#any request to draw something for you in return??

[kotonoba]

Hi, I was wondering if you could do a Zoro x fem reader, where Chopper accidentally gives Zoro a sleeping tonic that's maybe too strong for him, Reader ends up getting stuck babysitting the world’s most dangerous napping swordsman. So, from dragging him out of the kitchen fire he caused to keeping Luffy from drawing on his face, she becomes the swordsman's unofficial caretaker. Though, through all the shenanigans, what she didn't expect was the way he murmurs her name even while asleep, or how his head always ends up resting in her lap? You can fill in the rest... maybe a slow-burning romance?

The Tired One (Zoro/F!Reader)

Summary: An accidental sleep tonic turned deadly? Emotions are running high on a ship that only has three females to share.

a/n: This took me three days. It's not that it was hard, I was catching up on my sleep debt. Also, been watching too much analog horror, sorry for the title.

Warning(s): none

Posted on AO3

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Recently, you have heard Zoro complain that the booze hasn’t been strong enough; he has been complaining about it ever since, well, forever. The complaining has gotten so bad that Chopper took it into his own hands to create a potent tonic for Zoro. But, what no one expected was that it wasn’t alcoholic, it was a sleep tonic, a sleep potion to be exact. At the same time, you’re aware of everything regarding the ship and the people living on it. What you weren’t expecting after leaving the Crow’s Nest from your training was to smell smoke and the cook raging at Zoro. 

You rush in to see half the kitchen on fire, Sanji attacking Zoro, Zoro defending, but… asleep. You rubbed your eyes before squinting a little harder to check if your eyes were playing tricks on you. And, lo and behold, they were not. The swordsman was fast asleep. You moved over to separate the two from attacking, “I’ll look after Zoro, okay?” Sanji seemed to agree to that, as you turned around, Zoro was gone. Out the door and gone with the wind. You hurried after him, leaving the chaos of the kitchen fire to Sanji to deal with. 

You see him trying to jump into the ocean; he was already taking off his shirt. Sometimes, you think he’s just acting when he’s asleep, but you forget who you’re taking care of as you run over, calling his name in attempts to catch his attention despite being asleep. You pull him back by his waistband, where he fumbles and falls on–almost–you, but with your quick reflexes, you manage to push him to the side before he falls on you like a sack of potatoes. You drag him into the shadier parts of the Thousand Sunny. Seeing as he had calmed down, you decided to grab yourself a book to keep yourself entertained.

By the time you had returned, Luffy was drawing on Zoro’s face, of course. As if your day can’t get any worse, don’t jinx that. You rush over to stop Luffy, “Luffy! You need to go help Sanji with the kitchen fire that Zoro caused because you…” You pulled an excuse out of someone’s ass. Just not yours, “you drew on his face, and now it’s your problem.” You tried to reason. It was outrageous, no one was going to fall for that– 

“Aw, okay,” Luffy pouts, dropping the marker and walking into the kitchen. 

Dumbfounded by him even agreeing to such an outrageous excuse, you sigh and sit beside the sleeping swordsman. Wiping off the marker print to the best of your ability with your shirt. You couldn’t risk going over to pick up his shirt and Luffy coming back to draw, or he had run off elsewhere. 

While you began reading your book Be Bold with Bananas, you had a taste for strange books. The crew found it hilarious that you even have a collection of weirdly titled books. Occasionally, Chopper would request that you read something to him from your collection out of curiosity; you sometimes find Robin reading your books because she thought it was interesting. 

Now that you think about it, Zoro had been suspiciously eyeing your books too, not reading them, but he does watch you read in between his training time. As you begin reading, you hear Zoro mumble in his sleep. You didn’t take anything a sleepwalking danger sign said to heart. Of course, what caught your attention was when he whispered your name in the most obscure, low growl, as if you stole something from him. 

Offended, you closed your book, a hand to your chest as if he had just insulted your taste in books, “...adorable,” you tilted your head at his choice of words. Unsure if he would put your name and the word adorable in the same sentence, as you had harassed him as much as Sanji had about his inability to find directions. “You’re,” you listen intently. “Adorable when you talk…” You felt your body heat up from the sudden confession. “But your taste in books is stranger than Chopper hiding the wrong way.” You hit him over the head, not that he flinched at anything. You didn’t think your taste in books was strange at all. How dare he? 

As you turn away from him to read again, you find him inching closer to you. You check under him to see Robin’s hands playing a trick on your mind by pushing him closer to you. Instead, there was nothing. So, you go back to your book, but by the time you notice him way too close, his head is already in your lap. 

Shocked, you pushed him off. However, it persists until you give up trying to push him away. He may need a pillow. You see Chopper running around trying to create new medicine, “Chopper, would you be a dear and grab me a pillow for Zoro?” 

Chopper nodded and grabbed a pillow from the infirmary for you to put underneath Zoro’s head, but he lingered and didn’t leave. You turn back to look at him with a smile. “I’m sorry,” he pouts. “I was going to make an alcoholic tonic for him that’s potent enough that he doesn’t drink so much to feel something, instead I made him into a sleeping demon.” 

Oh, so that’s the story behind this walking disaster. You laughed and cupped Chopper’s face gently, “It’s okay, we didn’t know he was going to tear the ship apart, you’re working on an antidote, right?” Chopper nodded, “That’s good enough then, keep up the good work, I’m rooting for you.” Fired up, Chopper runs into the infirmary to make an antidote for Zoro. 

Even after the pillow was given to Zoro, he still managed to put his head on your lap instead. His sleep-talking tirade continues; everything he says is about you and for you. Maybe you haunt his dreams. “I didn’t know I haunt your dreams,” you grinned, talking to the sleeping swordsman like he was going to respond to you.

Zoro didn’t respond. Why would he? He’s asleep. You continued to listen to him talk, sometimes, it was to tease you about the small things you did in life. Sometimes, it’s to tell you to be careful. Sometimes, the line between crewmate was blurry when he spoke; it warmed your heart, even if he didn’t mean it.

“He’s gotten comfy there.” You tilt your head back to see Nami talk. You smile at her as she sits beneath the umbrella for better shading.

“You think?” Nami nodded, pointing out that he usually doesn’t talk about one person on the crew; he typically discusses fighting or training techniques. “Maybe I’m special,” you tease.

“Maybe you are, have you seen the way he looks at you sometimes?” You hummed at Nami’s words, you don’t pay attention because someone is always on fire on the ship. “Or how, when you talk, he stops training completely just to listen to what you say?” You did notice that, but you thought he was just nosy. “Or how he even offers to share his booze with you?”

“Maybe you’re thinking too much into this, I would rather hear it from him,” you smiled. Nami gave you a look of defeat and shrugged. 

“I made it! It’s potent too!” Chopper calls out, running over to you with a small blue vial of liquid. It looks suspicious because it was still bubbling. “We just have to feed it to him.” Chopper says, trying to pour some in his mouth, but it just rolls back out. “I didn’t think that far.” 

“Here, I got it,” you smiled, taking the vial in your hand. If what Nami said was true, then you should test the theory. He is rather attractive, and you couldn’t know you hadn’t thought about it on several occasions. You see Sanji jump out in joy to see the three girls on the ship, all sitting outside, as he goes back in to retrieve some refreshments. You pour the liquid in your mouth, and it tastes a little spicy. As the cook came out with refreshments, all color was drained from his face as if someone had told him a friend of his had died. He watched you kiss the sleeping swordsman, but didn’t notice that you were giving him the liquid by mouth. 

As you’re about to pull away, Zoro pulls you back onto him, deepening the kiss. Too shocked to move, you let him. You break away from the kiss to catch your breath, and you see Zoro open his eyes. He gets flustered, but you weren’t going to let him go that easily. Pulling him into another kiss boldly, the two of you break away when Nami cheers and claps that the two of you seemingly confessed, and Sanji had grown fungus in the corner of the ship. 

“You have something to tell me, sleep demon swordsman?” You tease, straddling his waist as he cups your face.

He brings you down to kiss again before whispering, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I don’t know when I started paying attention, but I’ve been thinking about you, about us. I want us to be an item.” He eyes you, seeing you wait for him to continue. He grunts, a pink dusts across his features, “Please be mine? I want to be exclusive.” 

You laughed, kissing him back softly. “Sorry, Sanji,” you said, looking up from the swordsman to the cook. A soft smile graces your features, “I’m going to be exclusive with the swordsman, someone’s gotta make sure he doesn’t get lost.” You glanced down at the swordsman with a brighter smile, “I would love to.”

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[noisilyscreechingsong]

Dp x Dc short idea

Jason is Danny’s dad

Warning: Language

Jason had just returned to the family publicly about two weeks ago. It hadn’t even been that long for him to settle before something happened. The press weren’t even off his ass and he has Alfred requesting he return home for an urgent matter immediately, which is butler speak for get your ass here right now!

The family was happy but adjusting to everything. They had mandatory family dinners at least twice a month and voluntarily got together more frequently, mostly just the siblings, but every once in a while Bruce would sneak in for a movie in the family room.

Alfred was pleased with the progress the family has made over the course of many years. It finally felt like everything was coming together and maybe settling down. He knew he thought that too soon when he answered the buzzer at the front gate. They weren’t expecting any visitors and looking at the video feed it was a young woman with hands on her hips glaring back at the camera. There were two large bags with her and surprisingly enough a young child playing in the grass just a short distance behind her.

“Wayne Residence, Alfred Pennyworth speaking, how may I assist you, ma’am?”

“Lettin’ me in for starters,” she says back with venom on her tongue.

“My apologies, but you do not have an appointment.”

She snorts, “Nah, but ya see, I saw that bastard on the news and thought I’d drop off what he gave me.”

To get her point across, she turns and looks back at the little boy not paying her any attention.

“Danny!” She snaps and he jerks his head to look at, who Alfred is assuming is, his mother. “Come here.”

He hops up at his own pace and dusts off the grass on his knees before trotting over. She leans down to angle the young boy away from the camera and pushing back his hair.

He couldn’t see it well before by the way the boy was positioned before, but Alfred could clearly see a prominent patch of white hair on the left lower section by his neck. Just like the white batch on Jason.

“You gonna let us in now?” She asks rudely.

Alfred has already determined he did not like this woman. He still buzzes them in. He contacts Jason immediately followed closely with Bruce.

Alfred then helps the two carry in the bags, while subtly checking for any weapons or explosives. Instead he finds things meant for a child.

He really didn’t like this woman.

Bruce is the first one to arrive down the stairs, pausing towards the bottom. He glances at Alfred and can see the displeasure in the butler’s eyes.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Bruce Wayne, nice to meet you.”

“Fuckin’ everyone knows who you are, Brucie Wayne,” she huffs with a roll of her eyes.

Bruce glances down at the very young child who is hearing the foul language. He couldn’t be more than five, and completely oblivious as the little boy runs a hand along the wall and looks around at everything. He particularly keeps going back to the shiny chandelier above their heads.

“Who might you be?” He asks the woman, coming back to her as she almost touches the vase on the entry table. She draws her hand back to fold her arms across her chest.

“Grace.”

The name seems ironic compared to her behavior.

“And how can I help you, Miss Grace?”

“Your thought-to-be-dead son left something of his. I’m here to return it.”

It took no detective to determine she was talking about the boy currently using the door frame to the sitting room as leverage to rock back and forth, holding on with his tiny hands. Bruce could see the splash of white among the dark hair from this angle.

Bruce hums.

“Is that so?”

“I’ve already contacted Master Jason. He should be arriving soon. Shall I prepare some refreshments in the drawing room?” Alfred informs.

“Thank you, Alfred. Right this way,” he says to Grace, directing her toward the left while pulling out his phone to ask Tim to prepare the proper equipment downstairs.

“Danny!” The woman calls with impatience. She glares at the little boy who calmly turns to look at her, then skips behind them.

Grace huffs but doesn’t say anything else as they enter the room. She sits herself in the middle of the love seat and Bruce takes one of the chairs across from her. The boy, Danny, explores the room thoroughly, walking around without pattern and investigating every nook and cabinet to keep himself entertained. Very curious little child.

Bruce tries to engage her in conversation to dig up more information, but she firmly wanted to wait for Jason before divulging anything. He did however find out that Danny is four and needs to be enrolled in kindergarten next turn. Grace works night shift but wouldn’t say where.

Alfred came with three waters, one in a smaller plastic cup for Danny, and a plate of crackers and cut up fruit.

Grace eyes the butler with a raised brow. However, the first words Danny has spoken in their presence is a cute, “Thank you, mister,” before munching on a cracker and sipping from his cup. His curious eyes flick over the fruit and wanders over to his mother who picks at a rip in her jeans. He taps her knee and she sighs.

“What is it?”

“What’s that?”

Danny points to the fruit.

“What’s what?”

He creeps forward to point directly at the blackberries mixed in with the blueberries and strawberries.

“Blackberry,” she answers shortly.

“What’s it taste like?”

“Why don’t you try it and find out?”

He must have approved of that suggestion and reaches in to clumsily wrap a tiny hand around one of the dark berries. He flips it over in his hand for a minute, observing it at all angles, feeling the texture of the little bumps, before shoving it in his mouth. Danny leans his body over the coffee table to drag the bowl closer and rummage through it for more goodies.

Really looking at him, Bruce could see Jason’s freckles and the few other similarities like his square jaw and lip shape. He hasn’t seen it yet but Bruce bets Danny has the same crooked grin as his son.

He has the woman’s pale complexion and nose shape. His hair was straight like hers instead of Jason’s curls, but Danny took his dark coloring compared to her light brunette.

The boy was an adorable mix of both his son and this woman. He almost felt the test was unnecessary, but he didn’t stop Alfred from replacing the plastic cup and take it back to the kitchen where he knew it would be handed off to Tim.

Thankfully it was a day where there weren’t any meetings for either of them to attend.

Surprisingly, it isn’t Jason that enters the room first, it’s Damian coming home from school. The fourteen year old, almost fifteen, holds a leash in one hand with Titus standing patiently next to him, ready for his after school walk.

“Father, I heard we have guests.”

The teen stops in the doorway and Danny turns with interest until he spots the animal, then his eyes bug with excitement.

“Mommy, doggie,” he whisper shouts.

She just hums in affirmative, looking the new arrival up and down.

Danny grabs a blackberry from the bowl and trots over to Damian. He holds out the piece of fruit.

“This is a blackberry,” he states proudly.

Damian blinks down at the small child. Titus tilts his head, his nose working hard.

“I’m aware.”

“You can have it, if you let me pet your doggie,” he negotiates like he needed to give something in order to receive permission.

Damian looks up to his father for answers.

“Jason will be here soon,” is what he gets instead, his father’s lips twitch.

Damian looks back down in sudden realization when he sees the similarities between the man and this boy. He sighs tiredly.

“Pennyworth. A wet washcloth if you please.”

“Right away, Master Damian.”

“Next time, you only need to ask to pet Titus, you do not need to give me anything in return,” he tells the child.

Danny looks down at the berry sitting in his stained hands.

“So you don’t want it?”

“…Maybe later.”

“Okay!”

Danny skips back to carefully set the berry off the side on the tray, as if to save it for Damian for later like he said. He jogs the short distance back to them.

“Can I pet your doggie now, please?”

Damian takes the washcloth Alfred hands him with a nod and crouches down to get level with the boy.

“We must wipe our hands first. We don’t want anything sticky in his fur,” he explains as he holds out the washcloth for Danny’s hands.

The four year old looks down at the stains to see what he means and then places his hands on the washcloth for Damian to get the juices off.

The teen then calmly explains how to properly approach a dog he does not know by letting Titus smell the back of his hand first and then to always stay calm and confident.

Titus, the gentle giant that he is, had no problems letting the tiny child pat him and run small fingers through his short fur. It was endearing to hear the giggles when Titus used his big nose to sniff at the child’s face and neck. Sitting down, Titus was taller than the child standing up, which would have been scary to some kids, but Danny seemed to love Titus instantly. The little boy easily telling the dog what a good boy he is even with the dog sitting there doing nothing.

“Titus needs his afternoon walk now,” Damian informs.

Titus stands at the word walk, clearly ready to go.

“Oh, okay.” Danny turns to the big dog to reach up and pat his head twice. “Bye-bye, Titus. Have a good walk.”

The two leave and Danny skips back over to hang over the arm of the love seat his mother sits in, typing on her phone.

“Mommy, did you see the doggie? His name is Titus. He’s a good dog.”

“Uh-huh,” she comments without really listening.

“Do you like dogs, Danny?” Bruce asks with a smile.

Danny looks at him like he forgot the man was there, tilts his head as he studies him for a moment. Bruce waits patiently until Danny deems him okay and perks back up with bright eyes.

“Uh-huh! I love dogs! Mommy says we can’t get one ‘cuz our ‘partment is too small and they’re dirty. You’s guys are lucky,” the boy rambles as he wanders around the coffee table to get closer to Bruce and away from his distracted mother.

“How do you feel about cats? Damian has a black and white one around here somewhere.”

Danny shrugs and they continue to have a rather pleasant conversation about different animals and foods and each of their houses. It takes up the amount of time for Jason to walk through the door, seemingly already informed of the situation from Alfred.

Jason was… flabbergasted. Bewildered. Caught unprepared. He was a lot of words. Mostly he was scared.

Did he really have a child? A son? If that was true then he missed so much. He missed all of his firsts. First words, first steps, first laugh, first everything.

Would the boy even like him? What if he saw all his scars and was scared of him? What if he didn’t want anything to do with Jason after not being in his life this whole time?

But the boy might not be his. There’s that. That could be… Jason didn’t like the disappointment that thought brought.

Grace was the first one he noticed. Her ripped jeans and low cut top being out of place among the antique furniture and Persian rug. She scowls at him, putting her phone down.

“Finally decided to show up?”

He bites back a comment. He broke several traffic laws to get here, it wasn’t his fault he was fourty minutes away at the time he got the call.

He glances over at Bruce and instead his eyes zero in on the child standing by the armchair Bruce was sitting in.

Just one look and he knew the boy was his.

He looks to Bruce anyway for confirmation, since he has no doubt he sent off a sample to Tim hiding like the troll he is in the basement. The man nods. Jason sucks in a deep breath and suddenly needs to sit down.

He sinks heavily in the matching armchair next to Bruce’s, separated only by a round end table. Jason can’t stop staring at those big, blue eyes that are filled with such curiosity and innocence he almost breaks down right then. But he can’t. He has to be strong. He can’t just walk away to get a handle on his emotions. He’s a dad now.

“You’re a hard man to find,” Grace folds her arms over her chest.

“I’ve been busy,” he answers lamely.

She humphs and looks away with a shake of her head.

The boy, Danny Alfred said his name was, creeps around Bruce’s legs to get closer, obviously seeing something in Jason enough to investigate. The room is quiet as they wait to see how Danny will react.

Coming to a stop right before his knees, Danny stares up at the large man with lots of scars and muscles from what he can see. He wasn’t scared. There was just something familiar that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He looks… he looks like… and he also feels almost like…

Furrowing his brows in a pout, he knows his Mommy doesn’t like it when he does it, but he still makes his eyes burn with green.

The man gasps and his eyes also swirl into an angry green.

“Daddy?” Danny asks with hope and joy.

Daddy swallows and then nods.

“Yea, buddy, I’m your dad.”

“Daddy!” The boy cheers, jumping in place with a wide smile. “Daddy! Mommy, look! It’s Daddy!”

Danny wastes no time climbing into the man’s lap and wrapping his arms around him as far as they’ll go (not very far) to press his ear to Jason’s chest over his heart. He’s practically vibrating with excitement and Jason makes sure to set a large hand on his back to hold him close.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Grace hisses, her eyes wide at the display earlier. Both of their eyes had returned to their calmer blue and teal color, but everyone in the room saw it. “I knew he got it from you.”

His eyes narrow in warning, pulling the boy closer to his chest. He sets a hand over Danny’s exposed ear to protect him from the harsh words he’s probably already heard before.

“Do you have any idea how creepy it is to deal with a tantrum when your kid has fucking glowing green eyes?”

“Did you hit him?” Jason growls, the vibrations seeming to settle Danny even more.

“Please, I’m not my mother,” she dismisses with a sneer.

Could have fooled him.

“Everything was fine until he started doing freaky shit. I don’t know how to raise a meta kid, alright?”

“What are you talking about?”

Now he was just confused. What stuff was Danny doing that Grace thought he was a meta?

“Don’t try to pretend you don’t have powers too,” she points viciously.

“I’m not pretending. I don’t have powers. I don’t have the meta gene. What can he do?” He demands while being transparently clear.

She just glares back at him, obviously not believing him. That didn’t exactly matter at the moment.

“What can he do?” He repeats with emphasis.

She puckers her lips like she’s tasted something sour and then lifts her chin.

“Why doesn’t he just show you, huh? Danny- Would you stop babying him? Danny, show him the things you can do.”

After Jason takes the hand off the boy’s head, Danny turns to his mother warily.

“But you don’t like it,” he reminds, like she forgot.

“He wants to see it, so show him,” she waves a hand at Jason like he just asked for something he would regret.

Danny leans back to look up at his dad.

“You won’t get mad? Or scared?”

He sounds so unsure and scared. As if Jason could ever hate him. Jason really wants to punch something. Preferably something with her face on it.

“I promise I won’t.”

Another parent might have something more profound to say to reassure their child, but Jason was just starting out and honestly, it was more than Bruce would ever say.

Danny thinks for a second before wiggling to get down. He looks back once more at his mother who gives him a ‘get on with it’ motion.

