#unedited as balls im so sorry

[valentine-writes]

Can you do enemies to lovers with 1016 Miles?? :3

[ this will be my last req for this account, moving to my new blog officially once this one is up! catch me on @l0vem41l <3 reqs will be open there when i'm ready ＞︿＜ ]

overachiever

「 tws + notes: no tws, unedited, burnout, reader also attends visions academy, reader is trying so so hard to not be mean and fails (im so sorry), one-sided academic rivalry, author doesn't know how american schools work (i am so so sorry), comfort (?) 」

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic <3」

↳ ft. miles morales (1610)

author's note: YES I CAN!!! however,, i put a lil twist on the prompt given and made it academic rivalry (i genuinely cant find a viable reason to beef w/ miles i am so sorry (-﹏-；) !!) anyways! hope this works with you!!! soz itz so short!!! :[[

"wow," your friend's eyes light up, scanning over your test results, "...you've gotta be like, the smartest person i know."

you laugh politely, smiling at them as they hand your paper back. "no, it's really not that big of a deal–"

"what do you mean 'not that big of a deal?! dude, you got 100% on a test most people failed." your friend shoves their paper in your face as evidence– a 57% in red on theirs. "that's like... the highest grade achievable. probably the highest in cla–"

"THIS GUY GOT A 101%!"

everyone turns to the voice– the loud kid who sat behind miles eyeing his test.

you blinked in disbelief. you didn't even know getting extra credit was possible on this one.

miles looked up at the faces of his staring peers faces filled with disbelief and slight annoyance, and fumbled to set his test face down on his desk. he flashed an awkward grin "uh... yeah?"

-

▸ you liked miles. he was friendly. sweet. genuine. you couldn't hate him if you wanted to. no, you didn't feel hate towards him. it was just... jealousy. simple, petty, burning jealousy.

▸ visions academy was something you had to work your ass off for, constantly studying just to stay on the level of the students who attended. NERDS. all of them were nerds. but you were attending this school too sooo,,,

and then there was miles. someone who barely even had to try to get the highest grades. he had you seething.

▸ the most humiliating part was the fact that he had little to no interest in competing with you at all. the few times you had spoken were awkward and curt on your end, and yes– it felt awful being so mean for something as small as personal resentment.

▸ nothing justified your one word responses or the accidental snark that would slip into those few words. you mentally kicked yourself for the times you watched his grin falter because of something you said, miles awkwardly trying to laugh off whatever cold remark you just shot at him.

he'd walk away, dejected, and you'd stand there for a moment– frozen as you fought the urge to run up to him and try to explain yourself or beg for forgiveness. it didn't make sense to at this point. maybe he'd just accept this was the way you were– the way things would be between you two.

▸ so yes, perhaps in your pursuit of favouring school over every other aspect of your life, your social skills were left rotting and underdeveloped. but you knew, deep down, it wasn't just you being awkward.

being around him made you feel small. talking to someone, radiating the aura of someone with a promise-filled future made you look completely directionless and clueless in comparison. the effort you put into your academics was almost repulsive to think about when miles could take a test with a blindfold on and probably still score 90s.

maybe it was the deep set fear that you'd never amount to anything if you didn't burn yourself out trying. all of a sudden, the academic validation of being good wasn't enough. not when you were one of the best once.

▸ you spent an absurd amount of time trying to avoid him, deliberately moving to the furthest corners of the library so he wouldn't see you there struggling to wrap your head around whatever you were being taught in physics.

heavens above forbid that he walk up to you, greeting you with that sunny smile and cheerful voice that could make anyone falter. you may have been jealous of him– but oh, how you hated that feeling that way when he nothing but well-meaning.

-

the last sip of your coffee– long cooled by now thanks thermodynamics– did nothing to make you feel less dead. you had lost track of the time you had spent practically decomposing in this library, studying for an upcoming physics test that had you reeling just by the mere thought of it.

you sighed, staring at the papers strewn on the desk. your hands fidgeted with the pencil in your hand, it's eraser and tip rendered flat and useless by now, as you tried to muster the energy to gather your things to leave. it was much too late. the library would be closed soon and you'd be forced to go back home to study at your own desk in your bedroom.

this was routine. go to school, study in the library until it gets dark, and go home to study more– the next day, you'd find yourself still awake and studying or with a headache, your cheek pressed to the desk, and drool on your notebook. yeah. your bed hasn't been used in a solid while. and science homework isn't exactly the comfiest pillow. but this is what you were used to.

standing up, you stretched out a bit– and immediately froze as a familiar voice called your name. you paused, reluctantly turning to the source of the voice.

"...god, morales–" you huffed, "you nearly scared me half to death."

this is the friendliest you've been towards him in a while, he notices, as you flash him a tiny, crooked smile on your tired face. all potential malice you could have held had been beaten out by your absolute lack of energy.

he approaches you and looks at your desk, considering what to say to fill the silent air. he places a hand on your shoulder, you stiffen–

"hey." miles flashes a grin, not his signature smile but,, somewhat of a forced smolder.

you stare and resist the urge to cringe, wondering if you were sleep deprived to the point of hallucinations. you gently brush his hand off your shoulder.

"...hi?" you respond, unsure of what to do.

miles is snapped out of whatever stupid trance he was in by your voice.

"oh– uh– yeah, hey," he repeats your name again, trying to recover from whatever that was, "is– is everything okay?"

"i could ask you the same thing."

he lets out a little chuckle. "you know what i mean. all... this." miles' hand gestures vaguely to your desk and current state of complete entropy. "how long have you been here?"

you avert your gaze, shame burning in your face. "i... don't know?"

a pause.

miles places a hand on your back this time, in an attempt of friendly comfort. geez, are they keeping you locked in here?" he quips, earning half of a dry laugh from you. "c'mon. you should probably get home and rest by now."

"but–" your lips part in protest, looking back up at him to argue– but he just looks back, concern filled in his dark doe-like eyes. all possibilities of fighting him on this were out the window.

"you need it." he insists, a gentle smile forming on his face. much better than the weird smoulder from earlier, you think. "i'll even walk you there."

before you can speak up, he moves away from you, beginning to help you gather up your things to pack up. you mumble a silent thank you to him, which he accepts happily with a nod.

as he hands over the papers, his eyes scan them. "oh! physics? i love physics."

"no shit, morales." you scoff, snatching up the papers from him and stuffing them in your bag. "it sure seems to love you."

yet again, you've managed to mess things up. you bite the inside of your cheek before you can say anything worse. a sigh escapes your lips, as you decide to at least try and save the interaction.

"look... i'm really sorry. it's been a rough day, i've been struggling to get the concepts down, i'm falling behind and feeling stupid as hell right now, and– to make everything worse, the fucking test is just stressing me out and i just– i just..." you trail off from your ramblings, a sob getting caught in your throat as your shaky hands grip your backpack.

"woah, woah, hey– it's okay."

he slowly puts an arm around your shoulder, careful not to startle you or make you uncomfortable. you don't even realize how you lean into him. "let's just get you home. you've done your best, yeah?"

you nod. he offers you a little smile.

"exactly. and that's enough. okay? you're doing more than you can handle right now." there's a few more shared words as he reassures you.

part of him wonders how long this had been going on– how long you had been working yourself until you broke– mainly because that test that was stressing you out was more than a week away. yeah. he'd need to convince you to watch after yourself more often.

-

"and now a silly one!!!" (more lighthearted hcs below for the aftermath of this becuz goodness me.)

▸ things definitely ease up around miles. if he can't convince you to step away from your work, he's chosen to be able to regulate it.

studying with him in a local cafe is now a frequent thing you two do together. miles always gives you time to work, but will then ever so subtly lure you into moving on from your work to hang out with him normally. and it works. every single time. you might start in the library or cafe, but where you'll be later? always a mystery.

whether it's a walk in the park, going back to his place to chat, or finding some random activity to do, you find yourself bonding with him more and more. your jealousy begins to fade, finding a friend in him instead of someone you have to one up.

▸ you both spontaneously decided to see a new horror movie once and accidentally got miles in trouble with his parents for coming home after curfew. and he'd 100% do it again in a heartbeat if you asked.

▸ no matter what you get on that next test, miles is going to congratulate you like it's the best he's ever seen. he's overjoyed to share your achievements, to celebrate them like no one in your life ever has.

miles holds up his test as you tell him your grade. "you got a 92? hey look– me too!"

a snarky voice speaks up, "well, i got a 98% so–"

"no one was talking to you." miles retorts.

you press a hand to your mouth and look away, trying to stifle laughter. was he always this sassy or did you just end up rubbing off on him?

▸ you both end up being extra studious for the next test (breaks included this time) and he's sure to be extra loud about congratulating you for your perfect 100%

maybe the sass wasn't all you,,, but the minor pettiness definitely is your influence. it's actually not. miles is pretty easygoing,, but man did he not like when that random ass kid gave you attitude.

you smile at miles, ensuring to do the same for him if not, a little louder

"what? 'm complimenting you." you tilt your head at miles' stunned expression.

for a moment, he stumbles over his words. "i know– you just– i didn't expect that from you, so–"

you laugh. "what? you want me to go back to being mean or something?"

miles laughs too. it's hard not to stare at the way he lights up a room like this.

▸ things feel lighter now. you've made social progress with others, you have a life beyond just school– and you have miles. part of you wonders if you'll ever be able to tell him just how much he means to you and how you wish you could've just been his friend from the start.

sometimes, in the corner of his eye, he catches your wistful stare. and though he doesn't utter a single word, you start to feel that he cherishes you just as much.

[chocum]

yea tattoo artist choso but .. what abt tattoo artist geto

congrats on 1k btw!

eee thank youuuu 🙈🙈 i’m souuurrr happy you requested geto bc i’ve been wanting to write abt other characters. AND THISS got out of hand lollll ( 1.5k ) idk what came over me i just word vomited all over my phone… & it’s unedited

— tattooartist!geto x reader // mentions of smoking, m masterbation, fleshlight, cum eating, kinda pervy geto idk he tells reader to take her shirt off when she doesn’t need to so, nipple play, v in p, mentions of overstim, creampiee

suguru geto is one of the most, if not the most popular tattoo artists in your area— hell, probably even farther than that. just to book an appointment, there’s a waitlist not including the months and months he’s already booked for. so when you finally get that confirmation email after waiting for what felt like years, you physically jump up, rushing to get ready and go to the parlor

“i don’t have anyone today under that name, sorry”

suguru pushes a strand of silk black hair behind his pierced ears, the dragon tattoo on his hand moving as he does so almost like it’s taunting you.

“what? i got an email today i just-” your hand reaches into your purse slacked over your shoulder to pull out your phone and prove your appointment was today, but when you go back to check, heat spreads across your cheeks faster than ever.

the date said next month

“ya had the right day i’ll give you that” and he’s laughing. not at you but because you’re cute, he thinks. pouting, growing hot from embarrassment. “i’ll tell you what..”

he leans in and you can smell the smoke that lingers on his breath mixing like some sort of love potion with his musky cologne, his pierced eyebrow quirking, browned eyes staring into yours with puffy lips wet from licking, “i can squeeze you in tomorrow. was supposed to have an off day but ill help a pretty girl like you out, how’s that sound?”

and you’ve never nodded faster. smile pulling at your glossed lips, drawing his to get trapped underneath his teeth.

“here i’ll give you my number, i’ll text you the time ‘n stuff later”

with that, you leave his parlor, your number scribbled on the back of some old receipt next to your name and a heart.

geto’s no better than a man. no better. he goes home that night and texts you as soon as he’s tucked into bed.

hey this is suguru btw.

your phone vibrates on your nightstand, and you smile at the notification. it almost felt unreal, someone who felt so unreachable, someone like geto in your phone, texting you first.

hey!

he catches himself smiling at the message too, his mind trailing back to seeing your pretty face when you walked into the parlor. the way you looked around doe-eyed like a little deer in headlights. looked innocent, and he liked that. maybe a little too much, his dick twitching against the fabric of his boxers.

he only talked to you for a few minutes. barely even held a conversation, but god did you look good. can’t blame him for getting like this.

what time is good for you? like i said, im supposed to be off but had no plans so any time is fine.

your thumbs dance across your keyboard as you think of what to say in response. you’re nervous. and if you knew he was jerking his cock, you’d be even more. his hand slowly .. very slowly rubbing his leaky tip, his head full, overflowing and bubbling with thoughts of you. what are you doing right now? are you in bed too? squeezing his warm balls, cupping them, teasing himself, imagining it’s your sweet little hands.

is 6 pm okay?

the little buzz drags him from his thoughts.

yea. see you then, pretty.

the simple little pet name makes you feel like you’re going to explode. so warm all over your body, and you wish you could just time travel to the next day and see him already.

geto brings the palm of his large hand to his face, lolling his tongue out to lick long stripes on it, shivering at the feeling of his own piercing before wrapping around the base of his thick cock, stroking himself only two times. this won’t do.

he reached for the pocket pussy he keeps nested deep in his drawer. leaning over to let spit fall and dribble into the clear toy before rubbing it on his tip.

groaning, “shiiiiittt” his hips bucking up as he slowly lets it sink down— body twitching at the feeling of all the little bumps and ridges massaging his sensitive cock.

“fu- fuck juuuust like that, mhhhm”

imagining he’s inside your tight little walls, squishing him like he’s meant for you, snug and tight like a puzzle piece.

his chest heaved with every snap of his wrist, spit sinking out and ringing out the base of his cock leaking down to his heavy balls, “feel so fucking good baby”

so fast he’s already shooting into the toy, whining because it’s not you. wishing it was you, your warm walls probably feel so much better. probably sound so cute taking him from behind or from the front, your eyes locked onto his.

he came so much it’s leaking all over himself. so messy and dirty and he brings the toy up and licks it all out, shoving his tongue inside the rubbery walls to flick and clean it up.

“shit”

the next day came too slowly. to you but especially to suguru. he went to the parlor an hour earlier to open and tidy up, pulling his raven locs into a ponytail, letting a few stray strands fall and frame his face, counting each and every second.

and then he hears it. the little ding as the door opens, you push it open smiling up at him as you walk through and you look even better than he remembered. and he’s trying so hard to keep his composure.

he nods at you, giving you a small smile, “so what did you want to get, and where?”

at your reply he freezes, his hands almost crumbling up the paperwork he reached for you to fill out — “my chest”

“your chest?”

he parrots you. then he repeats it in his head a few more times. picturing you pull your little top up.

he can tell you’re not wearing a bra with how your nipples perk up and poke through the flimsy, almost see-through fabric.

you nod your head, mhm sounding and bubbling past your lips.

god, you’re going to be the death of him.

after you finish with all the paperwork, he pulls you into the back making small talk asking about your day. and you indulge, asking back, finding comfort in the normality of your conversation. he’s different from what people painted him out to be and you felt relaxed in his presence.

even more when he offers you a seat, cleaning it off before slipping on some black gloves. his hands almost bulge out, his knuckles poking through the latex.

“can i see the design?”

you pull up the picture on your phone and he hums, “and you said your chest, right?”

again he repeats it, almost as if it’s a mantra he’s using to calm his nerves. calm his dick.

you just nod, “do i need to take my shirt off?”

and well no you don’t, not yet at least, but he says yes, reaching forward to do it for you because he’s just so sweet, right? so nice and caring, and welcoming.

and he only wraps his lips around your tits to soothe you, right? sucking, letting his teeth sink into the buds, the silver ball tracing over them. his other glove-clad hand cupping them.

sinks his cock into you just cause he wants to take care of you, right? he could tell you wanted it soo bad. your thighs pressing together so tightly when he pressed his lips against your chest with a soft, “suguru please”

“mhm let me take care of you, pretty girl, spread em, hold yourself open f’me— uh huh, juuust like that.”

your little arms shake and tremble, hooking around the back of your knees as he pushes into your tight cunt. and fuck, he was right. feels so much better than his toy.

“fuuuckk found your spot, baby, ‘s right there? yeah feel good right there?” he rolls his hips up, brushing against that spot, his thick tip kissing it, making your body twitch.

“yes— fuck yes feels so good”

right about you sounding so fucking good too— his cock twitching inside the solitude of your pretty slimy walls. shivering at how you suck and milk him so well, so tight and warm. so fucking warm. feels so good he’s already close, but he wants to keep making you feel good, keep hearing you, and if he was to fuck his cum into you, overstimulating his needy cock to do that, then so be it.

“inside” you whine out at how he twitches, his stokes sputtering and faltering as he languidly pushing into your sopping pussy, leaking all over him, so wet.

“ohh — fuck ohfuck” and it pushes him over the edge, bottoming out to overfill you, make you nice and creamy ‘cause you deserve it. deserve it for being so good, making him feel so good.

letting his head fall onto your shoulder sweat sprinkling his forehead as he empties himself for you. for your pretty pussy, all for you.

[jezebelblues]

Hi can you do another dad!Harry x reader where Niall meets atlas and he and Harry teach him how to play football and Harry Niall playfully argue about what team atlas will root for. And Niall also wants to teach him how to play the guitar.

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐄’𝟐𝟐 ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔

⋆˚✿˖° 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛

summary: check the request u silly goose ^

also hello anon, thank u for the request <3 sorry it took so long! hopefully it’s smthn u liked :)

cw: dadrry 🤨, unedited

word count: approx 2.3k

| i’m trying to go in order with the requests ive gotten. a lot have been dadrry which i LOVVE however im gonna take the smallest breather from it because i’ve been wanting to get a few other things out that isn’t dadrry/kid related which i hope yall will still like :^)

masterlist

harry bent over and plucked a dandelion from the ground, its yellow petals nearly glowing in the gentle light. “here,” he murmured, tucking it behind atlas’s ear, nestled into dark curls that mirrored his own.

his boy squinted up at him, dimple deepening as he tilted his head, casting that same unguarded, easy smile. harry’s own grin met it, his eyes crinkling, his nose scrunching up just so. “sunny flower for my sunshine,” he said, voice a low, soft thing.

the world outside was painted in a wash of soft honeyed glow, every blade of grass dipped in a warm, dewy shimmer. somewhere overhead, the clouds stretched in lazy tufts, the kind that would drift by in no hurry, letting the sky peek through in swathes of baby blue.

they were tucked beneath the willow tree at the back of the yard, both of them shirtless, shoeless, and dusted with dirt. atlas sat cross-legged, his chubby fingers digging into the cool soil with the focus only a four-year-old could muster. he was on a mission, hunting for the little grey bugs he loved, the ones that rolled into perfect balls with the gentlest nudge.

“look, bub,” harry whispered, flipping over his hand to reveal one of the bugs crawling along his dirt-streaked palm. atlas’s face lit up, eyes wide and delighted. he gently took the bug, murmuring, “hello, potato,” as if the creature was an old friend. carefully, he coaxed it onto his own hand, watching it sprawl out its tiny legs, finally uncurling. “there y’are,” he said with a satisfied little sigh, his finger brushing gently over its shell before he let it crawl back into the soil.

harry watched him, struck by the quiet tenderness in his son’s movements, his heart swelling with a mixture of pride and awe. atlas’s world was so simple, and yet somehow so vast, filled with magic in places adults so often overlooked.

his son’s head whipped around suddenly, catching sight of a patch of tiny purple flowers hiding near his dad’s knee. he scrambled over, tugging a few loose with careful fingers, his face lighting up like he’d found treasure. harry chuckled, watching his son’s single-minded determination as he came closer, leaning down to face his dad.

