bry

she/her/they/them | twenty-three

[freezerbridediaries]

my navigation !

a love only the branch of a willow tree could conjure…

⌖ ⋆⭒˚🦌 ♱⃓.⋆ 𖦹

♡currently dreaming of steve harrington, garrett graham, john logan, & remus lupin♡

⌖ ⋆⭒˚🦌 ♱⃓.⋆ 𖦹

stage - masterlist

recording studio - guidelines & other info

meet & greet - about me

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requests: open

side blog: @brystiniercorner

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blank, non 18+ blogs, & minors dni.

rebologs, shares, & likes are deeply appreciated <3

© freezerbridediaries all works are my own

[freezerbridediaries]

⁺‧₊˚ ꒰ა⋆♱⋆໒꒱ ˚₊‧⁺

new theme, new user, new chapter — same ole’ me

⁺‧₊˚ ꒰ა⋆♱⋆໒꒱ ˚₊‧⁺

[freezerbridediaries]

Off Campus…you’ve ignited my desire to come back to my roots🏒🥅⛸️

[freezerbridediaries]

new theme🎸🤘🏼⭐️

[sleepingbeautiiies]

i am going to miss steve harrington & dustin henderson for the rest of my life

[freezerbridediaries]

Preach to the mf choir me too😭

[freezerbridediaries]

new theme🤍 also happy new years everyone ! i hope this new year brings you all happiness and peace even in the smallest things💫

[djo]

My partner in crime ditched me. But, well, as far as excuses go, he had a pretty good one.

STEVE HARRINGTON 5.08: The Rightside Up

[freezerbridediaries]

He’s so dad I can’t🤍

[freezerbridediaries]

And just like that, 10 years is gone

[freezerbridediaries]

Running Back to You – S.H.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Masterlist

🏷️ – 1.9k~

a/n: Because I’m in a wedding type of mood, plus I missed Steve! Seriously this isn’t that good, but I tried!

Steve has been planning this for weeks–no, months. It’s felt like he’s been planning for months, to him at least.

Actual planning, this time–like, official planning. Lists in his head. Timelines. Backup plans for the backup plans. He even asked Nancy—Nancy, who definitely noticed how weird he was being but, to her credit, didn’t push too hard. Robin, on the other hand, figured it out in approximately twelve seconds and immediately became unbearable. But Steve stuck with it, because this actually mattered.

Enzo’s was the centerpiece of the plan. It had to be. Nice but not pretentious. Romantic without being weird about it. Steve had rehearsed the phone call three times before actually dialing, pacing his bedroom with his free hand pressed to his chest like he was about to ask someone’s dad for permission to marry them in 1952. “Hi, yeah, um—Steve Harrington. Reservation for two? Friday night? Uh—yeah, like… seven?” He nearly dropped the phone when the host said yes. He’d hung up, stared at the wall for a full minute, then whispered, “Holy shit,” to no one.

If calling for a simple reservation hadn’t been hard, the ring had been even harder. Not because he didn’t know what he wanted—he knew instantly what wasn’t right. Nothing flashy. Nothing that screamed King Steve, former asshole. He wanted something that felt like you. Something steady. Something that said I’m here to stay without needing to shout. He carried it around for days before tonight, checking his jacket pocket every ten minutes like it might vanish if he didn’t keep an eye on it. He barely slept the night before. Every time he closed his eyes, his brain flooded him with worst-case scenarios.

What if he tripped?

What if his posture wasn’t right?

What if he couldn’t open the small velvet box right?

What if he said something stupid?

What if you laughed—not mean, just surprised?

What if he wasn’t enough?

Though, of course, you don’t know any of this. All you know is that Steve asked you, somewhat abruptly, if you wanted to go out to dinner tonight. No occasion. No warning. Just a casual, “Hey, wanna get dressed up and go out?” while you were halfway through folding laundry. It threw you off. You’d agreed, of course—you always like going out with him—but the suddenness lingered in your mind as you got ready. You stand in front of the mirror longer than usual, tugging at the fabric of a dress you rarely wear, turning slightly to see if it looks right. Why am I nervous? you think. It’s not a date-night anniversary. Not a birthday. Just a Friday. The urge to dress nicer than usual feels oddly intense, like you don’t want to disappoint him, even though he didn’t say anything about expectations.

Steve doesn’t like thinking about being afraid. Sure, he’s faced monsters with teeth and claws and glowing red eyes. He knows how to swing a bat. Fear like this—quiet, personal, tied directly to his heart—feels worse somehow. Tonight is supposed to be perfect. Except it’s already not. You’re late. Not late late, but late enough that Steve keeps checking his watch, then the door, then his watch again. He told himself he wouldn’t rush you. He doesn’t want this to feel pressured. But the reservation is sitting there in his head, ticking down, and his palms wouldn’t stop sweating.

You feel a flicker of guilt as you realize how long you’ve been in here in front of the bedroom mirror, readjusting the strap of your dress for the millionth time tonight. You look at yourself again and sigh. Why am I like this tonight? It feels silly, this sudden pressure you put on yourself, like you’re trying to live up to a moment you can’t quite name. Dragging on a breath, you already felt guilty for taking long and just trying to choose a simple dress. When you finally step out, you offer a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I don’t know why I suddenly felt the need to get all fancy. It was kind of random.” Steve looks up from the couch a little too fast—and for half a second, everything in his brain short-circuits, he forces a smile so fast it almost hurts. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says, way too quickly. “We’re fine. No rush.” That’s a lie. There is a rush. There is always a rush inside Steve’s head when he cares this much. You’re not angry. Not even close. Steve’s rushed tone doesn’t bother you; it’s familiar. He’s always been a little blunt when he’s nervous, a little too straightforward without meaning to be. You just feel bad for taking so long.

The drive starts tense and more amplified, not because of you—never because of you—but because Steve can’t stop thinking. Traffic is worse than he expected. A red light lasts too long. Another car cuts him off and he grips the wheel harder than necessary, jaw tight. You glance over. “Steve?” “Yeah,” he says immediately. “Sorry. Just—Friday drivers.” You’re quiet for a second, then you reach over and rest your hand on his arm. That almost breaks him. Because this—this small, casual touch—is exactly why he’s doing this. Because you ground him without trying. Because you make the noise in his head quiet down just by being there. He exhales slowly. Another glance at his watch. They’re going to be late. Not fashionably late. Reservation-canceled late.

Steve swallows. He could still push it. Still rush you inside, still force the plan to happen exactly how he imagined it. But the idea suddenly feels wrong. Rigid. Like he’s trying to control something that shouldn’t be controlled. You deserve better than him being stressed and distracted all night. “Hey,” he says, tentative. “We could…just not do Enzo’s.” You blink. “What?” “I mean—we can reschedule,” he rushes on. “Or go another night. Or—we could just go home? Order takeout? You said you were tired earlier.” You study him, something soft and knowing in your eyes. “Steve,” you say gently, “are you okay?” There it is again. That question. You always ask it when he’s spiraling. He nods, then shakes his head, then laughs quietly. “Yeah. I just… think I’d rather be with you than worry about a reservation.” You smile. “Home sounds perfect.” Relief hits him so hard he almost feels dizzy.

At home, everything is quieter. Familiar. You kick off your shoes. He hangs up his jacket—carefully, because the ring is still in the pocket, heavy as a secret. You change into something comfortable. He orders food he barely remembers choosing. And then there’s nothing to hide behind. No waiter. No public distraction. No carefully timed moment. Just the two of you, sitting together, the air warm and safe.

