Fandoms: Moon Knight, Harry Potter, Bill Skarsgard, Stranger Things, Supernatural (Destiel), MCU, and any other thing I'm currently hyperfixating on
Requests: I'm always open to requests! Depending on what I think I can do with the request, I can write from drabbles or headcanons to full-length fics. Minors, please don't make any nsfw requests, alright. If you want a specific type of fic, do mention it, (like smut, fluff, angst, etc), or I might be too scared to include the stuff that you'd like to read. Please do keep in mind that I can be very busy at times, and sometimes the motivation might not strike at the right time, so writing stuff takes time for me :)
Content Warnings: This is mostly an 18+ blog so minors please refrain from interacting, or it might get fic writers into serious trouble. All the warnings are written at the beginning of the fics, so you don't have to read things that you're not into.
GET. AI. OUT. OF. FANDOM. Stop making headcanons with it, stop making fanfic with it, stop making fanart with it. If I see one more "asking chatgpt *blank* about *character/characters in a fandom* I'm going to lose my goddamn mind. Use your own fucking brain, stop asking AI to do everything. You could even ask other real people what they think. Just. Stop. Using. AI. In. Creative. Spaces.
idk man but something about Stanley "taught himself extremely advance physics/math/probably many other things while running a relatively successful business" Pines and Stanford "is wanted in almost every dimension with a judicial system of some kind" Pines is sooo fucking funny to me
Mist hangs low over the grass, thin as breath, drifting in long silver ribbons that catch in the reeds along the creek. The water moves slow and patient through its shallow bed, curling around stones polished smooth by years of quiet persistence.
Everything feels hushed, held in that delicate space between night and day, when the world seems to be listening to itself.
Dean kills the engine and the sudden silence rings in his ears.
For a minute he doesn’t move. He rests his hands on the steering wheel and looks out over the field, at the way the first light gathers along the horizon. Pink and gold seep into the sky.
Cas sits beside him without speaking. The air between them is easy. No urgency. No ghosts chasing their heels.
The Impala's engine ticks as it cools.
“Nice,” Dean says finally, voice rough with sleep and something softer he won’t name.
Castiel tilts his head, studying the meadow.
“You said it reminded you of somewhere.”
Dean shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe. Just feels… quiet. In a good way.”
Cas nods once, like that answer is sufficient.
They step out into the morning.
The grass leaves damp blotches against Dean’s boots. He breathes in deep and tastes water and earth and something faintly sweet from the wildflowers tucked between taller blades. The creek gurgles nearby, a low, constant murmur.
Dean stretches, joints popping, and glances over at Cas.
Cas has already wandered a few steps ahead, coat hem brushing against the grass. He stands near the creek’s edge, looking down into the slow-moving water. The light touches his face and turns the edges of him soft, almost unreal.
Dean watches him longer than he means to.
Cas crouches and trails his fingers through the water. Ripples spread outward in gentle rings.
“It’s cold,” he says, almost to himself.
Dean snorts. “That’s what creeks usually are, buddy.”
Castiel glances back at him, eyes bright in the morning light. “You should feel it.”
Dean hesitates, then walks over. He steps carefully down the small slope to the bank and crouches beside him.
He dips his fingers in.
Cold bites his skin, sharp enough to make him hiss. “Jesus.”
Castiel smiles faintly.
They sit there a while, shoulders almost touching, watching the current slip past.
A bird calls from somewhere in the trees. Another answers. The mist lifts slowly, dissolving into air.
Dean feels something inside his chest loosen.
Right now, he has nowhere to be. No people to save, no graves to salt and burn. He can just. Be.
Dean decides not to think about how he doesn’t deserve a rest.
He blinks a few times and concentrates on the creek.
Just water moving over stone.
“You are calmer here,” Castiel says after a while.
Dean wipes his wet hand on his jeans. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”
Cas considers that. “I like it when you are calm.”
Dean glances at him, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his voice. There’s no weight to it.
“Yeah,” Dean says after a beat. “Me too.”
They climb back up the bank and wander into the meadow.
The grass brushes Dean’s fingertips as he walks. It’s taller here, bending in slow waves under the light breeze. Small white flowers scatter through it like little stars dropped into green.
The sun edges higher, warming the air. The pink glow deepens, soft and luminous.
Cas moves ahead again, turning in a slow circle.
“It feels…” he begins, then stops.
“Go on,” Dean says.
Castiel searches for the word. “Safe.”
Dean exhales.
“Yeah,” he says. “Safe.”
He hasn’t felt that in a long time. Never allowed himself to.
They stop near a patch of wildflowers growing in a shallow dip in the field. The creek curves behind them, catching light in bright flashes. Trees line the far edge, dark silhouettes against the warming sky.
Castiel bends and studies the flowers with careful attention. His fingers hover above them, not touching.
Dean watches him, leaning his weight onto one leg. The breeze lifts Cas’s hair slightly. There is something achingly ordinary about the moment. Something so gentle it almost hurts.
“What are you doing?” Dean asks.
Castiel glances up. His hand frozen above the flower.
Dean crosses his arms and scoffs.
Castiel answers by reaching down and plucking a small white flower. He turns it slowly between his fingers, studying the petals.
“It is delicate,” he says.
“Yeah. Don’t crush it, Hulk.”
Castiel steps closer.
Dean doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Cas stops directly in front of him.
The morning light pools around them. The air smells warm now, sun-warmed grass and water and something green and alive.
Cas looks up at him in that steady, unguarded way that always makes Dean feel like he’s been seen too clearly and somehow accepted anyway.
Dean’s chest tightens.
“Hold still,” Castiel murmurs.
Dean blinks. “What?”
But he doesn’t move.
Cas reaches up, careful and deliberate. His fingers brush Dean’s temple as he tucks the small white flower behind Dean’s right ear.
The touch is light, barely there. Still, Dean feels it like a brand.
Cas’s hand lingers a fraction longer than necessary.
He steps back to look at his work.
Dean feels ridiculous. He knows he looks ridiculous. He lifts a hand halfway to pull it out, then stops when he sees the expression on Cas’s face.
“Don’t laugh,” Dean mutters.
“I am not laughing.”
“You’re thinking about it.”
“I am thinking that you look…” Cas pauses, searching.
Dean raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
Cas meets his eyes. “Happy.”
Dean swallows.
The breeze moves through the grass around them in long sighing waves. The creek bubbles behind them. All around them, insects hum lazily in the warming air.
Happy.
Dean hasn’t worn that word in a long time.
“You’re weird,” he says, because that is safer.
Castiel nods, accepting this.
They stand there in the soft pink morning, looking at each other, because.
They have nowhere else to be.
Dean becomes aware of the way the light settles across Cas’s shoulders, the way the warmth of the sun seems to gather at the edges of him. He notices the faint lines at the corners of Cas’s eyes, the ones that appear when he’s quietly content. He notices everything.
Cas studies him as well, his eyes clear and unblinking.
The flower remains tucked behind Dean’s ear.
Neither of them moves to remove it.
“Why here?” Castiel asks after a while.
Dean looks out over the meadow. The mist is gone now. The sky has shifted from pink to pale gold.
“I used to drive through places like this with my dad,” he says. “Didn’t stop. Never stopped. Always chasing something.”
Dean nudges a clump of grass with his boot. “I figured maybe… stopping might feel different.”
“And does it?”
Dean looks at him.
The more he thinks about it, the more Cas could belong here. Should belong here. In this soft, warm and safe biome. He fits here. Far and safely tucked away from the total shitshow that is Dean’s life.
Something pulls at Dean and he closes his eyes for a moment. It’s too much.
Dean breathes in.
“Yeah,” he says. “It does.”
They wander farther into the field, walking without direction.
Dean lies back in the grass after a while, hands behind his head. The grass is warm beneath him now. Cas remains standing a moment, then lowers himself carefully beside Dean, mirroring his posture with faint awkwardness.
They lie shoulder to shoulder, staring up.
Clouds drift in thin streaks across the blue sky, the air laden with countless pleasant smells. Dean closes his eyes.
For a moment he imagines roots growing from his spine into the soil, anchoring him here.
He doesn’t remember the last time he let himself be still.
“Dean,” Castiel says quietly.
“Yeah?”
“I am glad you brought me here.”
Dean opens one eye. “You’re welcome.”
Castiel turns his head slightly, studying him. Dean can feel the weight of his gaze even without looking.
“Is this what peace feels like?” Cas asks.
