#sky writes

[sky-neverending]

Things that make it warm

for the November prompt @steddiemicrofic

wc: 387 | rating: G | tags: love confessions, fluff

Moonlight peaked through the curtains of Steve’s bedroom, covering the space in a cool, faint light. Steve sighed, running his hands through Eddie’s curls.

The older boy was passed out, his head pressed against Steve’s chest, and his arms wrapped around his shoulders. It was an odd position, but the way Eddie’s chest was laid across Steve’s was comforting.

Steve bit his lip as he shifted and Eddie’s eyes fluttered open slowly. The moon illuminated them, deep brown shining curiously. “What time is it?” Eddie muttered, pulling himself up. Steve frowned at the loss of warmth.

“Who cares?” was his answer, and he reached lazily out toward his boyfriend. “Come back to bed.”

Eddie laughed. “You’re so needy,” he said, but his body moved back down, across Steve’s chest. “I don’t get how you think this is comfortable. ‘M heavy.”

“I like to know you’re here,” Steve said with a sigh, closing his eyes. “You can’t leave me.”

Laughing, Eddie’s breath was warm against Steve’s bare skin. “I wouldn’t dare,” he muttered. “Not when I took so long to get you here.”

A tired giggle left Steve as he thought back to months ago, to all the days of pining, and all the weeks of questioning who he was. It had taken him far too long to realize his feelings for Eddie were more than platonic, but it didn’t matter. Because Eddie was there every step of the way, patient and kind and willing to wait.

Suddenly, Steve felt his heart speed up in his chest as a heavy realization set in.

This was love.

He was in love with Eddie Munson.

“Fuck,” he muttered out loud, and Eddie, who had been drifting back to sleep, stirred.

“Stevie?” There was concern in his voice. “Are you okay?”

Steve took a breath. And maybe it was the tiredness, the sleep tugging on his conscious mind, but he blurted it out. “I think I love you,” he said. “No. I know I love you.”

“Oh,” Eddie said. The shakiness of the word sent absolute panic down Steve’s spine. But then Eddie spoke again. “I love you too.”

Smiling, Steve ran his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Eddie repeated.

The two of them fell back asleep, pressed together.

And Steve was happy.

Because he was so, so in love.

#sky writes #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficnovember #fluff #steddie fluff

[our-blood-is-our-ink]

if your still doing the prompt thing how about 17, 23, 25, 29 with power!bottom claire being stressed and intern!reader offering to help but don't have any sexual experience so claire teaches them

Thank you so much for sending this in! I'm so sorry it took so long to complete, life got very hectic, but I have it for you now! I hope I've done this request justice <3

Afterhours

Ship: Claire Debella x Reader

Summary: When you, an intern working at the governor's office, offer to stay with the governor while she works late into the night, you find yourself in a situation you have only ever fantasized of.

Word Count: 5.8k

Disclaimer: 18+ ONLY, minors dni

Warnings: smut, hints at dark!Claire, pet-names, praise kink, degradation kink, fingering, oral, first time, virgin reader, legal age gap, power imbalance, mommy kink, begging, implied subspace

It's an open secret at the office that Governor Debella is paranoid.

If the extreme vetting process to just simply become an intern is anything to go by, the woman could use some relaxation time.

After all, a single intern hardly would have the ability to take down the political powerhouse that Governor Debella is.

Or, that's what you think anyhow.

You knew you had been lucky to land the job, the experience and credentials that will pad up your resume and qualifications that will come from working here, but some days, all you can think about is how stressed the top boss constantly is.

Being a people pleaser, being a people fixer, you started to stay late, wanting to get as much work done as possible.

Sure, you're only a low level entry personnel, but what you do helps free up time for those above you to focus on more important things.

After a few weeks of being the last one in the office, Governor Debella notices.

“Don't you have someone to get home to? A boyfriend, or a pet, or something?”

You nearly topple back in your seat, startled by your boss’s boss’s boss’s boss (seriously there's a chain of command here, and you're merely a bottom feeder) not having heard her approach from behind.

“Governor!” You gasp, trying to recover. “Uh- I don't- I live with a few roommates, but they never care if I'm there or not. We're all very busy.”

Governor Debella frowns, and crosses her arms.

“There's no reason for you to be staying so late. You're an intern. You don't get paid overtime.”

You shrug.

“I don't have much else to do. Call it volunteer hours.”

(And god, doesn't that sound pathetic, especially because it's true.)

Her frown deepens.

“It's illegal for you to stay and work without pay.”

“Are you telling me I need to start going home at quitting time?”

The words spill from your mouth before you can think them through.

There's a moment of silence, and for a second you could swear it's hesitation on Governor Debella’s face.

“No.” She says, after a beat too long.

There's another, much longer silence.

You hate the quiet, and you find yourself breaking it.

“Then, er, what do you want me to do?”

Governor Debella blinks, and it draws your attention to the dark bags underneath her tired silvery-blue eyes, her makeup must having had rubbed off enough for it to begin to show.

You suddenly realize that perhaps it's just as exhausting for her as it is for everyone else to deal with her stress and paranoia.

“Would you like some company while you work?” You offer, a gentleness in your tone that you hadn't made the decision to speak with. “I could clock out and then just… Sit in your office with you if you'd like. I know how empty the building feels when everyone has left.”

This time, you know you haven't imagined her hesitation.

“I'm under contract, anyhow, Governor. If there's an additional paper you need me to sign, for security reasons, well.” You shrug. “What's one more?”

Again, there's silence, and then…

“Call me Claire, if you're really willing to sit and do nothing for hours besides for staring at my office walls.”

You're a bit shocked she's accepted your offer, and you stumble over your response.

“I- oh. Uh… Okay, um. Claire.”

The governor’s lips twitch, as if she's hiding a smile.

“But not tonight. I was just about to head out, which means you definitely should too. Security won't stick around once I leave, and the night shift…” Claire scowls. “I need to remember to get them replaced.”

It's the most you've ever heard her talk without snapping at someone to do something, let alone to you.

“Isn't that what your assistant is for? To remind you or to arrange that on your behalf?”

“That's only if I remember to tell him.” Claire mutters, before shaking her head. “Shut your computer down, you're not staying if I'm not in the building.”

She waits, hovering over your shoulder as you listen, and she walks with you out to the front of the building.

“You didn't park in the lot?” She asks, when you start to head towards home.

You can feel your face flush.

“I uh… I don't exactly get paid enough to own a car.” You refuse to look at the older woman. “Usually I just walk back.”

“It's two in the morning.” Claire sounds incredulous.

“I have pepper spray.”

“No. You're not walking home anymore.”

Claire has her arms crossed again, and an all too familiar glare is being leveled at you.

Before now, you always thought it was an angry expression.

You're beginning to wonder if maybe it's a stubborn one instead.

You sigh.

“Well short of driving me home yoursel-”

“That's exactly what I'm going to do.”

You barely manage to keep your jaw from dropping as Claire turns, clearly expecting you to follow her.

You suppose if you don't, you won't get too far before she can find you walking.

Or if not, possibly fire you over it tomorrow.

You push down your anxiety.

Don't worse case scenario. You scold yourself.

Claire drives a nondescript silver minivan.

“I have custody every other month.” She explains your unanswered question.

Ah, right.

Sometimes you forget that Claire just recently went through divorce, that she has two little ones to care for.

You remember how the media had dug it all up, how they aired her very private life for the public.

For a minivan, it's pretty nice.

When Claire turns on the car, a few loud notes play, before she quickly slams her palm against the knob that turns the car music on and off.

You raise an eyebrow, but don't say anything about it.

Instead you ask, “how are they?”

“My kids?”

She sounds mildly surprised as she reaches for her seatbelt.

“Yeah.”

You click yours in as she replies.

“They're… They're okay, all things considered.”

She puts the car in reverse, and you rattle off your address so she knows where she's headed.

Her nose wrinkles, and you're willing to bet it's because you don't live in a particularly nice area.

“You had to hire shadows- uh, bodyguards for them, right?”

Claire's hands clench the wheel, turning her knuckles white.

“I don't know of any other governor who's had their children's lives threatened.” She practically growls. “It scares them, but they won't say anything.”

“I'm sorry.” You murmur.

Claire glances at your pale face, and she takes a breath, forcing her body to relax.

“It's not your fault.” She shakes her head. “They're my kids. I'm their mother. I'm bound to be a bit overprotective.”

You choke back an unamused laugh.

“You would hope.”

Claire gives you a quick look, before returning her full attention to the road.

“What makes you say that?”

Oh crap, you didn't mean to invite Claire to dig into your life.

