#I feel like he’s exhausted 24/7

[doctorsiren]

edgeworth

[bongcipher]

gross man

[tasmanianstripes]

People need to practice minding their own damn business

Don't come into people's inboxes giving unsolicited advice or criticizing their personal stuff. Don't reblog somebody's posts saying how much you hate it and their opinions.

Don't like somebody's characterisation, AUs or the kind of art they post? It might even annoy you?

Okay, cool. Go make your own post. Block them. Be a little hater about it to your friends. It's good for your soul!

But don't be goddamn rude to people. Don't make it their problem.

"I don't like what this artist likes mah mah mah"

Here's a wild idea;

Artists...don't need to cater to you. You are not entitles to their work. Nobody on the internet should coddle you and post only stuff you like.

Shocker, I know.

[spow-ed]

If we make gore of these fucks can we make it the most heart wrenching soul crushing mind spinning whole splitting shit ever while ALSO making it meaningful? Thanks I’d like that a lot a lot 😁

Mischaracterization in the CCCC fandom: a yapsesh (alternative title: Erm... What the Gore is Going On?)

Hi. Woaw. I'm actually making that post I talked about.

So. One thing I've noticed in the CCCC fandom is this weird fixation on gore, torture, violence, etc. Usually a level of graphic content that makes your average horror flick look... pretty tame!

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy horror! I even think a horror story based around psychological conflict similar to CCCC could work well!

But is it just me, or has this fandom COMPLETELY lost track of what the characters are like in the source material?

Like. Let's be real. Nowhere in the album does Soul do gruesome surgeries on Mind, nowhere does Mind go ripping people to shreds like Doomguy, et cetera. The closest thing we have to an implication of violence is what most of us call the "Juno incident"- as even "tines stabbed through eyes" is clearly a metaphor with the next line: "that the sides have condemned."

Im gonna talk ab the characters themselves under the cut

I feel the biggest victim of this mischaracterization is Soul. In the album he's... kind of a victim, really. He toughs out being dismissed and fought over and pushed aside and outright dehumanized for so, so long. Are we seriously just... going to characterize him based solely on his lowest point in TSE? Spring and a Storm and Mucka Blucka are also songs where he's present- along with his presence in Just Apathy that the fandom seems to outright deny to keep their characterization of him as some violent, abusive monster. (Which, again, is quite literally never alluded to! He's honestly kind of a victim, if anything!)

Ohhkay. Next topic. Mind. Oh boy I have thoughts on how people characterize Mind.

He's not emotionless. If you believe this, you've fallen for his stoic facade. All of his songs are just. So full of so much rage. Maybe even a little bit of grief and sadness and fear, masked by said rage. He isn't some emotionless robot- (Heart calls him an automaton as an insult, but that's another rant.) and honestly it feels like such a disservice to such an interesting character with so much unexplored depth to portray him as such.

Heart. Oh boy. Where do I start. Heart what did they do to you.

Heart is the emotional side, yes, but that isn't just some... smol innocent uwu baby who cries all the time. Emotions aren't small and cute and timid. They're INTENSE and PASSIONATE and EXHAUSTING. Strong emotions leave you so, so drained, good OR bad. This is so much more interesting than portraying him as some "uwu hai dere!!" type of character. Which is nowhere in the album.

Whole is hardly even a character. Soul worshipping and praying to whole is fanon.

This fandom's weird obsession with creating shock gore and one-upping each other in a violence competition has spiraled pretty far out of control, and it's honestly crazy. How do you go from an album about internal conflict to violence that would make even the cast of Resident Evil cringe? Brah.

Final notes uhhh. Soul is a victim who got pushed to his limit, not an evil heartless abuser. Mind is angry and unstable and hurt, not some emotionless robot. Heart is the entire emotional spectrum, not some innocent baby. Ok i . I think that's all. Have a good one

[planetsage]

FHUCK MEEEE i need like semi-public sex with dom!choso he’s like on my mind 24/7 uhm

NEW PIN ! ꒰ 🪴 PUT THAT PUSSY ON ME𖧧˚⋆ʚɞ ── choso kamo 𝜗𝜚

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contains. 2k words + nsfw so, minors do not interact. f!reader, dom!cho, boxer!cho, established relationship, blood, sweat, semi public sex, locker room sex, f rec oral, a little ass eating (if you squint), spit, hair pulling, dirty talk, breeding, overstim, creampie, biting, cum eating.

all big-time boxers practice abstinence for at least a week before their fights; an age-old tradition that’s been torched down from talent to talent said to preserve testosterone, aggression, and most importantly, the drive to win.

it makes sense. not only on the physical side of things, but mentally. discipline — “if a player can’t handle a month or 20 days without having relations, then he’s not really ready to be a professional.”

although choso knew of this prior to becoming a fighter, his coach never actually brought it up to him until you were sat with big child-like eyes, pupils dilated as if trying to drink in every little detail, watching your amateur boyfriend practice for the first time.

it felt like a world of its own with choso sitting atop it on a blood-stained throne. the smell of leather and sweat suffused through the large dome-shaped gym, dull thuds and thumps of fists hitting bags, feet screeching sounding over music.

shirtless, choso’s muscles pumped and flexed as glossy sweat trickled down his temples, merging into rivulets that traced the contours of his face before dripping off his chin and down, down, down his battered body; each quick movement sent salty droplets flying, making dark, little circular marks on the mat.

his arms and core clenched, causing his thick biceps to swell, veins prominent beneath flushed skin like flowing riverbeds; his abs rippling with every rapid punch. the rigid meat of his heavy thighs bulged through black nylon shorts as he hopped around fluidly. dancing. it was truly hypnotic.

about halfway into his practice, you found yourself slightly tilting your head to the side in confusion as his coach moved to point at you.

me?

choso seemed annoyed, running a taped hand through his sweat-ridden hair. then he nodded before they both dispersed to start another round of sparring.

“he said i can’t fuck you anymore”

choso’s wet body clung tightly to your previously dry one, making a sticky connection as he squirted a stream of electrolyte-mixed water from a bottle he clutched with thick hands into his scarred mouth. his usually pink lips were a little red. swollen and plumped, making them jut out, begging to be kissed by your softer ones.

and he was exhausted, visibly. his body sagging when he practically mounted you as soon as he finished practicing, the musky, almost primal scent emitting from him filling your senses in a heady wave as he whined and pouted over his coach’s orders when you asked what had been said earlier, handing him a fresh towel.

“he went full authoritarian on me,” he roughly scrubbed his flushed face with the cloth before dragging it over and around his arms, then abs letting the cotton soak up his sweat, “said we can’t do anything … its so stupid, i’ve done research on it, y’know. it’s a myth”

he rambled on and on, his voice soaked in frustration, bringing up the hundreds of articles he scoured. the way he animatedly swung his arms around, bloodied lip, and still damp with sweat, made you giggle.

you leaned in to gently press a kiss to the corner of his lips. “hey, it’s okay,” you hummed soothingly, contrasting his outburst, “it’s only just before a fight. it can’t be that bad, right?”

and it wouldn’t be.

if choso’s feelings for you didn’t border obsession. he physically can’t go over a day without stuffing your pussy full of his gooey cum and he’d be dammed if some dumb ‘tradition’ that lacked the backing of science stopped him from fucking his pretty girl.

so here you are. embarrassingly parting your sticky folds with meek fingers, revealing your glossy pussy to eager, purpled eyes in the dim back corner of a stuffy locker room.

approximately … thirty seven minutes until choso’s fight.

after a verbal beating from his coach, he was, unwillingly, forced to abstain; forced to spend weeks on edge around you, to not so much as brush a finger against your soft skin because he’d get hard and shoot out hot cum untouched. and he was so close to being successful, too, but he swore he’d lose with how full and heavy his fat balls felt, nudging you into the locker room with empty promises of being “so quick”.

“just need ta taste my baby first,” his voice came out in a heavy whisper as he licked up the fat of your inner thighs, the cooled air of the cramped room circulating and brushing against your achy clit making you flinch, “poor thing .. you missed me too, hm? missed my mouth, pretty?”

“choso hur—”

“shh. ‘m not talkin’ ta you ‘m talkin’ ta her,” he was undividedly staring at your pussy as if trying to commit the filthy imagine of it leaking, clenching around nothing to memory before he rubbed the tip of his flushed nose against your pretty clit, nuzzling into that addictive scent he had been yearning for for what felt like decades.

that said, he was still taking his sweet time.

pressing almost petty pecks to your sensitive thighs, humming out a singsongy ‘aaahh’ before biting into them, leaving fresh pretty marks now that all the old ones have faded. fidgeting on his knees, probably bruising them as he drug his pudgy bulge against the tiled floor until he’s finally, finally moving to lick a long, slow stripe up your pussy, making your hips sputter and buck up against his face.

he’s so loud and messy.

eating you like he’s been starved because, well, technically, he has, “mmmmmm tas’ so fuckin’ good baby. missed— mmhhm havin’ you on my tongue”

cradling your clit with his puffy lips to firmly suck up and drool back out. viscous spit slips out from your pussy, leaving the bench all wet and sticky, so he pauses. because it’s rude to leave messes, shifting his attention from your sloppy hole to drag his tongue on the cold metal bench and clean it all up. the wet muscle brushing, slipping past your ass, making you yelp.

“choso please— hur— hurry. you’re gonna be late” with balled fists you push against his head, musing his inky black hair and if it had been under any other circumstances, he would’ve punished you for interrupting his meal. but he was going to be late, twenty three more minutes and god knows how many rounds it’s gonna take to empty his balls, so he lets you glide all over the thin ice.

just this once.

“fuck, baby, let me fuck that pussy from the front” choso stands up to shove his now tight shorts down to his ankles, his cock springing out, eagerly slapping against his stomach as precum dribbles onto his chest. “always cum so fast when m’ lookin’ at that pretty face”

he wraps his hand around his shaft to move and press his chubby tip against your little hole, scribbling all over it with a hum before leaning to spit a fat bubbly glob onto your needy pussy.

a pretty whine escapes you as you softly lift up your hips begging him to just slip it in, “quit actin so needy, ‘m riiighht here” dragging out his words, he sloowwwly lets his cockhead sink past your folds, whining at how fucking tight you are.

he missed his pretty pussy so much. so, so much.

“fuck, ‘s so big” it’s been a while since you’ve felt the stretch of his cock molding your walls to fit him making tears swell and clump up in your curled lashes as you fling your arms around the slope of his shoulders before you’re shoving your face into the side of his warmed neck.

but he said he needs to see that pretty face, so he’s quickly moving to grab a fist full of your hair, roughly pulling you back by your scalp as you squeal, your mouth falling open to let in and out deep shaky breaths, “look at me”

and he holds you there, forcing you to stare into his darkened eyes as he fully bottoms out to bully his plump, heavy cock up into you. giving you the messiest, most feral strokes. losing his mind in your pretty pussy, already twitching inside you, spilling out pearls of precum that kiss your spongy g spot.

you can’t even moan. just weakly whimpering out broken cries of his name, ”so— ch— cho ssso” as he drags his cock against your gooey walls, his left hand thumbing at your sensitive clit sparking big tears to slip down your cheeks, your eyes hazing over, starting to slip up .. and go back just a little revealing porcelain white, then a little mor-

“i said fuckin’ look at me”

he jerks your head around like some doll; again, forcing you to stare up at him as he knocks the wind out of you with every snap of his waist. and he looks dazed. his hair is messy, mussed, and tossed to his shoulders as sweat catches a few strands to curl up and stick to his temples. he’s almost pink, flushed with so much fever, fucking into your sloppy pussy as he growls, “theeeree you go. ‘m so close, baby— shit. want me to fill that pretty pussy, huh? want me to— fuuuckk pump you full of my cum? hm?”

but his feral growls start to turn into pretty little saccharine whimpers as he gets closer and closer, sputtering his rose-skinned hips, “yeah cho. give it to me— haaa mmm, wan’ it all. fill me up”

“you wan’ it all?” his grip on your hair grows tighter, vice-like, as he mocks your needy little tone with a breathy chuckle, “want me to fuck a baby into you, yeah? knock you up then go knock that fucker out?”

bobbing up and down dumbly, you nod, his words stringing in one ear and quickly out the other because it’s just so fuckin’ good.

he’s pulling you closer, closer, and closer to that edge he loves to dangle you over. “choso ‘m gonna—”

“i know, mama. can feel it. keep lookin’ at me. give it to me”

with a whimper of his name, your knees crash into each other, your toes curling as white-hot pleasure strikes like thick bolts of lightning behind your eyes.

choso’s pulling them back apart and you almost fall off the bench until he’s wrapping his thicker arms around your body to keep fucking into you, “thereee you goo, mhm. look so pretty like that baby” talking you through it so sweetly as if he’s not overstimulating you. rewiring your brain.

