#trying my hand with these kinds of prompts

[stevenose]

for anonymous - thank you for voting!! and for the good prompt hehe

contains: gender unspecified reader; reader with a vagina; teasing; edging (reader receiving); kind of mean!steve; slight overstimulation; this one kinda got away from me and was not supposed to be this long 😳

“Steve - Steve —!”

“Aw,” he says flatly. “Do you want to cum or something?”

“Yes,” you grit.

He hums, applying harder, steadier pressure on your clit before going back to feather-light strokes. “Not coming with that attitude.”

He’s brought you close twice now, leaving you right on the cusp before pulling back. With the little resolve you have left, you reach down for his arm, trying to stop him from moving away.

“Hey,” he warns, grabbing your hand and pinning it above you. “Hands up here, remember?”

You huff.

“There you go,” he encourages. “Just gotta be nice to me and I’ll give you what you want, okay?”

His thumb presses down on your clit and he stops his movement all together. You jolt, twisting your legs beside his, slotted between yours. Your hands grasp the sheets under you and you curl the soft fabric up in your fists.

“You’re never nice to me,” you pant.

He pinches your clit. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

You do know it. He can be so tender with you. But he’s not right now, and you want to cum so badly, want him to move his fingers again until you’re shaking.

“What do you want me to do?”

He grins down at you. “You’re so easy. Want you to beg me. That’s not below you, is it? You’ve begged me for things before.”

You swallow your pride and ignore his comment. “Please let me cum, Steve.”

“Oh, not like that,” he says, his thumb moving, keeping the pressure hard. “Want it to be organic, you know? Instead of talking back while I’m making you feel good.”

His thumb really does feel so good. You moan breathlessly, hands still curled, your toes clenching. You want to grind, but you know that’ll get you farther away from what you need.

Steve kisses down your neck and collarbone. “Uh-huh, there y’go.”

His lips find a nipple, tongue laving over it. You moan louder, squirming. You breathe harshly, your orgasm quickly coming to the precipice. “Please,” you whimper.

White teeth scrape against your sensitive skin, catching on your nipple. “I’m gonna need a lot more than that.”

“Steve, please.” You’re coming undone. “It’s - it feels so good, I need more, I need to feel it.”

A finger slips down to your entrance while his thumb keeps rubbing at your clit. His lips resume their work, his finger never entering.

“Yes, please!” you pant. “Please, please, finger me.”

“You’re wet,” he says against your skin. “You love this.”

“I love this,” you agree mindlessly. “Steve, I wanna cum, want you to feel me.”

He moans now, slipping his middle finger inside of you. You clench around him and he whines.

Your hands tug the sheets, desperate. Your chest rises and falls, breath heavy. “Please, I’m so close, please don’t stop, Steve, please don’t stop!”

“Who’s making you cum?”

“You, you, you —“

“What’s my name, honey?”

“Steve,” you squeak, stomach tightening.

He pauses. Your eyes sting with tears, thinking he’s not letting you, but his pace continues with hard strokes and you’re cumming. Your hands fly to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, legs wrapping around his hips. You cry in ecstasy, shaking, pussy refusing to let him go until you’re overstimulated.

“Ah!” you whine. “Too — too much.”

Steve hums, eyes locked on yours, his thumb moving lightly against your twitching clit. “It’d be fun to keep playing with you, don’t you think?”

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: “Getting to know you, getting to know all about you…” ⬅️ If you’ve seen The King & I, then you’ll probably be singing that line in your head like I do.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 3.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, protective Dean, historical tidbits, fluff

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 2: Death & Sacrifice

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and the hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock… 

He just can’t do it.

His finger eases off the trigger of his gun, and he lowers it to the ground beside him.

“I told you,” he says. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Her head tilts as she stares at his gun, then at him. She relaxes somewhat, and she backs off of him, sliding from his lap down to the grass beside him. Her closed fist with the knife comes to rest at her side. She gives him a look of wary bewilderment.

“You are a strange man,” she says.

Dean has to laugh a little, smiling at her afterward.

“I guess so,” he replies.

Her brows furrow. “You killed one of your own…for me?”

He nods, and his smile falls with a weary sigh. The hard part about that is he doesn’t feel much guilt about what he’s done. At the same time, he does, and the conflict churns in his stomach. He knew what kind of man Roman was. He was the kind of soldier that could’ve filled Colonel Sanderson’s shoes one day. A fellow soldier under Dean’s command...

And a sack of shit in human clothes.

Dean leans back on his hands in the grass and slides his legs out long. His stare falls to the earth between his boots. The ground is soft underneath him. Maybe it rained this morning. 

“Yeah, that’s gonna make it tough when I go back,” he says. “At best, that’s a court martial. At worst…”

The Lakota woman frowns, her dark brows nearly meeting in the middle as she considers him. He wonders what she sees when she looks at him.

“Tell you what,” Dean said. “Give yourself and your horse a rest tonight. I’ll go back and tell them I lost you in the canyon.”

Her eyes widen further in surprise. He can’t blame her for it. He’s surprising himself every time he opens his mouth.

“Will they kill you?” she asks.

Dean shrugs. “Nah, I’ll be fine.”

She levels him with a firmer look, one that demands the truth.

His nonchalance wanes, and he sighs.

“They might,” he says.

She shakes her head. She seems to deliberate over something, but eventually she comes to a decision. Just when she opens her mouth to speak, a gunshot rings out and hits the ground not far from their feet. A warning.

The sound of hooves thundering on the earth reach them before they look up. Two horses gallop towards them in the distance, their riders wearing blue uniforms.

They both tense up, but Dean is the first one to move. He grabs her arm and helps her stand along with him. They scramble back and lead the horses by their reins further into the trees. They find a denser patch and a raised hill to crouch down and hide behind.

The mustang is too tired to go very far, but Baby is already making anxious sounds, protective of her rider.

“Shhh,” Dean whispers, and runs a soothing hand over her side. He leads her to lay down with her legs tucked underneath her.

The Lakota manages to do the same with the mustang after whispering to him softly in her language. There’s a trust between them, Dean realizes. They have a connection that seems to mirror his own with his horse. He doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before.

“Captain!” Benny calls out.

Dean grimaces, but he stays quiet. He turns to the woman and holds a finger over his lips. She stares back at him in apprehension. He begins to creep slowly around the hill, but she grabs onto his wrist. For a second, she looks just as surprised as him by the reflexive action. Then, she shakes her head at him.

Don’t go out there, her eyes say.

Dean smiles, and he gives her a reassuring wink. He gently removes her hand and gestures at her to stay where she is. He army crawls up the side of the hill. It gives him a vantage point to watch his men, who approach just a few feet down below. 

“Captain Winchester!” Cas calls next.

“We don’t want to have to come and get you, Dean. Come on,” Benny says. He does sound reluctant, for his part. His voice grows more somber when he says, “Colonel’s given us orders to bring you and the girl back…dead or alive.”

Dean knows the position he’s put his own men in. He doesn’t blame them for following the Colonel’s orders. He just hopes they can forgive him for what he’s about to do.

He leaps off the edge of the hill with a yell and brings Benny with him to the ground. He sweeps Cas’s legs out from underneath him, then tosses a punch that lands on the corner of Benny’s chin. He kicks Benny’s gun away, and wrestles Cas until his pistol falls from his hand. The three men scrap and trade blows, until Dean is the only one left standing. His men are groaning on the dusty ground, slowly picking themselves up.

Dean’s heaving for breath as well as he leans back against the side of the hill. Despite that momentary victory, he knows what they all know: that this fight isn’t going to end until either they’re dead, or he’s dead.

“Where’s the girl, Dean?” Benny says. He implores him to see sense. “We take her back with us, we can smooth all this over with the Colonel. All of it, even Roman.” 

Dean lets out a deep breath, but he shakes his head.

“Can’t do that, Benny,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a question circling in his friend’s eyes, but after a beat, Benny seems to know the answer to it. He picks up his gun from the ground. Just like Dean once did, the Lieutenant now has a choice to make.

He shares a heavy look with Cas. The two of them nod, before they focus back on Dean.

Benny’s hand falls, and he stows his gun.

“You died today,” Benny says. “We found your body somewhere in the canyon. Your horse too.”

Dean nods, with something of a smile. He supposes faking his death is the only option now. He rips the badge off his uniform jacket and tosses it to Benny.

“There’s your proof,” he says.

Dean shares a grim nod of respect with Cas while Benny examines the torn patch denoting a captain’s rank.

“Take care of each other,” Dean says.

Benny’s head raises, and he meets Dean with a somber gaze.

“Goodbye, brother.”

Dean doesn’t return to her until the men are out of sight through the trees. She’s still hiding along with the resting horses, waiting for him. That alone surprises him. It would bring a small smile to his face, if the weight of that goodbye didn’t feel so heavy on his shoulders.

He reaches out a hand for her. It takes her a moment to consider it, but she accepts his offer.

He helps her to her feet, after which, she quickly pulls her hand back. She’s wary of his touch, her face guarded when she looks up at him. Dean supposes he can’t blame her, even if it does strike a nerve. After what he just did for her…

His face becomes stoic, and he turns away to grab his hat from the dusty ground. “We should probably head out.”

She nods and calls to her horse to encourage him to his feet. Despite himself, Dean can't help but be curious. How did this girl manage to tame that wild beast?

“Does he have a name?” he asks.

“Mato,” she replies.

“Mato,” Dean echoes. “Does that mean something? You know, in your language.”

She eyes him wryly, brushing her hand over Mato’s hide.

“It means angry, like a bear,” she says.

Dean snorts. “Yeah, good name.”

He remembers his bruised side (and ego) from when the mustang threw him off his back.

Dean watches her with another realization as she gracefully mounts the horse. Baby has gotten up to her feet as well, already nudging the back of his arm with her snout. He rubs her nose in affection.

Then he turns to climb up onto her back, settling his feet into the stirrups and loosely grabbing the reins. He follows his companion’s lead farther into the forest, but he guides his horse to fall into step beside hers.

“Will you tell me your name now?” he asks. “Think we’ve been through enough together at this point, don’t you think?”

She considers it with a tilt of her head. She looks over at him with a small smile.

“Kimmímila,” she says. The syllables roll off her tongue effortlessly.

Dean raises his brows. “Kim…Kimmeela.”

She shakes her head at him, her lips pursing.

“Kimmímila.”

