#that man has a chip on his shoulder that can be seen from space | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shibaraki · 9 months

Text

MAYBE IT’S A SIGN ┊ YAMADA HIZASHI

tags: GN reader, no quirk au, meet-cute, strangers to lovers, people watching, mic is fluent in JSL, pining, mutual attraction, flirting, fluff as promised !!!

wc: 1.7K

You aren’t afraid to admit that your life is a little mundane.

Rather than resent it you get by with the little wonders. The path is much the same but never the people, and your favourite part of the day is the train journey home. A precious twenty minutes when you can sit and watch the lives unfold around you. It’s during this time that you notice him.

You’re familiar with the regular passengers—not personally, rather, they’ve taken up space in your memory, each dedicated an intricate and fabricated backstory to pass the time. This new regular is definitely somebody you’d remember. Because he’s, well.

He’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Tall and lean, decently thick arms and a trim waist often hidden beneath a signature leather jacket. Bulky headphones around his neck. A trimmed moustache and vivid green eyes peering over red rimmed glasses. Waist length blond hair, like spun gold in the train cars cheap fluorescence, never worn in the same style. You’ve seen it draped around his shoulders, a sleek updo, half down, and pulled back into a braided ponytail that mimics a mohawk.

Today it has been haphazardly shoved into a messy bun, wisps falling to frame his face as he smiles at his phone. Your heart beats a little faster at the soft sight. He’s sitting closer than usual, driven deeper into the carriage by the lack of seating; close enough to catch a glimpse at the music note sticker on his phone case and the chipped red paint on his nails. Before he can look up and catch your inquisitive stare you turn it toward the window, watching the rivulets of rainwater race in the wind as the cityscape passes by.

Thoughts wander, veering toward the faint shadows under his eyes. You’ve theorised plenty and settled on him being a musician of sorts. Piano or a guitar judging by his fingers. Guitarist would suit his aesthetic, but you find the image of him as a pianist strangely romantic.

As the train rushes through a dark tunnel you’re faced with your reflection, and his own in the background. For a split second you’re certain that your eyes meet. Then the darkness vanishes, and you squint against the pale eventide light.

Your close friends have heard a lot about Train Guy. They’ve teased you to no end, finding amusement in your lack of action. Writing a plotline for a beautiful stranger might be slightly piteous but it’s all you’re going to get. It’s not like you were ever going to do anything about your attraction.

You slump against the back of your chair and fiddle with the zip on your jacket, soaking up the heated murmurings between a couple from across the carriage. Train Guy seemed the chatty type, though he always hung up whoever he was on call to as he boarded you’d caught an english word or two. They sounded natural in his mouth—a fluent accent that inferred plenty of practice. You wanted to hear him speak more, but after the doors are closed silence is sternly expected.

As your thoughts drift, so does your attention. Your heart leaps to your throat. Train Guy is reclined comfortably, baring the pale column of his throat as he keeps an ear tucked against his left headphone speaker, bouncing his leg to a tune you’re not privy to. What grips you is the suggestion of a smile hanging on his lips as he looks back at you. It’s more hesitant than it is coy. Almost as though he might be just as unsure about his footing as you.

Pointedly, he nods in the direction of the bickering couple. His mouth downturns into an exaggerated grimace, tugging at the collar of his shirt. You laugh and quickly smother the sound with your hand, heat crawling up your neck as a nearby elderly man peers up.

Train Guy’s eyes are softer now. There’s a shallow dimple by the right corner of his mouth that deepens with his grin. He sits up straighter when you smile back and butterflies hatch in your stomach. You feel their paper thin wings beat behind your ribs. Holding his hands out to draw your attention you watch his pointer fingers stop a few inches apart and bend toward one another.

At your confused frown he down it again, this time mouthing the word ‘hello’. Then he points at his chest. He silently sounds out the name ‘Ya-ma-da’ in time with his movements. His name. Your lips part in soft surprise. Mirroring the initial position of his hands, you cautiously repeat the motion, fingers bending inward. It’s JSL—and the sign quite literally mimics the image of two people bowed in greeting.

The train creaks as it slows in preparation to approach the next stop. Disappointment hangs in the air. He shuffles in his seat, getting ready to stand. He flashes you an encouraging thumbs up, eyes smiling over those yellow tinted glasses. Then his forefinger uncurls once more, forming an upside down ‘L’ shape. He draws his hand in an arc across his face and lies the opposite palm flat, swiping flat across it.

You pout after him as he gets to his feet, this time without clarifying what he’d said. He simply shucks his leather jacket closer to his chest, pulls his headphones over his head—concealing the pink blush staining his ears—and waves as the doors open.

A gust of wind plumes into the enclosed space, petrichor briefly filling your senses. Your neck turns at an awkward angle just to catch a final glimpse in the crowd as the train pulls away.

The first thing you do upon arriving home is search up basic signs. It pulls up a website with dedicated categories; signs for greetings, for navigating daily life, for family and friends. Then, as you scroll further, your mouse hovers over the embedded images for flirtatious signs. Your living room takes on a hazy, mauve rose glow, perhaps from all the blood rushing to your brain.

Unless you are misremembering, Train Guy—Yamada, had called you beautiful.

The knowledge sits restlessly with you. An amalgam of giddiness and impatience bursts through your body like a babbling brook. This sort of thing never happens to you.

You wanted to see him again. To somehow reciprocate his efforts to connect with you in the pervading silence of that train car. Clicking back on the screen, you open up the menu bar and find fingerspelling. You repeat the motions, signing out your name until fatigue from the work day wears on your bones.

The next morning starts with vigor. Your excitement only seems to make the hours drag longer, each slower than the last. Coworkers remark on your eagerness to leave—making playful comments about a new secret lover, only to be spurred on by the sheepish expression on your face.

There is no lover to speak of, not yet. Just a pretty stranger who may or may not be a musician with which you share part of your journey home.

Yamada is there when you board, already perked up and waiting. His hair is braided today, draped effortlessly over his shoulder. You immediately duck your chin to hide a smile, teeth gnawing your inner cheek as you take the spot across from him.

A hush falls over the passengers when you hear the doors click shut. You glimpse up through your lashes. Yamada leaned forward, elbows on his knees, cheek resting in his palm. Anticipation swoops through your belly. You can’t help a nervous glance at the people around you as you sign hello to him.

Before he can respond, your finger points to your chest. Something flashes in Yamada’s eyes, now raptly watching while you sign out your name. Brighter still the instant you point at him, arc your forefinger and thumb across your face, and wipe across the opposite palm.

Beautiful.

Pink looks good on him, you think. Oscillating between flustered and frustrated, Yamada’s hands clench and unclench in his lap, seemingly agitated that he can’t use his words. You exhale a long held breath as he pats down his jacket pockets, tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth while he types.

Once he finishes he leans across the gap to offer you the phone. You grip the seat handle and stretch to take it, static zipping down your spine when your fingers brush. Written up on the open notes app is:

Do you want to get off at my stop so I can take you out for coffee? YEAH! or no :-(

You huff a laugh through your nose, bringing the screen close to your front and typing your reply with a furtive glance as if it were a big secret just between the two of you.

YEAH! ✔️ I’d love to.

Yamada peeks at the response and dramatically holds the phone to his heart. This time when the train slows at the familiar stop you stand with him. Close enough to smell his warm scented cologne and leather. Shoulder to shoulder as you wait for the doors to open you feel those lithe fingers extend to brush your own. He doesn’t take your hand but it’s a close thing.

The arm resting a hair's breadth from your lower back guides you onto the platform and through the oncoming influx of passengers to a quieter spot. Alone together you drink each other in. Nervously tugging your sleeve to your wrist, you wet your lips and say, “…Hi”.

Yamada’s eyes squinted under the magnitude of his grin, nose wrinkled enough that his glasses slipped just a fraction. “Hey,” he returns. The low baritone of his voice settles over you like silk and you get the inkling that your life is about to become a little less mundane.

Even then, you’re certain that your favourite part of the day would always be the train journey home.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #present mic x reader #yamada hizashi x reader

276 notes · View notes

crookedkryptonitebeliever · 3 months

Text

It was only supposed to be a one night stand part 2

Tw: mostly smut, yandere, self harm implications, suicidal ideation, gross underwear stealing

Part 3

Never did it occur to you to ask about his name. You thought he left you alone after that day, but he actually just had to go to work. Only after you punched your time card out for the day, you found this man waiting right at the entrance with his shitbox of a car. It's a white sedan with chipping paint, and rust spots everywhere. There is a roof box attached to it, and there are numerous scuff marks visible even though it's completely black.

You were about to bolt for it when he got out of the driver's seat. But he managed to block your way, shadow engulfing your form. You stood still and stared down (or in your case, up) at him, waiting for his next move. He seems to do the same thing to you, sharing a quiet yet intense moment for a minute.

Finally, he slowly moved his hands up until it reached your torso. The man pulled you into a hesitant hug, he's being so gentle with you as if you're going to break. You shuddered when you heard him take a deep sniff of your hair.

You protested, firmly pushing him away, he's noticeably fresher and cleaner than how you remembered him. You asked what his intentions are.

"It's late. Let me drive you home." He muttered, latching his hands onto yours. "Please." He continued, a twinge of desperation can be detected in his voice.

You took a deep breath and declined. God knows where is he taking you, and you're not keen on jumping out of a moving car. You said thanks through gritted teeth, yanked your hands back, and walked away.

As expected, he followed you. Stopping whenever you stopped to yell at him to go away. But he never budged, once you move he moves.

Finally, you reached the station. Where the both of you met mere days ago. His puddle of vomit is cleared away and the booze bottle is presumably recycled.

The man waited with you. Feeling burnt out and irritated, you kept your lips sealed and your eyes glued to the screen of your phone, ignoring the existence of the man sitting beside you on the bench. You felt a looming presence over your shoulder, so you turned your head slightly to the right to see that he was also staring at the screen of your gadget as well.

Feeling uncomfortable with him seeing what you're watching, you shift in such a way that the back of your phone is facing him. But that also means that you're pushing your shoes against the side of his thigh.

Once his source of entertainment was removed, he brought his attention elsewhere. It looks like he's just blankly staring into the void, looking at nothing in particular.

The train has arrived, you untangled yourself from your position and picked your suitcase up. He stood up and followed closely behind, leaving very little space between your back and his front.

Nothing of note happened during the ride. It's just a normal commute back home except you have an unwanted companion who tried to rest his arm around your shoulders multiple times, and you had to swat him away, multiple times. He finally got the hint when you physically moved away from him, sitting in another seat far away from the man. You are surprised that he didn't try to claim the spot next to you, though.

Reaching back home, you told him to stand on the sidewalk. He listened to you, seemingly curious as to why you made that request of him.

You entered your house and shut the door behind you.

It's time for you to unwind, you drew the curtains to a close so you don't have to see him trying to claw his way in. But his silhouette can be seen though, as he knocked on the glass multiple times before giving up. He stood there, very still.

And... you reached for your vices, good ol' alcohol. Downing multiple cans or bottles to try and relieve stress from having him in your life now.

And, seeing how he managed to worm into your life with alcohol (intoxication on his part and horniness on yours), it all feels like a sense of deja vu, where you swing the front door open, get all sexually aggressive towards him, and have him fuck you all night.

Tonight, he is showing what that mouth can do. He has a voracious appetite for both street food and the thing between your legs, lapping at your fluids and pumping his fist on his own cock, he's getting off of this too. He may not have the longest tongue, but his mouth is on the larger side, so you feel the warmth and sliminess covering the entirety of your groin.

You remembered being in bliss as he tongue fucked you in your ass while he fondles your front, your back arched back as your face is pressed against your pillow.

You would let out a tipsy moan as his hips thrust into yours, your legs hanging over his shoulders for easy access to paradise. He left numerous bite marks and hickeys all over your body, and you left him extreme scratch marks on his back in return, drawing some blood and staining the bed red.

It really isn't easy to take him in, he is big. You're so thankful that he's considerate to go slow even though you can tell that he wanted you so badly, the 'controlled' thrusts weren't really all that controlled. It was erratic as if he was trying to contain a powerful beast.

You and he would go at it for hours, cumming numerous times and not noticing the complaints from your neighbors about the embarrassing noise and headboard slamming.

You would wake up, realizing that you used him as a body pillow, throw his clothes at him, reject any further advances, or affection, act all cold and mean, rush to work, come back from work, drink your booze, open the door to let him in, and repeat. Only breaking the cycle when you momentarily ran out of beer or wine.

It really is impressive that you kept it up for months without even knowing his initials. You're more impressed that your liver can handle all those toxins you're chugging every day. In the end, you trusted him enough to drive you back home, so you could get drunk faster and enjoy orgasming.

