#endorphins straight to the brain

[agendratum]

seungmin wasn't lying, this jjam performance can really jam

[anrisimps]

5+ hrs of studying was not how I thought my holiday would go

[what-have-i-unleashed]

days might be bleak but then atemune-sensei posted an artwork and i feel the reason to keep on trucking again 🙏

[wowowwild]

Today I read the wrightworth fanfic Play your cards right thanks to your post! It was so good thanks for recommanding it!!!

@oze250

I'm so glad I helped you find that fic! It's soooo funny and it deserves so much attention! I think I might start doing like annual or biannual fic recs or something if they're helping people find fics. I love recommending things bc I have fantastic taste (lol). Thank you for popping in to say that, it always makes my day to get random asks.

(Fic rec post.)

[thatsdemko]

without me? - l.norris

masterlist | pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: the silence he enters to is odd… but was there ever really any silence?

warnings: smut + not intended for minors + no plot?

a/n: reminder this is 18+ content!!! I need some serious motivation to write smut so if anyone has any….

there’s a stillness to the room that he just can’t describe. like everything in his apartment looks so picturesque, the sun setting, a dimly lit lamp in the corner. the eery sound of quietness are odd against his ears.

the sounds of the rubber against the pavement, the whirling of drills and tools, the vibration of the car still keep his body in working mode. the endorphins swell his brain with happiness and serenity as he walks from the living room towards the bedroom.

that’s when he finally begins to hear noise.

at first it’s just the faint sound of the mattress squeaking, then, he as steps closer, he can begin to hear the headboard rattling against the wall. whatever he was feeling in his brain shot straight down to his cock and spread an aching in him.

he couldn’t stand behind this door any longer. finally pressing his palm into the knob, he pushes the door gently. his eyes are greeted with the best sight; you. legs apart, vibrator in hand, your hair sprawled across the pillow case, and the oh so sweet sounds of your whimpers are flooding his eardrums.

he can’t help it, the smile that spreads is cocky. you look pathetic and helpless, like something was clearly holding you back, and god he couldn’t wait to put you out of your misery.

you didn’t head the door open, and you certainly didn’t hear the drop of his bags, but you did feel his hand grasp yours and toss the vibrator to the side.

“lando,” you whimper softly. your eyes flutter open for a brief second, you see he’s removing his belt from his waist, and in his own eyes he has some sort of thirst and desire he can’t resist.

you don’t blame him, you’d been waiting for him. you spent all afternoon cleaning to erase your mind from the nasty thoughts you had about your boyfriend. you could still see the ass and hand prints against the shower glass, you could still recall how he fucked you until both of you came collapsing onto the floor.

every part of this house was haunted with some sort sexual memory, and you had attempted to clean it all awaiting to start new ones, but that wasn’t enough. after all that, you still felt unfulfilled. so enter the vibrator, and now, finally, there was lando.

lando’s hips grind against yours, his cock fitting nicely inside you, warmth radiates off of him. your back arches in an automatic response, your body molding up into his, he pushes you down. it’s not stern, but it wasn’t a gentle gesture either, it was still hot coming from him. possessiveness was something lando never lacked.

his thrusts become harder, nonsensical words fall from his lips that range from “I missed you” to “fucking wet” and none of them strung a proper sentence. you just allowed him to take you to the place you couldn’t quite get to with a mechanical toy, and you thank him with peppering kisses to his neck that you know you’ll get shit for tomorrow.

“never fucking do that without me.” he grunts rolling off your body to lay beside you. he takes a moment to catch his breath before sitting back up, “the place is too clean.” he states.

nodding your head you turn in his direction, “do you want to mess it up again?”

“fuck yes.”

[bunnyreaper]

𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖗𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖘

𝔞 𝔰𝔬𝔞𝔭 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

𝖕𝖙 5 — 𝖕𝖙 4 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊

wc - 7.6k

warnings - 18+/nsfw, dom/sub dynamic, petplay (as always), thigh riding, pussy eating, johnny gives reader a piggyback ride.

notes - it's here! and my life and health is worse for it, but it's here! please don't expect the next part any time soon, but thank you to those patiently waiting ♥ also on ao3! ♥

"Told you, pet, this mouth is mine now."

Johnny's mouth continues its loving assault on yours, overwhelming you with his kisses. It's filled with the same passion as the first time, but now Johnny's heat seeps straight from his bones and into you. 

His hands fall to your wrists, his touch warm and caressing and pinning you ever so slightly in place—just enough to keep you still, not enough to really restrict you. 

