#and it's still stuck in my head like damn. This is gonna be one of those moments I remember back on in regards to my mother.

[sidollie]

Idk if this is where you take requests, hopefully it is!

breading kink Simon and infertile reader

where every time they do it, no matter when where or what position Simon is always muttering about he's gonna fill you up, that he can't wait to see your belly all swollen and reader hates it because 1 reader never liked the idea of pregnancy or being pregnant and 2 readers infertile. but she's been too scared to bring it up because Simon seems so obsessed with idea of getting her full with his kid but one day on the middle of him rambling on about it she spits out "i'm infertile."

if you're able to turn this into something i'd love that it's been stuck in my head for ages

༉‧₊˚. Simon Riley breeding reader but she's infertile cw// ᴍᴅɴɪ, breeding, obsessed simon riley, mentions of infertility

𐙚 Simon Riley had always wanted a child, it was his dream to be a loving father to his kid. To be the kind of father his own couldn't be, so when he married you, his sweet little luvie. He wanted you swollen with his child as soon as possible, his pretty little wifey all stuffed and filled with his seed.

So tonight, here he was again stretching out your sweet cunt with his fat thick cock— he says it once again

"Gonna put a baby in ya, swee'heart. Gonna watch y'swell with it, keep ya stuffed so full you’ll feel me fer days."

But you’re tired. Tired of hearing him groan into your neck about how he’s going to breed you, fill you up and how he's so hopeful about a kid— his kid. So when he growls,

“Can’t wait t'see ya round and full of me.”

“I’m infertile.”

It slips out suddenly, an ugly truth. You don’t mean to say it, not like this, not with Simon buried deep inside you, his calloused hands gripping your plush hips and him groaning about how he'll get you pregnant. No, but it is said now, and you hate it.

Not because of him— God, never because of him but because it isn’t possible. You’ve known since the doctor looked at you with those eyes, pity drowning in them as he broke the harsh reality to you. You’ll never carry a baby, never feel that kind of stretch, never have a bump to caress but simon… Simon dreams about it every time he touches you and you hate yourself for the fact that you can't give him that happiness.

Everything stills, his hips freeze mid-thrust as his breath catches. You can’t— won't look at him. You stare at his rugged chest instead, scared to face him as you wait for his response. you brace yourself for every worse thing possible, waiting for him to pull out, for denial, for rejection, for anger

But all he does instead is let his hands slide up your sides, his rough palms feel soft and gentle now, as he burry his forehead between your neck and shoulder , body trembling as his muffled voice cracks slightly,

“Why didn’ ya tell me?”

“I'm sorry, I-I didn’t want to ruin it for you, you want a family. You want—”

“You. I want you.”

You try to turn to look at his face but he doesn’t let you, he stays inside you, his inked arms wrapped around your body like armor, like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he lets go. After a moment he speaks, his voice thick with emotions as he whispers,

“I do want a baby, so damn bad it fuckin' hurts. But more than that? I want you. If we can’t do it naturally, we’ll find another way, IVF, Surrogacy, Adoption, I don’t give a fuck just as long as it’s with you.”

“But you always talk about it like it’s the only thing you want.”

“I talk about it because the thought of you carrying ma child drives me insane. The idea of the world knowing yer mine? It fucks with my head dovie.”

He presses a kiss to your neck, as his hips start to move again, slow and gentle

“But I love ya more than that fantasy. And if you can’t give me a baby… I’ll still keep filling you up like you can because you'll already be carrying something of mine swee'heart, and that part? That’s not about a baby. That’s about owning you, claiming you, and I’ll never stop doing that swee'heart”

Tears flood your eyes as you choke on a sob, broken 'I'm sorry's' fall from your mouth continuously. You can feel your neck getting wet as his body trembles slightly from the realisation that the thing he had dreamt of for years is the same thing he can never have but it's okay, because you're here with him. He's ready to try everything with you. He pushes deeper in you, kissing your neck and shoulder he doesn’t mutter about breeding this time.

"I'm sorry"

"Shh don't be luvie, I love you. We’ll find a way together, swee'heart"

@sidollie

༉‧₊˚. masterlist

a/n: I bawled writing this

[izzih22]

Can you do like Paige having a mental break-down and she breaks chairs and some other stuff and Azzi came home and calm her

Only if cool with it !!

Thank you

What Breaks and What Holds

Note: I kinda like this one

The chair breaks first.

The leg splinters at an awkward angle, wood cracking like a tree in a storm as Paige throws it across the room. It hits the corner of the wall and lands sideways, useless and broken like the rest of the thoughts she can’t seem to piece together today.

She doesn’t even know when it started—just that somewhere between practice and walking through the door, everything went quiet in her head, then unbearably loud. Too much noise. Too much pressure. Too much of everything.

The coffee mug goes next. Not even hers—Azzi’s favorite one, the one with the tiny cartoon otters hugging on the front. Paige doesn’t mean to. Her hand just slips while she’s flinging her keys on the counter, her breath coming too short, her heart racing in her chest like it’s trying to outrun something it can’t name.

The sound of ceramic shattering against tile echoes through the apartment. She stares at it, chest heaving, hair stuck to her forehead with sweat. She can still hear Geno’s voice from practice, the sharpness in his tone that only digs deeper when you’re already spiraling:

“You’ve gotta be better than this, Paige.”

Like she doesn’t know that. Like she doesn’t wake up every damn day trying.

Her fists clench. Her breathing’s ragged, and she grabs at the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping her standing. It’s not about the mug. It’s not about practice. It’s the accumulation—the weight she never lets slip off her shoulders. She’s always been the one to carry it. She has to be.

She slams her hand against the fridge, hard, knuckles blooming red.

And that’s when the front door opens.

Azzi steps inside, backpack over one shoulder, earbuds still in. She takes in the scene fast—the broken mug, the cracked chair, Paige standing in the middle of it all like she’s trying not to drown.

“Paige?” Her voice is soft, but alert.

Paige turns, barely managing to keep her voice steady. “Don’t—don’t look at me right now.”

Azzi shuts the door quietly behind her. She doesn’t speak, just drops her bag and walks over slowly, carefully. Like Paige is something wild and wounded and about to run.

“I said—” Paige starts again, but her voice cracks in the middle. It’s not anger. It’s not defiance. It’s fear. Shame. Exhaustion.

Azzi stops a few feet away, eyes gentle, hands at her sides. “I’m not gonna say anything, okay? Just breathe with me.”

Paige shakes her head, tears brimming now. “I can’t. I’m��I’m not okay, baby.”

Azzi nods. “I know. You don’t have to be.”

And that does it. Paige drops to her knees in the middle of the kitchen, burying her face in her hands as the sobs tear through her—raw, messy, unfiltered. The kind she’s never let herself have. Not with the team. Not even with herself.

Azzi’s there instantly, kneeling beside her without hesitation. She doesn’t reach out right away. She just sits with her, knees brushing. “I’ve got you. You hear me?” she whispers. “You don’t have to hold it all together for me.”

“I broke your mug,” Paige chokes out, voice muffled in her hands.

Azzi huffs a small, almost-laugh, even through the worry in her eyes. “It’s just a mug. You’re my person. And you’re breaking.”

Paige leans into her finally, collapsing forward until her forehead presses against Azzi’s shoulder. Azzi wraps her up without hesitation, arms firm around her back, one hand threading into her hair.

“You’re allowed to fall apart, babe. I’m not going anywhere,” Azzi murmurs into her ear. “You’ve held me so many times. Let me hold you now.”

Paige nods against her shoulder, clutching the fabric of Azzi’s hoodie like it’s a lifeline. “It’s just—it’s too much. I can’t be everything they need. I can’t be perfect. And I—I don’t know how to ask for help without feeling like I’m failing.”

Azzi pulls back just enough to look at her, hands cupping Paige’s face with so much gentleness it nearly undoes her all over again. “You’re not failing. You’re fighting. And I’m so damn proud of you for even saying that out loud.”

Paige sniffles, eyes red, nose running. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“I want to see all of you. The strong parts, the messy parts. The part that breaks chairs and the part that cries on my shoulder.” Azzi smiles softly. “I love you through all of it.”

Paige’s breath catches. She closes her eyes, like maybe if she does, the weight will finally lift. And somehow, with Azzi holding her this close, it does. Just a little.

They sit there on the cold tile floor, in the middle of broken furniture and shattered ceramic. Azzi doesn’t try to fix anything. She doesn’t give advice. She just holds Paige steady while she falls apart.

And maybe that’s what love is.

Not stopping someone from breaking.

But being there when they do.

⸻

The apartment is quiet except for their breathing.

Eventually, Paige’s sobs soften into hiccups, and her grip on Azzi loosens just enough to let herself breathe. Her head is still resting on Azzi’s shoulder, body spent, heart sore in her chest like it just ran a marathon without telling her legs.

“I’m sorry,” Paige whispers after a while, voice hoarse. “For the mug. For the chair. For… all of it.”

Azzi shakes her head and kisses her temple. “You don’t have to apologize for feeling overwhelmed, babe. You’ve been holding everything in for way too long. I’m just glad you let me be here for it.”

“I didn’t even know I was this close to breaking.”

“I did.”

Paige looks up, eyes heavy but curious. “You did?”

Azzi nods, brushing sweaty hair off Paige’s forehead. “I saw it building. The way you’ve been carrying all of it—your expectations, the team, the media, your own standards… I’ve been worried.”

Paige lets her eyes fall shut. “I didn’t want to burden you.”

“You’re not a burden,” Azzi says, with so much conviction it makes Paige flinch. “You’re my person. When you hurt, I feel it too.”

Paige swallows the lump in her throat. “I don’t know how to turn it off. The pressure. The feeling like if I’m not everything for everyone, then I’m nothing.”

Azzi pulls her in again. “Then let’s start small. Tonight, you don’t have to be everything. Just be here with me.”

⸻

They clean in silence.

Paige tries to protest at first, embarrassed about the broken chair and the mess on the floor, but Azzi just takes her hand and pulls her up gently.

“No lectures,” she says. “We’ll clean, we’ll shower, and we’ll go to bed. That’s it.”

Together, they sweep up the broken ceramic, toss the chair parts into the storage closet, and wipe down the counters. Azzi keeps her touch light, her presence steady—enough to keep Paige grounded without crowding her.

When they’re done, Azzi takes her hand again. “Shower?”

Paige nods, and they move to the bathroom.

⸻

The water is warm.

Steam fogs the mirror as Azzi steps in behind her, arms wrapping around Paige’s waist from behind. Neither of them says much—just quiet touches, soft kisses to shoulder blades, and fingers that trace over bruises and tension like they could undo it all.

Paige leans her head back onto Azzi’s shoulder and finally lets her body relax.

Azzi’s lips brush the curve of her neck. “I’ve got you. Even when you don’t feel like yourself. Even when it’s ugly. Especially then.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Paige says softly.

Azzi turns her around, eyes shining. “Don’t say that. You don’t have to be perfect to be loved, Paige. You just have to let yourself be loved.”

⸻

They crawl into bed, hair damp, skin clean, hearts still a little raw. Azzi wears one of Paige’s shirts. Azzi brings her close and lets her lay her head on her chest, hand resting over Paige’s heart like she’s trying to remind her it’s still beating.

“You wanna talk about it?” Azzi asks, voice low.

Paige hesitates. Then: “I feel like I’m failing. Even when I’m doing well. I walk into practice and it’s like… everyone’s looking at me to lead, to carry, to be that person. And I want to be. But some days, I just want to hide.”

Azzi doesn’t interrupt.

“I hate how angry I got. I don’t want to be that version of myself.”

“You weren’t angry,” Azzi says. “You were overwhelmed. There’s a difference. And even if you were angry—you’re still human.”

Paige takes a shaky breath. “How do you always know the right thing to say?”

“I don’t. I just love you enough to listen.”

There’s a long silence.

Then Paige whispers, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Azzi pulls her closer. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.”

And Paige lets herself believe it—just for tonight, in this warm, quiet space they’ve made between chaos and calm. She doesn’t have to be everything. She just has to be Paige.

And with Azzi’s arms around her, that finally feels like enough.

[samuelwilsonbarnes]

Close Quarters

Pairing: Sambucky Rating: M Words: 2.3k

Sam and Bucky get stuck in a box on a mission and they're sooooo normal about it.

Also on AO3. Inspired by @deadstarvk's incredible sambucky art

♡♡♡♡

“You can’t be serious.” 

“Why would I joke about this? Do I ever sound like I’m joking?”

“You sound like you’re not pushing hard enough, is what you sound like.” 

Bucky huffs in reply. If there were any time to catch their breaths, it might as well be now. The job was done, all that was left was, well…

“Just give me a minute.”

“Do I have a choice? Trapped in here, hot breath on my goddamn neck,” Sam complains, also gulping what he could only hope wasn’t limited oxygen, and he can feel Bucky’s chest press against his every time the two breathe in unison. “Is this gonna be what happens every time we follow through on one of your plans?” 

“This wasn’t my plan. You nearly getting shot out of the sky five minutes in wasn’t the plan. Everything after that was just–” Bucky shifts, and for the first time since the two of them hurtled into– whatever box the men were currently stuck in, Sam became keenly aware of their positioning. Specifically Bucky's position, sat between his thighs. Shit. “This thing worked as cover, didn’t it?” Bucky continues, “We didn’t get blown up.” 

It takes Sam a second to remember what they were talking about, the dive they’d just made, the heavy lid Bucky had managed to slide over the two of them just in time. 

“Shut up, didn’t even know you carry that many explosives on you in the first place. Do you always have that much? How the hell do they fit under that tight ass jacket?” 

Bucky ignores the questions. “Can you feel anything under you?” 

“Only more concrete.” 

“Then I just can’t get a good angle.” Bucky grunts lowly, right against Sam’s ear, but the voice is nothing compared to the slow roll of their hips as Bucky adjusts his spine, attempting to wedge his arm firmly between the top and bottom of the box and force it upwards. No dice. 

“Woah, dude–”

“Hold still.”

“Bucky.” Sam bites out. 

