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daisyblog · 20 days

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New Friend

Unexpected Love Masterlist Summary: Harry meets Jacob.

YN could feel the nerves start to creep in as the time for Harry to arrive approached. Deep down she knew she had nothing to worry about, but that niggling thought at the back of her mind pushed forward reminding her that if Jacob didn’t like Harry or if things didn’t go to plan then she would have to end their relationship.

Jacob had been excited all morning, wanting to know when Harry would be arriving and if they could bake something for him. They had spent a couple of hours baking brownies, Jacob insisting that Harry would love them “because everyone loves brownies”.

After spending the morning tidying and baking, Jacob suggested going to the shop to get some snacks for their movie night. As they walked around the store, YN couldn’t help but laugh at how Jacob continue to pick up different types of treats and saying “Just incase Harry likes these”.

As YN watches Jacob playing with his Lego in the lounge area, she thinks back to a few days ago when she sat down with him and asked if he’d like to meet Harry.

---

YN had already asked Jack if he was happy for Jacob to meet Harry, he screamed with excitement knowing YN would never introduce someone into Jacob’s life unless she was serious about them.

Jacob was cuddled up to her on the sofa, they were watching Toy Story, one of his favourites. “Hey Jakey…can I ask you something?”. YN ran her fingers through his hair, knowing it was something that helped him relax.

“Yeah”. His eyes didn’t leave the screen as they focused on Woody and Buzz.

“Uh…Mummy has a new friend-“. YN began, trying to explain in simple way.

“A new friend?”. Jacob’s voice was curious but his eyes only left the screen for a few seconds.

YN nodded. “Yeah…and I like my new friend a lot…and I was wondering if you would like to meet him?”.

Jacob was still distracted by the scene on the tv. “Yeah…will he be my friend too?”.

“Well not straight away but once you get to know him I’m sure he’ll be your friend too”. YN smiled at how innocent he was despite his mature social skills.

“What’s his name?”. Jacob continued to ask questions.

“Harry”. YN felt herself smile as she said his name. “Is there anything else you want to ask Mummy about him?”.

Jacob sat in thought as he tried to think of another question, but he quickly shook his head and continued watching the film.

---

Jacob was watching Manchester United play as YN began clock watching knowing that Harry would be arriving any minute. She got lost in the excitement of Jacob cheering on his favourite team, when the doorbell rang.

YN quietly walked to answer the door, knowing Harry was the one standing behind it. “Hi”. She smiled widely as she stepped aside for Harry to walk in.

“Hi…you look beautiful”. Harry complimented YN with a quick peck on the lips, whilst they were alone.

The blush crept onto her cheeks. “Aw tha-“.

“YEEEEESSSSSS!”. Jacob’s voice shouted from the next room, causing Harry to have an amused grin and YN to laugh knowing someone must have scored.

“Sorry!”. YN let out a laugh. “Jacob is watching football and I’m guessing someone’s scored”.

Harry held his hands up in defence. “Hey…that’s a boy after my own heart”.

“He’s a Manchester United fan”. YN explained knowing how much Jacob loved football.

Harry smirked as they both still stood in the hallway. “What a coincidence, so am I”.

Harry followed YN through to the lounge and he could see Jacob sat on the edge of the sofa, his eyes focused intensely on the game. “Hey Jakey”. YN tried to get his attention.

“Mummy they scored!”. Jacob announced as he heard his mother enter the room. Excitement clear in his voice.

“Wow that’s amazing!”. YN shared the excitement despite not knowing much about football. “I said you were their lucky charm”. Jacob gave YN a toothy grin.

“I think we going to win”. Jacob looked behind YN to where Harry was standing. He looked to YN with a shy smile.

“Jacob, this is Harry”. YN explained to the little boy before she continued. “Do you want to say hello?”.

“Hello”. His voice was quiet as he looked at Harry with a shy expression.

“Hi Jacob…thank you for letting me join you and Mummy for some dinner”. Harry knew this was a huge deal for him but an even bigger one for Jacob.

“Guess what Jakey”. YN knew she had his attention from the way his eyes lit up when he heard the word guess. “Harry loves Manchester United too!”.

Jacob’s little eyes widened as far as they could. “Really?”. He couldn’t believe it, when Harry nodded with a big smile. “My Daddy says they’re the best team”.

“Your Daddy is right…they are the best team!”. Harry agreed.

“Mummy? Can Harry watch football with me?”. Jacob asked, his eyes large as they pleaded.

YN smiled. “Yeah of course he can”. Harry gave YN a smile of relief as he took a seat next to Jacob. She couldn’t help but look on at the scene of them both at the edge of their seats as they waited for a score, or how they spoke about different players.

---

Harry had insisted on buying them all pizza in the evening and as they all sat around the dinning table, Jacob had began asking Harry questions.

“Harry? How old are you?”. Jacob took a bite of his pizza.

“Twenty five”. Harry answered another question, as he picked up another slice of pizza.

“My Mummy is twenty five…but I’m five”.

“What’s your favourite colour?”. Harry joined in on the questions. YN smiled over to him from where she was sat next to Jacob.

“Blue!”. Jacob answered quickly. “My Mummy likes pink…my Daddy likes green…Zara likes red and…Theo likes….Mummy what colour is Theo’s favourite?”. Jacob info dumped as he tried to recall everyone’s favourite colours.

“I’m not sure sweetheart…I don’t think he has one yet”. YN answered. “He’s still little isn’t he?”.

“Theo’s my baby brother”. Jacob turned to look back at Harry.

Harry pretended this was new information to him. “Waw…you’re so lucky having a baby brother”.

“Have you got a brother?”. The questions kept coming. YN laughed at how inquisitive her son was.

YN interrupted. “Sorry…Jacob is a social butterfly after a while…aren’t you Buddy?”.

