#and teasing each other frenetically about it

[bougiebutchbitch]

They are both so obvious.

Made House a brat and Chase a princess.

thou speaketh the truth

[moonstruckme]

CONGRATULATIONS ON 7K MAE THAT’S AMAZING YAYAYAYAYAYAYA 😭 could i please have an apple pie with sirius and prompt 27? 💖

Of course you can!

²⁷⁾ sirens at midnight 

neighbor!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 528 words

You spot Sirius as soon as he comes outside, though you tell yourself you weren’t looking for him. He’s got a thick blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his hair is disheveled and poofy. He squints in the streetlight, looking through the sea of your neighbors until he finds you, too. 

You wave lamely. 

He makes his way over. The fire alarm from your apartment building is nearly deafening even outside. Even when Sirius is right in front of you, you have to raise your voice to be heard. 

“Glad to see you’re not charred beyond recognition.” 

“I tried to go back to sleep for awhile,” Sirius replies. “I hoped it might shut up. Who set it off?” 

You shake your head, pulling your coat tighter around you as the wind picks up. You’re only wearing your pajamas underneath, much like everyone else here. “I don’t know.” 

Sirius pulls his blanket closer, too, glowering all your neighbors around you. “I’m gonna kill them.” 

“Oh.” You can’t find it in you to be surprised, but you do yawn, covering your mouth with a hand. “I don’t know how you’d have the energy.” 

“I’ll find it.” Sirius joins you, leaning against the side of your building. 

“When do you think they’ll let us back in?” you ask.

He groans. “It’ll probably be forever. The fire department has to come, and they have to sweep everything…I may as well go in to work now.” 

“Dressed like that?” 

Sirius gives you a sideways grin. “They’re lucky I come in at all. And if the blanket slips a bit, it’ll probably just earn me some extra tips.” 

You laugh. “Are you not wearing pajamas underneath?” 

“I’m wearing my pajamas. Some of us choose more modesty in bed than others, gorgeous.” 

Your face heats ferociously, but the silence that lapses between you isn’t uncomfortable. You watch your neighbors try to calm frenetic pets, swap coats and coverings against the chill, fall asleep on each other while sitting on the curb. Despite the wailing of the alarm, your own eyelids start to feel heavy again. 

When it finally cuts out, your relief is so immense you drop your head to Sirius’ shoulder without a thought. 

“Thank god,” you mumble. 

“What was that?” Sirius teases. “My ears are still ringing.” 

In the new silence, you hear sirens approaching. Red lights glow in the distance. 

“That’ll be the fire crew,” he says. You realize your head is still on his shoulder, and you lift it to find Sirius looking at you. He seems more awake than he had been. “Do you want to get out of here for a while? We could grab a coffee and wait them out.” 

“Is anywhere even open right now?” 

“Absolutely.” He gestures down the block with his chin. “That cafe there? Open twenty four hours a day, just for us.” 

“Nice of them. Are you okay to go like that?” you ask, though you’re already walking with him. 

“What, like this?” Sirius spreads his arms halfway open, giving you a brief view of his tattooed chest and boxers. “Sweetness, I might even get us a free meal. Don’t worry about me.” 

[wriothesleysgf]

sweet thing — kaeya alberich.

notes : afab reader , gn pet names , breeding , spit , praise. minors do not interact.

"that's it, bunny, just like that,"

kaeya leans over to whisper into your ear. although you're laying on your back whilst he pounds into your sweet little cunt, there's something about the way your cheeks heat up whenever he praises you that make him go absolutely feral.

the pace of his hips is sharp, snapping against your own and showing no sign of halting. it perfectly contrasts his gentle touch. each carress to your face, your thighs, your tummy, your breasts contains immeasurable love and adoration.

"so pretty like this," he cooes. one of his hands slips underneath your head, lifting you ever so slightly as he bring himself down to kiss you. "oh, darling," he groans as your lips part. his face contorts in pleasure, not bothering to maintain the snarky, teasing demeanor that he sports around others.

kaeya takes his time with you. while he keeps his movements a little frenetic, his primary goal is to go as deep as he can — and he's doing a damn good job. every time he pulls out, he leaves you empty, stretched open by only the swollen head of his cock. then he wastes no time fully sheathing himself inside of you, so much so that if you didn't know any better, you would think he's inside your womb.

he pays full attention to your whimpers and begs, listening to your body's every desire. eventually, you ask him for more. while you could reach down and play with your own puffy clit, kaeya swatted your hands away each time you've tried. "let me take care of you, sweetheart," he said, same saccharine tone as ever. you were too embarrassed to ask, yet he'd fucked you to a point of neediness that it was no longer an option.

"there we go, was that so difficult?" he chuckles lightly. before you have the chance to shy away, his fingers as spreading your sticky folds, assessing the situation. he gathers a blob of spit on his tongue, landing it directly onto your clit and making you shiver before providing the comfort of his lithe digits circling the sensitive bud. "so fucking perfect, aren't you?"

you're not sure how he manages to make you melt with such expert precision, though you're also not sure that you care. pleasure is coursing through your veins, the knot in your stomach growing tighter with every movement. and kaeya could tell.

"are you ready to cum, my darling?" he muses. "i won't make you beg, i'm not a total monster,"

you nod frantically, not trusting your voice. kaeya chuckles at your eagerness, consumed by the knowledge that only he got to see you like this and only he could make you feel such way.

"come on, my pretty bunny. let it all out," he states, continuing to play with you. "i'm going to breed you nice and full, okay? fuck, i can't stop thinking about how heavenly you'd look swollen with our kids..." kaeya notices how your walls flutter around him at such confession. "you like it that much, my love?" he leans down, resting his forehead against your own and staring into your eyes.

"aren't you an angel, hmm? my angel, my bunny," kaeya rambles. within a few deep thrusts, you can feel his cock twitch inside of you, spilling ropes of cum against your cervix. the sensation pushed you over the edge too, slick from your combined highs creating a mess between your legs.

"so sweet," kaeya cooes, kissing you adoringly. he holds you close, not pulling out from you just yet. "let me stay like this for a while, okay?" he punctates the sentence by kissing your forehead gently.

the calvary captain looked so content. so much fondness filled his gaze that it lit your heart of fire, falling in love with him all over again.

[sunny44]

Sparks and spats

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!reader

Warnings: Unrevised chapter, English is not my first language

Summary: Y/n and Lando can't go a minute without fighting with each other, but that's just a flawed way of hiding the sexual tension between them.

The tension between Lando and me was palpable. Since we first met, it seemed a simple glance could spark a heated argument. Our mutual friends, including Max F., had grown accustomed to the frenetic and fiery dynamic between us, who oscillated between teasing and almost kissing. The chemistry between us was undeniable, but both of us insisted on hiding it behind a facade of fights and barbs.

In recent months, our arguments had become almost a daily ritual. Any small comment could ignite another round of provocations. In the paddock, Lando would often tease me about my career decisions. I, in turn, would always find a way to jab at Lando in a sensitive spot.

"Do you really think that move in Padel was as amazing as you're making it out to be?” Lando asked, clearly provocatively.

"And do you really think driving poorly like that will get you the title?" I retorted, without losing my composure.

Our friends were no longer surprised. Max, especially, found amusement in our arguments, though he sometimes had to intervene to prevent things from going too far.

It was a Friday night, and the group of friends had decided to go to a nightclub to unwind after an intense week of training. The loud music and flashing lights created a perfect atmosphere to forget our problems and just have fun. However, the peace was interrupted when a rumor started circulating at our table: a mysterious blonde had been seen with Lando recently.

"I heard you've been seeing a girl, Lando,” Max said with a mischievous smile.

Lando rolled his eyes and sighed, visibly irritated by the insinuation.

"It's not true. You, of all people, should know not everything online is true. Besides, she's not my type.” He replied, trying to stay calm.

"So, what's your type then? Flirty blondes that boost your ego?” I said, with a challenging smile and a penetrating gaze.

Lando turned to face me, and for a moment, the club's noise seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of us immersed in the tension between us. He stepped closer, his eyes fixed on mine.

"Nah, more like sassy brunettes who roast me every chance they get,” he replied, his voice low and full of intensity.

The silence between us seemed to electrify the air around us. Max, noticing the situation, tried to shift the focus of the conversation but not before exchanging a complicit look with the other friends, who also noticed the charged exchange.

I looked away for a moment, feeling my heart race. Lando's provocation had hit me in a way I didn't expect. Maybe, behind all the fights and barbs, there was something deeper. Something neither of us was ready to admit.

The night continued, but the tension between Lando and me was now even more palpable. His words echoed in my mind, and I couldn't help but wonder what else was hidden behind those bright eyes and challenging smile.

As the night progressed, the dance floor became the club's focal point. The friends dispersed, some dancing, others chatting in smaller groups. Lando and I, however, remained at the table, the tension between us visible to anyone watching.

Max, always the mediator, decided to intervene.

"You two need to dance. Come on, get up. Enough provocations for one night, let's enjoy being together." he said, pulling me by the hand and pushing Lando towards the dance floor.

Reluctantly, we both followed the flow. When we reached the dance floor, the music changed to a slow, sensual beat, and Lando took the opportunity to pull me closer. His hands rested on my waist, and I, hesitantly, placed my arms around his neck.

"You really can't help it, can you?" I murmured, my voice barely audible above the music.

"Help what?" Lando asked, leaning in to hear better.

"Provoking me. Making me confused," I replied, my eyes shining under the club's lights.

"Maybe because you do the same to me. Maybe... because I like seeing how you react." Lando smiled, a genuine smile, different from his usual teasing grin.

"That's not fair, Lando," I sighed, feeling vulnerable.

"I know," he admitted, his expression softening. "But what if... what if all this is just a way to hide what we really feel?"

"And what do you feel, Lando?" I stopped, my eyes locking onto his, trying to decipher the sincerity in his words.

"I feel that, despite all the fights and barbs, there's something between us. Something real. Something worth exploring." Lando stepped closer, our bodies now practically touching.

"Do you think we can give this a chance? Stop the provocations and see what happens?"

"I don't think we can stop the provocations because that's already part of us,” he said, and we both started laughing. "And I want to try, if you do too."

I hesitated for a moment before finally smiling.

"Okay, Lando. Let's try." With that, he smiled and pulled my face closer to his and kissed me.

The music changed to a more upbeat rhythm, and Lando twirled me around the dance floor, laughing. For the first time in a long time, the tension between us seemed to be dissipating, replaced by a new feeling.

Our friends, watching from afar, exchanged satisfied looks. Max, in particular, couldn't hide a broad smile. Maybe, finally, the incessant fights were over, though it made the nights more entertaining for them. He knew Lando deserved someone who was sincere and cared for him as a person, not for his fame.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram stories

“I think I like him”

[its-avalon-08]

Can you do one about Kmi Raikkonen, based on Wildest Dreams - Taylor Swift? but with a happy ending hahaha. That song for some reason gives me Kimi vibes!

melted your heart (kr7)

the fia gala glittered like a disco ball, the air thick with champagne and perfume. y/n, a seasoned formula 1 reporter, weaved through the throng, dodging elbows and practiced smiles. then, she saw him. kimi räikkönen, the iceman himself, stood stiffly in a charcoal suit, an island of quietude in the frenetic sea.

"kimi! looking… sharp," y/n said, the usual quip dying in her throat at the sight of him. a rare smile flickered on his lips, a fleeting glimpse of mischief.

"bwoah," he replied, his trademark deadpan. they fell into their usual interview dance – short answers, pointed questions. but as the night wore on, the formality chipped away. a slow song drifted over the crowd. y/n, never one to miss a chance, extended a hand. "care to dance, iceman?"

kimi hesitated, then surprised her with a nod. they moved awkwardly at first, but a shared laugh broke the tension. y/n found herself drawn to the warmth in his eyes that contradicted his cool demeanor. the playful banter flowed, a stark contrast to his usual interviews. "you know," y/n teased, "you're actually kind of fun when you loosen up."

a slow smirk played on kimi's lips. "maybe you just haven't found the right buttons yet."

suddenly, an idea struck y/n. "so, kimi," she said, feigning seriousness, "what happens after a reporter interviews the iceman?"

a glint appeared in his eyes. "depends on the reporter, i suppose."

he said, "let's get out of this town drive out of the city, away from the crowds"

the night blurred into stolen glances, shared laughter, and a spark that y/n couldn't ignore. finally, as the gala wound down, kimi surprised her again. "how about we ditch this circus?"

a thrill shot through y/n. "where would we go?"

"anywhere but here," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

heart pounding, y/n followed him out into the cool night air. he led her not to a car but to a motorbike – sleek, black, powerful. "hop on," he said, offering her a helmet.

he's so tall and handsome as hell, he's so bad, but he does it so well

hesitantly, she climbed on, adrenaline coursing through her veins. with a rev of the engine, they roared away, the city lights blurring into streaks of color. they arrived at his hotel, the ride leaving her breathless, both from the speed and the unexpected turn of events.

six months later

the paddock buzzed with pre-race activity. y/n, now sporting a paddock pass with kimi's name on it, spotted him across the way, deep in conversation with antonio giovinazzi. as they approached each other, kimi leaned in and murmured something to antonio, who winked at y/n. a familiar blush crept up her cheeks.

