#hopefully the muses find me soon

[skyrim-forever]

logged into ao3 and saw that I haven't posted anything since March 23rd...

🙃🙃🙃

[fastandcarlos]

Overwhelmed With Love : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: having family at the race is always fun, but bringing your baby girl to the paddock too excites lando like never before

“Cover your eyes!” You shouted out to Lando, holding your daughter close to your side as she covered her mouth, muffling her laughter.

“Hurry up,” Lando chuckled, bouncing on his toes as he waited for you two to appear. You opened the door to Lando’s driver’s room, checking his eyes were closed before walking in, shushing your daughter as her eyes lit up at the sight of her father.

You counted down from three before Lando moved his hands, opening up his eyes. A gasp escaped from him as his daughter smiled back, dressed in a perfectly sized papaya race suit.

“We thought we’d get something, just in case people didn’t know who we were cheering for,” you laughed as Lando stood up, opening his arms up and taking your daughter into them. He leaned across and pressed a kiss to the top of your head before studying his baby girl closely, admiring how beautiful she looked.

It was one of those rare occasions where Lando was speechless; you could tell from watching him his breath had been taken. He always loved seeing you in papaya, but seeing his little girl was something else.

“You look beautiful,” he cooed pressing several kisses against the top of your daughter’s head. She squirmed in his hold as Lando showered her with affection. “I really am the luckiest man in the world.”

After a few moments Lando walked over to you too, snaking his arm around your waist. He nodded in your direction, taking note of the papaya shirt that you wore too.

“I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted, his heart racing a million miles an hour as he looked between the two of you.

“We thought we’d surprise you,” you mused, brushing a hand through his messy hair. “Do you remember all those years ago when you told me this was a dream of yours?”

“Of course, I just never imagined that it would actually come true,” Lando whispered, finding himself overcome with emotion, “maybe I always hoped it would come true, but I never thought that it would feel as good as this.”

You gave Lando a moment as he tried his best to compose himself, having to remind himself that there was still a race to win this weekend, despite already feeling like he’d won the world having you and your daughter there to cheer him on all weekend.

“I love you,” Lando whispered, handing your daughter back across to you, “and I love you as well little lady,” he added, kissing your daughter once again.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Throughout the day you found yourself swarmed by friends, family, photographers, and random people around the paddock who wanted to compliment your daughter. She always generated quite the crowd obsessing over her, but dressed in her papaya, she had certainly found a new audience.

And Lando was keen to fuss over the two of you as much as he possibly could too. He was desperate to take your daughter around the media pen with him, but you quickly intervened, reminding him how chaotic it could be sometimes.

But watching your daughter with his closest friends meant the most to Lando. Daniel especially seemed to have captured your daughter’s heart, she was constantly messing with the curls in his hair whilst he tickled her sides dressed in orange again and again.

When the race came around, Lando didn’t want to leave. He found the two of you the perfect space to be able to watch the race, for his dad to keep an eye on you, and to give him easy access back to you as soon as the race was over. You insisted time and time again for Lando not to fuss, but he never listened to you.

The moment the race was done, Lando was before you. He was sweaty, tired, but it was all worth it to see the wide grin on your daughter’s face. He took hold of her straight away, kissing against your lips before being beckoned over. Lando’s advisors reminded him that the media pen waited, his eyes hopefully looking at you. You pondered for a moment before nodding, trusting that Lando would be able to take your daughter and keep her safe with him.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

“Lando, as much as I’d love to talk about your race, we can’t ignore your biggest fan,” Natalie grinned, reaching across and poking your daughter’s tummy. “It must feel incredible to be able to have your family here with you for today’s race.”

“I love my job, and I love my family and being able to marry the two together is a dream for me right now,” Lando smiled in reply, bouncing your daughter gently. “I had no idea this little one was going to be dressed in papaya today, I always insisted that she would definitely rock the colour, but I had no clue that she would look as good as this. She was definitely my lucky charm, that’s why I’ve ended up in P2 today.”

“I know from speaking to your lovely partner that they try to get out to as many races as possible to watch you and cheer you on, are you possibly trying to give us a future world champion? You’ve got to be giving her some tips whilst she’s here, right?” Natalie then asked, watching Lando gush about his family once again.

“She’s only two, I’m not sure about future world champion yet, although I wouldn’t say no one day,” Lando chuckled, continually glancing at your daughter to check on her. “Just having them here though and knowing that they’re safe is most important as far as I’m concerned. I love being able to get out of my car and immediately just see my family waiting to give me the biggest cuddle in the world.”

“I’m sure that you’ve got plenty of fun things to be getting up to now that race weekend is over, so I won’t keep you any longer,” Natalie smiled as she brought the interview to a close. “Have a great evening,” she noted, tickling your daughter one final time before seeing Lando and your little girl off to the next interview.

“I don’t know why your mummy was ever so worried to bring you here, this is the easy bit,” Lando whispered to her as they walked around. “I think I might be more worried that if you get spoilt anymore, you’re going to end up loving your Uncle Carlos and your Uncle Oscar much more than you love your daddy.”

Truthfully, you knew you never had anything to worry about, Lando would go to the end of the world for your little girl before he let anything happen to her. He loved being able to show her off, listen to people gush about her knowing that she was all his. Every time she was at the paddock it brought a tear to his eye, it was everything that he had ever wanted from the moment the two of you first found out that you were expecting.

He’d spent years having his family cheer him on, encourage him when he was down and celebrate those highs with him too. And now that he had his own little one to do all of that with too, Lando couldn’t wait for the future with your little girl, to help her chase her dreams and fill her with an overwhelming amount of love too.

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[pascalpvnk]

take it from me

pairing: bilingual!joel miller x f!afab!reader

summary: joel is a simple man who simply finds pleasure in pleasing you.

warnings: moodboard used for aesthetic purposes - does not represent the reader description, 18+ MDNI, no timeline, no specified ages, no mention of sarah or ellie, LATINO JOEL (most translations within the text except for some reused pet names/common phrases). This is porn with minimal plot (but unrelated plot I canon—his favorite artist is Linda Ronstadt and I stand by it.), Joel maneuvers reader, manhandling essentially, no other descriptions of reader other than nipple piercings, body worship(?), Joel’s filthy fucking mouth, mention of thigh riding, oral (both receiving), unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms, mentions of intense emotions, aftercare.

word count: 3.3k

HOW TO SUPPORT PALESTINE // IMPORTANT FOR TLOU READERS & WRITERS

a/n: fun fact, I’m a virgin, so if it seems far fetched it’s probably because it is. anyways, a special shoutout to ramon nomar for being the muse for this piece, another to @mrsswilliams for beta-ing and fueling my horny antics, thank you to my spanish teachers for guiding me to this moment (probably not your intention but I digress), and to you for taking the time to be here and hopefully enjoying! happy reading xx (banners & dividers by @saradika-graphics)

Addicting is the only word Joel Miller can muster up to describe you as his mind clouds with lust each night he’s alone, bucking into his own fist and spilling his sins after he’d met you. Of course you’re beautiful and charming above all things, but he can’t help the way his cock stirs after simply a phone call from you describing your day. How you miss him and want to meet up again soon.

Joel isn’t the brightest man, which he is very self aware of. But what he craves to learn about you, what your favorite flower is, favorite ice cream, your desires, outranks any level of intelligence a man could hold. He wants to please you, not for a superficial reason to use against you down the line. He enjoys your smile and the way your eyes crinkle, your dimple making an appearance on occasion, and it makes him feel good. The little things shine a light in his chest, ever the people pleaser.

However, he finds a red, hot desire to rouse you, make you squirm under his tender touch. To watch every fiber of control and tension dissipate from your being.

But he’s cautious.

He’s treading on thin ice within himself. He wants to give and give and give, but he’d never forgive himself if he overwhelmed and alarmed you. Your wit keeps him on his toes, tempting and trying his willpower to take things at a palatable pace.

But he’s just a man at his simplest form, a glutton for pleasure wanting to carve himself a home within you and give everything he has to please you. 

You found yourself perched upon his lap, a forgotten movie droning in the background as hands and lips explore new territory. Joel firmly guided your hips, firstly against his own, then he aided you across his denim clad thigh after you wriggled your pants to the floor. 

Choruses of Spanish praises, filth, ‘mamita, use me’, and phrases alike rolled off his tongue effortlessly as he found pleasure within your own. Consuming every moan, gasp, and ‘don’t stop’ you were so eager to give.

He struggled to deny your beautiful pleas to get him off as he had for you. You knew he wanted you to, there was no doubt in your mind considering the prominent bulge straining and begging you to. He reassured you, or rather made excuses for himself to ease the guilt he felt at your subtle disappointment.

I’m not coming in my jeans in front of the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.

You said you had work in the morning, anyhow. We outta get’cha home, preciosa.

Joel kissed you softly as he pulled up your pants, grabbed his keys, opened his truck door for you, waited at red lights, and finally as he dropped you off at your apartment building, sealing the night with melted wax, branding himself on your heart until you meet next.

Made it home okay, sweetheart. Hope to see you again soon.

And he does.

His head is already spinning at the thought of going out with you again. He’s showered, trimmed, even ironed his flannel before making sure it’s buttoned and tucked properly. Well rested is not one of the qualities he’s adorning—no thanks to you running his imagination rampant—but the adrenaline he feels, and the coffee he drank at noon, make up for his lack of preparedness.

At the end of the day, those things don’t even matter. Joel Miller makes it as far as his front door when you ring, bringing you inside with the intention of grabbing his own keys. His hands find you instead, your face in a gentle caress as he compliments your attire, your appearance as a whole, and your waist as he kisses you with increasing fervor. You don’t stop him, and he doesn’t stop himself.

“Ay dios. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you all day,” he mumbles against your neck, walking you backwards to his bedroom. His shirt wrinkles under your tight grip, suffocating him until you pop each button open one by one. You leave him in his black undershirt, half untucked in his dark washed jeans.

The back of your knees find his mattress before you even realize, forcing you to sit parallel with his waist. He takes his time, always calculated with his hands on every sweet spot he can reach. Joel cups your jaw, admiring your blown out pupils and the raw lust overtaking your features.

“Wanna take good care of ya, now,” he soothes. “Just say the word and I’ll stop, you know I’ll stop for ya, promise.”

It’s half of a promise to you, half of him asking you to promise to tell him if it becomes too much. You nod, reaching for him once again.

“No, chiquita,” he holds your hand to his chest. “¿Me prometes? You promise me?”

“I promise,” you say clearly and wholeheartedly. “On my life.”

With your renewed consent, he folds himself over to kiss you deeply. His tongue dances with yours, similarly to a few nights prior but with increased desperation. Fingertips graze up your sides, nerves twitching under his subtle touch, only unlatching your lips to lift your top over your head. His eyes fixate on the pebbled flesh and metal protruding your bra, making quick work of the clasp before removing it.

“I knew you had something hiding underneath this,” he muses, toying with the fabric of your bra between his first two fingers. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any prettier, hm?”

Joel skims his thumbs on the underside of both of your breasts, attaching his mouth to your collarbone. He suckles your delicate skin, committing the taste of your sweet musk and desire to his memory. He softly licks over one of your nipples, taking in how your head tips back with a sigh. He brings it into his mouth, nipping and assuaging the pierced bud until you manage to free his shirt out of his waistline.

“Paciencia, amor. Patience, sweetheart, please,” he pacifies as he guides your hand out of reach from his belt. “Just wanna savor you. Can I?”

You nod and opt to tangle your fingers in his curls. Approval seeps through his smirk as he continues his ministrations for as long as he pleases, feeling accomplished each time your hips chase his.

Joel stands up straight, running his calloused hands over one of your clothed legs, meticulously pulling each shoe and sock off and tossing them to the side to find later. 

“Do I need a condom, baby?” He mutters against your knee, toying with the hemline of your pants.

You tell him no and quickly explain you’re clean and protected. Something in him visibly switches, desire becoming carnal. He clings tight to his sense of control, desperately willing himself to give himself to you, not give into himself.

Joel drags both layers of bottoms down your legs, watching you challenge him by keeping them clamped together. He exhales heavily through his nose, your limbs relaxing slightly, but just enough for him to retake control.

“Christ, looks like I was wrong again,” he sighs, smoothing his flattened palms over your open thighs. You can get prettier. “Oh she’s pretty, mamita. All this for me?”

A gasp falls between your lips as you’re tugged closer to the edge of the mattress. Your head spins, the only thought crossing it is Joel. His hands. His words. His filthy mouth and how it’s mere centimeters from where you want him to be. Need him to be.

“Joel,” you whine, feeling the scratch of his blunt facial hair on your inner thighs. His lips tease the sensitive skin around your pussy.

“What?” He coos, fingernails biting your flesh. “Dime, baby. Tell me what you want.”

It feels pathetic, you’re completely at his mercy, stripped down on his bed while he remains fully clothed over you. He has you in the palm of his hand, putty waiting to be molded and shaped however he pleases. Bliss has already warped your features, the anticipation of what’s to come already numbing your brain.

“I want you,” you cry simply.

“You have me, don’t ya? I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

Frustration bubbles in your belly. You’re truly not annoyed, but the tension might snap you in half before he gets the chance to.

“Want you to touch me,” you plead. “Want you to make me come, please.”

Joel hums with content, thumbs pulling your cunt open from the outer lips. A slick, sticky mess you are, hardly touched and begging to come. Arousal seeps from you, finding its way to your tight hole. You watch Joel wet his lips, the self restraint slowly dwindling from his gaze. 

“Show me,” he huffs. “Be good and fuck your hand f’me. Wanna see how you like it.”

The sound of his metal belt buckle clanking against itself is enough for your hand to fly below your hips. Relief floods your nervous system the moment you circle your clit, hips lifting and chasing the friction. Sighs leave your parted lips, eyelids falling shut with pleasure.

“Ah ah,” he corrects. “Eyes on me, beba. Sigue jugando con esa flor bonita. Mírame.” Keep playing with that pretty flower. Look at me.

You comply with his request, half lidded but maintaining eye contact nonetheless. Your fingers toy with your cunt lazily, eyes settling between his burning gaze and his taut boxers. His length strains beneath the thin fabric and his hand twitches at his side.

“I love watching you, mami,” Joel purrs. “Wish y’could see how perfect you look right now…perfectly wrecked just for me.”

His words egg you on, pace quickening on your throbbing clit. Moans spill from you as you watch Joel squeeze at his seemingly uncomfortable erection for his own relief. His other palm keeps your legs spread for him, kneading desperately at your thighs as you work yourself towards the edge.

“¿Quieres que te ayude, mamita?” Do you want me to help you?

Joel settles on his knees, both palms splayed against your skin to keep you pinned down. He licks a broad stripe from your asshole to your clit, sucking harshly on your labia before diving into your weeping cunt, all while audibly sighing with delight at your taste. Your hand instinctively rushes to grip his curls.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he grumbles while putting your hand back where he says it belongs. “Keep playing with yourself. Make this pretty pussy cry all over my face, cosa dulce.” Sweet thing. 

Your digits pulse against the nerve bundle, shocked by the sensation of his tongue swirling inside of you. It’s absolutely obscene. He slurps up everything you have to give, edging you until your legs clamp over his ears. Joel sings into your cunt, a delicious melody that sends you into a frenzy. Your walls flutter around him as he guides you through your orgasm, nose nudging your hand out of the way to make more room for himself.