“I’m used to questions….but these are definitely my favourite ones”. Harry waved off YN’s apology. “I don’t have a brother but I have an older sister…her names Gemma”.

“Mummy has a sister and a brother”. Jacob revealed a new piece of information to Harry. He noticed YN smile down at Jacob, but he could see it wasn’t her natural one. It was more forced and like she was putting on a show. “But they make Mummy sad”.

“Okay sweetheart…why don’t you go and choose some snacks and we can watch a movie”. Whilst Jacob was oblivious to YN changing the subject, Harry wasn’t but decided staying quiet was for the best right now.

---

Jacob had chosen for them to watch Cars and insisted to sit next to Harry, so he could share his snacks with him.

“Harry look how fast they go!”. Jacob’s voice was excited as the screen showed all the cars racing around the track. “Watch….vrooooom!”.

“They are super fast!”. Harry agreed as he watched the scene in front of him. “Who do you thinks going to win?”.

Jacob was fascinated by the cars fighting for first place. “Uh…I think Lightning McQueen!”.

“Oh here they go…they’re starting to go faster!”. Harry encouraged Jacob’s excitement. “He’s nearly there….is he going to do it?”.

“HE DID IT!”. Jacob shouted and turned to Harry who was signalling him for a high five.

About half way through the film, Harry felt a heavy movement on his arm and as he glanced he noticed Jacob resting against it with his eyes closed. “All this excitement has worn him out”.

“He’s been so excited all day to meet you.” YN explained as she looked down at the sleeping boy, who had made himself comfy against Harry. “He really likes you already…when you went to the bathroom earlier…he whispered to me asking if he could have hair like yours”.

“He’s adorable…today’s been one of my favourite days”. YN felt her heart swell with warmth at Harry’s words. “And I’m hoping there’s many more to come”.

“We’d like that!”. YN gestured towards Jacob, who was still sleeping soundly. “You’ve definitely made a new friend today!”.

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johnnys-breastmilk · 4 months

Note

Wally anon new request 4: Bottom!teacher!reader x Top!Wally where the reader happens to walk in on Wally cranking one out very. loudly in the school's most isolated bathroom & has an inner debate about saying something. They proceed to accidentally make noise, prompting Wally out of the stall (his pants poorly concealing his erection) & trying to turn on his charm before taking the opportunity he has to dominate the reader (& he gets very. sloppy with it) cause he notices how distracted they are from the entire situation.

A.D.I.D.A.S. | alive!wally clark x teacher!male!reader

a/n — yes, the title is a Korn song. sue me (please don't) fun fact: grammarly said this had 150 "premium errors"🤓☝️nerds. if i say it's late at night will that make me exempt from blame for the probable grammatical errors

summary — check the ask! basically the same build-up to the smut

warnings — smut (sooo 18+), teacher/student pairing, facefucking (Wally receiving), rimming (Wally receiving), anal sex

