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bunni-v1 · 16 hours ago

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I just saw the teasing, but shy / brat taming story. Can I request kinda similar but kinda opposite, MC who is shy and likes to tease but is actually a good girl? 🧡

I personally like to tease, I love seeing them start to lose it because they start to get so turned on but they know they can't do anything about it. (Not in an angry way tho, if that makes sense?) But I'm also very much a good girl, while I very slightly might test boundaries, I live to please. I don't see many stories for us good girls, (also pillow princess stories are quite rare) so if you feel comfortable, I would love to see this version also. 😄

Such a Good Girl~

Necessary marc tag: @cilomarc

🍓I saw this and IMMEDIATELY started brainstorming. Other than when I was writing Cookie Run, this is the fastest I've gotten to a request. Now, It might've taken me a little longer than I wanted to get it done... but shut up. Now I'm not sure how loyal I was to the prompt, I kinda just... got lost while writing. Still, I do hope that it's what you were looking for my love <3

TW: Brat tamer Zayne & Sylus; Mean Xavier; Oral Receiving (Rafayel) & Giving (Caleb); Use of "Good Girl"; BLATANT Caleb favoritism; Grammar Errors

Info: NSFW; Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x Reader (separate); Short drabbles

Total Word Count: 6.2k words (individual count listed with character)

MDNI

ZAYNE (1.2k Words)

You don't even remember what you did to get yourself in the position in the first place. Well, you do, but you felt too lightheaded to think about it now. Zayne had you pressed close to his chest, head resting on his shoulder, and dick nice and snug inside your tight little hole. There was a pressure deep in your stomach that couldn't be relieved without movement, but he refused you the option, hands stilling your hips when they wiggled even a fraction.

Maybe, coming into Zayne's office during work hours in his favorite skirt wasn't the greatest idea you'd had. He was only so patient, especially when it came to you and your teasing. He let you play dumb for a little while, because it made you happy, and it's not like he didn't enjoy seeing the soft curve of your ass in the tight fabric as you waltzed around. It was almost cute the way you played dumb, like you didn't notice the way his eyes trailed after you and his pen stilled occasionally to observe you.

It was only meant to be a cute little game between the two of you, one you didn't expect to yield the results it did. But when he beckoned you over, pulling you between his legs by your hips, your fate was sealed. He had his usual calm expression, but his eyes were alight with need, drinking you in with each rove over your curves. The hands on your hips slid down to your thighs, then back up again, feeling the expanse of soft flesh as if it were his personal comfort.

His eyes find yours when he finally speaks, "Is there a reason you chose this skirt today?"

A little smile crawls up your face, almost shyly, "I thought you might like it."

His eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, lifting his chin just slightly in affirmation. His fingers pull you closer by the backs of your thighs, drumming up and up until they rest atop your butt. It's not a science to tell that he's very pleased with your answer, no need for a rigorous degree to read him, he spells it out for you without needing to be asked.

"I do," he hums, kneading your cheeks in his hands, "Were you hoping for a reward?"

Direct and to the point as always, you couldn't hide from him. There was no attempt with the way you flustered, eyes flitting around nervously while you nodded your answer. Far too cute, if you asked him. He tapped your bottom, and like a trained dog, you looked back at him with fluttering lashes.

"If you can be nice and patient, I'll give you what you want," he hums, tilting his head so the light catches in his eyes just so, "You can do that for me, can't you?"

And that's how you'd ended up throwing your legs on either side of him and curling into his neck like a lifeline. You'd cock warmed him before, it wasn't a challenge to sit still and let him work. The stagnant pleasure was something you had come to enjoy, an intimacy that set butterflies free in your stomach every time he offered for you to do it. What was difficult to deal with, though, was the tension in built in your head.

You knew how your night would end, obviously. The issue lay in not knowing when Zayne believed the reward awaiting you was earned. You were always his good girl; you knew you were so well behaved, he told you all the time. There was simply no measure that could properly count when you had behaved well enough for your treat. That was up to Zayne to decide, and it could span from minutes to hours of waiting. That was the fun of it, though.

He would tap his fingers along your sides when the time was getting closer. Physical affection and comfort pick up, as a little warning. You think it's mostly subconscious, more for himself than it was for you. Fingers slide up and down your spine, kisses pressed to the side of your face in reassurance, or arms pulling you just a little closer.

Your nerves jitter in excitement when he sets his pen down, the soft shuffle of papers being moved out of the way, the most exciting sound in the world. Gentle hands pull your face into view, stroking over your warm cheeks as an apology for making you wait so long. You smile at him, leaning into his hands, craving that skin-to-skin contact more than you'd realized.

"You want to move, don't you?" He asks, though it comes out as more of a statement.

Adamantly, your head bobs up and down, "Yes, Sir."

He hums, copying your nodding, "Go ahead then, you've earned it."

Not needing to be told twice, you use his shoulders as leverage to bounce yourself up and down in his lap. Slow and steady motions to start, dragging his length along your walls, taking in each inch of pleasure with delight. All the while, he watches you, making sure you behave like you're meant to. Both of you know you will, you'd never do anything to purposely upset him, but the thought of him watching for little slip-ups gets the heat boiling beneath your skin.

His hands rest on your hips, not helping, just resting patiently. Just in case. You try not to think too hard about it, focusing in on the task you were given. Taking in the comforting feeling of him buried deep inside you, dragging along your walls like he was made to be there. The pleasant squelching sounds filling up his normally quiet office, encouraging you to keep going even though your legs start to burn.

His head leans back, getting more comfortable in his chair, content just watching you use him. His hands squeeze in patterned intervals to further encourage you to chase your high. Quiet, watchful, and entirely taken with you. The flush on his cheeks was more than enough to signal that you were performing exactly as he wanted; there was no need to vocally pronounce it when he made it so obvious to you. Heated gaze committing every little shift in expression to memory, utterly obsessed with the way you fall apart so obediently.

And fall apart you do, movements quickly becoming sloppy. It's too difficult to raise your hips in the same motion over and over, so you've taken to rolling them instead. Your orgasm is quickly building, coiling up your spine and fuzzing up your brain deliciously. You can't cum without permission, though. You don't want to misbehave and face punishment. Luckily, Zayne knows you too well, sensing your need from the way your hips seem to stutter and how you clench in uneven patterns now.

One hand cradles your chin between loving fingers, tilting your face toward his. Those sinful green eyes glimmer with knowing, looking over your flushed face like reading a report. The smallest smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, head tilting to the side in a teasing motion.

"You want to cum?" He hums expectantly, and when you nod he continues, "Go on then, be good, cum for me."

And like magic, like your body has been trained to listen, that coil springs and snaps pleasure through your body. Your orgasm draws a long, low moan from your lips, your body falling forward against his shoulder. Despite the way it tingles from the intensity of the pleasure curling along every nerve, you feel the unmistakable gentle rub of practiced hands along your spine. Coaxing your body to relax into him, easing the heat encasing you just enough to keep you lucid.

Your reward for being so good for him.

XAVIER (1.2k Words)

Xavier loves the way you like to play with him - it's cute how you tentatively poke at him, then hide away the second he questions you. It's a little game he likes to play with you: play dumb and see how far you'll let yourself get before you self-correct your behavior. He doesn't even have to do anything; you give yourself up for him every single time with a flutter of your lashes and a pout.

Just like today, you were testing your limits again, and he was happily playing oblivious. It started with some poking to his cheek and his side, annoying, but nothing he wasn't used to. The way you lit up when he hummed in acknowledgement set a chill down his spine. You didn't stop there, eventually letting your cute little innocent poking evolve into firm grasps. Nowhere too risqué, on his arms or holding his waist as though that was where your hands belonged.

He'd slid his hand over yours at that point, quietly warning you that he was on to you. Not to negate, just to tell, a reminder of who was in charge of whom. You took it as an invitation and worked yourself up to more teasing touches. Featherlight as your hand grazed over his chest and above his thighs, still too good to push further than that. Your intention was clear without needing to go further, though, and it brought Xavier great excitement to see how you shrank back from giving in to your wants.

You didn't have to worry about it, and you knew that fact. Xavier was ready to hand it over to you on a silver platter, just waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It came when your fingers strayed just a little too high up his thigh, not intentionally, but the perfect excuse to grab them firmly. Bringing the hand to his lips, kissing their tips with such devotion, you nearly forget that he'd caught you in the act. Those pretty blue puppy dog eyes darken slightly when he gazes at you, intent clear as day in their sparkle.

"You've been quite playful today, starlight," He mumbles against your skin, "Are you hoping for something from me?"

You fluster immediately, just like he expected you to, because you're so scared of being bad for him. You hate it when he's mad, so you nod obediently. His other hand tilts your head gently, as if it's a suggestion of movement rather than a command. You listen regardless, moving your face as he likes, swallowing when his thumb grazes over your lip. He watches your tongue dart out after it, like you were trying to get a taste of what he left behind. That makes him more of a mess than he'd be willing to admit, breath shaking with his next exhale.

"Don't worry about telling me," He says, moving forward in a swift motion, pressing you to the couch cushions easily, "I already know what you need, just behave and I'll give it to you, okay?"

Another helpless nod, and he is hovering over you like a predator who'd just caught his prey. Sliding your clothes out of his way, not bothering to take anything off fully, far too preoccupied to care about such a trivial matter now. He only makes sure you're wet enough before he pushes inside your tight heat. It takes all his self-control not to moan out loud, mouth finding your neck to distract his brain with a different task for the moment.

He laves at the skin there, soft tongue sending shivers down your spine as it runs along the sensitive spots he's able to find like second nature. He works his way up to the shell of your ear, nipping and kissing along your jaw, buying time for your world to stop spinning before he sends it out of orbit again. You can feel the satisfied smirk against your ear, whining when the ghost of his teeth nibble along it.

"You're already so wet, you took me with no problem," He whispers, wiggling against you for emphasis, "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you? How naughty, here I thought you were so well behaved."

You tug at his shirt, letting out an annoyed whine. Insistent, defiant, denying the idea that you had misbehaved. You hadn't, after all, he let you do all of it after all. He smiles, pulling back to look at your angry little pout.

"No?" He hums, and you confirm with a nod, "You think you're a good girl?"

You agree, vigorously nodding your head so hard he worries you might give yourself whiplash. Your angry pout makes him want to kiss you stupid, but he holds back on that. Only good girls get that treatment, and he wasn't so sure you'd earned the title yet. Instead, he presses his face close, just a hair's width away. Refusing to kiss you, but allowing you to desire it enough that he can see the need on your face.

"Why don't you prove it, then," He asks, rolling his hips once, "if you cum for me, maybe I'll reconsider my judgment."

With that, he begins his movements, sending your head spinning yet again with the pace he sets. Never one to waste time when he had you laid out so openly beneath him, he pistons himself into your wet heat at a steady but quick rhythm. Each drag manages to hit each spot against your spongy walls perfectly, getting you dizzy within moments of him starting. Your grip on his shirt tightens, using the fabric as a means of bracing yourself against the warmth spreading across your body.

It doesn't do anything for how quickly he manages to get you babbling, knowing your body better than you do. Those deep blue eyes watching you submit yourself willingly, knowing well that you would before he started. You always behaved so well for him; he just liked making you work for his praise. The angry expressions as you fought his accusations off, making him stupidly hot and bothered. Making the way your face absolutely scrunched up and losing itself to the heat of the moment all the more satisfying.

It doesn't take you long to reach your peak, not with how easily he works your body like this. Knowing exactly how to move his hips for you, like it was instinct to get you to fall apart on him. You cry out his name, fingers balling the fabric of his shirt like it would help you somehow. Cute, cute, cute sings inside his head, over and over, like he was losing his mind. He sees the moment the invisible thread in you snaps, and feels it as you grip around him as though trying to drag him down with you.

Instinctively, he comes down to kiss you, giving you your just rewards for being so good for him. The gentle reprieve he gives you makes it all worth it, though.

Mumbling against your moans his soft praises, "Good girl, keep going, give me all you can."

RAFAYEL (1k Words)

The only thing in the world Rafayel likes more than you is your attention. Knowing you're looking at him, having the awareness that you are encapsulated by him makes him happier than he'd be willing to admit to you. Something about the reassurance that you are there, and that you find him as mesmerizing as he does you, helps to calm his raging heart. Quells the burning fire of his yearning to a low simmer, no longer consuming him whole, but warming him from the cold of memories that still haunt him.

That attention of yours was addicting, and you were simply unaware of the effect you had on him. Which is why he felt as though he'd been going through withdrawals all day, a notable lack of your eyes on him driving him nuts. Yes, you were busy and he was oh so understanding of that... but he could only take so much. It was getting to be unfair at this point.

First, you wouldn't let him pull you back into the sheets, scolding him about 'work' and 'responsibility'. You sounded like Thomas, but he didn't complain too much that time, content to watch you get ready; the show was compensation enough. Then, audaciously, you refused to send him any pictures. Wouldn't even amuse the lighthearted flirting, too busy running around being a hero to pause for him. What made it all worse, when you got home, you were 'too tired' and 'just wanted to eat and nap'.

Fine, okay, whatever. He'll make you a tasty, nutrient-full meal and cuddle you on the couch while you talked about your day. He doesn't bring it up again, wouldn't push you when you seem so genuinely exhausted. He can go without for you, he did it for hundreds of years, what's a day?

It's fine until you start to get restless, wiggling about this way and that and pressing into him very intentionally. It clicks when you glance over your shoulder, pouting expectantly. You'd tortured him on purpose, how mean.

He pulls you back, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a smug satisfaction. The ends of his hair tickle your cheek when he pulls you into a deep and insistent kiss, not allowing you the time to catch up. He goes until you're dizzy, wiping away the string of saliva connecting you with that familiar playful smile of his, then it drops.

Annoyance, and that pout you hate to love stare you down, "Tell me, Cutie, were you intent on torturing both of us today?"

You shake your head, ready to deny him, but it catches in your throat. He nudges your nose admonishingly, almost daring you to say no. You'd played your mean little game, and he obeyed your rules, it was time for his reward; And he would be getting it. No matter what.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, "I didn't think I'd get this far."

He huffs, like he doesn't believe you, tracing your lip with his thumb.

"Talk is useless. Why don't you show me how sorry you are?" He rumbles out, eyes darkening in his desire.

You drop to your knees like you were being mind-controlled, freeing him from the confines of his pants. He stands at attention, proud and aching for your pretty lips to wrap around him. It makes you feel worse for playing hard to get all day, knowing how he must've been so needy this whole time. Those observant eyes watch you with hardly restrained excitement, twinkling down at you encouragingly.

You slide your thumb over the tip, spreading the pearly pre over it. There's an obscene amount of it, proof of how long he'd been keeping himself together, dripping down your hand. Absent-mindedly, you lean down to lick it up from where it slides down your wrist, following it back to the source. Salty and a little bitter, you ignore the taste for the sheer satisfaction of making him feel good.

You lick up what you spread around, popping the tip in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. He curses your name like it were sin itself. Sensitive and desperate. You use it as motivation to take him in, inch by inch, until your throat tickles, then you pull back. Wrapping what you couldn't fit in your mouth with your hand, beginning languid motions back and forth. Sucking, swirling, pleasing him just how you know he likes.

You want to make it up to him, feeling so bad for teasing him the way you did. You really didn't mean any harm, but from how he was throbbing along your tongue, you know you did. Using your mouth to make it up to him was the least you could do. Apologizing with each hum you send along his shaft, sending your sorry directly through his nervous system.

