#Edge would risk his neck for these guys

[rizzanon]

00 | AND SHE CRIED OVER NOTHING

m.list | next

You weren’t supposed to be out here tonight. You knew that very well. The injuries that you sustained from your previous few night patrols hadn’t fully healed yet. Leslie warned you not to go out that night.

Yet you still went out.

Why?

Because you finally had a lead on the drug ring you had been tracking down for who knows how long. And if you didn’t act now, they’ll get away. Again. You couldn’t allow that.

You could have asked for some backup, but that wouldn’t suffice.

Not because you didn’t want help—actually no. You didn’t want help. This was your mission. Your lead. But backup would have been nice. Though you knew no one would come.

Dick? He was busy juggling his duties in Blüdhaven. Even if he wanted to help, his plate was always overflowing, and he wouldn’t drop it all just because you asked.

Jason? Yeah, right. You could already hear his sarcastic laugh if you dared to call him. “Why? Can’t handle it yourself for once?” he’d sneer, probably adding some comment about how this was why you didn’t belong in the field, before handling the whole situation himself. You weren’t about to give him more ammunition.

Tim? He was neck-deep in some case he swore was more pressing than anything else. The last time you’d asked him for help, he’d given you that look—the one that screamed—You can’t do this without me?—before ultimately brushing you off. You didn’t want to go through that again.

Damian? He’d probably make some cutting remark about how you lacked the skills to deal with it on your own. And while he might grudgingly show up, it wouldn’t be out of concern—it’d be just to make sure you didn’t screw up his father��s reputation. Or make things worse to clean up.

Cassandra? She had her own priorities, her own missions that rarely overlapped with yours. And truthfully, you didn’t even think she noticed how much you struggled. She always seemed so focused, so capable. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit how lost you felt in comparison.

Duke? He might’ve come if you asked, but it wasn’t fair to rely on him. He already did so much during the day. You didn’t want to drag him down with you.

And Bruce? Your father? Well. He was offworld with the Justice League. Besides, he never showed up unless it was absolutely critical. And let’s be honest—he didn’t think your leads were ever “critical.”

So you didn’t bother calling. You didn’t want the dismissive tones, the passive-aggressive remarks, or the lingering sense of being an afterthought.

This was your lead. Your mission. And if you didn’t do it, no one else would.

The warehouse loomed in front of you, its shadow stretching long across the damp pavement. Your heart pounded as you slipped into the shadows, your injuries screaming in protest with every movement.

You moved silently through the shadows, the dim light from the flickering bulbs overhead casting long, jagged shapes along the warehouse floor. The stench of oil, dust, and something far more pungent hit your nostrils as you crouched behind a stack of crates, eyes scanning the scene.

A small group of men huddled around a table near the back, laughing, their voices low but unmistakably clear. The bags of white powder scattered across the surface of the table made your stomach churn.

They're pushing more than just drugs this time, you thought.

Weapons, too.

A rough-looking man passed a large duffle bag to another, his fingers brushing the edge of the table. You could see the gleam of a few pistols tucked in the bag, alongside the drugs.

This was more dangerous than you thought.

You couldn't risk waiting for backup-you had to end it now.

You moved, a blur of motion, cutting through the darkness, your body fluid and quiet. The first guy was an easy target—a simple kick to the back of his knee sent him collapsing forward. You grabbed his collar and shoved him into the crates with a muffled thud, silencing his surprised yelp with your fist. He slumped, unconscious before he could make a sound.

Two more men turned at the noise, and before they could react, you were on them, one swift strike to the throat with your elbow knocking the wind out of the first. He staggered back, choking, and you took the opportunity to jab your fist into his ribs-hard enough to knock the breath out of him but not enough to take him down completely.

The second man lunged for his gun. You didn't give him a chance. Your leg snapped out, sweeping his feet from under him. As he crashed to the floor, you were already on top of him, wrenching the weapon from his hand and twisting it behind his back, forcing him to the ground with a grunt.

Three down.

But there were more.

You heard movement behind you. The fourth man was charging. You spun, ducking just in time to avoid his swinging fist. Your foot came up, landing a solid kick to his stomach. He doubled over, gasping for air, but you weren't done. Before he could recover, you snapped your knee into his face— cracking his nose with a sickening crunch. He crumpled, blood pooling beneath his head as you quickly swiped the gun from his belt.

But more men were flooding into the warehouse now, alerted by the noise of the fight.

You dove into the next move, tossing the gun to the side and using your momentum to launch yourself into a roll, just narrowly avoiding a swing from a fifth man. Your leg shot out, sweeping his feet out from under him. As he crashed to the ground, you were already on him, pinning his arm behind his back.

Your breathing was heavy now, muscles straining from the effort, but you didn't stop.

You couldn't.

Another man tried to rush you from the side. You twisted just in time, grabbing his arm and using his own momentum to throw him into a stack of crates. He hit the ground with a crash, dazed. You didn't waste time, hitting him hard with a knee to the chest.

But then, something shifted. You were surrounded. More men had come from the back, the entrance-everywhere.

You counted at least seven now, all armed, all ready for a fight.

Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears. You fought harder, faster, but exhaustion was creeping in. You could feel the weight of your injuries dragging on you, slowing your reactions, dulling your reflexes.

One man landed a punch to your side.

Pain exploded, sharp and brutal, as your ribs cracked under the force. You staggered, trying to keep your footing, but then another slammed his fist into your jaw, sending you spinning. Your head whipped to the side, and for a moment, everything blurred.

You barely managed to catch yourself before hitting the floor. Focus, you thought, shaking your head to clear the fog. But it was too late.

Gunfire erupted.

The sound echoed through the warehouse, deafening, sharp. You barely had time to react as the first shot rang out, grazing your shoulder. You cursed under your breath, trying to duck behind a crate for cover. But then another shot-this time, it struck you in the side. The pain was unbearable, like a fire burning through your skin. You fell to your knees, the force of the blow knocking the wind out of you.

You tried to rise, but the pain was too much.

Blood pooled around you, your body screaming in protest as you desperately tried to keep your eyes open.

But it wasn't enough.

Another bullet pierced through your side, and you crumpled to the ground, gasping, your body going cold. Your vision dimmed, the world around you fading into darkness.

Damnit, this couldn't be the end. This couldn't be the way you die.

You gritted your teeth, trying to will your broken body into motion, but it was no use. Your muscles betrayed you, trembling under the effort to even inch forward. Blood pooled beneath you, sticky and warm, and every movement sent a sharp, searing pain radiating through your torso.

Your hand, slick with blood, dragged itself forward, reaching for the comms device tucked at your side. Come on.

Just one call. Someone has to be there.

With a shaky grip, you brought the device to your lips, gasping into it. "H-hello? Anyone... anyone copy? Oracle? Batcave?"

The comms buzzed faintly, then fell silent.

Nothing.

Your heart sank, a cold weight settling in your chest. No one was coming. You pressed the button again, harder this time, as if that would somehow force a response. "Please... anyone..."

Still nothing.

Tears blurred your vision as the reality of your situation hit you like a freight train.

You were dying, and you were alone.

The sounds of movement around you grew louder. The men you'd fought earlier were groaning, pulling

themselves up off the ground. You heard their footsteps, slow and deliberate, growing closer with every second.

You swallowed hard, your breaths shallow. No. No, no, no. This can't be happening.

But then, the distant wail of police sirens pierced the silence, growing louder by the second. The footsteps halted. You could hear hurried whispers, curses under their breath. They weren't going to stick around to get caught.

And just like that, they were gone.

You lay there, helpless, listening to their retreating footsteps echo through the warehouse. The mission was a failure.

The drug ring was slipping through your fingers, and you could do nothing but bleed out on the cold concrete floor.

Your vision blurred further as tears fell freely down your cheeks, mixing with the blood beneath you. You felt hollow, a deep ache spreading through you that had nothing to do with the gunshots.

Flashes of your life played out in your mind, each memory sharper and crueler than the last.

You saw yourself as a child, training relentlessly, throwing yourself into every practice, every drill, every mission. You wanted so desperately to prove yourself.

To make your father proud. To make anyone see you. But no matter how hard you worked, how much you pushed yourself, it was never enough.

You saw the countless patrols where you'd fought harder, faster, and smarter, hoping for even a flicker of recognition from your father or your siblings. But they always moved past you, as if you were nothing more than a shadow in their much larger, brighter world.

Your father's dismissive glances, your siblings' subtle comments, their silence—it all piled up, brick by brick, until you were buried beneath it. And now, you were dying under that weight.

Tears kept falling as another thought crept in, sharper than the rest.

You shouldn't have put on the mask.

You weren't cut out for this life. You never had been. Maybe you were too stubborn to admit it before, or maybe you'd known all along but refused to face the truth. You wanted to be like them-to belong. But maybe you were never meant to.

After all, even your own mother didn't want you.

That thought cut deeper than any bullet ever could. If your own mother had abandoned you, why did you ever think Bruce or the others would be any different?

And then there were your friends.

Adrien and Caitlyn.

The only two people who had ever cared about you, who had tried to stop you from breaking yourself for a family that didn't care. You pushed them away—no, you drove them away. They saw through the cracks in your armor, saw the truth you didn't want to face, and you hated them for it.

You remembered the arguments, the cruel words, the way you shut them out of your life, thinking they didn't understand. You'd been so stupid, so blind. And now? You'd give anything to take it all back. To tell them you were sorry.

What would they think when they found out about this? Would they cry? Would they be angry? Or would they feel nothing at all?

They didn't have to care anymore. You made sure of that.

And then your family...

Would they even care? Would your father see your death as another failure? Would your siblings mourn you, or would they move on, like you were just another casualty in the war they'd chosen to fight?

You'd never know.

At least now, maybe you could finally see Alfred once again.

Alfred… the man who was your family’s butler, and someone who was more of a parental figure to you than your actual father.

Everything changed when he died. God, you missed him so much. Everything was so much harder, so much lonelier without him. At least now, you could finally see him again.

As the world around you dimmed, your thoughts grew quieter, like the fading notes of a melancholy song.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, each breath weaker than the last.

The pain ebbed away, replaced by a strange, cold stillness.

And with one final, trembling breath, everything went black.

Everything felt peaceful for a moment.

But then, you heard a sound.

The sound was faint at first—a low, rhythmic ringing cutting through the darkness. It didn’t make sense. Everything had gone quiet, hadn’t it? The fight. The blood. The cold, creeping sensation of death. Yet, the ringing persisted, growing louder, sharper. It was unmistakable now. An alarm clock?

Your mind scrambled for understanding as the sound grew deafening. And then—

Your eyes shot open.

You were staring at the ceiling. Your ceiling. The familiar, faintly cracked white plaster of your bedroom greeted you, sunlight streaming in through the blinds. It didn’t make sense. Wasn’t this supposed to be—? No. You were bleeding out in that warehouse, weren’t you? The pain, the hopelessness—it was too vivid to have been a dream. Wasn’t it?

Your heart pounded as you sat upright, your body reacting before your mind could process. Your hands flew to your torso, desperate to find the bullet wounds that had felled you. But there were none. No blood, no pain. Nothing but smooth skin under your shirt.

But something was wrong. Your hands trailed over your arms, your fingers tracing the faint scars you’d accumulated over the years as Batgirl. Only… there weren’t as many as there should’ve been. You froze. Your heart raced as you stood up, scanning your room with frantic eyes.

Things weren’t where they were supposed to be. Some of the posters you’d taken down years ago were back on the walls, curling at the edges like they hadn’t moved in years. Old trinkets and keepsakes cluttered your desk—the ones you distinctly remembered throwing away. And the books you’d obsessively arranged last year? They were still in the chaotic, haphazard piles from years ago.

Panic bubbled in your chest. You turned sharply, catching movement in the corner of your eye—a reflection. Your reflection. In the mirror of your dressing table, you saw a face you barely recognized.

Your hair was longer, falling past your shoulders, untouched by the haphazard trims you’d been giving yourself since your late teens. Your face was softer, your features less defined. The heavy eye bags you’d earned through sleepless nights as Batgirl were faint, barely noticeable.

You stumbled closer, staring at yourself like you were seeing a ghost. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t who you were anymore. You looked… younger. Much younger.

Desperation clawed at you as you rushed to grab your phone from the bedside table. Your fingers trembled as you tapped the screen, and what you saw nearly sent you reeling.

The date on your phone.

Four years ago.

You weren’t 20 anymore. You were 16. Somehow, impossibly, you were back in the past.

just a retelling of this

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[mrsnishimuraaa]

what i think enhas kinks / things they do during sex would be !

PAIRING: enhypen x reader (individually)

GENRE: smut

what i think (in my opinion) enhypens kinks/ things they like doing during sex would be <3

all members below the cut!

heeseung

filming: i feel like hes the type of guy to film you sucking him off, or when you ride him etc just to jerk off to it later

spanking: he's got to have a thing for that ass of yours, constantly grabbing it, rubbing it the list goes on, so he would go crazy to see his own handprint on your ass

edging: he would love to tease and edge you, definitely would make you beg him to let you cum

jay

rough sex: oh hes gonna be giving it too you like he'll never be able to fuck you again, even though he will probably do the same the next day

dirty talk: definitely gonna whisper diabolically foul things into your ears, he loves to talk you through it for sureee

finger fucking: i feel like he absolutely loves finger fucking you, watching the way it makes your face twist and how your jaw slacks open, he's just a sucker for how hot you look when you orgasam

jake

eating you out: jake is a MUNCH no one can tell me otherwise, this man will eat your pussy for breakfast, lunch and dinner. anywhere, anytime

risk taking: i feel he is super into fucking in risky places like changing rooms, public restrooms, or even touching you up discreetly in public he seems so into that

hair pulling: he would find it so hot, pulling on your hair in doggystyle, or just the reaction he gets out of you when he tugs on your hair

sunghoon

spitting: okay you have to hear me out on this one, hes such the type to spit in your mouth when your having sex, overall hes into messy sex

choking: he just loves it messy and rough, and the look on your face when your eyes roll back in pleasure with hiss hands around your neck.

dirty talk: i swear he would love the way your pussy clenches around him when he dirty talks you things like 'yeah you like that?' 'shit your so wet f'me' etc

sunoo

kissing: i feel like he is such a loving type during sex, he loves to kiss you anywhere and everywhere

hickies: he would so leave hickies in places no one but you and him can see, tits, inner thighs etc etc

bathtub sex: i dont know why, but i can see him wanting to have slow passionate and sensual sex in a bath full of bubbles

jungwon

shower sex: just imagine being pushed against the cold tiles as he fucks into you from behind, the water running down your back i just feel like he would love that

quickies: blowjobs backstage? yes , quick fucks after practice? hell yeah , i feel hes so down for quickies whenever and wherever

finger fucking: he absolutely loves getting you all wet and worked up, is so proud of himself when you cum/squirt allover him

niki:

size diffrence: dont even get me started on this, if his gf is short its so over for her 'your so small hm?' 'you like this big cock in your tiny little pussy?' it would drive him up walls

man handling: picking you up with ease, tossing you around like a ragdoll and changing you into different positions with the blink of an eye, occasionally doing it with only one arm

risk taking: just like jake, anywhere anytime if he can get them big hands of his on you, they're on you. backstage, bathrooms, dressing rooms, you name it you've probably fucked there.

