#girl-in-the-chairs-void

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Hello Star!! I saw that your requests were open and I was wondering if you will okay to write a Bradley x reader with the prompt; “please talk to me. i need to know you’re alright.” Thank you so much bby<333

A/N: Pav! Thanks for this amazing ask! You're so lovely and this prompt was dynamite. It was supposed to be a drabble and 2.7K words later, here we are! I hope you love it as much as I love you and this request! More under the cut!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Most people mention their first boyfriend or girlfriend when they talk about falling in love for the first time. You always had a different answer. You fell in love before you even knew what romantic love was. You were nine years old when your parents moved your family across the country to San Diego. As expected of a precocious nine-year-old, you were less than enthused at the thought of leaving everything and everyone you knew what felt like a million miles away. And you’d shown that frustration by causing a fuss through every moment of the moving process, from packing your things to the long flight to San Diego. Your mom had finally had enough of you underfoot when the moving van showed up with boxes of your belongings in front of your new house.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you take your stuffed bear and play outside.” Though she was smiling, you knew the difference between a request and an order, and this was definitely an order. There was a small backyard fenced off behind your house full of long blades of overgrown grass. Curious, you took your bear, named Pooh Bear long ago, after your favorite childhood cartoon, on an exploratory adventure. After hours in a cramped, stuffy plane, the fragrant sun-warmed grass felt like heaven. The backyard was so overgrown that you had soon fashioned yourself and Mr. Pooh, your erstwhile associate, as explorers making your way through an unknown jungle. In the back corner of the yard was a large, beautiful old tree. Throughout your explorations, you soon found yourself babbling away at Pooh and settling down in the shadow of that beautiful tree. You’d talked yourself out and were waiting for the noise of the movers to fade so you could finally beg your mom for a snack when a plane landed in your lap.

“Hello? Hello!” A reedy voice had called over the fence to you. “Is there anybody there?”

“Yes! Are you missing a plane by any chance?” You shouted back.

“I am! I’m in house number 15!” The voice yelled back at you. “Can we meet in the front yard so I can get my plane back?”

“I just have to tell my mom where I’m going, and I’ll meet you right there!” You’d yelled back, excited. A friend! Hopefully, this boy would want to be your friend. 

Plane and Pooh Bear in tow, you excitedly scurry back into the house. 

“Mom! Mom!” You’re practically shrieking in your excitement.

“What?! What is it, sweetheart?” Your mother had sounded harried, her hair sticking to her forehead in the heat of an early San Diego summer. 

“A boy from next door lost his toy plane over the fence! Can I go give it back to him?” You’d wheedled, your voice pleading as you had tried your best to look as innocent as possible. “I promise we’ll be in the front yard and only in the front yard. He said he lived in number 15!”

“Alright, sweetheart. You can go to return the plane. But if you hear me calling for you, you’d better come right back. Ok?” She held your eyes until you’d nodded eagerly, your glasses sliding down your nose with each jolt of your head. Permission gained, you’d rushed out the front door, pausing perfunctorily to shove your feet into a pair of flip-flops, dodging the movers as you’d rushed helter-skelter out of the house. Pooh Bear and plane in hand, you’d skipped out to the sidewalk in front of your house. To your left, the house was obscured by the moving truck in your driveway. The house to the right, however, was labeled number 15. You knew you’d got the right house when the screen door slapped open, and a gangly tow-headed boy strides out. This must be the boy who'd lost the plane. He’s tall with dirty blonde hair and big brown eyes.

“Hi!” You introduce yourself and Mr. Pooh Bear. “I’m nine years old and just moved in next door. Here’s your plane!” You’d been grinning widely, the gaps in your teeth on full display as you peered up at the boy, carefully cradling the plane in his hands.

“I’m Bradley, Bradley Bradshaw.” He’d finally responded. “I’m eleven.”

“So you like planes?” 

“Yeah,” He’d finally smiled back at you. “I love them. My dad was in the Navy. He died when I was two years old. He used to fly in one of these every day. My Uncle Mav gave me this toy. Thanks for bringing it back.”

“Can you tell me more about it?” You’d asked carefully.

That had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship with Bradley Bradshaw. He’d been your best friend since that summer day when you were nine and he was eleven. Most of your childhood had been spent running into and out of your houses. Both of your mothers had oft joked that they’d be in-laws as soon as you grew up, as close as you were.

You’d been sixteen, and he’d been eighteen when you’d realized your feelings for Bradley were more than friendly. That summer had been the most taxing on both of you. His mom, Carole, had been increasingly sick, and he hadn’t known how to deal with the possibility of losing her. You’d spent many an afternoon sitting under the tree in your backyard, holding your best friend as he’d sobbed, still gangly but grown into his height. You’d been his support, standing at the cemetery later on that summer, propping him up as he’d laid the only family he had left to rest. You'd been the only person he'd told about Mav pulling his papers to the Naval Academy. You were the only person he’d said goodbye to a few weeks later when he decided to leave everything he'd ever known, including you.

You were roused from your sleep by pebbles clattering against your window. In the early morning light, you’d cracked open your blinds to see Bradley’s window open across from yours. You’d heaved the blinds open and scribbled on a notebook, “I’ll meet you downstairs!”. You’d snuck downstairs and met Bradley on your front lawn at his nod.

“Hey, Bradshaw. What’s going on?” You’d felt exceedingly ugly in your duck-printed pajamas, especially as Bradley was fully dressed.

“I’m leaving.”

“What?!”

“I enlisted in the Navy yesterday. I’m driving to Pensacola for my basic training, leaving right now.” 

"Is this because of Mav? When he pulled your papers?" You'd been in shock, processing the news.

"Yeah. I'm still angry, but I found another way to fly for the Navy. And this time, I will prove that I can do it." You'd seen the anger in his eyes.

When your eyes had teared up at the thought of losing him, he’d crushed you to his chest. 

“I know, Sweetheart.” He’d murmured. “I know. I’m going to miss you too.” His eyes are soft and sad in the dimness of the morning light. “I couldn’t leave without telling my best girl goodbye.”

“Bradley!” You’d sobbed in earnest, feeling your heart break for real. “I don’t want you to go!”

“I don’t want to go either. But I have to!” He’d tried so hard to convince you. “It’s the only chance I have to achieve my dreams.” 

“But I love you, Bradley!” You’d finally had enough, letting the words slip off your tongue in your grief. “Please don’t go.”

He’d cried before kissing you clumsily. “I love you too, Sweetheart. I wish I’d told you how much before now. I have to go to Florida, but I want you to promise you’ll call.”

And call you had, every night for all the years he’d been in the Navy, continuing until he’d been back in San Diego at Top Gun. That was when you’d finally taken your relationship to the next level and then gotten married a year later, just like Carole and your Mom had hoped over a decade earlier. 

Being a Navy wife was the hardest thing you thought your relationship would ever have to overcome. The constant worry for him and the length of his deployments stressed your relationship more than you’d ever seen. Or so you thought. This new mission Bradley had been pulled into as part of a special detachment scared you witless. It scared him too. You’d known him for two decades; the only time you’d seen him this frightened was before Carole died. Add to that the stress of having Maverick in his life again, and you didn’t know when you’d get your happy, sweet, golden retriever of a husband back again.

Three short weeks later, after everything had gone down, you got the bare bones of the mission details from Maverick and knew the healing process for Bradley would not be easy after what he’d been through. At first, Bradley had seemed lighter, more like the boy you’d first fallen in love with. He was reconnecting with his Uncle Mav. His physical wounds had healed in no time at all. And then the nightmares set in. Nearly every night, he’d woken you screaming for Maverick, sweating profusely, shivering, and shaking. On occasion, you’d even woken to hear him retching in the bathroom. No matter what you did, he wouldn’t open up to you. So you’d resolved to keep an eye on him. That’s why you found yourself at the Hard Deck one night with the rest of the newly named permanent Dagger Squadron. 

Bradley was his usual cheery self, outwardly, at least. But you knew him well enough to see the differences. He'd joked and bantered, drinking and trash-talking as he played pool. But when the spotlight shone on others, you could see the shadows in his eyes.

“Hey, Missus Bradshaw!” Phoenix is grinning. You smile back at your husband’s closest friend in the Navy.

“Hey, Phe.” 

“C’mere.” She tugs you to a less crowded corner where Bob sits. She gestures between them. “We’ve been meaning to talk to you. There’s something up with Rooster. He’s not himself, not since we got back. He’s quieter, and though Bagman seems to make him just as loud as he used to be, he hasn’t roused the bar into song since we returned. The piano’s gathering dust over there. Mav’s noticed, and so has Penny. We’re all getting worried about him. But he won’t talk to us. Maybe you can use your feminine wiles to get him to cough up what’s bothering him?”

They’re both gazing expectantly at you, Bob as always following Phoenix’s lead.

“I’ll see what I can do, Phe. But he doesn’t talk to me either.” You shrug, letting your worry bow your shoulders. “Do you know where he went?” 

“I saw him head out onto the beach.” It’s sweet Bob who speaks. You grin in thanks, pressing a kiss to his cheek, adjusting his glasses, then your own, and leave your drink with Phoenix before heading out to find your husband.