“shh,” he whispered, pressing a finger to his lips with the gravest expression he could muster. then, with a careful hand, he began tucking the little flowers into harry’s curls, his small brows furrowed in focus. one by one, purple petals nestled into the messy locks until he was satisfied. “now we match, daddy,” he said, the faintest look of triumph on his face.

harry couldn’t help the way his heart tugged, warmth spreading in his chest. “mama needs one, too,” atlas murmured, glancing around with a serious look.

“does she now?” he stood, brushing dirt from his knees, lifting atlas onto his hip with a grunt. his feet made soft imprints in the grass as they moved toward his wife, who lay stretched out on a towel near the front yard, soaking up the late afternoon sun. her eyes opened as they approached, a gentle smile tugging at her lips.

“what kind of flower, do y’think?” harry mumbled, nudging atlas’s cheek with his nose.

atlas thought for a long moment, glancing between his parents. “m’the prettiest one.”

“now that’s a hard call, mate,” he chuckled. “your mum’s too pretty for just one flower, really. her beauty would outshine it.”

atlas didn’t quite understand, but he knew his dad was talking about how lovely his mama was, so he nodded, satisfied.

just then, the clink of a metal latch echoed from the house. niall appeared, hands on his hips, a football tucked under one arm, grinning as he made his way down the steps toward them. “ready for a bit o’ footie, then?” he called, his voice bright with that familiar lilting accent.

atlas perked up immediately, wriggling in harry’s hold. harry set him down, watching as he bolted across the lawn, little legs pumping as he met niall halfway.

“now, before we get started, little man,” niall began, crouching down to atlas’s level, “we need to sort somethin’ important.”

harry groaned, wandering over with a lazy grin. “oh, here we go. already brainwashing him, are ya?”

niall chuckled, tousling atlas’s hair. “only tryin’ to steer him right, yeah? see, atlas, your dad here likes the red team, manchester united.” he said it in a tone like he was explaining a tragic flaw. “but me? i’m derby county through and through. we’re the true underdogs.” he tapped atlas’s nose for emphasis.

atlas tilted his head, clearly confused. he looked up at his dad, brow furrowed. “the red team, daddy?”

harry laughed, ruffling atlas’s curls. “that’s right, mate. we’re united fans, us. always cheer for the red team.”

niall clutched his chest in mock horror. “ah, but atlas, don’t you want to support a real team, one with heart?”

atlas just blinked between them, completely lost but amused by their playful bickering. he didn’t quite get why it mattered, but he knew his dad loved the red team, so that’s what he’d cheer for, every time.

“alright, enough of that,” niall said with a wink, rolling the football out in front of him. “time for a proper match. let’s see what you’ve got, little man.”

“think y’can win, attie?” harry asked, grinning wide as he kicked the ball softly toward atlas, who stumbled back a step as the ball nudged his bare foot.

atlas giggled, a bubbling, bright sound that made both men laugh. he glanced down at the ball, brows furrowing like he was trying to solve a puzzle, then he looked up with a determined expression. “i can beat you,” he declared, puffing out his chest with all the seriousness a four-year-old could muster.

“oh, he’s got a bit of fire in him!” niall laughed, straightening up and adjusting the dandelion in the boy’s hair. “good lad. that’s what i like to see.”

harry crouched down to meet atlas’s eye level, his smile softening. “alright, bubba. let’s start with the basics, yeah?” he placed a hand gently on atlas’s shoulder, guiding him toward the ball. “all you’ve got to do is kick it nice and easy, right to uncle niall.”

atlas gave a determined nod, his little face scrunched in concentration. he took a step back, wriggled his toes in the grass, then swung his leg forward with a small grunt. the ball wobbled and rolled just a few feet, but it was enough to get a cheer from both men.

“that’s it!” niall called, clapping his hands together as he jogged forward to stop the ball with the inside of his foot. “perfect! now let’s try somethin’ a bit trickier, yeah?” he gave the ball a gentle nudge back toward atlas. “this time, try keepin’ it goin’. we’ll pass it back and forth.”

harry stayed beside him, his hand resting lightly on his son’s shoulder, offering small tips here and there as the ball rolled between them. atlas’s kicks were unsteady, more little taps than proper strikes, but each time he got the ball to move, his face lit up like he’d just scored a winning goal.

after a few minutes, harry stepped back, letting atlas and niall keep the rhythm on their own. he folded his arms, watching them play, the gentle back-and-forth, the easy flow of laughter. niall, ever patient, exaggerated his reactions to every kick, even the weak ones, stumbling back dramatically as if atlas had knocked him off balance. it sent atlas into fits of giggles, his small frame shaking with the force of it.

“look at that!” niall called, holding his arms wide in mock surrender after a particularly strong kick from atlas. “we’ve got ourselves a future champion here! sign ‘im up for derby now, i say!”

“oi, back off,” harry said, joining them again with a wide grin. he scooped atlas up, making the little boy squeal as he swung him around in a wide arc before setting him back down. “he’s stickin’ with united. right, attie?”

atlas just beamed up at them, not understanding but pleased to be the center of attention. “yeah!” he agreed, without really knowing what he was agreeing to. “the red team!”

“traitor,” niall muttered, though his eyes were bright with laughter.

“nah, he’s just smart,” harry teased, tapping the ball with his bare foot and sending it toward niall, who caught it with an easy stop. they moved seamlessly into a light game, the ball pinging between the three of them, atlas racing after every pass with a fierce determination.

niall leaned down, conspiratorially. “tell ya what, atlas,” he said, his tone lowering as if he were revealing a great secret. “if you can get the ball past your dad just once, i’ll let you wear my derby county jersey.”

harry raised a brow, feigning indignation. “oh, no you don’t. we’re not corrupting him with your bad taste in football, mate.”

but the boy’s eyes widened with the challenge, his cheeks pink and his grin growing mischievous. he turned, the tiniest flicker of determination lighting up his eyes as he faced his dad, who crouched down slightly, hands out in front like a goalie.

“you think you can get past me, bub?” harry said, a playful glint in his eyes.

atlas didn’t answer. instead, he lunged forward, feet slipping in the damp grass as he pushed the ball with both tiny feet, charging straight at his dad. harry bit back a laugh, shuffling to the left and blocking the ball gently with his foot. atlas let out a tiny growl of frustration, spinning around and kicking again, his effort all concentration and floppy limbs.

niall ran amuck from the sidelines, letting out hushed yells to mimic that of a roaring crowd. “go on, atlas! you’ve got ‘em! he’s not that quick, trust me!”

harry shot niall a mock glare but couldn’t help the laughter bubbling up as atlas kept trying, little determined sounds huffing from him with every move. finally, with a wide grin, harry let himself stumble just a little too dramatically, the ball slipping past him as atlas charged forward.

“he’s done it!” niall whooped, jumping in the air and throwing his arms wide as if they’d just won the league. “you got him, attie! you scored!”

he froze for a second, blinking in surprise at the empty space in front of him where his dad had been. then he let out a triumphant yell, arms shooting up in the air. “i did it! i did it!”

harry caught him up in his arms, twirling him around until atlas’s laughter rang out, loud and joyful. “you did, mate,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of his son’s head. “you got me.”

niall jogged over, slinging an arm around harry’s shoulders and holding his other hand out for a high-five, which atlas delivered with a delighted smack. “a promise is a promise,” niall said, grinning wide. “you’ll be gettin’ that derby jersey from me. though, your dad might never forgive me for it.”

“we’ll talk about that later,” harry said, giving niall a playful shove. then he turned back to atlas, setting him down and ruffling his hair again. “but for now, let’s see if you can do it again. think you’ve got another goal in you?”

atlas’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he nodded, puffing out his chest. “i can do it! m’the best player ever!”

“that’s the spirit,” niall said, positioning himself across from them and rolling the ball back to atlas. “ready when you are, champ.”

the afternoon stretched on, niall disappearing inside for a bit before reappearing at the back door, this time not with a ball, but with his battered acoustic guitar slung over one shoulder. the old wood caught the golden light just right, warm honey glinting off the curves. “thought we’d change things up a bit,” he called out, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. he settled onto the cool grass under the shade of the willow tree, cradling the guitar in his lap.

“oh, you’re quittin’ already?” harry teased, giving the football a gentle tap with his toe toward yn, who was standing barefoot a few steps away, her hair a soft tangle in the breeze. atlas stood between them, his little legs bouncing as he tried to mimic the back-and-forth passes between his parents.

“nah,” niall replied, the strings thrumming under his fingers as he absentmindedly strummed a chord, “just thought atlas could use a break from whoopin’ your arse.”

the little one giggled, spinning around in circles as harry pretended to stumble back dramatically. yn gave the ball a light kick back to her husband, the sunlight catching the bright colors of her sundress, and harry caught it with a playful flourish. the three of them formed a small, easy triangle in the yard, the ball moving lazily between them as niall started picking out a familiar melody.

“come here, little rockstar,” niall said, patting his knee and looking over at atlas with a soft smile. “fancy learnin’ a tune?” atlas hesitated, glancing up at his dad, who gave him an encouraging nod.

“go on, attie,” harry urged, scooping the ball into his hands to pause the game. “uncle niall’s got a song for ya.”

atlas’s eyes widened, curiosity shining bright as he trotted over, plopping himself down in niall’s lap with a trusting little wiggle. the guitar was far too big for him, the wooden body swallowing his small frame as niall adjusted the position, balancing the neck across atlas’s knees.

“alright, kiddo,” niall said, his voice low and patient as he wrapped atlas’s small hands around the neck of the guitar, guiding his tiny fingers to press down on the strings. “these are called chords, yeah? they make the music. we’re gonna try somethin’ special.”

yn and harry settled down in the grass just in front of them, harry’s arm slipping around her waist as they leaned back on their elbows, watching the scene unfold with soft smiles. atlas’s little fingers fumbled against the strings, pressing too hard and too light in the same awkward movements, but niall was endlessly patient, his hands covering the boy’s, guiding him with an easy confidence.

“this one’s called a ‘g chord,’” niall explained, carefully placing atlas’s index finger on the right fret, his own fingers moving over atlas’s to show him the way. “we’re gonna play a bit of my song, yeah?”

atlas nodded solemnly, like he understood, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in deep concentration. he strummed the strings with a jerky motion, producing a sound that was more discordant twang than melody. niall chuckled softly, adjusting atlas’s grip with a patient hand. “easy there, mate. it’s all about bein’ gentle, like you were with those potato bugs earlier.”

“like this?” he asked, his face scrunched in determined focus as he tried again, fingers splayed awkwardly over the frets. he plucked at the strings with all the finesse of a four-year-old, the sound shaky and uneven, but undeniably proud.

“that’s it!” niall encouraged, his voice warm and easy. “you’re doin’ perfect, bud. let’s try a bit more, yeah?” he hummed the opening bars of the song under his breath, guiding atlas through each shaky strum, the boy’s small fingers following his lead with a mixture of curiosity and pure, bright determination.

harry’s hand squeezed yn’s gently, his gaze soft as he watched his son try so earnestly. “he’s really into it, isn’t he?” yn murmured, resting her head on harry’s shoulder.

“yeah,” harry replied, his voice low, almost reverent. “reminds me of myself.”

atlas’s fingers slipped off the strings, causing a strange, discordant twang, but niall just laughed and nudged him gently. “no worries, champ. it takes a while to get it right. even i messed up plenty when i was young—ask your dad, he’ll tell ya.”

“he’s tellin’ the truth,” harry interjected with a grin, leaning back on one hand while still holding yn close. “used to be a nightmare. couldn’t get through a song without stoppin’ every few seconds.”

niall pretended to look wounded, pressing a hand dramatically to his heart. “oi, easy, now! this is a teachin’ moment, not a roast!” atlas giggled at the banter, his chubby hands clinging tighter to the guitar.

“let’s try again,”he suggested softly, tapping atlas’s little hand in encouragement. “i’ll help you with the chords, and you just strum when i say, alright?”

the curly haired boy nodded, his eyes wide and focused, and together they moved slowly, atlas’s fingers guided with care over the strings as niall led him through the simplest, gentlest notes of his song. it was more noise than song, a jumbled mix of too-loud and too-soft strums, but there was a rhythm to it, a quiet kind of magic in the way atlas’s brow furrowed with every sound he managed to coax from the instrument.

they played like that for a while, atlas’s small body wrapped in the circle of niall’s arms, the guitar humming under their hands, filling the late afternoon air with its uneven melody. the sun dipped lower, casting long, soft shadows across the grass, the golden light wrapping them all in its warm, fading glow.

when they finally finished, atlas let out a triumphant sigh, dropping his hands from the strings and leaning back into niall’s chest. “i did it,” he said with a breathless sort of wonder.

“that you did, little man,” niall replied, resting his chin lightly on top of atlas’s head, the smile in his voice clear as day. “you played your first song.”

harry clapped softly, his eyes shining with something tender as yn leaned against him, her arm around his waist. “we’ve got ourselves a musician,” he said quietly, his voice caught somewhere between pride and awe.

atlas beamed, his cheeks pink from the effort, his eyes bright with a happiness so pure and unfiltered that it tugged at everyone’s heart. “i wanna play another one,” he declared, turning to look up at niall with wide, eager eyes.

niall laughed, ruffling atlas’s messy curls. “we’ll make a rockstar outta you yet, mate. but maybe we’ll leave the heavy stuff for another day, yeah? for now, you did brilliant.”

they all sat there for a moment longer, the last traces of sunlight casting everything in a honeyed glow, the guitar cradled in atlas’s lap, his small hands still resting on the strings as if he wasn’t quite ready to let go. the world felt quieter somehow, the soft hum of the summer evening settling around them, and for a brief, perfect moment, everything was exactly as it should be.

[fadingdaggerr]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write a fluff Melissa x reader, where R is a new teacher and shes got this sick motorcycle and everybody thinks she's super cool and badass, and Mel's absolutely head over heels and gets all nervous when R is around, and when R eventually realizes it she starts doing things on purpose to get Mel all flustered.

With like A LOT of fluff.

You can maybe make it little spicy too, or not.

Idk you do whatever you prefer.

know i’m alive (18+, minors dni)

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: request above! | 5.8k

includes: the dating but not really sort of trope, but of ooc!melissa i’m sorry, partially unedited again im sorry

warnings: sexual innuendo, alcohol consumption (brief), making out/kissing, smut (fingering, oral, mel receiving), body worship?, aftercare

note: the bike referenced is a harley-davidson 1992 daytona, one of my personal fav models. i grew up in a biker family so this was cathartic. also the temperatures referenced in fahrenheit are roughly the 10-20°c range, hope that’s helpful :)

It’s become a sort of routine: get to work, drop your things off, get coffee, make Melissa blush, teach, do prep, watch Melissa try to hide a smile, go home, repeat. You can’t help yourself, getting the woman, who will always be the toughest in any room she’s in, riled up with fluttering lashes. Shocked faces from across the room didn’t help with the ego you were steadily growing with each interaction.

The first day you were at Abbott, she pointedly ignored you, despite constantly having an eye on you. What you once thought was suspicion over a new person near the kids, though sort of true, was more of a curiosity. A new third grade teacher walked into her school, wearing an oversized denim jacket and old Chucks, how was she supposed to feel? Her harsh glares and eagle eyes softened, and you started to see a more bashful side of the woman. It was only until Ava had the balls to say that Melissa’s behavior was very not Melissa, that you noticed that only you could evoke this side of her.

Since day one, the redhead has had an interest in you, not that she would ever verbalize it. Breathlessness has become a common feeling every time you come in with the sleeves of your sweater rolled up and rings adorning your fingers, making her focus shift and half the time she doesn’t hear a word you say, just following the gold bands that catch the light as you speak animatedly. Melissa longs for the day you got close enough and she could pull you in by the necklace you wear, the same that dangles in a taunt when you lean into her space. In the brief moments you’re alone, there’s a sense of calm that comes over both of you. The need to keep up a bravado drops, and you can indulge yourself in her presence. She’s lost count of how many times you casually dropped a gorgeous or beautiful instead of using her name, and how she has to fight turning when you say either in casual conversation, not just to her. All you know is that her wide, surprised eyes are all the motivation you need to keep it up.

—☽—

It’s bitter cold as you walk into Abbott, finding yourself nearly running to the main entrance before your eyes begin to water from the nipping winds. Reprieve comes in the form of the front lobby, leaning against it to catch your breath and shrug off your jacket to let the warmer air rid you of goosebumps. With your belongings dropped off in your classroom, it’s easy to start moving towards the lounge, knowing you saw a silver car that belonged to a certain redhead.

The voice of Jim Gardener is all there is when you enter, Barbara having, no doubt, told them to shut their mouths while her ‘second favorite man’ was speaking, Gerald also ranking number one in his wife’s heart. Grabbing your personal mug from the shelf, you pour a cup of unfortunate coffee as you watch Melissa through your periphery. She used to sit in one of the chairs, no room for someone to place themselves next to her. However, once you started, you noticed she moved to the couch, where no one but you was brave enough to sit.

Walking slowly to your spot, you gently sip the coffee that threatens to spill over the sides before setting it on the table. Lowering yourself, you sit purposefully closer to Melissa than a typical coworker would. Not one shuffle away or look of discomfort comes of it, it almost makes you grin. As the weather comes on, and Jim is no longer on screen, voices start to fill the room. You throw your arm back to the back of the couch as leverage to push yourself forward, leaning into Melissa’s space as the two-week broadcast appears on screen.

Her attention on you is not missed, neither is Barbara’s, who you already know is giving Melissa a look of bewilderment. The dusty pink that paints her cheeks with every interaction between you has quickly become your favorite color. It’s a struggle and a half to keep your eyes on the screen, but the temperatures being in the fifties and sixties starting tomorrow made you so excited that it didn’t even matter. Instantly, your mind is whirling with plans for the second the final bell rings and you can run out the door.

When the news goes to commercial, you sit back, keeping your arm behind Melissa’s shoulders. The warmth radiating off of her has your mind begging for you to shift your arm just a touch closer, to wrap your arm around her, but so far playing it safe has been working in gaining her trust. She can’t help it, green eyes falling onto you as she tries to decipher your move, hoping to catch something in your eyes that tells her what this was between you. All she gets is a little smirk that is half-hidden by a sip of coffee from an orange mug.

Melissa catches on quickly to your happier mood, finding the joy you exuded, that seemingly came from nowhere, to be adorable. She can’t even believe that word dared to enter her vocabulary. Your typical flirty remarks don’t make an appearance, just a serene smile on your face and a wink to Melissa when you catch her eyes scanning over your face. 

As the last kids get into their dad’s truck, you find yourself practically skipping back to your room to quickly gather your things. With the speed in which you move and the utter state of focus you are in, you don’t notice Melissa’s little smile as she sees you move with obvious excitement as you leave the building. She decidedly ignores the little thought that you may be all giddy to see someone else, and maybe she will continue to ignore it with a glass of Merlot.

Marty at the front desk of M&J’s Storage Company gives you a tightlipped smile and a curt nod as you drive past, having gotten used to you stopping by periodically over the winter. Pulling up in front of unit seventy makes your heart race, the second most beautiful thing in the world sat behind that navy metal door. The old lock takes a few tugs to loosen its hold, finally allowing you to release the latch and lift the door.

