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daisy 2 (english profrry x quiet TA!yn)

she's alive and I hope you like it 🩷 I think there will be a short epilogue wrapping everything up after this :)

part one

word count: 7.9k

content warnings: a bit of angst (nothing too crazy), smut (f receiving oral, penetration, size kink/belly bulge, dirty talk, a tiny bit of cum play), and — as stated in the first part — massive, big fat warning for an inappropriate power imbalance.

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Y/N had tried to talk herself out of it. Several times, actually. For hours.

But at a certain point, she realized all she was doing was driving herself insane with a nonstop, hamster wheel of thinking. She couldn’t stop replaying the conversation with Professor Styles — or Harry, rather, as he’d said earlier — over and over, nitpicking at every tiny detail. She wished she had someone to go to — an unbiased, neutral third party who wouldn’t tell her what she wanted to hear, but she doubted that even if she did have that, they’d think her analysis of their discussion would be appropriate.

Because she had a huge, obvious, stupid crush on her professor.

Well, he wasn’t technically her professor. She was just the professor she was… assisting, and that technicality is the only thing that gave her enough courage to bundle up beneath layers of thermal wear and her forest green puffer jacket, hiking through the chilly winter evening to see if, by some miracle, Harry was still in his office.

On the way there, she spoke to herself sternly. She needed to have a goal in mind — an intention, really, of what exactly she was going there for. It wasn’t a normal thing to go see a professor in his office on a Monday at 6:40 pm.

It wasn’t normal to think about his grumpy face and even crankier demeanor; the way his lips pursed thoughtfully around wordy responses about a student’s answer to an essay question, or his long, calloused fingers that wrapped around the same gel ink pens he always used for grading.

It wasn’t normal for her to fall asleep imagining herself pressing her own plush lips to the same ones that nearly begged for an apology just a few hours ago.

And it certainly wasn’t normal for her professor to admit that he’d spent the weekend thinking of her, either.

The English building stays unlocked until around 9 pm on weekdays, just in case professors end up hauling their grading into late nights or students have group projects. She hurries through the wooden doors as soon as she arrives, hurriedly yanking her mittens off and stuffing them in her coat pockets as she walks the familiar journey down to Harry’s office. She’s unsurprised that most of the offices and classrooms have already gone dim, but the closer she gets to Harry’s, the sooner she realizes that his is the exception. With the bleak, yellowed light from the lamp she’d picked out a few weeks back, she sees a faint luminance from his office’s frosted window. Swallowing, she decides against her better judgment before waltzing in like she owns the place, and instead opts for a hesitant knock, punctuating it with a call of his name.

“Profess— Harry? Are you in there?” she nibbles on her lip before tacking on a, "It's Y/N."

She hopes he recognizes her voice as she wrings her fingers together in front of her. She thinks she hears muffled movement on the other side of the door, but she’s not entirely sure. It never occurred to her that perhaps he wouldn’t want to see her — maybe he’d peek through the crack of the door, see her face, and widen his own eyes in shock and embarrassment, maintaining silence until she eventually gave up and walked away. Her throat bobs nervously at the imagery.

She’s ready to give up when the door swings open, revealing a rather flushed looking version of the typically neat, well-kept professor she’s used to seeing. His cheeks don a splotchy pink hue that speckles down to his neck, where his usual button down is currently undone. Underneath, he wears a plain white tee-shirt. She blinks at the small display of intimacy before snapping her eyes back up to his face. He’s running his finger through his messy curls, tugging lightly at the base of the locks.

“Is everything alright?” he asks through a slightly nervous voice. With furrowed eyebrows, she nods her head slowly.

“Yes— well, no, I guess. I feel bad about earlier.”

She chokes the words out in hopes that she can keep her humiliation at bay. She’s unsure if her eyes deceive her, but it seems as though his face relaxes some before he quickly nods, stepping aside to let her in.

“Um, you have nothing to feel bad about,” he says, shutting the door quietly behind her. She shrugs her shoulders as she stands in the middle of his small office, avoiding his gaze. “I was out of line, Y/N.”

“What did you mean by it?” she rushes out, facing him with a leery expression. “That you spent the weekend thinking of me. And feeling awful about how you’ve treated me.”

His mouth opens and closes, and she can’t help the way she glances down at his raspberry-hued lips. She swallows tightly, biting on her own bottom lip.

“This isn’t something we can do,” he mumbles out breathily with a shake of his head. “You know that, right?”

They’re dancing around the obvious. Her stomach lurches at the low, groveled volume of his voice, and her fingers twitch at her sides as she resists the urge to step closer to him. She’s never been forward with a romantic interest before — she’s never had a reason to be, to uphold a certain level of confidence.

But she can’t help herself.

“Tell me, then. Tell me what you thought of this weekend.”

Harry’s nostrils flare.

“If it’s not something we can do,” Y/N says softly, licking over her lips, “Then whatever you thought about should be nothing, right?”

He’s torn. He’s so utterly torn that it feels like his brain is being split in half. He knows what he should do — he should tell her she’s wrong and that she should leave. He should leave this entire situation behind him, chalk it up to him being a touch-deprived idiot, and move on with his life. Join a few dating apps and find someone decent to settle down with.

But why would he do what he’s supposed to do?

“I thought about how fucking shitty I felt for ignoring you for weeks after you told me you just wanted my praise,” Harry blurts, heart hammering in his chest as he slowly starts to close the gap between their bodies. “I thought about how much I like having you around — how smart and talented you are, how beautiful and creative your brain is.”

“I’m not—”

“I’m not finished,” he replies curtly, making Y/N’s eyebrows shoot up to her forehead. “I thought about how pretty you are. I thought about how I’m thankful to have you as my assistant, because no one has ever been able to meet me on the same level. I thought about… how I’d be taking advantage of you if I told you any of those things, so I promised that I’d keep them to myself.”

He’s standing directly before her now. He’s so close that she can smell the warm musk of his cologne and see the freckles dotted over his nose. It makes her stomach churn in the best way.

“Why didn’t you?” she finally breathes out.

A smirk forms at the edges of his lips. He looks down at her as if he wants to swallow her whole, and she’s not sure that she doesn’t want him to.

“You asked me to tell you, sweetheart,” he murmurs. He reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and her skin zips with electricity. “‘S not much of my fault now, is it?”

Quickly, she shakes her head. She swallows nervously and hopes he doesn’t notice her picking at her nails as she waits for him to surge forward and press a messy kiss to her lips.

But instead, he stops.

A look of clarity ghosts over his face and his throat bobs. It doesn’t stop him from thumbing over her chin with sorrowed eyes.

“We’ll wait until the end of the semester,” he murmurs out. The look of disappointment on Y/N’s face must be obvious because his eyebrows furrow in dejection. “It’s the safest way, okay? After that… after that, I’m yours.”

I’m yours. It echoes through her brain, making her heart thump rapidly in her chest. She feels it everywhere, but the hesitancy remains.

“Promise me,” she whispers, pressing a wary hand to the expanse of his chest. “Promise me I’m not wasting my time. Promise me that you mean this.”

He can’t help it — before he can even contemplate the consequences, he ducks down to connect their lips. It takes her by surprise but she immediately kisses him back, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

Despite the reluctant context, the physical bond is anything but. Harry kisses her unhurriedly, like he has years to worship every bit of her lips. He dips his tongue into her mouth the second she grants him the opportunity, and her chest feels like it’s ready to explode when he squeezes her hip. His large palm easily finds its way to her ass and she whimpers breathily into the seal of his mouth. It’s the only thing that brings him back down to earth — a reminder that he’s no longer daydreaming but experiencing the real thing. He forces himself to break the kiss but leans his forehead against hers, keeping his eyes shuttered closed.

“I promise you,” he exhales, and he feels her nod. “I’m yours.”

. . .

Attempting to act normal around Harry is harder than Y/N had anticipated.

In hindsight, the evening consisted of a half-assed confession and a rather… intimate kiss that nearly knocked her off her feet. If it had been with anyone else — someone her age, a fellow student or peer, maybe — she, of course, would be anxious over it. But the fact that she had to see him a day later in class was… well, somehow embarrassing.

She contemplates her outfit for hours, wanting to seem cute and put-together without overly desperate. She was scared it would be written all over her face the second she walked in and sat at her seat beside his podium — "I made out with Professor Styles in his office a day and a half ago and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it for more than two seconds since it happened" may as well have been written across her forehead.

When she finally does show up to class, Harry looks… well, he looks like his usual self. He’s wearing those wide-legged trousers that she thinks he must have in at least a dozen colors, matched with a button down and a sweater vest overtop. He’s standing at the podium with his back to the entrance as he waits for students to filter in, squeezing his bottom lip between his fingers. He’s reading something, Y/N’s unsure what it is, but when he hears the less than graceful clatter of her setting her things down at the table, he glances over to her and flashes her a smile.

A smile.

“Hey,” he greets. His voice is low and gruff and if she hadn’t been looking for it, she surely would’ve missed it. But she doesn’t, and it instead sends a zap of lovesick energy thrumming through her body.

“Hi.” she mumbles back, waving as she leans over to pull her laptop from her bag.

That’s the extent of the interaction, but it’s far more than she’s ever received from him. Normally, when she arrives at class, he fully ignores her. She only began to take issue with it when she figured out she was growing feelings for him, but somehow the quiet utterance of hey feels like a public acknowledgement of what occurred just a day prior. In some crazy way, it seems like it’s just as open as grabbing her and smacking a hard kiss to her lips. She finds herself wishing he would as he begins today’s lecture on male writers in feminist discourse.

As written on the schedule, Harry’s taking the time to discuss authors like George Herbert, John Berryman, and Leo Tolstoy. Y/N doesn’t feel particularly drawn to any of those figures, though a few weeks back when she and Harry were discussing this unit, they did find a mutual appreciation for Jacques Lacan. He wasn’t originally in the lesson plan — Y/N remembers it vividly, because she can recall saying that he would be a great fit. Her heart had expanded in her chest with praise when Harry agreed.

And yet… Harry’s standing up there in front of the lecture hall, waxing poetic in the dreamiest way possible, about Jacques Lacan.

“Lacan was incredibly controversial, so I don’t expect all of us to feel comfortable with translating his viewpoints to modern day psychology,” Harry explains as he hovers over the old, wooden podium, “But what I do want to dig into is his basic idea of the symbolic register. Does anyone know what that is?”

Yes, Y/N wants to say. It’s the concept that our existence as humans includes language, culture, and rituals.

“Lacan came up with this idea that he thought was waiting for us the second we were born. He felt that the symbolic register encompassed maybe more artsy, culture-based facets, and that was one of the most important parts of the human existence. We won’t get too far into it because this isn’t a psychology course, and frankly, I could give a shit if you truly understand this or not.” The class, including Y/N, laughs quietly. Harry rolls his lips into a thin line to avoid a smirk from appearing.

When the huffed merriment tapers off, he continues. “What I want you to take away as writers is this: Lacan’s symbolic register essentially implies that our lives, from the very start, are swamped with uncertainty. There’s no path for us. As you write your characters, consider that. Lacan thought that life experiences, specifically lack and desire, were what impacted the course we go on.”

As expected, the class is silent. Y/N’s found that students are typically too nervous or intimidated to contribute to conversations during Harry’s lectures, and she’s been on the receiving end of many, many emails asking things that could have been resolved in class.

“Think about what your characters lack. What are they missing? What are they unable to receive access to? Is it a resistance to pleasure, to giving in?”

Y/N swallows harshly at that. She pretends like she doesn’t hear it, instead focusing in on typing a response to an email in her inbox.

“And then, consider their desires. Their deepest, darkest wants. No one has to know them — in real life, no one truly knows our truest desires, anyway,” she swears her eyes squeeze closed at that, but she quickly snaps them open, “But use it as an exercise for this weekend. Don’t forget, second drafts are due on Monday. Class is dismissed.”

Y/N swear she feels a second heartbeat in her core as the lecture hall begins to trickle out with students.

. . .

“I thought we were waiting until the semester is over.” Y/N blurts it out when she can’t focus on grading Ren Wei's draft.

Slowly, Harry glances up from the stack of papers he’s currently grading. With confused eyebrows, he sets his pen down.

“We are,” he says softly.

“Then what were you talking about in class today?” She hisses lowly. She keeps her voice quiet even though the door to Harry’s office is shut closed.