A hand runs through your hair, scratching your scalp soothingly in reward. Not that you've earned it, but he can't be too mean when you're just so good for him. The prettiest sight he's ever seen, lips wrapped around him while you desperately try to keep eye contact between the fluttering of your lashes. All your attention was his now, and he was happy to hog it all unashamedly, just like you were to suck him off for hours.

He thought about letting you, he thinks you may even deserve the way your knees would sting after the fact, but he can't help but be weak for you. Not when he had a lot more he wanted to get done tonight. The gentlest tug is all it takes for you to pop off him, swallowing up air as though you'd been drowning. He smiles, wiping a little bit of spit running down your chin. His messy little masterpiece.

"You can take all of it, can't you?" He asks, and you nod in a daze, licking your lips.

He allows you to take him again, helping you take more and more down your throat until he's settled there like it's where he belongs. You breathe through your nose, face scrunched up in concentration, trying so hard to make it up to him. It's so charming, making his heart race and sending the blood right back to his dick.

It's not enough, though; he needs you to look at him.

"Cutie," he hums, and you look up at him, glassy-eyed and desperate for approval. He smirks, "Such a good, obedient girl for me, I think I can forgive you this once if you keep it up."

SYLUS (1.2k Words)

Sylus was a very busy man, something you knew intimately after being with him for so long. Frequently, he was off somewhere in the N109 Zone doing something that you were safer turning a blind eye to than asking about. You'd spend weeks at a time without seeing him, alone in your apartment as you worry needlessly about his well-being. He always came back in perfect condition, smirking at you as though your worry was some pointless thing, teasing you for how much you care.

Being with him was difficult, but ultimately worth it in the long run. The way he took care of you far outweighed the periods where you could not physically have him with you. Though... sexually... You felt your resolve waver just a bit.

You found yourself very pent up in the weeks that he was gone, and there was only so much your fingers or toys could do to satiate the heat that boiled in your tummy. Pictures and videos of your previous times together helped, but also made it worse at the same time. You just wanted him: his warmth, his touch, his taste. Devastatingly addictive, and you felt strung out without him at your side.

You'd send him pictures and videos, hoping he'd return the favor when he gets the chance. Sometimes he'd call you and talk you through it, cooing at you as though you were an insatiable kitty and not his very needy partner. Naturally, given your human nature, you can only handle so long before you start feeling petty.

Normally, you wouldn't deprive yourself when he comes home to you, whispering syrupy sweet words into your ear. Not this time. No, you wanted him to have a taste of how frustrated you would get. Since he seemed to find it oh so funny when you got all needy, let's see how he liked it.

You forgot how patient he was.

He could reasonably wait several millennia, and you were finding that out the hard way. He was a stone wall of impartialness; nothing could shake him, and within a week, you felt your resolve rapidly crumbling. He knew this, of course, he always knew. Yet, he let you play your game without a peep. It only made you more infuriated, need burning in your stomach every time you looked at him, trapped in a prison of your design.

You give in a week and three days into your little facade, frustrated and pent up, and by Astra needing him to do anything for you. He looks up at you like he was expecting your arrival at his office door. You're not aware of the cute little pout on your face, nor the way you nervously fiddle with the hems of his oversized shirt sleeves. And, goodness, he questions himself on how he could possibly hold out for so long when you're just so radiant.

You stop short of his desk, positioning yourself with arms crossed as you glare at him. He regards you with a tilt of his head, leaning back in his chair like a king on his throne. It's not meant to be intimidating, but it sends a chill up your spine. Fuck he was unfairly sexy, wasn't he? How could you purposely ignore him for some stupid petty pride?

You take a deep breath, sighing out your apology, "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" He hums, amusement thickening his voice.

"For avoiding you," you continue, stepping forward like owning up to it, "I was just..."

"Frustrated?" He finishes for you.

In a ridiculously smooth movement, he stands, walks to your side, and gently guides you to his couch. You are lying down across his lap, head propped up by a pillow against the arm, looking up at him with wonder. A large hand rests on your thigh, sliding your skirt to pool around your waist as you prop your knees up. Fingers stop just short of the apex of your thigh, tapping patiently along the soft skin there instead.

"It must be so difficult, being without me for so long," he purrs, "I can only imagine so, since you thought to play such a silly game with me."

You frown, resisting the urge to clench your thighs, "I just wanted you to feel how frustrated I was."

"You think I don't miss you when I'm away?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes like it was an offensive thought.

"Not as much as I miss you," you spit back.

He releases a huff of a laugh, squeezing your thigh, and you realize too late you've fallen into his trap, "Oh really? I suppose not, then. Tell me, though, what exactly do you do when you miss me?"

He knows what you do, of course, and he takes great pleasure in the videos you send. That does not stop him from quickly dipping his fingers into your underwear, finding the wetness pooling there pleasing, "Do you touch yourself like this?"

His fingers, long and slender and precise, swirl over your clit in practiced motions. The movements seem sloppy, but it's far from unintentional. He's mocking you, discarding his usual smoothness for how he imagines your fingers might play with the needy bud. It's annoyingly accurate, which is why you melt so easily. You missed his touch so badly, unable to move your fingers in the same way he can, far less precise and sure of yourself.

You nod, swallowing hard, "I can't touch myself like you do."

"Poor little kitten," he soothes, mercifully correcting his motions to the tight circles you missed, "Don't worry, I'm here now. I'll touch you as much as you want."

Flimsily, you grab his tie, giving it a gentle tug, "Kiss me, please."

He doesn't waste any time in giving in to your commands, lips finding yours in a slow and passionate kiss that gets you sighing. You had missed him so badly, you were so needy, and now he was kissing you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. Your little game was stupid anyway, the pettiness melting to make way for your desire to please and be pleased.

You moan into his mouth when his fingers dip into your heat, dragging along your walls, reaching far deeper than you could've dreamed. He's skilled with his movements, curling them along the most sensitive spots he'd taken time to memorize. Somehow, knowing your body better than you do. Which is why it's no surprise you cum quickly, orgasm coming without warning and leaving you breathless against his lips.

He's muttering your praises, 'very good', 'that's it', 'perfect', and it only makes you more hazy. How he could be so sweet to you after you were so stupid was beyond you, but you didn't want him to stop. He doesn't, intrinsically knowing what you need without voicing it, and soon you are working through your second consecutive orgasm. Then your third, until you are finally coming down from your high with his steadfast praises ringing through your mind.

"Thank you," you mumble.

"Thank you," He answers, pressing a soft kiss to your nose.

CALEB (1.6k Words)

You didn't mean to tease him, honestly. It was innocent. It was always something innocent... until it wasn't. Until you managed to push enough that he decided it wasn't, because there was no way he was rock hard over some harmless little antics of yours. Or, maybe it was the fact that it was so innocent that got him so hot and bothered.

As much as he loathes to admit it, he gets a kick out of defiling you. You call it a kink, he calls it human nature (only for him, though, forbid another man thinks about the things he does.) Regardless, you tease him without meaning to all the time. The comfortableness you feel with each other allows your walls to come down, and unintentionally make something else of his rise. It was a good thing to be so comfortable with your partner, after all, you'd insist. Not realizing what seeing you in nothing but his oversized t-shirt did to his mind.

It drove him wild the way your completely harmless antics managed to 'wake him up' so to speak. He felt like a helpless virgin, which... he sort of was before you, but he figured he'd grow out of that phase eventually. Feels like it only got worse with time, and yet he wouldn't trade it for the world. Content to spend the rest of his days blue balling himself so long as he gets to live that sweet domestic bliss with you.

Currently, you are in the kitchen, working on the breakfast you'd insisted on making for him. Sweet as it was, Caleb was never really one to accept your acts of service without a fight, preferring to be the provider. It was a fight to get him to sit down and relax for once; one of his scarce days off should be spent decompressing, letting you treat him for once. He sat on the couch watching the news for all of ten minutes before he got annoyed and wandered to the kitchen.

He knew better than to get in your space, so he leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a glower. It softens when you send a smirk over your shoulder, brushing off his pouting effortlessly as you glide around his kitchen. It was too cute a sight to stay mad, anyway. His old t-shirt - the one he got from his high school honors program that he couldn't fit into anymore - hardly covers your ass, giving him just the smallest glimpse of your panties each time you reached up or shifted just right.

You shift from foot to foot as you work on the pancakes - apple cinnamon, his own recipe, of course. Hair pulled away so he could see the evidence of your late-night activities peek from just beneath the collar of his shirt. If that wasn't enough to send him into a catatonic state of domesticity, you would look at him every few moments, like you were waiting for him to do something. Sultry little pout tossed over your shoulder, gliding over his bare chest, just over the dick print in his grey sweats, then turning around like you weren't being the biggest tease in the world.

Normally, Caleb would let it slide. Normally, he'd roll off your teasing with a bright smile and a halfhearted scolding. Normally, he had somewhere to be in the morning, so he couldn't afford to give in. Today was not a normal day. Today was a rest day, and what better way to rest than indulging in all the desires he'd purposefully pushed off until now?

He cages you between his arms when you look away, moving a fluffy pancake to the plate set next to you. They looked perfect; you'd followed his recipe exactly. Too bad he wasn't craving pancakes right now, and judging from the way you giggle when his lips graze your shoulder, you weren't either.

"Feeling hungry?" You laugh, reaching a hand back to scratch the base of his skull like he was an overgrown mutt.

One of his hands slides to turn off the stove, then wraps around your hip, pressing you back into his crotch. You feel how hungry he is, poking at your buttocks through the minimal layers of clothing both of you are wearing. Open-mouthed kisses across all exposed flesh he could reach further incriminate him, urging you to give in.

"Starving," he groans.

"Well then," you hum, turning to face him - he doesn't leave your skin for a moment, moving with you, "dig in."

He moans, lifting you up to the counter with a swift heft, spreading you out pretty for him. His lips trace down the fabric of his shirt while his fingers inch it up over your hips, humming satisfied when they find skin to ravish again. He makes a fast trail to your clothed entrance, pressing his nose to the wet fabric and taking a deep whiff. Another groan grumbles out of his chest, and in another moment, he's licking along the slick staining the fabric.

You both moan at the sensation, Caleb's muffled by you and you by your hand. He tugs you closer, tossing your legs over his shoulders, surrounding himself with your thighs. No escape, not that he had any intention of leaving. He looks up at you, smiling when he notices how you try to hide, eyes darting around the room like that would help you.

Gently, he takes the hand covering your mouth, settling it firmly on his head. He doesn't let go of your wrist until you weave the soft locks through your fingers, scratching at his scalp just like you had earlier. You get an encouraging little smile for it, a soft kiss pressed to your thigh as a reward. His other hand tucking your panties to the side, revealing your hot sticky cunt to him. You clench reflexively when he licks his lips, amethyst eyes finding yours again as he spreads your lips.

Slowly, deliberately, without breaking eye contact, he leans down and kisses your clit. Your mouth falls open because that might just be the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life. You think you might need a million pictures of the way he looks at you as his lips pucker against the sensitive bud. Unfortunately, you don't get to stare at it for too long, as Caleb is as insatiable as he is in love with you. Eyes falling closed as he brings his tongue across your folds, lapping the juices there up like a thirsty dog.

Your fingers curl tightly into his scalp at the sensation, pressing him closer with a pathetic noise. Somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, addicting to a man like Caleb. His mouth dips down to your entrance, a loud slurping ringing in your ears as he drinks up the juices that leaked out from your needy hole. Tongue working in steady rolls, still not quite experienced, but moving exactly like you needed him to. Your clit does not go neglected, nose nudging against it with his eager movements. His head bobbing excitedly with each shameless slurp, and he really does remind you of a dog like this.

When his tongue plunges as deep as he can get it, you whine out his name, thighs clenching around his head. It slides in far too easily, like it was made to be there, which certainly does something for his ego. You lock your feet behind his back, trying to roll your hips into his uneven rhythm with little success. Not that he needed the help, you were already tumbling over the edge when you lifted your hips the first time. Fucking yourself against his face, elongating your orgasm for as long as he allows you to. And he allows you to for a while, long enough that he's able to force a second one out of you in your frenzy.

Only when you slam your head against the cupboard does he force himself back, concern overpowering his need to eat you out until you can't speak. You whine at him, trying to force him back down, but he isn't having it as he checks you over. He laughs at you when he decides that you're fine, pinching your cheek like you were a petulant child and not his very overstimulated, needy girlfriend.

"You want more? You already came twice, pips." He laughs, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead.

Instead of responding, you press your foot to his hard on, taking great satisfaction at the way he hisses. He catches you by your ankle, tugging your legs open so he can stand between them again. You pull him into a heated kiss, scooting dangerously close to the edge of the counter so you can press into him. You feel his resolve crack instantly, kissing you back like you were the very oxygen he needed to breathe.

"I need you inside, please," you murmur into the desperate dance of lips on lips.

Without argument, he tugs himself out of his sweats, pressing himself against your heat, "Since you've been so good, I think I can be nice, just this once."

You gasp as the tip slides between your folds, lubricating himself up with a few thrusts, then sliding into your desperate hole with little resistance. The stretch is accompanied by low whispers in your ear, cooing and coaxing you, "Goooood girl, that's right, you take it so well," and "Breathe, princess, I've got you."

By the time you're done with each other, the pancakes are freezing cold, and Caleb decides it's time to start lunch instead. He's cooking this time.

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the-shedevil-writes · 10 hours ago

Text

Dog-Fight (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: You thought it was just a party. But you soon find out that it was a 'Dogfight'—a cruel contest where the men compete to bring the “ugliest” date they can find. And you were part of the joke. Humiliated and blindsided, you walk out, finding yourself at The Hard Deck. But there you find Bob Floyd. Quiet, kind, and nothing like the man who brought you there. WORD COUNT: 3.6k WARNINGS: Inspired by the movie Dogfight (1991). Emotional hurt/comfort. Reader owns a book store. Fluff! Asking out! Angst with a happy ending. Sorry Marines. NOTES: If ya'll like it, I'll write a part 2- cause I think Bob could confront the marine hehe MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

It was all her fault. She shouldn’t have believed a single word coming from that Marine’s mouth. She should’ve figured. When a tall, handsome brunette came into her bookstore, she should’ve sensed the trouble. But instead, she was swept up in the idea that maybe her storybook ending was finally beginning.

He had talked so smoothly. “Well, a fine lady like you oughta be at a party on a fine Saturday night like this. Not kept up in this stuffy old store.”

She had tried to put up a fight. Say that the store needed to be properly closed… But next thing she knew, she was running upstairs to throw on one of her dresses. She didn’t have many. So she settled for a springtime floral dress and some light makeup.

Well, now she walked down the sidewalk with that light makeup stained down her face. Her floral dress felt like a kid's uniform. The ‘party’ had turned out to be something the Marines call a ‘dogfight’. The man with the ugliest date was to be crowned the victor and win from a collected pool of money. But she didn’t stick around to find out if her date had won or not. Because when she overheard some of the other girls discovering the events' nature in the bathroom, she felt sick to her stomach.

With a prompt slap to her date, she stormed out of the party and was now walking aimlessly down a beach. She just needed to get away from it all. The ocean waves shushed her thoughts that rattled her head like a shaken box of bees. Was she really that hideous? Did her date win? How could she be naive?

Even though the night tides had a calming effect, she couldn’t help but get the compact mirror from her purse and check her makeup. Her mascara had run all down her cheeks, and her blush suddenly felt like too much. She combed through her hair with her fingers. It had gotten messy from all the dancing, because honestly, she was having a fun time before being awoken from her blissful ignorance.