The boy fidgets a little before covering his face with two hands like he’s playing hide and seek, then- disappears. Jason jerks at watching his son blink out of sight like a Martian.

“Boo!” Danny pops back into view, exactly where he was standing before with his hands out like any child on Halloween.

Jason blinks and then starts laughing. This was karma. Danny could literally become invisible, something the Bats train to do for years.

“That was good, buddy,” Jason chuckles, ruffling the kid’s hair.

Danny hesitantly smiles back, a bit of hope and pride in those eyes.

“There’s more,” Grace interrupts, seemingly uneasy with how well Jason reacted.

“Yea?” Jason directs to Danny, his focus on his son.

Danny gives a shaky nod, glancing over worriedly at Bruce who is just silently watching. Jason could see the tension in his shoulders but also the intrigue.

The boy places a hand on the coffee table and focuses on his hand. It took a few minutes of concentration before Danny’s hand went through the table like he was just dunking his hand in a pool instead of through a solid object.

He pulls his hand out and they could see it be slightly translucent.

“That one’s harder to do when I want to,” Danny mumbles.

“You mean it mostly happens on accident?”

Danny nods.

“I drop a lot. And get stuck sometimes.”

Yea, Jason can see how that could be a problem. He can’t imagine how terrified Danny was the first time a body part got stuck in an immovable object. He really wishes he could have been there for him in his panic.

“The last thing is hard too. But I’ve been practicing. Watch!”

Danny jumps once, twice, and on the third time he lingers in the air, coming down slowly like someone in water or astronauts on the moon. Danny pushes off the ground a fourth time, this time floating steadily higher like gravity meant nothing to him.

Despite the kid obviously have done this before and enjoying it with his giggles, Jason stands under him in case he falls. And falls he does. Suddenly, like the strings being cut and gravity taking hold of him again, Danny plummets into Jason waiting arms. The boy grunts on impact and then smiled sheepishly up at his dad.

“Sorry, Daddy. I promise I’m doing better.”

“That’s okay, squirt. I’m glad I was here to catch you.”

Jason plops back into the chair with his child in his lap.

“Anything else up that sleeve of yours?” He teases but is equally as serious.

Danny shakes his head enough to make his hair fluff. Jason looks to Grace for confirmation and sees she is still recovering from Danny’s fall out of the air. How many times has she had to catch him? Or wasn’t able to catch him?

She clears her throat.

“I don’t know if it’s part of it, but he never gets sick. Never even had a cough.”

Children always get sick, that’s how they build immune systems. For Danny to have never gotten even a cold, Jason doesn’t know if it’s worrying or a good thing.

“Any allergies?” Is the first thing on his mind, thinking of what Alfred will need to know.

She shakes her head with a negative hum.

“In one of the bags is a folder with all of his documents. Birth certificate, immunizations, doctor visits. I also made a list of some favorite things and things he hates. It has foods on there too.”

That was… honestly more than he was expecting from her. But it also cements the fact that she intended to drop him off with him and then never see them again. She raised him for four years and she doesn’t even want visitation? Does she not understand there are legal documents she needs to sign to transfer custody properly?

“There are some things you need to sign, but it will take some time to get it sorted,” Bruce chimes in all business.

Long nails swipe through the air like signing her rights away was trivial.

“My phone number and address are on one of the documents. Just tell me when and where.”

She stands to leave and Jason can feel Danny tense up.

“Are we leaving?” He asks worriedly, climbing down from his seat on his dad’s lap. He didn’t want to go.

“You’re staying here. With your dad,” Grace says shortly, not once looking at the boy.

“Are you going home to get the rest of our stuff?”

“No. I’m going home. You’re staying here. End of story.”

Danny visibly thinks on that for a second then scampers after his mother as she leaves the room.

“Is it like Robbie where his mom lives in one ‘partment and his dad lives in a different one?”

Grace sighs and runs a hand through her hair. She’s clearly flustered and is showing it as irritation, but Jason can’t help but trail behind in case she says something that she shouldn’t.

“No, Danny, it’s not like Robbie. I- I am leaving you here and I’m not coming back, okay?”

Jason takes a step forward to draw her attention and send her a look that says ‘choose your words carefully, this is a conversation he will remember for a long time’.

“But- but why? Is it ‘cuz of my things? I’m sorry I scared you, Mommy. I didn’t mean to. I won’t do them again, promise.”

Jason grits his teeth at how desperate his son sounds, trying to keep his mother with him. Even making a promise he can’t keep.

Grace finally looks at her baby. Sees the turmoil and tears in his baby blue eyes. She gets down on her knees to get level and places her hands on his tiny shoulders.

“You will do them again and that’s not a bad thing. Your things are part of you. That’s okay. You’re not in any trouble. I just- I’m in over my head here, Danny. I can’t take care of you the way you should be taken care of, okay? But your dad can, I hope. So I’m leaving you here. With him.”

Danny’s lip wobbles and she has to restrain herself from not hugging him like she always does when he’s upset.

“Then- then you’ll visit, right? Like Chase’s grandma visits him?”

Why is this so hard?

“I don’t think so, baby. I don’t think you’re gonna see me again. I’m sorry.”

Danny is silent for a while. He wipes his eyes and sniffs.

“Are you goin’ ‘way like Jamal’s dad?”

The ten year old in the same building as them lost his dad in a wrong place wrong time type situation. Jamal had told Danny his dad went away forever so he couldn’t see him again. Grace had told him that when people go away forever, they get put among the stars he loves so much to be remembered.

Grace wears such a pained expression Jason half thought she was about to burst into tears.

“Kinda,” she nods. “So give me a big hug, okay?”

Danny was in her arms before she finished speaking. Jason didn’t exactly know why she wanted to stop all contact, but he had a theory that if Danny really was a meta (and with his powers he was leaning toward believing it) then Grace would want to distance herself as much as possible to protect them both. He met her in Crime Alley, he knew they didn’t live in a good spot. If any one of those crooks saw Danny use any of his powers, they could steal him easily from his single mother. She didn’t want to give those kind of people leverage to get Danny and sell him off. She wasn’t trying to be cruel, she was just trying to do what was best for her kid, even if that meant cutting her out of his life.

He had a strange new respect for her he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Grace takes a heavy breath and pulls away showing Danny’s tear stained cheeks. She wipes them like it would do anything.

“I gotta go now, Danny.”

“No,” he cries and Jason’s heart breaks a little more.

“We gotta say goodbye now. Please.”

Grace is just barely hanging on. Jason knows as soon as she walks out that door she’ll break down.

“I don’t want to. Don’t want you to leave,” Danny whines, trying to keep a strong grip on his mother.

She holds his hands in hers and gives him a serious look.

“You’re going to be fine. You’re gonna be just fine with your dad.” She leans in and whispers, “You’re not alone, Danny. You are never alone. Just look up. Look at the stars, baby, and you’ll be okay.”

Danny pouts, but thinks about those words.

“I like the stars,” he mumbles.

She smiles, probably the first one in a while.

“I know you do.”

She kisses his forehead one last time and stands. Danny whines. She steps away.

“Bye-bye, Danny. I- I love you.”

“Mommy,” he cries, tears and snot coming full force now.

Jason can’t take anymore and picks up his son to hold on his hip.

“It’s okay, buddy. I got you,” he assures. He turns to Grace who is having the internal battle of her life in the foyer. “I got him.”

It’s an assurance to her too, that he will take care of Danny, that he would be there for him. It was a promise.

Grace sees it for what it is and leaves out the front door without another word.

Danny screams and cries and struggles, but Jason holds on tight, scared he’ll fall or use his powers to get away and disappear. The man walks back to the drawing room so his son wasn’t staring at the door longingly.

As soon as Jason sits down, Danny struggles harder since they stopped moving. So Jason stands again, adjusting the boy in his arms and starts pacing a path around the room.

Bruce has already disappeared, not knowing what to do with a heartbroken child crying his eyes out. Alfred has cleared away the tray of snacks, leaving two waters on the table, one in a small, plastic cup. Jason spies Damian poke his head in for a second to see what the matter was, and upon seeing no immediate threat went off wherever. Other than that, father and son were alone to figure themselves out.

Danny was going through a lot for a toddler and Jason didn’t exactly know how to handle what happened either. He tried his best with speaking reassurances into the boy’s hair, but he didn’t know if Danny even heard him over his own crying.

It was a rough first meeting to be frank, but after a while (what felt like ages) Danny cried himself to sleep and Jason felt it safe to finally sprawl out on the loveseat with the boy laying on his chest. Compared to a grueling patrol, that was definitely worse. He never wanted to have to go through that again, but knew as a dad it was part of the job description.

[ssahotchnerr]

Hello!!! I’ve got a request. Say wife!reader works in the fbi or in some kind of specialty field she gets called in to consult the team for the first time. Would they be professional or sweet with Hotch? Would also be so cute to see how the team reacts to their dynamic!!

expert opinion

definitely an equal part of both 💓 cw; consultant fem!reader, typical cm case violence, established relationship, fluff <333

As you approached the door to his office, you could already hear the familiar sound of your husband’s voice from the other side.

You smiled to yourself; hearing his confident conversational voice, putting out fires from the sound of it. After a second, you rapped your knuckles against the door – already slightly ajar – and leaned in hesitantly, wary of disturbing him in case the conversation he was having was of any particular importance.

Aaron's eyes lifted at the intrusion, his eyes softening from his professional rigidity - revealing a flicker of warmth - at his wife. Your face equally formed into one of gentle greeting. Into the phone, he said, "I'll have to give you a call back."

Hanging up and approaching you, his lips quirked into a smile. "Hi sweetheart."

"Hi honey," His head tilted downward, his lips meeting yours in a quick, sweet kiss. "Hope I wasn't interrupting anything important."

"No, no. You're right on time, I knew I married you for a reason." His teasing left him lightly, before his dark brows drew over his eyes. It wasn't as profound if you were anyone else; there was a gentleness to them, more quizzical than anything else. "I appreciate you taking the time to come in." His playfulness returned for just a moment more, "I'll have to show you how much later. Did you get a chance to review the file I sent over?"

"Is that a promise?' You raised your eyebrows, gaining a cheeky smirk from Aaron - who was never one to go back on his word. "And profusely, yes."

"Perfect." Something to look forward to after whatever unpleasantness awaited on this case. "C'mon, the team's waiting."

His hand found the small of your back, shutting his door and guiding you down the walkway. He was to your right, creating a sense of protectiveness from the bullpen, and kept the natural affection under wraps.

His touch only disappeared as you entered the roundtable room, the sound of your heels against the vinyl flooring drawing focus. Aaron squared his shoulders, strictly switching into Unit Chief mode.

"Oh, we got the Mrs. today?" Morgan commented as the two of you entered in perfect sync. "Hotchners taking the BAU over?"

You grinned, "Nice to see you too, Derek."

"My lovely!" Penelope abandoned her spot at the front near the screen to throw her arms around you in an embrace. She squeezed you, tilting you side to side. "How I've missed you!"

"Keeping Aaron on his toes, I hope." Dave chimed in, looking far too amused for his own good.

"Of course," you laughed.

"We can make nice later." Aaron commented, causing Penelope to release you and circling back to the subject at hand. If he hadn't, the team would’ve been more than happy to spend an hour catching up with you. "She's here to assist us with further analyzing the COD of the victims."

With the unsub's sadistic way of dissecting an individual, your expertise as a forensic pathologist made you more than qualified to retrace the story written within the body; each wound a deliberate signature etched in the flesh. You knew how to separate chaos from precision, rage from ritual. Where others saw horror, you saw patterns; the twisted messages left behind.

So when Aaron called and asked for your help, you hadn't hesitated to free up a portion of your day.

"Our hero." JJ shuddered, crossing her arms in disgust. "It sure is something."

"I'm more than happy to help." You assured, your tone warm and sincere, leaving no doubt that your willingness was genuine. "Aaron sent over the ME's findings earlier, and I have a few insights that I hope will be helpful."

His first name rolled off your tongue, it not even occurring to you to refer to him as Hotch, and why would you? He's always been Aaron. The others, however, found it quite novel, trading bemused looks with each other around the table. 

Aaron pulled a chair out for you, only taking his own once you were seated. There was a gleam of pride in his eyes as he prompted, "What have you got for us?"

"So, it appears..."

As you listed off your findings, Aaron couldn’t help but listen in complete awe of you. He’d known you were intelligent, of course, and he was aware – in an abstract sense – that you were good at your job, but this was the first time he’d seen you in your element.

Referencing parts of the autopsy report, distinguishing patterns in the crime scene images - the unrestrained rage and the violence. You even pointed out a signature hidden within, something so minuscule it could've been easily missed. And all through your spiel you didn't bat an eye or hesitate - you were completely confident in what you knew. A true professional.

While Aaron was paying thorough attention to your points, he couldn’t help but set aside some room to fawn over you, admiration filling his chest.

His wife was a badass, to say the least.

"Wow." Emily blinked once you finished, turning towards him. "Can we keep her?"

"I wouldn't argue against that." He exchanged a glance with you, his lips lifting lightly at the ends. Thank you.

Your hand immediately found his under the table, squeezing gently. You’d do the same for me.

[gloomwitchwrites]

141 What If....

You ask him to leave the uniform on? 🥵🥵🥵🥵

I am feral over this. FERAL. Literally chewing on my own arm because I need to calm down. Your prompts always get me going. I totally blame you for this. Now, I went with a little variety here. We've got Kyle in formal military dress, John coming home from deployment, Johnny returning on break for a quickie, and Simon playing out a pre discussed fantasy. Enjoy!!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship, CNC, breeding, restraints, welcome home sex, quickies, formal events, semi-public sex, unprotected piv, sex in a car, dirty talk, brief knifeplay, light degradation

Word Count: 3.3k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

John’s return is delayed.

He was supposed to come home to you a month ago. But it wasn’t him that notified you about his postponed reunion. Someone from SAS contacted you via the post. The envelope held a singular piece of paper. No apology. Just black ink on a white sheet with an official letterhead. John has always been good about making sure you know when he’ll return. It's something you constantly worry about.

While on a mission, you won't hear from him—this you know. But whenever he is able, John makes an effort to let you know when to expect him or if he's okay.

To not hear from him is odd, and it stirs up all sorts of emotions, pushing your brain toward any number of possibilities. Each scenario appears briefly before sliding into another. They worsen—and then you’re sick, stomach twisted into a tight knot.

That piece of paper is on the kitchen counter. Untouched—but not forgotten. It said yesterday. And yesterday, John did not return.

You’re chewing on your fingernails. Pacing. Stressing.

It's the familiar squeak of the doorknob from the front door that finally stalls your racing thoughts. All that mental energy becomes physical. You're sprinting, throwing yourself at John the moment he enters.

He chuckles—the sound is pleasant and soothing to your heart.

“Didn’t think you’d be home,” he says, drawing you close.

Your answer is to wrap your arms around the back of his neck, and seize a kiss from him that says so much. You need John to know how much you’ve missed him—how worried you’ve been.

His hands on your hips tighten, squeezing slightly as he melts under your kisses. Each one is desperate. Needy. You savor him like you’ll never know this again. John's grip on you is firm, and much stronger than you can resist. He draws you away from him—not enough to create a separation—but enough to talk.

“Slow down, love. Let me look at you.” His hands move to your face, cradling your cheeks. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," you reply. You pull him close again. "Need you." Just a murmur, hardly audible, but John hears it.

He does not resist. He gives in, accepting your love, answering every kiss and touch with one of his own. Hands roam, fingers cling, and yet you're not nearly close enough. You need him on his back with you atop him.

John breaks away, breathing heavy, lips slightly puffy from kissing you. "Bedroom."

You shake your head. "Right here,” you reply, going in for another kiss. “Uniform stays on.”

The middle of John's brow scrunches slightly in confusion, but your fingers are already looping in his belt buckles, guiding him into the living room. That brief moment of confusion morphs into a sultry smirk.

John allows you to guide, allows you to push him onto his back on the sofa. His hands never leave your body, they roam constantly even as you undo the front of his pants and shimmy them down to mid-thigh.

You have him in hand instantly, coaxing him to hardness quickly. The need for him is a driving force, positioning yourself above him, ready to impale yourself.

John's hand slips between your legs, fingers finding your center. "Your—fuck." The sound of your slickness greets him and John groans.

Placing your hands on his chest, John palms the base of his cock, lining it up. You don't slowly ease down. You drop, accepting every inch of him in one go. There is a brief flare of pain from the rapid intrusion, and then it's gone, replaced with the fullness of him inside you.

With your palms splayed wide, you're able to rock your hips, moving up and down his length in a steady movement that has both of you groaning.

"I missed you," he murmurs as you come back down on him. "Fuck—I missed you."

Your thighs start to burn with every bounce. John's fingers dig into your hips, dragging downward before ascending again. With the next roll of your hips, John meets you, thrusting up. It cuts a sharp gasp from your lips.

He grips harder, taking control. You cling to the front of his uniform, fisting the fabric as John brings you down just as he thrusts upward. It is not sweet. It is brutal and desperate. Each connection drags more pleasure out of you until your head falls back and you clench around him.

With a deep groan, John sits up, and effortlessly flips you over onto your back. Pinned beneath him, there is nowhere to go. All you can do is take what he gives.

John buries his face against your neck. "Love you so much."

You hook your heels behind his legs, urging him on. "Love you," you manage to gasp.

It is all sweat and heat. John's lips graze the line of your throat and then your chin. You turn toward him, the two of you meeting as he holds his body against yours, his release flooding your pussy.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle drapes his arm over your shoulder, tugging you against him, the noise of the function receding with every step. Usually when the two of you attend a formal function together, Kyle is in a suit, but this attendance was requested by Kyle's superior officer, Captain John Price.

Instead of a suit, Kyle wears his formal military dress. The uniform is freshly steamed and free of wrinkles. His shoes are polished to perfection. Like this, he's incredibly handsome. You've been admiring him all night, resisting the urge to touch him too much around people he works with on a regular basis.

"Can't wait to take this bloody thing off," sighs Kyle, lightly tugging on the neckline of his uniform.

You rest your head against his shoulder, savoring his warmth. "I think you look rather dashing."

"Dashing?" he laughs.

As the two of you enter the parking garage, you snag his hat, placing it on your head. Kyle's smile widens. He leans in for a kiss, greedily accepting what you offer him. Removing the car keys from his pocket, Kyle hits the button to unlock the vehicle. The SUV beeps, headlights coming on.

Kyle takes his hat back, holding it with one hand instead of putting it back on his head. He offers his mouth again and you close the distance.

"Can't wait to get that dress off you, love," he murmurs against your lips. “Been thinking about it all evening.”

You place your hand against his chest. "I think I'd like it if you leave the uniform on."

Kyle nearly chokes. "What?" he draws back slightly.

With a mischievous grin, you tug Kyle around the side of the SUV. The vehicle is in a corner spot, leaving the two of you tucked between it and a cement wall. There is no camera and no light. Both of you are hidden in shadow.

No one will notice the two of you unless they come looking.

You lean in slowly, offering your mouth. Kyle places his hand on the side of your throat, thumb slowly rubbing against the front of your neck. The kiss is honey-sweet, and tinted with seductive need. You seek another, and yet another until the two of you are gasping for air.

"Not here," murmurs Kyle, drawing back slightly.

Your hand slides downward, pausing at his belt. Kyle whispers your name, but there is no fight in it. If anything, it is lustful. Fingers toying with the belt, you kiss him again, loosening the buckle and then the front of his pants.

Reaching your hand inside, you find him hard and wanting.

"Someone will see," he groans, grabbing your wrist.

"Who will see us?" you reply softly. Kyle's gaze shifts outward to the parking garage.

"No one is around." You start to descend, opening his pants further.

Kyle's attention returns to you. His pupils expand as you take him in hand, painting your bottom lip with a pearly bead of cum. You present your glossy mouth to him, and Kyle brushes the pad of his thumb across it.

You lightly nip at that thumb, and then take him into your mouth. Kyle stifles his groan, but it comes out as a muted whimper. He gently cups the back of your head as you suck him down, hollowing your cheeks when you come back up.

This is just a tease. You want his resolve to slip.

Kyle doesn't break eye contact. He is completely focused on watching you. His dick twitches in your mouth, and Kyle grunts.

"Fuck, love. Come here."

With gentle tenderness, Kyle grasps the back of your neck, easing you off him. You extended your legs, leaning into him.

His voice is slightly husky. "I can't wait until we're home."

Kyle opens the rear passenger door and helps you up into the seat. You slide backward to the other end, Kyle following. With a hand on your throat, he pushes you onto your back. These next kisses are rough and possessive. Hungry. Claiming. You open for him, wanting to consume.

His free hand is gripping your dress, shoving it upward where it collects at your hips. Your tongue meets his the moment his fingers slip between skin and underwear. It is brief, and then he's drawing back only to bury his face between your legs.

Digging your heels into Kyle's back to stabilize yourself, you give in, moaning loudly as his tongue swirls a path up and down your sex. He teases just like you teased him. But it is short-lived.

Kyle is desperate for you. He finds your clit and stays put, tongue working quickly to send you over the edge. Your body shudders, a breathy groan escaping you as the orgasm hits. Still on your back, Kyle ascends, one hand pressed to the inside of your thigh while the other finds leverage against the car door just above your head. You lift your hips slightly, presenting your pussy to him.

He takes the hint, thrusting deep.

He does not go slowly. It is skin slapping against skin. It is all low groans and desperate fingers. His body weight keeps you pinned, and if anyone were to open door they'd have a clear view of his bare ass.

"Don't stop," you beg. "Please."

