#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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[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 and 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.

[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

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[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.”

[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.

[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

[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.

[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

[rootedinrevisions]

Five More Minutes

SUMMARY: You and Jake are headed to The Hard Deck to meet the daggers, but a few things risk making you late.

A/N: Thank you to the person who sent this request in! I apologize that it's taken me a month to get it written. I hope it's worth the wait! I'm working to get requests done as I have time and the inspiration is flowing! Hope you enjoy! xx

WARNINGS: None, smut is implied but none actually happens.

WORD COUNT: 767

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

Jake sprawled on the edge of the bed, bouncing his knee impatiently as he watched you at the vanity. He glanced at his watch for the fifth time in the past ten minutes before letting out a dramatic sigh. “Babe, come on,” he drawled, leaning back on his palms. “We’re gonna be late! We were supposed to be there by nine!”

“Five more minutes,” you called over your shoulder, carefully applying the last bit of mascara. Your voice was calm, but Jake could hear the teasing lilt in it, and he knew you weren’t in any rush.

“Five more minutes?” he repeated, raising a brow and letting out a soft laugh. “Sweetheart, you said that twenty minutes ago. You realize they’re all gonna roast me for this, right? Phoenix is gonna have a field day.”

“Phoenix already roasts you,” you shot back, swapping the mascara for your lipstick. “I’m just giving her more material to work with.”

Jake groaned, flopping back onto the bed in defeat. “I knew you’d be trouble the moment I laid eyes on you,” he muttered, though his tone was light and full of affection.

“And yet, here you are two months later, and still with me” you replied, smirking as you caught his reflection in the mirror.

He propped himself up on his elbows, his green eyes narrowing as he watched you smooth a hand over your outfit. 

“Here I am,” he agreed, his smirk matching yours. “Sittin’ here, waitin’.”

“You wouldn’t be waiting if you hadn’t joined me in the shower,” you shot back, not even looking at him as you adjusted an earring in the mirror. Your knowing look in the reflection caught his eye, and Jake’s smirk widened into something that made your stomach flip. 

He sat up straighter, feigning innocence. “Now, I don’t recall you complainin’ about that,” he drawled, standing and taking slow, deliberate steps toward you.

You met him halfway, tilting your chin up as he closed the distance. “I wasn’t,” you admitted, your voice softening just a little. “But we both know that’s why we’re running late.”

“Not sure what you’re talkin’ about,” he murmured, feigning innocence as he wrapped his arms around your waist. His lips found the spot just below your ear, brushing against it in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

You sighed, trying to maintain your composure as he trailed soft kisses along your neck. “Jake,” you warned, though your tone lacked conviction. “We’re already late.”

Jake pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his smirk now bordering on devilish. “Five minutes,” he said, mimicking your earlier words as he leaned down again. “Hell, I only need two.”

You raised a brow, fighting the urge to smile. “Is that so? Pretty sure I remember you needing a lot more than two in the shower.”

“Let’s give ‘em a real reason to wonder why we’re late.” His mischievous grin returned, and he started tugging you toward the bed.

You raised a brow, laughing as you dug your heels into the floor to stop him. 

“What happened to you trying to rush me five minutes ago, huh?” you teased, your voice light and playful. “Weren’t you the one whining about how we’re gonna be late?”

Jake stopped, turning back to you with that signature cocky smirk you both loved and hated. “I realized I had my priorities all wrong,” he said, his tone smooth as honey. His hands slipped to your waist, pulling you closer. “A little late never hurt anybody. But missing the chance to keep you in my arms a little longer? Now that would be a crime.”

You rolled your eyes, your heart doing an embarrassing little flip at his words despite yourself. “Wow, you’re really laying it on thick tonight,” you said, though the corners of your lips twitched upward. “But we’re still not skipping out just because you’ve got no self-control.”

Jake leaned in until his forehead rested against yours, his grin never wavering. “No self-control when it comes to you, sweetheart. Guilty as charged.”

“Okay, Casanova,” you said, gently patting his chest and stepping back. “Let’s get going before your squad decides to start placing bets on whether or not we’re ever showing up.”

“Alright, alright,” he relented with a chuckle. “Just know, sweetheart, that the second we get home, you’re mine.”

“And you’ll still only need a few minutes,” you quipped, grabbing your bag and heading for the door.

“Keep talkin’ like that, darlin’,” Jake called after you, grabbing his jacket with a chuckle, “and we’ll see who’s beggin’ for more time later.”

[insidekatmind]

Secret Love-Pope Heyward

Wearning: cheating, english is not my first language.

The silence of the empty classroom was broken only by the ticking of a clock hanging on the wall. The neon lights above you flickered faintly, creating an almost surreal atmosphere. The air was dense with tension, the kind of tension that made you check the door every now and then to make sure no one could see you.

Yet, you were there. With him. With Pope Heyward, the guy you should never have looked at like that. A pogue.

Your back was pressed against the cold surface of the bench, and he was in front of you, so close that you could feel his breath mixing with yours. Pope’s eyes were dark and watchful, watching you as if every move you made could be your last. There was desire in his eyes, but also hesitation.

"We should go," he whispered, his voice a breath that made you shiver all the way down your back. "If anyone sees us..."

"There’s no one," you answer, your tone more forceful than I expected. You grab his sweatshirt with your fingers, pulling it slightly towards you. "There’s no one here, Pope."

He hesitates for a moment. You know what he’s thinking. Rafe Cameron, your boyfriend, at least in appearance. Everyone thought you were the perfect couple: Princess Kook and the rebellious heir of the Cameron family. But you hated him. You couldn’t stand his way of controlling you, his overblown ego and his need to make you feel "her" all the time.

Yet, with Pope, it was different. There was no control, only freedom. There was no pressure, only desire.

"Rafe would kill us if he saw us," Pope muttered, his eyes fixed on your lips. His voice was husky, as if he was wrestling with himself.

