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1800titz · 3 months

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HI. HELLO. Here is my Valentine’s Day contribution. POTTERYINSTRUCTOR!HARRY!! POTTERY MAN! WOOO. Basically almost 7K of clay sexualization and sexually charged fluff (ish). Enjoy! :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: ridiculous sexualization of clay (I think I’ve managed to fetishize clay in this one??? OOPS), overly suggestive usage of pottery terms, a red-hot, hands-on tutorial for wheel throwing, and embarassingly long descriptions of Harry’s fingers coated in wet clay.

WC: 6.6K

slip: small bits of dry clay mixed with water to create a thick, creamy consistency

Clay is innately erotic.

Wheel throwing is, arguably, the most pornographic art form, its only competing opponent being, maybe, literal body-painting. And that latter one still falls as a close second. Close, but second.

Y/N decides that when she wanders into a little ceramics shop tucked away in a busy plaza downtown. There’s no method to her exploration, but the broad glass windows are adorned with dripping, colorful graffiti and its innards call to her. GLAZED, reads the large sign over the awning in blocky, white lettering, stippled with un-glowing light bulbs that she’s sure light alive in the night.

It’s a cute shop.

Upon entrance, the young woman discovers tables, as if set up for arts and crafts, crackling, clay covered wheels with shorter stools, and long, tall rows of shelving brimmed with colorless sculptures lining the walls. Despite its packed interior, the studio seems empty of people and quiet besides the soft notes of RÜFÜS DU SOL leaking from the overhead speakers. She roams beside the line of wheels over to a shelf by the door, admiring the myriad of statues there, some obviously crafted with expertise and elegant artistry, and others lopsided efforts that probably deserve a pitied gold star for effort.

Her eyes are caught on an unpainted little ashtray that’s got a crooked sort of bee in the center when her gaze breaks away to the sound of footsteps. Maybe the shop isn’t as abandoned as she’d previously believed — a man appears from behind a row of white shelving stacked with more unfinished pottery.

He’s a pretty man, that much she can decide from the downturned slope of his nose and his distracted lash line, focused on twisting the navy rag in his left hand over the tip of his right index finger. A dark baseball cap shrouds his hair, but little brunette tufts sneak out in curled bunches around his ears. That’s where Y/N finds a fun, little red-tinted pearl dangling from one lobe. He’s tatted in patchwork art — a mermaid with its tits out peeks at her from his forearm, soaked over and shining. She assumes he must have just been rinsing clay from that forearm, from his hands, no longer visible over his skin. However, streaks of dried gray stain over his white tee in crackling lines, like an old lamination on a well-loved t-shirt that’s been cycled through the washer one too many times. When he pulls the rag away, she discovers a shade of bright red that’s been painted over his nails.

Almost as if he can sense her presence without looking, his sneakers pause on the tile and he steals a peer up. Yes, he’s quite a pretty man, even when his features shape something caught off guard.

“Hello.”

His voice is rich — this smooth, bass-deep sort of sound driving a foreign lilt, and Y/N thinks that if it weren’t for his lengthy fingers and his cherry polished nails, if it weren’t for his handsomely sculpted face, if it weren’t for his seemingly innate effortless demeanor and style, that voice alone could make her fold.

“Hello,” she returns, aware that a nervous note plucks at her cadence, unlike his own casual greeting. I promise I’m not shoplifting clay pots in silence, she nearly tells him.

Thank fuck for the ability to physically bite your tongue.

“What can I help you with?” the man asks, sauntering forward a bit. It’s probably sort of a polite manner to say what the fuck are you doing here, and the longer the young woman stands in the middle of the empty shop the more out of place she feels, almost like this a private, little haven and she shouldn’t be in here right now.

The song shifts into its choral bass drop of electric keys. That fills the void of the silence as she swallows and fixes a little smile onto her face, fingers tightening over the strap of her tote.

“Oh, I’m just looking.”

The man purses his mouth and walks over to the counter, where the register is littered with paperwork and an eclectic collection of faux plants. He sets the rag down beside a floppy one with its green tendrils dangling over the edge.

“See anything you like?” his hand pinches over his nose, like he’s scratching an itch, before he sniffs and pivots to apparently decrease their proximity, “We’ve got loads — you can make something yourself, or,” another step, and Y/N’s eye bounce from his shorts to his tattooed knees to the hems of his white socks. “…If you know sculpting isn’t your craft, we’ve got ready-to-paint-one's on that shelf there.”

Her gaze follows the direction of his finger, where pasty ceramic bunnies, and angels, and cars line the shelving in multiples.

“I think—“ the young woman’s tongue peeks out to swipe over her mouth, words growing drier the longer she captures his stare. She focuses back on a lopsided rendition of strawberry, its leaves cradling over as a disconnected lid and its stem a crooked handle. “I like these. They’ve got so much character.”

She blinks back over to him and watches a soft smile shape over the cushiony pink of his mouth.

It only takes a moment — one where her sight draws back to the strawberry jar for a smidge of a second, before he’s so close that she can smell his cologne, spiced and clean. She ogles his arm, his hand, the way he reaches out between them to cull the piece, mildly appalled by the way he palms the sculpture and dwarfs it in his easy grasp. It’s such a casual maneuver, made almost as if he’s not fondling over something it’d take anyone else two hands to hold. Y/N imagines the dimpled form of clay coated over to match the color of his nails.

“They do, don’t they? I like this one, too. S’a little …ugly, but, s’in, like, a…” the man’s features twist into something silly and pinched, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth to avoid exposing her amusement at the brutal candor. His words catch in his throat and bubble as a short laugh, “I dunno. It’s art.”

He sets it back onto the shelf with a light clink, and turns to face her, posturing against a post in the shelving where the tiers have a break. An exhale becomes paired with his nonchalant lean, arms crossing over his pecs, and Y/N tries intensely not to stare like a hawk at the muscle there.

“I’m afraid people are coming back for these, though. This row came out of the kiln…” forest green skids to the assortment and then bounds up to the ceiling like he’s in thought, before he casts his gaze back onto her, “…yesterday. And there’s a month-and-a-half window for someone to come back and glaze before we toss or sell them to be painted.”

He’s chewing gum. Y/N realizes it when she admires the soft stubble coating his jaw, his cheeks — that’s when she notices the work of his jawline over the minty piece. He tips his head. “Did you want to try sculpting something?”

The edges of her lips break bashfully. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

One corner of the man’s mouth curls up lopsidedly, and the beginnings of a dimple nudge into place. He blinks and chews a little slower, “Have you ever worked with clay before?”

Her delayed, little no is met with the lopsided beam growing even. He nudges with his chin, deliciously bulging arms still tucked over his chest, his playfully raised eyebrows like a wordless notion of have more faith in yourself, “Then you may just be the next Magdalene Odundo. We’ll make a pro sculptor out of you, yet.”

Magdalene Odundo. Somehow, the name isn’t familiar, but simultaneously, somehow, it feels like a compliment.

Y/N inhales as his digits shift over his tri’s. “Okay.”

“Okay,” plush pink shapes a handsome smile, bordering bright white teeth in straight lines. The man tips his head towards the curved berry vase, and then looks back at her, “Did you want to do something like this? All these over here were made on the wheel.”

Y/N muzzles telling him that she’s no inkling of an idea how someone can morph a lump of clay into a vase, nevermind on a big, spinning platform that moves faster than her eyes can keep up with. The man seems to pick up on the hesitation in her silence.

“S’easy, I promise. I’ll show you how to throw.”

Show her. Okay. At least she’s not going to head into vase-sculpting or wheel-throwing or …whatever he’d called it blindly, fumbling over a block of clay on a twirling tray like a slapstick skit personified. At least it means she’s going to stay in his presence. After a moment of thought, though, (and the way she notes that his eyes make unwavering, relaxed contact with her face the entirety of the silent pause), Y/N decides she’s not sure whether that last bit is actually a good thing, considering she’s probably milliseconds away from, like, bracing a hand onto a the shelf to match his level of coolness, or something. And then subsequently sending ceramic pots spilling and shattering over the tile.

She blinks. Her shoulders rise on her nervous inhale, and he makes one of those playful faces, like he’s waiting for her to agree. The young woman’s eyes wander to the line of chairs pressed to its counterparts of wheels.

“I don’t wanna, like, trouble you—“

“You’re not. S’my job,” he tells her, crimson fingertips drumming. She catches sight of his fabric-clad pectorals flexing when he leans forward a little to tack on, “…And to be honest, it’d give me something to do besides fucking around with clay, which is what I’ve been doing for the last hour.”

Her mouth purses and then settles. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again, and then winds around through a row of little tables that resemble the set up of an art classroom, like the kind she’d have in school. She’s ashamed that her gaze wanders down the back of his arm to ogle the rest of his ink.

“You can have a seat at one of those wheels,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads, she assumes, to wind back around the same shelf he’d surfaced from behind, “Just give me a mo’, and I’ll be right back with some clay.”

It takes Y/N a moment — mostly because she admires the view of his stature from behind as he migrates to a back hallway, irises roaming down the projection of muscles in his back showcased through his tee. They skim down his legs, down the backs of his knees, rest on toned calves. He’s gone far too quickly for her viewing pleasure. The young woman takes another glance at the uneven strawberry-esque vase, and then she pivots to step around the crowded assortment of wheels to crouch into one of those little roll-y stools, feet crossing and uncrossing in the cramped space.

He’s a sexy man, Y/N decides. That’s the word she’d been looking for all along, although pretty would match the descriptors of his long lashes and his pouty pink mouth. He’s sexy, though, in his baseball cap and his little six-inch-inseam shorts (which show off the sculpt of his tanned thighs and the ink over his kneecaps). He’s sexy when he comes out from the back over to her wheel, a gunmetal gray ball of clay cradled in his palm like it’s not the size of two of her own. He’s sexy in the green eye contact he makes when he settles into a stool similar to her own, right across, when his thighs splay because he doesn’t have enough room to sit otherwise, when he rests his elbows over his knees and stretches one arm out to pass off the clay. That’s when their digits brush, because it’s sort of unavoidable. He manages to make eye contact through that, too. Sexy.

“Okay. Clay,” the chilled ball the man hands off weighs her hand down, and Y/N’s gaze flickers up to meet his own when he instructs, “Toss it onto the wheel. Aim for the center.”

The young woman pauses like she’s calculating her aim, gearing up without visibly gearing up, and a little smile tugs at the instructor’s mouth as he waits. The clay lands with a thud onto the plate.

“Great,” he tells her, monitoring the centering, and then jade bounces back up to her face as he coaxes, “Smack for good luck.”

Y/N curbs the corners of her mouth out of mirth, hesitating for a moment before her palm lands over the smooth, gray lump in a halfhearted pat. She blinks up, hoping for assurance. The handsome man’s mouth purses like he’s restraining a grin.

“Harder,” he encourages after a second, the corners of his muted raspberry mouth seeping up a smidge, more openly, “S’not gonna cry. You can go a little harder than that.”

The young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, raises her hand, and follows his request, molding it flatter under the solid thud of her palm. Evidently, it’s a better attempt, because she earns a, “Very good,” in response from him.

She casts her gaze up to find him dipping his hands into the pot of murky water beside the wheel before a fist knocks lightly at the pedal-resembling lever on the opposite side, sending the wheel into a speeding twirl. And to add to her list of shame, the liquid that coats his fingers — that’s.

Yeah.

Y/N swallows and watches those wet hands cup over the clay, partly mesmerized by the way he coaxes the priorly deformed lump into a symmetrical cylinder, stroking up from the base up and back down, and partly mesmerized by the way the cherry polish becomes daubed with slicked clay.

“I’m just gonna get it nice and easy for you, and then you can get to the fun bits,” the man tells her as if he isn’t currently awakening some deep, deviously sexual desires in her by fondling clay. Jade flickers up. “M’Harry, by the way.”

“Y/N,” the young woman tells him in response, unsure whether to focus on his searing eye contact or the gentle press of his hands over … oddly erotic artistry in motion.

Harry unwittingly makes the decision for her by breaking the eye contact and glancing down at his work.

“Y/N,” he says, as if testing the taste of her name on his tongue.

Y/N takes a breath, smoothing her hands down her thighs.

“Y/N,” his strawberry mouth parts a tad for a soft breath in, honey smooth cadence glazed in concentration as he presses a flat palm over the top of the clay, keeping his other hand cupped over the length.

She watches the cylinder mold under his grip into something shorter, and then back up. She watches the way his arms flex, anchored to his body as he presses with the heels of his palms to sculpt.

“This is called coning. Makes the clay centered so your grip stays nice and even when it spins. Otherwise, s’gonna wobble, and you’ll feel it when you’re trying to work with it.”

Sure enough, after a few moments, when the man takes his clay-sullied palms away, what’d priorly been a lopsided hunk twirling over the platform stands symmetrically, shining post his wet grip. When he balls his hand into a fist and punches over the lever a handful of times, the plate slows to a stop. He blows out a breath and the music shifts to the next track in the background.

“Take your bracelet off for me.”

The comment is made totally innocuously. Its purpose is solely to preserve the condition of her jewelry — she knows that when his eyes go to meet hers again and he mentions, “Otherwise, it could get covered with clay, or break. Wouldn’t wanna ruin such a pretty piece.”

But it’s the way he says it, right? Two little words, so easy off his tongue. So nonchalant, so purely intended with no ulterior motive. For me. For me, for me, for me.

It’s shameful — she’s ashamed. She’s no better than a man, Y/N decides, as she peers to the silver bangle with the sliver of warmth slithering through her chest and snaking to her tummy. She’s no better than a man, objectifying this poor, effortlessly sexy ceramics instructor and his casual commentary on a Wednesday. She swallows.

“Right. Thanks— thank you,” the young woman tells him, her tone garbled with nervous enthusiasm as the fingers of her opposite hand wriggle under the clasp to pop the piece off.

She’s still feeling dubious about the morality of her thoughts once she’s slipped the bracelet into her tote by her feet and sat back up.

“Alright,” Harry starts again, elbows braced to his sturdy thighs, “We’re gonna go over what this little thing over here does, because it’s good to know. It sets your speed. We’ve got options—“

Y/N watches the way his arm stretches, she eyes the tail of the mermaid, the lines of scales etched into his skin. His eyes meet her own again.

“…Fast,” Harry knocks over the lever again with the butt of a vertical fist, a couple more nudges rocketing the wheel into a motion that dissolves priorly visible remnants of clay rings into fast-moving swirls with no decipherable borders.

Another few nudges has the wheel skidding to a full-stop, and then stuttering back up into a spin when he taps over the pad once more.

“…Slow,” Harry fixes his gaze back onto her face and watches the curious concentration there. The man sits back up a tad, elbows bracing over his splayed thighs and fingers crooked and lax, coated with slippery wetness and clay. “Find what feels good for you. S’different for everyone.”

Despite the way the directions are made so innocently, so obviously stated as a tutorial that’s not intended to be taken as something suggestive, Y/N finds a heat teeming over her cheekbones.

“But, I recommend—“ her teeth lodge into the inside of her cheek with subtlety as the instructor hunches a little again, just a tad, to rap over the lever in a pair. The wheel speeds. “—Sticking to something around this.”

The pace of the wheel settles into an easy spin — something that’s still too quick for her eyes to keep up with, but apparently not the fastest setting, judging by the higher speeds he’d displayed moments prior.

“Alright. Here’s where you come in with your undiscovered ceramic talents,” the instructor tells her, the edges of his mouth so obviously restrained, like he’s amused with his own playful banter. His eyes glinting softly under the buttery light cast by the overhanging lanterns,”M’gonna show you how to drill, but you’ll need to get your hands wet first.”

Harry sits back, elbows still braced to his thighs, hands now coated with slippery clay as he waits for the young woman to douse her own into the bucket. The liquid greets her palms with a welcome chill, and when she lightly cups over the cylinder, it slips under her hands with ease. The man clears his throat, and their digits graze again when he touches over her fingers to guide her grasp. Y/N tries not to focus on the way his hands make her own look as if they belong to a child.

“You’re gonna take your thumbs—” Harry coaxes, all concentrated seriousness now, and the pad of his own brushes against the knuckle of her left, “—and press over the top, here. Right in the middle, just like that.”

He takes his hands away and the clay rolls under her fingertips, a divot forming from the pressure of her thumbs.

“Good. Now what you’ve done is you’ve indicated where you’re going to make the opening. And to do that—“ his hands return, unintentionally persuading her own to fall away and sort of hover stagnantly mid-air, in sullied awe, as he dips the tip of his index into the cleft they’d created together.

As if hungry for the finger, the clay parts to swallow the pad of the digit. It broadens its starving mouth, and Harry steadies the spread with his thumb, his pointer delving against the inside of the deepening wall. His opposite hand cups over the body as he molds the opening wider.

