bruises on my knees for you

Straight? I think not.

Warning: Smut
Length: 2.6k

Summary:
Dan brags that his blowjobs could turn any guy gay. Unfortunately for him, his friends put this to the test and lock him in a closet…

“My blowjobs are so good, they’d probably turn a straight guy gay!”

That was the comment I had made during gym. It was also the reason I was currently locked in a locker room closet with Phil Lester. Who was, by the way, the school’s straightest heartthrob, and my least favourite classmate. I really needed better friends.

“So you’re telling me that Chris and your other groupies pushed me into this closet so that you could blow me?!”

I winced at Phil’s shrill screech. “If you could not shriek at me, that’d be great. I happen to like my hearing.” I mumbled from my place on the closet floor. “Look, they aren’t going to let us out until we do it, so can we just get it over with so that I can rush home and wash out my mouth?”

He flattened himself to the wall, wide-eyed. “No!”

“What other ideas do you have to get out of here, then?”

“I…” He stopped, a perplexed look overtaking his frantic one. “Are they really not going to unlock the door? Even if we wait?”

“Last month I claimed that I could eat anything. They trapped me inside of my bathroom with a platter of raw worms and crickets, everything completely drenched in hot sauce. I waited for three hours, but they didn’t let me out until I’d licked the plate clean.”

He tried to recoil further, but he was already up against the wall. “You’re not making me want your mouth all over me, Howell. That’s disgusting!”

“You’re telling me!” I groaned, getting pretty tired of fighting. “Just let me take control, and it’ll be over before you know it.”

He clenched his eyes shut, staying silent for several minutes before stepping away from the wall tentatively. “Fine… But you can’t tell everyone about this.” He muttered, watching me warily.

“Noted.” I sighed, closing my eyes and forcing myself into my sexual headspace. Then I reopened them, taking in Phil’s frame. He has nice curves, I decided, licking my lips instinctively as my gaze roamed over his hips. Good legs, too.

I crawled towards him on my hands and knees. He let out a startled squeak as my hands found his hips, pushing them back against the wall. His scent filled my nose, musky and slightly sweaty due to the gym class last period. It was exciting, causing heat to spiral down and in between my legs.

Whining softly, I glided my hands up and down his sides and over his chest, trying to feel every part of him I could reach. Then I pressed my nose to the front of his jeans in search of more of his smell. Phil jumped, gasping harshly when I nuzzled his half-hard length through his clothes.

“Do you want me to do it, or you?” I murmured, playing with the waistband of his jeans. Phil gaped at me, his mouth opening and closing but no sound escaping. Trailing my fingers daintily across his stomach, I leaned against his thigh to look up at him as innocently as I could. “I don’t mind doing it for you.”

“I-I… Um… Sure?” He squeaked. My fingers hooked into his belt loops, pulling them down and searching each bit of newly exposed skin as they slid down his thighs, pooling at his ankles. He kicked them off, glancing my way as if I was going to attack him once he was done. I simply pressed him back against the wall again.

He hissed as his bare legs met the wall, pressing up against my firm grip. “It’s cold!”

“You’ll warm up quickly, don’t you worry,” I chuckled. I focused my gaze on the outline of his semi through his boxers, which clung tightly to his thighs. Below the dark material was a seemingly endless supply of pale, unmarked skin. I decided that a slow buildup would be the best approach.

I pressed open mouthed kisses to the inside of his thighs to test his limits, tasting his skin with my tongue. Phil took a sharp intake of breath, trembling with the strain of keeping himself still. I moved slowly up from his knees to the top of his thighs. Then I took a quick detour to explore his hips, unable to resist digging my teeth into the taut skin there.

“Did you just bite me?” He stared down at me as I traced the blossoming mark with my finger.

“Mmhmm…” I decided that the dark bruises looked nice on his pale skin, so I tugged at the fabric of his boxers. “May I?”

He closed his eyes and nodded, his breathing getting heavier as I removed the last bit of clothing between my mouth and him. Then I moved to decorate the skin with more marks. Each time I bit down, a soft “ha” escaped from his lips.

“H-how am I-ha-going t-to explain these marks tomorrow?” He managed, squirming under my grip. A smirk tugged at my lips as I surveyed my work, pleased that the bruises were scattered both above and below where his gym shorts would be as well as along his v-line.

“Guess you’ll get to tell everyone that you snagged a hot boy…” I snickered quietly as Phil let out an indignant squeak and slapped my arm. “What? I’m hot, admit it!”

“You wish!” He scoffed, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he avoided my eyes. Interesting. I trailed a finger over the various bruises, before rubbing his base teasingly.

“Dan!” He hissed, curling his fingers into fists against the wall as my hand ran up and down his length. I leaned forwards, carefully, and flicked my tongue out to taste the bead of precum gathering at his tip.

Phil keened, bucking his hips forwards suddenly so that my tongue slid along the bottom of his length. As soon as he’d realized what he’d done though, he flushed red and leaned back against the wall.

I just chuckled and used my hands to steady him before wrapping my lips around his tip. I couldn’t help but mewl as the salty flavour spread across my tongue, but it was nothing compared to the loud whimper Phil emitted.

“D-Dan… Stop teasing…” He managed, struggling against where I was holding him from pressing forwards. I pulled off, doing the opposite of what he had asked. Instead, I pressed wet kisses along the side of his length. “Howell!” He spluttered uselessly.

Giggling, I glanced up to his incredibly red face. “Something wrong?” I purred. He just glared down at me, his fingers twitching like he wanted to just grab my head and make me obey him. Heat swirled low in my stomach at the thought.

“You are such a tease.” Phil muttered, and I couldn’t help but notice how much lower and more gravelly his voice had gone. Swallowing roughly, I tried to stay on top of the rushing images in my head.

“I just know how to get you all worked up,” I winked. He spluttered again, beginning to growl something about how annoyingly cocky I was. I cut him off by suddenly lurching forwards and taking him into my mouth.

He swore, loudly, and his hands flew forwards to tangle in my hair. Blunt fingernails scraped my scalp as his fingers curled to grip my brown locks, tugging my mouth forwards. His hips jerked a bit as a moan pushed its way up my throat.

We both paused for breath. Phil panted heavily above me, while I forced myself to breathe through my nose. When I finally glanced up to his face, I couldn’t help the choked whine that escaped.

His head had fallen to the side, bright crimson cheeks underlining his darkened blue eyes as they locked with mine. I was slightly aware of my hands falling from his hips. He must have suddenly realized that I was breathing quite heavily through my nose, because he tugged my hair until I moved my mouth off of him.

I gasped for breath, aware that Phil hadn’t let go of his grip on my curls. If anything, he seemed to have tightened it, as if he was afraid I’d run away.

“J-Jesus, Phil…” I managed, lust and want rushing through my veins. He seemed to decide that I wasn’t mad at him, removing his hands to unbutton his shirt. I watched him quizzically.

“Hot in here,” He stated gruffly, pushing the material off of his shoulders and cautiously pushing his fingers back through my curls. “Is this okay?”

“Mmh…” I mumbled, leaning up into the touch. My jeans felt tight and uncomfortable, and now that he mentioned it, hot and sweaty. “I wanna strip too.”

