#idk how to put it into words but even though I WANT to write more for HL I'm just having a hard time sitting down and doing it

[shannonsketches]

He said "Fuck this shit, I'm out" I'm crying. Toriyama's Vegeta was so top shelf 🤌

(From Neko Majin Z Chapter 5!)

[passthroughtime]

sunday six (but i don't write anything beside kuwagami)

@jichanxo @four-white-trees @overdevelopedglasses @mike----wazowski

i'm getting my groove back with chapter 5 and don't really want to distract myself with something else, so this week's kuwagami is the ever-changing edition

He got to know. He had to figure out what to do to help Kuwana. Even though the best help he could possibly provide now would be to step away, Yagami wasn’t about to do that. He wasn’t good at that. And if he didn’t do something, then… It was proven time and time again that he couldn’t ever leave anything in Kuwana’s hands.

Out of the two of them, Kuwana was the most prone to fucking up. He was reckless. He was used to taking risks. He wasn’t concerned about his safety— about his life.

Yagami had to do everything for him. How irritating it was, that he cared about Kuwana more than Kuwana cared about himself. He had no right, no capacity to deal with it on his own. How couldn’t he understand? How could Yagami possibly step down and let everything run its course, trusting Kuwana to follow sound judgment? He had none. Yagami knew that better than anyone, and because of that, he had to make sure Kuwana hadn’t done anything stupid and was staying away from further trouble.

If it came to it, Yagami would even risk his life and safety; wouldn’t be the first time, right? He never promised Kuwana that he wouldn’t, and Kuwana had to know him better than to hope his plea was listened to. He should’ve already come to realize just how stubborn and unruly Yagami was… unless he didn’t know him at all.

[padfootastic]

hmmm i thought i could have the next chapter of FoD up like. yesterday night, which obv didn’t happen and now i’m thinking tonight, but this conversation between harry & sirius just. does not want to end lmao

it’s at 4k rn, which is…a respectable amount, and i think it might reach 4.5 by the time it’s done. and then i want to have, atleast, the outline for the next chapter fleshed out before i post it just as like. buffer. hmmmm thoughts, thoughts, decisions, decisions…

[anto-pops]

I miss you. <3

Do you maybe, possibly have a list of future wips/requests for us :>

There were several requests from months ago that you seemed super stoked about.

wuv yew~

I MISS YOU TOO LOVIE 💕💕

I don't unfortunately, my old WIP list is definitely out of date. I finished like 4 of the things I had on there but never updated it with anything new. Meanwhile my inbox is... uh......

Crowded. To put it mildly. I feel really bad about it but I horde requests like a dragon hordes gemstones in case I get any sudden inspiration to write one of them. I'll try combing through everything this weekend and dusting off the ole' WIP list to get it updated though !

[rafesangelita]

hi victoria!!! i love ur pogue!sweetheart!reader and i was wondering if u could do a lil hurt/comfort thing where one of rafes friends tells reader she talks too much/is too loud and she gets super upset? i’m a super big crybaby and i talk a LOT and i’d love to see how you write how rafey defends n comforts her :,)

warnings: protective!rafe, topper and kelce are pretty mean in this one >:(, rafe defends you <3, sight angst, fluff, rafe being the king of reassurance

a/n: i have personal beef with anyone who tells ppl to quiet down when they’re excited for something, or just naturally outgoing. also idk how to play poker so excuse the way i explained it if it’s incorrect lol

before you, friday nights were always reserved for rafe and his friends, the group of them either going out for a beer or staying in and betting money on card games. but now? rafe spent his friday nights buried inside of you, both of you laughing and kissing each other in the dark until one of you fell asleep first. and rafe wouldn’t have it any other way. his friends however, weren’t very fond of your boyfriend choosing you over them.

which would explain their impromptu visit while you two were mid-makeout session. “so this is why she has you locked away, huh?” you jumped, rafe covering you with a throw blanket as he slipped his shirt on. “what the fuck, guys?!” rafe glared at kelce and topper, your skin hot with embarrassment. “you left the door unlocked, playboy.” topper pushed a twelve pack of beers into rafe’s chest, the pair of friends walking to the kitchen.

“are you okay, baby?” rafe leaned down, wanting nothing more than to sucker punch his idiot friends for making you feel mortified. “i’m in my bra and panties!” you whispered, scrambling up from the couch and running up the stairs to rafe’s bedroom. rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, cursing under his breath before meeting topper and kelce in the kitchen. “y’all should’ve called me or something.” his tone was harsh, kelce holding his hands up defensively.

“she has you so pussy whipped bro, would you have even answered?” no, the answer was no. “it doesn’t matter, you two shouldn’t have walked in like that.” topper scoffed, popping open a can of beer. “chill, man, we just came to see our boy,” kelce slapped rafe’s shoulder, “and beat your ass at poker.” he added. rafe laughed, muttering a ‘not a chance.’ before going upstairs to check on you. “y/n?” you were fixing your disheveled hair, your lips still swollen from your previous activities.

“hey..” you turned, rafe pulling you in for a hug. “why don’t you come downstairs? be my lucky charm for the game we’re gonna play.” you shook your head, recalling topper’s words from earlier; ‘so this is why she has you locked away, huh?’ locked away? really? “i better not, you should go have your ‘bro’ time, i know it’s been awhile..” you smiled, hoping he didn’t catch the way your gaze faltered. he did. “i want you with me.” he pecked the tip of your nose, your eyes shutting momentarily.

“what if they don’t, though?” rafe was already dressing you, waving off your words. “well then they can leave.” he shrugged. you sighed, letting him walk you downstairs where topper and kelce had the game set up on the table. “the girl scout is joining us?” you didn’t miss the way topper exchanged looks with the boy on his right. “yes, she is. is there a problem?” kelce mumbled a ‘no.��, followed by an awkward clearing of his throat.

rafe pulled you onto his lap, the guys starting the game as you rested your head against his chest. you didn’t know a thing about poker, your lips quirking every time your boyfriend shouted excitedly. “there’s no way!” topper slammed his losing cards on the table, “i have nothing!” kelce was getting frustrated, the chances of him winning decreasing with each turn. “if i flip this card and it’s right, i take all of this.” the guys had already put in well over four hundred dollars, the tension in the room incredibly thick.

“with this money we’ll get you that mixer you been wanting, how does that sound?” you nodded, both you and rafe leaning forward in anticipation. as soon as rafe turned his last card over, you screamed, jumping up as topper and kelce heads fell down in defeat. it was the first time you had even opened your mouth tonight, and kelce wasted no time in shutting you down. “calm down, do you really have to be so loud?” your smile dropped, along with rafe’s. “forreal.” topper glared at you before pushing the money in your direction.

“what’s up y’all’s asses? she’s just cheering,” rafe pulled you to his side, “just a reminder that you two came here on your own accord and interrupted us, not the other way around.” in that moment you felt like a little girl again, always having someone to tell you to quiet down and suppress your excitement. you couldn’t help the tears from welling in your eyes, their judgmental looks making you want to disappear. prior to you and rafe being together, topper and kelce had always been nice to you, but all of that seemed to go out the door when your boyfriend stopped participating in their little get togethers.

“we hardly see you anymore, bro, we just don’t understand why she can’t lay off sometimes.” topper looked over at you, his jaw ticking as rafe laughed bitterly. you couldn’t believe your ears. if only they knew how much you encouraged rafe to hang out with them. “has it ever occurred to you that maybe i rather spend my time with my girlfriend than hanging out with you two? get the fuck out of my house.” topper and kelce looked like they were at a loss for words, both of them apologizing to you under their breath.

“and not that it matters anymore, ‘cause you two are so convinced that she has me trapped in her evil lair somewhere, but she encouraged me to come down here by myself before i dragged her along with me. you don’t even know what you’re talking about.” rafe basically pushed them out before shouting, “and i’m keeping the beers assholes!”

rafe shut the front door, making sure to lock it this time before he scooped you up in his arms. “don’t cry, sweetheart, they’re both idiots.” you sniffled, laughing softly. rafe smiled at the fact that he knew how to make you feel better. “talk my ear off while i order that mixer, i love hearing your voice.”

[caotictimmy]

Hey!!! Can you do Curly x (gn, but it's okay if you don't! Whatever you prefer writing) reader headcanons? Post or pre crash idk it's up to you! Even if you want to write a one-shot I don't mind really whatever you feel like writing it's up to you I JUST NEED CURLY CONTENT JDJDJDJJWJSBSB

Btw I hope you have a wonderful day!!!

Thank you!!! I hope your having a good day to! I’m gonna be doing pre crash Curly. I’ll probably be doing the same format I did with Daisuke. Crushing - confessing. Dating than NSFW. It will prob be more Gn but I’ll put (AFAB) when in gonna talk about more AFAB stuff. (Btw this is gonna be like what a regular trip would be for them.)

Crushing - Confession

- Kind of like love at first sight. But it’s a love at first true conversations. Lemme explain

- Yes you’ve had conversations with Curly before. But not on a personal level. Your guys first conversation was prob Like you guys were either both up going to get coffee at a late hour. So when you both see each other where the coffee machine is. You guys make small talk. Before the conversation starts get more real. Not just forced talking. The conversation flows freely. And you guys find out you have a lot more in common.

- After that moment he realizes how much you guys click together. You interest him. So except for him to come up and talk to you a lot more. He wants to get to know you better! (Totally not to remember everything you like and love to woe you)

- He’s another person who’s gonna be a bit obvious. Not as much as Daisuke though. But he’s still gonna be obvious.

- Curly definitely treats you better. Not like he doesn’t treat his crew good (jimmy doesn’t exist here.). But it’s more like picking favorites. Opening doors for you, before letting it slam shut even though Swansea was just about to walk through the door. (Curly got an ear full after that happened.).

- But the funny thing is that no one really notices that you’re getting treated better. Except for Daisuke funny enough… For another example imagine they have his surprise birthday party! He’s cutting the cake and he gives you a noticeable bigger piece of cake. Giving Daisuke a smaller piece. And let me tell you. This man was outraged. HE ASKED FOR THE BIGGEST PIECE AND CURLY GIVES HIM A SCHOOL PARTY SIZED PIECE?

- So of course he had to speak up. “Listen Curly, since I’m such a righteous man, I’ve let the favoritism towards them slide. BUT I CLEARLY ASKED FOR THE BIGGER PIECE! AND YOU GIVE THEM THE BIGGEST PIECE. I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS TREATMENT ANY LONGER!”

- To say everyone was stunned is an understatement. It was quiet for a good couples of minutes. Just standing still like the moment was paused. You then silently switched plates with Daisuke. Taking the smaller piece. He then found balanced was restored!

- “never mind Curly now I get why you favorite them.” He said looking over to you before raising his hand. “High five dude!” He said, smilingly giddily. (I love daisuke he’s so silly!)

- To say Curly was embarrassed would be an understatement. After that moment Curly knew he had to confess to you to soon. So he called you down to the cock pit. When you got there he lead you to sit in one of the chairs. Crouching before you. Holding your hands on his as he stares up at you. “You’ve made me feel emotions I’ve never truly felt before, god you mean so much to me. Will you be my partner.”, He asked.

- When you say yes he cups yours face with his hands. Leaning upwards to bring you in a passionate kiss.

Dating

- Like I said in that brief moment In Daisuke’s headcanons. This man is a die hard romantic to his core. So if you don’t mind. Curly would love to cuddle with you in bed, while watching sappy love movies. Just holding each other. God he loves you sm I’m gonna tweak up in this bitch.

- I think the affection he likes to receive is quality times and words of affirmation . And I think the affection he gives is acts of service and physical affection. Now let me cook. Guys LET.ME.COOK

-(receiving) Curly loves spending time with you. He tried to find as much time to fit you into his busy schedule. So when he finally gets to spend time with you. Omg he’s love sick!!!!!! He really doesn’t care what you guys are doing while being together. Whether that be doing or watching something together. Or maybe doing your own stuff. Your presence is so comforting. You calm him down sm.

-(receiving) He receives compliments a bit. But when you do it. It’s different. It makes his heart flutter, makes him feel like he has butterflies in his stomach all over again! He just feels so special when you compliment him!!!! Please compliment how good of a captain he is. Yes he gets praised for being a good captain. It just feels so genuine from you.

-(giving) He doesn’t care how you guys spend your quality time together. Whether that be doing or watching something together. Or just doing your guys own thing. He just loves being in your presence. You being there just makes him feel calmer, he knows he doesn’t have to keep this big stoic act in-front of you. He doesn’t mind if theirs silence or background noise. As long as he got to spend time with you.

-(giving) Curly isn’t gonna be doing big/a lot of physical affection all the time. Even though he does give you a lot of physically affection. I know I sound dumb right now stay with me. He’s more soft with his affection. Gently rubbing his thumb on your hand. Drawing shapes on your back while cuddling. Rubbing your leg when you sit next to him on the couch. Kissing a bruise you got from falling(those floors look slippery asf PROVE ME WRONG). He’s very romantic and soft with you and Curly’s just such a sweetie.

- A SUCKER for pda. Like he loves it so much. He feels bad if he has to “hide” how much he loves you away from the world! He feels so special knowing you wanted him, HIM! He’s just so sickly in love with you. He wants to show you off. Not in a trophy wife way but in a. Yeah see the drop dead gorgeous person that picked ME, yea that’s right, be jealous.

- He loves if you draw in him! From his hands to his arms. I think he finds it very relaxing and therapeutic. As long as you don’t draw anything inappropriate, he won’t care what you draw. He WILL proudly show off the drawings on his hands and arms. Like FLEX his arms. He loves them sm. Every time you draw on him, he takes a picture and keeps it in a folder on his phone.