As the days pass by, he would be a lot bolder with his presence. Spending his break buying a meal for two, having the employees pack it to go, and rushing to your workplace. Requesting to see you at the receptionist in a high-vis vest, often covered in either paint, sawdust, dirt, or splotches of cement. He had the decency to wipe his shoes on the carpet outside and take off his hard hat. He learned your name somehow, hearing what your coworkers call you and using that knowledge to his advantage; summoning you for lunch.

He didn't know what you liked. So he experimented, a lot. He would come each day with a takeout box containing a different dish, it was hard to gather data on you because most of the time you would go out to eat with your peers. He had to eat both meals himself, even those he didn't like.

Rare, but it is possible, that you would accept his meal offerings. Usually, it's because none of your friends are available for lunch and you don't feel like eating at a restaurant alone. You just ate his takeaway out of convenience, it doesn't necessarily mean you like them. But that was what he had to go on, he assumed the ones you took were the ones you liked.

So, I'd invite you to imagine the confusion and upset when you rejected it the next time he brought the same one. He would offer his own order instead, which is always chicken fried rice that's greasier than that you were used to. You had no idea where he gets his food, but you deduced that his usual spot is primarily a Chinese takeout place.

If you somehow managed to reject every dish he presented to you, he would move on to different food categories. Donuts, pizzas, hamburgers, tacos, sushi, curries, lobsters, seafood boils, fresh oysters... one time he handed you a wedge of aged cheese and a packet of expensive 'organic' crackers to see what you would do with it. Maybe you find it fun, you enjoyed the randomness of it all because you refused to tell him the foods that you liked. Even if you did, when he brought that exact meal that you claimed you liked, you would baffle him by pushing it away in disgust.

He's a simple man. He likes his rice fried with chunks of seasoned chicken and hotdogs with relish, he doesn't really like deviating away from his usual choices. So he disliked eating most of the foods that you rejected, but he had to because he wouldn't want it to go to waste.

He resorted to asking your coworkers what you liked. They told him what they saw, what you usually eat. But maybe out of sadistic pleasure or suspicion, you wouldn't accept the things he brings. Leaving him saddened and uncomfortable, and a bit more tired and poorer than yesterday.

His method of figuring out what you like is costly and inefficient most of the time. On days when you don't go to work or fuck him, he would still visit you in hopes of bringing you out on proper dates. The man is romantic, always bringing a bouquet of red roses and a small gift whenever he visits. The small gift could be a box of chocolates, a stuffed bear holding a plush heart with "I LOVE YOU" embroidered onto it, another takeout meal, some jewelry, a drink that is popular with the masses now (i.e., bubble tea, soda, energy drinks) or booze.

It's mostly booze. Because he knows that is the ticket to heaven in your bed. And it seems like it's something you rejected the least.

It's 50/50 whether you let him in and take advantage of him, or you slam the door in his face. But it's a 100% probability rate that he will come back with flowers and gifts. Or he would leave packages containing what he thinks you would like in front of your door during days when he has to work.

He hands his gifts to the receptionist, asking to take them to your cubicle on days when he knows he cannot see you due to approaching renovation deadlines. Your coworkers and friends would swoon at first, saying how lucky you are to have him. But soon after, they were unsure, you didn't even know his name? You met him, how?

Some tried to talk sense into you, he could be dangerous and one day he's going to do something you will have to live with for the rest of your life. He is obviously not all there in the head, you should call it quits while you still can. But you don't, it's fun. Something to give you a break from your monotonous salary person lifestyle.

Some tried to talk some sense into him, telling him that he deserved better, and pointing out the imbalance in affection. They would also offer resources that can help him better his mental health. He would just pretend that he's deaf and walk away without saying a word, clearly too deep into his own delusions. He knows to avoid them though, and none of your coworkers know his name either.

You know that he's stealing your underwear, its numbers are dwindling down and there is only a decrease when he comes in. You confronted him about it multiple times, even hitting him with your fist as you screamed in his face. All he did was stay silent, shielding himself with his arms as he took your blows. To be fair, it's probably too weak to do any damage.

The next package that came to your doorstep contained a brand-new set of underwear, to replace the ones he stole.

You one time saw your favorite underwear on his back seat, poorly hidden by his pillow and blanket. It was covered in crusts of off-white and translucent goop that looked freshly produced, and it also smelled atrocious. You had to keep the windows open while you berated him for being disgusting, he looked ashamed, and uneasy as you stuck your head out of the window.

He installed an air freshener in his air conditioning vents and you never saw any of your old underwear ever again. Well, at least he handles criticism decently.

You thought he earned your phone number. So one day, you blurted out all the digits once. Not bothering to repeat it while he desperately tried to get you to say it again.

He only managed to contact you a few days after that, you were surprised that he remembered. But actually he only remembered parts of it. He went on a texting and calling marathon, contacting close to hundreds of numbers trying to find you.

Since he has a car, you thought you would extend his use to other parts of your life.

You ran out of milk? Just text him, and he will arrive with a brand new jug. You can simply take it off his hands and close the door, or you can choose to accept his other gifts. Need something to be picked up? He is your personal delivery man. Need to go somewhere? He can call in sick and be your chauffeur.

He saved your contact as "My baby" whereas you didn't care enough to save his number.

The downside to this is that he calls you whenever he's free and he can't see you. At first, you would answer and ask what he wanted. You stopped answering his calls when most of the time all he wanted was to hear your voice.

All is well and normal, as normal as this could be. Until one day, you caught a nasty cold.

You were having high fevers and you couldn't even get out of bed. It was rare for you to call in sick, because work was a distraction to you from the horrors of reality. So for you to not come in, it means whatever you're being infected with was serious.

You didn't answer calls from him, nor did you get up to open the door. You heard him knock and call for your name for two evenings now.

And two evenings was the limit, you deduced. Because he went ahead and broke into your house. He didn't do it peacefully either, he hurled a brick through your window and hopped in. The sound of glass shattering jolted you awake, followed by frantic shouts from him. He was desperately and hysterically calling your name, thudding from his combat boots resonated throughout the house.

You were too exhausted to even defend yourself when he comes barrelling in with his hair even messier, bags under his eyes and stubble darkening. Or maybe deep down, you know that he cares and wouldn't hurt you ever.

You coughed and weakly told him to get the fuck out of your house, he ignored that and went on to straddle your hips. His large, calloused hands cupping your cheeks as fat droplets of tears and snot drip onto your face. The man sobbed noisily, begging you to please tell him that you're okay. He was worried that you weren't showing up at your usual places, your coworkers gave him a vague response about you being unavailable.

He held you in his arms for a long while as he cried and cried. Rambling on about how he cannot afford to lose you, the light of his life, albeit incoherently.

You tried to push him off, but to no avail. So you waited until he calmed down, his head is still buried in the crook of your neck. Periodically kissing the sensitive skin.

Finally, he's composed enough to get him off you. He still sniffles as he lies next to you, holding you securely in his strong arms which seem to have more scars than usual.

Eventually though, you heard snoring. Whipping your head to see the source, he actually got knocked out cold and fell asleep in your bed again.

You pity him a bit. He must have been sleep deprived in the past 48 hours, dreading the worst that might have happened to you while you go no contact. Moreover, he reeks of alcohol. He must have not drunk that much or else you would have been covered in his vomit by now.

But you're no angel. You shook him awake, he let out an exclamation as he registered that you're in front of him, real and physical. He could touch you, smell you and see you again.

You gently slapped his cheek, trying to get him to sober up.

The man grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing your palm feverishly and soon resorted to licking your fingers.

You whacked him on the head and wiped his saliva off on his face. This seem to bring him back to reality as he stared at you with his mouth slightly open.

You spoke too soon, because a split second later, he lunged at you and connected his lips with yours. Exploring your mouth with his tongue and roaming his hands all over your body, he seem to take note that it is warmer than usual. But he went ahead and fondled you anyways.

Maybe it's the vapors in his breath that's making you drunk each time his tongue caresses yours, maybe you're as touch deprived as he is. Because you're welcoming his fingers to play with your south, eventually having them in and out of your hole.

Even when you're sick, his dick is as amazing as ever. You are a mess when he enters you after preparing you for it, he bit and sucked your neck, you can't move because he is just too damn heavy and his hands are holding your wrists down. The wet slapping, smooching, smacking and moaning can be heard even more since the window near the front door is broken.

He nibbled the shell of your ear and whispered that he misses you. He doesn't know what he would do if he went on another day without you in his embrace. He doesn't want to know either, he just wants to be here with you.

"I love you." He whispered before planting a kiss on your temple. "I love you." He kissed your jaw. "I love you." He kissed your forehead, his lips are noticeably colder than your skin. "I love you." He pressed a passionate kiss on your lips, silencing himself by continuing his french kisses.

The bedframe creaks as he rocks his hips against yours, your legs jerk back and forth as he thrusts into you.

He released your mouth to let you breathe and for him to gasp for air too. But he returns to your ears.

"I owe you my life." He licked the shell of your ear. "I belong to you, only you." He lets go one of your wrists to cradle your face. "You're the reason why I'm still here." He panted. "You're my only will to live." He continued.

"So, promise me, baby." You struggled to breathe as he shoved his tongue back down to your throat momentarily. He pulled back with one of many strings of saliva connecting your lips. "Promise that you'll never leave me." He went on to stroke your hair, giving you tingles of pleasure on top of the stimulation you're receiving from his cock.

"Because if you do," Another deep kiss. "I will die."

"And I will take the world down with me."

He gave one last powerful ram into the right spot, making you scream in unbelievable pleasure as a flash of white blinds all thoughts in your head. He moaned as well as he reached his climax too.

He dropped himself beside you, but he didn't remove his cock out of your orifice. He panted along with you.

You're so fucked out of your mind that you couldn't open your eyes properly. He smiled and pecked your cheek.

"I will follow you wherever you go. I will do anything for you." He shifted around your limp body to make it more comfortable, warming his dick inside of you and enjoying the pulsating flesh around it. "Just... please pick up my calls." He brushed stray hairs away from your sweaty face.

"I was worried." He tucked your head under his chin. The man sighed as he ran his fingers through your hair.

"I'm glad you're alright. I love you, baby." He cooed at your now unconscious form.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #tw self destruction #tw sui ideation #tw smut

108 notes · View notes

romantichomicide95 · 8 months

Text

levi ackerman

summary: you’re feeling inadequate and sad. kinda wrote this as being therapeutic but if you struggle with depression it might help you too :)

tw: themes of depression, it’s not outright stated

You walk into Levi's office after training, slumping on his sofa. He looks up at you over his paperwork, his sharp eyes taking in your demeanor. Usually, you walk in, wrap your arms around him, and pepper kisses on his face while he grunts and groans at you. But today, something is off. Levi can tell that something is bothering you.

Levi, being the stoic and reserved person that he is, has always had a difficult time with emotions. He's a man of action, not one for big pep talks or grand gestures. But he can sense your unease, and it gnaws at him.

Levi pauses for a moment, setting his paperwork aside and fixing his gaze on you. His usual cold exterior softens just a fraction as he takes in your troubled expression. His voice, though still gruff, holds a touch of genuine concern. "Gunna tell me what’s wrong?"

You let out a sigh, your eyes flickering away for a moment before meeting his again. "How do you know somethings wrong," you ask, but you can’t hide the tremble in your voice.

Levi's brows furrow, he moves closer to you, slowly closing the distance between you. "Because I know you," he replies, his voice low. "I can read you like an open book."

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling almost exposed. It was both comforting and a little annoying that he could read you so well, but not surprising after all this time together. But the thoughts gnawing away at the spaces in your brain were too much, too suffocating. It was hard sometimes, for you to open up. Feeling like a burden to people was something you’d struggled with for as long as you could remember. You always felt…alone. But you had Levi now, and you loved him.

Levi's office suddenly feels suffocating. Your voice comes out as a whisper, barely audible. "I... I feel like I'm not good enough. A good enough soldier or uhm well good enough for you, Levi," you confess, “you’re perfect.”

With his usual bluntness, Levi responds, "The hell are you talking about? I'm far from perfect. Don't idealize me like that. It’s infuriating.”

Levi's words catch you off guard. “But Levi," you begin, looking at the floor as though the chips in the wood were the most interesting thing you’d ever seen, “I don't idealize you because you're flawless. I see your imperfections, your rough edges, and I still think you're amazing. And that's what makes me feel inadequate sometimes. I look at you and then I look at myself and…I just feel…”

Levi's takes a step closer and gently places his hand on your shoulder. "Stupid?," he says cutting you off. "Because that’s how you’re acting. I never asked you to be like me. I’m not with you because you fit some mold. I’m with you because of who you are. You’re not inadequate.”