“Are you asking for permission?”

“Yeah, can I?” He nodded, releasing my hair again so that I could shuffle away a few steps. I made quick work of my shirt, fumbling a bit with my belt before finally kicking off my jeans, leaving my underwear on.

Instantly I scrambled forwards to take him into my mouth again, moaning when he bumped the back of my throat. I was vaguely aware of Phil murmuring praise, each quiet word shooting down my spine to join the jumble of arousal filling my lower body. He slid in and out of my mouth slowly as I relaxed my jaw.

“So pretty like this,” He murmured, tugging my hair to guide me forwards again. I took advantage of his newly exposed skin, using my hands to explore his chest and sides as he controlled the movement of my head.

“Wanna touch myself…” I whined, increasingly aware of the pressure on my length. Phil tutted, glancing down at where I was shifting against the hard tile floor. Immediately I stopped and blushed.

“No, want to see you come untouched like the slut you are.”

My hips jerked at the unexpected command, but I managed to pull myself together with a strangled sounding whine. Phil hummed approvingly. Pulling my hair back, I felt him push in deeper at the new angle, until I was deepthroating his length with my nose pressed against his base. The same musky smell from before filled my nose, and I moaned appreciatively as he pulled back out and repeated the motion.

“Gonna come just from me using your mouth, yeah? Only I get to use you like this?” His voice was a low growl, possessively commanding my thoughts.

“Yes! Please… Use me, I’m… your… toy!” I begged in between thrusts, climbing towards my climax much faster now that he was saying such things like that. Phil huffed out a laugh, clearly amused by how effectively he’d managed to take control.

“Good boy,” He murmured gently, holding my head still as his tip repeatedly hit the back of my throat. It was weird, the way he effortlessly switched from commands and degradation to soft praising whispers, but it seemed that my body reacted strongly to pretty much any talk during such intimate moments.

His heavy breathing brought my eyes back to his face. “I-I’m-” He gasped suddenly, breaking off his sentence and pulling me harshly forwards as he fell over the edge. Hot liquid streaked over my tongue and down my throat, Phil’s breathless moans and praise filling my ears.

Then I was coming suddenly, pleasure spiking in my body as my orgasm racked through me. Mine was much quieter than his, considering that I had a slowly softening length filling my mouth, the last bit of his come disappearing down my throat as I swallowed around my noises.

He pushed my lips off of him wearily as he came down from his high, slumping against the wall and sliding down to sit in front of me. I squirmed in my soiled underwear, not quite sure whether to go to him or not. Thankfully, Phil decided for me by motioning me forwards and allowing me to collapse against his chest.

“Did you actually come from that?” He murmured, pressing his heated palm to my sensitive scalp. I pressed up into the touch.

“Mmh.. maybe…” My voice was raspy, almost hoarse. I blushed as he chuckled. He stayed quiet for a few more minutes, brushing his fingers delicately over my abused curls. Then he turned to look at me with a gentle smile.

“Shower?”

“Please,” I mumbled, a bit embarrassed. He stood and went to the back of the closet, rummaging through a bin of towels while I took the chance to admire his body from behind. Turning, he offered me one to wrap around my waist to conceal the dark patch on my front. Once we were both covered, with his towel hiked a bit higher to cover the bruises, we tried the door. It opened easily. I chose not to think about when Chris had come to unlock it.

Phil ushered me through the locker room, grabbing his bag from a bench nearby and following me to the showers. The spray was warm and inviting, and Phil dropped his towel without much hesitation before stepping in with a content sigh. I followed, kicking off my underwear and throwing my towel to the side.

His eyes roamed over my frame before reaching out and pulling me under the water with him. I collided with his chest, nearly knocking him backwards and causing giggles to bubble up from our throats.

“This is nice,” Phil murmured, reaching for the shampoo and rubbing it into my hair. I hummed, closing my eyes at the blissful feeling of his fingers in my hair.

“Yeah?”

“Mm..” His breath moved to the side of my neck, tingles erupting where his lips barely brushed the skin. I bit my lip as teeth scraped over the same spot, knowing that he was going to leave a mark. I probably deserved it for marking him up so much. He took a deep breath when he was done. “You smell a bit like strawberries.”

I couldn’t help but snort at that. “I’m pretty sure I smell like sex, actually.” He swatted my arm, and I opened my eyes as he giggled, his tongue between his teeth. A smile tugged at my lips. “You have a nice laugh…”

“You have an amazing mouth.” He retorted, smirking despite the blush creeping up the back of his neck. I couldn’t help but wink.

“Oh, I’m sure my mouth can do more than that.” Phil swatted my arm again, pushing me under the spray and causing shampoo to run in rivulets down my face and neck. “Hey!” I squeaked, clenching my eyes shut to avoid getting it in my eyes. The sweet smelling suds had almost disappeared when I felt his hands slide around my waist, tugging me closer.

I’m not sure who kissed who first, but it was sweet and gentle and not at all heated or sexual. He tasted like peaches. Who gave him the right to taste so good? I cringed internally when I realized what I probably tasted like, but he didn’t seem to mind. He pulled back slowly, seemingly trying to catch his breath but leaning back in to press quick pecks to the corners of my mouth before resting his forehead against mine.

“I think I like boys.”

A soft smile tugged at my lips. “You think so?” He pulled me back for another delicate kiss, breathing a word into the tiny gap between our mouths.

“Yeah.”

Imagine if Dudley did have a magical child though.

He and Harry haven’t spoken since ‘I don’t think you’re a waste of space’ and he’s matured enough to realise his parents were not good to Harry, especially since the birth of his own little girls because God forbid anything happened to him and they were treated like Harry was.

On Daisy Dursley’s eleventh birthday theres a knock on the door and his wife, Anita, just stares and he feels his stomach drop because the stern lady on the doorstep is wearing a cloak and pointed hat.

They listen to the woman - Professor McGonagall - explain and Anita is surprised but receptive, Daisy is excited and Dudley is terrified of what this means.

It’s a surprise to his wife and little girl when at the end of her explanation, while Daisy’s flicking through a book with moving pictures and Anita peers over her shoulder, Dudley blurts out ‘it’s safe now then? Your world?’

Professor Mcgonagall gives a wry smile and assures him that the magical world is indeed safe. It dawns on him that she was expecting this, that she’d perhaps researched him and was aware of his relation to Harry.

He then admits to Anita and Daisy that his cousin is a wizard, before turning to the Professor and asking if she by chance knows a Harry Potter. Looking amused, professor Mcgonagall acknowledges that she does.

’D'you know where he lives?’

That does surprise her a bit, and she tells him that yes, she knows and that though Daisy’s acceptance into the school has been confidential up until this point, Harry would likely not mind a visitor if he wanted a word.

Daisy begs to come along and he relents eventually, bringing Anita and their youngest, Poppy, along.

All four of them stand on the doorstep of a modest house that Dudley would call nice if there weren’t squat little creatures snickering and running around the front garden.

The door is opened by a slouching boy with turquoise hair who arches a purple eyebrow at them. He yells over his shoulder for someone named Ginny and steps back to let them in, and, when he notices Daisy staring at his hair, he smirks and a second later it’s bubblegum pink.