“Hm?”

“Just. Just–”

Bucky pushes one more time, then and relents, slumping slightly closer.

"What?" 

“There could be debris on top of us.” Focus, Sam. Just focus. 

“Can you use the wings to launch us up?”

“Not without smashing us to the top of this thing, and maybe slicing your head off.” 

“They can do that?” 

Sam flicks his goggles to night vision with a retinal gesture, ready to tease the trepidation he expects to see on Bucky’s face, but he falters. Instead, Bucky is just staring at him, gaze bouncing over his features in the dark, damn superhuman eyesight, with something in his expression that Sam can’t read. Bucky only looks away when he realizes Sam can now see him in turn.

“...I’m okay, y’know?”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s voice sounds almost distant, hesitant. 

“I didn’t get hit. You had my back.” Sam wishes he could shrug, settles for scrunching his nose, “As far as terrible plans go–”

“Ugh, Sam-”

“It could’ve gone worse, is what I mean. The intel was shit, there was too many of ‘em. We made do. The job’s done. Just got tripped up at the end, it happens. I’m alright. You did good.” Sam’s voice is softer than ever, almost a murmur. “So, thank you.” 

In the utter silence and stillness of the box, Bucky’s shuddery little inhale isn’t lost on Sam. He can hear the slight whirring and small clicks as he moves almost imperceptibly. He looks speechless. Sam savors it. “So? How about you?” He nudges lightly, after a moment.

“What about me?”

“You okay?”

“...” 

Sam frowns, the hand he’d had pressed all this time to the roof of their enclosure drops, to settle on the back of Bucky’s shoulder, even though he’s quieted his breaths, Bucky’s still panting. 

“Hey, c’mon, you with me?” there's a pause before his response

“Always.” Bucky says breathlessly. Oh. 

“Then listen.” Sam’s hand slides up to the back of his neck, and he watches Bucky's eyes flutter closed. Drinks in the sight. Nearly forgets himself again. He has to take a minute to screw his own eyes closed before he speaks. “We’re gonna be fine. Gonna take a couple deep breaths, and then we’re gonna try again. Same time, we’ll push on three.” Bucky clenches his jaw, before sighing. 

“Yeah. Fine. Just–” 

“?”

“Could you–” 

“Oh. Sure.” Somehow, Sam knows what Bucky’s asking for. They’ve done it once or twice before.

“In.” Slow, deep breaths. The painful restraint on Bucky's features seems to soften, ever so gently.

“Out.” Bucky deflates slightly more, and what Sam first thinks is pressing in closer is actually Bucky just relaxing all the muscles he’d been holding still to not jostle Sam, considering he essentially sprawled across his lap. Sam leans back to give him room, letting his head hit the wall. which then exposes the length of his neck. 

“In.” This time Bucky did actually draw closer, hair falling in front of his face, hair tickling across Sam’s jaw as he leans into his shoulder, and if Sam didn’t know better, he would think Bucky was breathing him in.

Maybe Sam didn’t know better.

“Out.” Bucky adjusts his body again, he could just be bracing himself, that’s what Sam says to himself. Trying to really angle himself to push hard. Until a gentle hand starts to slide up Sam’s thigh to hold him in place, and Sam reflexively widens his legs to give Bucky room. Then it's hard to think of much of anything.

“In.” Sam barely keeps the word even as he speaks. The breath is a hiss from both of them. 

“Out.” And all that restraint is back on Bucky’s face. In fact, he looks worse than before. Damn. At least he doesn’t look angry with Sam, although Sam’s unsure if even that would be a turnoff at this point. Suddenly, the box feels ten degrees warmer, the material of their suits feels oh-so-thin, and he’s sure Bucky can hear as he thickly swallows. This was getting dangerous. “You– ah, you ready?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice sounds rough, like he had to fight to get the word out. A fact that shouldn’t be as thrilling as it is. 

“On three. One, two, three!” 

Sam lifts his hand back to the roof of the box, grits his teeth and pushes with all his might. 

Bucky pushes hard. With his arms, first, he can’t get any leverage to push directly against the top of the box with his hands but he can shove them into the concrete below hard enough to pebble some of it and try to shove up with his back and shoulders. When the roof doesn’t even budge, he shifts to hinge up with his thighs, but only manages to lift his hips and further fold Sam’s body against him as he goes, pressing them together. Sam has to arch his back and shift onto his toes just in an attempt to keep himself still anchored to the floor of the box. He makes a noisy yelp of surprise at the sudden movement that draws out to almost a whine when he realizes his new position, and he nearly would’ve thought Bucky was politely ignoring if not for the night vision exposing the way Bucky’s eyes fly open to look at him again the second the sound leaves his lips. Still, they keep pushing, and the door doesn’t budge an inch.

"Come on!" Sam calls out to neither of them in particular.

"I am." Bucky grumbles into his neck, and Sam can feel the vibrations from Bucky’s voice across his entire body. 

Sam, as is his habit, switches to riling Bucky up instead of letting himself sit in the embarrassment of almost moaning from the manhandling, "Are you? Are you even pushing?"

Bucky, neck deep in several different agonizing kinds of frustration, gives up pushing, lets out a harsh breath, grabs onto Sam and yanks him closer, gritting out, “What the hell do you think?! ”

Sam, in pure shock, grabs onto Bucky’s wrists for stability, which only gives Bucky an easier time of pulling Sam to him. But now they’re frozen, rearranged in the box to be closer than ever, Sam on his back and entirely slotted against Bucky, who’s on him, over him, solidly wedged between his legs. And because of how well Bucky managed to also wedge himself against the top of the box, there’s nowhere for them to go from there. 

Sam’s goggles had slid up and off his head in the shuffle, so he couldn't even get a read on the other’s face, cloaked in shadow. Great.

It’s Sam’s turn to huff a frustrated breath in response and the two fall into a silence unlike any they’d quite experienced before. And charged silences were like a second home for these two at this point. 

Bucky was finding himself no better off though, unable to quite let go of where his hands rested on the small- god, tiny - waist of Sam Wilson. The one he was meant to protect. Whom he’d essentially trapped. Who he’d never had closer. Who felt so fucking good against him. Who–

“Bucky.” 

“What.”

“Stop thinking so loud.” It’d been minutes of silence at this point, Bucky just stewing, even as Sam had relaxed slightly under him. fingers thumb idly over the leather of his sleeve, over the ridges in the metal of his arm. A grounding thing, that little fidgeting, but did Sam know Bucky could feel every bit of it?

“I wasn’t– I was thinking how to fix it. This.” Bucky manages, just to say something that’s not, at all, what he’s thinking. Sam’s quiet, for a moment, and finally lets out a sigh of acceptance. 

“Gonna have to wait for extraction to get us out of here. That’s gonna be a minute.” 

“How long?” Bucky isn’t sure how much more of this he could take, but never wants the moment to end, Sam fits so perfectly against his body it’s dizzying, like he was made for it. 

“I don't know. Soon.” Sam responds, “I kept my tracker on so they’ll know where to get us. Your comms working though? Cuz I’m not getting anything.”

Bucky shakes his head and goes quiet again. Sam keeps up the idle touches, for his own sake, but he can feel Bucky working through something above him, so wants to offer comfort. And, maybe most importantly, he wants Bucky to keep his hands where they are. 

“Sam?” Bucky asks after what feels like an age of soft breaths and tiny shuffles and trying to pretend they aren’t flush together in more places than they’re apart. 

“Yeah, Buck?” and maybe Sam sounds more affected than he means to, maybe he can’t keep the painfully building want out of his voice, maybe it’s the way he says his name, but it makes Bucky freeze, whatever on the tip of his tongue swallowed down with what almost sounds like a whimper, hands tightening on Sam’s waist and pulling him impossibly closer. 

“You’re kinda killin’ me, here…” 

Finally.

“Am I?” Sam breathes, plausible deniability bleeding out with every passing second, the agonizing slow roll of their hips in unison seeming less and less like a consequence of their synchronized breaths. “Not doing much of anything yet.” 

“Yet.” Bucky lets that thought sit for just enough time to blink the shock into relief and then he’s on Sam like a damn breaking. Somehow even in the tight confines, Bucky’s hands are everywhere. 

Sam’s barely lets the delighted puff of a laugh leave his chest before Bucky’s nosed his way up from Sam’s jaw to brush a gentle swipe of their lips together, a touch that leaves Bucky nearly shaking, a low growl rumbling in his chest before he breathes out the quietest, “Please–” against his skin and Sam can’t take it anymore, rushing to meet him before any more thoughts or words can come take up the space between them. Each kiss is messy and more desperate than the last, lips and tongues and tasted feelings, Bucky’s got Sam moaning into his mouth, utterly unwound, in under a minute.

“You got any idea–” Bucky mutters, when he’s pulled away just enough to let Sam catch his breath, kissing down his jaw again to press lips then tongue to the long stretch of his neck, then Bucky sinks teeth in, earning him a gasp, “The kind of things I wanna do to you?” There’s not much room to maneuver each other any farther, but somehow Bucky’s even closer, and Sam would swear he’s dreaming if each kiss and bite and squeeze didn’t seem to be Bucky also confirming that the two of them were real, together, and not a figment of his own imagination, “The things you make me wanna do?” 

Not prepared for Bucky to be the vocal one between them, and frankly too overwhelmed to speak– not an easy feat– Sam twists his arm enough until he can lift it, tangling his fingers in Bucky’s hair and yanking him in for another searing kiss. Bucky purrs in approval, the yeah, you like that? So deeply implied in his pleased little hum it makes Sam shiver. All this, hiding behind long stares and grumpy one liners, oh, Sam wants to devour Bucky whole. As far as Bucky's concerned, though, Sam's been his for ages. To follow, protect, to annoy and admire. Yet to actually lay his claim in lasting marks across his skin, to hold Sam, to touch him, feel him shake and tense and moan against him, to feel a long the lines of his body and the heat pooling between them... nothing in the world could ever feel as right as this.   

“Fuck, Bucky–” Sam manages, voice wrecked in a way that makes Bucky feel like he’s shattering into millions of pieces.

“Yeah, Sammy?” He says so sweetly, while never slowing his pace, stealing kisses and guiding Sam’s body, marveling every time at the ease in which he melts, oh-so-trustingly, into Bucky’s embrace and affections.

“It's- we only got a few minutes left, probably, extraction-”

Sam pauses, doesn't have to see Bucky to know he's grinning at him in the dark, the kind of look that'd make Sam's heart slam in his chest every time he sees it for the rest of his life, as Bucky leans in to kiss him again, and again, and again.

“Guess we better make them count.” 

[xbraveheartx]

One of the most unexpected and most heaviest things to hear from my own mother was for her to comment on my laughter and to say how glad she is that in my age, after all the hardships I've went through and the times we live in, that my laughter is still the same bright and joyous sound as it was when I was younger. That after almost 32 years of life, I can still smile, laugh, and enjoy things; I can still find things to be happy about, to laugh over-- to express joy over.

It's a moment I'll never forget, a feeling of being seen and heard when I had gone so long thinking I wasn't.

[geneviveleocardius]

crying over movies

and pregnant with simon riley’s baby

the sound of your sobs cuts through the quiet of the house, sharp and raw. simon drops the knife he’s been using to chop vegetables, his heart lurching in his chest. it’s not unusual for you to cry these days—pregnancy hormones have been working overtime—but this… this is different. this is gut-wrenching, the kind of crying that makes his pulse race with worry.

he rushes into the living room, where he left you curled up on the couch watching after sun. the sight that greets him stops him in his tracks. you’re a mess, your face red and blotchy, tears streaming down your cheeks, big eyes wide and glassy as you clutch a pillow like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

“love?” his voice is low, calm despite the panic clawing at his chest. he crouches in front of you, his hands reaching out to cradle your face. “what’s wrong? is it the baby? are you in pain?”

you shake your head frantically, your sobs hitching as you try to speak. “n-no, it’s not—” a deep breath, and then another sob escapes. “it’s not the baby. it’s—oh my god, simon, it’s just—”

he watches you, his brows furrowed, utterly baffled. “just what?”

“the movie!” you wail, throwing your arms up dramatically. “it was so sad, simon! and—and then i started thinking about us and the baby and—and—oh my god, you’re never gonna be a single parent, okay? i’m never leaving you!”

his eyes widen at the declaration, and he blinks, stunned. “what tha—?”

“and you have to promise me, simon,” you cut him off, your voice shaky but insistent. “if something’s ever bothering you, you’re gonna tell me, right? we’re a team, and i love you so damn much, okay? you can’t ever leave me, because i’d just—” a hiccup. “i’d die without you!”

he stares at you, his lips parted slightly, trying to process the flood of emotions pouring out of you. he’s used to your mood swings by now—the tears over burnt toast, the laughter that turned into crying because of a stupid dog video—but this? this is a whole new level.

you’re still sobbing, your breaths coming in hiccupping gasps, and his heart aches in a way he doesn’t quite understand. “love, you’re gonna hyperventilate,” he mutters, sitting beside you and pulling you into his arms. you melt into him instantly, your hands clutching at his shirt as you bury your face against his chest.

“i mean it, simon,” you mumble, your voice muffled by his shirt. “i’ll never leave you. you’re stuck with me forever.”

he lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. “bloody hell, i should hope so. wouldn’t have married you otherwise, yeah?”

“and the baby,” you continue, ignoring his attempt to lighten the mood. “we’re gonna be the best parents, and—and if you ever think i’m not doing enough, you have to tell me, okay? i’ll do better. i swear.”

“sweetheart,” he says softly, leaning back so he can tilt your face up to look at him. your tear-streaked cheeks and swollen eyes might look like a disaster to anyone else, but to him, you’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “you’re more than enough. you’re everything. and you’re not going anywhere, yeah? we’re fine. we’re better than fine.”

your lower lip trembles, and more tears spill over. “i just—i love you so damn much, simon. you can’t ever leave me. promise me.”

he exhales, a soft huff of disbelief, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “you’re unbelievable, you know that?” he mutters against your skin. “but alright. i promise. i’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. happy?”

you nod, sniffling, and wrap your arms tighter around him. “so happy.”

he holds you close, his large hands rubbing slow circles on your back as your sobs gradually quiet into soft hiccups. he’s still not entirely sure how you got from a movie to this existential meltdown, but one thing’s for sure: he wouldn’t trade this chaotic, hormonal, beautiful mess for anything.

