#Protective Partner

[d-z20]

Breaking Point

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: Agatha goes up against the Scarlet Witch in a fight and refuses to back down until the end, no matter what it may cost her. Her injuries are severe and you tend to her them, providing comfort into the night

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, hurt (A physical & R emotional but not by each other), whole lotta comfort, protective reader

Words: 1.8k

A/N: Fic is based off this request. I should clarify that I actually don't watch MMA so I'm really sorry if there's inaccuracies, I gave myself a crash course for Heavy Hits so I'm hoping it's all okay.

AO3 | Master List

The atmosphere is tense

The lights in the arena shine brightly, casting a dramatic glow over the octagonal cage at the centre. The crowd roars as “The Scarlet Witch” is announced, Wanda Maximoff striding confidently into the ring. Her crimson gear matches the fierce energy in her eyes. Across the ring, Agatha Harkness, your girlfriend, is a vision of defiance.

It’s deafening, the crowd’s energy crackling like electricity in the air. You stand just outside the octagonal cage, gripping the metal fencing as though it might somehow hold you upright. The referee is giving final instructions, but your eyes are locked on Agatha. She stands tall, her lean frame wrapped in a sleek purple sports bra and matching compression shorts, her hands taped beneath her open-finger gloves. Her dark hair is pulled back tightly into a braid, leaving no distractions. She looks lethal—confident and determined.

But you know her better than anyone. Under her stoic expression, there’s always a flicker of doubt before a match, one she’d never admit to. As her partner in and out of the gym, you’ve seen her highs and her lows. And this fight? This one feels different. Facing Wanda Maximoff is like stepping into a storm. Wanda has a reputation: precision, aggression, and devastating power.

You’re here as part of Agatha’s cornermen. Not just her girlfriend but her trainer, sparring partner, and the person she trusts most to see her through battles like these. It’s your role that allows you to stand so close to the cage. Still, you hate being this near. You hate feeling so helpless.

“Let’s go, Agatha!” You shout as the bell rings, your voice almost lost in the roar of the crowd.

The fight begins cautiously. Wanda moves like a predator, light on her feet, her red-and-black shorts glinting under the arena lights. Her punches come fast, jabs testing Agatha’s defences. Agatha responds in kind, her kicks snapping out sharply, keeping Wanda just out of reach. For a moment, it looks even. They exchange blows, neither landing anything decisive. Your heart races every time Agatha ducks or blocks a strike—so far, so good.

But as the first round wears on, Wanda’s strategy becomes clear. She isn’t just fighting to win; she’s fighting to break Agatha down. Her strikes grow heavier, targeting Agatha’s ribs and legs. Agatha manages to return fire, her high kick glancing off Wanda’s temple, making the redhead stumble. You surge with hope, pounding the cage wall in support.

“Beautiful! Keep her on the ropes, Aggie!” you yell.

But Wanda recovers too quickly. She counters with a vicious combo—an uppercut followed by a low kick that makes Agatha’s stance falter. The bell rings to signal the end of the first round, and you rush to her corner.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, your hands gentle as you wipe sweat from her face with a cool towel.

“I’m fine,” she says, but her breathing is laboured, and you can see the faint beginnings of a bruise forming on her ribs. “She hits like she’s trying to kill me, though.”

“Stick to the plan. Keep moving. Don’t let her back you into the cage,” you say firmly, holding her gaze. “You’ve got this.”

The second round is brutal. Wanda turns up the aggression, landing a spinning kick that sends Agatha staggering. You clench your fists, shouting at the top of your lungs, willing her to keep going. Agatha fights back fiercely, landing an elbow that opens a small cut above Wanda’s eye. But it isn’t enough to slow her down. By the end of the round, Agatha is clearly hurting. Her breathing is ragged, and she’s clutching her side.

“Let me call it,” you plead as the medics check her during the break. “Agatha, you’ve done enough.”

“No,” she says sharply, her eyes meeting yours. “I’m finishing this.”

The third and final round begins, and you hold your breath. Agatha gives everything she has, landing a solid right hook that makes Wanda stumble. For a moment, you dare to hope. But Wanda is relentless. She unleashes another devastating combo—a liver shot, followed by a spinning backfist that sends Agatha crumpling to the mat. The referee steps in immediately, waving Wanda off and calling a technical knockout.

You don’t wait for permission; as soon as the match is over, you’re in the cage. The sight of her lying there, blood trickling from her lip and her face already swelling, breaks your heart. She’s clutching her ribs, her breaths shallow and ragged.

“Agatha, my love, I’m here,” you say, your voice trembling, dropping to your knees beside her. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Her eyelids flutter open, and she manages a weak smile. “I totally won that, didn’t I?”

“Always the joker,” you whisper, brushing her damp hair back. “You fought like hell, sweetheart.”

With the help of the medical team, you carefully lift her, her weight pressing against you. Her arm is draped over your shoulders, and you wrap your arm securely around her waist. Every step out of the cage is agonising, her quiet whimpers slicing through you.

Back in the locker room, you lay her down gently on the physio bed. The medics confirm a fractured rib and multiple bruises but assure you it isn’t life-threatening. As soon as they leave, you stand at her side, holding her trembling hands.

“Agatha, why do you do this to yourself?” you ask, your voice breaking as you clean her up. She hisses in pain when the antiseptic touches her skin, but she doesn’t complain.

