wadewilsonaf

[wadewilsonaf]

zuko, give em pumpkins to talk about, chocolate bar. please im beggin actually

runnin' with the devil

[STARRING: PRINCE ZUKO x reader “Really? Now? God, you have terrible timing.”] wc: 1.1k warnings: none. erm allusions of kidnapping and kinda stockholm syndrome, this is pre-character development baldheaded ass zuko so he’s a jerk… yandere? no he’s just a dick. this ended up fluffy

monster mash-terlist

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There’s a part of you that likes it.

The catch and release— running from him gives you an adrenaline rush you can’t explain. It’s been almost three years of this— a predator chasing after his prey but still he hasn’t killed you, if that’s any consolation. People have been thrown overboard or blasted into ashes for less—loyalty is important to the Fire Nation after all, especially with the forgotten prince. 

Some values are instilled so deeply within a person’s core that it’s difficult to break free.

But you find yourself not wanting to as he chases you for an nth time, on this occasion, through the underbrush of Kyoshi Island. Flames lick at your heels as you push forward, your calves burning in exertion. You could’ve sworn he already left to chase the Gaang before you made a break for it—but if they didn’t know Zuko and the 41st were here already, well… the wildfire spreading through the village should be proof enough.

“Stop running!” the prince roars, and the two of you barrel past townsfolk who scream and run in different directions, anywhere to be away from the both of you. None of them fought back of course—neutrality was the island’s selling point, a reprieve from the Hundred Years’ War. But they were kind enough; pretty girls with painted faces and fists of steel trying to determine if you were friend or foe as you slipped off the boat to search for new shoes from a nearby market. You didn’t suit any of the military-issued gear on board, often having to get crafty or sneak away for personal necessities. The Kyoshi Warriors only intended to protect their own, releasing you from your restraints after they realized you were but a lost girl with no escape plan. 

Or was it no plans to escape?

“Then stop chasing me!” you yell back, hair whipping in different directions as you look back at his angry face and then—CRASH!

Headfirst into a cabbage cart with an old man groveling at finding his produce in the dirt, you lay there with your vision spinning until all you can see is him. Zuko stands over you with an incessant glare on his scarred face, “Get up.” His hand reaches for your tunic and you flinch, before he grabs you by the scruff like a yowling puppy, watching you kick and scream for dear life.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Jeez, hothead—you think anyone in their right mind won’t start running if flames are shooting past them?” Your arms are crossed as he sets you down, a warm hand still pressed on the nape of your neck as if he expects you to change your mind. 

“I just wanted new shoes. Spirits know running from you has worn mine through.”

It’s kind of annoying to him that even when you’re mad at him like this, he can’t find it in himself to give a damn. You look petulant, glaring at him through your lashes and he knows if you were actually useful—you’d probably shoot lasers out your eyes.

But you can’t, much like how he can’t be without you. This arrangement of convenience is something he can’t live without—even if Iroh tries to make him admit it. You were the last gift to him from his father, after all.

A gift should be treasured. This one just likes to make him work for it.

“You could’ve asked me. You’re not my only problem, you know!”

And then you’re smirking, like you know that even if that’s true—boy were you his favorite one to deal with. Every single time he leaves to ‘catch’ the Avatar, he also leaves an opening for you to set yourself free. Whether it be a door left ajar or Iroh whistling and swinging the keys off his fingers, you wonder why a skilled tactician like him always gives you an option.

Maybe it’s because he knows you don’t want to leave him. Maybe that’s his secret hope.

Wind blows overhead as Appa and the Gaang arrive to protect the island that only protects their own. Thinking about it from a broader perspective, you can see the appeal of the villagers and why they do so. Zuko cares for you too, in his own convoluted, disorganized way. 

So maybe, you should’ve warned Zuko about the Kyoshi Warriors. But it’s kind of funny to watch his ass get kicked once in a while, especially since it’s hilarious to see him so mad every time it happens. You and the crew are soaked to the bone after the battle, teeth chattering as the unagi douses the flames that dance around the livelihood of the island until there is nothing left but char and smoke. The 41st runs up the ramp, preparing to set sail for the South Sea, and your feet are sinking in the sand.

Here’s your chance—you look back to the destroyed forest and for a moment, you wonder if you should disappear into the distance that separates you from that boat. Maybe become a warrior yourself, or live in the simplicity that comes with being nothing but a memory.

“Your highness! We need to go!”

Zuko’s standing on the deck, staring at you. He’s not saying anything, nor does he need to—your feet make the steps back to him before your mind can make the decision.

It’s easier to choose a familiar hell instead of an unknown heaven.

Iroh smiles at you softly, patting you on the head as you walk past him; he hands you a warm towel to wipe your feet. You wash away the dirt and grime of the day as you watch the setting sun, staring off towards the horizon.

A pair of new embroidered shoes knock against your ankle, bouncing against the wooden floors. They’re your size, and nicer than anything you’ve ever known. Zuko stands against the railing, pretending to not see his uncle’s shit-eating grin.

He protects his own, and by extension, what he can admit—-is that includes you.

If this is the part in the story where you get your supporting character development arc to change the tides of fate, you surely hope defeating Firelord Ozai won’t be affected by kissing the cheek of his exiled son. 

“Did you steal these?” You tsk, holding them by the tips of your fingers and nudging him, his face steaming from a featherlike touch that if he thinks hard enough, he’s not sure if it happened. Zuko doesn’t know how to handle affection—so he does what you two both do best—chase and catch. And run his mouth.

“Really? You know, we wouldn’t be in this situation if you didn’t have terrible timing,” he rattles off, getting angrier as you walk away, miming him blabbering as you skip around the ship in your new shoes.

In all senses of the word, you’re already his.

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ma1dita's monster mash is closed for requests but ongoing for the rest of october!

[wadewilsonaf]

about you

this was a request! read it here

words: 4.3k (longest one yet ohmy)

summary: james potter takes ‘easier’ for granted and finds out he now has a living reminder of that

warnings: none! sort of au, everyone lives and they win the war— angst angst angst, maybe open ended!!! groveling james and reader is a MOTHA (afab!)

a/n: guys i missed writing angst…i’m a deeply sad soul at heart so i enjoyed this a lot. I listened to ‘night shift’ by lucy dacus writing the first half, and ‘about you’ by the 1975 for the second half,,,,, both on repeat. i don’t mean to post at ungodly hours but i hope you enjoy!

posted: 11/11/23

—-

Insecurity is an ugly thing. It tugs at your frame, holding your shoulders hostage and your countenance shriveled in a scowl as you slink forward in your seat. But what should the rational reaction be when your boyfriend, the one you’ve planned out the rest of your life with— takes you out to dinner on a random Tuesday and then decidedly backtracks on everything you’ve built together? Your ears are ringing loudly, and you dumbly ask him to repeat himself when he says he wants to take a break.

“So that’s it then. You’ve made your decision and I just have to be okay with losing a year and a half of my life because you aren’t sure if you love me?” Your tone cuts through the fraying tether that holds you two together in the corner booth.

James for once, is at a loss for words. He wasn’t really sure of what to expect when he brought you here tonight, but any reaction to his admission was bound to hurt the both of you. You had to have known about his hesitations. Graduation was three weeks away, and everything was about to change, whether either of you liked it or not. Stupidly enough, James does love you, but that’s not the problem. The proximity he’s had as Head Boy working with Lily Evans makes him wonder if the life he lives is what’s meant for him. It keeps him up at night, gnawing at his resolve and comfort in being with you. He feels ungrateful to have it so easy. Loving you is easy. But the imposter syndrome sneaks into his room late at night in the form of ‘what if’.

“I…it’s just the timing of it all. We’re about to leave Hogwarts, and I don’t want to tie you down if I know I’m unsure of my—our future.”

He reaches out to grab your hand, and many a time ago, his sense of awareness was what you admired about him. You’d both get this familiar feeling of needing comfort, and within a minute, your fingers would intuitively find the other’s like it was second nature. Now, the thought of his touch might make you break his hand off to serve on a silver platter.

“Fuck your timing. If you think it’s as easy as making the decision to just quit while we’re ahead…. I love you. Don’t you…Is that not—” 

You clear your throat, the fire in your indignation being stifled by the whimpering feeling of knowing this was going to happen. The understanding of his plight, the knowing that he wants more. You could see it in the way his eyes wander when you all hang out, and you could feel it when he needs time to himself before bed, letting you back to your common room in the late hours alone. Screw your heart for appealing to his indecisiveness, his fear, when the final blow is aimed at the relationship you both once wanted together. Head Boy and Head Girl share living quarters after all. What chance did you stand against the girl he fell asleep a room away from? Maybe he dreams of her too, what you couldn’t give and what more she has to offer. 

“Tell me something James,” you choke as your body heaves with something akin to nausea. Being lovesick isn’t as romantic as it seems. The hopeless feeling in your tummy throbs as you clench your fists to keep it all down.

“Whatever you want.” 

His reply makes you laugh, desolation gripping your esophagus. Who knew feeling empty would feel like drowning? There is no more air left in your lungs that it almost incapacitates you, your last breath spilling out your final ask of him.

“Do you love me? What did I do?” 

The noise and chatter around you seems to fall silent as he zeroes in on your face, crestfallen from the words that leave your lips. It isn’t your fault, but how can he tell you that? At 18, he’s feeling stifled by the privilege of having his life all planned out for him. He knows people spend their lives searching for contentment but James can’t decipher if he’s right for all of this pressure falling upon his shoulders. The societal heir of his father’s business empire. The face of the upcoming war, bringing in a new generation of soldiers to fight. 

Deep inside, he’s a wild spirit just wanting to live, to be free. And it scares him that you’d follow him to the ends of the Earth, that there isn’t much thinking involved, just doing. The lack of autonomy stifles his soul. How does one know if they’re meant for more? James doesn’t want you to have to suffer the consequences if he can’t figure it out himself.

“I love you honey. So much it hurts me. I just wonder if it’s enough.” 

Your hands clatter onto the table, bumping your half-empty pint of butterbeer as you gather your things, shoving them into your knapsack as his final blow hits your senses. And all he does is watch you, face transfixed as if he sees nothing, like he isn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

There’s no going back after this, you think silently as you steady your trembling hands. There’s also no way in hell you’ll let him see you cry. Fuck that. Your eyes fall over the curls that drape over the frame of his glasses, his face cradled by candlelight and dear Merlin, do you love this boy. All of him, even the parts that don’t reciprocate the feeling. This is the final snapshot in your memory of him, because this fleeting moment will have to be enough.

“I hope you get everything you ever wanted James. For my sake, I hope I never hear a thing about it.”

Perhaps having the last word will absolve you of the feeling that desecrates your entire essence as you put one foot in front of the other, pushing past the door of the Three Broomsticks and out into the unknown. But it’s not enough.

—

The break in routine absolutely shatters you, if we’re being honest. A year and a half of loving him, and three more before that of liking the slow steady burn that is James Potter…. It’s like looking at the world with new eyes and this window of opportunity with graduation nearing is your chance of starting anew. There’s also the custodial aspect after the end of a relationship, and it’s hard to separate the rest of what’s yours and his in your mind. Your friends are his, and his are yours. It makes quite a predicament to not have things so easy as they consider who to eat lunch with, or who’s dorm to hang out in. Hopefully, things get easier with time but you’re not as confident as you once were.

A part of you feels like you don’t belong anywhere anymore. James is the sun, after all; a natural leader— everyone revolves around his ingenious ideas and the light he brings. He’s the one who always has a plan, and everyone follows in his stead. Where do you fit in all of that? Where do you go?

His parents are likely the loveliest people to ever grace the wizarding world. Euphemia catches you by the arm after the graduation ceremony as you’re about to take the 7th year boat back across the Black Lake. With no family in attendance and no boyfriend to dote on, niceties were expended quick enough to want to run out of there and never look back.

“Darling, are you leaving without a goodbye?” Mrs. Potter smiles, calling her husband over both with grins made of sunlight. 

Somehow it resonates in your brain that it’s finally over, and your lip trembles when they pull you in for a hug that rivals your hunger to be loved. You think that even if your parents showed up today, it wouldn’t have felt this kind.

“Congratulations dearest! We’re so proud of you,” Fleamont rumbles, a big man with an even bigger heart as he brandishes flowers out of thin air to hand to you daintily. You’re going to miss them terribly. Is it wrong to want more of this? But you remember why it’s not as James’s cologne floods your senses and his silhouette creeps into your periphery. Your smile grows smaller as you two stare at each other and breathe the same air for the first time in almost a month. Whatever’s thrumming in your being, he holds the key to. Mr. and Mrs. Potter try to loop you into a photo together, the magical kind that moves to capture a memory so intimately but both of you stand perfectly still as his and your hesitant dismissals go unheard.

Loving hands fuss over both your caps and the way hair sticks out until you feel your shoulders jostle together for a moment and his hand lands on the small of your back. The flash goes off as you two look at each other in something that still resembles love. You can’t unlove him, not in a day, a month, or ever, you think. Not if you’ve bared your soul to him, even if he hurt you. 

You look away first, urging your heart to come back to reality. He’s not yours anymore, and you still love him. Alice told you earlier that he asked Lily out on a date for next Tuesday. What you were supposed to do with that information you’re unsure, but the feeling in your belly helps you say goodbye to the Potters, and clarify that they can keep the picture since you’re not James’ girlfriend anymore. An awkward silence settles over all four of you.

Euphemia rubs your cheek, hushed promises of keeping in touch while Fleamont looks at his son in confusion. James’ hand flexes in the absence of your body against his. He simply watches you walk away again, alone, while he’s surrounded by his friends and his family. The beating of a tiny heart matching your own as you hop onto the boat proves otherwise.

—-

A baby.

You think back to when it must’ve happened, the weekend before that Tuesday, when everything still felt right. With your last exams of your academic career finally done, both you and James were tangled in his silk sheets until dawn, an amalgamation of passionate whispers and lingering touches you could still feel in the days that followed. As you stared at the flutter of his eyelashes and relished the way he pulled you closer in his dream state, you were quite sure that he is, too, tangled within your soul to let go. That your doubts were residual anxiety from preparing for the future. For the first time in a while, you were reaffirmed that the boy sleeping next to you was your forever. Not being careful was a consequence of feeling safe in his arms, and subconsciously, you both hoped that everything would work itself out. As you walked out of the Head Students’ Lounge past noon with James’ hickeys as a necklace and donning your boyfriend’s shirt, you noticed the blush on Lily Evans’ face. You were just so sure, but that felt like forever ago.

Your parents weren’t happy when they came back from their business trip two months after graduation to find you four months along with a prominent bump and filled with so much fear. All plans of getting a job, of moving out, and joining the Order were now replaced with the startling fact that you are 18 and don’t have a single clue on what to do next. Your childhood bedroom feels smaller tonight, with both your parents standing at the door, all of you unsure of what to say. You can’t remember the last time they tucked you in, but as your dad takes a seat on the edge of your bed, it seems possible that maybe you won’t be alone in all of this.