[gojosconsort]

You're so good at the older bf! headcanons... how bout Mr. Should Kong? Much love x

OLDER BF!SHIU ♡ // HEADCANONS

⁀➷ CONTENT. you're shiu’s controversial younger girlfriend.

♡ PAIRING. afab!reader x older bf!shiu

♡ WARNINGS. mdni. added some x links. age gap, size difference, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), hair-pulling, spanking, public/semi-public sex, choking (with tie), degradation, praise kink, office sex, tummy bulge

♡ AUTHOR’S NOTE. AHHHHHH i love older men

OLDER BF!SHIU who first met you when you were some witness in a case he was stuck handling. he drove you home after, saying, “you’re safe now, dove, don’t sweat it.” slipped his card into your hand with a lazy, “call if you need me,” and peeled off—didn’t think much of it ‘til you called a week later.

OLDER BF!SHIU who showed up immediately when you called because he found you interesting (and pretty). then talking turned into kissing and next thing you know, he’s got you pinned on your couch, fucking you so deep your legs are jelly. left you sprawled out, panting, dripping with his cum while he lit a smoke.

OLDER BF!SHIU who loves eating you out very sloppy, sprawled on the bed, cig still smoldering in the ashtray, your thighs slung over his shoulders. he’s slurping you up, tongue digging in sloppy and wet, growling, “fuckin’ soak my face, princess,” ‘til you’re yanking his hair and dripping all over his chin.

OLDER BF!SHIU who won’t stop after you cum once. keeps his mouth or fingers on you, muttering, “one more, dove, i know your slutty little cunt’s got it,” ‘til you’re shaking and sobbing and he smirks, “there’s my fuckin’ girl,” loving how fucked-up you look.

OLDER BF!SHIU who towers over you with his broad shoulders, thick arms, and a cock so big it’s a struggle every time. loves pinning you down just to feel how tiny you are under him, smirking, “look at you—barely fit me in that little cunt.”

OLDER BF!SHIU who’s obsessed with the tummy bulge—every time he fucks you deep, he presses his hand right there, feeling himself move inside you. “fuck, look at that—my dick’s stretching you out,” he grunts, pounding harder just to see it push up, loving how you whimper about it being too much.

OLDER BF!SHIU who doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks about the age gap. he just smiles at nosy comments and slings an arm around you, “jealous i got her and you don’t?” later, he’s got you slammed against the wall, pounding you ‘til you’re screaming loud enough the whole damn block knows why you’re with him.

OLDER BF!SHIU who’s always got a cig hanging from his lips, catching you staring and smirking, “want a hit, huh?” grabs your chin, blows smoke into your mouth, then crashes his lips into yours, tongue shoving in hard, “you’re too fuckin’ young for this shit.”

OLDER BF!SHIU who loves showing you off, you in some skimpy little skirt, him in his suit. pulls you onto his lap at a dive bar, hand creeping up your thigh, muttering, “let ‘em stare, princess—they’re just mad they ain’t fuckin’ you.”

OLDER BF!SHIU who doesn’t care about kids but fuckin’ loves pumping you full. pins you down, growling, “gonna stuff you full, dove,” and unloads deep, and gets off on watching it spill out slow, “look at that—fuckin’ perfect, dripping with me.”

OLDER BF!SHIU who’s working late at the office when you get too loud—moaning like a slut while he’s got you bent over his desk. he rips his tie off, stuffs it in your mouth, and mutters, “shut the fuck up, dove—gonna get us caught,” then keeps fucking you raw, the muffled screams making him harder.

OLDER BF!SHIU who’s a lazy fuck but loves watching you work—lounges back on the couch or bed, cig between his lips, hands behind his head, “c’mon, dove, bounce on this dick.” loves how your tits jiggle while you ride him, smirking, “fuckin’ tire yourself out—i’m just here for the view.”

OLDER BF!SHIU who doesn’t bother with condoms half the time—slides in raw and rough, smirking, “shit feels better like this, yeah?” loves dumping his load deep, holding you still while he fills you, “gonna be leaking me all day, huh? nasty little thing.”

OLDER BF!SHIU who’s got that old-man stamina—fucks you hard and fast, flips you over, and keeps drilling ‘til you’re whining, “too much, shiu—fuck!” he just laughs, “tough shit, dove—you can handle it,” and pumps you full again, grinning as you collapse under him, a sweaty, cum-stuffed wreck.

OLDER BF!SHIU who grabs a fistful of your hair when he’s giving you backshots—yanks your head back while he’s slamming into you from behind, his other hand smacking your ass red. “take it, princess—fuckin’ love this tight little hole,” he growls, railing you ‘til the bed groans and your knees give out.

OLDER BF!SHIU who’s hunched over his desk, scribbling notes for his work, when you straddle his thigh, needy and whining. doesn’t even glance up, just smirks, “go on, dove, rub that needy pussy on me—i’m busy.” lets you soak his slacks ‘til he’s done, then grabs your hips, bends you over the desk, and yanks your panties down, “couldn’t wait, huh? needy little thing.”

————— ୨୧ —————

⁀➷ masterlist

[tojisteddy]

Daddy issues | “and if you were my little girl, I’d do whatever I could do…”

cw: 18+ MDNI, 4.1k words (omfg), smut with plot, meanie!simon (he’s a crazy, asshole), Daddy kink, daddy issues (obvi), dd/lg dynamics, mentions of abuse, sexualization of ‘pa, kiddo’ (truly a case of if you hate it just scroll), oral (f receiving), dacryphilia, creampie, full nelson, age gap (reader mid-late 20s, Simon early-mid 30s), no use of y/n (I use [+]).

a/n: obviously influenced by daddy issues by the neighborhood (I know it’s not about this at all, take it up with god), also by take you down by sza :3

You weren’t used to being this needy in your entire life.

You swore you didn’t need anyone, let alone Ghost Riley. You’d been repetitively normal in all your past relationships.

But he’d run through your mind like the Flash going back in time— the older man ruined some of the circuits in your brain.

You’d two gotten into an argument, shocker, but this time over how you were acting. The usually chilled out girl who Ghost would call when he wanted to see his little kitten purr, was now desperate for every little bit of his attention. The blonde despised every bit of it.

“You’re bein fuckin greedy.” He told you, walking away from where you stood after you told you’d wanted to stay over again for another week. Of course, you easily followed right behind, attempting to match his long stride. You never could.

“By wanting to be with you? Aren’t boyfriends supposed to want to see their girlfriends? Supposed to spend time together? There are probably a million girls and guys with sweet boyfriends—“

“—Do I look like one of those buddy buddy, pretty boys you like to fuck to you, [+]?” He turned on his heal, luckily you didn’t crash into his chest like you usually did. His voice was ice cold, “Answer me.”

“No sir.” You mumbled, the air was thick, tightly wrapping around your vocal cords.

“Then why the hell are you bein so damn needy? I told you, I won’t give you all my attention. I’ve got my own shit to take care of and you want me to, what? Hold you on my fuckin hip like a baby?” Well, hey— “Stop bein a damn brat and get the fuck out my face.”

“ ‘M not askin you to take care of me Si, but, I just want-“

“—Cut the shit [+]. You’re pissin me off, why can’t you just fuckin listen? I hate the clingy, desperate shit, get it out of your damn head and get it out of my fuckin house.” He stormed off into one of the bedrooms with a slam of the door.

Simon never had to tell you when he was kicking you out. You’d always go on your own.

He swore if he saw you and you were still stuck on the idea that you had to cling to him, he was gonna rip you a new one.

Did you take him serious?

On a good day, never.

You’d be stuck thinking about how good he looked, blonde hair a mess, veins popping out his neck and his arms, large muscles flexing, face screwed up towards you— you’d lick up all the poison he’d spewed to you over and over. It’s funny, at times like that you’d just wanted to know, if he’d fuck all his anger into you? Maybe you’d cum so many times just from finger fucking you, you’d be a babbling mess, begging for more—

Delusional.

Maybe when he was actually angry with you, not when Ghost was aggravated to the point he didnt want to physically see you.

And at the absolute worst of times, you’d trusted his words. You stayed away for a couple weeks just as you were told because you so desperately wanted to be told how good you were when you got that call. How you weren’t a needy bitch, but the prettiest & smartest girl he’d ever been with.

And of course you could’ve heard those simple words from anyone in a ten mile radius, ask your online followers for a few complements and you would’ve gotten them like clockwork. But you needed to hear it from that meanie.

Did you have a praise kink? Perhaps.

Did you need men’s approval to live? God forbid.

You just wanted Ghosts approval. His rough hands from those long days of being in action to touch your body, the playful head pats you swore you hated it cause it messed up your hair, a good smack to the ass as praise when he instructed you on how to change a car tire, fat fingers trailing your back as you sat in his lap, reading those books you loved a loud. Gruff voice praising after you had such an amazing day at work— as if you’d been the one to align everything so it could all work in your favor. ‘Good job doll, you’re doin well for yourself.”

Those underlying daddy issues would tear themselves out of you— like some junkie, you craved to hear his praises, feel it on your skin. It tingled the ivory inside you like a piano.

You tried taking your mind off it, throwing yourself into work, hanging out with your friends, doing a stream or two just to see if anyone showed up, get your mind straight so you wouldn’t be so dependent.

But giving a stray attention then yanking it away would be plain rude.

Your brain was in turmoil, front of your brain started to thunk, thunk, thunk from how much you were over thinking. To top it off, your father had called you just as you’d gotten done having lunch with some friends.

It’d be a long fucking night.

“No, I'm not moving back to the US just so I can be married off to someone stranger. Are you crazy?” You practically shrieked once you’d heard your stupid father on the other side of the call. No ‘hello,’ ‘how are you?’ ‘It’s been a while’ just straight bullshit.

Something about an arranged marriage with the son of a businessman he was trying to partner with. You wanted to punch him square in his jaw— ooooh calm down. You were okay. It’s perfectly fine.

“It’s for the betterment of your future, [+]. Why am I the only one who cares about that? You can’t go playing around with dogs all day—“

“I have serious clients dad, famous ones. Rich one’s. I’m not grooming dogs for nothing, even talked about opening my own place.” You tried. It was your dream, something not even your boss knew about. But Simon knew, in fact, he was the one who pushed you the most about really chasing after what you wanted. He had the most faith in you, and you yearned to hear him reassure you right now. Even if it was just him saying, ‘dont let those cunts get in your head, you’re my smart girl, aren’t ya? You know best.’

You would’ve killed to hear that right now.

Your father chastised, “A little grooming license isn’t a bachelors degree, is it?”

Oh. You blinked. He always had to take it there when he couldn’t get his way, because everything needed to go your father’s way or no one could be happy. You wiped your hand over your face in frustration, huffing as you continued on to your apartment, tuning out whatever the man was saying with ‘mmhm’.

Like a knight in shining armor but the opposing enemy, there the skull mask wearing man sat in his big black truck right in front of your apartment building. Simon didn’t even have to say anything when he caught your brown eyes, just motioned his head. ‘Come.’

Did he have to tell you twice?

You climbed in the car, heart pounding, not even listening to the words that were coming from the other side of the line because someone ten times more important had showed up.

“Where’ve you been?” He’d filled the cars silence in a hushed tone. Just enough so you could hear but your father couldn’t.

You fumbled around with your purse, looking at anything you could but the man beside you, “…You told me not to come over.”

“And you actually listened?” Simon griminced, eyebrow raised at you as he continued to drive.

Because usually, you’d show up even if you were the one who was mad. Ignoring him like he did you, even if you two were in the same space but you were still together. He’d still pull you in his arms, rubbing his head in the crevice of your neck because you were so damn cute with those eyebrows furrowed and pout.

“I didn’t wanna make you more upset this time.” You wanted to hide yourself but that truck left no room for it.

Well that didn’t work, did it? It just made him more annoyed. To the point Price had to tell him to ease up on the lower ranked soldiers during training. Even if he did push you away, you were a boomerang, always finding your way back to the older brute— a constant. You were a stray cat that would brush into Simon each time he gave you a little attention, a little food, a little love. And he liked it, his cute little thing that would ease his mind from everything even if you were a little annoying. Something to care for.

Like, a puppy? A kitten? No, more. Girlfriend? Of course. A step down to hell. His baby girl. His baby—

Before Simon could get another word out, the rambling from your phone the both of you were ignoring turned into yelling. His hand gripped the wheel with a scuff. Simon hated your father to say the very least, an annoying, prude that man was. He had a nasty habit of calling you and spewing utter bullshit in your ear, critiquing every little one of your life choices even though he didn’t raise you, didn’t pay for anything— he was just another entitled sperm donor. Simon had to tell you to hang up different times because he couldn’t stand someone talking to you like that.

It took Simon back to his own father, that abusive, psychopathic prick. Didn’t know what the hell he was doing with him and his younger brother, fucker always was on ballistic shit. Throwing things against the wall, putting his hands on anyone in that God forsaken house that breathed wrong, drinking non stop and the goddamn yelling. He didn’t want that for you— didn’t want to end up like that bastard. Simon cared about you too much, he wouldn’t let that happen. So in his fucked up way of caring, he’d push you away. Saying anything that came to mind, only meaning 61% what he actually said.

But that proved to be a new dead end.

Which led to a new resolution: he’d fix whatever issue went on in his head and keep you if it meant not having to see you very clearly, shut yourself down to cope or having to hear your annoying father talking down on you like an imbecile.

Ghost’s own head was reeling— he would never let anyone talk to you like you were an idiot. Couldn’t even imagine it. Yes, you were a little agitating, a little fucking dumb— but that was fixable. Nothing Daddy couldn’t fix. And if you trip and fall on your mistakes, the older man was right there to catch you. He’d refix your problems a thousand times over if he had to, why? Because he adored you to pieces.