“Er… My parents… They weren't the best.” You mumble.

Claire frowns, eyes still looking forward.

“How old are you again?”

“Twenty-three.”

Claire hums.

“And how much are we paying you again?”

You rattle off the salary.

Claire hums again, and then there's silence for the rest of the short drive.

When she pulls up in front of your apartment, you say, “this is it.”

You undo your seatbelt and open the door, moving to leave.

“I'll have the paperwork ready for you on your desk by lunch.” Claire says.

At your confused look she huffs.

“For your extended night hours.”

Oh!

“Right, thank you. And thank you for the lift.”

Claire nods.

“If you don't have those papers past lunch break, hound my assistant. Don't take no for an answer, I might not remember to let Brian know to expect you to be a bother.”

The word bother echoes around your head, and you swallow down sudden anxiety.

“Sure thing. Good night, Governor-er- Claire.”

“Good night.” The other woman says, and you shut the passenger door firmly behind you as you sprint into your building.

—»•«—

You do have to bother her assistant the next day, and the stack of papers Claire presents you with is frankly ridiculous, but you pull out a notepad, read them through, and write bullet points of what you're agreeing to.

You sign, and initial, and date.

And then you binder clip it all together and drop it with a fairly solid thud onto Brian’s desk.

“Governor Debella will want these to be scanned and filed.” You say, even as an intern knowing the procedure for important documentation.

The man frowns at you.

“You're not done.” Brain says, and then seemingly out of nowhere, produces another stack of papers.

You groan, but your impatience quickly disappears as you stare at the sheet of paper, towards the end of the stack, that says how much of a raise you're receiving for signing on to be Claire’s personal intern.

Claire's personal intern.

$47,000

That was $15k more than what you had been making.

What the fuck.

You sign the papers, and don't say a word.

Slowly, as the day progresses, people trickle out, until you're the last one in the main office.

Brain looks at you as he leaves, and nearly walks into a wall trying to maintain his stare.

You head towards Claire's office and knock on her door.

“Come in.”

She sounds frazzled, and you realize you haven't seen her flying around the office today as you normally do.

“Everything alright?” You ask, taking note of Claire's disheveled state.

“No.” Is the simple answer you get, and you don't push as Claire continues to frantically scribble something out.

You glance around, familiarizing yourself with the private office you so rarely see the inside of, and take notice of a little seating area, with two arm chairs and a very comfortable looking couch.

In addition, there's what appears to be a bar cart, but it's filled with bottled water and sports drinks instead of alcohol, as well as a giant TV screen and what looks like a game console hooked up to it.

Somehow, you can't quite picture Claire playing video games while at work, and you have to wonder if perhaps she has ever been forced to watch one or both of her kids while working.

You don't want to become an annoyance, so instead of pacing the space, you choose to settle into one of the armchairs, curling up with one knee to your chest, the other dangling off the side of the chair.

You stare at the ceiling and let your mind wander as you examine the embedded ceiling lights.

“This is fucking bullshit.” Claire suddenly growls, and the sound of a pen clattering against the plastic wood of her desk sounds through the room.

“What is?” You ask.

Claire’s head jerks up, and for a moment, she looks surprised.

“You're so quiet.” She says. “I forgot you were here.”

You shrug, and don't say I’m good at that, I've had a lot of practice growing up.

You do say, “I didn't want to be a distraction.”

Claire hums.

She does that a lot, you realize.

“Well, maybe instead I can bounce this off of you.”

She gestures for you to come around to her side of the desk, and you quickly skim over what appears to be a proposal for a bill.

“Is it even legal for me to be doing this?” You ask.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Claire shrugging.

“You work for the government office this will be coming out from. It's not illegal, just out of the norm.”

You make a noise of understanding, going over the contents of it, frowning.

“What’s the problem with this?” You ask once you're finished giving the proposal a once-over.

Claire viciously stabs a single digit at some handwritten notes laying next to her keyboard.

“This section, this sentence, this paragraph, this fucking word is wrong, but the thesaurus is being useless-”

“Whoa, whoa.” You slow down what was sure to be Claire spiraling into more stress. “What's the most important thing to fix here?”

Claire blinks, pauses, frowns, then flips through her notes.

“Here.” She finally decides. “This entire section needs to be completely rewritten.”

You scroll to the right place on the computer screen and read it over more carefully.

“I'm pretty sure we can bullshit what you want to say here.” You murmur half to yourself. “It shouldn't be too difficult, most of the framework is here, it's just about closing the loopholes and rewording things to be less polarizing.”

“You make it sound so simple.” Claire grumps, leaning back in her chair and frowning as she crosses her arms.

You shrug.

“I bullshitted my fair share of essays, the difficult part to it is having a decent outline, which you already have.”

The other woman grumbles something under her breath before sitting up, shooing you away with a flick of her hand.

“Alright, well if it's that easy.” Her tone is disgruntled, but her fingers are already clacking against the keyboard, and you take that as your signal to return to the armchair you had been lazing about in.

At the end of the night, she drives you home again.

It becomes a routine.

For the next few months, Claire uses you as a sound board during the late hours, and you've taken to bringing either a book to read or an adult coloring book to do while you sit with her.

And then something big must have happened in her private life, because Claire is an absolute menace even to you one Monday, tearing through the office morale like a hot knife to butter.

You don't dare say a thing, even when she snaps at you later that night for being incompetent, and you just sit and take it.

She doesn't mean it personally.

You know that.

But by the time Thursday rolls around, her attitude hasn't changed, and you've found yourself retreating, becoming as small and invisible as possible in an attempt to spare yourself from Claire’s wrath.

You hear shuffling from where you're curled up on the couch, and you look up, and find Claire downing a shot, a bottle of amber liquid sitting on her desk.

“I know I've been an ass.” She says when she catches your eye.

“You've been stressed.” You excuse.

Claire shakes her head.

“There are better ways of releasing steam.”

“Well what do you usually do?”

You think this must be the first conversation all week that Claire is having civilly.

“Get high. Or have sex.”

Your mouth drops open at her blasé answer.

“And I haven't been able to do either.” She complains.

“Well, er. I could- I could help. If you wanted. To- um. To destress, I- I mean.”

You don't know why those words left your mouth, and the moment they do, you can feel your face heat up.

Sure, you've begun to have the occasional fantasy or wet dream about your boss, but that wasn't the same thing as implying you'd have sex with her.

HR is going to have a field day with you.

You're going to be fired.

You bury your face into your hands, and when Claire gently brushes her fingers against your back, you jump.

You hadn't heard her move.

“Look at me.” She softly says, and you shiver at how low her voice is pitched.

“There's a good girl.” She smiles as you listen, and the pulse of heat that shoots down your spine makes you feel dizzy.

Her hand comes up to cup your face, angling it upwards and forcing you to meet her eyes.

“Do you mean it, baby?” She asks, and you shiver at the pet-name, biting your lip as you grow more aroused. “You'll help mommy destress?”

Your eyes widen at the title Claire has bestowed upon herself, and you flush with embarrassment as the whine you've been fighting to keep down slips out through your mouth and escapes.

Your boss chuckles.

“Such a sweet thing. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into, offering to stay so late with me, did you?”

You frown, confused, despite your ever growing arousal.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Claire smiles, but it's a sharp thing that causes gooseflesh to erupt along your arms.

“Please, doll. I've seen the way you look at me. And we both know how aware you are of how… Lonely, I have been.”

Her hand reaches out, and she brushes her knuckles gently against your cheek.

“Say yes.”

Her voice is pitched low, and it makes you shiver.

“Say yes to mommy, and I promise, you'll never have to worry about a thing again.”

Perhaps it should be your sign to leave right now, the possessiveness that practically drips from the governor's tone, but all it does is empty your head of thought.

“Yes.” You breathlessly say. “Yes, I'll help mommy destress.”

“Good girl.” She purrs, and when your lips part to allow a moan to tumble out, Claire gently presses against your tongue with two fingers.

When you stay still, frozen and unsure of what the older woman wants you to do, she furrows her brow and withdraws her fingers.

“Have you ever had sex before, honey?”

Immediately you can feel heat rise to your cheeks as you shake your head, shame rising in your throat.

“I- I'm a virgin.” You whisper, tripping over your words. “This is my first time…”

You trail off, embarrassed.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Claire coos, her eyes sparking with something that makes you feel a bit like her prey. “Budge over.” She says.

Mindlessly, you obey, scooting all the way down, and Claire settles back against the arm of the couch, and she lazily smiles at you as she slowly, tantalizingly spreads her legs.

You had no idea a suit skirt could stretch so much.

You had no idea how well it could hide the fact that Claire wasn't wearing any underwear either.

