#but now its all gone its so far gone i can barely remember

[tamagotchikgs]

everything is back on its normal course, i always get shift as the months turn colder from bingeing 2 restricting and more anxious and more paranoid due 2 that except this time i have the weight of knowing i Was Better anxiety-wise even just a little bit. i wonder why i feel so bad and then i remember i went from going to therapy every single week & then the connections program everyday n getting paid and being given Hope for a future to losing it all and going right back to being fully isolated irl

[superhoeva]

older bf!logan is the kinda guy that wants to treat you to a special night of an oiled massage but gets distracted halfway through with how pretty you glisten in the candlelight.

the pads of his fingers are slick with oil and spit as they rub over your swollen clit. at this point, he’s flipped you over, back against his chest, a pool of wet dampening the towel under you as he rubs you to your third peak of the night.

you squirm and pant, gasps rocking your chest while his hands works relentlessly, teasing you with a few dips into your slit before dragging them back upwards.

you don’t remember when logan flips your back to the tainted sheets of the bed. all you know is that he’s naked now and just a soaked in the oil as you are. he grinds into you, cock spilling out a few beads of precum as he chokes out his groans.

“fuck, you should see yourself, sugar. nice and shiny for me. pussy feels so good, dragging up and down my cock.”

the whimper he receives in return and way you grip at his biceps tells him you want only one thing. a sly grin ghosts across his lips at the pouted look furrowing your eyes brows.

he continues the mashing of his shaft into the lips of your center, finding it hard not to roll his eyes at the noise that sounds when his head glides across your clit.

“you know what to do if you want somethin’,” he reminds you in a tone that makes you want to scream. “gotta tell me. use those words, remember?”

you’re babbling out before he’s finished talking.

“fuck, please, want it inside so bad,” you whine out, and he just barely dodges the way you reach down to grip him. “lo, please. can i please feel you inside me? wanna feel you come inside me.”

logan pants at your words, considering your request. you asked so nicely. so sweet with all your ‘pleases’.

all of a sudden, however, he’s feeling a little mean. even with the pulsing and throbbing of his lower half, the way your eyes water whenever you don’t get what you want satisfies one of logan’s deepest hungers.

the only response he gives you is a deep grunt and harder grind of his hips. his pace picks up to something almost unbearable and he keeps it there until he's spurting out long ropes of cum that pool onto your stomach and chest as you lets out a few tears.

logan's attempts to milk himself dry are interrupted by a surprising flip. the man's fatigue makes it easy to roll him onto his back. he's still trying to catch his breath when you climb atop him, hands moving to grab his wrists and hold them as well as you can against the mattress.

you don't let logan's small, impressed chuckle go on for long. they melt into a loud, punched moan when you slide him, sensitive head first, into the heat of your soaking walls.

"oh, fu-fuck."

an even louder sound rips from logan as you start to ride him hard, hands clenching into tight fists at the way you squeeze around his dick.

"s-shit, 's sensitive, baby," logan hurries to remind you through heavy breaths and clenched teeth. yet all he can do is lie there and recite a mixture of your name and groans, chest heaving in its gleam. the sight of him, along with how deeply he reaches inside you is enough to ricochet a fourth orgasm through you.

ass bouncing, you ride the mind-numbing waves and are unable to take your eyes off logan. head angeled backward and eyes clenched shut, he pulses inside you with a strong throb. god, you could cheer in victory at just how fucking remarkable he sounds as you wring out another round of spurting cum.

logan wants to wriggle out of your hands and grab your still-winding hips, but he's too far gone to even think about doing such a thing. he's nothing but putty that you're free to mold and shape into a stark difference from what he was just ten minutes ago. completely yours for the taking...

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (28/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Your pillow is comfortable - just like Charles' lap.

Warnings: 18+ (dry humping, mentions of sex), fluff, tiny bit of angst, Lando is a little shit

Word Count: 4.5k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: since you were all so patient with me - you deserve this. I hope you're sat, because y/n definitely is. feedback is appreciated!

"Good morning, mon amour," Charles whispers softly in your ear before you feel a faint puff of air against your cheek. Something soft and warm presses gently against your temple. "It's still quite early. You can go back to sleep if you want to." He rests his chin on your shoulder and you feel his chest against your back. "I'd like to go jogging, if that's okay with you."

Sleepy - and confused - you snuggle further into your comfy pillow. It's still dark in the room, but through the window you can already see the horizon changing color and announcing a new day. You yawn tiredly and close your eyes again. "You're waking me up to tell me you're going jogging? Are you crazy? Couldn't you have just written me a note or a text?"

Charles exhales through his nose. "I'm sorry, chérie. There was no other way. I have an appointment with my trainer and I'm already late." He gently puts his hand on your bare hip, where the shirt has ridden up and exposed a sliver of your skin. "All you have to do is let go of my arm and then I'll be gone and you can go back to sleep."

Your pillow moves almost imperceptibly beneath you and you raise your head to examine it, puzzled. You realize that you have been lying on Charles' arm and your hand has found its place on his forearm. You suppress a smile as you lie back down and press your cheek into the soft inside of his upper arm. "Nope. Unfortunately not possible. I'm afraid your arm is too comfortable for me to let you go right now."

Charles's fingers press a little harder into your hip, but his arm stays in place. "I won't be long. I promise." 

Drowsy and not fully conscious, you turn in his arms and lift your leg, only to wrap it around his waist and press yourself against him. The tip of your nose touches his bare chest. "You said yesterday that we would continue to share a bed so that I could sleep better. So you have no choice but to stay here with me." As you absentmindedly kiss his chest and press your hip against yours, you feel warm.

Charles laughs softly, but doesn't disagree with you. Instead, his arms wrap around you a little tighter. The hand that was on your hip a moment ago slides up your spine under your shirt. His fingertips dance over your warm skin until his hand rests gently on the nape of your neck, where it lingers lightly. "As far back as I can remember, I said I'd hold you in my arms if it meant you'd sleep better."

You gently lift your head from his chest so that you can look at him. Charles' eyes are closed, but a slight smile pulls the corners of his mouth upwards. "You do realize that you're digging yourself in deeper, don't you?"

He slowly opens his eyes and looks down at you. Without hesitation, he rolls you onto your back. You feel his weight on top of you as his hand disappears from your neck and rests against your thigh, keeping your leg wrapped around his waist. "How silly. Looks like I've lost now." 

His weight on you, his warm breath on your face and his fingertips disappearing under the hem of your shorts cloud your thoughts. You look at him from under your eyelashes and have to swallow as his gaze darts from your eyes to your mouth and back up again. "How silly."

He opens his mouth slightly and he's so close to you that you can make out the different shades of green in his irises despite the darkness. His beard shades his beautiful face and you want to rub your cheek against it. Or feel the stubble on your thighs. Or - 

Charles leans so far down towards you that the tips of your noses touch. As he licks his lips, you think you can feel his tongue on your mouth. But maybe you're just too tired and imagining it. "I'd love to stay in this bed with you forever," Charles whispers, and as his fingers slide a little higher under your shorts, almost touching the curve of your ass, you involuntarily arch up towards him. Just as you think you can feel the hardness of his abdomen, he pushes himself off the bed with his other hand and pulls away. "But I really need to go jogging." A brief moment later, he stands in front of the bed and scratches the back of his neck. "I thought I might go grocery shopping afterwards. Just text me if you think of anything else you might need." 

Distracted by the warmth in your lower belly, you stare at him as he slips into the sports shorts you were wearing yesterday morning. His smell clings to you and you can't think straight as he sits down on the edge of the bed to pull white tennis socks over his feet. You push the covers off you and crawl across the bed to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Your hands rest on his warm chest. "You're mean, Charles." You brush a kiss on the soft skin under his ear and can feel his heart skip a beat.

He pauses in his movement. "You haven't called me that in days." He tilts his head a little so he can look at you. 

Puzzled, you return his gaze. "What do you mean? I always call you Charles."

Slowly, his fingers wrap around your wrists so that he can wriggle out of your embrace. But only so that his arm can wrap around your waist and he can pull you onto his lap. As you sit astride his thighs, he cups your chin with his thumb and forefinger so you have no choice but to look at him. 

He shakes his head slightly. "You called me Charles. English pronunciation. You've been calling me Charles since we had dinner with the others the other night."

You raise an eyebrow and squirm on his legs under his unyielding gaze. "And what did I call you now?"

"Sharl. French pronunciation." A glint sparkles in his eyes. 

"Is that good? Or bad?" you ask unknowingly and innocently, running your fingers through the short hair on the back of his neck. 

"What do you think?" His voice is no more than a whisper as his other arm wraps around your back and pulls you completely onto his lap so that you can barely move. Once again, his fingers slip just below the hem of your pajama shorts, fingertips almost digging into your flesh as he presses your crotch against his noticeable bulge. So hard that you might end up with bruises on your hips. But you don't care. You gasp in response. "Do I like this or not?"

The warmth that was previously spread throughout your body moves south, and you feel your arousal pooling in your shorts. The word friendship flashes faintly in your mind, but as Charles gently but firmly moves you over his hard-on and a low moan escapes his throat, you can't help but block it out completely. 

"Charles," you almost whine as you rock your hips back and forth without a thought and the tip of his brief-clad cock nudges against your clit. Electricity flashes through your veins and your skin burns where Charles touches you and you close your eyes, flushed with pleasure. 

"Nuh-uh." Charles's hand moves from your chin to the column of your throat and rests just at the base of your neck. "Look at me, mon amour." His voice is deep and smoky as he makes you look into his eyes. Through half-opened eyes and with his mouth open, he grinds you over his boner, his breath stumbling and warming your face as you can do nothing but surrender to the sensation. 

Never in your life have you desired someone as much as Charles. Charles, exhaling as if relieved that he can release some tension, while your fingers dig into his shoulder blades to make sure he doesn't stop. The hem of your pyjamas and his boxer shorts rub so deliciously against your bundle of nerves and you moan shamelessly as the gorgeous man beneath you bites his lower lip, wishing it was yours he was nibbling on. 

"Charles, please," you beg, even though you don't know what for. You want his fingers on your throat, his mouth on yours. You want to feel how soft his lips are as he slides his cock home until you fall apart on him. You want to hear him say how good you feel, how much he desires you and that he lo-

"Fuck," Charles snaps you out of your thoughts, and before you can realize it, he releases his arm from your body and leans to the side, where his phone is on the edge of the bed, ringing. 

When you see the panic in his eyes, you quickly slide off his lap and cover yourself with the blanket again. All of a sudden you feel vulnerable and naked, even though you're still wearing the shirt and shorts. You interlace your fingers in your lap. 

"I'm sorry, Andrea." Charles tucks his cell phone between his ear and shoulder as he slips on the turquoise Puma shirt you were wearing yesterday morning. He lifts the hem once and smells it, and for a brief moment his eyes flicker to you before he hurries out of the room, leaving you alone in the bedroom. You hear him continuing to talk in the hallway.

Startled and a little repulsed, you sit on the bed. How did you let it get this far? Charles is your best friend - a fact you told Joris and which was later confirmed to you in person by your roommate. 

So why did you just fall over each other like teenagers who can't keep their hands off each other when no one is looking? Why did you allow yourselves to dry hump each other when you are nothing more than friends? Why did everything Charles did and said turn you on so much that the inside of your thighs are sticky with your arousal? And why did it feel so damn right?

You run your hand through your tousled hair. You've never felt anything like you have in the last few minutes. You've never desired someone as much as the man whose touch made you turn to putty in his hands. As if your brain had been switched off, you gave yourself to him without thinking about what the consequences might be. 

What would happen now? Would Charles still talk to you? Would you talk about it? Would it happen again? 

Before you can think about it any more, Charles enters the bedroom again. His feet are now in sneakers and he has put on a jacket over his shirt. When he sees you sitting at the head of the bed, the comforter thrown over you and with big, worried eyes, his gaze softens. He crosses the room in three steps and sits on the edge of the bed with you before reaching for yours with one hand and intertwining your fingers. 

"We're okay, aren't we?" he asks gently, lifting your chin with his free hand as you try to avoid his gaze. When you look at him, the sparkle from a moment ago is still there. "I - I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it get this far. We're friends and the last thing I want is to lose you over this." He almost stumbles over his words when you don't say anything back. "We're still friends, aren't we?" You can see tears gathering on the line of his eyelashes. 

You are so relieved that you want to hug him. You smile at him. "Of course we're friends, Charles. Best friends," you assure him, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. "There's nothing that could change that."

The man in front of you blinks away the tears and returns your smile before squeezing your hand twice. "I really have to go now. Like I said, if you need anything from the supermarket, please text me. Then I can pick it up for you." He releases his hand from yours and stands up from the bed. "See you later." He leans forward a tiny bit and you can practically see the gears in his brain turning until he merely smiles at you and then disappears. As the apartment door slams shut behind him, you exhale. 

Everything's fine between you, you tell yourself as you unplug your phone from the charger and glance at the clock. 9:30 am. You could go back to bed and sleep, but as you lay your head on the pillow, the smell of last night's smoke creeps into your nose. The whole bed smells like a campfire, and your skin and hair smell like you've been wallowing in ashes, so you decide to wash the sheets and jump in the shower. 

The washing machine makes a gentle whirring sound as you switch it on and then head to the fridge to prepare yourself a little breakfast. However, when you realize that there is nothing in the fridge that would be suitable, you hang your head in resignation. Apparently, the ingredients Charles used for the pancakes yesterday were the very last leftovers, so the fridge is empty apart from a pickle jar and a few bottles of water. 

Without further ado, you shoot Charles a text to ask him to bring something for breakfast before you gather your bathroom utensils from your suitcase in the bedroom, undress in the bathroom and set the water in the shower to the right temperature. Since you have some time before Charles returns from his jog and the supermarket, you take all the time in the world. You shampoo your hair and rinse it thoroughly before leaving a generous amount of conditioner in your hair. Meanwhile, you exfoliate your body, shave carefully - and actually manage not to cut your knuckles. The lavender and vanilla shower gel soothes your frayed nerves, while you keep telling yourself that everything is fine between you and Charles, like you talked about. 

You banish the feeling that his every touch felt good and right to the back of your mind and as you turn off the water and wrap yourself in a soft towel, it's almost as if nothing ever happened between you. 

You focus on the fact that you have to look good today, because you are invited to Charles' mother's for dinner later, so you spend a lot of time taming your hair and picking out a nice outfit. You decide on a pair of dark jeans and a light blouse and button up the last button as your cell phone beeps on the kitchen island. 

Charles: No problem. I think I'll be home in an hour. It'll be too late for a proper breakfast then, but how about some fruit and yogurt?