Looking up, she noticed warm lights in the near distance. Acoustic guitar played from inside what looked like a beach bar. The sight of it felt like seeing an oasis in the middle of the desert. She wasn’t a heavy drinker in the slightest. But god damn it, after the night she had?

She stumbled through the sand in her heels toward the bar. Looking inside the open doors, it was cozy. There weren’t many patrons since it was getting a little late, and this seemed like the type of place older folks would attend. But even with that, she decided to duck into the bathroom first.

Once she got into the bathroom, she ran to the sink and splashed water on her face. She rubbed her makeup off, a difficult task without makeup wipes or remover. So her fingers instead rubbed her skin raw with nothing but water. She’d rather have a sad red face than look like a rodeo clown.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt this feeling of patheticness bubble up in her gut. Tears brimmed her already swollen eyes. She hiccuped and wiped them away as best as she could. But as she wiped away old tears, new ones formed. She couldn’t bear to look at herself anymore.

She ran out of the restroom, hiding her face by looking down at the tile floor. But as she came out into the small hallway, she accidentally bumped into someone with a surprised ‘OH!’

“I-I’m sorry-” She stammered out, not even looking at who she bumped into.

“It’s okay.” A gentle male voice said with just the subtlest hint of a midwestern accent.

But before she could look at who owned that pretty voice, she booked it down the hallway and towards the bar. It felt like the whole world was staring holes into her. Even though rationally, nobody was, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Like the walls were suffocating her.

The bartop felt like a checkpoint, and luckily, nobody else was sitting in any of the stools. She practically collapsed into a seat. Catching her breath, she looked up to find an older woman behind the bar. With dark hair and pitying eyes, the bartender made her way over to her.

“Hey, pretty girl. Rough night?” The bartender said affectionately, like a mother would. The nickname felt incredibly ironic.

She nodded and hiccuped. “Y-yeah.”

The bartender took in her disheveled appearance. She came in closer and put her hand on the bar. “Do I need to call for help?” Her eyes widened. “No. No. I’m okay. Just… I’m never letting a Marine take me out ever again.”

The bartender laughed with bitter relief.

“Well, they don’t typically come here, lucky for you. Just some Navy pilots since we’re right by Top Gun.” The bartender explained, pouring a rum and Coke, then a glass of water. She slid it over to her. “On the house. Name’s Penny. Holler at me if you need anything else.”

She looked up and nodded in appreciation. “Thank you.” She took a big sip.

Penny walked away to organize some of the crates under the bar. Leaving her to drink and sulk in peace. She sniffled and wiped her eyes with an exhale. Luckily, the conversation with Penny seemed to distract her just slightly. But her heart still felt heavy. She took another hefty swig. Hopefully, if she made it through this drink fast enough, it would all slam into her fast and lift her spirits.

But then suddenly, from behind her,

“Are you okay?” That same gentle voice from the hallway.

She swiveled in the stool and turned to connect a face to the voice. A handsome face at that. With wide cobalt blue eyes behind a pair of wire-framed glasses, he looked at her with a sense of genuine concern.

But then she looked down and saw his khaki uniform. Military. Unsure of what. But military. And she had experienced enough humiliation for the night. Fool her once…

“I’m fine.” She turned back around and sipped her drink.

“I saw you in the hallway, and you were crying. So I just wanted to check up on you.”

“Sorry, you’re barking up the wrong tree, bud.” Woah Jesus, maybe she shouldn’t have chugged that drink so fast.

Penny looked up from the other side of the bar, and her gaze drifted past her shoulders. Towards the man.

“I-I’m not trying to imply anything-” He stammered, looking between both women, and now she felt a bit of guilt.

She looked back at him and took in his looks. He was cute, and he held himself surely, but a nervous look covered his face. He didn’t look like the Marine from earlier. He had been sharp and with the face of a movie star. This guy looked like he was from planet Earth, with gentle features. He had the type of face you couldn’t possibly stay mad at.

“I’m sorry-” She choked out, “I’ve just had a rough night.”

“Well, you can talk to me about it if you’d like.” He said, and after a moment he added, “I’m Bob.”

She glared at him skeptically before returning to her drink and seeing Penny not so subtly watching the interaction. The bartender nodded with a comforting smile. Okay, he had Penny’s approval.

“Y/n.” She said, pulling out the seat next to her.

So-called Bob nodded and sat down in the seat. “I’m sorry you’ve had a bad night.”

She stirred the straw in her water, still hesitant. “Yeah, just… God. I don’t even know where to start.” Closing her eyes, she sighed, unsure of what to admit.

“Well, what made you start crying?” His voice was so soft compared to the 80s rock music playing on the jukebox and the distant laughter and conversation of the bar.

Just rip off the band-aid. She needed to admit what happened to somebody before she exploded.

She laughed bitterly, “I was part of a dogfight!”

Tears brewed again in her eyes. But Bob just looked at her with confused furrowed brows. She shook her head at him.

“Come on, you have to know what that is. I’m sure you and your little buddies do it all the time.” She added angrily, “I didn’t know what it was before tonight, but I guess it’s a stupid common ritual.”

There was tense silence as he nodded, trying to follow along, but it was clear he was incredibly confused.

“Dogfight like… like in a jet?” He asked innocently

“What? No? Why would I be in a jet?”

His brows raised, “Because you… do that in a jet?”

She turned to him now. Maybe he actually didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. But before she could say anything, he added,

“Could you explain to me what you mean?” He asked politely.

God, why’d he have to be so sweet? It kept taking her off guard.

“I got asked out to a party by this Marine tonight, and it turned out to be a competition for… who could bring the ugliest date.” It’d be less embarrassing if someone put a ‘kick me’ sign on her back.

Bob’s face revealed this shocked expression. His eyes grew all wide and his mouth dropped slightly. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what all your buddies are doing tonight, sailor.” She hissed, grabbing her drink and taking a bigger swig. Usually, she’d finish drinks relatively slow, but tonight she had finished a glass in record speed.

“I’m not a Marine. Well, I mean- we’re both Navy. But I’m a Naval Aviator.” He clarified, “I don’t think any of our guys have done something like that… Though it’s not like I get invited to many parties.”

That made her want to smile, but she refused to let one out. He didn’t seem like the type of guy who would take part in that sort of thing. But it was hard to trust anything coming out of a man’s mouth at the moment.

“And I don’t know why he’d bring you.” Bob added, “I-I don’t mean to sound like I’m coming on to ya, but you’re pretty.”

She scoffed. “You don’t gotta lie. Apparently, I’m a dog.”

“No, no-” He shook his head with a little crooked smile, “I mean it. I can’t lie to save my life, and I think you’re pretty.”

Thank god her face was already red from crying to prevent him from seeing the blush that overcame her. But unfortunately, it didn’t stop him from seeing the tears in her eyes overflowing. She shook her head back at him.

“All the girls there were prettier than me.” She explained, “If that’s the case, then how could I be?” Her voice cracked.

Bob tilted his head with a soft smile, and he leaned forward.

“Because I can guarantee you that none of the girls there were ‘ugly’.” He said, “The only ugly people there were the fellas that I bet have a face only a mother could love.”

That made her laugh through her tears. It was true. The guys there really had the nerve to judge while looking how some of them did.

“You’re even prettier when you smile,” Bob suddenly said.

Somehow, someway, it didn’t feel like he was trying to get her in bed with him. There was a sense of genuineness behind his tone.

“And I like your dress.” He added.

She shook her head again, but this time with a small smile. “At least all the other girls wore dresses that didn’t look like they were for Easter mass. I look like a toddler.”

“No, you don’t. I-I like the flower design.”

It was clear he didn’t really know how to explain why he liked the dress, and that just made her blush and laugh again.

“How’d you end up here?” He asked curiously.

She exhaled with a shrug. “I heard some of the girls in the bathroom as they realized what was going on. I… I slapped my date in the face and stormed out. Walked all the way from Third Street to the beach, just a hot mess.”

He pushed her water over to her at that. “That’s a far walk. I’m glad you slapped him.”

The drink buzzed in her head. She sipped her water at the reminder. “I’d be stupid not to.” She sighed.

At that, a few other people dressed in the identical khaki uniform approached him. A man with a moustache patted his back.

“Hey, man. We’re all heading home.” The man said, though it was clear that he and his other friends were looking over at who had stolen Bob’s attention. “Hi.”

“Hi,” She said, awkwardly looking down, not wanting her face to be seen.

“Guys, this is Y/n.” Bob said surely, “Y/n, this is Rooster. Then these guys are Hangman and Phoenix. They’re my co-workers.”

It was surprising that Bob was so sure in introducing her. He almost seemed proud to be talking to her, and that made her ears burn hot. The three other aviators said their hellos.

“We’ll see you Monday, man. Get home safe.” Rooster, the mustached one, said, squeezing his shoulder. He sent Bob a wink before leaving.

Watching them leave, Bob suddenly realized something. “Do you have a way home?”

Shit. Her eyes widened at the same realization.

“I-I can drive you. But if you don’t feel comfortable, that’s understandable.” He offered.

She looked at him, then to Penny, unsure. She knocked on the bartop to get her attention. “Does he come here often?”

“Every Friday with those other guys.” Penny nodded.

“Can I trust him?”

Penny laughed with an easy grin. “He’s the most trustworthy one. He doesn’t drink. He ain’t stupid. And he keeps to himself for the most part.”

Bob smiled a little at the praise until she added,

“That’s a threat, Floyd. Don’t break your rep.”

His smile dropped, and he nodded. “I’d never.”

His nervous voice just made her trust him more.

“I’ll take you up on that offer, if that’s okay.” She said softly

Walking out to the parking lot, he led her to a baby blue truck. It was rustic and old-fashioned, and it felt reflective of who he was. She was a little confused on why he walked to the passenger side until he opened the door for her.

“Letting me drive?” She joked.

“Absolutely not,” Bob replied wittily.

She giggled and got into his passenger seat. When he shut the door for her, her nerves ran rampant again. Please, god, don’t be a murderer. Please, god, don’t be a murderer. Please god-

He opened the door and got into the driver's side. “Where are you located?”

That had to be a good sign, right? That he was asking?

“The bookstore on Elmer. I live right above it.” She explained

“Got it.” He said before backing out of the parking space.

As he began to drive, there was a small silence. It felt slightly awkward now as they were virtually strangers in this quiet nighttime drive together. Fortunately, her store wasn’t too far, so if it was a suffocatingly awkward drive, it would be quick.

“You own that store?” Bob asked curiously, breaking the silence.

She nodded. “Yeah. It was my parents, but I took it over so they could retire.”

A little smile took his face as he was lit by the backsplash of the headlights and the traffic lights. He was a pretty man.

“That’s nice.” He said softly. His voice was so naturally soft. She wondered what he’d sound like if he were angry. He didn’t seem like the type to do that often. “Is that what you wanted to do? Take over the store?”

She nodded again. “It’s great. I get to spend my whole day organizing books, and I get access to the new releases early. People are pretty nice, too. It’s not like food service.” She looked over at him. “Is being a… what’s it called? Naval aviator, what you wanted to do?”

Bob continued to drive as he pursed his lips and nodded. “Yup. Pretty much wanted to fly ever since I was a kid. So I spent my whole life studying, determined to do it somehow, someway.”

He started pulling up to her street, but she wanted to learn more. She wanted to hear more about his job and what exactly he did. Because god knows she knew absolutely nothing about the Navy.

Her store was hard to miss, considering it was painted a bright purple. The color of the apartment from Friends. A big sign saying KINGS BOOKSHOP was posted on the front.

“This it?” He asked.

“Yup. Good guess.”

He laughed and pulled aside to the curb. She sat there for what felt like a moment too long. There was almost no sound except for the soft blow of the air conditioner and the chirping of crickets from outside.

They both turned to look at each other, and when their eyes met, they looked away quickly with shared nervous chuckles. She undid her seatbelt, forcing herself to get up.

“Thank you. Uh- for everything. Listening to me and taking me home.” She said

“No problem. I-I hope your night gets better.” He nodded, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

She opened the door and stepped out. “Bye, Bob.”

“Night, Y/n.”

She shut the door and walked up to the store doors. Part of her was gnawing to get that man’s number. To ask him to see him again. And when she looked back, she saw his forehead to the wheel… Maybe he’s contemplating the same thing.

Against her own judgement, she opened the door and went inside.

It was the next day, and she was doing her best to forget about the sweet Navy man who had cheered her up the night before. But she found herself lost in thought. Accidentally misplacing books in the wrong sections. Leading people to the wrong aisles. Forgetting what she was doing in the middle of a task. It was like she couldn’t stop thinking about him. The horrific start to the night before was practically ancient history. She would’ve been miserable, playing the night over and over, if it weren’t for the electric memories with Bob.

She was on the rolling ladder, placing some romance books on the top shelf, when the bell chimed. A customer. She stood on her tiptoes to reach the shelf.

“Welcome in!” She called out.

Finally getting the book in its place, she climbed down the ladder and looked over to see the man who had been occupying her head the whole day. Bob stood studying the display tables through his glasses. She practically almost gasped at the sight of him wandering in his khaki uniform. Suppressing it, she couldn’t resist the grin that overtook her face.

“Hi.” She bubbled out.

He looked up and saw her. “Hi.”

They stood at what felt like a standoff, his fingers frozen on the cover of one of the books. She walked over and looked at which display table he had been looking over. Unable to restrain herself from giggling, she looked between him and the group of books.

“Didn’t peg you to be a monster romance guy.” She teased.

He looked at her, confused, then looked down at the table to find some strange-looking covers. Lots of shipwrecked women and werewolves. His eyes widened as he broke out of his daze.

“Oh, uh- don’t know if that’s my thing.”

“The history books are in the back corner.” She read him… like a book.

He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. “Thanks.” A blush overcame him as she went back to taking books off a cart. She hoped he didn’t notice how her hands had a slight shake to them. Trying to play it cool was proving to be more difficult than she anticipated.

“I actually just-” Bob started, leading to her head picking up.

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to ask you to lunch. Or-or dinner. Whenever you’re available.” He stammered in his typical bashful tone.

She couldn’t hide the redness in her cheeks and the way her lips curved into a smile. There was no way to play it cool here.

“Like a date?” She asked, holding onto a stack of books.

He nodded eagerly, as if he didn’t clarify, it would never happen. “Yes. Yes, a date. I was killing myself last night for not asking you, but I didn’t want to come onto you during a time where you just needed a friendly face.”

“I-I’d love to.” She choked out, “The shop closes at six if you wanna go out for dinner? Maybe get a few drinks at that bar last night?”

His face lit up at her response. A small, shocked exhale came out of him.

“Yeah, that works.” He nodded. The rapidly approaching silence between them was filled with electricity. He suddenly grabbed a random book. “I wanna buy this too.”

“You really don’t have to-”

“No, no, I want to! I want to read-” He insisted, then looked at the cover, “Wrecked By Cthulu…” His voice trailed off.

She laughed so hard she could barely breathe. “How about I show you some books you might actually like, then we can go from there?”

He was too sweet. If that wasn’t apparent already by his behavior the night before.

“Yes, please.” He nodded.

She beckoned him to follow her, and she felt butterflies in her stomach. It felt entirely strange to be thankful for the horrific night before. If it weren’t for a man making her feel so ugly, she wouldn’t be feeling as pretty as she did with Bob’s eyes following her every move.

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #top gun #lewis pullman #lewis pullman fic #bob floyd #robert floyd fic #robert floyd #bob floyd fic #bob floyd x female reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd #dagger squad #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun x reader #bob floyd fanfic #bob floyd fanfiction

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godricgryffinsnore · 24 hours ago

Note

Hi again Della :D

I was just so in love with the last one-shot you wrote on my prompt, that I couldn't resist asking for another. Your writing is just so perfectly sugary sweet that I can't help but be addicted.

