#a03 writer

[fawnpalmer]

quarterly reminder that if i reblog something ai-generated it is 110% and always an accident and for the love of god please tell me so i can delete it from my blog

[justslightlyconfused]

That ‘comment on your a03 work’ email hits like a line of cocaine every time. unmatched dopamine increase. shoutout to everyone who leaves a comment on fics. you deserve the world

[cat-writes-sometimes]

Me reading another person's writing: Oh they missed a period there, no worries mistakes happen :) Three adjectives in a sentence? Adverbs for days? No worries I love descriptions and this story is fire.

Me seeing the same thing in my work: Wow am I illiterate? Am I actually ok? Who the actual fuck told me I can write so I can go and curse their entire family for the time it took for me to carefully craft this GARBAGE.

[moonstoneandmoonlight]

TASTE BACK | steve harrington

Always been a consequence When you call me baby

Steve Harrington can't handle it when you call him baby.

pairing: steve harrington x reader words: 3.9k contains: (18+ smut!! minors dni) porn with a (slight) plot, friends with benefits!steve, heavy steve harrington yearning, oral (fem receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected penetrative sex (wear a condom guys <33), steve has a big dick because it’s canon, female reader, use of she/her pronouns for reader, use of y/n, hint of robin and nancy if you blink.

author's note: so a songfic inspired by harry styles’ new album didn’t take long lmao. for anyone interested taste back and american girls are my current faves!! but these particular lines in taste back stood out to me and an idea just sprung from there so please enjoy!!

to be added to my 18+ taglist | masterlist | requests page

Steve Harrington didn’t want to admit it, but he was pretty sure that he was in love with you.

That’s what he was thinking about as he watched you laughing with Robin on the other side of the booth. Your head thrown back, lips stretched wide in a carefree smile as though they hadn’t been wrapped around his cock barely an hour ago.

Five months. Five whole months you and Steve had been falling into each other’s beds (and any other surface or sturdy wall that would hold) on a regular basis. It started as a once a month thing. Then every two weeks. Once a week. Now—it was every few days that you were calling him up and asking him to come over. 

Steve didn’t want to read too much into it, didn’t want to get his hopes up but he couldn’t help but notice the increasing frequency of your hookups. It had made him hopeful. Ridiculously so.

Which is why tonight—he couldn’t stop looking at you. Not that this was out of the ordinary. Steve was always stealing glances toward you when you two were out with your friends. But tonight—Steve Harrington was trying to reconcile with the knowledge that he was most definitely in love with you.

It was less than ideal. Being in love with his close friend—a close friend that he was meant to only be casually hooking up with. But it happened. Somewhere between you tracing your finger over the moles dotted over his back and how you had even started calling him Stevie he had fallen for you. How your touch made his bad moods disappear. How ‘Stevie’—that single, stupid nickname had ruined his life. How it left him feeling weak and needy and imaging a future with you where he kissed you just for the sake of it and not just because you were about to fuck in the back of his BMW.

You seemed to be attuned to Steve—or perhaps the intensity of his stare had alerted you to his watchful gaz—because one second you were listening intently to Robin and the next you were looking back at him.

Eddie was talking to him—something about an upcoming gig—but Steve was not listening. Not when you were looking back at him.

You raise a brow, smiling a little as you nudge his calf with your shoe. It shouldn’t have an effect on him, but it does. Swears his heart could have burst out of his chest when you smiled at him.

“Something wrong, Harrington?” You ask him in that teasing voice that went straight to his cock. He was going to be sporting a semi in the middle of the bar soon if he didn’t sort himself out and stop acting like a hormonal teenager.

He swallowed—glanced at Eddie who just rolled his eyes. Eddie knew all too well about the little arrangement between you and Steve and if he was honest, he thought it was ridiculous. Steve was clearly unable to be okay with the casualness of it and you seemed completely unaware of Steve’s feelings towards you.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, eyes flickering back over to you and trying not to think about your foot that was still rubbing his calf. “I’m—yeah, no—I’m great.”

You hum in a way that indicates you didn’t buy Steve’s attempt at nonchalance. Your friends barely notice—Robin rambling about some professor at Smith’s while Nancy tries hard not to smile, Jonathan telling Eddie about his latest short film and Eddie listening intently (the only person who seemed intrigued with Jonathan’s eccentric ideas). You press your foot a little harder against Steve’s calf and watch as his eyes flicker back over to you, almost in warning.