“Teach me how to make you feel good.” You're flooded by a sudden need to please this woman spread out before you, a sudden desire to watch her come undone because of you. “Show me how to touch you.” You beg. “Please.”

Claire chuckles deeply.

“You're going to be so perfect for me, baby.” She husks out, and you can feel how your pussy pulses, leaking wetness against the material of your underwear.

Unlike Claire, you're wearing a pair.

A niggling feeling of regret bothers you.

You wish you were easily accessible for your boss.

You want her to ruin you.

“Come here, honey.” Claire beckons you with a single finger, and you're obedient, crawling until you hover over her.

She reaches her hands up, and oh so gently cups your face with her hands, guiding your head downwards until your lips are just millimeters apart.

One of her thumbs softly brushes over your cheek, moving back and forth in a soothing sweeping motion, and her silvery-blue eyes gaze deep into your own.

The moment stretches, and you grow impatient of waiting, and despite your heart hammering against your ribcage, you close the miniscule gap between your lips and hers.

They're so fucking soft.

Claire isn't your first kiss by any means, but you deeply wish it were.

You're moaning into her mouth like you're a slut, and when Claire enters your own with her tongue, it's all you can do to keep yourself from falling atop of her as your limbs go weak.

Languidly, you make out with your boss, and as you do so, one of her knees makes its way between the apex of your thighs.

When you instinctively buck into the touch, Claire pulls away, and breathlessly laughs at you.

“Remember, doll. This is about mommy, not about you.”

Your head is spinning from the lack of oxygen.

You whimper, and bite your lip.

Her expression softens, and she reaches up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear.

“Didn't mommy say that as long as you're with me, I'll see to all your needs? Make me feel good, and I promise, you'll get a reward, sweet thing.”

You drop your head against her shoulder, and the whine that escapes you causes Claire to reach up and stroke at your hair.

“Let me show you how to touch mommy, baby. Let me show you how she likes to be pleasured.”

It's not fair, you think. No one woman should have the right to say things like that in such a husky sounding voice.

Your pussy throbs.

You lift your head up, and shift your weight, settling back so that you're straddling Claire.

“Please mommy, teach me.” You beg, and the older woman groans at the plain desperation that drips from your tone. “Teach me how to make you scream for your baby.”

At the word ‘scream’, Claire's eyes light up, something that simultaneously sends a shiver of fear through your body, but also a shiver of anticipation.

“You want to make mommy scream, doll? Get off, and I'll show you how.”

Gracelessly you tumble off of Claire and onto the floor, and she shakes her head as she laughs.

“You’re adorable, sweetheart.”

She stands, and as she walks back to her desk, she strips, carelessly leaving her clothes crumbled on the floor.

As she settles back into her leather seat, she spreads her legs wide in a clear order.

Her gaze feels intense as she watches you wobble over to her, before you collapse, dropping to your knees, your legs unable to continue to support your weight.

Your head spins as the scent of Claire’s arousal overwhelms you, and you look up at your boss with wide, pleading eyes.

She chuckles, and her hand comes down to pet your hair, before they tangle and tug at you.

“M-mommy!” You protest. “I still don't know what to do!”

Claire groans, but she doesn't stop guiding you forward.

“You're smart, doll. I'm sure you can figure it out.”

You whimper, but don't protest further, and then the older woman's cunt is directly in your face, and you're powerless as you stick your tongue out hesitantly.

You give her a taste test.

The wetness that is slowly dripping from Claire is a bit salty, but mostly, it just tastes musky.

It isn't bad.

It's just… New.

You give Claire’s pussy a few more tiny little licks, trying to acclimate to her taste, and she tightens her hold on your hair.

“I thought you wanted to make mommy scream.” She bites out, yanking you flush against her pulsing center. “So do it. Mommy needs to relax, and you're going to help.”

Helplessly, you do as Claire commands, and you start lapping at her earnestly.

When she lets out an unrestrained moan above you, you can't help but moan in return, and Claire gasps.

She yanks your head back, her chest heaving slightly, pupils blown wide.

“I never thought you could make such sweet noises, baby.” She breathlessly says.

You feel heat rushing to your face, and Claire's free hand grips your chin when you try to look away.

“Neither did I.” You whisper, ashamed.

Claire tsks.

“None of that now, honey, mommy wants to hear you again. Moan for me.”

Your mouth drops open, and your mind goes blank as you try to process your boss’s demand.

Her grip tightens.

“I said moan for me, bitch.”

It tumbles involuntarily from your mouth, loud and uncontrolled, and Claire's grip on your chin turns painfully.

“Does that turn you on? For mommy to degrade you like the little fucking slut you are?”

The noise you make in response causes Claire’s eyes to glint as she smirks.

“Who knew beneath all that innocence was a whore.” She coos, before jerking your head forward in a clear demand.

You eat her out for what feels like ages, the taste of Claire filling your senses, and you grow progressively lightheaded.

You find your thoughts slipping away as you become utterly focused on not letting one drop of your boss’s wetness to escape your tongue, and you find your hands keeping her legs spread apart as you become more eager in your ministrations.

You feel drunk as Claire begins to make higher and higher pitched noises until finally, she goes so high, it's a shrill thing that your ears can barely withstand, and there's a wetness soaking your face that isn't from how vigorously you had been pleasuring her.

She hasn't told you to stop, though, and you find yourself not wanting to regardless, so you continue to lap at her until she harshly jerks your head away.

“Enough.” She pants, eyes closed, chest heaving. “Enough.”

Your head spins, and you feel dizzy as you stare, memorized by the woman above you.

You open your mouth, aware there's something you want to ask, but you can't seem to conjure enough words in your mind to even speak them aloud.

Silvery-blue eyes open, and the most self satisfied smirk you have ever seen curls at the edges of Claire’s lips.

“How precious.” She murmurs, before sticking her heeled foot out.

You hadn't noticed that despite shedding her clothes, the older woman had kept her shoewear on.

“Why don't you make yourself feel good, and put on a pretty show for mommy, hm?”

You slowly close your mouth, becoming aware it's been hanging open, and give your boss a confused look.

Claire sighs.

“That's right, you really don't have any experience. Could have fooled me, with how well you've made me cum, doll.”

You flush, uncertain if it's from the praise or from the degradation.

You watch as Claire carefully stands, and you're startled when she hisses, her left leg buckling from how loose and relaxed her muscles have become.

“Strip.” Claire orders, her knuckles white from how hard she's clutching at her desk. “And then lay back on the couch.”

You scramble, tugging your shirt off as you simultaneously attempt to undo the button of your pants, and you wind up tripping, falling to the floor.

Claire's laughter causes your face to heat up.

“Looks like my baby needs my help, hm?” She giggles, toeing off her heels so that she can walk properly.

You whine, and can feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes with embarrassment.

“Aw, sweetheart.” Claire pouts. “Mommy thinks you're cute for being so eager. No need to be so sad over it.”

You whine again, but slowly force yourself to sit up.

“Mommy.” You whimper. “Jus’ wanted to feel good.”

The older woman’s amused expression visibly softens, and warm hands reach for you.

You stand with Claire's help, and she almost reverently helps you undress, gently kissing each newly revealed piece of skin.

“Look at this beautiful body, honey. Just so perfect for me.”

Unable to bear the compliment, you choose instead to bury your head against the upper part of Claire's chest.

She coos, and runs her fingers through your hair.

“Oh, sweet thing. Is my baby feeling shy?”

You nod against her, noticing the soft smell of vanilla.

You've never noticed it before.

You had thought it was maybe the air refresher in Claire's office, but no.

It's her.

Your head spins.

And you're so wet.

Claire's laugh rumbles against you, and she easily guides you towards the couch.

You only grow steadily redder as she pulls your legs apart, kissing her way up from one ankle, and then kisses her way back down the other, over and over until you're squirming with your need.

“Mommy, please!” You cry.

Claire groans, eyes fluttering shut for a few moments, before she pulls you close, hooking your legs over her shoulders.

When she noses at your clit, your hands find her hair, and she tsks.

“No, doll. I won't reward you if you pull at my hair.”

Reluctantly, you release your grip, and bury your fingers against the cushion of the couch instead.

“Good girl.” Claire praises, and you moan softly in response.

When her tongue presses against you, you shudder at the new sensation.

It's wet and warm and slightly rough, and–

“Oh, fuck!” You cry out. “Fuck, mommy!”

Claire's hands harshly grip at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you whimper, but she continues to lavish her tongue over your clit, and you begin to squirm in earnest.

You've masterbated plenty of times, and have a few toys in your bedside drawer, but that is nothing compared to the older woman’s touch.