It's James Potter again, but I was wondering if this time you could write about him falling for a Seeker from another team and simultaneously wanting to beat her team but also absolutely in love with the way she catches the Snitch.

Thanks love! <3 <3

Catch Me If You Can ♡ | J.Potter ★

“I was mid-match, mid-air, mid-smirk—and then she caught the Snitch and my bloody heart in the same breath.”

pairing : James Potter x fem!Ravenclaw!seeker!reader

summary : A Gryffindor Chaser. A Ravenclaw Seeker. Rivalry blurs, sparks fly, and neither of them is ready for what falls harder—Quidditch… or love.

warnings : mild swearing, flirty banter, rivals-to-lovers tension, closet make-out, chaotic Quidditch energy, James Potter being hopelessly in love. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : Oh my god!!! I am so glad you liked the previous one-shot made out of your wonderful request!!! I hope you enjoy this one too <333

word count : 1.8k

navigation <3

banners : @/cafekitsune and @/fic-dumpster

James Potter knew three things for certain:

1. He loved Quidditch.

2. He was the best Chaser in Hogwarts history (his words, not McGonagall’s).

3. He was absolutely, stupidly, insufferably in love with the Seeker from Ravenclaw. You.

The Problem?

You hated his guts.

Well—not hate hate. You respected his game. You tolerated his hair (barely). But you swore on your broomstick, if James bloody Potter winked at you before a match one more time, you were going to ram your Cleansweep right up his—

“Looking fierce today, love,” he called from across the pitch, twirling his broom like he hadn’t just spent five minutes smirking in your direction. “Trying to distract me with that braid again?”

You narrowed your eyes, adjusting your gloves. “Try focusing on the Quaffle, Potter. I’ll be long gone with the Snitch before your ego even takes off.”

“Ooooh, stinger!” Sirius howled behind him. “She’s got bite!”

James just grinned—boyishly, infuriatingly—and mounted his broom like he was mounting a stage. “Oh, I always focus on you.”

The whistle blew.

You’d caught the Snitch. Again.

Your team still lost (blame your Beaters), but the moment your fingers closed around that golden fluttering devil, you felt his eyes on you. Again.

James Potter was clapping—actually clapping—even though you’d technically ruined his winning streak.

“Brilliant form,” he said later as you passed in the hall, all casual-like, like you hadn’t just wiped the smug look off his face midair.

You scoffed, not slowing. “Shame your Keeper couldn’t catch a Quaffle to save his life.”

“Careful,” James said, following you like a duckling in a lion’s den. “I might think you care.”

You rolled your eyes. “I do care. About annihilating Gryffindor next match.”

“Merlin,” he said under his breath, watching you walk away. “I’m so in love with her it’s ridiculous.”

It became a pattern. You’d glare. He’d wink. You’d soar. He’d chase. You’d catch the Snitch—sometimes—and every time you did, he looked at you like you’d just hung the stars yourself.

It was rivalry.

Except…

Only you thought so.

“You’re obsessed with her,” Sirius said one evening, eating toast on James’s bed as he stared out the window at the pitch. Again.

“No, I’m not,” James mumbled, dreamy-eyed.

“You literally just wrote ‘(Y/N) Potter’ in your Transfiguration notes.”

“I did not—” He looked. He had. In swirly cursive.

“I’m doomed,” he muttered.

Remus, from his bed, didn’t even look up. “Just tell her you like her.”

“She thinks we’re rivals,” James said dramatically. “She hates my face.”

“She hates your flirting,” Remus corrected. “Not your face.”

“Well—same thing!”

The final match of the season was pure chaos. Rain. Mud. Bludgers on a rampage. The Snitch dipped and darted like it had a personal vendetta. And somewhere between nearly crashing into you midair and swearing under his breath when you pulled out of a dive last second—James knew.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

You were storming through the corridor after the game, heart hammering from adrenaline, when he caught up with you.

“Oi—wait!” James called, hair soaked, uniform a mess, voice winded.

You turned, scowling. “If you’re here to gloat about that last-minute goal—”

He didn’t let you finish. He grabbed your arm. Shoved open the nearest broom closet. Pulled you inside. Slammed the door.

“What the hell—”

“I like you,” he blurted, soaking wet and panting like a madman. “I’ve liked you since third year. I think you’re the most brilliant flier I’ve ever seen, and I’ve watched you catch the Snitch seventeen times and I still forget how to breathe every single bloody time.”

You blinked. Blink. Blink.

He was close. His hair was dripping. His voice was shaking.

“I don’t—” you started, and he panicked.

“I know you hate me,” he said quickly, “I know I’m annoying and arrogant and possibly the human embodiment of a Bludger but—”

“I don’t hate you,” you said, voice flat.

He froze. “…You don’t?”

You crossed your arms. “I thought you hated me. You’re always smirking and teasing and acting like I’m your personal competition.”

James gawked. “You are my competition! But only because you’re so good I can’t stop watching you.”

Oh.

The silence fell. Humid. Close.

Then—slowly—you grinned.

“So…” you said, leaning against the door, eyes narrow. “You pulled me into a broom closet to confess you’re in love with me?”

James’s mouth flapped. “I—no—I mean, yes—but I wasn’t going to say love—”

“Oh?” You raised a brow.

“Okay, fine!” he burst. “Yes! I’m bloody mad about you. I love the way you fly. I love your sarcasm. I love that you hate my flirting. I love that you always catch the Snitch even when I’m trying to flirt mid-match like a moron—I love—” He stopped. Lowered his voice. “…you.”

Your heart was racing.

You leaned in. Just a little. Close enough that your noses brushed.

“You’re a dramatic little show-off, you know that?”

His breath caught. “Yeah?”

You tilted your head. “But I guess I could love that too.”

His eyes widened.

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t gentle. It was all broom-closet heat and pent-up tension and muddy uniforms and a desperate, gleeful kind of hunger. He gripped your waist. You yanked his shirt collar. His glasses fogged. The world spun.

When you finally pulled away—his lips kiss-bruised, his heart probably doing Quidditch flips—he breathed:

“So…you do like me.”

You smirked. “Catch me if you can, Potter.”

And then you opened the door and strutted out—leaving James Potter, Captain of the Gryffindor team and biggest dork in the castle, laughing breathlessly in a broom closet, madly in love with the girl who thought they were rivals.

Epilogue – Post-Practice Banter

James: “Hey babe, remember when you thought we were enemies?”

You: “I still kind of want to knock you off your broom sometimes.”

James: grinning “Merlin, marry me.”

You: “Buy me a Firebolt first.”

James: “Done. Want the diamond to match it?”

There were many things James Potter could do well.

Win Quidditch games. Charm professors. Make Lily Evans roll her eyes in record time.

But one thing he could not do—despite his very public insistence otherwise—was keep his hands (or eyes) off you during a match.

Not anymore.

Because now… He could kiss you. He could touch you. He could say “you’re mine,” and then prove it behind the stands when no one was looking.

Only—well.

People were looking.

“Mate,” Sirius said one stormy afternoon after practice. “You’re playing like a lovesick Bludger.”

“I am not,” James said, lying.

“You flew into your own Keeper.”

“He swerved—”

“He was standing still.” Sirius blinked. “Right outside the goalpost. Doing literally nothing.”

Remus looked up from his book. “You also dropped the Quaffle. Twice.”

“Was distracted,” James muttered, and oh no, because even thinking about you sent that dopey little grin creeping across his face.

Sirius pointed. “That’s the face. That’s the face of a man about to ruin his own game for love.”

“I am not ruining anything—”

“You’re doomed,” Remus said, flipping a page.

“Completely whipped,” Sirius added. “Absolutely done for. Can’t wait till the team finds out.”

James scoffed. “They’re not going to find out.”

He was very proud of this plan, actually.

You two had agreed—no one could know you were dating. Too much drama. Too many Quidditch politics. Ravenclaws would say it was favoritism, Gryffindors would never shut up, Sirius would make it everyone’s problem.

So you had a foolproof system.

Flirt behind the greenhouses. Make out in the library stacks (Section B—far corner). Kiss behind the Quidditch stands. Avoid each other on the pitch like well-behaved, non-infatuated rivals.

Simple.

It was foolproof. Perfect.

Except for one problem.

James was a fool. And he was in love.

Saturday’s Match: Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw

The pitch was golden with morning light, cheers echoing, house colors waving like fire in the wind.

You were hovering mid-air, wind in your hair, eyes sharp on the glimmer of gold near the west end.

And James?

James was not watching the Quaffle.

He was watching you.

Your hair, twisted up in a ribbon.

The way your fingers clenched the broom handle.

The way your knees locked as you dove, fast and low, the Snitch just—

“JAMES!” Sirius screamed. “FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN, THE QUAFFLE!”

Too late. It was in the goal. Again.

You caught the Snitch five minutes later, graceful and smirking.

And James Potter sat slumped mid-air like a kicked puppy, utterly useless and sickeningly proud.

After the Match – Gryffindor Locker Room

Silence.

Absolute, terrifying, accusatory silence.

James stood, towel over his shoulder, mud on his boots, surrounded by his team.

No one spoke.

Then—

“Alright,” said Charlotte, the Beater. “Who’s the girl?”

James blinked. “What?”

“The girl,” said Oliver, their Keeper. “The one you’re clearly thinking about instead of playing like a functional Chaser.”

“There’s no girl—”

“Mate,” Charlotte said, “you just watched their Seeker fly like she was the last chocolate frog on Earth. You didn’t blink for ten minutes.”

“I—”

“You cheered when she caught the Snitch.”

“I was being polite—”

“You clapped.”

“Alright, fine!” James snapped, cheeks pink. “I might be…seeing someone.”

The team gasped as one.

“WHO?!”

James looked skyward, as if praying to Merlin for mercy.

“Promise not to kill me?”

“No,” said Charlotte.

He sighed. “It’s…Ravenclaw’s Seeker.”

Silence.

Then—chaos.

“YOU TRAITOR!” “Bloody hell, it’s her?!” “Wait, she’s hot, though—” “NO, YOU DON’T GET TO THINK THAT, SHE’S HIS HOT.”

Sirius, smirking in the doorway: “Told you.”

Remus, not even surprised: “You owe me five Galleons.”

Meanwhile – You, to your team:

“He’s an idiot. I love him. I’m also going to kill him.”

“Respectfully,” said your Captain, “we’d prefer if you made out after you win.”

Later That Night – Behind the Stands

He was leaning against the pillar, arms crossed, grinning.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he murmured.

You shoved his shoulder. “You clapped, you absolute muppet.”

He laughed. “You looked so good catching the Snitch, I forgot I was supposed to win.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest.

“You’re the worst boyfriend ever.”

“Oi! I’m your number one fan.”

You looked up, narrowing your eyes. “The team knows now, don’t they?”

“…Define knows.”

You smacked his chest.

He caught your wrists.

And kissed you.

It was sweet and slow, your hands tangling in his hair, his breath warm against your cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

You smiled.

“Even though I ruin your record?”

“Especially because of that.”

Bonus Scene – Gryffindor Practice the Next Day

James: entirely distracted watching you walk past the pitch with a book in hand

Sirius: “There he goes again. Should we wave a Quaffle in front of his face? Or maybe just toss him at her and save time?”

Remus: “I’ve already got the broom closet cleared out. They’ll end up in there by dinner.”

James, dazed: “She’s wearing my jumper.”

Entire team, in unison: “WE KNOW!”

#della's inbox 𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡#della answered ⋆˚✿˖°#della 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #james fleamont potter #james potter drabble #james potter #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction

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yaseraphine · 16 hours ago

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pick a card 12 - what are you currently manifesting ?

masterlist / ko-fi

my last reading : the dynamic between you and your future lover

Pile 1

Ace of Swords, 5 of Pentacles, The Magician

So, Pile 1, really interesting that you got The Magician in a “what are you currently manifesting ?” reading, when it is the ultimate master manifestor card. I feel like there is maybe a need for you to recall your manifesting powers. Maybe some of your manifestations didn’t go well, didn’t flourish or manifested the way you expected or it literally did not manifest. Either way, there is a need to take a new approach to the way you manifest with the ace of swords being there, calling you to change your mental state or method of approaching manifestation. I am not an expert of the different methods there are to manifest but you need to find a new one. Seeing the ace of swords falling first, then the 5 of pentacles, which is a card that can indicate a lack mentality, a new way of thinking needs to be manifested. What I am seeing is that you are manifesting a new mentality, a new way of seeing things that will lead to better manifestations. Changing your outlook and taking a step back from thoughts that stem from insecurity or lack will clear up your mind and help you manifest better, with a clearer idea and better intentions.

Some of you could benefit from writing prompts. Everything that has to do with writing, and communication. Maybe speak your manifestations out loud, tell people what you want and it might help you “boost” those manifestations.

Capricorn - Ambition, Realism and Methodical Steps

You are currently manifesting more ambition and more dedication towards your goals/ manifestations. There is this energy of a *mise en abyme, you are manifesting new manifesting methods which leads you to manifest more accurately your manifestations. (why is this sentence so hard to read). You will take a more realistic and methodical approach to your manifestations. Maybe in the past the reason why a lot of your manifestations failed was because you were too impatient or you skipped certain steps. Right now, you are learning that manifestation is not an overnight thing and that it takes time. You’re accepting how slow it can be to manifest what you want, and this will reward you with your manifestations coming the way you want and long term.

*mise en abyme : “Mise en abyme is a play of signifiers within a text, of sub-texts mirroring each other. This mirroring can attain a level where meaning may become unstable and, in this respect, may be seen as part of the process of deconstruction. The film-within-a-film, where a film contains a plot about the making of a film, is an example of mise en abyme.” Seeing the literal definition, I don’t really know why it came up lol You’re just manifesting manifesting methods. What a headache lol

Quote : The one you are looking for is you.

I don’t really see the correlation between this quote and the rest of the reading but you might resonate with it somehow.

This was all for you Pile 1, hope it resonated ! I am sending you lots of love and see you in the next reading !

Pile 2

Knight of Wands, Ace of Wands, Strength, Queen of Cups

Pile 2… When I tell you the cards flew violently and flipped sharply on my table lol There is a really sure and decisive energy coming from your pile. You are sure of your manifestations and you believe that the universe is working with you and that everything will work out in your favor. This sharp and confident energy of how the cards flew out of the deck is even more backed up by the fact that 4 cards fell (instead of three like I asked, so you want more and you will get more for sure !) 3 are fire cards : The Knight of Wands, the Ace of Wands and Strength. I am seeing a fresh energy here. You just got recently started with an idea, you recently planted a seed and just like an athlete runner, you’re about to fearlessly take off from the starting blocks. Some of you might actually have already started running. You’re following your intuition while acting on your instincts. It is a beautiful mix of fire and water energy that you are combining together here. You are determined, but not ruthless. You know that you will have to slow down at some point while manifesting this thing. It’s weird because I have the feeling you already manifested that project. It feels like it is career/ personal goal related. You are just leveling up on that thing. For instance, your goal was to just lose 15 pounds in the first half of 2025. You managed to do it successfully and now you are feeling in the right energy/alignment to not only lose weight, but to also build muscle mass and start genuinely doing some kind of sport. Wait. Some of you might be manifesting a long life hobby !! I am seeing it could be anything : crochet, pole dance, chess, creative writing, etc.. It’s like you’ve been desperately trying to “glow up”, find something that you are good at, that makes you genuinely passionate for the new years’ resolutions but despite your numerous attempts, it was unsuccessful. And, the moment you give up (which might be your current mood), you’ll be invited to somewhere, have the urge to try something, come across a post randomly about a specific activity. You’ll try it with a mentality “ I really got nothing to lose” and go out of it completely shocked because that thing just ignited something inside of you. You might become obsessive over this, practicing it whenever you can, day and night, out of pure passion. Man, this is beautiful, pile 2 !