“Whatever decision you make will be the right one, sweetie. If you love that baby, then we do too,” he sniffles, and you don’t recall having ever seen him this emotional before. One thing you are sure of, is this baby is loved, and made from love. The next is that England is not a safe place to raise your baby. 

Somewhere far away, in a hidden place guarded by some of the most experienced wizards, the Order of the Phoenix meets again to determine the future of the wizarding world. James’s eyes dart back and forth from the door to whichever adult is talking about the next mission. You didn’t show up again. All of the meetings so far where he was always the first one to arrive and the last to leave in hopes of getting a glimpse of you, and you never showed. There’s a deep worry that haunts him as the months pass by, and he knows that it would be easy to send you a letter, or to show up at your door, but he’s probably the last person you want to see. 

“We’re going out for a pint, you ready to leave James?” Lily whispers into his ear, arms curling around to his chest. But he’s not ready at all, sat on the sofa with his eyes on the door, just in case. Trying to love someone who’s still in love is a losing battle, Lily thinks, as she watches her boyfriend look like a child missing their favorite blanket. But in a war like this one, no one would be foolish enough to decline company.

“I’ll meet you there,” he smiles, leaning back to kiss her cheek. It’s cruel to both of them, the way he’s acting knowing that Lily won’t ever be you. Every chance he gets to have a moment to himself, he thinks of the despondent look on your face as you walked away from him and his parents that day. No more anger at all, no biting words or the fighting spirit that he knows and loves. Both of you just accepted what was to come.

Sirius and Remus approach him later after everyone’s left that they got word that you moved to America. He thinks of what could’ve been, and the thought of your safety is the only thing that lets his mind rest as guilt pushes and pulls at his heartstrings like waves.

He’s spent these months fighting in the war, loving and losing that he thinks this isn’t anything like the white house and picket fence fantasy you both used to cook up. As he grabs his coat to leave, James wonders if by being away from all of this you’ll get to live the life you want. 

—

“Okay honey, hold on tight to mama.” 

Your little boy was almost bouncing off the pavement with a chocolate covered grin, and it makes you laugh harder than it should. Maybe Florean Fortescue’s was not the way to start off your son’s first trip to Diagon Alley, but your new job at the Ministry starts tomorrow and you’ve been missing your favorite stationery. The town was packed with people with the war having ended and trying to start anew. You haven’t seen any familiar faces and maybe years ago that was a bad thing, but hope spreads over Diagon Alley with strangers smiling at Christopher as he skips on the cobblestone, almost tripping over his own feet at the entrance of Flourish and Blotts. 

He runs forward to explore the store as you smile at your creation, letting him wander along the aisles as you have done years before. Being back here is like walking through a memory, and though it used to be home, you know yours is walking around in tiny bright red shoes that light up like his smile. Your fingers flip through the different quills and parchment on display, and after finding everything you need, you hear your son’s laughter in the opposite corner of the shop. Motherly instincts always prevail as your feet guide you to the sound of his voice, since he’s never been one to shy away from a friendly conversation.

“Did you find everything you were looking for, honey?”

James’ head whips up from the tiny boy he was entertaining with color-changing quills to see you, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose to make sure he’s seeing properly. The both of you go quiet as time stands still, with Christopher chattering at your feet. 

“Mama! Look at this one, it goes rainbow!” he says, tugging at your coat to see the quill in James’s hand. The pieces start to fit together in James’ mind, looking at your pursed lip, then to the sight of this boy smiling with the innocence he had a lifetime ago. This boy, his son, has your eyes. You shake your head rapidly as he intakes a breath of air.

“Honey?” he whispers, knowing that was his name for you.

“So what, he looks like a honey,” you say defensively, grabbing your son’s hand.

He looks like my son, his eyes say—both of you look down to the child who’s all grins and none the wiser piping up.

“My name’s Topher!” 

“Yes it is, and now it’s time to say goodbye to the nice man, okay?” Topher pouts and looks up at his father without even knowing it, handing him the quill. 

“Keep it. I’ll pay for it, and then you can write to me,” he says almost desperately, losing grip of everything that he’s been trying to convince himself for the past 7 years. 

“Don’t be weird, Potter. Don’t…” you shake your head, eyes misting over. Seeing him again brought back everything. It was already overwhelming to have a kid that’s almost the splitting image of him, to learn of a love so pure after one that’s wrecked you to your core, but being here, within arms reach… You’re 18 again and scrambling away from the corner booth trying to get away from the man you love most not wanting you in return.

“Honey, why don’t you give us a minute to talk? Go find me some cool enchanted stickers for me to bring to work tomorrow, okay?” Your baby runs off without even questioning it, his sense of adventure also inherited from his father.

“I’m…so sorry.” James moves closer to you, and you take a step back sighing humorlessly.

“For what? He’s an amazing kid. Even though… he wasn’t planned, I don’t think I could ever see my life turning out any other way.” You shift your weight to your other foot. He looks, successful, if that’s something he would be proud of. He’s wearing an impressive suit, and his eyes are a bit hardened by the past few years, but his charisma, his smile…. He’s still the boy you fell in love with all those years ago.

“I feel foolish. I was so scared to live my life and then here you are raising our child…” 

You blink softly at his words, and it reminds him of your youth, all doe-eyed and full of want. You used to want him like he still wants you. In front of him is a grown woman, a mother who’s strong and filled with memories and love that he should’ve been a part of.

“Things happen for a reason, James. We both did what we had to do.”

His hand brushes yours, and you realize you’ve been without his touch for 7 years. 7 years of being scrubbed clean of James Potter, and not a single regenerated cell in your body has been touched by him. But your son is of him, so you think that no matter how this ends, there will always be a part of you that loves James too.

You extend an olive branch to have him come to your apartment this weekend and get to talk. He knows he doesn’t deserve this kindness, but you know he deserves to meet his son.

—-

The doorbell rings and you take a deep breath as you open the front door, looking up at him holding a teddy bear for Topher.

“He’s still down for a nap. Let’s go sit in the den.” You say quietly. The hallway is filled with pictures of your boy, and of you in different stages these past few years. He stops at a portrait of your parents with Topher being swung between them.

“Your parents….”

“Were supportive; I wasn’t alone,” you muse, knowing he knows of your strained relationship with them back then.

“They actually just retired early last year. Overworked themselves and finally comfortable, so they help out when they can. What about yours?” Trying to make conversation with your ex is terribly hard, but it’s in good spirit and there’s not much to do until Topher wakes up.

“They passed, actually. Mum at the end of the war, and dad 6 months after. Never wanted to be apart, you know that.”

Your face falls at his revelation, “I’m sorry for your loss. They were amazing people. Taught me what it meant to be a parent, for sure.” Amicable silence fills the living room before you clear your throat.

“I have to be blunt, James. What do you want from this? You must be married and busy, so if Topher can’t fit into that….”

“I’m neither of those things, honey. I want to try and see where this goes,” he says scratching the back of his neck. 

Your heart stops at his endearment, catching yourself looking at him seriously. 

“You can hurt me, but I’m not letting you do that to him. Back then, you were all I ever wanted love to be. And then I had my beautiful baby, and I suddenly knew my love meant more.”

“I never wanted to hurt you. It was a mistake, because I was too proud to accept that I had it good. That what I had was meant for me.” James grabs your hands, begging for you to understand. The lost boy he was is a lifetime away from the man sitting in front of you now. Though it’s touching, you keep your heart guarded because the little boy sleeping down the hall is your biggest priority. You hope he can understand that too.

“He’s not a placeholder for your dreams of wanting a family. You have to build that, I did that myself. I’m not going to let you string him along and then once you have a family of your own, you just up and leave.” 

“I know. I was hoping the both of you could be my family, if you give me the chance.” You bite your lip as your thumb runs against his. It’s easier to forgive than to forget. But for Topher’s sake, you can try. 

“Tell me something James,” you whisper, having needed to know this for the past 7 years.

“Why did you throw it all away? Was the idea of loving me…so terrible?” He tilts your chin up, and you think that the earnest look on his face is the closure you needed to properly forgive him.

“I’ve never stopped loving you. Loving you is the best part of knowing you. Do you think I ever forgot about you?” He chuckles lowly, brushing back a strand of your hair, and you think this could be dangerous if you let yourself get too close. 

“I’ve thought about you everyday for the past 7 years, I just didn’t think I deserved you after everything I’ve done. I was so stupid, I am still. But I’m trying to be better.”

“You think of me but dreamt of her. Was it guilt?” Your hand grabs his as you move it away from your cheek, settling onto your lap. The air around you is suffocating.

“It took time for me to figure out that it was intention. Lily was a distraction. You’ve consumed me since the day I met you. My dreams, my thoughts… All of it is you. I choose to think about you as much as I can, because if I didn’t I was scared I’d forget all the good things about us back then.”

You both hear a thump from your son’s room and realize you’re wiping tears away. James stands up when you do, and both pairs of your socked feet pad closer to your son’s room. 

“We start this slow. We make decisions together, and if there’s any inkling I get that he doesn’t want this, it’s done. You understand?” Your hands are firm on the doorknob as he’s standing close behind you, hanging onto every word.

“Every word. There’s no turning back from this.” He wants to ask another question, but before he can, your hand unconsciously finds his and your grip is so comforting that he notices himself sniffle. 

“If it all goes well, and if you want, we can try again. But that’s in the far distant future, James Potter.”

“Anything you want, honey. That’s the future I’ve been dreaming of.” With you. Your lips quirk into a smile as they brush against his cheek.

Slowly opening the door to both watch your son wake up from his nap, your hand pulls James into the room behind you. Quietly, he sits on the edge of Christopher’s bed, and when his son looks up at him, you both notice the little boy beaming like the sun. 

—-

“Everything you love is very likely to be lost, but in the end, love will return in a different way.” -Franz Kafka

taglist: @jsjcue

love me some tunes! i listened to this while writing:

night shift by lucy dacus & about you by the 1975

[wadewilsonaf]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: Tangerine doesn't like when you go on dates. The reason? Currently unknown.

Prompt: "Why do you look so dolled up?"

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

You look at your full-length mirror, your hand smoothing down the maroon satin dress you're wearing. You look pretty, you think, as you turn around in the mirror and admire yourself. You smile and bend down to your vanity, reaching for your gold earrings, when you hear your phone buzz on the dresser. You turn and glance at the screen.

Tan: You busy?

Your smile widens.

You: I am

Tangerine's reply was instant.

Tan: I'm coming over.

You don't have a chance to respond because you hear a sharp knock on your apartment door. You sigh and walk over, opening the door for him as you fiddle with your earring. "You were already here, weren't you?" you say, raising an eyebrow. Tangerine looks tense as he looks you over.

"What's wrong?" You ask, letting him in.

Tangerine walks in, his eyes scanning over you even more. "Why are ya all dolled up?" he asks bluntly, frowning judgmentally. You're taken by surprise by the tone of his question. You hadn't told Tangerine of this date, knowing your best friend usually hates the men you go out with—only this time, he had no information and he was still judgmental?

"Why do you think," you quip and turn around, disappearing into your room to find your purse. "He's picking me up in ten minutes."

"Is he now?" Tangerine snarls and blocks your front door. "Who is it this time? Another prick from work?"

You roll your eyes and walk back into the entrance, holding your purse now. You're annoyed with his attitude. "Why does it matter to you?"

"Why wouldn't it matter?" Tangerine argues and walks closer, his blue eyes flicker over your form. He thinks you're gorgeous but he wouldn't tell you that, not when the mere image of you with another man is pissing him off so much. "You always do this and you always get hurt."

"Well, excuse me for not finding my future husband in the few dates I've been on," you hiss and move by him, wanting to wait for your date outside. When Tangerine doesn't move, you become annoyed. "No, seriously, Tan, what's the fucking issue now? Why are you here?"

He doesn't answer immediately, his entire body is on fire as he looks down at you. You really do look so pretty, too pretty for some random guy to enjoy. "Stay here tonight," he states, almost like an order.

Your eyes widen. "W-what?"

Without hesitation, Tangerine's hands find your cheeks and he leans in to kiss you. All that jealousy had built up until he couldn't control himself. The kiss, however, is gentle as he restrains himself just enough to make it okay if you would want to pull away. But, you don't. Instead, you pull him in closer and return the kiss.

Internally, you're screaming but you'll have to worry about that later because he's pushing you up against the wall, his hand resting under your thighs as you wrap your legs around his torso, kissing him more passionately.

Once you catch your breath, you rest your head against the wall and play with the baby hairs on his nape. "You were jealous," you point out, doing a shit job at hiding your smirk.

Tangerine's cheeks warm and he shakes his head, becoming defensive. "No, I wasn't–"

"Yes," you whisper and hold him closer. "You don't want me to go on that date. Say it. Say you don't want me to go and I'll stay."

Tangerine's eyes darken as he looks at you, his lips still tingling from your kiss. Admitting this feels like crossing a line he spent years pretending he didn't want to cross.

He let out a slow breath, his hands tightening around your waist as he pressed you more firmly against the wall. "Fine, I'm jealous," he finally admits, his voice low and rough. "Ya drive me fuckin' crazy."

A small smile lifts the corners of your lips as you lean in closer, your forehead resting against his. "Then say it, Tan. Tell me you don't want me to go."

Tangerine's heart pounds in his chest and he sees the vulnerability in your eyes. "I don't want you to go," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "Stay with me, darlin'. Please."

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart flutter. You've always known there must be something more between you and Tangerine, something neither of you had dared to speak into existence. But now, with the truth out in the open, it feels right.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer as you kiss him again, this time with tenderness. "I'll stay," you tell him. "I'll stay with you."

Your date is quickly forgotten.

tags: @princesssunderworld, @tansgirlfriend, @brokeaesthetic, @earth-elemental18, @lqrlei, @longlivedelusion, @thewinterv

[wadewilsonaf]

do it for me

quote: “Like every serial killer already knew: eventually, fantasizing just doesn’t do it for you anymore”

Pairing: Dave Lizewski x fem!Reader

Warnings: smut!! (p in v, dirty talk, etc) it’s porn with little to no plot aka mdni

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: this is self indulgence at its finest

“Hey, study partner,” you sang out, giving Dave a cheeky smile as you opened the door of your apartment.

“Hey,” he gave a polite, though slightly nervous, smile back. 

You’d been paired together in your speech 101 class to complete a “group speech”. Though, at first you were certain you’d gotten the short end of the stick when you realized you were the only group of two in the class. Not to mention you got paired up with the quiet, kind of dorky guy. 

It only took two study sessions for your mind to change entirely.