"so," kimi began, once they were alone, a teasing glint in his eyes, "care to join me for a post-race drink… as my official girlfriend, perhaps?"

nothing lasts forever, but this is getting good now

y/n's smile widened. "about time you asked," she retorted, her heart skipping a beat.

eight months later

the air crackled with post-race adrenaline as y/n weaved through the throng of reporters, microphone in hand. kimi, already halfway changed out of his race suit, watched from the sidelines, a furrow etching itself between his brows. her target? sebastian vettel, her old friend and kimi's sometimes rival on the track.

"seb! a quick word for sky sports?" y/n called out, her smile bright as she reached him. sebastian, ever the charmer, flashed his megawatt grin. "always happy to chat, y/n."

kimi's scowl deepened as their interview stretched on. the two of them seemed to be having a grand time, reminiscing about past races and cracking jokes. y/n's infectious laughter rang out, and kimi felt a pang he couldn't quite place. was it jealousy? surely not. kimi raikkonen, jealous? absurd.

finally, the interview wrapped. y/n turned to thank sebastian, lingering a touch too long for kimi's comfort. as she finally made her way back to him, kimi surprised himself by pulling her into a tight hug, burying his face in her hair.

"hey there, iceman," y/n teased, wrapping her arms around him. "rough race?"

kimi mumbled something unintelligible against her shoulder. she chuckled, the sound warming him from the inside out. "come on, spill. what's got you all frowny?"

kimi finally lifted his head, his blue eyes narrowed in a playful glare. "you and vettel seemed awfully chummy out there."

someday, when you leave me i bet these memories follow you around

"oh, kimi," y/n feigned hurt, "are you jealous of seb? that's just adorable."

kimi scoffed, but the blush creeping up his neck betrayed him. "bwoah, no. why would i be jealous?"

y/n squeezed him tighter. "well, whatever it is," she said, leaning up to kiss his cheek, "it's not a good look on you. how about we celebrate your podium finish with some ice cream? your treat, of course."

kimi, unable to resist her playful smile, surrendered. "fine," he grumbled, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "but only because you asked nicely."

two years later

y/n sat curled up on the couch in their swiss chalet, a mug of hot cocoa warming her hands. snow swirled outside, creating a picture-perfect winter wonderland. a low rumble from the fireplace was the only sound, except for the occasional muffled curse word from upstairs.

"having trouble with the ice cream machine again?" she called out, a smile tugging at her lips.

kimi stomped down the stairs, a scowl etched on his face. "stupid contraption," he grumbled, collapsing onto the couch beside her. y/n snuggled closer, her laughter filling the room.

they had built a life together, a quiet haven amidst the whirlwind of formula 1. despite their contrasting personalities – y/n, the extroverted reporter, and kimi, the stoic champion – they fit together perfectly.

five years later

y/n watched from the pit wall, her eyes glued to kimi's car as it tore down the track. this was his final race, the culmination of an incredible career. as the checkered flag waved, a lump formed in her throat. tears welled up in her eyes as she saw him emerge from the car, a wide grin replacing his usual stoicism. he spotted her in the crowd, their eyes meeting across the distance.

later, in the quiet of the team's celebratory dinner, kimi raised a glass. "to the woman who tamed the iceman," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

even if it's just in your wildest dreams

y/n raised her glass in response, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "to the man who showed me the warmth beneath the ice," she whispered, her heart overflowing with love and gratitude.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

well i hope you liked it! thank you for sending in your request and do send more <3 happy reading!

leave a like! leave a note!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

[yallthemwitches]

Slipping Away

Snape didn't think his life could get much worse---until Lily was falling in love with James Potter right before his eyes. A compilation of 3 particular moments between 6th and 7th year..

(If anyone is curious, I imagine Sirius and Lily are dancing to Fool In the Rain by Led Zeppelin and James and Lily dance to Mambo Sun by T Rex)

Sixth Year

I.The Three Broomsticks was filled to the brim with people. All the Hogwarts houses were present as well as the locals. Even some goblins were seen carrying their own goblets of firewhisky while weaving around at knee height. Severus sat glowering at one of the tables that had been pushed back against the wall to make space for a dance floor. Around him, music burst with a frenetic energy and bodies buzzed to move with it.

He hadn’t wanted to come–the potions NEWTS were coming up and Avery had also given him an extra assignment to create a new curse that would be good enough to get him noticed by the death eaters who had been scouting through the Slytherin house. But he knew she would be here tonight. So he came. 

He wasn’t wrong. Just across the room she stood with a group of her girlfriends in a tight circle. Out of her uniform, she bobbed her hip to the beat making her black corduroy skirt bounce slightly. Marlene McKinnon said something with a smirk and Lily leaned her head back in a laugh. He watched as she compiled her hair on the top of her head in a loose ball and let it cascade down her back in waves. 

He had seen her do this a million times. The way her laugh burst forth. The habit she had to fool with her hair when she was either nervous or feeling a burst of emotion. She used to do those things when he used to talk to her. How could she have learned to do them for anyone else?

Mary McDonald came back from the bar levitating 3 drinks and Lily took hers from midair. Sipping idly, she swerved her body to take stock of the room. She turned about halfway before pausing for a beat and a smile curled up from behind her goblet. Snape jerked his head in the direction of her eyes to see Potter and his friends just across the other way sitting semi-circle at a table that already had a collection of empty goblets. Potter leaned on the back legs of his seat in mid-discussion with his little cult. Sirius let out a barking laugh at whatever was said and picked up one of the goblets to down it with a swift movement. At Lily’s gaze, James looked up, dropped back down into a proper sitting position, and leaned with crossed arms on the table. A small smile pulled at his mouth. 

“I’m imagining it,” Severus conceded. The moment couldn’t have been more than two seconds—there’s no way that with this much bustle and noise…Potter and Lily—his Lily—could be having some sort of moment. 

Lily rolled her eyes and swiveled her body back facing her friend group. The girls talked excitedly to each other and a new song started up. Lily made a little jump and took a long sip from her goblet before setting it on a nearby table. Snape was too far away to hear her words, but he could tell by the change in body language that she was excited by whatever new song was magically blasting into the room. She swayed her hips in time with the beat and with her hands hovering up by her shoulders, snapped along to each drum hit. Marlene snorted and shook her head at her friend. Watching her mouth he could just barely make out Marlene saying, “Merlin Lily, you and that muggle music.” 

Unphased by her friend’s teasing, Lily closed her eyes and mouthed the lyrics to herself. Giving a cheeky wave, she spinned on her heel and walked towards the middle of the dancefloor, still keeping time with her steps. He expected her to stop where others had begun dancing in the middle of the space, but she expertly weaved her way through the crowd and towards the boys sitting on the other side. 

Severus felt his throat dry up. He knew that they had seemed a little friendly these days. It hadn’t been lost on him that she and her friends had started sitting next to Potter and his crew during meals. And after lessons, James would sometimes bound up to keep in step with her, asking about the class. Merely a year before she would have been annoyed by having to talk to the likes of him, but now she let him— even emitting a laugh or two at something he said.  All the years they had spent lamenting about his giant ego and bullying behavior was being thrown out the window the second they stopped spending time together. Mulciber and Malfoy always said muggleborns were supposed to be slimy and disloyal, but she had always been different than that. She was better than the rest of her kind.

Lily stood with her back to him in front of the marauder’s table and continued to sway playfully to the music. Severus craned his neck as far as he could to be able to watch her face. At her approach, Potter sat up straighter and his hand jumped into his hair. Disgusting prick. 

He couldn’t make out her words but he saw the slightest bit of color bubble up on Potter’s face. If Severus hadn’t thought Potter was capable of any other emotion besides being an arrogant prick, he would have thought that he was embarrassed. Potter’s eyes widened a bit, and he spoke something back to her, once again pushing his hand through his hair. Lily slowed her swaying, clearly crestfallen, but quickly pushed past it to perk back up. Sirius turned to James and with a mischievous grin and said something before rising from the table. Lily’s face lit up and she grabbed Sirius’ hand as he followed her out into the middle of the dance floor. 

Snape felt his dinner bubbling up in his stomach. She’s going to dance with Black? He’s almost worse than Potter…

Snape’s only consolation was the look on James’ face. Wide-eyed and pale, James stared blankly at where Sirius and Lily had started dancing on the near-side of the hall. Pettigrew leaned over and started poking James in the face with a smirk and Lupin rolled his eyes and said something pointedly to him, who looked too stunned to hear it. 

Snape whipped his head back to Lily and Sirius. Lily had her arms loosely around his neck and Sirius had his arms wrapped around her. Despite being mid-dance, he could tell that Sirius was holding distance between them, very clearly wanting to establish them from the other dancers who pressed themselves to each other as tight as possible. 

“Potter has his little gang so whipped. He must have called dibs on Lily like she’s some kind of Quidditch prize.” Despite being revolted by the thought, Snape had to admit he was fine with watching Black be more reserved. 

Sirius and Lily swayed together. Despite being a muggle tune, Sirius was able to word all the lyrics along with her. They both continued to dance; belting out the song while the music drowned them out. After a moment, Sirius leaned into Lily’s ear and whispered something with a smirk. He was facing the table where he had left his friends, and his eyes twinkled in the direction of James who had gotten some of his color back but was now carrying an air of frustration and annoyance. Lily leaned her head back and laughed at whatever Sirius’ had said and turned her head to also stare in the direction of the table. Knowing they had his attention, they both simultaneously gave a sly wave and Potter pouted further. 

Lupin leaned over again, and said something curtly to James. James nodded a few times before pushing himself up off the table. He strode over onto the dancefloor and stood next to the two dancers who kept in-tune without hesitation. After some words were exchanged, Lily dropped her arms around Sirius’ neck and Sirius, feigning the air of a dignitary, offered one of Lily’s hands to James with a dramatic bow. Lily rolled her eyes but let James take over in Sirius’ stead.

It was too much for Severus. He already had to watch her dance with one arsehole, and now she was going to dance with the leader of arseholes. He jerked himself up from the table and trudged his way onto the dancefloor. 

By the time he made it to the couple, Lily had snaked her arms around James’ neck and he held her around the waist. They stood much closer than Sirius’ had allowed earlier, with their bodies pressed against one another, and James’ hands making tight contact with her lower back. Both of them had a smattering of blush on their faces and stared at each other with easy eyes. As Snape approached, he watched James lean in close to Lily’s ear and whisper something. In response she scrunched up her face in a playful grin. 

“Can I talk to you?” Severus felt extremely out of place surrounded by flushed and bobbing bodies. He made a quick erratic dodge to not run into another pair of dancers who were whooshing past. 

Neither Lily or James moved out of their embrace. If anything, he could see Lily’s hands tighten around Potter’s neck as she craned around to look at him. 

“No,” she said curtly. She turned back to face James who, despite clearly trying to be on his best behavior, side-eyed him and made a sardonic smirk. 

“Please,” he tried again. 

“Can’t you see I’m trying to enjoy my evening,” she retorted, and started to slowly spin herself and James away from where he was standing. Snape took another step forward and planted a hand squarely on her shoulder. 

“Lily—” But Lily whipped around, removing her hands from James, while James’ eyes narrowed dangerously as he kept one of his hands protectively around her waist. “How dare he stand there like she’s his.” Snape’s mind flooded with anger. 

“She said no, Snape,” James growled out. Around them, people started to stop their reveling to watch the scene unfold. Lily’s friends pushed forward to be closer and from the corner of his eye, he could see that Sirius and Lupin were both standing now with wands in hand. 

“Fine…Fine. Mudblood.” He spat it out at her and turned on his heel. James pulled out his wand, but Lily grabbed at his shoulder, clearly begging him not to react. Snape didn’t look back and stormed out of the front doors and into the rain.

Seventh Year

II. School had started merely weeks ago, but the whole student body was buzzing. When he first heard someone talking about it in the Slytherin common room, he almost vomited on the spot. 

“D’you here? Potter and Evans are together.”

“A head student romance? Bet that keeps their patrols interesting.”

“I heard they saw each other over the summer— Mary told me she even slept over at his—”

“We all knew that one day they were bound to snog, Potter has been after her for years and Evans couldn’t mask her sexual tension with anger forever…”

He didn’t want to believe it. He refused to believe it. But later at lunch there it was. 

They were together. Lily sat leaning into the crook of his arm that encircled her. His other hand rested plainly on her upper thigh and gently squeezed her exposed skin randomly as they both listened to Marlene who eyed them warily but continued with her conversation. 

For head boy and head girl, it was a disgusting display of affection. The Lily he knew would have never been ok with it—he already thought Dumbledore was going mad to let Potter get the head boy position, but now to have him condone this type of behavior?