And indeed. It's now just after 12 o'clock and the washing machine seems to be doing its last spin cycle, because its humming gets louder before it goes quiet and only beeps a few times. You quickly put the wet bed sheets in the dryer before answering Charles.

You: You're the best. See you soon.

While you wait for your roommate to come home, you rummage through the things Kika picked out yesterday and scatter them around the apartment. You put the fake plants on the windowsill in your room and place a vase on the worktop in the kitchen. Then grab some picture frames and stand in the hallway to find out which places on the wall are suitable for which frame. Charles is sure to have enough beautiful photos from all over the world to decorate your home, because unfortunately you don't yet have any pictures together that you could hang on the wall. But that's okay. After all, you've only been friends for a few days. 

When the front door opens a short time later, two men are standing opposite you, one of whom - thank God - is Charles. When he sees you, a smile spreads across his face. 

"We've done some shopping," he explains, lifting the bags he's holding in his hands. Then he looks at the man next to him. "This is Andrea, by the way, my personal trainer and close friend." He walks towards you and briefly looks you up and down. "You look good," he says casually as he walks past you and glances over his shoulder. "Come on, Andrea. The stuff needs to go in the fridge. 

"Don't stress me out like that," the man in front of you replies, rolling his eyes in an annoyed manner. "I'm Andrea, nice to meet you." He places one of his bags on the floor before holding out his hand to you. 

You introduce yourself to him too and shake his hand. " Likewise. I wasn't expecting you to bring half the supermarket with you," you joke, reaching for the bag he's put down before you both head towards the kitchen. 

"Me neither," Andrea replies, shrugging her shoulders. "Charles insisted because he didn't want you to want for anything. Now that you live here too."

"Andrea," Charles warns his friend as he puts the milk and eggs in the fridge. 

"Don't play pretend," he defends himself and puts his bag down on the worktop. "I'm just repeating what you said." He takes your plastic bag from you and puts it on the worktop too. "I'll leave you two alone then. After all, you've got a lot to do today." He turns in your direction and smiles at you before planting a kiss on your cheek left and right. "It was nice meeting you, but I'm afraid I have to go. But I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other."

"I guess so."

He nods briefly, turning to your roommate. "And you let me know about the trip. Then I can arrange everything."

Charles, who is putting food in the fridge with a concentration as if he were taking part in a Tetris competition, waves his hand once in the direction of his trainer. "I will. Ciao!"

Andrea leaves your apartment as quickly as he had arrived, and as the door slams shut behind him, you turn to your friend. "A trip? Where are you off to?"

"I have to go through a training camp to prepare for next season. But I'll tell you about that later." After he's put everything away neatly, he closes the fridge and turns in your direction. "I've just spoken to my mother on the phone. Dinner will be around seven, but we can come over before that, before my brothers show up, if you don't mind." He grabs a glass from the cupboard and pours himself some water before taking a big gulp. "So I'd just jump in the shower and get ready. And then we can go as soon as you're ready."

You smile at him. "All right. Do you still want to eat something small? Then I could cut up some fruit and prepare some yoghurt if you like," you offer. 

He nods thankfully to you before pulling his shirt over his back and off his upper body in one fluid motion. The workout has made his muscles look even more defined than usual. Not that you waste much time staring at his naked torso. 

"That would be nice. I'll just jump in the shower," he says before disappearing into the bathroom. As he turns on the shower, you hear the water hitting the floor. 

You're a little surprised that your little session doesn't seem to be having any effect. The worries you had that the atmosphere between you might now be strained fizzle out and the only thing that remains is the bitter aftertaste that Charles doesn't seem to be bothered by the fact that you were dry humping as friends and there was a possibility that your friendship had come to an end. 

Does it really not affect him that you were both playing with fire a few hours ago? Or is he just good at covering it up and acting as if nothing had happened?

But when you remember how upset he was sitting next to you on the bed afterwards, with tears in his eyes for fear of losing you as a friend, the negative thoughts disappear from your mind. He probably wants to put the whole thing behind him because it would really bother him if you were no longer friends. 

And since you feel the same way, you cut up some fruit without giving it a second thought until your cell phone, which is lying on the kitchen island in front of you, vibrates. An incoming Facetime call from - Lando? 

Why is he calling you? And especially on Facetime? Has something happened to him? Does he need help?

You quickly put the knife aside and wipe your hands on a kitchen towel before answering the call. When the British man's face appears on your screen, you breathe a sigh of relief. He's apparently lying on the couch at home, the hood of his hoodie pulled up over his curls and a broad grin adorning his face. 

"Hi, Lando," you greet him and lean your phone against the vase so that you can continue preparing the fruit. "What can I do for you?"

"Is Charles with you?" he asks as you turn around and take two bowls from the cupboard behind you to divide the fruit halfway between them. 

"He's in the shower," you reply, tilting your head. " Why? Did something happen?"

"No, everything's fine," he says and smiles. "I was just trying to reach him on his cell phone. But when he is taking a shower, it's obvious that he won't answer." 

"'Who's not answering?" you hear Charles say as he leaves the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Single drops of water snake across his chest and down the ridges of his abs before disappearing into the fabric of the towel, which hangs quite low on his hips. You have to swallow briefly and just point at your cell phone. When Charles comes into Lando's field of vision, he nods briefly. "Sorry, I was in the shower. Have you tried to call me?"

Lando, blinking silently at the camera, nods. "Uh, yeah. I wanted to invite you both to a party. After Christmas." He struggles to suppress a smile, and even though the screen is so small, you can see his gaze jump from Charles to you. "My friend Martin is coming here to DJ at a club. If you're up for it, you're both welcome to come."

Charles, who is standing to the side behind you, rests his chin on your shoulder. After this morning, you didn't expect to find Charles back in your personal space so quickly. Whether he realizes you're holding your breath, you don't know. "I don't see what's wrong with that, do you?" The question is directed at you. As you shake your head weakly, your roommate smiles at the camera and puts his hand on your hip. "Then we're definitely in." Suddenly, you feel Charles' lips on your temple as he presses a gentle kiss to your skin. "I'm just going to get ready." With that, he disappears from Lando's sight and, as he enters your bedroom, from yours too.

The way Lando's eyes widen briefly doesn't escape you. "Great. Then I'll put you on the guest list and send you the details." As your gaze shifts from your room back to the Brit, Lando looks back at you with a grin that almost reaches his ears. 

"Lando," you warn him in the same tone Charles just used with Andrea. "Leave it alone."

"I didn't say anything," he defends himself, but the grin doesn't disappear from his face. You'd love to wipe it off his cheek. "So, are you two - ?"

You roll your eyes. "We're friends, Lando. Nothing more, nothing less," you explain to him, but you seem to be falling on deaf ears, because the Brit doesn't seem to believe a word you're saying. 

"Friends with benefits? Or why did Charles just behave like that?"

"What do you mean, like that?" you ask him, tilting your head in confusion. To keep your hands busy, you fill the bowls of fruit with yogurt and add some sweetener before stirring everything. 

"So possessive. So jealous," he explains, as if it's no big deal. Which it certainly wouldn't have been if it hadn't been for this morning's action. 

"You don't know what you're talking about," you retort snappishly, your mouth forming a thin line. "Sorry, that's not what I meant."

"It's all cool. But if you get married, I'll be the guest of honor as matchmaker," he replies, before holding his phone close to his face and grinning broadly at the camera. "And then I'll give a speech about how stupid you both were at the beginning because you didn't want to admit that you were meant to be together."

When you hear Charles' footsteps in the hallway, you quickly reach for your cell phone. "Lando."

"I'm just saying, friends don't look at each other the way you look at him. And that friends don't act as possessive as he does." He raises his free hand, puts his thumb and forefinger together before pulling it over his mouth and pretending to seal his lips with it. "I'm not saying anything more about it."

"Who says no more to what?" Charles asks as he enters the kitchen. 

"Nobody to anything anymore. Bye, Lando," you quickly say goodbye and end the Facetime call, knowing full well that you're sure to get a few more messages from the Brit lovingly mocking you. 

"Oh-kay." Charles sits down opposite you at the kitchen islands and grabs one of the yogurt bowls. You watch him as he shoves spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. "Everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," you reply with a sugary smile and start spooning up your yoghurt too. "I'm just nervous about meeting your mom. I hope she'll like me," you try to change the subject. 

"She definitely will," your flatmate tries to reassure you. "Just be yourself and then she'll love you. And so will my brothers." He reaches across the worktop for your hand and squeezes it twice. "Loving you is easier than you might think."

[audisive]

♪ SAD GIRL. pretty when you cry alternative

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: another bad day calls for another solution. simon knows best, after all.

tags: smut, mentions of crying, comfort, self-indulgent, dumbification ??, dirty talk, a sprinkle of breeding, unedited filth

      You're not entirely sure how you got here.

You know why; you'd been stressing your precious head off for the whole week. These past few days seem to be worse than the past ones that had you crying your eyes out in Simon's arms. University has taken its toll on you, and your work is anything but helpful. You don't even have time to cry now! At some point, you barely even had time to spend with your beloved boyfriend, so he took matters into his own capable hands.

Still, you don't know how. You try to remember, but it's hard to think when Simon's even harder dick is stretching out your – in his words – pretty little cunt once more. It's no use trying to work your brain, he claims, not when your shoulders are slumped, your head is leaning on him, and he's rubbing his thick cock against the walls of your pussy just right.

Really, you tried to deal with your stress in a more appropriate way, but you knew it was futile. You admitted defeat when you felt his hands slip from your waist to your hips, when his lips found your neck, when his cold fingers played with your clit and when he'd eased you down on his cock with praises and whispers.

It's just not your fault that he knows the right buttons to push, and he seems to love turning your brain off. What's going on in that brain 'f yours, lovie? C'mon, 'nough of that. Leave it all t'me. If he had it his way, he'd have you drop out of that awful university you always complain about. Please let him provide for you.

"Y'don' even have t' do anything, baby," he grunts in your ear lowly, hot breath hitting your skin. So you don't. You pant against him like a pathetic thing, but you're so far gone in the pleasure that you just can't bring yourself to be a little shy about your state of mind, or rather, the lack of it.

"Such a good fuckin'–" he moans out loud when you clench around him a little too hard without warning, "girl. That's m'girl, tha's it."

You moan his name back, the only thing you can think of. Whining when his thrusts become rougher and harder, he coos, "I know, I know. Almost there, baby, I got'cha."

His pants aren't even all the way down. Shameless bastard! He opted to slide them down his muscular thighs to let the noticeable bulge slip out of its enclosure. His hands have long since shoved themselves under your clothes, not bothering to take them off either. It makes you feel icky, desperate, and utterly pathetic, but the way his cold skin freezes the surface of your bare hips while he moves you up and down on his leaky cock is enough to take your mind off of it.

You're a bit too loud for your own liking, and Simon's dirty talk isn't helping. He laces the lewd sounds of your bedroom with his own groans and grunts that your neighbors are sure to hear and complain about. And when he finds that spot of yours, he pounds you into the mattress like your lives depend on it. You'll just have to ignore the weird looks and glares they give you when you step out of your house.

Oh, but what can you do? You're at his mercy; all you can bring yourself to do is whine and moan for him, but don't worry, he'll take it as a reward for taking such good care of his pretty baby. He's hell-bent on finding ways to comfort you. If he can't fix you with sweet pecks and warm cuddles, he'll fix you up real good with sloppy kisses and his leaky cock. :3 

You'll be a good girl and not complain when he cums in you, right?

    divider by @cafekitsune !

[starkeyisthelastname]

i just know trailer park rafe looooves making out for hours and eating you out until you can’t remember your name anymore. Do you think he would have a sp*tting kink?

oh yes absolutely all of it. 😩 god this man is nasty

He didn’t know how you did it, but he sure wasn’t complaining. Those delicate little mittens working all day to clean up his filthy trailer that he knew was just going to become a wreck for you to have to pick up again. Or that you had made him a full plate of food with a beer that sat on the banged up coffee table just waiting for him. You still looked so goddamn pretty too, his precious doll that waited on him hand and foot because you wanted to make him happy and show him you could be the perfect little trailer wife he needed.

His plate was cleared, a few beer cans now littered across the table that his long legs rested on. The small living room was dark except for a dim bulb and the static of the old tv playing some shitty old movie. He’d light a cigarette, taking a long drag as he watched you cleaning up the kitchen. He could see right through that little white sundress, still looking like a virgin despite proudly stripping you away from that title.

He was a pleased man that night and he felt like worshipping your sugary self after all you had done. His deep voice would echo off the thin walls, pulling you out of your thoughts as you scrubbed the counter. “C’’mere babydoll, why don’t you give those lil hands a rest?” He said, patting his thigh as an order to come sit in his lap.

He leaned back against the tattered couch, stained wife beater on and with a pair of torn jeans hanging low on his hips. His cigarette hung between his lips, rough hands grabbing your hips to pull you down between his thighs. “You been workin’ hard all day, haven’t ya sweet cheeks?” He would rasp near your ear, smelly nicotine blowing over your frame. You nodded, leaning into his touch his dirty hands ran up and down your body.

It started off with a few pecks, his scruff tickling your baby smooth face as lips teased yours while he still finished his cigarette in between. You’d feel giddy inside, Rafe being the first man your sheltered self had ever kissed. The more whiny you became though, the more possessive he got. Squeezing your ass cheek in his massive palm as he had adjusted you in his lap.

You’d be a couple hours in, tits spilled out of your dress and him shirtless. Your poor little self didn’t know what to do, just letting his tongue shove its way into your mouth over and over until your full lips were swollen. “Mmm.. that’s my pretty baby.” His voice raspy from the long make out session, eyes peering over you like prey. He was longing for a taste of something else, the thought of his tongue on your cunt now invading his mind.

“You wanna know what I really wanna do now?” He asked, thumb slipping between your lips as your desperate little self couldn’t help but rub your bare sex along the crotch of his jeans. You shrugged your shoulders gently, eyes lazy while you sucked on his digit. “I wanna lick your pretty cunt until you can’t take it anymore baby.” He told you, smirk on his face but eyes dark. “Say it. Tell me you want me to lick your cunt.” His words firmer this time.

You didn’t curse, always had been raised to never use foul language despite living in a trailer park. You just couldn’t help but to obey your favorite person, your small voice speaking the unknown words. “I… I want you to l-lick my c-cunt.” You said, voice quiet as you felt a little ashamed. It was enough for Rafe though, nearly growling at the dirty language he teaching you to speak. He’d really test how obedient you were, spitting in your mouth like a whore and closing your jaw shut. “You are so far gone, ain’t ya babydoll? Lettin’ me dirty up your mouth and just fuckin’ takin’ it.”

