#now he is tiny but not so tiny as in my past sketches

[starwarsmum]

Let SuperMari May begin! First prompt is Meet Fail

@maribat-calendar-events

AO3

PinkFrenchMarigold: I can't believe I get to come to meet you in person at last! Are you sure your dad doesn't mind me staying for a couple of days?

HortonsCoffeeFiend: please Mari, he might not even notice you're there

PFM: pfft, whatever you say, Timbit. Still good to meet me at the airport?

HCF: 👍 absolutely! I'll bring the coffee and doughnuts

PFM: my hero! Going dark, see you in 10 hours or so 🫶

*_____*

Marinette put her phone away, setting it to aeroplane mode before relaxing into her first class seat. She hadn't been sure she wanted to spend that much on the flight but Alya had convinced her that she would want the extra leg room and privacy. And now that she was settling into the chair, she could admit that it was absolutely necessary. 

Pulling out her sketchbook, she let her mind wander as she sketched out a design for a new line of hero inspired clothes. The main duo of the Parisian team, Scarabella and Chat Noir, were joining the Justice League that day and it meant that other people might want merchandise of the team. She'd been designing little bits for a long time, but now she would be able to market it to a wider audience. 

Mullo peeked out of her purse after the first hour of the flight and Marinette pulled out some cheese cubes, scattering them on the tray table. The tiny mouse Kwami grinned and began nibbling immediately. It was crazy to think she had been part of the team that took down Hawkmoth' and she was a little sad that she wasn't going to be introduced to the Justice League. 

She shook her head at herself. She was moving across the world, meeting her online friend in person for the first time, and it wasn't like any of the rest of the team were joining yet either. Maybe once she was settled in Gotham she could talk to Alya about bringing her into it, but for now she was going to focus on being Marinette. 

She smiled as she checked the time and decided to try and get some sleep.

_ _ _

The mood on the WatchTower was fairly relaxed and Kon watched as his best friend updated his notes on the Parisian team. They were due to arrive any minute and, because they were presumed to be the closest in age to them, Kon and Tim were supposed to be part of the welcome party. 

“I thought you were supposed to be busy today,” he said when he thought Tim was less distracted. 

“Yeah, I will be, but right now I'm okay for time. My friend doesn't land for another few hours and we should be done with plenty of time to spare for me to get to the airport,” Tim shrugged, saving his files and standing. 

“I can't believe you have an online civilian friend that you invited to Gotham. Wouldn't it have been smarter to go to them?” 

“Maybe if she hadn't been stuck in Paris for the past few years. Besides, I'm locking her up in the manor for a bit until I can tell if she can handle herself.” 

“That would be really concerning if I didn't know you,” Kon laughed, his grin turning roguish in the next moment. “And when do I get to meet your online friend? Maybe I can come and introduce myself while she's locked up in whatever tower you choose for her.” 

“Ha ha, funny. Marigold doesn't need another target on her back, it's bad enough that I'm probably going to have to keep her safe from Rogues. I don't really want to have to worry about Lex on top of all that.” 

“Fine, I'll have to meet her when you don't have her locked up I guess.” 

“Don't you have an off-world mission to get ready for?” Tim asked, sounding annoyed. Kon grinned widely, pleased that he'd managed to get under his skin so easily. He was fairly sure Tim was in love with his online friend, so he hoped she was everything she seemed. Tim deserved to be happy.

_ _ _

Adrien was excited to meet some of the Justice League, he just wished Marinette could be there with them. He knew why she wasn't, even agreed that it should just be him and Alya to begin with, but he still missed his best friend. 

“What do you think they'll be like?” He asked when they were waiting at the Paris Zeta Tube to be escorted in. “Multi seemed to think this was a good thing, but she didn't want to come up so…” 

“You know she was busy,” Alya said. They were prevented from continuing their conversation by the Zeta Tube lighting up and Wonder Woman stepping out to greet them. They exchanged hellos and then they followed the older heroine into the tube and up to the WatchTower. 

“Oh my god, that's Batman,” Adrien said in a hushed voice as they entered the meeting room. Alya looked like she was barely containing a fangirl squeal as Wonder Woman joined Batman and Superman. “Uh, hi, nice to meet you. I'm Chat Noir, this is Scarabella.” 

“Well met,” Wonder Woman said, smiling at them both. “Congratulations on defeating your villain, I'm sure it's a relief that Gabriel Agreste will no longer be terrorising your city.” 

“It is,” Alya said, actively working not to look at Chat. He knew this because she was tense as a taut wire and he forced down the nausea that came with the knowledge that everyone knew it was Gabriel that had done it. That the man he had called a father was the reason most of his friends had been akumatised and the reason he had died more than once. 

Shaking away the bad thoughts, they were formally inducted into the Justice League and introduced to a few heroes that were similar ages to them. Once that was all complete, Superman informed them cheerfully that they were expected at a few upcoming meetings and that support was available through the trials and any further investigations for Hawkmoth.

Adrien found himself relaxing completely once the big three were gone, leaving him and Alya in the care of Red Robin and the elder Superboy. It all seemed to be going well until Superboy started to quiz them on the rest of their team. Red Robin seemed to get frustrated and embarrassed on behalf of his friend.

“Do you think you'll bring the rest of your team up some time?” Superboy asked, and Red Robin looked like he wanted to hit him. “I thought you were going to bring everyone up here at once. Weren't there, like, fifteen of you?” 

“Something like that,” Alya said breezily. “But most of them are retired now and the others…they have their own lives to get on with. If any of them want to come up, we'll let them know that they're welcome but I don't want to pressure them at all. Hawkmoth wasn't really a barrel of laughs.” 

“So long as they know they're welcome, that's cool,” Red Robin said, shooting Superboy a look that said ‘shut up’ that even Adrien could read through the mask. 

“Maybe one day we'll get our strategist up here, she's a goddamn powerhouse,” Adrien said, grinning as he thought about Marinette. 

“Yeah, but is she hot?” Superboy asked cheekily, and Adrien thought he understood why Red had been getting annoyed. He wondered if Superboy flirted with many heroes. 

“Oh, like a supernova,” Alya nodded sagely. “But also not interested in dating a hero so you're out of luck I'm afraid.”

“Guess I'll just have to try my luck with Red's friend then,” he smirked, leaning back in a chair so far it rested on two legs. 

Adrien gave a bark of laughter when Red Robin kicked his chair out from under him.

_ _ _

Tim was not running late. He knew that it was more than likely that Mari’s flight would land on time but then customs would be a nightmare, so he was comfortably on time, he was sure. Besides, the coffee would get cold if he arrived too early, so getting there slightly after wasn't a bad thing.

But luck was not on his side because as he pulled up, he got a notification that a B-list rogue was trying to hold up the airport. Damian had already confirmed that he was nearby and would be expecting Tim to be suited up by the time he got there. 

“Good, it appears that Condiment King is attempting to rob the passengers of the flight from Paris for some reason. We should do some reconnaissance and then plan accordingly,” Damian said when Tim arrived in costume. 

“Fine, you head left, I'll head right and we'll meet at the back of the room to discuss strategies,” Tim said curtly, focusing on getting this done as soon as possible. 

As they circled to the back of the room, Tim spotted one of the passengers slipping away and heading into a corridor marked ‘Employees Only’. It was a young woman in a pink hoodie and grey jeans, worn sneakers on her feet. Very notably not an airport employee. She must have abandoned her luggage except for a small bag on her shoulder. He lost sight of her momentarily when she turned a corner but he could hear her murmuring urgently. Perhaps she had been on the phone?

“Mullo, get squeaky!” Said the voice, and Tim froze. What on earth did that mean? And then a light flashed and when he turned the corner the young woman he had spotted was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a superheroine in grey and pink stood there, two buns atop her head and a skipping rope tied around her waist. She gave a squeak when she turned and saw Tim, hand flying to her rope. “Uh, oh, you must be one of the local heroes, right? Red Robin, unless I'm mistaken. Hi, I'm Multimouse! Want a hand?” 

“...sure, why not.” 

Rounding up the goons took minimal effort between Tim, Damian and the new hero. She wasn't seen by anyone else but she was capable and strategic, following Tim's orders and offering insightful suggestions that sped things along. When it was over, she vanished with a quick salute in his direction, smiling brightly.

“She was…not horrendous,” Damian said stiffly. It took Tim by surprise because that was practically a compliment coming from him. “Hadn't you better go and find your friend? On the off chance that you have not been cat fished, she must be rather perturbed by the attack.” 

“Thanks Robin, I'll see you back at base,” he acknowledged, changing back to his civilian clothes in record time. He grabbed the cups of coffee and the box of doughnuts, and headed for the arrivals. 

Looking around, he held the box as visibly as he could, checking his phone. He sent a picture of the doughnut box and flipped the camera to show his line of sight and hoped that was enough for her to find him. He was staring at the check marks to see if they changed colour when someone stopped in front of him. He glanced up and was met by the woman he knew had to be Multimouse. He froze for a fraction longer than felt comfortable, until she broke the awkwardness. 

“Tim? Or, uh, whatever your real name is, HortonsCoffeeFiend,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice giving away her nerves. He was a little astounded that she was nervous to meet him when she had been completely calm during the fight. 

“Oh, uh, it actually…yeah, my name's Tim. Tim Drake,” he said, feeling a little smug when she laughed. “What about you, Marigold? Or would you rather I just keep using that?” 

“Marinette, actually,” she said with a bubbly giggle. “That's so crazy, what were the odds I would have picked your actual name? You look like you would know that sort of thing.” 

“Rude,” he said, holding out her coffee cup. “Sorry, it's probably a little cold now. But welcome to Gotham! As much as it sucks that you got caught in an attack, it's really…kind of common. Not how I pictured this meeting going though,” he added glumly. 

“Yeah, I thought I'd get at least a couple of days in before I experienced one of your villains,” she agreed, accepting the coffee and taking a sip. Upon finding that it was more than a little cold, she grimaced before chugging it back. “Hmmm, not too bad. At least it's caffeine.” 

“I'll get you a hot one another time,” Tim promised, reaching to take her bags. She shared them with him and chattered happily as he led her to his car. “I should probably warn you, my house is kind of…manic. And big.”

“That's fine, I won't stay too long. Thanks for offering me a space, I really didn't want to get an apartment without seeing it in person. Plus, I couldn't come to Gotham without meeting my online coffee bestie.” 

They lapsed into silence when they were seated, Marinette opening the doughnut box and offering it to him first. They got through the box of half dozen fairly quickly and he laughed when she licked her fingers clean. 

“I take it you want a serviette or something instead,” she mused, pulling napkins out of her purse. 

“Sure would, thanks,” he said, accepting them without taking his eyes off the road. 

“Would you be up for hitting a drive-thru or something? The doughnuts were nice and all, but I think I need something more substantial.” 

“Sure, why not,” he agreed, mentally figuring out where the closest drive-thru was and how to get there. Which was probably why he missed the sharp look she sent his way. 

Once they had more food, Marinette seemed to be mulling something over. She ate quickly and was done well before they pulled up at the manor. But where most new arrivals gawked at the massive building, Marinette was studying him. He cocked his head, wondering what the problem was, when she groaned and hit her head onto his dash. 

“Uh, are you okay?” He asked, nervous suddenly. He knew the manor was intimidating, but-

“Oh, yeah, just peachy thanks. Just wondering if you know the odds on us both having secret identities,” she said, tone flat. 

Well hell.

[mocking-the-bird]

I returned to drawing Tiny Tim because I am a weak human being controlled by dopamine release

I think I'll make part two with Jason and Bruce, and I hope you want that too :p

[obsessivevoidkitten]

A Day In Blood-Swell Swamp

Yandere Frog Hybrid x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Noncon, non-human genitalia, oviposition, general yandere behavior, misunderstanding, reader stuck in mud) Word Count: 1.7k (The yandere in this is a cinnamon roll. A real sweetie. Needed another one like him. He misread the reader's intent and is not at all a bad guy. Really hope you guys like him)

You were an artist on a mission. You were traveling all over your country to sketch the flora, fauna, and landscapes of various habitats. You had already visited several different forests and a couple of prairies.

Now you found yourself in Blood-Swell Swamp. The waters of the swamp were a deep red color. Many people in nearby towns were superstitious about the place and its odd colored water, but you knew it was just a combination of iron filled water and algae.

You rowed the tiny boat you had purchased and found a dry outcrop of trees overlooking the water logged scenery.

When you looked at the impressive sanguine waters and wetland forest sprawling out in front of you, you knew you had made the right decision.

You got out and tied the boat to a tree, the waters were still, but better safe than sorry.

Once you decided on a good spot to look at you pulled out your sketchbook. The first thing you sketched was a frog on a lily pad beside a blooming water lily. The next thing was a cluster of unique purple flowers.

After that you began the larger task of drawing the landscape as a whole.

You had just about finished when you heard a splash and then an enthusiastic male voice behind you.

"HI!!!"

You turned around and almost fell over. If the sudden presence of an unknown man behind you hadn’t been enough to scare you, the fact that he wasn’t human would have.

He was crouched down on very athletic looking legs, wearing nothing but a loincloth. He had long webbed toes and fingers that matched, though he only had four fingers. His mouth was a bit too long and his eyes were large and purple. He was a bit shorter than you but he clearly had a strong and compact body.

But the most odd thing was the color of his skin. He was a deep cherry red with the color transitioning into blue on his arms and legs past his elbows and knees.

His medium length black hair dripped as he tilted his head and spoke again.

“Hello? Are you okay? What are you doing?”

You collected yourself, still frightened by his appearance despite his so far friendly demeanor.

“Uh…”

“Are you okay??”

You flinched backwards as he stepped towards you. He stopped approaching as he noticed you were uncomfortable.

“I just… never saw a… what you are before…”

“Oh! Well I am a frogkin. I have seen a human or two before, but only from a distance.”

You were about to respond but he cut you off, he seemed to be really excited to have someone to chat with.

“My name is Cobi, what’re you called?”

You mentally scolded yourself for your rude and frightened demeanor and forced yourself to calm down and introduce yourself. You were in his territory after all, and he had been nothing but polite to you. You gave him your name and explained to him that you were an artist there to sketch the beauty of the swamp. You showed him your sketches.

“Oh wow, we don’t have any artists here. I have never even heard of sketches. We have some wall paintings in some of our huts, but nothing like this!”

The frog man was clearly impressed.

“Oh, I couldn’t live without being able to draw all the beauty around me. Hey, could I draw you? Just a quick sketch!”

If the skin on his face wasn’t already red you would have been able to see that he was blushing. If you drew beautiful things then that must mean you thought he was beautiful. The notion made his heart flutter.

“S-sure!” Cobi said in his ever chipper voice.

You spent some time sketching him, despite your original plan to get just a quick one in, he happily let you get a couple extra. One with him in the water and one of him crouched on a dead log.

When you finished your sketching you fished some sandwiches out of your backpack and offered one to Cobi. He took it and sniffed inquisitively trying to figure out what it was.

“It’s food, it’s called a sandwich.” You took a few bites of yours and then he took a few cautious nibbles before his eyes lit up and he stuffed the whole thing in his mouth at once. You had to stifle a laugh.

"Thank you, that was super yummy!"

Cobi was blushing more. You drew him because you thought he was beautiful. Attractive. And now you gave him food. Surely that meant you were interested in him right? People of the swamp didn’t just give food away! You gave food to those you liked. Friends, family, and potential mates you were courting!

Even if it was subconscious you probably were trying to court him. And he really wanted to explore the possibility of being your partner too, you were so kind and interesting.

But he didn't want to jump the gun and assume before he had a bit more solid evidence. So instead of asking or acting on what he felt all the evidence pointing to he just hung around and chatted with you a bit more while you finished your meal.

You finished your food slowly, enjoying your time getting to know the inquisitive frogkin. You answered all of his seemingly inexhaustible supply of  questions.

When you finished and said your goodbyes he seemed sad, but you were a traveler. You couldn't really make lasting friendships. And then, when you started to get up, you fell right over your own feet. Your arm stuck in some thick mud with your face low to the ground and your ass pointed up.

And that was all the confirmation Cobi needed. Ass up and presenting. The universal signal to breed!

If you had been able to see his face you would have seen that he was flustered beyond measure. You were also far too preoccupied to notice what Cobi was muttering.

"Oh... well I thought that maybe you just wanted to c-court and get to know one another better... I thought.. I j-just um... well it's just that... I-I have never even done it before... but... it seems like you really want to..."

Despite it being a bit fast he supposed he had become quite smitten with you. And, well, maybe humans coupled faster than frogkin. And he really didn't want to hurt you or offend you!

"O-okay, I'll do it!" He exclaimed loudly.

You were finally almost out of the muck and were about to ask him what he was going to do when he suddenly pulled your pants down and slid his huge tongue right into your entrance. You shuddered in shock and ended up with both hands stuck in the mud.

"Wh-what are you doing!?"

Cobi wasn't paying any attention to your words, not as lost in his efforts to loosen up your hole in preparation for the main event as he was. He gripped your legs with his webbed hands as his tongue probed you as deeply as possible, kneading and throbbing and gently stretching out your insides.

The pleasure was indescribable. You wanted Cobi to stop, but time you tried to articulate a protest the only sound you managed to produce was a loud moan or gasp.

And of course the only possible reaction Cobi could have to that was to think that he was doing a great job making his new mate nice. And he wanted to feel good with you.

He removed the slimy tongue from your entrance and removed his loincloth. Cobi then aligned his engorged cock and drew circles against it with before tip before slowly sinking into your tight heat. He had held reservations about making love to you so soon into courting, but now that he was inside you the last of them had melted away.

"Oh, oh, ooohh, you feel so amazing! I-i think you were meant for this pretty artist~"

Much in the same way that your resolve had melted away under the burning flood of pleasure Cobi was drowning you in. Judging by how it felt it was no human cock. It was much longer, a little thicker, and felt a bit slimy. With every thrust you lost a bit more of yourself until you were moving back against his movements, desperately trying to chase the orgasm you were building up to.

You had just come here to help along your art and now here you were in the mud mounted like a bitch in heat and enjoying it. It would have been humiliating if you had the capacity to dwell on such matters.

There were more important things to think about right now. Like the cock breeding you. The feel of unnaturally heavy nuts smacking into you. The soft and attentive lips kissing up your backside, straining to reach your neck.

You arched your back as you had the most mind shattering climax of your life.

"I can't hold back anymore. You sketched for me. L-let me just paint your insides for you~"

And then you learned why his nuts felt so heavy as they slammed against you. As he filled you he deposited much more than just normal cum. Over dozens of small round objects flooded into you and adhered themselves to your walls.

"Wh-what the?"

Cobi plucked you out of the mud with ease and pulled you into his lap as he sat down, with his prick still buried snugly inside of you. He held you close to his sweaty body and caressed your belly lovingly.

Now that you had a moment to process your predicament and the events that had just transpired you were completely dumbfounded. One moment you were trying to get out of the mire and the next you were being fucked.

"I'm so glad you wanted to be mates~"

Your mind was reeling trying to come up with a response to such an outrageous claim. When had you expressed anything resembling such a des-

"Mmmm~" Instead you could only reply with a pathetic pleased whimper as Cobi began rolling his hips, grinding into you and very slowly fucking you for a second time.

"Don't worry, I have plenty more eggs just for my sweet artist~"

You could only lean back against him and drool as he wrapped his arms around you possessively and temporarily fucked your mind away once more.

[hivemuthur]

Hi Anon(s)! I'm intermingling the request and prompt into one:

Filth, Unspoken

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! you know the drill, they end up doing stuff by the end of this. The premise is: Reader secretly writes love letters and poems to Viktor and one day she accidentally slips him some. From warnings: massive cringe warning regarding my attempt at poetry :v

word count: 4,1K

author’s note: Remember when I said that sometimes I need to remind myself that I can publish anything because nobody has my address and won't come and boycott me in real life? I had to do it ten times harder with this. You don't like my poems? High five, I don't either :') Viktor does tho, hehe :v @rennethen as usual thank you for beta reading and surviving :v

artist on X

—

Chaos. The only word capable of describing your day. From the frantic oversleeping—jumping around your bedroom while picking up yesterday’s clothes—to the rushed, half-hearted teeth cleaning your dentist would surely condemn, to breakfast consisting of a single apple, to bumping into Sky and painfully clashing foreheads, to nearly stumbling over the threshold of Heimerdinger’s classroom. And then, the realisation: you’ve forgotten your textbook.

You’re forced to borrow the classroom copy, the one Heimerdinger keeps for emergencies. Poor book—barely holding together, its pages threatening to break free from their loose stitching, stained and scrawled on by generations of equally forgetful students.

In the middle of a page, you spot a tiny drawing of Viktor, ink bleeding into the text you’re supposed to be reading. He’s hunched over a desk, his back abruptly cut off by the edge of the paper, his hair reduced to sketchy, heavy-handed strokes. And yet, it’s undeniably him. Signed J.T.—Jayce, you assume. Around the drawing, various hearts have been added in different inks and handwritings, a quiet chorus of affection from students past. No wonder the book is so worn. You smile to yourself—you’re not the only one, it would seem.

Your eyes flick to where he sits, finding him in the exact same position, only now with the full curve of his back visible. The eraser end of a pencil rests between his lips, his gaze blank as he stares off, lost in thought. You imagine it’s something else entirely that finds its way into his mouth.

Slowly, you draw your own heart next to his tiny, sketched lips.

The lecture blurs as the last of your adrenaline fades. Secretive yawns slip through as Heimerdinger’s monotonous voice grows heavier, pressing your eyelids shut. Eventually, you succumb, head resting against your hand.

The next thing you know, a warm hand presses firmly against your forearm, and your name is murmured close to your cheek, laced with the scent of coffee and something sweet. You lean into it before you can think better of it.

“I must admit, I agree with your review,” Viktor mutters, far too close to your lips for your pupils not to dilate.

There’s a stupid look on your face, and he must notice, because he adds, “Eh. Not the most thrilling lecture, I suppose.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Damn, I barely took any notes,” you whine, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Viktor chuckles, clearly mistaking the heat in your cheeks for lingering drowsiness rather than the way his closeness sets your pulse stumbling. You’re still leaning toward him, caught between the haze of waking and the warmth of his voice.

“I have a free period now,” he offers. “We can go through them together.”

For a fleeting second, you consider lying—mumbling a heated yes, forsaking another lecture only to spend some time in his proximity and get a good whiff of his scent. But a nagging sense of duty wins over the frantic thrum in your chest.

You fidget, pushing yourself up from your seat too fast, nearly toppling over in the process. “Ah—next class—I have to—” Papers crumple under your fingers as you shove them into your bag with all the grace of a landslide.

Viktor watches you with quiet amusement. He has seen this flustered scramble before—usually when someone is running late or, occasionally, when someone is running from him. But he isn’t one to give up easily.

“If you do not have time,” he says smoothly, “I can review the notes myself.”

You pause, blinking at him. “You’d really do that?”

“Mm.” He tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I like collecting favours.”

Still not entirely awake, you dig through your bag and pull out a stack of papers. It’s not a particularly pleasant sight—edges curled, some pages crumpled beyond saving, a coffee stain blooming across the corner of one sheet like a spreading bruise. You give him an apologetic shrug.

