#they probably stand above that but come on

[poguehearted77]

Tap Out

Just thinking about Rafe's super gorgeous, beautifully breathtaking girlfriend who is notorious for giving people a hard time. Especially him.

She got that million dollar Million dollar oow, oow And all I want to do is touch it Make her tapout, tapout, tapout, tapout,

Rafe stands tall and brooding in front of the bed where you sat while he hits replay on the overbearing series of voicemails you'd left him while he was out.

"Hi Rafe, I know you said you and Barry had to go take care of whatever it was that you said—I don't know; I wasn't really listening, but I just saw this new coach bag online, and I need you to send me a picture of your credit card front and back so I can get it. Thanks in advance baby."

You stay silent and unbothered by the replay.

He plays the next one, "It's almost midnight, Rafe. When are you coming home? I miss you. The bed is so big and empty without you in it. You remember that night we came back from the Blue Diamond charity gala and we barely made it up the stairs? The way you fucked me so good, left me aching for you for days--mmmm, wanna feel you like that again, come home Rafeyy."

Your boyfriend huffs as he moves to play the last one except this one is silent for the first few moments until some lewd sounds can be picked up. It's wet and sticky. It sounds like Thanksgiving mac and cheese being stirred in the pot. Soon, the faintest string of moans can be heard.

Most wouldn't be able to pick up on it, but not Rafe. His ears are trained to the sound of your voice. He's accustomed to every pitch, tone and frequency your pleasure can take on.

You stand, ready to plead your case, "You were gone for hours, what was I supposed to do?" Your arms cross defensively and they suddenly drop when Rafe's big hand is holding you by the throat, squeezing tight enough to have you gasping.

"You think this shit is funny?" His voice is strict, unwavering and serious. "What if Barry heard this? Huh?" Your eyes roll, defences refusing to crumble even with a limited supply of air, "It's Barry, he'd probably thank me-"

You need to learn when to shut up at the end of a rhetorical question because now Rafe had you bent up like a pretzel. One hand is still around your neck while the other holds you at the waist.

Your legs are shaking as he brings you to what you thought was your third orgasm but is actually the fourth (you'd blacked out during the second one). "Rafe- no- s'too much," You murmur, voice broken and weak from all your screams.

"Nothin's too much for you." He groans, punctuating his sentences with a sharp snap of his hips. It sends you reeling and your eyes roll back as you feel that familiar heat begin to unfurl in your core.

You shake your head repeatedly, "I can't--Rafe! Please." You beg, so incredibly turned on by the sight of your hot boyfriend who looked down to where your bodies connected. The way your slick covered his cock down to his balls. It pulls a groan out of him from his core.

You admired the sweat that gathered over the thin hairs on his chest and that piercing blue gaze that would glance up at you from time to time to taunt you like now. "You know what to do if you can't take it sweet thing." You do know what to do, but you refuse to back down, you're so close.

"O-oh shit I'm-" The words escape and your climax is stolen from you when Rafe stops completely and pulls out, his hands move down to your hips, shamelessly displaying his physical dominance over you and flipping you onto your stomach effortlessly.

He grips the flesh of your waist and manhandles you until you're being pulled back against him, the beautiful sight of your plump and juicy ass in his hands is enough to send him to the heavens above or maybe the firey pits below.

You're already too weak to hold yourself up on your arms, so you let yourself fall into the sheets. Your cries muffled into the pillows as Rafe slowly presses back into you, stretching you back open. His rhythm picks up with nothing but urgency and mercilessness.

Your back arches, and you cry out his name when you're blinded by your own orgasm. Coming undone once more and he comes soon after with a breathy chuckle. His hips are still rolling into yours lethargicly when he whispers, "You got one more in you, baby?"

"Fuck no. I'm done." You whine, your fists tapping out on the pillow and his pace slows until he finally stops, slowly pulling out.

"That'll teach you to fuck with my voicemails when I'm not here." He lays himself down beside you, carefully moving the stray strands of hair out of your face to admire you.

Your lips were swollen from all the sucking and biting he'd done to them earlier, your cheeks flushed and your body is spent. You grin, "You know you liked it, especially that last one." Rafe exhaled, even in your drained state you can still find time to be bratty.

"I did, I did. You sounded so fucking pretty playing with that perfect pussy of yours. Had to go rub one out in Barry's bathroom because of you." You smile a little bigger at that. "Good." Is all you say and Rafe can only roll his eyes as he moves to hold you in his arms.

You both lay there, enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies until Rafe speaks up softly, "Tuesday." He says, and your head looks up at him with a confused tilt. Without having to ask him, he explains, "The purse you want. I ordered it. It'll be here on Tuesday."

Just when your smile couldn't get any bigger, it does, and Rafe can't help but to be in awe because god you're so fucking gorgeous but you're such a pain in the ass.

His prettiest headache.

[blood-smiles]

𝐇𝐈𝐉𝐎 𝐃𝐄 𝐋𝐀 𝐋𝐔𝐍𝐀࣪ ִֶָ☾✴︎˚｡⋆

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 - MDNI TW!! suggestive thoughts and actions coming from yandere . yandere character . defo unprofessional behavior from reader . TO BE CONTINUED!!

╰┈➤ the white flashing of your camera lit up the room, capturing a perfect moment in time inside your device.

Scrolling through the pictures with your thumb, you nodded wordlessly at the various pictures. Perfect and beautiful.

Just how you liked it.

Packing up your gear, you decided it was time you went home, you were tired. Really tired from taking so many pictures, you felt a migraine coming from a mile away.

The soft patter of rain met your eardrums, letting you know it was drizzling and would probably last for a while.

You walked slowly, umbrella in hand, staring at the moon above while rubbing the sides of your head. The soft crashing of the waves hitting the rocks nearby.

Plugging in your headphones and playing some soft music while you walked to your house.

You counted the stars in the sky as you walked along the beach.

“ ♪ Luna quieres ser madre?.. y no encuentras querer que te haga mujer, dime Luna de plata.. Que pretendes hacer con un niño de piel.. ah-ah-ah-ah, ah-ah-ah-ah.. Hijo de la luna.. ♪ “

You came to a stop, seeing a taller (wo)man (?) leaning against the railing, strange that they were out so late. It was so dark already, what could they possibly be doing out here, in the rain of all places?

Their heterochromatic eyes gazed up at the sky too. Their face solemn and distracted, the rain pouring down over their head and back, their light blue—almost white, wavy hair dampened and forming beautiful coils.

They were so pretty, looking like an angel under the moonlight.. Were your spidey senses tingling right now? You just felt like you should approach them.

“Excuse me.” You interrupted softly, holding out your umbrella over their head, stopping the rain from dampening them even more.

“..What?” Oh, they had a deep voice.. you were caught off guard, they had very feminine traits and flowing long hair, so you just kind of assumed..

“Here.” You handed him your umbrella, which he accepted hesitantly, his hand shaking as he held the handle of the umbrella.

His eyes snapped towards your face, looking deeply into your eyes, looking for a sign of deceit or malice, but only finding kindness and genuine empathy.

His cheeks flushed a little, his ears turning red as he admired your features… how would it feel like if he ran his tongue along your cheek?—What. What was he thinking?!

His fingers slightly grazed your own, sending shivers down his vertebrae and sending his heart into overdrive. 

Snatching the umbrella, holding it close to his chest as he stepped back a little.

“You know, I hope this doesn’t sound creepy but, you’re stunning— You should try modeling! Who knows, maybe one day I’ll photograph you.” 

You joked lightly, putting your hands above your head to shield yourself from the water.

His free hand shakily lifted to cover the bottom portion of his mouth, pupils blown wide as he stumbled back a little. 

..That was the cutest interaction he had ever had up to this point in his entire life. That bashful smile— The twinkle in your (e/c) eyes— everything about you had him in a trance!

“G-Get lost!” He yelled, tightening his hold around the umbrella and running away, his heart beating in his ears, heart swelling and feeling the wings of a swarm of butterflies nicking his guts.

You were left standing under the rain, rethinking your wording and kicking yourself in the stomach  internally for scaring off a potential client.

And… that was the last time you saw him, or so you thought.

Oblivious to you, he just ran off because his heart was in over drive and might have exploded from a cuteness attack.

He glanced down at your umbrella, his eyes zeroing in on the small writing on the handle, ‘Y/n L/n’? That was the name of the cute idiot he met?

Looking up the name all results showed up, your face everywhere! He shakily touched your “face”,  staring into your eyes for an alarming amount of time.

A famous photographer, huh?.. He thought about what you said.. A model? Him? Well, wouldn’t hurt to try.

3 years later…──★ ˙📷 ̟ !!

You had been hired, a big shot model was coming to your studio to get some magazine pictures done.

You opened the models portfolio, checking out some news about him too, he had gone viral lately. 

“Son of the moon’? Huh, interesting.” You mumbled, taking in the model’s proportions, his face rung a bell in your brain. But as hard as you tried to get your synapses to connect, you just couldn’t form a coherent memory..

‘Mikhail White’ …

You chalked it up to seeing him in magazines or social media.

Putting the portfolio aside, your feet pushed you off the ground , walking over to your setup and making minor tweaks to your studio while you waited leisurely

“(Y/n), they’re here.” The voice of your assistant interrupted your movement, nodding your head you put your hands over your professional camera and looped it over your neck.

You stepped back, letting the makeup artist enter with their big box of makeup supplies, then came in the manager of the model, eyes sharp and analytical as she clasped her clipboard in her arm.

And finally, the model entered. The star of the show, Mikhail, A pretty average sized person, for a model, that is. He stopped in front of you, staring you down with those uniquely colored eyes.

You got that feeling again, was it Deja vu, perhaps? Their eyes hit a chord in you, yeah. You had seen them before.. Just where?

“Welcome, thank you for hiring me.” You smiled warmly, turning your gaze to the manager, extending your hand out for a friendly handshake.

The woman scoffed softly, shaking her head “No thank you, I don’t do handshakes.” The tall woman gently replied, although it sounded more like a mother scolding her child.

“O…Okay.” You laughed nervously, letting your hand begin to drop to your side.

“Thank you for having me here, (Y/n).” The model suddenly spoke, gently taking your hand and shaking it before it could totally fall.

“Oh, um. Yeah, for sure!” Taken off guard you reciprocated the hand shake before letting go, his hand not letting go completely.

You pulled your hand free with a soft tug, turning to sit down on your chair as you wait for the makeup artist to doll up the male.

You stared at him from a distance, you felt like he had curly hair, but instead were met with silky, straight hair running down his back.

Mikhail was shaking, his hands quivering on his lap as he looked through the mirror on the vanity. He stared at your form through the reflective surface, watching how you scrolled through your phone or opened the portfolio with his pictures.

Did you think he was attractive? Did you like his hair? He decided to try something new for you, he hoped it caught your eye…

He gently bit down on his bottom lip, looking down to let the artist work on his eyeshadow, he wanted to physically recoil from the person’s hands, wishing it was yours instead.

He had worked up to this point for three whole years, all just to be photographed by you, one of the best photographers in the whole industry.

Ever since that night, under the pouring rain, he couldn’t wipe you off his brain, you were like a drug,the image of you gnawing at his sanity. It hurt so good though, so good he couldn’t stop and soon found himself addicted.

You indirectly changed his life, he went from being a pathetic nobody to one of the most popular and influential models of his time, and honestly.. It was all thanks to you, even if you don’t remember him.

Mikhail dressed in a lacy attire, showing off part of his stomach and most of his thighs, his hair decorated with small silver clips and silk bows, beautiful diamond earrings hanging off his ear lobes.

His face sparkled with glitter, long white eyelashes fluttering, his visage was that of perfection. Comparable to an arctic fox nestled in silks and diamonds, you could see why the media called him the ‘son of the moon’ more clearly now.

“Wow, you look beautiful.” You complimented, leading him to the middle of the shot, he looked up at you, not saying anything, however the flush of his ears said different.

Now, if you remembered correctly, the theme was ‘wedding after-party’ although you didn’t know it was going to be this suggestive..? You did agree to it so no backing out anymore, you suppose.

You had something in your mind already so you just ran with it, the manager agreed with your idea too, you expected her to spit in your face and tell you no in all honestly..

He gazed at the camera with a sultry gaze, imagining it was you he was looking at, he did as you asked, allowing you to brush some of his hair or to position his soft strands as you wished.

He peered up at you through his eyelashes, looking almost desperate, leaning into your touch subconsciously. This had been a fantasy of his for a long time, a real wet dream for him.

In fact, he had pressed for the theme to be more suggestive, wanting you to see him in a more intimate scenario.

In the last shots of the session, everyone came to an agreement to put some false cake frosting pieces over Mikhail, leaning more into the wedding cake aspect.

You dipped your hand in the substance, grabbing some in your hands and leaning down to smudge some over his face, dropping some here and there strategically.

You took your camera back in your hands, positioning it perfectly for it to capture the scene’s beauty and allure.

The ice blue haired man bent and arched his body any and all ways you desired, placing his hands on his lap as he took some of the frosting on his finger and brought it up to his mouth, licking it, sending you the most loving and passionate gaze he could muster. 

Wordlessly hinting with just his sharp eyes how much he wanted something other than a few pictures, something that was spelled with four letters, D-A-T-E.

That..wasn’t scripted, but you just went with it and snapped a few pictures. You leaned back in your chair, stretching out the knots in your back and listening to the pops in your spine.

That was the last of the shots, all you need to do now was transfer the pictures to his manager and get a sweet sweet wad of cash back.

You smiled at the thought, sighing pleasantly.

You bid the trio of workers goodbye, although the rosy cheeked model stayed back, approaching you and putting a small piece of paper in your hand shyly.

Right before you were about to say something he shut you up by pecking your cheek gently.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, his voice soft and heartfelt, it was more…intimate, more meaningful than a simple ‘thanks for taking my pic’, he made it sound like you had just swooped in like Superman and saved his life.