It’s a beautiful summer night in San Diego. The balmy ocean breeze brushes your hair from your face as you pull your sandals off and walk barefoot through the sand. Bradley’s starfished out in the sand, a little ways off. He’s humming tunelessly under his breath, and you can’t help but smile when he breaks into the chorus, “Goodness Gracious, Great Balls of Fire!”

“Hiya, Handsome,” you murmur tenderly, sitting on the still-warm sand near his head. “This isn’t where I expected to find you.”

He laughs, eyes blearily focused on your face, tone nearly hysterical as he cackles joylessly.

“You nearly didn’t find me here at all, Sweetheart.” His voice is rough. “In another world, if it weren’t for Mav, you’d be a widow with a Military flag in our house.”

“B …” Your chest aches at his words. “I know, baby. Mav told me.”

He sits up carelessly, tugging you under his arm. 

“Please talk to me. I need to know you’re alright.” You place your hand over his heart, resting your head against his broad shoulder. “I’m worried sick. You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping. You’re a shadow of yourself. And I don’t know how to help you.”  You’re sniffling now, breathing in his cologne as you sit cradled in his arms. “Please, please talk to me, Bradley.”

For a long time, all you can hear is the rush of the ocean and the faint roar of the patrons at the Hard Deck. Bradley’s a line of heat against your side as you sit in the sand.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know how to find the words.” His voice is harsh, throat working furiously as you look at him. “In the middle of that mission, with missiles flying through the air and me as their target, I thought I’d never see you again. I wanted nothing more than to see, hold, and tell you I loved you again.” 

Tears are dripping down his face, mirroring the tears leaving your eyes.

“And then I got shot down. And I knew I’d never see you again. Never see our babies be born or teach them everything they need to know. And the worst of it all, I made my peace with that. I asked Jake, Bagman, to take care of you after I was chosen before we launched. He’s exactly the kind of man you’d be happy with if not me.” He’s breathing roughly, on the edge of a panic attack, eyes staring unfocused out over the water. “And then Mav pulled his pilot shit, and I don’t know how to live anymore. I feel like Bradley Bradshaw was left in the snow that day.”

“Bradley, baby. I wouldn’t want to go through this life with anyone but you!” Your voice is thin, reedy, “I love you. And,” Your voice is wry as you continue, “while I’m sure Jake Seresin is a consummate gentleman, I think Phe would have a problem with me spending the rest of my life with him.”

You both chuckle, somewhat hysterically, sitting in the sand.

“So, where do we go from here?" He's quiet as you both sit, staring out at the waves. 

"We live, Lieutenant Bradshaw." His mustache quirks at your use of his title. "We live our life together, as we promised in our vows. You're going to get the name of the therapist Mav's been seeing and make an appointment to talk to them."

"And," You murmur as Bradley rises to his feet, drawing you up with him, "you need to kiss me. Now. Kiss me like you wanted to when you weren't sure you would ever see me again."

He's smiling now, like he was at eighteen when he'd kissed you goodbye and like he has every time he'd kissed you since. His mouth against yours is gentle, his mustache brushing softly against your upper lip as you stretch to meet him. His arms wrap around your waist as the kiss deepens. You can finally feel him relax in your arms. This is where his healing begins.

You can't help the grin on your face and voice as you walk back to the Hard Deck, looking at your husband.

"And anyhow, Mr. Bradshaw, you'll kiss me a lot in the coming months."

"Why's that?"

"You're telling me you won't kiss your pregnant wife as she grows your only child?" You're pouting at first, but that transitions to giggles as he comes to a complete stop on the wooden planks that lead from the Hard Deck to the beach.

"You're pregnant?" His voice cracks, wonder in his eyes.

"Yeah. I've been drinking soda with Bob all night. I'm about 12 weeks along. Baby Bradshaw was conceived when I met you in Hawai'i for our anniversary when you were temporarily stationed there."

You're swept into his arms again and kissed until your lips ache with the force of it. He drops you gently back onto your feet before flinging the glass doors leading into the Hard Deck open with a crash. It's late, and only a few stragglers, the Dagger Squad, Mav, and Penny, are left inside. His dramatic attention brings everyone’s eyes to the two of you. 

“WE’RE HAVING A BABY!” He roars, all the pain and fears finally off his shoulders now that he’s spoken to you. Now that he’s shared his fears with you. The bar comes back to life in barely a second. The Dagger Squad, save Phoenix, Bob, and Penny, congregates around Bradley while the other three congregate around you. You’re soon squished tight in congratulatory hugs by everyone. You grin when Bradley Bradshaw finally sits at the piano, serenading your heart home. Healing will be challenging, but not so long as your husband tells you he loves you.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[carmenized-onions]

Okay, lemme start off by saying; if there was a button to make all of “Chicago’s kindest” an internationally famous fic, I would’ve pressed it as soon as I was half way done with the first chapter. It took me 6 ish? hours, quite literally 1 am till 7 am to catch up to the most recent chapter. and Oh my God; what a damn rollercoaster on a vibrating seat. I was BUZZZINGGGGG. When I say I’ve read mostly all of the Carmy fics there are; I would be lying cause my life was so incomplete without this fic and now, with whole one night of sleep missing, I can say it was so worth it.

I was giggling, and crying and laughing and I am pretty sure I’ve never disturbed my household more in a night than I did last night, you are such an amazing writer and this fic is just so right. It fits so well with what my brain thinks when it thinks of a ‘Bear fic. The pacing, the dialogue, the CHARACTERS- Tony- damn even Micheal fucking Berzatto. You got every moment, every emotion, every punctuation to a T. And I am so proud to say that you are probably one of my favourite writers on here now. Please please please never ever stop writing. And you bet your fine ass I’m gonna be reblogging each chapter (after re reading it all cause why the fuck not?) once it’s finished.

thank you so much for saying i have a fine ass. it means a lot. the other stuff too but mostly the ass.

But really, oh my goodness, internationally famous is wild-- I'm SORRY I FUCKING SHATTERED YOUR SLEEPING SCHEDULE THOUGH JESUS CHRIST TALK ABOUT A FUCKING NIGHT SHIFT. Thank you for loving it so! I'm so glad you liked it enough to ruin your fucking morning LMAO.

My apologies to your household, let them know it was mb i take full responsibility. It really means a lot to hear this is hitting all the notes for you!! I really wrote this series quite honestly for me so the fact that anyone fucking likes it and thinks I'm doing good really means da world. I have no idea what I will write for the bear after this series is over-- Other than spin offs. Cause this is just the canon I live in now. Tony is actually just centimeters off screen to the left in all of S3 if you didn't know actually, that's real and that's true and that's factual.

I can't wait to hear your thoughts on the next chapter when it comes out! It's long as fuck I am sure I will once again ruin your sleep schedule please again tell your family: mb.

[t-nd-rfoot]

<333

[girl-in-the-chairs-void]

Yall I miss having time and when I used to write 😓😔.

[jaxallope]

POV: you are in a Justice league meeting and you look over to Batman, an already intimidating, Man? Personal? Being, and you see this:

[sebsxphia]

aw my love! 🥹 thank you so much, i’m so pleased to hear you enjoyed it! 💗💗💗

Hi!

I was wondering if it was possible for you to do a Natasha Trace/Pheonix x fem!reader where Nat and the reader are arguing about something and Nat raises her hand/arm to prove or exagruate her point but the reader flinches away? Thanks

:)

sunrise and sunset.

natasha ‘phoenix’ trace x reader

￫ c/w: angst, fluff, mentions of past abuse, implications of past abuse, crying and what you read in the ask is what it’s going to be.

￫ a/n: i loved this idea so much dear anon and it comforted me thinking about it with our sweet natasha. i hope you enjoy! <3

￫ my main masterlist can be found here! 💌

You’ve had this conversation with Natasha many times before. You were leaning against your kitchen table with your arms folded tightly across your chest, Natasha mirroring your stance and leaning against the kitchen counter.

“I just worry, Nat. The uncertainty of it all, I mean… c’ mon. Can’t you see what this is like for me?”

It went like it always did. It was a stand off in your kitchen, late at night once Natasha was home and disclosed the possibility of another deployment and perhaps, a squadron mission. The weight of Natasha’s words never lulled and the blow to your gut never softened.

You wanted to be there for Nat, your Tash. You wanted to console her, ask how she was, ask what was next, but your deep fear of the unknown and being left alone in the world always bubbled to the surface first.

“For you? You don’t think I can’t see how this eats you up? You don’t think I care?” Natasha’s voice raised an octave higher. She would never shout at you, but her frustration was creeping through. “I will always care about you. I think about you every time I’m up in that sky.”

It was at this point that Natasha raised her arm to figuratively point towards the sky with her hand and you flinched away in a split second. Your body instinctively retreated into muscle memory and your brain went into auto drive. You turned away from her, feeling the tears sting the corners of your eyes.

