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#Blowing Bubbles (IC)
imtrashraccoon · 3 months
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Asking for a friend...
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ladylichhangar · 4 months
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🫧❄️
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shiningstages · 4 months
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everyone look at my cutie patootie icon bestie made me uwu
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“WHERE are my special boys ...” SNIFF.
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nekofantasia · 1 year
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“I don’t see the appeal in smoking. I once found a kiseru while cleaning up a house in Mayohiga so I went to try it out, put some dry leaves and got it burning and after blowing into it, all it does is throw smoke. I think bubbles are more fun!”
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shymaidxn · 2 years
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Me looking at Diantha (NPC) holiday voice lines since I haven’t in forever, and just
Welcome back, (Captain)! Here, I have chocolate for you this year too! You know, I really enjoy making chocolate. Why? Because I get to forget about myself as a maiden or apprentice priestess. It's like reading a book. I relish that feeling of being transported into another world. Hm? You don't quite get it? Me neither actually. Haha. Anyway, here's your chocolate!
And also
(Captain), happy birthday! Since you invited us last year, I thought we should invite you to our island this time... And, wow, I have to say your crew has gotten so much bigger since then. Haha, this is going to be so much fun. Everyone's so nice too. It makes me a bit envious. Just goes to show what an amazing captain you are, (Captain). One look at their faces says it all. They all respect you so much. Hey, do you remember how I talked about going traveling someday? And, well, seeing everyone here made me realize I want to travel with them. Of course, I can't just take off with you right now... But it's something I'd like to do eventually. Until then, I'll be here praying for your safety, (Captain). If you could please just come back and visit every one in a while.
And can’t forget about
(Captain), happy New Year! Seeing your face on this day is such a relief. I get so worried every year about something happening when I'm not around... I know you're really strong and capable, (Captain), but I just can't help but worry. The most we can do from this island is pray for your well-being, but I want you to know... That we maidens, the head priestess, and Xolotl are always awaiting your safe return. So I hope you'll take things in stride, and show us your energetic, cheerful self again when next year rolls around. Haha, that's a promise, okay?
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betwccnworlds · 2 years
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@bornspellcaster​ asked: Philip taking the bubble wand questionably and blows on it, sending bubbles everywhere.
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A surprised noise escapes Howell’s lips when his brother takes the wand from him. He’s about to say something when-- Oh.
Oh!
The man can’t help staring at the bubbles, first in curiosity-- but that slowly turns in awe. It’s fun, staring at them floating around in many different sizes. Most of them are rather small. But there are also a few very tiny ones that are almost the size of a dot.
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“Philip. . . Good job figuring out how to use it. . .”
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oceanfcam · 2 months
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you're making "the face" again. - Woomywebs
@woomywebs
Coral probably knew what face he was talking about. She didn't want to acknowledge that she was just staring for too long, actually.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get lost in thought like that-!"
She blinks, and her smile grows, ever nervous as her gaze quickly shifts to look elsewhere. She'd spent the majority of this time watching him fiddle with his things, not even speak or anything.
Just stare. Maybe she did look creepy.
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magicalfunpeach · 1 year
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Don't Stop Having Fun ,No Matter What Age You Are , Live ,Laugh.Smile .
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yunymphs · 2 months
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𝐝𝐢𝐦 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 ✘ 𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮
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❤︎ synopsis: after arriving home late after work, the last thing you expected was to see your husband preparing ramen and a late night dance lesson for you. ❤︎ pairing: arranged husband!gojo satoru x fem!reader ❤︎ warnings: none ! ❤︎ wc: 2.1K ❤︎ authors note: HAIIII , after this , read up to you if u havent !! thats the continued piece after this one
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you fumble your keys into the door, coordination sloppy and vision bleary from the demands of the day. your feet ache right at the corner of your toes, and you’re eager to get into the house, take a shower as quickly as possible, and head to bed right away. the last time you read the clock it was 1:30AM. surely many minutes have passed since then, and you’re almost positive your arranged husband is fast asleep in bed already.
so when you open the front door and are met with the living room and kitchen lights— or rather all the lights still on, you can’t help but feel puzzled. not only because for one, you told your arranged husband to stop leaving the lights on everywhere he goes because it’s a waste of electricity and two, surely he would’ve been asleep by this hour. 
you tell satoru to stop treating his adult life like he’s a freshman in college again, living off of dark coffee roast and all-nighters when the two are completely unnecessary for his new lifestyle.
you sigh, flipping the light off near the front door and the chandelier by the foyer goes dim. 
there’s a quiet humming, before a surprised “shit!”
none other than your husband by the sound of his girlish scream and the sound of dishes clanking. you turn the corner, ready to smack him upside the head for making a ruckus per usual before you’re met with the sight of him… making a meal. from the looks of it, it seemed as if he accidentally dropped the lid to the little pot in front of him. 
why was he cooking so late? you knew he got the munchies quite easily, but a whole meal rather than just opting for some chips or ice cream seemed bizarre. he must’ve been really hungry, you think. upon further inspection, you spot the meal he’s making. it’s simple— savory and spicy ramen noodles, your favorite kind that comes with sesame seeds and an egg on top. your stomach lurches, grumbling urgently at the scent of the broth bubbling on high. 
you flip the living room lights off before joining him in the kitchen, sitting on a stool at the marble counter before putting your bag on the floor near your sore feet. 
“hi there, pretty.” your husband hums, wooden chopsticks stirring into the noodles. 
“don’t start.”
gojo laughs— hard, genuine enjoyment that erupts from his chest as he busily works at the stovetop. 
“whoa there, tiger. what happened to, hello, my beautiful husband satoru?” he taunts playfully, eager to see your lips curve into that familiar smile. 
when you groan, he pushes his luck a little further. you’re all grumpy, but he loves it— gojo loves it when you’re riled up, to some extent. 
“someone had a long day, didn’t she?” gojo hums, pulling a singular egg from the fridge before closing the fridge door with a tap of his socked foot. 
“horrible day, actually.” you sigh. “my parents keep dragging them into their overseas affairs. i know that we need to expand our market, but—”
the white haired man chuckles under his breath. your parents were quite demanding, and they always did this. 
“i know your parents just want you to do well, but working a twenty hour shift can’t be healthy.” he concurs, and you take your face into your hands and groan, not caring if your stale makeup from this morning smears across your skin. 
you blow a raspberry, eager eyes watching as your husband pours the finished product into a large bowl. he plucks a soup spoon from the left drawer and plops it into the ramen without a second glance. 
“did you get hungry?” you ask, watching as your husband takes a seat next to you. “i didn’t think you were going to be awake.”