Within a few minutes, you're already near orgasm, and you chase the release, fighting the urge to bring your hands back up to tangle into Claire's hair.

And then right when you're about to reach that high, the moment before the waves of pleasure can overwhelm you, she pulls away, and you loudly sob.

“No, please.” You gasp.

Claire smirks, and you whimper at how lustful her gaze is, at how your wetness glistens on the bottom half of her face.

“You want to cum, baby?” She mocks you, pouting. “You want mommy to let you feel good? Then beg for it. I need to hear my cute little doll ask for permission first.”

You whimper.

“Please, mommy.” You can feel tears start to gather with how badly you want this. “Please let your baby cum, I wanna cum for you, I wanna feel good, please, please, please!”

“Hm…” Claire hums.

“Please.” The tears start to roll down your cheeks. “I wanna to cum, mommy. I want you to make me cum, please.”

You let out a sob of desperation when a single digit finds your swollen clit, and lightly begins to circle it.

“Please.” You whisper, your voice getting caught in your throat.

For a moment, you think your boss is going to deny you, and you open your mouth to continue to beg, when instead you gasp, two of Claire’s fingers suddenly stretching you open.

You let out a high pitch noise when she curls the digits, pleasure burning through you, and you buck your hips.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy!” You chant, unable to form any other thought, let alone words.

“Cum for me, princess.” Claire softly orders, and as if your body was designed to obey her every desire, you convulse, a scream tearing it's way from your throat as she continues to finger fuck you, the gushing wetness weeping from your pussy causing a squelching noise, and you writhe as you ride the high.

“Fuck, baby.” Claire groans. “I want you to come for me again.”

You squirm desperately, the aftershocks still pulsing through you, but Claire is stronger than your now limp body, and she thumbs at your clit, sending electric waves up your spine, causing your back to arch painfully.

“FUCK!” You cry out, unable to control your volume, and you can barely hear Claire's responding moan over the static in your ears as a new wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

You're gasping for air with how it steals your breath away, and when Claire collapses on top of you, you gladly welcome it, despite how it further suffocates your lungs of oxygen.

She smells so good. You think as you start to come back to your senses.

The scent of vanilla is still prominent, but it's now mixed with the smell of Claire’s sweat.

Somehow, it's more appealing.

The smell of sex still hangs heavy in the air, and you throb as your body unfairly grows more aroused again.

“Mommy.” You whisper.

Claire groans, burying her head further against your neck.

“You smell so good, princess.” She says. “And you look so beautiful when I fuck your brains out.”

A whimper catches in the back of your throat.

Claire finally moves, shifting until she's sitting upright, and you don't think she's ever looked as enthralling as does now.

Her cheeks are flushed, and you can clearly see faint freckles that are usually hidden under a layer of makeup that Claire must have sweated off, and her hair has gone from stick straight to gentle waves, a halo of frizz framing her face.

You lose yourself in her eyes, at how she smiles so tenderly as she helps you up and to the private attached bathroom in her office.

“Let's get cleaned up, doll.” She says, and you grin goofily at her.

Your head is still spinning.

She giggles, a light sound that makes you join in once a light snort causes her to double over.

“You're so cute.” She smiles, and you obediently spread your legs when she taps your thigh.

She gently runs the wash cloth in her hand over the sticky residue of your arousal, and you flinch every time she passes over your clit.

“You’re still so sensitive.” She breathes out. “Did mommy not satisfy you, doll? Do you want mommy to keep going until it hurts for me to?”

“I- ah!” You cry out when Claire firmly swipes the cloth over your swollen bud. “I just want to be good.”

Claire peers up at you, and you hold your breath as she weighs your words.

“Next time then, maybe.” She decides, and you aren't sure if your shoulders slump with relief or disappointment.

She finishes cleaning you up, before moving on to herself, telling you to wait as she does so.

You watch as her back muscles move with her motions, and you can't resist the urge to kiss them, to nip at them.

Who knew the governor would have such fairly well defined muscles?

“Baby.” Claire warns.

“Mmm… Mommy.” You reply, before darting the tip of your tongue out against her warm skin.

“Baby, if you want to go home, you'll stop.”

“But you're so pretty. I can't help it.”

Claire turns around, shaking her head.

“You're adorable, honey. Come on, let's get dressed so we can head home.”

Claire has to help you into your shirt and pants, and you don't notice when she pockets your underwear instead of giving it back to you when she spots it under the couch.

Before you leave, your boss insists on watching you drink a glass of water, predicting you'll be too tired to do so once she drops you off at home, expressing how important it is to her that you take care of yourself.

By the time you get to her car, you're stumbling with exhaustion, beginning to crash as the endorphin high wears off.

You can't keep your eyes open once she starts driving, and when you let out a huge yawn, Claire glances at you.

“Go to sleep, baby.” She soothingly says. “I'll wake you up when we get home.”

You're used to listening when she asks you of something, and so you don't think twice as you finally allow your eyes to stay close, and you drift off, Claire's warm hand on your thigh.

#sky's inbox #sky's stolen ask games #sky writes #sky's anons #sky answers #sky replies #sky's fics #c: claire #claire debella #claire debella x reader #again I am so so sorry this took so long! #also I'm lazy af and refuse to reread this before hitting post so please ignore any errors -- I'll probably go back and fix them #once I have the energy to reread this for the billionth time #also also I might've forgotten Claire was supposed to be a power bottom whoops

[apocalyptic-byler]

flickered in the night (for only you)

“Hey,” Will hears footsteps behind him, then a light hand settles on his shoulder. Mike gently nudges him to turn around and tilts his head up with his finger. His eyes are filled with so much sincerity. “It’s going to be okay.”

The way Mike says it, his tone so soft and genuine, almost makes Will believe him.

My take on Flickergate!

#sky writes #byler #byler fanfic #byler fanfiction #byler ao3 #byler fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things ao3 #stranger things fanfic #will byers #mike wheeler #does this ever get less embarrassing 😭😭😭 #flickergate

[deaniewithalittleweanie]

Presenting, my Destiel body-swap fic set during the end of S10!

Tags: Angst, Crack, Smut, Minor Rowena/Sam Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence

Beta'd by: @oceaxe-ifdawn

#spn #supernatural #spn fic #destiel #destiel fic #sky writes #castiel #dean winchester #body swap

[roadside-enshrined]

"Now I'm sure my nascent little neighbourly rivalry with Mr. Waverly is riveting stuff for you, O King," Hob finishes with a groan, straightening his back up from the last box, "but unless this is only a dream where I'm breaking my back unloading my moving van – which would mean, by the way, that you're letting me suffer through this torture twice, you monster* – or you've broken physics since this morning."

With, to which, Lord Morpheus replied: "Physics?" and a perfectly arched brow. (The left brow.) Hob pointed a finger at that brow. (The index finger.)

"You," he accused, smiling up at his friend, "have grown taller each time I've looked away from you."

"Surely not," Morpheus rebutted.

"Surely so!" Hob said. "I know this, because when I greeted you at my bedroom door this morning, which, again, thanks for knocking, I only looked ahead into your face! Now!" And here Hob gestured, quite emphatically, to his own face, which was noticably tilted up in order for Hob to look into Morpheus' face. "Now! I'll be getting a crick in my neck by the end of this conversation."

"Surely," the accused intoned, "physics does not break around a growing body. Secondly, it would be horridly cruel to enact such a harmful prank on one's friend. Few ailments offer such agonies as..."

"...a crick in your neck," he finished after a deliberate pause.

"Reality, then, smart aleck," Hob said, still grinning, as he moved back to the boxes and began shuffling through them. Open, look, close, shove aside, repeat.

"What are you doing?" Morpheus asked.

"Ah! Here, box of secondhand twenty first century hardcover books, five quid each maybe, don't care if I stand on them, especially if they're still in a box," Hob said, then shoved the box of secondhand twenty first century hardcover books in front of Morpheus.

"Right," Hob said. Then, while making direct eye contact with the Shaper of Form, smartly stepped up on top of his box of secondhand twenty first century hardcover books, then nearly toppled over with vertigo. Morpheus, maintaining eye contact with his friend, grew at the exact same speed as Hob's stepping up onto his box of secondhand twenty first century hardcover books**** so that the distance between their faces stayed the exact same through the process. Hob could only cross his arms and sulk up at his friend from atop his box of secondhand twenty first century hardcover books.

"I hate when you get big."

*Here Morpheus only smirked in response but the author figured the sentence** had run on long enough already, and this is, admittedly, flavor text at best.