A beat of deafening silence clouded your dimly lit kitchen. “Fuck-” Natasha breathed out, her eyes going wide, with panic clouding her normally bright and fiery gaze. “Baby? I’m so sorry, are you okay?” She reached out to place her hand on the table in your view, to tell you she was there but wouldn’t overstep anything if you didn’t want it right now. “I- I didn’t mean to. You know I would never.”

Natasha was aware of your past and she had done the most to help you. You know she didn’t mean it intentionally. “Just the heat of it all and you-” You motioned Natasha’s previous movements. “I’m sorry.”

You turned back to face her and Natasha could read your body language from years of learning you. She understood she could now bridge that gap and she gently placed her hands on your arms and gave them a light, reassuring squeeze.

“You never have to apologise. I am sorry.” She paused fleetingly as you met her eyes. “This whole situation is shit, but I never want you to think that I don’t think about you. Every time I see a sunset or sunrise when I’m flying, I always think of you. We’ll work this out, like we always do. Okay, my dove?”

You nodded. “Can we talk about this tomorrow, Tash? I’m so tired. I can’t think straight.”

“Of course, baby. Honestly, me neither. They got us flying the most God awful routes today. For the first time in five years I thought I was gon’ puke.”

You let out a small laugh with Natasha for the first time this evening. You leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips and she pulled you closer, smiling against you. “C’ mon. I want to kiss my sweet girl in bed.”

taglist: @beachbabey @tallrock35 @luckyladycreator2 @unmistakablyunknown @thedroneranger

[endless-ineffabilities]

OKAY SO THE FIRST THING I SEE WHEN I OPENED YOUTUBE TODAY WAS THIS INTERVIEW and it has chemical override written all over it!!! Baby boy has a sweet tooth and she can probably handle her spice. 🫠🫠

Oh my god thank you so bloody much for bringing this to my attention!!!!

The editing is hilarious and Tom is so chaotic in this!

Conscious Ewan hiding his face as he ate the hotdog, loving it so much he actually saved it for later 🤣 Him having a sweet tooth and hating the Takis... honestly same because I've had them once and they're rank as heck...

You guys are giving me so many ideas for Chem Override, I just might have to do another bonus chapter after part five! <333

"Be brave in your leather pants." - TGC to Ewan, New York, 2024 🇺🇸 🦅

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

Way before this dynamic duo starred in the short film, The Truth (2014), Fred and Wes graced our screens and captured our hearts in

(Please don’t re-post/share this edit I made anywhere else. Please just only reblog this on Tumblr. Thank you!)

[kattricia]

listen.....

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Hi Pav!

How are you? It's so nice to hear from you. I hope you're doing alright! It's been way too long since we chatted!

[ds-angel1]

TEACHERS LITTLE PET

cw: SMUT(18+), teacher x student relationship, hitting it from the back(in the classroom), big age gap(ages aren´t specified), reader is a senior, i´m not american and have no idea how the school system works so please just smile and nod

wc: ~ 5.1k

a/n: tell me what you think of this dynamic and if you want more cause i have some ideas!! also this is the longest fic i´ve ever written, not my best work but atleast i managed to write something?? keep in mind i had a fever when i wrote this

Rafe had no idea how he ended up here.

Well, if he was being honest, he did. He just hated admitting it.

He hated kids. Teenagers weren’t much better. If they weren’t whining about something trivial, they were loud, obnoxious, and bursting with opinions they thought were groundbreaking. And high schoolers? They were the worst of the lot, caught in that unbearable limbo between childhood and adulthood, convinced they knew everything and that the world had been tailor-made to inconvenience them.

He hated his job, too. But after his father had all but shoved him into college, and he had somehow managed to scrape together an art history degree through a chaotic jumble of barely thought-out course selections, he needed a paycheck. He needed something, anything, to make use of the four years he had spent drowning in essays about the Renaissance and lectures on the symbolism of Baroque architecture.

And there it was, a high school history teacher.

He was fairly certain the school had been desperate. Desperate enough to hire the first applicant who could string a coherent sentence together about the American Revolution. And lucky him, that applicant had been Rafe.

The school itself was unremarkable. Small, under 400 students, just two squat brick buildings separated by a weather-beaten schoolyard that reeked of stale cigarette smoke and teenage apathy. Five hours from the Outer Banks, he could visit home whenever he wanted. Not that he did. There was nothing left for him there, nothing worth the drive, and frankly, there was nothing for him here either.

His days were a loop, a monotonous, uninspired cycle of standing in front of rows of disinterested, hormonal teenagers, rattling off lessons about long-dead historical figures far more interesting than any of his students would ever bother to realize. He graded half-assed essays, endured halfhearted excuses about missing assignments, and spent more time than he cared to admit staring at the clock, willing the hours to pass. Then, when the final bell rang, he trudged back to his apartment, a bare, impersonal space that he never bothered to decorate. No photos, no art, and no signs that anyone lived there. Just a bed, a couch, and a kitchen table that mostly went unused.

And then there were the truly miserable days, the ones where he was roped into subbing for freshman P.E., a biweekly exercise in self-inflicted torture. Half the girls refused to break a sweat, acting as if running a single lap would somehow lead to their untimely demise. The other half of the class consisted of cocky, over-competitive boys who treated dodgeball like a blood sport. He spent most of those periods standing on the sidelines, arms crossed, blowing the whistle when things got too heated, and watching the clock even more desperately than usual.

It was a dull, uninspired existence; monotonous, predictable, and entirely void of passion. He lived his life the way his students listened to the outdated documentaries he played in class: half-awake, uninterested, just going through the motions because it had to be done.

Until you walked into his class.

The first day of school after summer break always carried a certain energy; electric, restless, filled with voices overlapping in an unfiltered rush of stories from the last few weeks. As Rafe pushed open the door to his classroom, that familiar wave of chatter hit him like a sudden gust of wind. Laughter, exclamations, the scrape of chairs against the floor—it was all as chaotic as he had expected.

With a quiet sigh, he made his way to his desk, setting his thermos down on the bleached oak surface before picking it up again almost instinctively, taking a slow sip before returning it to its place. His fingers moved on autopilot, retrieving his school-issued laptop from his bag, pressing the power button, and waiting for the screen to glow to life. His gaze lifted, sweeping across the students, his students. The same faces he’d taught last year, now a little older, a little different, officially juniors.

But one face wasn’t familiar.

You.

Rafe spotted you almost immediately, sitting in the third row, right by the window where the morning sky stretched in endless hues of soft blue. You were listening—well, nodding, at least—to Amanda, whose mouth moved a mile a minute. He didn’t have to hear her know she was spewing an endless stream of conversation; Amanda was known for filling any silence, anytime, anywhere. But his attention wasn’t on her. It was on you.

A dark navy skirt draped over your thighs, the fabric shifting in gentle waves with every slight movement. Your top, a delicate white spaghetti strap with tiny baby blue flowers, hugged your frame, lace tracing the neckline, a small bow nestled right at its center. A beige cardigan hung loosely over your shoulders, two buttons left undone as if they had never been intended for use in the first place. Your hair was pulled back into a ponytail, not rigid, not loose, just… effortless. A few strands framed your face, soft wisps that moved when you turned your head, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost ethereal.

And sure, you looked beautiful, undeniably so. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way your eyes flickered around the room, quietly observing, absorbing. The way your lips parted slightly every so often, murmuring the occasional “Uh-huh” or “Yeah” in response to Amanda’s nonstop chatter, even as your mind seemed elsewhere. There was something in your expression, an almost hesitant curiosity, a quiet awareness, that made Rafe’s fingers pause over the laptop’s keyboard.

He had seen many faces in this classroom. Some familiar, some forgettable.

But yours?

Yours was impossible to ignore.

"Uh— okay, let’s get started. Settle down," Rafe called out to the students, his voice steady despite the chaos. The room buzzed with post-summer chatter, desks scraping against the floor as students found their seats. He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to exhale. The first day back was always like this, full of energy, distractions, and the struggle to rein everyone in. But today, there was another battle brewing beneath the surface, one he wasn’t prepared for.

He hoped that once the lesson began, he could shift his focus, and force himself to look anywhere but at you. He clung to that hope like a lifeline, but the moment he commanded their attention, he had yours.

And when your eyes locked onto him, he was trapped. Hypnotized. His breath hitched, pulse stuttering in a way it had no right to. For what felt like an eternity, he couldn’t tear his gaze away, couldn’t shake the invisible thread tightening between you. His fingers curled into his palm, nails pressing against his skin.

Shit.

Swallowing hard, he forced himself to snap out of it, dragging his attention back to the board. He took a measured breath, gripping the chalk like it might anchor him. "Alright, I know you’re all still in vacation mode, but we need to get talking about history."

The usual grumbling came, but it was muted, fading as students settled into their seats. Good. The routine was safe. The routine was predictable. The routine wouldn’t let his mind wander to places it shouldn’t.

"Before we dive in, we have a new student joining us this year from the senior class," he announced, keeping his tone even, impersonal. His gaze flickered back to you, just for a second, just long enough to acknowledge you without giving himself away. "Would you introduce yourself?"

A brief silence. You hesitated, shifting under the weight of so many eyes before murmuring your name.