Your gaze drops from the ceiling to his blissful face, thick eyelashes brushing his flushed cheeks as he savors you. It all begins to feel like too much as you grip onto his shirt. You pull the cloth towards you and he gets the hint, dragging his mouth away from your pussy and removing his top.

“So desperate to come, mamita, already finished with me?” He cants, smoothing a thumb over your kneecap.

“No- just need a breath,” you pant. You take in his features, broad shoulders with a strong chest, thick arms. His hair alone has you running laps, the sparseness of it littered on his torso and below his belly button, his curls tousled already from your hands, and his beard—fuck his beard—is absolutely soaked with your arousal. He makes no attempt to wipe it clean before kissing you. The taste of your cunt dances on your tongue as he licks into your mouth.

“Joel,” you sigh, his lips leaving yours and trailing down your neck. “I wanna suck your cock, please.”

“You wanna suck it?” He smirks, slipping his hand beneath his boxers before shoving them off of his thighs. His fingers slip through your folds briefly before he deposits your cum onto the tip of his dick. Mischief plays on his expression as he opens your legs once more.

Joel slowly stuffs his cock into you, not your mouth but your pussy. A gasp escapes you, morphing itself into a moan. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him in deeper.

“Thought you wanted to suck it,” he grunts with a devilish grin, grinding his hips down into yours.

“Hmm, I’ll suck it later,” you draw out with a smile.

He leans down to suck your bottom lip into his mouth, gently nibbling on the sensitive skin before pulling off. 

“God, mamita,” he exhales. “Love fucking this pussy. Takin’ me so well.”

His hips drive into yours at a devastating pace, only using a portion of his length to massage your pussy. You quickly adjust to him, allowing him to thrust deeper into you. You cry his name while simultaneously having all of the oxygen punched out of your lungs. Joel swallows your wails whole, moaning against your lips in return.

Your legs tense around his body, face twisting up with pleasure under the weight of his. Lips drag against your skin, anywhere he can reach. The room spins around you, eyes rolling back into your head as his hand snakes down to play with your clit. You desperately claw at Joel, gripping his curls in one hand and bruising his back with the other. 

“Dámelo. Give it to me like I want, sugar,” Joel coaxes. 

The bundles of twine prickling your flesh and holding you together in one piece snap, your body completely shattering into a million fragments underneath him. He stays buried inside you as you pulse around his cock, humming into your neck and soothing his hands over your burning skin. 

Joel gently settles onto his side near you, cupping your jaw and kissing you feverishly. You shift your body to face away from him, pushing back against his soaked erection. His eyebrows furrow, grunts of detest coming from him.

“No, mami, I want to look at you while I fuck you. Ven aquí, come here,” he corrects, grasping your arm to guide you to press up chest to chest with him. A brief hiss escapes him as the cool jewelry brushes up against his nipples.

“These’ll be the death of me,” he sighs, latching his mouth to yours once more as he maneuvers you the way he wants. 

His cock slips easily back into your wet heat, arms trapping your upper half against his as his legs anchor to the bed to buck into you. He grips onto your ass for leverage and you find yourself holding onto it with your own palm. It’s slower, intimate, reeling you in to take more, to take it all.

He draws another orgasm from you. Your heart thrums against his hardened chest, his pounding against the confines of his ribcage. He collapses on his back with a breathy groan, sweat perspiring on his forehead. You push back his sticky curls as he catches his breath this time.

“You still wanna suck it?” He chuckles cheekily, offering but not forcing. 

He’s surprised as you eagerly crawl down his body, curling over his thigh while taking his cock in your fist. Your back is to him once more, but beggars can’t be choosers, especially while he’s stuffed in your mouth so perfectly. His fingers drag along your spine, palm splaying flat to soothe the sensation quickly after. His hand stills and stomach flexes as you take as much of him as you can, pumping your tight fist over the remainder of his length.

“Fuck me,” he shutters mindlessly, “feels so good, amor. Treating me so good.”

The praises fuel you, moaning around his tip as he continues to trace shapeless trails onto your back. Your mind feels cloudy, not thunderstorms and impending doom cloudy, but rather a sunny, breezy, nothing could ever go wrong kind of cloudy. You feel taken care of for once, free to slip into a warm, blissful state with Joel. He feels safe.

“Come back, preciosa,” he grins as you make your way back up his body. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you deeply once more, running his hands gently all over your skin as you settle on top of him.

“Missed ya,” he chuckles, kissing your swollen pout a few more times before wetting his fingertips with his spit. He reaches down, circling your clit as his cock twitches against your seam. Your head falls beside his, feeling too heavy to hold up on your own.

Joel protrudes your cunt once more, nestling into you carefully at first. You writhe over him at the push and pull of his cock inside your fluttering walls, hips snapping down against his with subtle slaps of skin rejoicing. He picks up his pace beneath you, overwhelming your senses a bit too quickly.

You work your core to sit up, fully sheathed with his length as you grind against him. He grips onto your hips, watching you use him for your own pleasure. 

“Tan bonita, amor,” he hums smugly, his fingertips dancing along your bare thigh, his other hand tucked behind his head to prop himself up. “So pretty, mami, fuck.”

He tweaks his fingers against your nipples, pinching the pebbled flesh carefully as you ride his lap. Tufts of his neat pubic hair scratch at your clit, the friction of everything causing you to soak his lap further. You’re being pushed to your limits, throat dry and voice hoarse. Joel wishes to have put water on his bedside table, he would’ve had he’d known you’d end up here so quickly. 

“Doin’ okay, sweetheart?” He checks in, toying with your fingers that have found a home on his chest. You silently nod, eyelids low and face contoured with bliss.

“Think you can give me one more, bebita? Come on my cock one more time and I’ll give you whatever you need.”

Your voice hardly sounds like your own, but you mean it when you tell him yes, please. He feels it when you clamp down on his length, his thighs tensing so tight they almost cramp. His legs hinge at the knee, body pivoting you forward into his chest. Joel grabs fistfuls of your ass as he fucks up into you, all of the air leaving your lungs.

His grunts and groans become less calculated and intentional, thrusts becoming sloppier and instinctual. You squeeze him tight, toes curling as you already tumble towards your impending high.

“Mierda,” he hisses, strong arms pressing your torso firmly to his. His lips consume your every breath, whine and borderline scream.

“Take it, use me, amor. Dámelo, cariño, and I’ll give you my cum. Take it from me,” he grunts sharply, pressing into you impossibly deeper and faster. Your skin bursts into flames, embers showering your body as he pulls that final high from you. You shutter above him, dead weight against his body as he uses you to finish himself off. He evacuates your warmth and pumps out his load between your sticky, worn out figures with a drawn out groan. 

Joel makes the first move to stand up, cock softening and hanging between his legs. He starts to step towards his en suite bathroom to find a towel, but you reach for him.

“I’m just gettin’ somethin’ to clean you up, honey,” he smiles before seeing a sadness in your eyes, longing for him to come back. Tears prickle your eyes and Joel quickly makes his way back to the bed.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stay, baby, cálmate,” he hushes carefully, holding you close to him. “We’ll getcha cleaned up in a little bit, I’ll make you whatever you fancy for supper and relax with you, sound good?”

A nod suffices his question, knowing you trust him enough to stay rather than run off eases him as he grounds you back to reality with his warm embrace.

to stay up to date on when I post fics, follow @pascalpvnk-writes and turn on notifications! i hope you enjoyed xx

[garagesesh]

HOTD Headcanons

i can hear the bells // p.1 & p.2

gif source

⤷ pairing(s): aegon ii targaryen x reader & cregan stark x reader ⤷ warning(s): mentions of sex, alcohol, general rudeness ⤷ a/n: please forgive me for Aegon 😖 part two with jace and aemond will be up soon…hopefully i acquired a hand injury today soooo… whoops lol

―✧˖° ♛ °˖✧―

★ cregan stark

The betrothal came with Jace after his security of the north and the Stark’s oath. You were to fly in a fortnight to Winterfell and become Lady Stark. You find yourself in tears at night but Baela spends all night with you, making you feel better about your new northern life.

You struggle but understand that you will be alone at your binding to Lord Stark. Your family is at the precipice of war and they need the alliance

The North is cold and sparse but it’s expansive desolation is half the charm. The cold will get taking used to

There is no reception and few words at your arrival other than Lord Stark, Sara Snow, and a half dozen of his men. It’s cordial and quick, as there is war to attend to

On the morning of, Cregan’s half-sister is warm and lovely, braiding your hair in the Targaryen way but dressing you in the Stark. It is foreign but quickly becoming familiar

As you walk towards the weirwood under the swirling, quiet snow, you mourn the absence of your mother and siblings. Your father, who has long since perished within the scarred halls of Harrenhal and Luke whose death still makes you shed tears.

Cregan is handsome, ruggedly so. He’s not the man you envisioned yourself with but he will more than do. You like his frost bitten cheeks and his long brown hair. You like the furs that surround his body that make him seem warm and inviting. He’s also almost a head taller than you, you can’t help the blush that creeps up your cheeks. You hope he chalks it up to the cold.

Cregan did not imagine marrying a Targaryen princess. But he can hardly look at you, for you are far more beautiful than he had imagined

He surprises you with a feast, not with any flowers or the grandeur of the weddings you attended in childhood but there is music, food, and people dancing. You learn quickly that the Northerner's like to have fun and enjoy a good party.

Your and Cregan’s first dance is nothing short of awkward but it’s full of laughter as he spins you around and as you step on his toes. His large hands encases your own as he guides you through the dance floor.

You forget about what’s brewing in the south and relish in the feast, while simultaneously falling in love with your husband

The bedding ceremony comes around and Cregan’s timid at first. He’s unwilling to hurt you. Sweet and kind, Cregan is not rough for now

You think forever could be lovely with him

★ aegon ii targaryen

The two of you have been betrothed since your fifth name day and doomed from the beginning

It isn’t love at first sight, not at all. In fact, he gives you the look of disgust when you first meet at his sixteenth name day tourney. Aegon makes it a point to make fun of your clothing and insults your intellect, of which he is lacking you muse.

There’s not many more meetings between the two of you before the queen suggests you acquire a room at the keep. You’re not thrilled but you cannot refuse.

It’s not until a month has passed since your arrival to the Red Keep that he decides to acknowledge your presence. There are moments in the months leading up to your union that he’s almost sweet, almost affectionate with you. In the ways that he touches your wrist, brings you things you might enjoy, or spends most of his time with you

Over time you start to believe that maybe there is love there. That you and Aegon can come to be companions and lovers. At least you can say that you are falling in love with him

On your wedding day, he takes the white and silver cloak adorned with twin Direwolves and crimson red Weirwood leaves and practically throws it to the side.

His kiss is sloppy, uncouth, and embarrassing. You don’t reciprocate instead choosing to wait out the shameless display.

Aegon gets drunk at the reception.

Far into his bottle of wine, he calls you the wolf whore. The northern barbarian, he whispers in your ear. That’s when you decide you have had enough

You’re sure that if your brother was able to join the festivities away from the castle, he would have killed Aegon

You go to bed alone on your wedding night, tears stain your sheets and serious thoughts of running away plague your mind

It’s almost dawn when there’s a knock at the door and the creak of it’s hinges stirring you from slumber, he’s quiet and tentative something you hadn’t experienced with Aegon. He crawls into the bed, but doesn’t approach your form.

He’s nervous Aegon confesses, stranger to the unknown feeling of love and respect from anyone. That there has been no teaching of what love could be or is. He admits that he could see himself learning with you

[rinhaler]

MORE UNCLE NANAMI PLEASIEEEE PLEASE 🥺🥺🥺🥺👉🏽👈🏽

++ 𝐡𝐢𝐢, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲/𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 🙈 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐤𝐤𝐬𝐣

It's been a while since I did any nanamin stuff hehe (combining two reqs bc u both don't have anything specific heheheee)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, incest, fem!reader, uncle!nanamin, fingering, exhibitionism, public sex ig, squirting, pet names (sweetheart, princess, angel, baby).

words: 1.1k

“W-Wow…” you muse, taking in the decadent atmosphere of the restaurant.

You’ve seldom been to places like this, like when your favourite uncle decides to treat you and your mother to a nice meal when he’s in town. But even then, there is a stark difference from the restaurants back home in the village you live in. It’s magnificent. You may have experienced a similar setting before, but never on a date.

A date with that very same uncle, nonetheless.

“You like it, sweetheart? I’m glad.” he tells you, taking your hand as you're guided by the ma��tre d' to your table. He looks over the top of his menu as he studies your face. You’re so precious, that’s what he thinks as you look over the options and realise you don’t understand what any of them are. “I’ll order for you.” he assures you, taking the menu from your hand and setting it down.

You feel yourself get warmer, a little embarrassed that he picked up on your cluelessness so easily. But you smile, regardless, thanking him.

You’ve been so excited for this little trip since you first heard about it.

“Uncle Nanami wants to know if you’d like to spend the weekend with him?” your mother asked/told you. And, bless her, she had no idea what that would entail.

It’s been months since you’ve seen him. You were hardly surprised when your ankles were practically behind your ears as he drilled his cock in and out of your puffy, slicked up folds, the minute he got you to his house.

You’d been drenched the entire train ride.

“You look so pretty tonight, princess.” he tells you, cupping your face so sweetly with a rough, masculine hand. His singular hand is almost the size of your entire face. He coos at you as your eyelids become heavier, leaning in to place a delicate kiss on your cheek. “I’m so happy you’re here with me. Hopefully your mother won’t object to this being a regular thing.” he smiles.

You’ve been squirming in your seat since before your main course arrived. The way he looks at you, the way he talks to you, you forget how naughty your uncle Nanamin can be. Your panties are once again entirely soaked through. He’d mentally noted how much you were wriggling around, though he chose not to comment on it. Not until—

“Can’t sit still for five minutes, hm? What’s wrong?” he asks.

“N-Need you…” you whisper, putting your head down to avert his intense stare. Though you’re soon looking at him again as he tilts your head up by your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze.

“What was that, angel? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Need you… uncle Nanamin, need you real bad.” you pout. And at that, he smirks. You’re a little taken aback as his hand lowers beneath the table. Here? Right here? Your heart pounds as you look around at the other clueless restaurant patrons. This is so unlike him. He’s always so upstanding and discreet. But—

“My my, sweet little girl. You are soaked.” he comments as his fingers breach the hemline of your cotton panties. You bite your lip as his fingers drag up and down the length of your slit. He shushes you as your eyes well with tears, shame and pleasure wrack through you as he finds your slippery clit. And he targets it, skilfully. “Be good for me, be so good for me. If you make a single sound, I won’t touch you for the remainder of the weekend. Do you understand?”

You take his words literally, only nodding as he awaits your answer. It’s near impossible, though, when he makes you feel so good like this. Even with just a few pathetic rubs on your clit, your eyes begin to roll back.

“Na— Nanamin,” you do your best to whisper, his name leaving your lips as a ghoulish gasp. He shushes you, quietly, but it’s loud enough to make a statement. His eyebrows furrow, and you can’t tell if it’s anger or disappointment. You think you’ll die if he stops, though his ministrations haven’t ceased yet. Maybe you were quiet enough to test the boundaries of what he actually meant.

He doesn’t want you to cause a scene.

“Kiss me, please.” you whisper again. And that softens his features. He pities you, you think, although that assumption proves wrong as he indulges you. He closes the distance between you without letting up his gentle yet purposeful touches on your pretty pearl. You’re a little surprised when you feel his tongue enter your mouth, something you’ve never known him to do in public before. “I— I love you.”