Lord help him, but he tries his best. His brows furrow.

“Kim…mila,” he attempts. She guides Mato closer and grabs Dean by his cheeks with one hand.

“Kimmí.”

“Kimmí,” he repeats with his cheeks squished. His face is starting to warm up, and not altogether in embarrassment.

“Mila,” she says with a nod.

“Mila,” Dean says. “Kimmímila.”

He’s treated to her smile, warm and true. She releases him, her gaze flitting over his face. Then she keeps riding. Dean grins to himself.

“Think I’m gonna call you Mila,” he says. Make it easier on myself.

She even laughs, a honeyed sound. “Yes, my father does too.”

“What does it mean? Your name.”

“In your language?” she says, in a tone that teases him back. She becomes thoughtful as she searches for the word. “It means…butterfly.”

“Really?” Dean remarks. She doesn’t strike him as a butterfly.

More like a lioness, he thinks, only somewhat holding back his grin.

She gives him some side-eye, despite her amusement.

“You think it does not suit me,” she observes.

“Well, I didn't say that—”

“I don’t think so either,” she admits. “There are many things that don’t suit me.”

Dean chuckles. He can imagine that.

“But my mother had a dream before I was born,” Mila says. “She saw beautiful wings, and said I would have a free mind. When I grew, and wanted to spend my days with horses more than cooking and sewing things, she didn’t call me free. She called me stubborn.” Her face begins to fall. “Maybe too stubborn.”

Dean offers her a rueful, sympathetic look. “Yeah, I get it. My brother always said I was damn hardheaded,” he says. “…Maybe we’ve got more in common than we thought, huh?”

Mila’s smile returns, however slightly.

“You have a brother?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah. He’s a lawyer, so he’s more needed back home,” Dean replies.

Damn. He really does miss his bookish little brother.

He explains to her about his family, his brother and mother who still live in Lawrence, and how he joined the army, in part to honor his father.

“What happened to him?” she asks.

“He died…in some cornfield near Sharpsburg, Maryland, fighting the Confederacy,” he replies, heaving a breath.

"Con...federacy?" she questions.

"The South," Dean explains. "See, most of our southern states thought they should be their own country, letting slaves plow their fields and mind their kids. I may have lived on a farm, but my father always paid his workers. He fought for the Union."

"So you fought among yourselves, over land that did not belong to you," Mila points out.

Dean falls silent. After a little while, he concedes her point with an incline of his head.

"Fair enough," he says, glancing over at her. “I think my dad thought the fighting would end with the war, but, uh...it never really ends, does it?”

Her expression of curiosity fades, turning more solemn.

“No,” she agrees. “…I am sorry for your father.”

Dean's a little surprised to hear that from her, but he nods his thanks. They continue to talk as the sun begins to set in the west. When it dips behind the canyon, they stop to make camp for the night, and he helps her catch a rabbit to roast on the fire they build together.

That night over the meal, she slowly opens up to him. He learns that she’s an only child, though she has a sibling-like bond with her older cousin, Šóta. She spends most of her days planting or harvesting their crops, depending on the season, as well as sewing, painting, helping the elders of her tribe with tasks, and helping her mother and aunt cook.

When the rabbit is gone, she unbinds her long, thick hair and untangles it while she speaks. She explains that the Lakota are just one of many tribes. There are six other bands of Sioux who live in this region. Along with the Dakota and the Nakota, they are the “Seven Council Fires” who have made the Great Plains their home for generations.

She tells him about the way her tribe lives, caring for one another, giving the land back as much as they take, and letting it rest. The men hunt and protect the village from the outside, but the women protect the inside, their way of life.

Most of all, Mila tells him, she loves caring for the horses. She goes out and rides whenever she can duck out of her mother’s watchful eye.

Dean enjoys listening to her stories. He likes what he learns about her, but also, he just likes the sound of her voice, smooth and steady, almost calming. He thinks she might like the sound of his too, the way she’s smiled at him, laughed with him, glanced at him when she thinks he’s not looking.

She still picks a spot as far away from him as she can to sleep though. She keeps the fire pit in between them. He even catches sight of her knife, hidden in the hand she tucks underneath her cheek. Evidently, she doesn’t fully trust him just yet.

It annoys him at first, considering how many times he’s saved her already. How much he’s sacrificed just to get them this far…

Until he remembers how they met. He remembers the disdain and anger in her brown eyes, then the mistrust, and the fear hidden underneath. He thinks of every experience she’s likely had so far with the U.S. Military, and anyone else who looks like him.

Dean settles down on the ground and stares up at the innumerable stars in a raven sky. He’s exhausted, but his thoughts don’t let him rest for a while. 

At the very least, the way she looks at him now is softer than that first day.

In the morning, Mila watches the strange man wake.

He blinks and rubs his bleary eyes, yawning, groaning at the sun’s brightness like a child. She hides her smile by bowing her head over the apple she’s cutting with her knife. The orchards span wide across the forest, and soon he’ll find two yellow-red apples beside his head.

His brows raise at them, then he looks up at Mila sitting with her legs crossed behind the small fire pit. The wood there is just ash and blackened remains now, but it still carries the smell of burning.

“Morning,” he greets.

She nods back at him and pretends not to watch when he sits up with a groan, stretching and bending his arms high behind his head. He removed his uniform jacket to sleep. It allows her to see every dip of male muscle that his plain white shirt clings to, even in the long sleeves.

Her gaze furtively runs over the broad shoulders, the tapered waist, then back up to his half-bearded face, defined by a strong jaw and dark brows. The sun catches on his brown hair and teases the ends of it golden.

She would never admit it, but he’s not unpleasant to look at. 

Last night, she declined his offer to travel with her until she reaches her tribe safely, but he was insistent. Again, strange.

So here she is, with him. Here they are. 

Dean turns to see the horses grazing nearby. Mato no longer has the saddle and bridle his men put on him. He looks rested and at ease. He even whinnies at Baby, tossing his head a little. She answers him and flicks her tail. They continue eating together.

Dean smiles, then grabs an apple. He raises it to her in thanks before he takes a large bite. Its juices run down the corner of his mouth, and he wipes at it with the back of his hand. Mila can’t help but be drawn to the sight.

She tears her eyes away when he looks over at her.

“We have a long way to go. Three days, if the weather is good,” she says, continuing to carve pieces of her apple to eat. “We will know we are close when we reach the river.”

Dean nods in understanding. With a grunt, he gets to his feet and takes another bite out of his breakfast. She doesn’t expect the way he approaches her with a hand outstretched. She looks up at it, then at his expectant face.

“Come on. Let’s hit the road then,” he says.

Mila considers his offer for another moment. He seems to be making this a habit. Amused, she wonders if this is just kindness, or if the women of his people aren’t allowed to stand without a man’s help.

She pockets her knife, swipes her braided hair over her shoulder, and slips her hand into his, allowing him to help her to her feet. When she gets there, he’s closer than he should be.

A breath gets trapped in her throat as she once again looks between his warm hand closed over her smaller one, and his face. In the small space between them, there is a different kind of tension than before. Mila can’t tell what the man is thinking when he looks at her like that, but she doesn’t like it.

And at the same time, she does.

She takes back her hand, and she goes to the horses. She firmly ignores how her heart gallops, even as she rubs at her chest like it’s an ache that can be soothed.

She doesn’t hear Dean’s unsteady breath, nor does she see the way his green eyes follow her.

AN: *rubs hands together* Well, here they are! It's all starting to come together. What did you think of Dean's decision?

Coming up next, we have the final part: some action, some fluff, and some potentially perilous situations for Mila and Dean...

Next Time:

“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”

Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.

“I will protect you,” she says.

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Mila…”

“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

COMING 11/17!

Or read Part 3 on Patreon now!

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Series Tag List + Dean W. (Part 1):

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@deanbrainrotwritings @urfav-tz @alwaystiredandconfused @torchbearerkyle @mrlonelycat

[imagine-darksiders]

I may be a little late for the author thing, but-

--

In our lifetime, we see millions upon millions of hands; Bloody hands curled into fists. Hands with fingers crossed behind suited backs. Tiny hands reaching out. Wrinkled hands reaching back. Shaking hands pulling blankets up. Numb hands grabbing snow. All kinds of hands.

Ellie has gentle hands.

The kind of hands with palms just the right size to cup the perfect amount of feed. Callouses on the middle finger that've grown to suit her favorite pen, even if the ink stains the rivets of her knuckles. To hold hands with her, even for a moment, leaves the same stains on your own fingers, but you can never bring yourself to find fault in it. The stains always end up pretty, somehow. No matter how dark the ink was.

I think more of us could do with some ink stains.

--

[I know it wasn't what was asked for, but I physically couldn't stop myself from trying to digitally paint u as well for this prompt. You give off Italian baroque painting vibes and I wish I had the skill needed to supply that. But I haven't done realism in years and I Beg you to not look at it too long lol-]

I .. am

entirely speechless right now. And a lot emotional, and touched, and a little bit in love w/u.

Not only have I been staring at the painting, I've printed it out to stick on my bedroom wall.

[ssentimentals]

Vernon + soft prompt 22 pls and thanks!🫰💕

hi, honey! thank you so much for requesting 💜 hopefully you'll like it!

soft prompt 'you're so damn beautiful baby. i can't believe you're fucking mine.'

mirror is not always your best friend; most of the times it just reflects back something that makes you want to either smash it into tiny little pieces or cover it. but this time though it's definitely on your side. you twirl again, smiling at your reflection. pretty. you feel pretty. and it's not that big of a deal because you try not to let this all get into your head, but my god, what a relief it is to look in the mirror and like what you see in there.

'baby, are you ready? we have to-' vernon pauses, freezing in the middle of the doorway. his eyes scan your body up and down before his jaw drops. 'holy shit.'

you giggle, twirling again but this time just for him. your boyfriend steps into the room with awe in his eyes, stopping few steps away from you. 'how is it?' you ask, turning to look at him. 'you look wonderful, by the way.'

it's not hard for vernon to look anything shy of handsome; you're pretty sure he can pull off any outfit, no matter how ridicilous it might look. but whenever he goes for more formal attire, that's when your heart has a hard time staying in your chest.