James lowered his head to whisper something closely in her ear. From even such a distance he could see James’ nose nuzzle against her cheek and Lily let out a giggle. She reached up and playfully grabbed his chin and gave it a little teasing shake before he closed the distance between their lips. 

Sirius and Marlene broke into a mocking applause at their kiss and James swatted at his mate while Lily blushed deeply. Lily leaned into James’ ear and murmured something, and red sprung up around the bottom edges of his glasses. Lily stood and James followed suit, eliciting suggestive oooohhhs and kissing noises from their friends. James grabbed his and her bag and slung them over his shoulder before wrapping his free arm once again around her waist as they started for the door. 

As they walked, Lily spoke to James with an ease not unlike she used to reserve for him. How many times had he wanted to wrap his arms around her like Potter so freely did now? He felt dizzy as he watched James kiss her temple as they departed, with Lily’s face alight with happiness.

III. 

He had gone down to the potions classroom they used to use in the good days. It was the middle of the night, but he had no better option. He had been working on a new potion technique he couldn’t work on in class. He yearned to talk to Lily about it like they used to. Whenever he was stuck on a problem, she always had something wise to say, as though she was like the half he was missing to be a complete person. 

He hadn’t come down here at night often since him and Lily had stopped talking. He knew how special it was for her to have a safe space, and it was his gift to her to let her have it whenever she wanted to come to experiment at night. Sometimes he would sneak out and wait in the hall, just to listen to the cutting of her knife as she sang along to the music she conjured into the room while she worked. 

He had just finished packing his things when he heard footsteps and voices coming from down the hall. 

“Are you sure the Beatles aren’t wizards? Like has anyone point blank asked them?” said a familiar male voice. 

“I think if they were, we would know by now, don’t you think,” he could recognize her voice from a mile away. His heart sank.

Lily and James turned the corner and started walking towards the open classroom door. Severus clutched his potion kit to himself and cursed silently. Sure, he could hide somewhere in the room, but all it would take is one quick sweep and he would be found. 

He stood frozen within the door as he heard their footsteps approach. He closed his eyes and braced himself, but miraculously they had stopped. He heard the shifting of clothing and a soft groan from James. 

“I thought we were supposed to be watching that other corridor,” James whispered. His voice sounded deep and thick. 

“No, I think we can skip it,” Lily responded back. He had never heard her voice sound like that. It was low and melted into the air. He had never thought you could hear desire in someone’s voice, but there was no mistaking it. 

The two went silent save for the sound of bodies moving slowly and soft moans being teased out of the other. He heard a dampened thump and slithered himself up against the door to carefully peer out into the hall. 

James had Lily pinned against the wall. Their lips moving against each other like they were starving for each other. Lily ran her hands through his hair and curled her fingers into tight fists, eliciting a moan from James. He stood pressed between her legs so their bodies fit together as close as possible. One hand was clasped around her upper thigh and was toying with the idea of pulling her leg entirely up and around his waist for better leverage. The action of their bodies together pushed her skirt to dangerous heights, but she seemed too busy to notice. 

Severus felt like he could die at that very moment. He wanted to stop watching–needed to stop watching, but found that he could not. Lily was flushed, mouth hanging open in a perpetual moan as James lowered his head to her collar bone and attached his mouth like a suction. 

“I love you.” It was barely a whisper, but Severus heard it. By the way it came so easily from her lips he knew it wasn’t the first time she had said it either. 

It felt like his soul left his body. His eyes became unfocused and he felt the urge to sit on the floor. She loves him? Loves HIM? No curse could feel as bad as he felt now. Nothing that had ever come before it could compare.How could she be so blind? How could she fall so low?

James removed himself from her collar which was red from his mouth. He looked at her, beaming. “I love you too, Lils. Merlin. I love you so much.”

And their lips met again. James picked her up and she yelped playfully but obliged to wrapping her legs around his waist and using the wall for support. Severus couldn’t watch any longer. He slid to a crouching position and buried his head in his hands. 

After what seemed like ages, he heard some shifting and Lily’s feet touch back on the floor. 

“I think it’s safe to say our patrols are done.” He heard her say with a giggle. 

“So….my dorm?” Severus wanted to snort at how cocky it sounded, but Lily just laughed. 

“What? You’re going to tell all your mates to fuck off so we can cuddle?” She teased.

“Cuddling? Is that what we are calling it now?” He could just picture Potter’s stupid mouth turning up in a mischievous grin. 

He heard Lily laugh and give him a playful swat. 

“Sure, yeah—I’d like that.” She conceded. And their footsteps disappeared around the corner. 

Severus remained crouched despite their departure, unable to move. Is this what hell is like? Is this what I deserve? He thought about all the times Lily smiled at him; all the times they would laugh as they experimented with potions or talked carelessly by the river about everything and  nothing at all. 

She was gone.Taken. Stolen. Each lovely moment with her slipped away from his mind like being crumbled into dust. All that was left was anger. A deep, encompassing hatred. 

He would get her back. Even if that meant killing the person she loved. Even if that meant becoming her enemy to do so.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - The Stand-in Stands Up (all puns intended)

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

June 2024 Week 1

Ongoing Series - Thai

My Stand-In (Fri iQIYI) ep 7 of 12 eps - I do enjoy that the other Joe’s past is now coming back to haunt the present. For our Joe, the hits just keep on coming. Meanwhile, I know my heartstrings are being intentionally tugged, but I did feel sorry for Ming in this episode (at the last). And I think Up is doing a great job with this frankly difficult role if he can make me feel anything approaching sympathy for Ming. Ming's breakdown was excellent. Very dramatic.

Wandee Goodday (Sat YT) ep 6 of 12 - These two are entirely boyfriends who just don’t happen to be dating. It’s Schrödinger’s relationship. It's crazy that these two are already sleeping together and I still can’t wait for them to kiss. Very nicely done. Good tension point. This was a really cute episode but nothing much happened.

In other news, the sound effects REALLY bother me in this show. It might have been in the running as a 10/10, except for those fucking sound effects.

We Are (Weds iQIYI) ep 10 of 16 - I like how the majority of this show is just basically struggling with first love. It’s strangely sweet and innocent as a result. Frankly, right now, I need that - it’s comforting. It’s not exciting, but I can’t deny that thi is the highlight of the middle of my week.

Peem to Phum = use your words. Phum = SMOOCH. 

Bet you all heard this one coming: NO SINGING. 

Note: Satang (Toey) is a fantastic actor. I love the way he changes the physicality of his body for his roles. In this part, he’s kind of loose-limbed and floppy. He doesn't look younger but the way he inhabits his body does.

My Love Mix-Up Th (Fri YT) ep 1 of 12 - GeminiForth (AKA G4) are back and glory-be they showed up on YouTube. Still I’m worried it won’t stay there after the Cherry Magic debacle. So I stayed up late that night to gank it. 

Back to the show.

One of the things I’ve always loved about this IP, is how genuine and decent and earnest all of the kids are. They’re all trying so hard not to hurt each other's feelings. It’s all just a terrible case of miscommunication. G4 are perfect casting for these roles. That said, I have the same challenges with this version as I did with the JBL - it’s a bit frenetic and can be clownishly too MUCH for me. 

Meanwhile, the he feeds strays trope has popped up again. 

Love Sea (Sun iQIYI) ep 1 of 10 - Trash watch here. MAME warning! I found it rather lacklustre and inoffensive but still managed to invent dildo smores.

Knock Knock Boys (Thurs Gaga) eps 3 of 12 - Honestly? I’m kind of enjoying watching the friendships develop between the housemates. Of course I know they’re probably gonna all end up sleeping together, but right now the communal easy-going companionship and teasing is the most fun. Other than that, this is an unremarkable Thai BL pulp with better than normal acting and consistency (for a pulp).

Only Boo! (Sun YT) ep 9 of 12 - Moo is the clinginess boyfriend in the entire universe. The thing I think I love best about this couple, and the show, is what great communicators they are. That said they are not great actors. I don’t mean to be rude, and I don’t expect great acting from my Thai BL, but it’s a little rough going sometimes with this pair.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

At 25:00 in Akasaka AKA 25 Ji Akasaka de (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 8 of 10 - It’s taken me a long time, but I finally realized what I dislike about this show. It’s the pacing. Or rather, the lack of it. And I’m not saying that the pacing is necessarily off, in fact this is a typical JBL thing. But for some reason, in this show, I find it particularly annoying.

Blossom Campus (Korea Thurs Gaga & iQIYI) ep 5-6fin - Honestly, this was a perfectly fine little friends to lovers BL, with better than average kissing from Korea. But for some reason it never really hit for me. The very end was extremely odd. A bit of a disappointment for a longer piece from Strongberry. I think they tried to be too classically BL and that is just not their strength-berry. Strongberry is better when they explore something a little edgy, or a little outside the box. 7/10

It's airing but...

The Last Time (Fri YT?) - Convoluted story of loss and possible reincarnation or something. Can't find it.

OMG Vampire (Thai Sun ???) 10 eps - also I can't find it. Comments from last week suggest this is not my thing anyway, but Lee Long Shi very much IS my thing, so... maybe I'll put it on hold for a bit and y'all can let me know.

In case you missed it

The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer released to Korean theaters 5/25. HoTae & DongHee, side couple from Unintentional Love Story are back! Same actors, same character names. I love them. I NEED TO SEE THIS. How?

You Made My Day (Thai YT) - mini series staring the I Will Knock You couple Tar & Bom, started but I couldn't find it. I also didn't try very hard. Apparently it's cute but basically a 10 min advert.

KWill To Reunite With Seo In Guk, Ahn Jae Hyun in Comeback! For those who don't know the MV for his song Please Don't is a heavy hitting shock tactic BL adjacent piece featuring major Korean actors. (The closest we are likely to ever get.) Look it was a BIG DEAL at the time. Kinda like Kpop's Broke Back Mountain moment. More here:

I don't often report on the Kpop scene but this is very interesting.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

June Releases

6/14 Let's Eat Together Aki and Haru 2 AKA Aki wa Haru to Gohan wo Tabetai 2 Haime! (Japan movie Gaga?) - Continues the (frankly) lackadaisical story from part 1.

6/15 Sunset Vibes AKA SunsetXVibes (Thailand Sat iQIYI) 12 eps - Star Hunter + MosBank on iQIYI for 12 weeks? If nothing else it's gonna be a wild and sexy ride. A one night stand but "uh-oh he’s my boss," adapted from a web series. I’m game. Maybe it’ll have a better story than Big Dragon? Maybe it will have a plot? We can but hope.

6/26 The Rebound (Thai Weds VIU?) - MeenPing are back in their 3rd BL together, a basketball based romance (Meen was a national basketball player, so yay for that). I like this pair better than most (I still do miss Meen with Est but Est has a fantastic looking new BL coming from GMMTV so yeah...) Anyway I'm up for a sports romance starring a man who, yah know, actually played that sport so... I'm game (pun intended).

(Speaking of, why can't Est be a merman? This... I ask you?.)

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Flipping stellar side couple Wandee, thank you.

Love the mains too of course.

This is that funny little unnamed (muli-named) BL/GL something from Korea that's happening on YouTube right now. It's cute! I guess it's falling under the moniker Fake Buddies.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity

@rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in it's infinite wisdom doesn't like too many tags.

There's these tricks, remember.

[junipernight]

Yangvik Week 2024 - Days 2 and 4

Prompts: Touch Starved, Family, and Hair

___________________________________________

Balm

“Alright, I’m ready,” said Yangchen, stepping out from behind the finned-caribou hide that partitioned the tent.

Kavik squinted at her. She was dressed in the blue furs of the water tribe, in a knee-length parka with a moon motif on the front panel. Her hair had been swept up and folded into a bun, with two strands on either side of her face hanging in braids and adorned with bone beads. Her arrows were completely covered by the warm mittens on her hands and the thick fringe over her forehead.

She looked every inch a Northern Water Tribe girl - even her eyes, normally a dark gray, seemed to have taken on a slightly icy hue, as if they were reflecting the arctic world around them—but there was something off about the disguise.

Kavik snapped his fingers as he figured it out. “You look like my gran-gran!” he said. Then his thoughts caught up with his mouth, and he said, “Wait, that didn’t come out right.”

Luckily, Yangchen seemed more amused than offended. “How was it supposed to come out, then?”

Kavik poked the bun at the nape of her neck. “Your hair. No one younger than my gran-gran wears their hair like that.”

Yangchen frowned. This had been her favorite way to do her hair, in one past life or another. She hadn’t even thought about it before tying her hair up—her fingers had remembered all on their own.

Thinking back on her time training in Agna Qel’a, however, she realized Kavik was right. She would stick out if she wore her hair like this, and it was very important that she blend in for the sake of the mission: Today, she was meeting Kavik’s extended family in Long Stretch.

And if everything went well, they would never suspect that “Ilagik” was the Avatar. 