“Well, hello again,” you mumble as you pull back the cover, eyes scanning over metal. It hadn’t been long since your last little maintenance visit, meaning all you had to do was drive home and get her shined up.

After stopping at the gas station on the way home to fill the tank, you finally park and nearly eat pavement as you jump out of the car. It takes extra effort without the help you usually get from your brother to lower the bike off the trailer, but you manage, though it leaves your arms shaking while you remove the cover again.

Polish turns the piping from grey to silver, the dust off the body goes back to its original tan, and the blue on the design is restored to its proper glory. Despite checking once a month or so, you cross your fingers as you start the engine, hoping that all your hardwork will pay off and nothing will go wrong. The engine does a chg-chg-chg before it turns over and the motorcycle comes to life.

“Yes!” you exclaim, jumping in the air slightly with sheer amount of excitement running through your veins. You let the bike run for a little bit as you take photos to send to your brothers as proof you could, in fact, get it off the trailer without them. 

All you can think about for the next couple hours before bed is the feeling of your riding jacket and the wind blowing against it.

—☽—

The sky is still dark when you open your eyes the next morning, impatience waking before you before your alarm. Once you’ve gained your bearings, you get up and are getting ready as fast as you possibly can. It’s impossible to sit still, you’re almost dancing in place as you brush your teeth and can’t stop yourself from skipping to the closet by the front door. Shoved in the back, next to your sandals, was a pair of black, leather, steel toe boots. After saving every penny your senior year of college, you bought them as a graduation gift for yourself, and you’ll wear them until you can feel the ground through the soles.

Once you had to turn around due to forgetting it from sheer enthusiasm, you borderline ran down the stairs to your garage space. With the garage door open, the warm air creeping in from the outside is invigorating, and the lack of wind for the first time in two weeks gives you hope that your face won’t freeze off on the ride to Abbott. The biggest pain is getting your backpack to sit comfortably over your slightly bulky riding jacket, covered in patches from states and towns you’d visited over the years.

The second the bike begins to move, it feels like all of your problems have disappeared behind you. The low rumbling and revving drives others crazy, but it feels like the calming presence around you. If only the cops around weren’t such sticklers, or you’d have left your helmet off for the fifteen minutes drive. The wind on your face is better than caffeine, but your eyes water so badly, you can’t have anyone thinking you were sobbing on your way to work. That’s a Monday activity, not Thursday.

From the speed in which you got ready to get on your bike, you’re the second person in, Janine always being first. You refrain from sitting by the TV once you’re in the lounge, just leaning against the counter and sipping your coffee until the object of your affection arrives. Gregory and Jacob come in together, talking about the next round of plants for the garden. When Barbara comes in, you can see that she’s holding in laughter, a fast-talking Melissa behind her.

“How are you not freaking out, Barb? That bike is beautiful, and it’s at Abbott, Abbott, of all places,” she almost yells, her hands waving around with disbelief in her friend’s relative disinterest.

“It’s a bicycle, Melissa.”

“Motorcycle, it’s a motorcycle. It doesn’t have a basket and ribbons, unlike yours,” Melissa mumbles that last part, but Barbara stills catches it and gives a gentle smack to her friend’s arm, despite laughing herself. You can’t lie, knowing that Melissa is fascinated by the bike, you want to speak up about it now, but instead, you stay quiet.

The spot next to her by the TV stays vacant, practically having an RSVP with your name on it. When you plop next to her, she peeks at you from the corner of her eye, and she does it a few times again during the commute report. You catch her the fifth time, raising your brows in question to not gain the others’ attention, but she just gives you a shake of the head. She turns back to the TV, but you’re persistent, propping your arm behind you like you’d done yesterday, and poking her shoulder.

Her head whips away from you, and seeing that it was your hand over her shoulder, she turns back to you with a playful scowl.

“What?” she asks with a softer tone than you had expected.

You lean in just a touch to keep your words between the two of you, “you were staring. Was just making sure you’re okay.”

God, you could survive solely off the way her eyes shine, how wide they open at your earnest. Neither of you realize the time between your words and the answer that has yet to come, just looking at each other as a tiny smile plays on your lips. It takes the internal will of ten thousand men to not jump at her emerald eyes dropping briefly to your lips.

“Right… Sure you’re not just flirting? Like a little kid annoying their crush?” she jokes, partially to save her from embarrassment, partially to hide the racing of her heart from your attention.

“Could be. But at least I’m not the one avoiding the question,” you joke back, and when she doesn’t answer again, you push, “nothing to say about that, beautiful?” Her eyes go to her lap as she shakes her head, another poor attempt to hide the clear effect you have on her. For now, you’ll just ignore the feeling of her leaning slightly closer to you and try to still your rapid heartbeat.

—☽—

In a desperate attempt to see who owns this magnificent bike, Melissa stays in the parking lot, loitering by fiddling with her purse to not raise suspicion. She immediately ignores Gregory and Mr. Morton, knowing they’re too stiff to ever consider getting on a motorcycle, let alone this one. As she sits there on her phone, after fifteen minutes of waiting, a familiar hum starts up and the bike is moving out of the lot.

That jacket. Patches cover nearly all visible space, even a little Eagles one next to a custom Abbott patch. Even with the helmet obscuring your face, without the jacket, she’d know you anywhere. Immediately, she starts to move, putting her car in drive as she pulls out of the lot the same way you did, conveniently the same direction she needed to go.

With a stroke of luck, she pulls into a lane next to you at a busy red light, rolling down her passenger side window, “aye! Why did you say shit about you having the bike?”

You push up your visor, yelling over the motor and traffic, “air of mystery!”

“Bullshit!”

“Guessing you want a ride, huh, gorgeous?” You can’t even contain your grin as you watch her eyes widen, flicking to the red light that has still yet to turn. Little do you know her mind is screaming and your cocky little smile isn’t helping one bit.

She swallows the lump in her throat, “follow me to my place.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you say as you flip your visor back down, glad to be able to cover your face as you smile so hard you narrowly avoid missing the light turning green. It doesn’t take long to fall into line behind Melissa, cutting into a tiny space that earns you a deserved honk from the old man behind you.

It’s less than twenty minutes before Melissa’s blinker directs you into her driveway. You walk it slowly next to her car, keeping the engine running as you take off your helmet. Melissa gets out of her car, abandoning her purse in the seat next to her, and stands nervously by the hood as she plays with her sleeves. Suddenly the thought of being one the motorcycle, pressed against your back, sounds so good she’s afraid she’ll ruin it somehow.

Your voice cuts off her brain’s nervous rambling, “I’ve only got the one helmet with me. So, you’ll wear that, and we’ll stick to the side streets.”

“No highway,” she grumbles as she steps closer.

Your nose scrunches as you laugh at her pout, “no highway and nothing over forty, cross my heart.” Holding out your pinky, she begrudgingly takes it while ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. “You’re gonna wanna tie your hair back, low bun, braid, something like that.”

“Ponytail?” she asks, pretending she doesn’t care that your pinkies are still wrapped around one another.

“Nope, it’ll just tangle. And we can’t have anything happening to that beautiful hair,” you subconsciously pull her hand closer and draw her in. Her finger tightens around yours in return. When her neighbor pulls into their driveway, their car door shutting loudly disrupts the quiet between you two, making you both pull away.

Instead of speaking of it, you both fiddle to get ready for a ride around the block or down to the corner store. Melissa faces away from you to tie her hair into a tight low bun, she takes deep breaths to calm herself from the sheer proximity to you. Behind her, you fiddle with the clasps of the helmet to fit her better.

When she turns to face you again, you motion for her to get closer and her eyes almost bulge out her head. Melissa slowly approaches you as her fingers tangle around themselves. You lift the helmet in silent question, and she nods. Carefully, trying to touch her as little as possible, you help get the helmet on without pulling her hair.

You open the visor before you adjust the chin strap, “feel good? Secure?”

“It’s comfier than I thought,” her voice comes out slightly muffled by the guard in front of her lips. Melissa prays you can’t hear her fast breaths, completely overwhelmed by your scent surrounding her.

“Good,” you smile, “I’ll back her up onto the street, then you can hop on.”

Once you’ve got the kickstand down so it’s as stable as possible for her to get on, you offer a hand as support. Melissa slowly places her hand in yours, the squeeze she receives tells her trust me, I won’t let you get hurt. Using the footrest, she gets herself over the seat to straddle it behind you. Manicured hands flex open and close behind your back as she becomes unsure of where to put them.

“There’s handles, slightly behind you, that you can hold onto,” speaking loudly over the motor. You turn over your shoulder to meet your eyes with hers, “or, if you wanna, you can hold onto me. Whatever’s your preference.”

To save face, she rolls her eyes, “just want my hands on you, don’t you now?”

“Can’t call you a liar for that one,” you say with a smug grin, turning back to lean the bike upright and put up the kickstand. The second you start to move, Melissa’s arms go tightly around your waist, white knuckling your jacket.

Feeling her holding you was only so pleasant until you realized it was mostly from fear. Before taking off slowly, you pat her hand where it rests on your abdomen. It only grips tighter in return. Taking your foot off the ground and beginning to move, feeling more careful in every move you make as to not make Melissa more nervous than she was. It was surprising really, that Melissa Schemmenti of all people was nervous on a motorcycle.

Her grip starts to loosen after the third or fourth turn, but her arms don’t move. Melissa almost rests her head against your back, but decides against it in a sudden judgment. When the moment comes where she feels comfortable, she releases one arm from her hold on you to push the visor back up to have an unobstructed view of the Philly streets and your reflection in the mirrors.

When you finally slow down, it’s six blocks over at her favorite corner store, they’ve got the best hoagie options. She uses your shoulders and the hand you placed out for her to get down from the bike, legs numb from the vibrations of the bike and motor against her thighs. You’re quick to get off, helping her get the helmet off and fixing the little strands of hair that stick up from static. Neither of you mention Melissa’s rosy cheeks or your lingering caress along her bangs.

The small shop leaves little room to roam about, and you stay closely pressed to Melissa’s back as you maneuver to the counter to order food to bring back to her house. With the warmth radiating off of you, she now understands how you felt the whole ride. She knows how you feel about her, it’s a mirror of the ache in her chest for you, and feeling you against her has her heart pounding in time with yours.

From around her waist, comes your arm, offering the cashier a twenty dollar bill. Your other hand rests against Melissa’s hip, holding your wallet open for the change. This has to be some sort of revenge for holding you, she thinks to herself.

As you slowly pull into her driveway, there’s an air of unsureness around the two of you. Stepping off the bike again, you fiddle with your fingers, not wanting to invite yourself into her home. Melissa tugs at the ends of her sleeves as she plans her next words.

“Do you wanna come in, have a beer with those hoagies?” Melissa offers with a hopeful tone.

You smile as you grab the helmet from you, clipping over the little strap on the seat. She takes the hint and walks towards the door with you closely behind her. Inside, without the jacket and boots on, Melissa thinks you look soft. Everything about you is so careful with her, even when you wear worn leather with chains, this dressed down version matches the treatment she always receives.

Sitting across from her at the island, you answer all her questions about how you got the bike, how you maintain it, how you learned all the tricks to keep it running.

“Seriously, that thing’s how old and still going that strong?” she asks through a mouthful of capicola.

“It’s thirty now, it’s a 1992. Harleys are just built to last longer than the actual biker at this point, especially the older models,” you take a swig of beer, “the Daytona was too good to pass up. I got it so cheap and the guy barely had miles on it.”

Melissa perks up, “how much?”

“Thirty-five hundred. Stupid cheap, he could’ve easily gotten ten.”

She smirks, “and you just let him trick himself out of the money?”

“Duh,” you say. There’s a beat of silence before you both start to laugh, leaning into one another over the table.

—☽—

The sun set some time between finishing the hoagies and the third episode of The Real Housewives she roped you into watching. She claimed it was only fair considering she willingly got on the motorcycle. What had started with you two on different cushions quickly became you being pressed against each other, your arm taking residence behind her, but never touching her as you always kept it.

In a strange moment of bravado, Melissa leans against the back cushion and your arm dips into the slope, falling gently around your shoulders. You purse your lips in an attempt to keep a straight face, adjusting your arm to have your hand rest on her shoulder. It doesn’t take long before your fingers begin to draw nonsensical patterns over her shirt. Time passes, episodes go on, and Melissa’s weight starts to fall more into you. Every passing second you become more aware that you don’t want to leave this position as long as you live.

The screen turns black, Are you still watching? appears across it, behind the words, a reflection of the two of you. Your gaze dips down, immediately meeting Melissa’s looking up at you. Green eyes flick to your lips, and for the first time, you know for a fact that you are not imagining it. Her tongue pokes out to wet her lips, capturing your attention. Eyes meet and it’s so quick, neither of you can tell who starts it.

Melissa’s lips taste like light beer and strawberry chapstick, and her tongue is dominating and soft. Her hands grip tightly at the base of your neck, keeping you close to her like you would disappear if your lips left hers. Your hands take residence on her waist, like they had hours ago, and the warmth of her skin under her shirt is screaming your name, begging to be touched.

Tongues clash against one another, sticky lips clumsy as air becomes a necessity. Barely taking your lips off her skin, you trail downwards to her jaw, placing wet kisses along it. The hands on her waist push up and make their way beneath her shirt, gently squeezing her warm, supple body. The feeling of your soft hands holding her makes Melissa groan, tugging you back to her wanting lips.

All she’s wanted since the moment she met you, to hold you, kiss you, touch you, it’s all happening and she can barely find it in her to stop. She never wants it to. With your teeth tugging at her bottom lip, a borderline moan escapes her, and she feels you smile against her mouth and it’s all she can think about. Melissa is completely putty in your hands.

Without breaking the distance between you, you pull away from her lips slowly. Heaving breaths escape both of you, lips swollen and pupils dilated from lust. Melissa’s hand traces from the back of your neck to the chain of your necklace dangling in front of her, looping it around her finger to pull you in closer. Your lips graze over hers, but her words fill the space before they can touch.

“What if I asked you to take me upstairs?”

Your thumb brushes over her ribs, “then I would.”

The door handle almost puts a hole in the wall with the way Melissa shoves it open behind her as you walk her backwards towards her room. Her hands drop from your face to the hem of her shirt, beginning to pull it up before your hands take over. As you step away to throw her shirt off to the side, your eyes drop and a soft look comes over your features.

Stepping into her space again, your fingers trace over her skin, “you’re so beautiful.” It’s barely above a whisper, she barely hears it, barely even sure you’re aware you’ve said it.

Melissa’s only response is to kiss you again, pulling you towards her bed until she topples onto it, taking you with her. Your thighs straddle her as you tug off your own shirt, bending down to continue ravishing her. You kiss down from her lips, to her jaw, to the dip at the base of her neck, then trace your tongue back up. Cold hands grab yours, pulling them down to the button of her jeans.

“Are you sure?” you ask from above her, free hand pushing baby hairs from her blushing face. She only nods, not trusting her words. You shake your head lightly, a little smile on your lips, “I’m gonna need a real answer, lovely.”

Lovely, that’s a new one. She feels her face warm under your gaze, arousal pooling. With the strength she can muster, she utters, “please.”

Without a moment to spare, your lips are on hers again, hand at her waist moving to unbutton her pants. As you help push them down, your hand passes her panties, the dark patch of wetness calling to you. It only invigorates you as you let go of her lips, kissing down to her chest. Arching forward, she makes space for your wandering hands to slip behind and unclasp her bra.

A breathless mumble of God leaves your lips, before soft kisses are pressed to her sternum, skim over to her breast. You kiss her skin with a reverence she’s never felt, teeth graze over her hardened nipple before your lips wrap around it, tongue swirling. The unattended breast begs for attention that is quickly given by your hand, rolling the bud between your fingers.

The warm hand at her waist grips down to her thigh, pushing her legs open to make space for you to lie. Your mouth and hand switch, equal, worship-like attention given to each breast. Melissa’s quiet, hidden moans become louder, hips shifting for pressure against yours. Taking the hint, your lips travel lower, licking over her abdomen and gently biting when she tugs at your hair.

One hand wraps around her thigh, the other keeps her in place as a weight against her stomach. Pressing wet kisses to her thigh, you look at her for permission to continue. The image of you between her legs, lips on her wet thighs, eyes shining with want, all she can manage is bucking her hips towards you, a whine escaping her lips.

One last kiss is placed against plush skin, Melissa’s hand tangles with yours, interlocking fingers feeling like they belong there. Your warm, wet tongue glides over her slit, up and down in slow figure-eights, her little gasps only egging you on. Flattening your tongue, you press harder against her, tasting her more fully, groaning against her in satifaction. It makes sense why Eve would so easily give everything for a mere taste of the forbidden fruit. Sweet and warm, divine heaven on your lips.

Melissa hips buck into your face, begging for more and you are more than willing to give. You lick up to her clit, the pearl demanding attention from you. Small, circular motions with your tongue make Melissa groan, slapping a hand over her mouth as she gets closer and closer to her peak.

You lift away from clit, much to her dismay, “don’t do that.” The hand on her stomach moves to pull her hand away from her mouth, “I want to hear you… please.”

Her hand drops to the sheets beside her, and your mouth is back on her. Sucking harder against her, your hand slides down her abdomen and positions in front of her blooming lips. Your middle finger presses into her slick walls, forcing a moan from both of you. With a few gentle pushes and pulls, you slowly ease in your ring finger, making her clench tightly.

Red nails dig into your hair, tugging as Melissa writhes above you. Husky moans and whines fill the room, pleas of faster and yes, yes are burned into your mind, a melody you won’t dare forget.

You pull off of her clit to take a breath and speak, “can you take more, baby?”

“Please,” she says through pants. The hand in your hair tug you up to her lips, “please.” Her desperate grasp is not willing to let you go, claw-like nails digging into your back.

Lips dancing as you shift your hand to put your thumb to her clit, lining your forefinger to her pussy. Melissa’s jaw drops as the third finger stretches her more, the moan that rips through her is felt by your lips on her neck. You keep a steady rhythm of circling her clit and pumping your fingers into her. Her moans turn to pitched whines, walls hugging your fingers, she was so close. You kiss down her neck, sucking little marks that will fade by morning, taking your time on her breasts and lower stomach. Reaching her clit again, suck it into your mouth as you speed your fingers’ pace.

Frantic hips begin to still, a whine leaving her plump lips as she cums around your fingers. Your attention leaves her clit to travel down her lips as you slowly pump your fingers, removing one by one as she comes down. Shaking thighs relax against the bed as you clean her with your tongue, nectar of the goddess being all the reward you need. She pulls lightly at your hand on her thigh, begging for your lips on hers.

Pressing a final kiss to her pearl, then thigh, you capture her lips in a slow kiss, soft and full of the love that had been hiding under every interaction since you’d first met. When you pull away, you bring your fingers to her lips to give her a proper taste of herself. Accepting the offer, her tongue swirls around the digits. You internally scold yourself for being jealous of your own hand, even the string of saliva that connects her heavenly mouth to your fingers.

You shift to cup her cheek, admiring her droopy eyes and blushing cheeks, the sheen of sweat over her forehead. Her own hand mirrors your movement, pulling you down to press a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“You are so- too good at that,” she mumbles against your cheek, feeling the vibration of your laugh.

