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rootedinrevisions · 1 month ago

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Kinktober 2024: Day 12

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry if this one's not as good as some of the other Kinktober things I've posted. I am running on a serious lack of sleep and an unhealthy amount of caffeine. So there may be some mistakes I missed proofreading. But hopefully you still enjoy it!

PROMPT: "Do you know how hard you make it to keep my hands off you?"

KINK: Uniform Kink

WARNINGS: 18+ SMUT. (Oral: Female Receiving, P in V Sex.)

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

TAG LIST: See Comments Below

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! (I currently have one for Glen Powell & His Characters, One for Bradley/Rooster now, and then a third for WWE/Wrestling. I also can create one for Bucky & other MCU characters if there's interest for more of those characters!)

You weren’t nervous walking into The Hard Deck—not at first. You’d been in San Diego for the summer, looking for fun and maybe a little excitement. Matching with Jake Seresin on Tinder seemed like just that—a summer fling with a ridiculously attractive guy who, based on his profile, didn’t take life too seriously. All of his pictures were casual: him in a white or black T-shirt, jeans, and that one photo of him at the beach that had you staring at your screen longer than you’d admit.

You’d chatted for a few days—mostly flirty, nothing too deep—but when he invited you out to this bar, you figured why not? It was supposed to be just for fun. No pressure.

But the moment you stepped inside, all that confidence you’d walked in with started to falter. Your eyes found Jake instantly, standing near the pool tables at the back of the bar. Except he wasn’t in jeans and a T-shirt like you’d expected. No, Jake was in full Service Khakis, his uniform pristine and fitted in a way that made it impossible not to stare. He looked so different from the laid-back guy in his profile. Somehow, seeing him like this—with his blonde hair perfectly tousled, green eyes sharp, and that devastatingly handsome smile—took him to a whole new level.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a second, you wondered if you were in over your head.

Jake was in the middle of lining up his next shot when he saw you step through the door, and his focus shifted entirely. Handing off the pool cue to Rooster without a word, he straightened up, a grin already forming as he moved to meet you halfway across the bar. His Service Khakis fit him like a glove, the kind of look that was impossible to ignore. And from the way his green eyes lit up as he saw you approaching, he was just as eager to finally meet in person.

“Seresin,” he said smoothly, offering you a hand. “Jake Seresin. But I guess you already knew that.”

You smiled, taking his hand, feeling the warm confidence in his grip. "Nice to meet you, Jake."

He wasted no time, gently guiding you over to the bar, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back.

As the bartender approached, Jake’s eyes flicked toward you with a teasing grin. “So, what’s it gonna be? Let me guess—something fruity with rum or vodka?”

His voice dripped with playful confidence, clearly assuming he had you figured out.

But when you raised a brow and said, "Whiskey. Neat," you could practically see the moment you caught him off guard. He blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before that smirk returned.

“Whiskey, huh?” he drawled, clearly impressed.

You raised a brow, leaning against the bar. “Why, what drink did you think I was?”

Jake chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “Honestly? I was expecting something sweeter.”

You shot him a teasing smile as you took your drink. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping just enough to feel intimate. “I guess that’s something I’ll have to figure out.”

You grinned, your eyes glinting with mischief. “Guess you will.”

With drinks in hand, you and Jake made your way back to the pool tables. The room was alive with chatter, but your focus was entirely on him—and his was undoubtedly on you.

He grabbed a pool cue and handed it to you, his eyes trailing down your figure with a smirk. "You any good at this, or should I go easy on you?" His voice dripped with teasing confidence.

You tilted your head, giving him a pointed look. "Oh, I can hold my own, Seresin. But I wouldn’t mind watching you try."

His eyes glinted at the challenge, and you felt the buzz of anticipation in the air between you, the kind that made your skin warm. He was everything you'd usually avoid—cocky, a little too charming for his own good—but in that uniform, with that grin, he was impossible to resist.

Jake leaned over the table to line up his shot, and your gaze flickered down to the way his biceps flexed beneath the crisp fabric of his uniform. He noticed, of course.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a low chuckle escaping his lips without breaking his focus.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to let on how much you did. "Maybe. Haven't decided yet."

He straightened up, walking over to you with that confident swagger, closing the space between you just a little too much.

His voice was low as he said, “You know, you’re making it hard to concentrate over here.”

You grinned, biting your lip before responding. “Do you know how hard you make it to keep my hands off you?”

Jake’s smirk widened, clearly enjoying how flustered you were trying not to be. He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing against yours. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

The tension simmered, unspoken but undeniable. You took a small step back, forcing yourself to keep the upper hand, and shook your head with a smile. “I’m not that easy, Jake. If you want me to take you seriously, you’ll have to work for it.”

He grinned, leaning casually against the pool table, his gaze never leaving yours. “Who says I’m not up for the challenge?”

Over the next hour, the flirting became a game of give and take. Every shot you made, he found an excuse to stand closer, to brush his hand lightly against yours, to flash that smile that made your stomach flutter. His eyes would flicker to your lips, lingering just long enough to make you wonder if he was going to kiss you right then and there.

You were acutely aware of every move he made—the way his fingers gripped the pool cue, the effortless confidence in his stance. He was making it hard to say no, and he knew it. The cockiness wasn’t overbearing, though; it was just enough to keep you on your toes, wanting more.

Finally, after another round, Jake leaned down next to you as you lined up a shot, his breath warm against your neck.

“So,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing your ear, “how long are we going to pretend you don’t want me to take you home tonight?”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you managed to keep your cool, straightening up and turning to face him, keeping your expression teasing. “Maybe I’m just making sure you’ve earned it.”

Jake raised a brow, stepping even closer until you were almost pinned between him and the table. His voice was low and full of that confident drawl. “Trust me, sweetheart, when you’re ready, I’ll make it worth your while.”

There it was—the line between teasing and something more serious, and you could feel it shift in that moment. Your pulse quickened, the weight of the decision settling between you.

You gave him a playful smile, letting the tension linger just a little longer.

“You know, I think I might just take you up on that offer,” you said, tilting your head. “But first, I think you owe me a win on the pool table.”

Jake’s smirk was instant, the cocky edge returning as he handed you the cue. “Whatever you say, darlin'. But just so you know, when I take you home tonight, it’ll be the best win you’ve ever had.”

The two of you were deep into the pool game, but you could tell by the way Jake was playing that he wasn’t giving it his all. You smirked to yourself, noticing how his shots always seemed to fall just short of the pocket, his moves just a little too casual. It was clear he planned on letting you win, and while you appreciated the gesture, you had no intention of dragging this game out. Not with the way your heart was racing every time he leaned a little too close or flashed that confident smile.

Lining up your next shot, you took a deep breath, feeling his eyes on you. You purposely missed, standing up straight and stretching your arms as if calling it quits.

“You know, Jake,” you said casually, glancing around the bar, “it’s getting a little crowded in here. I think I’m going to head out.”

Jake’s brow furrowed for a split second, caught off guard by your sudden decision. You could see the flicker of confusion cross his face, quickly replaced by that easy grin.

“Calling it a night already, darlin’? I thought you’d want to finish the game,” he teased, though his tone carried a hint of disappointment.

You smiled softly, stepping back from the table and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

“Maybe some other time. Thanks for the drinks though,” you said, your voice light, as if you were genuinely planning on leaving alone.

You gave him a small wave, turning toward the door. Jake straightened up, watching you head for the exit. His grin faltered just a touch, clearly not expecting you to walk away like that.

But just as you reached the edge of the crowd, you stopped. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned your head slightly, glancing back over your shoulder. You met his gaze, holding it for a beat longer than necessary before flashing him a knowing smile.

“You coming, too?”

Jake blinked, his surprise melting into something far more playful. His grin was back in full force as he handed his pool cue to Phoenix before making his way through the crowd toward you, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.

“You know,” he said as he caught up, that cocky edge back in his voice, “you could’ve just said you didn’t want me to go easy on you.”

You shrugged, biting back a smirk as you started toward the door, Jake falling into step beside you. “Where’s the fun in that?”

The heat between you had been simmering all night, but now it was undeniable. Every step you took together, side by side, had an electricity to it, an unspoken promise hanging in the air as you both headed out into the night.

The night air was warm as you stepped outside The Hard Deck, the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore filling the quiet space around you. Jake was close behind, his steps slowing as you reached a spot away from the crowd. You stopped and turned to face him, your pulse quickening when you met his gaze—those piercing green eyes that had been focused on you all night, filled with a quiet intensity now that you were alone.

Without thinking twice, you closed the distance between you in one smooth movement. You reached up, sliding your hands around the back of his neck, and pulled him down toward you, your lips pressing against his. The kiss was sudden and electric, all the teasing and tension from the night culminating in this one moment. Jake's response was immediate—his hands found your waist, gripping you firmly and pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

His kiss was just as confident as he was, but there was a hint of something more, something that made your heart race faster. You could feel the heat radiating from him, his touch strong but careful, as if he had been waiting for this all night.

When you finally pulled away, your lips still tingling from the kiss, you looked up at him, breathless but composed.

“So,” you said, your voice teasing as you tilted your head slightly, “are you going to take me home…Lieutenant?”

Jake’s grin was instant—one of those slow, easy smiles that seemed to light up his whole face. The title sounded damn good coming from you, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the way you said it.

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, his voice low and full of promise.

His hand slid down to capture yours, and with one last look that made your knees weak, he turned toward the parking lot, tugging you along with him.

As you walked side by side, the charged energy between you had shifted. No more teasing, no more holding back. Tonight, you were both crossing that line, and neither of you was looking back.

Jake’s truck rumbled to life as the two of you settled inside, the low hum of the engine the only sound at first. He focused on the road ahead, but you couldn’t stop sneaking glances his way. Even now, after the kiss that had left your heart racing, the sight of him in that uniform was doing things to you. His broad shoulders filled out the khaki shirt perfectly, the crisp lines of his Navy service uniform making him somehow even more irresistible than you’d imagined.

Jake noticed, of course. After a few minutes, he smirked and glanced over at you, his green eyes catching yours as you quickly looked away, trying not to be too obvious.

"You keep staring at me like that, darlin’, and I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got a thing for guys in uniform," he teased, his voice light but laced with that ever-present cocky confidence. "You know…you could just take a picture. It’ll last longer."

You rolled your eyes at him, biting back a grin. “Well, I would,” you replied, glancing at him again, "but something tells me no picture could really do you justice." That made Jake’s smirk widen, but before he could fire back, you continued, your voice a little softer now, more honest. "But...I have to admit, there’s something about you in that uniform that makes it hard to help myself."

He glanced over at you again, raising an eyebrow as if he hadn’t expected that level of honesty.

"Oh yeah?" His tone dropped, the teasing giving way to something a little more serious. "And what exactly is it that gets to you, sweetheart? The authority? The way it fits?" He let the question hang, his voice like a low rumble as he asked.

You felt your cheeks heat up, but you didn’t back down. You leaned back in your seat, turning fully to look at him now. "Maybe it’s the way you carry yourself in it," you said, your eyes tracing his profile, "or maybe it’s just how good you look in it. Either way…it’s working for you."

Jake chuckled softly, clearly pleased with your response, though his grip on the steering wheel tightened just a little. "Well, I gotta say…I like the way you’re lookin’ at me right now," he said, his voice quieter, more intent, as he focused on the road. "Makes it real hard to keep my eyes where they’re supposed to be."

The tension in the truck thickened as your words hung between you, the atmosphere shifting from playful to charged once more. You both knew where the night was headed, but for now, the anticipation was building with every shared glance, every teasing word.

When Jake pulled up outside your apartment, you could barely wait to get inside, that teasing grin of his still playing on your mind. As you led him up the stairs, your heart raced, knowing exactly where the night was headed.

As soon as you unlocked the door and stepped inside, Jake wasted no time. His hand caught the door, swinging it shut behind him with a soft thud before his lips were on yours again—hot, insistent, and full of that same hunger you’d felt building between you all night. His hands were on your waist, pulling you firmly into him, his body heat radiating through the thin fabric of his uniform as he pressed against you.

You melted into the kiss, your fingers threading through his sun-kissed hair as you pushed up on your toes, giving into the intoxicating pull of him. The smell of his cologne—woodsy and warm—mixed with the scent of the sea still lingering faintly on him, a reminder of his life out there, on the edge.

Your back hit the wall near the entryway, but neither of you broke the kiss. If anything, it deepened, the urgency between you growing as his hands roamed your sides, finding the hem of your shirt and slipping underneath, his touch warm against your skin. Jake groaned softly against your lips, his body pressing harder against yours as if he couldn’t get close enough.

When you finally pulled back to catch your breath, your chest heaving, his forehead rested against yours. He was still holding you close, his eyes half-lidded but dark with want.

"You sure you want me here, darlin’?" he asked, his voice rough and low, a mix of that cocky confidence and something deeper, a kind of restraint that surprised you after the way he’d been looking at you all night.

You met his gaze, your hands still tangled in his hair as you nodded, your voice breathless but certain. "Yeah, Jake. I want you here."

That was all the encouragement he needed. His lips were back on yours in an instant, his hands lifting you off the ground as he backed you toward the hallway leading to your bedroom. Each step he took felt deliberate, as though he was savoring every second, every touch, the intensity between you simmering just beneath the surface.