[ghast1yghosts]

Eddie’s back hits the wall and Steve crowds into his space, never breaking their feverish kiss. Steve’s hand gently comes to cup his cheek while the other presses on the small of his back, arching Eddie’s spine to touch up against the hard line of his body.

Barely parting, Eddie’s shallow intake of air gets cut off again by the sinfully plush and slick lips, quickly passing his own to lick into his his mouth.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands—they end up bunched in Steve’s hair.

Gripping tighter on the short strands as the thumb on his face ghosts down to push his chin up. A lewd pop sounds when those lips leave and start trailing down the curve of his jaw, teasing their way down his neck only stopping when its found its mark.

Eddie drops his head back to the wall with a soft groan, basking in the overwhelming presence and feeling of SteveSteveSteve that will always feel all too consuming.

“Steve…” He can’t help the small whimper escaping.

Lips leave their place and hands cup the sides of his face.

“Hey. Hey, Eds. You okay?” Bleary and confused as to why Steve stopped, Eddie blinks his eyes open to look at the concerned expression on his face.

“W- Yeah—“ He clears his throat a little, “Yeah, I’m fine, Steve.” The man just looks at him, reading his expression carefully and quietly searching for any signs of discomfort.

Then what just happened it hits him dead on.

Eddie closes his eyes and drops his head slightly.

“Please tell me you didn’t pick that up,” he winces.

He’s met with silence and risks peeking at Steve, and then watches as realization dawns on his face followed by a snarky grin that splits his face, a laugh on the edge of it.

“Yep. You bet we fuckin got that Munson,” the camera operator calls from the side of the set. They send Steve into a fit of hysterics and Eddie shoves him back a step.

God damnit, it was the second take at least and not the first.

“Fucking Chri— We’re deleting that and forgetting this ever happened.” Steve’s laughter rings throughout the 3 sided room, “I swear to go this does leave this set.”

“Hey, at least you were convincing.” It’s the goddamn *director* this time. This is mortifying.

“Can it. You try kissin this guy and see if you remember your fuckin name.”

They raise their hands, “Sounds like a good deal to me—don’t have to ask me twice.” Eddie just shakes his head at the antics.

This wasn’t exactly how he thought the 6th day of filming for his “big acting debut” would go, but given the circumstances, he can’t necessarily be disappointed either.

His fellow cast and crew haven’t been anything less than amazing and accommodating. They’re all so passionate about the film, it’s indescribably enthralling to be apart of.

He smiles when Steve finally catches his breath, raising his hands to cup his face again, and gives him a chaste kiss—more smile than lips.

—

This is a possible sequel scenario from my Unwritten Fame AU: starting Rockstar Eddie and Actor Steve, whom have been dating for years, but only recently came out as a couple to the public.

[liiixsturniolos]

♱ chris sturniolo (nsfw) alphabet ♱

not requested*

(smut warning!, letters of the alphabet as headcannons chris would do)

A ... (how he is after sex?)

Aftercare. Chris loves it weirdly enough. He will of course clean you up gently. He'll stroke your hair, hold you in his arms, and rub your shoulder. Often he'll make you food after.

B ... (fav body part?)

Body part. Chris' favourite body part of yours, quite obviously your ass. He's a big PDA guy. He'll grab it as you walk, slap it when you walk up stairs, stare at it when you turn around, He's pervy with it but it's funny.

C ... (cum)

Cum. This man is a lil freaky with it. He'll come on your tits when you let him, your stomach, mouth. He lowk has a slight breeding kink/cream pie thing.

D ... (Dirty secrets?)

Dirty secret. This man has loadsss of nasty thoughts and shit he'd love to do. He's a little perverted ngl. I'm sure you can imagine.

E ... (experience?)

Experience. Chris really isn't too experienced, he's only had sex with about 4 women before you. He will of course act like he's fucked hundreds, but he hasn't, and you could sort of tell.. you had to teach him how to slow down.

F ... (fav position?)

Favourite position. This man wants you in missionary. Let's be real. He wants to see your face. But he's definitely open to any other positions. He'll try anything you ask for.

G ... (How good is he?)

Good. This man is reallll goooood. He will try almost* anything too.

H ... (hair....?)

He's clean, not fully hairless but trimmed LMFAO. In regards to you, he doesn't mind. However you're happy with it, he's happy too.

I ... (intimacy?)

He's sweet. Although he's a rough guy sometimes he can switch it up too. He holds your hand through it when he can, likes to watch your face and kiss you too.

J ... (Jacking off?)

Surprisingly, not as often as you expected. And almost always to pictures of you, especially before you guys started dating the guy would stroke his shit to every one of your tiktoks or insta posts.

K ... (what are his kinks?)

Kinks. He has a little breeding thing, wants to get you pregnant BAD. And maybe a little degradation but never too mean, he could never be mean to you.

L ... ( favourite place to do it?)

Location. He's a fan of public sex, but that's often hard to get away with. So he'll opt to tease you under a table with his fingers scoping out your inner thigh. He likes table tops, and bathroom counters to pin you against.

M ... (what gets him going?)

Motivation. Seeing you in slutty outfits. Fucking loves you in a skims dress where he can see your shape, loves you in lacy underwear.

N ... (what he wouldn't do.)

No. Anal stuff is definitely off limits. Him, you, he doesn't care nobody's goin' near his asshole and he ain't gonna go near yours. He's not into anything too rough either, like knife play and blood, he cares about you alot, it's not just lust. He wants to make sure you're always safe.

O ... (oral?)

Oral. He will 100% eat you out with delight. for example, my blurb HERE ... You'll return the favour every now and again.

P ... ( what pace will he go at?)

Pace. He can be fast, but you've taught him how to wait a little, and how to be slower. He will switch between his paces. Depends on how you both feel.

Q ... (opinions on quickies?)

He likes 'em. But sometimes not, he likes to take his time with you. He actually likes the whole foreplay stuff, he likes making out and running his hands through your hair, or kissing your neck.

R ... (risky?)

He is down to take risks with semi-public sex. He loves fucking you on the couch and just hoping his brothers don't come in.

S ... (how long can he go for?)

Stamina. He will go for as long as you like. As long as your up for it, he'll go twenty more times.

T ... (is he into toys?)

Toys. Yeah, sure. On you though. He'd happily mess around with a vibrator on you. He'd definitely be a bitch with it though, teasing you and edging you until you beg him to stop, pleading to let you shut your legs as he holds it there longer.

U ... (is he unfair?)

Unfair. Is he Unfair with you? Tease you? He's never selfish, but will tease you a little on occasion, especially if you've been bratty and bitchy that day, he wants a sliver of revenge but eventually he has to give in to your moans and begs to let you come.

V ... (how loud is he?)

Volume. He is LOUDDD, you will litterly have to put your hand over his mouth sometimes. This man is grunting and whining like there's no tommorow.

W ... (what are his insane fantasies?)

Wild cards. He secretly wants you to suck him off as he drives. It's a dirty and illegal thought. You would do it though. HERE is an idea of what it'd be like...

X ... (what's he got?)

X- Ray. He's big. He cocky about it too.

Y ... (how highs his sex drive?)

Yearning. He's pretty horny, pretty often. Works out well for the both of you..

Z ... (bitch I have nothing..)

Hope you liked this thanks for reading!

okay see you later bitches. I hope you liked this, if you did please interact so I keep writing! thank you! ꨄ︎

taglist babiesss! : @matthewsroses @pvssychicken @chrislilcumslvt @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @sturniolo-fann @matts-myloverboy @emely9274 @sophand4n4 @uncannyguava @chrisfavoritewhore @certifiedstarrr

[sinofwriting]

Horny Teenagers - Max Verstappen

Words: 1,189 Summary: If Max and her were only allowed to say one thing that people described them as, it would be horny teenagers. They disagree with that entirely, after all what’s wrong with having a healthy sex life? Note(s): Suggestive Themes, Slightly NSFW

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“Max, how do you feel about the most recent interview your team principal did?”

Max raises an eyebrow, not understanding the question from Olav.

“He described you and your girlfriend as horny teenagers.”

“I mean, I don’t see how we are. I think of it as us having a healthy sex life.” The words slip off his tongue before he can stop them and he can see Y/N just a few feet away cover her mouth at the Dutch words and he worries for a second but then sees her shoulders shaking with laughter.

—

“Red Bull is going to kill us.” She pants, her hand fisting the hair at the back of Max’s skull, his lips sucking a bruise into her neck.

“Like they’ve been threatening for two years?” He smirks, squeezing at her leg that’s wrapped around his waist and really he’s lucky she wore this dress, such easy access to everything he wants.

Her laugh turns into a moan as he grinds his hips into hers, eyes slipping shut.

“I just won my fourth championship. I think they can forgive this.”

Her free hand pulls at the waistband of his pants, fingers grazing over his bulge that’s pushing at his zipper. “You say that like we ever need an excuse to fuck in a club.”

“No, but it certainly helps.”

She hums, eyes opening and she can spot more than a few phones pointed at them and it’s really lucky that Max is so broad. They more than take risks, but Max would never let anyone see any part of her, always sure to press her face into his neck, hiding everything he can so he can greedily have it all for himself.

“Take me back to the hotel? I can’t congratulate you properly here.”

“Whatever you want, schat. Whatever you want.”

—

“You did amazing.” Her voice is nearly a shout and Max’s smile widens, eyes crinkling at the edges and his arms are wrapping around her waist, their lips pressing together.

Her hands immediately go to his face, feeling the flush of his cheeks, the slight sweat dripping from his brow. And she giggles against his lips as one of his hands moves to her ass, grabbing and pulling her closer. She nips at his bottom lip in revenge, breath hitching at the near growl he gives.

“You're getting it later.” He warns.

“Promise?”

He kisses her again. “As soon as I’m done with media.”

She watches him walk back over to where Charles and Oscar are, both shaking their heads at him, and she can see the resigned looks of most of the Red Bull team.

“Twenty seven and still playing grab ass.”

“Max is twenty-seven.” She corrects, smiling at GP and his amused expression.

“Oh yes, sorry, you're how old again?”

She shakes her head, nudging him slightly as they both watch Max step up to give his interview.

She sighs, continuing to watch him. “Winning looks so good on him.”

“I don’t need to hear that.”

“None of us do.” Rupert murmurs.

“Really starting to think you guys hate when I speak.”

“We do.”

GP nods, “Would really rather you didn’t. Don’t think I need to hear anymore about Max.”

“Your loss.” She sings, blowing Max a kiss as he looks over at her one last time before leaving for the cooldown room.

—

“Actually, before everyone goes, I wanted to let you all know some exciting news before we all see each other next time for preseason testing.”

Everyone in the room shares glances at Max’s words, the driver practically beaming.

“Y/N and I are expecting a baby.”

The room erupts in congratulations. People getting up and swarming the driver and he laughs, accepting the pats on the backs and hugs.

“How is she doing?”

“She’s doing great. No morning sickness or anything, she’s thirteen weeks along, so we finally started telling people.”

“That’s amazing, really, Max. When is her due date?”

“August 17th. A bit fortunate with the new calendar, but babies have their own schedule, the doctor told us.”

“Thirteen weeks, huh?” GP asks.

Max nods and they can see his hand twitching to his wallet and they just know that he’s got an ultrasound or two in there.

“Vegas must have been a really nice celebration.”

Max laughs, a slight pink to his cheeks. “Well, the club was nice, but the hotel was much better.”

Groans escape from everyone in the room at the reminder of all the pictures and videos that had flooded social media from that night, but they all can’t help exchange looks, more than happy for the driver but also finally, finally it would mean a break from the nightmare that was Max and Y/N together and their constant horniness.

—

Rupert looks in horror at Max’s back.

“What happened?”

Max looks over his shoulder at him, bending to get a shirt before sliding it on. “What do you mean?”

“Your back is shredded.”

“You say that like it’s the first time.”

He splutters, running a hand over his face. “No, but Y/N’s pregnant.”

“And?”

“You two are still having sex.”

Max laughs, slapping him on the back. “You do know that doctors actually encourage that right? It’s good, apparently. And what you thought that just because she was pregnant we’d stop? It’d take more than that.”

Rupert watches Max leave in horror.

—

“Max,” At the sound of his name, he looks away from Charles’ phone that displayed a picture of Leo. “I just wanted to offer my congratulations on the news of you and Y/N expecting a baby and was wondering if you could stamp out a rumor of sorts.”

“Thank you and a rumor? We are talking about rumors again? So early in the season.”

A few reporters laugh.

“It is quite early. This has to do with a report that apparently last weekend your hotel room in Bahrain was vandalized. Broken mirror, torn pillows and such.”

Max coughs, trying not to laugh as he sees actual concern on the reporter's face. “No, nothing like that happened. Just, uh, a little overexcited so to speak.”

Charles lets out a laugh that he quickly turns into a cough when feeling his press officer glare at him.

“Mate.” He murmurs.

Max smiles, dropping the microphone back in his lap as Tom changes the subject, asking Jack something. “Well if I said any more I’d get fined.”

“I can imagine.” And Charles’ gaze softens. “I know I’ve said it already but congratulations. You and Y/N will make excellent parents.”

Max’s smile widens. Charles had been the first driver to text him to offer his congratulations, and his repetitiveness of offering them was nice. It was good being so close with Charles after their rocky karting years. “Thank you, Charles. I’m starting to think you want to be in the running for godfather.”

“Oh, absolutely. If not, I better be known as uncle Charles. I’m offering piano, Italian, and karting lessons.”

“Fucker.” Max mumbles at the last one with an amused look and small nod before turning his attention back to Tom.