Viktor takes them without hesitation, his smile turning playful. “I do like a challenge.” He taps the stack against the desk to straighten it. “I will drop them off later?”

Your brain is still catching up to the fact that you just handed over your notes—your disaster of a note-taking system—to Viktor, of all people.

“Uh. Yeah. Sure.” The words leave your mouth before you can rethink them, and by the time you do, Viktor is already slipping the papers into his bag with a satisfied little hum.

And so you go your separate ways, the needy thing in your chest both sated and still starving, your mind already drifting to what the evening might bring. You wrap your fingers around your forearm where Viktor’s hand rested for a moment, itching to roll up your sleeve and inspect the skin beneath.

All this time, you’ve been pouring your heart out onto sheets of paper that no one has seen. Technically, Sky once found one you accidentally used as a napkin—deeming it trash after you’ve read it back to yourself, mortified. You snatched it from her hand and shoved it deep into the bin. Thankfully, it was a tame one.

Love letters, poems, confessions—all of them left unseen. For someone so secretive about your little crush, you take surprisingly few security measures. You stuff them under your pillow, into your drawers, sometimes into your pockets, books, or notes you carry around in your bag. Or, they become an eventual napkin, but that has only happened once so far.

You should probably keep them safer. But the thought vanishes the moment you sit down for your next class, forcing yourself into the focused state you need to brace through the lab exercise. Occasionally, your mind drifts back to later.

Viktor, true to his word, spends the period back at his dorm, where all the notes he might need are. He sets up at his desk, intending to correct your scribblings and annotate what you might have missed, only to realise soon after that this won’t be a one-sitting job. How you’ve been passing your classes eludes him.

It’s pure chaos incarnate. What starts as notes on one page quickly devolves into a caricature of Heimerdinger, his poro gnawing at his foot, before abruptly resuming a page later. He chuckles at your commentary—hastily scribbled words underlined whenever boredom struck: yawn, no idea what this man is talking about, kill me.

Until it’s no longer chaos. His eyes fixate on a small sheet of paper wedged between your class materials. A poem. No mistake here. But what kind of poem is this? Has this bloomed under your pen? He reads the first two verses, convincing himself it’s to identify your handwriting.

when you brush my fingers I don’t wash my hands

And there is no mistake here either. He places the sheet face down on his desk, looking around as if anyone might be there to spy on him. He steadies himself with a deep breath before peeking back in.

your touch lingers, stains my skin seeps into every tender place I press against in the dark it’s cruel, how you favour my left hand how you never take the right— the one I slip between my thighs the one that does you no justice, I’m sure

Your words pour into him, his mind racing as he imagines you saying them. Writing them, tapping your chin with your pen at your desk—or better yet, in your bed. Or have you written this in class? Heart begins to thump loudly in his temples as he re-reads the poem a couple of times, each pass making his cheeks hotter. He tries to focus on the words, imagining you, wondering who you’ve written this for. By the time he’s forced to pack up for his next class, his hair is dishevelled from running a hand through it too many times. He eyes the rest of your notes suspiciously, his mind racing.

After lectures, he’d like nothing more than to run back to his dorm, but instead, he walks briskly, the thought of your writings nagging at him. The stack of papers teases at his mind, and as he turns the corner, a sudden impulse hits him—what if he searched the rest of the notes?

He sits down faster than he would admit to anyone and begins to go through the papers, one by one. It doesn’t take long to identify another hold-withered sheet, folded in half unevenly, which he opens with excited hands.

I fall asleep drunk on the whiskey of your eyes and the promise of your teeth I dream of the mark your cane leaves on my ass

Stop. Can’t be. He twists the cane in his fingers and falls against the chair’s backrest. Head lulls back on his shoulders and a hand comes to cover his mouth. Can’t be, so he reads the whole thing again.

I fall asleep drunk on the whiskey of your eyes and the promise of your teeth I dream of the mark your cane leaves on my ass make it red make it many every night, I regret that I cannot kiss where past life lovers have kissed you— under your eye, above your mouth

Zatraceně, Viktor thinks. He runs his fingers across the mark under his eye, then the one above his lip. Still, can't be, can it? Every blush, every fidgeting of hands he mistook for your general anxiety—was it all him?

Every time you’ve shied away from his eyes or slipped from under his touch. His mind races through your interactions, trying to remember how many times he’s touched your left hand. Countless. Unbelievable, how blind a smart man can be.

With trembling hands, he fumbles through the rest of the stack. And as if he weren’t sure enough already, a tiny piece of parchment, presumably ripped from one of your notebooks, glares at him with his name scribbled in loving letters.

Fuck me, Viktor. I don’t want to die— Untouched by you, Unfucked by you, Unruined by you, Unmade in the way only you could.

Such words, coming from under your wrist, unthinkable. He finds his collar tight and his mind foggy as he reads all three of them over and over. Images of your lips reciting the poems flood his brain. Then, images of your lips doing other things.

He loosens his tie, after a while discards it completely. Determined to finish what he promised, he goes through the rest of your notes, thankfully finding no other filthy scribbles. Or unluckily.

He considers completing the task tomorrow, but there’s no use. His cock is relentlessly stiff, and if he doesn’t hand you your filth back, he will most likely stay awake until the morning. When the knock lands on your door, it's late, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t waiting.

“Hello,” says Viktor, and he looks… tired. His clothes are dishevelled, his hair a mess, and his cheeks are faintly flushed. He looks pretty, too.

“Hi, um… am I this unreadable?” You wince, eyeing the notes in Viktor’s hand, which look somewhat neater than you remember.

You have no idea, he thinks. “Eh, it was a little bit… challenging, but everything should be here,” Viktor says, hesitating before passing you the stack. “Can I come in?”

You step away faster than you can say yes. Then, you take the notes from his hand and put them on the table, looking at him expectantly. “Well?”

This time it’s Viktor fidgeting, and it gets you mildly self-conscious. He turns to you, then eyes the stack on the table. “You have an interesting way of cataloguing knowledge,” he chooses to say.

“What… do you mean?” you ask, and feel your heart stop, drop out of your chest, and stumble to the floor. For a moment, you feel bloodless, before all this blood comes rushing up to your face with an ice-cold gush.

“I might have stumbled upon some of your… eh, original work, so to speak?” he offers and smiles of all things. Curiosity lingers in his eyes, and you swallow, hard.

“Original… oh, fuck.” you exhale sharply, and your hand shots up to cover your mouth.

“You are very talented. I know not much of poetry, but—”

“Poetry?! Gods, these are the worst!” You rub your temples, mortified, eyes flicking to the floor, desperately trying to hide your embarrassment.

“There’s more?” he asks, bewildered. This is the most animated he’s seen you… perhaps, ever. Always quiet. Always shy around him. How interesting.

“Viktor, I beg you,” before you know it, you fist his shirt, and your face is inches away from his. Your cheeks burn and your temples hammer with the rhythm of your heart. “Don’t mock me. Which ones have you read?”

The proximity moves something within him, and suddenly, the images of your lips come back to him. Of you, begging for his cane against your ass and his cock in your mouth, and it’s thrilling.

His hands come to rest on your hips, and a chill runs down your spine when a smirk blooms on his face. “What can I say… forgive me for favouring your left hand. I shall fix my mistake.”

“Oh gods, I’m going to die,” you lament, covering your face and pulling away, but Viktor’s grip tightens.

“Wait! Wait,” he pleads, pulling you close, cane pokes between your shoulder blades. “You cannot die yet,” he whispers, and it doesn’t take you long to connect the dots. All the blood thriving and gushing under the skin of your face immediately drains when his mouth comes to your ear and he hums, “Not before I touch you.” A breath gets trapped in your throat when his hand slides up your side to wrap around your neck. “Not before I… fuck you,” he whispers against your lips and waits for your reaction. “Or ruin you,” comes last and well, almost ruins you there, on the spot.

Then, he stills and just stares into your eyes. Wide and frightened, you search his—pupils black and huge, eating up the gold to the rim. “Unless… your writing is of the past. Or untrue.”

Feeling the weight of his scrutiny, you surrender. “It’s not,” you murmur, your voice so small it’s barely there. You don’t dare look at him, so you miss the way his lips curl into an amused smile. “Which ones did you read exactly?”

“Oh? Are the themes reoccurring?” Viktor asks, tilting his head, his tone deceptively innocent.

You let out a weak, mortified whine, and before you can fully process what’s happening, he pulls you in, guiding your head to rest beneath his chin. The scent of him fills your nose. When he speaks again, the low timbre of his voice vibrates against your cheek. “Oh hush, I’m only teasing you.”

“Well, have you considered stopping? I’m barely hanging in here,” you mutter against his throat. You feel the slight shift in his breath, and if you weren’t so dizzy with embarrassment, you’d swear you felt goosebumps rise under your lips.

“Why? It’s only me. You’ve known me for years,” he muses, his fingers tracing idly along your back.

“Yes, but—” you start, only for him to interrupt.

“But what? Am I so intimidating?”

“No, you are just so…” You hesitate, your breath hitching as you realise how close you are, how warm he feels against you. “Nice,” you whisper, barely able to force out the word. And then, quieter still, almost a confession: “And hot. I can’t think straight around you.”

Viktor tilts your chin up, gold eyes searching yours, his breath warm against your lips. “Do you mean it?” he asks, voice low. “This and everything you’ve written?”

You force yourself to answer with a weak, “Yes.”

Your lips brush his as you press forward, seeking out his tongue, inviting him in needily. He obliges, mouth breathing into yours slowly—a deep kiss that’s both cautious and wanting, melting the two of you together. It’s slow, and it grows, each inhale Viktor takes deep and measured, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of your breath. His teeth catch on your lower lip, and a moan escapes you when his hand moves from your chin to the base of your skull.

His thumb brushes under your hairline, almost soothing, when he asks, “Would you like me to touch you, then?”

When he pulls back, just enough to let you catch your breath, his lips are still ghosting over yours.

“Please,” you whisper, the word bouncing between you.

Wordlessly, he nods, takes your hand in his, and guides you toward your bed. Then he sits, props his chin on his palms resting atop his cane, and says calmly, “Strip for me.” His voice is steady, but inside, he is anything but.

With trembling hands, you undress, your skin prickling under his stare. Once bare, you clasp your palms at the bottom of your stomach, shifting from foot to foot as you await his next instruction. Viktor smiles—kind, knowing—and sets his cane aside before extending his arm.

His hands find your thighs, running up and down, leaving cinders in the aftermath of his touch. Then, he turns you around and pulls you down until your back is flush against his chest.

“Now,” he whispers into your ear, his voice a slow drag of heat down your spine as he spreads your legs, hooking them over his knees.

“I will touch you,” he murmurs, fingers tracing your bare skin, “and you will tell me what else you’ve written.”

His touch trails up your inner thigh, barely there, leaving only the ghost of warmth behind. The anticipation is unbearable—he enjoys it. Your breath stutters when he finally, finally brushes over where you need him, only to pull away just as quickly.

“Go on,” he prompts, voice smooth as silk, his mouth close to your ear. You swallow hard, heat coiling deep inside you. You shift uncomfortably on his lap, hook one arm around his shoulder before breathing your weak plea into his neck. "Viktor."

He hums in response, his hand returning, teasing, fingers slipping between your thighs but still refusing to give you what you ache for.

"Say it," he coaxes. "For me?"

You gasp when his knuckles brush against your centre, his second hand slipping up your other thigh, joining the right one—a promise of what awaits you if you share this with him.

"What if you come," you whisper, voice shaking, "into my throat?"

A sharp inhale from Viktor, his fingers playing at your entrance. He nuzzles into your hair, breath hot against your temple. "More."

"I’d eat mud to touch the root of you," you murmur, heat flooding your face. "I go hungry if you don’t feed me."

Viktor groans and plunges two fingers inside you, his right hand rubbing lazy circles over your clit. You can feel him, so painfully hard against the small of your back, and your head lulls onto his shoulder, a shuddered whimper slipping from your lips.

"More," he demands with a soft moan.

Your mind is slipping, drowning in the way he touches you, but you force the words out. "I kneel at the altar of your hands," you whisper, your eyes meeting his. "I part for them like a prayer."

Viktor swears under his breath, his mouth pressing a bruising kiss to your lips. His tongue parts them effortlessly, devouring your filthy testament to your infatuation straight from your throat.

"It tortures me," you say, voice hitching, "that I cannot mould the shape of your cock from the slope of your groin."

The wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of you, the feeling of them curving just right, the heat of his chest against your back, and his hair tickling your forehead—it all has you dizzy. You tighten your grip on his shoulder, fingers grasping his shirt tightly as you press your face against his.

"Good girl," Viktor breathes against your lips, each word a quiet indulgence. Something roars in his ribcage at the feeling of being this adored. His fingers push deeper, curling mercilessly, coaxing the slickest, filthiest sounds from your body. The other hand does a deft work of your clit, and you jerk, a breathy moan escaping into the open air.

"That’s it," he murmurs, nipping at your jaw, letting his teeth linger over your skin before soothing the bite with a kiss. "No more left hand torture."

His hips shift against you, slow at first, a teasing drag of his cock over the swell of your ass, letting you feel the hard, aching length of him through his trousers. He groans, a deep, broken thing, and his breath stutters when you push back, rolling your hips to match his movement.

"Fuck," he hisses, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he grinds against you more deliberately. "I could listen to you endlessly."

You whimper, arching against him, hand clutching at his shoulder as he builds the pressure inside you with every firm thrust. Your whole body is taut, trembling at the way his hips rut against yours, the way his breath catches when you moan his name.

"Will you come for me?" he rasps, lifting his head, catching your mouth in a kiss that’s hot and searching, swallowing every little sound you make. "Let me hear you. Let me feel it."

You gasp into his mouth, shaking, so impossibly close as his fingers drive into you faster, rub your clit harder. His legs spread further apart, keeping you open for him, guiding your pleasure. "You’re so lovely," Viktor whispers, breathless, voice thick with awe.

The coil inside you tightens, unbearable, your body wound so tight you think you might snap in two on his lap. And then Viktor shifts, bites down gently on your lower lip, and it’s too much—you break, gasping against his mouth as you come undone around his fingers.

And it’s so much more than you’ve imagined. None of your hands have done him justice. Nor your pillow, nor your shower head. Nothing could compare, save for the promise of his cock lingering in your mind.

"Yes," he exhales, pressing his forehead against yours, voice laced with something dangerously close to devotion. "That’s it. Just like that. Let me have it."

Your body trembles in his hold, pulsing around his fingers as he guides you through the aftershocks, his movements slowing, softening. He keeps kissing you, swallowing your ragged breaths, grinding himself against you as his own breath turns uneven, as his own restraint frays.

"Tell me," he pants, grinding harder, desperate, aching. "Tell me you’ll write more for me."

His cock throbs against you, his fingers still buried inside you, and you barely have the strength to whisper back—

"Yes."

And Viktor groans like he’s the one coming apart. You hook your arms over his neck and kiss him, grinding your hips against him. “Yes,” you say into his mouth again, breathless, fervent.

Slick fingers come to press bruises into the skin of your thighs as he chases the friction, the heat of you against him, edging him toward his peak. His hips jerk, rutting against the curve of your ass with a desperate, needy rhythm. You can feel him, so impossibly hard, straining against the fabric of his trousers, the damp heat of you seeping through to him.

"Fuck," he hisses against your lips, his voice wrecked. His forehead presses to yours, his breath shuddering as he thrusts against you, chasing relief, needing it like air.

Your hands slip into his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans, his body shivering with pleasure. "Come for me," you whisper, rolling your hips back, pushing against him with just enough pressure to tip him over the edge.

Viktor gasps, his hands flying to wrap around your stomach, pulling you flush against him as his body seizes. A guttural moan tears from his throat, his hips stuttering as he spills into his trousers, panting against your skin, trembling. His grip on you is bruising, grounding, as waves of his orgasm crash through him.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move, only breathes, his mouth brushing over your cheek, your jaw, your lips—soft, reverent touches. His hands ease their grip, smoothing over your belly, your waist, as if trying to memorize you by touch.

When he finally speaks, his voice is raw, ruined. "I fear you’ll be the death of me." “It’s only fair,” you say quietly, nuzzling into his neck. “You’ve been the death of me for the longest time.”

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter twenty ⭐︎ Tell me it's love, tell me it's real

Warnings: 18+ minors don't interact! slight angst, only a tiny bit of sadness, fluff, lots and lots of fluff, mentions of loss and death, smut, pool sex, unprotected sex, mentions of unrequited feelings

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You and Steve get lost in your own little world, a delusion in which you both have what you want, if only you knew how to talk, how to communicate.

Word count: 11.6k+

Author's note: @hellfire--cult we've been talking about this moment since February and now we're here aaahhhh! thanks for helping me and for putting the smut idea in my head, it's been living rent free in there for the past few months, thanks for writing with me hehe ily

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter

♡

Steve was dying of boredom. Mrs. Click’s voice sounded through the room that was filled with other bored students, the girl next to him that he never bothered to learn the name of was chewing her gum obnoxiously as she was sketching in her notebook, she smelled like weed and a strong perfume, it was giving him a headache. 

He looked at the clock and sighed, forty minutes to go… 

He couldn’t wait for the bell to ring and go home, watch a movie and eat the pasta his mom made the night before. 

Steve leaned back and tapped his fingers against the book he didn’t even bother to open when Mrs. Click told everyone to flip to page 137. He looked to his left, at the girl sitting by the window, listening attentively and taking notes the way he should have been doing too. 

Just the sight of you angered him and he didn’t even know why, but something in his chest burned every time he looked at you and it frustrated him to no end. And yet, he never stopped himself from looking, from taking in the sight of you and how soft your skin looked, how pretty your eyes were, how nice your clothes fit you and how stunning you always were, even when you ditched your pretty dress for sweaters and jeans on some days. 

Today wasn’t one of those days, you were wearing a skirt, a short one that rode up on your thighs, it made his eyes spark with interest, it made him look closer at you, he sat up straighter and leaned his elbows on the table. 

Your eyebrows were scrunched together, your glossy lips puckered, your eyelashes kissed your skin every time you blinked, your hair laid so prettily on your shoulder, curled at the ends, he wondered how much time you spent on it, did you sleep with rollers in your hair? Or did you get up early just to style it? 

Your skin was glowing and he swore that he could smell your sweet perfume even from a distance. Every time you passed him, he breathed in your scent and made the burning in his chest feel worse than before but he couldn’t help it, you smelled so good. 

He kept staring at you and questions started running through his mind. 

Why do you have to be so beautiful?

Why do you have such pretty lashes?

Why do you bite your lip like that?

Why does his heart beat so weirdly every time he sees you?

It’s not fair, it’s bullshit. 

Your eyes, your smile, your hair, your lips, your pretty face, your stupid rings, your scent, your beauty… it’s not fair. 

Your presence always made him huff in irritation and yet, he never bothered to look the other way or avoid you. 

He always stared, every chance he got, he stared, just like now. 

But then, you turned your head and your eyes locked with his, you caught him staring and it made his cheeks heat up. He shifted in his seat as you gave him a look of confusion, your puckered lips turning downwards, your eyebrows scrunching together even more. 

He should’ve looked away and pretended like nothing happened but he didn’t, he raised his brows at you and curled his lips into a smirk, an action that made you roll your eyes before you turned back to your notebook. 

He almost felt disappointed at the loss of your attention, but then you flipped a page and leaned closer to the table, you quickly scribbled something into your notebook, it made him curious and it made him crane his neck a little but he couldn’t see what you were writing. You then ripped the paper out and folded it, you looked at Mrs. Click before you turned back to him and threw the note on his table without giving him as much of a glance. 

Something in his chest stirred as he picked it up, still looking at you before he gave his full attention to the paper in his hand, he unfolded it and furrowed his brows as he looked at your pretty handwriting before he even read what you wrote. 

What are you looking at perv?

Steve almost laughed, he didn’t expect anything else from you. He shook his head and smirked as he folded the note back together and threw it in his pencil case. He ripped off a piece of paper from his own notebook and started writing without thinking. 

You.

A simple ‘you’, that’s all. He wanted to see how you would react, what you would say back, if you would take it as a chance to flirt with the King, if you would use the opportunity any other girl would use. 

He looked around and ignored the curious looks from Tommy as he threw the note on your table, it landed right in front of you and you wasted no time unfolding it, you looked over your shoulder at him, a deadpan look on your pretty face. You sighed and turned back. 

Steve straightened in his seat, he pressed his lips together as he watched you and the way you held your breath, the way you stared at the paper for a moment, tensely and then, you huffed and crumbled up the piece of paper and threw it in your case just the way he did. You started writing hastily and made him more curious when you stopped for a second before you continued. 

His heart jumped when he got the second note, just like the first time, he quickly unfolded it and read it with excitement bubbling in his chest. 

Very funny, are you running out of girls to flirt with, King Steve?

Of course you would not take the bait and give into his curiosity but he found himself craving for more, you sparked his interest, so he picked up the pen again. 

What makes you think I’m flirting with you, Blondie? Maybe I just like looking at you. 

He should have seen the way you halted your breath, the way you stared at the note a little longer than you did at the last one.

And here I thought you only like to look at yourself…

He snorted at that and earned a pointed look from Mrs. Click, he instantly straightened his back and pretended to listen to her, scared of getting caught, he didn’t want this to end just yet. A sigh of relief fell from his lips once she turned her attention back to the book in front of her. 

No, I quite like looking at the skirt you’re wearing today

Steve swore that you grew flustered at this note, you even glanced down at the skirt and took a few deep breaths before you wrote back to him. 

Like I said… perv. 

His shoulders slumped and he sighed. A part of him was amused, the other… not so much but before he could write back, the bell rang and everyone around him started gathering their stuff and hurrying to leave the classroom, including you. You picked up your notebook and got up, you smoothed down your skirt and left without sparing him a single glance. 

But Steve wanted more. He gathered his things and jumped up, not bothering to wait for Tommy, he hurried after you and watched the way your skirt swayed and your hair bounced. He licked his lips and cleared his throat as he caught up to you, he glanced down at you with a cocky smirk on his face, one that made you roll your eyes again. 

“What do you want, perv?”

He chuckled and shook his head. 

“I’m not a perv.”

“You’re not?” You tilted your head at him, cutely. “Then why are you staring at my skirt and making comments about it?”

He shrugged and looked down at it before his eyes moved up your body, “maybe I just really like it.” 

You rolled your eyes again and laughed – a sound that made him feel something in his stomach. 

“I fear you can’t borrow it, it won’t even fit around your big square head.” 

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes and yet, he couldn’t even help but snort at your insult, they were so very different from the ones he threw at you sometimes.  

“My head isn’t square…”

“Yes it is,” you giggled and gave him a smirk as you eyed him. 

Evil. 

“You look like a lego figure, you have a lego head.” 

He shook his head at you, though the amused smile lingered on his face, even as he took notice of all the prying eyes on you and him, he heard the whispers, saw the girls that eyed him and then you before they leaned towards each other to make up some new gossip, a part of him felt irritated and annoyed but the other part of him that loved the attention, couldn’t care less about what they would say about him or you. 