Dean considers the question. The breeze passes over them.
“Yeah,” Dean says softly. “I think it is.”
After a while, Dean turns his head. Cas is still watching him.
“What?” Dean asks.
“You did not remove the flower.”
Dean reaches up, touches it lightly. The petals are soft against his fingers.
He drops his hand.
“Why should I?,” he says after a moment, his face creasing into a genuine grin.
Cas’s mouth curves in a small, quiet smile.
They lie there until the sun rises fully and the pink glow fades into bright morning gold.
you're laughing. emerald fennell, a rich white woman, is adapting wuthering heights into a solely-for-shock-value film and ignoring all of the books themes on racism, cycles of abuse, and class. and casting heathcliff as a white man when he should be dark skinned. and casting edgar linton, the rich white man who holds immense privilege over heathcliff, as a man of color. this woman is racist and can't tackle class dynamics for shit but you're laughing
So, I've had some thoughts since watching Emerald Fennel's Wuthering Heights, and it goes beyond the movie itself and into the rise in anti-intellectualism.
Nobody cares anymore. Everyone just accepts whatever slop is thrown their way because it is much easier to accept simplicity than it is to engage in critical thought. To most, books are just words on a page, rather than an insight on humanities most deep-rooted issues and commentaries on the flaws of society. Their legacies are irrelevant because it's much too complicated to accept that things might be complicated. I've seen a plethora of comments criticising those who are critiquing Fennel's adaptation of the beloved novel, such as "People just don't know how to have fun anymore" or "I can't understand why people don't like it, it was a masterpiece". Using words like 'masterpiece' to describe a film that blatantly ignores the source material and favours appearance over substance, with on the nose symbolism, completely diminishes the true meaning of the word. Masterpieces are things that change our perspective, that shape the world we live in, that will be revered for years to come. And fun isn't what is supposed to come with Wuthering Heights. No story about generational abuse and racism is supposed to be fun. Not to mention, it is a gothic novel. The only element I found captured the gothic elements was the introduction scene, but that essence was quickly lost when it was turned into a story where race is absolved and that sexualises domestic violence. Heathcliff is not a romantic ideal: he is not Mr Darcy but kinky. A key part of Heathcliff's narrative is that he is abused due to his race (which Fennel leaves out so she can cast heartthrob Jacob Elordi), and when betrayed by Cathy, decides to get revenge by essentially ruining everyones lives, including Isabella, who falls becomes a victim of domestic violence at his hands. Instead of seeing this, we see Isabella forces to wear a collar and bark like a dog, rather than getting the scene where Heathcliff kills her beloved dog. Im not here to kink shame, merely to point out how tone deaf it is. And during this, Heathcliff is portrayed as some yearning poet who adores Cathy to the bone, which is not truly seen in the rest of the film, as most of the scenes shared between Cathy and Heathcliff are sexual in nature. Even as a singular piece of art, their 'love' is not really love at all, it is lust. We are supposed to feel bad for him, as if abusing a woman is justified due to the fact that he loved another woman he could not be with. He is a spoiled child who wishes he has the toy someone else does. Heathcliff is not meant to be a romantic figure, he is meant to be a symbol of the effects of abuse and how it can be repeated in the future, creating a cycle of pain and injustice.
Now, beyond Wuthering Heights, I'm sure we have all seen how little people appreciate art anymore. Books are just books, films are just films, and words and just words. Shakespeare is viewed as a boring guy you're forced to study, rather than the most prominent and influential literary figure of all time. People do not care to read a book and learn, to have their perspective broadened, to be bettered. They simply want something simple and digestible. People want to read books to say they have read them rather than to ingest the message. We live in a world where it is no longer necessary to use our own brains, because we have Chat GPT (affectionately nicknamed 'Chat' as if it is our friend, rather than one of the very things responsible for our decline as a race). Art at its core is rooted in a desire for change, for reform, for a better society. It encourages us to engage in critical thinking, to understand nuance, to become fluent in humanity. But nobody cares for art anymore. We want things simple, easy, handed to use without us having to lift a finger. We are declining, we are failing ourselves. We have books at our fingertips, but we'd much rather defend a disgrace of a film than engage in meaningful conversation.
Warnings: 18+ (MDNI). Rough sex. P in v sex. Orgasms. Bodily fluids. Overall adult themes and language. Established relationship. Overstimulation (possibly). Crying from overstimulation (maybe). I’m free balling it guys. Whatever else I failed to mention.
Author’s Note: This is the twenty-fourth part on my kinktober list. Enjoy! I don’t own the MCU or Marvel Comics in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owners. Similarly, I don’t own any of the gifs or pictures I use for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
Word Count: 426
Kinktober List || Masterlist
He was everywhere. The scent of him, the feeling of him pressed against you, kissing you and touching you—it was overwhelming in the best possible way.
Shangqi had gone away, trying to figure out more on the rings. These missions were becoming more frequent, and as much as you tried to support him, it also took a little bit out of you each time. Because you worried, and you became antsy and anxious over Shangqi’s wellbeing.
But when he came back? That’s when it was better. Better than better, really.
Because all that pent up emotion could finally come out. Usually in moments like this, with Shangqi pressing you into the mattress of your shared bed, lips trailing hot, wet kisses along your mouth and neck. His hips rutting roughly into you, as if thrusting out of you was somehow sacrilegious.
“Need you so bad,” he grunted, his hips rolling roughly against yours. You moaned, moving your hips against his. Shangqi’s mouth nipped at your jaw, a hand trailing down your side, gripping your thigh tightly. “Wanna stay like this forever,” Shangqi panted, his movements becoming quicker, rougher. You felt your chest bounce in time with his thrusts, the bed creaking beneath you.
The stretch of his cock in you burned in the most delicious way possible. Pleasure rippled through your body, the wet sounds of skin hitting skin echoing off the walls.
“Missed you,” you whined, nails digging into his shoulder blades. “Missed you so much—”
“You’re so wet for me—” Shangqi bit down on your shoulder, the sting making you moan. “You touch yourself while I was gone?”
You shook your head. His hand went from your thigh, fingers dancing between your bodies until he found your puffy clit. His fingers moved roughly on the bundle of nerves. You nearly sobbed at the feeling.
“So close,” you cried. “Please—harder! I-I need—I’m so…”
Shangqi gave you three more rough thrusts until you felt that coil in you snap. Your back arched, sharp and taut, as pleasure ripped through you like a wildfire. Your mind became hazy, moans and sobs making your words slur together. Shangqi grunted in the crook of your neck, his body seizing on top of yours as his release overtook him. He spilled deeply into you, twitching and cursing and pressing himself flush onto your sweat-slicked body.
You knew for sure you’d be sore in the morning—aching in the best possible way.
Yeah, you didn’t like Shangqi leaving on his missions. But you’d be a liar if you didn’t enjoy the homecomings.
Warnings: 18+ (MDNI). Biting/hickeys. Marking. Allusion to oral/sex. Y’all know the drill. Shangqi, the man you are. Reader runs into their ex trope. Jealousy. Making out. Language (probably). Fluff (possibly). This is my first Shangqi story…please be gentle!
Author’s Note: This is the seventh part on my kinktober list. Enjoy! This was originally going to be a Joaquin Torres story, but I changed it at the last minute. I’m sorry for the mix up. I don’t own the MCU or Marvel Comics in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owners. Similarly, I don’t own any of the gifs or pictures I use for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
Word Count: 1,687
Kinktober List || Masterlist || Poll
The ride back home was silent. Stifling. The kind of quiet that fills every inch of space, heavy and unspoken. You and Shangqi had gone out for dinner—not exactly a date, but definitely a night meant for just the two of you.
And then he showed up—your ex.
The two of you had ended things on good terms. Priorities shifted, feelings faded, and you both knew there was no point in beating a dead horse. It hadn’t been messy, just…done. Now, it’s not like you and your ex were friends, but you were friendly. Cordial. Polite, for the sake of each other’s feelings.
You’d exchanged the usual “Hey, how have you been?” and introduced Shangqi as your boyfriend. He’d shaken your ex’s hand—firm, polite—but you didn’t miss the tension in his smile or the slight flex of his jaw. The polite grip that lasted a moment too long.
Shangqi had officially been your boyfriend for a little over two and a half years. He was the kind of man you saw yourself settling down with—the kind who made you feel safe, loved, and heard in all the ways that mattered.