Levi's hand on your shoulder remains a steady support, his touch grounding you in the midst of your insecurities. You take a deep breath, “I get what you're saying, Levi, but sometimes, it's hard to see my own worth. I don’t know why I’m like that. I wish I wasn’t.”

Levi's expression slightly softens and he takes a minute to try and choose his response carefully before he speaks, “I know what it’s like to not feel like you’re measuring up," he admits, his eyes locked with yours. "But remember, nobody is perfect, least of all me. You don’t have to be perfect for me to want you. You don't need to be like me or anyone else to be enough. So stop being an idiot and don’t doubt how I feel about you. I certainly wouldn’t put up with your ass if you weren’t enough for me.”

"Thank you, Levi," you roll your eyes, managing to let out a soft chuckle. "For such a grump you can actually be really sweet.”

Levi quirks an eyebrow at your comment, "Grump?” He questions, finally sitting down with you his sofa.

“Yeah.” you laugh, “You’re kind of grumpy sometimes. But you’re also sweet, in your own way. You always manage to make me feel better.”

Levi rolls his eyes at you and groans, “You’re an idiot…but you’re my idiot I guess.”he says his stormy eyes filled with a tenderness that only you get to witness, “I’m glad I made you feel better.” he adds.

“You always do, somehow. Even when you’re kind of gruff about it. But I know you try.” You rest your head on his shoulder, and interlace your fingers with his. He squeezes your hand, it’s a small gesture reserved only for you to show you how much he really does love you.

“I do try. For you. I know I’m not the best at it, but I’m always here for you.” he says turning towards you and lifting your chin. He places a soft kiss to your lips and you momentarily get lost in the rich, bitter taste of tea on his lips. When you part he rests his forehead on yours, his eyes boring into yours. “Always.”

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman fluff #levi x reader fluff #attack on titan #captain levi #levi aot #aot #attack on titan fluff #aot fluff #aot x reader

193 notes · View notes

bebefilms · 1 year

Text

───────── 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐅. ( 18+ )

PAIRING: jooheon x fem!reader WORD COUNT: 2.9k !!!! spanking, unprotected sex, kitchen sex, orgasm denial, creampie SYNOPSIS: when he’s craving baked goods, it’s best for him to come over.

When Jooheon is craving desserts, his best bet is to show up at her apartment unannounced, equipped with a cheeky grin and an overnight bag. He overwelcomes his stay when it comes to his cakes and cookies because his fatal flaw is his disastrous baking skills–or lack thereof–which will often yield burnt goods or a nearly burnt residence, even when following a recipe to a T.

Or so he claims.

“What do you want now?,” she questions with mock disdain, a stone-cold expression too transparent to mask the pep in her voice when her beloved stands outside her door on a gloomy Friday evening.

“Chocolate chip cookies.”

His eyes gloss over her figure, as if to burn the image into the back of his mind like he hasn’t done so countless times, and he cocks a brow. “And you, of course.”

Despite her grimace, heat flows up to her face, her heart hammering madly in her chest. She swore up and down that any cheesy phrases given to her, any cheesy phrase that can only derive from romance novels, would evoke a visceral reaction: disgust. It’s partially true but coming from her own boyfriend, her body goes into overdrive between shudders and shyness. “You are repulsive.”

“Only for you.”

She steps aside for him to overstay yet another welcome, one that may be what she needs after a long day at work. He heads for the guest room while she strays into the kitchen where she pulls out her baking utensils and ingredients, piling them onto one corner of the kitchen island. She knows the recipe by heart but pulls it up on her phone anyway as a safety cushion, then sets the device down to be forgotten later.

Jooheon is not an incompetent man, but there’s genuinely no hope for him to bake something without potentially setting something ablaze or yielding a culinary monstrosity of epic proportions. She has seen his sugar cookies before, which resembled the end pieces of overbaked, lopsided bread more than actual cookies. Even though he insists on shouldering some of the labor, she strictly assigns him the duty of dishwashing instead where it would be impossible to spark a fire.

He stands on the opposite side of the kitchen island, watching her every move like a curious child observing his diligent mother. He has learned the lesson of keeping his distance while she’s running around in the kitchen because literally butting heads will wear her patience thin, and she can see it in his pouty expression that he wants to be close to her, have his arms around her and forget the definition of ‘personal space’. It’s endearing to see sometimes.

The dough comes together in less than fifteen minutes, and the preheated oven goes off a minute later. Jooheon is already standing at the sink washing the dirty dishes before the tray of cookies even goes in, and the flour-dusted, dough-streaked counter becomes her duty to clean with a soapy rag.

He’s chatting about his day, relaying a funny story about his coworker and filling her residence with laughter while she stands beside him with her back pressed to the counter, nodding as most of his words go in one ear and out the other. She’s typically a good listener, but her mind has entered another realm trying to conjure up ways she can startle him while he’s doing the dishes. He gets easily spooked, which entertains her when she’s in the mood to be a little brat.

Her gaze travels down his back to his behind, which is emphasized a little too well in his gray sweats. There’s still a fair amount of dishes to wash. With soapy hands, there’s no way he can retaliate, right?

He is rudely disrupted with a hand to his ass. With a slow turn to face her, her grinning face meets his seemingly peeved one: narrowed eyes and a tight jaw. Two seconds pass, and she finds herself running laps around the counter with her boyfriend hot on her trail. He ends up cornering her and her quick thinking leads her to her doom of being caught by a singular arm hooking around her waist, reeling her back against him to avenge his peace.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!,” she wails in between giggles as he smacks her ass back–several times.

“No, you’re not,” he refutes with a chuckle while vehemently carrying out his vengeance.

Her ass is not spared from his assault, not even once. It’s almost unfair really, as she only got him once while she has lost count of how many times he got her. What she thought was going to be a playful charade shifts to something else when the moment he stops, he presses up behind her and tucks his head between her neck and shoulder.

“Honey..?,” she mutters, knowing well enough what the tension and his curious hands roaming her body will lead to.

Her eyelids flutter as she leans over the kitchen island, succumbing to the warmth surging from the pit of her stomach to her limbs, to the tips of her fingers and toes, and to her head from his lips traveling over her skin. The collar of her tee is tugged back at his discretion, granting him more surface area for his mouth to cover, and the initial fits of laughter simmer down to labored breaths and open-mouthed kisses.

“Not so mischievous now, are you?” He hums.

His hand clamors for her throat, thick fingers wrapping around the base of her neck to tilt her head back and draw a gasp from her lungs. While his mouth brands her neck, his grip tightens just enough to force a breath out of her, to shock her and assert control of the reins. She swears that this wasn’t her goal of doing what she did, but the outcome makes her proud of her mischief.

“Thought you could get away with it, huh?”

She shakes her head, though her movement is rigid from his grip. After swallowing, he squeezes, catching her off-guard, and he soothes her with gentle kisses on her exposed skin. As cold as the autumn has been, there’s no better source of heat than what is set ablaze within him. Whatever fuels him into carrying out his sinful endeavors on her sparks a flame inside her, one that grows into wildfire when his hand snakes up her shirt and squeezes her naked chest.

Blinking through a blur, the timer on the oven ticks down to eight minutes.

Eight minutes of allowing him to do whatever he wishes, carry out the consequences of her own actions however he likes.

The pad of his thumb circles her nipple, which hardens from the contrast of the cold breeze and the heat of his touch, a whirlwind of fiery desire growing as filthy words are uttered in between kisses. His fixed grip on her neck has brought her head back over his shoulder at this point, fully exposing the canvas for his mouth to finish his artistry on. Her shirt has ridden up from him groping her breast so when her abdomen presses against the cold edge of the counter, chills run down her spine. The reaction seems to bring his hips closer where his erection digs against her ass, and who is she to not tease him in return?

He never lets her get away with anything, therefore drawing back and grabbing her hips to spin her around and face him. He hoists her onto the counter, perching her on the edge where he guides her legs around him, keeping the distance to a minimum. He drags her shirt up, fully exposing her bare chest, and his mouth latches onto one.

Her judgment is skewed by the pleasure, but not entirely to where she neglects checking the timer. Even if the cookies burn to a crisp, she shouldn’t let her apartment burn to one either.

While his mouth tends to her chest, a curious hand dips down the waistband of her pajama pants, burrowing between her thighs to feel her. The cotton barrier of her panties is thin, allowing him to perceive just how wet she’s getting. Suddenly, it’s not so cold anymore as he digs his thumb between her folds, wedging the damp patch of fabric in as he thumbs her clit.

Draping her arms around his neck, she whimpers from a touch she desperately needs that is a measly barrier away. If he could just scoot her panties aside, it would be enough to extinguish the fire within. But Jooheon sometimes likes to watch the world burn, and she continues to burn with lust, frustration, and borderline outrage.

“Babe,” she whines. “Please. I want to feel you.”

“Hm. I know.”

“Asshole.”

The ‘slip-up’ earns a tight grip on her chin that forces her to stay still as he straightens up. Leaning so close to her, the weight of his piercing glare racks a tremor through her, particularly when his lips ghost over hers.

“Watch your mouth,” he cautions.

Words are lodged in her throat as he continues thumbing her clit through her panties, and she can only muster a mere nod to acknowledge his warning. She could push him a little more but the friction of his touch, the friction of the fabric rubbing at her soft flesh, wanes her urge to continue acting up. She ruts against his hand, pleading and whining so pathetically from the calculated strokes. Her suffering etches a smirk on his lips, luring her to a strong desire of kissing it off, but her wishes are granted by a tug of her panties and two fingers filling her needy hole.

There’s only so much room in her pants for his hand, but he makes it work. His pace is surprisingly quick, considering the tumultuous teasing he was doing beforehand. Thick digits drive between her clenched walls, drawing out an eclectic mix of incoherence and breathy cries, and she naturally secures a grip on his wrist for security.

He observes intently, an unwavering gaze making it impossible for her to meet it as she’s falling apart in his palm. She’s used to his cheeky grins and over-the-top humor so when he has her cornered and vulnerable for him, the polar contrast arouses her more. His roughness and sharp expression calls for her to be on her knees for him, and it never fails to.

“Fuck,” she pants, her fingers wrapping tighter around his wrist.

“Yeah? You like that? Feels good, hm?”

She begs, though she’s not sure for what. A flurry of ‘please’s part from her lips like a bad habit and perhaps, might be why he seems to be pumping quicker. His thumb is fixed on her clit, thankfully without a barrier in the way, and her head reels from the onslaught of pleasure washing over her, the high tides threatening to drag her deeper. While a mess is spurring in her pants, his mouth finds her neck, soothing the newly branded flesh with kisses fragmented by filthy words and smug laughter.

Her walls are seizing around him. She’s throbbing, aching to chase her release, and she’s rushing to a brink, seconds away from rapture when the obnoxious beeps of the oven disrupts them, forcing him to remove his hand when she needs him most. Her eyes grow wide as she’s left high and dry.

“Lemme get that for you first.” He laughs.

But it’s not funny. It’s almost hurtful as she sits on the counter, her poor pussy throbbing around emptiness, damp panties practically adhering to her skin by the wetness that has seeped out of her. Her thoughts tune out the running water, the clank of the baking trays as it hits the stovetop, and a singular beep that turns the oven off. By then, the smell of freshly baked cookies grows tenfold, filling the kitchen, and she almost forgets about her sticky ordeal.

Almost.

“Now..” Jooheon finds his way back between her legs, fingers tucking into her waistband again. “Where were we?”

A harsh tug sends her pants down her legs, followed by her panties, both garments flung to the side with a flick of her feet. He bends down and perches her legs over his shoulders, naturally bringing her down on her back, but she doesn’t want to miss the lewd view of him committing sins between her thighs.

Propping herself up on her elbow, she runs her fingers through his hair, moaning and panting with less of a care for her neighbors hearing. Steam is still pent up, searching for exit routes as she was abandoned just before her peak, and picking up right after lures her even closer to the edge.

“So good,” she whimpers, throwing her head back as her clit falls victim to the fervent strokes of his tongue. “Want to feel your fingers inside.”

Soon, thick digits plunge back in, giving her what she wants. The rapid pace, coupled with his mouth working on her clit and every inch of her pussy that has yet to be touched, sends chills up her spine. The deadly combination renders her taut, tension wracking her limbs and forcing her thighs to close in on his head, but he only groans in response. His noises serve a subtle vibration to her sensitive clit and his persistence quickly brings her over the edge.

“Oh, god!,” she wails, tugging at his strands as she spatters on his hand.