Mutable - Surrender, Fluidity and Welcoming change

What you are currently manifesting is surrendering that will lead to long-term success ! The more you try not to control the situation and accept the flow of things, the more easily you will manifest this fated discovery/hobby. Accept invitations, interact with your friends, interact with people and try to keep a positive attitude ! Stay open to new experiences and don’t expect anything in return, just enjoy the moment and try to be present as much as possible. Don’t hesitate to interact with strangers. Especially if you overhear a conversation about a topic you’re interested in, don’t hesitate to try to come at them and include yourself in the conversation. These kinds of little bursts of courage socially will lead you more easily towards that discovery. I am hearing this : “Enjoy the process of getting to know people without expecting anything in return”. Really interesting! I love your pile

Quote : Do what makes your soul shine ! <3

Your pile is a little messy because it took me a while to get to the heart of the topic of your specific situation. I am choosing to leave it like that because I think it’s important to understand the progression of the reading, even if it is a bit incoherent !

This was all for you Pile 2, hope it resonated ! I am sending you lots of love and see you in the next reading !

Pile 3

7 of Wands, 7 of Pentacles and 8 of Wands

Interesting start, Pile 3. You got 2 cards that are 7 and the 8th, which follows the 7 of Wands. There is a continuity to something. You are manifesting going above obstacles thrown at you. You are currently manifesting defensiveness if that makes sense. You might have been avoiding a situation, a confrontation of some sort. At some point, you will have no choice but to confront it head on. It may actually come at you before you can say anything and you will have to defend yourself on the spot. It’s like you’ve procrastinated paying for a specific bill, pushing it for tomorrow every time you remember it. Then, one glorious day, you get a call from your banker, let's say and they tell you that you have to go to the bank tomorrow at 10 am to pay for the unpaid fees/ the unpaid bill otherwise it could end up in court. You may get scared on the spot because you will be forced to do what you dreaded to do for so long. However, once the meeting at the bank/ the confrontation is finished, you will feel free and liberated from this thing that has been weighing on your mind. Maybe it’s not something you are actively avoiding, but more so an important meeting , a custody battle, just think of any situation where you will need to defend yourself with bravery and fearlessness that was planned weeks or even months ago. You’re approaching the fateful day and it may scare you but it seems the odds will be in your favor even if you are not so prepared. Again, depending on your situation, still approach it carefully but stand your ground.

South Node - Destined to release / TOD - the top of the deck is Libra, this highlights the “justice” and mediation aspect I was feeling above

Okay, pile 3, it’s pretty clear to me : you are manifesting the resolution of a conflict. Something that kept you up at night, that made you overtly worried, something you were anxiously clinging to : you will finally have the courage, the balls may I say, to face it head on. You’ll finally prefer the temporary discomfort of conflict resolving than putting things under the rug to keep some kind of nauseous and anxiety-inducing peace. Interesting that this is coming up because yesterday I was reading about the north node in aries and the south node in libra axis and something that was said in the article (that I am putting the link of here) really struck me : “To find long-lasting peace, sometimes we need to go to war”.

I think this perfectly sums up your situation. And even if it is something so seemingly small as “finally going outside after two weeks of self-isolation because of seasonal depression”, it is still facing fears and going above them. I am hearing “Be scared and do it anyway”. This is the mentality you are manifesting to get this conflict resolution.

Quote : You get in life what you have the courage to ask for and "Be the reason someone smiles today !" (really wholesome all of sudden lmaoo)

Your pile was so deep ! I loved reading it, like really !

This was all for you Pile 3, hope it resonated ! I am sending you lots of love and see you in the next reading !

#pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile #pick a picture #tarot pac #pac tarot #pac reading #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarotblr #tarot cards #tarot

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maesterchill · 3 days ago

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wound

Written for @drarrymicrofic prompt 'wound'. A gift for @sweet-s0rr0w on her birthday. Happy birthday to my talented, kind and generous friend, hope you have the loveliest of days!! 🥳💝 (380 words CW: voyeurism) Thanks to @citrusses for giving this a look-over, and suggesting I add a final line to cap it off!

It's funny, really, how much of his job involves watching Potter get naked.

He'd thought working the graveyard shift in the Ministry security room would be boring as all fuck. Little did he know how frequently Britain’s top Auror unwound in the company gym during off-peak hours. And although surveillance of staff in the showers is strictly forbidden, the use of Extendable Eyes in the changing area is technically permissible—to deter locker theft, of course.

Cataloguing Potter’s scars and battle wounds had become Draco’s number one way to pass the long, dull hours of his shift. At first, his favourite was the shooting star on Potter’s right buttock: a raised keloidal scar that caught the light—and Draco’s breath—whenever Potter bent at the waist.

But the shooting star has some tough competition. Like that brutal-looking scar low on his abdomen, slicing right into his pubic hair, not dissimilar to the ones that decorate Draco’s own chest. There’s also the light peppering of bruises and scrapes on Potter's knees. Draco has indulged in some speculations about the reasons for those.

Lately though, Draco's favourite is the one that starts at the base of Potter’s throat. The one that peeks out of his uniform collar, hinting at a life lived dangerously. The one that winds itself sinuously around his torso, hugging him like a glossy purple boa constrictor. What Draco likes best about it is the way it flexes and puckers as Potter pulls his shirt on, and how it's often the last glimpse of forbidden skin he sees before Potter heads home.

Draco leans back in his chair and undoes the buttons on his work trousers, appraising Potter like a fine artwork.

Merlin, he's so hard already.

As Potter undresses, Draco rakes his eyes over that winding scar, thinking about what it would taste like—salty and musky from the sweat of a mission—and whether it would be smooth or rough as he ran his tongue along it. With a shiver, he unspools over his fist imagining the sounds Potter would make, the sounds Draco would pull from him, if he ever dared to do just that.

He’ll never get to touch Potter. But the flawed grace of Potter’s vulnerable body is the only thing that’s touched him in months.

#Happy birthday Sweet!#drarry #drarry microfic #maesterchill writes

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ashthesalamipiece · 2 days ago

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hi! idk if u can do it or watched the movie but i feel like it would be really cute like a bakugou x reader tarzan au and it would be like fluff with some smut? ive been thinking about it and i thought it would be cute. it dosent have to be exactly like tarzan i js thought the prompt would be a good story katsuki beibg raised by animals(you can pick it dosent have to be monkeys) and finally meeting someone like him and he dosent really understand it. thank you! (can you add smut though? if your comfortaby with that but id perfer it with thank you again).

"Wildfire" – Bakugou x Fem!Reader (Tarzan AU)

Setting: Deep jungle, Bakugou raised by a pack of giant feline-beasts (think panther-lion hybrids). You're part of a scientific expedition sent to study the uncharted wildlife—until you find something unexpected.

---

You weren’t expecting to survive the storm.

Your transport was supposed to drop you and your team deeper into the jungle basin, but the crash landed you miles off course, isolated from the others. You were lucky to be alive—but alone. Almost.

Something had been following you.

It never attacked. Just watched. Stalked. Protected? You weren’t sure.

Until the night you wandered too far into the river basin and slipped down an embankment. You would've broken your leg—if it hadn’t been for the blur of muscle and gold-red eyes that caught you before you hit the rocks.

His skin was sun-kissed and scarred, hair wild like the jungle flame, barely clothed in tattered wraps. He was strong—feral, even—but he didn’t hurt you.

Just growled.

And then disappeared.

Now, he visits you. Watches. Closer. Closer.

And tonight, he speaks.

“You’re like me,” he says, voice rough like bark, golden eyes staring into yours as he crouches beside your campfire. He speaks your language—but haltingly, like he’s mimicked it from a distance. “But not same. You smell… different.”

You swallow. “I’m human. My name is Y/N.”

He tilts his head. “Katsuki.”

It’s the first word he’s said that doesn’t sound borrowed.

His name.

His body is strong and scarred, but you can tell he’s young. Your age. And curious—especially about you. You’d expected a beast. But you see a man behind those animal eyes.

And god, he’s beautiful.

“Do you live with… people?” you ask softly, fingers twitching on your lap.

He shakes his head, scowling. “No. Not people. Pride.”

“Lions?”

He growls. “Mine. Family.”

The jungle is quiet. And yet… your heart is racing. He's so close. You swear you can feel the heat rolling off him. Like a wildfire waiting to spread.

“You fell,” he says gruffly. “Could’ve died.”

“I didn’t,” you whisper. “You saved me.”

He blinks. And then, unexpectedly, he leans in close—sniffing your cheek, your hair, your neck. You shiver.

“You smell… soft,” he says. “Warm. Want it.”

Your breath catches.

“Want… what?”

His voice dips to a low, almost possessive growl. “You.”

---

It happens fast—because he doesn’t know how to be slow.

One second, you’re sitting by the fire. The next, you’re under him, back pressed to the soft moss and your shirt already tugged up, his nose dragging along your stomach like he’s mapping you by scent alone.

“Katsuki—” your voice cracks, but not from fear. It’s the intensity. He looks at you like he’s starved. Like he doesn’t understand what’s happening, only that he needs it. You.

“Tell me stop,” he growls into your skin. “I’ll stop.”

You don’t. You can’t.

“Don’t stop.”

That’s all it takes. He surges up to capture your lips, and it’s messy and wild—his first kiss, maybe. But when his hands find your thighs and grip tight, dragging you open beneath him, there’s a gentleness in how he watches you. Eyes flicking between yours, waiting for a flinch that never comes.

He’s hard against you, clothed only in rough wraps and instinct. Your hands thread into his wild hair as his lips trail down your neck, his tongue flicking against your skin.

You arch when he touches you—calloused fingers exploring like he’s memorizing what softness feels like. He growls when he finds how wet you are, rubbing your clit with tentative but focused strokes, learning fast.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “It’s you. This… is you.”

“Yes, Katsuki,” you moan. “It’s me. It’s okay.”

He doesn’t need more encouragement. He grinds against you, pulling at the wrap around his hips, hissing when your nails scratch down his back.

When he finally pushes into you, it’s with a groan that sounds almost pained. You gasp—he’s thick, and the stretch is deep, primal, hot.

You clutch him, thighs wrapping around his hips as he sets a slow, careful pace at first. But instinct takes over. Each thrust becomes deeper, harder. You cry out, but he hushes you with kisses, with murmured words you barely understand.

“Mine,” he whispers. “You’re mine now.”

And you don’t argue.

Because he’s yours too.

---

Later, when you're curled up beside him in the cool jungle night, your body sore but sated, he traces your fingers like they’re magic.

“I thought I was only one,” he murmurs.

“You’re not.”

He looks at you like that’s the first real truth he’s ever known.

You smile, brushing his wild hair back. “You’re not alone anymore, Katsuki.”

He buries his face into your neck.

And for the first time in his life, Katsuki Bakugou sleeps beside someone warm.

Someone who smells like home.

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kdh-tally · 3 days ago

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Hi! If your requests are open, is there a chance you can write a oneshot about Mystery and Zoey from Kpop Demon Hunters? They're my favorite characters. I know all of the Saja Boys, except Jinu, are unfeeling demons, but I'm choosing to disregard what's canon. For the story, I was thinking of a scene where Mystery notices Zoey ogling Abby's abs. Seeing this makes Mystery jealous and self-conscious, and he asks himself, "What does he have that I don't have?" I would also lol if Mystery then starts barking at Abby.

Prompt : Mystery is a tad bit insecure

Author's Note : A tad bit on the longer side maybe?

Mystery didn’t intend on enjoying the idol life so much. Jinu had to spend most of his time persuading him out of the four other boy-band members. Mystery had enjoyed his home in hell to some degree. There was nothing to do really, and he wasn’t disturbed as long as Gwi-ma remained focused on someone else.

Of course there were still voices. The voices were always there. Well, they were. Jinu, the idiot, had the bright idea to debut their little boy band sooner than needed.That’s how he and the other 3 boys found themselves being shoved into a sketchy alleyway.

“Look good!” he whispered yelled orders at them. The boys groaned in unison, annoyance visible in their tones but they listened anyway.

Mystery was the first one turning the corner. He heard silent squeals coming from the other end but couldn’t see what was going on. He tilted his head slightly, hair flowing gracefully in the wind. The other boys seeing this copied his move, making it look synchronized and purposeful.

He took note of the three girls. Two of them seemed to be fangirling over Abby’s muscles, he didn’t understand why Jinu gave them such basic names, and the other girl looked so done with the situation.

The girl that stood in the center, short with little space buns, began to turn red. She was the first human he’d noticed and, not that anyone could tell, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. But there were more important things than a cute human girl. Especially when she was a hunter that killed his king for a living.

Killed them with her voice. Her beautiful, gentle, siren…

“Mystery?” someone interrupted his thoughts. The man hadn’t even noticed that they had passed by the girls already and were standing near the center of the market place.

“What is it Baby?”

“You need to lock in”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Mystery scoffed at the new terminology the youngest demon had begun using. Baby seemed to really enjoy human humor.

“We’re about to perform so focus you idiot”

—

Jinu never seemed to run out of dumb ideas. None of the boys knew how they found themselves camping outside of the fan sign hall. All Mystery could remember was playing this game called Valorant or something of the sort, only to be summoned away to the front of a line.

As they were letting it Mystery understood everything. Jinu wanted to flirt with his girl- enemy. Yep. Ignoring the sudden fuss when the purple lady said the groups would sit together, Mystery quickly found himself sitting beside the girl with the space buns again.

He quickly learnt that her name was Zoey and she was the main rapper of the group. This shocked him slightly seeing as she was so bubbly and sweet. He’d honestly thought the scary pink lady was the main rapper, but seeing as Baby was their rapper he should've known better.

Eventually, Mystery mustered up the courage to ask her a question only to be interrupted by a fan. How dare they interrupt him? He didn’t even notice he was barking at them to scare them away until Zoey began to chastise him for it.

“No! Bad Saja Boy!” she shamed, tapping his head with the pen until he calmed down. Mystery slouched back into his chair, what was coming over him?? From just two seats across, he could hear Baby snickering at him.

As he watched Zoey reassure the fan that everything was alright, why did she have to hold the fans hands???, he realized this feeling might have started to become a bigger problem than he thought it would be. —

The battle was over. Gwi-ma was finally defeated and the underworld was closed up for good. With the odd stillness that followed, Mystery found himself in a strange place. He found himself at peace. Well.. kinda?

He still couldn’t sleep properly as he wasn't used to the silence of the overworld at night, and his hair still got frizzy and big when it was humid, and sometimes Baby stole his earrings, but all in all, it was fine. Livable. Manageable. Different.

The dance practice room was empty aside from him and Zoey. The floor-to-ceiling mirrors stretched across the front wall, reflecting the two of them. Zoey in her grey sweats and a tiny white crop top (which was so unfair), and Mystery, slouched on the floor, playing dead.

“You’re not even trying to learn the moves,” Zoey said through a laugh, twisting her water bottle open.

“I am,” he groaned. “Just give me a week to actually get interested first.”

Zoey rolled her eyes at his dramatic behaviour, something that only ever seemed to pop out around her. “That choreography isn’t even that hard.”

“Says the girl with demon hunter blood and abs. This must be so easy for you.”

Zoey blinked. “Excuse you?”