Your ex, though, was your high school sweetheart. Your first everything. And maybe, deep down, that’s why it hadn’t worked out. What once felt exciting had turned into routine. Familiarity became monotony. Nothing about Shangqi ever felt that way—and you thought he knew that. You assumed he did.
But now, seeing the way his fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles white and jaw set, you couldn’t help but wonder.
“Baby?” you asked softly, breaking the silence.
“I’m not mad,” he said quickly, glancing at you before looking back at the road. “Not at you. I’m just—”
“Jealous,” you finished for him.
Shangqi exhaled sharply through his nose, a reluctant huff. “I shouldn’t be,” he admitted, voice low and rough around the edges. “But I just…he was your first in every sense of the word. You two were—” He stopped himself, shaking his head, the muscle in his jaw twitching.
You reached over and placed your hand gently on his. His grip loosened instantly, as if your touch pulled the tension right out of him. His palm turned, pressing against yours, and his fingers laced with yours without hesitation.
“There’s a reason I’m not with him anymore,” you murmured, lifting his hand to your lips. You pressed a kiss to his knuckles, slow and deliberate. “And there’s a reason I’m with you.”
“I know—” he began, but you cut him off with a soft squeeze of his hand.
“I can picture a future with you that I couldn’t with him,” you said quietly, the words falling easily from your lips. “I feel more like myself with you than I ever did with him. You’re everything I ever wanted.”
For a moment, Shangqi just looked at you, eyes softening as the tension in his shoulders finally eased. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it gently, his thumb brushing over your skin.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed.
“It’s fine,” you whispered.
“I feel like an idiot.”
A small smile tugged at your mouth. “I think it’s hot,” you said, your tone light but teasing. “You getting jealous? I think it should happen more often.”
He laughed, a deep, warm sound that melted the last of the awkwardness between you. “Wait ’till we get home,” he smirked, his voice low, laced with promise. “I’ll show you what jealousy looks like.”
You shifted in your seat, warmth blooming low in your stomach. “Can’t wait,” you murmured.
When Shangqi pulled into the driveway, he didn’t move to turn off the engine right away. Instead, he glanced at you—really looked at you. The streetlights cast faint gold shadows across his face, catching the sharp line of his jaw and the flicker in his eyes. That glint—hungry, possessive, and all too familiar—sent a flush creeping up your neck.
You swallowed, pulse quickening under his gaze. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air inside the car felt heavy again, but not with tension this time—with something far warmer, more dangerous.
Unbuckling your seatbelt, you tilted your head and gave him a teasing smile. “I’ll see you inside,” you murmured, voice soft but edged with promise.
You opened the car door, the cool night air rushing in as you stepped out. You could still feel his eyes on you, following every movement as you crossed the short path to the front door. The quiet click of your heels on the pavement only heightened the electricity that hummed between you.
Inside, the house was dimly lit and still. You moved through it on instinct, heart thudding as you made your way to the bedroom you shared. The air there felt different—charged, expectant. Excitement fluttered through you, lighting every nerve, making your breaths come a little quicker.
You heard Shangqi’s footsteps downstairs—slow, deliberate. The sound of someone who knew exactly what kind of anticipation he was building.
You smiled to yourself as you reached for your jacket, shrugging it off your shoulders and tossing it to the end of the bed. Then your fingers found the hem of your shirt, moving slowly, teasingly. You took your time with each piece of clothing, peeling them away one by one, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound in the room.
By the time you heard Shangqi’s footsteps at the top of the stairs, your pulse was racing, and the warmth blooming in your chest had settled low in your belly—steady, insistent, waiting.
You were just sliding the zipper of your skirt down when you heard the door click open behind you. Shangqi’s footsteps were unhurried, steady—each one making your pulse thrum harder. You didn’t turn right away. You wanted him to look, to take in the sight of you waiting there for him.
When you finally faced him, his expression said everything. The same hunger you’d seen in the car still burned in his eyes, but there was something else threaded through it too—something soft and deeply familiar. Love, steadier than the fire that flickered beneath it.
He crossed the room in a few slow strides, stopping close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. Then Shangqi reached up, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear.
“Still think it’s hot when I’m jealous?” he murmured.
You smiled faintly, tilting your chin up toward him. “Maybe a little.”
Shangqi’s hand slipped to the back of your neck, his thumb stroking over your pulse. The first kiss was slow—testing, tasting. The kind that lingered and built warmth in its wake. You sighed against his mouth, and he deepened it, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.
The world seemed to shrink to just the two of you—the soft drag of breath, the faint hum of the bedside lamp, the quiet beat of your hearts pressed together. His kisses grew more insistent, threading heat through tenderness, until you could feel the edge of his jealousy bleeding into something else—possession, want, devotion.
When his lips trailed down to your throat, you felt him smile faintly against your skin. His breath was warm, his words a whisper against the pulse at your neck. “Mine,” he breathed, barely audible, before his mouth found that spot just below your jaw.
You gasped softly, your fingers curling into his shirt as his lips lingered there, teasing the sensitive skin. You could already tell there’d be a mark in the morning—something small, hidden, but deliberate. A quiet claim, tender and fierce all at once.
His hands moved to your waist, his touch both grounding and electric. Each kiss grew slower, deeper, less about jealousy now and more about reassurance—about the kind of love that burns steady long after the spark.
By the time the night melted around you, the air was thick with the scent of his cologne and your warmth. His breath brushed your ear as he whispered your name like a vow, and the rest of the world disappeared—until all that was left was the quiet rhythm of your hearts and the lingering trace of his lips against your skin.
Shangqi’s lips moved along your jaw, slow and deliberate, tracing a path that made your breath catch. You tilted your head, granting him silent permission as he drew you closer. His kisses deepened, and though you felt the scrape of teeth and the warmth of his breath against your neck, what lingered most was the tenderness beneath it—the quiet reverence threaded through every touch.
His hands explored with care, memorizing rather than claiming, grounding you in the steady rhythm of his breath against your skin. Each kiss carried a message he didn’t have to speak: You’re mine, but not because I own you—because I choose you, again and again.
When he finally lifted his gaze to meet yours, the air between you had thickened, humming with heat and affection all at once. Without words, he guided you to bed, hand unclasping your bra and his lips and tongue claimed your breasts. Shangqi’s lips dragged along the soft slope of your breasts, tongue dragging against the skin, lips suckling against your pebbled nipples and teeth gently nipping.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. “You’re so beautiful.”
You arched into Shangqi, a soft whine escaping you. “I love you,” you moaned.
When he reached your clothed mound, Shangqi peered up at you with dark eyes. You nodded. His fingers hooked into your panties and tugged them down, your wet heat exposed fully to him. With a deep groan, Shangqi kissed along the inside of your thighs, suckling dark bruises onto the sensitive skin.
Another whine escaped you. “Stop teasing…”
“Don’t worry,” Shangqi nipped at your skin again, his eyes taking in all the marks he left along your body, “I’ll take good care of you.”
When his mouth finally covered your dripping mound, you couldn’t stop the cry that escaped you.
Emoji Guide: 🔥Smut, Minors DNI • 🌩 Angst • 🌒 Dark Themes • 🌼 General • 🌿 Fluff
♣︎ Pretty, Pretty Doll 🔥 🌩
Marc Spector x Fem!Reader ◦ Marc comes back home from an exhausting mission and you help him let off some steam. A few days later an argument breaks out between the two of you that leads to him showing you the weight of your own words.
♣︎ Loving Marc Spector 🔥🌩🌿🌒
Marc Spector x GN!Reader ◦ Being Marc Spector’s partner wasn’t easy, but you would rather cease to exist than wish it was any other way.
TW: Borderline toxic relationship
♣︎ Hate to Love You 🌩
Marc Spector x GN!Reader ◦ There is a deeper reason as to why Marc Spector never came around to like you, and when a mission ends horribly wrong, Marc is forced to confront you and his feelings. Would he rather face them or run away from you?
♣︎ The Sky, a Colourful Mess 🌿🌼
The Moon Boys x Desi!Fem!Reader ◦ Celebrating this year's Diwali with your family and your boyfriends. Guiding your boyfriends through Indian culture and customs, which you know can be quite overwhelming. Indian family and neurodivergent western boyfriend bonding time!
❨MCU Headcanons❩
♣︎ The Moon Boys and Kamala Khan 🌼
If the Moon Boys and Kamala Khan ever meet, what will their relationships be like? How good or bad will their dynamics be?