He continues fucking her through her high, forcing her to squirt in smaller successions while she is now flat on her back, writhing and twitching from the aftermath. Just as it becomes too much for her, he removes his fingers and draws back, carefully dismounting her legs from his shoulders to straighten up.

A breather.

That’s what she thought she was going to get. It feels like a split second before a bigger intrusion sinks inside her, stretching her open and filling her in the way she needs him to. When she peers down at him, he is pressing kisses on her thigh, up her pelvis and to her navel while he’s bottomed out and sheathed by her aching walls. He pushes her shirt up to kiss higher, as high as he can reach, and he is appeased enough to perch her leg back over his shoulder. He splays a hand on her inner thigh, pinning her other leg down on the counter, opening her up further for his taking, and she chokes out a moan when his cock pistons in her.

He is driven mad, his thrusts carnal as he fucks her on the island countertop. The mix of the cold surface beneath her back and the heat of feral hunger culminates in a tight knot in the pit of her stomach, goosebumps pricking her skin, and chills surging through her body. When she meets eyes with him, it’s like looking into the gaze of a wild predator behind bushes: primal.

“Feels so good around me,” he grunts, fingertips digging into her skin with a tighter grip. “Your pretty pussy is made just for me.”

She could implode just by that remark.

“For you,” she mumbles in between breaths.

The kitchen reverberates with the clashing of hips and lewd squelches of her dripping cunt being pounded. It’s not ideal to be railed on a surface with no bounce, but they have already passed the point of no return. Jooheon has proven to be ravenous for more than just a sweet treat.

The sheer force of his hips already has her seeing stars, but the pad of his thumb sweeping over her swollen clit is the nail to her coffin. Her back arches off the counter, a gasp heaving from her throat with the additional touch, and she squirms as her brink comes much closer—much quicker.

“Fuck. Jooheon!”

“Gonna come, huh?”

She nods, a hand clasped over her mouth to suppress a cry.

“Go ahead,” he encourages. “Come for me. Come all over my cock.”

Her eyes roll back as the tension reaches an all-time high. Her slick soaks his shaft, dripping down the line of her ass to puddle beneath her. His grunts mingle with her whimpers, threatening to override her noises as he hovers closer and pounds her. Her walls seize tighter, clenching and resisting but giving him the friction he needs to nail his cock inside her and unload in her greedy hole.

Ecstasy flushes her body with warmth as she becomes a vessel for his climax, shallow thrusts forcing his seed deeper inside her. Her breaths are fragmented by whiny pleas, and he eventually comes to a halt. After pulling out, mixed arousal seeps out of her, spurring a bigger mess on the counter. It’s less pleasant to feel now that she’s not driven wild with desire.

Jooheon grabs her hands and pulls her up into a sitting position too soon. She thinks he’s about to do something again when he wraps her legs around his waist, and hoists her off the counter.

“Let’s go wash up so we can eat some cookies.”

She erupts into laughter from the immediate change in his demeanor. “You have too much energy, honey.”

“Because you charge me back to full percentage.”

In contrast to the heat creeping up her face, she grimaces. “My god, no more. Please.”

#monsta x imagines #monsta x smut #jooheon imagines #jooheon smut #monsta x scenarios #jooheon scenarios

206 notes · View notes

envydean · 9 months

Note

For the prompt thing: being caught kissing (destiel :3c)

Destiel | 726 | fluffy coming out to friends 🥰 thanks for the ask!! Kinda inspired by heartstopper but Dean and co are about 18-19 years old.