"Rafe knows nothing," you answer without hesitation, your hand now slips on his neck. "And he will never know."

Pope closed his eyes for a second, maybe to gather courage or maybe to accept the fact that whatever this was between you two, it wouldn’t be over soon. When he opened them again, there was no doubt.

"You’re incredible, you know?" he said, with a half smile that made your heart beat fast.

"I know." Reply with a provocative grin.

His laugh was silent but sincere, as if he had forgotten for a moment all the risk you were taking. But he did not wait any longer. His hands gently laid on your hips, pulling you closer. The distance between you was reduced to nothing.

Your eyes closed a moment before his lips found yours.

He was slow at first, as if he wanted to savour every moment, but soon the rhythm changed. The kiss became deeper, more hungry. You felt his fingers press on your hips, your hands between her curls, pulling lightly, and the soft sound of your breaths mixed with the echo of the silence of the empty class.

There was no one. Just you two.

Pope’s taste was unique, sweet but with a hint of rebellion, as if he knew exactly that you were challenging the whole world. Your head tilted slightly, letting him deepen the kiss, and you felt his body press against yours. Your heart was beating so fast you feared for a moment that he could hear it.

"You drive me crazy," he murmured against your lips, his hands slid under the edge of your sweatshirt, touching your skin with hot fingers.

"You too," you confess fearlessly, looking into his eyes. "And you know what?"

"What?" he asked, his gaze fixed on yours.

"I don’t want to stop."

His lips folded into a smile, and without a word, kissed you again, stronger this time, with the certainty of having accepted his destiny. The bench behind you barely creaked as it pushed you against it. You seemed to be in another dimension, far from Rafe, far from the judgment of all the kooks, far from the outside world.

Just you and him.

His hands explored you with a sweetness you had never known before. There was no possession, only genuine desire. There was no control, only freedom. And you loved every single moment.

"You realize we’re playing with fire, right?" he whispered against your skin, leaving little kisses on your neck.

"I like fire," you reply, tilting slightly to give it more space.

Pope’s laughter was hushed, as if he could not believe what was happening. But he did not stop. His hands moved with confidence, and you felt more alive than you ever had with Rafe.

"I don’t want to be just your secret," he admitted suddenly, looking into your eyes with a seriousness that caught you by surprise.

Your breath stopped. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. You knew what it meant. He didn’t want to be just a diversion, an escape from your boyfriend Kook.

"You’re not," you answer honestly, looking him straight in the eye. "You’re all I want, Pope."

Those words changed everything. You feel it in the way his hands held you more tightly, in the way his kiss became deeper, more desperate. There were no more brakes, no more fear.

There were no limits.

You didn’t care about Rafe. You didn’t care about the Kooks. You didn’t care about anyone but him.

You heard a noise far away - a door opening down the hall. Your eyes slammed to the classroom door, but Pope did not move.

"It’s all right," he reassured you, his warm breath on your cheek. "They don’t know we’re here."

You nodded slowly, but your heart was beating in your chest. The fear of being caught was real, but the desire to stay there with him was stronger.

His hands slid to your face, holding it gently as your eyes crossed.

"You’re too dangerous for me," he joked, a smile that made your heart beat even faster.

"You have no idea," you reply, tilting your head to kiss him again.

It was risky, it was wrong, but it was the only right thing you did in all this chaos.

And you wouldn’t regret it.

[missterious-figure]

(Hey guys! Sorry for being so absent lately! It's not cause of anything bad, it's just cause I've been hanging out with friends and family more often with school out of the way! Thank you guys for being so patient!)

You weaved through a large crowd hurriedly as you heard your name being called out after you. It probably wouldn't be to hard to escape, with the flashing lights of the bar making it hard for on lookers to tell one body from another. You ducked lower to try and break out of his field of vision. Who were you hiding from? Why it was Sun, of course. One of the three Celestial peacock brothers.

He was standing tall amidst the many groups of drunk partying patrons. However, he was scanning the room only looking for one person. You. His favorite little handler. The only person who has ever downright tried to avoid him. It always baffled him as to why someone would consciously choose to stay away from him and his magnificence, but he was determined to bless you with his presence regardless.

If he could find you, that is. He was on the outskirts of the crowd of party goers. Unbeknownst to him, you had scurried your way to the bar counter in the middle of the bustling bodies. He would search farther into the groups, if it wasn't for them trying to touch his beautiful tail feathers. No way was he risking getting their grease on his gloriously golden feathers. He walked around the crowd a couple times to see if the could catch a glimpse of you, to no avail.

You were still semi-crouching, keeping your eyes on Sun as he searched in vain. You were pretty confident with your position, that is, until the group parted to give enough room to a member who started break dancing. You froze as you were left in a quite visible opening in the crowd. You stopped breathing as you noticed Sun was staring in your direction. His eyes met yours for what seemed like eternity. A few heartbeats later, he smirked and kept walking as if he hadn't noticed you.

You were puzzled, but taking this opportunity, you dashed to the counter and stood near some people who were sitting at the bar. They were loud and annoying, but made for good cover. You were constantly keeping an eye out for the large golden harpy, unsure if he really hadn't seen you. With every passing minute you felt a little more on edge, as he had disappeared. Maybe he gave up and left the bar? No, that didn't sound like him. Knowing Sun, he would probably wait for the right moment to ambush you when you least expected it...

No sooner than had you finished your thought, your view was blocked by a feathery chest. You squeaked as your back was gently pushed into the counter. He placed his elbows on the counter and held his chin up with his palm. Your eyes found his pale blue ones only inches from your face. You quickly looked away, trying to hide your face from him. His elbows blocked your arms from your sides and effectively made a cage around you. He slowly opened his golden tail feathers with a shake, pretty much insulating you all to himself.

"Now that we have ourselves a "private" place, we can have some time to ourselves."