- Loves anything you make him. Bracelets? Wears them all the time he might acually get a permanent imprint. Clothe? Try’s to find any opportunity to wear them. Art? Hung proudly in his bedroom. He appreciates anything you do for him. No matter what form affection it is.

- This man loves slinging his arm/arms around you. Arms around your waist. Arm around your shoulder. Hand on your hip. Idk why I think he likes it. But I have that spicy sense.

NSFW - DO NOT READ IF YOUR A MINOR OR UNCOMFORTABLE WITH NSFW (AFAB)

- Another man who would be into public/semi public sex. Y’all have DEFINITELY done it in the cockpit. Like almost everywhere. Curly and you have probably done it on the table too(you guys cleaned it afterwards don’t worry). But I think he just loves the thrill of it. You guys have almost been caught but thankfully Curly knows how to be quiet! (No shade to you Daisuke we love you)

- This man loves keeping his hands on you. Like a FIRMM grip on your hips as he’s hitting it. Gripping yours thighs. He just likes sinking his fingers in your soft flesh. Somehow just kinda grounds him in the moment. He also just loves feeling up your body.🫢

- Speaking of feeling you up. Dry humper. DRY HUMPER. I feel like this man is a tease. So this man will pin you against a wall, and just grind on you. Teasing you until you can’t take it anymore! He loves seeing a pout on your face before he gives you what you want.

- Like before, curly is a tease. He will push all your buttons. Just get you right there! Then stops. He wants to make sure when you climax. It’s better than the last time you guys had sex. It’s a GOAL for him to make you feel even better than the last time you guys slept together.

- Loves overstimulating you. Unlike Daisuke who accidentally overstimulates you. It’s Curly’s mission to get you brain dead by the end. He knows he’s making you feel good. This man won’t over do it though. Your comfort and safety is his priority! So he’ll always make sure you’re comfortable.

- Call him captain!!!!! God Curly gets so riled up when you call him captain. Teasingly calling him captain earns you a night of either overstimulation or edging. So I hope you are aloud to take sick leave, cause wooo…. You will be sore my friend

- (AFAB) Sit on his face.. OH GOOD GOLLY SIT ON HIS FACE. I imagine he’s buff. Like have you SEEN that fanart. So he can definitely take a lot of weight!( shout out my cubby AFABs i really wanna make a chubby reader FIC but idk..) BUT PLEASS, he’ll beg on his hands and knees. Like why are you keeping that tantalizing gift away from him???

- Yes I’ve been saying he can be a freak.(guys I promise I’m trying to be original 😭🙏) But I definitely think he’s More into romantic, soft sex. He likes to take his time. Kissing up and down your body. He wants to make sure you feel loved, and that he’s not just using you for your body. He is a sucker for you.

- He loves watching your face when he’s pleasuring you. No matter what he’s doing or where. He wants to know your getting pleased! That’s how he figured out what you liked and didn’t like fast. He kept his eyes trained on your face. He truly is a giver!

Authors note: GUYS I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. IVE BEEN HAVIBD SIRE AFFECTS FROM MY PLAN B. Like dude I’ve been bed ridden for the past two days. But I’m feeling better and it’s the weekend. So more requests are on the way!

[httpsserene]

Jealous sex with Charles 🤩

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐜𝐥. 𝟏𝟔

summary: there’s no reason for charles to be jealous of men who are stupid enough to think they have a chance with you. content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. jealous sex. tennis. monte carlo masters winner stefanos tsitsipas used as a plot device. porn with a side of plot. mildly possesive!charles leclerc. jealousy. reader’s kindness is misunderstood for flirting. no infidelity. vaginal sex. unprotected sex(don’t do that!). fingering. missionary & cowgirl. rough(ish?) sex. the clothes stay on. uhm, reader gets railed stupid, lowkey. cumplay (i’m so sorry). pairing: charles leclerc x fem!bpoc!reader word count: 2.8k words.

from serene: surprised i finished this when i said i would. to make a long story short, i’m breaking up with my boyfriend 🤪✌🏽ANYWAYS, i listened to the beauty behind the madness and my dear melancholy albums by the weekend to lock in the smexxy vibes. idk if it worked, it took me two days to write less than 3k words 🙂 y’all lmk if you think the wait was worth it, and enjoy reading lovelies x

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The car ride home was quiet. You figured it was post-tennis exhaustion keeping your boyfriend quiet; the entire match was viewed with the Monte Carlo sun radiating down on the stands. Secondarily, the silence could’ve been induced by a little social exhaustion even though Charles thrives in crowds—the two of you spent a couple of hours before the match chatting to anyone who approached him, which felt like every person at the event had to have his attention for a brief moment. Then after the match, the two of you spent another hour speaking with the Master’s Winner, Stefanos, and the Prince, before you were able to take your exit.

So, you attributed his low energy to being sun-tired and talked-out. In retrospect, you should’ve known that it was more than fatigue from how Charles failed to put his hand on your thigh as he drove, and how he sat through slow-crawling traffic without ever moving to turn on music or talk. Your weariness prevented you from prodding further when the Monegasque responded with a nearly inaudible hum when asked if he was tired—the lack of presence in his answer felt like confirmation.

Yet, you realize it wasn’t an answer at all when you entered your home.

Your comments and questions about the match and dinner plans were met with one-word answers and off-timed hums of indifference in response. It’s not until the two of you are in your bedroom getting unready that Charles speaks more than a single word.

“Stefanos was nice, wasn’t he?” 

You pause in your action of taking off an earring, a puzzled tilt to your brow at the odd tone his words took, eyes examining him in the reflection of your vanity’s mirror. He stares down at his forearm as he unclasps his watch, his expression unreadable from his side profile. 

“Yes…he was,” you answer slowly, your confusion growing as you see Charles’ jaw clench, “I didn’t imagine him to be so, normal, I guess? After winning the Monte Carlo Masters, of all things. And, he’s done it three times! I mean, that’s incredible, no? For him to be so friendly and relaxed after was nice, I think.”

You rambled endlessly, the feeling that you’ve talked yourself into a corner flaring at the base of your skull. Charles turned to face you fully, shrugging his suit jacket off and calmly placing it on top of the dresser, rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt before he leaned to rest against the furniture as well.

“Ah,” the hair on the nape of your neck rises at the sound, you continue to remove your necklaces with hesitant fingers, “Did he charm you into being your favorite tennis player today, mon amour?”

A humorous scoff escapes your lips, “You know I’m not a fan of tennis. But, if there happens to be a match playing within my view, and he’s playing, I suppose I would want him to win. I wouldn’t say I was ‘charmed,’ I just think he’s a nice man.”

“I think you were too nice to him.”

You slowly place your diamond-studded, golden tennis chain away before your eyes flicker back to meet Charles’ in the reflection of the mirror. You raise a brow, unsure how to respond to his statement. Intelligently, you’ve deduced that he’s jealous, which is odd—considering he’s Charles Leclerc, the prettiest, sweetest, and kindest man on the face of the Earth, in your humble opinion. Stefanos doesn’t hold a candle compared to your boyfriend. Your fingers struggle to undo the clasp of your final necklace; the gold, diamond-paved, Cartier necklace with Charles’ name carved on the back—it was expensive enough that he refused to tell you the price when he gifted it, only saying that “the cost was nothing compared to the love he has for you,” the smooth-talker.

“Arrête,” he speaks firmly, pushing off the dresser and making his way towards you, his dress shoes clicking on the floor sending your heartbeat racing. He stops mere centimeters behind you, the heat of his body radiating against your back.

“Leave it on,” he murmurs, darkened eyes running over your form in the mirror indulgently. 

You do as he says, arms shakily lowering to rest at your sides, fingers tugging at the hem of your sundress as your heart skips and body flushes with heat. The Monegasque reaches around you to center the necklace on your clavicle, the sensation of his fingertips barely ghosting across your brown skin has your mouth parting with an inaudible gasp.

“If only he knew that you wear my name locked around your neck,” the brunette pondered aloud, “Maybe then he would remember that your pretty eyes, sweet giggles, and flirty words are for me—since you seemed to forget.”

“I was not f-flirting with him!” You stutter over the word as if it were an insult.

“You were not,” Charles sounds like he agrees, “But, you know very well that people mistake your kindness as more than that. It’s happened before, no?”

It has happened before. More than you can count. The number of men who mistake politeness and your overall niceness for interest is frightening; you don’t want anybody but Charles.

“What was I supposed to say to Stefanos? Nothing? Should I have just ignored him? And stood at your side quietly like I was just there for decoration?” Your tone peaks with annoyance, heated at the idea of being reduced to an accessory.

“No,” his voice cuts through your train of thought, “You should’ve agreed with me when I mentioned we needed to leave after he said ‘the only thing he’s missing to celebrate is a beautiful woman’ as he stared directly at you—instead of forcing me to stay for another twenty minutes to talk.”

Your mouth drops open disbelievingly, a scoff following a few moments later when you slowly realize that Stefanos wasn’t interested in being set up with one of your friends as he asked. You should’ve known when he asked if you had a twin sister he could meet.

“Okay, in hindsight, I can see that he was flirting,” you clarify, “But, I definitely was not. You know in that entire conversation, I was just being polite—and I made you stay for longer because the Prince wanted to talk to you. Not because I was entertaining a man who doesn’t respect my relationship with you!”

“You were being polite when he kissed your hand?”

“Yes! I thought that was just him laying it on thick?”

“He’s not royalty,” Charles snorts, “The only person allowed to put their lips on you is me.”

“You keep talking about who’s ‘allowed’ to do anything to me and you’ll very quickly find out that I’m ‘allowed’ to reconsider this relationship if you continue speaking about me as if you own me.”

“I don’t own you,” Charles pauses, and a smile spreads across his lips, dimples deepening in his cheeks, nearly forcing you to forget your previous statement as you admire them in the vanity mirror, “But—you own me.”

You turn around quickly at the words, breath stuttering at the lack of space between you two. Tilting your head upwards, you examine your boyfriend’s face with narrowed eyes and cheeks burning so hot the red flush is apparent. His smile has softened to a smirk, his eyebrows laced with a smug undertone, his pupils blown wide enough for you to have to focus to see the green ring around them. You languidly raise a hand to trace a finger across the edge of his jawline, then cupping your hand along the side of his face, gently resting your thumb in the indent of his dimple. Your chest tightens when Charles leans into your palm, slowly shifting to press a kiss on your wrist before nudging you back to holding his face.

Sighing gently, you shake your head, “What do you want from me?”

“Je veux que tu me laisses baiser ma jalousie sur toi, s'il te plaît.”

“S-say it slower please,” you request meekly, “I think I heard you wrong.”

“I want you to let me fuck my jealousy out,” Charles emphasizes each word slowly, his tone becoming teasing as he sees you fluster with each added syllable, “Ple–”

Your lips meet his desperately, your other hand flying upwards to grasp at his shoulder when you feel his laughter through the kiss. You’re sure his amusement is multiplied as you try to dominate the kiss, even as you rise on the tips of your toes and arch your body towards his. Needily, you whine into his mouth as he refuses to meet your rushed rhythm, digging your nails into the meat of his broad shoulders to convey your urgency.

The Monegasques’ hold on your waist turns rough and you pull backward with a gasp when he pinches the skin of your arm. You glower at him in displeasure but it’s quick to fade as he guides you back to his lips with a heavy hand on the nape of your neck. His thumb and pointer finger are weighted from their position at the base of your skull, directing the tilt and movement of your head as he licks into your mouth and bruises your swollen lips further with pressure and stings of teeth.

He walks himself backward, one hand firm on your hip to guide you with him, the other rucking up the skirt of your sundress and sliding underneath to tug your panties down your legs with ease. You kick the fabric off your ankles distractedly, falling to straddle Charles’ lap as soon as he sits on the edge of the bed. His hand slips between the cradle of your thighs, cupping along your warmth and toying within your folds.

“Wet for me already,” he discovers delightedly, breaking the kiss to suck a mark into the sensitive skin behind your left ear and peppering more nips and teases of teeth down the stretch of your neck. Hisses of pleasure slip from your parted lips and you slant your hips forward to guide Charles’ fingers inside. You exhale breathily at the slide of a single finger in your cunt, rolling down onto his hand when you deem his pace too slow.

“Another, please,” you beg, moaning throatily when your boyfriend fulfills your plea without hesitation.

Two fingers turn into three, and three fingers turn into Charles flipping you over and pushing you into the bed so he can hover over you. With rushed hands, you both shove the zipper of his slacks and the hem of his briefs low for him to slip his cock out and press into you. The brunette shudders as he sinks within your depths, falling to his elbows, your moans and gasps of breath spilling into the same pocket of air when his hips rest against the back of your thighs. 

“M-move, please, Cha,” you cry, knees pressing into his sides and body rolling upwards to get a glimpse of friction during his stillness.

Charles drops his head to quiet you with a chaste kiss before matching the rhythm of your rocking hips, his rumbling groans quieted by your lips. He holds himself steady on one arm while he uses the other to reach above your head and drag a pillow downwards, tapping your ass briefly to wordlessly command you into rising upwards as he slips the cushion underneath you. As soon as the pillow is properly positioned, Charles’ slow grinds are exchanged for slamming thrusts, sharp flares of pain-dipped pleasure shooting up your spine and tightening the knot in your navel. Your breath is lost quickly and you struggle to recover, eyes screwing shut and exhales of expletives and whimpers of encouragement are all you can offer.