Kyle's answer is to seize your mouth, to force his air into your lungs, to firmly press his body to yours and swivel his hips, pelvis grinding against clit. Your hands fall on his ass, and then he's transformed. An animal. Rutting.

Surely, the car is shaking, but you hardly care. You only want him to finish. To give you every drop of his release.

You feel his muscles tighten under your hands, and then your bodies are sealed.

There is a small pause between then and the moment he kisses you, this time tenderly.

"So much for waiting," you tease.

Kyle’s exhalation is a pleased one. "Just wait until we get home."

John "Soap" MacTavish

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?"

Johnny's smile is devilish. "Came to see you."

"Me?" you laugh. "You just saw me this morning."

"And it wasn't nearly enough," coos Johnny, grabbing hip and waist, tugging you against him. "Missed you the whole time. Couldn't stay away."

Before you can form a reply, Johnny is lifting you up and onto the kitchen counter. He pushes everything up and out of the way, revealing your pussy to him.

"Johnny!" you exclaim.

With one hand on your thigh, Johnny uses his other hand to remove his belt and undo the front of his pants.

"I came home to fuck my wife." You instantly feel your cheeks grow hot. With a sultry smile, Johnny leans in but doesn't close the distance. "Would you like that?"

You nod. "Yes," you reply, voice nearly a whisper. "But—"

"But what?" he asks. You gesture at him. "The uniform? That stays on, love."

Guiding you wider, Johnny circles your clit with the pad of his thumb. The touch is electric, making you shiver as he toys with your sensitivity.

"Look at that," he purrs. "Look how wet and ready you are for me."

You whimper as Johnny tests your pussy with a finger.

"I think this deserves something bigger. What do you think, love?" He inserts a second and you whimper again. "Use your words."

"I want you inside me."

"I am inside you," he teases, pumping both fingers.

You shake your head, gasping as his thumb toys with your clit. "Your dick, Johnny."

"That I can do." His fingers are gone instantly, replaced with the head of his cock. He holds himself just inside, inching slowly until you've taken him to the base. "We'll have to make this quick. Can't be late and disappoint Price."

Johnny lightly swivels his hips, and then he's holding you in place, thrusting steadily. He kisses your lips, then your cheek. Resting his forehead against your temple, Johnny boxes you in, using your pussy for himself.

"You take me so well," he says softly. "Watch. Want you to watch."

Your gaze shifts downward, locking on to where your bodies meet. Keeping one hand on the countertop to stabilize yourself, you bring the other between your legs, fingers lightly playing with your clit.

"That's it," purrs Johnny. "Come for me."

A brief swirl and you're gone, squeezing hard around Johnny. He fucks you through it, grunting as he increases his pace. With a moan that claws up his throat, Johnny seals your bodies together, and his warmth floods your pussy. He thrusts lightly and stills.

A beat of silence, and then you both burst out into laughter.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, shaking his head.

"You came all this way on a break just to have sex with me?" you laugh.

Johnny leans back, grinning sheepishly. He glances down at his watch, smile fading. "Shit."

He pulls out and steps back, fumbling with his pants.

"Are you going to be late?" you ask teasingly.

Johnny tightens his belt and then helps you off the counter. With a quick kiss to the cheek, he heads out the door.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Every light in the house is off. The blinds are closed and it's completely dark except in one particular room.

The deep red glow calls out to you like a siren song. You stride toward it, moving through the hall silently like a shadow. The bedroom door stands open, revealing the blood-tinged space. From your point of view, nothing is out of place. All is calm and as it should be.

But Simon is here somewhere. Lurking. Watching.

This is what you wanted after all. An idea you passed off to Simon with the hope that he'd indulge your fantasy. Clearly, he took it to heart.

Adrenaline spikes in your blood as your gaze focuses on the bed. Attached to each corner are wrist and ankle cuffs. To be immobile and bred at Simon's pleasure is all you asked for, and here it is.

As you step forward, a large gloved hand slides over the front of your throat, squeezing. Simon is right behind you, and you feel every inch of him. Without even having to look, you know Simon is in full tactical gear. Parts of it dig into your back.

The leather of his gloves squeak as his fingers adjust against your throat. With a little pressure, he tilts your head back and you meet his whiskey-brown eyes. It's all you can see of his face. The rest is shrouded behind a balaclava.

"Do as I say," he growls. "Or you'll make this harder on yourself."

His command sends a bolt of need straight to your clit. Already, you feel a growing slickness between your thighs.

"Answer me if you understand."

"I understand," you murmur.

Simon makes a pleased sound deep in his throat. His thumb rubs a gentle line back and forth over the same spot.

His head tilts, lips pressing against your ear through the balaclava. "Then be a good little slut and get on your back."

Using his leverage on your throat, Simon lightly shoves you toward the bed. This time you turn around, facing him completely for the first time. He's dressed in all black tactical gear. Every inch of him is covered except his eyes, and his large frame fills the doorway.

When you take a step back, he takes a step forward. The backs of your thighs hit the bed, and you push yourself up and on, reclining until you're nearly horizontal. Simon saunters, gaze predatory and observing. His gloved hands hover just above your legs, pausing there before he bends slightly, reaching for an ankle cuff.

Simon glances between it and you languidly. You're not sure what his intentions are, not until he grabs your ankle with his other hand and tugs hard. You yelp, surprised, and then you kick out, attempting but failing to free yourself as Simon attaches the cuff into place.

"You said you understood," he growls, as you sit up to swing on him.

Simon snatches your wrist right out of the air. He hops onto the bed, kneeling as he grabs one of the cuffs for your wrists. Still, you fight and still you fail as he latches it in place.

You're not immobile but you're more restrained than before, movement restricted enough that you can't fight back like you want to. Not that you want to escape.

With a fluidity that surprises, Simon removes a knife from his boot and hooks it under the hem of your shirt. A sharp tug and the fabric surrenders to the blade. Simon tears it further, removing the garment completely.

As you use your one free arm to lash out, Simon is already prepared, blocking the blow and forcing it back to the bed. He attaches the cuff and returns the knife to your clothes, splitting your pants and tossing the remains aside.

You're on your back, completely naked and cuffed to the bed.

Simon's hand wraps around your throat, the knife tip dangerously close to your face. "I was going to worship your pretty pussy," he murmurs. "But I think I'll just take what I want."

It's all a game—a scene. You want Simon to use you, to fuck you ceaselessly, to do whatever the fuck he wants because he can.

Simon flips the knife and imbeds it into the bed above your head. Slowly, he removes his belt, tossing it aside. When he opens the front of his pants and eases them down a fraction, you nearly groan at the sight of his hardness. Simon palms the base of his cock.

"I won't be gentle," he says, gloved fingers pressing against your pussy.

He rubs back and forth, easing a little more from your body before grabbing your hips and slamming home. There is a brief flare of pain from the intrusion and then nothing at all except excitement.

"Your body is mine," he growls as he fucks you. "And for the next twenty-four hours, I'm going to breed this pussy until I'm satisfied."

You are unable to move, unable to do much but take it. Simon is situated between your spread legs, and you have a clear view of his cock sliding in and out of you. If you want an orgasm, Simon will have to grant it. Begging for it won't get you anywhere. You need to be good, and then he'll reward you.

Simon grunts as he thrusts, pace increasing as he nears his end. Watching him is lovely. His groan is lust-drenched, his orgasm sending a little shudder through him that you feel in your core.

Simon's gaze shifts to between your legs where he slowly pulls out. "What a fucking sweet sight," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

His cum pools at your entrance, threatening to drip out. Soon you'll be overly full, a mess between your legs and on the bed.

Already Simon is stroking himself back to hardness. "Think that cunt of yours needs a bit more.

[bumpen-underbeds]

Attempting to cut between the paddocks was not the brightest idea, but the outcome was worth the cost to fix the posts that have been ruined.

As someone who used to slide between fence posts to play with the farm animals, 100% can see someone getting stuck and having the every loving shit fucked out of them while stuck.

This does have Afab genitals mentioned but nothing else about readers gender beyond them having a pussy.

Perhaps trying to fit between the gaps in the paddocks fence wasn't the brightest idea you've had this week, and maybe you were now stuck dangling on each side trying to wiggle out, but maybe, just maybe you can get out of this before the bulls working in the field behind you figure out that you aren't actually on the other side and out of their reach.

You love your bulls, they are the prize workers at this farm but they are bulls at the end of the day and most of them are very attached to you, huffing and getting shitty when you visit any other other hybrid working area before them. There are only so many ways you can dance around their hands as they reach for you, laughing about their 'little runt' and how they have something they can give you to help you grow some more, but these bills are the main source of some of the work so you have to somewhat keep them happy.

The deep sigh you let out as you manage to only wiggle a little more through the gap you're stuck in, it's going to be a long day.

Reaching back just enough to try and feel for your radio, the click of its clip is only slightly lost at the frustrated groan you let out as the plastic handset falls to the ground, now firmly out of reach and useless to you.

Sulking as you give up on wiggling free, dangling as you do your best to keep your head up and stop the frustration in you from making you scream, drawing attention is both good and bad at this very second. Help was needed, but the closest people to help were the ever-randy bulls, and look they are sweet and you would jump into their bunk should one offer but right this very second, their brand of teasing is not going to help.

The moment to take a deep breath ready to call out for the boys, the air is pulled out of you in a high-pitched scream, looking back as best you can you sag and try to calm yourself again, it was two of the bull farm hands. One of them has a hand on your hip, looking over the fence at you as the other moves to be in front of you and looks down at your embarrassed face, out of all the ones that could have found you it was the two dumbest of the bull helpers.

Steadying yourself you try your best to coax them into helping get you unstuck, only for the single brain cell that must pass between the two to rattle to life, your request for help is met with a curious 'What's in it for us?' that in your desperate struggle may have lead to you offering anything in return for your freedom.

Now look where you are.

The creaking of the wood posts is only slightly audible under the harsh sounds of the two bulls currently making perfect use, in their minds, of your stuck form.

The moment you had uttered the word anything the bill behind you had reached around to unbuckle your belt and began wiggling your pants down to your ankles, looking curiously as you sputtered and squeaked not fully expecting that these two would jump to a sexual kind of 'anything' but looking up at the bull that is in front of you something in the back of your mind doesn't mind as much. It had been a while since you had had someone who wasn't just a part of a fantasy while alone in your room, so as best you can you help the bull behind you roll your underwear off and down as the other cups your face with one large hand.

It's startling just how warm a bull hybrid's mouth can be, the broad swipes of a tongue against your cunt as the one behind you makes a mess of his spit and your slick, the metal of his nose ring becoming warmer and warmer as he pushes his way between your legs, pushing your thighs open across his broad shoulders just so he can get closer to you as if bury more of his tongue inside you this way.

All while the other bull hybrid is cradling your face in one hand, making sure you can see how he was lazily jerking himself off, hand moving slowly dragging the obscene amount of pre he was leaking down the full length of his cock, unlike the bull behind you he lacked a nose piercing but had made up for that with the three rung Jacobs ladder that glinted with every slick swipe of his hand down his length.

If these two were as eager for their work as they are on making your whole body shake from how they are practically using your body, this farm would run so much smoother.

The open air feels cold when the bull behind you pulls back, the sound of him cleaning his mouth is somehow what makes you whine, followed by the jingling of a belt buckle and a sigh of relief. Strong hands hold your thighs open as the bull behind you clumsily lines up the tip of his cock, dragging it through your folds as he huffs and grunts with the effort it takes to keep from simply bottoming out on the first stroke, even just the feeling of him managing to work the tip of his cock inside you is enough to make your eyes flutter.

Not to be outdone but making use of the slack-jawed look of pleasure on your face, the other hybrid man lifts your head just enough to help guide you to the tip of his cock smiling as you wrap your lips around him, weakly suckling at him as your mind is pulled in two very opposite directions.

The weight of the cock in your mouth is grounding in comparison to the thick length pushing its way deeper and deeper with short slow thrusts, both hybrids pushing themselves as deep as they can get before you start to react, gaging and kicking your legs slightly. Between the two of them, there is the equivalent of one of their lengths buried in both your mouth and cunt, stretched, stuffed and weakly rolling your tongue against the warm mettle of the piercings that rub against your tongue with every slow rock of both hybrids hips.

The sound of splintering wood hardly pulls you from your revelry, a large warm hand presses against your lower stomach keeping you up and perfectly level for the two bulls that had begun to truly make themselves home in your mouth and pussy.

Fence damage is a small issue in comparison to the building feeling in your gut, moaning around the thick length in your mouth as you let your eyes flutter closed.

A shame they did, as you miss the moment two shadows become four...

[angelsuecult]

the captain | s. crosby

warnings: sexual content, strong language, MDNI, 18+, NSFW, minors please do no interact, smut.

summary: Sid is given a hard time by his gf about his very stoic interactions with the media. he's not going to let you off so easy.

request: Younger reader and Sidney are already dating, but she can’t help but roll her eyes at his impeccable media training and family friendly personality in the media he does for the league, so she makes fun of him and takes a strong interest in pushing his limits 👀 (aka ends in smut)

word count: 6.3k

a/n: sorry for the extended hiatus guys! i should be back to regular uploads at this point in time and i am currently working through the request list! more to come to keep your eyes peeled guys! thank you for your patience with me! angelsuecult returns!! also to the original requester please don't hesitate to reach out if i completely missed the mark on this and you want me to retry! and requests are still open and update so dont forget to check that out!

--

You’re pretty sure Valentine’s Day games are a scam. Some cruel cosmic joke designed to make girlfriends sit through 60 minutes of freezing cold air and overpriced concessions just to watch their man play his heart out in a sport that could, at any moment, take all his teeth and potentially a limb.  

Not that you minded. Much.  

Sidney had played his ass off tonight—like he had something to prove. Not that he ever really didn’t, because the man didn’t know how to do anything half-assed. Especially not when it came to hockey. Or you, for that matter.  

But of course, it just had to be Valentine’s Day.

You stood now in the tunnel by the player’s exit, phone in hand, watching as Penguins fans in Crosby jerseys flooded toward the concourse, buzzing about the win. Your fingers flew over your screen.  

You: You know I was going to blow you when you got home, but I’m reconsidering because you just had to make it about you tonight.

Three dots appeared almost immediately. Then vanished. Then nothing.  

You rolled your eyes and snorted. “Coward.”  

The man had just been named first fucking star of the game. Of course he had. Two goals, one assist, and a faceoff win percentage so sexy it made you squirm a little. You knew his media obligations were kicking off soon—he was probably just peeling his sweaty gear off now, miserable about the idea of answering questions about “how it felt” and “what went right tonight.”  

Sid: Can’t believe you’re texting me shit like that while I have to sit half dressed with 5 cameras pointed at me.

You bit your lip and grinned.  

You: I can. 

You: You looked good tonight. Real good. Like I’d let you put it in my ass kind of good.  

You: Kidding. Kind of.  

Another pause. He was slow replying, which you’d expected, and it only made you smirk more knowing he was probably trying not to react in front of his teammates or, worse, the media guys. You could practically see his jaw tightening as he tried to suppress a smile, annoyed but secretly delighted.  

You could picture him already—still in his gear, slumped at his stall with his towel around his neck and that half-annoyed, half-resigned expression on his face. Someone probably tossed a mic in his face already. He was probably giving them that polite nod, the “Sure, go ahead” look, all while internally screaming. Sidney, Sidney, Sidney. Too private for his own good.

Sid: Go to my place. I’ll be done soon.

Sid: Stop texting me this shit.

You laughed out loud, drawing a glance from a nearby couple as you stepped out into the cold Pittsburgh night.

You: Oh baby, I haven’t even started.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in your bed.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in your shower.  

You: Maybe I’ll be in that stupid jersey you “don’t like me wearing because you take it seriously.”  

You could practically hear him groaning through the screen.

Sid: You’re an asshole.

Sid: Say the same shit every time anyway.

Sid: “Good team effort, got the bounces, lucky to come out on top.”

Sid: Happy now?

You: You forgot “credit to the guys” and “just trying to play the right way”

You: Gotta hit all the NHL buzzword bingo squares.

You: And don’t forget to smile like a humble Canadian virgin!

No reply. You let that one simmer. He was either suffering or plotting. Maybe both. Probably both.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, breath fogging in front of your face as you made your way to your car. The wind cut through your jeans, but your smile stayed in place. There was something so satisfying about teasing him after a big win—especially when he hated the attention but couldn’t stop being the best guy on the ice. You just couldn’t help yourself.

You got in the car and cranked the heat while pulling up the radio broadcast. They were still recapping the game, gushing over Sid like he wasn’t just a man who’d once tripped over his own shoe in the hallway.

“…and of course, Crosby with a textbook finish. You can see why he’s still one of the most consistent players in the league…”

You rolled your eyes, mimicking the voice in the car. “Oh yes, Sidney. So clean. So polished. Such a gentleman. Definitely didn’t say he was going to fuck me through the headboard if he scored tonight.”

Traffic cleared slowly as you went to his place, a familiar route etched into your brain. His street was quiet when you pulled in—classic Sid, all understated wealth and privacy. It took you forty five minutes to get from the arena to his house, another five to park and kick off your shoes inside the door.  It smelled like him—like clean laundry, cedarwood, and that subtle vanilla scent of his shampoo you’d teased him for using but secretly loved.

You wandered through his halls, turning on a few lights, getting cozy. It always felt familiar here, even though it was very clearly his space—clean, functional. Like a guy who didn’t like clutter but had more money than he knew what to do with.

You padded into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. Full of ingredients. Not a single thing you could just grab and go.

“Romantic,” you muttered under your breath, pulling out a container of strawberries instead and wandering toward the couch.

The rest of the house was dark except for the hallway light, left on for you, and your socked feet were silent on the hardwood as you climbed the stairs to his bedroom. The hallway was chilly as you padded toward the bedroom in your socks, carrying the half-eaten strawberries and your phone tucked beneath your arm. Sid’s place had that always-too-clean look to it. Like he tried to live in it, but barely spent enough time home for it to actually look lived in. You made a note to mess it up later. Nothing too dramatic—just a sweatshirt on the floor, maybe a bra hanging off the couch cushion, leave a cup on the counter. Domestic terrorism.

You tossed your phone on the nightstand and peeled off your jacket, fingers brushing over the remote on the dresser.  

TV on.  

Pants off.  

You were in his bed now, wearing his shirt—an old Penguins one that smelled like his laundry detergent and game day nerves—and absolutely nothing underneath.  

Just as God intended.  

The analysts were falling over themselves about his performance.

“…you know what you’re getting with Sid. Every single night. Discipline. Poise. He’s just got it.” You snorted.

“Yeah, discipline until he’s got me pinned under him telling me I’m not going anywhere until I apologize for teasing him about his ‘media voice.’”

Another buzz from your phone.  

Sid: About to start media. They’re dragging it out tonight.  

Sid: You’re lucky I like you.  

Sid: And that I want to fuck you stupid.  

You choked on your laugh, clutching your phone tighter as you wiped strawberry juice from your fingers onto his shirt. You stretched dramatically across the bed and typed.  

You: Wow. Romantic.  

You: Just like I dreamed when I was 10.  

You: “One day I’ll date a hockey player who talks to me like a caveman on Valentine’s Day.”

Sid: Don’t act like you don’t like it. You’re already naked, aren’t you?

You: You’re not even here yet and you already think you know everything.  

Sid: I do know everything. And I know you’re wearing my shirt. And that’s it.  

Sid: Because you’re predictable. And a little slutty.

You covered your face with one hand and laughed out loud into the empty room. Your heart fluttered like a fucking schoolgirl even as you cursed him out in your mind.  

There was something wildly unfair about the duality of Sidney Crosby. The version the world knew—stoic, polite, humble to the point of parody. And then the real version. The one who texted you filthy things from the dressing room and called you a brat with that low rasp in his voice that promised you wouldn’t be walking straight the next day.

He was such a damn con artist.

You: You’re the one who’s gonna cry when I leave you with blue balls tonight.  

You: “Sorry Sid, I got tired waiting for you.”  

You: “Sorry Sid, I used all my energy climbing your stairs.”  

You: “Sorry Sid, I found your toothbrush and that did it for me.”

Sid: You’re such an asshole.

Sid: You’re lucky I’ve been horny for you since warmups. 

Sid: You knew what you were doing, sitting that close.

You had known.  

You always knew.  

And he always played better when he knew you were there watching.  

You yawned, stretched your legs beneath his sheets, and flopped dramatically on the bed, taking up all the space just to be a brat. You could already hear it: his sigh of fake annoyance when he got home, the shake of his head, the way he’d peel your shirt up with one hand and drag your body down with the other.  

You rolled to your stomach, phone buzzing again beside you.  

Sid: I’ll be home soon. You better be exactly where I think you are.

Sid: And if you’re not, you’re done. Actually done. I’ll find a Valentine who respects me.

You: You?  

You: Wanting respect?  

You: I’m sorry. I thought this was Sidney “I’ll fuck you on the bench if no one’s around” Crosby.

No reply. Which told you all you needed to know.  

He was already doing media.  

Probably giving his same bland ass answers.  

Probably planning what he was going to do the second he walked through that door.  

You looked around, debated getting up to light a candle or make the bed look a little less like a war zone. Then shrugged.  

Let him deal with the chaos he caused.  

You flipped onto your back and sighed happily, smirking at the ceiling.  

The remote was still in your hand when the screen switched from the postgame panel to the locker room feed. You didn’t even bother turning up the volume—didn’t need to. You could already hear it in your head.  

Sidney Crosby, media-trained robot, coming to life in hi-def.