“shi— shit, baby fuckin’ milkin’ me .. gonna— ‘m gonna—”

groaning too loud, his hips stilled as he dumped the heavy buildup of cum into your more than welcoming pussy, his head slumping forward to bite into your shoulder and muffle himself.

he’s filling you up so well, shooting thick ropes into your pretty, satiny walls as he pulses and twitches inside you.

but he’s still so hard.

pulling out to wrap a hand around his cock, jerking himself off, roughly, it looks like it hurts, “stick your, haah fuck, stick your fuckin’ tongue out” griping as his chest caves in and heaves until he’s spilling more hot cum onto your pretty fucked out face.

his head falls back, his body swaying slightly as he catches his breath, his muscles relaxing with a heavy sigh until he leans back down to lick up his sticky mess, making you buzz with warmth, twitching at the feeling of his warm tongue. “hhnngg— choso you have to goo”

oh yeah.

he hums, a smile tugging at his lips against your skin before he reluctantly pulls back, moving to draw up his shorts, “almost forgot about that,” he grabs a handful of his messed hair to pull back up into his trademark buns, “i’ll be quick, baby. still got the taste of my good luck charm on my tongue”

not even an hour later, before you can completely clean yourself off and find your bearings, a deafening lion-like roar surges from the full crowd piercing through the thick walls of the locker room. your head quirks up, and then you hurriedly push through the door, almost jogging into the arena.

there he is.

in the center of it all looming over his opponent. the referee pulls up choso’s arm and again; the crowd erupts as the other poor soul winces, crimson-faced, red gloves covering their bloodied expression.

amidst it all, choso’s eyes find yours. he’s licking at the corner of his lips with a knowing smirk.

all big-time boxers practice abstinence for at least a week before their fights; all expect the biggest rising rookie choso kamo.

© planetsage 2024 all rights reserved. no part of this may be reproduced in any form.

[notsunnyowo]

In love with you - Gojo Satoru

Word Count: 313

Pairing: Lovestruck! Gojo Satoru x Female! Reader

Content: Fluff, Female Reader (AFAB), Gojo being absolutely smitten by reader

Lovestruck! Gojo who thinks of you a 24/7. You're always on his mind no matter what he's going. Going to the store? He's immediately asking himself if you'd like the sweets he's planning on buying. Out on a dangerous mission, fighting off curses? - He's wondering what you're doing right now. Were you also perhaps thinking about him? He certainly hopes so.

Lovestruck! Gojo who can't wait to return home to you. He doesn't know how he'd managed to survive for so long without having someone to look forward to when coming back home from an exhausting mission. But there you always were. Patiently waiting for him to come back, and then greeting him with gentle and loving kisses.

Lovestruck! Gojo who loves to cuddle up into your petite figure whenever the two of you are sprayed out on the couch, watching one of your favorite shows. He doesn't even pay attention to the show you seem to be so invested in, much rather preferring to look at your pretty face. He swears no sight is as beautiful as it.

Lovestruck! Gojo who lives for the sleepy, and oh-so-gentle morning kisses the two of you share each and every day once the two of you wake up from your slumber. The feeling of your soft lips pressed against his own has his heart fluttering like a smitten teenager.

Lovestruck! Gojo who loves everything about you. From your adorable smile, to the way his name rolls off your tongue with practiced ease. He just has so much love inside him and wants nothing more that to give it all to you. His love is all yours after all, and so is he. Both body and soul.

Lovestruck! Gojo who knows that he's made the right decision when he kneels down in front of you on one knee and asks for your hand in marriage.

Author Note:

Just finished reading way too much angst and needed some fluff to get my spirits back up, and so we're here- YvY

Anyways- I hope you enjoyed reading this one-shot as much as I enjoyed writing it!

[inkskinned]

before you know about women, you hear that you do not need to love the man, just that you need to love him through his manhood. which is to say you have seen the future painted in lamb's blood over your eyes - how your mother shoots you a look about your father's inability to cook right. how your aunt holds her wineglass and says i'm gonna kill em. men, right! how your best friend bickers with her boyfriend, how she says i can't help it. i come back to him.

you learn: men are gonna cheat. men aren't going to listen when you're talking, because you're nagging. men think emotions are stupid. they think your life is vapid and your hobbies are embarrassing. men will slam things, but that's because men are allowed to be angry. if you get loud, you're hysterical. if a man gets loud - well, men are animals, men are dogs, men can't control their hands or their eyes or their bodies. they're going to make a snide comment about you in the locker room, about your body, about how you're so fucking annoying. you're going to give him kids, and he will give you the money for the kids, and you're going to be running the house 24/7 - but he gets to relax after a long day, because his job is stressful. the man is on stage, and is a comedian, and says "women!"

and you are supposed to love that. you are supposed to love men through how horrible they are to you - because that's what women do. that's what good women do. wife material. your father even told you once - it'll make sense when you're older. it was like staring down a very lonely tunnel.

it feels like something's caught in your throat, but it's all you know, so. it's okay that you see sex as a necessary tool, a sort of okay-enough ritual to keep him happy, even though he doesn't seem to care about happiness as-applied-to you. it is relationship upkeep. it is kissing him and smiling even though he didn't brush his teeth. it is getting on your knees and looking up and holding back a sigh because he barely holds you as you panic through the night. it's not like the sex is bad and you do like feeling wanted. and besides! he's a man! like... they're another species. you'll never be able to actually communicate, right. he isn't listening.

you just don't get it. you don't feel that sense of i'm gonna climb him like a tree. mostly it just feels fucking exhausting. you play the part perfectly. you smile and nod and are "effortlessly" charming. and it's fine! it's alright! you even love him, if you're looking. you could have good life, and a good family, and perfectly happy.

in the late night you google: am i broken. you google i'm not attracted to my husband. you google i get turned on by books but not by him. you google how to get better in bed.

the first time he yells at you, it almost feels like blankness. like - of course this is happening. this is always how it was going to end up. men get angry, and they yell, and you sit there in silence.

you mention it to your friend - just the once - while you're drunk. she shrugs and says it's like that with me too, i just try to forget and move on. men are always gonna hear what they want to. pick your battles and say sorry even though he's in the wrong. you play solitaire online for a month. you go to your therapist appointment and preach about how you're both so in love.

after all, you have a future to want. nobody lied about it - how many instagram posts say marriage is hard. say real love takes work. say we fight like cats and dogs but the best part is that we always make up. how many of your friends say happy anniversary to the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. if you really loved him - loved yourself too - you'd accept that men are just different from you.

the first time she kisses you, it's on a dare at a party. something large and terrifying whips through your body. you wake up sweating from dreams where her mouth is encrusted with pearls and you pick them off one by one with your teeth. fuck. you sit at the computer and your almost-finished game of sim city. you think about your potential perfect life and your potential future family. you google am i gay quiz with your little hands shaking.

you delete each letter slowly. you don't need to love him. you just need to keep going.

[happy74827]

Talk To Me

[Eggsy Unwin x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: With your boyfriend sneaking out 24/7 and always returning with carefully concealed injuries, it's only natural to be concerned.

WC: 3033

Category: Slight Angst + Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

I watched Carry-On last night (10/10 so good), and it got me re-thinking about one of my favorite films. Kingsman supremacy 🙌

『••✎••』

You loved Eggsy. Dearly. Truly.

You loved him so much that sometimes it scared you. How fiercely your heart clung to his smile, how tenderly your hands always seemed to reach for his, how naturally your entire world had shifted around him without you even realizing it. He was yours—scruffy, sweet Eggsy Unwin—and you believed you knew him. At least, you thought you did.

But then, the nights started.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Everyone had their own struggles, and Eggsy never struck you as someone who’d open up easily about his. He’d always been the type to handle his own problems, to wear his hardships like armor rather than show them. But that was before the late-night disappearances, before the quiet footsteps across your floorboards, before you’d wake up in a cold bed at 3 a.m. to find him gone.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was gradual—so gradual you could almost convince yourself you were imagining it. One night turned into two. Two turned into a week. And before long, you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

The first time you tried to confront him, you did it gently. You’d asked him if everything was okay, masking your concern with casual curiosity. "You seem really tired lately, Eggsy. Is work being a pain?"

Eggsy had smiled, all teeth and dimples, and said, "Nah, luv. Just gotta lot on my plate, s’all."

You believed him because you wanted to.

But then there were the bruises.

The first one you noticed was along his jaw, faint and shadowed under the soft light of your kitchen. He’d winced when you kissed him there, just a tiny twitch of his lips, but enough to make you pull back. "You alright?" you’d asked.

Eggsy had waved you off. "Yeah, yeah, fine."

"Fine."

The word had felt too tight on his tongue, too forced. But you’d let it go because that’s what you did when someone you loved was hurting. You gave them space.

Except the bruises kept coming, each one a little harder to miss than the last. The faint cut above his brow, the stiffness in his shoulders when you hugged him, the way he’d flinch—just barely—when your fingers brushed against his ribs. And you noticed. Of course, you did. How could you not?

There was the other stuff, too. The sudden shift in his wardrobe. Gone were the trainers and bomber jackets, replaced with sharp suits and polished shoes. He’d started wearing glasses—ridiculous little round things that didn’t even have a prescription—and he carried himself differently now. Straighter. More serious. It wasn’t that you didn’t like the change. You did. Eggsy looked good in a suit, and you’d told him as much. But it was the why that lingered in the back of your mind.

Everything about him was changing, and yet you were still supposed to believe he was fine.

You weren’t stupid.

And so tonight, when you’d felt him slip out of bed yet again, something inside you had snapped. Enough was enough.

You stayed awake, feigning sleep as you listened to him shuffle around the room. You heard the soft clink of his belt buckle, the muted sound of a zipper, and then the quiet groan he let out as he bent to tie his shoes. He was trying to be quiet, but you could feel his movements, his tension, the exhaustion radiating off of him like smoke.

The front door closed behind him.

For a moment, you thought about following him. Your mind painted a dozen possibilities—none of them good—and the urge to know was almost overwhelming. But something held you back. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the sick feeling that if you saw what Eggsy was hiding, you wouldn’t be able to unsee it.

So, instead, you stayed. You waited.

And you waited.

Hours slipped by, the quiet hum of the room punctuated only by the ticking of the clock and the occasional thump of your restless heartbeat. You sat in the darkness, curled up on the couch with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

It was almost dawn when you heard it—the sound of keys fumbling at the door.

Your breath caught as the door swung open, and there he was. Eggsy. Exhausted, disheveled, and dragging himself inside like he’d just run a marathon. He tripped over the shoes you’d left by the door, letting out a hushed curse as he stumbled and caught himself on the wall. "For fuck’s sake…"

You watched him for a long moment, your heart twisting. His shoulders were slumped, his face pale under the bruises, and there was an air of defeat clinging to him that you’d never seen before.

Your hand hovered over the lamp beside you.

Click.

Light flooded the room.

Eggsy froze. His wide, tired eyes met yours, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

"…Where were you?"

Your voice came out steady—colder than you intended—but you didn’t care. You needed answers.

Eggsy straightened up, wincing slightly as he did, and ran a hand through his messy hair. "What’re you doin’ awake?"