The moment you reached the bedroom, the tension that had been crackling between you and Jake finally snapped. His lips stayed on yours as you fumbled your way toward the bed, your hands roaming over the fabric of his uniform. When your legs hit the edge of the mattress, he pulled back just enough to tug at your clothes, his fingers moving with surprising gentleness given the hunger in his eyes.

Piece by piece, he undressed you, taking in every inch of newly exposed skin with that signature Hangman smirk. When you were finally bare in front of him, Jake’s eyes darkened, his gaze raking over your body in a way that made your skin tingle.

"Goddamn," he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. "You’re perfect."

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the compliment, but before he could strip out of his uniform, your hands shot out to stop him. You placed your palms on his chest, shaking your head with a teasing smile.

"Keep it on... for now."

Jake raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening into that cocky grin you’d come to love. "Yes, ma’am," he drawled, his voice low and rough.

His hands found your hips again, and with gentle pressure, he guided you down onto the bed, your back meeting the soft sheets beneath you. His strong hands slid up your thighs, spreading them apart slowly as he kneeled between your legs.

You felt your heart race in anticipation as he leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Every kiss, every touch, sent a jolt of electricity through you. He paused, just shy of where you needed him most, and looked up at you with that same mischievous glint in his eyes, as though waiting for you to say something.

But you couldn’t, not when he was this close, not when your body was already aching for him. Your breath hitched as his lips finally found their way to the space between your legs, and any teasing thoughts you had were replaced by pure, unadulterated need.

Jake didn’t waste any time. The moment his mouth pressed against you, a wave of pleasure hit you, and it became clear just how skilled he was. His tongue moved with purpose, tracing every sensitive spot, and you couldn’t help the small gasps that escaped your lips. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it felt as if every flick of his tongue was calculated to drive you closer to the edge.

The sensation was overwhelming, but what really did it for you was the sight of him—his head between your thighs, looking up at you with that same hungry intensity. His khaki uniform was still on, the sleeves pulling taut around his arms as he gripped your legs, keeping you in place. The combination of that pristine military uniform and the absolute sin he was committing between your legs made the whole experience even more intoxicating.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and thick as he pulled back just enough to speak. His lips glistened from his efforts, his eyes locked on yours. “You look so good like this. You’re close, aren’t you?”

You could barely respond, too wrapped up in the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. He knew, though—he could feel the way your body tensed, the way your breathing quickened.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxed, his voice soft but commanding. “Let go for me. I want to feel you.”

His words were like a spark, setting off something deep inside you. The combination of his mouth and his voice, that low drawl filled with desire, pushed you right to the brink. His tongue circled you again, slow and deliberate, and your body responded instinctively, arching up off the bed as your release started to build.

“That’s it,” Jake whispered, his fingers digging into your thighs as he held you steady. “Come for me, sweetheart. I want to hear you.”

With a final flick of his tongue and the pressure of his lips, you felt yourself unravel. The world seemed to blur for a moment as your climax hit you hard, your moans filling the room as Jake worked you through it, never letting up until every last bit of pleasure had coursed through you.

Jake climbed onto the bed, hovering over you, a teasing smile playing on his lips as he brushed a few stray strands of hair away from your face. The warmth of his body radiated down to you, and your heart raced as he leaned in for a kiss, his mouth moving softly against yours.

Your hands instinctively moved to his uniform shirt, fingers deftly working to undo the buttons. With each one that came undone, his kisses traveled down to your neck, teasing and sucking softly before he pulled back, leaning closer to your ear.

“You know,” he drawled, his voice thick with that signature Hangman cockiness, “I know you like the uniform on me, but I think you’d like it even better off.”

With that, he sat up, leaning back on his heels, and you watched, entranced, as he slowly undid the buttons you hadn’t gotten to. The fabric fell away from his shoulders and arms, revealing toned muscles that made your breath hitch. Then he pulled his white tank top over his head, and your hands instinctively reached out, running down his chest and abs.

You’d seen the beach pictures on his profile, but seeing him in person was a whole different experience. The way his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips sent shivers down your spine.

He moved to the edge of the bed, his fingers deftly removing his belt and sliding down his pants. When he was finally undressed, he joined you back on the bed, sitting on the edge as he pulled you gently to straddle his lap. His hands found your waist, grounding you as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.

“I want to feel you,” you whispered, desire lacing your words.

Jake’s expression shifted, a hint of hesitation flashing across his face. “I don’t have any protection with me,” he admitted, the cockiness momentarily replaced by sincerity.

You felt a wave of relief wash over you. Thankfully, you still had some condoms in your nightstand from your last relationship. Leaning over, Jake’s hands steadying you, you reached into the drawer and pulled one out. He slid it on himself with ease, and the moment felt electric, anticipation crackling in the air.

You positioned yourself over him, lifting your hips slightly. As you slowly slid down, both of you let out moans, the feeling of him filling you making your body tingle with pleasure. His hands on your waist began to guide your pace, but soon he decided he wanted more, thrusting up into you with urgency. Your head fell back as waves of pleasure washed over you.

“God, that feels so good,” you breathed out, lost in the moment.

“Let me hear you,” he encouraged, his voice deep and low, urging you to speak.

You called out his name, breathless with desire, but he smirked, challenging you. “Uh uh, what’s my name?”

In that moment, the realization of what he wanted ignited something within you. You moaned out, “Lieutenant,” and the satisfaction in his eyes made you feel even more exhilarated.

He picked up the pace, thrusting into you with a hunger that matched your own, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, baby,” he breathed, his hands gripping your waist as he continued to drive you both higher, the world outside forgotten as you focused solely on each other.

The rhythm between you two intensified, each thrust igniting the fire building within you. As you felt the heat coil tighter in your core, Jake's hands gripped your waist, guiding you as he drove deeper, his breath ragged against your ear.

“Let go for me,” he urged, his voice thick with desire, urging you to reach that peak with him. You felt every nerve ending come alive, the pleasure building to an exquisite tension that threatened to consume you both.

With a few more powerful thrusts, the dam inside you broke. A wave of ecstasy washed over you, sending you spiraling into bliss. “Jake!” you cried out, feeling yourself unravel as pleasure coursed through you. Your body tightened around him, pulling him in deeper as he met you, the two of you surrendering to the moment together.

Jake let out a low groan, the sound sending another shiver through you as he hit his own release, filling you as the heat radiated between you. You could feel the tension dissipate, the world around you fading into the background as you both lost yourselves in the afterglow of your shared climax.

The two of you collapsed onto the bed, breathless and entwined. You lay there, bodies still connected, as the warmth of the moment enveloped you. Jake’s fingers traced gentle patterns on your skin, his breath gradually slowing as he smiled down at you.

“That was…” he started, searching for the right words, his grin wide and genuine.

“Unforgettable,” you finished, looking up at him, a satisfied smile spreading across your face.

He chuckled softly, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re not too bad yourself, you know that?”

You rolled onto your side, propping your head up with your hand as you gazed at him, feeling a mix of affection and exhilaration. The energy still buzzed between you, a reminder of the passion you’d just shared.

As you both lay there, the reality of your summer fling washed over you. Jake wasn’t just some guy you met on a dating app; he was the kind of man who took your breath away, and for tonight, you were grateful for every moment you’d get with him.

#Top Gun Hangman #Top Gun Hangman Fanfiction #Top Gun Hangman Fanfic #Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin Fanfiction #Jake Seresin Fanfic #Jake Hangman Seresin #Jake Seresin x reader #Hangman x reader #Jake Seresin Smut #Hangman Jake Seresin Smut

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mochinomnoms · 1 month ago

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Two's Company, Three's a Crowd, and Six is a Riot

OB!Boys x Reader

Synopsis Malleus and the others were never really sure what to expect from you. After your involvement of the last six overblots, they all hoped that you wouldn't get into any more trouble. Wishful thinking, on their parts. But honestly, how else were they supposed to react to the 6 different versions of you from the future?! All of them claiming they were married to one of them in their future?! Is it a delightful surprise? Yes, though most of them won't admit it. But now they must discuss, which timeline are they currently in, and who gets to stake their claim in your heart? Perhaps it's time to take advantage and learn from their respective ‘You’, specifically how it is they managed to woo you and bring that potentiality into reality. Now if only they could find you, current, time-period you, and put some new learned skills into practice… OR A freak magic accident replaces you with six potential future versions of you that 6 of your friends married. Now they learn a bit about, you, themselves, and their future, all while trying to bring the current you back to present-day.

An interactive story, choose how you want the next chapter to go!

ao3 link

spotify playlist

[cw] - sexual humor, minor character death

[tags] - humor, time travel, fluff, mild angst, happy ending

Chapter List:

i. Thievin’, stealin’, takin’ what’s not yours

ii. The sweetest tart in the red tyrant’s feast

iii. Royal consort to the wild usurper

iv. The merchant’s most precious treasure

v. A desert flower for the schemer’s heart

vi. The beautiful tyrant and her muse

vii. Persephone and the watchman’s worship

viii. Temporal mischief of the heart (yours in particular)

ix. Home is where the heart is

x. Malevolence and his briar rose

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muddyorbsblr · 1 month ago

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bad feeling

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Loki's entrance into the Avengers Compound depends on your approval

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Warning/s: minor character that's teeming with douchebag energy and doesn't age check before sliding into the DMs; language (nope still not sorry, Rogers); my rusty af writing (it's been months and honestly this might be cringe but if it is don't tell me i'm sensitive--) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: metahuman Reader in denial; instalove trope alert (i didn't think i'd ever be writing that but here we are)

"Brother, this is truly unnecessary," Loki groaned, fighting every urge to drag his feet as his brother led him down the halls of the Avengers Compound, avoiding the mix of curious and alarmed stares from the Midgardians donning near-identical jumpsuits. "Rogers' begrudging approval of your truly asinine idea was enough, you need not lead introductions. I am quite sure that Stark and the rest of your comrades have not forgotten who I am."

Thor simply rolled his eyes in response. "Of course they have not forgotten, Brother, but we have had quite the number of newcomers, and I will run not the risk of them reacting with hostility if they cross paths with you. So I shall conduct a simple extemporized introductory session with them so they may…acclimate to your presence in the Compound. And not think it a clandestine invasion and trigger a security lockdown."

As if right on cue, two faces, one familiar and the other quite new to the god of mischief approached, the sounds of their jovial exchange coming to a deadening halt. The smiles on their faces quickly morphed into furrowed brows and battle stances. "Thor, why have you brought him here?" the woman with auburn hair questioned, a red energy that he recognized as Chaos Magic forming in her hands while her companion, Romanoff, looked ready to strike.

"Please, stand down, my friends." The blond god held his hands up in front of them. "He means no harm, I promise you. I've brought him here so that perhaps he could join--"

"Not a fucking chance, Barbie," Romanoff seethed. "I still remember the mind job he did--Wanda what are you doing? Why are you actually listening--"

"Because some time ago I did what you call a 'mind job' on the rest of you," she answered the former Russian spy simply, standing down and waving her magic away. "And now here I get to stand, calling you all my friends. Because you forgave me for my misdeeds. Gave me a second chance. I think we should all extend the same kindness now."

"I commend the way you think, Maximoff," Rogers' voice echoed across the common area, bystanders not so subtly beginning to crowd the area surrounding them, only parting to let the super soldier through and take his stance in the middle of the group. "Much as I'm not the biggest fan of Mister Leather and Metal 'you will all kneel before me', Wanda's right." He took a step back and addressed the room. "Everyone, Loki will be joining us for the foreseeable future. I expect you all to make an effort to help him adjust to his new life here on Earth. Or at least not get in his way. Now, back to work. All of you."

The curious agents all scattered about, returning to their tasks prior to the Asgardian brothers arriving.

"Thank you, Steven," Thor spoke up once the bystanders made themselves scarce. "You will not regret--"

"Not so fast, Odinson." Rogers threw his hand up, stopping his brother's words short. "I want him to meet Y/L/N first. If she says he won't give us any grief, then he can stay. She says no? You'll have to find another place to park your brother."

"Hey--!" Loki fought back the urge to throw a dagger in the soldier's direction. "I am not some meager property that needs to be set down--"

"If you would rather Strange lock you back in an eternal fall, that can be arranged," he shot back, the muscles in his jaw twitching in a telltale sign that he was fighting back a smug grin. He motioned toward the interrogation area, showing the way. "Meet Y/L/N, and we'll go from there."

Thor led the way further into the Compound and past the common area, the temperature dropping significantly and impelling the god to cast an enchantment that would raise his core temperature so as to not trigger his Jotun form to emerge. "Apologies, Brother," he spoke as they made their way down the hall. "There have been suspicions that an intern for one of SHIELD's departments has been a HYDRA operative attempting to pilfer data to fuel some form of invasion. This individual is in one of the interrogation rooms now awaiting Y/N's arrival, and the temperature was her idea. Put the young man in a sense of high discomfort to lower his guards."

"Have him focus on making his body cope with the temperature rather than his mind on deflecting her queries," he surmised, nodding his head as they stepped into the viewing area, laying eyes on the clearly novice employee in that same jumpsuit the others wore outside. His breathing was jittery and labored, rubbing his hands furiously to generate even some form of heat. It wouldn't be difficult to break through his defenses. "She's a clever one, that mortal. Though I could save you all the interrogation and read the lad's mind--"

"No no," Thor waved him off, motioning for him to look into the room once more. "I want you to see her at work. It's rather fascinating watching her work, and the machination of her mind is rather…perplexing."

