#and that is NOT a word i ever want to use but this is the DEFINITION of lazy

[pedgito]

𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 | Harry Castillo x reader

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summary | Five years of being his assistant and five years of failed attempts at finding love with your help, but maybe the obvious answer has been there the entire time. Alternatively, you fucked your boss? Uh-oh.

author's note | harry...randy...who knows. i'll change it if needed but given the name tag, this is what i'm sticking with for now. skip the lecture about not writing until the movie is out, this isn't hurting anyone so don't bother me about it, xo. the horny demons always win. i listened to this song i repeat while i wrote, felt fitting.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, power imbalance (boss/assistant), work wife/work husband type beat, mentions of failed dating, being superficial, mentions of sugar daddy things, expensive gifts, reader is a godly assistant with a will stronger than mine, he smokes, they drink, sex while inebriated, he's down so bad, also oral!, tense morning after, open-ended

word count — 4.5k

You knew him better than anyone.

From his breakfast order down to his specific choice of underwear, like you weren’t making the weekly purchases and filling up his rarely used fridge in the apartment that was way out your price range, arranging his schedule down to the minute, booking his flights, packing his bag.

Really, Harry should just marry you.

…it was more of a joke, but you’ve teased him about it once or twice.

He called you his work wife anyways, but in reality, you were just his assistant.

He did trust you with his life, though.

More importantly, his love life.

“Kim flaked,” he tells you over coffee, perched at his kitchen island as you typed away on your laptop, looking up briefly with eyes that begged for him to explain, he does and makes a show about, mimicking a more feminine voice as he relays the message she gave him, “same song and dance—you’re great and fun but I can’t do anything serious right now,”

“Were you nice?” you ask curiously.

Harry rolls his eyes at that, like it was a stupid question to ask. But, eventually he nods.

“Did you ask questions?” you continue, fingers folding over the screen of your laptop to close it.

“Plenty, she works in finance, loves the color blue, wants to travel,” he could go on and on, throwing his hands up in defeat before they slump to his side, “maybe I should try out a real matchmaker—not that you’re bad at it—”

“You think I’m bad at it,” you smile knowingly, “don’t you?”

“No,” you’re unconvinced, “besides—you’re my assistant, I never meant for that type of responsibility to fall on you, you know?”

“I’m doing both of us a favor,” you remind him, “I think…it just takes time.”

And fortunately, all you had was time.

It felt pointless for Harry to spend a chunk of cash to have someone pair him up with the supposed love of his life, though you knew that money wasn’t a problem, you felt a weird responsibility to protect him, unsure how quickly someone would take advantage of his kindness.

“There’s a gala,” you tell him offhandedly, “next week. I already cleared your schedule for it. I think…maybe you should just peruse this time.”

“Peruse?” he chuckles, eyes creasing in amusement, his crow’s feet deepening with the emotion, “You’re a control freak, you sure about that?”

“That’s just mean,” you retort, “you’re paying me anyways—if you didn’t like it you’d fire me.”

He knew you were right, sipping quietly at his coffee in response.

He was frustrating, predictable, and painfully superficial. 

Every date was an exercise in appearances—perfectly tailored suits, dinner at the most exclusive places, charm turned up to eleven. And yet, none of it ever stuck. He was overcompensating and you weren’t sure why.

He was a good guy, down to his core, and in the five years you had worked with him there was never a moment you thought he didn’t deserve love, he was perfect. Too perfect.

That was the problem.

“You know, you’re like prime age to be a sugar daddy,” you tease him, knowing how he felt about the topic, “there’s plenty of apps that I can—”

“You’re relentless,” he grumbles, “if you ever did that, I’m firing you on the spot.”

“You wouldn’t,” it was a gentle challenge, smirk flashing across your face as he returned it with fondness, “without me you would crash and burn, Mr. Castillo.”

And he knows it.

–

The gala is a bust.

So, as a bandaid to his wounded ego, you order takeout and keep him company in his big, lavish apartment—it wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last.

You knew what the issue was, but there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that told you he wouldn’t receive the information well.

It was after every failed date, every expensive dinner.

They saw him at the surface, the charming man with an easy, warm smile.

You saw the man who kicked his shoes off and stripped himself of his suit jacket the second he walked through the door, who couldn’t resist a late-night binge of his newest streaming obsession, someone who insisted on stirring his coffee counterclockwise because it made it taste better, a man would text you pictures of squirrels in the park that he would feed on his way home.

It wasn’t that you were pining over him. You just knew him better than anyone.

“Why are you so dead set on marriage?” you ask him over dinner, turned toward him on the couch as he reaches for the remote to pause the show on screen.

He’s had this conversation before, but he’s never asked you any questions on the matter.

“What’s your opinion on it?” he’s avoiding, clearly, but you’ll bite.

“I don’t date, I’m not interested, signing a piece of paper isn’t going to signify my feelings toward someone if it came down to that,” you admit, “I’m not cynical, marriage is fine, but this stuff takes time,”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger,” Harry gripes, arms reaching over the back of the couch as he mirrors your position.

“Oh, please,” you scoff, “you’re forty-nine.”

“Almost fifty,” he corrects, “I’m ancient.”

“O-kay,” you sigh, “do you want honesty?”

“I’d hope you were being honest with me all the time.”

“No,” you laugh softly, “like…brutal fucking honesty?”

He’s silent, but attentive. 

“You keep choosing women who treat you like they’re next getaway vacation and you fall for it every time,” his forehead creases at the words, looking hurt by your words, “I see your bank payments every month, the activity—”

“It’s not like money is an issue,” he defends, causing you to sigh dramatically and fall back against the arm of the couch in faux distress.

“This is impossible,” you groan, staring up at the ceiling before you feel his hand circle around your wrist, tugging gently,

“Okay, I’m listening,” Harry says softly, pulling you upright, “I’m sorry—I am.”

“You want it to work so bad,” you tell him, “I see it—every time you approach someone you put on that smile and it works, but you’re giving so much and yeah, maybe some of them like that, but I’m sure a few would just enjoy a nice dinner here, or something simple. I think you forget to realize that someone can just be interested in you, for you, not for what you are or have,”

It’s profound, the way his face softens at your words, his touch still lingering around your wrist.

You’ve never even considered or entertained the idea that you might find Harry attractive or even attainable—for one, you had signed a contract that agreed to a professional work relationship, as a benefit for both of you, not that he ever had any intention to begin with.

You’ve been with him for so long, it feels, a fresh and young mind to help keep him active and busy, constantly refreshing ideas and helping him not feel like he was stuck, and you were damn good at taking care of him when he’s often tended to neglect himself.

The only thing you know is that he’s never looked at you like that.

Like you could see straight through him, all his flaws on display.

But, that was because you knew all of them.

You knew everything about him, even the worse bits.

His bad habits, his self-inflicting ones, everything that he refused to bring to the surface.

Harry’s fingers still lingered around your wrist, the weight of your words sinking in. 

But then, just like he always did, he broke the tension with a huff of laughter and frowns as he brushed you off.

“You just think I’m a sucker, don’t you?”

You shook your head with a faint smile, returning your arm to your lap.

“No—I think you like to see the good in people. So much good that you’re willing to ignore red flags.”

“Jeez,” he chuckled, clutching his stomach like you had physically wounded him, “that hurt.”

You shrugged and reached for the remote to resume the picture on screen, “You’ll survive.”

–

It was your day off—Sunday, the one day.

“Have you seen my cufflinks laying around?” he asked over the video call, “Shit—my tie, too. I can’t find it anywhere. I thought you said you laid it out for me.”

“No, I said I had it hung up and for you to lay it out before you showered,” you correct him, laying tiredly on your couch as you watched him search around frantically, hair damp and his bare shoulders on display, only catching the briefest glimpses of the towel around his waist as he turned the camera around, “Waitwait—go back!”

“There’s no fucking way you saw it,” Harry argues, “I’ve been looking for the last ten minutes—”

“In the pocket of your suit, the tie is there,” you tell him, “and given that you probably tossed the suit on the bed like you always do, the cufflinks are probably somewhere hiding under the blanket,”

He tosses you against the mattress, your screen succumbing to darkness as you wait, some shifting of the sheets before you hear him make a sound before he appears again, cufflinks pinched between his fingers and a look of defeat on his face.

“What would you do without me?” you ask with a cocky grin, finger hovering over the end call button as he shakes his head.

“What was this for again?” Harry asks curiously, laying you down upright as you caught a glimpse of his bare chest as he shrugged the crisp, white button down over his shoulders.

“It’s a charity auction, your favorite,” you chirp, “and you’re flying solo, so—don’t do anything stupid or…crass,”

“If I paid you double a day of work would you go?” Harry asks after a long pause, glancing down at the screen, “Triple?”

“Triple?!” you gawk, “see—you’re insane, this is what I’m talking about,”

He chuckles despite your response, “You’re good at keeping the sharks away,”

There were particular hawking businessmen who made it their mission to hunt Harry down at events and keep him occupied, eager to do business, whatever it may be—you were the unspoken master of redirection, as much as he refused to admit it.

“Can we grab dinner on the way?” 

“Burgers?” Harry asks, perking up slightly.

It was a constant go-to for you and him.

You nod through the screen, “Don’t even bother with the tie either, I’ll do it.”

–

“I can’t believe you roped me into this on my day off,” you whisper at his side, earning a half-smirk from him.

The charity auction was as lavish as you’d expected.

Crystal chandeliers, gold accents, and far too much champagne and hors d'oeuvres. 

Harry’s hand found the small of your back the moment you arrived, steering you through a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos, feeling uncomfortable in the tight dress and stilettos that you only wore on rare occasions, biting at your heels.

“You’ll survive,” he grins, grabbing you both a glass of champagne and pressing it into your waiting fingers, “I’m gonna…peruse, alright?”

“Don’t say it—that just makes you sound like a creep,” your face scrunches up in disgust as you sip at the alcohol, “just go—go, I’ll…handle everything else.”

The evening passed in a blur of small talk and polite smiles, but somewhere between the endless speeches and bidding wars, you found yourself on the balcony, the cool night air a welcome relief in the stuffy ballroom.

You smell him before you see him, the thick and rich scent of his cologne so familiar you swear you could find him on that alone, turning over your shoulder to see him closing the door quietly, cigarette pack tucked in his palm as he approached with a neutral expression.

“You okay?” you ask, leaning against the railing of the balcony.

Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and then plucking a single cigarette from the box, “Honestly? I’m just tired of it.”

“The auctions? Charity?” you inquire, a small smile tugging at your face.

“All of it.” He looked at you, his gaze lingering as he lit the tobacco, “The events, the dates, searching for—I don’t even fucking know at this point,”

“The offer stands…” you say jokingly, though he knows exactly where this is heading.

“If I wanted a sugar baby I’d find one.”

Your eyes roam over his figure as he puffs at the cigarette, pulling a deep laugh from his chest before you’re pushing him away playfully.

“Let’s go,” he tells you with a deep sigh, stubbing out the end of the cigarette and tucking it away for later, tossing his arm over your shoulder as he readied to guide you through the crowd, always protective in spaces like this, another thing that was special to him.

–

The ride home is quiet, like it always is, both of you sitting in the backseat with the partition up, watching as he looked through his phone with a scowl, occasional typing and sending a message.

Eventually, he looks at you.

“Thank you,” He says with a soft tone, “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

You tilted your head into the headrest and smiled, crossing one thigh over the other as you worked at your heels to remove them, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad—the free alcohol is always a plus.”

He chuckled at that, silently helping you remove your shoes with a soft squeeze to your foot.

That was normal—but, it forces you to pause.

His natural instinct to help, to touch, to comfort you.

Your brow furrows at the gesture before you shake it away, blaming it on the buzz of alcohol in your system, watching as he continues the gesture with the other foot.

“Having you there makes it bearable, is all,” he explains, looking up at you briefly as he undid the tie around your ankle, “you…calm me, I guess.”

You swallowed. Hard.

The warmth of his words lingering in your chest, in his touch against your ankle, “You’d do the same for me.”

And he would—if you ever needed anything, anything, Harry was there.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, “without question.”

The sincerity caught you off guard. 

You turned to study him, the familiar slope of his nose, the line of his jaw. There was something about the way he looked tonight—tired, maybe, but softer. 

And he keeps looking at you, checking.

The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city blurring past in streaks of gold and blues and reds. The hum of the engine was steady, the faint sound of music barely audible from the front, through the glass, the back lit up dimly by the trim of lights on the roof and door.

Harry leaned back, one hand moved against the seat, his other hand dragging slowly over his thigh—restless. 

Instinctually, without thinking, you reached for his hand.

It wasn’t purposeful. Just a simple act of absentmindedness.

You’ve done it a hundred times before. 

Tugged at his sleeves to fix his cufflinks, brushed lint from his lapel or pants, adjusted the collar of his shirts. Constantly fixed his hair, touching him wasn’t new.

His skin was warm. Not hot, not cold.

You felt the slight twitch of his hand, like he was debating whether to move. Instead, his fingers shifted, just a fraction, enough that the edge of his thumbnail brushed over the inside of your wrist.

The contact was thoughtless, nothing.

But, in the same moment, it felt like everything.

The way his eyes watched the movement, roamed your body like they had before but with a different implication, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed, wondering how much alcohol he had consumed himself—this wasn’t friendly.

And it definitely wasn’t professional.

Harry’s gaze was on you now, your face, as you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his hand.

Then his thumb moved. 

Up. 

Barely. 

A soft drag along your pulse.

It was half a decade of avoidance, defeat in his heart and mind, and fear in your own.

Broken, by the car rolling to a stop outside of Harry’s apartment building.

“We’re here, Mr. Castillo,” the voice of the driver came from the front, a nod of acknowledgement as his hand slipped from yours.

“Oh, hold on,” you were scooting aside to let him out, readied for the next stop as he cocks his head toward the building, “I’ve got something for you—I’ll drive you home, don’t worry,”

“Harry,” you stress, looking down at his hand that waves you toward him, extending out for you to grab, insistently as his fingers wiggle in wait.

Turns out, he wasn’t totally lying.

That something was accompanied by a seven thousand dollar bottle of Leroz Aux Brulees—you knew that because you had purchased it during his trip to France, the supposed city of love.

“I’m going to murder you,” you tell him as he places the bottle on the counter and keeps the closed case of mystery at his side, “hide your body, flee country—I hate surprises, you know that.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he grins, popping the cork on the bottle and pouring two hefty glasses, eyeing the deep red as it glugged into the glass.

“You know, if you wanted company you could have just asked,” you tell him, “I get it, you’re lonely,”

He knows you’re only teasing but it stings nonetheless, both of you taking a long and heavy sip as his fingers swirl over the velvet casing before he’s pushing it over quickly, tapping it with his fingers, “Open it,” he encourages, eyeing you over the rim.

You place your glass down and pry it open slowly, carefully, like you were deconstructing a bomb, but as the piece inside comes into view you find yourself at a loss for words or thoughts.

Your eyes are wide, staring up at him with parted lips that tingled from the lingering alcohol, knowing you should have cut yourself off at one glass of champagne and refused to come inside, that you should have just went home and enjoyed what little bit of the day you had left to yourself.