"Where were you, Eggsy?" you repeated, softer this time.

He opened his mouth to answer, but you saw the hesitation in his eyes. That flicker of guilt, of indecision. And it hurt.

You watched him—really watched him—take in the situation, his gaze darting from you to the lamp and back again. He looked so tired, the dark circles under his eyes stark against the pale exhaustion in his face. His bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he might lie to you.

He always did that when he was nervous, chewing his lip like he was trying to hold the words inside.

And then he sighed.

"Look, luv—"

"No." You cut him off, surprising even yourself with the sharpness in your voice. Your heart was pounding now, a steady thud in your chest, and you swallowed the knot rising in your throat. "Don’t 'look, love' me, Eggsy. I’ve given you space. I’ve ignored the bruises. I’ve let you—whatever this is—carry on without question. But not anymore."

Eggsy’s mouth closed. He shifted on his feet, his wince almost imperceptible, but you caught it. You always caught it.

"Are you hurt?" you asked, voice trembling slightly despite the resolve you tried to hold. Your eyes dropped to the faint, bloodied scrape on his knuckles and the stiff way he held his side. "Jesus, Eggsy…"

"I’m fine." The words came out fast—too fast—and though they were meant to be firm, they only sounded hollow.

You flinched like the word was a slap. "You’re not fine."

He sighed again, this time deeper, and rubbed a hand over his face. "It’s complicated."

"Complicated?" you echoed, your voice pitching with disbelief. "Complicated is when you forget an anniversary or don’t know how to split rent. This isn’t complicated, Eggsy—this is you sneaking out in the middle of the night and coming home bruised and battered, and I’m scared."

There it was. The confession you’d been holding back. The thing that had been gnawing at you for weeks, clawing at your chest every time he slipped away. Your voice broke slightly, the words tumbling out like a dam had burst, and Eggsy’s face softened in a way that almost broke you.

You could see the guilt then, raw and unguarded, etched into the lines of his expression. He took a cautious step forward, but you held up a hand, needing the space to breathe.

"Do you…" Your voice faltered. You didn’t want to say it—didn’t want to voice the fear that had whispered in your mind during the loneliest hours of those nights. “Do you not trust me, Eggsy? Is there something you can’t tell me?”

Eggsy’s head snapped up at that, his brow knitting as if you’d insulted him. "What? No. No, it’s not like that."

"Then what is it?" Your voice cracked, and for the first time since this all started, you felt your eyes sting with tears. "Because I’m running out of scenarios, Eggsy. I thought maybe… maybe it was someone else, maybe you’d stopped loving me. But then I’d see the bruises, and I’d hear you groaning in your sleep, and…" You trailed off, pressing a hand to your forehead. "I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when you’re falling apart right in front of me."

The room was silent save for your quiet, unsteady breaths. For a moment, you thought Eggsy wouldn’t answer, that he’d slip into that shell of his again and leave you stranded in this mess of unanswered questions.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he crossed the room in two quick strides, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.

It wasn’t a soft kiss—not like the ones he’d give you after long days or lazy mornings. It was desperate and grounding, like he needed to make sure you were real and that you still loved him despite everything. You froze for half a second, caught off guard by the sudden warmth of his lips on yours before you melted into it. Your hands gripped his wrists, holding onto him like an anchor as your heart hammered against your ribcage.

When he finally pulled away, you stared at him, breathless and reeling.

"Eggsy—"

"I’m sorry," he muttered, his forehead resting gently against yours. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make you think that. Any of that." His voice was low and earnest, the accent softening as the words spilled out. "You’re the only good thing in my life, alright? The only thing that keeps me goin’. It ain’t you—it’s me. I’m just… I’m tryin’ to keep you safe."

"Safe?" Your brows furrowed as you leaned back to look at him. "Safe from what, Eggsy?"

He hesitated. You could see the war playing out in his eyes—the push and pull of wanting to tell you the truth but still trying to protect you from it. He was holding something back; you knew that much. Something big.

Finally, he exhaled slowly. "It’s work. The bruises, the nights—I can’t tell you everything, but you gotta trust me when I say I’m doin’ it for you. For us."

"Eggsy…"

His thumb brushed along your cheek, and you realized then that you were crying—just a little.

"You’re right," he admitted softly, the words heavy with guilt. "I shoulda told you somethin’. Not everythin’, but… somethin’. I just didn’t want you to worry, love. Didn’t want you to see this part o’ me." He smiled faintly, the corners of his lips tilting upward. "You deserve better than this mess."

You stared at him, the boy who had somehow become a man without you noticing. His rough edges were still there—still scrappy, still stubborn—but there was something more now, too. He carried weight on his shoulders, weight he hadn’t let you see until tonight.

"I don’t care about the mess," you whispered, your hands sliding down to hold his. "I care about you. And if you’re hurting, I want to know. I want to help."

Eggsy blinked at you like he wasn’t sure he deserved to hear that. Then he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you up tightly as if trying to shield you from the rest of the world.

"You’re mental, you know that?" he mumbled into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "Too good for me, you are."

Eggsy was warm against you, his arms solid and grounding, but you couldn’t let yourself melt into it—not entirely. Not when you could still feel the lingering tremor in his body, the careful way he was holding you like he was afraid of falling apart completely if he let go.

So you didn’t let it slide. Not this time.

You pulled back slightly, enough to look at him, your hands sliding to rest against his chest. He avoided your eyes for a beat too long, gaze flicking toward the floor as if the answers to all of your questions were scattered across the floorboards.

"Eggsy," you said softly, forcing him to look at you. "You’re doing it again."

His brows furrowed slightly. "Doin’ what?"

"Avoiding." You swallowed hard, your voice gentle but firm. "You keep saying you’re trying to protect me, but from what? From you? From whatever it is you’ve gotten yourself into? I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with half-truths and cryptic excuses."

He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, his lips pressing into a tight line as the silence stretched between you like a taut wire. You watched him, the Eggsy you knew—the one who laughed too loudly, who lit up rooms with his smile—hidden behind this new, heavier version of himself. A man weighed down by secrets you weren’t allowed to touch.

You felt your throat tighten. "If you’re in trouble, I need to know."

"I’m not—"

"Gary." You said his name softly, but with enough weight that he stopped, his shoulders sagging just a little under your gaze. You could see the walls going back up, the way his expression started to close off again, and your heart ached. This wasn’t about control. It wasn’t about digging into things he didn’t want to share. This was about him—the man you loved. The man standing in front of you with bruises and exhaustion, painting him in shades of worry and pain you didn’t recognize.

"I love you," you whispered, the words breaking through the quiet. His head snapped up, his eyes finally locking onto yours. "I love you, Eggsy. But this—" you gestured gently between the two of you "—this isn’t fair. You don’t get to shoulder all of this alone. Not when I’m right here."

You could see the cracks in his resolve then, the guilt splintering through his expression like fractures in glass. Eggsy exhaled, a heavy breath that deflated his entire posture, and he reached up to cup your cheek again, his thumb brushing faintly at the tears still lingering there.

"It ain’t trouble," he muttered after a long pause, his voice low and rough like gravel. "Not like you’re thinkin’. I ain’t into anythin’ shady, I swear."

"Then what is it?" you asked softly. "Please, Eggsy. I’m not leaving. I’m not running. I just need to know what’s doing this to you."

He hesitated again, clearly grappling with something you couldn’t see. For the briefest moment, you thought he might tell you—might rip off the Band-Aid and let you into whatever world he’d been keeping you out of. But then, as if on instinct, he sighed and shook his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before resting his own against it again.

"You don’t wanna know, luv," he murmured, voice so soft it nearly disappeared into the space between you. "I promise you don’t."

You stared at him, your heart twisting painfully. You could feel it now—the invisible door he was trying to close, to lock between you—and the worst part was, you knew he thought he was doing the right thing. He thought he was protecting you.

But all you felt was the sting of being shut out.

"This isn’t fair," you said again, your voice trembling slightly. "You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle, Eggsy."

His lips parted slightly, and for once, he didn’t have a rebuttal. He just looked at you—really looked at you—as if weighing the woman in front of him against whatever dark reality he’d been hiding.

"I can handle it," you pressed, your voice steady this time. "Whatever it is, I can handle it. I can handle you."

Eggsy pulled back slightly, his hands slipping to your shoulders. There was a flicker of conflict in his eyes, and for the first time that night, you saw a hint of vulnerability beneath the surface. "It ain’t about you not bein’ strong enough," he said finally, his words slow and deliberate. "It’s about me not wantin’ you to see the worst parts of what I do."

"What you do?" you repeated carefully, and you saw him flinch—just barely—like he’d said too much.

"Eggsy, I don’t…"

He let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. "Jesus Christ, I’m shite at this."

Your eyes searched his. Part of you wanted to press further—to keep pushing until the dam broke—but the other part could see his exhaustion, the way he was leaning slightly against the counter like his legs were struggling to hold him up. He looked so tired. So defeated. And you hated it.

You let out a soft sigh, taking his hand and lacing your fingers through his.

He stiffened.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. There was a question lingering between you, the same one you knew he was struggling to answer.

Tell her.

Don't.

It felt like an eternity had passed when you finally said his name, squeezing his hand gently.

His gaze lifted to yours.

And you let it go.

You didn't push. You didn't demand. You didn't ask. Because this wasn't a fight, you were going to win.

He wasn't ready.

So, instead, you just said, "Promise me something."

"Yeah?"

You hesitated, the words feeling heavier on your tongue than they had any right to be. You swallowed the lump rising in your throat and whispered, "Promise me you’ll come home."

Eggsy stilled.

It wasn't much of a request—more of a desperate hope that this wasn't all leading to some unavoidable ending you weren't ready for. It was an offer of surrender. A silent, exhausted plea to put the pieces back together, to stitch up the cracks before they could break.

He studied you, his tired eyes roaming over the lines of your face as if he could read the question lingering there.

And then he pulled you into his arms, a hand cradling the back of your head. You felt the warmth of his embrace, the weight of his body against yours, and your arms wrapped around him as tightly as you could. For a second, you weren’t sure if he would answer. If he even could.

And then, in the softest voice you'd ever heard, he whispered, "Always."

"For you, always."

[jinwoosbabyboo]

"Safe and sound....Kinda" pt. 2

You went M.I.A. and the LADS Men are stressed!

Xavier

"It's been almost a week Jeremiah we need to check places the hunter association won't look" Xavier was already on the move heading towards the first No-hunt Zone of many. Jeremiah trailed behind him almost jogging trying to keep up.

"I understand that Xavier, but you're not in the right head space to-" Jeremiah swallows his words when Xavier whipped around abruptly getting in his face. "to what? Find the love of my life? I'm done waiting around twiddling my thumbs she could be out there dying for all we know"

Xavier turned on his heels and continued on his path "If your way of helping is planting seeds of doubt then don't follow me"

After two days of non-stop searching he did it. In the deepest parts of the forest Xavier found himself at the tip of your Hunters sword nearly taking his head off. His eyes widened in shock just as yours did when you realized who you were looking at "Xav......?" Your words faded as you dropped your sword and fell into his chest almost knocking him over.

"Where have you been? What are you doing in this zone its dangerous"

"I got pulled into a rift I've been fighting alone for five days" Your breathing was labored before you began to cough. Xavier flinched from the death grip you had on his arm as you tried to keep yourself upright. That's when he noticed your ripped clothes. Since when was your uniform so short and revealing?

It wasn't.

You'd been tearing your clothes to bandage your wounds, but they weren't doing so well considering they were soaked through in old and fresh blood. Your shoes were missing along with your socks. "I kept fighting because I knew...." A cough tore from your chest making your throat burn as you coughed up blood. "....I knew you'd find me" Your grip loosened as you went slack in his arms.

"Of course I'd find you" Xavier managed you wrangle you onto his back as he sent his coordinates to Jeremiah to come and pick the two of you up. "Just hang on a little longer"

Sylus

You dragged your shoulder along the wall of a back alleyway before dropping falling flat on the ground. You don't know how many days it's been since you told Sylus you'd be back in less than a day. Your vision blurred as your head swam from exhaustion and dehydration.