Yangchen  peeked out the tent flap: the tundra greeted her, wide open and vibrant and abuzz with the frenetic energy of late summer. The sun was obscured by a light mist, but she could make out a bright spot low on the eastern horizon. “We have some time before we have to leave,” she said. “I can try again.”

“Let me help you,” Kavik offered.

Yangchen raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“My cousin taught me how to braid when I was little,” he said defensively, as if he were offended that she doubted him.

Yangchen shrugged, and flounced onto the nearest bedroll. “Ok then. You do it.”

Kavik took off his mittens and sat behind her. He pulled out the beads, untied the ribbons, and unpinned the fake fringe. Then he began to comb her hair. He started at the bottom, gently running his fingers through the strands and gently teasing apart tangles. Gradually he worked his way up to the roots of her hair.

Without meaning to, Yangchen leaned back into his touch, her eyes drifting shut. Having her hair brushed felt nice, nicer than she would have expected. It wasn’t an experience she was accustomed to; the last time someone had brushed her hair would have been back at the Western Air Temple. The older Air Nomad girls taught the younger ones how to deal with hair after they turned old enough; growing one’s hair out was an important marker of growing up. Yangchen didn’t remember whose hands had brushed her hair and taught her how to hold the comb, only that it hadn’t been Jetsun.

Yangchen winced. 

“Sorry,” said Kavik, thinking the motion had been in response to something he did.

Yangchen suddenly noticed that there wasn’t much braiding going on. “Are you playing with my hair?”

Kavik paused guiltily, “... maybe.”

“Keep doing it, it feels nice.”

Kavik was happy to oblige. He ran his hands through her hair some more, watching the silky strands slip through his fingers.

“Tell me about your cousin,” she said. “The one who taught you how to braid.”

Kavik began to separate her hair into sections. “I have a lot of cousins, but my favorite is Yuka. Every year, we used to see each other at fish camp, and we’d all go everywhere together like a pack of porcupine seals. Yuka is the oldest, and Kalyann and I used to think that cloudberries sprouted wherever she walked. She’s really smart, and she always had the best ideas for games.

“One summer, she was teaching my girl cousins how to braid their hair, and I cried until she let me learn too.”

Yangchen grinned as she imagined Kavik, baby-cheeked and innocent and tearful about being excluded.

“Real tears?” she inquired. “Or were you a master liar even then?”

“Very real tears,” Kavik assured her solemnly. . “I would never lie to Yuka.” 

Yangchen snorted, not believing him for a minute. “Will I get to meet Yuka?”

“I hope so. I heard she’s married now; hopefully she didn’t move away.”

“Do you mind if I use a little hair grease?” Kavik asked, holding up a small jar. 

“Umm...” Yangchen was willing to eat meat, if that was what was available. She was aware that the clothes she wore and the tent they were sheltered in were made from the hides of dead animals… hides which had been carefully waterproofed with the same animal fat Kavik now held up, no doubt. And yet, it still made her uncomfortable, the idea of rubbing cooked animal remains directly on her person.

She was about to say yes anyway, for the disguise and because it wasn’t really a big deal, when Kavik surprised her.

“It’s from Taku,” he said, twisting open the lid. Instead of the stench of animal fat, a fruity and sweet aroma filled the air, taking her by surprise. “I think it’s some kind of fruit oil.”

Yangchen’s shoulders relaxed. “Sure.”

Kavik rubbed the grease onto his hands and began to massage it into her hair. Whatever fruit it was, it was familiar. The scent called her back to some other place, in some other lifetime, but Yangchen resisted, focusing on the soft patter of rain on the tent and the gentle tugging of her companion’s hands through her hair; he was massaging her scalp now, digging his fingers into the roots of her hair; this was even better than the brushing.

No one touched Yangchen anymore, outside of occasional bouts of physical combat. In the western air temple, she had grown up in close proximity to dozens of girls, with whom she’d had very little physical boundaries. Her sisters and she had piled on the same beds, and huddled for warmth during festivals at the northern temple, and tackled each other both on and off the air ball court. And of course Jetsun had always been her greatest source of comfort, holding her close and anchoring her to the present when she was wracked by the grief and anguish of a thousand past lives. After Jetsun had died and Yangchen had left the temple, she’d been left with almost no one. Just a lonely figure at the top of an air spout, suspended in front of  an audience.

(Except for Nu Jian, when she still had him. Nu Jian couldn’t hug her, but at least she could hug Nu Jian.)

When had Kavik become the exception to her isolation? When had Kavik become the one that casually lifted her up and spun her around?

She was almost sad when he finally began braiding her hair, but they did have somewhere to be, and a long ride ahead of them. 

Kavik froze a thin sheet of ice, and held it up to her when he was done.

“What do you think?” He asked.

Kavik had braided the bulk of her hair into one long braid and pulled it into a loop that dangled from the crown of her head. He’d also redone the face-framing qilliqti that she had tried to do before. Yangchen had struggled to thread the thin braids through the beads, and her earlier attempt had been frizzy because of it. The hair grease combined with Kavik's skill had made the braids sleek and elegant.

Yangchen turned to thank him, and then immediately dodged a greasy finger aimed right for her nose. Another greasy hand came at her, and she grabbed Kavik’s wrists.

“Stop that!” She laughed.

“But you like my hands,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I’m trying to give you a hug!”

“Oh!” It was Kavik’s turn to be surprised. “Okay.”

She hugged him. And then she directed his greasy hands back at his face.

“Hey!”

.

.

.

(They were slightly late to dinner with Kavik’s parents.)

[jokeringcutio]

Matthew Lillard x Actress Reader. A romantic little Drabble, rating T.

Disclaimer: I don't mean any disrespect toward Matthew Lillard and his family, and want to make it clear that this story is purely fictional.

Fill for this post: [ x ] Matthew: if you ever come across this, I sincerely apologize for all the horrible things I made your characters do. And please, don't let your family have a look at those other fics. I implore you.

You stepped onto the balcony, the chill night air a sharp contrast to the stifling warmth of the crowded movie awards hall. The fabric of your dress—a midnight blue number with a daring slit up the side—rustled against your skin as you moved. Its sequins flickered like distant stars under the pale moonlight, mirroring the shimmer in your eyes. You needed this respite, a moment alone to breathe.

"Mind if I join you?" The voice was unmistakable, laced with the same charm that had captivated audiences for decades. Matthew Lillard followed you outside, his tailored suit clinging perfectly to his tall frame. The black tuxedo made him look even more dashing than usual, the jacket hugging his broad shoulders, the trousers skimming down those long legs. His tie was a deep burgundy, a splash of color against the crisp white shirt.

"Of course not," you replied, turning towards him with a smile that felt more genuine than most you'd offered that evening.

"Remember the first scene we shot together?" he asked, leaning casually against the balustrade. "You couldn't stop laughing every time I flubbed my lines."

"Hard to forget," you chuckled, recalling the way your laughter had filled the set, a memory tinged with fondness.

"Those were good times." He looked at you, and there was an echo of shared jokes in his gaze. "We made quite the pair on screen."

"Too convincing, perhaps?" you ventured, thinking of the whispers that had followed you both. Rumors of an off-screen romance had swirled around you like persistent flies.

"Speaking of which..." Matthew's tone shifted, became something softer, probing. "Why did we never... you know, give it a shot?"

Your heart stumbled, then raced. You stammered, words tripping over each other as they rushed out. "Well, I—It's just that, um—"

"Hey," he interrupted gently, a perceptive glint in his blue eyes. "You don't have to shield my ego."

You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your throat. Could he see right through you? Did he know about the quiet yearning that whispered through your veins whenever he was near?

"Truth is," Matthew continued, his voice dropping a register, intimate and raw, "I had a thing for you. A big one. Still do. Never tried to hide it."

His confession sliced through the night, hung between you, heavy and electric. Your pulse hammered in your ears; the world seemed to tilt slightly on its axis.

"Even now?" The question escaped before you could cage it, revealing more of your heart than intended.

"Even now." His affirmation was simple, unwavering. And you just stood there, breath stolen by the audacity of his confession. The night air bit at your bare shoulders, goosebumps rising along your arms not solely from the chill. Stars blinked above as you considered all the possibilities that suddenly lay ahead of you.

"Say something," he urged, voice low, teasing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. They searched your face, looking for a truth you hadn't even admitted to yourself.

Silence stretched, a canvas awaiting the first stroke of color.

"Did you ever...?" He left the question hanging, but you felt it deep inside.

Your heart thrummed a frenetic rhythm against the cage of your ribs. "I did," you whispered, finally allowing the words to escape, fluttering into the space between you like frightened birds. "But the years between us..." You trailed off, the age gap looming like a chasm too wide to cross.

"Numbers," Matthew dismissed with a wave of his hand, his suit jacket shifting to reveal the cut of his frame beneath the fine fabric. "They're just numbers, and I've never been good at math."

Laughter escaped you, short and startled, the sound cutting through the tension. It was a confession wrapped in a joke, and it loosened something within you.

"Come here," he said, extending his arm toward you. His offer was a lifeline, bold and clear.

"Are you sure?" A daring beat pulsed behind the question. Your gaze flicked to the media frenzy inside, the voracious cameras that would document this moment.

"Let them talk," he said, certainty lacing his tone like steel.

"Okay." One word, heavy with implication. You took his arm, the fabric of his suit cool and smooth under your fingers.

His arm tightened around you as you stepped into the light pouring from the hall. Flashbulbs ignited, an artificial daylight that pried and probed. But in the shelter of his arm, you found an unexpected fortress.

"Girlfriend sounds nice," he whispered, a promise woven through the syllables.

"Boyfriend," you echoed, savoring the shape of the word, the weight it carried. Delight surged, sweet and potent as honey liquor.

The world would wake to new headlines tomorrow. Let them spin their stories. Tonight, you wrote your own narrative, one electric step at a time.

[immajustvibehere]

Arthur having a bath with reader?

It pays.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

oneshot: fluffy and suggestive

Summary: You walk in on Arthur taking a bath at the hotel. Being all wet and cold from the storm outside, you decide to join him in the tub. Maybe this is the best opportunity you get admit your feelings for each other.

2700 words, 15 minutes reading time

The knock on the door was frenetic and you didn't even wait for an answer before you barged in.

"Y/N?!", Arthur almost chocked on his words, anxiously skidding around in the bathtub. You noticed him sinking a bit lower under the surface of the water, shoulders slouching and Adam’s apple bobbing with a big gulp of surprise.

You sure were a sight to behold. Soaked and shivering from head to toe, you had stormed into the Saints hotel’s bathroom. That there was a proper storm outside was no secret. The windows were rattling and the whole building creaking. Rain pelted against the windows and walls. Your feeble presence was a shocking reminder that some people were crazy enough to leave their shelter in such a weather.

As if Arthur remembered that he’s supposed to be this big, brave man; he straightened his back, his chest now emerging from under the milky water and the bubbles. You had seen him shirtless a couple of times, when he had been working in the summer’s heat or when he decided that there was too much blood on his shirt to just hand to the girls to wash. Nevertheless, it was always around other people and – most importantly – he had always worn pants. Arthur cleared his throat and asked:

"What the hell are ya doin here?"

"Dutch send me-", you were still catching your breath while your wet clothes made a puddle on the floor.

"Dutch? Why? Something happened?", Arthur's eyes roamed your face, suddenly anxious to find out his gun is needed immediately.

"No...he – well… he was talking with Micah. Something about an important lead. And Micah wanted me to fetch you immediately. So Dutch....Dutch send me", you sighed.

You both looked at each other. You felt somewhat helpless and frustrated. Riding through a storm wasn’t the most leisurely afternoon activity. Your chest heaved under your soaked clothes that were sticking to you like a second skin. Arthur, on the other hand, looked confused. He tilted his head, considering you.

"An important lead? Sounds like that can wait, at least 'til I've finished my bath. I just got in", Arthur said.

"Yeah..."

"Ya sure Micah wasn't pulling yer leg? Sending you out to ride in a god damn storm?", Arthur leant back in the tub, suddenly more confident around you, when he saw you weren’t in a teasing mood.

"He...probably did...", you admitted. It made you sick, accepting this. On one hand, you hadn’t wanted to talk back to Dutch because you had already had a rather horrible day and in a discussion, you would have surely got the short end of the stick. You hadn’t been in the right state for being shamed and accused of laziness or disloyalty. But also - on the other hand - you had jumped at the opportunity to go and fetch Arthur.

A violent shiver ran down your spine. Cold water dripped from your head down your back, and even though the room had been heated feverishly with a big fire spitting in the fireplace, the wet clothes cooled you down extremely.

"Do you mind me staying? I'd just warm up for five minutes...", you asked.

"Sure", Arthur eyed you as you walked towards the fireplace.

That you got out of your jacket and shirt got him by surprise though. You heard the water in the tub splashing when you peeled the clothes off your skin. They'd never dry in a couple of minutes, but it was still better to be out of them.