“What do you mean?”

Y/N sighs frustratedly and sits back in her seat. She avoids Harry’s confused gaze as she crosses her arms over her chest. He ignores the way it pushes her breasts up through the soft fabric of her sweater.

“The whole lack and desire thing. You know you weren’t planning on talking about Lacan until I brought him up a few weeks ago.”

Harry’s throat bobs and she licks over her lips, quickly glancing back up to his face. She’s right — they both know she’s right, but Harry’s reluctant to admit it. He’s stubborn — he’s always been this way in relationships, and it tends to be one of his greater downfalls as a partner. Deep in the pit of his heart, he knows Y/N deserves better. She wouldn’t be worth putting his job or her status as a student in danger if she wasn’t.

“You’re right,” he finally admits as he nibbles on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry. It was out of line and I won’t do that anymore.”

She pauses for a beat. And then, “I thought maybe you changed your mind.”

His shoulders deflate and she suddenly feels embarrassed. It was a stupid thing to reveal, she decides, and she picks at the skin surrounding her fingernails as she mentally beats herself up for it.

And for a moment, Harry contemplates it. He knows it hasn’t been that long since he told her they have to wait, but he’d be a ridiculous liar if he didn’t admit that she’s all he’s been thinking about ever since they kissed in his office. Nervously, he reaches across the length of his wooden desk and takes her hand into his. He intertwines their fingers together and gives her hand a small, reassuring squeeze, and she looks up at him through her eyelashes. It makes his heart warm.

“You know this is incredibly difficult for me, right?” he asks. Y/N shakes her head and he scoffs in response. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N.”

She blushes. “I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. She nods. “When we kissed, it… it was so good, y’know? It just… it felt good.”

“I know,” she breathes. She squeezes his fingers lightly before retracting her own hand and placing it in her lap. She may look naive, but she's already decided that she won't let him have the upper hand – not when it comes to something she can actually have control over, like teasing.

The movement surprises him but he chooses not to acknowledge it. “But this is what we decided on, right? It’s better this way. It’s kind of like edging, hm?”

His eyes nearly bulge out of his skull as she glances down at her phone to look at the time.

“Anyway, I have to head out to class. Text me if you need anything, Professor Styles.”

She waltzes out of his office with a snarky, knowing grin on her lips, and Harry has to do a series of deep breathing to stop his cock from exploding in his trousers.

. . .

Y/N Y/L/N is a complete and utter minx.

Harry has no choice but to come to this conclusion because in the weeks that follow their agreement, he swears she does everything she can to try and make him break. The worst part is, he doesn’t even know if she’s doing it intentionally. But every time they’re in the same room, all he can think about is hauling her over his shoulder, locking her in his office, and stretching her body over the length of his desk so he can fuck her until she can’t even think straight.

And there’s still three months left of the semester.

Admittedly, nothing ever really happens between them. Despite the apparent and blatant flirting that occurs on both sides, they keep things surprisingly professional, even behind closed doors. For the first time in his teaching career, Harry is actually ahead of grading. For some reason, he feels as though it’s a testament to how well he and Y/N actually work together.

But then there’s the matter of her teasing, which drives him up a fucking wall — the cute little mini skirts she almost always wears, the batting of her eyelashes at students in his class, followed by the wide-eyed smile she flashes Harry as soon as she knows he’s seen it. She even out-smarted him on Ursula LeGuin the other day and, as dorky as it seems, Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on in his life.

It’s a series of back-and-forth. When Y/N has to leave his office for class, he’ll thumb at her chin or her cheeks so she gets all flustered before she heads out. Later that night, she’ll text him an innocent question with some sort of “typo”:

can’t stop thinking about your lips

oops! list* not lips! your list of grades — it’s due next friday, right??

It’s a stupid, risky game that neither of them can stop playing.

Even when they’re sitting in Harry’s office that Wednesday afternoon, buried beneath piles of final drafts for the midterm paper, he can’t help but gnaw on his bottom lip as she sits across from him. She’s focused — the cute furrow between her brows is the primary tell — but every now and then she’ll bring her pen up to her mouth to bite on it or poke her tongue out to lick over her lips.

Despite the chill of the day, she’s wearing a wool mini skirt atop sheer black tights, and he hasn’t been able to stop glancing down at the soft skin of her thighs since she showed up to campus hours ago. He wants nothing more than to rip a hole in the fabric, pull her into his lap, and kiss her until she’s a whimpering, breathless mess.

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t even notice the clock is steadily ticking towards 5 pm and, technically, Y/N should’ve left an hour ago. With wide eyes, he drops his pen on the pile of papers in front of him.

“Shit,” he curses, “You should go. Your hours ended at 4.”

She taps her phone screen beside her, “Oh. I didn’t realize it was so late. I guess I got in the groove with grading.”

“It happens.” He says understandingly as he leans back against his chair, stretching his achy back out some. “I’ll see you on Monday, then?”

She peers up at him through her lashes. “It’s 5 pm on a Friday, Harry. You should leave, too.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth. She’s right, especially since he’s been attempting to distract himself from his crush on Y/N by doing late grading sessions in his office.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he mumbles as he grabs his large tote bag. “I’ll walk you out, if that’s okay.”

They both know that it’s perhaps a cross of the boundary they’ve been trying to firmly maintain, but how harmful could a walk be?

Y/N flashes him a small smile. Silently, they each pack their things up, and she follows him out of this office as he locks his door. They walk side-by-side, Y/N nibbling on her bottom lip as Harry tries to resist the urge to grab the hand that he keeps accidentally brushing with his own knuckles.

“Do you have any weekend plans?” She suddenly asks softly, glancing up at the taller male.

He hums, “Nothing too exciting. Probably just gonna catch up on TV and reading. You?”

“The secret life of an English professor, hm?” Y/N teases and he chuckles. “I have to start prepping for midterms. Laundry, too. I guess nothing more fun than your plans.”

He laughs and her stomach erupts into flutters as he holds the front door for her. She smiles in gratitude, but her steps come to a stop when she witnesses the state of the weather.

It’s nearly a white out. A snowstorm must have barreled through while they were busy grading, because now it’s dark, flurries of snow instantly landing on Y/N’s eyelashes and jacket.

“Y/N,” Harry appears at her side, “You’re not planning on walking through this, are you?”

“I-I don’t have a car.” She mumbles, stuffing her already freezing cold hands into her pockets. “I’ll be fine, it’s not far.”

“No, but I wouldn’t feel okay with sending you home in this,” he replies. She blinks when she feels his hand reach out to her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. “Would you let me drive you home, please? Just so I know you get home safely.”

Her stomach turns. This would officially cross the student/teacher boundary, but he’s right — it’s frigid out, and she always hates walking home in the dark anyway. Swallowing tightly, she nods.

“Yeah, please. I’ll take a ride.”

“Good,” he exhales with a nod, “My car’s just over in the faculty lot.”

With the both of them slowly shuffling through the snowy ground, they eventually make it to Harry’s car. As expected, it’s covered in snow, but he turns it on and blasts the heat so she can sit inside while he uses a brush to clear it off. She picks at her fingernails as she watches him through the foggy front window, her chest continuing to grow with nerves. She knows that this is all she’s wanted for weeks — to be alone with Harry, outside of the confines of his office — so why is she so scared?

Luckily, he gets in the car before she has more time to contemplate it. Blowing warm air into his cupped hands, he shivers dramatically.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” he whines, making her giggle. “Something funny about that, passenger princess?”

“No!” She exclaims with a laugh, “I’m sorry I didn’t help clear your car off. I’m sure that was awful.”

His eyes crinkle teasingly as he chuckles along with her. As he backs up out of the parking spot with ease, he presses the palm of his hand to the back of Y/N’s headrest, checking to make sure he’s clear. She wonders if he’s used to driving in the snow, but lets the question die in her throat instead of pushing the conversation.

“Sorry, I didn’t ask where you live,” he says when he turns onto the main road. “I think you mentioned once that you’re not too far from campus?”

She nods. “Yeah, I’m on Maple. It’s a single-person house, I’ll tell you where to turn.”

“You live alone?”

She doesn’t think the question is meant to be inherently suggestive, but there’s something about his immediate response that has her teetering on feeling that way. Swallowing, she nods again.

“Mhm. Most of my friends graduated or moved away when we finished undergrad, so it’s just me.”

“No pets or anything? You seem like the type to own one of those bald cats.”

Y/N balks at his reply, a peel of laughter bubbling from her chest. “What?”

Harry’s cheeks warm as he slowly drives down the snow-covered street. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he thinks about what kind of person she is when she’s not around — he knows it probably sounds creepy, but it’s how he’s been entertaining himself in the meantime.

“I just… feel like you’d like those things,” he treads lightly, shrugging his shoulders, “Is my assumption wrong?”

“Very much so. I’ve only had dogs,” she giggles, “Are there any other assumptions I should know about?”

His throat bobs. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” she quirks a brow. “Turn at the light.”

He flicks his right signal on, “I may have tried to figure you out a bit in my… spare time.”

He cringes, but the sound of her laughter quickly pulls him from his embarrassment.

“Well now I have to know.”

“Fine,” he decides, finding himself drawn to her little game, “I think you prefer matcha or hot chocolate over coffee.”

“True, but that’s only because you watch me cringe every time you drink your stupid black coffee.”

Harry snorts, “Okay, fair. I think you’re a homebody.”

“Mhmm,” Y/N nods. “True. Go on.”

“You prefer chocolate to vanilla.”

“Strawberry, actually.”

He hums. “You read period piece smut for fun.”

Y/N lets out a loud cackle. “What about my personality makes you think that?”

“You just seem like the type to go to the romance section at the bookstore, but only buy dirty books that are set in the 1800s,” he replies easily, a smirk edging at his lips, “Am I wrong?”

She ignores the way her cheeks flair with warmth. “I’m not opposed to it, but it’s not the only thing I read.”

“Sure,” he laughs. She rolls her eyes before pointing to a house down at the end of the road.

“I’m right over there.”

Harry nods and pulls up in front of it. The snow is only worse on the residential streets, likely because there haven’t been many cars going through to clear the roads. She nibbles on her lip as she unbuckles her seatbelt and turns to look at him.

“Thank you for the ride.” she says softly.

“Of course.”

They stare at each other for a beat before Y/N tears her gaze away from him. She glances out through the front window, watching momentarily as snowflakes continue to beat down on the exterior of his car.

“It’s not safe,” she mumbles breathily, facing him again. “You shouldn’t drive in this.”

He swallows. He knows what he should say: No, it’s okay. I should go home. We said we’d wait, remember?

But he doesn’t want to. Not when she’s dangling alone time, off campus, right in front of his face. He can’t resist her — he doesn’t want to resist her.

“Can I come inside, then?”

. . .

Y/N’s house is everything Harry would have expected it to be.

She has two huge bookshelves that are overflowing with worn novels, Post-It’s and folded-down pages sticking out of nearly every page. She has plants and candles, cuddly blankets thrown askew over her couch, and a sink filled with half-consumed cups of tea. There are framed pictures and Polaroids tacked up on her fridge of people Harry assumes are her friends and family. He smiles gently as he passes by an image of her wedged between two older people who have some of her same features. It’s all very her, which means it’s all entirely too comforting.

“Do you want something to drink?” Y/N asks, nibbling on her bottom lip as she glances up at the man before her. It’s an unusual sight; one that makes her feel like she has to blink a few times to ensure she isn’t dreaming.

“Not unless you’re willing me to make my ‘stupid black coffee’, as you affectionately referred to it in the car.”

Y/N blushes, “I don’t have any coffee here, but I can make you tea. Or hot chocolate.”

“Tea is good, sweetheart.”

The flush only deepens at the pet name. He’s not sure where it comes from — maybe easing into a relationship-type dynamic is easier than he thought, especially considering he’s been pushing it down since their kiss. He watches as she turns to face the kitchen counter, occupying herself with turning the kettle on and retrieving two tea bags and mugs. He wants nothing more than to hug her from behind, pressing his fingertips into her hips to squeeze them teasingly. To dip his head to the crook of her neck and press kisses along her delicate skin. He swallows and adjusts his trousers, willing the thickening erection tucked underneath to go away.

“How do you want it?” she asks, glancing behind her to look at him.

He coughs. “Sorry? How do I want what?”