Anyways, what Y/N manages to learn from the impressive showcase, before Harry steals a glance to make sure she’s been observing (which she has, very focused, actually), is that clay-working is a dirty, dirty, lustrous art form. Especially under his fingertips. This is all very educational stuff. Perhaps the most impressive step of his tutorial, thus far, is the way that, in mere moments, he cups and strokes and caresses over the clay, drawing the opening tighter. It shrinks until it disappears, and when he smooths his hands over the rounded edges a few more times, the vessel that’s left is an entirely clean slate. Almost as if she hadn’t just spent the last few seconds ogling a weirdly pornographic display of a clay cavern opening in response to the touch of his long finger. This was a horrible mistake, Y/N thinks pitifully — she’s getting aroused by clay working. If there was ever a blaring red indicator that she needed to get laid, this is it.

“I want you to try now,” Harry directs, totally nonchalant. This is just a casual Wednesday for him, Y/N realizes. He casually fingers clay with his sexy, long fingers, and thinks nothing of it. Maybe she’s just a horribly wound-up pervert.

Still sort of stunned, she reaches out and cups over the cylinder, clumsily positioning her thumbs in a replication of the manner he’d shown her, aiming for the center and driving a divot into the top.

“Mm. That’s good. Keep your elbows closer to your body,” he prompts, eyes flickering from her posture to her hands. “Like this.”

Following his body language, Y/N mimics, ducking a tad and tucking her arms to her torso. After a few moments, she lifts her thumbs to find a centered indent, one that’s similar to the one they’d created together.

“Lovely. Now,” the chair makes a little rolling sound over the tile as Harry shifts forward, clay-slicked hands (warm, despite their cool coating) cradling over her own to position, “You’re gonna cup here, and then take this finger and push here. Yep. Jus’ like that.”

The instructor takes his grip away and encourages, “If you need more water, get your hands wet. You can tell you need it if there’s friction — you want it a little wet.”

She wants it a little wet. Y/N decides, as she dunks her hands into the bucket and returns to the clay, she in fact does not want anything wet right now. This is the last place she wants something wet. Her thoughts are disturbed by the way he grasps her at her hands again and repositions — twisted by the slippery feel of his own wet fingers. The clay over his palms has begun to dry now, morphing lighter and crackling, but the tips of his digits are still soaked and darker in shade. She’s awed when the cylinder gives under her touch, the same way it had for him to encompass her finger. It’s like magic, sort of. Very slippery, wet, weirdly erotically undertone-d magic.

“There you go,” Harry tells her, baritone soft, “You’re a pro.” Then, after a moment, “You can go a little harder. Don’t be shy. Open it up.”

She’s not blushing. She’s not blushing, because that would be silly. She presses harder, and the opening widens until it gapes.

“How long have you worked here?” the young woman asks, naturally trying to change the subject from wet and hard things. Hopefully in an organic enough manner that doesn’t imply how affected she is by said wet and hard things.

“I bought this place a few years ago,” Harry responds after a second, tone concentrating as he reaffixes the firmness of her grasp (she tries not to verbally apologize, glancing up), “…Both units. It was a smoke shop before, I think.”

“Oh!” her hands stutter again in surprise, “Are you the owner?”

He fixes them again, brows pinched, and when he glances up, his brow bone is smooth and there’s a soft smile playing over his mouth. “Indeed I am.”

“It’s …beautiful in here,” Y/N tells him, gaze walloping from shelf to shelf for a moment, lantern lined ceilings to vine-coated crown molding, trusting that his hands will keep her own grounded to the piece.

“Thanks. It’s a little crowded, but if you manage to get lost among the …phallic statues and the clay bongs,” he cocks his head, blatantly bridling a simper as he shrugs. At the response of her snort, jade flickers up and the plush of his mouth curls more obviously, “…You’ll find your way out of the maze soon enough.”

As the walls of the clay grow thinner, the instructor takes his grip away, swiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. “Alright. What are we going for here? A mug? A vase? A bong masquerading as a vase?”

Y/N takes the lack of his touch as an indication to lighten her own. She purses her lips thoughtfully. “A vase.”

“A vase,” the instructor parrots, voice low, and then he hunches back over and cups the clay. The young woman returns her hands to meet his own. “I can work with that. We’re gonna build it up. You’re gonna squeeze and lift. Right—“

If his fingers keep brushing hers for the duration of the next …half hour? Hour? (How long does throwing take?), Y/N decides she’ll simply combust. His hands cup lightly over her own, two digits pressed to hers, and hers pinned to the inner wall of the clay in sin.

“—Here. That’s it. You can be a little aggressive. We’ve gotta get it tall.”

Y/N swallows.

“You said you own both units?” she ponders aloud, “Is there …more?”

“My place,” Harry tells her nonchalantly, as if it’s the most casual, normal, every day thing to live over a ceramics studio, “S’just over on the next floor.”

“That’s—“ she realizes her grasp has lightened again, the integrity of the structure mostly only crawling up under the pressure of his own (steady, firm) grip over hers, “…so cool. To have, like, a whole studio right under you.”

“Mm. I think right now…” Harry cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling, “We’re under my kitchen.”

A little breath of mirth tumbles from her when he grins and tacks on, “I think this is way cooler, though.”

This is The Turning Point.

And if it was a scene title in a play, Y/N thinks it would be capitalized to denote the importance. It’s important, because somewhere along the trail of her perversions, as Harry had guided her hands into the innards of the clay — fittingly describing it as the body — when he’d pressed his hands against her own to widen its base, when he’d shown her the sponge, things had clicked. It had clicked because she realized she wasn’t fucking crazy. Because Harry then said this thing — this one little thing that would have launched her into a frenzied, internal mess of dubious morality on the basis of her perversions—

But then it clicked.

“Careful with the amount of water you’re using now, yeah?” he’d told her, maneuvering her grip over the sponge as they’d smoothed over the lip together, “S’all about balance. …If you go too hard, you’ll make a wet mess.”

Y/N had glanced up. That’s when she’d noticed the way the instructor gnawed into his cheek, almost immediately, almost as if he was amused by some sort of devious inside joke. And then his blocky front teeth had dug lightly into the plush of his pink bottom lip. It was nearly unnoticeable — but she had noticed. Clay was innately erotic, and he was doing it on purpose. It was one, or the other, or both.

For a little while from there, they work in blatantly charged silence. It’s a very short while, all things considered, and she’s willing to clam up altogether and daydream about his digits for the duration of the lesson, but the tone of his next words nearly gives her whiplash.

“So what are you doing on this lovely Valentine’s day?” Harry breaks the silence, once again, his tone so even and nonchalant that Y/N can’t begin to fathom where his composure comes from.

The young woman clears her throat, “Oh. Y’know. Trying my hand at ceramics. The yuzh.”

Jade doesn’t immediately jolt up when he ponders aloud, “Dinner plans?”

“Not any on the calendar …that I’m aware of.”

His touch doesn’t lighten, but he does glance up, mouth all (apparently) disbelieving mirth, “You’re telling me you’re not being wined and dined tonight?”

Feigning offense, the young woman sets her mouth into a line and nudges with her chin in a nod, joking, “Thank you for the reminder.”

Harry laughs softly, one of those little breaths expelled through his nostrils, and he looks back down to the vase-in-progress, gentle grin undeniable. Y/N matches his amusement, faux indignation crackling.

“You’re too pretty not to have a Valentine,” the instructor tells her, then, decibel low, almost like it was meant to be under his breath but also entirely not, and all Y/N can do is sit there with instant heat seeping to her face. Because that’s flirting. That’s definitely flirting. Her sexy ceramics instructor is helping her craft a vase out of clay on a wheel with his sexy hands, and he’s openly flirting.

Y/N stuffs down how initially stunned she is to chew into her bottom lip and volley, “I bet you say that to every girl that comes in here.”

Harry shrugs. It’s still almost an enraging level of cucumber-cool and composed.

“Just the pretty ones.” He tacks on, after a moment, “And only on Valentine’s day. Don’t think that line would fit well on a random Wednesday.”

Y/N snorts. She’s still basking in the pleasant warmth of the flattery when the man peers up and tells her, “I do accept tips, by the way, so. Feel free to leave a tip for the friendly service.”

“I will—“ she snorts, restraining her open amusement at the way his brows crinkle in concentration as he helps her grip, “—definitely do that.”

“Sick,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over his lips, disappearing back into his mouth as quick as the pink had showcased. Jade flits up, the corners of his mouth curled up in a little pause of silence, almost he wants to make it crystal clear he does not actually want a tip for hitting on her.

Anyways, this is all a flustered mess. All of it. Y/N, the pot she’s sure will grow off-center and wobble under her shaky grip, all of it.

“What about you?” the young woman takes a deep breath, hoping some sort of breathing exercise will help slow the buzzy flutter of her heartbeat, “Any wining and dining? For Valentine’s day?”

“Not on the calendar,” Harry responds, sliding her own words back to her, his gaze still honed on the work ahead of them, now impressively morphed from a lumpy, shapeless ball into the beginnings of a vase, “As for how I’m spending my Valentine’s day, I did just show this one pretty girl how to shape and smooth. And now, …m’gonna show her how to shape some more.”

Y/N bats her lashes, and then she observes the work of his clay caked fingers, the way they curl and press over the vase in different points of the body, some motions widening the rim and some drawing it more narrow. He bids their tutorial a pause shortly after, explaining, “I’m gonna give you some creative freedom now. Figure out what shape you like.”

Despite the slight disappointment budding at the close of their conversation, for now, the daunting task of unsupervised throwing is what probably surfaces on her face, more. The instructor catches it when he rolls back in the stool and stands, ogling her for a moment, mirthy mouth caving up in a way that suggests she must look like a deer in headlights.

“It’s intimidating, but I believe in you. I’ll just be in the back for a sec, give me a shout if you need me.”

Y/N shifts her legs, pressing her thighs together when he adds, “Play around with it.”

All in all, they manage to end the wheel session with (Y/N thinks, impressively) only a couple of hiccups, both being opportunities presented with unsupervised sculpting. When she’d played around with it (his words) a little too much and had coaxed a priorly even shape into something lopsided and petrifying, it’d swung around on the wheel, each turn quickening its slow but sure collapse. She’d called out for the instructor with a frantic note to his name. Of course, both times, Harry had come out from the back and patiently squeezed over the clay, hands and forearms jolting and flexing deliciously as he’d encouraged it back into something centered (yet another opportunity to stare at slick clay glazing over his fingers all over again), reassuring her that it was normal to struggle, especially with her first time.

Y/N wonders if he’s constantly full of innuendos, or whether a ceramics studio is just innately an opportunity for double entendres.

She tries not to make it too obvious when she stands on wobbling legs, when she brushes past him and catches soft notes of his cologne, clean and musky. When he directs her to the bathroom where she rinses clay from her hands into one of those artsy, utility sinks. When she sits at one of the tables, waiting for him to bring the vase over to her, torched and ready for additions, when he gives her another colorless lump. She tries not to make it obvious when she ogles more of his arms, the peek of his nipples through the white, clay-stained fabric of his tee shamelessly. She fears it’s utterly obvious how affected he’s made her, though, when she blinks up at his face, when he shows her what the different little tools in the cup do for sculpting. Y/N doesn’t even look away from him at the introduction of the first tool. She thinks that’s the one that must cross-hatch, driving little lines into the clay.

“This is called slip,” Harry explains, dipping the tips of his index and middle fingers into the cup near the brushes with no hesitation. The consistency over his fingers, when he pulls them out, is like a wetter, creamier, sloppier variation of the same clay she’d worked with.

Christ.

“You put it over the lines you’ve carved to make more clay stick,” the instructor expands.

Y/N swallows when he smears the consistency coating his fingers onto the lines he’d drawn, his gaze bouncing from his touch to her face.

“Like, if you wanted to add a handle to a mug, you’d use this method. Or, alternatively,” the young woman focuses on the way the pads of the digits rub over the lines. They fade away. “It’s like an eraser. Careful with erasing, though. …Wet mess.”

The latter is tacked on as a reminder, and it wonderfully reminds her of the heat coiling in the pit of her tummy. Wonderfully. She swallows again.

“You can probably use that brush to apply the slip, though, if you don’t want to get your hands dirty again.”

Flowers. She sculpts flowers with a searing heat between her thighs, because his added little comment of, “I don’t mind,” as he glances to the slip still glazing his fingers, implying that he doesn’t mind to get his hands dirty, does that to her. Y/N sculpts flowers and they settle into a comfortable sort of silence. It’s one where the only sounds are the soft music playing over the speakers and the occasional noise of pages turning from behind the counter as he leans over it and works through some kind of paperwork. She draws lines into the vase, and brushes on the slip, and presses creased flowers to decorate the bulbous body, concentration etching her features.

She doesn’t notice when she goes over the hours of operation, and Harry doesn’t disturb her, doesn’t tell her that the shop’s been closed for nearly half an hour by the time she peers up and declares, “I’m done.”

“You’re done,” the man repeats and sets the paperwork down, making his way over to the table where she’d set up, “Let’s have a look.”

Y/N sits back admiring her artistry. All things considered, it’s sort of an ugly vase. Despite this, a sense of accomplishment buds in her chest as she stares at her creation.

“I like it,” Harry tells her, nodding like he’s proud of a promising protégé, “It’s quite sweet.”

“Thank you. What now?”

“Now—“ the instructor props one hand onto the countertop and the other against his hip, “You wash your hands, you take a picture, and you come back in three weeks to sand it and glaze it.”

Simple. It’s a simple set of instructions. Y/N brushes crackling, dried clay off of her fingertips against the cloth laid over the table, instinctively reaching for her purse.

She blinks up at him expectantly, “How much?”

Dimples wink awake with his soft simper, and he shifts his stance before he asserts, “Don’t worry about it.”

The young woman’s features shape into something crinkled, something bemused and unwilling of a discount. She shakes her head and glances back down to the tote, “No, I have to pay you. What about your tip?”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest, pecs flexing with the motion. Flexing, flexing, flexing, when will his muscles stop rippling? He sighs, cushiony mouth still smiling, “I think I’ll live. My tip was that I’ve helped you discover a hidden talent—“

Y/N snorts, eyeing the sloppy attachments to the shapely base, fingers still tucked over her wallet.

“—It’d defeat the satisfaction and all the pride I’ve got now,” the man declares, shrugging.

The unconvinced look she gives him coaxes him into a good-natured roll of his eyes, and Harry tuts before he compromises, raising his eyebrows, “But if you must tip me, you can tip me when you come back in three weeks, yeah?”

Begrudged, the young woman takes her hand from the edges of her wallet. “Fine. Okay.”

“Okay. Three weeks,” the man reminds her, a little smile playing over the plush of his mouth.

The world of ceramics is oddly pornographic, Y/N decides. But maybe clay isn’t innately erotic. Maybe it’s the way the man’s fingertips mold its shape, the way his digits look soaked in slip, the way his hands cradle over it as a wheel spins under his ducked stature. Maybe it’s the way his jade irises flit to her face when he makes an educational comment that’s obviously suggestive, Maybe it doesn’t have to do with clay, at all. Maybe it’s Harry.

Maybe it’s the way he tells her, “If I were you, I wouldn’t miss it. Glazing is my favorite part.”

#harry styles #harry styles smut #(ish)? there’s a lot of innuendos in this one #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles one shots #harry styles fluff #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles valentine’s day fic #valentine’s day fic

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eywaseclipse · 11 months

Text

Burning Desire*

Characters: Na’vi reader, So’lek featuring Ri’nela

Synopsis: (Pre-hallelujah mountain battle and rda resistance) So’lek and y/n go into the jungle for a daily herb retrieval to help with Ri’nelas healing practices, when you come across a strange looking flower. So’lek accidentally brushes past it, causing an aggressive pollen to pollute the air and affect him. The flower just so happens to be the Txunmga Mowan Fìsyulang also known as the Poisonous Pleasing Flower. The effects of the sex pollen only enhance what feelings are already there, creating a stronger more powerful desire, bringing all to the surface. If not treated immediately one may feel as if they are dying, causing extreme sexual agony and discomfort.

Warnings: really just no plot all smut 18+ only

Word Count: 3k

You finish the last strand of hair completing your fresh braids, as you string you favorite jade bead into your silky black locks with a satisfied sigh. Your feather and leaf top sways lightly as you rise to get your herb pouch and bow together. You take one last look in your mirror to asses your work, grabbing your things, securing your knife, and bow waiting for So’lek to accompany you on your extractions. The sudden flap to your tent moves with a slap, causing your head to turn to the source. A toothy smile meets your own, as you see So’lek enter your home. “Hey sevin pretty.” He greets you. “Hi So’lek.” You can’t help the way your heart beats a hair faster at the sight of the mighty warrior, your cheeks blushing in the process. “You ready for herb retrieval today? Ri’nela gave a list of what she needs replenished.” You nod your head, “Yup. Spent yesterday with her as she went over everything. I’m all set.” You say securing your bow and arrows one last time. You notice the way his eyes slightly advert from your face, to your chest just barely gazing to your nipples poking through your feathered top. A small smirk falls on your face as you catch him, a cough erupts both your thoughts. “I-okay, let’s go.” He awkwardly waves his hand to you. You chuckle to yourself as you both descend from the branches and into the thick of the forest.

