#spinning and twirling and dancing and having fun

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

just sitting here thinking how sad it is in most dance boys don't get to be dipped and twirled. everyone deserves to be spun around with flourish at least once in their life

[rafecameronssl4t]

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

Summary: Rafe getting a late night call from the boys saying his girl and Sarah are dancing on a table at a party and he comes and possessively brings you back home 😛

Warnings: nothing really

Word count: 1,144

MASTERLIST (rafe x thorton!reader au masterlist)

The low buzz of Rafe’s phone broke through the quiet hum of the room. He grabbed it from the nightstand, glancing at the screen. Kelce. He sighed, already annoyed, before answering. “What?” His tone was sharp, almost a warning. On the other end of the line, Kelce hesitated. “Uh… I think you should come get Y/n.”

Rafe frowned, already feeling the stirrings of frustration. “Why?” “She’s… um…” Kelce trailed off, clearly searching for the right words. Rafe’s patience snapped. “Kelce, spit it out.” Kelce’s nervous laugh only made Rafe’s jaw tighten. “She’s drunk, man. Like, really drunk. And, uh… she’s on a table.”

“A table?” Rafe repeated, his tone flat. “Yeah, with Sarah. They’re, uh, dancing.” Kelce cleared his throat awkwardly. “Topper’s trying to get them down, but… well, it’s not going great.” For a second, Rafe didn’t respond, the disbelief sinking in. Then, he scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Wish I was,” Kelce said quickly, a hint of nervous humour in his tone. “Topper and Y/n are now just bickering. You might wanna hurry.” Rafe shook his head, the frustration bubbling up in his chest. He grabbed his keys from the counter, his movements sharp and deliberate. “Just don’t let her out of your sight, Kelce. You hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah. I got her,” Kelce assured, though his voice lacked the confidence Rafe wanted to hear. “Good,” Rafe muttered. “I’m on my way.” He ended the call without another word, shoving the phone into his pocket and striding out to his truck. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he fired up the engine, the deep growl filling the silence as he reversed out of the driveway.

~

Whatcha gon' do with all that junk. All that junk inside your trunk?I'ma get, get, get, get you drunk.

From outside the party, Rafe could already hear the heavy bass thumping through the house, the unmistakable beat of a Black Eyed Peas song rattling the windows. He pushed through the front door, the din of laughter and chatter blending with the music. His gaze sharpened as he weaved through the throng of partygoers, ignoring the greetings and drunken pats on the back.

Kelce and Topper came into view near the edge of the living room, standing together with bemused expressions, their attention fixed on something—or someone. “What the hell is going on?” Rafe muttered under his breath as he strode toward them. Kelce turned at his approach, an awkward grin tugging at his lips. “You made it.”

Rafe didn’t respond, his attention already shifting to where Kelce and Topper were staring. His jaw tightened when his eyes landed on you and Sarah, both barefoot, teetering on top of a table in the centre of the room. “Are you kidding me?” he muttered, running a hand down his face.

You were mid-spin, Sarah twirling you as you giggled uncontrollably. Your voice carried over the music as you belted out the lyrics, completely oblivious to the crowd forming around you. “I drive these brothers crazy, I do it on the daily,” you sang, your voice loud and carefree, earning cheers and laughter from the partygoers.

“They treat me really nicely, they buy me all these iceys!” you continued, tossing your head back as Sarah joined in, the two of you clumsily bumping hips in time with the music. Rafe’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the room, noticing how people—mostly guys—were watching, some with smirks, others with their phones out, filming the scene.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as his gaze flicked back to you, your skirt riding higher on your thighs with every exaggerated sway of your hips. “How long has this been going on?” Rafe demanded, his voice low but firm as he tucked his hands into his pockets, his irritation barely contained.

Kelce snorted, shooting Topper a glance before answering. “This is their second song.” Rafe arched a brow, his gaze momentarily shifting back to your exposed legs before snapping to Kelce. “What was the first?” “‘Pony,’” Kelce deadpanned, his tone dripping with disbelief. Rafe let out a sharp scoff, shaking his head as his lips twisted into a grimace. “Of course it was.”

Turning back to the scene, Rafe’s irritation simmered into something darker, more possessive. The sight of you, carefree and oblivious, with all those eyes on you—it didn’t matter if it was harmless fun. You were his, and he wasn’t about to let anyone forget it—least of all you.

“All right, that’s enough,” he said, his voice cutting through the music as he strode toward the table. His presence alone made heads turn, but Rafe didn’t care. His focus was solely on you. You looked down at him with a drunken smile, your face flushed and glowing under the lights.

“Rafey!” you exclaimed, your voice sing-song and laced with giggles. “Come dance with me!” Rafe’s jaw tightened as he rolled his eyes. “Not today, Princess,” he replied, his tone firm. He extended a hand toward you. “Get down. Now.” Your face fell into a pout, your lips pressing together as you leaned slightly closer to him.

“But I’m having soooo much fun!” you whined, swaying on unsteady feet. Before you could argue further, a loud squeal escaped your lips as Rafe’s strong arm wrapped firmly around your hips. With little effort, he hoisted you up and threw you over his shoulder.

“Rafe!” you shrieked, your fists lightly thumping against his back as laughter bubbled out of you. “Put me down!”Unbothered by your protests—or the amused whistles and hollers from the crowd—Rafe ignored you entirely, his steps deliberate as he walked out of the house.

“Rafe Cameron!” you yelled, your voice a mix of indignation and drunken giggles. “You’re ruining my fun!” “And you’re ruining my night,” he shot back, his tone clipped but not without an edge of amusement as he tightened his grip on your legs to keep you steady.

The cool night air hit you both as he pushed through the door, leaving the music and chaos behind. Rafe didn’t stop until he reached his truck, his irritation still simmering as he opened the passenger door and carefully set you down on the seat.

Your arms crossed over your chest, your lips still in a dramatic pout as you looked up at him. “You’re such a buzzkill,” you muttered, though your voice lacked any real bite. “And you’re a handful,” Rafe retorted, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours.

His eyes softened briefly, though his tone remained firm. “But you’re my handful. Now sit still before you hurt yourself.” Your pout deepened, but Rafe had already moved to the driver’s side, his grip on the situation as firm as ever.

[frantic-fiction]

Tease 18+

(Pic: cheekylittlepupp)

Astarion x f!reader, Astarion x Tav

Summary: The party is taking the night off. You're convinced to wear a dress, and Astarion just can't control himself.

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, Semi-public sex, caught in the act?

Word Count: 3.2k

Mastarlist

Standing in front of the mirror, you pull at the dark green fabric, tugging it down this way and that. You try again to tie the corset but give up quickly. You swing your hips, and the flowy skirt swishes, tickling the skin above your knees. Looking yourself up and down, you zone in on your hips, squirming at the fabric extenuating your curves. So much skin on display makes you want to steal someone's spare cloak to hide in. You weren't one to be self-conscious, but you're used to donning armor and leather, not this scrap of fabric Karlach had convinced you to buy. 

You should just change. Grab some leggings and one of Astarion's shirts, and call it a night. You didn't need a dress to catch his eye; you know how Astarion feels about you; wearing a dress won't change that. Backing away from the mirror, you're just about to rip the dress off when Karlach bursts into the room, Shadowheart following behind her at a much tamer pace. 

"Soldier!" Karlach squeals, stopping suddenly in the middle of the room. She slaps her hands on either side of her face. "You. Are. Gorgeous!" Your face burns as Karlach pounces on you, spinning you around to give her the best view from every angle. Heat creeps up your chest and you giggle awkwardly.

"She's right, you look stunning," Shadowheart smirked and added, "Ten gold Astarion won't be able to keep it in his pants."

"20, he won't make it to a room," Karlach shouts.

"Gods! You both are ridiculous." You squeal, swatting Karlach's hands away and stepping back from her excitement. You huff and fix your skirt. Crossing your hands over your chests, you glare at the girls before timidly looking off to the side. "So, I don't look silly?" The hesitation is evident.

"All joking aside, I assure you, soldier, you are beautiful. And I know for a fact Fangs won't be able to keep his eyes off of you."

You beam under Karlach's compliment, doing a few excited calf raises because you have no idea how else to handle her words. Shadowheart moves towards you and fixes a fallen strand of hair. She gives you a soft smile and moves to finish lacing your corset, patting your arm when she’s done.

"Now we should go. The others are waiting downstairs," Shadowheart motions everyone to the door, letting you take a moment to slip your shoes on. 

After months of endless travels and brutal battles, the party decided to take the evening to drink, relax, and enjoy each other's company. A night to forget the tadpoles and the Absolute. All except Lae'zel, who scoffed at the idea, were joining in on the fun.

Descending the stairs, you slammed with the melody of lively tunes played by a band of minstrels, competing with the animated conversations of patrons. The music, infused with the spirit of celebration, is so loud that it vibrates through the wooden beams of the tavern. The dance floor is alive with energetic movements as couples twirl and spin to the rhythm and the joyous laughter of those lost in the moment.

The bar is surrounded by a sea of drunk patrons clamoring for attention. Tankards slammed onto the worn surface as the bartender poured frothy ale and mead expertly. The dim light of flickering candles and oil lamps casts a warm glow on the diverse crowd. The unmistakable odors of stale ale, greasy food, and the tang of sweat intermingle in the air, creating a distinctive nostalgic and pungent aroma. You're lost in the crowd's movement, overwhelmed with the sounds. You grab onto Shadowheart's elbow like a lifeline.

"Karlach!" Wyll calls and you all snap your head to the side. The party had claimed a booth, and Gale and Wyll were standing up, waving their arms over their heads. They looked like they started early on the drinking; both men's faces were flush, and they each held an easy, dopey grin.

"Wyll!" Karlach linked her arms with yours and Shadowheart's and approached the table. You let her pull you, too busy searching for him. Astarion is slow to stand, but you know the moment he sets his eyes on you. You watch the subtle change in his body language. His hand tightened around the goblet; the exaggerated inhale of air as if someone had kicked him, watching the hunger grow in his eyes.

Now, you feel the confidence bloom in your chest. The dress no longer makes you squirm in discomfort; no, it gives you power and makes you feel desired and sexy. The flame ignites low in your abdomen. Suddenly, you were playing with fire and excited to get burned. A smug smile stretches your lips the closer you get. Pulling away from Karlach, you move and hook your arms around Astarion's neck. You pull him down and place a kiss on his cheek.

"Hi, handsome," you smile up at him, feeling his hand caress the small of your back. Cold fingers playing at the edge of the corset.

"Hello darling, you look breathtaking." He pushes you back gently, giving him space to take in your attire. "Turn for me, my love. Let me look upon the goddess before me."

You roll your eyes at his cheesiness but oblige his request, spinning slowly to allow Astarion to take in every angle. When you come full circle, Astarion captures your lips, and you fall against his chest. His lips meld against yours in a sensual kiss that was entirely inappropriate for the amount of people around, but neither of you seemed to care. Humming against his mouth, you cup his jaw and pull his face away. Astarion chases your lips and lets out a low groan when you deny him what he wants.  

You give Astarion a mischievous grin, patting his chest when you ask. "Do you mind getting me a drink?" 

He gives you a pointed look, visibly dissatisfied with his kiss. With one look and your hand running up his chest and over his shoulder, Astarion caves with a huff. "Yes, of course. Would you like your usual?"

"Yes, please." You say pecking his lips a final time before joining your friends in the booth. 

Wyll was regaling the table with a tale of his early days as the Blade of Frontiers when Astarion slides in beside you. He sets your drink down, and you whisper your thanks before taking a sip and focusing back on Wyll. Gale is quick to call out Wyll's bullshit, Shadowheart pointing out the exaggeration the warlock had blended into his story. It soon devolved into a bickering match as Wyll tried to defend himself. You chuckle between sips of wine, leaning into Astarion, setting your head gently against his shoulder. His hand had found your bare thigh, fingers kneading the supple flesh. 

Suddenly, your friends become background noise as your senses hone in on Astarion. The cheeky smirk that stretches his lips tells you he knows exactly what he's doing as Astarion inches his smooth hand further under your dress—never crossing the line but far enough to make you clench your legs together in need. You bite your lip, cheeks burning from more than the alcohol, and reach down to take his hand in yours. 

"I know what you're doing,"

"Oh, and what is that, my dear?" Astarion grins, bringing your hand to his lips and gently kissing your knuckles. He leans to your ear, "Do you not want me to touch you?" His breath cascades over your neck, and a shiver runs up your spine.

"Not when you're trying to tease me in public."

"My sweet girl, I'm not the one being a tease."

"Soldier! Stop making goo-goo eyes at Fangs, and come dance with me!" Karlach yells across the table, breaking whatever spell Astarion had you under. Pulling away, you look up to see Karlach jumping up and down, hand outstretched for you to take. 

"You know I won't say no to dancing." Astarion reluctantly moves to let you out of the booth. Karlach is quick to grab your hand and pull you towards the stage. 

The time is lost in the beat of the drums and the flow of your hips. Karlach twirls you around, and you can't stop giggling. Wyll joins in the fun, and suddenly, the crowd has formed a unified line dance. It's messy, and you don't know the steps, but you watch Wyll and poke fun at Karlach's improvised moves. You dance until your breath is ragged and your feet start hurting. Moving your body until the sea of people starts to drown you. Maybe it's the alcohol coursing through your veins or the excitement of the dancing. Still, the fun quickly turns to overstimulation that blankets you in thick sheets. In an instant, the room is too hot and too loud, and if you don't get out now, you just might scream.

You leave Karlach and move towards the door outside to the back alley. Pushing it open, you stumble over the threshold and inhale the cold night air. It instantly sobers, clearing your mind and easing your panic. You stare up at the starry sky, soaking in the bright moon. Goosebumps spread over your exposed arms and legs, and you shiver. It doesn't stop you from stepping further into the alleyway as you breathe and allow your heart to settle its pounding. You can still hear the muffled music and thumping feet. 

You hear the door open again but pay it no mind until Astarion speaks, "There you are, my sweet."

You turn on your heel and give him a soft smile. He glowed under the moonlight, an ethereal being standing before you, his face partially cast in shadow, staring at you with hunger. "I needed some air."

"I'm sure you did," Astarion smirks, stepping closer toward you. A predator stalks up to its prey. "All that dancing you were doing must have been exhausting."

"It was, but it was so fun." You reach out instinctually, wrapping your arms around his neck. Astarion smoothes his hands down your spine to the swell of your butt, moving to squeeze the soft, plump flesh. "You should join me next time." You squeak at his grip, pressing yourself closer to him.

Then his lips are on yours, and your back is digging into the rough brick of the alleyway. Astarion's tongue is in your mouth, and you're moaning, gripping his shoulders to find purchase. One of his fangs nipped your bottom lip, and your knees practically buckled under you. You would have fallen if Astarion hadn't pressed you against the wall. 

"I think I just might take you dancing tomorrow." His cold hands caress your thigh, pulling it up and over his hip, pushing up the fabric of your dress with it. "I'll buy you a pretty new dress to add to your growing collection, and I'll have you move your body for me like you've been doing all night." 

He rolls his hips into yours, and you cry into his neck, kissing his skin to muffle your noises. "Swaying those hips in this tight little thing. Gods darling, I've been hard all night, and it's entirely your fault, you naughty little minx."

"Astarion," You sigh, relishing the friction of his hard cock against your clothed core. 

"Such a cruel woman, dangling a feast over a starving man. I'll have to punish you for that." Astarion purrs, running his nose along the line of your jaw, stopping to bite at his favorite spot; his fangs puncture the surface just enough to have droplets of your blood trickle out.

His tongue lavishes over your skin, making sure not a drop escapes. The moan that rumbles through his chest is purely animalistic, and a rush of heat gushes between your legs. "But right now, my naughty girl, I'm going to fuck you here against this wall." 

You let out a whimper, hips bucking instinctually, heat coiling in your lower stomach. "Please.." 

Astarion takes no time to push your underwear aside and push two of his fingers into your folds with a lewd, wet sound. Astarion begins to pump his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt, with each stroke curling up just slightly. The rough pad of his thumb finds your swollen clit, and applying pressure, he circles the nub in time with his fingers. 

"You're already so drenched, always so ready for me." You pull his face in and sigh into his mouth, niping his lip playfully. Threading your hand through his soft curls, you give a soft tug, relishing in the grunt Astarion gives you. 

You're painfully aware of your surroundings and know that someone could step out and catch the two of you any moment. The thought gives you a jolt of excitement you'll have to think about later. There is no room to take your time, so you tug harder on Astarion's hair loss, pulling his lips from the flesh of your neck he was playing with.

"Star," You roll your hips against his hand impatiently. "I need you to fuck me already,"

"So impatient, but you are right. This is not the time to play." Astarion tsk before unceremoniously ripping your underwear off and stuffing them in his pocket. 

"I liked those."

"I'll buy you a new pair, maybe one to match your new dress." Astarion peppers kiss down your neck. Your hands move to pull his pants down, freeing his cock. It's red and looks painfully swollen. Astarion hisses through his teeth when you give the base of his cock a tight squeeze. 

"I want one that matches the new dress and the same ones you just ripped." You countered, giving him a few languid strokes using his precum as a lubricant. 

"Whatever you want, my love." He says mindlessly, taking you into another breathtaking kiss.