You sighed and settled deeper into his bed, still cocooned in his shirt, bare legs tangled in his sheets. The duvet smelled like him. So did the pillow you were shamelessly half-lying on, half-straddling. Your phone sat close, a loaded weapon in the war of flirtation, but for now, you watched.  

There he was, perched in his stall, sweat-slick hair hidden under a black team hat, compression long sleeve clinging to his chest and arms like it was painted on. No jersey. No pads. Just muscle, all angles and sharp focus, like the game hadn’t even left his bloodstream yet. Cue Captain Canada.

The reporter asked about the team’s energy tonight, and you muttered out loud to no one, “We played a full sixty, stuck to our game, did the little things right—blah, blah, blah.”  

And then, right on cue:  

“Yeah, I thought we played a full sixty tonight… stuck to our game, did the little things right…”  

You cackled.

“Fucking called it.”  

He looked half dead behind the eyes, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, nodding as another reporter threw a question at him. You didn't even bother listening this time. You just watched his face. That twitch of his mouth when he was trying not to say what he really wanted to say. That calm, serious voice he used like a shield. That stupid, safe, polished version of himself that made you want to throw something at the screen.  

Because you knew the real Sid.  

The one who talked absolute filth into your ear with that same mouth.  

The one who made fun of his teammates the second the cameras were off.  

The one who said “fuck” more than he said “I.”  

And then—then—it happened.  

The reporter asked:  

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Sid. You played a great game. Got any plans tonight?”  

You sat up a little. That one actually surprised you. When did the reporters get so bold?

He gave them that laugh—that stupid, breathy chuckle he only used when he didn’t want to give too much away. Then he smiled, eyes low, lips pressed together like he was fighting off the real answer.  

“No,” he said. “Just recover. Get ready for the next one.”  

That was it. That was all.  

You stared at the TV, jaw slightly open.  

“Recover?” you muttered. “That’s your answer? No wink? No cute little nod? Not even a fucking smirk? You lying sack of shit, Sidney Patrick.”  You looked absolutely nuts talking to yourself.

You picked up your phone and unleashed.  

You: “Just recover,” he says.  

You: Wow. My pussy just dried up.  

You: Say hello to celibacy apparently.  

Still no reply. You fired off another.  

You: You are such a fucking fraud.  

You: There is literally a naked woman in your bed. Right now. At your house.  

You: On Valentine’s Day.  

You: But nooo, he’s gonna “recover.”  

You: Go ahead, Sid. Recover. I’ll just be here. Thinking about life. My choices. The fact I could’ve fucked a dentist. Or literally anyone else but hey.

You bit your lip to hide a smile, watching him wrap the interview up, nodding politely, face locked in full Captain Mode. You could practically feel the tension buzzing under his skin. The itch to get the hell out of there and back to you.  

One more for good measure:  

You: When they say “Crosby keeps his private life quiet,”  

You: They don’t know it’s because he talks so much shit in bed the FCC would fine him.

That did it.

Your phone lit up almost the second he stood from his stall.  

Sid: You need to be stopped.

Sid: You need help.

Sid: I’m not even out of the building yet and I’m hard.

You flopped backward against his pillows, laughing like a lunatic.  

You: I’m sorry did you forget you have a girlfriend? Did your nut brain erase me from memory just because you got first star??

You: Not even a cute little “gonna go home to the girl who’s been letting me rearrange her insides all season”???

You: Also don’t think I didn’t notice your compression shirt. You know exactly what you’re doing you manipulative little slut.

Sid: Jesus Christ

Sid: You knew what you signed up for.

You: I signed up for the hot hockey sex. The rest was a scam.

You: Don’t worry, I’ll be asleep by the time you get home.  

You: No recovering necessary. You’re off the hook.

Sid: You’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow if you keep this up.  

Sid: You want recovery? I’ll give you something to recover from.

You swallowed.  

Slowly.  

Okay.  

So maybe you did like poking the bear.  

And maybe the bear knew exactly how to fuck you into next week.  

You tucked your phone under your pillow and let out a slow breath, heart thudding, a little thrill sparking low in your belly.  

Valentine’s Day.  

Just another game on the calendar.  

Until Sid got home.

And the worst part was, you didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep. One second you were tucked under his sheets, limbs comfortably sprawled, phone still clutched in one hand and TV murmuring softly in the background… and the next, you were blinking against the warm glow of the bedside lamp and squinting up at a very large, very amused, very smug silhouette looming over you.

“Unbelievable,” Sidney muttered, shaking his head as he stood beside the bed. His coat was halfway off, his cheeks still pink from the cold outside, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and that fucking backwards hat still on his head. “All that mouth, and look at you now. Out cold.”

You groaned before you could speak, voice thick with sleep and low like you’d swallowed a blanket. “'M not.”

“You literally just snored,” he said, dropping his bag to the floor with a thud and crouching beside the bed. “Like a full-on little cartoon snore. Tiny inhale, wheeze on the exhale. Real cute.”

“I did not snore,” you mumbled into the pillow. But your voice was gravelly, throat dry, and goddammit—your limbs were heavy with sleep, and he smelled so good, and everything was so warm.

“Look at you,” he murmured, brushing a few strands of hair off your cheek. “Talked all that shit and knocked yourself out.”  

You shifted slightly, nose scrunching, a quiet little groan escaping your throat.

“Mmph.”  

He grinned. Leaned in close to your ear.  

“Babe.”  

Nothing.  

“Babe.” He kissed your cheek. “Hey. Hey. Wake up.”  

You grunted, rolling slightly. “M’tired…”  

You rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand, barely lifting your head from the pillow.

“…What time is it?”

“Late. Or early. Depends who you ask.” He pressed a kiss to your hair. “You passed out. Didn’t even make it to Valentine’s Day sex.”

You groaned again, voice muffled. “I didn’t mean to. Your bed is criminally warm. I got cozy. My body betrayed me.”

“You talked a lot of shit.”

“Yeah well, I thought you were gonna be faster.”

He laughed low in his chest, slipping his hand beneath the covers to grab your hip and give it a squeeze. He climbed onto the bed with all the smug grace of a man who had absolutely earned this moment of superiority. He leaned down, one knee pressing into the bed right between your legs, and shoved at the covers just enough to catch a glimpse of your legs tangled beneath his sheets.

“You look real cozy for someone who was talking an awful lot of shit about how boring I am,” he said, tone low and teasing.

You squinted at him, your voice a gravelly whisper.

“You are boring. You literally said, ‘recover.’ Who says that on Valentine’s Day? Recover from what, Sidney? Being 37?”

He let out a sharp laugh and pushed your hair back from your face, warm fingers brushing your cheek.

“You’re a little shit,” he murmured.

“And you’re a liar.” You poked a finger into his chest. “You lied to the media. There was an actual naked girl waiting for you in your bed and you gave them the ‘I’m gonna rest up’ speech like a fucking priest.”

Sid rolled his eyes.

“You know I can’t give them anything,” he said. “They’ve been trained like bloodhounds. If I so much as hint at having plans, I’ll have a fucking headline on every sports page tomorrow.”

“God forbid people find out you’re not a virgin,” you deadpanned.

“Watch it,” he warned playfully. “I am a role model.”

You burst out laughing, head tipping back into the pillow.

“Oh my god, you are so full of shit. You talk like you’re running for office, but then you come home and say things like, ‘c’mere, baby, I’ve been thinking about fucking you against the kitchen counter since warmups.’”

He grinned. “Still true, by the way.”

You hummed and looped your arms around his neck lazily.

“You missed your shot then, Captain Celibate. Shouldn’t have let me fall asleep.”

Sid smirked and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Didn’t realize the threat of dick was the only thing keeping you awake.”

“You should’ve. It’s your strongest feature.”

He laughed again, breath warm against your cheek, before ducking his head to kiss you properly—slow and deep and good, like he had all the time in the world. You melted into it, arms tightening around his neck, legs shifting beneath the covers until you hooked one behind his bent knee, dragging him closer.

Then he nuzzled into your neck again and added, low and dirty:  

“You wanna go back to sleep, or you want me to give you something real to recover from?”  

You groaned dramatically. “You are such a whore, oh my god.”  

“And yet, here you are. In my bed. Wearing my shirt. Wet for me in your sleep, probably.”  

“Shut up—”  

“You were,” he said smugly, dragging his hand up your thigh. “I checked. You twitched.”  

You covered your face with both hands. “You’re disgusting.”  

“You’re worse,” he said, kissing down your throat. “And when you wake up tomorrow sore as hell, I want you to remember who was ready when the moment came, and who—” he nipped your collarbone— “took a nap.”  

“Sidney.”  

“Y/n.”  

You sighed, dropped your hands, and stared up at him.  

“You gonna fuck me or give another locker room interview?”  

He grinned. And with that, he kissed you again, deep and slow and fucking smug. You could feel the smile on his mouth, even as he pressed you back into the mattress like you were the only thing worth coming home to.  

"Holy shit," you said, breathless as he tugged your shirt up over your hips, revealing those barely there red panties you wore when you knew he’d be seeing them. Lacy. Dark. A tiny bow on the waistband.

Sid looked smug. “I’m so obsessed with you, it’s disgusting.”

“You're disgusting,” you corrected, but you were already arching up, letting him pull the shirt over your head. 

He laughed low, all pleased with himself. "You love it."

His hand slipped a little higher, fingertips grazing the side of your hip where your underwear were just barely clinging to your curves.

You sucked in a breath you tried to pretend was casual. "Sid," you warned.

"What?" he drawled, blinking down at you like he hadn’t just started setting your entire nervous system on fucking fire. You lifted your head, giving him a look. "You’re fucking pushing it."

Sid grinned, so goddamn starved it made your toes curl. "You need me to spell it out, Y/N Y/LN?" he teased, voice dropping into that dangerous gravel. "Need me to tell you how bad I wanna fuck you?"

You groaned, covering your face with both hands like that could somehow save you. "Jesus Christ, Sidney."

He pulled your hands away, kissing your knuckles like a fucking gentleman, even while his other hand kept creeping higher up your thigh.

"Could just be gentle," he murmured, kissing the inside of your wrist now, right over your pulse. "Real slow, babe. Let you sit on my cock nice and easy. You barely gotta do anything. I'll do all the fuckin' work."

You whimpered, and he fucking heard it.

He grinned harder, absolutely predatory now, shifting to hover over you more fully, careful not to press too much weight onto you.

"Bet you miss it," he murmured against your ear, lips brushing your skin. You literally had sex in his bed this morning but you hated that he was right, you did miss it.

"Sid," you gasped, arching your back automatically, and fuck, he hadn't even touched you properly yet.

He chuckled low and mean, dragging his mouth along your throat, nipping lightly. "Tell me, baby," he rasped. "Tell me how bad you want it."

You shoved at his chest weakly, more for show than anything else. "I hate you," you breathed. "I fucking hate you."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, grinning into your hair. "You love this dick though."

You burst out laughing, half-horrified and half-scorched alive. "You are so fucking nasty," you managed between giggles, pinching his arm lightly.

He caught your hand easily, pressing it down above your head, pinning you with almost no effort. "And you're so fuckin' wet for me right now, I can feel it through your goddamn panties," he grunted, pressing his hips into yours just enough to make you feel the thick, heavy line of him behind his dress pants.

You whimpered again, biting your lip. "Sid," you whispered desperately.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. "Say it," he ordered softly. "Say you want me."

You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing hard.

It was so unfair, how good he was at this. How easily he turned you into this trembling, needy thing even when you thought you had the upper hand for most of the day

But he looked at you like you were the best part of his night. Like he couldn’t wait to ruin you in the best goddamn way.

You cracked your eyes open, meeting his gaze. "I want you," you whispered. "You asshole."

Sid’s grin turned downright feral.

"Yeah?" he rasped, nuzzling into your jaw, his hand finally — finally — sliding under your panties, the rough pads of his fingers skimming where you were already slick and throbbing for him. "Good," he murmured. "‘Cause you're not gettin' away from me, princess. Not tonight."

You gasped as his fingers slipped deeper, teasing, and you clawed at his shoulders, your nails digging into the solid muscle there.

"Sid," you panted. "Bed’s gonna break if you fuck me the way you're lookin' at me right now."

He laughed low, dirty, and thrilled. "Then we'll buy a new one," he said, voice rough as he sank two fingers into you slowly and deep. "Hell, babe, we'll break every goddamn bed from here to fuckin' Canada if it means I get to feel you come around me again."

You moaned helplessly, arching into him.

And when he bent down, kissed you— really kissed you, slow and filthy and possessive — it felt like a promise burned into your skin.

Sid could’ve fucked you stupid in under thirty seconds if he wanted. The way you were already whimpering under him, writhing in his hands, he knew it wouldn’t take much.

But tonight — tonight he wanted to be slow. He wanted to wreck you proper. Melt every bone in your goddamn body.

He slipped his fingers out of you with a slow, slick sound that made you whimper again. He fucking loved that sound. Loved everything about you like this — messy and needy and all his.

"You gotta relax, baby," Sid murmured, dropping kisses along the flushed line of your throat, working his way lower. "Can't be tense on me. Gotta stay nice and easy for me."

Sid pulled back from your body just enough to catch you breathless— just enough to see you, all flushed and desperate, lips swollen, hair a wild halo against the pillows. His heart punched hard against his ribs.

"Fuckin' hell, Y/N," he muttered, staring at you like he couldn’t decide whether to devour you whole or build a shrine at your feet. "Look at you."

You whimpered and tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging gently, begging him wordlessly to keep going.

Sid huffed a soft, broken laugh, dragging your panties slowly — so slowly — down your thighs, baring you completely to him. He didn’t just toss them. No. He pocketed them. Smirked while he was doing it. Like the absolute sex demon he was.

And he was hard. So hard it was actually starting to hurt. He was damn near grinding in his pants for some kind of friction.

He pressed a kiss right between your breasts, trailing down your belly. You shivered so hard it made the mattress creak.

Sid grinned against your skin. "You already taste so fuckin' sweet," he muttered, nosing at your core, not even touching you properly yet, just letting the heat of his breath drive you crazy. "Bet you could get me drunk off your pussy right now, baby. All thick and fuckin' sweet just for me."

"Oh my god, Sidney," You gasped, tossing your head back. "You're fucking filthy."

"Yeah, well," he said, voice low and smug. "You like it, baby. You like havin' me mouth off about how sweet your pussy is when you’re desperate."

You made a sound somewhere between a moan and a sob, and Sid finally gave you what you needed — flattening his tongue and dragging it up through your folds, slow and deep.

Your entire body jerked.

"Jesus fuck, Sid," you gasped, arching off the bed, thighs trembling.

He groaned into you, his hands sliding under your ass to tilt you up even closer to his mouth. "You’re fuckin’ drippin', babe," he muttered, voice vibrating against your soaked skin. "Beggin' for it. Haven’t even touched my cock yet and you’re already so fuckin' close, huh?"

"Fuck you," you moaned, trying to close your thighs around his head — he loved when you did that, so desperate you wanted to trap him there.

Sid laughed low, all smug satisfaction, and stiffened his tongue to shove into your leaky entrance, bobbing in and out like he was starving. Every little whimper, every twitch of your hips, just made him harder, his cock aching in his dress pants.

He shifted one hand, dragging two fingers back inside you, pumping slow, gentle strokes in and out while he circled your clit with his tongue, slow and deliberate. His fingers moved slow between your legs, curling deep, working that perfect rhythm only he knew. Your thighs quivered, trying to clamp shut, but he squared his shoulder and pushed them open lazily. "None a' that," he said, smirking. "You’re taking it, baby. Not hidin’ from me now. Not after all that shit you talked on my phone."

You clawed at the dress shirt he was still wearing, trying to yank him back up. "You’re such a fucking dick," you gasped. "Coulda just got me some flowers and left me the fuck alone—"

Sid grinned, slow and greedy, dragging the how tongue down your slick folds, circling your clit just hard enough to make your hips jerk. "And miss this?" he murmured. "Babe, you’re better than Christmas. Better than a fuckin’ playoff win."

He pushed your shirt up higher until your breasts were exposed, beautiful and tender. He palmed one carefully, thumb brushing across your hardening nipple, and you gasped, your legs falling further open for him.

"Sensitive, huh, baby?" he whispered, watching you squirm. "Bet you could come just from my mouth on you right now, no hands, nothing."

"You’re fucking killing me," you moaned, lifting your hips helplessly, trying to get more friction.

He laughed again — slow, dangerous — and dipped his head to take your clit back into his mouth, sucking softly, then harder, pulling a desperate, broken sound from your throat.

You fisted his hair, hips rocking mindlessly against his face, your whole body tightening.

"Sid, fuck," you gasped, "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He lifted his head, grinning at your flushed, wrecked face. "You gonna come for me already, baby? Just from my fuckin' fingers?" he teased, pumping them harder now, twisting his wrist so his palm rubbed against your clit perfectly. "Fuck, that's hot. Goddamn, you're perfect. So fuckin' good for me,Y/N."

"Jesus–Fuck–Sidney." you cried out, arching hard off the bed as you came, gripping his wrist as if to tell him not to stop, body shuddering, your pussy clenched down so hard around his fingers it almost hurt, soaking his hand and mouth with a gush that made Sid groan into you.

He kept working you through it, slow and patient, until you were trembling, whimpering, utterly wrecked.

He kissed you again, deep and slow, until you went boneless against the sheets, gasping for air.

He pulled his fingers out finally, dragging them slow between your thighs, teasing your slit just to hear you whimper again. Then he sucked his fingers into his mouth, groaning low like you were the best fucking thing he'd ever tasted.

You slapped his chest weakly. "You're disgusting," you muttered, still breathless, half-dazed.

Sid grinned and grabbed your hand, pressing it to the bulge straining against the front of his now wrinkled pants. "Yeah? Feel how bad you got me, baby?" he rasped. "’M about two seconds away from blowin' my load like a fuckin' teenager over here."

You laughed, exhausted and glowing and a little feral around the edges. "Good," you whispered, hooking your legs around his waist. "Now fucking do something about it, Crosby."

He stripped his shirt off one-handed, tossing it somewhere behind him, before finally, finally undoing his jeans.

His cock sprang free, hard and leaking, and you made a broken, desperate sound that made Sid’s heart squeeze. Your mouth actually watered.

“Baby… fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and rough as he guided your hands above your head, he tapped his tip against your slick folds, nudging your clit teasing the both of you, you instinctively moved forward, preparing for more stimulation, “You ready for me, huh?”

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the warmth of the head pressing against your entrance, so close yet so far. You could barely form words, the need building inside you too overwhelming, and all you could do was let out a shaky breath, your hips shifting slightly against him. “Mhmmm,” you murmured, your voice trembling with anticipation. “need you.”

With a groan, Sidney shifted above you, his hands holding your hips as he slowly pushed his length into you, slowly, inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming—your heat, your tightness, the way you stretched around him as he filled you. He couldn’t hold back the curse that slipped from his lips as he bottomed out inside you, his breath ragged as he held you close.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned into your neck, "tightest fuckin' thing, swear to god...made for me."

Sid stayed still for a moment, just breathing, letting you adjust, feeling your soft, fluttering muscles pulsing around him.

You let out a soft moan, your head falling back further into the pillow as you adjusted to the feeling of him inside you. The stretch was delicious, filling you completely, and the slow, steady throb of him buried deep inside made your pulse race. You could feel every inch of him, the way he fit perfectly against that gummy spot inside you, and it made you dizzy with need.

It took every ounce of control he had not to just start pounding into you like a goddamn animal.

Instead, he pulled out slow, almost all the way, and slid back in with one long, careful thrust that made you whimper and dig your heels into the mattress.

"That’s it," he murmured against your temple. "Just like that, princess. Let me take care of you."

He fucked you slowly—long, hard, deep strokes,  savoring every twitch and gasp and curse. You arched under him, hips pushing up, body moving with his like you’d been built just for this.

The sound of his hips hitting the back of your thighs filled the room. He kept a first grip on your hips as he continued a consistent pace. At some point your brain just melted. Your eyes could no longer focus on him above you and your mouth hung open, moans no longer falling from your lips. The only thing you could do was tighten around him.

Sid could feel you getting close. He dropped down, his chest pressing right up to yours stopping his thrusts. But in your cockdrunk you started to grind upwards when Sidney wouldn’t move. Caught between needing the break but also wanting him to continue.He wanted this to last though. 

And just like that, he was sitting back, pulling you up with him. Chest to chest, you were now on top. His lips catching yours in something deeper now—hotter, messier. You gasped as he lifted you slightly, maneuvering with muscle memory and intention, letting you sink down completely onto his cock.

“I got you,” he murmured, one hand on the small of your back, the other moving down to stroke your thigh. “Just move how you want. I’ll follow your lead.”

You couldn’t answer — too full, too overwhelmed, too in love — so you just sat on your knees and began rocking your hips in desperation. He knew you were getting impatient. It was in the way your hips started moving impatiently against his aching cock. He knew you needed to come and that you were close. It was in the way you took everything he gave you, every rough upward thrust, every whispered praise.

You leaned forward, one hand braced on his broad shoulder, the other tangled in his hair as you rode him slowly — hips rolling in little waves, the angle hitting all the right places, making your whole body quake.

“‘M close Sid,” you whispered, gasping when his thumb found your swollen clit again.

“Good,” he said hoarsely, “You need it. Look at you. All needy and swollen. You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You know that?”

“Don’t stop ohmygodohgodfuck-” you whined, burying your face in his neck.

Sidney couldn’t stop even if he tried to. You’re too damn addicting.