You walk in comfortable silence, the sun peaking through the leaves of the canopy leaving streaks of light across your blue skin gently caressing it with warmth. You let out a content sigh, with So’lek enjoying the hot afternoon as well. “Did Suya finally lose her baby tooth?” You interrupt the quiet. So’lek looks to you, eyes wide in amusement. “Yes, but only because she begged me to tie a string around it and yank it out so she would get her prize.” You and him laugh, knowing how entertaining that would be to witness. “My, what a sight that would’ve been huh?” “You should have seen it, my dad almost passed out from stress.” He laughs to you. Just as you’re about to respond a small plump object obstructs your path. You quickly avoid the round fruit and look down. “Holy shit So’lek look! Utumauti Banana Fruit.” Your happy eyes look to So’lek just as shocked as you are, kneeling down to get a better look. “You know what they say about those who find a bananafruit right?” “Good luck.”

You smile. You take the plump fruit, and hold it out to So’lek, offering it to the warrior. “Here, you should have it. I know it’s your favorite.” You nudge it towards him. His hands lightly push it back to you, “No way, you’re the one who found it pretty girl. It’s all yours.” You lightly roll your eyes to him. “Did you fall on your head So’lek, you know it’s rude to refuse a banana fruit. Come on have it, it’s what I want.” You smile. You see the internal conflict through his eyes knowing that as a Na’vi custom it’s rude to take the offer as Eywa would like the fruit to be enjoyed by its finder. He sighs deeply, grabbing the fruit from your hand, taking out his hunting knife and proceeding to cut it down the middle slicing it in half, juices dripping down his hands. “Here, we share it.” He says with a proud smirk. “Alright.” You take your half of the fruit and slowly bring it to your lips, the pungent delicious flesh pops in your mouth, with the sweet flavors bursting onto your tastebuds. “Mmmm” You close your eyes in delight, hearing So’lek do the same.

Both of you relish in the rare find of an untouched bananafruit from the canopy treetops, humming in satisfaction, continuing your search for the herbs Ri’nela requested. With one of the plants on your list now in front of you, you begin scan the leaves of the ripe Paywll water plant, squeezing the succulent skin to make sure it can be harvested for its wondrous healing properties. Content with the ripeness, you take your hunting knife and begin cutting the ends of the leaf to put into your herb pouch, “Y/n come take a look at this plant, I have never seen one of these before. Was this one on this list?” You turn your head to where he points to the blue flower. “What plant?” You inquire. But it’s too late, he sneezes loudly as the pungent pollen invades his nose causing the disorientation to make him stumble back. You run to him, gripping his shoulders looking for any signs of injury. “So’lek?! Hey!” His eyes meet yours, blinking several times as if in a trance. His pupils begin to widen so much, they completely drown out the color of his amber eyes. You stare in horror as his expression turns into something you can’t quite name. You look down to where the fallen flower sits in the grass, kneeling to get a better look. Its beautiful blue petals have speckles of purple and bioluminescent dots scattered all around, with the inside has its pollen. And then it occurred to you, during the wet summer season many of these poisonous flowers bloom in the damp areas of the forest. “Shit.” You whisper softly. You turn your head back up to So’lek where his chest begins to fall up and down, breathing harder and harder. “Y/n what’s happening to me? Fuck.” He groans out.

You slowly bring yourself in front of him, looking to where his skin begins to sweat small beads from frustration. “So’lek, don’t panic. But I think you just inhaled the fumes of the Txunmga Mowan Fìsyulang Poisonous Pleasing Flower..” So’lek struggles to keep his composure as he fights the urges now beginning to take their effect. “The what?” He groans out. “Fuck I gotta call this in. Ri’nela will know what to do.” You bring your fingers to your neck comm, silently praying she’s wearing hers or close by to hear you ping the channel, as you hear So’lek fall to the ground with a loud thud. “Ri’nela, this is y/n, it’s an emergency!” “Y/n?” Her voice sparks to life. “Ri’nela, I think So’lek might’ve inhaled the toxic fumes of the Poisonous Pleasing Flower. I don’t know what to do, it seems it’s taken its effects already.” You wait anxiously for her reply. “Shit, y/n, this is not good. The only way to satiate the poison is to… allow it to run its course.” “How? I’ll do anything.” You hear her take a deep sigh. “Y/n, he’s about to feel the most intense sexual urges, you need to be careful. The plant only heightens the emotions of one’s desires that already exist. I shouldn’t tell you this, but So’lek feels those urges towards you. You need to be careful.” Your stomach drops to her confession, could you have heard her right? Sexual urges? So’lek? For You?? “Ri’nela what are you saying?” You whisper softly. “I think you know..You have to tame the beast or else the poison will cause his mind to aggressively hallucinate. Under the sex pollen’s effect one will think they need to have sex or they’ll die. It’s best to submit to avoid getting hurt. I’m sorry y/n there’s not much you can do now.” Your ears pin to your skull, knowing Ri’nela is only trying to help. You sigh, “It’s okay Ri’nela I got this. Thanks.” “Good luck.” She bids you goodbye. You can hear the shaking in her voice worrying for you, but you look to where So’lek is now heaving in confusion, you must do whatever it takes to help him.

You rush to his side bending down, careful your touch doesn’t alarm him. “Y/n I feel…ah!” He winces to your touch. “Fuck I’m sorry So’lek! This was the sex pollen from the Poisonous Pleasing Flower.” “The what? Fuck why am I feeling this way?” He looks down to where his loincloth forms a tent, his now throbbing length creating a tight bulge through the material. He begins to whimper, bringing his hand to palm his growing boner closing his eyes in the process. You’ve never seen such a sight before, your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Trying to look away, but you can’t help but stare at him in wonder. “So’lek, the effects of the poison will have you believing that if you do not relieve yourself through sex, you will die.” “Fuck” he whimpers. You witness him start to aggressively hump the air, bucking into nothing as he desperately clings to pleasure himself, when suddenly he pounces onto you with your back hitting the soft grass. “Ah!” A surprised yelp escapes your mouth. “Y/n, this feeling, I can’t fight it. I don’t think I can hold back. Everything I feel right now, is telling me to fuck you senseless. To breed you completely and take you as mine. I’m trying so hard not to hurt you.” He whimpers out.

You see the way he bites down on his lip, his eyes squeezed shut with brows furrowed tightly. Your heart aches knowing he is clinging onto the last thread of composure and sanity, desperate to be the gentleman he was raised to be. You know he is waiting for your verbal consent, it’s all he needs before he can truly unleash the beast waiting to erupt from within. You take a gulp of breath, touching his face softly, as he moans in the process. “So’lek, it’s me. I’m here. It’s okay. I want you to fuck me. Make me yours, I’ll submit to you completely.” You see as his eyes shoot open, huge pupils penetrating your soul. “You-you’re sure? Ah fuck. If I start I won’t be able to stop. I might hurt you.” He groans out fighting the pleasure. “So’lek don’t worry about me, I can take it.” You nod furiously. That’s all he needs to hear, as he plunges his lips into yours in a violent kiss. His tongue immediately assaults your own, poking into your mouth causing a pathetic whimper to escape. His teeth clank into yours, as he pushes his head as hard as he can into you.

“Fuck.” He starts to rut his hips into yours harder and harder, your loincloth now beginning to soak with your own arousal. “Oh So’lek that feels so good, don’t stop.” His ears perk up to your sweet little whimpers, as he flips you over bring your body onto his stomach. “Look at you submitting to me little girl. All desperate. I bet you have the sweetest little pussy.” He growls into you. “Come on, sit on my fucking face.” He whines. You immediately do as he says, fearing any resistance could result to danger. You’re quick to untie the strings of your loincloth, releasing from your tail, it falls down, as you throw it to the side. Your throbbing pussy lips glisten in the afternoon light, your juices now falling onto his stomach. “Oh fuck, even prettier than I imagined.” He groans. Your swollen bud practically throbs with excitement as you feel his strong hands grip your hips harshly, bringing you to hover over his face.

Your cheeks flush with shyness, as he aggressively lowers you to his mouth, your clit immediately making contact with his nose. “Oh!” You squeal out. “Mmmmmm.” He groans into your silky lips, relishing in the taste of your sweet nectar. He begins to prod his tongue through your tight hole, flicking it back and forth while his nose rubs against your clit over and over again. You look down to where his eyes are closed in complete bliss as you grip his braids holding on for dear life. “Oh!” You throw your head back in ecstasy feeling him begin to suck and slurp harshly. He brings his head to sway back and forth, shaking it to give you the perfect amount of stimulation, as he brings a free hand to slip under his loincloth desperate to feel his own release. The fire burning in your stomach starts to reach its height, feeling his lips begin to suction onto your swollen bud, “Oh So’lek!” You scream out. All he can do is moan into your pussy, the vibrations sending electricity to course through your veins. With one last harsh suck, you feel the fire now erupt through your body with your thighs convulsing violently on top of him. Your juices squirt out onto his face and chest coating him with your nectar. Your breath heaving you look down to where he lays, as you climb off of him. You see a dark spot in his loincloth from his own release, making eye contact with his barely ring of amber eyes. He wipes his mouth quickly, eyes darting to your body up and down like a Thanator stalking its prey, “Fuck you tasted even better than I imagined.” He groans out.

You lean forward to undo his own loincloth, assisting him to get rid of the material him bucking his hips in the process. The cloth falls to the the ground and his still hard cock slaps to his toned stomach with a loud smack. His own juices coating his azure skin, as your eyes bulge out of your head at the sight. He growls once more, placing his hands around your waist. “I am going to fuck you so hard you’ll forget your own name. You belong to me now. Understand?” He squeezes your skin harshly, “Ah, yes So’lek I am all yours!” You whimper out. He smirks deviously, bringing your back against the tree, then spinning you around. A slight tug to your tail is made as he wraps it around his forearm for leverage. The contact alone has your pussy pulsate with anticipation, your back instinctively arches in the air as you press your ass into his cock. “Oh so needy baby. Look at you submitting to me. You’re such a little slut huh?” He slaps your pussy hard, as your back arches even more praying he fucks you soon or you’ll combust. “Tell me!” He shouts. His hips buck into the back of your pussy, his hard cock sliding through the folds of your silky lips. “Tell me what a little slut you are!”

He grunts. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you cling to the last of your composure. “I’m a little slut! I’m your slut!” You whimper out in desperation. “Good girl.” He huffs. Without any warning, he plunges the tip of his swollen cock straight into your pussy. Your slicked walls welcoming him with ease, as his cock brushes against your cervix. “Fuck!” You scream out in bliss. His pace is brutal, so fast and unrelenting, that it forces you to grip onto the base of the trunk for dear life, arms stretched out straight to keep you from falling down.

Your ears are filled with the sound of slapping skin, his balls violently smacking against your ass as his cock drills into you, squelching into your pussy. Your eyes begin to roll back once more in complete bliss. “Fuck so wet baby! This all for me?” He grips the back of your neck with one hand as his other presses into your belly. The outline of his cock poking through your skin, “Feel that baby, that’s me fucking you balls deep. Gonna get you pregnant.” He whines out. “Oh fuck! Yes! Get me pregnant So’lek please!” You scream out. All rational thoughts of taming this beast fly out the window, as if you’re under the trance of the pollen yourself. He brings the tip of his cock out of your pussy, then slams it as hard as he can into your hips with brute force. “Unf” You whimper out, no longer being able to form a sentence. Your incoherent slurring fill Neteyam’s ears with pure euphoria as he feels his tight balls twitch readying for release. “Gonna fill you right up. Fuck! My little cum dump aren’t you?!” He groans into your ear. You turn your neck to face him, cranking it to the side, as he grips you jaw and goes in for a violent kiss. Your tongues immediately finding one another. “Ugh! So’lek I’m gonna cum!” You whimper out.

His pace begins to lose rhythm, as he approaches his own climax. The pace so fast it makes your head spin, as your pussy clenches around his length harshly. “Oh fuck princess! You’re so tight, squeezing me so good.” He loses control, feeling your tight walls close in on him as he brings his hand to tug your tail, bringing you as close as possible. Your pussy pulsates around him as you release your orgasm in a crescendo of bliss. “Ah!” You scream out, the blinding white pleasure causes spots to appear in your eyes, with your head thrown back in complete delight. The feeling of your tight walls squeezing his cock causes him to reach his high, as his hot white seed coats your pussy, shoot into your womb. You feel yourself milking him dry, as the last of your high causes you to clench around him once more, your bodies heaving in absolute delight. So’lek brings his forehead to rest on your shoulder as he finally feels the effects of the poison lifting off of him like a stone sitting on his chest. His breathing starts to even out, as he hears yours follow suit. He’s careful to pull out of you as gently as possible, gripping your waist for stability as your weak little whimpers fill his ear with guilt.

Your slumped form now slowly turns around, to meet his eyes as he tries to avoid contact with you. “Hey, So’lek look at me. Are you alright?” He shyly meets your concerned gaze, shocked that it’s even possible you’re still here standing in front of him on your own two feet after what he’s just done to you. A monster. “I’m fine. Y/n. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” He says in a hushed tone, with tears beginning to form in his eyes. “So’lek, it’s alright baby. I wanted this. I don’t want you thinking I didn’t want this.” You softly stroke his cheek as the tears begin to fall, catching them and wiping them away. “What I just did was dishonorable. I- I am so ashamed.” He looks down in horror. “So’lek, the plant’s poison works so that the victim feels the emotions that are already present, just heightening the sexual desire. I felt it as you did. I wanted this. I have wanted you since the day at the watering hole 5 years ago.” You chuckle lightly. He raises his eyes to meet yours, “What? You mean to say.” “Yes So’lek.” You shyly nod. Is it true? The girl of his dreams confessing her love to him, he blinks several times in disbelief. “I had always hoped that I would get your parents blessing to mate with you under the spirit tree and take you as mine, this… this is not what I planned.” He sighs. “Hey look at me, we have time. We have not stained anything. If you still wish to court me, mate me, you have me So’lek. I am forever yours” You smile to him placing his hand your beating heart. He smiles so wide his fangs glisten in the sunlight, causing you to mimic his own. “I could not ask for anyone else y/n, my heart is yours eternally.”

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syrikif · 7 months

Text

Gamer Etiquette

Kodzuken x Streamer!Y/N

Pairing: Kenma Kozume x Fem!Reader

Genre: SMAU + Written, Strangers to Lovers, Romance, Fluff, Humor, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Streamer/Youtuber AU

Content Warnings: Sexual jokes/content, mention of death threats, mature language

Upcoming content creator/streamer, Y/N, has gone viral for lots of things. Her infamous dumb moments, her blended cookie recipe (which tastes better than it sounds), the way she rages at her friends during games, and about a hundred more.

But her most recent viral moment? Accidentally knocking famous streamer, Kodzuken, off the Bedwars map and making him lose his two year winning streak.

Now with more attention (and hate) than she ever asked for, her only option left is to go to the source: the man himself, Kenma Kozume.

Created: October 6, 2023 Completed: (Ongoing) Update Schedule: I’m currently in the process of moving so just whenever I can :)

Masterlist:

Important Profiles: Y/N's Group Kenma's Group Prologue: Daddy Kink Cat Distribution System Chapter 1: Thirst Trap Hospital Food Chapter 2: Bedwars 🖊 Boredom 🖊 Chapter 3: Trending One Game Chapter 4: Calm Guilt 🖊 Chapter 5: Unhinged One in a Million Chapter 6: Cuddle Buddies 🖊 Casual Chapter 7: Rating The Cat Girl Chapter 8: A Dozen Men Little Things 🖊 Chapter 9: Scaredy Kitten Disappearing Act Chapter 10: Chapter 11: tbc . . .

Author's Notes:

Hey guys! This is my first post on Tumblr and the first SMAU I've ever written. Which, kudos to everyone else who makes SMAU's because they are a lot of work.

Just some basic info before you begin reading:

Y/N uses she/her pronouns and is feminine presenting.

Every chapter will have two parts, one part from Y/N's point of view and one part from Kenma's; the order will differ depending on the chapter.

Every update will be a double post so make sure you know you’re reading the correct one first, and reading both of them.

Time stamps don't really matter unless explicitly written by me so you can just ignore them :)

There will be both written and social media elements; written parts will be marked with a pen (🖊).

And I'm gonna be honest, while I love the anime I haven't actually watched it in a long time and I was never able to finish season three. That being said, if anything I write seems out of character for anyone just bear with me I'm trying my best lol.

Please feel free to give me any feedback and/or criticism to help me improve. And if any of the links aren't working just let me know and I'll try to get it fixed ASAP.

If you have any questions, don't feel too shy and reach out if possible; I promise I'll answer to the best of my ability.

(Also, just comment if you'd like to be on the taglist.)