Steve’s nerves don’t go away even in the comfort of being back home. If anything, they sharpen. His heart pounds louder with every passing minute. He keeps thinking, Do it now. No, wait. Not yet. Don’t rush. Don’t mess it up. He watches you laugh at something on TV, watches the way you tuck your legs beneath you, the way you exist so naturally in his space. His chest aches with it. You’re sitting on the couch pretending not to notice, though you notice everything–particularly when it came to Steve. The way he keeps glancing at you like he’s checking to make sure you’re still real. The way his knee bounces when he finally sits down beside you, close enough that your shoulders brush. “You’re gonna overwhelm your eyes and brain,” you teased gently. “Everything okay?” Steve lets out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Totally. Great. Fantastic.” He swallows, then adds, quieter, “Actually, uh… maybe not fantastic. But not bad. Just—important.” That gets your full attention. You turn toward him, knees tucking under you. “Steve.” He looks at you then. Really looks. His expression softens, that familiar mix of fondness and awe like he still can’t believe you chose him. It’s the same look he gets when he watches the kids laugh, or when he thinks no one’s looking and reaches for your hand in the car. “Okay,” he says, nodding to himself. “Okay. I had this whole plan, and it was way smoother in my head. Starting with Enzo’s but that’s besides the point.” He stands again, then seems to think better of it and drops to one knee instead. Your breath catches.

This is it, he realizes. This is the moment. Not the fancy dinner. Not the perfect timing. This. And suddenly, he’s more scared than he’s ever been—and more sure. Because if you say yes here, in this quiet, ordinary moment, it means you’re choosing him the same way he’s choosing you. And Steve Harrington has never wanted anything more. He was never good at speeches, especially the heartfelt emotional ones. He’s good in a fight, good at stepping in front of danger without thinking, good at handing out advice he pretends he doesn’t care about. But words—the kind that actually mattered, the kind that stays—have always made his palms sweat.

Steve winces. “See? That’s—yeah. That reaction right there. This is why I’m freaking out.” He reaches into his jacket pocket, fingers trembling just a little. “I know I’m not… you know. A genius. Or a poet. I say dumb stuff when I’m nervous, and I still don’t really know what I’m doing half the time.” He pulls out a small velvet box but doesn’t open it yet. “But somehow,” he continues, voice steadier now, “every time things go bad—like, really bad—you’re there. And you don’t look at me like I’m the guy who peaked in high school, or the screw-up, or the babysitter with the bad track record.” Your eyes burn. “You look at me like I’m enough,” Steve says. “Like I can be better. And I want to be. For you.” He huffs out a laugh. “I used to think I wanted all this big stuff. Fancy house, six kids, a perfect life where nothing ever goes wrong. Then I realized, I didn’t want that–reminds me too much of my parents. I don’t want that. Not for me. Not for you.” He shakes his head. “Turns out, I just want to come home to you. I want movie nights where we argue about what to watch. I want you stealing my clothes and pretending they don’t smell like my shampoo. I want to bicker about whose turn it is to check the mail and take out the trash.” You laugh softly through the tears. “I want to grow old knowing that no matter how weird things get, we’re a team,” he says. “You’re my best friend. And the person I trust most in the world. Which is saying something, considering the world we live in.” He finally opens the box. The ring inside is simple and beautiful—chosen carefully, you can tell. Steve’s voice drops, raw and honest. “I love you. Not in a big, dramatic way. In the everyday way. In the ‘I’ll fight monsters and also do the dishes’ way.” He clears his throat. “So. Uh. Yeah. I want this with you. I want to fight with you, I want to fight for you. Because you’re worth more than everything else good that has happened in my life.” A crooked smile appears, nervous and hopeful paired with his puppy-dog doe dark-brown eyes. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him—the boy who became a hero without meaning to, the man who loves you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Yes,” you whisper, then louder, laughing, “Yes, Steve.” Relief crashes over his face so hard he almost laughs and cries at the same time. “Yeah? Yeah?” He slips the ring onto your finger with shaking hands, then stands and pulls you into his arms like he’s afraid you might disappear. You cling to him, heart pounding. “Okay,” he murmurs into your hair, voice thick. “Cool. Cool. So we’re doing this. Awesome. I’m gonna be the best fiancé. I swear.” You pull back just enough to kiss him, and Steve smiles into it—warm, real, yours.

[freezerbridediaries]

new theme (finally) !!

[kassy-djomunson]

it's actually unfair that he looks like this

[freezerbridediaries]

This right here. This is my everything forever and always until the end of time.

[nepentheansea]

Pacify Her

© nepentheansea all works are my own and contain mature content!

𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ・𝑯𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑷𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑼𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆

premise: The devil was real, and you were prepared to do anything for him.

pairing: Professor Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

warnings: dark elements, toxic obsessions, possession (but not the scary supernatural kind) smut (p in v-fingering-etc) tom riddle (his own warning) there is probably a lot more...

wc: 4.2k

a/n: this is beautiful and I don't care if you don't agree. shoutout to @demiguisemoon for keeping me company throughout this ride.

enjoy the playlist that I made for this story!

He never truly knew what you were capable of, or more so what his influence would do to you, and that was the problem. He had completely underestimated you, and that would be not only your downfall, but his as well. Pretty and pliant, that's what you were to him, the perfect match, not only intellectually, but emotionally as well. You suited him. From the moment you stumbled into his compartment on the train, down to the moment that you sat down in front of him, not a word muttered, but yet a conversation was had. You understood him, and quite frankly, he understood you, or so he believed.

No one understood him the way you did, the way that you clung to his every word like gospel. Feeding into his absurdities, but never once looking at him as if he was wrong. You supported him. Truth was you were obsessed. Incomplete and broken without him, much like a wounded bird, someone he could fix, take care of, mould into something he wanted, and you lived for it. Lived for the moments that he taught you, helped you, controlled you. The moments where he needed you and only you. At his beck and call in the late hours of the night, or for the favours that could ultimately get you expelled, for anything he wanted, and you’d do it, obediently. You were his. You belonged to him from the first moment, and though neither of you knew it, he belonged to you. 

“Is this seat taken?” You asked, slipping into the compartment faster than he could respond, but he didn’t. He pulled his nose from the daily prophet to study you. He had never seen you before, which was odd considering you were in his house, the green and silver snake adoring your breast, a Slytherin, and a pretty one at that, an old soul and kindred spirit…of sorts. There was something in the way you looked at him, that dutiful look in your piercing eyes, a look as if you could see into the deepest darkest depths of his soul, something he was certain he had well hidden, and yet what you saw didn’t alarm you. Somehow it didn’t scare him, it intrigued him, you intrigued him. He watched as you slid the door closed behind your back, before sliding into the seat across from him, hands trapped behind your back, and your head cocked to the side as you studied him. The slightest of smiles on your face. He should have known then, known what you would become to him, but he could never have suspected you to be as such.