Astarion hands leave your cunt, and a whine leaves your lips. He kisses your pout and quickly grabs his cock. Astarion pumps himself a few more times before lining up at your entrance. When Astarion sheaths himself fully in your heat, the wind is knocked out of you. A collective groan of ecstasy escapes from both of your mouths. There is no build-up, no room to catch your breath. Astarion quickly pulls out and slams back into you—your back scraps against the bricks, and your foot slips on the cobblestone.

You yelp scrambling to hold on and not fall pathetically onto the dirty alley floor. Astarion, without skipping a beat, scoops you up fully in his arms. All you can do is wrap your legs around his hips and hold on as he pounds into your dripping cunt. 

"Gods, you're perfect," Astarion signs into your neck. He pulls at your dress, moving the corset just enough to expose one of your breasts. He bends his head and sucks your nipple into his mouth. You choke on a gasp; cupping the back of his head, you press him further against you. 

"Astarion," you moan, carding your fingers into his curls. Rolling your hips, you match his thrusts. Your lower stomach tightens, and you will not last much longer. Not with him pulling you apart in the way only he can. You tried to say as much, but you choke on a sob when Astarion's fingers find your clit. 

He grinds your hips into the brick wall and brutalizes your clit with tight circles. His voice is raspy in your ears. "I'm close, love…ngh - gods, you feel so good."

"A-astarion, please!" Tears bead down your cheeks, pleasure overwhelming your senses. Your muscles are tightening. Your legs quake, and you clench tightly around him. 

"That’s it, come for me, beautiful." And that is all you need to see stars, opening your mouth in a silent cry. Ecstasy courses through your veins, and you bite down on his collarbone to ground yourself in your pleasure. His hips stutter, pace faltering as he loses himself in your body, spilling his seed deep into you. 

Neither of you moves; the brick is now uncomfortably digging into your back, but you can't find the energy to care. Astarion peppers kiss up and down your neck. You scratch his scalp softly and catch your breath. It’s nice.

"I guess I should wear more dresses."

"My dear, you could wear a burlap sack, and I would have still taken you against this wall."

"Horny bastard." 

The two of you were too caught up in each other to notice the tavern door opening again. Nor did either of you notice two figures stepping out. At least not until Karlach's loud cackle echoed down the alleyway. You whip your head in her direction, Astarion following suit. Karlach is hunched over and on her knees, shoulders shaking with laughter. Shadowheart stands beside her, arms crossed with disgust and annoyance plastered on her face.

Astarion is quick to turn you away, shielding you with his body. He let’s you go and you scramble to cover yourself. He helps you fix your dress. Great. 

"What did I tell you? Fangs couldn't keep it in his pants long enough to find a room!" Karlach booms, slapping Shadowheart on the arm. "Hand it over," her palm extended in wait. You hide your face in Astarion's neck, face burning in embarrassment. 

Shadowheart mumbled something under her breath, digging in her pocket for her gold pouch. "Here," the gold is slapped into the tieflings palm. She turns to the two of you. "Find a different cleric to cure whatever disease you've contracted in this filthy alley." Shadowheart quickly turns back into the tavern, the door slamming behind her. 

"Well, thanks for the gold," The tiefling beams and skips after Shadowheart, leaving you and Astarion alone once more. 

You refuse to leave the space between Astarion's jaw and collarbone. Thoughts of packing your stuff and running to Candlekeep are crossing your mind. Karlach and Shadowheart are already telling Wyll and Gale about your exploits, and you don't want to handle the smug looks. 

Astarion's chest rumbles with silent laughter, and you're pulled from your escape plans. You emerge from your safe space and glare up at the man. "What's so funny?!" 

He laughs harder, and runs his thumb over your pout, cupping your jaw. You hold firm in your annoyance and turn your head. "Karlach is telling all of our friends that we just fucked in a dirty back alley, why would you be laughing?" You snap.

"You would think at this point Shadowheart would stop betting on our love life. Tsk, all the gold she's lost." You narrow your eyes at him. His playful smirk widens. "She and the other weirdos should know how shamelessly I want you. They were lucky I didn't fuck you on the table." 

Rolling your eyes, you shove him hard, forcing Astarion to stumble back. Moving past you storm towards the door; he's laughing and calling your name. Astarion, only get your middle finger before the tavern door closes behind you.

Astarion is a cheeky shit. I love him.... Let me know what ya thought, i love your feedback.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

[emeritusemeritus]

Breed like Gnomes [Fred Weasley]

Title: Breed like Gnomes.

Pairing: PregnantWife!Reader x Fred Weasley

Timeline: Set after Canon (Fred lives!)

Summary: At Ginny and Harry’s wedding, you find yourself facing Aunt Muriel’s unpleasantness, so Fred decides to have some fun.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, babies, sexual references.

Word count: 1.2k

June 4th 2003, a joyful and long awaited day for all in attendance. The marriage of Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley. It was a family affair, both in blood and bond, the entire venue packed with loved ones sharing in the happiness of the newlyweds.

Being Ginny's long standing friend and now sister-in-law, you were naturally made a bridesmaid along with six others who proudly stood by Ginny's side as she said her vows. It was beautiful, joyous and utterly heartwarming to see them unite and be declared husband in wife in front of the many people attending. The couple had initially wanted a much smaller affair than what had transpired but in the end, they were too deeply cared for by so many and the numbers were ever increasing, only made worse by Molly's excitement and welcoming nature.

It had been a truly magical day; getting to support your new sister in law, to see your daughter throw wild flowers down the aisle and most of all getting to check out your husband in his tux as he sat beaming beside his twin brother in the front row, holding back a tear at seeing his little sister suddenly looking so grown up.

"You alright sweetheart?" Fred asks worriedly as you lower yourself gently into your assigned seat inside the bustling marquee. It was getting late now, the party stretching into the night as people danced merrily around you.

You were exhausted from the day, the early morning, the usual nuptial stresses and from the shoes that were growing increasingly uncomfortable around your slightly swollen ankles.

You simply smiled warmly at Fred with a little nod, leaning into his touch when he placed his arm behind you on your chair, his fingers fidgeting with the strands of hair that had fallen down your back.

You both turned your heads in the direction of delighted squeals and watched as your children danced around, chasing each other and their many cousins with beaming smiles on their faces. Their nice outfits were quite frankly ditched at this point and they'd eaten more cake than you cared to admit throughout the day but as you looked at the three happy faces on the dance floor, you couldn't care less. Their uncle George took turns spinning and twirling them and you couldn't help but watch in devotion at seeing your oldest dancing with your brother in law, no doubt standing on his feet as he glided her around whilst the twins ran in circles around the dancing pair.

You let out a little surprise gasp when you felt a sharp kick to your side, just underneath your rib.

"I thought you were asleep," you say quietly with a loving smile as your hand drifts down to your blooming bump, gently rubbing over the spot where you'd felt a little prod.

"Letting you know he's there?" Fred asks with a smirk, noticing your movements. He moved closer and places his large hand over yours, wanting to feel for himself the little kicks that had you smiling at your bump.

"He?" You question sarcastically, with a slight raise of your eyebrow.

"Fathers intuition," Fred smirks with a slight shrug, "never been wrong yet."

"You didn't know there were two last time," you countered teasingly, nodding your head towards the two litttle boys causing havoc on the dance floor. He lets out a boyish chuckle and for a moment you both catch each other's eyes, both twinkling in delight and bound with love. You'd been married for nearly five years, together for much longer but it still took your breath away how much you loved this man, and how much he loved you in return.

"Good heavens!"

The nice moment passed as soon as the loud, screechy voice sounded out on the next table, forcing you apart. You jumped slightly at the unexpected noise before realising that Fred's great aunt Muriel had taken up a seat at the table beside yours and as usual her presence was unwanted. Her voice went through you, like nails on a chalkboard. The high tone and the derogatory, unpleasant undertone to her words, accompanied by the constant hateful look on her face were enough to cement a negative association in your mind. Both you and Fred deflated a little at her presence, with Fred letting out an audible sigh that you felt in your soul. Even your baby let out a sharp kick as if to announce their own displeasure at the sound of her voice.

"Yes aunt Muriel?" Fred says in the most monotone voice he can muster, not even attempting to hide the dismay in his voice, or his face.

"Godric," she mumbles under her breath, casting her eyes between the two of you, focusing her beady eyes on your bump, and where your children were currently hanging off George like monkeys in a tree. "You breed like gnomes!"

You hope your face doesn't show the depth of your exasperation at her words but you doubted your ability to keep a straight face. Fred, of course, finds it hilarious and can't keep the smile off of his face. You can feel his shoulders moving up and down with silent laughter but he manages to contain it and simply clears his throat to hide the laughter.

"Have either of you considered simply reading of an evening? Instead of what I assume are your usual activities?" She says with a bitter tone, face downturned into her usual grimace.

Fred snorts at her words and though you feel slightly offended by her accusation, just as you always did by her comments, you can't help but chuckle yourself at the strangeness of the situation. Was she really commenting on your sex life?

"Onto your fourth already! And only 25! You’re worse than your mother, all of you breed like Gnomes."

"You see I've never been one for reading, but I tried," Fred replies coyly. From his tone of voice you can tell that he's teasing, about to prod the bear. "But it only gave me more ideas. What was is called sweetheart? Some muggle book... Kama sutra! Eroticism for begginers. Let me tell you, it's changed my life! Couldn't put it down... or her," he says, nodding his head towards you with a wicked smile on his face as his hand snakes around to cradle your bump once again.

You can't hide your smile this time as Muriel lets out a disgusted squark and turns away with a deeper grimace than before. You turn your head and snuggle into Fred's shoulder to hide your laughter whilst he openly chuckles to himself, head thrown back slightly in glee.

"You're terrible," you mutter with a smirk, pulling yourself away from the soft fabric of his shirt where it stretches over his muscled shoulders. His smile is wide and wicked as he takes in your words, hearing nothing but compliments.

"Hilarious is a better word," he quips, eyes shining in delight.

"Incorrigible."

"Completely irreformable," he agrees without a single care. "But I think you like me like this."

You look up from under your lashes at him, matching the look in his sparkling eyes and can't help but agree.

Taglist part 1 ♡

@ferntv

@aigowen

@that-lame-ghoul9000

@jules-with-stars

@sleepiemocha

@seppys-return-to-madness

@wtvbabes

@the-mrs-malik-styles

@cedslover

@nisapoosworld

@dashhhhkaaa

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[mochinomnoms]

Imagine asking the jade and/or floyd to go swimming. Or while they are swimming you just join them. Now the eel twins keep imagining a future with you cause apparently moray eels do synchronized swimming with their mates. Just to add to the chaos you will probably be non the wiser to the deeper meaning of their careless actions.

I think it's especially funny if one twin is doing the "dance" with you while the other is on the other side of the water, watching with a knowing look.

The real question is how do they proceed to bully their brother over it?

Floyd

The obvious option for Floyd is to have him be very blunt and loud in his teasing, but I offer a different idea. You have no clue what the significance of the dance is, for all you know it's just Jade playing around! And Floyd just wants to play!

"You don't mind if I dance with them too, right Jaaaade?"

Floyd doesn't even wait for him to answer as he swipes your hand and spins you around him in the water. It's quite fun, but if you pay attention, Floyd is still keeping a rather wide berth of room between you two. Compared to Jade, who was twirling with you held close to him, it's practically conservative! Fortunately for him, he's good at hiding his frustration, so you can't really tell he's bothered until Floyd gets just a bit too close. This makes Jade quickly and smoothly snatches you back into his arms and far away from his annoying brother. >:(

Jade

Jade is just a bit meaner than his brother, as he's more than happy to make little comments about Floyd as he dances with you. He just lives to prod at Floyd just to see how long it takes for him to either throw hands or decide he's now bored because Jade wouldn't stop bothering him.

"Oya, getting rather touchy aren't we Floyd? Should I be informing mother about a new addition to the family?"

Floyd nonstop smacks with the tip of his tail do nothing to deter him as Jade follows you two, still making pointed remarks. First, he mentions if his brother would prefer privacy. Then he asks you if you ever had a chance to learn more about mer culture. You're confused as to why Jade is mentioning courting practices, but have no chance to ask him what he's talking about before Floyd is throwing himself at Jade and beating his ass.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Shadows and Light (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Agatha shouldn't want you. But she does. She wants you so much. If only she'd let herself have you.

Words: 5.2k

Warnings: Alcohol, self loathing, mentions of blood, angst, one bed trope, fuck you everyone lives

She couldn’t believed she’d allowed this to happen. It was inconceivable, even more so because she hadn’t noticed it happening. It had crept up on her.

You, with your wide eyes and easy smile, hair that shone, laughter that was like a bell ringing, you were everything she was not. Soft and sweet and nice. Kind. It would be disgusting if you hadn’t managed to charm her the way you charmed the rest of them.

Sitting back in her chair, nursing a glass of wine, she watched as you spun in the firelight. Dancing around the bonfire, bare feet kicking up leaves, you were a picture to watch. You were signing along, your voice clear and bright, melding with the other voices of the coven. You grasped both of Billy’s hands in yours, spinning with him in the flickering light.

The way he laughed was full of delight. You were grinning, tugging him closer as you sang, as free as she’d ever seen you. The weight had lifted and you were easier. Your head tipped back as you drank in the moonlight up above and she had to do her best not to reach out and sink her teeth into the long column of your neck. Your skirt twirled around your calves, flashes of skin in the firelight making her fingers clench.

You fell away from Billy, arms raising as you spun, such a pretty picture in the moonlight. Lilia’s arm curled around your waist, snatching you up in the dance and you went willingly. You were always so easy, so happy to give in to the whims of others, to fulfill their desires.

She wondered what would happen is she whispered her desires into your ear.

She could just imagine the look of disgust that would pass over your delicate features. The way you’d flinch back and begin to avoid her. The whispers she’d overhear about how there was something wrong with her. The confirmation she was everything anyone had ever called her.

She lent back, draining the last of her wine as she watched you, spinning and laughing and so free. So comfortable in your own body. So sure of yourself. Your head turned and even in the shadows, you found her. You smiled, so big and bright and beautiful and her heart squeezed in her chest like you’d reached through her ribcage and grasped it in your bare hand.

It was fucking pathetic.

“If you stare any harder you might set her on fire.”

She didn’t bother turning to look as Rio settled into the chair positioned beside hers. You’d been sitting in it earlier, rambling on about your plan for the garden you’d be planting this week. The cadence of your voice had been soothing after the day she’d had. There was something about it that always helped ground her back into the present, rather than plans spiralling out of control.

“I can understand your fascination,” Rio continued, “it’s not often we meet a witch so saccharine. And it’s genuine. When was the last time you met someone with no facade?”

“Everyone has facades,” she replied, automatic, uncaring if it was true or not.

“Not her.”

Rio tipped her beer towards you, drawing Agatha’s gaze back to you. Your hand was on Jen’s, twirling her, your arm curling around her waist as you did a clumsy waltz around the fire, out of time with the music and uncaring.

“If we teamed up I’m sure we could ruin her,” Rio said, voice a purr, “tear her apart, find out what makes her tick, make it so no one can put Humpty together again.”

“Stop it,” she said, not caring if her harsh voice gave away more than she usually would. There was no point pretending around Rio.

“We’d have so much fun playing with her,” she said, putting thoughts in Agatha’s mind of what she could do with you.

“Don’t,” she said, firmer, refusing to let her continue.

“Well, sweetheart, if you want to play with her, you might want to get a wriggle on or someone else will get there first.”

Rio dragged her gaze over to you significantly. Her head snapped up. Your fingers had wound with Jen’s, no longer dancing but swaying as you whispered together. Your face was so open and you were dazzling. It was incomprehensible that anyone could survive under that gaze without falling for you.

No wonder she’d had no chance.

The sharp jab of jealousy was familiar, tart and metallic in her mouth. She wanted to stop watching, didn’t want to see you fall under someone else’s spell, but feeling the inevitability of it. There was no possibility you were going to find joy in the darkness she knew she was made up of. But she couldn’t look away. She could never look away from you.

She sat with her churning gut, stewing in it. Normally, if this was someone else, she’d do something to lash out, to bring attention to back to herself, to remind everyone of her existence. Under your sunshine, she found herself shrinking back. It was infuriating and left her feeling as if she was on the back foot, unbalanced and unsure of herself. It was a new, if familiar, feeling and she hated it.

You fell into the grass beside Alice, head coming to rest on her shoulder. She passed you the bottle of beer she’d been drinking from, letting you sate your thirst. With your free hand you were pointing up at the stars, pointing something out in the night sky to her.

When Rio dropped down beside you, her jaw clenched.

She watched, a line drawn taut, as Rio’s fingers gently wound themselves through the ends of your hair. Your head rolled towards her, your smile stretching just a bit. With sure fingers, you gently tugged on the pocket of her jacket. Angling your body, you shifted to lean against Alice as your feet rested against Rio’s thigh.

Agatha felt like she was burning.

Lilia dropped down in your huddle and you automatically reached out, hand twining with hers. She watched the soft sigh that parted your lips, the way you relaxed, your eyes fluttering shut. She ached to be in the pile with you, to feel your muscles soften along the lines of her body, your weight sinking into her. She wanted to drag you away, to keep you all to herself, but even in the haze of her own anger she knew you wouldn’t appreciate it. That you liked being one part of a bigger whole. That you thrived with a coven. That you needed something she hadn’t let herself want for a very long time.

