#I really would like to see you become a snickers hand model

[gonzodangerfeels]

We got that wild vibe rolling tonight

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Lamb (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Modern Daemon has bad blowjob etiquette. You think you can teach him a lesson.

Warnings: Smut. Rimming. That’s it. That's the fic. Nah, kidding. Cursing, trapped in an elevator, male masturbation. Casual workplace sexism.

A/N: The last two Sundays I decided to be sweet. But since my finals started, we go back to my scheduled period of being unhinged. And then I started my actual period and hated this so much. So if it sucks, sorry.

He is staring at you. Again.

You never understood the point of glass walls. If you owned the building, you would have them all replaced by real, actual walls. Or at least, you would put blinds on. But you don’t own the building.

The man that does is sitting in the office right across from yours, staring towards you. Daemon Targaryen. Board member of Targaryen’s Industries. Your father and he had been at each other’s throats since you had been a little girl. Otto Hightower and Daemon Targaryen hated each other, it was a fact of life. Him choosing the office right across from yours had been taken as nothing more than a taunt to your father.

But you knew better. Daemon was set on driving you to insanity. You scowled, and he smirked at you, closing his laptop and sliding those damn glasses off his face to look at you unashamedly. He looked starving. Like he wanted to eat you whole.

You didn’t actually know what his position was. It was hard to keep track. He had been appointed by the CEO, your godfather Viserys, to more departments than you could count. First, he had been head of marketing, but your father complained he was using too expensive models that were not on the budget. Then, he had overseen PR, which had been an absolute disaster. After that, he had been placed as the CFTO, only to be demoted a few weeks later. Then he had been… Well, you get the idea.

Daemon waves his hand, shaking you out of your contemplation. You quickly close your mouth, noticing you had your lips slightly parted, as if to speak a word that would never come out. He snickers, no doubt amused at what he perceives as a weakness.

He has done this for a month. You have to give it to him, he is a patient man. Daemon sits there every morning and just looks at you. Takes you in, as you flutter around your office, sometimes on the phone, sometimes typing away on your computer. He never gets bored, or tired of it. How could he, when he is a predator waiting to pounce?

You see, Daemon has been waiting weeks for a moment of weakness. Taunting you, looking at you, making you uncomfortable. And it’s fitting, really. That today of all days is the day you break. There is a storm raging outside, the worst winter Westeros has seen in years. Climate change it’s at fault, or so they say. You only know that you despise Daemon, and you despise thunderstorms.

His eyes. Purple and mischievous, meeting yours at every turn. You despise those. His little sideways smirk. That, too, you hate. You hate his entitled, nepo baby attitude, and you are sick of the taunts about your nephews and sister. His handsome face, and how good he looks in glasses. Annoying. You wish someone would put him in his place.

No one had actually expected you to enter corporate life. You see, as the daughter of an old money family, your father was sure you would do just as Alicent did and become the housewife of a rich man. The thing he didn’t take in consideration was that you had inherited none of your mother’s and Alicent’s grace and soft tempers, and all his cunningness.

You had gone to a good school, and had quickly risen through corporate ranks. You had a strong work ethic, but your last name had helped, too. Being the daughter of Otto Hightower had his perks, especially in university, considering you had been able to not worry about paying student debt and only focus on getting good grades. It also helped that you had a sure work once you had graduated, since Viserys Targaryen was not only your brother-in-law, but you were his goddaughter too. That last fact had made for interesting conversations after he married your older sister.

Still, you dedicated yourself to your work, trying to prove you deserved to be there as much as anyone else. It was a male dominated field, and working in the company where your father was CCO, and your sister married to the owner meant many expected you to be either looking for your own rich husband or to be a lazy nepo baby. Just like Daemon was.

The sound of thunder cast you out of your thoughts. You gave a quick glance at the window, noticing that once more, it was pouring. Not a good omen for your meeting. Thunderstorms always made you slightly uneasy.

Too wired to keep working, you shut down your laptop and slid it inside your purse. You had to be at the meeting room in fifteen minutes, which, in reality, meant you had to leave now. As soon as you stepped outside, however, it seemed destiny had other plans.

“Oi, sweetheart!” Daemon called, and you fantasized of strangling him with one of his expensive ties. You knew, without needing him to speak more, that he was about to taunt you. Still, he owned half the company, you couldn’t risk ignoring him. You turned, heels clicking in the hallway. “Bring me a soy latte, no sugar.”

“Mr. Targaryen, I’m sorry, I’m not your secretary. And I’m going to a meeting.” You answered, very politely, and started walking again, this time towards the elevator. Daemon followed, eyeing your ass with delight. You truly worked those dress pants.

“Come on, Hightower. We both know you are not really busy.” He arrived at the elevator first, to your disgrace, and pressed the button. Daemon leaned his arm on the wall, effectively caging you in. You glared at him, trying not to get distracted by how good he smelled. It’s not that you were attracted to him, surely. He just used an expensive cologne, and those always smelt good. Even your nephew Aegon, who was the sleaziest twenty-something you had ever met, could make them work.

“I am, though.” You ducked under his arm and pressed the button insistently, trying to get the elevator to arrive faster. Nothing happened.

“Doing what? Getting the rest of the board coffee?” Daemon snickered at his joke. You turned to look at him, giving him a disdainful once over that turned… Not so disdainful, when you realized he looked good enough to eat in that suit. Whatever, it’s not like it meant anything. All men did. Still, your cheeks heated up, and your next words came out in a mutter.

“Doing my job, Mister Targaryen. Which does not involve serving coffee.”

“Bah, you are a CDO. A made up position if I saw one.”

“I plan the whole company's social media strategy, and oversee our different digital platforms for purchase and devolution.” You glare even more, but quickly avert your eyes when you realize he is looking at you like he wants to eat you. Again. Gods, does he ever tire? “Hardly a made up position.”

“So you direct a bunch of nerds and interns. Big deal. You can still get me coffee, or send your minions to get me one.” Daemon stepped closer, twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers. You batted his hands away, shivering. From the cold, obviously. There was a storm raging outside, it had been one of the harshest winters in a while. It didn’t matter that you were wearing thermal clothes underneath your suit, which was wool. You were not affected by Daemon’s touch. At all.

“Here’s a novel idea.” You were just too angry to avoid insulting him. It was not often you resorted to those petty tactics. You left them to your nephews, Aemond and Aegon. “Why don’t you go bring me coffee? I don’t even know what you are doing in our department, you don’t even have Instagram, old man.”

Daemon laughed.

“Who are you calling old man, little girl? I will have you know, I know all about social media.”

“Oh, really?”

Daemon ignored you, typing something on his phone. You weren’t too bothered by it because the elevator finally got there, and you were able to step inside. Your phone pinged, as you did, so your hand went to the pocket of your blazer to check it. Distracted, you didn’t notice Daemon getting into the elevator with you.

Your phone pinged again. You took it out, checking the notification without unlocking it.

@caraxesrider has started following you

@caraxesrider: U were saying?

At that, you looked up and glared at him, startling a little at finding him inside the elevator.

“You know I will have to report this, right?” You quickly started scrolling through his Instagram, which seemed very… Normal. He followed his official one, and the accounts of his family members and plenty of models and fitness girls. In little clothing. What a pig. “You are not allowed to have an Instagram, apart from the official one that is in the hands of the community manager.”

“Says who?”

“Viserys.”

“Real mature, that you call him by his first name now. Tell me, do you think watching your father’s business partner marry your older sister, who is young enough to be her daughter, traumatized you?”

You ignored his taunt, frowning.

“I will report you to the PR department, they were clear you are not allowed to…”

“Not allowed.” He imitated your voice, mockingly. “Not allowed. Will you tell your daddy, little girl?”

“I’m serious.”

“Whatever. Report me. I don’t care, you are such a kiss ass.” Daemon rolled his eyes. It stung a little. You hated being called that. It was not your fault, truly. You liked following the rules. They were there for a reason. And Daemon’s antics usually made the company stock drop because his last name was attached to it. When Daemon got drunk and insulted a server or was spotted at a strip club, it was not him who suffered, but the company as a whole. He was a PR nightmare. His Instagram, no matter how private, would eventually leak and become another.

But whatever you were going to say, be it either a witty retort, or more talk about what you were going to do, died in your throat when the elevator jerked to an abrupt halt.

“What… What..?” You braced against the wall, the phone falling to the floor in your haste to hold on to something.

“Well, at least we still got power…” Daemon pointed towards one of the security cameras. “They will see us and then…” He didn’t get to finish his sentence because the lights turned off, leaving you both completely in the dark.

“You jinxed it!” You accused, voice shaking. You were not claustrophobic, nor were you afraid of the dark. What did scare you, however, was that you were trapped in an elevator in a building with no power, which as far as you knew, meant you could plummet to your dead anytime.

“Fuck. Never mind. Are you alright? You sound as if you are about to cry, and I can’t deal with crying people.” Daemon complained, switching on his phone, so he could light up the space. He truly looked concerned. He dropped to his knees to search for your phone and handed it to you.

“I’m fine. Just… Do you think we are safe?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Daemon banged on the wall of the elevator, making you let out a tiny yelp at how it shook.

“Don’t do that!”

“When elevators get less power, they jerk to a stop. It’s safe. It was probably the storm.” Daemon is leaning against the wall and starting to scroll through his phone. Like he is bored. And not, you know, terrified out of his mind because he is hanging from a rope in a metal cubicle caught between floors. The thought makes even more panic bubble up in your throat, so you try to think of something else.

“How do you know that?” You narrow your eyes at him, noticing how the light from his phone lighted up his sharp features, giving them an eerie blue glow.

“I read the OSH mail, every once in a while. That was in the winter’s newsletter.” He drawled, in a bored tone. “Come here.”

“Why?”

“Because you look frightened. Come here. I can make you feel better.” And he almost sounds convincing. Were the light on, you would be able to see that he is nearly salivating at the mouth, like the wolf about to pounce on a little lamb.

He has been working on you for a month. Little pretty Hightower, so tightly wound, always doing the right thing. So close to snapping. It’s like you were a present, placed on his lap by Otto himself when he sent him to this godforsaken department.

You gave him a dubious look, but stepped closer.

“Good girl.” Daemon brushed your hair back, gently. You were so close to breaking, he could taste it. “You will be just fine, just match your breathing to mine.

“I’m not having a panic attack, you fool.” You complained, trying to hide the hint of a smile on your lips. What was it about him that was so intoxicating? He had boosted your mood immediately. Oh, you hated feeding his ego.

"Rude.” Daemon muttered. He pulled you into a hug, pressing your bodies close. Chest to chest, hips to hips. Your curves against him, so damn soft, so ready for the taking. “There, there. It will all be fine.”

“I pity your kids.” Still, you melted into the hug regardless. Daemon took the chance to nuzzle your hair, hands trailing dangerously lower on your back.

“You are so rude and cunty. I can see the family resemblance.”

“Shut up, you inbred degenerate.” You mumbled against his throat, still hugging him. “You were chasing after your niece’s skirts not so long ago. And Viserys first wife was your cousin. Your family resemblance is worse.”

“I have not denied it.”

And of course, doing something very foolish, you tilted your head up and kissed him. Blame it on the sexual frustration, or the way he had shown you he had a decent side to him, but you never found him more tempting. Your kiss was heated, all teeth and frustration. If he responded, it would undoubtedly turn things less family friendly.

Daemon, never one to lose the opportunity to have sex, responded in earnest. How could he not, when he had been waiting for a chance to pounce for a month? His lips parted, turning the kiss into something much more dirty. His hands went to your hips, rolling them against his. You moaned.

When you parted, he had his trademark smirk on, full force. The one that said, Daemon Targaryen is a winner. The asshole was getting off on the thought of corrupting a Hightower.

You pressed a few careful kisses down his throat, making sure to not smear your lipstick in places that are noticeable. Daemon smells so good, it makes your knees weak. Fucking expensive cologne.

The arousal doesn't let you think straight, and he loves it. You are desperate for him already, Daemon can tell by the way you clutch and grope at him. And in truth, you are turning into a wanton little thing. Wet from just a few stolen kisses, it’s hard to think of all the reasons why this is wrong.

You want to suck his cock, badly. It’s not often, you are in the right headspace to give head. It gets guys too arrogant. And Daemon is already arrogant enough. The temptation seems too great, until he tries pushing your head down. Talk about a mood killer. It feels as if a bucket of cold water has been dumped on top of you, dulling your arousal and making you realize, in fact, you had been about to suck your nemesis off.

Daemon. You had been about to suck Daemon's cock. The guy who orders you to bring him coffee, as if you were some intern and not the head of your section. The guy who despises your family. The guy who calls you and your father kiss asses and Alicent a cunt. Twenty years older, brother to your godfather, man whore, Daemon.

Oh my god, are you turning into Alicent? Fucking men old enough to be your father? Being into Targaryens? Ew. No way. Viserys is nowhere near as appealing as Daemon. But still. What's next, leaving your career to pop out entitled brats?

You stop. Daemon pushes your head down again. It ignites a rage long settled on you.

“Are you seriously pushing my head down?” It comes out like an indignant little yelp. Turns out, the little lamb was not so willing to surrender, Daemon thinks. He has two choices. He can force you down, make you break. Or he can wait it out, lull you into a false sense of comfort, and slowly get you more and more pliant. Yet, he wants to see what you are about to do.

“Is it working?” He sasses, and you turn your head up to glare, even if he can’t see it in the dark elevator. Then, a thought sparkles in your mind. Kiss ass. And here you have someone who needs to be taught a lesson.

A thud. Your knees hitting the floor of the elevator, between Daemon's legs.

“Fuck. Are you really…?” He groans, and you hear another thud. Must be his head against the wall. Good. Perhaps this way, his two brain cells will actually connect.

You unbuckle his belt and open his trousers, the sound loud in the stillness of the elevator. It's done the fast and quick way, not really knowing how much time you have left before someone comes looking for you. You kiss his hipbones, then his thighs. Daemon tangles a hand in your hair, leading you to his cock. You go along with it, but do not touch him where he wants you to.

Instead, you go lower. And a bit further back.

“What are you…?” He asks, confused. Praying to god he showered that morning, you spread him open and lick a stripe over his asshole. His body seizes up, a moan leaving his mouth. “Oh, little girl… You are filthy.”

Daemon is clean, if a bit hairy. The carpet matches the drapes, you will be able to say now. This will be a little secret, between the two of you. When he mocks you in the boardroom, or asks you to get him coffee, you will be able to think of this moment. Not only have you seen him bare, but you intend to take him apart.

For all his posturing, he is only a man. It shows in the way he arches, hips bucking, desperate to find friction. Cock swollen and balls heavy, tip messy with precum. You lick at him, making sure to make the most obscene slurping noises you can, as if his ass was a fine meal. Daemon moans, hand desperately going to grab at the wall to keep himself upright, and you snicker.

“Tell me again how much of a kiss ass I am.” You taunt, curling one of your hands around his gorgeous cock. He is thick and warm in your grip, you can feel him throb in your hand. Your panties feel embarrassingly wet at the pure filth of the act you are performing, but also at the fact Daemon is losing control so steadily.

“You… Oh. Seven Hells. Fuck.” And it's not his fault, really. You have been steadily opening him up with your tongue, nearly french kissing his hole, only to spear your tongue right when he tries to form a coherent sentence. One of your hands keeps him spread for you, and the other is braced on his hip, to avoid him rutting and bucking. Daemon is so pent-up that if you weren't holding him, he would be humping the wall.

His hand tugs at your hair, harshly. You stop.

“What…?” He looks down at you, at the way your face disappears between his thighs, utterly confused. Then, he gives you a menacing growl, as if he were the one in control. “Don't tease, little girl.”

Daemon wears dominance well. It comes with being a Targaryen, you have realized. The entitlement oozes out of his pores. When he gives an order, he is used to at least five people jumping out of their seats to obey him. That gives any man an unstoppable confidence.

But it's not what you want. This is about rewarding politeness, not him acting like an entitled fool. You press down on the sensitive skin behind his balls, right on his perineum. You want him to beg. Not only will it teach him a lesson, but perhaps, get you railed after.

“Beg.” You order, pinching at his thigh.

“You are out of your mind if you think…” Daemon starts, but he quickly shuts up when you place a hand on his cock again. You are not what he was expecting, not what he was expecting at all. He underestimated you. Yet, he cannot say he doesn’t like what he is learning about you.

“Beg.” You insist, teasingly dragging your nails over his sensitive skin. Not enough to hurt, but to warn. Your teeth and mouth are very close to his most delicate parts, and he should remember it. “And be polite about it.”

“You will not get away with this, little girl. I’ll spank your pretty ass red.” Daemon complains, and you snicker. Funny, that he thinks that is a threat. You intend to do much worse to him.

“Oh, really? And who says you will have the chance?” Petty. Realizing you are not going to budge, and he cannot make you, Daemon lifts his hand from your head and pats you on the hair. Not an apology, no. A reward for a particularly clever pet. The game is not over yet. Not when he still has everything to play for. What is losing a battle when he can win the war?

“Please.” At his moan, you start jerking him off. It's a bit rough, without any lubricant, so you offer your hand to him, never stopping your tongue and mouth from working. Daemon catches the hint beautifully, spitting on your open hand. You go back to jerking him. His desperation is a heady thing. It gets you almost high on the thrill of it. You squeeze your thighs together, trying to get some friction on your clit. A shame you cannot touch yourself, with both hands busy.

You wish you could suck his cock, mouth watering with the sight. He has one of the prettiest you've ever seen, all flushed skin and slightly curved in a way you know would feel just right inside of you. And he is smells nice too, which is deeply unfair. Clean, yet still male and musky. Daemon tenses, cock throbbing in your hand. He is very close, about to spill all over you.

The sound of metal scratching against metal makes you jerk and pull away. Divine intervention, you think to yourself, as you get up and start rightening your clothes and hair.

“And where in the Seven Hells you think you are going?” His tone is so short and clipped, you worry he is about to pounce you. His breath is heavy. You bet, if you could see his face, he would be absolutely enraged.

“Are you deaf?” You answer condescendingly. You can hear how his teeth grit against themselves with how hard he must be clenching his jaw. “Bruxism is not sexy, by the way. You will hurt your teeth.”

“Deaf? Bruxism? What the fuck are you talking about? You just ruined my orgasm! I was so close and you, you… ” Daemon truly, truly wants to grab at you and choke you. He underestimated you. Again. Such a fool, he has been. Thinking he is leading his little lamb to the slaughter, and here you are, composed and retouching your lipstick without a care in the world. Oh, next time he gets his hands on you, he is going to make you cry.

“They are opening the door.” You answer, smugly.

“You little shit!” Daemon nearly screams. You cannot hold it any longer, and start laughing. The scratching turns louder, and Daemon hurries to tuck himself back into his suit.

When they finally open the doors, you strut out, not a care in the world. You kiss your father’s cheek, who is standing next to the security guys. Daemon glowers.

“Neither of you thought to text or call someone?” Otto asks, incredulous. He turns to you and checks you over. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

“I didn’t hurt your precious little flower, Otto.” Daemon rolls his eyes. Now that he is standing in the light, you can see he looks slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed and standing awkwardly. You nearly smirk. “She is a cunt, just like you. If any, she hurt me.”

Otto glares at him, and places an arm over your shoulder, gently steering you away. He starts talking a mile per second, something about all meetings being adjourned because of the weather and waiting to give you a ride home. Of how worried he was, when you didn’t answer your phone and were not in your office. You hardly listen. Because your phone pings in your hand, another Instagram notification.

@caraxesrider: You will pay for that, little girl.

Your fingers fly over the keyboard in your haste to answer him:

I'm totally reporting you to the PR guys. XOXO.

[mikalame]

tom kaulitz x flight attendant

“i cant believe your actually making me do this" i groan bill is making us go into the air again, last time i got so air sick i threw up in my hat cause the flight attendant couldn't get there quick enough. I think ill die of embarrassment if i see her again she was way to pretty to be doing that she should have been a model or something not someone rushing to get a bucket cause i couldn't hold my food down. “TOM!” bill shouts in my ear “ i smack him in the shoulder “quick screaming in my ear that shit hurts ugh”  “you thinking bout that girl again it would be so funny if she was the one to serve us again” georg snickers they all know that shes been on my mind for ages now i just hoped me meet somewhere better and not like how it did.

Well fuck me after getting pushed from behind by some lady for 5 minutes we finally sit down i thank bill for getting me an aisle seat so it would be quick for me to get up and run to the bathroom. “After 30 minutes the food should come out wake me up then mmk” georg says before putting on his eye mask and falling asleep we pass time by seeing how many skittles we can through into his mouth.

I dont hear the rattle of the cart getting pushed through the row of people as i have my head phones when it finally comes up to us i see that gustav has woken georg up and both of them are quitely laughing to themselves i look up and see its that girl agian i feel heat rise to my cheeks my vision becomes blurry and feel the breakfast coming up. I try and hold it in until shes gone but as soon as she left i shot up and bolted down the aisle. Around five minutes later i unlock the door i see her standing there holding a bottle water “um thought you might need this to um yk was down the vomit taste or something” she laughs akwardly handing me the bottle “Omg look im so sorry for last time like i was and still am so embarrased bout like throwing up and stuff and like right now ig aswell” i blush hiding my face after i drink the water “Oh no its okay i didnt mind really air sickness is more common than you think” she jokes i laugh a bit aswell. “um do you think maybe we could hangout or something like when your free oh well ig youd have to fly back after this but um...” i trail off thinking my idea was stupid and silly “no i would love to you seem real nice and sweet um do you have a phone on you i can give you my number” she says. I whip out my phone as she types the number in “well thanks umm...” “oh ___ and what your name Mr. Air sickness” “Tom, tom kaulitz i look forward to our date ___” i say while walking away feeling ten time better 

Hope yall like thanks for the love on the first post!!!! <3 plz if you have request please tell me them im dieing for it lol

[dolly-macabre]

Here have some filth. I have no self control and need to share it before I go insane.

Loves me a switchy Pickle 😈

🔞NSFW under the cut🔞

“Look, lady, I’m just naht interested…” Pickles cleared his throat to cut through the awkwardness of the situation, “Great tits though..”