You were about to protest, but the back of your head was cupped by one of his hands. He nestled your face into the crook of his neck. He grabbed your waist with his free hand and pulled it closer to his body. He loved how fast your little heart pitter-pattered at his touch, and how your skin burned with longing. You were such a poor thing. Clearly your body loved his presence, so he didn't understand why you kept yourself from his majesty.

With your face still crammed into his neck, he closed his eyes and licked the back of your head. He began to slowly groom the hair he could reach from the awkward position you both were in. Your mind was in a daze and you could barely think. You knew lots of birds groomed each other to form stronger bonds, especially between mates. The thought made your cheeks burn hotter than before. However, even despite the embarrassment, there was something so oddly soothing about all this. It felt so good...

With each passing stroke of Sun's tongue, you began to melt into his touch. You closed your eyes and accepted that you were, admittedly, enjoying this. You also knew your fellow employees were never gonna let you live this down if they found out... good. You were too groggy to care anyway. You just wanted to be in the moment.

Here's the picture with out shading.

[quinzzelx]

Paramour

Azriel x Fem! Rhys Sister! Reader

Summary: Porn Without Plot. Azriel fucks you against a wall just outside the Ballroom in Hewn City. You're Rhys Sister and you guys have a secret relationship.

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: SMUT, Degradation, Azriel is very talk-active????, 18+

A/N: Uhmmm. I hope you enjoy this??? I certainly did enjoy writing this. Will proofread this when I get the time, but I promise you guys- There will be some fluff coming soon, I just have so many filthy thoughts concerning Azriel atm.

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"You want me to fuck your pretty little cunt, princess?" His breath fans across the back of your neck, hot and leaving a moist hue on your skin. One, two, three heavy pants leave you, front pressed against the wall. A sly smirk tugs at his beautiful lips as he presses his hardened cock into the small of your back. Feeling him strain against his pants, subconsciously, you press your ass back into him, gasping as his hand wanders up to your cleavage, scarred fingers tracing over your collarbone.

"I know how you play those little games." Rough and gravelly, each word comes out in hushed tones, rasped into the shell of your ear, followed by a soft nip. "Grinding against that blond Fae male and meeting my gaze, looking for a reaction." Amusement laces his strained voice as his hand roughly dips under the fabric of your dress, grabbing your breast harshly. You groan slightly as you squirm, caged between the wall and his toned body.

"Does your brother know that his precious little sister is a filthy whore?" He grunts out, trailing kisses down the side of your neck, kneading your breast with one hand dipped into the front of your dress and squeezing your hip with the other as he continues his verbal onslaught. "That your perfect cunt takes my cock so well? Pretty pussy begging for attention?" Your heart pounds in your chest as you hear someone entering the hallway just around the corner, people passing back and forth from the ballroom to the sitting area.

Trembling slightly, you try to find your voice, only to be cut off by a harsh bite at the junction of your neck and shoulder. "How his sweet sister sat at family dinner with my cum dripping from her fucked-out cunt?"

Azriel's voice dropped to a husky whisper, laden with a dark, provocative edge as he tightened his grip on you, his breath hot against the sensitive skin of your neck. "What would he say if I fucked you right here, for everyone to see if they only took the right turn?" His words sent a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through you, heightening your senses to the dangerous game you both played.

With a deliberate slowness, he shifted, aligning his body even closer to yours, ensuring you felt every contour of his powerful form. His fingers trailed dangerously lower, teasing the edge of your dress, suggesting the promise of more. "Would you like that?" he murmured, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down your spine. "To be claimed so openly?"

You found your voice, a mix of desire and defiance. "Maybe I would," you breathed out, meeting his challenge with a daring lift of your chin. "Would you risk it, Azriel? Here, where anyone might see?"

Azriel's smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with a mixture of devilish intent and raw desire. "Perhaps I would," he said, his hand gripping firmer on your hip. "Just to show them who you belong to."

The dangerous edge in his voice was no longer just a tease. It was a clear, possessive declaration, one that made your heart race and your body respond with an urgent, aching need.

His hand moved from your hip, sliding down with deliberate slowness until his fingers brushed against the hem of your dress. With a boldness that left you breathless, he slipped his hand beneath the fabric, his fingers finding the heated, pulsing core of your desire.

Azriel groaned as he felt the wetness that had soaked through the thin fabric of your underwear, his breath hitching at the intensity of your arousal. "So wet for me," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper that sent another wave of shivers through you. His fingers teased the edge of your panties, tracing the soaked fabric as if savoring the barrier that was all too easy for him to remove.

The sensation of his fingers so close to your most sensitive area, coupled with the danger of being discovered, heightened every sensation. Each brush of his fingers sent sparks of pleasure coursing through your body, each touch a promise of what he could do to you if only he decided to push the boundary a little further.

"You're drenched," he whispered, his tone both amazed and aroused. "Is this all for me?" His question was rhetorical, laced with ego and the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he did to you. He pressed his fingers more firmly against you, applying just enough pressure to elicit a soft moan from your lips.

"Such a perfect picture of purity, aren't you?" he taunted, his breath hot against your skin. "The Night Court’s pristine princess, but look at you now—my filthy whore, desperate for an Illyrian bastard’s touch."

He laughed softly, the sound dark and seductive. "Does it excite you, being like this? Hidden in plain sight, yet so utterly debauched beneath your royal facade?" His fingers slipped slightly, teasing you with the promise of more, pushing you further into the haze of need.

"You crave this, don’t you?" Azriel continued, his voice a sinful promise as he began to trace delicate patterns over your dampened underwear. "To be claimed, to be owned. Not by a prince, but by a warrior with dirt under his nails and lust burning in his eyes."