(AO3)

~~~

It's not a Halloween party, even though Charlie kept saying it was. There are maybe seven of them there, eight when Cas finally rings the doorbell and shows up, settling between Charlie and Jo as the film starts. Dean tries not to feel disheartened that the space he's kept free just for his friend isn't taken up. Instead, Ash shuffles in until they're squashed between the couch and scattered on the floor cushions. A coffee table between them all and the TV is filled to the edges with popcorn, cupcakes and drinks.

Dean had a generous helping of vodka in his first drink while he anxiously hoped and waited for Cas to turn up, but since then has only stuck to soft drinks.

Halfway through their second horror movie, Ash's choice — some awful gorefest that's not scary — Dean hears Cas asking Charlie where the bathroom is.

"I'll show you," Dean chips in, possibly a little too eager but the vodka has left him buzzed.

"Thanks, Dean."

Dean is steady on his feet as he leads Cas out of the living room and up the stairs.

The bathroom door is at the end of the hallway but Dean catches Cas' hand before he reaches it, turning him against the wall.

"Hey," Dean whispers.

"Can I pee first?" Cas asks with a smirk.

Dean lets him go.

They've been dating for a couple of months, stealing kisses where they can and just enjoying spending time together. None of their friends know yet but they all assume Dean's straight anyway, he's going to tell Charlie tonight, then there's no way it'll be a secret.

Cas comes out the bathroom with a gentle smile on his face and he slides back into position against the wall, facing Dean.

"Did you wash your hands?" Dean asks.

Rolling his eyes, Cas answers that he did.

With that Dean laces his hands with Cas' and presses him up against the wall.

It's risky maybe, but they've not seen each other all week and Cas wasn't even sure if his older brother would let him come. So having him here, now, like this is perfect.

Dean captures Cas' lips with his own, biting a little at Cas' bottom lip. Cas grunt's quietly in response and deepens their kiss.

Dean untangles one hand, sliding it up Cas' arm, to his shoulder and then his neck where he tries to pull him in impossibly closer. The slow and sensual has given way to pure desperation and it's so easy to get lost in one another.

"Holy shit!"

They break apart suddenly, chests heaving from both the panic of someone finding them and the amount of effort they were putting in.

Charlie is facing them with her mouth agog in some kind of comic surprise.

"Charlie... I—"

"I knew it!"

Dean glances at Cas and then back to Charlie when he doesn't find any reaction from him. "You knew?"

"How dumb do you think I am?"

Dean's speechless but Cas takes over almost seamlessly.

"We don't think you're dumb. Dean wanted to tell you tonight."

"You've been messing around for months and you're cutesy little hesrt-eyes for each other haven't gone unnoticed."

"You're not mad?" Dean asks finally, squeezing Cas' hand.

"Why would I be mad?"

Dean thinks for a moment, but then shrugs.

"Clearly you are the dumb one, and I say that affectionately," she says. "Anyway, we're ordering pizza in time for the next movie and you were taking too long. Ash wanted to get you a shared Hawaiian."

"He what!?" Dean rages.

He still hasn't let go of Cas' hand when he drags him back down the stairs and demands the meatfeast instead.

"Alrighty, meat-man," Ash teases.

Cas chuckles.

As they all settle back down again, this time with Cas sharing one of the floor cushions with Dean, thet start the last part of the current movie.

"Me and Cas are dating, by the way." Dean makes the announcement at the next quiet part as the characters on the film sneak their way into the woods.

The rest of the group smile and congratulate them on their dating status, it's all genuine and Dean's not sure why he was so worried about it. He's glad it's out now and he and Cas can chill in each others pockets for the rest of the night.

#eobardthawneallen #answered #fanfic #destiel #jenny writes #supernatural

28 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 1 year

Text

Try: Mike Duarte x Reader

Tagging: @nessamc

The knife was at Duarte’s throat before he had a chance to speak. His back slammed against the flimsy wall of the cheap apartment as the blade bit into his skin, scrapping across the salt and pepper stubble. He ground his teeth together, hissing as your forearm rammed into his chest.

“Honey, why don’t you quit playing?” he uttered. “We both know you don’t have it in you to kill me.”

“Says the man who broke into my apartment.” You snapped before relinquishing your hold on him. “What are you doing here Mike?”

His palm rubbed across jawline, his fingertips seeking out the nick in his flesh. It stung like crazy, citrus seeping into it from the limes you had been slicing before he’d gained entry through the fire escape.

“You need to get better locks on that window.” He said instead of answering your question, following you into the tiny kitchenette. You gestured for him to take a seat at the minuscule kitchen table. He shook his head, instead crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe. His eyes wandered throughout the space, taking in the damp stain spreading across the ceiling. “This is quite the little shit hole they’ve got you shacked up in.”

“You never told me why you were here.” You said, reaching up into the cabinet and removing a second glass before placing it alongside yours. You picked up the bottle of whiskey, tilting it from side to side before he nodded. You dropped a slice of lime into each of your glasses before pouring the amber liquid over it.

“You need my help.” He said, taking the glass from your hand when offered it.

“That’s funny, the last time we spoke I remember saying I didn’t want anything from you.” You reminded him, leaning against the Formica work surface.

“A lot has changed in three years.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders.

It looked like he certainly had. He looked more put together these days. His dark hair clean, freshly washed, the stubble on his cheeks leading into neatly trimmed goatee. His face was fuller, more defined instead of the gaunt sharp angles you had seen on him last time. He’d filled out a little more, definitely muscle, you wondered when he had started taking care of himself.

“I’m not that desperate.” You murmured, swilling the liquid in your glass.

He looked away and you could see the muscle in his jaw twitching, a tell-tale sign that this ran far deeper than he wanted to express.

“You want me to get on my knees and beg?” he snarled.

“You used to look so pretty when you did.” You mocked.

He gave you that look, that dark intense stare that lit a fire somewhere deep inside of you. You remembered nights spent underneath him, fingertips digging into his skin as he whispered to you in Spanish. Beautiful, sinful things as he fucked you to the very precipice of your sanity. He set his glass down on the chipped table, his hands coming to rest on either side of the work surface as he stared into your eyes.

“How long has it been since someone cared about you hm?” he asked, the back of his hand trailing across your cheekbone. “Since someone kissed you? Loved you?”

You said nothing, your gaze lowered to lips as his hips slotted perfectly against yours.

“I know who you are.” He told you, his forehead pressed against yours, his thumb smoothing over the blush of your cheek. “I have mourned your losses and celebrated your triumphs and I have loved you with every single inch of my heart.”

“I know.” You whispered as his lips brushed over yours.

“Then why did you let them do this to you?” He asked in a hushed whisper. “Why did you let them put you so deep undercover that you can barely see the sun?”

“When they came for you, they came for me too.” You told him softly. “They had enough to bury you and I… I couldn’t let that happen. It was take this assignment or let you drown.”

“So, you saved me…” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips. “I thought it was me. I thought you wanted out.”

“Never.” You told him. “I never wanted to leave.”

He kissed you and it was fire and passion ripping through your soul, burning you up inside until there was nothing but the sensation of his mouth on yours. His fingers tangled in your hair, drawing you closer, his muscular form pressing against yours. Fuck, it had been too long since he had touched you, the yearning flooded through your veins like a narcotic, stripping you of all your armour.

“Will you let me help you?” he asked, cradling your face between his hands and looking into your eyes. You could see everything inside of them, his grief, his anger and his love. That immense, precious feeling that he had tried to bury in the time you’d been away. It spilled over the edges, bleeding colour into his world and he knew he couldn’t let this happen, couldn’t let you slip away from him a second time.

“Will you at least let me try?”

Love Mike Duarte? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#mike durate #mike durate x reader #mike durate x you #captain mike durate #maurice compte #law & order: svu #law and order svu #law and order special vitims unit #law and order: special victims unit #law & order: special victims unit #law and order special victims unit #captain mike duarte #mike duarte x you #mike duarte x reader #mike duarte

82 notes · View notes

hxdonist · 3 days

Text

.::. WHAT WAS CONSUMED OF ME? .::. cyberware.txt

Playing too free and loose with the net has its pitfalls, and Ikarus is well aware of them. Given his first neural uplink in a shady operation at little more than fifteen years old, his still-growing body regularly experienced damage from the electrical impulses often deployed against those picking around where they don't belong- and mental strain endured while netrunning, a close call frying the connections between his mind and his own right hand in his late teens- it was on his mother's recommendation that he replaced it, instead of seeking therapy or perhaps retiring for a short time from his dives into the depths of code for a time to let those connections slowly filter back in.

An Ichibangase/Eisher produced implant Ikarus' right arm is top of the line- installed in his teens and upgraded as Ikarus himself grew into a man, it's been largely the same since his youth, with exception of additional, improved weapon suites and stealth modifications made after-market to ensure that he is never left unarmed so to speak. Bearing pointed, razor-sharp claws cleverly hidden in the paneling of his more 'human' hand, the points remain precise and capable, able to manipulate even the smallest computer chips even with them exposed- though given their lack of sensation- Ikarus tends to prefer to use the touch-feedback sensitive fingers of the 'standard' hand. The flowing arcs of red light and electricity that shift like muscles beneath a hard outer shell are the single indication that the implant contains a railgun- grounded through the additional metal implanted within Ikarus' body after years of net diving, it can muster exactly five high powered, nigh-unstoppable by anything short of electromagnetic shielding shots before requiring a relatively lengthy recharge period of 30 minutes for an additional round, unless overclocked to strip power from elsewhere in his body.

His interfaces are more difficult to place, and are only at their most obvious when under the guise of 1NF1N1T3FUN, a helmet aping the image of a fox's head and face with projectors to display eight eyes over its scrawny, seemingly rotting visage, this headware is intended to mitigate and lighten the load he takes on while in the chair, and hide his identity in holos put out with NANO ZILLA's demands, or ransoms over information. lit in a harsh red and machined to match perfectly with his already installed port and the pre-existing damage to his body, it is comfortable enough to remain hidden beneath as long as he might require it- as only those who have earned his trust in his crew have seen him without it.

all internal interfaces, however, are starting to show their age. the operation to install his neural port was botched- 'overclocking' his connections if he's not careful- or mitigating with his helmet when wired in, he risks the loss of more than just his neck-to-right-shoulder connection- that expanse of his upper body- and some of his back and spine- mapped in sprawling carbon, chrome, and dancing red electricity. This too, is a secret, regularly wearing turtlenecks and long-sleeves to hide the bulk of his damage, in an effort to avoid looking weak, or perhaps, worrying his people. His on-board chipset, used for on-the fly hacking, scanning, and day-to-day business a phone might have previously filled the space of is a decidedly early model, jailbroken and regularly updated with the required work-arounds for modern technology- it works slowly, but effectively- many chromed-up cowboys unable to give chase as Ikarus makes a slow, lazy retreat unfettered by smart weapons or speed-enhanced limbs, quieted by anesthesia in code. . .

#ikarus.aes #ikarus.hc #ikarus.info

5 notes · View notes

sam-glade · 8 months

Text

Find the Words Tag

Tagged by the incredible @iced-ginger-tea here @charlesjosephwrites here. Thank you💜

I'll pass it gently onto: @void-botanist @sarahlizziewrites @sunset-a-story. Your words are: lonely, silent, happy, sad.

From @iced-ginger-tea daylight, cheer, sunset, dress

DAYLIGHT ❌ I'll look for: SUNLIGHT

The woods were dense. There was something growing in every available bit of space. The largest trees - oaks and ashes - were so large that five men would have trouble joining hands when standing around them. Moss covered every last bit of their bark. Between them younger trees and bushes formed the understory, birches, silver firs, hornbeams, aspens… Below them, ferns created a dense layer, mixed with various berry bushes. Clumps of hazels stuck out in places. Closer to the fallen tree Lissan could see patches of the forest floor, with snake grass, blooming violets, and colourful mushrooms. Everything was growing, fighting for space and sunlight.

CHEER

Katya the Catnip crept up on him like a cat. He turned to face her, forcing a smile. He felt drained.

She looked like he remembered her - short and a little chubby, with a mop of very curly auburn hair surrounding a round bronze face. She grinned at him. One of her upper front teeth was chipped; that was new.

“A little birdie told me that you need someone to cheer you up,” she said as a greeting.

“I’m pretty sure it was a squirrel,” Lissan retorted, shaking her wrist.

SUNSET

Nikols wielded a Djerid, a short javelin-like weapon, more popular across the Sunset Strait, kept in a quiver at his hip. Ianim supposed that at a distance it could be mistaken for a fanciful sheath for a short sword, but he knew the truth.

DRESS

Reinforcements came in the form of Artio and his Bear. The Colonel of the Heavy Infantry was in dress uniform and clean shaven, having come straight from the parade. The Bear's fur was brushed, although it was now covered in black ash. That was still the neatest the Lissan had seen them.

~*~

From @charlesjosephwrites thought, find, paper, light, and reach

THOUGHT (a little longer, but so worth it)

“Master Lissander, this was not Leshy. This was a creature known to charm people and lead them to their death,” Claren pointed out with exasperation. "Surely you know that nymphs take on the most alluring forms…"

"Master Claren. If she really wanted to charm me, she would take on a man's form.”

"…Oh."

Lissan frowned at him, going over the encounter in his head. Master Claren chased the nymph away only once Lissan started asking for details, but he looked wary from the beginning. Not charmed.

"It didn't look like it worked on you either, Master Claren," Lissan observed carefully.

"I do not believe that there is a form a nymph can take that would charm me," the teacher informed him, now calm and focused.

Oh, Lissan's thoughts echoed Claren's reaction.

FIND (talking about Lissan, of course)

“You mean to tell me that there is a thing he can find intimidating about a person?” Ianim said with a hint of amusement.

Claren laughed and quipped lightly:

“I merely suggested that he has more tact than you give him credit for, Princekin.”

PAPER

“Lissan?” A hand on his shoulder stopped him. “What are you doing here?”

He blinked a few times before turning to face Gullin. Gullin looked tired and in a rush. He was holding a thin paper folder in his other hand, clearly on the way to the upstairs offices. Lissan bit his lip, reminding himself that the Lieutenant General was on duty and very busy. Anthea’s voice echoed in his head. A mature person does not allow emotions to interfere with their duty.

He should tell Gullin that he was on his way out and that Gullin didn’t need to worry about him, but no words could squeeze through his clenched throat.

LIGHT (FYI, 100 occurrences in Gifts of Fate, 154 in The Prince's Shadow, 155 in Prodigal Children, excluding 'lightly' or 'lighter')

Not a minute later Anthea climbed the stairs to the gallery, Mikkel following a few steps behind her. He took the bay nearest the stairs, sitting with his back towards Erya and sipping red wine in silence. Anthea stopped in front of the spymaster.

Erya stared. Without the crowd and all other sorts of distractions, she could finally appreciate how breathtaking Anthea looked that evening, in the wine-red dress with silver embroidery, with a sabre and her Sword in matching scabbards at her side, with her braids coiled at the back of her head in complex patterns. In the dim light, she seemed more like a nymph or an apparition, too beautiful.

REACH

With an angry sigh, he returned to his chore. He did his best to concentrate on chopping wood. The axe felt primitive and soulless. Dead. It wasn’t a weapon, just a tool. He swung it again and watched two pieces of wood fall off a stump. Lifeless.

His Sword lay safe near his bunk, in the room he shared with Marta. He tended to leave it there when he was working around the household. He reached out to it with his thoughts, and the spirit of the blade stirred. The large She-Wolf appeared to be napping. She did it a lot recently, while he couldn’t sit still.

#tag game #writeblr #writeblr tag game #find the word tag #days of dusk

3 notes · View notes

mlobsters · 2 months

Text

supernatural s14e15 peace of mind (story: meghan fitzmartin, steve yockey; teleplay: meghan fitzmartin)

what in the riverdale is going on in this opening

JACK You want to know how much of my soul I had to burn off to kill Michael. CASTIEL Yes. JACK I don't know. I try not to think about it.

well cas has this fun and painful method just jamming his hand up in your chest cavity and we can find out

guess we're picking the rando au people we didn't know except kinda maggie for sam to be traumatized over (my long held irritation over no mystery spot trauma rears its ugly head :p but it's only just gotten way worse over the years) way back when they used to follow those things through pretty regularly

so sam's running off to the riverdale hunt because he can't stand to not be busy

CASTIEL You were right. Jack is struggling. And I've tried, but -- DEAN Why do you think he'll talk to me? CASTIEL Well, because he looks up to you. And his soul -- I mean, you've seen this before. DEAN No, no. No. See, I was -- I was not great with Sam, you know, when he was uh... CASTIEL But Jack's soul isn't completely gone. At least I don't think so. W-We just don't know how much is left. DEAN Well, how am I supposed to figure that out? CASTIEL I don't know! Just talk to him. Get him to open up. And then sleep until the cows come home.

the stuffed face eyeroll :p i know it's part of his schtick but i hate the massive bites thing.