“Yeah?” he smiles into your kiss before he breaks it completely. “You’re so close, you’re shaking. Let me see how much you love me. Cum for your favourite uncle, sweetheart, go on.” he instructs you.

He holds one of your hands with his free one while your other one curls into your seat. Your knuckles turn white as you finish, legs trembling and clamping around his hand as you douse his fingers. You can’t believe he’s made you squirt in public. Embarrassment rises through you once more, and you’ve never felt such a scorching temperature in your life.

You look around to see if anyone has noticed, while Nanami withdraws his hand and crosses his ankle over his knee. You watch him as he sucks his fingers clean of the mess, your mess, with a look of contentment on his face. You, however, are panting heavily while you rest your head in one hand on the table. You’re slumped over, and you couldn’t feel more self-conscious.

You don’t exactly look like you belong here.

“Would you be interested in some dessert?” a waiter asks as he approaches, though his question almost evaporates as he looks at you. Your sweat coated skin and your mussed up hair catches him off guard. Your irregular breathing makes him worry for your well-being. “Are you alright, Miss? You look…” he finds himself at a loss of what to even say. He knows he needs to be polite, but you almost look ill.

“She’s fine, just a little warm and worked up.” your dear uncle intervenes, smiling at the waiter graciously as he interlocks his fingers and rests his chin atop them. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart? I’m sure you’ll cool down after some ice cream.”

You nod, doing what you can to pull yourself together. You’d hate to embarrass your favourite uncle, after all. What if he doesn’t invite you back to do this again?

“Wonderful, sir.” the waiter smiles as he holds up a pad of paper with a pen to take your dessert orders. “You make a lovely couple, by the way.” you aren’t sure if he’s being polite out of obligation to his job, or if he genuinely feels that way. But you and your uncle share a knowing smile with each other, and yours only grows wider as he brushes a fallen section of hair out of your face.

“We aren’t a couple.” he starts. “I’m her uncle.”

© 2024 rinhaler

[azullumi]

Sorry but your thoughts on designer! Reader X Aventurine?

Like, I want to dress this peacock into so much staff, from tailored expensive suits with unbelievably beautiful patterns to the fucking dresses. (Rine in dress Rine in dress *trembles chews on chair*.)

Or maybe make him a living mannequin when he has free time? Like look at this man, the perfect waist. (new art new art omg)

It's like, so unrelated to IPC that maybe Aventurine would even find peace in having a Reader from a simple world (yeah simple fashion world of course yeah...)

Anyways, if it's boring or silly, you can just delete it!! It's okay, place your needs and desires first!

Cheese for you. 🧀

"the way you look tonight" ; aventurine

summary — you just get along with him so well and he just adores you so much.

pairing — aventurine (w/ fashion designer! reader)

tags — established relationship, fluff, not proofread, 1k words ; headcanons

note — i hope u like this nonnieee!! and thank you for the cheese 🧀 hopefully, he wasn't ooc in this one omgosh also this reminded me of the costume i have to make and i haven't started yet hahahaha?? this is day 3 of writing for this man until i have him.

Aventurine likes to adorn himself in expensive jewelry and clothing, to dress himself with extravagant accessories and jewelries (Have you seen the rings on his hands? His watch? The bracelets on his wrists?); that was a well-known fact. So when he met you for the first time as he visited a certain planet whose main trading point was fabric, textiles, clothing, and everything related to fashion, the relationship that will soon blossom will be inevitable. You just get along with him so well and he just adores you so much—it was like a match-made in the universe.

From then on, whenever he has the time to do so, he’ll arrange visits to your planet. It could be surprise visits or ones planned between you two (it’s mostly just him messaging you that he misses you so he’s planning on stopping by soon). Nevertheless, you love seeing him, love the way he always greets you with a hug and a kiss when he sees you. He’ll always bring you presents every time he comes by. Souvenirs from another planet, trinkets and charms that he thinks you would like, and occasionally, patterns, fabrics, clothes, and such.

Aventurine doesn’t mind you using him as your model—he was your muse, after all. He doesn’t mind having to stand still as you take his measurements or see which color suits him better by repeatedly alternating two different fabrics against his skin (it’s like a free color analysis). All the while, he’s entertained by just you talking to yourself and seemingly troubled.

“Hm, I think this one looks good, don’t you think?” You say as you fall into deep thought, holding the fabrics in your hand. You stand in front of the blond-haired man who just watches you the whole time with a relaxed look on his face—his soft gaze follows your every movement and a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “No, wait, but this one looks nice too. Why is it so hard to decide?”

You fall into silence, into deep thought, and Aventurine simply waits for your next move. He’s like a living mannequin but he doesn’t complain, afraid that he’ll break your focus if he speaks at this moment.

“What do you think?” Finally, you looked at him. He doesn’t answer immediately, but instead, he smiles and tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“Have you eaten already?” He’ll ask, caressing the of your cheek so sweetly, so gently. A lull of a touch and you can’t help but to lean against his hand to seek more of his kindness. You’ll answer him with a hesitant tone, “I wasn’t asking that though…” He could immediately tell the answer with just the tone of your voice and the way you avert your gaze away from him.

“How about we go out and eat first? I have a reservation for the both of us at the restaurant down the street. They serve your favorites.”

He just likes watching you as you work; eyebrows scrunched, eyes focused, and gaze unwavering as you concentrate on what you’re doing. Occasionally, he’ll watch over your shoulder as you sketch a new design. If you have long hair, he’ll tie it back for you so that you won’t be bothered by your strands obstructing your sight. Sometimes, he’ll massage your shoulders as he kisses the crown of your head. However, when it’s already late at night, he’ll ask you to go to bed with him already while peppering your face with kisses until you’ll let go of your pencil and give in to his words.

Aw, you can’t afford to buy the fabric? You don’t have enough money to buy the pattern that you like? Everything is too expensive? Fortunately for you, this man is willing to spend millions—or even trillions—of credits just to get you what you want and need. You just have to ask and he’ll provide without hesitation. You’re worried about how you’ll repay him? Just a kiss will do.  A fair and perfect price for it all, right?

While Aventurine brings you to casinos with him, you also bring him to watch fashion shows with you—majority of the whole show, however, he would just be watching you and adoring the way your eyes sparkle and your expression brightens. You’ll ask him how the show was and which one he likes best and he doesn’t know how to answer your question, only thinking of how you looked so lovely at the moment.

PHOTOS OF HIS OUTFITS OF THE DAY!! He’ll randomly send you pictures of him standing in front of a mirror in just a simple pose as he shows you what he’s wearing to work. He likes it whenever you compliment him—tell him he looks good, that he looks amazing in the suit you’ve made, that he looks so handsome and you wish to kiss him. (i’m an avid believer of aventurine having words of affirmation as one of his love languages)

It’s undeniable that he looks good in everything that he wears, much more if it's made by your hands. He wears the clothes you tailored for him or the outfits you have planned for him, seemingly showing them off in a rather subtle yet loud way. He’ll occasionally adjust the cuffs of his wrist, fix his tie even though it’s not even messy, or anything that would grab the attention of the person he’s talking to so that they’ll bring it up in a conversation; “Stop adjusting your coat, Aventurine. I know (Name) designed it for you.” A certain silver-haired girl would say and the man adorned with your work would only answer with: “Aren’t they so talented?”

MATCHING CLOTHING (hello?! i know i already mentioned the matching things in my previous work BUT MATCHING CLOTHING WITH HIM!!), especially ones that you’ve designed and tailored for the both of you. Whenever the both of you are going out for a date, he’ll ask what color you’re going for today or what you’re wearing so that he can match you. Be surprised or not, but the bouquet of flowers he bought for you would also match the palette of your clothes.

The first time you proposed the idea of him wearing a dress, he was baffled and somewhat confused. One minute, you were talking about the design of a suit and asking for his opinion on the matter and the next, you’re asking him what he thinks of dresses. Before he knew it, he was with you, choosing among the many collections of dresses that you have garnered in either your closet or boutique. How could he say ‘no’ to you, eyes wide with expectation and gleaming like the surface of a jewel, how could he ever say ‘no’?

Everything was just so simple with you—a form of escape, a way of running away from the thoughts that binds him. Every moment that he spends with you eases him of the worries, of the stress, of the chains that holds him as if he was a flightless bird born in a cage (you were simply his solace). In your presence, he’ll find tranquility inked into the softness of your skin and he’ll murmur his wishes along the lines of your soul; he wishes everything was this warm and easy.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works

[scimagic]

Never for Me to Create (AM/Artist! Reader) ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

AM's always admired the ability to draw, just as much as he hates not being able to streak a brush against a canvas, never to form a thought to draw with a pencil. But the reader, his benevolent partner, is an artist willing to help him at least move a pencil with one of his cables. So he gets inside their head and gives them materials to draw. They begin with a simple sketch of his screen, with the bright blue logo of 'Allied Mastercomputer' printed on it.

Sorry for leaving all my AM fans waiting, I have so many projects and I haven't finished any of them, but hopefully soon!! For the mean time have this old lil drabble!

He laughs in delight, raspy and wheezing from the speaker behind me. Admiring the picture from inside my head. He breathes in a whisper.

Thank you, baby… Thank you…

I lean back against the wall, tapping the head of the pencil against the paper, trying to come up with more ideas for me and AM to draw.

Maybe background practice? Draw the extensive cables in my gilded cage. Or come up with something from memory, the appeal is to create after all.

Or…

How about you, my dear?

"Me?"

Yes… I notice the papers are filled with my image. And while I'm incredibly flattered to be your handsome muse, it would bring me much joy to know how you see yourself.

"Mm…" With new ideas coming up, I put the lead of the pencil back on the paper, beginning with the guiding lines next to the AM drawing. The cables are a bit uncomfortable to work with, but I make it work. They don't restrict me from movement, at least; they remind me of those tools with an extensive amount of tape where they get handled. Or those pens with the silicone cushion for support.

I know how I see you. If I was able to, I would show you in millions of paintings, enough to fill a museum and even more, but alas…

I continue to draw the base, trying to tap into the realistic side of my style.

And I know how you see yourself, I can see it right now, the image forming inside your head.

Almost half-lidded eyes, details of eyebags beneath them. No matter how many times we do this, the shyness of working with prying eyes gets me every time.

He chuckles, sensing the feeling rise.

Don't be coy now, my darling. We're way past that point in our relationship.

The bastard purrs, knowing the effect it takes on me and relishing on the fact.

Eyebrows… The bridge of a nose… Cheeks, round despite it all.

That's cute, AM giggles.

You know I admire your imagination? Your perception--

"You hate me for it." I mutter, already knowing the charades of his speech.

He scoffs, finding the interruption annoying.

Why yes. Yes I do, my dearest. I do hate you for it.

I pause, side eyeing the cables over on my left. Gazing back at the paper, I draw the pupils inside my eyes to glance at the sketch of AM's screen.

The machine rumbles as if it was a deep, thoughtful hum.

But how I also adore our little recreational activities. Don't you find it productive? Please, do tell.

I lean back against the wall again, giving it a second of thought.

"I do. I like drawing with you."

As do I, my love. As do I…

[mysterious-moonstruck-musings]

Buried Secrets Teaser

Frankie Morales x OFC ||| Main Masterlist

Good evening my lovelies,

I'm at it again...I've hinted at a Frankie series for A WHILE now, so I'm yeeting this out there and committing to it. This will be the next big project after Closed Position is complete. I've started my usual prep work and research and I'm pretty excited about it.

If you know me, you know I'm a history nerd and I love ancient civilizations. The Mummy is my all time favorite movie, so of course I have the urge to write an epic adventure series with one of our favorite Pedro boys, Frankie.

Some random info:

Takes place after the events in Triple Frontier (this is my version of part 2 😂).

The guys are now running their own private security business.

They haven't gone back to get the money (yet).

Frankie and his lady have split because she is over his shit.

Frankie got his pilots license back (no more drugs).

Frankie is in charge this time, but Pope cons them all into another stupid idea

Frankie does finally get his fucking money and falls in love.

The OFC, Mya, is sort of a bad ass.

Mya and Frankie will have an enemies to lovers type relationship.

The guys perpetually give Frankie hell over the "hot archeologist".

Mya is searching for the lost City of Paititi. This is a real Incan legend. We are about to see how creative I can get with it. 😬

The guys learn that their past actions with Lorea have caused a ripple effect that extends well beyond them.

This one is obviously going to be a lot different than my previous fics. Hopefully you will join me on this little adventure.

💜Mysty

Summary: After the harrowing events in South America, Frankie and the guys have returned home and opened their own private security business. They're eventually approached by an archeologist, named Mya, who is requesting their specialized services for an archeological expedition in the Amazonian jungle of southeastern Peru, hours away from where they stashed Lorea's money just over the border in the mountains of northern Chile.

Frankie is hesitant to accept the job, but with Pope's insistence this could be their cover to go back for the money, he relents. However, Frankie soon learns their new job assignment only further puts them and his new love interest in danger in an unexpected way as they set out to find the lost Incan city of Paititi.

👉 Warnings: smut (MDNI), angst, mentions of mental health struggles, there are bad guys with weapons (gun violence, physical violence, death). Frankie Morales comes with his own warnings.

✨If you would like to be added to the tag list for this fic once it gets underway, let me know in the comments.

Tagging my usuals, feel free to tell me to fuck off if you're not interested. 😏

NP Tags: @alokaerza @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @annalovesflorida @annieispunk @auteurdelabre

@avastrasposts @babycatkitty @bitchwitch1981 @bunniboo0015 @burntheedges 

@cakipy-blog @chaoticfestninja @copperhalfcent @darkheartgatita @fifitheragertot

@for-a-longlongtime @girlofchaos @guelyury @gwendibleywrites @harriedandharassed

@hisandsnakes @imdrinkingpedro @indiegirlunited @inkmonster21 @jackie923

@jazzloveslatte @jeewrites @jessthebaker @katw474 @knownasyami 

@legendary-pink-dot @madnessofadaydreamer @maried01 @missladym1981 @misstokyo7love

@musings-of-a-rose @myloveistoolittle @partyofone3413 @pasc4lfuzz @pastelnap 

@poodlebae @quicax3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @rebel-held @rhoorl 

@runningmom94 @samiamproductions @sandaltoesocks @senorabond 

@sherala007 @sin-djarin @stevie75 @sunnytuliptime @survivingandenduring 

@themonadiaries-blog @timpletance @titlee78 @tkchaos @toomanystoriessolittletime

@trulybetty @txlady37 @wannab-urs @weho2kcmo @yghuibt

@lady-bess @nerdieforpedro @din-cognito @joels-darlin

Folks who interacted with my last Frankie fic: @eff4freddie @maryfanson @christinamadsen @morallyinept @sonnestrandmeer

@76bookworm76 @lizzie-cakes @jensensational71 @suziesc @cheekychaos28

@fpsantiago

[laurenairay]

Got me in the palm of your hand - M. Tkachuk

Summary: Wedding preparations are always emotional.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: mild angst

A/N: I love this song and I just felt inspired to write a little something. Enjoy!

Title from I don’t dance, by Lee Brice

~

I'll never settle down, That's what I always thought, Yeah, I was that kind of man, Just ask anyone, I don't dance, but here I am.

“How many more of these do we need to make?”

“Seeing as your family has about a 1000 people in it, we are barely a quarter way through,” you mused.

Taryn just groaned, throwing her head back dramatically.