He pressed closer, his erection hard against your lower back, his other hand snaking around to pull you tighter against him. "Imagine what they would say, the courtly lords and ladies, if they saw their darling princess now—legs spread for the Spymaster, begging for it. Would they still bow so low? Or would they whisper about how deeply the darkness has seduced their golden girl?"

His words were a delicious poison, feeding the darkest parts of your desires. You arched against him, your body betraying your inner turmoil with its blatant neediness. "Please," you found yourself whispering, no longer caring about the risk, the title, or the crown. All that mattered in the heated press of darkness was his touch, his control, and the overwhelming need to be his. "Just you. Only you, Azriel."

Azriel's hand moved deftly, sliding your underwear aside as he dragged one of his long, scarred fingers through your wetness. "Let me tell you what will happen now," he started, his voice low and commanding as he paused to push a finger inside you, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion. "I will fuck this little cunt and fill it up until you're dripping with my cum."

With each word, he began to bunch the fabric of your dress around your hips, exposing you further to his dark intentions. "And then," he continued, his voice rough with pure lust as he added another finger, stretching you deliciously, "you will walk right back out there, covered in my scent, my cum coating your perfect thighs."

You moaned, the sound muffled against the wall, as his fingers moved inside you with expert precision, hitting all the right spots. "Everyone will know," he growled, his breath hot against your ear, "that you are mine, that you've been claimed by an Illyrian warrior."

The thrill of his words, the risk of being caught, the rawness of his touch—it all mingled into a potent mix that threatened to undo you completely. You pushed back against him, desperate for more, your hands scrambling against the cold wall for purchase.

Azriel chuckled darkly, pleased by your eagerness. He withdrew his fingers only to replace them with the tip of his hardness, teasing the entrance of your slick warmth. "Ready, princess?" he taunted, giving you a moment to nod before he pushed into you, filling you completely in one smooth, firm thrust.

His hips set a brutal pace from the start, thrusting into you relentlessly. Each sharp, rough push forced the breath from your lungs, giving you no time to adjust to the fullness and intensity of his movements. You bit down on your lip, trying hard to suppress your whimpers and moans as he took you from behind. His hand, which had been resting gently on your chest, now moved with purpose. In a swift, rough motion, he ripped down the fabric of your dress, freeing your breasts so they spilled out, bouncing with each of his powerful thrusts.

"You filthy slut," he grunted out, each word punctuated by a hard thrust that sent waves of both pleasure and shock through your body. "Filled and fucked like a cheap whore, just next-doors to where your brother is probably already looking for you." His voice was gritty, spoken through clenched teeth as he continued his relentless pace.

The harshness of his words, meant to demean, strangely did the opposite, fueling the heat that spiraled in your core. His dominant display, the rough handling, and the danger of being discovered merged into a heady cocktail of arousal that made your knees weak and your resolve falter.

His free hand gripped your hip with bruising intensity, anchoring you firmly to him as he drove into you with unrestrained force. You could feel every ridge and vein of him as he moved, the drag of his cock stirring you from within, pulling you closer to the edge with every stroke.

The thought of anyone discovering you in such a compromising position, under the control of Azriel’s dominating presence, added an element of thrill that you couldn’t deny. Your body responded eagerly to the blend of pain and pleasure, to the raw, primal aggression in his touch.

"Look at you," Azriel hissed, leaning forward to murmur in your ear. His breath was hot against your skin, his words a smoky whisper. "So desperate for my cock, aren’t you? So eager to be used, even here, where anyone might find you." He slowed momentarily, his thrusts becoming deeper, more deliberate, teasing out the length of pleasure, drawing out your need until it was a tangible thing between you.

As you bit down on your lip, attempting to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from your lips, Azriel noticed. With a snarl, he shook his head, his expression one of determined mischief. "No, if we're doing this, we're doing it right," he started, his voice commanding. "If you already spread your legs for me in public, at least own up to it and let everyone hear how good my cock feels."

His words were a challenge, throwing down the gauntlet in this game of daring desire. With that, his movements shifted, becoming less about control and more about driving both of you to the brink. His thrusts picked up pace again, now with a new purpose, to make you vocalize the pleasure that he was so adept at drawing from your core.  Azriel was intent on reshaping you, on breaking down every barrier you had with each potent thrust. His relentless pace escalated as a low scream tore from your lips—a sound that seemed to shatter the last of his self-control. His movements became even more fervent, nearly savage, as he sought to claim every part of you.

Around you, shadows danced and twirled—a dark spectacle orchestrated by his will. The cool, black tendrils of his power wrapped around your body like a silken caress, contrasting with the fervor of his physical dominance. Your whines and gasps reverberated off the cold stone walls, filling the space with the intimate soundtrack of your surrender.

"Come on, Princess. Put on your best performance for our audience," Azriel coaxed with a wicked edge to his voice, each word punctuated by a deep thrust that threatened to undo you completely.  You could barely register anything beyond the all-consuming sensations he evoked within you. His name became a mantra on your lips, each utterance more desperate than the last as you neared the climax he was so skillfully drawing out of you.

Finally, as another sharp thrust sent you spiraling over the edge, you couldn't hold back any longer. A high, keening cry escaped you, announcing your climax to the shadow-filled room. Azriel followed closely behind, his own release overtaking him with a raw intensity that matched the wildness of his shadows. His hand swiftly found its way to rub circles on your swollen clit, guiding you through your orgasm. He groaned deeply, his body pressing tightly against yours as he marked you indelibly as his own, hot seed filling you up to the brim.

As the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed, Azriel's grip softened, and his breaths whispered hot against your ear. "Perfect, just perfect," he murmured, almost tenderly, as the shadows receded like the tide, leaving behind the undeniable truth of your shared pleasure. Gently, he pulled his softening cock from you, and immediately you felt the warm rush of his cum starting to drip from your body. You panted heavily, your flushed cheeks still pressed against the cold stone wall, the surface chilling your heated skin as you struggled to regain your composure.