Now, you were looking back at a necklace so delicate you were afraid to stare at it too long, embedded with a cluster of diamonds and nearly two years of your rent if you were doing the math correctly in your mind.

Always about the numbers, Harry constantly teased.

“I saw how you looked at it the other day,” he admits, “and I owe you a hell of a lot more, but it…I’m trying to say thank you for…being you,”

“I’m not taking that,” you refuse with a laugh of disbelief, sliding back over to him gently, downing the rest of your wine in one go to forget how fast your heart was beating in your chest.

“You are,” Harry insists, “consider it a bonus—Christmas is in a couple months, too.”

“You know…this is exactly that kind of stuff a sugar da—”

Harry makes a noise, shaking his head.

You bite your lip in thought, ignoring his subtle annoyance at your comment.

It was fucking beautiful, really.

You sigh, using one finger to turn the case back toward you, examining it closely.

Quietly, Harry presses his glass into the counter and rounds the edge toward you, his chest at your shoulder as he reaches for the jewelry, working carefully at the clasp before he’s motioning for you to relax your shoulders.

It wasn’t the stillness of the moment, but his touch, again.

He’s methodical in the way he touches you, dragging his hand around your neck as he fits the necklace into place, his fingertips pressing against the column of your throat in a way that tickles slightly, shifting uncomfortably until you hear the faint click and he breathes behind you, hands resting at your shoulders.

You’re not sure why he hasn’t moved, but you find yourself turning to speak.

“I’m just going to call an uber,” you tell him, “probably shouldn’t drive since we’ve both been drinking,”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but it sounds hollow, his eyes not following you as you move.

You hop from the chair and bend down to grab your shoes, but his hand is curling around your bicep and pulling you up and he’s staring again, the charge of his touch sending a jolt through your body as freeze,

“Come here,” he beckons, too natural.

And you listen.

He’s soft, every part of him. Skin, clothes, hair, lips.

He’s kissing you gently, like you might break, but you can tell he wants more.

Needs more.

“Are you going to regret this tomorrow?” you find yourself asking as he parts from you, licking at his lips as you both take a breath, letting the moment settle.

He shakes his head, “Are you?”

“Maybe,” you answer honestly, “maybe…not—fuck, I don’t know,”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises, but you knew that was a lie.

Still, you nod in understanding.

–

He’s so tender with his touch, slipping you out of the dress in the dim light of his room.

Even softer as he guides you to your back and spreads himself on his belly between your legs, fingers interlocked with his at your hips as he buries his nose between your folds, his tongue splitting your cunt open in a sharp gasp that has you throwing your head back. His lips traced a slow, deliberate path down your body, igniting sparks along every inch of your skin. 

He kissed along the curve of your thighs, teasing, tasting, until the tension was unbearable and with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, it pulled you deeper into a haze of heady desire. 

This was reckless, dangerous, but neither of you found the moment to pause and think.

You wonder if things had been building to this for a while—if it was always supposed to happen this way or if he was acting off of greed; lust and companionship, even if just for a night.

You know you can ask him to stop at any point and he would, but even as his tongue brings you to your first orgasm of the night and he’s guiding you to your stomach, reaching blindly into his bedside table for a foil wrapping the crinkles loudly in the silence, you want this.

It was embarrassing how badly you wanted this.

He fucks you slow, too. 

It was torturous, his chest flat against your back as he palms his cock and feeds it into you.

You don’t talk, neither does he.

But, his low moans and stuttering breaths speak for him.

If you could see him, you’d know how furrowed his brow would be, a hand sliding over the curve of your ass until he can reach your thigh, beckoning for you to raise it without speaking.

You oblige, the angle of his thrusts changing on a dime.

“I can’t believe you’re real sometimes,” he admits like he’s confessing a sin.

“Please,” you plead—please stop talking, please keep going, please fuck me.

You couldn’t decide.

You feel him nod where his forehead is pressed between your shoulder blades as his fist curls into the sheet beside your head.

“Another, gimme another,” he pleads, the fingers on his other hand curling under your neck to life your chin, not expecting to meet his eyes as he leans over you.

The expression on his face so raw it makes you flutter around him, his lips parting in a deep, guttural groan, “I know you can,” he nods hurriedly.

And damn, does the praise work.

Your whimper breaks him, breathing out shakily as you locked eyes when he comes, slow and forceful thrusts until you’re nothing but an exhausted pile of tangled limbs.

“Greedy girl,” he comments through the haze, a weak giggle bubbling from your chest.

He pulls out slowly, a low grunt as he does so.

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but you wake to a startling amount of weight over your stomach, an arm splayed possessively, the faint outline of a ring as you drag your hand over the limb.

It’s only as your eyes pry open that reality hits you, stumbling out of bed quickly.

No…nononono, where the fuck were your clothes? Jesus.

You stumble around half awake, searching for the silk dress on the floor, feeling accomplished when you find it and hastily redressing yourself as Harry stirs in bed, encouraging you to hurry, to slip out before he can say anything.

Your shoes are already on and you’re reaching for the doorknob when the voice comes, the weight of the necklace that still remained on your neck, two empty glasses of wine on the counter, a night of hasty choices and urgency laid out like a crime scene as his voice rings out from behind you, pleading.

“Don’t—don’t go,” Harry begs, “You don’t have to go,”

So much of this was wrong—it complicated everything.

Your life, your job, your relationship with him.

He can see you slipping, fingers inching toward the knob as he approaches you in a hurry, barefoot and shirtless, the kind of scene you shouldn’t be comforted with, like this was all normal to the both of you.

You’ve seen him like this a thousand times, but not when he’s looking at you so vulnerable, heart tore open and stapled to his chest, beating against your own as his hands splayed out over your cheeks.

“I don’t regret it,” he assures you again, “so please—stay, okay?”

“What changed?” you ask, voice trembling, “Five years, Harry. Five.”

“I’ve been running in circles this entire time,” he admits, “you know it—I know it.”

You had been there the entire time, learning every part of him without judgement, cataloging his flaws and skills, learning how he ticked and what motivated him. You had never quite settled on the ideal person to fit in his life as his partner, it surely wasn’t you.

It couldn’t be you.

“Please, don’t go,” Harry echoed once more.

The sick, cruel joke of it all was that this was your job. 

You had nowhere to go. If it was any other morning, you would just be arriving, leaving his breakfast in the kitchen and starting your day.

You nod solemnly, “Of course, Mr. Castillo.”

It was painstaking, forcing the mask back on.

But, you couldn’t deal with this now.

Or ever, even.

Harry looks at you with a confused sadness, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones before his hands fall to his side.

You’d figure this out, you always did.

[yujisdreamgirl]

husband!nanami who is also the father of your 2 children. dated for 6 years and married for 3–you couldn’t ask for anything more.

husband!nanami who is visibly confused during a conversation he had with his colleagues.

nanami usually avoids the break room whilst it was crowded. unfortunately, on a rare day that he’s forgotten to pick up his coffee from his favourite café, he had to walk into a break room full of a bunch of his coworkers talking about their children’s birthdays. they immediately turn to nanami who was standing in the corner and involved him in the conversation.

“it’s my daughter’s birthday soon. yeah i’m probably getting her one of those dolls and shit—she’s turning 5.” the suited up man takes a sip out of his coffee.

nanami nods apprehensively, wishing to leave the room already. “that’s nice. what are you getting for your wife?” he asks.

“what?” all four of his coworkers turned to look at him, and suddenly it felt like an episode of The Voice.

“…don’t you get your wife a gift when it’s your children’s birthdays??” the only time nanami is ever confused is when he does crossword puzzles. this.. is a whole different level.

his coworkers laugh at the absurd statement, some scoff and one pats nanami on the back.

—

nanami drives back home from work but he was more quiet than usual. he would typically turn the radio on and tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. the car however was dead silent.

“who doesn’t give their wife a gift..? tch.”

“do these young men even love their wives anymore? eugh.”

“y/n always seems really happy when i give her gifts on the girls’ birthday.. i can’t imagine not giving her any.”

—

he arrives home and parks in the garage, sighing and cracking his back before bursting through the door.

“i’m h—” before he could finish his sentence, his 3-year-old twin girls came running to hug him.

“daddy! daddy! you’re home!” they giggle and cling onto his legs as nanami leans over to place his hand on your back and kiss your lips. “hello my darlings,” he smiles.

“you’re home early.”

“just missed my girls a lot.”

—

it’s 11pm. the kids are asleep and you’ve done your skincare, the night lamp on as you lay in bed with your husband.

as you snuggle under the sheets, you suddenly feel big arms snake around your torso. you giggle and pull them closer to you before deciding to turn around and face the man beside you. you lay your head on his chest and he immediately caresses your back.

“my love?” nanami speaks up.

“yeeeees?” you sing. he holds you tighter now, before uttering: “you know how i give you a gift for the girls’ birthday?”

you smile softly at the memory—how could you forget? every birthday for three years, he always manages to surprise you with a gift. he treasures the day dearly. it’s your daughters’ birthday but it’s your birth-day.

“i just found out that not every father does that. at least.. my coworkers don’t.” you look up at him now, seeing his scrunched eyebrows and solemn pout—you can already tell it bothers him. “it’s absurd, isn’t it? what do you think?”

you hum, your eyes never leaving his expression. “to be honest, i’ve never witnessed someone do what you do. it’s not exactly common practice,”

nanami sighs, “i guess you’re right. i just love you so much, you know? i’ll keep showing my appreciation on the day that means a lot to me, to us. it’s the day we became a family and i.. i want to make sure you know how important you are, too.” his voice is soft, as though he's been carrying this thought for a while. you blink, the weight of his words settling in your chest. he doesn't say it often, but when he does, it’s clear he means every syllable.

a small laugh escapes you, touched by his sincerity. “i know, baby. and i’m thankful for it, for you.”

he presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you as if he’s trying to hold on to the moment. “me too, darling. more than you’ll ever know.”

͙͘͡★ dividers by @bernardsbendystraws & @cafekitsune 👔

[girl-lostconnection]

Little continuation to this because I can’t help it

Seal Soap that gets along with seal Reader better than anyone else: better than Price, better than Kyle, better than Ghost.

Drives the latter one a little mad that his boy is so fucking whipped.

That his boy can’t help but stick with you and smooch you like there is no tomorrow. Like that’s a perfectly regular thing to do.

And while Kyle (who came back flustered and smitten) tried to explain the delicacies of seal to seal communications, Simon doesn’t fucking buy it. There is no such thing as wordless communication, there are scents of course, there are signals and sounds. But completely silent talk initiated by kisses? No, that’s bullshit if you ask him.

Unfortunately, no one fucking does.

Johnny walks you to breakfast and lunch and dinner. Johnny jogs to yours side as soon as you enter the gym, Johnny rolls over so you can have a spot next to him when he’s sunbathing (and bastard never rolls over, he’s greedy fuck who doesn’t like sharing his warm sunny place).

Johnny twitches his upper lip to show off sharp teeth when someone else gets too close to you, guarding new seal on his team like a bloody treasure.

And you don’t seem to mind all the attention.

No, you hum pleased when Soap shares his fish with you, you give him back scratches and quietly groom him in the rec room, you share parcels from home with him.

Simon doesn’t like that you get so quickly acquainted with his boy. Simon doesn’t like that you seem not interested much in whether or not he likes things.

Simon is used to be the biggest meanest dog in the compound, but when he presses you don’t back down and don’t cower. Seems like he isn’t the biggest one anymore.

You smile at him, sharp points of your teeth peeking from under your upper lip but your eyes are cool and it takes him every ounce of willpower not to growl in your face.

Slippery fucking seal, he hates that he doesn’t have grounds for being a bigger dick to you than he already is.

He hates that both Kyle and Johnny seem to disapprove that.

But you aren’t going anywhere.

You chuckle when Gaz shows off his sharpshooting skills, you patiently watch their eagle’s training routine and offer to spot him. You pretend not to notice the way sergeant Garrick stares unblinking at the sliver of skin that shows when you stretch your hands above your head and your T-shirt rides up a little.

You kiss Soap whenever and wherever you feel like, not paying any mind whether or not someone might see it.

You press a short smooch to Soap’s lips during the drills and missions — getting returned one as quickly as yours was given, because Johnny is whipped and “it helps to calm the nerves”. Because apparently you can’t just communicate with words like the rest of them and need to have this secret third thing.

You catch Johnny’s lips routinely, biting his lower lip, rubbing against his stubble like it really can give you some information that you can’t get otherwise. You kiss him after swimming, getting salt off his lips, getting his spirits so high a little more and sergeant is gonna become a bloody kite.

You cup Johnny’s face and press your lips to his — slow and gentle, tongue already sliding between his lips, Soap’s hands holding onto your hips — fingers sinking into the fatty tissue of your ass. It’s not rushed in the slightest, your cool lips meeting his, Soap thumbing the dimples on your lower back so you arch into him. So he has a “just” reason to get handfuls of your ass.

Simon accidentally walks in onto one of these sessions and like a bloody creeper stays in the shadowed corner because the two of you seem a bit preoccupied with whatever “conversation” you have been having.

But to give you two your due — the make out session is indeed silent. There are no whispers, no exchanged sweet nothings, no secret confessions. Nothing.

Like you two can actually talk like that.

Like it is an actual thing.

Simon doesn’t want to admit that it unnerves him ever more. A fling, a moment of passion added to urge to mess with the team he could understand. This? Whatever this is, he can’t. He doesn’t know how.

There is a quiet soft intimacy in the way you hold each other, in the way your kiss seems never ending, in the way you two break it only to rub cheeks or noses. It’s intimacy Ghost hasn’t seen before and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

Not like he can ask, right?

Simon leaves as quietly as he came, trying to mull it over, trying to come up with something — anything — that would fill in the gaps he can feel under his ribs.

He is all heavy bulk and heavy boots and heavy glares, but it doesn’t seem to phase you when you finally corner him in the gym.

Eyes so calm it drives him up the wall, eyes so gentle he feels like wrestling you to the floor so you finally get the point and stay the fuck away from him.

But you just angle his face to you and tap the hem of his mask silently. Eyes calm and chest pressing into his, pressing him into the wall so he can’t run and hide. Slippery fucking seal, he should teach you some fucking manners so you don’t get too cocky around your superiors.

And maybe if you said a single thing he’d push you away. Maybe if you asked him for something, he’d bristle and growl and sneer. But you don’t so Simon is not sure what to make of it.

He just pulls balaclava just above his lips, scar crossing them, part of his upper lip gnarly ugly thing that healed a little too high and left him with perpetual snarl. It’s not pretty.

He isn’t pretty.

Not like Johnny with his shiny eyes and wide smiles, not like Kyle with his full lips and proud slope of the nose.

He knows he isn’t pretty but the wolf in him still gets ready to snap jaws on your neck the moment you mention it. Simon knows he is nothing special, he’d rather a pretty seal didn’t comment on his appearances.

You don’t know his story and he prefers it stays that way.

The feel of cool fingers on his jaw snaps Ghost out of it, your eyes still calm and endless, your breathing ghosting over his lips — you are close enough to drink into his every breath. Close enough to taste desperation rolling off him in waves.

Close enough for him to get handfuls of your ass and pull you flush against him.