But you weren’t an idiot, you can’t fix inherent incompetence.

His princess wasn’t incompetent.

That’s why every fuckin time you were on the phone with your father, which was already rare, he wanted to shove his booted foot right the man’s ass. Sew his asshole shut and keep feeding him, and feeding him, and feeding him. Water board the guy and show everyone how he was the fuckin embarrassment and not his sweet precious daughter—

Simon would try to hold whatever anger was festering this time because you, for your mothers sake, were trying to fix the relationship you didn’t break.

He was off the rocker, yes, but he’d get the shit together. Quick. Somehow. For you.

Be good, good, be good, be good—

“—And I bet you’re still fucking around with that ass aren’t you, [+]? You can be such a fucking idiot, it’s time to grow the hell up-“

You weren’t a fucking idiot. Never. If Simon didn’t call you that, what made anyone think they had the right to?

He didn’t hesitate to snatch the phone out of your hands, “—Are you out of your fuckin mind!?”

His voice boomed, filling the car, not even your father was talking anymore. The only sound that could be heard was the engine and the tires rolling on the pavement.

“Ya don’t say shit to your own kid for a decade but now you think you can run her life because you got some money in your pocket? Money you haven’t even spent a single pound on her—“ there was a quick muffled noise from the other side of the phone but Ghost was faster, “I’m disrespectful!? I wish I gave a shit about what you think of me or what I’m doin with your fuckin daughter. She’s with me for good reason.”

“—The next time you call you’d better have one foot in the grave or I’m gonna find you and make sure you do my fuckin self.” The blonde pressed the red button on the screen, a few more taps to block the man who, the blonde man had decided, wouldn’t be in your life.

After putting your phone in your lap, his hand immediately went to the back of your neck and letting out a deep breath, rubbing the baby hairs with his thumb. Soothing you. You saw Simon mouth move but you didn’t hear what came out of it. It was like your ears were shot just for a second, your heart beating loudly, you had wrapped yourself in a daze whenever you’d talk to your father and this had to be the first time someone not only yanked you out of it, but fully and undoubtedly protected you.

“Kid.” he barked, more profound.

Your big brown eyes snapped over to him, your brain finally catching up to what was happening in the moment.

“You’re okay, ‘s okay. I’ve got you, gonna take care ‘f you. Promise. You want that? Want me to take care of you, hm baby?” His voice was so soft, inviting, pulling you into whatever he’d had set for you in his mind.

How could you say no, when all you ever wanted was to be Simons?

“Yes sir.”

Famous last words.

Like you’d ignited a flame, his brown eyes flickered with mischief.

Ghost, the usual menace, rough man was being cloying with you.

Leaving gentle kisses all over as he made his was down to the heat in the middle of your legs. Big hands roaming the rest of your body as he slid your black, wet, underwear off, throwing your legs over his shoulders and giving a nice smooch to your cunt.

“So fuckin pretty baby, ‘s all for me?” His tongue slide up and down your vulva.

“Y-Yeah,” you said breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut as Ghost lapped up every juice that was coming out of you.

The older man scuffed, slipping a finger inside your tight walls and slowly thrusting them. “ ‘yeah’? That’s all you gotta say? Don’t be stubborn with me doll, wanna be nice to you today.”

You felt a pinch to your thigh, a warning, “keep those pretty eyes on me swee’art, need you focused on me.”

Your head tilted itself to the side, nodding your head and biting your lip to contain your moan but it’s barely doing anything as you watch Simon slip another fat finger into you, pumping his fingers faster and finally going up to your clit, taking a little nibble of it and then talking it in his mouth.

“Fu- mmm- fuuuck- wait- Si- I- can I cum? Please? Can I?” You whimpered, peeking down at the brown eyes that were stuck on you. Ghost was smirking, almost enough to get a laugh out of him.

“Course baby, bein so good. Can cum as much as you want today.” His fingers curled just right at the perfect spot inside you and your walls flutter around his fingers. But he’s not stopping, course he’s not, the man has to get a good taste of you, get you cumming with his fingers, without his fingers, without sucking your clit— he sucking out every drop that leaves your cunt.

Ghost was taking his sweet time, as if you didn’t need him inside you desperately. You were aching for more after cumming a fourth time, bucking your hips only for Ghost to press down on them to keep you still.

He pulled his mouth away from you, face covered in your slick, “Jesus baby, cut it out, will you? Thought you wanted Daddy to take care of you?”

“D-do, I do. It’s just- just-“

“Don’t tell me you’re not used to it.” His ends of his lips turned up into a smirk, teasing, fingers rubbing your clit just enough to keep you wanting more yet slow enough to keep your attention only on him.

No. No you weren’t. He’d known that.

Simon usually manhandled you every which way and any position he wanted you in. Edging you as much as he wanted then giving it to you deep and leaving you breathless at every moment. And it’s not like you hated it, you loved every second of it. But this- this situation made your brain melt.

The older man just looooved that.

“Give me another, let me feel it.” His hands went to grope your tits, squeezing and pulling at them as he rubbed his face further into your pussy, completely devouring you whole. The blonde slid his long tongue back inside your hole, thrusting it just right. The man groaned as you pulsed around him, somehow getting sweeter as you fell apart.

He kept touching all over you, the curve your breasts, the peak of your nipples, the dips in your hips and thighs— ever so softly. As if he was revisiting a map he’d known like the back of his hand, making sure he knew every nook and cranny of you, the cause of every twitch, shake, and moan, the reason slick kept flowing down onto his tongue.

Why?

Well a good Daddy just had to know his baby well, shouldn’t he?

You should’ve known, there was no way Simon would ever be nice and go easy on you the whole time he was fucking you. But you were being silly, fantasizing about him slipping inside you and being gentle.

Your mistake for thinking a man so large in size, so brutal with words, with the biggest and fattest dick you’ve ever seen in your life would ever treat your poor pussy kindly :(. You always looked so perfect when he had you crying, so easy to bully, Ghost just couldn’t help himself.

“Si- Simon!” You yelped out, as he finally bottomed out inside your pink walls that were gonna chop his manhood off. He’d had you stuck in an inescapable full nelson, legs spread wide open and beefy arms hooked under knees, forcing your head down to look at the disappearing act of the century happening with his cock and your cunt.

“Look at the fuckin mess you’re makin kiddo, gonna get my thighs wet at this rate.” Ghost was plopping you up and down, up and down on his length, the loud sloshing sound of your sopping wet pussy filling the room.

“No- Si- aangh- it’s too much!” And it’s not like you could even push any of him away, as he thrusted up into you, making sure you took every single inch imaginable.

“Such a fuckin liar baby. What a fuckin liar you are, ‘nd you don’t think I’ve fuckin noticed that you won’t call me how you’re supposed to? Huh? Didn’t teach you to lie like that, did I?”

You’d internally cursed, slapping at his hand for some relief but your mouth only letting out moans. Yes, you were avoiding calling him ‘daddy,’ even though you’d call him that casually, it felt so off today after your falling out with your father. It made your head spin, because it wasn’t just a nickname anymore.

You were craving the missing hole you’ve been ignoring this whole time, to be filled with the man fucking you like a slut in his big arms.

“Told you I’d take care of ya, didn’t I princess? Promised you I’d be reaalll good to ya but— shit, your squeezing the life outta me— can’t be nice if you don’t treat your own daddy proper, can I?” You moaned at his words, shaking your head because this man was gonna make you go insane, tonight. Pushing you past the point of no return, and no, he wouldn’t let go of your hand while he’d did it.

He’d hold your hand and jump with you.

“Come on, call me how you’re ‘posed to kid.” He grunted in you ear, sucking on your earlobe, “Call the only man you’ll ever need, the man who’s fuckin your pretty pussy right, know you want to. Come on.”

He was egging on that delusion that sat, triple boxed up and in the farthest corner of your mind of your mind. Teasing, taunting you, probing at the thought that you swore you locked away that one time it slipped out of you mid conversation months ago.

But Simon remembered. In fact, he’d just needed the ‘okay’ from your plump lips because he longed to hear you call him that oh so sweet yet oh so sinful name once more. He wanted to be your number one. The man you relied on, someone that would never leave you like your father did. Better than your father, better than any one of those little boys you’d fool around with in the past. Damn it, and it was making you wetter.

“Paaa! You feel so good pa!” You mewled, throwing your head back on his shoulder in pleasure.

You felt that maniacal grin form on Ghosts lips on your shoulder, leaving a kiss on your neck— he was proud of you. It tickled something in his brain, scratched the exact spot where his own daddy issues lay. He wasn’t new to hearing a sex partner call him daddy during sex, maybe he exuded that energy— it was in his blood, Ghost didn’t know. But you just kept pushing the line, accidentally calling him that magic word when he’d praise you. And it stuck. You’d call him daddy like it was second nature. Looking up at him with those pretty brown eyes, obediently listening to whatever he had to say. That’s what all the fucking clingy shit was about, the needy, desperation of it all.

Wanting a father figure from a hell raiser— it was arranged. You were a good girl. Ghosts good little girl.

“Therrre you go princess, atta girl! Doin so good for me, cum on your daddy’s dick. Show me how good you are baby, milk me dry.”

You shook your head, belligerent sobs escaping you. You couldn’t believe you’d just call him that, of all things. And you tried to retract it, whining your way through your orgasm that left you trembling, Simon himself filling your tight cunt with every bit cum that sat in his balls.

“I- I- hicc- I didn’t mean to call you- hicc- I’m sorry.” You blabbered out, how sweet. How cute, you were trying to collect yourself. He pulled out of you with a roll of his eyes, flipping you onto your stomach, rubbing the tip against your hole that was leaking with the both of your cum. What a miraculous sight.

“No, baby you did. Don’t worry that pretty little head,” he cooed, slipping his dick back inside you, groaning at the feel of you. “pa’s got you.”

“Come on doll, wanna hear you,” He rocked his hips into you, the room filling with the smack, smack, smack, smacking of his balls hitting your wet pussy, ripples forming on your ass with every thrust.

Your brain was turning to mush, drool forming and dripping down the sheets of the bed. The only thing you were able to think of was daddy, daddy, daddy, pa, pa, pa. How good your pa was drilling into you like a maniac.

Simon’s hand wrapped around your curly hair, dragging you up to your knees as he continued to ram into you, “This allll my sweet little girl needed? Your pa to take care of you like a good daddy should. Fuck, that bastard couldn’t treat you right could he? Show you how a man’s supposed to treat you, huh?”

“Noooo sir- nghhh.” you keened, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Tha’s right princess, don’t worry though— I love you. Your pa loves you soooo. fuckin. much baby. No one’s gonna love you more than me.”

Those words alone is what set off your next orgasm, he was talking crazy, actually. And you loved every second of it, back arching even more so as you pulsated around his throbbing cock. He was still thrusting into you chasing his own orgasm, a string of curses leaving his mouth as you felt the tip of him spasm. He made you so full of him, you’d felt so warm all over.

“Shit, such a good girl for me, gonna take such good care of you from now. What do ya say?” He took you in his arms, laying you on top of him. You could feel his heart beating, chest heaving. Both of your skin sticky with sweat.

“Thank you pa.” You wrapped your arms him.

“Oh princess,” Ghost smiled, pressing his lips against yours, cupping your face with one hand and caressing it with his thumb, “you’re so welcome.”

a/n: it’s three people who are gonna read all this, me being one of them. If you liked it leave me a message or comment. If you hated it, idk. I’m just a big dadbf!simon enthusiast.

most recent masterlist.

[rafes-slut]

You slut him out and then you two build legos togheter

Summary:you and Rafe drain every last bit of energy out of each other, leaving no room for restraint—just pure, desperate indulgence until you’re both spent beyond recognition. The only thing left to do afterward? Build Legos.

Warnings:filthy, raw, desperate. Overstimulation. Roughness. Marking. Light degradation. Praise. Teasing. Utter exhaustion. The softest post-sex Lego session to ever exist.

𓆩♱𓆪

The room is a mess. The sheets are tangled, half hanging off the bed, pillows knocked to the floor. Your limbs feel useless, boneless—like you’ve been wrung out completely, left with nothing but the aftershocks still rippling through your body.

Rafe is sprawled beside you, chest heaving, sweat-damp hair stuck to his forehead. His lips are swollen, jaw dusted in faint scratches from where your nails dug in, and the deep red marks littering his skin make it look like he barely made it out alive. His entire body is trembling from how hard you both went at it, from how many times you pulled each other over the edge, draining every last drop of energy until you were both left panting, barely able to move.

Silence lingers, heavy but not uncomfortable, the kind of quiet that only comes after being utterly wrecked. You glance over at him, taking in the sight of his completely ruined state—his fingers twitching slightly, abs flexing as he tries to catch his breath, the blissed-out daze in his blue eyes as he stares at the ceiling.

“Think we went too hard?” you mumble, voice hoarse.

Rafe snorts, rolling his head to the side to look at you. “No such thing.”

Your leg twitches when you try to move, and you groan, flopping back down. “I can’t feel my body.”

“Same,” Rafe mutters, his arm flopping onto your stomach. His fingers absently trace the marks he left, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he brushes over a particularly dark bruise forming near your hip. “Looks good on you.”

You roll your eyes, too exhausted to fire back. Instead, your gaze drifts toward the edge of the bed, where an unopened box of Legos sits—one that you bought earlier today, planning to build it together before things got… sidetracked.

Your fingers reach out, poking his side weakly. “Lego time?”

Rafe lets out a groan, tilting his head back like you just asked him to run a marathon. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” You attempt to push yourself up, wincing at the ache deep in your muscles. “We said we were gonna build it today.”

Rafe grumbles under his breath, but he’s already shifting, sluggishly moving to sit up. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue.”

A tired laugh leaves your lips as you both drag yourselves up, moving at a snail’s pace. Rafe grabs the box off the floor, flipping it over to inspect it. “You seriously got the fucking Millennium Falcon?”

“I thought it would be fun,” you say with a small shrug.