words — 4.7k

~~~

Only people who had nothing better to do skipped class, so that’s why Wally skipped lunch instead. At a time when he would be scarfing down the scarce protein found on the high school lunch menu and rushing to finish whatever homework he forgot to do the night before, he chose to negate all of his troubles for something more enticing. Smudges of graphite were smeared on the back of his left hand from writing an essay for your class all night and left his hand feeling sore, his head feeling too occupied to conjure up a fantasy before hauling into overdrive to stage each production required for his dreams. The underside of his hand complimented the rest as he stroked his dick, the bristling bundle of his dark pubes sprawling out over the undone flaps of his jeans pressed against his hand every time he reached the base and traveled back. It was done with the same fiery passion he had for you when you paired him with someone he openly disliked in class for a group project—for the times when you wouldn’t give him an extension because he had football or family matters. For the times when he thought that you were too stuck up and needed a hefty dose of dick to get the stick out of your ass. So now he was relieving himself in the men’s bathroom, it only seemed like a fair trade. If you got to fill his nights with readings, assignments, and studying for the next pop quiz, he got to let you take up the space in his head. He got to dampen the wad of toilet paper in his hand with the results of his endless thoughts about you.

The bathroom was expectantly dingy, painted in yellow from the incandescent bulbs buzzing out waves of it. Wally’s vibe proved to be combatant to the do-what-you-need-to-and-leave-as-fast-as-you-can mentality that this restroom evoked. It was the last one on the list for Split River’s renovations, and therefore the place that people went to the least. Cascades of shadows form a sloped line against the wall of the stall like the setting sun unevenly tilting through a set of blinds, the wall climbing higher than the black hair on Wally’s head as he leaned back against it.

He could still smell the pencil shavings on his hand, the woody scent hiding under his fingernails as he brought a hand up to his mouth, stifling a moan from releasing. He needed to tear his gaze away from his dick, his hand acting as a surrogate for either of your holes. Wally had worked himself up to the point that picturing your lecturing lips stretched wide around his dick or your hole taking all of his abuse. He became uncontrollable, ready to finish this as fast as possible. Like he was running a race on foot, only a few more steps until he was past the white and blue finish line. His feet shifted and his sneakers squeaked on the glossy finish of the floor. Another moan escaped his lips, going far beyond the white cement bricks of the bathroom and out into the hall, where you were passing by.

Hall sweeps were a common thing at Split River, and you were stuck with the west end of the building. It was already on the opposite side of the school from where your designated classroom was. You barely knew this side of the school, so you had no clue who’s classroom was supposed to be occupied and who’s wasn’t. Some people liked to duck into classes to hide from teachers, making noise that you had to assume was acceptable and just part of some class you weren’t familiar with. Thankfully, it seemed that everyone in the hall was at lunch, none of the classes offered were in session for the time being. There was no one to report on the walkie-talkie attached to your hip. At least you got to learn of bathroom locations, also known as the main hub for in-school skipping. The faculty bathroom was a few doors down and on the opposite side of the hall from the student bathrooms, the men and women’s entrances being separated by a thick brick wall but still in proximity to each other. But as you walked by them, taking your mental notes of where everything was in this corridor and which teachers resided in it, you heard a guttural moan. It was quick and quiet like a kid saying a swear word before cutting themselves off in fear of being heard, but you heard it. The moan had a tremble to it, a shakiness that sounded like desperation. You knew it was deep enough to come from the men’s bathroom, but you really didn’t want to confront a student for doing something of the sort. But it would be more awkward to let them finish and walk out, only to reveal yourself as having known about it for however long it would take them to walk out.

You had to go in, and you kept your steps light. Maybe you were wrong—you wanted to be wrong. Your eyes flew to the sinks on the left, then the urinals on the right. Nothing, no one was here and maybe you had just heard something. But then, you looked at the two stalls in the back with a sliver of space on the one side to swing open both doors and enter them. It was the space underneath showing their white and orange Nike’s that gave them away, making it clear that they had no intention of using the toilet for its intended purpose. They were backed away to the wall of the stall, and you knew that you had to beckon them out. You held your breath, thinking about what to say and if you even wanted to say anything. Would it just be better to turn around and leave? They weren’t hurting anyone but…

Before the debate could come to a conclusion in your head, your walkie-talkie rung out, filling the bathroom with an echo of the grainy voice of another teacher. This bathroom must have been far off from the rest of the school, now that you thought about it. The kid in the stall probably wasn’t even skipping lunch, he was probably skipping a class on the other side of the school. Multiple periods for lunch overlayed with other classes to fit the entire student body into one cafeteria, you had to remind yourself, so it wasn’t a far cry from being reasonable.

Something else that was expected was the teen in the stall finally accepting that he was caught hopefully clean-handed. You could hear fabric shifting and a soft plink ring out from something being thrown in the toilet. He flushed it and then there was the sound of a zipper being pulled back into itself. The lock on the stall was the next noise, the door swinging open after a beat. Out came Wally, a student in one of your later classes of the day after every lunch period is said and done. You considered him to be a decent student, most of his papers and in-class work earning him low B’s and high C’s. Maybe you were a harsh grader, but you really didn’t have a grasp on it yet due to this being your first year of teaching. Regardless, you didn’t expect him to be the one to walk out. You only had as much knowledge of him as he was willing to give you through fifty-four-minute classes, five days a week, for the past fifty-or-so days, but he would never do something like this. He would never be stupid enough to walk out with his boner so prominently forming a line in his jeans, either. But he kept walking towards you without letting it hinder his movement, the same swagger present in his step that he had walking into your class.

“Mr. Clark,” you sighed, taking the responsibility as it was your job to confront him. You tried to stay combobulated as he went for the sink, turning to the side to show the real size of his tent that the front couldn’t show. Crossing your arms, the pressure put on your chest exhumed the words stuck in your throat, “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

He didn’t look like he was worried about being caught, in fact, he was ready to lie his ass off. The faucet handle squeaked when he turned it off with one of his wet hands. He didn’t bother going for the paper towel dispenser less than a step away, instead, he turned to you and made the intentional choice to rub his palms over his denim to dry them. It was only for a moment, but he made sure to let his hands ghost his crotch in their proximity.