It's Johnny who pulls away from you, an exhaled fuck falling from his lips—your eyes flutter open to meet his, the baby blues flooded with lust. 

His gaze flickers to your lips before he whispers. "I dinnae want to stop kissing ye." 

He steals your breath with both the words and the feeling of his lips when they return to yours, each slide against you as if he's stealing them, afraid he won't get another for too long. Though with Johnny, you get the feeling any second your lips aren't connected to his are ones he wishes for nothing else. 

"Yeah, fuck..." You sigh as Johnny pulls away, his grip loosening as his forehead settles against yours. 

Neither of you can fight the smiles on your faces, as you both bask in each other's joy, and the rush of endorphins and arousal running through you. 

Johnny always makes you feel electric.

He laughs breathlessly, eyes sparkling with mirth as you can see him try to restrain himself. "'Spose I should let ye get settled first before I ravage ye." 

"I have no complaints if you don't." You giggle in return, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before willing yourself to pull away too. "But yeah, probably a good idea."

If both of you had less self-control, you had no doubts the tension could have pushed you into rutting in the entryway like rabid dogs, only managing to bare yourselves just enough to have Johnny sink inside you. From the look in his eyes and the feeling of his hardness pressed against you, he wants to take you here and now—but he's nothing if not a gentleman. 

You have no doubt that your own glassy eyes and soaked panties betray your need just the same, and there's a desperate, animalistic part of your brain that wants to drag him inside by the belt so that you can fall to your knees before him. 

Johnny straightens himself up, taking ahold of your hand and preparing to head into the flat proper. "Want the tour of the place?" 

You nod eagerly. "Of course." 

You pull your hand free for just a moment to abandon your shoes by the door-—leaving them amongst the existing pile of boots, which Johnny only adds to with his own.

With your hands reconnected and fingers intertwined, he guides you into the warmth of the flat. 

"I mean, the place is tiny, so it won't take long." He jokes, as he pulls you in further and throws his keys on the countertop. "Tada, living room and kitchen all in one." 

You take in the open space around you—the room flooded with moonlight and a faint glow from under the kitchen cupboards, as well as a lamp that's lit in the corner. The ceilings are high, and the floors are wooden—the kitchen and living room combined to create a large, albeit cosy room.

"Nice and spacious! I like that it's open plan." You coo, as Johnny paces forward, and you allow him to guide you. Your eyes rove over everything, from the well-worn couch to the framed photos of him and his squad, or the pictures of wild-eyed kids that can only be Johnny's nieces and nephews. 

"Aye. Can have ye curled up on the couch while am cooking, terribly, mind ye." Johnny nudges you playfully with his hip, drawing your attention back to the radiant smile on his face.

You follow him down a small corridor with doors on both sides. The door to the left opens into a bathroom with a large, walk-in, waterfall shower, illuminated with soft lighting when Johnny flicks the switch.

"Bathroom, with no bath." He explains, before his expression flickers to something briefly resembling a kicked puppy. "Bit sad about tha'." 

"Are you a bath man?" You ask, your mind visualising the muscular man indulging in rich aromas and piles of bubbles—it serves as quite the entertaining mental image. And then your mind flickers to him in the shower, water cascading down his toned body, knots in his shoulders just begging for relaxation...

"Absolutely. And if yer not into baths, I think I know just the way to convert ye." His hand squeezes yours playfully as he throws you a wink, and you're left wondering if he could somehow sense that your thoughts have turned dirty.

"I like the sound of that." 

Finally, you cross the hallway into the bedroom—a room filled with a mixture of earth tones and navy blues, the place is clean and tidy, beside the pile of clothes and various other things piled onto the chair in the corner. 

"And where we'll be staying, unless you'd prefer I sleep on the couch." 

You don't miss the sheepish look on his face, the look that tells you that sleeping apart from you is the last thing he'd rather do tonight—but you know that he'd do it in a heartbeat if you asked. 

Stepping closer into his space, you lace your other hand in his and sway them back and forth, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "I will be falling asleep on your chest. That's non-negotiable, Johnny." 

"I'm glad tae hear." He pushes himself forward to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment after. "Can be ma little blanket for the night." 

"... But aye, that's about it." He gestures to the room with one of your intertwined hands.

"It's cosy here, I like it." You comment with a smile, taking in the welcoming atmosphere of the room—the hints that the place is lived in. 

Johnny comments as he moves closer to your ear—his breath warm as it flutters over your skin. "Hopefully, the first visit of many." 

"I hope so too. I'll be leaving my toothbrush here before you know it." 