After a moment, you began to adjust your clothing, your hands drifting towards your underwear, attempting to restore some semblance of order and decency. But Azriel's hand stopped you, his touch firm and unyielding. "No," he said decisively, his voice commanding as he reached with his other hand to rip away your soaked, lacy thong. The fabric gave way easily under his strong grasp, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

A furious blush spread across your cheeks at his words, and you gasped in a mix of shock and residual arousal. "Whores don't deserve to wear underwear," he declared with a harsh intensity. His words were a stark reminder of the role you had willingly played, of the depths of your submission to him. "I want my cum to drip out of you while you play the perfect princess again."

The boldness of his demand, the raw possession in his tone—it was overwhelming and wildly provocative. It stirred a complex cocktail of emotions within you; humiliation battled with arousal, the scandalous nature of his requirement igniting a thrill that coursed through your already sensitive body.

Azriel noticed your flush and the sudden demure tilt of your head, contrasting sharply with the fervor of moments ago. "Now acting all coy, are we?" he teased, his voice laced with amusement. He took a step back, adjusting himself and zipping his pants back up with a deliberate slowness that drew your gaze. You turned to face him fully as he stood back to muse over your disheveled appearance.

His eyes scanned you from head to toe, taking in every detail: hair slightly tousled, dress crumpled and bearing the marks of your recent encounter, lipstick smudged, and faint black streaks underlining your eyes where tears had mingled with your makeup. The sight seemed to please him greatly, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed the tangible signs of your surrender.

Watching intently, you saw him casually pocket your drenched panties, an act that sealed his earlier claim on you. His gaze remained intense, holding yours with an unspoken challenge, as if daring you to object, yet promising much more. "You wear it well," he commented dryly, his voice a husky murmur that resonated with the same commanding energy that had undone you minutes before. The smirk broadened slightly as he stepped closer once again, his presence enveloping you in a way that was both protective and possessive.

"You should see yourself," he continued, his hand reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair back into place, his touch surprisingly tender given the harshness of his previous actions. "Every inch the ravaged princess, yet still so regal."

The contrast of his words with his caring gesture added another layer to the complex dynamic between you, deepening the confusing blend of respect and domination. "Let’s make sure everyone sees how stunning you look tonight," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. This close, his scent—a mix of the night-chilled air and his own intoxicating aroma—filled your senses, reminding you of the intensity of your shared moment. "Let them wonder what has put that flush in your cheeks and that glint in your eye." Azriel's guiding hand at your back was a silent but omnipotent presence as he escorted you back to the ballroom. The lively crowd of Hewn City buzzed around you, engrossed in their revelry—dancing, dining, and drinking, utterly oblivious to the transformation you had just undergone within the secluded alcove.

As you re-entered, your brother and his wife, your high lady, were the epitome of the Night Court’s grace and power, seamlessly painting the perfect picture of leadership and serenity. They sat upon their thrones, regal and poised, while the courtiers around them reveled in the festive atmosphere.

Azriel, with the stealth that had always been second nature to him, slipped away just as swiftly as he had followed you earlier, resuming his place at the bottom of the dais to Cassian’s right. The crowd was none the wiser, their attention caught up in the swirl of music and laughter that filled the grand hall.

Your brother caught your eye and smiled fondly at you from his elevated position. His gaze was full of brotherly love and pride, unaware of the debauched state his sister had just been reduced to. Feeling a flush rise to your cheeks, you quickly averted your gaze, the sensation of Azriel's cum slowly trickling down your thigh a stark reminder of the wicked game you both played. How you were sneaking around behind your family's back. The throbbing warmth between your legs kept the memory vividly alive, even as you composed yourself to greet the other attendees.

As if on cue, a male courtier approached, requesting a dance. His timing was impeccable, offering you a distraction just when you needed it most. You accepted with a gracious smile, stepping into the rhythm of the dance, your movements slightly hesitant as you adjusted to the lingering sensitivity of your body.

Across the room, Azriel watched you. Even from a distance, his intense gaze was palpable, a darkly amused smirk playing upon his lips as he observed you navigate the dance floor on wobbly legs. His eyes sparkled with a possessive gleam, thoroughly pleased with himself for the secret chaos he had instilled in you. In his view, you were the undisputed center of attention, a princess captivating her audience, yet none of the admirers swirling around you could possibly know the delicious truth—that it was his mark you bore, his ownership you were under, even as you floated elegantly from dance to dance.

Cassian, ever observant, spared Azriel a sidelong glance, his eyebrow arching in silent inquiry as he noticed the particularly satisfied smirk on Azriel's lips. The shadowsinger's eyes remained fixed on you, tracing your movements across the dance floor with undisguised pride and possessiveness.

From his vantage point, Azriel reveled in the visual feast before him—your figure, so elegant and poised, yet only he knew of the wild disarray just beneath the surface. His thoughts wandered dangerously, replaying the feel of you clutching at him, the sounds you made, so beautifully uninhibited in response to his touch. The memory of how perfectly you responded to his desires, how eagerly you succumbed to the pleasure he offered, sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

Caught in his reverie, Azriel almost didn't notice Cassian leaning toward him, his voice low and teasing. "Where did you vanish off to, brother? Missed seeing you out here with the rest of us."

With a knowing look that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Azriel turned to Cassian, his response laced with double meaning. "Just ensuring that every part of tonight's celebration was being thoroughly enjoyed," he said smoothly, his gaze flickering back to you as you laughed at something your dance partner said.

Cassian, picking up on the slight shift in Azriel’s tone, chuckled softly, shaking his head slightly as if deciding whether he really wanted to know the details. "Well, from the looks of it, you seemed to have found quite the... entertaining way to pass the time."

Azriel’s only response was a slight, enigmatic smile, one that spoke volumes to Cassian, who knew better than to press further. He gave Azriel a light clap on the shoulder, a gesture of acknowledgment mixed with a hint of mock warning. "Just remember, we’re here to keep up appearances," he said, his voice light but firm.