'god, love.' vernon steps in, taking your hands in his, giving you once over again. 'you're so damn beautiful baby. i can't believe you're fucking mine.'

he means it. every single word. you can tell from the way he looks at you like you are the world and he doesn't fully trust himself with handling you well. his touch is reverent and when he hugs you, he envelops you gently into an embrace, all careful. sagging into him, you smile, hiding your blush. 'thank you, babe.'

he places small kiss on your shoulder, leaning back and looking at you with pride. 'i'm so lucky. let's go? can't wait to show you off to everyone.'

'vernon!' you hit his chest playfully, secretly enjoying this kind of attention. he always looks like that at you, but at special occassions he always makes sure to let you know how he appreciates you dressing up. 'stop buttering me up!'

'i'm just stating the truth.' he instantly rejects, frowning. 'and why would i need to butter you up? you already are my girlfriend. that's why i said that i'm lucky.'

vernon is a sweet talker, but what makes it even sweeter is how he's always so painfully honest with everything in a way that makes you blush and leaves your heart a stuttering mess. 'i'm lucky too,' you say, interlacing your fingers as he walks you to the car. and that is also true.

a/n: request your own here! <3 - nini

[exitvelocities]

mlc week day 6, "confession". i'll get to the last day at some point, probably. i do better with prompts but i do want to finish the event.

*

"i don't dislike you," fang duobing says carefully, abashed and hedging.

"that's not the same as liking me," zhaoling says with a pointed arch of the eyebrows and fang duobing finds himself rather charmed despite himself.

"it's complicated," he says. "i'm not suitable for you anymore. my birth father is a traitor to the throne."

"most people don't know that," she says calmly, "and that's not what i care about anyway."

fang duobing knows that, of course, but he's trying to be rational and considerate rather than just plunging in head first for once. he has learned from the past few months, after all! "i'm not suited to be a prince consort anyway," he says.

"i know that too," zhaoling says. "you want to roam the jianghu and solve crimes and be a great hero like li xiangyi." it's a bit embarrassing to have it laid out so plainly after everything, but fang duobing can't really contest that. "i won't stop you," zhaoling adds, and fang duobing blinks.

"huh?" he says eloquently.

"it will be good for your image," zhaoling continues, "if you travel for a couple years and build up your reputation. no one will contest our marriage if you're a hero of the people."

"oh," fang duobing says, completely turned around by the direction this conversation is going.

"what i'm saying is you can do what you want to do and i'll handle the politics." zhaoling's smile is a touch sardonic, strange on her sweet face. "there's a lot of things i don't know," here zhaoling raises a delicate hand to her chest, "but i do understand the imperial court… and my father. but none of that matters if you don't like me."

"you won't force me?" fang duobing says.

"i might have before," zhaoling says candidly, every inch an imperial princess, the only daughter of the emperor. "but now it's a lot of trouble for someone who would be miserable at me for the rest of my life."

she's more savvy than fang duobing gave her credit for. "why do you even want me," he says, curious about her reasoning, since she's so aware of the political complications.

"i like you," she says simply. "you're kind and you want to help people."

"oh," fang duobing says again, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks.

"so i want to know," zhaoling says, "before i start expending effort on this. should i bother?"

"i could like you," fang duobing says, almost against his will. he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life in the gilded cage of the imperial palace but it's hard not to feel for zhaoling. she's fair and kind and went quite far out of her way to help him and li lianhua when they were in search of the mother bug. far enough to be treasonous, in the mouth of the right minister.

"could isn't good enough," zhaoling says.

"i like you as a person," fang duobing tries again, starting to smile helplessly.

zhaoling purses her lips. "you could do a lot of good as prince consort," she says. "even if you don't know that yet. we can manage that as a partnership too, if you want to. but i 'd rather have a husband."

fang duobing laughs, endeared and galvanized despite everything. "all right," he says. "let's discuss what that might look like."

[sokkas-first-fangirl]

For the prompts request, how about a few snippets of conversation between the canon Madrigals and their AU counterparts from Constellations Shift?

Let's go with Mirabel!

Mira = Constellations!Mirabel

Mirabel couldn't figure Mira out. In her world, she was Little Princesa Mirabel. Abuela's favourite. The town favourite. Sweet, helpful, the apple of everyone's eye.

And yet she wasn't like Isabela. Mirabel's Isabela that is. She wasn't snooty, she wasn't mean to any of her family members, not even her Bruno, who was Giftless. She seemed genuinely sweet, and yet...Mirabel felt like she was missing something. Like Mira was hiding something.

Or maybe Mirabel was just being paranoid.

It was just so weird to see another version of herself who was so...so not like her. Mira had the same green glasses, but her hair was long, her clothes were all...delicate and pretty, and her earrings were exactly like Isabela's. Senorita Perfecta Isabela, not the cool Isa, who Mirabel kind of adored already.

Mira had the admiration of her Encanto, and yet Mirabel most envied her relationships with Isa and Lu. She wondered if Mira envied anything about her. She couldn't imagine why.

"I like your clothes," Mira spoke up suddenly. The two of them were sewing, sitting in Casita's back garden. She gave Mirabel a shy smile. "I made a skirt and blouse just like that."

"Really?" Mirabel blinked at her in surprise, taking in Mira's outfit; the soft pastels, the soundwave patterns so like Dolores's clothes, the pretty ribbon in her hair. She couldn't imagine Mira making something bright and chaotic.

Mira nodded. Her smile was still shy. She didn't quite look Mirabel in the eye. "I haven't worn it yet," she admitted quietly.

"Oh?" Mirabel set her sewing project down, a scarf for Antonio. "Why not?"

Mira shrugged. She looked suddenly uncomfortable, slightly panicked. "I, well...Abuela was right, you know? It looked too crowded and...It didn't show off my Gift, so..."

There it was. The missing piece. The understanding that Mirabel had been searching for.

Mira's Abuela was different than Mirabel's Abuela. Mirabel wasn't sure she liked this other version of her abuela, with the shining butterfly on her hand and severe expression.

"Hey, if it suits me then it suits you," Mirabel said firmly. She stood up and held her out out to Mira. "Wanna try something of mine on? We can experiment a little."

Mira looked stunned. It all suddenly clicked, it made sense. This was what Mirabel had been missing: Mira was anxious. She wasn't as happy-go-lucky as she seemed. It was the same with Mirabel herself, so why would Mira be different?

It raised uncomfortable questions about Mirabel's own family. She filed that away for later.

Smiling anew, Mira took her hand.

[sequinsmile-x]

All's Well That Ends Well to End Up With You

Emily and Aaron get married, and they make other promises to each other along the way.

-x-

Hi besties!

I'm back at work tomorrow following my surgery, and the most intense Sunday Scaries ever have set in...so I wanted to write some fluff. This is based on an idea from the lovely @louisaland who suggested something to do with our favs wedding day.

This is part of the kissing prompt series I am doing of unrelated mini-fics and oneshots, and this is the 'kisses as a promise' prompt.

As always, a full list of the prompts I'm working my way through are on the main fic's master list.

As always let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: so fluffy you should floss after reading

Words: 2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily hums a tune she can’t remember the name of, letting the vibrations of it pass from her chest to her two-month-old daughter’s, hoping that it lulls her back to sleep. It was 3 am, the house quiet apart from her humming and the occasional grunt from Mia, the little girl resistant to sleep even though she had a clean diaper and a full belly. Emily tilts her head to look down, sighing when her eyes meet Mia’s, the dark eyes she’d got from her staring back at her, wide and open as she grunts, squirming in what Emily thinks is an attempt to get even closer.

“Mia, baby,” she says, hearing the slight whine in her own voice as she kisses her daughter’s head, breathing in the sweet smell she’d been addicted to since she’d first held her, “You need to sleep. We both do,” she runs her hand up down her back, “Mommy and Daddy are getting married today,” she can’t help the smile at the thought of it, resting her cheek on the top of Mia’s head, “We need our beauty sleep.” 

Aaron proposed just two weeks before they found out she was pregnant. They’d been trying for a little while, both achingly aware they were working against a ticking clock and that this was something they wanted. When she was staring at two lines on a pregnancy test, her engagement ring sparkling just out of the corner of her eye, it all felt too good to be true. Like she was in a dream she’d wake up from only to find herself alone and in her apartment in Paris, everything that had happened to her since a fantasy she’d let herself get lost in. Aaron would always assure her it was real. He’d hold her and let her hear his heartbeat, and he’d breathe a little deeper so she’d feel the rise and fall of his chest as he told her all about their present and their future- something so intimate and real she knew her imagination could never come up with it. 

She had everything she’d ever wanted. A house that actually felt like home. A little boy she loved as her own. A little girl she’d felt grow beneath her skin. A partner who loved and respected her in equal measure. 

And today, she was going to marry him. 

As soon as they found out she was pregnant they decided to hold off the wedding until she had the baby. She didn’t want to be a pregnant bride and Aaron was happy to do whatever she wanted to do. They agreed the wedding would be small, and no matter how much Elizabeth made her opinion on it clear Emily was pleased that she’d managed to stop her from interfering.

When she was a little girl, she never imagined that she’d pick a wedding dress based on ease of access so she could nurse her 8-week-old baby. She never imagined she’d get married in her friend’s backyard. She never imagined she’d find a man like Aaron, and that she’d have the kind of love she felt every day. 

It was nothing like what she’d pictured, but it was infinitely more. 

“Neither of you need beauty sleep.” 

She looks up at the doorway of the nursery, and she smiles when her eyes meet her fiancés. He looks deliciously rumpled, his pjyamas askew and his hair sticking up in every direction. Exhaustion that came with having a newborn written all over his face in a way she’s sure is written all over hers. She hums and looks back down at Mia, unsurprised to find that she’s still awake.

“Daddy is lying, Mia,” she says, stage whispering as she raises an eyebrow when she looks back over at him, “But we love him for it.”

He shrugs and walks over, joining them on the loveseat, his arm hooked around her shoulder as he replies, “Not a lie,” he kisses her forehead and then places his hand over hers on Mia’s back, “You’re both beautiful. If you got any more beautiful it would be unfair on everyone else.” 

She chuckles and rests her head against him, her cheek pressed against his jaw, “You promise?” 

He cups her cheek and encourages him to look at her, stamping his lips against hers, soft and sure and simple. “I promise.” 

It was something that had started in the early days. Back when they were both too nervous to admit how much they loved each other. She didn’t even remember the first time she’d done it, the first time she’d looked up at him, her smile shy as she asked him if he promised. He kissed her in response, his forehead against hers as he followed it up with a confirmation. It became their thing before they could say that they loved each other. Two words instead of three that were never replaced when they did become brave enough, another way to express how they felt for each other that was just theirs, an oath they could make in front of other people without them knowing. 