You stopped at your locker and gave him a weird look when he stopped too, he leaned against the locker next to yours and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched you fidget with your lock. He looked at your hands, how much smaller they were than his and he couldn’t help but let his mind wander the way his eyes did as they roamed every inch of you while you were busy putting your stuff into your locker. 

Usually he did not allow himself to see you as anything other than a girl he disliked but a part of him couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he allowed himself to see you as something other than that, as something more. 

He licked his lips as he looked at your soft skin, his fingers itched to touch your hair, wondering if they felt just as soft as they looked. He breathed in the scent of your perfume and felt something stir inside of him. 

You turned towards him and he didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was staring. Your lashes fluttered as you blinked, your lips twisted into a downturned smile, you raised your brows at him and shrugged.

“Okay, what do you want from me, Harrington?” You asked, the strap of your backpack now over your shoulder and you slammed your locker before you crossed your arms over your chest. “Is this a dare or something or why are you staring at me like some creep?” 

He felt his cheeks heat up a little, a shyness he usually never felt tugged at his emotions but his arrogance was still in control. 

“I’m bored,” he shrugged and let his eyes linger on your lips as his mind continued to wander. 

You rolled your eyes at him and huffed, pointing your finger around you, gesturing to the students, to the girls that stared at you in envy at this moment. 

“Well, I’m sure one of them will keep you entertained,” you mumbled and took a step forward, “they are practically begging on their knees for your attention, don’t leave ‘em waiting.” You patted him on his chest before you stepped away from him. 

He turned to face you, not wanting to let you go just yet. 

“What if I want you to keep me entertained?” He asked teasingly with a cocky, playful smirk on his lips, one that made you blink and sigh. 

“Dream on, King Steve,” you smirked and looked over his shoulder at something behind him, “gotta be more creative with your dares, your stupid friends are way too obvious.” 

He furrowed his brows and turned around to see what you were looking at, he found Tommy and Carol watching the two of you with a smirk on their lips, giggles falling from Carol’s mouth. Steve rolled his eyes at them and sighed. 

“Listen, that wasn’t–” he stopped talking when he found you long gone and away from him and watched as you walked away, “a dare…” He mumbled to himself, he sighed again and looked down once you were out of sight. His notebook and pencil case were still in his hand, your notes tucked safely in the case – where they stayed for a while. 

“Steve!” 

Your giggles make him smile so widely that it makes his cheeks ache but he can’t stop, not when you continue blessing him with your sweet laughter, your hands are on his shoulders, holding on tightly as his fingers dig into your sides, he peppers your neck with kisses, smacking his lips against the skin over and over. 

You are squirming underneath him, your dress riding up in the process as you both lie on the big couch in your living room, the movie playing on the TV long forgotten, your snacks discarded on the table, your attention is fully on each other, your lips locking every few seconds as your hands wander across his shoulders, over his back, down his arms and finally melting into his hands, your heart skipping several beats when he entwines his fingers with yours.

Steve squeezes your hands and he dives in deeper into your neck, kissing and smiling against your skin. 

“That tickles!” You giggle again, your eyes begin to water from all the laughter. 

He chuckles against you and pecks your neck one more time before he pulls back to kiss your jaw instead, then your cheek and finally your lips, humming against you when you kiss him back immediately. Your breaths mingle together, your lips mold against each other, softly yet passionately, you are chest to chest, hands clinging to one another. 

You let go of one hand and place your palm on his back, sliding it up to his shoulder and squeezing it before you sink your fingers into his already messy hair. 

Steve sighs into the kiss and tightens his hold on your hand as he parts your thighs with his knee, not to take this any further but to feel you closer and you welcome him happily, not initiating anything else either, this feels good, this feels nice, this is enough. 

Your whimper makes his stomach flutter, a smile tugs at his lips as you play with his hair. Your hands feel so good on him, so perfect, so right. His heart skips a beat when you push yourself up and press yourself further against him, parting his lips with your tongue, you deepen the kiss in need to feel him even closer. 

Your hands roam his body and his roam yours, sighs and whimpers sound through the room as you make out on your couch, growing more and more breathless, only when it gets too much do you break the kiss and pull away from one another. You lay your head back on the pillow and open your eyes to see him staring at you already, a soft smile on his swollen lips, eyes hooded and laced with softness, his cheeks are pink and his hair is messy from all your tugging. Steve makes your heart flutter when he presses another soft kiss to your lips and cups the side of your face, tracing your cheekbone as he gazes down at you in a way only a special one should do. 

“Hi Blondie,” he whispers sweetly. 

You raise your hand up towards his face, brushing back his spitcurl before you trail your finger down to his lips, “hey, Lego Head.” 

His eyes crinkle in amusement, a chuckle falls from his pretty lips, “wow, way to ruin the moment.” 

You giggle at him and it makes him continue. 

“You haven’t used that one in a while.” 

“Mhmm, did you miss it?” You tease him, knowing how much he hated the nickname you gave him on a random school day. 

“Hmm, it kinda grew on me,” he admits, smiling down at you, “but I kinda prefer it when you call me Stevie.”

“Stevie? That only happens when I’m drunk.” 

“Yeah,” he whispers and tugs your hair behind your ear, still smiling as his eyes trace your features, “guess I gotta get you drunk again.”

“Why?” You giggle and furrow your brows at him, “so I’ll call you Stevie again?” 

“Yeah, and so I can have sweet Blondie again,” he smirks, “you’re so nice and adorable when you’re drunk.” 

Your cheeks heat up at his words but you roll your eyes and shake your head. 

“Are you saying I’m normally not adorable?” You joke and pout at him and push him back so you can stand up, heart beating faster at the groan of protest and the tightness of his hold on your waist when you try to get up from the couch. 

“Where are you going?” He asks, frowning at you when you place your hand on top of his and gently remove it from your waist. 

“I’m starving, I’m gonna see what I have in the fridge.” 

Steve nods and wastes no time to get up and follow you into the kitchen, admiring the way your little sundress fits your body, the way it hugs your waist and sways around your hips as you walk. Your hair matches the state of his own, messy and disheveled from the previous makeout session. 

When you open the fridge, you let out a loud sigh and look over your shoulder, “uh… I kinda forgot to do the groceries.” 

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, chuckling at the expression on your face, he steps closer to you and places his hands on your waist as he takes a look inside, finding nothing more than fruit, drinks, condiments and cheese, “yeah, that won’t do.”

You sigh again and close the fridge, turning around to face him while his hands are still on your waist. 

“Yeah…”

“Well, let’s go out then,” Steve shrugs as the idea of taking you to a restaurant fills him with excitement and giddiness. 

Your lips part in surprise as your eyes widen. 

“W-Where?”

Steve clears his throat, his cheeks take on a deeper shade. 

“T-To eat. We can uh– go to a sushi restaurant, I’ve always wanted to try… Have you ever tried sushi…?” He stutters and blushes. 

“Y-You wanna go out with me… in public?” You ask, cringing at how shaky and small your own voice sounds. 

His lips twitch, curling into a smile as he nods. 

“We uh… We could go out of town, there are no sushi restaurants in Hawkins, Blondie.” His words left his mouth so casually, like his heart isn’t hammering in his chest and he isn’t filled with the same nervousness he felt as a teenage boy. He feels as though he is asking you out on a date… and maybe he is, maybe he’d like to pretend that he is. 

“You mean to Indianapolis?”

Steve nods. He wants to leave Hawkins for a while, even if just for one night, he wants to be able to go out with you without feeling the need to hide, he wants to hold your hand in public and kiss you breathless on the streets, he wants to hold you close and show you off as if you were his. 

He wants it all with you and he wants it here too, in his hometown, where anyone could see but he still doesn’t know how you feel, he feels hopeful but he is still in the dark about your feelings. 

“It's the closest city we got.”

“It’s an hour trip!” 

His heart melts at the bewildered, cute look on your face, the excitement that lingers in your eyes as your lips start curling into a smile. 

“So?” Steve shrugs and squeezes your waist, “we got all night.”

Your heart is racing and everything inside of you flutters in excitement. Your cheeks are burning and you feel the giddiness of a girl that’s been asked out on a date by the boy she likes. You can’t even hide the smile that appears on your face, brightly and happily. 

“I need to get changed then!” You beam at him as you already step away, not giving him the chance to protest or say anything else before you walk out of the kitchen, “I’ll be down in a minute!” 

Steve listens to the sound of your footsteps as you rush up the stairs, leaving him in your kitchen with a pounding heart and a huge smile on his lips. He looks up at the ceiling, an accomplished and joyful feeling rushing through him, he can’t help but do a silent fist pump. 

This is going to be a date, an unofficial one, but still a date. 

He can’t fight the grin off his lips, the giddy feeling settling into his whole body. He walks back into the hallway and takes a look at himself, your lipstick is smudged on his skin and his lips, his hair is a mess, created by you, his cheeks are glowing from all the happiness inside of him. 

He fixes his hair and wipes the pink lipstick off his skin before he makes his way into your living room to turn off the TV and put away the snacks you both had earlier. 

You come back down fifteen minutes later, changed into a new dress and your makeup reapplied, your hair fixed and a small purse in your hand. You meet in the hallway, keys already in his hand, and he’s leaning against the door.

Steve’s heart goes wild at the sight of you in your new sundress, your glossy lips tugged into a smile, the urge to pull you into a kiss pushes him towards you.

He whistles playfully, making you roll your eyes with a giggle. 

“Getting all pretty for me now?” He teases, acting cocky as though his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his chest. 

You always get pretty for him. 

“I’ve been dying to wear this dress,” you say, flipping your hair over your shoulder as you twirl around to reveal your open back to him, not knowing how crazy you drive him with your action. 

Steve’s stomach flutters, his hands instantly itch to touch your bare skin, you look so beautiful. 

He takes a step closer to you and grabs your waist, humming, “that’s a pretty dress, I can’t wait to see it on my bedroom floor though.” 

Your cheeks burn and despite it, you giggle as you turn around to face him, “is that a King Steve pickup line?” 

He shakes his head, “no, he never said such things.”

“Sure,” you snort and tug at his hand, pulling him towards the door, “come on now, I’m starving!” 

Steve chuckles and nods, reaching for his car keys on the dresser, he squeezes your hand, “yeah, come on, before you get grumpy.” 

“I never get grumpy,” you argue as your lips curl into a pout that he instantly feels the urge to kiss. 

“You always get grumpy when you’re hungry,” he laughs. He loves it. 

Steve opens the door for you, giving you a sweet smile as he looks down at your pretty face. You step out and he follows, admiring the way your dress hugs your body, the way your skin glows beneath the evening sun, the way your hair shines, your perfume lingers in the air and he can’t help but breathe it in deeply, just the way he always did. 

Your hand fits in his so perfectly, like it belongs there… and to him it does. 

You look over your shoulder, giving him a cute smile that leaves him breathless. The golden light that shines down on you turns his breathing shaky, no words could describe your beauty, nothing comes close to it, absolutely nothing. You are stunning, bewitching, you are a goddess and he worships every inch of your being and you don’t even know it.

He wishes he could scream out those three big words, kiss you breathless and show you just how much he adores you but he can’t, he is too afraid, he fears rejection so deeply, so all that he can do is pretend, pretend that you are already his and live in this small delusion for as long as he can. He opens the door for you and winks at you, fighting the urge to kiss your hand before he lets go of you and closes the door only to grab your hand again once he is seated in the driver's seat, you lace your fingers together and squeeze his hand, unaware of the feelings you leave him with, with your sweet action. 

When he turns on the music and a smile appears on your face, you sink deeper into the seat and get comfortable, a content look on your pretty features. You look so perfect sitting in his passenger seat, next to him, holding his hand, enjoying the music as you look out the window when he drives down the road.

This is where you belong, this is what he wants, you by his side, for tonight and for always, he wants you to be his, his girl.

This isn’t enough, it never was, this was never just about sex. 

There was never an ounce of hatred for you in his bones, not in high school and not after. 

He felt bitterness, confusion, denial but most of all, he felt jealousy, he always did and he never understood why you didn’t like him, why you bickered with him, why you laughed at his poor flirting attempts, why you didn’t want him the way every other girl did, why you showed up for Lucas’s game but not a single one of his – that night isn’t one he likes to think back on, it makes him cringe and shudder in annoyance at himself for what he said to you, he let his emotions, his jealousy, his frustrations control the words his mouth left. 

He didn’t know that you were a friend of Max and Lucas, he didn’t know that you showed up for her, and for him, knowing that his friends were too busy with Eddie’s D&D campaign. He didn’t know why you were there, but when he saw you on the bleachers and he caught you waving at Lucas, whose eyes lit up when he saw you, he couldn’t help but feel jealous because why did you show up for a freshman, for a kid? Why did you never show up to any of his games? Why didn’t you give him the chance to show off? 

He felt irritated, even more so when he saw you talking to Lucas in the parking lot, smiling at him and congratulating him on his successful first game. 

He remembers the way he marched over to you, the way he started bickering with you instead of praising the teen he showed up for. 

“Are you so desperate for attention that you go for a freshman now?” 

He cringes at himself, even now, disgusted at the words he threw at you.

You looked so hurt and angry, you pushed him away from you and he never blamed you for it, you could’ve slapped him right there, he deserved it. 

He felt guilty right then and there but that emotion intensified when only a few days later he found out about your sisterly bond with Max and your friendship with both of them, you cared for them and protected them just the way he did. Before he knew that, he made himself believe that you were just a loner, a person too cold to feel anything, even platonic, he wanted to believe that he wasn’t some unimportant person that you crossed paths with, that you were simply unable to form bonds or relationships but that wasn’t the case, you had people you cared for, you had friends you would die for, you just didn’t want to give him a chance, not platonically and especially not romantically. 

He was jealous of anyone who was close to you, who was special to you but back then, he didn’t allow himself to explore the depth of those emotions that always lingered inside of him when it came to you. 

Now he can see them, he can feel them, he can admit that he was jealous and hurt because he is no longer ashamed to like, love you — someone who might not feel the same. But whatever the outcome of this affair will be, he doesn’t regret letting all those feelings in, especially now that you are here with him, like this, holding his hand and letting him take you out and show you off in public. 

He is allowed to feel hopeful now, he thinks. 

Indianapolis is big and no town people, no friends, no prying eyes will be there to see you both but you could have still easily said no to his suggestion because who goes out to eat with their supposedly casual hook up? But then again, what is casual about you both? 

Not even your first night together was casual. 

You kissed and held each other close from the very beginning. 

You stay over, you cuddle, you hold hands, even in public and when you are sure that no one is looking, you sleep in his arms and you make each other breakfast, you make sure that his favorite drinks and snacks are in your kitchen and he does the same for you, his bathroom and his bedroom are filled with things that belong to you. 

This isn’t casual, the signs are there and they are so very clear, tonight especially, when you make it to the city and you walk through the busy streets where it’s much more crowded and louder than it is in your small hometown, you keep close to him and hold onto his hand tightly as you lead him to the sushi restaurant that you have told him about on the drive here, the one you went to with your parents and your sister every time you visited your grandparents in the city. 

So many things go through Steve’s mind and so many emotions rush through him as you walk side by side, hand in hand with the city lights shining down on you both as the sun disappears more and more. He feels free, like he can do anything, like he can kiss you right here, right now, without needing to hide or drag you to a secret corner, he feels giddy, happy, he can’t even hide the smile on his face. 

Once you make it to your destination, Steve lets go of your hand and places it on the small of your back instead, he opens the door and keeps his palm pressed against your body. He is so lost in his happy bubble, he doesn’t even notice the blush taking over your face when he wraps his arm around you and rests his palm on your hip instead as he leads you inside. 

It’s crowded but he didn’t expect any less from a restaurant in a big city, he doesn’t seem to mind though and neither do you, especially when you get one of the booth tables, tucked away in the very back, next to a big window where you can see the city lights. 

You sit down across from one another, smiling from ear to ear as you look into each other’s eyes. 

“Hi,” he whispers, making you giggle. 

“Hi.”

His honey eyes look so pretty in this golden light, his hair looks softer than ever, his smile so big and bright that it fills you with hope, especially when it stays as his eyes trace your face, he is staring at you even though he could be staring at this pretty setting around you, at the decorated room, the string lights over you, the city lights, but no, he is staring at you and he is making you feel special. 

A sheepish smile takes over your face, a shyness that you rarely ever feel flushing through you, the look in his eyes is so intense that you can’t help but be the first to break contact. You lean back and cross your legs, looking around the restaurant you used to eat dinners at with your family. 

Nostalgia comes over you when a family of four catches your eye, sitting at a round table, they seem to be in a lively conversation, the two little girls laughing with their father as their mother shakes her head with a smile on her face. 

Steve follows your gaze when he notices the sad but soft look in your eyes. Something tugs at his chest when he takes a look at the family you are watching and suddenly your eyes aren’t the only ones filled with sadness. 

He leans closer to the table, placing his palm above your hand. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, watching the way you tilt your head at him, the softness in your eyes never leaving. “I mean, are you okay to be here… right now… with me?” 

There is no one else you would rather be with here.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you nod, glancing down at his hand, he is now rubbing circles into your skin, “and yes, I want to be here with you,” you admit, knowing how vulnerable you can make yourself look with such words. 

He breathes out a sigh of relief, his lips curl back into a smile. 

Steve keeps holding your hand, not letting go, not even when he decides to look at the menu, not even when the waiter stops at your table to take your orders, not when your drinks arrive a few minutes later, he keeps holding on and you let him.

Curiosity sparks in him when he notices the way you keep looking back at the family, a look in your eyes that signalizes the feeling of longing. 

“Blondie?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

You nod, “anything.”

You’re close enough to ask each other questions that won’t make the other uncomfortable and that is something Steve greatly appreciates, knowing that you weren’t here months back, not even close.

Steve blinks, taking a few shaky breaths, he keeps his hand on yours, tracing the ring on your middle finger. He clears his throat and looks down, ignoring the strong beating of his heart and the nervousness bubbling in his stomach. 

“Do you uh… do you ever think about it?” 

You look at him with big, curious eyes and it’s not helping his case at all. 

“Think about what?” 

“Kids.” 

You furrow your brows at his question but you smile softly and you don’t hesitate to nod, not even needing time to think about it. 

“I honestly want to… I miss having a big family, you know?” You pause and look down at his hand, wondering what it would be like if he had a ring on his fourth finger, one that would match your own. “I don’t care if it’s one or many, I just… I really want a family, one that is here with me, all the time.” 

Steve’s big hazel eyes soften and flicker with deep emotions. His heart skips a beat as warmth settles in his chest. 

He didn’t think he could fall even harder for you, even deeper but now as he looks at you, as he holds your hand and looks into your pretty eyes, he knows that he will never stop falling, there is no end, no limit when it comes to his feelings, to his love for you.

A future lies before his eyes, a future with you, rings, cradles, a white picket fence, kids that look like you and him. He sees something, something that is in reach, something that he hopes for, something that he wants with you without a single doubt.

“You will have it all, Blondie.”

You don’t know what to make of his words but whatever the feelings behind them are, you know that they are not what you want them to be, no matter how much his feelings for you changed, no matter how much hope there is in you, no matter how big it is, you can’t believe that the thing you have now, could be one for the future too and not only the present. 

You don’t know what to say without revealing your feelings to him, you want this with him and he can’t know, he just can’t. 

To your relief, the waiter brings your food to the table, taking Steve’s attention away from your face. You let go of each other's hands, thanking and smiling at the waiter. 

“That looks amazing,” Steve murmurs as he looks at the plates in front of the both of you, reaching for the chopsticks, he looks down at them, growing a little nervous, he never used them before. 

“It does,” you nod with a smile on your face, “hey, this is special, Steve. I’m getting my first sushi with you.” You say with a giggle, making his chest flutter. 

“I thought you had some before.” 

“Yeah, stole some from my dad but I never actually had a plate for myself,” you chuckle. 

“Well, I’m glad we share some firsts together then because I never tried them before, at all,” he grins. 

You can tell by the way he is holding the chopsticks wrongly, looking down at them with furrowed brows and pursed lips. He looks so cute like this but a part of you wants to laugh even though you can’t even use them properly yourself. You have seen your dad using them every time you came here to eat, but you never tried it yourself. 

“I can tell,” you murmur, unable to hide the giggle when he tries to pick up a roll but fails to do so. 

He snorts and shoots you a playful glare. 

“Go ahead, and show me then, Blondie,” he smirks at you, pointing at your plate. 

You clear your throat and place your chopsticks between your index and middle finger, you can already feel your cheeks heating up beneath his gaze. You press your thumb against the chopstick and bite your lip in concentration, glancing at him for a second to see him staring at you, making the warmth in your cheeks grow hotter. 

“See?” You grin as you pinch your food gently, growing confident when you manage to pick up the sushi despite the shakiness in your hands. 

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, smiling softly. 

You go to dip it in the soy sauce when your shaky hands lose control and your sushi plops into the sauce loudly, splattering over your plate but luckily not on your dress. You press your lips together and look into his eyes, you stare at one another for a moment before you both burst into laughter. 

“Oh my god,” Steve chuckles in amusement, “you’re a great teacher, honey.” 

“Shut up,” you giggle and try to pick it up again. 

“Guess we gotta learn together,” he shrugs with a smile on his face. 

You do, you learn together and you share jokes and laugh at each other every time you fail, but once you get the hang out of it, you fall into a conversation about your parents, you tell him stories of the times they brought you and your sister into the city and Steve listens attentively, smiling at you and feeling grateful that you feel comfortable enough to bring him here and to talk about them – and you, you are surprised yourself when you don’t feel the cold sadness in you that you always felt every time you even mentioned them, talking about them with Steve feels… comforting, he is comforting. 

His knees touch yours beneath the table, the material of his jeans brushing your bare skin, his hand is close to yours, his pinky touching your own. He smiles at you, he laughs with you, he makes silly jokes and feeds you his food, his eyes never stray away from you, there is only you for him right now and as the realization strikes you, you grow hopeful again, your heart skips a beat at the thought that this could be something like… a date. 

You both want the same thing, though what neither of you realize is that you aren’t acting like two nervous people who finally managed to score a date with that one person, you are acting like a couple, not a single awkward moment follows you both, you are talking and laughing with each other like you’re best friends. 

“I have this theory…” Steve says before he takes a sip of his coke. 

You cock your head to the side, “please continue.” 

He places his glass back on the table and picks up his chopsticks again, he chuckles before he opens his mouth once more, “that Dustin is copying Eddie.”

“What?” You laugh. 

“Hear me out, for the past few weeks… Have you seen Dustin’s change of style!? He is wearing all black now! And his hair? It’s fucking long!” He exclaims, shaking his head. 

You’re a little amused by his sudden outburst, by the confused and slightly irritated look on his face, it’s cute. 

“Well, he sees Eddie as a role model, so?” 

"Excuse me?” He scoffs, not liking your words, not liking that the boy that once looked up to him found someone else, someone better to look up to. 

You squint your eyes at him and lean closer to the table, cupping your cheek as you smile, “Steve, is it just me or are you jealous of Eddie?” 

He scoffs again, waving his hand at you, “nonsense.”