He clasped his hand over yours, making sure you kept the paper in your hand as he began leaving hastily, not lingering for a moment more or less.

‘Go out on a date with me..? XXX-XXX-XXXX ♡’

Well shit. Things just got a whole lot interesting.

[everythingspokenfor]

All characters are aged up 18+. MDNI.

━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━

You knew this was a possibility, that's why you took extra precautions, tied the strings so well that you were sure you'll have to cut them at the end of the day. But here you were, contemplating how on earth did this happen...

Mina had finally pulled the entire group into going on a vacation, choosing one of the Okinawa beaches, all of you packed up and came to the private penthouse. The vacation was long overdue, everyone too excited to chill out and relax.

It was all good, friends chilling out eating, drinking and finally relaxing after months of tedious hero work.

You were thoroughly enjoying yourself, even if you had to deal with him. Bakugou and you had a sort of love hate relationship, constantly fighting but still having each other's back. Friends constantly commenting about the thick sexual tension between you both, which left you yelling at them, they weren't wrong tho, not that you would admit outloud.

"Move, Sugar." Bakugou rasps out, hand holding a can of beer, he was shirtless, wet swim trunks sticking to him thighs, tan lines clearly visible on his legs, he was still glossy from playing in the water. Had you hated him any lesser, you would have licked the water off him, alas that thought is something to be revisited in darker hours of the night.

"Go around the towel, dipshit", You retort, going back to lathering yourself up with sunscreen, he snorts, before stepping on your fucking towel and going along.

"Asshole!" You yell at him, whole he continues to laugh at your face. You took in deep breaths, this fucker isn't going to ruin your vacation.

You got back to your sunscreen, before reapplying you lip gloss, you put too much effort into your appearance today. It was a deep maroon two piece, the bottoms had a fabric around it making it seem like a mini skirt, while the top was tied with strings.

As much as you loved the bikini, the top was making you nervous, you had taken every measure to prevent the strings from untying, even kept a spear towel, having heard too many stories of women losing their bikinis in the sea making you paranoid. It was probably also why you hadn't ventured into the ocean yet.

"Gurll- you lookin' cute there." Mina walked up to you, handing you a bright blue concoction, you grinned at her before downing the drink.

"Thanks, babes." You giggled, cheekily winking at her.

"What aren't you getting into waters tho? The weather is pleasant too." She queried, leaning in to steal your gloss. "I am gonna go, just applied sunscreen." You dusted your hands, as you stood up, Mina finished putting on the gloss, tossing the tube in your bag before both of you raced into the waters.

The boys, Kaminari, Kirishima and Sero welcomed you both in with splashes, playing around in waters lasted for a bit, after multiple rounds of chicken fight, Kirishima called Bakugou, asking him to join in.

"Ain't interested in yer shitty games." He yelled back, didn't bother looking at the group.

"Scared you'll lose," Sero provoked him, knowing that with right words he can get Bakugou to do anything.

"Fuck did ya' say?" He grits out, before standing up and charge towards your group, all of you scream before swimming in different directions, trying to not be his first victim.

Adrenaline pumped through your vessels, as you swam to furthest end of the shore, leaning against the big rocks keeping you hidden from the main shore. Breathing hard, you placed a hand on your chest, trying to slow the beating of your heart. Only to come to a horrible realisation that you weren't wearing your bikini top.

You were bare from waist above, frantically you tried looking for you top, hoping to find a maroon cloth lying somewhere, unfortunately you couldn't see anything that could vaguely resemble your bikini.

Panic set in when you realised that from this end of the shore, you can't even go to your spot on the beach, chance of grabbing your towel without being seen by your friends were too thin.

"Caught you!" Bakugou roars as he swims around the rocks, only to be stopped as you let out a yell, turning away from him.

"Stay there, Bakugou!" You barely even stay afloat, hairs shielding your back, while hands crossing over your chest.

"What? You suddenly don't want to play, when I catch you?" He rasps out, slightly curious as to why you wouldn't even turn to face him.

"It's not that." You let out a sigh, contemplating whether it's a good idea or not to ask Bakugou for help, he could potentially swin back and get you a towel.

"What is it then, Sugars?" He is much closer now, you can almost feel him behind you. "My top is lost." You whined out, praying he helps you.

"Sorry, what?!"

"My bikini top is lost, it untied while swimming." You whisper-yell at him, giving him a stink eye over your shoulder. He doesn't reply, instead it goes too quite, you slowly peek over your shoulder, only to lock eyes at Bakugou who is already looking at you.

Infact he was looking slightly below, as if checking whether or not you had the top. "Fucking pervert, I'll beat your ass!" Had your hands not been busy you would have whacked him.

"I am not a fucking pervert, I was thinking."

"Had you thought longer, you would have popped a boner."

"You want my help or not."

You went silent at that, of course you needed his help, especially if you didn't want to flash your friends.

"That's what I thought." He speaks at your silence, his voice a little too smug, "you got spear clothes here?" He queried, swimming back a little to look at your bag by the beach.

"I have a towel in there, it's big enough for me." You answer him over your shoulder, he wasn't looking at you anymore instead he was turned away mostly, head slightly tilted so he could hear you.

"Stay put, I'll get it," he almost start swimming before he turns towards you and says "Try not loosing the bottoms, in the meantime." And off he goes.

You knew just from that comment, he isn't going to let you live it down, you are sure he'll probably end up changing your name to some stupid shit constantly reminding you of today, but at least he is helping.

Everybody had already gone inside, letting Bakugou get you, when he reached where your towel had been laid out, he looked for your bag, not wanting to snoop too much, he got to work, quickly looking into the back to realise that there wasn't any towels in it. For a moment he wondered whether he should gather up your sand towel but decided against it.

He quickly jogged over to his spot at the beach, and grabbed the t-shirt he was wearing earlier, getting back into the ocean, he swam towards the rocks where you were hidden.

"Oi! There wasn't any towels, got you a t-shirt tho." He stretches an arm towards you, wet t-shirt in his fist.

"I had one, tho." You look at him in confusion, submerged neck deep into the ocean, hands crossed tightly. You were facing him slightly, eyes looking that clothe, you unwrapped one arm, from around yourself and reached for it, Bakugou averted his gaze, further stretching out his hand so you could reach it.

He moved a little closer, eyes still looking away, arms spread to make sure nobody can see you, even if it a private area of the beach.

You put the shirt on, feeling a little less exposed, turning around to fully face Bakugou, "Thank you, I suppose." You sheepishly scratch the back of your head, assuming the interaction is over and you'll both head back in.

"First of all☝🏻'you suppose?' and secondly you owe me more than a thank you."

He spits out, crossing his arms, and jutting out his hips. You eyes immediately drifted to his tits pecs that had become extenuated, before immediately locking eyes with his.

"Fucking pervert," He mimicked your earlier words.

"I am not! What do you want, Bakugou?" You exasperated, sighing dramatically, crossing your arms as well.

He moved towards you, arms unfolding to sway by his side, "Be nice, Sugar."

You scoff, eyes squinting at him suspiciously, more than aware of how close he was to you. He leans in clear, backing you against the rocks, leaning towards one side, leaving ample space for you to move away from him if you wanted.

He was close enough you could feel his minty breath onto your face, he locked eyes with you before leaning in, instinctively you closed your eyes, head tilting as your hands came to rest on his chest.

The kiss was taking a bit too long, peeking with one eye, you realised Baking was staring at you with s grin on his face.

"You asshole!!" You yelled at him, pushing at his chest, trying to move away from him, he was cackling, hands still grasping at your wrists, not letting you move away from him.

"Sorry, sorry." He wheezed out, pulling you towards him,"Oi, I am sorry, listen Sugars."

You didn't care tho, too tired to be dealing with his shenanigans, he was determined tho, pulled at your wrists, turning to glare at him, you were surprised by feeling of his lips against yours.

You stood there limp, Bakugou taking the lead for you, one arm around your waist other tilting your head to the side, deepening the kiss. You slowly brought you hands around his neck, fingers coming to run through his blonde hairs.

You pull away breaths heavy, he continues kissing down your jaw, leaving behind love bites for you to later press into.

He comes back up, pressing his forehead against yours, "So, how 'bout I take you out, Sugars?"

━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━

[mouthfulloftoothpasterry]

A Cure

Summary: very cute and very horny firefighter Harry x author wife 🥹

Warnings: unprotected sex, very horny husband and wife, humiliation, all that jazz AND slight voyeurism if you squint!

Wc: 6.4k

The sound of knuckles rapping against her office door pulls Y/n out of her trance. She blinks her eyes after minutes of them sitting unfocused on her white laptop screen full of words she's not sure make any sense to her anymore, or maybe they didn't in the first place.

After another minute she hears the knocking again, rubbing her strained eyes. “Are you in there, baby? Or am I embarrassing myself.” Her husband's voice booms from the other side of the door, he really isn't that loud at all but it's probably because the only sound she has heard for the past couple hours are the sniffles and sobs as she reads her publishers emails she's been avoiding for at least five days.

Y/n clears her throat, standing up. “Yeah, Hi, sorry.” Her voice is barely above a whisper when her husband comes into view. He stands tall above her, his strong arms wrapping around her shoulders. He looks down at her with a large smile carved into his face, pearly whites and dimples only an angel could make.

“How is writing going?” She lets out a puff of air before returning the smile

Y/n is currently working on her second novel after her debut was a big success, catching the attention of readers everywhere on social media; it soon became a number one best seller. Following the success, she's been pulled in every direction and spread too thin as her team pressures her to get this second novel out as soon as possible so she stays relevant and readers stay buzzing about her.

“It's going…” he gives her a soft frown, pressing a gentle kiss to her pouted mouth. “Well, I'm about to head out for work.” She nods, relaxing into his delicate touch as he runs his nose against her brow bone. “So soon?” He huffs a laugh, pulling his arm away from her to look at the watch on his wrist. “Well, considering I'm about to be late…” she grabs his wrist, looking at the time. 11:30, already?!

“Oh my god! I didn't even realize it, sorry I've just been knee deep in emails and I've got about twenty different documents going at a time and-” He cuts her off with a kiss, his big hands coming to cup at her cheeks. Y/n lets out a sigh of satisfaction, sinking into him deeper as her shaky hands come to clutch at his forearms, as if she's pulling him back to stay so they can spend the whole day like this.

He pulls away with reluctance, another laugh leaving his lips as her mouth follows his. “I've got to go fight fires, baby. Kinda my whole job.” She has what feels like a permanent frown on her face, but nods nonetheless. “I'll be back soon, my baby. I love you.” She smiles, watching him slowly back away while he squeezes her hand. “I love you too, H.”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Y/n sits at her desk, sipping on another random energy drink so she can keep her eyes open to write maybe one sentence that will actually make it into her book.

Her first book came easy. After over a decade of only dreaming of getting a book deal and becoming a huge author it finally came true at twenty six. She wrote the novel about her own life, swapping the names and dramatizing some situations for entertainment- but all in all it was exactly her and Harry's love story. A classic second chance romance, highschool sweethearts who break up during college because long distance is too hard, then once the male main character comes back to town they see each other after two years and instantly fall back in love. Happily ever after and all that.

It's true, for most of her life with Harry it has been a fairytale, and that's exactly why her book has been such a big success. Everyone fell in love with Brooks as she had with Harry. The cute, shy, overly kind, highschooler turned mushy, soft, sexy, firefighter husband was an easy drawn in as readers described it as the “love story of a century”.

She decided not to continue with Brooks and Summer’s love story because it had been told from start to finish, highschool to marriage. Now, she's focused on a new couple, struggling with names at first, now their story, family, their emotional backstories, everything. The only thing she was confidently writing was the cameos from Brooks and Summer since they were all friends in this series she was trying to create.

She's got the names, Ruby and Noah, but she has no clue what the fuck they are doing. She's looking forward to writing about their ski trip, where she's going to make Ruby and Noah hook up after summer's constant nagging that Ruby should give him a try. Enemies to lovers this time around.

She loves writing trips, she's not sure why. Maybe because as her characters have a get away it seems her mind does as well. She gets to pour everything into imagery while she describes the snowy trees and the beautiful big cabin they stay in for a week.

Maybe that's what she needs to crack this writer's block, a nice getaway. But unfortunately, that's not possible with Harry's job right now. They are short staffed on firefighters and even the teen volunteers aren't doing much to compensate for the lack of employment.

Y/n’s head falls back against her chair, groaning and slapping her hand on her keyboard. She looks over at her scribbled notes on the random legal pad she found in her desk drawer. As much as she had planned for this winter getaway, she couldn't find it in herself to write it. She's been painfully getting through writing the drive up to the cabin through the past couple days and she isn't even halfway done.

This particular scene is supposed to be big for Ruby and Noah, Ruby finds out more about Noah's childhood and she begins to feel differently about him. She finally makes sense of why he's so standoffish and reserved, all these years she thought he was just a selfish dick.

Y/n groans, crumbling up the paper and throwing it across the room because she can't bear to look at the plans she so excitedly wrote down a few nights ago when she's now in one of her worst blocks of her writing career. It's worse than when she forgot about a five thousand word essay in college and had to hurry up and write something two hours before due.

“Maybe I'll just take a walk.” She sighs out, lifting from her numb legs and finally exiting her dark office. She pads down the stairs, sliding on shoes and pulling a light coat over her clothes.

Her eyes take a moment to adjust to the sunshine after hours of staring at the artificial blue light her computer gives off. She breathes in the crisp early afternoon air. Hopefully this works.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

The walk didn't help much, it definitely cleared her mind like walks usually do- but that worsened her case if anything because now she can't think of a single thing to write while they drive up to that stupid cabin.

Might as well get some chores out of the way, she thinks, as she fills up a water bottle after living off coffee and energy drinks. She walks out of the kitchen and back up the stairs where she opens the door to her and Harry's bedroom. She opens the closet door, looking at the mound of laundry they both have piled up, better get to it. She groans as she lifts their shared laundry basket, it's overflowing and has now piled onto the floor. Harry helps out as much as he can but with his crazy work schedule and y/n being locked in her office all day they don't get as much done as they would like.