“Because I love it,” she says softly. “And because I have you to patch me up.”

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter, but your touch is gentle as you bandage her ribs and ice her swollen cheek.

—

The drive home is quiet, the weight of the night pressing heavily on both of you. Agatha leans against the car window, her face pale beneath the faint streetlights. Her breath hitches every time you hit a bump, and each sound twists like a knife in your chest. You’ve never felt so desperate to wrap her in safety, to shield her from the pain she insists on enduring for the sport she loves.

When you finally pull into the driveway, you turn off the engine and sit for a moment, just looking at her. Her eyes are closed, her brow slightly furrowed even in rest. You reach over, gently brushing your fingers over her cheek. She stirs at the touch, her lips curving into a faint smile.

“Caught staring?” she murmurs, her voice hoarse but teasing.

“As usual,” you reply softly. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll carry you inside,” you insist.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, but there’s no bite in her words, only affection.

“I don’t care,” you reply. “You’re not walking.”

Despite her protests, she lets you carry her up the driveway, the weight of her in your arms a grounding reminder that she’s still here, still whole despite the bruises and fractures. You settle her carefully onto the couch in the living room, arranging pillows around her and draping a blanket over her lap. She sighs as she sinks into the cushions, her body finally relaxing a fraction.

“Stay,” she whispers, her eyes fluttering open to find yours. “Don’t run off.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you assure her, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But you need food, Aggie. You haven’t eaten since before the fight.”

She grumbles something unintelligible, but the corner of her mouth quirks up as you disappear into the kitchen. You rummage through the fridge and cupboards, settling on her favourite comfort food—a simple grilled cheese sandwich with a cup of warm tomato soup. It’s nothing fancy, but you know it’s exactly what she’ll want.

When you return, her eyes light up at the sight of the tray. “You spoil me,” she says, her voice laced with affection.

“Rotten,” you tease, kneeling beside her as you set the tray down on the coffee table. “Now, eat. Slowly.”

She obeys, though her hands tremble slightly as she leans forward to pick up the sandwich. You watch her carefully, ready to step in if she needs help. Between bites, she keeps glancing at you, as if grounding herself in your presence.

Once she’s finished, you clear the tray and return with a glass of water and the prescribed pain medication. She tries to wave you off when you fuss over her, but you catch the way her eyes soften every time you adjust her blanket or tuck her hair behind her ear.

“Movie or book?” you ask once she’s settled again, her head leaning back against the cushions.

“Book,” she says after a moment of thought. “Something soft. Something... distracting.”

You nod, disappearing into the small shelf by the window. You pick a collection of short stories about witches you know she loves; its worn cover is a testament to how many times you’ve read it together. Returning to her side, you slide onto the couch, gently easing her to lie back against you. She winces slightly as she shifts, her body pressing into yours, but once she’s settled, her sigh is one of contentment.

“Comfy?” you murmur, wrapping your arm carefully around her waist, mindful of her ribs.

“Perfect,” she whispers, her voice heavy with exhaustion.

You begin to read, your voice soft and steady as you let the rhythm of the words wash over you both. Agatha’s breathing slows, her body melting into yours as you turn each page. Occasionally, she murmurs a comment about a line she likes, her voice laced with sleep.

By the time you reach the third story, her eyes are closed, her head tucked beneath your chin. You let the book fall to your lap, your hand shifting to stroke her hair gently. The tension from earlier in the night begins to ebb away, replaced by a warmth that feels like home.

—

Later, as the night deepens, you coax her into the bedroom. She protests faintly, her voice slurred with sleep, but you’re firm. “You’ll rest better in bed,” you say, kissing her forehead as you guide her to the mattress.

You tuck her into bed, piling pillows behind her to keep her comfortable. She looks so small, so fragile, and it breaks your heart all over again. You climb in beside her, pulling her carefully into your arms.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice thick with exhaustion. “I hate making you worry.”

“You don’t have to apologise,” you say, stroking her hair. “Just... let me hold you, okay? I need to feel you’re here.”

She shifts, pressing her weight into you, her head resting on your chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers. “You’re stuck with me.”

You hold her tightly, the warmth of her body melting away the fear and tension that have gripped you all night. She’s here, safe in your arms, and you’ll never let her go.

To anon who requested it: I hope you enjoyed :)

[yanderejustforyou]

The Penguin

Oz x Reader

So I’m now obsessed with the idea that Oz likes to swim (I read the A03 fic depths)

I would love a fluffy fic with PDA

Oz and Reader at the water park

Go wild - I love your writing 🩵

The sun hung high in the azure sky, its rays casting a warm, golden light that danced over the vibrant, bustling water park below. The air was filled with the infectious laughter of children, their squeals of delight mingling harmoniously with the rhythmic sound of rushing water cascading down slides and into pools. The unmistakable scent of sunscreen mingled with the sharp, chlorinated aroma of the pools, creating a distinct summer atmosphere that promised endless fun and adventure. It wasn’t Oz’s usual kind of outing—he was more accustomed to quiet evenings with his mother or the soft glow of a dimly lit office—but when you had playfully asked him to join you, his steadfast resistance had crumbled, as it often did in your presence.

You couldn’t help but smile at him now, standing beside the wave pool, looking a bit out of place yet undeniably charming in his fitted swim shirt and colorful board shorts. His typical impeccable attire, tailored suits and polished shoes, had been traded for something far more casual, allowing his personality to shine through in this vibrant setting. He waddled slightly, his penguin-like gait exaggerated as he adjusted to the unfamiliar and carefree atmosphere, but there was something endearing about it that made your heart swell with affection.