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head, but there’s something fond in his expression as he tears the box open and dumps the pieces onto the bed. He tosses you the instruction booklet before leaning back against the headboard, one hand lazily sifting through the scattered bricks.

For a while, the two of you sit in comfortable silence, working together in sync. The post-sex haze still lingers, but the quiet act of building something together is soothing in a way you didn’t expect. Rafe’s fingers occasionally brush yours as you pass him pieces, and every once in a while, he pauses to press a lazy kiss to your shoulder, still drunk off the way you completely wrecked each other.

At one point, he smirks, nudging you. “You know, if we weren’t so exhausted, I’d totally bend you over and fuck you right on top of this Lego pile.”

You snort. “You’d regret it the second you stepped on one.”

Rafe hums, pretending to consider it. “Worth it.”

You shake your head, nudging his knee with yours. “Just focus on the damn ship, pretty boy.”

His smirk falters for half a second—just enough to tell you he secretly loves it when you call him that—but he quickly masks it, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

The two of you keep building, slow and steady, the warmth of each other’s presence making the exhaustion a little easier to bear. It’s the perfect contrast—the absolute filth you just put each other through, now balanced by something so simple and soft.

And when Rafe eventually dozes off mid-build, head slumping onto your shoulder, you just smile, letting him rest. Because if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that you’ll both wake up with just enough energy to destroy each other all over again.

[carnalcrows]

MILK YOU DRY - THANOS

pairing: thanos x top male reader

synopsis: This is why you never accept things from people you don't know.

content warnings: 18+, bottom thanos, drug usage, riding, cockwarming, semi-public sex

word count: 0.4k (this is short as fuck lolol)

It all started with one little pill.

"Come on, man. It'll take the edge off," Thanos had said, pressing the tiny thing into your palm with that signature smug smirk. "Consider it a gift. Or an investment."

You had hesitated for all of three seconds before shrugging and dry-swallowing it. Bad decision? Maybe. But you were already knee-deep in the nightmare that was the death game you were currently stuck participating in, so what was one more risk? Plus, Thanos had this way of talking that made everything sound like a good idea, even the objectively stupid ones.

Fast forward fifteen minutes later, and you were absolutely wrecked.

"You're so—you're so soft," you slurred, hands gripping Thanos' waist as he straddled your lap inside a bathroom stall, your cock happily burrowed in his ass. The world was spinning in a fun way, your limbs felt light, and Thanos smelled like cigarette smoke and…vanilla?

"You’re so gone," he snickered, arms slung around your shoulders, his fingers playing with the back of your hair. "Damn, you really can't handle your stuff."

"I can handle you just fine," you shot back, half-lidded eyes locking onto his. That seemed to be the magic phrase because Thanos grinned, leaned in, and kissed you, as he slowly bounced on your cock– the overstimulation and the effects of the pill making your brain go mushy.

It was messy. It was uncoordinated. It was hands roaming where they shouldn’t and teeth clashing because neither of you had enough patience to slow down. Thanos was warm in your lap, your cock in his tight ass grounding you just enough to keep your head from floating off entirely.

"You're kinda hot when you're like this," he murmured against your lips before biting down—hard enough to make you hiss.

"You're kinda a menace," you shot back, fingers digging into his hips, dragging him back onto your length.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open barely registered at first. But then, a very familiar and exasperated voice filled the stall.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Both of you froze.

Slowly—very slowly—you turned your head. And there, standing in the doorway with an expression of pure disbelief, was Nam-gyu.

Thanos, the absolute menace that he was, didn't even look fazed. If anything, his grin widened as he leaned back, still comfortably perched on your lap. "Hey, Nam-gyu. We were just—"

"I can see what you were just." Nam-gyu pinched the bridge of his nose. "I leave you alone for twenty minutes, and this is what happens?"

You opened your mouth to come up with some kind of excuse, but all that came out was an unhelpful, "Uh."

Nam-gyu exhaled, shaking his head before stepping inside and shutting the stall door behind him. The last thing you saw before exhaustion came over you was the absolutely devilish smirk spreading across his face.

Well. This was gonna be interesting.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[itneverendshere]

drunk words sober thoughts - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

Here you were, in the middle of Figure Eight at four in the goddamn morning, dragging your six-foot-something, entirely-too-drunk boyfriend away from a kook party you didn’t even want to go to in the first place.

He was stupidly wasted, stumbling along like his legs had forgotten how to work, slurring every other word like his tongue was three sizes too big.

“Baaaaaby,” Rafe sloppily enunciated, breath against your neck as he practically draped himself over you, "You’re so fuckin’—shit—so fuckin’ hot, like—like the hottest thing I ever seen in my life—swear t’god, baby,—holy shit—” His hands groped at your waist, sliding down to your ass as he tried to pull you closer, touching you like it was his god-given right—which in his mind, it probably was.

You smacked his hand away, though you couldn't help but feel a little fond—just a little.  "Touch my ass one more time before we get home and I’m gonna leave you in a ditch."

He gasped, as if you just threatened to burn his whole family fortune to the ground. "You wouldn’t."

You shoved him off with an annoyed huff. “I would.”

“But—”

“Shush.”

He let out a dramatic groan but complied, mostly because he was too drunk to fight back. You had managed to yank him out of the house, away from all the Kooks he swore he didn’t fuck with anymore, away from the shots he was knocking back like water, and out onto the empty street.

Kelce was still inside, which meant you had no ride home, and the only other person who offered—a random-ass Kook girl—had given you a look you did not appreciate. You’d rather drag Rafe’s dumb ass across the island than owe one of those trust-fund bitches a favor.

Rafe pouted like a damn child but, miraculously, mostly kept his hands to himself as you dragged him down the street. The man was dead weight who kept leaning into you, his heavy, muscled body pressing into your side.

"Can you walk?" You huffed, struggling under his weight.

"M’walking," he spluttered, sounding genuinely offended.

"You're stumbling like a newborn giraffe.”

Rafe chuckled, rubbing his face against your shoulder. "Love when you’re mean t’me”

You rolled your eyes. "Of course you do, you freak."

The party had been fun—for exactly twenty minutes. Then Rafe, despite all his I swear, baby, I’ll behave promises, had proceeded to down shots like he was getting paid for it. 

He had stuck to your side, arm around you, lips constantly pressing against your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. See, baby? he’d murmured against your skin. M’not even that drunk. 

Clingy drunk didn’t even begin to describe him.

Rafe had spent the next two hours attached to you, breath alcohol-laced against your ear as he whispered absolute nonsense. He was insatiable—every time you turned around, he was either kissing you, grinding against you, or telling everyone who would listen that you were his girl, the best girl, the only girl that mattered.

His hands had wandered, spanking your ass, slipping beneath the hem of your dress like he had no concept of public decency.

He was still stupidly wasted.

Rafe stumbled, nearly taking you down with him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “I feel—”

You turned your head just in time to see his face twist in discomfort, his body swaying, our stomach dropped. "No, you do not—Rafe Cameron, don’t you dare,” you snapped, gripping his shirt to keep him upright.

He groaned, clutching his stomach. “Think—think 'm gonna be sick...”

“The fuck you are,” you shot back, already tugging him down the road. “You are not throwing up out here. I am not letting you pass out on the goddamn street, and I definitely can’t carry your heavy ass, so get it together.”

He whined, actually fucking whined, like a kid being denied candy at the store. “But I feel—”

“Walk.”

Rafe grumbled something but miraculously kept moving, though he nearly toppled both of you when he tried to nuzzle into your neck again. “Mmm. Love you,” he murmured, pressing wet, sloppy kisses to your jaw, your ear, any part of you he could reach. “Love ya s’much.”

You cracked—just a little—because, drunk or not, Rafe was always a touchy, clingy mess when it came to you. You sighed, as you led him down the dark road, trying to act annoyed but feeling that mushy tug in your chest “I know.”

"S—saaay it back.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ll say it when you’re not about to puke on my shoes.”

A dramatic gasp. “"You—you don’t love me?"

“Dude.”

"Say it baaaack."

"Rafe."

He pouted, leaning his full weight into you again, and you swore you were about to just let his ass collapse on the pavement.

"You’re sooo pretty," he mumbled, voice all dreamy. "So fuckin’ pretty. Prettiest—prettiest girl I ever seen... swear t’god, baby... like an angel or some shit...”

You sighed, readjusting your grip on his waist. "You’re so fucking annoying."

Rafe slurred some more against your neck, his hot breath making you physically recoil. He whuffed, tilting his head dramatically. "Jus' wanna kiss’ya,”

"You’re disgusting."

"’M sexy."

"You reek of tequila."

"B-but— I love you,” he insisted, voice all dramatic, he had just made some groundbreaking realization. His arm tightened around your shoulders, nearly choking you as he clung to you like a goddamn koala. “Tink I might die if you ever leave me.”

 “If you don’t move your ass, I’m gonna leave you—right here.”

You somehow made it another few blocks before he stopped dead in his tracks, groaning as he bent over. Your stomach twisted in anticipation, but before you could yell at him, he straightened back up, blinking at you. “Shit.”

You stared at him, waiting. “What.”

“M’m kinda fucked up.”

“No shit, dumbass.”

He blinked again, then broke into a lazy, drunken grin.

You shook your head, suppressing a smile. “I’m dragging your stupid ass home.” He hummed, leaning down to kiss your cheek. You sighed, finally resigning yourself to the fact that you’d be stuck dealing with his drunk ass all night. “Love you too. Now move.”

He groaned again, slumping further into you. "Wanna hold you." His lips brushed your jaw, his kisses hot, sloppy, desperate. "Baby, just lemme—"

You shoved his face away, trying not to laugh at how absolutely ridiculous he was. "Not while you're about to vomit on me, you fucking menace."

He pouted, eyes all big and glassy like some lovesick golden retriever. "Prettiest girl in the world."

You sighed, trying to resist the affection. "I know."

"S-say it backkk. Tell me ’m your prettiest boy."

You snorted, knowing you were gonna use this shit against him in the morning, “Get off of me, you giant fucking toddler.”

"Never."

Before you could shove him away again, Rafe’s turned into the hulk—pressing your back was against the nearest car.

“What the fuck—"

"Hi," he blinked down at you while his hands splayed against the cool metal behind you, trapping you between the car and him.

You squirmed, trying to duck under his arms, but Rafe just grinned, leaning in until his lips were brushing your ear. "Where d’ya think you’re goin’?"

"Home," you huffed, shoving at his chest. "Without getting humped to death by my drunk boyfriend."

"But I need youuuu," he groaned, voice all wrecked. "Fuck, baby, you don’t get it. I’ve been thinkin’ bout you all fucking night, and you—" he pressed his hips against yours, making you gasp—"you feel me?"

You did, hating how fast heat crawled up your spine, how your body responded to him instantly despite how fucking annoying he was being.

"Rafe," you warned.

"Baby," he mocked, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your throat. “Lemme have this,” His voice was thick, his hands skimming to your waist, gripping your hips, tugging you closer despite how little space was between you already.

“You’re not fucking me here.”

Rafe just grinned. "No?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw.  His lips trailed lower, sucking at your pulse, making you shiver.  “Can't even fuckin’ think s-straight."

“You can’t think straight because you’re hammered."

"Nah," he murmured, "M’ drunk on you."

You groaned. "You're so fucking corny, I swear to—"

Rafe cut you off with a kiss.

Sloppy, deep, needy.

His hands were groping your cheeks so tight you knew you’d feel it in the morning. His tongue licked into your mouth as he shamelessly moaned against your lips, grinding into you like a bitch in heat.

"You taste so fucking good," he moved  to your neck again, sucking at the skin, "Gonna wake up tastin' you, fuck—"

"Rafe—"

"Bet you’re soaked for me right now," he groaned, hand gripping your jaw, tilting your head back so he could kiss down your throat.

Your entire body burned. "Oh my fucking god, Rafe—"

"I love you," he muttered into your skin. "Love this fucking body. Love the way you feel, the way you—"

And then, his whole body tensed.

"Baby—" his face twisted in discomfort. "Oh fuck."

Your stomach dropped. "No. No, no, no. Do not—"

“Think 'm gonna be sick,” he swayed on his feet.

You grabbed his shirt with both hands, yanking him upright with all your strength. "You are not about to throw up after whispering the nastiest shit into my neck like five seconds ago—"

He gripped your arms, blinking at you all slow and dazed. "’M serious, babe, shit’s—not good—"

"So help me god."

Rafe took a few stumbly steps away from you, suddenly lurching forward with a groan. His body bent before you could grab him again, he was kneeling on the ground, his hands clutching his stomach as he made a noise that made you wince.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” you muttered, running a hand over your face in exasperation. This was not how you planned to spend the rest of your night. 

Rafe's voice was hoarse as he sat back on his heels, eyes red-rimmed. “I didn’t mean—didn’t mean to—"

“I know. You’re just—" You paused, looking down at him, the man who couldn’t even sit up straight. “You’re an idiot.”

He grinned, his eyes hazy, clearly missing the sarcasm. “But I’m your idiot,” he slurred, and it was hard not to feel the affection despite how much of a pain in the ass he was being.

"Yeah, you are," you said, finally kneeling down beside him.

Rafe let out a half-giggled, half-groan sound, leaning into you as he tried to catch his breath. "Can we jus’ go h-home? Swear, never drinkin’ again. M’ sorry…”

You knew that was a lie, but you also knew he was genuinely miserable right now.

You sighed, wiping a hand down your face as you helped Rafe to his feet. He wobbled, gripping your shoulders. His face buried in the crook of your neck. “Y’so good t’me,” he mumbled, his breath hot and sticky against your skin.

“You say that now,” you muttered, adjusting your grip on his waist as you continued dragging him down the empty street. “Wait till you wake up tomorrow and realize I recorded half the shit you said tonight.”

Rafe made an exaggerated whimpering noise. “Baby, nooo.”

You snorted. “Baby, yes.”

Every other step, he either tripped over his own feet or stopped dead in his tracks to dramatically profess his love for you. By the time you finally made it to his driveway, your arms ached from holding him up,.