“couldn’t sleep,” gojo hums. “i had dinner already. this is for you.” 
you watch as he places the bowl of steaming ramen in front of you, a savory aroma kisses your nose and wafts through the kitchen. you blink up at him, unable to form a coherent sentence that could possibly capture how thankful you are. 
who knew that business man gojo satoru was capable of such a gentle gesture? when was the last time he cooked for someone that wasn’t himself? you look at him before facing the bowl again. 
“thank you, satoru. but, you didn’t have to. i could’ve made it myself.” you frown, gently taking the spoon into your dominant hand and giving the broth a stir. nonetheless, you were thankful for the gesture. 
“oh, i know you could’ve, sweetheart. you’re very capable.” your husband replies, chin resting in his palm, elbow resting on the counter.. ramen never tasted better, and he can tell by the way your eyes sparkle after the first sip.  
his warm fingers gently brush over your cheek, and he admires the way you look while eating a meal simply because it means you’re being taken care of. gojo hums quietly, trying to distract himself from how exhausted he feels physically. 
most days and weeks were easy, but others were hard simply because of how busy the company kept the two of you. at the beginning of the arrangement, gojo was pleased that he never had to see your face. the two of you both being ceos of the same company meant you’d be needed in different places to maximize efficiency, but now… he wonders how long it’s been since he’d even seen your face around. he’d go days without seeing your face, sleeping alone and waking up alone because you’d left the house at 5AM sharp again. he knows nothing about waiting on others nonetheless being a good husband, but the least he can do is show up for you when you need him— even if it takes time out of his own schedule.
and if all he knows how to do is burn time out of his sleep schedule and ruin his own agenda to meet your needs, he’ll do it. 
he’ll be the best at it, even. 
you eat happily, and your husband is relieved to see the light in your eyes brighten even just the slightest after having one of your comfort foods, even if ramen noodles aren’t the healthiest. there’s a little pile of noodles left, and you busily slurp them away, drowning it down with a bite of egg. 
“there you go, drink the broth too.” he points, chin nodding to the bowl.
you do as he says, earning a soft “good, good.”
“now, why don’t we just relax for the rest of the night?” your husband offers.
you ponder for a moment, gazing at the seasoning and herbs piled at the bottom of the bowl. 
“mm, can’t,” you hum between bites, “i still need to arrange stuff for an event next month— oh! and i have an appointment with my dance instructor tomorrow.”
gojo lifts a curious brow, “dance instructor? did you become a cheerleader when i wasn’t looking?” 
“no, a dance instructor for the event. you know… it’s going to be fancy and i’m sure there will be dancing, so i wanted to be prepared.” you reply, taking another sip of soup. 
“you mean like, slow dancing?” your husband asks, “you don’t know how to slow dance?”
you suddenly feel embarrassed. yes, it was a tradition that slow dancing would happen at these lavish business events, but your parents had never taught you how to do such a thing. the idea felt so intimate, a delicate connection between two bodies swaying together in the warm light of the exquisite ballroom. it’s easy to already picture the seen of sparkling dresses and wine, 
“we slow danced at our wedding,” gojo frowns, “were you not slow dancing then?”
“okay, i kinda just… i was winging it, but now i want to learn properly.” you put your head in your hands, a soft gasp escaping your lips when your husband suddenly takes his hand into yours.
“why didn’t you just tell me?” he asks softly, pulling you off of the stool before closing the distance. 
your breath hitches. he’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating off of his body. you’ll never get used to the feeling of being so close to your husband like this, and if your mind didn’t know any better, your heart could’ve persuaded you that you were deeply in love with the man in front of you. gojo smiles at you fondly, eyes softer than ever… he’s exhausted, faint dark circles shadow his eyes, but he pushes through for you. you want to tell him to sit down and rest, but he holds his arms out to you instead. 
“what are you—”
“put your hand on my shoulder.” gojo hums, “and then my hand goes right here.”
without warning, he slides his arm around your waist, firm hand on your lower back. you straighten up, looking up at him nervously. you have no idea if you’re doing this right or if you look funny, but your heart soars.
do arranged husbands often teach their wives how to slow dance in the dim light of the kitchen in the early morning? 
“there,” he sighs contentedly, “now, you’ll take a step back and i’ll move forward.” 
you try to imagine it in your head, but gojo simply takes it as you need a little more help. you’ve never done this before, and he knows it can be scary. you take a small step back, and he moves forward, closing the distance— eyes not leaving your own for a second. the only sound that can be heard is the shuffling of your feet against hardwood and the crickets outside. 
the moment is so intimate and feels… warm, familiar even. 
“now you’ll come forward, and i’ll take a step back.” your husband says, voice hushed, as if he’s afraid any sudden movement will shatter the fragility of the atmosphere. 
you do as he instructs, awkwardly bumping into him when you’ve realized you’ve moved too far up. gojo laughs softly, pearly whites peeking behind soft lips at your amateur mistake.
“it’s okay, it’s okay,” he laughs quietly. “step back again and i’ll come forward. sway a little, you’re very tense, princess.”
it’s silent, and gojo can tell you’re incredibly focused in the moment, trying to put the last stretch of your concentration into dancing with him. his heart warms; you’re so cute, lip jutted and pouty. 
“two, three, four, five,” your husband counts the steps. 
you break his gaze and look down at where your feet are. you follow his instructions, and soon enough, it comes easy. slow dancing is like watching waves crash onto a soft shore, waves follow the flow and ebb of the sea. they come forward before swaying back, only for it to crash onto the water a bit more the second time with a sense of urgency… your husband’s eyes meet yours; a sense of baby blue clarity and something that feels like adoration. 
“there you go.” he smiles, lifting his hand up, watching as you do a small spin before returning to the starting step. “wasn’t that hard, was it?”
you laugh softly, entirely missing the way he watches you glow in the warm lights of the kitchen. to gojo, this will mean more to him than any banquet or event will ever in his life. it’s just the two of you, swaying back and forth in the kitchen after you’ve eaten well. 
the world fades away when you smile, lips crinkling prettily and eyes creasing. you aren’t his anywhere but on paper, but he’ll take it. 
he’s so incredibly thankful. 
“you’re a natural.” gojo smiles at you, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. 
“thank you, satoru.” you giggle, “i guess you’re saying i should cancel my dance lesson tomorrow?”
“precisely.” he smiles, hands resting on your waist till. gojo gives you a gentle squeeze on the hips before leaving your side; he places your dirtied ramen bowl in the sink before wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 
the man yawns like a bear, hiding his face in your shoulder. 
“let's get you to bed now, hm?” you giggle and your husband mutters something incoherent into your shoulder. “you worked hard today.”
“you too, princess. can’t believe you were able to pick up slow dancing so easily.” he smiles against the side of your face as you lead him down the hall and up the stairs to the bedroom. 