“Your tea,” Y/N replies slowly, a small smile on her lips, “How do you want your tea, Harry?”

“Oh— um, however you take it is fine.”

She nods and busies herself with filling the mugs up with the boiling water. Once she’s finished, she slowly hands him the steaming cup. He smiles in gratitude, allowing their fingers to brush against one another in the pass-off.

“By the way,” she says lowly, blinking at him, “You’re doing a shit job of hiding your boner.”

Her eyes crinkle in a smirk as she lifts the mug to take a sip of the warm liquid. Harry’s cheeks instantly warm and he stutters over his words, attempting to force out an apology. She lets him scramble for a moment before reaching out to curl her fingers over his wrist with a smile.

“I’m just teasing you. I hope you know I don’t care.”

He huffs, setting his cup down on the dining room table, “Yeah, but I’m the one who told you we have to wait. And now I’m standing in your kitchen, getting hard over you making me tea.”

She giggles. “I consider that a compliment, to be honest.”

“I’m sure you do,” he grumbles, “You make me feel like a doped up, lovesick teenager.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he scoffs, “Everything you do does something to me. Even if you don’t mean it. It’s ridiculous.”

“What do you mean?”

He sends her a knowing look and she grins.

“You know what I mean, Y/N.”

“You know I’m not good at reading between the lines, Harry.”

He sighs. “You turn me on. Even by doing the stupidest shit— knowing more about me in certain subjects, wearing those cute little skirts… it all drives me insane. I’ve been trying to keep it together, but I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” she replies almost instantly, placing her mug on the table next to his, “I don’t want to wait, Harry. I feel… I feel so stupidly desperate for you. And I want this— I want you.”

“I know, but—”

“But in any other context, if we didn’t meet this way, there wouldn’t be an issue,” she points out stubbornly, “If we had come back to mine after a date, we’d already be upstairs with our clothes off.”

He can’t help the way his cock jumps at her words and he mentally groans. He wants to yell into one of those cute throw pillows on her couch, or maybe lay face down on the fluffy carpet in her hallway.

“Listen, I’m sorry if I’m crossing boundaries, we can just watch TV or something—”

“Stop,” he cuts her off with a shake of his head. “Can we just… Can I just kiss you again? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Y/N blinks owlishly. Surprise is clear on her face, but it doesn’t stop her from nodding her head. As corny as it sounds — and Y/N knows it’s corny — it feels like magnets being pulled together. It’s not a moment longer before Harry’s palm is pressed gently against her cheek, his lips brushing up against hers. She’s nearly salivating at the thought of closing the gap between them and yet, at the same time, her brain is melting with lust.

This kiss, unlike their first, is riddled with want. It’s hurried and sloppy, teeth clashing and tongues dipping into each other’s mouth. Harry’s hand slips from her cheek and down to the back of her neck, giving it a small, testing squeeze. She presses her chest impossibly closer to his, eyelashes flittering at the warmth radiating from the button-down he wears. She’s desperate to feel him, to eliminate any boundaries or distances between them — for the first time, she’s sick of playing games.

“Upstairs,” she pants out through swollen lips. He takes her bottom lip between his teeth and pulls playfully, allowing it to snap back in place, “Take me upstairs, please.”

He swallows and her eyes find his Adam’s apple, nervousness settling in her chest. He gives her neck another squeeze.

“Are you sure?” he breathes. She leans up to wrap her arms around his neck and presses a gentle kiss to his lips.

“If you’ll have me, I’m yours, Harry.”

“You’ve always been mine,” he mutters with his forehead against hers, “Show me the way, sweetheart.”

She grabs his hand in hers and lightly tugs him out of the kitchen. If she’s being honest, she’s fantasized of this moment for months now. She was never sure of how it would happen (the logistics never mattered in her daydreams), but having him here, standing in her bedroom, feels like some kind of joke her mind conjured up.

But when he lays her back against the mattress, elbows digging into the soft tufts of her bedding, it feels a little like a hazy fantasy.

When he parts her thighs and kneels down between them, pressing a smattering of kisses along her neck as his hands push the fabric of her thick sweater up, her labored breathing is the only anchor she has in reality.

And when he finds himself between her thighs, tugging her black tights down to reveal a sodden pair of underwear, a hiss sounding out from her mouth when he bares her center to the cool air of her bedroom, things begin to feel very, very serious.

“Is this okay?” he asks huskily. He’s since moved down to kneeling on the carpet of her room, his large palms parting the insides of her thighs. Every single move he makes drives her insane.

“Yes,” she breathes, fingers gripping the blanket beneath her.

He’s less calculated now that he’s received her consent. She instantly mewls the second he puts his mouth over her, licking through the wet fabric of her underwear. Her eyes roll back just from the muffled sensation, especially when he allows a low moan to vibrate from his chest.

“Need more,” he mutters against the soft skin of his thigh as he pulls the material to the side. He inhales sharply at the sight of how wet she is, his fingertip gently tracing over the tip of her swollen clit. “You were hiding all this from me for months.”

He states it as if it’s a fact — like she’d been doing it intentionally, when all she’s been doing is dreaming of the day he’d finally be the one to break. Through a shaky swallow, she parts her lips.

“Didn’t mean it,” she murmurs, sitting up slightly to look down at him. It’s a heavenly vision — the image of the professor she’s been crushing on, on his knees for her in her bedroom. He sends a smirk her way as if he can read her thoughts (and maybe he can, she’s truly not sure anymore), and surges forward to dip his tongue through her folds, licking up the heady arousal dripping from her hole. It makes her gasp and reach down to grab his hair, a tight fistful of locks in her hand.

“Doubt it,” he says into her core. His fingertip continues tracing tight circles into her clit as he begins to flex his tongue inside of her, and Y/N’s back is arching against the expanse of her mattress from the wet, intoxicating sensations of it all. It’s nearly too overwhelming for her, especially given the sensitivity of her clit — but Harry can feel her tensing beneath his grasp, a delicious telltale sign that her peak is quickly rising.

“Harry— oh my god—”

“I know,” he coos, replacing his tongue with two of his fingers. He presses against her g-spot and she gasps, grinding her hips down against his hands, “There you go, angel girl, cum on my fingers. That’s it, good girl.”

If his hands weren’t currently occupied, one would undoubtedly be wrapped around his length right now, twisting and pumping until he emptied himself to the sight of Y/N’s coming, pulsating pussy. It's better than any daydream he ever could have thought of — her moans are beautiful and whimpery, her body warm and pliant beneath his touch as she comes down. Sensitivity immediately takes over and she gently bats his hands away, panting out loudly from above.

“Alright?” He asks softly, placing a light kiss to her thigh. He hears her swallow loudly.

“Jelly,” she mumbles, “Limbs are jelly.”

That makes him chuckle as he sits back up on his knees. He hovers over the length of her body and smiles at her fucked out expression.

“You’re pretty when you come.” He says before leaning down to peck her lips.

“Yeah?” She asks teasingly, “Show me what you look like?”

Harry stills but she nips at his bottom lip playfully, “You didn’t cum in your pants just from eating me out, did you?”

“Got pretty close to it.” He confesses, eyes falling shut as she continues pressing kisses to his jawline and down to his neck.

She hums at the admittance as her hands rake down his chest, “Do you wanna fuck me?”

“Whatever you want,” he swallows, the answer sounding far more submissive out loud than he’d intentioned, “Fine with… I’m fine with whatever.”

“I want you to fuck me.” She says, looking up at him. “Is that okay?”

“That’s perfectly okay.”

Y/N grins and begins to make quick work of shedding his layers of clothes. His button-down is the first to go, followed by his trousers and belt. Once he’s down to his briefs, she gently hints at wanting to climb on top. He has no reservations with that so he helps her straddle his thighs, watching as her eyes peer down at his covered length.

“You look big.” She admits.

He’s not sure if it’s meant to be a compliment or a nervous comment, so he silently issues a small squeeze to her hip.

“Seriously,” she continues with a frown. “Other girls have taken you no problem?”

This makes him laugh. “Generally, yeah.”

“I don’t think it’s gonna fit.”

Harry smirks. “This isn’t your way of telling me you’re a virgin, right?”

“No!” She exclaims theatrically, and that only amplifies his laughter. “I’m just… I’m nervous! You look really big Harry, seriously.”

“Take me out then,” he instructs lowly and the tone of his voice zips straight to Y/N’s center, “I promise, you’re freaking yourself out over nothing.”

She grumbles as he pulls his underwear down his legs. Harry kicks them off his ankles and she sighs as she takes him into her hand. He has to make an effort not to hiss at the feeling of it.

“Still huge,” she mutters, “My hand barely fits around you, Harry.”

“You’re making my ego insane, angel.”

She peers up at him, where his arm is tucked behind his head like he’s lounging the day away. She gives the head of his cock a small squeeze.

“Do you really think it’ll fit?”

“Yes,” he chuckles, “If not, I’ll just go down on you for an hour and by then you’ll be open and wet enough.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles, the thought of him spending an hour of his time between her thighs almost being too much to fathom. “‘M gonna try to put you in.”

“It’ll be fine, sweetheart. Just breathe and take your time. We can do a different position—“

“No,” she quickly shakes her head. “Wanna ride you. This is how I envisioned it.”

Harry’s eyebrow quirks at that but his curiosity is quickly replaced by pleasure when she hovers her hips over his length. The warmth from her previous orgasm is radiating off of her and he breathes out sharply when she pushes the tip in, her fingertips covering the sight. Harry reaches out to move them. “Need to see,” he grunts.

Her jaw drops open as she slowly lowers onto him. Neither of them speak — it’s all entirely too consuming; her getting filled to the brim and him being surrounded by the tightest heat he’s ever felt. When she finally sinks down to his pelvic bone, her eyelashes flutter.

“Can you move?” He asks through a slightly clenched jaw, “Or— do you need me to—“

“I can do it.” She replies as she steadily attempts to move her hips up. “Oh, that’s a lot.”

“Too much?”

She shakes her head, “It’s good. Is it good?”

“It’s amazing.” He breaths out, gritting his teeth as she moves up and down.

With his reassurance under her belt, it’s easier for her to find a bit of rhythm, even if she has to place her hands down on his chest for stability. He happily places his own palms on top of them, curling his fingers around her wrists to help her.

“There you go,” he encourages, leaning his head back against the pillow as he watches her. “You look so beautiful, holy shit.”

She moans when she finally figures out a pace that hits that soft spot inside of her, eyelashes fluttering from the constant pressure. Harry moves his hands down to her hips to assist in the maneuvers, but mainly because he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get sick of seeing his touch on her skin. She swallows harshly when she lifts a hand to coax at her swollen clit, a wet gasp sounding from her lips. Harry’s gaze lifts from where they’re connected to see widened eyes.

“What’s the matter? Are you okay?” He asks in immediate panic.

She nods quickly and reaches out to grab his hand and place it over his stomach.

He thinks he may pass out.

Beneath the soft, dimpled skin of her stomach, he can feel his length bulging in her tummy. If he looks close enough, he can see the faint outline. It takes everything in him not to snap.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters as she resumes her pace of bouncing on his cock.

“Told you you were— oh— big,” she says stubbornly, and if he wasn’t so overwhelmed with the current state of her body, he probably would have had a comeback. But right now, all he can focus on is not blowing his load inside her.

“Need you to come,” he grunts. She nods eagerly like a puppy and he smirks when her fingers return to her clit, rubbing tight circles. “Need you to come so I can paint that pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes,” she mewls desperately. Her movements get jerkier and sloppier, but Harry has no problem meeting her hips. He thrusts up inside of her to hopefully reach the same spot, though his worry is quickly wiped away when he feels her muscles contract, her face twisting beautifully.

He can barely help her through her orgasm before he’s pushing her into her side. He’s no longer inside and his hand has switched to keeping her thigh up as he pumps himself, groaning at the sticky mess between them.

“Wanna feel it,” she whimpers almost pathetically, “Please Professor Styles, cum all over my pussy.”

That’s all he needs before he’s bursting at the seams, ropes of thick, white cum covering her. He’s a groaning mess and he doesn’t even notice that she’s running her hand through his hair, playing with it gently, until he has nothing left to give. With a final whimper, he lays back against her bed, completely spent.

When they’ve both caught their breath, Harry turns back onto his side to face her.