"Great," Rafe said, far too quickly. He cleared his throat, turning back to the board. "So, what do we know about American history from the Industrial Revolution to the modern age?"

The next forty-five minutes passed in a blur of discussion, textbook readings, and writing exercises. Normally, this was when he’d catch up on grading or chip away at whatever administrative work he had. But today? No. Today, his focus splintered, frayed at the edges every time he felt your presence in the room.

His eyes kept drifting.

To you.

It was reckless. Stupid. He knew it was wrong, knew exactly how it would look if anyone noticed. He wasn’t blind, he’d found students attractive before, but it had always been a fleeting thing, a passing thought dismissed before it could take root. A moment, nothing more.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn’t just acknowledging that you were pretty, though you were. Incredibly so. This wasn’t just an absent-minded recognition of beauty. No, this was something deeper. Something that twisted in his gut and settled in his bones, something that made his breath catch when he wasn’t prepared for it.

Something dangerous.

His fingers raked through his hair as he stared down at his keyboard, typing nothing. He could tell himself it was just a dry spell, that he’d been avoiding distractions for too long, that it was simply physical. But that would be a lie.

Because it wasn’t just about desire.

It was about you.

And that was a problem.

The shrill chime of the bell split the air, and the classroom erupted into motion. Notebooks snapped shut, chairs scraped against the tile, and a low hum of voices swelled as students shoved books into backpacks, eager to escape into the chaotic freedom of lunch. You swung your bag over your shoulder, weaving through the shifting maze of desks, your focus locked on the door. The cafeteria was called, an oasis of noise and anonymity where you could blend in, and where no one was analyzing your every move.

But just as you stepped forward, a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

"Hey."

It wasn’t loud, but it had weight, like an anchor dropping into the sea of departing students. Something in the tone made your stomach twist. You turned, pulse hitching slightly, to find Mr. Cameron watching you from behind his desk. His expression was unreadable, calm but not necessarily kind.

"Yes, Mr. Cameron?" you asked, hesitating.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

It was phrased like a question, but you both knew it wasn’t. He gave a small nod toward the door as the last few stragglers trickled out, a silent instruction.

With a quiet sigh, you nudged the door shut behind them, the click of the latch sealing you in. The classroom, so full of life just seconds ago, now felt cavernous, the quiet pressing in around you. You hesitated before making your way back to his desk, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Mr. Cameron leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the surface of his desk, fingers steepled together. "So… I wanted to talk to you about last year." His voice was measured, and neutral, but something about it put you on edge. "You were in Ms. Wallace’s class, right?" His eyes flicked to a sheet of paper in front of him, though you were certain he already knew the answer.

You shifted uncomfortably. "Mhm." A simple answer for something far more complicated. Your history with Ms. Wallace wasn’t just a class; it was a long, exhausting battle, a relentless tug-of-war between frustration, unmet expectations, and a sinking feeling of inevitability.

Mr. Cameron studied you for a moment before speaking again. "Can you tell me what didn’t work? Was it her? The material? Her teaching style? Or was it something on your end?" His head tilted slightly, voice smooth, probing.

You hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your fingers clenched the strap of your bag. "I guess I was just… kind of unfocused last year," you admitted, your voice barely above a murmur.

"Mm." He hummed, eyebrows lifting just slightly. "Just last year?"

Your stomach tightened.

"Because judging by today’s lesson, it seems like you're still a little… distracted. More interested in doodles than in history, huh?"

Heat crept up your neck, shame pooling in your chest. Your gaze dropped to the floor as if looking anywhere else might soften the weight of his words.

"You’d think," he continued, his tone carrying the faintest edge, "that after the school let you pass the year and only required you to retake this class, you'd put in a little more effort."

His words landed like a slap, sharp, deliberate. He knew exactly how unfair that was. Knew how it would make you feel. And yet, for whatever reason, he didn’t stop himself.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“You want to pass, yes?”

His voice was low, almost teasing, each word curling around you like smoke. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his desk, dark eyes locked onto yours with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry, and gave a quick, eager nod.

Rafe watched you for a lingering second, dragging it out just long enough to make you shift where you stood. Then, with an exhale that was almost too casual, he pushed himself up from his chair. He didn’t simply stand, he moved. Slow. Deliberate. A quiet display of control as he braced one hand against the edge of his desk, his weight settling into a lean. The aged wood creaked under him, but he didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care.

His focus remained entirely on you.

“And what do you think I could do to help you achieve that?”

Smooth. Measured. But there was something else beneath his tone, something just sharp enough to catch. Playfulness, maybe. Amusement. Or something more dangerous.

His gaze flickered, sweeping over you in a way that felt too quick at first, like a reflex he hadn’t meant to act on. But then, you saw it. The hesitation. The way his throat bobbed, how his fingers flexed at his sides before he rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to shake off whatever had just slipped through the cracks. But it was too late.

You had seen.

And by the way, his jaw clenched a second later, the way his lips pressed together, you knew he realized it too.

Your heart hammered. You didn’t answer him. Couldn’t. Instead, your fingers fidgeted with each other, twisting and untwisting, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The silence between you stretched, thick and electric, heavy with something unspoken, something neither of you dared name but both of you felt.

Rafe inhaled deeply, the sound filling the quiet space between you. The air itself seemed different now, charged, like something unseen was pressing in, urging one of you to break.

He let the breath out slowly, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that somehow felt… controlled. Intentional. And then, his eyes moved again.

This time, there was no rush. No flicker of hesitation.

Now, he studied you.

It was slow, almost methodical, th

6e kind of look that made heat crawl up the back of your neck, the kind that lingered just long enough in places that made you second-guess every inch of yourself. When his gaze reached your thighs, a nervous jolt ran through you. Almost instinctively, you gripped the hem of your skirt, twisting the fabric in your fists, your knuckles turning white.

A nervous habit.

One he noticed.

One that made his eyes darken, not dramatically, not in some exaggerated, obvious way, but just enough. Just enough for you to catch the shift, to see the amusement flicker across his face like the hint of a smirk he didn’t fully let through.

“Hm?” The questioning hum he let out brought you back to reality, back to his question, and back to the answer that you had yet to give.

“Um… I- I don’t know…” you stammered out.

His eyes flick down again, taking in your upper body, eyes practically circling in on your chest. As if your body has a mind of its own, you straighten your back, puffing out your chest.

Rafe’s eyes flickered up to yours, and for a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

The air between you had thickened, dense with something unspoken, something dangerous. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, slow, almost pensive as if he were considering something he shouldn’t be. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a breath that almost sounded like a laugh but carried no humor, just tension.

“Yeah?” His voice was softer now, quieter like he was testing the waters, like he was trying to figure out how far this would go before one of you came to your senses.

Your lips parted, but no words came. Your throat felt tight, your skin burning where his gaze traced. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something vast, something that couldn’t be undone.

His fingers tapped once, twice against the desk, a steady rhythm that contradicted the barely concealed restraint in his posture. His body language told two different stories, one of hesitation, and another of inevitability. He was too close, and yet he wasn’t moving away.

Your breath hitched as he shifted, his body angling just slightly towards yours. It was a minuscule movement, one that could’ve been mistaken for a simple change in weight, but you knew better. It was deliberate. Calculated.

“You want to pass this class?”

The question was a mere whisper, his voice dipped in something that made your stomach twist. Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, nodding, too fast, too eager.

His lips twitched, almost smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. He leaned in just enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne, something dark and musky, something entirely him.

“Then you’re gonna have to focus.”

The way he said it—low, deliberate—sent a shiver down your spine. His words weren’t inappropriate, but the way he looked at you, the way his voice wrapped around each syllable, made them feel like something else entirely.

Your knees felt weak, your heart pounding against your ribcage as your grip tightened around the strap of your bag. The classroom, once suffocating in its quiet, now felt electric, charged with a current that neither of you dared acknowledge aloud.

Rafe exhaled again, this time slower, measured. His hand moved, not towards you, not touching, but close enough that you felt the shift in air between you.

“You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your breath shuddered. “I—”

His head tilted slightly, watching, waiting. His pupils were blown wide, his expression unreadable but entirely focused on you.

His jaw ticked, his fingers twitching at his side like he was fighting something. A beat of silence stretched between you.

And then, Rafe moved.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t forceful. It was a slow descent, a moment stretched into eternity. His lips hovered just above yours, close enough that you felt the ghost of his breath against your skin, close enough that your lips parted in anticipation before your mind could catch up.

He paused—just for a fraction of a second, just enough to give you the chance to pull away. Just enough to make it clear that if this happened, it was your choice, too.

But you didn’t move away.

Neither did he.

And before you could let a single other breath out, his lips met yours.

Soft at first. Testing. A barely-there brush that sent a sharp current through your veins, igniting something dangerous and uncontainable in your chest.

He exhaled against your mouth, and in that moment it seemed like something in him snapped.

His hand found your waist, fingers splaying against the fabric of your cardigan as he pulled you just slightly closer. His other hand lifted, skimming along your jaw before his fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head just so.