"Of course," Azriel replied, his eyes still tracking every movement you made. "Wouldn't dream of doing otherwise." As Cassian turned his attention back to the gathering, Azriel allowed himself one more long look at you. The sight of you, so radiant and seemingly untouchable yet secretly marked by their clandestine fervor, was his to cherish. In his mind, he plotted the next encounter, each plan more daring than the last, each thought streaked with the hunger to once again dissolve the poised facade you both wore so well in public.

In the quiet corners of his mind, Azriel was already crafting plans for later, each thought more provocative than the last. He envisioned you spread out on his bed, the soft glow of candlelight casting shadows over your form. His pulse quickened at the thought of tasting his own essence mingled with your sweetness, as he devoured what was left of his claim from your heat. This anticipation, a silent vow of the pleasures yet to come, fueled his patience through the night’s remaining formalities. You were his and he was yours. He found comfort in those nights where you'd lie tangled in each other, whispering sweet nothings to each other—Making love. He truly loved and cherished you. He loved you so much that it hurt to be away from you. But tonight was not one of those nights, tonight he would fuck you like he didn't.

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WELLLLL, I have the hots for him. Feedback is always appreciated! Also, feel free to slide into my DMs to request things or just talk. Fuel my steamy ideas! Also, fluffy ones are welcome. Basically anything, I'd love to talk with you guys.

[scivors]

DATING NIKTO HEAD CANONS

Andre Nikto..huh, are you sure?

Who would've thought, huh?..You know,.. before you two became a couple, most of his guys back at the base would kinda tell you stories back and forth.

Oh, Nikto this and Oh, Nikto that, he's a psychopath, sociopath, he doesn't care about no one but himself. Some were conern for you, did you wake up and decided you just wanna lose all your self respect? Do you need therapy even?

They're giving you a heads up, few warning signs to not go down that path of dating a man who has a interesting background (not the good one)

He doesn't care about his teammates why would he care about you? And the stories go on and on. You brushed it off..

Nikto doesn't care about his teammates because that's their job and that's what they're set to do. Why should he feel empathy for someone who's signed the papers to risk their life? Making friends leads to attachment, attachment leads to a close bond, a close bond would lead to a sick pain in the stomach when you get the news that your teammate didn't make it out alive. Who would want that? Not Nikto.

And how about that..., someone showing a monster kindness. He's never been treated gently by anyone in his life not even his family when he was only a little Мальчик. You didn't know, however. You still made sure to greet him every time and you ask him about how his day was, you ask him if he's hungry etc. If he ever comes back home with scars you treat them with love and care

(note: before you, most of the time he will come back home with a lot of scars and wouldn't bother treating them cause he doesn't feel them at all until he notices he's been bleeding a lot..)

He takes his shirt off for you and allows you to treat his scars against his own will cause you got sick of him ignoring it like it's some natural thing. He'd sit down on the edge of the bed with his back leaned forward as you search for any new damages to his skin. Your care is what really got him questioning why him?

Well, it's the least you could do for him to show that you won't hurt him and that he's loved.

When he took off his shirt for the first time Infront of you, he has a little belly fat on him, he has fat in some areas of his body but that just means by appearance and shape, he's healthy (he's very much in shape maybe not like a full-on body builder but he's got the strength and the spirit, so it didn't really bother him that much as long as he can still do his training with no complications.) ALSO he might have a cross tattoo somewhere, he also has medium body hair too, so really he just looks like a grizzly bear in your house. You'd just imagine him as a grizzly bear, not because he's Russian, god no, good thing he can't read your mind..

He doesn't do affection, his touch is not as gentle as yours. But if you make him do some heavy lifting, he's surely right for the job.., if you need help with fixing things, he's gonna fix it, if you need an oil change, hes also there so he makes sure you don't get scammed. Anything he's familiar with, he can do that for you 100%

However this doesn't mean he'll move away whenever you try to show him affection, no, he'll just let you do what you want and just..stand still, probably still as a statue..

You come up behind him as he's just sitting there, as soon you got close enough towards him, your arms give him a nice welcoming hug around the neck, he doesn't flinch or tries to move away. This doesn't mean he doesn't care, he just feels relaxed.

First night you're sleeping together (not like that) you're in a sweetheart's cradle cuddling position and you can hear his heartbeat.

His heartbeat is steady, it's nice. But what's really special about that night, for you at least, is that he took off his mask Infront you for the first time. He didn't care for the most part, Nikto carries a mask for identity purposes so that he stays anonymous. He's fully aware what his face looks like, but he will test you to see if you'd care.

Your reaction settles like this;

Like always you don't care what he looks like, his looks never mattered to you. With your usual airy voice that has the sound of what can only be described as a silky, smooth collusion of skyburst reds and yellows of the setting sun when it shines it's light to a dark forest, it aluminates the trees with it's light, a voice to which sounds like calm nature, you reassured your big teddy bear that what they did to him to make him look so abnormal doesn't change anything, you're not frightened by what's Infront of you but you showed more concern than disgust..

Your hands traveled towards his face to examine his face a little further, his jaw isn't straight and neither is his nose, his abnormalities that attracts the eye really makes you question what torture methods did they use on him.. As you're memorising his every feature and kissing every scar you feel two rough grips by your wrists slowly moving your hands away and with Nikto's usually straightforward tone says

"that's enough, let's get some rest.."

He's not used to this romantic cherishing feeling, so you brush it off as a natural response to care..giving that he's been independent all his life..

Nikto would test you, like anyone with trust issues..

Nikto isn't the kind to put his whole efforts on you unless you prove to him that no matter what, you'll stay. And I don't mean that as in he will go out and be with other women to make you jealous, no, god no.What I'm saying is that Nikto is naturally difficult to deal with because, well, you've been warned the first time..