Hope you enjoy the story :)

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ken-dom · 4 months

Text

Lars and sexual energy

Lars Lindstrom thoughts + gn!reader imagine

∘₊✧ Thoughts: 500 words - imagine: 900 words

∘₊✧ Author’s notes: I started writing a few thoughts about Lars and why I’m so attracted to him based on his character, the screenplay and things I’ve enjoyed in the movie, and it ended up in me writing a bit of a smut imagine to go along with it, so I thought it might be worth sharing. It starts with thoughts on Lars’s sexual energy, desires, urges, and how he deals with them. Until you come along. And then he has no idea how to deal with them at all.

∘₊✧ Warnings/content: nsfw, masturbation, possessive streak, rough sex (and soft, tender sex), blow job mentions, making out, crying, switch!Lars, touch starved Lars

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

You know what half the appeal with Lars is?

He’s not supposed to feel sexual desire. At least, he doesn’t let himself. Starting with the basics, he won’t allow himself sleep in the same room — or even building — as Bianca until she’s taken ill. He says right at the start that it’s because he’s religious, and I’m sure that does mean something to him, but I’m also sure it’s not just that.

At the beginning of the movie, he cant stand psychical touch and wears layer upon layer to avoid the excruciating pain it causes him. He sleeps in layers. He eventually says (in the script, but not in the movie) that he’s the one with issues around nudity, not Bianca, who comes from a culture that is very comfortable with it. I think he's reached a point here where he’s experimenting a little. If she’s perfectly comfortable, he could maybe get used to it, too. And maybe he secretly wants to see what she looks like under her clothes out of curiosity or to learn a thing or two from her; but he can’t just take them off without good reason. And she needs her nightly bath, right?

Then, looking back to the script, we have his ‘sexual energy’ which he canonically burns off by chopping wood (in his own words, he’s really good at that, and in Karin’s thoughts, he’s sexy while he does it). When Mrs Gruner asks him about partners, she tells him, ‘Don’t wait too long, it’s not good for you,’ which could easily be interpreted to be about sex. Lars plucks up the courage to ask Gus if it’s sex that will make him feel like a man; both admitting his virginity and in a roundabout way asking his older brother’s permission to lose it. And yet, he never (that we know of) shares any physical affection, other than innocent hand holding, cuddling, dancing and that one tearful goodbye kiss with Bianca. Bianca, a doll who was created for sex.

Add into this that Lars can be possessive. Part of me wants to think that it’s simply in his nature, buried somewhere deep under his trauma and social difficulties, because according to his family, he ‘wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ And in that case it surfaces in the right circumstances, because in all other ways he’s so soft and gentle and caring. The other part of me wants to think it comes from his sexual desires and urges being pushed so far down that he doesn’t know what to do with them and ends up losing his temper and needing to take it out on the firewood i.e. a good fuck might calm him down. Maybe it’s both, maybe it’s neither. Maybe he’s confused about it himself.

Throughout the film, Lars gradually learns to enjoy the sensation of touch, starts to forge meaningful human relationships, experiences jealousy (with little bit of that delicious possession peeking through with it) toward someone he’s scared to pursue despite knowing she has romantic interest in him, and the layers he wears as armour gradually reduce to his underclothes. So we could take from this that given the right conditions, he could learn how to enjoy being physical with someone.

And, with that in mind...

∘₊✧─────────────────────✧₊∘

Imagine being the one who finally turns his head. You catch his eye so unexpectedly, it snowballs faster than he can control it. He’s never felt like this before, never fought so hard to keep his thoughts clean and his physical urges at bay.

Lars, who uses his religion as a reason not to even sleep in the same house as his partner and doesn’t want anyone close enough to touch him, who can’t even get through a conversation with you without scrunching his eyes shut or running away, suddenly can’t get you off his mind. And the pain of carrying that pining, longing feeling around with him far outweighs the pain he might feel if you actually touched him, or so he convinces himself. Something must be done about that.

Chopping wood doesn’t distract him. Church doesn’t distract him. Driving to the lake doesn’t distract him. And neither does reading his favourite book or going to work or even accepting dinner invitations from Gus and Karin.

Lars goes from completely avoiding any hint of sexual desire his mind or body might conjure, to furiously jerking off every time he's seen you, rushing home and forcing down his pants to relieve the ache between his thighs. When he can’t sleep because his mind is buzzing with fantasies of you, his delicate, precise fingers wrap around his length before he can find a way to calm himself, and before he knows it, his thick, hot seed is spilling inside his pyjamas and he falls asleep in the mess, guiltily washing away the evidence in the morning. But not before indulging the wet dream he was having about you first.

It’s filthy. He feels filthy. And he likes it, whatever it is that you’ve done to him.

Lars ‘it’s always the quiet ones’ Lindstrom, has gone from sitting on the edge of his bed cringing at the conversations he’s had with you replaying in his mind because he feels so awkward and embarrassed about them, to daydreaming about his fingers wound in your hair while your soft, wet lips are wrapped around his cock, or fucking you hard against the tree by the lake while his tongue is shoved down your throat, or slipping one hand into your underwear and one over your mouth in the kitchen at work to quickly get you off while you steal a few minutes alone.

All the while, he’s breathless and trembling with anticipation, his hand wrapped tight around his cock as he pumps furiously, or stroking himself, soft and slow until he’s a whining, whimpering mess, moaning your name as his release washes over him.

Through this, he learns how to enjoy pleasure, learns his body, and starts to crave touch. Your touch. His own simply won’t do any longer.

So when he finally gets you all to himself? When you’re kissing him all chaste and sweet?

I hope you’re ready to have your clothes torn off, to be grabbed at until he leaves bruises, to have his fingertips driving into your flesh, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, ‘I’ve dreamed of doing this with you,’ through shaky breaths, to feel the burning heat of his flesh against yours, his mustache tickling at your skin when he stays in the same spot for long enough, his teeth dragging down your throat, pausing to suck at your pulse point, strong arms controlling your movements because he knows what he likes now, and when he’s around you, he loses all semblance of self control and has to have you just the way he’s fantasised.

In the thrill of desperation, he doesn’t even get his clothes all the way off, completely lost in a haze of excitement, but he manages it eventually, needing to feel as much of you as possible against as much of him as possible.

His hair is a mess, his cheeks are burning up, he’s completely ruffled, and he switches wildly from being a possessive, commanding lover to giving you the sweetest, most sensual fuck of your life.

His possessive side takes on a whole new meaning as he completely devours you — soft, sweet, innocent Lars — moaning loudly as he watches you cum from his touch over and over, bunches your hair into a fist to feel the bobbing of your head while you suck him dry, snaps his hips hard and fast against yours, followed by what feels like hours of slow, tender lovemaking while he whimpers needily and drips dirty words and praise into your ear like warm honey between breathless begging, revelling in this new sensation of the touch of another, until he’s spent, trembling and sobbing into your shoulder, overwhelmed and thankful and incredulous. Finding the soothing strokes of your fingers through his hair incredibly calming.

After so many years of repressing all these urges, and not finding any pleasure in touch, it could take a while to tire him out. But even when he’s temporarily sated, he will snuggle into you, press his lips gently to yours, and make out with you in a languid, sloppy kiss that doesn’t end until you’re both so worn out you’re falling asleep humming and sighing into one another’s mouths, limbs tangled together because now he's experienced your skin against his he will never get enough.

As he sleeps with you pressed against his chest and his strong arms keeping you safe with him, he has the biggest, warmest smile on his handsome face, but when he greets you in the morning, that naughty streak is back, and he’s smirking at you with a glint in his eye that you’ve already come to associate with nothing but pleasure.

#not s f w 💀#lars lindstrom smut #lars lindstrom x reader #lars lindstrom imagines #lars lindstrom thoughts #lars lindstrom #lars and the real girl #ken-dom writes #if you’re wondering what the other half of the appeal is #his relatable autism beautiful singing and soft belly have captivated me

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https-furina · 6 months

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✎ baked with love. ft. kazuha x gn!reader content. fluff, modern!au, maybe a slight hint to idol!au? just sweet fluff there’s really nothing more to say! baking with kazuha isn't as easy as it seems... mentions of insecurities (associated with acne/spots, teeth, scars and weight/stretchmarks/body) that the reader sees negatively. w.c. 1.2k words

archon’s decree. happy birthday to the kazuha to my heizou, my bag of skittles, the trauma fairy — welcome to the twenties !! i’m here to make today better (i think?) so as promised, here’s your present ! mwah ilysm dear !! taglist. @ryuryuryuyurboat @soleillunne @rainswept - send an ask to be added!

"sweetheart-" the petname rolls off your tongue effortlessly, a little exasperated perhaps, for how on earth had your boyfriend ended up in such a terrible mess in your short absence? you thought the task of measuring out the ingredients would be simple enough - what could go wrong? but the way pale skin is dusted in a light coating of flour, reaching as far as the dark fabric of his clothing and decorating the pretty length of long lashes lined around his eyes, you figured that possibly it wasn't simple enough.

ruby eyes disappear into creases as your boyfriend sends a sheepish smile your way. he's almost dressed to play the part of a househusband, silver tresses of hair with red streaks mixed in tied back - albeit a little messy - and there's a stupid slogan apron wrapped around his waist although it appears to have done nothing to save your boyfriend's outfit from a flour attack.

"i may have dropped the flour," he notes, slender hands gesturing to the mess of the kitchen counter that definitely took the brute force of aforementioned flour attack, "i think that might be too much flour."

he says this with a hint of humour, clearly joking as he gestures to the bowl sat upon the electronic weighing scales that indeed has too much flour in it - was he trying to make the densest cake on the planet? a sigh escapes your lips but you can't help the smile that creeps onto your face, unable to hide that the scene was incredibly stupid to look at. in response, kazuha's sheepish smile grows much wider - almost as if in pride from being able to make you smile.

"we can save this it's fine," you try to sound hopeful but the way the flour spreads across the kitchen counter, it almost seems like the baking equivalent of glitter, "hold the flour bag open, i'll try pour what's in the bowl back into it."

kazuha is quick to act, as he always is when it comes to tasks in day-to-day life. your boyfriend is efficient, apparently just not at measuring ingredients successfully. yet the act of attempting to pour flour back into the bag is met with mere failure when a cloud of white powder disperses into the air, making you too a victim of its power. kazuha can't help but grin at your expense, biting the inside of his cheek to maintain the laugh threatening to escape his lips when you stand, quietly processing what just happened.

"i don't think we can save this." he comments, his voice cracking when you blink the flour off your eyelashes and glance up at him. he's so close to giving in - it's a mess, sure but it's a small price to pay for the memories created. when kazuha finally breaks, unable to contain himself from your lack of words about the situation, your eyes gloss over how he leans against the flour covered counter, elbows coated in it as he hangs his head to try hide the fact he's laughing. his ponytail falls over his shoulder, dragging the ends of ashen blond hair through the powder without a care in the world.

despite this being an attempt to bake your birthday cake at home - you're not a huge fan of the designed ones in the supermarkets, - the two of you are really not suited to be bakers, especially not when either of you can witness the other's bad luck without bursting into laughter. feeling slightly humiliated, you turn towards the kitchen sink, eager to wash flour off your face that keeps tickling your nose - there's a sneeze on the horizon - yet kazuha's laughter is contagious, echoing in the silent kitchen when neither of you want to admit what just happened. you find yourself laughing with him and despite the previous feeling of humiliation, it's not a small laugh.

kazuha never fails to bring out that pure laughter in you, the one that hurts your sides and makes it hard to breathe because you simply cannot stop laughing - and when you try, you erupt into more laughter over the simplest of things. tears decorate your eyes, the kitchen filled with gasps for breath as you try to wave kazuha off, scolding him playfully and hushing him because clearly, it is his fault that you cannot stop laughing.

"will you - oh my god - stop that?" you cry, grinning as kazuha raises his hands to wipe the tiny glittering tears caught in his eyelashes but alas, the motion simply smears flour across his cheekbones and there it is again, that suffocating laughter that erupts from your chest and has you turning your back on your boyfriend in attempt to calm down.

the kitchen begins to die down into a calm silence a few moments later, minus the small breathless laughs and content sighs at your own stupidity. kazuha watches as you wash your hands under the kitchen sink, your cheeks hurting from that grin you couldn't wipe off your face. at this moment, he takes the opportunity to admire you. he admires all the blemishes that you say you hate, the small things about your body that you're insecure about. maybe he's admiring the crooked tooth you've hated since you was young or the spots dotted across your face that you frown at every time you see your own reflection; perhaps he's admiring the silvery tiger stripes painted along your thighs, hips and upper arms that he knows you've googled how to fade or the faint scars littered across your body for numerous reasons.

he admires you.

everything about you.

to kazuha, he couldn't possibly love you more than he already does. if there was a bar for how much he loved you, it would be exceeded. if his love was a pot of boiling water, it would be bubbling over the sides onto the stove. he's reminded when he hurries out of your shared house, pressing more than one chaste kiss to your lips because despite being late to band practise - he lost track of time wrapped up in your arms on the couch, - he finds you addictive. as if by chance, you feel the same way. it's a dangerous scenario when presented to the concepts of time, appointments and adult responsibilities.

the pair of you wouldn't have it any other way.

soon the glow of streetlamps that have turned on in the absence of daylight paint the kitchen in a warm gold through the windows, decorating the walls in shadows as you gaze upon the mess you've created, fingers laced together as you stand side by side. somewhere in the distance, a church bell begins to chime as midnight strikes and kazuha pulls you flush against him, his hands moving to wrap around your waist with a loving smile as he rests his forehead against yours. the tips of your noses brush, one being much colder than the other as you feel kazuha's warm breath on your face; you can smell the faintest of fruits he snacked on earlier.

"happy birthday, my love." he whispers wholeheartedly as you listen to that echoing chime continue into the silence of the city, his lips delicately pressing to yours in the most gentle act of love, his thumbs brushing patterns against the small of your back comfortingly.

kaedehara kazuha undoubtedly remains your home, your four walls and your hearth. he stands to be the sole person who kindled your dying fire and he'll forever be the one to protect it from the harsh winds of life.

"how about we just buy some cupcakes tomorrow instead?"

#꒰꒰・♡ solved cases #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #kaedehara kazuha #genshin kaedehara kazuha #kaedehara kazuha x reader #https-furina

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i4bellingham · 1 year

Text

AFTER BEDTIME: jamal musiala x reader

cw: suggestive content, allusion to previous sexual intercourse, petnames, sappy couple eugh (jk jk), kissing, (probably) incorrect engloish to german translation bcs i unfortunately don’t speak the language, lmk if i missed anything

i’m a sucker for the morning after type of fics so i just had to do my own 😩 and with our favorite german boyfriend ofc

A heavy weight was settled across your torso, hot breath fanning on your chest as you slowly opened your sleepy eyes, letting the morning light of the sun welcome you with its warm glare.

You turn your head off to your chest, seeing the short mop of curly hair of your boyfriend as he slept soundly above you.

You reach a hand to rub the bare skin of his back, one hand reaching out to run your fingers through his hair which emitted a satisfied sigh to leave Jamal’s lips as he adjusted himself above you, most likely being awaken from your actions.

Not even a minute later and he's rolling onto his stomach, bleary-eyed as he stares at you.

“Good morning.” Jamal greets with a small smile, propping up his left hand and placing his head on his palm. “How was your sleep?”

“Morning you blanket hog.” You greet back with a playful roll of your eyes, teasing him about the way he's got himself wrapped up in your supposedly shared blanket during your sleep.

Jamal takes the blanket that was wrapped across his midsection, giving you a fleeting view of the black boxers he slipped on last night before he’s throwing the blanket over your body and proceeding to wrap you in his arms in a burrito.

“This alright babe?”

You playfully knock your head against his, whining at him to let go of you as your arms began to grow numb from having him partially lay on them.

Jamal laughs melodiously at your protest and instead of unwrapping you from his inconvenient burrito, he actually lays his entire body over yours with your feet entangled together, his face buried on the crook of your neck.

“Oh my god I’m gonna die of suffocation if you don’t move right now.” You pout as you lay helplessly underneath your playful boyfriend. “J, move...”

“Nooooo...” Jamal whines against you, biting the skin in between your neck and shoulders. “This is my payback for the scratches you placed on my back.”

“But that was because of a good reason!”

Jamal huffs as he pokes your sides. “I know... but I still wanna do this for a few minutes because you're comfortable, more comfortable than the bed itself.”

You loudly exhale through your nose, finally conceding defeat as you let your boyfriend lay down on you. But of course his time ran out after an entire three minutes before you're back to wiggling underneath him.

“Let me check your back, love.”

Jamal finally relents after having his own version of fun, rolling away before sitting down in front of you with his back facing you.

Red streaks ran from the base of his neck up until his midsection, some of the angry red lines going as far as inside his boxer shorts and they for sure looked painful. You purse your lips apologetically, leaning down to kiss Jamal's cheeks as an apology.

“Do they hurt?”