The Monegasque roughly slides his hand down your leg and grasps you by the ankle digging into the small of his back to keep him close, moving it to rest over his shoulder, and letting his hand fall to squeeze at your thigh for purchase as the change of position tightens the fluttering channel of your cunt around him. This angle feels like he’s digging deeper inside you; one of your hands scrambling to drag your nails down his toned back while the other fists in his hair as you shriek high-pitched into the heated air between your bodies.

“All mine,” you can feel the possessive lilt to his tone rumble through the thin skin of your throat as he sucks along the rapid beat of your pulse. Your nails decorate his back with red scores and it has Charles biting out sharp putain’s and rabbiting his cock into you forcefully, yet remaining conscious enough to realign his thrusts as he bullies his way inside of you to pound against your g-spot. His leaned forward position stretches the limits of your comfortable flexibility, but it allows his pelvis to barely scrape against your clit, sending a wave of overstimulating pleasure to your brain, your eyes rolling as the sensation knocks any form of rational thought from your brain.

He pauses to tug the front of your dress down, the hem tucked under the spill of your breasts. His fingers flick teasingly over a pebbled nipple while he folds himself lower to drag his tongue against the other and nip small marks around your areola. You fight against the assault on your chest; arching your back towards and away from him—chasing and running away from the pleasure simultaneously, yet you continue to grind onto his cock.

“Charles, f-fuck, lemme–uhuh—lemme ride ‘ou,” you whine out incoherently, pushing at his shoulder with a closed fist, hoping he’ll understand your slurred words as your tongue begins to feel heavy.

Your boyfriend pulls away from your breasts in question, panting roughly as he stares up at you to see a pure look of want in your dampened eyes,  lashes clumped together and brown skin flushing deeper when the eye contact is held unendingly. You know that Charles debated denying your request, or at least thought about making you beg for it, but he decides to kneel and drag you upwards into his lap without a fight. He allows you a brief respite to adjust your legs and anchor your arms over his shoulders, then tightens the hold of his hands on your waist, fingertips sure to leave indents as he assists your first upward motion, before solidly dragging you back down. 

The strength you regained in your legs from the short break disappears, knees weakening and body slumping into Charles’ chest, your head drooping to rest in the crook of his neck. 

Charles steadies your head and tilts you back gently, checking in, “Is this too much, mon amour? We can stop.”

“No,” you murmur, “You fucked the feeling out of my legs, Cha.”

He laughs warmly, situating his hands on your ass to direct your motions, the tone of his voice light as he coos, “‘s okay, mon coeur—I’ll do all the work.”

You brush your nose along his, moaning softly at the sweetened drag of his cock. Charles chases your bitten lips, groaning lowly as he deepens his thrusts, fingers dipping to circle your clit—always ensuring your release is prioritized. Your thighs begin to shake and his thrusts skip beats as he begins to near the precipice as well. Shuddering, you gasp into his mouth, attempting to alert him to your nearing orgasm but you’re unable to speak the words.

“It’s okay, mon amour,” your boyfriend soothes, “Cum for me—I’ve got you.”

“yesyesyes,” you babble mindlessly, Charles continuing to pound into you, not slowing the search for his release now that you’re orgasm is imminent. A few well-angled jabs of your g-spot and you’re gone; release frying your nerve endings and vision blurring as your boyfriend continues to ride your high to its very end. 

The Monegasque pulls out the moment your hips fight his hold, dropping his hand drenched with your pleasure from your clit to grab his cock, and with one stroke, he spills. Charles paints your navel and inner thighs white with whimpering moans, and lilted French. He milks himself into over-sensitivity, only stopping when the orgasmic relief shifts into pain. He kisses you on the cheek as he drags a finger through his cum pooled between your thighs. His hand rises to your mouth and he hums approvingly as your lips part and suckle his spend clean off.  

“Hm,” Charles sounds, staring down at the claim he’s spilled, his free hand rubbing his cum along your navel, “All mine.”

© httpsserene2024

[moonstruckme]

Hey so i have a request and you can totally say no if this makes you uncomfortable but would you consider writing a poly marauders x reader where the readers depressed and can’t get anything done im asking cause I’ve been. Going through something and i thought id be okay by now but I’ve kinda regressed idk and now im depressed idk pls don’t write this if its to hard or upsetting

Thank you for your request lovely, I really hope things are getting easier for you or that they do soon <3

cw: depression

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 984 words

You realize the boys must be home when Remus crouches in front of you. You hadn’t heard the car come up the driveway, nor the door opening. You were too deep inside your own head. Or maybe you’d drifted off into another of your light, unsatisfying sleeps. 

“Hi.” He offers you a little smile, putting out his hand. You worm yours out from under your blanket to give it to him, and he rubs his thumb across your knuckles fondly. “How was your day, lovely?” 

“Fine,” you say. Your voice rasps a bit from disuse. 

“I’m opening the curtains,” James warns from somewhere behind you. “Here, take these.” 

Sirius’ grunt sounds surprised. “Since when is carrying in the groceries a relay sport?” he complains. 

True to James’ word, light floods the living room a moment later. It illuminates Remus’ face in front of you, letting you see the gentle concern in his eyes. His gaze moves up above your head just before strong hands grasp you by the shoulders. 

“I missed you,” says James, hugging downwards at you until he gives up and lets his body flop over the back of the couch, “so much, today.” 

You pet down the hair at his nape, love like a bubble in your chest that’s always on the brink of popping. You love the way James hugs; it’s like he really is trying to feel as close to you as he can be, with his face bent towards your neck and one hand splayed behind your heart. You let yourself meld to him. Remus starts collecting your little mess from the coffee table, taking things into the kitchen.

“It was only a few hours,” you say. 

James makes a jokey harrumphing sound. “A few hours too many.” He lets you go to plant a smacking kiss on your cheek. “If you could have one thing for dinner tonight, what would it be?” 

“I thought we agreed to stop playing that game,” says Sirius, coming back in to sit down on the armrest of the couch. He sees where you’re toying with James’ hair and takes a lock between his own fingers. “You need a haircut, Jamie.” 

“You’re one to talk,” James quips, though he leans into the touch, always more than happy to have his hair played with. “And we only agreed to stop playing with you, because your expectations were too high.” 

“They were not.” 

“Why would you think we’d be able to get what we needed for escargot at our corner shop?” 

“If you didn’t want to know what I actually wanted, you shouldn’t have asked.” 

“Anyway,” James turns back to you, “what would you have, lovie?” 

“And before you say,” says Sirius, “the correct answer is tomato basil soup with a cheese toastie.”

James sulks, thwarted, and you stroke your thumb over his nape consolingly. “That sounds really lovely,” you say earnestly. “Was I really supposed to guess that on my own, though?” 

“You might’ve,” he mumbles. “Anyway, I was thinking you could be my soup stirrer. If you’re up for the task.” 

It’s an odd feeling, affection and guilt intertwined so well you can’t fully tell which is which. You know James is making a point of asking you so that you might come to the kitchen, be among them for a bit instead of staying off in your own world, do a task that makes you feel productive even if it’s small. You appreciate that he does it, and you loathe yourself for making him feel the need to. You wish your boyfriends wouldn’t coddle you not because you don’t like it but because you like it too much. You don’t deserve it. 

“Hey.” Sirius’ voice draws you back out from inside your head again. It’s become such a frequent haunt you don’t always realize you’re going anymore. He’s studying you. “You okay?” 

You hum as Remus comes back in, sitting on the now clean coffee table. “Thanks for doing that,” you murmur. His eyebrows lift slightly when he realizes you’re talking to him. “Sorry I left a mess.” 

Remus tsks, reaching forward to brush a piece of hair from your forehead. “It wasn’t really a mess,” he says. “I don’t mind. Are you going to help us with dinner?” 

“Yeah.” It’s not so much a decision as a yielding, but James beams like you’ve made his day. It makes you want to cry. 

Sirius wraps an arm around your waist when you get up to go to the kitchen, squeezing the fat of your hip lovingly. “Think I’ll take up the duty of stirring the soup, too,” he says to you. “Seems like a two-person job.” 

“Probably, yeah.” You let yourself lean into his side. He takes your weight happily, mushing a kiss into your hair. “Sorry I’m so lame lately,” you tell him quietly. “You guys don’t need to coddle me so much.” 

“You’re not lame, who said that?” Sirius jostles you a little bit. When you don’t laugh, he changes his approach, leaning his head against yours. “We’re not coddling you, sweetheart. You’re just in a rut right now, yeah? And we’re meeting you where you’re at.” 

He makes it sound so simple, but your throat clogs with the true difficulty of it all. When you reply your voice is thick. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get out.” 

“You will,” he promises surely. “I don’t know how long it might take, but it’ll happen. And if whatever we’re doing isn’t working for you, we can figure something else out, okay? We’re with you.” 

When James says it’s your time to stir, Sirius insists on standing behind you and holding your hand that’s holding the spoon. Remus rolls his eyes at the idea of it being a two-person job, but you don’t know. You think maybe it takes all four of you to make it work.

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

Some personal Sylus hcs and hills I will die on

(This was originally meant to be a very short "Sylus hills I will die on" post but then it somehow evolved and became a long-ass list of hills and headcanons, a lot of them NSFW 🔞. Idk how that happened but it did so uhh... enjoy? Except if you are a minor, in which case, keep scrolling)

Will never cheat physically or emotionally. Period. The mere thought of being with anyone but you is both appalling and distressing to him (as per Goodcat Code, the only time we ever see him actually jealous). He's a one woman man and he's locked in for life.

King of Consent, always and forever.

He is not 6'2 are you kidding me. With those proportions? No way. He's 6'5 at minimum.

Smells absolutely divine (I mean, one of his canon hobbies is taking baths.)

Writes poetry. Actually good poetry. The man is a romantic and a yearner at heart after all, and has always had a way with words.

Dislikes cigarettes, but will occasionally smoke a cigar or two (cuz mafia boss. It's a requirement lol. And the visual is extremely hot to me for some reason. Yes, this one is indeed extremely self indulgent).

He has the habit of burying his nose in your hair or in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. It brings him more comfort than anything else in the world.

He is a vers pleasure dom. A soft gentleman dom. Your needs, your pleasure, your consent come above all else.

Hurting you in any way is a major no go. Even should you want him to in the bedroom, he won't do it. He'd never put you in any danger by his own hands. Ever. The furthest he'll go is biting (dragon instinct), the pain of which he'll immediately soothe through kissing and licking. Should you beg for it, the occasional light/safe spanking or whipping is also fine as is, again, light and safe choking if that gets you off. That is all, though. Sylus would rather chug a large tub of wasabi every hour every day for the rest of his immortal life than ever cause injury to his beloved.

Consensual non-con is similarly off the table for him. Because your consent is so massively important to him (and also a major turn on), I can't see him getting off to any scenario where he doesn't have it, even during roleplay.

While he is down to bottom, he is not a switch (bottoming ≠ subbing). Because of his past — the way his agency was brutally taken away from him at a very young age and the trauma it caused him — I believe that control is simply too crucial to him to ever truly relinquish. Losing it would probably be triggering for him. At least at present. Maybe if he were to work through his trauma he could learn to eventually hand over the reins for a while. But for now, I just can't see him fully submitting.

Has body worship, praise, size, and breeding kinks.

Girthy. Size training required.

Favorite place to have sex? Either in his/your bed or in the shower. His private office is a close second, with you either splayed over his large desk or straddling his lap in his luxurious armchair, riding him.

Loves eating you out. It's his favorite meal.

His favored position is missionary because it allows him to clearly see your gorgeous features, to observe the way they contort in pleasure, to greedily drink in the incomparably beautiful expression on your face as you come undone by him. It also has the additional advantage of giving him easy access to your lips, which he loves to claim with his own.

During lovemaking, at least one of his hands will inevitably seek yours, lacing his much larger fingers with your own, and stroking your thumb with his own calloused one. He loves the inherent intimacy of it, how your hand fits so perfectly in his, the way you clasp onto him so tightly, conveying to him your love and your trust — both of which are more valuable to him than all the precious gems in the galaxy combined.

Likes it when you are loud in bed. The ecstacy filled sounds that escape your perfect lips are like music to his ears, and he basks further in the knowledge that he is the direct cause of them. Bonus points if you moan or scream out his name, that will arouse him to the point of nearly coming undone.

Big on cock warming. The inside your warm, slick walls is his favorite place to be. He would probably stay there forever if you consented to it, and if he could only find a way to make it practical. He absolutely basks in the sensation of being so closely, so intimately, connected with you.

The Emperor of Aftercare. Sylus will hold you close and trail soft kisses all over your face and neck, whilst murmuring words of love and praise. Then he'll carry you to the bathroom where a soothing, fragrant warm bath is drawn for you. Once he's lowered you into the tub, he'll personally wash your body with gentle, loving hands. When you are both cleaned up and dressed in comfy wear, he'll procure a nourishing meal for you made from your favorite foods to help you regain your strength. Afterwards, he'll keep holding you in his strong arms for the remainder of the night/day, nuzzling you close.

Huge cuddler and snuggler. Will not let you out of his arms for even a second while in bed together. And can you blame him? He's been without you for several lifetimes, has spent countless nights (or mornings) alone in bed, your absence from his arms aching like a phantom limb. Now that he has you back, he never wants to let you go again. Your presence is as necessary to him as the air he breathes.

Whenever he wakes up before you, he will take advantage of the opportunity to admire your sleeping face. He'll ghost a finger over it, gently tracing your features with a small smile on his lips and a tender affectionate look in his eyes, his heart swelling with all that he feels for you. He can't help but sneak in a few kisses on the top of your head, as light as butterflies so as not to disturb you.