Daisy squeals in delight and Dudley is still trying to get his head around that when young girl and boy around Daisy’s age with bright red hair and thick brown curls respectively, hurtle down the corridor.

‘Teddy you promised you’d practice the sloth grip roll with us!’ The girl yells in an accusatory tone.

A woman with hair the same shade of flaming red as the little girl appears with what Dudley recognises as a wand in her hand as the boy with blue hair flashes a grin at them before chasing the two younger children outside to a shout of ‘No higher than the treetops Teddy!’

Harry is much like Dudley remembers him, lanky with a pointed face, straight nose and mess of untameable black hair. It’s awkward, but, apparently forewarned, Harry greets him pleasantly and introduces his wife before Ginny goes outside to reign in a gaggle of children he assumes aren’t all Harry’s.

A woman with thick, bushy hair pulled into a messy bun with a wand stuck in it smiles and makes an effort to talk to Anita. She’s not too strange, he thinks, and reassures them that her parents were just as baffled when they found out she was a witch.

‘Why don’t you take Daisy outside to see the broomsticks, Al?’ Harry suggests to Daisy’s obvious delight and Dudley swears Harry’s trying not to laugh.

By the end of the visit Dudley is more informed about the wizarding world than he ever thought he would or wanted to be. Daisy, with a bruise on her forehead and scraped knees, because despite both his and Harry’s warning she hadn’t been able to resist trying to fly, is bouncing off the walls because ‘daddy how could you not tell us?!’

They visit Harry’s a lot over summer and Daisy befriends Lily Luna Potter and Hugo Weasley. Dudley doesn’t feel up to the trip to Diagon Alley but regrets his decision to not go when Daisy comes back with two owls, 'uncle Harry bought the second one for me! So you can write without having to wait for me to send my owl!’

Petunia Dursley faints when she finds out, and Vernon spends a good half hour cursing and brandishing things aimlessly before retreating to his shed.

Dudley being introduced to what he calls 'all those bloody gingers’ some of whom are only just on the right side of civil to him (one cheerfully introduces himself as someone who once visited his childhood home in a flying car and asks if he’s going to need to do the same for Daisy or will she be allowed to attend without punishment).

Daisy is shocked to find out Harry’s famous, and finds out as much as she can about him during her first term, which she relays to an increasingly guilty feeling Dudley, who’s gradually coming around to the idea.

It’s not as bad as his parents made out it was. He’s learned to understand Daisy’s ramblings about her subjects and spells and is proud of her achievements at school. He’s met a handful of witches and wizards through Harry and the world that he’s always been told is terrible doesn’t seem too bad anymore, after all, how could it with his little girl in it? He is prepared come excitable little Poppy’s eleventh birthday, for her to join her sister at Hogwarts instead of standing jealously on the platform as she leaves.

Poppy Dursley never gets a letter.

ARIES, the world can feel like one giant scratched record, but it’s your responsibility to keep the music going.

TAURUS, you are my best friend and my second heartbeat. our time together is golden.

GEMINI,  fight your battles without bruising your knuckles.

CANCER,  a winter skyline pressed into spring, the weather isn’t as good as you are but i’m glad you’re here.

LEO, come home come home come home already. my knees are violet from begging, my neck empty from missing you.

VIRGO, I hope cities taste like what you dreamed them to be.

LIBRA, your secret playlists are what I think about when I stare at my ceiling fan. everything feels like your eyes. 

SCORPIO, you are eden fruit and glory personified.

SAGITTARIUS, not every fairytale has a good ending, but the crown fits better than my tongue. 

CAPRICORN, you feel like a far-away star who’s orbit I find myself crash landing into with each exhale. I am so fatefully lucky to know you.

AQUARIUS, march is all falling petals and thighs too lonely. this is all temporary though, even you and me and this god. 

PISCES,  your love is  immortal, it is a first religion. pray for me.

—  MARCH MESSAGES TO THE SIGNS, x.v
shakespeare aesthetics

romeo and juliet: suburban july. scraped knees, bruised knuckles, blood in your teeth. bare feet on hot concrete. restlessness. your high school’s empty parking lot. love poems in your diary. a window open to coax in a breeze. burning inside. an ill-fitting party dress, a t-shirt you cut up yourself, the time you tried to give yourself bangs. biking to your friend’s house. bubble gum. gas station ice. the feeling that you’ve met before. rebellion. a car radio playing down the street. cheap fireworks. a heart drawn on the inside of your wrist with sharpie. switchblades. red solo cups. dancing in your bedroom. screaming yourself hoarse. running out of options. the forlorn-looking basketball hoop at the end of the cul-de-sac. climbing onto your roof at night while your parents are asleep. flip-flops. a eulogy written on looseleaf. the merciless noontime sun.

hamlet: speaking in a whisper. holding your breath. a browning garden. a half-remembered story. furniture covered with sheets. fog at dawn, mist at twilight. losing touch. the ethereal space between winter and spring. the soft skin at your temple. the crack in the hallway mirror. things you’d say if you knew the words. uncombed hair. books with writing in the margins, books with cracked spines, books with lines scratched out. prayers on all souls’ day. a chipped ceramic bathtub. a cold stone floor. uncomfortable awareness of your own heartbeat. the sparrow that got in your house. shadows. the creek you played in as a child. a dirty night gown. a big black t-shirt. a collection of your favorite words. soil under your nails. ghost stories. the strangeness of your own name in your mouth. deep silence. exhaustion. a cliff with a long, long drop down.

twelfth night: wicker deck furniture. new england summer. big dark sunglasses and a blonde bob. a storm over the ocean, patio umbrellas flapping in the wind. chlorine smell. muffled laughter. sarcasm. starched cuffs. day drinking. bay windows. the idea of love, love for the idea of love, love for love’s sake. hangovers. wandering over the sand dunes. a vagabond with a guitar, a crab fisherman with tattoos, a pretty boy with a slackened tie. a light house. growing too close. boat shoes. feeling yourself change. finger guns. big floppy sun hats. double-speak. a song you keep listening to. turning red under their gaze. margaritas drunk on an inflatable pool lounger. string lights on a balmy night. sleepy june days. fights you’re unprepared for, hope you weren’t expecting, pranks that go too far. bad poetry. pining. pool noodles. becoming less of a stranger.

macbeth: the space where your grief used to be. a bird that’s lost an eye. old blood stains. heavy blinds. the smell of sweat, the stillness after battle. a fake smile. a curse. the taste of metal at the back of your tongue. your house, unfamiliar in the dark. a dusty crib. a sulfur smell. an orange pill bottle. streaks in the sink. a black cocktail dress. your hand on the doorknob, shaking. chilly breeze. crunching from the gravel driveway on a moonless night. clenched hands. a rusty swing set. a flashing digital clock stuck on 12:00. a snake that crosses your path, an owl that watches you, a dog that runs when you approach. red smoke. dark clouds. cool steel. tile floors. footsteps in the hallway late at night. a baggy suit that used to fit before. visions. insomnia headaches. nursery rhymes. being too far in to go back now. 