He starts to thrust upward, matching the pace in which you're riding him. He desperate to watch you fall apart on top of him. He pushes two fingers into your mouth, you instinctively start sucking on them as if they’re his cock.

“There she is,” he whispers, rough and low.

You clamp down around his cock, coming hard and fast. It rolled through you in heavy, pulsing waves–warm and all consuming–pulling a wrecked cry from your lips.

“Fucking–Jesus–I’m–Goddammit Sid–”

Sidney came with a deep, desperate groan, burning his face in your neck as his cock twitched inside of your pussy. He emptied himself inside, thrusting up lazily a few times, fucking his come deep inside of you, even as you writhe above him in overstimulation. He watches as his cock drags in and out of you, a circle of your cream circling the base as his come leaks down his length and down to his balls. 

Sid pressed you back onto the mattress, unintentionally thrusting his softened cock into you. You whine softly, already spent and tired and ready for bed. He presses gentle kisses to the side of your face.

“You okay?”

“Mm.” You mumble softly, already drifting off.

You had all the time in the world now. Sid had made damn sure of that.

--

[gaypirate420]

Viktor running his fingers through m! Readers hair and Jayce is getting jealous of us so Viktor starts giving him a scalp massage too.

This was inspired by that viral post of Viktor High Key being a Dom.

Here nyehehehhe, very short I'm sorry.

Puppies// Jayvik

S1!Jayvik x male!reader.

Summary: Viktor has two puppies in a lab.

Suggestive. Fluff.

Viktor takes a small sip from his drink, the sugary taste of the sweet milk traveling down his mouth, his amber eyes looked down, you and Jayce where on the floor, a chalk in hand as each of you drew his notes on the literal floor of the lab, per his request, something about scaling.

"Is this big enough for you?" You asked a little breathlessly as you leaned back on your knees, going backwards trying not to mess the chalk drawing, a small pout adorning your face as you placed chalk, ruler and measuring tape to a side, you were the first one to protest against this idea.

"it gives me a better view, sweetling." The pale man answered back before returning his lips to his mug, Jayce sighed and shook his head, the sound of chalk and his tired breaths filling the air for a moment.

"Bigger papers exist, V." The tall one mumbled as he kept drawing, his knees already feeling a little sore after being in the cold floor of the lab.

"No need to whine, love, a little mopping will get rid of it." Viktor answered back before taking another sip, you rubbed your eyes, a soft yawn escapes your lips as you rest your head on his lap, avoiding his brace for an inch. His brows were furrowed deep in thought as he saw his blueprint on the floor.

"We have to take a break, we're going insane! We're drawing on the floor! We're scientists not cavemen." You mumbled against his thigh, the sound a little muffled. Viktor shushed you gently and returned to his own little mental palace, one of his hands left his mug, his pale and slender fingers finding your hair. He could feel your tired exhale against his leg.

His touch is gentle, slow, his eyes focused on your tense shoulders, he carefully digs deeper, massaging slowly. Almost as an apology for the burden of making you drag yourself around on the floor drawing.

Jayce finally finished his part, looking down at the whole layout and starting to take mental notes, he steps back to allow the zaunite to see the drawing completely. He claps his hands, getting rid of any chalk dust in them.

The taller man's hazel eyes catch the tender scene, you, on your knees by Viktor's side, your hair getting played with, he feels a warmth creeping on his cheeks, he looks away quickly and tries to focus on the drawing but something else start to brew. Jealousy.

"Hm." Jayce sat down on the floor too, perhaps a little inspired by you on Viktor's left side, he swallowed as his eyes focused on the drawing almost too much and too intensely. Viktor placed his mug between his thighs, he smirks ever so faintly and his hand goes to brush the taller one's hair back, the reaction is immediate, a soft sigh hangs on the air, he leans against his thigh too as Viktor brushes down his neck.

"I can picture your tails wagging perfectly." Viktor said with a teasing tone, you chuckled against him while Jayce whimpers and hides his face on his thigh. Both of you are blushing though, neither pulling away from his touch.

A/N: HEYYYY, hi, how are y'all...I know I KNOW I have some promised fics on the waiting but I'm picky and I want to enjoy my winter break I'm sorry, arrest me. Hope y'all liked this!

[paulyenvol6]

the shirt stays on

I need another three business days to recover from Pedro at Cannes and, obviously I had to write something about the sleeveless look. This is dirty and smutty and involves a strong hand/arm kink of course. I'm so serious, this is the hottest a man has ever looked.

And send me your request please I need inspiration!!

Contains: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f & m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, choking, little bit of biting, ARM AND HAND KINK, Pedro and reader are married, reader is down bad for Pedro, talking of offspring, creampie, size difference, slightest hint of a breeding kink, tooth-rotting fluff, nicknames (baby, sweetpea)

Wordcount: 6,914

Masterlist

"Jesus fucking Christ, Pedro…," you slapped your hand over your mouth, supressing a gasp as your husband turned in circles in front of you.

"Did I promise too much?"

You rolled your eyes and nothing hinted at the fact that your rapidly pounding heart would slow down any time soon.

"You know I'm not gonna be able to let you go like that," you whispered through clenched teeth, but your serious facade crumbled when Pedro approached you, sliding his arms around your waist and palming your flesh.

"Mhmm, is that so?" he whispered in your ear and you reflexively grabbed his bicep, his muscles tantalisingly hard, yet soft under your grip.

"You're fucking killing me, you know that right?" you said, but it sounded more like a cry.

"That's why I'm wearing this. Why else, if not for you?"

You dropped your shoulders, pressed a gentle kiss onto his upper arm, and couldn't stop yourself from carefully grazing his skin with your teeth.

"Careful, sweetheart. I can't walk the red carpet with bite marks all over my body."

"Oh just shut up. As if you wouldn't enjoy the attention…"

Pedro laughed and secured his hold on you, his thumb drawing circles over the small of your back.

"I can't believe you're real," you continued, not scared to freely speak your mind in his presence.

"You have to stop or I'm gonna get out there with my face all flushed from your compliments," he lowly whispered, sounding amused, but then got serious as he cradled your head and kissed your cheek.

"I wish you could come with me," he sighed, pulling back and giving you his puppy eyes that never failed to make you weak in your knees.

"Me too… But you're gonna have a good time. Say hello to Emma from me, will you?"

You smiled as you trailed a hand up his jaw, careful not to mess up his perfectly styled hair.

"I will. And you're gonna stay up for me, right?"

You rolled your eyes, head shaking in disbelief as your feverish skin slowly began to cool down again now that you were starting to get used to his gorgeous appearance. Not that you would ever seriously get used to it, of course. In fact, you believed you would never be the same person you had been three minutes ago. Not after you had seen Pedro looking this gorgeous.

"Of course I will. You think I could even possibly sleep knowing that you're out there looking like this?"

Pedro leaned in to kiss you, the smile glued to his lips and you had no choice but to return it although you already regretted the fact that he was about to leave for a couple of hours.

This was just him. When you saw him happy, your stomach always fluttered with nerves, the little butterflies dancing and rejoicing and your insides turning upside down. And now wasn't an exception, you realised as the adrenaline was pumping through your veins, your fingertips and the end of every nerve in your body prickling with steaming heat.

Your mouth was dry as Pedro took a step back and your eyes involuntarily wandered down his body. The black leather loafers with metallic spikes across the upper part, the high waisted trousers and of course the centerpiece of the outfit, the sleeveless black top that showcased not only his toned bicep, but also the side of his body, due to the deep cutout at the armholes. Something about it genuinely made you feel like Pedro had chosen this outfit just for you, who had a not-so-secret obsession with his arms and hands.

"Oh baby," he now laughed and instead of finally leaving the hotel room, headed back to you and pulled you into yet another hug, this time pressing what felt like a million kisses to your hairline.

"You know I'm a sucker for you being all needy and clingy," he mumbled, holding you snug against his broad chest. You were close to starting to pur like a cat.

"Congrats, then," you whined and dropped your head to his chest, peacefully closing your eyes while inhaling his perfume. To be fair, you didn't really feel at peace. Inside of you, there was a thunder, your stomach unable to settle and the blood in your veins throbbing as if you weren't Pedro's wife of five years, but a teenage girl who had a crush for the first time in her life. You felt hot-headed, your palms sticky with sweat and you didn't even want to think about the state of your underwear. You needed him religiously and part of you couldn't understand that he was about to walk out of the hotel room.

That was until there was a loud knock on the door and Pedro hummed deep in his chest, the vibrations rushing through your body.

"I'll be right there," he shouted and gently lifted your head from his chest. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby."

You definitely didn't want him to feel bad so you forced your lips to curl into a smile, but you weren't successful. Well, maybe it was just that Pedro could read you like a book.

"I'll make it up to you later… You just gotta be patient for a few hours and watch a movie or read a little and then I'll be back and..." - He kissed up your jaw until his lips were pressed to your temple, your pulse rumbling behind your skin - "I won't stop."

You chuckled and stroked down his arms while Pedro watched you with a broad grin.

"I promise, I just won't stop. Gonna stay all night right there between your thighs if that's what you want."

You reached up to wrap your arms around his neck one last time, swaying the both of you to the side while your hot breath brushed over his ear.

"The shirt stays on."

It was almost three hours later now and you were lying on your stomach on the bed, your chin resting on the palm of your hand while you scrolled through your phone feeling bored. You had listened to Pedro's advice and rewatched an old Star Wars movie and although you loved the franchise, your thoughts had occasionally wandered elsewhere. After that, you had tried to read, but it turned out to be even more frustrating because you couldn't focus on the pages, the letters blurring before your eyes while you couldn't ban the picture of Pedro's arms in this goddamn top from your head.

After torturing yourself for another 30 minutes you had given up, went to the bathroom and changed into your favorite set of underwear in a flash of inspiration. It was olive green, simple, but the bra had a little bit of lace tracing the cups. You hoped that once Pedro was back your underwear wouldn't stay on your body for very long, but you sometimes liked to dress up a little bit just to feel even more comfortable and sexy in your skin than he was already capabale of making you feel.

So now you were lying with a jeans and one of Pedro's sweaters hiding the fancy underwear while scrolling through instagram. Of course your feed was full of pictures of your husband and you were soon to figure out that it wasn't helping your situation. Each image was more beautiful than the last: his adorable smile when he faced the cameras, the wink of his eye and the way his bicep flexed when he hugged one of his fellow cast members.

Your breathing was heavy and longing as your eyes were fixed on the small screen, your pupils flickering to the time every few minutes. As if the wait wasn't already long enough, you knew he was at a press conference at that very moment, so it would certainly be another 30 minutes before he got back to the hotel.

You sighed and dropped your head so that your forehead rested on your phone while your legs were dangling in the air. Your thoughts unconsciously wandered to Pedro again. If you hadn't known how much your husband enjoyed your swooning and yearning, you certainly would have felt bad. But Pedro was never shy to admit that he loved to feel desired by you and lord have mercy, you were happy to oblige.

The position with your brow touching your phone display turned out to be surprisingly comfortable which was why you remained like that. Your eyes were closed, Pedro appearing before you in short periods of time and your ribcage expanding with steady, but heavy breaths.

Soon you noticed that the air in the hotel room was too warm and stuffy so you propped yourself on your elbows and then crawled off the bed to open a window. It was still warm outside, but it was definitely better than the stifling, thick air in here. You were just about to turn around to get back on the bed when you suddenly heard a noise outside your room and froze, your pulse loud in your ears.

When the door opened, your heart skipped a beat or two and your adrenaline made you run the few feet separating you from Pedro and jump in his arms. He deeply laughed, but caught you in the air, securing you with his arms sliding around your waist as you trapped him with your legs crossed behind his back.

"I missed you so much," you complained against his neck, your hands playing with the baby hair in his nape that you finally got to touch without the fear of ruining his perfectly styled curls and getting in trouble with Coco.

"Mhmmm I missed you too," Pedro replied while turning around so he could close the door behind him without having to put you down. The fact that he was able to carrry you so casually with one arm made a very familiar wetness soak your underwear and you giggled against his collarbone, inhaling the smell of sun and him.

"Pedro," you whined, not exactly sure what you were asking him for.

"I know," he answered nevertheless, the sound of his voice making your pussy throb and you reflexively started to rock your center against his abdomen.

"Gonna take care of you now, baby."

Your eyes rolled back at the promise and you were just about to surrender to the body contact and let yourself go with your eyes shut close, but then your mushy brain remembered what you had yearned for all night and your gaze instantly fell upon his bicep again that was flexed from carrying your weight. Of course Pedro noticed it and of course he reacted with a wry grin, his eyes glistening with the same beautiful spark he had left you with three hours ago.

"I know, I know, baby," he just whispered and lowly chuckled when he felt you stroke up and down his arm, your pupils blown and your expression in awe of the smooth skin covering his thick muscles.

"All of the Marvel training," he then giggled and tensed his bicep on purpose just to watch your eyes widen.

"Pedro," you moaned once more, your inability to speak clearly apparent to both of you, but Pedro knew what you wanted anyway.

"Don't be shy," he hissed, one hand on your back travelling south to dig into where your back met your ass crease.

"You know I want you to take from me what you want. You can touch it and bite and lick it… Whatever you want, sweetheart, you know that."

You whimpered again, perhaps overhelmped with the options, your eyes frantically springing between his hands, underarms and shoulders. Deciding to leave the choice for later, you pressed your mouth against his, your lips greedily sucking at his bottom lip while you buried your hands into his muscles, tracing the outlines of his bicep and kneading the flesh which soon made Pedro groan.

"Jesus… you're killing me, baby."

Your pulse thundered up your throat and you couldn't remember ever wanting someone or something as much as you wanted him. Your body was so hot, you were convinced you would go up in flames if you wouldn't take some of your clothes off soon. On that note, Pedro was clearly aware that the oversized hoodie you were drowning in belonged to him because he fisted the fabric and chuckled deeply while you were still busy exploring every inch of his arms that were covered with a thin layer of sweat, either caused by the warm temperatures in Cannes or by what was happening right now. You preferred to think that it was the latter.

"I think I know this one…," he whispered referring to the hoodie, his jaw clenching when he slipped his hands under the piece of clothing and palmed your waist.

"Just missed you," you whined and now kissed your way down to his shoulder where you were finally allowed to bury your teeth into his skin, careful not to hurt him of course. Pedro gasped, slightly throwing his head back as he traced along your ribs and spine in turns.

"You wanna get on the bed, sweetpea?" he growled, the nickname much too soft and sweet for his husky voice, but you nodded with your head, tightening your arms around his neck while he carried you over to the big hotel bed.

He carefully lay you down on your back his hands unwillingly leaving your waist to rub his palms together as his hungry eyes followed every move and twitch of your body. The hoodie had slid up your body a little and the thin strip of bare skin was enough for Pedro to bite his lip and wipe over his brow with the back of his hand.

"Shit, baby… You look so pretty with my hoodie on."

Then he adjusted his shirt, prompting you to immediately let out a whine of complaint, as you were scared he was about to take it off. But Pedro just shook his head in amusement and then leaned down to take off his shoes that were probably worth more than this whole trip to Cannes.

"Don't worry, sweetpea. I promised you it's gonna stay on."

Once he had carelessly kicked them off, his mind somewhere else already he finally approached the bed. Your legs were pressed together, the heat pooling in between almost making you squeal with frustration although you knew that Pedro was about to make it better just like he always made things better.

"Please," you still whispered when he knelt on the bed and reached out to cradle your head.

"What, baby? Tell me what you want."

Mindless thoughts flickered in your head as you tried to get a hold on yourself, at least to be able to form a coherent sentence and tell him what you wanted.

"I wanna taste you," you eventually moaned, your eyes already on the outline of the tent beneath his trousers.

"Oh Christ, baby…," he swallowed to fight his dry throat, but moved closer to kiss you. "You sure you don't want me to take care of you first?"

"Yes, I'm sure," you whispered against his soft lips, clutching the fabric of his tight black top and feeling his firm torso through your fingertips. Pedro took your bottom lip between his and sucked it softly until he released it with a plop. He then took in the needy glint in your eyes.

"Alright…," he murmured and sank down on the mattress once you made room for him, his back resting against the wall behind the bed and his legs slightly parted.

Meanwhile, you moved to settle between his legs, your hands splayed across his thighs and the cool fabric of his pants a thrilling contrast to your feverish and sweaty palms. And then you ran your gaze up his body and you almost let out an involuntary moan. Of course you knew how fit Pedro was – you would have to be blind to miss the effects of the intense training for the fantastic four movie on his body, but this outfit made them especially visible. You just couldn't get over the veins on his wrists and the way his hugs bicep jiggled every time he made a sudden movement.

You must have been a sight, staring at him with round eyes, your lips dry and a stunned expression on your face while you couldn't get a word out. Pedro smirked again and reached out to touch your elbows, slowly trailing up your arms until he put them on your shoulders.

"You know I love seeing you wearing my clothes, but can I take this off?" he asked, rubbing the fabric between his fingertips.

You gave a nod and helped him by lifting your arms so he could pull the hoodie over your head and throw it on the floor next to the bed. You could see the bob of his adam's apple and the deep gulp as his gaze fell upon your stomach and chest that was beautifully hugged by the olive green bra. Pedro would never hesitate to tell you that he loved the way you looked, no matter what you were wearing, and that he would still be swooing over you even if you wore a garbage bag. But when you felt especially confident in your favourite underwear, he was a fan of that too. Your comfort in your own body made your whole appearance glow — a beautiful light surrounding your frame as you sat on your heels in front of Pedro. He truly felt like the luckiest man alive.

"My god…," he said, his voice quiet, but thick with awe and silent appreciation.

When he brought his hand to your waist you leaned in to his touch, pressing yourself against him while he palmed your flesh. The motion was more than convenient for the both of you because he got to feel the softness of your flush skin while you were able to see his bicep flex, the dim light in the hotel room emphasising every curve and line so stunningly.

The two of you remained in this position for a little longer before you couldn't hold back any more and placed your hand on his dick that pressed hard against his pants. He hissed out through gritted teeth, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes followed the movement of your hand. You slowly began to palm him, your hand massaging the bulge that felt firm and hard against you. Pedro's hand on your side tensed as his tip twitched and you could feel his fingers digging into your flesh, stinging, but showing you the arousing impact of your actions.

"Fuck. Baby, fuck…"

You took your bottom lip between your teeth, giving him a broad smik while feeling him grow harder under your touch. Soon it wasn't enough for either of you, Pedro biting his lip bloody while you were yearning for a taste of him so you stopped palming him through his pants and instead fumbled with the zip of his pants. Once you had opened the button and started to shove them down his hips, he lifted them to help you. When they dangled around his knees, you did the same procedure to his boxers, your eyes tearing at your desire for him at the sight of his stiff, leaking dick that looked like it desperately craved a release.

Pedro's eyes followed yours, but before he could run his dirty mouth again, you had already lowered your head and pressed little kisses on his length. He clearly hadn't expected you to go straight to work because he gasped and jerked forward, his hands reflexively reaching for your head.

"Jesus!" he spitted out, his mouth falling open as you showered his dick with as much adoration and affection as you possibly could. You traced along every vein and line, licking off every drop of precum and pumping with your hands what you couldn't reach with your mouth.

You loved the way he felt around your hand, the skin soft, sleek and warm and almost a little silky when you went up and down his shaft. And the way he tasted… Musky and salty, but there was another note that you weren't able to identify. It was just him and you couldn't get enough of it.

"Sweetpea, I'm not gonna last long," he warned you after a while, his grip around your scalp tight, but not to guide or force you, but rather to cling to something while you made him lose his mind.

"Mhmm, okay," you teased, rubbing with your thumb over his tip while your tongue trailed a line down his dick to kitten-lick his balls.

"Jesus, baby… God, you needa… Fuck…," he stuttered, unable to speak his mind, but you just giggled and suddenly felt very powerful with him falling apart under your touch.

"That's perfect," he growled, eyes rolled back in his head as you finally took him down your throat, not very deep, but enough to bob your head around his length. You reminded yourself to slide your tongue around his glans from time to time, knowing how sensitive he was there and it most certainly had the desired effect.

"Baby, I'm serious. I'm really fucking close," he panted, his pupils struggling to focus on you as they threatened to drift upward at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth around him. Pedro gave your hair a gentle tug that finally made you stop and you darted up to him.

"You don't wanna cum?" you asked, your lips forming a playful pout that made him groan once more.

"Shit, of course I wanna cum, but I need to take care of you first."

Your heart fluttered at his words, and so did your dripping pussy that painfully clenched, your clit throbbing for any kind of friction.

"C'mon. Lay down, okay? Gonna make you feel really good," he breathed, still trying to control his pounding heart and exhaled when you pulled off him with a wet sound and sat back on your heels.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you're gonna kill me," Pedro whispered more to himself while making room so you could lay down where he had rested with his head against the bedrest a second ago.

"Pedro?" you quietly asked once your head touched the cushions.

"Yeah?"

"Choke me."

He lowly chuckled, a dark sparkle lighting up his already deep brown eyes and you knew exactly what it meant. It meant that he was deep in and would do anything you asked him of. Anything for a single twitch of your body or roll of your hips.

He didn't reply with his words, but with his hands. He gently - almost to give you a taste of what was coming – caressed your neck, two fingers trailing up and down the sensitive skin while settling between your spread, welcoming legs. You took a deep breath, shuddering at the way Pedro regarded your body, which was still hidden by far too many layers of fabric and then almost felt disappointed when the hand on your neck, so deliciously close to doing what you needed so badly, traveled south, trailing a line between your clothed breasts to help his other hand undress you. He skillfully opened the button and zip of your jeans and swiftly pulled them down your legs along with your lovely underwear that unfortunately didn't get a lot of attention right now. Neither of you cared though.