He shakes his head. “Not as much as it looks.”

You began rummaging through your bedside table, grabbing a cooling tube from the cabinet before twisting the cap open and squirting some of the blue gel onto your palms. You rub the product across his back, silently taking in the hard muscles that ran prominent on his skin as he stretched after you're done with the cooling gel.

Planting a kiss on his shoulder, you wrap your legs around his waist. “How does it feel now?”

“Feels quite nice actually.” Jamal replies as he places a hand on one of your ankles. He turns his head to look at you over his shoulder. “Any plans for today miss beautiful?”

You stow away the cooling gel, keeping it back inside the cabinet before you leave the bed.

“Nothing in particular no, why?”

Jamal lays on his back, leaning himself against the stack of pillows he had created as a support underneath his elbows, his eyes following your every move as you began slipping on one of his shirts.

“Well I was thinking...” He trails off, piquing your interest as his silence ensues.

You raise a brow while pulling a pair of jogging pants over your legs. “Yes?”

Jamal leaves the bed before he stands behind you, one hand holding the hem of your shirt up from behind and the other securing the tie of your pants with one hand.

“We have training in the afternoon today and I was thinking... if you would like to come with me?” He sheepishly asks as he holds you by the waist, placing his chin over your shoulder. He plants a kiss on your right cheek, mumbling against your skin. “Will you please go to training with me? Bitte, meine Liebe?” (Please, my love?)

Shifting your hand over his, you nod your head yes, slightly tilting your head to the side to meet Jamal’s eyes that was already on you.

“But... we leave after the Warriors game.”

Your boyfriend dramatically sighs, kissing your cheek once more before he moves away to find a shirt and one of his shorts in the closet beside you.

“You really know how to entice me with your preposition.”

“It’s the Stephen Curry effect, my love.” You tease before handing him a pair of clean socks he usually dons at home as he throws on one of his shirts with a training short.

“You literally like Jordan Poole though?” He muses, scrunching his brows before he sees you chuckling as you walk to the door.

“But not as much as I love you J. You know I love you more than I like JP.” You counter, shooting him finger guns before blowing him a kiss and a wink.

Jamal amusingly laughs as he follows after you to the door.

“Well I really do hope my girlfriend would prefer me over her current favorite hooper.”

You hook your arm around his, tip-toeing to press a kiss on his cheek as the both of you leave his bedroom.

“Always you J, always you.”

a/n: guess my favorite nba team and my favorite nba players 😩 it's not very obvious i swear to you

#☆ i4bellingham writes.#☆ jamal musiala #jamal musiala x reader #jamal musiala fanfiction #jamal musiala x you #jamal musiala imagine #jamal musiala fanfic

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aziraphales-library · 5 months

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Heya!

I've read a LOT of GO fics in my time, but I can't remember if I've seen crossovers/AUs of the following movies with Aziraphale/Crowley, can you help please?

So my favourite rom coms of all time are the following, and I'd love GO versions (if they don't exist I may have to write them)!

French Kiss (Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline)

You've Got Mail (Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks)

When Harry Met Sally (Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal)

Runaway Bride (Julia Roberts and Richard Gere)

Never Been Kissed (Drew Barrymore)

I won't bother asking about Pretty Woman because I've read so many versions with either of them in either role lmaooo (and I have loved Every. Single. One.)

Or basically any late 80s/early 90s rom coms with Meg Ryan (except Sleepless in Seattle because I find it incredibly boring) or Julia Roberts!

Thank you so much for everything you do! You've helped me discover so many amazing fics and writers and it is much appreciated!!! 💖💖😇😎

Hello there!

Did you know there is a whole collection from the Good Omens Rom-Com Event that was run a couple years ago? You might find what you're looking for there! (Some of the fics are unfinished so keep that in mind)

We have previously recommended a bunch of You've Got Mail/She Loves Me fics HERE, so check those out.

As for the other ones you've asked about:

French Kiss AU:

A Bit of Crumpet by Fyre [E]

With a handsome, successful fiance and a respectable home in Manhattan, Aziraphale Fell thought his life was more than adequate. He never expected to be jilted in a long-distance telephone call and so he sets out for England to find out exactly what's going on and gets a lot more than he bargained for.

When Harry Met Sally AU:

it had to be you by curtaincall [M]

“What I’m saying,” said Aziraphale, looking fixedly ahead, “and please don’t take this as a personal insult in any way, is that an angel and a demon can’t be friends.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” said Aziraphale, firmly. “It’s against the order of things. You’re supposed to tempt. I’m supposed to thwart. We can’t go being friends.”

A canon-divergent AU inspired by When Harry Met Sally.

I don't know of any fics with your two last wishes but there is also:

Notting Hill AU:

Soho by Lurlur [E]

Aziraphale lives a quiet kind of life, running a quiet specialist bookshop in one of the liveliest districts of London. He's content with his lot, happy with his friends, tolerant of his probably-human housemate, living vicariously through the gossip pages.

One day, a chance encounter with Anthony Crowley, lead singer of wildly successful rock band The Demons, threatens to turn his whole world upside down.

Music and Lyrics AU:

pop! goes my heart by attheborder [E], WIP

When has-been musician Anthony Crowley is recruited by pop singer Anathema Device to write a song for her new record, he jumps on the chance to resuscitate his career with a hit. There's only one problem: he can't write lyrics to save his life.

But a chance meeting with a stranger by the name of Aziraphale, with a poetic streak that's a perfect fit for the song, changes everything for Crowley. Together, they'll create something beautiful, fight the forces of the music industry, and perhaps even find a way back into love...

A Music and Lyrics AU for the GO Rom Com Event, complete with all-new original songs written and recorded by the author!

Kate & Leopold AU:

Until by Nadzieja [T]

“I don’t want to go home.” Half-asleep Aziraphale murmurs into his ear and Crowley's heart clenches. His grip tightens reflexively around the warm soft body in his arms, around the smell of old books and sandalwood.

“Then don’t.” He’s trying not to sound like he's pleading, but his throat is tight and his voice hoarse.

Crowley lives his average life, working in a high-end advertising company at London that pays just enough to get him a room in a shared accommodation. That's just his luck that he ends up living with a literal witch. One day she brings home an even more eccentric man that has a taste for 19th century fashion, as if Crowley didn't have enough things to worry about. Little he knows that the man will turn his world upside down. Literally. And that's just the beginning of his problems.

~Mod N

#good omens #ineffable husbands #rom com #human au #canon divergent au #adult omens #mod n

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orqheuss · 1 year

Text

Mallowsweet Bliss

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader FLUFF)

Summary:

The three of you basked in the comfort of the room, your limbs stretched out away from you and feeling like they suddenly were twice the weight. You and Sebastian had lied down on the ground not long ago, content with looking at the clouds passing overhead through the glass aperture with enraptured attention. Ominis had joined you a moment later, not wanting to be left out even though he couldn’t see what you were oo-ing and aww-ing at, and was now running his hand through the streaks of light and heat coming from the large bay windows stretching the entirety of your space.

The three of you were completely and incandescently stoned.

Word count: 2.8k

AN: I’m moving all of my fics over from Ao3 to make them more accessible! These are my fics.

Soft white smoke swirled around the Room of Requirement and drifted up towards the sky light above, filling the room with the sugary herbal scent of mallowsweet. The clouds seemed to form shapes against the domed glass, waving at the birds that flew above before disapparating into soft wisps of light. Sunlight caught the tendrils just right, sending streaks of its iridescent glow throughout the room and creating soft rainbows on the walls. A soft twinkle of wind chimes danced around the space from one of the many vivariums lining the walls, creating a gentle and serene ambiance that shan't be broken by anything. Softly sleeping atop of the loveseat near the middle of the room was a brown kneazle, its fur covered by a comforting warmth as it lazed in a sunbeam, its paws miming making biscuits on the soft cushions, and a lovely purr coming from its chest. Everything in the room seemed to be at rest, a perfect sense of calm washing over every square inch and washing its inhabitants with the feeling of absolute satisfaction.

Everything was absolutely intoxicated with rhapsodical bliss.

Three students lay on the large circle rug at the center of the room, each of them facing upwards towards the sky light. Their heads touched at the center, leaving their bodies to create the shape of a three point star. Each had shed their heavy cloaks and ties long ago, bar one of them who had decided to tighten his tie around his head like a strange headband, and were left in just their white button downs, trousers, and socks. Their eyes were squinted slightly, their eyelids creating slight slits against the shine of the sun. Red twinged around the edge of their irises, coloring their scleras a soft pink tone. They each had their own brand of a soft smile crinkling at the corners of their lips, stretching their face into a chuffed expression.

The three of you had retreated to the safety of the Room of Requirement earlier in the day to study for your upcoming N.E.W.T’s. Notes, old quizzes, and textbooks littered the table and the ground around you, creating a halo shape of scholarly knowledge around the floor. You all had been studying for hours when the sun reached its highest point in the sky, each of you drowning in revision and pounding headaches making their way behind your eyes. Ominis had been the one to break first, slamming his herbology textbook closed and dropping it onto the hardwood below with a grand bang. The blond stood to his full height, knocking a now disgruntled Eros the kneazle from his lap and to the floor, and stretched his limbs towards the sun like a flower before stating that it was time for a “well deserved break from all this nonsense.” Sebastian had eagerly agreed with the other boy, tossing his own work unceremoniously to the ground and spewing his papers to and fro. You simply shrugged, closing your notes inside your charms textbook to mark the page and placing it on the table.

Ominis had at first flopped back down onto the couch, resting against the hands stretched behind his head and crossing his legs daintily across the cushions, before he smelled something familiar in the distance. His nostrils flared minutely like a dog sniffing for a treat, his eyebrows furrowing on his brow in slight confusion. He slowly leaned back up to an upright position, turning his head slightly in the direction of his two companions in question.

“Is that smell what I think it is?” He asked, a slight grin breaking appearing on his face in concealed glee.

Sebastian lifted his head from the back of the lounge chair he was, well, lounging in, and began to sniff at the air like a bloodhound. He turned his head slightly to the left towards where you grew your plants for potions and inhaled deeply, his eyes widening slightly and an elated smile stretching his lips to his ears. He turned towards his blond comrade and quipped in return with a voice filled with mischievous glee.

“I do believe it is, my scent-adept friend.”

The brunette quickly sprang to his feet, flashing a smirk at your confused expression before taking off in a light jog to the other side of the enormous room, sliding across the floor with his socks and skidding into your atrium. You could hear him rustling around for a moment, before making a loud noise of accomplishment. The boy quickly returned soon after, a handful of leaves tucked against his palm. He turned to you with an incredulous expression, slight outrage lacing his tone.

“Why didn’t you tell us that you grew mallowsweet?!”

You returned his look with question, your face pinched together in perplexity. “I need the leaves for the Merlin trials, plus it smells nice so I keep some around…why?”

He looked like a kid on Christmas morning, casting a glance at Ominis who still sat on the couch with a toothy grin of his own, before stepping closer to you. He forgot how little you knew about the magical world sometimes.

“Oh, you lovely, hopelessly naive thing. Yes, mallowsweet has a great smell, but it also has an even better taste when eaten, and an absolutely enchanting effect on the mind when you smoke it.”

The cogs in your head slowly turned as you processed what he was saying, your brain having to work slightly more than normal due to the intense amount of studying you had been doing, before it all clicked at once. A dangerous smirk crossed your mouth as you met the brown eyes of the boy in front of you once more, a coy comment falling from your lips in return.

“Well then, it would simply be a scandal to not indulge, wouldn’t it?”

Sebastian whooped at your agreement, quickly crossing the rest of the space between the both of you before leaning down to where you were sitting and placing a bruising kiss on the top of your hair, his hands roughly grabbing the sides of your face and the smack of his lips against your skin echoing around the room slightly.

“Oh, you are a beauty! An absolute saint!”

Sebastian quickly scanned around the room, looking for the final piece of his plan. Just then, sensing what he was looking for under all of your clutter, a simple brown pipe appeared on the closest end table. Looking up towards the roof and making a praying motion with his hands, the brunette whispered to himself in bewildered awe.

“Merlin, I love this room.”

***

The three of you were completely and incandescently stoned.

You cast your arm out at your side, pawing around the ground and eventually across Ominis’ stomach for the pipe filled with your illicit substance. He gently grasped your wrist in his hand, flipping it over and dropping the instrument into your palm. You lightly giggled your thanks, lifting it to your lips and lighting the leaves with the tip of your wand. Smoke billowed from your mouth like a dragon, floating upwards with the rest of its friends and looking like it was brushing against the sky itself.

Your eyes slit even more, the pinkish hue of your eyes darkening minutely as the herb filled your mind with a hazy bliss. Your most recent thought made its way into the air around you, drawing the attention of the two boys to your left and right.

“Chaps, how do thestrals mate?”

Sebastian snorted, his head lulling to the side with little grace as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. He cheesed in your direction, a mocking tone taking over his voice.

“You see, when a mommy thestral and a daddy thestral love each other very much—”

You swatted at the boy, him turning away with a laugh and avoiding your sudden onslaught of violence.

“No, you nit!” You scoffed like you were asking the most simple question in the world, “How can they mate if they can’t see each other?” You paused again, taking in your own question.

“Can they see each other?”

Sebastian turned towards the boy lounging next to him, his hand reaching up and lightly smacking him on the shoulder to get his attention.

“I’m not sure. Ominis, how do you do it?”

The blond turned towards the direction of his friend’s voice, slowly reaching his arm upwards from the ground with the speed of a sloth and flicking the brunette lightly between the eyebrows.

He coyly smirked, “Wouldn’t you like to know,” snickering to himself.

His hand flopped back to his side, and the three fell into a comfortable silence yet again, each in their own world as the mallowsweet permeated their senses.

The three of you stared unseeing upwards, your eyes blurring around the sweet buzz in your minds, before dissolving into giggles— them soon transforming into full guffaws causing you to tuck your knees to your chest in mirth. Ominis had rolled over on his side at this point, laughter wracking through his body; his arms wrapped around his stomach from the rippling pain in his abs as tears gathered in his eyes. Sebastian took the pipe from where you had dropped it next to your head and puffed the herb into his throat, holding it between his cheeks. He tapped the ground near the spot where all three of your heads touched with his wand, gaining his companions attention while he released the large plume of sugar scented smoke from his lungs.

“Ominis, do that trick Imelda taught you.”

The blond boy eagerly scrambled up to a seated position, gingerly grabbing the pipe from Sebastian’s outstretched hand and taking a drag. He tipped his head upwards towards the ceiling, closing his teeth around the tip of his tongue and breathed out with a soft hiss. The smoke flowed smoothly from his lips, taking a slinking shape similar to a rope. Ominis took his wand and swished it lightly in the general direction of the spectacle, causing a soft breeze to swirl around the tendril and make it take shape. A long body formed around the base, tapered off close to his mouth and thickened as it moved upwards until a diamond shaped head appeared at the very top. The smoking snake slithered through the air for a moment, turning and hissing at the students on the ground before it continued its journey up towards the light. Just before it touched the glass, its body twisted itself into a circle, its fangs biting its misty tail, and swallowed itself around a glorious plume of green speckled fireworks.

You quickly sat up, your head spinning slightly at the speed as you stared in wonder at the lightshow above. The green sparkles fell around your group of friends, sprinkling the three of you with little shamrock-toned embers. Each one gave a pleasant heat, just enough to touch them with the tip of your finger and bring it up even with your eyes to examine. After a moment they began to blink out like the stars in the night sky when morning breaches the horizon. Ominis tilts his head towards you, feeling the glee spilling from your inebriated body in waves. He chuckles lightly, grinning with all his teeth before speaking through laughs.

“We found a patch of mallowsweet on the outskirts of the forbidden forest during our third year. Imelda asked to join us— taught us some fun spells.”

You turn towards him, meeting his gaze and flashing a smile of your own.

“That was brilliant!”

Slightly to your side you could hear Sebastian sit up against the couch, leaning back against the front and tucking his legs underneath himself before picking up a puzzle box that decorated the coffee table. You could picture his concentrated face, his eyebrows furrowed against his forehead, his nose scrunched, and a little blip of his tongue sticking out in deep thought. You snorted slightly to yourself before focusing your eyes back on Ominis. He was still smiling, his head leaning back against the couch next to the brunette and his legs stretched out in front of him crossed at the ankles. You planned to just watch him for a moment, your brain beginning to fuzz and your eyes starting to blur, before something caught the attention of your buzzed mind. You leaned closer to the blond boy, reaching your hands out and grasping at his face, your thumbs pulling the corners of his mouth further up his cheeks and baring his teeth completely.

The boy made a startled noise around your fingers, reaching up and grasping at your wrists in shock. You stared wide-eyed at his teeth, focusing on his canines.

“Ominis, your teeth are so sharp. They’re like fangs!”