She squeezed her eyes closed, tipping her head upwards, taking a long slow breath in.

She didn’t open them again someone dropped into the seat beside her. Squinting them open, she’d expected Rio back. Instead, your soft smile greeted her, knees pulled up, chin resting on them as you tilted towards her.

“Tonight’s been good,” you sweet voice said, “have you enjoyed yourself, Aggie?”

“Aggie?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Do you not like it?” Your eyes widened and she saw the worry swimming in them, “sorry, I don’t have to-“

“It’s fine,” she interrupted, waving her hand. On your lips, the nickname was spun sugar, her heart beating double time.

“Have you though?” you asked, “enjoyed yourself?”

You reached out, your finger gently curling around a strand of her hair. Your lips parted and you looked at her from under lowered lashes, such hope in your face.

“You sure know how to throw a party,” she said, the way you were looking at her making up for the churning in her stomach.

The pleased tilt to your chin and the brightening of your eyes had her feeling like a live wire. You lent closer, the arm of the chair digging into your body as if you wanted to be close the distance between the two of you. She wondered if the arms weren’t present if you’d climb into her lap. She liked the thought of it.

“Are you going to stay tonight? Only it’s late and if you don’t want to drive you can. Lilia and Jen have already said they will and Billy…” You glanced back towards your house, “he passed out on the couch about an hour ago. I texted Eddie to let him know.”

“Not Rio or Alice?” she asked, the corner of her lips pulling up.

“Alice drove Shannon home and Rio did that thing where she just kind of disappears. If you don’t want to stay that’s okay but there’s space for you,” you said, fingers weaving together like you were anxious, like her answer mattered to you.

She reached out, placing her hand over yours, stopping you from twisting them to the point of breaking.

“I’ll stay,” she said.

You lit up like a goddess damned Christmas tree. Her heart stuttered, stumbling over itself and she cursed the day she’d met you. This was getting ridiculous. She wasn’t some mooney eyed teenager with a crush. She was Agatha Harkness; Witch Killer. You were nothing. No one.

It was amazing how she’d grown so used to lying to herself.

“Okay, but I only have one guest room. So we’re all going to have to share with someone. Do you have a preference?” you asked, rushing over the words.

She definitely had a preference.

“Will any of you be comfortable enough to be so vulnerable around me?” she asked.

“If you kill me in my sleep I’ll haunt you,” you said, “and I can be very annoying. You’ll never get a moment of peace again.”

She would happily spend eternity haunted by you. She had to get a grip. This was just unseemly.

“Then I suppose you know my preference,” she said.

She watched you stand up, bare toes digging into the grass. You held a hand out to her. She stared blankly.

“You take it,” you said, sounding amused.

She took it.

Bare skin brushing together, sending electricity running over her body from her palm. Staring for a moment, she couldn’t quite comprehend the way it looked, your fingers and hers knotted together. You tugged her out of her seat, breaking the moment of confusion from her brain. She was ready for you to pull away, but all you did was lead her back towards the house, hands swinging through the air. Why did it feel like the world had shrunk to that tiny point of contact?

“Are you guys good to share?” you asked as you entered the kitchen.

“We have to share a bed?” Jen asked.

You let go of Agatha’s hand and she had to bite back the disappointment. Your own arm slid around Jen’s waist, leaning into her as you blinked up at her. Lilia was staring at her, an assessing look on her face. Agatha looked back, not sure what she was seeing.

“There’s only two bed so unless you want to sleep on the floor, it’s you and Lilia, and me and Agatha,” you said.

“Good luck with that,” Jen said.

“You know, one day, and I’m not saying it’ll be today, but one day you’re going to have to admit you actually like her,” you said, “we’re a coven, a sisterhood. We belong together and to one another. Even Agatha.”

You looked over to her and she felt frozen in place. She wasn’t used to people talking about her that way. Like she was one of the team.

“Yes, well, if the feeling portion of the night is done, I wouldn’t mind retiring for the night,” she said, placing her empty wine glass down on the counter, trying to move past the rough squeezing in her chest.

“Course,” you said, “c’mon.”

You practically skipped out of the room. Billy was on the couch in your living room, his soft snores surprisingly endearing. Someone had laid a blanket over him. She could guess who. She hated that it made her feel something squishy in her chest.

“Locked the door,” Lilia said, pausing on the stairs.

“Yeah, it’s locked,” you said over your shoulder to her, “don’t worry.”

Lilia shook her head, seemingly coming back to the moment.

At the top of the stairs, you pointed to the door of the guest bedroom and the bathroom. And then the door to your bedroom was closing and she was locked in with you. You didn’t even stop to consider her, moving around the room like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“I’m gonna go brush my teeth,” you said, “I have stuff if you don’t want to sleep in your clothes.”

She took the offered clothes, your hand brushing over hers. The door to the ensuite closed and she let out a long breath. She forced herself to get a grip over herself. Dragging the clothes over her body, she looked at herself in the mirror. It would do for sleep, but she hardly wanted anyone seeing her like this. They were soft and your perfume clung to the material and it was like being wrapped in your arms. No one should be able to see the expression on her face.

“Don’t worry, you look great. Just like always.”

She startled, not having heard you exit the bathroom. In your tank top and shorts, she was having difficulty looking at you straight on. If she did, she knew it would only end in trouble. Self control wasn’t one of her strong suits. Especially around you.

“If you’re not comfortable in them, I guess I can find something else for you to wear, but I’m not sure I really have anything that’s more to your taste,” you said, your worry palpable.

“It’s fine,” she said.

“Okay.”

You paused in front of her, fingers brushing over the back of her hands, featherlight and so soft. Her shoulders relaxed and she looked down at you properly. You were so small, so delicate, a harsh wind would snap you in half. In her hands, you’d have no chance.

Pushing up onto your toes, your fingers brushed over her throat and she had to physically stop herself from shivering. You dropped back down, smiling up at her like she’d made all your dreams come true.

“Left or right side?” you asked.

In the dark, it was so much worse. You seemed to have no issue curling up beside her. Your hand had reached blindly through the dark, fingers tangling with hers, a soft sigh on your lips when you found her. Your face was turned towards her, eyes closed, eyelashes resting on your cheeks. She found herself staring, not able to stop herself, tracing your features with her eyes, yearning to reach out and touch.

She couldn’t trust herself around you.

Muscles clenched, she tried to stay vigilant through the night, refusing to let herself relax. The moment she did, she was certain she would do something to you, something beyond her control, something to ruin you. Only, after some time, once she was certain you were asleep, you rolled over, face pressing into her shoulder, curling into her body. It was what she’d been hoping for, and yet it set off all kinds of fight or flight responses in her body.

She turned her head away from you, closing her eyes, doing her best not to feel the warmth of you against her, the ghost of your breath on her skin, your hand in hers. You pressed closer, seeking out her warmth. It all ached so much.

She tore her hand from yours, rolling over, refusing to give in. She knew she couldn’t listen to that voice inside of her, the one telling her to take what she wanted. Every time she did, someone got hurt and she wasn’t going to let it hurt you.

Your arm curled around her waist, bringing your body closer, aligning yourself with her. She froze. Mumbling something, your lips brushed the skin of her neck, tightening your arm around her. You threw your leg over her, keeping her in your embrace, refusing to let her go even as she tried to wriggle away.

“Sleep, Aggie,” you mumbled, “it’s bedtime.”

She stilled again. You let out a contented hum, burying your face against her. You softened again, muscles relaxing. She squeezed her eyes shut, winding her fingers through yours, holding them to her stomach. Maybe letting herself have this for one night wouldn’t be so bad. She could stop again in the morning and everything would be okay.

One night. She’d give herself one night. And then she’d let you go.

Cracking her eyes open in the morning light, she groaned. She buried her face in the soft hair in front of her, breathing in the floral perfume that she knew clung to your skin. You pushed back against her, melting into the mattress. Her fingers brushed over the soft skin of your stomach. The little noise you made was addictive enough that she did it again.

“Aggie,” you sighed, soft and sweet and delicious.

First thing in the morning, your voice was deeper, lower, a little raspy. She wanted to luxuriate in it, make you speak soliloquies just to hear it. Her arms tightened around you, practically crushing you to her.

“Agatha,” you murmured, almost a moan. She liked that.

If her fingers slipped down, found the heat between your legs, she would be able to hear you moan properly. If she tasted you, she could get you to moan so loudly it would be burned into her brain. If she fucked you deeply into the mattress she could make it so you never stopped moaning.

She couldn’t do any of that.

Dragging her arms from around you, she ignored the chill that went through her. She’d had her one night. She’d slept deeply and well, and now it was time to return to real life.

She lay back, considering getting up, slipping out of the bed and getting dressed and finding coffee. Your ceiling stared back at her, mocking her as she lay in indecision in your bed. The covers tugged and she was reminded of how close you still were, curled up in sleep, soft and vulnerable. Perfect for digging her nails in and shaping you how she wanted.

Only she wanted you exactly how you were. She wanted you soft and gentle and vulnerable. She wanted you with your open heart and wide eyes and trusting nature. She wanted every smile, every flutter of eyelashes, every giggle. She was greedy and she knew she hungered for something she would never have, a hunger she wasn’t sure she could ever satiate. She was every dark thought and every monster, and she would corrupt you, ruin you, rot you from the inside out.

And yet she wanted with such wild abandon she couldn’t stop.

She pushed up, sitting, ready to swing her legs out of the bed and retreat before she did something she regretted. Rio was right. All she brought was destruction and she couldn’t destroy you. It would destroy her.

Warm fingers curled around her wrist and she froze. You were blinking up at her, wide eyes still soft with sleep but the corners of your lips were pulled down. She was already ruining you.

“Where are you going?” you asked.

Your other hand rubbed at your eyes, wiping the sleep from them. Her heart gave an extra hard beat, almost slamming in her chest.

“Were you going to slip out without saying goodbye?” you asked when she didn’t answer, sounding lost and hurt and she hated herself in that moment more than she ever had before.

You were still lying back, hair spread over the pillow, looking perfect for her to ruin. Her lips could paint such pretty pictures on your skin. She could make those wide eyes glaze over as you moaned her name. You would be hers if she let herself have you.

“You were.” You pouted, “you were going to leave without saying goodbye.”

You sat up and she had to drag her gaze away from the way the neckline of your tank top dipped, showing swathes of skin she wanted to bury herself in. Turning her head away, she tried not to show the way she felt heat creeping up her cheeks.

Because she was looking away, she had no chance to avoid it when you swung one leg over her and deposited yourself in her lap.

“That’s not very nice, Aggie. I bet you weren’t even going to leave a note,” you said.

Your hands were on her shoulders, winding into her hair, tugging her closer and all she could think of was how nice the weight of you in her lap felt. Her fingers clenched in the sheets, keeping from touching you. She was worried if she started then she’d never stop.

You weren’t making this easy on her.

You were still liquid warmth from sleep, pressing closer, those wide eyes eating her alive. You were still pouting and you were so close and all she wanted to do was close the distance and claim you. To let your warmth consume her until she was on fire.

“That’s so mean,” you said, fingertips dragging over her cheekbones, brushing the pulse in her neck, pushing just under the neckline of the shirt she’d borrowed.

“I am mean,” she said, forcing the words past her lips.

“No you’re not.” You shook your head, hair flying around your face, “you pretend to be but you’re not really.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, not able to meet your eye.

Your fingers gripped her hair, right at the roots, fists clenching until it pulled. She looked up into your face, finding something fierce there. It looked wrong on your face and yet so very right.

“I do. I do know. You pretend you’re this big scary monster who snatches children in the night but you’re not. You’re busy protecting a gooey centre that could break so easily.” Your fingers tightened in her hair. She hissed from the pain, “you care, Agatha Harkness. You care so much sometimes I think it scares you.”

“I don’t-“

You cut her off before she could say more than that.

“I see you, Aggie. Every part of you. And you’re wonderful.”

Your lips pressed to hers, rough and insistent, not the gentle brush she’d always imagined. You pressed closer, knees digging into her as they held her in place, fingers in her hair tugging and pulling. She was a live wire, caught under you, a hurricane going through her because of you. You pressed closer, nipping at her lip.

When she kissed you back, you sighed, melting against her. How could she not kiss you back, when you made such a pleased noise in the back of your throat as she did? You were a force of nature and she was merely a speck, destined to bow to you in all your might. Her hands grasped your hips, keeping you there with her, feeling how warm your skin was through the thin cotton of your shorts.

She fell back, dragging you with her, your lips finding their home on her skin. Wet, open mouthed kisses down the column of her neck turned her head fuzzy. She could drown in you, in the tsunami of her feelings for you, in the downpour of desperation she felt. Your tongue tasted her skin and you moaned, almost too quiet to be heard, muffled in her skin.

Her fingers pushed up past your shirt, seeking out the warm skin. There was much of it, swathes of it, all of it unexplored by her touch. An explorer with the sweetest of expeditions before her. You pressed closer, shivering, nose skimming along her jaw.

“Aggie,” you whispered, practically a whimper, pressing down on her.

Her hands kept creeping higher, before she dragged her nails down again. Your teeth nipped at her skin and the surprised laugh that came from her jolted her out of the moment.

“Stop,” she said, ripping her hands from your body, “I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

You sat up and a frustrated look passed over your face. She stayed reclined on the pillows, every inch of her warring with her self control. Your hair was mussed, lips kiss stung, eyes bright. All she wanted was to ravage you, to paint her name behind your ribs and burn herself into your skin. You were a step away from being indecent.

“I see the way you look at me. I know how you feel about it me. It throbs through you,” you said, fingertips on her jaw, on her cheeks over her nose, “it’s a living heartbeat, your want for me.”

“Stop.”

Her fingers curled around your wrists, so delicate her hands became handcuffs easily. She dragged your hands from her, looking up, her chest caving in. You lent down, eyes seeking her out, refusing to let her wriggle out of this moment with her.

“I want you so much it’s like I’m being eaten alive,” you whispered, your hair brushing her skin, your eyes imploring, your lips sweets as they spilled saccharine secrets.

“I can’t,” she said again.

“Why not?” you asked and tears gathered in your eyes like jewels.

“I destroy everything I touch,” she said, her thumb brushing away a glittering tear before it could fall. Another fell in its place.

“No, Aggie,” you moaned, “you don’t destroy. You make. You made us. We were just a group of people and you made us into a coven.”

“I don’t know what it means to have a coven,” she said, looking away.

“You do.” Your forehead pressed against hers, eyes squeezed closed, breath hitching, “you yearn for one so fiercely it burns.”

“Stop doing that,” she said.

The hands still curled around your wrists shoved you away. You fell back, a mess of hair and tears and bare skin and she’d never wanted to tear you apart but you had cracked open her chest and all she could think about was getting her claws deep into your flesh until she was part of you. She refused to see she already was.

“Stop reading me,” she snapped.

“You shout.” You sniffled, “you’re so loud around me I can’t help it.”

She turned away, passing her hand over her face, surprised when it came away wet. She didn’t stop you as you curled your arms around her waist, face buried between her shoulder blades.

“Please, Aggie. Don’t deny yourself this. I’m yours, willingly and completely. You could never destroy me. You’d never let yourself,” you said, muffled in her shirt. She could feel your lips move with every word.

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” she said.

“I don’t need to. I only need to know what you will do. And I trust you,” you whispered.

She turned, dislodging you. Your fingers twisted in your lap and she wanted to rip them from your body and she wanted to suck on them and she wanted to feel them run all over her body. You blinked and your lips parted and you were the picture of innocence. How could she mar you? How could she let herself ruin your perfection?

“You shouldn’t,” she said.

“You won’t break me by holding on too tight. I want you to hold on tight. Even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts. You don’t understand what it’s like. How I crave you,” you said, “sometimes I think I can only breathe when you’re around. That I’m holding my breath until I see you again.”

“You can’t mean that,” she said, her heart eviscerated at your words.

“I do.” Your hands clutched hers, “I do.”

You were looking at her, such wide eyes, swimming with emotion and she remembered the way you kissed her. Not soft and gentle and safe, but like you would die if you stopped. The desperation was all yours. You held on and refused to let go. Your teeth sunk in. You fought dirty for what you wanted.

“Please, Aggie,” you whispered, fingertips on her cheek again, catching her tears, gaze slipped down to her lips, “let me have you.”

Who needed self control?

She launched herself at you, sending you sprawling over the mattress. The kiss was bruising, demanding, taking ruthlessly. She was thrown on her back, you climbing on top again, fingernails dragging over her skin. Your knees dug in, poking into her soft vulnerable places. You didn’t give her time to breathe, suffocating her with your kisses. But what a delicious way to go.

“Oi.”

A fist slammed into the bedroom door. You startled, sitting up, looking beautifully mussed. She dragged her nails up your thighs and she felt you quiver.

“Are you still alive in there?” Jen called through the door.

“Yeah,” you called, breathless and squirming above her.

“Good.”

The door was pushed open, two nosey witched peering in. Your fingers wrapped themselves in Agatha’s hair, mouth falling open before it snapped shut.

“We, uh…” You turned your eyes down to her. She ran her fingers over the skin of your thigh. Your eyelashes fluttered.

“Oh god,” Jen said.