much ado about nothing: the high drama of small towns. a pickup truck, military supply duffel bags in the hall, hugs all around. tulip bulbs. a wraparound porch, a pitcher of iced tea. barbecue. a rubber halloween mask. someone on your level. indian summer. ill-timed proclamations. stomach-clutching laughter. rushing in. not minding your business. crepe paper. white lies. secrets written down and thrown away. southern hospitality. homemade curtains in the kitchen, a sink full of roses. hiding in the bushes. old friends. the wedding dress your grandma wore, and her mama before her. a dog-eared rhyming dictionary. camomile with honey. the intimacy of big parties. lawn flamingos. gossip. a crowded church. friendly rivalries. unfriendly rivalries. shit getting real. love at five hundredth sight. not realizing you have a home until you’re there. 

king lear: cement block buildings. power lines that birds never perch on. the end of the world. useless words. rainless thunder, heat lightning, a too-big sky. arthritic knuckles. broken glass. chalk cliffs. the pulsing red-black behind closed eyes. something you learned too late. wet mud that sucks up your shoes while you walk. a cold stare. empty picture frames. empty prayers. the obscenity of seeing your parents cry. a treeless landscape. bloody rags. grappling in the dark with reaching hands. the sharpness at the tips of your teeth. the blown-out windows of skeletal houses. decay. jokes that aren’t jokes, shutting up, holding your tongue. prophecies. aching muscles, tired feet. stinging rain. invoking the gods, wondering if the gods are listening, wondering if the gods are dead. white noise. shivers. numbness. the unequivocal feeling of ending.

a midsummer night’s dream: wet soil/dead leaves smell. listening to music on headphones with your eyes closed. wildflowers. the distant sparkle of lightning bugs. a pill somebody slipped you. fear that turns to excitement, excitement that turns to frenzy. mossy tree trunks. a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness. night swimming. moonlight through the leaves. a bass beat in your chest. a butterfly landing on your nose. a kiss from a stranger. a dark hollow in an old tree. glow-in-the-dark paint. drinking on an empty stomach. a twig breaking behind you. spinning until you’re dizzy. finding glitter on your body and not remembering where it came from. an overgrown path through the woods. cool dew on your skin. a dream that fades with waking. moths drawn to the light. giving yourself over, completely. afterglow. the long, loving, velvety night.

YOI Fan Rec Friday

Hi! Thanks for all your recs! A few things to mention this week:

1. I randomly select 20-25 fics to put on this list each week to keep the list manageable! If you don’t see your rec on here, please send it in again! Tumblr also eats asks, so please send in your rec again if you don’t see it!
2. Please look at my guidelines before recommending fics! I will not put fics on the list that violate my guidelines. This is to keep my blog a safe place for anyone and everyone! You can check out my guidelines here.

Without further ado, here are the recommendations this week!

Rec’d by @sacchariwrites :
I Want It All by venoms, Teen, 5k (WIP)
When Katsuki Yuuri misses the podium by half a point and finds himself in fourth place during the 2015 Grand Prix Final, he is ready to give up, but Yakov Feltsman sees something in him and offers to coach him the following season in Russia alongside his idol, Viktor Nikiforov and Yuri Plisetsky, whose next season is his senior debut.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
Whenever I Fall at Your Feet by thesleepingsatellite, Explicit, 4.8k
Victor would have been lying if he’d said he didn’t find feet erotic. Feet were the primary tools of his and Yuuri’s profession, the instruments they used to dance across the ice, the supporting foundation of their performances. They were simultaneously punished and treasured. Finally, Yuuri was allowing him to cherish his feet the way that Victor had wanted to for months.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous and anonymous:
if this city will bloom by RennieOnIceCream (Hitsugi_Zirkus), Gen, 8.9k
The story where Viktor accidentally brings home a cherry blossom spirit from Japan, and his life and heart are turned upside-down.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @mixberkaan :
The Rules For Lovers by ADreamingSongbird, Teen, 128k (WIP)
Prince Yuuri Katsuki has a duty to his country, above all else (his desires, his dreams, and his happiness included), and he knows this alliance will help to ensure the safety of his people. That’s the only reason he accepts Prince Nikiforov’s hand in marriage. The pleasant surprise, of course, is the part where they fall in love along the way. The unpleasant one, well…That’s a long story.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous and anonymous:
Love and Gelato by flowercrownyuri (elevensong), Teen, 7.6k
Victor’s life consists of three things: taking classes at the local university, figure skating on the weekends, and working at a florist shop downtown. After years upon years of monotony, he’s convinced that nothing can take him by surprise anymore. However, when a new employee begins working at Celestino’s, a gelato shop across the road, Victor’s immediately intrigued. 

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
Just Hold On (We’re Going Home) by kiaronna, Teen, 10k (WIP)
Where Yuuri remembers the banquet, Viktor forgets, and Yakov Feltsman has his own plans.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous and anonymous:
A Political Affair by ChibiFoxx, Mature, 85k (WIP)
As a young Omega, Yuuri had wanted nothing more than to be able to live freely and pursue his dreams. But with the crushing reality of having an Alpha-dominated government, Omegas were forced to live the life society wanted them to have, even if it meant selling their lives to an Alpha suitor at a young age.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
I can be your devil or your angel, baby by hinatella, Teen, 5.1k
Yuuri Katsuki didn’t ask for any of this, and he’s starting to question all of his life choices that lead up to this cursed moment.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
do something pretty (while you can) by renaissance, Teen, 14k (WIP)
Everything is going wrong, and it’s all Viktor’s fault. It all started when he got Christophe involved. That was a mistake. But no, it started before then. It started with Georgi and Anya. Even earlier, it started with one small victory that gave Viktor a lot of big ideas. It started when Lilia arrived with her ballet students on the very first day of term. Really, if Viktor’s being honest, it started the moment he met Yuuri.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
you think my bruised knees are sort of pretty by fireblazie, Teen, 4.7k (WIP)
In which Yuuri gets drunk at a con, earns the nickname Cake Boy, and promptly forgets all about it.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @sentwithcitation :
The Boy Who Watched by Rosie_Rues, Teen, 12k
In which Victor pines, everybody drinks too much, and Yakov deserves a sainthood for putting up with these idiots. Basically, it’s a decade’s worth of near misses, misunderstandings, and pure obliviousness.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
you are the best thing that’s ever been mine by JMonCheri, Mature, 4.9k (WIP)
Wherein famous actors Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov are forced to fake a relationship for mere reasons such as fame, money, and for teenage girls to make thesis long rants about them on Tumblr. A pact is made, then things snowball into a complete mess, and ya’ll already get the idea where this is going…

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @dragondoodle0268 :
Painting by Homosexualrussian, TwinDragons0268, Teen, 1.3k (WIP)
After Victor Nikiforov settles into his comfy new Barcelona apartment while taking a break from skating, he goes to many new places, he experiences many new experiences. However, out of all of them, his favorite hang-outs is the art gallery near his residence (as he goes nearly every day). Everyone there knows him by name, he knows each painting, sculpture, collage by heart, but after an overly angry guest leaves, Victor slowly begins to discover that change can be for the better.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
will lose my desire for you (never my love) by ken_ichijouji (dommific), Mature, 16k ***Major Character Death
Victor is ten when he leaves home to fine tune his alchemy, nineteen when he meets Katsuki Yuuri, twenty when he becomes a State Alchemist and a husband, and twenty-two when a teen named Yuri Plisetsky begins to report to him. 