He wasn’t sure what was with you tonight but he loved and hated it at the same time.

“I’m going to get another drink,” you announce, withdrawing contact from Steve’s leg and slipping out of the booth. ”Does anyone want anyth—”

“Yeah. Another beer,” Steve interjects before you could even finish your sentence. He ignores the fact that the beer on the table in front of him was half full. That his eagerness was painfully obvious. “I’ll help.”

You watch, brow raised as Steve clambers out of the booth in his haste to follow you.

”Do you think I can’t handle a few beers, Harrington?” You ask him at the bar a few moments later, after your friends had reeled off their drink orders to you while Steve stared at the shape of your mouth and pretended to listen.

Steve rolls his eyes, ears turning a little red while he busies himself with trying to get the bartender’s attention—determinedly ignoring your little remark.

You watch as he orders the group drinks—your eyes moving from his handsome face before they inevitably travelled down his body. You did this a lot. It was hard not to when you knew what he looked like beneath all those clothes. When you knew the dark smattering of hair that covered his chest—just barely visible beneath the v of his shirt. How his hands felt gripping your hips as you fucked into you. How those arms of his wrapped around your waist as you rode his—

“(y/n)?”

”Huh?”

You had been so deep in thoughts about Steve fucking you that you didn’t realise that he was holding out your drink for you. Your eyes flicker down—seeing his fingers wrapped around the cold glass. You try not to think of those fingers pumping in and out of you, tried not to think of Steve slipping them between your lips and telling you to suck—

“Oh,” you say, a little breathless as you take the glass of beer from his hand. Your fingers brush. You swear you feel the heat building between your legs. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you this evening—maybe Steve looked extra good in that shirt or maybe you were just incredibly horny. Perhaps a dangerous mix of both.

The moment Steve turns to grab his and Jonathan’s beers—you set your glass down on the bar and lean towards him, under the guise of grabbing a straw. Your free hand however, finds its way onto Steve’s thigh. You feel his intake of breath you let out of a hum of satisfaction before squeezing. You could tell Steve was already affected. Just a simple touch from you and the blood was already starting to rush to his cock.

”What are you doing?” He mutters, looking around the bar in mild alarm before he looks back at you, jaw clenched. “Anyone could see—”

”Oh relax, Stevie,” you murmur, another firm but gentle squeeze of his thigh before withdrawing your hand with a teasing smile. “But fine. I’ll stop. Don’t want to get you all hard now, do I? Would be difficult to hide that cock of yours, wouldn’t it, baby?”

The effect on Steve was instantaneous. Steve’s ears—his entire face—burns a shade of red that you were sure you hadn’t seen before. He clenched his jaw. His knuckles turned white where he was gripping his and Jonathan’s beers bottles too tight. You knew what it was instantly—it wasn’t just your hand on his thigh. No—Steve could handle that. It turned him on, sure but it didn’t fluster him like this. What flustered him—what made his cock start to swell beneath his jeans was you calling him baby.

Steve didn’t want to admit it—would never in his wildest dreams admit it—but that sweet pet name falling from your lips made him want to drop down to his knees right in the middle of the bar.

Steve adjusts himself in his jeans subtly, shooting you a look that told you he was semi hard by just a few dirty words. “You know that there’s going to be consequences for that, right?” He tells you—trying to regain some control despite the fact that his body was betraying him.

You bite back a smile, turning back to the bar so you could slip some money into the tip jar.

”You know I can handle consequences just fine,” you tell him before you take a purposeful sip of your drink—watching as his eyes flicker down to your lips. 

It’s a battle of wills after that. You slide back into the booth like nothing has happened, sipping your drink as Steve followed—eyes on how your hips swayed and mind on how much he wanted to bend you over the table and fuck you until the wood splintered.

You teased Steve mercilessly after that—your foot back to rubbing his calf as you both rejoined the conversation as though nothing had happened. Steve tried to look unfazed but he was failing miserably. You couldn’t help but feel smug about it—you had somehow managed to reduce the former King Steve to a pile of mush with just a bit of pressure on his leg.

The taxi on the way home was close to torture for him. It was just you, Steve and Eddie in the car and a taxi driver who seemed incapable of shutting up. Your thighs were pressed right up against Steve’s and it was all he could focus on.

“You gonna ask me back to yours?” You ask him in a whisper, resting your head against his shoulder in a completely innocent gesture.