Frail and malleable, obsessed and devoted, and you were his. His star, his pet, his property. You grew to need him, unable to do without the moments you shared with him. You found yourself lingering in the back of his classes, hoping that he would catch a fleeting glimpse of you, needing you for something, anything, to utilise you, need you. For the moments that he’d call for you in the late hours of the night, for the small favours that could leave you expelled or worse, with the promise that nothing bad was going to happen to you, he wouldn’t let it. The hours that you spent with him, soon turned to days, weeks, stealing away any moment that you could, eager to please, to be close. Somewhere in the dim candle light of his office, stolen glances, gentle touches, words exchanged. Finding yourself desperate for the after hours of study in the library, the ones where you could find him making his way from the restricted section, his pretty nose stuck within the pages of his books. Knowing you were there, dutifully watching him, waiting for the right opportunity to seek him out or for him to call for you. 

Your life had become dull. Classes lacked challenge, you found little to no enjoyment in day to day activities, your friends became distant memories, dramatic, but even your mundane routines lost flavour. All you had was him, and the little periods of time you spent by his side. At his beck and call, seduced by the ways he consumed you. Your mind, your body, and most definitely your tainted soul. He knew it too, knew that he could use you for anything his heart desired, that you would do nothing but obey him, follow blindly if he requested it of you, no questions to be asked. A perfect pawn, follower. The more eager you became, with the incessant need to do more, be more for him, he took to it. Giving you more and more to do. It had soon become a list of tasks, simple favours as he would call it. Hide this, seek out this, do this…And you did, you did all of it. 

Your blood rushed as you closed the office door behind you, back pressed against the firm wood, hands clasped behind you, as your eyes scanned the dimly lit room until you found him. In the centre of the room, sat plainly in his chair, eyes roaming your eager figure. He looked as though he sat on a throne, one of his own creation, his arms extended out on the sides of the chair, comfortable and yet cold, observant. “Did you get it?” was all he said, leaning forward over his desk, the faintest traces of a smile on his face when the stifled giggle of yours fleas from your lips. You held it up, in the palms of your small hands presenting it to him, the book he had sent you to find. Restricted, forbidden even, and you had managed it, with his help of course. “Of course.” you whispered. He beckend you over with the bend of two slender fingers, and you moved on your own volition, approaching him with such eagerness. He took the book from your palms, his fingers ghosting over your soft skin, and you wonder if it was on purpose. “Good girl.” There it was, the praise you strove for, the praise that came from him and him only. The slightest flick of his wand had the door clicking locked, as his eyes came to study you once more. There was a fascination in his gaze, the way his eyes softened to you, desperately trying to hide the hunger that he felt towards you. You had something that he had never quite found in anyone else, something that made him crave you more than he had for anyone else…and there it was, the thought that you were his and only his. 

His eyes left you, meeting the pages of the book you had stolen for him, consuming every word on the stale worn parchment. While he was entranced, devouring the text, you were devouring the sight of him, leaning over the desk, eyes droning over the pages. He was stunning this way. The crease in his brow, eager to learn, and you were right there with him, desperate to know just what held him so captivated, leaning over his desk in hopes of catching the slightest bit of the contraband he had tasked you with stealing, no concern for what could have happened to you if you had been caught. But you knew that somehow, if that had been the case, he would have protected you, always, he would be there. His eyes darted up from the page, a lustful hunger to them, but for you or for the knowledge he had been enthralled with, you weren’t sure. “Look.” he instructs, slumping back in his chair, gesturing to the page, the hints of a smile on his lips. Clasping your hands behind your back, you leaned over the mahogany desk, feeling the hem of your uniform riding up in the back, exposing yourself to him as you did your best to read what was before you, eyes focussing on the text of ancient runes. It wasn’t of much use, you simply couldn’t read it. “I can’t read it, sir.” you mutter, chancing a look back at him. His eyes were shamelessly crawling up the length of your bare legs, and to the swell of your ass. He had looked at you like this before, that strained look in his eyes, like he was in deep thought but those thoughts were ones that he would never quite say aloud, the smallest of smirks on his lips, as he dragged his tongue along them. “I see..” he remarks, slowly pulling his gaze away from your ass, to meet your much more innocent gaze. It was one of his favourite things to do. To teach you, to watch you learn from him. It gave him the sweetest sense of power and meaning. “And what would you have me do about that, darling?” He leaned forward, his eyes cold and narrowed, but that flick of amusement dancing across them.

“Read it to me?” It was a simple request, your voice strong and confident. You wanted to know, wanted him to show you, and he seemed to like the idea. Tom hummed, a sweet sound of satisfaction, as his slender fingers wrapped around your dainty wrist, pulling you down onto his lap, a gesture he had never quite done before. He was confident in his motions, calculated and collected. He knew what he wanted, and that was you. His hands remained on your hips, fingers drumming on your thighs. “Read it to you, hmm?” He hums, delicately brushing a strand of your hair away from your neck, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your throat. Goosebumps lining your skin, while his other hand trailed slowly up your bare thigh. Gentle touches that were purposeful, and well measured. Even in this, he was in control. In control of himself, and of the situation. “How will you ever learn if I just read it to you?” “Teach me then..” you blurt, your voice had never been so soft, so demanding and yet desperate. “Sir..” you add, looking back at him. His thumb had started to draw soft slow patterns on your inner thigh, dangerously close to your cunt. “Teach you….” You could see that he was mulling it over…”teach you…” he cooed in approval, a sinister grin consuming his face. “Very well, darling, teach you, I shall.” He gave a hearty squeeze to your thigh, your breath hitching and your body tensing for a brief moment in his lap, shifting your attention back to his face. Pretending as if he couldn’t see the way your eyes studied him, the way they seemed to have heart shaped iris that were only for him.  

His own gaze was casted past you, eyes scoured the pages before him, looking for something suitable to turn into a lesson. His hands still wandering aimlessly on your skin. “Here…let's start simple…” He leaned back enough, turning to look at you, his breath fanning across your lips from being so close. His eyes trailing up your features until his eyes met yours. “This rune here…” he starts, grasping your jaw with his index and thumb, turning your face, back to the book. “This rune…’othilia’ corresponds to the Latin letter…?” “o.” you state, looking to him for approval, his approval. A soft smile was all he gave you. “And what do you think it means…” His hand, resting under your skirt, had found its way to the crease of your hips and thighs, squeezing at the supple flesh, while his thumb thrummed against your clothed cunt. You found it hard to concentrate, to really look at the shapes on the page, but you had to. “Um…power, wealth?” you tried, letting out a breathy sigh, when his thumb found its way into the damp fabric of your panties, rolling soft circles into your swollen clit. You felt his lips against your ear, your head lulled back against his shoulder. “It means, heritage, possession..” he punctuated the last word with a flick of his thumb, a gesture that had a sweet moan falling from you. With precision he gently rolled his finger over your bud, nipping at your ear with each sweet sound you let out. “Focus….” he coos, drawing your half lidded eyes back to the book. “This one, ‘mannaz’,  tell me its correspondent…” Your mind was muddled. He had pulled the wet fabric away from your cunt, traipsing his slender fingers through your folds, collecting your sweet arousal, teasing your entrance as he waited for your response. “Go on…what is it.?” You hummed softly, searching your mind for what it could possibly be. “Um..it’s ‘m’ the latin ‘m’..” you whimpered, feeling the intrusion of a single digit slipping into your sopping heat. He was rewarding you, with each correct response you gave him. “And what does it mean?” 