“Stop staring,” he grumbled, feigning annoyance, though a playful smirk danced on his lips, betraying his true feelings.

“I can’t help it. You’re adorable,” you teased, playfully reaching up to straighten the sunglasses that perched on his nose, which had slipped slightly from the force of the sun’s rays.

He huffed in mock irritation, but his eyes softened with warmth as he looked down at you. “You’re lucky I like you, doll,” he replied, his voice low and teasing, making you feel all the more cherished.

“I know,” you replied confidently, leaning up to plant a gentle kiss on his cheek. The light blush that crept up his neck, betraying his usual composure, made your heart flutter with delight.

As the wave machine roared to life, producing a sound reminiscent of distant thunder, Oz’s eyes lit up with a mix of curiosity and excitement that you had rarely seen before. Without a moment’s hesitation, you seized his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as you pulled him toward the inviting, shimmering water.

“Oz, you’re going to love this!” you exclaimed, your enthusiasm infectious.

He grumbled something about being too old for such frivolities, but the moment the first wave crashed against him, soaking his board shorts and splashing water everywhere, his expression shifted dramatically. A genuine, boyish grin spread across his face, lighting up his features, and he instinctively pulled you closer to him, keeping you steady as the waves grew stronger and more formidable.

“You’re right,” he admitted, laughter spilling from his lips as another wave hit, the cool water drenching you both. “This ain’t half bad.”

You wrapped your arms around him, the water swirling around your legs, creating a sensation of freedom and joy. “Told you so,” you replied triumphantly, feeling a sense of victory in convincing him to let loose.

Oz’s hands found their place on your waist, steadying you against the undulating push and pull of the water that surrounded you. The public nature of the setting did nothing to deter him from leaning down, his lips pressing softly against your forehead in a sweet, lingering kiss that seemed to savor the moment.

“Thanks for dragging me out here,” he murmured, his voice low, filled with sincerity and a hint of gratitude.

“Anytime,” you replied, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calming you amidst the splashes and cheers of the park.

The day unfolded like a beautiful tapestry woven with laughter, shared glances, and lighthearted fun. Oz even surprised you by summoning the courage to go down one of the smaller water slides, though he insisted, with a mock-seriousness that was hard to resist, that he was merely “testing it out.” He bought you a delicious ice cream cone from a nearby cart, and when a group of teens recognized him, his protective arm instinctively tightened around your waist. He brushed them off with his usual gruffness, a mix of annoyance and protectiveness surfacing, leaving you both amused and touched by his demeanor.

As the sun began its descent in the sky, casting a warm glow over the water park, you found yourselves back in the wave pool, floating together in the gentle, rhythmic swells. Oz pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours, and for a moment, the world around you faded into a soft blur of colors and sounds.

“You make life feel a little less... heavy,” he admitted, his voice low but sincere, carrying a weight of emotion that resonated deep within you.

You smiled, your fingers brushing along his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. “And you make me feel safe,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, but it held a truth that was undeniable.

In that fleeting moment, he kissed you then, slow and deliberate, unbothered by the playful chaos that surrounded you. The world faded further away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms, as if nothing else mattered but this shared moment of connection and joy. It was a kiss that spoke of new experiences, deepening feelings, and the promise of many more adventures together, each one more delightful than the last.

As the day wore on, you convinced Oz to try the lazy river. It wasn’t a hard sell—he liked the idea of floating along without much effort. The two of you grabbed a double tube, and Oz insisted on sitting in the back so he could keep an eye on you.

“This is more my speed,” he said, leaning back as the current carried you both forward. His legs stretched out on either side of the tube, and his hand rested lazily on your knee.

“You’re relaxed for once,” you teased, tilting your head back to smile at him.

“Don’t get used to it,” he shot back, but the corner of his mouth twitched up in a grin.

You reached out to trail your fingers along the water’s surface, the coolness a perfect contrast to the warm sun overhead. When the lazy river passed under a cascading waterfall, you squealed as the droplets splashed over you, and Oz chuckled, shaking his head like he hadn’t been hit too.

“Come on, Oz,” you teased, turning to face him in the tube. “Admit you’re having fun.”

He smirked, his hand slipping up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’d have fun anywhere, long as you’re there.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the unexpected sweetness of his gesture, an unanticipated thrill that sent a rush of warmth through you. Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, he leaned in closer, bridging the gap between you, and pressed his lips against yours in a soft, tender kiss. Time seemed to suspend itself in that instant; the lazy current of the day faded into the background, and the outside world dissolved, leaving just the two of you enveloped in a cocoon of intimacy, like a delicate bubble that shielded you from everything else.

As the sun began its slow descent, casting the surroundings in a rich, golden hue that seemed to enhance the beauty of the moment, you playfully persuaded him to take one last plunge down the water slide. It wasn’t the tallest or the fastest slide you had ever encountered, but it held its own kind of excitement, enough to make your stomach flutter with anticipation. You could hear the rush of water beneath you as you both soared down, and laughter erupted between you like a shared secret, echoing joyously against the backdrop of splashes and delighted screams from other park-goers.