You press a kiss to her cheek before flopping next to her, “you, you taste too good.”

Her hand comes to cover her face, but you’re quick to catch it, bringing it closer to kiss the back. Melissa chuckles as you nibble on the knuckle of her pinkie, but she frowns as you roll off the bed. Emerald eyes follow you to the ensuite bathroom, and back as you go back between her legs with a warm washcloth. The featherlike touch and soft kisses to her skin only further the blush on her cheeks.

After discarding the rag and tugging off your jeans, you lay down next to her on your side, eyes scanning over her face. Her head turns to you, enjoying the quiet between you, even more so when your pointer finger traces her features and takes special attention to her lips. Lipstick smudged around her chin, surely on your face as well, and messy eyeliner, she’s never been quite so beautiful.

The gentle ministrations and loving attention make Melissa’s eyes grow heavy, sleep grasping at her despite the fight to stay in your presence. Feeling her relaxing into you, you shift to lay on your back, arm out inviting her into your embrace. Lazily rolling into you, her face tucks into your neck, hand searching for yours.

You tangle your fingers together and whisper into the air, “I think it goes without saying, but I’m stupid in love with you. Everything about you. Just thought you should know.”

“Good thing,” she says through a yawn as she shifts more into you, “because I’m stupid in love with you, too.” 

You press a kiss into her hair, “go to sleep, pretty girl. I’ll be here in the morning, if you want.”

“Of course I want,” it’s barely audible, but you can tell she means it.

The scent of sex, sweat, and eucalyptus body wash radiates from her, underneath it all is a smell that’s so uniquely Melissa that you can feel yourself sinking into the mattress. It feels easy, being with her, it makes sense. You find yourself staring at the ceiling, you recount every time you should have spoken up about your feelings. Surely there could have been a time, but none seem to come to mind. It only makes sense that this is how it was supposed to happen. In her bed, on this day, with the taste of lager on her tongue, you were meant to find your way together.

title from beauty school by deftones

one day i’ll write a shorter fic like i planned in my head

feedback appreciated as always <3

[mikobeautifulheart]

hi!! 💗

i was wondering if you could do a yuji drabble wherein he walks into our dorm and we're just BAWLING and he goes to comfort us thinking it's serious and is like "it's okay.. you're bf is here.." bc he SUCKS as comforting people (LMFAOO) and then after a while when we calm down we tell him (still crying..?) that one of our favorite MALE (heskeske) characters died in an anime and he just gets all dramatic and jealous and then gets gojo-sensei in on the situation 🤭🤭 like a whole AITA 💀

this request is a bit short and not so explanatory, but idc how you write it since it's yuji and i'll read ANYTHING abt yuji. 💋

ASK AND YOU. SHALL. RECIVEEEEE. (Recive it unedited.)

Here we go.

Yuji who sucks at comforting you only to getting jealous over 'guy'

Yuji knocks on your door, he wanted to drop off some of the books he borrowed from you only to get no response. It was weird because he knew you were in your dorm...

"NOOOOOO" You yelled making Yuji panic

"Y/N ARE YOU OKAY?" He said as he burst open your door only to see you balled up on your bed crying into your pillow while muttering random sentences hysterically.

"He was-HIC- so-HIC-"

"Calm down Y/N are you okay?!" Yuji asked scanning your body for any inguries

"NOO IM NOT" you shouted throwing the pillow in your arms at the T.V infront of you before going back to crying.

"Shhhh calm down what if Nobora hears you?" he said with an awkward look on his face.

You stopped everything and stared at him.

"You monster-" you said before the tears rolled down your cheeks again.

"Do you not care?" you said through tears with your lip quivering.

"Okay, okay, i'm sorry but I can't help you if I don't know wats wrong." he said rubbing circles in your back in an attempt to soothe you.

It was no use because you really started to cry now.

"What's going on? I heard someone crying" Gojo asked sticking his head in the door way of your dorm.

"First he-he, and now Yuji, MY OWN BOYFRIEND DOSEN'T CARE ABOUT ME"

"I DO!" he retaliates

Gojo scans the room laying his eyes on your T.V seeing the end credits of Demon slayer playing. His face went white.

"No- Don't tell me-"

You nodded your head up and down aggressively while sniffing into a tissue

"RENGOKU-SAN" Gojo yelled grabbing the T.V by the screen watching the credits go by.

Yuji finally realized what this was all about.

"Are you kidding me?" He turned to you stiffly.

"Y/N...He's not real, your crying over someone who's not real-"

You and Gojo both froze

"Yuji, clearly you don't understand the gravity of the situation" Gojo starts.

"You see when someone with a pure heart and soul dies, no matter if they are real OR NOT, its a hard loss. Its like if they killed the earth worm man in the first Human worm movie."

Yuji turns his attention back to you

"You didn't even cry this much when I 'died'" Yuji mumbled

"THATS COMPLETLY DIFFERENT!" You said offended that he would even consider bring that up right now.

"YOUR RIGHT, HES NOT REAL AND YOUR CRYING OVER HIS DEATH WHILE I 'DIED' AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN CRY THIS MUCH."

Mean while Gojo laid on your floor muttering the lyrics to the end credit song while crying.

THANKS FOR READING ♡

AUTHORS NOTE: some of this totally isn't based off a personal experience. Anyways I hope this is close to what you wanted anon. And thanks for your request. reblogs are welcomed btw.

[robin374]

HI could you do medic and sniper with a shorter s/o

(like 4’11-5’3 range?? idk what that is in centimeters im so sorry) BUT THANK YOU IF YOU DO THIS 🙏🙏🙏🦕

Sniper and Medic with a short S/O:

Notes: Bro I just discovered that I'm 5'4 😭 Unedited

Characters: Sniper and Medic

Medic:

He will offer you some extra centimeters/inches with a medical torture machine.

I'm not joking.

He will eventually give up and let you be the shorty you are. He loves you, no matter if you are tall, short, plus sized or not. The important thing is in the inside (organs)

He loves it when you're on your toes trying to kiss his lips, he gives up and lets his aggressive love show up.

It's nothing abusive, his kisses are just a bit stronger, just some old woman would do. Then, he hugs you more and takes you by your cheeks and tells you how cute you are.

CUDDLE HIM NOW.

Absolutely LOVES when you two cuddle, feeling your small body against his it makes him go 🥺

Also, if he wants to turn around he will hold you close and do it himself, turning you around with him.

He would definitely take the things you need on the upper shelf.

Sniper

Omg, why are you so tiny?

It's like watching a Great Dane with a Chihuahua.

He's really gentle with you, hugging you as if you were gonna break at any moment, like a delicate ceramic figure.

"Mundy, dear, I'm not a Smurf"

"Yeah but you're so tiny"

You kicked him in the balls to show dominance. Maybe you're short, but not dumb.

He apologized by cuddling you the whole night. He likes it when he has his face on your chest, it feels like he's back at his house.

But we all know that he feels safe just with your small presence.

He doesn't care what height you have, he loves kisses and if he has to break his back to get a kiss from you, he will.

Loves to hold you up and kiss you. 🫶

Of course, he will take the opportunity to tease you. He's a quiet man, but he will not let slide a small inoffensive joke.

He doesn't say the same since the day you decided to kiss him and take the cookie jar from his hands.

My lovely wet cat man 🫶

[hotchs-big-hands]

okay girlie hand kink hotch

you were a little late so when you got to the round table room you scooted past aaron with a quickly muttered 'sorry im late' and as you pass aarons chair you put your hands on his shoulders to scoot by and the tips of his ears go red and he clears his throat before saying "its no problem. someone can catch you up on the way to the air field" and looking back at the gruesome crime scene photos, which quickly put the delicious burning sensation on aarons shoulders out of his mind.

walking around together outside the crime scene tape to determine wether the attack was contained to the scene or if it was spread out over a larger area and when you use your hand to tap on his chest and point out what looks like a smear of dried blood on a seemingly abandoned car and he cant help himself but to ask "did you get your bails done yesterday? they look good" and now youre BOTH blushing.

aaron being flustered because while you were calming down and interviewing a traumatized child you slowly start to braid her hair to lull her into a sense of safety and he watches your fingers so intently as they flex and twist the strands of her hair together. he wants to shoot himself for getting so bothered over such an innocent moment.

hes laying on his bed in hotel room. its late and hes so fucking pent up from spending all god damn day getting riled up over you and your fucking hands. he needs a release and he needs it soon. so here he is, pajama pants pushed down, his sick sticking out of the slit in his boxers, and his left hand firmly gripping his heavy cock and stroking it. his mind is flooded with the vision of your hands. if you have soft dainty little hands hes thinking about how good theyll feel on his cock, stroking him to completion and rubbing against his skin. if you have larger rougher hands hes imaging how it would feel to have them gripping in his hair and scratching down his back.

hes so close, biting his shirt as to bot make noise, hips thrusting up off the bed to match to pace his hand is stroking. his eyes are rolling back and the pressure is building and building and- theres someone knocking on his door. he freezes for a moment before stroking again, whoever it is can wait til morning. hes sleeping. but then they knock again, louder. horny, tired and now pissed off, he shoves himself in his pants as quick as he can and marches to the door, bitterness welling up inside him as the subtle pain of blue balls creeps up (???im not a penis haver idk if thats accurate lmfao where is criminalskies when you need them) until he opens the door and realizes its you.

and for some reason, you look about as pent up and wrecked as he feels. he doesnt really remember exactly how it happened. one moment hes standing at the door asking if youre alright and the next hes sittingg on the edge of the bed, leaned back on one elbow with his other hand tangled in the sheets. head tipped back, eyes shut and mouth open spilling out soft sighs and little whimpers. both of your hands are wrapped around his cock, slowly slowly moving up anna down, twisting your wrists and leaning down and give kittenish locks to his tip. now it might be the fastest aaron's ever cum since high school, but good fucking damn was it worth it.

hes just hoping he still has a job when you guys get back to quantico. and the chance to get your hands on him again.

unedited idgaf its late and horny hour we ride like men with our typos and convoluted ramblings.

A W O O G A AAAAAAAAA I LOVE THIS IM 🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣 WOW YEAH SKSKFJRJFJWJDJAJSJ

G o d him looking at his cum dripping from your fingers would absolutely wreck his brain I'm so fucking sure of it. He's never been so turned on in a while.

[self-spaghettification]

i just wrote almost 2k words of nonsense but i can’t decide where im going wjth it should claudia and viren try to help aaravos get out or go on a side quest to try the 7 cakes of xadia

(this is basically unedited lowercase nonsense and i haven’t properly written stories in several years so bear with me)

uhh lets call it

A Monster in the Light

the last thing viren remembered, the moon was rising on his inevitable death while he curled into a ball and tried to convince himself it would be ok, as he fell into the sleep he knew would be his last. yet, now, as he awoke, he felt those same sands, now heated, and light against his closed eyes, impossibly.

hot sun beat down. it had risen. and viren. he looked at his hands. felt his pulse. surveyed the beach. he was still alive. but.. how?

“the sun will rise… and you will not.”

viren thought back to claudia diving into the ocean in a panic to find aaravos’s prison, how aaravos had borrowed his consciousness to tell him that claudia was more powerful and had to win, how aaravos had somehow slightly posessed or guided viren’s hands to kill their freaky blood magic child, that star butterfly homonculus. was that planned all along, and he was a pawn in aaravos’s plans all along? viren shivered. he was right to let aaravos go, to get him out of his mind before it was too late. but was it too late? he was supposed to die, after all. he was supposed to die. and yet, here he was, thoughts racing through his head like little silvery fish in a stream.

the sun had risen. and he had been fine.

he sat up, blinking in the bright light. from beyond the beach, at the edge of the treeline, claudia was coming out of the forest, limping, accompanied by terry. it looked like there was something wrong with her leg, but it was hard to tell from this distance. viren stood up and walked over to meet them halfway, sir sparklepuff bounding over to join viren and squeal excitedly while embracing him, spitting out goo onto his face in the process. viren reluctantly embraced the creature back, trying to not be too icked out by what had splattered on his cheek, eyes and beard. he wanted to try to embrace the butterfly homonculus more, now that he had taken a stand for it. for no longer taking a dark path, that is. and he was still reeling from the fact that it was his and aaravos’s freaky blood magic child raised only for the purpose of sacrifice, only to look human enough to count as a child, but not human enough to be taboo to sacrifice. it was cold, and calculating, and sickening, how it seemed like something viren would have done once upon a time too, with all his double standards for saving his family. it was not too late to turn that around. “it’s not too late for you now. if a dark mage could be redeemed.. could be repurposed, so could you, you… strange thing.”

“not too late for you,” the homonculus echoed.

viren chuckled humorlessly. “well, we’ll see about that, young one.

“dad!! you’re okay!! but how?”

claudia was now close enough her hoarse and worried voice reached viren’s ears. she was close enough viren could see that her lower leg had been replaced by a sturdy stick, and viren had to gasp. “claudia… your leg. what happened?”

one look at claudia & terry’s faces told viren something had gone very wrong in their attempt to free aaravos. after everything aaravos had said—how he’d promised claudia he’d save viren’s life permanently, how she was powerful enough to free aaravos, how viren was supposed to die after 30 days- and yet the evidence to the contrary was standing before them. so it’d all been a lie then?

claudia set her face, disappointed, barely able to meet viren’s eyes. “i’m sorry dad. i… failed you.” terry looked concerned and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

failed him? in freeing aaravos? viren could almost laugh. he was more afraid of what would happen if she succeeded. if she had continued down this dark path he had led his daughter down, into aaravos’s hands as well. at this point, his concern and love for his daughter overwhelmed over any other emotion. he rushed to embrace her in a tight and comforting hug. “it’s alright, claudia. i’m glad you’re ok.”

for a moment, they just soaked in the contact, being okay for once, not fighting and sacrificing so much, for just a moment, they were just a father and daughter, just family embracing.

then claudia’s grip got tighter.

she whined, “but if not for that meddling elf, i would have freed aaravos! i would have saved you! i swear, if i get my hands on her, she’ll pay.” she growled menacingly, and even terry looked a little afraid—he looked at her like that more often these days.

“do not fret. i will still find a way to be freed,” a pale purple phantom of aaravos flickered back into sight with a smirk.

viren narrowed his eyes and frowned. “i told you to leave me alone.”

“as you wish.” he bowed and vanished.

claudia frowned and pulled away. “who are you talking to?”

viren sighed and looked away. “n-nothing. no one. don’t worry about it.”

“but i am worried, dad! you were dead, i had to save you, you were in a coma, i had to carry you, you were catatonic, i had to try to make you respond, i’ve done so much to keep you with me, can’t you please tell me what’s going on now?”

viren sighed a long sigh. “you’re right. i’m sorry, claudia.

fine. it’s… aaravos. his illusion.”

claudia and terry were both taken aback.

“you can still talk to him?” terry asked.

“knowing that sure would have come in handy earlier while trying to get here…” claudia grumbled under her breath.

“no, no, it’s only been now. here, apparently. while we are at ‘the cusp of eachother’s worlds.’” viren grumbled the last part in air quotes, wondering why every interaction aaravos had with him had to be so inexplicably flirty.

“cusp of eachother’s worlds..” claudia paused to ponder. “that must mean the pearl is still close by, though. and the princes and that.. elf. it means it’s not too late to get it back, to free aaravos!”

“er, i’m not so sure that’s still a good idea, clauds.” terry interjected. “after you lost your leg and everything.. are you sure you want to risk that again?”

claudia bristled. “i mean, of course i can take them on and teach them a lesson.“

“of course of course, i know you can, babe, you’re amazing. i just mean.. do you still need to? now that your dad’s okay?” “oh yeaah. how are you ok, dad?” she squinted.

“i’m.. not sure.” viren scratched his neck.

“huh...aaravos told me the spell wasn’t permanent. that on the 30th day you would die. but you’re here. i don’t understand? he said he was telling the truth. and startouch elves.. they have to tell the truth, don’t they, dad?”

viren shrugged, as he had not, in fact, known this. it seemed claudia knew more about aaravos and startouch kind than even he did. he supposed 2 years of bonding time trying to revive a dead man would do that to you.

“i mean yes. they have to! so…maybe.. he saved you already, talked to you about the spell through that, that illusion?” claudia asked. “without me needing to free him?” she finished under her breath, the sense of betrayal by aaravos clear.

“…well, yes. but no, he didn’t save me. i didn’t do it. i couldn’t. i should be dead right now.“ the last part didn’t need to be said. he was here, regardless. viren raised his hands up and looked at his palms, well and working.

“this doesn’t make any sense. he played us? he lied?”

“he had to be lying. i don’t understand it any better than you claudia, but it’s the only explanation that makes any sense. he was never to be trusted. he just preys on the desperate. i was desperate for power, and you were desperate to save me. but never again. don’t you see? we don’t have to do dark magic. we don’t have to free aaravos. we can let go of all that now. we can be a family again.”

in the silence that ensued, viren offered again, “we could see the sights, try the.. seven cakes of xadia?”

throughout viren’s spiel, he watched a myriad of emotions flow across claudia’s face.

betrayal, confusion, betrayal again, pain, incredulity, and then resolve.

“no, dad. i can’t. i’m sorry.” she looked away, sadness now playing out across her face, pensively watching waves wash onto the beach, bringing debris and washing it back, endlessly removing what little structures or poor little things things that might have momentarily stabilized itself on those sands. just like humanity, forever belittled by the supposedly greater magical creatures of xadia. it was never fair. “it may be okay for us as a family, but what about everyone else who’s suffering, what about the powerless humans facing cruelty by some bigoted dragons and elves? even if he lied…aaravos may have been lying about the spell, but i think his motives were true. i understand why he wants to change things, to give us the power back. we need a brighter future to humanity. don’t you see, dad? we still have to try.”

viren’s heart broke hearing the rhetoric he once believed in, that aaravos used against him to get him to conquer xadia and accrue needless power and violence, those same words echoed back to him by his own daughter. he didn’t even know what to say.

“claudia, this isn’t right. this bright future.. think about all the terrible things you would have to do to create that. think about what you have already done just to save me, to get us this far. please, don’t do this, my daughter.”

claudia looked unfazed.

viren paused, reflecting. this whole time, he had chased after a dream, hurting those he loved most in the process, making them believe they had to do the same, or to leave them. he had been a terrible father, hadn’t he? and this whole time… “i spent my life believing i didn’t have a choice, and i did so many terrible things to gain power, and i even led you on this path too, and i am sorry, claudia. but now i know there is always a choice. it is never too late to turn back. so please, claudia. you have to stop. before it’s too late. like..” viren let the facade fade away, let the awful dark magic scars show. “like it is for me.”

the corruption made him ugly to look upon, and he knew it. they sunk his eyes into dark hollows, streaked his skin with wrinkles and his hair with white, made him look like a monster as much as feel like one.

it was silent, then. waves crashing against the beach. birdsong in the trees. the quiet fidgeting of terry.

“that’s why.. i didn’t do the spell.“ he was done with dark magic, with all of it. “i know, i am a monster. and if the most noble thing i can do now is die, then… so be it.” viren sighed, his shoulders slumping. he felt like crumpling. like sobbing. he thought of everyone that had left. harrow. lissa. soren. even k’ppar. they were right to, in the end. he never deserved them.