His dorkiness quickly became endearing, especially when you realized just how cute he was up close. His messy hair and stupid glasses were stupidly attractive. He was surprisingly jacked under all the layers he normally wore. And, god, his eyes.

If he looked at you with his eyes all wide and innocent-looking one more time, you were certain you’d end up jumping him.

All of that, paired with how cute and blushy he got any time you flirted with him, was the perfect storm: you needed him bad.

You opened the front door of your apartment a little further, allowing him inside. He shuffled just past you, dropping his bag unceremoniously in order to pull off his shoes. You leaned against the wall to observe him as he did, finding yourself watching his every move like a hawk as of late. It was hard not to. You’d certainly had enough dirty dreams in the weeks prior, leading to even dirtier thoughts guiding your hand every time you go that familiar feeling fluttering in your stomach.

You only snapped out of it when he turned to you, his cheeks flushing a bit as he realized you were watching him. Only, you weren’t so nervous. You never were one to shy away from a crush. You merely smiled at him, pulling yourself off the wall and grabbing his arm.

“Come on,” you said, tugging him towards your room.

“W-what?” he blushed harder, quickly grabbing his bag as you pulled him along. “What about the… the living room?”

“My roommate is watching a movie in there with her boyfriend tonight,” you stated, omitting the fact that you asked her to occupy the space that night so you’d have an excuse to get him in your bedroom.

“Oh…” 

“It’s okay. My bed’s comfier anyway. Trust me,” you smirk over your shoulder, loving the fact that you could practically read what went through his mind in that moment.

That was the other thing you found yourself liking about Dave: you could read him like a book. Any time he was nervous, he fiddled with his hands. Any time he was stressed about class, he buried a hand in his hair roughly. And any time he was thinking dirty thoughts, those cute, pouty lips of his opened slightly and his eyes got all wide and round. Not to mention, he’d suck in a shaky breath. It was fucking endearing and horrifically sexy.

And he was doing it right then.

You turned over how you’d get your way as you pulled him into your room, though you knew it probably wouldn’t be hard. He obviously thought you were hot, and you still had plenty of time to do work on the speech before he’d leave.

You let go of him at last, shutting the door behind the both of you. You then shuffled over to your bed, sliding off your slippers before you got onto your bed, kneeling on the soft mattress. You patted the spot next to you, trying not to smile at the fact that he was looking at you as if he was thinking a little too hard about something else again. After a beat, though, he obeyed.

“Attaboy,” you mumbled, just to get another reaction out of him.

He cleared his throat, settling in uncomfortably. “So… Uh…”

“So…” you tilted your head in question, leaning in a little closer to him.

“Uh…” he gulped, looking down at you as you were mere inches from him. “Uh… We’re… Our topic is about killer whales, right?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, blinking your lashes at him. “Guess we gotta figure out how we’re doing it, huh?”

“What?” he squeaked out.

You grinned a little, raising a brow. He sucked in a breath when he finally pulled his head out of the gutter.

“Oh. Right. Right, yeah. How to… how to do it,” he nodded, too quickly to be natural. “Sorry, I don’t know where my head’s at.”

“That’s alright. No worries,” you smiled sweetly, resting a hand on his thigh gently.

He stiffened up physically, and you could only imagine the same happened in his pants. You squeezed his leg for a little extra emphasis. 

“You okay?” you asked.

“Mm… Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

He nodded a little, glancing briefly at your chest. You were in.

“Hey,” you said softly, rubbing up and down his leg. “You don’t need to act so shy. I don’t bite that hard.”

He blinked a few times, chewing on his lip. “I’m just… a little nervous.”

“Why?”

“Well… It’s just that… I mean that, that you’re–”

You chuckled to yourself. “I’m totally fucking with you, by the way.”

“What?” he asked, his voice high pitched.

“I said I’m fucking with you,” you repeated, sliding your hand up to his crotch. “Ooh. Someone’s excited, huh?”

“Uh…” he squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He paused, breathing heavy. “I don’t know.”

You laughed fully, moving your hand away again. He breathed out a sigh of relief, though you made sure to stop his relaxation in its tracks. You swung a leg over his hips, settling down onto his lap. He groaned, his hands grabbing at your thighs immediately.

“What are you doing?” he breathed out, clearly not protesting it.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you for weeks, Lizewski. You can’t seriously be that oblivious,” you muttered before smashing your lips into his.

He let out a shuddering, whiny moan into your lips, kissing you back like he’d been dreaming of it. You hoped he had been. You nipped his lip, getting him to open up for you to slide your tongue against his. He gripped your thighs and hips, his hands greedy as they wandered over your body. 

“You’re so pretty,” he gasped out as you moved your lips across his cheek and down his jaw. “Fuck, I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

You hummed happily, moving your lips down his neck. You licked and sucked at his skin, drawing out a million little sounds from his lips. You nipped at him, then sucked hard on his skin, determined to leave a mark. He moaned your name, squeezing your ass with both hands, relishing in the feel of your body beneath your thin shorts.

“Shh, baby,” you mumbled, licking over the new mark on the base of his neck. “There. Looks real pretty.” “Shit,” he whimpered, trying like hell to move your hips over his.

“Desperate,” you whispered into his ear, obliging him with a roll of your body.

He moaned softly, needy and clearly wanting more. But you wanted to see how far you could push him. You rolled your hips again and again over the obvious erection straining against his baggy jeans. You couldn’t imagine it felt great, but all the same, he wasn’t complaining. He wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck, his shaggy hair tickling the underside of your jaw.

“How’s it feel, baby?” you teased.

He merely groaned, staying silent for a few moments. “I… it kind of hurts. But please don’t stop.”

“Here,” you said, going up on your knees. “Pull your jeans down. It’ll feel better.”

He gulped, but quickly obliged your request. He clumsily pulled his jeans down his legs, clearly wanting and ready despite the fact that he looked like a deer in the headlights. You lowered yourself back down, grinding against him once more. He whined softly, guiding your hips with his eyes glued to where your bodies met through the fabric.

“Have you ever done anything like this?” you asked, a little amused at how excited he was.

“Only once… high school girlfriend…” he muttered in response. 

You chuckled softly. “Poor boy.”

He groaned, continuing to move you over his nearly-painful erection. You kissed down his neck, leaving a few marks for him to remember you by when he went to bed that night. He continued letting soft, pathetic noises fall from his lips, practically panting at this point.

“You getting close already, Lizewski?” you whispered, lips brushing his ear.

He merely nodded, his hands gripping you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. He breathed into your neck, chasing his release. But you couldn’t have that.

“You want more, don’t you?” you asked softly, winding your hand in his hair to give it a little tug.

He nodded his head, staring at you with a slack jaw.

“Okay, angel. What do you say?”

“P-please,” he whimpered softly.

You smiled to yourself, moving up on your knees and quickly working at the belt of his jeans. He swallowed, starting at your hands as they undid the button and zipper next. He hummed shakily, watching you push his jeans down ever-so-slightly.

“You think you can manage to pull those off so I can get my shorts off?” 

He nodded earnestly. “Yes. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good boy,” you patted his leg, then rolled off of him to shimmy out of your shorts and panties, not wanting to wait any longer. 

You’d been patient for what felt like ages now, not jumping on the guy out of respect. But you were only a woman, and you could only put off your desires for so long: especially when he clearly wanted you just as much.

You kept your eyes on him as he pushed his briefs off, laying back on the bed with his chest heaving and hair messy around him. His cock was hard and ready and so gorgeous. He wasn’t massive or anything, but between the coloring and his shape, you were certain it was the prettiest you’d seen. The slightest curve pointing towards his tummy that was now partially exposed from his shirt riding up.

“Wow.”

“What?” He asked breathlessly, looking up at you with wide, wet eyes.

You smirked at his desperation. “You’re just really pretty like this.”

He whined softly, obviously trying not to look at your exposed lower half as you crawled towards him on the mattress again.

“I’m really glad we got paired up for this class,” you admitted, straddling his legs. “Don’t think I would’ve ever considered you otherwise. But now I can’t stop thinking about fucking you.”

“Fuck,” he sighed, his eyes falling shut. “Please.”

“You sound so sweet when you beg.”

“Please,” he repeated, looking at you in utter need, his hands sliding up your thighs and to your hips.

“Shh,” you whispered back to him, reaching down to stroke his firm cock. He practically squeaked, his hips thrusting into your hand. “You’re awfully responsive, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” he all but moaned in response. “God, you’re so pretty.”

“Thanks, honey,” you replied noncommittally, dragging his tip through your folds to gather the slick there. He let out a shaky groan, fingers tightening on your hips.

“Wait,” he exclaimed softly, shaking his head.

You raised a brow, stopping your movements. “You alright?”

“Yeah. No, I’m… I am so good, you have no idea,” he mumbled quickly, still staring at you. “I just… I’d really like to be on top. If that’s okay.”

You chuckled, then nodded, obliging his request. You rolled off of him, laying on your back with your head in the pillows.

“Only because you asked so nice.”

“Thank you,” he said, whiny and needy as he moved between your legs. He let out a breathy moan as he slid his tip against you again. “You’re so soft. Wet.”

“I know.”

“Mm…”

He moaned, nearly looking like he could cry, as he started pushing into you. His eyes were glued to where you swallowed the head of his cock easily, brows knit together as he breathed heavy. 

“God… fuck…” he whined, falling on top of you with his head in your neck, letting himself ease into you. You gasped softly when he finally bottomed out, feeling yourself gush around him. “Fuck. You feel so fucking good. So good.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you reply, carding your hand through his hair and tugging it softly.

He lifted his head to take off his glasses, setting them on your bedside table. 

“Thank you. For letting me do this,” he whimpered, his face lowering back to your neck. 

He started thrusting his hips against yours slowly, sucking and biting at your neck as you felt his cock drag along your walls almost teasingly. He breathed heavily, every little needy noise like music to your ears. You ran your nails across his back, wanting to mark him and make him remember you every waking moment of his life. 

“You feel perfect,” he squeaked out, his hips starting to snap harder against yours as he grew more needy chasing his release. “I’ve had a crush on you all year. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

You chuckled breathily, his body pinning yours to the mattress as his hand gripped the sheets above your head. He moaned at every thrust, practically using your body to get himself off. Not that you minded. It was unbelievably hot to see him so desperate for you that he almost couldn’t help the way he pushed himself into you. 

“I could cum inside you right now,” he moaned again, moving his head to kiss you once. “Promise I won’t. But I could… I’m so close.”

“You can cum anywhere you want.”

He groaned, kissing you again, all tongue and want. “Please… Take off the shirt. Wanna… your tits.”

“Yeah?”

“Please,” he begged, whining as he kept pushing into you. “Please. I’d do anything.”

“Okay, baby,” you complied with a self-satisfied smirk, tugging at your shirt until you were able to pull it over your head. You watched him as he eyes were drawn to your breasts bouncing in your bra before you pulled that off, too.

“Oh, god…”

“You like them, huh?”

“Love ‘em,” he groaned, gripping one of your tits roughly with his hand. “God.”

“Mm…” you moaned a little, back arching into his touch. “Fuck, I’m close, too.”

“Really?” His eyes widened.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, shit. Okay. I’m… fuck, that’s so hot,” he said quickly, looking at you like you’d hung the stars just for him. “I– I’ll make you cum first. Promise.”

“Baby…”

“No, please. I wanna watch you,” he breathed out, eyes moving between your face and tits as he tried his damndest not to cum before you did.

You decided you’d be nice, just this once, and moved your hand between your bodies. You rubbed quick little circles around your clit as he kept railing you into the mattress, trying to get yourself to finish first. He whined as he kept going, squeezing his eyes shut as he clearly put in a lot of effort to hold himself off.

“You’re close?” he checked.

“Yeah. Really close. Almost there.”

“Mm…” he groaned, lowering his head and sucking one of your nipples into his mouth.

That did it.

You gasped, moaning his name as you clenched hard around his dick, soaking him in your release as he thrusted as fast as he could manage. Though you were left empty only a few seconds later as he pulled out, just in time to shoot his seed all over your bare chest. He groaned wantonly, stroking himself a little bit as he finished.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, voice high pitched and whiny. “Holy fuck. Fuck.”

“Yeah?”

He swallowed, mouth hung open as he tried catching his breath. “Uh huh.”

“You’re adorable,” you chuckled, watching as he sat down next to you, still trying to breathe normally again.

He nodded. “God damn.”

You reached for the tissues on your bedside table, wiping the cum off of your breasts as Dave fell back onto your bed in a combination of bliss and exhaustion. You chuckled at his actions, shaking your head.

“I think this makes our study sessions way more fun,” you offered after a moment.

Dave laughed breathlessly. “I think I’ll have to thank our professor.”

[wadewilsonaf]

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: Dave loses his patience with you when studying and then feels super bad.

Prompt: friends to lovers - "oh shit, are you crying?"

DAVE LIZEWSKI MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

Dave Lizewski is sweet and he is smart, if not sometimes a little airheaded, but he is your friend and friends make the best partners.

Or at least that's what you thought.

"Are you listening, Y/n?" Dave asks, clearly annoyed as you both sit on his bed, making some kind of art and crafts poster for your U.S history class. You've been zoning out because it's late and you haven't gotten much sleep with all the exams you've had coming up. 

You nod, humming as you reach for the glue. 

Dave is becoming more and more agitated. Clearly, something is bothering him. You want to ask him what it is but when he sees you begin to glue the cut-out map onto the poster, he completely freaks out. 

"Woah, not there, Y/n! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why do you always mess everything up?" 

Always? What does he mean by that? You stare at him, wide-eyed. 

Dave just rolls his eyes and snatches the glue from your hands. "Don't look at me like that," he hisses and his sharp tone is too much for you this late.

Tears start to brim in your eyes and you look away from him, wiping them with the sleeve of his sweater—the one he'd let you borrow when starting this study session because you were cold. 

Dave turns and catches your movement, his throat going dry. "Oh shit, are you crying?"

"What do you think, asshole," you snap and continue to hide your face from him.

Dave feels like he's been slapped as his previous words ring in his ears. He instantly feels like the worst person in the world as he scrambles to you, the poster forgotten.

He discards his glasses on the bedside table and rubs his eyes to wake them up a little. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispers, using the pet name to hopefully calm you down as his hands find your cheeks and he wipes away your tears. "I'm so sorry." 

You huff and try and look away from him, your lip wobbling.

Dave keeps your head still and leans his forehead on yours. "I didn't mean it, of course, I didn't mean it. You don't always mess up—I'm a douche and I'm just so tired and stressed—"

"I'm also tired and stressed," you say, your voice shaking.

Dave's heart sinks as he hears the quiver in your voice. He'd been so wrapped up in his own frustration that he hadn't even considered how much pressure you were under too and how tired you had become. 

Shit, he'd really just taken his stress out on the one person who least deserved it.