You weren’t sure how much of this he really thought you could handle, not with the way that his finger was slowly thrusting in and out of you, his thumb languidly massaging your tender clit. He was watching you, his own gaze lidded, dark. Hungry. He was enjoying this, enjoying the way that he had you, pulling answers from you with simple touches. “Don't make me stop, what does it mean?” he teases, and yet somewhere in the pit of your stomach, you knew that he would. That he would leave you high and dry at a moment's notice. Your eyes had fallen closed, summoning all of your strength to answer him, as he slipped another finger into you, curling them against your sweet spot, just to feel your breath hitch and your body shutter in his grasp. You could feel the way that his cock had hardened beneath you, kept from you by the confines of his trousers, and it did little to help you focus any, it was cruel. “It means…ma-man?” you gasped out, his pace increasing. His lips met the side of your neck, tenderly kissing every bit of exposed skin that he was presented with, careful not to leave a single mark on that delicate skin of yours. “Very good..” he coos, his hot breath felt on your neck and ear. His fingers toyed relentlessly with your aching cunt, his thumb circling your clit gently, and his lips littering chaste kisses to your exposed skin. He had quickly given up on the lesson at hand, now far too consumed in the way that you were writhing happily in his grasp, soft sweet sounds escaping past your lips. Your back arched into him, your head resting on his shoulder as you lost all coherency. Lewd sounds left you like a sinful prayer, trickling past your lips with no real power to stop them. 

You whined, feeling the emptiness in your cunt as he pulled his fingers from you, only to have them brought up to your chapped lips, as he slid not one but both fingers into your mouth, pressing down on the pad of your tongue. A silent order, to taste yourself, to clean up the mess that you had made, and you did without hesitation, closing your lips around them, letting your tongue lap up any and all of the arousal that coated his fingers. He cooed, sweet and simple praises, between delicate chaste kisses to your neck. His free hand wanders the expanse of your neck, down to the top of your blouse, deftly popping the buttons one by one. His touch was featherlight, a mere ghost over your skin, and such a thing allowed for goosebumps to litter your skin. His thumb circles your nipple through your thin bra, smiling against your neck as it perks at his touch. He loved the possession he had over your body, the way you would let him do whatever to it as if it was his own, and you would argue that it was. That it belonged to him, that you belonged to him. 

You weren’t sure when it changed, the suddenness of it all, but you found yourself being gently laid down against the hard polished wood of his desk, your back draping over the materials he had been studying, and your skirt pushed up your waist. His body hovered over yours, his hands gliding up under the blouse that he had worked open, greedily exploring the exposed skin, his head ducked and lips ghosting over the spot his hands had touched mere seconds ago. Your eyes had fallen shut somewhere along the way, relying on your other senses completely. Gentle kisses, soft bites, and languid movements of his tongue as he dragged it up your sternum and neck, taking in the sweet smell and taste of your delicate skin. You arched into his touches, soft sweet sounds escaping you at every one. Each of your senses flooded with nothing but him. His lips were pending over yours, a silent acknowledgement, that everything would be on his terms, and you were okay with it. 

He didn’t bother to kiss you, and you didn’t request it of him either. 

Tom made quick work of removing his trousers, before his hands slid up your thighs, fingers ghosting over your cunt, teasing you just enough to keep you present in the moment. He hooked his fingers over your panties and pulled them aside, the cool air hitting your bare cunt, a soft hiss escaping your lips.  With his free hand, Tom wrapped his slender fingers around your chin, using his index and thumb to pull your face up to his. His eyes were cold, animalistic desire dwelling past the dark shade of brown. He tilted your head down so that you could watch the way his swelling cock slid into your tight cunt, forcing you to understand that he owned you, now in body as well.

Your mouth hung open in a silent gasp, the unrelenting feeling of him stretching you out was nothing shy of pain, but a sweet sweet pleasure. He watched your face, mocking the way you fell silent, with a sly smirk to his perfect lips. He forced you to watch every sinful inch of him disappear deep into your greedy cunt, time and time again. He wanted you to understand, to grasp the claim he had on you. You were being rewarded for your diligence, for your obedience, and he wanted you to know that you were his, only his. No one else could touch you like this, that's what he was saying to you. 

Tom let go of your face, as he gripped your hips, jerking you towards the edge of the table. Your hands fall back to support you, arching your back slightly as you watch him with lidded eyes. As he moved, his pace picking up with each passing moment, you began to lose yourself to the delicious drag of his heavy cock, your sinful mantra of moans and whimpers filling the dark empty spaces of his office. His fingers gripping onto the soft pliable flesh of your thigh and hip was bruising, another simple yet effective reminder of who you belonged to. 

He watched each little tick of your face, each pleasure filled twitch of your lips as you fought off a smile at the feeling of him, taking in each little puff of air that left your parted lips, each pant and moan of satisfaction. He coaxed nothing but the best out of you, building your release at his own desire, his own pace. Your head fell back, your eyes falling closed as you did. You were consumed by the feeling of him and your body was reacting to it in the only way it knew how. 

You felt his hand leave your thigh first, before feeling it wrap around your throat, his long slender fingers wrapping around the curve of your jaw, as he willed you to look at him once more. 

“You keep those pretty little eyes of yours…on me,” he whispered forcefully. There was no room for mistake, you would watch him as he possessed every part of you. He controlled it all, and you’d let him, you’d let him do it forever. 

That's when it all changed. 

He had been sweet seduction, and the thought alone drew you closer….until she came along. Professor. Hawkethorn had never been his match, not the way you were. She didn’t understand him, she didn’t see him for what he truly was. She had fallen trap to his charm, and that was only the surface. You watched it happen, your late night sessions with him faded, he seemingly didn’t need you as much, and he gave not even the slightest inkling why. He said nothing, entertained nothing, did, nothing. His time seemed occupied, but not by you, by her. Selvine Hawkethrone, the new history of magic professor. 

Fine, checkmate. He didn’t want to see you? then you would make him. See you at your fullest, see that you were always there, that you had never left, and more importantly, that you were still very much his to possess. 

He needed to see you, not her. He had no business with her, she wouldn’t do the things that you did for him, you were certain of that. She was only a disruption, a threat to what you guys shared, and she had to go. You wanted to show him your devout loyalty, the extremes that you were willing to go to keep him, to protect him, to *serve* him, and so you would. 

You sat in *his* chair, his office dark and cold, nothing that you minded, as you waited…waited to hear the sound of polished heels clack on in the smooth stone outside the door. You pulse steady as the door opens, a small sliver of light filling the room. 

“Tom?” her soft voice echoed off the shelves of books, as she warily stepped inside. Once the door was shut, you waved your wand lazily, the candles that surrounded his office springing to life with a dull crackle. Her eyes met yours immediately, and they widened almost as if they had seen something they shouldn’t have. She looked fearful. You had a crazed look in your eyes, as you looked over her in silence. She was pathetic, dressed in her best clothes as if she was expecting to meet Professor Riddle, and that's exactly what you had told her, in your little letter. Told her to meet you here, that you desired to see her, all pretending to be your dear dear professor, and she fell for it. Pathetic. 

“You don’t deserve him….” you said, your tone hollow, as you watched her flinch slightly. “Did you really think that he would want you? Send for you? Come on Selvine…you have more sense than that…” you continued, pulling yourself to stand up, walking around the desk, your fingers taunting the flame of the candle. “Professor…you were never going to be his match, his equal…he is destined for great things and you were never going to be the one to help him fulfil that…your just….” You gestured to her with the tip of your wand as if to say something cruel, your face contorted in disgust. “Weak, you're just plain….ordinary…” you said, a mock tone of pity, your face in a frown. 