"I see her!" That voice sounds familiar....

You feel two sets of hands on you pulling you into a sitting position, but your head is so heavy. "Just let me sleep for a while"

"No you have to stay up Boss is almost here" Luke?

"Stay with us" Kieran?

You felt that comforting red and black mist engulf you and soon you were cradled in Sylus' arms. If you didn't know any better you'd say Sylus looked as if he'd been crying. His eyes seemed bloodshot, but what do you know you can barely keep your eyes open. You're probably seeing things.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I dropped my phone & a wanderer shattered my watch .... along with my wrist .... I figured if I got close enough to the N109 Zone .... you would find me" A weak smile graced your lips. "Looks like I was right"

"Let's get you home" He whispered and it was the last thing you heard before your head bobbed one last time and darkness consumed you.

Sylus made sure you had the best medical care money can buy while staying in the comfort of his king sized bed. He wouldn't leave your side as you slowly recovered. "Were you crying over me?"

"Shut up and take your pain meds"

Sylus is hard to write because that man got Mephisto on our ass 24/7

Zayne & Rafayel here ♡

[ridingthatd]

𝜗𝜚 ˖ ◜𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 ◜˖𝜗𝜚

˖𝜗𝜚 chosoxfem!reader, nsfw, heavy smut, masturbation, breastfeeding, squirting, filthy, kinky, horny ˖𝜗𝜚

you have always managed to make choso feel stuff he has never felt before, and by now he isn't surprised by the way you always manage to get him turned on by the smallest things you do.

choso wasn't the type to be sexually active, he never had any interest in any sexual activities, it got to the point where he thought he might be asexual not until he met you.

now every god damn second he's near you he's hard. it's concerning at this point the way his dick squeeze up his pants trying to get out free.

you smile at him. he's hard. you simply say his name. he's hard. you innocently wave at him. he's hard. you try to help him with his wounds. he's hard. just one touch from you and he thinks he could cum in his pants, it's driving him crazy why, how and when did he become like this, acting like a teenage pervert who never felt a touch of a woman. he hates himself no he despise himself for feeling like this, for feeling so helpless that he can't just have you, choso lost count from how many times he had dirty thoughts about you, daydreaming about ways he can make you whine his name, ways he can make you squirt all over his face, ways he can make his, fuck you, breed you, he wanna stuff you with his cum, he wanna see his cum squirting out of your pussy from being to stuffed, he wanna-

" choso?.." choso was snapped out of his thoughts by the one and only, the girl that has been driving him crazy, the girl that has him hard 24/7, the girl that is so innocent that she has no idea about how dirty choso was, about how dirty her boyfriends brother was- yes you were yujis little girlfriend, and this is what makes it more dirty.

"I'm sorry the door was slightly opened, I didn't mean to interrupt your privacy" you said in the sweet angelic voice of yours, the voice that always manage to make him whimper from how close it has him cumming in his pants.

he takes a look at you from his desk, and oh god he wish he didn't, here you are in causal clothes, a long skirt that reachs your knees and a buttoned up shirt- no a half buttoned up shirt since you decided to leave the upper half open to bless him with the view of your cleavage, full and round, he bets they would be warm and heavy around his mouth, lash on your nipples they would be so soft, his spit coating them, sucking and gripping on them after an exhausting day.

he snaps out of it and scoff "what brings you here..?" he says in a cold, stern voice lazily moving his eyes from you to the book he was readin- he was supposed to read. "uh.. well.. um yuji said that you haven't been to the hospital after your injury since you hate the place and.." you take a deep breath while fidgeting around with the medical box you have in your hands "i.. i thought maybe i could help you treat your wounds here instead" you nervously say while chewing on your lips avoiding his eyes, choso is speechless how do you always manage to make him feel this way tug on his heart

you start getting anxious by his silence maybe you over stepped his boundaries after all even if you are the girlfriend of his brother that doesn't mean you can act this way, "forget about this-" you were interrupted by choso standing up and making his way toward his bed just to have a seat on it while staring at you with his cold eyes that never failed to have you on your knees "get in and close the door behind you" says choso, yet you still remind standing, speechless "what? weren't you the one who suggested this? don't make me regret my decision." choso said in a soft voice scared that you will change your mind and leave, scared that he won't be able to feel your touch, treating his wounds, hes gone crazy he wants you to treat him just to feel your soft hands on his back where his wound laid, his hard on is already pressing on the zipper of his pants, plusing and waiting for your response luckily he had a blanket on his lap to hide his pervert side from you.

"i- okay." you said softly closing the door behind you, for some reason the idea of having you on his bed with him and you only, door closed, makes him even harder he wouldn't be surprised if his dick sprung out of his pants from how hard he is right now. you take a seat behind him "may I?..." you ask referring to his shirt that you're about to take off, he slowly nodes breathing hard he can feel his whole body getting hot just at the thought of you touching his skin, you slowly take off his shirt brushing your finger against his skin every so slightly, choso fight off the whimper he wanna let out from how good it feels to have your cold fingers brush against his warm body, once the shirt is off you start rubbing a cotton on his wound "does it hurt?.. " you softly whisper sadness filled in your voice, but choso was to drunk off being needy and horny to listen all he can think about right now is the feeling of your hands on him, so good so good he thought, he can feel the percum on his dick, he thinks he might go crazy, his mind is blank as you start gazing your finger tips against his wound whispering so sweetly against his ear he can feel your hot breath " choso? is this okay?" and he lost it he let's out a loud whine that throws you off you quickly push your hands off scared that the sound that left him was out of pain "I.. Im sorry I didn't mean to hurt-"

your words were cut off by choso hissing through his teeth "don't stop." he groaned out, placing your hand where it was you freeze you didn't realize what's happening not until you saw chosos hands under the blanket tugging on what seems like a hard on- no no there's no way choso, your boyfriends brother- you were cut off your thoughts when you hear choso stumbling over his words "I'm sorry shit- im sorry, please don't stop please please" he whines out hips buckling up to meet his hands, he's basically humping his dick in front you while pushing your hand into his back, choso never been the selfish type but this time he can be selfish when it comes to you.

[flemingology]

welcome home ─ alexia putellas x reader

in which: you and alexia share a soft evening together after being apart for international break

warnings: smut (18+), fingering (R receiving), oral (R receiving), little bit of dirty talk but also lots of fluff

wc: 3.4k

an: based on this request. hope you enjoy!

The night air is cool as you step out of your car, the familiar streetlights of your neighbourhood casting a soft glow over the quiet street. It was well past 10pm now, a delayed flight and some traffic issues only delaying your arrival home, much to your annoyance. Your bags are heavy, the one over your shoulder pressing down but your pace quickens as you approach the door.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding in as you fumble with your keys, but before you could even find the right one, the door swings open. On the other side of the doorstep is a sight that you’d grown to miss terribly across the international break. Your financée, dressed in comfy joggers and a hoodie you’d been looking for for ages, but you don’t know if you can blame her for taking it when she looks so cute in it. Her hair is a little tousled, presumably from having lounged on the couch all afternoon, and you feel your heart burst with love.

“Ale,” her name falls from your lips in a way that sounds suspiciously much like a whimper, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when she surges forward and loops her arms around your waist in a way that leaves no room for hesitation. She missed you. Just as much as you missed her. She nuzzles her face in your neck. “Cariño, you’re home,” she mumbles, voice laced with emotion.

You pull back and rest your forehead against hers, after what feels like only seconds but was probably a couple minutes. The smile on her face is radiant, her eyes searching yours with a mix of disbelief and pure, utter adoration. “God, I missed you,” you whispered, closing your eyes and taking in the moment. “I missed you so much, mi vida.”

You and Alexia had only been dating for a couple months, and it was safe to say that you didn’t deal with international breaks well yet. You were used to being together 24/7, playing together for Barcelona and you recently having moved in meant that you were never apart for long. But as starting left-back for the Lionesses, you had your duty every month of going back to England, much to your own and your girlfriend’s dismay. You loved playing for England, and you wouldn’t trade the world for it, but having to miss your lover always made the moments bittersweet.

She leads the two of you inside then, without too many words. You drop your bags in the hallway, leaving them there to pick up tomorrow. And when she doesn’t speak up, doesn’t tell you off for dropping your bags there, ever the clean-freak, you know she’s got it bad. “You look tired.” Her expression softens as she looks at you. You are. You really, really are. Between the delayed flight and the ever-present Barcelona traffic, you were exhausted. “I am,” you started, running a hand through your hair, “but seeing you? Worth more than sleep, Putellas.” Your girlfriend rolls her eyes, but there’s no bite to it as you see a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Flatterer. Come inside, now.”

The scent of your favorite candle hits you first. Vanilla, with a hint of cinnamon. The dim lighting of the living room casts a lazy glow over the room, and you feel the tension ebbing away from your shoulders. There’s a plate of tapas on the coffee table, with an unopened bottle of red wine next to it. It’s not a grand gesture. It’s not screaming for attention. But it’s so her. After two weeks of being away, barely speaking to one another bar the odd phone call, this is exactly what coming home feels like.

“You didn’t have to do all this, Ale,” your voice is barely above a whisper, but she heard. You feel a pair of strong arms loop around your waist from behind, her head finding solace in the crook of your neck. “I wanted to.” She accentuates her words with a couple soft presses of her lips against the exposed skin of your neck.

She untangles herself from you then, grabbing your hand in hers and pulling you towards the couch. You settle into it, your legs curling under you as Alexia sits next to you, your knees brushing against each other. Physical language was both of your love languages, more on display than ever on nights like these. The Spaniard uncorks the bottle of wine and fills up two glasses, handing you one and taking the other one to herself. “To being home,” she says softly, clinking her glass against yours. “To being home.”

Alexia reaches for a piece of tortilla, breaking it in half and holding one piece out to you. You roll your eyes playfully but lean forward to take a bite straight from her fingers. “Didn’t take you for the hand-feeding type,” you tease, licking a crumb off the corner of your mouth. “Only for you,” she shoots back smoothly, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

As you both work through the food, conversation flows easily. You settle, feel the pressure from the last two weeks slowly ebbing away. It’s easy with Alexia, it always is.

“You know,” Alexia starts, spearing a slice of chorizo with her fork, “I’m pretty sure I make better tapas than most restaurants in Barcelona.” You snort into your wine glass. “Oh, do you now? And how exactly did you come to this conclusion?” She shrugs, popping the chorizo into her mouth with an air of confidence. “Years of experience. Natural talent. I’m basically a Michelin-starred chef in disguise.”

“Right. Remind me again who burnt the pan last time we tried to cook together?” “That was a technical error, the stove was too hot.” “Sure it was.”

As the plate empties and you work your way through your second glass of wine, the air begins to shift. What had been playful banter and laughs shared all evening, now turned more soft. Alexia’s arm is draped over the backrest of the couch, tracing soft patterns on your shoulder. “I really missed you, you know,” she speaks up after a couple moments of comfortable silence, bathing in one another’s presence. Your chest tightens a little at her words, not missing the hint of emotion and insecurity laced through her words. “I missed you too, baby. But I’m here now.” You take her hand that was still on your shoulder, and press your lips against the back of it.

“It’s hard,” she admits, sliding her hand down and resting it on your thigh, “when you’re gone. I know it’s selfish, but I just wish you didn’t have to go. Although, and you know this, I am so happy that you’re consistently playing for your country.” You lean into her at that, resting your head against her chest. “Hmm, I get you. I feel the same way. Can’t you just change nationalities?” You feel a chuckle rising from her chest and you know you’ve got her. “We have great food, great weather-” “Great weather?! Mi vida, last time I came we didn’t leave the house once because all it did was pour torrential rain!” You snorted, the memory still fresh in your mind. “Think about it though. We’d never have to spend our breaks apart anymore.”