"You don't know how much I love you, sweetpea," Pedro whispered, shaking his head like he couldn't believe you were real and palmed your hip in his large hand.

Although there truly was a lot to see between your thighs, you couldn't help yourself and your gaze unconsciously was on his hands and arms again that gleamed so wonderfully in the light. He looked strong, yet soft and you loved the way his muscles moved when he was turning or adjusting you beneath him.

"I love you too, Pedro," you whispered, but he was already one step ahead and watched your pussy like it was the first time he had ever seen one. His eyes and facial expressions radiated so much love and admiration, you felt like you were about to explode with joy. Your heart was pounding rapidly but you couldn't tell whether it was from your arousal and excitement or the love you felt for him.

"So goddamn pretty," he mumbled and then placed his hands on your inner thighs and spread you wide for him so he could have the first taste of tonight. Pedro circled your entrance with the tip of his tongue, savouring your salty, prickling wetness in relief and while he tried to take his time and enjoy each moment and impression, he simply was too eager to toy with you for long.

The rest of his face was pressed against your pussy and while he dipped inside of you with his tongue, his nose scrunched against your clit, finally helping you fight the burning heat that had previously made the bundle of nerves shudder and tremble with anticipation. But he knew too well what he was doing and managed to please your pussy only with his face to an extent where you felt that it wouldn't take you long to orgasm. Who could blame you, really? This whole afternoon had basically been one long, tormenting period of foreplay with Pedro looking this handsome and his arms being so stunningly on display.

He was far from being finished though. Sensing how you buckled and your hips shifted under him, he brought a hand up to continue those torturing strokes across your neck that you had gotten a taste of earlier while moving his tongue upward to focus on your clit. He used his spit and your wetness that he had collected on the flat of his tongue to circle it, pressing loving kisses all over it like he wanted to show you his affection this way. Your body naturally reacted to his tongue, your hips rolling in accordance to create more friction and encourage him to give you more, give it to you harder and – most importantly – not to stop, but your eyes were on his arms.

You just couldn't help yourself; with his hand teasing your neck you had a perfect view on his underarm and you had a feeling Pedro exactly knew what he was doing. You were so focused on his arms, a work of art in themselves, that you didn't see it coming when he suddenly choked you. The restriction of air made you gasp and your eyes sprang open.

"Is that what you want?" he teased and you were not sure if his words were dirty talk or if he actually wanted reassurance that you were giving him your clear consent. You nodded, your eyes pleadingly devouring his bicep while the sensation of his large hand wrapped around your neck sent you into insanity. And then the stimulation on your clit… You could have died right on the spot and you would have thanked every god there was.

"Fuck," you choked, your own hand coming to rest on top of his, but not to gesture him to stop, but to trace his veins and tendons. Soon that wasn't enough though, especially having in mind that his gorgeous arm was so close, right in front of your face so both of your hands traveled down to his underarm just to feel him. His flesh seemed to burn from inside, his skin as hot and feverish as you felt. Whenever he squeezed you tighter, your muscles tensed and you let out a little whine. Pedro noticed this and, keen to reward you, gave you a special treat and did it as often as he could.

By now his expensive black top was soaked with sweat, but he couldn't have cared less. How could he with this sight and especially this taste on his tongue. He was aware of every single reaction of your body, the way your pussy clenched and your hips arched off the bed whenever he took your clit between his teeth to gently nibble, your desperate sighs when he squeezed your throat and the way you licked over your lips, blushing over his arms. He would definitely keep this shirt, no matter what.

'Pedro, I'm gonna cum, fuck...' you told him, your teeth clattering together and your neck flexing beneath his touch. Your fingertips pressed into the flesh of his arms, your nails leaving a slight sting while uncontrollable pleasure took over you and you writhed underneath him.

"Yes, there you go, baby…," Pedro soothed you, keeping his grip on your hip firm while his other hand relaxed around your throat so it wouldn't become too much.

"Cum for me… Let go, sweetpea, wanna taste it all."

A muffled cry left your throat, your lips still pressed shut while your eyebrows drew together and little shock waves went through your body.

"Yes, there you go…," Pedro smiled proudly, his tongue gliding up and down your slit to savour your juices for as long as possible while your spinning head took in his hand that was now loosely resting on top of your chest, his thumb drawing soothing circles over your skin.

"Ohh god…," you whispered and fell on your back, your chest rising heavily and the blood pumping in your veins. You felt messy with drops of sweat pooling on your forehead, but when Pedro looked up to you with his soft puppy eyes you forgot everything about it and melted on the spot.

"Have I ever told you how sweet you taste?" he growled while crawling up to cage you beneath him.

"I think so," you giggled, too weak though to slide your arms around his neck.

"I'm sorry," you then whispered with an apologetic look on your face and Pedro lifted his eyebrows in confusion.

"For what?"

"That you have to wear this top in this heat. You must be melting."

He twisted his lips and propped himself on his elbows next to your head.

"Not because of the top," he mumbled while connecting his lips with your chin, leaving gentle kisses as he made his way up to your neck where he kissed the faint pink marks he had left.

"You okay? Wasn't too much?" he wanted to make sure, the sound of his voice muffled against your skin.

"No," you grinned, finally finding the strength to grab his bicep, which you were sure was covered in scratch marks. It was nothing unusual, though. The two of you loved to show the world who each of you belonged to, even if, in many cases, you did it in places that no one else got to see anyway.

"Pedro?" you asked which made him glance up to you without pulling away from your hot skin.

"I want you to fuck me."

You felt him tense at your words, his hand grabbing your shoulder more firmly as he started to kiss up your collarbone.

"Lemme get a condom…," he whispered while unwillingly drawing away from you to reach to the nightstand, but you were quicker and trapped him with your legs wrapped around his hips.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" Pedro asked in confusion, but stopped in the motion to look at your face that gave him a loving smile.

"We talked about it," you said, looking down to where your hands were playing with themselves. "And I thought we both… We agreed, right?"

His expression was unreadable at first, but then he bit on his lip and sighed out.

"Yeah. We have."

You chuckled and he immediately joined, but then he stroked a strand of hair behind your ear.

"It's just… It's kind of scary when we actually do it, don't you think so? You know… the fact that there's a chance you could actually get pregnant. I – I would like that… Of course I would like that" – his lips curled into a sweet smile – "It's just kind of surreal."

You nodded in agreement and took hold of his face, making him look into your eyes.

"I know. But yeah… I think we should do it. Everything's perfect right now, you know?"

He nodded and then gently peeled off your hand to kiss your wrist, his brown eyes big as he didn't broke eye contact for a mere second. And there you were melting away under his gaze as his lips caressed the thin skin on your wrist where your pulse was so loud and rapid, you thought that he had to hear it too.

"Yes," he said, his breath tingling on your skin and then he kissed you one last time before carefully putting your hand down on your stomach.

"I love you, sweetpea. So so much. And I wanna have a child with you."

You heart skipped a beat just like it always did whenever Pedro said the L-word. After five years of marriage you still had this kind of physical reaction to it which amazed you.

"I love you, Pedro. Now fuck me," you hissed, your eyes sparkling and your teeth bared as you already eyed down his broad body.

"Can't have a cute fucking moment with my wife because she can't get a hold on herself…," Pedro playfully rolled his eyes, but adjusted himself between your legs.

You were still giggling when he wrapped a hand around his shaft to align himself with your quivering entrance, your swollen clit eager for his touch again, but he teased you for a bit, avoiding the little nub on purpose. When his tip prodded your hole you prepared yourself for the slight stretch that was always involved when he fucked you and you inhaled deeply while Pedro waited for your approval which you gave him with a nod.

"Relax, baby," he breathed as he slowly eased himself inside you and fortunately, you were so wet that you took him without any problems.

"Jesus!" he cursed once he was inside of you to the hilt and glanced down to you, who had your face drawn with sheer pleasure.

He was big yes, bigger than any dick you had ever seen, but tonight when your pussy had been yearning for him all day, your entrance was more than happy to smoothly welcome him inside you.

"You feel so good, shit… Please, look at me. Need to see you, baby."

You had closed your eyes, focusing on all the ways you felt him so deep inside of you, the veins on his shaft excitingly pressing and rubbing against your walls, but then they fluttered open at his words.

"You're fucking perfect," he murmured through clenched teeth and leaned in to kiss the tip of your nose while he rolled his hips to pull out of you and started fucking you at a steady pace.

"Pedro, fuck… Need…"

You couldn't finish the sentence, the words stuck in your throat, but your affectionate husband kissed up your temple, softly humming against your skin.

"What do you need? Tell me, baby, c'mon…"

"Need to cum again," you whimpered, buckling your hips to meet his deep thrusts.

"I know, I know... Don't you worry, m'gonna get you there. Just relax for me, alright? And breathe…"

You literally felt him everywhere. His hand had reached between your thighs the moment he had started fucking you to rub small and percise circles on top of your clit. You were in awe of how well he was able to coordinate his movements in his state because you were sure were you the one to touch yourself right now, you wouldn't be able to aim correctly. And then there was his mouth everywhere he could reach. Pressing kisses all over your face, your nose, your jaw, next to your ear and down to your neck and chest where your bra was half-off, the straps loosely around your shoulder and your breasts bare on display for him. You seriously wondered how Pedro managed to focus on so many things at the same time because you already had struggles breathing, whereas he fucked, fingered and kissed you at the same time.

You let out a broken moan and could literally feel him smiling against your collarbone when your hands tightly gripped his bicep, obviously not only to hold on to him, but also to knead his firm flesh. Part of you wished there was better lighting in your hotel room, the sky outside dark by now, but of course there was no way you would stop him right now to turn on the brighter ceiling lamp. This would have to do, and feeling his muscles under your palms was already more than one could wish for.

Now that he was propping himself up on his elbow, he had to keep his muscles tense at all times, which was very convenient for you. You were almost in awe, your lips parted and your eyes round as coins while you traced every curve and curvature, every inch of skin as if you wanted to worship it.

"Oh baby, I'm gonna fill you up so well," Pedro interrupted your silent admirations and you averted your gaze from his arms for a moment to look at him. "But first I need you to cum again, alright? Need you to come around my dick."

His finger on your bundle of nerves fastened up at his words and you threw your head to the side, your heels digging into the mattress in search of release.

"I know, sweetpea," Pedro growled at your whine that almost sounded like you were in pain and rolled your clit between two fingers.

"You can cum… It's alright, you can let go whenver you want to…"

And so you did. Seconds after the words had left his mouth, your second orgasm of the night rolled over you, knocked all the air out of your lungs and made your whole body tense up. You arched off the bed, presenting yours breasts to Pedro so prettily that he leaned down to take one nipple between his lips, but then suddenly grunted as the clenching of your pussy drove him over the edge as well.

It really was poetic, the two of you reaching your highs almost at the exact same time and as Pedro spasmed in your hole, slowly riding out his orgasm you collapsed on the bed, utterly exhausted after two highs. It was an unfamiliar feeling to be filled up by him, but not an unpleasant one. The ropes of cum felt warm and sticky inside of you, almost as if your pussy was overflowing with your own juices.

"Holy shit…," Pedro now growled, his face buried in your neck while his rapidly heaving chest crashed against yours. The weight of his body pressed against yours aroused you more than it probably should and once again, you ran your hands up and down his arms and shoulders, savouring the gorgeous picture of him in this goddamn top as long as it lasted.

He also seemed to welcome your soothing hands, softly humming as the two of you calmed down in each other's presence.

"That was so perfect," you whispered and brought one hand to the back of his head to play with his locks.

"Yeah," Pedro agreed, moving on top of you to withdraw his flaccid dick from your dripping entrance.

"Oh baby…," was all he could say and closed his eyes as a gust of wind from the open window sent a shiver down his spine.

You remained in this position for a little while longer, feeling content and peaceful as you listened to the other person's heartbeat. Eventually, however, the cool air from outside made it inevitable for Pedro to roll off you and slip under the blanket, leaving you to regret the replacement of Pedro with the silky fabric of the blanket.

He was quick to pull you toward him though and instantly wrapped his strong arms around your head to keep you snug against his chest. You both smelled of sweat and exhaustion, but neither of you cared. The chirping of distant birds and crickets from outside was beautiful background music to the serene scene and soon you felt yourself drift off to sleep, but before you could Pedro cupped your cheek and ran his thumb over the corner of your mouth.

"There's a chance that I just got you pregnant," he whispered, sounding torn between amusement and excitement.

"Mhmm yes," you answered and giggled when you felt a hand pressing down on your lower tummy.

"It would be nice, right?" Pedro asked and opened his eyes into yours. Despite the darkness, you were still able to make out his pupils and twisted your lips into a smile.

"Yes. It would be… perfect."

You gave each other one last grin before Pedro cradled your head and guided it down to nestle against his chest, his heartbeat evenly thundering in your ear while you closed your eyes, expecting sleep to take over soon.

And it did. You were still thinking about what Pedro had said, and the image of him and you with a baby was so clear in your mind that you could almost see it.

It was a nice thought to fall asleep on and when Pedro grabbed your hand and his thumb gently brushed your knuckles, you somehow knew the two of you were thinking the same thing.

[tbaluver]

Teasing Them In Public- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader requested by: anonnie -`♡´- genre: suggestive, MDNI summary: teasing them during an event/ public a/n: hihi lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ even tho this is beta read and edited i apologize if theres any mistakes ( sometimes i accidentally post the draft instead of the final one .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. ) im running on two hours of sleep .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. hopefully this is okay and enjoy reading! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

tags: tiny mention of backshots

Xavier did not plan on coming to the Hunter Association event. He was only here for you. The room was crowded and too many people kept approaching you into conversations that didn’t deserve your time—but none of that mattered. You had asked him to come. This was your night and he wanted to be by your side for it.

However, you weren’t making it easy for him tonight.

From across the room, your eyes would find him, a hint of mischief dances behind them when you notice how his grip tightened around his glass whenever you caught him watching you. And you knew exactly what you were doing. It drove him wild in the best and worst way possible.

Just when he thought he finally had you to himself, another hunter slips into a conversation, pulling your attention away again. He tried to keep his expression composed but it was hard when you would purposely step back. Just slightly enough for your ass to brush lightly against him, making his jaw tighten. You’ve done this more than once tonight and images of your back arched and pussy swallowing his cock easily flash in his mind.

He wanted to touch you, to hold you. But not with so many eyes around. This was your night to celebrate with the association and he wouldn’t risk stealing that spotlight from you. At least that’s what he told himself.

The final crack in his restraint came when all the conversations with your colleagues ended, you finally returned to him. You lean in close, whispering something only meant for him—shattering whatever calm he had left in his body.

His breath hitches, his hand finding your waist as he draws you in. A quiet gasp slips past your lips when you feel his bulge. “I don’t think either of us is enjoying this event much,” he murmurs, his lips just inches away from yours.

“If what you’re saying is real..” His gaze trails from your lips to your eyes, his hands tightening gently at your side. “Then don’t let me wait any longer.”

Zayne:

tags: mentions of fingering

It didn’t take Zayne long for him to notice how awfully handsy you were tonight. The first time was subtle. You had reached for his hand beneath the linen-draped table, guiding his hand to the bare skin of your thigh, exposed just beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers instinctively curved around yours, giving a gentle but firm squeeze, a way of telling you to behave. His expression remains calm, eyes locked on the ongoing conversation with a group of senior surgeons gathered around your table. Tonight, he had invited you as his plus-one to a formal gathering of accomplished doctors and renowned surgeons. An event for toasting recent success or exchanging clinical anecdotes. It was sophisticated. A little too sophisticated for you. Maybe it was boredom. Or maybe it was the simple pleasure of watching him try to keep composed.

As another doctor chats, you let your fork slip from your hand, dropping your fork. With a soft murmur of apology, you dipped beneath the table to retrieve it.

You made sure to brush lightly against his pant leg, fingers trailing up and up. You felt his thigh stiffen and could hear the slight hitch in his breath as he tried to respond to a colleague. By the time you sat upright again, fork in hand and an innocent smile on your lips, he was already looking at you from the corner of his eye. His gaze narrowed towards you but yet his expression remained composed, the faint flush on his ears betraying him.

He held onto his composure for as long as he could—answering, nodding along. But beneath the table, it was a completely different story.

Your hand found him again and once more, he responded with another gentle squeeze. Another way of him telling you, not here.

Instead of withdrawing, you shift closer, your hand on top of his as you slowly guide his hand up higher and higher. His fingertips graze the bare skin then slip in between your legs. His eyes narrow back at you when he feels you bare. Your heart races as he teases your entrance with his finger. But he wasn’t going to let you get away with it so easily.

He pushes his middle finger against your heat. You gasp sharply, unable to stop the sound of your fork and knife clattering noisy against your plate, drawing every eye at the table. You mumble a flustered apology, cheeks warming under the sudden attention. 

Zayne’s free hand moves to your back, pretending to be unbothered. “Are you alright?” The others are already glancing over in curiosity as Zayne straightens slightly in his seat. “She’s feeling a little off,” he explains.

“I think I should take her home.” A few murmurs of understanding ripple around the table and offer a nod. He helps you rise from your chair, his hand finding yours beneath the table.

Within moments, you’re being led swiftly out of the room, and a private lesson is underway on proper dinner etiquette.

Rafayel:

tags: tiny mentions of rafayel receiving head

Rafayel did not want to be here. He successfully managed to avoid this many times but the only way Thomas managed to convince him was to bring you.

If it were up to him, he’d be at home right now, curled up on the couch with you, sharing your favorite snacks and feeding them to each other while your favorite show played in the background. But no, he was here. In a stiff suit. At a stuffy gallery. And worse yet—you were looking way too good for his sanity and having way too much fun teasing him.

It started when you stepped in front of him to speak to the reporters, your ass accidentally grazing his bulge, making his skin burn under the fabric. This seems to happen a couple of times through the night, making it hard to believe it's unintentional. His throat tightened and he had to fight not to squirm further into you.

But that didn’t seem like the only thing on your mind. Whenever you were across the room, you took a sip of a drink, locking eyes with him and letting a small dribble escape the corner of your lips. You caught it slowly with your thumb, still staring at him with that innocent smile of yours.

It wasn’t subtle to him at all. The image of your mouth stuffed with his cock and how you would collect the leftover precum along his tip floods his mind.

Just when he thought he could snatch a moment alone with you—maybe drag you into the nearest restroom to finish what you started—a reporter stepped in. “Can I get a photo of the lovely couple?” The man beamed, gesturing toward the painting behind you two. It was a piece of artwork Rafayel did, the inspiration being you.

Rafayel huffs but moves behind you anyway, his mistake. You leaned back into him, just enough to press your ass into his bulge—clearly on purpose this time. “You-!” A flurry of camera clicks, probably catching the exact second of his restraint cracked.

“You’re mean cutie..” he muttered lowly in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. You don’t respond but continue to smile innocently at the camera. He grabs your wrist firmly but gently. “Let’s go.”

“W-wait! Can we get another picture-” the reporter stutters after you both.

But it was already too late. You two were already down a quiet hallway, hand in hand, headed somewhere far more private.

Sylus:

tags: tiny mentions of p in v

Nothing seemed to work.

The dress you’d chosen was stunning, intentional, tailored, and designed to catch his attention. And it did. You knew it but it was not enough in the way you wanted it to. The way you sipped your wine slowly, letting a drop slide from the corner of your lips before catching it with your tongue, was deliberate. So was the way your ass brushes lightly against him not once but multiple times as if it was by accident.

Nothing. No sharp inhale, no falter in his tone. Just a low chuckle and that infuriatingly smug smirk that never seemed to leave his lips. He kept his arm draped around your waist or his palm resting at the small of your back. However, that reaction was not enough to satisfy the craving he sparked in you.

What you didn’t realize was that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Your growing frustration, the flicker of defeat every time he plays oblivious—only stirs him in this little game. He watched as you silently worked through new ways to rile him up but you didn’t even know how deeply it affected him.

What you also failed to realize was that he was already beside you again, a brow arched curiously if you'd give up your little game before the bidding event came to an end.

“You know,” he murmurs, making you jump in surprise, “I like it much better when you use your words instead.” 

And you know what he’s referring to too. A breathless moan of his name was not enough for him to continue thrusting in and out of you. He needed to hear you say it. He needed to hear you say how you wanted more. How you felt so good. It’s embarrassing how easily he can make you flustered without doing anything. 

“You’re going to have to do so much better than that,” he adds with a sigh, shaking his head teasingly as his large calloused hand reaches up to cup your cheek.

“Just say the words and I’m all yours.”

Caleb:

tags: tiny mentions of p in v

Just one more hour, Caleb tells himself. One more hour until the event is over. And once he can finally give his speech, he can take you home and have you all to himself.

This colonel is not the strongest soldier whenever it comes to you and you seem to be taking advantage of that tonight.

You looked ravishing tonight—your dress hugs your curves just right, and your hair is styled to perfection. And it would’ve been manageable if you weren’t actively trying to destroy him.

You’re seated beside him, resting your chin in your palm like you’re bored—but Caleb knows you better. He watches your elbows propped up on the table, your dress slipping just enough to expose your cleavage. You pretend you don’t notice how his eyes flick down before he can stop himself. 

You haven’t even touched him yet and already, his self-control is on the verge of breaking down. Every time one of his comrades tries to speak to him, he hears noise but not words. All his thoughts are only about you. That’s why he’s been glued to his chair for half the event, hoping it helps. It doesn’t. What would help him, is burying his face in your tits while he slowly sinks into you.