Got you, slippery seal. He caught you. He won.

But you don’t seem to mind it, your nose just pressing to his cheek — slowly, like you aren’t sure how much you can do before Simon loses his mind and either mounts or mauls you right on the floor of this gym.

Simon isn’t sure himself what he’d like to do more.

Your breathing on his cheek is feather-soft when you gently rub on his stubble. The same way you did with Johnny just a few days prior. The seal greeting you two do tirelessly.

Ghost hums quietly and tilts his head to the side, so you can reach better, his hands no longer gripping but slowly groping your bum now. Like he is finally letting himself savor it without the fear of your slipping right through his fingers.

There is a beat after which you finally press your lips to his, catching them like he’s an old friend you are happy to see — your tongue asking for permission like Simon isn’t pushing his in your mouth the moment you kissed him.

Simon is all hunger and sharp teeth and heavy glares, but you kiss him and he melts. You open the soft wet heat of your mouth and be pushes his tongue inside, finally tasting for himself salt on your tongue and points of your canines and the gurgly needy sounds your throat makes when he devours your mouth.

When his fingers get to underside of your ass and inner side of your thighs.

Slippery seal, don’t you know that he is the biggest meanest dog in this compound?

But your palms slide under waist of his pants, your nails digging into his lower back so he can’t help but arch into you.

Well, not anymore, he is not.

Ghost grins in your mouth and licks the grin off the tips of your teeth, hoping to poke himself too hard and finally bleed in the chatty mouth of yours.

Seal to wolf communication, eh? That’s something he can understand.

That’s something he’d like to become proficient in.

The next time you press a kiss to Johnny’s lips is during brief and no one spares you a second glance.

By this point, it’s a routine and you two never lose too much time doing this so if seals need to communicate, the rest are going to leave you to it.

Only this time you don’t limit yourself with just Johnny, reaching out to Simon right after — pulling him in by the scruff of his neck and giving him a short smooch as well. Like it’s a completely normal thing too.

Price pauses mid sentence, giving you a long unreadable stare before finally arching his brow, thick cigar between his lips heating up when he pulls air in.

Komodo dragons thrive on hierarchy and you are starting to push it. Thin ice there.

“Seal to wolf communication, sir.”, your grin is wide enough to show off tips of your canines, eyes crinkling when Kyle looks at Ghost with the look of utter betrayal on his face.

Yeah, you will need to come up with something to sweeten it for pretty eagle sergeant as well.

“Didn’t know it was a thing. Can he talk with seals too?”, Price looks utterly unimpressed, eyes heavy with something you can’t quite make out.

“No, sir.”, the answer is as honest as they get, your grin only widening when Ghost slowly licks his lips, lieutenant’s eyes heavy in a way that unrolls a sweet aching in your belly.

Big mean bastard he is. Big bad wolf.

“But he can feel the vibes. Right, L.T.?”, you turn to him and Simon tilts his head to the side, his tail wagging behind him, his tail smacking your thigh every time it moves.

Price looks at Ghost with the look of exasperated parent but lieutenant seems to be finally content with the way things are.

Lieutenant finally doesn’t mind the seal to seal communication.

Not when he has his own now.

Big bad wolf just wanted to be included, didn’t he?

“Yeah. I sure can.”, he finally huffs out and leans on you, corner of his lips twitching when you have to steady yourself not to tip over. Big mean bastard.

Simon tilts his head to the side, like never before reminding you of his animal side — deep seated eyes of his glimmering from underneath the dark hover of his brows.

“Though I feel like the first check was too hasty”, he muses words slowly, syllables rolling on his tongue, accent thickening. There is laughter simmering on the bottom of his irises, the heated sort of fun.

“Mind givin’ it another go, luv?”

[randomshyperson]

The Pinning Problem - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: There are several ways to resolve the rivalry between the Avengers that does not involve fighting. Or, the one where Wanda Maximoff likes to be pinned down by her not-so-secret crush, and somehow this becomes the whole team's problem.

words: 2.944k | warnings: a lot of sexual tension, kissing, hints of rivals to lovers, this is a crack fic - nothing here can be taken seriously, another alternative solution for civil war that’s better than what they did, nothing explicit but hints of sub!wanda.

A/N-. I found this on my draft, had to translate, and I have no idea what was the inspiration or writing process but I thought it was so funny, so here it is. The name is actually quite self-explanatory.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

In Wanda's defense, a sequence of events led to this unsustainable situation.

It probably started a year ago, when she had mind-tricked the team of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes and felt confident enough to try it on someone who was notoriously known for being invulnerable. It was the first time Wanda had been pinned against a wall by another person, and it was the most inopportune situation possible for any feelings other than anger and fear, so of course Wanda had never been so aroused. Things didn’t get any better after that, and in her interactions with you in the Avenger routine a while later, she would probably describe you as having some obscure desire to pin her against things.

In training, against the mat.

In the kitchen, against the counter or the fridge, with bad excuses to reach things or just because you wanted to see her blush or traumatize any team member present.

And one notable time, one that haunted her in wet dreams for weeks, against the door of the motel room you were staying in for one of the countless stakeout missions in search of clues about the Winter Soldier.

Wanda was never so grateful for a shared bathroom as the day she saw you in just a towel, hair and wet muscles exposed.

“Damn, wrong door.” You said with an innocent tone, but it didn’t seem like you had made any mistakes, the little smile giving away your true intentions.

Wanda, who had just emptied the bathroom for the next in line for the shower, clutched the towel to her body tighter, a nervous giggle escaping her.

She's never felt as powerful as she does now, using all her mental and spiritual control not to rip off those towels and grab you with the entire team to witness.

“Did you save some hot water for me, witchy?” You teased with your hand on the doorframe, too close for Wanda to breathe properly. She had to blink her concentration back, her brain barely able to focus on anything other than your inviting lips.

“Hm, I can’t say I have it.”

You lick your lips, a smile threatening to escape as Wanda's eyes followed the movement. "No problem, I need a cold shower anyway." That's what you said, using much more of her personal space than you needed to exit the room.

And for the next few weeks, Wanda could only remember that feeling, her fingers tucked deep inside her pants as she bit her lip to keep from whimpering your name to the ceiling.

The fight between Steve and Tony escalated into a catastrophe shortly after that, and Wanda had a little time to focus on other things.

That is until Clint picked her up at the Tower, and informed her that he had two stops to make. Ant-Man was the easy part, he was loud and energetic and kept Clint busy with excited questions about his life as an Avenger.

You were the proof of the gods.

With a leather jacket you got as a gift from Natasha hiding a band t-shirt that in Wanda's opinion, made you look like the most attractive person she had ever laid eyes on, you threw your backpack on the bench and squeezed in next to her.

You didn't have to press your lips to her cheek, but you did it anyway, as if you and Wanda were great friends, and you had missed her a lot in the last few weeks you hadn't seen each other with all the team's drama.

“What’s up, witchy?” It was so casual that Wanda almost believed that you two had a real relationship and not a history of arguments, teasing and staring challenges.

Clint didn't pay a second thought to the matter, he was stressed with everything that was happening to the team, and he was pleased that you were joining the fight, especially on his side. Having a demigoddess should mean an easy victory, and hopefully, without much fighting.

Staying under wraps in Europe until it was time to meet Steve at the appointed point was a minefield. Four people sharing a van, two of whom were hormonal teenagers, with some sort of battle going on over who would give in first could easily be one of the reasons Clint Barton wanted to stay retired.

Three hours into the ride, and Wanda let out another sigh from the backseat, and he had enough.

“I swear to god I’m going to make you walk all the way there.” The hawk warned, stealing a glance in the rearview mirror, quick enough for him to see you move your hand away from Wanda’s thigh. He snorted in disbelief. “That’s so inappropriate. And disgusting.”

“Don’t be homophobic, Clint.” You immediately retort, but the Avenger shook his head, chuckling reluctantly.

“I’ll tell your cousin what kind of things you do while other people are around you, young lady.” He threatened but you shrugged, an easy laugh escaping you.

“Good luck trying to slut-shame me to the god of fertility.” Your bratty response made Wanda and Scott hide a giggle.

Clint huffed in irritation. “What the hell, that’s not what I’m doing!” He defended himself, offended. “I just don’t want to be there while you make out with your girlfriend.”

You shrug. “Sounds like homophobia to me, man.”

Clint shakes his head indignantly, and tries to look at Scott for some support but the other just shrugs, with an expression that he agrees with your words. The Archer lets out a humorless laugh, and announces that he will stop for food at the next gas station he drives by.

When the stop finally happened, almost an hour later, Clint and Scott practically fled the car.

Wanda thinks she should have at least changed seats.

“Can I ask you something?” She ventured as the noise of the older Avengers talking grew more distant, as they were going to buy food at the convenience store. You hum in agreement, and Wanda swallows hard because she feels your gaze on her. “How did Barton convince you to join the fight?”

The question takes you by surprise. You change seats, and Wanda almost regrets it, but you do it just to look at her and it's more disconcerting than before.

“Why wouldn’t I join? I’m an Avenger too.” Apparently, you wanted to see her reaction. Sometimes, Wanda forgot that not everyone could read minds. Especially you, who, although you could resist any of her magic tricks, didn’t have the same abilities to do them on other people.

“I know, I meant…” She thought for a moment about the right words. “I just got the impression that Thor advised you to stay a little distant from things like that. He himself doesn’t seem to be around much for this kinda of… human and bureaucratic stuff.”

You click your tongue. “I’m human, Wanda. Half, but still.”

“I know!” she snaps back, her cheeks hot. “I just meant—”

“I know what you mean, I’m messing with you.” You cut her off with a giggle, gesturing slightly. “I’m flattered, you know? That you think I’m so strong and amazing, so superior to all of this.” You make an exaggeratedly theatrical expression, and Wanda laughs with an eye roll.

“Oh, shut up.” She retorts, and manages to make you smile too. The lightness of the interaction changes the second after this dialogue ends. You look at her in a different way, more intense and vulnerable, and Wanda swallows hard. She feels like she wants to say a million things at once, but it’s you who speaks first.

“You’re right though, I wasn’t going to get involved.” You say, your typical confidence failing for the first time since Wanda met you. “Diplomatic immunity and Asgardian royalty perks or something like that.” You joke with a weak laugh, but something about the way you’re saying it makes it impossible for Wanda to laugh, let alone breathe properly. “Clint only had to use two magic words to get me on the team.”

She swallows hard, her stomach flipping. “What words?”

You smile at the corner of your mouth, not meeting her eyes for a moment. And then you sigh deeply, and look at her. “Wanda Maximoff.”

The breath that escapes her is shaky and faltering, and you hold her gaze until she gathers her courage. You wait patiently for Wanda to approach, and you don't move at any of her hesitations, until she sighs and grabs the collar of your blouse, pulling you in with determination. Despite the urgency, the first kiss is not rushed. You let her get used to the feeling first, and pull away before Wanda has a chance to protest.

But when you dive back in the next second, you take control. Your hand cups her jaw and your mouth is hungrily against hers, teeth and tongue, devouring every whimper of need she gives you. You’re not immune to Maximoff’s charms either.” You gasp at Wanda’s taste, brow furrowed as if you’re physically unable to pull away.

But you have to, because Clint and Scott can't make a purchase longer than eight damn minutes.

The veterans climb into the car, and the archer turns to the back of the van to deliver the food and catches a glimpse of your disheveled appearances and uneven breathing and grunts of disbelief.

“For the love of god, I don’t even want to know. And don’t you dare touch my stuff!” He says, throwing the snacks into your laps as you and Wanda struggle to hide your giggles.

-&-

The plan was to sneak out, but Stark closed the airport. Steve's order was for everyone to put on their suits and follow him, but Wanda ended up trapped between the closed door of the van and your body.

“Everything okay, girls?” Captain America asked uncertainly, and without moving away, you forced a smile at Steve.

“Sure, Cap. I’ll just wish Wanda a good fight. We’ll catch up with you for a grand entrance, I promise.” It’s practically a warning that you’re going to do this regardless of Steve’s permission, so he clears his throat and waves for the team to follow him ahead.

The Avengers have barely finished walking away - she can still hear Clint complaining that the two of you haven't let go of each other when you lean your face down and kiss her.

She doesn't know what she expected, but she certainly doesn't feel prepared for this kind of kiss. Sloppy and charged with lust, just a few hours after she experienced the sensation of having your lips for the first time.

Your firm hands on her waist and the extra support of the van are the only things keeping her upright. Her wobbly legs gave out at the first bite of her lip, three kisses ago.

Between one gasp and another, and this because neither of you wants to let go, Wanda tries to remind you of what they are doing in Germany.

“We have to go. The others. The fight.” Each word comes between one kiss and another, and she’s not even trying to open her eyes, because you drag your mouth down her jaw and start pressing your lips to her neck with enough intention to make her arch her body towards you and forget the world around her.

Though you look equally affected, you manage to break the caresses with a husky chuckle. “Who the hell came up with the idea of adding a damn corset to your uniform, Wanda?”

The question makes her bite her lip, especially since she catches the way your gaze is fixed on her collarbone.

“I chose it myself. Don’t you like it?” She teases with false innocence, baiting you by puffing out her chest in your direction.

Your fingers reach up and pull at the limit of what the corset's laces will hold without opening, the gesture being suggestive enough for Wanda to tremble.

“I loved it, that’s the problem.” You murmur, evidently aroused, your mouth marking her skin again. “How do they expect me to fight with you looking like that around me. All I can think about is undressing you…” A soft bite on your lobe, and Wanda moans directly into your ear. “God, I could fuck you right here.”

“There’s no time.” She pants back, but your grip tightens a little and Wanda is sure that if you try to take her clothes off in the middle of this parking lot, she’ll help you.

“We can make time.”

But your whispered phrase carries a meaning she can’t ignore. She struggles to push her arousal away and manages to retort a hoarse “What?”

Your hands reach inside the suit's jacket, and move downward. Wanda gasps as she feels them on her ass, squeezing the flesh and forcing your hips together. The sensation is so delirious that she almost forgets she asked a question.

“We can kill time if we let the boys fight alone.” Your voice combined with all the attraction she’s kept secret for so long is like a siren song taking her mind to places far removed from Avengers intrigue, and more like beds or mats. Or anywhere you can press her, including this car. “Romanoff knows how to take care of herself, and the others wouldn’t even notice.”

“Yes, they would.” She retorts with a soft laugh before pulling your mouth back to hers. Kissing her again wakes something in you. Your hands go frantic, tugging and squeezing, and Wanda finds herself pressed completely against the iron door with one of your legs between hers. The softest press of your knee against her core makes Wanda gasp in a whimper.

You break the kiss to rest your forehead against hers. “You sound so beautiful when you make those sounds.” But she needs to put more distance between you, because she won’t be able to stop if she doesn’t do it now.

“We can’t.” She insists, one hand on your stomach to gently push you away. “Not now. And not here.” She sighs at the dark look in your eyes. “We gave you our word that we would help.”

For a moment, it looks like you’re going to ignore it, your lips brushing together, teasing away whatever sanity she has left. But then, you kiss her cheek and pull away, and Wanda would have slid down to the floor if it weren’t for van’s support.