Will 100% cry at your wedding, and when holding your newborn children for the first time. He'll have silent tears streaming down his cheeks and a soft yet radiant expression on his face, making his otherwise sharp and rather stern looking features appear gentle. His bride and his babies are simply the most breathtakingly beautiful treasures Sylus' eyes have ever beheld, and his whole entire being is all but overwhelmed by the fiercest yet purest form of love, immeasurable in its quantity and intensity. Part of him honestly remains in disbelief that said treasures are his, that something this incredible is actually happening to someone like him– "a monster" he once believed incapable and undeserving of love or happiness.

Will only have daughters. In my mind he is so Girl Dad coded that he might as well be incapable of producing any sperm containing the Y chromosome.

Sylus will be the best father a girl could ever ask for. His daughters will never lack for anything, least of all love, support, or affirmation. He is the type of dad who will sing for his children, join them in their games, bake cupcakes with them, hold them in his lap as he attentively listens to them blabber on, comfort them after a nightmare, happily dress up for imaginary tea parties, go to — and if necessary participate in — dance recitals, braid their hair, let them give him makeovers etc. He fosters and encourages individuality, independence, and confidence, but also always lets them know that it's ok to cry, to fail, to ask for help, to rely on others. He is validating and reassuring, never faltering in his emotional support. They can come to him about anything without fear of being rejected or judged. He is a shoulder to cry on, and a confidant always ready to listen and to give advice as needed. From the very day of their births and throughout the entirety of their lives, Sylus will ensure that his daughters will never have even a single reason to doubt that they are the most precious treasures in the Universe to him, and that his love for them is unconditional.

[cerisahh]

summary — love language headcanons for the arcane characters (giving and receiving)

characters included — jinx, ekko, silco, vander, viktor

cerisa speaks — literally started writing this the night of s2 act 3 release and only now finishing it if that doesn't tell you something about how inconsistent i am idk what does. ATTENTION PEOPLE IN MY REQUESTS!! i swear to god i will do your request in the next year for sure! viktor forgive me, amen.

jinx — gift giving. jinx's most loyal companion is her imagination so it isn't hard for her to think of gifts that are personal to you that'd you'd enjoy.

we see many of the little homemade trinkets that she's made for silco throughout the years, my favourite being the ashtray he keeps on the desk in his office. so dependant on what you're into, she'll showcase her love for you in the form of a trinket.

oh, so you like to read? she sees you dog-earing a page of your book whilst you two are in her hangout and drops her current project to fashion you a bookmark. you only notice that her tinkering has stopped when the bookmark has been dropped on your lap and she's made a blasé comment about you destroying your book for too long so she just had to make you this so you'd stop.

hiding behind a mask of indifference when giving out her gifts is kind of her thing, but she's anxious to no end to see if you like it. her mind runs a mile a minute; 'don't they like it? do the colours not match? they hate it they hate it theyhateittheyhateittheyhateme-'

until you're holding it carefully between your fingers and your mouth is making that 'o' shape it does when something unexpected has happened. when you say that it's the most thoughtful gift you've ever received she's insistent on making you a hundred more.

physical touch. stop booing me i'm right! let me explain. as we see before powder becomes jinx, she's quite normal with physical contact, we see vi hugging her, putting a hand on her shoulder, claggor helping her down to the apartment, etc.

it's after vi slaps and abandons her that she becomes uncomfortable with physical touch. silco (most of the time) lets her initiate it on her own terms.

one time he doesn't is where she's playing airplane with his shimmer device and he grabs her wrist. she lets him retain his grip for a moment but when she does move her arm away he doesn't follow her. through my own delusions i've come to the conclusion that jinx wants, maybe even craves physical comfort, but quickly feels smothered by it when it's forced on her.

despite this, with the right person i feel like she would be willing to accept physical affection from them. it would take time to establish and develop a trusting relationship with jinx but when you're there, you're there. she's also a deeply insecure person when it comes to relationships of any kind and retaining them so you'll have to slip in some words of affirmation between touches.

her favourite way to receive physical touch would for sure be you playing with her hair. running your fingers through it and scratching her scalp? congratulations, that's your new job. you mention off the cuff how you'd love to see her hair down? suddenly there's a brush in your hands and an expectant and giddy jinx sitting in front of you.

even though she trusts you, she'll still get startled and tense up if you suffocate her with too much affection. holding your arms out for a hug or patting the seat next to you so she can lean into your arms is a much better way to initiate contact with her.

a little extra headcanon, when she's doing your nails she'll use her own hands to hold your fingers still instead of a wrist rest. she says it keeps them steadier so she doesn't make any mistakes but really she craves that subtle contact.

ekko — acts of service. season two episode seven dictates this as canon i'll be taking no arguments on this day. seeing his huge mural of future vi to show powder after he upsets her really just cements this headcanon. this is a pretty big action so i'll focus on the smaller ones for now.

starting off really strong with him decorating your room for you. close your eyes and imagine him building you a shelf to store your books or keepsakes. not only building it but carving designs into it. ohh you like music? well take a look at those carvings of sheet music! and do you spy some new books in your collection (stolen from a piltover library, naturally)

with so many different types of people living at the tree, at the beginning he was pretty much forced to learn how to cook all different types of meals. it paid off though because no matter where you hail from, he'll be able to prepare you any of your favourite dishes.

the more i type about ekko the more i realise he is the best househusband out of the arcane gang. he can cook, he can clean, he's a provider - he is quite literally the entire package. him being a certified pretty boy also helps because everyone needs a little eye candy in their life.

this one is sickeningly sweet but for relationship milestones, and even just randomly, ekko will fully plan out a date night for the two of you. picnics on the top of buildings that overlook the neon lights of the undercity, just the two of you. it's so intimate.

physical touch. now this i truly will be taking no arguments on. receiving physical affection for ekko is huge. we all saw how fast he hugged benzo in the alternate au!!

with so many people from his early life either dying (benzo, vander, claggor, mylo) or leaving (jinx and vi), ekko hasn't really had anyone to offer him any form of closeness. sure, he has the firelights. it just isn't the same though.

so when you come along with all the tender hugs and fond touches that he's been deprived of for so long he knows he's done for. consider him addicted. even just clapping a hand on his shoulder after a fight, hell, LEANING ON HIM?? that man is YOURS to command for now until the end.

knowing you're just physically there and not going anywhere - not abandoning him - he's content to bask in your presence.

quick kisses and brief glances at each other come in abundance. if you're not at the firelights base then you're on the go. it's these times that make you both appreciate the time you have with each other. ekko plans to take full advantage of the downtime you both have between missions. don't expect to stray a few feet from each other.

silco — acts of service. silco's acts of service are usually communicated through orders that he gives his goons. say you offhandedly mention that some shimmer addicts have set up camp in the alley next to your apartment. when you leave the last drop and go home you notice that those shimmer addicts you briefly complained about? gone. without a trace.

i feel like he prefers to give out acts of service to you as a kind of 'i can provide for you, don't leave' kind of thing. you don't need to ask silco to do something, he'll take the initiative. he wants you to view him as a reliable provider. this sounds very 50s but he's an old fashioned kind of guy so it checks out.

not the kind of guy to do chores at the start i'm afraid. he has people for that. maybe you can convince him to wash the dishes after you cook you, him and jinx a meal. but never and i mean NEVER will you catch this man hoovering or mopping the floor. that is just simply not going to fucking happen. you'd have better luck asking him to quit smoking.

not gonna lie he just lightens the load of whatever jobs you need to do so you can spend more time together. the famed eye of zaun is clingy.

physical touch. actually controversial take no way CHILLS! similarly to jinx, silco wouldn't actively look for physical touch in any given situation. he's obviously traumatised by his former best friend choking him out and drowning him underwater. not to mention completely brutalising his eye.

jinx is likely the only person he would willingly let touch him. not even sevika on a good day gets that privilege. you would need to spend a lot of time gaining silco's undying trust. only when you two are emotionally close will you be able to share his touch.

buying you jewellery just so he can feel the warmth of your body heat as he clasps the necklace around you neck. silco is very subtle and sneaky when he wants to be close to you.

his neck is off limits to everyone, even you. placing your hand on his collarbone whilst entangled in bed together is the furthest you'll get.

vander — physical touch. oh i just know this man gives the best bear hugs. physical intimacy with vander is just safety incarnate. when he takes you into his arms it really feels like a breath of topside air after a lifetime underground.

i don't think vander would really like being with a partner that didn't enjoy physical affection. it's not only a bonding experience for the both of you to engage in but also a display of trust that he deeply values.

conveying his love for you with intimacy, non-sexual and sexual is something he cherishes. the level of mutual understanding and relationship building that comes with it is indispensable to vander. basically the keys to a successful partnership with him.

that little symbol of love in the undercity where two people touch their foreheads together? that's the most significant way you can show that you truly care for someone and it's vander's favourite way to connect with you in moments of peace.

words of affirmation. vander is the type of guy to not necessarily need words of affirmation to feel good about himself but will appreciate it all the same. he tries so hard to be a good example to the kids and in general to the populace of the undercity. he wants this life to be better. he wants to be better.

he's the leader, the protector, all the pressure is on him. affirming his efforts through words goes further than you might think.

it's you and him against the world. the brewing political storm that plagues both the undercity and piltover is little more than a distant thought when you're whispering honeyed words to and fro in the dead of night. for a man with such an imposing presence, telling him that you love and need him makes him weak.

with your words of affirmation, he's more certain of his role in the undercity than he's ever been. you renew the passion he had in youth, he wants the best for you and will do whatever he can to obtain it.

viktor — quality time. viktor is all about sharing the same space as his partner. with him being the co-founder of hextech, it's difficult for him to find time alone to dote on you. which is why you''ll often find yourself in the company of viktor (and oftentimes jayce) in their lab, them working on a new use for hextech, and yourself either studying or simply watching the magic (literally) happen.

when jayce is off being the poster child of hextech or following councillor medarda around like a lost puppy, you and viktor will settle into comfortable silences. usually with the only noise being the tinkering of science equipment or the quick scribbles of pen on paper. there's no pressure to fill the room with unnecessary chattering. just you being with him is enough. your presence is akin to a relaxant to him.

sometimes most of the time you'll need to remind him to take breaks when you've been there for hours on end and he's showing no signs of stopping or slowing down. it's a practised routine at this point; he refuses, you leave it alone for five minutes, during this time he is sneaking glances at you when he thinks you aren't looking, waiting for you to ask again.

when you do, he feigns reluctance as you grab his hand to get you both some fresh air and a proper meal. he might actually be part cat now that i'm thinking about it. he just can't help but love spending time with you.

words of affirmation. actions speak louder than words? pft, yeah right. communication is deeply valued by viktor. he's exceptional at deducing someone's intentions behind their words so don't even bother trying to get something by him. it won't work. you try to plan surprise birthday party for him? he's one of the first people to find out about it.

so when you earnestly tell him how special he is to you or how appreciative you are of him, he knows it's 100% what you actually think and BOY does that fluster him more than anything.

he isn't very big on compliments, not that he doesn't value the ones you so willingly give him, but he finds it hard to accept the good and beauty you see in him. there will always be a part of viktor, machine herald or mortal man, that refuses to believe he could be good enough for this type of love. when he retracts inside his mind and lets his doubt drown him, it's you who can pull him out of the water and onto land. telling him that you love him just the way he is will silence his uncertainty.

oh you know what would just about finish him off? making him a lunch box and putting a note in there. it doesn't having to be something poetic, even a simple 'i love you ♡' will be at the forefront of his mind until he gets back home to you.

honestly, if you're someone who expresses their love through words of gratitude or proclamations of admiration then a relationship with viktor will be smooth sailing.

[inkedinshadows]

Little Rainbow

Pairing: Azriel × reader

Summary: When you can’t comfort your baby daughter, you bring her to her dad, who always manages to calm her down.

Warnings: just lots of fluff

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: I thought I'd try my hand at writing second person pov instead of third. It just felt natural to write this one in 2nd pov. Maybe I'll stick with it in the future idk. This was born out of my baby fever btw, enjoy!

Azriel sensed you right before his shadows whispered of your arrival. He would recognize those steps and those soft wails anywhere.

A smile was already on his lips when the door opened with a small creak and you, his beautiful and loving mate, walked in holding your few-months-old daughter in your arms.

Leaning against the back of his chair, he watched as his shadows shot forward to greet the two of you, writhing around you and caressing your cheeks. You chuckled, but your daughter's soft cries stopped only for a moment before starting again, her little face even redder.

Azriel had spent centuries thinking he would never find love, that he wasn't good enough to deserve it. He was glad for his brothers’ happiness, and yet silently jealous of what they had. Brother, uncle, friend—he was grateful for it all, he truly was, but he longed for something more.

Then he met you.

Even before the mating bond snapped, he already knew you were the one. He had never been so smitten with someone in all his long years. He fell for you as quickly as a stone sinks in water, and finding out you were mates was just the cherry on top. He was convinced he could never love anything or anyone as much as he loved you.

But then you got pregnant. And when you gave birth, one look at the tiny bundle in Madja's arms was enough to prove him wrong. Seeing his mate holding his baby shortly after brought tears to his eyes, and he couldn't keep them from falling when you passed him Iris—named for the rainbow shining in the sky as she came into the world.

It was one of the happiest moments of his life, if not the happiest: looking down at the fragile, beautiful new life he had helped create.

But now, Iris was crying.

“One of those days?” he asked, his arms already outstretched toward his daughter.

“Yeah… sorry to interrupt you,” you answered with a sigh. You passed the baby to him and perched on the armrest of his chair. “But I tried feeding her, playing with her. I sang her all the lullabies I know. Nothing worked. She wants you.”

Azriel smiled down at Iris, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world. And to him, to you, she was. You were never interrupting when it was about her.