She leans back a bit, smirking. “And abandon la Roja? My country? My home?” She places a dramatic hand over her heart. “Never.” “You’re telling me you wouldn’t trade paella for fish and chips?” You teased her further. “Not even for you,” she quips back, but the smile was back on her face and that was the only thing you wanted. “Look, we knew what we were getting into when we started seeing each other. But it’s worth it. You’re worth it. You will always be.”

The space between you feels charged now, the wine and the closeness blurring the edges of your usual restraint. Alexia’s hand moves to your thigh, her touch light but deliberate as her gaze drops to your lips. She speaks after another couple moments of silence, the vulnerable moment from earlier now bleeding into something completely different. “I’ve been thinking about this, about us all day,” she murmurs, her fingers tracing slow circles on your leg. “Every time I saw your messages, every time I heard your voice, it was all I could do not to drive to the airport and drag you home myself.”

Your breath catches as her hand moves slightly higher, her thumb brushing just under the hem of your shirt. “Alexia…” you start, your voice a mix of warning and anticipation. “I mean it,” she says, her eyes locking onto yours. “You’re all I’ve been able to think about.” Her words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel your resolve slipping. You lean in slightly, your lips hovering over hers. “Then what are you waiting for?” you whisper. Her lips crash into yours in response, the kiss starting slow but quickly deepening as her hands slide up to cup your face. The tapas and wine are forgotten, the only thing that matters now is her, her touch, her warmth, her body pressed tightly against yours.

The kiss escalates, and Alexia’s hands start to wander. They explore your skin underneath your shirt, softly brushing over all the places she had to miss for the past two weeks. She sits up eventually, causing a whine to fall from your lips as she detaches herself from you, but before you can even complain she picks you up and starts carrying you to the bedroom, your thighs locked around her middle.

The door of the bedroom clicks shut behind you and Alexia drops you, and it’s as if someone flicked a switch between the two of you. The air was still charged, but gone was the desperation, replaced by a sense of belonging and a pure calm. Alexia’s forehead rests against yours, her breath heavy from the intimate moment on the couch earlier. Her resolve is slowly slipping away, the tension building between the two of you. “It’s been too long,” you whisper, closing your eyes to take in the moment. “Too long doesn’t even cut it.” Your fingers tangle in her hair as her lips find yours again, this time with less urgency. You have all the time in the world, and you’re more than ready to put it to good use. 

“Alexia,” you breathe against her lips, her name like a prayer on your tongue. “I’ve got you,” she replies, her hands roaming your back, her touch everywhere and nowhere all at once. “And I’m never letting go.” Her words make you weak in the knees, and it’s as if she reads your mind, because you’re being pushed back, sitting down on the soft mattress as you feel your knees hitting the back of the bed.

“Lie down,” she murmurs, her voice husky but impossibly tender. She trails her fingers down your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Let me take care of you tonight.” Your heart pounds in your chest as you comply, watching her as she follows, settling beside you. “Tell me what you need,” she whispers, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear and tracing her lips up and down the column of your throat. “Just you, Ale.”

Her lips curve into the faintest smile before she starts moving down your body, moving with a deliberate care that is driving you wild. She helps you sit up and takes off your shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room to clean up tomorrow. She leans down and presses kiss after kiss on your exposed sternum, taking her time as if she’s getting to know your body all over again. You’re growing slightly desperate, though, and you don’t know if you have the patience to deal with the way she was going at it right now. “Ale, please,” you feel her smiling against you. “What’s up, mi amor?” “I love you, but please, I need you. Do something.” You weren’t expecting her to comply immediately, but when she does, sliding off your joggers and underwear in one smooth motion, you feel a sense of relief washing over you. 

“God,” she breathes, drinking you in. “You’re so perfect.” Her fingers trace across your thighs, every touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Her lips follow soon after, trailing kisses up and down the sensitive skin. It’s not long before she gives in and gives you what you want, and you know she’s just as desperate for this as you are.

She presses her thumb against your clit, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. You close your eyes and lay your head back, focussing on the overwhelming sense of pleasure that courses through your body at the lightest of touches. She starts to draw circles then, tight little circles that have you feel like you’re floating. Her name slips out, a quiet needy moan that only spurs her on further. “Is this okay?” She murmurs, her voice barely heard above your whimpers. "More than okay," you reply, your hands tangling in her hair, urging her closer.

Her lips curve into a small smile before she dips her head, and soon enough you feel her tongue replacing her fingers. She licks a long stripe up from your entrance to your sensitive nub at the top of your folds, drenching your core in your own arousal. You groan at that, trying your hardest not to be too loud. “Mi amor,” she whispers, taking one of your hands in hers. “Don’t hold back. I want to hear you, por favor. I missed you so much.” She gives another tentative swipe of her tongue at that, gauging your reaction, and she seems satisfied when you let out a needy whimper.

She alternates between flicking her tongue across your clit, sucking on it and dipping her head down further down between your folds to prolong the pleasure and smear your own wetness all over your core. Your hands are entangled in her hair, thighs perched on top of her shoulders, and you’re in a state of pure bliss. Your love for the woman between your thighs is almost enough to make the coil snap that was steadily growing in your belly. “Ale, I’m not gonna last long.”

She seemingly takes your words as a challenge, because instead of slowing down and prolonging the moment, she shuffles and brings her hand up to your core, two of her fingers teasingly swiping through your folds. You groan, feigning annoyance but she knows it’s got no bite when you fist her hair tighter as she teasingly dips them inside. She doesn’t give you more than her fingertips, though, and it’s driving you wild. “Ale, baby, please.” Alexia loves hearing you beg, beg for her to make you feel good, so you know that’s the quickest way you’ll make her fold. And she does, because only a couple seconds later you feel her pushing two of her fingers inside.

The stretch is tight, but it feels so good. Alexia’s fingers are quite thick, and no matter how many times you take them, they still stretch you out so deliciously every time she plunges them inside of you. She sets a steady rhythm, one that wouldn’t need to be kept up too long for you to come. “You’re so tight, cariño, fuck. I missed making you feel good, missed being inside of you. Your pussy feels like it’s made for me.” 

You grow inexplicably wetter at her words, forever a sucker for Alexia talking dirty in the bedroom. The way her Spanish accent laces through her words as she says the most vulgar things, it drives you crazy. You’re edging closer, but you can’t quite tip over the edge. Alexia is making you feel incredibly good, her fingers moving at the perfect pace and hitting all the right spots, but the tight knot in your belly just can’t seem to snap.

“Ale, come up here, please, I want you with me when I cum.” She looks up at you from between your thighs, and you swear you fall more in love with her at the sight. Her eyes are dazed, a lopsided smile on her face and your juices smeared out all over chin. It’s an intoxicating sight, and you almost came at the view of her alone. She crawled up your body, trying her best not to drop her pace, knowing you’re close from the way your body writhes underneath her. She positions herself next to you, leaning on her elbow as her other arm was still working its way in and out of your entrance, the sound of her pushing in and out of you the only sound in the room combined with your frantic moans and whimpers.

She leans closer to you then, her mouth hovering near your ear. “I love you so much, bebé. You have no idea. I can’t live without you. Not when you’re so perfect for me, not when your body feels like it’s made for me.” The words whispered in your ear only spur you on. Alexia knows you’re a sucker for emotional intimacy, she knows it arouses you and she’s using it in the perfect way. “Let go for me, amor, I’ve got you. Always. I’ll always have you. Let me make you feel good.”

It doesn’t take long for you after that for you to reach your peak. You wrap an arm around Alexia’s neck, clinging on to her for dear life as your orgasm ripples through your body. You arch your back into her, tangling your fingers into her hair and let out a desperate moan. Your body feels like it’s on fire in the best way possible, and it’s all due to the woman whose body is stuck to yours. “God, Ale,” you breath, slowly coming down from your high and relaxing your body as the orgasm leaves some aftershocks in its wake.

Your girlfriend quickly gets out of bed, but before you can protest, she’s back alongside you already, a warm cloth in her hand cleaning the mess between your legs. The room is quiet then, save for the rustle of the sheets as Alexia pulls you closer to her, you draping your leg over her midsection as she scratches her nails up and down across your back.

“Are you okay, mi amor?” Alexia asks softly, her voice low and full of concern. She tilts her head to look at you, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead. You nod, unable to do more than a soft hum. The orgasm left you lightheaded, but just not enough for the next words to slip out of you. “What ‘bout you, Ale, I wanna make you feel good,” you mumble, but the tiredness laced through your voice gives you away. She chuckles at that, her chest rumbling and you feel a sense of warmth coursing through you at the sensation. “Don’t worry about me, bebé. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

She presses a kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment. “I missed you so much,” she murmurs, the words muffled against your skin. “Every part of you.” You smile, nestling closer into her. “I missed you too. You have no idea.” Her hand glides up your back, her fingers splaying out to hold you tighter. “I think I do,” she says quietly, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

The gentle rasp in her voice makes your chest tighten, the sincerity in her words sinking deep. She shifts slightly, her movements careful, and reaches for the blanket pooled at the foot of the bed. She drapes it over the two of you, tucking it around your shoulders before pulling you against her again. “You warm enough?” she asks, her brow furrowing with a flicker of concern. You nod, your cheek pressed against the curve of her collarbone. “Perfect.”

Eventually, her voice cuts through the quiet again, this time lighter, teasing. “Now, let me guess,” she says, tone playfull. “You’re going to fall asleep on me, aren’t you?” You smile, your eyes already heavy with exhaustion. “Not on purpose.” Her soft laugh reverberates through her chest, a comforting sound that makes your eyelids droop even more. “It’s okay,” she says, her voice a soothing sound. “I’ve got you.” You drift off to the sound of her heartbeat, her whispered reassurances lingering in your ears as you slip into a peaceful sleep.

[redr0sewrites]

Sick!Hazbin Hotel x Reader Hcs

i love reverse comfort sm. im also currently being brutally murdered by allergies but i prefer comforting others so here we are

🥀 Cw: fluff, crack, teensy bit of angst with comfort

🥀 Pairing(s): Lucifer x reader, Alastor x reader, Vox x reader, Adam x reader

Lucifer:

sick? him? please, the king of hell doesn't get sick!

thats what he claims anyways

lucifer brushes nearly everything off as just plain allergies, he could literally have a 103 fever and be shaking on the floor and would still be pouting and saying he's fine

the thing about him tho is that he's easy to take care of- after a little coaxing lucifer just sighs and nods glumly before pretty much submitting himself to your care

once he's admitted hes sick tho, he wants you around him 24/7

lucifer wants cuddles, hugs, kisses, he just gets so clingy when he's feeling under the weather

THIS MAN LITERALLY BURNS UP WHEN HE'S SICK ITS ALWAYS THE LITTLE ONES WITH THE HIGHEST RAGING FEVERS THAT LAST FOR DAYS like he'll be sweating and shivering and crying he gets hit HARD when he's sick and it happens so suddenly too- like one day he's fine and then the next he looks like he's one small wind away from collapsing

he lowkey feels bad about asking for things when he's sick so he'll say something offhand like "yk im in the mood for soup" and hopes you get the message

ABSOLUTELY THE TYPE TO GET FEVER DREAMS AND START RAMBLING WHEN HES SICK

like he'll wake up from a nap and still be half asleep and he just starts genuinely rambling about literally the most obscure things

lucifer definitely gets nightmares even when he isn't sick, but when hes feeling like shit and is so delirious he can't tell reality from fiction? be prepared for him to wake up crying and shaking, he just gets so so scared :(

lucifer feels bad about you taking care of him and wants to help, but will lowkey end up pushing himself too hard. PLEASE reassure him and tell him it's alright he'll literally melt

once its all over, lucifer will genuinely trust you more after you saw him in such a vulnerable state and is much more likely to come to you instead of hiding how he's feeling in the future