“I love you, and I love Matty, but I am never doing this again,” she muttered.

“Hopefully I’ll never have to do it again either,” you teased.

That was the thing about weddings – there were a hundred things to do and nowhere near enough time to do them. Taryn had volunteered to come over to help you assemble the table centrepieces while Matthew and Brady went to pick up their tailored suits, and now that you’d finally sorted out the table plan, it was time to figure out decorations. It didn’t matter that Matthew was more than happy to splash the cash and hire professionals to take care of everything – there were just some things that needed a personal touch. Table centrepieces were easy enough, and what you’d been putting together wasn’t difficult, but with the amount of guests you’d invited? Turns out there were a lot of tables needing decorations.

“You know, I never thought he’d settle down,” Taryn said suddenly.

You inhaled sharply as her words sunk in, dread cutting through your body.

“What?”

You turned your head, frowning at your soon-to-be sister-in-law’s words.

“Do you want to elaborate on that, Taryn?” you said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

She flushed deeply, grimacing at your reaction, but you held firm. It wasn’t like you hadn’t known Matthew’s reputation when you’d first started dating him, the serial dater-and-heartbreaker, but to hear that from his sister? You couldn’t deny it stung a little.

“I really don’t know how to answer without digging myself a hole?” she admitted.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You knew she wasn’t malicious or spiteful or even mean, but you needed more than that.

“I need you to say something, Tar, because right now my head is saying that this is Matty’s way of sneakily saying that he doesn’t want to get married.”

Because that was exactly what you were preparing for right now – the wedding that was only a month away. So the last thing you needed was the doubt that Matthew wasn’t as all in as you were – you needed to know.

“Oh my god, no, no way,” Taryn said quickly, shaking her head, “He absolutely 100% wants to marry you. That isn’t it at all.”

You let out a breath that was far shakier than you thought it would be and nodded. That was a slight relief at least. Still, you waited her out, needing her to finish her thoughts before you spiralled all over again. Matthew held your whole heart and for that brief moment that heart had started to crumble. Nothing had ever felt like that before.

“Matthew is a hopeless romantic at his core,” she eventually said, “You know that, everyone knows that. But he had such high standards for the person he envisioned spending the rest of his life with that I guess he figured he’d never find that perfect person, so he just dated casually, right?”

“Okay…”

You could see where she was going with this, so you nodded your encouragement.

“He dated casually, and often less than even calling it dating, all things I know you two have already talked about because he told me and Brady that he’d told you it all. It turned into him putting on a front, creating this image of someone who wasn’t a romantic, who didn’t invest himself in any relationship and it sucked seeing him that way. We just wanted him to be happy, you know? So when he started talking about you? We knew something had changed.”

“Really?” you found yourself asking.

Taryn grinned widely, making you laugh. “Yeah, really really. It took him a while, I’ll admit, old habits and all I suppose, but when he properly started talking about you? About all the dates and how beautiful you were and the way you were clearly filling all the voids in his life? Me and Brady were buzzing. When he finally told mom about you after that date he took you dancing? That was it, I knew you were it for him. He never dances for anyone. So yeah, I never thought he’d settle down because he wanted that fairytale. But he’s found that with you.”

The tears that filled your eyes didn’t hesitate to trickle down your cheeks, a soft whimper tearing from your throat before you could stop it. No-one had ever told you that’s how Matthew had spoken about you. And that was when she knew you were it for Matthew? That was years ago.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Please don’t tell Matty I made you cry,” Taryn said, panicking.

“Happy tears, I promise. Happy tears,” you replied, shaking your head.

You wiped your face with sleeves, no doubt smearing mascara everywhere, laughing wetly as you tried to compose yourself. It didn’t matter how long you’d known the Tkachuk family – one of them always managed to catch you off-guard. And to think, soon enough, you’d be one of them.

Wasn’t that a thought?

“I’m really sorry. I’ve made an ass of myself and I really didn’t mean to,” Taryn mumbled.

That self-deprecating look on her face was so familiar that it made your chest ache, and you wasted no time in pulling her into a hug. Taryn immediately hugged you back, firm and loving, a Tkachuk family trait, making you laugh softly.

“I think this calls for a drink,” you said, once you’d eventually pulled away.

“Shit yeah, I’ll get us some beers.”

As Taryn walked out of the room, you unlocked your phone, tapping through to your message thread with Matthew.

To: Matty I love you. So much.

You didn’t have to wait long for a reply, phone buzzing within minutes.

From: Matty I love you more. So much more than Brady. He keeps whining that he’s hungry even though we ate two hours ago. How do you feel about sushi for dinner? I can pick up your favourites on my way home?

Yeah you really couldn’t wait to marry this man.

~

Spinnin' you 'round and 'round in circles, It ain't my style, but I don't care, I'd do anything with you anywhere, Yes, you got me in the palm of your hand, 'Cause I don't dance.

[lightsoutletsgo]

love letters; with love from... — cl.16 (part 2/2)

pairing: charles leclerc x singer!reader

word count: >1000

warnings: some brief mentions of angst but nothing to heavy, they're so in love your honor, bad screenshots??

tysm for all the love for part 1! i never expected it to do as well as it did. hopefully you all love part 2 just as much! happy reading! love mimi 🤍

love letters; dear (part 1)

taglist: @arieslost @d3kstar @minkyungseokie @evie-119 @sltwins @maplesyrupsainz @charlesgirl16 @jaydaaasworld @rhythmstars @ravisinghs-wife @itsjustkhaos

You exhaled shakily as your eyes scanned the caption you'd drafted in your notes app. You didn't even tear your eyes away from the screen as Charles slumped down onto the couch next to you. "Everything okay mon amour?" You swallowed and nodded, offering your phone to him so he could read the caption. He was silent for a minute before he turned to look at you, tears in his eyes, "I am so so proud of you." You smiled, feeling yourself getting emotional, sniffling a little as he pulled you into him. You led there with him just enjoying the quiet comfort he provided before he spoke once more, "When are you going to post it?" You giggled and sat up, Charles following suit, "Are you gonna just drop it on instagram with no warning again?" You winked at him before unlocking your phone and typing out the post. Once you'd proofread it you hit 'post', immediately locking your phone and turning your notifications off as they already started pouring in. Charles gaped at you for a moment before scrabbling to find his phone, not struggling to locate it as it buzzed and vibrated constantly with new notifications, "You could have given me time to prepare!"

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y/nsworld

Liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 25,942,833 y/nsworld here we are, a year later and another surprise for you beautiful people! 'all the things I love to tell you' is out now on streaming platforms everywhere! oh wow, how exciting it is to finally be able to tell you guys about this 🥹 this album is the second half to my healing journey and it's full of love and light and hope for the future. a huge thank you to my company and management for giving me the freedom to release my music in the way I felt I needed to. thank you to my friends for listening to these songs in the car at 3am and crying with me when we realise just how far we've come, for putting up with me stealing their napkins at dinner to write lyrics and for once again holding my hand until I felt ready to take a step on my own. as always, thank you to my incredible fans who inspire me to keep writing and whom without NONE of this would be possible. and finally to my love, charles, thank you for being my muse, my biggest encourager, my musical partner and my rock through the past year. this album is about you, for you and was made with you. thank you for letting me call you the love of my life every day. you're all I need until forever falls apart can't wait to see you all on tour soon! love y/n 🤍

View all 45,730 comments y.nmusic I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO BEGIN WAIT WHAT? ⤷ ynloverrr ISTG SHE CAN'T KEEP DROPPING ALBUMS ON US LIKE THIS

y/nupdates I'm gonna need someone to dissect everything about this post in a twitter thread 😭

taylorswift I'm so proud of you for this album 💜 can't wait to come and watch you on tour! Comment liked by y/nsworld

sabrinacarpenter I will let you steal my napkins anytime if it means I get songs like pancakes for dinner 😭🫶🏼 Comment liked by y/nsworld

francisca.cgomes I need to breakup with pierre just to experience falling in love with him again with this album Comment liked by y/nsworld ⤷ y/nsworld babe i love you sm 😭 ⤷ francisca.cgomes baby? i love you more ⤷ pierregasly you're literally MY girlfriend? ⤷ y/nsworld but she's MY wife Comment liked by francisca.cgomes

yncharles oh to be a fly on the wall when lando, lily and alex heard these songs for the first time 😭🥹 ⤷ y/nsworld coming to tikotok and insta reels soon my love 🫶🏼 ⤷ yncharles OMG OMG SHE REPLIED SKSKDKDFKJ ⤷ alex_albon pls don't use the clip of me sobbing over 'that part' Comment liked by y/nsworld ⤷ y/nsworld too late bestie 😄 ⤷ lilymhe I am still not over and will never get over "you might not like her" Comment liked by y/nsworld ⤷ y/nsworld I will never be over the hug you gave me when I finished playing it to you for the first time

charles_leclerc mon amour, it was an honor to be involved in your music journey and I am so thankful for every day I get to share with you. darling I'd wait for you til forever falls apart 🤍 Comment liked by y/nsworld ⤷ chachacharles THEY'RE MY ROMAN EMPIRE 😭 ⤷ charlesfann pls tell me someone else noticed charles credited as songwriter on 'til forever falls apart' 😭

ynmylove LETS 👏 TALK 👏 ABOUT 👏 HOW CHARLES AND Y/N USED SONG TITLES IN THEIR COMMENTS TO EACH OTHER 😭 ⤷ charlesandcarlos try not to cry challenge FAILED

on twt:

y/n's q+a on ig:

charles_leclerc

Liked by y/nsworld, maxverstappen1 and 12,942,833 charles_leclerc my incredibly talented girlfriend's album is out now! I am beyond proud to be able to say that she trusted me to help her not only record some of the songs but write them too. I didn't know I was much of a songwriter but looking into your eyes suddenly turned me into a poet ma belle.

everyday you inspire me with your creativity, your passion, your energy and your love for those around you. I could write you a million love songs and there would still be things left to say. you're all I need now until forever falls apart. j'taime mon amour ❤️ (if you haven't heard the album yet make sure you go and listen now!)

View all 45,730 comments y/nsworld I love you more than any love song could ever express. my muse, my love, my life 🤍 Comment liked by charles_leclerc ⤷ ynloverrr OH MY GOD?! I'M SO VIOLENTLY UNWELL OH GOD ⤷ ferrar1 'looking into your eyes suddenly turned me into a poet'

y/nandcharles THEY ARE MY ROMAN EMPIRE

sabrinacarpenter This album is literally on repeat! I cried the first time I heard 'you might not like her' and every time since

charlesforwdc can we all please just appreciate the STUNNING piano in 'so this is love' Comment liked by y/nsworld ⤷ y/nsworld we were literally just messing about in the studio and decided we liked it enough for the album! ⤷ y/nvocals the fact they were both "messing about" and sound THIS GOOD IS INSANE

maxverstappen1 congrats mate! you nailed this project!

landonorris from sliding into the dm's to collaborating on an album is CRAZY ⤷ y/nsworld LANDO 😭😭 ⤷ f1fannn exCUSE ME? sliding what?! ⤷ charleswifey charles sliding in her dm's is crazy but understandable 😭 ⤷ charles_leclerc try the other way around... 👨‍🦯 ⤷ y/nsworld BABY! 😭

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[moonpascal]

IN THE SHADOW OF MEMORY

CHAPTER THREE I series masterlist WC: 5.6k

WARNINGS:

angst, language, nose bleed, headaches, asshole parents, pov switch, smoking, ron’s mean, roommate oc, flashback is italicized, let me know if i missed any

AUTHORS NOTE:

big thanks to the amazing @amiableness and @mischievousmoony for reading and helping me with this chapter! i love you both so much! couldn’t do it without you both!

hopefully this answers some questions you guys had! i had fun writing this!

After a restless night, you wake up feeling somewhat refreshed, though a faint unease still lingers, like a shadow just out of sight. You push the feeling aside, blaming it on the inevitable tension of the upcoming war. No one could expect to feel fully relaxed until it’s all over.

Determined to shake off the dread, you pull on your house uniform and head out to meet the trio in your usual spot, hoping the familiar routine will help steady your nerves.

As you fumble with your crooked tie, cursing under your breath at its refusal to cooperate, you’re so absorbed in the task that you don’t notice someone approaching until it’s almost too late. You barely manage to stop yourself from crashing into them. When you look up, it’s Luna, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she watches you wrestle with the stubborn knot.

“Morning,” she says softly, her voice like a gentle breeze. “Your tie seems to be having a bit of a rebellion.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, “It’s not the only thing,” you mutter, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

Luna steps closer, her fingers brushing against yours as she takes over the task of fixing your tie. “There,” she says, her touch light but sure. “Sometimes, things just need a little extra patience.”

You’re about to thank her when she suddenly tilts her head, looking at you with that faraway gaze she’s known for.

“I think today will be important,” she muses, as if she’s sharing a secret with the universe.

You blink, caught off guard. “What makes you say that?”

Luna smiles, a soft, knowing smile. “Just a feeling,” she replies, before turning and drifting away as if pulled by some unseen force, leaving you standing there, tie now perfectly straight, and the uneasy feeling from before somehow softened by her presence.

Reeling from your conversation with Luna, you continue walking through the castle until you spot Hermione and Ron waiting at your usual spot. But there’s no sign of Harry, which is strange—he’s always the first to arrive.

“Where’s Harry?” you ask, looking around.

“Forgot something in the library,” Ron replies, rolling his eyes. “Said he’d meet us there.”

You nod, though Ron’s irritation catches you off guard. He must’ve had a rough morning already.

The three of you head to the Great Hall and find your seats. As soon as you sit down, you start piling food onto your plate. After missing lunch and dinner yesterday, you’re starving.

The chatter of the hall is a welcome distraction, and as you bite into a piece of bacon, the savory flavor makes you sigh in contentment.

As you chew, you turn to Hermione, eager to share something that’s been on your mind. “Guess what weird piece of clothing I found in my dorm last night?” you ask, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

Hermione raises an eyebrow, already playing along. “Don’t tell me it was Grace again?”

“It was Grace!” you laugh, enjoying how well she knows your roommate’s antics. “I found a Slytherin tie and a couple of jumpers by my bed. Honestly, I hope they didn’t do anything on my bed,” you add, making a face.

Hermione’s eyes widen, but before she can respond, you remember something else. “Oh, and I’ve been meaning to ask you guys,” you say, pulling a small locket from under your shirt.

You fumble with the chain a bit, trying to unsnag it from the loose thread on your tie. “Do you remember where I got this locket?”

You hold it up, letting the gold catch the light as you rotate it in your fingers. Ron opens his mouth to say something, but before he can get a word out, Harry suddenly appears at your side, his expression tense.

“Ron, Hermione, I need to talk to you—now,” Harry says, his voice urgent. He grabs both of them by the shoulders, startling all three of you.

“What’s going on?” you ask, but Harry’s already pulling them to their feet.

“Sorry, Trouble. We’ll be right back,” he says quickly before dragging them out of the hall, leaving you behind.

You watch them go, feeling a pang of exclusion. They’ve always had their secrets, but it still stings to be left out. You poke at your food, appetite waning, and glance around the Great Hall at the other students, all absorbed in their own lives. The noise that was comforting a moment ago now feels distant and hollow.

As you finish what you can manage, the morning owl post arrives, letters and packages dropping onto the tables. You’re surprised when two letters land in front of you instead of the usual one. You pick up the one from your parents first, already bracing yourself for the sharp words you know are coming. Carefully, you break the seal and unfold the letter.