The kiss deepened, slow but demanding, every movement deliberate, every touch igniting another spark beneath your skin. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, taking his time like he wanted to memorize the exact way you fit against him. He knew this was a mistake but couldn’t bring himself to care.

Your hands found his chest, pressing lightly against the fabric of his dress shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His fingers tightened slightly in your hair at the contact, his grip on your waist firm but careful, as if he was anchoring himself as much as he was anchoring you.

The sharp sound of footsteps in the hallway shattered the fragile haze that had settled between you two, yanking you both back into reality.

Rafe was the first to react, pulling away, but only just. His forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath still ragged, chest rising and falling in sync with yours. His fingers, warm and possessive, lingered at your waist a second too long before he finally, finally, let go, stepping back just enough to put a sliver of space between you. But not enough to erase what had just happened.

His eyes searched yours, dark blue depths swirling with something unreadable, something dangerous. His exhale was sharp, tension coiling through his jaw as he dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers gripping at the strands like he was trying to ground himself.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough and uneven. Then, with more force, “Fuck. Fuck.”

His eyes shut tight, his head shaking in frustration as if the motion itself could erase the last few minutes. When they opened again, they were filled with something even more intense. In two strides, he was in front of you again, his hands gripping your upper arms, fingertips pressing just a little too hard, just enough to make you feel trapped between the heat of his body and the reality of the situation.

“This didn’t happen, okay?” His voice was firm, but there was a slight tremor to it like he wasn’t sure if he believed the words himself. His grip tightened before loosening again, as if he was at war with himself as if he didn’t trust his restraint.

You didn’t answer. You just stared at him, your pulse thrumming wildly, your breath uneven. His eyes flickered down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, and something in him cracked. His hands slid down your arms in a slow, deliberate motion, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. When his fingertips finally settled at your hipbones, pressing in lightly, his resolve wavered even more.

“This…” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

His voice was different now, lower, more raw. His fingers traced absent patterns along the fabric of your skirt as his mind spiraled, thoughts tumbling into a chaotic storm. Why was he doing this? This wasn’t like him. He had met you, his student, his goddamn student, less than an hour ago, and he had already crossed every possible line. And yet, even knowing that he wasn’t pulling away. He was moving closer.

His hands ghosted up your sides, the touch sending shivers across your skin. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. Can you do that for me?”

If someone had asked you that morning how you thought your first day of senior year would go, never in a million years would you have said this? Sure, you’d heard the whispers in the halls, and seen the way every girl’s eyes lingered when he walked past. Mr. Cameron was the forbidden fantasy, the subject of countless rumors and stolen glances. But he was also your teacher. And he had just kissed you.

You knew it was wrong. You should run, tell someone, do the right thing. And yet, as your mind battled between logic and desire, only one thought rose above the rest: he had kissed you.

Mr. Cameron, the man every girl in school lusted after, had kissed you. Had he done this before? Had he chosen others before you? Or was this different?

Even as doubt twisted itself into a tight knot in your stomach, you found yourself nodding, unable to speak, afraid your voice would betray you with the high-pitched, breathy sound of a girl who had just been touched by fire and didn’t want to step away.

“Good.”

His voice was barely a whisper, almost more breath than sound. The tension in the room grew, thick and suffocating, but you didn’t want to breathe anything else in. His fingers glided upward again, teasing over your waist, grazing over your ribs, leaving a trail of heat that made your entire body burn with anticipation.

Then, gently, with a tenderness that contradicted the fevered hunger in his eyes, he cupped your face. For one impossible moment, you thought he was going to kiss you again, that he was going to throw every bit of logic and control out the window and claim your lips as he had minutes ago. But instead, he tilted your head slightly, his breath warm against your throat.

Then his lips were on your neck, barely touching, soft and slow.

A sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, escaped you, and his hands tightened ever so slightly, grounding you, making you feel small under his grasp. His mouth moved lower, pressing another kiss, and then another, each one more deliberate, more intoxicating than the last.

You barely registered the moment he turned you around, your back now facing him. Your hands trembled as they found purchase against the smooth surface of his desk, the dark wood cool beneath your fingertips.

Then, with the kind of confidence that sent a shiver racing down your spine, he placed his hands on your thighs, massaging them slowly, possessively.

His voice, low and dripping with something dark and dangerous, ghosted over your ear.

“Stay quiet for me.”

You sucked in a deep, long breath, letting your head fall and your eyes close.

The feel of the Rafe´s fingers slid under the skirt and the pads of his fingers started tracing along your panties, each tiny motion making your body stutter and tremble.

“You´re… you´re real special, you know that?” He spoke from behind you but you couldn’t respond, still holding your breath as if letting out the air would make the situation you found yourself in truly real.

When he had had enough of feeling the warm, twisted feeling in his stomach as he let his fingers glide over your clothed cunt, he pushed your underwear aside with his thumb, letting the tip of his index finger dip into your already quivering hole. The action intensified the feeling and buried it even deeper in his gut.

As if a shock of lightning had hit you, you bolted away from his hand a few inches, clenching your thighs tightly as you finally relieved your lungs of the air they were keeping trapped.

“M- Mr. Cameron…” You started to sputter out but stopped when you felt long, gruff fingers curl around the sides of your panties before pulling the black lace material down tantalizingly slow.

A cold rush of air hit your most intimate body part, making you gasp and pant. When you heard rustling and what you could only assume was the clink of your teacher´s belt, you shut your mouth and froze as you waited for the man´s next move.

“Listen,” he whispered your name like it was a sin he committed and you were a pastor, “You understand that this stays between us, yes?” His large hands massaged your ass and thighs, cursing under his breath when he saw how soaked you were.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement. You weren´t sure why. He was your teacher and by the looks of it and the feel of his hands on you, apparently a pedophile. But god did you want this; you wanted it, him, so bad.

Before you could so much as even let another thought pass through your head, he thrust forward, burying his cock inside you as deep as he could with multiple rapid movements of his hips. You moaned and practically screamed, the sounds of pleasure from you making Rafe reach around and cover practically half of your entire face.

“Fuck, you´re so tight,” he muttered sharply next to your ear as he started moving inside of you again, dragging his hips back only to snap them back forward less than a moment later.

“You like that, huh? Like being fucked by your teacher. Little teachers pet.”

He knew this was wrong, you were his student, and you probably didn´t even actually want this but for some fucked up reason that made it even better for Rafe, and as the thought crossed his mind it only made him thrust into you faster. At that point, you were damn near choking and sobbing into his hand, his palm making it hard for you to get a deep breath of fresh air in.

With a sense of panic taking over you, you tried to move your hands off of the desk to claw him off of your face but your attempts proved futile when Rafe pushed you flat onto the desk, forcing you to take his cock even deeper.

His free hand which wasn´t taking away your ability to breathe, found its way between your legs, his index, and middle fingers drawing squiggly circles on your clit. At the shock of pleasure that ran through you as he teased your extremely sensitive bundle of nerves, you clenched around his pipe and arched your back. You felt that familiar coil spring up in the depths of your stomach, your body rocking slightly backward against Rafe´s to help you relive the press soon.

Rafe pushed into you harder than he had any of the other time before then, hitting your sweet spot with a force that would have made you cry out, had you had your mouth free. His fingers applied pressure to the shapes they were making on your clit. The mix of heightened attention and force made your pussy squeeze around him and pushed you over the edge, coming with tears in your eyes.

After a few more brutal thrusts into your soppy cunt, he came as well, unloading into you, his thoughts barely registering anything at that point except for you and your body bent over his desk, his cum dripping out of your used up hole and onto your thighs.

Slowly he took away his hand from your face, a trail of spit following. As soon as you got a few much-needed breaths, you collapsed onto the desk, your body falling limp. Rafe pulled out of you, not wasting any time before he pulled his pants back on and redid his leather belt around his hips. He leaned over you, his body covering all of your sweaty skin as he dressed you in your underwear again.

“You did so good, darling. So, so good."

[t-nd-rfoot]

AAHHH ANNAA IM IN LOVE WITH THE NEW THEME, it’s so pretty and spring vibes <333

THANK YOU PAV MY LOVE!!!! 🥹 also need to point out the major boyfriend vibes of your icon, I'm obsessed 😩

[startrekfangirl2233-fic-recs]

Holy shit Pav I'm screaming. This is so good. It's making me crave a roommate now. And JAKE?! Don't get me started on how unsteady my heart is after how you describe Jake. I'm severely unwell.

- XOXO Star

Oh, Sweetheart...

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fem!reader

Summary: Jake's roommate wants to go watch the sunrise, but he has other plans for the morning.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, this is basically porn, there is a small section that isn't filth at the start but the rest is just... yeah,fluff, solved sexual tension, oral sex (m receiving because reader is like that), p in v, unprotected sex (they are at it raw so wrap it before you tap it!), slightly dry humping?, pet names, dirty talk, daddy kink, hair pulling, mentions of spit and saliva, overall this is the filthiest thing I've ever written, no use of y/n (?) I think there is an allusion of squirting but I'm pretty sure its just creampie...

word count: 4.1K of porn

A/n: this is my first piece of smut, so please be nice. also English isn't my first language so bear in mind there may be spelling mistakes.