He’d pick you up with ease, his tall body easily navigating you through the cramped trailer and down the tiny hall to his room. He’d throw you old scratchy mattress, stance still looking huge as he kneeled down. He’d push your dress up, head eagerly finding its way between your plush thighs as he began to eat the sweetest cunt he’d ever been in. You tasted like sugar, leaking all over his tongue and dirty stache as he slurped your folds up messily. He’d watch you try and keep your eyes on him, your soft hand gripping one of the flat pillows he had for support only for your body to fall back with pleasure. You were experiencing a grown man’s mouth on your cunt for the first time and Rafe certainly didn’t play when it came to eating pussy.

“I know babydoll.. feels good don’t it? Keep serving me like a good lil’ trailer park whore and I’ll eat your sweet cunt out as much as you want.” He drawled out between licks, nose buried against your clit to leave you shuddering.

[luversgirl]

TO BE SO LONELY, rafe cameron

summary: after all the pogues forget the youngest roguelege girl’s birthday she goes to the beach only to see someone she never expected remembered her special day.

notes: here’s me randomly dropping this since i’ve been lurking lately

warnings: y/n kinda maybe being dramatic?

“GOOD morning” y/n smiled as she watched her older brother walk into the kitchen.

“uh huh” john mumbled as she walked past the girl barely agnolaging her precise.

“where are you going?” the girl asked as the boy slip his shoes on and grabbed is keys from the counter.

“i’m gonna pick up jj and meet kiara and pope at the beach”

“what about me?” y/n looked at her brother as he opened the front door.

“um…” john b turned his head to look at his little sister “you can just chill here” he spoke before walking out of the chatue leaving the girl there alone not even giving her time to reply.

“happy birthday to me”

after texting the rest of the pogues to see if they remembered the girl’s birthday or even wanted to hangout, but of course they all forgot and didn’t seem to even want to be around her.

sighing, y/n placed her phone face down in the purple beach towel he was sitting on and brought her knees to her chest.

y/n was never one of those self centered people who expected all the attention on her she was just hoping to have a nice birthday seeing as it was the first one without her father, big john.

ever since he’d gone missing y/n watched her brother drifting farther and father away from her taking their, or dare she say his friends now.

leaving her alone.

as the girl stared off into the distance rafe cameron stood not to far from her wondering why she was sitting alone on her birthday.

“y/n” the familiar voice of the kook king came from behind the girl.

she quickly wiped her tears and turned to look up at him from her spot.

“rafe, please don’t start you’re shit just leav-“

“i wasn’t gonna start anything” rafe walked towards her up to the point where he was still standing but by her side.

“what are you doing?“ y/n asked as she watched the cameron boy sit beside her in the same position, knees to his chest.

“i’m sitting with you on you’re birthday”

the rougtledge girl instantly wiped her head to look at rafe in shock.

“h- how did you…”

“i remembered from last year” he said making a small smile make its way onto y/n’s face “it’s still the same day, yeah?” rafe joked making y/n giggled for the first time that day.

“yeah” she spoke through her light giggle making rafe smile.

“good, good” rafe looked at y/n as she looked at the scene in front of them “so.. where’s your little pogue friends?” rafe watched as the small smile on her face disappeared.

“um they went… out” y/n spoke as her smile dropped as she turned her head to looking back at the water.

“i think you’re lying” he stated arms wrapped around his knees closer as they touched his chest.

y/n sighed giving in “they, uh forgot”.

“what do you mean they forgot?” rafe ferwwod his eyebrows as he quickly turned his head to look at the girl.

“i think you know what i mean rafe” y/n chuckled lightly looking at him.

“how could they just forget? i mea-“

“rafe” y/n stopped him in his rant.

“no y/n, their you’re friends they should remember you’re birthday, even you remembered my birthday and i’m well uh…” rafe trailed off.

“…not the nicest person?” y/n spoke slowly hoping not to offend rafe since she didn’t have anyone else to talk too.

rafe reached his hand up scratching the back of his neck “yeah”.

“well not that this wasn’t the most awkward thing in the world…” y/n trailed off as she started to get up.

“wait!” rafe quickly exclaimed standing up as y/n did “do uh, maybe want a ride?” the cameron boy spoke.

“that would be great actually” y/n smiled at rafe making him grin and look down “my bikes over here” rafe and the girl started walking to his car.

“where did she go?” john b questioned for the 30th time in the same hour as him and the rest of the pogues sat in the chatue.

“john b don’t worry about it, i’m sure she’s with some other friends” jj spoke as he sat on one of the three couches in the sun room smoking a joint.

“yeah i mean she’s probably just hanging out with some other friends or something and forgot to text” sarah said as she sat beside john b.

“do her friends include rafe?” pope spoke up sitting up from beside jj looking past john b and sarah.

the rest of the group turned to look in to same direction as pope only to see y/n leaning against rafe’s dirt bike holding a bag from a boutique sarah recognized as he looked at her like she was the only girl in the universe.

“oh fuck no” john b muttered before jumping off the couch with the pogues following along “get away from my sister rafe!” he yelled at the standing pair.

y/n quickly turned away from rafe and to her brother annoyed at his loud antics and decided to give him and the pogues a piece of her mind.

“fuck off john b!” she yelled back walking towards the group with rafe filling beside her.

“you got this?” rafe muttered into y/n’s ear as they walked over close together.

y/n turned to look at him and nodded then slipping her hand into his making him grin.

“what the hell!” jj yelled as the group and y/n met along with rafe.

“what are you doing!? y/n that’s rafe!” kiara yelled at the girl confused and angry at her.

“yeah no shit kie!” y/n yelled back surprising the group with the out burst seeing as they’ve never seen her like that before.

“y/n, do you not remember what he’s done to us?!” pope yelled very angry with his younger sister.

“actually i remember what he’s done to you and honestly why should i care?!” the girl yelled back at pogues now angry with her as well as rafe.

“he’s literally the scum of the earth!” jj yelled making y/n squeeze rafe’s hand.

“well you know at least he can remember someone’s birthday!” y/n finally burst as she stared to tear up.

“someones birthday why does tha-“ john b started to yell.

“yeah, john b someone’s birthday. it’s not like they celebrate every single one their friends birthdays and spend ours panning partys for them and working triple shifts to get the money to buy them gifts!” the girl yelled not holding back.

“y/n we-“

“save it jj” y/n spoke not bothering to raise her voice.

“i do everything for you guys, i cook, i clean and i even do all you’re fucking laundry but now i’m done” y/n finished as salty trail made their way down her face.

seeing the girl in front of him, rafe lightly tugged on y/ns hand silently asking if she wanted to leave.

the roughtled girl accepted his offer turning way from the people she thought were her friends walking over the rafe’s bike and leaving with a single one of them stopping her.

taglist: @faeaura @prettyboystarkey @euthoricspidey @pankowfruitsnacks @rafecameronswhore @yunho-leeknow @outeredits-jess @totallynotkaibiased

[revelboo]

Will you consider writing anything for prowl?Maybe a really angsty one or maybe he gets a human assistant and they have to learn to get along?

I don’t think I’ve ever written for Prowl before even in my FFN days…

Stand Too Close

Prowl x Reader- amends

• You’re always scowling at him. He can feel those sullen eyes watching his every move any time he enters a room. That anger, like he’d hit you on purpose. You’re the one who’d walked out in front of his alt mode on a dark street. It wasn’t like the silly little human crosswalk sign has meant anything to him. If it’s his fault, it’s equally your fault for not looking first. He hasn’t meant to do it, but you try your best to punish him for it every day.

• There he is. Public enemy number one as far as you’re concerned, and the reason you’re now spending your time in the land of giant aliens. Prowl. Those door wings on his back lift as soon as he notices you, going full aggression. You’ve definitely gotten the impression that if Bumblebee hadn’t been with him and seen him hit you, he’d have left you laying in the road with a concussion for someone else to run over. Your whole life and freedom just collateral damage because one alien jerk couldn’t be bothered to stop at a red light. As soon as you’d gotten over the terrified screaming upon waking up in this mess cause he’d kidnapped you, it hadn’t taken long to realize that while the Autobots aren’t going to hurt you, they’re also not letting you go. Because you know where they are, as if you remember anything of the trip to their secret base.

• “Back from ruining someone else’s life?” The human calls out from its perch on his desk and he goes rigid. It’s like you think he did it on purpose. If he had, you’d have gone under his wheels not over his hood. Optics narrowing, he barely resists the urge to bump the desk just so you fall on your butt. He’s done it before to shut you up and then felt guilt about it. And that only ever makes him madder.

• He’d tried pawning you off on Bumblebee since he actually liked humans, but Prime had firmly insisted you were his to look after. To make amends whether he wants to or not. “You didn’t refuel,” he mutters, spotting the provisions he’s left you untouched. “I don’t have time to force feed you and if you make me, I swear you’ll hate it more than me.”

• That threat isn’t lost on you as you resist the urge to flip him off, eyes narrowing. “That’s a frozen dinner, you idiot. Does it look like I have any way to heat that?” He just turns that icy blue stare on you, rumbling in annoyance. “I can’t eat it frozen,” you add because he’s just staring like you’re the problem. Like you walked out in front of him just to ruin his life.

• “If you call me an idiot again, I’ll punish you.” The words are calm, all ice, but there’s an edge to them. A very real threat that walks up your spine on chilly fingers. You got the impression that while he respects the big guy, Prime, he doesn’t always agree with him. And maybe no one would notice if you just disappear. Prowl could just shrug and pretend you escaped. Drive out in the desert and hide your body in a shallow grave. You’d swear he’s thinking about it sometimes. Like now. You meet that stare head on even if it scares you. And to your surprise, he relents first. “I’ll find you food that’s not frozen. And you’ll eat it.” Why does he have to say it like there’s an or else there?

Next

[ronearoundblindly]

Yield

Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader

a vague sequel to Warning Signs (not required to read before this)

Summary: Steve takes your mind off a recent tragedy for the team.

Fluff, hurt/comfort with emphasis on the comfort, references to death and trauma but not explicit, SEVERAL sweet kisses 😍. Adjusted (from its languishing, dusty doc) for @bigtreefest's Summer Lovin' Celebration using the elements: hand kink--although this work is for all-ages--and "ew gross, that's not what I thought would happen today"--except I fudged that a bit. You're welcome even though, yet again, no one asked for this! WC ~2.3k

It’s a dreamless sleep, the kind that feels like you blinked but hours passed. Awareness comes long before awakeness.

Your head aches. You feel as shriveled and puckered as you were laying in the bath tub, soaked but thirsty, letting water steadily drip between your paralyzed, parted lips for so long yesterday. Your eyelids are sandpaper, but they’ve not opened yet.

Minutes tick by—perhaps another hour—and you attempt to remember what’s happening or happened.

Two people died. Gone. Brought back in the belly of the same plane you arrived home in, they are now lost, lost somewhere dark like this, lost like you are for so long as you can stand to keep your sore eyes closed.

Well…you are home but not home all at once.

You’re in a bed, that’s clear, but the pillow isn’t your own. The scent is off. Heavy. Musky. Not unpleasant. Somehow still familiar.

You tick through snapshots of sullen faces trying to remember.

Over you lies a soft, thick blanket. Again not yours. Again pleasing. It has heft. It comforts without constraint.

The hardest sensation to figure out is your hands.

They are…sticky and weighted. You’ve sweat and clammed up upon yourself. Your hands are not clasped in each other. Why the feeling then?

It’s cold—or cool, rather—but not beneath the blanket. The contrast to the battlefield’s heat yesterday is stark though no less repressive. The external pressures of fighting have turned inward, pushing your emotions to the brink. Your won the fight, and after, you lost the war with yourself.

You remember losing that war alone, so what are you holding?

Finally, you look.

There’s someone else in this foreign bed, one of the faces from the sorrowful slideshow behind your eyes.

Steve Rogers sleeps beside you, recognizable only by his size and his crown of golden hair because his head is bent, his hands encasing yours. He’s pressed himself to the bundle of fists between you.

The numbness has yet to lift. That’s why it all reeks of distance and projected celluloid. Yesterday happened but only in that far away world playing on the back of your skull. All you can process as real is that he’s right there and you are right here, simultaneously.

You try harder.

You try to flood color and sound onto the memories until they come closer.

The mission, the deaths, the flailing sense of loss, the unending bewilderment of “what do I do now?”: they become…undeniably tangible. They happened, and they happened to you. You heard the captain promise to stay with you. You heard him…

He called you ‘sweetheart.’

That’s the first thought that stirs something soft among the sharp recollections. That’s when existence returns.

Rogers came to your room. He wouldn’t leave until you were safe. He took care of you, and he called you ‘sweetheart.’ In your months of working with the Avengers, the captain has never once casually assigned an endearment. He says ‘ma’am’ more often than not and barely has nicknames for the teammates he’s worked with for a decade. 

Everyone is Agent, Sir, or Miss. Your last name has always been enough.

You were none of those things last night. You survived a horrid battle, a crippling loss, and a solitude which almost drowned you; it’s silly to admit how he heals your wounds with one simple word.

Sweetheart. A warm cocoa hug to your chest. A gentle embrace. A guidance back toward the light.

Maybe he’ll never say it again. Maybe he meant nothing by it. He only tried to help you. He only wanted you to feel better. Since no one else was around, it’s an easy assumption that Steve simply—

Rogers.

He’s Captain Rogers to you. A coworker. A teammate. That’s all.

It’s difficult to even call him a friend because the man is so professional, so shy.

That shy professional probably saw you naked last night. Whoops.

You shimmy deeper under your covers, tilting your gaze down to the shirt and shorts Rogers dressed you in—his shirt and shorts—but those movements stir the man with your hands.

In a split second, you clamp your eyes shut again and wait in the dark, fighting not to twitch at the dry-sand prickle.

He shifts with a quiet scratching of the sheets, and he sighs, the hot air grazing your knuckles.

One traitorous eye gives a curious peek.

Rogers’s head cranes back to show his sleepy smirk.

“Morning,” he rasps, blinking slowly. He ducks away again to yawn, his face stretching to life, before softly continuing. “How you feeling? Can I getcha anything?”

You tuck your lip under and say nothing. Words have left you.

After allowing the pause, Rogers lets go of your hands, cold flooding your damp skin.

“I’ll get us some water then.”

He doesn’t rumple your blanket. He doesn’t hold eye contact. He just dutifully rolls out of his bed and gets two glasses.

The paralysis is making you quake slightly. What do you say? Will he take you out of the field for this? If not already, will he bench you from how you act next? How will you act next?

He leans a knee onto the still-warm spot he abandoned and tsks.