[kittsch]

ranking cod boys' intimacy style from gentle to rough feat: 141 + los vaqueros + others reader: afab, implied different readers for each cw: explicit smut, kink, fluff, pretty tame imo but lmk if you'd like something tagged NSFW BELOW CUT * MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

1.) the gentlest, surprisingly, is ghost. make no mistake, he'll absolutely fuck the daylights out of you if you ask him to -- would enjoy it, too. but as simon riley... honestly, this man is touch-starved and nearing forty. he is tired, baby. coming home from deployment, first thing simon does is shower (knows you hate the smell of war on him), then take a fat nap with you. if you're in the middle of something, no you're not. he'll literally scoop you up and fireman-carry you to the couch or bed, whichever is closest. simon loves holding you, wants to be touching you all. the. time. his favorite way to nap is wrapped around you like a fitted sheet; skin on skin, nose in your hair as he breathes in the scent of your shampoo. loves it even more when, later, he gets to wake you with soft, open-mouthed kisses on your neck; the flat of his palm sliding down the gentle swell of your tummy, cuping you through your sleep shorts. simon likes you best like this. how you just... melt into him, still sleep-sodden and docile. it's one of the few things that feels right in his life. chemically, cosmically, karmically (somehow--simon doesn't think he'll ever feel like he earned this. you. that he'll ever really deserve to be yours). he takes his time; fucks you slow with his fingers, savoring your muted whimpers as he grinds into your clit with the heel of his hand. to simon, watching you come apart in the firm circle of his arms is kin to a fresco on a ceiling; a sliver of the divine, and he, a sinner, doomed to watch heaven from afar. but by some small miracle, you offer him salvation. when you cum, it's with his name on your lips, so round and lush with love, and fuck--if that isn't the thing to save him, then nothing will.

2.) second is rudy. sweet, sweet boy. he sees you barefoot in a sundress one time. one. that's all it takes to precipitously shift the trajectory of his life to one where he wifes you up and makes you a mother, in that order. you're the first person he's ever envisioned having children with -- the only one he thinks knows will be worth risking everything for. and once that mental picture settles in his mind, it’s all he can think of. it becomes his sole mission to get you under him and fill you with him til it takes. rudy is a missionary guy through and through--wants to see that pretty face, cariño so he can watch your cheeks and chest flush when you're about to cum. and the cute way your lashes flutter ("como alles de pollila, mi amor. fuck--") as he bottoms out in your sweet pussy, stretching you so good. and you're always so good for him -- wrapping your legs around his waist and tilting your hips to take him deeper, deeper. but god help you when he succeeds in knocking you up, you’re never getting a moment alone. consider rudy glued to your side for the foreseeable future. can’t seem to keep his goddamn hands to himself, either. doesn't matter that you’re uncomfortable and prickly and prone to random bouts of inconsolable crying at the worst moments. he takes it all in stride. his love is steady, solid. once, you blurt out something to the effect of i'm never going to be attractive again, my body is gonna be ruined by the end of this. and rudy (after a beat) laughs. pulls you forward til your face is buried in his chest, cradles you there when you try to squirm away. tells you he's literally so attracted to you right now he feels like he should be on some sort of list. he's watching you build a new human being inside your body. you're fucking powerful. he can't imagine anything sexier.

3.) next up is könig. from jump, he adores you; the way you smolder at the edges, the unwavering bite of your tone. kleine katze, such pretty claws you have... and he's perfectly content to settle for admiring you from afar; but where others shy from him instinctually, finding his size and perpetual quiet off-putting, you don't. seem to gravitate towards him because of it. you touch him with a gentleness that should feel foreign, but actually feels like home. this man is fucking gone for you. loves you in a way that irreparably and fundamentally changes him. may or may not have cum more than once to the thought of you: hips bucking desperately into the clench of his own fist. but he knows precisely nichts about romance, even less about flirting. has no idea you've been trying to get his attention for months. ultimately, you have to make the first move. and you do--crawling into his lap one night in a grimy off-grid safehouse after a mission went the wrong kind of sideways. when you draw up the mask he goes rigid, tense; but he almost lost you today. (thought for one endless, horrific moment that he had.) so he lets you pull back the mask--lets you see his face. and when you finally kiss him, it pulls a kind of sound out of him the likes of which he's never made before. a desperate, animal keen that claws at the walls of his chest. and könig's a gentle giant, but he is giant. you're both too hasty the first time; too desperate for closeness to prep properly, so it hurts when he bullies his cock inside you. he's significantly bigger than any of your previous partners -- twice as thick and several inches longer -- and by all rights shouldn't fucking fit inside you, but you're both tenacious enough to make it work. könig is certain salvation resides in the gummy clutch of your cunt when you take him to the hilt; shuddering as you cum around him from nothing but the way his cock stuffs you full and the pressure of his calloused thumb on your clit. it's so unbelievably hot, he cums on the spot; not needing friction or movement when he has you clenching down on him like that, scheiße. after, he takes care of you--holds you close to his chest til your breath evens out and you slip into the dreamless, black pool of sleeping.

4.) alejandro, my love. truly a man of passion. it's a long process seducing you, and he enjoys every minute of it. loves finding new ways to get you to blush almost as much as he enjoys fucking you til you're blubbering and cock-stupid. almost. he likes the idea of having a family with you, but is less pernicious about it than rudy. he knows how he feels about you; is confident it'll happen someday. that said, this man's breeding kink knows no bounds. the mating press was built for him; the perfect mix of intimacy and intensity, where he can look you in the eye as he ruts you so deep you can feel him in your fucking throat. also the most likely to suggest expanding your sexual horizons. frankly, alejandro is bisexual as fuck. loves the idea of you getting railed by another man (perhaps rudy, winkwonk) while he watches; loves the idea of you taking the both of them at once even more, but it's always about you. your comfort and pleasure is paramount, and he'll go to unfathomable lengths to make sure your needs are met. happy wife, happy life, he says, hauling you into a deep kiss when you point out that you're not technically married, yet.

5.) alex is the perfect equilibrium of rough and gentle. initially respects you as a colleague, maybe a friendly acquaintance. internally, he finds your competence and no bullshit attitude deeply attractive, but he's a consummate professional; would never put you into a position where you'd feel unsafe (outside of the obvious dangerous shit you already do). and then--he sees you shoot a gun. the way your body slides liquid-smooth into weaver, the easy roll back into isosceles in the recoil... it gets him so fucking hard so fucking quick. he has to physically remove himself from the range and rub one out in a bathroom stall, images of those firm hands pumping his weeping cock pulling him over the edge. images that don't fade, to his chagrin, even after the initial arousal is dealt with. every time he sees you, it just... pops back up, so to speak. he keeps it locked down as best he can, but fails pretty comprehensively at doing so. alex finally breaks after catching one too many recruits staring after you when you walk away (fuckin' animals--only he's allowed to do that). he seeks you out when you're both off the clock and ends up fucking you on top of one of the washing machines in the base's communal laundry room. the epitome of soft dom, comes pre-programmed with an obligatory daddy kink that you absolutely abuse to get your way. takes you out to nice restaurants seemingly for the express purpose of fucking you in the fancy-schmanzy bathroom. honest-to-god almost passes out when you choke on his cock for the first time; begs like his life is on the line for you to do it again, please, please--oh, fuck baby, yes. that experience reveals two truths to him: one, that he might be a switch, and two, that he might just have to marry you.

6.) now, keegan is a pretty tough nut to crack. it's hard to read him initially, even without the mask--but once you pick up on his tells, he's an open book. and that book wants you upended on the couch within seconds of you both entering the room. initially its just sex; a shared need to vent some frustration and stress. keegan is very private, mostly due to social discomfort and introverted tendencies. in the early days of your relationship, it manifests as him keeping you at a distance. for the first few months, he only ever kisses you when he's balls deep, and leaves after a five-minute come down. you rectify this through sheer persistence and charm. it's clear to you (far sooner than it is to him) that he's weakest to you when you give him big, sweet doe eyes and ask real pretty. this little trick works particularly well when you're riding him slow over the course of an hour, grinding down each time he bottoms out, til he's shuddering and begging you to please go faster--ah. f-fuckin' hell, kid, you're so tight, so good, fuck. when he cums, it's with a crackling whine of your name that pulls the knot of heat in your belly, sending you over after him. then, exhausted and fucked out, he falls asleep with you in his arms. he's still there the next morning when you wake, expression open and lax as he watches you wake. it's the first time you see keegan without reservations, when you realize he's got a gentleness to him--a kind of poet's sensitivity meant for libraries, museum archives, and the kinder side of nature. all overwritten by force to survive, to complete his mission. once you've seen the cracks in his mask, there's no going back for either of you. very quickly, your relationship shifts from distant and transactional to deeply personal; a tenderness blooming in the same garden as the newfound dedication to one another. keegan doesn't say I love you for a long time, but you know he does--you feel it in the way his dark eyes find you in a crowd, always seeking your familiar shape. you feel it in the way he presses your bodies flush from tip to tail while he's fucking you, when being inside of you isn't close enough. you feel it when he, for the very first time, asks you quietly if you'll stay the night with him, because he sleeps easier when you're there. so you stay--the night, and all those that follow.

7.) oh, gaz. such a mischievous little shit. your friend from your training days, you two scrap like puppies over anything and everything. banter is the cornerstone of your relationship, one-upping being a close second. you delight and infuriate one another in equal measure, bickering amongst yourselves til one of you takes a swing at the other. price has reprimanded you both multiple times for horsing around, but you're never in any real danger--you work too well together. there's a kind of shared consciousness between you; a base-level understanding, two wolves hunting in tandem. still, ghost refuses to let either of you sit together on the heli; not since that one time your game of grabass devolved into full-on grappling on the tarmac. ultimately, one of your little tiffs goes too far; ends with you both laid out on a training mat, groaning into each other's mouth as you grind your hips together through your clothes. you both pretend it didn't happen for maybe a week--then it happens again. and again. and again. being 'together' is never something you actually discuss with kyle. it just... happens. much to the chagrin of your lt and captain, the bickering actually increases when you two get together; becomes more like foreplay you can get away with doing in front of your superiors. and if this man isn't an absolute goddamn menace when it comes to exhibitionism. when he wants you, doesn't matter if you're in the middle of a meeting. fuck it--it's happening, and it's happening now. very playful in and out of the bedroom, likes teasing you in every sense of the word. he edges you so long sometimes you nearly kick him in the head when he finally lets you cum. there's my girl--oh shi--ah, haah, good fuckin' girl. he's largely aloof when it comes to his emotions--not the best at verbalizing how he's feeling or what he needs. so instead, he shows you. he shows up every. single. time. kyle's your friend before he's your lover; your partner in (war) crime(s). he's always got your six, you've always got his, and what is love if not someone who'd die (and live) for you?

8.) soap proudly describes himself as a pleasure dom, which is mostly true. but he's got serious switch potential. which you know for a fact because fuckin' hell, does that boy whimper somethin' pretty when you throat him juuuuust right. he's such a 'tits' man, it's crazy. loves to hold you close, feel your breasts smashed against his chest while he drives deep into the tight clutch of your cunt. but most of all, soap loves being on his knees for you. this man definitely moans while he eats you out, tonguing your pussy like it's a mouth. he feels big in every sense of the word--in sex, in love, in anger. and make no mistake, he loves you deeply. you two have some serious yelling matches, storm about slamming doors til the neighbors threaten to call the feds, but it's just your way. you're both headstrong and stupid; arguments are bound to happen, and any unresolved hurt feelings get a solid patch-job from the frankly earth shattering makeup sex that follows. like rudy, soap wants a big family with you, and he knew early. actually doesn't tell you just how early til years down the line. how after your first official date, he called his ma and asked if she'd send his nan's ring, please? because he's pretty sure he just met his future wife. said ring which glitters on your hand now, as you reach over and flick his forehead teasingly. tell him he can stop trying to romance you, you're already married. and could he grab more diapers on his way home from work?

9.) as are all things with graves, your sexual relationship is about power. he's an asshole in the worst way--condescending, smug, underhanded, sneaky in his sexism so you always look like some hysterical woman when you retaliate. the kicker? it turns you on as much as it pisses you off. he's happy to string you along, work you into a lather just to leave you high and dry. lord help you once he gets a taste of you--bending you over his desk and cramming you full of his cock with precisely zero prep. he kisses you, loves you, fucks you like he hates you. because he kind of does--he just wants you more. graves loves it when you cry, wipes your tears with his thumb before forcing it into your mouth. coos when you offer your neck up to him--yeah? want my hands on ya that bad, sugar? gonna be a good girl for me, hm? fuck yeah you are--and proceeds to make you cum so hard you black out. your 'relationship' (which it is; ring on your finger a year in, a little one on your hip not long after) is intense. toxic. would be just downright miserable if it wasn't so fucking hot. you cling to each other with gouging force; a livid-blue kind of love, painful and permanent. he carries a picture of you in his wallet: a small polaroid of you in your wedding dress, ashing a cigarette with one hand while the other flips the cameraman (him) the bird.

10.) and the roughest of them all: price wants more than to love or fuck you -- he wants to possess you. he's so tightly controlled everywhere else in his life (has to be for his work), doesn't seem the type to lose his head over a bird. but when he meets you, something shifts. you're soft. impossibly good. flippant and stubborn as a mule, sure -- you drive him up the fuckin' wall with your headstrong antics. (so goddamn petulant. so sure you're fuckin' right.) but war and death hasn't stained your world, left your indomitable spirit unsullied and intact. which, unfortunately, means you haven't gotten a thorough education on the importance of discipline. price wants to consume your disobedience; crack your rose-tinted glasses under his heel, roll the ambrosia of you in his cupped tongue. he'll do more than make you fall in line -- he'll make you want to do it. it's really just a matter of time before he acts on it. when he does, it's decisive. unsubtle. he crowds you up against the door of your flat on a sticky summer night, brandy on your breath. sinks a hand into your hair, holds you steady as he brings your mouths together with bruising intensity. he fucks you before he ever makes love to you; sinks his teeth into the velvet of your shoulder as he crushes you flat to the tabletop using just his bodyweight. snarls low when you keen wordlessly, overwhelmed and empty-headed at the deep burn-sting of his cock stretching your pretty little cunt, the lewd slap of his thighs against your ass. he batters you til you're not sure what's sweat and what's tears; til your skin bears a mural to his cacoethes, all blue and purple like a deep west sunrise. til there's not a person alive who won't be able to see you're his. always have been, always will, right dove? go on--tell him. tell him who this pussy belongs to.

written by kittsch, do not repost. not to be used for bots nor AI of any kind.