“You should have-“ Lilia said before cutting off without finishing the sentence.

“Locked the door,” you murmured, eyes squeezing shut.

Your teeth sunk into your lower lip. She yearned to do that herself, to feel the thin skin split, your blood coating her tongue. But then your shoulders were shaking and she realised you were trying not to laugh. You tipped, falling off her, burying your face in the pillow to stifle it as best you could. She glowed, the sound of your giggles pure sunshine running through her veins. She reached a hand out, stroking over your hair.

“No wonder you wanted to share beds,” Jen said, “you were having fun while I spent the night being kicked by Lilia.”

“Next time I’ll take Lilia and you can have Agatha,” you said, emerging, bright and joyful, the tears gone. No, now you were practically shining.

“I’m good,” she replied.

You climbed out of the bed and Agatha had to clench her fingers to keep from reaching out and pulling you back into her embrace. You extended a hand to her, lacing your fingers with her and pulling her with more strength than she’d thought you had.

“Breakfast,” you said, “I’m gonna cook you guys so many pancakes.”

Passing Lilia, Agatha in tow, you brushed your fingers over the back of her hand. You tapped Jen on the nose as you passed and you beamed. Agatha found her own lips curling up in a smile, heart thudding in her chest, the monster in her chest purring.

“My coven,” you said, voice pure happiness, “how I love you.”

Maybe the truth was there were no shadows without light. And maybe you were fierce enough to keep her from destroying you. Maybe you, with your wide eyes and easy smile and soft touches, would destroy her. And maybe she was okay with that.

[yandere-wishes]

｡ ₊°༺ Pink Pony Club ༻°₊ ｡

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆Yandere! Dr Phosphorus x Reader ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

⋆.𝄞𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓟𝓸𝓷𝔂 𝓒𝓵𝓾𝓫 𝓑𝔂 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓡𝓸𝓪𝓷𝄞˚.⋆

✮★✮ Oh Mama, I'm just having fun, on the stage in my heels it's where I belong, down at the Pink Pony Club, I'm gonna keep on dancing at the Pink Pony Club. ✮★✮

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He lets the music roll over him, allowing the drums to melt over his flames and bleed into the marrow of his black bones. When you dance, you have to focus on the turn out of each step, on the wave of your arms, when to stiffen when to loosen. It makes it all so easy to forget the pain of being constantly on fire. To forget the melancholy that festers inside you. When the adrenaline is this high, you can only make out the strobing neon lights and the dazed amusement of the crowd.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ It's hard to hate the music and the lights, to shy away from a crowd so easily fascinated by the gleeful macabre. It's really the most sanity-inducing thing you can cling to when your body has turned into the thing you once loved. When you've become your research after watching your old self die in a furnace at the hands of those who once wielded all the power in the world. Funny how we make our own monsters, funny how the thing that kills us, is nothing more than the very man we once tried to kill, now engulfed by his own invention. Phosphorus spins, left leg, right leg, jump, and twirl.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The dancing, the music, the clapping, the lights, it's all so perfect for melting away the terrible things that slither inside him, to burn away all those good memories until the kill and the luxury are all the remains. It's getting just too easy to forget his son's face, to forget the smile his wife gave him on their wedding day.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ There's a moment between moments when the world seems to stop. It's only then that he notices you, or rather notices what you're wearing. It's the dress he thinks, pink like the mushroom clouds he'd once adored, like the sunset framing devastation. Or maybe it's the way you have your hair so cruelly tied. Tight circle above your head like an atom waiting to explode. In a flash it's over, someone is handing him a drink. Another sitting on his lap. And he's thrust harshly back into reality, back to a world of trying to forget.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ Phosphorus is and always will be a man of logic. A man of science. He lets his fingers glide over the stack of pristine hundred-dollar bills. To think he'd spent his whole life begging for a quarter of all of this. Begging for scraps of funding to save the lives of thousands. It had all been so important once. Still, he can't help but let his mind wonder, what could he build with all of this? What could he solve, discover, create? He tells his men to lock it up in the safe, he's not ready to go back to all of that just yet.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The next time Phosphorus sees you, he's half sunken into the plush couch of the VIP lounge. It's been a long day, a long tough day. Everything had gone wrong and all so right in the same breath. This time your dress is the shade of clouds marred by the blood of a dying sun. He should know this shade from the history books he'd used to read, the shade of skylines behind ancient temples. Back then he'd been trying to understand. Understand what he's not quite sure, he'd been so desperate to pry every little answer from the world. To chew their solutions, breaking them with his teeth and spitting out his own variation, his own thesis. He'd been so utterly convinced of his own intellect, convinced that reading Saadi at the same time as the latest research paper on Nuclear decay meant understanding the world.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He watched with staunch fascination as you tried to dance. Following your friend's steps, heels stepping awkwardly completely out of tune. You bend your knees, sinking to the floor. And Phosphorus can't think of any excuses for why his cheeks feel hotter than usual. Why his eyes are permanently affixed to the sway of your arms.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He thinks you look just like nuclear fission dancing in the limelight with your friends. Like you've split your own body to create them. Little atomic nucleus dancing under his microscope. You look perfect, your toned legs amplified by the radioactive pink of your heels. Long neck he'd love to kiss decorated with a thin string of gold. You don't look a thing like the other girls at the lounge, you look like an experiment beckoning him, seducing him into cutting you open, and observing how you explode.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He's been following you keenly, trying to see what happens next. It's the fourth week in a row that he's forgotten about dancing for the crowd, about the girls who used to hang off his arms. He's too devoted to this experiment. "Nuclear scientist finds atomic bomb inside ancient temple from the bronze age". Phosphorus examines the sway of your hips, the bob of your head, and the crude kicks of your legs. There's something wrong with those heels, they're too thin, too high, inviting everyone to stare at you. But he's quick to shove them away, circling you from afar. He can't let anyone tamper with his experimentation. Certain matter performs differently when it knows it's being observed. So he allows the notion of invisibility, making you feel unobserved, safe in your own ignorance.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He hasn't felt this alive in years. This ecstasy tastes utterly sweet, pure saccharine. It's the same thrill as watching your particles stabilize after days of trying to find the right frequency. Watching them organize into the right motion. And isn't that what you are? An ionized atom. After all, what is dancing if not ionization, if not trying to lose a part of yourself you can no longer bear?

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He's late tonight, rivals had somehow bled in and were after the safe from Phosphorus' newest heist. He'd burned them to a crisp and danced on their ashes until they flew away. But that doesn't change the fact that he's late, too late in fact. When he rushes through the door, men nervously run behind him. His eyeless sockets fall upon an uttermost dreary sight...

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The problem with people is that they never truly appreciate beauty. They treat it as if it's something to conquer something to tame. They never bother to understand it, to study it from afar whispering prayers of gratitude for bearing witness to this new discipline. The man's body is too close to yours, head following your lips, as you awkwardly try to sidestep. The moment you try to flee he grabs your wrist. You scream, no one ever hears screaming through the bass and the rhythm.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ There's smoke in your eyes, sickly-sweet honey in the back of your throat. It's all too acrid but at least the hand assaulting your wrist subsides. The thing in front of you glows green, an acidic neon green that feels too familiar in shade. You watch as the skeleton seizes your shoulders, such a warm touch hearthlike in every way. He pulls you closer till all you can smell is null and all you can feel is smothering warmth.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ You never quite quiver under his touch, never fully shy away when he cups your jaw and tilts your head. It's like you want the radiation, want to feel his nuclear essence bleeding into you. Maybe then you'll be whole. Maybe then neither of you will need the music, and the lights, and the crowd to feel whole.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ You never belonged in the clubs, it was painfully obvious you could never mold to their dances, their music. Your heels never fit right. Phosphorous knows he's been trying to do the very same for all so long. Neither of you needed to kill off your electrons, to throw them away to ignorant nobodies who would sooner hurt you for their own voracious motivations. "Give me your electrons and I'll give you mine." Phosphorus tucks your head into the crux of his shoulder, "I'll fuse with you so you'll never need anyone else."

⋆☠︎︎⋆ Phosphorus' hands mirror yours, swaying overhead before falling lower like the cascade of a wave. Side step, side step, stop, and bend. He thinks this is better than any club, any choreography he could do by himself. He feels so whole dancing only for your eyes. He feels so happy having you dance only for his eyes. Your palms touch as you circle slowly. Dancing like the airy rotation of electrons. There's no more dancing at the Pink Pony Club.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ What do you call a dance that feels like merging two atoms? What do you call it when your heart feels like the denotation of a bomb? He presses his lips to yours slowly, feeling the nuclei crash, a nuclear reaction, his tongue hum between your teeth endeavoring to melt away your fear. His fingers, dance across your hips heating up, leaving burning hearts and hand prints, claiming you as his, making you death just like him.

Lost the request for this but thank you so so much to the sender!! 💞💋💞💋

[woso-story]

Jealousy

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The atmosphere at Manuela’s was infectious, a perfect blend of victory euphoria and celebratory chaos. Barcelona had just crushed Real Madrid in the El Clásico, and the entire team felt unstoppable. Drinks flowed freely, laughter echoed, and the dance floor was packed with swaying bodies. Even Alexia, ever the captain, usually disciplined during the season, had been coaxed into having a drink or two thanks to Mapi’s relentless insistence.

“Come on, Capitana,” Mapi had teased earlier, nudging Alexia with a cheeky grin. “One drink won’t kill you. Live a little!”

And against all odds, Alexia had agreed, the sight of her relaxed and laughing with a drink in hand as rare as the team losing on home turf. She didn’t stray far from you at first, dancing with her arms loosely around your waist, her fingers brushing against yours as the two of you swayed to the rhythm of the music.

“See? This isn’t so bad,” you teased her, pulling her into a spin.

Alexia’s laugh was soft, barely audible over the thumping bass, but it was real. “It’s tolerable,” she conceded, her lips curving into a small smile.

After some time, though, Alexia excused herself to find some quiet, heading to a booth on the edge of the bar with a glass of water. She didn’t mind letting you have your fun; she loved watching you light up, carefree and full of energy. For a while, she was content to sit back and observe, her eyes following your every move as you twirled and danced with Mapi, Patri, and a few others.

But slowly, one by one, the others left the dance floor, retreating to catch their breath or refill their drinks. When they returned to the booth, Alexia’s gaze flicked between them, her brow furrowing.

“Where’s Y/N?”

Mapi shrugged, stretching her arms out along the back of the booth. “Still dancing, I think. That one’s got endless energy.”

Alexia’s lips twitched with amusement, but when she turned back to the dance floor, her expression froze. You weren’t dancing. You were talking to someone—another woman Alexia didn’t recognize.

You were laughing.

Not just a polite chuckle, but a full-bodied laugh, the kind that made your eyes sparkle and your shoulders shake. Alexia’s stomach churned as she watched the woman lean closer, whispering something in your ear that made you grin even wider.

She set her water glass down a little too forcefully, earning a questioning glance from Patri.

“You good?” Patri asked, cocking her head.

“Fine,” Alexia replied shortly, her eyes never leaving you. She watched as you and the woman moved to the bar, still talking, still laughing. The sight made her chest tighten, jealousy bubbling up despite her best efforts to tamp it down.

For several minutes, she tried to stay put, telling herself it was nothing. You were just being friendly. But the way you leaned against the bar, your body language open and easy, made it impossible for Alexia to relax.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’ll be back,” she muttered, standing abruptly.

Mapi raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going?”

“To get Y/N,” Alexia said shortly, already striding toward the bar.

You didn’t notice her approach at first, too engrossed in whatever story the woman was telling you. Your laughter rang out again, and Alexia’s jaw clenched.

When she reached you, her hand closed around your arm, firm but not rough, and you turned to her with a look of surprise.

“Lex?”

She didn’t respond, simply tugging you away from the bar and out the front door. The cool night air hit your skin as she led you a few steps away from the entrance, finally stopping to face you.

“What the hell, Alexia?” you asked, still reeling from the sudden exit.

“Who was that?” she demanded, her voice sharp.

“Who was who?”

“The woman you were talking to,” Alexia clarified, her eyes narrowing. “At the bar. Who was she, and why were you laughing like that?”

You stared at her, dumbfounded. “Wait…are you jealous?”

“I’m not jealous,” Alexia said quickly, but the redness creeping up her neck betrayed her.

A grin tugged at your lips, and you struggled to keep your laughter in check. “Lex…”

“It’s not funny,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“It’s a little funny,” you countered, stepping closer to her. “Baby, you don’t have to feel threatened. She’s just the owner of this new café I’ve been going to. We’ve chatted a few times when I’m there. That’s all.”

Alexia’s expression softened slightly, but her jaw was still tight. “I’m not threatened,” she muttered, though her voice lacked its earlier edge. “You’re mine. Nothing’s going to change that.”

“And I think it’s adorable that you think I’d ever want anyone else,” you said, your tone gentle but teasing. You leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek, your lips brushing against her flushed skin. “I love you, Alexia. No one could ever compare.”

Her shoulders relaxed at your words, and she let out a small sigh. “I wasn’t jealous,” she insisted, though the corners of her lips twitched upward.

“Of course not,” you teased, taking her hand in yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Now, come on, let’s go home. I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Alexia hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on yours, before she nodded. “Okay.”

As the two of you walked hand in hand toward the car, the tension from earlier melted away. The night had been full of unexpected twists, but one thing remained constant: Alexia’s love for you—and yours for her.

[tender-rosiey]

Hi!! Loving dad! gojo :)

I love ballet and I love gojo, so could you do gojo bringing his cute little daughter to ballet class please?

twirl — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: hehe I am so happy dad!gojo is getting some love; hope you enjoy

“you got your water bottle?”

“mhm!”

“your shoes?”

“yup!”

“did you give mommy a kiss?”

“yeah!”

“good girl; now, do a twirl.”

she excitedly does as told and squeals in happiness when satoru picks her up and spins her around, “that’s my pretty little princess!”

he gently puts her down and she holds his index finger. he blows you a kiss then bends to tell her, “say bye to mommy.”

“bye, mommy! I love you!”

you chuckle, “I love you too, sweetie! have fun!”

and so satoru embarks on a journey to d/n’s ballet class.

the car ride is full of d/n’s favorite songs accompanied by her dad’s horrible singing that she somehow likes.

when he gets there, he notices that he is the only dad there, save for two other cool dads.

the mothers are also completely enamored by satoru, and while another time he would boast in the attention, his priority right now is his daughter, his daughter that looks very scared and nervous.

he sits on the ground so he is at eye level with her, “what’s up, pretty?”

she pads her way into his arms, and he instantly embraces her. he gently pats her back, and the last thing on his mind is how uncomfortable the position is for him. her little hands clutch his shirt, “what if I do bad?”

“I know you will do amazing,” he grins and squishes her cheeks, “and even if you do, mistakes are okay, and most importantly, daddy’s always here to save the day!”

d/n nods with a small smile. she gives him a tight hug, before she pulls back and starts fidgeting with her fingers. she looks up to him with matching azure eyes, “can you dance with me?”

he abruptly stands up then points at a small boy, “get me a tutu!”

and that’s how you found your husband killing it with d/n on her ballet class.

they did have to put him further away from the kids because of his gigantic legs, but he is still having the time of his life. d/n is also very entertained with her dad and is trying to copy his every move, completely forgetting about the ballet teacher.

the mothers are also very amused by the act, with some nudging their husbands to do the same. little do they know that satoru is unmatched in whatever he tries, especially when he is trying to impress his little princess.

she starts squealing and jumping in place, “daddy, you’re so cool!”

he spins around before stopping to peck her cheek, “thank you, cutie!”

“satoru, what are you—?”

“wifey!” he screams before launching at you and pulling you into one big bear hug. of course, satoru is a show-off, and he likes to make a statement. that’s why he dips you and kisses you in front of everyone in the room. he pulls you back up, chuckling at your shocked expression.

“mommy! mommy!” she dashes to you and hugs your leg. she then quickly looks at satoru, tugging on his pants, “daddy!” she points at her cheek, “kiss, please!”

he swiftly picks her up and starts peppering her face with kisses and you watch with a warm smile. after he is done with his ambush, he sets her down with another hug. she looks a lot more confident and is willing to go on and try again by herself.

satoru is about to declare his mission successful, but someone rudely interrupts his victory dance.

a boy shyly makes his way towards d/n, who is right beside satoru. the boy looks at the ground, a pink hue coating his cheeks. he starts to murmur softly, “um, h—hi; I am—“

satoru crouches on the ground and stares at the boy. the kid is clutching a freaking rose. your husband’s dad instincts go off and he turns the boy around and lightly pushes him away, “go play with your friends, buddy.”

the boy turns back to satoru, but, this time, he is frowning at the man, “I wanna give d/n a flower!”