You took one of your thumbs and poked at the tips of his canines, feeling the serrated edges against your skin in disbelief. Sebastian joined in out of curiosity, eyes focusing on the pointed bones with the same concentrated look from before decorating his visage. The blond stared at you in immense confusion, his eyes gleaming slightly with humor, before speaking around your gentle assault.

“Thank you?” His speech was slightly slurred from the pressure on his cheeks and jaw.

You leaned closer, gazing intensely at his dentition still.

“Are you a vampire?”

Ominis laughed deep in his chest, bringing your hands back down to your side and releasing himself from the painful stretch you had on his mouth.

“No, everyone with the ability to speak parseltongue has slightly sharper than average canines. It’s genetic— helps the hiss enunciate more.”

You snorted again, “Neat.”

***

Once the sun had begun to set over the hamlet, the three of you decided to move your outing into one of the many vivariums you had procured over your few years at Hogwarts. On the way out of the main living area, you had grabbed a few more mallowsweet leaves from your greenhouse, crushing them in your palm before tucking them into the old pipe and setting it ablaze with your wand once again, inhaling a deep breathful of sweetened smoke and blowing it gently over your venomous tentacula before running off towards the direction of the two boys. You found them near the bend of a river, both lazing around in the warmth of the magical sun like a couple of lizards on a rock. Their trousers were rolled up around their knees, socks abandoned to the side so they could stick their feet in the cool water of the stream. You sat down, doing the same and handing the pipe over to Sebastian, watching him take a hit and hand it off to Ominis to his left. The smoke exhaling from their lungs pillowed steadily into the air above and was caressed by the sweet forever-spring breeze surrounding you. The herb was beginning to make the three of you quite tired, each of your eyelids blinking slowly under the brilliant sun above. You and Sebastian started pointing out shapes in the clouds again, each one getting more outlandish than the last. Uncontainable giggles danced in the air around you, floating through the ears of the blond and creating a gentle smile at the corners of his lips.

A smack drew the two cloud-watching students from their stupor, each floating their head towards the other boy— Ominis’ brain finally catching up with their conversation from earlier and a look of baffled shock crossing his countenance, his hand pressed against his forehead and slightly pushing his hair back.

Merlin. How do thestrals mate?”

Loud cackles of laughter filled the whole vivarium with an aura of happiness, letting the fresh smelling breeze carry it away throughout the hillside and swaddling their little peaceful paradise in the smell of mallowsweet.

***

like what you read? here's more!

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vamp1reb0yslut · 1 month

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kinktober- day two

contents. top! male reader, trans! male reader, dom/sub undertones, or just straight up overtones, pegging, dacryphilia, long-distance relationship, aftercare, no/little prep, sadism, praise, reader is referred to as 'sir' a couple times, begging

a.n. if u want me to write something, request in my ask box of this form :) ill be glad to write it <3333

w.c. 1.9 k

cw/tw. some mentions of blood.

Pain, as defined by most medical researchers and doctors, is the psychological and physiological response to a damaging stimuli, an ache, a burn, a prickle running down sensitive flesh. Mostly it came in a sudden flash, before stilling in a discomforting sensation. Out of all the things that it was, pleasurable was not the words you would use to describe it. Not for yourself, at least. To see someone else’s face contorted with anguish– that’s what brought you pleasure. To see salty tears streaking their face, to hear anguished cries– that was beautiful, a kind of ethereal that even the highest of the archangels could never even dream of reaching. It made you feel like a god, like you held the strings of fate in your hands– you were the puppeteer of this show, and whatever you did was law.

Today, you had the luck of visiting your boyfriend, the sweet thing had seemed to miss you quite a bit, the way that he smiled up at you with those large, glinting eyes, and the dreamy look that prevailed on his face as the two of you sat in the bus on your way to his apartment, talking about everything you had missed after he moved to be closer to his studies. Tales of new friends and indoor parties spewed from his lips, small stories about his job in retail and the food he had ordered the day before, some mentions of his courses, but not that much. You found yourself looking at those pretty lips of his, as he excitedly chattered on, and couldn’t help but smile. How pretty those lips would look, how splendid his voice would sound as he begged for mercy.

It was only after entering his apartment and making yourself a tea that you actually mentioned this. The two of you lay in his bed, him dressed in his favourite pair of pyjamas, you laying in a white shirt and boxers, when you felt the courage to bring it up.

“I think you’d look beautiful in pain.” You said suddenly, making him appear confused. You had not done a good job easing him into it– you hadn’t even tried.

He did not react in the negative way you had expected him to, after the words sunk into his brain. A small smile grew on his face. “Even in pain? Even in pain you’d think I’m pretty?”

“Even in pain.”

He wanted to test it out, he wanted to see if it was true. It felt like a dream to you, when you saw him slowly undress, throwing his clothes onto the yellow armchair in his room corner. He seemed excited, yet scared. You knew he was not fearful that he truly might get hurt, he was fearful that you would no longer see him as the pinnacle of loveliness once you saw him in such a way. But yet, he soldiered on, smiling when you gave him a pat on his head and told him to leave to the bathroom to prepare himself, before ordering that he may not use lubricant in this situation. He just nodded, and quickly headed to the bathroom, leaving you alone.

In the time he had given you, you too removed your clothes, fastened the harness around your waist, and waited for him to come back, so the true fun could begin.

He did so a few moments later, slightly red faced but smiling still, and when he saw your choice of the encounter, a thick, ribbed dildo, slightly curved up to hopefully slam against his prostate when you fucked into him. It was not the biggest one you possessed, not by far. You had larger ones, but you didn’t want to split him open, did you? Only eight and a half inches would work.

Soon enough, you managed to get him on all fours, stroking his hair, kissing the back of his neck, intending to create a false sense of security, reminding him that no matter what he thought, he could still say the safeword at any time, and there would be no judgement. He agreed to these things absentmindedly, already so cock-drunk that he could barely care enough to listen to your words. Normally, you would have fucked him a bit with your fingers, to make him open and ready, but this time, you felt less like doing that. He said he’d let you see him in pain, didn’t he? This wasn’t going against his wishes. You spit onto your palm, and rubbed the sticky liquid across your make-shift cock. It would not do much to stop the sting, to halt the pain, but that was not what either of you wanted, wasn’t it? Spitting on his hole and watching the sudden little jerk of his hips was as much prep as he would get, something he clearly hadn’t caught on to.

Your hands grasped his hips, as you moved yours forward, slowly. A sudden scream ripped past his lips, as he buried his face in the pillow. The spit you had slicked across the dildo had dried, and now it was like it had never been there. You stopped, allowing him to have a moment, to get used to this feeling, as he panted and gasped into the pillow. The next few inches were the same, a muffled cry and a moment, before continuing. It was your repertoire for a while, and as the thickness of the dildo only got bigger, the worse his screams became. When you finally bottomed out, he screeched, grasping the covers below him till his knuckles went pale. You could feel him trembling in your grasp– his legs would have given way if not for your grasp on his hips.

“Aww, baby boy–” He didn’t answer, he knew you were trying to be insulting, he knew you were indirectly mocking him. Or maybe he was too busy sobbing.

After a while, the thrusts began. You’d pull out half, slowly, gently, before gently thrusting back in. Every action you did at that moment was slow and gentle– you didn’t dare consider hurting him that much. With every half-thrust came a whine in return, sometimes a gasp, and sometimes a shaky breath. You could tell that the way it nudged against his prostate was somehow combating the pain, confusing his senses. The poor boy probably didn’t know how to feel, whether to moan or howl in agony. Little drops of blood dripped down to his taint and shaft, where they mixed with the pre-come oozing from his slit.

Soon, the half-thrusts stopped, the slowness came to a halt. In a careful movement, you turned him around to his back, hearing him squeal as you did so. His legs now wrapped around your waist, his hard cock bared to your eyes, as well as the tears prickling in his eyes.

“Can I?” You asked, and were greeted with a weak nod, as he reached up to wipe the incoming tears away.

You did as allowed, thrusting quickly, this time. You were greeted with an even louder scream, mingled with a sob as he covered his eyes. And again, another scream. Again and again till he was hiccuping and sobbing, hands still covering his eyes, body still tense as you continued your onslaught. He whined and sobbed, covering his face so you wouldn’t have to see the mess he had become under his palms, makeup running down his face, features contorted as he sobbed.

“Do you want to stop, baby?” You whispered, as you gently pulled his hands away from his face, wiping the tears off his cheeks as you came to a halt, poised, as if the moment he said yes, you’d pull out and go straight to aftercare, because that’s just what you’d do. He shook his head, still sniffling.

“‘S okay. Can take it.” He panted out.

“If you can’t, sweetheart, I won’t judge you.” You said in a smooth voice, stroking his sweat-matted hair. “If baby boy wants me to stop, I will, and I won’t be mad.”

“Don’ wanna stop. Wanna come. Wanna come bad.” His voice was hoarse and broken, as he sniffled and his breaths faltered.

“I can make you come another way, angel.” You kept smoothing down his hair, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“But I wanna come like this.” He almost whined when he said that. “Feels nice, Sir. It hurts– but it’s nice.” He sniffled, wiping tears and mucus from his face with his hand. “I like it, Sir. Can we continue, Sir? I like when Sir fucks me like a toy, can Sir do it more?”

You smiled, moving to stroke his cheek gently. “How do we ask, baby boy?”

“Please?” He pouted a bit as he looked up at you. “Can Sir please fuck me like a toy?”

“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll oblige.”

Your hips, after having a little break, had a bit more hit to them, as you fucked him hard and fast, hearing him moan and gasp under you, watching the drops of pre-come dribble down his cock as he arched his back off the bed.

“Such a good boy, taking it all! Such a good boy saying what he wants! Good boy, good boy–” You held his hips so tightly you thought that fingerprints might be left behind. “And look at you! You took it all! You’re such a good boy, you know? You’re such a pretty, perfect boy, taking my cock. You’re perfect, you know? Absolutely perfect.” Your words were breathy, but true.

The praise mixing in with the pain and pleasure brought a new onslaught of tears, as he sobbed into his hands once more, the warmth now not only in his gut, but in his heart as well, as he rocked his hips weakly into yours.

When your thrusts were at their height, when your hips were rocking back and forth at the fastest pace that they could, that was when the screams to stop were most abundant, sobbing cries and panting pleas to go faster, to never stop falling from his spit and tear-stained lips. When the knot in his stomach and thighs could no longer be ignored, he climaxed, blubbering his way through his orgasm, spurting ropes of warm come splattered all over his abdomen, some traces reaching his chest.

He whined when you pulled out, missing the feeling of fullness he had grown accustomed to. You were too shocked to notice his little sad look at the end of this, distracted by the blood that had coated the dildo in its red sheen. Thank god he had tissues in his bedroom, as you wiped away the mess off yourself, and him.

“Still think I’m pretty?” He asked in a mellow tone, voice still cracked from weeping as you helped him back into his pyjamas afterwards.

“Of course, baby. Of course.” A small kiss was placed to his stomach, and he couldn’t help but giggle a bit, as you picked him up, and carried him the very short distance to his bed, sitting him down onto the fluffy mattress. “Now, what do you want to eat?”

“Ugh…” He considered it for a moment, brain still a mess of thoughts and feelings from a while back. “Rice!”

“Just rice?”

“Yeah.” He beamed brightly. “Just rice.”

You gave him a little poke on the nose, smiling as his smile grew a bit larger from that, and he laughed. “Just rice coming right up.”

Just as you were about to leave, he spoke. “Sir?”

“Yes, angel?”

“Can I get some orange juice with it, too?” He asked, sniffling a bit as he wiped some stray tears from his eyes, still feeling that slight tinge of pain inside him.

“Whatever makes you happy, sweetheart. Whatever makes my pretty boy smile.”

#x male reader #x male reader smut #x male smut #x male top reader #x transmasc reader #x trans reader #early kinktober #kinktober #every month is kinktober now there i said it #tw blood mention #smut writing #oneshot

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avvxree · 7 months

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soft celebration - feat. kaedehara kazuha

- it’s finally the birthday of someone important to them, it’s time to celebrate it

note - hello! wow i didn’t wrote a fanfic in three years… sorry if it’s a little meh! still, hope you’ll enjoy it :) english isn’t my first language so bare with me pls

content - 811 words, lower case intended, modern au, written as platonic but can be seen as romantic, gn reader (3rd person) & might contain some errors

They were waiting for this day. On their phone, there was a little reminder ‘kazuha’s birthday <33’ showing on the screen, but it’s not like they needed to be reminded. They had prepared a little surprise for him, it wasn’t much but it’s what kazuha should enjoy. He was never a complicated person most of the time. It was nice having someone calm like him, it was a very peaceful presence that they found to be necessary in their life.

He recently got back from one of his frequent travels. It was a part of his charm, even if it meant they couldn’t see each other for days or weeks. They wanted to leave him some time to rest, since jet lag can be pretty harsh. But, today was the day they would meet up and kazuha also knew he couldn’t say no for the celebration of his birth.

They remembered how he felt about his birthday through one of their phone calls: he didn’t feel the need to celebrate it since he never got the chance as someone who travels a lot. This year, they wouldn’t let this chance go away.

they let kazuha choose the place they would meet up. and so, he chose a place they both held dear, it was on a hill where you could see the sky clearly. they would stare at the many little lights in the skies until they couldn’t handle their body going colder. they walked along a little trail that was very familiar with how many times they would meet him.

and there he stood, with his white hair and his red streak. ‘oh you finally arrived’ they could hear his soft spoken voice that always brought a sense of familiarity to them. he turned his head to meet their eyes. ‘i was looking forward to seeing you’ they smiled when their gaze met his ruby-like eyes. ‘happy to know that! but first of all’ they search in their bag while finding a seat beside him, on the ground ‘happy birthday! i hope you’ll like this!’ they held out a note and a little box. it was both on the colors he held close to heart, from yellowish town to deep red, colors that reminded of autumn. he looked a bit surprised but took the gift. he looked at them, in a way to have permission to open it in which they responded with a small gesture of hand.

‘i’m sorry if the letter is bad… i barely know anything about haikus and poems but i wanted to try’ they laughed a little. ‘don’t feel bad, i appreciate it nonetheless’ he responded with a soft smile. ‘oh! open the gift first, i think the letter will make more sense…’ and with that, he started to open the box. he was careful to not tear any of the paper, as if it was a work of art.

at the bottom of the box sat a little picture of the both of them. they both had many leaves decorating their clothes and hair. it was when they messed around with the fallen leaves on one of their expeditions. the laugh they shared in that moment was frozen in one single picture. ‘i remembered you were scared of having bugs on you when we played with the leaves’ ‘hey! it’s not my fault if i’m less connected to mother nature’ they said in a funny tone. they didn’t mind the comment, after all it was true.

what surprised him was the frame: it was a hand made one with little leaves of different forms and warm shades. he was fascinated by how much time it must have took them to create this little fragile art piece. all of that for him.

he then read the words handwritten on a reddish paper filled with little doodle of things he showed them while travelling:

‘green turns red and falls on the ground

so does our memories

we might remind things wrong or forget them

but let’s enjoy it while we can

yeah, this didn’t turn out as a poem but happy birthday kazuha!’

he turned to them and they only wore a wide smile. ‘did you like it?’ they questioned while tilting their head. ‘i really do, thank you for making this day a little more special’ they held out their arms to invite him in a hug, which he gratefully accept. ‘hey! it should be special! it is now my lifelong mission!’ he laughed a little while pulling away.

and then, it felt like everything fell into place. they chatted the night away while looking at the stars like they used to do. this reunion might be one of so many, but this one was special. kazuha felt for the first time that his birthday might be something worth celebrating, at least with their presence.

! fan art not mine, credit goes to the owner (tell me if you know who is the artist, i didn’t find them)

#lyly writing #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #kaedehara kazuha #kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #kazuha x you #kaedehara kazuha x you #gn reader #x reader #fluff #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #kazuha fluff #kaedehara kazuha fluff #fluff scenario #fluff imagine

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sorrowfulrosebud · 2 years

Note

KEIKO IS SO CUTE I LOVE HIM

Keiko Bakugou

Content: some more talk about Keiko bc you all love his cute little ass

Genre: there are a lot of mentions of illness and near death experiences so I’m gonna label this as angst but it’s very fluffy in places too!!

He’s just a little baby :(( sometimes Katsuki wonders when Keiko is cuddling into you if he took on more of your human traits than his wolfy traits.

He isn’t complaining in the slightest; he loves all of his children fiercely and would move mountains for them. Sometimes he just finds it hard to believe that someone as fierce and mean as him managed to create something so small, frail and sensitive :(

Keiko also has very similar traits to you though. When Katsuki tried taking Keiko hunting alone, he tried befriending the small bunny they had found instead of trying to tear it to shreds.

Keiko has the worst immune system of all of the pack, cold-ridden throughout his first winter in the cabin as his siblings all played in the snow, just watching sadly from his bedroom window as his bones shiver with cold. He can’t even sit in the porch to watch his brother and sisters play since he’s already so feverish and his nose has not stopped running.