"You can get into the tub if ya want. Yer freezing, you need it more than I do", Arthur offered in a soft voice.

You slowly turned around. Arthur sat upright, his arms on the edge, ready to leave if you accepted his offer. It melted your heart.

"I thought you just got in?", you asked warmly, with an underlying teasing tone, as you got closer.

By instinct, Arthur sank down again, checking if the foam covered enough of him. You two had been dancing around for the last couple of months. It wasn't even the case that one of you were oblivious to the fact. You had been flirting relentlessly, showed care and affection for one another - and yet, neither of you had openly admitted that you wanted more. It couldn't be for the fear of rejection because you both knew what you wanted. Maybe Arthur was held back by a weird lack of confidence. How stupid you were to make the mistake of liking him!, he would think. He was dangerous, old, ugly and unlovable. Not nearly good enough to be adored by someone like you. For you, it was a mixture of being afraid of commitment, the threatening idea of it not working out or others making fun of you because of the comical look the couple of you would be. Could you even handle Arthur? Or more importantly, could he handle you? With all your bodily imperfections and weird quirks that you thought rendered you undeserving of his sometimes very pure and simple love.

Those thoughts were always present. When the two of you sat down for a morning coffee, there were those looks that you gave each other, full of love and affection - but what if…?

"I thought you just got in there?"

He felt caught. Of course, he did just say so. And he wouldn't get out for an important lead, but for you, he would.  

"Yes, but-"

"How about I just join you in there?", you suggested, a cheeky grin forming.

"I-...What?", Arthur stuttered. Looking for words. Still, he tried to maintain the upper hand: "sure if you don't mind sharing a bathtub with a filthy outlaw."

You smiled. For a second you thought he might refuse.

"Look away, will you?", you begged. And he listened. Awkwardly looking to the other side of the room while you got out of your clothes. He tried his best to look the other way when you got into the tub, however, he had to admit to himself that it wasn’t entirely impossible to not see you at least in the corner of his eye. He thought he might lose it completely when you gave a silent moan and hum of appreciation for the hot water. Only when you had settled in opposite of him, hugging your knees in front of your body, he dared to look at you again. His cheeks as flushed as yours.

"That's … amazin", you admitted. It was a relief to feel your limbs warm up.

"Can imagine...", Arthur mumbled. You gave him a cheeky smile.

"Not a big talker, all of a sudden?", you teased.

"Naked small talk ain't that easy", Arthur huffed.

"Oh", you mocked, "so you never take a deluxe bath then?"

"Well...sometimes", Arthur defended himself in an offended voice.

"That's a lot of naked small talk, isn't it?"

"Sure, but I'll never see those women again! And they aren’t naked", Arthur fought back.

"So it's a problem that I'm naked?", you asked with raised eyebrows. You knew you had him.

"Problem? No, darling", Arthur chuckled warmly.

He knew you were bad at keeping a relaxed complexion when he called you pet names. He had observed your reaction to them almost immediately and from henceforward had only used them sporadically, being well aware that their use had an effect on you. And this remained true, because now you gulped and quickly avoided his gaze before you collected yourself for another witty remark.

"You won't call for a deluxe bath now, will you? If ya want I can give you a scrub and for the money you buy me a whiskey later", you suggested. Arthur looked unsure, self-consciousness quickly taking over his thoughts. He loved and trusted you, but he was outright embarrassed, knowing damn well a few spots were mud and dried blood blemished his skin.

"Come on...I'll just do your back", you offered with a kind smile.

Arthur sighed and handed the sponge to you. "M'okay", he agreed, carefully turning around in the bathtub. Water spilled over the edge of the bathtub, but neither of you cared really. "That's not one of yer tricks, is it?", Arthur asked anxiously. You had a history of playing small pranks on each other, so it wasn't a surprise he would assume something like that.

"What am I supposed to do?", you chuckled.

"I dunno? Drown me?", Arthur guessed.

"Mhhh", you grinned, "Now you're giving me some ideas..."

You thought about it for a second before you decided against drowning him. Mainly because he was ten times stronger than you and would turn the tables before you could do as much as dip his head under water. You smiled at the thought of naked wrestling in the bathtub. But you started to scrub Arthur's back with the sponge, casting it aside after a few moments to lightly massage his back with your hands. Arthur stiffened when your bare hands touched his skin. You felt the tense muscles in his shoulders when your hands tried to knead the tension away. Absentmindedly, you traced some of his scars on the back with your finger, which had Arthur twitching of the tickle. Your eyes fell on his hair. The tips were wet and clung to his neck. It looked funny and adorable at the same time. You enjoyed it quite a bit that you could stare and smile at Arthur’s handsomeness without him mocking you.

"Want me to wash your hair too?", you asked.

"Y/n ya really don't have to-"

"Oh, but I want. I've only got good feedback from my hair washing skills", you claimed.

"Who was the judge of that?", Arthur asked incredulous.

"Remember Jimmy?"

"Yer dog?", Arthur laughed.

"Sure. He always loved it when I washed him. Couldn't get enough", you said.

" If your only ever customer was a dog, I'm not sure your skills will suffice for-", you interrupted Arthur by pouring a jug of water over his head, wetting his hair and shutting him up in the process. You couldn’t help but laugh when Arthur had to spit out some of the water that had got into his mouth and wipe across his face.

"Have some trust, mister", you mocked.

"I'm startin' to think yer don't deserve to be paid with whiskey after", Arthur shook his head slightly, but him slowly starting to relax suggested that he indeed did enjoy your head massage.

"Maybe your right. I'm enjoying this way too much to demand any payment", you stated. Quickly and silently adding a "I mean, the annoying-you-part of course..."

"'Course...", Arthur mumbled in agreement. In reality, you were happy to be so intimate with Arthur. Finally. The way he gently pressed his head into your hands when you rubbed the soap in. He tried his best to stay decent, always adjusting his position and shuffling an inch away when he felt your breasts touching his back. But when, for the fourth time in a row, you pressed your upper body against his back 'as to reach his hair better', he stayed that way, only turning his head ever so slightly to watch you in the corner of his eye.

In a low voice and with red cheeks he finally said: "Yer teasin' me, girl?"

"Sure am", you poutingly admitted.

Arthur hadn't expected this answer. Normally, you'd just deny it and grin stupidly, he didn't expect it to be any different now. He lowered his head a bit and with a sigh and in a gravelly voice said: "There's only so much teasin' a poor fella like me can take."

You poured another jug of water over Arthur's head, this time more careful to not let it run over his face, but still efficiently washing out the soap.

You sighed. Then secretly grinned before trying to speak monotonously: "For my taste, you take a bit too much, Arthur."

He wanted to turn around. See your expression to check if this was as close to a confession as it would get today, but in this very moment you stood up to get out of the bathtub. Arthur caught a glimpse, but quickly averted his gaze again.

"What's that s'pposed to mean?", he asked while staring down the water in front of him, trying his best to ignore the fact that you were walking through the room butt naked to retrieve one of the towels that were provided on a chair. You feared your heart would break out of your chest any second now. You desperately searched for a way to play the conversation back to him. Lord, you didn't have the strength to actually say it. He'd tease you forever that you were the first to give in. And yet...you couldn't handle it being put off any longer. You feared that if nothing happend now, this would be the last moment for a long time of having had some intimate contact with Arthur. Your body still tickled from the feeling of leaning against his back.

Quickly, you dried yourself and tied the towel under your arms around your body. It was warm from lying near the fireplace and it felt cosy around your waist and torso. Then you took another towel, walking up to Arthur and handing it to him. When he finally looked up from the water to take the towel, you pressed a kiss against his temple.

"Thank you", you mumbled, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks yet again.

"For what?", Arthur asked so softly, you barely recognised his voice. His eyes were glued to your lips, regretting fiercely that they hadn't settled for another spot to kiss him.

"For trusting me", you smiled slightly. Arthur wasn't someone who trusted easily. And even being friends (and a little bit more) for years now, it was still special that he let you wash him. But the man scrunched his nose, his eyes shortly checking yours. His look conveyed that he was a bit offended of the idea that he wouldn't trust you with anything less but his god damn useless life.

"Yer drivin' me crazy woman...", Arthur shook his head. And then, suddenly, he stood up and with a big step left the tub. He didn't regard for one second that water was spilling everywhere - again. He even barely minded the towel, holding it in place in front of his private parts, covering something of which you frankly wouldn't have shied away to take a peek. And while you made a step back to not be drowned in the gush of bathwater, Arthur made haste to close the gap between you again. His free hand finding a place to rest on your cheek and pulling you into a kiss.

One could argue that months of teasing and dancing around each other took a toll on the man, because when the first kiss ended and you bated your eyes open, you already found Arthur's blue eyes staring you down intently. He was quick to close them again and go in for another deep kiss. At first a bit awkwardly, you remembered that you had two free hands, which now found their way to Arthur's shoulders where they rested shortly. Until you couldn't resist entangling them into his wet hair and pulling him deeper into the kiss.

After you broke from each other to catch your breath, Arthur rested his forehead against yours. With a smile on your face, you balanced on your toes, trying to make it easier for the big man. You found yourself feeling a new sort of comfortable around him. So you took a deep breath before you carefully pronounced:

"Arthur Morgan. I think I really like you a lot."

Arthur chuckled lowly, his hand wandering from your cheek to the small of your back, pushing you closer to him.

"You don't say, sweetheart. I couldn’t tell...", Arthur whispered.

You pinched his side, which made him twitch lightly and his towel shift just an inch.

"Do you think Micah's lead can wait until tomorrow", you asked while tracing Arthur's biceps with your finger.

Arthur laughed and peppered your face with small kisses: "It has to. I still gotta pay you, remember?"

"It's not gonna be whiskey, is it?", you chuckled. Arthur chuckled too, now planting a line of kisses down your neck and mumbling the sweetest "No".

[the-elusive-soleil]

Thinking again about a Silmarillion TV series, and how I would set it up if I were High King of Hollywood and also copyright law (long post):

Let's say we have a three-season setup. Three Silmarils, three acts, and everyone making and watching it knows there's a predetermined endpoint. No spiraling out into infinity, no matter how popular it gets. And I'll roughly hazard ~8 episodes per season; that seems to be the average amount these days.

Will there be whooping great battle sequences? Probably. But as is my wont, I'm focusing more on the ~interpersonal drama~

Season 1 would start off like I've posted about before, with Finwe telling the Ainulindale as a story to kid!Feanor, as a segue to bringing up the remarriage, and then a post-opening-credits cut to Feanor as an adult. We're in the very early YT 1400s. In the first episode, we're laying a lot of groundwork for a Normal Day in Tirion. Various members of the House of Finwe are introduced, and we get a sense for the familial and political landscape. Everybody seems to believe that life is completely perfect--and then there's Feanor, who knows it's not.

And then the news comes that Melkor is being released on parole.

In the next couple of episodes, we see reactions to this, through dinner-table conversations and such in each of the three households. People are tense, but...for the most part, life goes on.

Except for Feanor, who gets an Idea and eventually unveils the Silmarils.

Through part of the third episode and escalating through the fourth, we start to see Melkor stirring the Noldor up. They're making weapons, and the political tensions are starting to get higher. The different sets of Finwean cousins are training with swords and such, and coming up with increasingly thin excuses to each other as to how they picked up those minor injuries.

Episode four ends with a bang, as Feanor's sword incident and banishment occur.

Episode five jumps five years ahead to the festival in Tirion that Feanor's supposed to go to. We get the "jail-crow of Mandos" scene in flashback as he leaves the Silmarils behind. Everything seems fine on the surface, but the background music keeps slowly increasing in tension, and everyone's happiness is just a little too frenetic--and then the Trees go out.

Next episode, we get the Oath, the Flight of the Noldor, the Kinslaying, Losgar. (We're keeping the version where Amrod lives btw.)

(Side note: I think it would be very cool if we got little flashes of foreshadowing that gradually escalate as time goes on. Give me shots of Maitimo's right hand that linger just a little too long. Give me Maglor or Curufin in an early episode, talking about upcoming wedding vows that bear a suspicious resemblance to what the Oath will be. Give me Finrod wrestling with a family dog; give me Turgon and Aredhel teasing each other about his love of cities and how she'd rather die than be kept from running wild. Give me Feanor by firelight, Feanor being gently reminded by Nerdanel that he doesn't have to rush ahead and tackle a dozen projects all at once, Feanor insisting over and over again that things need to be written down and portrayed and preserved because nothing is really, actually permanent...)

Episode seven cuts back and forth between the people struggling across the Helcaraxe and the Feanorians in Middle-earth. The Feanorians fight orcs and lose Feanor, and the Helcaraxe group has their own battles with ice monsters and also the sheer. horrible. cold. Maybe we can have Fingon and Turgon and Aredhel arguing about the Feanorions along the way. Maybe we can have the argument cut short by Elenwe falling through the ice. Maybe we can have that lead Turgon to reiterate that the Feanorions are Doomed and have doomed everyone else with them - and then cut to Maedhros about to ride out to parley with Morgoth.