Once you reached the bottom, breathless and exhilarated, you began toweling off, the warm sun drying your skin. As you glanced over, you noticed Oz stealing a quick glance at the family locker area nearby. Your attention was drawn to a little boy who was visibly upset, tears streaming down his cheeks, with his goggles hopelessly tangled around his neck. Without waiting for a second thought, Oz crouched down to the child’s level, exuding a surprising gentleness that warmed your heart even more. His typically rugged demeanor softened as he carefully worked to untangle the strap, his movements tender and reassuring.

“Are you good, kid?” he asked, his usually gruff voice adopting a softer tone that made you smile. The little boy nodded, sniffling as he looked up at Oz with wide, awe-filled eyes, as if he were gazing at a superhero come to save the day. It was a sight that struck you—seeing Oz's nurturing side revealed in such an unexpected way.

When Oz finally returned to you, the familiar air of confidence surrounded him once more, but you couldn’t help but notice the lingering warmth in his expression, a hint of pride perhaps, or maybe just the afterglow of kindness.

“You’re such a softie,” you teased playfully, bumping your shoulder against his, relishing the closeness.

“Don’t spread that around,” he muttered, a mock-seriousness in his tone, but you could see the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. His hand found yours effortlessly as you began walking toward the park exit, fingers intertwining comfortably, solidifying the connection that had blossomed between you. The day had been filled with laughter and unexpected moments, but this—this simple act of holding hands—felt like the sweetest cherry on top of a perfect day.

By the time you got home, the two of you were exhausted but happy. As you collapsed onto the couch together, Oz wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“Today wasn’t so bad,” he admitted, his voice low.

You laughed, snuggling against him. “Told you you’d have fun.”

He didn’t respond, just pressed a kiss to your temple, letting the silence speak for itself.

[fantastic-nonsense]

society if Two-Face was Batman's arch-nemesis instead of the Joker:

[savvy-devine666]

Chapters: 32/? Fandom: Helluva Boss (Web Series) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Octavia Goetia/Original Female Character(s), Millie/Moxxie (Helluva Boss), Blitzo/Stolas Goetia Characters: Stolas Goetia, Stella Goetia, Octavia Goetia, Millie (Helluva Boss), Moxxie (Helluva Boss), Hellhound OC - Character, Original Female Character(s), Blitzo (Helluva Boss), Robo Fizz (Helluva Boss), Striker (Helluva Boss), Loona (Helluva Boss), Wally Wackford Additional Tags: Humor, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Family, Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Class Differences, Minor Character Death, Angst, Kidnapping, threat, Canon-Typical Violence, Language, emetophobia warning, Homophobia, Canon-Typical Racism, Slice of Life Summary:

Storm is the Hellhound of Octavia Goetia, this collection of oneshots explores how the pairs relationship changes as it deepens and love forms in the midst of hate, confusion, change and adversity.

[drizzledrawings]

Flora and her DAD!!! (Henry) Her gay cowboy parental figure!! And nothing bad happens to them ever!!! I promise

[kev-day]

ok yesterday i saw a post about how kevin lost $10 in a bet about neil which was silly goofy and whatever but it got me to thinking about how actually kevin has so much faith in his people that i could bawl my eyes out.

[mysicklove]

𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

DAY 15: HYBRIDS

With: Megumi Fushiguro

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Sub + cat hybrid! Megumi, AFAB + owner! reader but no pronouns, reader is implied to be smaller than him, vaginal penetration, creampie, slight breeding kink, birthcontrol mentioned and used, purring/licking/mewling, he calls you his "mate" and u tease him bout it, needy megumi,

A/N: i had alot of fun with this one tbh. but also I usually write gn! reader, so dealing with readers pleasure is so hard to write about lol. i am so used to only catering to what feels good to the character.

Owning a cat was way easier than you thought it was going to be. Well, at least owning a cat hybrid was. Megumi, your adorable, slightly temperamental, and moody black cat has been living with you for about five years now, and you love him desperately.

He stays at home while you go off to work each day, but he never complains, instead just sleeps the day away. In fact, you tried introducing him to the neighbor’s hybrid, a lab named Yuuji as a playmate, but he blatantly refused, growing annoyed almost immediately at how upbeat the dog was. Megumi preferred silence, sunbathing, sleeping, and your full attention. He was okay being at home alone until you got back.

He currently lays on the carpet, curling up in the warmth of the light, and dozing off when he hears the sound of your keys working their way into the hole. His ears dart toward the noise, and a smile creeps up his face, but his eyes remain shut, and he pretends to be asleep.

You open the door and sigh, eyes darting around the apartment to find your cat. When you catch him on the floor sleeping, you smile, shutting the door behind you and setting your stuff down on the counter. You make your way over him, dropping to your knees, and then finally laying down next to him. 

You stare at his relaxed, content face, and begin to reach out to touch him affectionately. He grabs your hand before you make contact with his skin, and pulls it forward, pulling you into his chest. Then he wraps his arms around your boddy, intertwines the two of your legs, and nuzzles his face on top of your head, purring gently. 

“Hi Megumi,” You mumble against his chest. “You are so warm.”

He nods, tail swinging behind him. “Been in the sun all day,” He breathes, and you hum, curling up against him. “...Missed you,” Megumi whispers lowly, still rubbing his cheek against your head.

You chuckle at him. “Oh whose this? My Megumi would never say something so sappy,” You tease, pulling away to look up at him.