“oh dad..” claudia rushed forward and hugged him tightly, crying a bit too. “don’t say that. you are not a monster. you’re my dad. and you’re still here. doesn’t that mean you deserve a fighting chance?”

[buckyhoney]

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is the first installment of kinktober! i am extremely rusty with writing at the moment, it's been over two months since i've written anything more than like four sentences, so please be kind!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!frank castle x bratty! reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬/𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤/𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠��𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 & 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝! 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭/𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬!

𝟏𝟖+ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, language, pussy spanking, teasing, unprotected sex, degrading kink, light praise?, unedited, very much not proofread (im so sorry)

Being a brat had its consequences.

Being a cocky brat had its consequences.

Being a back-talking, cocky, brat had its consequences.

You thought it was funny seeing Frank's nose flare and his jaw clench when you told him that your toy was bigger than him. It wasn't true- at all. Frank was nothing compared to your toys. He was thick and large, and no matter how many times he fucked you, you still needed time to adjust.

Frank knew you weren't being serious, but you were undermining him, pushing his buttons- and he couldn't have that.

"Is that right?" His jaw clenched and his eyes pierced through you.

His voice was low and calm- and you knew you had screwed up. A faint heartbeat formed at your core. Arousal soaking through your panties while your walls pulsed around nothing.

You knew not to break eye contact, but the longer you looked at him the heavier your chest felt.

"Answer the question." Frank rose to his feet, towering over your body.

You felt small- really small. There was nothing at this moment that would save you. You could either back down and admit defeat or make it worse for yourself and stand your ground.

When have you ever admitted defeat?

"Yes. My toy feels better." You smiled proudly (even though your bottom lip wanted to shake and your voice was light).

In an instant, Frank wrapped his hand around your arm and yanked you up like it was nothing. Yelping, your body followed him through the bedroom door. The roughness sent jolts of pleasure throughout your body. The faint heartbeat became a full-blown throb.

Frank shoves your body on the bed and you let a moan slip past your lips. His eyes grew dark and a wave of need washes over you.

He pulls his t-shirt over his body exposing his toned abdomen that was littered with scars and light bruises. Your pussy rapidly clenching around nothing, needing to be filled.

Within seconds, your shorts and panties joined his shirt on the floor beside the bed. Frank's calloused palms run up the side of your thighs and over your knee, spreading your legs wide open.

Frank chuckles at how fast you submit underneath him.

"You talked a big game- now look at you, just a little slut," He drags his middle finger between your folds.

Your body twitches and your bite back your moan. Frank spanks your clit, catching you off guard.

"Fuck!" You hiss, your lower half jerking up.

"What happened to my bratty girl?" He begins to tease your clit, circling around it- but never touching it.

Frank is looking up between your legs, watching your hips squirm and shift- trying to get more pleasure. Another harsh swat to your swollen clit and tears swell in your eyes. The tips of his fingers dip inside you, barely reaching where you needed him. Whining you buck your hips down, before another swat to your clit.

"I don't like impatient girls," Frank stands again, but this time removes his pants and briefs.

His cock is swollen and dripping with precum. You're drooling as he gets himself ready. Frank yanks your hips down to the edge of the bed. Your legs stay wide open, bracing yourself for this thick cock to enter you.

"Safeword?" He runs the tip of his cock along your folds, allowing the arousal to coat himself.

"Pineapple," You mumble, balling the sheets in your fists.

"Good." Without warning, Frank slams his cock inside you.

Your walls stretch around him and your eyes roll back while moans get caught in your throat. Thrusts are hard and fast, not allowing time for your pussy to adjust. Frank brings your legs together, tightening your pussy even more. Arousal drips down to your ass and your breasts bounce frantically.

Your hand reaches to find his hips, trying to slow him down. Frank notices and swats it away, but you are persistent.

"Move your hand." His voice is stern and filled with rasp. You're a whimpering mess underneath him, and soon your legs fall open again. Taking the opportunity, you reach again.

"I said move your fucking hand and take it." The dominance makes your brain fuzzy and you obey his command. Your body falls limp and the pleasure is overwhelming your senses.

"That's it- still think those fucking toys feel better?" You can't even process the question, you're completely lost in it.

"Say it." Frank growls, continuing to slam inside you. "Tell me how good I'm fucking this pussy?" You're gasping for breath as you loosely form a sentence.

"Y-You feel s'good- fuck! Nothing compares to you-"

[mintmatcha]

ennoshita x reader

warnings: +18 mdni, cisfem reader, mutual masturbation, 'just the tip'.... unbeta-ed: this is an unedited cluster fuck im sorry

Minors DNI banner by @benkeibear

The springs of the couch shift as Ennoshita shimmies his pants down, leaving him in just his black boxer briefs. He watches you from the corner of his eye, biting back a smile as he settles in, trying to hide his clear excitement at being with you. His thighs, thick with muscle and fat, twitch nervously as you do the same, stripping down your underwear wordlessly and then sitting on the opposite side. With one arm thrown over the back of the couch, the other tracing over the elastic band of his underwear, he already looks throughly fucked just at the sight of you.

"Like what you see?" you ask, closer to teasing than serious. Your foot is wedged behind the couch cushion and the other is on the floor, giving Ennoshita a perfect angle to watch you as you trace lazy circles over your clit through the fabric.

"Always." he breathes. He's palming himself at the show, bucking up against the heel of his palm with slow rolls of his hips. The way he watches is so intense; his gaze flickers between your fingers, captivated by the way they glisten with your excitement, and your eyes.

When Ennoshita first told you his "no sex" rule, you were a little disappointed. Sure, you didn't date him just to fuck, but you couldn't deny that you wanted him. Isn’t that natural? To want to touch and be touched? Previous experiences had left a sour taste in Ennoshita’s mouth and you were more than happy to take your physical relationship at his speed.

'I want it to mean something when I touch you.' he had insisted, 'I want sex to be special.'

Luckily for you, there were a couple loopholes in Ennoshita's no sex rule.

Touching yourselves was more than okay.

"Can I see it, Chikara?" you whisper, pushing the fabric to the side impatiently and dipping your fingers inside yourself. The dimmed lights and ‘romantic’ candles he had lit for you were cheesy, but the build up, the romance of it all, already had you wet; the sticky sound of each movement inside yourself was already loud enough to make you squirm, "I wanna see you."

"Yeah?" he breathes, the hint of laughter in his voice. He wastes on time, shoving his briefs down quickly. They're still caught on one ankle- an unusually sloppy look for your boyfriend, but he's too caught up with getting a handful of himself. His pinky loops under his balls as he runs just his thumb up and down his length. "Yeah, you like l-looking at my dick?"

The soft pink crown of his cock is already glazed with precum, another clear bead already forming at the head as he runs his fist up his length. There’s a pretty little vein that runs the bottom- one that makes his body quiver when you lick it. He’s pretty, head to toe.

"Mhm," you pull your hand away from your sex and scissor your fingers, strings of cum glistening in the light. Ennoshita hunches forward at the sight, desire hitting him physically, "Love your cock."

Pushing against the armrest, you slide yourself forward until your knees touch his. Ennoshita hisses, squeezing the base of his cock firmly as his dick gets wetter and wetter. The one upside to your arrangement is that Ennoshita is constantly desperate, practically falling apart at the seams the second you start teasing him.

"Think about it all the time." your chest feels thick and syrupy with want as you form a V with your pointer and middle finger and spread your labia wide for him. He matches your pace: one ghosting stroke of his thumb for each time you fully circle your clit. Just to test him, you speed up and he mirrors. "Think about it every time I touch myself."

"You're just saying that." he leans towards you and you meet him halfway, mouths slotting naturally against each other. Your body jostles as he begins fucking into his full palm, finally giving in completely to the moment. His whole body shakes as he struggles to pace himself, each kiss growing wilder and more desperate. There’s no hint of your refined boyfriend as he moans into your mouth, tongue dipping against yours sloppily. When you finally break away, spit connects him to you for a split second.

He’s a marvel like this. Eyes half lidded, lips already puffy and pink from the friction alone: it’s a far cry from the calm man everyone else gets to see.

"Nah," you nibble his bottom lip, grinning as he moves even closer to you almost mindlessly. "I'm honestly obsessed with you."

"Yeah?" Ennoshita huffs between kisses, clutching on to your cheek so firmly it’s as if he’s steadying himself against you.

"Think about it all the time." you play with yourself more directly -more forcefully,- not wasting any more time. The twitch of your leg, the hitch in your breath- none of it is for show anymore.

"I think about you." he hums, "How pretty you are."

You take the final plunge and throw your thighs over his, your chest pressed against him, so close you can feel his humid breath against your lips. His knuckles graze over your pussy every time he strokes his cock, the bumpy drag through the petals of your pussy making your toes curl.

“So heavy. So fat. Bet it's gonna feel so good." you purr, nuzzling your nose into his. The skinship itself is warm, inside and out. Each wrecked inhale between you is matched, further pressing each other into the other’s chest.

"Can I touch?” your fingertips trail over his inner thigh, “Just a little.”

He hesitates.

"Yeah. Please." Ennoshita ghosts his free hand down your shoulder, gently pinching your nipple as he passes, "Can I tou-?"

He doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence. You cup his balls, rolling them up and towards you gently just how he likes. Ennoshita moans wantonly, completely open mouthed and wrecked, hips absentmindedly rutting into your touch.

"Hon, if you do that- honey, I'm going to cum-" His voice is tight and high as his head falls back with a twitch, but he doesn't stop jerking himself off, torn between the pleasure and the embarrassment of finishing too early.

"It's okay," you press open mouth kisses down his cheek into the crook of his neck, careful not to mark his delicate skin and yet still leaving a trail of pink. His skin is so delicate- so sensitive. "I wanna see."

“I want to-” he loses himself for a moment, sucking in a harsh breath, “I want to see you-”

Locking eyes with his, you whisper against his lips, “Break for me.”

He crumbles apart so slowly, brow furrowed and mouth stuck open in a silent gasp. His balls tighten in your grasp for just a moment, his thighs flexed hard as he resists, but it’s not enough to keep him from coming undone. Each kick of his cock paints your stomach and hand with thick globs of jizz. Ennoshita’s forehead falls forward, face nestled into the crook of your neck as he continues to quiver long after his orgasm subsides.

After a long moment, Ennoshita gathers himself just enough to speak. "You didn't finish."

"It's okay," you grin, patting his back affectionately, "We aren't done yet."

You lightly stroke him, spreading his cum all the way down to his balls while you revele in the squelching the wetness makes.The crown of his cock smacks wetly against your clit when you release.

God, it’s heavy. Just like you thought.

His spend is already cooling as it drips down your stomach, a single droplet collecting at the top of your cunt: right above where his cock head rests. With a searching look, you hesitantly hump up into his length, dragging a mix of your cum and his through both of your sexes. It’s slow enough that he could protest if you were crossing any boundaries-

But Ennoshita just watches in silence.

Each thrust glazes his length more and more, the ridge of his cock teasing your clit perfectly. You pull back too much, greedy for more, and his cock catches your entrance. You both shake and gasp, surprised at the sensation- at the tease of what could happen. For a moment, you can see him think. There’s a small furrow in his brow as he internally debates the next step.

"N-not all the way.” he whispers, “Not yet."

Ennoshita holds you apart by the hip, the tip of his cock just barely kissing your entrance. It pulses against you, the spongy flesh practically begging for you to just inch yourself down its length-

but you respect his wishes.

"Not yet." you agree, "But, if you want-"

You squeeze his cock in your fingers before giving it an experimental tug, a last bit of his spend drooling into you. He's still painfully hard. "You can finish again. Just like this."

He whines. Closed mouth, teary eyed, full on whines, like the thought pains him.

"Fuck." he tears his eyes away from your pussy, "I-I'd. I'd be cumming inside you."

"Mhm.”

"Is it safe?" he asks, as if he hadn't already smeared semen through your sex and pubic hair.

"I'm on birth control." you nudge your nose into his cheek, silently begging for a kiss that he immediately gives you, "It's okay, it's not all the way."

"It's… it's not all the way." Ennoshita repeats with a nod, eyes lowering back down to your hand as you start tugging him once more, "Only if you cum first."

You take his hand and bring it to you, dragging him over the mess he's made until his thumb finds your clit. "Then make me."

The kiss he catches you in is ravenous, every touch between you burning, begetting another touch after touch. It takes a minute for him to find the rhythm in his fingers, but he’s watched you masturbate enough times to know exactly what you need. You link your ankles behind his ass and throw a hand on his shoulder, refusing to let him break away until you’re both panting and desperate for air.

“Just like that.” you say, “Feels so good, Chikara, just like that.”

“Yeah? Yeah?” he repeats it, too far gone to think of anything else at this moment. An arm loops behind your back, holding you in place, stopping you from slipping away as he circles more firmly. It’s sloppy and unrefined, but the way his ragged breathing drags over your skin, the way his cock twitches in your hand with every rub, is enough to get you close to the edge.

"Hey," he mumbles into your skin after a long moment, "Can I-”

He tightens his grip and pulls you forward ever so slightly. “Does it count if-?"

The head of his cock presses harder against your opening. The slightest bit of pressure more and he’ll sink in, officially inside you for the first time.

“Does it count if it’s just the tip-?” he asks softly, as if it isn’t his own rule to break.

You fucking ache for it. Fucking ache to be filled. Your body screams to take control and go for it-

But, again, you respect his boundaries.

"It only counts if you want it to." it takes everything for you to answer neutrally, still slowly stroking him as he debates. “I’m fine with just-”

“Just the tip.” he says firmly. That’s definitely not what you were going to say, but you don’t protest. “That’s it.”

“Whatever you want.” you agree. Ennoshita kisses the tip of your nose, soft and sweet, then pushes forward. The mix of your excitement and his cum leaves little resistance and, despite the delicious stretch, he sinks in easily. The strain is easy to read on his features, with a mouth pulled into a thin, straight line, nostrils flared, and a deeply furrowed brow. For a moment, you expect him to stay like this, frozen in place, savoring his own pleasure over yours, but he moves.

"It's so soft." he whispers, pulling out with a quiet little pop. A thin sheen is gathered under the crown. You both watch as he pushes in once again, only the tip disappearing into your folds. The tremble of his hand in your sex surprises you, but he doesn't stop his ministrations.

"Chikara, that feels-"

“Feels good?” He repeats his actions -in and out. You throw both arms around his shoulders and nod, bracing yourself against him, letting him use you however you want.

In.

"Makes me want more." you admit, breathless.

Out.

"One day." he promises, forehead pressed against yours, eyes never leaving where your bodies connect, "You- you think you can cum like this?"

In.

Out.

"Fuck, yes."

Ennoshita huffs, fucking into you more forcefully, in, out, in, out, “Gon-gonna cum around my cock? Huh?"

It’s cruel to feel this full and yet so empty. It’s all you can do to scramble to keep a hold of his shoulders and let him toy with you. Everything inside you burns for more, but you never get it. You press kissing into his neck in a sorry attempt to satiate yourself.

" 'm close-"

“Yeah, I know, I can fucking feel it-" You’re not sure if he realizes it, but he’s no longer barely inside of you; his length is halfway inside you, threatening to go deeper and deeper- "Feel how fucking tight-"

You’re caught off guard when you cum. It shouldn't have been enough, shouldn't be this good to be barely touched, but it is.

“F-fuck I can feel that.” Ennoshita crumbles once again, and the familiar warmth you've craved paints your insides. You two just hug, making equally embarrassing mangled sounds as you ride the high.

It takes minutes before you untangle, flopping back on to the couch.

"Can we do this every night?" you tease, eyes already half closed, savoring the fuzzy post coital high.

Ennoshita just sighs. "You're gonna be the death of me.'

[blorbobird]

BEWJEWLED (ONESHOT)

a silly little lucemond one shot based on a taylor swift song because i like the idea of luke getting revenge.

( in which a 'resurrected' elder Lucerys crashes Aemonds engagement ball to Alys three years after his 'death'. Both boys have changed. ) unedited.

The doors open and Aemond's mouth shuts. 

Lucerys, grown, and so much changed since last he saw him. It had been such a while since they interacted previously. A violent altercation wiped away momentarily at the new sight before him.

He had been such a beautiful child. Whisping curls that curved around his face so stunningly. A gentle flush of cheeks, a narrowly built body, and a boyishness that never quite left his features. His laugh was haughty and aloof. Aemond use to stare at him and admire it all, even before the incident. He envied him.

With time it only got worse. If Luke had been a pretty boy, he had become something far more deadly with age. Something near offensive to look at.

Rhaenyra had carried the title of being the Realm's Delight, a trait that seemingly passed to the middle born child of the Valeryons. They denied many things about those kids, but no one could deny that.

But with beauty comes distraction, with every rose comes thorns. The boy was violent as any other but it was all hidden amongst striking looks and cheeky statements. A swift strike of the a blade taught Aemond that. He learned many things that night. Above all to never again fall for pretty things — they are as  splendid as they were deceiving.

With time, Aemond secretly hoped, the boy would turn ugly. That karma or some other unspeakable force would strike him down. Humble him. A pug-nose or warts or early wrinkles and sagginess. Whatever things hags in childhood bedtime stories had been cursed with.

But no, he was fit. In shape. Broad shoulders and sharper cheakbones and … it was all so unfair. Whatever things in fairytales that made princesses undoubtedly stunning had graced Lucerys with such traits. He had grown with grace and beauty.

It made Aemond's insides curl unexpectedly. In a way he hadnt known, a way he despised. Like posion spreading through his veins. Dark and sickly. 

This was mockery. Public mockery. At his wedding no less! 

Aemond stares with a hollowed gaze as Lucerys struts in. Everyone is silent. Alicent is frozen, Alys is confused.

All stunned , maybe because the second eldest Targaryen stood to talk prior, to cheers his new bride at this, their engagement party. Aemond knew rather well it was because it was the entry of the new presence. That the silence once started for civility had turned to a silence for a lack of words.

A dead man walking. 

The light reflects off him, jacket glittery as midnight stars. Skin pure and untouched. Too perfect. No bruises or marks or warts. He had never been that lucky, apparently.

Aemond wanted to have the boys flesh under his fingertips. To mark him up, scratches and bites. Tears and gashes. Give him something worthy of scarring. Something violent, yes. 

He had become frozen and he hasn't noticed it. His gaze turned hard enough to burn a hole into the boy now standing across the table from him. Less than five feet, he could easily jump across the barrier and tackle him to the floor. Nothing could stop him. No one. He could pin him in front of everyone with any of the many cutlery knives in hand and— 

"Sorry Im late," Luke finally speaks. Looking from Alys to the groom. Where the elder male stands frozen still. "I've perhaps lost my invitation? Never got the time correct."

This cant be. He cant be alive — he saw him die. He killed him, watched that dragon tear the younger apart as its rider fell into the sea...

This must be a hoax. A lie. This can't be the boy, instead perhaps an imposter. It was neither, instead it was karma. Karma for his crimes.

Many thoughts crossed his mind but first and foremost: How had he survived? Fisher men … mermaids? No, they swam in the distant sea opposite to Shipbreaker Bay. Was this witchery, sorcery? 

"Apologies for the interruption," Lucerys continues looking from the queen regent to her sons. Alicent looks so shocked that she may become nauseous. The green color of her dress reflecting in her cheeks. "Continue."