I peer from behind a large piece of sound tech. I had just been escorted backstage after finally getting to see the boys play in person, and I happened to notice an exchange between Pickles and an absolutely gorgeous, sandy-haired woman. With her figure she could easily be a model. 

“You’re turning me down??” She's taken aback as a klokateer leads her away from backstage.

“Yeeeah, nuthin’ personal but nope.” Pickles shrugs.

My heart begins to leap out of my chest as I step out from my hideout, the band making their way backstage. The rest of the guys (except Nathan) have at least one or two women on their arms.

“Oh, heys look! It’s Dollys! Hi, Dollys!” Toki calls out, waving to me.

I hate to ignore the guy but I have a one track mind right now. I step past Toki, my heart still pounding as I grab Pickles’ hand. Face as expressionless as I can keep it.

“Can I talk to you?.. Y’know, in private?” I ask, voice low.

“Ah.. Uh yeah. No prahblem..” he stutters while I pull him away.

“Uh.. Byes Dollys?” Toki stammers.

“What ams her deals?” Skwisgaar adds.

“She looked like she had to take a schit if you aschk me..” Murderface insinuates.

“That doesn’t make any sense.. Why would she.. Oh dear god..” Nathan is stunned at his own filthy thoughts.

***

*Click*

I quickly lock the unisex bathroom door behind us.

“Look, I think I might know what this is about, and I-” Pickles starts to explain himself until I cut him with a deep, passionate kiss, my fingers lacing through his ginger locs. I pull away just long enough to whisper in his ear.

“I heard everything..” my hungry lips meet his again.

He pulls away slightly, “Ya heard that, huh? I figured yew just saw me talkin’ to her and finally snapped..” 

He lets out a nervous chuckle as my lips trail down his neck, leaving black lipstick marks on his corpse paint. I let one hand slip down to his cock, stroking it through his jeans.

“F-Fuck…” he moans, growing harder as I tease him, “Didja really think I was gonna leave ya hanging after the show?”

He grins, grinding into my grip, “What kinda boyfriend would thaht make me??”

“A pretty shitty one!” I snicker, nipping at his neck playfully.

“I couldn’t do thaht to my angel…” he interjects, holding my chin in between his thumb and forefinger. All the while, desperately rubbing his clothed groin into my hand.

“And I want to reward you for that, handsome…” I pull my hand away, earning a little whimper from him. Oh, how I love when he gets like this.. So needy.

“How’s dat?” his breathy voice lowering.

I get down on my knees before him, reaching for the button of his jeans.

“Are ya sure ya wanna do that?? I- Uh.. just got off stage and I kinda- O-Ohhh..” he moans as I take his sweaty cock in hand.

“Oh, I’m very sure.. You’ve more than earned it..” I smirk up at him.

“Nyeh!!” he cries out as my grip tightens and I start stroking him. I take one of his balls into my mouth, sucking on it ever so gently. Salty sweat drips on my tongue.

“A-Ah!...” His voice catches in his throat, his hand coming down to grasp at my hair. I lick him from base to tip, placing a teasing kiss on the head of his dick.

“Such a good boy…” I speak, my voice gravelly. I lick the taste of his exertion from my lips.

“Yer killin’ me, Dolls…” his breath becoming heavier as I wrap my lips around his head. Just then, his hips jolt forward, pushing his cock all the way in. 

“Ahhh.. Fuuuuck…” a deep groan escapes him, his grip tightening on my hair. I moan around his throbbing length, my tongue wrapping around him fervently. Cupping his balls, I begin to set a steady pace. Hearing him come undone right above me, there’s nothing quite like it.

“How the fuck are yew so gewd at this???” he exclaims, sweat and corpse paint dripping off of him.

Suddenly, he tugs roughly at my hair, urging me forward.

“I’m gonna fuck yer mouth now, okay, baby?” 

I make a muffled sound and nod, eyes locked on his. I let my jaw relax completely as he gets a better grip on the back of my head. 

Fuck my mouth, indeed! He pumps himself in my drooling mess of a mouth at a bruising pace.

“Who’s my little slut, huh??” he gasps.

All I can do is gurgle pathetically, trying to catch my breath.

“Dat’s right… You are, dollface..” he carefully wipes a tear from my cheek as he speeds up. The man’s endurance was so insane and that only fueled my desire to please him. My jaw starts to go numb but my tongue continues to lap on his dick, hoping that the added pressure would bring him closer to sweet relief.

And, man, did it! Pickles’ thrusts go from punishing to unsteady as his hips jerk back and forth. He lets out a sharp cry as his load shoots into the back of my throat. So bitter but so sweet on my palate, gratefully I swallow every last drop. He twitches through the last of his orgasm, softly stroking my hair with one hand and holding my cheek with the other.

I pull myself off of him before we both sink to the floor, exhausted. After catching his breath, Pickles grins at me.

“ I gotta turn down groupies more often…” he sighs, tired as all hell but content. I kick his shoe with my platform boot.

“More like all the time, dude..” I grunt.

Once I finally catch my breath, I stand and hold out my hand for him.

“C’mon, let’s freshen up a little and find the guys!”

“I mean they’re prahbably just gettin’ their dicks wet. Let’s just head to the chopper n’ wait for em there. Plus, y’know, I gotta get this fuckin paint off me.”

“Fair enough!” I wash my hands and face in the small sink, using a damp paper towel to wipe away my smeared eye makeup.

“Hey.. I- uh love you and stuff, okay?.. Thanks fer lettin’ me cum down yer throat..” he chuckles, freckled face as red as a cherry.

“Of course, babe!” I wink at him. I know he’s not the best at sharing his feelings but if anything I just find it so endearing.

***

(Later on the Dethcopter)

The boys and I settled in for the trip back home. Everyone, fatigued in some way. Toki takes a seat next to me on the couch as I scroll through my phone mindlessly. 

“Heys! Why didsja blows me off, huh??” he asks, a little upset. 

I look up from my phone, my brain attempting to process what he just said. I snort-laugh, Pickles joining in .

“Oh! I’m sorry, Toki! I didn’t mean to snub you! I was… just in a hurry!”

“What's ams so funny??” Toki retorts.

“OH HEY! That remindsch me… Hey, hey, Pickles.” Murderface nudges his bandmate.

“Dude.. Waht?..” Pickles has his arm slung over his face, trying to relax.

“How wasch your Cleveland Schteamer??”

“MY WAHT.” 

[painful-pooch]

🗝 for Lukas?

I gotchu!!! Enjoy this image as it has to do with another ask in my inbox that I will try my best to get to soon enough lmao!