“You’re jealous that he stole Dustin from you.” 

Steve shakes his head at you, “I’m not jealous, I’m just saying that– he is following Eddie like some lost puppy, copying him fully! What if he takes on smoking?” 

A laugh tumbles from your lips and Steve can’t even fight the smile off his lips when your soft eyes glow with amusement. 

“Really? He is fifteen, Steve! You were hosting parties at that age and getting drunk, he is not the twelve year old you once met.”

Steve laughs, he leans back in his seat and sighs, running his fingers through his hair, “yeah, I forget that sometimes, he’s not a kid anymore… he’s a teenager,” he chuckles, furrowing his eyebrows, “but come on… Eddie? Eddie’s sense of style? Is Dustin insane?” 

You roll your eyes at him, still amused by him. 

“So, you want him to wear polo shirts and cardigans instead?” 

His lips part and he pretends to be offended, “hey! You like my polo shirts!” 

“Yeah, not the point here.” 

Steve tilts his chin up, smirking at you, “you admit that you like them then?” 

You chuckle, shaking your head and hiding your face behind your hair as you start blushing again which prompts him to continue his teasing as he begins to reminisce about your shared days at school, leaving out the saddening memories and only talking of the good ones, the funny ones, memories of your childhood, of your time in kindergarten and middle school and how long you have been a part of each other’s lives and when you leave the restaurant after a long time, you reach for each other’s hands and entwine your fingers together without even thinking about it. 

You stroll through the city and kiss on the streets, like he wanted to all night and it makes you both smile, it makes you feel happy and free and Steve can’t wait for the day when he will find the courage to ask you out on a real date, to ask you to be more than this, to be his, like he pretends you are now as you stand beneath the twinkling lights, surrounded by people, surrounded by the sounds of the city and he can’t stop kissing you, not even when you continue your way to his car, he keeps pulling you into kisses, pressing his lips to yours, to your cheeks, to your hands, to your neck, over and over again, making you giggle and blush at his sweet actions. He’s drunk on you, he is so in love with you that he can’t contain it, he has to show it in some way, he has to let it out, even if not in words. 

Steve holds your hand on your way home, he kisses you at every red light and he sings along to The Smiths, you don’t think that you have ever seen him so carefree and relaxed before. 

And Steve, he had never felt this happy before, nothing, no one can compare to you, to the way you make him feel, to the love he feels for you, to the happiness that flickers in him every time you reach for his hand or bless him with a sweet smile after pressing your lips to his. Those three words that are on the tip of his tongue, beg to be released and he is so close to doing it, so damn close. 

You’re waving your hand in front of your face when you step inside his house, the heat of the summer night feeling too warm on your skin and Steve’s hands on your waist aren’t making it any better, worsening second by second, especially when he keeps making you laugh with his silly comments. 

“I need to cool off.” 

Steve brushes his fingers through your hair and tucks it behind your ears, “cool off? Why, am I this hot?” He jokes, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

You snort and place your hands on his chest and run your finger down his stomach, hooking it around his belt,  “you’re such a dork.”

Your dork. 

His lips curl into a smirk, he leans down close enough that your noses brush, “mhm, you like it though.” 

Yes, you do, you really do. 

You gaze into his honey eyes, breathing in the scent of his cologne, getting lost in his touch as his hands hold your waist. 

“You know what else I’d like?” You whisper against his lips as you give him a soft kiss, making his breathing hitch and his heart stammer. 

“Hmm?” 

Steve blinks at you, excitement bubbling in his stomach. 

“A cold beer.”

He chuckles, he expected something else but he can’t complain, not when you give him another short kiss. 

You bite your lip and step away from him, letting his hands fall to his sides. You bring your hands up to the buttons of your dress, walking backwards slowly and continuing to gaze into his eyes with mischief in yours, you undo the top buttons, revealing your new bra to him. You almost giggle at his parted lips and the hunger in his eyes. 

Steve gulps as you expose more and more of your skin to him, he could fall to his knees right then and there.

“Don’t take too long,” you murmur, winking at him. You walk away from him and into his living room, humming as you turn on the lights in his backyard before you slide open the big glass doors and step outside. 

The night is quiet and hot, the only sound coming from the crickets and the slight rustling of the trees as soft wind blows through them and then Steve turns on the stereo in the living room, making you smile. You look up at the starry sky and listen to Steve’s footsteps. 

You push the straps of your dress down your shoulders and kick off your shoes, looking over your shoulder to see Steve rushing out with two beers in his hands. 

He places them on the table and steps towards you, tutting at you with a playful glare on his pretty face, “could’ve let me take that pretty dress off,” he murmurs and places his hands on your elbows where your straps hang loosely now. 

His hands are cold from the beers he picked out of the fridge, goosebumps rise on your skin. 

“I didn’t take it off yet,” you shrug, smirking as your hands find their way back to his belt, and you waste no time to unbuckle it. 

Steve smirks back at you, tracing your skin with the tips of his fingers as he slips the straps down your forearms and pushes your dress down, bunching it around your hips, he sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes grow darker, lustful. It certainly isn’t the first time he sees you like this, but his reaction never changes, his body always reacts to you, just the way his heart does. 

You look so beautiful, so goddamn sexy that it drives him crazy. 

Not many words are shared between you but the silence is comfortable and your eyes speak enough words as you undress each other, you take his shirt off and place your hand on his chest, staring at him in awe as he pushes your dress down and lets it fall to the ground, his hands touching your bare skin, fingers tracing your lacy underwear. 

With hooded eyes he looks down at you and he pulls you closer, “is this little set new?” 

You nod, your skin heating up again. 

“Looks so pretty,” he murmurs and leans in to press his lips against your neck, “too bad it’s gonna get wet.”

You sigh at the feeling of his kisses, breathing shakily. 

You start pushing his jeans down, looking up at him with pleading eyes, “take your pants off, Steve.”

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckles and pushes them down his legs, he quickly steps out of them and bends down, hooking his arm around the back of your knees, he scoops you up into his arms, laughing at the surprised squeal that falls from your lips. 

You throw your arms around his neck and hold on tight, looking at him bewildered while he smirks smugly. 

“What are you doing?” 

He steps closer to the edge of his pool, “what do you think I’m doing?” He chuckles, not giving you time to react before he tightens his hold on you and takes another step forward, jumping into the pool and crashing into the water with you, letting the cold envelope you both. 

And you feel it, you feel the freezing water on your skin, the goosebumps that rise and the shivers that ripple through you but not even this takes away the heat you feel inside of you. You taste the chlorine on your lips and you feel his hands on your waist as he pulls you back up with him. 

“Is that cool enough for you, honey?” He asks breathily as he wipes his hand down his face and shakes his head to get the water out of his hair. 

You giggle and stretch your arms out, “mhm, the water feels nice,” you murmur and tilt your head up, glancing at the stars in the sky, smiling at the sound of one of yours and his favorite songs playing on the stereo. 

Steve starts humming along, his eyes tracing your pretty features, your wet hair that still somehow looks just as perfect as it did before, water rolls down your face, your lacy bra now clinging even more to your skin making his hands itch for you. 

The water sloshes around him as he moves closer to you, wanting to feel your body back against his but you seem to have different ideas because when you notice him inching closer to you, you give him a teasing smirk before you turn around and start swimming. 

“Hey!” 

You giggle at the disappointed sound in his voice, that sighs that follows after. 

You feel his hand brushing your foot but unable to get a hold of you, you pick up your pace and start swimming faster, pushing against the water stronger, “you can’t catch me, Lego Head.”

He shakes his head, letting out a laugh. 

“You think you can get away from me?” He teases, diving deeper into the water, he starts swimming after you, “I was a lifeguard, honey.”

“Yeah, you’ve been bragging about it for three years now,” you snort and dare to take a look over your shoulder, “you must’ve been a bad one, ice cream man.”

He laughs again, amused by your comment and by how you slowed down. 

“You’re so funny.”

“I know,” you smirk and turn around again, thinking you can still get away from him but Steve is close, so very close. This time he catches you by your ankle, wrapping his hand around it and pulling you back, chuckling at the squeal that falls from your lips, he grabs your waist and embraces you with his arms, pulling against his chest, he holds you tightly, chuckling at the pout on your lips when you look back at him with a frown on your face. 

“Not fair,” you whine and wiggle against him which prompts you to press yourself harder into his chest, into his front, you can feel his bulge against your butt, you can feel how hot his skin is despite the cool water, his hot breath on your shoulder, his lips on your neck. 

You breathe in shakily, the heat inside of you rushing into your core, making you press your legs together as a deep longing takes over you. 

“Guess you’re not that fast after all, huh?” He teases, loving the way your bare skin feels against his. “Didn’t even take me thirty seconds to catch you.” 

You hold onto him tighter, glancing at his lips before your eyes lock with his again, “maybe I just let you catch me.” 

He chuckles, adoring the way you look at him. 

“Yeah sure, Blondie.” 

He wraps his arms tighter around your waist as he starts guiding you away from the middle of the pool and towards the stairs. 

“So what now, do you plan on drowning me?” You joke. 

The water gets lower and lower, exposing your upper body to the cooling wind, making you shiver a little. 

“No, too late for that,” he jokes back with a chuckle, “but I am thinking of something.” 

You tilt your head to the side and raise your brows at him. He moves away from behind you and reaches for your hand as he takes three steps up the stairs, enough to still be in the water once he sits down before you. He licks his lips as he looks you up and down with need and adoration in his eyes, he admires your body, your curves, you. He pulls you a little closer, the water is still hiding your hips, your legs that he loves having wrapped around his waist and his head. 

“What?” You ask softly and curiously. 

Steve looks at you with hooded eyes, with cheeks glowing pink and lips begging to be kissed. 

“I want to fuck you, right here, right now, in my pool, and–” he rasps, glancing up at the sky above you, he points his finger up, “under the full moon.”

Your eyes widen at his words, butterflies that never die growing wild in your stomach, your kneels almost buckle and you have to press your thighs together. 

You follow his gaze and frown when you only see the stars in the sky and the quarter of the moon. 

“That’s not a full moon, Steve–” you gasp when you suddenly feel his hands on your waist and he forces you closer, prompting you to straddle his waist. Your knees hit the steps he’s sitting on, your arms wrap around his neck instinctively. 

“You’re a stupid moron,” you whisper with no venom in your voice or your eyes. 

Steve blinks, smirking at you. 

“And you are too naive,” he whispers back, squeezing your waist as you lean into each other, not even noticing that you did as you shared your soft whispers. 

You smile at one another, your noses brushes and you close your eyes as your lips meet in a soft kiss, a kiss enough to steal your breath. 

You move your palm down his strong shoulder, squeezing his bicep and resting your other hand on his back, deepening the kiss as he parts your lips with his tongue, blessing you with the sound of his moan. 

Steve runs his hand down your waist and to your hips, gripping your body tightly, pulling you closer and closer until you’re flush against him. He can’t help but gasp when you grind against his erection, filling him with more need. 

Your soft kiss grows faster, hungrier, needy but still passionate and despite the lack of air, you don’t pull away just yet. You run your hand down his hairy chest, his stomach, making him shiver against you. You tug at his boxers, pulling them down just far enough for you to wrap your hand around his dick. 

“Baby,” he whispers against your lips, continuing to press kisses to your mouth as he tugs at your panties, “let me–”

“No,” you whisper as you jerk him off slowly, pumping him a few times and teasing his slit with your thumb, “I need you.” 

You don’t need no preparation, you don’t need his fingers or his tongue, not right now, you only need him, to feel him, all of him. 

“F-Fuck,” he breathes shakily, moaning at the feeling of your soft hand around him, “please… I want you, I need you so bad.”

You whimper as his fingers dig deeper into your skin, his words rushing to your heart and your core. 

You push your panties to the side and waste no other second to guide him to your entrance, looking into his pleading eyes that watch you in awe as you sink down on him, taking him slowly and moaning out his name in pleasure as your eyebrows scrunch together. The water pressure making it a little harder to do so, and it is a weird yet not unpleasant feeling. 

“J-Just like that, baby,” he whimpers, his hands holding you tightly, his eyes flickering between your face and your body, the pleasure in him growing deeper and stronger, “you’re doing so well… fuck… you feel so good,” he groans when he feels your warmth enveloping him fully. 

His right hand settles on your lower back, moving up to the middle and the top and then he wraps his hand around the back of your neck so he can pull you even closer, he presses his lips back to yours, pecking them one, two, three times. 

“Steve,” you whimper, tears brimming in your eyes from the pleasure in your body, from the size of him. You bite down on your lip and suppress a moan, when you’re fully seated on top of him, you feel a wave of different emotions rushing through you. His kisses, his touches, his hugs and his compliments, the sweet things he says to you, the sweet things he does for you overwhelming you in the best way possible. 

Something changed, something was different today, this feels different. 

You pull him into an even deeper kiss than before, letting your emotions take full control over your actions. 

Steve doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate the sudden kiss, he even smiles into it, feeling his heart beating in joy. 

You start riding him slowly, moving your hips at a torturing pace as you’re still getting used to his size. You’re clenching around him, your slick coating his dick and Steve feels it all so intensely. 

The strap of your bra slips down your wet arm but you don’t bother to fix it.

Steve cups your cheeks as your tongues clash together, your needy whimpers vibrate against his lips but he notices how quiet they sound compared to moans and screams you let out when you’re in his bed. 

“Let them out, baby,” he murmurs as you both pull away from the kiss, your breaths mingling together as your lips keep brushing against one another. He tucks your wet hair behind your ears and slips his hands down your body, settling on your hips, he gives you a lazy smile, his eyes already fucked out, “let me hear your pretty moans,” he whispers, trying to coax his favorite sounds out of you as he starts fucking up into you. 

You gasp and hold on tighter, furrowing your eyebrows even more, the feeling of him splitting you open, fucking you deeper making you whimper in need. 

“P-Public, neighbors might hear, Steve–” You whine as you meet his thrusts, continuing to roll your hips despite the nervousness that lingers in you from not wanting to get caught, but it’s hard to keep quiet when he feels so good. 

Steve couldn’t care less about his neighbors, the bushes around his house hide his backyard well enough, there is no need to worry. 

“Let them hear,” he whispers into your neck as he presses his lips to your delicate skin. 

Your heart stutters in your chest, surprise sparks in you because he wants people to hear you, both of you, he doesn’t care about hiding, he didn’t care about it at all today. 

His strong hands hold your hips, his cock sliding in and out of you, sending waves of pleasure through your belly, his moans echo through the night and you can’t help but get lost in the moment of this. 

You bury your fingers in his hair and your face in his neck, whining as you pick up the pace, riding him faster than before, causing the water to splash around you both. His chest hair brushes against your boobs, his lips suck on your skin, his moans vibrate against you as he kisses you through it all. 

“Just like that,” he hums, satisfaction tugging at him when he feels you drooling over his neck, your hot tears falling down on his skin, “look at me, honey, I wanna see your face.” 

You gather your strength to pull back far enough for him to see you and those tears he caused to fall from your eyes. You’re whimpering and clenching around him tightly, making him match the sounds that fall from your lips. 

His hazel eyes are dark, his lips puffy and cheeks redder than before, his wet skin glowing under the string lights in his backyard. God, he looks so beautiful, especially when he is moaning your name and clinging to you. 

He cups the side of your face and you make his heart flutter in his chest when you lean into his touch. 

For a moment, he leans back the slightest bit just to see you, to watch how you ride him, how you take him, how much pleasure he brings you, how your face scrunches up so prettily, how your lips curl into a pout, how your boobs threaten to spill out of your bra as you bounce on his dick, whimpering his name, over and over again. 

God, he loves you, he loves you so fucking much that it physically hurts him to hide those words from you, everything inside of him screams at him to say them, to let you know, to confess to you, to show you how much he wants you, how deep his feelings for you are. 

His own eyes burn with tears, pleasure and emotions mixing together as he watches you, convinced that there is something behind your eyes as well, feelings, adoration, love. 

There has to be something, right? 

You wouldn’t hold his hand just for the fun of it, you wouldn’t kiss him and let him feel you, have you like this if there wasn’t something in your heart for him. You wouldn’t spend nights in his arms and dinners with him if it was casual. 

It’s not casual, it just can’t be. 

You have to feel it too, you have to feel the love. 

You just have to. 

Your name falls from his lips and when you wrap your arms around him again and you lean your forehead against his, gazing into his eyes with something, you grow tighter around him, making his moans louder. 

I love you. 

He traces words into your skin that he can’t say out loud because he is too afraid to lose you because while there is hope in him, there is also fear, fear that he is misunderstanding something again. 

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

Steve wants to whisper them to you, to say them to you, to scream them out into the open for the whole world to hear. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, making your heart explode in your chest. 

“So are you,” you whisper back, shakily, wishing you could say something else, something more. 

Steve looks up at you as though you’re something special, like you aren’t the girl he once hated, like you are his and it prompts you to peck his lips, over and over again just the way he always does to you. 

Waves of pleasure crash over the both of you as you chase your high together, you moan against each others lips as his hand moves down your stomach and his fingers settle between your thighs, no words are spoken anymore when he presses against your clit gently, rubbing circles against your sensitive nub, your high pitched moans, his deep thrusts and the begging looks in both your eyes are enough. 

You kiss and you both move, faster than before, you cling to one another harder, stronger, deeper than ever, your lips moving feverishly with each other, desperation and love behind all your movements, a searing heat cursing through you both, overwhelming your poor hearts that long for each other so pleadingly. 

And when you both reach your peak, Steve has to press his lips strongly to yours so he doesn’t spill the words that become harder to keep in. He kisses you for as long as he can, he kisses you through your high and through the aftermath, your movements slow down and your hearts beat slower, he still doesn’t pull away, if anything, he tightens his arms around you, not wanting this moment to end, not wanting this night to end. 

He wants to smile, he wants to feel happy but a part of him is so scared, after tonight especially. 

You showed him something that he could lose at any given moment, you made him feel things he didn’t even think he was capable of feeling, you lit the fire inside of him again, you made his heart feel again, you made him love again, stronger than he ever did before, he didn’t even think a love like this was possible, he didn’t think he could love so deeply. 

What will there be if he loses you? 

He experienced heartbreak before but nothing would compare to this, not even his first love could make him feel such excruciating pain that you will curse him with when you decide to leave him. 

His heart pains at the thought, it already begins to break just thinking of the possibility. 

Steve clings to you, when you pull away from the kiss, he buries his face in your neck and breathes you in, he holds you tightly as though he is afraid that you might disappear if he lets you go. 

He needs to feel you, he needs you against him, he needs to savor every moment you still allow him with you. 

Steve can’t bear to lose you, not you, he can get through anything, he can get over anything but not you. 

And while he is filled with fear, inwardly begging for you to stay, for you to be the one to be by his side – you are holding onto him with hope, with a smile on your face, unaware of the fear that lingers in the man that you love with all your heart.

You never thought you’d be in this position. That you’d ever feel like this when it came to Steve. You never thought you would feel confident in this relationship, potential, a future in it. The fear slowly decreases in each caress he gives you, in every touch, in every kiss. A fear you never thought you would lose in your life.

All you ever imagined in this love you had for him was pain. Everything ended in pure heartbreak and loneliness for you. Now, that image doesn’t come to mind. That picture you painted is no longer vivid in your head. 

And this is when you realize that you have a chance. You truly have a chance.

You decide to push it all aside, the anxiety, the fear of rejection, the fear of loss, you push it all away, no longer allowing the sadness and the fear to control you, if today wasn’t the push that you needed then you don’t know what else will. 

All the signs you weren’t sure of are there, they are there, colorful and bright, for you to see so clearly and you no longer move away from them, you move towards them, allowing yourself to feel hope that he can feel the same. 

And when you two go to bed that night after a long shower together, you cuddle and you kiss each other sweetly, whispering words of affection to one another, tracing each other's skin and holding one another tight. 

You make a decision. 

Tomorrow… Tomorrow will be the day you decide to confess. It cannot wait any longer. It cannot be postponed. It is inevitable, and you cannot handle the pain of loving him and being just this item with him any longer, especially not after this night. 

Having him like this is no longer enough. 

Keeping those three words in becomes less possible after every kiss, every touch, every whisper.

Tomorrow your life will change. 

And hopefully for the better. 

♡

tagging friends and mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn0628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars @moon-flowerrs

[sqgeism]

↳ pairing : miles morales x reader

↳ synopsis : shenanigans with your favorite classmate :) (maybe even a secret crush)

↳ authors note : i'm rlly trying to expand through fandoms, plzzz don't leave i promise i still write hsrr ;o; !!!!! i'm gonna be on a LONG atsv brainrot plz <\3 wuts a proof-read idk what that iz (/j)

MILES MORALES was the new student two years ago, some people thought he was an oddball since the first day encounter with his dad.. but you didn't really mind it honestly. You had much more important matters to attend to, like not listening to gossip.

After learning he was in some of your classes, you decided to try and get to know the guy. He seemed pretty cool, and you never passed an opportunity to know someone new.

"Morales, right?" Miles hears from behind him, it's currently lunch and so he turns his head to see you standing there with a tray in hand. "Mind if I sit with you?"

Since that day, you two hit it off like crazy, with sharing interests and hobbies it wasn't hard to talk every single day and run out of things to talk about.

"So, my Uncle Aaron took me to this crazy place like 2 years ago maybe? But yeah, it's where I did one of my first graffiti art." He explained, leading you through the dark traintracks while holding your wrist so you don't lose him in the darkness. "Sounds cool! Is it the same one that you used in your essay?"

You listen to the echo of his laughter. "Yeah, it is.. He was a great man, made me who I am today."

The way he talks fondly about his Uncle makes your heart sting a little. Though you were never able to meet him yourself, the way Miles talked about him to you made it clear he was a man who loved his nephew like he was his own son, and it was like you could emphasize with his pain of losing him.

However your thoughts are interrupted at the loud sound of a light switch turning on, illuminating the room and different graffiti art drawn on the walls. Miles laughs at your breathless expression, admiring the way your eyes seemed to glow at the art all around you.

"Heeey, look at that!" You chuckled, pointing at the 'Expectations' graffiti you brought up earlier. "You were so much shorter back then.." And Miles rolled his eyes at that comment, knowing that you were referring to the silhouette on the wall. "Very funny."

Then you realize theres a section of the wall thats covered with cloth, and he notices how you take notice of it. Miles immediately clears his throat, puts a hand behind his neck and looks at the ground. "Oh, uh.. that's a work in progress. I wouldn't want you to see i-"

Suddenly his spidey-senses go off, the second he looks up he already sees you right infront of the wall and about to touch the cover. "(name)!"

Pulling it off, it reveals a wall full of.. you? You were surprised that the details were down almost perfectly, your nose shape, your eyes and your smile. It was all so perfectly done that in a way it could either be flattering or a tiny bit creepy.

Of course, Miles being your best friend, you may or may not sketch or write about him every now and then (or rather all the time) depending on which one you felt like doing, but he didn't have to know that.

"I'm.. honored?" You laugh, looking back at your poor friend whos pulled his hoodie over his head and his hands covering his face. "Oh, come on! It's not that embarassing- And it looks good I promise!" You tried to reassure him, but the boy has no intentions on budging.