“‘m proud of you though, baby, you did good.” gojo kisses an uncoordinated peck to your cheek. “your dancing will be so lovely. try not to attract too many people though.”
you snort, “oh please, me?”
“yes, you, smartass.”
“fine, fine.”
a light slap to your behind and the sound of running water. 
gojo dreams of you that night. 
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© YUNYMPHS 2024 modifications, reposts, and translations of any kind are strictly prohibited.
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sweetnsour1 · 10 months
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7:25
Bakugou x fem reader
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“Hmmmm.” You kissed him again. Those stupidly broad shoulders were blocking anyone’s view, so you let your tongue trace across his lip as you pulled away.
“Dr Pepper.”
He laughed and ran his tongue across the path yours had just taken. “Nah, cream soda.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Yuh huh.“
“But…but cinnamon?”
He laughed again, blowing and popping a red bubble in your face. The unmistakable spice wafted toward you.
“Dammit. That’s cheating.”
“It’s called strategy.” He leaned forward, smirk in full force…ready to kiss the pout and/or puffed cheeks you were giving him in return. He halted as a loud groan erupted behind him.
“The fuck is your problem, phone charger?”
“Duuuuude, finally. I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”
You smiled and sidestepped the man in front of you to see Kaminari spinning at his desk, eyes still glued to the ceiling. The exhale from Katsuki was the only invitation he needed to continue, raising his fingers to count off in front of his face.
“First of all, me not having a cutie come in every day to kiss is a huuuuge problem.”
Katsuki tsked, slid behind you, and rested his chin on the top of your head. You ignored the gentle tugs against your waist in the direction of the door.
“It’s totally not fair. And B, the least you could do is let me watch.”
“The fuck I will, you-“ Kaminari ignored the interruption, continuing on. “Third, do you guys go grocery shopping like every day?” He stopped spinning and cocked his head to the side.
“Grocery shopping?”
“Yea, like you want Dr Pepper. It’s been weeks of you needing something every day…yesterday was mint ice cream, the day before that was coffee, and it’s always something different. It’s weird.”
You laughed, pushing away the hand that had left your waist and was now trying to cover your mouth.
“Don’t you dare tell that perv.” You laughed harder at the whine in his voice as you broke free and hid behind Kaminari’s chair.
“We aren’t grocery shopping. We’re playing a game.”
“Oh, can I play?” You clutched your side as the image of that made your laughter more intense.
“You absolutely can fucking not.” Bakugou nearly growled the words.
“Why not? You’re so mean, man.”
You wiped the tears from your eyes. “Charge, the game is guessing the chapstick flavor.” Kaminari rolled his head back to look up at you.
“Guessing the chap-“ his eyes widened as Bakugou let out a huff in your direction. “Ohhhh, I see…” He smiled and winked at your boyfriend, who was now successfully tugging you toward the door. “I could totally play that. So what will you wear for us tomorrow?”
“Not wearin’ anything for you tomorrow, idiot.”
“That’s hot, bro.”
You giggled as Katsuki’s ears became the brightest part of his costume.
“Shut the fuck up and get back to work.”
You were both nearly in the hallway when you heard one last shout behind you.
“Wait! Does that mean you have like 237 different lip glosses?”
You laughed, pushing Katsuki forward as he tried to turn and launch himself back into the room.
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Finally had a story caught in my head. First thing I’ve finished and didn’t hate in a while. Hope you like it. 🖤 slowly unblocking my brain
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@apocalopalyptic​ spun:
“people think i’m weird.” *hands u a mae*
* Misc // Accepting 
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Molly gives a low hum, crossing her legs as her hands rest up on the railing she sat upon casually. “Yeah, people try ta’ use that word as an insult a lot ... Ain’t nothin’ wrong with ‘weird’. All tha’ best people are weird, in my opinion.”
Molly gives a tilt of her head as she looks down at the young feline. “Why do people like ta’ think you’re weird?”
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itgetsbetterproject · 2 months
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🏳️‍🌈 Apply now to get $10,000 for your school! 🏳️‍⚧️
Over the past 2 years, we've granted over $1 million to students across the U.S. through our 50 States, 50 Grants, 5,000 voices initiative to help make their schools more welcoming for LGBTQ+ students.
And yup - we're doing it again.
Do you have an idea that would help make your school better for LGBTQ+ students? Maybe like building...
🟣 A gender-affirming closet
🟣 Your school's first Pride parade
🟣 An LGBTQ+ mural on campus
🟣 A safe space or community garden, or
🟣 Resources for your GSA club?
See some past projects from other students here for inspo.
We know that students know what they need most at their own schools - so middle and high school students across the U.S., DC, and territories can apply now through April 1 for one of our school grants to win up to $10,000 to actually make your project a reality!
The application, FAQs, and more are all available at 50states50grants.org.
Apply now through April 1 - can't wait to see what you all come up with.
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boxofbonesfic · 6 months
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Title: Monster
Kinktober Masterlist
Pairing: Orc!Bucky x Sacrifice!Reader
Kink: Teratophilia (Monsterfucking)
Summary: You draw the devil’s coin in the village lottery, you will buy another season of peace for your people—but you don’t want peace.
Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Monsterfucking, References to past violence, References to past murder, Witch Burning, Forced Marriage, Dubious Consent, Violence, Revenge, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Darkfic, Dark Fanfiction
A/N: as a note, this story does NOT share a universe with my other Orc story, Brave. this is another version of Orc!Bucky that i cooked up for kinktober. speaking of which, i hope you all enjoy the first installment of my 2023 kinktober ficlets and drabbles! mind the warnings, and enjoy!
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Your wedding day dawns bleak and cold. The snows have come early this year, snuffing out the brief, brittle green of summer with icy finality, blanketing the hills in thick layers of white.
Your death day.
“Up with you.” You aren’t asleep, but Thera rips the blanket from you anyway. “Come. It’s time you prepare for your... husband.” There is no pity anywhere on her wrinkled face as she grimaces at you, her eyes dark with disgust. “Witch.” She mutters the last part like a curse you aren’t meant to hear. You do, though, and you bare  your teeth at Thera like an animal in response. You are satisfied when fear settles over her features, her rheumy eyes widening. 
“If I were a witch,” you hiss, “You would not stand whole before me, Thera Truthspeaker.” This time it is her name that burns in the ear like acid. “You would lay at my feet in pieces.”
She slaps you for the threat, and you taste blood in your mouth as your head jerks painfully. Thera grasps your chin, and you turn dazed eyes toward the old priestess.
“You speak with as foul a tongue as your mother,” she spits.