The action made Steve’s heart do funny things in his chest. He had the urge to wrap an arm around you and pull you closer. He didn’t. He just swallowed before looking back at you with an attempt at any easy smile.

“You wanna come back to mine?” He asks.

You roll your eyes and bite back a smile. “Stupid question, Harrington.”

Steve Harrington no longer lived with his parents. He lived in a respectable two bedroom house with a refrigerator that hummed too loudly and a downstairs bathroom that desperately needed remodelling. He was proud of it—being able to afford a house on an assistant baseball coach (and occasional sex ed teacher) salary at twenty three years old. And so, Steve usually loved showing it off. But as soon as you were in the comfort of his new home—the last thing on Steve’s mind was showing you his brand new coffee machine.

Steve’s lips were on yours the moment that the front door had closed behind him. One hand cupping your face while the other slid into the back pocket of your jeans to pull you closer. You hum against his lips, your own arms wrapping around his neck and smiling when you feel how hard he already was through his jeans.

You pull away enough to smile at him, your fingers sliding through the hair that curled at the back of his neck. You smile a little more as you see him suppress a shudder.

“Gonna offer me a drink?” You ask him, brow raised. “Like a good host?”

Steve barks out a laugh, giving your ass a firm squeeze through your jeans before pulling you just that little bit closer. “Oh sure, I’ll get you a drink. Right after we christen the couch.”

You start to laugh but are cut off by Steve’s lips. He’s not polite and you’re grateful for it. Your body thrumming with want as he backs you into the nearby living room, licking into your mouth and groaning as your fingers tugged at his hair.

Your thighs hit the back of his couch and you let yourself fall back—looking up at Steve with wide eyes and lips wet with his spit.

“Fuck,” Steve groans, sinking to his knees in front of you—resting his hands on your jean clad thighs and squeezing. “Look at you. Fucking perfect.”

Steve often said things like this and it always went straight to your cunt. He felt you try and squeeze your thighs together but he held your legs apart.

“So fucking perfect,” he continues, leaning in to kiss over the seam of your jeans, right over where you were aching for him. The feeling made you whimper, hips bucking towards him as his fingers find the waistband of your jeans and tugging. The material snaps against your skin at the same time he presses his lips back against you.

Your back arches instinctively, fingers curling into his hair. “Stevie, please.”

Steve pulls away from you, enough to make you whine. There’s a smile spread across his face as his fingers continue to tease, now toying with the button on your jeans. “Please, what?”

“Your mouth,” you say simply, lips parting as you look down at him. “Your mouth. I need your mouth, baby.”

Whatever shred of self restraint that Steve possessed vanished the moment you gasped out the word ‘baby’. His fingers fumble with the button on your jeans, hands shaking with want when he’s successful. You lift your hips up off the couch to aid him as he tugs your jeans down your legs, throwing them carelessly across the room. He might have knocked over a lamp. He didn’t care. His lips find your left knee instantly, big brown eyes looking up at you like he couldn’t think of anywhere else that he would rather to be right now. 

“Can fucking smell how much you want me,” Steve murmurs against your skin, his fingers skimming up your inner thigh to watch how your skin twitches beneath his touch. “So fucking sweet, my girl always fucking wants me.”

You don’t correct him. Don’t tell him that you weren’t his girl because as far as you were concerned, right now—you were his girl.

“Always want you, baby,” you tell him as you move your hips up enough for him to see the damp patch in your panties. “Always.”

Steve swore he could have come on the spot from those words alone.

Fuck. He was in deep. He was in so fucking deep.

And so, he leans in—breathing in your sweet, musky scent before his mouth seals itself over the damp patch. You gasp, fingers curling into his hair as his tongue laps desperately at your clothed cunt.

It was too much and not enough at the same time—your body feeling as though lava was rushing through your veins instead of blood. And when his nose brushed against your clit through the cotton, you cried out his name.

“That’s it,” Steve murmurs against you—his jeans were impossibly tight from how hard he was but all he could think about was you. You writhing beneath him—you losing your composure when he hadn’t even really touched you yet. “Say my name, pretty girl. I’m the only one who makes you feel this good, aren’t I, baby?”

Your hips buck against his mouth, nodding as your lips part, head falling back against the back of the couch. “Yes—fuck. The only one Stevie. The only one.”

It wasn’t a lie. Steve was the only guy you were hooking up with. And maybe if you weren’t so clouded by lust, you would have thought more about that. But his tongue was swirling around your swollen clit over your panties and you were going to lose it.