“You alright?” he asks softly. He’s nervous to reach out and thumb at her cheek or press a kiss to her hand. For some reason, he feels like the situation is too delicate right now and he’s at risk of fucking it all up.

Y/N hums, “Mhm. Are you?”

“I am.” he answers with a thick swallow. “Is it okay if I hold you?”

“Please.”

His heart jumps and he wraps an arm around her shoulders, tugging her into his chest. He leans down and kisses her hair.

They sit in the silence for a bit, Y/N finding comfort in Harry’s constant breathing, the sound of his heartbeat.

And then: “So you envisioned this?”

She bites at the smile on her lips before she bats at his pecs, “Shut up. I know you did too.”

Harry has no problem admitting that she’s right.

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ddejavvu · 7 months

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hiiiii! i love ur sirius x animagus!reader collection :)

how about one where the girls dont know that r is the cat they see sirius hanging out with and one of them knits a sweater for sirius' 'cat' and sirius and the boys r just like "shes vicious when it comes to costumes :(" feeling bad for whoever made the sweater but then r like lets them put it on or smth and theyre surprised?

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9

i've sort of twisted your prompt just a teeny tiny bit!! i hope all of the parts you liked most are still in there, though :') // also this one was hard to tag 'cause again technically it's sirius x reader but he's not present and she's not with james either so i used both of their tags just because they're technically the central focus of the overarching story even if this part is a little less defined

James thinks it might be the worst day of his life so far, and isn't sure what mischief he could have inflicted upon anyone to possibly deserve this cruel of a punishment.

Lily Evans is standing before him, face kind instead of pinched in annoyance as it so often is at his presence, and she's handing him something. As in, he will take it from her and their hands will brush. As in, her skin will touch his. As in, he's never going to wash his hand again.

"I'm glad I found you,-"

She's glad she found him!

"-I couldn't catch Sirius before he left Potions," She laments, "Could you let him know I made this for his cat, Potter?"

James's stellar brain and above-average intelligence supply him with the phrase, 'Huh?', which might possibly be the least embarrassing thing he's ever said to her, and that doesn't fare well.

"That's Sirius's new cat, isn't it?" She presses on, and James forces himself to tear his eyes off of her ethereal face to glance at you, draped lazily over the couch cushion beside him soaking up the warmth of the fire. Your eyes were lazy before Lily had shown up, but at the sight of what she's holding out; knitwear, they narrow and sharpen. It's an odd shape, not human size, with openings for four legs.

"I thought she might be getting cold now that the snow's started up," She tilts her chin towards the window, glazed over with frost, "And I just figured I could knit her a little sweater."

Not even James's fear of your claws can deter him from accepting the gift from Lily. He takes it - and their hands brush! Just like he'd hoped for! - grabbing you unceremoniously around the middle and dragging you onto his lap.

"She loves sweaters." He fibs, shamefully distracted by Lily's face as he tries wrestling you into the garment. You're well aware of why he's lying to her, because the last time you'd been faced with cat clothes, you'd ripped a hole in his bedspread. But this is Lily, and you refrain from shredding the fabric of his pants as he shoves you into the sweater.

He's clumsy with it, because he's not giving you his full attention, and you let out a disgruntled meow as he smears the fabric of the sweater over your face instead of tugging your head through the hole.

"Now, Mittens," He chuckles tensely, "Just- put your paw through there, don't scratch me-! And- there." He announces proudly, hoisting you up into the air just beneath the joints of your front paws. He displays you to Lily, and you steel yourself as she croons and reaches out to pet you. She's far gentler than the man holding you, and you'd appreciate it at any other point in time, but the sweater she'd knit you is itching against your fur and dragging it against the grain, and you'd like to leave it in ribbons as you bolt up the staircase. For everyone's sake, you won't.

"Look at that," James announces proudly, "She loves it. Thanks, Lily."

She smiles, a soft gesture, but not a weak one. She nods, "James," And takes her leave, heading towards the girls' dorms staircases, inevitably about to find your bed empty and wonder where you are at this hour of night.

"She said my name," James breathes, only after the door to your dorm has been safely shut, and she runs no risk of hearing him. He looks incredulously at you, in your tense, rigid stance on the couch cushions, "She didn't call me Potter! She- you're a miracle." James levels you with an intensely grateful stare, thumbing fondly at the knitwear that's itching viciously at your fur, "You're my wingman, Y/N. I mean it, you're putting that sweater on every day, I'll manhandle you into it myself."

You yowl at him, a sound that typically scares him off, but he doesn't yield, grinning impishly at you instead.

"Whatever you say, Mittens."

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thefunkfactory · 1 month

Text

The Fog

Felix knew he shouldn’t go outside, it wasn’t safe. All the news stations in the area were constantly broadcasting that a fog has swept into the valley and since it appeared four days ago people have been going missing. The rumor is that there are monsters in the fog, people can hear groans and grunts out in the fog but anyone who has gone to explore where they are coming from has been consumed by the fog and hasn’t come back out. The weirdest thing of all is that the fog is green, its a light green color that has a lingering stench which has been slowly filling the house Felix is holding up in. Felix was with his girlfriend at her place when the fog came through, he was going to just head home after it cleared but it has been days and it hasn’t let up. At one point Felix was just going to walk home, given that he lived only a twenty minute walk from her place, but when he opened the door the fog started to rush in and fill the foyer with a rancid smell. Quickly closing the door he moved away from the stench, but that was two days ago and he needs to go take care of his cat, his roomate normally does when he isn’t home but with people going missing he can't be sure that anyone is there to watch Mittens. His girlfriend pleaded with him not to go out but Felix gathered all his stuff anyways. To make her feel better, and truthfully to make him feel a bit better, he went and found a face mask in her bathroom. Now ready to go he headed over to his place promising to return, he would come back with some food and water, and Mittens, if all goes off without a hitch.

During the walk which felt like it took forever, as he wandered through the thick green fog that limited his vision to just a foot or two in front of him, Felix could constantly hear the groaning and grunts that the news stations mentioned. They were accompanied with sounds of metal clanging and what sounded like deep, dull laughter. Luckily the entire journey was uninterrupted, Felix made it to his apartment in perfect condition. Coming up to the lobby of the building Felix could see that the glass doors were smashed and the fog filled the common area. Worrying for his furry friend he hurried over the shattered glass on the floor and through the lobby to the stairwell, not wanting to take a chance with the elevator. Walking through the lobby he heard it again, a low, guttural groan that sounded closer than all the others he heard on the way over. Looking around fearfully, he saw a huge monstrous sized man stretched out on the floor stirring in his sleep. Hastening his step Felix made it to the stairwell and rushed up the stairs to the fourth floor.

Coming upon his fourth floor apartment he was struck with a sense on confusion as he went to unlock the door to find it was left a little ajar. Quietly going inside, he sees the kitchen is much messier than normal, there are clothes all over the floor, and half the shoes on the shoe rack are at least a size 13. Searching around for his cat and trying to make as little noise as possible he comes up to his roommate's closed door, about to open it without thinking he looks down quickly and sees wisps of the smoke coming out of the room. Not wanting to reenter the fog, Fleix leaves the door closed and heads to the bathroom to continue the search. As he searches high and low in the bathroom, unbeknownst to him, the roommate’s door opens and Felix’s roommate comes out to find the source of the noise that is disturbing his nap. “What are you doing in my apartment pipsqueak?” Felix hears from behind him, “Andy! Thank god you're here! I can't find Mittens anywhere!” Felix says, turning around as he mentions Mittens. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” Felix blurts out having turned around and been met with a huge hunk who is big enough to look like he could have eaten his roommate and smells like he just farted his roommate back out…

“Broooooooo” Andy groans “Who are you? This isn’t your place mannnnn. And why are you looking for Mittens? Mittens is my boyfriend's cat.”, “This IS my place and you don’t live here! I think you are in the wrong place!” Felix says scared to death of the huge stranger just a few feet away. “Huhuhuh you sound just like my roommate bro, you kinda look like him too, just…ya know he is more like me” Andy tells him, completely ignoring what he just said. “Eh whatever” Andy shrugs, “I think it’s time for you to go” Andy starts moving forward and reaches out to Felix. Felix tries to duck from the outstretched hand but his lithe movement doesn’t best the giant’s brute force, grabbing Felix by the shoulder Andy pulls Felix away and out of the bathroom and starts towards the door. Being pulled closer to the hunk Felix catches more than just a whiff of his funk. Between gags Felix pleads “PLEASE! PLEASE! NO THIS IS MY APARTMENT I NEED TO FIND MY CAT!” feeling pity on the weakling he is holding Andy bestows mercy upon Felix. “Uhhh okay sure you can look for your dumb cat but I'm gonna just stay here and watch.” Andy says audibly annoyed. Without saying a word he began looking around again for Mittens hoping he can find her before this reeking giant behind him loses his patience. After about ten minutes of looking, the entire time he can hear the hunk constantly fiddling around, making sounds of annoyance, and chuckling every time he belches out a blast of bad breath. Felix finally ends up in his roommate's bedroom, being the last place to look.

As Felix searches around in the blinding fog he finds the source of it, Andy left his window open and the fog has just been filling the room for days now. Mittens probably got out through the window. He starts to worry he wont find his cat. Felix hears the hunk clear his throat and say to himself “I'm bored, I want my boyfriend.” Felix feels his large sweaty hand grab the nape of his neck once more and before Felix can say a word he lifts Felix up and rips the mask off of him. “NO I NEED THA-“ Buh-UUUuuuuurpppp

The hunk belches right into Felix’s open mouth. Being completely caught off guard by this show of masculine power, he gasps in suddenly filling his lungs with the dense, stinking fog and the giants horrid breath. Immediately having a violent coughing fit from the unnatural scent that has just penetrated into his body, the giant drops the scrawny bro to the floor. Felix can't help but inhale more fog as he tries to stop the coughing, as the fog fills more of his lungs it slowly also begins to fill the rest of his body. It fills his feet enlarging them so that they’re able to hold up a mass of muscle like the one who has just subjected him to this torture, his legs grow massive and muscley as his ass begins to inflate along side his legs. Felix’s hole begins to loosen up and his cheeks grow in respectable, hairless, beach balls that lightly clap behind him with every step. In the front a transformation was also occurring, changing Felix’s long. cut skinny-boy-dick into a shorter but chubbier uncut, cheesy, schlong. Felix’s tummy changes just a little, turning from a tough four pack into a soft tummy perfect for filling up from behind or resting your head on after a sensual “exercise” session. Felix tried to grab his stomach as it changed, as if that would stop the transformation. As Felix clutched his stomach his chest began to inflate into soft pecs more akin to pillows than true pectorals. And his arms followed suit, expanding into fatty tissue more than muscled mounds, soft and pliable muscles that are still capable of lifting up boulders. Felix felt a wild itching sensation in both of his armpits at the same time, as he moved one of his small hands to hopefully cease the itching he was met with a forest of hair invading his once always shaven pits. Shocked by this he ripped his hand away for just a second. Immediately his hands, much like his feet enlarged, his fingers fattened up and expanded and his palms became hugely swollen compared to his previously dainty hands. Felix felt his coughing die down and thinking he would finally be able to catch his breath was again caught off guard by another coughing attack. All while this is happening, standing above the himbofying Felix is the hunk that started the transformation, watching silently and groping his own cheesy, unwashed dick. Felix in the grasps of his second coughing fit heard his nose crack and felt it shift into a new form, changing from a longer nose with a more rounded end into a shorter, flatter nose, perfect for sticking it into an unwashed armpit or smelly crotch. He felt his eyes become slimmer and his eyebrows grow more hair than ever, and he felt as his mouth transformed into a perfect set of teeth holding back a large thick tongue perfectly for cleaning the funk off of someone’s feet. Keeping the newly minted tongue and teeth hidden was a pair of lips inflating into the best dick sucking lips ever. Felix could feel his sharp, cut jaw expand into a squarer and softer jawline that melted into his ever growing neck that needed to match the intake his plump lips would now be inviting. The last change was his hair as it turned from cute light brown curls into a mop of dark brown hair that crowned Felix’s perfect himbo body.