Selvine said nothing, but reached for her wand slowly, not sure what to expect from you, but you saw it…”ah ah ah, don’t do that..” you warned. You were now pointing your wand directly at her, your grip firm and unwavering. You take a deep breath, tired of this moment…Selvine opened her mouth to say something but you were quick to silence her, ”Save it professor, you shouldn’t touch things that aren’t yours.” 

You flicked your wrist and a green jet of light bursted out of the tip of your wand without remorse. You watched with glassy, transfixed eyes as her lifeless body crumbled to the floor with a thump. The simple unforgivable curse stealing what small pathetic life she had out of her. She was gone. Dead. you lowered your wand to your side, and stood there, slightly shocked by what you had done. 

Tom had slipped out from a dark corner of his office, one where he had stood, watching the entire thing transpire before his eyes. His cold gaze watching you as he approached. Your eyes snapped up to meet him, startled, and unaware that he had been watching the entire time..but that meant that he had seen it, seen the lengths you would go to just for him. You had used the unforgivable curse, for him, something that you had never done before.  

You felt yourself soften, at his appearance, as he stepped over the lifeless body like it was nothing but scum beneath his foot as he approached you. Gripping your chin like a child as he pulled you to meet his gaze. He almost looked pleased, a small sense of approval in his tepid gaze.  

“You can't tell anyone, Professor, I did this for you...she was a threat, and I took care of it, I killed her for you...for us.” you pleaded softly, scared that you had upset him. 

The darkness he lurked in had always been seductive, and when he held out his hand to guide you, how could you say no. You followed, eyes never leaving his, entranced by the beauty of it all, the beauty of the power and knowledge that he possessed. And he was going to share it all with you. It was then that you knew, the devil was real, and you were prepared to do anything for him. “I won’t tell anyone, it's our little secret.”

[freezerbridediaries]

Biiiiiiiiiiitch- I’m dead. Deceased. Crawling in my grave, six feet under🙏🧎‍♀️‍➡️🛐🤤😮‍💨 (yes I know I’m late)

[nepentheansea]

Game for Two

© nepentheansea all works are my own and contain mature content!

𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ・

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Itadori Yuji x Fem!Reader

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: smutttyyyy. oral (m receiving), just sucking Yuji off is all.

𝒂.𝒏:  That damn ps5, I'm telling you.... (THIS BOY IS 18+)

 He always did this, swearing that it was only one more game, ‘one more game and then I am all yours, babe’ followed by that swift kiss that never really made you feel better. It felt like more of a cheap substitute for the affection you really wanted. It was really un...fucking-believable. Today was no different. Coming from the Livingroom, was the familiar- “He’s right there! He's literally cracked, bro!” He’d been at it for hours now, yelling obnoxiously into his headphones with Megumi on the other line.

​

You’d tried more than once to get him off the game, flashing him a tit (that earned at least a cheeky smile), but even then it wasn’t enough to drag your boyfriend from the flattened couch cushion. You considered the repercussions of walking over and powering off the ps5, wondering if maybe then he would snap out of the warzone haze, but you knew better than that. That would have been a suicide mission at best. No, you would have to pull out the big guns. He wanted to play games, well, two could do that, and you were determined to win.

​

With quick, efficient steps, you walked past him and flopped down onto the end of the couch, propping your feet into his lap. Yuji subconsciously lifted his arms to make space just for you, because even if he wasn't the most attentive boyfriend, he was always conscious of you. “On me, on me, he's right there on the roof. See him? Bro, he’s fucking cheating-” Yuji huffed, frustratedly. Sparing a quick glance at the TV, you could see him running around, trying to place a shot on whoever it was on the roof. Stupid. As he continued on, you started your own game, pressing your foot gently against the soft bulge of his dick.  Nothing. You wanted to see just how far you had to go to get his attention. Trying again, you made sure to add a little more pressure, using your foot to tease his crotch, watching as the fabric of his sweats began to strain just a little.  

​

“For fuck sakes he was right there!” Yuji exclaimed, dropping his controller with sheer annoyance at the fact that he died due to Megumi’s aloofness. He ran his hands over his face, unaware that at that moment, you were hellbent on stirring his dick to life. “This fucking game,” he groaned to himself, picking up the controller the moment he was brought back.

​

It wasn’t working; his dick was semi-hard from just the gentle friction, and yet he wasn’t budging. It’s like he couldn’t feel his own body begging to be touched. It was time for a different approach. Your mouth had always done the job before, sometimes you wondered if he preferred it more than anything, always gagged to slip his dick down your throat and either fuck your face, or to let you lazily suck on him till he blew his load.

​

With a slick efficiency, you slipped off the couch to sit on the floor in front of him, head in his lap as you looked up at him. “Yuji….” A simple whine of his name, and all you got in return was a grunt, followed by a ridiculous shout about his game once more. Fine. He wanted to leave you high and dry; you were gonna have to return the favour. Turning onto your knees, you planted your hand firmly against his corded abdomen and pushed him back against the couch. He looked down at you, brows raised at the sight of you on your knees, perched beautifully between his muscular thighs. “Whatcha doing there, babe?” He hummed, eyes falling lidded as he watched you tug at the strings of his sweats, loosening them before you reached down past the waistband and wrapped your hand around his thick length, pulling it out. Working beads of precum out of his tip with each gentle stroke of your hand. He was always so pretty, his tip a pretty shade of pink. Hard and heavy in your hand, curving just the perfect bit upwards.

​

Not bothering with a response, your actions were a response enough, you figured. You leaned forward and ran your tongue up the long, thick vein on his cock. Stopping only to kiss up the sweet-salty beads of precum, watching him through your lashes, daring him to keep playing his game. Yuji sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, his head falling back on the couch, his hips bucking slightly as you wrapped your pretty pink lips around his sensitive tip. “Fucccck,” he gasped, his words dissolving into a pleasure-filled groan. “Babe…you can't-” he mumbled, only loud enough for you to hear. One of his hands instantly found your hair, and you weren’t sure if he wanted to push you off or pull you closer.

​

He could feel your tongue swirling around the thick length of him, stroking that vein with a relentless precision, mouth stretching over him as you began to take him deeper, like you were desperately trying to make him lose his damn mind, and fuck was it working. Yuji let out soft, strangled groans as he thrusted his hips into your mouth, trying to keep Megumi oblivious to the best of his ability. That was until he hit the back of your throat, feeling it constrict around him. His mouth fell wide open, and his head fell back; he was powerless to contain the loud groan that left his lips. You smiled around him as best you could, saliva pooling in the corners of your mouth.

​

After a moment of dazed pleasure, he pulled his gaze back at the screen, his controller vibrating at his neglect. “Huh oh uh no yeah, I see-fuck…I see him…mhm,” he mumbled, lazily picking back up the controller to give it his best shot. His eyes were hazy as he pulled his gaze from the sinful sight before him and back to the screen that was starting to lose his interest. “No, I uh, I'm fine, just getting frustrated with this game is all...think it might be my last one…” Yuji mused over the coms, giving a half assed shot at the game once more, but his hand stayed half on the controller and half in your hair, keeping you sucking on his cock as best as he could.