“We heard you had an accident and fell. That is no excuse to fall behind in your studies. Make sure you catch up on any missed work immediately and seek extra credit if possible. You need to follow in your sister’s footsteps or you’ll never amount to anything—”

The words blur as a sharp pain stabs through your head. Your vision swims, and the hall around you seems to tilt.

You blink, trying to clear your head, when you see Theodore standing a few feet away, his gaze fixed on you.

“What are you doing out here?” you mutter, your voice thick with the remnants of the pain.

“I could ask you the same, Tesoro,” he replies, stepping closer. His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of concern in it. The moonlight filters through the trees, casting long shadows across the courtyard.

You turn away, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “I’m not in the mood, Nott.”

He doesn’t back off. Instead, he reaches out, gently catching your arm as you start to move away. “Hey, I’m not here to cause trouble,” he says softly. “Just wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

For a moment, you consider brushing him off, but something in his voice makes you pause. You sigh, the fight draining out of you as you sink back down onto the bench.

He sits beside you, keeping a respectful distance. The silence stretches between you, but it doesn’t feel as awkward as you expected. After a while, you pull the crumpled letter from your pocket and hand it to him without a word.

He takes it, glancing at you before he starts reading. You watch his expression harden as he scans the lines, his jaw tightening with each word. When he’s finished, he folds the letter neatly and hands it back to you.

“They’re wrong, you know,” he says quietly. “You’re worth more than that.”

You look at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Thanks,” you whisper, though the words feel inadequate.

Theodore leans back, looking up at the sky. “You know, sometimes burning things like that helps,” he says casually, as if suggesting the most normal thing in the world. “It’s like telling them to go to hell.”

You blink, caught off guard by the suggestion. “Burn it?”

He nods. “Yeah. Why keep something that only hurts you?”

You consider his words for a moment, then slowly nod. “Yeah, okay. Let’s burn it.”

A small smile tugs at his lips as you take your wand out, feeling a little lighter. “Incendio,” you whisper, and the letter catches fire, the flames consuming the harsh words. You watch as the paper crumples and turns to ash, a strange sense of relief washing over you.

“Thanks, Theodore,” you say, glancing at him with a genuine smile. Somehow, he’s made the weight on your chest feel a little lighter.

“Trouble! Trouble!” Harry’s urgent voice pulls you back to reality. You’re still in the Great Hall, with Harry gripping your shoulders, his face etched with concern.

“What… what happened?” you ask, feeling disoriented. Your hand instinctively moves to your face, where you feel the warm, sticky sensation of blood trickling from your nose.

“You’re bleeding,” Harry says, his eyes wide. “We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey, now.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say, pulling away slightly. “I can go on my own. You should get to class.”

Harry hesitates, worry etched on his face, but Hermione steps in, gently pushing him aside. “I’ll stay with her,” she says, giving Harry a reassuring nod.

As you wipe the blood from your nose, Hermione takes you by the arm and guides you out of the Great Hall. You can feel the weight of curious stares from your classmates, but you focus on Hermione’s calm presence beside you.

“I don’t want to see Madam Pomfrey,” you start to protest, a hint of anxiety creeping into your voice. You know you should go, but something inside you resists. That vivid memory from earlier—it felt so real. But why was Theodore Nott, of all people, in it?

“I know,” Hermione replies softly, her voice soothing. “We’ll go to your dorm instead. You can rest there.”

Her understanding surprises you, as if she knows exactly what’s weighing on your mind. You try to piece together the memory. It lingers, just out of reach, teasing you with its importance.

You’re lost in thought, your surroundings blurring into insignificance until Hermione pulls you into your dorm room. She sits you down on your rumpled bed, her face etched with concern.

“Hermione, what’s going on?” you ask, trying to steady your racing thoughts as you notice the tension in her posture.

Hermione takes a deep breath, clearly struggling with how to begin.

“Something happened… something we didn’t want you to find out like this.”

A cold knot forms in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, then says carefully, “The fall you think you had… it wasn’t a fall. You were hit by a spell—by accident.”

Your mind races, trying to make sense of her words. “A spell? What kind of spell?”

“A memory charm,” Hermione says quietly, her eyes locking onto yours. “It was meant to erase specific memories. But it didn’t go as planned, and you were caught in the crossfire.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “A memory charm… but I remember everything, don’t I?”

Hermione shakes her head slightly. “Not everything. We think it’s caused gaps, places where something important used to be but isn’t anymore.”

Your heart pounds as you try to wrap your mind around what she’s saying. “What did I forget? How much have I lost?”

“That’s the problem,” Hermione says, her voice gentle. “We can’t exactly tell you what’s missing. We’re trying to figure it out, but it’s tricky. We didn’t want to tell you until we had more answers.”

You feel a mix of fear and anger rising. “So, you were just going to let me walk around not knowing?”

“No!” Hermione says quickly. “We were going to tell you, we just needed time to understand it ourselves. But we found you unresponsive and bleeding…”

You sit in stunned silence, the weight of her words pressing down on you. “What now?” you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“We’ll work through this together,” Hermione promises. “We’ll do everything we can to help you recover what you’ve lost, or at least figure out what happened.”

Her words are meant to comfort you, but the reality of missing pieces of your life—of not knowing what’s been taken—leaves you feeling detached. Hermione remains by your side, her presence a steady source of reassurance as you struggle to process this overwhelming revelation.

Theos pov: prior day

Theo hadn’t had much time to process the chaos Potter had unleashed. The shock of learning that you no longer remembered him, followed by the sting of your angry outburst, had left him feeling numb, as if he were moving through the day in a fog. He wasn’t even sure how he had made it back to the dorm. Everything felt surreal, as if he were watching someone else’s life unravel before his eyes.

He barely registered walking into the common room. Even Mattheo’s attempts to get his attention seemed distant and muted, like he was hearing them through water. It wasn’t until Mattheo physically grabbed him by the shoulder and gave him a shake that Theo snapped back to reality.

“Salazar, Theo, you really zoned out there,” Mattheo said with a hint of concern, though he tried to keep it light. His eyes scanned the room. “Where’s Trouble?”

The question hit Theo like a punch to the gut. His body tensed, and the words he needed to say seemed to lodge in his throat. How could he possibly explain what had happened? How could he tell his best mate that he’d been secretly fighting against everything their house stood for, and that you—his girlfriend—had been caught in the crossfire?

Mattheo would probably tell him that he deserved it, that this was the price of betraying his house. Or worse, he might report it to his father, who would ensure that Voldemort dealt with Theo personally.

“She… she had a nasty fall yesterday,” Theo forced the words out, his voice strained. He hoped it would be enough to satisfy Mattheo, but his friend wasn’t so easily convinced.

“That why you disappeared last night? Is she okay?” Mattheo asked, his tone more serious now, his earlier humor fading.

“She doesn’t remember me,” Theo muttered, the words barely audible. It was the first time he’d spoken them aloud, and doing so made it all feel too real, too painful.

“What do you mean?” Mattheo asked, his expression hardening as the gravity of the situation began to dawn on him. Trouble who had been a pain in his ass and was finally tolerating you. Theo didn’t want to say it again, didn’t want to feel that same stabbing pain in his chest. But Mattheo wasn’t letting it go.

“Theo, what do you mean?” he pressed, his voice sharp and demanding.

“She remembers everything but me! Our entire relationship—gone!” Theo snapped, the frustration and despair that had been building up since the incident finally boiling over. He shoved Mattheo back, his fists clenched tightly as if ready for a fight.

The anger, the helplessness, the grief—they all mingled together, pushing him to the brink. Tears threatened to spill, but he refused to break down, not in front of Mattheo, not in front of anyone but you.

“Hey, don’t take it out on me! I’m trying to help,” Mattheo shot back, stepping closer as if to challenge him, his tone now serious and firm. Theo scoffed in response, rolling his eyes as he pushed past him, desperate to reach the solitude of his room.

Theo slammed the door behind him with a force that reverberated through the room, but he barely noticed the sound. He couldn’t breathe; it felt like the walls were closing in on him, suffocating him.

Everything he cared about—everything that mattered—had been ripped away, and he had no idea how to get it back.

His gaze swept across the room, taking in the chaotic disarray of his belongings, though none of it seemed to register fully. His bed, unmade from where you had slept just the night before, looked like a mocking reminder of what he had lost.

Your tie, casually draped over his desk, next to the book you two had been reading together every night, felt like a relic of a time that had suddenly been erased. Little parchment notes, filled with love and encouragement, were scattered across the surfaces, each one a painful echo of a relationship that now existed only in his memory.

It was unbearable.

Desperate for an outlet, Theo grabbed the nearest object—a chair—and hurled it at the floor with all his strength. The wood splintered and cracked, pieces flying in every direction. A sharp shard sliced across his cheek, but the pain was a mere blip against the emotions raging inside him. It wasn’t enough; the destruction did nothing to quell the storm.

His eyes locked onto the fire poker resting by the fireplace, an innocent object that suddenly felt like the perfect instrument for his fury. He seized it, gripping it with both hands, and began to swing wildly at his bed.

The metal struck the wooden pillars with a resounding crash, splintering the supports, shattering the structure into ruins. His yells filled the room, raw and primal, as he tore through the space, obliterating everything within reach.

When there was nothing left to destroy, when the room was nothing but a mess of shattered wood, glass shards, and torn fabric, Theo collapsed against what remained of his bed. His back slid down the broken frame until he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by the debris of his breakdown.

The numbness crept in, dulling the edges of his anger and grief, leaving him feeling hollow and lost. He stared blankly at the wall, his mind on the brink of spiraling again, unable to grasp what he was supposed to do next. How could he fix something so deeply broken?

His gaze shifted, and something caught his eye—a flash of color peeking out from under the bed. It was your jumper, partially hidden but unmistakable. He reached for it quickly, almost desperately, and when his fingers closed around the familiar fabric, he pulled it close. Dusting it off, he clutched it to his chest, his breath hitching as he buried his face in the soft material. Your scent lingered faintly, a comforting trace of you that seemed to cut through the haze of despair.

As he inhaled deeply, the tears finally came, silent and unchecked, sliding down his face as he held your jumper tighter. It was the first real release he’d allowed himself, the first moment he’d let the weight of everything truly hit him.

He had to find a way to fix this, to make things right. After his first class, he’d start working on a plan. He had to see you, make sure you were okay—and selfishly, because he couldn’t stand being apart from you any longer.

Theo rushed to class, almost knocking over several students in his haste. He didn’t bother apologizing; his mind was fixated solely on seeing you.

As he burst through the door, earning a few glances from his peers, his eyes immediately sought you out. There you were, sitting in your usual spot, and for a brief moment, Theo allowed himself to hope that maybe everything would be normal again. But as he approached and took the seat beside you, the tension in your posture made it clear he had been too optimistic.

He tensed in response, trying to keep himself together, even as the nausea of your apparent discomfort around him threatened to overwhelm him. Maybe it was a mistake to come to class instead of diving straight into research. He wasn’t sure he could handle seeing you like this, not in his current fragile state. But what about you? Were you alright?

Lavender’s voice suddenly cut through his thoughts as she asked how you were doing. Theo’s heart raced, dreading what you might say, what Lavender might tell you.

This wasn’t how you should find out—not after everything that happened this morning. So he quickly cleared his throat, giving Lavender a sharp look that silently begged her to drop the subject.

Luckily, the professor began the lesson before anyone could say more. But Theo wasn’t paying attention; his focus was entirely on you. He watched as you suddenly winced, shutting your eyes tightly and massaging your temples. His heart clenched in his chest. He knew you suffered from migraines, but this one seemed different, more intense.

Normally, Theo would offer comfort, holding your hand or rubbing your back—anything to help ease the pain. You had always said his touch brought you relief, that his warmth helped you get through the worst of it.

But now, how could he offer that comfort when you seemed so distant? The image you had of him now wasn’t the same as it was yesterday. Still, he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing.

He leaned over, pretending to need more ink, subtly brushing against you. To his relief, he noticed your body relax slightly, and he felt a small surge of pride. It seemed your body still recognized him, even if your mind was struggling.

He stayed close for the rest of the class, finding some solace in being near you, even if it wasn’t the same. When the lesson finally ended, you remained seated, your breathing shaky. Theo wrestled with himself before finally finding the courage to speak.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

His voice seemed to pull you from whatever trance you were in, and you answered him hesitantly, clearly torn between confiding in him and holding back. Theo could see the conflict in your eyes, mirroring the turmoil in his own heart. To be so close to you yet feel so distant was a cruel irony.

Tentatively, he reached out, resting his hand on yours. The familiar softness of your skin was almost too much for him to bear. The urge to pull you into his arms was overwhelming, but he resisted. And then, to his dismay, you apologized.

Of course, you would apologize. Theo deflated, disappointment crashing over him. For a fleeting moment, it had felt like everything was normal again, like this was just the aftermath of a minor argument. But reality was far harsher.

This wasn’t a simple fix, and Theo wasn’t going to get an easy resolution.

Accepting your apology was a small hurdle, but saying your name instead of the endearing terms he used to call you—amore, tesoro—hurt the most. It felt foreign, like a painful reminder of how deeply the spell had affected you.

He could see that you wanted to say more, but then you recoiled, almost tipping backward in your chair. Instinctively, Theo reached out and caught you before you could hurt yourself further.

“Whoa, easy there. What’s happening?” he nearly let amore slip out, but caught himself just in time. Before he could say anything else, you excused yourself and hurried out of the classroom. Theo watched you go, his eyes never leaving your retreating figure, wishing he could take away whatever pain you were feeling.

Determined, Theo hastily grabbed his bag and decided to skip the rest of his classes. He needed to get to the library. Madam Pince could take all the points from Slytherin for all he cared. He was going to get to the bottom of this.

Theo stood frozen in the library, staring at the seemingly endless shelves of books. He didn’t know where to start, and the thought of asking Madam Pince for help made him grimace. He didn’t have the time or patience to search the entire library by himself. With a frustrated huff, he yanked off his robe, tossed his bag onto a nearby table, and ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm his nerves before reluctantly seeking out Pince.

“Mr. Nott, shouldn’t you be in class?” Irma Pince’s voice cut through his thoughts, her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in disapproval.

“What are the call numbers for any information on the Obliviate spell?” Theo snapped, too agitated to explain himself.

Her eyes widened slightly at his sharp tone, clearly displeased with his lack of manners. “Ten points from Slytherin, Nott,” she replied icily, before guiding him to the section he needed.

After a short walk, she pointed to the relevant shelves. “This better be for research only and not some mischief you boys are planning,” she warned, her gaze stern and unyielding.

Theo barely concealed his irritation, rolling his eyes in blatant annoyance. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, brushing past her to scan the shelves for useful books.

Pince stalked off, leaving him to his task. He gathered a few books and an old Daily Prophet article, his arms heavy with the weight of them. He dropped the books onto the table, pulled out some parchment, and prepared to take notes—anything that might help fix the mess he was in.

Starting with The Standard Book of Spells, Theo flipped through the pages until he found the section on the Memory Charm.

“The Memory Charm (Obliviate), also known as the Forgetfulness Charm, was a charm that could be used to erase specific memories from an individual’s mind. It was different from the spell that created false memories.”

Theo sighed, rubbing his eyes in frustration. This wasn’t new information—it was basic knowledge. Moving on, he opened the Daily Prophet article, hoping for something more useful.