“well, I am here to do that, so you can go away,” satoru stands up proudly, “and! I give her flowers, not just one!”

the boy’s frown deepens and he turns to his friends and whistles for them to come over. quickly, a gang of 6 year old boys are at satoru’s feet. the boy points at satoru, “this man won’t let me give d/n a flower…attack!”

and because your husband’s petty like that, he keeps his infinity on and doesn’t flinch in the slightest. the kids keep trying to punch and kick him, but he doesn’t falter. he grins smugly at you, and you merely roll your eyes with a smile.

meanwhile, d/n already went to continue her class like nothing is happening.

you have no idea how the parents or ballet teacher are letting these kids ‘gang up’ on your husband, but you guess that everyone wants some entertainment every once in a while. plus, most of the kids got tired and ditched the ambush anyway.

now, no one is left but the flower boy.

the poor kid is panting and struggling as he looks up at the smug man. satoru smiles at you, turning off his infinity, “see, babe? told ya nothing can—“

the little boy has kicked your husband’s shin, harshly too. he huffs, holding back tears, “you’re a meanie!” he runs away to his mom, leaving satoru to hold his leg in pain.

you frown sympathetically at the boy, “satoru, you made him cry.”

“well, you’re going to make me cry with how little you care about how I am in pain right now!”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @wemma67 @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[wholoveseggs]

Festive Frustration

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}{Five Days of Fluffmas}

{Elijah Mikaelson x Reader} When a chaotic Mikaelson Christmas party threatens Elijah’s carefully curated elegance, it’s up to you to remind him that some messes are worth embracing.

♡♡Happy Fluffmas♡♡

839 words - Warnings: flufffff, holiday party chaos, frustrated Elijah, spiked drinks, Klaus-induced pandemonium && soft dances under twinkling lights...

@starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss @eternalnoble @darth-laeka

You could tell Elijah was upset. His jaw was tight, and he kept flicking his cufflinks, a sure sign that he was done with the chaos around him. The Mikaelson Christmas party, which started as a refined and intimate event, had spiraled into something else entirely.

The decorations, once perfect, were either being knocked over or trampled on. The music had gone from Christmas classics to the tasteless modern ones you knew he disliked. To top it all off, someone had spilled wine on the rug, and Elijah’s patience was hanging on by a thread.

He stood by the Christmas tree, his shoulders stiff, glaring at a woman who nearly knocked over a tray of glasses.

You sighed, knowing you couldn’t let him stew in his frustration all night. He needed a drink and a distraction. Preferably one that involved you.

Grabbing a glass of whiskey from the bar, you wove through the crowd toward him. His face softened slightly when he saw you, though his frustration was still obvious.

“Hello, my love,” he greeted, his voice warm but strained.

“I thought you might need this,” you said, handing him the glass.

He took it, downing the drink in one go. You winced as his grip tightened around the glass, wondering if he’d accidentally shatter it.

“Thank you,” he murmured, setting the empty glass on a nearby table and running a hand through his hair.

You glanced around the room. The noise was deafening, and the elegant ambiance Elijah had worked so hard to create was long gone. “This isn’t quite what you had in mind, huh?”

Elijah’s lips twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “It’s mayhem,” he muttered. His eyes followed Kol, who was enthusiastically encouraging two guests to drink from the now-spiked punch bowl.

“It’s not that bad,” you said, trying to sound optimistic. “At least people are having fun.”

“If this is your idea of fun, I fear we have very different definitions of the word,” he replied dryly.

You laughed softly, but before you could respond, a loud burst of laughter and squeals erupted from the dance floor. Both of you turned toward the commotion to see Klaus spinning two blondes in opposite directions while a third clung to him, laughing uncontrollably.

Klaus was in his element, his face lit with mischief as he orchestrated the chaos. The women stumbled, colliding into other dancers, who then spilled their drinks, creating even more pandemonium.

“Of course,” Elijah muttered under his breath.

One of the blondes, clearly emboldened by alcohol, attempted to climb onto Klaus’s back. He caught her effortlessly, grinning like the devil himself as he twirled her around, nearly taking out a nearby couple.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it. “He’s having a great time.”

“At my expense,” Elijah muttered.

The music changed to an obnoxiously loud dance remix of Jingle Bells and Klaus raised his arms triumphantly, shouting, “Now this is a party!” The room erupted in cheers, as though Klaus himself had blessed the event.

Elijah pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe I share blood with that man.”

“Come on,” you said, tugging on Elijah’s sleeve. “You can’t let Klaus have all the fun.”

Elijah hesitated, glancing at the crowded dance floor, then back at you. “I’m not sure that’s the solution.”

“It is,” you insisted, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the crowd.

Reluctantly, he followed. His hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer. The warmth of his touch made your cheeks warm, and you smiled up at him as you began to sway.

“I don’t recall half these people being on the guest list,” he muttered, his gaze scanning the room.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “Rebekah might’ve invited... a few extras.”

His brow furrowed. “This was supposed to be a refined event, not-”

“A disaster?” you teased.

Elijah sighed, though his lips curved into a small smile. “Something like that.”

“I think Kol has spiked more than just the eggnog,” you added, unable to keep the amusement out of your voice.

Elijah scoffed. “Of course he did.”

You rested your head against his chest, trying to soothe him. “It’s okay, Elijah. You can’t control everything. You did a great job planning this.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but you felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You always know how to calm me,” he murmured, his voice low and warm.

You smiled, looking up at him. “It’s a talent.”

As the two of you swayed under the twinkling lights, the chaos of the party seemed to fade into the background. For a moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Thank you,” Elijah said, his dark eyes meeting yours. “For reminding me what truly matters.”

You grinned, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Elijah.”

And just like that, the party didn’t feel like a disaster anymore.

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Caught Under the Mistletoe

♡ featuring: nanami kento x reader

♡ synopsis: alone on christmas, you spend the night with your equally lonely coworkers. of course, your office crush nanami kento wants to party, too. he's a mystery, yet you can't help wanting to be around him. with a little help, can you beat the odds and finally confess?

♡ wc: 8.0k

♡ tags: fem! reader, jjk au, office au, misunderstood nanami, friends to lovers, corny gojo (as usual), praise, switch nanami, whiny whipped needy nanami, lots of overstim, manhand|ing, öral (f!receiving), mäting press, nanami cums quick, multiple órgasms, basically vanilla

notes: im almost a month late for my christmas fic i am sooo sorry! hope everyone had a happy holidays. did i finish this fic or did this fic finish me? who knows :P comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

“Hey, watch your step!”  

Gojo barely catches your calf before you trip off the chair you’re dancing on. You fail to realize your heels are sinking into the fabric. Fortunate for him to be there—the tipsy girl isn’t doing herself any favors twirling on a spinning office chair, but liquid courage has its perks. You’re narrowly balancing a drink in your hand—plain whiskey—while Gojo attempts to keep his swishing in the short glass. His efforts must’ve looked like a game to you, because you’re giggling and patting his arm as if he were an exaggerating child.  

The rest of the office is in an uproar, loose paper scattered about and documents gone unfinished. Some dancing, others chat over burgundy wine or dark liquor. There’s an awful Christmas song playing in the background, but most are too drunk to hear it. You can almost listen to jingle bells above your belligerent assistant manager addressing his qualms about the boss in a haughty manner; ivory shirt unbuttoned, gut spilling out of his too-tight pants as he raises his glass in protest for a pay raise. The two usual troublemakers you seldom speak to are having a concerning amount of fun with the copy machine and their bare rear.  

You’re not without fun though, pencil skirt straining on your thighs while you jump and sing an unrelated song bouncing around in your head. If your boss were here, heaven only knows the trouble you’d be in. Luckily, he isn’t here. Every year, your boss took paid time off to spend time with family during the holidays.  

The other losers with nothing to do spent their Christmas at the office.  

Sometimes you spent so much time at the office you began to consider it home. And so you’d bring a little piece of home with you, holding a high spirit for the holidays. Red and green festivities kept the joy alive, regardless of the depressed groans and sighs you became accustomed to during shifts. You’re still young, still somewhat hopeful about your future career. You put your heart into decorating the department.  

Well, you and Nanami, of course.  

“Santa’s little helper” is what you called him, to which he adjusted his glasses and begrudgingly agreed. He agrees to most of your plans, unless they involve outrageous pranks or a possible HR violation.  

When he first arrived to the building, he exuded such a quiet energy you sometimes didn’t notice him on the clock. When the lights dimmed for the day, and you strolled past his cubicle, a bright blue light casted long shadows. His silence was almost intimidating, and though most people made it a point to avoid contact with him, it felt unfair to you. You made it a point to get to know him, even if it were sometimes overwhelming or tedious—popping your head in during crunch time or offering him a snack. He eventually responded in kind. Not the kind that spoke out of obligation, but genuine respect. You haven’t learned much about him since you met him, and he won’t openly indulge, but you make attempts anyway.  

You’ve been messing with him the entirety of December. More ‘elf-on-a-shelf’ like, leaving mysterious Christmas trinkets for him to find in his cubicle. A tiny Santa here, a gnome there, gag gifts hidden in his metal drawers. You still remember him opening his briefcase to find a small porcelain reindeer standing up on his folders. And let’s not forget when he sat down after a water break and instead of a whoopie cushion, a traditional Christmas song reverberated across the hallway.  

You’ve both done well, spending too much time after hours putting a tree up, blossoming with multicolored ornaments and shapes in no particular theme. Garlands with waxy red berries hang from the fluorescent ceiling lights and removable winter decals are stuck on every wall, next to the inconvenient rainbow bulbs. 

Nanami denied the addition of a mistletoe, to your utter dismay. He truly embodied the little helper role, tending to your every request with an accompanied sly comment or concern. Unfortunately, it didn’t subdue the increasing feelings you already have for him. Within your delusion, you’re even starting to believe he might be flirting with you—ridiculous, right?  

If stone-cold Nanami were flirting with you, you’d probably die on the spot. There’s no chance though, and you’re fine with crushing from a distance. At least that’s what you’ll tell yourself to maintain a friendship.  

He makes it hard, though—incredibly hard. It’s difficult right now, as he leans against a wall away from the crowd, teal button-up taut against his torso, wearing a Santa hat at your request. Nanami, who regularly keeps up with his appearance, looks somewhat disheveled from the alcohol.  

You’ve finally learned something about him; he can’t handle his liquor.  

He won’t show it, but while he maintains the same stoic expression, strands of hair hang over his somber eyes, and his glasses aren’t perfectly perched on his face. The buttons pull at the fabric, and he heaves heavy with his sturdy arms folded underneath the chest, bunching his spotted tie. The light makes it worse, catching on the veins peaking from his skin. You could trace every tendon corded around his forearms, thick hands swirling a shot glass. It’s smaller in comparison to his palm, and you watch his fingers trace the rim of the glass. They look delicate and manicured, but equally rough. How they’d study the curves of a body, snake around a lovers head as he pulled them close. Wrapping his fingers around-  

“You’re drooling” Gojo blurts. You snap your head to him, and he laughs heartily before smacking your back. “Shhh-tt!” You wave a hand over his mouth, but the wide grin he’s sporting goes beyond your reach. He gets in close, not bothering to cover his mouth for the gossip.  

“Go tell him.”  

“Wha- hell no” you shake your head, stepping down from the chair nursing your dwindling drink. You refuse to hear the absurdity he’s proposing. “Why not? Perfect night, ain’t it?”  

You throw back what little is left in the cup and set it on a random coworkers desk. “How so?”  

“Christmas Eve. Lots can happen, y’know?” He presses his hand to the sides of your head and turns your attention back to Nanami.  

“Lotsss.” You swat him—luckily Nanami was engrossed in the contents of his glass. “Fuck you” you whisper, semi joking. He laughs. “Cmon, me and the guy are cool. Let me wingman.”  

“No.”  

“Why not?”  

“Why would I ever let you wingman when you can’t even get a date yourself?” He clutches his chest, feigning pain, “Ouch!”  

“I’m fine with us just being friends, okay?”  

“Pfft, clearly not. I just caught you eye-fucking him.” You roll your eyes, shooing him off mid-conversation. Gojo may be right, but it couldn’t happen today. It wasn’t worth confessing, especially with his gift tucked away in your bag. Life would become too complicated too fast.  

You’ve sobered up some from the harsh reality of your situation. Being sober sucks. However, you’ve neglected to check on Nanami since the party started, and now might be a great time. You walk in his direction, steering your eyes from Gojo’s smug expression.  

Nanami catches you approaching and nods, sleeves busting against his bicep. His brown sugar eyes are half lidded, and a light glow dusts feverishly over his ears and neck. His chiseled bone structure appears gentle with a pinkish blush. You hold your breath, afraid you might divulge the thoughts searing your tongue with sin.  

“How’s my little helper doing?” you ask, leaning against the wall beside him. Your bodies ghosts against each other, never fully touching, always in two separate worlds. You don’t expect his gaze to follow you, and you’re slightly surprised when you turn to him and he’s staring.  

“Pretty good,” his voice permeates like fine bourbon, deep and intoxicating to your hazy ears. He speaks in his usual rigid manner despite the drink. You could listen to him talk forever—embarrassingly so, as you got written up for talking frequently in his cubicle. “All thanks to Santa.”  

“I’m glad. Did he get you everything you wanted for Christmas?” you smile.  

“Yea. She did.” She. You brush it off—a slip of the tongue. It’s hard to trust what a tipsy person says, anyway. You press your nails to the corners of your mouth and pull upwards.  

“Then be happy!”  

“I am” he responds. Blunt. You sigh dramatically.  

“Hmph. But you never smile.” He watches you close, and your nerves cause you to fiddle with the paneled pattern on the glass. So much for wanting his attention.  

“Would you like me to?” There’s no humor in his tone. Did you want him to smile? Of course. But you desire the genuine satisfaction of a pure, unfiltered smile. It means nothing if you have to force it out of him.  

You turn your head from him with a pointed nose. “Nope. I want it to be genuine when you do.”  

Facing him again, you accept the challenge, “I’ll get you to smile!”  

There’s a subtle perk in his brow, and faint creases form at the corners of his drooping lids.  

“Oh yeah?” he drawls, an octave lower. It spurs a feeling within you that crumples your resolve too fast. Breath catching in your throat, the air is suddenly stuffier than before. You grip the glass for dear life, attempting to compose yourself, but you can’t when he’s staring at you like you’re the only person in existence. You watch the way his eyes flick across your face; your eyes, then your nose, down to the curve of your lips, moving quicker as they travel down. You swallow thick, unable to avert your gaze, unable to stop the heavy rise and fall of your chest. You must be imagining it. Or maybe Gojo’s right, what’s the harm in-  

“(Y/N)! Get over here and drink with us!” your assistant manager yells from another section.  

It breaks you out of your trance, and you turn on your heels towards the sound, just enough to hide the blush pooling over your cheeks. “Comin’!”  

•••  

The night has simmered into occasional chatter, with most of your coworkers leaving to go barhopping or get a head start on their hangover. The stragglers—a few employees, you, Gojo, and Nanami—packing up to leave.  

You’re throwing your coat over your shoulders, running to your cubicle to hopefully catch the last bus. Before you can grab your briefcase, a flicker of something shiny draws your eye. You pull your drawer open; a miniature snow globe with two fluffy penguins inside wearing festive hats and scarves, flippers stretched as they gather snow. You shake it up and watch the artificial flakes spin in the liquid. A smile unconsciously beams on your face, even more when you notice a yellow note tucked on the underside. You peel off the tape and unfold the post-it note.  

“Your turn  

-Nanami”  

A bland note from a serious man. Even so, your heart feels full to the brink of bursting. You reread the note over and over. You wish you could’ve witnessed big, intimidating Nanami buying the minature from a toy store. Unintentional poker face pointing at tiny penguins. The image sends you into hysterics. Once you’ve had enough of gushing over the same two words, you tuck it in your wallet, a place you won’t forget, and gently put the gift in a safe compartment in your bag.  

You can already hear Gojo from the elevator; he gets loud when he’s drunk, and unfortunately he’s a lightweight.  

“Cmon, you’re taking too long!” he drones, holding the elevator.  

“Okay, okay!” You shuffle inside. You’re a bit sad that Nanami left before you could say goodbye, but you still have the opportunity to give him his present on the next shift. Gojo leans on handrail, button up popped to his stomach.  

“So, no one’s gonna make a move, huh?” He pity’s you in his smug, know-it-all attitude, “it’s so embarrassing watching you two.”  

You have half the mind to refrain from reminding him about when he broke down midday in front of Geto’s house, begging him to take him back. He gets emotional about it. “It’s not as easy as just saying ‘hey, I’ve liked you since I’ve met you. Please don’t think I’m weird’.”  

“Whatever. Guess this must be the life of people with no game. I feel sorry for you, y’know?” You scoff. If anyone has game, it isn’t Gojo.  

“I don’t see you getting laid tonight.”  

“Spoke too soon, sweetheart. I’m fucking a pretty girl after this. And you’re going home,” he peers under his glasses, “dickless.”  

“You’re such a little-“ The elevator dings, opening into the company lobby. Some people are mingling by the sofa. Nanami’s at the front door, putting his beige trench coat on with his briefcase at his side.  

You’re about to step out when Gojo intercepts you, walking ahead first.  

“Na-Na-Mi!”  

“Satoru.” you angry-whisper, trying to grab him. But he dodges your attack effortlessly and glances behind, mouthing ‘shut up’.  

Nanami turns to Gojo, not exactly peeved but surely not happy to see him. They’re two opposites, and you could tell that Gojo quickly got on his nerves. “Hello.”  

Gojo puts an arm around him, and you watch him visibly clam up. “So formal! The boss isn’t here, you can speak normally.”  

“This is how I speak. Also, happy holidays.”  