“You missed me, little rainbow?” he asked softly, a scarred finger trailing down her red, puffy cheeks. His shadows followed suit to swirl around her little face as if they could wipe away her tears.

He'd been scared at first—scared he would somehow taint something so perfect with his scarred hands, hands that had done things he had never been proud of. Though you had reassured him many times, his every concern melted away completely only when Iris had grabbed his pointer finger and innocently put it in her mouth.

It was exactly what she was doing now. Under Azriel's adoring gaze, his daughter wrapped her tiny hands around the finger he had just used to caress her and began contentedly sucking on it, her wails stopping for the moment.

“I don't understand how you do that,” you complained, though your tone was soft, your eyes full of pure love and adoration as you watched your mate and your baby. “She refused her binky when I gave it to her. Every. Single. Time.”

Azriel finally looked up from his child and met your gaze. Amusement sparked in his eyes at your grumble.

“Don't take it personally, love,” he said, curling one of his wings around you and gently nudging you with it. “She said ‘mama’ the other day.”

Catching on to his little wing bump, you slid from the armrest onto his lap, even as you rolled your eyes at him. “She didn't say 'mama’. She was just babbling. She's too young to say words, Az.”

Azriel hummed thoughtfully, but his gaze slid back to Iris. She was still clutching his finger, and even though it had been almost seven months since she was born, watching her was as mesmerizing as the first time.

She had his eyes—hazel with a speck of green—but her hair was the same shade as yours. The two of you had initially spent hours simply gazing at her, whether she was awake or asleep, endlessly debating who she resembled the most. You claimed she had inherited Azriel's nose, he said she had your mouth. The truth was, it was too soon to know for sure, but neither of you cared. She was your rainbow, and she would always be perfect in Azriel's eyes.

The one thing he wasn't sure how to feel about was the lack of wings. After Feyre's tragic experience while giving birth, he had been relieved when Madja announced that your baby wouldn't have them. He never wanted to see you in such pain or risk losing you during childbirth. And yet, he was still Illyrian. Nothing could change that. A part of him longed for the chance to teach his baby daughter to fly, to hear the song of the wind and feel that unparalleled sense of freedom that only came from soaring high in the sky.

“Maybe it's the shadows.”

Your voice dragged him back to reality, and he turned to you with a furrowed brow.

“Why she's always calmer around you,” you clarified, gesturing to the shadows swirling around Iris. You caressed her head, and her eyes tracked back to you as she giggled around Azriel's finger. “They soothe her.”

Azriel smiled, his heart soaring at the sound of his daughter's soft laughter. His wing curled more tightly around you, drawing you closer so he could place a gentle kiss on your temple. “She's just like her mom, isn't she?”

You could only nod, returning his loving smile with one of your own. It was true—his shadows had always been a safe space to you. The first time he had seen you upset, they rushed to you, swirling around you and brushing your cheeks and your neck until you chuckled. From that moment, whether it was anger, sadness, or fatigue, they would leave Azriel's side to cheer you up before he could even take a step in your direction.

Your head came to rest on Azriel’s shoulder and you both watched your daughter's eyes grow heavy, her lids starting to drop as she stubbornly tried to keep them open, her hold on her dad's finger relenting.

“You fall asleep so easily in daddy's arms, don't you, little rainbow?” you whispered as you tenderly booped her cute little nose. “Just like mommy.”

Azriel chuckled, placing his now-free hand on the small of your back to gently nudge you to stand up. “Let's go to bed, love.”

You rose from his lap, and he immediately felt the absence of your warmth against him, but you only stood in front of him with that cute frown of yours—the one that created a small crease between your brows that he always wanted to smooth with his thumb.

Azriel knew exactly what you were thinking.

During the last month of your pregnancy, he had asked Rhys to keep missions away from Velaris to a bare minimum. And after Iris was born, he had stopped taking on any missions that required him to be away for more than two days, because he simply couldn't bear the thought of being separated from you and his baby girl. After centuries, he had finally learned the meaning of the word “delegate”. But sending his spies on jobs he'd usually do himself had led to a high pile of documents and reports on his desk—a pile he mostly tackled after you and Iris had gone to bed.

“I'm done working for tonight,” he reassured you, standing up and rocking Iris in his arms. “It can wait.”

It couldn't, not really. Some of those papers had been sitting on his desk for days, and the Azriel he was until seven months ago would have recoiled at the mere thought of unfinished work. But that was before an eternal rainbow added even more colors to his life than you already had.

You only smiled at him and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “Let's go to bed, then,” you repeated before turning to walk out.

Azriel followed you, his baby’s eyes fluttering open at the movement and darting around as he walked down the pastel-blue hallway. She was always so curious, even when tired.

Not wanting to risk Iris deciding she’d rather stay awake and explore than sleep, Azriel began to hum her favorite lullaby. You glanced over your shoulder at the sound of his deep voice resonating off the walls, a soft smile on your lips as you watched the shadows gently sway to the melody.

He met your gaze when you stopped in front of Iris’s room, where you had painted the walls a light shade of pink while Azriel assembled the cream-colored furniture. He shook his head and gestured for you to keep walking, never interrupting his soft singing as Iris’s eyes fluttered closed once more. You raised an eyebrow but continued toward your bedroom at the end of the hallway.

You had recently started getting Iris used to sleeping in her own room instead of yours, with both doors left open for the rare times she still woke up at night. But tonight, Azriel wanted to hold both his girls in his arms.

Iris was fast asleep by the time Azriel gently placed her in the center of your large bed, careful not to wake her up. She rolled onto her tummy and let out a content sigh that had you both staring in awe.

You turned to him and wrapped your arms around his waist. “You didn't want her to sleep alone?” you murmured, your tone amused.

“I couldn't,” he answered with a smile, his fingers tangling in your silky hair. “She missed me, you said it yourself.”

You chuckled, leaning up to peck him on the lips.

Azriel didn't let you pull away.

It felt like a lifetime had passed since he last had some alone time with you. If it wasn't Iris needing attention and care, it was his duties as spymaster keeping him so busy that you had resorted to dragging your favorite armchair in his study, where you would curl up with a book during your daughter's nap time. Sitting in comfortable silence as you each focused on your own tasks was better than being apart.

He felt you relax, melting against his body as he deepened the kiss, and only then did he pull back to rest his forehead against yours.

“And I missed you,” he whispered. Your cheeks were warm under his touch and he took a moment to just breathe in your familiar, soothing scent.

“Then you should have let Iris sleep in her crib, my love,” you said with a glance at your daughter. A mischievous gleam entered your eyes when they settled on him again. “Because I really miss you too.”

Azriel's soft laugh echoed in the room, and he kissed the top of your head. “Tomorrow,” he promised. He could make those reports wait a bit longer.

You smirked, stealing one last kiss before stepping back to peel off your clothes. He took a moment to admire you—your smooth skin, the dip of your hips, the soft curve of your stomach that remained from childbirth—but he quickly undressed as well, and soon you were both in bed, with Iris nestled between you.

Azriel placed a broad hand on her back to draw her a bit closer, and his wing draped over you as you scooted over, enveloping the three of you in a warm, dark cocoon, the silence interrupted only by your daughter’s soft snoring.

He felt you move in the dark and guessed you had just kissed Iris when you murmured, “Goodnight, my rainbow. Even though you didn't let me sing you lullabies.”

Azriel didn't need to see your face to know you had a loving look in your eyes and a playful smile on your lips.

“Of course she prefers my lullabies,” he teased, brushing his thumb over Iris's back. “She's her daddy's girl.”

For a moment, he was tempted to fold back his wing and let the moonlight caress your face, just to catch your cute pout as you said, “I used to be your girl.”

“You still are, love. You're both my girls,” he assured you, letting his wing lower over you like a second blanket. “You're my family. There's nothing I love more than you and Iris.”

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice now stripped of all playfulness. Only pure, undiluted sincerity remained, warming his heart. “Both of you.”

Silence fell again, and it wasn't long before your breathing evened out as you drifted into sleep. But Azriel stayed awake a while longer, listening to the steady rhythm of his mate's soft sighs and his daughter's occasional snorts.

His own little family—everything he had ever wanted, more than he had ever dared to hope for.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @andreperez11

[mirainwonderland]

Leon Kennedy One Shot

Content: fluff, established relationship, allusion to mature themes (bondage?)but fades to black so no real NSFW wanted to keep it pg

Pairing: Leon X reader

Synopsis: You get bored and tie a ribbon around his bicep

A/N: I wrote the first bit of this when I was half asleep lol idk I thought it turned out bad but I reread, edited, and finished it and now I’m happy with it so enjoyyy ^_^ I think the concept is cute and I wanted to write it outside of a smutty context (even though technically it ends up there but whatever) have fun x

⊹₊ ˚‧���‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

“There!” You announce, sitting cross-legged on the couch while Leon works on his computer beside you. He’d been at it for hours, and you were admittedly a little bored. He kept saying “Almost done babe”, but that felt like hours ago now. So with nothing better to do, you decide to amuse yourself by getting some of your pink ribbon and tying the most perfect bow you could around his bicep while he typed away on some boring report. Leon had asked you what the hell you were doing, but you shrugged, and he just let you, most of his focus on work he needs to finish.

It had taken you way too many tries to get it this perfect, and you grin at your accomplishment as the tips of your fingers tickle the bunny ears of the satin bow. It’s something you’ve secretly always wanted to try. You loved his arms and seeing the delicate fabric of the ribbon tied around his muscles like some spiffy package that was all yours was tantalizing. It was satisfying to see his calloused muscles adorned with a signature of something that was so distinctly you, that you can’t help but feel a little spark of warmth and pride as a smile lights up your face.

He spares a glance over his shoulder at your little piece of art, a ghost of a smile not quite manifesting on his face in its entirety.

“Pretty.” He humors you, clicking his mousepad a couple of times in half-baked attention. You crinkle your nose, huffing a puff of air through it. Even if he’s mostly focused on work, he can’t help himself when it comes to giving you a little bit of a (lovingly) hard time. And he’d be lying if he told himself didn’t think your little pink ribbon was cute.

“Hey!” You protest as his bicep suddenly flexes, the ribbon popping at its tension point and fluttering onto the cushion of the couch.

“Stoppp…!” You draw out the word in a light-heartedly annoyed whine, picking the tatters of your little art piece off the couch.

You grab a new strand of ribbon, tying it around his bicep once again in three or four tries, biting your lip in concentration. Leon dulls an affectionate smirk as he watches you out of the corner of his eye, his attention shifting over more to your little antics. You lean back, blowing a strand of hair from your face.

He has to do it again.

“No don’t— no!” You scold, grabbing onto his arm when he begins to flex his bicep again. Your hands don’t fit all the way around of course, put you still push your palms towards each other into the muscle on either side, trying to force him to relax and not mess up your little masterpiece.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating in his chest and sending warm tingles down your back at the domesticity of it as he relaxes the muscle. It’s not often you see him this relaxed, and it feels really nice whenever you catch a glimpse of this side of him.

His computer is discarded, and in a flash he grabs your hands, pinning your wrists together as he reaches for your vulnerable sides. You erupt into an uncontrollable fit of laughter as he tickles you, his bicep flexing and relaxing under the ribbon still tied to his arm.

“Let’s see how you like it. C’mere.” He grabs a strand of ribbon himself, winding it around your wrists and tying them off so you’re stuck. You squeal as he throws your arms a loop around his neck, and nuzzles your nose and face, making you writhe and giggle beneath him ticklishly as his hands ruthlessly attack your sides.

Your elbows dig into his shoulders as you laugh, writhing wildly under him. Curse your ticklish spots and sensitive nerve endings, and screw him for knowing where they are.

“Stop! Sto-“ You’re cut off as his fingers flatten against your ribs and his lips abruptly press against yours in a breathless flare of a kiss.

Traces of breathless laughter spill from your mouth when he releases them, as your chest heaves up and down against his for air.

“I’m stuck!” Your wrists writhe against the bindings of silk, eliciting no reaction of sympathy from Leon like you intended. “Leon-“

“Nah, I like you like this.” Refusing to help you, he peck your lips again, pressing doting little kisses all over your cheeks and nose. You erupts into soft giggled again, making warmth flood through his chest and invigorate his tired muscles.

He pulls back again to look down at your rosy face.

“Untie me.”

His gaze flickers to the ceiling as if in thought momentarily before returning to you. His voice rumbles deep in his chest, vibrating into yours. “Mm… No.”

“Leon!” You whine, making him chuckle again and drop his lips to yours once more. He snatches you up in his arms so suddenly you squeal, fingers digging into the back of his shirt as he bounces you once in his arms for a better grip.

“I’ve got a pretty little package,” He says walking with you to your bedroom, nuzzling your face affectionately, making you show him that adorable smile he loves. “And I’m gonna open it.”

And open it he does.

All night long.

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 this is awkward..

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, you were fed up with James, deciding to put aside your pettiness you drag him away from the gryffindor party to talk to him.

Warnings: angst, fluff, james pov, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever), r and james speaking is 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓵𝔂 inspired by gilbert confessing that he wants anne so effing bad bc he 𝓯𝔀 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓿𝔂, lowkey dont hate me for making the “dreams” u want so like…. I just didn't know what to do bc like idk smh i set back women 50 years by that

a/n: tysm for all the love on this series!! y’all are NOT ready for the next chapter, writing it rn and 😭🙏 BUTTT tysm for 300🫶🫶 also I finished the last chapter... do y'all want me to post it today or edge y'all and post it tomorrow

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

It was now nearing the end of the school year—even if there was still a month to go. James could now be in the same room as you without glaring daggers at whoever you were talking to. Though he told himself he was over you, he knew deep down that the feelings never faded.