She tosses clothes into the washer, pouring detergent in and closing the lid to start the load. In the meanwhile, she goes back to their room and pulls a big load of clean laundry onto her bed.

She begins folding them and tossing them into piles, one for pajamas, bras, boxers, and so on. She walks to the big closet to grab a stack of hangers, tossing shirts and dresses and pants over the hangers and placing them on the rod one by one.

She shoves her hand onto the dwindling pile of clothes, a lace material rubbing against her finger tips. She pulls at it, revealing the tiny babydoll she had worn for Harry one long night… almost two months ago. She sighs, hanging it up on one of the nicer hangers out of the random collection of mismatched ones they've collected over the years.

She bites her lips, staring at the pretty fabric. Her and Harry both have quite high sex drives, maybe because they are still in the early years of their marriage, maybe that's just how they are despite everyone saying they would get bored of each other especially because they were each other's first everything.

But between them being short staffed and Y/n getting swept up in the marketing and press of her book, they haven't had that much time for each other. She's lucky she has a touchy feely husband, because that's what comforts her. She needs to be in her husband's arms to feel better again. And since it's been so crazy, she hasn't gotten more than a lingering kiss for weeks and weeks.

She hangs the garment back up, ignoring the nagging feeling as she continues her chores.

Once the laundry pile is all folded she switches out the now clean laundry into the dryer and starts another load, plopping on the couch until Harry gets home.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

“I'm home!” Y/n hears Harry shout through the house, perking up and dusting off the t-shirt she has over her little matching bra and panties set. She closes her laptop, she was sitting on the couch, trying to write as a distraction until her husband came home. “Hi,” Harry softly sings, a big cheesy smile on his face as he finally spots his wife after hours of working. She rises, stretching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. He hums, giving her a squeeze and rubbing up and down her back.

“I missed my baby while I was away.” He mumbles, kissing the side of her head over and over. She smiles, inhaling his smoky smell that has grown to be comforting. It's him. A deeply sweet- almost fruity scent mixed with the ash and smoke of fires. “I missed you, H.” She whispers, pulling away and leaning in to kiss him. Her hand rests on his chest, opening her mouth slightly to slide her tongue against his.

She can feel his lips curling into a grin, his hands slide down, lifting her up and into his arms. “You missed me something special, Hm?” She nods then pushes her hands into his hair. “Take me upstairs, H.” He does as told, starting to slowly and carefully walk them toward the staircase.

A ring ruins the moment, making Harry sigh, sitting her down. Y/n sighs, wiping the side of her mouth. “Fuck,” He sighs, shaking his head as he looks down at his phone. “H?” He looks back up, his heart breaking as he looks at his wife. “Baby….” she frowns, trying to push back the urge to cry. “It's work. I'm sorry. I've got to go be a firefighter.” He softly smiles, attempting to lighten the mood.

It doesn't help though. She wraps her arms around herself, feeling stupid and childish that she's so emotional over her husband having to leave her to go fight a fire and potentially save lives. “I'm sorry, baby. I have to go.” His hand pulls away from her, waving before he walks out of the door.

She swallows the lump in her throat, walking up the stairs alone and straight into the bedroom. She pulls off the matching set she wore to surprise Harry, tossing it into the empty laundry basket. She pulls on normal pajamas, just a big shirt and a random pair of pajama shorts before washing her face and brushing her teeth.

She gets in bed, preparing to wait up and make sure Harry is alright before falling asleep.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Working from home is pretty lonely. Harry can be up and out of the door as early as four in the morning and sometimes gets calls all throughout the night. She got pretty used to being alone once Harry became a firefighter, and she even liked it. Being alone with her thoughts was great for her writing. She reminisced on the early days of her relationship, laughing at all the awkward stages and feeling emotional at how far they've come from the goofy teenagers they once were.

“I'm writing as fast as I can! It's not going to be good if it's not organic.” Y/n stresses over the phone, trying to push down the lump in her throat that strains her words. “Yes, Y/n, but we need to get a publish date on this book and get the ball rolling.” She groans, feeling tempted to throw her phone next to the discarded ball of paper from yesterday- but she knows that's a bit dramatic.

She hangs up, too frustrated to talk- or think about this goddamn book. She needs her husband, she needs his touch. A hug, a kiss, anything from him right now would ease her anxiety.

Time to start stress baking.

For as long as she can remember baking has been an outlet for Y/n- she's not sure why. Taking the horrible thoughts of the day and the physical anxiety and turning it into something yummy that puts a smile on everyone's face was fulfilling. She even put her own little recipes at the end of each chapter dependent on whatever Summer had made for Brooks- which was once again very much based on her and Harry.

White chocolate cranberry scones, chocolate cake, lavender lemon loaf, she is bound to be busy with all the different recipe cards laid out in front of her on their kitchen island.

She sifts the flour, bowls covering the table with a load of dishes already going in the dishwasher. The timer from the oven goes off, pulling her away from her distraction of yet another sweet treat. She pushes her hair out of her face, opening the oven and adding it to the collection of pastries that are making her house smell so good. Thank god she's got hungry firefighters to feed. She scribbles a note on the white board that's magnetized to the fridge to remind her to box up some of everything for Harry to bring in.

She's the fire chief's wife, she's has to keep them fed.

After what feels like days of baking, she's finally done. Two different cookies, two different loaves of bread, scones, and a cake.

Y/n flops down on the couch, turning on some trashy TV to keep her mind anywhere but that book she's supposed to be writing.

She gets about halfway through a forty five minute episode before she gets a glimpse of the time. She shoots up, starting on dinner knowing that her husband will arrive home anytime. He seems just as stressed out as she is about work, he just doesn't let it show as much, so she wants to make his life easier when she can.

Dinner didn't take long, she just whipped up something easy and quick for them. She flops back down on the couch, keeping the food on low so it will stay warm.

“Hi, baby.” Harry smiles, tossing his keys onto the table and coming to flop down next to her on the couch. He wraps his arms around her, cuddling into her. “What smells so good?” He sniffs at her neck as if she's covered in perfume, making her laugh and push away his touch even though she craves it more than anything right now. “Lots of random baked goods.” She softly laughs, pressing a kiss to his lips. He gives her an empathetic smile. “stressed, huh?” She shrugs, sitting up and he quickly follows.

“I made dinner too.” He thanks her. Kissing the back of her hand and trailing them up her arm. “How about after dinner we finish what we started the other night… maybe it will help you unwind?” She feels her stomach tighten. She wants to say no, take me right now before you're whisked away again, but she doesn't. She nods, closing her eyes and sinking into his touch before it's taken away.

He kisses her head, standing up and pulling her with him. “Let's get you fed and ready for me, huh? Can't have you losing energy half way through.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head with a smile on her face.

They eat dinner together, sitting at the island together instead of the proper dining table. They make small talk, catching each other up about their day, Harry telling her all about two kittens that were stuck in a tree that he had to rescue bright and early this morning. “So that's why you crawled out of bed at four in the morning?” Harry nods, standing up and pushing their bowls aside. “Yeah, but now we’re going to head back to bed.” He smiles, holding a hand out for her, which she takes.

Harry leans in, slotting his lips with his wife's. Another ring sounds through the silence of their kiss. Harry groans loudly into her mouth, obviously irritated. “I swear to god-” he yanks his phone from where it was sitting on the table. “What?!” He spits to the other person on the line, obviously frustrated. “Fuck.” He nods once more to the caller before hanging up. “I'm sorry, baby. A restaurant downtown is completely engulfed in flames, I have to go now.” She nods, trying to bite back her frown.

She loves that Harry is a firefighter, it's sexy and has made him build up the strong physique that holds her and protects her. She loves that he does so much for the city and has saved so many lives and homes, but as he's out saving others' homes it feels like he's abandoning theirs. He's home basically just to sleep, and nothing else. Their relationship is still strong, and their love will never fade, but not having quality time is taking a toll on both of them mentally.

“I promise, baby. I'll be home as soon as possible.” He rushes out of the house, running towards the door.

Y/n is once again left in the house all alone.

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Y/n is woken up with a gentle shake, slowly blinking her blurry eyes open. “What time is it?” She slurs, sitting up when she knocks her open, timed out laptop off of her chest. Harry quickly catches it, softly laughing and placing it on the coffee table. “It's only been an hour since I left. You fell asleep while writing, baby.” He rubs her back, placing a kiss to the side of her head.

“Oh shit!” She shoots up, grabbing her laptop. “That is due at midnight, I need to send it to my editor!” Harry stops her from running up to her office, hooking an arm around her. “Hey, hey. Slow down, baby.” She huffs, sitting next to him on the couch.

“Are you still struggling to finish this chapter?” He kisses her head again, brushing her hair out of her face. She nods, feeling the anxiety build up in her body at the thought of not getting this chapter done in time. “Yes. It's so frustrating,I just feel defeated. Like I need… a cure?”

Harry taps on his bottom lip with his pointer finger while he's thinking. “A cure?”

Y/n nods, “a cure.”

“Well, go try to finish writing so your editor doesn't get mad at you. If you need any help or words of encouragement I'll be in our room.” She nods, rising up from the couch, collecting her laptop in her arms before kissing her husband. He smiles when she pulls away, giving her ass a small smack.

“Go get to it, baby.”

She walks up the steps, still sleepy as she sits back in her desk chair and cracks her screen back open. She gets to typing, putting any coherent thought down to try to make it make sense, she can always have her editor put it into better formed sentences that flow better with the rest of the story.

It's a little past 1:30 when she finally gets into bed, crawling in next to her shirtless husband.

Harry groans, wrapping both his arms around her while he keeps his eyes closed- too sleepy to actually open them. She cuddles into him, finally relaxing after what seems like days of tense muscles and mental gymnastics. “Did you find your cure?” She shakes her head, “no cure yet. But I got it done.”

He whispers a cheer, squeezing her. “Good job, baby. I knew you'd do it. Now go to sleep, we'll celebrate tomorrow.” She giggles into his neck, wrapping a leg around him.

“Celebrate?” He nods, basically snoring. “I'll finally fuck you, promise, baby.”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

“Guess what the fire chief got called in for?” Harry asks, walking into the house surprisingly early. Y/n spins around in her chair, her eyebrows shooting up. “You're home, H!” He nods, walking over to her. “What did you get called in for?” He stays silent for a beat to dramatize and leave her in suspense.

“A fourteen year old kid got his head stuck in a fence. And they called me, the fire chief, to get him out.” Y/n laughs, almost choking on her water. “So,” Harry starts, grabbing her water from her hand and taking a sip of it. “I said don't call me, don't bother me, I'm taking the day off to spend with my wife.” She smiles, scanning him up and down.

He's still in his red suspenders, fire pants, and the navy blue shirt that hugs his pecs and biceps more than should be allowed for everyday firefighting. His hair is crazy, pushed back with a strand flopping in his eyes. His skin is covered in black ash and soot, and he smells of fire but it only heats her skin.

His pointer finger curls to lift her chin up, his thumb softly resting under her bottom lip. He slots his lips with hers, making her whimper with need. Her hand clutches at the short sleeve of his shirt, feeling his toned muscles under it. “Hop up” he lifts her into his strong arms, walking them up to their bedroom.

He slams open the door, throwing her on the bed. They both laugh loudly, her arms reaching out for him again. He knees the bed, on his hands and knees while he hovers over her. Neither of them care that he's covered in black ash on their light duvet.

His hand slides up her t-shirt, smiling at the feeling of her warm skin even though he knew she was braless. “Take this fuckin’ thing off.” He half-jokes, pulling at the bottom of her shirt and lifting it over her head. Harry pulls his suspenders down, yanking off his tight shirt. Y/n hated to see the shirt go, but she loves saying goodbye. Her hands slide down his chest and onto his chiseled abs. “Keep the rest on.” Harry's eyebrow raises, his mouth slightly popped open.

“Keep it on?” She nods, then slides a suspender back up his arm.

Harry smiles, unbuttoning his pants and pulling his hard cock out. It slaps against his belly, making Y/n's mouth water. He yanks at her pants, making her shuffle down the bed. They both laugh as he pulls her pants down, giggles flying through the room as her pants fly through the air.

He takes in her naked body, his eyes dragging down her almost like she's his prey. Suddenly she feels shy under her husband's heavy gaze, pulling her arms in to cover herself. “Don't. You. Fucking. Dare.” He practically growls, yanking her arms away. He opens her legs, his hand sliding over cunt.

“I'm going to absolutely devour you. I'm not going to stop until you're shaking.” She smiles, wrapping her legs around him.

Harry grabs his cock, lining it up with her. “Are you wet enough, baby?” He asks, his hand slipping down for a moment to touch her pussy. “Oh,” an evil grin forms on his face. “You're dripping, huh?” Her face heats up, looking away because she knows she'll be too embarrassed to look him in his eye.

Harry softly but quickly pulls her face back toward him, opening her jaw with his thumb and spitting into her mouth.

She pulls him in with her legs, moaning. He lines himself up with her, finally pushing it. Y/n cries out at the feeling of him finally being inside of her after so long, it only eggs Harry on.

His constant thrusting shuffles her up and down the bed, and he loves every second of watching her tits bounce while his cock is stuffed deep inside of her. “Fuck, H” she gasps, reaching out for his arm to somewhat stabilize herself. “Feels good, baby?” He slips his thumb inside of her mouth, watching her perfect pouty lips wrap around him. She frantically nods, breathless and already shaking from the feeling of her husband's big, thick, bare cock inside of her.

“H, fuck, I don't know if I'm going t-” he cuts her off, smashing his mouth into her. She can hear how wet she is as the sound of wet squelching and heavy pants fill the room. It's enough to turn her cheeks red hot again, trying to ignore it. “Do you hear how fucking wet you are?” Harry says, biting at her neck. All chances of her not being humiliated are thrown out of the door the second Harry opens his dirty mouth. She almost forgot how embarrassingly filthy he can talk.