“Pity you couldn’t burn mine out of me like you did her.” At this, she looks regretful, cutting her eyes at you angrily.
“Lucky for you Demon King likes his brides whole.” She squeezes until you grunt with pain. “And unspoiled.” She tosses your head to the side before standing away from your cot before brushing her hands down her long, thick robes as though wiping your taint from them. “Save your venom, little snake. It is by my grace you were not put to the torch two seasons ago with your witch mother.”
You almost wish they had, instead of forcing the scarred coin into your hand. At least you can serve the light like this, the priest had said, his grim face illuminated by the firelight. You have not forgotten the way your mother’s body burned bright, her head turned heavenward, her mouth open in silent scream as the flames leapt from her blackened lips.
At least you can serve some good when he comes.
Despite her age, Thera’s grip is strong as she forces you up out of the narrow cot. The stone floor of the chapel is like ice on your bare feet as you stumble after her. There is an old metal basin in the chapel’s meager kitchen, and Thera instructs you to strip before ushering you into the steaming water. You hiss at the burn, but it’s the warmest you’ve been in weeks. Months, more-like. She scrubs your skin raw with rough fingers, and tears through your hair with the comb until your scalp stings. When you wince, Thera cracks her open palm against the back of your skull.
“Be still!” Your ears ring from the force of her blow. “This is an honor—a great privilege you have been afforded, though you are tainted and unworthy.” 
The laugh that bubbles from your chest is bitter. “This is not your pulpit, Truthspeaker, and I am not your sheep.” 
Thera paints the symbols for fertility and prosperity on your damp shoulders in perfumed oil before rubbing them into your skin. She combs the oil through your hair, too, braiding gold thread into it as she pins it up away from your face. As she is closing the bridal robe around your shoulders, the door flies open.
The priest practically falls through it, his face shining with sweat despite the temperature. The charcoal around his wide, fear-bright eyes runs dark on his pale skin, like dark tears tracking down his gaunt cheeks. His terror is catching, your own heart pounding against your ribs. 
“He comes! The Demon King comes! He rides for the village!” Thera glances at you, her thin lips curving into a cruel smile. 
“And his bride waits.”
You have seen a bride taken, once. You were young, six seasons, perhaps? Seven? You saw the Demon King ride away with her, her long, black veil whipping behind her in the icy wind.
Mother had told you not to go, not to watch—It’s barbaric, my love, we needn’t take part—but you couldn’t help yourself. She is lucky, she is blessed, the townspeople murmured amongst themselves as they watched her go. Chosen. She’d drawn the coin from the bag, the same pitted, pocked metal that the priest had forced into your trembling hands as you’d watched your mother burn.
Life for life.
The rope bites into your wrists as you tug uselessly at your bindings. Your breath leaves your lips in frantic clouds of white as you pull and pull. Your only victory is the creak of the rope as it tightens. Your teeth chatter as you stare into the fog. It rolls out between the trunks of the bare trees like tendrils, creeping along the snow-covered ground until it fills the air, obscuring light and sound until all around you is dim as twilight.
“Your bride awaits you,” the priest’s muffled voice trembles. “Take her and honor our agreement, as it has been, and as it shall be.”
For a long time there is no answer from the thick, swirling fog. You count each second, your aching arms stretched above you, the rough wood of the post digging into your back through your cloak. The cold eats away at your bones as you shiver. It’s not snowing any more, but the loose drift blows up into your face as the wind rips at you. The priest’s voice trembles as he begins again.
“Take her and honor our—”
“Silence.”
 The voice vibrates powerfully in your very marrow, in your head and all around. He is near. You can barely see a foot in front of you, and now you are glad for it, glad you cannot see the face of your death. The mist swells, roiling angrily around you as your skin prickles with his closeness. You know not what the Dark King looks like, but you know what you have heard murmured in the dark corners of ale-soaked taverns and in the pews of every chapel of the Holy Light—he is darkness, he is devil made flesh and set upon the children of light so that they might know fear. 
That the price of flesh paid by your people is all that keeps him from loosing his terrible fury upon the valley—
But you do not yet know you believe.
You are afraid, that much you can tell from the thundering of your heart and the staccato sound of your own breath. You cannot see him, but you know he circles you, like a wolf, just behind the curtain of smoke and mist. The silence is deafening, and for a moment you wonder grimly what the Truthspeakers will do with you if the Devil himself does not take you—
“I accept this offering.”
 He steps sideways out of nowhere, the air simply parting like a curtain to reveal him. The Orc regards you silently, watching your breath cloud the air and disappear. He reaches for you and you flinch, but he doesn’t touch you. Instead, he pulls at the ropes. The priest knotted them tightly around the post, but when the Orc pulls lightly, it comes away easily, as if undone by his touch. 
His face is more human than you expected, fierce blue eyes set above chiseled cheekbones. His tusks poke out from beneath his bottom lip, but only barely, more evident as he grimaces. You wonder if he is displeased with you, as he looks you over, and you flinch when he reaches out with one massive, gloved hand. He grasps your chin firmly, turning your head this way and that before sighing. 
“Come.” 
 This time, his voice does not echo through the clearing as if spoken by a dozen men. He reaches for you again, this time drawing the dark veil down over your face. His horse is as large and dark as he is, and the great beast paws the ground as you near, and you see your own fearful face reflected in its strange red eyes. He chuckles at your reluctance.
“Afraid, little bride?”
You are. Truly afraid. Of him. Of the village. Of the way forward, wherever it led. But you would not be like Thera, like the cowering priests in their chapel. Your fear would not rule you. 
You grasp the reins and fit a foot into the stirrup. 
“I am afraid.” Swinging your leg up, you climb into the saddle. “And I am more than fear.” He smiles, the sharp, white points of his teeth gleaming as his lips part.
“Good.” He steps up behind you, and your face flushes with heat as he fits you against his front. 
“What are you called?” He hesitates, and you wonder whether or not he will tell you the truth.
“James.”
The sun is low in the sky by the time you see the encampment, nestled in the dark, snowy hills like a glowing ember. You tense as you see it, going rigid in the saddle.
“I did not know you came to collect your bride price with an army.” You reply, and behind you James chuckles. 
“How else would I make sure it was paid?” 
You feel small and alone as you ride into camp, your veil still pulled low over your eyes. The sounds of music and conversation die as the king approaches, the garrison watching with curious apprehension. The pack parts for you, people stepping away from James’ horse with a respectful bow. He is King here, of that there could be no doubt. A great fire blazes at the heart off the encampment, and James rides close enough to feel its heat before dismounting. He holds out his hand to you with a thin smile. 
“Come, little wife. Lay aside your fear and let us know your fate.” You return his grim smile with one of your own. 
I suppose I always knew it would end in fire.