literally the most impractical cars they could pick for traveling cross country for hunts. old fucking american cars. sure to break down constantly and consume staggering amounts of fuel

SAM I'm good. I'm good, honestly. CASTIEL Yeah, I know. Everybody's good. But after this, maybe Dean's right. You need to rest. SAM Can't.Just because I'm tired doesn't mean the monsters are gonna stop, you know? Doesn't mean anything. Plus we don't have as many Hunters as we used to.

a) love to see the snark from cas b) that is the LAMEST excuse because they had this surplus of hunters for what.. a handful of months at most? i don't even know. NOT VERY LONG.

CASTIEL Yeah. It's like we're stepping into a Saturday Evening Post. I look at them sometimes after you fall asleep at night. They're very soothing.

do they have a stockpile in the bunker of them? is he reading them on the internet? so many questions. and reminder of the weirdness of him never sleeping

is the free milkshake gonna put the 50s whammy on sam?

CASTIEL Oh, no. His head exploded. CHIP I'm sorry! CASTIEL Like a ripe melon on the sun.

occasionally the way they do his social obliviousness does hit for me

SAM Passionate how? CASTIEL She spends, uh, quite a bit of time talking about the -- the shape and the heft of his --

LOL ok

guess we're going with clueless!dean dealing with the maybe-soulless!jack. hokay. the stilted attempt at bonding over the snake, the ... test of angel food or devil's food snack cakes...

MS DOWLING Oh. The very nice, the very tall fella? CASTIEL Yes.

LOL cas in a huff over the lady being charmed by sam. and the milkshake lady too. yes, looking for the very tall man 🙄

good "does not compute" face from cas

JACK I don't know. I know I don't feel nothing, but I don't feel the same, either. And maybe I just don't know what nothing feels like. Mostly, I just don't want Sam and Dean and Cass to worry. DONATELLO They're your family. Families worry. JACK But I just -- I need time and space to figure things out on my own, but everywhere I go, there's someone looking over my shoulder. DONATELLO Ah. When I need to, uh, "blend," I ask myself, "What would Mr. Rogers do?" JACK Who's Mr…. DONATELLO Rogers? The best man I know. Sam and Dean are the best men I know.So, ergo, whenever you don't want them to worry, just think "WWWD" -- "What Would the Winchesters Do?" JACK I can do that.

reminds me a bit of amos in the expanse, knows he doesn't have a good moral compass so naomi is often is his. ps you should watch this show. it's so, so good.

the expanse s1e2 AMOS Ask me whether or not I should rip your helmet off and kick you off this bucket, and I couldn't give you a reason why I should or shouldn't. Except Naomi wouldn't like it.

DEAN So he's not like you? DONATELLO Oh, no. I'm a Prophet of the Lord, but he -- Jack's probably the most powerful being in the universe. I mean, really, who knows what's going on inside his head?

like okay so we're regressing to dean being freaked out over jack's powers now i guess, with the questionable morality. but also, surely jack can't be more powerful than the most juiced up god? why didn't archangels go around making little stronger-than-god creatures before

CHIP What, did you think it was the milkshakes?

well, they got me too. still unclear what this dude's deal is even after that long speech

CASTIEL Sam, I know you want to be happy. And I know what it's like to lose your army. I know what it's like to fail as a leader, Sam. But you can't lose yourself. You have to keep fighting. You can't lose yourself, because if you do, you fail us. You fail all of those that we've lost. You fail Jack. Sam, you fail Dean.

said the magic word to wake him up. can't let dean down

DEAN Heard you wore a cardigan. CASTIEL Yeah, I told him about the cardigan. SAM Great. Thanks. DEAN And the wife. He said you were, uh, really happy. SAM Thanks.

i would like to imagine this taking place as texting with pictures

DEAN Really happy, huh? SAM I mean, I guess I was happy, but… It wasn't real, you know? Just… DEAN Well, not a lot of happy goin' on around here. SAM I hate this place right now. I hate it. Everywhere I look, I see them. I see Maggie. I guess that's why, uh -- why I was so desperate to get out of here, why I kept running us ragged. But I got to stop that. I-I can't keep running. I -- This is my home. This is our home. Dean, I think I just need some time. DEAN Okay.

just give him a hug, dean. bah. shoulder pat and walking away, lame. anyway, good on you, sam! telling him straight up why you're struggling. kinda would like to see a little more support other than the immediately complying with the need for time/space from dean, but ok.

JACK Cas says you miss your friend. You need help. Sam and Dean would help you, so -- so I'll help you. I'll help you see your friend again. In Heaven.

lol great great. and cas got to see it.

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 14x15 #meghan fitzmartin #steve yockey

1 note · View note

builder051 · 2 years

Text

Nobody smells burnt toast

Chasing Ghosts--

per the usual, warnings for swearing, allusions to drug use/abuse, alcohol use, allusions to past violence, allusions to foster care system and its inadequacies, mention of high school dress code nonconformity, a few mentions re: affectionate people being affectionate, food references, references to (I don't know how to categorize these, so I'm just going to say "symptoms such as"): sleepwalking, startling reflex (I'm trying to catch everything, but I don't know what's going to offend... so sorry if I forgot something.)

_____________________

James jerks awake. His hearing aid squeals, and the outside of his ear protests as well as he drags his head out of the nook between the couch cushion and Steve's shoulder.

"Mm?" Steve adjusts the hand that lazily grips James's ass and tries to open his chest to be a more inviting pillow. "Sleeping time."

"Yeah, in a minute..." James squints toward the kitchen. The strange aqua glow of the clock within the microwave's touch panel illuminates the shapes of the fridge, sink, and dishwasher. The corner of the kitchen table is barely visible... Or maybe James just knows it's there. It's better than the squinty blur he gets out of a pair of NVGs.

There's a soft creaking sound, and James is on alert.

"What was that?" Steve sits up, and James slides practically to his knees.

"You have great timing..." James mumbles.

"A squirrel?" Steve guesses. "No, a raccoon!"

"Whatever it is, you're gonna scare it away if you keep yelling." James rolls his eyes and slips off the couch, using every part of Steve he can find as a handrail.

"But vermin. And germs. And-ow! You did that on purpose."

"Maybe I did." James shrugs.

He flicks the switch to turn on the light above the entryway, the roughly 4 by 4 foot square of rustic linoleum that does nothing but piss everyone off--it's too small for the coat tree or the shoe rack, and it's too large for a welcome mat.

James finds use for it tonight, though. The space in front of the front door may be spotlighted, but the kitchen and living room just get dim carryover. Enough light for James to recognize the sliding tank top and sleep shorts and curly head of his sister.

"Hi," James says, as gently as he can. Neither of them are good with the startle.

"Hm." Tasha doesn't look at him. "But why the...?" She reaches into the pantry. "Boxes are..."

Tasha holds up the strawberry pop-tarts as if the flimsy box were the holy grail. She looks confused. Then she looks at James.

"Yeah," James sighs. I don't know why Steve bought those ones." The box has some kind of gimmick printed on it. Spider-Man. A comic book, James thinks. He might've seen a funko pop...a charm on someone's backpack?

"Where's the rest of his face?" Tasha asks.

"Uh, under the mask I guess."

Tasha jams her fingers under the box top and pulls out the same silver pop-tart wrapper they're all used to. James can't remember a time when they looked any different. Nor can he recall a stage of life when he didn't eat them for, well, any meal of the day. Tasha stuck her nose up at so many things; this choice of midnight snack surprises James.

Tasha carefully splits the wrapper. The microwave light illuminates it from behind and makes mirror spots on the floor and inside the pantry. She beams when she has the shiny silver plastic completely removed from the pop-tarts.

"Shiny," Tasha murmurs. She sets her pop-tarts down on the pantry shelf beside the box, then starts to turn around.

"You left--" James starts. "Didn't you want...?"

But Tasha's past the kitchen table now, seemingly on the path back to her room.

"Well." James shrugs. "That was fun." He picks up the naked pop-tarts before they can attract real vermin. "Want one?" he asks Steve.

"Sure." Steve cocks his head after taking a bite. "Is she ok?" He pauses. "I mean, everybody's opened the wrong side of a bag of chips when they're wasted."

James tries not to think of himself, limiting what he takes in public so as to limit the retired soldier reactions. He nods in pseudo agreement.

"But she wouldn't, like, take off? Not being that, like, out of it?" Steve's choosing his words carefully, and James knows it.

James doesn't meet Steve's eye when he says, "I hope not." He takes a breath. "She's fucking 18, though. Her own goddamn adult. Who makes these calls, anyway? One day she's dress-coded for showing skin she doesn't even have, and oh, by the way, you might fail calculus. And the next it's a pile of moving boxes and the phone number of the university registrar." James shakes his head. "I ought to sock 'em on the jaw. She's acting the way a kid acts when nobody's been there for them."

"But you're, I mean, we're here," Steve offers. "Right?"

"Yeah," James agrees. "And sometimes she knows it. Sometimes she depends on it. And I think that sometimes she still feels like a fucking raccoon. Take everything, every time, because you don't know what you'll get next time. Or if there is going to be a next time."

"Yeah, that's..." Steve hangs his head, like he always does when James goes deep about the system and he has little ground upon which to relate.

"Oh," James looks Steve directly in the eye and points a finger at him for emphasis. "Don't buy food with characters on it. I don't know if it's some kind of underhanded deal between Disney and Kellogs or what, but I think it kinda puts Tasha off when she can't tell the difference from the label and the special edition."

"I won't," Steve says quickly. "I promise." Then, coyly, "What time is it?"

James refers to the microwave. "Few minutes past 4. Don't tell me you have a sinister plan." He gives a single breath of laughter. "I love you, but I don't really want to to bed with you, then wake up again and have to take a shower before hitting up lecture..."

"Oh, no," Steve says, shaking his head vigorously. "That's such a better plan to, uh, not do. I was going to say that, unfortunately, the cereal is Sonic the Hedgehog."

It takes a second for James to understand. "The what is what?"

"It's a Sony property," Steve tries, though he knows his excuse won't stand.

"Oh." James isn't sure whether to laugh or complain. "What kind of cereal?"

"Kind of looks like knockoff Lucky Charms," Steve says as he heads toward the pantry to go get it.

"I assume you're serving me?" James sits at the table. "Main course, right? After the pop-tart appetizer?"

"Yup." Steve shows off as he adds milk, lifting the carton above his head and pouring down to the bowl without a single splash.

"You could work at Olive Garden," James suggests. "Great skills. And I could come up to the bar and annoy you."

"Oh, we are way beyond an Olive Garden couple." Steve delivers the cereal and spoons. "What would you say, mission emergency breakfast?"

"Destroy the evidence?" James counters. The cereal, knockoff it may be, tastes better than its brand-name counterpart.

"Eat the evidence?" Steve swallows quickly so he doesn't choke himself with laughter.

"God, that sounds so wrong."

"I think a lot of things we get up to around here would sound fucked up if we tried giving them a title with no backstory." Steve says. "We could write a book."

"And, Mr. I'm-still-taking-swimming so I barely see you all the evenings and weekends, you'd have time to do that, when?"

Steve shrugs. "I don't know. We could make a breakfast club."

"If this becomes routine..." James shakes his head. "You know, it wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen."

#fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #mcu #chasing ghosts #captain america #steve rogers #protective bucky barnes #bucky barnes #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #sleep disorder #sleepwalking #drug use tw #food tw

5 notes · View notes

noxiatoxia · 2 years

Note

been thinking about emotional hurt/comfort with hikakao recently. even though its been brought up a few times,, idk its my favorite. mostly because i feel like they know each other better than anyone. so they know exactly how to make each other feel better

i need to think of a scenario for this. idk. something really sweet and cuddly bc imagine hikaru finds kaoru crying, hed sit next to him and hug/comfort him and literally wouldn't leave his side until he felt better. or the other way around,, hikaru would be kind of ashamed he was even crying at all but kaoru would hold him close to his chest and hikaru would feel safe enough to just cry openly into his shoulder..:(

the twins having each other as their safe space is literally so sweet to me gghffgjdjdjdndn,, they grew up only ever being vulnerable with each other so they know each other best and are only 100% open with one another. just ,, idk. just love that about them

ALSO i saw ur post abt them baing gamers and SO TRUE!!!! the hitachiin twins play minecraft multiplayer every single day together (real)

no but actually i think they bonded a lot over video games, as it seemed to be a main hobby of theirs before the host club. i imagine younger them snuggled under the blankets in bed when its really late, taking turns playing their little gameboy thing. or building themselves a little fort around them and their game console/monitor and playing on that,, multiplayer or just taking turns playing levels on any game. staying up all night with like. soda and chips and stuff. really unhealthy but they're middle school boys so basically living the dream

I BET they have a minecraft world together that they've been carefully cultivating for years. and one night in middle school they stayed up all night in a situation like i said before, and beat the ender dragon. both of them remember it as like one of the happiest days of their lives. nerds

to this day they still take care of that minecraft world. kaoru has 2 dogs and 3 cats, maybe a parrot. hikaru has about a million dogs

idc that technically that conflicts with the actual time ohshc was made . do Not care

middle school hitachiin twins would fucking combust into flames finding out about the nintendo switch

HII!!! Sorry it took me so long to get to this I've been genuinely thinking about it,,

i LOVE the hurt/comfort potential with those two esp with them being each other's safe space/lifeline. Hikaru of course, whenever Kaoru's feeling down, will literally move heaven and earth to make him feel better again. Although I can imagine in their HS years, Kaoru's emotions becoming more complicated, Hikaru finds it harder to truly cheer Kaoru up like he used to (bc the boy is fucking clinically depressed cough fucking cough) and that starts to worry him a lot. He does everything he can think of, but Kaoru will always have those moments where he just needs time to snap out of it... Hikaru's efforts are always appreciated tho.

Also, I imagine Hikaru, as he gets older, cries less. Not bc he's less emotional, far from it, but bc he hates feeling vulnerable with himself & he hates to worry Kaoru over what he feels are minuscule issues. But oh man... I can't think of a scenario that could happen that would like, set him off, but I'm simply imagining Hikaru letting out guttural sobs prob from trying so hard to hold them back, and it's loud and violent and Kaoru is honestly just shocked bc it's been a long time since he's seen his brother anything like this before... like he's crying so hard Kaoru is afraid Hikaru will make himself sick and he holds him, patting his back and trying to calm him down. It's hard to get him to calm down to a point where he's breathing stably but Kaoru does. Thankfully, though just as worried and heartbroken as Hikaru would be in the reverse situation, Kaoru is much more outwardly calm and collected, which helps calm Hikaru down. Also, related, I think when either twins are upset/depressed they cope differently. Hikaru prefers to talk about it while Kaoru prefers to be distracted from it, hence why Hikaru tends to try to cheer him up with movies and stories and Kaoru talks to Hikaru in hushed voices asking him what's wrong.

NOT SO SUBTLE SEGWAY INTO THE OTHER THING.... REAL AND TRUE. THEYRE GAMERS YOUR HONOR

I actually have So many thoughts on this. They play the GBA SP in the anime, so I like to think Kaoru played the fucking... Cinderella GBA game.... like all the time... BTW I actually PLAYED that game in call with a friend once. Beat the whole thing in less than 30 minutes. It uh isn't very like. good but it isn't bad?? I think Kaoru would like it bc it's simple and easy to play it's like a stress ball in the form of a game. Hikaru will lose his damn mind if he has to hear the shitty BG music from that godforsaken game ONE MORE TIME.

Otherwise (and dw I don't care for canon timeline either) I do think they play mostly multi-player bc, duh. I wonder if they would share one pokemon cart and play together or have two... my heart says one but i'd love for them to have two so they can battle together and stuff. But tbh they are more the type to face other people together, not each other. So I think they shared one cart - Soul Silver, for example - and would just play together. Like, Hikaru would be playing, and Kaoru would sit next to him with his head on his shoulder. They'd decide together which Pokemon to catch and what to name them and so and so. They always named their saves smth silly like "Hikaoru" bc it's both their game. And then they'd wi-fi fight other trainers... with Hikaru's ideas & Kaoru's technician they prob put together some good competitive teams (and then got bored they always won...)

MINECRAFT is a fun one bc they have a system. Hikaru gets the materials & Kaoru will build. And ofc they always put their minecraft beds together (😳😳) the only things they really don't share are the pets... Kaoru is faithful and has 2 dogs (named after cinderella and the prince) and 3 cats (named after the mice) and 1 parrot (no name he just calls it "bird"). Hikaru has a bazillion unnamed dogs. He keeps breeding them he wants to start an army.

btw they are total griefers. would play with tamaki only to burn his house down. everytime. cruel.

Generally i think they also like FPS and arcade games with co-op. Any game where they can work together to kick other people's asses.

They rlly like handhelds bc u can take them wherever (like to school lol). I can very much imagine them in middle school maybe even earlier WAY up past their bedtime hiding under sheets on the ds doing online play on mario kart... they were so tired the next day but they beat everyone they matched so WORTH IT

Also I think Kaoru would like puzzle games but Hikaru doesn't. He is not nearly patient enough for that shit.

(I wonder if theyre more Sonic fans or Mario fans? :thinking: the great debate...)

#ohshc #hikakao #;noxiatalks2ya

3 notes · View notes

5sosfanfictioncatalogue · 2 years

Text

Footballer!Calum Masterlist

Links Last Checked: January 24th, 2024

Anywhere in the world (ao3) - bluenna michael/luke, calum/ashton N/R, 4k

Summary: Ashton starts at a new school and meets Michael and Luke.

And then, Calum.

Come On Skinny Love, Just Last The Year (ao3) - senioritastyles calum/ashton G, 4k