He pouts, ears falling flat on his head as he rolls his eyes. “Am I not allowed to miss my mate?” He complains, but licks a stripe up your hair, still purring. 

You groan when you feel his inhumane tongue lick your face. “Hey, stop it. No grooming, humans don’t do this.” You try to push him away, but he ignores you, wrapping his arms tighter around you and pulling you closer. 

His purrs grow louder when you finally give up, and you watch his tail swing back and forth from behind him. He licks at your face, and then your hair, and finally your neck. You shiver slightly, still not used to the attention even after all these years. “You stink,” Megumi mumbles into your neck, using his tongue to wipe away some of the gross scents that clung to you.

“You want me to take a shower?” 

He grips you harder, shaking his head into your skin. You feel his crotch press into your backside, and you raise your eyebrows, but don’t say anything. “S’fine. I don't like it when my mate smells like other men though.” He rubs his neck onto any surface he can, scent marking you as his.

You roll your eyes, but smile. He was being strangely affectionate today. Usually, it was you who has to initiate physical contact and doting words. “Just coworkers, possessive cat. What’s got you all worked up today?”

His hips move closer to yours, beginning to grind himself on you. “Wanna do it,” he whispers, so low that you could barely hear him. His cheeks pinken, but you can't see them, so you cant tease him about it.

You move your hips backward, meeting him halfway. He lets out an airy breath onto the back of your neck, and you shiver at the feeling. “Yeah? You haven’t been thinking about it all day, have you?”

He feels his cheeks begin to burn. “Shut up.” A definite yes. His semi-hard cock continues to grind on your clothes, and you sigh at the feeling. You quickly manevour yourself to turn to look at him, and he pouts slightly, ears drooping, from the loss of stimulation. You roll your eyes with a grin, and tug at his pants. “Right now? H-Here?” He stutters, but helps you pull down his pants, obviously not too against the idea.

“Don’t get so nervous on me now. What happened to my brave cat who was basically grinding himself on me just a couple seconds ago?” You tease, kissing at his neck and pulling a small mewl from him. He gulps, baring his neck slightly to let you plant more kisses on it. He grips onto the back of your head with shaky hands, encouraging the action.

You slip your hands into his boxers and he gasps, mouth hanging slightly open and eyes squeezing shut from the attention. You pull it out, and then proceed to pull your pants down. “Hurry,” He demands, tilting your head up to kiss you. 

It's a desperate sort of kiss, both of his hands cup your face and bring you impossibly closer to him. It makes it harder to remove your clothing, and you can feel him begin to grind onto your stomach. 

You are forced to pull away to unbutton your pants, and he whines in complaint. “Such a spoiled brat,” You tease affectionately, “Cant go one minute without being touched? Are all kitties this needy?”

He looks away from you, pouting again, but you just giggle and kiss his jaw, finally removing your panties. “Don’t know. Don’t wanna think bout it. Do you not like when I am needy?”

He holds back a smug smile, knowing that this will definitely give him brownie points. He is right of course, because the next second you are littering his face and neck with kisses, while he purrs, soaking all the attention up. “Of course not. You are so cute needy.” 

He nods, smart enough to know that an argument will break out if he doesn't. So he smiles contently, melting under you and your soft touches. Finally, you grab his cock and press it against your entrance. Megumis mouth waters at the feeling, the warm welcoming sensation of your folds. 

“Do you…uh…Don't you need to be prepp–oh fuck,” He groans, throwing his head back as you sink onto his cock without much hesitation. You sigh into his chest, adjusting to his length — he was slightly bigger than adverage, and every time you take it, it always feels like a stretch, but it was an addicting sensation.

The two of you turn to where he lays on his back, and you on top of him, chest to chest. He grabs at your hips, hands shaking as he restrains himself from moving you up and down on his length. His eyes are screwed shut and his ears are pinned to his head. “Hey, relax. Why are you so tense? It’s okay for you to move, sweetheart.”

He heaves a sigh of relief, and nods, while you bring your hands up to pet his ears. He leans into the touch, purrs increasing in volume as he lifts your hips up and back down. He repeats the motion a couple of time, pants getting louder and half lidded eyes peering down at you. You in return have your own blush, its softer than his, but definitely noticeable. “I…Can I…Fuck this is so–Can I thrust…into you?”

He fumes red, and he turns his face into the carpet, embarrassed by his lewd words. Even after all this time, he is unbelievably shy, and can never voice what he wants in bed. “So polite! Must of trained you well.” He nods, ears flickering to you at your sweet words. “Of course, kitty. Dont gotta ask, ‘m all yours.”

Immediately he wraps his arms around you, pinning you to his chest, and begins to thrust upward. Your eyes widen slightly at his pace, and the roughness of it all, and you groan into his skin. He moans at the feeling, breath heavy, matching his pace. “Oh fuck. This. This I was–fuckkk—waiting for this all day!”

You pant into his chest, a smile pulling at your lips. “Y-Yeah?” You encourage, and he nods with a hum. Loud slapping of skin on skin fills the room, and his tail reaches up to wrap around your wrist. His cheeks are stained a permanent pink, and his chest rises and falls quickly with every pant. 

You managed to shakily reach up to his ears, grabbing the both of them and giving them a small tug. He yelps slightly, back arching, but then moans into the touch. It was cute, he was super temperamental about the black ears. On some days he wanted you to pet and rub them, on others he wanted you to pull and abuse the sensitive areas. Today was the latter.