Her eyes scaning over the young males visage. His body. She hides a scowl at how exposed he was. The silver star-designed chains that wrap around his waist line like a jeweled belt. The eyeliner. All the rings and worst of all, the exposed chest. No one seemingly but the Hightowers had an issue with it. Remembering how much Rhaenyra's sons had become like her, how much he had been. Even before he died. 

Or disappeared, apparently.

Lucerys notices this and refrains his expression as well. A smirk ghosting on his mouth. "Oh," Luke clears his throat and finally looks too Aemond under dark lashes. Voice near taunting. "Am I interrupting?" 

Foolish perhaps, to barge in alone. By himself and armed with nothing.

'Idiot should be armed to the teeth' Aemond lowers his goblet at the thought. The boy would die publically for this. He'd watch him die all over again : this time he would make sure. He'd do it himself. Yes. Himself! No one else would be allowed to touch him until the job was done.

They were already at war — the Greens and the Blacks. This would make no difference. They were all too far gone to turn back now. What was done was done, and the only way through was forward. Surely this had been a move by Rhaenyra, a taunting metaphor for sending her son out alone, once more.

A red herring.

Little had they known it wasn't her doing. Rather, Lucerys alone. He had grown up quite well over the last three years in more ways than one. Death changes a person just as life does.

He would meet up with her afterwards along with Daemon. With Jace and Jofferey and the remains of his family. Show him his plan after it was executed.

"Someone seize him!" Alicent says finally, standing as the murmurs kick in around the room. Guards begin to move, Ser Criston ready to kill him if asked. Even if he isn't requested as such.

Aemond moves finally as he sees this. His cup is down and he's moving across the table. No one's allowed to touch him. He must observe for himself to see if this was real. If Lucerys was alive and breathing and Gods be damned to whomever tries to intervene.

Luke doesn't flinch at all as many people come towards him. He's lost his dragon, his family, his title. He has crossed the Summer Sea, traveled and conquered areas of Essos. He's seen magic in these last years. Trained with sword and battle strategy. Both met and survived the Dothraki. 

Surely, he can handle a few guards and their petty little knives.

He's Lucerys the Conqueror, the Survivor, the Reborn, Prince of the Tides and Son of the Sea. Three years changes a man. Now, they will all get the reckoning they deserve.

[kamisathoes]

PLEASE im in love with all of your works but for cow!reader?????

imagine them getting spitroasted by xiao and scara- they’re so fucking mean as they play and slap around their tits. AND IM SORRY BONUS IF THERE ARE PEOPLE WATCHING LIKE MAYBE SOME OTHER FATUI (pyro slingers😮‍💨🤤)

i literally love what ur doing so much i literally scream when u post !!!💜💕

εϊз … pairings xiao + sub ! f ! reader + scaramouche εϊз … notes grrrr this gave me butterflies... where do i get this i'm so sorry this took ages i lost it in my drafts εϊз … warnings cow hybrid ! reader. threesome. ownership. lactation. nipple play. impact play. improper use of an electro vision. degradation. name calling. dubcon. voyeurism. bukakke. throat fucking. breeding. squirting. marking. dumbification. unedited.

scaramouche inviting xiao to fatui headquarters because he needs help on a mission or something and using his cow pet to gain the trust of the adepti <3 he encouraged xiao to let loose, even being so kind as to let him bury his cock in your sloppy cunt as scaramouche takes your mouth.

they'll have you bent over scara's desk, laying on your back so they could abuse your milky tits. xiao kept one hand on your stomach, another pinching your hardened nipples as creamy juice flowed out of you. scara could feel your ears twitch against his skin as he rutted into your face, fucking your tight throat with ease. he took care of your other breast, marking the flesh with harsh slaps and a few trickles of electro energy.

each of them spat the meanest of things, calling you dumb, a cocksleeve, their breeding bitch. cows were only good for their milk. you felt too fuzzy to notice, instead focused on the cocks buried in either end. your cunt squeezed around xiao as he brought his hand to your swollen clit, harshly rubbing at the twitchy bud. your moans vibrated around scaramouche, pushing him to the edge.

if any of scaramouche's underlings dared interrupt this meeting, they would be welcomed to join. not in the sense that they could touch you, that was reserved for a special few. instead the skirmishers would be encouraged to fuck their fists to the sight of your pretty body being defiled. if they were lucky and the man was in a giving mood, they'd be allowed to cum on you, covering your perfect skin in the sticky seed of multiple men.

the harbinger gave you no warning before releasing strings of cum into your needy mouth, continuing to fuck his seed deeper into you. any that spilled from your mouth was only forced back in by his rough fingers. on your other end, xiao remained fascinated by the milk that your breasts kept producing. liquid flowed from your nipples as scaramouche focused his attention on marking your tits with deep purple, pinching and tugging at your skin. the pleasure you derived from pain made your cunny flutter around the yaksha, driving him to his own release. he spurted buckets of his own milk inside of you, not stopping until his balls felt empty. you came alongside him, relishing in the feeling of being so full. your pussy gushed, liquid covering your thighs and xiao's lower stomach.

"stupid pet, such a pathetic cumdump for anyone sorry enough to slip their cock inside your loose hole, hmm?" scaramouche cooed. "how about you thank our guest for fucking you like the whore you are?"

[writtenfangirl]

Good morning/afternoon/ night! Im sorry to bother you, but I just finished reading youre," Broken Promises" post and I just wanted to say it was so amazingly good! I would like to ask if you could possibly make a part 2 where Steve finds out that the reader had left and maybe just the aftermath of everything. (If you mentioned/made a part 2 already and this is all non needed Im sorry I must have skiped over it lol) anyways, if you get to read this I hope you have had a good day and thank you for wrighting such a masterpiece even tho you said you didn't like it to much(which would be another good reason to ignor my ask)

Have an amazing day!(sorry this is so long. I've never made an ask before and I nerviously ramble.)

Broken Promises pt. 2

This took forever. College is a nightmare and I will never encourage anyone to go through it ever.

The whole fic's 6,544 words so it's quite lengthy. It's also unedited.

Link to Part 1: Broken Promises

Dear Steve,

I’m sorry. 

I know my apologies are not enough and will never be enough. There is nothing I could possibly say or do that could absolve me of my sins. I—

The words were a pitiful imitation of her true feelings. She was never a powerful writer and though she hoped to send a message to Steve—even one that didn’t properly encapsulate her feelings—in the hopes that he may one day forgive her, she refused to send him this. 

She let out a growl of frustration before she crumpled the paper in her hand and set it aflame, the temperature so high that it didn’t even leave a speck of ash. 

Two months. 

That’s how long it’d been since she last spoke to Steve, since she left Earth to become Queen of Asgard. Since she abandoned the man she loved to fulfill her duties to her people.

Two months of pain and misery. 

Two months of teary nights and anguished mornings.

Two months of self-reproach and restless sleep.

She stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the marble floor of her room. She only had one destination in mind, the same destination she went to every time she remembered Steve. Which, in truth, was nearly every hour of every waking day. 

What was Steve eating for breakfast?

What was Steve doing now?

What did Steve say when he saw her leave him?

How did he react when he say her message?

Did he hate her?

Did he feel abandoned?

Will he ever forgive her?

Will—

She let out another frustrated groan before she stopped the questions that began filling her mind. She was beginning to spiral again. One thought led to another and before she knew it, she was curled up in a ball somewhere in the darkest corner of Asgard, bawling her eyes out as guilt, resentment, pain and hurt consumed her. 

Her mother or one of her brothers usually went to find her when she was having one of her episodes. The thought of one of them finding her again had a flush of embarrassment reddening her cheeks.

She was never one to take note of the passing of time. As the goddess of the sun and of prophecy, she was aware that the future was not concrete and that time was fluid. There was also the fact that she was an immortal. Counting time was futile, at least she use to think so. 

Now it’s all she did. 

Two months, three days, 8 minutes and 12 seconds since she left Earth. 

Days felt like weeks and weeks felt like decades. She felt as though she’d aged centuries in the few months she spent on Asgard and if it wasn’t for her reflection in the mirror every morning, she would have thought she’d look as old as her father did before he passed. 

She grunted before her elegant purple gown burned away into her golden armor. 

She just wanted to go hit something. 

Or someone. 

It didn’t really matter. All she wanted to do was find an outlet for her emotions before she set fire to the palace. 

She was never a hateful creature but resentment had begun to build at her heart and seeing her brothers happy, or at the very least content, with their lot in life had jealousy writhing in her body. 

She used to be happy once.

Now all she felt was anger and resentment. 

She never let that cloud her judgement though. 

Despite her father’s death and the expectation that the Nine Realms would fall in chaos as the crown passed hands, the Nine Realms was prospering. Not even Jotunheim had thought to launch an assault against her. Her kingdom was at peace, her subjects were happy and they would prosper and thrive. 

She almost resented that too. 

She never thought herself a hateful person but sacrificing everything she ever wanted, her happiness and a future with the man she loved, would have turned even a saint into the same bitter creature she was now.

She trudged out of her room, out of the golden palace and walked the long path towards the rainbow bridge. 

She ignored her subjects as she passed them, save for a strained smile she let out here and there.

She was sure even they had felt a change in her. 

When she was still a princess, she was beloved. Perhaps it made her arrogant to think so but the Asgardians did love her and she loved them in return. She would visit her people often, especially those of them who encountered problems she knew she could find a solution for. She was a constant in their world, or, at least, she use to be. 

Now all she did was shut herself in her gilded palace or stay at the Rainbow Bridge. 

She finally found her way to the Bridge and she continued her path.

As she walked, her mind fluttered from one future to another.

It wasn’t her future she was concerned with anyway. 

She plucked each individual thread, scanning through the length of Steve’s long future. 

Another surge of frustration swelled within her. 

Why couldn’t she see?

A sudden needle of panic pricked at her. Could Steve be dead and that’s why she couldn’t see his future?

No. That wasn’t it. 

She saw a glimpse of his old withered face, smiling. She couldn’t see who or what he was smiling at but it brought Y/N peace to know that Steve lives a fruitful life. 

So what could be blocking her sight?

“You’ll tire yourself out that way, your majesty.”

Y/N hadn’t realized that she’d arrived at the golden chamber that housed Heimdall’s usual domain. 

There he stood, his golden armor shining as brightly as his golden eyes, his hands holding the key to the Bifrost firmly. 

Y/N’s once lurid purple eyes settled back to her usual E/C. 

She regarded her old friend thoughtfully. “I guess it’s in moments such as this where I wish I had your abilities, Heimdall. The future is never set in stone but the present? How I wish I can see him.”

“He is well,” Heimdall said evenly. 

Y/N’s come to interpret those words to mean “Steve is physically alright.” but something in Heimdall’s tone had a lead ball forming in Y/N’s stomach. 

“Heimdall, are you telling me the truth?” Y/N said softly. 

He seemed to hesitate, his gold eyes trained on Y/N carefully. As if assessing whether her reaction would be volatile. 

A needle of irritation stabbed at her. Did Heimdall think her so weak?

“Heimdall,” Y/N said, her voice the voice of a regal queen. “What is it?”

“Prince Thor made me swear not to tell you. I apologize, my queen.”

“Fine,” Y/N bristled, her voice clipped. “Where is my brother?”

Heimdall hesitated again. 

“Where is my brother, Heimdall?” Y/N’s eyes blazed, her irritation growing.

“Your brother is in Midgard attending matters with your friends.” Heimdall finally said. 

Heimdall’s words were enough to harden the lead in her stomach, turning it into her solid resolution.

“Bring me down there.”

“Lady Y/N—“

“Heimdall,” Y/N said sharply, shedding the voice of a friend turning into the fiery queen. “I command you to bring me to Earth.“

Heimdall dipped his head in a bow. “Very well, my lady.”

Y/N stepped up onto the raised platform and watched as Heimdall turned the key, opening the Bifrost. 

She let the large column of light and colors blast cocoon around her, her body suddenly traveling faster than the speed of light, Heimdall soon disappearing from her line of sight. 

Before a second had even passed, she felt her body land on solid ground. 

She smelled Midgard before she saw it. 

It smelled of rain, petrichor permeating her senses. The grass was still damp in places where the Bifrost hadn’t scorched its patterns on the earth and tiny little dew drops refracted the light of the morning sun.

There was a notable chill in the air and judging from the yellow and orange leaves that were falling from the trees, it was the crest of autumn.

She knew the walk to the compound like the back of her hand and was half-surprised that she hadn’t triggered any safety protocols.

Her magic began to wrap around her body and a near blinding light surrounded her as her golden armor shifted into her Midgardian clothes. In place of her golden armor was a deep violet dress that reached a little below her knees, paired with golden sandals. She didn’t bother changing her twin swords and they stuck out behind her in a gold X formation.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on it but there was a strange atmosphere within the compound that she couldn’t quite place. 

She walked through the front door, past the hallway leading to the kitchen and dining area and went straight to the living room. 

Normally, the compound would be bustling in activity at this time, despite how early it was. Steve, Bucky and Sam would be back from their daily morning run, panting and sweaty but nonetheless joking around in the living room. Tony and Bruce, who would be working all night in the lab with Y/N, would emerge from their cave at around this time for a spot or breakfast. Vision would be preparing breakfast in the kitchen with the help of Wanda while Natasha watched on, occasionally adding her own input.

But instead, the compound was silent. 

The living room was empty, or at least, she thought it was. 

There was figure laying down on the couch, bundled up in a woolen blanket to avoid the frigid air. They had the blanket pulled over their head, giving Y/N a hard time to identify who it was. She approached the sleeping form and saw strands red hair peeking out from beneath the blanket. 

She hated to wake Natasha but something told her that this was more important than her friend’s rest. 

“Nat,” she shook the super spy awake. “Nat, wake up.”

This wasn’t the first time Y/N had awoken her friend. With Natasha Romanoff being one of the most covert super spies/assassins in the world, she wasn’t one to sleep soundly and unprepared and so Y/N half expected a knife to be pointed at her face or a half-concealed gun hitting her abdomen. 

Instead, Natasha simply groaned, which worried Y/N deeply. 

“Nat, it’s me,” Y/N said, shaking Natasha once again. 

Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, her eyelashes hitting her cheek as she struggled to open her eyes. It seemed to take her a good 30 seconds before she registered who was standing before her. 

“Y/N, oh my god.” Natasha leapt from the couch, her arms wrapping around Y/N’s neck. She moved so quickly, Y/N barely had time to adjust her position before they both fell to the floor. “I can’t believe you’re here! Thor told us he didn’t tell you anything and I was so worried I thought that maybe something had happened and that’s why you’re not here and—“

Natasha spoke quickly, her words stumbling over each other. 

“Stop, Natasha,” Y/N gripped Nat’s shoulders and Nat seemed to sag against her in defeat, “slower. What is happening?”

There was no hesitation in Natasha’s eyes as she spoke. “It’s Steve. He’s hurt.”

A sudden ringing exploded in Y/N’s ears, drowning out Natasha’s words saved a few. 

Touch and go. 

Worst part is over but I’m not so sure. 

We were on a mission in the Philippines. There’s an old army base there…

Natasha’s words were inconsequential to her. 

This is why she couldn’t see Steve. Why all she saw were glimpses. His present was in mortal danger and his future slipped through his fingers like sand. 

She looked at Natasha intently. There were bags under Natasha’s eyes as dark as the bruises that was peppered her body, an especially prominent one peeking out from the sleeve of her shirt. Her hair was in disarray, her skin paler than that of death. Y/N’s known Natasha a long time and something about Natasha’s unkempt appearance had a jolt of unease shaking her spine, making goosebumps rise on her arms. She realized that she has never seen Nat look so… defeated before.

“Where is he?” Her words were sharp, stone grating against stone. 

Natasha didn’t even flinch at her tone. “In the infirmary, recovering.”

She left Nat behind her, stumbling up towards the infirmary. 

She didn’t imagine that the compound would be so painful.

She saw herself here, happy and carefree. She saw herself with Steve in these halls, the way they danced around in the living room in the middle as he hummed them their song quietly; the cakes and cookies they snuck around behind the backs of the team; the treadmills they spent hours on, trying to one up the other; the meals they spent with each other in the conference rooms in an effort to spend some one-on-one time with each other.

And the hanger that kept the team’s vehicles where she last saw Steve.

Where she bid him good bye, making a promise she didn’t know she wouldn’t have been able to keep.

She pushed the memories away.

The past didn’t matter right now. The present did.

She managed to run the rest of the way to the infirmary, where she found the rest of the team gathered around Steve. 

“Y/N,” Thor said in surprise when the group turned around.

Y/N didn’t spare her brother a glance. Her eyes were trained on Steve and his sleeping form. He was shirtless, his creamy white skin looking even paler than Y/N remembered. He had stitches on his forehead, a giant bruise the size of her hand near his abdomen and a giant sewn up slash at the other side of his torso.

Steve Rogers looked like death.

“He looked a lot worse yesterday,” Tony mumbled, as if sensing where Y/N’s thoughts were going. “There are some perks to being a super soldier.”

“What happened?” Y/N’s voice was as thin as paper.

Bruce made a move to answer but before the words left his mouth, Y/N simply said, “Scratch that. I don’t think I want to know.”

Because if she knew who did this, if she knew what happened, there was nothing and no one that could stop her from finding the people who did this to the man she loved and burning them where they stood.

“His vitals are stable,” Bruce said in a placating tone. “He’s just resting for now. We gave him some morphine for the pain but his supersoldier body burns through the stuff.”

For the first time since she stepped in the room, she looked around. She easily ignored the white sterile walls of the infirmary, of the hi-tech machines that she helped Tony built as they combined magic and science. She even managed to ignore the steady beeping sound of the machine that was taking note of Steve’s heartbeat.

Instead, her eyes swept across her friends.

They looked as shitty as Natasha did.

Bags under their eyes, their skin sallow and ashy. Bruce had a faint, five o’clock shadow beginning to grow at his face and Tony was sporting a large bruise around his eyes that had begun to darken. Bucky was there too, his face gaunt, eyes bloodshot. Even Sam, who was usually jolly enough to be able to lighten any situation stayed stoically silent.

Her brother was the only one of them who looked well rested but with the permanent frown on his face, Y/N could see that Steve’s condition was beginning to take a toll on him too.

“Was it that bad?” Y/N asked, her voice low and quiet, a mother coaxing answers out of her children.

“You should have seen the other guy,” Sam said. Y/N could see his concentrated effort as he tried to make himself sound better than he actually felt but Sam’s words fell flat in dejection.

Y/N frowned at them. “When was the last time you all rested?”

Bucky only shrugged. “We take shifts. Wanda, Natasha and Vision spent the entire night with him. It’s our turn now.”

“Did you actually sleep last night?”

Judging by the resounding silence that came from the group, it was a huge no.

“Go rest.”

Tony’s head snapped to her. “What? Y/N, you—“

“This is not a negotiation, Stark,” Y/N said firmly, injecting some of her queenly voice into her command, “go rest. All of you. Thor and I will watch Steve. None of you are allowed to come back until you’ve seen to your own injuries and you’re able to get a full 8 hours of sleep. I’ll have Friday notify the team if there are any changes.”

Bruce made a move to argue but something about Y/N’s expression had the scientist stopping himself. Instead, with stiff backs and tired forms, they retreated from the infirmary.