"I forgot I had that." Miles mumbled to himself, ignoring how you pull on his arm to try and get him to show himself.

At some point you've given up, and let the guy wallow in his own embarassment for a while. Your attention shifts back onto the art wall, seeing the several doodles and actual art pieces that you can only assume Miles was working on for the past 2 years you two were friends.

The much smaller doodles were your favorites, ones where he made you a tiny little creature were the cutest ones, and at some point you noticed how so many of them involved.. him. He drew tiny moments of you and him holding hands, going on walks, sharing earphones and little cliche date stuff.

You were about to say something, but are stopped at the realization Miles was right next to you while his eyes never seemed to break contact from yours. "Miles?" You say in almost a whisper, seeing how focused his gaze was on you.

"I mean, we're both smart enough to realize it.. right?"

The urge to play dumb was strong, it really was, but Miles could see through you like he was staring at glass. That's how well he knew you, and how transparent you were with him.

"And maybe I'm stupid enough to make up delusions in my head but.. do you.. feel the same?"

The question leaves you stunned, stammering to find an answer, but the serious facade Miles kept up melts at your nervous reaction. He begins to laugh, digging through his pockets and pulls out a paper you recognize all too well, it had to be either a drawing or a poem you had written for Miles and considering one of your recent ones going missing.. if what he had in his hands was that one, it gave him more than an answer.

That realization makes you gasp, and Miles' laughter only grows stronger as you've now realized what's happening in its full extent. Miles liked you, and he knew you liked him too.

"You cheeky-" You try to grab the paper from his hands, but the tall piece of shit tip-toe's just to make sure you couldn't grab it. "Whaat? What am I, hm?" He'll playfully taunt at you, still unable to control his smile as he knows that deep down you enjoyed this banter just as much as he did.

You two continue to playfully argue for a while, laughter echoing throughout the abandoned area as hours passed on and on. The talk about either ones feelings never came to light, but you two were content with the moment, and in another time you'd talk about the confusing thing that is the feelings you both mutually share.

You had all the time in the world, right? Miles Morales wasn't going anywhere.

[moralesmilesanhour]

teamwork (makes the dream work...?) epilogue

summary: they ass is NOT doing homework 🤣

wc: 1k+

A/N: That's a wrap, guys! tysm for reading and enjoying!

prev 'if you believe in me'

“Miles, what is this emo shit you got me listening to?” you laughed.

Miles was currently in the middle of an imaginary drumming solo next to you, with two mechanical pencils as drumsticks. Once the final cymbal crashed, he turned to you to respond.

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s emo, that beat goes crazy. You done with your conclusion yet?” 

You rolled your eyes.

“No, but I’ve got all my body paragraphs together.”

“That shit is due Monday,” the boy adjusted his glasses, “Mr. Padilla don’t do extensions.”

Shutting your laptop in protest, you got up and stretched your arms. “Can we take, like, a ten-minute break?”

Miles smirked. “The last half hour felt like a ‘break’, but sure.”

The smirk fell from his face when he noticed you staring at something on his desk.

“Aye, don’t touch nothing–”

“Is this me?”

Too late.

Miles’ notebook was already in your hands, flipped to a page full of sketches of your face. There were little lines scratched out next to each sketch, as if he were measuring the proportions of your eyes, nose, ears... 

His lines were sharp and geometrical, as always, but they softened at your hair and lips. Speaking of lips, there was an oddly-detailed sketch of them off to the side. He’d even managed to include the suggestion of gloss.

You looked up to see Miles standing in front of you with his arms crossed, expression unreadable. 

“You done invading my privacy yet?” 

“Nope,” you placed a finger on the page. “How long did you need to stare at my face for this?”

You held back a laugh when he tensed visibly.

“Not long enough for it to matter,” he deadpanned, finally snatching the notebook out of your hand. “It was just a study.”

“Oh, so you’ve been ‘studying’ my lips? Got it.”

Miles’ eyes flickered down at them as you spoke before he returned to his spot on the bed. “Whatever. Break’s over.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” you teased as you followed him, “the drawings are nice! You made me look prettier.”

The boy looked at you like he wanted to say something - to argue - but he remained silent. You elbowed him playfully in the side.

“What, you think I’m ugly, then? I’m telling you, Morales, one day we gon’ fight–”

“No,” he interrupted.

“Complete sentences, please,” you mimicked, laughing when the boy sucked his teeth in response.

“Fine. No, you’re not ugly, and I like drawing you. Can we move on?”

With a triumphant smile, you finally cracked open your laptop again. “Yes, yes we can. I need your genius powers to proofread this for me.”

Miles leaned in to get a good look at your screen, hitting you with the crisp scent of sports deodorant and some generic brand of lotion. You watched his eyes dart back and forth as he read your work out loud to himself in a low mutter. While he read, your gaze drifted away from the screen and landed on his side profile. His ears were now delightfully occupied by tiny gold studs that you would’ve missed at a farther distance. Past his jawline at the nape of his neck, a thin gold chain peeked out at you from beneath his black graphic tee.

Your eyes met Miles’ the moment you brought them back up to his face, amusement playing on his features.

“Yo, are you good? There something on my shirt?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “Go back to reading.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m done. I just said you need to switch these two body paragraphs so they flow better.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” he laughed, dimples on display. “I’m scared I’mma get my face stolen one day. Do you stare at everybody like that?”

A beat of silence passed as you considered whether to say something bold a second time, if not just for a reaction.

“...Nah, it’s just you.”

Miles blinked, the smile dropping from his face. “Huh?”

“You’re nice to look at, and I can’t draw you in my notebook to make it last longer,” you tilted your head comically. “Staring will have to do.”

Like clockwork, the boy’s hand shot up to his ear to toy with his piercing. He glanced out of the window. 

“The sun’s setting, you should really get that essay done,” he blurted out before narrowing his eyes at you. “What’s so funny?”

You had a hand over your mouth to stifle the laughter. “I’m sorry,” you giggled, “it’s funny when you’re nervous.”

Miles scoffed.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you sang, beginning to type your conclusion paragraph.

There was no response. 

Your typing slowed as the silence grew long, feeling Miles’ eyes on you until you finally stopped to look at him quizzically.

“Yes?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

He leaned in closer until your noses were in danger of brushing each other, looking determined despite the rapid rise and fall of his chest. You met his gaze with a challenge.

“Well? You just gon’ sit there?”

Miles couldn’t hear anything above the heartbeat pounding in his ears, his eyes squeezed shut as he closed the distance between you. 

No one told him that kissing would feel this weird.

For one, your lip gloss wasn’t half as sticky as he’d anticipated it to be, tasting like artificial fruit flavoring. Your sweaty palm came up to rest on the side of his face and kept him anchored as his breath stuttered. Having no idea where he would put his hands (another thing no one had explained to him), he kept them flat on the mattress for support as you deepened the kiss and he leaned back. 

Your hand was gripping his chin now to guide his face. Having kissed at least two other boys before, you had a vague idea of where it was supposed to go. Unlike the other two, Miles was tense, almost unmoving, despite being the initiator.  

Miles’ head buzzed when you pulled away, chuckling softly.

What the hell was so funny? The boy felt white hot blood rapidly coursing through all of the veins in his body at once. He thought he might start floating, like a hot air balloon. Or explode. Or vomit. Preferably the first one.

“Are you okay?” you asked, dropping your hand. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

He blinked slowly, three times. “Yeah, I’m…fine.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. That was, um…” 

Hand on the neck. “Interesting.”

“A good interesting, I hope,” you laughed.

Miles tilted his head, a small grin spreading across his lips.

“I don’t think I’d mind doing that again.”

Handing the boy your phone, you said, “I think you’d need my number for that.”

-

[skippingstonez]

Can I request a sky or wild x reader where reader has a crush on them and Link is unaware. And the reader has a tendency to draw him, and somehow he finds the sketchbook and goes through it to see the numerous drawings of him. But he didn't know the reader even drew in the first place, I think it would be really cute

*starts writing this, intending to use Wild*

Sky: *over dramatically breaking down my door* Change it

Me: But-

Sky: *raising the master sword menacingly* Change. It.

Me: Yes sir!

A Sketchy Confession

(Sky x Reader) Warnings: None, but Sky insisted it gets a little steamy at the end and who was I to tell him no <3

You bit your lip, chewing on it unconsciously. The pencil in your hand marking the paper repeatedly in an attempt to capture the landscape ahead of you. You huffed, erasing some of the lines before trying again. The tiny body of water rippled, disturbed by a leaf that had fallen from the tree above you from the warm summer air. You debated whether or not to add the newest addition. Having almost completed the drawing you had set out to do well over an hour ago. 

Soft footsteps approached, breaking your concentration in a need to know who had finally found you. 

Sky walked past the small fence of Wild’s house to where you were sat by the little pond beyond the stable. He was just wearing his white shirt and pants. The usual green tunic and chainmail likely left back inside the house. The blue detailing by his collar pulled out the blue of his eyes as they spotted you.

You closed the small notebook resting on your knees as he sat down beside you. Forcing your face to remain calm and relaxed as his knee bumped against yours.

“Nice hiding spot.” He chuckled, “I thought you'd gone with some of the others to check out the shops.”

“And give up the opportunity for some peace and quiet? No thanks, think I'll keep hiding here for a bit.”

Sky laughed, leaning on your shoulder. “Mind if I join you? Legend’s trying to help Wild organize his stuff and I'm not about to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Not at all. But if someone finds us I'm offering you as a sacrifice to their shenanigans."

Sky clutched his chest, dramatically gasping as if he was mortally wounded. “Ugh fiiiiiine, I guess that's fair.” He pulled out a small knife from his pocket and a block of wood a size bigger than his hand.

“What have you been up to out here anyway?” 

“Just keeping busy,” you answered, pushing the notebook to the side nervously. The only one in the chain that had seen the inside of it was Legend due to an unfortunate mix up which he still hung over your head. 

Wars, being really big on keeping notes and journaling, had given all of you little notebooks as a way to encourage you to do the same. Most of the chain quickly forgot about it in favor of their own preferred hobbies. Legend and Wild seemed to be the only others to use it frequently enough for you to notice which led to you and the grumpy Vet getting them mixed up one day. 

Journaling had never been your thing. Words were tricky enough in normal conversation let alone trying to express the thoughts running through your head at any given moment. Still, you felt bad not using the small gift which is how it ended up as a sketchbook rather than a journal. 

Drawing had kept you sane, especially so on the hard days. Sketching out the thoughts and feelings that overtook your mind. Unfortunately, after using it for sometime, it had seemed that there was a particular someone filling up most of those thoughts. So much so that the notebook was now full of sketches and quick doodles of the knight sat directly beside you.

Something which, after a rather charged chat with Legend about, you refused to let Sky, or anyone else in the chain know about. You'd rather get stabbed by a Lizalfos than die of embarrassment.

“What are you making?” You asked, redirecting the conversation away from the item tightly in your hand.

“Oh this?” He held up the piece of wood. “Not quite sure…any requests?”

You thought for a moment before answering. “Have you done that flying bug thing in your bag?”

“Oh you mean my beetle? That's a great idea! I'm gonna go grab it for reference. If I'm not back in 5 minutes just know,” He paused, throwing an arm around your shoulder. He pulled you close to him and you just knew your face was likely turning red. “It's probably Legend’s fault.”

You snorted, shoving him off as he got to his feet and made back towards the house. He turned back, shouting over his shoulder. “Wish me luck” He said with a small salute. You rolled your eyes but saluted back. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered around at the thought of spending time with him.

Alone.

You smacked your face lightly. You needed to get a grip on yourself before he came back. You grabbed the notebook, stuffing it deep down into the depths of your bag. 

__________

“Make sure you've got everything,” TIme’s voice rang out. “Once (Y/N) and Wars get back we’ll head out.”

Sky finished stuffing the last of his things back into his bag, clasping his sailcloth over his shoulders. He gave his surroundings a final scan, double checking that there wasn’t anything left behind by mistake. 

He got to his feet, stretching his arms over his head with a quick huff.

“Sky! Let's get going!” 

“Coming!” He strolled over to where Legend and Four were headed towards. A quip about Legend’s new hair color already poised on his lips. 

Something on the ground caught his eye, making him paused to take a closer look. It was a book. It's dark brown cover having nearly blended in with the bark of the tree.

He picked it up. The lack of title or name making it near impossible to distinguish whose it could be. 

“Sky come on!”

“Coming!”

He mused over the small book as they walked. Flipping through the dozens of drawings that covered its pages. 

The detail work was exquisite. Each line carefully crafted to enhance every feature within the confines of the picture. Sky didn't know much in the way of art, but the little he knew helped him understand just how much work had been poured into each one.

And there were a lot.

“Here I thought Wars was the narcissistic one.”

Sky nearly dropped the book as Hyrule appeared next to him.

“Clouds above Rule! You startled me.”

“Do I wanna know why you have a book full of drawings of yourself?”

Sky rolled his eyes, snapping it shut. “It's not mine. Don't suppose its yours is it?” 

Sky handed it over, letting Hyrule flip through some of the pages. “Nope, definitely not mine. Hey Vet!” Hyrule called out. 

Legend’s head snapped towards them from where he was by Four, pausing to let the two of them catch up before walking beside them. “Need something?”

Hyrule handed him the notebook, “Don’t suppose we can add drawing to your list of random talents could we?”

Legend opened it up curiously before slamming it shut again. His head swiveled to the back of the group before glaring at Hyrule. “Where the hell did you get this?”

Hyrule shot a finger towards Sky who immediately wished he had kept his mouth shut. Legend glared at him, waiting for a response.

“I-I found it as we were leaving this morning. I didn't know it was yours-”

“It's not.” He snapped.

“Wait if it's not yours then whose is it?”

Legend looked towards the back of the group again as if afraid of getting caught. Sky couldn’t help but try to follow his gaze only for Legend to slam the small book into his chest.

“Gee Sky, a book full of drawings of you. It's an absolute mystery as to who it could belong to.” His voice was overflowing with sarcasm that Sky was not appreciating. Sky crossed his arms, narrowing his gaze towards the Vet. Hyrule awkwardly looking between the two of them.

“I already told Hyrule, it's not mine.”

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.” Legend groaned, rubbing his temples. “Please tell me you aren’t that oblivious.”

“Excuse me! I am not oblivious! Now are you gonna tell me who it belongs to or not?”

“By the three… you seriously need me to spell it out for you Bird Brain? There isn’t a single person in this group you can think of that this might belong to?”

“Obviously not since I still have it! I don't recall anyone here talking about being able to draw so please, enlighten me.”

Legend grumbled, obviously frustrated about the current situation. “Try the girl back there that's painfully head over heels for you.”

Hyrule snorted, hands slamming over his mouth to keep in his laughter.

“(Y/N) doesn't draw.”

“Obviously, she does Sky. Or did you not look through the damn thing?”

“But…no. No, she would have told me!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me Sky. She's embarrassed. Did you really expect her to waltz up, show you the dozens of drawings she's done, of you no less, and actually admit she's the one that drew all of them? She might as well have just confessed her love while she was at it.”

Sky's mind went blank.

Was Legend really telling the truth? Had you drawn these and not told him? 

No. No you would have told him. Surely Legend was mistaken and it was someone else's. Maybe it was a shared notebook and that's why there were so many of just him?

Sky couldn't even convince himself that his reasonings were true. Deep down, he knew Legend had to be right. Even deeper, he wanted him to be right.

Because if the Vet was right, and you had drawn all of these. Then was the Vet also right about your feelings for him?

“You… you think she likes me?”

Legend tugged so tightly on his hair he was surprised it didn't rip out of the man's skull. 

“For fucks sake Sky! What do you think?”

“Buddy” Hyrule chimed in with a pat to his shoulder. “Come on, surely you suspected as much right? I mean she practically grows hearts in her eyes when you're around.”

Really? If that was true then how had he never noticed anything? 

“Alright let's stop here for now and take a break.” Wars announced, handing a few chores out before everyone could scatter.

Legend and Hyrule walked away, having been out on scouting the perimeter. Leaving Sky to think about their conversation. 

There was just no logical way that this was yours. He forged the Master Sword, defeated countless numbers of monsters, puzzles and a God for Hylia’s sake. Surely he would have noticed if his companion had a crush on him or at the very least had been drawing him for weeks on end.

“Uggghh where is it!?” Sky looked up, watching you practically dump out the entire contents of your bag. He got to his feet, making his way over to you quickly to try and help whatever problem had arisen.

“What's wrong?”

“I can't find my notebook! I swear I put it in here last night but I can't find it!”

Notebook?

Sky paled, shoving the notebook into his bag before you could see.

“Oh,” he said nervously. Why was he feeling so nervous all of a sudden? “Do you want help looking for it?” He offered. His mind yelling at him that the one he had just shoved in his bag was the same one you were looking for. That Legend had been right. That you were the one that had done those wonderful drawings.

Hylia, Legend was right.

“No!” You said a little too quickly. “No, it's fine. I'm sure I'll find it eventually..” You began shoving things back into your bag. Not caring about keeping anything organized. “But thanks, I appreciate the offer.”

You walked off, shoulders sagging slightly.

Sky's heart raced in his chest as the realization of it all slammed into him like a Loftwing at full speed.

You liked him. 

Goddess how had he not seen it until now? You, wonderful, beautiful you, liked him.

He walked to the edge of the small clearing, taking out the notebook again when no one was looking.

He flipped through its contents once more. Admiring all the work you had done. He knew he needed to give it back, and he would. 

But what was the harm in waiting a day or two?

Just until the perfect moment presented itself.

Then he'd give it back.

And hopefully more.

___________

“Sky? You over here?” 

“Here!” He could see you approach out of the corner of his eye. Placing the shirt he had been scrubbing at for the past few minutes on the rock beside him.

“Oh uhh sorry I can come back later!” You stammered. Hand raised to cover your eyes when you realized he was shirtless. 

Sky chuckled. “Come on (Y/N) we all know you’ve seen worse. I'm just trying to get some of the blood out from earlier.” He said, motioning to his pieces of clothing drying nearby. He waved you over, patting the ground next to him. 

You walked over sheepishly. Kneeling down with a respectable distance between you and the knight. “Want any help?”

“Nah that's okay. I got most of it out already. Buuuut~ I'm actually glad you're here!” He leaned over for his bag. Shuffling through before pulling out the small brown notebook. “I believe this belongs to you.”

He pushed it into your hands and your heart skipped a beat. You snatched it up, quickly flipping through the worn pages to confirm that this was indeed the one you had misplaced the other day.

“Sky this is…You found it! Oh my goodness thank you!” You hugged it tightly to your chest. Relieved to have your drawings returned to you. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you could draw?”

Your heart skipped again and this time you wondered if it was because it had finally cut its losses and simply stopped working. You didn’t dare meet his gaze. Keeping your eyes distinctly on the grass between you and him. You forced yourself to swallow, willing your voice to work.

“You...you looked through it?”

“Well…yeah?” Sky rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Only because I didn’t know it was yours! I found it on the ground and I was just trying to see who it belonged to! But then I saw all the work you put into those drawing and they were just so beautifully detailed that I sorta just kept going and-”

“Hold up,” You interrupted, having no clue where to begin unpacking all of the information he had just spouted at you. You were mortified at the thought that he had seen all of those drawings you had done of him. Not to mention- wait had you heard him right? ”You like them? You don't think..ya know, that it's kinda weird?”

Sky cocked his head. His eyebrows raised in confusion as if you had just spoken an entirely different language. “Are you kidding!? (Y/N) those look amazing!”

Heat invaded your cheeks and you prayed that he wouldn’t call you out on the obvious red spreading over your face. He shifted closer, a hand coming to grab at the notebook which you clutched onto tighter. Sky tugged at it again, giving you an incredulous look. You pouted but let him take it back.

He flipped through a few pages before pointing to a sketch you had done back in Wild’s era. The small field of wildflowers that overlooked a small village on the coastline. “I mean seriously (Y/N) do you see these?”

He turned the page, pointing to a rough sketch of War’s scarf wrapped around his sword. “I never even realized that scarf of his had some of those embroideries on it!” He flipped through some more pages, pointing out drawings on each page. He eventually paused, placing the book face open on your lap.

The only drawing on the page was one of the man beside you. He was standing against a tree, his hand outstretched in front of him as a small red bird fluttered around his head.

Sky leaned over, hovering his head over your shoulder. “That one’s my favorite.” He whispered. A soft smile on his lips as he admired the drawing in your lap. 

You replied just as softly, “Mine too.” A finger traced over the soft lines of the bird. Recalling how you had sat there for over an hour to memorize every detail of the scene laid out before you. His hand covered yours, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“They’re amazing (Y/N).” You looked up, his face right by yours. The proximity alone making you blush furiously as his words stirred something in your chest. “You are amazing.”

His lips pressed against yours, taking you by surprise. 

You let your eyes slip close, moving your mouth against him. A feather-like touch brushing up the length of your arm. His hand coming to hold your face to his. Your fingers twitched towards him, only brave enough to rest just above his knees. You didn’t dare go any higher than that. The heat coming from him only serving as a reminder of the lack of clothing between your bodies.

A gasp escaped you as Sky pulled away. His mouth agape, chest rapidly rising and falling from the small pants that he let out. You pulled your eyes away from his slightly reddened lips, catching his eyes that stared back in disbelief. 

You both let out a breathy laugh, turning your face away into his shoulder. His lips pressed into your hair as you both sat there for a moment. 

You pulled away, unable to hide the stupidly large grin on your face. You closed the notebook that had stayed put on your lap. Holding it protectively to your chest. 

“Thank you Sky”

His mouth curved into a small smirk, “It was just a kiss (Y/N). No need to thank me.”

You hit his shoulder, rolling your eyes as he snickered. “Not that bird brain.” You stuck your tongue out at him for good measure and nodded towards the notebook. “For this.”

Sky’s face softened for just a moment. That smile that you had fallen in love with making a short appearance before morphing into an expression you had never seen grace the Skyloftian’s face. 

“Ya know (Y/N),” His arm snuck around to rest behind you. Supporting his weight as he leaned back in. “Seeing as you're quite the artist, maybe you should draw me.”

You snorted, “How much of that notebook did you actually look through? Because I'm pretty sure I have already.” You tapped him on the nose. Leaning away, only for him to follow after you.

“Mmm~ I'm aware.” He purred, glancing down at your lips that you chewed on nervously. “And you did such a good job too.” He snatched the notebook from your hand, tossing it lightly to the side.

“Hey!” You tried to grab it and he caught your hand. Lifting it up so he could place a light kiss to the inside of your wrist.

“You could draw me like this if you’d like.” Another kiss on your wrist as he looked up to your eyes. Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. Breath catching in your throat as the tip of his tongue flicked over where his lips had just been.

“Sky-”

“Would you like that?” His hand pressed against your back. Pushing you closer to him till you were sat on his lap. You braced your hands against his shoulders. Fingers brushing along his collar bone that had him shuddering beneath you.

“Is there something else you'd like as well?”

“I…I want..”