"Should we be contacting one Doctor Foster to inform her of his…fascination of yours, Brother?" he gibed, raising an eyebrow in suspicion and finding himself a touch more curious when Thor simply laughed off the question.

"My heart is Jane's and Jane's alone, Brother. You know this," he answered, giving his brother a pointed look. Guilt sat heavily on his heart, knowing full well the words that the god of thunder chose to omit. Considering that I destroyed the Bifrost just to protect her from you.

It would take time before amends were made for making that particular threat, no matter how empty it truly was.

Before Loki could say anything, the door on the other side of the two-way mirror opened, a hard-faced Agent Romanoff entering the room and taking the seat opposite the suspected traitor. She made a point to shrug off her jacket and bare her arms, the action making the young man's face twist in derision, undoubtedly because it challenged his quite fragile ego even more.

"I have nothing to say to you," he said, the shaking tone of his voice betraying him. "Why aren't you cold? You all did something to me, didn't you? Made your freaky witch friend cast some curse on me?"

Romanoff leaned back against her chair, her smirk growing as his scowl deepened. "Where I was from, this is what summer felt like," she shot back casually, keeping her tone even despite the bold-faced lie. "And I don't need you to say anything." She jutted her chin in the direction of the door, a proud look on her face as you walked in to the room. "I just need her to look at you."

"Mister Park…" you droned, taking your time to cross the distance from the door to the cold metal desk. "I'm Agent Y/L/N, I'll be your interrogator."

You leaned in to the edge of the table, gripping the corners. Your body stiffened for a few seconds as you took a sharp breath, adjusting to the frigid cold. There was a distant, calculating, enigmatic smile on your face as your eyes roamed his features. Almost as if you were picking away at the fragments of his protective shell, exposing the answers he refused to give with just that one look.

It was a sight that was all too familiar to him. Something his mother would use on suspected traitors to the Realm back in Asgard. Perhaps that was what you were doing, after all. Or perhaps it was a well-crafted facade. Something that Romanoff or another former spy within SHIELD's ranks had taught you to unnerve its recipient.

"Like I told Agent Hot Stuff over there, I have nothing to say to any of you," he sneered.

"And like Agent Romanoff told you, we don't need you to say anything. All you have to do…is sit there." You squinted your eyes at him, sighing deeply as you said the words that apparently cemented the suspected traitor's fate. "I've got a bad feeling about you." You leaned in close, invading his personal space and making him even more visibly uneasy, not even bothering to mask how his body was shaking. "Nice contacts."

In a heartbeat, Agent Romanoff leaned across the desk and grasped the bottom of the apparently confirmed traitor's face, the man they called Park now wincing and groaning in even more discomfort as she inspected his eyes. "Implants?" she asked you.

"Seems buddy boy here's really committed to the cause," you remarked, mocking their organization's salute. "Helium Hydrogen or some shit."

Park slammed his fists down on the table, neither woman even flinching at the outburst. As if you both saw it coming. "It's Heil Hydra, you stupid bitch!" he screamed, fighting against Romanoff's hold and trying to stand up from his seat to charge at you.

You, however, simply responded with a self-satisfied grin as you called out toward the other side of the door, "And there's our verbal confirmation! Lock 'im up." And just to goad the traitorous intern on further, you ruffled his hair and looked him dead in the eyes and said, "Thank you for your cooperation."

Right as you said the words, Rogers burst into the room along with two other agents, flanking him and restricting his movement so he couldn't charge at anyone in the room. "Put him in the holding cells until transport gets here," he instructed the agents, who simply nodded and walked the traitor out of the room.

You and Romanoff turned off the lights and walked out arm in arm. Loki caught a smidgen of your conversation about meeting the significant other of another new Avenger. Something about "earning your stamp of approval".

"What did I tell you, Brother?" Thor prompted, nudging his arm.

"Fascinating," he mumbled, unable to wipe the image of that enigmatic smile of yours from his mind. Wondering what you looked like when you were genuinely beaming at something. Or someone. "It seems she's somewhat telepathically inclined."

"That is what many of us have been trying to tell her, but she refuses to listen. Insists that she is simply better inclined at reading others from her years of dreadfully flawed relationships of 'every kind'," he explained, leading him down the same hallway that you and Romanoff had disappeared to moments ago. "Repeatedly tells us that her most effective and only teacher has been, in her words, her life's revolving door of shitty people."

"And Rogers wishes for me to meet this Y/N so that she may what? Approve of my being here? He defers to her when it comes to newcomers in your merry band of his realm's mightiest heroes?" He tried to mask his curiosity with his signature smarm, trying to seem disinterested in what seemed like an initiation rite.

But in truth he was all the more looking forward to being face to face with you.

"She has not yet been incorrect in the years that I have known her. And you have nothing to fret about, Brother. You will make a fine addition to this team," the blond said proudly, both of them finally arriving to the considerably warmer common area. Loki finally lifted his enchantment, no longer concerned of his Jotun form emerging as his brother raised his hand and called out in your direction, "Y/N! I have returned from Asgard and there is someone I wish for you to meet--"

"In a minute, Barbie. Carter's bringing in her latest beau. Something about her wanting me to have a read on him before she gets too invested," you answered him, throwing your hand up in their direction. You threw a cursory glance their way, barely registering the raven-haired god, before returning your gaze to the door where another unfamiliar face walked in, arm in arm with a man whose entire aura screamed 'philanderer'.

"Y/N, I'd like you to meet Nathan. Nathan, sweetie, this is my friend--"

"Wow you're stunning," the man said, raising his hand in front of him, seemingly to shake yours. But the positioning seemed…off. As if he were to turn your hand and kiss the back of it the second you even brought yours a fraction of an inch upward.

One look into this Nathan's thoughts all but confirmed it. Along with all the other deplorable indiscretions he had stacked against him.

If the god's suspicions were right and you truly were telepathically inclined, you would see those indiscretions, too. With the right guidance, you could explore the true scope of your abilities. Perhaps even advance them.

Your unmoving stance brought along a disquiet to your friend's features, her smile fading into a grim line as her eyes drooped and her posture slumped. She'd seen this reaction from you before, and she seemed to already brace herself for your next words.

"I've got a bad feeling about you," you said in an ominous tone, standing at your full height before tilting your head slightly. From where he stood, Loki could see the man grow visibly anxious, his pulse quickening and beating furiously against his neck.

"What--Why what'd you see?" your friend croaked out, fighting back sobs.

You chose to instead address the deplorable excuse of a man. "You checked out no less than three women since you walked through the front door, and at least twice you wondered if any of them would be down for a threesome. You have a secret social media account that you use to sext other women and send them your dick pics, ohh and by the way…that pump that you're using? Doesn't do shit."

The god had never seen someone's complexion visibly pale until now, Nathan losing all color in his face as if he'd been drained of blood. "You--You d-don't know what you're talking about, you fucking freak!" He looked to Carter, his eyes rife with panic. "Babe, your weird friend here's just pulling this all out of her ass, she's lying--"

His paltry laughable excuses were cut off with a chorus of hissing sounds and "ooh"s and "yikes" from your team, as if his words were so offensive they physically stung. Stark spoke up, clapping his hand down on the man's shoulder. "Now see here, Rudolph the horny reindeer, you've made at least five mistakes since you stepped through that door. But calling Y/N here a liar? Yeah, that dug your grave, dick for brains."

"Well then she's wrong!" he whined, grabbing for his lover's hands and holding on with a death grip. "Baby, you know me, I'm your pookie bear. I would never hurt you--"

"Oof goddamn now I wish I was lying," you quipped, a mixture of surprise and disgust coloring your features. "You couldn't waterboard that nickname out of me. Maybe try going for something that doesn't sound like a name a toddler would give a stuffed animal for the next one? You probably have her all lined up, right? Somewhere in all those DMs and FaceApp'd shrimpy photoshoots?" You took a step closer, not seeming to care about how his free hand was clenched so tightly into a fist that it began to shake. "By the way, I hope you age checked those girls. I'll give you two pieces of free advice. First? Age of consent in New York is seventeen. Second? Don't treat it like a damn target."

Your friend Carter finally jerked her hand out of his and struck him across the face, the sound reverberating through the common area. Stark raised his brows and nodded at her in approval, making a remark about how he wished he had some popcorn.

"It's over," she told him. "I don't ever want to hear from you again." Tears began to roll down her cheeks as she said the words and motioned toward the same door they walked through just minutes before.

"I'm not going anywhere," he insisted, acting like a misbehaving toddler and stomping his foot. "Why would you even believe this freaky little bitch over your own boyfriend, I thought we had some--"

"Because we trust her, cradle robber. And to this day she's never been wrong about a damn thing," Stark sniped, walking over and putting himself between you and the increasingly belligerent Nathan. He placed a tablet in Carter's hands. "I took the liberty of getting into his second account and sending screenshots of his messages to…well, just about everyone in his contacts list. But I figured you ought to see it and scroll through the messages first hand, Sharon."

At this moment, Loki caught another glimpse into the philandering man's mind, seeing a vision of him intending to attack you and strangle you with his bare hands. And just as the god suspected, you had glimpsed the same thought running through his mind, side stepping out of the way just before Nathan could get a hold of you. He watched with more than mild amusement as Thor stepped forward next and grabbed the whining man by the back of his shirt and lifting him into the air.

"Any mortal capable of even the tiniest amount of coherent thought would know better than to attack my friends," the blond said in a low, authoritative tone that eerily reminded Loki of their father. He promptly walked Nathan to the same door that he and Carter had walked through; Loki could see that his brother was physically fighting the urge to give the impudent puny mortal a swift kick to his rear as he gave him a nudge out of the premises.

"Thank you, Barbie," you spoke, an equally amused look on your face after witnessing the whole ordeal. "Always knew it was a good idea to have an Asgardian bouncer guard dog around."

Once Thor had made his way back to you and the rest of the team, you and he grasped each other's forearms. A show of respect that the blond oaf usually only had reserved for his closest comrades, the Warriors Four. Only recently had he even done that with Loki, and while the god of mischief would never admit it aloud, the gesture had him fighting back that traitorous prickling in the backs of his eyes.

"Speaking of having Asgardians in the Compound, there is someone I wish for you to meet, Lady Y/N," he spoke, motioning toward his brother. You tilted your head, a smile so starkly different from the one you had in the interrogation room brightening your features the moment your eyes met Loki's. "This is my brother, and he could be quite an invaluable asset to the team."

"With your go ahead, Agent Y/L/N," Rogers spoke from his seat, intently watching the scene play out before him. Once again agents had begun to crowd around them, completely halting their movements to bear witness. "Like Stark said, we trust you."

You barely gave a response, the only indicator that you'd even heard Rogers' words being a slight jut of your chin in his direction. Loki took your considerably smaller outstretched hand in his, taking every bit of his strength to stay upright as the visions bombarded his mind. The smallest gasp slipped from your lips. You took a moment to compose yourself before you spoke, addressing the team.

"All clear, he can stay," you announced, a boisterous whoop coming from Thor the second you gave your judgment. Neither of you made a move to let go of the other's hand.

"Okay not to take a page out of your book here, jellybean, but…" Stark spoke, breaking you two out of your own little bubble. He pointed his finger back and forth between you and the raven-haired god. "I've got a bad feeling about the two of you."

Stop smiling, you literal idiot, you chided yourself as you paced the floor of your apartment. There was no logical reason to even be thinking of the new member of the team now that you weren't around him, and yet you couldn't get the jet black-haired Asgardian dressed in dark emerald leather out of your mind.

The bar must have been in hell if all it took to get you to actually smile was the fact that the second you two met eyes, no alarm bells went off the way that they did for that newbie traitor…or Sharon's now ex boyfriend. The only hunch that you got looking at him was that he was definitely there to watch the interrogation and trying to figure out how you clocked the iris implants on Park.

"Maybe if he figures it out, he could clue me in on it, too, because I don't have the foggiest fucking idea where that came from," you muttered into the emptiness. And then like clockwork, you found yourself thinking about his blinding brilliant smile again.

And the way his hand completely dwarfed yours.

And how even in those few moments in the common room, being around him for some reason blanketed you in this feeling as if, for the first time in a long time, you didn't have to be as careful anymore. Like you no longer had to constantly be looking over your shoulder because someone might actually have your back and--

"Now you're just being ridiculous, Y/N," you grumbled at yourself, staring down your reflection. "How many times have you had your heart shattered from trusting too easily? Feeling safe around him is exactly why you shouldn't feel safe, why is it that for all the people that trust your instincts, you can't seem to listen to them yourself? And have I lost my freaking mind I am talking to my own--"

Knock knock knock

The sound came from your front door, snapping you out of your rant. "Who in the fuck?"

A lump formed in your throat when you opened the door, looking up at the exact stormy blue eyes that refused to leave your mind since you met him a little over an hour ago. The ones that made a question form in your mind that you couldn't bring yourself to voice out.

Why do I have a good feeling about you?

"Loki…" you said his name slowly, trying your best to ignore how bizarrely right it felt to say it. As if you were meant to. As if you were going to say it -- scream it, even -- for years to come.

"Good evening, Y/N." What you couldn't ignore was how the sound of your name from his lips made your knees want to buckle. "I wish to speak to you about something that I saw when I touched your hand earlier. A vision. Of the future."