“Jake, Jake, Jake” Dragging out the last of the vowels in his name, you ran into the man’s bedroom. Singing his name in joy and excitement. 

Jake groaned, rolling over to grab the pillow beside him and covering his ears with it to block out your deafening calls. But immediately regrets doing so because the second the pillow is onto his ear; you snatch it out of his grasp and pin him under you. 

“Ughh..go away.” he spoke groggily, annoyance lacing his voice as he tried to figure out the time of day that would have caused you to scream like this. 

Nope…you are like this everyday. 

He peels his eyes open to find not a single ray of light outside his window, only navy blue skies with stars like dusted sugar. The moon is still in tow, perched up in the sky, shining, glowing its way into the room. He could make out a few birds chirping outside through the closed window. Singing their morning songs before the sun woke up.  A soft breeze pouring into the room, rustling the white curtains. 

He slowly rubs the sleep out of them in order to get a better look at your joyous self. Immediately softening his gaze as they settle on you. 

“Sweetheart, it's not even morning yet, what are you doing here?” He slept naked in his bed, only a pair of boxers covering him. His chest was covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the heat.

His hands move to your hips in an attempt to keep you from crushing his pelvic where you sat snug, straddling him. Bare legs on either side, the cotton of your underwear sneaking into his eyesight from under the shirt you were wearing. Your hands immediately intercept their way into his palms, threading your fingers through them until they are joined like a prayer, pinning them on either side of his head. 

He is more than surprised by your sudden actions. Eyes wide, mouth parted: he yelps at your behavior, taking in a few deep breaths as he feels hot crimson start to creep up his chest. 

“Let’s go watch the sunrise,” you begin before a yawn has weaved its way through your throat, letting go of one of his hands as you cover your mouth with the back of it, “on the rooftop?” 

“The rooftop, huh?” he smiled, eyes lazily scanning over your shirt clad figure, his shirt… Heavy lidded eyes blinked pleadingly in his direction, a small pout forming at your lips as you sat further on him; grinding yourself just a little over his crotch. A little friction never hurts anybody…

“Please, Jake…”

He muffled a groan at the feeling of you against him, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. His hands were out of your grasp in an instant. You let out a gasp as his hands found their way back to your hips and flipped you onto the bed, your legs on either side of his torso. 

“‘I can think of a few things we can do before the sun is up.” 

His hands move to your sides, squeezing the tender flesh then moving to your thighs, running his hands up and down them, softly caressing the warm skin. His touch is freezing against you. Cold fingers crawling their way into your inner thighs. 

“Oh, sweetheart..”

You let out a shaky breath, whimpering as his eyes met yours as you looked up. Hands instinctively raise to tangle themselves in his hair, wrapping around the back of his neck as you toyed with the ends. You looked at him, pleading. Brows knit together as you tried to reach his lips, but he turned, meeting the stubble of his cheek, rough against your lips. 

“Is this okay?” 

Your mind was nowhere to be found. Thoughts all over the place that you didn’t even register his words, only nodding dumbly to his question. 

His pupils are blown, the shade of green you admire so much is long gone, replaced by a dark look. 

“Tell me what you want, baby.” 

You reach for him again. Desperate to feel his lips on yours, but he persists. Never letting you latch onto them. 

“Meanie,” your head falls back on the pillow in defeat, needy whines falling off your lips as you hear him chuckle.

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, darlin’”

His gaze is all over you from where he is propped, a hand on the side of your head to keep him up, the other lost between the soft dough of your thighs. 

He tries to recall the time when you two became…this. Whatever this was. A drunken night that both of you never regretted…but were too scared to commit to. 

“That was a one time thing,” was something you both had agreed on. 

He’d love to take you out though. On a date, a picnic on the beach, somewhere that doesn’t end with you two in his bed at the end of the night, skin to skin, falling apart. He loves it, don’t get him wrong, but he hoped that you two were simpler than this sticky mess that came with being roommates. 

You search for his hand that was exploring your legs, dragging it up your thighs, to between your legs. His eyes widen just a little as his fingers make contact with the damp cotton. Your mouth parts at the touch. Letting go of his wrist, you shift, sitting up against the headboard, his hand following your cunt like a magnet. 

There is a smirk on your face. There is no doubt that Jake is wide awake, knowing of the soft mummering roommate that was begging a second ago is gone. Replaced by a siren, sharp and cunning as a knife. He wished you were like this all the time. That you wouldn’t hide yourself in the back of a party with your drink. 

But a part of him was glad that you were only like this with him. Jake Seresin didn’t like to share, and you were no exception. 

“Tell me what you want, darlin’,” he breathes, inching closer so you feel his breath down your neck, warm lips just below your ear. 

Your breath hitches, heart stutters at the nickname as a breeze passes you by, shivering. It makes you clench around nothing. Thighs closing their way in to create some friction, but the thick of his fingers latch onto them before you could, refraining you from doing so. 

“Keep ‘em open for me,” he orders, soft. Peppering small kisses down the column of your neck. 

He hasn't even kissed you, yet all you can do is whimper and groan softly. 

“Wanna feel you inside me, now. Wanna feel your mouth, your cock, your fingers.” 

The lopsided grin on his face is intoxicating, his head dips into your collarbone as he lets out a laugh. 

“Such dirty words for a sweet mouth like yours,” he humors, but there is nothing humorous about it. His eyes, dark as ever in the dim moonlight pouring in from the window. 

“Let me give you a reason to stay in bed.” 

it’s dizzying how quickly he can make you fall apart. He hasn’t even touched you yet but a whimper falls from your pretty lips as his latch onto your neck. Making their way down to your collarbone until he hits the collar of your his shirt. 

You tug at the fabric. Sitting up, sliding it up to your chest as you lock eyes with him, giving him a smirk. You tear it off yourself teasingly slowly. Hearing him take a deep breath just as the fabric reveals your bare chest. 

“Christ…you are beautiful.” It’s never failed to make you blush. He throws the compliment like it’s not meant to pierce through your heart and make it burst into flames. Saying it with such care, and softness that it makes you want to melt in the mattress. 

You grab onto his shoulder, leveling yourself with him. Letting out a shaky breath, his hands immediately crave their way into the dip of your waist. Feeling the lush skin, caressing with just the right amount of pressure that has you melting into him. 

He hoists you onto his lap, the sound birds chattering getting louder outside the window. The sky gets a little brighter. You sit snug in his lap, legs either side of his thighs. You let out a moan at the feeling of the hard length of him rubbing against your core as he manhandles you. 

“Jake…” 

“Y-Yes, sweetheart..”

“Kiss m-“ 

You don’t even finish the sentence and his lips anchor onto yours like seabed, dipping in with such intensity that you can’t tell who's taking dominance. The swipe of his tongue caught on top of yours, melting at the taste. relaxing as he digs in for more like a starved man.

You separate with a soft gasp and pop of lips, a string of spit hanging between the two of you, keeping your lips connected. But it’s gone just as quickly as Jake moves down to your jaw. Open mouthed and wet kisses and nipping at each part of your skin with a hunger you have never seen before. He moves to your neck, grazing his teeth at the pulse before his tongue swipes over the blush he had just created, then to your collarbones, kissing each dip of bone and skin until it’s hot and red.

His mouth moves to your breasts, biting softly at the nipple as he takes it in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it that has you making the most obscene sounds, arching your back to push them further into his mouth. 

He lets go of it with a loud pop! Moving on to your other breast to give the hardened nipple some attention. It makes you tug his hair harder, grazing your way to the roots that has him sucking harder. 

His hand has seemed to develop a mind of its own in this time. Latching onto your underwear. His fingers slide down the outside of the damp cotton, the effect of his touch already soaking them. He pushed them aside to feel the stickiness that clings to the fabric in thin strings. 

“All this for me, baby?” He coos, lowering himself to your cunt, blowing a low breath that has you seeing stars. 

You nod mindlessly at the question, he knew the answer to it anyway. But the thought of you being this wet for him makes him dizzy.

“Use your words, sweetheart.” he says, slowly dragging his index and middle finger down your folds. 

“I- Jake…” trailing off as his thumb presses into your clit, circling it until he finds that one nerve, that one spot that has you whimpering.

He makes quick work of you. Throwing the panties somewhere around his room, backing away as you let out a whine. He kisses along the length of your leg, moving closer to your inner thighs, squeezing the tender flesh. It makes you want to run your hands through his hair but he’s too damn far away that you’re left to bootlessly try and relieve the tension by squeezing at your tits.  

His mouth is getting closer now. He nips and bites as he gets closer to the sensitive flesh of your cunt. Breathing it in, he licks a stripe up your folds, doing it with such precision that has you seeing stars. 

It makes you look pathetic, he hasn’t even started and you’re already falling apart on his tongue. 

His saliva sticks thick to you, tongue slowly circling your clit as he brings a hand up to your clenching hole. Your mouth is left wide open, his middle finger inching into you- just a little but the pressure playing at your clit and his teasing makes you grind your hips further into him. Letting out the most obscene sounds. 