“Good to see you again, Y/N. Thought it would be under better circumstances but at least you’ll be he here when he wakes up,” Tony said with a sigh before he left, leaving Y/N alone with her brother and a comatose Steve Rogers.

It was silent for a while, the beeping of the machines that kept Steve alive the only thing that filled that the quiet void. 

Y/N could feel her brother’s uneasy glances towards her despite the fact that her eyes were focused on the steady rising and falling of Steve’s pale chest. While she knew the real reason for the enmity that was radiating off of her was because the love of her life was knocking on death’s door, she couldn’t stop the anger that was directed at her brother as it filled her heart. In fact, she relished it. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, brother, spit it out,” her words were short, curt. There was no mistaking the anger there. 

“Heimdall told you.”

There was no question in his voice. He knew the words ringed true even if Y/N didn’t confirm it. 

“You told him not to tell me. Are you my keeper now, Thor?”

Y/N could practically feel Thor flinch at the cold ice in her words. 

“I did not want to worry you, sister.”

“What did you think would happen, Thor?” The Queen of Asgard turned to her brother, her eyes blazing. Her body was tense, anger and rage replacing the blood that coursed through her veins. The temperature in the room began to spike and Y/N watched as sweat began to collect on her brother’s brow. “That because I accepted the position as Asgard’s queen, I would cease using my abilities on Steve?”

Thor scowled at her, refusing to cower under her intense glare. “You were a ghost, Y/N. I thought it best you didn’t know, lest I wanted you to get worse.”

“Would you have told me if he’d died?” Y/N challenged, her voice beginning to rise as she spat out her words, “Or would I continue to fruitlessly search for his future, a future he would never have?”

“No—“

“I have sacrificed too much for Asgard. For you. For Loki and mother. You are my older brother and yet I bear the responsibility of the throne when it should have been you!” Tears had begun to sprung in her eyes, hot and wet, the trail it left behind scorching the skin of her face. She couldn’t stop herself, not anymore. Not after everything she’d had to sacrifice for everyone else’s happiness. “The one person in this entire universe that brings me joy was dying and you kept that information from me, Thor. Even to that, you felt entitled to. I could have been there, I could have helped him! I should’ve—“ a sob broke through her chest, choking the words she yearned the scream at her brother. 

Her brother who got everything he wanted. Her brother who she sacrificed so much for to be happy.

Thor’s scowling face softened, which irked Y/N even more. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Y/N said as she furiously wiped at her eyes, “I do not want your sympathies.”

But rather than fighting back, Thor reached for her, encircling her in his strong arms. 

She tried to push away from his warm embrace, beating against the Asgardian leather of his armor but Thor didn’t even seem fazed at all. 

She was stronger than this, she knew that. She was a warrior after all, one of the few who faced Thanos and live to tell about it. She herself has fought Thor at the height of each other’s power and she prevailed time and time again.

But she had no fight in her left. 

Nothing left to give to stop the torrential rain of heartbreak and sadness that threatened to drown her, was drowning her.

“It’s not fair,” Y/N sobbed as Thor held on to her tightly, her fists beating against his chest. “It’s not fair.”

Thor held her tight and Y/N could feel her body betraying her, giving into the his hug. Her big brother’s comfort was unlike anything in this world and his hug had her knees buckling, her body only being held up by her brother’s embrace. 

She could smell him, the scent of musk and cedar wood. She could feel his long blonde hair tickling her cheek as her tears soaked its tip. Y/N felt Thor’s arms tighten around her and it took her a while to realize that the sound of her sobs were drowning her brother’s words. 

“It’s not fair.”

“I know.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry, sister.”

“I just wanted to be happy.”

“And I will make it so.”

At that, Y/N pulled away. The tears that shrouded her eyes blurred her brother’s face but there was no mistaking the steely determination that wove itself in the wrinkles of his brow. 

“What?” Her voice was small, quiet even, as she wiped at her eyes, seeing her brother clearly. 

“I cannot keep seeing you like this,” Thor said as he rested his hands on Y/N’s shoulder, a grounding guide that cemented her feet to reality. “Seeing you mope around Asgard, cold and unfeeling except whenever you wish to cry, has made me realize something. You’re right, Y/N. It is not fair of me to rob you of your happiness. As your big brother, I have always wanted what’s best for you but fear for the future of Asgard has clouded my judgment. I let you take my responsibility, carrying with it all of its burdens and for that, I am truly sorry. You do not know of the future of my reign and though that scares me, knowing the present of yours, your misery and anger and resentment, saddens me. Sister, if you would let me, I will retake the throne and all the burdens that come with it.”

Y/N sniffled, surprised at all she was hearing. Thor taking the throne from her? 

She waited for a sense of foreboding to come, a sense of jealousy and betrayal and yet she felt was relief. And guilt. Guilt that began to prick at her shriveled up heart. Could she truly ask her brother to give up his own joy for hers? Y/N was many things but selfish was never one of them. “But what of your missions fighting for peace in the Nine Realms? I cannot take that from you.” 

“There are no more fights, sister,” Thor said, not unkindly.

“There are always fights,” Y/N replied. 

“Not today. Not tomorrow. Your reign, however short, has strengthened Asgard. None of our enemies dare to make a move against us. I am free of my obligations as Asgard’s prince. Now I must take up the mantle and become its king.”

“But what if they attack again? If our enemies aren’t reminded of our strength, you and I both know they will attack.”

“Then we fight,” Thor gave Y/N a grim look. “Father may have been king but he was a warrior, stronger than even you or me. Should I become king, I will not abandon my people in a fight and I know you won’t too.”

“But Thor—“

“Y/N, I have decided,” Thor said, his blue eyes staring intently in her own E/C ones. “I love you. You are my sister and I have failed you by forcing you to take my responsibility. You deserve to be happy, more than any one of us. You have sacrificed much and have received too little in return.”

“But you won’t be happy,” Y/N insisted, “I would rather live with my resentment than my guilt, Thor. And guilt is all I will feel should you do this for me.”

Thor smiled softly. His eyes, clear as a sky on a beautiful summer day, was trained on her intently. “Sister, I wish for you to listen to me closely. Loki and I have discussed this and though I wish to take on the burden of the crown alone, I know you will not let me. So in this, Loki has found a solution. We rule, all three of us, together. There will not be one king or queen but two kings and a queen. Us. The three of us ruling Asgard as a unit.”

Y/N blinked back at her brother in confusion. A unit? “What? I have never heard of such a thing.”

“It is a good plan, no?” Thor said, his face cracking into a smile.

“It is unhinged,” Y/N said cautiously. “We would squabble relentlessly, as we always do. We will never agree on anything.”

“Which is why Loki and I have thought of a solution to that,” Thor’s grin was widening and Y/N had to quell her own joy. His smile was infectious and Y/N almost wanted to smile back at him. She had always been the more cautious of the three siblings. She was the smart one, the one who stopped her fighting brothers, who stopped Loki from stabbing Thor and ceased the bickering between the two. Y/N was the one who reasoned with Thor whenever he got too rough and was the one who listened to Loki rant about the unfairness of his life.

But this, this solution that her crazy brother have concocted could be the answer to all their problems.

Thor continued his explanation. “I will handle Asgard’s military exploits, as that is my strength. Loki will handle life at court as he fits.”

“And I?” 

“You will do both. When you think either of us are doing things we shouldn’t, then your word will be the final word and we will stop.”

Y/N grinned. “I am to be your leash?”

“Yes,” Thor said with a firm nod, matching Y/N’s grin. “You will be our leash. That way, you do not always have to be in Asgard, only when one of us calls upon you to deal with the other. You get to spend time here on Earth as you see fit and Loki and I will accomplish our own duties to Asgard.”

“Father must be rolling in his grave,” Y/N muttered. “This is the craziest idea we have ever had. With the throne divided into three, our enemies will think us weak.”

“Then we show them nothing but strength.”

“And what of mother? What are her thoughts on the matter?”

“Loki has spoken with her and she wishes to see her children happy. This is the only way all three of us are happy.”

Y/N mulled the idea over. There was only really one way to know whether or not the idea will work. 

Y/N’s face glazed over, her once E/C eyes turning into a brilliant violet. Y/N could see flashes of her future repairing itself back. Steve, smiling and happy, Y/N happy along with him. She could see heartbreak in the future, as that was inevitable with an immortal who loves a mortal, but she pushed that aside. She did not care about that for now.

Instead her eyes saw the golden throne room of Asgard. Her sitting in the middle, her brothers’ towering figures sitting next to her. Three glittering crowns rested on each of their heads, their faces regal yet kind. They looked like a unit and they looked… happy.

Yes. 

That’s what that was.

Happiness was radiating off of the three of them like beams of sunlight that drowned out the darkness. 

Gone was the coldness that Y/N had previously seen when she sat on the golden throne alone. Instead, her brothers and her was radiating joy, contentment, even love. 

“What is it? What do you see?” Thor asked earnestly.

“A future,” Y/N said in a daze. Her eyes focused, losing its violet tint. “Our future. And Thor it is wonderful.” 

Excitement lit Thor’s eyes up. “So this will work?”

“I’m not saying there won’t be hardships but yes. It will work.”

For the first time in months, Y/N felt something blossom in her chest. She felt the warm blanket of hope settle in her chest, filling the once gaping hole in her heart. 

This time, the tears and streamed down her face was not of anguish but pure unbridled joy. 

She leapt into her brother’s arms, squeezing him tightly as she breathed in his scent of cedar wood. She could feel the frantic beating of her heart, the ice that once surrounded it now thawed. 

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” She muttered the words repeatedly, a reverent prayer that was swallowed up by the sound of her own blubbering sobs.

“For you, sister. Anything,” Thor said, hugging her equally as hard.

Y/N pulled away, wiping at her teary eyes. “We must draft the decree as soon as possible. We cannot keep our people in the dark about this. And the team. We need to tell them too. I want to live on Earth as much as I can and—“ her voice cracked, her eyes darting towards Steve, “—I don’t know if Steve will ever forgive me for leaving.”

“He will forgive you because he loves you, this I know to be true. Everyday I was on Earth and you were not were days Steve asked about your wellbeing. His love for you burns strong and if this separation has proven anything, it is that you two are meant for one another,” Thor said, his voice laced with determination as he pushed her back down towards the chair she once occupied beside Steve. “You will stay here. I will alert the team and then I will return home to help Loki in drafting the decree. We will declare the decree as soon as you can return to Asgard. Alert me if there are any problems.”

Y/N simply nodded, the elation that filled her chest now shriveling at the sight of Steve’s lifeless body. 

Y/N barely registered when Thor exited the room and her exceptional hearing certainly didn’t register when he spoke to the team regarding her tenure at the compound. All of Y/N’s concentration was focused on the man sleeping by her side.

The steady rise and fall of Steve’s chest was the only thing Y/N focused on.

Humans were fragile beings. Even if Steve had the supersoldier serum flowing through his veins, even if was worthy of Mjolnir, even if he was stronger than most human beings, it didn’t erase the fact that he was still human.

Three weeks without food would kill him. Three days without water would kill him. Three minutes without oxygen would kill him. Time would kill him.

It was difficult to imagine that this man, this wonderful man who stood up against Thanos, who wielded Mjolnir, who fought against hundreds of alien creatures far more powerful than he was, could be defeated so easily. Seeing him this way, so pale and fragile had a snake of misery curling around Y/N’s heart.

She knew that death was inevitable for Steve. He would die and she wouldn’t. She would carry on living for thousands of years while Steve’s body withered into dust and bones. Even though Y/N was one of the foremost minds in the universe with both magic and science at her fingertips, not even she could stop death. Theirs is a love doomed from the start.

A sudden feeling of hopelessness slammed into her.

What was 60 years to the life of an immortal? For her to sacrifice so much—the throne, her brother’s happiness—for 60 years with Steve? She knew it was worth it but doubt had begun to creep in. 

She looked at his face. He was serene, his eyes closed, his breathing deep. He looked as he always did whenever Y/N watched him fall asleep. Peaceful and relaxed. Well, with the exception of his stitched up forehead.

She brushed her warm fingers over is cold hand, feeling the rough callouses on his palm, the hard planes of his fingernails, the deep crevices that marred the surface. 

She intertwined their fingers, her small hand feeling secure against Steve’s giant hand. At his touch, all the doubt that had crept in, all the hesitation and trepidation, the fear that had ice coating her heart, melted away.

Time with Steve, no matter how short, will be worth it. A human lifetime of joy and happiness would cause her an insurmountable amount of grief in her long immortal life for when Steve passes but it will be worth it. After all, what is grief if not a reminder of the love that had once permeated a person’s life?

She felt Steve’s fingers begin to curl around her hand. Her eyes snapped towards his face to find his wonderful smile, his beautiful blue eyes crinkled at the sides. His once pale skin flushed as color rushed to his cheeks, washing away the death that chased him.

“You look like you’re thinking of something deep.” His voice was just as Y/N remembered it to be. A deep tenor that knew the right notes to play in order to dance with her emotions.

She tightened her hold on Steve’s hand. “Queens are prone to fits of deep contemplation. It’s an inevitable side effect that comes with the job.”

“Side effect, huh,” Steve said as he pulled his body up in a sitting position. He didn’t even so much as grunt in pain. “I think I prefer being able to drink without getting drunk.”

Y/N was never one for idle talk and she couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Steve, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I left and broke my promise. I’m sorry that I was too much of a coward not to wait for you to come back. I could apologize to you for a thousand years and still not earn your forgiveness. I—“

“Y/N, stop,” Steve tugged her hand, placing a soft kiss on her palm. “I understand why you left. You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yes, I do,” Y/N insisted. “How can you forgive me that easily? I betrayed your trust!”

He smirked at her. “As far as betrayals go, running off to rule your kingdom after your father’s death is one of the nobler ones.”

“Steve—“

“I forgave you a long time ago. I understand why you left, you don’t have to apologize for that.” He tugged their intertwined hands forcefully enough that Y/N stood up from her chair. “Now, come here. I miss my girlfriend and I’d like to give her a hug before she has to leave again.”

Y/N climbed into the bed with Steve. She wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea for her to encroach on her boyfriend’s space after he’d been severely injured but Steve didn’t seem to mind. She also knew Steve long enough to know that nothing would stand in his way if he wanted something and right now, what he wanted was to hold her. She felt Steve’s massive arms wrap around her body as she settled into the warm blankets. 

Steve’s scent seemed to envelope around her like a cocoon. She could hear the steady beating of his heart against is chest, could feel the rising and falling of his chest in time with his breathing. They lay side by side, her hand pressed against Steve’s chest, his fingers tracing a pattern around her back that had her shivering.

“You know, when you left, I almost lost my mind,” Steve’s voice seemed to rumble from his chest. “I was hurt. You left so suddenly and I had plans for us. You know, we even managed to get home early and I was so excited for the dinner I’d planned because I knew how happy I was going to make you. But then you were gone and the only thing I had left of you was a video of your goodbye. I was angry at you.”

“That’s a valid emotional human response,” Y/N said, pushing away her feeling of guilt. Steve clearly needed to get whatever he wanted to say off his chest and Y/N will endure whatever negative emotion she has to feel if it meant Steve would feel better.

Steve continued tracing patterns around her back and mind followed the trail of his fingers. Was he tracing dots and dashes on her skin? “But then I realized that it was selfish of me to be angry with you. For me to be angry at you because you ran off to do the noble thing of leading your people would make me a pretty terrible person. All I want to do now is to cherish whatever time we can spend with each other no matter how short.”

At that, Y/N couldn’t stop her grin. “About that…”

Steve paused, his finger hovering in the air. “You’re not leaving so soon right?”

“Quite the opposite, really.”

“You’re staying?” Steve’s grin was infectious and a smile began to pull at Y/N’s own lips. Steve’s finger continued to trace the little pattern he was making.

“Yes.”

“What about Asgard?”

“My brothers and I have made a plan. I’ll tell you later. Right now I just want to enjoy this moment.” She snuggled closer to Steve, letting the joy and happiness she felt run wild. It felt like centuries since she last felt this happy and the temperature in the room reflected her emotions. It felt like a beautiful summer day as the smell of orange blossoms filtered through the white sterile room of the infirmary.

Y/N had begun to decipher the pattern Steve had been tracing. Dots followed by a series of dashes. Was that morse code?

“Are you tracing morse code on my skin?” She peered at Steve through her lashes, an eyebrow raised in question.

Steve’s grin widened. “Yes.”

“What are you writing?”

“I love you.”

Her own grin widened. “I love you too.”

[koishua]

𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗖𝗨𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗖𝗥𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗦

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: lee jooyeon x fem!reader. 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗥𝗘: fluff. 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧: 0.575k 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: very light injury (?). 𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦: in which a stray ball is what it takes for him to finally be able to speak to his crush at the local park.

𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘: omg guys it's happening im writing for them at last hehe. this is very unedited oml im very impatient anyways— reblogs and/or feedbacks are very very loved and appreciated around here! hope you enjoy and ty for reading <3

𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧: @kdyism @yourlocalhotgf @beombon (click here to be added to my taglist!)

“come on, man. i didn’t think that you were one to be this way.”

sitting on one of the wooden benches, jungsu watches as his friend balances a soccer ball on his forehead. he sighs, shaking his head at the thought of the jooyeon, out of all the other quieter friends he has, being hesitant on approaching someone. 

the ball rolls off his head when jooyeon loses his balance for a brief moment. he promptly sinks down to run a hand through his luscious locks, resting on the grass. jooyeon takes an inconspicuous glance at your figure, playing a small match of volleyball with your friends at the other side of the decently large park.

the boy with the highlighted hair slumps over the long plank next to jungsu, “i can’t just go up and be like, oh hey! you’re absolutely gorgeous, want to hang out later? i think i might have developed a crush, that is bigger than my ass, on you.” 

he urges jooyeon to open his mouth as he aims a candied almond for him to catch, “who knows when she’ll ever come here again. just go there and face her already, man.”

just as jungsu is about to fling the small piece of almond into jooyeon’s agape jaw, a ball flies, hurtling at great speeds to hit the back of the awaiting boy’s head. he blinks at the unexpected contact, disoriented by the force of the object, “what was that?”

a palm rubbing the point of impact on his head, he twists his body around to where the ball had come soaring from. through his bouts of laughter, jungsu whispers hysterically, “oh my god, jooyeon. that’s your girl coming towards us, isn’t it?”

senses deaf to anything that isn’t related to you, jooyeon almost even forgets about the throb on the back of his skull. he gulps nervously, waiting with baited breath as you approach him with an apologetic smile, “i am so sorry. my friend hit the ball a little too hard and it bounced off of my arm. are you alright?”

jooyeon bites back the urge to shake his head, ‘no, i am definitely not alright. far from okay even when you’re this close to me.’ 

“oh, no worries! it didn’t hurt much at all.” jungsu watches as his friend grabs the ball lying on the grass with both hands, handing it over to you. he hides a devilish smirk behind his hands resting in front of his face, propped up by his elbows resting on the table, “are you sure you are okay, jooyeon? you did look pretty out of it when it hit.”

your brows furrow in concern while jooyeon whips his head around, mouthing all sorts of words at him as his ears begin to flush around the tips. he turns back around to face you with a reassuring smile, “no, really! i’m quite okay, he is just teasing me. no worries, here’s your ball.”