“Come on. Couple of sips and I’ll leave you alone. Sleep all day if you want, but first—“ He inches the offered water closer.

You rake your eyes up his arm until meeting baby blues.

“Do you mean—“

Rogers’s phone rings. “Shoot, sorry. One second.” He plunks both cups down on his bedside table and answers quickly. “Yeah, Sam, I—no, no run today, I think… Seen her? Um, yeah, she’s…she was—“ glancing back at you over his shoulder, he pulls his hand over his mouth in thought “—I’ll look in…okay, sure thing. Talk later.”

You’re offered another smile and chance at water. “Where were we?”

“So this is where you go to be—“

The failed observation echos in the garage while Captain Rogers kneels by his bike (one of half a dozen). You can’t say ‘alone’ since you’re here, too, so you awkwardly kick your feet over the edge of the steel table he told you to sit on.

Captain America is important enough to be assigned one of the coveted, private garages along one side of the jet hangar, and he assured you, no one bothers him as soon as he closes that door. Where else was he supposed to take you? It’s hot outside, just like yesterday, your room is still trashed, and his room is not exactly neutral territory.

Rogers simply smiles, ticking his head to one side. “Hand me that socket wrench?”

Quick as a rabbit, you hop down, and suddenly, as his fingers drag the cool metal handle from yours, you get it. You forgot all about everything for a split second.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he whispers, smile still gentle, eyes still brilliant blue.

Your insides swoop more than the mid-air jump from your perch. You tuck your lip in your teeth to stifle the glow threatening to shine out. It feels wrong. You can’t be happy today. You shouldn’t. It’s not right.

Right?

Twice. Twice now he’s slipped. Maybe. Yesterday is mostly a blur. It’s hard to imagine he means to say that. It’s not like the captain to be kind. Well, of course Steve is kind, but in a professional way, a distant way. Instead, this is a tender sort of kind, tenderness like holding onto your hands while you sleep.

He’s watching your every reaction, probably to make sure you don’t fall apart again, probably to make sure you don’t shut down entirely, but you’ve a new focus: him.

“Help me?” Rogers asks, tongue swiping out, nervous. “If you want,” he adds with a shrug.

You shrug, too, but sit on the floor next to him.

He exudes unending patience, explaining the basics of what he’s working on, mentioning nothing when you clearly zone out. You lose whole minutes to either staring at him or staring at nothing. More flashes of yesterday overtake your vision from time to time, even though your eyes are open.

“Should have taken you to the infirmary,” he mutters as you shake off your latest blip.

You drop the tool dangling in your limp hand, and despite knowing there’s an object falling to the concrete floor, you jump violently at the clattering it makes.

You grip at your temples, shielding your face. “Perhaps you should have.”

A warm, steady hand lands on your knee.

“I can finish up here and take you.” He hurries to do something on the bike, and you’re sure he’s about to send you for a psych eval.

That’s the last thing you want. You have to convince him you are fine, better than fine, strong.

You grab for his wrist to get his attention back, but the move makes him twist a cap too hard and thick brown oil comes steaming out all over both of you. It drips from your forearms down and splashes from the drip pan up, the flow quickly tapering off with a thick glug from the pipe.

“Ew, GROSS,” you blurt without thinking. You resist the urge to shake it off. No need to cover more of the room in your shame. “Sorry, Cap. I—That was—“

“No, no.” He’s just laughing, thank goodness. “My fault. Was gonna change that anyway…in a couple months. You alright?” He waits for a nod. “Let’s get this mess off at the sink, yeah?”

Rogers carefully points to the corner. You maneuver onto your feet and alternate raising and lowering your arms, thick rivulets threatening to paint the floor if you let the oil run too far in one direction.

“Wipe what you can off with the towels first.”

You sort of knock the roll over and nudge it across the counter. A strategic elbow turns up the tap and depresses the soap dispenser.

“‘Steve’ is fine,” he says as he massages lather over your palms, “by the way.”

You’re damn right Steve is fine.

Your breath catches while he continues to work the oil off your skin, avoiding eye contact.

After a minute or so, rubbing around and down your fingers, specifically scrubbing along your nails, he clears his throat.

“I’m glad it wasn’t you—“ Steve concentrates on circling each knuckle “—horrible as that sounds.”

You take control of the hand helping you, applying pressure as you feel a small tremor rattle the fine bones, unable to see the clear truth of his words beneath righteously long lashes.

He lets you wash him for a while, rubbing between his fingers, scrubbing along his nails, lathering over his palms.

His voice is so quiet, a low breeze from the distant, retractable ceiling letting in the world.

“Not supposed to say that,” he rumbles, inches away at most, “diminishing as it is to the dead.” Steve halts you and slides his hands up your forearms. “But that’s the point, yeah?” He looks up finally. “Focus on the living…”

You’re frozen, hanging on every word you’re convinced he can’t be saying.

“Is that a quest—“

Steve’s long lashes descend to narrow his path, supple lips grazing yours for the briefest moment before a curt “no.” He moves in for a proper kiss then, head tilting to take full advantage of your shock. A new shock. A different kind of shock from the one you’ve barely recovered from since…

Twenty-four hours. Horror. Sweetheart. Limbo. Sweetheart. Bliss.

He’s right. The heat of him signals life and passion, desperation and spirit for the best kind of danger: a leap of faith from the heart.

A sweet heart.

It’s at this shocking and romantic turn that you realize, you’d follow him anywhere, just as he’s followed you onto a doomed battlefield, into your chaotic mind, into a cold and lonely shower. You had nothing but doubt; he offered nothing but hope.

Your weight leans into the clutch of devoted sinew and reverent tendons. Steve takes that as a welcome encouragement.

One day it might be him or it might be you, and as difficult and painful as that would be, it helps to focus on who is still here. Both of you. Together. Now.

He’s lavish and indulgent, intense because his wet hands can’t pull you closer. His tenderness and decency saturate every atom of connection between you. Each generous touch conveys something undying and pure.

Your hold on each other slips in the running tap when Steve get a little greedy, his body pinning yours to the rim of the sink.

Immediately, he apologizes, retracting into a shell of chivalry and sympathy.

You swallow to compose yourself, minimal effect achieved.

After a fair few thundering heartbeats pulse past you ears, you manage, “that’s not what I thought would happen today.”

The baby blue irises are the picture of horror. “Bad? No?”

Steve steps back only once before you follow.

“Why me?” you counter softly.

He huffs in his infinite patience with you and rolls his eyes in disappointment with himself. Steve hangs his head, propping his arm on either edge of counter nearest him. A dark, bitter chuckle escapes before he finally confesses.

“Because every other day I feel very little, but with you, I want so much more.”

Is this how you looked to him yesterday? A raw wound begging for help in blinding light? Did he have this fear that he couldn’t offer enough?

It is enough though. It has to be enough to try for what you want, to live even in kindness and duty. He’s taken a step, and so can you.

You smile, close the remaining distance, and whisper one word into Steve’s waiting mouth.

Promise—

Question or statement, it doesn’t matter, or perhaps, you’ll figure it out on any other day. Today it simply means you're both alive.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: Hope this turned out okay and that you enjoyed the fluff! If not, don't worry. I've got a smutty lifeguard!Steve one-shot in the works, too!! Tags will be in a reblog since they've been so wonky lately.

[johnnieguilbertsgirlfriend]

hamzah missing you on vacation

talk to me - hamzahthefantastic x reader

—————————————

contains: fluff, smut, reader is female, you read the rest and find out

word count: no clue rn but its short

story below the cut

hamzah: hi baby sorry i haven’t been texting n stuff i’ve been busy with martin and mandy yk but i love you sm and i miss you

you: i understand completely :) have fun and dw about me ily too

hamzah: i just got back to my room, u wanna call?

you: ofcc

—————————————

hamzah had gone on vacation to curaçao to relax and film videos for youtube and the podcast. he had brought the trip up to you, asking if you wanted to go. unfortunately, you had work and couldn’t take time off because this was one of their busiest months. you were both obviously disappointed, but he understood and you wanted him to go without you and have fun filming. (#securerelationships) when he got off the plane, that was the moment you realised that it was going to be difficult with extra work and no boyfriend, but you were managing so far. however, today you just got home and boy were you exhausted.

your phone went off as soon as you had sent him the last text. you wait 10 seconds before answering it. “hellooo?” you hear hamzah say. “heyy” you reply, matching his energy. “whats up?” “nothingg, i just missed you” this man knows just what to say. “wait facetime me” he says, while the button pops up on the screen. you answer and see someone else with him. “well hello martin” “y/n! how are you?” “i’m good, how has the trip been for you and mandy?” “so good, she loves it. but this guy here is constantly yapping about how much you would love it too.” “aghh, i know, it looks like a lot of fun, much better than what i’m doing haha.” “alright well i’m gonna go back to my room, cya guys.”

martin leaves hamzah’s hotel room to go back to his own. he turns his camera off, but you didn’t think much of it at the time. you can hear fumbling on his end of the phone. “so, tell me about your day.” you think hard, not even remembering what you did, but start giving him a little summary. you hear a zipper while you talk, but continue as he was probably just changing. you hear him release a groan, “hamzah? are you okay?” “yeah i- just wish you were here right now. hearing your voice isn’t enough.” you finally caught on.

“are you… jerking off right now?” his breath hitches a little. “i’m sorry- i just can’t get you out of my head baby. imagining you in a bikini just makes it worse.” he breathes out. your cheeks grow redder, thankful he wasn’t there to see it. the truth is that you needed him badly too. “well, what would you do if i was there?” you ask him in a more lustful tone. he stops palming himself through his boxers, and removes them instead. “i would pull the string from your- top” he starts slowly stroking his dick. you start taking off your oversized shirt, not bothering to wear a bra because you were home alone. “and then, fuck, i would kiss you everywhere and touch your boobs.” you start massaging your breasts, moaning a little. “mhm, and then what?”

he whimpers, barely audible on the phone. “i wish my hand was yours right now baby. i would probably- m’ take off your bikini and fuck you so good.” he groans out while you take off your panties. you insert a finger into your pussy, ”uh shit, hamzah” you moan out, wanting to help him reach his high. his breathing gets heavier, and all you can think about is if he was the one fingering you right now. “you make me so fucking hard babe-“ you push in another finger, rubbing your clit slightly faster. “keep going hamzah” you praise him, making him involuntarily buck his hips into his hand. “i bet your pussy would taste so good right now.” he says, and you stretch yourself more.

“i can’t hold it,” “just let go y/n” that last sentence made you moan loudly and release your orgasm, panting to try to catch your breath. he groans out, cumming on himself, relieved. “i love you so much.” “i love you too” “you’re definitely coming on the next trip no matter what.” you start getting stuff ready to clean yourself up. “i will, and i think im gonna take a shower now baby.”

“mmm, part 2?”

—————————————

thank you for the request im so tired and drained rn but hopefully this will hold you guys off for the next one. ;)

[kingofbodyrolls]

End of the World (m) | myg | teaser

→ Summary: Your government has been telling you to prepare for war, just as a precaution given the recent political changes around your country. Did you listen and prepare? No. Are you paying the price now, friends all but gone, and your city burned to pieces? Yes. Survival instincts kicking in, you search for a place to rest, nourish your battered and hungry body, only to find yourself at the porch of a stranger. Will he help you, or leave you to your own demise?  → Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → Genres/AUs: science fiction, apocalyptic, survival, co-dependency to stay alive + heavy angst, fluff and smut. → Tropes: strangers to lovers, forced proximity (because love that shit) → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: still writing (approx 10-20k) it’s a one-shot! → Author’s note: hiya. I’m currently writing this apocalyptic story with Yoongi, because… well. I’m fucking scared. So this is me working through and with my fear for something that I’m afraid is actually going to happen. We don’t need to talk about it, because a lot of bad shit is happening all over the world 😭 This is purely a story, though made up by my fears, yeah. Anyway, it’s okay if you’re not into it! The vibe for it is like The Last of Us and maybe a bit Fallout, I think if you enjoy that type of stuff, you’ll enjoy this one too. But it’s really heavy, but there’s a decent amount of fluff to balance it out, because, it’s still a fanfiction and it wouldn’t be that without some good old fluff and smut 🥰

You know you must move, but before you leave, there’s a promise to fulfill for Yuri.

You relieve yourself and step back onto the road, eyes fixed on the distant horizon that seems miraculously untouched by the ravages of war. That glimmer of hope pulls you forward. You have to reach it. No matter the distance, no matter the obstacles, you must get there. 

It’s your only chance.

You walk and walk—days blur into weeks. Your clothes hang off your frame, tattered and too big. Bombings have become a constant backdrop, each explosion a distant rumble you barely acknowledge. The earth’s violent shudders no longer faze you. Hunger gnaws at you, a relentless companion, its grip tightening until you can’t even remember your last meal. Water, your only steadfast ally, has kept you moving; without it, you’d have long since fallen.

You trudge along the desolate highway, the city a distant speck on the horizon behind you. You have no sense of how far you’ve traveled, only that the remnants of your home have shrunk to a mere dot in your vision. The road stretches endlessly ahead, a bleak reminder of the ground yet to cover.

Dizziness is your constant companion now, your throat as parched as the Sahara despite your efforts to hydrate. Water is scarce, and you’ve been rationing it for days. Hope feels like a distant memory, and though the elusive horizon you’ve been chasing for weeks appears closer, it still seems maddeningly out of reach.

Your body feels like lead, your feet swollen and throbbing with every step. 

Sleep is a distant memory, haunted away by visions of blood-streaked faces, final breaths, and echoing cries. Bloodshot eyes and a disheveled appearance mark your struggle; you’re still in your tattered nightdress, stained with blood and reeking of fear and sweat. 

No food, no shower, just the relentless march through this wasteland.

You’ve lost track of time—is it still September? 

The biting cold cuts through you, your torn and ruined shoes barely offering any protection. You trudge onward, desperate to find shelter, weary of hiding in the bushes from strangers who might wish you harm. Paranoia grips you; every rustle in the distance, every shadow makes you jump. Trust is a luxury you can’t afford. You feel like you’re unraveling, teetering on the edge of sanity.

When your eyes land on a solitary house down a side street off the main road, you can hardly believe it. You’re nowhere near your end goal, the neighboring city, yet here it is—a lonesome house in the middle of fucking nowhere. You chuckle, convinced you’ve lost your mind. Why would there be a house out here, untouched by the chaos? You blink repeatedly, but the house remains. Your feet carry you forward, despite your spinning head and the jumbled mess of thoughts in your mind.