Felix, unable to escape the coughing fit, felt a throbbing in his head as he continued to writhe around on the floor of the fog-filled bedroom. His giant hands moved to grasp his big manly head. The fog had finally begun melting away his brain. Seeing this happen the hunk hovering above him got between Felix’s thunder thighs and unbuttoned Felix’s khakis, suctioning his mouth onto Felix's unwashed himbo dick, the giant began to suck which alleviated Felix’s throbbing headache. For a second the thought came across Felix’s mind that this stranger shouldn’t be sucking him off like this, but just as quickly as the thought came to him, he felt it sucked down and out of his brain. He felt this happening for all the thoughts he kept having about what was happening to him, but all of them kept disappearing until Felix simply stopped thinking and let blissful stupidity take over his mind. Soon the stupidity began to encroach onto pre-existing knowledge, Felix’s knowledge of advanced mathematical formulas got sucked into his sack and replaced with knowledge of how to douche and knowledge of physics melted down into cum and instead was replaced with knowledge of how to move his ass and hips to make his bros cum quicker. Soon not a single intelligent thought would be left behind, all replaced with dumb, gay thoughts making Felix the perfect fucktoy. The last thought Felix would have was “Why do I know so much gay stuffffff…Does my girlfriend like this?” Before he could even comprehend an answer his memories would start to dissolve into his sticky white seed. His years spent taking advanced courses in school turned into every summer being spent in summer school, him taking his girlfriend’s virginity became his ass being filled for the first time by his boyfriend Andy, and the years spent training to try and be a D1 Soccer player turned into wrestling other sweaty guys for hours every day. Soon just like his thoughts and knowledge every memory would be lost to the sticky sea in his balls. As the pressure in his brain built to its peak Felix felt his hips begin to buck into his boyfriend’s mouth, soon all that was Felix before he was himbofied was churning in his balls and then shot into the smelly hunk sucking on his dick, his once bright brown eyes fading like his brain into a dim, dull brown. With that the dazed himbo lays on the floor catching his breath. Getting up first Andy reches down and grabs Felix’s hand lifting him up, and in one swift motion lifts Felix’s arm into the air revealing his armpit. Leaning in for a sniff Andy forces his nose right into the forest of dark hair. Only catching a whiff of cheap AXE body spray, Andy pushes his boyfriend back onto his ass and pulls his own sweatpants down revealing his ass. “Wha-?” PFFFFBBBBTTTTT Felix starts to say as he is met with a direct hit to the face with a potent stream of gas. Becoming super dazed Felix barely knows what just happened as he is hit with another, this time wetter blast BWOMPPFFFFF. Having his hair pushed back Felix feels the stench cover his entire body, assisted by the fog and ass blast Felix finishes the last part of his himbofication. Felix’s large feet are incapable of wafting off any scent other than the buttery funk that has corrupted all of his shoes and the scent of the apartment. The gas going into Felix’s body through his mouth and nose reaches Felix’s gut giving it the ability to release butt blasts and malodorous burps. His armpits fill in with the purest himbo-stink, which quite literally contributes to the fog's green hue and absolutely rotten scent.

“Heh-Heh! Babe your butt stinks something awfullll” Felix dully says. Pulling up Felix once more Andy smells Felix’s armpit and grimaces and then dim-witted laughter burst out “Huhuhuhuhuh! You smell worse than my farts on a good day right now babe!” Andy kisses Felix and lets out a little burp into his mouth as he does so. “Huhuh. We really should help spread the fog to some un-himbofied weaklings around town.” Andy whispered to Felix. Thinking hard for a second, it slowly comes to Felix, the address he just came from is floating around in his brain, “Huhuh, just follow me babe, I know a place” Felix says to Andy. They both leave the bedroom and go grab their shoes on the shoe rack, now all the shoes are a comically large size and all reek of movie theater butter and a teenager boy’s feet that haven’t been washed in months. Slipping on the shoes without socks to maximize their stink Felix leads the way out of the apartment.

#face farts #farts #feet #armpits #himbofication #mental tf #dumber #stink #TTF

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yawnderu · 2 months

Text

Simon's eyes crinkle the moment he sees your sleeping figure, curled up on the foot of his bed with your tail protectively tucked into your body, tiny snores leaving your body as you snooze away, likely on your nth nap of the day.

With the same stealth Ghost uses in the enemy backlines, Simon moves closer to you, letting the anticipation build up inside him as he watches your soft features, a calm expression finally on your pretty face— yet the mischievous urge to ruin it took over.

His rough, calloused hand goes down to your tummy, instantly startling you awake, your eyes narrowing the moment they meet his. What used to be a calm expression is now a sour one, nose and brow scrunched up in pure annoyance at being woken up.

Your expression doesn't stop Simon's hand from trying to play with your tummy, trying to rile you up— and it instantly works, your murder mittens grasping his hand tightly as you give his hand warning love bites, switching positions only to be able to bunny kick his arm and toned stomach with your back paws.

“Ow, fuck—” Simon is quick to play along, trying to move his hand away only for your paws to hold it tighter, the playful jabs to his stomach feeling like nothing other than a massage for a man his size. He can't help the amused smirk pulling at his lips, letting you do your thing and knowing that you'll soon stop and calm down, but enjoying the moment while it lasted.

“I was napping.” You complain, scrunching your nose at him the moment you decide to finally let go of his hand, though your fluffy footpaws are resting on his chest, pushing him away whenever he tries to walk closer to you.

“'N you're awake now. You'll live.” He teases, unable to hide the mirth in his voice at the little yawns escaping your lips. His large hands grip your ankles, pulling your legs apart before he folds your body, holding your knees close to your chest while looking down at you with a small smirk.

“Who's in charge here, love?” His expression turns cockier by the second when you try to squirm away only to be pinned down by his body weight, your calves resting on his strong shoulders.

“I am.” Your confident reply only eggs him on, wanting to push your buttons just to see that bratty face some more. You're always so assertive, only making him want to get more reactions out of you.

“That right?” Your tail is flicking in annoyance, cat ears flattened against your head as you nod, poking your tongue out at him, yet not trying to get out of his hold. Simon is too heavy.

“Kiss me or I'll tickle you.” He threatens playfully, his brown eyes crinkling when he sees you try to suppress a smirk, masking it with a loud meow of protest despite obeying seconds later. You steal a peck from him— too rough and fast, yet the small kiss is a victory in Simon's book nonetheless.

“That's a good girl.” Simon's lips crashed against yours before you could quip. He broke away from the kiss only to allow you to get into a more comfortable position, your legs wrapped around his waist as your paw rests on the back of his head, pulling him in for another steamy kiss.

“You sure you wanna do that?” He asks with a raised eyebrow, not even bothering to hide the smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he sees you fully focused on kneading the only soft part of his body— his balls. Your nails aren't digging deep at all, barely even passing the thick fabric of his jeans as you nibble on his shirt, nodding your head.

He leans back on the pillow, relaxing and taking in the pleasant sensation of your kneading— only to be smacked in the head with your paw multiple times not even seconds later once you realize he's getting hard from it.

787 notes · View notes

riiwrites · 4 months

Text

bsd men taking care of a cat

“Hello! Can I req for some headcannons about how Akutagawa, Chuuya, Fyodor, Sigma and Ada Dazai would react when their roommate brought home a stray cat? (They would be such cute cat dad's 😭)”

a/n : ofc u can! sorry for the long wait :(

fandom : bungo stray dogs

includes : sigma, dazai, chuuya, akutagawa, fyodor

all dividers i use belong to @/cafekitsune !!

masterlist | taglist | main page

SIGMA

• Sigma would just be minding his own business one day, doing something basic and essential like the laundry or cleaning while you were out shopping.

• He’d normally expect you to come in with a bag full of groceries and a big smile on your face, ready to tell him about what you had bought this time for him to try for dinner.

• What he didn’t expect however..was for you to not only do your basic chore of the day - but also bring in a fluffy little creature with its legs dangling as you hold it up in your arms.

• He’s a bit dazed for a second, eyes widening and his lips parted into a shocked 'o' shape as he tries to read what was going on in that head of yours.

• You both stand there for a few moments, the silence slowly turning awkward until you finally break it.

“Do you not like it?” You say with a pout. Sigma drops his washing cloth onto the table as he turns fully towards you.

“I mean..it’s a surprise.” He emphasises, a little chuckle escaping his lips at the end of his sentence. Your smile returns as you tilt your head to the safe, the little kitten coincidentally doing the same thing.

“Can we keep it, Sigma? Pleasepleasepleaseee..” You plead. He lets out a soft sigh at this, seeming unsure of what to do.

“Even if I had decided we could keep it, we don’t have the correct resources in order to properly care for it and we also don’t know what that poor things been through. It could carry all sorts of diseases!”

You gasp dramatically, cuddling the cat to your chest as you glare at your roommate from across the hall.

“Don’t say that to mittens..”

“You named it..?”

• After a while of your pouting and whining that lasted for about 10 minutes, he accepted the kitty with welcome arms.

• ..After it was given its shots and treatments.

• I believe Sigma is a fond cat lover when he gets used to having one around.

• He’ll bring it everywhere with him inside the house.

• He’d never let the cat outside unless it was in one of those cages..

• He’d get so worried if the cat were to leave home, even for a few hours!!

• He becomes so easily attached to the cat, it’s adorable.

“Y/N? Have you seen Mittens..?” Sigma appears at your side with a slightly worried expression, him fiddling with his fingers as he looks around anxiously.

You turn to him with a raised eyebrow, looking at his fidgety hands and then back at him. “I thought you had him with you?”

“I did..! I set him on your desk whilst I was working and the next minute I looked and then he vanished!”

He rakes his pale hands down his face, looking genuinely stressed for this little kitty you’ve both only had for a few weeks.

That was then, you heard the sound of a thud coming from upstairs. You both jump, Sigma having the worse effect of it since he was already on edge in the first place.

You both rush upstairs, Sigma behind you as you peak into your room ; nothing out of the ordinary, until Sigma taps your shoulder only for you to see Sigmas door a tad bit open as if someone had just slyly slipped through the crack.

You both peer into Sigmas room, only to be greeted with a sight that lights mostly Sigmas eyes up.

Mittens, splayed onto Sigmas king sized bed like a luxurious royal with a few knocked over picture frames that obviously had been caused by Mittens himself. But Sigma could only smile at the sight given the outcome that his- sorry, ‘our cat’ as he corrects, is safe.

“..I think you’ve grown an unhealthy attachment to this cat.” You say. Sigma only gives a mere shrug and a few embarrassed chuckles as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, not conforming nor denying that statement.

DAZAI

• I’m gonna be honest and say it - he’d be the one bringing the cat in..

• He’d see a homeless little kitty on the sidewalk and be like “Oh! you’re coming with me!”

• He’s like the classic stereotype of a cat lady who’s got thousands of cats living at her feet.

• So when he comes home with the white stray cat in his arms, you sigh.

“No.”

“What?! You haven’t even given me the chance to hear what I have to say!” He argues.

“I know what you’re going to say, Osamu, and it’s a no.”

“But..” He holds up the white fluff ball up to your face.

“He looks like Atsushi-kun..”

“…”

“Fine.”

“Yay!”

• At this point you believe the cat takes care of Dazai more than Dazai takes care of the cat.

• Brings the cat to work at the agency with him.

•Everyone loves the kitty, pouting and stroking his fur as he purrs. Everyone loves him! (Especially Kyokua and Kenji <33)

• Although Kunikida scolds him for it because of how the cat spilled coffee all over his files one time.

• He could only glare at the cat as he licks his paws and meows.

• “..I can always buy more..”

• Dazais definitely the type to play pranks on the cat

• Like, place cucumber next to it so the cat can absolutely shit itself and he’d post it everywhere cuz he thinks he’s funny (Chuuya dislikes every single one and calls it animal cruelty)

• The cat however, doesn’t find him funny.

• Ends up with scratches littered across his face and some down his neck by the time he’s out of his bedroom.

“What the hell..?”

“Don’t..ask..”

Which is why you’re now in this predicament, patching him up in your bedroom.

You place a plaster on his nose, patting it gently before sighing softly.

“You bully that cat too much..” You state.

“Nuh uh! He’s the one that brutally assaulted me, why are you taking his side?”

“Alright let’s not go say brutally here..” You huff out a laugh.

He sighs dramatically, before you both hear a freak coming from your door, noticing the cat pushing through the door and slowly making its way in. Dazai glares.

“No, oh no you don’t..” He gets up slowly, backing away.

“Oh my god stop acting like a child, sit the hell down!” You exclaim, grabbing his arm and dragging him to sit back down.