“Tell me, baby, do you hear how wet you are? Your pussy is dripping all over the sheets, you're making an absolute mess of me.”

She ignores his mouth, trying to keep some of her dignity.

“Tell me right now, or I'll stop fucking you.” She whines, gasping as he hits her special little spot. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and her back arches as he sends electricity from her head to her toes. “I'll stop right now.” His hips come to a vault, and suddenly she's sobbing out her answer. “Yes, fuck, H. I'm so wet. I'm so fucking wet and it's all for you.” She falls into a chant of “it's all for you, all for you H” until he starts fucking her again now that he's gotten exactly what he wants.

“So wet, and tight, and warm for me, baby. I think your pussy was made just for me.” She nods, she's so cock drunk she thinks she might sign all her rights away if asked. “Cause my dick fits perfectly in you, it hits all those special little spots that puts that little pout on your lips.”

She gasps, gripping his arm tighter as she gets closer. “Yeah, you're going to cum? Cum on my cock, it's okay. You can cum baby, I know it's been so long.”

She moans a mantra of his name over and over again as she finally orgasms, feeling like a weight has been lifted off of her.

Harry cums shortly after her, moaning in her ear and telling her how good she makes him feel.

He flops down next to her after he carefully pulls out, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. “You okay? I didn't go too rough?” She shakes her head, resting it on his bicep. He presses a soft peck to her lips then gently rubs her cheek with his thumb. “No, H. It was perfect.” He smiles, glancing away like he didn't just say the dirtiest things she's ever said to her. “I'm sorry we haven't had a lot of time to be together. I hate being so busy.” She nods, “it's okay, H. I know you can't help it.” He bites at the inside of his bottom lip, sighing.

He moves his head closer to hers, closing his eyes and rubbing his nose against hers. “I love you.” She smiles, sliding her hand down his arm and threading their fingers together. “I love you too, babe.”

He sits up, on his knees. “What are you doing?” He grabs her legs, tossing them onto his shoulders. He kisses her ankle, “I didn't forget about my promise. I want your legs shaking. I'll carry you around everywhere tomorrow.” She giggles as he stretches her legs out, bending to suck and lick at her nipples.

She pushes him away, making him laugh. “Not gonna let your husband get a little frisky?” She rolls her eyes with a smile, “I've been letting you get frisky since we were sixteen, I've had enough.” He scoffs, sliding inside of her again.

He presses kisses over her leg, using his over hand to press into her lower belly. She gasps, grabbing his wrist. “Am I too big?” She attempts to roll her eyes at his cockiness but is cut off with a moan when he presses into her again.

Harry starts thrusting in and out of her, painfully slow. All of his touches are amplified, she can feel every vein on him. “Fuck, babe,” she hardly manages to get a word out of her mouth as her hips wiggle. She's inconsolable as she lets out sobs, her back arching and hips rolling against his.

She clenches around him, sending a chill rolling down his back. “Fuck, baby. Do that again.” She clenched around him, spasming around him as he perfectly rolls his hips. Thank god he knows how to use all that.

She whimpers his name, begging for him to give her anything he can. A blissed out smile frames Harry's face, his pearly white teeth peaking out while he bites his lips to silence his grunts and groans. She pulls him in even closer with her legs and he bottoms out inside of her. He gasps her name, his hand clenching at her calf.

“Don't hide, H. I want to hear how good you feel.” His mouth falls open at her words, his hazy eyes falling closed in pleasure. He shudders, letting out a shaky breath. “F-fuck, baby.” She clenches around him once again, holding it as he pushes back inside of her.

“You f-feel like heaven, you're so fucking perfect. So perfect.” He moans, his mouth open while he thrusts in and out of her. He whines, making Y/n want to bite a pillow and scream into it from the noises her husband is making. “I fucking love this pussy, baby. Tell me whose it is.” Her back arches, letting out a pleasured sigh as she grips the sheets. “It's your pussy, H. You're the only one who gets to cum it in.” He smiles, nodding.

They both cum at the same time, their moans blending as they cry each other's names.

Harry finally lets his fire pants drop, kicking them off the bed once he's calmed down.

“I'm hiring more people as soon as possible. There's no way I went so long without you.” She laughs as he kisses her, both of them laying together in their post-sex bliss. She fidgets with his wedding ring, her head on his chest. “Yeah, I miss having you around the house.” Harry nods, squeezing one of her fingers. “Me too.”

They both relax into the bed, staying silent and enjoying each other's company.

“Round three in the shower?”

📜⋆.ೃ🎞࿔*:･🕰-'♡'-

Y/n looks over at her office door which is now open, her sleepy husband stands in the doorway, the only thing he's wearing is low hanging pajama pants. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, his hair going in every different direction. “Why are you awake?” She softly laughs at his question, looking at the time on her laptop. “H, it's almost 11AM.” His sleepy eyes go wide for a split second before they return to their tired half-open state.

“Well, you should be in bed with me.” He creeps over to her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders while she sits in her office chair. “I'm writing?” He dramatically gasps, pressing a kiss to her neck. “You're writing?” She nods, continuing to type even as he kisses her.

“Did inspiration strike?” She nods, smiling. “Last night kind of inspired me. I think it's exactly what I needed.” Harry raises one eyebrow, his fingertips coming to pull the laptop closer to him. “Can I read it?” She nods, letting him pull it into his arms, watching him scroll back up to the start of the chapter.

After last night she finally had the inspiration strike to write Ruby and Noah hooking up at the ski getaway. This will be the peak in her book, now that they are together the rest will be a breeze to write.

She watches as his pajama pants slowly grow, making her hands shake with anticipation. “Holy fuck. You wrote that based on last night?” She smiles, blushing and nodding.

“That was your cure, huh?”

She didn't think about it that way. “I finally got my cure.”

Harry sinks down onto his knees, sliding his hands up her thighs, under the shirt of his she was wearing to bed. He hooks his fingers into her panties, dragging them down. “Now I need my cure.” He whispers, sliding her panties down her legs and into the pocket of his pajama pants. “I've got a big problem,” he looks down, cupping his large bulge. “And you're the only cure for it.”

He parts her legs, smiling at the sight of her wet cunt.

“Oh god, baby. How long have you been like this?” He pouts up at her, touching her with delicate fingers. “So long, H. I've been thinking about you since I got up.” She whines, pushing her shirt back so it doesn't block his view.

He lets out a sympathetic whine for her, his eyebrows pinching together with a worried expression. “My poor girl, I've got to take care of you now. You woke up with a throbbing pussy thinking of me, Hm?” She nods, carefully watching his every move.

Her breath shudders as her eyes follow his head sinking down to between her legs. Her eyes go wide, feeling his tongue slide into her. She whimpers, closing her eyes at the feeling of his warm tongue sliding up and down her cunt.

“No, no. Go ahead and write. It's the only thing that cures your writer's block.” She gulps, her hands shaking as she goes back to writing with her husband's head between her legs. She slowly types onto her document as he licks her up and down. She tries to keep her eyes open, typing whatever comes to her mind- which she's more than sure will be a jumbled mess for her to fix later. “H, please babe.” He shakes his head. “Your publisher will be mad if you don't write it.” He licks her clit, pulling it into his mouth to suck at it.

Her hand falls to the top of his head, threading her fingers through his hair. He shakes his head again, grabbing her hand and placing it back on her keys.

She moans, rolling her hips. She's fully given up on writing, her head fallen back as he continues to eat her pussy.

“Baby,” he laughs, kissing her thigh. “Well, I can't be mad. I guess you deserve it after working so hard.” He lifts up to kiss her, laughing at her failed attempt to write like he previously ordered her to.

He sinks back down between her legs, flicking his tongue against her clit. She groans, arching her back and whimpering. She throws a leg over his shoulder and he instantly wraps his arm around it. “You taste so good.” His mouth is loud against her, making lewd noises as he sucks, licks, and flicks his tongue against her skin.

“You always taste so good, baby.” He groans against her, losing himself in the smell, feeling, and taste of her. He moans against her over and over again, sliding his tongue deep in her to taste her wetness straight from the source. He loves how wet he can get her, how just the thought of him gets her so worked up she spends the whole morning with a wet, throbbing cunt until he takes matters into his own hands.

He often fantasizes about catching her touching herself- just because he knows her writing is always based on their experience and when she is writing a particularly spicy scene she tends to get worked up.

He can imagine silently creeping into her office to catch her with her legs open and her small hand down her panties trying to satisfy herself when they both know it's his hands she's craving.

She falls to pieces above him, her chest rapidly falling and rising while her mouth drops open to praise him and all the pleasure he's giving her. “You can cum, baby. It's okay.” He closes his eyes, enjoying the last few moments of her on his tongue. He loves the silky feeling of her, how warm and soft she is.

“H, I'm cumming!” She moans, gripping at his hair while she rolls her hips trying to get herself there. Seconds later she cums all over his mouth, leaving him to clean her up.

He wipes his mouth, sucking his fingers off before he yanks her down to give her a messy tongue kiss to let her taste herself.

She tries to catch her breath, giggling now that she's come back down. “Do you feel better now?” She nods, kissing him again.

“Just needed your husband to take care of you, huh?” She nods once again, wrapping her arms and legs around him as he wraps his big, strong arms around her. “Now go sit back there in case I need you again.” He agrees to it with a large smile on his face, walking back to the much bigger and comfier chair she normally uses for reading.

He’s always been the cure.

A/N: WOWOWOW!! beside a small 1k word blurb this is my return to writing after almost a year and a half! I thought about making an Author y/n one random day in the shower and with a little help from my beautiful, amazing, creative best friend @ziallslvr firefighter Harry and author Y/n was born 🥹!!!!

I feel so passionate about these two! They are my sweet babies❤️ This specific Y/n is straight from my heart, and might be a little self indulgent! I hope you all love her as much as I do ❤️

PLEASEEEEEE!!! IF YOU LIKED THIS REBLOG AND SHARE YOUR THOUGHT WITH ME :D

[canine-witch]

What Omens Have You Missed?

With the New Year comes new energy, and also new omens to look for. I recieved message that some of you have been getting omens, visions, or symbols that you have either failed to heed or ignored entirely. In the chaos, we can often forget to notice and be grateful for what we have. This reading is to tell you and show you what you have missed, and reveal the information you need to know.

Drink some water, pick a pile, and feel free to discard what does not resonate with you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Group One ~ Gray Clouds

You haven't been noticing the omens in nature, seeker. The world may seem mundane at this moment, but there are signs for you. Watch for omens in living and dead creatures, especially foxes and moths. Dead flora and fauna may indicate a warning, perhaps for some negative energy, infighting, or bad luck coming your way. Living flora and fauna, especially ones that seem out of place, indicate good luck and prosperity on the horizon. You may be looking up at the sky more, this is your sign to watch for omens through the clouds, stars, and birds above you. Farms and feasts may be symbolic. Your angel numbers are 111, 555, and 777. Listen carefully seeker, the blessings may be promised where you least expect them. Use discernment and your intuition.

Group Two ~ City Clouds

You have been misinterpreting your omens, seeker. There may be many strange omens around you, which may initially frighten you. Depictions of monsters, especially those which look like serpents or goats, may carry good omens. Keys, raging stormy waters, chains, and grapes may also be popping up in your life. For some of you who work with mirrors, you may have seen an image in the mirror, or became frightened by something in your mirror. These are all symbols of your journey reclaiming yourself. The demonic or scary images you've been taking as bad omens, represent recalling something of yourself others took from you, especially in romantic relationships. You are recalling your appearance, your identity, and your destiny, and you are not a monster for doing so. Your angel numbers are 111, 333, and 666. Don't be scared of yourself, seeker, you are blessed and protected. Use discernment and your intuition.

Group Three ~ Twisting Clouds

You don't want to hear what the omens are telling you, seeker. The situation you are in right now, is something you are either reluctant or unready to give up. You have been ignoring the signs in normal life, for signs given to you in social media or popular culture. You are drowning out the truth with targeted content that cannot apply to you. Dogs, birds of prey, sea animals, and horses may be important to you right now. You may be hearing wind chimes or strange whispers. You may be crying a lot, as purging. You may be ignoring the number 11. The omens are telling you it is time to move on and let go, and even though change is hard, there is promise of freedom on the horizon. Your angel numbers are 222, 444, 555, 888, and 999. You will be okay, seeker, your guides will never let you go without blessings. Use discernment and your intuition.

Group Four ~ Above The Clouds

A person you least expect has delivered you an omen, seeker. This may be a person you distrust, have argued with, or someone you are not close to, but they have verbally delivered a message to you, which you have doubted and chosen to ignore. But, this message is a promise of a new beginning. This person may have been standing in a doorway or under an arch. You may be looking out the window more, or spending time on your porch. You may be seeing people give to charity and do good works. Leaves or feathers may be symbolic to you right now. Fairy circles and rolling plains may be images or places you are drawn towards. You may be noticing hands holding money. This person probably is not the vessel of your good fortune, but they delivered a sign and a promise to you. Don't turn your nose up at them. Think about what they have said, and remember forces work in mysterious ways, even in places you may never expect. 222, 333, 444, and 777 are your angel numbers. Never judge a book by its cover seeker, this person is a test to see if you are ready to recieve your blessings. Use discernment and your intuition.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Thank you for joining me seeker, I don't normally channel energy in this way, and I hope I have been of service. Blessings be to you, as I have said, so mote it be.

[obscureother]

ok one of the two horsemen of the f/o-pocalypse.

What do your f/o's hugs feel like? tight toO TIGHT- but i love them. Very protective hugs. Theyre spooky ghost hugs -v- he doesnt want anyone else to have the hugs but him either. he is stingy for love.

What are your favorite dates to have with them? riding horsies through the forest :D or halloween dates!! i love those <33 keeps him from beheading people or getting too bothered by other demons who mock him sometimes.