You pull yourself from Johnny's hold, falling back onto the mattress and allowing your dress to ride up your legs as you prop yourself up on your elbows and stare at Johnny temptingly.

Your eyes trail over his body, savouring every delicious inch that is John MacTavish. His eyes chart a similar path, following up your exposed thighs. 

"Anyway, I think I'm all settled in now." You purr, trying to coax him back into kissing you like he was earlier. 

"Steamin' jesus." He all but growls as he comes closer, crawling over you and leaning down near to your lips as his arms cage you in. "Someone's a needy pup." 

With his face hovering inches from yours, you relish the opportunity to drink him all in. His baby blues sparkle with lust and fondness as they peer down at you, slightly hidden behind hooded lids. His eyelashes flutter so prettily, bouncing off his sweet, stubbled cheeks. 

Your eyes fall to his soft lips, the scar underlining them that you want to trace your thumb and tongue across—learn the story of. 

"Kiss me again, Johnny, please." You whisper softly, as one of his hands begins to stroke the top of your head. 

"Askin' so nicely, how can I say no?" He smirks one last time before closing the gap, both of your eyes fluttering shut as your lips finally reconnect. 

There's never a moment when Johnny's lips don't feel heavenly—he kisses you like a man starved and allows his hips to falter and press against your core. His clothed erection rubs against your centre, the denim pushing across your thin panties and sending your brain spinning. 

It's instinct when you buck your hips up into his, chasing more contact from his throbbing length. The more time you spend around Johnny, the more intoxicated you become on his presence—your hesitations melt away, replaced by an overwhelming need that's only sated when Johnny is pressed against you. 

The moan that leaves your throat is entirely accidental, but causes Johnny to buck against you and groan right back at you—after the moment of slipped control, he stills.  

"Bonnie..." Johnny pulls away, a soft, hesitant look in his eyes as he tries his hardest to hold back. "I meant what I said about not expecting anything." 

For a moment, you feel awful, like a temptress pushing him to the limits of his self-restraint—but your own desires swirl inside you dangerously, with every moment with Johnny only adding fuel to the fire. 

The fact Johnny can want you so passionately and still remain firmly in charge of the both of you only reinforces the disgustingly puppylike crush you have on him.

"I know. I'm just enjoying kissing you properly." You sigh before taking a deep breath to release some of your pent-up arousal. 

"Aye, me too." He continues to stroke at the top of your head as his thumb brushes across your warm cheek, making you shiver. "Hard to keep ma hands to myself." 

"Yeah, tell me about it." Your hands rake down his chest, slowing once you feel the hardness of his abs beneath the cotton.

Johnny's hand falls to clutch your wrists, stilling your exploration of his body. The look in his eyes is all cheek and charm. "I should get you fed." 

"Boo."

The look turns ever so slightly warning. "Pup, Johnny knows best, aye?" 

"To the kitchen!" You announce cheerfully, breaking through the tension of the moment and redirecting the both of you before you end up wrapping your legs around Johnny and refusing to let go until he's spilled himself inside you.

With a breathy laugh, Johnny stands from the bed, turning around and offering his back for you to climb upon. When he finally has you safely stowed on him, his fingers gripping at your thighs as your arms wrap around his neck, he carries you to the kitchen.

Johnny doesn't let you back down to the floor immediately, instead heading to the fridge with you still clinging to him like a koala.

"Probably should've asked ye what toppings you wanted, but I just grabbed a bit of everything." He explains as he opens the door and reveals a shelf bursting with cheeses, vegetables, and meats. 

You quickly scan the shelf for any nasty surprises like the anchovies or olives Johnny had mentioned on the way over, and find yourself relieved that everything on offer is delicious—with some of your favourite pizza toppings even there. "So much choice, and nothing disgusting, I'm surprised, Johnny." 

"Hey now, I do have taste... sometimes." The pout in his voice is evident as he shuffles you further up his back before removing the hold of one of his hands to start removing the dough, sauce, and toppings so he can set them atop the counter. 

Your eyes fall to the rest of the shelves, with the vast majority of them being stacked with the same plastic poultry liners. "Johnny, your fridge is 90% plain chicken breast, I'm not sure that I trust that." 

"Well, actually, some of that is turkey." He smirks, until you lean forward into his sight-line with a grumpy look on your face. "Dinnae go glaring at me, bonnie girl." 

"Clearly I need to be fed so I have less of an attitude." You huff, playfully teasing him about his earlier interruption to your fun.

Johnny finally lowers you to the ground, setting you beside him before he grabs the final few ingredients. "I'm working on it!"