“More, please Jake…” 

The chuckle he lets out is criminally menacing. Like his mind is playing a reel of how he is going to make you beg into the morning. Instantly he withdraws the flesh from yours, making you chase after it. 

He brings them to his mouth, slowly putting them in his mouth to suck off the wetness. He doesn’t clean them fully though. Taking them out of his mouth to bring to yours. Your mouth is open wide before he can even command you to do so, letting him press the digits flat onto your tongue as your mouth closes, swirling the muscle around them. 

His cock is growing harder by the second, straining through his boxers as the sight of you, spread out on his bed, fingers in your mouth, it makes him groan. The pain of his throbbing cock is unbearable. 

You notice the pinch of brows in his forehead, his hand that inches towards his boxers to relieve some of that tension. You grab his wrist that is almost there, stopping it from reaching. You drag his hand to your waist, making him hold onto it as you let go. 

He looks at you, puzzled. It's wiped away as you push your hand through the thick band of his boxers, palming him slowly before tugging it out. 

“Hey, are you sure about this? We’ve never done this kinda thing before and I don’t want you to feel obliged-“ 

Your mouth is onto his in an instant, shitting him up as he lets out a ‘umph’. Immediately melting into the kiss, wrapping a hand around the column of your neck, holding it oh so gently. 

You pull away after a moment, smiling adoringly at him. 

“I’m sure, Jakey.” 

He’s big. There was no doubt in your mind that he was big when you first met. The man had an ego the size of Texas and there must have been a reason for that. True to it, you found out he was big. 

The first time the two of you did this, he could barely fit into you, deciding to settle for his mouth rather than trying to fit him. And when you did manage to, after a few more ‘drunken nights’, you could barely walk the next few days. 

You flicked teasingly at the tip of his cock, which made him immediately withdraw his fingers from your mouth as he let out a moan. 

“Fucking Christ, doll” 

You smirk at him, coyly getting on all fours and tugging away his boxers. He lifts his hips to let you take them off, raising an eyebrow at you. But your actions have spoken louder than words and he’s already put the pieces together. 

You stroke it, slow, concise movements, hand sliding his slick up and down the thick of his shaft. Your fingers can barely meet around his girth and the length of him has you watering at the mouth as you bring your face closer to it. He won’t be easy to take in, you know that. But the thought of him spilling in your mouth has been on your mind for days. You thought about it last night too, coming up with the idea of taking him to the roof and taking him there. But this is ten times better than what you had thought. 

You wrap your mouth around the tip of him, tongue flicking that head. The wetness clings to the insides of your mouth, coating the walls of your inner cheeks in a creme white color as you start to take in more of him. You could feel the salty tears burning into your eyes now  You’re barely halfway down him when the tip hits the back of your throat, you gag around him, but the action gets a grumble out of Jake, deep from his chest and you’re sure if you do it again he will fall apart. So, you refrain yourself from doing so, slowly bobbing your head up and down his length. 

“That’s it, baby. Just like that,” he sighs. His hand comes to rest against the back of your head, guiding your movements. He’s so thick, you’re astonished that you can even fit him in you. 

Your movements turn faster within minutes, the sound of his struggling groans and noises that you’re making, mixed with the wet- almost obscene- sounds of his cock has made you dizzy. You turn your attention away from his happy trail and shift them to look at him. He’s already looking at you, mouth open, pupils blown wide that you can barely make out the greens in it in the dim light. 

You feel him twitch in you, and you know he is near a release. You wrap a hand around the rest of him that you can’t take in, stroking it out at the same speed. 

“Fuck, sweetheart…” 

Your movements stutter as you feel him release inside you. The thick of his cum is warm as it washes your throat and the outside of your neck. Suddenly your mouth is being pulled back from him, making you whine at the loss of contact. Jake pulls your head back gently, his cum still in your mouth as you close your mouth and swallow it loudly.

Jake swears under his breath as you do so, the sight of you, fucked out eyes, a white string of saliva drooling out of your mouth as you look at him with those big doe eyes as you swallow his cum. You look fucking angelic. 

“You still wanna go to the roof, darlin’?” 

The question has your eyes wide, if it were physically possible. 

You clean the side of your drooling mouth with the back of your hand, shaking your head. True, taking him to the roof was something you wanted to do, but that was only part of it. This, sucking him off, making him cum like he does you every night was your real motive. 

“Words, baby,” 

“Wanted you first.”

He almost melts at the hoarseness of your voice. His arm comes to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your hand pushes on his chest, making him fall back on his back, flat against the bed. You straddle him, your 

“Wanna ride you, daddy. Can I?” There is something so innocent about your eyes that he’s never seen before. Sweet doe eyes of a swan; he was enchanted by their beauty when you first met, still to this day it never failed to make him go feral. 

The nickname isn’t so foreign to him though. But the way the request falls out of your pretty lips, covered in a sheen of his cum like your vanilla lip gloss has him going hard again. And you feel him, the thickening of him against your already wet core. 

“Fuck, doll, you wanna ride daddy?” 

You nod, hands spread on his chest as you lean down, breathing your way down his neck, leaving sweet kisses as you make your way up to his lips. 

“Please?” 

He doesn’t give you an answer, rather choosing to bring his hand to your soaking cunt that hovers over his cock. Circling your clit, it makes you moan the most pornographic sounds he has ever heard. You’re so sensitive and fragile under his touch. He can feel the pulse dripping down to your pussy. Feel it pulse against his fingers as he coracles them. 

Your own hand comes down to meet his, lining his cock with your hole as you sink down slowly. The pain is familiar and god does it feel good to have him in you. You can feel it tearing your walls with a sweet stretch. 

He lets out strangled grunts, hand at your hip, the other circling your clit the same, overstimulating you before you can even get a full taste of him in you. 

“Jake, please, please don’t stop, you fill me up so good.” The filthy words are breathlessly falling out of your lips. 

He guides your hips deeper until your pelvic brushes against his happy trail. You’re sitting snug on him, not making a move as a mechanism to adjust to him. His movements that were abusing your swollen clit just a second ago have stopped, his legs are bent to support your back, open wide. 

Slowly, you start to bounce, moving up and down the length of him and the pain is soon replaced by pleasure. The sound of skin slapping is the only thing bouncing off the walls of the room as it fills with the sun's morning rays. 

Your movements continue their way, moving faster with each stroke inside you, you’re clenching around him, squeezing his cock as praises fall off his lips like prayers; “you’re so good f’me baby”, “gonna fill you up so nice you’ll be soaking for days”,”that’s it sweetheart, there you go, make those pretty sounds for me.”

It’s dizzying how the simplest of words have you making the most sinful sounds, his grunts and moans are stifled but he isn’t doing much better either as you feel his cock twitch wildly in you, coating your walls. It’s all too much. His hands on you, his fingers that are assaulting your clit at scandalous speeds. You feel yourself too over the edge, hands running down his chest as you bend down to lock your lips in a hurry, kissing him stupid. 

The hand at your hip is now wrapped around your throat, he knows you like it. But the way he ever so gently squeezes the column of your throat makes you spill moans into his mouth until you don’t know whose spit is whose. His tongue is teasingly wide in your mouth, tasting himself. 

“Jake, I’m-“

“It’s okay baby, go ahead,” 

You’re spilling. It’s everywhere, dripping down your thighs. He’s in you, fits in you so well that you’re sure he was made for it. You let out a muffled scream against his mouth, pulling out of him then thrusting back in immediately. That’s his last straw and he’s spilling in you. The wet sounds of your skin slows as you both pull away, catching your breaths while he’s still buried deep inside you. Your gummy walls are squeezing rapidly around him even now. You scold yourself for not doing those pelvic exercises because now you’re leaking uncontrollably onto his sheets and staining them. 

You let out a curse, already moving to get off him but his hands ground you back on him, refraining you from moving. 

“Don’t,” he lets out a soft grunt, brows pinched as though he is in pain and you realize it would hurt the both of you if you were to pull out immediately after an orgasm. “Let me help ya’.”

He flips the two of you carefully, settling you on your back, avoiding any cause of friction that would further your overstimulation. He knows every inch of you, knows how sensitive you get after sex. 

He slowly pulls out of you, making both of you let out a groan. The sheets are a mess, gray sheets covered in a sheen of white, it’s filthy. But Jake’s hand comes to rest on your jaw and you forget about the mess you’re in. 

“Let me clean you up, yeah?” 

You nod silently, shifting onto your elbows to rest against the headboard as Jake comes back with a wet towel. 

“This might sting a little, alright?” 

“Okay,” 

His fingers are working softly against your flesh, cleaning the tender skin that’s covered in his cum. He smells of sandalwood and sex. You don’t know whether you want to kiss him silly or fall asleep to it. But he senses your gaze on him, looking at him softly when his eyes meet yours, he smiles, throws the towel in the corner of the room and pulls you into a searing kiss. 

It’s anything but rushed. Soft lips against the taste of him, there are fireworks blasting in your mind, your tummy doing somersaults. He never kissed you with such…intensity before. All the ones before were rushed, sloppy, filled with lust but this…this is different. His loss holds such promise for a better morning that you’re sure you want this so be something more than casual hookups. 