The episode ends with the Nolofinweans mourning Elenwe, and Maedhros being dragged out to hang from a cliff.

Season finale starts with the Nolofinweans arriving. There is most definitely an emotional, sweepingly epic sequence of the Thangorodrim rescue, the stuff edits and gifsets are made of. And we end with Maedhros ceding the crown, and with Fingolfin's coronation.

Season 2 starts with the Mereth Aderthad, which gives us a chance to catch up, via dialogue, with how everybody's been settling in and what they're planning to do next. We also get the skinny on Thingol and Melian and Doriath. (Luthien should definitely be mentioned at least once.) (Celegorm should definitely be in the shot when she's mentioned, although 50/50 whether he visibly pays attention or reacts.)

We get Finrod and Turgon's dream sequences and them discovering the places where they're going to put their respective cities. Also Artanis meets this Guy...

Dagor Aglareb is probably an episode 2 thing. After it, and after any significant conflict this season (attack on Hithlum, Glaurung, etc.), there should be someone assuming out loud that they are now past the worst of things. Bonus points if there is fire in the background of the shot when the person says this.

We meet Dwarves. I think the optimal way to handle the Dwarves-and-Caranthir thing is to have them be very blunt and no-frills with each other, and leave it up to interpretation whether this is actually them getting along.

Finrod, of course, is so very (gestures demonstratively) Finrod at his Dwarves, and also at the Men when they show up.

(checks timeline) Maeglin is born in YS 320, and he and Aredhel flee to Gondolin in YS 400, and Andreth is born in YS 361. I think it could be interesting to start out an episode with Aredhel being snared and having Maeglin, and interspersing creepy Nan Elmoth stuff with Aegnor/Andreth and Athrabeth stuff. Towards the end, Finrod has a conversation to the effect that it's not just that Aegnor and Andreth's romance was doomed, it's that they're all doomed here (possibly referencing the Amarie situation) and there is no way to have a good love story under such circumstances. And then, of course, we have Aredhel and Maeglin running to Gondolin (and Maeglin meeting Idril) and the deaths of Aredhel and Eol.

I have less of a specific outline for this season, because I want a lot of it to be filled up with...just Long Peace stuff. I want to see the Noldor having their Beleriand Renaissance. I want to see hunting trips that give us beautiful sweeping shots of the landscape, and glittering social events laced with politics, and little moments of relationships between different characters.

Basically, I want this season to make it very clear just how much stands to be lost here.

And then, of course, the season finale is the Dagor Bragollach, culminating in Fingolfin's last stand against Morgoth.

Season 3 opens with the utter chaos that is the aftermath of the Bragollach. We also get to meet Hurin and Huor and see their visit to Gondolin, which contrasts so sharply with the state of things literally everywhere else.

The first episode also introduces us to this random human guy named Beren, out there in the wilderness. And it ends with him stumbling on something in Doriath...

Second episode is just ~*Beren and Luthien*~. It has a very cultivated fairytale feel, right down to the lighting and the music. The world we just saw last episode is so very harsh, but not here, not now. There is never any doubt that there will be a happy ending. And there is! The episode ends with their wedding.

(...and distant wolf howling but don't pay attention to that)

Third episode has the wolf hunt. Beren dies. Luthien goes after him. They both come back. They don't really explain themselves to anyone, and I'm leaving the details mysterious. Luthien singing to Mandos should probably be treated like the Ainulindale in that we don't attempt to make humans portray it. What we do see are the beginnings of fallout: as Luthien and Beren come back to life, Maedhros is wrangling with his brothers. As Tol Galen is settled, as Dior is born, Fingon and Maedhros start to plan the Union, and it's hovering in the background that they need to do this because with the Oath, the only other option is going after the Doriath silmaril, and they're not doing that.

Episode four is the Nirnaeth, and it. is. devastating. If you read the book (and maybe even if you didn't), you know this isn't going to work. But the characters really believe it will! And the music and cinematography are fully conspiring to make you believe it too! There might even be some leitmotifs from the Thangorodrim rescue during the battle to suggest maybe it will turn out this time... And then it doesn't. It was never going to. It was always going to end with trampled blue and silver banners and broken bodies and the sons of Feanor scattered in the wilderness and Hurin chained in a chair to watch his family suffer.

Episode five should be 50% Children of Hurin, and 50% Tuor's story, cutting back and forth for maximum contrast. We go directly from Turin and Nienor's deaths to Tuor and Idril's wedding.

Episode six is all Fall of Doriath, starting off with Hurin showing up with the Silmaril, escalating through Thingol's paranoia and death, and ending with the Second Kinslaying. Bonus points if there is a very subtle Girdle of Melian leitmotif that has been in the background for all Doriath scenes so far, and abruptly cuts off when Thingol dies and Melian leaves. And we end with baby!Elwing being taken through the woods with the survivors, clutching the Silmaril.

Next episode is the fall of Gondolin. I would really like for there to be a specific leitmotif throughout the show for people (Maedhros, Fingolfin, Hurin, etc.) defying Morgoth, and for it to initially emerge for Maeglin...only to break down. And throughout the episode, Eol's theme keeps getting stronger and stronger, until it fully emerges when Maeglin falls.

We end with tiny!Earendil arriving in Sirion and seeing Elwing, and the Silmaril, for the first time.

This season is going to have to be nine episodes long, because what's left might take up one Silm chapter, but I have too many things I want to do with it. Specifically:

Episode eight opens in the middle of the Third Kinslaying. I don't want it to be dramatic like the other two. I want it to be frightening in its banality. I want it to be very, very disturbing how habituated the Feanorians are to this now.

When Elrond and Elros first appear...something shifts. It's not really like the world-apart, fairytale vibes of the Beren and Luthien episode, but there is something Different about these kids. They're who this whole violent, convoluted story was meant to produce. They're going to build a better world someday.

We spend most of the episode going back and forth between Maglor and Maedhros doing their best to raise these children in a world that is falling apart at the seams, and Earendil and Elwing in a Valinor that is almost unsettlingly pristine after the past couple of seasons that we've spent in an increasingly entropic Beleriand. I want M&M and the twins to camp out in ruins of a place that was built "only" a century ago, and Elwing to wander through a building that she assumes is brand new and expensive, but is actually very average and older than the Silmarils.

At the end, the Valar authorize an army, and we see Gil-Estel rise, and the War of Wrath begins.

Most of the final episode is epic War of Wrath stuff, definitely including the slaying of Ancalagon, definitely also undercut by comedy relief bits of people trying to guess who Gil-galad's parents could be. (It's never revealed.)

In the last third or so, Maedhros and Maglor steal the Silmarils.

When Maedhros takes his out and looks at it, he sees himself as he was back in Valinor, perfect and whole and unbearably innocent. We have this whole golden-lit mini-flashback sequence of him and Maglor just messing around at home, teasing each other. Their brothers are in the background. They are almost unrecognizable.

Maglor glances in a mirror and it shifts back to him in present-day, face twisted in pain and screaming at the Silmaril's burn. Maedhros startles, notices that he's burning, too. He doesn't scream, although he's clearly in pain. He just reaches over, gently brushes the Silmaril out of Maglor's hand and onto the ground, kisses his brother's forehead, and then stands and with a great deal of outward calm, walks over the edge of the nearby lava chasm.

Maglor weeps and can't stop, but he has to when footsteps start approaching. He flees to the shore, and flings the Silmaril in, and stares for a very long moment at the water like he might dive in, too. But then he just turns away with an unreadable expression and vanishes into the fog.

The last moments of the show are spent with Gil-galad and Celebrimbor and Elrond and Elros and Galadriel, talking out what they're going to do now. The world didn't end, but their world sort of did. What do you do with that? What can they possibly build from the ruins around them?

They have to try, is the one thing they all agree on. If they give up, what was even the point of everything in the last 600-odd years? And in any case, they can't possibly do any worse than the mess they and their predecessors just lived through.

Right?

[mik-mania]

The Terror of the Twenty-Seven Seas

Part 2: Sentire

(Content warning: drowning, gore)

Part 1 // Google Docs

When you open your eyes, the harsh glare of the morning sun assaults your vision, forcing you to shield your eyes with a groan. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you slowly acclimate to the blinding brightness, each blink accompanied by a fleeting sensation of disorientation, the world around you coming into focus like a hazy dream.

Gradually, the gritty texture of stone pressing against your skin

registers, and you realize you’re sprawled out on a weathered stone bench. The coolness of the stone provides a welcome relief from the oppressive heat of the sun beating down on your exposed skin. With aching muscles, you muster the strength to sit up, the stiffness of your joints a testament to the deep slumber that must have enveloped you.

Despite the sun's warmth, an inexplicable chill lingers at the back of your throat. The scent of salt and sea spray fills your nostrils, carried on a gentle breeze that rustles through the nearby palm trees. You inhale the strangely dry air, savoring the briny aroma.

Around you, the seaport bustles with the frenetic energy of a

typical summer morning. The air is alive with the raucous calls of seabirds, their cries mingling with the distant clang of shipyard bells. The rhythmic lapping of waves against the jetty provides a backdrop of white noise. Trolls bustle to and fro, their voices rising and falling in animated dialogue as they go about their daily tasks. 

Amid the lively crowd, a familiar voice pierces through the clamor, drawing your attention like a beacon on the chaos.

“Yo, Appy!”

The call is unmistakable, and you turn to see the source—a young, scrappy-looking troll dressed in what may as well be rags waving at you with one arm, the other clutching a large rucksack slung over his shoulder. His clothes, a patchwork of fabrics stitched together with care, tell a story of resourcefulness and resilience. Worn-out and oversized boots against the cobblestone path as he moves with a confident swagger, every step a testament to his familiarity with the active port.

You catch glimpses of the countless adventures etched into his weather-beaten face with each movement. As he approaches, you can’t help but notice how his tousled hair frames his cheeks, a wild mane of unruly strands that adds to his rugged charm. His skin, freckled by the sun, bears the marks of a life lived on the world's edge, where every day brings new challenges and untold dangers. But it’s his eyes that draw you in—bright, lively blue orbs that seem to sparkle with a mischievous glint.

Your name is Aipalo Lovikk, and you are one of the many ship’s boys for the Tempest’s Fall. The realization floods back with startling clarity. How could you have forgotten?

The other troll draws nearer with an air of excitement, his grin widening as he revels in your momentary disorientation.

“Did ya sleep good?” he teases, his tone playful and infectious. Despite the haziness of your thoughts, a smile grows on your face, mirroring his own.

“Shut up. Did you get—” You hesitate, the memory of your task momentarily escaping you.

“Yep,” he answers without missing a beat, his confidence unwavering. “Got it all myself while you were lazin’ about on the bench.”

Before you can compose an answer, the other troll speaks again: "Race you to the ship!"

With a playful glance in your direction, he turns and bolts back towards the ship, his movements fluid and purposeful. Panic surges within you as you realize you’re in danger of losing sight of him amidst the sea of bodies. With a determined grit, you stumble off the bench and race after him, the coarse surface scraping against your skin as you push forward.

The maze of trolls grows denser as you navigate the chaotic port, their figures towering over you as you struggle to keep pace with your fleet-footed shipmate. You bump and weave through the crowd, each collision threatening to knock you off course. But you refuse to let yourself falter, driven by a fierce fortitude to keep your shipmate in sight.

He had always been a faster runner than you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of frantic pursuit, you manage to catch up, your chest heaving as you double over to catch your breath. Your companion smirks at your panting form, seemingly unfazed by the exertion of the chase. Inhaling deeply, you straighten up and puff out your chest, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. But your efforts are in vain as the other notices the tremor in your breath and the exhaustion etched on your face. With a hearty laugh, he slaps you on the back, his infectious energy pulsing through the air.

“Come on,” he urges, his voice filled with an undeniable sense of camaraderie. And with his reassuring presence by your side, you gather your strength and follow him.

As you follow your companion towards the Tempest’s Fall, the enormity of the vessel looms before you like a behemoth of the sea, its sturdy frame a testament to its seafaring prowess. Crew members scurry like ants, their movements purposeful and efficient as they load and unload cargo with practiced precision. Despite the chaos of activity, there is an unmistakable sense of solidarity among the sailors, a bond forged through shared experiences on the open sea.

With your companion leading the way, you climb the gangplank. His steps are sure and steady as he guides you, the wooden planks creaking beneath your feet as you ascend. The other sailors pay you no mind, their attention focused solely on their tasks, leaving you to navigate through the tangle of bodies. At times, you find yourself having to dodge and weave between the larger sailors, their imposing figures threatening to edge you off the side.

Once aboard the ship, the chaos of the port seems to melt away, replaced by the rhythmic pulse of life at sea. The air is alive with the sound of chatter and hollers, the clatter of bootsteps echoing across the wooden deck. You find yourself grabbing the back of your companion’s shirt, the throng of seamen swirling around you like a maelstrom and threatening to pull you under with each passing movement.