**Hob***.

***The author says this with affection, as the author also speaks with many run-ons and sidenotes and anecdotes and all that. Evidently.

****At this repetition, the author's autocorrect began suggesting the phrase box of secondhand twenty first century hardcover books to them (to his amusement).

#commas [: #throwing my two cents into the big ring sooooo late but idc this came to me #sandman #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #sky writes #it is. 2 am

[astudyinimagination]

Years ago, I learned a trick here on Tumblr, and now I’m going to share it. If you ever struggle with self-worth or self-loathing, etc., I want you to try this, please.

Reframe how you talk about yourself, even if it’s only in your mind. If you find yourself saying “I’m stupid” or “I’m an idiot” or other such things a lot, pause when you do this. Think about WHY you made the mistake. Often it’s because you’re tired, or rushed, or stressed. Say “I’m not dumb; I’m just tired/stressed/hurting/whatever.” All of these things DO interfere with your ability to think logically! Most of us are willing to excuse others in such cases, and if you’re willing to tell a friend, “Hey, it’s okay; you’ve got a lot going on right now,” you should be willing to tell yourself that too.

The more you do it (saying it aloud is better too than simply thinking it), the more you literally train your brain to think a certain way about yourself. And it WORKS. (And, granted, it might not work for everybody, but you also don’t know until you try.)

It worked for me. The friends who have known me a long time will tell you: I use to have MASSIVE self-esteem issues. I thought I was stupid and pretty worthless. And then I saw something here that made me stop and think, about forgiving yourself in the same way that you forgive others. About reframing how you think of yourself. That if you believe that all life is precious, that means yours is, too. I decided to try to work on this mindset.

And, by golly, it actually WORKED. It took time, and it also took the support of friends, but it worked. I stopped insulting myself. I even started to feel GOOD about myself.

Earlier this year, I backslid. This has been a rough year for me and my family, and I’ve been stressed out and overtired on a regular basis. And I started calling myself an idiot again, for the first time in years. And once I finally noticed I was doing that, I started the trick again. “I’m not an idiot; I’m just tired.” And sometime in the past few months, I stopped again. The tiredness has continued. I’ve made more mistakes. But I’m not beating myself up for them anymore. I wouldn’t beat up friends or family for doing the same, so why should I hurt myself?

We all need grace, sooner or later. We need to give it, and we have to accept that we ourselves need it, too.

#self help #self love #mental health #mental illness #self worth #important stuff #sky writes

[fiercest-eigengrau-skies]

i've said it before. but i will say it again. i think if you play as a magic-inclined class (wizard, sorcerer, warlock, maybe paladin) in bg3, you should be able to conjure smth for astarion so he can see what he looks like. anyways, have a wip treat from discord for my tav's mirror scene w astarion

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 au #bg3 au #astarion my beloved #tav: tyrdove #ship: soulblood #tavstarion #tyrstarion #i love my two horrifically traumatized bastards w my whole heart #sky writes #my wips

[scripture-on-canvas]

baneful fox

i actually meant to post this like. a hot minute ago, actually. been thinking profusely about the idea of the protagonist being chased out into the icelands when banished after quelling the nobles

im working on a part 2 to this, so you might have to forgive me for the abrupt ending lol

also. can y'all tell i love me some angst

Commander Kamado of the Galaxy Team hadn’t intended for Skylar to survive.

He knew her capabilities, or had been theorized of them, if the swords at her hip were telling and how she had felled great Alphas with ease. How she had been able to clash her blades to Lord Kleavor’s axe-like limbs in a toe to toe match.

If she was a threat to his village, to his people, he would have to take care of it personally.

Skylar’s eyes had been wide, so shocked that she had barely missed the spear thrown in her direction as she was chased out of the Fieldlands and into areas beyond. Her towering Zoroark was a mighty silhouette behind her in the haze of red on the grand horizon. It bore its fangs, snarl crescendoing into a great roar at the members of the Galaxy Team, the people who she had only begun to trust following her fall from the sky, before gathering her in one of its long, gangly limbs and tearing off through the grasses.

---

Children of the Pearl Clan grow up hearing stories of the Baneful Fox.

It is a creature which resents everyone and everything with vigor, bloodying its own claws time and time again.

Volo could not, for the very life of him, move quickly enough.

For once, in this entire time, he wasn’t a step ahead of Skylar, yet he was on her trail all the same. She moved too quickly for his liking, as slippery as a Basculin.

Damn fools that the people of this land were, to blame the bloodied, crimson skies on her, after everything she’d done to aid them.

It is a fearsome, lonely creature, willing neither to reach for a hand nor to take one extended towards it.

Skylar had aided them with little hesitation, eyes surprisingly gentle and full of resolve. She had kindly ignored any aid for and questions from the village folks, however; she hadn’t ignored their hushed, volatile whispers of how she didn’t belong with them, no matter if she had the professor’s favor, no matter if even the stern, cold-eyed captain had her favor.

She didn’t belong and she knew this well, but she didn’t need reminders of such.

The Baneful Fox is notoriously difficult to get close to. However, once it considers you family, it will protect you as it would its own offspring.

She had attached to him surprisingly quickly, truthfully.

He hadn’t understood it, and still understood very little of her trust in him. He had asked her, once, why she trusted him so. She had continued to tend her little campfire, having grown quiet and mulling over his question. Her eyes, curious, had flecked up to him before returning to the fire before her.

She had told him that she thought he was like her. He didn’t belong, just as she hadn’t. It wasn’t difficult to see the curious looks and glances people would send his way, his fascination with the forgotten past and to so willingly mingle with Pokemon. He would be lying if he hadn’t heard such whispers, of how he was strange and dodged his work and prattled on and on about nothing of value.

He would be a liar to say he hadn’t heard volatile whispers in his direction, about meandering about with the one who fell from the sky, how being chosen by a Zorua was surely a bad omen for her, perhaps for the village itself.

What pain does it harbor to hate the world so?

The Icelands were colder than usual, the snowstorms more fierce.

Perhaps it was her own exhaustion catching up to her, being on the run from the Galaxy Team and being condemned for a crime she had no part in.

She collapsed to her knees, half buried in the deep snow. Typhon, sweet, sweet, Typhon, breaks from her Pokeball and crawls close to her trainer, the ghost-flamed Pokemon using her own body heat to warm her emotionally ravaged trainer.

Ferris gathered close, too, eyes sullen, but gentle. She crouched close, head pressed gently into her weeping trainer’s cheek. Neither Baneful Fox understood, and could only ask.

Why?

How does one even begin to earn the trust of such a being?

From the haze of red and the blur of snow as furious as Skylar herself came a great bestial figure. It was smaller than Ferris was, but mirrored in movements and the familiar wily hunch of its back.

Another Baneful Fox.

Perhaps it requires resonation?

Ferris bares her fangs, but Skylar gently rests her hand on her towering Zoroark’s muzzle. She carefully recalls both of her partners and mindfully adjusts the mask on her face, which mirrors both her now-recalled partner and the ghastly figure before her.

Why was it here?

Then again, she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

The same feeling of resentment?

The Baneful Fox takes a step forward, the snow crunching under its mighty clawed paws, and reaches out a clawed paw.

Skylar extends her own hand, mindfully crawling forth on her knees.

---

Children of the Pearl Clan grow up hearing stories of the Baneful Fox.

We’ve all been looking for her for quite some time now. The sky is still as red as the day she left us.

Volo hated the Alabaster Icelands.

He hated them with such a deep, resentful passion. The frost and snow ate at his flesh, his very bones, even through the thick, insulating material of his Guild-granted uniform.

However, as everyone else argued and deliberated amongst themselves on what to do, with the skies still a deep, bleeding red, there was still much to be done.

Much to find, discover. Understand.

To this day, we are still trying.

Volo couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Warden Ingo so enraged. He could still hear the guttural growl of rage in his yell as he raised his voice to the Galaxy Team Commander, voicing what everyone else had been thinking:

After everything she’d done, for the region and its people?

Why?

But that was two weeks ago.

Now, precariously climbing through the Icelands’ cliffs, with vastly important knowledge of a blur of a person in Bonechill Wastes with a pack of Zoroarks, there were things to do. As much as he wasn’t one to be on the frontlines of history– he was one to pull strings from the backgrounds, it was much easier to pull a front that way– he felt as though he had a renewed purpose.

Such things were strange, though; the sky would remain a bleeding red until Skylar would be able to set things into motion once more. Until then, he was no closer to his goal, to his prayers answered alas.

However, the deep shadow at his back that had come to him practically demanding assistance, as he’d supposedly been the only one trusted enough to aid on such things, he was full of purpose.

He would get his starlight back. No matter the cost.