Bruno/Task Force Masterlist (coming soon)

~~~

Lukas grins down at the key you just handed him, reaching into his breast pocket to reveal a flask. As he is unscrewing the top, he speaks, his voice smooth and his movements calculated. “I guess I haven’t told anyone this before, but I never wanted to join the military.” He leans back in his seat, taking a quick swig from his flask and relaxing in the chair, letting the alcohol do its magic on him. “Yeah, it wasn’t my choice to go to the Air Force Academy. My dad, Major General Kazemi, pulled a few strings and before I knew it, I was supposed to go to that blasted school and learn how to ‘get my shit together’,” he mutters, using air quotations.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love being a pilot, but I really wanted to be a private pilot and live a life of excitement. I want to go around the world and see how it would affect me. Maybe I could grow into someone I can be proud of and be a good role model for my two younger siblings. But nooooo, I have to follow my dad’s footprints and become some General one day.” He laughs at that and runs his hand through his hair, rolling his eyes. “I am so much better as a con artist or something like that. It’s sad that my commanding officer treats me more like a real dad should than my own father.”

“That’s a little too depressing for this, huh?” He asks, snickering and he swirls his flask. “I guess another truth about me is that I always prank my commanding officer. There’s a video that we got of me putting a bunch of chili powder and cayenne into Bruno’s coffee one morning, and his face was so red, we thought he was going to blow up,” Lukas laughs harder, tilting his head back and remembering each moment of that day. “You should have been there to see this man sprint to the sink and spray so much water in his mouth before charging at the fridge to look for milk. Best day of my damn life, honestly.”

[helenaheissner]

Trade Paperback Romance: Chapter 1

Month 0 (June)

Elijah

Graduation caps flew into the air, and the crowd cheered as we all parted across the football field and went to where we were going. For some, that meant regrouping with their friends or partners; for others, it meant heading straight to their cars and getting out of here; for others still, it meant family. I fell into that last category, squinting in the bright May sun as I searched for my parents in the crowd. I saw them walking towards me -- my dad with his barrel chest and beer gut and brown skin and gray-black hair, my mom with her short frame and svelte figure and long red locks worn down -- and I retrieved my cap from the ground, dusting it off so that we wouldn’t get fined for damaging the rented graduation clothes. 

“Hey there, mijo,” Dad said, putting his arm around me and smiling broadly, eyes beaming with pride. I couldn’t help but smile back -- Dad’s enthusiasm was so infectious, it almost helped calm the pit of dread in my stomach. “How you feeling?”

“Ah, ya know, alright,” I said while Mom put her arm around me as well. She had to reach up on her tiptoes to manage it at this point, and I leaned down to help with the endeavor. 

“Just alright?” Mom said. “You just graduated! You should be feeling a little better than alright.”

I gulped, then said, “Oh, I know, just… worried about what comes after this.”

“I know, and that’s smart of you, but try to just live in the moment for right now, yeah?” Mom said. 

I offered a weak smile and said, “I’ll try.” For her sake, for both their sakes, I would try. 

We parsed through the crowd and hopped in the family car, a beat-up and barely-functioning silver sedan that was older than I was. The journey out of the buzzing parking lot took almost as long as the rest of the trek to the restaurant where we met the extended family. My high school -- my former high school now, I guess -- charged tickets to attend graduation, and neither side of the family had all that much money to spare on something like that, but they still wanted to celebrate. So we all met at an artisan pizza place in Culver City on that warm California night; Dad’s three brothers and their wives and kids, along with my mom’s two sisters and their husbands and kids, were all gathered around a single long table while a menagerie of pizza pies was brought over to us. 

I sat between my parents, devouring slice after slice of meat lovers’ pizza, while my Tio Miguel and Tia Frida looked at me with an odd mixture of pride and pity.

“So, Eli,” Tio Miguel asked. “What’s next?”

I winced. I’d been asked that question a million times in the past few months, and the answer -- or lack thereof -- hadn’t really changed. “Uh, I’m gonna start a community college program in the fall, hopefully become an electrician like Dad.”

Tia Frida chuckled when I said that. 

“What’s funny?” Mom asked, eyes narrowing. 

“Oh, just… remembering the time Eli tried to fix his remote control car on his birthday and it wound up catching on fire,” Tia Frida said. 

“That was a while ago, he was a little kid then,” Dad insisted. 

“It was three years ago. He was fifteen,” Tia Frida said, still laughing. “And you’re gonna be an electrician?”

“Yes, he is,” Dad said, giving his brother a look that said ‘make your wife shut up now.’

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” my cousin Sarah, already pregnant at twenty, snickered a few seats down the bench. 

“Look here,” Dad started. 

I didn’t let him finish: “I mean, hey, I’m also considering male modeling. Figure the sky’s the limit with these movie star good looks,” I said, running a hand through my short-cropped red-brown hair and attempting a goofy smile. I meant it in self-deprecation: I wasn’t ugly per se, with my average, slightly skinny frame and tall body, but the chronic neckbeard and stubborn acne on my face didn’t do me any favors. 

It worked -- she laughed. So did my aunt and uncle. Wasn’t sure if it was with me or at me, but at the moment, I didn’t really care. 

“Oh yeah,” Aunt Nancy said from further down the table. She pulled an envelope out of her purse, fat with contents, and slid it towards me. “The sisters and I all put a little donation in. Thought it might be nice for you to get yourself a little treat -- you men are so hard to shop for, figured it was easier than trying to guess what you wanted.”

I opened the envelope and saw a very large stack of hundred dollar bills inside.

Tio Jorge, Dad’s oldest brother, a behemoth of a man with a shaved pate and a handlebar mustache, retrieved a manilla envelope from his inner jacket pocket and handed it to me as well. “The boys and I had the same thought. Your dad will probably tell you to spend it on something practical, but that’s not fun. You just graduated, you deserve to treat yourself, kiddo.”

I opened the envelope. Oh wow, that was a not-insignificant amount of cash. I suddenly minded them not coming to the ceremony a lot less. “Thank you. Thank you, everyone. This is amazing of you, really.”

“I mean, you really should spend it on something practical,” Dad said.

“Maybe put it towards your own car?” Mom suggested. 

“Or tuition,” Tio Miguel said. 

“Or your own apartment, so your parents can finally stop having to deal with you,” Sarah said. 

“Could say the same to you,” Aunt Nancy said as she side-eyed her daughter. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sarah said. 

“You know what it means,” Aunt Nancy said. 

Oh, good. Here we go. The arguing started, quickly devolving into an incoherent deluge of auditory stimulus as parent and child began yelling at each other. Sarah’s boyfriend/baby-daddy leapt to her defense while her parents began dragging our other relatives into the conversation. 

The familiar dread, a tightness in my chest, grew ever more taut with each word, and the plethora of noise in the room became too loud to handle. I stood up. 

Everyone looked at me and went silent. 

“I think I’m gonna go make my first purchase with this money,” I said. 

“On what?” Mom said. 

“My comic shop is only a block from here,” I said. 

“Comics? Really? Aren’t you getting a little old for those?” Sarah sneered. 

“Oh, hush,” her mother replied, but her facial expression made it clear she shared her daughter’s sentiment. Same with most of the adults… most of the OTHER adults there. 

I forced my best smile onto my face and said, “Allow me one more bit of childish indulgence, then, in my final evening hours of youthful innocence.” I even threw in a flourish of my hands and a bow. “I shall return, but for now I bid you all adieu.”

The loose assortment of chuckles my dorky antics conjured alleviated the tension as I grabbed one last slice of pizza and shoveled it down my throat; I stepped outside into the amber light of the setting sun. The one-story businesses running down the street were all throbbing with activity, save for the one I was looking for:

Kendrick’s Comic Emporium. It was a long, wide, two-story building with a flat roof and big windows all over the front. It was sparsely populated inside -- it was a Friday night, and the shop closed in a half hour. Still, it was worrying -- I’d been coming here since I was a freshman in high school, and it seemed to get less and less business every year. But hey, at least I was doing my part to keep it alive: I came in every month and bought a trade paperback, usually spending no more than twenty dollars on the newest volume of whatever ongoing runs I was keeping up with at the moment. 

Inside that shop was my happy place: I could have failed a test, gotten cut from the baseball team, gotten rejected by a girl (all of which had happened at various points. Sometimes more than once), but I could still come here and I’d just instantly feel at home. Waves of pure nerdy joy washed over me as I took in the sights of the walls lined with new issues and the shelves filling the back with volumes. Paul Kendrick, the owner, a tall and portly white man with a ponytail and a full beard, sat behind the register, while his nephew, whose name I’d never actually been able to learn, was taking inventory. 

“Hey, Eli,” Paul said, giving a broad smile and a personable upward nod. 

I returned the upward nod and greeting. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, the usual,” Paul said. “How was graduation?”

“Long and hot, and for some reason we couldn’t do it inside,” I snarked. 

“Heh. That is the way of it. It was the same at Sam’s graduation last year,” Paul said, gesturing to his nephew. I guess that was the guy’s name. 

Sam shared his uncle’s bulk but not as much of his height, coming up a few inches shy of my own five-foot-eleven. He was paler than should be possible at this time of year in southern California, with shaggy black hair and an acne problem that rivaled my own. He wore a baggy black and silver The Crow shirt and tan cargo shorts and white sneakers. He stood on a stepladder pulling overstocked books into a cardboard box labeled ‘Bargain bin.’

As usual, he looked supremely depressed. I dunno, I’d never really interacted much with the guy -- I’d tried talking to him a couple times, but he scoffed at my more conventional taste in superhero books and then walked away – he just always had this look in his eyes like… He wasn’t fully there. Or like he was trying with all his might not to be there. I gave him a half-hearted wave as I walked by, and to my shock, he returned it… 

… Only for the box to slip free of his grasp, and for his feet to slip free of the ladder when he tried to grab it out of the air. 

I lunged forward and grabbed both before they hit the ground. Sam was a big guy, and the box was heavy, so it was less ‘catching them gracefully and heroically’ and more breaking their fall. It was a quick and painful trip to the ground for me, with a significant mass pinning me down, Sam’s face ridiculously close to mine. He blushed and then scrambled off of me hurriedly, putting both hands over his face in embarrassment before prying one free of his face and offering me a hand up. While still covering his face with the other hand. 

“Thanks,” I grunted.

“Th-thank you. Feels more appropriate,” Sam choked out. “Are you alright?”

“Gonna feel that tomorrow, honestly,” I said, rubbing the small of my back. He looked down, extra guilt exuding from his face. Shit, I’d made him feel self-conscious about his weight, hadn’t I? Dammit. “But I’ll be fine, seriously. Don’t worry about me.”

“I just feel bad. You had to try to catch my fat ass and I wound up hurting you --”

I forced out a weak laugh and put my hand on his shoulder. “Hey, don’t do that. You took a tumble. That’s all. There’s no point in me breaking your fall if you start beating yourself up right after, ya know?”

He blushed again. I could feel the word ‘cute’ starting to bubble up in my mind, but I shoved it down. Didn’t feel like unpacking the implications of that just yet. Besides, I didn’t wanna make this poor guy any more uncomfortable than he already was. I just took my hand off his shoulder and repeated, “Seriously, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“...Okay,” he said, somewhere between curt and shy. It was hard to tell, honestly. The guy didn’t say that much. 

“Well, I worry,” Paul said, leaning on the glass countertop while dabbing his sweaty forehead with a towel. He was breathing heavily, and there was a thin layer of wheeze to it, just under the surface. 

Sam’s face scrunched up with concern and fear. “Uncle Paul, maybe you should head home early. You look tired.”

“I can’t just leave you here to close up on your own,” Paul insisted. 

“I’ll stay and help out,” I said. 

They both looked at me with surprise. Paul said, “Tonight is your graduation night, I can’t ask you to do that --”

“You didn’t ask, I’m offering,” I said. “And I don’t mind. At all.” The desire to get back to the screaming match my family had no doubt devolved into wasn’t exactly overpowering. I could shoot my parents a text and they’d understand. They might not be the biggest fans of my lifelong hobby, but they always respected my desire to help out where I could. 

Paul drew in a slow, steady, wheezing breath, and said, “Alright, if that’s what the vox populi demands, I shall acquiesce. I’ll see you at home later tonight, Sam.”

Sam nodded, and his uncle departed. Leaving the two of us alone. 

I mustered a smile and said, “So. What’s first?”

Sam gave me a list of overstocked items to pull from the shelves and put into the bargain bin, while he set about making sure everything was organized. 

“So, you reading anything good lately?” I asked, hoping to clear away some of the awkward silence that had quickly settled over the room. I was over at the manga shelf pulling spare volumes of One Piece into the box, while behind me, Sam was organizing and taking inventory on the Marvel shelf.

“...Uh, a couple indies. Probably stuff you haven’t heard of,” Sam answered.

“Why’s that?”

“...Uh, because… Uh…”

I snort-laughed. “Because I’m a stupid normie who only reads the Big Two?”

He hesitated, then said, “I didn’t… I just assumed --”

“You shouldn’t assume things about people, man,” I said, grinding my teeth slightly. 

“...I’m sorry,” he said. 

“It’s… It’s whatever. I’m used to it.”

“What do you mean?”

“...Uh, well, when I was a kid my relatives thought I was stupid or weird for reading comics. And then it was because my grades were crap. And then it was because I couldn’t hold down a job or get into college,” I said, eyes cast down. “And now I guess it’s because I still read comics even though I’m sort of a grown up.”

“...I… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I said, going back to pulling manga tankobons.

“No, I really… I’m pretty used to people assuming I’m dumb,” Sam said. I looked back and noticed he’d turned to face me, eyes still sad and downcast. “And I… You’re a really nice guy, and I basically called you an idiot. I’m sorry.”

My smile turned a bit more genuine. I put the box down. “Dunno where you got the impression I’m a nice guy. We’ve barely ever talked to each other. But thank you. You seem pretty alright yourself.”

“... I wish I was better.”

I blinked. “In what regard?”

“Uh… Everything, I guess.”

“You’re gonna need to be a lot less vague,” I said with a raised eyebrow. 

“...I’m ugly and dumb and I have no future,” he said. 

I gaped. “Okay, first off, you’re not dumb.”

“I couldn’t get into college.”

“Neither could I.”

“Which you said made you dumb.”

“No, I said it makes people assume I’m dumb,” I said. “Also, it isn’t technically true -- I’m starting trade school in a few months.”

“That’s more of a future than I have,” Sam said. “All I’ve got is this shop. And Uncle Paul.”

“That’s plenty,” I said, waving a hand. “Also, you’re not ugly.”

He laughed. 

“I mean it. You’re not ugly. I’m sure plenty of…” I paused, considering my words. I wasn’t actually sure where this guy’s desires ran. Then again, he’d blushed on physical contact with me, so I could take a guess. “...People find you attractive.”

“...My boyfriend doesn’t.”

I blinked again. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh. Uh, shit, I shouldn’t have said that. Yeah, I have a boyfriend --”

“Not what I was surprised by. Your boyfriend doesn’t think you’re attractive?”

Sam turned around and started taking inventory again. So I marched over and leaned against the wall. “Is he the reason you think you’re ugly?”

“...”

“Sam.”

“...He says I’m ugly, yeah,” Sam said. “He says it a lot. Says sometimes that he’s too good for me.”

“Then why are you with him?”

“Because he’s the only one who wants to be with me.”

“But you just said he doesn’t want to be with you.”

“No, he does,” Sam said defensively. “He says so. He just also says mean things sometimes because he’s… He’s usually not like that.”

“Uh-huh,” I said blankly. 

“You don’t believe me.”

“I just think…”

“What?”

“...That you should value yourself more,” I said, finally. 

He gulped. “I… I’m working on it.”

I smiled. “Good. That’s the important part. What are you doing to work on it?”

“...I don’t actually know yet.”

“Fair enough.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, I can tell you one thing,” I said. I didn’t really have much leg to stand on when it came to offering people life advice, but I did know one thing for absolute certain. My father had instilled it into me since the day I was born, a simple but effective notion for figuring out what direction you needed to go in: “You need to be honest with yourself about what you want. Once you admit to and accept what will really make you happy, the path forward becomes a helluva lot clearer.”

Now it was Sam’s turn to blink. “Just… Admit to it? That’s it?”

“I mean, it’s an oversimplification, I know, but as first steps go, it’s a pretty easy and effective one to take.”

He breathed in and out a heavy sigh, and when he’d finished expelling it, his posture straightened and his shoulders came un-slumped. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Just, uh, admitted something to myself. Just now.”

“Oh, nice!” I said, offering up my hand for a high five. 

Slowly, awkwardly, reluctantly, he returned the high five in question. “Aren’t you gonna ask what it was?”

“I mean, this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had; I feel like that’s your business, not mine,” I said, scratching the back of my head. “If you wanna tell me, I’ll listen, though.”

A moment of silence passed before he closed his eyes and shook his head quietly. 

“Fair enough,” I said with a steady voice and a warm smile. This poor guy was really going through it… Hopefully he would start turning things around though. 

“We should probably get back to work,” Sam said suddenly.

“Fair enough,” I repeated. “So, those indies you’re reading. What are they called?”

He smiled again, and the word ‘cute’ floated up from my subconscious again, dangerous, uninvited, useless, and traitorous. I wasn’t into guys, and even if I was, this one had a boyfriend. Best to push it out of my mind. 

Sam started rambling about something called Love Everlasting, which sounded interesting if also incredibly depressing, while we finished working. He was a passionate guy when you got him going about comics, which was something I very much identified with. And it was so the opposite of his usual withdrawn, sullen demeanor, it was difficult not to get caught up in the enthusiasm. 

As the sun finished setting and we flipped the ‘open’ sign over to ‘closed’, Sam looked antsy and eager to leave. But before he headed out the door he stopped and asked me, “Hey, wait! You didn’t get anything. The whole reason to come here was to get something, but I made you help me instead.”

I shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I got an experience, which is arguably worth more.”

“Yeah, but… I want you to have gotten something else, too,” he said. “On the house.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, we can spare a book.”

“Hmm… How about that one you were talking about?”

“Really?” he said, his eyes lighting up again. 

“Yeah, totally.”

He ran forward and grabbed a copy of the first volume, and put it into my hands. “Come back soon?”

“Absolutely,” I nodded. “You know me. I’m here every month.”

“Cool,” he smiled again. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

And with that, we parted ways. I called an Uber and got home intact, finding my parents already asleep. Presumably they’d both had their fill of beer and wine at the pizza place and had been able to call it an early one as a result. 

So, with only myself for company, I sat down on my bed and pulled out the book I’d been recommended. 

I opened to the first page, and a new journey awaited me. 

Felt appropriate. 

Samantha

‘Be honest about what you want.’ It echoed over and over again in my head, a steady drumbeat that accompanied me home. Uncle Paul was already asleep in bed, his evening medication washed down with alcohol. Wish he’d stop doing that. But he was an adult; I couldn’t force him to do anything. I couldn’t force someone to make changes in their life when I wasn’t making any myself. 

But… I’d admitted it. What I wanted. What I needed. Now all I had to do was take the next step. And maybe once I did… I could get Uncle Paul to start taking his health more seriously. After all, I would have to do that myself if I was gonna do this. 

I lumbered into the bathroom and scowled at my reflection. Wes always told me I had a face for radio, and he wasn’t wrong: I was an ugly, fat, misshapen, fat, hideous lump of man. Who was fat. 

Well. I knew what I wanted. Time to start making changes. 

Maybe then Wes would start being nice to me again. 

I started by shaving my face, scowling as each zit I ran over with the razor burst with blood, then washed my face thoroughly afterwards. I’d need to start researching a skincare routine if I was serious about this -- makeup would help, but it also took a while to learn, and I didn’t have anyone to learn it from but the Internet. 

Next came my arms and chest, a hideous forest of bristly black fuzz I spent thirty minutes hacking through. Then came my legs, an even more difficult endeavor. I was pretty sure I would need to pour some Drano down the spout after this. Last came my groin, though I went a little easier on it then the rest of it. Girls had pubic hair too, after all. 

It took hours. Literal hours. And literal bloodshed was involved. But when it was over… I felt good. REALLY GOOD. My mind was humming with a symphony of joy and relief, my heart ablaze with unbridled enthusiasm. 

I went to my room and started typing relevant questions into my search engine: endocrinologists near me who took MediCal, resources for trans people, trans friendly salons and clothing stores, that kind of thing.

One other question loomed in my search engine, waiting for me to hit the button and find answers I was utterly terrified of: ‘Is my partner abusive?’ I stared at the screen, sitting atop my unmade bed for hours. Outside, dawn broke and the first shards of golden-red light trickled in between the closed blinds of my window, revealing the disparate contents of my messy bedroom: baggy clothes strewn about across the blue carpeted floor, my sketches of slasher movie villains and unicorns and slasher movie villains jousting each other while riding unicorns taped to the walls, a poorly organized shelf of horror comics and romance manga shoved into the corner by my closet, and several waste baskets filled with used paper towels and empty bottles of lotion. 

It was a mess. And it was my mess. So I had to be the one to clean it up. 

And I had to be the one to tell people I was cleaning it up. 

Part of me wished I had told Eli, but I barely knew the guy, and he’d flinched when I’d told him I had a boyfriend, so I wasn’t really sure how he’d react. Still… He seemed nice. If nothing else, it would be nice to have a friend. 

“Morning,” Uncle Paul said, looming in my doorward, hunched over and haggard. 

“Hey,” I said, “What are you doing up?”

“Woke up and couldn’t fall back to sleep,” he shrugged. “Want breakfast? I can make bacon and hash browns.”

“A-are you sure you should be having that? You know, with your heart --”

“Don’t worry about me, it’s fine,” he said with a weak smile and a wave of his hand. “My ticker is as strong as an ox.”

I breathed out inaudibly. He always did this. “If you say so.”

“I do indeed say so,” he said, looking chipper and lively as ever. 

He turned around. 

“Hey, uh, Uncle Paul?” I said, closing my eyes tightly. 

“What’s up?” he said, turning back around. 

I opened my eyes ever so slightly. “I’m trans.”

He blinked. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re a --”

“I’m a girl, yeah,” I said. Saying it out loud was… a lot different than saying it in my head. Suddenly it was out there in the world, information that would disseminate and take hold, an irrefutable reality that I had acknowledged and allowed to be known by others. 

I was committed now. More so than I’d been before. 

And it felt…

AMAZING. Like Atlas’ burden had suddenly been pulled from my shoulders; like Tantalus finally getting that damn apple; like Sisphysus had finally gotten to the top of the fucking hill with his fucking boulder; like Tiresias… Okay, bad example, but whatever. It felt really, really, REALLY GOOD, okay? That’s the general vibe. 

That was when I realized Uncle Paul was still standing there, blinking rapidly, silent and otherwise stationary. 

“Please say something,” I said. 

“What… What would you like to be called?” he said, slowly, carefully, like he was chewing on each syllable. 

“...I haven’t really thought about that,” I said, looking down at the mess of sheets and blankets atop my floor-mattress. “I guess… Sam is good. Short for Samantha, though.” Hearing the name ‘Samantha’ aloud did something for me, sending a warm rush of bliss from my brain down through the rest of my body. “Actually, I think I’d prefer Samantha.” Hearing it again, and getting another rush of unadulterated happiness. 

“Then Samantha it is,” Uncle Paul said. 

“Y-you’re not mad?” I said, leaning forward, exhaling a sigh of pure relief. 

“How could I be mad? I have a beautiful niece.”

I offered a bitter laugh. “‘Beautiful’ is a strong word.”

“Hey, what I’ve said about that negative self-talk, young lady?”

Another laugh, this one considerably less bitter. “Right, right.”

“How long have you known?” he asked, stepping inside my room, sitting down at the end of my bed. 

“A few years,” I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ears. “I was kinda just keeping it bottled up. 

“Now that’s just unhealthy.”

“Lots of things I do are unhealthy,” I said, poking my own fat, bulging gut. Uncle Paul grabbed my hand and pulled it away. 

“Bad,” he said.

“...Fine. But I’m gonna make some changes, and not just the whole ‘being a girl’ thing. I want to start being healthier as well. Even if I don’t manage to lose as much weight as I’d like, eating less processed crap and refined sugar will probably help with my skin.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Uncle Paul said. “Want me to make you a doctor’s appointment for you?”

“Yes, please,” I smiled. “Also, I love you, Uncle Paul. Have I mentioned that lately?”

“Yes, but I don’t mind hearing it more often,” he chuckled. “I have to ask, though: what gave you the final push?”

I smiled weakly. “Eli.”

“Really? Eli?”

“Yeah, he’s… Well, he’s really nice and cool and he just told me that if I’m not happy I need to start being honest about what I want, and… Well, he made it seem really simple. So I decided to start being honest.”

“Good,” Uncle Paul said, pulling me in for a hug. I happily embraced the man who’d been more of a father to me than my worthless excuse for a dad ever had, infinitely grateful for his place in my life. “Why don’t you take the day off work. Things have been slow lately --”

“Don’t remind me,” I grimaced. 

“-- And you’ve probably got all sorts of things you want to do,” Uncle Paul said. “But first, breakfast. Bacon and hash browns?”

“...Not this time, no. I think I’ll just have some toast and some fruit.”

Uncle Paul shrugged. “Well, more for me.”

He got up and made way for the kitchen before I could say that that was exactly what worried me.

***

Hello, lovelies! Welcome to my newest story! Just so you know, you can read 4 chapter ahead on this one by becoming a paid subscriber to my Patreon or my Substack!

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[hcnayun]