“Stevie, could you—”

You didn’t even have to finish your sentence—two of Steve’s fingers hooked your panties to the side and you hissed as he blew cool air against your bare, soaked pussy.

“Oh honey, she’s fucking crying for me,” Steve murmured, brown eyes on your glistening folds—lips parted in awe as he spread apart them gently, eyes flickering up when you whimper above him. “I got you. Don’t worry—I got you.”

His fingers smear your slick over your folds, watching the way your body reacts. How your chest heaves and how your lips part. How—when he finally slides two fingers inside you—you let out a moan so loud that he has to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from groaning like a pathetic hormonal teenager.

Steve fucked you with his fingers slowly—thursting his fingers deep inside of you and curling them upwards so you let out another sweet moan. His other hand gripped your thigh, massaging the flesh as you lifted your hips toward his hand.

He knew what you needed. And he wasn’t going to hesitate to give it to you.

His fingers curled inside of you—watching for a moment as you whimpered his name desperately before he leaned in, lips finding your aching clit with ease. 

Your reaction was immediate—head thrown back against the back of the couch and his name falling from your lips. Steve felt like he had died and gone to heaven—tongue swirling your clit as his fingers continued to pump in and out of you, your pussy squelching with every thrust.

Steve could have lived between your legs—the way you tasted, how your fingers were tugging at his hair, how your hips were jerking up to meet his movements. How much you fucking wanted him.

Him. No one else. 

The coil in your belly tightened embarrassingly fast. It always did with Steve. You had never told him how quick he could make you come—you knew it would go to his head. But fuck—he just knew your body. He knew how to find that spot inside of you, knew just how to find your clit—

“Stevie,” you gasp out, fingers now pulling at his hair. “I’m gonna—”

Steve just hums against you—not speeding up just continuing exactly what he had been doing so well. Doing just what you needed—tongue swirling as his fingers pressed against that spongey spot inside of you.

And that was all you needed.

Your head falls back, your back arches as the coil inside you finally snaps. Steve groans against you as your walls flutter around his fingers—squeezing them like you wanted him to stay inside you forever. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he tells you, a final kiss to your clit as he looks up at you properly now, withdrawings his fingers just to lick them clean. “Most fucking beautiful girl in the world, baby. I swear it.”

You blink—still on another planet as you look down at him. At his big brown eyes, at the mix of your release and Steve’s spit dribbling down his chin obscenely, at the hair all mussed up from you pulling at it and fuck—you wanted him. In more ways than one.

“Take your shirt off,” you tell him—still sensitive but still aching with want. Your own hands shake as you grab the hem of your own top.

Layers of clothing come off quickly—your top, Steve’s shirt, his jeans, your bra and his boxers are all strewn over Steve’s living room.

“Should I get a—”

“No,” you say, eyes on his cock that was resting against his stomach as he sat down on the couch. You had seen Steve’s dick so many times that you had lost count and still, you could never get used to it. You didn’t think cocks could be beautiful until you saw Steve’s. It was long, ridiculously thick with veins that bulged along the shaft. Slightly curved in a way that was almost perfectly designed to hit all the right spots inside of you. The fat head of his dick was flushed red and already leaking with precum from having watched you come beneath his tongue barely two minutes ago.

Your eyes flicker up back to his and for a moment—there’s an understanding between you both. That you both understood that perhaps there was something more here. You were only sleeping with each other. There was nobody else.

Steve swallows and nods, hands finding your hips and squeezing before he tugs you down onto the couch to straddle him.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he tells you, both hands cupping your face as though you were more precious than gold. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, (y/n).”

You bite back a smile, eyes shining a little at his sincerity. Your heart doing things in your chest you hadn’t felt in a long time. “And I meant what I said earlier,” you murmur, hips lifting up so you could grip his cock to guide it towards your entrance. “You’re the only one, Stevie. The only one for me.”

Steve whimpers—actually fucking whimpers—at your words. He’s not even inside you yet and he was already going to lose it. His lips find yours in a kiss that could have burned through flesh—filled with so many unsaid words. And when you finally sink down onto him, Steve whimpered again against your lips until you had taken all of him.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he tells you, hands gripping your hips so tightly that he was sure to leave bruises. “So fucking amazing.”