As the two of you make your way towards the heart of the ship, the harried atmosphere only intensifies. Eventually, you find yourselves within the ship’s interior, where the salty tang of sea air mingles with the tantalizing aroma of cooking meat. The ship’s cook bustles about the galley, orchestrating a symphony of culinary delights in preparation for the upcoming meal. The promise of a special feast, courtesy of the port’s bountiful offerings, hangs in the air, infusing the atmosphere with anticipation.

Your companion engages in a brief exchange with the cook. Then, with one swift movement, he transfers the rucksack into your arms, the weight catching you off guard. You stagger under the burden, struggling to maintain your balance as you adjust to the added load.

“It’s your turn to carry this stuff,” the other troll declares, his tone firm and authoritative. He flexes his overworked shoulder with a practiced motion, a playful glint in his eye. “Chef says to take it to the storerooms.”

You hesitate momentarily, a pang of uncertainty creeping into your mind. “Aren’t you coming with me?” you ask, a hint of insecurity coloring your tone.

The other troll chuckles, his grin widening mischievously. “You really need a second person to help you with that?” Despite his teasing words, a warmth in his gaze reassures you.

As you stand there, feeling the weight of the supplies in your arms, you can’t help but feel strangely comforted by the presence of your shipmate. There’s something about him that makes you feel at ease, as though you’ve known him for far longer than you actually have. It’s a curious sensation, one that you can’t quite explain, but you find yourself drawn to him and his twinkling blue eyes all the same.

With a sense of determination, you fall into step beside him as he leads the way down towards the store rooms. The darkness of the lower deck seems to close in around you, the dim light casting eerie shadows that dance across the wooden walls as the vessel sways back and forth. The creaking of the ship’s timbers echo through the narrow passageways, a reminder of the ship’s age. The fins on either side of your head press down against your cheeks, and you walk closer to your companion.

You try to shake off the unease that creeps over you by focusing on the task at hand. No matter how hard you try to distract yourself, though, the sense of foreboding still lingers, a nagging presence at the back of your mind. It’s as if the ship itself is trying to warn you of some impending danger, but the message remains elusive, just out of reach.

The two of you enter the appropriate storeroom for the supplies you carry. It’s a cramped space, filled to the brim with crates and barrels, the air heavy with the scent of salt and damp wood. Were the two of you fully grown, you would have never fit inside. As you work together to unpack the supplies and stow them in their proper places, you distract yourself from your nerves by stealing glances at your shipmate, studying his features in the dim light. His face is illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns, casting flickering shadows across his face.

You realize suddenly that you don’t even know his name, a fact that strikes you odd, considering how comfortable you feel in his presence. The realization weighs heavily on your mind, gnawing at your thoughts like a persistent itch you can’t scratch. Finally, unable to ignore it any longer, you gather the courage to speak up.

“Hey,” you begin tentatively, breaking the silence that hangs between you. “I just realized, I don’t think I caught your name earlier.”

He pauses in his work, turning to look at you with a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Forgot already, huh?”

His response catches you off guard, and your face flushes with embarrassment. You try to recall if you indeed had forgotten his name, but your memory feels like a jumbled mess, the details slipping through your grasp like grains of sand. A surge of panic threatens to overwhelm you as you struggle to piece together the fragments of your memory.

An alarming sense of disorientation washes over you like the ground shifting beneath your feet. For a moment, it feels as though you’re teetering over the edge of a precipice, on the brink of being consumed by the void. A presence at the back of your mind pulses darkly, its ominous whispers echoing through the recesses of your consciousness, and, just for a moment, you’re terrified that you’ll be swept from this reality.

All at once, the feeling passes, perplexed and shaken. You blink rapidly, trying to dispel the lingering sense of unease that clings to you like a shadow. Pushing aside your fear, you force yourself to focus on the task, immersing yourself in the mundane routine of shelving supplies. The rhythmic clatter of items being placed on shelves, punctuated by the occasional rustle of fabric and the soft shuffle of footsteps, eases your nerves.

Finally, you pause, unable to shake the nagging feeling of uncertainty that tugs at the edges of your consciousness. “Have I already asked for your name?” you venture, avoiding his gaze.

A laugh suddenly erupts from the other troll, surprising you into meeting his gaze. His eyes twinkle with amusement, and you find yourself drawn to the warmth of his expression. Despite your earlier apprehension, a reassuring sincerity in his laughter puts you at ease.

“Yeah, but I guess you napped so hard earlier you musta forgot.” He extends his calloused hand for a handshake. You match the gesture, noting how much warmer his rough palm is than yours. “The name’s ░░░░░░, nice to meet’cha.”

As he introduces himself, a wave of dizziness washes over you, causing the world to tilt and spin. You struggle to maintain your composure, your senses reeling from the sudden onslaught of disorientation. The edges of your vision blur and that striking terror is back all at once, and tendrils of darkness swim in the corners of your vision.

“Are you alright, Aipalo?” His voice cuts through the haze, concern evident in his tone. He reaches out a hand to steady you, his touch grounding you in reality.

You nod weakly, trying to push aside the unsettling sensation that grips your mind. “Say your name again?”

His lips move again, forming words that you struggle to comprehend. Your ears buzz with static, the sound drowning out his voice as if muffled by a thick fog. You strain to make sense of his words, but they slip away like elusive whispers in the wind.

“░░░░░░,” he repeats, his smile faltering slightly as he notices your confusion. He reaches up to touch his mouth, and you catch a glimpse of his missing canine, a gap in his smile that seems oddly out of place.

Was he missing that tooth before? You can’t quite remember. Your mind feels foggy, as if shrouded in a dense mist that obscures your thoughts. You blink, trying to clear away the haze, but it only seems to deepen, enveloping you in a suffocating embrace.

As his lips move, attempting to convey his name, the world around you warps. The once-familiar storeroom dissolves into a rotted nightmare. Shadows along the walls contort into grotesque shapes that seem to leer at you, almost becoming gargoyle-like in appearance.

The timber of the ship that surrounds you rots before your eyes, its once-sturdy frame now a decaying husk that threatens to collapse at any moment—the wood eaten away by unseen forces and the surface overtaken by a slimy film of algae. Fungi and mold grow unchecked, spreading like a disease throughout the room and emitting a foul odor that assaults your senses.

As you struggle to breathe in the stifling air, the stench of old, rotted food permeates the room, clawing its way down your throat and into your lungs like a suffocating fog. Each breath is a strain, the putrid air burning your lungs and making you gag as you fight to keep from retching.

Desperately, you focus on the other troll’s face, his features becoming your lifeline amidst the chaos. But even he is not immune to the unsettling transformation taking place before your eyes. His once-smiling visage twists and distorts, morphing into a grotesque caricature of itself. His eyes, once twinkling with warmth, now sink into his skull, becoming dark, unseeing pits that seem to bore into your soul. His smile grows decrepit, lips wrinkling like a grape in the sun, revealing rows of decayed teeth that crumble and fall apart with each passing moment, holes worming through the enamel until nothing is left but the drippings of loosened gum tissue.

The flesh of his cheeks sag and droop, exposing patches of rotting muscle and sinew beneath. Skin begins to peel away in ragged strips, revealing raw, oozing wounds that fester underneath. It’s as if the very fabric of his being unravels, the decay eating away at him from the inside out. Flesh melts away like wax in a scorching flame, leaving behind a trail of bubbling, fetid meat that sloughs off in chunks, revealing the stark whiteness of his skeletal frame beneath.

Rot fills the thick and cloying air as he’s consumed from within. Each exposed muscle twitches and writhes as if alive, pulsating with a sickening rhythm. With each passing moment, his form becomes more skeletal, the bones protruding from his decaying flesh like twisted branches of a dead tree.

A rush of seawater surges in through the rotted wood, carrying with it a sickly, briny odor that stings your nostrils with its foulness. The acrid scent clings to your skin alongside the freezing rapids like a foul miasma. You half-wonder if death would be easier than this sickening cocktail of odors—a nauseating blend of noxious fumes that threaten to overwhelm you.

The water itself is no better, a sickly shade of green that seems to throb with a malevolent energy. It’s thick and viscous, like oil mixed with sewage, and clings to you like a second skin, leaving a greasy residue in its wake. As it fills the room, the water becomes a swirling vortex of filth and decay, rising steadily as if eager to claim its victims. You feel it seeping into your clothes, numbing your skin with its icy touch.

Panic grips you as you realize the gravity of the situation, but as you try to move, you realize the skeletal hand of the other troll is closed around yours with an iron grasp. Bits and pieces of raisined skin and gristle cling to the bone, brushing against the flesh of your hand. You struggle against its grip, but it's like trying to break free from the grip of death itself.

With each futile attempt to pull away, you feel the skeleton’s fingers dig deeper into your flesh, the bony digits tightening like a vice around your wrist. You can almost feel the decay radiating from its bones, a rancid odor that fills your nostrils and makes bile rise in the back of your throat. The skeleton seems to grin at you, its empty eye sockets boring into you as if relishing your terror, feeding off your fear like a ravenous beast. You can’t help but feel a sense of revulsion, the visage of death staring back at you with mocking amusement.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound reverberating in your ears like a drumbeat of impending doom. You lose control of your breath, becoming light-headed as you push and pull air quickly. You try to keep your mouth above the flood as it rises, but every gasp you make earns you mouthfuls of the pungent brine. The taste of decay coats your tongue, a foul saltiness that makes you retch.

Desperation claws at your mind as you struggle to break free, your movements becoming frantic and erratic as you fight for survival. But with each passing moment, the water rises, its icy tendrils pulling you into the depths with a relentless force. You jerk your wrist, the rough bone of the skeleton’s hand rubbing your skin raw in the process, but it’s no use. The skeleton’s grip only tightens, its fingers digging into your flesh with an iron determination, and a white-hot agony shoots up through your arm.

As the last vestiges of air escape your lungs, you feel a primal instinct take hold, driving you to fight against the inevitable. You try to scream, but the watery sludge fills your mouth, muffling your cries and drowning out your voice. You thrash and struggle, clawing desperately at the water with your one free hand in a futile attempt to reach the surface.

Your vision blurs and the world around you begins to fade. Your eyes flutter shut.

[lafiametta]

For the past weeks I have been slowly scrolling through your 1899 tags and reading the asks you receive about the show and Olek/Ling Yi, and I'm so mesmerized at how much effort you put into fleshing them out as characters and as a couple! I'm very captivated by your 1899 New York AU as well, everything you wrote about it is so sweet. I'm excited to read your longfic set in this period.

I would like to ask you something about the 1899 au, but that can be applied to the modern New York as well. When have them spent the longest amount of time away from each other? I ask this because, in your 1899 AU, if Olek got badly injured while working in the factory, which was a normal occurrence then as it is now, how long would he spend in recovery, and how would Ling Yi find out he was hurt if no one knew he lived with a girl? I imagine that their relationship being secret and forbidden is very fragile in case something bad happened to the other out in the world, even more so for Ling Yi who could only wait for him to come back home at the end of each day. Would the landlord know they lived together and warn her that he got hurt? The thought of Ling Yi feeling frenetic as the night grows darker and Olek isn't back yet, only to then receive the bad news, is devastating, but I'm still intrigued to know what she could do in that situation. Visit him in the hospital? If, that is, he is even sent to the hospital? Or would he be sent home to recover while she's still at work, and then welcome her back and try to calm her down as she panics and cries at his injuries?

Oh my goodness, Anon — I'm super flattered that you've been reading through my 1899 posts! (There are so many at this point *hides face in hands* so I can imagine it might have taken a while!) And thank you for your interest in the longfic, which I feel a bit guilty teasing you all with for so long, even though there's nothing to show for it yet. I'll just say that work continues... ;)

To answer your question, I'll start with the modern AU. After they Ling Yi and Olek get together (beyond just the first few casual dates), I would say that the longest they've been apart is two weeks, because that's how long Olek's trip back home to Poland lasted. Of course, they still texted and talked, along with some FaceTiming. (I imagine there were at least one or two more, um, private phone chats as well!)

In the 1899 New York AU, they're never really apart at all, aside from when they go to work (or during those first few Sundays when Olek used to go to church by himself, although he stopped going after a while). Part of the issue is that there really wouldn't be anywhere else for them to go — in the city, they only really know Olek's brother and sister-in-law — and the working hours are so long that when they're finished, they mostly just want to come home and rest.

If Olek got injured on the job, which, as you say, was a relatively common occurrence, he would have to hope that it was minor enough that he could get home and let Ling Yi know what happened, once she got back from her own job. (Of course, he wouldn't have any income during his recovery, and he would probably lose his job for being gone so long.) If it was something serious and he was unconscious and unable to get a message to her, then I imagine she would be terribly worried about what had happened. (For immigrants and the poor, you would have been taken to one of the public hospitals, maybe by ambulance or just in the back of an empty cart. Can I just take a minute here to put in a plug for The Knick, a fantastic series by Cinemax set in The Knickerbocker hospital in 1900? Staring Clive Owen, directed by Steven Soderbergh... Seriously, it was so good, and if I had to imagine an 1899/The Knick crossover, would I put Dr. Maura Franklin into that hospital, doing groundbreaking neurological research while also caring for penniless immigrant patients? You bet I would.)