“Was–Was fucking my hand thinking bout you. Not as good. My mate is so warm,” His voice vibrates with a purr, and you chuckle at him above the lewd noises. It was endearing to watch his body succumb to pleasure. His voice always held a purr, but he still managed to make every human like sound with the addition to the vibration.

Eventually he flips the two of you over, his arms caging you in under him, as he licks and kisses your neck. “Mhmmm. Mine, mine, my mate. Love you. Love you so much,” He chants into your ear, biting at the lobe while continuing to thrust into you at a merciless pace.

“S-So talkative today,” You mumble, gripping onto the carpet at a particularly harsh thrust. Usually, you were the one leading the dirty talk. He whimpers at the words, pressing his entire body on top of yours. He liked to be touching, and as much skin as he could, the better, but of course he would never admit that outloud. 

“Dont know why. Just missed you. Fuck I missed you. Why do you leave for so long?” He complains between breaths, his voice holding a dramatic whine to it. He nuzzles his face into your neck, scenting the area while you reach back and scratch his ears. “Why–Why…Hah.. Can’t you stay here with me? Th-Thought you loved me.”

He was being unreasonable and the both of you knew it, but today he was being weirdly sappy and clingy, so you didn’t mind having to reassure him. “Love you so much. You know why.” You feel his teeth graze into your skin, and he probably has his ears pinned back. “Ill try to work from home more, how does that sound?”

He nods, mewling happily to himself. Then he goes back to panting into your skin, licking and biting any surface he can lay his mouth on. You dont try to stop him, knowing if you do, he will probably get all pouty.

“Can I cum? P-Please? Been good, right?” He hasn’t really, other than the sweet words he has let out, he has not be gentle at all. You will probably be stumbling by tomorrow. His pace is desperate, frantic even, that makes you begin to lose your mind.

But he was feeling good, and your thoughts were draining anyways. “Sure, love, I’m c-close too,” You sigh, closing your eyes and pressing your face against the carpet as you begin to feel that tightening feeling build up.

He gulps and nods, kissing your cheek. “Inside? Please?” His words come out as a whisper, obviously hesitant about the question. He has been day dreaming about this for weeks, to finally cum inside you, but never mustered up the courage to ask. Today, he was feeling good, and you seemed to be happy at his behavior, so it was the best time to ask.

Your orgasm hits you out of the blue, and you are left trembling on the floor. Your eyes roll back slightly and you heave, “S’fine Megumi. J-Just cum!” You were on birthcontrol, it was okay just this once. Your thoughts were scrambled from the intensity of your orgasm.

His pace picks up again and you shiver at the feeling, while he lets out low mewls and purrs, happy at your choice. “Im cumming. Thank you, thank you,” He mumbles into your ear, and then latches onto your neck as he shoves himself as deep inside of you as possible, and cums.

He throws his head back and groans, arms trembling. It feels so much better than cumming inside a condom or pulling out. You are so warm, and the idea of the possibility of him breeding you, leaves him shivering with glee. He would never tell you this of course, you would most definitely call him a perv or an animal.

He collapses on top of you, practically glowing, and purring happily from above. He flips the two of you over so that you are back on his chest, peering up at him. His face is damp with sweat, and his cheeks are flushed pink, but he wears a small, content smile. 

You feel cum begin to ooze out of you and you groan. “Ugh, now I definitely need a shower.” He cringes at the words, and you laugh. “Can’t believe you hate water, you are such a sterotypical cat.” He frowns, and rolls his eyes, not responding, because you are completely right.

“Aw cmon, mate, dont get all pouty now,” You tease, and his eyes flash to you in an instant. His cheeks turn a vicious red, and he covers his face with his hand,

“...Call me that again,” Megumi whispers, so low that you could barely hear him.

You raise your eyebrows, cocking your head to the side. “My mate?”

He begins to purr again, hands wrapping around your back to pull you up closer to him. He leans in, and hesitantly presses his lips to yours, pulling back slightly to mumble, “'m hard again.”

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[rueclfer]

hihi rue 🤭 could i get an smau with bf!kirishima or shinso + mean!reader who’s kinda js a cunt 🗣️

i need a man to love me at my bitchiest

HI ELLE <3 a billion years later i hope u r still in ur kiri era

black cat // eijirou kirishima

-

mha tag: @lotuslovers

[edorazzi]

Page 40 of my Miraculous Mentor AU comic A Matter of Trust - we're just about halfway through! In which Felix is left without Ladybug or a Miraculous, and butterflies love open windows... 🦋🪟

Index | Start | Prev | Next

Weekly updates each Sunday! You can also read ahead early on Patreon, and/or buy me a Ko-fi if you'd like to support my work! 💖

[ryllen]

sebek, you, & fae trap that tried to abduct u

[d-z20]

hii i just read your rio's mma fic and it's so good! i got an idea if you can please write where agatha goes to fight wanda and almost wins but at the end get brutally knocked down so fem reader (who is agatha's girlfriend and sparring partner) takes cares of agatha after their match please? maybe agatha's ribs are broken and face is all bruised after wanda that y/n literally has to carry agatha out from the ring and her heart breaks seeing agatha in so much pain? like a good old angst with comfort at the end where they both get in bed cuddling and y/n is scared to let go of agatha so agatha just lays down on top of y/n, pressing her whole body weight into her

Hi Anon :)