Alastor:

alastor? weak? lmao no

he would literally rather die than admit he's sick like he would literally just keep pushing on

alastor is one of those people that has an iron immune system like he VERY rarely gets sick but when he does its like torture

to even be alastor's partner you'd have to know him for a long time and you'd probably be able to read him pretty well (at least compared to other people), yet even you sometimes miss his sickness in the earlier stages

alastors biggest tell tale sign of being sick? exhaustion. he very rarely sleeps on the regular, but when he's sick that all catches up to him

he also gets more irritable and a little less composed, he'd be more prone to getting angry and would lash out if anyone asked if he was ok

alastors ears would also be turned back slightly, like most animals do when they're being aggressive, but its pretty much only obvious to people who know him closely

alastor never wants to be vulnerable or weak but you notice that his eyelids keep drifting of their own accord, and how irritable he's been, and it clicks to you that he's obviously not feeling well

approach him about it in private, while alastor does trust you he still doesn't want others to knowm

no matter how much you try he will not lay down, take medicine, or do anything (at least at first)

alastor genuinely thinks that he can just push through on his own and lowkey thinks you're worrying too much

however after two weeks of pure suffering and exhaustion, combined with no sleep and your irritation at his lack of will to take care of himself, alastor finally breaks

he'd prob come to your room at like 4 in the morning and just curl up on the edge of the bed, shivering a little but staying quiet

you wake up to him fast asleep, his ears twitching every once and a while as he rests peacefully near you

get a cool towel and lay it on his forehead to break the fever, and he'll just keep sleeping

he probably wouldn't wake up for at least a few hours, months of lost sleep are catching up to him at this point, giving you the opportunity to make him some soup and medicine

alastor will stir a little when you get out of bed but wont wake up, but once he does wake up he wants you to come back

when he's sick he wants you to be nearby, alastor isn't the touchiest person and being sick makes him feel gross, so he wouldn't want to be touched but would want you arround just to know you're there

this is probably the first step in him being more open to vulnerability around you, and while it may have been a bit of an irritating process to get him back to his usual healthy status, it's definitely worth it as he begins to trust you more

Vox:

lowkey a man child (affectionate)

vox is one of those guys who will take care of himself when he's sick, but he'll complain about it every step of the way

i think he's pretty responsible when he's sick, he'll take the day off and relax but won't do much other than that

he likes when you pamper him though, and a part of him lowkey enjoys being sick because he just gets to have your full attention all of the time (as if he doesn't already💀)

vox would be irritated about showing weakness and not being in control, but he wouldn't be irritated at you

if an employee was being too nosy about his wellbeing? yea he's pissed but if you're the one taking care of him, he'll just sigh and let you do what you want

VOX IS ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHOS LITERALLY ALWAYS COLD AND ITS AMPLIFIED WHEN HES SICK

he becomes like a literal ice cube he's SHIVERING and everything

vox has the cutest sneezes too, he glitches out and denies how cute his sneezes are but they really are adorable

vox takes like 2 baths per day when he's sick he hates feeling unclean, and def wants you to join him in the bath (just to relax, get your mind out of the gutter)

vox would be a little pissed about missing work, i think he's a bit of a workaholic and might try to work in bed or sneak some paperwork behind your back

it doesn't work though because he just ends up passing out anyway

vox is big on sleeping when he's sick he's definitely the type to just sleep it off and thats that

like he CRASHES in bed and just does not get up for hours

he sleeps like the dead too, his screen is blank and he barely moves in his sleep

like lucifer, he has fever dreams but they lean more on the weird side rather than the sad side

its funny but instead of talking more when sick, vox actually talks much less. he starts getting super quiet and a lot more needy for your attention

vox is more than happy to return to work and be back on his feet, but will send you a little thank you gift and pamper you in return for taking care of him

Adam:

manchild x2 (also affectionate)

adam DREADS getting sick like he genuinely hates it so much, he sees it as one of his own flaws and it makes him lowkey disgusted at himself

he whines like a baby over a common cold, its almost sad how the slightest sickness will make him act like he's on his death bed

adam whines and complains whenever you aren't around him, he wants cuddles and kisses and is 10x more clingy when he's sick

he has little to no appetite when he's actually sick but gets a huge appetite right after

like you'll have to force him to eat at least a piece of toast per day while he's actually feverish but once he's in recovery he's literally FAMISHED and will ask for so much food

he barely eats or drinks while hes sick it just feels icky to him

i also think he's the type to not want to move like he just collapses on his bed and barely moves an inch (unless you force him)

adam exaggerates when he's barely sick and then underplays it when he's genuinely really sick its lowkey so confusing

like he could have pneuomonia and be half dead and say he's fine but he could have the most common cold and complain foreverrr

he doesn't think you're genuine when you say you want to help him and take care of him, he thinks its just a joke since nobody has ever really taken care of him before

like sure he's been told what to do and bossed around and treated him like a foolish child, but no one has ever sat with him while he's sick and held his hand yk?

while he can be irritable and annoying while he's sick, he apologizes afterwards

its one of the few times he ever apologizes but he genuinely feels bad about lashing out

adam isn't used to being below someone when it comes to status or health and relaxing and letting someone else take care of him is kind of foreign for him, but you both work it out over time

while he isn't the easiest to take care of, he genuinely appreciates that you want to help him and wants to return the favor someday

I WILL MAKE A PT 2 OF THIS WITH MORE FEM CHARACTERS OR WITH HELLUVA BOSS CHARACTERS BUT I DIDNT WANT TO CROWD UP THIS POST TOO MUCH!!!!! ALSO SORRY FOR ANY SPELLING MISTAKES I WROTE THIS WHILE HALF ASLEEP ♥️ HOPE YALL ENJOYED THIS TEEHEE

[write-tama]

"hank.. what am i feeling right now?"

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ connor anderson (4k800) x officer!reader

sypnosis ; connor is very interested in an officer who just joined the police force. after being told the news that they would be joining the team, connor just had to make an acquaintance with them. anything to hear their voice.

containing ; use of you/yours and they/them pronouns! connor struggling to process emotions. hank being a proud father.

author’s note ; hihi! havent written for connor in SO long so i thought this was a cute little way of them meeting each other. connor is a

04.12.24 | 1.9k words

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Everyone knew about the infamous RK800.

The last most developed and intelligent android produced by Cyberlife.

A machine built to hunt its prey and to always accomplish his mission.

But now?

A confused man sitting at his desk, elbows on the surface as he ran the fourth diagnostic this morning.

Connor was never really taught how to feel his emotions, considering that he was forced to compress them from the moment he was made. If he were to feel any sort of emotion, it was either to the scrap factory for him or a hard lecture from Amanda.

But Amanda was gone, and androids were free to express any emotion they pleased.

It’s been weeks since Markus hit the headlines for his famous android revolution. He worked with the government extensively to pass bills in order to settle android rights for the country. Connor, on the other hand, continued to work with the DPD as a full-on detective under the supervision of Liutenant Hank Anderson. Hank was more than just a coworker, but a father figure to Connor. And that brought Connor joy, an emotion Connor was well aquainted of.

But not the feeling he was experiencing now.

Connor couldn’t get his mind off a certain someone who had joined the team a bit before the revolution. You had joined a week prior, and honestly, you were kind of regretting it. As android and human tensions rose, you were on duty 24/7. Originally, you were supposed to start easy with basic patrol around a part of a city, but because you were so impatient in doing the “big kid stuff” you found yourself frequently in the middle of the android and human discourse. Your shifts nearly lasted twelve hours, and you would be absolutely exhausted.

Things are different now. Sure, there were still some situations between the two sides, but it was definitely peace compared to literal boycotts. You sat at your desk idly scrolling through your past cases, making sure that all the information was correct and accurate. On the other side of your desk was a tablet full of notes you had taken after some cases you had to deal with. What you didn’t notice was the android detective constantly glancing at you, watching your every move to see if maybe, at some point, you would notice him.

A loud groan echoing from the desk in front of Connor made him jump, immediately turning his attention to his lieutenant taking a seat in his chair. “Fucking hell..” Hank sighed. “Fowler does nothing but my bust my balls these days, huh?” Connor stared at his partner with his hands folded in his lap and eyebrows furrowed.

“Is everything okay, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, tilting his head.

“It’s nothing too serious. Fowler just wants me to take the rookie on our next homicide case. He insisted that they would be a perfect addition to the team or whatever.” Hank groaned. “Now I’m responsible for two of you fucks.”

Connor, admittedly, felt his thirium pump racing. You? As part of the team? It was almost like he could overheat and shutdown momentarily right now. “I think they would be a great addition to the team.” Connor stated, biting back from smiling. “They have an excellent track record of solving cases in an orderly and timely manner, has caught every perpretrator with their undercover skills, and had a reputation back in their training classes as one of the top students.” He explained. Hank looked over as he was slouched in his seat with arms folded across his chest.

“Jesus, Connor, you sound like some creep searching up their name on Google.” Hank scoffed, half smiling. Though this caught Connor a little off— was he being creepy? He didn’t want to leave a bad impression on you, especially now that you're about to meet for the first time. His face scrunched up in anxiety, feeling as if he made a mistake. Hank immediately took notice and sat up. “Ah— I was just joking, Connor. I’m sure you have uh.. Good intentions.” Hank reassured, though he never said he was exactly good at it.

Hank looked over to you, seeing that you were preoccupied with work despite the fact you haven’t been on a case in a few days now. Hank looked at Connor. “Well.. Why don’t you introduce yourself to them.” Hank suggested, nodding his head over to you.

Connor immediately jolted his head up, a little wide-eyed to even suggest such. “O-Of course.” Connor stuttered out. Connor never stuttered, and though Hank was in a mood after his exchange with Fowler, he certainly didn’t leave that unnoticed.

“Did you just stutter?” Hank asked, a little amused. “Are you.. Nervous?”

“Of course not, Lieutenant,” Connor replied as steadily as possible. “I am an android.”

“Connor.”

“Yes?” Connor replied, mindlessly.

“You’re a deviant, for fucks sake.”

“Oh.”

Connor, to avoid anymore embarassment from the man he deemed his father figure, swiftly got up and started to approach you. Hank watched in pure amusement, not even wanting to stop the boy from probably embarassing himself even further, but at least Hank had some faith in him. He is Detroit’s best god damn detective.

“Hello, Officer (l/n). My name is Connor. It is nice to meet you.” Connor said, putting his hand out for a shake. You looked up from your computer screen only to be met with the most chocolate eyes you’ve ever had the privilege of being in the prescence of. He smiled politely, but behind that smile he thanked Elijah that androids could not sweat, otherwise you would’ve felt the claminess of his palm.

You took his hand and shook it firmly. “A pleasure to make your aquaintance. My name is (y/n).” You smiled generously, and wow, did Connor felt like his pump couldn’t get any faster.. He cleared his throat before darting his eyes to the unoccupied chair that sat next to your desk.

“May I?” Connor asked, gesturing towards the seat.

“Of course, I’m not doing much anyway.” You nodded. Connor took a seat, and for some reason, he struggled to even maintain his balance as he sat himself down. He nearly had to think about how to fold his hands before placing them firmly on his laps and looking at you. Thankfully, you barely realized any sort of struggle as you looked away to take a swig of your morning coffee.

“So..” you said, clasping your hands. “Am I in trouble or anything?” you joked. Connor immediately shot his head up, worried he had made the wrong impression.

“Oh, no— I—” Before Connor could sputter out an explanation, you tilted your head a little and started laughing.

“Relax! I was just kidding!” You playfully waved off. Connor’s shoulders immediately relaxed as a breath he didn’t even know he was holding back escaped his lips. You looked at him curiously, a smile still resting on your face.

“I’m sorry. Usually, I am not like this.” He said, shaking his head a little in embarassment. He was always on his A game and constantly prepared. Why were you the reason for this disruption. “I.. Uh..” He couldn’t think of anymore to say. Suddenly, he got a message through his LED.

NEW MESSAGE:

HANK: tell them u think theyre pretty.

Connor blinked a bit, registering the text message. Hank was at a perfect view watching this unfold. The back of your head was visible but he could see all of Connor’s reactions, who desperately tried to maintain a polite smile.

“I think you’re very pretty, (y/n).” Connor complimented.