“Okay, I’ll help.” You declare with a determination that makes Wanda swallow hard.

She barely has time to work on her appearance and has to rush to catch up with you, sprinting towards the team.

You missed the grand entrance - Things were about to start, and you interrupted a spider-clad teenager with an energy pulse that threw him away and kept him pinned to the ground.

“Sorry guys, I’m really busy today.” You announced. Everyone looked at you in shock, Tony seemed genuinely surprised to see you pick a team, and Steve seemed worried that you had changed your mind. When you started fighting with everyone, things got even more serious.

But Wanda didn't even have time to think about what it all meant; she realized that you weren't hurting them. You were bringing them together, to face them all at once.

Vision was probably the only one there who could do any damage due to the Infinity Stone, so she needed to keep him under control.

And with Spider-Boy safe and immobilized just like Vision, you screamed to the heavens.

“Heimdall, let’s take my friends for a ride!”

The Avengers only had time to widen their eyes. The transport was almost immediate.

Wanda closed her eyes, as shocked as the others, but the trip was actually smooth. While half the team was still fighting on the rainbow that led to Asgard, you held her by the waist, and the landing was calm and coordinated.

Steve was the first to approach you, as furiously as everyone else. “What do you think you’re doing? Send us back right now! We have to-”

“Sorry, I’m on vacation.” You cut him off, shrugging. Your hand is clasped in Wanda’s, who’s standing behind you.

The team all stands around, angry and surprised. Steve gives an incredulous laugh, but Tony actually laughs.

“Wow, that’s impressive, Rogers. Seriously, this time you outdid yourself in the worst decisions you could make. You didn’t think about what could happen when you called her to fight, she has the maturity of a ten-year-old!”

“Wow, and you can talk about maturity, can’t you Tony?”

You rolled your eyes, leaving them behind, cursing each other. Natasha was trying to stop King T'Challa from attacking Bucky, but none of them had a way out of here. Rhodes took off his armor helmet and was commenting on how huge Asgard was with Sam, while Clint tried to get a cell phone signal to warn Laura that he would most definitely be late. You think Ant-Man was trying to take pictures, but you got distracted by Wanda on the way through the Bifrost.

“Are we just going to leave them?” She asked, glancing at the irritated team.

You shrug. “Yeah, Heimdall will keep an eye on them. And when they calm down, the palace awaits. And you will see my royal chamber now.”

Wanda purrs, her cheeks flushed. “You’re getting pretty confident.” She teases, making you smile.

“I’m just inviting you to a late-night fondue.” You joke, and it’s Wanda’s turn to chuckle before pressing her lips against yours.

Some of the Avengers complain in the background but none of you are paying attention to them anymore.

[aleksatia]

What would the LaDS do if MC just had enough of the whole secret keeping/manipulation/stalking/controlling behavior and ran away? Like she made sure all of the ways they're keeping tabs on her don't work anymore, secretly leaves to live elsewhere, and never comes back? Like she's GONE gone and can't be found.

Thanks so much for the question and the idea — it made me spiral beautifully into angst territory. 🖤 At first glance, this is how I imagine things would unfold in my headcanon.

Every LaDS reacts differently, and honestly… some of them never really recover. I poured my heart into each of their perspectives, so if you see it another way, I’d love to hear your take. Always open to different interpretations — especially when it comes to pain like this. 😌✨

🦅 Sylus

(He doesn’t lose things. He takes, he keeps. But this—this is loss. A slow-rotting, world-tilting, soul-gnawing kind of loss.)

The Moment It Hits

It’s a shift in the air. An emptiness where something vital used to be. His breath catches, fingers tightening around the crystal glass of whiskey.

He calls you. Nothing.

He tracks you. Nothing.

He tears the city apart—contacts, satellites, underground networks. Nothing.

Then it hits. You’re not hiding. You’re beyond reach.

Does He Blame Himself?

At first, no. You’re just being difficult. Testing limits. He trained you too well in the game of power.

Then the days stretch. The silence rots in his gut.

Maybe he pushed too far. Held too tight. Loved too hard.

But if he had been softer, would you still be here? No. You were always going to run. He just never thought you’d win.

First Day

He sits in his study, staring at the last glass you touched. His fingers hover over the rim, but he doesn’t pick it up.

The Nest is in chaos, men scrambling for orders, but he says nothing. Just listens to the empty resonance where you used to be.

He doesn’t sleep. He barely moves. And when dawn breaks, he realizes—you’re still gone.

First Week

The silence is unbearable.

He smashes a mirror. Then a chair. Then an entire fucking room. But the noise doesn’t bring you back.

Music. That’s the answer. The organ swells under his fingers, but the sound doesn’t fill the void. It just makes it worse. The walls of his mansion tremble with the weight of his grief, but no one dares to stop him.

The first time he says Kitten, it’s barely a whisper. The second time, it’s a growl. The third—it’s a plea.

First Month

He kills a man just for saying your name. He kills another for looking at him wrong.

The city learns to be silent.

The organ plays every night, each melody heavier, darker—until one evening, he simply stops. Because music is agony now.

He thinks he hears you sometimes. A shift of fabric. A sharp inhale. But he turns, and there’s only the crushing weight of absence.

Five Years

People say he’s gone mad. That he talks to ghosts. That he’s lost his edge.

They don’t understand. He hasn’t lost it. He just has nothing left to prove.

He still feels you. Somewhere distant. Beyond his reach but never truly gone.

New Relationships? Don’t be ridiculous. He fucks, maybe. But no one’s ever allowed to touch his soul again.

He doesn’t chase anymore. Because one day, the universe will break in just the right way, and you’ll be within reach again.

And when that day comes—you’re not running anymore.

🌊 Rafayel

(He always smiled through pain. Painted beauty over grief. But when you disappeared, not even art could hide the collapse.)

The Moment It Hits

He waits three days before admitting to himself that you're really gone. Not late. Not upset. Gone.

Your studio key still sits on the shelf. The mug you always used — untouched. He tries calling. Messaging. Pretends he's not panicking.

Then he checks every port, every passage, every gallery, every alleyway where your soul might've left a trace.

You’ve vanished. And he knows—you didn’t want to be found.

Does He Blame Himself?

Every minute.

He retraces every word, every joke, every lingering glance he didn’t take seriously enough.

Maybe he should’ve said it clearer. Or sooner. Or not at all.

Maybe if he hadn’t tried so hard to keep it light, you would’ve known how deep he really felt.

First Day

He draws you. Over and over. Not from memory — from guilt.

He tries to remember how your mouth looked when you smiled through frustration. How your eyes dimmed when you thought he wasn’t watching.

He doesn’t eat. Doesn’t sleep. Paints until his fingers bleed.

First Week

He keeps thinking he hears your voice in the wind. That you're just out of frame.

Sits by the harbor, waiting for a boat that never comes.

Finishes a canvas. Stares at it for an hour. Then sets it on fire.

Tells himself he’s fine. He lies beautifully.

First Month

People ask where you are. He says you're traveling. Or healing. Or chasing a dream.

But the gallery knows — there’s a new collection in the works. All unnamed. All in shades of drowning.

The walls of his home are covered in your outlines. He keeps the lights low. Pretends it’s intimacy, not absence.

The world starts to lose its color. For a man who once saw millions of shades, everything dulls. Muted. Grey.

He stops using yellow entirely.

First Year

He vanishes beneath the sea. A whole year. Gone.

They say he swam through old ruins, sang to coral reefs that didn’t sing back.

He gathers shells—perfect, fragile—and crushes them into powder, making pigments no one's ever seen.

But they all come out grey.

When he finally resurfaces, his skin is colder. His voice is softer. His art—wordless grief on stretched canvas.

When asked what inspired them, he says: “Nothing. She’s not mine anymore.”

And when no one’s looking, he traces your initials into wet paint. Every time.

Five Years

He exhibits a piece called "When Silence Learned to Scream." It sells for millions. He doesn’t show up to the opening.

He no longer draws faces. Only fragments—lips that look like yours, fingers that used to hold his brush.

He’s touched people. Kissed some. Loved none.

He still sets a second cup of coffee. Still leaves the balcony door unlocked. Just in case.

The color never comes back. He just learns to fake it.

He doesn’t wait. He just… exists beside the ghost of you.

✈️ Caleb

(You were the only thing that made him feel human. Now, he’s just another machine built for war—functional, efficient, and dead inside.)

The Moment It Hits

He notices the silence first.

Your messages stop. Your routine shifts. Something’s off, but he tells himself you just need space. You’ve always needed space.

He checks on you through the usual systems—his eyes, the satellites, the passive trackers he swore weren’t invasive, just precautionary.

Nothing. Not disabled. Not broken. Gone.

His knees hit the floor before he can stop them. His hand wraps around the metal tag you gave him—the one he swore never to take off. It digs into his palm so hard it leaves a mark.

Does He Blame Himself?

He doesn’t even need to ask. Of course, it’s his fault.

Maybe if he had held you a little looser, if he had let you breathe, if he hadn’t always been watching, waiting, bracing for the day you’d run.

Maybe if he had been less Caleb and more someone you could love without suffocating.

But it’s too late now.

First Day

His body stops feeling like his own. Like his mechanical arm, the rest of him loses sensation.

He moves, eats, speaks, salutes—out of habit, not need.

But sometimes, when no one is watching, the pain surfaces.

And when it does, it swallows him whole.

First Week

He takes every mission no one else wants. The more dangerous, the better.

Tells himself he’s just doing his job, but deep down, he’s testing fate. Daring it to take him.

It never does.

He always comes back. And he hates it.

First Month

He stops cooking. No more spices, no more warmth, no more shared meals.

Only bland, military rations. Fuel, not food.

He doesn’t touch your photo albums, but he doesn’t throw them away either.

Let them rot with him.

First Year

He hasn’t eaten apples since the day you left.

Too sweet. Too alive. Too much like you.

The dog tag you gave him is still around his neck. A brand. A wound. A curse.

He tries. Once. With a woman from the med bay. She was kind. Gentle.

But when she reached for his hand—his jaw locked, his throat closed, his stomach churned.

He excused himself. Never tried again.

Five Years

His name is legendary. His rank? Higher than anyone imagined.

The man who never dies. The ghost pilot. The one who walks away from wreckage without a scratch.

He used to hate attention, but now? Now his inaccessibility makes women chase him more. He lets them. But never sees their faces. Never lets them touch his scars. Never lets them hold him the way you used to.

Because pain is all he has left of you. And he’s not ready to let it go.

🧊 Zayne

(Some men burn in their grief. Some men drown in it. Zayne? He freezes. The world still turns, the city still moves, and he walks through it like a ghost wearing a doctor’s coat. Precise. Detached. Functioning. But never living.)

The Moment It Hits

He finds out through absence, not presence.

You were always predictable in small ways. The way you fidgeted when nervous. The way you always texted before vanishing for a few hours. The way you left traces of yourself in his space, even when you didn’t mean to.

But one day, all of it stops.

Your number disconnects. Your bank account closes. The security cameras catch nothing. Too clean. Too final.

You didn’t just leave. You erased yourself.

Does He Blame Himself?

No. Not at first.

Because blaming himself would mean accepting that he miscalculated, and he does not make mistakes.

He spends months analyzing. Running simulations. Mapping out every logical reason why you left.

None of them make sense.

Then, one night, while sitting alone in his office, he makes the mistake of asking himself the one question he’s been avoiding—

What if it wasn’t logic? What if it was just pain?

That’s the first time he doesn’t sleep.

First Day

The hospital is quiet. Too quiet.

He operates. He consults. He performs at peak efficiency because the alternative is stopping, and stopping means thinking.

At the end of the day, he unlocks his apartment and stares at the empty space where your things used to be.

He stands there.

Just stands there.

First Week

His routine doesn’t break. Not once.

5 AM runs. 12-hour shifts. Research until 2 AM.

No deviations. Because deviations lead to cracks.

The first time someone mentions your name, his scalpel slips.

It never happens again.

First Month

He starts closing doors he once left open.

Stops looking at his phone. Stops checking messages.

Your coffee order is deleted from his usual café’s system.

He doesn’t erase you. That would be emotional.

He simply moves forward.

First Year

He doesn’t say your name anymore.

When people ask, he says you’re gone. No details. No elaboration.

But his residents whisper.

How their attending stopped smiling. How he works more than sleeps. How his precision became ruthless.

They never mention the fact that he never, ever, takes cases where patients have your eye color.

Five Years

The rumors are true. He has a daughter.

No one knows the mother. No one dares ask.

He never talks about it, never brings her to the hospital, but he leaves every shift at exactly the same time—always back before she falls asleep.

He teaches her to count constellations on the ceiling. Reads her anatomy books like fairy tales.

She has your eyes. People notice. Whisper. But no one asks.

And when she laughs—it’s a sound that shatters something in him.

When she asks, “Was Mommy like me?” He pauses. Looks at her. Then, softly: "She was... the part of you I’ll never be able to explain."

He never married. Never will.

And sometimes, when the room is too quiet, and she’s asleep in his arms—he looks at her face and wonders if loving someone this much was ever ethical.

🌌 Xavier

(He doesn’t fall apart. He folds in. Quietly. Gracefully. Like a dying star still casting light no one realizes is already gone.)

The Moment It Hits

It starts with your resignation.

No dramatic exit. No farewell. Just one line in the system: “Resigned. No forwarding information.”

You, who lived for the Hunt, for duty. You, who said this was everything.

He tries to message. Silence.

Asks around. Friends. Colleagues. Command. They say you just… vanished.

Then one day, he walks past your old apartment—someone else lives there.

Your scent, your presence, your trace in the universe—gone.

Does He Blame Himself?

He tries not to.

Tells himself you were always drifting, always meant to disappear.

But the silence between you, the things he never said— “Stay. I need you.” “I was never calm, I just didn’t know how to show it.”

They echo in his mind louder than any explosion.

He doesn’t hate himself. But he never forgives.

First Day

He stays on duty longer than needed.

Doesn’t take off his coat. Doesn’t go home.

Doesn’t even speak, unless the mission demands it.

At night, he stares at the ceiling and wonders if you’re staring at the same stars.

First Week

He starts bounty hunting again. Harder. Deeper into uncharted zones.

He sleeps more—but worse. Dreams flicker like static.

When he returns, they say he’s become faster. Colder. Lethal.

No one dares ask why.

First Month

He stops wearing light colors.

White fades into grey. Grey fades into black.

He says nothing about the change.

But those who know him realize: he’s mourning.

And it’s a mourning that will never end.

First Year

Women try. Of course they do.

He’s distant. Beautiful. Untouchable.

He lets a few in—physically. But only when the emptiness claws too loudly.

He never sees their faces. Never lets them stay the night.

One once whispered, “I could love you, if you let me.” He didn’t respond. Just walked away.

Because you never had to ask. You already did.

Five Years

He’s still hunting. Still tracking the lost, the dangerous, the damned.

He walks through warzones like a shadow of starlight.

No one has seen him in white in years.

They call him a myth. A legend. A ghost.

But he’s just a man who would trade eternity for one more day with you.

Just one day.

Just once—to see your face again.