#pokemon legends #pokemon legends arceus #ginkgo guild member volo #pokemon wielder volo #volo pokemon #volo x skylar (oc) #skylar (oc) #asha (oc) #sky writes

[sky-neverending]

When Will finally came out to the entire party, he did it from the floor of Steve Harringtons living room. He wasn’t planning on doing it at all. Ever. He was terrified. Terrified of losing the people that meant most to him.

But then he walked in on Steve and Eddie stealing a quick kiss in the kitchen, and he froze, and hell, he almost passed out.

Eddie and Steve rushed toward him, pushing aside how terrified they were to help this poor boy who looked like a deer in headlight in front of them. Steve pulled him into his arms, because he knew that face. It was the same one he had made after Eddie had kissed him for the first time. Before he knew who or what the hell he was. So he just hugged Will until his breathing returned and his face was no longer whiter than a bedsheet.

“You’re okay.” Steve whispered, running his fingers down Wills arm to signify he was there, and that he wasn’t going anywhere. “Come on, take a breath.”

After Will pulled away, he gazed up at the two of them. “You guys are dating?” He said in a whisper, like he was scared someone was going to hear him.

Eddie nodded slowly, holding out a hand. Will took it reluctantly and was led toward the kitchen table, sliding into the seat and staring at Eddie and Steve across from him.

The next words to come from his mouth about shattered Steve’s heart. They were small and timid, meek and filled with fear. It seemed to take everything in Will to get them out without collapsing on the spot.

“And it’s… okay?” He started, eyes glued to the floor. “To be gay?” The last word was barely audible. It came out in a strangled whispered, like he was choking on his words as they pushed their way out his mouth.

“Will.” Eddie said, his voice filling the warm with warmth and comfort. “Will, look at me.”

Will did so, his head moving upward first and his eyes following after, slowing dragging from the floor to the table to Eddie and Steve’s faces. They were red, glossy, like he was biting back tears.

“Will.” Eddie repeated, reaching a hand across the table the testing it on Wills wrist, where the fabric of this shirt met the exposed skin. “There’s nothing wrong with it. Nothing at all.” He smiled softly, leaning forward. “And anyone who tell you that? Doesn’t know what the hell they’re talking about. Okay?”

“Okay.” Will said after a beat, and the corner of his mouth quirked up a little bit. He repeated the word, a bit more confidently this time. “Okay.”

Steve looked at him, his expression full of pride. “We can keep this a secret. If you want, I mean.” He offered, and Will shook his head.

“No. No, I want to tell them. I just- I want to be the one to do it. Is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay, kid.” Eddie said, patting Will on the wrist gently before pulling his hand away and looping it through Steve’s own. “Take your time. No one’s rushing you.”

The three of them stood, heading toward the kitchen door, when Will paused. “Do they know about you?” He asked, and Steve bit his lip.

“No. No, not yet. I’m not sure i’m quite ready to tell them, ya know?” Will nodded.

“I won’t tell anyone.”

Eddie smiled at him, squeezing Steve’s hand one last time before dropping it and walking back out into the rest of the group.

The next few hours went on as normal. The kids argued for about an hour over which movie to watch before Steve stood up plucked the movies out of there hands, holding them behind his back and shuffling them around. He needed up picking Labyrinth, which was Dustins pick (mostly because Eddie said he loved it).

They settled into their normal spots, Eddie, Steve, and Robin on the large couch, Max in her wheelchair with Lucas and El on the floor beside her, Dustin in a large armchair he had claimed all to himself, and Will and Mike leaning against the front of the coffee table, closest to the television.

And then Will just sort of said it. The movie was paused so Steve could get some more popcorn, but the room was still dark, and the words just spilled from Wills mouth. There was no emotions or theatrics or gathering of attention. Everyone was in the middle of conversation and he just spoke up.

After he said it, the room fell silent, and he could feel the heat of every pair of eyes in the room settle on to him. But he didn’t care. Because he had said it, and a sort of weight he didn’t know he was carrying lifted off his shoulders.

Robin was the first to move. She rushed toward him and pulled him into a hug, practically squeezing all the air out of his lungs as she did so. “I’m so proud of you.” She whispered into his ear, so only he could hear it, and then she pulled away with a soft small and a lingering warmth left behind.

Max was the next to make any noise, letting out a small chuckle from where she sat in her wheelchair. “Way to go, William.” She cheered, partially sarcastic, but there was a hint of pride in her tone. Lucas simply patted him on the shoulder and gave him a reassuring grin, and El shot him a thumbs up from the floor.

Dustin stared up at him from his chair, silent for a moment before a grin spread across his face. “So who’s your crush?” He teased. Will went red.

“Shut up, Dusty-Bun.” Eddie called from the couch, chucking a pillow at Dustin, who poorly dodged it and threw two more back in response.

“No throwing pillows in my house!” A voice came from the hall, and Steve walked in with his hands full of popcorn bowls. “What did I miss?”

“Wills gay!” Dustin supplied helpfully, and Steve shrugged.

“Cool. No throwing pillows in my house.” Was a he said, but Will caught the gleam in his eye as he say down, and the large smile spreading over his face.

Mike never spoke. Not until Will sat down, still and awkward on the floor beside him.

“Hey.” Was all he said, pushing his shoulder into Wills softly.

“Hey.” Will responded.

The two smiled at each other before turning back the movie, but Will couldn’t help to notice how Mike seemed just a tad bit closer than he was before.

And as Will fell asleep that night, head on Miles shoulder, he couldn’t help but grin to himself. He had done that. And he hadn’t lost anyone at all.

i sort of hate this but i spent so much time on it that i’m gonna share it anyway. maybe i’ll make it better later. idk.

#stranger things #will byers #gay will byers #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #sky writes #max mayfield #fanfiction #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #the party #mike wheeler #byler #sort of #will comes out #idk what this is #i don’t really like it #but here have it anyway

[our-blood-is-our-ink]

Desert Heat

Ship: Naga!Agatha x Reader

Summary: It isn't very often your lifemate gets to stretch her limbs...

Word Count: 1.1k

Disclaimer: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Warnings: Oral (r receiving), mommy kink, unsafe heat exposure, sand, bondage, (forced) humping/grinding, bunny kink, possessiveness

A/n: Happy Holloween everyone!!

You lounge back in the lawn chair, a large umbrella casting a cool shade as the battery powered fan blows on your face.

You sip from a canteen, the water not quite hot yet, but past tepid.

You can spot her dark curls in the distance, and you smile as you watch it weave back and forth.

A long, content sigh passes through your lips.

So rarely does your lifemate get to really stretch her limbs like this, and watching her eagerly traverse the warm sand makes the deadly heat worth putting up with.

Her hair disappears, before a cloud of sand is shaken from it, and you're startled into laughter.

“I'm so holding that against you.” You chuckle to yourself. “Rolling around like a toddler.”

You close your eyes as the open air buzzes with heat, drowsing.

“Little bunny should know better than to sleep when they know a predator is around.”

You squeal with shock at Agatha's voice, her tongue gently flicking against your ear.

She throws her head back and cackles, and you half heartedly hit her arm, twisted around in your chair to glare at her.

“Agatha!” You protest. “How did you even get from there to here so quick?”

“Mmm…” She hums, her eyelids fluttering as she rubs her cheek against the crown of your head. “I'm very fast.”

“And silent, apparently.” You grump.

She laughs again, brushing her lips against your exposed skin.

“As much fun as it is to be able to race around,” she says, “I think there's something far more… Enticing sitting so prettily right here.”

Seductiveness drips from her voice, oozing through, and usually, it would be enough to enrapture you.

Usually.

“Not in the sand you don't.” You scold. “Sand gets everywhere, Agatha.”

Smooth, warm scales begin sliding over your exposed legs, and you shiver at the sensation.

“You and I both know I can take what I want without a grain of sand ever touching you, little bunny.”

At her whisper, you have to bite back a whine, shifting as arousal starts to pool between your thighs.

“Agatha.” You warn.

She leaves an open mouthed kiss on your neck, and you instinctively arch into the touch, a short gasp leaving you as you feel the tips of her fangs caress the sensitive flesh.

“Mine.” She hisses, her coils suddenly tightening, making you aware that you're now firmly in her grasp.

“T-the sand.” You stutter insistently.

Agatha growls.

“Fine.” She snaps.

Before you could blink, you're being hoisted by her sheer strength off of the lawn chair and into the air, her thick muscle convulsing as she shifts you about, holding you more safely in her grasp.

“If the next words out of your mouth isn't take me, mommy, I'm taking you back home and I won't let you travel with me anymore.”