He huffs and sits down, crossing his arms and looking away.

“I have nothing to say to you!” He says to the cat.

“He doesn’t care.” You say monotone, rolling your eyes.

He glares only until the cat jumps on the bed, strutting over to Dazai and curling up in his lap, purring and nuzzling into him.

Silence fills the room only until it’s filled by Dazais sounds of high pitched noise and kissing sounds.

“Ooooh..I’m just so sorry! It was my fault wasn’t it..? Yes it was..It really was..”

You snort a laugh, chuckling as you smile at the sight, taking out your phone to take millions of pictures to send to the agency.

CHUUYA

• So we know he’s more of a dog person, but..

• Y’know the type of person to be so against the idea but then immediately love the animal like it’s their child?

• That’s him.

“Why are you giving me that face??” You ask with a pout.

“What is it with you and bringing goddamn fleabags back to our apartment?!”

You scoff at Chuuya’s complaint, rolling your eyes as you hold the definite disease filled cat to your chest.

“Don’t do that, you’ll get fucking ringworm!!”

“We don’t even know if he has it!”

“So it’s a he now?”

You nod instantly, seeming so sure. That’s when Chuuya sighs heavily, grabbing his car keys on the kitchen counter and swiftly brushing past you and to the door.

“Where are you going?” You ask with furrowed eyebrows.

“Where are we going ya mean..we’re getting that damn thing tested and you’re coming with.”

You smile, nodding, but then stop.

“..You’re not gonna put him down are you?”

He squints his eyes and gives you a dirty look, grabbing the door handle.

“The hell? I’m not a damn monster, come on..let’s go.”

• Turns out the cat didn’t have ringworm, the cat was just rather dirty and needed a wash up and a new home.

• Oh, and turns out she’s a girl!

“I could’ve sworn she was a boy..” You furrow your eyebrows, looking at the cat now resting peacefully in the cage Chuuya you had bought for it.

“I knew it was a girl.” Chuuya states matter a factly, keeping his eyes on the road. You give him a glare.

“Oh shut up, just because you want a dog.”

“Hey, I could buy a damn dog if I wanted to, but no, instead I have to put up with your ass bringing back unnecessary things like rats off the street!”

“It’s a cat..”

“Whatever.”

• Around a few weeks later, you come home and your nostrils are flooded with the mixed smell of tuna and cat food, your nose bunches up in disgust.

• You head towards the smell, the living room and your eyes widen in surprise at what you see.

• Chuuya, who was currently sitting on the floor pampering the cat, whilst she had the higher ground by sitting on a pillow which was placed on the glass table you both had recently purchased.

You stand there for a few moments, head tilting as you blink in surprise, then a little smile creeps up on your lips as you let out a snort.

Chuuya instantly turns to his side with an alarmed look, then seeing it was just you his expression softens and he rolls his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that..” He says with an irritated tone as he looks back to the cat, now stroking her face with the back of his hand.

“I cannot believe I’m witnessing this right now..” You say to mostly yourself, covering your joyful expression with your hand to try and not irritate Chuuya even further, which of course fails due to your snickering.

“Get that stupid look off your face now.”

You roll your eyes playfully, rushing over to join him in pampering your cat.

“She’s grown on me.” He admits, a small smile placed on his face. You also smile, nudging him playfully.

“So you had to buy the entire pet store?” You ask, referring to the clearly high priced items he had purchased ranging from toys to beds and litter boxes.

“Shut your damn mouth..” He mutters, but you could’ve sworn you heard a chuckle escape past his lips just once.

AKUTAGAWA

• Akutagawa isn’t a cat person.

• Infact, he’s not an animal person.

• Not that he doesn’t like them, just that he’s rather..inexperienced when it comes to taking care of a cat.

• Like Sigmas reaction, he’d be confused and more irritated with the fact that the cat you chose had a resemblance to someone.

Akutagawa froze in place, looking at you with an expression of slight shock. There you stand, with a delicate little ball of fluff in your arms. You beckon for him to come closer with a smile on your face, he hesitates for a moment before approaching, hand covering his face but as he got up close, the neutral expression melts to one of annoyance and exasperation.

“Must you have picked that one out of all of them..?” He questions, his arms crossed with a look of disgust placed on his face.

You smirk, holding up the bicoloured kitty in your arms and shoving it in Akutagawas face, with which he instantly turns the other way. You laugh.

“..You did this on purpose didn’t you..?” He questions again. You could only snicker as he lets out an exasperated sigh.

• At first, he lets you handle the kitty, almost like he’s afraid to touch it.

• Stands atleast a few feet away from you whenever it’s with you.

“Are you..allergic..?”

*cough cough* “Yes.”

• He infact, was not.

• However, you don’t let him escape this easily.

• One day, you decide to leave the kitten on his bed whilst he was still sleeping as you leave in the early hours to run your own “errands”.

• It’s safe to say, he wakes up with a fright.

• He let’s out an annoyed groan as he reads the note on his desk.

• “Spend some time with your son! Have to run errands, buhbye~ (￣▽￣)”

• He calls you.

“Hello?”

“You idiot, why would you do this?!” He exclaims.

“Uhh, why would I as a decent human being have to go run errands and keep our home life cozy?” You ‘cluelessly’ ask, biting back a smirk although he can hear it evidently in your voice through the phone.

“No because I know you don’t have any plans to run any ‘errands’ any time soon, what do you take me for some damn fool..?”

“Oh lighten up, Ryū! You never know, it might be fun!” You reassure him, pausing for a moment.

“..But seriously, I really do need you to spend time with him because I read somewhere cats can become depressed if you neglect them for so long, do you want our cat to be depressed, Ryū?!”

“…”

“Don’t answer that..just- haveagood time okaybyeee!!”

“Wait- Y/N!!”

• He ends up awkwardly staring at the cat for a while, before actually getting up and putting in atleast some effort.

• He has to google ‘How to take care of cats’ on your computer and even going out to the library to try and find some books on them.

• A few hours later you stand outside the front door, taking a deep breath as to prepare yourself for the wrath you’re about to receive when you walk through that door.

• But instead, you hear a cough from behind you and a quiet voice speaking.

“Ah, Y/N, you’re home.”

You turn around and your eyes widen.

Akutagawa, had the kitty attached to a leash. You stare, absolutely dumbfounded and shocked. Akutagawa looks at you with a confused expression.

“..Why are you looking at me like that..?”

You shake your head as you put your fingers on each side of your temple, rubbing furiously.

“Okay okay, pause..what are you doing with our cat?” You ask. He looks at you and blinks before responding, looking down at the kitten.

“Oh, well..I read that some animals, especially cats prefer to be outdoors than indoors, so I bought a leash and took him for a walk.”

You stare at him, trying to process his words.

“You..took the cat..for a walk..?”

“..Yes.”

“The cat..for a walk.” You say again, trying to get it through his head.

“..Yes.”

There’s a ring of silence for a few moments, before Akutagawa breaks it.

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Cats are more preferred to go out on their own, not tied to a leash.” You explain.

“..Oh..is that why some people were given me strange looks whilst I was walking doing the street with him?” He asks.

“I suppose.”

He looks down at the cat, nodding slowly.

“Just..” You start, opening the door for you guys with a slight smile. “Come in, I’ll help you with untying him.”

He nods again, picking up the kitten gently and you notice that’s the first time you’ve ever witnessed him getting as close to touching him. Your smile grows.

He brushes past you as you open the door for him, he stops just as he enters and turns to you, hesitating to ask something, but then he does.

“Did I..do good..?”

Your smile grows once more, before carefully placing your hand on his head, which he flinches slightly, but doesn’t stop you.

“You did great, Ryu.”

FYODOR

• Fyodors not too fussed on having a pet.

• Although he believes some could be a distraction to his work and plans, he wouldn’t mind them all much.

• But, would probably not pay much attention to them..

• That is until, you put one in his lap.

“My my..” He starts, looking up at you and looking down at the little black cat placed on his lap, now pawing at his desk. “What have we here?”

“A gift, and one more problem for you to deal with!” You say with such happiness in your tone of voice, he had almost chuckled.

“Funny, truly.” He says with a slight smile. “But I won’t be putting up with such.”

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Huh?”

“I won’t care for it.” He says, referring to the cat. You gasp, furrowing your eyebrows as you glare.

“You’re joking?”

“Have I ever?”

You cross your arms, scoffing at him.

“I bought this just for you, you know? How ungrateful!”

“But, I didn’t ask you to buy this for me, did I?” He says with a smirk, your expression was baffled as you scoff again, slapping your hand over your heart.

“I’m hurt you know.”

He looks at you once more before turning back to his work, ignoring the cat who was still trying to paw at his desk.

You had a sour look on your face all day until the same night as you were walking to your room, you couldn’t help but hear a jingle of bells coming from Fyodors room? Curiosity grew in your bones as you slowly approached his room, peeking through the crack of the door.

There he was, jingling a little bell in-front of the same cat he had ‘claimed’ he was going to ignore with a slight smile on his face, actually seemingly enjoying the cats company as it leaps up with its paws to try and catch the bell.

You couldn’t help but pout as your heart melts at the scene, scrambling in your pocket to find your phone to capture this moment.

However, curiosity did infact kill the cat (you) when you open the photo app and look up, you notice Fyodor gone, and not only that, but he was now behind the door, poking his head around and looking down at your phone.

You jolt up, throwing your phone and covering your mouth with your hand, he smirks. You only glare.

• Soon after that, you had your phone privileges revoked and kept from by Fyodor.

• And surprisingly enough, pays attention to the cat more than you now.

• Always jingling some sort of key or bell infront of its face

• Always having it on his lap.

• At this point you believe he’s just doing it to annoy you.

• But in all honesty, you found it sweet.

• Fyodor had bought the cat an outfit, one that matched his, the hat and all.

“Y/N, come have a look at this.” He says, hand motioning you to come forward. You nod, standing up from your place on the couch and approaching him. You think he’s just going to show you his layout for his current scheme, but no.

It’s the black cat hearing a little shrunken sized version of Fyodors hat and coat and you melt once again.

“Ooohhh..Fyodor you have to give me my phone back so I can take photos please!!”

“Fine.” He says almost instantly, which you find odd at first but quickly brush it off.

You open your phone and open your camera and take lots of photos of the kitty, then going on the photos and scrolling through them until you see some you had never taken before..Fyodor had taken them. You smirk.

“So much for not caring for it huh?”

He merely shrugs, typing on his computer.

“He’s my new sidekick, you’ve been replaced.”

You furrow your eyebrows as you kick his leg.

“I pay the bills, stupid.” You retort, glaring.

“I cook, ‘stupid’” Fyodor shoots back.

The only noise that can be heard is his typing on his computer and you snarl, looking him up and down with daggers as the kitten meows, nuzzling it’s cheek against Fyodors cold hand.

“Yes, i know malen'kiy kotenok (little kitty), they are rather annoying are they not?” He says to the cat, you narrow your eyes.

“Ew.”

@/riiwrites - reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤︎︎

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iknityounot · 10 months

Text

Ok, so my last post about the issues of plus sized patterns popped off in a way I did not expect??

I just want to come back and say: making patterns is hard work and especially those who make their patterns free online, it is a LOT of hard work that the designer gets nothing back for. I didn't mean for it to sound like I thought that was an easy thing to do.

But, like a lot of people pointed out in the tags and comments, fashion world has already done the leg work for us. There are size charts and mathematical equations you can do to scale your pieces in such a way that at least matches what you would see in stores. I think, honestly, that this is where the break down is. I think pattern makers take bust/chest measurements, and scale all of their numbers from there, without thinking about their piece as clothing (instead of just a knitting project, if that makes sense).

And I think that's where fat people get left behind. Because our bodies don't scale the way you would scale up a hat or mittens or something. It takes added work and added care to think about fat people and how our bodies look and work (hence why my previous post said "please talk to a fat person"--it's not that we know how to make patterns, but that we can advise what works for our bodies!)

I want to end on a helpful note, if I can:

My favorite pattern maker for plus sized projects is Jacqueline Cieslak!

I have bought a couple of patterns from them, and I have never had the not-for-fat-bodies problems I have had before. They have a handful of different styles, many of which are very customizable. Not to mention that the patterns themselves are VERY thorough. They link to tutorial videos they have made for anything more complicated than a stockinette stitch, and have lots of detailed diagrams showing different measurements for different parts of the project.