The lump in your throat suddenly got bigger. "Ohh God am I gonna die? Soon? Because if I am I don't want spoilers, not even hints, what's gonna happen is gonna--"

"I saw us," he cut you off, reaching for your hands and rubbing circles on the inside of your wrists. "Years of stolen glances and missed opportunities and unsaid words. And it was only at the brink of losing you forever that I finally would find the courage to tell you of my affections."

There were no words, all you could do was blink at him as you tried to process his words. Looking desperately for the telltale signs that there was a disconnect between what he was saying and what his actual intentions were for coming to you like this. The disconnect that was present with most men that you were face to face with.

And yet your intuition, that hadn't failed you for as long as you could remember, was practically squealing with glee that you could feel safe around the god.

"Why are you telling me this?" you asked him. You were surprised you could even form words. Or that you somehow managed to bite your tongue from letting slip a more abrasive question.

He stepped closer to you, a soft smile on his face as he gently framed your face with his hands. "I don't wish to spend the next years pining away and foolishly waiting for the timing to be just right. I had glimpsed our future, and it was…" His smile widened into a brilliant grin, his thumbs tracing along your cheekbones. "It was resplendent. Having even the most fleeting glimpse that what we would have, it had me awash with…peace. The kind that I had longed for for centuries."

Your breath hitched when he pressed his lips to your forehead, your heart pounding away furiously in your chest. You knew a little too well the feeling that he was describing. That feeling of peace. Of a calm quietude that put you at ease even if the world would have been crashing down around you.

That feeling like you were home.

"Now as for your unspoken question," he whispered, breath warming your skin. "Of what am I doing here…I wish to change that future. Or rather, hasten it along. If that is what you want as well, of course."

He pressed his forehead to yours, loosely wrapping his arms around you. All you could do was nod, secretly grateful that he was holding you upright because the violent fluttering in your stomach was making it hard to stand.

That feeling spread throughout your entire body like wildfire when he briefly brushed his lips against yours; you could feel how much restraint he was exerting to pull away. To test the waters. To wait for you to tell him it was alright.

And you let out the words that were fighting to break free since you first saw him earlier today. "I have a good feeling about you."

A/N: *peeks out from behind the laptop* ohai there…long time no see 🙈 Imma say it again because it bears repeating: I'm rusty as all fuck and I might be for a while, but I'm trying to get back into writing since I haven't really done much ever since starting the new job. But things are finally beginning to settle down and normalize, so I'm trying to somehow find a groove again.

I'm gonna be so real w/ y'all, the next stuff on my queue is RTC and 'the final Lady Sharpe' and with how rusty my prose feels, I'm so scared to touch them 😂

Also this is another story that was inspired by a TikTok pov trend. The one where people lip sync and act along to the song that goes "Oompa Loompa doopadeedoo I've got a bad feeling about you", as if it wasn't cringe enough 🥴🫡

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki fluff #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson fluff #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #muddyorbs writes

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thegnomelord · 6 months ago

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I have had a thought.

What if dragons purr when you rub their horns..

Dragon!Price x Gaz and/or Nikolai,,,

Hehdhehehe

Hmmm, I don't usually write character x character but i'll give it a try so tell me if this sucks lol

CW: SFW, Price x Gaz, horn rubbing, purring, monster cod au, soft short and sweet. 1224 words. Cross posted to Ao3

Kyle is a good soldier. Strong. Competent. Reliable. Though the fears of losing him on every mission still linger, they're eased by the fact that Price never has to worry that his sergeant will stumble in those crucial moments when a second of hesitation can be the difference between life and death. Never has to worry that his Gaz will think of himself as expendable and rush into the hailstorm of bullets. . .

Kyle is also a menace.

Especially when he's perched on his desk and giving John the most pathetic puppy dog eyes he's ever seen. "Please, captain, just one time?" The imp of a harpy even has the gall to flutter his eyes, looking at him through his lashes because he knows how the light of the setting sun hits his eyes juuuust right to make the brown glitter like gold and amber jewels.

"Kyle." Price stresses. This really isn't the time to indulge his sergeant's need for mischief when he's got a week's worth of backlogged paperwork to go through.

"Sir." Kyle throws his tone back at him, but the way the word rolls off his tongue and he adds the smallest chirp to the end of it makes something inside him stir. "Come on mate, I promise it'll only take five minutes." Kyle's wings spread out so he can display the shininess of his feathers - peacocking transcends species it seems - the mundane dark color turned to that of rich obsidian by the sun.

"It never takes just 'five minutes'." He tries to argue, but the usual commanding rumble in his voice is gone. Price knows he's fighting a losing battle from the way his fingers itch for him to burry them into the smooth feathers and preen Kyle's wings until his treasure croons.

Kyle knows this. He's unable to hide the arrogant look in his eyes when he bites his bottom lip and leans back, muscles tensing, because he knows how such a display of his body will make John's eyes automatically roam across his hard earned muscles. "Pretty please." Kyle says, tail feathers gently twitching side to side.

Both of them know Price never stood a chance.

"That was dirty." John sighs, dejected by his own weakness. The distance between them is small, but Price purposely takes slow steps. Kyle eagerly scoots back on the desk and spreads his legs for John to fit between, hands raising to hold his biceps as Price braces his palms against the desk next to Kyle's hips.

Kyle snorts. "As if you've never stooped lower cap." He spreads his wings to wrap around Price, soft feathered wing wrists bumping against his back.

John just growls lowly in response. He doesn't resist his body's natural desire to reciprocate, to reaffirm the claim over his hoard. The atrophied muscles on his right side still ache with phantom pain after all this time, but that doesn't stop him from wrapping his one remaining wing around Kyle. The combination of their wings acts as a shroud from the rest of the world, soft feathers brushing against his green scales and their scents mixing together.

Price treasures these little moments.

The peace only lasts for a few seconds before Kyle ruins it with a grin. "Now come on, give me your horns." He says, not even bothering for Price to tilt his head before Kyle's clever fingers rise up his arms to cup his face, inching closer to where his horns grow out of his skull.

Price promises to himself to hunt down and shoot whichever wanker posted the '101 ways to make a dragon purr like a kitty' on the internet. Ever since Kyle found that blasted instruction manual he's been trying to go through the entire list to verify the information. Price had seen the article in question and had nearly choked when he'd read that the author thought pulling on a dragon's tail could get them any other reaction than an immediate bisection—

Kyle's impatient fingers still just enough to gently scratch the bumpy base of his scalp around the horns. It tingles, and Price isn't able to tell if the tingling sensation is of the good kind or a bad. A small sound rolls from his throat, but that doesn't satisfy Kyle.

"Come on John, sing for me." Kyle repeats the words Price tells him when he's preening him, voice light and just at the edge of taunting. Keeping one hand around his base, Kyle slides the palm of his other hand up the hard bone until he reaches the natural curve of Price's horn. He squeezes gently and moves his hand like he's jerking him off.

"O-oh." Price is grateful he's bracing against the desk because his legs go weak. The sensation of his palm and the pressure of his hand is neither good nor bad, just unfiltered feeling that his brain can't even begin to handle, so it shoots it down his spine like lightning. The buzz of sensation catches on every vertebra and makes his wing quiver, forces his tail to wag like he's some lost puppy.

"Not what I was expecting." Kyle confesses. Price can't see the surprise and wonder on his face as John's eyes close automatically. His head tips forward to rest his forehead on Gaz's chest, brawny biceps tensing to just support his weight and claws digging into the desk with enough force to tear through the wood.

Kyle moves his hands so he's holding Price's horns in both hands. The pale green horns are smooth under his palms besides the occasional scratch or chip in them. Kyle moves his hands with slowly and methodically, changing the pressure he uses on every stroke and paying special attention to the sharp tips of his horns.

That's all it takes to turn John's chest into an geriatric engine. Price manages to groan and mumble a curse under his breath before the only sound leaving his lips is the deep baritone purr. There's no way of stopping it; If Price was in a better mind he would question why the gentle stroking of his horns has him feeling like a puddle of goo but his brain is completely fried from the sensation.

Kyle has heard him purr before but this is different. All the other times his purrs would always be throaty and quiet. Now it feels like the sound is coming straight from the bottom of his chest and, fuck, Kyle can feel it, feel the rumble shake his ribs and the desk beneath him. The sound is loud and unpolished and so raw Gaz feels naked just hearing it.

Kyle can feel his heard beating a mile a minute, his surprise making his hands still just long enough for Price to look up at him. Kyle could die happy after seeing how fucked out Price looks — pupils dilated to the size of plates, panting, red faced, so open and unguarded. Comfortable. With him.

"You've been holding out on me John." Kyle smiles softly, starting to stroke his horns again.

Price purrs even louder, his tail curling around Kyle's leg, managing to pull the claws of one hand from the desk to grip Kyle's thigh and pull him closer, draconic hind-brain desperately seeking to get more of that gluttonous pleasure from Kyle's hands.

Safe to say they take longer than five minutes.

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iamgonnagetyouback · 18 days ago

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hi it's me back again this time for the trope corner! my fave character atm is definitely remus and I'd love something with the trope roommates to lovers with him pls? maybe with a bookworm!reader if that's okay? love ya bunny 💕💕

roommate!remus lupin x bookworm!reader where he acts like he hates you but still there are new books lying on your desk every day

As a bookworm, your life has always been about books, shelves packed to the brim, and stacks overflowing onto every available surface in your room. And then there was your roommate, Remus Lupin. Tall, thoughtful, annoyingly observant Remus, who, despite his quiet nature and penchant for his own bookish pursuits, seemed to approach reading differently. He devoured classic literature and thick academic texts while your heart beat for modern fantasy and anything with a fairytale retelling. You’d always thought he found your taste… well, inferior. There were times you’d catch him glancing at your bookshelves with a slight furrow in his brow, and it made you think he didn’t really like you, or worse, that he found your tastes childish.

But then something strange started happening.

One morning, you’d found a new book on your desk with a small sticky note: "I thought you'd like it. - Remus." The title was something you’d had on your “to-read” list for months, a limited edition copy with a beautiful cover. You’d been bewildered, touched, but totally thrown off. How did he know? He barely even seemed to notice your genre.

From then on, more books started appearing, each one exactly something you’d wanted to read, always with a note in his scrawled handwriting: "Saw it and thought of you." or "Seems like your thing. - Remus." Each time, you’d been filled with a strange mix of happiness and confusion. Whenever you tried to bring it up, Remus would brush it off with a casual, “Oh, they were on sale.” Yet, none of the bookstores nearby had any sales at all—believe you, you’d checked.

Finally, you decided to return the favor. After sneaking glances at his desk and asking him (subtly, of course) about his favorite authors, you picked up a series you thought he’d like. You left it on his desk with a little note—but no signature. When you heard the familiar jingle of his keys in the lock, you dashed to your room, grabbed a random book, and opened it, pretending to read with intense concentration.

Only to hear footsteps pause in your doorway. You didn’t look up.

“Dove…” Remus’s voice had that exasperated yet amused tone you knew all too well. “Why are there new books on my desk?”

You looked up innocently, feigning ignorance. “What books?”

His hands went to his hips, and he gave you that intense stare he used whenever he was piecing something together. “Some new books that, interestingly enough, I mentioned to you in passing last week. Books I happened to say I’ve been dying to read.”

You shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know anything about that. Besides, don’t flatter yourself, Lupin. I don’t hear half the things you’re saying most of the time.”

“Sure,” he said slowly, though his eyes gleamed with mischief. He turned, but as he reached the door, he paused, then poked his head back around the frame. “By the way, dove…”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Your book is upside down.” He smirked, taking in your mortified expression. “While I think you’re quite brilliant, I don’t think you’ve quite mastered the art of reading that way.”

You felt your cheeks burn as he left with a wink, and as soon as he was out of earshot, you grabbed your pillow, letting out a muffled scream into it.

The next day, a new book sat on your desk, along with a sticky note: “I’ll gladly accept more book recommendations if they come with you pretending you don’t like me. - Remus”

You bit back a smile, your heart hammering with a mix of frustration and excitement. Remus Lupin was infuriating. But maybe, just maybe, he was also a little bit wonderful.

guys i think i found my most favourite oneshot i've ever written

#remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #ivy's soft scribbles ೀ #roommate!remus #bookworm!reader

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deadboyween · 3 months ago

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DEADBOYWEEN PROMPTS!!

Text-version Prompt List and inspiration below the cut!

Oct 21st: Day 1 - Colours

We made sure to include a few vaguer prompts for a wider range of creative ideas!! Colours could really be anything: Niko while she's possessed by the sprites, a different character having a run-in with a similarly colourful creature, or even something that just uses colour connotations or symbolism!! Get creative!

Oct 22nd: Day 2 - Comfort

One of the non-spooky prompts for day 2. It could be the boys comforting each other after a particularly difficult case, or a character study about something they find comfort in, or even just characters having a well-deserved day off from the Horrors

Oct 23rd: Day 3 - Disguise

The obvious one here would be Charles and Edwin's human disguises, but there's so much to play with. Works could perhaps feature the group going undercover on a case, or maybe the Cat King causing mischief again with his shapeshifting

Oct 24th: Day 4 - Orbs

Okay, you just know we had to put this one in there, everyone needs more Orbwin and Chorb content in their life right? What are our favourite glowing balls of light up to now? Why are they orb-ed? Is it a willing transformation or a result of exhaustion?