With everything ready and set out, you start to plan out the deliciousness that will be your creation. Everything Johnny picked out is fresh and delicious, and almost calling out to you to be a part of your meal. You rush to wash your hands so you can get started. 

"I feel like I'm gonna pick too many toppings and my pizza will just be a mess." You explain as you start to open a few packets while Johnny moves to the sink. "What are you having?" 

"Lil bit of everything, why no'?" He shrugs, the smile on his face wide and infectious.

"I'm so excited!" You giggle, already thoroughly enjoying your little pizza party with Johnny. As you watch Johnny dry his hands and then begin to work the dough, a mischievous thought pops into your head. "It's a shame we didn't make the dough from scratch, though." 

As soon as Johnny looks at you, he knows exactly where your thoughts have headed, and his face splits with an amused grin. "So ye could throw flour at me?"

"Flour fight, exactly." You nod. 

Johnny sets down the dough, moving into your space and grabbing you by the hips to spin you to face him. He looms over you— grin now devilish, eyes sharp and tone teasing. "I'd win, hen, dinnae think otherwise." 

You bite your lip, staring up at Johnny and shivering under his touch. "Hmm, you'd be covered in flour and looking so good, so I think I'd really be the winner."

"Next time, then." He purrs as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. He pulls away after a few moments, yet lingers in your space and sends heat rushing through your veins.

"I suppose I could still smear sauce all over you." You tease, your arousal making you even more daring and flirtatious.

"Just askin' fer trouble with tha'." He growls, pulling you flush against his body as he pulls his lip between his teeth.

"Oh no... how terrible." 

One hand moves in a flash, slapping lightly and groping at your ass as Johnny rubs himself against you. "Ye won't be saying that when yer arse is red raw." He groans in your ear. 

"You wouldn't be spanking me when I'm too busy licking the sauce off your face." You giggle, squirming under his touch. Brattiness isn't your usual go-to around Johnny, but sometimes he just inspires it.

"Dirty fuckin' pup." He growls, his voice almost feral and animalistic in the way it rips from his throat.

He holds your gaze, commanding you with just a look as he removes his hands and leans to the counter. He returns with the jar, popping open the lid with ease before offering it to you. 

"Go awn then." He commands, his expression serious as he urges the jar closer to you. 

You glance between him and the jar, uncertain of what he's asking for a moment before the realisation hits—he's making you cover him in the sauce.  

The moment stretches on in the heavy silence, as Johnny stares you down with an expectant look, waiting for you to comply. You timidly dip your finger into the sauce, hand trembling as you move to swipe it across Johnny's cheek. You assume he's going to messily return the favour, but he just continues to hold your gaze. 

"Now lick it." He whispers, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

You can't help but comply, pushing yourself up close to his face and darting out your tongue just enough to clean his stubbled cheek. 

It's then he grips you again, stilling you in place as you're draped across his body. "Good fucking girl." He purrs, and then returns the favour—gripping your cheek with one hand and smearing your face with sauce with the other. 

Then he licks you, long tongue trailing slowly up your cheek and leaving you wet and squirming. 

"Johnny, ew!" You giggle wildly, almost feeling tickled by his tongue against your skin. 

"Ew? Really, lass? Won't be saying tha' later when it's my tongue in yer cunt." He makes sure his lips brush against the shell of your ear as he continues to tease you with his words. "Won't be sayin' tha' later when I have ye slobbering all over my cock."

He punctuates the last sentence by pulling you tight against him once more, making you feel the weight of his throbbing cock against you. You find your self-control rapidly slipping once more, especially when his lips dip to press kisses to the bare expense of your neck.

"Mercy, please." You squeal, attempting to wiggle free from his hold. "Otherwise, we might have to abandon the pizzas."

Luckily, Johnny is feeling kind as he pulls away and gives you space—yet the glint in his eye remains. 

"Mercy, for now."

You and Johnny try your best to focus on making the pizzas without further incident—listening to early 2000s pop punk and exchanging little bits and pieces of conversation. He informs you that his Captain's house is more in the countryside and has a proper brick pizza oven in the garden that gets used precisely once a year when he throws a birthday party for Gaz.  

It makes you chuckle how Johnny seems to enthuse about how much better the pizzas are when they aren't made in his "shitty little electric oven". It also makes your heart swell when Johnny mentions how Gaz's birthday is just around the corner, and that you have to come with him to the party. 

When Johnny pulls your pizzas from the oven, you're surprised to see they both managed to cook well despite the pile of toppings and cheese.