Unfortunately, he can’t spend the entire time sitting down during this event. He’s expected to engage with high ranking officers. He brings you along which was his mistake. His breath hitches when you innocently press your ass against his bulge, making his mind go blank.

The moment the conversation ends, he doesn’t hesitate. He grabs your wrists and tugs you through the crowd. “Wha-Caleb, what about your speech?!” you ask, breathless as he leads you toward the exit.

“I’ll make Gideon do it,” he replies without a hint of guilt or worry. Only a smile on his face when he turns to you.

“Besides,” he murmurs, a brow arched playfully. “You started this, pipsqueak.” He leans in closer to your height, a teasing curl at the corner of his mouth. “Wanna help me finish it?”

ʚɞ cr. for the dividers @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ thank you as always to my lovely beta reader @ilovemitsuya MWAHH ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

ʚɞ 𝘕𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯:

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! The Love And Deepspace Masterlist, Pg. 2

ʚɞ Others places you can find me:

Wattpad

Twitter ( but idk how to use it or post or interact with people .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. )

[olivia0926]

Hi, I love your drawings from before and i think they are great, so i have a request, any form of post will do, like Two Time x Eternal Sugar! Reader this time, cuz i imagined them literally basking and worshipping them like a goddess already and in return granting them a paradise free from their worries and gulit since their lore says it pls 😅🤲

-"My dear, what's wrong with your face? You look like you did something wrong in the past, did you? "

-"Whatever make you worried and guilty...let me help you feel happy again, dear~...Because, do you still remember when you worshipped and treated me like a goddess already? If so, I am glad you're still remember that~"

-Said by Eternal Sugar!Reader

(I hope I got this meaning right🙏)

[bywons]

ꔫ GO AHEAD AND CRY, LITTLE GIRL ( enhypen )

⌕ where you cry in their arms

pairing. bf!enhypen x f!reader w.c. 1.05k tw/cw. none really genre. fluff sru's note. requested! help i don't think i did a good job with this one ( CATALOGUE?! )

¤ feedbacks and reblogs are always appreciated, PLS REBLOG if u like the fic !

LEE HEESEUNG can feel his heart breaking at the sight, his one and only love, his pretty girl sobbing into her hands in front of him, the cause still unknown. but he doesn't waste any time and pulls you into his embrace, your soft plump cheeks strained with tears pressed to his broad and snug chest, salty tears dampening his beige sweatshirt but that's the last thing that he cares about right now. he shushes you, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other softly stroking your back, in the utmost hope that you'll eventually stop crying. cause every tear that spills out of those pretty eyes of yours, it hammers lee heeseung's heart. would press soft kisses on top of your head until you calm down, along with his hug around you closing in tighter. when you calm down, he'll wipe away all the tears and make you a comforting hot bowl of ramen <3

PARK JONGSEONG drops whatever task he's doing, no matter how trivial or significant, and rushes to you the second he hears something as slight as a sniffle from you. and even when he's not close enough to be seen or called for, jay is one call away. has the biggest “and i crumble completely when you cry” energy. literally pulls you into his lap the second he sees the smallest drop of tears on your face. rocks both your bodies back and forth while whispering sweet nothings into your ear, his hand simultaneously working and massaging your scalp. he literally doesn't even stop for a second until your sobs have completely died down, and even then he rocks you both back and forth while whispering about your problems, while you rest in his lap with your hands and cheeks pressed against his warm chest. jay still doesn't return to his aborted work and don't you dare ask him about it, cause you're way more important.

SIM JAEYUN puts on the saddest face with the biggest pout, literally becoming a puppy face. caresses your face and cradles it between his hands, eventually wrapping his arms around your waist. gets so worried when he sees you sobbing, at one point he gets insecure of being a bad boyfriend, always thinks he did something wrong. jake would press soft feathery kisses all over your face and right when you give the smallest upward twitch of lips, he'll literally attack you with tickles! jake just wants to hear you laugh and wants joy to stick to you forever. brings layla to you too <//3 so that all three of you can cuddle together while he just rambles random things to your now sleeping figure.

PARK SUNGHOON takes a bit of time to process the scene in front of him when you break into sobs, don't get him wrong but he's just disheartened at the sight of your tear stricken cheeks and red puffy eyes. if he's still foreign to it, it would take him some time to approach you in your sobbing fit but if not he's quick to act. but eventually picks you up and makes you sit in front of him at the edge of the bed. if you don't want to talk it out then he'll pull you closer until your heads’ on his shoulders, his hands creeping up beneath your shirt to draw random doodles on your back while you calm down in his embrace <3 sunghoon definitely kisses your cheeks a lot, until you're giggling from his kisses, and then and only then is he relieved. makes sure to ask what was wrong after.

KIM SEONWOO almost cries along with you, the soft and choked sounds of your sobs and your salty damp cheeks overwhelms him. immediately wraps you in his embrace, practically burying you in it. with glossy eyes, he tries to shush you up with an accompanied series of kisses to your cheeks, forehead and lips. when you're crying away in his arms, he'll play with your hair, braiding them only to untangle them and braid them again. gives you all the comfort in the world; he even brings your favourite plushies— that he won for you at the arcade— to you and wraps you in the warm, thick duvet. he giggles at the cute scenario in front of him, before tackling you in his arms and bombarding your face with soft kisses. definitely eats mint choco with you later.

YANG JUNGWON being the reserved and calm man(leader too) he is, he would hand you a glass of water immediately when he sees streams of tears flow down your cheeks. doesn't waste a second after that, wiping away your tears from your cheeks and pulling you into his embrace, stroking your back in a soft rhythm which makes your eyes flutter close. the smell of his cologne is mellow, which drives your nerves slowly and calms you down in his embrace. jungwon hugs you tighter and presses occasional kisses to your shoulders and forehead, just to let you know he's still here, all ears to listen to whatever's wrong. lays down with you, his head resting still upon his chest, listening to the soft thumps of his heartbeat through his grey sweatshirt while he asks you what's wrong. his caresses don't stop even for a second while he lays with you, listening to your heart.

NISHIKURA RIKI ‘s heart melts when you break down like that, #2 at the “and I crumble completely when you cry” energy, don't ask me why. but our boys’ not nervous at all! he loves his girlfriend dearly and always has a trick up his sleeve whenever the smallest inconvenience comes across. rushes to you and hugs you so tight that at one point you swore you couldn't breathe. that is when riki thankfully lets you off his grip and pulls you closer, until your back is pressed to his chest. now it's time for nishimura riki to pull his trick out! girlfriend 101: when y/n's crying, show her cute cat videos. your have died down soon enough after riki holds his phone before your eyes, a random cat compilation video playing. he doesn't forget his cuddles though, literally becomes plush to you while you both stream cat videos that whole day.

© bywons, 2024. do not copy, translate or upload any of my works without my permission.

(📌) :: TAGLIST IS OPEN! @euncsace @fleumiu @leaderwon @dimplewonie @yrhome @heartswonn @jwonistic @aaa-sia @ashtxrie @kgneptun @lilacnini nets! @/k-labels

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hey 👋 there just wanted to say I really like your art and how you flesh out the characters of the fatui.

Especially pierro

I was wondering if you’re taking requests, if you could make one about how reader is deeply injured to the near point of death and the fatui (separate)

Have different reactions to seeing their beloved almost dying and find the culprit or culprits involved and have them tortured or whatever their reaction is. And they later on stay by their side making sure they return to full health not knowing what they did for them.

(but in way I like seeing their cruelty for their reader getting hurt come to light and how they would feel.)

You don’t have to acknowledge this ask but it’s just something I think about

This request was asked by several anons and @ghost3029 ages ago. Apologies if I can’t tag all the lovelies here

✦ Someone hurt you, and how they take care of the matter

(Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone, Tartaglia) 

(Slight tw: mention of injuries, blood, violence.) 

To be the enigmatic beloved of a Harbinger means to have eyes on you - some in awe, while others with ill intent. Luckily for you and your dear Harbinger, privacy is paramount no matter what his job entails. However, what happens when you venture too close to harm’s grasp, whether by accident or by someone’s design?

✧ When Pierro saw the dangerous glint in your eyes, he knew two things were happening: you had just been embroiled in a lethal fight, and you would faint in any second due to immense fatigue. He doesn’t call out your name or contort his expression into shock or trepidation. Because in split seconds, he sprints towards you, catching your collapsed form right into his arms. 

Limp and marred with wounds, even your unconscious state looks worn out as The Jester swiftly lifts you in his arms. He was undeterred by the sight of your blood slowly seeping out onto his immaculate white suit. No, the Fatui Director is a calm but unfazed man. 

“You always took matters into your own hands, my divine. Ever so willful, always overexerting yourself.” - Pierro murmured to himself, before turning to face the monstrous culprit who dared to harm you, a remnant of Abyssal Corruption. “However, for someone to raise their hand at you is a sin. My beloved might be merciful when granting death, but I – don't.” 

You didn't hear or register anything; the last thing you remember is Pierro's hand shaking as he held you tightly. When you woke up groggy, wrapped in the ache of healing wounds, you weren't shocked to see yourself clad in clean clothes, resting by a spacious, comfortable bed. Beside you was Pierro; unmoving, sitting. He never once left your room.

“For… How long was I out?”

“For a whole day, dear. Do not fret, the best doctors and healers in Snezhnaya worked swiftly to patch you up.” – his palm gently rested on your forehead, brushing your hair aside as he ensured your temperature was stable. Even his gaze, so often sharp with command, had softened, devotion etched into every touch or glance.

“A-and the Abyssal monster I fought? Is everyone safe…?”

“Hm? You still concern yourself with that? This dread is not yours to bear, my divine. How many times must I remind you that it is not your duty to dirty your hands? Rest easy instead. No filth will tarnish the peace I have built for us.”

✧ Il Capitano is aware you can defend yourself. He respects your might; he doesn't doubt your cunning strength. However, can he stand idle when the clash of steel begins and the threat of violence dares to draw near you? Can his heart bear witness as you endure blow after blow, even in triumph?

No, he cannot, and this is his weakness. His body cries out to quickly shield you whenever an enemy gets too close. Even when you're amidst the roaring chaos of a battle, he intercepts those who venture too close with relentless force. You were expecting that, but you groan in frustration either way:

“Capitano, this is not your battle. I can manage myself!”

“I will not let you barge into danger recklessly,” – he retorted. The Antumbra held steadily in his hands. “You're moving too fast.” 

He refused to move between you and the onslaught of corrupted abyssal monsters. For a man who often reprimanded you about being reckless, your beloved hypocritically used his body as a shield whenever you were in danger. 

“Thrain-!” 

He rarely hears your stern voice. But the call of his true name rendered him motionless for a minute, a tense silence riveting between you. Before either of you could add another word, an abyssal mimic wielding the form of a Ruin Guard aimed straight at Capitano’s back. However, you were quicker in blocking the massive creature, taking the blow instead.

After the waves of monsters dissipated, the battlefield was left in ashes. A few of the Harbinger's soldiers scavenged the aftermath in search of any injured. You, however, clutched your disheveled wounds. Turning to face Capitano, you were met with his eerily silent and pitch-black expression. 

“Listen, Capi,” - you began quietly, voice laced with guilt. “I'm sorry for… raising my voice like that. I only meant t-”

Before you could finish your mumbles, Capitano hoisted you up onto his broad shoulders and started moving away. 

“Hey, hey! Put me back! I was in the middle of an apology,” - you thrashed, wiggling against his back while he kept a very resolute grip on you. Being slung like a sack of potatoes after a harsh battle only doubled your shame. Especially when he gave you a tap on your hip to keep you still. 

“Shush. I've heard enough. I am dragging you to the infirmary myself,” – he added sternly, one hand holding you while the other carrying his sword. “And if it means throwing you over my shoulders and reminding you how to be inert, then so be it. Either your recklessness will kill you, or my heartache will end me instead.” 

✧ For a man like Il Dottore, dissecting near-lifeless forms beneath sterile light was a ritual long devoid of novelty. But when fate laid his beloved upon that same table, the clinical detachment in his gaze curdled into something far more lethal.

Your cuts were sutured and your bleeding staunched by the deft encirclement of his bandages. As your shallow breathing mellowed down, teetering on and off your consciousness, you scarcely perceived the taut silence in the lab, or the meek voice of the Fatui soldiers that brought you back: 

“We have delivered them safely, Lord Harbinger. As per orders.” 

“Brought them you did, indeed. But safely…?” – his gloved grip retracted from your bandaged limbs, like a coiled snake slithering back. “Spare me your excuses, this is nothing but a horrendous job done. One command, and you botched it: return them to me unharmed.” 

The Fatui soldier stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, though his head hung low. The Harbinger's eyes remained hidden behind the gleam of his mask, but the venom in his voice alone was enough to conjure the hell that would follow should any wretch dare to utter defiance.

“Tell me, if I shattered one of your bones for every drop of their blood spilled, would that seem just? Or maybe,” – he drawled, each syllable an iron weight, “For every stitch I had to use on their skin, and every roll of bandage used, you compensate by skinning your own limbs-”

The murderous tension was interrupted when your coughing echoed in the room – “... D-dottore?”

A single word, a call of his name, yet one that made The 2nd drop all his threats in an instant, kneeling on the cold stone floor beside your medical cot. “Yes, my dear, yes. Shh, I am here now. You're safe.” 

Your eyes fluttered toward him, the weight of exhaustion rendering your limbs motionless. Yet even then, you smiled faintly, reassuring him to keep his anger at bay, your fingers meekly reaching for his hand. You didn't say much, too drained to squander air that your body so dearly needed for healing. And Dottore didn't mind. Holding your single palm in both hands, he clasped it close and brought it to his lips. 

Like a heretic clutching an unworldly relic, he stayed there and held your wrist close to himself in a reverent prayer. As long as he could feel the quiet thrum of your pulse beneath his fingers, he would call down ruin upon Teyvat itself for every wound carved into you.

✧ Pantalone leaned closer in his seat, hand deftly reaching for the vial of saline as he pressed a dampened cloth to your wounds with deliberate tenderness. The Harbinger, ever composed in his peculiar cheer, wore his usual merry smile, opting to dismiss the servants and tend to your injuries with his own hands.

“Walk me through it again, darling, how ever did you end up with such dreadful scrapes?”

“Well, I'm telling you!” – you began with animated exasperation. “I was on my daily expeditions, doing my usual exploration around Jueyun Karst. A nice farmer on the way pointed me to where to harvest fresh Qingxin flowers. So I went on, but a group of Treasure Hoarder bandits ambushed me.”  

As Pantalone listened patiently, he continued to clean your wounds, ensuring even the smallest cuts were secured underneath a band-aid, his thumbs softly gliding over the bandages to ensure they seal onto your skin tenderly.  

“And- And then…! I went Pow! And then slash! I defended myself because they tried to steal all of my Mora. Thankfully, some local heard the ruckus and came to my aid. So, all in all, I got out of it with barely a scratch, in my humble opinion.”

The Harbinger shook his head, tidying up the bandage wraps before reaching to pat your hair – “Tsk, tsk, tsk. This won't do, you silly. You must be more careful when adventuring in the wild like that. No matter how minor the danger may seem.”

You could only exhale a sigh of reluctant surrender. You knew he had a point, and you did feel the fatigue catching up on you now that you were back home safely. Thus, with a loving embrace and a goodnight kiss, you decided to retire for the night. Pantalone waved a cheerful goodbye, watching your personal servants following dutifully in tow as you left his study room. 

You’d sit and sulk, like a child reminded for the tenth time to be careful when playing outside. Even when you reminded Pantalone of the time you'd bested a Stonehide Lawachurl single-handedly, he'd merely sigh wistfully and kiss your cheek.  

“Oh, I know, I know, my love. But still, take it slow for a couple of days, will you?” - he kept his thumb gently running down your cheek, his smile imbued with quiet reassurance. “I’ve no desire to see you crossing paths with bandits again. Rest easy, darling.”

And the moment you departed? His charming smile immediately vanished. 

Without turning to face the bowing servant, he ordered courtly, his voice lacking the usual innocent warmth he used with you – “Report. Now.” 

“The intel came in from the operatives we stationed on route. The treasure hoarders they spoke of are being tracked as we speak, Lord Harbinger.” 

Pantalone drew in a measured breath, quelling the fire rising in his veins. Before you even made it back home to his arms, he had already received news of the attack. How was he informed so quickly? Simply because he stationed the best spies to blend into the backgrounds and keep track of your safety, so-called invincible bodyguards all bound by oath and coin to the Regrator himself.

The nice farmer you met in Jueyun Karst? The kind local who noticed the commotion when Treasure Hoarders dared to attack you? All Fatui Agents, steeped in stealth, honed in combat, disguised perfectly to serve as his eyes while you kept living the best of your life. Even the personal maids who help you with your usual nightly routines – the best of Fatui Operatives from the House of the Hearth, ordered personally to function as your closest bodyguards by the 9th.

Pantalone was no fool. He would never let his suffocating devotion eclipse your freedom, especially when you sought nothing from the Fatui. You deserved joy, unshackled and luminous, filled with wild adventures and quiet victories of your own making. He would never command the course of your life, instead, he would love you as you are, unperturbed by his status as a Harbinger.

But you don't deserve this worry. He would shoulder this dirty burden on his own.

“The Agents acted sufficiently,” – he noted dully, his ringed fingers intertwined elegantly. “Instruct them to continue tracking the Hoarders. It's clear they tried to use my beloved as leverage to get to me. Ensure each and every single one of them disappears. Make it quick and make it clean.” 

✧ Smash. Tartaglia raised his arms up, the club-like piece of wood was but a crude piece of a fence he grabbed on the go. Smash. He didn't even register when he picked it up instead of his Hydro Riptide swords. No, his set of weaponry would've been much more precise. Too clean for this job. Smash. This club is slow and would deliver a much messier message. Smash.    

When did blood get on his face? 

The Harbinger had already forgotten the face of the person he had just clubbed to the ground, their limbs broken; crimson blooming in grotesque contrast against the pristine white of snow. The cries and pleas went unheard, like a static buzz behind his temples, drowning out everything but the pounding pulse of rage. All he could think about was how warm the vivid red looked against white.

That is until your voice pulled him out of his haze – “Childe… Childe!”

He turned to face you, disoriented as to why you're looking at him in exasperated horror, your eyes widened, and your voice breathless. Ah, he remembered now. Someone called you the 11th’s lapdog, had dared to treat you like a gutter-born wretch, and seized your wrist with rough, presumptuous fingers. That's why he chose a random piece of a wooden log. And that's why he delivered a slow, painful message to this person over a merciful end. 

“... Oh.” – Harbinger stated simply, leaving the club to sink into the snow with a dull thud. “I'm sorry, sweetie. Did I take too long?”

Walking away, as if the whimpers of a bleeding man on the snow did not reach him, Tartaglia smiled at you. The luster in his eyes is still absent. 

“I apologize, sweetheart, you shouldn't have seen most of that. I got too distracted.” 

You remained speechless. Your silence clung to you like frost, your body still trembling not only from what happened, but from the visceral sight of it. Even when your beloved noticed that, trying to soothe you by wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he failed to realize you were probably shaken from the blood around his hands. 

“Come here, let's go home for now. I'm sorry, dearie, I'm sorry.”

Red, he thought again, warm like you against his cool skin. 

[nerdygirlramblings]

Hello! Ive been binging poly!141 and I keep coming back to your writing for my fix (because by now its basically an addiction😅)

I had this idea that the 141 are together with a civilian reader. And civilian reader works in retail, part time, and is mostly at home. Normally, they would be home by the time their boys came home, welcoming them with open arms, a hot plate of food, and time to rest and relax. But this time, the 141 get home early and realize where reader works: Walmart (or equivalent). Reader has been keeping this a secret cause they know its not cute like a coffee shop or cool. Its just their job. And now the most important men in their life know. Im thinking the 141 found out because they went grocery shopping and happened to come across reader or something similar to that.

I work at Walmart and it sucks🥲 thought that maybe something like this might help😅

Tysm, nonny! So happy to hear you like the writing. I hope this does your idea justice. (Walmart doesn't have stores in the UK, but they own ASDA.)

Also, thank you for my first request! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

pure fluff, bad accents (per usual)

Your boys find out you work part-time at ASDA on a random rainy Thursday in March.

You don't really need a job. All four of your lovers are officers with the British army. Prior to you, they all lived in base barracks. Prior to you, they lived fairly Spartan existences. Prior to you, most of their income sat in the bank, quietly accumulating.

They have plenty of money saved up that they love using to spoil you, when you let them. You know that if you asked, they'd give you everything, but you draw the line about asking them for an allowance like some tradwife. You want some pocket money of your own. Thus, the part-time job at the ASDA in town.

You're a people person, good at handling big personalities. You need to be to keep up with your boys. Between John's need for control, Simon's stoic dominance, Johnny's aggressive enthusiasm, and Kyle's blinding charisma, you aren't some shrinking violet. Within a week of your hire, your manager watches how you weather a nasty piece of work trying to demand concessions you aren't permitted to give and immediately puts you in customer service.

You're nearly unflappable in the face of frustrated pensioners and harried parents and entitled young professionals. Over and over, you're the one they call when a customer is going spare. Which is how your boys find out about your job.

They've been deployed for over two weeks, and you have no idea when they'll return. John had originally said they'd be gone for at least a month, so you aren't expecting them home any time soon. However, they'd come home much earlier than anyone thought, and they wanted to surprise you.