Hey this is one of my first times making requests but can you do a moonboys x reader with a big chest/ boobs but is insecure about it and they show love after finding out reader is sensitive ( boobjobs if possible if not then that’s fine as well)
Take any creative liberty im so serious ive been reading ur work and im in love, trust 💕
Thank you love 💜💜 hope you enjoy this, I had fun writing it hehehe 🤭
Soft • Moonboys x reader (Steven focused)
warnings: MDNI, 18+, tit fucking, nipple play, cum play, ball sucking, insecurity, pet names, slight fighting between the boys, pervy Steven Grant
Steven loved the way your soft plump tits always seem to spill out whenever you wore low cut tops. He also could never keep his hands to himself. Especially when you needed a few words of encouragement after you whine and complain about how you never find the right fitting tops.
“I hate this Steven!” You cried out as the buttons of the milk maid dress you ordered online wouldn’t close. Just as you thought you’d gotten it right, the buttons popped open and exposed a bit too much for Steven’s composure.
“Mhm” Steven cooed. “I hate this bloody dress too love, qualities bullocks. These flimsy buttons can’t hold a thing” the tone in which Steven spoke had you smiling at him through the mirror.
“I don’t think it’s the buttons Steven” you huffed as you threw your hands to your sides in defeat. “Nothing ever fits! I go a size bigger, the clothes are too big, I go a size down, the cup sizes is too small!” You whined.
“Like I said love, that’s the dresses fault.”
You hummed at the feeling of Steven pressing up behind you, hands snaking onto your waist and squeezing you tightly.
“If it means anything love, I love everything about you. Every inch of you, every little bloody thing” he cooed into your neck as his hands moved up your sides and cupped your plush breasts.
“I agree with Steven honey. All those other pretty tops you have fit you real nice and snug. This flimsy thing doesn’t mean a thing” the change in accent made it obvious that it was Marc in the front seat now.
Your head fell back into Marc’s shoulder as he undid your buttons. The flowery dress pooled at your feet, exposing you completely in-front of the mirror with Marc’s eyes trailing up and down your figure.
Marcs warm hands pawed and kneaded at your soft tits, a low hungry moan rumbling into your back as Marc watched you squirm in his arms.
“Look in the mirror bunny, look” he purred into your ear. You opened your eyes slowly and were met with your own reflection.
“Don’t you look really pretty honey? Look at you” Marc hummed. “Mhm” you agreed, soft moans leaving your lips as his fingers played with your hard sensitive nipples.
“Marc’s being real me to me sweetheart, pushin’ me back because he’s real selfish. But I think it should be me who shows you how pretty these tits are”
Shivers run down your spine as a heavy hand wraps around your throat, Jake.
“P- please” you whimper. The squeezing of your legs doesn’t go unnoticed by Jake, he smiles at your reaction.
Jake had you on your back, face hanging off the bed and face to face with his balls. He had your tits squeezed between his hands with his cock messily sliding between them with slow calculated thrusts.
You whine as he plays with your slick nipples that were coated with a thin layer of pre-cum. “Mhmm you feel so nice and warm for me bunny, all plump and pretty for me aren’t you?” Jake huffed out, eyes focused on your perked jiggling tits.
“A- oh love you feel sooo nice” a British accent whimpered from above you. Steven’s hands squeeze onto the messy warm skin, his hips shuttering as you mouth at his ball and suck onto them softly.
The sounds Steven made had you spreading you legs, two of your fingers run down your folds and rub small circles onto your clit.
You couldn’t help but play with your wet pussy as Steven runts into your tits. Something desperate always washed over you whenever Steven got all needy and whiny.
“F- fuck. Playing with yourself love?” Steven whimpered as he noticed your fingers desperately rubbing at your swollen bud.
You hummed in response.
“Love these pretty tits love. Always make me fuck myself into my hand when you wear that pretty pink lace bra. You remember it doll?” Steven muttered.
The uneven thrusts that Steven gave became obvious. You could feel his balls twitching as you lapped and sucked at the sensitive skin.
“F- fuck oh ba- baby oh my god” Steven whines out desperately. He watches as your legs stiffen, he could feel your mouth fall open and his suspicion was proven true as you moaned prettily from under him.
You came from him just fucking your tits. God how he loved you.
Steven let out the loudest moans as he covered your tits in white sticky cum. He jerked himself through his orgasm, covering you completely in his seed before he stepped back and admired his work.
Two of his fingers rubbed his cum over your swollen nipples. Before he could wipe it onto the sheets, you gripped onto his wrist and shoved his fingers into your mouth.
You hummed at the taste of his cum. Eyes closed in bliss as you continue to suck on his digits.
𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵: All Marc wanted was to protect you. But you made it so hard by putting yourself in harms way.
• 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: choking, forgetful reader, breath play!, unprotected sex!, degrading, pet names, p in v, sweet Marc at the end
“I hate being mean. You know this sweetheart” Marc seethed as he fucked you into his sheets. He had you on your back, spread wide with a hand on your throat.
He knew you meant no harm but god did you piss him off sometimes. So clueless, so stupid.
“Told you to lock the door, I do everything to keep you safe and it seems like you just have to throw yourself into harms way”
You shook your head in denial “I forgot m- Marc I forgot I’m sorry” you whimpered out. Your small hands wrapped around his wrists, trying to loosen the grip he had in your neck but the resistance only seemed to make it worse.
“Look what you made me do. Had to rip these cute little pink panties I bought you just because you need a lesson.” Marc huffed as he played with the ripped strings of your undies.
He was being so mean. So cruel to you as you laid there pliant and dumb with slobber pooling at the sides of your mouth.
“But don’t worry bunny, don’t worry that pretty little head of yours. I’ll make sure you never forget to lock that damn door again” he seethed as he finally let go of your neck.
You gasped out for air, your vision a little fuzzy as oxygen filled your lungs. “P- please! So close Marc” you whimpered out in defeat.
“Looks like you like me being mean to you. She just takes me so well, creaming all over my dick.” He chuckled at the creamy scene of your slick coating his cock.
Small drops of it trickled down to the sheets, a mess Steven was sure to be angry about tomorrow.
You nodded dumbly. Panting out yes yes and pleases the closer your high got.
A rough hand wrapped around your throat yet again, now his thumb rubbing up and down your pulse point in a gentle rhythm. “That’s it sweetheart, let it out” Marc reassured as tears ran down your cheeks.
“F- feels so good” you managed out as you came. Your small nails dug into Marc’s arms as you held onto him for comfort.
“I know baby, I know. Taking everything I give you even when I’m being mean. My sweet little girl” Marc cooed.
He was no longer degrading you, but rather letting you know he was there.
hi congrats on 1000 followers!!!! i seriously love your work sm the bill weasley magic lessons series altered my brain chemistry. idk if you write for aged up harry potter but if you do can you please write “1000 tears” with harry i love him in deathly hollows era when he’s all angsty and it’s soooo good when people write him to have a crazy reunion with the reader when he gets to shell cottage after saving them from malfoy manor it’s always giving peak hormones lol
hi love!!! tysm for the request, and I'm so glad you enjoyed Magic Lessons! angsty Harry is also my favorite, so I had a lot of fun with this one. Hope you enjoy! 🤍
1000 tears | H.P.
feat. Harry Potter x reader
cw: MDNI 18+, smut, love confessions, war stuff, mentions of blood/injury, angsty Deathly Hallows-era Harry, friends to lovers, reader has an implied close relationship with Remus and Tonks (parental), Dobby lives bc this is my fic and I can do whatever I want
masterlist
You sat curled up in your bed, knees to your chest, and stared at the crack in the bedroom door. Lupin had sent you to your assigned room with a piece of chocolate an hour prior, insisting you try and get some rest. But you couldn't even get yourself to lay down, the chocolate lying untouched on the bedside table.
You'd lost track of how many tears you'd shed.
Harry was out there, having disappeared while searching for a Horcrux with Ron and Hermione hours and hours ago without communication. He refused to let you go with them, having all but begged you to stay behind at Shell Cottage.
Where it's safe, love.
And now, you had a bone-deep feeling that something had gone terribly wrong. It wasn't like Harry to not send any kind of communication, and if he couldn't, Hermione always did.
Things between you and Harry were…complicated. You weren't together. Who would be reckless enough to start a new relationship in the middle of a war? But the connection between you was strong, having grown from a schoolyard crush to an all-consuming devotion over the past few years, and you knew Harry felt it too. But there were more important things to worry about at the moment—romance could wait until after the war. If there was an after.