You take his hand, and James helps you down. For a moment, there is no sound other than the roar of the flames and the shrill whistle of the icy wind. 
“She is small.” The voice is heavy with age, and rife with irritation. “It will not be her.” You turn to see the stooped Orc step out from the crowd of onlookers. She leans heavily on the staff she carries, the top adorned with an assortment of feathers and tiny, white bones. James does not look away from you. 
“The fire will tell.” 
He pushes your bridal robe from your shoulders, undoing the tie around your waist. The cloth falls to the ground, leaving you naked. You are not cold, though, not this close to the fire. The veil he leaves on, and the fabric whispers against your bare ankles. The old Orc hobbles closer, peering at you with her one good eye. 
“You know what to do.” 
You do—you step into the fire. It burns—burns hotter than anything you have ever known—
But there is no pain. You open your eyes. All around you is light, beautiful, glorious light. You lift an arm, and flames dance along your skin, leaving trails of radiant heat. You raise your arms above your head with a shout. They should have burnt me in the village. You imagine the streets burning bright with your flames. 
Something is changed in you, something opened, something broken free, something you’d never even known was caged inside you. You are the fire, it is you—
The old Orc slams the staff against the ground with a sound like thunder,  and the flames cool to embers as you drop your arms, panting. You are giddy with power, your heart beating in your chest as fiercely as the flames. 
“Fire-sign.” She draws symbols on your face in red ichor, and matching ones on James. Her scarred mouth twists into a smile as she pulls the veil from you. “Burn brightly.”  
James gathers you in his arms, lifting you with ease. He makes for one of the tents, pushing aside the heavy canvas hanging over the opening. James spills you unceremoniously onto the furs by the small fire, ripping at his clothes as he sets upon you with his hungry hands and mouth.
“Knew it would be you,” he mumbles as he lowers his mouth to yours. “Could smell the smoke on your skin.” 
Gods you burn as he kisses you. You are no longer standing in the fire but you feel it in your veins still, like it’s part of you. Your head swims as though you’d drunk your share of mead, James’ touch only adding to the dizzying rush of sensation. He kneels down between your legs, his eyes dark as he drags them down your writhing body. He licks his lips.
“My fire-sign.” He cups your cunt with one massive hand, trailing a thick finger along your slit. From the bits of hushed gossip you’d overheard from the older women in the village, wifely duties were to be penitently endured, you were to feel pain and discomfort, not this, this—
Fire.
James parts your thighs until they are wide enough to accommodate him, and he bends low. The whites of his eyes barely visible as he stares at your slick center. 
“What better wedding gift?” He says lowly, tugging your hips roughly forward until you can feel his breath on your cunt. 
You lick your lips. “And what is mine?” You ask, and James laughs. You keen as he licks a long, hot stripe up your soaked slit. 
“What would you ask of me?”
“Burn the village.” There are two voices coming from your throat when you speak. There is you, the you you know, the you you have always been—
And there is the fire. 
The thing of smoke and passion and rage in your skin now, too. 
“Leave nothing standing.”
James lowers his head to your sticky core, and wraps his arms around your thighs anchoring you to his face as he feasts. His tongue slides hungrily through your slick folds, and your eyes fly open a your hips roll of their own accord. You come apart then, shuddering and whining, but he doesn’t stop. Your hands tangle in his dark hair, pulling at his ceremonial braids as he tastes you till you’re dizzy. James finally relinquishes his hold, and when he rises his chin is wet with your pleasure. 
“You wish me to wage war, little wife?” He asks, reaching between your bodies to palm his cock. You can’t look away. “To spend fire and blood for you?”
You nod. 
“For that, I will require more than a marriage of convenience,” he replies, and you shiver as he taps the head of his cock against you with a slick, sticky noise. You whimper as he circles one of your nipples with his thumb. “I want more than just your body, understand, little bride?” His hand spans half the length of your belly it’s so big, and you stare wide eyed down at his cock. 
“I will have all of you.” James growls down at you. “Not part.” You whine as he pushes against you, the blunt head of his cock pressing inside with a pop.  Your lips fall open, a strangled moan escaping them. James’ claws dig into your hip, and he utters a curse. You’re already so full of him, you don’t know how more can fit, but James works his hips against yours, rutting shamelessly against you until you swear you’re choking on him. 
The ache is so sweet it brings tears to your eyes. 
“Y-yes!” 
He draws out, leaving you almost empty before filling you with a hard thrust. James moans low in his throat, his head falling back. He cups your face with one hand, dragging his thumb across your lips. You rake your fingers over his muscled chest and he grits his teeth, driving into you harder, curling over you as he presses your knees against your chest. 
Your breaths escape you in choked little mewls, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he drowns you in pleasure again, and the fire in your veins swells, consuming you. Behind him, the fire blazes more brightly than ever before, and  James looses a low growl, his cock pulsing inside of you.
“Then you will have war, little queen,” he says, nosing down the side of your jaw. He nips at your throat, hard enough to bruise.
You smile. 
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shymaidxn · 10 months
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I do want to point out on here that Diantha does have two HSR verses ( because ice/water = her unit; wind = xolotl; also abundance and harmony both worked so well so i was like hmmmmmmmmmm ). Her Harmony Wind verse will always be more crossover-esque, but her Abundance Ice verse will be what planet I assume she'd most likely be in ( rn it's belobog because hehe forced into singing (again) but also oooooh society ). I thought about Herta Space Station too, but the idol life must follow her around so whoops.
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woso-dreamzzz · 15 days
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Youth Team III
Hardersson x Teen!Reader
Part of The Big Adventures Universe
Summary: You have a bad game
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You stared down at your gloved hands with a frown, like you couldn't quite believe that you missed it.
You should have caught it but one of Scotland's strikers came barrelling towards you and trapped your hand between her shoulder and the goalpost.
Your fingers throbbed badly and you just managed to block another shot but by a bare brush of your gloves. Your fingers pulsed with pain and you grit your teeth.
It was official.
You were having a bad game, by your standards at least.
Letting one goal past you could take but two were unacceptable. Your saves were sloppy and your footwork even worse. Your defence was having an off day too so there was nowhere to hide.
The armband around your bicep felt like a weight rather than a privilege as you struggled to keep the ball out of your net.
By the time the first half finished, you were disappointed in yourself, a pit deep in your stomach. Letting two goals past you felt like the end of the world. It felt like everything was going wrong and it was all made worse when you tugged off your gloves.
Two of your fingers were purple and swollen.
It made sense why they were throbbing now.
They were both curled over as well and felt stiff. You try to straighten them out and wince, biting down on the inside of your cheek.
No.
This can't be happening.