She smiles and kisses him before she pulls back, casting a glance down at the still awake Mia. Emily groans, the sound turning into a shaky breath as she feels tears press at the back of her eyes, exhaustion starting to get the better of her. “Why does she hate sleep so much? I’m so tired.” 

“Let me take her for a bit,” he says, offering his hands out to take her as Emily nods, letting go of Mia as he shifts her into his arms, kissing the top of her head as he settles her against her chest. Emily wraps both of her arms around one of his and rests her head on his shoulder, her eyes drifting closer for a moment as she breathes him in. 

“You should sing,” she says, not even attempting to suppress a yawn as she settles into his side, “It always helped when she was living inside of me and never stopped kicking.” 

“I can sing,” he replies, yawning, rubbing a circle on Mia’s back, “If I can think of any songs.” 

She chuckles and kisses his shoulder, “We seriously need some sleep otherwise we’re going to say the wrong names during our vows tomorrow.” 

He kisses the top of her head, “You’ve just given me an idea,” he says, clearing his throat before he starts to sing, “Goin' to the chapel, and we're gonna get married, gee, I really love you-”

“Oh god,” she grumbles, hiding her smile against his tricep, “Of all the songs-”

“And we're gonna get married, goin' to the chapel of love-”

“We aren’t even getting married in a chapel, we’re getting married in Dave’s backyard.” 

“Are you going to keep on interrupting me?” He asks, his eyebrows raised as he looks down at her, “Close your eyes and relax.” 

She sighs, putting fake irritation into it as she makes a point of closing her eyes, “Go ahead.” 

He kisses her forehead and returns his attention to Mia, “Spring is here, the sky is blue, whoa birds all sing as if they knew, today's the day we'll say ‘I do’, and we'll never be lonely anymore.”

___

“Bells will ring, the sun will shine, whoa, I'll be his and he'll be mine, we'll love until the end of time-” she cuts herself off with a groan and stops her pacing, taking an opportunity to look down at Mia, smiling when she sees the little girl was, of course, awake, “Daddy is lucky Mommy loves him so much sweet girl, because he’s got that damn song stuck in my head. I walked down the aisle humming it to myself.” 

It had been a beautiful day. Small, simple, perfect and theirs. The party was still going on outside, but she’d heard Mia’s cry through the monitor she’d been keeping an eye on since Aaron, her husband, put her down for a nap just a couple of hours ago. Dave had set up one of the rooms downstairs for Mia to nap in and they’d brought the pack and play. Despite Elizabeth’s insistence that it wouldn’t work, that they’d need to get a sitter all day for their 2-month-old and not have their daughter at their wedding, there hadn’t been any problems. Except for when Mia started crying in Penelope’s arms during the vows. She only settled down when Emily passed over her bouquet and took her little girl from her bridesmaid, holding her against her chest as she promised forever to the man who she was building her family with. 

“There’s my wife and the world’s most adorable bouquet.” 

She looks at Aaron and smiles, enjoying the parallel from the early hours of that morning. It was only a handful of hours ago, but so much had changed. He was her husband now. She was a Hotchner, at least in her heart - there was a mountain of paperwork to get through before she made it official. Elizabeth had been horrified when she found out she was changing her surname, said she was throwing away all the opportunities her name gave her, but Emily had simply rolled her eyes. 

Being a Hotchner had given her everything and she’d only been one for two hours. 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she quips and he shrugs and walks into the room, letting the door close behind him before he wraps his arm around her. 

“I’d happily walk in on my girls together for the rest of my life.” 

She smiles and kisses him, “You’re corny as fuck today.” 

“No cursing in front of the baby,” he says, smiling when she rolls her eyes at him, “And I’m allowed to be corny today,” he stamps a kiss against her lips, “We got married.” 

She nods, “I guess I can give you today,” she says, sighing in relief when she looks down and sees Mia is asleep, “I’m going to put her down.”

He smiles and kisses Mia’s forehead, “Love you so much, Mia.”

Emily does the same, whispering her love for her daughter against her skin before she lays her down in the pack and play, holding her breath as she lets go and waits for a moment, smiling when she stays asleep. Aaron steps up behind her, crowding her between him and the portable bassinet their daughter is asleep in. He kisses her shoulder, then her neck and she hums contentedly.

“We should go back outside,” she says quietly, turning in his embrace, her smile getting wider when he wraps his arms around her, his hands warm and firm against her back, “It’s us they are celebrating out there.” 

“And our love for each other,” he replies, stamping his lips against hers, “Don’t forget that part,” he winks at her when she playfully narrows her eyes at him, “You did just say I can be as corny as I want today.” 

She shakes her head lovingly at him and wraps her arms around his neck, scratching her blunt nails against the base of his head, “Don’t tell anyone this,” she says, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, “But I like it when you’re corny.” 

He already knew, because of course he did. She knew he didn’t miss how she’d smile when he’d say something she would have once considered trite and the thing of cheap airport romance novels. How she’d sink into his embrace as he told her how much he loved her and their life together. He already knew but he smiles anyway, his lips catching the corner of her mouth before he pulls back enough to speak. 

“Your secret is safe with me.” 

She smiles, any attempt to contain it ruined when her dimples give it away, carved out deep in her cheeks by love and happiness, “You promise?” 

He kisses her, his hands on her back holding her in place, and she holds him close too, wanting nothing more than to sink into him, her husband, for the rest of her life. When they finally pull back, his forehead against hers again, she sees his smile, the same one he’d given her when they’d been confirmed as husband and wife, before he whispers his reply. 

“I promise.” 

[bcolfanfic]

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “It’s ok. We’ll figure it out - together.”

i lowkey wanna request this w one of the uncles and the yv kids 🥹 torn between sawyer and gale anddddd meadow and john so u pick!

surprise i split the prompt and did both!

uncle buck and sawyer blakely <3

"Sawyer, hey what’s wrong?" Gale asked gently, the twelve-year-old swiping at his nose with his sleeve as he sniffled. He'd slipped his shoes off since the last time Gale had looked over at him as he was helping Blakely get their stuff packed into the car, knees drawn up to his chest.

"Don’t wanna go home," He said, voice wobbly. "I don’t- don’t have friends at school, and I like it when we’re all here because then I do have friends," Sawyer continued, picking at a thread on his jeans.

Gale's heart twisted in his chest. He'd believed Blakely and Helen when they said this past week in Wyoming was the least wound up they'd seen Sawyer in a while. He wasn't as rambunctious as the others had figured out they had the space to be running around the Bucks property causing trouble. But he was content to play Animal Crossing in the basement with Micah, and was chattier at dinner with anyone than Gale remembered him being when he'd seen him a little over a year ago.

"You’re still gonna see most of ‘em at home bud, the only ones that don’t live there are our crew." Gale said as he sat down next to him. "And we’re gonna be in New York to visit in a couple months,"

Sawyer only huffed, resting his chin on his knees.

"’s not the same." He said into the material of his jeans, punctuated by a hiccup. "Don’t know what’s wrong with me, I try to talk to people- but nobody wants to talk to me, they just don’t like me,"

Sawyer's breath hitched and Gale felt his throat tighten, ducking his head down for a second to compose himself. It wasn't new information- he'd heard bits and pieces of it from Blakely. But it wasn't issue he'd had with Josie or Micah- and he found himself wishing he had a better sense of how to navigate it.

Wringing his hands, Sawyer looked at Gale expectantly.

"There's nothing wrong with you bud," He said after a moment, reaching a hand for the back of his shoulder, feeling the tremble in it still under the press of his palm. "You're a great kid- gonna find your people who see that- just gotta give it time,"

Sawyer took a shaky inhale and a few more tears escaped on the exhale, chin wobbling as he budged closer into Gale, hiccupping until he was positioned to let out a little sob into his neck.

"I know, you're okay," Gale murmured, trying to fish his phone out of his pocket without jostling the boy too much.

To: John ❤️

Can u tell Helen to come back in the house? Sawyer is a little upset about leaving.

-

uncle bucky and meadow biddick <3

Every second since Micah had come flying down the stairs a few hours ago screeching that Meadow was pregnant- that JJ had gotten her pregnant, had felt like some sort of fever dream. A fever dream John was only halfway jostled out of when his phone rang just as he was about to brush his teeth, the twenty-two-year old's caller ID flashing across the screen.

"That Meadow?" Gale said when he saw how John was looking at his phone from the doorway, John giving a little nod as he picked up the call, walking out of the bathroom to sink down into bed.

"Hey Mead," He started, soft. He could hear her breathing- and sniffling, on the other end.

"Have you talked to my dad?" She asked when she found her words.

"No, kiddo," he answered softly, absently rubbing the edge of his phone case with this thumb. "But Micah kind of told me what’s going on."

The line was quiet for a moment, Meadow's voice cracking a little when she spoke up.

"I don’t think he loves me anymore," She said, John's chest and his grip on his phone tightening.

He knew that wasn't true- would never be true no matter what she did. But from the bits and pieces he'd heard from Josie and Micah about how things had gone at the Crosbys, he almost couldn't blame her for being so wound up.

"No, hey- no, that’s not true at all," John said, tone a little firmer. "I haven’t talked to him yet, but I don’t need to to tell you that much."

"But he’s so mad," She said as her voice shook. "You weren’t there- I thought he was gonna kick me out till Jeanie said I could spend the night with them and he got all mad at her too."

John dropped his head back against the headboard, holding back a dry laugh when he saw the concerned look Gale threw him from where he was getting undressed.

"I'm gonna wring Curt's neck." He mouthed across the room at him before he went back to trying to think of something to say to Meadow that might actually be helpful.

"I’ve seen your dad mad a lotta’ times in my life,” He tried. “And he's got a cooler head in there somewhere, just takes some time for it to prevail."

"How much time?" she cut in before he'd fully finished his sentence. "He won’t even listen to daddy- I heard them arguing ‘cause he told him to calm down- he hates me."

John heard her breath hitch on the end and felt a lump forming in his throat as he listened to her resolve crumble. She tried to catch her breath to little avail, a sob escaping between sniffles.

"It’s okay, Mead," John said, gentle- and wishing Wyoming was a closer hop and skip from New York. "Don’t gotta cry, you're breakin’ my heart sweetie. I promise he doesn’t hate you- swear it on my life."