Summary: "Daddy!" Evan calls, eyes wide as he looks just past Ashton.

Ashton barely has time to turn around before his cart crashes into someone else's, his distracted walking leading him right into the collision. He looks up to apologize as Evan quietly giggles next to him, somewhat hiding behind Ashton's legs, and Ashton is met with warm dark brown eyes and golden skin and a smiling stranger who doesn't seem even remotely miffed at Ashton. The stranger is beautiful really, it's the only way Ashton can think to describe him as he fumbles trying to find his voice.

Or: Ashton is a single dad and he meets Calum by chance.

desperation (my chest hurts) (ao3) - retromalum michael/calum G, 4k

Summary: Desperation. That's all Michael can taste in this kiss. It's written all over his mouth in his messy handwriting, it's obvious in the way his tongue props at his own mouth. Kissing Calum after so long is like coming back home after a long day, except for the fact that he hasn't seen him in over four years. And he's all the same.

The one where Calum chooses football over music and leaves the rest of the boys on their own. They fall apart.

Friolero (ao3) - merlypops michael/calum E, 3k

Summary: 'Michael remembers how Calum was a bit like his own personal space heater, except a whole lot softer and more cuddly, and Michael remembers how he smelt good too which was definitely a bonus.'

Michael is freezing and Calum just wants to keep him aflame.

i don’t like a gold rush (ao3) - jbhmalum luke/calum

Summary: Luke keeps having thoughts about Calum. The only issue is, Luke isn’t into boys, and he doesn’t want to be. (inspired by gold rush by taylor swift)

It was always you (ao3) - CliffordAffliction luke/calum, michael/ashton E, 48k

Summary: Everyone wants Calum Hood and Luke can have him just as long as it’s on Calum’s terms. Thing’s take a turn for the worst when Luke begins to push Calum away, fed up with the way he treats him, and Calum begins to realize how much he really needs Luke in his life after all.

i wanna hold your hand while we’re growing up (ao3) - nothingliketherain michael/calum T, 12k

Summary: Michael focuses on their hands.

The contrast between their skin, Calum’s chipped black nail polish, Michael’s finger tattoos, the difference in their size.

It wasn’t always like this. Calum’s hand used to be smaller, Michael’s fingers used to be less calloused, but it’s still familiar, after years of doing this.

5 times Michael grabbed Calum’s hand over the years + 1 time Calum grabbed Michael’s

Playin' In The Street, Gonna Be A Big Man Some Day (ao3) - senoritastyles calum/ashton G, 3k

Summary: "Alright, Ohio calls the toss since they're the home team." The ref says, holding a coin in his hand and looking at Ashton. "Call it." He requests, flipping the coin into the air.

"Heads." Ashton says, eyes mischievous when they catch Calum's through the masks on their helmets.

Calum subtly shakes his head with a smirk and the ref bends to pick up the coin off the ground. "Heads it is. Ohio, it's your choice."

Ashton smirks and looks knowingly at his boyfriend. "We'll kick off first."

Or: Calum and Ashton face off in the national college football championship.

tongue tied by words (ao3) - strxngersagain luke/calum G, 4k

Summary: “Are you wearing my shirt?” Luke glances down at his chest, the Led Zeppelin t-shirt he found in Calum’s room hangs from his shoulders. “I thought this was yours?” He says, glancing at Calum.

“So did I.” Calum shrugs, his fingers still lingering on Luke’s thigh, eyes on the TV. “Bro,” Ashton groans. “I already have to deal with you stealing my shit.” He points at Calum, whose eyes still don’t leave the TV. “But now you too?!”or5 times luke stole calum's clothes, and 1 time calum stole luke's

you're the thing that i can't quit (ao3) - lucasfletcher calum/ashton T, 2k

Summary: “So, you’ve got the hots for your son’s football coach?” Michael asks from the other side of the bar, leaning on his elbows and blowing his gum in Ashton’s face annoyingly. “Shh, Michael,” Ashton looks around to make sure no one’s close enough to hear them. “And who the fuck even says ‘got the hots’ anymore?” “So you do!” he pauses and a grin takes over his features. “Also fuck you I can say whatever I want.”

#5sosfanfictioncatalogue #5 seconds of summer #5sos #calumhood #footballer!calum #footballer!calum masterlist #football #au #masterlists

2 notes · View notes

mymarblesaregone · 8 months

Text

Click.

This is a short story I wrote when I was still in high school. I'd love to hear some feedback on it. TW: violence, implied suicide, drug use, alcohol,

Tim,

I just heard about your new job. I really hope it works out, you deserve a win after all that bullshit with she-who-will-not-be-named. I still can’t believe what I heard but I agree, moving out to Cali is definitely the best choice. Well, I’m leaving for open water later this month so let me know if you’re not busy. Maybe we can set something up before I go. And Tim, try not to dwell on the past too much. I know what he did was terrible but you gotta move on.

Rooting for you bro,

Anders

I want to start off by saying that it wasn’t my fault. No matter what the cops say. I know you’ve seen the news. I want it to be clear that I have no idea what anyone is talking about. I’ve made mistakes but who hasn’t? I was tired. I’m always tired. But that doesn’t matter now. All that matters is what’s happening now. I’m in a new state, and I can finally get my fresh start. All my problems can finally just go away, while I-

“Hey, you okay?”

I snap back to reality as the checkout clerk taps me on the shoulder. He’s a small kid, not much of a presence, probably a few years out of high school. I was that young once, wasn’t I? It feels like a million years since then.

Yeah, I just spaced out. I reply, trying to keep an air of confidence. For whatever reason, this kid unnerves me. Maybe it’s something to do with his face. He has such a tired face for a kid, like he had already been through sixty years of heartache and exhaustion. It’s all wrong, he must have stolen that look, that face. I wouldn’t be surprised if I walked outside to find a seventy year old investment banker with a blank skull lying on the curb. I hate it. I can feel those tired eyes judging me, judging the variety of sleeping pills and chips I drop on the counter. It brings back some memories I’d rather not think about again. I pay for my crap and leave.

Walking through the streets of suburbia in the middle of the night used to calm me down, back when I came here as a kid. It was an escape from the busy streets and problems of the city. Well, I guess it still is. That’s probably why I’m here now. Maybe I should revisit some memories. I call a cab. It’s not ideal but it’s the only way to get around out here without my own car. If I remember right, I have about twenty minutes. Waiting around outside isn’t too bad on an autumn night I guess. Who am I kidding, yes it is. I claw open a bottle of pills. I don’t care which ones, I just need something to take the edge off.

Click.

Swallow.

Sigh.

That’s better. I think I need a drink. I have time, all the cab drivers are either drunk or asleep at this time of night. I stumble over to a nearby club, the pills kicking in. The bouncer is busy dealing with some junkie on the street so I sneak in. I hear blows land behind me as I walk through the door. Ugh. I have such a headache. I sit down and rest my head on the bar.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The bartender looms above me, a towering example of someone who peaked in junior year of high school. I’m guessing football team. Not a quarterback, his arms were too evenly toned. No, the broad shoulders, beady little eyes, and an unearned sense of pride give him away. Second string linebacker. Just close enough to glory to hang out with the popular guys on the team but not enough to get the cheerleaders. His cut-up tee stretched around his ostentatious biceps. I don’t need this.

“I said, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls at me. Not wanting a fight, I get up and walk away, ignoring his yells as I leave. Waiting outside, I hear the sounds of a fight inside. Smashed glass, banging on wood, a chair breaking over someone’s back, a skull busting through a jukebox. What kind of bar still has a jukebox? After about twenty minutes, a man taps my shoulder.

“Lookin’ for a ride?” His gruff voice seems familiar but I just can’t place it. Maybe it reminds me of my dad. Or at least someone’s dad.

“What’s your name?”

I tell him my name is Martin. It’s not, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, I’m Rever. Want to do something fun?”

When you’re in a bad place, you make bad decisions, and there are few worse places than some random guy’s apartment at three in the morning. Nothing good happens when you’re sleep-deprived. I wake up in his bedroom, inside a dilapidated old apartment. Vague memories of climbing a gate and breaking a lock come back to me. Flashes of the gas station and that kid. Why did Rever need to break into his own apartment? Is it his apartment? It’s been a day, no, three? Who knows? Time has felt fake since I left Pennsylvania. My head is still pounding.

“Let’s get some breakfast, eh?” That same gruff voice from last night pulls me back from inside my head. “I know a place.”

The place turned out to be a piece-of-crap diner on the west side of town. It seemed familiar, maybe I came here as a kid. We grab a booth in a corner, overlooking the river running through the city. I ask for eggs and a coffee, the waitress ignores Rever, as if she knows who he is already. Knows what he is.

“So what’s a loner like you doing in a place like this?”

I didn’t answer. How could I answer when I didn’t know?

“Alright, keep your secrets.” I chuckle a bit at the outdated reference, just so she drops the subject. We finish our food, chatting about how awful it is the whole time. I guess Rever is capable of small talk. Why do people do things they know will be terrible? We force ourselves to go to the same terrible diners, the same terrible jobs, the same terrible people, all to die one day. What’s the point? To consume media and products until we die? What kind of life is that?

The next week is a blur of people, drugs, and Rever. How many days have passed? I wake up. I eat. I go out. I black out. Rinse. Repeat. Only two things stay constant. Rever, and my splitting headache. I do anything I can to dull the pain but it’s all temporary. I’m falling deeper and deeper and there’s no one to catch me.

I’m alone.

I miss Tim.

But I’m not alone. Rever is there. Pulling me deeper. Pulling me off the edge. He doesn’t care. He stays cold. But he keeps the pain away, even if it’s only temporary, like a band-aid and a lollipop for a bullet wound.

A good distraction.

He invites me out. A party, kind of. A bar, drinks, blacking out again.

I wake up in Rever’s apartment. Something is wrong. He’s nowhere to be found. In his place is a strange man lying in the bed beside me. He looks familiar.

It’s the boy from the gas station.

Rever appears through the broken door. He motions for me to keep quiet and points at the man. I finally notice the slight red tinge spreading through the sheets. I would’ve screamed a month ago. Now, I barely blink. Rever is no stranger to inviting strangers home only for them to have an “accident.” This is definitely the most brutal though. And he looks so much like Tim, more than the rest. I stand up, mildly phased but really just thinking.

Great. I have to run again.

Next thing I know, Rever and I are flying down I-84 in a stolen pickup truck. The truck picks up more and more speed and Rever’s face cracks into a disturbing grin. His eyes close and his hands drop off the wheel. It’s not the first time someone has done something like this to me. I know what to do.

Tuck and roll.

Aim for grass.

Protect your neck.

Luckily, Rever drifts to the right when he’s high, just like I do. Peeling myself off the grass, I stumble off into the distance. I hear the truck slam into a lamppost or a tree. Something tall. I might as well just turn myself in now. Hell, Rever is the one who killed the guy, I’ll be fine. A state trooper department appears in front of me, like some boot-licker made a wish on a shooting star. Walking in, I get a few stares. I am covered in blood and bruises after all. I give my name to a receptionist. After typing my name into her computer, her face goes pale. She makes a call and about twenty officers burst into the room pointing weapons at my face.

I don’t even blink.

Why should I?

I’m dragged into an interrogation room. A million questions are asked. I don’t know the answers. I wouldn’t tell them if I did. They tell me if I cooperate they’ll reduce my sentence. Otherwise they can’t help me. They found my fingerprints. They had CCTV footage. It all blends together. They call me a junkie, a drunk. That’s fair. They call me reckless. Also fair. They called me a murderer. A serial killer. That caught me off guard. I didn’t kill anyone. I’ve never even hurt a fly. Charges are hurled like stones at my face. There are pictures, security tapes.

An injured bouncer, lying on the ground.

I place my hand on the black eye I’ve had for a week.

A man is thrown into a jukebox while another swings a chair.

The deep cuts in my back flare to life.

Breaking and entering. Climbing in through the window. Alone.

Bruises on my legs and arms start throbbing.

Murder.

My head is screaming.

Murder.

No.

Murder.

I refuse, I can’t accept this.

It hurts.

The trial is quick. I don’t even ask for a lawyer. The jury looks disgusted while the charges are read. I don’t care. Why should I care what they think when I’m disgusted with myself. I’m guilty, we all know it. I don’t contest anything. Surprisingly, they stop short of giving me the chair. Just three quick life sentences and I’d be free to go. Prison isn’t so bad. Hell, they even gave me my own room with a desk and a bed all to myself. I meet a guy, Charlie, who says he can get anything into or out of the prison. I make friends with him quickly.

It’s not hard to give up. Really, it’s the easiest thing in the world. You give up when you quit a job, quit a game, quit a relationship. But it’s another thing to give up control. It’s something that can’t be explained easily. All at once, it’s the easiest and the hardest thing a person can do, to just relinquish everything. Prison was a godsend and hell all at once. I never have to make another decision. Well, after this next one.

Damn, I should’ve thanked Charlie when I had the chance. Are those my last thoughts? I guess it could be worse, even if the main question on my mind is how clean the cold steel in my mouth is. It tastes like sweat and fear. Something tells me I don’t want to know how he got it into the prison. I know what comes next. The acrid smell, the blinding light, and a deafening crack.

Shoot. I guess Rever wins.

Or… I guess I do.

I’m sorry Tim.

It was all my fault.

Click.

#writing #beginner writing #short story #violence #tw sui implied #dark #tw drinking #queer author

0 notes

falling-pages · 3 years

Text

Bend the Knee: Kyoya x Reader

Thanks @ouranbound for the idea <3

“I fear I’ve been so busy planning our future that I did not give time to notice how they were exploiting your present."

Sometimes Kyoya's betrothed needs help adjusting from their commoner life to one of splendor.

Kyoya Ootori x gn! Reader

Genre: Fluff, established relationship, arranged marriage, Commoner! Reader

Warnings: None

“Quit.”

“What?”

“Quit. You complain about that job every night, so just resign.”

You sit up on the couch, gasping to even begin to make the young heir understand how preposterous his words were. He barely even noticed, just kept his eyes glued to his novel as you were having a crisis. Just another normal Tuesday in this household. “I can’t quit just like that, without two weeks’ notice.”

“The other employees did.”

“But I’m their best,” you scramble, “I can’t bail while they’re still looking for two more people.”

Kyoya scoffed, licking his fingertip and turning a page. “Is that how they treat their best? Overworked and underpaid? They don’t sound like very good bosses to me.”

“It’s not that, it’s…”

It was that. It was exactly that, which made his smug smile all the more frustrating, igniting that fire under your nails to just punch his lights out. But then you’d have to admit it’s bothering you, and he would win, and even though you were engaged to marry this man, you just couldn’t have that.

You ran your hands through your hair, dropping back down onto the couch. His office futon wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, perhaps to discourage relaxation during work hours, but it’s what you dealt with in order to spend time with him in the evenings, a change you would certainly implement once your name was on the deed and in the will--a revamp of his working space was imperative.

But you supposed you couldn’t complain. It was your little life together, where he manages a multi-billion dollar empire and you whine about your job, where he pretends to not pay attention while you spill your guts. What was the sense in commenting when he knew you wouldn’t take his advice?

“I’ve worked hard for this position,” you settle on, closing your eyes and letting your brain do the work. “I’ve climbed the ladder and gotten promotions and I used to feel so important, and it isn’t my dream job, sure, but I’ve enjoyed the process.”

“Then it’s time to move on to something different,” he suggests, and his tone is softer than usual, though still careful to sound detached. “You know I have more than enough money to provide for you and our family someday. Is that not enough?”

You open your eyes when the voice sounds closer, right above you, and you see him kneeling down beside you on the couch. You start to sit up, but he pushes you back down, helping you stretch out your spine, shake out the stresses in your limbs. And when he takes your hand, drawing his long fingers over the arch of your wrist and against your palm, you were startled to see him at eye-level.

Kyoya Ootori bent his knee to no one except you, and only once, when he slipped that pretty gold ring on your finger. But here where you lay, your faces were on the same level, and you felt like an equal.

“The world I come from isn’t black and white, Kyoya,” you say, as he strokes the back of your knuckles. Such tenderness was seldom seen from him, but you revel in it, grasp onto it with dirty fists and brazen recklessness. To have him so attentive to your needs and listening to you was rare. It was a privilege, a standard you would soon be held to, as well. “To be just...launched into fame because my dad won the lottery is hard, I still need to adjust. It can all be gone in a second, so I can’t just drop something. I can’t...sever the safety net. They need me to keep the place afloat, and even as tough as it has been, I can’t leave on such bad terms. They need me. Just for a little bit longer.”

He sighs your name like the afterthought of a prayer, settling his other hand beside you on the couch. His fingers dig into every indentation, as if joining your discovery of its stiff cushions. The sheen in his glasses signaled he’d look into it, but there were more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.

He remained silent, odd for a man with all the answers, but he continued to look at you, not like he was trying to drill a hole through your head, but like you were a puzzle he was just beginning to figure out.

“Have I really been so absent, my love?” he whispered, raising his hand to your face. One finger stroked along your cheek, slowly, lulling you into peace. “I fear I’ve been so busy planning our future that I did not give time to notice how they were exploiting your present. Please, forgive me.”