You hide them under your shirt. If anyone saw then they would take you off. If they took you off then you wouldn't be able to redeem yourself.
Your mothers were in the crowd. You were wearing the captain's armband.
You didn't want Momma to see her daughter being taken out of the game.
You dig around in your bag, pulling out a popsicle stick that moster Frido gave you for emergencies and a roll of medical tape. You shove the stick between your two fingers and wind the tape around them, forcing them to straighten out.
They pulse in protest but you pop a painkiller and grit your teeth.
It's harder to play with two fingers in one finger hole but you're coping and no one seems to notice.
Your defence is still in shambles and you yell at them to get their act together. You're not really a yeller. You don't like to bark orders but you're getting desperate.
Usually, you can allow your defence to be a bit messy but you're not on form and you need them to start pulling their weight.
They don't and the ball skims your finger as you push it away.
"Organise yourselves!" You snap, your frustration bubbling up as your fingers throb in protest," Stop playing like children!"
This is one of the worst games of your life.
Your defence might as well be making daisy chains. Your midfielders keep losing possession and your forwards have grown complacent with your one goal lead.
You're not doing much better either.
None of your saves are smart. You're desperate to keep your measly lead even as your fingers throb and your armband feels tighter and tighter every minute you wear it.
The win leaves a bitter taste in your mouth when the final whistle is blown and you can't help but ignore your defensive line in an attempt to not blow up at them.
Your fingers look terrible as you shower and change, shoving your hand into your hoodie pocket so you don't have to look at your failure.
Your mothers are waiting outside in the car and the rain pelting the windows only seems to make your mood worse.
"A few close calls, huh, princesse?"
It's clear Morsa is trying to laugh this off but you don't want her to talk so you stubbornly plug your earphones in and turn them up until your mothers can hear it too.
You stay silent until you get home.
A win is a win but this is the last game of this international break and you can't help but feel angry at it all. Your flight back to Sweden is tomorrow and you've got two days of rest before you're back at training again.
"Have we got ice?"
It's the first words you've spoken since you left the changing room and your Momma raises a brow.
"Why do you need some?"
You show her your finger and the hasty splint you made.
"Princesse...What happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it," You reply, turning your head away so you don't have to make eye contact.
Momma looks like she wants to say more but she ends up just shaking her head and going off to find some ice.
Morsa throws your phone at you. "Call Zećira," She says.
"What?"
"Call Zećira. You're upset. You didn't play as well as you hoped. We can't help so call Zećira."
Morsa doesn't give you much of a choice and you dial the number.
"Hey, what's up?"
"Hi..." Your voice is moody and sullen as Morsa stands in front of you with her arms crossed.
"Well, that doesn't sound good. Rough game?"
You look down at your bruised fingers. "Something like that?"
Zećira hums on the other line. "Did you try your best?"
"I guess..."
"That's not an 'I guess' question," She chides," I'm not asking if you were the very best today. I'm not asking if you played in your best form. But, for how you were feeling today, did you try your best?"
"Yes."
"Then that's all that matters."
"How many did they score past you?" Zećira asks," Come on, how many?"
"Two."
"Two goals isn't much in the grand scheme of things. How many did Denmark get?"
"Three."
"You didn't lose," Zećira says," And you tried your best. What else happened?"
"I hurt my fingers. They're all purple and...I didn't get them checked out."
"Put ice on them and get them checked as soon as you're back in Sweden, okay? I've got money placed on those hands winning a World Cup. You've got to keep them safe."
That shocks a laugh out of you. "I will."
"Good. Listen, you're still young. You're allowed to have off days. It's okay."
You sigh. "Things were easier when it was just as in the park."
Zećira laughs too. "I hope you remember those times when you're lifting the World Cup as a captain."
You scoff.
"I'm serious," She says," Maybe not your first World Cup but definitely one of them. I can see it."
"Whatever you say."
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theemporium · 18 days
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[3.3k] a friendship begins to blossom between you and luke as he begins to feel more settled in new jersey. the jump from college was intense, but he was somewhat glad he had a supportive group around him. and maybe his makeout sessions with you were a great stress relief too. (less smut and more heated makeout)
series masterlist
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cherry🍒: i don’t believe you can cook 
cherry🍒: sounds fake tbh
Luke snorted to himself, his lips twitching upwards as he stared at your message. You had sent it at some point during practice, continuing the conversation the two of you had been having the night before.
The irony wasn’t lost on him.
Less than two weeks ago, he was practically dry heaving on the ice at the idea of meeting up with you and now there hadn’t been a day the two of you had gone without talking. 
He didn’t even text his brothers this much when they were apart, and now he was practically glued to his phone whenever he got the chance—something Jack loved to point out. 
Pre-season training was intense, he expected as much when he entered the NHL. Both his brothers had warned him about it, too. He just hadn’t realised how intense it was going to be, or how big the jump between college to professional hockey would be. 
And he didn’t realise how much more he would be eating. 
Jack had found it fucking hilarious. He continuously chirped his little brother for always having a snack in his hand. Whether it was in their apartment, on the road or in the locker room, Jack would be the first to laugh, teasing him about being a ‘growing boy’. The rest of the team were a little more sympathetic, but that didn’t stop them from making some jabs themselves. 
It meant that Luke had to adapt, meaning he had to learn to cook more meals beyond the three staples that had got him through college when he wasn’t relying on any meal plans. And it meant he was getting pretty fucking good at it too, much to his own surprise. 
hockey boy: i cook so well, you’re just jealous
He paused, his shirt still half-hanging around his neck as he saw you typing. 
cherry🍒: prove it then
Luke grinned. 
hockey boy: i’m about to blow your mind with my steak subs 
He felt a rush of anxiety—a good kind, for once—when he saw the bubbles show up on his screen again. He waited, anticipating your response. He had practically forgotten about the fact he was standing in the locker room, half-dressed after practice until he heard someone calling his name. 
“Luke!” 
His head snapped up, turning to find that most of the boys had already left. There were a few stranglers, still packing up their stuff with no real rush. But it was Nico who had called his name.
“Uh, yeah?” 
“You free to talk?” Nico asked, a kind smile on his face like the other boys on the team had always said. It was hard to feel anything but welcomed by the Swiss. “After you’ve changed.” 
“Oh,” Luke glanced down at his phone, seeing a notification that you had replied but quickly shoved his phone down on his bag. “Like, right now? Because I kinda had some plans—”
“It will be quick,” the older man assured him.
“Yeah,” he cleared his throat and smiled a little. “Yeah, I’m free.”
Luke moved pretty quickly after that, ignoring his phone as he quickly changed back into the sweatpants and hoodie he had thrown on this morning when Jack had banged on his door at some ungodly, early hour. He shoved most of his things into his bag, trying to act like he felt completely normal and stress-free about a one-on-one conversation with his captain.