What are their favorite dates to have with you? i think he also likes to just go wandering through the forest. he prefers the quiet time together. . doesnt necessarily have to be on horseback, he likes going for walks together on foot. he just prefers, wherever they go, for it to be nighttime, quiet, and no one around for some far ways away that he and his partner can be themselves.

Do you have any songs that remind you of them? Do they have any songs that make them think of you? well, the headless horseman song, obvi 👀 all the variants i have and hold for the headless horseman song are all for him. but outside of that. . Elvis "Pocketful of Rainbows" has a lore behind it for him. I would like to find more songs for him tho. . Bing crosby ones maybe, cos thats the guy who narrates the whole thing.

What's the height difference between you and your f/o? with or without the head? /j (sorry i like to goof on him too. dfsd0-)if he had his head tho, i would think he's right below 6-foot, so maybe 5'11" or so. That would make him 8 inches different. His stump is right above eye level for me and s/i 1.

On a 1-10 scale, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you? Aethelwolf is very private about affection. . I would say like. . 4/10, cos he'll hold me or s/i 1 so others know not to come close but he won't really be very "affectionate" other than polite gestures like helping off the horse or opening doors before going in after us. Arm around my waist, standing close to me. . sometimes i can get him to hold hand, but ill save that for the later question.

What's your favorite feature about your f/o? i like his laauugghh <33 i set his laugh as my alarm, my ringtone, my notification sound, brr. . i love his laugh so much.

What do you think they smell like? forest -v- like pine trees. . and dust. and dead leaves that are wet. :)) probably horse sometimes.

What is your f/os biggest love languages? They don't have to be one of the "five", it can be anything specific they use to show you love. he is very quiet overall, but he can be very tender in how he holds you. him being gentle in any way is his love language, and giving little things like flowers in your hair or silent good hugs that you know are him trying to tell you "i love you" but he cant get the words out so he squeezes you instead. He also would trust you with his horse. . cos his horse is his beloved. Her name is Rose, she's very sweet <: somewhere in there, there is sort of. . knightly behavior. he will scoop you up and whisk you away into the forest of spooks to take care of you.

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them? Aethelwolf doesn't sleep normally lol. He stands guard. Once in a while he will lay down and rest his exhausted ghost energy from riding horses. Where he used to slump by his horse, he now leans on the door frame of the room to keep me or s/i 1 safe, but he does come over to s/i 1 on the bed if she wants to cuddle with him or hold him for a while. he'll hold her until she falls asleep, and then goes back to his self-made "post."

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o? that he carves pumpkins for himself or leaves them for the one he loves or cares about. -v- he's really good at them. he can either slap something together scary, or he'll make very intricate carvings that are like freaking sculptures man. . its so cool. that and he also has a secretly very nice singing voice. . one you could, say, compare to old crooners. . but he doesnt use it hardly ever other than with s/i 1 or through very blue moon occasional humming to them. ok one more- his cape acts as expression for him. it will perk up, deflate, stiffen, etc. . ghost magic lol.

What is the dynamic that you and your f/o have? he's sort of. . guardian ghoul to me or s/i 1. quiet, stoic, spurned protector. . and then there is baby. s/i 1 who just thinks he is so cool and spooky and goofy, and the only one he lets tease about his headlessness /sometimes/ because she will kiss his stump. he's the "very temperamental" who gets the "soft cuddlebug" s/o to keep him from blowing his top.

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a rough day? he's very quiet comfort. . he helps un-stimulate, if you will, lol. He'll take me outside to sit under one of the trees and hold me while i empty thoughts or go deeper into them, fiddle with sticks on the ground, sometimes he hums to me. . sometimes he'll get rose to come over to pet her or love on her, brush her mane, things like that. Rose would be the greatest emotional support horse tho.

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like? ah, this. . ok. so, Aethelwolf expresses physically because that is kind of the only way he can. He cannot give kisses or nuzzle into you, so he does hold around your body. Holding hands, tho, is a little. . soft for him. He doesnt mind it, but he's a little awkward to. He gets used to it over time with only s/i 1 or me, but for a very long time and even then, he is not used to having his hand. . held. its been forever since anyone held his hand even when he was alive. Sometimes he fumbles of which way to hold, but once its settled, then so is he. You can feel his nervousness in his grip, but he can be gentle and usually is. Unless he gets mad, then you can feel it getting too tight. . but he doesnt mean to. He gets very soothed if you run your fingers over his knuckles, it kind of. . slows him down before he can get aggravated at whatever is over there.

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where is their favorite place to kiss? (Face, hands, etc) He would give kisses if he could sometimes, i think. What he does instead is make a little. . muppet mouth with his hand, and he'll hold it up to touch on face, my hand, or on occasion to lips. . If he "kisses" hand, he is more vulnerable to holding hands then even tho he is kind of bashful about it. He was very awkward the first time he did this as he felt rather silly. . but because s/i 1 got what he was trying to do and ended up "kissing" him back, he kept going with it. should s/i 1 have not done that, he would have never done it again and probably been embarrassed about it for the rest of his undeath hsbjksf-

Vice versa, do YOU like to give them little kisses? If so, where is YOUR favorite place to give them? i love to give him kisses on his stump, but you gotta be gentle on him there cos its very sensitive. he got his head blown off by a canonball after all. but he loves the stump kisses, they make him soft and mushy -v- I also like giving kisses to his hand, especially if he does the muppet kisses. They make him flustered sometimes when i do it first to him even tho he's used to it a little bit now. i also give him lots of chest and shoulder kisses, sort of like how one would the front of or side of the face if he had one. i do give him kisses when he has a pumpkin head. i kiss him everywhere on the pumpkin head. he gets a little exasperated by it, but in a good way even tho sometimes it knocks it off his shoulders then he has to pick it back up again. 💜

What's your favorite silly leisure activity to do with your f/o? i also like to carve pumpkins with him or we eat candy :0 i can poke the little ones down his throat. its odd, but we make it work. i also like building little twig forts with him outside :0 he gets me outside the most i think tho. . or we collect leaves and show them to each other, or things like that. fall is our time bro. .

What is your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What is your favorite nickname that they for you, if they have one? he does get very fixated on. . faces, and things like hair. part of it is his own longing for a head yes, but he focuses on them in general. he's oddly very sweet about it when he talks about things, caressing very tender and just. . very lovely. he's not one for words, but they somehow come to him when he is being entranced by one's features. i like the little German pet names he calls me, those are cute. . something different from what i normally hear, and he calls me them more often than Conrad does even though Conrad tends to be the "more German-sounding" of the two in his outbursts. He calls me things like "my fox" or "my vixen," though in German. He does this more often towards s/i 1 personally tho.

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What is your favorite nickname to call them? i like to call him pumpkin uvu he gets soft about it, sometimes even a little embarrassed, but he doesnt mind it. given i cannot focus on his face like he does me, i usually talk about how good he is with his sword or his horsey, tho sometimes. . i do mention his very black, very fitting outfit. . on occasion. . uvu

I want everyone to have the chance to ramble about their romantic f/os, so I'm gonna make a reblog game where yall can answer the plethora of questions I'm gonna toss down. Any of the questions you want to answer, as little or as much as you'd like!! I'll read them all. PR.O.SHIP DNI!!! AT ALL! GET OUT-

SO!! SELFSHIPPERS! RIDDLE ME THIS:

What do your f/o's hugs feel like?

What are your favorite dates to have with them?

What are their favorite dates to have with you?

Do you have any songs that remind you of them? Do they have any songs that make them think of you?

What's the height difference between you and your f/o?

On a 1-10 scale, with 1 being the least and 10 being the most, how much do they like PDA with you?

What's your favorite feature about your f/o?

What do you think they smell like?

What is your f/os biggest love languages? They don't have to be one of the "five", it can be anything specific they use to show you love.

Do you guys sleep in the same bed? If so, what's it like sleeping with them?

What's your favorite headcanon about your f/o?

What is the dynamic that you and your f/o have?

What does your f/o do for you when you're having a rough day?

Do you like to hold hands? If so, what's that like?

Do they like to give you little kisses? If so, where is their favorite place to kiss? (Face, hands, etc)

Vice versa, do YOU like to give them little kisses? If so, where is YOUR favorite place to give them?

What's your favorite silly leisure activity to do with your f/o?

What is your favorite compliment that your f/o gives you? What is your favorite nickname that they for you, if they have one?

What's your favorite compliment to give THEM? What is your favorite nickname to call them?

Okay I can't wait to see some answers!! Feel free to reblog as many times with as many f/os as you want. ANYONE CAN PARTICIPATE! SEEING THIS POST IS AN INVITATION FOR YOU!!

People I'd like to see answer this off the top of my head (but don't have to!!): @moxanji-real @one-winged-dreams @lovesickvalentines @graveluvr @clawingatmy-enclosure @starshakez @jpeg-indulgence @everynya @tropgothships @selfshipping-tboy @amelielovesamaris @pixel-comfort @fl0ralsxgar

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — two worlds apart !

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ᯓ★

pairings﹕ itoshi sae x gn!reader

contents﹕ one shot, angst, lovers to strangers, wc: 836, proofread

the time difference between japan and spain was eight hours. it wasn’t just time that separated you, though. it was the ocean, the unfamiliar cities, and the fact that itoshi sae had a life that didn’t include you anymore.

you hadn’t planned on falling in love with him. it had just happened. like breathing, like the way the sun set and rose again.

sae was like the tide, calm and steady, but he had always been destined to leave. you knew that from the start.

“i'll come back,” he’d said once, his voice soft but resolute. “when i'm where i need to be.”

you'd believed him because it was sae, and you wanted to believe.

but believing didn’t make the ache go away.

your phone rang at 2 a.m.

bleary-eyed, you fumbled for it on your nightstand, barely registering the name on the screen.

sae.

your heart leapt, even though you knew it shouldn’t.

“hello?” you whispered, your voice thick with sleep.

“were you asleep?” his voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

“it's two in the morning,” you replied, rubbing your eyes. “what do you think?”

he didn’t laugh, didn’t say anything for a moment. The silence stretched thin between you.

“sorry,” he muttered finally.

“it's okay,” you said quickly, sitting up. “what's up?”

“i just… wanted to hear your voice.”

your heart clenched. it was cruel, the way he said it, as if he didn’t know what those words did to you.

“sae…”

“i miss you.”

the words hit like a punch to the gut. you closed your eyes, letting the weight of them settle over you.

“i miss you too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

but missing him didn’t change anything.

the thing about sae was that he was good at making you feel special, even when he was thousands of miles away.

he'd send you random photos, of the view from his apartment, of the Spanish streets lit up at night, of the meals he’d cooked but probably hadn’t eaten.

he'd text you good morning when it was midnight for you, good night when your day was just beginning.

and you’d let yourself believe, for a while, that this was enough. that his fragments could fill the emptiness he’d left behind.

but they couldn’t.

it happened on an ordinary day.

you were sitting in a café, your phone buzzing with notifications. a message from sae sat unopened on your screen. you hadn’t replied to his last one yet, too afraid of what your answer might mean.

when you finally opened it, it was a photo. sae, standing in a stadium, his arm around someone you didn’t recognize.

the caption read: Another win. Hope you’re doing okay.

you stared at the picture, the knot in your chest tightening. he looked happy. he looked like he belonged.

and you realized, with a sinking clarity, that you didn’t fit in his world anymore.

you called him that night.

he picked up on the second ring. “hey.”

“hey,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady.

“what's up?” he asked, and you could hear the faint sound of a match playing in the background.

“are you busy?”

“not really,” he said, muting the tv. “what's going on?”

you took a deep breath, trying to find the words. “sae… i don’t think i can do this anymore.”

there was a pause. “do what?”

“this,” you said, your voice cracking. “waiting. pretending we’re okay when we’re not.”

“y/n-”

“i love you,” you interrupted, your chest tightening. “i always will. but this isn’t enough for me. not for you either. i can’t keep holding onto something that feels so far away.”

his silence was deafening.

“i don’t blame you,” you continued, tears streaming down your face. “you're chasing your dreams. you're where you’re supposed to be. but i can’t keep pretending i'm okay with being left behind.”

when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. “i never wanted to hurt you.”

“i know,” you whispered.

“i still love you,” he admitted, and you could hear the pain in his voice. “but i don’t know how to fix this.”

“maybe we can’t,” you said, the words breaking something inside you.

neither of you said anything after that. the silence was heavy, final.

“i should go,” you said eventually, your voice trembling.

“y/n-”

“goodbye, sae.”

you hung up before he could say anything else, dropping your phone onto the bed.

and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself cry.

the time difference between japan and spain was eight hours.

it wasn’t just time that separated you, though. it was everything, the life he had, the life you wanted, and the realization that sometimes, love wasn’t enough.

you deleted his messages the next morning, one by one. and as you walked out of your apartment, the ache in your chest felt a little less suffocating.

because the truth was, letting go didn’t mean you stopped loving him. it just meant you loved yourself enough to move on.

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[acowardinmordor]

Hold up a vision of the angsty admirer au just struck me. It’s a little skip ahead. Sorry.

The party still breaks into the counselors office and sees the records and puts together that it isn’t random. They put together that it’s about guilt and depression and self hatred.

They all, rationally, assume it’s because he’s repeating senior year.

Lucas, though.

Sweet, kind, supportive Lucas, who has a box of letters apologizing blindly to someone that Eddie had intentionally torn apart. Lucas, who has barely held his tongue since that day at Hellfire. Lucas, who admires the hell out of Steve, wants to be him, and who thinks he made it worse. Who thinks he’s at fault for Steve being cursed.

Somewhere in between Steve getting out of Vecnas powers, and this, Chrissy died (sorry babe) and it’s not pinned on Eddie, but that’s where suspicion is leaning.Nancy and Robin talked to him, convinced him that Steve is fine, explained a small part of the upside down, and told him to keep his head down, begged him to just stay in the trailer, and above all, not to get involved further.

Steve is shutting down on them, and after they saw the notes about Chrissy and Fred, they’re pushing him. Which is making it worse. Robin is spiraling, Max is furious. Dustin is on the edge of hysterical.