[hvnlygrl]

hii!! Can you do JJ

where they were at a kegger and she drank alot so he had to carry her home and change her but he sees that she's wearing a pad and then he asks kie for help and then wtv

⌞ DON’T WORRY ⌝

જ⁀➴ pairing | jj maybank x fem!reader

જ⁀➴ word count | 1.9k

જ⁀➴ warnings | fluff, drinking and smoking, unconscious/extremely drunk reader, sweet jj, drinking then driving (not drunk driving), period talk, mention of toxic shock syndrome.

જ⁀➴ synopsis | after you have a few too many at the kegger, jj brings you home and takes care of you for the night. however, he needs kie’s help when he realizes he has no idea what to do for a girl on her period.

જ⁀➴ notes | this is so sweet i can literally just imagine his face when he realizes 😭

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

even though you told jj on the way to the kegger that your plan for the night was to get so fucked up you could barely walk, he was still shocked to see you down beer after beer. whether you chugged from a funnel or shotgunned, he watched you intently. he was drinking too, but not nearly as much, and his tolerance was a lot higher than yours was. 

jj knew that being your boyfriend meant that he had to stay alert to be sure that nobody, whether they were a kook, pogue or touron, gave you any trouble throughout the night. though, he also knew that everyone was fully aware that you were his girl, and they would be complete idiots to put themself in that position. 

you shot jj a half smile and a drunken wink as you beckoned him over to the edge of the treeline, gar pack in hand. he knew that there were two rolled blunts in that pack, two that he rolled before you left the house tonight. he grinned as he excused himself from the conversation with john b, following you over to your top-secret hiding spot. it was an old pump-shed a few hundred feet from where the kegger took place, hidden in the woods. he walks in, settles in next to you on the ground and pulls the lighter from his pocket. 

you scoot closer to him, pulling your phone from your back pocket as you pull up spotify. “let’s set the mood,” you joke, wiggling your eyebrows at him not-so-seductively. 

he laughs, shaking his head at you, “you havin’ fun, baby?” 

“i’m having so much fun,” you’re not slurring but he can tell just by the sound of your voice that you’re getting fairly drunk. “i’m so excited for this blunt,” you squeal, rubbing your hands together like some cartoon villain. 

“well, let’s get this party started then,” jj retorts, flashing his signature grin at you. he roasts the end of the blunt in the flame for a few moments before bringing it up to his lips, puffing on it a few times until it begins burning evenly. he always took the first hit, though he would never admit that this was the reason, because he needed to be sure that it wasn’t laced. he bought from the same guy every time, but after hearing all the horror stories, he just couldn’t take the risk with you. to him, his life was expendable and yours needed to be protected at all costs. 

you watch him closely, completely unaware of the silent sacrifice, admiring his features under the mixture of the moonlight coming through the broken roof and the flame of the lighter. he takes a few hits, holding them in for a bit before exhaling them. on the last hit, he holds it, swishing the smoke around in his mouth before letting it out as a ghost, pulling it back in expertly. 

you take the blunt from between his fingers, taking your own hits. you do a few ghosts before working on blowing o’s, the milky clouds flowing perfectly in the breezeless shed. 

by the end of the blunt, you’re feeling pretty crossfaded. fade into you by mazzy star begins playing from your phone, a soft gasp flying from your lips as you stand up. “dance with me.” 

“what?” jj questions with a laugh.

“c’mon, jj, dance with me!” you beckon him aggressively, clapping happily when he finally stands up. 

you wrap your hands around the back of his neck, resting them there comfortably as he lets his hands grip your waist gently. the two of you sway back and forth to the beat as you sing softly. he can’t help but adore you in this moment, seeing you so full of light and happiness, completely unbothered by anything and everything else. he knows that the only thing going through your head is being with him, and he can’t help but be totally in love with you. 

when the song ends, he gives you a soft kiss, letting his forehead rest against yours as the next song begins playing. in this moment, it's just the two of you, and that’s all he’s ever wanted. 

“you ready to go back soon?” you ask after a few minutes, “i told sarah i’d take some shots with her at the waterline.” 

he nods, “sure, whenever you’re ready, babe. i’ll probably go grab john b and pope to smoke this other blunt if that’s cool.” 

you shrug, “it’s your weed, babe, do whatever you want,” you give him a smile, leaning up to kiss him one more time. the kiss is interrupted by your phone ringing, sarah’s name and picture popping up on the screen. “shit, that’s sarah,” you pull away, answering it. “what’s up sare-bear!” 

“where are you? i wanna take these shots, and i’ll take them without you if you don’t hurry your ass up,” you can tell just by her tone that she’s joking, but the threat does kick you into high gear. 

“don’t you dare! i’m coming, i’ll be there in a sec,” you reply, matching her tone before you hang up. “gotta go, babe!” you give him another kiss before darting out of the shed, running to the meeting spot you and sarah had agreed on. 

kie is sitting next to sarah on the sand when you arrive, both of them giving you a look that screams you better not have been screwing. 

“we were smoking,” you reply to the silent comments, crossing your fingers over your heart, “scouts honor.” 

“whatever,” sarah shrugs jokingly, “let’s get it!” 

you each take turns clinking the shots together before downing them, laughing and telling stories from the last few days. 

you lose track of how much alcohol you’ve consumed, but that mixed with the blunt you smoked with jj earlier has you reeling in place. “y’all,” you begin, words slurred and eyes glossy, “i think i’m fucked.” 

sarah’s as drunk as you are, giggling at the statement, “me too, girlfriend, me too.” 

kiara, on the other hand is significantly more sober than you both, letting out a soft laugh as she hands you her water bottle. “drink up,” she orders, playing mother yet again. “i’ll go find your boyfriends.” 

when she steps away, you and sarah laugh, drawing images in the sand. “ugh, i needed this,” sarah slurs at you. 

“me too,” you nod, eyelids heavy and brain foggy, “it’s so nice to just not have to give a shit for a night.” 

“right?!” sarah exclaims. she rests her head on your shoulder, and you lean your own against the top of her head. “i love girls night.” 

“so real,” you laugh, “you’re like my sister, y’know?” 

“really?” she lifts her head to look at you, drunken tears welling at her waterline, “that means so much, y/n, you’re like the coolest person i know.” 

“yea, really, you and kie are the sisters i always wanted that i never got to have growing up,” you affirm, “you guys are everything to me. i got your back no matter what, y’know that right?”

“yea, i know, don’t worry,” sarah nods, “i got your back too, no matter what girl.” 

kiara returns, john b and jj in tow. jj lets out a soft laugh at the sight of the two of you before moving in front of you, hands extended, “you ready to go home?” 

you nod, reaching your hands out to meet his as he pulls you up. the sudden movement has you feeling dizzy for a moment, sending you stumbling into his chest, “woah.” 

“oh yeah, definitely time to get you home, my girl,” he nods, giving you as much assistance as you need to stumble back to the van. he’s far from drunk as he helps you into the passenger seat of your own car. once he’s got you settled in, he moves around to the driver’s seat, starting the car and setting the air to the way he knows you like best. 

it’s a five minute drive back to your house. by the time you make it home, you’re falling all over yourself, unable to see or walk straight. jj’s right by your side, guiding you up the front steps and through the house. you’re more than half asleep, hardly conscious when he gets you to the bedroom. he lies you down on your side of the bed, moving to your dresser to grab comfier clothes for you to sleep in. he runs to the bathroom for makeup wipes, knowing you’d be pissed if you woke up in the same makeup from last night. 

jj starts the process by wiping off your makeup as best as he can. once he’s satisfied with that, or pretty sure you’ll be satisfied with it in the morning, he moves to change your clothes. first he pulls of your shoes and socks, knowing how annoyed you get by sleeping in socks. then he pulls the crop top over your head, sliding a big t-shirt on in its place. after he’s got your shirt situated, he unhooks your bra and pulls your arms through the straps, pulling it out from under the shirt the same way he’d seen you do a million times. the last step is getting you out of your jeans. he unbuttons and unzips them before shimmying them down your legs and throwing them as close to the hamper as he can get them. he’s about to put your favorite pair of sleep shorts on when he notices the wings of a pad sticking out from your underwear. he bites at his lip, unsure of what to do. 

jj doesn’t have the first idea about what to do for a girl on their period in that regard, but he knows that he can’t just leave you like that. he’s heard kiara’s rants about toxic shock syndrome a million times and he has no clue if leaving it for that long would make you sick. kiara, he realizes. he pulls out his phone, dials her number and waits for her to pick up. 

“what’s up, jj? everything okay?” she replies, still with pope at the kegger. “how’s y/n?”

“she’s sleeping,” he responds, “look, i hate to ask you this, but she’s like passed out right now and she’s got a pad on. i don’t know what to do, i don’t wanna leave her like this-” 

kiara cuts him off with a soft laugh, “i’ll be there in a few, hang tight.” 

jj sighs a breath of relief, “oh, thank god. thank you so much, kie, i owe you one.” 

“no problem,” she laughs, “see you in a sec.” 

jj waits patiently until kiara gets there, quickly letting her in and sending her to the bedroom. he waits in the living room, watching instagram reels as he waits for her to do whatever she needs to do, completely relieved that she knows what to do. 

she makes her way to the living room after a few minutes, “got her all clean and tucked in.” 

“thank you so much, kie, seriously, i had no idea what to do,” he rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“no worries,” she shrugs it off, “just girls helping girls. you know i’m all about that.” 

“true that,” he laughs, giving her a quick goodbye as she makes her way out to her car. he goes back to the bedroom, sliding in next to you after putting your phone on the charger on your nightstand. he also took the courtesy of bringing your trashcan to the side of the bed just in case. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

hvnlygrl 2025 ©️

taglist — @rubiehart @sarahsangelicdoll @baebankz

[ghostaholics]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄-𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader (aside from a single idiom whose origin uses masculine language/pronouns - every man for himself) ➸ SUMMARY: Against all odds, the Lieutenant accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder. Unfortunately, there are witnesses to the precarious situation (just your luck that it would be Gaz and Soap). ➸ WORD COUNT: 2k

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄: don't poke the bear.

Danger in your line of work typically consists of trying to walk away from a mission while still being left completely intact (i.e. the goal is to make it out alive, in one piece). You’ve survived a great number of ordeals: cornered into a shootout with a dwindling supply of ammo, tiptoed your way through a field of pressure-sensitive IEDs, dove towards probable death (with an awfully high probability of splattering onto hot, concrete hell like a bug on a windshield) because your helo was sent tail spinning courtesy of a perfectly-aimed RPG – and really, the list goes on.

It's been child’s play, in the grand scheme of things. An extensive catalogue of life-or-death scenarios accounts for your entire military career. And sure, this might be a bit of a stretch, but you'd wager that none of those instances thus far have been as high-stakes as the current predicament you’ve found yourself in.

Jesus-fucking-Christ. Why’d Ghost have to fall asleep on you?

𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: avoid sitting next to him on the plane ride home. You've had to learn it the hard way.

And the kicker is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided; it didn’t have to be your problem. You could’ve sentenced any one of the other soldiers to your seat. Every man for himself, right? Get off scot-free, have a normal trip back to base with plenty of legroom so that you’re not cramped. Theoretically, it would've been beautiful – a passenger's paradise, the closest you could get to a first-class ticket.

But no.

Instead, play the Good Samaritan; extend your hand out with an act of benevolence. What’s the harm, right? So, you'd spared the poor guy, said you wouldn't mind switching places with him because he'd looked as white as a damn sheet at the idea of being crammed beside this behemoth of a lieutenant who's infamously every FNG's living nightmare.

Yeah, well hindsight is 20/20. Had you known what was going to happen, you would've had no reservations about throwing him under the bus. Sayonara, mate.

Law of the jungle, plain and simple.

To make matters worse, he is, in fact, exhibiting terrible flight etiquette. His head (which is dead weight and feels about as pleasant as a fucking bowling ball, mind you) has taken up every inch of real estate on your shoulder and is practically tucked into the curve of your neck; you’ll need to take a trip to the chiropractor’s after this – several, probably. The edge of his skull mask is digging into you. And, the cherry on top: get this – he’s man-spreading, so his left leg's trespassing into your own territory and brushing against your thigh. Utter lack of regard for personal space.

Incredible.

You’d still rather die than wake him up, though. You're not sure what'll happen if you do, but that's a risk you're not willing to take.

All things considered, an achy shoulder is a much better alternative than incurring the wrath of one angry Lieutenant. He's more subdued in this kind of context. To be completely honest, if you weren't already well-acquainted with him, you'd find it endearing.

From here, it's easy to see the simple rise and fall of his chest, steady and even. Slow inhale in, slow exhale out. He's at peace, a rhythmic lull that matches your own breathing. You can't quite put your finger on the exact moment he fell asleep. (He's got a habit of shutting his eyes and folding his arms over his chest when he isn't in the mood to converse with the other soldiers onboard. But God willing, he would never voluntarily loll his head onto your shoulder.) For what it's worth, he deserves the rest – never been one to do it this soundly as countless missions have taught you that he's usually a light sleeper. You remember him roughly prodding the toe of his boot at Soap's arm once when the Scot was conked out and his snores were a bit loud for Ghost's taste.

Rather odd then, that the Lieutenant even managed to allow himself to doze off like this. It’s too loud, too unsteady – the droning of the plane engine doesn't exactly make for good white noise and the turbulence outside is jostling the cabin around. Moreover, this puts him in a position of vulnerability, and he’s not the type to let his guard down so easily.

But somehow he did it with you beside him.

You try not to think about the implications of that.

𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.

Because, Soap's just woken up from his nap, the first among the entire company of soldiers in the cabin still sleeping, excluding yourself. His seat's parallel to yours, straight across the walkway within direct line of sight, so he’s got an unobstructed view of you and Ghost. Soap sends a questioning glance in your direction, eyebrow quirked. A look that says, The hell's going on?

The level of your voice is down; it's at a conservative decibel to avoid rousing the others. Yet you convey your distress with the same amount of passion as if you were stuck in the middle of a losing firefight. "MacTavish, help."

Soap works with bombs for a living. Surely, he's capable of defusing situations too.

Alright the man’s a demolitions expert, but that’s semantics.

He blinks like he's trying to make sense of the situation. Though, it's pretty obvious what the problem is here. You're not sure why he’s got to take a moment and contemplate it. You need a solution, now. And he's moving at a snail's pace.

For a second, you think he might sympathize with your plight.