If you were being totally honest, you were frightened that he wouldn’t survive his first winter. You knew your babies would most likely be struck with some disease during winter but you hadn’t anticipated being stuck at your son’s side as he puked up his food and panted in bed with sweat rolling down his face.

He eventually recovers and is well enough to play with his siblings once again, and that is what triggered the protective streak in Akira and Aika. They were petrified of Keiko’s state and when they saw you crying in Katsuki’s arms due to how ill their brother was, they knew that they had to keep him safe. Kokoro was still worried of course, but she tried to be a true big sister to Keiko by trying to bring him some little chew toys from their toy box. (You stopped her; you couldn’t bare it if more of your children got this dreaded disease but you did take them in yourself and told him who they were from).

Keiko is definitely your sweetest kid. He’s the first one to give you and Katsuki cuddles in the morning and tries so hard with the household chores. His favourite chore is probably dusting the high places in the cabin since it means that Katsuki has to pick him up and zoom him around so he can reach every little speck.

Keiko is just a loving little child :(((

#bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader fluff #hybrid bnha #hybrid bnha x reader #bakugou #papa wolf katsuki #wolf bakugou x reader #wolf Bakugou and his pack

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1016week · 5 months

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1016 Week 2023 - The Round-Up (Part 2)

Hello again, fellow Piarlies ❤️💙 Like we said here, we'd like to invite you all to come celebrate Piarles with us here on Tumblr! Today, on the 26th (AKA, the 10+16th) we are celebrating our beloved squid boys by posting the final round-up of all content created for 1016 Week 2023.

It turns out that all our Piarles content was too powerful for just one post - you guys blew us all away with the sheer amount of content you created, and apparently you blew Tumblr away too, because the Part 1 post broke the character limit 🤭 So, here is Part 2 of the official 1016 Week 2023 round-up! Don't forget to give our wonderful creators some love in the form of reblogs, replies, kudos, comments and bookmarks ❤️💙

Day 5 - Boat

I pick you up and take you through the night by @wolfiemcwolferson [fic]

Pierre and Charles have an understanding - things work a certain way. Pierre decides to change that.

we're made of starlights by @your-littlesecret [fic]

“We should go.” Charles says, breathless from the run from the office. “Go? Where are we going?” Pierre frowns, tilting his head slightly. “The boat. Anywhere. Everywhere. We should go.” Charles pants but Pierre seems to not be understanding it yet so Charles takes a deep breath to steady himself and takes another step forward. “Do you remember when we were young? We had the dream, of travelling the world on the boat. We can do it now. We should go.”

king of my heart by @chaesonghwas [fic]

Back on Daniel's yacht, Pierre has some time to think... and stare at Charles' abs, just a little bit.

i'm bound for the heart of the ocean by @duquesademiel [fic]

Pierre is the reason Charles is alive, and for that, he can’t be anything other than incredibly thankful. As much as Charles had always admired the sea, he’d never had the intention of dying surrounded by her. Pierre rescued Charles from a shipwreck and brought him into a life of piracy. It's not what he'd always hoped for, but he finds it definitely has its perks.

I’m Never Gonna Waste My Love On Anyone Else by @espithewarlock

“Pierre, what the hell is this?” “Are you saying no?” “Am I saying…what the fuck…I’m not…you haven’t even asked me a question!” “It doesn’t seem like I need to.”

Day 6 - Montreal

montreal is for lovers by @chaesonghwas [fanmix]

Monza + Montreal embroidery by @gaslybottoms [cross-stitch]

Taller In Another Dimension (Playlist) by @wolfiemcwolferson [playlist]

I wish I could have you in secret by @your-littlesecret [fic]

Charles reminds himself he’s not there on vacation, he’s there on a mission – that he still doesn’t know what it is. So those luxuries don't matter and Pierre- well, he matters but only because they’ll have to work together on this. Or: Charles and Pierre have to pretend, once again, to be in a relationship so they can succeed in the mission. But something is different this time.

my way back (to a life i would choose) by @duquesademiel [fic]

“What did you mean?” “Maybe we should…” “No, no maybes, Pierrot, like ten years ago. What are you saying?” The year is 2032, and Charles and Pierre have a conversation to finish.

Another Window To Break Out by @espithewarlock [fic]

It started out innocently enough. A friend of a friend knew about a job opening and recommended him for the role. One very quick interview and job offer later, and Charles was uprooting his life to move to Montreal. Piercing blue eyes stared back at him on the other side of a firm handshake. “Pierre Gasly, nice to meet you. Welcome to Stroll Engineering and Architecture.”

together in our imitation leathers by @fenesacha [fic]

Charles swears that he's trying to break his streak of dating assholes, honest. Pierre seemed like a nice, respectful young man until he propped his feet up on the dashboard of Charles' Ferrari.

piarles + soulmate timers AU by @singsweetmelodies [fic]

Charles' soulmate timer stops when he is seven years old, and he meets the boy with the bluest eyes he's ever seen.

Day 7 - Traditions

It Was Love in a Minute by @espithewarlock [fic]

All Charles wanted was Pierre, sitting across from him at a too-small table, legs tangled together, tucked away in a hidden corner of a cafe.

never coming down with your hand in mine by @duquesademiel and @wolfiemcwolferson [fic]

Pierre, as the oldest of the two, often takes the lead on their firsts. That's their little thing, their tradition of sorts: any big first step in their relationship is taken together, but suggested by Pierre. Except for one. The five times Pierre took the first step, and the one time Charles did.

i watched it begin again by @your-littlesecret [fic]

Pierre feels like it becomes a tradition. Every Friday, Pierre sits with Charles on his favourite table and they work side by side until one of them needs to go home or has something they need to go to or friends that want to do something last minute.

swear to be overdramatic and true by @chaesonghwas [fic]

Charles' birthday is coming up, and Pierre knows exactly how he wants to celebrate their annual tradition.

tied with the same thread (unconditional) by @singsweetmelodies [fic]

Charles sways forward, leaning fractionally into Pierre's touch. He looks… exhausted. Pierre's heart pangs, and he tightens his grip on Charles' hoodie, using it to tug him gently through the door and into Pierre's house. It's not the first time this has happened, and it won't be the last. He and Charles have… something almost like a tradition, for after tough races. They go to each other's places, and no matter how late at night it is, they always unlock their doors for each other. They are each other's confidantes, each other's safe places. They can talk about anything and everything, or they can forget about the rest of the world and just be for a little while.

give me a chance, let me tell you (if i can) by @yukierres [fic]

5+1 times Arthur interrupted them and the one time he didn’t.

a king under your control by @fenesacha [fic]

Charles sees a field of daisies and a crude leather ball, floating unnaturally in the air between them, and then a boat with a rug that stays impossibly dry, and in both, a boy with bright blue eyes and an impish grin. A boy who was present for most of his life, until he left to study music and his world fell apart. So, really, he should've known this would be the gods' answer.

❤️💙

#1016 week 2023 #1016week #event masterpost #1016 week 2023 final round-up #❤️💙

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averagewriter-inthedark · 7 months

Text

They Did The Monster Mash 🎃 | TGM Halloween Imagine

Set in an AU where the characters of TGM are classical and mythology monsters/creatures

TGM Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: mad scientist!Bob Floyd x mad scientist!reader (romantic), Dagger Sqaud (platonic)

Content Warnings: fluff, light profanity | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 2.4K

Premise: it’s All Hallow’s Eve, a night where ghouls and monsters alike awaken from every inch of the globe. What better way to celebrate the spookiest night of the year than gathering all those lurking in the shadows to the party everyone wants to be.

Note: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Here’s a fluffy, spooky little imagine for y’all as a treat 🎃

——————-

‘Twas the night before Halloween, and all through the cemetery. Not a creature was moaning, as they basked in solitary. The pumpkins were lit, with carved faces to stare. In hopes the monsters of the night, soon will be there.

“Bob!” Y/n shouted, frantically searching for her coat. It was a quarter till midnight on October the 30th. Soon it would be Halloween. And with a full moon high in the sky it was the perfect moment to test out their newest creation. “It is almost time! We must make haste!”

“I’m right here, darling,” her coat in his hand, Dr. Floyd dimmed the lights on his way into the lab. The woman exhaled in relief, kissing his cheek before placing the coat over her shoulders.

“What would I do without you, my love?”

Bob adjusted his goggles over his prescription glasses, chuckling, “Probably half as mad as you are now.”

Any other woman would be offended by the comment, but Y/n, the mad scientist she embraced herself to be, only giggled. The two had met during their doctoral program, falling in love and conducting research as a duo. Before long they were blacklisted for unethical experiments, moving underground to hide from society.

But what the world didn’t know, was they uncovered a world beneath their own. Where monsters heard in legends and fairytales roamed freely. Living amongst humans to the naked eye.

Since forming partnerships with fellow outcasts like themselves, the couple have traveled every Halloween to Transylvania, Romania. There the infamous vampire Pete Mitchell, descendent of Dracula himself, hosts an annual Halloween festival with monsters and ghouls alike.

The party always started around sunset on Halloween night. So the two had plenty of time before gearing up their transportation pod to zap them to Pete’s mansion. Y/n placed her own goggles on, brushing away her dyed jet black hair with white streaks, mischievous smirk painting her lips, “Shall we begin?”

“It was a one-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater. (One-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater). A one-eyed, one-horned, flyin’ purple people eater. Sure looks strange to me.” The party was in full swing when the couple arrived. Creatures in every corner, a werewolf howling in the distance, bats flying overhead. They were home.

“Doctors!” They spun around to find the monster of the mansion sporting a cheshire grin, fangs threatening to poke out. Lord Pete Mitchell, having recently fed by the bright color of his eyes and lack of under eye bags, wore a snazzy black pinstripe suit with a blood red tie. The handkerchief in his breast pocket, as well as the soles of his shoes, were the same color. “It is so wonderful to see you. I’m always amazed by your entrance every year. God forbid the governments of the world discover you’ve cracked the code of transportation.”

“Don’t forget time travel,” Y/n winked, causing Pete to laugh.

“Of course,” he flashes his pearly white teeth before frowning after peering around them, “Where is your--.” Y/n gently cuts him off.

“Oh at the lab. Ever since we created his bride he refuses to leave the basement” Pausing she gives a knowing look, “You know how young love is, my Lord.”

Pete makes an ‘ah’ sound, “Yes, yes, I understand. When you return, do let him know he is missed. And that I cannot wait to meet his bride next Halloween.” He winks, adjusting the cuffs on his sleeves, “Please make yourself at home. We’re still waiting on a few more before the festivities of the night fully begin. Until then, the bar is open--as always--and do let me know if you need any more necessities for your upcoming projects.”

“Thank you, Lord Mitchell. My wife and I appreciate your hospitality and generosity greatly.” Bob shook his gloved hand, still able to feel the cold dead skin that laid beneath it. The vampire made his departure, moving to greet other guests. Y/n weaved her arm through Bob’s open arm, letting him guide her to their group of friends they spotted in the distance by the bar.

“Well look at what the wolves dragged in.” Jake Seresin, an incubus famous in both the underground and real world, was the first to notice them. With his ability to seduce and mentally bend people to his will, Jake succeeded in becoming a high profile Hollywood actor. Making it accessible for him to feed on the blood of men and women alike. Unlike Pete, who was a vampire, Jake appeared human and only took the form of his demon counterpart when he hadn’t fed in a long time.

“Seresin,” Bob nodded, glaring when the blonde creature approached to take Y/n’s hand and kiss her knuckles. He had nothing to worry about of course. Y/n was immune to Jake’s charms, threatening to experiment on him the first time he attempted to swoon her.

That had him running with his (literal) tail between his legs.

“Careful, Jake,” Came a teasing feminine voice from the side, “I hear the mad scientists have been searching for Incubi blood on the black market.” Jake sent a glare in the direction of the voice, the couple following it to find Natasha perched on a bar stool, stroking her black cat seated in her lap.

A witch, with family dating back to the Salem Witch Trials, Natasha was the type of woman people couldn’t help but fear and desire. In the small village she lived deep in the forest surrounding, rumors of the witch swarmed with many believing her responsible for the curse on the town's most corrupt and wealthy families.

Well, to them they were rumors….

Y/n slipped past Bob, opening her arms to the woman, “Lovely to see you again on this Holiday, dear Natasha.” The hug was brief, Y/n making sure to offer a light pet to the cat, piercing her with its stare.

“As to you, Madam Floyd.”

“Tell me,” Y/n leaned closer, “Were you successful?” Natashe smirked at the question, whispering under her breath.

“We shall find out once the sun rises. But I can assure you the Supreme Court will think twice before bringing forth groundbreaking cases to overturn.”

“Marvelous,” the doctor awed. She moved along to say hello to their other friends. There was Javy, a werecoyote and Jake’s best friend. The full moon affects him like it does werewolves, but he’d already consumed his monthly dose of Wolfsbane to prevent the transformation from happening.

There was Mickey, a hellhound who served as a guard for the Underworld. Tasked with keeping the secret of the supernatural hidden. One can imagine the headaches Jake gives him with being a celebrity in the real world. When Mickey became his hellhound persona, cracks in his skin appeared like molten lava.

Reuben was present, and thankfully Y/n remembered to wear her iron jewelry. The tall, handsome fairy sipped on his usual cocktail. Like Jake he was the most ‘humanlike’ of the bunch where he could easily walk amongst mortals without causing suspicion. His golden eyes were a stand out, however, often covered by contacts. Of the group he had known Mickey the longest, the two meeting centuries prior during a war between fae and goblins.

“I’m not late am I?” came a booming sound from the main entrance, all heads turning. Jake instantly groaned, the others pleased to see the Alpha werewolf, Bradley Bradshaw, in the flesh with his typical Hawaiian shirt and jeans.

“You’re right on time,” Pete announced from the top of the steps, raising a glass of red liquid. Bradley gave a two finger salute, strutting over to the group and ordered his go to--a pitcher of beer.

“Greetings, fellow myths and legends,” he drank half of the pitcher in a single gulp, winking afterwards, “at least to the humans that is.”

“What took you so long, Bradshaw?” Jake twirled his pue cue, “too busy brushing your winter coat? Or did you have to get one last howl at the moon?”

Used to the jabs, Bradley rebutted with, “Jake, good to see you again as always. You’re looking a little pale though--Did you not have time to drain a virgin before coming? I’m sure Pete can find someone in the nearby town.” Reuben whistled under his breath, Javy letting out a fool blown laugh.

“C’mon you gotta admit that was good,” he nudged Jake, who was very much offended.

“Men,” Y/n muttered, Natasha clicking her glass against hers in agreement. “They’ll never change.”

After several minutes of small talk and drinks, Pete tapped his spoon against his glass. The action is loud enough for supernatural hearing to get everyone's attention. For the mad scientists, they saw the reactions of their friends and followed their direction.

At the top of the mansion's grand staircase, Pete stood beside his wife Penny. The beautiful siren, infamous in Greek mythology for luring shipwrecked men to their death, was stunning in her black gown. Along her arms and neck, rimming her hairline were seafoam green scales, reflecting under the dim gaze of the lights.

“Good evening, everyone,” he began, “Thank you all for coming tonight. You’ve traveled from near and far, let my wife and I be the first to say Happy Halloween!” cheers broke among the crowd. Well really they were howls, moans, and chaotic laughter. “It truly is the best night of the year. And what better way to kick it off than to toast.” Penny was handed a glass of her own red liquid. To the human eye it’d be believed as wine. But to those witnessing below, they were well aware of what its contents contained.

Speaking of those in attendance, they all grabbed their own drinks and brews. Pete lifted his first, “Let us toast to the one time of year we get to leave the shadows. Where the world looks at us as more than creatures of night. They dress up as us,” chuckles echoed, “they consume everything in relation to us. They walk their streets oblivious to the fact we roam behind their shoulders.” Pete pauses, sending a sweet gaze to Penny. “To All Hallow’s Eve!”

“To All Hallow’s Eve!!’ glasses raised, everyone cheersing before downing whatever was left in their goblets. Bradley finished his first pitcher of beer, the bartender sliding down the next one. Natasha poured something out of her flask into her goblet. Leave it to the Witch to travel with her own brew.

“Alright,” Bradley raised the pitcher, “Let’s get this party started!” As if on cue the DJ, who happened to be a mummy, started to play the Halloween classics. Lights flashed on every corner, the dance floor glowing a spooky fluorescent green. Dry ice from the massive cauldron flooded the area.

Ghosts bogeyed during the Ghostbusters theme. Zombies got down and dirty to Michael Jackson’s Thriller. The children had a blast with ‘This is Halloween’ and ‘Time Warp’. Later on Nat and Y/n let loose to Rockwells ‘Somebody’s Watching Me’.

Bob kept his eyes on his wife during that one. Lowkey thinking about ending the party early.

Poker was played amongst the men. Pete even joined alongside two Harpys, Beau and Solomon. During this Y/n and Natasha conversed with Penny. They spoke of Y/n’s experiments, Natasha’s feud with the village she resides by, and Penny’s travels back to Greece earlier that year.