“Oh— ah—” A subtle blush began to form on your cheeks as your eyes widen a little, not expecting a compliment from a handsome android such as Connor. “Why thank you, Connor. I wasn’t expecting that as our first conversation.” You chuckled a little. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

Thirium was rushing through his circuits and to his cheeks. The faintest color of blue appeared dusted on his face. “Thank you.” He maintained a calm, neutral voice. They stared at each other for a minute, sort of registering the sort of corny first conversation the two of you had.

“Ah.. I almost forgot to mention.” Connor snapped back to reality. “I came here to introduce myself sfter I heard that you were joining our team on our next investigation. It’s good to make an aquaintance with our future team member.” Connor smiled politely.

“Why thank you. I am very excited to work with you and Lieutenant Anderson.” You nodded. “Though I will miss working with Gavin and Chris’ team.”

Ah, that’s right. You used to work with Gavin. It almost left a bad taste in Connor’s mouth knowing that Gavin probably spat some awful opinions about him to you. Though from the looks of it, you were enjoying your conversation with him which eased him.

“I promise we will a provide a welcoming and safe space in our team, and of course, to make sure you don’t come into harms way.” Connor assured. Though he was mainly promising this to you personally. God forbids Connor seeing you get hurt.

“Why thank you, Connor.” You said, tilting your head. Connor was rather intriguing to you— an android acting this way around you. His LED constantly switched between yellow and blue as if he was making sure to process every word you uttered. Yet he was so human— he would scratch the back of his neck, fidget with his fingers, and shuffle a bit in his seat. You would think someone as advanced as him would at least be able to have a composure, but he was different. It was something you admired about him.

“(l/n), in my office!” Captain Fowler called from the balcony of his room. You looked over to Connor before sighing.

“Well, boss is calling me. I’ll talk to you afterwards?” You suggested as you stood from your seat.

“Of course.” Connor replied, shielding his excitement. He stood up from his chair as well. “I’d be happy to talk again, (y/n).”

“Likewise.” You winked. With that, you left your desk and headed straight to Fowler’s office. Connor stood shellshocked. Did you just.. Wink at him?! Connor’s eyes slowly drifted to Hank, who was chuckling heartily. He gave Connor an assuring thumbs up as Connor made his way back to their desks.

“You’d be a shit detective if this is how you acted all the time.” Hank snickered. Connor grinned a little before taking a seat back at his desk.

“I know.” Connor sighed, leaning a little back in his chair. He at you through the glass walls, noticing your upright posture and the way you listened intently to Captain Fowler’s words. He looked over to Hank before thinning his lips.

“Lieutenant?” Connor asked.

“What is it, son?”

“What am I.. Feeling right now?” Connor asked, a little lost on how to explain it. “I can only think about them— only envision them when I close my eyes. I get nervous and its like my programming has reduced to 0s and 1s.” He sighed, hell, even a little frustrated that you had this affect on him.

Hank with a wide smile, shook his head and looked at Connor with a knowing stare. Connor looked up, both lost while desperate for an answer and maybe even a cure. Hank sat up and made sure to look at Connor right in the yes.

“Connor,” Hank sighed, grinning. “Son, that feeling your experiencing is called love. And your plastic ass better get used to it.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

thank you so much for reading towards the end ! im sorry if its a little messy-- i quickly had to post this before hanging out w some friends but i just wanted to get this out of the way rq! reblogs, replies, and even likes are so so appreciated <3

[muletia]

[tfp] obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader

summary: you cuddle, that's it :)

cw: fluff, comfort, pinch of angst, established relationship, silliness, extremely self-indulgent, the idea spawned in my head and i had to write it immediately

word count: 1200

an: for the anons and non-anons in my inbox: i see you and i appreciate every ask you sent me, some ideas are really lovely and cute and i will write drabbles about them. i just don't want to force myself to write 24/7 because i get burn out very easily, so it may take me some time to answer you all :DD

You can see it in his optics right away. Sadness, regret, exhaustion. He’s utterly drained, even if his frame doesn’t betray it. Always upright, with perfect posture, to set an example, to be a symbol for his people. But you’ve seen through that facade for a long time now.

He approaches you, a small human sitting on his berth with a book in your hands, wrapped in a blanket. And even despite the exhaustion, despite the chaos undoubtedly storming in his processor, he smiles at you. It's faint, but tender, joyous just to be in your presence.

“Hey,” you greet him softly, returning his smile. “How did the mission go?”

“Greetings, my dearest. Unfortunately, it did not end in success.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Do you... want to talk about it?”

The smile fades, replaced by bitterness. The Prime returns, the leader is back. As much as he wanted to tell you everything, the wound was too fresh, too raw. He wasn’t ready to revisit those memories—not yet. He would rather think of you, only you. That was his plan for tonight, for the scraps of time you had left together. It was enough for you to just be by his side, to meet his gaze now and then, to smile. He wouldn’t ask for more; he wouldn’t dare.

“I sincerely apologize, but I do not feel comfortable discussing it at this moment. However, I shall divulge the details to you later.”

“All right, I totally understand. I don't want to push you into anything.”

“For that, I am deeply grateful.”

“But! Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?”

“Your presence alone suffices for me.”

You weren’t entirely convinced. Optimus never asked for more. Never demanded, never took the lead. Sometimes he would request but never initiate. You wonder how you even ended up as a couple. How long he must have suppressed his feelings before you realized your own. But you quickly push those thoughts aside. They’re painful and, most importantly, they belong to the past.

“I don’t know... that feels like it’s not enough.” You know he’s about to protest, to launch into a monologue about how he doesn’t expect more from you, so you cut him off. “Wait. I know what you’re going to say, but this time, I want to actually help you. Have you ever... cuddled?"

His optics widen slightly. He wasn’t expecting that question, nor your assertiveness. But now, he’s profoundly grateful for it.

“I am familiar with the term, though I have never partaken in… cuddling. On Cybertron, other customs of expressing affection were prevalent.”

You’ll have to ask him about that later.

“I see. Would you like to cuddle now?”

Your question catches him off guard. He hesitates. If he says ‘yes,’ he’ll be stepping into completely uncharted territory, stripped of control over himself, entirely at your mercy. If he says ‘no,’ he’ll miss the experience of human affection, of tasting a relationship from your perspective, a human perspective. And it might hurt your feelings, which was the last thing he wanted.

“Yes,” he whispers.

Your wide smile is reward enough for him, though the best is yet to come.

You slide the blanket off one side of your body and pat the empty space beside you. The message is clear, and Optimus knows what to do. Fortunately, he still has enough energy to mass-displace, which he does in a matter of seconds, shrinking to a still-imposing three meters.

“Amazing,” you whisper.

He kneels on both knees to reduce the height difference even further. You’ll still have to climb onto his thighs to make the hug work, but you appreciate the effort. Now, it’s all in your hands.

Even in this position, he’s perfect—straight back, arms resting neatly by his sides. A few indecent ideas cross your mind; you know exactly how to take advantage of his submissiveness towards you. But those plans are for later. This is not the time to be lewd.

“If you feel uncomfortable, let me know right away,” you say, approaching him slowly.

You climb onto his thighs, watching his expression closely for any sign of discomfort, for anything he might not voice but would betray through body language. Luckily, you find nothing—not even when you’re face-to-face with him.

With your fingertips, you gently caress the metal where a human would have a cheek. You’re delicate, exploring uncharted territory. Stroking his cheek as a titan was one thing, but this form was new to you, just as it was to him. So you take your time, allowing him to adjust to the new circumstances, to this form of affection. Your hands move to the back, brushing against his audials until they encircle his entire helm. You shift slightly to the side to complete the embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head against the side of his.

You don’t expect him to return the hug. This time, you expect nothing from him. This is an experiment, a trial. You just want him to stop thinking about everything that happened on the mission and start thinking about the here and now. To focus on you, on the skin-to-metal contact, on the fact that, for now, he doesn’t have to return to the battlefield. That he’s safe. So you’re surprised when you feel heavy hands on your back, enveloping you completely. But you don’t comment; you don’t say a word about it. You let him, because he deserves it.

His world narrows down to you. To your hair, tickling the back of his helm, to the warm skin pressing against his metal. To your softness, your breath, your heartbeat. To your scent, which he knows so well. You surround him from every angle, allowing him to forget the failure he suffered today. You fill his processor, already overloaded with thoughts of you, with even more admiration for your actions—for how you wanted to help him, even though he never asked you to. You are his universe, his galaxy, his sun around which he orbits. His alpha and omega, his beginning and his end.

This position and action are foreign to him, uncharted, incomparable to any other sensation. It wasn’t like holding you on his shoulder; it wasn’t like reminiscing about your smile. This was something new, far more intimate, and not yet fully understood by him. But it was beautiful and captivating. Raw.

“Everything will be all right,” you assure him, your voice resonating through his entire frame. “Everything is all right.” He believes you.

He can’t tell how long the two of you remain locked in each other’s embrace, but eventually, he feels you shifting. The last thing he wants to do now is let you go, still lost in your closeness, but he has no intention of holding you against your will. He releases you from his grasp, and you pull back from his chassis, leaving behind an unpleasant coldness. He wants you back there, pronto.

“Did you like it?” you ask with a smile, your thumb starting to stroke his cheek.

“Immensely,” he replies, looking into your eyes. A smile creeps onto his faceplate. “Might I request another cuddle?”

[tojisth3rdwife]

Part 2

a/n: this one is probably 40% smut parts here. Pregnant sex is the bees knees, speaking from experience. A 💋 will mark where it starts and ends in case you want to skip it. There will definitely be a part 3 lol

BabyDaddyToji was enjoying your pregnancy more than you were.

For starters, and not to be crude but the sex was unmatched. Toji had a thing for cumming inside of you raw before but now?? With the only motivation not to no longer being relevent, there wasnt a day where Toji didnt want to be inside of you.

Granted, he wasnt jumping your bones 24/7. Especially in the beginning. He let you set the tone for that based on your mood. And it was rough in that first trimester. It seemed like as soon as you confirmed the pregnancy , every symptom in the book hit your ass like a mack truck.

You slept majority of the day.

You spent many mornings, afternoons and evenings face down in the toilet.

Your mood was unpredictable, although you did your best not to crash out and frighten Megumi or take it out on Toji.

Even when you did, Toji didnt take it personally.

You’d been snippy with him all night over the smallest things.

He closed the door too loudly when he came in the bedroom, not helping your hormonal headache whatsoever. When he asked you how you were feeling, it was returned with an attitudinal “How the fuck do you think I feel? I cant eat. Im always tired. My back hurts. My head hurts. The dog’s wont stop barking..” you trailed off. Toji approaches where you were now sitting up at the edge of the bed, bent over with your face in your hands.

You were a mess. Your hair. Your skin. You just felt gross and overly emotional, something that was so unlike you. Toji knew it, but unlike you, he at least understood why.

The tears were already flowing by the time he joined you on the bed, reaching for your hands to pull away from your face.

“N-no Toji....” you sniffled, attempting to hide yourself from Toji as he gripped your wrists gently. He smiled as you fought against his strength pointlessly , and he pulls you into him for a hug he knew you needed.

Mind you, Toji was far from perfect. There were plenty of times when he didn’t know how to comfort you or the right thing to say at the right time. But being with you over the years improved his sense of compassion and empathy towards others, meaning you were no exception.

Toji rubbed your lower back, pulling your body as close as he could.

“Im sorry, baby. Seems like today is kicking your ass..” he says with his lips in your messy hair. You chuckle dryly at the sentiment, sniffing back the snot threatening to dribble from your nose.

“Yeah.” You sigh. Toji hums against your crown, slipping his fingers under the elastic waistband of your leggings. Not in a suggestive or sexual manner, just to hold you better. He sat with you for a few seconds in silence before asking you if you wanted him to get out so you could rest.

“No…” you mutter, clutching his t-shirt. You gave in to his embrace and nuzzled his chest, your breath stuttering from the sudden rush of emotions. Toji smirks.

