy nodded and sniffed a little.

"And he has three friends who accept him."

"We don't know that."

"For right now, they do. And he has plenty of intelligence and activities that he enjoys. And he plays outside with his friends—did you see his face at the last Quidditch match? Or on Halloween?"

"No, I was sitting with the Hufflepuffs. And the full moon wasn't until November second."

"I've never seen him so happy," Minerva assured her. "It isn't the dark that we should focus on, it's the light that cancels it out. With all people—everyone that you can't help. It's just life, Poppy. Just life. No matter how much we think about how awful things are, they won't change... but thinking about how wonderful things are can change our mindsets, at least."

Poppy granted her a watery smile. "Thank you. That helps."

"Of course it does. I'm a very helpful person, you know."

Poppy nodded, ever thankful. "Now that I've done my ranting," she said, feeling a lot better than she had been feeling mere minutes ago, "I'll give you some time to rant about Potter and Black."

"Oh, thank goodness." Minerva straightened up and immediately went off on a tirade about their shenanigans: disrespect, loud voices, lack of motivation, disregard for the rules... et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Poppy had heard it all before.

"I think you like them," said Poppy slyly once Minerva had finished.

"What? No!"

"Oh no, you definitely like them. Potter is fantastic at Transfiguration, is he not? And flying? Both things that you're talented at, yourself."

"Well... maybe I do like them a little," admitted Minerva with a heavy sigh, "merely because they're Gryffindors through and through. Don't tell anyone."

Poppy hummed her consent and took a sip of tea. "So... that game you play with Remus that you mentioned earlier...? Tell me more."

Minerva laughed. She didn't laugh often around students, and Poppy loved to hear it. "I wasn't very comfortable around him at first; you know that. And he knew it too. He was obviously uncomfortable around me, too—things were awkward at first. Classes consisted of avoiding eye contact, mostly. It was distracting. So I told him that we'd play a game of sorts: whichever of us can act normally around the other first wins. We've been giving each other points. I'm winning."

"Not what he told Albus."

Minerva sipped her tea. "He's deluded."

"So... any reason why you aren't comfortable around werewolves? It seems a bit odd for you of all people to be afraid..."

"Not afraid!" protested Minerva. "Just uncomfortable. As you know, I'm half-blood, and my mother—a witch—took pride in her heritage. She told me stories of the wizarding world all the time—trying to bring me back to my roots, even though we lived in a Muggle village. I heard so many tales of werewolves being a danger to society, even from an early age. They're bogeymen, Poppy. The monsters under the beds. Children grow up with an innate fear of them... They ask their parents to check their closets for them before they go to sleep. Their parents tell them that that a werewolf will eat them if they get out of bed or disobey the rules. I was so afraid of werewolves as a child that I hated going outside at night. There's a fear instilled in young children, and it takes a while to shake off. That's all. It's not that I'm afraid of him—you know me, I'm a proud Gryffindor. I just don't like... the idea of it."

"Even though he's so small and harmless?"

"Yes. I'm not proud of it." Minerva finished off her tea. "But I can stand to be around him much more easily now. I like him, you know. Quiet, calm. The exact opposite of Potter and Black."

"Do you ever shut up about them?" Poppy teased.

"I'll shut up about them when you shut up about Remus. All you ever talk about these days."

"He's the only company I have these days!"

"Except when John Questus visits..." teased Minerva. She knew all about Poppy's hatred towards John Questus—he had, in fact, been the subject of Poppy's last after-hours rant.

"Ugh! Don't even talk about him. The horrible, insensitive..."

"Yes, I know. You've ranted about him to me before. I think you fancy him, don't you?"

"Who, John?" Poppy gagged. "That's too far. I'm going to bed now."

"You accused me of liking Potter and Black. I'm only returning the favor."

"It's not the same thing! I do not fancy John Questus!"

"Sweet dreams," called Minerva. "I'll plan the wedding."

"You're such a child!" snapped Poppy, opening the door to leave. "You sound like Potter."

Minerva feigned disgust. "You'd better leave before I hex you."

Poppy obliged, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary and heading back to the Hospital Wing to check on Remus.

Minerva, she reflected, was a wonderful friend, and she was glad that Remus had a few such friends of his own.

Everybody needed friends, didn't they?

AN: Another scene from my fanfic (link in blog description). I don’t think John Questus has ever made an appearance on my tumblr before, just because he’s an OC and hard to explain in short snapshots like this—but he’s my favorite character lol and I was waiting for a good moment to mention him!