I'm so glad you liked Heavy Hits!! This one was just as fun to write and I adored exploring a more protective side of reader. I ran away with the comfort towards the end but oh well :p

Sorry it took so long but the fic, Breaking Point, is out now, you can find it here

[yanderejustforyou]

The Penguin - Oz fic

I need a good hurt/ comfort fic please

Oz finds his mother has finally passed on

I’m assuming he would be extremely upset - possible ugly cry

(Comfort by reader eventually but would love to read how he goes through it just the despair / anger - emotions )

** I absolutely adore your writing thank you for taking requests **

love this concept

The silence of the mansion pressed in on Oz, a heavy, velvet curtain draped over every corner. It wasn't the usual quiet, the comfortable hush of a large, rarely-used home; it was a suffocating stillness, thick with the absence of her voice, her presence. He stood rooted to the spot in the middle of the drawing room, the ornate rug a blur beneath his feet as he stared at the obituary in his hand. It was a small thing, printed on thin, off-white paper, the stark black letters detailing her life, or rather, her death. It was unassuming, easily dismissed, but in his grasp, it felt like a lead weight, dragging him down into a bottomless abyss. His mother was gone. The woman whose sharp wit and even sharper tongue had been his north star, the woman who had shaped him, molded him, driven him—vanished.

He hadn't expected the news to hit him like this, a physical blow that stole the air from his lungs. For years, he had lived under the shadow of her fragility, the constant, gnawing anxiety that any day could be her last. He'd meticulously planned for this moment, building walls of stoicism, anticipating the hollow ache her absence would leave. He'd thought himself prepared. He’d even envisioned scenarios, running through different reactions, but nothing, not in his most grim musings, could have prepared him for this crushing emptiness, this void that seemed to echo with every beat of his heart.

A tremor ran through his hand, crumpling the fragile paper into a tight ball. His jaw clenched, the muscles hard as granite beneath his skin. His chest felt heavy, each breath a labored effort as if the air itself had thickened and become viscous. A molten anger, long suppressed, began to churn beneath the surface, a dark tide threatening to break free. He felt his control slipping, the carefully constructed facade of calm cracking under the weight of his pain. His fingers curled inward, his nails biting into the flesh of his palm, small crescents of pain a fleeting distraction from the larger torment.

His eyes burned, the sensation similar to staring into a fire, but no tears came. Not yet. They were forbidden, a weakness he wouldn’t allow himself to indulge. Not in public, not in front of the staff, and definitely not in front of himself. He was Oswald, the impenetrable. To reveal this vulnerability was to betray the lessons she had drilled into him.

With a harsh, ragged exhale that sounded more like a snarl, he turned and slammed his fist against the wall. The impact reverberated through the room, the antique picture frames hanging precariously, rattling like bones. "Why did you leave me, huh?" he growled, his voice a low, guttural sound, trembling like a broken string. "Why? What the hell am I supposed to do without you?" His words were laced with a raw, wounded anger that he couldn’t contain any longer. The question hung in the air, accusatory and desperate.

But the anger offered no solace, no real relief. It was a fleeting spark, an attempt to ignite against the overwhelming darkness. It only compounded the emptiness, making the void feel even deeper, more profound. His heart was a hollow pit, an echo chamber of loss, and no amount of fury could begin to fill it. He felt adrift, unanchored.

His breathing became erratic, shallow gasps that did little to ease the pressure in his chest. He slid down the wall, the cool, smooth plaster a stark contrast to the inner fire that raged within him. His body trembled violently, small shudders running through him like an earthquake. He had never allowed himself the luxury of tears, not since he was a small boy. Not since she had instilled in him the harsh lesson that the world would offer no kindness, no mercy. But now, in the deafening echo of her absence, he felt as if the floodgates were about to burst open, the accumulated years of suppressed emotion threatening to drown him. He remembered her saying, "Tears are for the weak, Oswald. Never let them see you cry."

His hands shook, clumsy and uncoordinated, as he swiped at his face, trying to erase the evidence of his inner turmoil. His anger, a dark, bitter taste in his mouth, mingled with a raw, aching grief that felt like his very chest was being ripped apart. He could feel the phantom ache of her hand in his as if they were still connected, a tangible reminder that she was truly gone.

“Please…” he whispered, a broken, desperate plea to the empty room. “Please…come back…” The words were a strangled sob, a desperate prayer that he knew would never be answered. He felt absurd even uttering them but the words tumbled from his lips anyway.

But there was no answer. Only the suffocating silence, amplified by the absence of her laughter, her sharp commands, her familiar presence that had always been the cornerstone of his world. Now, it was just him, alone, trapped in the vast emptiness of the mansion and his grief.

His breath hitched in his throat again, a strangled gasp, as the tears finally came, the pent-up emotion finally breaking free. It was an overwhelming surge, a tidal wave of grief that swept away every pretense of composure. His face contorted, the muscles twisted with pain as he buried his head in his hands, unable to hold it back any longer. The weight of his loss crushed him, the sobs racking his body with a painful intensity he'd never experienced.

In the midst of his wrenching sobs, the door creaked open, the sound sharp and intrusive in the otherwise silent room. His head snapped up, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, and for a fleeting moment, he almost wished he could disappear, vanish into the very wallpaper, hide away from the world—hide away from someone seeing him so utterly broken, so shockingly vulnerable. The thought was almost as painful as the grief itself.