“Tell me what you want.” His voice was breathy by your neck. The smallest trace of his lips grazing over the sensitive skin that made you shiver. His hands gripping onto your hips. Your mind already imagining the small circles of his thumbs pressed against another part of your body.

“Sky please..” you whimpered shamelessly.  You slid your hands across his chest, letting your nails drag lightly across the expanse of skin. His chest rumbled, chuckling while his mouth traveled just below your jawline.

“Please what?” He teased, pulling a small moan from your lips as he kissed right below your ear. 

“Use your words baby bird” He whispered into your skin.

“Kiss me. Please.”

His lips slammed onto yours, yanking you forward till you were pressed flat against him. Your hands tangled in his hair, giving a short tug that had him groan into your mouth. When you did it again he shot forward, your back hitting the damp grass with him hovering over you. His forearms trapping you in place as he slid his tongue over your bottom lip. 

*Ah-hem*

You both froze at the sound of Time clearing his throat. Both glancing up to see the man standing a few paces away. His arms crossed over his chest with his signature scowl of disapproval.

“I suppose it's a good thing I didnt send Wind to come collect the two of you. Now,” his face lightened ever so slightly as you both quickly sat up. “If you two lovebirds would keep it together, the rest of us would like to get moving soon.”

“Yes sir..”

“Sorry Time..”

Time just stared as you both scrambled to your feet. His face lightened into a softer, more contemplative smile as he twisted the ring around his finger.

Sky quickly grabbed his bag, throwing on a spare shirt while you grabbed the two still drying nearby, along with your notebook. Time walked off, muttering something about his wife being right that you didn't quite catch.

Sky's whole face had turned pink, adamantly avoiding your eyes. You stepped closer, holding onto his arm as you reached up and kissed his cheek.

“Just so you know,” you said. Beginning to follow after Time. “I’ll definitely be taking you up on that offer.” You winked as Sky's face turned the color of his Loftwing. Standing there dumbfounded for a moment before rushing to catch up to you.

His hand rested on the small of your back, letting you lean into his side as you walked back.

“Maybe we wait till the next inn though.”

[viridescentelf]

Painted for me

Stardew Valley Elliott x GN Farmer

Art by O3tofu on Twitter/X

WARNING: 18+, obsessive and toxic behavior, masturbation, general nsfw

Couple Notes: This is my very first attempt at anything Yandere related. I'm tatted and always wondered how Elliott would react to one on the farmer. Enjoy my indulgence! [:

If you're curious what music I was listening to for inspo, it was mostly Florence and the Machine mixed with Bon Iver and Beyonce lol

Word Count: 2k

--

The unusual warm breeze on an autumn morning seemed to have whispered across the valley: today was a Beach Day!

Elliott awoke with paper stuck to his face, adhering to the tiny drivel of spit around his mouth. The crumbled-up pages decorated his dusty floor, evidence of another night spent frustratingly giving up mid-sentence. The intense writer’s block wasn’t ceasing.

He could hear people laughing outside his cabin. 

Letting out a huge yawn, the poet stretched his aching body and wandered groggily to the nearest window. 

It can‘t be the Luau again, he deduced, having only sleepily stumbled into that party a few weeks ago.

Peering through the glass, he saw no wild decorations, but most of the villagers in beach clothing taking in the beautiful rays. Elliott scanned the sand for his friends, spotting Leah in a sunhat sketching by the water and found Willy gazing excitedly into the water near the pier.

The writer’s heart skipped a secret beat, when he recognized the back of the farmer’s head, unpacking their gear near his neighbor. They were tying their hair up, the little baby hairs on the back of their nape made the him quiver.

Frantically grabbing his pants and jumping into one leg, Elliott brushed his teeth with fervor. The farmer was always a bit unpredictable with their schedule, so he didn’t want to waste any time. Another chance to talk to them! He could feel the heat of the day seep through the wooden planks of his shack, so he decided against his red overcoat.

Opening his door, he was met with a sweltering wall and was blinded briefly by the blaring sun in his eyes. Blinking to get accustomed to the brightness, he could barely make out the silhouettes of Willy and the farmer, who were moving strangely – what were they doing? The fuzzy movements were unusual for fishing.

Elliott squeezed his lids hard to adjust them quicker to the glare. Once he opened them, his face turned purple.

The farmer was taking off their overalls. So was Willy, but that wasn’t as exciting to him. A flush of hot static overtook Elliott’s entire body and it wasn’t due to the pressing sun above him. He had never seen the farmer with anything other than their work clothes and now…

Th- that’s their underwear!

The writer could see their bare legs emerging from the pants, their skin dotted with little droplets of sweat. And what was that?

Adorning one of the legs of the farmer was an intricate tattoo. The way it curved around their thigh made Elliott moan squeakily. It wasn’t enough that he was seeing parts of them he had been fantasizing about for the past few months. Now, he would give anything to kiss all over that gorgeous painting and work his way up.

The farmer straightened themselves and tucked their T-Shirt up, exposing their stomach.

Oh, sweet Hell, what are you doing to me?

Willy and the farmer were now removing their boots and stepping into the water together, carrying a large net. They chatted loudly, giving instructions on how to hold the net or what to look out for. He could hear a light raspiness in the farmer’s voice, clearly tired from previous work. Their hands were gripping the rope tightly.

“Hey Elliott!”

The way the water caressed their thighs, leaving shadowy marks of it having touched them. How he wished he could leave hand prints all over them.

“Elliott?”

That gorgeous tattoo was teasing him. What other beautiful things could he discover on them, if they let him explore?

“Elliott!!!”

Elliott finally whirled around and was met with Leah staring at him. He had been rooted in front of his door, staring like a mad dog the entire time.

“O-oh, good morning, Leah! Sorry…”, he rubbed the back of his head. His face was crimson, but could be mistaken as the fastest sunburn in history.

“Bad night?”, the artist tilted her head slightly, looking him up and down.

Elliott had to concentrate and not let his eyes continuously slip back to the almost naked body of the farmer. His head felt dizzy. In the corner of his eye, he saw them flip their hair away from their shoulder.

“Just up late”, he mumbled quickly in response, “Seems everyone’s enjoying this lovely day in the ocean breeze!” He tried to pretend he was looking out at the rest of the villagers speckled across the sand, but his eyes were really flittering over to the lower half of the farmer’s soaking wet form.

Leah caught his gaze and grinned to herself: “Yup, everyone’s here…” He pretended not to hear the suggestive intonation in her voice. “Well, if you’re looking for me, I’m over there,” she pointed at her sketchbook lying on a shallow rock near the water, “after you’ve greeted everyone.” She winked and returned to her spot.

Elliott waved at Leah while she walked away and started to come up with a plan.

How can I get closer without being too weird?

The writer scanned the beach. Sam and Sebastian were standing in the shade, deep in conversation. Not a great excuse. They seemed to be bantering about something important. Pam was roasting herself on her towel, occasionally lifting her head to sip from her beer can or burp. She didn’t look like she wanted to talk to anyone, not that he particularly wanted to, either. Emily, Haley, Maru and Penny were sitting together at the far side of the beach, while Jodi read a book serenely behind them. Vincent and Jas were throwing sand at each other.

Too far away. Too much sand in my face.

None of these were the best options for an easy transition to talk to his crush.

What about…

He suddenly showed a particular interest in Alex, who was playing catch with himself. Coincidentally, he was standing close to where Willy and the farmer were working.

Alex! He’s fun to talk to!

Elliott hadn't really talked to him, ever. They just waved at each other, occasionally, when their paths crossed on the beach.

Convinced of his amazing plan, the red-head walked with gusto towards the unassuming gym rat who was too preoccupied with his workout. Before he knew it, Elliott stood near him awkwardly. Alex caught the ball and blinked at him.

“Uh…”, he looked confused, “hi?”

“Hello Alex! Lovely day for stretching and overexerting our muscles, right? You seem to be doing well! Hahaha.” He had no idea what Alex liked to talk about. Probably exercise. The nervous laugh came out involuntarily.

“Oh- uh hi Elliott. Yeah, yeah. I’m getting a good sweat going.” He turned slightly and wanted to continue tossing the ball, but Elliott hadn’t left. He looked him up and down. He clearly wasn’t dressed for a workout.

“Are you alright?” Alex asked.

“Oh yes, of course. Just making conversation!” the writer babbled. His face was still scorching red.

Elliott put his hands on his hips and pretended to stretch, clearly having no clue what to say further. He stole a few glimpses towards the water, where the farmer had stood up straight, still holding the net. Their leg muscles were tense. Their behind peaked out from the short, soaking wet underwear.

Alex watched the writer for a moment, then turned away from him. He resumed tossing the ball and catching it, ignoring the weird stretching sounds Elliott was faking.

Ok I can probably go say hi now, right?

As he gulped, he stopped his pseudo-stretching and slowly made his way towards his goal.

I’ll say hi to Willy first. That’s less obvious.

Inching closer, it took everything in his soul not to continuously stare at the farmer’s ass, while they were bending over and tugging the net.

“G-Good morning, Willy!”, Elliott blurted out when he felt like he was close enough.

Both turned to him. Willy’s wide smile met him as he gave a joking salute. The farmer turned their head at the sound of his voice as well, their face drenched in sweat with a small streak of blush coating their nose and cheeks. Their striking eyes were glittering in the sunlight. Once they smiled, too, Elliott could’ve fainted into the ocean.

“Hi Elliott!”, they said kindly. There were a few pants after they spoke, clearly holding the net against the waves was exhausting.

Oh my God.

“What are you two doing?” He could barely control the shakes in his voice. He was so close to them. The tattoo was so much clearer now. Their whole lower half was so much clearer now.

“We’re catching shrimp! There’s an explosion of ‘em this morning! Farmer Name offered to help me out.”

The farmer nodded in response: “Happy to help!”

In that moment, a giant wave crashed into them. Elliott stepped back a bit to avoid the splash, still wearing his loafers. Willy and the farmer stood their ground, but the might of the current had pulled the farmer’s underwear to the side slightly. It wasn’t exposing too much, but the writer clearly got a brief glimpse at their privates before they readjusted themselves.

“Whoops, sorry!” they laughed, while Willy repositioned his hat.

Elliott’s body froze. His face had now turned a thick shade of maroon and he could feel himself growing against his belt.

“I have to go!”, he spat out and sprinted away with such velocity back towards his shack. Willy and the farmer looked at each other, shrugged and then continued collecting what they had caught in their nets into the whicker baskets beside them. By the state of his face, they could’ve easily deduced he had gotten sun stroke.

The writer slammed his door shut and leaned against it, panting heavily and muffling out the cheerful chatter of the beach.

Elliott stood there, heaving, the bulge in his pants growing larger as he thought about what divine beauty he just glimpsed at. All the things he wanted to do in that moment flooded his senses.

He wanted to tackle them into the water and rip their flimsy underwear off, inserting a finger into them as he kissed them impatiently.  He wanted to caress their salty skin and lick the beautiful artwork etched forever on their upper thigh. Painted for him, to adore and use.

He wanted to tear his pants open and take them right there in the shallow water, in front of everyone, while they moaned and begged for him to go harder. He wanted to feel their narrow walls and hold their face up towards his, as he came.

The sound of his belt buckle hitting the wooden floor echoed through the shack. He couldn’t hold it any longer. Still leaning against his door, Elliott touched himself fiercely, imagining all the things he wanted- no, needed to do to them. All of those filthy thoughts circled frantically within his mind, imagining their face in pure ecstasy: he would be the cause of that. Holding their legs up and seeing the art up close, it was too much.

Painted for me.

That phrase etched itself deep within him. He felt electricity crackle its way from his shaft all the way through his lower body, as he threw his head back and moaned harshly, sinking into the orgasmic sensation.

Elliott felt his knees waver, as he slid down the door and sat on the surprisingly cold floor. His right hand was sticky, so he placed his left palm against his forehead in shame.

He could barely last a whole conversation with the farmer, fully clothed. But this, this had been a true test of Yoba, if he could control himself. Alas, he clearly couldn’t.

One day.

Staring across the room, he caught sight of his quill. Could he craft something worthwhile out of this shameful experience? Having just seen his muse in an unprecedented way, poetry engulfed his being.

Picking himself up, the writer put his pants back on, leaving the belt to hang open on his hips. He slid his feet towards his desk and hunched over it, taking the quill in his hand.

On a piece of scrap paper, he wrote:

Painted for me

A work of art no thief could rip from my grasp

I will keep it safe, here by the sea

My fingers ache to trace its creases

He stared at the words. Proudly. A delicious thought slithered up his spine.

What if he sent the farmer a letter?

[schmaddi]

So uhm... guess who tripped and fell HARD for Coral Island's merman Semeru. Definitely not meeee~ Anyway, here's a quick sketch because I can't get him out of my head and I really need to share my obsession with sOMEONE.

(also, i know that he's currently rather grumpy, distrustful and not that outgoing, so the expression that i gave him might be a litttttle OOC for him (for now). HOWEVER. BUT. Just imagine him doing his job guarding the kingdom and stuff and keeping an eye on MC-farmer because y'know he still doesn't really trust us and all that quak, but then farmer does something dumb that he finds mildy amusing, which is why he'd have this sliiiight very tiny smile on his face. That's the kinda expression I wanted to give him. Also shoutout to @fyreiswriting because their work on Ao3 is what kept me alive these past few weeks, months? Hi fyre. Love your stories.)

[theplagueraven]

Added a couple more onto my lineup of favorites from The Magnus Archives! I have so many more I need to do and at some point I want to do the whole actual in-house Archives crew, but for now I'm following where the brainrot takes me

Babbling about designs under the cut!

A couple pieces copy/pasted from the previous post. All drawn circa me watching season 3ish, give or take a half season. I just listen and draw

Jonathan is more late season 1, season 2 for me. I'll post some sketches later of my season evolution (only on season 3 so far!), but particularly in the beginning I imagine him immaculately groomed with his hair combed back and trying to look like a proper dapper boss man like Elias. But by the time season 2 rolls around he starts to get more rumpled, lets his hair start growing out a bit because he doesn't have time to go to a barber. Still put together and at least still takes the time to shave, but there's cracks starting to show.

Martin is the tallest in the Archives. He's a big fluffy newfoundland dog who thinks it's a tiny lap dog. He acts so much smaller than he is, trying to stay out of the way, be unobtrusive, not be noticed. Smiles a lot, always doing his best to keep others happy to his own detriment sometimes.

Tim once adhered to dress code, but moving into season 2 he just started not giving a shit and began to wear increasingly more casual clothes. Now he's seen almost constantly in some kind of printed shirt (but it's a button-up ELIAS) and looks and acts constantly like he's halfway out the door on vacation. His charm lets him get away with more than he probably should.

Daisy is a fave. I support women's rights, and occasionally women's wrongs. She's feral, she's awful, and she gives me this rabid butch vibe which is probably why she's the only woman I was able to draw, I'm scared of drawing women. I think she'd be able to throw 90% of the cast like a javelin even if she's a bit shorter than most.

Gerard Keay, president of the anti-book club. I'm incredibly normal about Gerry. Expect more art of him because I am absolutely OBSESSED with his entire story. Normally the goth boys don't really catch my interest, but this scruffy hasn't-slept-in-days book burner that shows up more messed up every time he makes an appearance has stolen my heart. Not a lot to really comment about for his design because he's one of the most well-described characters on the list in canon lol

Elias. I looked up stock photos for smug businessmen and went from there. My goal was to make him slappable. Punchable. Just a right dandy that is in every way put together and immaculate, but makes it seem effortless compared to Jonathan who seems to overcompensate by comparison in his frail attempt to be The Big Boss Archivist.

Peter Lukas! Peter my baby my boy my bastard. From the moment I met him as a spooky foggy cursed captain in Boatswain's Call, I knew it was all over. And the more I get to hear about him, the more I'm feral about him. Cursed sea captains from any era get my adoration without hesitation or concern for my own sanity. You can pry the mariner's peacoat Lukas out of my cold, dead hands. Peter is the only one allowed to be just as tall as Martin, if for no other reason than I wanted to make him bigger and broader than Elias

[kckt88]

A Heartbeat Between Us V

Summary:

Y.N moves in with Aemond, however he has trouble dealing with his jealousy as Y.N grows closer to Aegon.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Fluff, Swearing, Jealousy, Insecurity, Miscommunication, Kissing, Semi Public Sex, P in V, Oral Sex (M Recieving).

AEMOND x Y.N

Word Count: 5576

A.N - I used Zac Gabriel as the face claim for Daeron.

A.N - Most of the story is already written, as I start a new job on Saturday :-)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @toodlesxcuddles @mamawiggers1980 @minttea07 @nommingonfood

Aemond was almost regretting his suggestion of going baby shopping the moment he stepped foot into the nursery store.

Rows and rows of items surrounded him, none of which he recognized apart from the basics: a cot, a pram and a changing table.

But what was all this other stuff? As he stood there, utterly bewildered, he picked up an odd-looking contraption with tubes and some kind of cup attached. His brow furrowed in confusion as he turned it over in his hands.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered, more to himself than to anyone in particular.

Y.N. appeared beside him and gave him an amused smile. “That’s a breast pump,” she explained, gently taking it from him.

Aemond blinked. "Are you going to-breastfeed?"

Y.N. nodded. “I’ll give it a try. I read in one of those baby books that I can eventually express milk so you can help with feeds if you want.”

He gave a quick nod, relief washing over him. That, at least, made sense. He would be involved in every aspect of their baby's life, even the late-night feedings.

They continued walking through the aisles, moving past shelves lined with more creams, lotions, and baby products than Aemond had ever seen in his life.

“Babies have really sensitive skin,” Y.N. explained, picking up a tub of lotion and reading the label. “We’ll have to be careful with what we buy for them.”

Aemond was still trying to make sense of the endless products when Y.N. casually mentioned, “I’m thinking I’ll have to put the cot in my room, at least for now. My flat doesn’t have a spare room, so I’ll probably look for a bigger place when the baby gets a bit older-”

Without thinking, Aemond blurted out, “-You could come live with me.”

Y.N. stopped, turning to him in surprise.

He shifted awkwardly, realizing how fast he’d said it, but he pressed on. “-I have the room, and I could help more with the baby. I don’t want to miss out on anything-and it just makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, we’re having a child together, and I-I want you to feel supported. I want to be there for everything.”

Aemond started rambling, listing reason after reason, but Y.N. interrupted him with a soft smile, placing her hand on his arm.

"I'd like that," she said quietly, "-as long as I can contribute toward the bills. I won’t let you pay for everything."

A wave of relief and happiness washed over him, and he agreed, already picturing them as a family in his penthouse. His focus shifted when he spotted something on a nearby shelf.

A cot mobile, but not just any mobile—this one had tiny, intricately designed dragons hanging from it. He wound it up, and a soft, gentle lullaby began playing as the dragons turned lazily in the air.

Aemond smiled, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve always liked dragons,” he said, nostalgia filling his voice.

Y.N. smiled, too, remembering how his notebooks in school had been covered in his dragon sketches. “I remember.”

“This one,” Aemond said decisively, picking up the boxed version of the mobile. “This is the one I want for our baby.”

Y.N. nodded, touched by his excitement. It was clear how much this meant to him.

As he cradled the box in his hands, she smiled at him, already imagining their baby lying beneath the mobile, lulled to sleep by the soft music and the gentle movement of the dragons.

"Do you know what kind of pram you want?" Aemond asked, trying to sound knowledgeable but still feeling a little out of his depth.

Y.N. chuckled, taking his hand. “I’ve seen a few possibilities. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Aemond had practically marshalled his siblings into helping with Y.N.'s move, each of them assigned specific tasks.

The moving process was well underway, and he was determined that Y.N. wouldn’t lift a finger—especially not anything heavier than a pillow.

So, while Aegon, Daeron, and Aemond handled the heavy lifting, Y.N. and Helaena sat on the floor of her now almost-empty bedroom, packing the last of her things into boxes.

“Honestly, Aemond, I can carry other things,” Y.N. protested as she folded some clothes into a box.

“Absolutely not,” Aemond replied from across the room.

Helaena snickered, helping Y.N. close a box. “He’s being protective. Just let him.”

Y.N. shook her head fondly, turning back to Helaena. “Men.”

Meanwhile, Aegon, ever the opportunist, had loudly volunteered to help with the bedroom packing.

“I’ll handle the personal items!” he announced with a smirk, only to be met with a swift slap on the back of the head from Aemond.

“Go help move the boxes that are already packed and sealed” Aemond ordered, sending Aegon out of the room with a scowl.

Y.N. had already arranged for most of her furniture to go into storage, having decided that she didn’t need much in the way of bulky items.

There was only one exception: her grandfather's beloved armchair. The old, worn chair didn’t match Aemond’s sleek black-and-white decor at all, but Y.N. had insisted on bringing it with her.

Aemond had stood his ground, but when she tied him up in bed and kept edging him during sex, bringing him to the brink of his orgasm as she rode him only to stop, and after four times of being denied the chance to come he caved in, only for him to end up a begging moaning mess as Y.N overstimulated him.

Now, as Daeron worked through her collection of books and DVDs, he raised an eyebrow at what he found.

“She’s got a lot of horror here,” he remarked, flipping through a few titles. “She seriously likes this stuff?”

Aemond, overhearing, glanced over. “It’s her favourite genre. She’s obsessed with creature features and disaster movies, too.”

“Creature features?” Daeron asked, confused.

“You know, movies with killer sharks or giant, man-eating animals,” Aemond replied nonchalantly.

Daeron laughed, shaking his head. “She’s has weird taste-” he teased, only for his eyes to widen when he pulled out a book from a box. “Oh, hello. What’s this? Fifty Shades of—"

Before Daeron could finish, Aemond snatched the book from his hands. “Fifty Shades of Shite, that’s what,” Aemond grumbled. “Now stop messing around and pack.”

Daeron mock saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

Aemond then made his way to check on Aegon, who had unsurprisingly gotten distracted. His elder brother was rifling through a stack of old letters, his face a picture of mischief.

“What the hell are you doing?” Aemond snapped.

“Found some letters-” Aegon replied, waving one around. “-From Jace”

Aemond frowned deeply, but there was a gnawing sense of curiosity that led him to take a glance over Aegon’s shoulder.

Sure enough, Jace’s love-sick declarations and desperate apologies were scrawled across the pages.

Aemond’s scowl deepened, but despite the irritation boiling inside him, he said, “Just put them back. It’s not our business.”

Aegon, with a dramatic sigh, pretended to comply, but when Aemond wasn’t looking, he tossed the letters into the bin.

“So long, Jace, you fucking idiot,” Aegon muttered under his breath.

When Aemond went back to the bedroom, he found Y.N. and Helaena laughing together, nearly finished with the last of the packing. Y.N. was holding up a small box of condoms, grinning.

“Well,” she chuckled, “I guess we won’t be needing these anymore.”

Before Aemond could respond, Aegon’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Hey, I could use them! Saves me buying more.”

Y.N., completely unbothered, shrugged and tossed the box in his direction. “-I didn’t know you was seeing anyone.”

Aegon caught the box and smirked. “Not currently. But I do have my eye on someone,” he replied smugly. “Just a matter of time before she’s mine.”

Y.N. raised an eyebrow but didn’t press, going back to emptying her drawers.