But then his mouth morphs into a shit-eating grin and when he nudges Gaz awake, you know right then and there that you're absolutely fucked.

More witnesses.

Great.

Because that’s just what you need, isn’t it?

Gaz drags a hand down his face. He pans over to his right to figure out why he’s been jolted awake so suddenly, and sees Soap who’s inexplicably, nauseatingly jovial before his eyes land on you.

Much like Soap’s original reaction, Gaz can’t help but offer a quizzical expression. The confusion is evident. His brows are drawn together because he knows that the L.t. wouldn't fall asleep on your shoulder.

Soap's shifting, sliding his hand into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He messes with it – a few taps here, a few swipes there. And then before you're registering what's happening, he's aiming it straight at you, like one of those mums getting a snapshot of their kids in matching jumpers during the holidays.

"Say cheese."

An indignant gasp leaves your mouth. "If you so much as—

"Soap, no. Don't do that." Gaz says from beside him, plucking the phone out of his hands. He tsks him with a click of his tongue. Stern disapproval in spades. The meaning is clear: it’s a big thumbs down from the Brit. He’s not endorsing this type of behavior. “Gone mad now, have you?” he asks in admonishment.

You release a sigh of relief. Finally, some moral support. He's reliable. Your faith in him is unshakable. Always could count on Gaz to get you out of—

"Have to shoot with a wide angle, see? Or else it'll look wonky," he corrects, flipping the phone horizontally before handing it back to Soap.

"Aye, thanks mate.”

Gaz's smile isn't as excessive as Soap's but the smirk gracing his face tells you he's relishing in your misery all the same.

Fucking traitor.

"Knobheads—"

They’d risk their own hides to save you from certain death. You've seen it in Cairo, Valencia, and Seoul. Good men. Good hearts in the right place as well. However, they're also the type to embarrass you at every opportunity – public humiliation being somewhere on that roster as well. And for that, you want to strangle them.

"Rude,” Soap comments pointedly.

"Bite me, MacTavish."

"Just wake him up if it's bothering you," Gaz supplies unhelpfully.

"If you were in my shoes, would you do it?"

"'Course, not," he snorts. "I don’t have a death wish.”

“Well, I also prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much," you whisper furiously, nearly hissing at him.

And Soap is admiring his handiwork, when he coos, “Aw, the two o' you make quite the pair." He briefly twists the screen so that you can catch a glimpse of it, and even from this distance, you can confirm that he's captured the shot. Annoyingly well, to add insult to injury. Angle? Spot-on. Lighting? Brilliant. It's interesting, has character. Black and white photography. He's managed to make a stunning composition and your upper lip is curling up into a sneer of disgust at his artistic eye. How infuriating.

"I'll send this to the Cap. He’ll get a kick outta it."

"Sod off."

"He'll appreciate bein' included."

Gaz matches the energy with an equally gleeful smile, now delighted by the idea. “Hey, and the L.t. he looks—”

“—cute," Soap has the audacity to finish for him.

What.

There are many words that you’d use to describe Ghost.

Cutthroat, maybe. Imposing. Glacial. Taciturn. A stringent set of ideals that makes him the perfect soldier: disciplined, honed, fierce. Intimidating, if he's not fighting on your side – someone you'd much rather have on your team than against, unless you fancied death. He can be a stone-cold terror on occasion. The man’s been penned as a walking horror story by those in the military. Given his iron-hearted demeanor, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree with that statement; there's not much room to call his steel-encased resolve into question.

So, yeah. Above all else, he's certainly not cute.

Your eyes narrow at them. "Congratulations, the both of you have officially made the top of my shitlist."

Soap, indifferent to your crisis, asks, "Want a copy for your wallpaper?"

There's another heated remark waiting on the tip of your tongue, because there's no way in hell that you would and you're ready to tell him off, about to give him an earful.

But somebody else beats you to it.

“Wipe that picture, or I’ll wring your bloody necks.”

Ice surges through your veins. Goosebumps break out across your skin. Because that voice belongs to one person. Oh, Christ. Never in a million years would you want to be on the receiving end of it.

There's anxiety warping in your chest. You're scared stiff, paralyzed with fear in a way that implores you to remain stock-still. The coarse fabric of your trousers bunches underneath your palms as you try not to freak out. This isn't your fault. None of it is.

And here's the worst part: Ghost hasn't lifted his head from your shoulder yet.

But Soap's unfazed. He blinks a couple of times, seems like he's weighing his options – as if there's something else he could choose besides following his lieutenant's command – yeah, right. He wises up, settling for a simple answer in the end. "Alright, Ghost." His smile makes a reappearance, sweet and well-meaning. Troublemaker. "Any chance you'd like a copy before I do away with it?"

"What kind of fuckin' question is that, Johnny?" he grumbles. "Obviously."

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄:

"I take it you don't think I'm cute then. Have I got that right?"

"I'm sorry... mind repeating that again, sir?"

"You didn't have anything to say about Soap's comment."

"I have a feeling that whatever I answer will get my arse handed to me, L.t."

He's smiling in response – like sunshine trapped behind clouds. Despite it being obscured by the mask, you can see his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes the black charcoal that's lining them begin to crease a bit. "Permission to speak freely, Sergeant. You have the floor."

Your mouth parts in surprise. Well, then. Maybe you stand corrected. And so, you appraise him momentarily, giving it some serious thought. There's more to Ghost than you give him credit for. He's terse and rough around the edges, but respected for a reason. Admirable. Someone you think highly of and has deserved your approval. The mask undeniably provides an air of intrigue. “I suppose you can be,” you start off, gradually warming up to him being more approachable. “When you’re not terrorizing the new recruits, that is.”

[xbinksc]

nsfw smut detailed alphabet with nicholas chavez plsssss

Ahhhhhh I’m so happy someone asked for this😵‍💫

LETS GAURRRRRR

Not proofread and very rushed do not come for me

Warning nsfw duhh

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

It takes him a second to get back into his body (if that even makes sense) but that doesn’t last long cause as soon as he regroupes himself he’s making sure you have what u need to be comfortable and of course the pillow talk is his fav! He does what he can to show how much he adores and appreciates you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

This man has worked hard for his body so naturally he’s proud of every part of himself but if he had to pick one it would probably be his thighs (and how u look riding them Oop-). Nicholas is an ass man at heart but is obsessed with your collarbones and your lips.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s messy af😫 when he’s not finishing inside you (with ur consent duh) he’s finishing on your face,your mouth,your stomach, your thighs or your chest.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

he’s so obsessed with you that he can’t get off unless it’s to a video of you or has something of yours somewhere near him you laugh about it but you secretly love that you have that kinda hold on him😈

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

It’s no secret that before he met you he was getting around so he’s definitely experienced and knows what he’s doing but he’s also learned a lot from you considering he doesn’t see you as another one of his flings so it’s different for him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy is y’all’s go to for sure he loves the view and grabbing u by the neck while slowly bringing u close to his chest😵‍💫 nac does appreciate a little missionary or cowgirl moment tho.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

There are times he’ll throw in a few jokes mid fk but he’s quite concentrated making sure u feel good for the most part.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Very well groomed but he’s not very hairy in general

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

No matter what mood he’s in sex between you both is very intimate Eye contact, soft whispers, moaning in each others ears and hands linked together.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he doesn’t jack off as often since you guys started dating but when he does it’s nothing out of the ordinary just a quick spank sesh lmao

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Off the top of my head edging,doing it in public, ice play,slightly masochistic

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

literally everywhere. He just loves the idea that he can pick u up and bend u over anywhere and anytime (with consent😋)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Doesn’t take much for him ur mere presence turns him on but if he was to describe a scenario it would most probably be seeing you do really “wifey”shit like something as simple as u sweeping the floor lmao

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

do not ask this man for a threesome🥲

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

A GIVER THROUGH AND THROUGH AND HE IS GOOD a little too good the view of you throwing your head back at the feeling of his tongue is equal to a Picasso art piece in his mind.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Usually starts off pretty slow but progressively gets faster and rougher

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies all day everyday🙂 jk but I’d say due to both of your busy schedules quickies are quite often between the two of you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s willing to experiment but more vanilla leaning typa stuff nothing too hard core

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

2-3 rounds max but it’s rare y’all hit the 3rd round cause he lasts long and as I said takes it slow in the beginning so 1 round can last like a little over an hour

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He’s willing to an extent but y’all never tried them nor made it a priority. You’re bodies are enough for eachother.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

he absolutely loves to see u squirm under his control😵‍💫🫠he’s the biggest tease

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not very loud he’s more of a moan n groan in your ear type of guy

W = Wild card (a random headcanon)

One time y’all came home from a red carpet event drunk and h0rny as hell so the second u hit the door step y’all got to it removing your clothes piece by piece while making out making your way up the stairs and unbeknownst to you his tie that he removed fell right under ur foot and you slipped and hit ur head leaving u with an open gash on your forehead so y’all had to make your way to the emergency room but fortunately you were fine just a couple stitches although having to explain to the doctors the situation was verrrry awkward and to this day Nicholas refuses to not carry you up the steps.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A good 8.5-9 inches and not very thick

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It depends how many projects,interviews,etc he’s juggling. Naturally he has a high sex drive but he’s able to suppress it for the most part if needed.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s hype immediately after so during that time he’s usually taking care of you and getting glasses of water and the whole schtick but very often once he’s back in bed laying down it’s as if someone tranquilized him he just knocks tf out once the adrenaline is gone

[halfmoonshines]

Just Damon being soft and protective with his gf please! :) love ur work

love this and love you!

only you

damon salvatore x f!reader

summary: Damon only ever had that smile for you.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

You groaned as you trekked behind the group, fully convinced that this could not get any worse. Not only was the southern heat creating a shine of sweat on your skin, but the constant bickering from the rest of your cohort was driving you crazy.

"If you're annoyed Elena, imagine how the vampires feel. We could've just zipped through the woods without you guys." Caroline made an excellent point.

"So why did we even come?" Your question was exasperated and Damon's light laugh came from behind you, one of his hands coming to rest on your lower back.

"The more eyes there are, the more likely we are to find this tomb." Stefan replied.

"I would argue that you guys could've covered five times as much ground by this point if we weren't slowing you down." You paused your walk for a moment, head thrown back to try and gulp in some of the balmy air.

That air promptly left your lungs, however, when Damon swept you into his arms. You couldn't help but shriek a bit, hastily wrapping your arms around his neck. "Damon. I'm sticky and stinky."

He raised an eyebrow at you, lips arranging themselves in a mirthful smile. "My favorite version of you."

Caroline shook her head violently. "Ew, guys."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

The darkness in the room was almost suffocating you but you didn't have the strength to not suffer inside of it. You didn't know how long you had been sitting there, or when it had gotten so bad, but somewhere along the way you had stopped caring.

You had days like this sometimes, where your mental health was virtually nonexistent and you would rather sit alone in the dark with your thoughts rather than flick the light on and reveal the very real things behind those thoughts.

You vaguely heard the door open downstairs, and Damon's voice was like a lance through the fog in your mind. "Babe? Are you upstairs?"

You stayed silent though, brow furrowing while you tried to overcome the block in your brain that was stopping you from speaking. All that came was a frustrated sigh.

That was enough for the vampire, who quickly appeared in your room, seeming unperturbed by the thick blanket of darkness and despair. He came to sit next to you on the edge of the bed, hand finding yours to interlace your fingers.

"Bad brain day?" His tone was gentle, not a hint of judgement tinged into it. You appreciated that.

You gave a nod, slumping into the safety of his arms. He was always so sturdy, a rock against whatever storm you encountered.

He hummed low in his throat and pulled you both back onto the bed, turning on the fairy lights hanging around the room and tucking you under his chin.

That was where you laid for hours before he convinced you to have dinner, more than happy to let you feel whatever you needed.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

"Are we sure that she is not going to lose her mind when she finds us doing this?" Damon sounded incredibly unsure, paintbrush dangling from his fingers.

You discarded your own, placing hands on hips before you replied. "It's washable paint and it's Caroline's 18th birthday!! Decorating her car is a great idea, trust me."

He raised an eyebrow at you and approached, coming chest to chest and threatening to get the paint dripping from his brush onto you. "Painting the most OCD Barbie I know's car as a surprise? Seems risky."

Your smile was devilish in return. "Since when does a little risk scare you, Salvatore?" You had barely finished your sentence before a gasp escaped, a line of paint now going down your cheek.

"Literally never." He lunged away as you grabbed for him, and you ended up painting yourselves much more than you touched the car.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

[bbystark]

♡ simon is a bad stalker part 3 ♡

badstalker!simon x reader series - pt one two

♡ masterlist ♡ request more! ♡

summary: you take the risk and meet up with your stalker. briefly features soap. mdni

a/n: i'm so sorry this took so long to get out! and thank you to everyone who requested a part 3, you guys keep me motivated. got bit by the productivity bug so expect more fics soon. :) ( @identity2212 )

you're still reeling days after your talk with your stalker. ghost, you think to yourself. a fake name or nickname, no doubt, but at least you have something to call him. a name to put to the silhouette.

he hasn't reached out since the video call, but you know he's most likely still around, whether he's making it known or not.

you're miffed, and starting to think the man has avoidance issues. it's probably one of the tamer things wrong with him.

then one night you're on your porch, lounging with a cup of tea, minding your own business when a black suv rolls up, much like the one that had picked you up the night you were stranded.

you stand when a man steps out of the car, mohawk emphasizing the height and overall largeness of him.

you watch him warily; he walks up to the fence and rests his palms on the edge. you half expect him to open the gate and waltz right up, confidence oozing from him.

but he stays there, giving you a small smile. "you still wanna meet 'im lass?"

of course it was one of his people. you numbly wondered how he knew the biggest men you've ever seen in your life. you know ghost can't be small himself, you'd put that much together seeing how his shoulders were almost bulked out of frame on the video call.

"you're with him?" you hesitate a little, clutching your mug closer to your chest, "with ghost?" he nods.

you're silent, and he lets you be. lord knows he's not planning on taking you kicking and screaming, sure you were a pretty little thing but he about backhanded simon when he found out about you. of course the big idiot was "accidentally" stalking a much too curious woman. he really knew how to pick 'em.

you weigh your options. you know the man is here to take you to ghost, you could infer that much. it's a dumb idea to go, but it was a dumb time last time and it turned out fine. you could tell him to fuck off, send him on his way. he'd probably listen.

you're not ready to admit to yourself that you'd grown use to ghost's presence, and that part of you would miss it if one day he decided to wise up and leave you alone.

you make a decision before you can really realize it. "can I grab my purse?"