"I'm trying, definitely going to try..." It also depended on how well Emmy received her, and that was something that was always debatable as the former model was well aware that she wasn't everyone's cup of tea. What was important to her and what she would respect out of Verda's wife was that she made her friend happy. At the end of it, that's all that truly mattered.

With a grin on her lips, the raven topped health and wellness girlie nodded with enthusiasm. Cowboys had never really been her thing, without a doubt Hana was a city girl, but that didn't mean they weren't hot. Nor would she mind their rough hands all over her perfect skin. "They were kind of sexy. Even your gay ass couldn't deny that," she jested, forgoing the fact that neither of them were heterosexual. "Sure," Hana said and redirected their journey, "what're you in the mood for?"

Dark eyes peered down at the cut in Verda's dress and for a moment her imagination ran wild. "If you really wanna show off you boji that bad just do it," the yoga instructor snickered, "well, actually I think you like being a tease more than anything else."

The firmer hold on her arm told Hana that her friend had a lot of pent up feelings about Emmy's situation with Ty. It was a tricky situation and the more she thought about it the more she could understand the unease. "Well, it makes sense why Ty is so upset and hating you," she shrugged and pulled the baker a little closer into her side. "Is what's bothering you most— boundaries? Because even though Emmy chose you, romantically, it sounds like she really needs to lay a line between them?" Truly, Hana wanted to understand what her friend was feeling and help if she could.

It wasn't that Hana didn't want to share with her friend the things that were going wrong in her life, she was just living in a state where fear and paranoia were growing. Speaking of what was going on felt like giving it power when all she wanted was for it to go away. "Well," a sigh was heaved from her slender body, "my stalker found me." And suddenly there was a weird buzzing in her ears.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

While she appreciated her friend's excitement, a prickling on the back of her neck prompted dark eyes to scan around the park, within their vicinity. There he was, Hana paused and gasped, looked up to Verda with her mouth agape, but when she glanced back he was gone.

Was it real? Or had her paranoia been playing with her again. These days she was beginning to think she was seeing him all over the place.

"Not only that, but I'm in a weird place with my ex." The only ex. "Have I told you about him?" A groan rolled up her throat and her fingers pressed to the pressure point between her brows. "He's been up my ass lately and I don't know... I share my location with him because he's concerned about... you know, but— how do you be friends with someone that hurt you so bad?"

Ready to move on to other things, despite not being able to get rid of the unease in her belly, they continued toward the food. "Well, of course you can have a tour, but— were you serious that time you mentioned becoming business partners?" / @verdadurmaz

"Which means... you two are friends too," she countered with raised brows and her bottom lip tucked devilishly between her teeth. Not many of her friends had been too much of an Emmy fan, but at least Hana's opinion hadn't been spoiled by the terrible revolving door game the chef had played for nearly two years.

How could anyone forget the cowboys that had wandered around looking for tents to pitch, all while looking at a chance for their own chance to pitch something. "Oh, you mean the ones that put up yours?" She beamed a knowing smile towards the other and nodded in agreement as she leaned into Hana's touch. "Mind if we grab a bite to eat before we go over?"

Dressing up had been Emmy's idea, but making it more her style had been entirely a self-made attempt at feeling more herself. Gaze dipped to the exposed skin, the slit having gone a bit higher than she'd intended. "I overestimated," she mused as a wave of chilly air reminded her of the mistake, "how high to make the slit. If you think this is bold, should have seen my costume two years ago. It wouldn't have really fit this occasion, but it made this slit look innocent."

Anger rippled through her first, the second wave a sickness, and the third and final jolt of emotion being envy. It was enough to draw a scoff from her mouth, enough to make her arm tighten into the bend of Hana's touch. "They slept together. Before we figured things out. Emmy told me." How did they come together after that? How did Verda ignore the hatred that flowed through every word Ty shot at her. How did she pretend like it didn't eat at her? "But you're right. I got the ring, the paper." At least, if she continued to tell herself that, maybe she'd feel better about the whole damn thing.

The baker clocked hesitation, followed by the kind of answer that she would have given had she not wanted to talk about the real one. "Right. You know it's within my friendly duties to push, right? What's making life so great these days?" Despite the sea of people, Verda trusted Hana's ability to lead as her gaze kept dipping to the woman at her side.

Fingers curled around the instructor's forearm, nails lightly sinking into her skin as excitement flooded her features. "I'm happy that it all worked out, Not surprised, It would be foolish not to accept the offer."

Eyes rolled playfully in response, but relief followed suit. At least she wouldn't have to put on her best show face anytime soon. "Wow, that's saying something." She could see the appeal for some, but who knew yoga classes were where middle aged women got their kicks? "So, when do I get the grand tour? And before you say there's not much to show, I want to hear more about your ideas and what you want to do with the place. Plus, if there's anyway I can assist... sign me up."

@hcnayun

[boop-le-snoot]

@buckyownsmylife hey babe! Remember that one time you threw that cool challenge? Here's my entry. Prepare to get absolutely ruined because daddy!Bruce is exactly that sort of man.

main masterlist ☀️ taglist

emotional support nerd

Your best friend's dad, Dr. Bruce Banner, is hotter than you thought he would be. 6k words, NSFW. Kind of Alt!Reader - she refers to herself as 'goth' in one instance. Tony Stark makes an appearance because God forbid I write a fanfic without him in it.

This is filthy pron, ft. age difference (reader is college aged) daddy kink, throat fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, cream pie, possessiveness, belly bulge and ending with a hint at a threesome. I really crammed all I could from Eyre's wheel in here, didn't I. Oh well.

"How much longer, dad?" Lyra's annoyed voice struck a chord within me. I tried to hide my snickering - unsuccessfully might I add - causing my best friend to shoot me a hurt look, equally fed up with me as she was fed up with her forgetful adopted father. "You know what, we'll take the subway."

Lyra's father's voice, both agitated and apologetic, reached my ears in bitten-off phrases as the traffic noises around us grew in volume, NYC rush hour rapidly approaching its peak.

With a sound huff, Lyra removed the phone from her ear, staring me down with the most amount of petulance I've ever seen on her usually reserved, placid face. "It's twenty more minutes. Apparently he's driving Tony's car," she offered in the way of explanation, like it actually did anything to better the cold, wet situation we found ourselves in. "Please, and I can't stress this enough, please don't be weird."

I felt a flood of amusement at Lyra's pleading tone. "Darling, if you wanted a normal friend, you should have looked elsewhere," I gestured to my outfit. I looked like a goth boy's wet dream: chunky platformed boots, fishnets, heavy eyeliner. Of course, all in black.

"You know what I mean," she whined, waving off my pointing hand and fixing me with a hard stare. "The least my dad needs is someone that is terrified of him just because sometimes he turns into a big green monkey. It's not as exciting as internet thinks, anyway," the last part of the sentence was mumbled but I heard it nonetheless as Lyra stared out into the traffic, clever eyes looking for a particular car model.

What Lyra didn't know was that I was not at all considering to be terrified by the man who dosed himself with radiation and developed an advanced version of split personality disorder. I could be intimidated by him, sure, because he was incredibly intelligent, a world class scientist with more PhDs than I had zeroes in my bank account, but even despite his green problem, Dr. Bruce Banner was about as far away from 'scary' as a man could be.

The few scarce pictures of him on the internet showed a short, stocky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper curls, always dressed in un-ironed, crumpled button-ups with dorky patterns. Looking at him, I mused that there was a high chance he spoke with a stutter and that fact amused me to no end. Jekyll and Hyde, alright.

Lyra was much the same way. Shy and reclusive, with curly brown hair and doe eyes, she spent a good chunk of her first semester in college being avoided by everybody because of her last name; I, on the other hand, avoided everyone out of habit, I'd never been a social butterfly, but the way people subtly made sure to exclude Lyra from all the activities filled me with quiet, seething rage, and I stepped over my general distaste of people and removed my bag from the seat next to me so Lyra could at least study in relative peace.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all, I'm sure. Weird goth chick adopts a socially awkward, shunned nerd and they become best friends forever. I had to admit that under the shy exterior, Lyra was smart, witty and even funny sometimes. She was willing to entertain my crude jokes without moaning, at least, and I was perfectly okay with listening to her rant about science every now and then.

Rain banged on the slanted roof of the café we were hiding in, the autumn wind howled, making both of us shiver at the prospect of having to go outside, even if it was for a short moment to run to Lyra's dad's car. The day had started out warm and sunny, but much like a badly calculated chemical formula, it all went downhill a split second after we had set out to leave campus.

"There he is," the grouch in Lyra's expression had me once again unsuccessfully attempting to conceal my snorting.

Nonetheless, I followed her out into the rain, struggling to keep up with the brisk running in my platformed shoes, unceremoniously crawling into the car behind her without sparing a glance at the driver in my eagerness to get out of the freezing downpour.

"Hi, dad," Lyra's tired voice spoke up at the same time as I angrily shook out my hair.

"I've just about McFuckin' had it with New York," I was afraid the dye in my hair would bleed out into my clothes, or even worse, the nice, cream-colored car seats.

"Hello, ladies," the voice that greeted us was low, gravelly and apologetic to boot.

My eyes shot up, meeting an expression full of surprise and amusement. I stared at the shockingly handsome face of Dr. Bruce Banner like a deer in the headlights.

The fine mimic wrinkles had stretched into a resemblance of a smile, soft, plush lips revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The five o'clock shadow framed his jaw, giving it a sharp, defined edge, his clever brown eyes slid down my form, faltering on the pentagram on my belt and my fishnet-covered legs, settling on my chunky boots before hastily snapping back up to my face.

"Dad, this is..." Lyra's voice was full of suspicious bewilderment as she attempted to dissipate the sudden awkwardness.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can call me Doc or Bruce," he cleared his throat, turning himself towards the windshield and starting up the car.

"Nice to meet you," I busied myself with putting away any stray hair just to occupy myself with something during the time I needed to recuperate from being just... Looked at by Lyra's dad.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I was so taken aback by his handsomeness and his aura of a gentle but powerful man that the ride to Stark tower, however swift, went on in slightly awkward silence. The streets outside were, thankfully, noisy, and the lack of an attempt to have a conversation could easily be attributed to Bruce's need to focus on the road, but Lyra's increasingly concerned looks did very little to settle the sudden racing of my heart.

"C'mon, I'll give you some sweats so you can let your..." Lyra's vague gesture towards my upper body disappeared behind her side of the door. "Hey, Tony," she suddenly interrupted her sentence, very obviously addressing another person who I managed to miss as Bruce parked in the spacious garage.

"I've been told you're finally bringing your friend, Green Pea," a voice I'd heard a thousand times on the TV poked fun at Lyra.

She bent down to retrieve her bag, shooting big eyes at me and mouthing an exaggerated "Sorry!"

Tony Stark looked about a week in debt on sleep, a contrast to the way he usually appeared in public. The exaggerated eyebrow raise made me shuffle awkwardly in my spot; the Led Zep tee caught my eyes as I lingered on it, aware of my own Mötorhead top on display. He noticed it too, causing his face leave the snide territory.

"Wow, I didn't expect kids these days to have any resemblance of taste in music but you've surprised me, Corpse Bride," he gave me a quiet wolf-whistle, watching me through lidded eyes.

I felt my eyebrow crawl upwards at his attitude but Bruce spoke up before I could say anything: "Tony, no," so firmly, I had to raise both of my eyebrows. I felt a smile tug at my lips, the situation strikingly familiar in it's essence. Like father, like daughter...

"No," Lyra's identical expression, fond and annoyed, topped up with an accusing finger pointed in my direction had everyone snorting a giggle at the situation.

"Lyra," I whined, just so I could coax her grin that she was very obviously trying to conceal. "See, I told you, every crazy genius needs their emotional support nerd," I fixed her with a pointed look.

She promptly grabbed me by the arm, leading all of us to the elevator as the two men behind us shared a hearty laugh at my well-timed joke. It was either that or I would have completely embarrassed myself by gaping and drooling over both THE Tony Stark and Lyra's father.

The rush didn't stop there. I was promptly and generously offered not only a spare pair of pants but also a whole room to stay in after an invitation to dinner I simply could not refuse. Dr. Banner firmly coaxed me into staying overnight with his pleading eyes and a hearty seasoning of guilt tripping, softly crooning how he simply could not let a young woman to wander the cold, rainy night in NYC alone.

Tony added something too, in a tone way too surefire and patronising. I guessed he noticed my eyes lingering on Dr. Banner, being a genius and all.

In a short amount of time, I found myself seated at a dinner table next to a happy, giggling Lyra who'd downed a glass of wine and was well into her second. I found it adorable how much of a lightweight she was; not hesitating in the slightest to point out that fact when she made hands for a pitcher of water.

Tony was the first one to snark back something vague about his college days and all the wild parties he used to throw, booing Bruce upon discovery that he, in fact, actually studied in college in favour of partaking in various illicit activities. That had both me and Tony giggling with Lyra promptly joining in, both of us losing it over the running joke or her being either a test tube baby or the result of immaculate conception.

Bruce's face blushed scarlet. He sputtered, a few stray drops of his lemonade landing on the (ironed!) collar of his purple shirt, cough disappearing in the wake of Tony's truly amused cackling. Dr. Banner was well on his way to either choke on his Lo Mein or turn green; thinking quickly, I decided to defuse a situation by sharing a harmless, funny story that happened to me as a freshman.

"I went on a date with this guy who said that music was the most important thing in his life, and I thought, wow, that's so beautiful!" I began my story over Lyra's incessant snickering. "So we had dinner and went back to his place because I'm a whore," the whole table erupted in laughter at my deadpan remark, Tony reaching over to give me a high five.

"And as we got there, he put on one of his demos which was just a bunch of sampled and remixed Guns'n'Roses songs, and I thought wow, that's gotta be one of the worst things I've ever heard," I pointedly looked away as Lyra's cackling grew in volume, having heard the same story several times by now and the outrage I expressed at the situation first hand.

"But instead of that I said, wow, that's so cool! Then we did the thing and his whole bedroom was covered in Axl Rose posters and I'm sure at some point Mr. Rose stared right up my asshole," there were tears streaming down Lyra's face as Tony flopped his upper body onto the table and Bruce convulsed helplessly in a silent fit of giggles. "And then I thought to myself: wow, I would have to pretend to like his music if I dated this guy and I just couldn't do that..." I breathed out, succumbing to the mirth at the dinner table. "It was good but not November Rain good, y'kno?"

Bruce snorted loudly, sliding down his chair with a hand over his face. The table shook with the force of Tony's cackling; I didn't see his expression but the howling, rasping noises sent me into another fit of laughter, right on par with Lyra.

"Is this..." Tony rapidly inhaled the much-needed oxygen. "Is this why you keep wincing whenever I play the 'Roses in the lab?" Tony wheezed and Lyra nodded.

"I just... I can picture it, and I-" she made a vague, encompassing gesture and a face.

"Please, don't," I urged with a snort. "There are better ways to get disappointed."

Dinner went on by smoothly after that, everybody happily making remarks on my dating fail, the topic of Lyra's birth and Tony's college shenanigans dismissed.

I caught Dr. Banner's pointed look as we finished our dessert - he was studying me, eyes searching for something that he very obviously wished was there. From the damp roots of my hair to the soft, cotton top clinging to my chest, I wasn't left unscrutinzed and unexamined. Like one of the many specimens he studied on a daily basis, Bruce lingered on the many characteristics that made me stand out in the grey crowd.

"Would you like to see the labs?" He asked, appearing behind me without a single sound.

The freshly cleaned dishes clattered in my arms. I'd almost dropped them, startled, but Bruce's hand landed on the top of the stack right before the top plate would have slipped off and shattered into pieces on the cold tile of his kitchen.

Blood rushed to my ears. "I'd love to," my brain had briefly returned to reality, the rush of meeting both Stark and Banner succumbing to logic and reason. My and his fields of study briefly overlapped, the question he posed was more than reasonable. In fact, many people would cheat, lie and steal to be in my position.

Bruce smiled, opening a cabinet and taking half of the dishes I was holding to stack them up in their proper place. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing wide, muscular forearms littered with dark, coarse hair.

I was sure my face was flaming. After waving off Lyra's attempts to put shoes on me and leaving her to watch her TV show, a wide, warm palm rested on the back of my waist, gently steering me towards the elevator.

I tried to keep my eyes off Bruce in the large mirror on the walls of the car as it swiftly moved down, scrutinizing my appearance instead. My throat bobbed, the elevator car suddenly too small and too hot.

His eyes left marks on me - invisible ones, the kind that I knew were there just from the scorching heat sizzling on my skin.

There was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. Perhaps, it was in the way he was acting - a polar opposite of what I'd had expected, Dr. Bruce Banner possessed a quiet confidence and his patience appeared to be endless, heartily doused with an appreciation for his closest ones. The way his eyes lit up in response to people smiling around the dinner table was hard to miss.

When Bruce spoke about his research - whatever wasn't classified, anyway - the spark expanded into a mischievous fire. I could hardly understand the nuances in his work, scratch that- I could not understand a single word he was saying, at all. The individual syllables registered as they should, but my traitorous brain could only focus on the way he licked his lips in between quickly inhaled breaths.

"You're not... Following, are you?" The corner of his mouth lifted upwards, clever brown eyes fixed on my face.

God, I hoped I wasn't drooling. But to deny the obvious would have been a stretch. "No, not really," I swallowed, willing my eyes to lift from the large veins on the hand that was pointing at a set of equations. Reasonably good at math any day, they looked like the scribbles of a madman to me at the time.

Dr. Banner sighed, letting silence creep among the whirring machinery in the lab for a brief moment. "I don't scare you?" He removed his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his shirt.

The question reeked of self-doubt and, perhaps, insecurity. "No," I answered simply, not giving him the slightest chance to find doubt in my words. I was barely holding my voice from shaking, afraid he'd misunderstand my reaction to the sudden change in atmosphere.

He was closer to me than I recalled. My hip was almost brushing his, the bulk of his shoulder millimeters from touching against my bare skin, the smell of something herbal, like tea, and sharp chemicals clouding my senses. It was such a contrasting experience.

Bruce turned to me, an expression between hunger and regret forcing me to shiver and look him straight in the eye. A hand landed on my waist, holding me in place with gentle firmness. "I'm a monster, I could hurt you," he whispered, leaning into me like a touch starved kitten. The man screamed contradiction. "We shouldn't."

Vivid images of the Hulk and the rampages years prior flashed through my mind; the rubble, the collateral damage in the form of many lives. I barely remembered it, having been too little to really understand what was going on. One thing, though, I knew for sure: ever since the world became aware of Lyra's existence, there had been no incidents. Sure, the Hulk still appeared when there was a threat, but there were no documented incidents of the green creature running amok, accidentally.

"You won't hurt me," I spoke with conviction. Perhaps, I was bluffing just slightly but I wouldn't lie like that to myself. The variable, the... Twelve or so percent chance of things going... Awry, it made a small, malicious worm inside of me rejoice and fill my limbs with familiar adrenalised yearning. "You're not a monster. Far from it, actually," I used the hand that was not supporting me against the desk to gently cradle the side of his face, letting my fingertips brush over the rough five o'clock shadow on his cheek.

Bruce emitted a sound somewhere between an agitated grown and a pleading whine, sagging with the sound exhale, pressing himself flush with my chest. His face slipped from my palm, the warm tip of his nose running a steady line up my neck, sending goosebumps running wildly down my back as his hot breath tickled the arch of my throat.

"Baby," the nickname punched a stuttered gasp out of me with the intensity contained in just that one word. "I've been hearing all these amazing things about you," his voice dropped, low baritone rumbling straight into my ear. "I won't be able to hold back. I'll want you all to myself," his bicep flexed under my hand.

My knees would have bucked if I wasn't grasping onto Bruce for dear life after those words. I had some sense of personal pride in me, so while my body was an easy, traitorous thing, my mind was more than eager to participate in this game, to ping pong a little bit before... "Yeah? What things?" I breathed.

Teeth briefly closed around my tender skin, nipping for just a second. "You're kind, beautiful," his hand took a steadfast hold on the back of my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. More skin to mark, more time to whisper. "Intelligent, bright and clever," the more he spoke, the fiercer he became. Bruce's grasp tightened until I was pliant in it, willingly following his silent commands. "A bit of a pain in the ass," a healthy dose of humour was added into the mix as my ass was roughly grabbed, our fronts pressed together at his insistence.

"That sounds about right," I didn't resist the sudden urge to snark, thoughts lazily floating in my head, like clouds on a bright sunny day, fleeting and sparse. None of them caught on. I was focused on feeling the need, on my need to feel.

A sharp smack landed on the plump of my ass, the sound resonating in the eerily quiet lab. The sounds of machinery had dulled at some point, leaving just the two of us panting our lust into each other's space. "I know you can be a good girl. Will you, princess?" His fingertips dug into my flesh, surpassing the soft sweatpants as if they weren't even there.

I could only nod, dumbly, overcome by the sudden rush of blood to my body. The life coarsing through me sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension.

"What's that?" Bruce removed himself from my neck, catching my unfocused eyes with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"Yes," I swallowed, breathing through my mouth.

"Mmm," he hummed, running both hands over my sides, over the frayed edges of my Mötorhead top. He admired it, briefly, setting his eyes on the band logo that was right over my breasts. Having decided something to himself, Bruce promptly removed it, lifting it over my head with ease and leaving it right on the science lab table.

Taking hold of my hand, he walked over to a hidden set of sliding doors that revealed a rather large, frequently used bed, shutting them just as I walked in, wearing only my bra and borrowed sweats. My back was pressed to the door in mere seconds, hot palms chasing away the chill of the lab as Bruce slotted his lips over mine.

He tasted like something I've never had before. His lips - so plush and supple, took hold of the kiss with practiced gusto, sucking me in without a chance or the desire to escape. I drank from him, sucked on the bottom lip as his tongue explored my mouth, danced with mine.

The room was spinning, the ringing in my ears growing in volume. I was only partly aware of the sensation of sliding down the wall; our knees thudded on the carpeted floor simultaneously, heavy breathing the only noise I could distinguish.

"Breathe, baby, that's it," Bruce coaxed, gently stroking my nape. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under my fingers where I held onto him, desperately searching something to ground myself with.

The buckle of his belt clattered and then clinked again as he wrapped the worn leather around my wrists, bringing them together in front of my chest. I exhaled sharply at the intimate gesture, a whine bubbling up from my chest when Bruce used a single fingertip to raise my chin.

My eyes met his; a brown iris tinged with the faintest of green around the outer edge. "This okay, princess?" He sought my face for confirmation, for agreement, for anything.

I nodded, stuttering mid-gesture, remembering our previous interaction. My mouth did not want to cooperate but I forced it to, even if it came out as little more than a pitiful mewl. "Yes, daddy," the word, sweet and sticky like fruit syrup, poured from my lips.

My eyes slid shut as my conscience - or was it common sense? - took hold of the situation. I was on my knees in front of my best friends dad, a virtual stranger, and I'd just-

Bruce's soft chuckle stopped the negative spiral of my thoughts. "That's my girl," he sounded a tad more breathless now, a hairliner in his perfect façade of self-control. As if he'd sensed my indecisiveness, he tugged on the makeshift restraints, pulling me closer, closer and into his lap.

A warm, solid chest with a healthy amount of fluff greeted me. Bruce let my lax, pliant body fall into his arms, catching me effortlessly and bringing my face to his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're my good girl," he peppered soft kisses all over my flaming cheeks, my twitching nose, my fluttering lashes.

"Please," I begged, shame giving way to the flood of arousal that seemingly hit me all at once. I was aware of the dampness collecting in my panties, the stiffness of my limbs from holding back the ravenous desire to paw at Bruce like a wild animal. "Please, daddy..."

"I know, I know, baby girl," he soothed, not stopping his tender assault on my face. "Daddy will make it all better. I know just what you need," Bruce finally pulled away. I heard the sound of him undoing his zipper and then the awkward shuffle of him shucking off his pants.

Somewhere in between of all that, he'd ended up sitting down on the bed, wearing only his boxers, his shirt hanging open. The red crawled down his chest, partially masked by the coarse salt and pepper hair; his lips were cherry red and his hair was sticking out in odd directions. Bruce looked sinful.