The clock ticked audibly on the wall above your head.
This was ridiculous. You couldn't just sit here. If Harry thought something happened to you, nothing would stop him. Not Lupin, not Molly, not Moody—
A crash and a wail echoed through the silent house. You immediately recognized the cry as Dobby’s, and jumped out of bed, grabbing your wand from the night stand.
Your heart hammered in your chest as you approached the closed door, turning the ancient knob as quietly as you could. Wand raised, you pulled open the door, stupify on the tip of your tongue.
“What on earth happened! And where have you been?!” Molly bellowed, and you paused in the hallway.
“Malfoy Manor,” you heard Ron reply just before Dobby loosed another shriek of pain.
“Harry Potter saved Dobby! Harry Potter is Dobby's hero!”
“It’s alright, Dobby—let go—Dobby, they have to—”
You flew down the stairs and around the corner, finding Ron, Hermione, Lupin, Molly, and the wounded House Elf crowded into the foyer. Harry was trying to gently pry the bleeding Dobby from his pants leg, his handsome face smeared with dirt and blood, expression tight with frustration and exhaustion.
But he was alive.
“You're supposed to be asleep,” Lupin scolded, noticing you hovering in the hall, and Harry’s head snapped up, green eyes melting with relief.
“Dobby and Hermione need a Healer,” Harry said, his gaze locked on you. You could tell he was white knuckling his self-control, trying to stay calm and prevent the terror from whatever just happened to them spread to the rest of you.
“Good thing I was awake then,” you replied, giving Lupin a pointed look as you moved into the crowded foyer. You stooped to survey the House Elf's injuries. A blade had grazed his side, blood blooming beneath his tunic, but it was shallow. “Episkey,” you murmured, and the wound knitted itself most of the way closed, ceasing the bleeding.
“Oh, thank you Miss Harry Potters friend! Thank you!”
“My pleasure, Dobby,” you sighed, pushing to your feet.
You hadn't realized how close you were to Harry, too focused on healing Dobby, and now we're standing nearly chest to chest, nose to nose.
The look on his face knocked the air from your lungs. His usually serene eyes were burning, heavy-lidded and bruised with exhaustion. He smelled of smoke and the sting of dark magic, his black hair tosseled and knuckles bloody.
His index finger brushed the edge of your hand, so light you almost thought you'd imagined it, and you swallowed a shudder, your body reacting as if he’d done something cataclysmic.
Everything in you wanted to throw your arms around him and kiss the pain away, steal it all for yourself so he'd never have to suffer under the burden of responsibility again—but you resisted.
“Boys, can you get Hermoine into the kitchen?” you asked, shifting to step away before you completely lost focus.
For a split second, Harry’s index finger hooked your pinky, wanting to keep you close, but he quickly dropped his hand and turned to his friends.
“C’mon then, hold onto me,” Harry said, crouching down to their level. Hermione looped an arm around Harry's neck, the other already around Ron’s waist, and together they lifted her up.
She groaned, her head lolling onto Ron's shoulder, but protested no further as they carried her into the kitchen and set her gently onto a chair.
“Don't overtax yourself,” Lupin warned, catching you before you left the foyer. “Be smart.”
“I'm fine, Remus,” you bit, pulling away from him.
You followed them into the kitchen, pretending not to be jealous at the easy contact between Harry and Hermione. You knew there was nothing romantic between them, and you loved their friendship. His depth of love for his friends was one of the things you admired most about him. But her ability to touch him so freely, a luxury you could only imagine, made your stomach twist.
To distract yourself, you set to work making some tea and preparing your supplies. Usually, the three of them would chat amongst themselves, strategizing, reminiscing, poking fun, but they were strangely quiet. The house sat heavily around the four of you, the silence almost tangible, broken only by the cottages occasional creak and groan.
When you set Hermione’s tea in front of her, made just the way she likes it, plus a pinch of goldenrod for the pain, she barely managed a whispered ‘thank you’. Her face was buried in the crook of Ron's neck while he held her close.
Oh, how lucky they were to be loved out loud, even if they hadn't admitted it to themselves yet.
Harry was leaning against the counter, eyes flitting anxiously between his friends and you, so you poured him a cuppa as well.
When you brought it to him, intending to set it on the counter beside him, he instead reached out to take it from you. His cool fingertips brushed yours over the heated ceramic. “Thanks,” he murmured, voice gravelly.
“’Course,” you said through the tightness in your throat. His touch lingered a moment longer before he brought the warm cup to his chest.
You set up your supplies and sat beside Hermione, gesturing for her to set her injured arm on the towel you laid out. She obliged, grimacing when the drying blood pulled at her skin.
As gently as you could, you used a rag soaked in warm water and antiseptic to clear away the blood. You nearly recoiled when the injury revealed itself.
Mudblood.
“Hermione, what—” you gasped.
“Bellatrix,” Ron hissed. “Tortured her while we were locked up.”
You were speechless, shocked to your core, and instinctively turned to Harry, but he was looking at Hermione's arm, eyes swimming with pain.
“I'm so sorry,” you whispered, turning back to Hermione.
She shook her head, dismissing your sympathy. “Just do what you can,” she said through gritted teeth. “Please,” she added.
So you did. Bellatrix had used an enchanted blade, so the word would scar, but with some time and attention, you were able to get the wound partially healed, and most importantly, the pain under control.
At one point you had urged the boys to go get cleaned up, their brooding energy weighing on your heart, but neither budged an inch. Ron stayed glued to Hermione’s side, catching every one of her tears, while Harry hovered over your shoulder, only moving away when you needed something, like fresh gauze or a refill of your tea. A strong herbal blend you developed to keep you focused during long nights spent studying in the common room.
It had come in handy more times than you cared to admit since the war began.
You secured the last bandage around her forearm, and looked up to find her asleep on Ron's shoulder, his head leaned against hers, eyes closed.
The roll of gauze was lifted from your hand, and you felt Harry's heat at your back. Even blindfolded and deaf, you'd be able to sense him anywhere.
“What are you—”
“Cleaning up,” he replied. “You've done enough.” His tone was gentle but firm, and you rolled your eyes.
“Me? I've been sitting here for days while you—”
“And I'm sure you worried yourself half-to-death,” he cut you off, and you clamped your mouth shut. “I can put away some bottles while you rest for a second,” he said, grabbing the vials from in front of you.
“Can't help but worry about you,” you muttered petulantly.
Harry's footsteps paused just behind you, and your breath caught in your throat. Then, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, warm and solid and home, and he buried his face into the curve of your shoulder.
“Please don't,” he whispered, exhaling a shaky breath. “Because if you ever asked me to stay—”
“I would never ask you to stay.” Tears burned behind your eyes, heart aching with relief and something too similar to grief to bear another name. You twined one of your hands with his, the other coming up to tangle in his dark waves. “That’s why I asked to go with you.”
His grip tightened. “I would never ask you to go.”
A tear slipped down your cheek. “I know.”
Ron stirred, and Harry slid his arms from around you, leaving you cold. You wiped the tears from your face before he could see them, though you had no doubt he knew they were there.
“Ron, you gotta take Hermione to bed,” Harry said, shaking his friends shoulder, and Ron came fully awake.
Ron gave a grunt in acknowledgment, then lifted Hermione into his arms, cradling her against his chest like she was the most precious thing in the world. “Thanks, mate,” Ron said to you, nodding his head.
“No need to thank me. Just glad you're all alright,” you replied, waving him off.
“Me too.” He glanced at Harry, something unspoken passing between them, before turning and carrying Hermione down the hall to her room.
The silenced stretched between you until it became unbearable. “I guess I'll head to bed before Lupin bites my head off,” you joked, though it landed flat.
Harry, sweet, always supportive Harry, gave you a weak smile anyways. You knew he wouldn't ask you to stay up, even though he'd likely be up until sunrise, but it still hurt when he answered with a single nod and turned away, walking into the living room without another word.
You had just climbed into bed when there was a knock on your closed door. Wiping away the tears that had collected once again, you pulled open the door, fairly certain you would find Lupin or Tonks standing there, ready to scold you for not going to sleep when your were told.
Harry stood in the dark hall, his glasses reflecting the silver moonlight like coins. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
“Sorry? For wha—” Harry pushed through the door, directly towards you. You barely had time to gasp before he was grabbing your face and hauling you in for a messy, breath-taking kiss. He kicked the door shut with his foot, the bang a little too loud for the quiet house, but Harry didn't falter for a second. You barely heard it though, your ears ringing as your blood rushed under your skin, your mouth moving instinctively against his, matching every desperate push and ravenous pull.