For whatever reason, they need to talk to Eddie again. Information about Victor Creel probably. Since most of them are freaked out by Steve, it’s only Nancy and Lucas that go. Yeah, Lucas should have been listening while Nancy talked through a plan of what they were and were not going to tell Eddie, but he wasn’t. He tells her that after Eddie’s, they need to go by his house, that he has something to help Steve.

Pull up at the trailer, and Lucas cracks down the center. He runs from Nancy’s car, shoves open the door, immediately steps inside, and fucking decks Eddie. Puts him on the ground in one hit and because his entire hand now hurts, Lucas is looking for something to use as a replacement for a bat. It’s easy math for him. He knows why Vecna was able to go after Steve. He knows that if it wasn’t for this asshole with his caste assumptions about high school, Steve would be safe.

Hawkins wouldn’t be, Lucas knows that, but they’d have Steve, and if they have Steve, then they — then Lucas will feel like they’re going to survive.

Nancy stops him before Lucas can actually beat Eddie with an ashtray.

“If you hadn’t said that to him! If you actually looked at people! If you listened to them and trusted us! If you could just understand that not everyone has to choose a side, he would be safe! He’s dying and it’s your fault, Eddie! He’s gonna die, and it’s going to be because you never really see anyone, just the person you think they’re supposed to be!”

Eddie hasn’t been looped in yet. He doesn’t know what Lucas is talking about, but it’s Lucas screaming at him, which is enough for the pieces to come closer. It’s not like Eddie hasn’t been thinking about the way Steve said he wanted to sleep. It’s been half his brain at any second of the day. He’d broken every promise to his secret admirer, thrown insults like blades at every soft spot Steve has, and until that Friday, he thought he was standing on the moral high ground.

Yeah. It’s enough for Eddie to realize that the curse is because of what he did to Steve. On the ground, looking up at a freshman who loves Steve more than Eddie had the chance to, Eddie can’t even find the words to start an apology.

Nancy yanks Lucas back farther. She doesn’t help Eddie up though. She’s also damn smart, and can put clues together.

“Man, you need to—“ Eddie starts, talking to the other person in the room who, Lucas entirely missed in the tunnel vision of his rage. “—you gotta come back later. Pay me later.” He scrambles to the bathroom and slams the door.

“Yeah, i guess I… Lucas, make sure you ice that hand, your form was no good.”

Finally, Lucas turns, along with Nancy, to find Patrick, fidgeting and uncomfortable, with a little baggie in his hand. He pulls some cash from his wallet, drops it on the table.

And look. Lucas would love to stop and talk to his teammate, who is looking very messed up. Who obviously needs someone. But Steve is going to die, and he can’t think beyond that fact. Honestly, Nancy is the same.

That’s why they’ve started a whispered discussion of how fast they can get answers and leave when they notice that Patrick is frozen in place, two steps from the door.

Link post

[elssero]

YOOO CONGRATS ON 1K !!! <333 i’ll totally send in an ask for funsies hehehe (but ofc no pressure to write it!)

sooo how abt a one shot with reader and teenage hawks (like 17 or 18? but definitely before he has his official hero debut) and him and her started as partners at the commission, but they click from the start and are total trauma bonded best friends to lovers

ANYWAYS THEY’RE TRAINING TOGETHER BC THEIR HERO DEBUTS ARE COMING UP SOON AND SO THEY SPAR 🤗 he flirts, she flirts, he get flustered, she pins him and wins the match, they both go quiet and stare at each other longer than “just friends” would—

the age old story that i eat up every time tbh 😪 bonus points if he confesses and lands an actual non-platonic date with her, but i’ll leave it up to youuu <3

impending lovers.

hawks

-from partners in the commission, to friends, and maybe something more.

part of my 1k event! submit your asks!

‘ready to get your ass beat today birdboy?’

keigo stands around 15 paces in front of you, an amused look on his face.

‘i thought i told you to stop calling me that’

the gym is empty other than you two, it gives you the ability to speak freely, act freely, a small sense of freedom. but only when it’s just you and him.

you had originally thought it best to ignore him, all those years ago when he was brought into the commission just a couple of months after you were.

he was.. a distraction.

you think he still is.

but when he smiled at you on the first day you met him you knew it was no use.

‘you finally decided on a hero name?’

‘oh um yeah- i think im going for hawks.’

hawks. it suited him. it felt powerful, matched his huge- beautiful red wings. it’s why you had suggested it in the first place.

‘you went for my suggestion huh?’

he looks away- maybe a little embarrassed. bashful and blushing at your realisation that he picked the only name you suggested.

it’s always been like this. you tease and you laugh, border on flirting until- nothing. nothing ever happens, your beginning to think nothing ever will, although that’s probably for the best.

‘of course i did- come on, we’re wasting good sparing time’

the first part of his sentence is hushed, whispered, as though he doesn’t want you to hear it.

you don’t comment on it, instead you get into position, fists in front of your face to avoid a potential quick attack from him.

you’ll always find yourself here, standing in front of him, a couple feet away, just slightly out of reach.

he doesn’t count down, instead lunging towards you in one quick movement. you watch his hands, he’s not looking to punch, it’s more of a grab, a push maybe.

you move to the left- not quick enough, he trips you up with the side of his wing but the impact sends you both tumbling in the same direction.

neither of you give up, tossing around on the ground- hands reaching to grab the others in an attempt to stop them moving.

you hook his legs on yours, immobilising his lower half before you climb over him, giving yourself the upper hand.

it’s harder for him to fight you from below you, he’s trying to push you off, but your legs have his in a vice and it becomes clear to him that your not going anywhere.

you have his hands now, pinned together above his head, he’s attempts to move his wings, but their trapped under both of your body weights. you have him.

you haven’t really been looking at him- other than predicting where he was going to put his hands, he’s unmoving now, accepting defeat. it gives you a second to look at him, his face.

he’s staring at you, your faces are alot closer than you thought. your nose is inches from his, you can feel his breath on your face, you can feel his chest rise and fall.

your staring at each other now- and he has this look in his eye, you’ve seen it before, for split seconds. it’s admiration- but there’s something more. he looks almost dazed.

you want to move- but you can’t. there’s nothing holding you down but the idea of ruining this moment- so delicate, soft. it breaks your heart.

you can’t indulge, you’ve never let yourself before. you see him, of course you do. you’ve always saw him.

you see him fly, you see him laugh, and cry- your the only one who ever sees him.

it hurts that he’ll never see you too.

it’s better to push him away, don’t let yourself indulge.

in one quick movement your separated from him, you miss the look of panic in his eyes as he jumps up after you.

walking away, going to grab your water or a rag to dry the sweat, just anything to have a little space from him.

you don’t make it far.

‘wait- stop-!’ his voice is a little frantic- whatever he’s about to do is unplanned.

‘how long are we going to pretend?’

it catches you of guard- he’s gripping your hand, spinning you towards him. the look of upset on his face breaks your heart all over again.

‘what are you talking about?’

he shakes his head, even lets out a little laugh, as though he’s saying something obvious that your not understanding.

but there’s something desperate about the way he’s holding your hand in his, about the uneven breaths he’s letting out, about the way he’s looking at you.

he’s desperate- and suddenly it all makes sense.

‘i can’t keep pretending you don’t mean everything to me.’

[glasvera]

Golden Morphine

Adam Warlock x Fem!Reader

Description: You're checking in with Adam to make sure your injuries are healing well... and this time, his healing has an altogether different effect on you.

Warnings: Spicy but no smut (yet)

A/N: I'm in my Adam Warlock era. My Golden Boy Arc. I am so down bad for this man it is insane. I'm writing nasty things about him instead of getting him to Lord proficiency on Marvel Rivals. I need professional help.

... and yes I have a Part 2 planned.

Word Count: 2.2k

“You are sure this is alright?” he asks tentatively while his hands hover just millimeters above your skin. His palms glow with a faint golden light.

A lilting giggle sounds in your throat as you nod, perhaps, for the tenth time in the past five minutes. His concern was endearing, but he really needn't ask quite so frequently. 

You had asked him to check up on some recovering injuries you had to make sure everything was alright; after all, you had broken several bones, and you definitely didn't let them rest as much as you probably should have. Unfortunately for the flustered man standing behind you, many of those bones included ribs and you had some nasty contusions on your back. Perhaps he could have just snapped his fingers and healed you good as new, but the two of you had fallen into a rhythm of intimate understanding. You had thought nothing of it when you had approached him before, and you thought nothing of it this time as well.

He had come to enjoy watching your wounds close and mend beneath his ministrations, and you had come to enjoy the feeling of it. When those golden tendrils pour into you, you're filled with a surge of what can only be described as euphoria. Golden morphine.

It was delicious. It was addictive.

So, here you sit with your back to him, having lifted your shirt up so that it hangs loosely around your neck and over your chest. This was the reason for his constant requests for reassurance. Seeing your skin bared before him like this, the warmth emanating beneath his touch, felt like the ultimate sin. And with the way you sigh with each healing wave… he could feel the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. If only you knew what you did to him.

“It's fine, Adam. Besides, I thought you liked to watch?” you teased gently, shooting him a cheeky grin over your shoulder.

You could have sworn his cheeks had turned a darker shade of gold… or bronze, perhaps? He certainly couldn't seem to look you in the eye.

“Forgive me, it's just…”

“What? Is it that bad? How many different shades of purple are there back there?” you tease again, shaking your head slightly.

“N-No! I simply feel as if I… as if I shouldn't look,” he admits meekly.

That’s what’s bothering him? You nearly roll your eyes. With no small amount of discomfort and a few grunts, you scoot yourself around to better face him. Bad idea. He immediately covers his face to avoid looking upon your chest, even if it is mostly covered by your rolled up shirt. 

“Please! I do not-!”

“Adam! How many times have you healed me? How many times have you seen my skin?” you interrupt him, at this point slightly annoyed both by his chivalrous stubbornness and the pain you'd suffered to face him properly. You pout with your bottom lip jutting out towards him.

“But you are-!”

He gestures broadly to your bare top half with his free hand, still doing his best not to look at you directly. You catch that hand mid-movement and lock his fingers with your own.

“Adam,” you begin again, this time softer, and he can't help but pause his worries to hang onto your every word. You give his hand a squeeze. “Feel that? It's just skin. And this…”

You guide his hand to rest on your waist, and you could have sworn he stopped breathing. For a brief moment, you admire the contrast of his golden flesh against yours.

“...is just more skin,” you finish, your voice soft and airy. Even you have to admit that your mouth feels a bit dry at the touch despite being the one to initiate it.

One of his white gold eyes peeks between his fingers and stares intently at where your hands lay. His breathing is ragged now, and you can feel the way his hand trembles beneath yours. Long moments pass in silence between the two of you. Languid strokes of your thumb soothe the back of his hand, and finally, the trembling lessens. But it does little to lessen the sparks igniting in this moment.

“Soft…” he breathes out. It brings an almost relieved smile to your lips and a warmth to your cheeks.

“But still skin. And I promise I don't mind you looking at me, or touching me for that matter. It's just a part of the healing process, right?” you say reassuringly. There's something so tender in your words, and his hand falls from his face as his gaze returns to your face. Those chiseled features soften. Inwardly, he curses himself for being so easily affected by so much as a glance from you.

“O-Of course. Forgive me,” he murmurs bashfully. Then, his brows knit together in confusion, and he chews pensively on his lip.

“You… like this?” he asks, blinking before those milky white orbs meet your gaze. “It radiates off of you. A warmth. An affection.”

Oh. Your blush deepens, though it was no secret in the end, you suppose.

“I do,” you affirm. “I like being with you. And I like being taken care of, I suppose,” you add with a soft titter.

You both avoid each other’s gazes then, and an even thicker silence pervades the space around you. For a moment, you fear you've said too much. Have you finally gone too far? It's always been different with Adam; you can't deny that. But true feelings are so often felt and so rarely spoken between you. You worry that you've broken some unspoken pact, ruined the intimacy you've allowed yourselves this long.

“That is… good,” he states simply, finally, taking a deep breath between words.

Now it’s your turn to be surprised as your eyes flash up to meet his.

“It is…?” you ask hesitantly, the words a mere whisper on your lips.

Adam’s head tilts to the side, puzzled by you once more. A few locks of golden hair droop unceremoniously onto his forehead. 

“Should it not be?”

You blink a few times and study his face, searching for any hint of uncertainty. Instead, you only find his apprehensive gaze as he waits for you to answer. The corner of your lip twitches into a smile, and you exhale a small huff through your nose.

“No, no, it’s fine. I was just surprised,” you respond with a hint of relief in your voice. Your hand travels up his arm, leaving his on your waist as your fingertips dance along his bicep. His eyes flicker down to watch, seemingly enraptured. His lips part in anticipation as you lean in closer.

“Now, do you mind finishing what you started…?” you breathe as your hand comes to rest on his chest, tracing the delicate lines that seemed to be engraved into his skin.

An audible gulp sounds in his throat as his eyes continue to follow your hand. Finally, they look back up to yours. “What… what I started?”

You hadn’t intended to tease him, not really, but the way he gazes at you with bated breath makes it quite the tempting prospect. Another time, perhaps.

“Healing me, silly,” you answer with a chortle. “Even if I do like being with you, I did come here for a reason.”

He straightens up then, suddenly, and clears his throat. You definitely recognize that deep copper shade to be a blush on his cheeks now, and it has your stomach doing flips. The perfect man, truly.

“R-Right, yes,” he says, trying so desperately to hide the embarrassment in his voice. It’s difficult now for him to focus with whatever… this was developing between you two, but somehow he manages. The perfect being, and all that.

He starts where his hand rests upon your waist. You’re not sure if it’s his lack of focus, or if there was something more in his intent now, but it’s strong. It catches you off guard as you feel that golden energy pour through you, healing the last of your bruises and delicately setting your cracked ribs into place. But more than that, it sends a tingling sensation coursing through your entire being. It’s so sudden that you can’t stop the sound that escapes your lips.