​

It was no use really. The moment you cupped his balls and squeezed, giving them a little massage, his care for the game was gone. The controller fell out of his hand onto the couch beside him. The call ended, and his headphones had fallen off his head. Fuck the game, this was heaven, having his cock wrapped up by the warm, wet pull of your mouth. “Fucccck, just like that, baby…shit that feels s’good..” he groaned, watching as his cock, disappeared inch by inch into your pretty little mouth.

​

Your eyes met his, watery but focused, watching him fall apart right there in front of you, because of you. Normally, that would have driven you on, made you want to watch as you pushed him over the edge, hear those sweet moans and whines of pleasure, but since he’d been neglecting you as of late, it only gave you a sweet satisfaction knowing what you were going to do about it.  Humming your approval at his praise, you felt his dick twitch, the first of many tells that he was about to blow his load straight down your throat. And god did he want to.

​

You waited, watching, licking, and hollowing out your cheeks, watching as he pulled the hem of his shirt up to tuck it between his teeth. Perfectly sculpted abdomen on display. His head fell back as he thrusted up into your mouth, pushing himself to the back of your tight throat once more, before you tore it away from him. Pulling yourself off of him right at the precipice of his release. You gave his tip one last teasing lick as you stood up, looming over him as you watched it dawn on his face what exactly you weren't going to give him. His eyes shot open, mouth agape, hips twitching as if he'd find some relief, but nothing. The moment he saw you, the smug yet annoyed grin on your face, he knew. Knew that he would be getting nothing from you tonight….

​

Finally, you had his attention.

[freezerbridediaries]

YUJIIIIIIIIIII😮‍💨

[freezerbridediaries]

happy October 1st everyone🎃🍂 !! I won’t be posting any fics/drabbles for the rest of this weekend– my birthday is on Friday so I wanted to spend it away from posting any writings until next week !! Plus, I have homework I need to attend to before this weekend arrives (smh)….but I will be back by next week don’t ya worry !!

i do have some drafts in the works for you all though, im so excited for you guys to read what I have next !

[freezerbridediaries]

Workin’ Hard or Hardly Workin’ – J.M.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (pre-outbreak!)

masterlist

a/n: sound the alarms– first smut fic! @nepentheansea proof read and basically fluffed this up (major creds go to her tbh). Please be gentle lol.

warning: thigh riding, swearing

🏷️ – 1.5k

Keys jangled as the door opened, Joel’s shoulders slumped down, glad to be finally home after a long day of work. Just like clockwork, your voice could be heard from the living room, pausing the show you weren’t paying much attention to. “Heya hun, how was work?” You asked, watching Joel making his way over to the couch– giving your forehead a chaste kiss, as he gives a noncommittal hum of acknowledgement. Boots finally kicked off, feet aching, and head tingling at the first signs of a headache. Joel pulled out a chair, sitting down at the kitchen table, with a heavy sigh escaping him. He reached for the laptop, knowing it was about to be an even longer evening with the amount of work he still had left to do. No time for distractions.

With furrowed brows, you watched Joel with a mediocre expression. This was typical, so incapable of turning off that ‘work ain’t over till its over’ mode of his, the one you claimed was gonna send him to an early grave, but you did your best to ‘understand it.’ “You want some dinner? I could whip up something for you, Or a drink maybe?” Joel heard you ask as you made your way to the kitchen, ready to step into the doting lover roll. He finished typing something quickly, before finally answering you, “Hmm, Nah.”

There it was again, the short responses, like he could hardly acknowledge your presence. A simple ‘hmm’ was not the response you were looking for, and it certainly wouldn't do. Rolling your eyes, you tried again. “Alright, let’s try that again. How was your day, hun?” You said, this time with a little more authority. At your question, Joel huffs– his exhaustion overwhelming him, “Yeah, it was….i’m still working, so..." Joel quips a bit too fast for his liking, rubbing a hand over his entire face. Okay, Joel.

Pouring him a glass of his favorite whiskey, not a word muttered, you walked up to the kitchen table, sliding the glass of whiskey over to him, before speaking again. “Is it the new development you’ve been working on? The reason for your stressful day?” Joel, letting out a long frustrated sigh, not looking up from the edge of his computer. “Yep.” he responded, letting the silence stress as if that was all he was going to offer up. This motherfucker, I swear. You watched as his eyes didn’t even break from the screen. too focused. too…distracted. Of course. You bit your tongue. “Right.” you muttered, rolling your eyes at Joel’s stubbornness. No, not today, you were tired of this bullshit, he was gonna talk even if it killed him.

Shutting Joel’s laptop closed, you simultaneously saddled yourself around one of his thick thighs. Hooking a finger under his chin, as you tilted his face up, locking his gaze to yours. Directly. “You’re not doing this.” You stated firmly, ensuring your point this time gets across to him. “Doing wha-“ he started before you so kindly interrupted him, a finger on his lips. “This. This shutting me out bullshit. The working nonstop even when you come home,” you said pointedly. “–hun, just put the work away, please. Come relax.” you pleaded.

Joel’s large calloused hands found your hips, giving them a good squeeze. “Babygirl-“ he started, but you interrupted once more, “You haven’t even asked me about my day, Joel.” you said, doing a little frustrated bounce on his thigh. That little bounce was exactly what you needed, a perfect hint of friction to your sorely neglected pussy. One that you scarcely knew you needed. The truth was when he was in the zone, he could be rather..neglectful. Joel sighed. He knew he was being rude with the way he’d been acting tonight, but right now wasn’t the time for him to mess around. “Yeah, is that right? Alright, how was your day, babygirl?” You let out an exasperated sigh. Finally.

“My day was great. Thanks for finally asking.” you remarked, your voice tight. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moving closer as your pussy lightly slid across Joel’s thigh once more. That little sliver of friction making it ache, the inseam of your jeans rubbing against your clit almost perfectly. That earned you a little soft whine. “Yeah?” Joel asks as the corner of his mouth started to lift slightly, his deep and raspy southern voice encapsulating your ears, but the immediate reaction went towards your core. “You wanna tell me whatcha did then?” He asked, watching you, noting the slight ticks on your face, picking up on the warmth of the friction you were making on his jean clad thigh.

“Yeah.” You said as your breath hitched, grinding against his thigh harder, biting down on your bottom lip as you moved with a bit more determination. He waited, feeling your fingers slip into the hair at the back of his neck, playing with the hair that rested on the nape. “Yes….mmm.” you hummed. It had been ages since you’d done this, with Joel coming home as tired as he had been, intimacy had been a thing of fantasy more than reality. You were slowly realising that the more you moved, the more you needed, and he knew it too. The moment your breath hitched.

“Someone’s feeling needy tonight. Ain’t ya’ babygirl?” his voice was almost condescending, like you were a crazed animal humping him with no end, but he didn't seem to mind it. No, rather he was enjoying it, watching you make a mess of yourself on his leg, your panties no doubt damp and stuck to the puffy lips of your sweet cunt. God he missed that sight. His hands moved down to your hips, holding firmer as he started to lazily guide you. “I thought you wanted to talk, angel.” he mused. Your eyes closed, focusing on the delicious friction against your pussy.

“Yeah yeah, I do- i just- um-“ You said in a breathy whisper, slowly losing the plot as you felt Joel’s hands guide your hips with more precision, more purpose. He watched with a curious expression, a lazy smirk across his lips, his eyes drinking in your desperate expression. The bit lip, clenched eyes, the rise and fall of your chest the more into it you got. Another jut of your hips, Joel held your hips firmly as he bounced his thigh, the action earning a sharp gasp of pleasure eliciting from your mouth.