You hadn’t moved yet—just letting yourself feel that delicious stretch. Letting yourself just feel him, your hands moving over the skin of his shoulders before they move to cup his face. “You’re fucking amazing, Stevie.” You whisper back, leaning in to kiss him gently as you finally, finally move. You lifted your hips once before sinking back down onto him.

You feel him deep in your gut and he feels your walls fluttering around him. It was everything you both needed and more. You did it again—hips bucking up before you slam down onto him. Starting a rhythm that was slow but somehow more erotic and intimate than any sex that you had before.

You pull away from the kiss just to look at his face—just to watch him as his lips part and eyelids flutter.

You keep rolling your hips, the coil tightening inside you once again as his cock nuzzles your cervix over and over again. The feeling grew slowly—intensely. More intense than the last. And when you tip over the edge, Steve’s there to guide your hips, letting you ride it out as your cunt squeezed his cock mercilessly through your orgasm.

“Baby, I’m gonna—”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, head titled forward to rest against his and hands gripping his shoulders. “Come inside me, Stevie. Please.”

“Are you sure—”

“I love you, Stevie,” you tell him, eyes locked onto his as your fingernails gripped onto his shoulders. “I love you and I’m sure.”

Steve blinks up at you dumbly, brown eyes wide and face flushing and then—

“You—oh—fuck—shit—”

He buries his head into your shoulder as his hips jerk against yours. You feel his warm release coating your walls and you bite back a smile at that desperate whine that leaves his lips again.

It takes Steve two, three, maybe four seconds to adjust. To realise what you had just said was not a figment of his imagination. That he hadn’t imagined you declaring your love for him mid-fuck.

“Do you really—”

“Love you?” You ask, your fingers moving back through his hair before you gently tilt his head back to look up at you. “Yeah. I really do.”

Steve breathes out, his own hands still holding your hips like he never wanted you to leave. “I love you too. So much,” he tells you. “So fucking much, (y/n). So much I—”

You silence him with a kiss—one that was soft, sweet—everything you and Steve had never had the chance to be. A kiss that felt like a promise for a future that you two could carve out together.

You pull away enough to say, “Please stop talking and fuck me again, Harrington.”

Steve laughs, leaning in to press a kiss against the corner of your mouth.

“Only if I can take you out for real tomorrow night,” he says.

You pretend to think about it, humming as your fingers massage his shoulders.

“You’ve got yourself a date, Harrington.”

dividers by @cafekitsune

[kurekoii]

"Bed chem! How you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things That's bed chem"

NSFW/18+ (MNDI) explicit, smut, fem! Reader x Aang. Pet names, breeding kink, pregnancy mention, unprotected sex, creampie, biting, oral, p in v, praising, cringe!!

The Southern Air Temple stood as a silent sentinel against the encroaching dusk, its ancient spires piercing the lavender sky like forgotten prayers. Marble corridors whispered with the ghosts of laughter long silenced, and the air carried the faint, eternal scent of incense and polished stone. You had made this place your home since Aang brought you here, away from the chaos of the world, to heal and rebuild in the quiet aftermath of war. But tonight, as you pushed open the heavy wooden door to your shared chambers, the weight of that silence felt heavier than usual.

Aang was perched on the edge of the low platform bed, his bare feet dangling just above the woven rush mats that covered the floor. He wore his simple orange robes, the fabric pooling around him like spilled sunlight, but his posture was anything but relaxed. His hands rested in his lap, fingers twisting the hem of his sleeve, and his gray eyes—those eyes that had seen the bending of nations and the breaking of worlds—stared unseeing at the flickering flame of a single oil lamp on the nearby altar.

You paused in the doorway, your own training robes clinging to your sweat-dampened skin after a long day of gliding through the temple's airy halls. The mission to restore balance had brought you both here, but it was Aang's personal burden that tugged at you now. You'd seen this shadow cross his face before, in the quiet moments when the Avatar's mask slipped away.

"Aang?" you said softly, closing the door behind you with a gentle click. The sound seemed to startle him, and he looked up, offering a small, weary smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hey, love," he replied, his voice carrying that familiar lilt, light as a breeze but edged with something deeper. He patted the space beside him. "Come sit. Rough day?"

You crossed the room, shedding your outer robe as you went, and settled next to him. The mattress dipped under your weight, and you leaned into his side, inhaling the clean, earthy scent of him—sage and wind and home. "Not really. Just the usual drills. But you… you look like you've been carrying the whole world again."