“I was just finishing up,” he decided to say, a slight shudder slipping out at the obvious satisfaction he got from his hand going over his covered shaft. Keeping it simple was the easiest way to skate by you, if you were willing to let him. Wally went to go around you, but your hand found his chest and stopped him in his tracks. His Nike’s scuffed the floor and let out a high-pitched squeak when he stopped, the dissonant symphony continuing as you used a little force to guide him back into the middle of the bathroom. He may have been on the football team, but he was in no position to fight you, not when you were closer than you had ever been to him.

“Finishing up what? Come on, be honest and it’ll be easier for you,” you had to quote some late-night cop show for the coercive words you angled at him. You never had to do something like this—maybe you should have taken him in silence to the office. But even the quiet drawls of each breath reminded you of his visible frustration during the tests he took in your class, the consequences of his emotion you wanted to be the victim of. He had the right tools to jackhammer away at your stone-cold treatment of him, but that was mostly to act professional. You could never make it to the office.

“I think you know what it is. I don’t have to tell you.” He laughed. He leaned in closer, pushing against your hand that still hadn’t left his chest. The fabric of his plain white t-shirt underneath his staple letterman was thin and flimsy and let you feel the light definition of muscle underneath. He wasn’t a beast but he was still young, still had time to bulk up. At this moment, though, it was everything you needed it to be, “What are you gonna write me up for, Teach?”

You looked into his soft eyes, “Nothing. Just… get back to class.”

“No way, you’re staying to learn with me,” he was the one to pull away from you even if he was leaning into this absurd turn of the conversation, doing a quick turn on his heel in disbelief and gratification. He refused to leave even though you stepped aside to let him pass. “I’ll give you something to write me up for and help out my favorite teacher. Get on your knees.”

“Mr. Clark,” you protested. Speaking his name so pure and so isolated would probably make you forget about your position and that he was your student. You could get fired for this, but Wally continued regardless. It’s not like this would make him look bad. If either of you were caught like this—which was slim to none given how out of the way this bathroom was, but the mere sliver of a chance was enough to make you believe it was more than likely to happen—would boost his social credit and be spun into a sob story for him, making you look like the monster in this situation. You had power, the power to stop this and send him walking to the office and having him return to class with a lifetime’s worth of detention, but you could be Wally’s little mistake for the next twenty minutes.

“No talking while class is in session. Don’t you usually say that? It sounds so fucking stupid,” he laughed again. Wally pushed the sides of his letterman jacket behind him to open the gate for easy access to his jeans. The dark jeans had a golden button that he fooled with for a second before undoing it, and then the matching brass zipper followed in his haste. His hands were a little shaky as he did it like he needed release from working himself up beforehand. He parted the flaps of his jeans to show off a pair of solid white tights encasing his massive erection. It filled the front of his briefs to the point that it looked like it would flop out any second, and he had a dark shrub of curly pubes peeking over the waistband. There was precum leaking from the tip that caused the white fabric to become see-through and cling to the tip of his dick. It confirmed your long-forgotten suspicion that he was in the stall, masturbating. “I don’t listen to what you have to say because I want that mouth to be used for something else…”

If you hadn’t fallen to your knees by this point, the sight alone would have made you too weak to stand. You were eye-level with the tent he formed and it protruded much more than when it was hidden in the dark behind his jeans. His relaxed and casual clothing contrasted the more formal ones you had to wear, the cotton dress pants doing little against the hard linoleum. You could feel bruises already setting into your knees before the fun had even started, wondering if the purple would leak through the fabric of your pants like his precum.

“For our first lesson—we’ll be going over how to handle a big piece of meat.” His thumbs hooked into the elastic of his underwear, stretching out as he half-circled around his thighs to push down his underwear. Somehow, his dick looked bigger now that its shape wasn’t hidden by his tent. His girth matched his length to create something of a beast, something they should confiscate from him for being too dangerous. No wonder he struggled to hide it when he came out of the stall, there was no possible way to not show it when he was fully hard.

His steps toward you were a lot smoother, and a lot more coordinated now that the stiffness in his pants was finally free. It swayed from side to side with each step, drawing your attention like a teacher rounding up the class. Your entire school of thought was out the window at the hypnotic sight, all streams of consciousness flowing towards the idea of him—it was all you could think about. When he neared you, the length of his dick was the same as the distance between you. He took it into his hand, pointing it up towards the ceiling and moving closer before letting it fall down on your face and bob around.

“I know you’re new to this whole thing.” He smacked his dick over your face by holding the base. He pulled his shaft up and carelessly let it fall against your face. “But you need to learn what runs things around here, Teach.”

It was rare that Wally found himself at a loss for words, always having a remark that needed to be said—most likely in your class—but here, he had nothing to say when his dick was on the tip of your lips. The heat was pouring in and melded with your equally warm mouth, adding a wetness that could have made Wally cum then and there. His cheeks filled with air and he expelled it with disbelief. He didn’t expect your mouth to feel so good, or for you to be so good at taking him. Never would he have guessed that a teacher could be such a slut.

He guided you slowly down his length, not to let you learn its curves and ridges and to let your mouth get used to it, no, he had to take it slow or else he would burst. He had spent a good ten minutes tugging on his dick without lotion, just the dry touch of his hand and a little spit that took him a long way and now he wanted to enjoy the massive step-up from his hand and vivid imagination to the very real feelings and sight of you sucking his dick.

“Fuck, yeah,” he moaned and bit his lip, watching you finally bury your nose in his pubes. Looking away when you looked up at him with eyes that eagerly waited for his command, his hand slid into your hair to grab a fistful of it. He kept you at the base of his dick, softly grinding himself against your face. He needed to bury himself deeper but he was as deep as he could go.

There was a still moment where his shaky breaths matched your quick ones ruminating over his crotch, warmth that matched what he radiated out. He reeled himself back, you could hear the imaginary tick, tick, tick in your head as every inch escaped your mouth before sliding back in faster than the first time he did it. The way his hips slowly backed away from you felt like the fleeting hope when you reached the top of a roller coaster with a steep drop, and it was plunging right into the pit forming in your stomach. He did it until a rhythm of hip swings and moans swelled. The cherry on top was the way your mouth started to fill with spit and spill out as his cock forcefully brought it out with it, only to slam some of it back in and leave the rest spilling over your chin and the sides of your mouth. You couldn’t help but get hard at the treatment, at the way he stretched out your mouth alone.