“Is this what you wanted, angel?” He rasps out, his voice low and raspy against your ear. “Oh fuuuuuuck- yes yes just like that.” Like an animal in heat, rolling your hips at a torturious pace- Joel wanted to relish this moment, wanting to forever imprint this image of you grinding against his thigh. If Joel wasn’t already hard, he definitely was now. Watching you rut against him like this, taking what you needed..“Atta girl,” he drawled. “Gettin’ all messy on me already.” Breath hitching as you caught your clit, clutching his shoulders tighter as you rutted against him, chasing the friction like your life depended on it.

“Joel–“ you exclaimed in a soft whine, another moan escaping. “I know, angel, I know.” His voice drops an octave. “That’s it. Rub that pretty pussy on me.” Joel draws on, the pressure of his bulge becoming increasingly difficult to contain against the confinements of his jeans. “I can’t– oh my god–“ you said in another whiny voice. “Yes, you can. Look at you.” He grips your hips tighter, helping you find a rhythm. “You’re fuckin’ soaked through these panties, ain’t you, angel. Making a proper mess on my thigh. Is this what you needed from me?” You nod frantically, too far gone for shame. You were so close, your puffy little clit begging for release. Your body hummed, frantic, wound up so tight it hurts.“You gonna come just like this? So needy you don’t even need my cock?” he cooed, leaning forward to kiss your neck, running his tongue over the skin. “I want…baby i wan-” you stuttered.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.” He tilts your chin with one of his hands until you’re looking into his eyes. “But right now, I want you to come like this. Want to see how pretty you look falling apart for me some more.” You press your forehead against his shoulder, “Joel– please-“ Joel chuckles at your plea. You whimper as his hands guide you—sliding you forward, then back, so your clothed cunt drags along the curve of his thigh. It’s maddening. It’s not enough, and yet it’s everything. “Cum for me, angel.” he growls, and you can feel his cock hard beneath you, trapped between your bodies, untouched and pulsing with restraint. Your thighs shake. You drag yourself across him again, and again, the ache building so sharp it makes your eyes roll back. You’re so close you could cry. “Doin’ so good for me. Just like that.” Joel coaxes, fingers stroking against the hem of your jeans.

And there you were coming on his leg like a desperate whore. Crying out his name as you met that precious crescendos. His thigh flexes beneath you one more time–impossibly firm, and that’s all it takes. You were done for. Nails resisting his shoulder as your body arches into him. Soft whimpers like sighs leaving your lips as you take in that heady feeling of release. Anything that he had to say now would fall on deafly satisfied ears, and for that you were finally pleased.

[nepentheansea]

Tip Tease

© nepentheansea all works are my own and contain mature content!

𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ・

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Tim Drake x Fem!Reader

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: smutttyyyy smut. p in v type shit. swearing. yk how it is.

𝒂.𝒏:  Tim tam has a very sensitive dick tip and i will not be argued with. (also hello! i am back!) THIS BOY IS 18+

When you agreed to go on this trip to Aspen with his family, you did not agree to the no-sex rule that Tim had previously established. What the fuck? He used the excuse that you were just too loud when you had sex, lie. It was a trait of yours that he claimed he loved on any given day, but when you were sleeping literally feet from his brothers, and not to mention his father, he’d rather not take the liberties. So that meant in layman's terms, ‘you can’t be feeling me up like you normally do.. ’ rude. It was fine; you weren’t an animal. You could keep your hand relatively innocent and busy for a week.

Your days were filled with wholesome family activities, but even in the privacy of your own room, you couldn’t quite enjoy yourself with him like you usually did. What even was the point of a vacation if you couldn’t properly enjoy it? You had no idea how Tim was coping, especially when you knew him, and the way his sex drive was. It had been torture, and if it was, he was doing a good job at hiding it from you. It was the worst form of edging you’d ever experienced, being so close to him constantly and not being able to feel his dick. No, you were over it. Especially over it when he emerged from the bathroom in just a fucking towel.

You watched him, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as he moved from the doorway over to his suitcase that he refused to unpack. Towel slung low, all lean but defined muscle, beads of water dripping from his dark hair down his perfectly sculpted body.

“No one would hear us, I promise…” You whined, reaching for him, pulling him down onto the bed with you. “Yeah? You think so?” he teased. He knows you’ll say yes, and he knows that’ll be a lie, but who was he to tell you no? You nod, it was all you could do, a diluted form of proof that you could be quiet. You’d taken him plenty of times before, letting him fill you up time and time again; how hard could it really be to just bite your lip? Tim thinks, looking towards the bedroom door as if he could see through it. “Fine. Just the tip, that should be enough to keep you quiet.”

Long, hard, and leaking, the tip would be enough; you were so touch-starved that even the slightest bit of him was enough. You could work with it, throw up a DJ set on your clit and a little action from him, and you’d be set. That's how starved you were. With a determined mindset, you shimmied out of your panties, tossing them over the side of the bed as you tugged him towards you. Lip trapped between your teeth as a show that you were committed to keeping quiet just for him. He kneels between your thighs, hand wrapped around his cock as he gives it a few lazy tugs, chuckling to himself at how utterly desperate you look. A fucking kid in a candy store. “For fuck sake, Tim, c’mon,” you whined, teeth clenched at his name.

Shutting up the moment you felt his tip glide through your folds, notched at your entrance, just the tip fucking into you. A shuttering, relieved moan escaped both of you, days of pent-up frustration, and you knew then that he felt it. He had to stay upright, balanced on his elbow, as he kept the movements controlled and precise. Eyes drawn to watch the way his puffy red tip disappeared into your clenching pussy, glazed over, like he was hypnotized by the sight. His mouth was open, soft, subtle sighs of pleasure escaping him. Oh, how he wished he could slide his full length into you, fuck you into the mattress without a care. It didn’t help to keep you silent, watching him, controlled focus on his brow, hair still damp, muscles flexing with the restraint it was taking him to keep it just the tip. Hint, he was struggling, and it gave you satisfaction to say the least.

With your greedy hips moving to catch more of him, clenching your walls like you so desperately were trying to pull him in, he couldn’t stop the groan that left him. He knew he had to cum, knew that there was no way he was going to be able to stop the noises. It was almost painful, the restraint, the slow, careful drag of him against your aching walls. “Timmy, baby-” you pleaded, knowing that all you really needed was a little more. You’d be good. Your pretty manicured fingers slipping down to collect your slick, rubbing it around the little bundle of nerves to give you that little edge, not accounting for the way your pussy began to clench at the sensation.

Tim had to pull out just to cool down, to run his tip over your clit with clenched teeth, lulling his head back as he tried to mentally reason with himself. Because the truth was, whatever level of loud you were, he was just as, if not more. All whiny and sensitive, and your pussy felt like sheer heaven. Tenfold after being without. When you canted forward, silently begging for just a hint more, he obliged. Sliding back into you, not accounting for the way your pussy squeezes him, pulling him into a sweet vice that he's too far gone to fight. You gasp a moan, feeling him blindly pick up the pace, his head resting on your shoulder, using it to silence his moan as his teeth sink into your pretty skin. He was done for, no control left, though he’d never fucking admit it. “Ohhhhh fuccc-” He moaned, his voice low and whiny. He grabbed your thigh to leverage you just right as he sank deeper with each sloppy thrust.