He tried to act nonchalant as they made their way to the lounge area where some players crash before or after a practice. Fridges and shelves were stocked with a variety of trainer-approved snacks and protein shakes, it was probably one of Luke’s favourite rooms recently. But now he felt too on edge to even grab one of the lemon muffins he loved. 
“Calm down, you aren’t in trouble,” Nico eventually spoke up, settling down on the couch as he looked at Luke expectantly. “I just wanted to talk.”
Luke cleared his throat, settling down on the couch too. “Yeah, so you’ve said.”
Nico’s lips twitched. “How are you finding Jersey?”
“It’s good,” Luke nodded.
Nico raised his brows. “Just good?”
Luke blinked. “...really good?”
“Hm,” Nico hummed, but he sounded amused. “Usually I have trouble shutting Jack up, you’re like the opposite.” 
Luke laughed a little. “Jack was always the yapper.” 
“He’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about,” Nico added, almost far too casually. He briefly wondered if his captain was waiting for an in to whatever the real reason behind this conversation was. 
“Yeah?” 
“You know I’m your captain too, right?” Nico asked, and this time he sounded a lot more serious than he did thirty seconds ago. It was how he sounded on the ice, how he sounded on the bench during playoffs last year. He hadn’t seen much of this side of Nico, but he recognised it well.
Luke frowned. “Is this a trick question?”
“No, I—” Nico paused, shaking his head. “I just want you to know that I see you as one of my boys. Not just Jack’s little brother. When I played with my brother, I know sometimes it feels like you’re just…there. In his shadow, sometimes. I just don’t want you to feel like that here.”
Luke relaxed a little. “I don’t—”
“But you’d tell me if you ever did, yeah? I’m your captain too. I want you to know I’m there if you need me, as a captain or a friend.” Nico had a sincere but serious expression on his face, and a small part of it reminded him of Quinn. That warmth and comfort that came from someone a little older, a little more sure of themselves—a true captain.
“I know,” he promised the older boy with a nod. 
“Good,” Nico said before his face broke out into a smile. “Do you need a lift home? I told Jack he could go and I could drive you back—”
“No!” Luke blurted out before blinking, seeing Nico’s slightly surprised face at his outburst. “I, uh, meant that I didn’t need a lift. I was just going to get an Uber.”
Nico’s brows furrowed together. “There’s no need, I can drive you back. I know where—”
“No, I just,” he paused, feeling his cheeks heat up in response. “I’m heading to a friend’s house. Not going home. So.”
“I see,” Nico murmured, and there was something shining in his eyes that Luke didn’t fully understand. He wasn’t sure he wanted to understand. “I can drive you to your…friend’s house, if you want.”
And let you watch him get dropped off by his captain? Yeah, he would rather not.
“I’m fine with an Uber, but thanks,” Luke said with a slightly strained smile, only hoping he didn’t look as guilty as he felt. He didn’t even know why his whole body felt on edge, he knew he was doing nothing wrong. 
But something about the way Nico was staring made him feel like he could see right through him, through everything. 
He was almost convinced his captain knew exactly where he was going and why, and that was something Luke didn’t want to think about.
“Back off!”
“But I’m hungry!”
“There’s gonna be nothing left if you keep eating everything.”
“But it’s taking so long.”
Luke shot you an exasperated look, though he didn’t bother to hide his smile as you slumped against the counter beside him. “It’s only been forty minutes.”
“I was hungry before you got here,” you defended with a huff.
“And you’ve practically eaten all the cheese I was gonna use,” he retorted. 
You crossed your arms over your chest. He tried to ignore how endearing he found the act. 
“C’mon, give me five more minutes and your food will be done,” Luke tried again, and he managed to finally crack a small smile from you.
“This better be worth it, Hughes. This is my first meal of the day.”
“I—” Luke frowned a little. “Yeah, we’ll dive into that later.”
You raised your brows, something like amusement painted across your face. “Worried about me, Hughes?”
“At the fact it’s one o’clock and you haven’t eaten a single thing?” Luke pointed out. “Yeah, actually, I am. And I think that is a justified reason.”
You waved him off. “I had coffee.”
His lips parted. “That’s not—”
“Cook for me, Hughes,” you interrupted, a grin stretched across your face as you playfully slapped his ass. “You said you would prove yourself.” 
Luke’s cheeks flushed. “You’re bossy.”
“And you like it.”
He didn’t disagree.
“Stop looking so smug.” 
Luke glanced over at you. “I never said anything.”
“But you have a smug smile on your face.” 
“I don’t.” He definitely did. “But I am waiting for you to admit I was right.” 
“Fine. You’re a good cook or whatever.” 
Luke beamed in response. 
He was never an overly confident or arrogant guy, not even on the ice. He knew when he played well, he knew when he made people eat their doubts that the youngest Hughes brother wasn’t as good as the other two. He was never the kind to go fishing for compliments or praise either.
But there was something admittedly satisfying when he got to see that expression on someone’s face, the one they got when he proved them wrong. 
Whether it was something as big as proving his high school coach that he was good enough to make it into one of the best college’s hockey team, or as small as proving to you he was a damn good cook, and he made a damn good steak sub.
He didn’t like asking for compliments, but it was nice to receive them. To have that reassurance. To know that maybe he wasn’t as hopeless as he sometimes felt in his own body.
You raised your brows. “What? No cocky follow up?”
Luke shrugged, leaning back into the plush cushions of your couch. The plates and the rest of the dirty dishes had been shoved in the dishwasher, some random old sitcom was playing on the tv and the two of you were sprawled on your couch with your feet on his lap. Not that he was complaining.
It was sweet. Relaxing. Domestic. 
Almost like you two were just friends hanging out.
“Not really my thing,” Luke admitted. “You said I was right. That’s enough.” 
You tilted your head in interest. “That’s enough?” 
He missed the heat in your words, the shift in tone in your voice. His eyes were aimlessly focused on the tv, trying to work out what was going on after he zoned out for a few moments. He missed the way your eyes dragged over his body, lingering on the way his shirt stretched over his shoulders and clung onto his arms. 
“Yeah,” he nodded absentmindedly. “Jack is the one who would—oh.”
You grinned at the way he fell silent, as he blinked in surprise at the way you planted yourself in his lap. 
“I—” Luke cleared his throat, no further words coming out as you placed your hands on his chest. 
“Just wanted to say thank you,” you told him, your eyes following the way you ran your hands over the expanse of his chest, the way his heart thundered under your touch before your fingers traced along his neck. “For cooking for me.”
“Right,” Luke said, swallowing a little. 
“Can I say thank you, Luke?”