[babyy-blossom]

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘑𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘛𝘰𝘥𝘥

📌Illusion to kidnapping assault weapons, Gotham City being Gotham City, wrote for female reader but no depictions of one used

Masterlist

✁✃✁✃✁✃

Sometimes Jason wonders if he’s doing good enough of a job to protect you.

While he’s in your apartment his eyes look to all the locks on your door. It looks like a prison cell door.

His eyes then go to the knife under your pillow.

Or the metal baseball bat under the bed or the one by the door in the umbrella stand.

He knows Gotham isn’t an ideal city to live in. No city really is. But especially Gotham.

Jason often wonders about the sort of lengths he’d go to keep you safe. Would he go rouge if it meant you were secure?

In a heartbeat he’d say yes. But he can’t help the feeling that you’d also be disappointed in him. Jason had come so far from where he began when he met you.

Jason would take anything bad happening to you as a personal attack. An insult. A threat.

Whether the perp knew who your boyfriend was or not.

Jason would take it as an attack.

If he found out that something already did happen to you or someone tried to nab you pre relationship,

I don’t think that person would ever recover and Jason would be put back on probation by Bruce.

He knows you aren’t dainty and can “handle yourself” but

His words not mine, “you are one of a kind. There is only one of you. If I lose you, that’s it. There’s no more you. So please, please, for me, stay where I can see you because I love you.”

Would cause physical damage to someone who was badmouthing you. If Jason couldn’t cause physical, he learned a few mental lessons from the Joker.

However as mentioned before, Jason cares about his image in your eyes. He can’t be known as a bad guy to you. Or a monster.

If you are ever in trouble and he can’t get there so instead you call Dick or Tim, his heart would feel like it was mashed into a million pieces and then ground into dust. He knows in the end it was his fault. He didn’t pick up, so you chose the next best.

He doesn’t know if he wants to strangle or thank Dick/Tim. Jason in the end, always puts you first.

He hates seeing you hurt, worse, he would hate the reason you are hurt being because he couldn’t get to you on time.

Jason’s main priority is to keep you safe in Gotham. His dream is to leave this behind him so he can move you somewhere safe. Somewhere where you would love to live and would be able settle with him.

[raccoon-robyn]

I think that the best villains are ones who you can see where they're coming from. Not in a morally dubious way, but in a way that says "oh. This is how you got to be so incredibly fucked up."

In my mind, the best version of this? Is bnha Tomura Shigaraki. But you have to ignore the ending of the manga

Tomura starts out as a kid who was abused heavily by his dad, and his only respite is his dog. He loves his dog so much, and when his quirk comes in, it decays his dog into ash. And then it decays his entire family, until there is nothing left except for a few hands.

Tomura then is left out on the street, and watches everyone pass him by, cause "surely a hero would save him!"

A hero never comes.

Instead, it's a villain of pure evil.

And he twists tomura into a weapon for All For One's use. He takes away tomuras original name (tenko shimura) and makes it so that tomuras families hands are placed all over his "villain costume". Its a clever bit of morbid symbolism, but it's horrific.

All for one only teaches tomura how to hate, and gives him a butler/caregiver that is a husk of a person who has been programmed to obey tomuras every whim, and take care of him. And I mean every single word of that quite literally.

Tomura has been fashioned into a bazooka at this point. He hates heroes and wants to tear society down, and he will kill anyone who gets in his way.

The only time that he starts to think of how he could do something else is when he gets his band of villain friends, and seems to come to care about them.

Tomura then decides that the best way to get rid of society is to reform it, make it better, and ensure that his friends won't ever be harmed, and that no one is harmed like they were. Of course, he would certainly kill people along the way, after all, revolutions rarely succeed without blood being spilt on the pavement.

Tomura is undeniably evil. He kills and tortures and maims. His first introduction to the series is with him bringing an army of villains to a school and getting them to try and kill a bunch of 14-15 year olds, while him and his butler go after the "best hero in japan" with a super weapon.

However, due to his nuance? You can see where he's coming from, and why he thinks this way.

That's what makes him such an effective character

@nightlilly0110

some of you think ‘nuanced’ only means ‘morally grey’ and I’m here to tell you that actually straight up good characters can still be nuanced and unapologetically evil characters can still be nuanced. the character doesn’t have to be an anti hero or morally dubious to have depth. they don’t even have to feel sorry about their crimes to have depth.

[nottslove]

ON CAMERA

Pairing: hacker!theo x spy!reader

Warnings: 18+, smut under the cut, voyeurism, somewhat stalking, exploitation, semi-public, dirty talk, cursing, not for minors.

WATCHING you had become an obsession. That was almost all he did, day and night.

Every room, every corner of your house was monitored. At first, he tried to convince himself he was doing it because it was his job. But when he began to skip sleeping to watch you sleep, he realized it ran much deeper than just that.

You, of course, were clueless about the whole ordeal. You performed your routine as you normally did, without ever suspecting that you were being hacked, watched.

You woke up early, trained in your private training room, practiced firing shots, worked out in your personal indoor gym, went for a swim, then ate and used your computer to follow up on your latest mission.

You were supposed to find one of the most wanted hackers in the country, whose identity was a complete secret, and you were positive you had a name, and perhaps a location.

Theo was watching, a smirk plastered across his lips as you searched for him. But he was too good.

His identity had remained a secret for a long time, and would continue to remain so until he decided otherwise.

"Oh, pretty girl, you'll never find me," he crooned, a soft chuckle spilling past his lips as every link you clicked took you to a dead end.

Frustrated beyond measure, you finally decided to search a dating website for something, anything.

And then, you found someone whose profile matched the one you were looking for.

"Bingo—" you whispered victoriously, staring at the profile of a young man in his early twenties.

"Hate to break it to you, Princess, but that's not me," Theo murmured to himself, lighting a cigarette as he watched you through one of the little screens around him, zooming in on your low-cut top. "Cute top though... Nice rack you got over there..."

Your laptop screen was duplicated across his as you created your own profile for an online dating site, after you came across your suspect on the website.

He was there, reading all those messages you sent, all the flirting between you and your suspect, his blood boiling with every picture you kept attaching to keep this man interested.

And then, you agreed to meet this suspect of yours. You hadn't bothered with a wire, you were confident you could handle him on your own— with two knives strapped to one thigh and a gun strapped to the other underneath your satin minidress.

Little did you know, Theo had already bugged your phone, already gotten your every movement displayed all over his screen.

He tracked you entering the restaurant, he tracked you waiting there for hours... then, he noticed you taking the shortcut back home, walking through the park... but when he noticed you moving towards an abandoned alley on the map across his display, he instantly called the cops and gave them your exact location.

Turns out, you were wrong. Your suspect was just another suspect, and the real guy you were hunting was still out there.

This guy just turned out to be some nasty creep who faked his profile to prey on young women.

You didn't know how the cops knew your exact location, or how they found out, but whatever it was, you were grateful because the cops had arrived before the creep could hurt a single hair on your head.

And when you reached home, you entered the shower first thing, trying to relax a little, before you fell asleep, unaware that Theo had zoomed into your bedroom, so that it now covered his entire screen.

"I deserve a thank you for that, don't I, pretty?" he remarked, even though he was well aware you couldn't hear him at all, zooming in on your figure, who had just come out of the shower and was now wrapped in a tiny towel that barely covered you. "After all, I did save that pretty little ass of yours back there... Gonna give me a little show?"

As if you had heard his words, you picked out a pair of satin shorts and a matching camisole, placing it on the bed as you pranced around your room in your tiny towel.

You were unaware of his watchful gaze, observing you, unaware he was so fucking hard underneath his joggers, his ringed fingers resting on his waistband as he watched you with bated breath, his eyes dark, jealous of every tiny, water droplet that clung to your sacred skin.

After you dried your hair, you took off your towel and let it slide to the floor while you got changed.

Unfortunately for Theo, your back was towards the camera. A groan slipped past his lips when he realized he wouldn't be able to see those pretty tits of yours.

Fortunately for him, he would have a nice picture of your ass.

And when he zoomed in to your plump rear, he nearly came in his pants.

He could feel his precum stain his new boxers, a loud groan leaving his lips as he slid his joggers down, taking out his cock and fisting it, spreading the precum down the length.

He gives it a few pumps, just imagining what it would be like to bend you over the bed and fuck you from behind, pull your hair back into a ponytail and manhandle you the way he wants, because he knows you can take it.

He closes his eyes, groans spilling past his lips as he begins jerking his cock in his hand, his eyes opening when he hears a small grunt of frustration from his screen— your pajama top fell when you were about to put it on.

As you bend over, you give Theo the most beautiful view of your ass, his eyes glued to the screen as he jerks off.

"Fuck—" he hisses, pumping his hand up and down his shaft, quickening his pace as he approaches his climax. "Such a cute fuckin' ass..."

Right before you slide your shorts on, he takes a screenshot, then closes his eyes, grunts of pleasure leaving him.

His cock throbs and pulses in his hand, his rings adding a delicious friction as he slides his hand faster, not even bothering to conceal his moans.

He gasps your name as he finally climaxes, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his lower abs clenching with the surge of pleasure that flooded through him, the thick, sticky liquid now sliding down his screen, across the screenshot of your pretty, little ass.

Not even bothering to clean his mess up, his eyes flicker over to his other screen, where you're scrolling through your phone, tucked under the sheets of your bed, completely oblivious to it all.

His head slams against his table.

"Fuck— I'm screwed..."

not proofread, wrote this in such a hurry. lmk if i missed anything.

tags: @the-sylver-dragon, @clairesblouse

profile; nav;

©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[figthoughts]

໑ৎ — thinking about SOLDIER BOY and his little spit–obsessed bunny girlfriend…

warnings: no plot smut, dry humping, daddy kink, use of ‘dad’ once, spit kink, teasing/mocking, lowkey pathetic reader (daddy!soldier boy x bunny!reader) 18+

࿐ ˚ 　· 　　 .

ben’s gone his whole life thinking he’s a sexual deviant, enjoying marking up his partners and taming them all into submission, loving the way he can get just about any woman to call him daddy.

but when he started seeing you, he found himself in new territory—unfamiliar territory.

ben didn’t realise how much he’d been missing out on until he met you. you’re filthy and just so unashamedly needy, unlike any woman he’s ever been with, and he just can’t get enough of it. the way you’re always begging for his fingers in your mouth with wide doe eyes or begging him to fill your mouth with his smokey, whiskey flavoured spit drives him wild. you’re insatiable, and it's like you’re his own personal slice of heaven, letting him use you in any way he pleases.

he loves the way you so shamelessly sit perched upon his lap, bouncing around in front of him, so needy and wanton, with your pretty pleading eyes, round and glimmering with anticipation, like a little puppy in need of attention.

you eagerly grind down onto his lap in just your t-shirt and panties, rubbing your swollen tumescent cunt against his hardened length. your puffy folds spread apart over the thick bulge, desperately searching for friction against his sweatpants. he watches you with a mixture of amusement and need, your filthy fucking antics setting his body on fire.

ben meets your eyes, seeing the way they’re already droopy. “bunny, don’t look at me like that,” he chuckles, the rough sound reverberating in his chest. his hips buck up to meet your movements, and you feel him rubbing the hard line of his cock against your slit. his large hands find your hips, grabbing ahold of them, his fingers digging into the plush skin, helping guide your movements.

your lips purse at his words, and ben rolls his eyes, his face gleaming in amusement at your little pout. he watches you open your mouth and stare right back at him with a childish petulant look on your face—waiting, watching expectantly.

ben’s face morphs into a cruel expression, a smirk that tugs up at his lips, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. a thick wad of his saliva lands on your tongue, filling your mouth with his taste. “swallow. now,” he says, his eyes boring into you. you do as you’re told and swallow, opening your mouth again to show him you’d done what he’d asked. your eyes search his with an eagerness that says, ‘i did it, look at me! tell me i did good!’

ben revels in the needy look you're giving him, so pathetic and desperate; it’s almost laughable, and as much as he wants to kiss you senseless and knock that eager little look off your face by shoving his tongue down your throat, his need to remind you of his power over you wins.

he’s quick to force his fingers into your mouth, his middle and index pressing against your tongue, instead of giving you the praise you’re so obviously yearning for. he ignores the way your face falls momentarily as your brain tries to catch up with the intrusion of his meaty fingers. “suck,” he commands, his voice low, watching as your lips gingerly wrap around his digits. “be a good girl.”

you hum with your mouth stuffed full, and you lap at them with your tongue, soaking up the lingering taste of tobacco smoke on his fingertips. your greedy mouth sucks around his fingers so fervently that drool manages to escape from the corner of your lips, but ben’s keen eye catches it, and he wipes it away with his thumb before bringing it to his lips and cleaning your mess off his finger. “mmm, taste so pretty, bunny,” he croons, his voice a low hum.

your lips pull into a smile around his salty fingers, and your hips continue to meet, rubbing your heat against each other, both of you getting more worked up as your panties grow wetter and wetter. ben’s cock dribbles out precum into his boxers, and the thin material of his sweatpants starts to darken from your arousal, leaving a little wet patch on his lap.

ben’s breathing gets heavier as he watches you engulf his fingers completely, doing just what he asked—submitting to him. the feeling of your tongue swirling around his fingertips sends all his remaining blood rushing south, only making his cock swell more. he slowly pulls his fingers out from the wet warmth of your mouth, his eyes locked on a string of saliva still connected to his fingertip and your lips.

“fuck, baby. such a messy girl,” ben huffs, slightly in adoration, slightly mockingly. his hand moves down to your throat, just resting on the side of your neck, feeling your pulse rapidly beat under his calloused skin. his thumb rubs over the column of your throat, letting his eyes flicker between yours and your mouth.

“daddy,” you whine, “please…”

your petulant little pout and the tone of your voice make ben’s dick twitch between your folds. it’s pathetic, the way he takes you apart so easily. “use your words, bun. c’mon. please what, huh?” he asks, the mockery still laced thick in his tone. his eyes glimmer with mirth and linger on the dribble on your lips and chin. he loves it, seeing you all wet and dishevelled for him. it drives him mad in the best fucking way.

he knows he’s whipped. and he doesn’t even fucking care.

“i want your tongue,” you tilt your head eagerly for him, your eyes searching his, silently pleading for something, anything; just a little gesture of softness, something to quell the burning need that pools in your core.

“oh, yeah? baby wants my tongue? for what?” he taunts, his warm hand giving your neck a squeeze, smirking as a soft noise bubbles up from low in your throat.

“ben—”

“try again,” he cuts you off, correcting you instantly.

“daddy,” you huff out sulkily, “kiss me.”

a calculated grin grows on ben’s lips at your whiny demand, the amusement written all over his face. “kiss you? darlin’, i don’t know if you deserve to be kissed.”

he has to hold back a laugh as he watches your face sullen even more, your sweet features pulled down by the expression. you look silly, your face all contorted and grouchy because he won’t give in, despite the both of you knowing he wants nothing more than to kiss you until you’re breathless.