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

he opens the door of the car for you, and it makes your head spin, you're about to meet your stalker and here you are being treated with the utmost respect. it made no sense. you clutch to your keys, fingers seeking out the self-defense items in the pockets of your purse, trying to ease your anxiety.

he hasn't hurt you yet, not really. you remind yourself. violated an insane number of boundaries, yes, but if anything, you're the safest you've ever been. you even take walks at night now, knowing deep down he's somewhere close keeping you safe from everything. everything but him.

your lost in thought as soap watches you from the rearview. he's starting to see why ghost was so fond of you, you're brave and a little naive. like a kitten against a pitbull. headstrong no doubt, probably a downright brat at times. the thought stirs something in him, and he briefly wonders if simon would be up to sharing one day.

he parks the car and you realize in your anxious thoughts you didn't pay any attention to where you were going, too overwhelmed. and you were already here. your entire body flashes cold, sweat prickling the back of your neck. you cannot fucking believe what you had gotten yourself into.

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

ghost had been pacing for the past 20 minutes, fighting the urge to tuck tail and run. he shouldn't be nervous, he was grown man with hundreds of kills under his belt, he shouldn't be shaken at the prospect of meeting some girl.

but you weren't some girl, you were his woman, he was sure of it. something deep in his bones and at the forefront of his brain just knew.

he goes still when he recognizes the sound of the suv rolling down the driveway. he had chosen some random abandoned building, not ready to let you into his own apartment in case things went wrong.

he forcefully exhales, pulling his mask down and taking a deep breath in. it was now or never.

you step out of the car shakily. an abandoned property. nothing serial killer about that. your heart drums in your ears as you follow soap up the steps, avoiding the jagged pieces of wood that stuck up in every which way.

he gets to the door, glancing back at you, offering you one more out. you meet his gaze and hold it, and he figures that's answer enough. he pushes the door open, stepping to the side to let you in.

your first steps inside you don't see him, eyes adjusting to the low light. and then you see a figure in the corner, still as a statue. he's fucking huge, is the only thought that pushes through the panic rising in your chest. you didn't know when you had started shaking. you can see his eyes, carefully watching you.

soap awkwardly clears his throat after almost a minute long staring competition between you and ghost. a kitten and a pitbull indeed. it almost makes him smirk. "right then, i'll be in the car." he promptly shuts the door, wood scraping against wood making you wince.

ghost speaks first, finding himself almost wheezing the words out. "'ello luv." you just stare at him. you seem shellshocked, almost as still as he is, save your chest rapidly rising and falling. he cautiously crosses the room, not wanting to spook you. not when he was this close.

he's standing right in front of you, and your neck aches as you peer up at him. you still can't find the words. something primal in you screaming to run, hide, punch kick, anything. you shake even harder. simon raises his hands to your cheek, effectively smooshing your face between them. its clumsy and he's borderline using too much pressure, but it's grounding for some reason. "breathe." it's said like an order.

you take a deep breath. "this is fucking insane. you're fucking insane." he lets out a puff of air. "i know. i could say the same about you, showin' up 'ere." you give him a look. "i guess you got me there." you catch yourself blinking when you realize he has long, blonde lashes and blue eyes.

he's staring back, eyes roaming your features. it's the first time he's touched you while you were awake, first time he's been able to see your eyes up close. he finds warmth spreading through him, and it's almost too much. he drops his hands and takes a step back, instinctively crossing his arms.

you hate that you miss the heaviness of his hands on your face, and blame the warmness in your cheeks on lingering warmth from his gloved hands.

"i don't know what to say." you really don't. you had a million questions, practiced how you would chew him out and interrogate him. it's all lost now. he shifts on his feet a little. "i feel responsible for you.'" he blurts.

you stay silent, hoping he elaborates. after a few moments he does. "there's not many good people left in the world. i've seen the worst of 'em, downright evil 'n selfish." you can see his jaw clench through the mask. "you're not like 'em. you're kind, pure. go out of your way to be a good person. only right i show you what it's like to be taken care of fer once."

you stare at him, and you know he's telling you the truth. this truly was his fucked-up way of courting you. you scoff a little, not able to contain yourself. "you know there are other ways to be in someone's life, right? without breaking dozens of laws in the process?" he shrugs.

you swallow the lump in your throat, widening your stance subconsciously. simon finds it adorable. "you can't keep doing this. it's wrong." you hate that your voice is shaking and hate even more that the words feel wrong as soon as they come out.

his eyes darken, and he's on you before you can blink. one of his hands is on the nape of your neck, applying slight pressure, scruffing you like a cat. he brings his mask covered lips to your ear.

"you're mine, you hear that? i'm here to help you, to make sure you don't ever have to struggle again. you have my word i'll never hurt you, but you gotta understand that i'll do everything to stay close to you until my dying breath. i'm 'ere to stay luv."

your mind is reeling at the low growl in his voice, dangerous and way too attractive given the situation. he could wrap his hands around your neck easily, choke you until the vessels in your eyes pop and your lungs ignite. but he doesn't, he's just demonstrating the pure control he has over the situation. he's telling you that he cares for you, keep you safe, but that it's at the price of being at his mercy. part of you doesn't mind the idea. you've been at his mercy for almost 6 months anyway, you really only had the illusion of control. would it be that bad to submit to him?

you're sick, you have to be. but can anyone blame you? in almost all your relationships, romantic or not, you were the caregiver. constantly bending over backwards and people pleasing until your heart ached. give give give. it was the story of your life. and here he was, offering you to take for once, only asking you to be receptive in return. it's so fucking tempting.

"take me on a date first at least." you say airily, afraid he can hear your heart thumping against your rib cage.

he leans away from you slightly, looking into your eyes. he keeps his hand tangled in your hair, fingers twitching when he sees the silent challenge in them mixed with a healthy speck of fear. he wants to throw his head back and groan. this was guarded acceptance of the circumstances he had put you in, the last thing he thought he would get from you.

"alright." you blink at him. "what?"

"i said alright luv. we'll go onna date."

you can't believe your ears. nervousness scratches at your chest, you almost regret your offer. maybe leaving him in the shadows would've been for the best, you had no idea what gate you had opened by showing up here in the first place. your mouth is agape, only capable of staring incredulously at him. he takes a step back, two fingers gripping your chin and closing your mouth. "you'll catch flies."

you glare at his little jab. he rubs a finger over your bottom lip, eyes lingering there for a second. "i'll giv' you more answers then too. promise."

"okay." you say timidly. you're at a loss for words. you suppose there's not much to say.

"soap'll take you 'ome. i'll let you be for the night, gather your thoughts." he puts a gentle hand on your back, guiding you to the door. you shiver at how well he read you. he must know you well. you know almost nothing of him.

he opens the door, sending a nod to soap as he starts the car up. your back is to ghost, feeling dazed and stupid. so so stupid. ghost leans down once more, hand sliding to rest on your lower back. whispering. "we'll talk soon. get 'ome safe."

when you don't move, he has the audacity to give your ass a little tap to get you going. and you have the audacity to almost like it.

[writingwisterias]

Just can't help myself

Incel Roommate!Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Sex, Pervy Leon, Panty Stealing, Masturbation, Edging, Incel Leon,Thigh Job, Virgin Leon

Summary: Tainted desires get the best of him

thank you @kuntprodukt for listening to my rambling and proof reading...it's been a while since I've done something Dead dove and she is the queen of Non-Con after all...

Being roommates with Leon was like living with a ghost, his presence haunted the apartment but you rarely saw any trace of him. The smell of his aftershave lingering in hallways as he moved around or the bathroom mirror fogged up with steam from the shower was sometimes the only signs that he was even home. It was nice having someone that respected your space, allowed you to decorate the home as you pleased with no arguments or care about what it looked like. “A cushion is a cushion” he would say. 

You didn't have to fight over the TV remote or consider what he wanted to eat. On the rare few occasions you saw him or he opted to spend time with you he was kind, funny and entertaining. Telling you stories over his adventures, always making sure to sugar coat them to hide the true horrors he has faced. He was a part of the government that much you knew, something to do with the field judging by the heavy boots he left at the door as well as the duffle bag in the hallway closet. Claiming he was leaving it there in case he needed to leave quickly. 

It was easy for him to forget about you whilst he was away, seeing you at home in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants the majority of the time. It rarely gave him something to think about during his absence. That was until one night he caught you getting a late-night snack. Your silhouette outlined by the tank top you wore along with the pretty pink thong you were sporting. 

He just couldn't help himself then, the image of you smiling at him greeting him in what should have been an awkward encounter buried into his mind that night. You offered him the perfect few of your ass, your thighs, your tits covered only by the thin material without complaint. The sight was all he needed to get a boner, his cock thumbing against his boxer prison, finding himself thankful for the low lighting and limited visibility so you couldn't see it as you walked past. Your shampoo and perfume leaving a trail for him to follow back to your closed room. 

He wouldn't do that though – no. Leon was a nice guy, not like the other men that would have followed you into your room and taken what you were clearly offering him. Instead he went to his room, his hand clenching around his now pulsing cock and starting a painstakingly slow rub. Playing with the tip as he lost himself in thought. His eyes staring at the dark ceiling above him, thinking about the soft curve of your thigh, the way the light bounced off the shape of your ass. His other hand gripped the sheet tightly, the soft fabric spilling between his fingers like he thought your ass would. You must be trying to tease him into craving you. After all, who walks around dressed like that? It’s not like you didn’t know that he was home – you knew the risk of him seeing you like that. 

It only got worse for him after that night. He suspected that because he didn’t react to visibility of your clothing you became more comfortable, sporting oversized tees and a thong. He’s probably seen every colour you have to offer at this point, the white ones being his favourite. All it would take is some proximity and flirty words and they would become see through with your arousal. It worked with all the other women he had seen in the porn videos, his plump lips would only need to graze the side of your neck and you would be on your knees for him. Right?  

Maybe that's why he acted on a simple thought, he was being kind after all doing your laundry as you were swamped at work. It was a reward, that little white thong. When he found it whilst separating the laundry into piles. The lace was soft against his fingertips as he traced the floral designs. It looked so delicate and innocent up close, a small little bow at the front. Completely untainted despite the lingering smell of you, it was instinct to pocket them as he finished loading up the washing machine. 

To then escape back into his room and admire them further there, his cock thumping as he held them out by the waistline. Trying to imagine that first night he saw them on you, how soft it made you look. You wouldn’t notice any marks surely, the fabric was white…his spend was translucent most days. His balls began to feel heavy, his fingers gripping the fabric as he itched for release. You were out, there was no risk for this. Your shift today was long and the day had barely started, it was the perfect time to do this. 

Leon sheepishly moved to his headboard, placing the underwear on the pillow as he settled himself, hissing once his weeping tip was exposed to the air. He was unsure on how to use them, on what would feel the best as he rubbed himself against them. So he opted to follow along the seam, the stitching feeling harsh as it dragged between his sensitive tip, his pre cum smearing against the pretty flowers. The whimper he gave off was embarrassing as the softer part of the lace finally pressed against the red tip. Leon repeated the motion, watching as the redness of his tip began to appear the more fluid he provided. 

He thought of you wearing them about how perfectly they exposed the soft flesh of your ass. How the lace accentuated your hips and drew attention to the pussy as you walked passed him. He craved to know what your cunt would feel like or what it would feel like to be inside anyone at this point. Would you be nice and tight like the porn videos describe in their dirty talk? 

He needed to have your warmth clench and encase him just like his fist was doing right now. His hand moved to grip the fabric around his cock now moving it slowly, whining at the added heat from the friction. Leon watched as the white fabric became a blur along the shaft of his cock, his movements now faster as he felt the incoming promise of his release. His cock twitched at the thought of tainting the innocent underwear that you would wear again, unknowingly of what he did. 

The thought of seeing you in them again was enough for the vein to pulse in his grip, his cock standing stiff and tall as the cum shot from it. It was by far the messiest he had been, no porn had made him feel like this, made him produce this much. He used the last few dry parts of the panties to mop up his mess before adding it back to the wash pile. He finished his act of kindness, watching as you sighed in relief at the sight of it neatly folded in the laundry room. 

He smiled at your relieved face watching as you slowly began to trust him…maybe even want him further. He could tell how comfortable you were becoming with him. That must be why you came into his personal space and left a kiss on his cheek before bidding him a goodnight. You then wouldn’t have come out in a shirt and underwear moments later to wash up in the bathroom if you didn’t want him to look. 

It had been a few days since he started doing smaller things around the house in favour of pleasing you. Often finding his hand wrapped around his cock with the underwear you wore that day thinking about how he could pleasure you further. Spent his time watching porn videos to educate himself further so he was prepared for when that day would finally come. 

Maybe it was foolish of him to not think it would come so soon. 

It was late in the evening, the warm glow of the lamps you insisted replaced the blinding white ceiling light filtering out from the living room as he walked past. The lighting change grew on him eventually, soon following the rule you put in place blindly despite his original protests. However, after one peak through the doorway he faltered, his foot thumping on the carpeted floor as he observed you. Your ass perked up slightly as you laid on the sofa, the book you were reading now a mess on the floor from where you had clearly dropped it. 

You must have been really tired to pass out like this, the long hours at work you complained about finally catching up to you. You didn’t wake at the sound of his approach, didn’t complain as he eased your head to the side. You stirred slightly though, your hips moving in a slow grind as you found a comfortable spot. He watched your ass bounce slightly at the movement. The white underwear he had used the first time decorating your hips once more. 

Leon observed further, listening to the slowed breathing that left your lips waiting for you to stir awake. He found himself growing harder, his cock now tenting in his sweatpants, producing an embarrassing amount of pre-cum to stain through the fabric. His fingers itched for exploration, to finally feel the intimate areas of your skin that you constantly showed him. Willingly.

You wouldn’t mind if he squeezed your ass surely? Felt the flesh spill between his fingers for just a second. Maybe if he squeezed it hard enough his grip would imprint a mark on your skin. He was gentle at first, feeling the softness of the skin before sighing as he used it like a stress toy. His mind ran wild with thoughts of you on his lap, kissing up every inch of skin as he kneaded it.

Leon whimpered as his sensitive tip rubbed against his sweats, jerking about the more he thought about you, about what he could do with you. He freed himself from the boxers, playing with the sensitive tip absentmindedly as he looked over you further. His clothing becomes a pile on the floor at his feet. Leon didn’t even think about his next moves, acting on pure desire and his own will for pleasure as he hovered over you. His knees trapping yours together, his cock leaking against the back of your thighs. Leon waited…watching for movement, for rejection. 