The whimper you've been holding back slips through.

“No, I'll be good!” You cry out, knowing her threat is seriously meant. “Take me, mommy!”

Agatha's eyes gleam with her delight, and you find yourself being pulled into their depths.

“That's it, little bunny.” Agatha croons. “Lose yourself to me. You know this is where you belong… In the hands of your predator, helpless.”

You're unable to look away, some unnatural color starting to bleed through the brilliant blue bright eyes that have captured your own.

“‘M your lil’le bun’y.” You slur, fading, dropping.

Agatha’s soft touch sets your body alight, and as she pries your legs open, you relax, trusting the hungry, dangerous look that flashes across her face.

After all, your kind mistress has taught you well.

Little bunnies belong in danger to their betters, to their predators.

To their protectors.

Predator-protector. It had struck you as an oxymoron, initially. An impossibility.

You gasp as Agatha uses her hands to rip your shorts clean in two.

“Mommy!” The plea tears its way from your throat as your cunt throbs with need.

Very quickly, Agatha had corrected your notions of any conflict to her role in your life.

“My precious little one.” Her murmur is sweet, like honey, at contrast to her dark, husky tone.

Her eyes continue to pull and pull, drowning you.

In her eyes, you see the universe, and then fall through the edge, into oblivion.

Into unknown, undone.

Your clothes have disappeared, you can feel how she carefully weaves her body with yours, encasing you with precision, until your chest has been bound in a way that stimulates your burning need, and your bare pussy is against some of the thickest parts of her strong tail.

“Go on, bunny. Make a mess. Put on a show.”

It's not truly an instruction, you couldn't move even if you wanted to, and so Agatha rocks your body against hers, forcing you to grind against her iridescent scales, ripping a moan from you.

“What a good little piece of prey.” Her nose brushes against your ear, her hands beginning to wander, pulling more noises of pleasure from you. “My bunny.”

The utter possessiveness in her voice, the way it sinks beneath you and entraps you to her will – you wildly thrash, trying to get closer to her. Ridiculous as the notion may be, with Agatha literally wrapped around you, the need to be as physically close to her as possible overrides everything else.

A high pitched keening sound is drawn from you as Agatha’s head dips, her coils pulling your legs apart as she lifts you up from where her scales now shimmer in the acrid heat with your wetness, her tongue flicking deliciously against your soaked center.

“Mommy!” Your hips buck, attempting to hump at her face. “Fuck!”

Agatha’s low chuckle sends your eyes rolling, and the short gasps she pulls from you only eggs her on as she eats you out.

It isn't very long before your peak rapidly approaches, but that doesn't phase Agatha, who seems determined to drown in your essence.

“My bunny.” She murmurs against your core as she waits for the shocks passing through your body to die down. “My treasure.”

The adoration makes you whimper, a tear of pleasure finally rolling free.

“Agatha.” You hoarsely beg.

Your lifemate shifts her coils, and she envelopes you into her embrace.

You stay like that for a long while, face pressed against Agatha’s soft chest, breathing in her scent of wildflowers and petrichor, her fingers gently running through your hair.

The air buzzes with silence, the only other sound is your soft breathing that matches your lover's.

A yawn eventually grips you, and Agatha sighs.

“Come, dear.” She softly croons. “Let's get you settled for a nap.”

“Mmm… Okay…” You drowsily agree.

Agatha’s smile is pressed against your forehead as she gently kisses you, and you let out a content sigh of your own.

“Will you stay and cuddle?” You slur out as Agatha starts slithering with you still being held in her arms.

“Of course. Anything you want, superstar.”

You smile.

#c: agatha #c: snake!agatha #sky writes #sky's halloween collection #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness smut #kathryn hahn #sky's fics

[apocalyptic-byler]

i’d grab the kitchen scissors (and cut myself to slivers for you)

Mrs. Wheeler opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it back, then closes it again. Mike can clearly see her struggle to understand why the fuck he cut his hair and when she opens her mouth again he half expects the question to roll off her tongue.

“Do you want me to fix it up for you?” is what comes out instead.

or the one where Mike cuts his hair, Karen and Mike are both at their wits end, and a certain someone makes the whole situation a bit more bearable.

#sky writes #byler #byler fanfiction #byler ao3 #byler fanfic #byler fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things ao3 #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #will byers #mike wheeler #im actually proud of this one #i think im getting better <3 finding my style!!! #13k words is honestly so much for me actually super proud i wrote all of that and managed to finish it too ☺️🫶🏽 #posting your work is still a scary experience though 😭 #ABSOLUTELY LOSING MY MIND I FORGOT TO BLOCKQUOTE 😫😫😫

[deaniewithalittleweanie]

scared of the sunshine

by: skiesaregray

A Destiel Rival Equestrians AU

When the horse clears the last jump with no faults, Castiel is relieved at first, but when he sees the time, the relief turns to anger that heats up his body. 55.75 seconds. Castiel is pretty sure he isn’t a sore loser, but someone new sweeping the floor with him by riding like a maniac makes him want to pull his own hair out.

Michael crosses his arms. “Don’t you dare do something dangerous in speed and power just to get your title back.”

Castiel huffs. “I won’t.” He looks at his course one more time as the man comes out of the arena. He catches his eyes, and Castiel must have had a look on his face, because the man tilts his head. 

“What? Did I win?” He asks innocently as the sun catches the green in his eyes. 

Castiel has never wanted to punch someone so badly. He doesn’t even know what to say to that. He almost hopes someone rode faster just to wipe the smug grin off this man’s face, but that would mean Castiel placed third, which would only anger him more. 

The man takes Castiel’s silence as an answer. “Well, I know I beat your time. Maybe it was enough. What’s the next course?”

Castiel steers Matriel towards the open gate. “Why don’t you watch me and find out?”

CHAPTER 1 ON AO3

Posting weekly on Thursdays!

Spotify Playlist

#sky writes #destiel #destiel fic #spn #supernatural #spn fic #yall have no idea how long this took #qtiepie

[transmurderbug]

The saga continues... Kaka @stocious and I have given each other a new set of prompts for our writing exercise. This time the stories took off. Many thanks to Kat @mybrainismelted for betaing 💙

Angel Of Music, Guide And Guardian (Grant To Me Your Glory)

Length: 2.8k Rating: General Tags: AU - Folklore, Romance, fossegrim!Mickey, Music, Kissing, Nature, Magic

The forest engulfs him in kind understanding as he fumbles his way deeper and deeper. Hands clutching his most prized possession. He swears he feels them breathing down his neck, relentless in their chase. Ian knows he has to reach the lake. He has no other choice. The cave there is his only shelter.

[Read more on AO3] and [Read Kaka's work]

#kaka&sky writing symbiosis #shameless #gallavich #ian and mickey #alternate universe #folklore #prompts #writing exercise #sky writes #psst Nosho #pssst Willow

[greenlighted]

WIP WEDNESDAY

i started planning and writing little bits and pieces of a drarry wip last night while i was high after work, and i have no recollection of doing any of it.

but here's a snippet of it that i wrote that i think could be worth reworking a little bit !

i haven't written in so, so long so this is definitely very rough. its from dracos pov which im very out of practice in, but im thinking i want to commit to the fic in harrys pov. but, i do want to explore some of the scenes im thinking about for it from dracos pov so ill probably post a lot about that here or maybe in a separate work if i ever write this enough to post.

id love some cheerleading and opinions ! ♡

content under the cut ♡

all draco could hear for a moment were longbottoms loud snores before he felt harry shift against him slightly before whispering so softly draco almost couldn't hear him at all.

"i really have liked you for a long time."

draco stills at hearing the words a second time. he'd known that it was the truth as the first time he'd said it, harry was incapable of lying. yet, somehow, draco still couldn't quite believe him then. it seemed inconceivable that harry could ever like him when there were miles and miles between draco and the kind of person that was worthy of, that was deserving of, holding the attention of harry potter.

draco malfoy was not likeable. he'd even go as far as to say he was severely unlikeable. and harry potter? harry was so incredibly likeable, and extremely hard to dislike. draco would know, he'd been trying since he was eleven.

if there was one known fact of the universe that draco could comfortably rely on, one thing that had never failed to keep him grounded, it was the fact that harry potter did not like draco malfoy.

and then, suddenly, two months after the war had ended, harry potter was defending draco malfoy in court.

and then, suddenly, two weeks after harry had defended draco in court, he'd owled him his wand back.

and then, not nearly as suddenly, two days after harry had owled draco his wand back, draco had owled him back.

and then, perhaps inevitably, not a day had passed since that they hadn't spoken.

feet upon feets worth of parchment owled back and forth became sitting next to each other for meals in the great hall.

draco owling harry a birthday present became sitting entirely too close together on the couch in the empty eighth year common room swapping christmas presents.

it had snuck up on him, the realization that harry no longer disliked him. that he actually, somehow, liked him quite a bit. he'd known that to be fact as well, even without the help of a truth potion. harry potter had never been someone capable of masking his emotions, he had always worn his heart on his sleeve and draco respected him for it as much as he was terrified of him for it.

he could tell that harry liked him, in whatever way, in the way that he sought him out when granger and weasley got a little caught up in each other, in the way that he asked draco to have seekers matches with him and no longer got angry when draco inevitably started trying to cheat, the way that harry smiled and laughed around him with - with him, always, and never at him. he could tell in the moments where they stayed awake with each other in the common room, leaning against each other on the sofa in front of the fire, telling each other things they've never told anybody else.

draco malfoy had somehow, against all odds, made a best friend out of harry potter. if his father had a grave he'd be rolling in it.