“c’mon, babygirl. don’t give me that look. you’re too pretty to pout like that.” ben gives your neck another warning squeeze before letting go and gently grabbing your chin instead, tilting your face up to meet his head-on. his eyes fall over your face, analysing you, enjoying the way you reluctantly meet his intense gaze. he hums in thought, brushing his thumb over your pout, as if to soothe it away.

you take the small gesture in good faith and kiss the pad of his thumb softly, before gingerly taking it between your lips. your tongue laps at it with your sulky little puppy dog eyes watching him tentatively, like he’s going to pull away and tell you off. 

but ben lets you suck on his thumb, watching it pacify your needy behaviour. you’re such a damn baby, he thinks.

a groan rumbles up from deep in his chest, like you’ve yanked it straight from his lungs with your sweet ministrations. your droopy eyes stay locked on his in the most filthily deplorable way—like a little puppy begging for attention, sucking up to its owner in hopes of a treat. it’s so pathetic and pitiful, but it’s just how ben likes his women.

your tongue circles his thumb, teasingly so, like you're offering a show of what you can give him if he’d just play nice. a shameless moan escapes past your lips, hurling straight into his ears and landing down in his core. you feel ben twitch against your weeping heat again, the desire growing rampant between you.

“yeah, good girl. just like that. my sweet little slut knows just what to do, doesn’t she?” ben coos tauntingly, letting the smooth words fall from his mouth.

the friction from your grinding slowly builds a pressure in your lower stomach; a fiery heat simmers from your clit rubbing against him, your slick entrance squeezing around nothing. ben feels your pretty little cunt fluttering for him, and he huffs; he knows just how to get you open and ready to take his chubby cock.

the tension keeps growing between you, and so does the friction, as you salaciously suck his thumb, like it’s a pacifier or dummy, keeping your mouth busy instead of whining like he knows you’d be doing otherwise. your wide pleading eyes beg for more as you let drool spill from your mouth. his blown-out green eyes follow the spit, and he so badly wants to clean it up with his tongue, but he doesn’t. you’re such a needy little fucking tease, and yet, he refuses to give in to you.

when ben pulls his hand back, another petulant pout grows on your lips again. he tuts his tongue against his teeth. “be good, bunny, and maybe you’ll get that kiss, yeah?”

you huff in response and whine. “i am good,” you try to argue back, dying for his thumb back or tongue—hell, anything—to pacify your damn oral fixation.

ben lets out a hearty chuckle at your whinging, his eyes locked on your tongue licking up the stray saliva spilt around your swollen lips. “bun, you’re a tease. a brat who just can’t help herself. you’re lucky i think you’re so goddamn pretty, ‘specially with those twinkling cocksucking eyes of yours, sweets.”

your eyes light up at his foul words, and the pout on your lips dissipates a little, morphing into a small strange sheepish smile. ben watches the way you react, and he decides to let up a smidge, “alright, fine. c’mere. give daddy a kiss. a proper one. none of that goldfish peckin’ bullshit. i've taught you better.”

his words go over your head; you’re too in a state to care. you’re quick to attach your lips to his, parting them to allow his tongue to tangle with yours, letting him lead the dance in your mouth. your body continues to move itself, grinding your soaked cunt even harder into his lap. his sloppy kisses and the way he leads the kiss so dominantly send sparks flying throughout your body, making your pretty little clit twitch in your drenched underwear. you moan carnally into his mouth, not caring at how your attitude has faded into sheer desperation or how smug you know it’s making him.

ben rolls his hips up into yours firmer, his sensitive length nudging apart your pussy lips completely, rubbing against you in the most heavenly way. he takes over, one hand scrunched in your hair, the other on your hip, guiding you to hump his erection like the sweet bunny you are.

and so you roll your hips, meeting his, and your mind clouds over entirely, your whinging little girl act completely placated by ben and his thick fucking cock pressing against you. he grunts, feeling all self-satisfied, at how easily he’s managed to dismantle you—and your pitiful fucking attitude—just by kissing you and rubbing your clit a little.

you whine into the kiss, hastily humping your hips into ben’s. he doesn’t call you bunny for nothing. your body shivers as the coil tightens in your stomach, your needy cunt twitching and tightening around nothing, weeping into your panties, begging to be stretched out by the supe’s stupendous girthy length.

you’re so goddamn reactive to him; he feels your arousal drenching his sweatpants further, the same way your spit drools out of your attached mouths, coating the bottom half of your faces. you're a mess, and you just can’t help it.

he breaks the kiss, earning a grunt from you in protest as you chase his lips.

“mmm… bun, no,” he pulls his head back, panting slightly. “be a good girl. c’mon, make yourself cum on daddy’s lap. let dad see how good it feels, yeah?”

his vulgar words of mock encouragement send chills right down to your puffy little cunt. you rub yourself against him faster and faster, curling your fingers into his shoulders to keep yourself upright. the pleasure builds in your core; you’re so close to toppling over the edge. your jaw hangs open while your sweet noises bubble up your throat, and ben can’t help but think how adorable you are, how desperate and cockdrunk you look, and you’re not even bouncing on it like a good little bunny yet. you’re just such a good girl—exactly what a rough boorish man like him needs.

ben brings his hand to your throat again, though roughly gripping at it this time, like he’s helping squeeze out your sweet melodic sounds of pleasure. “yeah, bunny. look at you. s’that feel good, baby? rubbing on daddy like that?” he coos, the mockery still blatantly dripping from his tone.

his mean taunting words make your pretty cunt flutter. he tightens his grip around your neck, stifling your breath slightly, making your mewls sound choked and weak. your nails dig into his shoulders as you grind, and you wonder how he’s not losing composure the same way you are. you slowly nod in response to his question, like a good little doll, and try to meet his eyes through your heavy-lidded ones.

“yeah? c’mon, babygirl. show daddy what a sweet girl you are for me. cum, bunny, cum.”

he talks down to you like an owner speaks to their dog, but somehow, that does it for you and your cockdrunk hazy brain. a wave of pleasure crashes over you; your pussy clenches and twitches as you ride out your high, still humping his lap. what a good little bunny. your tired thigh muscles spasm, exhausted from the overexertion.

your sweet sighs of pleasure are music to ben’s ears. his dick twitches underneath you, completely soaked by your arousal and juices from your orgasm, drenching through his sweats and boxers, and his dick threatens to spill right there into his pants at the sight and feel of you coming undone, but he keeps himself from letting go just yet.

“there you go. jesus, that never gets old, does it? look at you, bunny. such a good girl for daddy. makin’ a mess on my fuckin’ pants, aye?” he laughs, watching your flushed face scrunch in ecstasy.

your twitching hips finally come to a still against his. you settle in the warm wetness of his lap, and the friction of your underwear against your sensitive clit makes you squeak. ben grins as the sound hits his ears, and he squeezes your neck, forcing more pretty sounds from you.

he seizes the opportunity and spits a wad of saliva into your agape mouth. it lands perfectly on your tongue, blessing your tastebuds with his sweet and smokey taste, and it's so disrespectful, but it still manages to make your eyes roll back into your head, which makes ben huff out a laugh, the sound low and winded.

“you with me, toots?” he asks, gently smacking your cheek with his free hand, ridiculing you for your lack of cognisance. “was just a little orgasm, doll. don’t be all pathetic now.”

“daddy,” you whine out, your voice hoarse from panting in and out of your open mouth. your rounded eyes blink up at him as his saliva spills out the side of your mouth before you manage to swallow it, still entirely too hazy to really fathom what he’s saying.

ben tuts at you. “wasting my spit again, bun? you know i don’t like that,” he huffs out, still slightly winded, and grips your throat harder, earning another surprised squeak from you.

you shake your head, meeting his eyes with your own blown-out droopy ones. “no, m’sorry. please give me more.”

ben narrows his eyes at you, weighing up his options in his head, but ultimately he decides you’ve been good enough, doing what he says and doing it obediently, and it makes him proud—he’s trained you well.

“open then, sweetheart,” he finally says, his gaze falling over your face and your swollen mouth.

your lips part instantly, and another glob of spit lands on your tongue. you roll it around in your mouth for him to see before you swallow, keeping your eyes locked on him. he feels the movement of your throat under his palm.

“atta girl, swallowing like that for daddy. my pretty bunny,” ben murmurs with his thick gravelly tone. a smirk spreads across his face as he pulls yours towards him, the motion rough and unforgiving. “my good little pet, yeah? you’re my good girl, always doing what i say. fuckin’ good little thing, you are. you know how to make your old man proud.”

fig yaps: is this weird? idk!!!! do i hate this? a lot!!!!!! not my finest work but i said i’d post it so here we are !! anyways girls with an oral fixation and a daddy kink stand up!!! this is 4 u! soldier boy + dry humping will forever be my go-to !!!!!!!

feedback and reblogs are welcomed and appreciated ofc! thank u!

⟡ taglist: @chevroletdean @fitxgrld @jasvtsc @bluestrd @1-imbroglio @titsout4jackles @faithfulsofi @tortureddarkstar @abellmunsonmovie @legalmente-loca @theoneandonlystonedspiderman420 @manicjk @jensenacklesballsack @minettacreekk @winchester-whiskey @emeraldcrs @freyabear @daylighted @cosmopolitan-thedrink @jwritestuff @suhnisideup @spookyysinsanity @kimxwinchester @bleuatlas @deansbbyx @angelicjackles @deansbeer @artemys-ackles @bluemerakis @star-yawnznn @ambiguous-avery @starzify @littlesoulshine @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @freeluigihesbae @bejeweledinterludes @blossomingorchids @lanasgirlfr @seven7lee @nymphet-quenn @rafessweetgirl @maeji-may @eternalssunshinee @blossomingorchids @benscumgluzzer @soldiersgirl @arcannaa @gibson-g1rl @vmiina @h8aaz + the rest in the comments sorry!

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[wcnderlnds]

sleeping in | choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: lazy mornings with seunghyun are always the best. ・❥・word count: 1.8k ・❥・warnings: 18+, mdni. unprotected sex, slight choking kind of, female reader, swearing ・❥・ authors note: this is not the best but listen i tried 😭

Seunghyun couldn’t remember exactly when he’d gave you the key to his penthouse — probably sooner than he should’ve but you had him in a chokehold from the second he met you. At first, it had started out as a friendship, bonding over your shared love of art and music then somewhere along the way things had changed. Stolen glances had turned into lingering touches until that one fateful night, after a BigBang concert when the adrenaline had been coursing through his veins and he’d taken the plunge, finally kissing you. From that moment on, it was hard to tear the two of you apart. Seunghyun wasn’t one for physical touch most of the time but he couldn’t help himself with you. Whether it was an arm thrown over your shoulder when you were hanging out with friends, his hand gently resting atop yours at dinner or your thighs touching as you sat beside each — he had to be connected to you in some way. It grounded him. Made him realise that you were real and you were there. To say he’d fallen fast was an understatement. It had even come as a shock to him that day he’d blurted out his feelings to you after a glass of his favourite wine as you lounged on his couch watching one of your favourite movies. His heart had never felt more full than the moment he’d heard the breathy ‘I love you too’ fall from your lips.

His job often kept him away from you for longer than he’d like. There were days where he couldn’t even see you; those were his least favourite so he had given you a key to his place, telling you to use it whenever you wanted to. It was mostly an excuse for him to come home after a stressful day and hope to see you there. It made his long days worth it. Sure, he could ask you to move in with him but he wasn’t quite ready for such a big step yet. This would have to do.

It had been a long, exhausting day at the studio putting the finishing touches to the album. All he wanted to do was go home, hopefully find you there and spend the night with the only person who could bring him peace. As he stepped into his place, the lights were off which he took to meaning you weren’t there. A heavy sigh passed his lips as he kicked off his shoes, a hand running through his hair as he made his way into the bedroom. His heart soared at the sight before him when he pushed open the door. There you were, cuddled up in bed in one of his shirts, fast asleep. His heart pounded heavily against his chest, a feeling of ease flooding through him as he looked at you. You looked so beautiful, so peaceful.

Seunghyun was usually one to wear a full set of pyjamas to bed but tonight he was too exhausted. He undressed, leaving himself in only his boxers as he climbed in bed next to you. Leaning over, he ever so gently moved a stray piece of your hair off your cheek, pressing his lips to your soft skin. “Sleep well, my heart.”

The first rays of morning light shone through the curtains casting a dim orange glow over the room. Seunghyun was the first to wake, his arms wrapped around your body from behind, nuzzling into your neck. He felt you stir, his lips leaving a lazy trail of wet kisses along your shoulder.

“Hi, baby,” you mumbled, eyes still closed as you tilted your head to give him more access.

“Morning.” His deep voice sounded even sexier than normal thanks to the grogginess of waking up. “Sleep well?”

His lips were now attached to your neck, his hand slowly but surely sliding up your thigh, pushing the hem of his shirt you were wearing up to reveal more of your skin. He nipped at your skin, his tongue running across to soothe it, leaving his mark there for the world to know that you were his.

“Mhm,” you hummed. You reached your hand behind you to tangle in his hair, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. “This is a good wake up call.”

“It’s about to get better,” he said, his voice a deep rumble in your ear. You could feel his hips slightly rocking into you from behind, pulling a breathless sigh from your lips.

His fingers danced along the inside of your thigh until they found their place inside your panties. He teased at first, not quite moving his fingers down where you wanted them knowing how much his fingers alone drove you crazy. There had been one night where you’d gone into great detail about everything you wanted him to do to you with his fingers and he held it against you ever since using it to tease you. Slowly, his fingers rubbed between your slick folds, your hand that was tangled in his hair tugging a groan from his lips as you pulled at the strands gently. It only spurred him on, his hips still rocking against you as he slipped a skilled finger inside your wet heat. He pumped it in slowly at first, opening you up a little before he slid a second finger in. The long drag of his fingers against your walls were like heaven, your breathy moans a sign that he was stoking those flames within you like always.

“You look so fuckin’ hot sprawled out in my bed with just my shirt on, baby. That was a damn sight last night,” he groaned, teeth tugging at your earlobe while he sped up the movement of his fingers. “Wanna come home to that every night.”

As he spoke, your hand had slid from his hair, down his chest and to the prominent tent in his boxers. You palmed him through the fabric, Seunghyun huffing out a sharp breath as he bucked into your hand. “Yeah?” You teased, squeezing his length teasingly. It sent a thrill through you each time you realised you were the only one that could get him this hard, this worked up. “How about next time I don’t wear anything underneath?”

That was all Seunghyun could handle. His patience flew out of the window. He pulled your panties to the side, your own hands fumbled as you tried to push his boxers down from behind you. He helped, pushing them down his legs just enough to free his aching cock. Seunghyun lifted your leg up slightly so he could slide into you. The tip of his cock prodded at your entrance, pushing in only slightly then back out. He was teasing you, driving you crazy. “Beg for it,” he whispered into your ear, repeating his actions.

“Baby, please,” you whined, backing up as if that was going to help. “I need you.”

It was like music to his ears. Happy to oblige, he finally sank into your soaking entrance, pushing himself all the way in, his chest pressed right up against your back. He dragged his hips back, almost pulling all the way out before he slammed back in setting a slow, deep pace. The palm of his free hand tilted your head to the side so he could capture your lips in a heated kiss. His hand then made its journey up your shirt, taking one of your breasts in his hand. He squeezed the supple flesh, enjoying the way they moved with each thrust. His hips still relentless in the hard way he was thrusting into you, your body moving with each thrust. The room was filled with a cacophony of moans and breathless whispers.