Oct 25th: Day 5 - Family

Family can mean a lot of things. Blood family? Could be an introspection into Charles's family back when he was alive, or Crystal trying to reconcile with her parents, Niko's grief, Monty's relationship with Esther... Or could be found family: the group choosing one another over everyone else, forming their own bonds more important than blood. Works can encompass many different character dynamics so go crazy!

Oct 26th: Day 6 - Casefic

The group are on a case!! Works could be a retelling of one of the show cases, or maybe one from the comics, or an entirely original one. It could be a simple run-of the-mill haunting or perhaps one that runs deeper, one that affects one or more members of the agency in some way

Oct 27th: Day 7 - The Endless

In the show we meet Death and Despair, but this prompt could feature one of the Dead Boy Detectives characters meeting one or more of the Siblings. Maybe they visit the Dreaming, or have a run in with Desire

Oct 28th: Day 8 - Free Day

No prompt for this day!! Works can be anything you like, unconnected to any of the suggested themes!!

Oct 29th: Day 9 - Myths / Legends

Charles referenced Orpheus and Eurydice in episode 7 but there's so much to work with with mythology from all over the world. These works could be a retelling of a story from an ancient mythology, or imagining the characters meeting a creature from a legend

Oct 30th: Day 10 - Hell

Really getting into the Horrors of the event now. Hell is such an important part of the series, especially for Edwin. These works must simply incorporate Hell in some way. Perhaps it's set during Edwin's 73 years in Hell, or maybe another character has an experience in the place, or with one of its many creatures. Really looking forward to seeing the potential body horror with this one

Oct 31st: Day 11 - Halloween

Day 11 is the main event. For such a spooky show, there's got to be a lot of Halloween inspiration. What do ghosts even do on Halloween? Do they dress up? Party? Haunt the living? It's entirely up to you!

Nov 1st: Day 12 - Psychic

These works must involve something psychic. Whether it be Crystal and her powers, another person with similar abilities, or any other creature that really gets in the head of the characters

Nov 2nd: Day 13 - Pre-Canon

There's so much to work with before the 2023 setting of the show. Over 30 years of the Dead Boy Detective Agency, the ghosts' lives, Edwin's Hell. Even for other characters: what happened during the Cat King's first two lives? What has Esther been up to for the last several hundred years? What's the Night Nurse's job like when she hasn't got two tricky ghost detectives to deal with?

Nov 3rd: Day 14 - AU

The only rule is: put those characters somewhere else. It could be a different time period, or characters could be different in some way. What if the Alive Girls were the Dead Girls? Or Charles and Edwin were Charlie and Edith? So excited to see everyone's ideas for every prompt, but especially this one, this fandom is so creative when it comes to AUs!!

Happy creating!!

#obviously you can completely ignore the suggestions in this post #just wanted to give some of my thoughts when i came up with the prompts :))#deadboyween #dead boy detectives #dbda #dead boy detectives netflix #edwin payne #charles rowland #niko sasaki #crystal palace #the cat king #monty the crow #jenny green #info

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anakinstwinklebunny · 2 months ago

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if you’re not taking requests totally ignore this. but i was hoping if u could write a short drabble or whatever about the reader being like a bio/chem major and anakin being like a literature major (kinda get those vibes from his role in shattered glass as stephen glass) and their cute differences :D. i lowkey need it as motivation for the ap’s im taking 😔. if thats out of your comfort zone or if you don’t want to write that i understand!! i love your work 💗

Author's note: I do take requests!!! It's my first drabble EVER..and I hope it's good.. really 😭 YOU GO LOVE, YOU CAN DO IT, I BELIEVE IN YOU <3

pairing: literature major!anakin x biochem major!reader

The library was a sanctuary of silence, but the hushed murmur of pages turning and the occasional tapping of keyboards seemed to fade whenever Anakin and you shared a glance. You were huddled over your chemistry notes - the structure of complex molecules sprawling across your laptop screen, while Anakin lounged across from you, lost in the pages of a leather-bound volume of classic literature, just as he loved.

His long fingers traced the spine of his book as if it were a cherished secret. The dim light cast shadows across his chiseled features, highlighting the intense focus in his eyes. You couldn’t help but let your gaze linger on him, captivated by the contrast between his world of words and your realm of scientific formulas.

“Need any help with those compounds?” he asked, finally, as if knowing how many times your gaze fell on his face. His voice was low and smooth, carrying the hint of a smile you knew well. His eyes flickered up from the book, catching yours with a mischievous glint.

You rolled your eyes playfully, though you couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “I doubt your poetic musings will be much help with my chemical bonds,” you replied, though the teasing tone in your voice was softened by the affection you felt towards the young man

He leaned in closer, his voice a seductive murmur. “Ah, but you’d be surprised. The beauty of language can often explain the complexities of science.. Imagine, if you will, a molecule as a character in a novel, its bonds and interactions like a plotline that weaves through the narrative.”

You laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made Anakin’s heart race. His gaze dropped to your soft-looking lips for a moment before returning to your eyes, the heat between you palpable. Humanists, who would have known they can be so romantic in their speech? “You and your metaphors,” you teased, your fingers brushing against his hand as you reached for a textbook. "But you know what intrigues me" you made a small pause "how does a literature major end up as my personal distraction?” you teased, lightly flirting with your own boyfriend

Anakin’s fingers traced lightly over the edge of your open notebook, a barely perceptible touch that sent a shiver up your spine when his ocean blue eyes tried to read your writing “I guess I’m just trying to add a little poetry to your periodic table.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think it over. “Poetry and science? That’s like mixing oil and water.”

“Ah,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief, “but even oil and water have chemistry. You just need the right catalyst.”

You laughed softly, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his charm. The truth was, you never really could “You think you’re the catalyst?”

He leaned in closer, his lips inches from your own, voice a low murmur. “I think I could make you react.”

You felt the blush bloom on your cheeks, your heart skipping a beat at his words. "Careful, you might just cause an exothermic reaction."

Anakin's smile widened, his thumb grazing your jaw as he whispered, “Then let's see how much heat we can handle."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

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novaursa · 3 months ago

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Hi how are you doing? ☺️

Can you write a fem!targaryen x gwayne ( I love your fic on him 👉🏼👈🏼)

She’s the favorite children of Alicent, she was raised to believed in the seven and she’s very closed to aegon, she’s the only one who understand him.

When Her father wanted to marry her to Jace, Alicent see that as an insult coz he’s a bastard and decided to send her to Oldtown? And she started to become really close to her uncle Gwayne and when they come back to king’s landing people can see that they are too closed to be only niece and uncle.

But she denied everything (except Aegon because he’s okay with that nothing can shook him) and then she goes to pray in the sanctuary? Alicent and Otto are here to talk to her but like in a corner and they see Gwayne walking to her. Gwayne see them and decided to take her in front of them and the seven to make sure that they understand that she is his 👀

Of Gods and Blood

- Summary: Your mother, Alicent, sent you to Oldtown, to protect you from Rhaenyra's whims. Only for you to find comfort in your uncle’s arms.

- Paring - niece!reader/Gwanye Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The requests are closed!

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

- A/N: I had to change a little your plot near the end, to make the events more believe, both narrative and character wise.

You stand in the gardens of the Hightower, the sea breeze from the Whispering Sound tugging at the edges of your cloak. The sky is a soft hue of orange and pink, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the ancient stones of Oldtown. The citadel bells ring in the distance, a sound that has become familiar in the months you’ve been here, far from the intrigues and dangers of King’s Landing. You draw in a breath, the salt air filling your lungs, yet your thoughts are not with the peace of the evening but with your brother, Aegon.

It is impossible not to miss him. From the time you were children, you were the only one who could reach him, the only one who could calm his tempestuous spirit. You understood him, even when others dismissed him as a drunkard or worse. You knew there was more to Aegon than his vices—there was a vulnerability, a deep-seated fear that he hid behind a facade of indifference and revelry. You were his confidante, the only one he trusted, the only one who could see the pain he masked with wine and women.

You wonder how he fares now, with you so far away. Does he still find solace in the bottom of a cup, or has he found some other way to numb the loneliness that gnaws at him? You worry, your heart aching with the absence of his presence, the way only a sibling can. You can picture him so clearly in your mind—his silver hair falling into his eyes, the way he would smirk when he was up to mischief, the rare moments when he would look at you with something close to gratitude. He never said it aloud, but you knew he appreciated you, perhaps even loved you in his own way.

But now you are here, in Oldtown, at the behest of your mother. You know why she sent you away, why she took her favorite child from the court. The memory of the conversation still haunts you, the way her face had paled when your father, King Viserys, had suggested you might be betrothed to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. A match with the heir to Dragonstone would have been advantageous in the eyes of many, but not to your mother.

"Rhaenyra’s bastard," she had hissed when the two of you were alone. The horror in her voice was felt, as though the very idea of it sickened her. "I will not have you thrown to the wolves, not to her spawn. You are a trueborn daughter of House Targaryen, not some piece to be traded for peace."

You had not argued with her. How could you? She had always protected you, always made sure you were safe from the machinations of the court. And so, you had been sent to Oldtown, to the heart of House Hightower, where Rhaenyra’s reach could not extend, where you would be under the watchful eye of your uncle, Gwayne Hightower.

As if summoned by your thoughts, you hear the familiar sound of his footsteps approaching. You do not turn, not yet. Instead, you continue to gaze out over the water, allowing the moment to stretch out between you. When he reaches your side, he does not speak at first. The silence is comfortable, a sign of the ease that has developed between you.

“Do you miss it?” Gwayne finally asks, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“King’s Landing?” you reply, your tone contemplative. “At times. But it is more the people I miss than the place itself.”

“Aegon?” he guesses, and you nod.

“He’s reckless, foolish even,” you say, “but he’s my brother. I can’t help but worry for him.”

Gwayne’s hand brushes yours, a brief touch that sends a ripple of warmth through you. It’s not the first time his touch has lingered, but tonight it feels different—charged, somehow, with an emotion you dare not name.

“He’s strong in his own way,” Gwayne says, his voice reassuring. “He’ll endure, as we all must.”

You turn to look at him then, really look at him. His face is handsome, with the sharp features of the Hightower lineage, but there’s something more in his gaze tonight, something that makes your heart skip a beat. You see concern there, yes, but also something deeper, something that mirrors the turmoil in your own soul.

“And what of you, Uncle?” you ask softly. “Do you miss the court?”

His lips quirk into a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are some things I miss, but others… I think I prefer the peace of Oldtown.”

You realize then that he, too, is far from everything he knows, from the power and influence he once wielded in King’s Landing. Here, he is just another nobleman, albeit one with more authority than most. Perhaps that is why the two of you have grown so close in these months, both of you displaced, both of you adjusting to a life far removed from the one you were born into.

The breeze shifts, and you shiver slightly as the night begins to cool. Gwayne notices and, without a word, removes his cloak and drapes it over your shoulders. His hands linger on the fabric, his fingers brushing your skin. You feel a flush rise in your cheeks, your pulse quickening at the contact.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t step back, doesn’t create the distance that propriety would normally dictate. Instead, he remains close, his eyes searching yours. “You’re not just my niece,” he says, his voice rough, as though he’s struggling to find the right words. “You’re… you’re someone I care about. Deeply.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you are unsure how to respond. This is dangerous territory, you know, but the warmth in his gaze, the way he’s looking at you as though you are the only person in the world, makes it impossible to retreat.

“I care about you too, Gwayne,” you admit, your heart pounding in your chest. The truth of it hangs between you, heavy and undeniable.

His hand lifts, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin in a tender caress. “We can’t…,” he begins, but the words trail off, unfinished, as though he can’t bring himself to complete the thought.

You don’t know who moves first, whether it’s you or him, but suddenly the distance between you is gone, and his lips are on yours. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as though both of you are afraid of what this might mean, but then it deepens, becomes something more as you both give in to the feelings that have been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

When you finally pull back, you are breathless, your thoughts a whirlwind of emotion. You search his eyes, looking for any sign of regret, but all you see is the same longing that you feel.

“This…,” you start, but he silences you with another kiss, as though to say that words aren’t necessary, that whatever this is between you, it’s something that needs no explanation.In that moment, with the night closing in around you and the weight of your family’s legacy far behind, you allow yourself to feel something other than duty, something other than the constant pressure to be what everyone expects you to be.

You allow yourself to feel desire, and in Gwayne’s arms, you find a sense of belonging that you hadn’t realized you were missing until now.

The wind tugs at your hair as you ride through the streets of King’s Landing, the noise of the bustling city swirling around you. It has been so long since you’ve seen the Red Keep’s towering spires that the sight of them, rising in the distance, feels almost surreal. The journey from Oldtown has been long, but you’ve barely felt the weariness, not with Gwayne at your side.

You sit in front of him on his horse, his strong arms wrapped around you as he holds the reins. The warmth of his body pressed against yours is a comfort amidst the cold and chaos of the capital, a quiet reminder that even in the midst of war and uncertainty, you are not alone. You lean back slightly, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with every breath, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

Gwayne notices, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “What’s that smile for, sweet niece?”

“Just thinking,” you reply, turning your head slightly so you can see him, “that I never imagined I’d return to King’s Landing like this.”

His expression softens as he looks down at you, one hand leaving the reins to brush a strand of silver hair from your face. “It’s a different city now, I think. The shadows feel longer, the tension thicker.”