“oh,” you thank him, giving him one last smile before stalking away from the two boys’ vicinity, “sorry again. you’re jooyeon, right?. i’ve got to get this back to the court, so i’ll see you around!”

feeling his knees giving out under him, he lies on the ground with his limbs sprawled all over, a sheepish grin painted on his lips. “jungsu, she was so pretty, wasn’t she?”

said friend nods, desperately trying to hold back his howls, “sure, yeah.”

[asteriismos]

flashing lights — bill denbrough

pairing: bill denbrough x fem! reader

warning(s): smut, eighteen! bill denbrough, is it choking if he doesn’t squeeze?, fingering, piv sex, cursing, ig kinda degrading idk tho judge for yourself, unedited

summary: bill, the star baseball player of derry, and you, from another high school, meet in the locker room and get to know each other. 

words: 3.1k

note: don’t say i never gave you anything i am a woman of my word

sitting here in the bleachers adjacent to the baseball field, with the setting sun in your gaze and the feeling of newly spring wind on your skin, you had high hopes that your schools baseball team would win. out of all the schools in lieu with your own, bangor high school, derry’s team was the most anticipated of in the season. where most high schools in the nation favored the fall sport of football, the central part of maine where you lived actually liked baseball more, so when the first sprouts of spring showed, everyone was excited for the next season. 

you were a senior, almost finished with school and personally tasked yourself and your group of friends with trying to go to every single baseball game that you all could make it to - whether they were at home or away. 

“look, he’s up to bat,” your friend marcella said, catching your attention by lightly tapping your shoulder and motioning to the field. there you saw your close friend owen, who was the star player of your school’s team and one of your friends since you were a little kid. he was the person who introduced you to the group that you were here with now, here specifically to cheer him on. 

you saw him walk to home plate, bat in hand and getting into position to swing. your eyes took you across from him to the pitcher of the other team, who you didn’t know but could see the name displayed on the back of his shirt. denbrough. you raised your eyebrow at the last name, it didn’t ring a bell. 

the crowd started to cheer for your friend, waiting for denbrough to throw the first pitch. everything became silent, and the ball was thrown with stellar accuracy. whoever this denbrough boy was, he was seemingly a really good pitcher. when the second ball was thrown and owen missed yet again, your hand ran through your hair nervously. you could hear people whispering all around you, wondering if he was going to strike out. 

just as if someone of the heavens was listening to the anxious worries of your fellow classmates, denbrough went to throw the ball and owen swung and the ball went flying, going straight for the outfield as owen ran with all his might to first base. you cheered with your friends, yelling words of encouragement and praise towards your team. 

the game, from that point, was in your high schools favor. it was seemingly decided almost halfway through that bangor high school had it in the bag, which did nothing for any person in your crowds ego. just as the last inning was finished, your school came out victorious. 

“hopefully this means that we’re going to the championships this year,” you heard people say. “and maybe we can host it at our school so we don’t have to drive all the way out here again.” 

you were anxious to see your friend, running down the stairs of the bleachers and shouting his name, but owen didn’t hear you. sighing, you turned to your group to say, “should we get back home?” the team would have to come back by bus anyways, which sucked, because you wanted to congratulate your friend on such a good win. 

“yeah, probably before it gets too late, you know how bad those backroads are,” jake stated. “do you want to catch a ride with me? im sure marcella can take your car back.” 

half of you wanted to go with them and just see owen later, but to you, it felt like poor taste to make him wait that long. plus, maybe you could catch him before he left. you shook your head, “no, i’ll stay. i want to see the team. go without me, I'll see you tomorrow.” 

jake laughed. “okay, just don’t get lost.” he wiggled his eyebrows in a teasing manner and walked away, taking your friends with him and leaving you alone in the front of derry high school. 

you had been here once before, just for a short while and after a baseball game like right now. but that was all the way back during freshman year when you were trying to find the bathroom, you really had no idea where the locker rooms were. 

opening the large door, you started along the main hallway, looking at the posters that aligned the wall that reminded you of your own school. derry was really similar in layout, so perhaps it wouldn’t be that hard. turning the corner, you saw a sign that pointed to the gym and the locker rooms. in no time you were there, but there was no one coming out of the doors. had they already left and you missed them? it was silent. 

you put your ear to the door and listened, hearing some rustling. you knocked, but there was no answer, making you raise your eyebrow. and you don’t exactly know what prompted you to open the wooden door and make your way inside, but you did, and along the array of closed lockers, your eyes took you to the one person who was in there. 

it was the denbrough pitcher. 

you got a good look of him now, with his honeyed locks that fell messy on his forehead, standing taller than you. his back was slightly turned to you and through his jersey you could see his toned back muscles, making you lose yourself for a moment and send you almost stumbling over your feet. you knew that he was attractive from the moment you set your eyes on him but you didn’t know that he was this attractive. 

he turned around now and immediately those dazzling cerulean blue eyes landed on you, making your face heat up in realizing that this was not the visitors locker room like you had intended on trying to find. 

“sorry,” you fumbled out after a moment of shameless staring. “I was looking for my friend.” denbrough tilted his head to the side and you watched him take out a bag and push his locker door closed. instead of walking out like you should’ve, you just stood there watching him. it was in poor taste, since the longer you looked at him, you could see clearly that he was angry. 

a tiny grin came to his face. “it’s fine, no one’s in here except me anyways.” a silent moment passed and then a quizzical look came to his face, eyes falling back on you. “wait . . . weren’t you cheering on the other team?” he had noticed you, just as you were now noticing him. the room seemed a lot smaller than it had earlier and you ignored the fluttering feeling in your stomach the longer he stared at you. you didn’t even know his name. 

“yeah, it was a good game,” you shrugged your shoulders. 

“we should’ve won that game.” 

a cocky grin splayed on your features. “well, im sure you’ll get another shot next time.” you would have to play them again to secure a spot in the championships, it was still rather early in the season anyways. 

“will you be at the next game?” denbrough asked, he walked closer to you now, and there was a look in his eyes that was not easy to mistake. he was looking at you like you were a full course meal and he was the hungriest man on earth. and you liked the way that he looked at you, this gorgeous boy that you had barely met, and you wanted him to keep looking at you like that. well, you would rather him be doing other things. “maybe we could go do something together afterwards.” now you were certain of his likeness for you. 

you gave him a smirk. “well, i don’t know about that, i wouldn’t want to get involved with the opposing team.” when he noticed you were directly giving back the same energy he was giving, his feet stopped so he was just inches away from you. it took everything in you to keep yourself from grabbing him by those large muscles and - 

in a moment of weakness or just pure idiocy, you did exactly as you thought, lunging yourself forward, hands reaching for his face and pulling him into a searing kiss. when he reciprocated your movements, you had to stop another smirk from rising to your face, pushing it down and focusing on your hands that made it’s way to his soft hair. 

your kiss was unexpected by denbrough, though seemingly not unwelcome since his hands found their place exploring your sides, not being exactly gentle with his touches which you didn’t mind. this was so unlike you, doing something like this with someone you didn’t know. and to be honest, it was unlike him, too. 

but both of you were giving each other the ‘fuck me’ eyes and well, you only live once, right? 

as the kiss became more sloppy and he broke it to press kisses to your jawline and trailing down your neck, you breathed out and closed your eyes. “I don’t even know your name.” you sighed into his touches though, not really caring what his name was but knowing that it would probably be useful sometime soon. 

denbrough came back up to meet your gaze. “it’s bill,” he gave you a grin. “pleasure to meet you.” there was a sense of teasing in his tone, which you would’ve laughed at if his hands weren't reaching for where your shirt met your pants. 

“y/n,” you said weakly, already feeling your legs start to give out by the way that he was looking at you. you reached out to bill, wanting to feel his body pressed against yours again. he chuckled at your eagerness, giving you what you wanted by slowly pushing you against the lockers behind you. you felt the cool metal through your shirt and instantly realized how hot it was getting in this locker room, your skin was already on fire. 

bill reattached his lips to your skin and you spent the time trying to undo the belt that was around his pants that nicely accentuated everything that you wanted from him. thank god for baseball pants. 

tentatively, you pressed your hips against his and you heard a groan leave his throat, his lips stalling for a moment and then going back to his earlier movements. you were well aware of how excited he was, taking a moment to note that you could feel that he was absolutely fucking enormous. 

of course he was. 

as if he had enough of this teasing, his hand reached down and went straight under the band of your pants, being met with the wetness that was gathering in your panties. you bucked your hips forward into his hand and he smirked at how compliant you seemed to be with him. his other hand was gripping your side, keeping you close to him while the other pushed your panties to the side and the pad of his pointer finger came into contact with your slit. 

you moaned out and bill covered your mouth with his own, not kissing you but keeping it there. “so tell me,” he said, breath hot against you, finger tracing a line from your slick folds to your clit, making you almost keel over if it hadn’t been for his hand keeping you up and body pressing you farther into the locker. “this friend of yours, he was on your team wasn’t he?” 

you nodded, not trusting your voice. but he didn’t seem to like that, his hand stalling and not moving no matter how much you tried to gain friction. 

“answer me with words,” the hand on your side coming up to the bottom of your throat so you were forced to look at him in the face, those blue eyes on him seemingly had become darker. 

you took in a sharp breath. “yes,” you answered. his movements started again, but this time he took one finger and pushed it inside you till he was knuckle deep in, a large moan falling off of your tongue, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. 

“and how do you think he would feel seeing you like this for me? the star player of the other team?” bill’s tone was condescending and you wondered if he was normally like this, or he was just angry about the outcome of the game. his finger sped up, soon being joined with another one that slipped in with ease. you were so wet for him already. “but you wouldn’t care, would you?” 

it was seemingly rhetorical, because he didn’t wait for you to answer and instead attached his lips to your throat, teeth grazing a point that had you gasping, hand coming and tugging on those locks of his, the other falling to his neck. 

“bill,” you muttered. “please just-” you were cut off by a moan, gripping him close as his thumb came into contact with your clit and rubbed tight circles against it. 

he looked up at you from the mess he was creating on your neck. “please what?” 

“just fuck me.” 

you were really in no position to be making such requests since bill seemed to be in control (which really, you didn’t mind if it meant that he was making you feel good in the process), but at this point you were too strung out to care what he thought of the rather forward request. you knew that you needed him and you needed him now. 

bill pulled away from you and you took in his now ragged features, noticing the tint of red in his cheeks and the freckles that dotted them, and the goldenness that he seems to radiate. in some ways you hoped that this wouldn’t be your only encounter with the denbrough boy, but that was something to worry about later, since his hands were undoing the rest of his belt and you knew that was your cue to do the same with your own pants. 

soon enough you were back in the same position, one of his hands next to your head on the locker behind you as he moved to position his cock at your entrance, eyes meeting with yours as he pushed in to look at your reaction. and it was everything that he hoped to see, your mouth opening into an ‘o’ shape, lips parted and eyes never leaving his own. 

once he bottomed out, he already started a fast rhythm, giving you little to no time to adjust. but you were so needy you didn’t care, not one bit because he was making you feel so good that you wished for this moment to last forever. and you were already so wet and willing, bill couldn’t wait a second longer. 

your hands gripped onto his forearms, steadying yourself, but it was hard to keep your legs from giving out. bill must've noticed your struggle and leaned down, grabbing you by the back of your thighs and hoisting you up in his arms, using the leverage of the locker to fuck into you. 

the change in position made you quiver in his arms like putty, arms wrapping around his neck and caging him close to you. incoherent words fell from your mouth that wouldn’t close no matter how hard you tried, while his pace became fast, rough, and unrelenting. you didn’t know bill well but you could tell that he was adamant about making you feel good, which fueled the fire inside of you even more. 

if he was tired from playing the game, he didn’t even show it. bill fucked into you with such a frenzy that it was almost animalistic, which made you wonder how much energy this boy possibly had. what you didn’t know was it was your moans what were spurring him on, your moans that kept him going. bill had already been to point of exhaustion from the game but you were able to give him a second wind and he was not fucking up this one like he had fucked up in the game. his determination both of the field and in this moment caught up with him and well, he was bringing all of his emotion out. 

and you loved it so much that you couldn’t think straight. all you could do was try and keep yourself still, words stringing together into barely put together sentences of oh fuck yes and that feels so good. 

it was a moment of pure bliss that you didn’t even feel yourself start to clench around him, noticing it finally when you felt every inch of him scrape against your willing walls, bringing you closer to that cliff into a sea of pleasure that only he could give you. what finally made you break was the groans that he was making, which were hot and heavy and like heaven to your ears that you knew you would be playing on repeat before you went to sleep tonight. 

and then his hand slipped between your legs, pressing up against your swollen clit and that was it. you were sent into a state of pure, fucked out bliss as you came around him, your moans everything but silent. luckily there seemed to be no one around to hear, and if they did they didn’t bother with stopping it.

a few thrusts afterwards and with an insistent command from you to cum inside you because you were on the pill, bill came undone and it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in his life. as if this boy couldn’t get more perfect, haven been basically sent to you on a gift from god himself. he pulled out and you could feel the evidence slightly dripping out of you and onto your thighs. 

there was a moment of cleaning up, where he actually grabbed a towel from his locker and helped you wipe away everything and eventually sit down onto the bench between the sides of lockers. where you thought would be awkwardness, there wasn’t, a few words passed between the two of you and then you told him that you should go, you had to drive home. 

surprisingly, he asked if you needed help and then you remembered you barely knew him and shook your head. it was late anyways, he probably had things to do. 

and when you got control of your limbs again (which bill cheekily smirked at), you walked out of the high school, him trailing behind you. you gave him one last look before parting ways, and in the heat of the moment, you told him your number and to call him if he ever wanted to get together again. 

[cursestothemoon]

a dumbeldore one please! ahfdikggkjk jk- dom!harry seduces y/n in a cafeteria and sub!y/n loves him and yeah hot smut iafhkggkhoojkgk

~🦋

i was so worried someone would request like Dumbledore x Mad Eye with spanking or something and i could NOT handle that

anyway

Don't Let Them Know

H.P. X FEM!READER

17+ IF YOU ARE TAGGED AND DON’T WANT TO BE TAGGED IN SMUT PLEASE LET ME KNOW

warnings: NSFW, dom!Harry/sub!reader, vaginal penetration, oral (female receiving), strong language, public sexual interaction, UNEDITED, also kinda short im sorry :)

"Keep quiet." Harry muttered into your ear.

Before you could turn to ask him about the odd request you felt his hand trail up your exposed thigh.

Harry's palm was warm and calloused from extensive quidditch training, the rough wood of his broom doing little to keep his hands soft.

His hand left a faint red path in its midst, the dry callouses and old blisters scratching against the sensitive skin of your thigh.

And you loved it.

You bit your lip in hopes to abide to his request, keep quiet.

Suddenly the Great Hall had gone fuzzy, the feeling of Harry's thumb circling your clit over your underwear the only thing you could focus on. The only thing you wanted to focus on.

You wrapped your hand around his wrist in between your thighs, each muscle and tendon you could feel as he rotated his hand; Harry had beautiful hands.

The barely there pressure on your clit was infuriating, it was just enough for you to feel him, the walls of your pussy clenching at the mere thought but light enough to have your teeth leaving indents in your lip as you refrained from whining.

Harry moved his thumb from your clit entirely, making your leg bounce in annoyance until you felt the rough pads of his fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.

You leaned over, as subtly as you could, and whispered hurriedly into his ear, "Harry, please."

All you received in return was a smirk and a glance, his lip just barely curling to give you the smug expression.

"Don't let them know."

He said it so quickly and nonchalantly you almost missed it, not realizing the words were directed to you, nevertheless, you caught it and nodded eagerly.

Butterflies erupted in your belly along with a ball of searing hot arousal as Harry dips his hand into your panties. His index and middle finger catch your clit in their descent down to your entrance and start to tease the sensitive nub with rough, drawn out circles.

Slowly he started to quicken his pace, your underwear no doubt a mess by now with just how desperately your cunt was weeping for him.

Harry's fingers circled and circled and circled your clit. Each ridge, callous, and crease adding to the heavenly friction of his fingers against your throbbing clit.

"More potatoes?"

The sudden reality shock made you gasp and look at Dean Thomas bewildered.

"N-no that's alright, thanks." You staggered out as normal as you were able to.

Harry's fingers never stopped and you could hear the faint chuckle fall from his lips at your minor predicament. Merlin, what those lips were capable of.

Luckily, Dean didn't seem to find your behavior odd- or at least if he did he had the decency not to mention it.

Your mind slipped back into the lustful haze it was in prior to Dean's interruption. Harry's two digits moved down through your slick folds to tease your entrance, the heel of his palm now rubbing against your clit.

Harry shifted to lean into your neck, the smell of his cologne overwhelming your senses and causing your eyes to roll back.

"Go on, fuck yourself with my fingers. Get yourself off, without so much as a peep." He whispered harshly against your skin, causing goosebumps to flourish on your skin.

You were quick to place your hand in your panties, over his own, and started to use your fingers to push his inside of your entrance. You continued on like that, using Harry's hand to fuck yourself. An orgasm was fast approaching and you were biting your lip raw trying to keep yourself together.

"Dumb baby's taking too long." Harry growled to himself, though it was loud enough for you to hear.

He through your hand out and away from your cunt before starting to thrust his fingers into you, faster and harder. The heel of his palm roughly gridding against your aching clit with each thrust of his digits.

You could feel your breath starting to get ragged, your chest heaving and toes curling all while you tried your hardest to keep your composure. Dinner in the Great Hall may have been loud, but Harry could get you louder.

Harry had an unbreakable poker face, he continued to laugh along with Ron's jokes and add in short one liners into conversations here and there- it was beyond impressive. He turned to catch your eye as the walls of your tight pussy started to spasm around his fingers, you were close.

It was your expression that nearly had Harry's mask of indifference crack, with your pouty lip and blown out eyes you just looked so subby he had to refrain himself from grabbing you by the throat and pulling you into a heavy kiss.

"Cum, I've got you, darling." Harry reassured quietly, showing no mercy in his movements.

You did as you were told, forehead falling against Harry's shoulder as you kept completely quiet and mostly still- apart from your cunt clenching around Harry's fingers as you came.

"You alright, Y/n?" It was Dean again.

"Cramps," Harry answered without missing a beat. "Think I should be taking her up to her dorm, poor thing needs some rest."

Dean nodded apologetically as you lifted your head from Harry's shoulder.

Harry shifted, fingers still slowly pumping in and out of you, to place a kiss onto your hairline.

Just when you thought the torture was over, all you had left to endure was a quick trip up to your dorm, but how wrong you were. The clang of a metal utensil sounded from next to you- Harry had dropped his fork.

Wordlessly, he moved off of his seat- pulling his fingers out of you whilst doing so- and crouched down to the floor. He picked up the fork, but before getting back in his seat he turned to make eye contact with you.

Lust was prominent in his eyes, a small smirk playing on his lips as he lifted his fingers to his mouth and sucked off all your juices.

You let out a small whine as he stood up, pulling you with him.

"Night, sods, need to go take care of my girl." Harry bid goodnight to his friends.

Dean waved as you started to leave the table, "Feel better!"

tags:

@amourtentiaa

@lifeofkaze

@siriusement

@erinruby003

@maybesandohnos

@onlyfreds