"I know, I know," he murmurs, his voice soft and filled with immense guilt. "I'm an idiot for snapping at you."

You stay quiet, wanting to agree but also not wanting to make him feel worse. You let him hold you as he strokes your hair. "We'll figure this out together, kay?" he continues, "We'll get through these exams and this stupid project. You and me, like always."

You look up at him and although your eyes are still red and puffy, there is understanding in them. You know he's also stressed.

"Let's just take a break," Dave offers, glancing down at the half-finished poster. "We can finish this in the morning when we're not so tired. Do you wanna stay over tonight?"

You nod slowly, and the tension in the room begins to lift. Dave wraps an arm around you, pulling you in closer as you both settle back against the pillows on his bed.

The stupid project could wait—right now, what matters most to him is you.

Dave presses a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm really sorry, Y/n," he whispers again.

"I know," you answer, your voice still a bit shaky but softer now. You want to be angry with him, but your heart won't allow it and you're too tired to care. His body feels warm and you've never felt more comfortable in your life. 

"Just, don't be a jerk again, okay?”

Dave tightens his arm around you, letting out a relieved breath. "Promise."

tags: @earth-elemental18, @lqrlei, @princesssunderworld

[wadewilsonaf]

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: You're having a bad day and you and Dave share earbuds on the bus.

Prompt: grumpy x sunshine

Warnings: dave and reader are seniors in high school (18), swearing

DAVE LIZEWSKI MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

You were never one to ask for help. No, help was for losers who didn't have the mental ability to deal with their own problems. However, you couldn't understand why the moment you prop your heavy backpack onto your knees and see you've forgotten your headphones at home, you feel tears well up in your eyes. 

You wipe them away quickly, deepening your frown as your hands tighten around your backpack. 

Screw this. 

"Hi," an all too familiar voice whispers from next to you. You look up. He's standing beside the empty seat next to yours, that stupidly handsome-looking smile painted across his lips. He points to the seat and then nods his head as a question. Your eyes widen. 

He wants to sit. 

You debate turning him down. Telling him no. But, you know the moment you open your mouth, all the tears you'd been keeping inside from your more-than-shitty day would spill out, and crying in front of Dave Lizewski would be more than humiliating. 

You nod and turn your head to look out the window. 

Dave sits down and shits around in his backpack for a moment until he produces a pair of earbuds. He clears his throat. "If you want we can share—"

You turn to look at him, frowning at him. The threat of tears is replaced by confusion. "What?"

Dave's cheeks turn red and he holds up the earbuds in his hand. "I know you always listen to music on the bus," he rambles and his throat closes as embarrassment takes over, "I- I don't mean that in a weird way—I haven't been stalking you or anything I've just never seen you without them—we've taken the same bus since freshman year, I j-just—" his words die as he realizes he's dug himself a hole. 

You look him over, narrowing your eyes. Dave is in your English class. He's a sweet boy, unlike most of the knuckleheads in your class. He's also handsome in a way you like—he doesn't show off.

He's like a god-damned golden retriever.

"That's sweet, if not a little weird, Lizewski," you pause drop your backpack onto the floor and smile at him weakly. "But I'm okay. I don't need your help."

"Are you sure?"

You frown, now annoyed that he's questioning you. "Yes, I am sure."

Dave quirks his brow and chews on his bottom lip. "Oh, okay, well, if you want to share just ask."

He turns away, putting in the earbuds in his ears. A few minutes go by, and the bus bumps on the road. You can faintly hear Dave's music from his iPod and you lean in closer. 

Fuck, maybe you do need some form of entertainment. Dave senses this and he turns his head, handing you one of the earbuds with such a kind look. 

Ew, you think as your stomach fills with warmth and butterflies. 

Still, you take one of the earbuds and move closer to him. Once the music fills your ears, some indie-rock band you've never heard of begins to play and you can't help but smile when you sense Dave moving his head around to the music. You look at him and your smile only widens. 

Dave turns to look at you, sensing your walls breaking and he starts to mouth the lyrics, making a show. He doesn't care that other students are also on this bus. All he cares about is you and making that beautiful smile he sees less than he'd like come out.

tags: @earth-elemental18, @lqrlei

[wadewilsonaf]

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: You convince your best friend to take you to Prom—only as friends, of course.

Prompt: friends to lovers - "don't bite your lip, bite mine."

DAVE LIZEWSKI MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

"Damn Davey, you look so dapper," Todd jokes almost meanly as soon as he walks into the gym and sees his best friend. Poor Dave instantly tightens his grip on your hand and narrows his eyes. 

"Shut up," he hisses, his cheeks a bright pink.

Your hand is still in Dave's and when you hear Todd, you turn to glare at him. "Jealous you don't have a date, Haynes?" you quip and turn to adjust the little rose in Dave's suit pocket that matches the colors in the corsage on your wrist.

You smile up at him, which only makes his cheeks turn even pinker. 

"Whatever, Y/l/n," Todd adds, laughing, "At least I didn't need a pity date."

You hate the way Todd is with Dave sometimes—although Dave always insists it's banter, sometimes it just feels mean.

You glare at Todd and say with a hiss, "You're an ass," and then you're pulling Dave away and towards where the center of the gym where your classmates are dancing.

It's upbeat music for the moment and Dave is clumsy in his movement as you dance around him. His eyes are stuck on yours.

"Loosen up will you?"

"You look very pretty tonight."

You and Dave say at the same time, your eyes widening and you both laugh a little. You wrap your arm around Dave's shoulder, still dancing to the music.

"Thanks, Davey," you whisper, your eyes sparkling. "You look very handsome," you echo his compliment, meaning every word. He does look handsome—but then again, he always looks handsome. 

He hums and his cheeks turn pink again. The song turns from dancey to slow and you lock gazes. Dave's hands wander to your waist as you lean into the dance. This feels so natural, as if your bodies are made to be molded into one soul. Dave presses himself closer, his head near your hair as he inhales your scent.

You smell heavenly. 

"Thanks for coming with me tonight," you say, "I really didn't want to go alone."

"Of course," Dave answers instantly, his breath by your ear, "anything for you," he adds in a whisper. 

Your chest feels warm and you look up at him, your hands sliding down to lay on his chest. Your smile widens and something in the air shifts because your eyes downcast to his lips. They've never looked prettier. He senses your gaze and his heart leaps. Instinctively, his teeth sink into his bottom lip. 

"Don't bite your lip, Lizewski, bite mine," you tell him boldly, unable to keep the thought inside you any longer.

Dave's eyes widen but you sense him leaning in closer and he hums as a question. Your eyes flutter shut and almost automatically, your lips meet.

It's short and sweet, his warm hands moving up to your cup cheeks as his lips linger on yours until he suddenly remembers you're in the middle of the school gym, surrounded by all your classmates.

He pulls away. "Sorry," he mumbles, embarrassed, "I didn't mean to kiss you like that—in front of everyone. I- this really wasn't how I had planned this moment," he admits, his cheeks a flaming red now and your eyes soften. You can feel his nervousness. 

"You had a plan?" you tease.

Dave nods instantly. "A stupid plan."

"Why don't you let me judge that," you say with a grin and wrap your arms around him again, holding him closer as you kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear, "because this is exactly how I planned this, baby."

tags: @earth-elemental18, @lqrlei

[wadewilsonaf]

something something being the breadwinner in your relationship with older bf!simon because you love him and he deserves it.

his post-military allowance it pitiful (and you’ve already complained enough times to your local body that they have a picture of you behind reception) so you both agreed that your income can cover the two of you.

plus, he makes a really good house-husband.

he watches a lot of gordon ramsay on daytime tv so there’s always a beautiful meal waiting for you when you get home.

he’s mastered the fabric softener to detergent ratio and your clothes are always warm and pressed from the iron.

he keeps the carpet vacuumed and the high shelves dusted and the windows always sparkle in the sun.

you’ve even told him you expect nothing, that he’s spent a long and hard life fighting so he could spend all day sleeping and you’d just be happy he was safe.

but he says it’s how he enjoys spending his time.

replanting the garden or building you a little table so you can both enjoy coffee outside in the summer or fixing just about anything in the house giving you grief.

says he likes being useful, likes being needed by you.

“want t’show y’how much i ‘ppreciate you”

“simon, you know i don’t need-”

“let me take care’a you, sweet’art”

every night you come home to a warm meal and a warm lap to curl up in.

simon says he likes being needed- likes being used too.

“thas’ it, right on m’tongue”

warm mouth ready to be fed.

simon’s grateful, real grateful.

“mmm- y’so fucking good t’me, taste like it too”

[wadewilsonaf]

single dad simon not knowing how to be a dad. not his thing. doesn't get it. hand him a gun and he can take it apart and put it back together in his sleep. but a diaper? formula? baby food??? knows next to nothing.

so you see him, miserable old man with sunken dark eyes, hunched shoulders and a screaming baby at his doorstep with groceries in his hand and decide to help. (besides, you're also suffering with a lack of proper sleep)

he's not a good dad but he's a protective one. he's at your throat in an instant, baby in arm almost behind his back, ready to sink his teeth into your jugular. you squeak out that you're a part time babysitter. you can help. you've got the most experience with babies her age.

you keep your eyes on him, tired eyes now sharp as flint. it's scary how quickly he'd moved. footsteps barely a whisper. his breath chills your skin.

threatens you with your life if so much as a hair on her head is hurt. he must be really tired if he's willing to accept help being this defensive.

you take the chunky babe and bounce her as he opens the door to his flat. you don't dislike kids but you're not their biggest fan either. babysitting is just a means to an end. easy money that goes toward your tuition.

simon, you come to learn, doesn't care. he thinks you're the missing parent. he doesn't ask you if you can help watch over the child. simply knocks on your door and hands her to you with the diaper bag. mutters that he'll be back and with food.

he helps himself to your couch when you tell him that the baby is asleep. takes off his shoes and is snoring in seconds. simon also doesn't help the rumors going around the building. "a terrible parent, you are. how could you abandon your baby and husband? he's been struggling for months!"

simon leaves you sputtering when he tells them to stop talking about his missus like that or he'll kill them in their sleep. burp the baby, pet, or she'll keep us up all night.

at least he pays well :/

(if you go out for a friends night, which he will drop you off so stop talking about uber, he's telling you to go say goodbye to our baby who happens to be asleep in her crib and if you're wearing a short little number he's gonna watch you bend over to kiss her fat little cheek before he takes you to the bathroom to eat it from the back and is sending you to his car with trembling legs and a slap to your arse. don't look so tasty next time idk)

[wadewilsonaf]

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: Being partners with Kick-Ass is far more intimidating when you have a huge crush on him, especially when he won't stop talking about his crush.

Prompt: hurt and comfort - "I'm so sick of pretending like everything is okay."

here you go, my darling @lavieenvalentina! ily! seeing you in my notifs always makes me so happy!

DAVE LIZEWSKI MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

The night is humid and hot and nothing seems to be going your way. 

First, your costume had shrunk in the laundry making the middle feel three sizes too small. Second, it had been drizzling outside and now your hair is frizzy, and third—your partner, Kick-Ass, has been going on and on about this girl Katie from his high school. 

You know Katie. You've deduced you go to the same school. She's all sugary sweet on the outside, but she's been casually teasing you since middle school, which is something you can't exactly tell him considering your identity must remain a secret. 

It doesn't help that you don't know who Kick-Ass is either. Hell, he could be one of the stupid popular jocks for all you know and then you'd so feel silly.

"And her hair is so silky and smooth, I wonder how she—" Kick-Ass continues as you walk, grinning like an idiot. You don't know how much longer you can take this agony, but you try and listen to him anyway.

"You okay?" he asks after more rambling because he can now sense you aren't listening. 

You pause, stopping at a crossroads and then you turn to him. "I should go home, there isn't any crime happening," you say, needing some time alone and away from him. 

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks, his voice low and hoarse. It's the tone that makes your cheeks feel warm and your heart flutters uncontrollably. Behind his mask, his bright blue eyes shine and he's looking at you like some poor puppy who can't understand why his owner won't give him a bone. 

"Don't look at me like that," you say, taking his arm and pulling him into a small alley. 

"Like what?" he sounds genuinely confused as he leans against the brick wall. 

"Like a damn wounded puppy!" you exclaim, throwing up your arms in exasperation, "As if I've kicked you or something stupid. Why do you always have to act like the one who's hurt when all you do is hurt me?!"

The words tumble from your lips.

"I hurt you?" he whispers, his concerned expression obvious even with almost his entire face covered. "How? I thought we were friends. You're the best damn friend I've ever had."

"You don't know me," you interrupt him and fiddle with the latex of your glove, "not really." 

"Well, I could know you," Kick-Ass says, sounding very determined. "You're the one who doesn't want to know me. I've told you a thousand times you can trust me. I've even told you my name."

Your eyes widen at this revelation. "What? When?"

"The first week we met, you never told me yours but whatever," he shakes his head and then outstretches his hand, "Here, I don't mind. I trust you. My name is Dave," he says casually.

You suddenly click all the pieces in your head and your smile drops.

"Dave Lizewski?" you whisper, suddenly recognizing his voice. Of course, how could you not have recognized him? You sit next to Dave in Pre-Calculus every single day. Dave hangs around with Katie all the time. You look him up and down.

His eyebrows crease. "How did you know that?" he asks suspiciously.

You think, screw this, and untie your mask from behind your head, letting it drop into your hands. You look up, almost afraid of his reaction.

Dave's eyes widen and he stutters out your name, the syllables stuck in his throat as he processes that it's you.

He didn't consider you a friend at school, but you always helped him in Pre-Calculus when you could so he liked you. Plus, you're gorgeous and he can't deny that before Katie Deauxma, he'd thought of you in inappropriate ways—sometimes he still does.

His cheeks burn bright red. 

"It's you," is all he can muster.

You shrug and look away from him. "This is so stupid," you say and then turn to him again, "We're so stupid for not knowing. I mean, we talk all the time."

Dave pulls off his mask. Luckily no one is walking around this dinghy alley to see you both. Your breath catches in your throat at seeing Dave, his hair messy and stuck to his skin, his glasses abandoned and dressed in his Kick-Ass suit. 

You start to laugh. You aren't laughing at him but at this absurd situation. 

Dave doesn't take it like that and he scrunches up his nose. "Are you laughing at me?"

You shake your head and look at him seriously. "No, I'm laughing because if I had known waking up today that the boy I have a crush on was none other than Dave Lizewski from Pre-Calculus—I think I would have pinched myself."

Your words sink and Dave's eyes widen until he looks almost scared. "What?"

"You know Katie thinks you're gay. That's the only reason she's your friend," you interrupt. You feel the need to tell him, like jealousy and pure venom is slipping from your mouth. Is it mean? A little, but you think it's time someone should burst his bubble.

Dave frowns, your previous statement slipping his mind momentarily. "I know that," he tells you, defensive. 