You nod, your gaze shifting back to the streets. The people watch you as you pass, their eyes curious, some wary. You’re not sure if they recognize you or if they’re merely fascinated by the arrival of the Hightower forces, but there’s a murmur that follows you, whispers passing from one mouth to another like the wind.

The Hightower banners flap in the breeze, their green and white coloring stark against the duller hues of the capital. Soldiers march behind you, the sound of their armor clinking in rhythm with the horse’s hooves. There’s a grimness to it all, an unspoken acknowledgment of the battles that lie ahead. But it’s the whispers, the way people’s eyes linger on you and Gwayne, that you notice most.

You can almost hear what they’re saying—speculation and gossip about the nature of your relationship with your uncle. In Oldtown, the walls of the Hightower had protected you from such talk, but here, in the crowded streets of King’s Landing, there is no hiding from the scrutiny of the court and the common folk alike.

“Princess,” you hear someone mutter as you pass. “And her uncle?”

Another voice, this one sharp with curiosity, follows. “Isn’t she King Aegon’s sister? What’s she doing on his horse?”

You glance up at Gwayne, who seems to have noticed the murmurs as well. His jaw is tight, his grip on the reins just a bit firmer than before. It’s not anger you see in him, but something more protective, as though he’s ready to defend you against any slight, no matter how small.

“Let them talk,” you say softly, reaching up to place your hand over his. “It doesn’t matter.”

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, it’s as though the world around you fades, leaving just the two of you. “It doesn’t,” he agrees, his voice low but firm. “But I hate that they’re looking at you like that, as if they have any right to judge.”

You squeeze his hand, a silent reassurance that you are not afraid of the whispers. In truth, a part of you is almost defiant, as if daring them to say more, to challenge what you’ve found with Gwayne. You’ve spent so much of your life doing what others expected, living up to the roles assigned to you. Now, for the first time, you’re following your own heart, no matter where it leads.

The Red Keep looms ahead, its stone walls imposing as ever. You can already feel the weight of the court’s eyes, the inevitable judgment that will come once you pass through those gates. The memory of your last days here comes back to you—your mother’s frantic insistence that you leave, the way she’d spoken of Rhaenyra’s children with such disgust. You wonder how she’ll react when she sees you with Gwayne, when she hears the whispers that have already begun to spread like wildfire through the city.

As you approach the entrance to the Keep, you feel Gwayne’s arm tighten around you, a silent promise of support. “We’ll face them as one,” he murmurs, and you know he means it.

The gates open before you, the sounds of the city fading as you enter the courtyard. The Hightower soldiers fan out, their disciplined ranks a stark contrast to the chaos of the streets outside. You dismount, Gwayne’s hand steadying you as you step onto the cobblestones. He’s at your side the moment your feet touch the ground, his presence a reassuring constant.

A group of courtiers is already gathering, their eyes wide with surprise and curiosity. You recognize a few of them—faces that once looked upon you with respect or envy. Now, their gazes are harder to read, filled with questions they dare not voice aloud.

You hear a soft gasp from the crowd as you take Gwayne’s arm, a gesture that would have seemed perfectly innocent were it not for the intimacy in the way your fingers linger on his sleeve. The whispers start again, a low hum that grows louder as more people filter into the courtyard.

“Isn’t that the Dowager Queen’s daughter?”

“They say she’s been in Oldtown for months. Why has she returned now?”

“Look at the way she’s holding on to him. There’s something more between them, I’d wager.”

You lift your chin, meeting their stares with a calm you don’t entirely feel. Beside you, Gwayne is the picture of composure, his expression revealing nothing of the emotions that must be roiling within him.

A familiar figure emerges from the entrance to the Keep—your mother, Dowager Queen Alicent. She looks regal as ever, her face composed, though you notice the slight furrow of her brow as she takes in the sight of you with Gwayne. There’s a flicker of something in her eyes—relief, perhaps, at seeing you again, but also concern, as though she already suspects what the whispers are saying.

“Mother,” you greet her as you step forward, releasing Gwayne’s arm with a reluctant sense of propriety.

“Daughter,” she replies, her voice cool but tinged with warmth. Her gaze flickers to Gwayne, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I did not expect to see you return with your uncle.”

“I wished to be with my family,” you say simply, your tone carefully measured.

Alicent’s eyes search yours, looking for something you’re not ready to reveal. “And you’ve chosen to return at a time of great unrest,” she observes, her voice soft enough that only you and Gwayne can hear. “But I’m glad you are here, truly.”

She doesn’t say more, but you know there will be questions later, in the privacy of her chambers, where she’ll expect answers about your time in Oldtown and what, exactly, has brought you back to King’s Landing now. But for now, she extends her hand to you, a gesture of welcome.

As you take it, you feel the eyes of the court upon you, feel the tension that thrums beneath the surface. Gwayne steps back, just slightly, as though to give you space, but you can still feel the warmth of his presence beside you. It’s a comfort, even as the whispers continue, the court already weaving their tales about the Princess and her uncle.

But you don’t let it bother you. Let them talk, you think, because no matter what they say, no matter the rumors that will no doubt spread, you know where you stand. You know what you’ve found with Gwayne, and you are not ashamed.

Together, you and your uncle follow the Dowager Queen into the Red Keep, the heavy doors closing behind you with a resounding thud. The halls are as grand as you remember, yet somehow smaller, as if the world beyond them has grown larger in your absence.

The whispers will follow you here, you know, but as you walk beside Gwayne, you feel a sense of resolve settle over you. You’ve returned to a city at war, to a family divided, but you are not the same girl who left. You’ve found strength in yourself, and in Gwayne, and you are ready to face whatever comes next.

The council chamber is dimly lit, the tall windows shielded by thick curtains that block out the midday sun. A fire burns low in the hearth, but the air is cold, heavy with the tension that seems to permeate every corner of the Red Keep these days. Alicent Hightower stands by the window, her hands clasped tightly together, her gaze distant as she stares out over the city. The rumors have reached her ears—whispers of impropriety, of a scandal that could bring ruin upon the family she has fought so hard to protect.

Behind her, Otto Hightower paces, his face a mask of calculated concern. The Hand of the King is rarely rattled, but the news has clearly unsettled him. His normally shrewd eyes are narrowed, his thoughts racing as he contemplates the implications of what he’s heard.

“I do not believe it,” Alicent says finally, her voice strained but firm. “She is my daughter, Father. She would not… she could not be so reckless.”

Otto stops his pacing, turning to face his daughter. “The court is filled with idle tongues, Alicent. But where there is smoke, there is often fire. We cannot afford to ignore this.”

Before Alicent can respond, the door to the chamber swings open, and Aegon saunters in, his tunic half-laced, a goblet of wine already in hand despite the early hour. He looks as though he’s just risen from bed, his silver hair tousled, his expression one of lazy amusement.

“Mother, Grandsire,” he greets them, his tone light, almost mocking. He takes a long sip from his goblet before sprawling into a chair by the fire, stretching out as if he hasn’t a care in the world.

Alicent’s lips thin as she looks at her eldest son, but it’s Otto who speaks first. “Aegon,” he says sharply, “this is no time for your usual games. Have you heard the rumors?”

Aegon raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “About my sweet sister and our dear uncle? Of course I have. Everyone’s talking about it. I’m surprised it took this long for you two to catch on.”

Alicent flinches at his words, her face paling. “Aegon, please,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “You must tell us the truth. Is there any merit to these rumors? Has your sister…?”

Aegon laughs, a low, careless sound that grates on both Alicent’s and Otto’s nerves. “Oh, it’s true, Mother. They’re quite the pair, those two. Didn’t you notice how close they were when they arrived? Or were you too busy trying to figure out how to win this blasted war?”

Otto steps forward, his voice cold as ice. “And how would you know this, Aegon? What proof do you have?”

Aegon looks up at his grandfather, his smirk widening. “Because I’ve been in contact with her, of course. My sweet sister’s been writing to me. She’s quite… explicit in her letters.”

The color drains from Alicent’s face, and she sways slightly, as if the very ground beneath her has shifted. “No,” she whispers, shaking her head. “No, she wouldn’t…”

Aegon shrugs, taking another sip of his wine, clearly enjoying the discomfort he’s causing. “Believe what you will, Mother, but you’ve always known she was different. Maybe that’s why you sent her away in the first place, hmm? To keep her from the likes of Jacaerys, but also to keep her away from prying eyes. But now she’s back, and well… it seems she’s found comfort in Uncle Gwayne.”

Alicent stares at her son, her heart pounding in her chest. The thought of her daughter—the one she has always favored, the one she has tried to protect above all others—being involved in something so scandalous is too much to bear.

“Aegon,” Otto says, his tone warning, “this is no laughing matter. This could destroy our house’s reputation, especially now when we can afford no more divisions. You must be mistaken.”

Aegon leans back in his chair, looking at the two of them with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “You two really need to relax. So what if they’re lovers? We’ve got bigger problems to deal with than who’s warming whose bed. Besides, isn’t that what you wanted? For her to stay loyal to the family? At least she’s with one of our own and not off consorting with the enemy.”

Alicent presses a hand to her temple, trying to steady herself. She cannot allow herself to believe this—she must speak with her daughter, must hear the truth from her own lips. But the thought of that conversation, of what it might reveal, fills her with dread.

Otto, on the other hand, is already thinking ahead, his mind racing through the potential consequences. “This cannot be allowed to continue,” he says, more to himself than to anyone else. “We must act quickly, quietly, before the situation escalates. We need to speak with her.”

Aegon lets out a derisive snort, raising his goblet in a mocking toast. “Good luck with that. She’s always been headstrong, you know. But by all means, go ahead. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to have a little chat about her personal life with you two.”

Alicent and Otto exchange a look, both of them realizing the gravity of the situation. They must tread carefully, for the sake of their family and their house, but they cannot ignore what is happening.

Aegon watches them, a sly smile playing on his lips as he lounges in his chair, utterly undisturbed by the storm he’s just unleashed. “Good luck,” he says again, his voice dripping with mockery. “You’re going to need it.”

As he takes another leisurely sip of his wine, Alicent turns away, her mind already on the difficult conversation that lies ahead, while Otto considers the best approach to take with his granddaughter. They know that whatever happens next, it will not be easy.

And Aegon? He simply reclines in his chair, pleased to have stirred the pot, content to watch the drama unfold around him, utterly unconcerned by the turmoil he’s just caused.

The Sept is quiet, the flickering candles casting a soft glow over the statues of the Seven. You kneel before the Mother, your hands clasped tightly together as you pray for guidance, for strength. The silence of the sacred space surrounds you, offering a moment of peace amid the turmoil that has settled over your life since returning to King’s Landing. The scent of incense lingers in the air, and you inhale deeply, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

You pray for your family, for the war that looms on the horizon, for the safety of those you love. But most of all, you pray for clarity—clarity about your feelings for Gwayne, about the path you should take now that everything has become so complicated. The Sept has always been a place of solace for you, a place where you could find peace in the embrace of the gods, but today, your mind refuses to settle.

The sound of footsteps echoes in the empty space, and you open your eyes, turning slightly to see Gwayne approaching. His expression is unreadable, his eyes dark and intent as he strides toward you. There is something about his presence that makes your heart race, something that makes you forget the sanctity of the place where you kneel.

“Gwayne,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. “What are you doing here?”He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reaches out, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek as he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. “I came to make a statement,” he says, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

“A statement?” you repeat, confusion swirling in your mind. “To the gods?”

His lips curve into a slow, deliberate smile. “To the gods,” he murmurs, “and to anyone else who might doubt where you belong.”

Before you can respond, his lips capture yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. You gasp against his mouth, but the sound is swallowed by the intensity of the kiss. His hands move to your shoulders, pulling you up from your kneeling position so that you are standing before him. The softness of your prayers is forgotten, replaced by the heat that surges between you.

“Gwayne,” you manage to murmur between kisses, your voice trembling with a mixture of desire and confusion. “What are you doing?”

His response is a low growl as his lips move down your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. “I’m making a statement,” he says again, his breath warm against your ear. “I’m showing the gods, and anyone else who might doubt it, that you are mine.”

The words send a thrill through you, a heady mixture of fear and desire. There is no hesitation in his actions, no sign of doubt. He pulls you closer, his hands moving to the ties of your dress, fingers deftly undoing them as he kisses you deeply, passionately.

You feel the cool air against your skin as your dress falls away, leaving you bare before him. Gwayne’s eyes darken with lust as he takes in the sight of you, and then his mouth is on yours again, hungry and demanding. You respond with equal fervor, your hands working at the fastenings of his tunic, needing to feel his skin against yours, to lose yourself in him.

He lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he presses you against one of the stone pillars of the Sept. The sensation of his body against yours, the way he holds you as though you are the most precious thing in the world, drives all rational thought from your mind. There is only him, only the fire that burns between you.

When he enters you, it is swift, his movements driven by a need so powerful it leaves you breathless. You moan softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you cling to him, the sensation of him filling you overwhelming and utterly intoxicating. Gwayne sets a fast, demanding rhythm, his thrusts deep and sure, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, mingling with your own breathless gasps as you lose yourself in the feeling of him inside you. There is something almost sacred in the way he moves, something that speaks of more than just physical desire. It is a claiming, a vow, as if with every thrust he is binding you to him in a way that goes beyond mere flesh.