Mystery sat up, one knee drawn up, resting an arm on it as he spoke, “It’s distracting.”

“You’re distracting,” she said pointedly, and then immediately flushed when she realized what she said. “I mean..!”

Mystery smirked, tying his hair up into a bun. He was fully aware of the fact that Zoey believed he was ‘just her type’ and took full advantage of it whenever he could. “You think I’m distracting?”

“I meant your weird slouchy pose was distracting,” Zoey huffed, face red, eyes looking everywhere but his face as she sipped her water too fast.

He liked this. The way her cheeks puffed when she was annoyed. The way she was clearly trying not to look at him while fixing her buns. The way she…

Stopped. Right in front of the mirror.

“Oh my god,” she said, squinting at the mirror.

“What?”

“I look jacked,” she whispered, checking her arm. “Is this what Abby feels like all the time?”

Mystery’s smile faded. “Abby?”

“Yeah. Look at this.” She lifted her arm slightly, flexing, and raised a brow in approval. “No wonder people like his stage presence. He’s a wall of charisma and strength.”

Mystery’s eye twitched. “What does he have that I don’t?” he muttered.

Zoey turned. “Hm?”

“Nothing!” Mystery said too fast. “Just… practicing the dance moves.”

Zoey snorted. “Sure you are. Just like how you were 'barking to protect our image' at the fan sign.”

Mystery’s eyes narrowed. “That fan was sketchy. Their aura was weird.” Aura was a word Baby taught him.

“Uh huh. You were jealous,” she teased, walking past him to grab her towel.

“I was not,” he lied poorly. “I’m incapable of jealousy. Demon, remember?”

“Right,” she dragged, throwing the towel at him. “And I’m incapable of sarcasm.”

She left him there on the floor, towel over his head, ego bruised. But even as she walked away, Mystery found his eyes trailing her again. He hated how soft he’d become.

Hated how often his thoughts drifted back to that first fan sign. To the first time he saw her in the overworld. Laughing. Blushing.

She'd been so red when they passed her in the alleyway, her and Mira swooning over Abby’s opened shirt while she looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. He’d noticed her immediately. And it wasn't just because she was cute. (Okay, that was part of it.)

It was because she was human. So very human. Something he, at the time, didn’t realise he would want so bad. And yet she’d stayed in his mind like a song he couldn’t stop humming.

Even now, months later, with the world no longer ending and his contract with Gwi-ma gone, Mystery still found himself aching whenever she looked at someone else with even a fraction of the warmth she gave him.

Abby. Abby.

The name echoed in his mind again like some cursed chant. Summoning courage, he stood and marched up behind her. “You didn’t answer me.”

Zoey glanced at him in the mirror. “About?”

“What does he have that I don’t have?”

Zoey blinked. “Wait. You were serious?”

Mystery folded his arms. “I barked at a fan for you. I gave up my spot as center for that weird duet stage. I let you touch my hair. That’s practically marriage in demon culture.”

Zoey’s jaw dropped in laughter. “Mystery, I pat everyone’s head when they’re being a weirdo.”

“You don’t call everyone a good boy.” he pointed out.

Zoey flushed bright pink. “That was one time! I was trying to calm you down!”

“It worked.”

“Stop being dramatic.” Zoey laughed, softer this time, walking closer.

He hated how fast his heartbeat got when she stepped into his personal space.

“You’re not Abby,” she said gently.

“I know that,” he huffed.

“But you’re Mystery,” she added, poking his chest, her eyes peering into his. “You’re weird and intense and accidentally funny and overly stylish. And I like that.”

Mystery blinked. “Wait. What?”

Zoey turned, clearly trying not to look at him anymore. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“You like me?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m pushing it,” he said, stepping beside her. “You said you like me.”

“Fine,” Zoey grumbled. “I like you.”

Mystery grinned.

“I knew barking was the right way to go.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m going to bark at Abby next time I see him.”

“No!”

But Mystery was already planning it.

If he had a heart, it would be doing cartwheels.

He glanced at her reflection again, her cheeks warm, eyes shy, and something settled in him.

“Hey,” he said suddenly.

Zoey looked up.

“I like you too. Even if your abs are unfair.”

Zoey broke into laughter, her head tilting back.

And for once, Mystery didn’t mind the quiet that came with the over world. He didn’t mind the quiet anywhere as long as it meant he could listen to the girl he probably shouldn’t have fallen for, laugh her heart out.

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rekino2114 · 3 days ago

Note

Can you do prompt 34 and 31 with fami and Asa/yoru

Ways the csm 2 girls tell you they're in the mood/NSFW headcanons

A/n:.....ok so basically I was writing prompt 34 and it just kinda.....got out of hand and I started writing straight up NSFW headcanons I had in mind for the girls cause I realized the post would have been too short otherwise...so I just added NSFW headcanons to prompt 34 cause.....yeah

for all of those who asked me how suggestive my posts can be....I think this is the limit

I don't know if I'll do prompt 31 too request again if you want me too and also I don't know which fami you wanted since this was requested after the reveal so I just did both of them......that's definitely not an excuse to add death who I am very down bad for

A lot of NSFW stuff below

Everyone involved is over 18

Asa mitaka/yoru

Asa is so awkward even at asking for simple affection, so she will almost never ask for sex even when she wants to.......meanwhile yoru will take you wherever and whenever she wants

Whenever asa's body starts feeling hot, both of them can feel it, and yoru will continue pestering asa until she asks you to fuck or just take over and start making out with you and stripping while asa yells in jealousy from inside her

It's funny how different they are, too, cause asa is very vanilla and likes to take her time and is, in general, a very gentle lover in that way.....meanwhile yoru is pretty rough most of the time and is into some very kinky stuff (definitely knife play and the like) only if you're OK with it too of course

Ok.......so how does sex with both of them work exactly? Do you think they switch in the middle or do they have like turns, like one night it's asa's time and the next one it's yoru's? Cause if they do I'm sure as hell yoru isn't following the schedule and randomly takes over during asa's turn just cause she wanted to have you to herself

Also, does the one who isn't in control of the body in the moment just...watch? And does it leave her pissed off that her other persona is having fun with her lover....or is she turned on by that? I feel like it's a mix of both, even if yoru will continue screaming until asa lets her have her turn.....even if it's not

Fami

Take everything I said about asa and multiply it by 100. This girl is soooo nervous and anxious about anything and everything. she was sweating bullets and insanely red in the face the first time you held hands. Imagine how she is during intimacy

The first time you asked her to have sex she genuinely had a nosebleed imagining the scene and fainted....when she woke up and you told her why she fainted.......she fainted again.....look she just needs a loooot of time to mentally prepare herself

Whenever she gets in the mood she actually prefers to relieve herself (usually using pictures of you) so she doesn't have to go through the embarrassment of asking you for help, but she genuinely thinks she'd self combust out or awkwardness if you walked in on her....which is a bigger problem than you might think cause she moans a lot and is generally very loud during intimacy

I'm sorry to say this but she's the bottomest bottom ever. She wants you to take her and fuck her until she's screaming your name.....she's somehow both into being praised and humiliated at the same time. she also does keep crying while doing it but don't worry it's mostly tears of happiness

One of her main dirty secrets is that she's actually into you leaving hickeys on her and claiming her, even if she always covers them and blushes whenever someone asks about them she likes the thought of everyone knowing she's yours

Death

Will straight up ask you "can we fuck?"

The thing about death is that she doesn't have any shame....like at all, she thinks sex between you is a completely normal and natural part of of your love life so there's no issues if she starts saying how good what you did last night felt or everything she wants to do to you that evening right?

Death actually doesn't get horny that often, so the times she actually asks you to have sex aren't that common but on the other end she's more than happy to take care of you whenever the mood strikes you. You could walk up to her at any time of day and any place and tell her you're feeling pent up and she will drop whatever she's doing and start pleasuring you right there and then

Speaking of pleasuring you, you cannot tell me she wouldn't give some absolutely insane head. Her two favorite things are you and tasting things you have no idea what that mouth can do. She thinks you taste amazing and will ask to use her mouth on you pretty often not because she's particularly horny she just wants to feel how good you feel in her mouth again......you have also woken up multiple times to her giving you head to "help you wake up"

For a very similar reason she really likes leaving hickeys all over your body. Not only does she think every part of you tastes amazing, but she also gets a kick out of knowing she left marks on you so that everyone knows what you did and that you're hers it's kind of the opposite of her younger sister. Of course however if you think she bites too hard or are not into it she'll stop and resort to licking you and making out with you during almost the entire experience

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vera-deville · 1 day ago

Note

I am here with but one simple request, jack with a non-confrontational, socially anxious reader! it’s such a contrast with his own confrontational manner and lone-wolf nature that I think would be quite interesting to explore (๑>ᴗ<๑)

love your writing, keep up the good work ^_^ ♡

Louder Than Words 05/03/2025

Pairing: Jack Howl x Reader Word Count: 1,104 Warnings: N/A Gender: GN Tags: @qaxdea, @katzline Notes: Thank you so much! I really needed to hear that, and I'm so happy you enjoy my writing! Masterlist

You had always known that group projects were simply another nook of purgatory established to make life that much more devious to get through.

The very idea of them gave your stomach leeway to twist into anxious knots, constricting like a boa until you couldn't breathe anymore. It wasn't that you didn't like people (okay, perhaps a little), but it was more so that you didn't know what to do with them. The talking. The awkward "who's doing what" conversation. The silent tug-of-war when nobody wanted to take the lead, and everyone kept glancing around, waiting for someone to volunteer. You'd rather write five essays alone in a cave than do one group project with three strangers who barely remember your name.

So when Professor Trein announced a four-person Herbology research project, you nearly curled up under your desk and died on the spot.

And of course, fate - cruel, ironic fate - put Jack Howl in your group.

Jack, with his gruff voice and stone-faced demeanor. Jack, who didn't care if someone got upset when he said what he really thought. Jack, who had no problem walking straight into confrontation like it was a warm summer breeze.

You were going to die. Or cry. Possibly (most likely) both.

The rest of your group was rounded out by a loudmouth from Savanaclaw named Yulan, who had opinions about everything, and a sleepy Octavinelle student who you were 90% sure was just in it for the grade. That left you, nervous, anxious, and wouldn't-say-boo-to-a-ghost you, trying desperately to keep things from going up in smoke.

The first meeting went about as well as expected.

"I'm just saying, if we're talking about magical soil composition, we have to include the variant growth properties from the Scarabia greenhouse. That stuff is wild."

"Yeah, but that's not what the assignment's asking for," Jack cut in, arms crossed. "It says we need to focus on herbological integration in real-world applications, not theory."

"I am talking about a real-world application!"

"Not if you can't prove it," Jack said flatly.

Yulan slammed a notebook on the table. "You wanna bet?"

You could practically feel your soul saying goodbye to your body.

"Um...maybe we can, uh, do both?" You squeaked, almost whispering.

Neither of them heard you.

"Alright, I'm done arguing," Jack growled, standing up. "If you want to waste your time, go for it. But I'm not failing because someone can't read a prompt."

Yulan bristled. "Who're you calling someone, dog boy?"

You slid a little further down in your seat.

And yet, even after the shouting and the note-slinging and the pure chaos of that first meeting, Jack stayed behind when the others left.

You hadn't said a word in the last fifteen minutes. Just scribbled things in your notebook and tried not to look like you wanted to evaporate.

Jack leaned against the table, arms crossed, looking almost...thoughtful.

"Hey," He said. "You okay?"

You blinked. "Huh?"

He nodded toward your still-white-knuckled grip on your pen. "You looked like you were about to bolt."

You flinched. "I...I don't really do well with conflict. Or people in general."

Jack's ears twitched. "I could tell."

You braced yourself for the judgement. The teasing. The "well, toughen up" speech.

But it never came.

Jack looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "Didn't mean to snap like that. I just hate when people don't listen. It's not personal."

You blinked again. Slowly. "You...weren't mad at me?"

He snorted. "You didn't do anything."

That shouldn't have made you tear up the way it did.

"Thanks," You said softly. "I, um...I wanted to say something, but I didn't want to make it worse."

He looked down at you, golden eyes narrowing slightly. Not in judgement. In...curiosity?

"You always like this with people?" He asked.

You nodded mutely.

Jack grunted. "Then I'll talk to them."

"What?"

"I'll keep the loud ones off your back. You focus on the research stuff. You're good at that, right?"

"I-I guess so. I mean, I like organizing and writing..."

"Good," Jack said simply. "Then you do that. And if Yulan tries to start another debate, I'll shut it down."

You blinked. "Just like that?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You want me to not help you?"

"No! I just...I'm not used to people being that direct."

"Guess that's why I'm here," Jack muttered. "Balance."

From then on, Jack didn't just participate in the project - he managed it. Not in the way most people would simply take over, but rather by smoothing out the chaos so that you never had to. If Yulan got too loud, Jack would glare at him until he quieted down. If the Octavinelle student slacked off, Jack growled until he did something useful. And whenever it came time to present your findings to the professor, Jack always, always deferred to you to start the presentation.

"You did most of the writing," He'd shrug. "It's only fair."

You couldn't remember the last time someone had made you feel...capable. Protected, even. But never belittled.

It wasn't just about the project anymore.

Jack started walking with you to class after your meetings. He'd slow his pace to match yours, quietly adjusting his long strides so you didn't feel like you were trying to keep up. When he asked you questions, he actually listened - ears twitching every so often as you spoke, tail swishing thoughtfully behind him.

"You talk quiet," He once said, "But you say smart things."

You flushed all the way to your ears.

Eventually, you even got comfortable enough to sit with him at lunch. Jack didn't talk much, but you didn't feel like you had to either. He liked the silence. He thrived in it. And now, so did you.

"Can I ask you something?" You mumbled one afternoon as you sat underneath a tree, papers spread between you.

Jack nodded.

Why do you go out of your way to help me? I mean, I'm not...strong. Or brave. Not like you."

Jack looked at you for a long moment, then snorted.

"You ever try doing something when your heart's about to leap outta your chest? Walking into a room full of people, talking even when your throat locks up?" He shook his head. "That's strength, too. Just a different kind."

You stared at him.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like I said something poetic."

You laughed. "Sorry. You just surprise me sometimes."

He shrugged. "I like people who are real. You don't put on a front. You just...are."

Your chest swelled with something warm and unsure and a little fluttery.

Maybe group projects weren't all bad.

Author's Note: I've been in a bit of a rut lately, which I was really sad about, because a couple of months ago, I had a really good streak going, and I was churning out fics at a rapid rate. Unfortunately, I just kind of fell off that streak for a while. I'm trying to get back into it, and I also plan on opening commissions soon! Please be on the lookout for more information regarding that, and I hope you enjoyed this fic!

#twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jack howl #jack howl x reader #jack x reader #group project #comfort #protective #oc - yulan #nrc #reader #you #vera deville

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rafeplay · 3 hours ago

Text

i don’t want anybody else

ft. rafe cameron x fem!reader

tags. age gap, babysitter reader, obsession i guess, ooc, mommy issues, mentions of slut shaming n misogyny, controlling rafe so nothing new, mentions of rape, angst, character study low-key, mention of smut

note. hai.. finished s4 today. sorry if anything is wrong i literally started the show like 5 days ago i think this is so overdue for my angelic mutual who this fic is dedicated 2… very disjointed towards the end ignore any typos or mistakes ab canon lore LMFAO unedited … feedback n rbs always so appreciated :3 was meant 2 be smut but I got bored LMFAO.. title from genitorturers song..

Having a crush on his childhood babysitter is probably the most normal thing Rafe Cameron has ever done.