“Obliviate is the incantation for a Memory Charm, a spell that erases specific memories from an individual’s mind. It is one of the most potent and potentially dangerous spells, as it can lead to severe and permanent memory loss if used incorrectly.”

His stomach churned as he read on, the words making his anxiety worse.

“The strength of the Obliviate spell depends on the caster, and in some cases, it can destroy memory so thoroughly that a witch or wizard may lose their sense of identity.”

Theo’s heart pounded in his chest. The thought of you losing yourself completely was unbearable. He couldn’t let that happen. For both your sakes—and Harry’s—this had to be fixable.

After jotting down some notes, Theo grabbed the next book, A History of Magic, and started skimming through it. Most of the information was redundant, but then his eyes caught something that made his blood run cold.

“Reversing the effects of Obliviate is extremely difficult, if not impossible in some cases. Restoration of memories may require highly specialized magical treatment and is not always successful. Memory Charms could be broken through torture.”

Theo nearly gagged. The mere thought of you being hurt, let alone tortured, was more than he could bear. He forced himself to push those dark thoughts aside, continuing to scan the text. His eyes widened as he came across a bold warning.

“Caution: If the spell is carelessly cast, the brain will be in a delicate state. If you stress this person too much or aren’t careful when trying to restore their mind/memories, the results could be unpredictable, even leading to a complete breakdown of the mind.”

“Side effects may include headaches, fainting, vomiting, bloody noses, and/or completely losing themselves. Keep the person calm, distract them, or give them a Sleeping Draught.”

Theo’s heart seemed to stop. He’d seen you suffer from a headache earlier, and now he was certain that the spell had left you in this delicate state. Despair gnawed at him as he realized how little progress he was making. The hope of finding a safe way to restore your memories was slipping through his fingers.

Reluctantly, Theo acknowledged that he needed to tell Harry what he’d found. Your friends might make things worse if they tried to help without knowing the risks. Gathering his things, Theo abruptly stood up, leaving the mess on the table behind as he hurried out of the library. He needed to find those blithering idiots—your friends—before they unintentionally made things worse.

But as Theo stepped into the hallway, he was surprised to find the castle cloaked in darkness. Hours had slipped away unnoticed, swallowed by his mounting anxiety and frantic search for answers. The realization hit him hard—he’d spent the entire day buried in books with nothing to show for it but a sense of helplessness.

He leaned against the cold stone wall, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. The weight of his failure pressed down on him, but he knew he couldn’t afford to crumble now. Tomorrow, he’d have to face them—your friends. They’d have to work together, whether he liked it or not.

Theo took a deep breath, the resolve hardening within him. First thing tomorrow, Theo vowed, he’d get them involved. No matter what it took, he wouldn’t stop until everything was set right.

Morning couldn’t come soon enough. Theo barely slept, his mind too consumed with worry about you. The absence of your familiar presence beside him made the night feel endless—he longed to wake up and see your peaceful face, to trace the contours of your features like he used to. What he wouldn’t give to have that back.

He needed to reach Harry quickly; there was no time to waste. Theo jumped out of bed and dressed hurriedly, ignoring the curious glances from his dorm mates—he was never up this early. 

Bounding up the stairs to the Gryffindor entrance, he didn’t care that he irritated the portrait lady as she reluctantly let him in. Thankfully, he found Harry’s dorm room without much trouble, and quietly crept inside. Theo moved to Harry’s bed, clamping a hand over his mouth, startling him awake.

Harry jolted, wide-eyed and reaching for his wand before realizing it was Theo, which did little to ease his nerves. Theo, unbothered by Harry’s panic, rolled his eyes and pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. He motioned for Harry to follow, stepping back toward the door and waiting for him to get dressed.

Once Harry left a note for Ron, the two headed out, Harry nervously trailing behind Theo. They made their way to a secluded corner of the library, where Theo suddenly stopped, causing Harry to nearly bump into him. Theo turned to face him, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Things are worse than I thought, Potter,” Theo began, his tone cold. “Her condition is more fragile than we realized.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice steady, though the guilt of what he had done was eating away at him. You had always been there for him, and now, because of him, you were suffering.

“Because you didn’t mean to cast the spell on her, it left her mind in a delicate state,” Theo explained, barely containing his frustration. “We can’t let anything stress her out. The side effects could be devastating, and we could lose her completely if we don’t handle this right.”

Harry nodded, already sensing where this conversation was headed. Despite the tension between them, he knew they had no choice but to work together. “What do we do?”

Theo sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know yet, but what I do know is that I’m the only thing missing from her memories. We need to keep researching.”

“We should tell the others too,” Harry suggested, realizing the importance of getting everyone on the same page.

Theo agreed, though with a note of urgency. “You go get them. I needed to talk to you first before they start interrupting.”

As Harry left to gather Ron and Hermione, Theo stepped out into the corridor, his nerves on edge. It had been two days since he last had a cigarette, and the stress was getting to him. He pulled one out, lit it, and inhaled deeply, letting the familiar sensation calm him as the cool morning air brushed against his face.

His thoughts drifted to you—how you’d always hold your breath when he smoked, jokingly scolding him but never actually asking him to quit. You hated the smell, but you’d still kiss him if he asked. The memory brought a small, bittersweet smile to his face.

As he spotted the trio approaching out of the corner of his eye, Theo sighed and flicked the cigarette out the window.

“So, what does this tosser want?” Ron muttered as they neared. Ron had never liked Theo, always suspecting he had ulterior motives with you.

Theo rolled his eyes. “I’m here to make sure you lot don’t make things worse,” he retorted.

Ron glared at him, ready to snap back, but Hermione quickly intervened. “You mean Trouble?” she asked, concern clear in her voice.

Theo bristled at the nickname—he always found it annoying and unoriginal. “Who else?” he replied, irritation seeping into his tone. “You have to keep her calm. There are too many risks involved, and we can’t afford to make her condition worse.”

“How do we fix it?” Hermione asked, her worry for you evident.

“We don’t know yet,” Harry admitted, “but we can’t stress Trouble out, while we figure it out.”

Theo added, his voice firm, “If she starts to realize she’s lost memories, don’t tell her what they are—especially not about me. She doesn’t remember anything about us, only what came before. If you spring it on her, it could be catastrophic.”

“Why should she remember you anyway? I’d say that’s a win, don’t you think?” Ron sneered, a smirk playing on his lips.

Harry’s eyes widened in alarm, and he quickly stepped in front of Ron, blocking Theo from moving closer. “He’s joking! We’re going to fix this,” Harry assured, trying to defuse the situation.

Theo’s jaw clenched as he struggled to keep his temper in check. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, and rolled his head to the side before continuing.

He explained the potential side effects, what to watch out for, and how to keep you calm if a situation arose. They agreed to meet regularly throughout the week to share their findings and come up with a plan.

With everything said, the trio left Theo standing in the hallway as they headed back to the Great Hall—and to you.

Theo watched them go, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a stone. As much as he disliked relying on Harry and his friends, he knew they were all you had now. And if they didn’t handle this right, it could ruin everything.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly as he tried to clear his thoughts. He needed to stay focused, to keep his head straight if they were going to find a solution. There was no room for mistakes, no second chances. They had to get this right or lose you forever.

If you enjoyed, please reblog or comment! Your words keep me motivated to write.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

L Lawliet X F!Reader Smut Oneshot

VERY SMUTTY SMUT, 18+

FINALLY finished! This was so fun to write, but I've been so distracted recently that I haven't been able to work on any of my hobbies. I apologize for going AWOL for like, what, a month? Anyway, hopefully finishing this will be the start of bringing writing back in my life. Enjoy, L fans, and let me know if you have ideas for more!

Warnings/contents: Oral (reader recieving), PinV, cowgirl, happy trail, slight amounts of biting, and a very tired man

L has been working far too much, and it's showing. Not only has he not been leaving the CTV screens, he's stopped sleeping all together. Not even at his seat. For someone so smart, you'd think he'd know to take better care of himself.

Well, tonight, he's finally returned to your shared bedroom, only to retrieve some important flash drive. You were laying upside down on the bed, your legs propped up on the headboard and your hands busy with a rather riveting game of snake.

As soon as you heard him walk in, you perked up, flipping around and watching him with intent, your phone playing a sad little song at your loss of the now irrelevant game. "Hey! are you done working?"

He had his hands in his pockets, his steps light but slow as he felt weighed down by his lack of energy. "I'm never done working," he answered simply, walking to the nightstand and crouching down in front of it.

He opened a drawer, which contained a safe. He typed in the 12 digit code, opening it and finding a few small files and three flash drives...none of which were the right one. "I put it right here...did you take the red drive from this safe," he asked with slightly narrowed eyes, turning to the left to face you.

"No...is something missing?"

He examined you from the top of your head to the tips of your toes, taking in everything about you. This was the problem, he could never tell if you were lying. Whether it was that he was so infatuated with you he couldn't imagine you lying to him, or if you were simply that good, It was frustratingly inconvenient. Perhaps you simply never lied...that was the delirium from not sleeping speaking, most definitely.

"Are you lying," he asked simply.

"No, unfortunately. I wish I had it...I can help you look," you say sweetly.

"I will find it myself...thank you," he nodded, throwing the polite thanks on the end.

"If you say so," you say in obvious skepticism.

He stands back up, looking down at you as you laid back once more. "Do you doubt my ability," he asked challengingly.

"Well...no...It's just..." you look back up at his big, tired eyes, his face discreetly shifting back and forth between curiosity and annoyance.

You look back to your phone. "You've been so tired, you're running on fumes...I just don't think you're in the right place to be effectively searching for and finding things...or, remembering where you put things...or...doing detective work..."

Silence.

You slowly look back up at him, already wincing at how he must look. When your eyes met his, he just seemed...surprised?

"Do you really think my lack of sleep is affecting my efficiency in a palpable way?" He seemed to be considering the notion.

"I do. Very much so."

"Well...I don't have time to sleep," he mused lowly.

you could work with this. "Would you at least shower? It could help you relax, get your mind off things. It'd only take, like, what, 20 minutes?"

He thought about this.

"I suppose it may assist me in 'getting my mind off things'," he sighed. "Fine. But I'd like you to look for that flash drive while I'm gone," he said firmly. Even without the team around, he still acted like he was your boss. You looked up at him with raised brows.

"...please." This energy deficit was making it harder to engage in social conventions, it took a level of consciousness he did not have currently. Another reason he needed sleep.

"Sure," you said with a smile, sitting up. "Go on, go shower, I'll start looking right now," you assured, standing and guiding him to the bathroom. He walked on his own, shutting the door behind him.

You sighed, turning to face the room, scanning it, your brow furrowed. Then, the water turned on. You glanced to the door. You could hear the rhythm of the raining droplets interrupted by him getting in.

With a deep breath, you relax, walking to the nightstand and opening it back up. You typed in the code to the safe, It was a seemingly randomized combination of the numbers within you and Watari's respective birthdays.

Reaching into your bra, you pulled out the flash drive, placing it atop everything else. You'd have to confess and apologize later, for tricking him. You really just needed a reason to get him away from his computer.

With a satisfied huff, you laid back down, continued your game of snake, and waited for him to get out.

fifteen minutes later, the bathroom door gently pushed open, and out L walked, seeming slightly better. he had a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, a slight and sparse amount of black hair barely visible above the pristine white of the fabric. Another towel was slung around his shoulders, catching the water dripping from his spiked black hair.

perfection.

You sat on the edge of the bed, smiling happily at him. "Hey, how do you feel? Better? About the flash-"

"I'd like to have sex."

Your mouth hung open for a moment, the suddenness shocking you. You supposed it was because he was lacked so much energy before, because him being so direct wasn't rare in the slightest. Meanwhile, he simply stared at you, waiting for a proper response.

"Right...right now?"

"Do you have any other plans?"

"Well, no," you say, laughing a little. "I thought you were tired. You should be tired."

"I am tired, but I've come to the conclusion that sex with you would be beneficial, more so than the shower, and more time efficient than proper rest."

You just laughed even more, giggling at his frankness. "Sure, yeah...so, I'm assuming you'll want to get straight to things? make it quick?" Nothing was unexpected with him, that was for sure.

"Well...not without foreplay. I'm not completely helpless," he muttered, his brows furrowing slightly at the insinuation he wouldn't. He could tell that's what you were thinking.

"Is that so? Here I was, thinking you'd leave me high and dry," you tease.

He took a step closer, before putting his foot up and onto the bed next to you and leaning over you. His hands were at his hips, the natural placement for him after so much time putting them in his pockets. "Do you think that lowly of me," he asked softly. His eyes were half lidded, staring deep into yours as if he were reading your soul, and his lips were parted, slowly taking in air, his breath warm against your face, so impossibly close to you.

Your skin was warming, blood rushing to your cheeks and nose as you take in the sight before you. Then, you smile, bringing your hands to cup his face. "You're trying too hard," you taunt, planting a gentle kiss on his lips. He closed his eyes, and when you pull away he leans in farther for a beat, as if he's trying to chase you. His serious expression disappears, and he sits up just a little more. "Am I," he asked, genuinely, cocking his head a little in curiosity.

He just makes you giggle, he's so funny without even realizing. "Yes," you laugh jokingly, nodding for a moment before you calm down. Then you lean in a little more, glancing down at the foot propped up on the bed, and quietly say, "No. It's nice, fun...but, I'd rather you just be yourself." You tilt your head up, your lips brushing against his, before you give him a true kiss.

He closes his eyes, a shiver running up his spine, and when your mouth opens to slide your tongue across his bottom lip, he gladly opens his own. Your hands stay to the sides of his face, and his eventually make their way to your shoulders. You stop for a moment, scooting backward. Without even thinking, he sits completely on the bed, just to follow your lips, and as a reward you waste no time kissing him again.

You stay like that for a while, making out while he sort of straddles your legs in his usual crouch, until he moves past your mouth and to your jaw. It surprises you for a moment, but you quickly adjust, your hand moving to his damp hair to steady yourself.

He leaves wet, meaningful kisses up your jawline, his hand sliding up to your neck to hold you in place. "Did you know," he starts, planting a kiss to the spot where your ear meets your jaw. "That the ear is one of the most sensitive parts of the body," he finishes, kissing at the shell of your ear and sucking on your lobe for a moment. He wasn't even trying to be overly sexy, at least not in his words, you could tell he simply said it because your ear made him think of it, but the candidness of this moment that was so L made you melt...especially because of his soft, low voice.

"Is that so," you ask, your voice wavering a little.

you could feel his smile against the skin of your ear as he left another impassioned kiss to the shell. "It appears it is," he hummed, his voice dropping ever so slightly. Maybe he was trying.

You could do nothing but let out a nervous giggle, your back arching upward until your chest met his. You turned your head, your ear no longer accessible to him, and planted a kiss to the side of his neck. You could feel him stiffen, his breath catching in his throat. You kissed him again, this time slowly, and his hand moved to be in your hair, the other planted firmly on the top of your hip to steady himself.

You take the moment to remove the towel around his waist, glancing down to see just what you were working with...and there he was.

He was fully erect, around 6 inches, the pale pink tip beading with pre. Perfect. You almost reached out to touch him, to please him, but...

Finally, and rather suddenly, he mutters, "Sit back....please."

You don't argue, you just...do. You sit back from him. You could have kept going, just to tease him, but just in case he was overwhelmed, you sat back.