If Olek didn't appear at the end of the day, I imagine Ling Yi would start looking for him. They each know where the other one works (they don't need to keep that part secret from each other), so she would probably start there. If the factory was closed, she could only hope that there would be a night watchman on duty and that he knew something about the accident that had happened that day. But the language barrier could present a serious problem, so she might be reduced to just saying Olek's name over and over, hoping that someone would recognize it and be able to help her. I don't want to turn this into the saddest story ever told, so let's imagine that there is a night watchman (probably Ukrainian) who has a smattering of English and who had heard about what had happened from a few of the workers as they left for the day. Maybe he even takes pity on this strange, panicked Chinese girl and tells her what he knows. Would Ling Yi have to make her way through the gaslit streets at night, finally arriving on the steps of the public hospital, only to be told that it's too late for visitors, besides only family members are allowed to visit? Again, maybe there's a sympathetic orderly who lets her go in a side door and points her towards the indigent ward, mostly full of occupied beds. A lantern would draw too much attention, so she follows the rows of beds in the hushed darkness, squinting carefully at each face to find one that looks familiar. And when she finds him, his head bandaged from the injury he got earlier in the day, she would be both relieved and terrified. The only thing she could do would be to sit on the floor beside the bed and hold his hand, waiting for the morning and the moment when he would finally wake up.

[okwonyo]

falling in your arms.

엔하이픈 ୨୧ female reader seven hundred revamped ！ non-idol au fluff established relationship + cw. not proof-read skinship kissing ( other )

heeseung

would get awoken by the slightest movement of yours, body moving on it’s own as you get out of bed. with his head still half in the clouds, would follow you wherever you are going.

cute giggles would escape from his chest when you wrap your arms around his waist, cheek resting on his shoulder while you hug him from the back — would love being the king spoon.

the warmth of your body against his, the soft rise and fall of your chest, your breath against his neck would easily lull him to sleep.

jongseong

would stroke you arm, your head resting on his chest and listening to your heartbeat, with such an immense care that it could make you wept.

after a long movie night, would careful carry you in his arms and put you in bed in a dulcet motion. pulling the covers on both of your body before holding you to sleep.

would love to land a peck on your forehead and tuck a mess strand of your hair while he watches you snore quietly — smile plastered on his face and all.

jaeyun

would often plead you to play with his hair and let him lay on your laps. you would be able to feel his breathing getting heavier as the time passes by, eyes closed and chest rising.

would definitely fall asleep first, then again, especially because you are patting his head. it would be too soothing for him to not to and the scent of you wouldn’t help either.

would wake you up with kisses, his lips, soft and warm, all over your face, all over your neck, all over your lips. which would make you giggle, always.

sunghoon

would watch you as you sleep, an habit you always tease him about, tracing your pretty futures with his fingertip and giggle when you groan softly in your sleep.

following a night out or a long time at work, without you, would climb on top of you and lay there — face in your neck or cheek against your chest, falling asleep.

the first thing he would do in the morning when you sleep away from each other would be sending you a voice message. where you would hear his sleepy and raspy voice.

seonwoo

would adore when you absentmindedly poke his cheeks during pillow talk, dozing off to sleep without you knowing and the frenetic motion of you finger on his cheek getting fainter.

giggling and telling each other secrets with hushed voices as if some could hear any of you, laying in bed with you and gossiping is his favorite thing to do.

would pull you in his arms when he sees you struggling to find a comfortable position to sleep in, delicately taking you in his arms, patting the back of your head, hushing you to sleep when you whine.

jungwon

would wear his most fluffy, most warm hoodie to sleep, just so you can comfortably settle in his arms and cuddle with him to sleep.

would take pictures of you sleeping on his laps for some reasons you can’t really wrap your head around — but he would claim that you are cute, so you wouldn’t mind that much.

would tease you a lot, saying that you snore and talk in your sleep ; he would swear that you said that he was the best boyfriend in the world, you don’t snore in your sleep and definitely never said that.

riki

would sleep with his leg over you body, stretched comfortably while taking half of the room in the bed for himself alone.

whenever you fall asleep on his shoulder, lap or any part of his body in general, he would put an immense care in not moving an inch to avoid waking you up.

would cling to you so much that it’ll be impossible for you to get up without waking him up — would be all over you, we if you were the mattress.

⠀

[luveline]

Baby blurb with Robin ‘I wish we realized we liked each other sooner’<3<3<3

tysm for ur request! ♡ fem!reader | 0.7k words

Robin has a really old rug in her room. It's rough under your cheek and smells of baking soda from vacuuming. It's far from dirty – she takes meticulous care of everything fabric, it's just old.

Despite a clumsy and frenetic outlook on life, she can be quite rigid when it comes to these things. Clean rug, clean bed, fluffed pillows. 

She lays with her head under one such pillow, her hair a soft halo of delicate browns. You look up at her from the pages of your book as she turns a page of her own. 

You love her. You love spending time with her. Talking to her is everything you could ever want, but the weekends are long and eventually you run out of things to talk about and kisses to give her, at least for a little while. And so you read your books and listen to Blondie and let waves of content wash over you one after another. There's nowhere else you'd rather be. 

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?" she asks. 

She has this way of speaking that's just fucking beautiful. Her lilting cadence, the soft melodical quality to her light teasing, it burns you up like a match to rice paper. 

"You," you answer honestly. 

"Wanna come think about me… up here?" She raises her eyebrows and smiles pertly. 

You leave your book behind; her tone of voice makes you think you won't be doing much reading. Her hands only solidify that, her long fingers quick to wrap around your wrists and cradle. She touches you like you're made of hollowed glass. 

You climb onto her made bed and station yourself on top of one of her thighs, kneeling, interlocked. You grasp her wrists like she has yours and smile at her, devoting the slope of her eyebrows and the straight edging of her dark lashes to memory. Her freckles sit like blown dandelion seeds over her pale cheeks. You lean forward to kiss them and she lets you, but she laughs the whole while. 

"You like me," she teases. 

"A little," you concede, setting back. 

She runs her hands up the lengths of your arms, her short fingernails scratching the crook of your elbow and then up until they're sliding under your short sleeves. She shakes her hair out of her face and looks up at you like she's seeing you for the first time. 

"A lot," you say. 

"Do you remember," she starts, eyes on your collar and then sliding up, almost shyly, "when I came by your job and they had that tower of Christmas candles, and I smelled them all-" 

"For two hours?" 

She blushes fast. It's the prettiest thing you've ever seen. "Not two hours! An hour, at most." 

"Oh, right, you spent the next hour looking at hand creams." 

"And aren't my hands just so soft," she drawls, rubbing the lengths of your arms until you're putty in her hold. 

You huff a laugh and nod. Something sharp hits you, that awful feeling when you love someone, where all you can think about is how one day you might mess it up. Or worse, one day you won't get to do this, won't get to sit in her lap and kiss her and love her, because something bad might happen. 

"I wish we realised we liked each other sooner," Robin says. 

You laugh wetly. "I was just thinking the same thing." 

You blink back tears, startled at the depth of your own emotion, and wrap your arms around her neck. She has no choice but to accommodate you and she does it fervently, smelling of dewberry and clean laundry and the cherry smackers on her lips. 

"How many times did I rent Personal Best?" you ask.

"I thought you liked track!" 

"Well I don't," you smush into her neck. "I liked you."

Even though she knows it, it's fun to say. It's more than fun – it's bright. It's a lightness. 

She slouches down into the pillows and takes you with her, shuddering as she vies for the skin of your back under your shirt. "All that time…" We wasted.

"I don't know," you murmur. "It was fun, wasn't it? And- and to know I could have you after everything-" You tilt your head back to kiss her cheek. "That was the second best feeling in the world." 

"Second?" 

You smile into her skin. This is the first. 

[regionalskys]

Filling

Request:

maybe impreg with pete x fem reader? if thats something ur comfy with!

Word Count: 969

Warnings: Smut, impregnation kink, brief choking

A/N: I hope you enjoy! I know I definitely did writing this lol

The vibrator in your hand begins to stutter, the little motor whining tinnily, and with a huff, you toss it to the side.

All day, from the very moment you woke up, you've been desperate for release. It's a constant ache in you that you just can't seem to soothe.

Even now - your thighs trembling, your cunt flush and swollen, the nerves of your clit throbbing with overstimulation - you're unsatisfied. You need more. You need —

You need to be filled, and when you hear the front door shut in the announcement of Pete's arrival home, you know you're going to get exactly what you want.

"Honey, I'm ho-" His dramatic entrance is completely derailed once he sets his eyes on you, perched at the head of your bed. Your legs spread, exposing the slick folds of your cunt to his stare; the soft flesh of your nipples tightens in the cold air, bared by the tank top shoved under your breasts. You watch him with a dark, half-lidded gaze, expression somewhere between predatory and pleasure-drunk.

Rolling onto your hands and knees, you ask, "Did I interrupt anything important?"

"Uh," Pete breathes, eyes wide as he watches you crawl up to him. "No, n-no. Nothing important at all."

"Good. Take off your pants."

He half-laughs, fiddling nervously with his belt as you come to a halt before him, looking up through your lashes. "Babes, what's gotten into you?"

"Peter," you whine, breathy and desperate. "Need you so badly." One hand dips between your thighs, the other fisting in the fabric of his shirt as you rise up on your knees. "Need you to fill me up. Wanna feel every inch of your cock, want you to come so deep inside me I'm dripping cum for days."

You trail your lips along the curve of his throat. The sound of Pete's soft panting fills your ears as his shaky hands find your sides, the bulge of his cock pressing against your tummy through his striped trousers. Your lips brushing the soft skin of his ear, you whisper, "Please?"

Nodding frantically, Pete steps back, fumbling at the fastener of his pants as you turn away from him. You sway your hips impatiently, glancing over your shoulder to watch his throat bob as he steps into place behind you.

"You sure I can just"—you cant your hips back, the head of his cock brushing tantalizingly against your messy cunt—"ng, o-oh. Okay."

He pulls you back, big hands kneading your soft flesh - you can feel his blunted nails dig into the skin, and idly wonder at the bruises he might leave. You're wet enough that he can push inside you with no resistance, letting out a broken moan when he's hilted inside you, hips nestled against your ass. You sigh, nerves singing with the sensation of fullness.

Reaching back, you grab one of his hands from your hip, leading him to the back of your neck in a silent demand to pin you down. Pete makes a throaty, eager noise, cock twitching inside you as he pushes your face into the pillows. You make a mental note to tease him about it later.

The slap of flesh on flesh drowns out your muffled moans as Pete finds a frenetic pace, one hand on the back of your throat and the other digging into your hip, giving him leverage to rut into you. You can hear him whine and pant above you, voice rising occasionally in half-coherent praises of the tight warmth of your cunt; when you shift up on your knees, he chokes, his palm pressed flat against the nape of your neck to push you deeper into an arch.

Overstimulated as you are, it isn't long before you're teetering on the edge - especially not with the slap of Pete's balls against your clit with each thrust, just enough pressure to send you spiraling. You come without warning, your cunt squeezing down on the cock inside you hard enough to milk a few drops of precum out of his head.

Pete half-sobs a moan, collapsing over you to rest his head on your back as he fucks into you with short, sharp pulses of his hips. "Fuck, fuck, gonna cum," he whines. "Close — o-oh!"

One, two, three wild thrusts, and then he's crying out your name, cock pulsing inside you. You moan into your pillow, eyes rolling in your skull as you're filled to the brim.

It's a long couple of moments before either of you move. You're still trying to catch your breath when Pete groans, lifting his weight off your back.

"Holy shit, sweetheart," he laughs, arching over you to kiss the nape of your neck before pulling out of you with a groan and flopping on his back, eyes closed. Laboriously, you shift back to sit on your haunches, pressing two fingers to your cunt to feel the cum stuffed inside you. You can feel it start to drip out of you, warm drops catching on your fingers and trailing down your thighs. "You're in a wild mood today, huh? Not complaining, of course."

"I want more."

"Yeah, I — h-huh?" He blinks at you, pretty brown eyes going wide when you swing your leg over to straddle his lap.

"I want you to come inside me again," you purr matter-of-factly, reaching between your thighs to take his softening dick in hand. "You can give me another, right?"

"I — ah, haaa!" His rasp cracks around a high, whining moan as you tuck his cock back inside you. "Babes, f-fuuuck."

"Whine all you want, Pete," you breathe, leaning back and bracing yourself on his thighs as you begin to leisurely roll your hips. "I'm not letting you go until you fuck a baby into me."