“Mhm, mhm. By the way, my friend (Y/N) here wants to-“  

“Also wish you a happy holiday!” you chime in, speaking through your teeth. More like screaming, as you try to grab the attention of Gojo’s massive ego, to no avail.  

“Riiight. Anyway, Nanami-“  

“Shouldn’t we all start heading home?” you add, itching to run from the situation. You zip your coat, but Gojo won’t let you go that easily.  

“We should! In fact, Nanami, (Y/N) doesn’t have anyone to walk her home. She lives far, and you know how dangerous it is for a woman to walk alone at night.”  

You feel your eye twitch. You might actually kill him tonight.  

“I’ve got a date tonight so I can’t do it. And I know you have nothing to do so-“ Nanami side-eyes him, then turns to you. For a second, his gaze seems to soften. You smile, mostly as a silent apology for Gojo’s rambling.  

“Would you like me to walk with you?” he asks kindly.  

“…If you don’t mind.”  

“I don’t mind at all” he’s quick to retort.  

“Great! No time to waste then!” Gojo proclaims. He brings his other arm around you, guiding both of you out the sliding doors and into the cold darkness dotted by frosted streetlamps. He steps back from the throuple and brings Nanami close, practically smushing you together by the arm.  

“See ya!” he waves.  

Nanami surveys the path, giving you ample opportunity to glare at Gojo. He never cared, dopey grin on his face as he mimics a sexual act with his hands. Then he walks in the other direction, leaving you to deal with the situation he created. The bus is long gone.  

“Are you ready?” Nanami says, directing you to the inside of the sidewalk.  

“Yea, let’s go.”  

Snowfall cascades in blooming white sparkles amongst the icy sky. It drapes the parked cars in sheets of powder, and the tips of your shoes in frost. The solid breeze through your pantyhose creeps into your bare legs. Cold, but not uncomfortable. You luckily brought earmuffs, but Nanami isn’t as fortunate. Checkered scarf draped around his coat, you can’t tell if his ears are red because of the chill or tipsy after effects. He looks at you, unaware of the red patch on his nose.  

“Sorry about Gojo” he says.  

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”  

“If you’re too cold, I can call you a taxi, instead.”  

“No worries, I’m fine. Are you cold, Rudolph?” you snicker.  

He unconsciously touches his nose with pinkish fingers. “Is my nose red?”  

You stop in your tracks, “Come, I can fix it for you.”  

Nanami obeys and kneels down to your height, eyes fixed to the concrete gradually collecting more snow. Flakes dance around you, towering amongst his hair and sinking in the woolen scarf. You gently bring your hands around the fabric and loop once around his neck. Your knuckles graze his winded jaw in the process—soft and cool, a bit of stubble you barely noticed. You tuck the fringed end pieces into the loop, close to his nose where hot breaths warm your hand. The back shimmies over his head in a balaclava style to hopefully shield him from the icy onslaught.  

“Done. You should get warmer now.” He stands straight with a soft mien. Nanami always shared an easy stare. Yet the same easygoing stare now causes your face to burgeon unimaginable colors.  

“Thank you.” The ghost of a smile sweeps his lips, so quick you can’t decide if it’s a fluke or not.  

You continue treading through the snow, hands stuffed in coat pockets, legs stiffly shuffling together to preserve any heat. It’s quiet for some time—you’re afraid you’ll overstep. In-depth conversations weren’t often had, and you’re unsure of how to proceed without being pushy.  

“Is work getting easier for you?”  

“Yes. The workload is manageable and I’m making good progress with reports this month. I can get ahead of next month’s fiscal documentation.” Refined and straightforward. A natural born salaryman.  

“You’re always talking about work” you glance at him, “I’m curious, what are your hobbies?”  

When he doesn’t speak, you immediately go into damage control. “You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal.”  

“I bake…” he mutters, a discovery that persists in the space. Nanami is the last person you’d expect to enjoy baking. You half expected him to reply with something mundane like filing taxes. It warms your heart to imagine him in an apron pressing cookie dough through gingerbread molds. He had that endearing quality about him.  

“Really? What’s your favorite thing to make?”  

“Double chocolate chip cookies.”  

Your mouth gapes, “Wait…remember when I stole those cookies from you on your break? You made those?” You recall the confectionary treat and the way it melted in your mouth. You practically stalked his lunchbox for days hoping he’d bring more.  

“Yes.”  

“Oh my god, they were so good!” you chirp, “why didn’t you say you made them?”  

“…I’m not too confident in my abilities yet.”  

“They were amazing, you should be proud” you say, gazing up at him. You’re suddenly hyper aware of the lack of space between you two—arms brushing, shoulder leaning on him a bit. You’ll tell yourself it’s because of the cold. Just this once.  

“If you enjoy them so much, I’ll bring some next time.”  

“I’ll hold you to it.”  

He gives you a faint nudge, calling your attention. He doesn’t seem bothered by the extra weight on his body. “And what do you like to do outside of work?”  

“I read a lot. I write occasionally.”  

“Any specific genre?”  

“No, not really. I’ll read anything if it interests me.”  

“I’d like to see what you write sometime. You have a creative spirit.”  

You recognize it clear as day. The upturned curve of his dry lips, wrinkled eyes sweet and gentle in the dim amber lighting of a street lamp. Freckled by the reflection of steady snow, they appear sparkling as they bore into you.  

“Thanks” is all you manage to choke out.  

“I didn’t know you walk this way.”  

“‘Cause you’re always doing overtime”, you hesitate before you add, “you should give yourself a break once in a while. Take care of your health more.”  

“It’s nothing to worry about.” But I’m worried. It’s meant to be reassurance, but reassurance can only go so far when there’s noticeable eye bags. You step in front of him, spinning to make eye contact.  

“Before we split, don’t go. I want to give you a present.”  

“You don’t have to do that.”  

“Of course I do! We’re friends, aren’t we?”  

Nanami sighs a laugh. “Yes, we are.” He holds the sides of your earmuffs, pressing them tight to your head. Almost as if he’s ensuring you don’t get too cold. “I feel bad now. I haven’t gotten you anything.”  

“That’s okay. Walking with me is enough.”  

“Then could I walk you all the way home?”  

The answer leaves your mouth before you can think, “Sure!”  

You pause, deliberating on your urge to extend the invitation. Nanami regards you closely, watching the minute muscles in your lips twitch as your words come to fruition. You avert your eyes. If only he knew the effect it had on you.  

“It’s p-pretty cold out here. Maybe if you want, you could come inside. Just to like, get warm, y’know?”  

Something flashes in Nanami’s gaze. Brief like other times, yet this one feels darker—full of incomplete emotions you’re not ready to decipher yet. He’s generous with smiles tonight.  

“If you’ll have me.”  

Back at your apartment, you’re fishing for the key in your never-ending purse. You’re somewhat thankful for its disappearance since it gives you time to compose yourself. You’re hoping the state of your home is acceptable to his standard. You hook the key ring under your pinky and pull it out.  

The door, embellished with a Christmas pinecone wreath, creaks open into the narrow entryway. 

“Please come in.” He obliges, following after you as you drop your bag on the cluttered hall tree. You’re too distracted tucking your shoes properly in the rack, aligning them meticulously where it doesn’t count. Then you notice his footsteps came to a halt.  

Unlucky for you, you forgot about the shiny object you’ve had dangling at your entryway since December arrived. It slips your mind sometimes when it’s so out of reach, inches above you. But for Nanami’s height, it draws his attention instantly.  

A pine and cedar mistletoe sprouting red berries hangs from the ceiling by a red ribbon. Meant to be a joke for Shoko when you smother her in excessive love. Meant to complete the other holiday decorations littering your apartment.  

What it wasn’t meant for, was the impulsive invitation to your crush. You stare at it, to which your eyes wander to Nanami, also staring at it. He’s lingering, then he looks at you, amused grin tugging at his lips.  

“Uh, ignore that!” you stammer, a nervous tick in your tone.  

“Were you expecting someone?” He’s already removing his hat and scarf.  

“No, it’s just a silly joke between me and Shoko.” He watches you intently. You have to get used to the laidback version of Nanami, for the sake of avoiding a heart attack.  

“I can take your coat!” you divert, but he dodges your grasp. “No need. You’ve had a long day.” He places it on one of the pegs.  

“Well, make yourself comfortable. Do you want anything to drink?”  

“I’m fine for now, thanks.”  

You quickly scuffle to the kitchen. A tall glass of water to subdue your pounding heart. It’s the fault of your own body, psyching you up to believe that for a second, Nanami might be reciprocating your interest. In a way, conversing with him was easier when you had no expectations, no indication of “like” on his end. You aren’t even sure what like means from his perspective.  

When you leave the kitchen, he’s sitting on the couch, legs spread with an arm resting on the back of it. He shifts in his seat, beige slacks taut on the fat of his thighs. You run to grab the cyan felt gift box from your bag and return to the living room.  

Plopping down, it’s pretty cramped for the span of two people. It's not this crowded when Shoko comes over, but what did you expect when Nanami’s wingspan is twice the size of yours. With your back on the armrest, your knees are inches from his.  

You hold out the box towards him. “Here you go, I hope you like it.”  

He grabs it, feeling the material. Then he glances at your giddy face before opening it. It displays a polished gold chronograph watch with brown leather trim. The ivory velvet interior contrasts against the gold-toned dials, and he marvels it with shock.  

“This was expensive” he says, examining the sub dials like fragile glass. It definitely was, and you did a few overtimes for it, but you won’t tell him that. “I hope you didn’t go through any trouble to get this.”  

“You deserve it. You do a lot for everyone. And you’ve tolerated my nonsense all month.”  

“Thank you isn’t enough for something like this. I’ll do what I can to repay you.”  

You splay your palm. “Aht aht, don’t even think about repaying me.”  

“I’m covering your lunch for the rest of the year” he states, matter-of-fact. You don't correct your touching knees. 

“I won’t let you.” A chuckle escapes through his nose, features softening along the edges of his chiseled cheeks. 

“Then how about those cookies?”  

“…I’ll take that” you beam, “and, I want to be your test subject for any desserts you make in the future.”  

“Whatever you want.”  He slides the watch out of the display and gives it to you. “Would you like to put it on?”  

You unlatch the gold buckle and align the brown straps on his wrist. Fine blonde hair covers his forearm and you couldn’t fit your hand around his wrist if you tried, but you manage with two. “It fits perfect.” 

“How’d you figure out my wrist size?”  

“Remember when I asked for your help with a friend’s surprise gift?”  

“Ah, so that was a lie?” he grins. 

“Just a little one.”  

“Lying's bad for company morale.”  

“Then it’s a good thing we’re not at work right now, huh?”  

“Mhm.” Nanami reaches for his tie, drawing it loose with a finger. “Very good.” 

You slide your shoes off, perching your foot on the other one before sliding that one off, as well. There’s a numbing pressure eating at your heels. You rub the balls of your ankles, persistent aches from the nonstop dancing you’ll sooner feel tomorrow.  

“Does it hurt?”  

“I should’ve taken my shoes off when I danced” you sigh. 

He pats his thigh. “Let me help.”  

You blink. Once. Twice. Does he want me to...? You don’t have the heart to question it. Not when it’s working in your favor. 

“If...that’s okay.” You’re startled a bit when he immediately scoops your leg and hikes it over his thigh in a single motion. You stare at his solid, vein-woven hands encompassing the surface of your ankle.  

“By the way, I don’t ‘tolerate’ you. I had fun when we were decorating.”  

“Oh, really? It didn’t seem like it, haha.” You’re nervous laughing. Between the small confession and the affectionate thumb swaying back and forth, you’re flustered beyond belief. 

“I look forward to our conversations. I’ve never thought of you as a bother.”  

You’re sure he’s talking at this point. You know he is. Yet, the series of firm, delicate touches along your ankle dull your ears to everything besides the sound of rough pads moving rhythmically along nylon.  

“…Do you give massages often?” Nanami doesn’t look at you, transfixed on catering to your calf. He’s passed your point of soreness, traversing up your leg for the massage. His kneading sends your skin aflame. It’s a fervent intensity that starts at your trembling voice and ends in an embarrassing mess between your thighs. You can’t bear to meet his face. A pinkish tint to his knuckles, brushing the back of your thighs and scaling higher. 

“No. I’m practicing for you” he says, breathy and caught in a sharp wind. That’s when you notice his wrinkled collar, buttonholes straining from his tight breathing, and a burning glow poured over his ears and neck. His touches grow impatient, out of sync as if he’s trying to dig under the material to palm raw skin. “I’ll owe you more in the future.” 

The watch reflects bright in the headlights of your Christmas tree. Like you’ve laid claim to him. He’s wearing you on his arm.  

“You look great.” He pauses, finally turning to gaze at you. His glasses are off center, and his eyes—blooming and almost black—crave a certain unsatiable hunger, gnawing at his stomach with a feast just out of reach. He wouldn’t dare eat without permission. 

“It looks great…on you.”  

“You look great too” he whispers through a clenched jaw. Your breaths mingle in the space, thoughts going unsaid while somehow tainting the air with insistent need. You can't stand it. Can’t stand the way your thighs clench, searching to stave off desire. 

Nanami parts his chapped lips, then closes them. He swallows nothing, Adam’s apple bobbing. Restless. 

Every little action he performs elicits a sense of longing once buried in an unattainable sector of your heart. 

“Hah…please don’t look at me like that” he says, tense and on the verge of begging. 

“Like what?”  

“Like you want me.” It leaves his mouth. Another confession, syrupy and coated in a deep desire, pulsing in the very core of you. He relieves a shaky breath, a ticked jaw struggling to relax.  

“I do.”  

Nanami’s restless demeanor shifts fast, and the air he’d been saving escapes him entirely. He smoothly tucks his grip under your knees and pulls you close. You settle on his lap, chest to chest, hovering over him. Noses ghosting, threatening to concede. Boiling heat coils in waves in your gut, and your heart skips across your ribcage. He’s equally flustered, if not more. You feel the heavy bulge prodding your tights, enough to earn a muffled sigh. 

“You’re giving me false hope.” 

“I want you.” He places a hand behind your neck, another trailing up your curves. 

“Say it again” he mouths into you. They’re soft, languid with your own. You caress his face, enduring the way he tests your lips, nudging just to pull back. 

“I want-”  

Before you can finish your sentence, he crashes onto you. The well-mannered Nanami you knew stalks your tender lips with unbridled yearning. Chasing your mouth as if you’d vanish if he released. His lips turn slick from a succession of sloppy, uncoordinated kisses and you’re nearly suffocating. He doesn’t falter, though, choosing to devour your moans, your body, anything relating to the idea of you. He attempts to be gentle with the pace of a lover—but judging by the way he hurriedly hunts your mouth when you part for air, he’s missing the mark.  

His hands snake over your waist to the fat of your ass. Fondling through your clothes, you feel the true nature of his grip as pillowy indents fill the space between his fingers. You’ve found purchase in his golden locks, carding through his hair to pull him impossibly close. You’re light-headed, drunk off the pressure of his kiss, his touch refusing to leave your body. The only thing separating your embrace are the tiny moans and whimpers that follow them. Your body betrays you, clenching around nothing like a virgin having her first kiss.  

You’re both huffing once you break. Nanami licks his lips, savoring the taste, a crude groan beneath it.  

“You give me mixed signals” you pant.  

“Then allow me to make it clearer.” He throws his glasses to the side, skittering somewhere on the floor.  

Nanami dives back into your mouth, gliding his whiskey-singed tongue against yours. Unrefined, messily exploring your mouth in a manner of wet smacks. The sound goes straight to your sticky underwear, and you’re shifting uncomfortably in his grasp, to which he holds you sturdy on his lap.  

“Don’t go” he whimpers, drawing a fleeting breath. Blown-wide pupils bore into you, “I need you.” He licks a stripe up your tongue, allowing a trace of drool to slip amid you as he smothers you in French kisses. His mouth is hot, laden with a dizzying mix of alcohol and zeal, yet he cups your cheek lovingly. You’re slinking under his shirt, fumbling with the fasteners until they pop. Your one-minded focus ignores the buttons scurrying across the rug to enamor his ample pecs, flushed and plump in tandem with his husky build. 

You’re alternating against each other’s tongues, neither one of you willing to depart. Gorged on the whimpers you evoke as you cradle his plump chest. 

“Darling, please” he whines. 

He guides your ass along his aching bulge, stealing a satisfied moan from the depths of your mouths. You’d mistake it for a thermal water bottle if it didn’t twitch. Back and forth on his slacks, the seam bumps your clit each time you roll your hips, smearing the dribbling mess from your pantyhose. He leaves you to oscillate on the tensing fabric, pursuing a semblance of relief, jolts of frisson enveloping you.  

You withdraw from him to occupy the space on his neck. Splotching rough, spit-soaked kisses in blurs of red to match his tumid lips. He has a pretty, desperate voice, cracking when you suck on his pulse point. “Uhn, just like that—god.” He lets his head fall a little further, steering you in cycles. “Want more of you.” 

When he pulls you up, an evident gloopy trail follows the score of your tights, and you shy away from the scene. He kneads your plush thighs as he spreads them apart, pecks dotted on your cheeks. “Don’t be shy. You’re gorgeous.” 

Nanami supports your lower back while picking the buttons from your blouse. Or at least he’s trying to—his desperate limbs can’t latch on properly, and he inevitably snaps it down the middle. You discard it and he’s instantly on your breasts, licking and biting as he reaches for the bra clasp. You take it off yourself in fear of him breaking that too. 