The house, partially concealed by tall trees and lush bushes miraculously untouched by the war, seems like a relic from a forgotten world. An old jeep, battered but intact, sits beside the porch with its white picket fence. You approach cautiously, every step feeling surreal, and lift your hand to knock. Your bloody knuckles leave crimson smears on the pristine white door, a stark reminder of the nightmare you can’t escape.

You lose track of time standing there, every second stretching into an eternity, before the door is abruptly ripped open. You find yourself staring down the barrel of a rifle.

“Who are you?” a male voice demands, harsh and suspicious, but the words barely register. Your vision blurs, darkness encroaching, and the last thing you feel is the hard impact of the porch floorboards against your head as you collapse.

→ Do you want to join Yoongi on a quest for survival as the world crumbles around you? Let me know and I’ll tag you when it drops 💜

Also please let me know if you’re interested, excited about it— otherwise I’m probably just gonna post it on my ao3 only, lol. I’m scared 🫣

Read the second teaser + book cover [here]!

It's been posted!!!!

[0mg-bird]

Come on Home - J Seresin x Wife!Reader

Summary: After a mission that he barely gets through, Jake reevaluates his decision of staying longer on his deployment and how much longer he can continue when he has his whole world at home.

Warnings: language- violence- mentions of war- Jake scared for his life basically- slight smut- mature- mentions of ovulation.

His head spun, his heart in his throat and when he landed - by some miracle not crashing - on the tarmac, he sat in his seat, eyes wide. He pulled his mask off, shaky hands as he tugs his helmet off too and opens his canopy. The other daggers land perfectly, on some sort of rush that this mission has gone well.

What do they consider well? The fact that they were far behind enemy lines, with advanced jets hot on them? Or was it the fact that they weren’t in the dogfight, that it was their Hangman who they tirelessly defended. They saved him, they have a reason to rejoice.

Right?

He’d been sent out with a crew of faces he didn’t really know, all except for one.

Rooster is out of the plane, watchful eyes scanning over the crew to make sure everyone landed fine. But he sees Jake hesitating on his exit, his head in his hands before he rips a small photo off his control dash. As he hops out, he blows past the guys who go to shake his shoulder in victory.

He tosses his helmet to a crew member, he’s quick to shed the equipment he wears, leaving him in just his flight suit. His steps are heavy and full of anger, everyone moves out of the way as he guides himself straight to his empty bunk room.

Something of anxiety scratches at him as he curses out loud. He sits on his perfectly made bed, fingers gripping his hair.

The moments replayed in his head. He’s never been one to scare easily, but this was no spook. It was fear, it was a nightmare, he was stuck with no visible solution. In that moment when his flares were gone and those enemy jets had him pinned, he was faced with the fact that this was the end, there was no escape. He looked at that photo stuck on his control dash, the one of you holding that beautiful baby girl, standing in the yard, wearing a yellow sundress. He shut his eyes prayed his girl would remember him in the end.

Then, by some miracle, he was out of that hot water. Now, here he was and he just wasn’t sure if he could go any longer.

He’s never been described as a soft man, his tough heart had only shed its callouses around you. But here he was, preventing himself from crying.

He reached for that satellite phone in his drawer and turned it on. Being in the middle of nowhere was a rather disadvantaged when trying to get ahold of you, all the way in Texas. So, he sat with a beat up phone, dialing your number.

It was just you and your mother in law, Jake’s mother, who were awake still. You and your daughter, Lainey, usually moved in with the in laws whenever Jake deployed. They helped you with her and it was an ease to your mind, knowing you didn’t have to sleep in an empty home.

Sat on the couch, watching late night television, your eyes started drifting closed before your phone rang. Leaning forward to grab it, Jake’s satellite phone number was on your screen. You instantly smiled.

“It’s Jake.” You tell DeAnn, and instantly the woman grins.

You answer, a cheery voice. “Hi, I wasn’t expecting a call.”

Instantly, just by his breathing, you knew something was wrong.

“Yeah I- well I just needed to hear that pretty voice of yours, darlin’.” He flirts despite his current state.

Immediately, you’re on your feet. “Jake, baby, what’s wrong?”

DeAnn grows a concerned look, but there’s nothing she can do about it.

Jake pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to choke his emotions down. “I can’t do it anymore, honey, I just, I gotta come home.” His breath is heavy, making you walk away from his mother’s eye and dash into your bedroom, Jake’s old room. “Listen to me, just breathe. Are you hurt- are you in danger or-or- Jake, tell me what’s wrong.” You stress, making him lean forward, elbows on his knees, head hung.

“I’m not hurt, I’m not bleeding out. Something happened…I just finished a mission and I-I don’t know how I’m still alive. Baby I should’ve been a goner, I almost was.”

At his words, it’s your turn to panic. Tears brim in your eyes, the thought of losing him was something you always avoided, but it’s forcing itself into your mind and you’re staring it in the face. He continues to talk as your wobbly lip gets caught between your teeth.

“How many more tours am I supposed to do? How many more times do I have to leave you and my baby? These kids out here, they ain’t got no one, they don’t have a wife waiting at their Mama’s house for them. I do and I can’t live like a young kid anymore. Damn it, I need to come home to you.” He says, voice breaking.

Tears slip down your face, your wedding ring hand wipes them away. Your love was miles and miles away, suffering and you could not get to him.

“Your time’s almost up, Jake. Just a month left, baby.” You say softly.

“Fuck that.” He breathes. “I’m getting on a flight at the next port.”

You spin your diamond around your finger. “I thought you extended your deployment for a reason? To assist with trainings?”

“I don’t care, as soon as I hang up this phone, I’m going to talk to my commanding officer and he’ll change my orders. Baby I…I have to come home.”

Who were you to say anything different? You wanted your husband beside you, you wanted his warm hands on you, you wanted to wash his dirty jeans and watch him rock that two year old to sleep. You wanted him in the mornings and you wanted him driving that pick up truck in the driveway.

“Come on home.” You say, tone broken as it comes out.

You two talk for a minute longer, then when the call is silenced, you sit for a moment, calming yourself.

“What’s wrong?” DeAnn asks as you come back out to the living room.

Your eyes linger on the framed photo, sitting next the many others on the fireplace mantel, the one from Jake and yours wedding. You stand with your hand on his chest, looking up at him in a smile while a jet flies over the top of you two.

The Navy was something that was always in your relationship, you knew the consequences going into it. All the way in the beginning, four years ago, you knew what it would entail. And you hurt, you pined, you cried and wished things were different, when you went through months of pregnancy alone, when you were sick, when the world kicked you down and all you wanted was your husband who was off being Mr. America, but you never complained. Jake loved flying, this was his job for a reason and if it truly was his wish to take a break, you weren’t going to start complaining now.

Clearing your throat, you look at the woman. “Jake’s coming home.”

~~~~~

His duffle bag slung over his shoulder, Jake crosses the airport at a determined speed. His skin buzzes, he knows you’re going to be waiting for him. His flight was long, his body ached. He didn’t care, he’d crawl home to you if he had to.

As crowds of people disperse and he continues forward, he can see your shape and instantly is soothed. He moves a little quicker, and you look up from the ground and instantly meet his eye. Your hair curled, a long sun dress over the tops of your boots, you start to beam at the sight of him.

Ten months is too long.

His bag drops to the floor, and in an instant you close the space between the two of you. His arms are constricting around you as you bury your face in his neck. He feels the same, smells the same, the heat of him is still the same. Jake is wafted with the scent of your lavender honey shampoo and the perfume you’ve worn everyday since he’s known you.

He pulls back, before you get a word out, he’s gripping your cheeks with his hands and kissing you so heavy. You could cry, feeling the utter emotion of his longing for you. Your hands hold his arms, chasing his lips as he’s done swallowing your air. Foreheads pressed together, you breathe out.

“Welcome home.”

Jake kisses you once more, adoring those words from you.

As you step back, DeAnn is coming forward, your toddler in her arms.

“Lainey.” He calls for his girl, immediately she twists in her grandmother’s hold, recognizing his voice. “Daddy!” She cheers, practically flinging herself into his arms. Her little hands latch onto his uniform, he adjusts her little romper and smooths her dirty blonde curls before kissing her cheek. “Hi, sweetheart. Hi, honey.”

Her head rests on his shoulder as he picks up his bag and kisses his mom on the cheek.

~~~~

Finally settled back in your own home after dinner with Jake’s parents, Lainey falls asleep after five minutes of Jake rubbing her back. Her night light casts stars on the ceiling and he pulls the blanket over her. When he gets up, he’s careful not to make her stir. Leaning against the door frame, you stand in a robe, stretching your hand for him to follow you. The door to her bedroom is softly shut.

You lead him to the warm bath, and the two of you settle into the large tub.

Jake’s relaxed, watching you clean off the razor in hand before leaning forward again. Half his face covered in shaving cream, he listens when you talk about things he’s missed. Carefully, you run the razor up his neck, slowly to not nick him. The stubble of his jaw is no match for your determination.

“You leave a clean cut man and come back to me looking like you got lost in the woods for a while.” You scoff, tilting his face to the side.

Jake hums. “What? You don’t like the rugged look?”

You pull away. “Baby, I have never liked the rugged look.”

Despite your fake annoyance, there was a sort of peace Jake felt when you were near. It could make him forget about his troubles, well, not entirely.

As you wipe any remaining shaving cream away, his eyes shut at the feeling of your hands smoothing down his cheeks. You kiss his stubble-free skin. “Much better.” You comment.

“I never want to leave you again.” He confesses.

You retreat back to your side of the tub, a sly smile on your face. He observes you, taking in all the features he missed. He liked it when your hair was clipped up but some pieces still escaped and framed your face beautifully, he thought it was sweet how you wore a necklace with his and Lainey’s birth stones on it.

“I’m glad that you still adore being ‘round me.” You say, but his serious tone hints to what’s on his mind. You shimmy further under the water, your knees popping up to the surface. A shiver runs through you as his hands grip them gently. “Your contract is up in less than a year…and something tells me that you’re not going to extend it.” You put forward.

Jake sighs, moving to rest his arms on either side of the tub. You know this is a serious moment, but you can’t help but feel the way your skin buzzes as you look over his toned muscles.

“I’ve been doing this for ten years, and if I was still twenty two I’d be all for it…but I’m not twenty two and a lot is different now.” He sighs, leaning his head back to stretch his sore muscles. “I’m starting to think I’m too old for this now.”

You laugh. “You are not old.”

Jake sits back up, looking straight at you. “These are kids I’m flying with, twenty something year olds who don’t even have girlfriends, let alone wives. I’ll admit, sometimes it’s nice to pretend I’m twenty five again but…how much longer am I gonna be doing this?” He says.

You nod, listening to his ramble, watching him dissect his thoughts.

“Darlin’ I can’t fly like I’m not afraid of death anymore, not like the rest of them can.” He looks down for a second, eyes turning from green to blue. “And I’ve been in plenty of tough situations, that’s just the name of this war game, but the day I called you, baby, I’ve never been so scared.”

You can practically see right through him, his face is so somber and serious.

“Those rogue bandits were on me, they were going down and I was going with them. And these guys don’t know what to do because if they shoot and take ‘em out, I’m gone too.” He swallows hard, running his hands down his face, then back through his hair that’s growing out slightly. “And Rooster- how he did it I don’t know- he got me out, made sure you didn’t have to give me a closed casket funeral.”

You blink back tears, not letting them fall. You knew the risk going into this, but hearing him say how things could have been different, it makes your lungs constrict.

Suddenly, you’re being tugged towards him, his hands cradling your neck. He looks down at you. “I’ve got so much to lose, I can’t keep leaving home like this.”

You nod, hands clasping behind his head. “This has to be a decision you’re sure on, Jake.”

You feel his breath on your face. “I could have my orders changed, I could make sure that when my contract ends, it ends for good without any risk of extension. I could wake up beside you every mornin’ and fall asleep with you every night. Every damn birthday and Christmas and anniversary, I’d be here for all of it.”

Your fingers comb through his hair. “Don’t go talking about heaven to me if you can’t promise it’s exactly what you want.”

“It’s what I want, I promise.” He’s so quick to say it, it makes your heart beat fuller.

You lean to kiss him, and he feels the way you smile against his lips. He doesn’t need any further words from you, his hands are pulling you onto his lap by your hips.

Did it always feel this good? Having his mouth on your skin, having his hands slide up and down your back? The gold wedding band on his finger is cool against your warm skin.

He picked a good week to come home, there’s a fire burning inside you. As he deepens his kiss and moves his lips across your jaw, a shaky breath comes from you.

“Jake, hey- baby, hang on.” You mumble, hands slipping across his shoulders. Pulling away, he looks almost hurt at the loss of contact. Despite your need for some kind of friction between your legs, you want to make him aware that there might need to be another way to go about this.

“What? What’s wrong?” He questions, moving to press your chest up against his.

“Let’s not throw caution to the wind, I’m ovulating.” You say, thinking it’ll make him nod and pull back, that he’ll suggest you take it to the bedroom instead, where there’s forms of protection.

It’s a silly thought.

“Seresin baby number two, whoo! Okay, let’s do it.” He cheers, making you fall into a fit of laughter, head falling on his shoulder. “Jake.”

He shakes his head. “I think Lainey is due for a brother or sister, we need to get started on that whole four more kids thing.”

“Four more! You’re insane, I think that high altitude thing finally got to you. Let’s just start with one more.” You say, moving to nudge your nose along his neck.