You were so cute when your were stubborn.

In other news…

Your body was gradually changing. Too much in appearance , although your tits were gigantic now, but more in how you felt and responded to your environment.

For starters, nothing tasted or smelled the same, in good and bad ways alike.

The smell of cooking/ grilled meats? ❌

The scent of certain cleaning products and laundry detergents?✅

Megumi’s dogs? (Although you still loved them to pieces) ❌

The sweet and savory combo of pizza and strawberry toaster strudels stacked on top of eachother with the frosting and marinara sauce melding together? ✅

The smell of Toji’s favorite instant ramen? ❌

Eggs? ❌

Yogurt? ❌

Chocolate? ❌

The scent of anything Toji related? His cologne? His after shave? His sweaty shirts straight from the gym? ✅✅✅

But despite all of that, especially once the sickness and exhaustion began to taper out as you entered the 2nd trimester, you were horny.

Like VERY horny, tracking back to the opening statement..

And fuck, Toji loved it.

💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

He’d barely made it inside after returning from dropping Megumi off at school before your hands were at his belt.

“Whoa..” Toji’s brows shot up as well as his hands when you made quick work of undoing his pants and pulling his dick out. He wasnt even hard yet and he still felt heavy in your hand as you stroked him slowly.

Lips at his neck and your other hand pushing his shirt up, you mumbled against his skin.

“I want you so bad it hurts..”

And it did. The spike in hormones, coupled with the increased blood flow down there made everything feel 10 times more intense. All Toji had to do was kiss you and you felt your inner thighs become slippery against each other from his wet you were. After a simple ‘brb’ smooch on his way out the door to take Megs, your clit was engorged and your gummy walls clenched in need of him.

You tried rubbing one out but you were too frustrated to get yourself there.

You needed release.

You needed him in the worst way.

Toji groaned as your expert touch had his dick jumping and swelling to life with every stroke of your hand.

“Hurts?” He frowns at your choice of words. You paused trying to undress him to take Toji’s hand and guide under your large sleep shirt to cup your sex. You had soaked through the fabric of your panties and just Toji’s touch had your walls pulsing.

“Fuck..” he exhaled,taking the initiative to rub your puffy clothed lips as if to sooth you. But all it did was rile you up even more.

“See?” You whimper and Toji cusses under his breath again.

“Shit, babe…How are you always this fucking wet? Hmm?” He tilts his head, now the one taking the reigns.

“Toji..” your breath hitched, breaking and stalling as the rough pads of his fingers rubbed yiur clothed pussy. His fingers found tiny hill of your clit pressing through your panties and he circles it slowly. You gripped his flexing forearm desperately, breathy moans leaving you as your back collides with the wall adjacent to the front door, with Toji’s height eclipsing you in his shadow. He speeds up his antics, all while pressing his lips to your pulse in a gentle kiss.

By the way you keened in his ear, Toji was sure of one thing.

“Gonna cum right here? Right now?” He asks, strumming his middle and index over your civered clit faster. You nod with you mouth agape, digging your nails into Toji’s arm.

“Yesyesyesyesyesbabyplease..fuck..”

Your knees buckled as the wave of pleasure washed over you, a gush of slick staining the your underwear. Anyone walking by outside definitely heard your cry of ecstasy, but Toji never gave a damn about his neighbors.

“Shit..c’mere” he pulls you towards him by the throat for a sloppy breathless kiss, licking into your mouth and catching every moan off your tongue as he rubs your sensitive folds over your drenched panties.

Without warning, Toji picks you up like you weigh nothing to carry you in the room, tossing you on the bed to fuck the ache out of your pussy until it was damn near time for Megumi to get out of school.

But as you began to show around week 14-15, Toji was more mindful of how he handled your body. You assured him that you could take it and encouraged him to go harder, but it was pointless. He was just too damn big and you seemed way too fragile to be bent in half and pounded the way he used to.

The tenderness was welcomed in exchange though..

As much as you loved your belly, you hated how it blocked your view of Toji eating you out. Watching his tongue glide over your puffy lips and clit made you even wetter and Toji lapped it straight from the source. He groaned at the taste of you. Not that he didnt love your pussy’s flavor before you were pregnant but there was something more intense about it now. Even your scent was more potent and addicting, having him thinking about burrying his face between your legs all damn day.

Toji ate your pussy like his life depended on it, swirling his tongue over the hood of your clit and flicking its underside in the way he knew would make you shake.

“Mmmhmm” he moaned against you, hugging your thighs and caressing your baby bump affectionately.

You’d attempted to crane your neck to get a glimpse of what he was doing in the beginning but now you just surrendered to the fact that you wouldnt be seeing anything down there without a mirror for a while.

That was ok though.

Allowing yourself to focus only on what Toji’s lips and tongue did to you made cumming on his face most enjoyable for the both of you.

💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋

“Are you ready to know the sex?” your doctor asks from behind the monitor. You glance at her in surprise, even though you knew the question was coming.

Toji hated that he couldnt be there and damn near walked out on a job if you hadnt convinced him to stay and focus.

But you really wished he was here.

“Could you write it down and put it in an envelope for me?” you asked, doing your best to keep your gaze from traveling over to the big mounted screen on the wall, and your doctor obliged.

That way when you took it to the bakery and asked them to pipe the corresponding color frosting in a pre made jumbo cupcake, it would be a surprise both you and Toji could share.

Taglist: @queendessi24 , @xllizs, @whoreforjjkmen , @hellokittyloverrxox .

Part 1 <<<<<

Part 3 (soon)

The Fushiguro’s <<<<<

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 SNEAKIN' A PIC (ATTEMPT: FAILED)!

FEATURING: fyodor dostoevsky

SUMMARY: you never get to see him like this. is it really so awful that you want to capture the moment eternally? evidently to him, it is. (wordcount: 1.4k; sfw; fem!reader)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: i'll never not make fun of that one panel of him sitting at his computers with his greasy ass hair even if he does look like a pretty princess in every other panel he has. my obsession with naps is being translated into my fics, i already posted a nikolai one posted and also have a dazai one in the drafts HAHA

When you wake up, you feel a weight on your bicep. Your brows furrow a bit in confusion, glancing to your right to where your arm is extended across the bed, but then your eyes fall upon Fyodor, fast asleep and using your arm as a pillow, and you can barely stop the small smile that rises to your lips.

Your arm is numb, but you don’t dare move in fear of waking him up—the clock on your nightstand reads nearly eight am, and you wonder when he finally came to bed last night. You know that he’s been pushing himself day and night to finalize the last parts of his plans, denying himself both sleep and food as he sits at his computers dealing with meetings and preparations 24/7. 

He hadn’t even changed into a pair of pajamas before falling into bed with you, nor had he bothered to get beneath the covers. a part of you wonders if he even meant to sleep, or if he’d just pushed his body too far and only barely made it to the bed before it gave out on him. 

It wouldn’t be the first time. 

You bite back a sigh as your gaze traces over the stubborn man—he always looks delicate in his sleep, in a way that he never does when he’s awake with his eyes shut and his long, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. His expression is the picture of serenity rather than the cold and unapproachable face he wears when he’s awake. 

You think that he’s pretty all the time, but there’s something special about being able to witness Fyodor Dostoevsky in his most vulnerable moments, knowing that you’re the only one he allows to be with him in them. 

You’re half-tempted to reach over to your nightstand with your free hand to try to grab your phone and snap a picture of him. You look over, wondering if you can reach it without jostling your other arm around, but before you can even consider your chances, you hear: “Do not.”

Fyodor’s voice is still thick with sleep. you glance over at him, surprised, but his eyes are still shut, and he hasn’t budged an inch. You wonder if you imagined it, but then his eyes crack open, thin slivers of purple glaring at you.

“Just one for me?” you ask quietly. “No one else will see.”

“No.”

You pout softly but roll back to look at him. He still looks exhausted, the bags beneath his eyes are dark and heavy, and he can barely even hold his eyes open. You reach out, cupping his cheek gently and watching as his eyes slide back shut, a soft exhale spilling from his lips as he lets the side of his face sink back into your arm, dozing back off.

You smile lightly, shifting forward a bit to press your lips to his forehead, stroking his cheek lightly with your thumb.

“I need to get up,” he murmurs, but his eyes are still shut and his voice is thick with sleep. “I need to finish-“

“You will not finish anything adequately in this state,” you chide gently. “If you get proper sleep, you’ll be much more efficient and effective.”

Fyodor looks as if he wants to argue, brows furrowing at your words even with his eyes shut. You only jostle him a bit closer, watching as he shoots you an irate look, but then settles down when he realizes you’re only dragging him closer so that he can rest his head on your chest—a place far more comfortable than your arm.

“Wake me up in an hour,” he finally orders, and you agree absently, knowing that you absolutely will not.

You think, as Fyodor lets himself doze off on your chest, that it’s hard to remember he’s quite literally one of the most dangerous men on this planet. That if he so pleased, he could activate his ability and kill you without a moment’s warning. That he’s a man who is so terrifyingly intelligent that it sometimes comes across as prophetic, and you can’t help but wonder if he speaks the truth when he claims to be led by the Hand of God. 

Your hand smoothes across his back in steady circles, tilting your face down to press your lips to the top of his head. His hair is a bit oily, as he usually lets it get when he deprives himself of basic necessities while he works. You’ll have to convince him to take a bath with you when he wakes up, but you figure it’ll be a battle because you already convinced him to sleep in a little longer, he’ll not want to waste any more time. 

You almost want to pinch him, wondering why everything with him has to be a war when it comes to taking proper care of himself. He rarely even remembers to take his iron supplements on the daily without your prompting, and he knows if he doesn’t take them, he’ll be prone to dizziness and fatigue. For all of his intelligence, you feel like sometimes that you’re a mother dealing with a stubborn child, not your lover. 

“Stop that,” Fyodor sighs, shifting a bit to get comfortable. “Dim your thoughts, dusha moya. I can feel you getting yourself wound up.”

You scowl. “You know, Fedya, maybe you should just drop the whole terrorist plot and become one of those preachers on the radio who pretend to be prophets. Build yourself a cult, make some money. You already seem to know everything, wouldn't be too hard."

Fyodor tilts his head up to look at you, expression so deadpan and unamused that it nearly makes you snort, but you only dip your head down to kiss between his eyes.

"Sleep,” you say, voice softer. “You need it.”

Fyodor doesn’t respond, and when you tilt your head to the side to look at him again, you find that he already dozed back off again, shoulders rising and falling steadily underneath the arm you have wrapped around him. 

You smile lightly and you tighten your arms a bit as Fyodor lets out a puff of air in his sleep, turning his head to lay the side of his face on your chest. In this position, you can see the way his eyes flit beneath his eyelids rapidly, his brain still running rampant even in sleep.

You bring your fingers to his hair to card them through the dark locks, slow and soothing in the way you know he likes, watching as his eye movements slow and his body relaxes into yours. 

Your smile widens a bit before it abruptly falls, laying your head back against the pillow as you finally begin your next challenge: drawing out a battle plan for convincing Fyodor to take a bath with you when he wakes up. 

You sigh to yourself heavily, knowing well that you're about to be facing the most difficult argument of your life with the most stubborn man alive. You can already feel the headache, and you think that you deserve a new picture for your lock screen from how much trouble Fyodor gives you on the daily, but as you side eye your nightstand again and try to calculate whether or not you can reach your phone without waking him up, you feel fingers wrap around your free hand.

You gape in disbelief as you look down to see Fyodor grab your hand in his sleep, as if he knew what you were planning even when not conscious.

Unbelievable, you think bitterly, plan entirely thwarted, but your gaze softens at the sight of him fast asleep on your chest, clutching your hand with one of his.

Maybe you don't need a picture, you realize, because you think there's no way you'd ever allow this image to fade away from your mind.

Still, you think he should severely reconsider his line of work.

Even more so now, in fact, because there is something entirely abnormal about his seemingly perfect foresight, evidently flawless even in his sleep too.