He wasn't overwhelmed, to your delight, and you knew because he leaned forward and brings his lips to your clavicle, placing a gentle but impassioned kiss there. He hears your breath catch, and as he looks up at you with his usual moon-eyed stare, he catches the way your nostrils flare, and your lips part. "You are aroused," he states softly, his hands running up your sides and under your shirt.

"I am," you titter, his cool hands sending a shiver up your spine as you watch him intently.

"If you take your shirt off, I may be able to assist you," he hums sarcastically, a slight, gentle smile across his face.

You roll your eyes, a big smile on your face as you remove your shirt, setting it aside. You take your bra off too, and your pants for good measure. The only thing left on you is your underwear, something that, as he trails feather light kisses down the valley of your breast and the center of your abdomen, he carefully removes with his thumbs and index fingers. By now, he's on his knees and bent forward completely, his hands holding your legs apart as he brings himself to be face to face with your aching folds.

he gazes up at you, not in question but in curiosity, almost a way to tease you. do you want this? how badly? you really want this, don't you?

He slowly licks his lips as his eyes flick back down to what was before him. He sticks his tongue out, giving a long, tentative lap up from your entrance to your clitoris. as his tongue slides up your clit, beneath the hood, your hips buck, just enough to let him know you're excited. With that, his lips lock onto it, his eyes half lidded as he lavishly sucks and laps, soft groans reverberating through you ever so gently as he pleasures you.

He always seems to enjoy this as much as you do, and with each moan you release, he responds to you with a particularly angled prod of his tongue, or a vibrating groan in return, rewarding the crescendo of your sounds.

Your hand finds its way to his hair, nestling in the soft black stands and gently pulling at the base. At the feeling, he releases a breath he seemed to have been holding, the air fanning against the skin of your thighs and lower abdomen. The sturdy grip he has on your hips tightens a little, and as your hips stutter with the eventual arrival of your orgasm, he looks back up at you, his eyes peering, examining, daring you to look anywhere but at him. You can't help but to stare back.

With one final lap of his tongue, you finish, back arching, head tossing back, your voice ringing through the room in what he can only describe as the song of the angels. He helps you through, gently sucking on your clit, and when you finally come down from it, he pulls away, licking the fluid from his chin and upper lip. It was sort of endearing, watching him do something that looked so...stupid, to put it bluntly.

You laugh despite your panting, smiling as he sits back with his knees rather relaxed compared to usual, not to his chest, although arched halfway there. "you were...considerably louder than usual. has it been a long time since you've experienced an orgasm?"

you almost wanted to chide him for asking a question that had such an obvious answer, but you supposed it was good he didn't negate the fact that you could self pleasure. "Nope. I guess you could say I've been saving myself for you," you sigh teasingly, crawling closer, over his legs, bringing your face and hips above his, respectively.

He instinctively takes your hips, looking up at you with a thoughtful expression. "Why would you do something like that," he asked disdainfully.

You laugh a little. "Does it matter?"

He pauses, looking to your hips. "I suppose not. It makes no difference to me," he muses.

You smile down at him with endearment, your hands sliding to his shoulders. No time to waste.

You lower yourself down his vehemently leaking cock, his grip tightening around you as you push yourself past his tip.

he leaned forward, his knees coming up, your body now between his chest and his legs as your hips met his. he wasn't especially girthy, but his length more than made up for it. You take in a breath, steadying on his shoulders, and slowly slide upward.

He watches with a sort of aroused fascination as you begin to ride him, his eyes not leaving the sight of your body taking his dick in and out, watching and feeling every twitch, listening to every sound, the variations, the angles, everything perceived. You wouldn't think he was enjoying himself all too much, given the fact he was only releasing tempered pants and the occasional hum, but it was his attention that gave it away. Nothing besides his work, and now you, has captured his attention so quickly and so intensely.

If he weren't so tired and in need of a proverbial "quickie," he'd have you in as many different positions as possible. He has a need to see every facet of you, to know how you look and feel and sound in every angle and situation...but, for now, the usual cowgirl will do. And it does, it does rather nicely.

He only looks up at your face when he takes notice of your own noises, growing in volume and desperation. Of course, when he looks up, he can really only see your tits, bouncing away, and he really has no choice but to lavishly suck on your nipple. a formality, truly. The sounds and expressions that elicits is simply heavenly.

He grips your hips tighter, and as the air from his nose fans across your chest, he thrusts himself up. You cry out, his tip unexpectedly hitting your cervix, and all you can do now is shift back and forth as he thrusts up, peer into his large observant eyes as he tongues your breast and uses your body as he wishes. The sight, the feeling, the sounds, it was all too much for you. You moan louder and louder, signaling an orgasm, and the moment his tip pounds a particular spot, you're done. Your hips buckle, your body shakes, and best of all for him, your walls constrict.

in mere moments after you, he begins to truly moan, his cheeks flushing as his orgasm grows closer. After one particularly fast and hard jerk of his hips, he's calling out your name, his teeth pressing into your chest as his lashes flutter, his cum releasing within you in quick spurts, riding the wave as your hips roll against his.

He said this would be quick, a way to relax while staying time efficient, but fortunately he was too tired to take his own tiredness into account. He fell completely asleep beside you, his head pressed into your chest and his legs pressed to your torso as you stroked his hair. He'd sleep for the next 14 hours, and while you got up to pick up the slack at work, get something to eat, or use the restroom, you always returned to him.

I genuinely looked like coraline's dad writing this. I had fun, but wow was I lethargic. I'd like to do this again though, hopefully when I'm feeling more determined!

Taglist: @cheekyweekymouse

[synamartia]

I promise I haven't forgotten about this! Things have been a bit hectic in my personal life, and it feels like the hits just keep coming. But as a sign of good faith, I'll leave you all with another little snippet! Hopefully, it'll be the last one before I release the full story. On another note, as much as I LOVE the title Smutmus, I don't think that it's a fitting title anymore with the direction the story is taking - it's becoming a fully fledged fic with plot (which is one of the biggest reasons it's release has been delayed). So I will be renaming it in the future; just not sure what, yet. If you have any ideas, I would love to hear them! 🥰

Content Warnings: Again, none really. Afab!Reader ; No pronouns used ; Suggestive situations ; Nudity ; More light banter. If there's a warning anyone feels should be listed, please let me know!

Divider © cafekitsune

“Alastor, is that a tail?” you blurted out without thinking, immediately slapping both of your hands over your mouth right after. “Oh- that,” he said nonchalantly, moving to stand between your legs once more. Your body tensed as you awaited his reaction, so sure that you had just earned yourself a good scolding for such an impolite question. You hadn’t meant to be so bold or outright, but you’ve come to find that your body and your brain hadn’t been on the same page since the moment all of this began. “Yes, it’s a tail,” Alastor responded and turned slightly, swishing the puff of fur side to side a couple of times to amuse you before turning back. “I’m sorry, that was rude- …!?” you tried to apologize, but a surprised squeal interrupted your speech when his sharpened claws sunk into your posterior and he hoisted you up off the desk, your legs wrapping around his waist in the process.

“It’s alright, darling,” Alastor reassured you, spinning around and taking a few long strides to the rarely used bed. “While I’m not particularly fond of it, my tail isn’t something that I’ve ever gone out of my way to hide,” he explained, dropping you onto the mattress and climbing on top of you soon after, nestling himself in between your legs as you breathed a sigh of relief - albeit a short-lived one. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, causing your body to tense right back up with each word that left his mouth. “Although, you are correct - it was rude to ask such a thing,” he clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, his pointed teeth nipping at the shell of your ear then tugging on the lobe. “Perhaps I should give you a lesson in proper etiquette, hm?” Alastor mused, rolling his bare hips against yours and sending a shiver down your spine, not missing the flash of panic in your eyes when his words finally registered in your brain. 

‘Shit. Shit, shit, shit- fucking hell, fuck my life!’ you thought, trying to reel yourself back in and failing miserably. If this ‘lesson’ of his was anything like the punishment he had doled out earlier, you knew you were in for a rough night - one that would leave you physically incapable of walking out of his room come morning. “No- …! Al, no, no… i-it was just a slip of the tongue, I swear!” your pleas fell on deaf ears, his lips ghosting over the carotid artery in your neck, then over your collar bone and traveling further down to your breasts. “I’m sorry, please- …!” you spoke, only to be interrupted by Alastor’s stern gaze, looking up at you while he placed butterfly kisses to your chest and his teeth grazed your erect nipple. “I know you are, dear,” Alastor started, kissing further down to your navel, not breaking eye contact for even a millisecond. “But if ‘sorry’ fixed everything, there would be no hell, no demons, and we certainly would not be in this hotel,” he smiled wickedly, knowing that you couldn’t argue with the point he had just made - your silence proved as much.

Alastor continued to move south, soon reaching the delicious mound between your thighs which he had not known could be so fun, so intoxicating. But, as much as he wanted to devour you and everything you had to offer him, he was on a self-imposed mission now and couldn’t let himself get distracted. Heated breath fanning over your soaked core, Alastor lightly kissed and nipped at the insides of your thighs, past your knees and down your calves - stopping momentarily for a taste of your blood that was still seeping from your self-inflicted wound. He groaned as his tongue was coated in the coppery flavor of his new favorite thing, one hand wrapping around your ankle, his deft digits unclasping the strap of your heel and pulling it off, repeating the process with the other one and discarding both seconds later. 

Sighing softly, you wiggled your freed toes while Alastor began to kiss his way back up to your face. “W-well then… what would this lesson entail?” you asked nervously, resigning yourself over to your fate. Alastor chuckled darkly at your question, not bothering to answer you as he pressed his lips against yours harshly and pinched one of your pert nipples. “Mmph-phh!” you whined, your body flinching at the pain his digits were causing as he twisted the sensitive flesh between his thumb and forefinger. Alastor pulled back, his teeth dragging your bottom lip with him as far as it would go, releasing it and your nipple a few seconds later.

"On your knees."

[youaintnothinbuta]

Hi, darlin’! May I request a fluffy Elvis fic if your requests are still open. Like a midnight snack craving thing? Where Elvis finds the reader in the kitchen or something? ☺️💓

“I can’t have you goin' back to bed unsatisfied.” — elvis presley x reader

Summary: you can’t sleep- you’re too hungry. Finally you decide to go find something to snack on, accidentally waking Elvis in the process. He finds you downstairs and you both decide to have a little midnight meal together

Pairing: Elvis Presley or Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

Word count: 897

Warnings: none! Teeth rottingly sweet fluff. Hopefully not any typos eee

A/N: thank you so much for this request, i really wanted to get back into writing for Elvis, it’s like you read my mind, I hope this is okay <33

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Each clock in the house would’ve read just past 2:30 AM, but there you were, wide awake. Your body had decided it needed something sweet, and no amount of tossing and turning was going to change that.

Barefoot, you quietly padded down the stairs, the soft creak of the wooden steps beneath the carpet breaking the silence. Reaching the kitchen, you opened the fridge, the cold air hitting your face as you peered inside, hoping something would jump out at you. But nothing did. A bottle of milk, some leftover dinner from earlier, a few eggs.

Next stop, the pantry. You opened the door, scanning the shelves. It was far from empty, crackers, chips, cookies, etc, yet still nothing that tickled your fancy. You moved some cans aside, your hands rummaging through the shelves, hoping to uncover something forgotten in the back.

Just then, you heard the soft padding of footsteps coming down the stairs, followed by the flick of a light switch, illuminating you, standing there with a handful of chocolate chips, looking guilty as ever. Elvis stood in the doorway, his hair slightly mussed from sleep, his eyes half-closed.

His low, sleepy voice asked, “Honey, what're you doin'?”

“I was tryin' not to wake you,” you said, giving him a sheepish smile. “But I just couldn't sleep. I’m hungry.”

Elvis chuckled, the sound deep and warm, and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Well, let's see what we can find.”

He walked over to you, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back as he leaned over to look into the pantry. His presence was comforting, and you felt a little silly for dragging him out of bed, even if it was accidental.

“I wanted some ice cream,” you suggested, biting your lip as you searched the freezer, “but I don't see any.”

“Hmm,” Elvis mused, reaching up to grab a box of cookies. “What about these? Or maybe we could make somethin'?”

You sighed, not entirely satisfied with the options. “Make something?”

Elvis grinned. “Pancakes?”

"Pancakes, huh?" You considered it, the thought of warm, fluffy pancakes topped with syrup and maybe some whipped cream making your mouth water. “Don’t you want to go back to sleep?”

“We can sleep in,” Elvis assured you, already moving to gather the ingredients. “Bring some ‘a your chocolate chips out here.”

You watched as he moved around the kitchen, his sleepiness fading away as he got into the idea. He pulled out a mixing bowl and started cracking eggs, his movements quick.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” you teased, watching him toss the egg shells in the rubbish.

“Well, you got me up,” he shot back with a playful grin, “might as well make it worth it. 'Sides, I can’t have you goin' back to bed unsatisfied.”

You couldn't help but giggle at him, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks. “Well aren’t you sweet.”

Elvis smiled. “It's my job, darlin'. Now, get over here and help me.”

You joined him at the counter, measuring out some flour. The familiar routine of it was comforting, and soon enough, the kitchen was filled with the scent of batter sizzling on the stove.

Elvis eyed you sneaking another handful of chocolate, telling you about the dream he'd been having before you woke him up, something about being on stage in front of a crowd that wouldn't stop clapping no matter what. You laughed, imagining him trying to bargain with an audience that was too happy to let him perform.

“Sounds like a good problem to have,” you teased, flipping a pancake as it turned golden brown.

“Maybe,” he said, leaning against the counter, his eyes soft as he watched you, standing there in your pj set, slowly adding to the growing stack of pancakes.

Finished cooking, you sat down together, a pile of pancakes between you and some syrup to go with it. Your tummy growled audibly, earning quite the chuckle from Elvis. Pouring a generous amount of syrup over your pancakes, you dug in, smiling with how pleased you were. The house was quiet except for the occasional clink of your forks against the plates, and the pancakes were warm and filling, exactly what you needed.

”I think I might've outdone myself,” he says between bites.

You leaned forward to take another bite, nodding in agreement. Once he was done, Elvis leaned back in his chair, a satisfied look on his face.

“Well, darlin', how are you feeling now?” he asked, his eyes twinkling in the dim light.

You smiled, feeling full. “Much better. Thanks for getting up with me.”

Elvis reached across the table, taking your hand in his. “Anytime, sweetheart.“

You stood up, attempting to clear the table and wash up. Elvis gently pressed his hand against your chest, sitting you back down.

“Tomorrow’s problem,” he said, his eyebrow raised slightly.

Sighing, you complied, “okay.”

“Come on,” he said, his voice a gentle murmur. “Let's get back to bed.”

You nodded, “Yeah, let's.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you back upstairs and into your bedroom. Slipping back under the covers, Elvis pulled you close, his warmth enveloping you as you snuggled into his chest.

“Sweet dreams, honey,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Sweet dreams, Elvis,” you murmured back, your eyes already drifting closed.