My eyes inadvertently landed on the impressive bulge in his boxers; in response to my widened eyes, he reached out for it, stroking the outline of his thick cock through his boxers. "Like what you see, baby?"

"Yeah," My mouth watered.

"Baby wants a fat cock?" He teased, sounding like he knew exactly what he was doing, testing my self-control like that. With a flick of his wrist, it sprang free, slapping against his tummy, coating the fine hairs with drops of clear, musky fluid.

I swallowed, feeling the taste of him from afar and yearning for more where I was parked between his spread legs.

In a gesture almost loving, he tugged on the belt still wrapped around my wrists, bringing my face to his leaking shaft and my hands to the base of it, letting me feel the weight of his balls in them. The cock throbbed, neglected, weighed down by the heaviness of his full balls.

"Go ahead, baby, suck my cock," the encouragement came with a gentle push to my head.

I obediently followed, wrapping my lips around the pink, moist crown of it, a hum beginning in the back of my throat. My God, Bruce tasted heavenly... I whirled and slipped my tongue a around his head, I dipped into the slit to drink the nectar right from the tap, idly coming to awareness of the broken, choked moans coming from the man above me.

Raising my head got me a view of his chin; head thrown back, the lax O of his mouth glistened in the meager light. My eyes slid lower, to the flex of his abs. Bruce fought hard to stay still. The desire consumed me, a sudden rush of power at having Dr. Bruce Banner's cock in my mouth and the man at my mercy; I inhaled, sliding my mouth further and further down his throbbing length.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter before his hands gripped the sides of my face. "Hungry, baby, are you?" His eyes glowed a faint green; I shuddered at the power he held within himself. Held back for me. "Tap my thigh twice," he spoke and I had no choice but to obey. "Okay. Do that if it gets too much, alright?" I nodded. He gave me a wide, beaming smile. "Good girl," he praised, experimentally bucking his hips into my mouth a few times.

In and out. I focused on my breathing, sharp, little inhales: his girth took up all the free space in my mouth, the tip of it barely fit into my throat. The burn, the stretch; I felt every tenth of an inch, every bulging attempt of my body to accommodate Bruce's huge cock. It was delicious, I couldn't help but crave the same stretch in my neglected, sopping wet pussy.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well," Bruce moaned wetly. "Your mouth... S'like heaven... Could fuck it all day, that's my good girl," the rambling increased in it's intensity as the pace of his hips hastened. Drool and tears flowed like a river; my chin was dropping with it, spit connected my face to his pelvis. "Oh," there was a brief pause to his movements; suddenly, he pulled out, fisting the base of his cock, staring me down with a ferocious gleem in his eye.

I must've looked a straight mess; my face like a crime scene, my clothes disheveled, covered in fluids and most of all - I was desperately grinding against my own feet, too focused on the glorious cock in front of me to notice the weakness of my own flesh. "Daddy?" I questioned, wincing at the grating of my own voice.

Without a word, the belt was tugged once more; in a set of movements just slightly north of acrobatic, I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the bed, my sweatpants suffering a haste demise in the corner of the room.

Bruce crawled atop me, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on every inch of my skin he could reach, mouthing something inaudible into every pore of my body. As he drew closer, I discerned bitten-off phrases, stringing my desire into sticky, tangy mess at the apex of my thighs.

"My perfect baby girl," the words reached me; all tongue, he kissed me once more, arching into me as much as I arched into his hot grasp. A brief inspection of my face - he was satisfied with what he saw - and Bruce crawled back, settling in between my spread legs, breathing hot air on the lips of my sex still covered by a sopping wet piece of fabric.

"Oh fuck," I yelped, feeling him smooch it soundly, the hot wetness of his tongue penetrating the meagre lace barrier with ease.

He moved it aside anyway, with a single finger, giving my pussy a broad lick, moaning into my cunt like a man gone mad. It took a few more licks for him to feel sated enough to surface, all the while holding my hips down. I was so sensitive, I felt even the tiniest flicks to my clit, I was sure if I didn't cum then and there, I would explode.

"Such a pretty pussy, princess," his heavy breathing paused briefly. He nipped my thigh. "So wet, is that all for me?"

"Yes, yes, daddy," I rasped, pushing my cunt into his face, losing all shame and trepidation.

"So tasty," he continued the torture, outlining my lower lips before taking another nosedive right into it, swirling his tongue around every fold, sucking onto my clit.

Bruce ate my pussy until my thighs shook, until my core quivered and I could no longer hold back the choked, ragged screams starting somewhere in the low of my belly and coming out as unholy, all-consuming yowls filled with unadulterated lust.

"Louder for me, baby," he inhaled rapidly, and then, he sucked on my clit.

The world stopped, halted on it's axis, every muscle going rigid in my body and every nerve ending simultaneously coming alive. Faintly, I heard a chant, repeating two syllables over and over, it sounded like my voice - but I had no control over myself. All I could do was weakly grind my hips against Bruce's mouth, faltering when the crashing waves of my orgasm began to recede.

The infuriating overstimulation stopped; blinking hazily, I saw Bruce's eyes glimmer brown and green in front of my face. His nose and his chin was glistening with a thin coat of sticky fluid; disheveled and red, he looked a man on the verge of a revelation.

Something hot and blunt nosed at my cunt, bringing back the moment to me - I realized, with a great deal of impatience - how empty I felt. The decision was minute. "Daddy, fuck me, please, I want your cock," the words came easily.

"That's my girl," his eyes fluttered shut as the first inches squeezed through the snug of my cunt. I was sopping wet and as relaxed as I'd be, but even then, it was a stretch. "Good girl, good baby," the mumbled praise made me whine and my pussy clamp on his cock. "Relax, let daddy fill you up." Breathing through it, I consciously unwound myself around him, letting my palms rest freely on his shoulders. "Let daddy take care of you."

Like melted sugar, his husked words stuck to me inside and out. Short, sharp thrusts; Bruce was patiently burrowing himself inside of me, making his way to reach the deepest parts of me I didn't even know existed. His cock head pressed against something hard and spongy inside of me; stars burst behind my eyes I'd clamped shut on reflex.

I moaned weakly, tugging on his arm, pressing myself closer. It felt so, so good. Like a raw nerve had been exposed and he was stroking it, pushing that little switch with every stroke of his hips.

"I'm not gonna last," he muttered as once again, my cunt squeezed him snugly in place, just as greedy as I was to feel that tiny explosion spark up within me again.

"I want..." I panted. Bruce set in a punishing pace after that, a palm under my ass, squeezing it so hard there would definitely be bruising. I craved it, I needed to see the evidence this was not some elaborate fever dream. "I want... Daddy to fill me up," words came out garbled; it sounded like gibberish to my ears but Bruce - they spurred him on.

"Oh yeah?" That breathless, boyish cockiness was back in his voice again; despite how fucked out he sounded, I prepared myself for something truly out of this world. I just knew.

He sat back on his shins, dragging me by the hips with him, making me shiver and moan and twitch and clamp onto him again as his throbbing cock hit that special spot again. And again. And again.

"Look at me, baby," a hand on my belly and his eyes burning right through me. As they slid down, towards the apex of my thighs where he was still moving within me almost lazily, I saw it.

"Oh fuck," I couldn't utter much more than a two-syllabled profanity. There was a bulge in my belly, just above my pelvis, moving in rhythm with Bruce's hips. And then he pressed on it and I-

Something, someone, somewhere was screaming. The noise was loud and pitched, but even then, I could barely hear it though the neverending waves of bliss that enveloped my whole being. Gold and silver at the edges of my rapidly darkening vision; I was drowning in something that smelled and felt like Bruce. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his heated body, the rapid snapping of his hips-

Oh.

"I'm gonna, fuck," the last word was but a ghost of a human speech. Growling low and filthy, Bruce leaned into my ear, his breath hot and moist. "Mine," his hips stuttered, his cock nestled deep, the sensation bordering on painful, forcefully extracted pleasure. It throbbed with every spurt of his seed; each one felt like a solid punch in the gut to my abused pussy.

"Daddy," I mewled, my body jerking away from him but my mind and my soul yearning for more. His rapidly softening flesh made the idea of being separated unbearable.

"S'good, s'my good girl, m'so proud," he mumbled, looking slightly disoriented as he removed himself from me, immediately pressing me to his side and interwining any free, flailing limbs.

We laid in silence, each of us slowly coming back to Earth after the completely unreal experience we just had. I didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do as the realization set in, the post-orgasmic haze giving way to a sudden rush of clarity.

"I can hear you overthinking," Bruce's voice was fond.

Before I could muster up the courage to snark back, the divided doors opened, one very concerned Tony Stark standing there, armed with a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a pack of cookies in the other. His mouth, previously open to (probably) yell at us, remained as open when his eyes had registered the scene in front of him.

I stared at Bruce. Bruce stared at Tony.

"The noise," he offered in the way of explanation, dangling the pack of cookies, looking, for once - speechless. He recovered quickly, however, even if the remark was a thin ghost of his usual sass: "You pick the nerd over me? I'm hurt," he scoffed in mock irritation, although I was pretty sure I saw some satisfaction in there, too.

Bruce looked at me. I looked at Bruce.

A mischievous grin slowly crept up his face, an identical one beginning to appear on my own face seconds after.

"Hey, two nerds is better than one, right?" My response is what did it; or, rather, it was the evidence of my previous throat-fucking clearly audible in my voice... Tony dropped the cookies and then, the tranq gun.

Bruce Banner taglist: @pilloclock @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @mostly-marvel-musings @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @sapphicnoodle69 @couldntbedamned @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @tripleyeeet @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton

[goldentsum]

━  pretty submissives.

CHARACTERS: miya atsumu, miya osamu, sakusa kiyoomi, and suna rintarou

WARNING: smut, 18+ content, bdsm, sex toys, pretty subs who cry, overstimulation, orgasm denial, mommy kink, hard dom! reader, soft dom! reader, lingerie on males, maid outfits on males, degradation, praising, anal play (male receiving), oral sex, handjob, riding

AUTHOR’S NOTE: seeing the “doms” become subs and cry makes me so excited! sub! male characters supremacy!!!

part 2 - tsukishima, kageyama, oikawa, kuroo

— atsumu ♡

• a brat and a masochist 

• likes it when you go hard on him. make him cry. hurt him. atsumu likes it. he loves it even!

• when you manhandle him, not giving a fuck about how loud he is and just chasing your own pleasure, using him, makes him whiny and it triggers his orgasm! 

• slap him, spank him, mark him, degrade him, he’ll cum untouched!

• atsumu’s a cocky little shit outside of the bedroom, telling people how dom he is but you both know who moans like a little bitch when spanking sessions goes a little harder than usual. 

• his expressions are the best! his usual cocky smirk turning into a lewd face. eyes rolling back to his head, mouth wide open as drool trails down his chin, and a delicious red blush on his cheeks. the way he shivers and trembles under you is breathtaking. 

• if you overstim him, he’ll cry and scream, jerking violently on the bed. he becomes really sensitive, even more sensitive than normal, and he comes way too quickly but he recovers fast so dw~

• sub! atsumu is super fun to play with especially when he’s being a brat about it. 

• but your aftercare makes him super soft! he gets really cuddly afterwards! clean him up though or he’ll whine about it in the morning. 

“i-it’s too much-!” atsumu cried, your hand still stroking him. the mess from his earlier orgasms makes it easier to stroke him back to hardness. his thighs quivered at the intense pleasure, sensitive from the past orgasms. 

you smirked down at your boyfriend, loving the way he tremble and weep. his face was a mess, drool on his lips and chin and tears running down his cheek, his nose red. atsumu gasped when you placed the bullet vibrator against his spent cock, the intense buzzing making him shriek. 

his moans are so cute. so pretty and loud. 

your eyes admired his bruises and hickeys. his inner thighs red from your bites, chest covered with scratches, and his neck with your lovebites. 

“have you learned your lesson, tsum?” you hummed absentmindedly, still running the vibrator along his length while you other hand squeezed and massaged his cock’s swollen and red head. atsumu whimpered, hips thrusting. 

“y-yes! please! i-i can’t come again! it hurts!” he whined, squirming on the bed. new set of tears running down his cheeks from the pleasure. 

“hmm~ give me another one then i’ll believe that you’ve learned your lesson” atsumu moaned at that and let his head plop down back on the pillows, eyes closing from your actions. brows furrowed, mouth opening again to let out series of broken moans. 

you removed the vibe making atsumu sigh in relief, breath stuttering a bit. he panted, chest heaving.

you snickered at the fucked out expression on him. the calm moment quickly dissipate as he choked on a moan when you wrapped your lips around his cock, tongue swiping at the swollen head and your hand massaging the prominent vein that run along his cock.

“aAAH-!” raspy moans escaped the male, hips jerking as you started to bob your head. atsumu hics as his lips trembles

if anyone asked you what was your favorite moment was with your boyfriend, it was definitely when he’s like this. when he’s your little slut. 

— osamu ♡

• a soft princess~ <3 

• he will do anything you ask. model a piece of lingerie? he’s already wearing it. show you how he touch himself? done. lay on your lap for his spanking session? he’s there. asap. 

• osamu is a obedient baby but he still gets a little playful at time, testing your dom side. 

• but when you turn hard dom on him, he’ll cry. in anticipation and in excitement. 

• if you deny his orgasm, he’s gonna cry. even if it’s only one orgasm, he’ll whine and tells to you that he has been a good boy. only a good boy. no bad boy! 

• a crybaby!! 

• he’s already sensitive normally but if you deny him his orgasm, he gets really antsy and get really sensitive making him squirm and pout. 

• if you degrade him, he’ll be really pouty and teary! only praises for baby samu! 

• tell him how pretty he is. praise how well he fucks you. tell him that you like it that he’s your obedient little princess. he’ll be putty in your hands~

• if you bring food in the bedroom, licking it off him. he’ll get really shy! also, if he sees the food outside the bedroom, he’ll probably remember what you did and get hard pft 

• samu loves the feeling of your tongue on him!

“tsk. you’ve been really bad, princess” you scolded, watching osamu whine. a pretty laced collar on his neck, his body shivering as you massaged his prostate. 

“n-no! ‘m good-!” he whimpers out, hips grinding down to your fingers. you spanked his ass, gripping the red flesh. osamu gasped at the impact, eyes rolling back to his skull. 

you thrust your fingers in his ass, his tight walls clenching down. your other hand went to his balls, cupping it tightly. osamu mewled, tongue sticking out of his mouth. his body shuddering when the tips of your fingers brushed again and again against his prostate. 

“really now? you don’t remember that you were being a brat earlier when mommy had to work?” 

osamu sobbed, toes curling when your fingers quickened. his teeth biting down his lips. he sniffled and stared up at you, eyes teary and red from being denied his orgasm 3 times now. 

“’m sorry, w-wanted mommy’s a-attention!” he confessed, body quivering. you stopped making him whine at the lost of pleasure. taking your fingers out of him, you climbed on top of him. 

leaning closer to him, you kissed his lips. he chased your lips, desperate for your affection. osamu opened his mouth, an invitation to slither your tongue in. you hummed in appreciation and entered your tongue in his cavern, playing with his tongue. 

the male moaned against your mouth as you swallowed his pretty moans. his body violently jerked, surprised at the pleasure, when you started grinding your clothed pussy on his sensitive cock. he cried, trying to make you quicken your slow grinding. 

you moved away from his lips, his gasps echoing in the room as he quivered under you. your lips trailed down to his neck, sucking on the soft skin. 

“you wanted mommy’s attention? you have it, princess~” 

— sakusa ♡

• a touch-starved baby! 

• please handle with care :( 

• pretty boy gets embarrassed really easily so please tone down the teasing. but i don’t blame you if you want to try. he gets really red, the contrast of the red on his pale skin and dark hair is stunning!

• stare at him while you pleasure him and he becomes more responsive, your eyes makes him squirm! 

• loves it when you suck him off, admiring his body. do not degrade or he’ll be really hurt about it and might not do anything for a longgg timeee

• any form of physical affection makes him really shy and he’s really embarrassed when he pops a boner because of it! even if it’s the most innocent touch, a sudden boner will pop out of nowhere. 

• when you overstim him, his pretty dark eyes gets shiny with tears and turns half-lidded as he blubbers incoherent words.

• if you give him gifts, lingerie and/or collars, he would react strongly at first! getting shy and being a tsundere but as soon as he wears it and you praise him, telling him how he looks so good, it’ll make him super happy! 

• please wash him after the fun though, the gentle atmosphere contrasting from what happened earlier makes sakusa soft. he loves your hands. running up and down his body, caressing the skin that no one but you gets to touch. 

water splashed against the large tub as you rode omi. his breath getting more uneven and hitching when you clench down at him. 

sakusa hid his warm and red face at the crook of your neck, he can’t look at you. if he does now, he feels like he’ll cum just from the way you look at him with pure desire. 

you run your fingers through his wet dark locks, massaging his scalp. sakusa moaned against your wet skin, lips biting down on his bottom lip as he tried to muffled the loud moans that was threatening to escape him. 

“don’t hide your pretty moans, baby~ let me hear you” you whispered, hips moving faster, loving the way sakusa’s large cock hits your sweet spot dead on and the way the tip reach so deep inside you. 

the dark-haired male whined, hands gripping your hips as his legs shook. he panted against your neck making you shiver when his hot breath hit your cold skin. 

you let your hands rest on sakusa’s wide shoulders, using it to help you move up and down on his cock. you hummed in satisfaction when you hear his moans getting louder and you tugged his hair, making him look at you. you looked at him in awe and lust. 

he’s so pretty. his dark eyes half-lidded as it gleam with tears and lust. lips red from the earlier biting. the red blush across his cheeks and neck was absolutely delectable. 

“you getting close, omi?” you whispered as he nodded, whining, brows furrowing. you leaned closer and started littering his neck with bites, breaking the skin. 

sakusa moaned at that, hips thrusting up making you moan when his cock grazed your cervix. you licked the column of his neck then slid your tongue into his open mouth. 

he kissed you back with a hint of timidness, still a bit shy. he let you take the lead with the kiss as always. omi loved the way your dominance oozes out of you but still maintaining this certain softness that makes his heart full. 

omi gasped into the kiss when your fingers pinched his nipple, rolling it sensually. you broke the kiss and looked down at him, a lazy smirk on your lips as your hips rolled. 

“you’re so pretty, omi~” 

you loved the way his body reacts with praises. his eyes rolling into his head, head threw back, and mouth open. you trailed one hand to his lips, fingers going into mouth and played with his sleek tongue. sakusa moaned against your fingers, sucking and working on your fingers like a good baby he is~ 

— suna ♡

• a pillow princess! 

• he loves it when he just lays there, letting you do all the work, as you work him into his high~

• suna loves it when you dress him up, caressing his skin. 

• lingerie and maid outfits with cat ears are his faves! thigh high socks are also his go to! 

• and when you praise him, cooing at him about how good he looks and your fingers playing with the bell on his collar makes his heart skip a beat

• suna also has a masochistic side! all soft sex aside, he loves it when you fuck him hard. use him for your own pleasure, remind him of his place. also after sex when he looks in the mirror, seeing the bruises you give him rises a weird satisfaction in him

• he would let you do anything! just talk about it with him before actually doing it. 

• pretty boy looks good in dresses! his small waist is amazing! 

• i said it once and i’ll say it again, he’s a pretty pillow princess! 

• he loves the way you stalk towards him, eyes dark and filled with lust. it makes him squirm with excitement, waiting for your next move.

• fucking him while his ass is stretched by a butt plug that’s attached to a tail, his maid outfit messy and covered with his cum, and his bell ringing every time you fuck him would make him so dazed and fucked out! 

“what a cute kitten you are, rin~” you cooed, fingers trailing on his bruised back down to the crack of his ass then to his ass where the tail hang. you grinned and pushed the plug deeper inside him, marveling at the way his body arch and his whines getting louder. 

the skirt of the maid outfit was bundled up on his waist, showing his pretty ass to you. you then tugged a bit at the tail, suna whimpering at the way the butt plug drag against his walls. 

you then turned him around, manhandling him to the way you like. suna looked up at you with dazed eyes, his thick cock standing proudly against his stomach, the now soiled lacy panties pushed down to his thighs. 

“fuck, you’re absolutely gorgeous” you praised. suna moaned when you held his cock, stroking him as you positioned yourself up on his thighs and lined him to your folds. 

the male gulped at the sight of you and relished the way you slowly sunk down to his length. your moans mixing together, savoring the stretch of suna’s dick and the way your walls sucked him in. 

once he bottomed out, you panted on top of him and your hands on his chest, touching the soft fabric of his outfit, steadying yourself. 

“p-please move... please..” you heard after a little bit, you gazed down at him and smirked. hands fondling his chest, admiring the way his adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped and the way the bell on his neck, rung. 

“want me to move, kitten?” suna nodded, opening his lips to slur out pleads. how can you deny the cute kitty when he moans so prettily for you so you started moving, clenching down on his dick. the way his cock felt was amazing as always, filling you up so good. 

suna moaned when you started going faster, his hands gripped at the blankets beneath him. he laid on the mattress, moaning like crazy, letting you ride him to oblivion. 

you cooed, panting a bit, as you admired him. you reached down and tipped his chin towards you. he opened his fucked out eyes to gaze at you, a blush coating his cheeks. 

“you should see yourself right now, baby boy. you look absolutely delicious~” 

[pastxlscorp]

Bully! Mitsuya Fanfic (pt.1)

Chapter I: Inception

✿ Word Count: 2.1k

✿ Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x reader

✿ Topics covered: (Eventual) Enemies to lovers trope, Y/N POV, tsundere-Mitsuya, bully! Mitsuya, fem. reader, minor manga spoilers, Bully! Mitsuya headcanons from last post

He lifted his large palm, coated in silver and black rings to match his attire. He was wearing a black mock turtleneck that matched his jet black hair. In his youth, he had lilac-colored hair that was either in a buzz-cut or grown out to a mullet. Now, he sported his black hair in his college-years. He was studying to become a fashion designer, a dream he had since his youth after his love blossomed for sewing. It had begun as a chore in order to keep his sisters satisfied and happy, saving money from buying toys by simply creating them himself. As he practiced it more and more, he began to realize how intricate fabrics were. How beautiful colors could come together and form the prettiest structures and designs -- how even the ugliest colors would look elegant if you paired them properly with the right colors, or carefully took apart the threads to create something new. You on the other hand were not studying to become a fashion designer, but rather a photographer. In your youth, you were a free-lancer in art and a quiet overachiever. You had many different career options open to you, but nothing really opened you up in the way art did. You participated in many different types of art, you loved painting, sewing, embroidery, name it, you’ve probably dabbled in it. One day, your class was introduced to your photography unit and all the puzzle pieces fell into the designated places, the pieces being lost and untouched for years. Nothing brought you more joy than snapping someone’s photo on the street to surprise them with the way the sunlight beautifully encapsulated their figure. Nothing brought you more joy than taking an eerily aesthetic photo of the rain pouring on the people below your building as a lady frolocked in the rain below, eager to rejoice in mother nature’s beauty.

Truthfully, your relationship had not started out the way it was now. With his palm ever so elegantly shoving you to the floor, your photographs spilling out of your portfolio as you hit the cold tile floor, protecting your chest by landing on your elbow and knee. Snickers, chuckles, giggles-- they all filled the hallway after seeing you collapse. Only a select few actually took pity on you, including one of his loyal followers, Hakkai Shiba. Mitsuya was usually followed around by two close-friends, Yasuda-san and Hakkai. Yasuda-san was also a fashion major, while Hakkai was planning to become a model. Mitsuya was very well respected amongst the campus for many different reasons. Firstly, he was gifted with the intellect of sewing intrigue designs that made everyone sigh in awe. Secondly, pretty-privilege. You hated to admit it but Mitsuya was a very attractive-looking man, his hair was always fluffed to the right extent, he was well-dressed, and leading into the third reason, he was smart. Despite being a part of the Tokyo Manji Gang, otherwise known as Toman, as one of the second division captains, he was able to manage schoolwork as an overachiever and was known for his intellect. Not to mention, keeping his division in check along with his two younger sisters AND the sewing club that he managed at his school? It was no wonder he was seen as the perfect boyfriend, he had all of his together. This was the reason why his disregard of you was seen as acceptable, everyone assumed you must have done something wrong for him to treat you this way, right?