Meadow’s shaky inhale was enough to tell him she didn’t believe a word of that. But she managed to get herself calmed down at least- he imagined somewhat due to her sister coming in, Bry's voice entering faintly into the background.

"We’re gonna figure this out together- but you should try to get some sleep first, 'kay?' he said when he heard Bry pause, tapping his fingers against the back of his phone case.

"'Kay, Uncle Bucky."

Her voice was still wobbly, but she wasn't hyperventilating anymore and that was enough for him to feel okay about passing things over to her sister. He let out a sigh when he hung up, his phone buzzing a few seconds later.

curt biddick

Was Meadow on the phone with you just now?

John rubbed a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose with an exhale before he went to respond.

john egan

Go tell your kid you still love her. Was breaking my heart listening to her cry like that.

Read 11:57pm

The blue bubble indicating Curt was typing blinked for a second before it disappeared and didn't return. John chewed on the inside of his cheek, annoyed at the stubbornness he in most ways felt he'd grown more acclimated to than anyone.

He gave it five minutes before shooting off another text.

john egan

I get it man, I do. But if you’re not gonna let her stay with the Crosbys you need to make her staying with her dads feel like a good thing. Flipping out isn't helping unless you want her running off to JJ once you're asleep.

The bubble blinked again- and a response followed it this time.

curt biddick

Got it. Thx.

[bicheetopuff]

Prompts for puff:

I have a few prompts you might like to write about! Some follow cannon, others are AUs (I don’t know if you have a pref o_O) Feel free to edit these to your own ideas

Pirate AU: Class 1a are pirates, taking on the seven seas. But what happens when the League of Voyagers (a vicious rival pirate group) attack them, leaving them stranded on a mysterious island?

Shojou manga! Izuku finds Katsuki’s collection of shojou manga and reads it. Izuku discovers that Katsuki had been using phrases/tropes in the manga when talking to him. With this info, Izuku resorts to flirting the hell out of Katsuki. (Aka, Izuku finds out that Katsuki is in love with him and proceeds to romance him to the grave)

Villain Deku AU (hear me out), but it’s told from the perspective of Izuku from cannon who fell into the villain AU and helps Nedzu, Tsugauchi & Class 1A find and take down !villain Deku, all while Katsuki (from cannon) is finding ways to get him back. (Bonus points if !Villain Au Baku makes Izuku realise he is in love with him)

Hatsume’s rings of doom: in which hatsume makes thought-sharing rings using quirk technology & makes Izuku + Katsuki test them out. The rings do not come off. Help them.

RealityTV AU: Where the promising young heroes of Class 1A get a segment on the hit show HEROES 4 HIRE: a reality show in which heroes are called to do domestic jobs like babysitting and beach cleaning. Izuku and Katsuki have been paired and will spend the entirety of the show bound together by the hands (at least when the cameras are running).

Streamer AU: (def not original but whatever) Katsuki is a famous streamer, known for shaking up the gaming world with his aggressive play style and notorious attitude, but how will the sweet, funny and precious cinnamon roll that is Deku react when he gets placed into a raging tournament with katsuki? (Extra: Izuku is a badass and creates one of the most influential dynamics with Katsuki, who is ecstatic that someone can match his freak)

My personal fav TIME TRAVEL AU: This prompt can go many ways (AND I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS OMGSVFSNBDJSVS) but I’ll just pick one: Somehow, Izuku (who just got done fighting Muscular for the first time) gets transported to his middle school class, chaos ensues. (Katsuki is beyond concerned for Deku, but needs to get his head out of his ass before trying to reach out) How will Izuku handle being ripped from his time?

Hope these help. And it sucks that you are surrounded by Trump supporters, honestly fuck them. I want to cremate him and put him in a firework that explodes and says “EQUAL RIGHTS”, or smth like that.

(p.s. you are one of my favourite authors EVER and I go insane when I read your stuff. Literally frothing at the mouth rn)

Hi, thank you for the prompts! It makes me really happy that you like my fics <3

I probably won’t use all of these (at least not immediately because I’m kind of a slow writer. But I also do have a preference, I like to write canon compliant stuff so I don’t think I’d have the skill set to write the pirate, villain deku, and streamer AUs, though I do think they’re cool ideas to keep in mind for later!), but the Shoujo Manga, Ring of Doom, and Reality TV AUs sound hilarious, I’m definitely using those.

I really like time travel AUs, but I will say I do already have one planned. It’s like a continuation of another fic but I plan on making it long so I’m not working on it rn. I’m not sure how long exactly, but at least over 50k words so it’s definitely something for the future!

And yeah I think I can speak for every queer person of color who lives in the south, being here right now is kind of spooky if you don’t live in a big city. Luckily, I do live in the city, but my city is big enough to still have its fair share of bigots. I’m worried, but at the same time I have a lot of faith in our community, and I’m sure we’ll all make it out okay. I will say though, I’ve had to unfollow and block so many friends from high school over the past few days… it’s unfortunate but I’d rather that than have someone in my life who doesn’t believe I deserve to exist. But other than that, writing and creating stuff is a good distraction for now :)

[ahollowgrave]

11. Blood at the corner of your mouth.

It is not your blood at the edge of your mouth. Not your blood that your tongue swipes from the corner of your lips.  Not your blood whose coppery tastes lingers between your teeth. 

But he fucking deserved it.

Sister Kindness has you tucked under her arm as she, to use her words, books it. Something she must not do often because she huffs and puffs her way through the crowded Shaded Bower. And though some call out ‘Sister’ to her with warm recognition she does not stop ‘booking’ it. (Sister Kindness would have you know that she is perfectly in shape for a woman of her age. She was ‘huffing and puffing’ from the extra weight of carrying you, thank you very much.)

She slows when the westshore pier appears around the corner and then she steps off the main path and sets you down. Kneeling to be something more like eye-level, she pulls a Roegadyn-sized handkerchief from the depths of her habit. Wetting a corner with a flask pulled from a separate, equally confusing pocket she begins to clean the blood from your face.

Sister Kindness’ hand is firm where it grips your chin, holding as little of you as possible. For once the contact does not send you recoiling. Perhaps it is the way your rage has left you as quickly as it had flooded you, leaving you feeling drained of everything else as well. Now that the moment has passed you tremble and, to your horror, you can feel a well of tears rising to fill that empty space.

“Was a helluva bite, darling girl,” Sister Kindness’s voice is quiet as she tilts your head to the light, searching for any blood she may have missed. You focus on her creek colored eyes and swear you feel their waters lapping at your ankles. Her smile is sudden but woozy around the edges; she is just as shaken. "Reckon he'll have a scar, too. Bet he lies about who gave it to him." ‘He’ was an elezen man -- maybe a merchant but likely not, as Sister Kindness did not know him -- with a face as sharp as his ears and a smile that spoke of too much confidence. And you had hated him on sight. His crime was making Sister Kindness uncomfortable and his mistake was not being aware of his surroundings. 

It does not take much pressure to break skin. 

Pleased with her work, Sister Kindness rises and disappears the handkerchief away. Handing you the flask, she instructs you to take a sip, swirl it around your mouth, and spit it out. There is some confusion about what 'swirl' means but, eventually, she is satisfied with this too. “Well, we didn’t get what I came for but we’ll be headed home all the same. Come now, before the ferry leaves without us. We will, ah, not be telling the abbess about this.” You don’t know if she means the bite or the trip to the city. 

You don’t ask.

Thank you for the ask, Anon! ][ Sensory Prompts ][

[youremyonlyhope]

why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up

[pocketramblr]

16 + the first character/ship that comes to mind! :D

16. someone's pulling a gun and you're jumping in the middle of it.

Well my first thought had to be Izuku. And then oh no, dad might, but I couldn't make myself that sad with it. And then I thought about Kaladin instead but I also couldn't do that to him either, but after sleeping on it I was thinking about iideku a lot so...

There were a lot of things Izuku hadn't properly appreciated before he'd returned to UA.

A warm bed, a roof, the quiet and content feeling of safety that a quick glance around a room covered in yellow and smiles could bring. The ache of work without any pain, the ache that sleep could actually heal. A quiet mind that was his own. His friends. His friends he didn't deserve. Not if he couldn't keep them safe.

(That was not true. He hadn't taken his friends for granted for a moment. But he also saw his own failure where it wasn't.)

Iida was a rock. Izuku supposed he had always known it, had thought it would always be true, that was why he'd recommended him to lead the class.

But he wasn't sure he'd ever felt it until he was gripping Iida's hand hard enough to bruise under the gloves, and letting the taller gently tug him back home, small steps in his shadow at a time.

The emotions were muted that night, which was probably for the best because he felt so raw afterwards when they surged through him at their full power, leaving him full of gaping wounds.

They'd begun to heal now, at least, muting again. Scar tissue over his heart.

But they hadn't faded.

Not for Izuku, which was why he didn't take it for granted now when he walked besides Iida, with a pleasant and familiar bouncing gait to match his longer strides. It was comfortable. Reliable, like Iida's rock.

But apparently it hadn't faded for Iida either, because he stopped at once when Izuku did, a prickle at the back of his neck. Danger.

He scanned quickly around, trying to see from where, but Iida was already moving.

Someone was pulling a gun.

And he was jumping in the middle of it.

Izuku only had time to feel horror, because he knew Iida was fast, but he was faster, and he and Iida never were able to stop each other in time -

He remembered another white blur in another time, leaping forward to save a life that wasn't his, and he saw a flicker of red and black over his shoulder as he reached out, brushing Iida's elbow as his engines lit to light -

Iida was fast.

Iida was not faster than a bullet.

Izuku and Iida had never been able to stop each other in time to keep from getting hurt.

Iida was fast.

And Iida only needed to be faster than the finger on the gun, and he only needed to be fast enough to be sped along by the brush of a hand charged with gearshift.

Iida was not faster than a bullet, or faster than Izuku.

But Izuku didn't need to be fast enough to stop him.

Izuku's ears were already ringing by the time the sound of the gunshot going wide reached him. His throat was dry, his knees were shaking.

But Iida was still standing, behind the gunman now, and that was enough to keep Izuku standing too, to let him move to catch up.