Your silence was a confirmation for him as he slowly dragged his tip between the gap of your legs. Imagining the small gap was your tight pussy. Your skin was so soft against him, welcoming him in the soft warmth your thighs produced the more he smeared himself along them. His hand gripped the headrest of the sofa as he pushed his cock between them, watching it run between the length of your thighs. His puffy veins angry as his cock prepared for his early release.

Leon groaned as his tip brushed against the thong that ran through your ass cheeks, the change in texture making his brain go fuzz. He wanted to grip your hips, drive you back in your sleep to meet his needy thrusts. To manhandle you in the positions he had seen, but that you break your trust and drive you away from him. You’d hide this view from him, leaving the past times a memory. You’d go back to doing your own laundry if you found out, if you heard what he did. 

Leon gripped his own mouth, silencing his sounds as he grew closer. The taste of his own blood filling his mouth as he bit his lip harder. He didn’t have to wait long as he felt his cock twitch once more before his cum shot up your thighs decorating them with him. It glistened against your skin, standing out in thick ropes. 

On shaking legs he stood again, digging through the pile of fabric on the floor for his phone. He snapped a few photos and one video zooming in at the mess he had made for later use not knowing when he would get the chance to do this again. He debated on cleaning it up but after an inner argument with himself he grabbed his boxers, wiping the fabric over your skin mopping up the load. As much as he wanted to leave it he was worried that the smell of his release would cause you to grow suspicious. 

He dumped the clothes in the laundry basket, his semi hard cock swinging as he walked back to his room. Smiling to himself as he swiped through the photos wondering when you would eventually give him the chance to bury his aching cock inside your pussy. Not an ouch of guilt coursed through him as he worked himself hard again, whimpering at the thought of how soft you were against his skin. Not a care in the world at how sensitive he slowly became or how much more needy he became to claiming you. After all…you wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t want him. He was a nice guy that just couldn’t help himself.

[nevarrhoe]

mea culpa (m.m) - 2

SUMMARY: "mea culpa" (exclamation - noun/legal term)

used as an acknowledgement of one's fault or error.

↪ in which matt murdock accidentally falls in love with the district attorney's daughter.

warnings: smut, angst, swearing, fem! reader

masterlist

It was a little hard to stop thinking about Matthew Murdock over the next few days. 

Nevermind the fact he’d left hickeys all over your neck - it was the fact he was texting you every few hours with absolutely indescribable fantasies that made it difficult to think about anything else. Your blood would run cold every time your phone buzzed, just on the off chance that one of your friends, or god forbid your father, see your phone screen. It put you on edge in the best way. This entire thing was already beyond fucked up for more than one reason and yet, you wanted more. So much more. 

Can’t wait to taste you again. 

Can’t wait to hear you scream my name again. 

Hope you haven’t been thinking about anyone else. 

And it was funny, really, because Matt was a perfectly respectable man from the outside. Quiet, unassuming, a dry sense of humour - you never would have taken him of all people to be the one to make you feel so fucking alive. It wasn’t just how good he was in bed, but rather the thrill of it all. Nothing got your motor running like a situation’s potential to disappoint your father but hey. That was for your therapist to deal with. 

Of course, your father had asked several questions about where you’d disappeared too after the gala on Friday. He was more concerned about it had looked for him, and to have his daughter run out on a big charity event. Your mother had been less worried about that part, and more about her vintage Chanel suit. You’d settled both their worries by a) telling your father you’d had stomach problems (because who was gonna ask about that?) and b) promising to send the Chanel off to a dry cleaner. 

It was on a slow Monday afternoon - exactly three days after you’d met him - that Matt sent you a not so dirty text. It was so casual, in fact, that it caught you more off guard than any of the filth he’d sent you over the weekend. 

Wanna grab lunch? 

“Are you okay, honey?”

You blinked, eyes shooting up to your best friend. Okay, maybe not a best friend - those were hard to come by in high-society. She was your most tolerable friend. It had been her idea to get martinis for lunch. Your idea of fun wasn’t exactly sitting around with five rich girls and their daddy’s credit cards but it wasn’t like you had work to do, right? 

Part of you so badly wanted to tell them about the escapade over the weekend - about how much better an older guy was than all their ridiculous, frat-house boyfriends, and how good he’d made you feel. But did you trust them? Not with your damn life. And for risk of being cut out of your father’s will, you figured it was something to keep to yourself. 

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat. “I gotta ditch. My dad needs me to get something from his office.”

Grabbing your jacket - a tan Chanel parka, naturally - you slid out of the booth and straight out of the restaurant. Matt’s number was dialed into your phone before you even hit the street. 

“Matthew, hi!” you greeted him. “I’m down for lunch.”

“Perfect,” you could hear the smile in his voice. “Wanna come by my office?”

“Sure. Want me to grab takeout?”

“It’s okay. I already have lunch here.”

“Okay. Text me the address.”

–

The Nelson & Murdock office wasn’t too far from where you’d been. Hell’s Kitchen wasn’t exactly your stomping ground but your Uber had dropped you off right outside, and you had a taser in your bag. Not to mention the years of Krav Maga and karate that you’d done in high school and college. You could have been a damn vigilante if you wanted to. 

It was the shorter, Nelson half of Nelson and Murdock that saw you first. He seemed taken aback at first - maybe by your expensive appearance, but also maybe because every other person in the room was a middle-aged man there for free legal advice. By the looks of your Chanel bag and red-soled shoes, he figured you probably didn’t need any legal advice for free. Especially not from him. It seemed much more apparent that you had the likes of Jeri Hogarth in your pocket should you need any legal assistance. 

“Hello. Hi.” Foggy greeted you with wide eyes. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Uh, no,” you turned around to face him, sticking out your hand. “You’re Nelson, right?”

“I am Nelson,” he replied, shocked look still not faltering. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m a friend of Matt’s,” you explained. “I don’t suppose he’s around?”

Speak of the devil. Your conversation was cut short by Murdock’s entrance. He looked hot in a suave sort of way; tie loosened around his neck, top button undone and sleeves rolled up. It was the first time you’d seen him since you’d left his apartment early on Saturday morning and frankly, you didn’t know how to act. Most of the men you slept with didn’t invite you to their offices for lunch - hell, most of them didn’t have offices. 

“Hey, Murdock,” you gave him a small wave.

“Hey - come in,” Matt shot you a grin, ushering over to his own office in the corner. 

It was neater than you’d thought it would be; there was a laptop perched on his desk, with a braille translator and a stack of legal files. They were probably the same legal files your dad had, just..the other side of the story. After all, Nelson and Murdock were known for looking out for the little guy. That was much more admirable than daddy dearest and his famously corrupt evidence. 

“Your shirt fits better today,” you commented, shrugging off your jacket. “That’s a real shame.”

“Is that a comment about my arms or the way I dress?”

“I think you know that it’s about your arms.”

You pushed aside the files, hopping up onto Matt’s desk. He had you caged in within a second, broad hands gripping your hips and guiding you up into a kiss. It was a little softer than the ones you’d shared on Friday night - there was less heat; a causal air to it. You didn’t think it was possible to miss the lips of a man you’d fucked exactly once. 

“So,” you murmured against him. “You said you had lunch here.”

“I do,” Matt gave you a shit-eating grin. “You.”

“Matthew!” you hissed, hitting his shoulder. “Did you seriously invite me over here just for a fuck?”

“Not exactly!” he quickly replied, raising his hands in surrender. “I wanted to check in with you and see how you were.”

“Oh, okay,” you raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “I’m not too bad. I was having lunch with some of my friends when you texted-”

Matt suddenly attached his lips to your neck, teeth gently nipping on the same mark he’d left a few days ago. You didn’t mean to let out a moan, but how could you not? 

“Matthew!” you exclaimed again. 

“No, go on!” he stopped for a second. “I’m listening. You were having lunch with your friends and…”

“And you texted and I was bored, so I left and - Jesus fucking Christ, that feels so good.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “You left your friends to see me?”

“I would leave my dying Aunt Betty’s bedside to see you,” you said. Without a second thought, you grabbed him by the tie and pulled him back towards you. “Enough catching up. I’m good to have lunch now.”

He gave you a grin and a few moments later, his hands found your way under your ass. Matt shoved aside the pile of legal papers and moved you further onto the desk, lips back on your neck and working a thousand times harder than they had before. Instinctively, you tangled a hand in his hair and just let him have at it. 

The build-up wasn’t as tense as it had been the first time you fucked, but that was because Matt knew you better now. He pretty much had you memorised; the ticklish spot on your neck, the most sensitive spot on your hips, the way you liked his nails to dig into your back just enough to hurt. That was just a testament to him. Who else would remember that? Who else would take the time to learn what you liked after just once? 

“Not that I don’t enjoy this,” Matt paused for a second. “But my lunch break isn’t that long. If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna have to be quick.”

“You’re real cheap, Matthew Murdock,” you scowled. “Do you invite all girls over here for a fuck disguised as lunch and then rush them?”

“No, not all of them,” he shot back. “Some are more breakfast kinda gals-”

“- oh shut the fuck up.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him back into a kiss. Matt couldn’t help but smile against you - at how badly you wanted him, how you chastised him but still didn’t stop him. 

It was in that moment that you thanked every deity there was that you’d chosen to wear a skirt that day. But frankly, you wouldn’t have given a fuck if Matt had ripped your Versace mini-skirt to shreds. He would have been okay with that too, especially if it meant you have to borrow a shirt of his to leave in. 

Still, Matthew Murdock was nothing if not respectable - at least enough so not to destroy your designer clothes. Instead, he simply pushed it up, large hands making their way to your ass cheeks and giving one of them a light slap. You froze when he did - how many clients were out there in the waiting room right now? Even with the blinds closed and the door shut, how many of them could hear what was going on? 

“Problem?” Matt paused. 

“There are people out there who could hear us-”

“- not with the air conditioning on. Foggy always has it going. Don’t worry.”

You scowled. “How do you know that?”

“Just do.”

Matt wasted no time in resuming his activities. Grabbing you by the hips again, he lifted you with ease and spun you around so that he was the one on the desk, and you were in his lap. The friction of his hard-on in his trousers against your core was almost unbearable and he could tell you were desperate by the way your grip on him suddenly tightened. 

“Look at you,” he grinned. There was something about the way his voice dropped four octaves every time he was about to fuck you. “You’re calling me sloppy but you’re gagging for it, aren’t you?”

You let out a small grumble, shaking your head. “I thought you didn’t have time to tease?”

“You’re lucky that I don’t have time to do a lot of the things I want to do to you, sweetheart,” he said. “Everyone out there would be able to hear me fucking you if I didn’t have to be back in twenty minutes.”

“Matthew,” you growled. “I don’t care how long you have - if you’re not inside me in the next thirty seconds, I’m going somewhere else.”

“I didn’t think there would be many men around at this time willing.”

You let out a derivative snort, acrylic nails dragging down his neck and hand settling ever so gently on his throat. “You think I don’t have plenty of offers? You’re not the only man who can make me scream.”

It was almost like your words awakened something in Matt. In a flash, he’d pulled you off the desk and positioned you against it; there was the sound of his belt and a second later, his dick was inside you. Rock hard and beautiful, and the perfect length to have you clenching around him in mere fucking seconds. 

He wasted no time in pounding into you from behind, one hand tangling his fingers with yours on the desk and the other wrapped around your throat. You had complete and utter trust in him and maybe that was why you placed your own hand over his and encouraged him to squeeze harder. 

Matt’s movements were rapid and consistent: time was of the essence after all, and there was no way in hell he was going back to work until you came. 

It didn’t take much, to be honest. Not when you had his gruff voice muttering things in your ear. It was hard not to make noise then - Matt moved his hand from your throat accordingly, clutching it over your mouth in an attempt to muffle your moans. What an ass. Not to mention that it only made you even fucking louder. 

“Do they make you feel this good?” he teased. “Do they?”

He managed to hit the right spot over and over and it wasn’t long before you felt that knot in your stomach. It was a plunge; like a plane falling out of the sky, anything that caused a sharp drop in your gut. The room was practically spinning around you as you came undone, red acrylics digging into the skin of Matt’s arm for some kind of relief. 

“There we go, sweetheart,” Matt murmured. He softened his pace, slowing down for a minute to revel in his own high. “Good girl.”

He released his hand from your mouth, chest heaving against your back for a minute as you both came down from your respective orgasms. A broad arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you. Matthew Murdock was a gentleman, even when he was rearranging your guts. 

You slowly turned around to face him, pulling him into another desperate kiss. 

“Are you free tomorrow night?” Matt softly asked. 

“Yeah, I am,” you ran a hand down his chest, faltering for a second. “Why? You gonna take me out for dinner?”

“Yeah, but an actual meal. It’s not a euphemism, I promise,” he gave you a grin. 

You returned the gesture for a minute, a wide smile on your face - but then it faltered. “Matthew, I would love for you to take me on a date, and I adore spending time with you but…”

“But what?”

“My dad,” you groaned, dropping your head into his shoulder. “If anyone catches me with you, I’m done for - as hot as that is.”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle. “Okay, fine. What if we just hang out at my apartment and get take out? You can dress like a slob and no-one will see us.”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” your smile quickly returned. “But I am not dressing like a slob. I wear Chanel or I wear nothing.”

“I would much prefer it if you wore nothing.”

[matt-murdockk]

Human 101: Sneaking Around

pairing: rk800 connor x reader

words: 1.5k

warnings: language, heavy making out, lack of proofreading, fic from reader's pov

summary: This week, we risk unemployment by getting *cough cough* busy at work (comedy, fluff)

additional context: reader is a detective with Detroit PD, reader and Connor are now dating (yay). Sequel to Human 101: Dancing

a/n: wrote some risque stuff this time and i am terrified hello :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I take my job very seriously. I love being a detective, and I believe rules are essential for keeping everybody in line. But hey, things happen. If you had told me say, a couple weeks ago that I'd lie to my superiors, break a whole lot of rules, and risk getting fired, all for some guy, I'd have laughed in your face and called you things I probably shouldn't say out loud.

But, like I said, things happen. Against all odds, there I was, stumbling backward into the evidence room, one hand fumbling for the doorknob while the other was tangled in my new boyfriend’s hair, his lips on mine like he was afraid to let go. I managed to get the door open and we practically fell inside, the door clicking shut behind us.