He nodded.
“Words, baby.”
“Yes,” he rasped, his wide eyes staring up at you. “Please.”
“So polite,” you teased before you leaned down, your fingers fisting the material of his shirt in your hands as you pressed your lips together. 
It took Luke a few seconds before he eased into the kiss, into letting you take control as your tongue swiped over his bottom lip. He sunk further into the couch, his hands hesitating a few moments before they rested comfortably on your waist, just like they always did.
And you waited. 
You waited for them to move as you deepened the kiss, as your tongue explored his mouth. You waited as your hands ran up and down his chest, feeling the way his body shivered under your touch, at the way your nails lightly raked down his stomach. You waited as you felt his hands squeeze your waist, like he was finally giving in.
But his hands remained where they were.
“Luke,” you murmured, a little breathlessly between kisses. “Move.”
He paused, pulling back as he looked up at you with a confused expression. “What? Like, from the couch?” 
You couldn’t help yourself as you snorted. “No, I meant your hands.”
“My hands?” He repeated dumbly.
Your smile softened a little as you reached for his hands, squeezing his wrists tightly. “Your hands are your friends,” you told him, biting back your laugh when you noticed his confusion grow. “There’s more to making out with a girl than kissing her.”
“Right,” he cleared his throat a little. “I knew that.”
“You like it when I touch you, right?” 
He nodded.
“So, do the same,” you told him, squeezing his wrists again. 
Luke blinked, swallowing hard. “I—”
He quickly closed his mouth, his cheeks flushing as a familiar feeling of embarrassment washed over him. He looked a bit hopeless, and it tugged on your heart strings a little to see him so hesitant.
“You can ask me anything, Luke,” you reminded him, your tone soft and void of anything remotely mocking like he almost expected. “I won’t judge.”
His eyes flickered back to your face. “Where…do I touch you?”
You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. “You want me to show you where I liked to be touched, baby?”
He nodded, his face flushing a deeper shade of red.
You never tore your eyes away from his face as you placed your hands over his, trying not to focus on how much bigger they felt than your own. You watched the way his brows furrowed, like he was trying to concentrate as you guided his hands along your waist until they dipped down to cup your ass.
He swallowed. “Is this okay?” 
“So okay,” you told him before you leaned down to kiss him again. His hands remained still on your ass and it made you smile against his lips as you prompted him, as you let his hands experimentally squeeze your ass. “Girls like this.”
“O-Okay,” he breathed out.
“Feels nice when you wanna take a bit more control,” you told him, lightly nipping his bottom lip as he let out a choked noise of surprise. “Control the pace.” 
“Mhm,” he hummed, his eyes fluttering shut as you began to guide his hands over your body again. 
“Sometimes a girl just wants a little more when you’re making out,” you continued to whisper between kisses, taking his hands to the hem of your shirt. You felt him freeze a little beneath you as you guided him under the material of your shirt and softly squeezed his hands in reassurance. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” 
“Just wanna make you feel good too,” Luke murmured, a little bashful in his admission as his fingers skimmed over the skin of your stomach.
Something inside you twisted, in a good way. 
“You’re making me feel good, Luke,” you told him, your lips grazing his as you spoke, as you continued to move his hands further up your body. “Just doing exactly what I tell you. Such a good boy, such a fast learner.”
“Shit,” he breathed out as you rested his hands over your tits. He paused for a moment before giving them an experimental squeeze, finding the smile you gave him in response much more rewarding than anything else. 
“That’s it, baby, just gotta be a little more confident,” you murmured before you dipped your head down, finally pressing your lips against his again. 
And yeah, it was a little awkward at first when you dropped your hands from his. You were kissing him, your tongue swiping against his and his hands were just lingering on your tits like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.
But then you rolled your hips against his, snapping him out of whatever brain fog he was lost in and he decided to just let himself sink into it. To just let his instincts take over. To trust the fact you would help him if he was doing something wrong.
And, fuck, Luke thought he might have to listen to his instincts more often if these were the results he got.
One of his hands slipped back down to your waist, to keep you on his lap as the other squeezed your tit over the fabric of your bra. You keened under the touch, almost panting against his lips between kisses as you gripped his shoulders. And then his other hand moved lower, moved to cup your ass and squeeze until he was helping you rock against him. 
Your nails dug into his skin, but the pain was dull and desirable. It showed him that you were enjoying this, that you were enjoying the way he pawed at your tits and squeezed your ass. It showed him that maybe he did just need some confidence, to just trust that sometimes he would just instinctively know what to do.
His head dipped a little as your pants became heavier and the kiss was harder to continue. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, experimentally mouthing along your skin until he found a spot at the base of your neck that made you shiver under his touch. 
He slowly ran his tongue along the spot, smiling a little when your fingers moved to grip his curls and tug a little. His teeth grazed the spot, a small voice in the back of his head wanting nothing more than for him to wrap his lips around the spot and suck until—
RING! RING! RING!
Both of you jumped at the shrill of the phone echoing through the room, both of his hands dropping to your waist to hold you tightly before you fell on your ass. His eyes snapped over to where his phone sat on the coffee table and groaned when he realised who was calling him. 
“For fuck’s sake,” Luke grumbled, eyes narrowed on his phone as he watched Jack’s call ring on until it stopped.
“For someone who was desperate to get you laid, he sure knows how to ruin a moment,” you commented, though your voice was amused and lighthearted. 
“I told him I’d be back later,” Luke huffed out. “I don’t know why—”
He was cut off by his phone buzzing again. And then again. And then again. He sighed deeply as he reached over, not moving you off his lap—and you made no move to slide off either, so he wasn’t complaining. He swiped, unlocking his phone as his brother’s messages came through.
jack attack: yo how did the thing with nico go? 
jack attack: also idc what you said, we are having a birthday party for you and the boys agreed
jack attack: bring your lady friend ;)
Luke groaned a little, rolling his eyes and locking his phone instead of replying. 
“Not a fan of parties?” 
“Not a fan of Jack’s parties—especially ones that are three weeks after my actual birthday,” Luke corrected, his lips twitching downwards as his hands rested casually on your waist. “He tends to be a little…”
“Much?” You supplied. 
“Yeah,” Luke snorted. “He also said he wanted me to invite you.”
You raised your brows. “Do you want me there?”
He raised his brows in response. “Do you want to come?”
“I’ll never say no to a party,” you said with a smile that was anything but innocent, leaning down until your lips were brushing his. “Plus, it’s your birthday. I think you deserve a little treat.” 
Luke gulped a little. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you grinned before kissing him, whilst his whole body flushed at the implications of your words. 
jack attack: i know you read my texts
jack attack: stop fucking and reply, asshole!!
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