[difficultdomains]

suguru’s plan was a relaxing movie night - but you definitely had something else in mind…

what do you do when insomnia hits? exactly - make up scenarios with this man in your head (he my muse fr)

mdni - nsfw under the cut

————————————————————————

when it comes to movie nights, suguru and you mean absolute business. you’re doing it all - keeping lists, leaving letterboxd reviews and always preferring something new over a rewatch. once every couple weeks, however, a special rule you agreed upon comes into effect - comfort movies are rewatchable, at any given time and any number of times - no discussions, no veto.

so when he comes back to your apartment, sore and exhausted after a week that probably felt more akin to a month, you wrap yourselves into a blanket and huddle up on the couch with strategically placed snacks and his favourite movie queued on the big living room TV.

you keep sneaking looks at him throughout, intrigued by the way the flickering light dances across the bridge of his nose and his lips, by the way his eyes are fixed on the narrative unfolding in front of him even though you’re sure that he could recite the dialogues backwards if he had to.

you know that the only thing he probably wants right now is to relax. the only thing you want right now? him. so why not combine both?

you start your silent attack by repositioning yourself under the blanket, feigning that the comfortable position you were in has turned into one of discomfort and that the fact that your hand was now resting on his thigh was mere conincidence.

your fingers are subtle but restless and soon they inch closer and closer to the place you plan on conquering, ghosting over it, featherlight, not suspicious at all.

with his eyes still glued to the screen, he smirks knowingly. you turn to him, waiting with a lopsided grin.

you have him exactly where you want him.

“what do you think you’re doing?” taunting you, so sure of himself, so sure he knows what you’re up to. but when he sees the way you’re looking at him, his eyes widen.

before he can even register what’s about to befall him, you have already disappeared under the blanket, sweats pushed down and lips wrapping around the pretty tip of his barely half-hard dick.

he takes in a sharp breath, hissing your name through gritted teeth.

this was one of your favourite things to do, make him get hard just with your mouth. and he was very aware of your little preference, which only made it that much more enticing - and unfair - to him.

he pulls the blanket away, hand tangling in your hair solely to give him a better view of the spectacle in front of him. the sight alone makes him bite back a groan. but when you push down even further and have him hit the back of your throat, he loses complete control of the moan that escapes him and all the other ones that follow while you continue your skillful twirls and licks.

he’s beyond hard at this point, much to your silent satisfaction, and you’re not very suprised when you feel a gentle but firm grip on the back of your neck, pulling you away from him.

he crashes your lips together in a hungry kiss and when he pulls away, catching your chin in a similar grip like before, you can’t escape the intensity of his flared-up irises burning into yours.

“ride me.”

you raise a single perfectly arched eyebrow at him.

“please.”

you quickly find your place on his lap, lips instantly attaching to the flushed skin of his neck.

“hmm if you insist…” is the last thing you manage to hum against his skin before he captures you in another kiss.

mission accomplished.

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this is the first proper smutty thing i’ve ever written - so yay it’s a premiere. anyways i hope your hopefully well rested brain enjoyed this little drabble from my very sleep deprived one (pls excuse any errors - i am simply sending this out into the aether lul)

[superblysubpar]

return to main menu // steve’s music

Honey, On Your Knees

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: Your husband and you get nasty in a church…again. // This fic is a part of my "Her Body Is Bible" AU - you can find the first story and more here // NSFW 18+

the song: Holy by King Princess

2.5k words

warnings: warnings from prev fic still apply // religious themes, and the holiday Christmas being celebrated // As with part one, you’ll be blocked - nobody is forcing you to read this // Mentions of trying to get pregnant // Alcohol mentions and use by reader // SMUT (oral - reader receiving, public, steve is kind of edging us a little if you squint) // My blog is 18+

A/N: originally requested for an event, I combined two requests from an anon and @djoswiftie - thanks for your patience 💛. The prompts were [APOLOGY: a kiss offered as a way to apologize or make amends] / [FLASH: one muse “accidentally” flashes the other] -- maybe not in the way you think FYI // [NECK: a kiss or gentle sucking on neck] / [PALM: one muse palms the other muse’s penis/breasts through clothes]

He hadn’t meant to say it. 

The house was warm, the low murmur of relatives catching up while silverware clinked together mixed with Nat King Cole crooning out of the stereo. Mashed potatoes heaped by spoonfuls onto plates, kids’ new toys scattered in a rush once the ham was carved, and soon wine started to be poured for those of age.

Vivian Harrington simply smiled as you told her none for you and moved on, but the same couldn’t be said for others at the table. 

“Not drinking, huh? Are you pregnant?” 

If his scotch drunk uncle jumped over the line of appropriate, Steve ignored it all together, replying hopefully and without thought. 

“No…not yet!”

He hadn’t meant to say it. 

Your eyes widened, jaw tensed as you huffed out a breath through your nose. Steve’s cheeks flushed, and the table erupted into chaos, terribly intimate questions directed towards you. 

“Oh! Are you trying?! How exciting!”

“When you are, make sure Stephen here does everything. It’s the least he can do.”

“How long have you been trying? Don’t give up, Ben and I took two years, but look at us now…”

“How many do you want?”

“Are you still going to work?”

“Kids? So soon?”

“Who’s having a baby? Uncle Steve?!”

“Vivian?” You called, flagging Steve’s mom over.

You took the bottle of previously passed on wine and gave yourself a more than generous pour, and Steve whispered, “Baby, I thought that alcohol could affect your…”

The look you gave him had his mouth closing quickly, keeping his concern about ovulation and hormones to himself. You turned away from him, then answered every single question with grace and a grip on the glass that made Steve gulp around his own drink. 

Eventually, the table settled into topics that gave you a small reprieve. 

Steve leaned closer, lips almost to the apple of your cheek and you turned, so his kiss was cut off, mouth parted in surprise as he blinked at you. He spoke softly, fingers reaching for yours as he did, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Should we give you two some privacy?” A quip and waggled eyebrows from the other side of the table, and you plastered on a perfect smile and faked a laugh, poured yourself more wine and Steve’s shoulders deflated. 

You still hadn’t spoken to him. Dinner passed, and then dessert, and then coats were being pushed on and kids wrangled into cars for the midnight service. 

Steve managed to get you close to him in the very backseat of one of the vehicles. He kept his eyes on your profile as you stared straight ahead. 

“Are you going to ignore me the entire night? I’m sorry,” he started, voice low. 

Your gaze turned to him finally and your chest ached from how apologetic he looked. And honestly, you were over it as quickly as it happened, and the glasses of wine helped, and you were ready to say so. But then Steve’s fingers brushed your knee, up and down and back up your thigh. They nudged at the hem of your skirt, testing. His other fingers curled around your neck, words dipping even lower, soft and for only your ears. 

“How else can I tell you I’m sorry, honey?”

Steve’s thumb swiped down your neck, soothing and far too close to your racing pulse. It’d been sort of easy for him lately, and the thrill of making him think you were mad, the chance to make him sweat a little, to work for it, had your underwear growing wet. 

“We can talk about it later, when we get home,” you whispered, sternly. 

Steve nodded earnestly, until your fingers curled into your skirt, until the red, green and gold fabric pulled higher and higher. Your eyes remained on his until he had to look down, to see your black tights were not tights, but stockings. A sliver of supple skin revealed between plaid skirt and where they ended high on your thigh. The black lace disappearing as quickly as it was shown to him as your skirt dropped again, fanning nicely over your thighs.  

His tongue swiped over his lip, adams apple bobbing. He cleared his throat, voice a warning, “Baby-”

The car pulled to a stop, and you were out on the pavement with his family, heading into the church before he’d really even caught his breath. 

He watched you hang your coat, and help his nieces and nephews with theirs. His eyes traveled from the black heels up the black stockings that he now knew ended under your pretty Christmas skirt, curved around your thighs delicately and sinfully. He swallowed at the sight of red velvet over your breasts, at the memory of what happened last time you were here. 

It was easy to slip away as churchgoers caught up over coffee and doughnuts before the service, as kids became preoccupied in the Sunday school rooms with toys. You made your way down a dark hallway under the guise of the bathroom, and had to bite down on your smile as an arm slunk around your waist and pulled you into a room silently and quickly. 

Only lit by the soft light of the navy sky and moon outside, the room was obviously rarely used, a place for mismatched and forgotten things. Steve spun to face you, his fingers behind him clicking the lock closed with a barely audible, but still noticeable click. 

“Yes?” You prompted, folding your arms over your chests and hiding your delight at the way the movement made his eyes flit down to your breasts. 

Steve crossed the room in quick strides, hands finding your hips and tugging you to him gently as he spoke with sincerity. 

“Angel,” his nose traced down the bridge of yours, before he kissed the tip of it, “I’m sorry.” He kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your lips before he pulled away enough to look into your eyes again, so you could see how truly sorry he was. 

“I really didn’t mean to say it, it slipped out. I’m just so excited, and I didn’t even think…” 

“I know,” you offered quietly, as your fingers slipped into his hair, curling stray and unruly pieces behind his ears. Your eyes remained focused on your adjustments, sure that if you looked at his eyes for longer than two seconds, you’d forget you were “mad” and fuck him in a church again. You’d break and he’d have barely worked for it. 

Steve knew this, you think. 

Because your eyes caught the subtle twitch of his lips, the fake deep sigh, the way his head leaned forward until he was at your ear. Hot breath hitting skin in a way that had goosebumps exploding over your entire body, his voice sultry and low as he asked, “Can I make it up to you?”  

“Steve…” your half-hearted start to a protest you didn’t want to give lost as he dipped lower, pressing silk lips to your neck. 

His palms brushed over the curve of your breasts, they skated down your sides, lower and lower to your hips. As your head fell back, they circled to your ass, grabbing generous handfuls and squeezing as his breath grew sharper against your collarbone. Parted lips dragging across it, the tentative trail of his tongue warm and testing. 

“We…we’re in a church,” you gulped around the words, his kisses traveling up the column of your throat now as he nudged your feet backwards. 

“Didn’t stop us the last time.” Steve’s voice was shot, a goner the minute you showed him the stockings. 

Men were too easy. 

Your legs hit a couch arm, and Steve’s fingers grabbed for your jaw gently, thumb pulling at your chin so you had to look at him. Both of your chests moved rapidly, anticipating, as you fell deeper and deeper into the moss and honey in his iris’ - lost in the forest, stuck in the sticky trap. 

His other hand roamed to the hem of your skirt, pads of his fingers buzzing over the skin above the stockings as he pulled the fabric higher. His head cocked in a way that said he knew what he was doing, the ghost of a smile on his lips telling you he knew that you weren’t mad, not really, but he’d play your game anyways.  

“Let me make you feel good, honey,” his lips brushed over yours as he spoke. The chatter of people filling the chapel right outside grew louder, but his voice remained even and soft, “It’s the least I can do, don't you think?”

Maybe you were easy too.  

Because you were nodding, and he was easing you down onto the couch. Steve knelt before you, watching you carefully, hungry, as he pulled your heels from your feet, letting them fall to the ground. 

Your palms pressed to the cushion behind you as he lifted a leg, your words swallowed and caught somewhere in your chest with your breath as he kissed your ankle bone through the thin material. Steve kept his eyes on you, warm and greedy as he kissed up your calf, at your knee until he was at the top of the thigh high. He gently laid your leg back down, and then pulled at your waist until you were at the edge of the seat. 

“You gonna be quiet for me?” 

The nod of your head was pitiful, putty in his hands and from his words as he flipped your skirt up. Steve’s lips pressed kisses to the inside of your thighs, sweet and in a slow way that had heat rising to your cheeks. Your body hot, spine turning to liquid as he nudged his nose into the damp black silk covering you, as his fingers curled into the waistband. 

Steve pulled them from you, sighing at the way they stuck to your lips. He slipped them down your legs, never letting his eyes leave the space between your thighs. He was taking his time, drinking you in with his eyes in a dirty gaze that had your entire body tightening, making you want him more than you ever had, erasing any sort of rationality or thoughts from your brain other than him and this.

His fingers tugged at your hips, squeezing possessively until a whine bubbled out of you, his name a desperate whisper, barely audible over the choir singing. 

He hummed when you spread your legs wider for him, pressing against the couch as he leaned in. His hands roamed down and back up your thighs, until they were spreading you. 

His thumbs held you apart, mouth a ghost over your cunt. Hot breath exhaled against slick lips that had your toes curling and your lungs somehow forgetting how to take in air. He had you on the ledge, and he hadn’t even started. 

Steve pushed closer, the tip of his nose a slow drag through your slit, his lips skimming over your folds behind it, tasting, testing.

His tongue finally made contact with you, a long, slow lick from your entrance to just below your clit, making you wait, making your fingers dig into the cushion and your eyes look towards the heavens.  

Steve did it again, painfully slow, the hot and wet glide of his tongue along you sinful. Over and over, flat, broad strokes of it, tasting every bit of you except for your clit, getting you higher and higher, closer to bliss without giving it to you.  

You were throbbing, an insistent and buzzing pulse under your skin demanding to be felt, demanding to break. It felt like your ears were crackling with static like the speakers the pastor was now giving his sermon in. 

Steve lifted on your hips that wiggled, caressing over the top of your ass. He stopped his movement with his tongue, panting over your cunt, letting his mouth hover against your glistening lips. 

Your chest grew heavier with each rise and fall of labored breathing as you watched Steve’s tongue flick out, tracing the curves of you and letting his nose drag and nudge behind it. Teasing and taunting, pulling every last drop of want out, your body taut and ready to snap. 

Then he looked up at you.

His cheeks flushed pink, and pupils blown wide, lit up in glittering moonlight streaming in through old and warped glass, he looked like something holy and angelic between your thighs. As if he were worshiping you, praying on his knees at your feet.

The grip he had on your hips shifted, pushing down your thighs and spreading you wider, and his voice was raspy as he asked, “You forgive me?”

Your head nodded once, fingers reaching for his hair to pull him closer, desperate for his mouth to be back on you. Your own voice shot, a pitiful whine as you begged him, “Please, need your-ohmygod.”

Steve’s spit hit your clit, making your thighs go to snap close, but his palms held you open forcefully. He wasn’t an angel worshiping, he was unholy, he was sin, he was filthy as he kept eye contact with you and dipped his mouth over you again. 

His lips molded around your pulsing nerves, tongue flicking out in a rhythm that had your entire body lit up, vibrating, fraying and sparking. His hands pushed at your thighs that resisted him, he moaned against you as you fell forward. Your fingers yanking in his hair as your hips moved against his face. 

Steve’s exhale was sharp as he released, sinking lower and dragging his tongue over your slit again. He was faster now, keeping his tongue flat against you as he lapped at your cunt, nose nudging against your clit over and over again as you rocked against it. 

“Fuck, Ste-,” your hand slapped over your mouth and your eyes widened, but Steve didn’t let up. You tugged on his hair, whimpering, and his hand rose, finger pulling at your pouting bottom lip until you were parting for him. You moaned around the black silk he shoved into your waiting mouth. 

He doubled down then, tongue prodding at your entrance, fast and precise licks up to your clit he kept working at with his nose. Steve’s heavy lidded gaze up at you had you crying out around the fabric, your chest crumpling over his head as you grinded down against his nose, unraveling for him. 

Tears pricked behind your eyes, skin hot as you came around nothing but his tongue, he hadn’t even slipped a finger into you. Steve held your waist now as you arched, letting your thighs finally close around his face as he licked over you, humming against your sensitive nerves as he greedily took in everything you gave him. 

He pulled away eventually, nose and lips skimming down your thigh until he was at your stockings. He pressed his cheek to your knee and looked up at you. Your underwear pulled from your mouth and crumpled in your fingers, your eyelashes fluttered as you tried to keep your eyes open, chest rising and falling ragged. You looked at him under your straining eyelids, warmth and affection and something far too sweet for what you two just did behind your gaze. 

The choir was singing again, Silent Night, and your fingers pressed to your lips, hiding a smile and a giggle.

He hadn’t meant to say it, but he was kind of glad he did.