"Then why on earth do you have to go on and on about her all the time?"

"Sorry, I didn't realize I was inconveniencing you, Y/n," he snaps without hesitation, crossing his arms.

"Well, you are," you snap back, glaring at him and looking at him like this, knowing who he is, makes this a thousand times harder.

If Kick-Ass did turn out to be a stupid, meat-head, jock then this would be so much easier. Only he isn't. He's Dave Lizewski  and Dave is sweet and he's funny and he's brave and—

"I'm so sick of pretending like everything is okay," you blurt out and bury your face in your hands. 

Dave is quiet for a moment until he walks closer and pulls your hands down so he can look at you. "Okay, listen, can we please rewind for a second?" he asks, "y-you said you have a crush on me."

You shake your head and warmth spreads across your cheeks. 

"You did," Dave insists. 

"Doesn't matter, it's stupid."

"It does matter," he says and his hands cup your cheeks, hair falling and tickling his wrists as his mask hangs from his hand. "It matters because you're lovely and kind and I really like you." 

"Not the way I like you," you counter, "you like Katie Deauxma." 

Dave winces and he can't argue. His feelings don't just magically disappear, although he can admit that for some reason—after seeing you in this light—something inside him shifted. Something he can't explain right now.

"Y/n, you don't know me either," he tells you honestly, "you may know Kick-Ass a little, and you may like him, but you don't like Dave."

Not yet, you want to finish but you don't. You keep your mouth shut. He has a point.

"Just don't talk about her anymore, will you?"

Dave smiles a little, nodding his head. "Okay. Promise," he looks into your eyes, his gaze flickering to your lips. 

He has a really strong feeling he won't need to talk about Katie anymore. 

tags: @earth-elemental18

[wadewilsonaf]

you don’t listen + remus

i didnt know whether to make this angst or silly. i will let you, dear readers, have the pleasure of figuring it out in real time

pairing: remus lupin x gn!reader

(three word sentences)

––––––––––

Remus huffed a breath, shaking his head with his hands on his hips. "You don't listen!"

You scoffed, sitting up on his bed and staring at him. "Excuse me?"

"It's like every time I try to talk, you zone out and don't listen to a word I say."

You swallow, floundering for words for a moment. He wasn't wrong, after all. Just now, when he was talking about his classes, you were totally preoccupied. You supposed it was fair for him to accuse you, but you frowned nonetheless.

"I'm sorry, I just..."

"Did you even hear a single thing I just said?"

"No," you admit quietly.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well, it's not my fault!" you exclaim.

"How is that not your fault?"

"You're the one who took your shirt off in the middle of speaking to me!"

He scoffed this time, crossing his arms over his bare chest. Now he was at a loss for words.

"I–" he looked around, then set a firm gaze back on you. "That's ridiculous. You've seen me with much less."

"Doesn't mean it stops being distracting," you grumble, pouting.

He rolls his eyes, walking up to you. He takes your jaw in his hand, pressing a kiss to your lips. Then, he brushes his thumb over your pouty bottom lip.

"Quit pouting."

"You're mean."

"And you're insatiable," he kisses your lips once more. "Last time I try to talk about anything when you're making googly eyes at me."

You chuckled, leaning into his touch. "You'd think you would learn your lesson by now."

[wadewilsonaf]

CONGRATS ON THE MILESTONE BABESSSS!!!

for the event i thought 🎧 for theo + r u mine? (or do i wanna know? or i wanna be yours honestly just any AM song especially the AM album is too theo coded i think im gonna chew on him like a pencil)

thank you lari!! ♡

star's 800 followers celebration ! | send an ask !

all i wanna ever say is, "are you mine?" / well, are you mine? (are you mine tomorrow?) / are you mine? (or just mine tonight?) / are you mine? (are you mine tomorrow?) / (oh, ah, or just mine tonight?)

Your heart pulses in tune with the music; melodies swirl around you, the bass throbs in your ears, and the feeling of knobby fingers digging into your hips.

There's a lazy curve to your lips as you sway to the music against someone you don't know the name of. They smell like sulphur and sweat—a clashing scent to the smoke and mint you've grown accustomed to during these parties. They're too clumsy and too handsy, but you put up with it because it's the only way you know how to draw Theo out.

As cyclical as the moon, you feel rough, calloused fingers envelop your wrist and tug you away from the dance floor and the sweaty stranger. You hear a distant grumble of protest before the music fades and the crowd thins, and all you can see is Theo.

"Took you long enough." You tease.

Theo scoffs. His eyes roll, and if it wasn't for the tightness in his jaw, the whole night would be going on as-scripted. But you notice it, and your forehead crinkles, and you can't help but reach out for him, breaking out of the unspoken roles the two of you assumed on nights like these.

Your hand moves to his jaw, soothing out the tension with your thumb gently. His eyes flutter shut at your touch. "What's wrong?"

Theo inhales sharply. When he looks at you, his gaze burns. Icy, blue eyes feel cold and hot at the same time, and it almost stings to hold his gaze. It's unlike the way he looked at you last night—bare and cuddled in his arms, eyes wistful and sated. You had just spent the hour in his mercy, pleasured and sore in every place he'd touched and claimed. Your voice had been brittle from the incoherent nothings and everythings that spilled from your lips. You had promised him that you were his, that no one else could ever compare. You sealed your impulsive promises with languid and heated kisses. The spur of the moment made your words feel easy.

"Nothing." Theo mutters. He drops your wrist and pulls away.

[wadewilsonaf]

don't want you like a best friend

Description: James is nervous about his inexperience with girls. Luckily he has a best friend who's more than willing to help. (based on an idea formed in part by @amiableness. check out the post)

Pairing: bsf!james potter x f!reader

Warnings: DESPERATE!james, inexperienced!james, blowjob (m receiving), porn with barely any plot

Word Count: 2.5k

a/n: kind of muggle!au? doesn't really matter in the context of this though lmao

You walked into James's flat, quite pleased he'd given you a key. It was much easier to bother him whenever you pleased when you could just waltz in any time.

"James!" you called out, toeing off your shoes.

"In here!" he shouted back.

You followed his voice to his room, seeing him laying on his tummy watching tv. You ran up to his bed and flopping down on it next to him. He laughed in that squeaky, joyful way he only ever seemed to do around you.

"Hi," he greeted with a cheeky smile.

"Hi," you replied with an equal grin, then glanced at the television. "What are you watching?"

"Nature documentary about penguins," he responded simply.

You glanced up at him with a quirked brow. "Why?"

"Cause I like penguins," he shrugged.

"...we need to get you a girlfriend."

He went a little quiet, prompting you to look at him again. You tilted your head.

"James?"

He chewed his lip. "I– I do kind of have a date. Tomorrow."

"What?" you exclaimed, suddenly sitting up straight. "Who? Since when?"

His cheeks went a little pink. "Sirius set it up for me."

"Oh my god! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I'm nervous!"

You chuckled softly, still in a bit of disbelief. The boy had been single for far too long in your opinion, especially considering how much girls threw themselves at him in school. He always said that it was just because he had high standards, but part of you was half-convinced he must be terrified of girls. Or commitment. Maybe both.

"I just... I can't believe it. Is she cute?"

He almost grimaced. Not a great sign.

"Uh oh," you snorted a laugh.

"It's not that she's ugly! She's... she is pretty, its just," he sighed, shrugging a little, "she's not really my type, I guess."

"At this point, I'm beginning to believe you don't have a type."

He frowned. "Hey."

"Just saying, James. You never date, and it's not for lack of girls who like you."

"I kind of have to like them back for that to work."

"You sure you're not scared of girls?" you asked with a laugh.

He chuckled a little, shaking his head. "No."

"Commitment?"

"No."

"...Sex?"

"Ugh, don't say that," he groaned, dropping his face against the mattress.

You laughed again. "Sounds like a yes. It's really not that scary."

"It's kinda scary," he mumbled against his comforter.

"James," you called quietly, resting your cheek on the mattress to look at him.

He turned his face towards you, his cheeks pink and his hair even messier than usual. His lips were slightly pouty. Frankly, it was absolutely adorable.

"Everyone but me has done it at this point. The furthest I ever got was touching a boob over clothes in fifth year."

You couldn't help but to laugh at that, causing him to whine your name in protest.

"Sorry..." you said, not all that apologetic. "It's just... cute. You get so flustered. It's really not a big deal."

"It is a big deal to me."

"Aw. I'm sorry, Jamie. I just mean that nobody's going to fault you for being inexperienced."

"They might!"

"No they won't."

"You don't know that."

"At any rate, I think it's sweet."

"But I'm not having sex with you," he argued, then snapped his mouth shut, his cheeks going even darker. "That sounds... I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," you ran a hand through his hair, and he leaned into the touch. "I just mean to say that I'm sure if I think it's sweet, other girls would also probably think it's cute."

"I'm a man. I shouldn't be cute, I should be... strong and masculine. Hot."

"You're very hot, James."

He sighed, still pouting a little.

"Put that lip away," you muttered, tapping his bottom lip.

"You're being mean."

"No, I'm not."

"You're teasing me," he pouted again.

"What? How?"

"You're very hot, James," he mocked in an overly-high-pitched voice.

You snorted a laugh. "Heaven forbid I tell my hot best friend that he is, in fact, hot."

He fell quiet for a moment. "You really think so?"

"Of course I do."

"Mm," he hummed softly, then sighed. "Why can't there be more girls like you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, smiling curiously.

"You're always so sweet to me. I just wish there were more girls who act like you, cause then I could just... do it with them and not be so worried about it."

You raised your brows, trying to hold back another laugh. "Oh, really?"

"Don't tease me."

"I'm not. Just, why don't–" you stopped abruptly.

He looked at you with wide eyes. "What?"

"If you're so worried about getting your first time over with, then why don't you just do it with me?"

He looked like he got the wind knocked out of him in that moment, blinking a few times as if he was trying to wake up from a dream. He opened his mouth a few times, though no sound came out.

"I just mean that... you said you'd do it with a girl like me, so why not me? You trust me, I know what I'm doing, you know I won't judge," you listed off some reasons. "It could work, you know?"

"Cause you're... you're my best friend."

"And?"

"And friends don't do that."

"Friends do that all the time," you replied with a shrug.

"What?" he asked, looking totally mortified.

"Friends have sex all the time."

"Since when?"

"Since forever," you chuckled a little. "I'm not saying we have to. Just putting it out there, since you're so nervous about it and all."

"I–I don't..."

"You don't have to say yes."

"I know," he nodded, looking a little uncomfortable. "It's just... I don't think I'm ready to do all of that right now."

You smile a little. "I'm not saying I'd take you to pound town right now..."

"Ugh," he groaned.

"Sorry. I just mean to say that, if you wanted to, we could start slow. Work you up to the main event."

He chewed his lip, looking away from you. You sighed softly, then stood from the bed.

"Alright. Let's go and grab a snack or something and take your mind off all this. Stop stressing so much," you said, trying to grab his arm to pull him up.

He shook his head. "Can't."

"What? Yes, you can."

"No, I can't," he emphasized, his cheeks still dark.

"Why not."

He stared at you for a moment, then whined, dropping his head into the comforter again. He mumbled something into the fabric, causing you to groan in annoyance.

"What are you saying? I can't hear you when you mumble."

"You don't understand," he said, looking at you again with a pouty face. "You're not a guy."

"What the hell is that supposed to... Oh," your eyes widened. You let out a disbelieving, delighted little giggle. "Are you–"

"Please don't talk about it. It'll make it worse," he said quickly in his whiny little voice.

"Aww. Poor baby."

"Stop it."

"Let me see."

His eyes widened comically. "What?"

"Let me see. Come on, turn over," you giggle, trying to turn him.

"Lovie, no, I..."

"Please?" you pouted, knowing he could never resist it.

He whined. "Please don't. It's embarrassing."

"It's hot."

He gulped. "...It is?"

You nodded. "Yeah. It's kind of flattering, too. The fact that I barely suggested it and you got all excited."

"It's not my fault. I just... my brain started thinking..."

"Yeah, brains tend to do that," you joked, relishing in him being all flustered. It was so unlike his usual demeanor. "Come on, Jamie. I just want to see."

He swallowed, nodding a little awkwardly before he turned onto his back. You smirked a little to yourself at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants. You sat back on the bed right next to him, glancing back at his nervous face.

"Can I touch?"

"I... I don't know."

"Just over the pants right now."

He considered it for a few moments, before taking a deep breath, nodding.

"Okay," he said quietly, his hands balling into fists.

You smiled. "Relax."

You let your hand rest on his thigh first, watching him as his eyes trailed your every move. You slowly slid up his leg, teasingly, just so you could see him sweat a little at the thought of being touched for the first time. He was generally quite confident, but somehow missed out on anything and everything intimate outside of kissing.

He sucked in a breath as you reached his hip, looking as if he could pass out.

"Hey," you said gently, trying to catch his eye. "Take a deep breath. Relax. It's supposed to feel good."

He sniffed, nodding shakily. "Y-yeah. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, Jamie. Just... relax. Okay?"

"Okay."

You let your hand move again, barely ghosting over his bulge, the tips of your fingers touching the fabric of his sweatpants. You looked up at his face. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were wide and almost glossy. His pretty, pouty lips were just barely parted as he waited in anticipation for your next move.

You lowered your hand, gripping him gently through his pants, forcing a shaky gasp through his lips. You smirked to yourself a little, stroking him through his pants.

"Feels good, huh?" you asked in a quiet voice.

He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a pathetic little moan. You chuckled at the sound, stroking him again. He was bigger than you expected him to be, but not terribly massive. His hips bucked into your hand, another soft whine coming from him.

"Aww. You like it, huh?"

He nodded, breath coming in short.

"Can I do a little more?"

"Uh..."

"I think you'll like it."

"M-maybe," he gasped out, looking utterly wrecked already.

"Can I take off your pants?"

He looked at your face again. "Huh?"

"Can I take them off? I wanna touch you," you stated simply.

He whimpered. "Um... For... for what?"

You furrowed your brow. "So I can feel you. I just want to touch your skin. It'll feel better for you, too. You touch yourself, right?"

"I... Y-yeah. Yeah, sometimes."

"And I assume you don't do it through your pants, right?" you laugh a little.

He merely swallows, nodding dumbly. "Right."

"So... Can I touch you like that? I won't do it unless you say yes."

"Oh..." he sucked in a shaky breath. "O-okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes."

You smiled, hooking your fingers in his sweatpants and underwear. "Hips up, please."

He followed your instructions easily, lifting his hips for you. You tugged everything down in one go, leaving it all pooled at his ankles on the bed. You nearly moaned yourself when you saw him, hard and leaky and ready. You traced his dick softly with your fingertips, impressed with him, and drawing another moan from his lips.

"So pretty, Jamie. Look at you."