“You feel so fucking good. So tight, so perfect,” he panted, his voice strained from pleasure. You loved it when he got like this, when he was vulnerable and losing control. You felt his hand wrap around your throat, not squeezing but just holding it and that only turned you on more. You pushed your hips back, meeting his thrusts each time but you needed more.

“Seunghyun, please. I need more. Fuck, baby, please go faster.” Your words were a garbled, whiny mess and who was he to ignore them?

In one fluid movement, he had pulled out of you, laying you on your back. He parted your legs and pulled your panties off fully, his eyes resting on your slick, swollen folds as he settled himself between them once again. He hooked your legs over his shoulders as he pushed into you but this time he wasted no time. His thrusts were shallow, hard and fast. The bed hitting the wall with the force of them. He grabbed your hands holding them above your head in one of his while the other held your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he pounded into you. “This what you wanted, huh, baby?”

No coherent sounds came from you, only loud, high pitched moans of his name as they filled the room joined with the sound of skin slapping against each other. He could tell you were close, could feel it in the way your walls were tightening down around him. His own release was close, too. He could feel himself lingering on the edge but he needed you to come first. “Come on, my love,” he urged, picking up the pace of his hips, his eyes glancing down to where your bodies met. He groaned heavily, throwing his head back at the erotic sight. “”Let go. I’ve got you.”

His lips crashed against yours again in a frenzy of passion. That was what sent you over the edge, your body arching into his, breasts pressing into his chest as your orgasm washed over you. His name fell from your lips like a prayer. The way you cried his name, the way your pussy squeezed the life out of him, it was too much. One more brutal thrust and he hilted himself inside you, spilling his seed into you. “Fuck, yes. I love you.”

He shuddered, his body spent as he emptied himself deep inside you. He collapsed on top of you, releasing your hands that instantly rested on his back, your legs falling to your sides. Seunghyun peppered your face, neck, and collarbone with kisses. “So good for me.”

He rolled off you, pulling you into his arms but this time so you were facing him. His eyes met yours filled with nothing but love and adoration for you. It was enough to make anyone’s heart soar. He brushed the hair from your sweat slicked face, kissing the tip of your nose. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you spoke quietly, tracing his jawline with your index finger. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.”

It wasn’t often Seunghyun got shy or embarrassed but when you complimented him? Well, all bets were off. His face flushed red as he dipped his head to hide in the crook of your neck like he hadn’t just given you the fucking of a lifetime. “Shutup.” His voice was muffled but you could still hear the amusement behind it.

You giggled. “You gonna make me?”

That made him raise his head, a beautiful smirk appearing on his face which could only mean you were in for one hell of a morning.

taglist: @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @loveesiren @eru-vande

[v1nnyh3r3]

Ong like that's what you have wattpad for, to give your first ever shitty fics to the world, or ao3 even. Don't just use something that blurts out a jumble of words strung together shittily.

Even if you were an amateur, I bet my 2 braincells you'd make something way better than ai

Practice makes perfect, and if you just want to be praised as an amazing artist without doing anything, talk with the voices in your head

Write it shitty, write it scared, write it without a clue but don't you be so spineless and have an AI write fanfic for you.

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12 P13 P14 P15

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: COPYRIGHT NOTICE. Kissing, teasing, suggestive.

A/N: Mhmmmmmmmm (hehe)

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P14: Messing With You

Chris’ POV

She looks peaceful—untouchable, even. 

My eyes are barely open, the sun from the window gleaming a little too brightly. Usually, it would annoy me, not right now though—right now it’s making her look heavenly, making my heart squeeze in my chest as I watch her lips puff open with each soft breath. 

I feel lucky. 

She’s here in my bed, in my arms, coming to me for comfort. It feels good to feel important to someone, even better to feel important to her, but it’s also horrifying. 

I can’t tell if it’s butterflies, anxiety, or maybe both swarming in my gut when I’m around her. 

It makes me want to run away. Not that I don’t want her—I do, I really fucking do. 

The thought of calling her mine, having her in my arms, and making her smile—it makes a reassuring warmth spread in my chest, the type of excitement I haven’t felt in a while. 

My lips roll together as I watch her eyes flutter open. She spares me a hazy smile, her hand combing through my hair as I stare up at her. 

God, she’s perfect. 

“Morning,” she hums, lightly hugging my head a little closer. 

I try to bite back a smile, the sensation of her nails lightly grazing my scalp making a sigh of contentment fall from my lips. It’s just so effortless. 

This should be more difficult, I haven’t really talked to anyone, let alone allowed them to hold me like she has since I lost a part of my heart—my mom and Nick. 

“Hm.” I hum, the sad thought making my throat tighter as I swallow thickly. 

Her hands stop waving through my scalp, her eyes opening wider, looking down at me with concern. “What’s wrong?” she asks, the question rolling off her lips as she gazes down at me with soft eyes. 

I miss them. That’s what’s wrong, but complaining about it won’t bring them back. It will just make me feel more, and it already feels like too much. 

“Is it something I did?” 

My eyes perk at her question, my head shaking from side to side, stopping as I realize I’m buried in her chest, practically shoveling myself in her cleavage. 

“Shit, I didn’t mean to—oh god.” I let out, my eyes squinting shut as I feel a wave of warmth crawl behind my neck, onto my cheeks, and to the tips of my ears. 

Her light giggle makes my eyes peek open. The soft smile cascaded on her face makes my chest heave with a deep breath. 

“You’re fine. Now,” she places her hands back into my hair, her thumb swiping along the top rim of my ear as she stares down at me with intent, “-what’s bothering you? Did I do something?” 

The pout tugging on her lips makes my heart clench in my chest. 

I don’t want her to think anything is wrong with us, maybe I should tell her. At least I know she’d understand. 

My lips smack together, opening and closing as I hesitate. “I, um—I guess I just miss ‘em a little more than usual today…” I wince hearing the slight crack in my voice. 

The desperation of the confession makes me feel bare, her eyes seeming so soft, yet so intimidating, each second feeling like hours as I wait for her to respond. 

“I get that.” 

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until she speaks those words, my lungs burning as I inhale slowly, trying to even out my breath patterns. 

She gives me a sympathetic smile. Usually, the sympathy made everything worse, but not when she does it—hers just makes me feel understood. 

My chest slows with deep, calm breaths. The burn in my lungs fading as I let myself melt under her gaze. 

I can’t remember the last time I felt like this, so safe and secure—so free of judgment. 

“Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe we can take Trevor on a walk?” she offers, her eyes twinkling with hope. 

The sadness settles in my gut, but the feeling doesn’t exactly make me feel sick like it normally does. It’s accompanied by a calm wave of comfort—her touch, her eyes… everything about her just making the sadness seem okay. 

“I… could, um—can we…” 

I flinch as I stumble helplessly over the words. Her face scrunches with amusement, her eyes squinting as she smiles brightly. 

“Are you nervous?” she taunts, her eyes flickering between mine as I force a scowl onto my face, my lips scrunching into a tight line as I feel the blush crawl up my neck and onto my cheeks. 

“No, I’m just still half-asleep,” I remark, rolling my tongue along the inside of my cheek as I hear my tone waver. 

I don’t even believe the lie—and by the look on her face, she doesn’t either. 

“Okay, okay,” she laughs, nodding as if she’s accepting the lie without any doubt. My hand on her back finds the ends of her hair, twirling them mindlessly as the soft strands wisp through my fingers. 

Her mouth muffles with a short giggle. She takes a deep breath, trying to keep a straight face, “Ask whenever you’re awake enough, I guess.” 

My eyes roll from her teasing. I rest my head against her, hiding from her gaze as I take a deep breath. 

I’m definitely awake now, but it’ll have to wait. 

___

Y/n’s POV

Something is resting on the tip of his tongue. I can tell he’s fighting inner thoughts, trying to blurt out whatever question lingered from this morning. 

It’s kinda cute. 

His bottom lip is bright pink, his teeth constantly gnawing on the skin as his eyes drift with thought. The hue reminds me of last night, the feeling of those lips on mine, how good it felt. 

I already miss it. Something about it felt so electric yet so comforting—like a warm bath after having numb toes from the cold. It felt overwhelmingly good.

And I really wanna feel it again. 

My body stiffens as I sit on the barstool, my hands on the kitchen island clenching as I feel large hands callous over my shoulders from behind. 

Jimmy. 

“Hey. Want some bacon and all? I got the stuff…” he trails off, yawning with a small smile as he walks around the kitchen and shuffles through the fridge. 

My mouth watering as I recall the last time he made breakfast for me. I nod, blushing as Jimmy laughs, turning the knob on the stove to erupt a flame beneath the pan. 

Chris shifts beside me. He spares me a quick glance, shaking his head. “I—I’ll be back, I’m gonna go shower real quick.” he says, stalking off and down the hallway. 

Part of me is dying to know what he’s wanting to ask, but another part doesn’t want to know. 

What if he didn’t like the kiss? 

Does he just kiss everyone like that? 

Was he trying to find a way to let me down slowly? 

“You good, kid?” Jimmy asks, sparing me a small glance with concern before turning his attention back to the stovetop. 

I swallow thickly, relaxing my clenched hands as I huff out a quick sigh. “Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, my face twitching as more doubts run through my head. 

The sound of water running from the bathroom makes my stomach churn, my heart pumping harshly in my chest. 

I hate this, it’s exactly what I’ve had nightmares of since I had my heart broken by my last boyfriend. The uncertainty, the doubt, the endless loop of questions that made my eyes burn with stubborn tears. 

“Here ya go,” Jimmy states, pushing a plate of steaming food in front of me while curling his lips into a subtle grin, pulling me out of my thoughts as I inhale the smell with greedy taste buds. 

Breakfast. Real food. 

My house is filled with protein bars, protein powder, and probably even protein water for fucks sake. 

Eating is a chore sometimes. Especially when it’s those disgusting protein pancakes that Baylen loves, but that’s always his go-to breakfast.

Jimmy walks towards the kitchen island, setting a plate on the counter next to me. “For Chris when he comes back, but if you steal any bacon, I saw nothing.” he remarks, holding his hands up in defense before stalking off with a different plate of food, heading outside towards the porch. 

Trevor trots behind him, his nose twitching as he follows the sizzling bacon on Jimmy’s plate. “I’ll be outside with Trev. Let me know if you need anything, even if it’s more bacon, you hear me?” he jokes, pointing a finger at me with a stern look interrupted with a smile. 

“Alright,” I puff, chewing more as he closes the door behind himself, leaving me in a quiet room alone. 

The shower water humming from the bathroom stops, the sounds of shuffling making my heart beat a little faster. 

What is he trying to ask me? 

Curiosity bubbles in my gut. My lips rolling together as I stiffen, hearing the sound of footsteps come closer before I feel a waft of air as Chris sits down in the barstool next to me. 

His damp hair brushes against my shoulder. I shiver at the wet sensation, my spine straightening. 

“My bad,” he mumbles, petting over the skin with his warm hand, the touch soothing away the shocking cold wetness. 

Chris starts to scarf his food down next to me. I feel his hand dip between my thighs, pulling one of my legs over his lap. “Chris, what’re you–”

“Here. Now, shut up.” he mutters, placing a piece of his bacon on my plate, his hand grasping at my thigh soothingly, right above my knee. I should be upset that he told me to shut up, but it makes me smile. 

He’s nervous. 

Shoveling the bacon into my mouth, I stare at him from the corner of my eye, watching as he straightens his posture. 

“So…” I trail off, my gaze drifting across the room as I hear him let out a subtle sigh. “What were you wanting to ask me?” 

The question makes him freeze. His hand grips tighter around my leg, his fingers tapping against my skin as he stutters, “I, uh—was… was just gonna ask if you, if you maybe wanted to uh—” 

I guide my hand down to his, pulling it further up on my thigh as I lean forward, placing a kiss on his cheek. His eyes are directed towards his plate of scrapped food. “Stop making me more—stop being so—ugh.” he huffs. 

A giggle purses through my lips. “What? Am I makin’ you more nervous—”

“No.” he interrupts, glaring at me as his hand squeezes my thigh. My breath halts in my chest, my gut tightening as he stares at me with pure intent. “I wanna go on a date with you. I’m not fuckin—’m not fuckin’ nervous. You’re just being difficult.” 

My lips curl into a grin. I lick over my teeth, leaning against his shoulder as I bat my eyes up at him, watching as his face contorts with a slight snarl. “I still didn’t hear a question, Chris.” 

The observation makes his jaw tighten. His fingers tap impatiently against my thigh, his tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth as he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Will you—do you wanna go on a date with me?” he asks, his eyes softening for a quick second before returning to his plate. 

“Nah.” 

Chris whips his head towards me. A loud laugh bursts through my lips, my stomach tightening with sharp breaths. “The fuck?” he asks, his face scrunched with displeasure as he watches me clutch my stomach with a tinge of pain. 

“I’m—’m kidding,” I rush out, squeezing my hand on top of his, my nose scrunching as his face relaxes into a bland expression. “Sorry, just wanted to mess with you,” I remark, sitting up straight and moving my leg back into my own seat. 

“Mess with me?” Chris tuts. I look over, yelping as I feel his hand wrap around the back of my leg once more, repeating the action of throwing my thigh over his lap. 

But this time, it’s closer. 

He stares directly at me, his teeth greedily biting on his bottom lip as his eyes float over my face. 

I feel my lungs burn, screaming for air as I forget how to breathe. 

His face leans in closer, his breath hovering over my lips before shifting to the side, his lips ghosting over my neck with light kisses. 

“Chri—”

Before I can call out his name, I feel his tongue swipe across my thumping pulse, right beneath my ear. His lips enclose around the area, a light suction echoing in the room as my ears begin to ring. 

Oh god. 

My hands tangle in his hair out of pure instinct. Before I can pull him any closer, he pulls my leg upwards, lifting and dropping it back onto my own chair. 

I watch as he stands up, my lips parted as I pant for air. 

“What–what’re you doing?” I question, my voice wavering with heavy breaths as he stacks our plates, walking towards the sink. 

Chris shrugs. He sets the dishes down, running a hand through his damp hair and sparing me a soft smile. 

“Just messin’ with you.” 

[tarotbyjam24]

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Pile 1

funny without trying

doesn't hide you from their friends

sometimes boastful

extremely popular

knows everything about you

extremely smart

sometimes sassy

loves to look after you

usually hungry

sometimes rude without knowing it

loves listening to rap

never at home

doesn't realise they're very hardworking

sometimes feels underrated

remembers everything about you

sometimes pessimistic

get your personalised readings

Pile 2

18+ read at your own consent

Reckless

very indecisive

always eating

a bit of a fattie :D

party boy

gives the best advice

yolo mindset

best outfit/music taste

Doesn't care what other think

JEALOUS AF

Loud af

Dom

"ooh, sexy"

"Babe"

"How do you feel?"