Wally heard your belt’s buckle clink against itself as you fiddled with it, being thrashed around a little too much by his fast thrusts to properly undo your belt. He stopped you just as you pulled the end of the strap out, the leather stiff and still wrapped around your waist even without it looping through the hole in the belt to tuck itself away in.

“Don’t touch yourself, dude.” He said plainly, there wasn’t a hint of teasing behind it. It was a command. His hand lightly tapped the side of your face as a reminder. It wasn’t a full-on slap, but it felt like the precursor to someone readying their aim before really committing to it—a warning. You felt just like him, your dick straining against the looser fabric of your pants. It must have been painful to be so worked up and have to tuck it away in such an awkward position, and now he was returning the favor by not letting you find relief.

At a certain point, when your jaw started to ache and you could tell that your lips were fed up with the abuse, he pulled himself out of your mouth with a snicker and an “Oh, fuck.” He didn’t do it for you, though, he did it because one more slip into your throat and he would have coated your throat in cum like a parent trying to force cough medicine down. He knew you would’ve sputtered and probably sent him to the office regardless of this extracurricular going so well, so he had to be careful even if he wanted to defile you. Maybe if you looked more like a mess than you already do, that option would be out of the window. Your hair was ruffled by his hands raking through it and there were stains on the sides of your face—what exactly was spit caught in the crossfire of Wally’s throatfucking and what were tears at the occasional gag was unknown.

“Now, for the next lesson.” He continued to assume power over you, letting his sloppy cock hit you in the same way as before. It left a line of your own spit across your face as if he was obsessed with waving it in front of you. He stopped fulfilling his addiction to making you a mess quickly when he turned around while keeping you in the same position, introducing you to his ass that you would also have to get acquainted with.

His jacket covered some of his butt, but he pulled it up with one hand so you could see the full thing. The thick trim at the bottom was the school colors, rounding off the curve from his ass to the small of his back and reminding you that this was an ass you would still have to see in the halls, one that you couldn’t look away from. You’d have to pay more attention at the football games, because Wally was sure to drag you to them from now on, and this was more of a sight than his front side had been. He was rather modest in size and mostly hairless around the back, a light tracing of hair revealing itself when you used your hands to part his cheeks. They filled out your hands, his ass being firm yet squishy enough to almost seep through the space between your fingers. There was more than enough to play with, but you were interested in his untouched hole.

Just like yours, Wally never had anything inserted into his hole. That is, from what you could tell. You were too busy rimming him to ask and he was too busy enjoying the feeling to give you a proper answer that wasn’t a hastily blurted-out profanity or half-slurred plea to keep going. Your jaw couldn’t seem to get a break from his torment, having to subtly move every time your tongue extended to lick around his hole. The sounds of him welling up spit in his mouth to make his dick extra slick could be heard from the other side, though you couldn’t see it happening.

You noticed that one specific movement—particularly where you flicked your tongue up, stretching Wally’s hole and continuing to lick all the way up to the divot where his tailbone was—sent shivers down his spine. His head tilted back and his raven black hair bunched up at the collar of his jacket from above. You tried a few other tactics like licking in the opposite direction until you reached his balls, using his taint as a bridge between his hole and sack to travel down with your tongue, and laying your tongue flat over his hole to stimulate the ring of nerves in one go.

When Wally deemed his dick to be lubed up to his liking—and totally not because he could have cum from your amazing work—he pulled you away from his ass.

“Come on, I know you’re not done after that,” Wally sneered, turning around to see you, a bit breathless with sweat forming on your forehead. Your formal clothes were really doing you no favors with how your dick was trapped and you had to keep all this heat in without taking anything off. “Time for lesson number three, buddy: don’t fucking interrupt the teacher.”

He hooked an arm under your elbow and brought you to your feet. The sudden rush was enough to make your head spin, or maybe it was the way he turned you towards the sink and was quick to lift you up onto its surface. He positioned you between the two sinks, your thighs making contact with their white porcelain as the space was barely enough for you to fit without some overlap. Finally, he let you have some freedom of movement down there. He was the one to undo your belt and pull down your pants and underwear while doing all the work for you. He sat you up against the sink, the counter having more than enough room to let you sit—and lean back—on it so that your back was touching the mirror.

Your ass was scooted forward, allowing him to do all the lining up that was required to easily slide himself in. Given that it was your first time, the pain was very real, and the solid countertop and mirror made your writhing when his tip pierced your ass feel restrictive. He treated it the same as your mouth, slowly sinking in like he was inching himself into a pool with frigid water, the shock making him lose all composure in the best ways possible. And when he was buried as deep as he could be, he stood there, one hand on your hip and the other against the mirror. His face was impossibly close to yours, his soft eyes darkening in the shadow of the yellow light above. It cast a dark shadow to make what would usually be unassuming eyes look dark with intention.

But then, his lips pressed to your puffy ones. They stung at the contact but the pain detracted from his gradual movements. While it started slow, it quickly became a rough fucking that rocked you back into the mirror. Wally could only take so much build-up before he could no longer hold himself back. There was another motivation too—your teaching style. Some of his thrusts were intentionally rough, and most of his actions had derived from when you paired him up with someone he found annoying and you refused to let him swap partners. For all the homework he had to begrudgingly sit down and finish instead of jerking off or doing anything he actually liked. This was his own lesson for you, and you had to sit back and take it.

This is when you were at your most vocal. He managed to stretch you out just like the syllables coming from your mouth, half-formed and incoherent and held longer than they needed to be. But they strung themselves together on the thin lines of ecstasy. He was so painful in the way that he fucked you against the mirror like you were trapped between a rock and a hard corner. Short strands of his hair separated from the rest as he bowed his head, looking at his work from above and finding pleasure in how he jackhammered into you. It was enough for you to finally shoot your load and hands-free at that. It primarily shot up at your stomach, missing your formal top by a minuscule gap.