“I can do one more.” He says in excitement, shifting his shoulders back and lightly cocking his head left to right. “Okay, I’m ready, my head’s in the game, we can do it.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

[vmbrq]

MINORS DNI ; cnc (breeding?), afab/fem reader

just bc @/hyeyulove said they missed my ethan writing.

giggling rn because being in a relationship with deranged, ghostface ethan landry would be one hell of an experience on its own, but the day you let him fuck you without a condom is the day you can kiss your autonomy GOODBYE LMAOOO that man will NEVER leave you alone. he's already attached to you as is, so you think you can expose him to raw sex with FEELINGS and live the rest of your life in peace? that's actually really funny.

he'll be so needy—pawing at you, pressing up against you, languidly smoothing his hands over your waist and thighs, sheepishly commenting on how good you smell or look, anything to lure you into fulfilling his wishes. even if it's just you sitting on his cock and not moving while you two watch a movie or him teasing only the tip into your cunt, he just wants to feel you. he'd be addicted to how fucking warm and wet you feel without the latex barrier, groaning at how clearly he can feel every twitch and pulse of your walls, his breath hitching as you let him hold you by the hips and slowly guide you up and down along the length of his cock, on the verge of trembling when he clutches you tightly and empties his balls inside you for the second time.

and god forbid you ask him to pull out in the middle of him drilling into you. you're so overwhelmed, crying out and drunk on pleasure, babbling for him to pull out! since it's the only thing you can remember to do. but sometimes, ethan can be so mean when he's in charge. he'd loom over you, eyes wild and dark, lips pulled back into a mocking grin, and laugh. you think you have a chance at deterring him? that's cute. he'd take your moment of bewilderment as you stare up at him with wide eyes to hook his hands under your knees and fold your lower half up and into a mating press.

you don't have a snowball's chance in hell at pushing him off. he's far too heavy, too strong, and he'll reinforce your lack of control by leaning his weight on you to keep you pinned helplessly in place. all you can do is moan and whine and wince, embarrassed, at the obscene squelch of his cock bullying its way deep inside your sticky, overstimulated cunt and the slap of his heavy balls against your pelvis. but as overstimulated as you are, you don’t dislike it. he knows you don’t. if you did, your cunt wouldn’t be squeezing around his cock to keep him inside every time his hips pulled back a bit further than usual. you’re like an open book. he knows you by now.

on another note, the amount of text messages he sends you will increase in general, and if you don't reply within the time frame he deems acceptable, he'll start blowing up your phone. you'll wake up from a long nap, disoriented and not even remembering who the hell you are, and find several missed calls and texts from him as well as your man HIMSELF standing outside your bedroom window.

and those little couples pranks you see on tiktok, the one especially that's like "texting my bf he's gone, you can come over now?" yeah, you can't do that LMAOOO that man is INSANE. you remember how strong he was in that apartment scene where he was terrorizing the core four? HELL nah. you can damn near hear his car tires screech from down the STREET as he swerves around and heads back to you. in his brain, oh, so you think you can just be handing out pussy that good all willy nilly? 🤨 yeah okay. i know that the way he tried to kick in that bedroom door had y'all feeling something, bc me too.

he wouldn't try to kick it down immediately, but he'd stand out there seething, jaw locked, knocking on the door a little harder than normal, fighting to keep his voice even so he won't scare you out of letting him in. but his patience would dwindle rapidly. his behavior would be erratic, switching between pleading and persuasion and guilt-tripping and banging on the door and yelling so quickly you can barely keep up. babe you are playing with your LIFE😭 that pussy got him in a chokehold, and he'll be damned if anyone even gets the opportunity.

[notjustjavierpena]

Cravings

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: A while back, I saw a text post made by the lovely @kteague and immediately, it sparked a need for more husband!javi. This is the text post in question. It’s sososo great. You should go follow ❤️ It also made me realize that I haven’t written Javier going down on his wife, and honestly wtf??? This takes place before Lucas is born.

Summary: Javi isn’t perfect. He needs a nicotine high badly, but your pregnancy isn’t allowing you to tolerate the smell of cigarettes. He indulges in his next favorite thing to satisfy his craving; going down on his pregnant wife.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut (mdni), nicotine withdrawal, javier is a menace to the pussy eating society, pregnant sex, dirty talk, eat up javi

Word count: 1.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49812556

Cravings

Javier feels extra twitchy today. He paces around the house like a caged animal, tapping his fingers on the side of his thighs, and considers throwing caution to the wind and just having that damn smoke. He has a packet of cigarettes stashed in one of the potted plants outside, but it’s for emergencies only. Like that one time that his Pop had called him to say that a tree had fallen down on the barn overnight, and the very thought of the cost and time it would take to fix it had made him fly out the door to smoke in the far back of the garden.

He does it for you though. He’d do anything for you. Especially now that Lucas Peña is making his arrival in less than three months. He remembers you going into your second trimester, and you’d been around his cigarette smoke only to run to the toilet to reject your dinner. He never wants you to feel like that again, so he quit cold turkey. 

“Perhaps it won’t be a problem when we’re having the next one,” you had said to him, and he had stubbed out the cigarette immediately. He didn’t need the rush of nicotine, because he had the rush of you already thinking of more kids. He knew that he wanted a family with you since he saw you, but only then he had known just how big of a family.

But Javier needs the rush now. He has been through all of the coping mechanisms; sweets, rubber bands on his wrists, even has run out of nicotine gum but he doesn’t dare go to the store in case he comes home with more cigarettes. Has run out of patches too, which he would like to plaster his arms in right now.

You are not home and he needs you. He has a rare day off and you are not home. When are you coming home? He watches the clock, hears the ticking, and wants to rip it off the wall. You’re usually home by now. Where the fuck are you? 

Fuck it. Javier speedwalks to the door to the garden.  He is just about to rip it open, harsh enough to be tearing it off its hinges when he hears the front door. 

“Javi?” You call out his name so heavenly, “Can you help me with the groceries?” 

Oh, so that’s what you have been doing instead of coming straight home to him. He finds you by the front door, barely successful in holding two brown bags and your keys at the same time. Without hesitation, he takes both bags from you and heads to the kitchen to place them on the counter.

“You could’ve asked me to pick something up, y’know,” he says as he busies his hands by unloading everything into their respective places. His hands shake; he needs something to hold onto but you won’t let it be you if the milk hasn’t gone in the fridge yet.

“I was passing by anyway,” you enter the kitchen and start helping him, and he can feel your eyes watching him with curiosity at his urgency, “What’s up with you?”

“There’s something up because I’m helping you in the kitchen?” He quips.

You laugh quietly, “Well… yeah.”

Javier doesn’t know if it’s funny, but he knows that he needs an excuse to get you worked up so that he can satisfy his cravings in the way that works the very best.

He finishes unloading the groceries, turns to you, and doesn’t even hesitate despite you holding onto a box of cereal; he kisses you right then and there. It’s a long, deep, and satisfying kiss with his hands rubbing up and down your sides. You gasp into his mouth, melt against him, and awkwardly put the cereal box onto the kitchen counter so that you can embrace him right back. 

“Thank fucking God you’re home,” he mumbles into you, relishing in the taste and warmth of your tongue. He is insisting in the way he holds you close, and starts to guide you out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom at the end of the hall. 

“Javi,” you protest as you realize his motives. He doesn’t relent, and you reluctantly drag your lips away from his. He groans in frustration, but you find his eyes with flushed cheeks and he might just burst right then at the shy look you are giving him, “I can’t. I haven’t even… I need a shower.”

“No, you fucking don’t,” he opens the door, realizing that the window has been open all day to air out your shared bedroom. You shiver at the cold air and Javier feels like he might be seeing stars soon when he notices your nipples hardening underneath your top. He steers you to the bed by your hips, “Need it. Please don’t deny me, mi amor.”

“What’s gotten into you?” You groan after another kiss, one where Javier’s hand comes up to cup your breast as he devours your mouth. Then you let yourself be guided down onto the bed, legs hanging out over the edge and Javier kneeling down on the floor. 

“Ran outta nicotine gum,” he mutters, too busy undoing your last pair of jeans in a while; they’re straining against your growing belly but he knows how much you love this pair. He yanks them down over your hips after he has undone the zipper.

“Makes sense,” you lift your hips to help him. 

“So lemme have this?” He pleads. He notices the wet patch that has formed on your white cotton panties, refraining from chuckling to himself. You aren’t going to say no. 

“Yes,” your breath hitches in your throat as he finds your clit on the outside of your underwear. He rubs in lazy circles and watches the wet and shiny patch grow larger underneath his touch. He even dares to press his finger against your slit, digging the fabric just slightly into you. 

“Chica sucia,” he says softly as you let out a sigh of pleasure, “So filthy walking around with your pretty little panties so wet.”

“Hasn’t been like this long,” you argue, “Just since you kissed me. Still think I need a shower.”

Javier shakes his head, “Like you like this. Can’t stop thinking about this pussy.”

He slides your underwear down over your thighs, calves, and then ankles. He drops them onto the floor by your jeans, admiring your legs and the cute bows on the socks you are still wearing. You are so beautiful that he might lose his mind, growing belly right in front of him as he kisses his way up your right leg and hears your smile through your moan. 

“Javi,” you say when he loses himself in staring at your swollen cunt a little too long. He can see your clit jump in anticipation and it makes his mouth water, cigarettes long forgotten. 

He pulls you a little closer to the edge of the bed, large hands slipping under the backside of your thighs to bend and spread your legs simultaneously. He handles them roughly and places them flat on the surface of the bed, causing you to whine. Then his palms slide upward to rest on the swell of your belly, his broad shoulders holding your legs in position so you don’t clamp down on his head just yet. He isn’t in doubt that he’d be able to count your heartbeats with the way your cunt throbs. 

“Please,” you clench once, and slick drips from your slit. 

“Shh,” he coos. 

And then he goes down on you like he hasn’t in a long while. He credits himself with being enthusiastic about eating you out every time, but he rarely has the frustration of withdrawal from nicotine to accompany him in his hunger for your sweet taste. He runs his mouth over your whole cunt, kisses your jumping clit, and sucks the slick off where it has smeared across your folds. You taste better than ever, salty and slightly sweet in a way that a shower would have ruined. 

“Mhm,” he hums whilst satiating his cravings. Your breathy moans reward him more than he thinks a smoke could right now. His fingers start to dent your protruding belly, holding on tight as he flicks your clit with his tensed-up tongue over and over again. 

“Just like th— ah, fuck,” you reach for his wrists to desperately hold onto something. He goes harder, moaning into your pussy. It makes you shake on top of the sheets, gushing just a bit into his mouth and he swallows it down greedily. He wants more, dips down to slip his tongue into your cunt, and eats right from you. He fucks you open whilst nosing at your hard clit, the nub peeking out from underneath the hood to demand more attention. He will just have to suck it once and you’ll be screaming, but he needs a little more and reluctantly refrains from doing so. 

Your breathing has become more irregular by now, more high-pitched too. He knows you’re getting close but he keeps you dancing around the edge, tongue sliding through your folds as he bobs his head. 

“Fuck! Baby!” You cry loudly, bucking your hips to seek more friction. 

“Not yet, mi vida, just a moment more,” he mumbles against you, but his mouth still starts climbing up towards your clit again. 

You entwine your fingers with his, holding his hands tightly over your belly as your legs start to move involuntarily. Your feet flex, muscles rippling all the way to your thighs as you near climax.

“I’m… I-it’s gonna happen,” you whine at the ceiling, “Fuck, suck my clit. Javi— fuckfuckfuck.” 

He gives in, raises his head slightly to cover your clit with his mouth, and then he sucks hard. 

You come so hard that your legs find the strength to shoot up from where they are being held down on the bed. Your thighs clamp around Javier’s head, muffling the sound of your cries whilst he works you through every crashing wave of pleasure. 

“I’ll buy you that stupid gum,” you eventually say. 

“Huh?” Javier looks up at you.

“Your nicotine gum, I’ll go out and buy it later,” you clarify, letting go of Javier’s hands to throw your arms above your head on the bed. You stretch, letting out a soft moan, “It’s the least I can do.”

“You spoil me,” he crawls up onto the bed, lying down beside your exhausted body. You’re so perfect, he thinks to himself. 

“But first,” your breathing is finally getting under control again. You turn onto your side, and Javier finds himself supporting your pregnant belly as you move. You smile gently at him, reaching for his belt to unbuckle it with both hands, “I’m going to take care of you too. See… I too have cravings.”

Javier didn’t think that every passing second with someone could feel like his life had peaked. Yet here you were.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[divine-misfortune]

ughgjguhh I just think that forced intox and free use kinks with quintessence

It's been too long since I was freaky about quintessence, and even longer since I was weird about Swiss being a freak. So. I got carried away. Like. 3k worth of carried away.

Swiss and Phantom found a better use for Mountain.

Contains: Irresponsible uses of quintessence, intox play, dubious consent, objectification, under discussed kink, rimming, free use, coercion

Divider by @wrathofrats

Read below the cut or on ao3

In hindsight, Mountain should have been suspicious when Swiss approached him with a joint and a smile far too welcoming. He knew that now. Well, some part of him finally understood Swiss’ intentions but the thought did not make its way to him in his hazy state. It was nothing more than a thought drifting aimlessly off into the far corners of his skull. Crowded against the furthest edges of his brain to make room for the sweet tinged smoke Swiss continued to feed him. Lost to the swirling crimson fog behind his eyes.

Propped up by Swiss and Swiss alone, he was nothing short of boneless. Laying between his legs, back to chest. He was barely managing to hold his own head up, occasionally tipping back against the multi ghoul’s shoulder instead. The joint Swiss held close to his lips had not strayed far, even when he wasn’t actively taking a drag, he was still breathing it in. Mountain was a few puffs past floating into orbit but he just kept taking it every time Swiss offered it. It wasn’t even a conscious decision anymore, an automatic response at this point. 

There had been work to be done, flowerbeds needing weeding and shelves needing dusting but he truly couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, all because Swiss wouldn’t let him get that far. Any forming idea was overshadowed by him, by the weed, batted away to somewhere irrelevant. It was a purposefully carved out vacancy. Swiss had left him a blank slate by design. Emptied only to be filled with something he deemed more favorable. 

Swiss’ unoccupied hand laid on his bare belly, having idly wriggled his fingers under the hem of his shirt. He was toying with the dark hair leading beneath his belt, but the one by his mouth was what he was trying to focus on. 

Even before he’d fully exhaled his last lungful, Swiss was bringing the joint back for another drag with a low hum of encouragement when Mountain hesitated to wrap his lips around it. He’d truly lost track of how much he had smoked. How much Swiss had made him smoke. It didn’t feel like much, or that they had been sat in his bed like this for very long, but he felt further gone than he had any right to.

How was Swiss so cool and collected? Mountain couldn't remember if the multi ghoul had taken a drag himself yet. 

His expression twitched away from blissful nothingness towards an attempt at confusion as he tried to focus long enough to turn his nose up at the offer. Even tried to sit up on his own. 

“Hey, hey…Where do you think you’re going, sunflower?” Swiss murmured close to his ear, breath warm and sugar coated. Not exactly chastising him, but the words sapped the will to move. He hadn’t gotten far in sitting up, but his whole body sagged. “We haven’t even finished this bad boy yet, gotta help me.” 

"Swiss," he mumbled, more so slurred. "S'too much." 

“Too much? But you’ve barely had any.” The fingers petting through his happy trail stilled just long enough for something warm to flood him from the core outward. Swiss itched to turn his face upwards. Watch his hint of red bleed through the copper in his eyes but there would be time for it later. “You can smoke a little more, just do it for me, honeysuckle.”  

Lips parting despite his better judgment, Mountain's eyes drooped. Heavy. Everything felt so heavy. 