You're always so good about making the house feel like a home, with your bright smile and warm laughter, your home cooked food and soft touches in decor. You make them feel like people, not weapons, and they want to return the favor. This last deployment had been hard, and all four of your boys were missing your sweet voice and tender care. They wanted to show you that they loved and cared for you the way you always showed your love and care for them.

It was Johnny's suggestion to prep a meal for you as both a surprise and a thank you. After debrief, they pile into the car and decide to stop at ASDA for everything they need before heading home to surprise you. It's John who causes the code call.

You hear Susan's voice over the store-wide address system. "We could use a little Sunshine in the floral department." That's your cue. You finish with the pensioner at your till as Jacob, your manager, comes over to relieve you.

You take a deep breath and square your shoulders. In your experience, a Sunshine call in floral is a man angry the store doesn't have the fancy arrangements listed on the website. You wish the signage on the site would be more clear that the beautiful bouquets are online orders only. It would save you having to explain why the offers in store are so limited.

You hear him before you see him, smokey voice grumbling, "But if they show the bloody thing on the site as available, you should have it hear." You'd recognize the voice anywhere. He's not angry, not really, but Susan doesn't know that. Add in the sheer size of him, and Simon looming over his shoulder, it's no wonder she called for support.

You have never wanted to walk away from a situation as much as you want to right now, but before you can make an escape, Susan notices you over John's shoulder. Her little wave is enough for your men to notice, and they turn as one to see you coming towards them. Immediately their demeanor shifts. Simon's back sags as though his strings were cut, leaving him loose-limbed. John stands a little straighter, chin up as if to impress you. They've both broken out in smiles, though Simon's are only evidenced by the laugh lines you know to look for. It's only as you get close do they zero in on the badge on your shirt.

"I've got this, Susan," you say to your co-worker. "Jacob's on my till. Can you cover?"

Susan wrings her hands. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay and-"

"They're nothing I can't handle," you tell her, cutting off her worried rambles. There's a cheeky glint in your eye as you flick your gaze at your men. You clap your hands together and say, "Right, let's get this settled, then."

Susan takes one quick look between you and the now slightly less intimidating men and heads towards the front of the store.

Once she's out of earshot, John's face breaks into a frown. "What're you doing here, love?" He glances at your name on your chest again. "You work here?" He sounds almost hurt by the revelation. You can tell Simon wants to reach for you, and the only thing stopping him is you working.

You hear heavy footfalls behind you as Johnny's Scottish lilt reaches your ears. "Och, Cap! Ye said ye'd only be a moment. Gaz and I had a hell of a time getting the trolley on its lift ta find ye. How hard is it to buy bon..." His question dies on his lips as you turn around. "Bonnie?" He, too, sounds hurt to find you working here.

You can see Kyle over Johnny's shoulder, confusion written across his features. This is not how you wanted your boys to find out about your job, if you ever wanted them to actually find out. You thought maybe you'd surprise them with tickets to Hereford FC's opening game in a few months. And if they asked how you afforded them, you could handle this conversation then, but it's out of your hands now.

And as much as you don't want to have this conversation, especially not in the middle of the floral department, you can't stop the wide grin at seeing your boys again, home and whole.

"Hi, boys," you say, opening your arms. Disappointed he might be about finding you here, Johnny's no fool. He immediately steps into your embrace, and the others quickly follow suit. You're swallowed up by the smell and feel of them. The hug lasts one minute. Then two. Then they all slowly step back.

You can see the questions and cut them off before they get started. "I have another three hours before I'm off. We can talk at home, and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

John nods first. He recognizes your tone. You won't let them derail you for answers now, and they would be wasting their breath to try. "You heard the lady, lads. Let's get home."

They start to walk away when you tease, "Captain? Was there a reason you were arguing with Susan about the flowers?"

He halts his steps and turns to you, flush creeping up his neck. He brings his hand up to rub it as he says, "Er, I, we, wanted to get ya something nice, but they don't have the same ones as online."

You melt a little, watching the way your men shift nervously behind their captain. You smile softly and reach over, plucking a bouquet of rainbow poms from the rack. "These are what I usually get for myself when you're away."

John takes them gently from your hand and passes them to Gaz to put in the trolley. "We'll see you at home, love," he murmurs, leaning over briefly to kiss your cheek. Simon kisses the top of your head, fabric brushing your hair. Johnny pulls you in for another bruising hug and kisses your other cheek. Gaz puts his hands on your waist, drinking in the sight of you, before taking your hands in his and kissing your palms.

You watch them leave, wondering how you'll make it through the rest of your shift.

Three hours and fifteen minutes later, you cross the threshold of your shared home to the most delicious scents wafting from the kitchen. After slipping your shoes off next to the piles of boots at the door, you follow your nose back to the kitchen and the spread laid out on the large wood-topped island. There's a roast and mushy peas and mashed potatoes and stewed carrots and battered cod and crisps and spinach all surrounding the flowers you'd suggested, nestled in the vase you love most, the Caithness one Johnny'd bought you on your first trip with them to Scotland.

At the table, your men sit, plates made for everyone, waiting on you. They've changed since you saw them. Gone are any traces of fatigues and tactical gear. Instead they're all in casual civvies, truly home for the first time in nearly three weeks. Simon stands as you come in and pulls out your chair, smile on his scarred lips. "Come sit, doll," he tells you, not quite an order.

You look quickly around. "Let me change," you say, tugging at your uniform top. "I won't be but a minute." You back out of the room before they can stop you. You hurry to your bedroom, pulling your top off as you go. Once behind the door, you slip from your trousers into comfortable leggings and a large jumper, one of Kyle's you think.

By the time you make it back to the kitchen, your men are more than a little antsy. Simon's smile is a little strained, Johnny is fidgeting, Kyle keeps glancing between you and John, and John is staring at you. Your chair is still out. He waves a hand at it, and gently says, "Come sit, love." It's couched as request, but you know a command from your lover when you hear it.

You take your seat at the table. "Listen-" you start, but John cuts you off.

"Are we not providing for ya, love?" You see the hurt in his eyes, how much it bothers him to think he, they, aren't doing enough for you.

"Oh, John, dear, no!" you reply, putting your hand over his on the table. "It's not that at all."

"Then what?" Simon asks.

You look at them all, the expectant faces waiting to hear how they failed you. "I get restless sometimes. I love you, and I love our life. I'm happy to take care of the house and make sure you're all fed after a long day. But I wasn't built for sitting around doing nothing. I like people; being home on my own all day can get lonely. Especially when you're deployed. I also like having my own pocket money."

John opens his mouth, and you know what he's about to say, so you continue. "I know you'd give me any money I need or want, but I like having my money. Money I earned myself." You look around at them, willing them to understand. "It's only part time. Helps me keep a little busy and have a little extra to spoil you and me with."

Johnny is frowning, but you see Kyle, head cocked, looking at you as a puzzle. "I think I understand," he says softly. "You were making you way just fine before us, and you gave up everything for us."

At his words, the crease between John's brow deepens, and you're sure he's remembering the job you had, that you'd somewhat enjoyed, when you'd first met them. You'd been working at RAF Lakenheath, living in a cozy flat in Cambridge, near The Backs, when the 141 had been coming through the base after an op. An injury had put Kyle in the med center for a week, and while he could have been transported to Hereford once stable, Laswell had worked it out for the whole team to have some R&R near the base.

You'd quite literally run into John one day, rushing to your office, after which he suggested lunch as an apology. You quickly became close with all four, smitten with them from the start. In turn, they fell hard for you. They wooed you over the course of several weeks, stopping through Lakenheath on deployments to spend some time with you. Six months in and you were completely gone on all four of them, so when they'd asked you to move to Hereford, you did without ever looking back. But it meant giving up the life you'd led.

Somewhere along the way, your happiness overshadowed all you'd left behind. After a few weeks, being home alone while your men worked started to feel isolating. You liked being a little busy, and there weren't enough projects around the house to keep you busy enough. You'd always been independent, but you didn't want to be stuck in a job with long hours anymore. You wanted to be home for your men. So you'd found the job at ASDA.

Kyle reaches over to where you hand is still on John's. "I'm sorry we didn't ask how you were coping us being gone all day," he says. He looks you in the eye as he continues. "I understand wanting to do something, wanting to be a little busy, and if this makes you happy, then I'm all for it, doll." He gives you a small smile and squeezes your and John's hand.

"Gaz is right," Simon rumbles. "We were so happy to have you here we didn't think about what you did all alone all day." He puts a heavy hand on your thigh, the warmth of him seeping through your thin leggings. "'m glad you have something to keep you from getting lonely."

"Sorry, hen," Johnny murmurs, just above a whisper. "We didnae think a' ye enough." You smile widely at him.

"Johnny, you think of me all the time. This isn't about neglect at all!" You try to catch his eye, but he's looking hard at the table in front of him. "You did nothing wrong, love," you tell him gently.

He looks at you, blue eyes bright. "Ye sure?" You've never seen him this nervous before, and you break a little.

"I'm sure love."

He smiles then, a little smile, but it brightens his face and shifts the mood in the room. You look at John who's been surprisingly quiet this whole time.

He's smiling, but it's a little sad. "I know ya said we didn't do anything wrong, but we feel like we did. We didn't notice you were bored, didn't ask if you were lonely." He flips his hand over under yours and threads your fingers with his. "Yer giving us a gift by not blaming us, and we'd be stupid not to take it, even though it feels like yer giving us an out. Thank you." He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it softly.

"Thank you. I was worried you'd be mad," you admit.

"Never could make us mad with something like this, hen," Johnny reassures you. "I'm sorry we had to spoil your day is all."

You turn back to look at the food on the island. "You didn't spoil my day. You made it. You're home early, and you made such a lovely spread. I think we should tuck in, yeah?"

Simon chuckles. "Point made, doll," he says, scooping a heaping helping of mash onto his fork. The rest take it as a sign to start eating too.

The room is silent save for the sounds of food savored until John pipes up, "Why'd ya come to florals, love? We might have missed ya altogether if not for that."

You giggle. "The sunshine call, John."

"Yeah?" He clearly doesn't understand.

"It's the shop call for a difficult customer. When I'm on shift, it's my job to handle those." You look at each of your lovers in turn. "Seems I've got a knack for dealing with muppets," you tell them with a smirk.

main masterlist

[luveline]

hiya there! can I request remus having an autistic gf and her finally being comfortable stimming and unmasking around him? 🙏🏻 thank you

“I love that movie, I love Scooby-Doo.” 

Remus hums. “I don’t mind it.” 

“With the escape ball and– and when Scooby draws the bunny?” You grin. “It always makes me laugh.” 

“I like the frisbee flashback.” 

“That’s the first one.” 

“Is it?” Remus takes a sip of his coffee, a white chocolate mocha, barely any coffee at all. 

“I don’t know.” You laugh. Remus likes how it tumbles from you, unabashed, your hands drifting towards your chest. You’ve slumped with time into the cushions of the coffee shop’s patchwork sofa, a thigh of space between you and Remus filled with your purse, his wallet, and his longing. 

You start to squeeze your hand into a fist. You’re still smiling. Remus has to compute the event quickly, lest he ask if you’re okay and make a fool of himself. You’re fine, just excited to be having a laugh, and this is what happens. He resists the urge to clench his own fist as yours rolls in and out of itself like a flower, blooming and un-blooming, taking in the sun, heat of your chest, and closing again. You squeeze again and Remus remembers it’s his turn to talk. 

“Did you watch the cartoons?” he asks. 

“I did! Yes! The cartoon movies were the best.” 

Remus is sure you’d let him kiss you if he asked politely enough, but you’re so busy trying to learn everything about one another that there hasn’t been time. Genuinely. He’s ditching a lecture to be here now, wondering if he can persuade you into calling in sick from work tonight just ‘cos he wants to see you that little bit longer. 

“If you skip work, we can watch the Cyber Chase. I have the DVD.” 

Your hand squeezes, and when you let it go, you force your fingers straight. Then, gentle, you begin tapping the base of your neck like a feigned pulse. “Really, you do?” 

“Buy you a takeaway and everything.” 

The noise you make in response is almost silent. Lips pressed together, eyes alight, it’s a happy hum. He’s so happy he caused it that he reaches over the mess on the sofa to hold your resting wrist. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah. But if you’re buying food then I’m buying the popcorn before we go. There’s a CostCutters by your flat, right?” 

He follows down your wrist to your hand. It’s restless, but not moving into tight balls like the other one. “Yeah. Or we can go to a proper shop and get some kernels, I have a pan with a lid and real butter, we can make it ourselves. I’ll make caramel, too, if you want.” 

Remus doesn’t think it’s the popcorn that’s exciting you —though popcorn can be quite interesting on an otherwise mundane Monday night— but instead assumes it to be the same thing that has his heart skipping beats, the diminishing gap between you. The inch of your knee pressing into his. 

“It’s the second film, with the frisbee,” you say suddenly. “You’re right, it’s when they have to go to the original clubhouse.” 

You squeeze your hand into a fist again, worrying the neck of your t-shirt. Remus rubs the back of your hand with his thumb, weighing the idea of asking you if you’re alright against how that might kill the mood. Eventually, he brings his own hand to his neck and squeezes it shut. “You okay?” he asks softly, just so you know he doesn’t mind. 

Your hand relaxes. Voice similarly soft, eyes a sugary shade he has yet to have seen before, “I’m just happy,” you say. “Being with you.” 

He plays with your fingers, shyness half-feigned and half embarrassingly real. “I like it, too. It’s exactly why you should come over.” 

“I thought I should tell you that, in case I take back my hand or something and it gives you a different impression. I’m just happier when I get to choose what’s happening sometimes.” You smile, and Remus knows he’s trusted. “But I guess you figured that out.” 

He strokes your ring finger, his eyes squinting gently as he returns your smile. 

[brattyspence]

memory serves | s.reid

summary: in which spencer is keenly aware of all the little details. based on request from anon.

word count: > 600

tags: fluffy as fuck, smut adjacent, giggly reader, minor teasing, reader has freckles/birthmarks, spencer is a little shit

a/n: this one is a little self indulgent sorry not sorry. anon sorry this took 87 years i hope u like it <3

masterlist

Spencer has always been patient. 

Maybe too much so. He’s damn near obsessive sometimes. It never ceases to please you, even when it frustrates you. 

From your position, it’s like you can see him tick. His eyes are busy scanning every inch of exposed skin like it’s all new to him, although that’s far from the truth. You don’t understand his need to take his time and be patient. With your back against the sheets, legs carefully draped around his body as he stands over the edge of the bed, you’re not sure you could show him that you’re any more eager if you tried. 

His hands are somewhere under the hem of your shirt, trailing soft fingertips along your skin in a way that toes the line between welcome and teasing. Goosebumps rise in their wake, leaving you simultaneously shivering while burning up in need of something else. When you decide you’ve had enough, you grab onto his hand, tugging him down over you in hopes to move him along. 

“Eager,” he smiles. 

“Not eager,” you protest. “You just like to take your time. Maybe too much.”

“Lots to take in. Can’t miss any details.”

A slight giggle is stifled by another kiss to the corner of your mouth, which turns into two and then three trailing their way along your jaw. 

“Okay, eidetic memory. We get it,” you hum. “You can just take my shirt off.”

He laughs softly, more of a slight huff of air than anything. The feeling tickles your skin and makes you shift under his touch. 

“If my memory stands correctly, which it does, that means you have new freckles.” 

“You don’t memorize my freckles.”

When he pulls away this time, his face hovering mere centimeters above yours, it’s almost like he’s offended. 

“Of course I do.”

“Spencer,” you giggle. 

“I do,” he nods. The hand previously cupping your head slides up to your cheek instead. “These are permanent. But it’s summer, which means sun, and so these are all new.”

You scrunch your nose for a moment as you feel his thumb run across your cheek, first on one spot and then over another. Suddenly, it’s much harder to tease him when he’s being so sickeningly sweet.

“If you say so.”

“Ah,” he shakes his head. “I wasn’t done. You also have freckles here–” another kiss to your jawline, “two here, actually–” a kiss to your shoulder, “and one here,” he places one final kiss over your stomach. 

“You missed a few.” 

“I was getting there. We could go into detail, but since you’re so impatient…” One hand tucks itself under your knee, drawing your leg upwards. “I’ll just remind you of my favorite.” 

Before you can respond, he places another kiss against the fabric of your jeans, right along your inner thigh, exactly over the birthmark that hides there. You can’t hide the way your cheeks flush from the attention.

“You’re so weird,” you smile. Your hands find their home back in his hair, guiding his return back to you.

“If that’s what you want to call it,” he replies. “I have freckles memorized that you don’t even know about.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhm,” he nods. His hand makes its way back to your waist, softly guiding the fabric of your shirt up and out of his way. “I can finish pointing them all out to you, if that would make you happy.”

He waits for the witty remark, or the teasing comment. This time, though, you only pause for a moment and nod before tugging off your shirt the rest of the way, tossing it aside on the bed.

dividers by @esote-rika

[daycourtofficial]

Wingspan Matters

Summary: based on this request, you, Nesta, and Feyre catch your mates in a pissing contest over their wingspans

Author’s note: silly little crack hehe

Word count: ~1k

You poured yourself another cup of tea as Feyre and Nesta began squabbling over something you really couldn’t bring yourself to care about. You looked out the window, taking in the nice spring weather. A light breeze was flowing through the trees, causing the branches to move in a dance to the wind’s patterns.

You watch as the birds flit by, their song a lament to the end of winter, as if they too were sending their thanks to the Mother for spring to return. It’s the first warm day in months, the first day that your forearms won’t get cold being exposed to the air.

The life around you seems to dance and sing at the joyous return of spring - insects buzz past the windows, their high pitched frequencies a delight to your ears. You don’t let yourself think for too long about how the resurrection of spring will cause Cassian to snore even louder than before.

Perhaps you and Azriel can plan an escape to the Summer Court for a few weeks. Hopefully the distance and the crashing of waves will be enough to block out Cassian’s loud snoring.

You get lost in a daydream of laying on the beach with Azriel, either in the sand or in hammocks, applying a protective balm to his wings. The sun is warm on your skin, the salty spray of the ocean in your hair.

Muffled shouting disturbs both your daydream and whatever quarrel Nesta and Feyre were in the middle of. The three of you open the doors to the balcony, leaning over the railing to find your mates in a circle in a clearing on the property, their tan skin and large, dark wings making them stand out amidst the greenery that surrounds them. 

Azriel was standing to the side, looking incredibly smug with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches his two brothers. Cassian has a piece of ribbon that he was holding up to Rhysand’s back. The two kept bickering, over what you couldn’t discern.

Before any of you could question what the two were discussing, Rhysand took the ribbon from Cassian and pushed him off. Cassian landed on the ground, but immediately sprung back up, his hands coming up and shoving Rhysand off the rock he was perched on.

“Looks like the bats are finally measuring themselves,” Nesta muses, bringing her cup to her lips.

You could hear Rhys’s laugh from the balcony as he sprung up, keeping low to the ground as he charged at Cassian, his shoulder hitting Cassian’s hips. He pushed Cassian into the ground, causing Cassian to push his weight upwards so the two of them begin rolling around on the ground, punches and curses being shared to and fro. 

Feyre chuckles, “it seems Azriel’s already won.”

Nesta peers back to you over her cup, “I don’t think it’s just Azriel that’s won.”

“Don’t draw yourself up too short, Nes. I think Cassian’s in second place.”

Nesta looks back at you, eyes roaming up and down your frame, “I’m more surprised he hasn’t broken you in half yet.”

Feyre laughs as you reply, “you’d be more surprised if you saw some of the things we do.”

You waggle your eyebrows at Nesta as Feyre continues laughing, but Nesta’s not quick enough to hide her smirk without your notice.

“How long do we wait until we have them measure Feyre’s wings?” you ask.

Feyre thinks for a moment, hand on her chin, “maybe when Azriel gets a little too cocky.”

“Or Rhysand gets too pouty,” Nesta adds.

From across the courtyard, you could see Azriel’s amused smirk as his eyes met yours, a light tug on the bond urging you to keep your gaze on him. You smile, pulling back softly. He raises his eyebrows up and down a few times, and you send some amusement down the bond as you roll your eyes at him.

He stretches his wings out at your attention, making them as large as he can. You’re pretty certain you’ve seen birds do similar things in mating rituals, but the unfortunate thing is seems to actually be working on you.

He looks over to his brothers, still rolling around in the dirt, and gently takes off for a short flight up to the balcony the three of you are on. He lands softly in front of you, his wings creating a small wind, his chest glowing in the sunlight as his hands reach for you, pulling you into him by your hips.

You melt into him, arms going around his waist, your head resting over his heart as he supports your weight with the railing behind him. The warmth from his skin is soothing without being overbearingly hot.

“They make me want to gag,” Nesta tells Feyre, and you move your head so you can see the two pairs of eyes looking back to the two of you. Azriel wraps his wings around you, making you nearly impossible to see if it weren’t for your feet. You can hear the smile on Nesta’s face at her words, though.

You weasel an opening between Azriel’s arms so you can make eye contact with Nesta as you tell her, “he makes me gag too,” as you make an obscene gesture with your hand.

Nesta’s face immediately goes into her hands while Feyre chuckles, but her laughs are drowned out by the male in front of you, his laugh rumbling in his chest beneath your ear.

He peers down at you, one eyebrow raised in question. You nod slightly, and the two of you vanish into his shadows, leaving Feyre and Nesta to watch their mates continue to fight in the dirt, forgetting who really won the competition.