Wally didn’t last long after seeing you lose your composure and you found it to be adorable. He seemed like he was going to keep going—he had fended himself off long enough from cumming, but he pulled out and side-stepped over to one of the sinks on your side. You watched his hand just barely reach his dick in time to aim it into the sink and spray his load out in strands all over the shiny white surface. He kept pumping, drops of white dribbling over his dick and into his hand with each tug.

The bell rang and that let Wally know that his lunch period was finally at an end. Forty minutes had never gone by so fast for him. He fixed himself back up and left you weak on the counter, presumably to clean up his mess that was left in the sink.

“Your homework is to clean that up for me. And make sure you look good for later today.” Wally smirked and patted your thigh, “See ya in class, Teach.”

His squeaky shoes stopped once he reached the hall and you heard the pitter of his steps fade away. And you were left in the bathroom with a voice fighting through the grain on your walkie, announcing that the lunch period had ended and you were needed to supervise the next group of students having their meals. At least you were more than satisfied with the five-course meal you just got handed and your hall-sweeping duties were over.

#wally clark #wally clark x you #wally clark x reader #x male reader #x reader #wally clark x male reader #school spirits #school spirits x male reader #milo mannheim #milo manheim #milo manheim x reader #wally clark x male!reader #x male reader fanfic #gay #teacher x student #student x reader

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moon-delia · 1 year

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★ ៸៸៸ FRIENDSHIP 1 ╱ post ❜ ✸ ៸ !?!

Good friendships can turn a decent story into a memorable one as, it not only does it make the reader care more about the story, it adds emotional weight to the story.

But there's one problem. Good relationships are difficult to write. You thought writing romance was difficult? Well, writing friendships is a whole new level of difficulty.

Romances normally rely on professions of love and staring into one's eyes for lengthy periods of time. But, how do you develop friendships?

# ៸ make each character their own person.

If a character's only purpose in the story is to act as "the friend", then it's guaranteed that they will be a flat and uninteresting character. This will lead to a friendship that no reader will be invested in.

Unfortunately, a lot of stories are like this ― you have your main character, and then their 1-dimensional friend who might crack a joke every once in a while.

We have some good examples from movies like Samwise Gamgee from The Lord of the Rings. He isn't just "Frodo's friend" who tags along. He's a gardener and a cook. He has a fascination with elves, a crush on Rosie, and a bad habit of eavesdropping. He is loyal, brave, and can persevere even when there is seemingly no hope.

You see this is in Toy Story as well. Even though Woody and Buzz both have the same goal ― to escape Sid's house ― they both have different journeys. The story means different things to each of them. Woody learns to not be as selfish and Buzz struggles with accepting that he is just a toy.

# ៸ give them something in common.

Once you have fleshed out your characters, you need a reason for them to be friends. What brought them together? What gives them the reason to hang out? You need to give them similarities.

This can be a number of different things, like:

★ Status

★ Hobbies

★ Struggles

★ History

★ Background

★ Interests

★ Enemy

★ Goals

★ Dreams

# ៸ give them meaningful differences.

Once you've established their similarities, it's time to dig deeper and create their meaningful differences. Don't just make your characters different. Give them meaningful differences that can build off of each other.

With those differences, your characters can help support their strengths and build them up during their times of weakness. This can lead to a strong friendship.

Here are some great ways to give them differences:

# ៸ skills.

★ One of the friend can be smart in terms of intelligence while the other is good at using her hands and inventing stuff.

★ One might be good at coming up with plans, while the other might be good at improvising when the plan goes awry.

# ៸ conflict resolution.

★ If there is a bully bothering them, one might want to go and blow up at the bully, while the other chooses to ignore it.

★ If they are having an argument, one friend would want to talk it out maturely, while the other just likes to play devil's advocate and throw more heat into the argument.

# ៸ personality.

★ One is confident and sly while the other is shy and awkward.

★ A is cold and determined while B is relaxed and compassionate.

★ B is an easy-going pleasure seeker, and B is a serious planner.

# ៸ method of action.

★ Both friends are trying to break into a house. One will look up videos on YouTube about how to pick a lock. The other friend will just break the window with a rock.

★ The two friends are trying to persuade someone to do something. One friend uses bribing techniques, and the other friend uses a more passive-aggressive approach.

# ៸ reaction.

★ One friend with freak out and the other friend will stay calm.

★ A will get discouraged and want to give up, and B will encourage them to keep going.

★ One person is terrified out of their mind, while the other tries to stay positive.

#writing advice #writingadvice #writingtips #writing tips #fictionwriting #writersociety #writing promps #writing tutorial #writing help #writing tricks #character tips #writers on tumblr #moon-delia #friendship

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peachdues · 6 months

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OF COURTSHIPS & RUSES — TEASER

Duke!Satoru Gojo x Reader • Bridgerton AU

god dammit. Okay. Fine.

Of Courtships & Ruses , a Gojo x Reader Bridgerton AU has been added to the WIP pile.

It will be hella NSFW. But enjoy the teaser.

You made to hastily leave the garden, but the way the heir to the Six Eyes clan stared at you brought you to a halt.

“What are you doing?”

The Duke only smirked, his eyes glowing even in the dark spring air. “I am marveling over my own brilliance.”

Time and time again, Mother had reminded you that rolling one’s eyes was not the habit of a proper lady, but at that moment, you found it impossible to heed her words.

“I did not think it possible that twiggish neck of yours could tolerate your head growing any larger,” You lifted your chin high as you stared down your nose at him. “But it seems I was mistaken. What, pray tell, is this stroke of genius you claim?”

He only grinned, ignoring your barb. “A solution to our mutual Sorceress issue.”

You scoffed. “I need no such help,” though even as you said them, the words felt hollow. “Her Majesty declared me this season’s Diamond.”

The Duke feigned surprise. “My apologies,” he said in mock earnest. He pointedly turned his head from side to side as though searching for something lurking in the darkened garden. “I must have walked right past your line of eligible suitors.”

The serenity of the garden, broken only by the occasional chirp of the crickets and the distant sounds of the party beyond, made the silence hanging in the air all the louder.

“What are you proposing?” You finally asked, eyes narrowed.

The twinkle in Satoru Gojo’s eyes was dangerous. “We could pretend to form an attachment.”

He took a step towards you, a hand on his chin as he delighted in his idea. “Think for a moment — I do not wish to be married, and you wish to have your pick of the Ton’s most eligible suitors.”