Your climax builds quickly, the intensity of your passion driving you both to the edge. You can feel him trembling against you, the tension in his body a mirror of your own. And then, with a final, shuddering thrust, you both find release, your cries mingling with his in the silence of the Sept.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing, the two of you still joined, still lost in the aftermath of your passion. But then you hear it—the sharp intake of breath, the horrified gasp that shatters the silence.

You turn your head, your heart plummeting as you see them standing at the entrance to the Sept: your mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, and your grandsire, Otto Hightower. Their faces are pale with shock, their eyes wide as they take in the sight of you and Gwayne, still joined, still locked in the aftermath of your lovemaking.

Gwayne doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch or try to separate from you. Instead, he turns his head to meet their gaze, his expression calm, almost defiant. He holds you even closer, his grip on your waist tightening as if to say that he will not be ashamed, that he will not hide what has just happened.

Alicent’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears as she takes a step back, unable to process what she’s seeing. Otto’s face is a mask of cold fury, his eyes narrowing as he looks between you and Gwayne, understanding dawning in his gaze.

You realize, in that moment, that this was Gwayne’s intention all along. He didn’t come to the Sept for the gods. He came here to make a statement, to show your family, the court, and even the gods themselves that you belong to him, and that he will not allow anyone to take you from him.

The weight of that realization settles over you, but it is not fear that you feel. Instead, it is a strange sense of certainty, a feeling that despite the scandal, despite the consequences that are sure to follow, you are exactly where you are meant to be.

Gwayne’s eyes meet yours, and there is a question there, a silent inquiry if you regret this, if you wish to be released. But you shake your head, your own resolve hardening. You lift your chin, your gaze steady as you look at your mother, at your grandsire.

Alicent takes another step back, her voice trembling as she whispers, “What have you done?”

But you do not answer. Gwayne is still inside you, still holding you close, and you know that whatever happens next, whatever judgment they pass, it will not change what you feel, what you have chosen.

Otto’s voice is cold as ice when he finally speaks. “This will have consequences,” he says, his tone filled with a warning that sends a chill down your spine. “You have made a grave mistake.”

Gwayne’s grip on you tightens just slightly, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “The only mistake,” he says quietly, “would have been letting her go.”

Alicent turns away, unable to bear the sight any longer, her hand still pressed to her mouth to stifle her sobs. Otto stares at you both for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he finally turns to leave, his cloak swirling around him as he exits the Sept, leaving you and Gwayne alone once more.

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with the weight of what has just transpired. But as Gwayne gently lowers you back to the ground, as he pulls you close, his breath warm against your ear, you feel a strange sense of peace.

“I am yours,” you whisper, and he nods, his lips brushing against your temple.

“And I am yours,” he replies, his voice filled with a quiet intensity.

And with that, you know that whatever comes next, whatever trials you may face, you will face them together. For Gwayne has made his statement—to the gods, to your family, and to you. You are his, and he is yours, and no force in this world or the next will tear you apart.

#house of the dragon #hotd x female reader #hotd #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #gwayne x y/n #gwayne hightower

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cloudcountry · 3 months ago

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Hi, I'm happy for your 3k folls 👏.

I would like to order a bubble tea, monstro lounge sponsored collaboration cup with mixed berry crisp with the vanilla ice cream. I hope you don't mind something a bit more, here we go. Cough I would like where Silver and Mc/Yuu dance together in the forest at nighttimes. Like one of those scenes in sleeping beauty.

I just want some fairytail romance cough

not that it really has any bearing on the story but i wrote this with older silver and older mc in mind. like married older. like middle aged. you can envision them as NRC students but i did kinda. twist silver's character a bit to show he's grown so. yk what JUST READ IT.

an order of romantic fluff with silver!

The night air is cool against your skin, and Silver’s hands are as comforting and warm as always. He leads you in the dance, swaying from side to side as the night breeze whooshes past your bodies, enveloping them in a chill that makes you shiver.

Silver pulls you closer, his chest pressed up against you, his warmth seeping right into your clothes like every atom in his body wants to fuse with you.

Your foot bumps against his a few times and you giggle each time, unafraid of messing up. There is no mistakes with him. There never will be, because he loves you so deeply and you love him, and that is simply all there is to it.

I love you are words unsaid but still understood as the stars twinkle and flicker above you, each constellation witness to your love. The universe itself stares upon the two of you with a smile, everything that is and every will be condensing into this moment right here, with you in your lover’s arms.

“I love you,” are the words he finally speaks, forehead pressed against your skin, his face burning hot with the flame of adoration. You say the same phrase back.

It’s almost magical, the way the fireflies swirl around you two, the way the owls sit up on the tree branches to watch you both, the way your dance picks up speed and you find yourself tripping again as Silver laughs quietly, his unexpected mischief a learned trait from his father as he got older.

You’re so lucky to be included in the list of people who can influence him in such a way. You know Lilia knows that as well.

“I love you.” you say again, this time first, because you need to let him know you think of him first and it will never just be him thinking of you.

He smiles, and says it back.

#auburn's 3k event <3 #auburn's fics <3 #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twst x reader #silver x reader #twst silver x reader #silver vanrouge #silver vanrouge x reader #twst silver

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laughroditee · 3 months ago

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Currently thinking about best friend/roommate Soap.

Characters: best friend/roommate!Soap, Gaz, Gender neutral Reader. CW: sexual themes, profanity, snark, sarcasm, childish name-calling, immaturity, bickering, overly-long sentences, a general disdain for grammatical rules, butchering of the Scottish language and slang. PG-13 at best. Word Count: 891

Johnny gets plenty of action, of course; he’s an attractive guy. Lots of fun.

Not that you care. Pointedly.

He's just letting his latest fuck buddy out of the apartment when he notices you sitting on the living room sofa, a mug of hot coffee in your hands.

"Och, didn't see ye there, chum."

Of course he didn't. "No worries, Johnny. Have a good night?"

"Had an excellent night," he says as he drops onto the couch next to you, looking quite pleased with himself. You can tell that he wants you to ask. He is practically vibrating with the need to brag, waiting to tell you all about his sexcapades, but you leave him hanging in anticipatory gloating mode because, quite frankly, the walls are thin, and his partner was LOUD AS FUCK. (As per usual.) Because of them, you were kept up most of the night and are cranky, something Johnny seems to notice with a small twinkle in his eye because he's an annoying bastard.

"Cool," you deadpan, taking a sip of your coffee.

Johnny purses his lips when he realizes that that’s the end of the exchange. “Someone’s a wee bit crabbit today.” Then he pauses, that infuriating spark of mischief coming back into his baby blues. “Ah ken why.”

You level a look at him which you hope, deep down, incinerates his balls, but he just laughs, throwing an arm over your shoulder. For whatever reason, being touchy-feely with you straight after fucking all night was always high on Johnny’s list the morning after. He’d been like this for ages, but you could never quite figure out why. “Yeah? Enlighten me, since you obviously know everything.”

“Ye get all jealous when I invite people home, don't ye?” he teases. “Maybe it bothers ye when ye know that they're in my room, having a good time while ye're alone in yours…”

“I didn’t realize this was a competition, Johnny.” You probably should have. “But since you’re so concerned for my wellbeing, I can assure you that I'm just fine, thanks,” you say with a pleasant smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Sure ye are,” he says. “I mean... I'm nae calling ye lonely or anythin’," he says, shifting and squeezing your shoulder a little bit. "But maybe, ye want what they're gettin, hm?"

“I'm not lonely,” you say, ignoring the rest of his bullshittery. Standing up and draining the rest of your coffee — you’re not escaping, you’re just getting some space, that’s all — you head into the adjoining kitchen to wash your mug. “Your friend says ‘hi’ by the way,” you call over your shoulder.

He rolls his eyes, leaning back against the sofa. "Yeah? Which one? I've had a lot come through lately," he says with a laugh.

“Not one of your ‘night friends’,” you retort, “One of your work friends.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly taken off guard. "Really? One of my military pals came by? Who?"

“Kyle,” you say, trying to think of his nickname, but failing. You opt for his last name instead. “Kyle Garrick. And he didn’t come by, we’ve been texting.”

"Gaz?? You've been talking to Gaz?" He asks in surprise, making a face you want to slap. "Really? Damn, I didn't think he'd be interested in talkin' to you."

Your eyebrows threaten to launch into orbit as you face your soon-to-be-dearly-departed best friend. “Excuse you? Why not?”

He shrugs, leaning back against the couch and stretching. "He's a bit of a…" Sweetheart? Gentleman? Absolutely gorgeous? Sex on two legs? After watching him struggle to come up with literally anything bad to say about Kyle, he gives up, settling instead for, “Just surprised he'd talk to you, Tattie."

You glare. Of course he’d pull out that old nickname at a time like this. “I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

The smirk he wields at you is rage-inducing. “Aw, but the potato is such a noble food.”

“Yes, that’s exactly why you decided to start calling me that way back when: because I’m so noble.”

He hums, that delighted gleam in his eyes saying he loves getting a rise out of you. "So, when did this start?” he asks with a little too much nonchalance. “And what have youse been talkin' about anyway?”

“A couple of weeks ago and none of your business, Mr. Bubble.”

As you take a jab at his precious callsign, his smile squashes into flattened lips, and internally, you feel vindicated.

“He wants to take me out,” you say as a peace offering.

“What, with his rifle?” he chuckles.

You smile sweetly. “If he’s lucky.” Watching the myriad of emotions play across his features, you continue, “He’s taking me out on a date. Going out for a nice Sunday brunch. Said he wants to get to know me better.”

Once again, an insulting level of surprise lights Johnny’s face at your words. “A date?” he asks, dumbfounded. Rude, really. “You and Gaz… on a date.”

“Congratulations, you’ve passed your hearing test.” You check the time, realizing that you don’t have much left before Kyle gets there. “Shit, I have to get ready. Can't talk now, gotta shower!”

You disappear down the hall, completely missing Johnny's look of dismay as you lock yourself in the bathroom to get ready for brunch.

author's note: is this a fanfic, or a drabble? part 2 will be from johnny's pov. thanks for reading!

#call of duty #cod #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #gender neutral reader #best friend!soap #roommate!soap #cod fanfic #cod drabble #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x gn!reader #soap x gn!reader #this may end up being a love triangle i don't know #laughroditee

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rootedinrevisions · 5 days ago

Text

The Rough Side of Hangman's Girl

SUMMARY: You’ve always been the quiet one, the kind of girl who prefers soft laughter to loud crowds, and gentle touches over wild passions. But Jake “Hangman” Seresin has a way of drawing out the side of you no one else gets to see. When he steps into your world, he doesn’t just turn your life upside down—he pushes you beyond every boundary you thought you had. Now, with his intense gaze and unyielding hold, you find yourself craving every rough touch, every whispered command.

A/N: Thank you to the person who send me the DM about this request! This one was so fun to write! I really hope you like it and I did your request justice.

Also the way Glen/Jake is biting his lip in this GIF does something to me so I had to include it!

PROMPT: "Don't be gentle with me-I like it when you're rough."

WARNINGS: Unprotected sex, P in V sex, spanking.

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

The door shut softly behind you, and you barely had a second to breathe before Jake had you pressed against the wall. His hands were braced on either side of your head, his body so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, grounding you and sending your pulse racing all at once. His mouth met yours, warm and teasing, before his lips trailed down to your neck, peppering kisses along your skin with unhurried confidence.

His lips skimmed over a sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and you felt the heat bloom across your cheeks.

A quiet hum escaped you, and you felt Jake’s lips curve into a smirk against your skin. “Jake…” you whispered, the request barely audible, but he heard it. “Bite me.”

He froze for a second, pulling back just enough to catch your eye, his eyebrows raising in surprise. That trademark smirk spread across his face as he took you in, a low chuckle escaping him.

“Didn’t know you had that in you, sweetheart,” he drawled, the endearment roughened by a hint of mischief. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Your eyes met his, emboldened by his reaction. “Don’t be gentle with me,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady. “I like it when you’re…rough.”

Jake’s gaze darkened, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip as he considered your words, his smile turning wicked. “My sweet girl has a dirty side, hmm?” He teased, pressing closer. His voice dropped to a murmur as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “Well, I can give you exactly what you want.”

His hands moved to your waist, fingers pressing firmly as he lifted you slightly, pressing you tighter against the wall.

He leaned in, his lips grazing yours as his voice softened to a rough whisper. “But remember you asked for this.”

Jake’s hands gripped your waist firmly as he lifted you, carrying you down the hallway to your bedroom, his stride confident and purposeful. You wrapped your arms around his neck, heart pounding with anticipation as you looked up at him. There was a smoldering intensity in his eyes you hadn’t seen before–something darker, an edge to his usual smirk that made your pulse race even faster.

He pushed open the door with his shoulder, guiding you in and setting you down just beside the bed. His fingers were immediately at your waist, slipping under the fabric of your top, pulling it up over your head in one swift motion. There was no hesitation in his movements, no teasing pace–he was stripping away every article of clothing with a sense of urgency, his touch rougher than usual, more intense.

“Turn around for me,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding as he pressed a hand against your back, guiding you to face away from him.

You felt a thrill shoot through you as you did what he asked, your breath hitching when his hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down with a rough pull, taking everything with them until you were bare under his gaze.