All of the air was knocked out of your chest as his gentle words, so soft that you almost didn’t recognize him. When your parents betrothed you, and when you fell in love with him, agreed to marry him, even, you knew that he would always be an Ootori, with every string attached. You were ready for the challenge, ready to be with this man no matter what--but his sudden kindness was unexpected, the poetic words unfamiliar in your ears.

“Kyo, you think I wouldn’t forgive you?” you ask, taking off his glasses.

He let you, and when you set them on the nearby stand, his dark eyes glittered with something you had never seen before. Deeper than love, deeper than compassion, a feral protectiveness mixed with sadness skating across his face. It was so rare you saw him without this shield of his, you had almost forgotten how his eyes were like galaxies, like the murky night sky, expansive, swallowing everything in its path.

“If I had been suffering so, I wouldn’t forgive my partner had they not noticed,” he said.

“I’m not suffering...”

“Mmm-mm.” He shuttered your lips closed with his finger, and you couldn’t help but return the affection and press a kiss to it. He smiled, softly, and you thought about how long it had been since you had seen that smile, and how long it had been since he’s seen yours, too.

“I know I’m not the best at expressing my feelings,” he said, and when you snorted, he rolled his eyes and leaned away. “See, this is exactly why.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek, giggling. The feeling was foreign in the pit of your chest, drumming near your spine. “I’m sorry. Please, continue.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat, softly wiping where you had kissed him, a repetitive, soothing motion. “I’m not the best at expressing my feelings. I’ve been raised to think that if you throw money at something, it will go away. It’s a powerful position to hold, knowing you can change everyone’s fates on a whim, but…” he swallowed, breaking eye contact, and you felt his energy shift into something vulnerable. “But you changed that. You make me feel...you make me feel. And at first I didn’t like it. I loved you, but I didn’t like what you did to me. I didn’t like how you made my world shift off-balance, until I realized my world was no longer my family’s company or stocks or what other stiffs thought of me. It was you.”

You tried to lean up and kiss him, but he grabbed your hands and held them in his own. “Please, let me finish, I want...I want you to know. We’ve been betrothed for so long, but I’d like to think we were only truly engaged when I bowed to you with that ring.”

“Okay,” you breathed, shallowly, taking it in, squeezing his hands to help him along.

“Because that took everything in me,” he continued, and his voice shook, his hands shook, and all you wanted was to gather him in your arms and hold him till he relaxed. “I was raised as a superior, but I’m not. Not with you. You are my equal, and I love you, and there’s no future with us if I can’t look beyond my own problems to see yours.”

Your stomach quelled in light of his confession. The life of luxury and fame you had so recently come to know was a blur compared to his childhood swathed in privilege. Only six years ago you were waiting tables to save up for college when your dad bought a lottery ticket for the hell of it. Now you were attending charity balls and engaged to the son of the richest man on earth.

He took a shaky breath and kissed your forehead, seeming to only find the courage once his lips met your skin.

“I notice. I swear I do,” he said. “I tried to act disinterested when you vent to me because it was a protection, it was a way to stay cold, because that was all I ever saw from my mother and father. They were separate people who happened to live in the same house. That’s not us. I’m not my father. I swear I notice. I notice your tired eyes and your tense shoulders and your fake smile and I want to fix it, but I don’t know how, so I clam up. I shut down. And I’m sorry. I truly am, my darling. I don’t know how you put up with me.”

It was an absolute miracle that you could even breathe at the end of his speech, panting almost as heavily as he was. And when you leaned forward to kiss him, this time he didn’t object, but pulled you even closer, shrouding your body with his, his sharp scent overwhelming your senses, clouding the air around you, even when there was no distance between you. His mouth was hot with passion, yet reserved, and though it wasn’t the first time you kissed, it was the first time you thought he meant it when he told you he loved you.

“Kyoya, I love you,” you whisper against his lips. “I have for so long. I wouldn’t have stayed with you if I didn’t, no matter what our parents said.” He laughed, nipping your bottom lip lightly. “And I don’t want you to change for me. You’re under so much pressure, I understand why you act like you do. But our home isn’t Wall Street. My heart isn’t some business bargaining chip. You don’t need to fight your nature to love me. It’s one and the same.” One of his tears splashes down onto your face. “So just see me. Love me. Choose to be vulnerable. I promise it won’t scare me off.”

“I will. I promise.”

He kissed you again, burning his brand against your tongue, hard like a handshake to know he meant it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, like you were breathing the same air, using the same lungs, the same heart beating in tandem.

When you let go, his forehead remained pressed against yours. His eyes were slightly open, watching you, eyelashes fluttering against your skin. He was so soft, like this. You wanted to hold him forever.

“Come to bed with me,” you whisper, trailing a hand through his hair. “I just want to spend time with you.”

He kissed your forehead, rubbing his nose against yours in compliance. “I’ll spend all the time in the world with you, beloved,” he sighed, capturing your lips once more. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Kofi

#ouran high school host club #kyoya ootori #kyoya x reader #kyoya ootori x reader #ohshc

932 notes · View notes

erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

Not Your Charity Case

prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?

word count: 6.2k

warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt

other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing

Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)

+++

You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.

Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.

It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.

Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.

When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.

When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.

You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.

From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.

The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”

You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.

He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.

You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”

The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”

You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.

It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.

You sign, “What are you trying to order?”

He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.

He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”

You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”

The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.

You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.

The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.

“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.

“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.

+++

Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.

With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”

You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”

His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”

“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.

Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.

You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.

His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.

Well fuck him then.

***

You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.

It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.

You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.

As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.

Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.

After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”

You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.

Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.

You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.

A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.

He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.

You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.

You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”

There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”

Your brows furrow, “I did.”

“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.

You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”

“What do you need?”

He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.

You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow.

***

Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.

You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.

You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.

When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.

***

The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.

‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’

After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.

You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.

***

You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.

After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.

Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.

The reply text comes shortly after

Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.

Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!

I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.

You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.

I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?

Sounds great. Thank you again x

Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?

***

He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.

You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.

You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”

He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.

You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.

He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.

“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.

The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.

“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek.

Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.

It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.

Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.

Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”

Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.

The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.

Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.

“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.

His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.

He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.

He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”

You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.

“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.

“Yes.”

“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.

He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”

You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”

“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”

“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.

“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.

***

The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.

“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.

You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.

A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”

“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.

The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.

Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.

You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”

Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”

“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.

Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.”

Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.

“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.

You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.

“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.

“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.”

Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.

Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.

***

Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.

“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.

“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.

“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”

“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.

“I’m not very trusting of people.”

You snort rather unattractively, “No kidding”

“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.

“One more chance, Styles.”

Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’

***

It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.

You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.

Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”

You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”

He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.

You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”

The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.

He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.

The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.

“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.

***

The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.

Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’

You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.

Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all.

He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **

You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.

Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.

Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.

Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.

You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.

The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.

Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”

“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.

He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.

You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.

Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.

His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”

“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb

His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”

You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.

You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.

With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.

Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.

Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.

“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.

You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”

“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.

It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.

You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.

“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.

“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.

“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.

“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.

“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.

Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.

It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.

You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.

Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.

When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.

Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”

Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”

Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.”

You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.

It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.

All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.

He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.

Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.

Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”

He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.

So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.

Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.

Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.

Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”

Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”

Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.

You wanted everything from him.

“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.

“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.

“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.

You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.

You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.

He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.

His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.

“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.

You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.

As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.

When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”

You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.

His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.

Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.

Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.

Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.

Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound.

You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.

You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.

You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”

With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.

“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.

“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.

You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.

Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.

Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.

When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”

You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.

You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”

“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.

“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.

And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.

Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.

When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.

Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.

It takes you a moment - then it hits you.

Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.

You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.

When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.

The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.

---

Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.

“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.

“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.

“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.

“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.

“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.

2K notes · View notes