​The heavy breaths that were leaving you were slowly starting to turn; you couldn’t help it. The sheer drag of his cock was enough to do your head in, and this keeping quiet shit was not your strong suit at all. You let out another soft moan, your fingers still fidgeting with your clit. “Shhh, baby, gotta….fuc…stay quiet,” he whimpers. You smile. The best part about Tim was how sensitive his tip was, so even if he wanted to keep this quick, keep it quiet, you knew from the beginning that was never gonna work.

​The more you clench, the slicker you get, and it is over for him. He collapsed on you, face buried in the pillow behind your head as he filled you with his cum. “Fuck!” he moaned. You follow suit, coming as quietly as you could, feeling a strange sense of pride over the fact that he was, in fact, the one who couldn’t ‘just stay quiet’. Moaning and whining like a bitch in heat. You feel him twitch above you, his softening cock throb, as he pulls back slightly, and you see it. The change in his gaze, he wants more. He plants his lips against yours, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. “Give me one more,” he mutters against your lips, moving against you, stirring his dick back to life, craving the warm wetness of your pussy. “Just one more, I promise I'll be quiet…..I promise,” he whispers. Oh, how the tables have turned. 

[freezerbridediaries]

Timmy Tim Tim🫦🙂‍↕️

[freezerbridediaries]

⟡ ݁₊ . Dating the Weasley Twins . ⟡ ݁₊

⤷ ゛Fred Weasley ˎˊ˗

── .✦ Dating the more “outgoing” twin of the two meant always attending (and for obvious reasons, supporting) Fred during his quidditch games (doesn’t matter if you’re a different house) you ARE showing up in his quidditch jersey/jumper! With this in mind, no matter the weather, time, or even if it’s just a quidditch practice– Fred will forever and always has to spot you in the crowd and blow a kiss at you or even a wink to let everyone else know he’s gladly taken <3

── .✦ Always expect to be on your toes 24/7! No matter what you were doing or what you’re going to do, Fred (being the prankster that he is) will go out of his way to pull any and all pranks. If said prank did have you as Fred’s target, he’ll definitely laugh at your reaction first before he then eventually apologizes to you and makes it up to you! Most of the time, when Fred is planning a prank on someone else, he’d definitely run the ideas mainly with George, but then he would run the idea by you as a last resort/finality type of thing– he wants to make sure you’re involved even in the smallest of details!

── .✦ Fred LOVES pda! Expect chaste but loving kisses in the halls (side glances from the other Hogwarts students obviously), always seeking to hold your hand everywhere and anywhere, long but warm and welcoming hugs whenever you have a bad day, limbs tangled within each other when you two are cuddling, etc. Fred would be the type of boyfriend that whenever you two would be kissing or just straight up making out, he’d always have to lean back in and want more (even if you were just gasping for air just a moment ago)– Fred would have this love sickening smirk/grin before he dives in for more!

── .✦ You’re dating the charmer. C’mon now, we all know Fred can charm people left and right! With you, it’s a little different. Fred walks backwards just to keep talking to you– plus the eye contact is his favorite part (wink wonk). Fred flirting with you is easy– maybe too easy? Sure, he did the work to get you to be his, but that doesn’t mean his flirtatious personality and smile doesn’t stop! No matter how long you and Fred have been together– he will always always always flirt with you (maybe even find other ways to sweep you off your feet and become just a tad more flustered).

── .✦ Fred loves your smile and the sound of your laughter! I mean, Fred loves all of you, but those two have got to be his number one favorites. Fred would purposefully mess up on a joke, or perhaps say a very corny pick-up line just to watch you smile and laugh! Your favorite song starts playing but no one else is dancing or are too scared? Fred is already on it as he immediately pulls you in to dance with him– if he could forever get a permanent tattoo, it would be of your smile.

── .✦ LOVES TO YAP. Fred is a yapper and you cannot change my mind! Experiencing Fred talk for hours isn’t something rare, but when you see that twinkle in his eye probably talking up a storm about another scheme he wants to pull? Game over. He won’t shut up about the idea until you would have to shut him up with a kiss (or even throwing an object at him). The only other thing Fred wouldn’t shut up about is obviously you (especially when you two first started dating)! You had to hear this from George about how much Fred wouldn’t shut up about you; what you’ve worn, your subtle facial expressions in class, etc.

── .✦ Comes up with a secret handshake! Fred treats this secret handshake between the both of you like some dire importance oath, so best believe you have to memorize it like your life depended on it!

⤷ ゛George Weasley ˎˊ˗

── .✦ George listens. Really listens. Not because George doesn’t have anything meaningful or interesting to say, but because he just loves to listen to you talk. It’s soothing for him in a weird way, but he wouldn’t necessarily admit that out loud (at least not for the public to hear). George loves to observe your facial expressions (maybe a little too much) but would retain as much information as possible before adding in his input once you were done talking.

── .✦ George may be deemed as the “quiet” twin, but let me tell you– this man has some mean-mugging talkback (when needed). George isn’t afraid to immediately talk shit about or to people (who deserve it) if they’re a bully, talk about you in a wrong way, etc. If you and George are somehow arguing (even if the argument isn’t serious), if you somehow tease George or become a bit snarky/sassy– expect this beanstalk to give you a side eye with his brows slightly raised before experiencing the smackdown of your life with George’s comebacks! (Apologies would soon follow if he somehow hit a sensitive nerve and if it genuinely hurt your feelings).

── .✦ George loves to yap as well, but moreso in private because you can’t tell me George doesn’t have gossip and secrets he’s heard in passing or in classes about people. You’d be the first person he’d gossip to late at night in your dorm because George trusts you wouldn’t snitch (also because you were the first person that always comes to mind when something juicy happens)! Not to say that George doesn’t like to gossip with Fred, but George likes to take breaks and have certain things just to only be for you and him!

── .✦ Loves when you take the lead when insinuating PDA! George wouldn’t admit this (needs to have his ego intact), but from time to time he’d have this half-grin sort of smirk if you wanted to be a bit risky. Kissing that leads to making out? George is definitely in, but making out let’s say in the library beneath the bookshelves– Merlin’s beard George is ecstatic (especially when you tug him in by his tie before diving back into his lips).

── .✦ Due to George’s height, he’d always have to bend down to hear you. This subtle action, though didn’t mean much to George (it definitely did for you!) so when you would get a bit flustered when George would lean his head down a bit with his arms crossed, or with a hand behind your back? Gone. Deceased, even. George didn’t realize his affection on you until after the 3rd time– expect this man to use it to his advantage!

── .✦ Keeps anything you give him! Snack wrappers that have a doodle on them? Immediately getting framed! A weirdly shaped and specific rock you picked up because it just ‘felt like him’– you best believe he’s going to bring that rock everywhere with him and inside his pocket! A little tiny note that has some nonsense that was passed back and forth between classes? He’s going to re-read that note like it’s the Holy Bible (he just thinks your handwriting is super pretty!)

── .✦ Becomes such a lovesick soft giant (in private). George has this soft look in his eyes when you really pay attention to his expression (this mainly happens when he observes you or whenever you’re not looking). For this, Fred always teases George about it, but George can’t deny anything because he loves watching you do literally anything— help a hurt animal, tutor Ron in a subject, mumble to yourself in concentration, etc. George notices things you may not even notice yourself, but the couple of times you’ve caught George he’d get all bashful and flustered about it.