He chuckled, a low, rueful sound, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. His body was warm against yours, a solid anchor in the vastness of the temple. "Maybe I have. It's nothing new. Just… thinking about the Air Nomads. About how I'm the last one. The genocide took everything—my family, my people, our ways. And here I am, the Avatar, supposed to bring balance, but what about balance for my own nation? What if it all just… ends with me?"

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken grief. You turned to face him, cupping his cheek with your palm. The blue arrow tattoo on his forehead glowed faintly in the lamplight, a reminder of the legacy he bore alone. "Aang, you're not the end. You're the beginning of something new. And you're not alone in this. I'm here—with you, for you. We can build it back together."

He searched your eyes, his thumb tracing idle circles on your arm. "Together? How? The world's still healing from the war. Repopulating an entire culture… it's not like we can just wave a staff and make it happen."

You felt a spark ignite in your chest, a fierce determination that had been simmering since you'd first heard him voice these fears months ago. It wasn't just sympathy; it was a calling, a way to bind your futures even tighter. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his temple, then pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. "What if we started with us? Let me help you carry that legacy, Aang. Let me be the one to bear your children—the first of the new Airbenders. We can repopulate the tribe, one life at a time. Starting tonight."

His breath caught, eyes widening as the words sank in. For a moment, he was silent, processing, and you watched the emotions flicker across his face—surprise, tenderness, and then, slowly, a deepening hunger. "You'd do that? For me? My sweet one, that's… that's everything. But are you sure? It's a big commitment. Our lives, our family…"

"I'm sure," you whispered, your hand sliding to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the short bristles of his hair. "I've never been more sure. I want this. I want you—to fill me, to claim me, to make me yours in the most primal way. No holding back. Just us, building a future."

Aang's resolve seemed to melt away with your words. He closed the distance, capturing your lips in a kiss that started gentle, exploratory—a brush of mouths, a shared breath. But as you responded, parting your lips to invite him deeper, it shifted. His tongue swept against yours, tasting of mint tea and quiet longing, and his free hand came up to cradle the back of your head, angling you closer.

You sighed into the kiss, your body relaxing against him as the tension of the day ebbed. Minutes passed like that, lost in the slow dance of lips and breaths, his fingers now tracing the line of your jaw, your collarbone. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing a little harder.

"You're incredible," he murmured, voice husky with emotion. "So strong, so devoted. I don't deserve you, but I'll spend every day trying to." He kissed you again, softer this time, nipping lightly at your bottom lip—a tease that sent a shiver down your spine.

Emboldened, you shifted, swinging a leg over to straddle his lap. His hands settled on your hips, steadying you as you rocked gently against him, feeling the growing hardness beneath his robes. "You deserve the world, Aang. And I'll give you this—my body, my future. Let me show you how much I want to carry your child."

His eyes darkened, pupils dilating with desire. "Darling… keep talking like that, and I won't be able to hold back." He trailed kisses along your jaw, down to the sensitive skin of your neck, where he paused to suckle lightly, not yet marking but promising more. You tilted your head, granting him access, and a soft moan escaped you as his teeth grazed your pulse point.

The room grew warmer, the lamp's flame dancing shadows across the walls etched with ancient Air Nomad murals—scenes of gliders soaring free, families in joyful circles. It felt fitting, this sacred space becoming the birthplace of renewal. Your hands roamed under his robes, pushing the fabric aside to explore the lean muscles of his chest, fingertips following the arrows that mapped his heritage.

Aang hummed in approval, his own hands working at the ties of your inner tunic. "So beautiful," he praised, voice low and reverent as he peeled the cloth away, exposing your breasts to the cool air. His gaze lingered, appreciative, before he leaned in to kiss the valley between them. "Every inch of you is perfect. Made for this—for us."

You arched into his touch, nipples hardening under his breath. "Aang… touch me. Please." He obliged, cupping one breast in his palm, thumb circling the peak until you gasped. Then his mouth followed, lips closing around the bud, tongue laving it with slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation was electric, pleasure pooling low in your belly as he sucked gently, then grazed his teeth over it—just a hint of bite that made your core clench.

"That's it, my love," he whispered against your skin, switching to the other side. "Let me worship you. You've given me hope tonight. I want to make you feel how grateful I am." His words wove through the haze of arousal, grounding you even as they stoked the fire.