He told himself it didn’t matter. He told himself he was fine. And yet, every time he caught sight of you, every time your laughter reached his ears from across the room, it was as if someone had set fire to his resolve.

He wanted to talk to you so badly it was almost pathetic. But it was like the universe itself was conspiring against him—or, more specifically, like Finn Laurier had developed some sort of sixth sense for James’s intentions.

Because every single time James gathered enough courage, every time he braced himself to walk over to you, Finn would appear out of nowhere. Whether it was in the Great Hall, the library, or even during Quidditch practice, Finn always seemed to materialize by your side at precisely the wrong moment, stealing away your attention and leaving James feeling like the outsider in his own story.

It was infuriating.

“Mate, you’re grinding your teeth,” Sirius remarked casually one afternoon as they sat under the beech tree by the lake.

James startled, realizing with some embarrassment that Sirius was right. He quickly unclenched his jaw and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Sorry,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m just…”

“Just what?” Sirius prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” James lied, though his voice betrayed him.

Sirius gave him a knowing look. “If this is about her again, just—”

“It’s not about her,” James interrupted quickly, though he winced as the words left his mouth. He knew Sirius wouldn’t believe him, and he wasn’t sure he even believed himself anymore.

Sirius sighed, shaking his head. “Prongs, you’re going to drive yourself mad if you keep this up. Just talk to her already.”

“I’ve tried!” James snapped, louder than he intended. He lowered his voice and added, “I’ve tried, but every bloody time, Finn shows up. It’s like he’s got a bloody tracker on her or something.”

Remus, who had been quietly reading nearby, finally chimed in. “You know, maybe you’re overthinking this,” he said, not looking up from his book.

“How could I possibly be overthinking this?” James demanded, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Maybe Finn’s not doing it on purpose,” Remus suggested calmly. “Maybe it’s just bad timing.”

“Bad timing?” James repeated incredulously. “Bad timing doesn’t happen this often, Moony. This is a pattern.”

Remus gave him a skeptical look but didn’t argue further.

James leaned back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes and letting out a long breath. He hated how much this was bothering him. He hated how much control this entire situation had over him.

But most of all, he hated the thought that you might actually be happy with Finn.

It wasn’t that he thought Finn was a bad guy—quite the opposite, really. Finn was charming, talented, and annoyingly good at everything he did. He was the kind of guy parents adored, the kind of guy professors went out of their way to praise. And worst of all, he was the kind of guy who could make you smile in a way James had only dreamed of.

James opened his eyes, staring up at the branches overhead. “Maybe I should just give up,” he muttered.

Sirius snorted. “Yeah, right. That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve said all day.”

“I’m serious,” James insisted.

“No, I’m Sirius,” Sirius quipped, smirking.

James groaned, throwing a small pebble in his direction. “Not the time for jokes.”

“Fine, fine,” Sirius said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But seriously, you’re not giving up. You’re James Potter, remember? Stubborn, arrogant, never-takes-no-for-an-answer James Potter. You don’t give up on things you care about.”

James hesitated, staring at the rippling water of the Black Lake. He wanted to believe Sirius. He wanted to believe that there was still a chance, that you weren’t as far out of reach as you seemed.

But as he watched you across the courtyard later that day, standing beside Finn and laughing at something he said, James couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, it was too late.

But his doubt soon melted into something far more unsettling when he noticed your gaze shift. For the first time in what felt like forever, your attention wasn’t on Finn Laurier—it was on him.

James felt like he might throw up.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his hands fidgeted with the hem of his robes as he quickly looked away. In fact, he didn’t just look away; he turned his entire body in the opposite direction, hoping to mask the flush rising to his cheeks.

“C’mon, James, you’ve got a Quidditch game to win today! Channel all that anger you’ve got towards Laurier into winning us the Cup!” Sirius said, clapping a hand on James’s shoulder with his trademark grin.

James gave a faint nod, trying to let Sirius’s words sink in. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but he had to admit—focusing on Quidditch might be better than brooding.

As the match began, Sirius’s advice started to help. Flying through the air, the roar of the crowd, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins almost made him forget the mess he was tangled in. Quidditch always had a way of making the weight on his shoulders feel lighter.

Almost.

At first, he wasn’t paying much attention to the game. His mind wandered back to you, back to everything that had gone wrong. He thought about what he would say, how he could even begin to fix things. And, like always, he couldn’t resist scanning the crowd for you.

Even in the middle of a fight, even when he swore to himself that he was done, James always looked for you in the stands.

And he found you—right where he didn’t want to.

You were sitting with Finn Laurier, your hand clasped in his. James’s stomach twisted painfully at the sight, and he forced himself to look away, though the image burned into his mind.

Of course. Finn fucking Laurier.

He sighed, his grip tightening on his broomstick. There was no point in hoping anymore. Whatever chance he’d had—if he’d ever had one—was gone now. Maybe he’d already been downgraded in your life: a friend at best, a stranger at worst. The thought stung, and James shoved it down, refusing to dwell on it any longer.

And then, something golden caught the corner of his eye.

The Snitch.

For the first time all game, James’s focus snapped into place. He leaned forward on his broom, his heart pounding—not from heartbreak this time, but from the sheer rush of competition. If nothing else, he could still win this. He could still bring home the Cup.

James shot after the Snitch with everything he had, the rush of wind against his face only fueling his determination. The crowd roared, but their voices blurred into the background. His world narrowed to one thing: the golden glimmer darting just ahead.

The Hufflepuff Seeker was hot on his trail, but James barely registered them. This was his moment. The Snitch veered sharply to the right, and James followed, his reflexes razor-sharp. He could feel the weight of his emotions—anger, heartbreak, frustration—all pouring into this chase.

The Snitch dipped low, skimming just above the grass, and James dove after it, his fingers outstretched. The Hufflepuff Seeker was closing in fast, but James didn’t care. He pushed his broom harder, faster, his body leaning forward so much it felt like he might fall off.

And then, his fingers closed around the Snitch.

The Gryffindor stands erupted into cheers, deafening and jubilant. The sound echoed across the pitch as James pulled up, the Snitch held high in triumph. For the first time all week, a genuine smile broke across his face.

He’d done it.

Back on the ground, his teammates swarmed him, yelling and celebrating as they lifted him off the ground in a flurry of hugs and pats on the back. Sirius was the loudest, of course, laughing as he shouted, “That’s my best mate! Did you see that dive? Bloody brilliant!”

James grinned, allowing himself to soak in the moment. But as the initial adrenaline rush faded, his thoughts drifted back to you.

Through the crowd, he spotted you walking toward the castle with Laurier. You looked happy—laughing at something Finn said, your hand still in his.

James’s chest tightened, the pain creeping back in.

Sirius slung an arm around his shoulders. “Oi, don’t let that git ruin your moment. You just won us the Cup, Prongs. Focus on that, yeah?”

James forced a nod, plastering a smile on his face. “Yeah. You’re right.”

But deep down, as the team carried him back to the common room, the ache lingered. Winning the match had been a distraction, but it wasn’t enough to erase what he felt for you—or the sting of seeing you with someone else.

Still, James promised himself one thing: he’d get through this. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. And who knew? Maybe, someday, you’d see him the way he saw you.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

The Gryffindor common room was a chaotic blur of red and gold, filled with triumphant cheers and laughter. The moment the team returned from the pitch, the party was already in full swing. Someone had charmed a banner to flash "Gryffindor Wins the Cup!" in shimmering letters, and butterbeer bottles floated around the room, courtesy of a cheeky charm from Sirius.

James stood in the center of it all, grinning as his teammates and housemates patted him on the back and congratulated him. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to bask in the glory of the victory, letting it drown out the knot in his chest. He’d won the game, and Gryffindor had the Cup—he deserved to enjoy it.

“Prongs!” Sirius yelled over the noise, shoving a butterbeer into his hand. “You’re the man of the hour! You better milk this for all it’s worth, because Merlin knows you deserve it.”

James laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t let me hear you say that too often, Padfoot. I might start believing it.”

Sirius gave him a devilish grin. “Oh, you will. Now, c’mon, let’s make some noise!” He climbed onto a table, raising his bottle high. “To Prongs, our Quidditch hero!”

The room erupted in cheers, and James couldn’t help but laugh, taking a sip of his butterbeer as the noise washed over him. For the first time all day, he felt lighter.

As the party went on, James moved through the crowd, chatting and laughing with his housemates. But no matter how loud the celebration got, his eyes kept drifting to the door, half-hoping, half-dreading to see you walk in.

And then, you did.

James froze mid-conversation, his heart doing that familiar stutter-step it always did when he saw you. You looked radiant, wrapped in Gryffindor colors, your cheeks flushed from the cold. But his chest tightened when he noticed Laurier trailing behind you, his hand resting casually on the small of your back.

James quickly turned back to his conversation, forcing a smile and pretending not to notice. He wasn’t going to let Finn Laurier—or his own stupid feelings—ruin the night.

“Oi, Prongs,” Sirius said, appearing at his side again. “Stop moping and do something fun. We just won the bloody Cup, mate! At least pretend you’re having the time of your life.”

James forced another grin. “I am having fun, Padfoot. Loads of fun.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You’re staring at her again, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” James lied, taking a long sip of butterbeer.

Sirius groaned, grabbing James by the shoulders. “Look, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to stop torturing yourself, and you’re going to have a bloody fantastic time tonight. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll prank Laurier so hard he won’t know which way is up. Deal?”

James couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head. “Alright, deal.”

Hours later, the party was still going strong. Someone had turned the music up, and the common room had transformed into a dance floor. James found himself dragged into the middle of it by Lily Evans, who gave him a pointed look.

“Stop sulking, Potter,” she said, smirking. “You just won the Cup. Act like it.”

“I’m not sulking,” James said, though his half-hearted smile gave him away.

Lily raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, she tugged him into the rhythm of the music, and for a while, James let himself get lost in the moment.

It wasn’t until he caught sight of you again, laughing at something Laurier said, that the knot in his chest returned. He took a deep breath, plastered on another smile, and decided that, for tonight, he’d keep pretending.

He watched you from across the room as you and Laurier continued talking, laughter bubbling between you two. He could see the way you looked at him now—so different from the way you looked at him before. It was like there was a barrier, a wall that hadn’t been there when he first met you.

“Prongs,” Sirius appeared at his side again, his voice low and concerned. “Look, I know you’ve been through a lot, but this is ridiculous. You’re letting Laurier ruin your night—and you just won us the Cup, for Merlin’s sake. You’re allowed to be happy tonight. So go talk to her. If you don’t, I swear I’ll do it for you.”

James frowned at him, irritated. “I’m not talking to her, Pads. Not now.”

“Then at least get out of here and enjoy yourself,” Sirius pressed. “We’re celebrating, mate. You’ve earned it.”

James looked over at you one more time, and for a second, he almost gave in. But the knot in his chest was still there, tightly wound, and it made everything feel so much harder than it should’ve been.

But maybe... maybe he could find a way to feel better. Maybe he could lose himself in the celebration.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally muttered, glancing at his friends.

Sirius didn’t seem convinced but let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, but I’m not letting you go off and brood in some corner. The whole bloody school’s celebrating with you tonight.”

James smirked faintly, feeling a little lighter. Maybe he could pretend to be okay, at least for tonight. He could let the victory, the laughter, and his friends drown out the ache for just a little while longer.

But as the night continued, and as the music played on, James found himself once again looking toward the doorway, hoping—just hoping—that you’d look his way.

For the first time in forever, the world was finally on his side as he saw you quickly leaving Finn and walking straight to him.

“May I speak to you, please?” James nodded, Dumbfounded. 

You quickly grabbed his hand and went outside the common room and into the corridors. 

You took a deep breath, your fingers twisting nervously. “James… I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now.”

James’s throat went dry, his pulse quickening as he struggled to find his voice. “Yeah?”

You nodded, glancing down at your hands before meeting his gaze. “I—I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t what he had expected. Of all the scenarios he’d played out in his head, an apology hadn’t been one of them.

“For what?” he asked, genuine confusion coloring his voice.

“For everything,” you said in a rush, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “For avoiding you. I was confused—about what I did that made you ignore me. And I guess I wanted to get back at you for ignoring me, so I decided to do the same to you. And… I’m sorry for whatever happened between us that made things so weird.”

James stared at you, your vulnerability hitting him like a Bludger to the chest. His heart ached at the uncertainty in your voice.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said quickly, shaking his head.

“Yes, I do,” you insisted, your voice firm despite the tears welling in your eyes.

“No, you don’t,” James countered, his tone soft yet resolute. “It’s not fair to put all of this on yourself. You’ve always been there for me, and I—well, I’ve been a terrible friend lately. I was practically acting like you didn’t exist.”

James faltered when he saw the blank expression on your face. Panic flickered in his chest—had he said too much?

But before he could say anything more, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

“Oh, James,” you murmured into his shoulder. “It’s okay. I—I was acting like you didn’t exist too, but only because you were doing it to me.”

He blinked, caught off guard, before slowly relaxing into the hug. He looked down at you, his hand instinctively reaching up to brush away a stray tear trailing down your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You shook your head, a small, watery smile breaking through. “We’re both sorry. Let’s just… not do this anymore, okay?”

James nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Deal.”

“It feels so much better having my best friend around again.” James’ smile faltered again, he never liked the word “best friend” when it came to you, he always wanted more.

“Definitely”

You two let each other talk for what felt like hours even though it was barely fifteen minutes. He enjoyed every second though, until you brought up Finn and future plans they may include him. He couldn't believe it, when had your parents met his? He remembers your dad telling him how much he was rooting you and him to be together, now he's okay with you dating some other dude? And worst of all, your father was okay with that same dude wanting to marry his daughter? James felt like throwing up.