“Oh it was fascinating,” Penny boasted, finishing off her third glass of ‘wine’. “Still as beautiful as I remember, although it still takes time getting used to the fact they now call Anthemoessa ‘Cape Pelorum.’”

“Did you visit the Parthenon?”

“I tried,” the Siren scoffed lightly at the memory, “at night of course when no one was around, but I couldn’t get past the damn door. I’m not surprised though,” she rolled her eyes, “Athena never liked us.”

As Midnight approached the crowd began to gather on the dance floor. Of course the night could not end without playing the couple’s favorite. Once the DJ announced it was time for the grand event, Bob took Y/n’s hand, “May I have this dance, wife?”

“Why of course, husband,” she smirked. “This is our song after all.”

The others had already made way, forming their own little circle and grabbing partners of their own. There was a reason this particular song was favored over the rest. Starting from the very first verse.

“I was working in the lab, late one night. When my eyes beheld an eerie sight. For my monster from his slab, began to rise. And suddenly to my surprise.”

“He did the mash,” the moves Y/n and Bob started to do a twist, similar to Vince and Mia in the iconic dance scene of Pulp Fiction. “He did the monster mash.”

“The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash.” Natasha shimmied with Mickey. “He did the mash, it caught on in a flash.” Penny was spun by Pete. “He did the mash. He did the monster mash.”

A stunning succubus had managed to pull Jake under her spell. How fitting.

“From my laboratory in the castle east. (Wa-ooh) To the master bedroom where the vampires feat. (wa-wa-ooh) The ghouls all came from their humble abodes. (Wa-ooh) To get a jolt from my electrodes.”

Bob pulled Y/n to him, dancing chest to chest, “They did the mash, they did the monster mash.” Javy, Bradley, and Reuben were having a dance battle in the middle of the circle. “The monster mash, it was a graveyard smash. They did the mash, it caught on in a flash.” Y/n giggled, letting Bob twirl her in a circle, “They did the mash, they did the monster mash.”

It was a total spooky vibe. Monsters doing the Mash. Each time Dracula was mentioned everyone pointed to Pete, who rolled his eyes. He did, however, do the Transylvania Twist during its name drop, causing them all to hype him up.

The sun would rise at dawn, they’d all go back to living in the shadows. Back to a place where they were the villains of every story. Subjected to demise by the hero. No longer idolized and embedding fear in everyone who dared think of them. Once the sun rose, another Halloween had come and gone.

But until then, creatures of the night thrived in the darkness to the graveyard smash.

………

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nine-of-words · 9 months

Text

Something Borrowed (Part Two)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 3030

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup

I hope this one is as fun to read as it is to write <3

The shop’s been much more lively this past week.

Not only because prime wedding season is beginning and bringing along with it an expected influx of customers, but at least partially due to you having an ever-present, talkative guest every weekday your shop is open.

You're honestly not used to having company anymore- besides customers, at least. Since Trevor broke up with you and you moved shop, it’s just been you.

But it's… kind of nice, having someone to talk to every now and then that isn’t just making compulsory, transactional chit chat. It’s made it rather hard to wallow in your sadness alone, as has been your mode of operation for months. You barely even mind that your guest is creating a leaf-litter of loose, discarded documents all over your countertop.

Kirby has taken a brief respite from their datapad to watch your work frosting a cake. This client specifically wanted the entire sides of the cake textured with rosettes, so you of course obliged. You turn the stand with one hand when necessary, confidently putting down the flowing lines of buttercream.

"You make that look soooo easy!" They say, grinning. "But if I tried that, there'd be a huge mess, hehe."

“Do you want to give it a try?” You ask, stopping the flow with an elegant flick. “It’s really nothing but some practice.”

“Oooo…” Their eyes light up “I want to, but I don’t want to waste all your product.”

"Oh, nothing to worry about there. If you pipe onto a clean baking sheet, it can go back in the bag after."

After they roll up their sleeves, wash their hands, and you’ve given them a short and simple demonstration, you suddenly have an intensely focused bureau investigator practicing buttercream rosettes by the dozens in your shop while you handle the customers starting to filter in.

“Aaaww, look at that one! It actually looks like a rose, haha!!” They pause and grin widely while they admire their handiwork, a glob of off-white frosting unceremoniously dripping off the piping tip they’re too distracted to pay attention to.

“It does indeed. You picked it up pretty quickly.” You laugh. “Do you want to keep going? There’s plenty of buttercream.”

“Ugh, no I’m good! My arms are already tired! You must have forearms of steel.”

You chortle in response, but any words you were going to say are cut off by the ringtone cutting through the shop.

“Oh, shoot. I guess I should actually do some work huh? This is probably that ex-client of yours I’ve been waiting to call me back.”

Kirby touches their bolo tie before picking up the call, and suddenly both the ringing, followed by their voice, is completely silenced, despite them clearly talking into their device.

You suppose it’s for the best. You at least have a little smile on your face as you scrape the buttercream off the clean parchment paper and back into the piping bag.

“Ohh, was there a little demo going on? That’s so sweet...” One of your regulars that you’re more acquainted with says as she approaches the counter, observing the small rosettes meeting their demise at the end of your spatula. She’s a tall, willowy Aurelian elf woman with dusty mauve streaks in her blonde hair to match the shade of her eyes and the tint of her skin, and a dainty, jeweled septum piercing. “That kind of enthusiasm makes me think of the little ones at the studio.”

“Haha, just a small one. Good morning Devin,” You say in a warm, compulsory greeting. “Any classes today for you?”

“Birthday party,” She nods, a dreamy smile breaking up her gentle features as you place the box containing her order on the counter in front of her. “It’s a full house this afternoon. Pookie and I have our work cut out for us.”

“Well, that sounds delightful. Maybe I’ll have to come by and paint something some time. When you’re less busy.” Devin runs the sip n’ paint pottery studio down the street, so your businesses tend to get quite a bit of synergy from parties and tourists, especially on holidays. It makes sense that you’d form a bit of an acquaintanceship, but it’s a bit embarrassing to think that you barely know her and she’s still the closest thing you’ve made to a friend since moving almost a year ago- at least until a certain bureau investigator forced their way into your life.

“Please do, we’d love to have you. For you, first one’s free as long as it can fit in your hand.”

You smile and nod. You don’t know if you could glaze pottery without thinking of Trevor… So it might take you quite some time yet before you’re ready to visit her shop in return.

“Oh! Before I forget,” Devin digs through her slouchy, beaded bag, and produces a cylindrical aluminum container you already know contains some homegrown loose leaf Rowenian breakfast tea. “My Gran just sent me a big batch, and I wanted to make sure you got some before I spaced and made it all into kombucha.”

“Oh, bless you.” You say and happily grab the container, immediately opening it to smell the fragrant leaves. You immediately are hit by a wave of nostalgia and homesickness for your home village, which as it so happens, is in the same half of the Queen’s Isle that part of Devin’s family is originally from. “I was running low. Let me knock a smidge off the top of your order for that, haha.”

“Thanks. I’m just so glad you moved onto this street, y’know? It’s so convenient, I used to have to get the party cupcakes catered from clear across the city. And yours are so, so good. They’re way better than the ones we were getting before.”

“Oh, thanks so much! I’m glad. It’s good to be here.” You say, only partially lying. There’s nothing wrong with your shop’s new location… but there are still days you strongly miss your old one. You certainly could’ve done without having your life uprooted.

Devin finishes her transaction and she’s out the door with the box in one hand, waving back with a few fingers wrapped around her keys as the shop bell jingles.

Not long after, the rush arrives. While you work, you can't help but let your thoughts wander back to that handsome customer from yesterday. You wonder when he'll be back? You need to make some less sweet options to put in the case for when he does…

Soon, it’s been an entire week since you saw your handsome stranger. You’ve begun to wonder if the interaction had even gone as well as you remember. Maybe he wasn’t flirting, but was just being polite? You did serve him bland storebrand coffee out of a cheesy mug your ex made you…

You’re almost ready to start tidying for the day when there’s an order jingle ringing out in your deserted shop. You try not to get your hopes up as you walk over to the screen, like you have several times this week- but then let out a huge heave of a sigh when you see the order details.

Carlyle does eventually intend to return to your shop, if his name popping up in your empty online order queue that evening means anything. And luckily for you, this time it’s with enough time before close to get a little something together for him.

First you handle boxing up his order, then after a brief moment of wrestling with whether you should or not, you relent and pop upstairs to make him a mug of coffee.

You don't have to mentally debate if you'll be giving him the embarrassing sentimental mug with the love hearts this time, though- you pick one of the demure, tasteful marbled beige ones from your regular set instead.

After the coffee has been brewed, you carefully bring the steaming mug downstairs, set it on the counter, and turn to observe your display case with a scathingly critical eye.

Something not too sweet. Still flavorful, though. Not too plain- impressive, but not overly showy…

You finally select one of the orange and red currant scones you made fresh this morning. You have to pick something to start with, and this seems as good enough a baseline as any.

Irresistibly dense and buttery, the slight sweetness of the dough is offset by the bright pop of citrus and the tartness of the berry. It's a humble baked good at heart, but it's a recipe you've made so much that you've nearly perfected it, in your opinion. It makes you think of home every time you make a batch as well, so there's no doubt that there's love baked inside. You’ll simply forgo the jam or cream, to fit his preference.

…You really hope he likes it.

You watch the door and chew your lip. Just when you're concerned the coffee will cool off before he gets here, you see him walk past the window and enter the shop.

You realize how weird it probably looks- you anxiously standing here wringing your hands and waiting for him- far too late to do anything about it.

"Oh, whew. Hi there. I'm glad there's not some other Carlyle in this city." You quip with a breathy, stress-relieving laugh. "That would've made this very awkward."

"Good evening," He says in his smooth, deep voice, and gives you such a radiant smile that you momentarily feel like you might just faint. "I didn't expect a whole spread."

"I thought you might like some coffee again this time."

“I absolutely would." Carlyle says in an approving tone, but raises an eyebrow when his eyes pass over the mug it’s in. He grasps the handle of the mug anyway, bringing the liquid to his lips for a sip before continuing. “It’s a shame it’s not in my favorite mug this time; it tastes better in that one. But, I’ll manage to survive somehow.”

Favorite… He’s not talking about the old embarrassing gift mug, is he?

"...Favorite?" You audibly repeat.

“Yes, the pink one with all the hearts on it. ‘World’s Best Boyfriend’?”

He is.

You feel your face heat up with the blood rushing to your face, and you fight the conflicting urges to cover your face with your hands or flee the scene completely.

“You… like... that mug?”

“I do. It’s a great aspiration to have, in my opinion.” You’d think he was taking the piss if he wasn’t clearly being so painfully, genuinely sincere. It’d almost be less embarrassing if he was joking, you think. "Gives me something to work towards.”

"Right. I can… I'll use that one next time, then. If you insist."

Carlyle simply smiles at you from behind the incorrect mug.

You clear your throat.

“Now- I'll have you know I take challenges very seriously,” You say in a forcibly flat voice, trying to regain some of your meager composure. You smirk and motion to the baked treat still sitting on the table. “Whenever you’d like to have a taste.”

Carlyle picks up the scone, inspecting it before finally taking a bite.

You hang on bated breath, trying to not watch his facial expression in an off-putting or intense manner, and most likely failing.

“...I think almost anyone else would enjoy this.” He says after several bites and a long moment of deliberation. “But it’s not for me.”

“Ah. Really? Too sweet?”

“Too sweet.” He confirms. “But the orange is nice.”

“Everyone likes my scones.” You can’t hide the surprised tone from your voice.

“I hope I haven’t upset you.” He says in response, obviously taking your tone to mean you're hurt; but that couldn’t be farther from what’s happening, the gears in your head already trying to come up with a new attempt at a solution. "In my defense, I did try to warn you."

“Upset? Haha, no! Try inspired.” You say with a cheeky grin. “There isn’t a soul on Hearth that hates every single baked good. I refuse to believe it!”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. There has to be something sweet you’ll like, and I’m going to find it.”

"Alright then." He laughs, clearly amused by your enthusiasm. "Would you like more notes for what I’d enjoy or…?"

"No, no-" You start jotting down a few notes of your own on the scratch pad you keep behind the counter. "Figuring this out on my own is half the fun."

To Carlyle's credit, he has the grace to not waste your effort- finishing the whole thing even if it seems to have not been to his tastes. He even insists on paying for the scone, despite you intending on giving it to him for free.

“So, is there something special about Tuesdays?” You casually lean on the counter, trying to ask in a way that doesn’t seem like such overt information gathering.

“After-hours meeting at the law library with the ladies. I’m at the library most evenings honestly, but on Tuesdays we all tend to congregate and tackle some of the larger research tasks together.”

“You know, these must be some lucky ladies,” Better to rip off the bandage now, you think, rather than getting your hopes up and then find out all of this playful flirting has been courtesy from someone with an incompatible orientation. “For you to be buying cupcakes for them every week, haha. Anyone you’re interested in…?”

“No, nothing like that. They’re my colleagues. My department is entirely women the same age as my mother or older.” He says with a chuckle. “Besides me, of course.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.”

“It has its benefits, it’s sort of like having a bunch of my aunts doting on me at work. On the other hand, they keep trying to set me up with their daughters, daughter’s friends, friend’s daughters, random women off the street… You get the idea.”

“I don’t see why you’d need any help in that area.” The words fly out of your mouth before thinking, and then you internally scold yourself for being so forward. But Carlyle doesn’t seem phased in the least- smirking at you and letting out a breath of a laugh.

“Hah. Perhaps I could get you to convince them on my behalf, then?” He says, his voice a deep rumble as he takes the pink box containing his order from you. You see a glint of his fangs as he speaks. ”If you feel so strongly on the matter.”

Though you got to chat for a bit longer this time, it still didn’t feel like enough. As soon as it’s over, you’re already anticipating getting to talk to him again next week, just with a bit of extra glow.

The next morning, you must look as light as you feel, because someone picks up on it right away.

"You know, you seem a little peppier today." Kirby rests their chin on their palm when they’re done taking a call. "Did something good happen?"

You hesitate to immediately spring into gushing about Carlyle. Kirby has been nothing but positive so far, but you've only known them a short time and you worry about scaring off any semblance of a friend you've had lately.

But they're just sitting there, looking at you expectantly, now…

They have told you to tell them everything…

"That guy I told you about before? He came back." You say, unable to hide your giddiness.

“Oooooo! How exciting!”

“I know. I couldn’t have dreamt this man up if I tried. He was somehow even more charming this time. He’s just… so smooth and well put together and he smiles.” You can feel the blood rushing to your face just talking about seeing him again, however briefly.

“He smiles??? Honey. Everyone smiles! Your ex must’ve been the most boring man on the planet, geez.”

“Maybe a wee bit.” You admit. You do wish Trevor would’ve been more emotive in general, sometimes. You cross your arms, trying to mitigate some of the embarrassment. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you’d have to see it to understand?”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s it, hehehe.” Kirby says, clearly not believing you for a single second.

“And remember how I told you I accidentally gave him that tatty old mug from my ex to use? He asked to use it again, even.”

“Hahaha- Oh wow!! That’s bold!” Kirby giggles. “Did he like the stuff you made?"

"No, he hated it!” You laugh, grinning. “But I'm going to figure him out yet."

"Oh. Well, then-” They cock an eyebrow at you in confusion before swiftly recovering. “Did you ask him out?”

"Uh, no…"

"What? No?" All of Kirby's energy seems to deflate in an instant. "Why not???”

“Good question, I don't know,” You say in a deadpan manner. “Maybe the whole love curse business? It’s a wee bit discouraging for romantic pursuits.”

"Huh? What’s the worst that could happen?”

"I don’t know. …What if…"

"What if???"

"Well, we don't know the extent of the curse yet. What if he explodes like one of the cakes, or… or something worse?"

"Hehehe, he's not a wedding cake!! He's not going to explode!" Kirby wheezes in amusement. "It takes a looooot more juice for a curse to explode a whole person, silly!!"

"Oh, good to know… I think." You find yourself laughing as well at the absurdity and slightly ominous implication of the statement. "I'm a little bit concerned to hear there's a precedent."

"Don’t worry about it! You see a lot of things in my line of work!" They beam mischievously, in the way only someone who is giving unsolicited love advice can. "You should ask him out! I mean, if you're into him, of course. But you really seem like you are, so you should."

"Is it that obvious…?"

"Uuuhhhh… Yes. Super."

"How embarrassing." You groan and hold your forehead with your hand. "If you think so… It sort of seems like tempting fate…"

“Hey, curses can always be broken! You can’t just stop living because something bad might happen.”

"...Right.” You sigh, wishing you could believe them. “I'll keep that in mind."

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #gargoyle x reader #gargoyle #male x male #mxm #mlm #male monster #male reader #series: something borrowed #oc: carlyle #oc: declan #nine of words

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