"how long?" draco finally asks, hoping harry couldn't feel the rapid beating of his heart under his head.

"the whole time, probably," harry answers quietly, all but sighing the words into the bare skin of draco's neck. "not in the way that matters until maybe sixth year, though."

the thought of harry potter thinking that him liking draco malfoy in any way was anything less than extraordinary was almost laughable. draco malfoy had wanted harry potter to like him from the moment he'd learned who he was, long before he'd even gotten to meet him.

"you liking me in any way has always mattered," he whispers after a moment of hesitation, vulnerability and raw honesty had always felt uncomfortable to him.

#sky writes #wip wednesday #harry potter #draco malfoy #drarry #writing #fanfiction #harry potter x draco malfoy #harry x draco #hpdm

[skykittywhatchamahcallit]

Lionesse had spent the evening exploring through the forests along the outskirts of Jacobstown. She followed Bighorner paths torn through the woods, smaller paths of Mantises and Hares and foxes. She felt safe surrounded by the trees but at the same time, use to the open air of the desert, it felt suffocating. She could check behind a tree to find an animal, maybe nothing. Sounds being made with no sense of the direction it could be coming from. It was getting dark, and she was heading back towards Jacobstown to rest. As she did, she could have sworn she could hear steps along side hers, breathing, sticks snapping. She would stop, the air still, to turn around and check and backpeddle. There was nothing she could find, no sign of anything or anyone. But she could feel it.

She was less than half a mile away from Jacobstown when she stopped suddenly again, this time the unmistakable sound of a twig snapping made her turn around. She pulled her pistol, switching off the safety. It was loaded, cocked, ready for whatever sat just outside of her vision. It was darker now, she could barely see two or three trees beyond where she stood. She slowly scanned the forests edge.

“Come out here. Face me.” Lionesse said firmly, not expecting an answer. Her hand went for her belt, for her flashlight, when she was hit blindly from the side. Her finger squeezed the trigger on instinct, once, then twice. She was knocked to the ground, her hand holding her pistol smacked against the ground once, twice, three times, throwing her pistol from her hand and out of reach. Her free hand was twisted behind her, then her second hand, pinned face down in the leaf litter. She lifted her head just enough to scream.

It rang out for a second or two before a sour, salty leather glove stuffed it’s palm into her mouth. She bit down viciously, the person holding her down sucking in a breath of pain. But no matter how hard she bit down, she wasn’t going to be able to break through the leather. The person shuffled around on top of her, kneeling against her back, his free hand holding Lionesses two hands behind her back. She bit down, her yelling muffled against the leather.

“Silence. Silence!” A familiar voice hissed, “I am not here to cause you harm. I will pull my hand out of your mouth if you swear not to scream again. I do not need your doctor friend coming up here.”

Lionesse gently released the man’s hand from her mouth. She could feel him shake it after her release.

“Good. Now I cannot trust you not to run, so I’ll speak clearly, the eyes of the mighty Caesar are upon you once again. Your actions around the Strip have rightfully brought his attention to you once again, to assure your goals align with him.”

“How the hell did you find me?” Lionesse twisted under his weight, tilting her head to meet his eyes. Blue eyes, still visible in the low light. Vulpes.

“I have been watching you for some time since your return from Zion. Alone. I know of your doings, as does Caesar. Listen to me carefully, do as Caesar asks or he will make your life miserable. Your Recon buddy, the doctor, the brotherhood woman, all of them will suffer if you do not follow my directions.”

Lionesse twisted again, Vulpes dug his knee farther, a ‘pop’ coming from one of the vertebrae he held down. Vulpes droned on.

“You remember the way by Cottonwood cove, you should make haste, before Caesar declares you an enemy of the Legion, and we both know that is not something you want.” Vulpes free hand then traced down Lionesse’s side, to the knife on her hip, “Under no circumstances am I to harm you, nor you to harm me. Caesar wants no harm to come to you, for now, but I will not hesitate to defend myself. You have been warned. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Lionesse let her head fall back into the leaf litter, her pistol within view and just out of reach. It had gotten terrifyingly dark during their short conversation.

“Good. Do not forget your pistol, and I bid you ‘Vale’.” Vulpes stood up and let go of Lionesse’s hand in one fast motion, standing and taking a few steps back. Lionesse scrambled to her feet, turning to face him, and the only thing she caught was the faintest outline of him disappearing into the woods. She stared after him for a moment, before ducking down and grabbing her pistol, making a dash in the direction of Jacobstown. The woods could have been full of Legion, for all she knew. Surrounded. Helpless. Watched. The trees broke suddenly as she ran, a steep embankment she stumbled down and onto the road, only a few hundred yards from the fence of Jacobstown.

Her boots connected with the concrete and she ran for the fence. Marcus and Arcade stood there, weapons trained on her for a moment, before Arcade dropped his stance and pushed Marcus’ rifle sights off of her. He holstered his pistol and ran towards her, and they collided into a hug. Lionesse was breathing hard, Arcade was breathing fast.

“Oh my god, oh my god I heard the gunshots, I didn’t think I was going to see you again, we thought the night stalkers got you or something.” Arcade rambled, one hand on Lionesses head the other wrapped around her shoulders. He was leaning down awkwardly as Lionesse took fistfuls of his lab coat into her hands and buried her face against his chest.

“Are you hurt?” Arcade pulled her away from him, checking her over. Besides the dirt and leaves sticking to her hair and face, she as unharmed, “Thank goodness, come on, let’s get you back into town, what the hell happened?”

Together, they walked back into town, Lionesse throwing a backwards glance again to the long, dark stretch of road she could see. And, she could have sworn she saw a familiar figure standing along the tree line.

#Lionesse #Vulpes #Vulpes inculta #sky writes #courier 6 #fallout new Vegas #fic writing #sort of! I’ve been sitting on this for a while

[skyswrites]

i have a complicated relationship with love. its meaning has changed over time. my first definition of love was something you feel for your favorite book characters or songs. it is the feeling that swells in you when you look up at the night sky and see it painted with constellations and a full moon.

when i grew up a bit, not old enough for double digits, love became something you got from your parents, something only they gave you. between hit after hit they assured me that yes, this is love, this is what’s best for you. no matter how much it hurts, no matter how hard you cried, no matter how shameful it feels to have bruises nobody can see because they made sure they were hidden. this is the love you get. and when you’re a kid, you’re too scared to try to debate that, too scared to ask why it has to hurt if it’s what’s really best.

my mom used to do my hair, straightening it and being careful not to burn me. but it was inevitable. when i joked about telling my friends my mom had burned me, not understanding what i’d truly said, she told me they’d take me away. that i’d be sent somewhere where they wouldn’t love me like they did. i wonder now if she said that out of concern for me or concern for her reputation.

the first time someone told me that gifts did not need to be earned, that they were given out of love, i froze. she didn’t mean to, but she’d taken a sledgehammer to the foundation of what i’d thought to be love. what is love if you don’t need to earn it? what is love if i don’t need to do something to deserve it?

when i grew older, i met my best friends. they are truly loving, and not in a way that hurts. their love is forehead kisses and hugs that put you back together and gifts because they thought of you. i still push and push it away because i haven’t earned it, i don’t deserve it yet. maybe after a few more jokes to make them laugh. maybe after i’ve gotten a gift to make up for the money they spent on me. maybe after i’ve made myself different, made myself better.

how do you accept the good things, the things that don’t hurt, when all you’ve known is bittersweet? i choke from how saccharine the love feels. how do you accept the good when it’s always right before the bad? i never know when that second shoe will drop, i just know that it will eventually.

#sky writes #spilled ink #poetry #poetblr #love