His kisses linger on the swell, even when he talks through it. “You don’t know how long”, he gradually raises your skirt to your waist, “I’ve been waiting to touch you like this.” 

Nanami takes a nipple in his mouth, circling it recklessly. He indulges in the parts he’s desired for months, indecent with the tug of his teeth on your bud. A lewd stare, misted and still greedy for seconds. And it’s overwhelming; the constant pounding in your cunt, slobber coating your mound with him groping the other. It’s like he has multiple ravenous hands surrounding you, dancing over every crevice he can manage. Consuming you.  

And when the soft moans begin to leave you again, it’s driving him crazy. He picks you up and flips you to lay on the couch. He doesn’t back off for long, only to shimmy his shirt off and rend the belt from its loops. You forget to remove your own clothes, too busy gawking at the remaining attire—a loose tie, sock suspenders, and black briefs drenched in milky precome. He drops to his knees in a heartbeat, sharing a warm smile. Nanami really is adorable, and you’re facing a whirlwind of emotions from the contrast of his brimming underwear, and the hold that manhandles your legs on either side of his shoulders. 

His brows furrow, agitated with the nylon clinging to what he's lusting after. He grabs the front of them and easily tears it into elastic shreds. He doesn’t apologize this time. You aren’t bothered by it—if anything, it removes some of the pressure from your throbbing muscles. He promptly soothes it, wrapping around your inner thighs to feed his hands into the rips. 

“You’re so soft” he moans against the surface just as he paws it. A sigh and he’s immersing his face in the groove of your pussy, smudging open-mouthed kisses over your sensitive clit. The unfiltered contact sends a thrum through your body, though clamping your legs proves futile. 

“Ah, be patient” you joke, playing with his hair. He doesn’t spare a glance, webbed mess coating his lips, a thread from him to you.  

“Can I eat you? Please?” It comes off more like a formality than an actual question as he nuzzles into you, breathing in with a guttural groan. He slides the soaked cotton halfway, full range to admire your dribbling slit. You can tell he strives to pamper it slow, but Nanami doesn't possess the strength to tease or be composed. 

He treats your pussy as if it’s a separate entity from you, indulging and dragging his tongue in long, flat stripes. Nanami eats you for his own enjoyment, eager like a man starved. Slurping and swilling in loud, gratifying squelches. Low mmf’s vibrate against your arousal, but it’s hard to hear when you’re anchored to his face and he refuses to let go. A desperate tongue drinking your heady scent, oblivious to the honeyed fluids sluicing down his chin. He repeats small, calculated licks and continues to treat your squishy flesh like a pliable stress ball.  

“Fuck, it’s s'good—so, so good.” You learned something new about Nanami today: he can curse. 

Nanami embeds his fingerprints in your skin. Toying with the taste of you, stopping to swirl the relentless appendage around your swollen clit. The tip of his nose does part of the job for him. Your utmost efforts rely on the yank of his scalp, knot after knot collecting in a burning surge through your quivering abdomen. Cries croak in your throat, unable to emerge while he’s having a personal, filthy make-out session with your pussy. He fits perfect sandwiched between your juicy folds and he’ll make sure you know it. 

“’M so close” you moan. That’s something he does hear, because he instantly holds tighter, all attention directed to the trembling bundle of nerves. Pleasure builds quick, and when your legs start to shake, he takes that as a sign to delve deeper, sucking aggressively through the shudder. Your body caves and you’re reduced to ecstasy, rutting against his mouth with no control. He gladly accepts in kind. “Nanami.” You’re calling for him, and he hums inside, satisfied as he laps at the spasms. 

He comes up for well-deserved air, sweat sheen from his matted hair to the blonde tufts sitting below his bellybutton. Dopey, glossy grin on his face, he shirks out of the tights and places a kiss on the lips he missed so much. You taste yourself on his tongue. Then you feel a finger glide against your syrupy entrance. 

“Nanami, wait.” He peppers kisses down your torso where he returns to his knees.  

“I have to make sure you can take me, baby.” Another grazes, soaking in your essence with a few languid drags. One dips inside, quickly finding a home in your gooey walls. Tiny aftershocks mimic the slow drawl of a curling finger and you’re keening.  

“Mm, too much.” 

“I’m sorry.” He pumps a tolerable, sopping stretch. Adding a finger, “Be a good girl, okay?” 

You’re clinging to him, sucking him in hopes for more. Your pussy greedily eats it up despite the overstimulated smolder, a melting thump thump that contracts around him. He’s twisting his fingers in a c-shape, looking for little hints that he’s in the right direction, and you’re giving him everything he needs.  

His tender, loving stare settles on you. Lapping at your clit and pumping your g-spot while you succumb to the hazy pressure thawing your head. You’re melting in a frenzy of cries, simultaneously reeling and pleading for him. Nanami’s determined; imbibing the juices gushing from your vulva and tailing the frenetic buck of your hips. 

“Uh, oh shit, right there” you moan, and he speeds up.  

“Yeah? Right here?” You’re nodding nonsensically, whine peaking. Your back arches and he moves to your breast. “Let it out, darling. I got you. Come on my fingers baby.”  

The second he latches onto the nub you’re rendered silent, mouth shaped in an ‘O’ as you come hard around his fingers. He slows, milking your orgasm for all it has, careless of your shaking legs and tears gathering on your lashes. He pecks the corner of your eye, and you’re too caught up in your own sobs to see him lick his lips. 

“Such a good girl for me.” You’re showered in kisses and he rubs circles on your waist. You blink back the tears, meeting tongue and teeth in a carnal exchange. But you’re craving more, him and nothing else. You palm his erection and he groans. You can see the painful print of his entire cock through his briefs, angry tip peeking out ever-so-slightly. 

“Take it off” you whisper. You watch his eyes flicker, a moment of hesitation—you won’t let him. “Stand up.” 

Nanami obeys your command and quickly stands. You hook under his waistband and yank them off. His thick cock stands at attention, nearly smacking you across the face. It’s a bashful red to base, glazed fat head dribbling precome down his heavy balls. He looks like he’ll unravel at any second. You bring a digit to his balls and it twitches. Dragging it up the veiny shaft, gathering his salty mess to spread it over your held out tongue. He stifles a faint shudder. 

“Baby, let me put the condom on.” At least you didn’t have to worry about bringing your own. You wrap your hand around his head, enough tension to be sure he doesn’t find comfort. You rub a thumb over it and his breaths yield shallow. 

“Hm? Why?” you ask, batting your eyelashes as you deliver a small lick. He hitches. 

“D-don’t.”  

“You don’t wanna feel my mouth?” He bites his lip, probably thinking about your pretty face gagging with a mouthful of him. You know the real reason why he won’t, and it’s rather cute that he’d save his release. 

“I-I do. God, I really do. But I-” 

“But what...?” You swirl it once, and he can’t even handle that.  

“C-condom” he whimpers, almost pleading. “Condom...what?” 

“Condom please. Please.” 

“Go get it.” He makes sheepish haste to his coat, returning with a gold wrapper. He’s about to rip it but you stop him. 

“Give it to me.” You tear it open with your teeth and position it over the head. Rolling it over, pursuing it with tantalizing, soft kisses. You feel him pulsing against your lips until you’ve secured the condom at the base. He swallows dry and his stomach recoils on nothing. You enjoy his needier display. 

“C’mere sweetheart” you tempt, luring his body to loom over you. He pushes your legs back and spreads you wide. “I’ll take it slow.” 

His brows crumble, jaw wedged, angled at your pussy. It’s already soaking him and he hasn’t put it in yet. You do your best to make him ease up, a hand placed over his. But as it dips into you, Nanami’s chewing his lip, going haggard before it ever started. He stops completely, an effort to compose himself even when he’s growing stiff and melty at merely the tip.  

“Just g-give me a second” he stammers, and you stay still while he slides the first inch into your creamy, chubby cunt. Stretching and clenching around him in a sappy sluice, he has to pause again, quivering in place. “Fuck-“  

Nanami moves a few inches and his hearts beating out of his chest. Foggy, sensual weight sticks to the edges of his brain and coils in his leaden sack.  

“I-I don’t know if…” A mouthwatering, snug fit, pulling him deeper. He’s grinding the rest in, but every time he gets a little further his throat bobs and he tenses. You’re molding to his length, encapsulating him in squelching fire, and he’s never felt anything like it in his life. Once he’s flush with you, he sighs, beating a fraction of the battle. 

He starts at an agonizing pace. It’s not doing him any favors—now he has to suffer through every sloppy drag, walls committing his veins to memory in a tight, addictive grip. He caresses your face.  

“I’m sorry. Bear w-with me” he whines, and you hold your hand over his. You’re not doing it intentionally, but watching him fall apart is truly a sight to behold—strands glued to his forehead, pussy-whipped fawn eyes lost in your warmth. You guide his fingers to your mouth and deliberately suck on them. Cruel of you, but it’s worth it for his wobbly whimpers, his delirious, thrumming cock. You know he won’t last.  

“No- Haaah, I can’t yet.” His hips lurch, and he holds back yet again. You lock your ankles around his back, giving him no room to fight it. He’s buried deep. “It’s okay, Ken. You can come.”  

Ken. Nanami loses it on the spot, coming instantly in a string of curses and delicate moans.  

“Shit- oh my god. Baby- oh, haa-ah-“ he cries, but his other thoughts spill out of him in soupy babbles. His movements stutter and you still milk him dry. He’s throwing his head back shaking and you gently massage his waist until he comes down. It takes some time.  

“You okay?” You feel him half-flaccid inside, and he’s panting on the shell of your ear.  

“I’m sorry” You brush the hair from his face.  

“Don’t be sorry about anything.” You kiss his forehead when suddenly your legs are being forced back.  

“Wanna keep going” he says, a hint of drool at the corner of his mouth.  

“Take a breather first.” He’s stuck in the irrational corners of his thoughts—every waking idea engulfed in the thought of you. He’s mumbling to himself, beginning to swing his discordant hips again. His voice cracks, body pushed past overexertion.  

“Call me Ken” he whimpers, sticky squelches meeting your bodies in a tangled, milky net.  

“Ken” you whisper, a flirtatious tint in your tone. He’s entranced by you. You’re touching foreheads, and he shamelessly mewls like a slut in your ear through every gooey plap.  

“How long have you liked me?”  

“Since we’ve m-met” he drones, finding a sopping rhythm. “I was scared. I thought- ah- you might not like me.”  

“So, you’ve been waiting for this?”  

“F-fuck, yeah. Ah- feels so good. Even better than my dreams” he prattles.  

You cup his face. “You dream of me?”  

“Uh-huh. Makin’ a mess of this pretty pussy. It’s so much better. So, so fucking good.”  

“Hold on.” He leans on the couch, legs bent on either side of you as he positions you like a pretzel.  

“Need it” he moans, slathered in your cuddly embrace. He’s hardening again, quick, and already skirting an addictive torture.  

He pulls out and drives his sack flush. It knocks the wind out of you, and you claw his back as he fucks with reckless abandon.  

Slurring a plethora of unhinged ‘more’s, he pistons inside, base to head, ass rippling against his savage thrusts. Every vast, violent stroke sends an intoxicating burn to your sweltering cervix. A while film bubbles at his sack where he’s pummeling, jaw slack and doe-eyed.  

Your toes curl, hypersensitive nerves teased and flipped, ruined by his adamant cockhead kissing your g-spot. You’re stretched past your limits, fluttering helplessly around him. His corrupted smile curves against your neck bursting with need.  

“Taking me so well, darling. I might come. C-can-hah-can I baby? Can I come for you?” He’s impossibly fast, funneling whines and nasty slaps. The rabid force bangs the couch against the wall and you’re at his mercy.  

“Mhm, g-go ahead Ken.” Waves of white-hot pleasure fizzle and spark on your skin, and you’re putty with the weight of him bouncing you.  

“Thank you, t-thank you-you’re so good t-to me.” He’s ragged, plummeting to the hilt. Your spasms sap him as he trembles, succumbing to your own orgasm. He grapples heavy, mean strokes, sticky laces bonding his tightening balls. Then he sobs, quaking until he comes.  

He doesn’t pull out. You’re both quiet for a while. On a descent, simply delighting in the comfortable silence. You join in another smooch.  

“(Y/N).”  

“Hm?”  

“Merry Christmas.” You glance at the time; way past midnight. He meets your gaze. After everything you did, you’re worried over one question.  

“Can we get to know each other?”  

He smiles, a kiss to your neck.  

“I would love to.” 

© mooishbeam - please don't steal, copy, or post my work to other platforms :)

[gilbertscurls]

Tutu Day ➵ Matt Sturniolo

summary: matt dresses up in a tutu just because your daughter asks him

inspired by

The living room was a whirlwind of color and laughter as your Matt’s three-year-old daughter, Luna, bounced around in her favorite pink tutu. The sparkle in her eyes was contagious, and her excitement filled the room with a joyous energy. She had been adamant all week about having a special “tutu day,” and today was finally the day.

You watched from the couch, your heart swelling with love and amusement. You had anticipated the moment when Luna would ask Matt to join in on the fun. You were prepared for the laughter and the chaos that was sure to follow.

Luna tugged on Matt’s hand, her little face set with determination. “Daddy, you wear a tutu too!”

Matt, who had been trying to balance a stack of blocks while simultaneously monitoring Luna’s playtime, looked down at her in surprise. “A tutu?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, Daddy! You wear a tutu! It will be so fun!” Luna insisted, her eyes wide with hope.

Matt glanced at you, while you were trying your best to stifle your giggles. You gave him an encouraging nod, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “Alright, Luna. I’ll wear the tutu.”

Luna’s face lit up, and she clapped her hands in delight. “Yay!”

You quickly retrieved a sparkly, pink tutu from the closet. Matt took a deep breath, preparing himself for the spectacle. He stepped into the tutu, pulling it up around his waist with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. The fluffy pink fabric settled around him, and he looked at you, seeing you were now fully laughing.

Matt adjusted the tutu, trying to make himself look somewhat comfortable. “How do I look?”

Luna’s eyes widened in pure joy as she ran up to him. “You look amazing, Daddy!” She spun around in her own tutu, mimicking ballet moves with adorable clumsiness. “Let’s dance!”

Matt grinned, his nerves melting away as he saw the sheer happiness on Luna’s face. He took her small hands in his, and they started twirling around the living room. Despite the awkwardness of the tutu, Matt found himself laughing and enjoying the moment. Luna’s laughter was infectious, and he couldn’t help but get caught up in the fun.

You watched from the sidelines, capturing the heartwarming scene on your phone. You knew that moments like these were fleeting but precious. Seeing Matt so willingly participate in Luna’s fantasy made your love for him even stronger.

“Look at you, Daddy! You’re the best!” Luna cheered, her enthusiasm unwavering.

Matt chuckled, giving Luna a gentle lift and spinning her around. “Anything for you, sweetheart. Just remember, this tutu is not becoming a regular part of my wardrobe.”

Luna giggled, giving him a quick hug. “I love you, Daddy.”

Matt’s heart melted as he hugged her back, the tutu’s fluffiness adding a playful touch to the embrace. “I love you too, Luna. And I’m glad we had this tutu day.”

As they danced and played, you joined in, your laughter mingling with theirs. The room was filled with love and happiness, a perfect snapshot of family joy. Matt might have felt silly in the tutu, but in Luna’s eyes, he was the hero of the day.

When the laughter finally settled and the tutu day came to a close, you and Matt cuddled on the couch with Luna nestled between you. Despite the initial awkwardness, Matt knew that the day would be one of those cherished memories you would look back on fondly.

You looked at him with a loving smile. “You were amazing today. Thank you for making Luna’s day special.”

Matt smiled, resting his head against yours. “It was worth it. Seeing her that happy… It’s all that matters.”

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom

[pearlymel]

"I'll take care of you."

Synopsis: a supposedly romantic dance led to you pushing him down on the sofa.

Warnings: aventurine x afab! reader, reader wears a skirt, NSFW handjob, sub aventurine, 1.2k words —☆

This is a request by @lixhizy

A dance was what you requested for tonight. And to think he was ready to spend on you, all you asked for tonight's date was a romantic dance.

One hand slides around your waist, while the other grasps your hand, holding it aloft. He starts to sway gently, pulling you into a smooth dance. Your arms were around his neck, swaying gently with him to the sounds of soft and slow music in the background while looking deeply into his eyes.

"You have the prettiest shades of colours in your eyes." You whisper next to his ear while giggling, your fingers twirling with his blonde hair strands.

A hint of pink coloured his cheeks at your sudden compliment, and be pulls you closer, “And you’ve got the prettiest laugh,” he counters, his gaze fixated on your face. “Like music to my ears,” he continues on, spinning you around so your back is pressed against his chest. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you close as he continues the dance.

“You’re just radiating this glow right now, you know that?” his voice is low and smooth. You turn your head to look at him, “you're so cheeky.”

“i love teasing you.” he admits, laughing as he threw his head back and you shake your head while also chuckling to yourself.

“yeah? Same here.” Your voice take a lower tone, swaying your hips back against him before turning around to face him again, your body pressed completely against his which catches him off guard for a minute.