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
That April (you were knowable) by llythl, Teen, 10k (WIP)
“He said there were dead bodies buried beneath the tree,” Victor explains, eyes wide. Yuuri remembers his sister telling him in passing that Victor could not be more typical as a tourist - possessing a charming naivete that was really only charming when it was not doing any harm.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @flyingsuits-blog-blog
You Have Witchcraft in Your Lips by RememberingEmbers, Teen, 4.8k
Victor falls in love with the new cheesecake-on-a-stick vendor at the Renaissance Faire.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
Fontaine de jouvence by EdosianOrchid, Teen, 4.7k
Maybe he should have chosen a different place to spend his eternity, calmer and less eccentric than San Junipero but Yuuri has promised himself that he will overcome his anxiety to catch up here all the missed opportunities from his previous life. Besides, it is what his best friend Phichit would have wanted for him.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
more than three quarters by alykapedia, Teen, 9.8k (WIP)
“No fair, I wanted to do a review for your new book too!”
Pulling the phone away from his ear, Yuuri Katsuki—New York Times best-selling author and winner of the Akutagawa and Naoki Prizes—squinted at the screen bearing his best friend’s grinning face. 

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
Take Hold by LavenderProse, Mature, 20k
“I believe…” Yuuri says, pensive. “I believe that when you’re connected to another person so closely that you share a soul, it’s stupid to think that you wouldn’t feel it. How can you not recognize part of yourself when they’re standing right in front of you?” / “That's…I…yes.” Viktor tries to untie his tongue, mouth suddenly arid. “You—I think you would know, yes.” / Yuuri skates onto the ice and Viktor’s soul screams after him, Do you know? Can you see me? I’m here, I’m here.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
I’ll be loving you for quite some time by Singittome, Teen, 1.8k
Twenty-eight little stories from Saint Petersburg.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
i never could’ve asked for more by flowerbolt, Explicit, 3.1k (WIP)
It’s like having a genie in a lamp.Or such were the tales on the worn-out books he used to have as a child, anyway. Always containing a wondrous spell he never quite understood—though it seems a little unfair on him to have to give something in return, and inevitably even less fair on his benefactor to not have a wish limit in the first place.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
Cherry Wood and Golden Robes by Skowronek, Not Rated, 8k (WIP)
When the up-and coming Japanese wizard Yuuri Katsuki arrives in Sochi for his most important duelling competition so far, he expects to flub his duel, embarrass himself, and panic. He doesn’t expect to exceed his own expectations and gain a rival in the process.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
The Force Is Strong in My Family by explanationintime, Teen, 1.8k
“The force is strong in my family. My father has it, I have it, and…my brother has it.”

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @hystericblue:
Found Myself in a House I’ve Never Been Before by QueenofFennoscandia, Mature, 9.4k (WIP)
Yuuri was almost sure that this was reality. His favorite tea blend could be found in the kitchen cabinet on left, and the teapot was on the top shelf, exactly as he favored. Two important thoughts went through his head. Could he even skate anymore, and more importantly, did any of the people he knew exist?

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by anonymous:
Unsinkable by terra_incognita, Teen, 18k (WIP)
Victor is a wealthy heir with a lonely soul. Yuuri is a poor dancer with a tender heart. The deck of the Titanic might be a very romantic place to meet your one true love, but it’s not exactly a fortuitous one.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @exile-wrath :
On Our High Horses by Bad_Wolf, Teen, 11k (WIP)
Sara Crispino loves her job, riding the broad flats and hills of her adopted planet on her beloved horse. She doesn’t have to talk to anyone for days, just the cows and horses she herds. Usually the only other person she interacts with is the landowner of half the planet, Yurui Katsuki, and he’s just plain shy. Sara would have been happy to go on like that, one day flowing into the next, seamless and unvaried; except when a group of uppity nobles decide to invest money into the Katsukis’ business. Now while Yuuri is off schmoozing the money, Sara has to play host to an infuriating rich lady who wouldn’t know hard work if it bit her in the ass.

✧·゚: *✧·゚:*    *:·゚✧*:·゚✧

Rec’d by @nagoyadelay :
Setting Sun by LittleLostStar, Explicit, 52k (WIP)
With the world watching their every move, Victor and Yuuri begin trading lyrics in a secret conversation; from playful rivalry to intense seduction, through Savage Garden and San Fermin, their virtual affair unfolds, hidden in plain sight. But the Grand Prix approaches, bringing with it newfound opportunities for Yuuri’s career, and his new life hinges on two things: winning the gold, and staying away from Victor.


Thank you for all your recs! ₍₍ (̨̡ ‾᷄♡‾᷅ )̧̢ ₎₎

The amazing “YOI Fan Rec Friday” banner was created by @omgkatsudonplease! I love them a lot, check out their blog!

My Star pt 1

Pt 1 || Pt 2 (final) - coming soon

Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Summary: She was so wrong for him, and you knew it. If only Taehyung could realize it.

Word Count: 5,417

Originally posted by mvssmedia

A loud pop resulted from you smacking your lips together trying to even out the layer of tinted gloss,

“Ooo, where are you going tonight?” Your roommate, Yeo Woon, gasped from her spot on the couch, “You’re going out on a date?” 

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m not going out on a date. I’m going to hang out with Tae.” 

Since you were examining your makeup one last time with your pocket mirror, you didn’t see the pout on Yeo Woon’s face but you could most certainly sense it, “Geez, Y/N…don’t tell me you still have a crush on him.”

“What! Me? A crush..on him?”

“Oh c’mon, Y/N-ah. Everyone who knows you on this goddamn planet knows you have a crush on Taehyung. Aside from him, of course.”

“I…I do not! And even if I did…I got over it…” Your cheeks flared with heat as you quickly shoved your mirror back in your purse,

“You’re all dressed up, you’ve been smiling all day, and you used one of my facial packs last night which is weird considering you always complain about the sliminess. So basically, you must still have a crush on him if you’re doing yourself up like this just to ‘go hang out’.” 

Keep reading

NCT Dream in latest stage: *wears sparkly gloves, volleyball knee pads, and oversized blazers* 

Me, in tears: THIS !!!!!!!!!!!!!

My friend: It’s okay, I get that you’re shocked. Their outfits were consistently good until–

Me: Are you kidding me……… i LoVE IT !!!!!!!!! SM BE TAKING CARE OF MY BABES KEEPIN THeiR HANDS TOASTY WITH GLOVES, MAKING SURE THAT THEY DONT GEt BRUISES WITH KNEEPADS AND KEEPIN THEM ALL WARM n coZY IN THIS WINTER WeaATHER WITH THEM OVERSIZED BLAZERS tHEY HAVE NEVER LOOKED BETTER

inimitablebiscuit  asked:

Erm Flintwood please if you're still doing 150. * Winning smile *

pairing: marcus flint x oliver wood

setting: modern, non-magical, soulmates-at-first-touch au

word count: 1394


Marcus punches his soulmate in the face the first time they meet.