His hands were everywhere, gripping your hips and tangling in your hair and pressing at your back, like he wanted to fold you under his skin, fuse your bodies together in every way imaginable.
“Harry,” you whimpered when he broke the kiss to breathe, your lungs burning along with the rest of you. It took you a moment to register that he was crying. “Harry, what—”
“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—I couldn't—” a strangled sound cut off his words and he sank to his knees, his grip on your hips going slack. “I tried, I—”
“I-I don't know what you mean,” you said, fighting back your own confused tears as you stroked his hair, his face buried into your abdomen.
“I thought I could wait, could keep you from getting too close, but I—I can't.” Harry looked up at you, pain-stricken face streaked with tears and glasses crooked, his mouth pulled down in a sorrowful curve. “I need you, but I can't risk losing you.”
You lowered yourself to his level, taking his face in your hands and drying his tears with you shirt sleeve. “You aren't going to lose me,” you tried to soothe, but your own emotion made your voice tremble. You both knew that it was entirely possible one or both of you would die in this war. Countless others had, and if love could overpower mortality…so many lost would still be living.
He shook his head. “If they know about you, what you mean to me—they'll—” another sob ripped from his chest, and it felt like it ripped out your heart with it, the sound so agonizing you wanted to cover your ears. “What they did to Hermione—I can't hear you scream like that, I can't—”
You were left speechless, crushed under the weight of what your friends, your Harry, must have experienced. Had one thing been different, he wouldn't here right now, in your arms where he belonged. You never would have kissed him, never would have held him, never would have known—
“Just tonight, then,” you whispered, watery and half-pleading. “Just one night, Harry, please.”
“I don't want just one night,” he snapped, though you know his sudden anger wasn't directed at you. “I don't want to wait. I don't want to fight. I don't want to be Harry fucking Potter. I just—” his breathing was labored, his jaw flexing under your palms. “I just want to be yours.”
“Harry—” your voice caught on the words, so used to swallowing them that speaking them felt as foreign as it did exhilarating. “Harry, I love you.” His eyes squeezed shut, his breath hitching. “In my heart, you're mine. You're my Harry.”
He opened his eyes, their green brighter than you'd ever seen it, stark against the red of his lids and black of his damp lashes. “I love you too. So fucking much,” he whispered, pressing his lips to your inner wrist, up your forearm until he reached your lips, molding them together in a timid, salt-licked kiss.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, drawing him closer, and he quickly reciprocated, deepening the kiss until it reached the same fervor as before. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest, racing alongside yours as he reached behind you and yanked your quilts and duvet onto the floor.
You were about to ask why when he kissed his way down your neck, leaning you back onto the pile of blankets. His body weight was warm and delicious pressed against you, filling a space long empty in your chest, and you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“So soft,” he murmured, nursing a spot under your ear that made you gasp, the sound twisting into a breathless moan. His hips canted forward in response, an involuntarily flex of muscles, and he whined. “Sorry, lovely. I'm so sorry—”
You silenced him by dragging his mouth back to yours and kissing him as fiercely as you could. Testing the waters, you rolled your hips against his, fiending for even a little friction, and it was his turn to gasp. You seized your opportunity and licked into his mouth, chasing his tongue with yours, and he completely melted into you.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his hands sliding under your shirt to paw at your bare skin. He kissed back down your neck, teasing the sensitive spot he found and making you squirm. You felt him hardening rapidly against your hip, losing his breath every time your hips bucked into his.
“Harry,” you pleaded, not entirely sure what you were asking for, only that you needed more of him. All of him.
He grunted when you shifted to roll your hips directly against the bulge of his cock, the thin fabric of your shorts doing little to mask the rough texture of his jeans. One of his hands slipped from your body to undo his pants, his weeping, flushed cock springing free and slapping against your lower belly.
“Baby, I need to—Merlin, I'm so sorry,” he panted against your neck as he pulled your shorts and panties to the side. He spread his fingers through your slit, exposing your drooling pussy to the cold air of the room. He plunged one finger in, then another, stretching you with quick, deliberate strokes that had you keening.
“Please fuck me, please, please, please,” you babbled, digging your nails into his back when he withdrew his fingers to fist his cock, dragging the head through your slick and coating himself in your honey.
“Baby, fuck, you're so wet. My good girl, yeah?” He peppered your throat and chest with kisses, like he was atoning for some great sin while he pushed that first few inches into your tight heat. You cried out, and he clamped a hand over your mouth, startling you both. “Sh, sh, have to be quiet f'me. I’ll be gentle, but I just need to—” His hips stuttered forward another inch when your gooey walls clamped around him. “Fuck, lovely, I'm sorry, you just feel so—”
You lifted your hips and he slid a bit deeper, sinking nearly half-way into the wet grip of your cunt, and he made a pained sound in his throat, your own mewl muffled by his rough palm. Your whole body was humming with pleasure, like he was ripping through the dark curtains of your soul and letting the light finally spill out.
“Fuck, I'm sorry.” He rested his forehead against yours, biting the back of his hand covering your mouth to keep from crying out as he pushed deeper, almost there. “I love you, and I'm trying to go easy but saints. You make it so hard to be good.”
You nodded desperately, locking your eyes onto his and trying to convey what you wanted. I know you love me, but fuck me like you hate me.
His eyes searched your face. “Tell me what you want, love,” he said, removing his hand from your mouth to grip your jaw.
“I don't want to hold back anymore,” you replied, voice breathy and high.
Something in him snapped. His hips thrust forward, his pelvis smacking against yours as he finally bottomed out. His cock kissed your cervix, the stretch bright and delicious.
“Fucking hell, you're so goddamn tight,” Harry growled against your neck, grinding his hips against yours. You'd be shocked to hear him speak so roughly, but you were on another planet, nails carving lines down his back as you clung to him.
His fingers dug into to meat of your thigh, lifting your legs up to wrap around his waist, helping him drive even deeper as he started pounding into you. Long, deep strokes that had your mind-melting, toes curling, and a too-loud cry slipped free.
“Baby,” he scolded, covering your mouth again and slowing down his thrusts.
“M’sorry,” you mumbled against his palm. “Please don't stop.”
“Have to be quiet, okay?” He removed his hand, pressing a soft kiss to you lips. “Lupin will kill me.”
“Lupin can bite me,” you giggled, pulling him back down for another kiss.
Harry smiled against your mouth, his teeth catching your lower lip and tugging gently. He snapped his hips forward, knocking the air out of your lungs as pleasure bolted through you. “He'll have to go through me first,” he purred.
Seeing this more assertive side of Harry was doing funny things to your brain and your heart, your pussy fluttering around his iron length.
Was this what it was like to be his?
You pushed at his shoulder, throwing your leg to roll him over, landing in a straddle over his waist. His eyes widened in surprise, but quickly rolled back when you circled your hips, his length hitting an entirely new angle inside of you.
He tugged his shirt off, then yours, pulling you flush down against him as he fucked up into you, too impatient to hold still.
He was hitting it just right, abusing that soft spot inside of you that made your eyes cross, and you could feel your release rapidly approaching.
Sweat collected between you as your furiously ground your hips together, fucking each other with everything you had. Completely lost in the feeling of one another, desperate to push the other over the edge. The lewd slap of your sopping pussy was driving you both crazy, heightening the risk of being caught substantially, but you were too far gone to care anymore.
“Need you to come for me, baby. Please. Need to feel you, before—fuck, that's it, I’m so close—” Harry managed to get a hand between you, his middle finger making quick circles over your clit. His hips snapped up a final time, and you both were done for.
Your orgasm exploded through you, whiting out your vision with searing pleasure, and you buried your face in his neck to keep from screaming his name.
He bit down on his fist, a grunt of pleasure escaping as he continued fucking you, his thrusts growing languid and sloppy as your cunt milked him dry.
“Harry, Harry, Harry,” you whined in his balmy skin, twitching and shaking in his arms as he finally sagged against the ground.
He removed his hand from his mouth, pinpricks of blood emerging from the wounds he'd sustained earlier reopening. “Saints, I love you so much. You're so beautiful,” he panted, kissing along your sweaty hairline. “Did so good for me, my lovely girl.”