You were fifteen and he was five. You had braces and a pierced nose, and you never really paid attention to Rafe unless he was bleeding or breaking a bone. Which coincidentally he learned to do a lot. He tripped down so many stairs for you.

You had a boyfriend that he bit for kissing you on his couch. Well. Rafe’s dad’s couch, but that’s, like, the same thing.

You didn’t get to have a sweet sixteen, but you did come to his sixth birthday party with a fisher-price kitchen set. Rafe found great interest in the plastic knife that came with an airbrushed piece of toast. He asked to marry you after everybody went home and you were tossing paper plates into a garbage bag because his dad asked you to clean up.

He used his mom’s ring and everything. He wasn’t allowed to touch mom’s stuff, but he did for you—And Sarah, of course it was fucking Sarah, she’s been a snitch since the day she was born, ran off to tattle on him.

“Aw, Rafey.” You ruffled his hair like a dog. “You’re so sweet.”

Sweet.

He was sweet.

(Being put in the naughty corner by dad after you left didn’t even ruin his night.)

You were the only consistent thing in his life. The only one that didn’t leave or change or shift affections. You came every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday after school like the sun. You told him his little-boy shampoo smelt good, you didn’t mind when he pulled at your clothes with sticky hands unlike Rose, you didn’t tell dad when he made Sarah cry, and you let him hold your hand, because even back then, he couldn't not be close to you.

When he was seven one of the older boys at school called you a skank, none of his friends heard, but Rafe did. It rang out in the playground like a gunshot, and for the first time his teachers brought up his ‘anger issues’ and ‘antisocial behaviour’ to Ward.

After school, you came over, didn’t mention his bruised knuckles or the little pout on his face.

You just said: “Wanna see something cool?”

He nodded which prompted you to lift your tank top.

Rafe covered his eyes, and then he peeked through the gaps in his fingers.

“I’m not showing you my boobs, idiot!” You laughed. “I got my bellybutton pierced.”

And Rafe, at just seven years old, looked at the offending piece of jewellery and thought: skank like it was a diagnosis. He didn’t really know what it meant, just that the boys at school meant it in a bad way, and that he was feeling a bad thing in his chest like he did when dad let Sarah pick the movie on movie night, like he did when he saw mom in hospital, like he did when dad married Rose.

The bad feeling he felt after he stole your cheetah-print thong and stashed it in his pillowcase. The bad feeling he felt when he told dad what he saw you doing with that boy in the guest room. The bad feeling he felt when you got fired. He watched through the banisters as Ward gave you a stern talking to and you cried and said sorry a lot.

And then you turned eighteen and you left for college. You didn’t say goodbye. You had a goodbye party, but Rafe wasn’t invited, and he took that very personally. Even when it was explained to him a handful of times that it was for teenagers and grownups.

Here’s the thing, just because you toss an old toy out, it doesn’t mean you can’t miss it from time to time. And fuck. He missed you everyday for six years.

Rafe missed you at ten when the new babysitter didn’t have hair as nice as yours or skin as soft and cotton candy-scented as yours. She didn’t let him watch Jeepers Creepers 1 or 2. At eleven when he got sent to the counsellor for drawing boobs in the margins of his schoolbook - they said he had issues with boundaries. At twelve when he wet the bed again and dad looked at him funny. At thirteen when his voice finally broke. He missed you at fourteen when he did his first line off the counter in the boys bathroom, it hurt so much he thought he was dying, his nose was bleeding, and all he wanted was you so he did another line.

You came home a week later. Older, but not any taller, well-travelled, a tattoo in a foreign language on your hip, a ring on your finger.

“Holy shit, you’re so big now!” You smiled up at him. “Gosh, you were like up to my hip before, how old are you now? Like thirteen? Fourteen?”

What grade are you in? How’s Sarah? Shit, Wheezie must be like in elementary now, she was a toddler the last time I saw her. You still bad at math? Are you guys still living in the Tannyhill place?

The whole time you talked Rafe wondered if you would still catch him if he threw himself down a flight of stairs, even at this age, at this size. Would you take care of any self-inflicted splinters? Would you still wipe his ass if he asked?

“What’s that?” He asked, not impolitely, bluntly, pointing at your shiny ring.

“Oh, this?” You smiled at him again, differently this time, in a way he couldn’t quite pinpoint. You smiled at everyone when you were younger, mostly boys your age, maybe that’s why it was so easy to call you a skank. “From my fiancé actually—I met him in Thailand, we stayed in the same hostel, he said he'd meet me back here soon, it’s a whole thing.”

He wanted to say something mean. Call your boyfriend a loser, ask if he had a job or a real degree, if he knew how much of a skank you used to be.

Rafe said none of that, he retreated when his dad came over to greet you, give you a big hug, welcome you home, congratulate you on the engagement.

“Look at you, god, you got so pretty,” Ward said, like he hadn't kicked you out of his house all those years ago, “lucky, lucky man wherever he is.”

Wherever he is may he fucking die. May an earthquake or a flood or some natural disaster sweep him into the ocean so he can never find his way back to you.

Nothing goes Rafe’s way so your fiancé arrived, and he was fucking great. He was a really, really nice guy. Even for a Pogue. He knew how to bartend, he made everyone laugh, and he had cool stories about tropical places.

You got married three years later. When you had enough money for a wedding. Rafe was seventeen. If he was eighteen maybe it would’ve gone a little differently.

Rafe Cameron, Kildare County’s most eligible bachelor; pedigree, privileged, and poisoned. Money wouldn’t be a problem with him.

“I’m so glad you came,” you cooed to Rafe, gave him a great big hug, pet his head. “Rafe asked me to marry him once,” you told your husband, “it was so cute, his ring was even nicer than this one, he got down on one knee and awww—“

It wasn’t a fucking joke.

Rafe was serious then and serious now.

By the time Rafe was eighteen, you and your husband were on a ‘break.‘ You took off your ring when you came to the bar all the way over in Figure Eight. You talked to other men. They paid attention to you because you had nice tits, and Rafe would know because he liked them first. He liked them before he even knew why he liked them.

“Rafe?” You tapped him on the shoulder, he was sweating through his linen button-up. “What are you doing?”

“What?” He blinked at you, glassy-eyed. “Nothing.”

“Rafe,” you warned like you used to when he wouldn’t go to bed on time, when he climbed on the kitchen counters, “what are you doing?”

Are you using something? Rafe. Look at me now. C’mon. Did you drink or is it something else? You know you shouldn’t be here, right? Who let you in? Rafe, who let you in? Please, tell me.

The lights got too bright, everything was pulsing and burning. “Why do you… Why do you care?” He breathed out, a rivulet of sweat taking the path down his nose, fists balled up by his sides.

“Why do I care?“ Your voice broke in your throat, angry, and maybe a little bit heartbroken. “Rafe, are you kidding me?” You cupped his face and it made him so upset, somerhing inside of him burned as if you’d put his heart in a kiln. “Go home.”

“No,” he scoffed, childish and bitter, elbowing you off of him.

“Rafe, listen—“

“No, you listen.” He shoved you back, got a rush from the way you looked up at him like he’d struck you. “I’m not… I’m not a little kid anymore, okay? You can’t just tell me what to do.”

“You sound a lot like a little kid right now, Rafe,” you bit back, chest rising and falling like you were really mad.

You were mad at him.

“Well,” Rafe said, blinking hard, “well, I’m not.”

He was taller now, bigger, older, and he needed you to see it—He needed you to understand that there was nothing that any other man could do to you that he couldn’t do too. Touch you. Fuck you. Love you. Use you. Dump you. Break you.

“C’mon, let me take you home,” you murmured, placating him with a gentle hand on his back, rubbing back and forth. Muscle memory.

You used to put him to bed that way.

“What would your dad think if he saw you like this, huh?” You settled him into the passenger seat of your beaten up car, fastened his seatbelt like you used to. He remembered pretending to fall asleep so you would carry him inside. So he could feel and smell and touch you for just a little longer.

“Don’t care.” Rafe shrugged, sullen, defiant. He looked out the window, jaw tightening.

The porch lights turned on when you pulled into the drive, and no one was there waiting up for him, no warm family welcome. If Sarah was ten minutes past curfew dad would send out a fucking search party.

You untied his laces like he was five again, put an arm around his waist when he sagged into you, took him upstairs, sat him on the edge of the bed, got him a glass of water. Like fucking clockwork. Like you were so used to taking care of him—You’d been gone for so long and you still knew what he liked.

He slumped back into the pillows you fluffed up and caught a glimpse of something he probably wasn’t meant to see in the glow of the lamplight.

You were bent over grabbing your purse, dress riding up - no underwear at all. The dress was a concern to Rafe in the first place, too sheer, too short—But this—This is when Rafe grasped that truly and honestly you were a skank.

You didn’t respect yourself, so who was gonna to do it for you?

It certainly wasn't going to be Rafe.

“Oh no.” You sprung up, tugged on the hem to do last minute damage control even though he had seen it all and his silence confirmed that. “Oh no, oh god, I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes were so wide. Mortified. Terrified that he would snitch to his father once again. Get you in trouble for being so lonely and open.

“Oh, Rafe, god, I’m so—I’m really sorry.” You edged towards him, toeing over that imaginary line when you sat on his bed. “I wasn’t even thinking.”

Rafe shrugged like his palms weren’t clammy. “You think I haven’t seen one?” One what? A girl? A pussy? A tit? His heart was going a million miles per second.

“I don’t know! I don’t want to think about that!” You reached your hand out and then retracted it. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m gonna go, you should go to sleep.”

“No,” Rafe said quietly, and then louder, firmer, “no.” He took your hand, squeezed, and then let go of your fingers to grasp your wrist. He didn’t want to hold hands anymore, he wanted to keep you like a balloon, tightening his grip so you didn’t float away.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked softly, and see—This is all that was wrong with you.

You were looking at him like he was still five and scared of monsters under the bed, like he couldn’t sleep without a nightlight.

“You think…You think I haven’t seen a girl before?” His voice shook as he spoke, a divot forming between his brows as frowned at the lines on your palm. “I’ve seen tons—I’ve, I’ve fucked them all, okay? I could fuck any fucking girl I want—“

“Okay, okay, Rafe, I’m sorry,” you laughed, a little taken aback, still not taking him seriously, trying to defuse his anger, rock him back to sleep by dismissing him, “I know you’re not a kid anymore, but you still are little to me—“

“No, no, no, no.” Rafe shook his head frantically, hair falling in his eyes, he took your other wrist, squeezing both of them tight enough to feel your quickening pulse. “Let me speak—Let me fucking speak.”

You blinked at him. Lips parted. Eyes wide. And you must’ve finally got it. That he could do whatever he wanted to you now. He could hold you down, cover your mouth if you tried to scream.

“I’m not little, I’m not little, I’m not,” he murmured feverishly, “look at me.”

You looked away so he grabbed your face and when you flinched Rafe found himself liking it. Gave him a better rush than any fucking drug.

“Look at me,” he repeated lowly, one big hand gripping your jaw so hard it must’ve hurt, “fucking look at me, I’m not little anymore, you know that?”

You nodded quickly, breathlessly.

“Tell me you know that.”

“I know, Rafe…” You said meekly.

Surrendered.

And it sounded so fucking nice.

You looked so beautiful with your shoulders up by your ears like a spooked cat, fingers twitching in your lap ‘cause you didn’t quite know what to do with them.

“Good...” Rafe nodded slowly, and then he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. “Good.”

He was eighteen and a half when you let him fuck you. You let him push you against the wall and mouth at your throat and you pulled his hair instead of petting it. He groaned so low - all the way in the back of his throat like a dog - it rattled your teeth.

You’d given up on correcting people anytime they called him your boyfriend by the time he was nineteen. Rafe started showing up everywhere. Work. Your apartment. To the bar. To girls nights. Family events. That way you had to acknowledge him, he wasn’t just a kid you could brush off anymore.

He’d gotten too big, too loud, being clingy wasn’t cute or charming anymore like it was when he was six. It was ‘fucking creepy’ and ‘obsessive’ apparently.

Tonight you’re going out for drinks with ‘coworkers’ so naturally Rafe goes and gets in a fight outside Barry’s place with a junkie twice his size. He comes home with a bloody nose and watches you watch him in the bathroom mirror as you put your makeup brush down.

“What is that?” You sigh, shoulders sagging. Before, taking care of Rafe was your duty, now it’s just a chore.

“What’s it look like?”

“You got into another fight.”

“Mm.” He shrugs. “So what?”

“Hm.” You shrug. “So, I think you’re being a dick—I think you’re fucking...” You trail off, shaking your head. “Clean up and get out, okay?”

Rafe throws his hands in the air. “Say it. Go on. I’m fucking crazy, right?”

“I didn’t say that, Rafe.”

“You were gonna say that—I can fuckin’ tell, I’m not, I’m not stupid.” He gets all up in your face, and you’ve gotten so used to it you barely flinch.

You reach out and brush your thumb over his cheek. He’s five again. “You wanna scream at me, Rafe? You wanna cry? Break something again, baby?”

He doesn’t answer. Blinks a lot. Breathes too fast.

“You wanna hit me? Hurt me? Scare me so I never fucking talk to anyone? You want me to stay inside like some fucking prisoner?” You’re talking to him so quietly, softly almost, like he’s just shown you a drawing you’re going to stick to the fridge. “Go ahead, do it.”

Rafe’s mouth opens like he might. Like he really might do all of it.

But he doesn’t.

“Poor baby,” you coo, patting his sweaty cheek, “you’d lose your mind before you let me go.”

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #obx x reader #obx smut #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x you #outer banks x reader #outer banks smut #outer banks angst

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malevoreenthusiast · 2 days ago

Note

In honor of my upcoming 21st birthday, can you please write a short story of me getting eaten by Freddie? Something like me going to the club for the first time and end the night in his belly

Happy birthday king! I hope you enjoy his stomach chamber for your 21st. :)

The floor was sticky. That was the first thing Freddie had thought when he entered the nightclub. On a whim, he had decided to take a night out by himself to try and work on his social skills because, the more he thought about it, the more Freddie realized that he really didn’t have that many close confidants outside of his inner circle. After a fair bit of encouragement from his friends, the socially awkward jock found himself stumbling into a bar on a Saturday night in a leather jacket he would never usually wear. The material felt like it was pulling his skin unnaturally taut, and he desperately wanted to retreat into his phone in the corner to call his friends to pick him up.

A clammy hand ruffled through his brown curls and the predator steeled himself for a night of fun. This certainly wasn’t his scene, but he would need to make sacrifices if he wanted to expand his social circle. Deafeningly loud music shook the floor beneath all of the clubbers as Freddie began shuffling towards the bar. He succinctly ordered a drink from the bartender and kept his head down, afraid to initiate any social interaction.

That’s when you noticed him from the dancefloor. A tall, lean, cute-looking guy sitting alone at the bar. Since you were surrounded by your friends all there to hype you up, you were fueled like an amorous jet to go walk up to the guy. Lifting your feet felt like a hassle because of how desperately it clung to your soles, given the adhesive that the spilled alcohol provided; however, you persevered, getting closer to the stranger. His shoulders were broad, and he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck without looking up. This hot guy was obviously quite shy, but that gave him a mysterious factor that was undoubtedly enticing.

“Hey!” you tapped him on the shoulder, inhibitions gone with the few drinks you’d pregamed with.

Freddie turned to look at you, eyes somewhat wide and shocked by your confidence (and perhaps drunkenness). He cocked his head sideways and yelled, “What?”

You giggled at his cluelessness, taking a seat next to him. You tried once more, drowning out the music with your desire to know this stranger. “I said hi! It’s nice to meet you.”