Connor took the split-second gap to slam me against the wall, staring into my eyes with a mischievous look he knew drove me crazy. I pulled him down by his tie, his lips crashing into mine with a fervor that left me breathless. He deepened the kiss, which I didn't even know was possible because 3 seconds in I was already giddy.

His lips left mine and trailed down to my jawline, sending shivers down my spine. The sharp edge of the cold metal shelving dug into my back, but I didn’t care. His hands were already tracing down my sides, pulling me impossibly closer.

“Connor,” I whispered, my voice shaky but still laced with desire. “We are so gonna get caught.”

"In that case, we'll be quick."

“You’re insufferable,” I managed to gasp, though my words lacked any real bite as his lips trailed down further, at a maddeningly slow pace. God, this was killing me.

“Am I?” he murmured against my skin, his tone low and teasing, the faintest smirk in his voice.

“Yes,” I shot back, tugging at the collar of his jacket to pull him closer. “You- God, you drive me insane.”

“Good,” he said simply, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below my ear, making my breath hitch.

I was just about to tell him something- probably completely incoherent- when the door creaked open.

“What the hell-”

Connor froze mid-movement, his lips still pressed to my neck. I turned my head, heart dropping into my stomach, and there stood Hank. Hank. His face went through what could only be described as the five stages of grief in three seconds flat.

For a moment, nobody moved. The only sound was the hum of the fluorescent lights and the faint echo of music from down the hall. My face felt like it was on fire, but I couldn’t say a word. I prayed to every god I knew to make me disappear that very instant. It did not work.

Hank finally broke the silence. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I- uh- this isn’t- ” I stammered, trying to pull myself together, but words were failing me. Somebody shoot me, please.

“Save it,” Hank interrupted, holding up a hand. His eyes flicked between the two of us, landing on Connor. “You. Romeo. What the hell are you doing in here?”

He slowly straightened, his LED flickering yellow as he turned to face Hank. His hair was disheveled and his shirt was practically undone, the tie only barely hanging on for formality. His head tilted slightly as his gaze darted to me, then back to Hank, then back to me.

“...What is the appropriate protocol in this situation?” he asked, his voice as calm as ever but tinged with just the faintest trace of curiosity. I just stared at him incredulously. How the fuck would I know the appropriate protocol for getting caught by your boss playing tonsil tennis at work.

“‘Protocol,’ my ass,” Hank grumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re supposed to be out there chasing perps, not- whatever this is.”

I could feel my soul trying to leave my body. “Hank, it’s not-”

“Oh, it’s exactly what it looks like,” Hank cut me off, leveling me with a glare. “You think I don’t know? I’ve seen rom-coms, kid. You think I don’t recognize the ol’ ‘hide in the evidence room for some slap and tickle’ move?”

“I assure you, Lieutenant,” Connor said, deadpan as always, “there was no slapping involved.”

I groaned audibly. “Connor, honey, stop helping.”

“Yeah, please do,” Hank grunted. He gestured between us. “Listen, I don’t care what you two do on your own time, but if I find out you’re doing it on my watch again, you’re both benched. Permanently.”

"Wait, so, you won't be reporting us to Fowler?"

"Report what? I didn't see nothing. Understood?"

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Connor and I said in unison, though Connor’s tone was far too composed for someone who’d just been caught with his partner’s tongue down his throat.

Hank sighed as he shook his head, muttering something about ‘damn androids and their hormones’ as he walked out, slamming the door behind him.

The second Hank stormed out of the room, I dropped my head back against the cold metal shelf with a groan. I was this close to just melting into the floor.

Connor, of course, was already straightening his tie, like it was no big deal. “That could’ve gone worse.”

I shot him a look, my hands still trembling from the adrenaline. “Really? You think? Because I’m pretty sure Hank just walked in on us doing... that.”

He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Well, Hank didn’t report us. So, I’d say we came out on top.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, even though my face was still redder than a lobster. “Yeah, sure, no big deal. Just your boss catching you- us- in the middle of... whatever the hell that was.”

He shrugged casually, like it was just another Tuesday. “He didn’t seem too upset. Besides, I’m sure he’s seen worse.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, crossing my arms. “I don’t even want to know what he’s seen.”

Connor shot me a knowing look, that signature smirk of his never leaving. “What can I say? The guy’s been around.”

I had half a mind to throw something at him, but honestly, I didn’t have the energy to care anymore. I was still processing the fact that Hank had basically given us the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ treatment.

"You know we’re gonna get an earful from him later, right?" I muttered, feeling my face go a little hotter. "He's gonna be all, ‘You kids are lucky I’m a softie.’"

Connor laughed, the sound so carefree I almost wanted to smack him. “Hey, at least we got out of it.”

I turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “You think we got out of it? He just let us off the hook because he’s... what, distracted by whatever his new favorite bar’s got on tap?”

“Hey, whatever works,” Connor said with a grin, completely unbothered.

I gave him a look, walking toward the door. “Yeah, well, next time, let’s not make the whole department part of our ‘special moments,’ okay?”

He followed me out, casually fixing his jacket. “You know I can’t promise that.”

I shot him a sideways glance, feeling the heat still simmering beneath my skin. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Connor’s smirk only deepened as he sidled up beside me, his breath warm against my ear. “You love it,” he whispered, voice low and velvety.

A shiver ran down my spine before I could even process it, and I could feel my pulse pick up. Fuck him. I turned my head just enough to catch the glint in his eyes, but not quite enough to meet his gaze directly.

“Stop,” I muttered, voice coming out weaker than I’d like.

He didn’t, in fact, stop. In fact, he leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing my ear as he added, “I can’t, if you keep looking at me like that.”

“I’m serious, Connor,” I warned, but the slight quiver in my voice betrayed me.

I tried to stay annoyed, but I could feel it slipping, like trying to hold onto water with a sieve. But the second he leaned in closer, that same teasing smirk still tugging at his lips, it hit me. He was messing with me.

I blinked, suddenly realizing he’d been toying with me this whole time. Damn android.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I asked, the realization making my cheeks heat up.

“Absolutely,” he replied without missing a beat, his voice a low hum in my ear.

I couldn’t help but laugh (at myself, mostly), shaking my head in disbelief. “You’re so mean.”

"Yeah, you love it."

"Well, just, try not to get us caught next time."

"Now, where's the fun in that?"

[revelboo]

AAAHHH omg. Your writing made me fall in love with starscream. I love how much depth you give him as a character. You write him so perfectly 😍 I keep checking Tumblr every day hoping for more

Thank you!

… I keep waking up to 300+ notifications daily and you guys ask me if I’m okay… how about y’all- you guys okay?

Everything is Alright Pt 50

IDW Starscream x Reader

• Lying flat on his back with you sprawled on top of him, partially curled on your side because of his canopy, he vents softly and traces the tips of his servos up your spine. At least one of you can rest, because he’s just been staring at the ceiling, his processor racing. Knowing he’ll need to mass shift again to go on rotation. Also knowing it’s going to tap into his energon reserves because he’s done it too often lately. And it’ll be some time before he can have this again. Upping his energon consumption, stealing rations is too risky. With their stockpile already so low, it won’t go unnoticed and he can’t risk drawing Megatron’s attention. Can’t risk you.

• Finally, he has to reluctantly shift you, his spark warming when you try to bury your face against his neck with a sleepy sound of protest. Not wanting him to go. Tangling his fingers in your hair, he presses his lips to the top of your head and shifts you off of him, finding your blanket and dragging it over you as you curl into the warm spot he’s leaving behind. Sleepy eyes look up at him as he shifts to the edge of the berth, legs dangling and mass shifts back to his full size. “You can’t stay?” That soft question freezes him and he turns to run a servo down your arm, his touch lingering. Because he really can’t. Someone will come looking for him if he does and that mech can’t find you.

• It still takes an effort to leave you, to step out into the hall. “Primus, Star.” The words and tone startle him as his door closes behind him, before Thundercracker is too close, hands on him pushing him toward the washracks. Baring his denta, he almost stumbles as Thundercracker sharply vents. “I can smell you. Everyone can.” Spark freezing in his chest, he allows his brother to push him into the thankfully empty space. His wings angle up aggressively as he snatches a chemical cleanser and steps under the spray. Washing away your scent and hating losing it. “You- how? You mass shifted, right?”

• Glowering at Thundercracker, he tips his face up into the warm water. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Because the other mech can’t know what he did with you. How much you mean to him, so much more than a pet taken on a whim. If he knows the truth, that puts you in danger, a piece to be used against him.

• “I’m not judging,” Thundercracker mutters, stepping into the open stall next to him. “I, ah, took a human, too. I just didn’t think we could...” Shrugging his wings weakly, he trails off. “It’s just a surprise.”

• A secret for a secret? Why tell him about his own human? Or is it a lie to pry more information from him? Jaw working, denta gritting he tries to ignore the other Seeker, but he’s painfully aware of how long it’s been since Thundercracker had stopped reaching out to him. There’s always been so much to do and slowly their trine had drifted apart. Grew distant and he misses that sense of belonging. “You took a human,” he finally mutters under his breath.

• Thundercracker’s wings lift slightly. Happy. And Starscream does miss this, having the time to just talk to Thundercracker and Skywarp both. “How did you,” Thundercracker trails off again, a hand rubbing at the back of his helm. And he waits for the other mech to figure out what he wants to ask. “Yours likes you, right?”

• Wings bristling, he has to remind himself that it’s not a wholly inappropriate question. “I would hope so.” Wonders what Thundercracker thinks might have happened between you. What he assumes you are to him. A toy? Venting roughly, he scrubs at his plating, more aggravated that his brother might think that than he likes or will ever admit. “I take it yours doesn’t?”

• Grimacing at the question, Thundercracker’s vents. “We got along. I thought we did,” he mutters. “They’ve been upset with me ever since I took them, though.” Glancing over at his brother, Starscream wonders at those words. Had Thundercracker been visiting a human in secret, sneaking out just to spend time with one? How had that gone unnoticed? Because he’s been distracted with you, neglecting his duties. “I just wanted them with me. Happy and safe. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but their lives are so short and we were happy together, but it’s all wrong now.”

• And he freezes, because that’s not something he’d ever even thought about, the rest of the other Seeker’s words lost. Uneasy dread slipping about his spark as he turns to look at Thundercracker. His brother’s just being dramatic. He has to be. “How short?”

Previous

Next

[slytherin-princess-x]

Don’t get caught

Theodore nott x y/n riddle

An/ hi guys I’m back with a new short story, enjoy

The air in my dorm room was thick, charged with the illicit thrill of stolen moments. Theodore’s hands were tangled in my hair, his lips hot and demanding against mine. My back was pressed against the cool wood of the door, my legs locked around his waist for balance. The world outside the confines of our clandestine bubble ceased to exist.

We’d been doing this for weeks now, navigating the treacherous waters of Hogwarts’ social scene while attempting to keep our relationship a secret. It was a dangerous game, one made all the more exhilarating by the lurking threat of discovery. Tonight, the risk felt palpable as his fingers grazed my bare skin beneath my school shirt, sending shivers that had nothing to do with the cold castle air.

Then, the world crashed back in with a jarring knock. My heart leaped into my throat, and I knew, before I even heard their voices, that our recklessness was about to catch up with us.

“Hey y/n, open the door!” Mattheo’s voice boomed from the other side, followed by Tom's, more measured but just as insistent, "Open up y/n."

Panic, cold and sharp, shot through me. I pulled away from Theo, my cheeks burning. The kiss was broken, the spell shattered. Theo, his grey eyes flashing with annoyance, released me, clearly frustrated at the interruption. I scrambled to unwrap my legs from his waist, my movements jerky and hurried. He was about to protest, his mouth opening to say something, but I slapped a hand over his lips, my eyes wide with warning.

“Shhh!” I hissed, pointing to the narrow gap between the door and the wall. He glared, but understood the gravity of the situation.

I pushed him behind the door where he wouldn’t be seen when I opened it. My shirt was disheveled, my breathing heavy, the only thing I had was my school shirt and my underwear. I tried to appear as calm as possible under the circumstances. Taking a deep breath, I edged the door open just enough to create a narrow opening, my back pressed against the frame.

“Hey Mattheo,” I said, my voice a little breathy. I focused my gaze on my brother's face, careful not to let my eyes wander past the threshold. “I’m kinda busy, sorry.”

Mattheo tilted his head, a flicker of suspicion in his dark eyes. "Busy? At this hour? What could be so important that you can't open the door?" he questioned, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Tom, ever the observer, stood behind Mattheo, his expression unreadable. I knew what they were both thinking.

My mind raced, trying to come up with a believable explanation. "Oh you know… study, cleaning… loads of things" I rambled, wincing at the patheticness of my alibi. It was clear I was flustered and it didn't go unnoticed by my brothers.

Meanwhile, Theo decided to be a menace. I felt his tongue dart out to lick my palm. He was testing me, pushing the boundaries of our precarious game. It was a dumb move, but a wave of something almost like amusement washed over me. I knew what he was doing. He wanted to see what I would do when put under pressure. Wrapping my hand around his neck, I squeezed gently, my nails grazing his skin. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn't resist, the amused smirk still playing on his lips. I knew what he wanted. If he wanted to play, I would play.

"You sound a little out of breath" Tom stated, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the small gap through the door.

"I um.. was just doing some yoga to wind down" I stammered, trying to maintain a straight face. I could feel Theo fidgeting behind the door, I hoped he would stay put.

Mattheo chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent another wave of panic through me. "Yoga? Really?" He was obviously not convinced either.

"Yeah, it helps me relax, you know?" I continued to lie, wishing I had an invisibility cloak handy.

I could feel their eyes piercing me, trying to see through the narrow gap. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. This was it, I thought, they were going to figure it out. I could almost hear Theo's exasperated sigh behind me.

"Well, if you're not going to open the door, I guess we'll just go" Mattheo said. He backed away slightly, Tom following him.

"Whatever" I huffed, trying to act like it didn't bother me that they didn't believe me with a small roll of my eyes.

The brothers gave me one last look before finally turning away. As soon as I heard their footsteps fade down the hall, I slammed the door shut, letting out a shaky breath of relief.

I immediately turned to Theo, my gaze full of equal parts panic and anger. "That was too close!' I hissed, my voice trembling. He peeled my hand off his mouth, his expression still annoyed despite the close call.

"Tell me about it, now where were we?" he said grabbing my face and pulling me in for another kiss, my panic immediately forgotten as I was swept into our secret world once more.

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