“I love you too,” you sighed happily, nuzzling into the space under his jaw and brushing your lips against his light layer of stubble, letting your body relax into his.
He ran his fingers through your hair, holding you close as he caught his breath, the two of you basking in the afterglow.
“I meant what I said—anyone that wants to hurt you will have to go through me first,” he murmured after a few moments of quiet, his voice turning serious. “I'll do everything I can to protect you.”
You pushed yourself onto your elbow, meeting his eyes. They were shadowed with uncertainty, a bit glassy with collecting tears. His hand came up to hold your cheek, his thumb smoothing a long your kiss-stung lips.
“Whatever happens, this will be worth it,” you said, trying to inject as much conviction into your voice as you could, though seeing his tears brought your own back to the surface. “Even if this is the only night we get, it's worth the risk.”
He nodded, bringing your lips together in an airy, tearful kiss. “You're worth fighting a war for,” he whispered, catching your tears with his thumb. “And I'll get you to the other side of it if it's the last thing I do.”
You shook your head, burying it into his neck as a sob forced it's way up your throat. “I’d rather you take me with you.”
“Absolutely not,” he said, his grip tightening as he forced your head up again. “You have to promise me that no matter what happens, you'll live to help build what comes next.” You started to shake your head again, but he didn't let you. “Promise me.”
“I can't—”
“You can. And you will. This world is better with you in it, my love.” He rested his forehead against yours. “And I'll promise to do everything I can to stay with you.”
You drew in a shaky breath, your heart so full you could hardly breathe. “I promise, Harry.”
He flipped you beneath him, molding your lips together like it would set your promises in stone. “No more tears,” he murmured. “Tonight, we’re celebrating.”
Being a Harry girl who reads fanfic can be so frustrating at times. When I search up Harry Potter x reader. ITS CAUSE I WANT HARRY X READER FICS! NOT DRACO, OR FRED OR CEDRIC!
“Out of focus, eye to eye, ‘Til the gravity’s too much”
Part 1
Word count: 6.1k
Warnings: NSFW, fingering, dry humping, p in v sex, brief oral (m!receiving)
Tags: idiots in love, pining, I'm a sucker for confessions during sex, consent is sexy, responsible Jim ❤ beta reading? I don't know 'er!
Prompt/Summary: You started working at Dunder Mifflin around 6 months ago, and since then you developed a massive crush on one of your colleagues - Jim Halpert. Things happen.
A/N: Here it iiis, the NSFW Second part of this fic! I hope you'll like it ❤
The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and his hair was a bit messier than usual as he was leaning on his elbow, his hand in his hair. He was looking at a piece of paper on his desk, not realizing you entered the room. You slowly made your way towards the printer next to him, and he finally looked up at you.
“Hey, I didn’t realize you were still here.” He leaned back in his chair and put one of his hands on the table. You tried not to stare at his every move, but it was hard to resist, you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
“Oh yeah, I’m still working on the report due by tomorrow morning. Having a hard time focusing today” you replied and pressed the print button on the machine. It started buzzing and the smell of ink and warm paper filled the air. A moment of silence wrapped around the two of you before he spoke again.
“Look, I wanted to apologize about earlier, I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.”
“Oh no, I’m fine,” you said with a fake chuckle. “It wasn’t too bad.”
“I’m still sorry. It was a douchey move” he smiled and pointed at the papers now in your hand. “Can I make it up to you? Do you need help with your report?”
You contemplated his offer for a second, but you weren’t sure what to say. You didn’t want to seem like someone who couldn’t handle things on their own, but you really could’ve used the help to get out of there as soon as possible.
“If it’s not a problem to you, that would be great, yeah.”
“If it was, I wouldn’t have offered. Now tell me what to do!” He said with a grin spreading on his face and you caught your gaze lingering at his lips longer than it should've. You hoped he didn’t notice. You quickly averted your gaze before you grabbed the rest of the sheets from the printer and settled at his desk together with him.
You explained to him how you planned your spreadsheet and what data he’d need to input, and where to find them, and you agreed on a method of how to split the task. He was very attentive the whole time, and sometimes you thought you saw his gaze linger on you but chased that thought away.
“Thank you, I really appreciate it. I’ll be in the back if you need anything.”
“Sure thing, I’ll come by,” he answered and smiled at you. His damn smile made your heart melt every time. He made you feel such a teenager, and you were kind of mad at him because of that.
You sat down at your desk and continued your work. Another hour passed before you heard the door open, and you turned towards him. He held a few papers in his hand, waving them with pride.
“I’m done with these; I thought I’d bring them here and we could run through them if you’d like.” He stepped next to you and pulled a chair closer for himself. The same chair that Kelly sat on this morning, when she said Jim liked you. The memory made you flustered as you looked up at him.
“You sure? I don’t want to keep you longer than I need, I already feel bad because you stayed overtime for me.”
“Shhh,” he shushed you. “You’re not keeping me from anything. I like your company.” He laughed then put the papers on the desk. You both leaned over them and started to look through the rows one by one.
You were leaning on your elbow with your body turned towards him as he talked, and you listened. You watched as he moved his hand on the paper, explaining things why he did what and asking you questions. You imagined his hands roaming on your body instead of the numbers on the paper. His lips singing you praises between ragged breaths instead of explaining sales metrics. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander, up his arms, to where his neck peeked out from under his shirt, his lips. You scolded yourself every time you caught yourself.
“Are you all right?” His voice brought you back to reality. His gaze on you only fanned the flames inside, which already felt like wildfire. You felt your insides twist with need.
“Yes, I’m just a bit tired. That’s all,” you replied and straightened your back. Now you were sitting so close that your shoulders were touching — bad idea.
“I think we can wrap this up, finish the rest in the morning. I hope this won’t scare you away from this job.” He shuffled around on his chair, so his shoulder didn’t touch yours anymore as he leaned on one of his elbows, turning his body towards you. You were both grateful and sad for the absence of the warmth of his touch.
“No, of course not. I kind of like it here. Some people are nice.”
“Yes,” he smiled, “some people are really nice.” He started to fiddle with a pen on your desk.
There was a moment of heavy silence between the two of you, which was enough for you to get overwhelmed with how close he was. His touch and sweet scent made you drunk. You never wanted this moment to end but at the same time, you couldn’t wait to get out of there. You heard him call your name which snapped you out of your thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was darting between your eyes and lips, and you could swear he was a little flustered.
You felt like your brain was malfunctioning, a short circuit in your nerves. Was this really happening? You felt your heart drop into your stomach, and all you could muster up as an answer was a shaky nod as you reached for him.
He didn’t hesitate, he put his hands on both sides of your face as he pulled you closer into a kiss. You felt your heart explode into thousands of little butterflies that stole your breath away. His lips were soft against your own as he took his time exploring you, kissing the corner of your mouth before nibbling on your lower lip. You whimpered and opened your mouth, which gave him the perfect opportunity to press his tongue against yours, starting to dance in perfect harmony.
He filled all your senses – the taste of his favourite tea on your tongue, the scent of his aftershave, the feeling of his touches on your skin. You felt lightheaded, like you were not on this planet anymore as he moved one of his hands from your cheek to the small of your back and pulled you into his lap. His other hand has moved from your cheek to your neck and into your hair as he pulled you closer into the kiss.
You straddled him in the wobbly office chair and ran your hand through his hair which made him smile into the kiss. The little gesture made your heart swell, and you bit his lower lip playfully.
His touches moved slowly towards your hips, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His long fingers pushed under the hem of your shirt and started to draw hot circles against your skin. You wanted him so much that you absent-mindedly moaned into the kiss, which caused him to stop for a second. Your eyes shot open. Shit, was that too much?
“Is this okay?” he whispered against your lips, leaning his forehead against yours. His breathing was heavy as he scanned your face for answers with such a loving look in his eyes, it turned your insides into Jello. You nodded as you moved your hand to rest against his neck and drew circles on his skin with your thumb. He let out a breathy chuckle before he spoke again. “I need you to say it.”
Your mind raced a mile a second. Should you really do this? You wanted to - more than anything, but shouldn’t you at least try to keep your dignity? Try to act like you didn’t dream about him for months? That he didn’t make your heart race every time he looked at you?
And then you decided not to care.
“Yes, it’s okay, I-,“ you started, trying to form the words. “I want this.” He pulled you closer by your waist before you continued with newfound confidence. “I want you, Jim” you whispered into his ear.