Meanwhile, Aemond shot his brother a warning glare as Aegon winked suggestively at him, making his blood boil.

“Touch her, and I’ll kill you,” Aemond whispered to Aegon, to which his brother only grinned wider.

Y.N, oblivious to the tension between the brothers, finished packing her things and stood up, hands on her hips.

“Well, I think that’s everything. Let’s get the last boxes out, and then we can head over to the penthouse.”

As Y.N. looked around the penthouse, trying to get her bearings amidst the chaos of moving, she realized something was off.

"Aemond, where are all my things?" she asked, her voice tentative.

Aemond glanced up from the hallway, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “They’re in the other spare room,” he said casually, not catching the subtle shift in her expression.

Y.N.’s face fell. “Oh, s-so-I won’t be sharing your room?” she asked, her voice tight with a hint of disappointment.

Aemond, now noticing the change in her mood, looked confused. "I just assumed that you’d want your own space," he replied cautiously. "You know, somewhere you could have to yourself if you ever needed it."

Y.N. forced a smile, though her chest tightened. "N-No, it’s fine, I-I understand," she said quietly before slipping away down the hall and shutting herself into the spare room.

The click of the door felt like a punch to Aemond’s gut.

Aegon, who had been lounging on the couch, shot his brother a look of disbelief. “Well, aren’t you a fucking moron,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Daeron, standing nearby, chimed in with a frown. “You’re in love with her, she’s pregnant with your kid, and you ask her to move in, only to stick her in the spare room? What were you thinking?”

Helaena crossed her arms, giving Aemond a pointed look. “You need to fix this, and fast.” She shoved him gently towards the door.

Aemond swallowed, his stomach churning with guilt as he approached the spare room.

He knocked softly, and after a long moment, he heard her voice call from inside. “Come in.”

Aemond slipped inside, shutting the door gently behind him. Y.N. was sitting on the bed, surrounded by boxes, her eyes red as if she’d been fighting back tears. His heart sank, and he immediately knelt down in front of her, resting his hands on her knees.

“I’m so sorry,” Aemond said earnestly. “I should have talked to you first. I shouldn’t have just assumed anything.”

Y.N. gave him a small smile, but her eyes betrayed her hurt. “It’s okay. I understand.”

Aemond shook his head. “No, it’s not. I-I’ve never really lived with anyone before, not like this-” he confessed, his voice soft. “-As an adult, it’s all new to me. With Alys-she would only stay over every so often, but we never lived together. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Y.N.’s gaze softened as he spoke, her hand moving to cup his face gently. “I get that, Aemond. But it still hurt.”

He closed his eye, leaning into her touch. “I just wanted to make sure you were happy,” he murmured. “Of course, I want you in my bed every night, but I thought you might want a space to call your own. Where you can work on your art or-get away from me when I inevitably annoy you.” He smirked slightly at his own words, but his eyes were full of sincerity.

Y.N. smiled at that, her thumb brushing over his scared cheek. “Can I?” she asked hesitantly, motioning towards his eyepatch.

Aemond nodded, and she carefully slid the patch from his face, revealing his sapphire eye. Y.N. smiled softly, gazing at him. “There. Now I can see you,” she whispered.

The tenderness in her voice, the warmth of her touch—it was more than Aemond could take. He surged forward, capturing her mouth in a passionate kiss.

His hands slid up her thighs to her waist, pushing her back gently until she was lying on the bed, her body sinking into the soft mattress.

The boxes around them were pushed aside, some tumbling onto the floor with a thud, but neither of them cared.

“I want you,” Aemond groaned into her mouth, his voice low and rough with desire.

Y.N. gasped, her breath shaky. “Your brothers and your sister-are here.”

Aemond smirked, his lips brushing against her neck. “We’d better be quiet then,” he teased, his fingers already working to pull her clothes off, his need for her growing with every passing second.

He peeled off his own shirt and lowered his trousers and boxers just enough to free his already hard cock.

Y.N audibly gasped when she felt Aemond’s fingers rubbing her folds.

“O-Oh Aemond” exclaimed Y.N as he slipped a finger inside her, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Always so warm-so wet for me” muttered Aemond as he added another finger, making sure to use his thumb, sweeping it against her pearl.

“I don’t want to wait-please-Aemond take me” whispered Y.N, as she wrapped her legs around Aemond’s waist, holding him as close as she could.

Aemond took his cock in hand, running the head along her warm wet folds, before he pressed inside her, inching forward slowly.

“So beautiful, swollen with my child” whispered Aemond.

“P-Please Aemond” whimpered Vaeda.

Aemond began to move with a slow, deep grinding. His movements deliberate and calculated.

“Gods be good,” panted Y.N.

“Fuck. You were made for me. You were made to fit my cock in this sweet cunt of yours.” breathed Aemond as he increased the pace of this thrusts.

“A-Aemond. Please.” exclaimed Y.N as she brought her hands up to his shoulders, clinging to him as his thrusts shift her up and down the bed.

Aemond makes a strangled sort of sound and lowers himself onto Y.N even more, kissing her passionately.

His hips rolling against hers, his cock thrusting in and out.

Y.N kissed him back, threading her fingers through his long silky hair, her nails scraping against his scalp, just the way he likes it.

“Mine” muttered Aemond.

Y.N could feel herself clenching around him as his cock keeps hitting the same spot inside her.

“Ooo Aemond-f-faster. P-please”

Aemond lets out a loud groan as he begins to move faster pounding into her, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing around the room.

“Aemond-Aemond-”

“You’re so fucking perfect-come-come for me” growls Aemond.

“Y-Yes., Aemond” moaned Y.N squirming, the heat shooting across her abdomen as her pleasure peaks, and she explodes, her cunt tightening around Aemond.

Aemond lets out a long low groan, his movements becoming erratic. His cock throbbing as he spills inside her.

Aegon, Daeron, and Helaena were sprawled out on the sofa in Aemond’s penthouse, waiting for any sign of their brother.

Daeron leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, a curious expression on his face. “Do you think he’s apologized yet?”

Aegon snickered, shaking his head with amusement. “If the sound of the headboard banging against the wall wasn’t enough of an indication, then our brother’s groaning sure was,” he said with a laugh, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Just then, the bedroom door creaked open, and Aemond stepped out, looking a little dishevelled.

He was shirtless, wearing only his jeans, his long silver hair was a tousled mess, and his cheeks tinged pink with exertion. Aegon immediately started snickering again, earning a scowl from Aemond.

Helaena raised an eyebrow, stifling a laugh of her own. “Is Y.N. going to join us?” she asked innocently, though the amused glint in her eye didn’t go unnoticed.

Aemond rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s, uh-sleeping,” he replied, trying to sound casual.

Daeron’s eyes widened dramatically. “Sleeping? What did you do to her?”

Aegon let out a loud cackle. “Oh, I think we all heard what he did to her,” he said with a teasing grin, leaning back on the couch as if thoroughly entertained by the whole situation.

Aemond shot him a glare. “Shut up, Aegon.”

Still grinning, Aegon shrugged. “Hey, no judgment. Just, you know-it was loud.”

Aemond sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “It’s probably best if you all leave” he said, attempting to regain his composure. “Thanks for your help today, but I think we’ll have to rearrange game night-”

Helaena smiled as she stood up, gathering her things. “You’re welcome, Aemond”.

“Fine, but you’re buying the beer next game night.” Aegon quipped with a smirk as he got to his feet.

Aemond rolled his eye but nodded. “Fine, I’ll buy the beer.”

As Daeron grabbed his jacket, he couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “Bet Y.N. sleeps well tonight-”

Aemond shot him a final look of warning before quickly ushering all three of them toward the door.

“Out. All of you,” he commanded, though the faint smile on his lips showed he wasn’t truly angry.

As they left the penthouse, Aegon couldn’t resist one last comment, leaning back to shout, “Next time, at least soundproof the walls!”

The door slammed behind them, and Aemond leaned against it, exhaling deeply. Peace and quiet at last.

Aemond couldn't help but think that asking Y.N. to move in with him was one of the best decisions he'd ever made.

Life with her was everything he hadn't realized he'd been missing. They settled into an easy rhythm—taking turns cooking, sharing quiet evenings together, and every night, he found himself tangled in bed with her, relishing the warmth and intimacy that had quickly become second nature to them both.

What Aemond liked most, though, was watching Y.N. work. She had claimed a small corner of the penthouse, transforming it into her personal workspace.

All her materials were meticulously arranged—paints, brushes, restoration tools—and her attention to detail was astonishing. He found himself mesmerized by the faces she made when she was deep in concentration.

But more than anything, what drove him wild was as her pregnancy progressed, she often got quite warm, so she would often wear shorts and a sports bra whilst working from home.

The sight of her growing belly made him ache with desire and he spent his nights with his head between her thighs before he made love to her.

He was bursting with pride when she completed the restoration of a statue for the museum and watching her meticulously package up the finished piece, her smile radiant with accomplishment, was a memory he knew he’d never forget.

When she received an invite to the unveiling and insisted that he join her, he agreed without hesitation.

The night of the unveiling, Y.N. looked breathtaking. Her floor-length dress hugged her in all the right places, accentuating her swollen belly and ample curves. Aemond couldn’t take his eye off her the entire evening.

She was in her element, accepting praise and accolades for her work with grace and humility, glowing in the spotlight she so deserved. His heart swelled with pride every time someone came up to compliment her on the restoration.

Of course, the press had been there, snapping photos and recording every moment. It didn’t take long for the word to spread: Aemond Targaryen has not only moved on from Alys Rivers but is also expecting a child with someone new.

 He had known it was inevitable, but he thanked the gods they’d managed to keep it quiet for as long as they had.

Y.N. had handled the attention well, her smile never faltering, though Aemond could sense her relief when they finally made their way back home that night.

Now, with the unveiling behind them, his thoughts turned to their upcoming 20-week scan. He was counting down the days with barely contained excitement.

Soon, they’d find out the gender of the baby, and Aemond could finally start working on the nursery, something he’d been quietly planning in his mind for weeks.

The thought of preparing a space for their child filled him with a warmth that was both unfamiliar and exhilarating.

Aemond and Y.N. attended the 20-week scan with excitement buzzing between them. As Marie, moved the probe over Y.N.'s belly, the room filled with the rhythmic sound of their baby’s heartbeat.

Aemond held Y.N.'s hand tightly, his eye fixed on the monitor, watching in awe as their child appeared in crisp black and white. Everything looked perfect.

When Marie asked if they wanted to know the baby’s gender, Y.N. hesitated for a moment before saying, "Could you write it down and give it to Aemond?" Marie smiled knowingly and handed Aemond an envelope, now containing the secret of their baby's gender.

With the knowledge safely tucked away in his pocket, Aemond's mind quickly shifted to the nursery.

As soon as they got home, he began putting his plans into action.

He forbade Y.N. from stepping foot inside the room and told her the nursery would be a surprise. Soon after, various pieces of furniture were delivered—a cot, a changing table, and everything else they’d need.

To put everything together, Aemond enlisted the help of Aegon and Daeron, which turned into a comical disaster. As Y.N. sat in the living room, she could hear them bickering and swearing through the closed door.

At least twice, she heard Aemond threaten to kill Aegon, which was quickly followed by laughter and the unmistakable clinking of beer bottles.

The constant back and forth amused her—at least it sounded like they were having a good time.

Once the furniture was set up, she made a meal for them all, something hearty to thank them for their efforts.

 When the brothers emerged from the nursery, sweaty but satisfied, Aegon and Daeron couldn't stop smirking and elbowing each other as they watched Aemond gravitate toward Y.N.

He stood behind her, hands resting on her bump as she dished up the food, his eye soft and full of affection.

"Man, he’s totally whipped," Aegon muttered to Daeron, who snickered in agreement.

They couldn’t understand why Aemond hadn’t told Y.N. he was in love with her yet. Or even why he hadn’t asked her to officially be his girlfriend.

Aegon, never one to keep his thoughts to himself, brought it up. “So, bro,” he began, a mischievous glint in his eye, “what’s the deal? Why haven’t you asked Y.N. to be your girlfriend yet? You’re practically married at this point.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched, and at first, he ignored the question, but Aegon kept poking at him, goading him with teasing comments.

Finally, Aemond snapped, “Because I’m too scared, alright?”

His brothers went quiet, surprised by his outburst. Aemond sighed, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his admission.

“I don’t know if she feels the same way. I don’t want to ruin what we have by saying something stupid.”

Aegon and Daeron exchanged a glance, their teasing expressions softening. Aegon, for once, was thoughtful. “You’ve got nothing to be scared of. Look at how she looks at you. I’m pretty sure she’s crazy about you.”

Daeron nodded. “And you’re going to be parents soon. You should tell her how you feel before it drives you mad.”

Aemond knew they were right, but the fear of rejection gnawed at him. What if telling her the truth upset the balance they’d found? He sighed, casting a glance toward the kitchen where Y.N. was laughing softly to herself, completely unaware of the conversation.

One day, he promised himself. One day soon.

At 30 weeks pregnant, Y.N. had been waiting anxiously to see the nursery Aemond had been working on.

He had kept her out of the room for weeks, insisting that it had to be perfect before she could see it.

But now, standing at the door, Aemond smiled and gently took her hands. “Close your eyes,” he instructed, guiding her carefully into the room.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trusting him completely as he led her forward.

Once they were inside, he took a deep breath. “Okay,” he whispered, “Open-”

Y.N.’s eyes fluttered open, and she gasped. The room was stunning. Cream and soft blue hues covered the walls, and the sunlight from the window illuminated the room in a warm, peaceful glow.

The crib stood proudly, adorned with the dragon mobile, its tiny wings gently swaying in the air. A beautifully crafted changing table was positioned nearby, and resting on it was a knitted blue blanket—Helaena’s handiwork.

“A boy-” Y.N. marvelled, her voice barely above a whisper as she admired every detail. She ran her fingers over the blanket, her heart swelling with love for the baby growing inside her.

Then her eyes caught sight of something—a sheet hanging over a section of the wall above the crib.

“What’s that for?” she asked, curiosity piqued.

Aemond stepped closer, his expression soft but a little nervous. “It’s covering the baby’s name,” he explained, watching her face carefully.

Y.N. looked at him in surprise. “But we haven’t really decided on names yet.”

Aemond smiled sheepishly. “I, uh-I kind of already chose one.”

Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion, but before she could say anything else, Aemond reached up and pulled the sheet away from the wall, revealing the name he had picked.

Y.N. took one look and burst into tears.

Aemond’s eyes widened in panic as he immediately wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, holding her close. “I thought—I’m sorry if I got it wrong. I can change it.”

But Y.N. shook her head, burying her face against his chest as she sobbed. “No,” she managed to say between tears, “I love it. I love it so much.”

A wave of relief washed over Aemond, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Thank the gods,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. Y.N. wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes still misty but filled with joy.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her gaze drifting back to the wall, where her grandfather’s name was painted in elegant script. “It’s not a traditional Targaryen name though”

Aemond smiled, gently wiping her tears away with his thumb. “So, we break the tradition,” he said softly, his hand resting on her bump. “It’s our choice what to name our son. Besides, we can give him a Targaryen middle name”.

Y.N. placed her hand over his, just as the baby kicked. They both smiled, feeling the life they had created together move beneath their hands.

Aemond chuckled softly. “I think he approves.”

Y.N. laughed, her heart feeling lighter than it had in days. “I think he does.”

Aemond looked around the nursery, a sense of satisfaction and pride in his work. “Now all that’s left is to get the pram and some clothes, and we’ll be good to go.”

Y.N. nodded, her heart full as she took in the room again, but mostly she looked at Aemond, marvelling at how lucky she was to be building a family with him.

Aemond arrived home after an exhausting day, his mind already wandering to Y.N. and the baby.

As he opened the door, his ears picked up on Y.N.'s voice, sounding almost-playful.

"No, Aegon, it's too hard," she said, a teasing edge to her tone.

Aegon groaned. "So? You love it when it’s hard."

Aemond froze, blood boiling in his veins as he heard Y.N. laugh.

"Okay, fine, let's try again, but give me some time to adjust," she responded.

Aemond saw red. Was his brother seriously fucking the mother of his child in his penthouse? Right under his nose? Whilst she was pregnant?

Rage bubbling inside him, Aemond stormed into the living room, heart pounding.

"What the hell is going on here?" he bellowed, fully prepared to murder Aegon with his bare hands.

To his surprise, he found Y.N. sitting cross-legged on the floor with a PlayStation controller in her hand.

Aegon was sprawled on the sofa beside her, also holding a controller, looking completely unbothered by Aemond's entrance.

"We're playing Mortal Kombat, genius," Aegon said with a lazy grin. "What’s got you so worked up?"

Aemond blinked, his fury deflating but still simmering beneath the surface. "What are you doing here, Aegon?" he snapped, irritation lacing his voice.

Aegon shrugged. "Y.N. called me. She was home alone, and wanted some company."

Aemond shot Y.N. a frustrated look. “You could’ve called me. I would’ve come home.”

Y.N. waved him off. “You were busy, Aemond. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Aegon smirked, clearly enjoying the tension between them. “I’ll be heading out anyway,” he said, standing up and stretching. “Got a date with Cerelle Lannister tonight. As much as I’d love to stick around and wind you up further, I’ve got better things to do.”

“Yeah, fuck off” Aemond muttered, earning a chiding look from Y.N.

“Aemond, don’t be rude,” she said, though Aegon laughed it off.

“No worries. I’m used to his mood swings by now.” He leaned over and planted an exaggerated kiss on Y.N.’s head, grinning when Aemond’s face twisted with annoyance.

“Later, you two,” he called over his shoulder, strolling out of the penthouse as if he hadn’t just wound his brother up like a toy.

The door shut with a soft click, leaving Aemond glaring after him.

"I don’t want him alone here with you," Aemond grumbled, still fuming.

Y.N. rolled her eyes and placed the controller down. “Why? It’s just Aegon.”

"You know how my brother is," Aemond said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t trust him.”

“I’m more than capable of handling Aegon," Y.N. shot back, her voice firm.

Aemond sighed. "I never said you weren’t capable. I just—" He paused, realizing how this was coming across. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "I’m just trying to protect you, Y.N. That's all."

Y.N. crossed her arms, a look of mild irritation on her face. "Well, it sounds like you're doubting me."

Her moods had been unpredictable lately. One moment, she’d be happy and relaxed, the next, she was crying over something as simple as the wrong pasta brand or getting angry when he suggested healthier meals instead of her craving for fast food.

More than once, she had snapped at him to stay away, only to come to him moments later in tears, asking him to hold her or take her to bed.

As Y.N. gazed up at him from her position on the floor, Aemond braced himself, unsure of which mood she might descend into now.

But instead of another emotional outburst, she surprised him. Y.N. shifted to her knees, her eyes glinting with mischief as her fingers reached for his belt buckle.

Aemond’s breath hitched, his pulse quickening. "Y.N.," he warned, his voice low, but she silenced him with a smirk, undoing his trousers.

Next thing he knew, Y.N’s warm, wet mouth was wrapped around his soft cock.

Aemond put his hand on the back of her head as started to suck his cock and caress his balls.

Soon his cock sprang to life, and Aemond was losing his mind at the sight of her pink lips stretched around his hard length.

Y.N’s tongue ran around the tip – tracing the ridges and licking off that drops of pre-cum that had started to leak out.

“Fuck, Y.N!” groaned Aemond as he threaded his fingers through her hair.

Y.N ran the flat of her tongue along Aemond’s length, tracing every hard inch of him.

Aemond’s heart almost stopped when she sucked his stones into her mouth, one at a time.

Her hand moving slowly over the hard length of him.

When Y.N engulfed Aemond’s cock in her mouth, he squeezed his eyes shut.

Y.N was driving him crazy.

Aemond forced himself to open his eyes, he had to watch her sucking his cock. 

“Your taking me so well. Such a good girl” moaned Aemond.

Aemond knew it would push him too far to control, but he did not care. He just had to watch his cock disappear into Y.N’s mouth and see it come back out, shining with her spit.

Her head moving back and forth, her pink lips stretched around him. Oh, it was heaven.

Y.N smiled slightly and began moving faster, also using one of her hands in rhythm with her mouth. 

“It feels so good-” groaned Aemond his hand gripping her hair as he began to fuck her face.

“Hmmm” muttered Y.N as she dug her fingers into the flesh of his arse.

“I’m not going to last-if you carry on” Aemond admitted.

Y.N responded to his statement by relaxing the back of her throat, and swallowing as much of Aemond’s cock as she could, whilst her other hand gently cupped his balls.

“Shit Y.N! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck, I’m coming!” shouted Aemond as he exploded.

She took every last drop, swallowing his seed and licking him clean.

When he recovered, Aemond saw Y.N’s self-satisfied smile.

“Was that to your liking?” asked Y.N.

“Y-Yes” gasped Aemond.

“Now can I have a Burger King?”

Aemond who was still dazed from his orgasm simply nodded. Damn that mouth of hers, he thought, his mind still reeling.

As he ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, he couldn’t help but shake his head with a mixture of admiration and disbelief.

He’d come home angry, jealous, ready to fight. Now, he was standing there, utterly undone, with no memory of why he was even frustrated in the first place.

TBC

[mintfullyyours]

something borrowed

The poll results leaned Simon but since Johnny was second, I'm gonna go ahead and post his version first because I love him and the quiet way obsession creeps into my Johnny boy.

Also because Si's might be a multi-fic?? And I envisioned Soap's as a one and done.

I appreciate everyone that's been reading and dropping replies. I love chatting with y'all so much!!! lmk if you want to be included in my tag list too.

happy reading! check out my master list too :)

cw: obsession, slight stalking if you squint

The airport was a blur of movement—exhausted travelers rushing past, the murmur of announcements overhead, and the rhythmic whir of the baggage carousel. You had just arrived in Scotland, today marking the start of your new life on a work visa. It should have been exciting, but between the long flight, the bustle of customs, and the sinking realization that your pre-arranged apartment wasn't ready yet, all you wanted was to collapse in a bed—any bed.

At least your luggage made it.

Or so you thought.

You barely registered the weight as you pulled the black suitcase off the belt, adjusting your grip while balancing your phone between your shoulder and ear. "Yes, Mom, I landed. No, I haven’t seen the place yet—there was a mix-up, so I’m in a hotel for now. You're right, I should've called my land lord sooner. Yes, I’m being careful." You sighed, nodding along to the well-meaning concerns before finally managing to end the call.

By the time you reached the hotel, all you could think about was a hot shower and fresh clothes. You unzipped your suitcase, already reaching for your toiletries—only to pause.

Unzipping the case, you blinked down at neatly folded clothes that were absolutely not yours. A few button-ups, dark-wash jeans, a military-green hoodie that smelled faintly of something clean but masculine. A leather toiletry bag sat on top, half-unzipped to reveal a razor and cologne. Your stomach twisted as you rifled deeper, hoping— praying — that this was some bizarre mistake.

And then you found it.

Dog tags.

Your breath hitched as you held them up to the dim light of the hotel room. They clinked together softly, the name engraved on the metal stark and unmistakable.

John MacTavish.

You sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, flipping open the worn leather notebook you'd found in his suitcase. You hadn’t meant to snoop, truly. But after realizing the mix-up, frustration had led to curiosity. Tucked within a few shirts, a thick notepad. When you opened it, the first few pages were filled with intricate sketches—landscapes, weapons, and then… faces.

Your fingers hesitated as you turned to a drawing that sent a chill down your spine.

It was unfinished, but the shape of it was eerily familiar. The curve of the jaw, the way the hair fell just slightly out of place—your features were there, just vague enough to make you question if it was truly you or just a coincidence. Your pulse quickened. Had he seen you before? Had he drawn this from memory?

Or worse… from imagination?

You swallowed, flipping another page, half-expecting to find more sketches of yourself. Instead, there were tiny notes scribbled in the margins, barely legible in places. Soft eyes. Always moving, like she’s thinking of a thousand things at once.

Your breath caught in your throat.

This was insane. It had to be. He didn’t even know you… did he?

And yet, here you were, staring at proof that maybe, just maybe—

He’d noticed you first.

Now somewhere on the other side of the city, Johnny MacTavish leaned against the counter of his hotel room, watching as the ice in his glass shifted with the slow swirl of whiskey. His other hand rested on the suitcase he’d taken from baggage claim— your suitcase.

He’d told himself it was an accident. And maybe, technically, it was. He’d grabbed the bag without checking the tag, too distracted, too caught up in the chaos of the airport. That was the version he’d keep if anyone asked.

The zipper gives way with a low hum and Johnny flips open the suitcase. Soft fabrics. His fingers brush against the sleeve of a sweater, thick and plush, the kind that looks better stolen off a lover’s back. There’s a silky dress beneath it, something smooth against his fingertips that have been through too much brutality, and he exhales through his nose, jaw tight.

A well-worn hoodie that smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla, the kind of scent that clung to someone effortlessly. He brought it closer, inhaling before he could think better of it. It was comforting.

This isn’t his.

But it’s yours.

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head, but he doesn’t move to close the suitcase just yet. Instead, he lets himself indulge—just a second longer.

His knuckles graze against something rigid in the side pocket, and when he pulls it free, his breath catches. A photo.

It’s you.

The first thing he notices is your smile—wide, radiant, unrestrained. You're laughing, holding a little girl who’s absolutely covered in melted ice cream. Sticky fingers curled around your arm, a mess on your shirt, but you doesn’t look like you mind. If anything, you look like you're having just as much fun as the kid is.

Something tugs in his chest. Tight.

He swallows.

This is stupid. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should’ve already called the number on the luggage tag and set up the swap. But instead—

He turns the photo over.

Scrawled in messy, uneven handwriting, a child’s marker bleeds into the back of the paper:

“Best day ever.”

It’s like a punch to the gut.

Something in his chest clenched. Not just because the words were sweet, but because they felt like confirmation. Even the kid knew —you were good. The kind of person who made life feel lighter, brighter. The kind of person who deserved to be cherished. He could picture it too easily—you're in his kitchen, a little one on your hip, laughing as you wiped ice cream off their face. His kid. Their kid.

Christ.

His fingers tighten on the edge of the photo.

Call it luck that your luggages were swapped & maybe this really was an accident.

Or maybe, just maybe —

Johnny MacTavish saw you at baggage claim first.

And maybe, just maybe —

He took your suitcase on purpose.

tag list

@ebodebo @meheheasasa @thegirlintheshadows101 @galactict3a @star-buck-barnes @synamonthy @vylaris @vvenus-child @negomisan @heretoreadanddrinktea @mocalocha @icommitwarcrimes @readingcatinacorner @just-lilita @blackhawkfanatic

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

A Good Morning, Indeed

Reader decides to wake up Professor Sharp in the most pleasant way...

A tiny little pwp fic. As always, huge thanks to the best girls @tea-withjamandbreadand and @dzajna for being there for me and providing me with feedback on my silly endeavours.

18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN

A Good Morning, Indeed (2.5k words)

tw: explicit sexual content, oral sex (male)

Your closed eyes furrowed a bit further in an attempt to keep the bright morning light out of them. You were rather certain you were having a dream mere moments ago, but as your slumber slowly faded into consciousness, the dream was swiftly forgotten like fog on a dreary morning once the sun rises and its warmth whisks it away. Your mouth opened wide as a yawn rolled through you, and you used the fingers of your right hand to wipe the remnants of sleep out of your eyes.

Opening them finally, a smile appeared on your face, soft and tender, just like the embrace in which you were reclining. Aesop Sharp slept soundly beside you, his face relaxed, brows unfurrowed, lips slightly open to allow the occasional snore to escape, prompting you to stifle in a giggle. 

The professor was always handsome in your opinion, no matter the situation. When he taught, he had this mysterious allure to him, his voice, as sharp as his name, cutting through the dimness of his dungeon classroom in a way you found intriguing at first, and maddeningly irresistible after he began pulling at your heartstrings. When he duelled, he was a force of nature, destructive and unforgiving like a tempest, face locked in concentration and focus as he sent spell after spell at his adversary. He was concentrated and focused when he brewed too, but it was a different kind of focus, a gentler one, and if one looked close enough, they’d see the absolute peace in his eyes as he masterfully chopped up the needed ingredients, or meticulously swirled the stirrer inside the cauldron. He was in his element then, completely content. 

However, you were one of the very few who got to witness different sides of Aesop. Like when he drew, his digits blackened by charcoal, the pink tip of his tongue occasionally peeking out from behind his lips, and his thumb often coming to view as he checked whether he got the proportions in his sketch right. You were also one of very few to have his loving gaze directed at you, the dark eyes soft with emotion and so very inviting, pupils stretching wide at the mere sight of your smile, and so, so much wider at the simplest touch of your hand. 

And you were the only woman to have the utmost privilege of seeing him like he was now, at his most vulnerable, barely dressed and sound asleep, his wand lying atop the bedside table, and soft puffs of air leaving his lips with every exhale. His hair was spread on the pillow like a dark halo, and you found the little bit of dried drool at the corner of his mouth frankly adorable.

Oh, but one part of him was very much awake, as you suddenly came to realise…

Your face spread into a grin, and you moved your leg slightly, using it to press against the hardness concealed by his drawers. A small murmur left the teacher’s open lips, but his sleep remained otherwise unbothered. The smile hadn’t left your lips as you carefully slid your hand down his body, mindful not to wake him, as that would surely put a damper on the idea that just popped up into your head. You propped yourself up on your elbow and leaned your head against your free hand to be able to watch him better.

You lovingly caressed the skin of his arm, shoulder, chest… Your fingers fondly combed through the dark hair on his breasts before moving to gently brush against his nipples. They strayed further then, and followed the line of hair leading down his sternum to his belly, soft skin and the slightest bit of pudge atop firm muscle. Aesop sniffed but remained fast asleep when a cheeky finger poked at his belly button. Your hand then carefully snuck past the hem of his drawers.

There was a small change in his breathing when your nimble digits slid through the trail of hair leading to Aesop’s need, his lower belly fluttering deliciously under the teasing touch. As they danced just above the hot erection straining the professor’s underwear, Aesop turned on his back. For a minute, you were worried he had woken, but other than loosely closing one hand around the sheets next to him, Aesop’s eyes remained closed and his breathing even, if the tiniest bit faster than before.

Smiling at your lover’s face, you plunged under the covers and made a swift journey down his body until you were face to face with the tent in his pants. Slowly, your fingers curled around the hem, and pulled at it. The aching cock sprung out from inside, and, though muffled, you could hear a small gasp coming from its owner.

It was a bit dark here under the blanket, but you could just make out Aesop’s length standing proudly and throbbing gently every now and then, his pink tip partially hidden by foreskin, the few defined veins begging for your attention. And attention they would receive.

But first, you very carefully slid the blanket down until it rested just below your shoulders, wanting to look at your lover and make sure he didn't wake up too early.

Aesop’s cheeks were pink and mouth opened a bit more, chest rising and falling with each breath he took. You stuck your tongue out, and licked a long stripe starting at his base, then moving up over his underside until you reached the glans, playfully probing at the slit. His breath hitched again, and his hand closed tighter around the sheets. 

You took your sweet time toying with the tip, running your tongue around it like it was a lolly and lovingly watching Aesop’s reactions. He went from slightly quicker breathing to making an occasional soft sound, both of his hands now flexing around whatever it was they were able to grip, and whenever your devilish tongue dipped under the soft tissue of his foreskin, his head buried further back into the pillow.

Finally you began to take him into your mouth, at first just sucking on the head, your movements completely unhurried and incredibly gentle.

You knew that if Aesop was to wake, he would not just let you finish him off like this, not unless he was able to pleasure you as well, the gentleman that he was. He enjoyed your mouth plenty, always full of praise, hand stroking your hair, but found it difficult to just lie back and enjoy you sucking him off from start to finish, so you hoped to be able to bring him too close to his peak to stop you before he woke up.

It was a real shame he didn’t let you do this more often, you thought, as you absolutely loved the way he and his pleasure were entirely under your control. You thought he was simply irresistible when he tried to hold himself back, but everything about him looked ready to snap, ready to just hold your head while he chased his gratification in the hot depths of your mouth. You relaxed your neck, and let him slide in deeper, his musky scent filling your nostrils and making you aware of the starting dampness between your legs.

His hips twitched when you managed to take in all of him, your nose buried in the dark hair on his pubic bone, your saliva escaping from where your lips were stretched around his heavy prick, and a moan left the potions professor. You stayed like this for a while, just breathing deeply, letting him throb lightly in your mouth. When you swallowed around him, Aesop moaned again, and you felt the bitter taste of precum.

It was getting progressively more difficult to keep your ministrations slow and gentle in order not to wake him, especially with Aesop looking the way he did. You released him out of your mouth momentarily, but almost right away replaced your lips with your hand, using the slickness of your saliva on the cock to slide your palm up and down along it smoothly. You watched your beloved with a smile on your face, your enjoyment immense.

Aesop’s face was much more flushed than before, and a light sheen of sweat appeared on his skin. Oh, you wondered how far you’d be able to take this, what all you were able to get away with before he inevitably woke up, but also how much longer would you be able to bear doing this until you needed to see to your own need. The teacher was throbbing in your small hand, beads of crystal clear fluid seeping out of his slit. 

Maybe you could bring him to his release like this, a nice slow rhythm just gradually building up his pleasure until his hips twitched for the last time and he leisurely spilled into your hand or mouth, maybe still on that line between slumber and consciousness. 

However, while you did like this idea quite a bit, you decided to keep it for another day. Right now you were feeling rather too aroused, and decided it’d be quite more thrilling to have him come to all desperate and aching to cum.

And so you lowered your mouth down onto him again, this time taking him fully in a single swift plunge, a louder moan rolling from his lips as he was once more entirely enveloped by your wet warmth. You began to bob your head up and down his shaft in a faster rhythm, sucking him on every upwards stroke, and letting your teeth graze him every now and then.

“Oh, f-fuck!” he cried suddenly, and his dark eyes opened, unfocused and hazy from pleasure. It took him a moment to gather his wits about him and look down to realise what you were doing, but when he did, his head fell back again and his fingers again closed around the crumpled up sheets in a vice grip. 

“Wh-what are you-” he tried pitifully, his voice high and breathy, but wasn’t able to finish speaking on account of sharp gasp as you swallowed around him again, your hands doing their best to hold his buckling hips down. One of them left its position in order to gently knead at his tightening bollocks, looking for that special little spot behind them that drove Aesop absolutely wild. 

“A-ah-” came a broken moan from above, and you looked up, slightly cross-eyed, to see your lover had his eyes screwed shut, his brows turned upwards, one hand roughly running through his own hair. You raised your head up and off him, wanting him to look at you. He looked positively delicious like this, so painfully hard, and for once allowing himself to get lost in his pleasure. After a minute, during which his laboured breathing slowed down the tiniest little bit, he finally opened his eyes to look at you.

You couldn’t help but grin when those beautiful brown eyes of his, blown impossibly wide with arousal, met your own, and then fluttered when you licked another long line over the now continuously leaking shaft, dark lashes fanning across red cheeks. You decided you tortured him for long enough, not to mention the ache between your own legs was begging you to get on with it. Quickly, you took him back in and started working him in earnest, the tips of your fingers finally finding that little sweet spot they were looking for, and pressing against it firmly.

Aesop nearly howled with pleasure and urgency, his head once more arching back, his hips thrusting up to meet you, heels digging into the mattress below, and legs pushing the forgotten blanket further away and off the bed entirely. His hand suddenly landed on your head, calloused fingers closing around a fistful of your hair, lightly pushing on your head on every downward movement. You felt him throb heavily in your throat, his balls drawing up, his hand trembling slightly.

He moaned your name, the rhythm of his hips staggering: “S-sweetheart, I’m g-going to-...” 

You doubled down your efforts, each sound that now freely rolled out from his lips spurring you on, making you take him faster, suck harder, massage his perineum with your finger in the same rhythm, and reduce the strong former Auror into a sweating, moaning mess. The room was filled with a cacophony of wet noises, heavy breathing, and Aesop’s desperate sounds. And when his hand in your hair was joined by the other one, you knew he was done for. 

You relaxed your mouth and throat, and instead braced both your hands next to his thrashing hips, letting him fuck your mouth as he wished in pursue of his orgasm. Aesop harshly filled you one, two, three times, his glans dragging over the back of your throat, and your eyes watering with the effort of holding your gag reflex at bay. 

You managed to open and focus your eyes to look at your lover, just as his back arched and a final, guttural moan left his damp lips. Just then your throat was flooded with his bitter cum in several large spurts, making you once more swallow around him as he rode out his release, his legs shaking where they were bent at the knees at each side of you. Finally, Aesop’s straining body went limp on the bed, his breathing ragged and uneven, his hands releasing your head from their grasp, and his head lolling off to the side. 

You used your tongue to gently lick him clean, making him whine with oversensitivity, before you let his softening prick out of your mouth entirely with a soft pop. With a grin of a cat with seven canaries in her paw on your slightly swollen lips, you began your ascent up his body, pressing soft kisses to his skin on the way, his belly, sternum, each pectoral, collarbones, your tongue darting out to taste the sweat-dampened skin.

You finally reached his mouth and gently ravished it. The teacher immediately yielded to your tongue, tasting himself on you. 

“Good morning, love,” you chirped happily, combing your fingers through his messy hair. 

“Merlin’s beard, good morning, indeed,” he replied breathlessly before finally opening his eyes to look at you. He chuckled weakly when he saw your smug little smile, arms wrapping around your waist and holding you close: “Well, that certainly beat the old alarm clock, that’s for sure…”

You rested in each other’s arms for a while, Aesop’s heartbeat slowly returning to normal, his arms growing tighter around your body, your lips meeting for more kisses. And, after one such kiss, long and ardent, you looked deep into his eyes, a content smile on your face. “So, Professor Sharp,” you asked softly, “what are your plans for today?” The teacher gave you his own grin, suddenly toothy and wild, and it made you remember the forgotten ache between your legs.

“Oh, I’m quite certain we shall think of something,” he promised, his voice low and hungry. You squeaked involuntarily when you were suddenly flipped onto your back, your thighs roughly parted by a pair of strong hands: “but first, I think I’ll have some breakfast, if you don’t mind.”

Oh, you did not mind at all…

Hello! I hope you enjoyed reading this silly little thing! You can check this and my other stories over on my AO3. Feedback heals my soul ❤

[n0vazsq]

Heart-shaped locket | Arda Guler x Reader

pairing . . . arda guler x gf!reader

summary . . . While on a date with you boyfriend, he surprises you with a heart-shaped locket

request . . . yes!!

word count . . . 1k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . this is so cute kms anyway hope you enjoy!! slowly getting through my reqs (mostly smaus) but ill be writing some as oneshots so yeah!!!

. . . The warm sunlight streaming through the windows of the small cafe cast a golden glow over everything inside. You sat at the corner table, the one that had become your spot over the past few months.

A half empty mug of hot chocolate sat in front of you, its surface now cool, the whipped cream long melted. You hadn’t touched it in a while, too occupied with the open notebook in front of you. Your pen tapped quickly against the table as you stared out the window, waiting.

And then he walked in.

Arda looked as radiant as ever. His warm smile appeared the second his eyes found yours, and his presence lit up the room in a way that made your heart skip a beat, no matter how many times you saw him.

He was dressed casually; a black hoodie with the sleeves slightly pushed up, grey sweatpants, and white sneakers. His hair was a little messy, but it was perfect in that effortlessly charming way that only Arda could pull off.

"Hey, sorry I’m late,: he said as he slid into the seat across from you. His voice was soft and apologetic, the kind that made it impossible to be annoyed with him.

"You’re not that late," you teased, closing your notebook and pushing it aside. "I kept myself entertained."

Arda’s eyes flickered to the notebook, and he tilted his head slightly. "More sketches?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

You nodded, flipping it open to show him the sketches you’d been working on. Some were just random shapes and designs, while others were quick portraits, one of him, of course. He reached out, his fingers brushing yours as he turned the pages. His touch was so familiar, so gentle, that it sent a small, comforting bolt through you.

"This one," he said, pointing to a sketch of him mid game, his focused expression and messy hair captured perfectly. "You’ve been spying on me."

You laughed. "Maybe. Or maybe you’re just always on my mind."

Arda laughed softly, leaning back in his seat, his gaze never leaving yours. "Smooth," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "But I’ll take it."

The waiter appeared, breaking the moment just long enough for Arda to order a coffee and for you to awkwardly wave off any attempts at refilling your hot chocolate. Once the waiter left, Arda reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box. He placed it on the table in front of you, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"What’s this?" you asked, eyeing the box curiously.

"Just open it," he said, looking unusually nervous.

You carefully peeled back the wrapping paper and opened the box to reveal a delicate heart-shaped locket. The gold shimmered in the sunlight, and your breath caught as you gently picked it up.

Opening the locket, you found a tiny photo of you and Arda inside, one he’d taken months ago when you were laughing at something he’d said. On the opposite side was a small engraving, Forever and Always.

"Arda," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "This is beautiful."

"I wanted you to have something to remind you of me," he said softly, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his hoodie. "Not that I think you’d forget me, but… you know. For when I’m busy with training and stuff."

You reached across the table, your hand covering his. "I could never forget you," you said, your eyes meeting his. "But this… this is perfect. Thank you."

He helped you fasten the locket around your neck, his fingers brushing against your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. Once it was in place, you touched it lightly, feeling the warmth of his gesture settle in your heart.

For the next hour, you and Arda talked about almost everything. From his training sessions to little updates on your week.

When you two finally finished talking and the check has been paid, Arda stood up and held out his hand. "Come on. Let’s go for a walk."

The two of you strolled through the nearby park, hand in hand, the winter chill biting at your cheeks. Arda’s thumb rubbed circles against your knuckles, and every so often, he’d pull you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to shield you from the wind.

"You know," he said after a while, "I think my favorite thing about being with you is how easy everything feels. Like, I don’t have to pretend to be anything I’m not."

You looked up at him, your heart swelling. "That’s because I love you for who you are, Arda. The real you. The one who’s sometimes too hard on himself but still makes everyone around him feel like they matter."

He stopped walking and turned to face you, his expression soft and open. "You do that for me too, you know? Make me feel like I matter."

"You do matter," you said, reaching up to cup his cheek. "More than you’ll ever know."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly before he opened them again and smiled. "You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I hope you know that."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, not because you were sad, but because his words were so raw and heartfelt. "I’m pretty sure you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me too," you whispered.

Arda leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. "Good. Then I guess we’re stuck with each other."

"Forever," you murmured, your lips brushing against his.

The kiss that followed was soft and lingering, filled with the kind of love that felt like you thought only existed in dreams. It was love in its simplest form; quiet, constant, and unshakable.

As the two of you continued your walk, the world around you seemed to fade away. And in those little moments, you knew you’d found something truly special.

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @bernalswifeyy ,, @nngkay ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[2danesand1cat]

The themes of regret, grief, and guilt have been in my mind lately, particularly regarding my sweet angel child-Damian.

It’s a pretty consistent theme in the comics that Damian believes he is not good enough, he’s a monster, that he’s not like his father or siblings, and that he’s full of uncontrollable anger, malice, and spite.

And while of course each batkid (and especially Bruce) have their own unique experiences with guilt and regret, I can’t help but imagine what all of that must feel like to a kid so young, who is incredibly skilled and highly intelligent, yet also very naive in a way that a child is about the world and their place in it.

Damian is frustrated when people don’t understand his harshness and his intense motivations, as it creates a barrier in the way he relates to his family. Additionally, he is barely able to step out of his own perspective as a child, preteen, and even young teenager to understand other people’s ways and motivations. This would certainly be incredibly isolating, having this drive and intensity you were tortured to develop and that you are now being told is wrong even though that’s all you know. But more than anything, he just wants to please someone, and it feels like they just keep misunderstanding him. This, of course, is not to say they didn’t try. Dick, Alfred and Bruce are his heroes for a damn good reason, but it took a great deal of time and constant redirection.

Even now, as an early teen, he’s still struggling with maintaining all the work he’s done on himself to reframe his self image and control his emotions. YOU KNOW HOW DIFFICULT IT IS FOR A 14/15 YEAR OLD TO CONTROL THEIR EMOTIONS?!?!

Do you know how much guilt and regret that must take, to keep him on track?

His desire to please is so strong because each small bit of praise that he earns reinforces this very feeble idea that, maybe, just maybe, he is good, and is doing something right. Each time he hears these things, it slowly erodes that constant weight on his tiny little shoulders of the guilt he carries everyday.

I can’t help but think of all the times he pleaded with himself and some high figure or something to “please, make me good like Richard. Help me be better. Help me be like Father. Please, please please” as silent sobs gripped his tiny frame and tears poured down onto his pillow.

Or all the times where he is sketching or training or just trying to exist and is hit with a wave of guilt as he has a flashback about his time in the league or even his early days in Gotham. Those are the days when his sketches get crumped because “it’s not worth it to even try to create something beautiful” in those moments. And how he refuses to wrap his hands as he hits the punching bag over and over again, feeling a small bit of relief at every spilt knuckle because “I deserve this pain” is all he can think.

Still til this day, as nightmares come and go, he lies there in bed and repeats to himself that “yes, that was me, i did kill, i did slaughter”, and even though what he just experienced in his dream wasn’t real, it was all at one time very, very real.

There were times when he wouldn’t eat breakfast after he lay up all night, coming to terms with his past self, reasoning that breakfast is for people that deserve it. He must instead punish his body for the its sins. Seeking comfort to placate his conscious was weakness as well. He did his best to hide his guilt and suffering from Dick and Alfred and Bruce, as it was not their cross to bear.

What he forgets, and still often forgets, is that he is and was just a child. And what he is trying to learn is that everyone has regrets, but we are not our past, we are our efforts to create a better future self. It gets a little better each day. He is trying.

At least now, he has given himself the permission to seek out the love and comfort he so desperately craves. When he silently pads into Bruce’s room at night, Bruce understands. They don’t speak, not then at least, but Damian no longer constantly denies himself the goodness that he is learning he deserves.