Your hips ground down instinctively, seeking friction against the bulge in his pants. He groaned, the vibration rumbling through your chest, and his hands tightened on your waist, guiding your movements. But he was patient, drawing it out—kisses trailing lower, across your ribs, your stomach, as he eased you back onto the bed.

Lying there, half-undressed, you watched him through heavy-lidded eyes as he knelt between your legs. He tugged at your pants, sliding them down with your undergarments, leaving you bare and exposed. The air kissed your heated skin, and you felt a flush creep up your neck under his intense stare.

"Gods, look at you," Aang breathed, his fingers tracing the inside of your thigh, inching closer but not quite touching where you ached most. "So ready for me already. Wet and waiting. This is all for repopulating our people, isn't it? For taking my seed and growing our family."

The breeding talk sent a thrill through you, your thighs parting wider in invitation. "Yes… all for you. I want it so badly, Aang. Want you to fill me up."

He smiled, that boyish grin mixed with raw need, and lowered his head. His breath ghosted over your folds first, teasing, before his tongue flicked out to taste you. You cried out, hips bucking as he licked a slow stripe up your slit, savoring your essence. "Delicious," he murmured, voice muffled. "My perfect girl. Taste how sweet you are—made for breeding."

He delved deeper, tongue circling your clit with expert precision, then dipping inside you, fucking you with it in shallow thrusts. Your hands fisted the sheets, moans filling the chamber as pleasure built layer by layer. One hand came up to knead your breast, pinching the nipple, while the other held your hip steady.

"Aang… oh, please," you gasped, the coil tightening. He hummed in response, the sound vibrating against you, and sucked your clit between his lips, teeth grazing just enough to edge you closer.

But he pulled back before you tipped over, leaving you panting and desperate. "Not yet, sweetheart," he said, rising to shed his own clothes. His cock stood proud, thick and veined, tip already leaking. You reached for him, but he caught your wrist, kissing the inside gently. "I want to be inside you when you come the first time. Bare, deep, where it counts."

He positioned himself, rubbing the head along your entrance, coating himself in your slickness. The anticipation was torture, delicious and drawn-out. "Breathe with me, love," he instructed, locking eyes with you. "Feel me pushing in—slow, so you can savor every inch. This is us, joining to create life. Your body's welcoming me home."

You nodded, inhaling deeply as he pressed forward. The stretch was exquisite, your walls yielding to his girth, inch by inch until he was seated fully, balls against your ass. He stilled, forehead to yours, both of you adjusting to the intimacy. "So tight, darling. Gripping me like you never want to let go. Good girl—taking your Avatar so well."

His praise washed over you, and you clenched around him experimentally, drawing a hiss from his lips. Then he began to move, shallow thrusts at first, building a rhythm that had you both moaning. His hand slid up your body, fingers wrapping lightly around your throat—not restricting, just a firm reminder of his control, his thumb stroking your pulse.

"That's it," he encouraged, pace quickening. "Ride this with me. Imagine it—my cum flooding you, taking root. Your belly rounding with our child, breasts heavy. You'll be so radiant, my pregnant love."

The words, the pressure on your throat, the drag of his cock against your depths—it all converged. You wrapped your legs around him, urging him deeper, nails digging into his shoulders. He bit down on your collarbone, a sharp sting that bloomed into heat, marking you as his.

"Come for me, princess," he growled, thrusts turning forceful, the bed creaking beneath you. "Milk my cock—show me you're ready for my seed."

Your release hit like a gust of wind, crashing through you, walls pulsing around him as you cried his name. He followed moments later, slamming home one last time, spilling hot and deep inside you. Rope after rope of cum filled your womb, his body shuddering with the force of it.

"Yes—take it all," he panted, hand easing from your throat to tangle in your hair. "Creampie for my future mother of Airbenders. We're starting our legacy tonight."

He stayed buried in you as you both came down, kissing you lazily, tenderly. The temple's winds seemed to sigh in approval outside, carrying the promise of new beginnings.

"I love you," Aang whispered, nuzzling your neck. "Thank you—for this, for everything."

You smiled, holding him close, the warmth of his release a tangible vow inside you. The Air Nomads would rise again, born of this love, this night.

Random post!! hope you like it

[bluesndyellow]

“I’m right here”

It was getting dark outside the cabin — that kind of blue-grey dusk that made everything feel quieter than it should.

The group had spread out, preparing, searching, arguing.

Mike had been looking for Will for the last ten minutes.

Not frantically. Not loudly.

Just with that same tightness in his chest he always got when Will slipped out of sight.