In other words Nikto is in less control of what he's doing and not knowing where he stands..

It's that inner thought that tells him you're going to leave him after one small argument then he'll feel guilty when you're the one being reasonable which results to him going silent..

He gets jealous, he will ask you about any man that gets close to you and won't believe you when you say that he's just a friend and it doesn't mean anything, he will question where have you been, question who you were with, he will question your loyalty, he will go through your phone when you're not lookin, stalking you when you don't know it etc. Eventually, this all builds up and you constantly reassured him that you only love him and there is no way that you'd ever cheat on him..

He finds I pretty hard to believe but since those are your words, he'll put everything down and he'll trust you with your words..

Though, he's confident enough to know you won't cheat on him it's the fact that despite all that, men will still approach you and he knows what they're capable of..

Nikto is the type to wait until marriage. Though, sure, he was the type to do one night stands and leave with no feelings attached, he'd never thought that he'd end up in a relationship, so it means when it's someone who's bound to be his partner, he eventually waits until marriage..(Slavic man mindset)

Now, hear me out, Nikto might not be the best at showing affection but he does show it in ways you don't understand. Let's say you love oranges, he will come back home after work with three bags filled with oranges. Or you have a favourite drink, next time he's out getting groceries, he'll make sure to add your favourite drink in the cart..

Now about the part of him being difficult to deal with, Nikto doesn't express himself how'd you expect everyone to express their feelings,thoughts and emotions and everyone knows that, even his teammates. Some nights, when you're asleep he'd go out on the balcony and just sit there for hours

everything was quiet except for one thing and that is his thoughts..

His mind has been racing, aching, hurting, not one minute existed where he wasn't hearing muffled screams of anger, sadness and complaints that never seem to come to an end..but this time he couldn't wait till morning..

He grabs his own head seemingly like he wasn't his own person "calm down" he said

"No one is going to hurt you, not anymore, there is no one around you that is going to hurt you, they're in the past..you're safe now.."

And before any reply in hesitation of to speak

He repeats to himself

"No one's going to hurt you, "

Those nights when you wake up without him in the same bed, you already know what's happening with him yet you don't want to interfere not knowing which alter it is..it could be the one that's not so friendly.. especially with you, Nikto told you this before, or was it Nikto??..you can't recall..so you just go back to sleep..

Walking around with Nikto means either both of you look intimidating or you're the usually nice and social kind of person while Nikto is unapproachable.., it balances it.., no?

[onismdaydream]

tw: afab reader, fingering, sex in a public place (they don't get caught), pet names, not proofread

note: i asked what i should write the other day and @papersirens said suguru and then this happened so yeah :3

"look at that guy over by the bar."

suguru hums, you can feel the faint rumble of his chest on your back, and turns his gaze towards the direction you're facing. "the one in the red?"

"no, no, three people to the left of him. he's wearing that flashy chain. you see him?"

"what about him?" your boyfriend hooks his chin over your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your stomach pulling you ever so closer.

"he just struck out with this one girl, must've said something real bad because she threw her drink at him. see how his shirt is wet?"

"mhm."

"well, now he's talking to that blonde girl and i'm pretty sure that she's friends with the first one because they came in together."

it's common, at this point, that whenever there's some sort of outing with your friend group, you and suguru find yourselves tucked away in the quietest corner you can find. you'd much rather people watch than quite possibly make a fool out of yourself and suguru didn't mind the change of pace it provides. nursing drinks and pointing out the interesting things people did was plenty entertaining in your opinion.

"and," you continue, grateful that the music isn't as loud over here and you don't have to strain your vocal cords to be heard. "i think he's about to blow it here, too."

almost as if on cue, the girl tosses the remainder of her drink at his face and storms off, leaving the man alone and rejected once again. he grabs some napkins from the bar counter, wiping at his face and grumbling, before he walks off towards the bathroom. you would feel bad for him, but you have a feeling that he deserved it.

"looks like you were right." suguru chuckles, his arms loosening around you and allowing him to run his hands along your sides slowly. you can practically hear the smirk that pulls at his lips.

"you should know by now that i often am."

"then tell me, angel," his voice drops, his head turning so his mouth ghosts along the shell of your ear. "you think people can see us?"

suguru's hands drift lower, one squeezing at the fat of your hip and the other skirting dangerously close to the edge of your dress. a shiver runs down your spine, anticipation coursing through your veins as his fingers grazes against your skin.

"suguru," you whisper, your own hands reaching out to rest on his. you don't stop him, don't pull him away, don't want him to pull away.

"i don't think they can." he answers for you, his hand slips under your hem and your legs spread for him on instinct. humming softly in approval, he presses a tender kiss to your jaw. "only way they'll know is if you make noise. but you can be quiet, right? be good for me?"

his fingers tease you, sliding up and down your slit through your underwear. you're already wet, the dampness soaking through the thin fabric and you'd be a lot more embarrassed if it didn't earn you that throaty groan from suguru.

"you like this, hm?" rubbing at your clit to draw a quiet moan out of you, he nips at your neck, a sharp pinch that makes you arch into his touch. "better be quiet, baby. don't wanna draw attention to us."

"don't," your breath hitches, his fingers sliding underneath the band of your panties, touching you. "don't tease, suguru."

he must take pity on you, on your desperate state, because the next moment, he's properly fingering you and your head falls back against him, mouth open as you gasp at the sensation. if anyone were to look over, one glance at your fucked out expression and they would know, but your corner is secluded enough. suguru wouldn't risk you getting caught — he didn't want anyone else to see you like this. this sight, your face scrunching in pleasure and chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, was his and his alone to savor.

long and dexterous fingers prod at that spongy spot inside you, slick wetness coating them so there's no resistance. it's hard to stay composed when the heel of his palm grinds against your swollen clit. he can tell you're getting close, the little whines and the way you're clenching around him pointing towards your inevitable release.