You shoved the front door open and all but dragged Rafe inside. The house was dark and quiet, Ward was out of town, and Rose was probably dead asleep, thank god. The last thing you needed was a lecture from her about how “boys will be boys” while Rafe was in the middle of trying to hump your leg like a golden retriever.

You maneuvered him toward the stairs, dreading the climb. “Up we go.”

Rafe blinked at you like you just asked him to solve a math equation. “That’s—” he tilted his head, “—so many stairs.”

You exhaled sharply. “You are a six-foot-something, gym-rat motherfucker. Get your ass up the stairs before I leave you here.”

He pouted but complied, albeit slowly. You stayed behind him, hands on his back to make sure he didn’t topple over and eat shit halfway up. He wobbled a few times, but eventually, you managed to get him into his bedroom and onto the bed with an unceremonious plop.

Rafe rolled onto his stomach, face buried in the pillow. “Dying.”

“You’re not dying,” you said flatly, grabbing a water bottle from his nightstand and uncapping it. “Drink.”

He peeked up at you with bleary eyes. “Don’ wanna.”

You sighed. “Rafe.”

“Baaaaby.”

“Drink the water.”

Rafe grumbled but obediently took a sip, grimacing like it physically pained him. You shook your head, amused despite yourself. You kicked off your shoes and climbed onto the bed beside him, brushing his sweaty hair off his forehead.

“Feel like shit,” he muttered, pressing his face into your palm.

“That’s what happens when you drink your weight in tequila.”

 “’M never drinkin’ again.”

 “Sure.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, grabbing your hand and pressing a sloppy kiss to your wrist. “Jus’ gonna stay home with you forever. Never leavin’ this bed.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, yeah.”

Rafe hummed, eyes slipping shut. His breathing slowed, his grip on your hand loosening as exhaustion finally overtook him.

You sighed, settling in beside him, your fingers still tangled with his. 

You found yourself staring at him as he slept—mouth slightly open, hair a mess, snoring just a little. 

A year, a whole damn year of this. Of dealing with his bullshit, his temper tantrums, his insufferable ego—but also his stupid soft side, the way he always pulled you in closer, how needed to be near you like you were oxygen or some shit.

Never in a million years did you think you’d be this girl, the one who loved Rafe Cameron. Yet, here you were—pathetically, hopelessly, disgustingly in love with him.

With a quiet sigh, you brushed a strand of hair off his forehead and pressed the lightest of kisses there. “Idiot.”

The next morning, Rafe woke up with a dramatic wail, immediately burying his face in the pillow. His entire body hurt like a bitch, his mouth was dry as a fucking desert, and his head was pounding, going off inside his skull.

“Fuck,” he rasped, voice rough with sleep. His stomach twisted in protest, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the nausea.

You, on the other hand, were already sitting up beside him, scrolling through your phone like you hadn’t spent half the night wrestling his drunk ass into bed.

“You look like shit,” you said casually, not even bothering to glance at him.

Rafe groaned, dragging the pillow over his face. “Feel like shit.”

“That’s what happens when you go full frat boy mode.”

He grumbled something incoherent into the pillow before peeking up at you with bloodshot eyes. “Sweetheart…”

You arched a brow. “What?”

“Fix me,” he stretched an arm out toward you like a spoiled prince demanding attention.

 “Now you want me to fix you?” You leaned down, brushing his hair back. “You don’t remember the absolute nonsense you were saying last night, do you?”

Rafe hesitated, blinking at you. “…What nonsense?”

“Oh, you know,” you said, smirking. “Telling me I’m the prettiest girl in the world. Saying you’d die if I ever left you. Practically dry-humping me in the street.”

Rafe squeezed his eyes shut, rolling onto his back and draping an arm over his face. “Kill me."

You grinned. “I got videos too.”

He looked absolutely miserable. “Baby, please.”

You pushed yourself out of bed. “I’ll get you some Advil and water.”

Rafe watched you, his lips twitching up despite his pain. “Told you you love me.”

You tossed a pillow at his face. “Shut up and suffer.”

[daeniradraconis]

I was thinking of a request with one of the hughes brothers (your choice!! I cannot choose between them) x reader who works for the team in some capacity, where reader gets injured by a stray puck or something and their love interest totally outs himself by caring for/being protective over reader.

Obviously only if you think this is interesting!! Love your stuff!

Thank you for requesting! 💖 Hope you will like this as well.

Secrets and Slapshots Being the Devils’ photographer had its perks. You got to stand on the ice, snap the team’s best moments, and—most importantly—spend extra time with Luke Hughes. Not that anyone knew why that mattered. You and Luke had kept your relationship a secret for seven months, a choice born of practicality (dating a player while working for the team? Tricky) and a bigger, messier reason: your older brother, Curtis Lazar. Protective was an understatement. If Curtis found out you were with Luke—the youngest Hughes brother, no less—heads would roll. So you stuck to sneaky glances, stolen moments, and hushed talks behind closed doors.

It worked. Until it didn’t.

You were by the boards during practice, camera raised, framing a shot of Nico roofing a puck when—BAM. A rogue slapshot rocketed toward you, too fast to dodge. Pain exploded in your shoulder, sharp and blinding, the force slamming you back into the boards. You stumbled, vision blurring, a choked gasp escaping as your arm went limp, fingers buzzing with static. Your camera dangled from its strap, barely gripped in your good hand. Nausea surged, and you pressed your palm to your shoulder, trying to breathe through it.

The rink went quiet, then erupted.

“OH SHIT—”

“YO, YOU GOOD?”

Dawson Mercer skated next to you, panic etched on his face. “I didn’t mean to—I swear—”

Before you could respond, a furious shout cut through. “WHO THE HELL HIT HER?”

Your stomach dropped. Luke.

You looked up just in time to see him charging across the ice, stick tossed aside, eyes blazing.

“Ohhh, shit,” Jack muttered nearby. He knew his brother rarely got angry, but when he did, it never ended well.

“Luke, no—”

Too late. Luke’s fist crashed into Dawson’s jaw with a sharp crack, the sound cutting through the air. Dawson’s head jerked to the side, his body stumbling back as his hands flew up on instinct. For a second, he just stood there, blinking, dazed—like his brain hadn’t fully registered the hit yet.

“BRO, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT—”

“YOU HIT HER WITH A PUCK—” Luke’s voice trembled, fists still tight.

“IT WASN’T ON PURPOSE—”

“DOESN’T MATTER—”

Jack, Nico, and Bas lunged, grabbing Luke’s jersey as he strained toward Dawson, wild and unhinged.

“DUDE,” Jack groaned, wrestling him back. “Chill—”

“NO,” Luke snapped, still fighting against his teammates and brother’s hold. “HE HIT MY GIRLFRIEND—”

And then everything stopped.

Your heart slammed into your ribs. Girlfriend. Seven months of secrecy, gone in one furious outburst. You wanted to sink through the ice, but the way Luke stood there—chest heaving, daring anyone to step up—stirred something warm beneath the shock.

Jack’s jaw dropped. “Wait—YOU’RE DATING HER?”

Luke’s face went crimson. “I—uh—” He instantly knew he’d messed up.

Jesper skated closer, laughing hard. “Dude, you just outed yourself.”

“I hate all of you,” Luke muttered, dragging a hand over his face.

Jack smirked at you, eyebrows raised. “Damn, took a puck to the shoulder and you’re dating Luke? Talk about bad decisions.”

You rolled your eyes, pain slicing through as you tried to laugh. “Thanks for the concern.”

Luke was beside you in a flash, hands hovering, unsure where to touch. “Baby,” he said, voice low and thick with guilt. “Does it hurt badly?”

“Yeah,” you gritted out. “Like hell.”

His shoulders tensed, eyes darting to Dawson with barely-leashed anger. “I’m gonna—”

“Luke.” You grabbed his hand with your good one, squeezing weakly. “Accident happens. Breathe.”

But before Luke could get a word out, a sharp whistle cut through the air.

"What the hell is going on?"

Great. Just when you thought things couldn’t get worse.

Here came your worst nightmare—your brother, Curtis.

Your stomach sank as he skated over, gaze flicking between you, Luke, and Dawson—still rubbing his jaw, half-guilty, half-amused.

“Someone explain why Hughes punched Mercer,” Curtis demanded, voice edged with steel.

Luke straightened, completely unfazed. “He hit her with a puck. She’s hurt.” 

Curtis’ eyes softened briefly as they landed on you, cradling your arm. “You okay?”

“It hurts,” you admitted, wincing, though you forced a smile for your brother.

His jaw ticked. Then he turned to Luke. “So you thought swinging was the move?”

“Yeah,” Luke said, his voice casual but there was something sharp in the way he spoke—like he didn’t quite understand why Curtis was making this harder than it had to be.

Curtis stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he sized up Luke. The anger in his chest flared, but it was something else that was settling in—he knew. He’d pieced it together, the secret clicking into place. He just needed to hear Luke say it. “Why do you care so much, Hughes? What’s she to you?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Luke said, his tone firm, yet there was an undeniable fierceness behind it as he locked eyes with your brother. “And I love her.”

The tension in the air grew heavy, thick, like the calm before a storm. In the distance, you could hear the guys muttering, probably betting on how long it’d take for things to escalate—whether Luke would end up with at least a bruise or if he’d walk away unscathed.

Curtis blinked, his gaze flicking between you and Luke as the weight of the words sunk in. You held your breath, your heart pounding, bracing yourself for the worst.

Before you could process it, Curtis lunged.

It was all instinct—your body moving faster than your mind. You stepped between them just as Curtis’s hands shot out, the force of his momentum catching you off guard. His palms slammed into your injured shoulder with a sickening crack.

Pain exploded through your body, white-hot and blinding. A sharp cry ripped from your throat as you hit the ice, your arm going completely useless beneath you.

The rink went deadly quiet again.

Luke saw red. Pure, unfiltered rage took over as he shoved Curtis back with a force that sent him stumbling. His voice was raw, furious. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!.”

Curtis froze, his anger melting into something like shock as he looked down at you, crumpled on the ice. “Shit.”

Luke didn’t give him a second to recover. He took another step forward, fists trembling but unwavering, his voice low and lethal. “You wanna take a swing at me? Fine. But don’t you ever, ever touch her again.”

His words rang with a fierce conviction. “I love her, Curtis. Seven months, man. Seven months, and she’s the best thing in my life. I’ve been respectful for her sake—because I get it, you’re her brother, my teammate. But if you hurt her again, I swear to God, I’ll break your fucking hand.”

Curtis stared, his expression flickering between anger, guilt, and something else, something more vulnerable. After a long pause, he let out a slow breath. “It wasn’t on purpose. You know I’d never hurt her like that. I love her too…she’s my sister.” His voice cracked, and his gaze fell to you, still lying on the ice.

Luke didn’t soften. He wasn’t backing down. His fists remained clenched, his chest rising and falling with the force of his words. “I get it, Curtis. You’re protective. But if you hurt her again, I won’t hesitate to make you understand, just how far I’ll go to protect her.”

You tried to push yourself up, desperate to get Luke’s attention, but your shoulder flared with pain, and your vision swam. “Luke—”

His fury vanished under a minute, replaced by panic. He dropped to his knees beside you, hands hovering. “Baby, talk to me.”

Tears stung your eyes as you tried to speak. “It’s... bad.”You attempted to move your hand, but it didn’t respond at all, sending a wave of panic crashing through you.

“Okay, I got you.” He scooped you up, careful but firm, holding you close to his chest. “Team doc. Now.”

As Luke carried you off the ice, Curtis stood frozen, watching in silence. His gaze was hard to read—maybe respect, maybe regret—but something in his eyes shifted, betraying a hint of emotion.

—

The ride home was quiet, just the hum of the car and Luke’s soft “You okay?” whenever you winced. The doctor had strapped your arm into a sling—nasty bruise, minor strain, no fracture—but the ache still gnawed deep. Luke had insisted on driving, knuckles white on the wheel, worry carved into his face.

Now, in your apartment, the adrenaline has faded, leaving you exhausted. You leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Luke set down takeout bags he’d grabbed despite your lack of hunger.

“You holding up?” His voice was softer now. His dark green eyes met yours, searching, full of both tenderness and concern.

“Yeah,” you lied, managing a small smile. “I’m just tired. And my shoulder is killing me.”

He stepped closer, wrapping you in a gentle hug. “You should’ve let Curtis hit me.” A half-joke, but guilt shadowed his gaze.

You laughed, then winced as the movement jolted you. “Luke, stop. I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” he said, his voice leaving no room for debate. “Come on, let’s get you comfortable.”

He gently guided you to the couch, his hand warm on your lower back, and carefully eased you down. He fluffed the pillows, draped a blanket over your legs, and made sure you were comfortable. It was Luke, completely unguarded—raw with worry, soft with love—and it wrapped around you in a way that made the pain seem distant.

“Soup,” he said, heading to the kitchen. “You need food before the meds kick in.”

You didn’t argue, and honestly, you didn’t really want to. You weren’t hungry, but the thought of warm soup didn’t sound half bad.

Half an hour later, after a few spoonfuls—Luke holding the bowl because your good hand wasn’t enough—you felt the weight of helplessness settle in. Brushing your teeth, washing your face, taking a shower—things that used to be so simple now felt impossible. A lump caught in your throat.

Luke noticed the shift in your mood. “What’s wrong?” He set the bowl down on the coffee table, leaning in, his concern obvious.

You hesitated, a tired smile flickering across your lips. “I can’t move my arm. At all. I feel gross from practice, but…” You waved vaguely toward the bathroom, a bit embarrassed.

His eyes softened as he caught on. “You need help showering.” It wasn’t a question—just a simple fact.

“Yeah,” you muttered, a small laugh slipping through.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “I can help. If you’re okay with it. I just don’t want you to make it worse.”

You couldn’t help but tease. “Yeah, it shouldn’t be weird. We’ve already... you know...” You trailed off, awkwardly trying to convince both yourself and him. Still, the situation felt different—vulnerable, exposed.

He cleared his throat, his blush deepening. “Alright, let’s get this over with,” he said, offering his hand, clearly trying to hide the discomfort.