[hayatheauthor]

20 Flirty Remarks to Build Romantic Tension Without Being Overbearing

Feeling stuck trying to give your characters a good flirty one-liner that doesn't sound cringe/overdone? Here are 20 ideas/dialogue prompts for you (that I may or may not have stolen from my own books): 

“I must warn you: you have a dangerous effect on my heart rate.” / "You have no idea what you're doing to my heart right now."

"If I said I wasn’t thinking about you, I’d be lying. And I’m a terrible liar."

"You know, I could get lost in those eyes, but I'd probably trip over my words trying to find my way back." (could also double as description/inner monologue).

“I can’t tell if you’re really charming or if I’m just easily charmed.”

“You have a knack for making me forget what I was going to say. It’s kind of impressive/infuriating.”

“I think you owe me a drink. When I saw you, I dropped mine.”

“I’ve been trying to find the perfect excuse to hang out, but I keep forgetting everything when I’m around you.”

“I bet you get away with a lot of trouble with that smile.”

“You must be a magician because every time you walk in, everyone else disappears.” (The right character could pull it off I swear)

"I’ve been trying to think of something clever to say, but all my brain can come up with is how much I want to (kiss) you."

"I saw that little glance—you’re not as sneaky as you think."

"How do you manage to make even the most mundane things sound exciting?"

"You do this cute thing with your hands when you’re nervous, you know?"

“One more word, and I might just have to kiss you.”

"Finally, there's that pretty smile of yours. I've been waiting for it all day."

"You keep staring—should I be flattered?" / "Keep looking at me like that and I might start thinking you have a crush on me."

"Do you have any idea how fun it is to watch you try to keep a straight face?"

"I’m pretty sure you could charm the socks off anyone, but I’d like to keep mine on for now."

"If laughter is the best medicine, then I’m pretty sure you’re my favorite doctor."

"Is it bad that I kind of like the way you’re trying to mess with me?"

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

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[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[minisugakoobies]

Cross My Heart | KMG

Pairing: Mingyu x GNReader (afab)

Genre: smut, porn with the barest of plot, friends to lovers (?), non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: pussy drunk mingyu, late night texting, biting/marking, fingering, lots of flirting, lots of teasing, grinding/dry humping, dirty talk, cunnilingus, face sitting, come eating, hand job, mingyu's a messy boy, OC is needy and mingyu loves it, mingyu has maybe the tiniest bit of a praise kink, use of pet names - pretty, mingyu requests death by pussy

Word Count: 5.2k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Your crush Mingyu wants (to eat) you.

Text Prompt: You: I can’t stand you Mingyu: Then sit on my face

A/N: Hiiiii I'm writing for svt now and I'm starting with Mingyu because he's driving me insane. This is actually the first in a planned series of 13 svt fics based on text prompts. I'm fully in my self-indulgent era, so this is for everyone who, like me, needs some munch 'Gyu right about now 👅

Unbeta'd as usual. If you like this and want more svt fics from me, please let me know! I'd love to hear what you think (but please be kind I'm fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

It’s finally here. After months of planning, you and your friends have flown halfway around the world for a week of vacation. The six of you arrived just a few hours ago, and after the long flight, the long wait at the airport for your luggage, and the long drive to the hotel, you’re exhausted. 

Well, mentally you’re worn out, at least. Your body? Is still on your old timezone, where it’s currently tomorrow morning. So it thinks that you need to be awake, even though it’s night where you are. You had stayed awake the entire flight here in order to avoid this very problem. 

Fucking jet lag got you anyway.

Unlike you, Seungcheol and Vernon are having no issue sleeping. The three of you are sharing one room, while Minghao, Wonwoo, and Mingyu are sharing another. You glance over at the two lumps tucked in their beds, snoring away like you would be if your body wasn’t so confused.

Because you’re trying to be a good friend and let them sleep, you’re lying on your bed, scrolling lazily through your various social media apps. You could watch something, but you don’t really have the focus right now. Yet you want something pleasing to look at. Something to mindlessly enjoy while you wait for exhaustion to overwhelm you. 

So, naturally, you turn to your favorite nightly pastime - scrolling through your social media apps, looking for any new posts from Mingyu.

It’s an addiction, borne out of your raging crush on your friend. Well, really, he’s Minghao’s friend, you don’t know him as well as you do the others, but still. You’re friendly enough around each other. Which is because Mingyu is so nice, such a sweet and funny guy who always makes you feel more than welcome whenever he’s around. 

He’s also a blatant flirt. At first, his cocky smiles and playful words made you think he might be interested in more than just being your friend, but it wasn’t long before you realized he’s like that with everyone. So you tamped down the hope that burned in your chest, leaving only a simmering crush to smolder forever.

It’s morning back home, where most of your friends have barely started their days, so your feed is fairly dead. There are a few photos from Wonwoo from the flight, including one of Minghao sleeping with his mouth open that you immediately save to your favorites, a couple from Vernon, and, of course, several from Mingyu. You tap into his page.

Mingyu’s an avid photographer, particularly of beautiful things - breathtaking landscapes, delicious meals, himself. Mostly himself, to be honest. Not that you’re complaining. It’s maybe the most mutually beneficial relationship you’ve ever been in. Mingyu loves to provide pictures of himself. You love to admire them. A win-win all around. 

You tap back to home and refresh your feed. A new post appears, from Mingyu. The jet lag must be getting to him, too, if he’s awake and posting right now. The photo is another selfie, this time of him lying in bed, one arm resting behind his head, showing off a perfectly sculpted bicep. God. Could he be more gorgeous? 

Clicking into his page again, you rub your thumb over the screen to make his photos flip by in an endless parade of hot Mingyus. It’s ridiculous, you muse, watching picture after picture roll by, to think about how much time Mingyu must spend on these photos. Making sure he’s got the perfect lighting to bounce off his muscles just right in those gym selfies. Or figuring out the best angle to show off that sharp jawline of his. Just ridiculous. And yet, every second isn’t spent in vain, considering how the photos drew you in like shiny trinkets to your magpie eye. 

It would be so easy to think of Mingyu as a modern day Narcissus, endlessly snapping selfies, drowning in his own reflection on his phone. But he’s never struck you as conceited. It’s something else - a desire for connection, perhaps. A need for-

A tiny heart floats up your screen and you gasp. Shit. You just liked the post the scroll stopped on - one of his many gym selfies, frame zoomed in on his torso, his hand clutching the bottom of his shirt to show off his rippling abs.

Your eye drifts to the date of the photo. Posted eight months ago. 

Quick as lightning, you hit the screen again, shattering the little heart icon. Your pulse is beating too fast. There’s no need to panic. He couldn’t have seen that. Maybe you’re overreacting, but no one needs to know you’re lurking in his profile in the middle of the night, especially not him. 

A notification drops down over Mingyu’s face. A message.

Mingyu: Someone’s up late. 

Ah, damn. You were too slow. And now he’s in your DMs. 

After taking a moment to shriek quietly into your pillow, you write back. 

You: Can’t sleep

Mingyu: Same. Jet lag’s got me fucked up

Mingyu: You know what always helps when I can’t sleep?

You: What?

Mingyu: Creeping through someone’s old photos

Even though he’s not here looking at you, your neck flames with embarrassment anyway. You could play it cool. If only you knew how to do that. 

You: Shut up

Mingyu: It’s ok, I’m flattered

You: Oh fuck off

Mingyu: No really, I am

Mingyu: I like that you want me so bad

Pressing your mouth firmly into your pillow, you swallow another screech. Here we go. Right into the flirting. You can’t handle this right now.

You: Idk what you’re talking about

You:  It was an accident

Mingyu: Oh you were accidentally admiring me? 

You: How did you even notice? Are you just staring at your phone, waiting for attention?

Mingyu: I mean yeah

You snort. 

You: You’re ridiculous

Mingyu: Maybe. But I’m honest about it

You: I’ll give you that

A few seconds go by, then a minute, then two. Maybe you’re boring him. Maybe he’s found something else to entertain him. Or someone else.

When the next notification comes in, you jolt a little. 

Mingyu: What else will you give me?

And now your heart does a funny jump as you stare at his words. God, what a question. How you wish he were asking for real, and not just being playful, like he always is. 

Would it be too real to reply with the truth? “Whatever you want?”

You: I don’t know

You: What do you want?

Mingyu: What if I say you?

Suddenly you don’t understand words.

You: Why would you say that?

Mingyu: Because it’s my answer

Mingyu: I’m being honest again

You: That’s the jet lag talking

Mingyu: Oh come on

Mingyu: You really don’t know?

You: Know what??

Mingyu: How I feel about you

Is he being serious right now??

You: If this is a joke I don’t get it

Mingyu: Not a joke

Mingyu: Hold on

The notification icon on your app suddenly lights up. One heart. Two. Three four five. You open your notifications and immediately start laughing. Mingyu’s going through your oldest photos and liking them, one by one. 

Mingyu: See? I’m obsessed with you

Seungcheol grunts in his sleep, and you press your arm harder over your mouth, trying to muffle yourself better.

You: You’re so annoying, oh my god

Mingyu: So annoying that you can’t stop looking at my photos at 1 am?

Mingyu: Or flirting with me?

You: Is that what’s happening? Are we flirting?

Mingyu: Ok don’t act like you don’t know

Mingyu: I flirt with you all the time

You: You flirt with EVERYONE all the time

Mingyu: Yeah but I only mean it with you

Like any other time this happens, any time his words make your head spin, you put on the brakes, stopping before you start to believe you might have a chance. 

You: You’re so dumb

Mingyu: Are you really going to pretend you’re not enjoying this?

You: Who said I’m pretending?

Mingyu: Me. I know you’re loving this

Mingyu: Because you want me soooooo bad

You: Shut uppppp

Mingyu: Go on, yell at me

Mingyu: You’re cute when you’re mad

You: No really

You: I can’t stand you

Mingyu: Then sit on my face

Your mouth falls open, an amused huff of air escaping in a befuddled laugh at his unexpected response. 

You: What?

Mingyu: Come shut me up. Sit on my face.

You’re blinking so hard, you can hear your eyelids clapping together.

You: Fuck off. Stop playing. 

Mingyu: Who’s playing? I’m serious

Mingyu: Smother me with those gorgeous thighs of yours. I’ll go out a happy man. 

Your gorgeous thighs? He’s never said anything like that before. What the fuck is happening.

You can’t help but picture it - him lying on his bed, you kneeling over him, fingers tangled in his dark hair as you ride that pouty little mouth of his. It’s not the first time you’ve fantasized about it, but it’s the first time the vision has felt… possible. 