“With you on my arm, all will believe I have finally found my future duchess; all those plotting mothers will finally leave me be.” The Duke’s excitement rolled off him, creating a buzz in the air. “And every man worth his salt will be looking at you.”

Gojo closed the distance between the two of you, the woody scent of cypress and mandarin washing over you.

“Surely you know that men are always more interested in a woman when they believe another has set his eyes on her as well,” his grin was lupine. “Particularly when that other man happens to be a Duke.”

“You presume Lady Sorceress will —“ you began to protest.

“I presume Lady Sorceress will perceive us exactly as we wish,” Gojo said smoothly. “Me, unavailable; you, desirable.”

You could not tear your eyes away from his. “It is an absurd plan,” you chuffed, and yet, you could not stop the smile beginning to tug at your lips. “Ludicrous, even.”

“Provided you do not wish to marry me, and I do not wish to marry you, whatever do you have to lose?”

The Duke turned away from you then and took two, long strides back toward the garden gate and the party raging at the front of the sprawling estate.

You remained there, among the hyacinths and wisteria trees, frozen in your uncertainty.

Could you truly pull this ruse off? Could you save your debut season, and perhaps show everyone in the Ton precisely why Her Majesty deigned to name you her Diamond?

“My lady,” the Duke turned back towards you and held out his arm, waiting to escort you back to the garden as a proper gentleman would.

You looked between the intricate cuff at the end of the tailored sleeve of his waistcoat and back to those piercing cerulean eyes.

His arm was his final offer; to take it would be to accept it, unequivocally on his terms.

To deny would be to resign yourself to the desolate corners of humiliation and isolation for the rest of the season; perhaps your life.

Whatever do you have to lose?

You stepped forward, back straight and chin held high, as you slid your hand into the crook of his arm.

You inhaled once through your nose, allowing the scent of the blooming garden wisteria to calm you. “Shall we?”

Satoru Gojo smiled as he led you back to the dazzling lights and symphonic melodies of the season’s first grand revel.

#jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #jjk satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo saturo #gojo x you #jjk fic #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk

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summer-may · 7 months

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Lover boy Frank is something else.

He is so protective and obsessed with you. It's sometimes borderline paranoia suffocating. You know he's working on it, he's talking to someone, you have no idea who that someone is, but you could see some changes so you let it be.

The constant need to check his phone when you're away; maybe you called, you messaged, or you're in danger, used to eat Frank alive. The Punsiher doesn't have many allies but enemies, and some powerful and nasty ones are abundant.

What if someone tried to do something to you? What if you were hurt and bleeding in some alley?

He would kill all of them, each and every one; guilty or innocent, it wouldn't matter at that point. If they dared to touch the one person who brings some form of light into his life, his peace, his everything.

The constant weight on his chest when you were away has been brought down to a phantom ache where there was a ton once. The need to check your location was reduced by a thousand. Now, only done when you were late, then the time decided.

Frank loves cooking for you. Especially when he feels that itch to do something. He loves the look on your face when you cross your threshold and smell the aroma of his food. The godlike moan you give makes him almost cream himself.

When both of you clean the dishes side by side, there is a quietness settling in his bones. The noise in his head fades to an inconsequential buzz.

The only thing that wraps around him like a weighted blanket bringing comfort to his weary bones is your smell; citrus, woody, and a little bit of him. Your voice telling him nothing and everything. The way you elbow him to emphasize a point of something so mundane and domestic, he feels it too good to be true.

Late at night when you both settle into your bed, lights off, windows open, light breeze fluttering the curtains. He puts his head on your shoulder, arms pulling you in, and tucks himself impossibly closer to you and feels himself sleep to a dreamless sleep with no weight on his heart.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frankie x reader #the punisher #punisher × reader #my works #frank × reader

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wordywarriorwrites · 3 months

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Life Is But A...

Title: Life Is But A... | AO3 | Rating: T

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F! Reader

Summary: Frankie is ready to tell his daughter about you...

Warnings: Kissing. Mild-spicy thoughts. Mention of death and medical issues (not explicit).

You’re flipping through the pages of a Little Mermaid coloring book – Cranberry Red crayon at the ready – when you feel a strong hand grip your calf.

“Got a minute?” Frankie’s deep voice rumbles through the air.

You glance at his daughter and quirk a brow, “You’ll have to ask Her Royal Highness, Princess Isabella. We are very busy, after all.”

The three-year-old little girl, with beguiling brown eyes just like her father’s, looks up from her own artistic endeavors. She cranes her neck, gaze focused on her dad, and seems to consider his request. A purple and pink bejeweled crown perched precariously on her head, lips pursed, and brow furrowed – she’s clearly thinking hard, but it’s not until Frankie says the magic words, “pretty please,” that she finally acquiesces.

It takes only a few moments to scoot the basket of shared crayons closer to her and relinquish your own, much smaller tiara and white, feather boa. You roll your old bones back into order, elbow bumping up against the plastic cup and saucer from an earlier tea party as you move from lying on your stomach to sitting up.

Frankie’s knees pop when he stands, and as you look up at him, your mind immediately switches from coloring inside the lines of Sebastian, Flounder, and Scuttle, to appreciating the broadest set of shoulders you’ve ever had the pleasure of digging your nails into. He offers you a small, knowing smile and a hand up, and you admire the strength and the flex of his bicep, your heart stuttering a bit at the way his eyes sweep over you in return. Frankie makes a motion for you to follow him, and you do just that, tiptoeing over toys and around laundry baskets. His long strides eat up the length of the hallway to the master bedroom in no time, and you’re right on his heels, stepping over the threshold when he gestures for you to enter first.

The door is left slightly ajar, allowing you both to hear his daughter and the movie playing in the background. Woody has just called Buzz “a child’s plaything” when he reaches for your hand, guiding you forward until you’re seated at the foot of the neatly made bed.

“Wanna talk to you about something,” Frankie starts.

Spine straightening, you clasp your hands in your lap, “Alright. I’m all ears.”

There’s a discernible shift – the air suddenly a little tense, a bit more serious. Lips pressed into a hard line and eyes dark with an as-yet-to-be-revealed purpose; he paces the small space between the dresser and closet like a caged lion, and you consider asking him what’s wrong, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“I want to tell her about us,” he says, tone low and certain. “If that’s okay with you?”

Your body is engulfed with a combination of relief and excitement, as well as a hefty dose of nervousness.