The bathroom quickly filled with steam as Luke adjusted the shower to just the right temperature. He stripped off his clothes first, then turned to you, his gaze steady but gentle. You pulled at your hoodie with your good hand, and he stepped in, carefully sliding it off—first your good arm, then easing it over the sling. Next came your shirt, followed by your bra, sweatpants, and panties. His fingers brushed your skin with quiet confidence, his touch gentle and reassuring.

“I’ve got you,” he said, guiding you into the shower. The water hit your back, and you sighed, tension easing slightly. He grabbed the showerhead, letting the stream glide over you, avoiding your bad shoulder.

“Too much?” His voice was low, careful.

“No. Feels good.”

He squeezed body wash into his hands, lathering it up, and started at your neck, fingers gentle but sure. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I keep seeing that puck hit you,” he murmured against your hair. “Should’ve been faster.”

“You can’t stop everything,” you said, tilting your head to meet his eyes. “But you’re here now and that’s enough.”

He kissed your temple agin, soft and tender, before his hands moved down your back, the warmth of the water mixing with the steadiness of his touch. His fingers glided over your skin as he worked the soap down your spine. "Turn for me," he whispered, his voice low and soothing, his hands resting lightly on your hips, guiding you with quiet strength.

You turned slowly, your back now facing him, and as you did, you felt his lips brush against the back of your neck, the kiss lingering just a moment longer than usual. His hands were gentle, but there was an undeniable tenderness in the way he moved, as though he was cherishing every inch of you.

“You’re so strong,” he murmured, rinsing you off, his hand gently shielding your eyes as he worked shampoo through your hair. “But let me take care of you, alright? Don’t try to be tough for me. If you need anything, just ask. Okay, princess?”

You relaxed against him, giving him a small nod and a soft smile, the pain fading as his warmth surrounded you. 

When he was done, he wrapped you in a towel, pressing a quick kiss to your head. “All clean,” he said, his voice filled with love and gentleness.

He grabbed one of his Devils shirts, the one he’d left in your wardrobe ages ago—loose enough to accommodate the sling—and a pair of your pajama shorts, dressing you with the same careful attention. Once he finished, he wrapped a towel around his waist. Luke hated sleeping with anything on, so he didn't bother with boxers—he preferred to sleep completely bare. And you definitely didn’t mind one bit.

Once you were settled, he walked over to the sink, a playful grin spreading across his face as he held up a toothbrush. “Open,” he said, his voice teasing but soft.

You rolled your eyes but complied, letting him brush your teeth—clumsy but full of enthusiasm. “Sorry,” he chuckled when he accidentally bumped your lip, his hand instinctively steadying you at your hip. 

Then came the skincare routine—toner, serum, moisturizer—and Luke looked utterly baffled. He picked up the toner and held it out, squinting at the bottle. “Wait, so you actually need all of this?” he asked, genuinely confused. “But you’re already, like, ridiculously pretty. Why all the extra steps?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “It’s not just about looking pretty, Luke. It’s about healthy skin and preventing wrinkles.”

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing at his lips. “Well, you'd still look hot with wrinkles, you know.”

You giggled, kicking your legs as you sat on top of the washing machine, where he’d placed you after brushing your teeth. “I don’t know about that,” you teased, enjoying the playful energy between you two.

Luke just shrugged with a grin, clearly unconvinced. But he didn't argue. Instead, he got to work with the precision of someone who had no idea what he was doing but was determined to get it right. He carefully applied each product—toner, serum, moisturizer—treating it like a delicate task, though still clearly puzzled by the whole process.

“Good?” he asked, stepping back with a gentle smile, his eyes searching for yours.

“Perfect,” you murmured, feeling the warmth of his care in every word.

He kissed your forehead softly, taking a deep breath as his fingers grazed your healthy arm. “Bedtime?”

You nodded, already feeling the pull of exhaustion. “Yeah,” you whispered.

He tucked the blanket around you, his movements slow and deliberate as he slid in next to you, propping himself on one elbow, watching you settle against the pillow. His hand brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, his gaze tender.

“Lukey,” you murmured, half-asleep, “Thank you.”

He smiled softly, his fingers brushing your cheek slowly. “Anything for you. Even if Jack’s never going to let me live this down.”

You smiled, your face relaxing into the comfort of his touch, curling closer to him. “Worth it,” you whispered, feeling the weight of his love wrap around you.

He kissed your knuckles lightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, you are.”

[jinwoosbabyboo]

𝚃𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗', 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗' 𝚠/ 𝙽𝚘 𝚂𝚊𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚢 𝙽𝚎𝚝

My headcanons of the lads men with a clumsy reader [Requested by: Anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

this man is damn near giving himself an anxiety attack worrying about you when you're not with him

covers the corner of the table with his hand when you lean down to pick something up

cuts your food for you now because you cut your finger one time and gave him a heart attack

his reflexes have sharpened from having to catch you every time you trip

keeps a pair of sneakers and flats in his car in case you drink when you two are out because he knows you'll stumble and fall in a pair of heels

would switch out his sharp cornered coffee table for an oval shaped one because you kept hitting your knee on it

places all your extra pillows on the floor on your side of the bed after you rolled off one night

keeps first aid kits everywhere because you're a walking hazard to yourself

does not let you grab a glass from a shelf you can barely reach

doesn't let you carry more than one bag because you tried to make one trip with the grocery bags and fell head first into a wall

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

still laughs every time you trip or fall "are you okay?" "stop laughing!" "I'm sorry the noise you made was funny"

holds your hand or waist when you walk up/down the stairs because you've fallen one too many times

if you drop something at the table he'll pick it up for you

gets rid of the rugs you somehow keep tripping on

is fighting for his life trying to keep you off the counters when you can't reach something

you slipped in the shower one time and gave yourself a concussion now he won't let you shower alone

subtly childproofs his house

is always confused whenever you trip, fall or get stuck "now how the hell did you do that?" "I don't know Raf help me!"

constantly pretends to toss you stuff "Think fast!" " STOP IM NOT GONNA CATCH IT!" he's already cackling on the floor

side steps you to throw you off balance on purpose; always catches you when you start falling

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

you fell down the stairs once and now he happily carries you up and down them whenever he's with you

covers the corner of the table with his hand when you drop something and lean down to pick it up

also showers with you now after you slipped one time

doesn't let your carry more than one plate

gets a google home or Alexa so you can speak to turn the lights on because you tend to run into walls looking for light switches

grabs everything you can't reach after you pulled an entire shelf down on yourself in public

sends you check-in texts to make sure you haven't hurt yourself when he doesn't see you (not that you'd admit it anyway)

is so used to your clumsiness he can almost sense when something is about to go wrong

secretly finds your clumsiness cute and now he has another reason to have you in his arms at all times

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

Sylus is probably the perfect man to be with because his evol would be perfect for protecting you

places his hand on your head when you lean down to pick something up to stop you from bumping it on anything

buys you fluffy slippers to wear around the house so your pinky toe stops banging everything in the house

wraps his evol around you when he catches you climbing on something

you cut yourself with a knife once and he hid them for only him and the chef to use after that

has the twins keep an eye on you when he's not around

replaces any tables with sharp corners for smooth edged tables

has his shower renovated with pebble stone flooring so you don't slip

takes your heels and carries you when you start stumbling

keeps a hand on your waist when going up or down the stairs

is so used to you falling all the time its almost like his evol acts on it's own to catch you

uses your clumsiness as a reason for why he should go with you everywhere

gets rid of every rug in the house and opts to get heated floors because you keep tripping on the rugs, but he knew you'd complain about the cold floors

[b1eedthefreak]

Can I Have a Bite?

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader

Summary: Reader can’t stop staring at Daryl and he finally asks why!

Warnings: Reader bites daryl… but she’s just doing what we’re (me) all thinking

⸻

The scent of simmering vegetables and freshly cooked rabbit filled the air as you stood beside Carol, stirring the pot over the fire. The quiet rhythm of cooking was comforting, but your attention was far from the task at hand. Your gaze was locked onto something far more distracting. Daryl.

He had just returned from hunting, his sleeveless shirt clinging to his skin, damp with sweat. His crossbow hung off his shoulder as he made his way toward camp, his muscles flexing with each step. Those arms. Those damn arms.

You were so lost in watching the way his biceps flexed when he lifted his crossbow that you barely noticed Carol turning to look at you. It wasn’t until she let out a knowing chuckle that you snapped out of your trance.

“You’re burning the stew,” Carol said, clearly amused.

Your eyes widened, and you quickly looked down at the pot, stirring it with a little too much urgency. “No I’m not!”

Carol smirked, arms crossed over her chest. “Oh, please. You’ve been standing there with heart eyes for the past five minutes.”

“I have not!” you protested, even as warmth crept up your neck.

Carol only chuckled. “Mhm. That man walks in, and suddenly you forget how to function.” She shot you a look before glancing over at Daryl, who was now unloading his kill. “Not that I blame you. Those arms could do some damage.”

You groaned, covering your face. “Carol!”

She laughed, nudging you. “What? That’s your man. You should be staring.”

Before you could even think of a response, Daryl glanced up from his spot near the hunting gear. His brow furrowed slightly as he caught you staring.

Your eyes widened in panic, and you quickly looked down at the pot, stirring it so aggressively that a few drops of broth splashed over the side.

Carol was full on giggling now. “Smooth.”

Daryl, still looking confused, shook his head and went back to what he was doing.

Later that night, you and Daryl lay in your shared tent, tangled beneath a pile of blankets. The sounds of crickets filled the air, and the fire outside had long since burned down to glowing embers. Daryl’s breathing was slow, steady, and you could feel the warmth of his body pressed against yours.

You should’ve been exhausted, but you weren’t. Not when your mind was still stuck on those damn biceps.

Daryl shifted beside you, propping himself up on one elbow. His blue eyes flickered over you, still filled with sleep. “Alright, what was that about?”

You blinked innocently. “What was what about?”

He gave you a look. “Ya know what. Ya starin’ at me all weird earlier. Thought maybe I had somethin’ on my face.”

A grin slowly spread across your lips as you reached out, running your fingers over his bicep. “I was admiring these.”

Daryl blinked. “The hell?”

You giggled, poking his arm. “They’re just so big. I love them.”

Daryl scoffed, shaking his head. “Damn it girl what has gotten into you?”

Instead of answering, you leaned down and playfully bit his bicep.

Daryl jerked slightly, staring at you like you’d lost your mind. “Did—did you just bite me?”

You grinned up at him. “Yep.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re killing me.”

You only giggled, pressing a soft kiss to where you’d bitten him. “I can’t help it, Daryl. You’re just so… ugh.”

“Ugh?” He repeated, raising a brow.

“Ugh in a good way,” you clarified, snuggling closer.

Daryl shook his head, but his arm wrapped around you, pulling you against him. “Yer lucky I love ya.”

You smiled, pressing your face into his chest. “I know.”

After a few moments of comfortable silence, you poked his bicep again. “Daryl?”

He groaned. “Woman, if ya say one more thing about my arms—”

You giggled. “I was just gonna say… do you work out?”

He pulled the blanket over his head. “Goin’ to sleep.”

You bit your lip, barely containing your laughter as you wiggled closer, pressing another kiss to his arm. “Goodnight, big strong man.”

Daryl groaned dramatically but didn’t let go of you. If anything, he pulled you closer.

And you knew, without a doubt, that he loved every second of it.

—

a/n does anyone else want to bite daryl or it just me… also i love carol sm i will be incorporating her into more of my daryl stuff because like she is daryl and readers #1 supporters

[wendichester]

Hey!! I saw you also write smut?🤭

Could I request a one shot of Reader and Dean stuck in traffic or at a red light, reader gets bored and gets an idea to give Dean head?

Thank you!:)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ green means go,

summary. you find an activity to keep you and dean entertained while in traffic.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 573

notes / warnings. oral sex (m. receiving), swearing, just some fun times in the impala really

You're both stuck at a dead stop on I-70—bumper-to-bumper, no end in sight. The Impala’s engine hums low beneath your thighs, and the heat outside is nothing compared to the one pooling between your legs just watching Dean.

Left hand on the wheel. Right draped over your thigh like it belongs there. Ray-Bans on. Jaw clenched. That little smirk like he knows how good he looks.

And god, he really does.

You stretch, twist a little, trying to feign boredom, but your eyes are locked on him.

Then, innocently—too innocently—you say: “So. Wanna play a game?”

Dean raises a brow. “I spy with my little eye… what?”

You giggle. “Not exactly.”

Your hand slides to his thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles just below the seam of his jeans.

Dean freezes. “Sweetheart.”

You lean in. Real close. Lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Let me suck your cock.”

His knuckles go white on the steering wheel. “We’re in traffic.”

You purr, lips ghosting his neck. “Exactly.”

And before he can say no—or more likely, yes—you’re already undoing his jeans.

“Shit,” Dean hisses through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grin. “That’s the idea.”

His cock is already hard. Hot, heavy, twitching in your hand.

You wrap your fingers around him, give one slow stroke, and then lean down, tongue flicking the tip like it’s your favorite lollipop.

Dean bucks. Hard.

“Jesus fucking Christ—”

You hum against him. Then take him in.

Warm, wet, tight.

Dean’s head hits the seat. One hand flies from the wheel to tangle in your hair, gripping tight like you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “Just like that. You’re so good at this.”

You moan around him. Dean chokes on a curse.

The car behind you honks.

Dean startles—he actually flinches—and you pull off for a second to laugh.

“Oh my god, are you blushing?”

He glares, cheeks pink. “If I crash this car, it’s your damn fault.”

You wink. “Then you better keep it steady, Winchester.”

Then you go right back down.

His thighs tense under your hands. He’s cursing under his breath, mumbling about how fucking perfect you are, how filthy, how good your mouth feels.

And you? You're dripping.

The windows are fogging up. His fingers are flexing in your hair, tugging just enough to make you whimper.

He’s close. You know it.

Then—green light.

“Shit—shit—hold on,” he rasps, jerking the car forward with one hand, gripping the wheel for dear life while the other tightens in your hair.