Mingyu: No response? You’re just gonna leave me hanging like this?

You: Don’t tease me

Mingyu: Trust me, there are a million ways I’d love to tease you, but this isn’t one

You lay down again, rolling onto your side, curling in on yourself, like you’re trying to contain all the excitement rushing through your veins, keep it from spilling out and over into the room where your friends are still sleeping.  

You: You’re really serious?

Mingyu: Cross my heart and hope to die

Mingyu: Between your legs

Again you laugh.

You: You’re such an idiot

Mingyu: Does that mean you’re not coming over?

You: Like right now??

Mingyu: Why not? 

Mingyu: Wonwoo and Minghao both slept on the plane. They went out exploring

Mingyu: I’ve got the room to myself

You bite your lip, a little harder than you normally would, the sharp sting confirming that you are not dreaming and this is, in actual fact, happening right now. 

You: I guess if I’m not sleeping anytime soon

In the dim light from your phone, you eye the path to the door. You can easily make it out of the room without waking anyone. Should you so decide. 

You: I could come over

Mingyu: I promise I’ll make it so good for you

Mingyu: Eat that pussy like you deserve. Make you cum on my tongue over and over

You inhale sharply. He’s definitely never talked about your pussy like that before. Reading his words has you positively throbbing.

Mingyu: Please, just let me taste you

What else is there to say to that but -  

You: I’m coming over

It’s a short walk to Mingyu’s room. A rush of anticipation hits you as you raise your hand to knock. It doesn’t take long for the door to open, bringing you face to face with the man whose social media you can’t stop stalking. Mingyu’s shirtless, grey sweatpants hanging alarmingly low on his hips, and if you weren’t already planning on crushing him with your thighs, this insta thirst trap of an outfit would push you right over the edge. 

“That was fast,” he laughs, stepping aside to let you in. “Did you run down the hall?” 

“I thought I told you to shut up,” you shoot back. 

“And I thought I told you to make me,” he smirks, reaching for you at the same time you reach for him, practically mashing his teeth against your lips as he pulls you in for a kiss. Despite what he just said, he’s kissing you, too eager to wait for you to do what he demands. 

It’s rough and messy, all teeth and tongue, both of you doing your fair share to keep the other silent. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say speechless, because Mingyu’s definitely not being quiet, moaning into your mouth, and you’re certainly whining loud enough for the other rooms to hear you.

He presses you back into the door, chest to chest, hip to hip. You tilt your head and he follows, chasing your mouth, as if he’s needing another taste. Your hands roam over his biceps, his shoulders, his neck, covering every inch of warm skin that’s exposed, and he slips his arms around your waist, holding you impossibly tight. Not for one second do your lips part. This is the type of kiss you’ve always read about in your favorite stories - the one that makes your knees weak, makes your head float, makes you forget everything but Mingyu. 

It’s delicious. It’s amazing. It’s every superlative you can think of. But it’s not enough. You want more. Part of you wants to tell him to get on with it, take you to bed, because you’re here to make him eat his words by eating you, but the other part isn’t about to quit kissing him any time soon. 

Thankfully, Mingyu takes care of your dilemma by eliminating the choice. Without warning, he bends his knees and lifts you, big hands secure on your thighs to hold you close to him. Okay, now it’s like one of your stories, the way he lifts you like you’re lighter than air. You’d swoon if you weren’t so busy licking into his lips. All that time in the gym is really paying off

He carries you to his bed, displaying his impressive thigh strength by slowly lowering himself into a sitting position, bringing you into his lap. You loop your arms around his shoulders, desperately seeking his mouth, as if the 0.2 seconds between kisses might kill you, which, honestly, it feels like it might, and you’ve never been in this situation before, making out with the man of your dreams, so for all you know, it will, so why risk it? 

“Stop me if I’m going too fast,” he says between kisses. 

“You can go as fast as you want,” you reply, without even a second’s pause. “Just don’t stop.” 

“Damn, and here I was worried I was coming off too excited,” he grins, face lighting up in delight. Then he kisses your cheek, whispering against your skin at your offended huff. “It’s okay, I like how needy you are for me.”

“Shut up,” you groan, but you know he felt the way you shuddered, so you give up the weak protests and start kissing him again, twisting your fingers in his hair to keep him close. 

Mingyu finally stops laughing when you take his bottom lip between your own, sucking and licking at the plump skin. With a groan, he digs his fingers into your sides, and he starts to guide you back and forth, rolling you over the eye-catching bulge in his sweatpants. It’s a sight that makes you clench, thinking about how much you want to sit on it now, just pull him out and ride, too needy to feel him inside you to even take your clothes off.

But again, you want more. You want what he’d promised earlier.  

He nips his way down your throat until his mouth latches at the base of your neck, sucking and biting, and you whimper, squirming in his hold. “

‘Gyu, please!”

“Please what?” 

He doesn’t lift his head, too absorbed in sinking his vampire-like canines into your soft skin, not sharp enough to pierce, just hard enough that you know you’ll have bruises blooming there tomorrow, little souvenirs of this moment. 

Please everything, you think. You want it all, whatever he’s willing to give, you’ll take. You’re feeling greedy as fuck right now. 

“I want what you promised me.” 

“Hold on,” he intones seriously, right before laving his tongue over a fresh mark. “Let a man at death’s door enjoy his last moments.” 

“Oh my god, you’re so stupid,” you groan, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together. He’s just - just such an idiot, such a stupid sexy idiot and you want him more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life.

“Fine,” he says after a few minutes of frantic making out, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, hands circling around your ass, squeezing as he pulls you closer. “Time for my last meal.” 

He kisses away your embarrassingly pleased moan, and then he maneuvers the two of you around so he’s lying on the bed on his back and you’re straddling him. As he watches with rapt attention, you peel off your shirt. Since you’d been dressed for bed, you hadn’t bothered to throw on a bra. Judging from Mingyu’s expression, you made the right call.  

“Pretty,” he breathes out, wide eyes finding yours, and you have to take a beat, have to take a moment to sit and let the reality of the situation wash over you. The two of you are here, together, in this hotel room half a world away from home. Both wanting this. It’s clear to you now just how eager Mingyu’s been since you walked in. He wasn’t lying - he wants you just as much as you want him. 

With this new understanding, you stand up to slide your shorts and panties off in one go, before straddling him again, and lowering yourself for another kiss. Immediately, his arms are around you, gliding down your back, all the way to your bare ass, taking the biggest handfuls he can. 

“You drive me insane. So pretty, so hot.” 

Mingyu’s words kick the simmering heat in your gut into a full blown fire. You moan into his kiss, grinding yourself against him. One of his hands grips your side, helping you chase the friction, while the other slips between your bodies. When his fingers brush your inner thigh, he lets out a strangled groan. “Oh fuck, you’re so wet.”  

“Your fault,” you gasp, lips fervently pressing against his, licking at the seam of his mouth until he allows you in, so you can roll your tongue over his like you roll your hips. 

“Then allow me to make it up to you,” he grins, long fingers cupping your mound, trapping the heat there in his palm as he rubs it against you. You keen, thighs already twitching. You’re going to lose your mind before you even get to his face. 

You’re not alone in that feeling, as he suddenly reaches for your thighs, urging you to crawl up his body. “Get up here, please,” he begs, flat out begs you, and you slide forward as fast as you can. You need his mouth, right now.

Hovering over him is a little surreal - MIngyu’s big brown eyes are gazing up at you in a perfect replication of your favorite daydream, only it’s so much better than you’d ever imagined, because the expression he wears is one of complete awe, like he’s the one living out his fantasy. Again you feel bold, so you run your fingers through his hair, nails lightly scraping over his scalp. He moans quietly, low in his throat, like he’s trying to hold it in, and your mouth quirks in a half smile as you kneel. 

“Nice knowing you, ‘Gyu.” 

He hums a happy note, lips vibrating lightly just as your cunt reaches them, and you moan quietly. You don’t settle all the way down, because as much as you were playing along with this whole death-by-pussy dream of his, you are slightly worried that you might actually suffocate him, if not because of your weight than because of your dire need, that you might get too lost in the aching desire that’s building inside you, spurred on by the way he’s brushing the lower half of his face and down your folds, just breathing you in, teasing you with his touches but not giving you what you so desperately want. 

“‘Gyu,” you whine, tilting your pelvis forward, to catch his tongue as he traces your inner thigh, leaving a trail of saliva behind. He blows a puff of air across the wetness, sending goosebumps running at the cooling sensation. 

When you try to shift again, he’s quick to wrap his hands up around your hips, holding you still. Not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to let you know - he’s in charge now. 

“Stay still, pretty,” he murmurs, tenderly pressing a kiss into your skin. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my promise. Cross my heart, remember?” 

With that reminder, he pulls you down further onto his face. His tongue slides into you, nose bumping your clit, and you whimper, hands flailing at your sides, seeking something to cling to, finding nothing but the warm air around you. The pressure on the sensitive bud combining with the wet hot muscle plunging between your slick folds is overwhelming in the best way.

“‘Gyu, oh, that’s so good!”  

Mingyu nods his head vigorously, nudging his nose around, letting his tongue drag up and down your slit. It almost feels like he’s agreeing with you, backed up by the way he grunts brokenly, this deep rumble in his chest that gets strangled halfway through his throat. 

You’re not sure at what point you start thrust your hips. Mingyu helps you find the right pace, big hands guiding you forward and back, forward and back, until you feel the rhythm all the way from your ears to your toes. 

As his mouth slides up to suckle on your clit, his left hand also snakes upwards, cupping your right breast, thumb rolling over your puckered nipple. You shudder, nerves sizzling like power lines, lit up by his every touch.

“‘Gyu…” Mingyu’s mouth pulls another whine from you. You glance down, catching the furrow in his brow, the sweat dripping down his temples. “Oh my god.” 

“Mmmmphf,” Mingyu agrees, or so you assume, unable to understand anything he might be mumbling into you. A particularly sharp suck on your pulsating clit makes your back arch, and Mingyu’s hand falls from your chest, disappearing behind you. 

The sudden rustling of fabric draws your attention. You glance over your shoulder, only to whimper when you catch sight of Mingyu’s hand stroking his erection, band of his sweatpants hastily shoved down, stiff cock so flushed it brings a matching heat to your neck. 