You’d agreed from the start that neither one of you wanted to confuse Isabella or cause her any pain. And that pact you and Frankie made was exactly why his daughter – who is currently belting her ABCs with all the power her toddler's lungs possess – still believes you’re simply “a friend of Daddy’s from work.”

In the beginning, it had been a casual thing; more about sex (great, mind-blowing sex) and adult conversation than anything else, really. But as with all things tended to with passion and kindness, it grew, gradually morphing into something more – something significant. You knew about Isabella from day one, met her officially at month three, and then, just like that, Frankie and you were no longer simply dating.

A couple became a trio, and you were given a drawer and space in the medicine cabinet. You had a car seat installed in your sedan and your apartment was no longer a “bachelorette pad,” but a kid-friendly spot for the occasional weekend getaway. Purse staples, like lipstick, gum, and perfume, were replaced with a toddler-friendly gamepad, snacks, and sanitizing wipes. There are boxes of goldfish and teddy grahams in your cabinets, and string cheese and apple slices in the fridge.

You’ve been part of the bedtime routine – helping Isabella get into her pajamas and reading her a story before turning on the nightlight. You know she hides her peas in her potatoes and that she’s allergic to penicillin. You’ve noticed she prefers to wash her hands by herself and favors the giraffe toothbrush over the whale one.

You’ve seen Frankie handle her meltdowns and marvel at her milestones. You know about the handmade bracelet beneath the band of his watch, and that his iPod has more specialized playlists and audiobooks for her than it does for him. You’ve seen the preschool brochures and are aware of the college fund her honorary uncles, Ben, Will, and Santi, have started for her.

You also know about Isabella’s mother – have listened with a heavy heart as Frankie told you stories about their complicated past and too short-lived time together. You know the circumstances that took her away from them – the unknown, undiagnosed cardiomyopathy that snatched a mother from a five-month-old baby girl who needed her. You have smiled, lash line brimming – honored to be asked to help decorate a frame for a photograph of the very woman with whom Isabella shares the same chin and nose. It’s buttercup yellow, decorated with assorted beads and shells, and it has held a place of prominence on the nightstand ever since she got her big girl bed, which you and Frankie built together.

Isabella refers to you by your call sign, Hawk, and will “kree” excitedly whenever she runs to greet you. To her, you’re a playmate. A grown-up friend. You fix broken helicopters and sometimes sneak her cookies before dinner. You show up for movies on weekends and occasionally pick her up from daycare if Daddy is running late. The two of you work as a team to beat Frankie at Don’t Break the Ice and Go Fish. Bumper bowling and band-aids. Flus and fairy tales. Pinkie promises and potty training.

“What’re you thinking?” Frankie asks.

There’s a hole in the knee of your jeans, and you tug at a loose thread until it begins to unravel. “Is she ready?” you wonder, winding the string around your finger and pulling hard until it comes free. “Are you? Really?”

Frankie reaches for your hands. Yanks you to your feet. You meet his gaze, finding an unwavering sureness that somehow steadies you and makes the butterflies in your stomach take flight. Eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth quirked, he switches his hold to your upper arms, giving you a squeeze and little shake for good measure. It’s all silent, affectionate admonishment for what he clearly thinks are very silly questions, but still, he follows up with a tender kiss to your forehead and softly spoken assurances.

“I’ve been working up the courage to ask you since her birthday two months ago,” he admits. “And Isabella is braver than you, me, and her uncles combined.”

It’s an assertion you can’t argue with because it’s so very, very true, so, you don’t. You just smile and nod, which prompts a hug that brings forth tears, and then, Frankie’s kissing you – gentle pecks on your damp cheeks that morph into a lip lock full of relief and love and unrestrained happiness.

The rest of the afternoon is a blur of chores and games and nap time that’s more about reading books and cuddling than actual napping. Frankie oversees the grill, while you and Isabella, sous chef extraordinaire, put a tray of fries and tater tots in the oven and set the table. Halfway through dinner is when he broaches the subject, reaching for your hand and holding it tightly while he tries to explain in toddler-friendly, simple terms that you’re more than a friend.

“You understand what I’m trying to say, querida?” Frankie finally asks.

“Daddy loves Hawk,” she chirps, swiping her index finger through a glob of ketchup and bringing it to her mouth. “Duh.”

You let out a burst of surprised laughter, and that, combined with Frankie’s admonishingly bemused, “Oh, mija!” makes Isabella kick her feet and giggle wildly. She dances in her booster seat, and as she worries a fry between her teeth and pulls the cheese off her bite-sized cuts of burger, you can’t help but smile because you adore her.

A bite of food. A sip of milk. After she’s declared she’s full and can eat no more, it’s bathtime. You do the dishes while Frankie has the fun, undoubtedly overindulging on the bubbles and toys. Row, Row, Row Your Boat echoes off the bathroom walls, but in this version, life isn’t a dream – it’s a bowl of spaghetti. You join back up with them in time to see the exciting saga that is hair combing and teeth brushing before the three of you head into Isabella’s room to get her dressed for bed.

“Daddy read,” she insists as her head pops through the shirt collar of her moon and star-themed pajamas. “Hawk tuck.”

Two books, a potty break, and another book. Then, she’s conked out, with her favorite stuffed moose in her arms and owl-patterned sheets up around her shoulders. Frankie asks you to stay the night, and you say yes, the two of you spending what remains of your evening on the couch, chatting about everything and nothing, silently agreeing that the “what now” conversation can wait for another day. By the time you climb into bed beside him, your heart is full to bursting and your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Daddy loves Hawk,” he mimics with a snort. “That kid… Already actin’ like she knows everything.”

“Can’t imagine where she gets that from,” you quip.

He grunts, mockingly indignant, and waits for you to stretch out beside him before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. Nosing your hairline, he takes in a deep breath before exhaling a contented hum into the quiet, comfortable space between the two of you. You adjust your pillow, and when Frankie kisses you, it’s soft and sleepy, his mouth and bristly moustache brushing languidly against your lips and chin.

“I do love you,” Frankie rasps.

“I know,” you sigh. “And I love you.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, “You’re my bowl of spaghetti.”

For a moment, he looks at you – all tired-eyes and quizzical brow – but it comes to him eventually, and when you start lightly humming the song, he groans low in his throat and gives your ass a playful swat.

“You know what?” he challenges.

You jut your chin, “What?”

A pause. A sigh. Another kiss – one that sizzles and lingers until he slowly pulls away.

“You’re my bowl of spaghetti, too.”

#frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #francisco morales x reader #frankie catfish morales fic #frankie catfish morales x you #frankie catfish morales x reader

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