“Don’t stop, baby. I swear to god—”

You don’t.

You take him deeper. Suck harder. Swirl your tongue. You’re relentless.

Dean’s hips twitch. He groans your name, low and wrecked, and then—

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

You take it. Every last drop. Swallow it down like it’s the best damn thing you’ve tasted all day.

Dean’s moaning your name like a prayer, slumped in the driver’s seat, utterly ruined.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and sit back up, smug as hell.

Dean glances at you, breathing hard, eyes wide.

“Remind me to never piss you off in traffic,” he mutters.

You smirk, buckling your seatbelt like nothing just happened. “What? I was bored.”

Dean lets out a long breath, still red in the face. “Next time, I’m pulling over. Or better—you’re driving.”

You wink. “I’m better with my hands anyway.”

Dean groans. “Jesus.”

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[reidsglasscs]

LOVERS LAKE

✸ pairing : luke castellan x fem!reader

✸ synopsis: you & luke escape to the lake and away from counselor duties!

✸ warnings: pre-tlt, established relationship, kissing, me believing whole heartedly that i can fix him

✸ authors’s note: ignoring that it’s literally christmas & this is so summer-coded, charlie bushnell brought back my original series luke obsession so here you go 🙈

the lake was arguably the best place to be at camp half-blood, even for someone who hated the water and was all but dragged their by somebody else who loved it.

that someone was you, and the somebody else was luke.

that boy loved swimming in the lake like the stars love sitting in the sky, and the only thing that made it better was when you were there with him.

between knowing that fact and the pleading look in his pretty puppy eyes, how could you say no?

so now you and him were in the lake together, on a rare escape from your responsibilities as counselors during rec time. you may or may not have been hiding from your campers by staying hidden by the boathouse that stored the camp’s supply of canoes.

you were clinging onto the wooden dock while your boyfriend swam about, still putting on your angry facade at him after he threw you in the water initially.

was the way he scooped you up in his big strong arms and grinned like a little kid when he jumped in with you absolutely adorable? yes. did that mean you were going to let him get away with it? absolutely not.

pouting with your arms wrapped around the dock leg, you watched as the boy’s head disappeared underwater, not missing the mischievous glint that lingered in his eyes beforehand.

and just as you had expected, a wet head of dark curls popped up just beside you. just to be annoying, he shook his head like some kind of dog and laughed when you scrunched your face up at the flying drops of water.

the little loser laughed at you. now you were definitely mad, and would’ve crossed your arms and harrumphed if you weren’t still holding on to the dock like you’d die if you let go.

“are you ever gonna leave that poor dock be and actually come swim with me?” he asked, batting his pretty long eyelashes like he was pleading for you to do what he asked.

“go away.” you grumbled, looking away from him.

“aw, c’mon sweetheart.” he cooed, his tone teetering between teasing and sincere.

you felt familiar hands wrap around your waist as luke pried you away from the dock, ignoring your words of protest.

“you are literally going to drown me.” you frown as you have no choice but to hold onto him.

look, it wasn’t that you couldn’t swim, it was just that it was going to take one hell of a monster chasing you to make it happen.

“oh my gods, i am going to die.”

you were now out of arm’s reach of the shore, left with nothing but your boyfriend to keep you afloat. dam it.

“would you relax? i’m not gonna let you drown.” he chuckled, smiling at your antics as he kept both you and himself afloat.

“well you pushed me in, so you may as well.” you responded, sticking your chin up in dramatic negligence.

“hey, it was push you in or get caught and have about seventeen campers join us. which would you rather have?”

the first option, obviously, but you weren’t going to tell him that.

instead, you stuck to the silent treatment, which meant luke was left to his last and final resort.

“guess you leave me with no choice then,” he feigned a regretful sigh, even though you both knew he was ecstatic to do what he was thinking.

“wha- no. no no no no!”

luke had let go of your waist for no more than two seconds before you had screamed and clung onto him for dear life, your arms tightly wound around his neck and legs around his waist.

“i’m going to kill you, castellan.” you grumble, unable to see his reaction as your cheek was pressed against his.

there it was again, that gods damned chuckle of his that made your heart do little somersaults.

“love you too.” he said humorously. but when you didn’t reply with the same phrase, it was his turn to pout.

“hey.”

between the pout in his voice and the poke he delivered to your sides, you knew that your inattention had had just the effect you wanted.

this was the dance the two of you had done several times before. he’d annoy you, you’d ignore him and then you would relish in the way he turned into a lost puppy when it lasted for ten seconds too long, proving once again just how tightly you had him wrapped around your finger.

“hey. hey. hey.”

he poked you again and again, repeating the same word in hopes that you’d look at him, but you remained relentless.

“i’m not forgiving you that easily.” you insisted, as if your faces weren’t inches away from each other and water wasn’t the only thing between your body and his.

once again, he knew you too well to know there was little truth to your words.

he pressed a kiss to your cheek in hopes to get you to finally turn your head and look at him. again, nothing.

“hey, pretty girl.” he whispered, growing desperate and excruciatingly impatient. “would you at least look at me?”

feeling as though you’d drawn it out rather excessively, you listened and looked at him.

immediately, your lips were captured by his in a sweet kiss, the lake water seeping in between and tainting the flavor.

when he pulled away, luke wore a smirky kind of smile that made you want to kiss him again just to get rid of it and the giddy little feeling it gave you.

“am i forgiven now?”

he was, but instead of saying that, that was when you splashed a wave of water in his pretty little face.

[elliesanqel]

catharsis but dom ellie pls pls pls Im begging😭

take it

sypnosis; roles are switched—seth spits out a nasty comment at ellie, causing your anger to flare up. she decided it was best to take you home, until she decides to find a way to control your anger.

cw; angst, smut, dom!ellie, sub!fem reader, car sex, strap use (referred to as a cock), oral sex, rough fucking, spitting, multiple orgasms, fluff, r!receiving all, men and minors dni.

a/n; there was a few reqs to write dom!ellie for this fic and i looove the idea so here it is! and ohhh if she ever looked at me like that…endgame!! and also, if i haven’t done your request yet, i promise i am either currently working on getting it posted, or im still writing it. a few will get released this week!

➝ masterlist

your eyes narrowed at seth, your whole body filling with heat as ellie just looked at him, her look almost puzzled. you werent doing anyone any harm, just purely kissing. thats it. yet it still gave seth the ability to spit out some homophobic comment one way or another. ellie was your girl, your princess. if anyone was even slightly rude—it’d make you angry. you just thought she was too precious to even be made fun of at all. she noticed the way your face twisted with disgust, and she knew you’d say something if she didnt act—causing her to take your hand in hers softly. “lets go.” she whispers, not wanting to cause a scene.

your eyes finally left seth, looking at ellies pleading face and softening when you did, but the anger still bubbled. you thought it was probably best to just leave instead of causing a scene infront of everyone. even though seth had already done half the job—you didnt want to finish it. you let ellie take you outside into the fresh air, her hand tightening around yours for reassurance. you didnt dare look at her, feeling to angry to even speak.

she knew—so she just walked hand in hand with you to the car. there was a big problem, though. ellie hated it when you didnt talk to her. she preferred talking it out and letting you rant to her, she hated awkward silence. she let go of your hand, watching you storm off to the passenger seat. she scoffed, taking the keys out of her pocket and opening the car, getting in and starting it.

“dont.” she begins, her voice firm as her hands grip the steering wheel, pulling out of the car park. you scoff, still staying quiet and you could tell she wasnt a fan of your growing attitude. “scoffing at me now? you’re brave.” she furrows her brows, her eyes stuck on the road as one hand stays on the wheel, the other on the gear lever. you roll your eyes, testing the waters as much as you could. you wanted this all to be over and the best way for you to do that was so stay silent and bottle it up. but not for ellie.

“baby, seriously,” she begins, her head rolling a little in annoyance. “drop the attitude. none of this is my fault, unfortunately theres always gonna be people like seth and theres nothing we can do. you know that, right?” she explains, firmness still in her voice as her eyes glance over at you before back onto the road.

you sigh, looking at your hands as you fiddle with your thumbs. “i know, but seriously why do we always have to be the ones to say something? nobody else said anything.” you groan as she listens to your rants.

she takes in a breath, understanding where you were coming from. “i know, sweetheart. trust me, i do. but we have to deal with it. you dont always have to defend me, im fine.” she explains, but clearly it wasnt enough for you. you laugh sarcastically, the anger clearly still swarming you. “dont, ellie. dont make light of this situation, you know damn well its fucked up. so dont you fucking—“ you get louder, but before you can continue, she swerved the car to the side of the empty road, parking it. you gasp at her sudden move, confusion clouding your mind. “what the fuck was that fo—“ you begin, but she cuts you off again.

“lose that attitude and get in the fucking backseat.” she demands, her voice firm. you knew she wanted no argument but the way her voice went from reassuring to demanding in the matter of seconds led you to just listen to her words. you slowly unbuckle your seatbelt and get into the backseat of her car, looking at her as you did. her eyes never left you as you moved, her hand reaching into the glovebox, to her strap.

she took it into the backseat with her, her hands immediately wrapping around your thighs and placing you on your back along the seats and she crawled on top of you, parting your legs so she hovered inbetween them, her lips inching to your ear as her breath was hot on your skin. “angry, arent you? well i’ll make you a deal, baby. you take it like a good girl and i’ll fuck that anger out of you, hm?” she whispers, her voice almost mocking. leaving your eyes wide as you felt your body already growing limp under her touch.

your whole body shivered, leaning against the door of the car, eyes never leaving hers. she smirked at you, her look stern yet soft at the same time. with that, her hands reach up, tugging at your jeans, unzipping them and pulling them down—letting you lift your hips to help her tug them off and discard them somewhere, not really caring where. the heat that was growing between your thighs now displayed infront of her face, looking at the wetness pooled there like it was liquid gold. she smirked, both of her hands hooking around your thighs and pulling them further apart for her, her eyes never leaving yours as her tongue darted out, swiping all the way up your wet cunt.

your head falls back against the door, a whine emmiting from your lips—your hand instantly flying to her hair and pushing her mouth closer onto your needy pussy—to which she almost hiccups from the force of your hand. she props herself up a little further, her hands kneading your thighs slowly as her tongue works on your bundle of nerves, swirling around it, her lips making a pop sound every time they left your pussy for her to take a breath, but after she delved right back in, eating you out like she was a starved woman.

she hungrily darts her tongue into your pulsing hole, dabbing it in and out which caused your thighs to squish her head and a string of moans to fall out your mouth. she let out a hum against your cunt, before slipping her tongue out and her lips leaving too. her eyes left your gleaming pussy, looking up at you through her lashes as she slowly spits, letting her saliva drip down onto, your mouth opening a little with a gasp—before she breaks eye contact and leans back down. her tongue licks all the way up your folds, pushing her tongue back into your aching hole, causing you to grip her hair harder, her thick auburn locks tangled in your fingers. “s—shit! ellie, oh my…fuuuu—“ you choke out, your back arching.

“fuck,” she whimpers against your pussy, her brows furrowing as her own heat was needing attention as she ate you out. your body began shaking as you could feel her warm tongue darting in and out of you, your hand gripping her hair hard, pushing her in closer as you felt your high coming. her eyes flickered closed, knowing you were close. she quickened her pace, dipping in and out of your hole before you jolted, a string of moans falling out your mouth as your cum flowed out onto her tongue.

she looked up at your face covered in pure ecstasy: your head tilted back, mouth agape, brows knitted together, sweat aligning your forehead. you felt her drink up ever last bit of your release before she quickly pulled away, wiping her mouth like she’d just had a good meal, and she undresses her lower half—disgarding her jeans somewhere and slipping her strap on. all before your eyes had even opened yet.

once they finally did open, her hands were already squeezing on your thighs—gripping them hard and flipping your whole body around and forcing you on your hands and knees. you whined slightly, already feeling her press the tip of her cock onto your entrance.

her hands palmed your ass, giving you a light smack which made you jump. “shit, look at you. so beautiful like this.” she whispers, voice low and dripping with seduction. you bit into your bottom lip, not even ready for her when she pushes forward—one of her hands leaving your ass to grip the base of the clear silicone, sliding into you and completely bottoming out. your bows knit together, eyes squeezing shut.

“ohhh! fuuuck, els!” you whine, almost choking out as her cock was already pounding against your spongey spot. her brows also furrowed, her mouth open as she pulls your hips back on her cock, filling you up good. “mmm—good girl. taking me s’well, fuuckk.” she mumbles, but it came out more as a desperate moan. your hands conveyed to the steam-covered window, leaving handprints.

you thought this was as good as it could ever get, until she leaned forward…her chest completely pressed against your back as she continued pounding into you. the new angle sending shivers through your body as it instantly brought you to the approach of your second high. her teeth found the top of your ear, taking it in her mouth before speaking. “gonna lash out at me like that again, princess? or are you gonna—nghh…behave?” she whimpers, her breath hot on your ear. one of her hands grips the handle on the window, her other curled around your waist as she picks her pace up.

“cum for me, sweet girl. allll over my cock, yeah?” she teases, her voice sounding breathless. your eyes roll back along with your head, almost meeting with her shoulder as you shivered violently, all of her teases and her relentless pace bringing your body into a frenzy. you jolt, your cum shooting out all over her cock as well as the car seat beneath you. “oh my fucking god…ohhh fu—“ you choke out, your entire figure growing limp as she pulls out.

“fuck baby, that was hot.” she whispers. your hands slip off of the window, leaving a streaky handprint as you feel her arms envelop your body, bringing you close. she kisses your hair, letting it linger before you speak. you had no idea what to say about what just happened, so you skipped over that—after all, her actions did all the talking. “sorry i got so mad, my love. i just hope you understand why.” you whisper as you lean into her.

she smiles softly, holding you close. it was comforting. “shh, its okay baby. although, its cute that you’ve moved on so fast. im nowhere near done yet.” she grins, sounding mocking.

the car was a mess, steamy windows, obvious handprints, clothes everywhere.

anyone who drove past—you prayed for their sanity, as well as yours as you awaited arriving home.

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