Incorrect assumption. You have never done anything wrong to Mitsuya-- in fact… you don’t really remember doing anything to him, period. You both met by chance in his home-economics club, which he decided to suggest to the college board upon seeing there was not a club that actively encouraged sewing. At the time, most participants on campus were graphic designers, artists, not really looking to take the fashion industry by storm as Mitsuya was. However, he was able to persuade the board and even got petition signatures to seal it all off. He was the president of the club and upon seeing the posters taped in the hallways, you instantly took the opportunity to get any extracurricular activities on your transcript. He welcomed you into the club but it wasn’t like you got that much of his attention-- after all, the club filled up quickly with Mitsuya’s admirers. Although, shortly before he began his cruel treatment and behavior towards you, it actually seemed like you two were becoming friends. He would begin to check on you a little more frequently than the rest, tapping your shoulder with a warm smile, asking you how your project was going. You would show him your small projects, nothing too big as it had nothing to do with your major, but projects that you enjoyed and had fun doing nonetheless. He seemed most amused by the sweater you created for your dog by letting out a soft chuckle. In return, he showed you the sweaters he made for his sisters, who were now teenagers. It became a routine for him to walk over to you after checking up on everyone else and talk until club hours were over. He’d find anything to talk about and it made your heart swell with how he actually took the time out of his day to make sure you didn’t feel alone. You were sure he had picked up on how you lacked friends in his club, he was clearly trying to make you feel welcome and you couldn’t help but begin to admire him even more than you once had.

One day, however, it suddenly changed. His demeanor was suddenly cold and unwelcoming to you. You noticed when you walked into his club as you normally did, taking your seat. He did not visit you within the 10 minutes it usually took him to check upon everyone else. It took much, much longer, so you simply assumed everyone needed more help than usual. However, when he came over to your table, his words startled you so much that you pricked yourself with your needle, rushing your eyes to meet his own at his sudden harshness.

┃ “Looks like someone isn’t paying attention.”

The venom in his words made your cheeks flush with a tint of red, noticing some of the club members staring at you, also in surprise of his harsh tone. You open your mouth, quickly questioning his behavior, all of your words coming out panicked, in fear you’ve done something wrong-- something to disappoint, or upset him.

┃ “What do you mean, Pres? My projects have never been an issue before.”

┃ “Nicknames are a privilege. Call me by my proper title.” He snapped, your peers widening their eyes, for he never required anyone to call him by his last name.

┃ “...President Mitsuya, I apologize. However, you can’t just--”

┃ “Look around,” he motions his arm towards the surrounding students working at their tables, sewing much larger projects and others measuring their models for their designs. Your right eyebrow began to raise in confusion, he had never minded your small projects. Yet, here he was, embarrassing, no-- humiliating you in front of your peers about how minuscule your projects were in comparison.

┃ “Your peers all have their mind set on a big project or several larger projects. Yet, here you are with your small little trinkets. They’re working hard, and you’re doing the bare minimum to have your work completed for this club.”

Tears began to prick your eyes, questioning what his true motive was here. Surely, the projects weren’t the issue. This… this was too strong of a switch-up. Something had triggered this outburst of his, but you weren’t sure what. He was always stressed, all the time actually-- had he perhaps overwhelmed himself and he was taking it out on you?

┃ “(Y/N).” Your name so violently came out of his mouth, as if it had just crashed on cement. It wasn’t the silky and softer voice you were accustomed to hearing when speaking with him. “Get your head out of the clouds. Are you listening?”

┃ “Sir… I mean, President Mitsuya, with all due respect, you seem to be… unfairly targeting me. Some of these students are creating something as simple as a sweater for their friends, why is something for my dog any different?”

The rest of the club began planning your funeral. While never seeing him this upset on school grounds, they have heard about how foul he could get with his division members. Questioning him was bound to make him explode. They all froze, eyes drifting to Mitsuya for an incoming scolding.

┃ With a harsh grab, his fingers glide under your chin as he lifts it up to meet his face directly. “'You questioning me?”

┃ “N-no sir! I mean no disrespect, I just-”

┃ “You’ll be staying after club hours.”

┃ “B-but sir I have-”

┃ “I was NOT asking.” He half-shouts, dropping your chin from his harsh grip as he makes it back to the front of the classroom where he continues to work on his own projects. Your fellow club members pitied you at first, but after seeing how harsh he got later on with you as the bullying continued, they assumed this was the result of an external conflict.

You don’t remember what he told you after club hours. He was yelling something about how you were stupid, a dumbass, and well, you get the rest. Cruel words were thrown at you as if the day before he wasn’t so fondly helping you with the sweater for your dog-- helping you perfect the stitch of his name. Any time you questioned him or flat-out denied his accusations and heinous words, he would yank your chain and pull you so you were right in front of him as he stared down at you. It was enough to scare you out of ever providing a rebuttal, and you soon learned that as the bullying continued.

Now, here you are, on the floor, calmly collecting your portfolio photographs, not even phased by his now-normal harassment. Usually, a shove would be enough to appease him, but today it seemed like one of those days where he wanted more. He walked over to your kneeling figure as you collected your portfolio, your head turned away from him to avoid giving him any form of satisfaction.

┃ “What do you say after you bump into someone?”

┃ “I didn’t bump into you, dickhead.”

With a swift motion, he forcefully grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him, his lavender eyes piercing straight through you. He was clearly unsatisfied with your response.

┃ “What do you say after you bump into someone, skank?”

Every time you questioned him or talked back, you knew it simply made him angrier. You quickly learned that him acting out was his way of earning your attention, but for whatever reason it was, you couldn’t figure out why. What you did learn, however, from your many other incidents with him, is that he would praise you when you were obedient. Eager to get this over with and save yourself any more humiliation, you replied:

┃ “I’m sorry.”

┃ “I’m sorry…?”

┃ With a sigh, you continue, “I’m sorry, President Mitsuya.”

He smirks, now satisfied with your answer. He taps your cheek with his right index finger and replies:

┃ “Good girl.”

You swipe your face away from his grasp and continue collecting your photographs, along with your notebooks and planner that had slipped out. Mitsuya scoffs as you once more retract your attention away from him and walks away with Yasuda-sun snickering. Hakkai, however, stays behind and examines you for a few brief moments. He walks over to you and begins helping you organize your bookbag. You look up and smile-- despite his silence, his eyes offered every form of apology he could give you. You had learned Hakkai was afraid to speak up to Mitsuya because he was his best friend and was afraid any talkback from him would only result in a deeper hatred for you. You didn’t mind, however, you just appreciated how Hakkai kept you grounded. He helped you remember you didn’t do anything wrong, this was Mitsuya’s doing and his alone. Hakkai was always well-dressed as well, you noticed. He was wearing an incredibly long trench coat with beautiful shades of baby blue, ocean blues and a bright orange that made everything pop. It covered a black mock turtleneck that seemed to be matching the one Mitsuya was wearing and in fact, Hakkai also seemed to have an earring on one ear, similar to Mitsuya. It appeared that he deeply respected Mitsuya, his outfit seemed to be heavily inspired by his own. With everything settled in your bookbag once more, he offered you a pat on the head with a smile as you nodded and thanked him before running off to your first class of the day.

✿ a.n. // I finished this chapter while finishing my AP Psychology hw. I had started writing it and then idk why but I was re-reading the manga and went “wait, now what if we have Hakkai and Yasuda-san…” and ta-da, take my 2.1k words of pure a$$. If this chapter does well, I’ll be sure to upload it on my ao3, too. special tags for @the2ndl and @bren-heron because they both really wanted a fic out of this concept. I hope you enjoy loves <3

[cower-before-power]

Naked Attraction

Summary: A typical day in your art class turn into anything but when you’re introduced to your nude model for the week- a devastatingly gorgeous man named Levi.

Pairing: Modern AU Levi Ackerman x F!Reader

TW: Nudity, swearing, suggestive content, age gap (reader is 20, Levi is 30), dick jokes, reader is thirsty and lewds Levi hard, perhaps poorly written stuff about art and drawing because I literally know nothing haha

(minors please do not interact, just to be safe)

Link to A03 here

A/N: Hello all! This is my entry for @ghost-party’s Meet Cute Collab with my darling husband Levi. I’ve never written for him before so I was a little nervous haha, I hope I did him justice! Thank you to everyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs- you are all wonderful and I appreciate your support! I hope you enjoy, my sweet potatoes!

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“Morning,” Jean greets you with a crooked smile and a steaming cup of coffee. It’s the good stuff from the café by his apartment, your favourite thing to help your brain shift into creative mode. “You’re later than usual.”

You grab the cup from him, sighing as you feel the warmth bleed into your hands. ���Overslept. Barely had time to get dressed and brush my teeth.”

Jean’s eyes rove over you as you sink into your chair, humming to yourself as you sip on your drink. “I can see. Do you know you’re wearing two different shoes? And I think your sweater is on inside out. Why do you still even have that ugly thing anyways?”

“Thank you for your comments,” you roll your eyes. “I know I look like a hot mess and I don’t need any words from you, Mr. I Asked The Nude Model Out And Got Shot Down.”

Jean’s ears turn red, and he shoots you a dirty look before busying himself with arranging his pencils. “Shut up.”

You snicker to yourself as you set up your own area. Last week’s model had been a soft, pretty brunette that had instantly made Jean all starry-eyed, like a teenage boy with his first crush. It was generally considered a bit taboo to ask out the nude models, but he’d thrown that aside and gone for the kill after she’d slid back into her clothes. She’d laughed and patted his cheek like he was a naughty child asking for candy before dinner. Then proceeded to walk out and climb onto the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle (but not before making out with said boyfriend for a good 5 minutes, minimum).

Jean had been left with red cheeks and no date, and you’d been left with great blackmail material.

“I wonder who will be our victim today,” you decide to take mercy on your poor friend and change the subject. “Most likely a guy, since we had a woman last week.”

“We’ll know in about 5 minutes,” Jean looks up at the clock on the wall. “Old Cueball is never late.”

Sure enough, in exactly 5 minutes your very bald and very punctual professor casually strolls through the door. A short man in a green coat is following him, presumably your newest subject. You crane your neck, trying to get a better look at his face, but all you can see is dark hair falling like a curtain over pale skin.

“Good morning class,” Professor Pyxis greets you, tossing his briefcase down on his desk with his usual nonchalant air. “I see you are all ready, so let’s get right to it.” He gestures to the person beside him. “This is Mr. Levi Ackerman. He’s your model for the week.”

The class murmurs in curiosity as the mentioned Levi Ackerman turns to face the room.

You swear your heart actually skips a beat.

Steel gray eyes observe the room from a face that practically begs to be immortalized through art. Every line is hard and strong, covered in clear skin that looks like it would slide under your fingers like the smoothest silk. Your eyes drink in his features greedily, from the regal bridge of his nose to the proud edge of his jaw. You decide your favorite thing though, is his cheeks. They are utterly cherubic, round and full and dusted ever so lightly with the lightest shade of pink.

He’s possibly the prettiest man you have ever seen.

“Hey, I know him,” Jean whispers, cutting off your entranced thoughts. “That’s Mikasa’s distant cousin, the one I told you she found on Ancestry.com last year. I’ve met him once, he’s got a stick so far up his butt, he’d need surgery to remove it. Never would have pegged him for the type to do this sort of thing.”

You vaguely remember a previous conversation involving Jean’s childhood friend and some long lost relatives.

“He doesn’t look that uptight,” you muse, too busy admiring the way his lips glint temptingly under the fluorescents to really process Jean’s words. “He’s beautiful, like something out of a Renaissance painting.”

Jean opens his mouth to reply, but Pyxis begins to speak.

“As usual, draw whichever side of him is facing you, all angles will be graded equally,” your professor plops himself down in his chair, already scrolling through his phone to find the playlist for the day. “Completed drawings to be submitted to me by the end of class on Friday. Please remember be respectful and courteous to our guest. Mr. Ackerman, whenever you’re ready.”

The man nods to your professor, already slipping out of his coat as he steps up onto the platform in the center of the room. You watch, mesmerized, as he proceeds to shed himself of his clothes. It’s rigid and methodical (he folds his clothes like he’s worked his whole life in a department store), but somehow oddly endearing. Every inch of his body that is revealed is consumed eagerly by your shameless stare, and you sincerely hope you don’t start drooling. By the time he carefully removes his final items, you feel like you are vibrating in your seat.

Holy fucking shit, he’s built like a god. Like Michelangelo himself carved him out of a block of the most pristine marble. You trace your gaze down the column of his throat, over the strong shoulders and sinewy arms, the impressive set of abs, the thighs that look like they could crush your head and you’d be nothing but happy about it. It takes a minute before you’re able to make yourself look between his thighs, and when you finally do, you have to looks away immediately. Good grief, even that is stupidly handsome. You can’t help but wonder if it would feel as nice as it looks.

Your face heats from your lewd thoughts, and you grip your pencil so hard it almost snaps. Beside you, Jean snickers.

“You okay over there? It looks like you’re about to explode.”

“Can it,” you hiss, glad that the ambient music Pyxis chose will probably keep your conversation private. “I can’t help it that I’m looking at the most gorgeous dick attached to the most gorgeous man I think I’ve ever seen.”

“You haven’t seen mine.”

“I don’t own a microscope.”

“Ooooh, see if I buy you coffee tomorrow, bitch.”

You stick your tongue out at him before turning back to your easel. As you move, you catch the gaze of Levi, his expression unreadable. Warmth creeps up the back of you neck, and you duck behind your sketchpad in embarrassment. You seriously hope he didn’t hear you, he’d probably report you to Pyxis for being creepy. You decide to lock all your stupid horny thoughts deep within the recesses of your mind, and take a few deep breaths to clear your head.

It works, and as you touch pencil to paper, the desire to create overflows inside of you.

Unsurprisingly, you become utterly engrossed in your work, your pencil sweeping over the pad with almost a mind of it’s own. Levi is the perfect model; you swear he’s not even breathing as he majestically hold his pose without even a quiver. The contours of his body spring to life on the page, and you can’t stop the joyful smile that blooms on your lips as you work. It’s times like these, when everything is so perfect, that you truly realize just how much you love making art.

Before you know it, Pyxis announces class is over, and you’ll resume with Levi tomorrow. The man of the hour begins to re-dress as your fellow classmates pack up their supplies and file out. You absent mindedly wave to Jean, who is practically sprinting out the door so he can make his next class all the way across campus. You’re still engrossed in your drawing, staring at it with critical eyes. It good, one of the best starts you’ve had all year, but now that the high of creating has worn off, you can see where you need to improve.

“You’re very good.”

You gasp and jump, whirling around to find Levi standing behind you, eyes fixed on your sketch. How did he even get there? You hadn’t seen him or heard him.

“Oh, uh, Mr Ackerman!” You squeak, your heart racing like you’ve just run a marathon.  “T-that’s very nice, I mean, thank- thank you very much!”

“It’s Levi,” your muse says, seemingly unbothered by your stammering. “Yours is going to be the best one here.”

You blink stupidly at his bold statement. “Did you look at all of them?”

“No,” Levi’s voice is firm, a tone that brokers no argument. “But you had the most joy on your face while you worked. That much passion doesn’t churn out stuff that looks like shit.”

“Oh, that’s only because you are such a great model,” you gush, insides turning warm at his praise. “You stayed so still and you looked so damn regal and you’re just so pretty and-” Your eyes go wide as you realize the absolute words vomit leaving your mouth, mortification slithering up your spine.

“I’m pretty?” Levi raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m pretty?”

“No!” You shout, and the man’s other eyebrow joins the first. “No wait, yes! I mean, fuck, I mean you are probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!”

Levi’s eyebrows have now practically become one with his hairline. You wring your hands, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow you. “I-well- come on, people must tell you how good looking you are! I can’t be the first.”

“No, but you certainly are the most enthusiastic about it,” Levi deadpans.

Oh, someone just put you out of your misery now.

“I’m sorry,” you offer, cringing internally at your complete ineptitude to hold a conversation with an attractive man. “I....get carried away sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” Levi’s stoic expression softens just a little. “It’s kind of nice to hear, actually. Usually I’m told I’m good looking, but ‘far too short’.”

“That’s bullshit.” you say vehemently, honestly shocked people would deny this man his godhood over something as trivial as height. “Who cares if you’re shorter? It doesn’t detract from you. What’s that phrase again? Good things come in small packages? Well, not that you’re small, I’m not saying that, I just meant-”

“Yes, you did seem to find my package....good,” Levi interrupts, and you swear you see the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

Your eyes widen in horror as your brain replays your hushed conversation with Jean. “You heard that?!”

“I’m told I have exceptionally good hearing.”

“Oh fuck me,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. “I am literally so, so, sorry. That was completely out of line. I have no excuse other than it’s clearly been too long since I’ve gotten some, but that’s no reason to make you uncomfortable. Please, if there’s anything I can do to to make it up to you, I’ll do it!”

“Have tea with me.””

Your head shoots up, surprise coloring your features. “What?”

“Tch, you heard me,” Levi tuts, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out his phone. “I haven’t got free time till Saturday-stupid Shitty Glasses wanting to trade shifts-but if you want to go out, give me your number and we can work out the details.”

You stare at him with your mouth open, unsure if this is really happening or you’re vividly daydreaming again.

“Umm, are you sure?” You ask, wondering if you should pinch yourself to see if you are indeed imagining things. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m wearing two different shoes and my sweater is inside out. Believe me when I say these sorts of fashion statements happen more often than not. Plus, I practically salivated over you like some sort of horny middle aged suburban housewife who hasn’t been laid in years.” You pause to take a breath, once again unable to stop the words from spewing forth like a fountain. “And I’m so awkward! I mean, are you comfortable in this conversation? And I can’t stop talking once I’ve gotten going, and I say the weirdest shit, and, and-”

“I like you,” he says simply, as if he’s just declared something as obvious as 1+1=2. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about all the stuff you just said, you’re just... you, and I like it. So, do you want to go on a date or not?”

“O-oh,” you suddenly feel shy, your tummy filling with butterflies at the look of sincerity on his handsome face. You’d never met anyone quite like Levi Ackerman before, and you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to get to know the man behind the drool-worthy muscles.  “Uh, yes, please, I would like that. Very much.”

An almost relieved expression crosses Levi’s face, and he hands you his phone to type in your number. You notice the time as you do so, and sigh sadly as you hand him his device back.

“Well I better go,” you say reluctantly, suddenly fervently wishing it was Saturday already. “I’ve got another class in 15 minutes.”

“I’ll walk you there,” Levi says briskly, slipping his phone back into his coat. “To make sure you get there safely. Someone might murder you on account of their eyes being assaulted by that garish sweater. ” The corners of his lips twitch upwards once again, and you grow warm all over, from both his gentle teasing and the knowledge he isn’t quite ready to say goodbye yet either.

“Excuse me, I thought you said you didn’t give a ‘flying fuck’ about my attire,” you huff, but you’re grinning as you quickly pack up your bag.

“I don’t care it’s inside out, but you have to know that is the ugliest fucking color know to man,” Levi says, holding out his hand. Your brain malfunctions slightly for a moment, until you realize he’s offering to carry your bag for you. The butterflies inside you whip themselves into a frenzy as you pass him your stuff, your hand just grazing over his. Handsome, funny, honest, and sweet? How is this guy even real?

“I’ll have you know, this sweater is an absolute delight. When it’s inside right,” you stick up your nose, but unable to stop he laugh that slips past your lips.

Levi rolls his eyes in an almost playful manner. “Doubtful .”

You’re not sure where it comes from, but a sudden rush of confidence fills you. “If you’re so offended by it, maybe you should just rip it off of me.”

The tips of Levi’s ears turn a delightful shade of pink. You’re sure your own skin is hot enough to cook an egg on.

“Wear it Saturday then,” Levi’s ears may be flushed, but his eyes flash with something that makes your spine tingle. The insinuation of his words has your gut clenching and your mind whispering fervent prayers to please please please make Saturday get here faster, I don’t ask for much, please!

“Only if you wear your modeling outfit,” you manage to say, trying your best to sound coy when you feel like you might combust into a pile of lust and giddiness. “I’ve never seen someone wear it so well, and I want a closer look.”

If possible, Levi’s eyes grow even darker, and you just know Saturday is going to be one of the best damn days of your entire life.

“Deal.”

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Taglist: @clovertitan @millenialfanfictionaddiction @stigandr-the-cat @axoxtxhxh @bowandcurtsey​ @chaotic-nick​ @manjiroarchiviste​

[youarejesting]

Sly like a... ? - Part 1

[Master list] [Sly Master List] Beta: n/a (at the moment) Rating: All  Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x FailedHybrid!Reader Genre: Hybrid au, fluff, action, adventure, angst, drama, slice of life. Some marked chapters will contain mature/smut scenes, BUT they will not have plot in those scenes and are 100% skippable without losing your place in the story. Words: 1.6k

Summary: Human’s strive to be better, faster and stronger looking to animal DNA. Thus Hybrids are born. As the rise for designer and Pedigree Hybrids increase, so do the failed attempts. There is one species scientists are unsuccessful in creating, but, folklore says they have been here all along, hiding and blending in with the humans for many millennia. How clever they are.

[First] [Next]

Humans always strived to be better, faster, and stronger. So it was only natural for them to turn to genetic manipulation. Splicing the human DNA with that of animals. Bringing about a new half-human, half-animal race called Hybrids. They were like most things humans deemed different, scary, and an abomination. They were not allowed to be independent in fear of rebellion against the elite pure humans. These Hybrids were soon seen as lesser compared to the pure humans and were quick to be sold as servants to the rich and shady, and pets to the common families. The only problem was when the families no longer wanted their designer pedigree hybrid they were either abandoned, sold, or worse.

Hybrids didn’t have a voice. They were not allowed to live on their own unless they were fully educated with a bachelor’s degree. Due to these standards, many were sent back to the adoption agencies to be rehomed again and again until they reached a certain age. Then they were put down to make room for more returned hybrids.

You were working with the government on a program that could fix the hybrid rehoming issue. Having presented your idea to the board they seemed interested and were willing to grant you a small fund if you could give them the results they needed. They gave you a handful of Hybrids, one being Jimin the poster boy for the government. He was genetically modified to create a male calico with the classic calico print which was only found on females.

They succeeded and though Jimin was a male his features were more on the feminine side making him seem too androgynous but not what the market wanted. He was left to be used as a model on new billboards and television advertisements for government services and legislations regarding Hybrids.

Another participant was your neighbor’s hybrid, Taehyung. He was a golden retriever and was volunteered by his owner, an older gentleman who recently lost his wife. He was worried for the young hybrid that one day when he shall pass he will be alone and scared. You were quick to guarantee him a place in the program to help him become more self-sufficient in case anything should happen.

You were currently packing your things, not that there was much, living in such a tiny apartment. However, you were preparing for a call within the week regarding moving into a larger government-funded home where you could comfortably house the number of new participants of your trial program. The place was fully furnished with everything a large family of hybrids would need, all you had to bring was your clothes. Everything else was paid for to create the perfect environment for the hybrids. Rent, utilities, food, and anything the hybrids needed were all reimbursed by the government.

Since it would be a few days before you would hear anything, you thought it was best to start thinking of activities for the hybrids to get to know one another. Whilst also basking in your last moments of freedom before devoting yourself to the program. 

On that note, you had finally finished packing and decided to spend your hybrid-free moments treating yourself to some food. Pulled from your thoughts of a delicious omelet by a loud ping from your jean pocket. A reminder on your phone in bold letters.

H-week!

Today marked the first day of your heat, this explained the nagging twinge in your back you had been ignoring, you thought it was from hunching over to pack. Searching your top draw you saw the empty blister packet of heat suppressants, great another thing to add to your ever-growing to-do list. The pharmacy was a little further than the restaurant you wished to visit but not too far out of the way. So you set off hoping to get back in time before it gets too dark, your eyes did funny things at night.

See you weren’t exactly human yourself, you were an experiment. The world was creating new hybrids and well, you were genetically modified within the same year as Jimin. Supposed to be the new designer breed the ‘Fox-Hybrid’. The problem was it didn’t work, you were born entirely human. Sure you were a bit more agile, and your ability to hear and smell things was better than normal. You were still essentially human.

Once a month since you were thirteen, you would get a strange feeling in your lower abdomen. When you discussed it with the scientists for your check-up, they had explained it was a heat. Whilst foxes usually had a heat once a year lasting three days, yours would happen once a month lasting three days but a lot milder. 

Since that day you have taken a low dose heat suppressant to nullify any pheromones. You were grateful because it wasn’t as painful or as long as a human period, but it wasn’t as debilitating or humiliating as a real heat.