"cum on my fingers, angel."

and you do. you would do anything he says, follow him everywhere and anywhere, so long as he gives the word.

his cock throbs in his pants, you can feel the hardness of his length against your body, but he doesn't pay any attention to it. his focus is on you.

"so pretty." he whispers, almost to himself as he admires you, your beauty that he could never tire of. he waits a moment, allowing you to regain yourself before pulling his fingers out. your slick and cum web between his digits, making them shine even in the low light.

suguru places them in his mouth, groaning at the taste of you, tongue swirling around to get every bit of your essence. you watch in awe and arousal, your core thrumming with another wave of desire.

"we're going home." suguru smoothes out your dress before pulling you with him. "gonna make you come on my tongue next."

[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.

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

[paradiseismine]

Twice as wet - Mike Wheeler x reader

Part 1/2.

Pairing: Mike Wheeler x f!reader

Warnings: slight NSFW, but tasteful I swear ok bye

It was a hot summer’s day, but not as hot as you. Your hair was shinier than ever and your smile was to die for, after all. Your confidence in your body had increased in the last year or so, and ever since you moved to Hawkins a month ago, it had sky rocketed, for some reason. You had just turned 18 and were ready to meet some cute guys.

Just not today.

Your mom had hired some neighbourhood kid to mow the lawn, and told you to stay home all afternoon to pay him afterwards, since she would be out to run some errands. So you sat on your couch, bored in a bikini and a pair of your shortest shorts, unable to jump in the backyard pool until that damn boy’s arrival.

At 1 p.m. sharp, your doorbell rang. You walked to the door and opened it gently.

- Uh, hello, are-are you y/n? - The boy asked, his head slightly tilted down so he would look you in the eyes. Man, was he TALL.

- Hi, that’s me - you smiled sweetly, trying to remember his name - and you’re… Michael, right? My mom told me to wait for you.

- Yes, that’s right… You can call me Mike, though - he scratched the back of his neck with his left hand, licking his lips.

That really got your attention. You examined his face for a second. His perfect jet black hair, his fair skin, plump red lips, delicate little freckles… Ugh. He’s so beautiful. Your lips cracked open as you wanted to say something, but nothing came out of your mouth. It was nearly a trance.

- So uh, should I get started on the lawn? - he grinned, shyly.

- Oh, yes - you said, as your eyes shot wide open, breaking that trance. - Sure. Come, I’ll show you where everything is.

You showed him around the garden and the garage: where the lawn mower was, how it worked and the area he needed to mow: your front yard first, and then the backyard, just around the pool. You tried to keep your cool and be normal about it, hoping he hadn’t noticed your staring when he arrived.

But he did. Mike Wheeler had been 18 for a few months right now, and he couldn’t believe such a pretty girl would check him out like that. He also tried to keep his cool, of course. He needed those summer jobs to afford a new guitar, and wouldn’t risk doing anything to displease you.

After the front yard was done, Mike circled around the house and got to the backyard - just to see you sunbathing near the pool.

Fuck, she’s perfect, he thought, as you got up and turned around, giving him a good look of your figure. What he wasn’t expecting, though, is that you jumped in the water a few seconds later.

As you emerged from the water, your hair darker and your eyes slightly squinted because of the sun, he couldn’t help but also notice all the little water droplets that were dripping from your face to your chest.

He was definitely checking you out. Ugh, thank God, you thought. Finally a cute boy I can obsess over. Because of course, you wouldn’t obsess over anyone who wasn’t obsessed with you too. As the work was all done, he put the lawn mower back on its place and walked over to you.

- Thank you so much, darling - you said, batting your eyelashes at him, your legs dangling from the edge of the pool. - There’s a red envelope on the fridge with your payment. I guess you could grab it later…

- Later? - he said, confused.

- Yes, after a little swim with me… in here - you said, smiling as if you had just offered him a drink of water.

Mike chuckled. He was definitely taking a sip.

- I mean… c-can I? - he asked, just in case.

- Of course, i got plenty of towels you could dry off with later… my mom won’t mind, she’s not coming back home until, at least, 7 p.m… What do you say?

Mike smiled at you as he yanked his shirt from the back of his neck. Just that single movement already made your insides twitch. Oh, that boy was in for a treat.

As he took off his pants and sneakers, you simply watched, no longer worrying about getting caught staring at him. He sat down next to you on the edge of the pool, his cheeks a bit red. Maybe from the sun, maybe from shyness.

You leaned in to kiss him, there was no point in waiting. He kissed you back softly, his hands grabbing your waist gently, as if he was afraid to scare you off. You were so pretty, he couldn’t believe it. Your right hand reached for his face, caressing it lightly, as you held his arm with your left hand and slowly guided him to actually enter the pool, so you would both stand up in it. Now your bodies were touching, and you hoped he couldn’t feel your heart beating out of your chest as you grabbed a fistful of his perfect hair and scratched his back with your nails, now fully making out with him.

He reached for your thighs and brought you up to his waist, intensifying your lust. You wrapped your legs around him, holding yourself in place, as his hands slowly left your butt after a few good grips. You had never been so grateful for that pool.

Mike Wheeler had the biggest boner of his life. His underwear was white and now completely wet, plus he had a hard-on - great. What if you were offended by it? Was that uncalled for? Those questions left his brain the second your soft hand reached down under the water.

Damn, that boy was packing some heat down there. He jumped out of his skin with your touch, at first, but melted into it a second later.

- I know you’re kissing me in the pool just to get me twice as wet - you said, chuckling, as your foreheads were touching. - But maybe we should continue this on dry land.

- Sure, whatever you want, princess - he said, enchanted by you.

- Whatever I want, huh? - you put your arms around his neck, tilting your head to the side. - That’s good to hear. I might take advantage of this later, though.