“Fuck-“ he breathed, and pulled you into another kiss. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” You nodded in response, but he shook his head lightly and smiled. “I need you to say it.”
“I’ll tell you if I want you to stop. I promise,” you breathed on his lips.
“Good girl.” You moaned into his mouth, and you felt his bulge grow against you. You tried to rock your hips against him for the slightest of friction. He dropped his head back from the sensation, giving you the perfect opportunity to place a wet kiss on his throat, licking against his hammering pulse and slightly biting him.
He dug his fingers into your ass as he kissed you once again. Your skirt was ridden up all the way to your thighs, and he made sure to lift them even higher until your underwear was revealed, together with a very prominent wet patch on it. You started to unbutton his shirt with quivering fingers while he drew lazy patterns into your thighs, only inches away from your aching core.
You leaned down to kiss the crook of his neck as you pushed his shirt down from his shoulders, the fabric slipping from his back and getting caught on the chair before falling to the ground. Your insides twisted with anticipation as you looked at his body, trying to commit every inch into your memory. He sat up straighter and wrapped his arms around you, tangling one hand into your hair as he used the other to push your blouse above your head and toss it to the floor, leaving you in your bra.
The sudden cold air sent shivers down your spine and your hardened nipples pushed against the thin fabric of your underwear. He bit his lip as he looked down on you, his gaze dark with lust. Suddenly you felt flustered but had no time to overthink before he spoke.
“You are so beautiful” he whispered as he leaned down to press a kiss on your breast, just above the hemline of the bra before he unclasped it and guided it down your arms. He brushed his thumb over your nipple while he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.
“Do you want me to stop?” He asked and enveloped your breast in his hand.
“Never” you whimpered which earned you a crooked grin and another kiss. He removed his hand from your chest and replaced it with his lips, kissing and sucking on your sensitive skin.
With every passing second the outside world shrank around you, your senses all focused on his touch - or the lack of - more like. The feeling of emptiness, of wanting to be whole started to eat away at you as the words tumbled out of your mouth.
“Jim, please…” you squeezed your eyes shut and slightly tugged on his hair, releasing a shaky breath. He moved his free hand from your hair to your chin, making you look into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide and stray strands of hair stuck to his forehead.
“You want this?” he teased, hovering his finger above your throbbing core, barely not touching. You nodded lightly with his hand still holding your chin in place before the words started pouring out of you.
“Yes, Jim – you breathed - I want you. Please, touch me. Fuck me,” you begged, and you saw a glint of amusement in his eyes before he pulled you into a kiss and pressed his thumb against your clothed clit before he pulled your panties aside with his other fingers. Your hips began to move on their own, grinding against his finger, craving more and more.
He brought a finger to your entrance and slowly slid it inside without any resistance. He bit his lip as he examined the spot where his finger disappeared in you.
“You’re amazing,” he whispered and bit the soft skin under your clavicle. He dictated a steady rhythm with his long fingers, and you were more than happy to follow. You gripped his shoulder for deal life as he slid another finger in you, curling them slightly so he reached your sweet spot. You cried out and looked at him through half-lidded eyes.
He was beautiful. His hair was damp from sweat and messy from your hand running through it, his lean muscles were showing as he held you in place and fucked you with his fingers, and the increasingly hardening bulge in his pants told you that you were in for an even better treat if you were lucky enough. You rolled your hips harder against his fingers as you felt your insides tighten with every movement of his. He was so beautiful. So hot. And he was yours.
“Jim,” you moaned his name and that seemed to ignite something in him because he pressed his hand on the back of your neck and pulled you into a passionate kiss, tongue and teeth clashing while he moved his thumb back to your clit, drawing tight circles on it.
Pleasure took over your body as you felt your muscles tighten, the world around you completely gone and in the center of your universe was him and his fingers in you. You rolled your hips as he slid in and out of you, never letting go of you.
You were a moaning mess and felt your stomach tighten, nerves lighting up in your body one by one and pleasure trickling down your spine.
“I’m here, love. Let me take care of you, come for me,” he whispered in your ear, his lips grazing your earlobe and with one, two roll of your hips you were crying out, your walls tightening around his fingers as your vision turned white.
He held you against him as his fingers slowed inside you, guiding you through your orgasm before stopping completely. He prepped your forehead with soft kisses before he removed his fingers from you. In your post-orgasm haze, you barely caught how he raised his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean with a moan.
The motion caught you off guard and you felt yourself tighten around nothing – a painful reminder. You slowly sat up and started to unbutton his pants, impatient to feel him in you. He silently watched as you pulled his pants and underwear down just enough so his hard member could spring free. You bit your lips as you took in the view.
You slowly slid your hand down on it, testing the feeling of its weight in your hand. It was already leaking with precum, and you were sure you were so wet you could easily just sink down onto him without any resistance. Nevertheless, you moved and slid down to your knees in front of him. For a split second he wanted to resist but you were already kneeling in front of him just in your skirt as you kissed the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth as far as you could, which still left plenty for your hands to take care of. The rough office carpet was harsh against your bare knees, but you didn’t care. You slid your tongue against him and bobbed your head. He threw his head back with a moan, his hand finding its way to your hair.
He didn’t let you enjoy yourself too much, because he gently pulled you away and up to your feet as he also stood up, guiding you towards your desk. You made space for yourself as you sat down on it, spreading your legs so he could stand between them. You reached for him again and started to slowly stroke him while he was digging through his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, then a condom. You couldn't help but chuckle, although you were grateful for such turn of events.
“Didn’t think you were such a player.” He scoffed and grinned at you.
“I knew you couldn't keep your hands off me for too long,” he said with a cocky smile which made you laugh and kissed you while he put the condom on. He lined himself up against your entrance and slowly pushed in.
The stretch was out of this world, and you savoured every inch as he pressed into you deeper and deeper until he bottomed out. He stilled for a few seconds, his forehead against yours.
“Don’t forget your promise,” he said, and you nodded. He slowly pulled out of you before bottoming out again, causing the office desk to shake lightly, the pens rattling against each other in the Dunder Mifflin mug.
“I’ll never be able to focus at work anymore. I hope you’re happy,” you said jokingly, his thrusts stealing the air from your lungs between every word. He chuckled before he kissed you.
His hands held your thighs firmly so he could pull you against him with every move, as he pulled out and slammed back in with a steady rhythm. You held onto him, one hand on his biceps and one tangled in his hair. His pace increased as filthy sounds filled the room mixed with your joint panting and moaning, his name on your lips like a sacred prayer, like a promise to something larger than life.
His moves became a bit less calculated, a bit sloppy, when he moved his thumb against your clit once more. You knew he was getting closer, and you also felt the familiar tension build in you, but you never wanted it to end. You didn’t want to think about what came after. The awkwardness. The guilt.
You pressed your lips against him, tongues clashing in a sloppy, messy dance as his dick pressed against your sweet spot with every thrust, his thumb caressing your clit with perfect pressure. He grabbed your hair and tilted your head back as he rutted into you, kissing your neck and mumbling sweet nothings against your skin.
“You’re so fucking good,” he said, panting. The curse felt alien on his tongue which boiled your blood even more. “I love you so much, my good girl,” he whispered against your skin, and you weren’t even sure you heard that right, but your heart skipped a beat, your brain numb as flames washed over your body, sparks lighting up your nerves as you came, all thoughts leaving your mind and being replaced with bliss. He came not long after you and wrapped you against his chest while you both caught your breath. He caressed your hair and planted soft kisses on the top of your head before pulling out.
“I’ll be back in a second,” he said, giving a squeeze to your hand as he disappeared. You didn’t really comprehend what was happening, where he went, or how long he was away, but when he came back, he brought a damp paper towel and helped to clean you up.
“That’s better.” He pressed a kiss on your lips and his eyes searched your face. “Are you okay?” When you didn’t reply, his expression turned worried, and he swiped his hand across his face.
“Shit,” he said. “I’m sorry. You think you made a mistake, right?” He ran his hand through his hair as he looked at you. You snapped out of your thoughts.
“What? No!” You objected. “No, Jim. It was amazing, hell… Even more than that. I’m sorry, it’s just,” you hesitated and looked him in the eye. “You said you loved me.” The realization settled on his face as he looked at you.
“I’m sorry,” he replied, and you scoffed, raising your eyebrow at him.
“I love you too,” you said, and a shy smile spread across your face as you reached for his hand. A sigh of relief escaped his lungs as he enveloped you in his arms, kissing you once again.