Wait.

No.  

It’s worse than that.

Marcus punches his soulmate in the face the first time they meet, the flats of his knuckles crunching against the guy’s jaw, hard enough to draw blood and leave a mark and hurt—and then there’s a strange fluttering sensation erupting in the pit of Marcus’s stomach, a comforting, calming warmth suffusing the blood in his veins and the marrow in his bones and it’s exactly like how they’d described it in Health class, the awareness—the connection—slotting into place so seamlessly that he’s astonished he’d never noticed something missing before now.  

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus blurts out. “Oh—fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Marcus’s soulmate—who’s tall and lean and has the prettiest brown eyes, what the shit—is just sprawled out on the dirty arena floor, blinking and blinking and prodding gingerly at the bruise that’s already beginning to blossom—

“No,” the guy says firmly. “This isn’t happening.”

“Fuck you,” Marcus immediately snaps. “I rejected you first.”

The guy snorts, kind of irritatingly sarcastic, before grimacing. His emotions, so far as Marcus can tell, are all over the place; shock and dismay and frustration and—very, very deeply—a flickering, almost unwilling tremor of interest.  

“It wouldn’t work, anyway,” the guy goes on, more loudly. “You have terrible opinions about hockey.”

“Fuck you,” Marcus snaps again. “You’re the one in the shitty jersey.”

“He’s won three Cups.”

“Yeah, and he was a fucking healthy scratch for two of them,” Marcus retorts. “Try again.”

“Hockey is a team sport,” the guy says hotly. “It isn't—it isn’t about individual accomplishments.”

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Sure, whatever,” he drawls, “but your shitty jersey is still shitty.”

The guy’s mouth falls open, and Marcus can feel the sour note of his indignation—the jagged spike of his outrage—as clearly as if it were his own. “Jesus fucking Christ,” the guy sputters, shaking his head like he’s got a nervous tic. “What are you so—what are you so angry about?”

Marcus raises his eyebrows. “Um,” he says slowly, because, really, what the shit, “I’m not angry. I’m confused.”

“No.” The guy frowns. “You’re definitely angry. I feel it, like—” He gestures vaguely to his chest and upper abdomen. “Right there. Like heartburn.”

Marcus’s nostrils flare, and he scratches viciously at the side of his neck to distract himself from the fact that this complete fucking stranger with boy band hair and, and Bambi eyes is apparently better at deciphering Marcus’s emotions than Marcus is.  

“Oh, hell,” the guy sighs, “now you're—embarrassed, don’t be like that, I didn’t mean to—hey, come on, where are you—where are you going? You can’t just—hey! Come back!”

Marcus does not come back.

And the ensuing wave of regret that pulses through Marcus’s sternum is lukewarm and salty and depressingly difficult to pinpoint the origins of.

It’s not his, he thinks stubbornly.

Probably.


Marcus lasts two and a half days before the persistent invisible tugging at his gut becomes too annoying to bear.

He follows it.

He follows it to a bench in Riverside Park that’s near where the gross little fish and chips stand is, and the scent of old frying oil undercut by whatever the fuck is currently decomposing in the Hudson is—less nauseating than it arguably fucking should be, seriously, what the shit.

But—

His soulmate, his soulmate, is sitting with his legs spread obnoxiously wide, wrists crossed and hands dangling in his lap, squinting intently up at the clouds like he’s waiting for them to tell him what to do next. It’s endearing. Maybe. Marcus’s stomach is in knots—a tangled mess of dread and unease and, abruptly, relief.

“Oh,” the guy says, quirking his lips into something that Marcus chooses to generously describe as a smile. The bruise on the guy’s jaw is a lurid, chalky looking violet, partially obscured by the auburn of his stubble. “You found me.”

“Of course I fucking found you,” Marcus says, dropping down next to him. Their knees brush, just for a moment, and it’s like—lightning, bright and fierce and sizzling, coiling around the base of his spine. “There’s been this—this buzzing, in the back of my head—”

“Yeah,” the guy interjects glumly. “I know. I would've—if you hadn’t. I would’ve tried to find you.” He pauses. “I missed you, I guess, which is—weird.”

Marcus scowls down at the sidewalk. There’s a crack in the cement, and it’s dirty, gritty with loose gravel around the edges, splintering off into a dozen hairline fractures before disappearing into the grass. He can feel his own surprise at the guy’s admission, and it’s so—uncomfortable, knowing that there’s nothing he can hide behind. Making himself smaller, holding himself still; they’re not antidotes for anything, not anymore, and this guy—his soulmate—he’s got a rabbit-fast heartbeat and an intimidatingly focused way of feeling things. Marcus wonders how he’s supposed to get used to that.  

“I’m Marcus,” he eventually offers, voice emerging gruffer than he’d have liked. “My name, I mean. It's—Marcus.”

The guy turns, slightly, to look over at Marcus. “Oliver. I’m Oliver.” He hesitates before he goes on, sounding nonplussed, “I still can’t believe you fucking hit me. Over a jersey.”

Marcus huffs. “It’s a really shitty jersey.”

Oliver grins, short and sweet and self-deprecating, before nudging at Marcus’s ribs with the point of his elbow. “I’ve, uh. I’ve been told I’ve got kind of a…bad habit of, of taking things too seriously.” His mouth twists, and the stabbing ache of some long-ago insult, or argument; it lances through the pads of Marcus’s fingers, stinging and sharp. “Obsessive. That’s what—I dunno. That’s what I’ve been told. I can be…obsessive. About—whatever.”

“Obsessive,” Marcus repeats, shaking out his hand. “That’s your—one big fault. Enthusiasm.”

Oliver shrugs, easy and casual, like it doesn’t matter, like Marcus can’t literally feel the crippling uncertainty—the tension, swampy and thick—weighing down his limbs. “Enthusiasm is…too nice of a word for it, I think.”

“Bullshit,” Marcus hears himself say, with absolutely zero fucking direction from his brain, or his conscience, or his admittedly flimsy sense of self-preservation. “Enthusiasm is the perfect fucking word for it.”

Oliver startles, slightly, eyes widening a fraction. There’s a coolly refreshing burst of—happiness, maybe; gratitude, definitely—coating the back of Marcus’s tongue. Citrus. Summer. Chlorine and coconut. It’s fucking nice.

“Oh. Um. Okay,” Oliver says, haltingly. “Thanks.”

A tentative silence descends between them on the bench. Marcus drums his fingers against the inseam of his jeans, jiggling his foot and glaring at a rotting spear of tree bark and swallowing around a metallic-tasting lump in his throat that he instinctively wants to label curiosity.  

“Sorry,” Marcus grunts, slouching forward. “About the—hitting you. I just—sorry. I was angry. I get angry.”

Oliver stares at him, bottom lip clutched between his teeth, and there’s a swirl of something taking root in his lungs, something chewy and rich, like caramel, so that every breath he takes in is like burnt brown sugar crystallizing against the roof of his mouth, but then there’s more, too, a champagne bubble pop of amusement, and—

“It’s alright,” Oliver says wryly. “I heard I was wearing a pretty shitty jersey.”