But then he saw you, standing in the doorway, bathed in the soft light, and the immediate urge to hide ebbed, replaced with a flicker of something that felt like…hope? Your face was etched with concern, your eyebrows furrowed as you took in his disheveled state. Your presence was a quiet, grounding force in the chaos of his emotions. You didn't speak, just stood there a moment, offering him space before you slowly walked toward him, your footsteps soft and deliberate on the polished hardwood floor. It was a simple yet powerful act of support.

“Oz…” Your voice was gentle, a soothing balm to his raw, exposed nerves. It was a voice laced with kindness, a stark contrast to the harshness of his own thoughts. "I’m so sorry." The words, although simple, seemed to cut through the fog of his grief, validating his feelings with a simple truth.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at you fully, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere just beyond your shoulder. His vision was blurred with tears, his breath ragged and uneven. He felt so utterly lost, a ship adrift in a storm-tossed sea. It wasn’t just grief; it was the gnawing loneliness that had been his constant companion, a shadow that stretched back through his entire life. He felt unmoored, directionless without her guiding hand.

"I… I don’t know how to do this," he said, his voice a trembling whisper, fragmented with pain. "She…she was all I had. All I had left." His voice cracked on the last words, the admission of his vulnerability a small, fragile thing, and a fresh wave of emotion hit him like a rogue wave, threatening to pull him under. He surrendered to it, the sobs shaking his body, the grief too powerful to contain.

You knelt beside him, letting the silence stretch between you. Your hand reached out, resting gently on his trembling arm. His body stiffened at the touch, the instinct to recoil almost overwhelming, but the warmth that emanated from your touch didn't let go. It was a small gesture of support, a silent offering of understanding.

"You don't have to do this alone, Oz," you said softly, your voice full of warmth and compassion, a haven in the raging storm of his grief. "I'm here for you. It's okay to feel everything you're feeling right now. You don't have to be strong all the time." Your words were like a soothing balm, a gentle reminder that it was okay to be weak, okay to break down.

He looked at you, his face flushed and tear-streaked, a confusing mix of disbelief and raw, unfiltered pain in his eyes. He didn’t understand why you would offer him this kindness, why you would choose to be here, with him. He didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve your care. But in that moment, he needed it more than anything, a lifeline in a sea of despair. He needed someone to remind him that he was still human, still capable of feeling something other than rage and bitterness.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice small and fragile, the confession almost as painful as the grief itself. “I’m scared of being alone.” The fear was raw, naked, a glimpse into the vulnerability he had tried so hard to hide.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” you whispered, your hand now moving to gently cup his cheek, your touch feather-light but firm. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.” Your words were a promise, a silent vow to stand by him.

He leaned into your touch, finally surrendering to the moment, letting himself break down in a way he hadn't allowed himself before. He let go of the pretense, the carefully constructed walls, and simply allowed himself to feel. You didn’t say anything else, just held him, offering the quiet, comforting presence that he needed. The steady, rhythmic movement of your hand on his back was a quiet reassurance, a silent promise that he wasn't entirely alone. For the first time in so long, someone cared enough to be there, to share his burden. And for a brief moment, Oz allowed himself to believe it.

The tears slowly subsided, the storm within him gradually calming, although his chest still trembled with each uneven breath. The worst of it had passed, the initial shock giving way to a quieter, more subdued grief. He still didn’t have the answers, didn’t know how to navigate the world without her. But with you by his side, just for now, he didn’t feel quite as adrift, quite as utterly alone as he had moments before. There was a flicker of something that felt like…hope, and a strange sense of peace.

"I don't know what to do without her," he whispered, his voice hoarse, the words barely above a breath.

"Take it one step at a time," you said softly, your voice the quiet reassurance he desperately needed. "You don't have to have all the answers right now. You just have to breathe, and I'll be here." Your words were simple, yet profound, a promise of unwavering support.

Oz closed his eyes, the tightness in his chest easing for just a moment, a small reprieve from the weight of his loss. It wasn't enough to erase the pain, the gnawing emptiness, but it was something. And for now, that small flicker of hope, the quiet promise of your presence, was enough.

[brainrotcharacters]

deadclaws badassery where it's revealed Wade and Logan tested the distance on Logan's hearing.

Watch them hundreds of feet away from each other in the battlefield and all it takes to set Wolverine loose is for Deadpool to mutter "Logan."

gif credits to original owners!

[f1-stuff]

what did Carlos report to Charles' gf...?

[royalarchivist]

Pac: Do you think there's other way to find some sharestones over here? Nah, no, right?

Fit: Probably not.

Pac: Maybe. Ah– Fitch! Fitch! [Fit's name with an accent]

Fit: Oh– OH– Pac Pac Pac!

Pac: [In a panicked voice] FITCH!

Fit: Ok, you're good, I got you, I got you. Yeah, just stay over here, stay over here. Behind me, behind me.

Pac: Yeah, I'm good, I'm good, oh my god. [Laughs] I even changed language, you know? [Laughs]

Fit: [Laughs] All right, we got this.

Pac: I start screaming your name in Portuguese.

Fit: [Laughs] As soon as I hear "Fitch", I'm like, "Ohhh boy, sht's about to get real." [Checking his chat messages] Oh, Phil says it's important–

[lotus-pear]

rewatched bsd w my friend seeing it for the first time and the nostalgia of seeing these two together again hit me like a bus