"Don't... fuck," he gasped. "Don't say that."

"I mean it. Your cock is perfect."

He whimpered again, sounding like he could cry. You wrapped a hand around him, stroking him softly as hips bucked into your hand, soft moans and squeaks leaving him in utter desperation.

"P-please," he begged, staring at you as if you hung the stars.

"Please?"

"I... I don't know," he shook his head, his lip quivering.

"You need more?"

He sniffled, nodding quickly. "So bad. Please."

"Can I suck your cock, love?"

The sound that left his lips was utterly pornographic, his chest heaving like he'd run a marathon.

"God..."

"That's not my name, baby," you stroke him again. "I need you to say yes if this is what you want."

"Y-yes. Fuck yes," he said, his hips still shifting under you, trying to get more friction from your hand.

"So needy," you chide jokingly, moving to settle between his legs.

He whined watching you climb between his legs, nearly hyperventilating at the sight and feeling of you kissing along his stomach with your hand pushing his shirt up.

"So pretty," he groaned, stroking your hair.

You smiled against his stomach, licking nearly up to his chest just to hear him make that sound again. You kissed back down his stomach, barely ghosting over the tip of his cock at you looked back up at him.

"Ready?"

He nodded, in a trance as he watched you. You kept his eye contact as you darted your tongue out, tasting him for the first time. He practically sobbed in pleasure, pulling on your hair slightly.

"Told you it would feel good, baby," you mutter, licking from base to tip as he squirmed under your touch. "Isn't this nice?"

"Mmmm..." he nodded, chest heaving.

"Good boy," you kissed his tip.

You stared up at him, smiling to yourself at his sweet little reactions as you started stroking him. He looked so adorable totally wrecked. Like he could pass out at any moment. You couldn't help but to want more.

You wet your lips, figuring you could probably fit most of him into your mouth in one go: so you decided to give it a go. You licked him once more, then shoved his cock down your throat, letting it hit far enough to make you gag.

He shouted, gasping for air before he fell into a puddle of moans and desperate praises of your name. You pulled off of him, but only for a second before you went back down, sucking on him as if your life depended on it. It felt like it did.

He gripped the fabric of his comforter, sobbing in pleasure as his hips jutted up into your mouth. You were about to pull off to make some sly remark, when he whimpered loudly, shooting his cum down your throat. You hummed around him, swallowing everything you could despite your utter surprise that he had finished so quickly. He whined and kept his grip tight in your hair until he was done, his seed dribbling past your lips as you couldn't quite swallow everything. You weren't sure if you'd ever witnessed someone cumming so much before.

You did your best to clean him off without making him overly-sensitive, and finally pulled off.

"Mm... Holy fuck, Jamie. You cum that much every time?” You ask, chuckling a little despite being wildly aroused.

He shook his head, sweaty and still whimpering.

"Awww," you cooed softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "You okay?"

"That... that felt..."

"What?"

"Best thing ever," he managed breathily.

You laughed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he uttered, a small smile on his face as he opened his eyes. "I... you're really good at that."

"Apparently too good," you snorted.

"Maybe," he nodded, then hummed softly in pleasure. "Sorry for cumming so fast."

"It was sweet."

"It's not sweet," he shook his head.

"I think so. You're so sensitive," you kissed his cheek.

He hummed again, then sighed softly. You watched him as he took a few steadying breaths before he moved his eyes back to you. He let his eyes linger on your form for several moments, then chewed his lip. He looked up at you, clearly debating something in his mind.

Then he smiled a little.

"Can I return the favor next time?"

[wadewilsonaf]

so hot it hurts

pairing: draco malfoy x hermione granger

summary: hermione punches draco and knocks more than just sense into him. / requested by @hotchfiles.

word count: 300

author's note: i'm going to preface this by saying i've never written draco before so please be kind if you share your thoughts (i'm greedy for thoughts <3)

Salazar's fuck.

Draco could still feel Granger's knuckles colliding with his nose. The crack of contact, the gush of blood, and the ache pulsating immediately from his nose to the rest of his face. 

For such a tiny thing, Granger delivered a sharp and sturdy blow that made him stagger backwards and clutch pathetically onto his nose. If he hadn't seen her cradle her fist as he scurried away from the scene, he would have guessed she'd done this before.

He should have been livid and seething. He should feel vindicated that she was in pain, too. He should be plotting ways to make her life even more miserable than it already is. He should be spitting curses and threats and running to his father for repercussions. He should think of Granger vile, think how the ugly brute of a bird shouldn't be the only species in danger right now.

But he wasn't.

Draco was thinking of the flash of fury in her soft brown eyes. The plumpness of her lips as she cursed and huffed and panted at him with that swotty little voice he detested so much. The shrub she called hair fizzing and surging with uncontrolled magic, making her look as frightening as a scorned goddess. He could still smell the hints of peach and nutmeg as she swung. The stinging impact of her soft yet disturbingly sharp knuckles. The look on Granger's face, her cheeks flushed red as she realized what she'd done.

Fuck.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing as his nose throbbed. He threw his head back against the emerald green couch, shutting his eyes in an attempt to get the images of Granger out of his mind. His heart thrummed, and the heat from his cheeks involuntarily travelled south.

Fuck.

[wadewilsonaf]

Spring Fling - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Part One) (18+)

Summary: You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni. fem!reader, pilot!reader, enemies/rivals to lovers, lots and lots of arguing, could these two people be any less cooperative, sex seven ways to sunday and then some, seriously like so much smut it'll make your eyes bleed, makeouts, rough sex, oral (m+f receiving), penetrative sex, will add as i post

WC: 5.7K / navigation / inbox

A/N: if you've been on my blog anytime since last year and you've heard me mention 'my big hangman fic', this is it! I've been working on Spring Fling for almost a year now, and I'm so excited to share it with you. I hope you enjoy this, and I'm glad so many new people are making their way into our top gun fandom because of twisters and Glen's role in it. Welcome, and enjoy!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Phoenix had been the one to give you the final push, and right now you’re glad she did. You’d hemmed and hawed over the booking details for weeks, but when the cruise was only three weeks away, she’d insisted you finalize the paperwork and clinch one of the last available rooms.

“Come on,” She’d given you a knowing look, thin brows raised and lips curled into a smirk, “You need this.”

You do need this. Walking onto the cruise ship feels liberating, like you’re free from the shackles of the U.S Military and living a normal life. You’d been pleasantly surprised to have been granted leave by your commanding officer for the entire week, because Spring Break was a term typically foreign to the Navy. But your squadron's leave fell so perfectly in between late March and early April, so you’ll take the time off and enjoy it.

You’re really going to enjoy it. The cruise you needed oh-so-badly isn’t just an average, run-of-the-mill ship, it’s a program specifically targeted towards those wanting easy hookups. 

A sex cruise.

You’d almost been scared away by the no refunds, no rearrangements notice on the cruise’s website, letting you know that you wouldn’t be offered the courtesy of a swap if your random roommate didn’t work out. After all, the point is to get over your reservations, and have a good time. But, you think, it’s only a week, and none of the people you’re seeing around the ship so far look like anyone you’d refuse to have sex with. Do you feel ashamed for signing up for a sex cruise? Slightly. But you can feel slightly ashamed after getting your back blown out by whoever you’re lucky enough to room with. Right now you just need sex, something hot and heavy and rushed, the fervent slapping of skin-on-skin to release the stress pent up inside of you for months now.

Work is tough. You’re no longer the starry-eyed aviator that you’d been at the beginning of your career. You’re older now, you’re starting to exit the honeymoon phase of your job, and to top it off, you haven’t been able to score in months. 

You used to have no problem picking up a date here and there around the Hard Deck, but all of a sudden, it’s like Penny had shut off the tap of men pouring out into your lap. You can’t fathom why the entirety of San Diego suddenly decided hookup culture wasn’t for them, but you haven't been able to get laid in months, so you need this cruise. You’re partially terrified that word might get around to your squadron about your vacation, and that the slight shame you're feeling might multiply into something you'll never be able to face. Heaven forbid they change your callsign to Cruiser, or Hookup, or some other derogatory indicator that you're about to have the week of your life.

Hangman already teases you for not being able to take anyone home anymore, you can’t imagine what he’d do if he found out you got on a sex boat. You’ve always been able to bicker and banter with Hangman, dishing out as much as you take, but if he gets wind of what you’re doing this week, you might lose your never-ending stream of competitive banter once and for all.

You shove Hangman out of your thoughts; this is to get away from all of that. He’s a pest, the way he lays out teasing remarks with that saccharine grin on his face, like he’s the cheshire cat and he’s told you a particularly hard-to-decipher riddle. He’s a cheap rival at best, always poking and prodding about being number one, and how you’ll have to hike up your big girl panties if you want to be on his level, despite your record being neck-and-neck with his own. He’s never given you something you can’t return in full-force, but it takes effort to fire back the way that you do, and you’re eager to let your guard down this week and relieve your pent-up frustration.

You pass through the archway they’ve opened to the dock, big double doors angled inside over short, stubbly carpeting. It looks like what you’d find in an 80’s bowling alley, all clashing colors and wacky patterns. The railings to the stairs just in front of you are gold, and they spiral downwards elegantly over the 3 floors below you. They extend upwards 11 more, which is a scary thing to think about; being 15 decks high in the middle of the ocean. The carrier ships you’re used to aren’t small by any means, but their decks are mainly tucked away beneath the surface and shut in so that, if you ignore the rolling waves that toss you side to side, you can pretend you’re on land. Several mostly open upper decks are new to you, but if you’re lucky, you’ll stay centralized to your cabin, tucked away neatly on deck eight, getting your world rocked.

You’ve packed light, a single suitcase rolling behind you as your purse tucks over the handle. It’s an easy way to travel, and you thank basic training for the way that your muscles easily support your luggage as you drag it up a flight of the spiral stairs.

There’s noise everywhere, lights everywhere, people everywhere; it’s complete chaos. But it’s thrumming with excitement, with the promise of sex, and lust, and getting laid, and you fight to stop a grin from growing on your cheeks as you approach the registration desk.

There’s a man in front of you that’s arguing with the receptionist, something about incorrectly filed paperwork, which you don’t exactly blame the guy for. There had been about 35 forms to fill out, STD Test Results here and Consent Questionnaires there. You understand why they’re necessary on a sex cruise, and you’re glad they’re keeping their passengers safe, but they were a pain to fill out. 

The receptionist sees you file in line behind the man, looking all too grateful for the distraction.

“If you could just step to the side here,” He gestures, waving the man to the left of his place at the counter, “I’ll call someone down to help you with that, sir.”

The man looks displeased to be put on hold, but you take the opportunity when it comes to you, handing over your printed email confirmation that’s got your room number inked in bold black lettering.

“Ah, 838,” The man smiles, “Your roommate’s already gotten his key. Maybe you’ll meet him down there. But if not, you’re welcome to explore the ship. Here’s a map, we have plenty to do if you’re not quite ready to get started.”

The man hands you both a stiff key card, printed with your name and general information, and a map of the ship. It really is huge, and you marvel at how much there is to do besides sex. Maybe if your roommate doesn’t work out, you can hang out in the piano lounge.

The instrument makes you think of Rooster and his attention-grabbing routine at the Hard Deck, whenever he’s in the mood to go home with someone that night. Ladies love a piano player, and if this cruise doesn’t work out, maybe you’ll pick up the instrument yourself. If it were any other voyage, you’d probably be wishing your fellow aviator was on board to serenade the ship, but you’ll count your blessings that he’s not here to see your desperation.

You decide on the elevator rather than the stairs for the sake of your luggage, not wanting the suitcase to get battered hitting each step on the way up. There’s a crowd formed at the doors to the lifts already, humming with conversation and dripping with sex appeal. Two of the three men there are already shirtless and in swim trunks, and you hope you look half as stunning in the bathing suits you’d chosen to bring with you. One of them catches your eye as you sidle into the elevator and the quick wink he sends you lightens your mood. Even if your roommate doesn’t work out, maybe you can branch out and get Elevator Guy's number.

The ride up is cut off by someone on the sixth floor who manages to squeeze into your elevator. Then someone steps out on the seventh, and finally, you make your departure on the eighth. You mourn the loss of Elevator Guy, but you’re excited to meet your roommate, whoever he is. 

There’s not a long walk from the elevator to your room, but it’s a bit of a maze figuring out which hallway to take. You’re the third door down the corridor furthest left, and you slide your key card into the door with excitement brewing in your stomach.

Will he be handsome? Will he be drop-dead gorgeous? Will he have a six pack? Will he have a dad-bod? Will he have a beard? Will he be a brunette? Will he… be invisible?

He’s most likely not invisible, which means he’s just not in the room. The door swings open to a lovely space, portholes showcasing the dock and a single, queen-sized bed against that wall. There’s a suitcase stacked against one side of the bed, but no passenger to accompany it, and the bathroom light is off, too.

There’s a hat resting on one of the pillows, a blue-and-white patterned thing you recognize as rooting for the Dallas Cowboys. It’s the team Jake won’t shut the fuck up about when the game is on, so you’re well accustomed to seeing the color combo. Jake always accentuates his southern drawl when he talks about the Cowboys, just to remind everyone that he’s a certified Texan, as if anyone might have forgotten in the time it’s been since the last game. You hope that whoever your roommate is isn’t just a fan, but a southerner as well, because Jake’s twang would be ridiculously attractive if it wasn’t coming out of his arrogant mouth. But the hat has no owner in sight, so you can’t analyze their accent, and for that you heave a sigh.

He’s not here.

You’re a little let down - does he not want to meet you? - but you suppose that gives you time to go find the buffet, as well as explore the ship. You’d elected to skip lunch on the way to the port and eat on the ship instead, hoping for a debrief with your roommate before you hit it off tonight. But eating alone isn’t the worst thing in the world, and you can muscle through one meal. You take a moment to admire the room, a bright, clean space that you’re going to love messing up. The sheets are crisp and white, but there’s an imprint of your roommate on one side, like he’d stretched out for a while before heading back out. The dip in the bed looks large, and blossoms of excitement bloom in your stomach: he’s beefy.

You deposit your suitcase in the closet, filling out the hangers with your outfits and setting your lingerie on the shelf. You want easy access; you’re probably not going to look very sexy rooting around in your suitcase on all fours for a bra.

You refrain from changing, already in a weather-appropriate sundress that’s a pretty mix of pink and baby blue. You do a quick check in the mirror: no flyaway hairs, dress laying right on your hips, gloss properly lining your lips. You make sure you don’t need to reapply deodorant, perfume, or any other nice-smelling substance, and then you’re off in search of the buffet, eager to see the soft serve machine they’d advertised on their website.