He finally found him outside near the treeline, half-turned away, arms crossed, eyes somewhere far off.

Mike stopped a few feet behind him, swallowing.

“…You’re avoiding me.”

Will didn’t look back.

“I’m not. I just needed some air.”

Mike stepped closer, voice tight. “No. Something’s… different. You keep pulling away.”

Will let out a tired sigh, the kind that sounded too old for him.

“I’m right here, Mike.”

Mike’s face twisted — hurt, confused, something raw leaking through the cracks.

“That’s not what it feels like.”

Will finally turned toward him. And the look on his face—

pained, gentle, resigned—

hit Mike harder than anything Vecna could ever do.

Mike shook his head, stepping closer without meaning to.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” he said quietly. It wasn’t dramatic. It was simply the truth — shaped like a wound.

Will’s eyes softened, just for a moment. “You’re not losing me.”

He took another step — close enough that Will could hear his uneven breathing.

For a long moment, Mike just stared at him.

Stared like Will was the only thing holding him upright.

“Will…”

The name came out small. Bare.

Will swallowed. Hard.

Mike’s eyes dipped to Will’s mouth, then snapped back up, guilty, lost.

His voice cracked:

“Why does it feel like you’re the only person on earth?”

Will’s breath stuttered — barely noticeable, but Mike saw it anyway.

A flicker of pain crossed Will’s face, because he knew that feeling too well. Too deeply. Too quietly.

Mike caught that look like a punch.

He stepped even closer, as if pulled by gravity alone.

His hands dropped by his sides in surrender.

He wasn’t fighting it anymore.

He reached out first, slow, hesitant —

and took Will’s hand.

Their fingers pressed together.

Skin to skin.

Mike inhaled sharply — a small, involuntary gasp — staring down at their hands like he couldn’t believe he’d actually done it.

He didn’t look up.

He couldn’t.

His thumb trembled against Will’s knuckles.

Will didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

Like one wrong twitch might shatter Mike into dust.

Then — slowly — Will lifted his free hand.

He brushed the hair gently out of Mike’s eyes, fingertips grazing his forehead.

Mike closed his eyes at the touch — barely, but enough.

Will’s hand slid to the back of Mike’s neck, warm and steady, holding him there like he was something precious, fragile even.

Mike let out a breath he’d been holding for years.

Neither of them looked away.

Mike’s voice came out barely there, almost a whisper pressed between them:

“Do you… feel it too?”

Will blinked, slow, pained, honest.

“Mike…” His voice shook. “Please don’t ask me that.”

“Why?”

“Because you already know the answer.”

Mike’s chest tightened, a sharp inhale cutting through him.

His eyes flicked to Will’s mouth again — not by accident this time, but like some part of him was done pretending.

He leaned in the faintest inch — enough for their foreheads to touch.

“Will…” His voice cracked in the middle of the word. “I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”

Will shuddered, eyes closing like those words physically hit him.

“You don’t have to,” he whispered.

At this Mike let his forehead drop to Wills, breaths tangling together.

Mike’s forehead rested fully against his now, breath mixing with breath.

“I’m done running,” Mike whispered, voice raw.

“I’m so fucking done.”

[tahbhie]

How to Stop Hating Everything You Write

1. Don't be afraid of making mistakes.

Quit judging yourself for every mistake you make along the way. Whether you're writing fiction, fanfiction, or nonfiction, just write. If you can't correct your errors as you go, that's okay. When I don't have the brainpower to multitask, I focus on the writing stage one step at a time. Just write!

2. Don't aim for perfection.

"It's not ready if it's not perfect." That's a lie. When you're in the process of writing, it's best to concentrate on getting your thoughts on paper.

3. Seek feedback and learn to receive it.

Join lively communities with active writers or forums that host events inviting writers to share their work for critique. Not every critique is constructive; learn to discern which feedback to take on board and which to ignore.

4. Read, read, read.

You can't give what you don't have. You learn a lot from reading similar pieces in your chosen genre. Reading is also a source of inspiration that fuels your writing process.

5. Cut yourself some slack.

Writing is no small feat. It takes talent to formulate a story with your mind and skill to visualize it for others to see. Do you love writing? Then keep doing it because it takes practice.

Looking for a supportive community dedicated to helping you grow as a writer? Join the Writers Universe server and thrive!

[deviette]

stumbling across a writing page and seeing ‘black’ in the bio