The leather-wearing predator ahh-ed in comprehension, returning the volley with a “Nice to meet you, too! I’m Freddie! Uh.. Happy birthday?”

“What?! I can’t hear you… the music,” you said, gesturing to the DJ behind you.

The curly-haired man smiled crookedly and reached his hand to the sash your friends had forced you to wear for your 21st birthday. It read in giant gold letters with a glittery silver background: “Birthday Boy.” It was mortifying at first, but your friends and yourself quickly grew attached to how silly it was.

“Ohhhh! Thank you! Yeah! I’m 21!”

Freddie chuckled, taking a hearty gulp of his drink. “I figured!”

Just as you were about to open your mouth to ask more about Freddie, the opening notes to one of your favorite party songs began to shake the floor. It felt like a bullet of glee and excitement had just caressed your temple, prompting you to grasp Freddie by the hand and drag him into the center of the mosh pit with all of your friends. “Come on! I love this song!”

Freddie followed obediently, and he was certainly a little awkward at first, but after the first few songs, he warmed up beautifully. The night went on like a tornado of celebrations and fun, and your new handsome friend slowly became more and more verbose as he got more alcohol into his system, brightening him to the people he was with. As the party climaxed, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom, taking Freddie with you.

As you dragged him by the hand, looking back at his large biceps (he had ditched the leather jacket, and it was fastened tightly around your waist), you winked as you led him towards the private restrooms at the back of the club.

“That was sooo fun!” the sweaty predator giggled, clearly a lightweight when it comes to drinking. “Wanna go back out there?”

You nodded but locked the door behind the two of you. Since it was your birthday, you figured you might as well celebrate as hard as you could, so why not be spontaneous with a beautiful, sexy stranger? The dingy lighting in the graffiti bathroom made for a natural aphrodisiac in the atmosphere. The muffled music coming from the central room still beats in time with your heart, quickening as you bite your lip in anticipation. On the dance floor, as you subtly grinded on Freddie, you could feel his enormous package through his jeans. Every time you tried getting handsy with him, though, he pulled away. Thus, you figured you needed to be more direct with him.

“Yeah, but first can we hang out here? Alone?” You began loosening his jacket around your waist and you lifted your shirt off over your head, but you kept the birthday sash on your torso. The plastic felt sticky on your sweaty skin, but you wanted to remember every sensation you could right now. The thudding of your heart sent fire from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head. You’d never been this reckless before, and something about the thrilling nature of this enthralled you like nothing else ever had before.

“Sure thing,” he cheered, still bubbly from his far-too-many drinks. Unbeknownst to you, Freddie truly was so naive to the point that he didn’t even register that you were lusting after him. The thought of sex was so far removed from his mind when in the presence of anyone but Brayden that he didn’t notice what you were hinting at. So, he offered, “You need some quiet time? I bet I could help with that!” He flashed you another crooked smile whilst patting his stomach, for some unknown reason, and his charm sent you wild.

“Please, please help me, Freddie. Do it for the birthday boy?” You half-joked, straightening out your sash.

The jock gestured you to come closer and he took off his tight shirt, boasting his impeccable washboard abs and well-built chest. In a flush, you rushed forward. You pressed your sweaty body into him, feeling the hardness of his muscles. Closing your eyes, you stood on your tip-toes to kiss him. You had to lean quite far forward, and when you opened your eyes, all you saw was darkness.

The handsome stranger’s hands seized your sides as you felt yourself get hoisted into the air. Immediately, your legs started kicking in a reactionary attempt to escape. Pulling yourself back, you registered instantly that your head was in a damp, dank cavern of some sort. Your face was pressed up against a spongy, warm bed that was slick, coating your face in something that smelled deathly unpleasant.

Freddie happily hummed, licking over your face and taking a beefy gulp, bunching up your shoulders and managing to engulf your pectorals, too. His chest bulged out slightly, and you could feel a tight, constricting passageway make space as your head pushed through. Loud gurgling noises echoed from below you, and with a sweltering realization, you understood what was happening. This beautiful, charming, mysterious stranger was eating you—swallowing you whole like a piece of meat.

Doing your utmost, you squirmed in resistance inside his esophagus, yelling as hard as you could for him to stop. Completely lost on how someone could do this, your best bet would be to reason with the guy. Still, it wasn’t like he could talk back with your entire torso in his gullet. As his throat pulled you in deeper, you tried not to think about how comforting it was to be fully embraced like this. You had wanted to get close to the guy, and even though this was definitely not what you had meant, he seemed to be giggling happily as he swallowed you whole in those big, manly gulps that echoed in the dim fluorescence of the bar bathroom.

Unaware of your consternation, Freddie took careful care not to rip your birthday sash as he kicked his head back and let your lower body sink into his belly. The predator felt your head push past his sphincter muscles and enter his stomach, letting his abs bulge outward impressively. Both hands let go of the iron grasp they had in your sides and began rubbing over his gut, which you could feel through the stomach walls. Freddie ran his tongue between your thighs, igniting a fierce arousal in you once more, but he seemed to only be interested in tasting you as you filled out his rapidly expanding beach-ball belly with haste.

As soon as your upper body had emptied into Fred’s stomach, you tried reorienting yourself into a position that wasn’t uncomfortable and contorting your body in ways it was never meant to twist. The predator’s stomach walls kneaded and massaged your sweaty body as the heat slowly increased as it had on the dance floor mosh pit. Feeling Freddie’s molars nibble slightly and apply pressure on your calves, you closed your eyes and silently wished this was all a dream. Unfortunately, his nibbling was equivalent to that of a pinch, and it definitely would’ve roused you from any dream you might be experiencing. Alas, you were still in the handsome stranger’s ballooning belly, listening to it gurgle and churn around you as the dark, dank environment thanked its owner for the massive piece of food it got to indulge in.

On the outside, Freddie continued massaging his belly delicately as he swallowed up your feet, taking your shoes off unceremoniously and gulping the last of you down happily. Once your feet had sunk past his lips, his jaw snapped shut, sealing you to his belly for however long he pleased. The jock groaned in pure bliss, feeling the last of your body bloat out his stomach to obscene proportions. The bulge of his belly pushed out from his frame like a mountain on a plain, but there was something so alluring and beautiful about his full belly that Freddie couldn’t help but admire. Feeling you squirm around in his tank, the predator moaned softly and braced himself against the back wall, feeling his belly move around with you inside it.

“Fuck… Fuck you were so yummy,” The predator cooed, patting his belly still in a drunken haze.

BBBBoooooooUUUUuuuuuuUrrrr—BBBBBBBBUUUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

If he was lucky, the other club-goers would’ve just thought that earth-shaking belch to be a heavy bass on the current song that was blaring. All that expelling of gas, however, had forced you to curl up into a ball in his hefty tummy. Through his muscled abdomen, you could hear giggling again.

“Hehe, do you mind if–hic–you mind if I keep this? I think Brayden would like it…”

Not understanding what he was talking about, you tucked your head down and tried concentrating on how to escape this sweltering belch-maker before it was too late. As you reached down to fiddle with your sash, your hands were only met with your stomach-juice-soaked skin. Then, you figured out what Freddie was chortling about: he had belched up your birthday boy sash and was playing with it like a kitten would.

As the gurgling intensified and Freddie continued firing out enormous burps, the predator slowly grew more lethargic. You imagined that he sat down to take a breather, though it was hard to tell for sure, given your current situation. Freddie breathed heavily as he gradually fell into a food coma, aided by the large amount of alcohol in his system. Though it was twisted, what had just happened, his belly did feel somewhat comfortable in a very strange way. It clearly wanted you in there, which was nice at least—to feel wanted.

About two hours later, the snoozing pred woke up and instantly clutched his head, not used to the feeling of a hangover. Sucking air in through his teeth, Freddie tried to recognize his surroundings to no avail. When he looked down, he heaved a great sigh and jostled you in his belly, waking you up too. Belching up even more of your oxygen, Freddie grabbed his phone from his leather jacket and the sound of an ongoing call ensued.

“Bray? That you?”

“...Yeah,” he was groggy, which was pretty adorable, but that wasn’t the issue at hand right now.

“...I did it again… could you come get me?”

The sound of muffled shuffling could be heard on the other end of the phone. Freddie looked at the far-too-bright screen for a moment to check the time, which read 3:27 AM. He grimaced, feeling guilty for waking his boyfriend up so late into the night.

When Brayden responded again, he sounded much more awake: “Same bar I left you at? Who was he?”

“Yeah. Some birthday boy… he had a sash and everything–UUURRRPPPP”

“This doesn’t come free you know. Sleep is hard to come by these days when I share a bed with you. When we get back I’m riding you within an inch of your life, then you're tucking me in your belly until I say I’m done. Understand?

The predator smiled giddily and nodded, affirming that “I understand.”

P.S. I really wasn't sure if you wanted to be digested or not, so I left it kind of vague on purpose. On a serious note, I hope you have a wonderful birthday! Spend it well :)

#ask #male vore #gay vore #m/m vore #male pred #male prey #same size vore #vore belly #my writing

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alexanderlightweight · 2 days ago

Note

a continuation of the prompt the frost of fury if you would be so kind.

here you go! i hope you enjoy it! this is a bit of time skip!

<3 lumine

the frost of fury (last part)

Magnus hides his smirk in his teacup but from the glare Alexander sends him, he doubts he’s truly hiding it.

Which fair, he’s not actually hiding his amusement. But it’s still delightful to see Alexander stare at him suspiciously and then doubtful in quick succession.

“Did you not enjoy yourself, darling?”

Alexander scoffs into his own cup of coffee and gives Magnus a withering look followed by a truly impressive eye-roll.

“I enjoyed myself immensely. I just would have enjoyed it even more if you hadn’t made me decide what I wanted.”

“Oh yes, my poor darling boy. Having to decide what pleasure to share, what touches to submit to, what you wanted to take for yourself. Most in your position would be thrilled, I assure you.”

“Most in my position?” Alexander’s smirk tightens and the glint of his eyes goes cold and Magnus traps Alexander ankle with his own feet before Alexander can react.

“Virgins, darling. Partners can be overly selfish with those newer to sex. Is it so wrong that I wanted to let you set the pace, explore a bit?”

Alexander doesn’t seem to have a defense to that but he’s still glowering and acting like Magnus consideration was a personal betrayal.

“Or do you prefer a little less control, Alexander? Seeing you in command you’re a complete natural, I would have thought you expected and enjoyed being in charge.”

“I’ve been fighting for control for my whole life, Magnus. I know what it’s like to have just fragments of it, or a veil of choice that’s not actually true. I finally have the power I need and it’s overwhelming. Not having the authority, that’s a relief. But suddenly it’s not just me upholding the family name and honoring a brighter legacy. It’s also about me. I’m making choices that will affect my name and legacy.

“I’m always having to make the hard choices Magnus. Sometimes—” Alexander pauses and then seems to make a decision, “sometimes I want to not have to analyze every choice or question my wants. It was nice both time but well, the first one. I’d say that if you want me to stay ruined for you. I’ll need to experience more of that.”

Magnus licks his lips, suddenly the mood to tease waning with the hungry yearning for clarification. Because he’d had a taste of it earlier and he wants what Alexander’s offering because as sweet as it is it tease and taunt and play, having Alexander exactly where he wants him is preferably.

“So you liked that, sweetheart? When I took what I wanted and taught you what you liked?”

Alexander’s gaze is serious and considering, but the pupils of his eyes have dilated and he licks his lips, nodding before he even speaks.

“It was easier, then. Later I had more time to second guess myself, to wonder if I was doing it right.” Alexander shrugs but Magnus reaches out to lightly grip his jaw and turn his eyes back to Magnus.

“You were a delight, sweetheart. But we can save that for later, hmm? For now, I’ll take care of you. Just like you need.”

—

Alec thinks he may have given Magnus the presumption of too much control, except he doesn’t actually care. Magnus is currently using magic to measure Alec and it’s been the best experience for tailoring he’s ever had. Especially since Magnus promised him a reward, if he was good.

Alec can be good.

Despite Magnus’ praises he’s certainly never been perfect, but he’s competent and that’s what’s always gotten him results at the end of every disaster and victory alike.

“I do need to go back to the Institute soon.” He reminds Magnus, keeping his voice soft because Magnus wants to keep him and Alec would love to be kept but he can’t risk being late when he gave control to Mirai so suddenly. Especially after shaking the foundations of hierarchy and the chain of command in the Institute.

“Yes, yes. You must go supervise the headless chickens running about without you.”

Alec frowns, because he’s sent most of the headless chickens to Idris and currently his Institute may be short staffed, but at least it’s staffed by people Alec can trust not to expose the shadowworld to a mundane and get their entire Institute sanctioned. It’s more like a motley group of swans, alpacas, wolves, guardian dogs and some birds of prey at the moment.

Magnus catches his frown and his moue of distaste melts into something gentler and covetous.

“Don’t mind me, sweetheart. I’m simply loathe to let you leave when I’ve had you for so little time.”

“You could always come to me. It will take weeks to fully adjust and I’ll come when I can but it won’t be often. So if you’d like, you can come to me.” Alec tells him. Bold and serious and without any hesitation. “I’ll ensure you have security clearance so that it won’t be a problem. Anyone who has an issue with it can leave, I won’t let you be disrespected or dismissed in my Institute Magnus. I can’t promise they’ll like you, but I can promise no one will make the mistake of insulting or belittling you more than once. And that we will sign a write and a vow with you that any retaliation on your part will be considered an appropriate defense, as any hunter should already know better.”

—

It’s assuring that Alexander knows he’s can’t promise that everyone will accept and be polite to Magnus, but it’s a delight to realize he’s willing to use his new and fragile authority to not simply protect Magnus but to ensure that Magnus has the right and protection to protect himself.

Magnus knows there is a dynamic to their relationship that won’t stay hidden, not for anyone who has eyes or instincts and understands context. Magnus wonders how Alexander will handle it and then reminds himself that in this, unless Alexander specifically asks he will let his darling handle it.

However that won’t mean he won’t be there, on the sidelines and the fronts and he’ll have Alexander’s ear.

Far more than anyone else.

Especially considering that Alexander seems to be relieved to have someone to simply share the stress he’s been under and then be both understood and unjudged.

If anything, Magnus has nothing but sympathy for Alexander the things he’s had to put up with for far longer than he should have, considering his youth.

There’s an innocence to Alexander.

Not of sex and lust but of the ability to rely on and place his confidence in other and share secrets and trust they’ll be kept.

AN:

magnus: darling i thought you'd like to experience whatever tickled your curiosity .

alec: i just wanted you? and what you picked. that was nice. that was so nice. i am so tired of making all the choices and magnus, magnus what do you mean i'm supposed to pick what we do next?

Magnus: okay but i really did not think he'd be that upset about it. seriously, i thought he'd like to explore

alec sulking: maybe when i know what i'm doing better. i dont even know what i like how am i supposed to figure out what you like too? do you know how much pressure this is? is sex even worth this kind of mental overloa-

Magnus: okay nope. i'll take control. don't even worry about it sweetheart. it's definitely worth it. my bad. clearly i underestimated how exhausted you are with life. i've got you

magnus to himself: i cannot believe how badly that almost backfired. especially when i'm delighted to take control.

alec: oh good. i thought that would work. i mean, i was dead serious but also i'm glad it worked or i might have caved because magnus is amazing. and magical. please dont forget the magical part. even when he doesn't use magic he's magical.

#lumines writes #writing wednesdays #writing wednesday #the frost of fury #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #shadowhunters

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