The ship really is crowded, and you appreciate the unique atmosphere that comes from everyone knowing they’re only there for sex. You’re there to fuck and be fucked, and it means you can ogle the man that emerges soaking wet from the pool, slicking his dripping hair out of his face as he prepares to dive again. A woman eating with who you assume is her roommate gives the hem of your sundress a once-over, catching on your thighs beneath the fabric, and glancing back up to your face to level you with a momentary smirk. Confidence flows through your veins as you make your way out towards the wood-lined deck of the ship, looking out over the bright ocean illuminated by sunlight. 

A gust of wind blows the hem of your sundress to the left, but not enough to raise it, so you don’t bother catching it. The sea is beautiful, and you’re thrilled to have a relaxing time on one; you don’t normally get those on giant carrier ships.

There’s no runway here, no reserve of jet fuel, there’s just sun, fun, and lust.

“You wouldn’t happen to be in, uh, room 624, would you?” A voice pipes up from your right, and you turn to see a slightly younger man, clearly sun-drying from a dip in the pool. His hair hangs past his ears but he runs a hand through it backwards, and it means you get a better view of his face, adorned with an impressive scruffy beard, the same brown shade as his hair. However, there’s a ring of slightly lighter hair around his mouth that you hope is from what you think it’s from. His face is more squarish than long, skin a tone darker than the impressive tan Rooster sports after a day at the beach.

“Ah, no.” You laugh lightly, and the overexaggerated slump of his shoulders hints that he was expecting your answer. You take pride in the fact that he’d wanted to ask anyways, and you flash your key card at him, “838.”

“You mind if I remember that?” He leans against the railing of the deck, and once more you appreciate the open, bold atmosphere of the crowd you’re in, “If my roommate doesn’t mind not being exclusive.”

“I don’t mind at all,” You smile, feeling a slight flush come to your cheeks. This is going to do you a world of good. If your roommate has even half of this guy’s good qualities, his charming smile, his toned arms, his slight southern drawl, you’ll be more than happy to share your week with him.

“Daniel,” He sticks a hand out, fingers thick and rough-looking. You wonder what he does for work; something laborious by the look of his hands. 

“Y/N,” You smile back, turning to shake his hand. He takes you by surprise by raising your knuckles to his lips, and you remind yourself once again that this cruise is geared towards romance. Or, at least lust, but you’re flattered he’s throwing in the extra component. 

You try tamping down your obvious grin as you turn back to the ocean, “You haven’t met your roommate?”

“Nope,” He grabs a shirt from a nearby lounge chair, patterned with a faded band logo that you can’t place, what must be a waterproof watch gleaming in the sunlight that hits his wrist. “I was hoping to get lunch with’er. Hey, have you eaten yet?”

“Actually, I haven’t.” You straighten from where you’re leaning against the railings, “I was waiting for my roommate too.”

“Well,” Daniel holds out an arm, toned and muscular, and you hook yours through it, “Fuck ‘em.”

You laugh at his bold choice of words, still having to remind yourself that you’re in a strictly adult environment. You don’t need to worry about your sailor’s mouth, there’s no kids to overhear, nor parents to get upset.

Daniel’s arm is strong where he leads you to the dining area, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t fixating on the feeling of your bicep locked to his side by his own. The buffet is a little classier than you’d expected; instead of all-you-can-eat french fry stations there’s trays of pastas, stews, and meat for the taking, thin silver utensils laid out neatly over each container.

You keep it light with only foods you know won’t upset your stomach with the rocking of the boat. That’s the last thing you need, and you manage to find an open table while Daniel waits in line for pizza. You’ve barely had a chance to spread your napkin over your lap, your sundress putting forth a valiant effort to cover your upper thighs, when Daniel sits across from you and smiles through his beard.

“So, where are you from?” He questions, biting off the end of his pizza slice so that you have a chance to reply. 

“I live here,” You attempt to pick up one half of your sandwich, lettuce and tomato making it slick and difficult, “I’m actually, uh- stationed here. With the navy.”

His eyes bulge for a second, and he swallows while nodding, “Wow. Okay, that’s cool. I’m guessing that’s why your arms are practically bigger than mine?”

You try not to spit out your sandwich laughing along with him, grateful for the flimsy paper napkin you’d snagged to hide a smear of tomato juice along your lip. 

“You should see one of the other guys from my squadron,” You think of Jake- Jake who’d famously torn through a t-shirt (albeit, a flimsy one) by just flexing the muscles in his biceps, “I swear his arms are bigger than my neck.”

I’m sure you guys need ‘em,” Daniel muses, sipping at his drink. He’s listening to you with rapt interest, something men don’t usually do when they find out that your job is something traditionally masculine. He’s not boasting about his own job, he’s not rattling off gym stats: “So you’re a sailor?”

“Aviator,” You correct him, used to the misconception, “I fly.”

“I don’t think I knew the Navy had planes,” Daniel admits, crunching a potato chip between his slightly crooked teeth, “I thought that was just the Air Force.”

“Everyone thinks it’s just the Air Force,” You grin, stacking two pickles on the end of your fork that had somehow escaped your sandwich.

“Sorry,” Daniel looks bashful now, his smile sheepish, “I bet you’re tired of correcting people.”

“No! Don’t worry about it,” You’re absolutely tired of correcting people, but you’re not about to tell that to a man who’s mustache has lighter ends than the scruff of his beard against his jaw, “What about you, what do you do?”

“I just work at a post office, I sort mail.” He divulges, and you’re instantly more fond of him; a civil service worker who wears tight little shorts? You’re not quite sure if Daniel has a downside.

“Are you local?”

“I’m in Oceanside. Not too far,” He muses, “I only drove an hour here.”

So, he’s good in bed, he’s good in uniform, and you could easily make weekend visits. You’re starting to lament the fact that you’ll be sleeping with someone else for the week.

“Are you sure you’re not in room 838?” You tease, “Maybe they misprinted your card, or something.”

“Believe me, if I could get it reprinted, I would,” He confesses, setting his fork down to brace his elbows on the table. He leans forwards, his chin propped against his clasped hands, “I know they’re all strict about not changing roommates, but listen, if yours doesn’t work out, I’ll propose an arrangement to mine. And- uh, even if yours does work out,” He stifles a smirk, stuffing a chip into his mouth instead, “-ask him if he wouldn’t mind swapping for a bit.”

You both admire and appreciate his desperation. You’re used to aloof sailors, or men in bars who wish you had less muscle and more tit. Something about the way he’s leading the conversation, not forcing himself on you but begging for a chance, makes your stomach flutter.

“We’ll work something out,” You promise, nudging your foot against his beneath the table, “Coming straight out and asking is working on me, if I’m being honest.”

Daniel laughs, so you elaborate: “So many of the guys I meet try pretending like they don’t care. Or- or maybe they don’t, I guess, but it’s still frustrating. It’s nice that you care.”

“Of course I care,” Daniel blinks incredulously at you, cheeks stuffed as he struggles to swallow before speaking, “You could choke me out with your thighs, babe. I’m not stupid enough to lose that opportunity.”

Your cheeks burn. Evidently you’re still acclimating to the brazen atmosphere of the ship, and you struggle to hide your sheepish smirk as he kicks his foot against yours beneath the table, the same as you’d done to him.

Daniel’s only gaining more popularity in your mind when he takes your plate to the trash, scraping away the remnants of the lettuce and condiments from your sandwich and stacking his own on top of it where they’re about to be washed. He sends you a dazzling smile as he gestures for the doorway, and you’re honestly surprised that he doesn’t say ‘after you’ when he lets you go first.

“Eighth floor?” Daniel verifies when you step through the doors of the elevator, and it’s much less packed than when you’d been there before. You nod, and he presses only 8, not 6 for his own room. You’re almost nervous that he might try to come into your room with you, because you’re not sure whether your roommate is there, and you don’t know how kindly he’ll take to you bringing another man in without meeting him first. But you swallow your nerves as the doors slide shut, leaving you in the elevator with him alone.

You can feel him staring at you, and you meet his gaze with a smile. He smiles back, and you lock eyes for a tense moment, then all of a sudden you’re both lunging forwards, frenzied as something in the air tells you to jump each other. Your hands sling around his neck as his lips press to your own, the scruff of his beard grating against your skin. It stings slightly, but it’s delicious as his lips fit between your own, and your back presses to the cold metal wall of the elevator. You suppose you should be a little ashamed, letting your tongue ghost over his bottom lip, making out with a man you've just met in an elevator, but it appears everyone is either boarding or eating, and no one bothers you on your journey up.

To add yet another thing to Daneil’s list of perfect traits: he’s an excellent kisser. He lets you lead, and when he feels your tongue prod at his lips he groans, gladly licking over your top lip. You open your mouth, seized by the moment, and he ventures inside without hesitation, his tongue hot and wet as it laps over your own.

You’d moan if you could, spout some breathy expletive or test out his name on your drool-coated tongue. But you can’t, he’s a presence, an enigma, and you let him occupy your mouth so much that words won’t.

You’d been on the fourth deck when the doors had shut, and it’s not a long trip to the eighth. When the elevator jolts to a stop you reluctantly push Daniel away, not wanting to expose yourself to the hall of deck eight.

“Uh,” You breathe, wiping at a smear of drool on the side of your mouth, “Fuck, that was-”

“Yeah.” He agrees, similarly breathless as he runs a hand through his hair that you’d tousled slightly, “I’d love to do that again sometime.”

“Me too.” You laugh bashfully, “Uh, maybe not in an elevator, though.”

“Like- like in a bed.” He concludes as the doors slide open, revealing a safely empty hallway. “Or- or just a room, or something, like a- a couch, if you don’t want- not a bed.”

“A bed,” You assure him, endeared by his caution, “I’d love to do it again sometime in a bed, Daniel.”

“Alright,” He grins, reaching out to catch the doors before they can close on you as you depart, “838’s right there. I’d walk you, but,” He points at a door only two down from the one directly in front of you, and you wave him off with a grateful grin.

“No worries.” You laugh, “Thanks, Daniel. Uh- I hope I see you again.”

“Me too,” He smiles, and it might be the most charming sight you’ve ever seen, “Goodbye, Y/N.”

The doors slide shut on him, and you feel like the next appropriate step for you is to go into your room, close the door, and slide down the backside of it. You can’t fathom reacting any differently to the mind-blowing, butterfly-inducing kiss you’d just engaged in, especially with the excitement of doing it in an elevator. The desperation you’d felt and received back was exhilarating, and you’d be happy to get off the boat now and savor the feeling. 

Coincidentally, the ship’s horn sounds, and an announcement comes over the loudspeakers, “Passengers, brace yourselves for some slight rocking,” You hold onto the wall, just in case, “Because we are on our way! We’ve just set sail, and for a day and a half, you’ll be at sea. Then we’ll dock on beautiful white sand beaches by Wednesday morning. I hope you enjoy yourselves, and I wish I was one of you, because I do not get a roommate. Unless- Rick, you feel like- no, no, okay! Okay,” The captain laughs, “My co-captain isn’t interested. Well, folks, enjoy yourselves, and please don’t make messes in the pools.”

You’re feeling generous, a bounce in your step from being kissed stupid in the elevator, so you let out a light chuckle at the captain’s humor. Any other time, you might have found it corny, but you’ve just been made out with, and everything seems better than it would have before. You hear muffled cheers from the rest of the ship, and dig into the pocket of your sundress for your key card. You retrieve the smooth plastic, slot it into the door labeled 838, and take a deep breath.

If he’s anything like Daniel, you’ll have a great time. And if he isn’t, you’ll see Daniel again.

With that, you push down the silver handle, hearing the door click with the motion, and you step inside.

The first thing you see is a pair of socked feet sticking off the end of the bed. The bed is perpendicular to the doorway, and the upper half of it is hidden by the bathroom. You clock the pair of toned, tan, mouth-watering legs that rest on the mattress, a sight you already want to sink your teeth into. You’re shocked that you’re bold enough to think that you wish he didn’t have briefs on, especially considering the sizable bulge in their fabric. You take a step closer, and a similarly toned torso comes into view, impossibly muscled and something that belongs in an art museum. There’s a pair of thick, bulky biceps raised above the man’s head, and when he turns his head to look at you-

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

You freeze in your spot. One foot planted in front of the other, your weight distributed between them equally. Your eyes go wide, your stomach twists awkwardly, and you damn near drop your keycard.

“Hangman.”

Your fellow aviator's face is equally as shocked, but it curves into a familiar cocky grin all too soon, “What do we have here? Y/L/N?”

“No fucking way. Jake?”

“Y/N,” He matches your pattern with a hearty chuckle, “Oh, this is too good.”

“You’re in the wrong room.” You decide, “This is 838.”

“That’s what it said on my key card, darlin’.” Jake snatches the card from the sleeve stuck to the back of his phone, flashing it at you where you can see the clear print of the numbers, “Guess we’re fated or somethin’.”

“Shut up.” You snap, knees easily bending as you fall back against the loveseat opposite the bathroom, “Shut the fuck up, Hangman. There’s no way I’m staying here.”

“No room changes,” He grins, and you want to smother the expression off of his face with a pillow, “And no getting off, either. We just set sail.”

You bury your face in your hands. There’s no way you’re surviving this vacation. Not with Hangman- Hangman who acts like a toddler and pulls your hair whenever it’s not in the regulatory bun. Hangman who snatches food out of your hand if you hold it up for too long without eating it because you’re speaking. Hangman who delights in insulting you over the comms in the air, offering you flying lessons ‘’cause that move was pretty rusty, darlin’.’

There is absolutely no way in hell - which feels like your current location - that you’re taking a sex cruise with Jake Seresin, end of story.

“So, sex cruise, eh?” He muses from his spot on the bed, and you shoot him a glare so vicious you’re surprised he doesn’t drop dead.

“Yeah? You’re on it too, Hangman.”

“Easy,” He holds up a placating hand, “Wasn’t an insult. Just didn’t think you were the type.”

“To fuck?”

“To be desperate.” He shrugs, “Y’know, Y/L/N, if you wanted to have sex with me this bad, you could have just asked.”

“Stop it right now.” You insist, “This was not my doing, and so help me god I’m considering ripping that stupid porthole out of the wall and jumping ship. Clearly I’ve done something to upset the universe, so do not fucking expect me to enjoy this, Hangman.”

“You’re very pissy,” He notes, only making his observation more clear as your scowl deepens, “Relax, Y/L/N. I’ll give you a good time.”

“All you’re capable of giving me is a migraine.” You spit, a headache already brewing behind your eyes, “God, and why are you naked? Have some fucking class.”

“Class?” He repeats incredulously, a chuckle shaking his stupid, exposed chest, “This is a sex cruise! I’m near naked ‘cause I thought we’d fuck!’

“I’m not having sex with you.” You vow, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I’ll cycle through this entire ship twice before I even think about letting you at me, Hangman. Do you understand?”