You had grown up seeing Jimin on occasion and were familiar with how debilitating hybrid heats and ruts were. Even so, the two of you became friends, both failed attempts at modification.

Though you never understood why they said fox hybrids didn’t exist, you had seen them. Sometimes in grocery stores, restaurants, or nightclubs. They would be there, they would wink at you or wave, give you a smirk with a twitch of their ears or a swish of their tail. Were they mocking you for being a defect?

The only good thing accompanying your long journey was the music humming softly in your headphones. Used to drown out the loud sounds of the city, as your ears were sensitive. It also helped you ignore the side-eyes from Hybrids who would not so subtly sniff the air as you passed. 

You caught a flash of orange and looked across the street. A simple fruit shop that had a colorful awning flapping in the gentle breeze.

Moving around the store was a shopkeeper in a green apron, shirt, with his bronze hair sticking out underneath a matching cap. He was putting down a tray of banana’s and as he stood, a pair of ears and a bottle brush-like tail were visible, he turned as if sensing your presence and locked eyes with you, tipping his cap. He dusted his hands on his apron, leaving you shocked. A Fox hybrid in public! No one else seemed amazed or even spared him a glance. How could no one see this?

It was like a scene from a movie, as a truck drove past leaving the man looking completely innocent and human talking to a few ladies. He was quite good-looking and charming, but there was no sign of a tail. The women were quick to fall for him, purchasing an oddly large selection of fruits and vegetables. You turned back to the path ahead of you shaking your head in disbelief, before continuing on your way to the pharmacy.

The pharmacy catered for humans and hybrids alike and was never too busy. Which made it your favorite store to collect your script from, as there was little to no waiting time. Handing over the script, you strolled around the store wondering what you would need for these Hybrids. Toothbrushes? Combs? If they had a lot of body hair would they need the silky coat shampoo formula or the soft fur body wash? Placing the hybrid shampoo and body wash back on the shelf you shook your head honestly this was overwhelming. 

Rubbing your aching stomach, you were too uncomfortable to really get into hybrid care right now. You wouldn’t have to worry about any other heats apart from your own as it was decided with the board they would all be male hybrid participants. This stemmed from Taehyung being already a willing participant from the start, they thought it best not to mix male and female hybrids.

You would however have to deal with their ruts, albeit once or twice a year. You chewed your lip in thought pausing in the makeup section of the store. You caught your reflection in the small mirror and preened thoughtfully, your eyes were expressive and angular, your hair due to the modification was a brilliant copper.

You were quite beautiful, eerily so, like the man at the fruit shop. Your features were so similar. Even though you were a defect and he was the real deal. “Ma’am your order is ready.”

Turning surprised you grew hot in embarrassment, stammering to make an excuse, “Sorry, I was just thinking about a really strange fox hybrid at the fruit shop.”

Many occupants in the store turned confused and you heard an old man say, “Fox hybrids don’t exist, they are sinister creatures and not to be meddled with”

“She must be a conspiracy theorist,” one woman whispered to her hybrid snake who was donating venom for anti-venom.

Paying for the medication you left quickly and took one of the small pills as you stepped out of the store. Why didn’t anyone else see them?

You headed back towards your home, not forgetting the reason for your trip. You were excited about an omelet at your favorite restaurant when two apples came rolling across the pavement. 

They rolled towards you, quickly picking them up you carried them inside the store, “excuse me, sir you dropped some of your apples,” You saw his shadow in the darkened store, two pointed ears, and the flick of a tail.

“Are you a fox hybrid?” You asked curiously and he laughed. It was strange like snickering but at a pitch that was not fit for a grown man, like a child’s giggle sharper with a few squeals, or like a bird chittering. You know the sound. He was Gekkering like a fox.

“Thank you,” he took the apples gesturing you over to the side, “let me get you some blueberries, they are my favorite.” 

“Oh thank you, sir, how much do I owe you?”

He shook his head, thrusting a black plastic bag into your hands, “It’s okay, we have to look out for one another.” 

What a strange man…

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[zodiyack]

Promises

Requested by anon: Omg hi again may I request a Sherlock Holmes x reader were they get married and have kids! Thank you <3

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female!Reader

Warnings: One smut-indication?, funny angst, fluffity fluff, no proof-reading

Words: 1,953

Summary: (See Request)

Note: I’m making this a continuation of Reminders if that’s ok with you-

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @thewarriorprincessxo, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @missihart23, @beckster07890, @maan24

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

Tears were shed, laughs were scattered, cheers were shouted. Sherlock had made good on his promise and married the lovely beautiful artist. He couldn’t stray his eyes from hers the entire wedding. It was difficult to even form words with how breathtaking the angel in front of him looked. Did they really expect him to say vows with this gift from the heavens standing right before him?!

Although Sherlock found it hard, he managed to spit out the words that caught in his throat. You’d hardly be able to tell he was a nervous wreck; the loving words that should bind them in mere moments came from his lips like poetry.

As soon as they were wed, Sherlock was eager to have his wife to himself. The entire after-party, he sat beside her with his leg bouncing impatiently, and that night he’d made love to her more times than they’d ever done in a week. A new record. He made it known that his promise was good.

What was to come after, though, was surely to be expected.

“Rin, stop moving sweetie.” She begged calmly for what felt like the thousandth time. Her youngest daughter fidgeted in the chair. She looked like a baby-doll propped up in an adults’ chair with how small she was. Painting her children was not uncommon for Y/n. They loved to model for their mother but most of the time her children could just barely stay still.

Their oldest, Eddie, a nickname for Edward, was goofy and had a heart like his aunt’s, both Enola and Eddie more child-like than times would prefer. Second oldest, Will Claud, short for William Claud, was determined, like his father, but had a habit of over doing it. He was the strict and ...well, the nerd brother. Will Claud just wanted to impress his father and mother, but he seemed to listen to his uncle Mycroft too much.

Next born was Alice. She had her mother’s skill in art as well as her father’s skill in mystery. She and Will Claud were born not too long from each other, so it was no surprise that they were constantly wrestling for the spotlight. Alice didn’t try to outwit her brother as much as he did her, but she wasn’t new to winning.

Finally, the twins; Clayton and Catherine. Clayton was mischievous and didn’t hesitate to make it known, but Catherine, sitting in that chair across her mother as her soft skin is replicated by paint onto a canvas of color, was practically an angel.

While the other children would hurdle over each other to get to their father every time he stepped through the front doors, Cathy would wait beside her mother politely before walking to her father slowly. Her siblings would part, forming a walkway in the middle as if she were royalty.

So then the joke was made and the chair painting was currently underway. They had to find the right chair, and they did. It looked so elegant, so royally distinguished. It looked perfect. Fit for a queen.

And that was what the joke was. That Catherine was the “queen”. Not a very funny one without context, Cathy’s siblings later found out, but a good one to tease her with. However, queen Cathy didn’t mind it. In fact, she was quick to drop into character, the smoothest transition known to man-kind. 

While, yes, Catherine’s character was rather humorous, it still held some concerns. Would she become the lordly queen her siblings tried to paint her as? Would she ever realize it was all a joke her siblings made up? Growing up was never something she forced on her children, but she didn’t want to have them growing too used to a title like that. Y/n joked to her husband one night in bed as they held the sleeping majesty, whom had crawled into their bed without reason.

“I’m highly aware she’s ‘the queen’ and all, but I really hope she doesn’t decide she’d like to adopt the complete role. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if my baby became my nightmare. The other four are already so much work.” She chuckled as she brushed some of Catherine’s hair behind her ear.

Sherlock looked at his sleeping daughter. She looked so at peace, just as she always did, and he nodded yet noted his disagreement. “I doubt she’d ever become such a hassle. She’s been so patient and kind, I can’t see her actually devolving a bad side. Clayton, sure, but his sister?” Their eyes flicked up to meet each others. A beat later and they were in hushed snickers.

“Mummy?”

“Yes?”

“When will daddy be returning home?” She had relaxed her facial muscles, if only she’d done so with her limbs- make it easier for her mother, and held a casual tone of voice. Another thing with Catherine; she was harder to read than most.

“I’m not sure, my dear. He should be back before supper...” Y/n lifted her head to peak over the easel and watch her three older kids as they played with Clayton. He was a tough kid, but always overestimated how tough he really was. Y/n felt concern fill her gut when he first begged to play with his older siblings, but she let him anyways, Sherlock being the one to thank for that decision.

“Good. I want to sit next to him tonight. And you. I want to sit next to both of you, mummy.” She gave her mother a small smile, which she returned, before adjusting to her original pose.

Y/n paused after she finished the details involving the chair and Cathy. “Catherine, you do realize that I sit next to your father at dinner, right? And Eddie sits on his other side...that is, if Willy loses their fight tonight...I wonder why they don’t just take turns...” She muttered the last few sentences to herself in heavy contemplation.

“Mhm! You can sit next to him too!” The little girl watched her mother process her question with wide eyes of anticipation. She realized Y/n still didn’t quite understand and was quick to explain. “I can sit on your lap, mummy! Like when I was this big!” Catherine held up her hands to show an overexaggerated space between her small hands that supposedly represented her only one or two years ago.

“Well... Daddy and I can talk about it when he gets home. Is that alright with you?”

“Mhm! But I don’t want to crush the new me, so don’t be afraid to tell me no, mummy, okay?!” Her innocence was adorable, but not more than the grin that sat upon her lips.

Clayton rushed in, causing Y/n to instinctively reach for her easel protectively. He chortled to himself before announcing what was on his mind. “It’s not a new you, Cathy, it’s a new me! I’ll bet you on it, I’m shore I have the funs!”

“Clayton Luther Holmes!” Y/n’s eyes doubled in size. “Who taught you about betting?”

Her son ignored her question and continued, “Besides, what if I want to sit on mother’s lap?!”

“We can’t both sit on mummy- what about the baby?”

“Uhh, it can move, no doy?! It can move just like Will Claud tells me to. It doesn’t need to be shell-fish!” Clayton muttered bitterly. “If Will Claud really wants to call someone his funny names, he should call the baby them.” His time with the older kids was undoubtfully the reasoning behind the failed attempts of words he didn’t fully understand.

“Do you mean ‘selfish?’“

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Don’t you agree, mummy? See, she agrees!” Clayton tried to argue with his twin, but his words had no effect on her. Catherine stared at him blankly, confused like her mother.

“Mummy didn’t say anything, Clayton. She said we can talk about it when daddy gets home, so you can wait here with me.” She scooted over a bit in the chair and pat beside her. Clayton shot her a look of distaste and ran back out into the yard.

“That was...odd.” Y/n blinked. 

“He did remind me though, mummy... The baby can’t move... maybe I could sit with daddy instead?” Catherine sounded reassuring, her feathery voice calming her mother.

Which she really needed. She could hardly focus on her painting now. Her heart was begging for Sherlock to walk through the front doors already, spare her from another interruption that would throw her off-course for the fifth time that evening.

Like magic, her wish was granted and a knock sounded on the study door. Both Catherine and Y/n’s heads snapped toward Sherlock entering the room. “How’s her-majesty doing?” He smirked at Cathy as he set down his case. “I heard from two little competitive detectives that mummy is creating a masterpiece of her masterpiece! Are the rumors true?”

“That they are, detective. Seems you’ve found out the surprise before it could surprise you.” Catherine giggled as her father lifted her from the soft red chair and spun her around before planting a kiss on her forehead.

“So, my little queen, how are you?”

“Good.” She smiled brightly. “How are you? Did mummy ask you yet?”

Sherlock turned to face Y/n, who looked away as fast as she could- wide eyes and all. “Did mummy ask me what, Rin?”

“If I could sit with you or her during supper? I would sit on mummy’s lap, but I don’t want to hurt the baby, and even if I could, Clay wants to sit on her too. I don’t want to make it unfair!” Catherine frowned. “I told him he could wait with me until you were here to talk about it but he didn’t want to.”

“I’ll tell you what. Since mummy has the baby, you can sit with her and I’ll have Clayton sit with me.”

“Yeah! He moves around a lot and we want to be extra careful with mummy and mini-baby, right?” Sherlock nodded, Y/n still trying to figure out what her daughter was saying, and sent Cathy off to play with her siblings until Alice finished supper. It wasn’t intended for Y/n’s pregnancy, but it certainly helped. A system in which the kids could claim nights to help out with meals. Alice loved to make dinners while Edward loved to bake. The smell of a delicious homecooked meal was never lacking in the Holmes house.

“Hear that? Mini-baby gets to sit next to the queen tonight.”

“I’m jealous, quite frankly.” Sherlock’s grin never ceased to bring Y/n’s to her face. Though she was exhausted, her husband made her feel calm and peaceful. “So, our five little reminders never cease to remind you, do they?”

“No...and don’t forget the sixth, Mr. Holmes.”

“Believe me, I haven’t, Mrs. Holmes. I’m simply awaiting their arrival. Perhaps a few more before I needn’t anymore reminders?”

“Mayhaps...however- Let’s talk about it when I’m no longer expecting, please. I’m already resisting the urge to collapse.” Sherlock chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he watched his wife struggle to the doors before helping her. His arms scoop her up and carry her to their room. They passed the paintings that hung upon the walls, portraits of Sherlock, portraits of their children, a portrait by her mother in law of their wedding day. The wall was home to their present and past, providing room for their future as well.

They were in their room for only a few minutes before a loud chatter followed them. Both adults closed their eyes and prepared themselves for their little ones who would burst through their doors at any moment. His promise was good, and they had five, almost six, reminders to show for proof.

[spideymarvelws]

A threesome with tom × reader × Harrison when they become roommates PLEASE could you include... spanking? 😸

im sorry if this is so bad sdhvcwdhcvps the beginning is a bit shaky but i finally sat my ass down and wrong something so i hope you enjoy!

Main Masterlist / Add Yourself To My Taglist

Warnings : dom/sub undertones, spanking, mild degrading and humiliation, tom and haz being little teasing shits

Word Count : 1.8k

Roommates With Benefits

Harrison Osterfield x Fem!Reader x Tom Holland

“And that’s pretty much it. Oh! And you could always just put Percy’s bowl and bed next to Tessa’s. I’m sure she won’t mind, very sweet girl,” Tom smiled, pushing the tips of his fingers into the pockets of his jeans as he led you back to the kitchen.

“We’d love another dog in the house! Just be warned if you ever leave, we might not be able to let him go.” Harrison winked, blue eyes shining with the light shining into the kitchen, causing heat to quickly rise to your face.

You chuckled light heartedly, leaning against the kitchen island with your head down, avoiding the intense stairs of the two brits on your body.

Everything happened so quickly. Being kicked out of your apartment after having trouble paying ridiculous bills, seeing the ad during your job at the cafe and immediately calling the number in hopes that the offer for a roommate was still open. It wasn’t usually something you did, especially without any background checks but you were desperate and in that moment, you were ready to endure anything if it meant you would have a roof over your head. 

What you didn’t expect was a cute british voice answering the phone who was very cooperative and patient, answering all the questions you had. You called him everyday after that, using the excuse of asking more questions but ultimately you both ended up talking about anything and everything. It was an immediate connection that only intensified when you met him the next week in real life after your shift. Shaggy brown hair, soft brown eyes and a figure that made your mouth water, you didn’t expect such a sweet human to take on the looks of a model.

But he didn’t come alone, next to him was a taller but equally attractive blond brit, with clear blue eyes and a smile that made your legs weak. You were surprised how composed you kept yourself while talking to them and with a firm handshake and exchange of phone numbers, a beautiful friendship between the two was born.

At least, that’s what you tried to keep it as. Both men were naturally flirtatious, constantly complimenting you then pointing out how flustered you got like it was some inside joke. When you would meet up with them after shifts, sometimes one of them would take your hand while the other stayed attached to you to the hip, along with a lot of subtle touches that left goose bumps in their wake.

It came to the point where your coworkers gave you side eyes, dancing around the question of asking if you were dating anyone which only made you more flustered.

After a month of spending time with them, the week before your lease ended, they invited you to their flat to show you around, not so directly confirming that they wanted you as their third roommate.  

However, as you entered the house, tension started to build in the air, tension that you only noticed apparently since Tom and Harrison went on with the tour like everything they did was normal. Constant innuendoes, especially when they showed you where the bedrooms were, stretching their arms in already tight shirts, staying close by your side with small touches to your back and arm.

It kept you flustered, while your purpose being there was to find a place to stay, you couldn’t deny that the two brits were attractive, irritatingly so. After the month of getting to know them, you developed a pretty obvious crush on the two men but you were too shy to say anything, too many negative consequences filling your head.

You were happy to maintain a friendship, even if that meant keeping the constant heat on your skin in their presence.

“How do you know if Tessa’s any safer? I might just take her with me.” you teased, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“Oh really?” Tom raised a brow, walking closer to you behind the kitchen counter, “I feel hurt that you’re already thinking of leaving.” he leaned on his left elbow with his ankles crossed over the other, licking his lips as he looked you up and down.

“To- to be fair... Haz was the first to suggest it.” you stuttered briefly, coughing to hide how nervous you became.

“Yeah, cut her some slack Tom.” the blond snickered, walking up to you, standing on the other side, arms crossed and muscles bulging, “Don’t want to scare her off too soon now do we?”

“Oh I don’t think we’re scaring her off Haz.” Tom raised his hand, taking your jaw between your fingers and turning your head to face him, “Are we scaring you love?”

You shook your head no, eyes wide and body frozen with the contact.

“We’re going to need words darling,” Harrison said into your ear, his breath heavy on the side of your head, his hand landing possessively on the base of your neck, “Communication is very important for us in a roommate.”

“Is it?” you squeaked, trying to process being suddenly sandwiched between the two men. They’ve never been this forward, thoughts running through your head that made you squeeze your thighs together in hopes of some relief.

Tom hummed, leaning up with his face right in front of yours, “So I’ll ask again... are you scared of us Y/n?” your name fell off his tongue like honey, sending a pang of pleasure down your stomach to your heat. You wanted nothing more than to hear it over and over again.

“N-no.” the pitch of your voice was high, enough to make you laugh if it wasn’t for the men so close to your body.

“Then why are you so tense, angel?” Harrison’s hand moved down your neck, trailing along your spine and staying in the curve of your back, right above your ass, “Anything we could do to help?”

“I could think of one thing!” Tom hummed, leaning in closer, brushing his lips along yours, “That is, if our lady allows it.”

“Only if you want to be our girl.” Harrison added, leaning down to kiss the side of your neck, “Just say the word and this never happened.”

“No!” maybe it was the sudden closeness, their hands on your body or the pet names that flowed so naturally off their tongue. Or maybe it was the build up over the past months, the fantasies than ran threw your head of this exact moment that all lead you to whimper-

“yes... please.”

...

“Ah- fuck.” Harrison groaned from behind you, his rough hands gripping your waist tighter as he pounded into you from behind, “God she feels so good around me... tightest cunt I’ve ever fucked.”

“Wait till you feel her mouth mate,” Tom grunted, tightening his hands around your head. He looked down at your face, tears falling from your eyes, spit drooling from your mouth around his hard cock, some of it falling to the sheets beneath you. Out of his years of acting and traveling, he’d never thought he’d see such a beautiful sight.

“Oh I’m planning on it,” the blond responded, moving his hips impossibly faster, fingers digging into your waist, adding to the marks all over your body, “Not tonight though, don’t think the slut could think properly after this.”

Tom laughed at his friend’s words, continuing to bob your head on his cock, alternating between slow, calculated movements and a rough, punishing pace.

The humiliation only made you more wet and desperate for relief. You were right on the edge, have been since the night’s activities began. But the men wouldn’t allow it, constantly mocking and degrading you if the thought ever crossed your mind, threatening to not touch you for the rest of the week if you came without permission.

The fact that they planned to continue after this couldn’t even cross your head, mind too far broken down into just a toy for their use, begging and mewling for anything they gave you. 

A harsh spank landed on your bum making a squeak erupt from your throat, muffled by Tom’s length. Harrison scoffed at your reaction, landing blow after blow, his hips losing rhythm as he neared his high.

“I swear she just gets wetter and wetter,” Harrison groaned, punctuating the last three words with a slap to your skin, “So fucking perfect around me I-” he groaned loudly, bending over slightly to reach deeper inside you, hitting a different angle that made you scream.

Tom was quick to pull you off his cock, one hand wrapped tightly around your hair, keeping your head up while the other moved quickly up his shaft. jerking himself off.

“Fuck, you look so pretty princess,” Tom moaned, “Ready to cum?”

You nodded enthusiastically, smiling wide as you kept your mouth open. The brunette grabbed your jaw, tilting your head up and spitting directly in your mouth, slapping the side of your face for you to swallow.

“Fucking beg for it then.” 

But before you could respond, you felt pressure directly on your clit, Harrison’s cold thumb moving circles around the nub, pushing you further and further to your orgasm. 

“Please! Please let me cum! Please Tommy!” 

But the brit only laughed, “I’m not the one you should be begging too love,” 

Tom loosened his grip of your hair only for Harrison to take over, pulling your back to his sweaty chest.

“Go ahead angel, beg so you could cum all over my cock,”

“Please... please Harrison,” you could feel the energy slowly fading from your body but your will to get off was just as strong, “Please let me cum,”

“Go ahead angel,” Haz grunted in your ear, “Fuck I’m gonna cum with you, bury my cock deep in your pussy, stuff you full,”

Without a second to lose, you let yourself go, finally  getting that release you’ve been craving for that entire night. The feeling of the blonds cum filling you up made it more intense, along with his thumb still locked in place on your clit. It was an overload of pleasure, black spots clouding your vision but you still hyper aware of everything going on.

“Open your mouth pretty girl,” you heard echo in the back of your head. Without fight, your jaw slacked open, the taste of Tom’s seed hitting your lips, spreading across your mouth.

You were in pure ecstasy. 

It took you a while to come back after such an intense moment, tangled in Tom’s arms while Harrison worked on cleaning your body, both looking down at you with admiration and awe.

“What do you think Haz? She good enough to live here?” Tom mumbled, softly petting your hair as you nudge your cheek against his chest, bathing in the attention.

The blond snickered from behind you, crawling over your body and leaning down to place a sweet kiss on your shoulder, “She could live with us for the rest of her life after that mate,” you raised your head slightly at his words, eyes wide and blown. He gently took your chin between his fingers, pressing a kiss to your puffy lips.

“Free of fucking charge.”

[definitelyseven]

risky business | three

summary: you were hired to be with everyone else but Park Jinyoung

one (m) | two | three |

“Good morning Mr. Park. Coffee and breakfast?” you offered as you set the sandwich and coffee in front of him.

“What is this?” Jinyoung asked, surprised. 

“A thank you for last night,” you tell him. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.” 

Jinyoung smiles at you before getting up from his chair. “Sit,” he ordered. He ushers you to sit in his chair as he leaned down towards your face, catching you off guard.

“J-Jinyoung,” you stuttered. He has never showed affection towards you in the office. He wanted that part of his life private. 

“This is for you,” he said, pulling a velvet box out of his drawer and opening it for you. You gasped at the shiny object in the box. “Happy Valentines Day,” Jinyoung whispered. 

“It’s...beautiful,” you gaped. “I can’t accept this.”

“Why not?” he said, taking the necklace out of the box. 

“I owe you too much. I don’t deserve this,” you explained but he doesn’t listen to you and puts the necklace around your neck.

“I will not take no for an answer,” he said sternly. You smiled at him before getting up from his seat. 

“Thank you. I love it,” you tell him, playing with the shiny diamond on your neck.

He smiles before sitting back down. “I need your help,” Jinyoung asks. “Yeri keeps calling me.”

You nodded slowly, understanding where this was going. “I’ll take care of it.”

Jinyoung smiles at you. “That’s why you’re my favorite person.” 

“I got a call from the jewelers this morning. 50 grand?”

He looks up at you and then back down at his papers, “I trust you.” You nodded before leaving his office. 

You waited for Yeri for 45 minutes now - almost your entire lunch, waiting for her. She was the one that wanted to meet. 

“Yeri,” you waved her down as you watched her strut towards you. “I’ve been waiting for 45 minutes. I only have 15 minutes left.” She casually orders herself an iced americano as if she has all the time in the word. “What did you want to talk about?” you asked her again.

“Don’t worry, you’re Jinyoung’s favorite person. You can be a little late,” she said passive aggressively. “I know he was with you last night. Can you explain to me why he was spending Valentines Day with you and not me?” she interrogated.