“Then he said that my father laid it out on a silver platter.”

“Laid... what out on a platter?”

“My future! Gave him the blessing to...to propose. I don't know what to do.”

“You told me you don’t mind being married straight after Hogwarts if you truly loved the man. That being a wife and mother... is your dream. Finn is.. nice, and both of your guys’ parents are supportive. I don't understand. What's holding you back?”

“Just… one thing.”

“What am I supposed to do? Everyone else is just... moving on, and now you’re... and I’m still... We never even... And he’s there, and you’re—Merlin, you’re never going to find someone who—” James stopped, his voice cracking. “I know that much, so how... how am I supposed to... I can’t... I— We...”

Before you could speak��a drunk Sirius somehow found you two. “Woah James you're really speaking to her? Atta boy, now, let's get back to the party, cmon, we are going to do something cool, have you heard of ....” Sirius rambled on, tugging on James’ arm to drag him back to the party.

“I’ll be off, then.” You said, voice quivering as if hesitant to leave.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

All James could think about was the previous night—the talk you two had shared. Your words, your voice, the hesitation in your eyes—it all replayed in his mind like a haunting melody. What would’ve happened if Sirius hadn’t barged in, if James had told him to leave, if he’d been brave enough to stay in that moment with you?

“I think…” James began, his voice breaking as he paced the Gryffindor dormitory, “I think she might’ve been asking if I love her. And—and I think I told her to marry someone else.”

Sirius, slouched in the chair by the window, looked stricken. “Mate…” he started, his tone heavy with guilt. “If I’d known—if I knew what was happening—I wouldn’t have gone looking for you. I—I practically ruined your chances. Merlin, I’m so, so sorry.”

James stopped pacing, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even know if she meant it. She said so much without really saying anything, and now I don’t know if I imagined it all.”

“‘Sure, take option two,’ when option one is all she wants for her future?” James muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

“What is option one?” Peter asked, his curiosity breaking the tension.

James scoffed, bitterness creeping into his tone. “It’s Finn, obviously.” He paused, his anger flaring. “But both their parents support it, and she told me that! Before she spilled all of that on me, we were talking and laughing like nothing was wrong. But now…” He exhaled sharply, his voice softening as he sat down on the edge of his bed. “Now it feels like I’m being asked to explain the rest of my life on a bloody ticking clock. And if I make the wrong decision, I’ve either ruined my life—or hers.”

The room fell silent. Sirius and Peter exchanged uneasy glances, while Remus seemed lost in thought, unsure of how to respond.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Meanwhile, you had confided in your mother about your plans the night before: to finally tell the man you truly loved how you felt. You hadn’t wanted to bring it up while you and James were laughing and enjoying each other’s company, but you knew if you didn’t seize the moment, you’d never say it at all.

What you hadn’t expected was for him to turn you down. To tell you—calmly, almost dismissively—that you should marry Finn.

Your mother was waiting for your response. You knew she expected good news, a letter confirming that you and James were finally together. Instead, you sat at your desk, penning words that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Dear Mother,

I did what you told me to do, but I fear I shouldn’t have. We were talking just fine, and then I told him everything. I told him how I felt. And he told me to marry Finn.

Finn is lovely, yes—but he’s not James. I asked James if there was any chance for us, and he said no. At least now I have clarity on where I stand with him. And I know it sounds awful to compare Finn to James, but... maybe knowing what I know now, I can learn to be happy with Finn. Father and Finn’s family are all thrilled, after all. I don’t even want to think about what I would’ve done if James had said he felt the same.

You sighed, folding the parchment carefully and sealing it in an envelope. The weight of your words sat heavily on your chest, but you couldn’t dwell on them any longer. You needed to send this letter immediately.

Pulling on your cloak, you found yourself heading for one of the secret passages to Hogsmeade—the ones you and James had used so often. The memories stung, but you pushed them aside. This time, you’d be using the passage alone.

The quickest way to deliver your letter was through the owlery. You knew exactly which owl was the fastest.

As you walked, you let your mind wander to James one last time, allowing yourself the quiet ache of what could’ve been. You would never speak to him again, not like before. That part of your life was over.

Finn was your future now. And while it hurt to admit, deep down, you knew it was for the best.

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[cherryheairt]

Pearls

Cregan Stark x named!fem!reader no desc (gif just for vibes)

18+!

my first smut writing and it was an intrusive thought that hasn't left my mind all week I need to get it out NEOW. I don't know my audience for this but please let it not be too niche idk 😭

Lately, Cregan had been absent from their marital chambers until the darkest parts of the night. Work had been keeping him apart from his Lady wife for far too long in her eyes. One night was almost unbearable, let alone weeks of it. Sometimes, he fell asleep in his study after pouring over scrolls and plans for hours.

It was hard to sleep without her husband, she found. After their marriage less than a year ago, they had shared the same bed every night after. Their relationship was most likely the healthiest in all of Westeros. Always in sync and filling what the other lacked. Whereas Vanya was compassionate and kind, Cregan was stern and unyielding. Together, they led the North as any Stark Lord and Lady should: In harmony.

Vanya had taken care of her tasks well, managing what Cregan could not in his time of occupation. Winter was upon them, cold and unrelenting. Vanya's first as Lady Stark, and one she intended to run smoothly to set a precedent for her live's rule.

However, even though she kept herself busy til late evening, she found her needs growing by the day. Usually, her and Cregan found themselves enjoying many rounds of pleasure before they tucked in for the night. Now, since he'd been busy, they hadn't even kissed in weeks. Simple glances at him or the feel of his arm's warmth draping over her in the early hours of the morning made her almost feral with want for her husband.

But he was always gone when she awoke. She was left to get ready for her own day of duties completely alone, longing for her husband's company. An emptiness struck her heart—one that she was determined to fill.

She got to work after her day was through. Knowing Cregan wouldn't join her til long after she was finished, she enjoyed the secretive project in the privacy of the chambers.

Pearls.

Lace.

Thread.

The only three things she dained to need for her little excursion. She worked quickly and nimbly, a nervous fluttering feeling drifting in her belly and staying there until she had finished. Quickly, she put the garment on. Satisfied by the mirror's view, Vanya giddily got dressed into her sheer white night shift.

She settled into bed, only being able to fall into a light sleep in her excitement.

It was not too long before she heard the quiet creeking of the door open and close, Cregan always making a point to enter and exit their chambers considerately. With a heavy sigh, she heard him drop his clothes and boots to the floor.

Weight dropped onto his side of the bed, and a familiar arm draped itself around her waist. Cregan sighed once more into the back of her neck, breathing in the comforting scent of his wife.

Vanya reached up gingerly, lacing her fingers with his. "Husband," she whispered, gauging his mood.

"Wife," he muttered back, thumbing absentmindedly at the space below her belly button.

"How was your day? You've been kept busy, far from the warmth of our hearth." She brought his hand up to kiss gently, starting to wake herself fully.

Cregan hummed guiltily, nodding into her smooth skin. "Tiring. I promise, once Winter starts to come to a close, I will make up every minute I spent leaving my dear wife waiting." The words were muttered slowly into the shell of her ear.

Vanya only huffed a laugh, shaking her head though he couldn't see her face. "There is time now, isn't there?" She asked coyly.

When she recieved no answer, "Cregan?"

None again, but the soft breaths coming from his nose. Turning to face him, she was met with closed eyes and a content slight smile gracing her husband's handsome features. She lay her head back on her pillow, sighing in accepted defeat. Brushing a piece of hair back behind his ear, she kissed his forehead, "goodnight, my husband."

The next day was the same as the last ones. She woke up alone again, only this time Vanya was much more determined to stoke the fire she knew Cregan had. Keeping the garment on underneath her day dress, a light powder blue number with tapered sleeves, she made her way about the Great Keep conducting her business.

Her mind was heavy with thoughts of Cregan, hunched over his desk and stressfully raking his hands through his dusty brown threads. Vanya finished her duties early, freshening up in their chambers before she returned outside of them. Hurriedly, she changed into a light blue shift, similar in color to the one she had worn out. She dabbled some sandalwood perfume oil on her neck and wrists, fixing her hair quickly before making her way towards Cregan's solar. The windows she passed by showed the fresh night sky and the dotted stars along it, the perfect time for any stray servants or maids to be tucking away for their own leisure time before bed.

Vanya took a short breath in before opening his solar door, spotting the exact visage she had imagined the whole day. Dressed in only his grey tunic visible above the pine desk, he had clearly discarded his pelts and leathers for the day, seeing as he had not even left the room once. The hearth was dying, only embers remaining. Clearly, he had wished not to be disturbed by any servants throughout the day.

He was still engrossed in writing a scroll when Vanya approached his desk. A tap on the spot above his elbow had jerked his head up, a shocked look in his eyes as he looked up at his wife. "Vanya, you should be abed already—" he said quickly.

Vanya shook her head, sitting herself on the edge of his table stubbornly. "Couldn't sleep." She lied. "I missed by husband's warmth next to me."

His lips pursed as he glanced between her and his work. "I'm sorry, I will finish as fast as I can. Wait for me?" He offered, though they both knew if she left now, he would only be swallowed up by his duties once more.

Vanya placed a hand on his cheek, running her thumb over the dark undereyes that deepened his tired expression. "I wish to stay with my husband, if it please him."

Cregan's eyes softened, nodding his agreement. He scooted his chair outwards, leaving ample room for Vanya to sit between him and the desk. Instead of sitting across his lap, as she normally would when accompanying him in his seat, she lifted her skirts to her thighs and sat facing him.

He tilted his head slightly, instinctively placing his hands over her hips to adjust her. "Won't this be uncomfortable for you?" He asked, though a faint blush dusted his cheeks and ears at the position.

Vanya shook her head, choosing to sit herself closer and bury her face into his neck. "Go on, don't let me interrupt." She said innocently, earning a glance from her husband before he followed her instructions and started back on his writing.

After a few minutes, she felt enough time had passed to make him inconspicuous of her actions. Slowly, she pressed herself closer to his chest, squishing her breasts again his own thinly clothed skin. She felt him pause and take a deep breath in before continuing, and had to bit her lip to prevent herself from smiling into his tunic.

A few more minutes passed, though she grew more impaitient with every second his hands were not on her. Slowly, she pressed her pelvis into his, revealing the hardened texture of the garment to him.

This time, he paused fully, confused. Setting the quill down, he leaned back. "What is that?" He asked, placing a hand on her hip again.

Vanya only smiled, grabbing his other hand and guiding it ever so slowly down to nethermost regions. "Feel for yourself." She cooed as she led a finger to run over the string.

"What—Pearls?" He asked, brows knitting together curiously.

Vanya nodded at the question.

"Where did you find such a thing?" Cregan asked, though did not recind his hand.

"I made them myself. Don't worry, no loud-mouthed seamstress will know of Lady Stark vying for some promiscuous garments."

"And they are..." He trailed off, swallowing heavily at the indication. Indeed, he shared in his logging and need throughout these weeks apart.

"For you, dear husband." Vanya purred, nipping softly at his bottom lip and pulling away just as fast.

Immediately, he lifted her from his lap and onto the desk, tossing aside his papers to the floor. He lifted her skirts further, bunching them carelessly at her hips as he tugged her legs to wrap around his waist.

Pinching the strand of pearls between his index and thumb, his eyes stayed glued to the glistening white pearls lying between her lower folds. Vanya felt herself throb with need at the lustful glare he held, leaning back on her hands to watch only his face.

Softly, he lifted the string to make it press against her own sensitive pearl. At her slight gasp and squirm, Cregan knelt to his knees faster than he ever had before. Glancing up at his wife's face, he silently asked for permission.

After she nodded, he was quick to move. The pearls, covered in her own essence, were moved slightly to the side as Cregan pressed his face to her core. Vanya threw her head back at the sudden stimulation, Cregan's tongue wildly moving from place to place as if he couldn't find a favorite spot.

Up and down, a solid stripe from her hole to sensitive bud. Circling the pearl with an eager swipe of his tongue, he moved down just as quickly as he began. With desperate, shallow thrusts into her clenching hole, Cregan tried and failed to press himself closer, already having no air to breathe with the space between them being nonexistent. Not that he minded, of course.

With a firm tug at his loose hair, Cregan turned his head with a heaving chest to face his wife. Looking offended at the separation, his fingers clenched at the soft parts of her upper thighs, ready to dig his face back to its spot.

Vanya whined out for him, shaking her head. She closed her thighs over his head, urging him up to meet her lips. She tasted herself on his tongue, enjoying the bittersweet slick with a deep moan. Cregan pressed himself closer, moving her by her waist to seat her on the edge of the table.

"I need you, Cregan, please." She pleaded, hards still carding through his hair to ground herself. She was so empty, only able to be whole again with Cregan's help.

At her plea, Cregan couldn't help but oblige, he unlaced his breeches urgently, allowing Vanya to strip him of his tunic and run her hands over the lean muscle of his chest and back.

He stroked himself a few times, smearing himself at her entrance. They both groaned in unision as his tip hit the string of pearls. They pressed to her swollen bud, making her jerk her hips up closer to meet his own. He slid the string to the side to make room for his length, sinking into the wet heat with a soft groan.

Her head found his shoulder again as she clawed at his shoulders, mewling. He mimicked her action, hands gripping onto her hips as he bit at her neck and collarbone sharply to conceal his moans.

His thrusts were fast and desperate, both wasting no time with soft touches and sweet nothings. That could be done later, after they were both saited and content in their own bed.

She panted heavily, reaching down between them both to rub loose circles around her pearl. He groaned as she tightened, knowing what it meant.