You can’t stop the broken, breathless moan that cracks in your throat. Thank goodness your hand was already braced on his chest. Your fingers curl against the skin there, and your body nearly convulses with the strength of it.

Forget golden morphine. His healing was like an aphrodisiac to you now.

He pulls away from you in an instant. Of course he does. His face is the picture of horror, and he stares down at his hands for a moment before he takes you by the shoulders.

“Y/N!” His voice is exasperated as he looks you over. “I am so sorry! What have I done?”

It takes you a second to catch your breath, and your cheeks are flushed. That golden energy lingers and sends shocks of pleasure straight to your core. You grip the mantle of his cape in both of your fists and pull him closer. 

“Fuck, Adam…” you curse, and you can't help but laugh breathlessly when he peers down at you in utter confusion. “N-nothing bad, I assure you.”

Your eyes are half-lidded, and your grip shows no sign of weakening. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you or your words, but this is truly unlike anything he has ever witnessed. Adam takes the time to study you, noticing the warmth radiating off of you and… something else he doesn't recognize. A need? 

Curious as he is, he composes himself once more and places his hand at your ribs, just inches underneath your breast. You barely have time to process it before he's sending out another wave of energy. It leaves you panting, clamping your thighs together, and trembling. Your toes curl in your boots and your head falls to rest on his chest while you catch your breath. 

Oh.

He's catching on. Slowly. Slower than the tightness forming in his pants, at least. 

“It… feels good?” he asks, his voice taking on a low huskiness. When all you do is nod, his hand begins to travel up your side to cup your cheek. “Y/N… allow me to see your face.”

There was no way you could deny him now, and your head rises so that you might meet his pearlescent gaze. He finds your pupils blown and your lips parted ever so sweetly… His thumb traces your bottom lip and he sends the tiniest whisper of energy to that spot. Your eyes shut tight as a whine catches in your throat.

It draws a shuddery exhale from him. He doesn’t understand why, but some part of him needs to hear more of these noises from you. He speaks before he even realizes what he asks.

“Please,” he begins, a soft quiver in his voice, “Please let me kiss you.”

It’s not your voice that answers, but your lips. They crash into his; it’s messy, needy, utterly stealing the breath from his lungs. Your hands leave the mantle of his cape to slide into those silky golden locks at the nape of his neck, determined to make the same mess out of him that he’s made of you. He gasps into your mouth before both of his hands are cupping your face. It’s clear who has more experience in this field, but you certainly don’t mind taking the lead. Your legs part and wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly close as he stumbles slightly to steady himself. Nipping and tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth draws a whimper from him that leaves him bucking his hips into yours, and you can’t help but let out a low moan at the way his evident desire grinds against you.

He breaks the kiss then, clearly a bit overwhelmed with his flushed face and swollen lips, but shows no signs of letting you go. His chest rises and falls with the force of his breaths.

“I… I do not know what it is you do to me, but…” he finally murmurs, his breath fanning across your face. “I know that I like it. I want to hear more of you. Feel more of you.” The back of his hand brushes soothingly along your cheek before brushing through your hair, and his reverent gaze melts you in an instant. Then his touches travel lower, and his golden fingers toy with the bunched up fabric of your shirt. “...That is, if you will allow me?”

You must be dreaming. Sure, you had just kissed him, and gods know you’ve wanted to do that for ages, but for him to want to continue? It feels like something out of your fantasies.

So when your hands fall from his neck, when your fingers find the edge of his cape and slowly push it off of him and he lets you, you’re still not sure it’s real. But you’re not going to give up the chance to live out this dream of yours regardless.

“Only if you let me do the same,” you respond airily, occupying your fingers with tracing those delicate lines across his chest and shoulders. 

“I-I…” he starts, clearly distracted by your touches. “Yes. Please.”

[rainintheevening]

I mean... think about it. Who does Banquo love the best after his son? Who does he trust the most, and confide in, and tell endless stories of to his wide-eyed son? Who would be the most important person Fleance would know to run to, should anything go awry?

He's maybe 12, coming back to the palace with his father after a long ride, all pink cheeks and tired but happy, and still thrilled that his father is the closest friend of the new king, and they're staying at the palace now. He takes the torch to light their way down the path from the gate, because he always carries the torch for his father.

His father remarks there will be rain tomorrow.

And then the rush, the torch knocked from his hand and gone out, the scraping of steel as his father tries to draw his sword, and Fleance reaches for his dagger, but the shadows are hulking and his father is shouting over the attackers grunts and complaints. "Fly, fly, fly!" he cries, and the boy obeys.

He knows who to run to for help, he knows who he can trust. He knows how brave and fierce a warrior Macbeth is. So he runs, small and slim, and sure-footed even in the dark.

He does not hear the death gurgle, though his own fear chokes him, knowing his father is probably dead, hoping with the wild hope of youth that Banquo can fight, can fend them off long enough, until Macbeth should come. He doesn't know how many more attackers there might be, he can't be sure they won't come after him. So he skitters off the path, weaves through the trees, trying to remember where the side entrances are, thinking he should slip in through the kitchens. He can't trust anyone until he gets to Macbeth, until Macbeth knows. Macbeth will protect him.

So he slips and he sneaks through the dark, through the doors, taking the round-about way even if it's longer, moving fast, thinking forward, only ahead, not back, he can't think back, not now. There's a feast on, he and his father were supposed to be guests of honour at it. But now the food smells make him nauseous. He skulks through the shadows of the scullery, catching snippets of chatter from the servants: the meal is being served, the feast is gathered, the king is in the hall.

Scottish castles aren't much for decoration, not even the king's, but there's enough people coming and going for him to slip through, and he takes refuge against a chest in a corner, trying to catch his breath, trying to listen for Macbeth's voice. He thinks that voice will mean safety, will mean rescue.

He hears the murderer's rough voice first, and his heart near stops with terror. They've come after him, they'll find him, they'll kill him too. His fingers tremble as he wraps them around his dagger hilt, remembering his father's plea to avenge him. And he determines to take at least one man with him. He doesn't hear Macbeth's approach, or he may have leapt up with a wild determination to save at least Macbeth from the killers.

The first thing he hears from Macbeth is quick, anxious, so much so he's not quite sure it is Macbeth. "There's blood on thy face."

He's gone still, so still, stiller than a rabbit under the eye of a hound, he does not even blink, because the voice is right above him now, both of the voices...

"Oh, tis Banquo's then."

Father...

"Well, better you without than he within. Is he dispatched then?"

"I cut his throat myself. But the son is fled."

The son is fled, yes, the son is fled to sit by and hear his father's best and dearest companion delight in his father's murder, and wish for the son's death. The son is fled to the shadows he thought would protect him, but he sits in the shadow of death.

He doesn't blink or twitch or even breathe for what seems a long time.

When he comes back to himself, the banquet is prepared, everyone is in the feast hall, where he can hear Macbeth's voice. The kindling of rage sparks in Fleance, and he draws his dagger, rising from his shadowed corner, suddenly uncaring for his own life, when none better than Judas stands in the other room. But he looks up, and... he would speak but he cannot, for he thinks he sees his father standing there, over by the stairs, shaking his head, and there's blood all down his shirt, but he's looking at his son, and Fleance can hear the words as if in distant echo—Fly, fly, fly!

Fleance is a dutiful son, he loves his father more than anyone else in the world, he will do what his father commands. So he sheathes the dagger. He slides back into the shadows, and fancies the shadow of Banquo follows him. (They are the lights relegated to the shadows, reduced to flickers.)

In the quiet stables (grooms away to their own supper) gathering the saddle, hands slipping over his father's handsome seat, seeing Banquo's sweet grey mare nicker at him, his hands begin to shake.

In the distance the hue and cry is raised, but he does not hear, for he is weeping suddenly, stumbling to Thistledown's side to cling to her neck, before he turns away and is violently sick.

No one hears him, no one finds him.

He takes Thistledown, rather than his own pony. Somehow he cannot bear to leaver her behind, as if she might be next for Macbeth to want dead. They ride out into the night, a chill rain blowing in from the east, and covering their passage. The boy has only his plaid, his dagger, his flint, a bit of bread and a small skin of wine pillaged from a groom's things, and heart breaking under the weight of betrayal and loss and loneliness.

He does not know where to go now. He knows he can never return. He knows he will survive.

[aquarius-johnny]

content warning: mature content incld. mentions of alcohol, sexual language

loverboy!johnny who decides to go to a party with the intention of having a one night stand simply because it goes against everything he has done up until this point; his attempt to try something new.

loverboy!johnny who sees you across the room with a cropped oversized zip up jacket, sipping on what he can assume is a concoction of the cheap liquor this party has to offer; debating on whether to talk to you or not.

loverboy!johnny who takes a chance on fate and goes up to you when your friends walk away to grab another drink.

“hey,” he says over the loud music blaring through the speakers.

you look up at him and smile, surprised that the man you’ve been throwing glances at all night finally came to talk to you. “hey,” you respond, taking a sip of the drink you’ve been nursing all night.

“are you here with anyone tonight?” he asks, bending over towards your ear so you’re able to hear him.

“just my friends.”

he nods in understanding. “think they’ll let me take you away from them for a little bit?”

your hand finds his as he leads you up the stairs into an empty bedroom he found.

loverboy!johnny who pushes you up against a random bedroom wall, groping you like his life depended on it. his lips attacking your neck as you unzip your jacket, exposing a newly lace bra you wore for occasions as such.

“fuck,” he sighs against your soft skin. his mouth licking and sucking tender areas of your skin, causing you to gasp, moan, and giggle under his touch.

loverboy!johnny who melts under your touch as your nails dig into his chest, leaving behind crescent shaped marks as you ride him.

loverboy!johnny who groans as you moan his name into his ear, as he penetrates deep inside of you, forcing out profanities from your lips.

loverboy!johnny who fucks you into oblivion as if you were sent from the heveans above meant just for him, hindering you incapable of forming coherent sentences as he fucks you just how you like it.

loverboy!johnny who makes it his life mission to find that sensitive spot inside of you as he roughly thrusts his hips into you, making you feel something you’ve never felt with others before him.

loverboy!johnny who ensures you cum over and over again, leaving your body quivering and wanting more.

loverboy!johnny who offers you a ride home as a thank you for letting him fuck you, offering you to walk you to your door when you get there, only for you to kindly decline his offer.

loverboy!johnny who clearly doesn’t understand the concept of a one night stand, writes his phone number on your hand in sharpie, hoping you’ll call him so he can see you again.

loverboy!johnny who thinks back on the night he met you, replaying how perfectly your pretty little cunt fit around him and how pretty you look, drunk off his cock.

loverboy!johnny who desperately asks for your number from one of the friends you were with that night he met you, when he didn’t hear from you in the past two days.

loverboy!johnny who hits you up to come over, throwing away the idea of a one night stand because he just loved the idea of you being his.

loverboy!johnny who fucks your brains out, making you cum multiple times in a row because he loves how good you taste. he fucks you like he hates you, but you loved every single second of it and so did he.

loverboy!johnny who introduces you to his roommates by name, letting them know they’ll probably be seeing you around a bit more.

loverboy!johnny who intended for you to just be a hookup, ended up wanting you to be his because anything else went against his nature — and he’s a creature of habit.

a/n: i’ve already written a whole smut based off this as it was in my drafts, hehe

[girlyrafe]

──── ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴍᴇᴛ .ᐟ

ᡣ𐭩 ❝ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ¡ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ⟡ ݁₊ ❞

⌗ with chris sturniolo .ᐟ.ᐟ

ᝰ summary .ᐟ You didn’t expect Chris to be so disarming. Sitting across from him, your nerves settle without warning, his easy grin pulling you in. He’s not what you imagined—gentler, curious. And somehow, he sees you.

₊ ⊹ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

You hover near the doorway, unsure what to do with yourself. Your boyfriend had practically barged in, talking too loudly as he shook hands with the guy he called Chris, leaving you trailing behind like an afterthought. Now you’re standing there, feeling completely out of place, your hands clutching your bag, your eyes flickering nervously around the room.

Chris isn’t anything like you imagined. You’d pictured someone intimidating, maybe rough around the edges—someone who matched the world your boyfriend seemed so comfortable in. But Chris? He’s… different. He looks relaxed in a way that draws your eyes immediately, slouched in a chair like he owns the place, his tousled brown hair poking out from under a backwards cap. His baby-blue eyes flick to you once, then again, lingering just a little longer this time, his gaze soft but curious.

“Gotta light up,” your boyfriend announces suddenly, stuffing a baggie into his pocket. His tone is careless as he jerks his chin toward the door. “Don’t touch anything, alright?”

The door slams shut behind him before you can respond, leaving you alone with Chris. You freeze, not sure whether to sit or stand or say something, and the silence feels heavy for a moment. When you glance up, Chris is watching you, his head tilted slightly, like he’s trying to figure you out.

“You don’t have to just stand there,” he says finally, his voice warm and teasing. “Come on, sit. I don’t bite.” Then he pauses, a playful glint lighting up his eyes. “Unless, you know, you’re into that.”

Your face goes warm immediately, and you let out a nervous little laugh, unsure whether to be embarrassed or amused. You decide to sit, perching carefully on the edge of his couch, your knees pressed together, your back impossibly straight. You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes your heart race in a way you’re not used to.

Chris leans back in his chair, stretching out comfortably, his gaze never leaving you. “Relax,” he says softly, his lips quirking into a lopsided grin. “You’re safe. Promise. I’m not as scary as your boyfriend probably made me sound.”

You blink, surprised by the way his voice makes you feel—calmer, somehow, even though you’re still clutching your bag tightly. “He didn’t really say much about you,” you admit shyly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, that’s rude,” Chris replies, pretending to be offended. His grin widens, and there’s something about it—about him—that feels… safe. Inviting. “Here I thought I was unforgettable.”