“I understand’ He salutes, and the tease pisses you off, “Y’know, Y/L/N, I think you should let loose. Live a little, don’t be so uptight the whole time.”

“I’m uptight because you’re sprawled out over my bed without clothes on.” You groan, and then your brain comes late to another earth-shattering conclusion, “Oh, fuck, that’s the only bed!”

Hangman laughs, the sound thick and full of that cockiness you despise, “Damn right it is, darlin’. You gonna snuggle up next to me tonight?”

“No!” You gush, readjusting yourself on the loveseat so that you’re curled up on its cushions, “There, see? This is my bed. I’m sleeping here.”

“Oh, relax,” He scoffs, patting the space beside him. He’s turned towards you now, propped up on his elbow and boring into you with his stare “There’s plenty of room here. I’m just messing around.”

“I’m not.” You insist, “I’m not sleeping with you, Jake. Either way.”

“Well, you called me Jake,” He notes, shrugging his broad shoulders and settling back onto his pillows, “I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’re getting nothing.” You hiss, turning onto your back on the loveseat, “Fuck, what did I do to deserve this?”

“A week on a sex boat with me? Must’a bought a homeless man some groceries, saved a starvin’ puppy, caught a runaway baby stroller, that kinda thing.”

“It must have been the time when I scratched that Tesla and didn’t leave a note,” You groan, “Karma’s a bitch.”

Jake’s never been one to take insults or teasing gracefully. He retaliates with his own, his eyes still burning holes against the side of your face, “So, Y/N. Seen the shops yet?”

“No.” You grumble, “Didn’t know they had any.”

“Oh, yeah. Real nice stuff,” Jake drawls, “Y’know, lingerie, vibrators, sex chocolates, all that stuff.”

Your cheeks blaze and you honestly think you’d rather be back on base than here, “Shut up, Hangman.”

“I’m not lying!” And to his credit, you believe him. But lying isn’t the issue, it’s teasing, and you’re not sure you can handle seven days of it non-stop.

“I wonder if Daniel’s seen the shops,” You grumble, maybe just a little smug that you’d already hit it off with someone, assuming Jake hadn’t had the time to make out with anyone in an elevator yet.

Your brag works, and the muscles in his jaw tighten ever-so-slightly, such a small movement that you wouldn’t have seen it if you hadn’t been studying him.

When he speaks, there’s a familiar tension in his eyes, one you're used to seeing when someone ignites his overinflated sense of competition, “Daniel? That the guy you tongued in the elevator?”

You let out an incredulous cry, as if he’s wrong, “What? What- how did you know that! We didn’t tongue,” You scoff, reminiscing on the heavenly feeling of Daniel’s tongue smoothing over your own.

“Mhm. Sure. That’s why your lips are all swollen and shiny. ‘Cause you two stood six feet apart.”

You feel judged opposite Jake’s narrowed eyes, and you retort, “Okay, fine. We kissed. Is that a bad thing? This is a sex cruise, I’m supposed to get lucky.”

“All I’m sayin’ is you were snappin’ at me to have some class, but I’m not the one who frenched someone in a public facility. Did you even wait for it to be cleared out, or did you just go at it in the crowd?”

“It was empty.” You huff, practically slamming your head back down onto the couch cushions, “Shut up, Hangman.”

“I bet he pushed all the buttons to make it take longer,” Jake snickers, “Or- or did he back you up against ‘em? Smash your back into the panel and light the whole thing up like a Christmas tree?”

“Shut up!” You gush, taking one of the cushions from the couch and jamming it over your head, blocking his irritating voice from your ears.

You’re fucked.

Actually, you’re not fucked, and that’s the problem. You’d rather be just about anywhere else right now, but if you had your pick, you’d be in a different room, with a different roommate. One who wants to spread your legs and feast on what’s between them, one that wants to jam your throat with his cock until you’re begging for air. But you’re here instead, bunched up on a stiff loveseat, an itchy pillow over your face, and enemy number one lounging on the bed you have to share with him tonight.

You’d rather be fucked.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[wadewilsonaf]

through the wringer

pairing: theodore nott x ravenclaw reader

summary: theo tries to get your attention by spoiling you with gifts. you pretend not to notice the shift just to mess with him. childhood friends to lovers. / requested by @the-empty-refrigerator.

word count: 1,117

author’s note: i've also posted this on ao3 but as a theo x hermione fic, and so if you're interested in reading that instead: click here. reblogs / comments are always appreciated.

"What's this?" You ask, blinking in confusion at the box of your favourite sweets in his hands.

Theo places the box in front of you before settling into his usual spot at the Ravenclaw table. Your housemates have now made a conscious effort to leave room for him, considering he had no qualms about squeezing his way in to sit beside you. It's as if he didn't have his own assigned table.

"I thought you Ravenclaws could read."

"You're a twat."

"And here I was, doing something nice for you." Theo sighs. Always the flair for the dramatics. "It's Valentine's Day."

You eye him suspiciously before finally accepting the sweets and his reasoning. For as long as you've known him (and you've known him long enough that you couldn't even remember not knowing him), the two of you have never exchanged anything on Valentine's Day.

"Right, well, thanks." You say, offering him a nudge of your shoulder. His cheeks were pink. "I suppose I could share since I didn't get you anything."

Theo looks at you expectantly before he gives you a slow nod. His facial expression is unreadable, but something flashes in his eyes that you couldn't quite decipher. "How generous."

"I got you this."

You look up from your parchment, settling your quill down carefully to not spill ink. The library was nearly empty at this hour, and Madam Pince was an hour and a half away from kicking you out.

"Another present?"

"Are you complaining that I'm spoiling you?"

"I don't reckon a fresh box of the cheapest quills warrants you tossing the word spoiling around."

"It's not my fault these happen to be your favourite to write with."

"Hmm, touché." You sound, accepting the pack of quills. "Will that be all?"

Theo blinks, his eyes darting between his gift and you. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. Nothing comes out.

You shake your head and begin to pack your things away. You bite back a smile as Theo, ever the conversationalist, is clearly at a loss for words. "Come on, Nott. Walk me back to my common room."

"It seems Theodore's quite fond of you." Luna points out as soon as Theo leaves you with another present. This time, it was a locket charmed to hold as many tiny pictures as you liked. Being quite the sentimental person, this gift was thoughtful and just proved to you that Theo knew you—not that it needed to be proven.

"I know." You say, touching the locket he had secured around your neck. There's only one photo in it currently; a picture of you and Theo, laughing as you attempted to swipe frosting across his nose.

"You seem fond of him."

You nod and smile lightly. "I am."

"He doesn't know."

You shake your head. After Theo secured the locket around you, you questioned what the occasion was, and Theo shrugged, claiming he was just messing around with a spell. He couldn't hold your gaze, and his tells when lying were practically screaming in your face. Theo excused himself quickly when you gave him a very friendly side-hug in thanks, teasingly claiming just how good of a friend he was to you.

"I refuse to tell him until he can be a big boy and use his words."

"Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" Theo asks, cutting through the welcomed silence as the two of you sit near the Black Lake.

"Mhm," you sound noncommittally. "As I do every time we're permitted to go."

"Right," Theo nods. He's fiddling with a loose string on the blanket the two of you are sitting on. "Wanna go with me?"

Your brows lift slightly, and your eyes flicker to his. "Don't I always?"

"I mean, yes."

"Okay," you say slowly. You pause long enough for him to interject. When he doesn't, you sigh and shake your head. "So I'll meet you at our usual meeting spot."

"Okay."

"I can pay for myself, Theo."

Theo shakes his head, making quite a scene of pulling out a few sickles and galleons (the price of two butterbeers and a slice of apple pie did not warrant the number of galleons he placed on the table).

"I'm well aware." Theo says, waving off your attempt at tossing in the amount for your share. "But I'm paying for it."

"Then the next one's on me."

"That's not how this works."

"This?"

"Yes."

"What's 'this' then?"

Theo's jaw clenches, and he exhales a breath. "You know what this is."

You did.

After he met you in front of the Ravenclaw common room instead of your usual meeting spot, purchased a book you were eyeing at Tomes and Scrolls, opened all the doors for you, and pulled out your chair for you at the Three Broomsticks (and then sat beside you rather than in front of you), you had a strong inkling of what this day was. But Theo never explicitly asked you or said anything that would allude to being interested romantically, and so you continued the charade. You played dumb.

Your brows furrow, and you blink in convincing bewilderment. "Do I?"

Theo releases a small groan, his hands covering his eyes in defeat. "Gods, you're impossible."

"I'm confused."

"I like you!" Theo blurts, bringing his hands down so he can meet your gaze. His eyes burn with frustration and longing. His cheeks are red, and he's bouncing his left leg as if he'd just heard he needed to face three boggarts at once. "I've been trying to tell you this whole time. The sweets, the quills, the necklace, the book. I even took you out on this bloody date. How do you not know already?"

It took everything in your power not to crack as he finally voiced his feelings. As you watch him take bated breaths, you can't help but erupt into a fit of laughter.

"Merlin," you giggle, wiping the tears from the corner of your eye. "It took you long enough, you bloody goof."

Theo flushes, and you can't tell if he's red because he's embarrassed and confused or if it's because he's seconds away from breathing himself into hyperventilation. You don't let him get to that point (being the gracious and not at all cruel person that you are), as you grab Theo by his collar and pull him in for a kiss.

Theo tastes of butterscotch and syrup, and his lips are soft and hesitant until they're not. He comes to, his hand moving to cup your jaw as he kisses you back.

You pull away from him, beaming at his shell-shocked and pleased expression. "I've known. I just wanted to hear you say it."

[wadewilsonaf]

𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 – 𝐥. 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 (𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, +𝟏𝟖) | just a little something i've been messing around with after i started watching shameless! enemies to lovers with lip sounds like a dreeeeam. warning(s) include: language, oral sex (f receiving), bodily fluids, reader is older but only by one year, lip being a munch, and hints of sub!lip. if i missed anything, please let me know and i hope you enjoy <3 (w/c: 1.0k)

You’re Fiona’s best friend and the reason for Lip’s headaches.

Just a year older than him, you’ve convinced yourself that it makes you wiser. You couldn’t be further from wrong and the fact you don’t realize it makes him burn.

Sure, you’re smart. Really fuckin smart actually, and able to keep up with his verbal sparring as easily as anyone ever will. If he hits you with a comment, you're throwing one right back… most of the time, more clever and pulls quiet snickers from his siblings.

What really pisses him off is how much sleep he’s lost over you, his mind unable to rest as it spends the night replaying the meat of your conversations. He usually lies across his bed, forearm thrown over his forehead while he thinks of better comebacks. What he should’ve said to your sassy rebuttals instead of standing there with his face turning red and neck veins pulsing in annoyance.

It’s also your voice. He can’t stand when he trudges inside the house, and it’s the first thing he hears. Shouting at Carl, both amused and disgusted, after he squirts you with his Special Juice from what’s supposed to be a water gun Kevin gifted him last summer. Playfully arguing with Fiona on the porch as a cigarette passes between the two of you. Talking shit with Ian about how really fucking annoying boys, especially Lip, can be. The stifled pang in his chest when he comes home to realize you aren’t there isn’t the nicest feeling either.

Oh, and that stupid smile that spouts on your face when you, Fiona, and V are exchanging neighborhood gossip. Or when you’re playing with Liam–who loves you, by the way, the little traitor–in the living room with the toys you gave him for his birthday. Your grins with him are different. Self-satisfied, completely pleased with yourself after relaying his grating of your nerves with a provoking remark of your own.

The turn of your lips is infuriating, as are the short shorts you wore to the impromptu pool party on the Gallagher lawn. At least that’s what he tells you when he rips them down your legs in the downstairs bathroom.

Lip made sure to flip down the lid before perching you on the toilet bowl with a spirited locking of his lips on yours after he walked you backward into the cramped space. Since then, he’s made you come twice on his lapping mouth and pumping fingers, and the look he sends from where he’s kneeling before you makes you certain he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

He waits until his lungs start stinging to pull back and hover just over your dripping wet slit. Taking only a second to breathe, Lip licks along your opening, collecting whatever fluid he can suck into his mouth before letting it drip back out onto your shining lips.

“Shit, Lip,” you whine with a tug on his hair, squirming against where he holds you steady. “Gimme a second, fuck.”

Pulling from where his lips tug around your clit, the man gulps down a few swallows of air with a smirk.

“Like it when you say my name like that,” he mumbles, with a sloppy kiss right against your hole before dipping his tongue into you with a grunting moan. Your hand slaps against the wall behind you at the feeling of him wiggling the drenched muscle, Lip’s nose sliding against your clit as he plunges his face as deep as he can.

“Thought you–ah–thought you wanted me to shut the fuck up?”

“That was earlier when you were runnin’ your mouth over stupid shit,” he shrugs, leaving his crouch raise to your face. Pulling you into him, Lip nearly clamors atop the toilet along with you. Only just gaining your breath, your hand barely catches him as he juts his way toward you for a snog.

Lip stills, head tilting in a silent what? His eyes hood and cloud with something dark when you slink an arm around his neck. 

“I’m not one of your little girlfriends, and this isn’t a fucking race,” you finally murmur against his mouth, urging the man into a slow kiss decorated with a lick into his mouth. Your movements drive Lip even deeper into his trace, and you’re the one to pull away. His face trails after you, a thin line of spit hanging between the heavy pants you exchange, and he needs to kiss you again. “We don’t have to rush.”

Lip sniffs, hands squeezing at your sides as he leans to kiss you again. He hardly contains the whine that shakes his chest when you dodge him.

“Slow,” you remind Lip, finger brushing across his lips and down on his chin. His head bobs in your grasp, exhaling shakily as he tilts his head to kiss along your jaw. “Good boy.”

The thick whimper that’s been bottled up in Lip’s chest breaks through at your praise, tumbling out pathetically to vibrate your heated skin. It takes two more whines and Lip burying his blushing face into the crook of your neck for you to realize what’s happening.

“Fuckin’ fuck,” Lip groans, clammy hands gripping at you as the middle of his swim trunks further dampen with a thick load of cum that spills out with a pulse that clenches his eyes so hard he sees stars. “Shit, not yet.”

Lip continues to squirm in your grasp, taking a long few minutes to retreat his face to get a better look at yours. He sniffs, dropping his forehead to rest on your cheek as he pants. His eyes finally flutter open, abs nearly aching from how tight they’d been clenched just moments.

“You good?” Your question pulls a light chuckle from Lip, whose ears flush bright red in embarrassment. He nods, veins vibrating and dick still twitching out a last few drops of his arousal.

“Yeah,” he responds, fingers brushing to trail against your exposed shoulder. The moment is glazed with an unexpected sweetness when he presses a feathered kiss into where he’s just traced. Still unable to meet your eyes, Lip’s mumble reaches your ears with a kind bashfulness. “So much for takin’ it slow.”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