“Get on the bed,” he said, voice gruffer than usual.

His hand rested on your lower back, urging you forward until you were positioned on all fours. The air was thick with anticipation, and just as you settled, you felt his fingers thread into your hair, tugging firmly as he leaned over you, his breath warm against your ear.

“Head down,” he murmured, the quiet dominance in his tone making you shiver. His grip tightened as he pushed your head down to the comforter, his other hand settling on your hip, holding you firmly in place. “And keep that pretty little ass up for me tonight,” he added, his voice laced with a roughened edge that made warmth spread through you instantly.

The weight of his hand, the way he held you down, his voice steady and unyielding–it was already too much, and you pressed your thighs together instinctively, unable to hide the effect he was having on you.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, catching the subtle movement. “We’ve only just started.”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, seeking some relief from the tension that was building faster than you could contain. Jake’s amused chuckle resonated in the quiet, his tone edged with a kind of pride and surprise.

Without hesitation, he placed a knee on the bed, leaning in. His hand rested on your hip as he pushed your legs apart again, his knee pressing gently yet firmly, guiding you until you were as exposed and vulnerable as he wanted.

“Keep them like that,” he ordered, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill down your spine .”Or there’ll be consequences. Understood?”

A breathless nod was all you could manage, your face turned into the comforter, heat spreading over your skin. But before you could prepare yourself, you felt the sharp, sudden sting of his hand landing across you, and a gasp escaped your lips, followed by an involuntary moan that hung in the air. Your cheeks flushed deeper, the thrill mingling with a hint of a surprise that you couldn’t hide.

“Oh, now that’s something, isn’t it?” Jake murmured, his tone dripping with amusement as he ran his hand over the spot where his hand had landed, lingering to savor the reaction he’d pulled from you. “My sweet girl likes being spanked, hmm?”

The words made your breath hitch, and just as you felt your body start to melt into his touch, another sharp smack landed, this time harder. Another moan escaped, unbidden, and you felt his fingers spread possessively over your skin, his touch heavy with control and satisfaction.

He leaned in close, his voice a rough whisper as his hand stayed firmly in place. “Keep that up, and I’ll give you exactly what you’re begging for,” he teased, the promise in his voice making you shiver as you instinctively pressed back into his hand, craving more of the intensity he was unraveling in you.

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice a low, raspy drawl. “Didn’t think my sweet girl who blushed when I kissed her would be into this…but you’re loving it, aren’t you?”

He traced his hand slowly down the curve of your back, a trail of goosebumps left in its wake as he took his time, letting every inch of his touch ignite something deeper. As his fingers reached your thighs, you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing them together again, the ache building so intensely that you couldn’t help it.

But Jake was quick, his hand gripping the inside of your thigh, pushing your legs apart once more.

“Oh no, darlin’,” he whispered, the authority in his voice like nothing you’d heard from him before. “You keep those pretty legs open for me, or we’re gonna have a problem.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, breathless, and his lips brushed against your neck, warm and teasing, before he took hold of your hip, his fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive grip. You could feel the firmness of his body behind you, every inch of him taut and ready, the anticipation was overwhelming.

One hand was still on your hip, he let his other hand drift lower, fingers trailing through your folds, which had you quivering, aching for more. His thumb pressed down on your clit, testing you and the faintest pressure was enough to send a jolt through you.

“You’re already so worked up,” he murmured with a satisfied chuckle, his tone full of dark promise. “Practically dripping, and I haven’t even gotten inside you yet.”

And then, he took it a step further–he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you back against him, his movements more unrestrained, less careful than usual, his body pressed firmly into yours. His hand slid up to your shoulder, gripping it just tight enough to hold you in place as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear.

“Hope you’re ready for this, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough with both desire and restraining. “Cause I’m not holding back this time.”

With that, he guided his tip against your folds, taking his time as he ran it up and down, letting the anticipation build until you could barely take it anymore. His touch was rough and demanding, and you were more than ready, practically melting into him as he finally, slowly, pushed himself inside you, savoring every reaction, every gasp, as he showed you exactly what you’d been craving.

Jake’s grip tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with a roughness he’d never shown before like he couldn’t help himself. Every thrust was harder than the last, his movements quick and relentless, sending a wave of pleasure through you that left you gasping, clinging to the sheets for support. His rhythm had lost its usual restraint, each motion fueled by something you’d never felt from him before. And it left you breathless, lost in sensation.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his hand came down on you again, a swift, sharp smack that sent a shockwave of heat through you. A moan escaped before you could stop it, louder than before, your body instinctively arching into his touch.

The sound seemed to fuel him, and he chuckled, low and rough, clearly reveling in how unabashedly you were responding. “God, I love how loud you’re being for me,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Didn’t know my sweet girl could get so worked up.”

His hand slid along your skin before coming down again with another smack, drawing another moan from you, your voice catching as you felt the sharp warmth spread over your skin.

With each sound you made, he seemed to grow more unrestrained, his hands gripping you together, his pace unrelenting as he moved, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, as though he wanted to pull every last gasp and moan from you.

The pressure of his hands on your hips was almost overwhelming, holding you so firmly that you knew you’d feel his touch lingering on you long after that night.

“You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?” he murmured, his voice dark and teasing, his breath hot against your skin as he leaned closer, his movements never slowing. “Making me think you were all innocent. But here you are, moaning like you were made for this.”

The combination of his words and his movements left you teetering on the edge, your body completely in sync with his rhythm, every rough touch and commanding word pulling you further under his spell. And as he kept moving, kept pushing you closer and closer, you couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop yourself fro giving in completely to the way he was taking you apart, thrust by thrust, with no intention of stopping until he’d made you his in every possible way.

Jake could feel you tightening around him, each thrust pulling you closer to the edge. Your body was trembling beneath him, and the way you were clenching told him you were almost there. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He needed to push you over the edge, needed to hear you scream his name.

“Get up on your elbows,” he commanded, his voice harsh but laced with desire. You obeyed without hesitation, your body responding instantly to his words. The new angle was almost too much–his hands gripped your shoulders, pulling you back into him, and suddenly the depth of his thrusts was hitting you in all the right ways. You gasped, your head falling back, and your back arched as his cock slammed into you with an intensity that left you breathless.

“Oh, fuck,” Jake cursed under his breath, his hands moving to your hips to help guide you, pulling you back into him with each stroke. He loved how you felt around him, how responsive you were, how loud you were–everything about this moment sent him spiraling. “God, you’re so fucking loud. I love it. Don’t stop…don’t stop making those noises for me.”

You could barely hold onto the sheets, the overwhelming pleasure radiating through your body, the new angle pushing him right to that spot inside of you that made your entire body seize. His words, his voice, everything about the way he was fucking you–faster, harder–was enough to send you crashing toward the edge.

“Let go for me, baby,” Jake growled, his voice rough with hunger. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

That did it. A shock of pleasure surged through you, your body spasming as you cried out his name, the wave of ecstasy washing over you, pulling you under completely. You felt him jerk inside of you, his breath ragged as he pushed you through it, holding you tight as your body quivered with aftershocks. You moaned his name again, your voice breathless, as the final release hit you both at the same time.

Jake’s grip on your hips tightened as you both finished, your bodies trembling, chest heaving as you collapsed together onto the comforter.

Neither of you could catch your breath at first, the room heavy with the sound of your labored breathing. His hand brushed a strand of hair from your face as he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body a grounding force after the intense release.

“That was…goddamn,” Jake murmured, his voice rough, but there was a softness behind it now, a gentleness as he ran his hand over your back. “You okay?”

You nodded, still catching your breath, unable to form words just yet. He smiled, his lips brushing over your forehead as you both laid there, tangled up in each other, feeling the afterglow of everything that had just happened.

“Good,” he whispered, holding you a little tighter, feeling the contentment between you both settle in. “I’m not done with you yet.”

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kmt123whatsthetea · 8 months ago

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The brother’s wingmen

Ron Weasley x reader

Requested by: @technicallyfreephilosopher

You have attracted the attention of Ron, the younger brother of your bosses.

Note: This is a one off fic. If anyone requests a character that is not on the list, I will not write it

A/N: I agreed to write this to set myself a challenge of writing for someone else. I want to start writing for others (those on the list). I incorporated two of my favourite things. Fred Weasley and George Weasley. I'm also sorry that this took so long. My motivation just plummeted. I’m also sorry to the requester who’s username isn’t letting me tag

T/W: Ron not being good with the ladies, Twins acting as wingmen (yikes), Unprotected sex, riding, Ron being dominated a little,

Ron had always been proud of his brothers.

Being related to the best pranksters at Hogwarts was a blessing more than a curse. People knew you and your name was synonymous with mischief (and Ginger hair). Nobody in the family was shocked when Fred and George opened a joke shop, it was the one thing that they were the best at.

The smell of plastic and fresh paint filled the store on the day of the grand opening. There were even journalists with the Daily Prophet to document the opening of a new store in Diagon Alley. Everyone wandered around the shop in awe at the various colours, sights, and smells. Fred and George were as pleased as punch at their blooming business.

Ron found his way to the small shelf of sweets and bartered with his older brothers for a discount, and then trudged to the counter after being charged double. So much for family discount.

Every situation has a good and a bad side. For Ron, the bad bit was being charged double for something that would last him 5 minutes. The good, however, was the cashier. She was stunning.

Ron put the box onto the counter and stared at the woman. His blush was almost as bright as his ginger locks. The cashier rang the item up on the till and smiled at his expression.

Remember the different sides to every situation? A new negative side was that Ron was being watched by his older brothers…

…Who had caught onto his little crush on their employee.

Fred and George were mischievous, and that didn't change when it came to their younger siblings.

Fred slid up to the cashier and gave Ron an evil smirk.

“So Ronny, what do you think of the new store? Everything’s looking pretty good, don't you think?”

George sauntered over to stand next to Ron on the other side of the counter.

“If you want to give anything here a try, you just have to ask”

Ron was mortified. He looked over at you and saw your face. You didn’t know that the twins were implying anything. They were your mischievous bosses, this was natural.

Ron just turned and walked quickly out of the store, leaving behind an oblivious cashier and his annoying older brothers.

____________________________________________

A few days later, Ron came back when you were just finishing work. You noticed him tucked away in the corner, like he was hiding from you.

As if, like magic, one of your employers appeared behind you.

“You know, Ron could really use your help. He wanted to show you something upstairs in the flat”

You were a good employee, and if your boss’s brother wanted something, you were happy to help. Fred called Ron over and whispered something to him about you wanting to show him something upstairs.

So the both of you made your way up to the flat, believing that the other had something to show.

The twins knew what they were doing, that's why they lit some candles and covered the floor with rose petals before telling you to finish up your shift. They would be their brothers wingmen.

But where they saw themselves as Cupids, Ron saw them as winged pests. Both you and Ron were beyond surprised at the romantic display. But it all started to make sense when the front door lock clicked behind you both.

Ron panicked and tried pulling the door, getting angry when he heard his brothers laughing from the other side. Ron pulled his wand out, but then it dawned on him. This was his chance. Maybe he could try and pick up line or two and hope for the best.

He turned back to face you and found you sat on the sofa, a rose petal in your hand. He sat beside you and cleared his throat.

“You know, roses smell pretty, but they don’t smell as good as you do”

His mouth had taken over before his brain could.

“W..What I mean is…you smell great. Not that I know how you smell! You look as good as a rose, but..but better…”

It took him a minute to realise that the reason his words weren’t coming out anymore was because your lips had sealed his. His whole face went as red as the rose petals littering the carpet. His hands found your waist as his lips danced with yours. The longer the kiss went on, the hotter the room seemed.

When you both pulled away for air, your leg was draped over his leg and hand had moved higher up your back to your bra clasp.

In a flash, your hands were fumbling with his belt clasp, surprising Ron with your eagerness. But he didn't mind, he liked that you were taking what you wanted. When his belt was open and his trousers unzipped, he helped you to pull his cock out from his underwear.

You straddled his waist before reaching under your uniform skirt to pull your underwear to the side. Ron spat on his hand and stroked his cock, lubing it up before helping you to sink down onto him, impaling yourself.

Your hand had to cover his mouth to stop the loud moan that left his lips. If his brothers were shrill listening in, they'd have a field day with teasing Ron. You kept your hand over his mouth as you lifted your hips, keeping the pace steady. Ron tried to get you to move faster by squeezing your hips and bucking up into you, but you stopped him.

Every time he tried to take control of you, you took it from him with a manner so sweet it didn't feel like a surrender. Eventually, he gave you the reins and sat back. His hands on your waist to hold you close, not to urge your movements. You kept your bouncing light, as if any harsh movement would break the man beneath you. His breath was hot and heavy against your palm, his cock pulsed inside of you signalling how close he was.

You kept your eyes on his, giving him gentle words through unspoken words. And that's when he let go.

His cum painted your insides while his muffled moans and groans barely escaping from behind your hand. You could hear his whimpers slowly getting louder while you used him to get off. He tried pleading, begging for you to cum to stop the overstimulation that you were putting him through.

Your walls squeezed his cock, causing his eyelids to flutter. Your juices coated his thighs, leaving a sticky reminder of the evening. Your body collapsed onto his, your hand finally leaving his mouth. The air is filled with the sound of heavy panting, until there was a bang at the door from the twins.

“Are you two love birds finished yet?”

Maybe one more round wouldn't hurt.

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