You don’t know how she found out but this was between you and Jinyoung. “There’s nothing going on between us. I work for him.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” she spatted. “He gave you that necklace, didn’t he? I saw it in his office.” You subconsciously reached for it.

“Like I said - there’s nothing going on between us,” you lied. “If you’re so curious, you need to ask him.” 

She scoffs at you, “Of course. So why did you agree to meet me if you’re not going to answer my questions?”

“Actually, I’m here on Mr. Park’s behalf.” She rolls her eyes at you. “Mr. Park would like his credit card back.”

“Does he really want it back or do you not like me spending his money?” she interrogated again. “You know I actually liked you. I thought you were going to help me become Mrs. Park,” she said. “I will return the card to Jinyoung myself,” Yeri tells you, getting up to leave. 

“You know I can’t let you leave without the card,” you said standing up with her. You stuck your hand out, waiting for her to hand you the card. “I don’t want to ask you twice, Yeri.”

“Do you know who I am?” 

You did. She was a famous model that met Jinyoung at an event. She’s been head over heels for him ever since. “I do which is why you shouldn’t make a scene.”

She scoffs at you before taking the black credit card out of her purse and slapping it in your hand. “You’re quite an obedient little dog, you know? You think just because you sleep with him, you get to manage his finances; his entire life. You’re wrong. You’re nothing to him but a little whore. Once he’s done with you, he will kick you to the curb.”

You smiled at her, not caring for a word she says. “Mr. Park thinks that 50 grand for a pair of earrings is way more than what you’re worth,” you explained to her. You reached into your purse for the small box and slid it over to her. “10 grand for a pair of earrings is better suited for you.”

“Are you fucking serious?” she shouts at you, making everyone in the cafe turn towards your direction. Yeri grabs her drinks and throws it all over you.

The waitress rushes over to your table. “Miss, are you alright?” You waved your hand at her, assuring her that you were alright before dismissing her. You were glad the drink was cold. 

You let out a small chuckle as you wiped the drink off your cheeks and chin. “You’re a smart girl, Yeri - have a little respect for yourself and don’t make a bigger scene. Peacefully take the earrings, if you ever want to see Mr. Park again.”

“Who are you to stop him from seeing me?” she snickered. 

“It’s your choice,” you said, staring at her blankly. Of course, you didn’t have that power but it was nice knowing you threatened her. 

“You little slut,” she mumbled before throwing you the expensive earrings. She grabs the small box before leaving. You waited a bit before leaving the restaurant and getting inside the company car. “Mr. Yang, how many years have you worked for Mr. Park and his family?” you asked while watching him through the rearview mirror.

“About 10 years,” he responded. 

“You would think after 10 years of service, you know where your loyalty stands.” He was Jinyoung’s driver, only he would’ve known where he was last night. “Why?” you asked, softly. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. My daughter is sick and her father is the Chief of Surgery. I needed her help and this is what she wanted,” he explained. “I didn’t think much of it since they were a couple,” he paused, looking at you with regret. “I didn’t know she would do this to you.”

You gave him a small smile, thankful that he didn’t turn against Jinyoung. “It’s okay, I understand. We’ll keep what happened today between us,” you assured him. 

“You’re late,” Jinyoung  calls you out in front of everyone. You cleared your throat, tucking your wet hair behind your ears.

“My apologies,” you said before taking a seat next to him. Jinyoung watches you carefully. “Please continue.”

He knows something is up but decides to question you later without everyone. 

“So are you going to tell me why you were late?” Jinyoung questions as he enters his office with you following behind. 

“Traffic,” you lied. 

“I don’t believe you,” he argued, taking a sit in his chair. “You changed your outfit and your hair is wet.”

“I had a little accident at lunch. Don’t make it a big deal,” you continued to lie. He doesn’t believe you but decides not to pester. 

“Come over tonight” Jinyoung proposes. 

“Can’t - I’m meeting with Mr. Kim.”

“Come after,” he insisted.

[parchmentedpetrichor]

➳april’s fool ♡

in which fred weasley is in love with y/n l/n, the girl he happens to tease and insult profusely for her attention. 

fred weasley x gryffindor!fem!reader 

word count: ±4.3k 

tw: food, fireworks, pranking, fred being a bully, tad bits of swearing

drop a follow if you wanna see more of this content!!

my masterlist:D

ft. minnie, dumbledore and severus

yeah, your grandmama probably know me 

get more bottles, these bottles are lonely

it's a moment when I show up, got 'em sayin', "wow"

april’s fool 

“tomorrow is april fools,” dumbledore sighs. 

“you know what that means...?” mcgonagall asks, her voice on edge.

“the twins,” snape replies quickly, not even bothered one bit as he sips his dark coffee.

“and their pranks,” dumbledore dramatically rolls over in his armchair.

“okay and?” 

“they’re a hazard, severus!” mcgonagall replies.

“that doesn’t stop them.”

“what will stop them?” dumbledore ponders, eyes faint with interest. 

“you still have those weird buzzy fireworks right?” snape asks. 

“of course.”

“and minnie, you have the cake mix your grandmother gave you?”

“still in my cupboard next to the biscuits.”

“excellent.”

y/n l/n listens from the other side of the door, grinning. she’s been called to mcgonagall’s lavish office for some business she hopes isn’t trouble, but the conversation the three are deeply invested in piques her interest. 

she likes fun. the type of continuous laughter and uncontrollable fits of giggles at noon. that’s why she enjoys the pranks the twins play. they’re bold, sharp and reckless and have the undoubtable trademark of fred and george on them.

one too a many times she’s been on the receiving end of them. one time the twins had charmed the library so that she and other studious students could not find any books that they wanted or needed for a whole week. 

another time, her hair had been dyed bright pink. she wasn’t a fan of it, but tried her best to rock it. it worked. y/n had received many compliments on her bubblegum pink locks. 

she laughed it off a lot. whenever something quite embarrassing happened, it was usually funny. 

even the snide remarks the older twin always cast her way.

including the time he called her a blackhead. well, multiple times. 

“oi, l/n, looking like a blackhead.”

george had rolled his eyes at his brother before adding kindly, “at least you have nice hair. your tie’s always shiny too.”

she had just laughed, “at least i’ve got the blackhead looks to pull pink hair off, weasley, you can’t even pull off ginger hair, and thanks, georgie. love ya.”

fred had looked taken aback, but y/n still scowls at the memory. she gets she isn’t pretty, but there is a line you don’t cross when trying to insult someone.

he always calls her the most awful nicknames too; body parts that align with her name and random pieces of rubbish she isn’t bothered to remember.

she shakes herself of her thoughts and draws herself up, knocking thrice on the door lightly.

“come in,” mcgonagall’s calm tone beckons.

“good afternoon professors!” she chirps, smiling at all three.

they smile back. even snape. they’re big fans of the girl, who’s studious but mischievous. albus dumbledore has always thought that y/n’s eyes always look like all she’s seen is a beautiful sunset. 

“now you must wonder why i called you here,” mcgonagall starts.

“you see, how have you punished the weasley twins when they play all those pranks on you?” dumbledore eagerly asks. 

y/n gives a light laugh, “i just prank them back. i won’t get detention for this, right?” she jokes.

they laugh, “of course you will,” snape jokes back and for a second y/n is surprised that severus snape, the ever so cold potions professor, is cracking jokes. especially to her. 

“well then, i guess i can’t tell you how i prank them back then,” she drawls dramatically.

“no, no, do tell, we’re, what do you young people say?” mcgonagall pauses, “ahh yes! we’re all ears!”

y/n bursts out laughing, “okay, i usually do something that’s subtle enough but still very noticeable. they need to be anonymous too, or that’ll start prank wars and i’m only looking for short term pleasure really. one time, i dumped a whole bunch of polyjuice potion in both their little goblets. fred became george and george became fred. they were so confused.”

mcgonagall is impressed. 

“can you bake?” dumbledore asks and y/n shakes her head for a long time. 

“can’t bake for my sanity.”

“awesome. that is what i thought too,” dumbledore answers and y/n smiles. 

a single knock sounds. it’s proper and formal. 

“come in!” mcgonagall yells.

draco malfoy in all his glory steps into the room, eyes alight with concern, ever so indifferent. 

y/n knows him from quidditch. they’ve become relatively good friends, though she thinks he is very busy with his home life. she also knows that there’s more to him than the facade he has.

“afternoon,” he nods and gives a charming smile. 

“now, draco, i understand your mother had enrolled you in baking classes,” snape says. 

draco nods. 

“you must bake a cake,” mcgonagall hands him the cake mix.

she hands y/n the box of fireworks and winks. 

“good day professors! make sure to be at breakfast tomorrow!” y/n shouts, dragging draco with her to the kitchens. 

soon draco is laughing with y/n, at her atrocious puns and lightly placed jokes, finding himself very much happy. he’s not interested in her romantically, he simply enjoys her company. he’s even sharing some funny stories of his own too.

“...and i told him, to precisely fuck off.”

“so that’s how you deal with him!”

“oh no, he didn’t stop. he kept bugging me.”

“what did you do then?”

“i cast a muffliato charm on him.”

y/n bursts into laughter as they pass the gryffindor common room, quickly hiding the box of fireworks in her cloak as she spots two red heads quietly snickering by the fat lady. 

they notice the unlikely pair scurrying down the stairs. 

“hey, google eyes!” fred shouts. 

y/n doesn’t know fred well enough to decide if that greeting is dedicated to herself, so she continues upon her way. 

“weasley,” draco states. 

“huh?” y/n fakes oblivion. 

draco jerks his head in the way of the twins, where fred is smirking handsomely, leaning against the wall in a model-like fashion. 

george is shaking his head in dismay. 

“i said googly eyes!” fred shouts again.

y/n won’t lie, she thinks fred has undoubtedly good looks and his ginger hair is cute. he’s just a terrible person. to her, at least. she knows she’s biased, she’s often seen fred comforting ginny after a bad fight with a boyfriend, and from what she’s heard from alicia and angelina and katie, he’s funny too. 

she whips out her glasses and stares deadpan at him, before rolling her eyes and running with draco down the stairs, laughing like madmen.

they finish baking late at night, and waving her wand smartly over the cake, y/n produces a charm that will make the fireworks activate as soon as the cake is cut open. 

draco smiles as he pipes purple and orange roses, writing a ‘happy bday fred and george’ in chocolate letters. 

they add lots of sprinkles, hoping to seem like avid admirers of the twins. 

“does miss l/n and misters malfoy need any assistance?” a house elf asks.

draco just about opens his mouth to snap a ‘no’ when y/n gives him a silencing look.

“thank you rosemarie, but that is not needed, you are welcome to watch and talk with us though,” y/n politely answers, giving her a grin. 

the house elf sniffles, “miss l/n is too nice! rosemarie will make some hot chocolate for her! pretty hair!”

y/n laughs, “thank you very much, rosemarie. i think mister malfoy would also like some hot chocolate, with a tiny bit of firewhiskey, if that’s alright with you,” she winks at draco who just scoffs in reply. 

when they’re finished with the cake and the hot chocolate, y/n enters the gryffindor common room. angelina takes the cake and wraps it up in a box and nice wrapping paper. she sends it flying to the twins’ usual spot on the gryffindor table. 

“thanks angie!” y/n smiles, getting up from the cozy spot near the fire in the common room. 

“why are you going? we’re staying up till midnight for the twins’ birthday; wanna join?” angelina asks. 

y/n shakes her head, “i’m not too close with them, it seems like a rather intimate ceremony,” she keeps her words fluffy and light. really, she would join any birthday celebration, but she didn’t think she could handle the constant insults and annoying comments fred always made about her. and this would have been completely acceptable if she had done something to any one of the weasleys, but she hadn’t. she even regards ginny weasley as a little sister and was invited to one of ginny’s infamous slumber parties. okay, she might have a little crush on him for his joke-ish nature, but it’s nothing she can’t get over. he’s out of her league, for sure, she thinks. and terribly rude. she doesn’t understand why she still harbours those feelings for him. maybe because that time adrian pucey was mocking her for her ‘blood purity’ he stood up for her. or that time she hurt herself at quidditch and fred stayed up with her bandaging her wound. he cared when it mattered, she guesses. 

“i’m sure they would love you there.”

“fat chance,” she scoffs, “have a good night!”

she goes to her own dormitory up the stairs. she’s well known in gryffindor house, but for different reasons than the twins may be. although she’s close with angie and alicia, she’s not close with the twins. mainly because she’s always studying, playing quidditch, and doing prefect things. 

being on a quidditch team with fred weasley is bearable. mainly because she’s the captain. 

she’s stopped by a large hand on her shoulder. the owner of the hand swivels and suddenly a grinning fred is revealed. 

“where’re you going?” fred weasley’s annoying voice pronounces. 

“the sahara desert,” she snaps back dryly, “you’re in the way of my world exploration.”

“am i, really?”

“‘course,” she reigns her attitude in, “nice night, isn’t it?”

“for you? never.”

she scowls. fred watches in utter amusement as she takes a deep breath and charmingly smiles. 

“dearest freddie, will you please allow me to get to my dorm so i can have some sleep?”

fred’s heart skips a little at the nickname but shakes his head. 

“what’s the password?”

y/n sighs. “i don’t know. y/n is a blackhead. googly eyes. whatevers.”

fred lets out a loud laugh. y/n finds herself trying hard not to laugh with him. 

she turns around, ready to find her hufflepuff friend that has a spare bed in their dormitory, knowing fred is really stubborn.

“that’s not the password.”

“well, good night.” she walks off, before intensely diving in a style harry potter himself would be proud of, onto the stairs and running up the dorms laughing. 

fred stands at the bottom of the stairs, dumbfounded, his jaw hanging open. 

“close your mouth, flies will be caught,” he heard the giggling voice of y/n.

“close yours and you’ll look better,” he insults back. 

“oh shut up. we know i’m the prettier one. and that’s saying something.”

the next morning, fred and george wake up to presents, a rowdy common room, and a nice cake sitting waiting for them on the gryffindor table. 

for the first time, y/n takes a seat opposite them, her eyes alight with the familiar mischief they always held. she steals glances at the professors, who were beaming down with interest, as if they shared an inside joke. draco malfoy has an odd smirk on his pale face. 

all eyes are on them as they cut open the cake. with a bang, fireworks come flying out of the cake in all directions, sending crumbs and icing flying in the air and leaving soot on the twin’s faces. their ginger hair is covered neatly with white icing and the fireworks continue for a calamitous five minutes. everyone’s too busy laughing and trying to dodge the flying cake to see that y/n l/n and draco malfoy are laughing quietly in a corner together, both with spells like umbrellas. 

fred’s eyes, however, are trained on y/n, who’s rolling over in laughter. he quickly casts a scourgify on himself and george, and strides casually over to her and malfoy, the usual lazy smirk on his face as he hears ‘draco ohmygosh that was the best. your cake decos are on point! d’ya think he’ll ever bully me again?’. that confirms his suspicions. she did play this prank on him. and it makes him feel fuzzy inside.

his face then contorts into a frown. she thinks he bullies her? 

“i wouldn’t say he bullies you, y/n.”

he smiles. never mind.

“but it isss! i can assure you, there is absolutely nothing nice ‘bout being called a frame!”

fred snorts at the time y/n had been gushing adorably over a picture frame that was embellished with gold and bronze flowers to angelina. he had went over and in an attempt to catch her attention, said ‘you’re a frame’.

sure, he was good at flirting, but not to the girls he really really liked. 

“that’s fucking funny,” malfoy laughs. 

“oh shut it draco, your face is funny. but yeah, i should probably ask him to start fresh.”

he decides to interrupt their conversation. 

“ask who to start fresh?” he butts in. 

y/n doesn’t even look surprised, “in fact, you, fred, because i’m not really sure if i’ve done anything wrong to you or anything, and by my memory i don’t think i have and you keep being rude and stuff. if i have, i’m really sorry for it and i’m sorry that i hurt you and all. if we can y’know, start over, and maybe be friends?” she catches the unreadable look in fred’s eyes and hesitates, “or maybe not, that’s okay, we don’t need to!” she gives a small laugh, “er, sorry for ever bringing it up?”

the earnestness of her tone and the wistful look in her eyes makes fred fall a little harder. ever since he saw her nervously fiddling with her robes in first year, he’s been smitten. 

there’s a silence. malfoy has slipped off, the sneaky bastard. 

fred simply takes y/n’s hand, giving her a look as if to ask for permission. 

she swallows and nods. 

they’re in the courtyard, which is sunny and light. flowers are blooming everywhere. 

“can i kiss you?” fred asks.

y/n’s eyebrows go up. “what?”

“can i kiss you?” fred repeats patiently. 

“as in kiss? k-i-s-s?” y/n asks, eyes wide with suspicion and curiosity.

“yep,” he chuckles, “crazy, aren’t i?”

“yeah, you’re crazy.”

“really? can i kiss you?”

“i’ve never really kissed anyone.”

“i guessed that.”

her eyebrows furrowed in hurt, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i’ll tell you if you let me kiss you.”

“there better be a good reason because i was saving it for someone special.”

“i need a yes, love.”

she huffs, “yes.” she won’t tell him that she has a crush on him, because to be honest, she still isn’t sure if this is a prank or not.

she surprised when fred tilts her head up ever so gently, a smile on his face.

this kiss is short and sweet. he tastes like cinnamon.

when they’ve let go, fred notices the light pink dusted over her cheeks. he smirks. 

“you have to tell me why you thought i’ve never kissed anyone,” she said, eyes flashing in deep thought.

“such a beautiful person as you does not deserve kisses from anyone.”

“...” 

fred took this as a sign to go on. “the reason i’ve always teased you endlessly is because i want your attention. i didn’t think you’d give it to me any other way. if you haven’t noticed, i’m in love with you. i think you’re absolutely beautiful, both ways. i love it when you frown and get annoyed, even if you rarely do, i love it when you study so hard your face makes this really concentrated look. i love it especially when you laugh and smile and joke and play pranks. even if they’re on me.”

“...” she was studying his movements. inside her brain, a frenzy was going on. part of her brain- the ever so optimistic part, was screaming happily, and the logical part was using body language to analyse whether he was lying or not.

eyes? their honey brown colour was glistening with affection and truth, an expression so dainty on his face. 

a quaint little smile was on his lips, a small one, a genuine one. it was different to all the other smiles she’d seen him smile. 

he wasn’t acting, she decided. if he was, he should take up a job in broadway. 

“y/n?”

her brows were furrowed. she’d never been confessed to as genuinely as this before. 

if they started this type of relationship would he still be mean and insult her all the time?

“i-i need time. to figure this out.”

he doesn’t look disappointed, she thinks. instead he looks down at her with... adoration?

“of course, sweetness, anything, i’ll wait for you.”

she smiles, “thank you, freddie.” 

☆

it’s been a few days since fred’s confessed to her. she’s still unsure if he was joking or not. why?

at this moment, she’s watching him giggle with angelina johnson. it seems like he’s forgotten everything and anything. he’s gotten closer to her. maybe he’s lost feelings for y/n? she can’t blame angie, she’s a wonderful girl. if he likes her, that’s fine too. suddenly her feelings for him become very clear. she like-likes him. and it’s a bit too late.

but maybe he doesn’t like angie in that way? maybe he’s still into her? 

y/n knows molly weasley raises her children with patience. she should trust that fred’s waiting for her. 

but then again, she’s never gonna be as special as angie johnson. she’s just a ever so polite and outgoing nerd. someone who’s foolish enough to prank. angie’s smart, confident and funny and terribly patient. and effortlessly beautiful. she’s got the true gryffindor touch. and angie’s been one of fred’s best friends since day one. she’s always gonna be number 1. 

that’s ok. she’ll accept it. she likes angie anyway. it was probably a joke anyway. 

she couldn’t be jealous, just a bit dismayed that it wasn’t genuine. whatever, she thinks. we can just go back to how we were before. or not. 

and it’s relatively easy. they never really saw much of each other anyway. she’ll get over this tiny little liking. 

it’ll just be like normal. none of this happened. none of it. she grimaces bitterly, damning fred for his stupid games. should’ve known this was another of his pranks. but his acting though, certainly very good. 

she smiles to herself.

“knock it off, y/n, you’re here to learn, not to love.”

and that answer, is satisfactory. 

she gets up from her spot on the gryffindor table rather abruptly, saying goodbye to her friends, and makes her way to the kitchens. she knows she won’t be alone, she’ll talk to hansel and gretel, the twins that cook with the house elves every dinner.

they’re cleaning up as she walks in, book in hand. 

“hi hans, g!” she calls, as she rolls up the sleeves of her sweater to help them with the dishes. 

“y/n!” gretel gives her a hug with soapy arms and y/n giggles.

“how are both of you?” y/n asks. 

“good, good, potions though...” hansel trails off and they all laugh.

“potions is always like that,” y/n agrees, “it’s supposed to be really hard for newts, so you can’t really blame the subject.”

“i’m thinking of dropping divination,” gretel says.

“yeah, that’s wise, gretel buns,” hansel teases and gretel scowls. 

“divination is an easy subject, gretel, you just need to make random stuff up. i saw this weird bear thing in polly’s tea leaves, it wasn’t in the textbook. i told trelawney it was a symbol that a stranger would come and whip polly off her feet, with a whip the colour of the rarest german emeralds, leaving her absolutely smitten. i got full marks,” y/n laughs. 

they laugh too, and soon a light flowing conversation is shared over cups of hot chocolate. 

this is repeated for quite a few days and y/n even invites polly, marla and lenox, her best friends, to join. it’s a delicate, nice kind of week, one that suits her current struggles. 

when the weekends roll around, hansel and gretel suggest that they all sit at the hufflepuff table. they share jokes and quips over the food, y/n reading a book as she bites happily into apple pie.

“pfft,” her lips upturn ever so slightly at the quote that the character makes. 

fred watches her from the gryffindor table, utterly confused. y/n’s been avoiding him. he sees the flashes of hurt that run through her eyes whenever she sees him, and the quick grin that’s far too fake that follows. she’s been reading a lot more and he never sees her anymore. 

he wonders what he’s doing wrong. so as he sees her walking with her friends to hogsmeade, he calls for her. 

“y/n!”

her friends giggle as they see him, but she gives him a fleeting glance and raises her eyebrows at them, shaking her head, before profusely apologising to each one of them.

she approaches him warily, with all practicality in mind. she leads with her heart, but her head protects her. 

fool me once, shame on you.

fool me twice, shame on me.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he states.

“what would you expect?” she snaps, “isn’t this all a good laugh for you anyway?”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you know what i mean, this was all a joke, wasn’t it? fooling my poor little heart which you know has a crush on you. my head simply won’t allow it. admit it, and we can both move on with our lives,” her tone is sharp and cold, her eyes burning with fury and hurt, “i may seem gullible, and i am,” she gave a short laugh, “but when i notice, don’t even try to lie.”

“this wasn’t a joke, love.”

“don’t call me that, and you and i both know it is. your acting though, absolutely superb!” 

“what makes you think this was a prank, y/n? you were the one who asked for time.”

“yes, and the time made me realise that i had feelings for you despite all the teasing AND the fact you couldn’t possibly be genuine!” y/n says exasperatedly, her fury dissolving quickly, “you looked so in place with angie and everyone that it’s so obviously some sort of fun thing you did to try to get back at me!”

“angie?”

“a-and everyone else.”

“angie?” fred’s eyes were amused.

“you know, angelina, as in johnson.”

“angie?”

y/n shrugs, “you did bring her to the yule ball last year.”

“angie??!!!” fred was full on smirking now, as if trying to receive a real response. 

“i think you like her, okay?! are we done here? i’d very much like a good book from f&b,” y/n sighs. 

“i’ll accompany you to flourish and botts. why would you think i like her? didn’t i just confess to you?”

“yeah but it seemed kinda...” y/n trails off, not wanting her insecurities to come off as compliment fishing, “kinda far-fetched.”

“meaning?” fred knows exactly what she means.

“you know!” 

“oh but i don’t,” he smiles innocently.

“well, you’re you!” 

“is that supposed to be an insult?” he asks, faking a look of hurt rather well as y/n looks alarmed. 

“no, no, as in, you’re nice to look at, and you’ve always insulted me and been so nice and cool to everyone. are you for real?”

“nice to look at?” a cocky grin is on his face now, much more noticeable than the slight blush that was creeping up his face.

“is that the only thing you could pick up?” 

“nice to look at? what’s up with me repeating myself today?”

y/n lets out an agitated sigh. he doesn’t know, he’s blunt and straightforward. she likes cushioning her words.

“y’know, handsome? good looking?”

“my middle names.” another smirk to conceal the blushing. 

y/n smiles. “of course, everyone knows it.”

it makes fred uncomfortable. her light tone is a bit menacing too. 

“only joking.”

“i’m sure everyone does know it, darling.”

y/n is too busy looking at the dog that passes by to hear him, rambling quietly to herself over the cute scottish terrier.

“sorry, what was that?”

“aren’t i cuter than the dog?”

“nup.”

“really?” fred casually slings an arm over y/n’s shoulders, having to stoop a little lower to reach her.

“i think so.”

“well i’ll tell you something love, i think you’re absolutely stunning.”

“some love potion you’re on.”

“uh huh, the love potion is called love, sweetness.”

“so you’re for real?”

“as real as you and me.”

“you’re cheesy. this isn’t a prank right?”

“not at all, i love you.”

“i-i don’t think i love you just yet, but i think it’s possible,” y/n bites her lip, anxiously awaiting his response.

she tilts her head to look at him. 

he’s beaming. he looks more handsome than ever, a sweet smile etched on his face as he looks down at her in utter adoration.

“you have a crush on me!” he pulls her into a hug and giggles like a little girl, kissing the top of her head.

she’s engulfed by the smell of burning wood and cinnamon and immediately feels safe in his strong arms. 

“how’d you say we go on a date? so i can show how sorry i am for all the times i called you googly eyes and played pranks on you.”

“i’ll check to see if the girls are okay with it,” y/n replies, turning her head to see her friends. they’re gone. 

“they are. i asked them to shoo off before i approached you. is that a yes?”

y/n nods, “of course, freddie.”

“i love you.”

she laughs, “you really are april’s fool.”

“i’m your april’s fool.” 

he buries his nose in the crook of her neck to stop her from seeing his blushing red face.