Marcus snorts, and then groans, and then laughs, almost despite himself, before confessing, as quietly as he can manage—  

“Yeah, I’m…not really sorry, anyway.”


cave me in | 01

college au 

pairing: jinyoung x reader 

genre: fluff x slight angst

word count: 4.658

requested by anon 

description: you should’ve known that asking your best friend turned ex-boyfriend for a favor would never turn out the way you expected. 


The moment you come to a stop outside the clandestine coffee shop that sits a few meters away from the Engineering Research Building, you know you have screwed up.  

There was no way around it. No matter how many times you mulled over the situation, this seemed to be the only plausible outcome with the least damage. Ultimately, it all depended on your ex-boyfriend giving you the time of day to even hear your proposition out and you understood that there was a high possibility he’d cast you back outside into the brittle December air without a second thought. You probably would have done the same thing to someone that broke 2 years of a relationship and many more of friendship in less than five minutes.  

Keep reading

Please help your local black trans boy if you can.

If anyone is able to purchase anything medical for me from my wishlist I will be so grateful.
Life is becoming harder for me physically & I financially cannot afford the things that I need to live somewhat comfortably.

I suffer from Ehlers Danlos Syndrome - Im prone to dislocations, collapsing, passing out, bruising easily etc. This means I rely on crutches & a wheelchair to get around - some days I can use neither due to exhaustion.

Sleeping is also becoming harder as my hips can have subluxations - as well as my knees, shoulders and ribs.

Today I had a bad spell and my knee dislocated which caused a black out - I don’t remember a lot of what happened except for me screaming & crying for my dad.

If anyone can help I will be forever grateful.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/registry/wishlist/3NL97OIUA098

Daddy A.I

Originally posted by chanelhood

warning: smut smut smut smut smut

word count: 2800+

summary: y/n teases daddy in public and he isn’t too happy about it

requested?: yes, I hope you liked it Anon, I tried to make it as smutty as I could and for the most part I think this would have to be the most smutty smut I’ve written. My requests are open and I respond to all, I usually get smut up a few days after the requests go through ;)

- Find my Masterlist here -

________________________________________________________________

I bit my lip as I looked at Ashton, jaw clenched and teeth gritted. I knew he was angry, you could see it on his face but I didn’t care, I wanted him to be angry, no I wanted him to be livid. 

Keep reading

I Win (Feysand Fanfiction)

Feyre and Rhys teaching their kids to fly.

Enjoy.

Rhys and I stood on the edge of the stones, both of us staring nervously out at the water.

“It’s not deep enough.” He said.

I bit my lip, considering ever factor, every variable. “There’s a shallow part up there right next to a low hanging branch. If he hits it…”

He shook his head. “I’m worried about the width. One wrong breeze and he could-”

“Would you two stop worrying?” Cassian cut in. I looked up to where he was strolling from the small camp Rhys and I had set up the night before. “He’ll be fine. We’ve trained plenty of younglings with half the safety precautions and we’ve yet to kill one.”

I paled at the word kill, but nodded anyway.

Cass is right. I told Rhys. And it’s not like he’s unused to dangerous things.

Rhys’s lips played in a smile. I will always treasure the memory of you knocking him flat on his ass accidentally with a wooden sword.

Just as I’ll treasure the memory of him beating you in a strategy game. I retorted

I let him win.

Yeah, right.

I walked towards the tent before he could answer. I felt the amused expression on his face following me. A second later, he sent an image of something that was definitely not appropriate for the situation.

I hissed back. Rhys. Ashryn just developed her scenting abilities. I’d rather not have her asking about the funny smell in the air whenever you get that expression.

What expression? He responded innocently.

I shook my head.

Then I heard a scream.

I realized it had come from the tents and bolted towards them. I was across the clearing and opening the flap in a flash.

I scowled at what I found inside. Nesta was frantically pouring water on the smoldering blanket, scowling as Nyle and Ashryn argued in the corner. As soon as they saw me, they both threw their hands up, pointing to the other.

“She set the blanket on fire!” Nyle blabbed.

Ashryn’s eyes were more furious than was probably normal for a seven year old. She scowled and retorted. “Only ‘cause Nyle snuck up on me.”

“I was just getting you back for earlier.” He wrinkled his nose. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“I’m not a baby!” She yelled.

“The carpet says different.” He responded.

“Maybe it’s a mirror and you’re getting me mixed up with yourself!” She yelled.

“Ashryn. Nyle.” I said sharply. They both quieted down. “Do we need to go home?”

Ashryn looked at the ground. “No, Mom.”

“Please no.” Nyle whined.

I tucked Ashryn’s gold hair behind her ear and mussed Nyle’s dark locks. “Ready, then?”

Nyle nodded. I grabbed his hand and lead him out of the tent, Ashryn bounding up behind us.

“Can I please learn how to today?” She begged, skipping between the tufts of grass. Her violet eyes grew wide as she caught sight of the creek Rhys and I had prepared with magic, deepening and widening it so it would break any fall. “Just cause Nyle’s older-”

“How’d you learn to fly, Mom?” Nyle interrupted. “Uncle Cass said you didn’t learn like Daddy and him.”

“Azriel taught me.” I answered simply. The entire story would take too long.

“How did you and Daddy meet?” Ashryn said suddenly.

I swallowed my laugh. “That’s a rather long story. I’d be telling you until midnight and then Nyle wouldn’t get his first lesson.”

“I’ll tell you.” Rhys said from behind us. I had heard him sneaking up on us, but I hadn’t said anything. It was worth it to hear the squeals coming from a startled Ashryn. Nyal, who had recently decided that he was too old to be scared of anything, quickly hid his surprised yell with a cough.

Rhys lifted Ashryn onto his shoulders, letting her swing her legs in the air as he held her hands. “Your mother saw me and decided I was the handsomest person she’d ever met.”

Nyle and Ashryn both wrinkled their noses. “Gross.” Ashryn said.

“Yep.” I said quickly, shooting Rhys a dry glare. “Come on, let’s go.”

Nyle and I ran to the edge of the creek. Rhys set Ashryn down and knelt down next to him.

Nyle had inherited Rhys’s ability to gain and lose his wings at will, while Ashryn had inherited my mix of magic. So it was easier for Rhys to get started. When I taught Ashryn, I’d have to put her through the same exhausting process I’d gone through with Azriel, slowly building wings from scratch.

As Ashryn watched her brother and Rhys, she frowned. Then she looked up at me. “Please, Mom?”

The whine was gone from her voice. It was just a small plea this time.

I nodded, smiling faintly, and pulled her into the woods.

A few hours later, Ashryn and I walked back to camp muddy and sweaty, both of us grinning. She had a small scrape on her knee and a bruise on one arm, but she didn’t seem to notice as she skipped over to Nyle.

I smiled at Rhys as he lifted a brow. “What did you two do?” He asked.

I just smiled faintly. “I taught her to fly.”

He glanced at her, confused. “But wings…”

Ashryn was teasing Nyle about his soaked clothes. “How did it go with him?” I nodded towards them.

Rhys smiled softly. “Better than I could ask. Better than my first time, probably. He still fell a lot though.”

I nodded. “Ashryn, Nyle.” I called.