Anytime I am making a piece for myself or my other plus sized love ones, I go to Jacqueline first! Hopefully their patterns will help anyone who identified with my previous post find some patterns that work for them!

#plus sized #knitting #knitting patterns #joy knits #text post #Jacqueline Cieslak #my lord and savior #plus sized knitting #knitting while fat

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multi-fandom-imagine · 5 months

Text

•EVEN MORE THE BLUE EYE SAMURAI INCORRECT QUOTES•

Reader: Do you ever do anything except whine like a little bitch.

Taigen: Some times I whine like a big Bitch!

Ringo: Do you think when Butterflies are in love that they feel human's in their stomach?

Reader: Ringo! What the fuck!

Reader: • • •_-• - / ... - •_• •_• -.-

Mizu: What is that

Reader: Remorse Code.

Mizu: I am even angery now.

Reader: Hey Mizu, what are you eating?

Mizu: A family sized bag of sweets.

Reader...that's not family sized....that's regular sized....

Mizu:Everything is family sized when you dont have a family.

Reader: *whispering* Mizu...nOo

Reader: *Laying in bed* Do you think birds get sad for not having arms?

Mizu: Well do you get sad for not having wings?

Reader: *Choke up* Every single day.

Taigen: If I say I love you will you say it back?

Reader: Yes

Taigen: I love you

Reader: It back

*Five Minutes later*

Mizu: Why is Taigen sobbing face down on the floor?

Reader: I wish I could block people in real life.

Akemi: Restraining order

Mizu: Murder

Reader: What are you five?

Taigen: Yea! Five head's taller than you.

Reader:

Taigen:

Reader:

Taigen:....Please don't kill me.

Mizu: Are you high?

Reader: Am I what?

Mizu: High?

Reader: Hello.

Taigen: Can you be quiet?! I'm trying to think.

Reader: Don't worry. Doing anything for the first time is difficult.

Mizu: WHOEVER CAUSED THIS MESS IS GOING TO-

Reader: It was me...

Mizu: ...Is going to be forgiven because everyone deserves a second chance.

Reader: Why are you on the floor?

Mizu: I’m depressed.

Mizu: Also I was stabbed, can you get Ringo, please

Taigen: I guess I’m just a bad person.

Reader: Nah, you’re not a bad person. You’re a terrific person. You’re my favourite person. But sometimes you can be a real cunt

Reader: Hey Mizu?

Mizu, internally: There they are. My favorite person in the world, the love of my life. Fuck I just want to stare at them and hold them and kiss them for the rest of my life—

Mizu: What the FUCK do you want?

Akemi staring at Reader: “You look like an angel.”

Reader who wasn’t paying attention: “What?”

Akemi: “I said you look ugly at every angle.”

Mizu *screeching*: YOU MEAN A LOT TO ME!

Reader: wh-

Mizu: YOU’RE ESSENTIAL TO MY EXISTENCE!

Reader:why are you screaming??

Mizu: BECAUSE I HAVE TROUBLE EXPRESSING MYSELF! IT HELPS TO YELL SENTIMENTAL THINGS IN AN AGRESSIVE TONE!

Reader: I-

Mizu: I FUCKING LOVE YOU!

Ringo: Wow, it’s a barren featureless wasteland out there isn’t it?

Reader: … Ringo, try turning the map around.

Reader: You’re mad at me.

Mizu: I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.

Reader: Oh, come on. Everyone knows that’s worse

Mizu: Don’t worry, you’ve got everything you need to defeat them.

Reader: The power to believe in myself?

Mizu: No, a Sword.

Mizu: Stab them.

Reader: Don’t kill me, I have a wife

Assassin: I don’t care about that

Reader: That wasn’t a plea for mercy, that was a warning

Mizu kicking the door down: You called, love?

Reader: Here you are, Mizu. Nice hot cup of tea.

Mizu: …It’s cold.

Reader: Nice cup of tea.

Mizu: It’s horrible.

Reader: Cup of tea.

Mizu: I’m not even sure it is tea.

Reader: Cup.

Reader: You need to react when people cry.

Mizu: I did, I rolled my eyes.

Reader: Gotta love knitting needles, I can make a scarf, I can make a hat, I can stab someones eyes out, I can make mittens.

Akemi: What was that middle part?

Reader: I can make a hat?

Mizu: How much sleep did you get?

Reader: Eight.

Mizu: Hours?

Reader: Minutes. God! Taigen, would you shut the fuck up?

Taigen*Fixing his hair*: What the fuck? I didn’t even say anything!

Taigen: how come you’ve been abnormally nice to me lately?

Reader what do you mean?

Taigen: you just seem nicer than usual

Mizu: They can punch you in the face if you want.

Fowler: I could kill you if I wanted.

Reader: Yeah? So could any other human being. So could a dog. So could a dedicated duck. You aren't special.

Akemi: Did you really have to stab him?

Reader: You weren't there, you didn't hear what he said to me.

Akemi: And what did he say?

Reader: "What are you gonna do? Stab me?"

Mizu, nodding: That's fair.

Akemi: NO!

Reader: *Screams*

Taigen: *Screams louder to establish dominance*

Ringo: Should we do something?

Mizu: No, I want to see who wins.

Ringo:Let's speak about our talents.

Ringo:...I'll start, I like to cook.

Akemi: I'm good at languages.

Reader: I'm good instruments.

Mizu: I'm good at killing people.

Reader: *Does something stupid*

Mizu: What an absolute fucking idiot.

Mizu: I can't believe I would die for them.

#taigen #taigen x reader #taigen x you #ringo #mizu x reader #mizu x you #mizu #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai x you #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #Akemi #akemi x reader #incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes x reader

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prettyprettypaci2 · 1 month

Text

Drool - Part 5

💊 Part 1 💊 Part 2 💊 Part 3 💊 Part 4 💊

"There's no time for that now, honey! We have to get you to your first treatment session. Just go potty in your diaper for now; that's what it's there for."

Your eyes widen in panic. You're unable to stifle a pathetic moan of protest as you gesture frantically at the bathroom with one of your fat, pink mittens. The toilet is right there! Nurse Molly can't expect you to pee in a diaper on purpose!

"NNNNNNNNGH! Eenh oooohn uhn derrrnherrrrr!" You plead in the stupid language of your muzzling pacifier, which punctuates each drooling syllable with an embarrassing squirt onto your white cloth bib.

"Hmm?" Nurse Molly tightens her grip on your mittened wrist and practically drags you out of the bedroom. You stumble while trying to tug in the opposite direction, and your pink jelly sandal squeaks as you go tumbling to the poured linoleum floor of the clinic hallway. "Oh no, honey! You lost your balance again! Between your tinkles in the bed and how messy you got eating lunch, I'm worried that your tics are just the tip of the iceberg."

You snarl as you attempt to stand up, but it's difficult to gain purchase with the slippery mittens against the freshly waxed floor. With a girlish squeal, your arms slide forward before you collapse into a faceplant, your bobbing pink pacifier clicking against the cold ground. The sudden impact vibrates through your teeth, and you bite down hard on the silicone shaft to numb the intense pain.

"Owwwwwwwooowwwwwwwww!" You scream into the pacifier. The muscles around your eyes tighten, milking tears from the wet heat that flushes your grimacing face.

"Oh no! My little circus tumbler! Are you okay?" Nurse Molly stoops and rubs the back of your head as you try -- and fail -- to stop whimpering. You suck and smack your pacifier frantically, and the counter-stimulation soothes the pain in your mouth. Your usual reaction to any discomfort is to bite your lip or scratch your arm, but the thick, rubbery nipple has become the node through which you filter out all negative sensations. For a split-second between sniffles and sobs, you wonder if you even want to stop sucking the pacifier.

As the pain numbs, you become cognizant of your desperation to pee again. You move to make another attempt at standing, but a firm palm on your back keeps you from rising further than your knees.

"I think until the doctor can get her hands on you, we should be careful about overtaxing your motor control. Four limbs is sturdier than two! Why don't we crawl to the office like a puppy dog?"

Despite her use of the inclusive "we," it's clear that Nurse Molly intends for you to crawl while she walks behind. With one last longing look at the toilet, you shuffle forward pathetically on your mittened hands and wobbly knees, announcing your lumbering progress with a parade of crinkles from your fat diaper. Your white cloth bib hangs perpendicular to the floor, barely catching the occasional comet of drool that comes oozing from your nursing lips.

"There you go!" Nurse Molly coos, congratulating you for shuffling down the hallway as though you're accomplishing some feat of strength. "Left! Right! Left! Right! You're an expert!"

Your cheeks burn like hot lamps; you're absolutely humiliated to be seen in this state. But what else are you supposed to do? It's all apart of your treatment...isn't it?

At last, Nurse Molly stops you at the foot of an unassuming white door, gently setting the toe of her low-heeled shoe in front of your left mitten. The plaque below the frosted glass door pane reads:

AMELIA BERCEAU, M.D.

With a twist of the faux crystal knob, Nurse Molly pushes the door open. As mystified as you were by the décor of your bedroom, nothing could have prepared you for the bizarre spectacle of Dr. Amelia's office.

One corner of the room is dominated by what appears to be a mock kitchen; its full-sized stove, sink, and accessories are made of a chunky plastic with pastel colors. Though clearly not functional for actual cooking, the fake stove crackles with a tinny sound that emanates from a cartoonish teapot resting on one of its "burners."

A sandbox shaped like a smiling turtle lies in the shadow of a towering structure made of colorful foam blocks, deliberately cobbled together as a sort of play-fort. Against the opposite wall, a bookshelf gleams with the glossy spines of such titles as "Mr. Badger Makes a Friend" and "101 Animal Noises."

But most surprising of all is that there are people in this room. Two young women sit cross-legged on a carpet patterned to look like a twisting road through a bustling city. They're rolling small cars along its splashy, winding design in a bored stupor. One of the women has short black hair that hangs in her face, and she seems to be wearing some sort of braces on her legs. The other woman has long blonde hair, half of which is done up in a pigtail while the other half hangs loose, as though someone started styling it and then got distracted.

As the blonde looks up at the opening door, you see she's suckling a massive blue pacifier similar to your pink one, and that it's secured to her head with a length of white ribbon. Your eyes meet, and the pretty blonde drops her pink toy convertible to give you a gentle wave. Shivering with humiliation on your hands and knees, you feel the wet heat return to your face, tingle its way down your spine, and then concentrate in your groin. The sensation grows and grows until you realize it isn't just embarrassment at being seen like this...you've started flooding your diaper.

"Nnnnnnnnnnngggggggggggggh!" You wail, frozen in place as the hot ocean begins drowning your bum, seeking out every corner of thristy padding to nestle into. Your eyes are wet again as you feel the back of your diaper grow heavy with urine, strengthening the smothering hug of gravity on your quivering bottom.

Nurse Molly ignores your obvious discomfort as she scoots you into the room with a nudge of her heel. The blonde continues to eye you curiously as she suckles her pacifier, while her raven-haired companion simply returns to her childish game.

"Here you go, honey! Meet Daisy and Emma! They're here for treatment, too, just like you! I'll leave you three to get acquainted; it looks like Dr. Amelia is running a little late."

Still reeling from the experience of soaking your diaper, you barely notice the creaking of the door as Nurse Molly leaves the room. Unable to communicate through your pacifier, you're at a complete loss for what to do now.

The blonde, Daisy, reaches over and taps Emma on the shoulder. Emma looks up, only one eye visible through her heavy bangs, appearing to truly notice you for the first time.

"Oh. Hi," she shrugs, sounding neither rude nor enthusiastic. "You must be a biter, too, huh?"

You feel the dampness of your diaper acutely as you now hold both women's attention. With a cautious suckle, you nod your head up and down.

"Well, you won't be anymore," Emma smirks, picking up a plastic dump truck and using it to piston a smaller car several feet in your direction. "Whether you like it or not."

You look down at the little car and then back up at Emma, raising your eyebrow in confusion. Daisy twirls her pigtail nervously as she nurses her blue pacifier.

"Oh, you didn't know? I guess I didn't either, when I checked in," Emma sighs. The dark-haired woman crawls over to you to retrieve her toy, and you become aware of the distinct bulge and crinkle beneath her long shirt. Your eyes shift instinctively to Daisy, who shyly lifts the hem of her dress to confirm your suspicion. Both of these women are diapered!