If you were more limber, you’d reach for him, give him a helping hand, but you can’t stay twisted around for long, not when Mingyu’s tongue makes you refocus on his mouth. It’s too difficult to think about anything else right now but the way he keeps plunging inside you, using the thick muscle to fuck you shallowly. 

You can’t stop mewling like a cat in heat, rutting back and forth over Mingyu’s tongue. Even in your daze, it doesn’t escape your attention that Mingyu’s absolutely pussy drunk at this point, depraved moans buzzing endlessly against your most sensitive spots because he refuses to detach his mouth from you long enough to let them escape. Every muffled note reverberates deep in your core, joins the tense chord that’s building inside you to a crescendo. 

“‘Gyu, please.” 

At the sound of your plea, Mingyu stops stroking himself, bringing his hand around to find your clit, middle finger drawing circles around and around and around. 

When you double over, hands sinking into the plush bedding on either side of Mingyu’s head, he grunts, tipping his head to the side so he can speak. “You okay?” 

“Fuck, Mingyu, ‘m good,” you giggle, suddenly hit by a burst of glee, perhaps due to the lack of oxygen in your head, since all the blood in your body is concentrated in your clit right now. “I’m having an amazing night.” 

Mingyu hums again, sounding very pleased, and you meet his gaze, and suddenly you wish his phone was nearby, so you could snap a photo, because this look - hair mussed and clinging to his forehead, pupils blown, nose to chin coated in your glistening wetness - this is a look worth capturing.

“Yeah, me too,” he says, chest heaving as he catches his breath, and the sincerity in his voice steals your own away. If you had any nerve, you’d confess something right now, something you weren’t planning on telling him tonight or tomorrow or maybe ever. But you keep silent, only breathing a tiny exhale of surprise as he slides out from under you, and nudges you onto your back.

Mingyu folds you in half easily, because you’re giving no resistance, letting him shape you the way he desires, and then his mouth is on you again. Now that he's lying facedown between your legs, he’s able to get some much-desired friction without using his hands, grinding his neglected cock into the bed as he concentrates on you. 

His tongue glides over your throbbing nub again, and then his right hand ghosts over your slit. You whimper a soft “Please,” and that’s all he needs to slide his finger inside. The intrusion has you squirming, urging him silently to go deeper, and to your relief, he obliges. But he also locks his other arm over your legs, holding them so you can’t keep bucking your hips up. 

“I said, stay still,” he mumbles, with no anger or heat behind it, just amusement, laced with a slight tinge of cockiness. He knows he’s frustrating you, judging by the curl of his lips as he plunges his finger in and out slowly, way too slowly, teasing you with what you need most. You try to press your hips down onto his hand, to make him glide faster, but he just leans into you slightly, big arm stopping your movements. 

Your whine is beyond petulant. “Don’t tease me!” 

“Pretty, I promise you, when I tease you, you’ll know.” 

And then he adds his middle finger, curling both, pressing on the most sensitive spot on your inner wall. Over and over, his fingers flutter, massaging until starlight bursts behind your eyelids. 

“It’ll be something like this.” 

He withdraws his hand.

“Gyuuuuuu.”

If he was slightly cocky earlier, he’s fully arrogant now, face breaking into a wide grin while he laughs. “Wow, so whiny. You do want me bad.” 

“I swear to god if you dohhhhHHH-”

You break off in a moan when he lowers his face again, loudly lapping at your wetness. Clever fingers alternate between scissoring and stroking, following the changes in your breathing, and you hope that he’s close to being satiated, because you’re teetering on the edge of your climax, only the slightest bit more stimulation necessary to push you over. 

“Mingyu. Mingyu, I’m gonna cum.” You open your eyes, raising your head enough to look at him, to watch with a dropped jaw as he buries his face in your cunt, his own eyes closed in ecstasy, and oh, that’s it - “Oh god, I’m gonna cum!” 

Your warning cry - though clearly appreciated by Mingyu, who groans in answering refrain, hips humping the bed furiously - is ultimately unnecessary, given how hard your walls suddenly clench around his fingers. He doesn’t stop his ministrations, fingerfucking you through your orgasm as your lower half trembles beneath his heavy arm. He holds you in place as best he can, sweetly kissing your clit, while you wail and writhe, pressing your palm into your mouth to keep your cries from waking the rooms around you. 

Eventually your tremors slow, turning into occasional twitches, before your body finally relaxes. Mingyu continues to lap at you, every pass of his tongue getting lighter and lighter, until he lifts his head. He’s the perfect image of lust, eyes dark and desirous, and you claw at his shoulders, needing him close again. 

“Kiss me.” 

He wipes his face with the back of his hand, smearing you over himself more as he rises up to meet you. His cock is hard between you, and you moan, knowing that you did that, that he got this turned on just from eating you out, and extend your fingers to wrap around him.

The unbidden sound he utters when you take his cock and slide it through your soaking folds, coating it in your wetness, is the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard.

“Careful, pretty,” he pants, looking down at your hand. Under his close gaze, you circle the head of his cock before rubbing your thumb over and around the slit there. “‘M close.” 

“Wanna make you come, ‘Gyu,” you tell him, and he hisses, hips bucking into your grip. 

“Fuck.” His long fingers cover yours, guiding you into a faster pace. “But I’m gonna make a mess.”

“Do it. Make a mess.” The need to make him completely fall apart takes possession of you, makes you say things you’ve never said to anyone else. “Come all over me.” 

Mingyu whines, chin dropping to his chest. He’s barely blinking as he stares at your entwined hands. 

“Pretty… don’t say that….”

“Please, ‘Gyu.” All shame has fled your body. “I want it.” 

No further encouragement is needed. Mingyu grunts a few times before he’s painting your stomach in so much white, in little drops and big splashes, doing exactly what you told him, eyes rolling back in his head as he does.

When his high abates, he sits back on his heels, gazing at the mess he created, all the sticky sweat and semen that covers your body. A delirious thought comes to you. Is the sight beautiful enough for him to want to take a picture? 

“Wow,” he murmurs after a moment, shaking his head. “You’re even prettier when you’re covered in me.” 

His dead serious expression is enough to break the haze of lust hanging over you. You throw your arm over your face, too flustered to look at him. “‘Gyuuuuu!”

“Changed my mind, I’m calling you ‘whiny' from now on.” The bed shifts as Mingyu rises. He laughs all the way to and from the bathroom, laughs even harder when you glare at him, reaching for the towel he holds. He surprises you by nudging your hand away. “Let me.”  

His touch is so gentle as he wipes away his mess, then your own. When you’re both clean enough, he lays on his side, draping his arm over you. “Think you can sleep now?” 

Oh, you can sleep. You’re feeling satiated in a way you haven’t for a long time, and now that the rush has worn off, you could knock right out. You should probably go back to your room, ride this calm wave right into sleep, not let yourself get too excited at the thought that this vacation might be the best one ever.

Instead, you grin, sliding your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. “Yeah. But I don’t want to.” 

“Oh?” Mingyu’s smile mirrors yours. “What do you wanna do instead?” 

“I might have some ideas.” 

He lets you pull him down for a kiss, humming eagerly.

“Tell me what you want, pre-”

A sharp rap on the door startles you both.

“Dude, don’t you dare!” Minghao hisses through the wood. “We’ve been out here forever!” 

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[rafecameronssl4t]

My girl, my business || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @drewstarkeynation

Summary: You could never brush off what Sarah did to you during your last year at Kook academy, even when you started to date her older brother.

Warnings: suggestive, swearing, Sarah is a bitch in this one soz,

Word count: 508

A/n: once again, summary is shit. Whats new 😔

MASTERLIST

Divider by @yoonitos

“Is your sister home?” you question Rafe, slipping into one of his shirts as he watches you from his bed. “Which one? I have two,” he replies, his tone practically dripping with smugness.

“You know exactly which sister I’m referring to, Rafe,” you murmur, glancing at him over your shoulder as he chuckles, hands coming up behind his head as he leans against his bed frame. “What’s your problem with Sarah anyways?”

You throw Rafe a look, wondering if he was being serious. “Do you seriously not remember what happened when the cops got called at your sisters party that happened to be at my house?” Rafe pulls a face as he thinks for a second, “Oh, shit. Yeah. You got stripped of everything at school, didn’t you?” He snickers as you hurl a shirt in his direction, which he skillfully dodges.

“Not funny dickhead.” you huff, gathering your belongings from his side of the bedside table. “C’mon babe, you know I’m joking,” he says, taking your hands and drawing you close, planting a soft kiss on your lips, causing you to melt into him.

“And no, Sarah isn’t home. She hasn’t been since Tuesday. Probably off with those fucking pogues.” Rafe murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. You scoff, shaking your head incredulously, “Kook princess, my ass.” Rafe snorts at the rivalry between you and his sister.

~

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sarah’s voice slices through the air, grating on your nerves as you click the door shut behind you. You turn to face her, meeting her intense gaze head-on.

“Isn’t it kind of obvious?” you retort, your sarcasm dripping like honey from your lips, accompanied by a subtle frown as she watches you, arm tightly crossed.

“Oh, come on, Sarah,” you scoff, trying to downplay the obviousness of the situation, though her piercing gaze makes it clear that she’s not buying it for a second.

“I was fucking your brother.” You say casually, the words landing with a blunt force that leaves Sarah slightly taken aback. The raw truth hangs in the air, mingling with the tension between you both.

Sarah’s voice trembles with fury as she starts, “Get the fuck out of my house—” but Rafe’s voice cuts through the air, commanding and firm, “Watch your fucking tongue, Sarah.” His touch sends a shiver down your spine as his hands gently snake across your waist, his gaze piercing and cold as he fixates on her.

“This isn’t any of your business, Rafe,” Sarah snaps defiantly, her eyes flashing with anger. But Rafe only chuckles, his amusement tinged with something unsettling as he glowered at her.

“It kind of is. She’s my girl so she’s my business. So why don’t you run along with your little pogue friends and leave us alone, sound good? Good,” he says, his voice dripping with authority and finality. With a firm grip, he pulls you back into his room, leaving Sarah standing there, stunned and speechless

“I could’ve handled it, y’know,” you remark, tossing your keys and phone onto his bedside table. He turns you around to face him, a playful grin spreading across his lips. “Mhmm, I knew you could. Just wanted to yell at her for fun,” he says with a smirk, prompting a chuckle from you in response.