"Where?" He grunted out, kissing at her shoulder as a wordless apology to the angry red bite lying there.

"Inside," she gasped, tightening her legs around his waist to keep him closer.

It was not long before they both reached their peaks. Cregan continued his ministrations, thrusts becoming slower and less powerful as he winded down from his high. He stayed inside her even after they both came down, the warmth too good to pass up in the cold solar. The embers had long disappeared, leaving only the cobble to block out Winterfell's chill.

Vanya couldn't mind, either, enjoying the fullness it brought even in the sensitive state.

"What brought this on?" Cregan asked after a few long moments passed. He soothed over the marks on her hips, sure that bruises would appear in the morrow.

She hummed, kissing the space connecting his ear and jawline affectionately. "Is it too obscure for a wife to want for her husband?"

Cregan raised a brow, "of course not. I have missed you, too." He said, bringing her lips to his to kiss.

She deepened it, dragging him back to her after he pulled away. Tilting her head, she shivered at the brush of his tongue over her own, the texture a familiar delight.

Cregan pulled back after a while, a heavy look in his steel eyes. "I don't think we'll get much sleep tonight if you keep doing that."

She laughed, "I am far from tired, my Lord."

He growled playfully, bringing her from the table and carrying her in his arms. Cregan chuckled at her gasp, starting his journey to their chambers.

"Someone might see us!" She squealed into his neck, hiding her face uselessly.

"Let them. The whole of Westeros will know how my wife is the most beautiful in the Seven Kingdoms." He said, pinching her bottom with a cheeky smirk.

His solar was left open behind them, work long forgotten for the next day. Tonight was for Lord Stark and his Lady Wife.

🗡

Get yourself a munch like Cregan Stark

[ultravioletrayz]

omg omg i have an ideeaaa

imagine Miguel and reader just having a lazy day together (its a Saturday) and they have a cute little cuddle/ convo moment, they decide to watch cringe movies in bed and reader orders idk i think its one of those big combo wing meals and as she’s uber eats ordering miguel gets handsy with her and it eventually leads up to some smexy time until the uber driver arrives with their food 🍗🍗

dude this made me hungry (not for food)

Pairing: miguel o’hara x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, 69ing, oral (f + m receiving), little bit of a handjob and fingering

Summary: while waiting for your uber eats to arrive, miguel becomes hungry for something different

A/N: i'm in a bit of a slump rn (in my writing and in general) so here's a filler fic to hopefully spark my motivation to finish kinktober

Word Count: 1.4k

The afternoon sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue over the bedroom. You and Miguel lay tangled in the sheets, lethargy making it so that neither of you could even fathom leaving the comfort of bed, the remnants of last night's passion still lingering in the air. The bed is a mess of rumpled blankets and pillows, a testament to the lazy, indulgent day you both had planned, wanting nothing more than to bask in the warmth of each other's embrace and enjoy a well-deserved break.

Miguel's arm is draped over your soft middle, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your supple skin, caressing you as his sharp red eyes follow the shitty slapstick comedy on the TV beside the bed. You giggle as you watch the ridiculous antics on the screen, feeling a certain warmth spread through your chest at the sound of Miguel's soft laughter. The comforting rhythm of his breathing against your skin lulls you into a sense of peace, and you can't help but feel grateful for this moment, however mundane it may seem.

"I'm kinda hungry." You murmur, glancing up at Miguel to gauge his reaction. He merely chuckles and rolls his eyes in the most endearing way possible, giving your side a teasing squeeze.

"You're always hungry." Miguel shrugs, the sarcasm dripping in his voice, making you scoff and shove him playfully. Although even if you meant him harm, it's not as if you'd do much damage. You shoot him a dirty look as you lean over him to grab your phone, opening Uber Eats before Miguel can continue to heartily laugh at your adorable antics.

You scroll indecisively through the app for a few moments, brows furrowed in consideration, taking your choice in lunch very seriously. Miguel smiles dopily, finding your meticulous approach to the task adorable in the most lovesick way.

"Doesn't that place down the block do a 2 for 1 deal on Saturdays?" Miguel pipes up, and you immediately beam at the notion, quickly going to the website of the pizza place and putting in both of your go-to orders.

"You're so smart, baby." You coo teasingly, although you are grateful for his input at the end of the day. No way would you let him know that, though. It's all part of the banter.

Miguel just huffs and holds onto your waist when you lean over him once again to return your phone to the nightstand after ordering, your body reaching over his. Miguel's eyes dart to your tits spilling out of your top as it hangs low off your shoulders due to the action, and he licks his lips at the sight of them; so plush and plump and desperate to be massaged and kneaded until his hands leave a greedy dent in the ample flesh.

The second you flop back down onto the mattress, Miguel's hands are all over you. They dance along your throat, squeeze your breasts, ghost over your waist, grope your ass, part your thighs, cup your pussy, brush against your stomach, all while his eager lips nip at the lobe of your ear. It's incredible how quickly that switch inside of him can flip, that switch that triggers such carnal, filthy desire to taste you, his weeping cock chubbing up more and more with each soft giggle and moan that leaves your lips.

"I thought... thought you wanted pizza?" You breathe out, glazed-over eyes taking in the way Miguel's handsome face has morphed into a pouty, needy depiction of how desperate he is, thick brows knitted together as he feels your body melt into his touch, teeth digging into his bottom lip to hold back a groan at how sexy you look with your sleep shirt all bunched up and that teasing little smile on your face.

"Primero quiero disfrutar de un buen aperitivo." Miguel chuckles raspily, suddenly hurling your body atop his shoulders, making you squeal and perch your hands upon Miguel's powerful abs to stay steady, despite the iron grip he has on the meat of your thighs that straddle him. Impatiently, Miguel drags you back so that you succulent, syrupy pussy hovers above his eager mouth beneath your shirt, making your hands slide up his abdomen. That sensation of your fingers stroking his taught musculature is what pushes Miguel to the point of pure, insatiable need.

With firm, beckoning precision, Miguel's tongue flicks out to plunge between your sopping folds, lapping up the sweetness already decorating the insides of your thighs. He groans and takes deep breathes, drowning himself in your essence, large hands tilting your hips back to plop your pretty cunt right on his salivating mouth. You can't help but mewl and buck on Miguel's handsome face, his tongue rolling over your little clit the moment his plump lips suck the throbbing bud into his warm mouth, while his nose bumps against your dripping hole.

Like a depraved dog, Miguel nods and shakes his head vigorously, rubbing his wet tongue all over the heavenly plains of your pussy, his sharp red eyes rolling back in his head as your honeyed taste coats his tongue and overwhelms his senses hypnotically.

It's obvious how ravenous Miguel is, but your own hunger creeps up on you as your focus teeters between Miguel's mouth, and his weeping, swollen cockhead peeking out from the thin sheet covering his lower half. doing the best to keep your clit snugly presses against the tip of Miguel's tongue, you grab at Miguel's fat, hefty length, bobbing down to lap at his flared, girthy tip.

"Joder, cariño." Miguel groans, frustrated that you've more or less lifted yourself off of his face, but finding your kitten licks to his slit unbearably divine, unable to pull you away in order to continue feasting on your hot sex.

Your tongue teasingly scoops up the drop of precum that glistens at the tip of Miguel's dick before taking him into your mouth, your cheeks hollowing as your lips glide up and down his length in a slow, sensual rhythm. As you take him deeper into your mouth, Miguel's hips buck up off the mattress, his fingers digging into your thighs in an attempt to hold himself back. His moans grow louder and more desperate as you expertly suck and stroke his cock, relishing in the way he fills your mouth.

The weight of Miguel's dick on your tongue, the pulsing of his veins, that potent, musky taste of pre on your tongue; it's all like a drug to you. So much so, that you moan around Miguel's cock, wiggling your hips above his lips in search of relief.

Miguel, quickly thrown from one horny trance to another, immediately raises his head to kiss your puffy clit messily, releasing one of your legs to scissor your cunt open with two thick fingers, plunging them deep inside of you as his head falls back against the pillows with a moan. All disappointment regarding being unable to properly devour your cunt in this position are outshone by the sight of your tight, gummy walls swallowing Miguel's digits and dripping around them, making Miguel thrust his cock up further into the cushy warmth of your mouth.

You moan around his cock, your tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge of his tip. Miguel's breath hitches, his fingers curling inside of you as he nears his climax. As the rough pads of Miguel's digits press against your gooey sweet spot, your eyes squeeze shut and you pull off of his cock, panting and moaning as you pump his length rashly, giving into the pleasure and your fast-approaching high and sitting further back.

Miguel immediately takes over once again, his strong, skillful fingers leaving your pussy to instead push down on your ass, guiding your body to rock against his face. Miguel's tongue lashes out again to trace the folds of your cunt before thrusting deep inside, licking and teasing the walls of your soaking wet core with the roughness of his flat, velvety tongue.

"Miguel! Mig, I-" You cry out, cut off by the obnoxious ding that chimes from your phone and the simultaneous ring of the doorbell, making Miguel's movements falter as he pulls away from your cunt with a dejected sigh leaving his lips, glistening with your slick.

Your actual lunch is here.

absolutely hate this. but shady's back, bitch!

[lcriedlastnight]

hi! was wondering if you could write something for your special for lando?

i was thinking something to do with his nose scar. idk if you can do something with that or not 💀

tysm and congrats!

ofc i can, i am screaming at this btw.

1k words

everyone knew lando was a party animal, it was the first thing you knew about him when you met him. he loved a good party and he loved a good time. you weren't as fond of the party scene but you knew when lando wanted you there, to be there for him. the celebration in amsterdam for kings day was one of those ones where you had decided that your presence was not, in fact needed and you could spend the week prior to the miami grand prix at home catching up on your current favourite tv show.

getting a call from your drunk boyfriend about some injury was not on your plans for the day however.

"heyyyy baby! where are you?" lando slurred through the phone when he had first called you. at first you had thought it was just another one of lando's famous drunk phone calls where he goes on and on about how much he misses you and how if you really wanted to he could get you on a flight to come and see him in thirty minutes - as if you could pack a weeks worth of clothes and get to the airport in that time. drunk lando was overly positive.

"hi lan, what's up?" you ask, padding through your shared living room, one hand holding your phone to your ear and the other holding the popcorn bowl.

"i look like a mummy right now!" he laughs down the phone. his laughter makes you giggle too even though you have no clue what he's on about.

"my nose hurts thoouugghh. smashed a glass on it." he complains as if it didn't just make you stop in your tracks and almost drop your very full bowl of freshly popped popcorn.

"you what? you smashed a glass on your nose? are you alright?" you quiz, worry laced throughout your voice. lando it's that drunk that he can't pick up on it. he just lets out a giggle and says something to someone near him before his attention is back on you.

"yeah! blood was everywhere, baby!" he says, much too positive for the contents of the sentence. even though you felt your throat close with worry for him you knew it couldn't be that bad or else you would've known much before now and lando wouldn't be as upbeat as he was right now.

"really? are you alright now?" you ask him, setting up the couch with blankets for your binge session. there is shuffling over the phone and then lando is mumbling again.

when he does answer you it's tipsy reassurance and its then that you realise that you won't know how bad it was until you either see him in person or speak to him when he's a little more sober than right now. you chat to him (entertain his drunk yapping) for a little while longer before you hang up to actually start your tv show and to let him get on with his partying.

★・・・・・・★

the next time you see lando is two days after, he had arrived in miami where you were waiting for him at the hotel and it was safe to say you had no idea on what his injury would be like. when you met him in your shared room and you seen him with the bandage on his nose, the first thing you did was coo. it was all you could do, you literally melted at him.

"oh baby." lando gives you a guilty smile, not knowing whether or not to milk his injury to get extra affection from you or to just be honest and say that it didn't really hurt as much as it did when he first cut it. the former was calling his name though.

you baby him all weekend until you see him cross the chequered flag first for the very first time and then, well let's just say the babying was put on hold for a little bit while you showed him just how proud of him you were.

laying in the hotel bed with him that night watching some random episode on the hotel tv, you turn to him and say "maybe you should hurt yourself every weekend so you can win every race for the rest of the season."

lando rolled his eyes and lightly shoved his palm in your face to shut you up.

★・・・・・・★

it was another win later when you realised just how obsessed you were with the little scar left on his nose from the incident. you had obviously noticed it before now (you had a serious problem when it came to staring at lando's face) but it wasn't until you were in singapore when you really noticed just how much you adored it on him.

the hotel lighting was dim, barely lighting up your favourite thing to look at when bored but it would do as both you and lando couldn't be bothered to turn anymore lights on or even turn the lamp on the bedside off. your fingers danced across his cheeks and along his jawline to then swipe across his eyebrows. you didn't know if it was the lighting or what it was but the scar kept catching your eyes and your fingers just kept coming back to swoop down over it, ever so gently like it was still fresh and sore.

"why'd you keep doing that?" lando mumbles, clearly half asleep but noticing the repeating motions of your fingers gliding down his nose and specifically his scar.

you aren't sure you have an answer to his question so you hesitate on replying to your half asleep boyfriend. your fingers now actively avoiding his nose altogether.

"doing what?"

lando huffs and opens one eye to look over at you. you are eye to eye with him, both of you laying on your sides facing one another.

"touching my nose. and my scar." lando points out. he knows that you knew what he was talking about and he was not here to beat around the bush.

"dunno." is your reply. "it's just cute. you suit it."

lando isn't sure if it's a compliment or not but he takes it as one as he lets his eye close again and moves so he is resting his chin on top of your head. he also isn't sure if it is possible for someone to suit a scar but instead of questioning you he just wraps his arms around you tighter. a conversation for the morning, he thinks.