Your heart begins beating like a hummingbird's wings, and your nervous slurping on your pacifier quickens to a drooly allegro. Emma picks up her toy car and leans in, half-smiling, inches from your face. You can smell baby powder on her skin like a sickly sweet perfume.

"Treatment never ends, pottypants. We're here forever."

💊 Part 6 💊

#diaper pee #diaper training #ab dl lifestyle #diaper sissy #ab dl diaper #diaper gal #diapered247 #diaper bulge #diaper dependent #ab dl mommy

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raggedytiger · 2 months

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how do you draw so.. raggedy ann..

aargh such high praise!! this ones especially for you!

for real thank you so much :D a few people have said this, esp since i've drawn ragatha. and to be honest i am pleased as punch. i've been watching that 1977 movie on repeat it's so beautiful.

if you wanted an actual answer, i don't know if i'm bright enough to be able to explain it, but i think its mainly a mix of medium and the way i draw fabric!

the raggedy ann & andy movie is traditional hand-drawn animation, ann herself being primarily animated by the one and only Tissa David. most of my character art is scanned in from pencil on paper and edited for higher contrast. this might be why, since that gives it a slightly sketchier finish, which raggedy ann definitely has (in comparison to like, recent ghibli movies).

as for fabric, i really like drawing fabric. it's so fun to make ragatha as soft and stitched and pillowy-looking as possible, especially compared to a kind of rubbery, stretchy-toy pomni. in my head, ragatha hugs pretty much replicate the feeling of being cosed up in bed.

earlier today me and a friend were at college on a bear-hunt online for this spread, which he found, and which is so fun and informative:

note the unironed dress, baggy shoulders, and hands like mittens a size too big! literally adorable.

i want to get my hands on the book that this came from because hoo boy there are some beautiful drawings from it i've seen dotted around niche animation blogs and forums.

anyway thank u so so much and if you were looking for an attempt at answering your question then i hope u have it ^_^ if not then anyone can feel free to ask/recommend/show me stuff about illustration & animation bc it is my study and i love to talk about it! if anyone wants the few other development pages of the raggedy ann & andy movie that i've managed to scoop together then do ask!! (& if anyone has links to more then u know what to do o_<)

#thank u for the ask :-)#sorry for the long reply D-:#raggedy ann #art #ragatha #pomni #tadc #the amazing digital circus #ask #buttonblossom #my art #tadc fanart #raggedy ann & andy: a musical adventure

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solarmorrigan · 9 months

Text

They aren’t high, but they might as well be.

It’s so late that it’s early, sitting in those odd hours of motionless night when exhaustion throws a ridiculous filter over everything and it’s an effort not to laugh loud enough to alert Robin’s parents to the fact that there’s an unauthorized boy in her room.

She and Steve have been lying side by side on her bed for the last hour, both knowing they should probably go to sleep if they’re going to wake up with enough time for Steve to sneak out and actually drive home safely, but they’re not quite ready yet. Instead, they’re content to be pressed together, shoulder to ankle, hands intertwined between them, content to feel the other secure and nearby.

Robin lifts their hands and uncurls her fingers, spreading them open like a star and prompting Steve to do the same, until their hands are pressed flat together with their fingers outstretched.

“Your hands are bigger than mine,” Robin says, looking at the way her palm fits into Steve’s with room to spare and the way his fingers extend past hers by almost a whole knuckle.

“Probably because I’m bigger than you,” Steve says, also lazily gazing at the way their hands fit together.

“Yeah, but they’re, like, way bigger than mine,” Robin insists. “You have really big hands.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “They’re not that big. You just have stubby fingers.”

“Rude. You just have giant hands.”

“I do not.”

“Like mittens.”

“No.”

“Banana hands.”

“You are literally the only girl who has ever said something bad about the size of my hands.”

Robin smacks her free hand against Steve’s chest. “Ew.”

Steve is laughing. “You started it.”

“Lies,” Robin says, taking Steve’s hand in both of hers so she can continue examining it. “Why are your nails so nice?”

Steve watches as Robin traces the tips of her fingers over the even cuticles and neatly trimmed ends of his nails. “Because I take care of them, and I don’t bite them, unlike some people.”

“I never bite your nails,” Robin says, smiling as Steve groans dramatically.

“That was terrible. You’re terrible.”

“Nope, you love me.”

“I can love you even if you’re terrible.” Steve turns his hand so he can catch one of Robin’s and look it over for himself. “You’ve been biting your nails a lot lately.”

Robin shrugs. “Stressed,” is all she offers; she doesn’t really have to say much more for him to get it.

Steve frowns, threading his fingers back through hers and squeezing. “You used to paint them, didn’t you? Like, to help you remember not to chew on them so much?”

“I did, yeah,” Robin says thoughtfully. “It’s been a while since I’ve even thought about doing that.”

“You should do it again. Give your nails a chance to heal,” Steve says.

Robin hums, as if she has to think it over. “Only if you let me paint yours, too.”

And maybe it’s the fact that it’s after two a.m., but all Steve does is shrug and say, “Yeah, sure.”

Robin sits up on the bed like Dracula popping up out of his coffin, turning to stare at him with her bedhead flying wild around her face. “Seriously?”

“You want me to say no?” Steve asks.

“Well I didn’t expect you to just say yes!” Robin says in a hushed yell. “I thought I’d have to argue you down.”

Steve grins. “Go get your nail polish before I change my mind, Buckley.”

He doesn’t have to tell her twice. Robin swings her legs off the bed and goes to her dresser, digging through her makeup case and returning with a handful of black-capped bottles.

“Pick your poison, Harrington.” Robin gestures to the array of colors.

Steve is slow to sit up, stretching and groaning before he turns to sit cross-legged in front of Robin. “You pick. I’ve never had my nails painted before, so we’ll have to go with your expertise.”

“Hmm.” Robin clasps her fingers together under her chin, tapping her lips with her index fingers as if this is the most serious decision she’ll ever have to make. Finally, her hand flashes out and grabs one of the bottles, holding it up and wiggling it for Steve to see. “How about a little navy blue, sailor?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he can’t tamp down his smile. “Why not?”

“Okay, gimme your hand.” Robin holds her hand out for Steve’s, palm up and fingers making grabby curls.

Steve puts out his left hand and lets Robin place it on her knee, fingers outstretched while he waits for Robin to shake the bottle of polish thoroughly and unscrew the cap.

“Try to hold still,” Robin instructs him, biting the tip of her tongue between her teeth in concentration as she applies the brush to his thumbnail.

Obligingly, Steve holds as still as possible, content to watch as Robin works her way from his thumb and onto his index finger, coating his nails in shining wet navy blue.

He pulls his hand away for a moment when Robin has to dip the brush back in the bottle for more polish, looks over her handiwork, and lets out a low whistle.

“Wow,” he says, putting his hand back down on Robin’s knee when she gestures for it. “You really suck at this.”

Robin lets out a surprised bark of laughter, narrowly avoiding streaking nail polish down the length of Steve’s finger. “Fuck off, I do not!”

“You kinda do, Rob,” Steve says, his voice full of warmth even as he denounces her skill with a brush.

“How would you even know?” Robin jibes. “You said you’ve never had your nails painted before.”

“I know the nail polish isn’t supposed to go over the edges of the nail,” Steve shoots back.

They both pause to look at the way the polish has been laid thick over the skin on either side of Steve’s nails and has even dribbled a little bit onto the tip of one of his fingers.

“Shut up. It’s a process,” Robin finally says, taking the brush to his ring finger.

“A process, huh?”

“Yes! You paint the nails, and then you use nail polish remover and, like, a Q-tip to clean up the edges.”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re just fussy, that’s all,” Robin pronounces, grinning at Steve’s little noise of offense.

“I am not fussy,” he insists.

“You kinda are, Steve,” Robin replies. “Anyway, I’d like to see you do a better job.”

“Deal,” Steve says, maybe a little too quickly for Robin’s liking. “I’ll do your nails next.”

“Well that, I have to see,” Robin says, putting the brush back into the bottle and motioning for him to switch hands.

True to her word, Robin quietly retrieves the nail polish remover and some Q-tips from the bathroom and neatens up her paintjob once she’s finished, and Steve appraises her work like a jeweler looking over and handful of gems.

“Not bad, Buckley,” he says, shrugging his lips.

Robin rolls her eyes. “What are you now, a fashion critic? Hurry up and paint my nails so I can make fun of you.”

Steve’s answering grin is unsettlingly sharp, but Robin still lets him pick the color. He settles on red—“To accent the blue, obviously”—and shakes the bottle before pulling the brush and starting on Robin’s left hand where it rests on his knee.

His strokes are smooth and even, not once straying over the edges of her nails, not even over the bitten, ragged ends, and he moves from one finger to the next with a kind of practiced ease.

“What the fuck!” Robin barely remembers to keep her voice down in her outrage. “Why are you good at this?”

Steve ducks his head, clearly holding in a laugh. “I used to paint Carol’s nails for her all the time.”

“Carol Perkins?” Robin asks, brows furrowed.

“Did I spend a lot of time with any other Carols?” Steve shoots her a look from beneath his lashes before turning back to his work.

“Why?”

Steve shrugs. “She tried to get Tommy to do it one day and he refused, so she asked me to do it instead, and… I dunno, I figured, why not? I did suck at it at first,” he admits. “But I think she just liked having someone’s focus on her for the time it took to do her nails. And I guess I just – like, it felt good, I guess. Taking care of someone else, even just in that little way. And I liked how the nail polish looked when I finally got it right.

“Any time we hung out at her house, she’d ask me to paint her nails for her, or she’d steal my mom’s nail polish if we were at mine. It was, like… our thing, I guess?”

For a moment, Robin sits in the knowledge that Steve and Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins had actually been friends.

From the outside, the three of them had looked like a toxic hurricane of derision and unfairly nice bone structure; they were rarely seen without looks of condescending amusement or lounging around being too cool for everyone else. It had been easy to think of their arrangement as some kind of superficial bond of mutual bitchiness, but at the same time, everyone distantly knew that Steve and Tommy and Carol had been a package deal since at least middle school.

Tommy and Carol had been the only two people Steve routinely hung out with, now that Robin thinks about it. People from basketball and swim and other hangers-on came and went, but those two had been fixtures. They’d probably been his best friends.

And midway through Junior year, Steve had left them.

He’d realized they weren’t who he thought they were, or maybe he’d realized they weren’t who he wanted to be, but the fact is that he’d left behind the two people he’d known the longest and had stepped uncertainly forward without knowing if he’d have anyone at all after that.

For a while he’d had Nancy. Then had come Henderson and all the other rugrats – but as much as Steve loves them, that isn’t quite the same as friends your own age, is it?

But now, he has Robin.

And she’s going to make sure that’s worth something.

“I can’t believe I’ve had some kind of professional manicurist under my nose this whole time,” Robin laments, grinning at Steve when he glances up at her with a huff.

“I’m pretty sure you have to get paid to be a professional. Are you gonna pay me for my services?” he asks.

“I will pay you in love and affection,” Robin declares. “Money can’t buy you these things, Steve.”

“That’s convenient,” Steve shoots back.

“Isn’t it? And I’m going to paint your nails yellow next time,” Robin says.

Steve glances to the side, where Robin’s collection of nail polish sits. “You don’t have any yellow.”

“I’ll buy some.” Robin shrugs. “I think it would look good on you.”

“And you just assume I’m going to let you paint my nails again.” Steve raises an eyebrow at her as he dips the brush back in the bottle to rewet it for the last couple of nails.

“Yep,” Robin says easily.

Steve looks back down, like he really needs to focus that hard on getting the nail of her ring finger just right, but she can tell he’s biting down on a smile.

“Okay,” he finally says, quietly.

“Okay,” she echoes back, giving him a sleepy smile when he glances up.

It’s late, and it’s going to be even later by the time they can go to sleep without ruining their nails, and in fact they’re probably not going to get any sleep at all, but somehow, Robin doesn’t mind.

Even being sleep deprived together with Steve is better than anything she can think of doing apart.

[Prompt: Comparing hand sizes]

#disclaimer: I don't know how big either of these people's hands are just roll with it #stobin #platonic stobin #robin buckley #steve harrington #stranger things #solar wrote #robin paints nails like I paint nails and she is valid <3

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