But you don’t bring it up now. This is a moment too good to be ruined. 

You pull away first, taking a deep breath, all you can smell is him, it’s all over you. The smile on his face is intoxicating. You’re happy, he’s happy.

“I still wanna watch the sunrise though” 

“You little-“

God, you wish you could have these mornings forever. 

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[hiraethwrote]

Nanami is more of a listener than a talker, and would happily listen to you ramble on and on about anything that would pop into your mind. And no matter how little it really concerns him, he’ll always pay attention to when you explain something so enthusiastically — even if it’s a silly internet trend or drama.

Nanami is definitely not the guy to have TikTok, but would on occasion lift his attention from his book when you’re both laying in bed to quietly watch along for a few minutes.

Nanami is not the type of guy to really form any defining opinion on said internet controversies — except the videos of grooms disrespecting their brides at the alter in their vows. When you tell him about the men who only spew vulgar statements to their future wives, you witness Nanami get incredibly angry, going on a long and serious tangent about how these boys are immature and have no business getting married at all.

Nanami is the type of guy who would spontaneously pull you out of the chair in the calm hours of the evening to slow dance with you around the living room. Sometimes he’d put on some calm and beautiful melodies to play in the background, but sometimes he would just slow waltz without the music, casual chatter filling the void instead.

Nanami is the type of guy who’d pull your feet in his lap to massage them after a long day, without you asking for it.

Nanami is the type of guy who looooves to cook for you, and he does it as often as he possibly can. And when he does, he loves to feed you small bites during the process for you to taste everything.

Nanami is, of course, a respectable man — meaning he doesn’t engage all that much in pda. But he’ll happily walk beside you with your fingers intertwined with his, or he’ll have a tender hand on the small of your back to guide you when has to let go.

Nanami however, has one physical need and that is kissing the back of your hand, which he will do wherever and whenever. Walking the grocery store; lift your hand to his lips. Meeting up for lunch; lift your hand to his lips. Waiting in line for a restaurant; lift your hand to his lips.

Nanami is the type of guy that would love being a girl’s dad. It would be the highlight of his day to come home from work, only to squeeze into one of her small chairs in her bedroom and would put on the most convincing act of sipping tea from the empty cup, a pretty tiara at the very top of his head.

Nanami is the type of guy who would love planning the wedding along with you. He hates the idea of loading all the responsibility on the bride, because he wants to celebrate your love just as much as you do.

Nanami is the type of guy, who once he falls in love, he’s settled.

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[my-castles-crumbling]

glitter - November 18 - jegulus - @taylorswiftmicrofic - word count: - 236 - trans!Regulus

"James!" Regulus yelled, slamming the door behind himself as he entered their shared apartment, abandoning his bag on a chair to search for his boyfriend. "What did you do?"

He found him sitting on the couch, giving Regulus a look that was the picture of innocence. Big eyes, wide smile, like a fucking halo could appear over his head. But Regulus knew better.

"What do you mean, baby?" James asked, voice sweet.

"You know what I mean!" he said, hands on his hips. "Why did Moriarty spend the entire day sending me death glares?"

James shrugged, but a grin was forming slowly on his face. "Well, I did hear that he got a casual reminder in the mail about what happens when he acts like a transphobic asshole."

"A- what?" Regulus asked, dumbfounded. "What did you send him? A threat? A finger?"

"No! Not at all! I sent him a glitter bomb!" James replied, grinning from ear to ear. "Unwrap it and glitter goes everywhere. It's a bitch to clean up. I should know, Sirius sent me one for my 18th birthday, I-"

"You sent my coworker a glitter bomb for telling me I should use the girl's bathroom?" Regulus repeated, voice completely void of emotion.

James's grin faltered a bit. "I-yes? Are you mad?"

"No," Regulus breathed, breaking into a smile. "That's brilliant. How do you send one, I want to give one to Mother."

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE HISTORY BOOK ON THE SHELF. ( HOTD x Reader )

AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3 pairing: King Aegon ii Targaryen x Targaryen! Little Sister! Reader prompt: When the small council plans to marry off once again, you turn to your older brother for help. word count: 1, 000+ words

You were the youngest and third daughter of Alicent and Viserys. A few months younger than Helaena and Aegon's little shadow in your childhood. Your older brother at first hated it, the way you cling onto him and gawk at him with an innocent awe.

It was your ninth name day, your Father had not paid much attention to it, but your Mother had ordered a celebration for it. You had trailed after him, babbling about nonsense as he tried to lose you. It was at dinner that night that everything had boiled over. Instead of receiving gifts, you had taken to giving everyone a gift.

He had not expected anything. He hadn't been the most kind to you. But was surprised when you had gifted him an embroidered cloth with Sunfyre on it. It was not the best and some threads were loose, but you proudly had told him you learned embroidery for him. Seeing those big doe eyes of yours his opinion changed. He adored you. You were the only one in the family that did not care about his worsening reputation. You just...adored your big brother, flaws and all.

It was why it killed him on your eleventh name day you were shipped off to the Reach, married off to a Lord as old as your Grandsire. He was haunted by your wails, of the way you clung onto Helaena and Aemond, the two of them wailing as Ser Cole carried you off to the carriage.

His young sister, the only one in the family who truly cared, was sold off like a piece of cattle. Not even your cold Grandsire was able to protest the marriage as politically it was a good match and good enough reasoning for the small council to approve it. 

As years ticked by, you gave birth to two children, a stillborn daughter and a healthy son. Your husband kept you away in the Reach, so no one in your family had seen you since you were twelve and given birth to your only surviving son.

He remembered the look in your eyes, so void and almost dead. Of how you tried to stay positive. Saying, "Tis' not so bad. He mostly ignores me, except when he wishes to bed me. But even then tis' not so bad, he finishes quickly."

When he became King, he swiftly ordered you to return home, regardless of your husband's wishes. No one would take his baby sister away from him. Not whilst he was still alive and had the crown placed upon his head.

Watching you bounce your son on your lap, he attempts to pay some attention to the small council, but his eyes keep straying back to you. It was odd to think that you were now a Mother and all grown up. Snapping out of his little daze, he glances back at the small council, each member arguing intently. Furrowing his brows in confusion, Ser Criston slides a piece of parchment in front of him, an uncomfortable look on his face. Raising a brow at what he had just returned to, he glances at the parchment, reading the words quickly. 

Your cunt of a husband was dead, finally croaked in his sleep. There was no reason for you to go back to the Reach. You could stay here in King’s Landing once more. Softly smiling at the good news, he goes to speak up when Lord Lannister stands up from his chair, slamming his hands down on the table. His face red from anger, his eyes wild like an untamable beast, and voice booming loud enough that it would make a dragon’s roar put to shame.

“To speak of the Princess in such a manner is dishonorable, I will see to it personally that your tongue is removed, Lord Wydle.” 

“The girl is of age, she has proven she can bear heirs, healthy heirs. To not give her hand to another Lord would be foolish.” 

“We need allies, the common folk are starving and soon the coin will run out. Surely as Master of Coin you can see reason, Lord Lannister.”

“Your grace, please, listen to reason we should⎯”

It takes a moment to realize what they had been discussing so intently. Then it clicks, they were speaking of having you remarry. 

"What?" He whispers, his voice shaky and full of disbelief.

"No, Aegon, please don't make me do this again. Please." You whisper, tears building up in your eyes.

"It would be best to have your sister marry someone⎯"

"Think of the war, your grace⎯"

Seeing the tears building up in your eyes, it reminded him of all those years ago when you were whisked away to the Reach. Struggling to speak up and dismiss their suggestions, you kneel in front of his chair, gripping onto breeches as you beg and plead for clemency to their plans. Your son starts to wail on the other side of his chair, making motions with his hands to be picked up. 

Feeling his heart break a little at the sight, he shifts his gaze from you then your wailing son then back to the small council. Everything is hectic and he doesn’t know who or what to focus his attention on. Does he console you? Does he tend to your wailing son? Does he handle the small council? Struggling to find his voice, he just stays frozen in his chair. 

“Please, please, do not make me do this again, Aegon.” You beg, “I did what was asked of me before. Please do not ask this of me again.”

“We need allies, your grace. The Princess is still desired by many men, men who will look past her past marriage and son. Think of the kingdom⎯”

“Send treaties, then!”

“Please, Aegon. I ask as your sister, not a member of the Court. Please do not make me do this again. I do not wish to marry again. Please do not send me away again.” You beg, your voice cracking. 

Watching as the tears begin to fall from your eyes, he clenches his jaw tightly, anger boiling up at the sight of you. His precious little sister, the one person in all of the Realm that he truly cared for, was crying by his small council's hand. Slamming his hands down hard on the table, the room goes deadly silent, minus the soft sniffles of you and your son. 

“There will be no marrying off my sister! If you wish for such alliances as much as you claim, do offer your daughters instead, for I will not be doing the same to my sister nor my daughter.” 

“Your grace, if you would just⎯”

“I am King, no?” He snaps back, “There will be no questioning of my decision. The matter is settled.”

----

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