Aventurine lets out a small groan when you continue to purposely rub your body to the rhythm of the music, “two can play at that game, my love.”

You give him a sultry gaze, eyes low when you take his arms before pushing him back on the sofa, making him scoff out a chuckle at the messed up state he was in.

Messy hair. Ruined clothes.

Aventurine grins up at you when you straddle his lap, his hands immediately grasping your hips and holding you in place. “And here I thought I was the one in control,” he teases, his voice a soft drawl as his eyes roam over your form, taking in the sight of you on top of him.

The fabric of your skirt has ridden up, revealing more of your thighs, and he can’t help but let his hands wander up them, feeling the soft flesh in the palm of his hands.

“Nope.” Your fingers wander around his collar, giving it a tug before crashing your lips together, although still maintaining that slow pace. Meanwhile Aventurine responds instantly, letting out a soft moan while kissing you back with a deep, passionate fervor. His tongue slips into your mouth when he squeezes your ass, taking advantage of your parted lips.

“My pretty little thing that I’m gonna spoil tonight.” he leaves your swollen lips to start peppering light kisses along your neck, but you stop him before he could continue, “now, now, as much as i love the idea. I'd like to be in control tonight.”

He groans at that, “you always steal my fun,” he mutters, though still playfully.

He glances up at you from your neck, a small smirk on his lips. “But I suppose I can’t deny you when you look so beautiful sitting in my lap like this,” he says, his hands roaming over your now exposed thighs.

Aventurine lets out a small gasp when he can feel you start grinding against him, and he lets out a low needy moan. He pulls you closer, his hips instinctively bucking up against you as he buries his head into your neck, trying to regain his composure but failing miserably.

“you're so good to me,” you tease this time, fingers finding his strands again to weave through them. “You know what those words do to me.” he pushes you down further onto his lap, his hips rolling against yours in a firm, slow motion. “Trying to get a rise out of me already, aren’t you?”

You look down at his almost drunken expression, how cute, you think. “Already so hard, baby?”

Aventurine grumbles again, and man did he look so embarrassed at this moment but he doesn't stop rolling his hips against yours, another soft groan escaping his lips. “You feel what you’re doing to me? How aching I am already?” His eyes flick up to meet yours, and he's almost pouting, “Are you happy now?”

“Extremely.” You hum back, your hands working on slowly sliding his pants off, and he lifts his hips up, allowing you to pull them down. “Pretty.” You comment. Your fingers trailed over the bulge in his boxers, a smile playing on your lips when you could feel the heat and the pulsating warmth through the fabric, and you knew he was eager for your touch.

Slowly, you slid your hand inside his boxers, and your fingers wrapped around his hardness. “Sweet talker,” he mumbled before his breathing hitched when your hand began to move in slow, gentle strokes, gliding over the head and down the shaft with your thumb rubbing over the sensitive tip with each motion. Aventurine let out a soft moan, his hands gripping at his empty sides of the sofa.

“Ah, f-fuck,” he stuttered once you finally pulled his boxer briefs down, the sight of him, fully erect, you took a moment to admire the length and girth before your thumb teasingly traced the vein that ran along the underside of his shaft, the head of his cock twitching in response.

Your hand continued to stroke his cock, your grip firm and steady while his breathing grew heavier, his face buried into your neck to pant and moan into your ear while his hips slowly thrusted up to meet your hand, seeking more friction.

"You like that, don't you, baby?” You smirk when he whined in return, clearly enjoying the power you had over him in this moment.

You continued to pump his cock, your other hand reaching down to cup his balls, and his free hand grabbed at your arm when you started rolling them gently in your palm, feeling them tighten as his arousal grew.

Aventurine's head fell back against the sofa, his eyes closed in bliss. His chest heaved with each breath, his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. You could tell he was getting close, his cock throbbing in your hand, his balls drawing up tight.

You increased the speed of your strokes, your hand a blur as it moved up and down his shaft. Aventurine's hips bucked wildly, his moans growing louder, more desperate. And you could feel his cock twitching, his body tensing as he teetered on the edge of climax.

“it's okay, make a mess.” Your low voice ringed in his ears, and his arms covered his face. With a final, brutal stroke, Aventurine came with a needy call of your name, stream after stream of hot, sticky fluid erupting, coating your hand and his stomach.

His body shuddered as he came down from his high, you released his spent cock, watching as it twitched with the aftershocks of his climax. His chest heaved, his face flushed when he moved his arms to peek at your smug expression, earning him a soft peck to his lips.

“how was that?”

he leaned to the side, his fingers running through his hair to try and act unbothered, “cute. I'm cutting your monthly allowance off.”

You gasp, “but my gacha addiction!”

[moonstruckme]

Hey! I LOVE the comic you posted of the reader going to a club pre-relationship! I was wondering if you could write a part 2 to that of all of them going to a club together. With some jealousy, like when the reader goes to the bathroom on her way back she is getting flirted with by a random guy and the marauders reaction. Feel free to ignore

(Also I adore you comic that make my day every time I have re-read all of them at least 3 times!)

Hi lovely, thank you so much ! This took me forever to get to sorry, hope you enjoy it <3

part 1

cw: alcohol, unwanted/nonconsensual touch

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Your shriek cuts through the loud music, and you turn to Remus with an open-mouthed grin. 

“This is my favorite song!” you shout. 

He laughs. In the past half hour, four songs have been your favorite. “Yeah?” he asks. 

You nod happily, throwing your hands above your head as you spin. You’re tipsy twirly, surprisingly sprightly considering you’ve downed enough shots to get Remus hammered, and he’s got several inches on you and has been drinking since he was thirteen. 

Sirius is in a similar state. Remus and James have been steering the two of you around for most of the night, but now James has put himself in charge of crisis prevention, playing goalie between either of you and the bar. 

“Oh be fun, Prongsie,” Sirius wheedles after getting spun around by the shoulders for the upteenth time. “I know you can be fun.” 

“I am fun,” James agrees. “I have my most fun when I’m not cleaning up your vomit. Go dance with y/n.” 

You’re game for this plan, giving Sirius an enticing smile and moving your hips to the music in a way that makes Remus’ mouth go completely dry. He knows he’s not the only person in this club who’s noticed, but thankfully the little circle the four of you have made in the dance floor stays clear of intruders. Thus far, your prediction has proved correct; no other men have come up to you with your roommates around. He’s not particularly distraught about it. 

You seem oblivious to your own allure, laughing when Sirius hurries toward you like a called puppy. You take his hands, letting him twirl you around and then holding your arms up to twirl him in return, and at the chorus, you both jump around so that your hair flies all about. Your laughter is loud and sparkling. Remus sips his drink, entranced. 

There are two more favorite songs before you careen towards him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He hastily grips you by the elbow, wary of a fall, but you seem to have done this intentionally. You beam up at him, your smile lopsided and far less shy than anything he’s ever seen from you. 

“M’gonna go to the toilet,” you tell him, one word leading into the next like they’ve been sloppily tied together with string. 

“Oh, okay.” Of its own volition, Remus’ hand coasts up the back of your upper arm, then down to your elbow again. “Do you think you’re gonna be sick, honey?” 

Your face screws up as if this is taboo to mention. “What? No.” You make a funny pffting sound. “I’m miles off from that, I’m fantastic, it’s just,” you lower your voice, expression turning grave, “I think it’s time to break the seal,” you tell him meaningfully. 

This time it’s entirely intentional, but he also can’t help it. You’re just too cute. Remus sets his hand on the top of your head affectionately, grinning at you. “Alright, love, sounds good.” He looks around for the women’s bathroom, locating it a short distance away. “Want one of us to go with and wait outside for you?” It’s not like he can’t see it from here, but a girl as intoxicated as you probably shouldn’t be going anywhere by herself. 

“No, no, I’ve got it,” you say, patting his chest lightly. “Back soon.” 

It’s like you’ve disappeared into a mist, the way you fade into the crowd so quickly. It takes Remus a moment to spot the top of your head moving towards the bathroom. You turn around just before you go in, giving him a dazzling smile paired with a dorky thumbs-up. 

“Where’d she go?” James asks, holding his drink aloft while Sirius grabs for it. “And what has made you smile like that, Moony?” 

Remus makes a dismissive sound, but he feels his face heat as he takes a long sip of his own drink. James’ grin widens. 

“Ooh,” Sirius catches on. “What’d she say to you?” 

“Nothing. She’s gone to the toilet.”

Sirius’ kohl-rimmed eyes bulge, and James laughs, following his train of thought immediately. “Did she ask you to follow her? I didn’t think that was your style, you rake.” 

Remus rolls his eyes. “You’re depraved.” 

It’s not long before you reappear, catching Remus’ eye on your way out of the bathroom like you knew he’d be looking. You give him another of those heart-stuttering smiles and head his way, weaving your way through the crowd with a drunken expertise. 

A happy glow of anticipation starts up in his chest, but you’re intercepted on the way. Another head, taller, steps in front of you, blocking Remus’ view. He cranes his neck, but he can’t see you. 

He must make some sound or simply be emanating discontent, because James is back at his side in an instant. “What’s wrong?” 

“Someone’s talking to her. I can’t see her anymore.” He sounds ridiculous, like an overprotective douche, but he can’t imagine one can be too cautious when a drunk girl is surrounded by guys in a place like this. Remus is being purely practical. 

“Let’s go get her.” James is on board immediately, taking Sirius by the elbow and beginning to bulldoze his way through the crowd. Sirius grabs Remus’ hand just before the gap closes behind them, dragging him along. 

Remus hears you before he sees you. 

“Really, I appreciate it, but I’m not looking for anything.” Your voice sounds slightly tight, and Remus knows you well enough to tell by the sound of it that you’re giving whoever you’re talking to one of your big, fake smiles. 

A man’s voice says, low and sure, “You don’t mean that—” and that’s as far as he gets, because you interrupt to exclaim, with no small amount of relief, “My friends!” 

“Hi, sweetheart,” James says, and you’re right in front of them. You’ve cleaned up your makeup in the bathroom, the eyeliner that had transferred sweatily under your eyes now pristine again, and your smile is indeed giant and thin-lipped as you look between them and the man in front of you, subtly flaring your eyes. He reads the look clearly: Help, please!

Remus looks you over. The man has his hands on your hips and one of yours is around his wrist, a cautious touch. Sirius takes care of that quickly, wrapping his forefinger and thumb around the wrist closest to him and removing it like it’s a piece of trash he found on the street. 

“Do you two know each other?” Remus asks. Without permission, his voice comes out gruff and accusatory. 

“No,” you say speedily, taking a step towards Sirius. Towards them. “I was just on my way back to you guys, actually.” 

“We were talking.” The man looks between the three of them scrutinously, like they’re threats. Remus doesn’t hate the thought of being a threat to this guy. 

“Sounded like you were done talking, mate.” James smiles easily. You’d have to really know him to hear the sharpness in his tone. 

Sirius snakes an arm around your waist, but you don’t shy from the bold touch. In fact, you lean into him, your smile slowly beginning to resemble the genuine article. “Wanna get another drink, baby?” Sirius asks you, gaze salacious. 

“Mhm.” You bob your head eagerly, and he leads you off, James and Remus following. “Thanks for the help,” you tell them as soon as you’re away. “He didn’t, like, do anything, but it was a bit intimidating.” 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” James replies, expression going a bit stormy now that he’s done feigning lightness. “And I wouldn’t say he didn’t do anything, he shouldn’t have put his hands on you like that.” 

“It’s whatever,” you wave it off so easily Remus’ heart gives a little throb. “What’re we drinking?” 

“Oh, that was a ploy,” Remus says. “We’re done drinking, remember?” 

You pout, and Sirius hugs your side sympathetically (entirely for your benefit, Remus is certain). “You mean we’re done,” he sneers. “You and Prongs get to have however much you want. Who made you king of the beer?” 

“I think you did, actually,” Remus says thoughtfully. “At Mary’s New Year’s party, remember?” 

Sirius sniffs, presumably because he does not.

[iloveaustinelvisandmannymore]

Hi love can you please write a male Wednesday whos obsessive and like his father towards reader

Not far from the tree

Pairing: Male Wednesday addams x reader.

Wednesday Addams, son of Gomez and Morticia Addams. A man who only felt joy if he ever had such emotion when he tortured the unfortunate souls he deemed worthy and who despised love, had fallen. You weren't Addams material, he observed, his empty, soulless eyes bored into you as you talked to your friends.

He didn't like them, he liked them dead for talking to his love. Elegant and graceful like normal, Wednesday walked up to you, the previous conversation was immediately stopped as your friends noticed him, his mere presence commanding silence. "My love. " he greeted plainly and grabbed your hand, his eyes boring into the leader of your friend group, almost daring them to speak up "I will be taking her. I hope you don't mind." Wednesday didn't give them time to reply as he stalked away, in dragging with you.

"Have I told you that I hate your friends?" He asked, his fingers tapping away on his old typewriter. "Plenty," you giggled, watching him affectionately from his bed. Wednesday was facing away from you, but you could see a hint of pink in his normally deadly pale cheeks. A comfortable silence settled between you two.

Wednesday despised the feeling of excitement or any other strong emotion, but seeing you so enthusiastic about the upcoming prom and all the fun things you could do together, he couldn't help but feel a tiny smile form on his lips. It made him almost happy to see you happy.

For you, Wednesday would do anything, even dressing up In a suit and tie that matched the color of your outfit, for your happiness Wednesday would do anything. He'd walk through hell, purgatory, and heaven just to see a smile on his Mi alma lips.

The plastic cup creaks under Wednesday's grip as he watches you dance with the leader of your little buddies, it was honestly pathetic that your friend called that dancing. Taking one last sip of the bland fruit punch, Wednesday sat his drink on the table and walked to you.

"May I cut in?" he asked, his coal-black eyes piercing into your friend's soul. "Uh, yeah, sure," they replied nervously before quickly making their way off the dance floor.

"You didn't have to scare them, you know," you giggled as you placed your hand on his shoulder and intertwined your fingers with his.

"How can I not?" he hummed, twirling you in a spin before dipping you.

"You're mine."

[megumiluvv]

Yuji comes home from school one day with a flier for a “mother-son” dance at his preschool. Choso knows how badly Yuji wants to do these events and feels sad that he can’t really dance with his mother.

“You want to do this, Yuji?” He asks his little brother.

“Yeah, but… no mom.” The defeat in his voice makes Choso’s heart shatter.

He texts you and begs you to go to the dance with Yuji.

I will pay you extra or something, please do this for Yuji.

Relax, Choso, I’d love to do this dance for Yuji.

You smile the day of the dance in a nice dress, and Yuji’s all cute and dressed up in a tiny suit.

“Oh, is this my handsome dance partner?” You smile and wave goodbye to the speechless Choso who hasn’t really seen you in a dress before.

You get to the dance venue and see Gojo’s doctor friend dancing with Megumi. You smile as Yuji runs excitedly to his friend and you talk with Shoko.

“So, you and Choso?” Shoko grins.

“Ah, not exactly, just a favor for him, I guess…”

“Yeah, I’m doing a favor for Satoru.” She sips the drinks offered for the dance and goes to dance with Megumi again.

You dance with Yuji and he’s having the time of his life, it’s a little heartbreaking. To think he’s never gotten to have these opportunities before because his mother died when he was a baby, it’s saddening and it makes you want to be there for every mother’s event you can.

You help Yuji slow dance and he grins up at you. He tries to spin you and the two of you just have a great time.

On the way home, you and Yuji stop for ice cream.

“Did you have fun?” You ask Yuji.

“This has been the most funnest night!” He grins excitedly.

“I’m glad, I had fun too.” You laugh.

“You did?”

“Mhm, had a really great night with you.”

Yuji pokes at his ice cream and seems a little hesitant to say something.

“…I wish you were my actual mom…” Oh.

You pick up Yuji and head home with him. “I’ll be your mommy anytime for events like this, okay?”

“…Promise?”

“Of course I do! You’re such a sweet kid, Yu. I love you as if you were my child.” You rub his back and continue walking to the apartments.

As you walk into Choso’s apartment, Yuji’s asleep in your arms, and Choso smiles to you two.

“Have fun?” He smiles as you lay Yuji down.

“He said this was the funnest night he’s had. Did you miss us?” You smile.

“Only a little.” Choso laughs and goes into the kitchen with you. “I genuinely owe you.”

“I enjoyed it. I want to do more things like that. I told Yuji I’d be his mom for any of those events.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He told me that he wished I was his actual mom, it was pretty heartbreaking.”

Choso’s expression softens and he glances at Yuji’s room.

“Yeah, it’s sad that he never got to know our parents. But to be fair, I never got to do those dances either.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I guess I wasn’t top priority for our mom…”

You frown and pull up some slow dance music on your phone and hold your hand out to him. He tilts his head.

“What’s that for?”

“Dance with me.”

Choso feels a flutter in his chest and takes your hand. The two of you slow dance in the kitchen, the moon lighting up your face and hair in the most perfect ways. He’s a little stumbly with his movements, but he gets the hang of it and twirls you.

The two of you dance through most of the night and you fall asleep, Choso laying you on his bed because he refuses to let you sleep on the uncomfortable couch. He stays up the rest of the night and keeps an eye on you and checks on Yuji occasionally.

He wouldn’t mind if you were Yuji’s mother figure, as long as he gets to be the father.

Masterlist