They both looked up. “Yeah?”

I grinned. “Want to race? Girls against boys?”

What do you have in mind? Rhys asked.

Several things. It was my turn to send him an inappropriate image. But pertaining to this, just one.

Wicked and beautiful, as always, Feyre darling.

You have no idea. I smirked as Nyle eagerly nodded.

Rhys and I walked to the edge of the spring next to them.

“On your mark…” I said, winking at Ashryn. She bounced up and down excitedly. “Get set…”

I took a breath and summoned wind. Rhy’s wings whipped out, along with Nyle’s.

“Go!”

Before either boy could flap their wings, Ashryn and I shot across the creek, propelled by a powerful gust of wind. Nyle’s complaining shout rang across the forest as I scooped up Ashryn and held her high above my head, both of us still floating.

“We win!” She yelled. Her golden hair had come loose from her braid. It whipped around her face, her cheeks rosy.

“Not fair!” Nyle yelled.

“Come on,” Rhys chuckled. “Let’s go back to camp.”

I’m going to repay you for that. He promised, laughing into my mind.

I smirked again, then blushed as he sent another image.

Ashryn sniffed the air. “Mom, what’s that smell?”

From the other side of the creek, Rhys fell down laughing.

“Forest creature.” I said quickly.

Her nostrils flared again. “It’s gone now.” She noted.

I nodded as solemnly as I could manage. “It must have left.”

I’ll bring it back. Rhys promised.

I scowled. Good luck with that now.

I take that as a challenge.

I could hardly contain my grin as I responded. Let’s hope you don’t lose this one.

Braveten: A Witty and Spontaneous Writer

AO3 Profile

Tumblr

I bet everybody in the Yuri on Ice fandom already knows braveten. She’s only seventeen, but three of her works are already part of the top twenty Yuri on Ice fanfics that have garnered the most number of kudos in AO3. She is the writer who brought us All the World’s a Stage, Centripetal Force, The Fundamentals of Caring, and eight other entertaining stories. She has made us smile, laugh, cry, and has moved our hearts in a way that one can never forget.

Braveten couldn’t believe how surreal it is that many people enjoy her stories. She has always written for herself and for fun, so seeing that many people love her works is mindblowing. “And crazy exciting!!!” she adds.  “And also a little bit nerve-wracking, if I’m being honest. This show means a lot to me so knowing that I’ve had some sort of an impact on the fandom makes me really happy and I am super grateful!”

(We are grateful to you too, braveten.) However, aside from the stories she had written and her distinctly witty writing style, what else do we know about her? For the fans of braveten (and for those who don’t know her but are now interested), I have interviewed her and written this feature article for you.

Know more about the mastermind behind some of the fandom’s most beloved fics under the cut.

Keep reading

The Roommate - BTS - Jimin (Smut/ Fluff) (M)

Summary: Anon – “Hello! Can I request a Jimin smut where you both are roomates and he has the biggest crush on you (who are the innocent type) and one day he accidentally walks in on you naked? And you are embarassed bc no one has ever see you naked? And with dirty talk about how much he wanted you. Btw, I read you Yoongi smut, and if you had not said that it was your first smut I wouldn’t have believed it. I really liked it.”

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Word Count: 2,647

Genre: Smut/ Fluff

Warning: Contains dirty talk, swearing, supa-sexual content. Basically, tis smut. Yup.

Keep reading

Klangst day 5 - Secrets

Or: There are things Keith can’t hide anymore.


It didn’t feel real.

The castle was still gunning down the last of the enemy ships. The battle raged on, but for Keith, none of it mattered. He stared at the Black lion in shock. It had taken a direct hit from the laser cannon. It drifted in front of him, in the antigravity of space, eyes dark and a hole punched clean through the head. Like a hole puncher through paper.

It had all happened so damn fast. One second he was beside Lance, taking down the enemy and feeling cocky, and the next, Lance’s raw, guttural screams were echoing in his skull.

There was a faint chattering on the com link. It seemed muffled and unreal, but the voices were recognizable. They were talking, Keith realized. His crew mates. Talking to him. Words and sentences. Keith numbly switched off the com link and stared. Then he noticed something.

Keep reading

The King

Summary: King Arthur-ish AU featuring Negan as a medieval king. It had to be done. It just did. Sorry.

Warnings: Negan…language, smut, violence. Possible dub-con. Posessive Negan. Darker than I usually write. No fluff. There is no historical accuracy intended in this piece. I barely utilized the google.

Tags: @negans-network @negansmutweek @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @ladylorelitany @melodicdolls @superwholoki @thatwriterizzy

It was a day of celebration throughout the land. Banners flew in the breeze. Cheers and songs could be heard around the castle and surrounding city. The king had married a lovely new bride from a neighboring kingdom a week ago, and today the rest of the kingdom came together to watch the festivities and sport that only tournament can boast. Knights traveled to compete in hopes of winning fortune and glory and perhaps a place at King Negan’s legendary table of knights known as the Saviors. For it was they, that protected the surrounding lands from invaders and pillagers in return for tribute.

Villagers came from far and wide to witness the spectacle and to catch a glimpse their beautiful new queen. For a beauty Queen Gwendolyn was.  Red flowing locks braided in intricate patterns flowed down her back. Her porcelain skin was the envy of all. Large green eyes adorned with long thick lashes watched as each event play before her eyes. Lips the shade of a dusky rose formed a dazzling smile as cheered for the victors from her private box in the stand. The king had decided to participate in his favorite event, the melee, at the end of the tournament and was awaiting his turn on the side of the field while the jousting commenced.

The last knights lined their horses at opposite ends of the tiltyard. Each bowed to the queen. Their visors were lowered. The horses charged. The lances pointed towards the other. They hit each other with a resounding blow.  One knight fell to the ground. He struggled to stand but fell back in defeat. His squires hurried to help him off the field and to corral the horse.

The victor, Sir Richard of Alexandria, walked his white horse along the edge stands and removed his helm. He shook his wavy locks damp with perspiration. His blue eyes smiled to the crowd as he waved his hand. As he approached the royal box, he pulled a rose from his gauntlet and threw it the new queen. She caught it and the smile immediately disappeared from her face. The color drained her delicate features. Her eyes scanned the edge of the yard and found her husband’s glaring in her direction. He had seen the knight present his favor and her accept it. She quickly handed the rose to a handmaiden and sat down. Head forward, back straight, the very picture of an elegant lady.

Keep reading

Shit

Characters: Soulless!Sam, Reader, Dean

Pairing: Soulless!Sam x Reader

Warnings: SMUT; rough sex, but gentle at first. Oral on female. Unprotected sex. (Wrap it before you tap it, my dudes.)

Words: 1,476

Author’s Note: So this was for @impalaimagining’s kinks thing? Yeah? Yeah. I had Soulless!Sam and Virginity. Also, this is PART of my thank you for 300 FOLLOWERS!!! YOU GUYS ARE INCREDIBLE!!!

The beat pulses through me, almost as if it’s travelling directly through my bones. The lyrics pour out of my lips as they flow out of the speakers of the club.

I feel his hands as they grip my waist, pulling me back to grind on him. I know who it is before I turn. Sam.

Keep reading