*SPANKS*

Horny 24/7

Your friends like his look but hates his personality

"Send Nu*es"

"Nice Ass"

BUYS EXPENSIVE SHITS TO EXPRESS HIS LOVE OR APOLOGIZE

LOYAL BUT HARDLY SAY NO FOR A GOOD ASS

huge book reader

obsessed with one girl

quiet but loud

comfort > style

with the right people

best secret keeper

get your personalised readings

Pile 3

ALWAYS looking at you

acts goofier around you

warm hugs

sends "this reminded me of you" texts

remembers every single word you've ever said

princess gf - bf who does anything to see her happy "baby"

"that's cute"

"hmmm?"

falling asleep on call

You've good taste in music

gm and gn texts

holds hands with you

"i can't wait for our future together"

big hands

"doll"

"go ahead... what "speak up. "were you saying?"

"don't be shy"

-grabs inner thigh-

holds your chin up w/Index finger and rubs lower lip w/thumb while making eye contact

"when they smirk and lick their lips"

"eye contact"

madly needs your attention

always ready to fight for you

impulsive and stubborn

seems terrifying but he's a warm bean

"duuude"

doesn't like horror movies

gives and wants kissies all the time

moms love him

high pitched scream

always fails when he tries to intimidate you

does everything to make you feel safe

"yooo"

enjoys causing chaos

pretty good at video game

feels a lil insecure sometimes

has some chad energy

can be hella sassy

afraid of being put aside

get your personalised readings

Pile 4

super clingy

wants forehead kisses

loves to sit on ur lap

spoiled brat

cuddles

short

"call me your angel, anon!"

caring & sweet

veryyy emotional

always sleepy

"yes please"

will cry if yelled at

sub

"i love you, anon :("

apologizes 24/7

tall straight ADHD bf who loves games - 5'3 mentally ill gf who loves astrology

actually a huge nerd

protective af

secretly gay

super duper nice

very pretty eyes

insecure

music

lowkey clingy

og sk8r boy

loves 2 cuddle

likes plants a lot

old soul

probably the coolest person u will ever meet

loves cartoons

handsome af but also pretty af

baggy clothes

get your personalised readings

I hope you liked the reading . Thank you so much for letting me read for you . Wishing you best ahead . 🎀Bless you and have a nice day🌸🐰 I'd love to hear which pile you chose

Loads of love , jam\gem🩷

[broken2nfnty]

Countless .. I wrote them down & deleted them again afraid of what you might say.. I wrote your entire chapter books in my mind daily with all my thoughts of you.. nothing in this world will ever compare to what I felt having you in my life 😢

Every little moment, every time you nagged me to take medication, every time you just wanted to talk and I was to anxious every song, every love meme you sent me every word you ever said was so Pure. You completed me and when I was with you I felt like nothing in the world could stop us 😞

I hope you see this one day and maybe know once again how deeply in love with you I always have been and always will be.. I hope somehow.. by some miracle .. these letters cross your path ..

From February 16 to 17, 1913 Letters to Felice by Franz Kafka First published : 1973

[thehighladywrites]

“G-A-N-G, BABY LET ME B-A-N-G BABY! (LET ME FUCK SUM!)”

☆ pairing: acotar men x reader

☆ summary: submission? size difference? orgasm control? click keep reading to find out what the acotar men get turned on by!

☆ warnings: nsfw, 18+, just a fat warning that this will contain smut and nsfw themes, ig you don’t like it pls scroll!💜

☆ amara’s note: ’ello mates! enjoyyyy

rhysand

⤷ corruption

in rhysand’s eyes, you are the sweetest thing to ever exist—a breathtaking angel. he plays the part of a friendly confidant, but it’s all a deception. he knows how sheltered you were and knows how flustered you get whenever he’s shirtless. there’s no way to miss the way you avoid his gaze and lower your head, cheeks blushy. he loves the way you squirm and turn shy when he whispers the most dirty, scandalous words into your ear. he loves when you come to him for advice, only for him to twist and manipulate your thoughts, steering you straight into his arms. there’s nothing more he wants than to ruin every bit of innocence you have, to make you utterly dependent on him. Not to hurt you, never that but to corrupt you completely, simply because it turns him on like nothing else.

⤷ exhibitionism

rhysand’s fucking you. and that’s something he wants the whole world to see. he wants them to see the way you get needy when you make out, the way you let out little noises when he touches your body, the way your eyes roll back when he enters you. you’re his little fucktoy and he just couldn’t be more proud when you spread your legs for him infront of anyone. is it really his fault that the meetings get so fucking boring and repetitive? and is it really that wrong of him to stuff his fingers deep in your dripping little pussy and finger you til’ you pass out just out of plain boredom? NOOOOOO

cassian

⤷ dumbification plus aftercare

Cassian fucks you until your mind is nothing but mush, ’til you’re hearing static, until you’re soft and pliant in his arms, lost in the haze he’s pulled you into. He always knows the moment it happens, when your body goes limp, when your breathing slows, when you stop hearing anything at all. Even when he shakes you a little, you barely stir.

“I know you’re out of it, baby. I got you.”

He handles you with so much care, lifting you effortlessly, bathing you with slow, steady hands. You don’t react, just let him take care of you, completely gone in his grasp.

When he wraps you in the warmest, fluffiest towel, his chest tightens at the sight of you. tear-filled eyes, lashes stuck together, looking up at him with that vacant, dopey little smile.

Only then does he relax. Because you trust him, even like this. So vunerable and sweet.

To Cassian there’s like nothing more intimate than aftercare. Like he is so fucking into it and he loves to do it that is kinda an obsession for him. It’s just in his nature to be caring for you.

⤷ praise

kinda goes hand in hand with the previous one. i actually don’t think he’d even want to degrade you. you want to be so good for him, to get praise, because there’s nothing better than cassian’s praise. i mean, you’re always so good to him, so of course he’s letting you know what a sweet and lovely girl you are anyway. and of course he’ll tell you how immensely proud of you he is when you take aaaaaall of his inches, never complaining once. You’ll hear a good girl here, and a that’s my girl there. And Gods if that doesn’t make your entire day.

⤷ size kink

guys this is such an obivous one. literally no matter your size, huncho over here will be bigger. he enjoys it too, like he’s obsessed with how much bigger he is than you. this is one of those times ‘just the tip’ really is enough. but he’s careful, like super duper careful bc he knows he can hurt you if he’s careless. also, his hands are huge like fucking massive. sometimes he uses his fingers and they reach deeeeeep and they fill you out deliciously. other times he folds you in half and presses you into the meanest mating press ever! your body’s folded in half as he jackhammers into you like a beast. this position just gives him the most perfect view of your difference. also he’s the type who will say he’ll make it fit if you complain or worry

azriel

⤷ oral

EATER EATER EATER

god i just know he gives the BEEEEST head. a pussy-eating champion really. he loves the feeling of your warm thighs smushing him as he laps at your clit whilst pumping his fingers along your gummy walls. he mostly does this for himself, okay? like it’s not even his fault that he gets off on your sounds or the way your fingers find their way into his hair or the way you drag your manicured nails over his sensitive scalp. he might have a sliiiiightly selfish side but still.

⤷ overstimulation

azriel holds a vibrator to your clit until you can’t even cry anymore. like it’s just all too much! you’re skin stickin to the sheets, your heart’s beatin too fast and you feel oh soooo good. maybe a bit too good. but azriel likes the way you come over and over again, a painful pleasure you’re not really saying no to. and obviously he isn’t a monster, you do have a safeword, but it’s one you’re so not gonna be using anytime soon tho…

⤷ risky sex

i think azriel is super into risky sex. wanna know why? because are you telling me he wouldn’t love the thrill of being caught? like he knows he’ll never be caught, duh, he’s the spymaster but still. like you’re so worried when he’s fucking you in the hallway, i mean, anyone can just walk by and see you practically bent over some decorative table. God forbid anyone catches you like this but he just doesn’t worry. He likes the thrill because he knows he’ll wait until the last possibly second before winnowing away. Like if he hears footsteps, he’ll wait until he can practically see the other person before disappearing. talk about adrenaline kick.

Eris

⤷ Casual Dominance

This man is so casually dominant it doesn’t even register at first, you’re just too into him. Eris is 100% in charge of you and your life, but not in a creepy way. He picks out your outfits, styles your hair, makes sure you eat, and just generally keeps an eye on you. If you’re about to do something dumb (or just not great for you), he doesn’t argue—he just smoothly steers you in the right direction, like if you’re procrastinating homework, he’ll make sure you’re done by the end of the day. also he guides you through the streets, you don’t even have to use your brain with him. he just fixes everything and he leads your every move.

⤷ brat taming

Since we’re on the subject, let’s get into the fun part—because let’s be real, Eris loves order and he sure likes to set you straight. Like he’d ever pass up a chance to put you in your place. For example👀:

“You don’t like the food? Want me to order you something else?” he asks when he catches you staring at your plate instead of eating. He’s already cut your steak, sliding it over like he always does, waiting for you to eat.

You just sigh, pick up your wine, and down it in one go before reaching for the bottle. As expected, Eris catches your wrist before you can pour another.

“One glass is enough for tonight.”

You roll your eyes and, just to be a menace, grab his glass instead—draining it while holding eye contact.

His eyes narrow. “Be a big girl and spit it out, baby. What’s the matter?”

“Dunno. Maybe ask Jenny, you seem to get along just fine. Actually, why don’t you just date her? Fuck her while you’re at it.”

Eris wanted to sigh so loudly, but he knew that would only piss you off more. The waitress? Not even a thought in his mind. Sure, he noticed her flirty eyes and lovestruck smile, but that’s all it was, an observation. He’d ignored her completely, yet here you were, fuming. Like he’d ever cheat on you.

His jaw ticks as he drops two hundred dollar bills before standing up and speaking with scary calm. “Get up. We’re leaving.”

GOOD LUCK :D

Lucien

⤷ hair pulling

oh my god his hair is his weakness. like as soon as you run your hands through his hair he turns into mush and literally melts. i swear if he was a cat, he’d purr. sometimes if you scratch his scalp the right way, it can lead into the sloppiest, messiest makeout session ever. and when you’re in the middle of it, pull it. istg you’ll leave pregnant

⤷ dirty talk

king of talking reaaaaal nasty. like omg he could make a sailor blush. he’ll get so close to you, whispering in your ear and you get all hot and bothered and ticklish. other men might be quiet in bed BUT NOT THIS GUY. literally doesn’t stop talking and it just fuels him on like crazyyyy. and if you try to talk dirty back, he’ll sit there with the biggest grin and just hear you out.

⤷ roleplay

c’mon he’s a lil freak. he’s into tons of kinks like i think he likes to explore a lot too. butttt lucien and roleplay??👀👀 JACKPOTT!! he won’t say no to anything and is more of a try everything once kinda guy. him being a hot guard and you’re a princess he can’t have. imagine the hot taboo sex😈 or barmaid x customer, boss x secretary, enemies who fuck oh my god

[salemrph]

Stay with me, Sylus

A/N: I just needed this moment after Magnum Opus. The yearning, the love, and the soft moment between Sylus and us... I can't get enough of it. So this is my little fantasy of how it should have ended.

Character: Sylus & Reader/MC/you

Genre: romantic, fluffy

Word count: 950 | Reading Time: 3 min | AO3

You walked Sylus to the door. This date was something you needed, even when you were tired and exhausted from the previous missions. Having Sylus around made you feel relaxed. Your new dynamic was heartwarming. And even if you didn’t quite understand why this man was so persistent about getting hiking gear, you were glad he used that excuse to come visit you.

Your back-and-forth, the way you both danced around the real matter, was something that might never change. The ironic way Sylus said:

"We’re dating now? Should I bring you roses next time?"

It made you smile, and of course, you didn’t miss a beat, asking for the roses with the most thorns.

You didn’t want him to leave. And he wasn’t in a rush, either. So he stayed, half in the corridor, half at your door. He keeps talking, stretching the moment to part. His words were coated in honey, filled with those promises he never made lightly. Because everything he had ever said he would do, he had kept his word.

Your heart flutters as if a thousand butterflies have taken flight, and you find yourself gripping the door frame without realizing it. 

“Are you just going to… stand there all day?” you asked. His red eyes flicked to you, amused. 

“I could camp here.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” He smirked, taking a slow step closer. “You always dance around the real question, though. It's charming.”

You exhaled sharply “Do you-” You hesitated, suddenly unable to finish the sentence.

Sylus tilted his head. Leaning in, placing one arm on the door frame. “Do I?” 

“You know.” You gestured vaguely, as if that would clarify anything. “Want to Stay over.”

The smirk twitched at the corner of his lips. “I suppose that depends.”

“On?”

“Whether the couch is still my designated territory, or if I’m being upgraded to… somewhere else.” His voice was teasing. 

Heat crept up your neck. You huffed. “Why do you say things like that?”

“Because it’s fun watching you try to untangle them.” He took another step closer. Too close now, the air between you shrinking, charged. “But if you’d rather be direct, just tell me where you want me.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, your entire brain short-circuiting at that choice of words. Sylus chuckled, clearly enjoying this too much.

“I-” You ran a hand through your hair, trying to find a way to say it without actually saying it. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

Sylus hummed, pretending to consider. “So that means…”

You groaned. “It means you can sleep wherever you want.”

At that, something shifted, without warning he closed the distance entirely. Pulling you against him, one hand on your back and the other still on the door frame. The heat of him is impossible to ignore.

“Wherever I want?” he murmured. Your pulse stuttered. You don't want him to leave but the way he makes you blush so easily is annoying. He is so annoying. You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. 

“N- not anywhere, but if you’re so into camping, do it in the living room” you muttered, half angry. 

Sylus smirked. He definitely caught that hesitation.

His fingers brushed your lower back before suddenly pinching lightly at your side, making you hitch and instinctively press closer into him. The reaction was immediate, your body betraying you before your mind could catch up. You barely had time to swat at his hand before he stepped fully into your apartment again.

The door clicked shut behind him. His back rested against it as he tugged you into his arms again, dragging you effortlessly against his god-blessed body. The space between you vanished, replaced by the solid warmth of him, the way his breath fanned against your temple. Your fingers pressed against his chest, an attempt to put some distance between you, but the moment you tried to escape, his grip tightened. 

“Kitten,” he drawled, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “You were the one telling me I should be more direct and now you’re stumbling around?”

Your jaw clenched, your body betraying you even as you tried to resist giving him the satisfaction. The heat from him seeped into your skin, making it impossible to think clearly, to ignore the way your pulse stuttered against his touch. You swallowed hard, tilting your chin up in defiance, even though your face was already burning.

“It’s different when you do it.”

Sylus grinned, amused how you twist things in your favor. “Oh, I see.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. He exhaled, his breath brushing against your cheek as he leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly grazed your skin. “You are making this difficult, sweetie,” he murmured. His breath  sends a shiver down your back. “Do you want me to push a little more?”

And then, just when you thought he might close the distance, just when your pulse spiked up, just when your fingers curled slightly against his chest, he pulled back.

"Say it."

You clicked your tongue, the spell breaking, pulling you back just enough to remember who you were dealing with.

“Fine…” you muttered, lowering your head for a brief moment, biting your lip. It’s only fair, you told yourself, trying to ignore how your heart pounded against your ribs. Slowly, you looked up again, your gaze locking with his, losing yourself in his eyes.

“Sylus…” The word lingered between you, a breath, a confession.

"You can sleep in my bed…"

The word left your lips like a surrender, and his expression shifted. Something that told you he wasn’t planning on letting you get much sleep tonight.