You let out a quiet laugh, still fidgeting with the strap of your bag, and his expression softens like he’s just won something. “There it is,” he says, his tone low and almost reverent. “Knew you had a cute laugh.”

Your cheeks flush, and you look down, unable to meet his eyes. “Thanks,” you mumble, your voice so small it almost gets lost in the room.

For a moment, you don’t say anything, and neither does he. You expect the silence to feel awkward, but it doesn’t. When you finally glance back up, Chris is still looking at you, but not in a way that makes you nervous. It’s more like… wonder, like he’s mesmerised by you in a way you can’t quite understand.

“So,” he says suddenly, leaning forward just enough to close the distance between you a little. “Does he always drag you along for stuff like this?”

You shake your head, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not really,” you say softly. “I guess he just didn’t want to come alone.”

Chris snorts, leaning back again. “Classic.” He watches you for another moment before his grin returns, playful and warm. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad he did. You seem way cooler than him.”

You blink, startled by the compliment, and then let out a small laugh. “You don’t even know me.”

“True,” he says, his smile softening into something more genuine. “But I can already tell. You’re sitting here all polite and sweet, like you’re afraid you’re gonna break something just by being here.”

You laugh again, your nerves unravelling little by little, and it feels… nice. His words don’t feel rehearsed or calculated; they feel real, like he actually means them. And the way he’s looking at you now—like you’re something rare and special—makes your heart flutter in a way it hasn’t in a long time.

He starts talking, his voice light and easy, and before you know it, you’re laughing at everything he says. Real, full laughter that spills out of you before you can stop it. You feel yourself leaning forward slightly, your shoulders relaxing as the space between you feels smaller and smaller.

“You’re cute when you laugh,” Chris says at one point, his grin widening as you try (and fail) to fight the blush creeping up your neck.

“You’re just saying that,” you mumble, looking down.

“I’m really not,” he says, his tone low and sincere, and when you glance up, his eyes are locked on yours, impossibly soft.

By the time your boyfriend comes back, reeking of smoke and tossing out some half-hearted excuse for taking so long, the spell should break. But it doesn’t. You’re still caught in the warm haze of Chris’s voice, his jokes, the way he’s been looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

Your boyfriend slings an arm around your shoulder, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel reassuring. It feels heavy. And as you glance back at Chris—his grin easy, his eyes full of something you can’t quite name—you can’t help but wonder: how did you ever think your boyfriend was the interesting one?

[maxdibert]

Now I also wanna complain and I wanna complain about the often mischaracterization of Sirius. In mostly R/S fics they practically make Remus the big bad alpha and Sirius a whiny, feminine man-child. And like…when did they come to the conclusion that a man who did bad things in his life, went to twelve years of prison and was constantly in presence of literal joy-sucking demons, was a small little baby? That twink wouldn’t survive a day in Azkaban lol

And I agree on Sirius/James, they probably fit the stereotype of those two classmates everyone had, that said they weren’t gay but were always all over eachother and togheter everywhere

Sirius Black is described by Rowling almost obsessively as someone extremely handsome, extremely tall, and very masculine. Just as Rowling insists on drilling into the reader's head that Severus is physically hideous, she’s equally insistent that Sirius is essentially a magazine model. Literally, these two characters are the ones she describes the most, and she doubles down the hardest on their physical appearances. But Rowling doesn’t stop there: she shows us that girls swooned over Sirius, paints him as the stereotypical teenager with semi-naked women on posters in his bedroom, and tells us from the very first book that he rode a motorcycle.

I know that none of these things necessarily mean anything from a modern perspective, where gender fluidity is understood and breaking stereotypes is valued. But we’re not talking about a modern author with a modern perspective. We’re talking about J.K. Rowling—someone obsessed with rigid gender binaries, a textbook TERF, and an author who repeatedly condemns traditional femininity above all else. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that when she tells us Sirius had bikini-clad women on his walls and rode a motorcycle, she’s trying to make us imagine him as a manly man. And, in fact, she assigns him traits typically associated with masculinity: being impulsive, sometimes violent, and exuding a rebellious bad-boy attitude.

Rowling was projecting the archetypal high school bad boy, and the stereotypical bad boy isn’t some skinny, short guy trying to challenge masculine hegemony—he’s the opposite. What frustrates me the most about how this image has been corrupted isn’t just that it completely ruins his character—whose personality and psyche are deeply tied to the toxic hypermasculinity Rowling created him with—but also that it robs us of the chance to acknowledge that a guy can fully embody the cis male archetype and still be gay.

The problem isn’t that he’s paired with men; it’s that in order to pair him with men, people feel the need to create an entirely new character that bears no resemblance to him. Because that’s not Sirius Black. In the same way, the “alpha male of the pack” isn’t Remus Lupin. Canonically, Remus Lupin was the third tallest after James, a guy who hid behind his friends, who didn’t want to draw attention to himself, and who was so afraid of being left out that he wouldn’t even stand up to them when they did something he didn’t like. He’s not a self-assured person; he has zero self-esteem, is deeply conflict-avoidant, and hates confrontation.

I don’t understand the need to change the characters. Wolfstar has been around as long as the fandom itself, and 15 years ago, Remus was still Remus, and Sirius was still Sirius. I don’t understand this current trend of completely dismantling their characters.

[wizzard890]

Hi Emily! Just a fair warning, this ask is gonna include eating disorder talk so feel free to skip over it and come back when you feel prepared to read it!

Anyways, I've seen on Twitter that you've gone vegetarian because of your objections to the meat industry and honestly, I agree, and I want to do that too, but I have a history of very disordered eating patterns (I've never been formally diagnosed with anything so I don't like to label myself with anything like that which is why I use that wording), and I'm scared that if I restrict myself like that it could lead to a spiral. I know you've struggled with eating disorders in the past, so was this something you faced too? I've thought about slowly transitioning to being a pescatarian before going vegetarian to get used to it, but a part of me is still scared. Do you have any words of advice? I hope you have a nice day and that things continue to go well for you and your wife!

This is a super thoughtful question, and one which also gave me a bit of concern when I went vegetarian. As someone who has dealt with eating disorders in the past, I really didn't want to Count Anything, or focus on things I was cutting out of my diet. But I've landed on an approach that works for me, and I think it'll help you too.

First of all, don't think of it as restricting anything. For me, vegetarianism is a moral choice, and that means I'm intentionally laying something aside, not punishing myself. This is for your ethics, it has nothing to do with your body or your self esteem.

Second, infuse what you're doing with a sense of exploration! I cooked and ate meat for many years, and going vegetarian was an opportunity to branch out into new flavors and foods I'd never really tried before. If you feel at a loss, get some new cookbooks to inspire you - I'm currently enjoying these ones. Disordered eating can make you fixate on lack; so don't let yourself lack. You're exchanging one type of food for another, an absolutely neutral act. Vegetables are really good for you and we all could probably stand to eat more of them anyway.

I think going pescatarian for a while is a great starting point, especially as you get your bearings with a new kind of cooking. Zero in on what kinds of vegetarian proteins sound the most enticing, and find a few starter recipes that look good; focus on those, so you have them in your back pocket if the rest is intimidating. Above all, we want to keep you fed.

You sound self-aware, and that's a good thing to be when embarking on a change like this. Remember why you're doing it, and be at least as kind to yourself as you would be to the humble cow that you're choosing not to eat.

[sasster]

Renovations

Hey guys! Hi! [doc]

—

Were he a notch higher on the go big or go home scale, and if the universe would have allowed for it, Persep might have blown his dreadful apartment building and all of the poor bastards it housed off of the face of Alternia.

They’d probably have thanked him for that too, but something about the smothering desperation that the place was steeped in made it difficult to actually want to do away with. It would have been enjoyable, even, if he weren’t just as miserable as the rest of them.

Instead of putting them all out of their misery once he’d had enough of the place, he instead decided to go out and set some much neglected plans in motion.

Finding a hive in his preferred setting, a heavily forested area as far away from civilization as to not be an inconvenient trek back as he could get, was the easy part. Apart from city-dwellers, trolls tended to want their territories a decent distance  from other trolls. As far they could get them, really. And after a handful of perigees as a city-dweller himself, he would have found a way to put his new hive on the green moon if it meant never seeing another unwanted soul in his space again.

That would have made the next phase of his plan way too difficult though and he always prided himself on his ability to remain practical.

Persep had hoped that the hive he found would be an abandoned one, considering that his change in status from ghost to reaper meant that killing anyone was a new and frustrating impossibility, but scaring the former owner away was easy enough. He was young and, by his own admission once Persep’d bared his fangs, didn’t want any problems.

The hardest part was getting the structure up to the standards of his old hive, the beautiful and towering omen that it was before that party of ingrates reduced it to ash. It was a marvelous place of stone and nightmares. Edgy by anyone else's standards. This new one was much smaller by comparison, hidden amongst the cover of the treeline instead of standing dauntingly above it. The mid-blood he menaced out of it had neither the funds nor ambition that he’d had when it was time to construct.

There’d be no room for a gruesome collection of lifesized 1:1 ration puppets or a maze of halls within to stalk and disorient his guests. Not even any space for a vivisection table without disrupting the delicate balance of the hive's two bedrooms and living room.

Much of the hive was decorated to his tastes, at least. His collections of old artifacts weren’t what they used to be, but he made do, and of course the look wouldn’t be complete without the porcelain dolls he loved so much that made direct eye contact with the observer from whatever angle they approached from. Those soulless glass eyes painted the rooms and halls a shade of dread that cured his heart of the homesickness plaguing it since his return.

The renovations were not fully complete until he finished the second bedroom, though: soft pastel walls peppered with floating shelves full of books that staggered along a wall to a window he’d made certain to force and break the lock on. His plan required that his guest be comfortable after all, but in no position to make daring escapes.

Persep admired the circular bed and its canopy that rested near the window, delighted with the fruits of his labor. A bedroom that came to him in a dream, now complete and waiting for its occupant to come and make use of the vanity, dresser, and table he’d painstakingly arranged from memory.

A thank you would be appreciated, he thought, once his guest arrived.

Thumbing the glassy rock in his pocket, he smiled to himself, satisfied that he’d taken all of the necessary steps to see a deal fulfilled at long last.

And so he left his new home, stopping once he was outside to take in the exterior of all his hard work, then headed off toward the House of Restoration with an uncharacteristic pep in his step.

—

One of the better results of having a vagabond soul meant that traveling by the cover of Alternia’s blistering sun was of little consequence to him. As much as he enjoyed creeping in the shadows and flirting around the fringes of the consciousness of the layman, he didn’t fancy the idea of moving about in conditions that provided for that irritating Roatus kid to be up and about, making things much more difficult than they had to be. He liked the idea of Arkiro being fast asleep or otherwise occupied with whatever the daylife had to offer him.

Persep arrived at the church steps as the sun was approaching its apex, painting the landscape in its eye-searing rays. Just as he was going to learn how good the building’s sun-proofing systems were, the ornate handle on the front door turned and it was pushed slightly ajar from the inside. Someone carefully stepped out into the light, making certain not to open the door too wide as to let in too much sun, then closed it gently behind herself to mitigate any slam.

Persep felt himself grin at the familiar sight of her tail, fanned out as she closed her eyes and soaked in the warmth that the sun bathed the world in.

What luck.

He bounded forward eagerly, grin only widening in his fervor, to stand directly between Nymira and her sunbath. 

She furrowed her brows first at the sudden shade, then frowned. When she opened her eyes again horror joined the symphony of emotions clouding her features. If he had to guess, he would think she’d wandered out here in some sort of daze.

The corners of her mouth twitched, and she had enough sense to focus her gaze beyond his face despite the obvious discomfort stirring within her.

He said nothing for a moment, basking in the situation for just a short while.

Nymira took the time to try and get her way back into the church, only partially getting the door open before Persep made quick work of leaning forward with a hand pressed firmly against it, letting his own weight force it shut.

“Why the rush, Dreamer? No time for an old friend?” As soon as he broke the silence, her attention snapped back to him, still focused on anything but his eyes.

Smart girl.

“Why are you here?” She questioned, no doubt fighting to keep the fear out of her voice.

“We’ve much to discuss. Business matters to attend.” 

Nymira sniffed, a small indignant sound, and crossed her arms over her chest. “I am not looking to bargain with you again.”

“No?” He practically laughed, his mirth only barely held back. “Good thing you’ve yet to fulfill your end of the last one.”

He watched her resolve waver, his statement lingering in the air between them. She furrowed her brows again, horror quickly replaced by bewilderment, and dropped her hands to silently count her fingers by tapping them against her thighs.

“I went home,” she finally said, “Our dealings are finished.”

“‘Whatever you want,’” he echoed her promise. “I have yet to receive what I want, Godling.”

She hesitated, then made to take a step back, only managing to press herself against the door. “That is not what I meant… You know that wasn’t what I meant..”

“I’ll be collecting now.”

She made herself small against the door, voice ever smaller. “No…”

“That really isn’t how this works.” He warned, leaning in to further loom in the space she left behind.

Like a wild animal, her eyes darted around from his face to the space behind him either searching for an exit or someone to call out to. Then, with no warning at all, she reared back and drove her foot directly into his shin.

The smug look left his face in that instant, he hissed some expletives under his breath without letting up from the door, so she took her chances darting down the church steps, away from him.

Persep recovered faster than she expected, letting out another string of curses before giving chase, and tangling a hand in her hair to pull her back just as she cleared the bottom step. “I see you weren’t raised to play nice.” He gritted, fighting to get the fidgety goddess under control. “Will we be doing this the easy way?”

Nymira, stubborn as she can be, kicked back as hard as she could, striking him in the same leg as her first assault. When his grip loosened up, she made another run for it.

 “Shame on me for being polite.” He bemoaned, making quick work of running after her as she put distance between them and her only solace. Disoriented by fear though, she did not get very far before he was able to get his nails into her shoulder and turn her back to face him with such force she had no choice but to stop. 

The purple light emanating from his eyes spilled a ross her face and poisoned her features as they finally made eye contact. “The hard way it is.”