Swiss pressed his lips to his temple as he took another slow inhale of smoke, cooing praise that didn't quite register. He tried to blink but found his eyelids stubbornly refusing to budge, barely able to crack them open for one last glimpse of the room.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent just floating, existing alone in some far off atmosphere. It felt like decades, like he should have opened his eyes and found his body aged and layered in dust. He stirred slightly, without the express purpose of trying to fight his way out of it, just to remember if his limbs were still there and functional. Mountain heard a giggle when he weakly tried to gather the sheets in his hands, followed by a soft shushing noise from behind him. 

His expression twisted and soft hands cradled his cheeks, lifting his face and turning it side to side as if examining him.

“Oh you really got him fucked up, didn’t you?” Phantom mused, rubbing the pads of his fingers into his temples. Slow easy circles that Mountain could almost see traced behind his eyelids. 

“Wasn’t hard, he’s easy.” Swiss chuckled, perching his chin on his shoulder. “Takes to quintessence like a fish to water, the weed was just to help him remember how to forget s’all.”

”Did a good job of emptying him out.”

“Gifted you a blank canvas, buggy. Perfect subject for practice.”

Phantom made a soft, thoughtful sound. He reached out to twist a wavy strand of hair around a nimble finger before tucking it behind one of Mountain’s floppy ears. It twitched in response. Mountain chuffed and Phantom giggled. He stroked over the soft fur with his thumb up until the earth ghoul was helpless to sink further into Swiss. Melting for him already. 

Mountain felt the beginnings of a purr kicking up, a low rusty sound that the two mutually cooed over. 

He dragged a knuckle along the sharp cut of his cheek and Mountain’s eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly. Not nearly enough motion to classify it as ‘opening his eyes’. Phantom traced over every carefully crafted detail of his face; the crooked curve of his nose, the faint but permanent dips of his dimples, the smattering of freckles on his cheeks. It was the first time Phantom had gotten to unapologetically admire the earth ghoul like this. 

Another giggle, breathier. A warm puff of air close to his face before Phantom stole a quick kiss. Chaste, innocent, over before Mountain’s sluggish brain could comprehend it. 

“You’re cute like this…” Phantom whispered, shifting further onto the bed. “Don’t know how Aether helped himself, I’d have wanted to keep you like this all the time.” 

Swiping the pad of his thumb over his lower lip, Phantom made Mountain semi aware of the drool collecting at the corner of his parted lips. If he could think to move his limbs, he would have hastily wiped his mouth on the back of his hand while spinning some lie - ‘I would never”. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Nothing. 

The tip pressed just past his lips. Some quiet, insistent urge pulled at him. An ingrained response to suck. It was the only reason Mountain could move, to chase that carefully crafted desire Aether had trained into him. He took the rest of Phantom’s digit fully into his mouth, laving his tongue over the underside. 

Phantom’s breath caught in his throat and Swiss made a curious noise.

”…Did you?” Phantom breathed, moving again. He was straddling his lap now.

”Wasn’t me” Swiss responded with a genuine innocence. “Think Aeth left a few surprises in there.” 

“Fuck,” he shuddered and tipped Mountain’s head up. “I want to see those eyes, big guy. Open.” 

The fight was still there. Mountain struggled quite clearly, and neither did anything to make it easier. No little zip of magic to rid that impossibly heavy feeling. They both seemed to silently revel in watching his eyes flutter uselessly while still suckling on Phantom’s thumb. When he finally managed to open them, they were practically just the whites. Phantom hooked his finger behind his teeth and held him by the chin, loosely shaking Mountain’s head back and forth. 

”Gotta look at him, clover. Let him see.”

A whine bubbled up in Mountain’s throat, his glassy stare tried to find him. The weed had left his eyes reddened, but Swiss had left his iris’ crimson. His influence was only slight, truly just a few drops of poison in the water, but a stoned Mountain was a pliable Mountain, quintessence aside. It was already almost easing off, copper specks found within the red.

Phantom trilled, pleased at the sight. 

“You want more, don’t you Mounty?” He hummed, returning to petting over the flat of Mountain’s tongue. “Want to go deeper, huh?”

“Hu - ‘lease.” 

“Even knows his manners when he’s been made stupid.” Swiss chuckled, nuzzling sweetly against his shoulder. His stubble was scratchy but Mountain couldn’t say he minded. 

Phantom leaned down, a content kitten curl smile on his lips as he got level with Mountain. Eye to eye. “Wanna watch you drop.” He whispered, the beginnings of his particularly tingly brand of quintessence began to seep in. Like there was static in his veins instead of syrup. More fuzzy than empty. 

Slow lapping waves up the stretch of his body, lulling him further into the waters of oblivion. Mountain felt it draw him forth like the call of a siren. He waded, deeper, further, as far as Phantom coaxed him to go before he found himself abruptly ripped under the surface. Suspended in pleasant nothingness. Floating safely away from his body. 

All that struggle for nothing, his eyes simply rolled back into his skull like they belonged there. 

“That’s it, look at you bug, look how good you’re getting. Easier every time, huh?”

”Mhm!” He was beaming, tail thumping against the mattress behind him. 

“Now, did you do what I told you to?”

“Yes sir.” Phantom nodded, catching his lip between his teeth as his eyes wandered down to Mountain’s lap where he was already tented in his jeans. “He’s um…Real big, isn’t he?”

”Real big, but you’re gonna take him just fine. Nice and slow, just like I told you, right baby?”

”Yes sir,” Phantom repeated, a bit quieter this time. Bashful.

“I want to see, c’mon stardust, show me how pretty it is.”

The little ghoul swallowed with an audible gulp, getting to his feet only to fumble with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. Swiss laughed, endeared by his shaky hands, and reached out to simply tug the knot loose with one little motion. Phantom wriggled his way out of his pants and shed his shirt much faster before crawling back onto the bed. It was his turn for a brief glint of hesitation, kneeling naked on the bed under the ravenous eyes of the multi ghoul. Lavender creeping into the tips of his ears and down his collarbones. 

He returned to straddle Mountain, facing away this time. Phantom bowed his head first then dipped his upper body down, back arched, tail thrown over his hip. Presenting himself mere inches from Mountain’s face. The scent of arousal alone could have made his eyes cross, but Swiss dragged him down from outer space to admire the sight before him, and Mountain was quite obviously drooling this time around. 

Faded bruises marked the expanse of the trembling thighs bracketing him, driven by anxiety or anticipation he didn’t know. His little cock was chubby where it hung, shiny and purple at the tip. It throbbed at nothing. Gave a little jump without any stimulation. But it was that blue little gem that sent Mountain’s own cock crying for attention and Swiss growling deep in his chest. The base of the plug sat pretty between his cheeks, a mix of lube and his own slick managing to drip from it down the seam of his balls. 

The muscles on his back flexed and he visibly clenched around the plug when Swiss reached out and grabbed a handful of his ass. He dimpled that soft supple skin, pressing into the more muddied and fresh marks, like he’d bruised him by simply groping. 

”Sweet fucking hells…”He grabbed a fistful of Mountain’s hair and pushed him forwards, “taste him, I know you want to, even if you haven’t realized it yet.” 

A little tug on his locks and Mountain’s mouth fell open completely, tongue lolling out. Swiss pulled him through the motion, hissing when Phantom mewled pitifully at the flat of his tongue against the underside of his sack. The earth ghoul’s tongue was wide and flat and hot as it slid up his balls, over his taint, and between his cheeks. Phantom was squirming, bowing further, silently begging for more.

”Take it out. Make it wink for him.”

Phantom’s body shook more noticeably when he reached back, face pressed into the sheets as he hooked his fingers around the base of the plug and began to pull it out. He sounded positively wounded at the widest point, sagging into the mattress when it finally popped out. His hole gaped, clenching around nothing. Needing to be filled. More slick dribbled out of him. 

“Did…Did I do it right?” Phantom mumbled into the mattress, wiggling his hips like Swiss might not know what he was referring to.

”Did such a good job, doll.” He gave Phantom’s ass another good squeeze and a little parting tap that was hard enough to make Phantom yip. “Let's get him out of these jeans, give you your reward.” 

The little ghoul’s limbs might as well have been made of jelly with how clumsily he rearranged himself. Phantom was as graceful as a newborn foal. He looked to be on the brink of ruin as he tugged at Mountain’s belt, pushed past it when he finally freed him from the confines of his zipper. Those violet eyes went wide holding him in his hands. Cock flushed and sticky, he throbbed downright painfully in his grip. His world was spinning, stable only where Phantom held him.

“Shit…It’s, is it gonna fit?” 

“It’ll fit.” Swiss assured, cupping his cheek. He pet over the flush warming his face. “He’s gonna make you bulge, gonna be able to see how he fills you, but you’re going to make it fit, aren’t you? Gonna make it fit for me?”

Looking down, Phantom once again chewed at his lip and swiped over his slit, smearing a growing bead of pre over the head. Nervous. 

“Don’t worry lovebug, take your time. Not like he’s going anywhere.”

He sat up on his knees, practically shoving his chest into Mountain’s slack face. Not present enough to enjoy it. Swiss, however, was. He pinched at one of the pebbled buds on his chest and Phantom shuddered, staying perfectly in place until Swiss had decided he’d had his fun. Only once he’d managed to make Phantom start dripping in Mountain’s lap did he decide to let him continue. 

Any confidence he might have had was instantly squashed when Phantom guided the blunt head of his cock to his hole. Even before he tried to sink down onto it, he could feel how big it was. His slick and lube suddenly didn’t feel like enough and his brows drew together with concern but Mountain felt Swiss nod behind him. Gripping the earth ghoul’s shoulder with white knuckles, he pressed the tip inside and his mouth fell open in a silent cry. The only sound he managed was a feeble whimper high in his throat. 

Swiss sucked in air between his teeth, cursing softly against the shell of Mountain’s ear. 

Slowly the clouds occupying his head thinned and the heat of lust was no longer a distant sensation. Mountain felt sweat beading at his brow in an instant. It was like being wrapped in towels fresh from the dryer, soft warm and fuzzy. He groaned. Phantom was tight, snug wrapped around the first few inches of his cock. He was practically pulling him in. 

His muted senses returned and hit him like a freight train. Delicious agony in how his cock pulsed in the clutch of his sweet, unbroken body. Mountain felt a semblance of a thought slip through the cracks, he wanted for the first time since Swiss sparked up and set his plan into motion. 

He wanted, and he wanted bad.

Moving was a Herculean task. His body was pure molasses, but he managed a low, angry growl as he took Phantom by the waist. Nearly encircled in his hands. The little ghoul squeaked in surprise but just about wailed when Mountain abruptly dragged him down a few inches. The cry punched out of him was nothing short of devestated. His claws bit into the earth ghoul’s shoulder and somehow, by the will of some malicious creature, Phantom clenched around him. So tight it was almost painful. He nearly doubled in on himself, that snarl growing louder. The proper part of his brain remained off, tucked far away, he was reduced to a base instinct for a moment.

Once again Swiss cursed. Louder and surprised. His hand flew to Mountain’s throat and Mountain was hit with another purposeful wave of heaviness. Forcing him back under almost violently. Mountain once again went limp with the saddest little warble, hands sliding uselessly off of Phantom’s hips and back onto the bed. 

“Phantom” Swiss hissed, fingers flexing dangerously against Mountain’s slowing pulse. Hardly worried about him acting out further, he was effectively tamed. He was leaning over the earth ghoul’s shoulder, eyes narrowed and fixed on a breathless, shaken little quint. Just a deer in headlights. “Didn’t I warn you to pay attention?”

“I - I was…”

”Told you to focus, but you get him inside and you just go too cockdumb to remember.” He sneered, bringing Mountain back against his shoulder. His voice just barely softened. “Big guy thinks with his dick, not his brain, when he’s like this…Keep him docile or he’s gonna take what he wants from you, and you won’t be able to stop him when he gets his paws on you.” 

Shame and embarrassment aside, the threat of what could happen made Phantom’s cock visibly kick. 

“Remember your magic, bug. I won’t be stopping him again if you slip up. Gotta be careful” Swiss settled in place again, petting Mountain’s cheek till that dopey smile returned. “He’ll fuck you stupider than he is now, and it’ll be your own damn fault.” 

[starlit-typewriter]

Genshin SAGAU, Creator of Teyvat, but not Humanity Part 9

Here it is part 9!

Takes a peek at my writing doc. Yep uh, plot is beginning.

Also I've done the most recent Archon quest and uh, Wow.

I uh, didn't expect to cry that hard.

But very glad that my fic is still technically canon compliant. Literally counting down the versions till a lore drop breaks what I have built.

Warning for Spoilers up to Genshin Impact 4.6

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

~~~

Silver clouds float around lazily on a beautiful sparkling blue sky. 

From beyond the billow of misted water, a spark shines.

It glows brighter.

And faster.

It shoots down towards the sky, breaking the sea of clouds, leaving a gaping hole from where it burst through.

The spark becomes a star, flickering from blue to a brilliant gold, leaving trails of light as it descends towards Teyvat.

As it approaches, it shrinks, becoming smaller, but no less powerful.

A targeted stream of light, of energy.

It approaches a city, a harbor. 

You can feel the energy in the air, the hustle and bustle as humans galavant and frolic.

The sounds and smell of a festival, filled with raucous cheers and lively conversation.

The light ignores it all, heading straight towards a solitary figure.

A figure cloaked in brown and gold, strolling along the roads of this place.

A non human hiding in their midst.

They’re concealing their presence, but the light knows better. 

It can feel their raw power and strength.

This is the one they were looking for. 

It heads straight towards it, hitting their body with force, causing them to stumble in their tracks.

The light, no. The blessing burrows it’s way into this figure.

Mine

It purrs, settling inside their body, warming him from the inside, filling their body with power and energy. 

All Mine

~~~

Your eyes snap open as you jerk out of your trance.

Morax was still sitting there, quietly.

Observing you with those eyes.

Those calm arrogant eyes.

You hate them, you hate them so much.

“Do you remember now,” he asks.

You clench your fist, fingernails digging into your skin. 

You don’t want to believe him. On some level you still don’t.

However, you can’t deny that he has your power. 

That he was gifted with your power.

Blessed

But you don’t know why.

The unfortunate truth, something that Morax no doubt knows, is that you don’t have all your memories.

Azhdaha’s sacrifice gave you some of your powers back, but it’s far from what you used to have.

You remember a time when you were powerful.

When you created mountains and oceans.

When you could create living beings with a single touch.

Well, not a single touch, but you could still do it.

You remember an era of peace, of dragons.

But it’s all gone.

Destroyed.

All because of them.

But you don’t know how.

You don’t know why.

The anger and grief wells up in your chest. 

Your power responds accordingly, strumming under your skin, begging to be set free.

No,

You can’t.

Not now,

Not yet.

Later, you promise yourself.

Later, you will find out the truth and get your revenge.

~~~

“To the tales of the lyre, to the sweet dream of tonight!” A sweet melodious voice sang to the cheerful applause of the Angel’s Share patrons.

The teal figure bowed jauntily, waving his hat with a flourish.

Another successful night completed! 

The bard in question skipped over to the bar, offering its red headed owner his most charming smile. 

Alas his efforts were in vain as the Pyro wielder barely offered him a glance before going back to polishing glasses.

“Oh come on Master Diluc,” he weedled, offering his best puppy eyes. “Did my music not please your patrons ears, surely that deserves some complimentary beers”

“That’s exactly why I’m deducting some drinks from your tab,” He grumbled, “your unpaid tab, might I add.”

“In Angel’s Share I spend my time, in hopes of getting some dandelion wine,” he strummed, “Of varied notes, I sing so high, yet my sweet drink you so deny.”

“Let the bard drink,” Quinn cheered drunkenly, as did the rest of the tavern to Diluc’s chagrin.

The man tried to explain, only for the cheers and chants of the tavern to rise in volume, drowning his voice out. 

Mondstatians and their alcohol.

The tavern owner turned around with the most unimpressed face known to mankind.

Venit would be intimidated, but unfortunately for Diluc, he is not a man and has seen much much more unimpressed faces over the years.

The two stared each other down, one smug and the other exasperated, all the while the tavern’s chanting rose.

With a defeated sigh, the uncrowned king of Mondstadt pours the bard a glass of dandelion wine. 

The bard in question whoops in triumph. As does the rest of Angel’s Share as they celebrate his “Victory” with more drunken cheers and songs.

He knew the tavern owner wasn’t truly angry, exasperated and annoyed perhaps, but the man could never muster any real anger towards Venti.

A small bonus from him revealing his true identity of the Anemo Archon to him. 

For all his tough words against the Knights of Favonious, he was still a Mondstatder through and through. 

Whilst he did not have nearly as much presence in Mondstadt as the other nations did, and was proudly the weakest of them. The people of Mondstadt did not forget what he’s done for them and still recognize and worship him accordingly.

The wind spirit kicked his legs back and forth and he watched the redhead over the lip of his glass.

In terms of personality he really is nothing like his ancestor. Which makes sense of course, it’d be foolish to expect them to end up the same even though they have the same bloodline.

If anyone in Mondstadt were to have that title it would be the Acting Grandmaster.

Guiltily, he is glad that they differ.

To humans, gaining a vision is a great honor. Proof that their worth has been acknowledged by the gods.

He’s happy for them as well, whenever a Mondstater gains a vision.

But he won’t deny the seed of anxiety that sprouts in his heart as well.

Visions can make humans, gods among men.

But the world is made of more than just men. 

Humans may be many but are comparatively weak in the grand scheme of things.

Although, having numbers is its own form of strength.

Perhaps he isn’t giving humans enough credit. 

A lone human is weak, but a group of humans have a level of strength and fortitude that amazes even the gods.

He supposes that must be why the heavens protect them so.

Well, protect is a strong word.

They will do whatever it takes to ensure the continuation of humanity.

But they really won’t waste their time on individual humans.

Unless,

Well,

Visions are gifts for a reason.

Allogenes are rare, and are appropriately rewarded.

Not that visions are not a great boon.

He’s single handedly watched how visions save and change the lives of their wielders.

It’s simply what can come after.

It is extremely rare for an allogene to ascend to Celestia. That position is only reserved for the strongest of wills in all the lands.

Vanessa was one such will.

He knew it the moment he laid eyes on her. 

Her burning passion and desire to protect her people.

How could she not gain a vision, how could she not ascend.

It was why he stuck around, stayed by her side. 

Partially to ensure the safety of Mondstadt. 

Partially to see if there’s anything he could do to save her.

Not that there’s anything he could do, or dare do.

Her will was extraordinary during her life.

It's just beyonf that, that is the issue.

The gaze of Celestia is particularly strict when it comes to cases such as these. Any attempts to defy destiny will be met with swift retribution.

Celestia does love its retribution.

Any hint of disloyalty, or protest will be swiftly squashed.

There was always a bitter irony in his position as Archon.

He was strong enough to protect his people from gods and monsters and other humans.

But not Celestia.

Not one was strong enough to fight against Celestia, even the creator of this land fell to their lies and trickery.

He has no idea what the Tsaritsa could possibly be planning to think they stand a chance.

Perhaps that’s why she’s moving so quickly.

In hopes of finishing her plans before the Heavenly Principles awaken.

He wished her luck on that front.

Even though he may not have the courage to do the same.

He just wished she was less aggressive about it.

Honestly, she didn’t even bother asking him before sending Rosalyn to attack him.

In front of his own church no less.

Honestly the audacity

Although, to be fair, without that audacity she probably wouldn’t have dared to try going against Celesta. 

Her lack of contact with Celestia may have also played a role.

She is not a part of the original Seven after all.

Both he and Morax had visited Celestia firsthand upon their ascension to Archonhood.

It’s where they received their gnosis, their Archon robes and well.  

Where they’ve seen the true capabilities of Celestia.

Witnessed the lengths they’re willing to go to to squash any resistance.

On that front he understood Baal’s reasoning behind the Vision Hunt Decree.

While she may not have gone to Celestia herself and witnessed what the original seven did. He had no doubt that her sister passed on some warning to her before her death. 

It was smart.

If not ultimately misguided.

Sacrificing the few for the sake of the many.

Stifling a couple vision holders in exchange for the safety of her nation.

He understood the urge.

Disagreed with it, but understood it all the same.

The role of allogenes is essential to the survival of Teyvat.

Like it or not.

Without them, Teyvat would collapse.

Sacrificing the few for the many.

He despises it.

What Teyvat is built upon.

What it requires to function as it does now.

But he’s not strong enough to change any of it.

All he can do is wallow in the knowledge that Teyvat is-

The bard shakes his head vigorously to get rid of the path his thoughts are heading towards.

No,

Bad thoughts,

Not tonight,

Tonight is for fun.

Not, 

Well.

Anyways, he’s getting maudlin, that’s no good for such a festive night. 

He tips his glass back, emptying it of its contents.

The Dawn’s Winery quality is unparalleled.

As usual of course.

One of his pettier achievements to say the least.

When Morax announced his desire for Liyue to become the trading hub of Teyvat, and one of the most prosperous nations. Going on to monologue about how he will pave the way for business and prosperity using his contracts and all that blah blah blah.

Well, he couldn’t help but make fun of him about that, now could he.

Leading to Rex Lapis snapping back about how he can’t contribute anything to his nation beyond drunken songs.

Well jokes on him.

Mondstadt is now the nation of drunken songs. 

The best in fact.

Sure it could be considered a waste of time to change the water in Mondstadt specifically so that it would be the best for wine brewing.

But the wine industry is now one of Mondstadt's main sources of revenue.

It was a calculated business decision and completely not related to the grumbling of some winemakers about having to purify the water multiple times to get a good yield.

A familiar presence approaches, the wind whispers.

Venti perks up as he hears a familiar set of footsteps approach.

“Tone deaf Bard,” an excitable voice exclaimed. “I knew he’d be here.”

The bard in question swiveled around in his seat to face the Traveler and Paimon, pasting a cheerful smile on his face.

“Traveler, we meet again, why don’t you sit down, we can share a drink or ten.”

The golden haired teen rolled their eyes at his, admittedly cheesy rhyme.

“I need your help with something,”

Their voice is serious.

In all honesty he hasn’t seen them this serious since what happened with Dvalin.

Venti took a quick peek over at Master Diluc, still serving other customers, great!.

He quickly slipped out of his seat and followed the Traveler out of the Angel’s Share.

Once they’ve reached an appropriately secluded spot, they turned to him.

Paimon and the Traveler exchange glances.

This must be pretty serious for even Paimon to sober up like that.

“Venti,” they ask, “We need to ask you and Dvalin a favor.”

Me, and Dvalin?

What could-

“The creator of Teyvat is back.”

~~~

Masterlist | Prev Part | Next Part

I was thinking of doing something special for part 10, haven't really decided but I'll keep you guys posted.

Thanks so much for your kind words of encouragement.

You guys are the only reason I've gotten this far in the story so far.

As always my askbox is open, for any questions, theories, etc etc

Taglist:@bunniotomia,@lucid-stories, @ymechi, @chocogi,  @ra404, @ash1, @esthelily, @tottybear, @mmeatt, @quacking-simp, @reemthetheme, @universallyenthusiastsage, @resident-cryptid, @fantasyhopperhea, @thedevioussmirk, @etherisy, @naynayaa ,@mel-star636, @chericia, @aithane, @mmeatt, @xrosegorex, @amidst-the-tempest, @8-sinner-8, @reapersan, @elementalia ,@strangeygirl, @chaoticfivesworld, @scalyalpaca, @avalordream,@ranshin03, @vvyeislazzy, @wishicouldart, @raykayrei

[peeweekey]

everyone adores you (at least i do)

pairing: sam x reader

wc: 1.1k

tags: CHEEEEESY cheesy cheesy puppy love, mutual pining, sam is PATHETICALLY down bad, pre-relationship, abigail and sebastian mentioned, friends to lovers

synopsis: if it were up to sam, he'd spend every second of everyday at your side.

a/n: in all of my other sam fics, its reader embarrassingly in love with him...he gets a taste of his own medicine here lol!

With vanilla ice cream melting and dripping down your fingertips, coarse sand underneath you and the salty ocean waves lapping at your feet; you are a child again, sitting with your grandpa at the docks, watching as he reeled in a ‘big one’. Filling his bucket with loads and loads of fish.

Those days are far gone now, but the memory remains, as clear as the day you remember it. The feeling is nostalgic, sleepy in the way your senses are dulled by syrupy thick contentment. Beaches at sunset have that effect on you, you suppose. 

“This is fun,” Sam says, tone lacking its boisterous loudness, you almost don’t hear it over the sound of crashing waves. “I had a lot of fun today, farmer.”

Your eyes flicker to him, his green gaze dead-set on the peachy golden sky, the taste of sea salt mingling with sweet ice cream heavy in your tongue. The sea breeze is cold, whipping against your face and running through your hair.

“I did too,” you agree. “Y’know, I don’t get a lot of off time with the farm and stuff. This is a nice change of pace.”

He smiles, that sunshine smile you’ve come to associate with Sam. “I caught you at just the right time then, huh?” 

You shrug, your own smile mirroring his. “Auspicious.” He did.

The sun is setting, the day is coming to a close yet Sam wishes it wouldn’t, silently pleading with any higher being to somehow stretch time. He is barely a religious person, but the weight of his want is enough to transcend his own beliefs. Every second with you barely feels like enough; like sand slipping through his fingers.

One thing’s for certain, Sam isn’t going to just let it end here.

“We should hang out like this again,” Sam says, a little hurriedly, captured all in one breath. Shy and tentative, like a bashful child with a school crush. “Uh, I mean, do you? Wanna? Hang out with me?”

You can barely suppress a delighted chuckle from slipping past your lips, your chest warming with fond affection. “I’d be more than happy to. Yoba knows I need a break or two or I’ll actually explode,” you huff while Sam hums in agreement. “We can even invite Abigail and Sebastian… so can demo that new song for me, I see you all working very hard when I visit sometimes.”

He should be happy to hear that; that you’d be more than happy to spend your precious off time with him out of all people. You and him, him and you, Sam and the farmer. Your name connected to his with ‘and’, it makes him giddy, causes his cheeks pinken and pinken. 

Just the two of you, though. Sure, he loves his friends, Abby and Seb have been with him since day one. But it feels out of place—

(Sam, Sebastian, Abigail and the farmer doesn’t have that ring to it…)

“Yeah, I—I dunno, it’s just…”

The unfiltered truth is stupid, at least to him. Vincent is far too young for some of the things Sam longs to say. There’s a reason Abby and Seb hang out under his nose, he won’t blame them, they have their own secrets he isn’t privy to—too serious, too dull for him.

(And now with you, he thinks you might just be the one he can share his own secrets with. Because even he has his own serious, dull thoughts. Thoughts that he doesn’t want brushed away with a snarky remark or a sarcastic laugh.)

“I kinda like that it’s just the two of us?” 

His voice sounds unsteady, squeaky. Trailing off at the end, lost in the sound of water crashing at your feet. Phrasing his statement into a question that you could deny, that you could easily brush off—because if you did, he would too. 

(It would be a bummer if you did though, but Sam is cool with that, chill with any decision you make. Really, he totally is.)

You grin, bumping your shoulder against his, your ice cream is dripping down, down, down your knuckles. Once your skin meets his, you don’t pull away, you press closer and closer to his side. Leaning your head against his sunburnt shoulder—but he barely registers the sting—and your arm against his own. It’s a pleasant weight, having you against him—grounding and tethering him to you.

“I do too. Like it, I mean. I think I get to see so many other sides to you, Sam. Without the others and all that.”

Sam feels his breath hitch, his cheeks flush even pinker even with the sunburns. “Woah, phew, I mean—awesome… When, when do you think we can meet next?”

You tilt your head, running calculations through your mind. You’re very busy on that farm, he knows; but Sam can’t help but keep his hopes up, you’re fun company. Maybe the best he’s had yet.

“I know I won’t have enough time until my melons are ready for harvesting—and don’t you dare try making a joke about that,” you smile, wide and cheeky. Right as Sam readies an innuendo at the tip of his tongue; it makes his blood pump faster and his breathing stutters at the thought of you knowing him so well. 

“So how about this?” you propose slowly. “We spend one day every month doing all the stuff we wanna do, together. just you and me—fun right? I’ll even sleep a little earlier the night before.”

Sam bites into his ice cream—chocolate and your treat, at your insistence—though he isn’t quite sure if the immediate smile on his lips is due to its sweetness, or yours.

He leans closer into you, resting his head on top of yours, strands of your hair tickling his lips. Lowering his voice into a whisper so only you can hear.

(The secret is that you make Sam want. Want, want, want like he’ll never get sick of it. He hoards these stolen moments with you so greedily yet wants more.)

“…two days, two days each month.”

He feels your body shake with the strength of your laughter, warmth swirls all throughout his body, tingling wherever your body brushes against his own. Sam finds that he likes the feeling, the buzz of it—it’s addicting.

“Yeah, alright then,” you reply, mirth dripping from each and every word. “two days. We have a deal. Better?”

“Yeah,” he turns back to face the water, the ocean spray misting his face. “Yeah, a lot better. That does sound fun.”

Anything sounds fun when it involves you.