The two of you eat your gooey pizzas as you curl up on the couch and watch an episode of Midsomer Murders. Admittedly, you'd been sceptical at first, and a little confused as to why a man in his late 20s was so into a show you watched growing up with your aunt. Then you heard his enthusiasm for solving the cases, and couldn't bring yourself to care about the slightly amateurish acting or the way the theme tune reminded you of the smell of her house. 

When you realise halfway through that you're pretty sure Johnny's guesswork about the case is wrong, you feel your puppy love grow at least ten sizes, and say nothing as you watch the misguided enthusiasm and smugness sparkle in his eyes.

After a second episode finishes, you ready yourself to head back to the kitchen with the plates but find yourself stilled as Johnny grabs your wrist.

"Do you not want help with the dishes?" You ask, head tilted slightly in confusion.

"Maybe later." Johnny pulls you back down onto the couch before fixing you with a look that makes your cheeks flush. His hand finds its way to your face, cupping your burning skin as his thumb traces over your lips with intent.

"Oh, later, I see." You can't help but smile, and Johnny's thumb chases the newfound curve of your lips. 

A lustful fire ignites in the pit of your stomach as you watch Johnny's eyes fixate on your lips, and you notice his pupils are blooming with arousal. 

It's instinctual and automatic, the way you feel your body call out to connect with Johnny's once more, and you give in to the magnetic pull as you climb into his lap and settle atop him. Your hands curl around the thick column of the back of his neck, steadying yourself as you squirm around to get comfortable.

Johnny's large hands cling to your hips—a warning grip stilling you as his cock stirs to life underneath your core and pushes harsh denim against the soft cotton of your panties. 

"Bonnie." The word is growled, yet wrapped in playfulness, as his eyes flare with warning and his fingers continue to dig into the plush of your hips.

"Yes?" You coo innocently. 

"Careful now." 

"I just want to kiss you." You whine, while resisting the urge to grind down on Johnny's length. Instead, your lips fall to kiss his stubbled jaw, and the protruding veins on the side of his neck. "Can't get enough of you." 

Your own words break the dam of your self-restraint, as you give in to your urges and chase the bolts of pleasure that course through you, nudging your clit back and forth against the cock you crave so badly. 

"Neither can I." He whispers brusquely, the words sounding throatier as you continue to kiss him and writhe against him. His hands guide your hips along your path, each thrust earning you a growl from deep within his chest. "Ye drive me mad, steamin' fuckin' jesus." 

Your hips continue to writhe on instinct, addicted to the feeling of rocking on Johnny's bulge and the way the sensation ebbs at consciousness and makes your brain cottony around the edges. You nuzzle into Johnny's neck, seeking comfort and closeness as you continue to slip deeper and deeper.

"Johnny, I'm going crazy, I need you." Your words are whined against his skin, desperate pleas appealing to his baser instincts, practically begging him to just give in and take you already. The impulsive voice in the back of your head chants his name over and over again, as it always does. 

This time it's stronger, overwhelmingly so, as you're wrapped in his arms and able to melt into his touch. 

"Ya have me, pet." He whispers—holding you close, nuzzling you back, and pressing the gentlest of kisses to the top of your head. "'m all yours." 

Johnny continues working his hips up into your core, meeting you thrust for thrust and grind for grind. The sensation of your bodies meeting draws groans from his throat, each erratic connection making you both tremble.

Your eyes meet, an intense connection as Johnny's eyes search yours—him seeming to read every little flicker of emotion within them. Whatever he sees there spurs him into action, as he repositions his grip and redirects you—widening his legs before he pushes you down against his thick, denim-clad thigh.

"Tha's better." He sighs, immediately moving your hips again for you, rubbing your pussy across his muscle and giving you much-needed contact.

You find your rhythm quickly, working with Johnny to build delicious friction—the heightened sensations and connection have you overly sensitive, your blood fizzing all over your body just at being able to grind against Johnny. You know he's going to ruin you when things really start to escalate. You also know you're not going to last long at all.

"Humping my thigh like a good pup." Johnny groans as he buries himself into the crook of your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your skin—you tilt your head to accommodate him getting access to wherever his mouth pleases. 

"Gonna leave a wet spot." You feel the way your wet panties are clinging to your folds and know some of your arousal is leaking through to the denim beneath. 

Johnny growls, his thigh pushing up to meet you more firmly, as if begging to be soiled further. "Go awn, soak ma jeans." 

"Johnny..." 

"Sound so pretty whinin' fer me, whimperin'." He purrs straight into your ear, making your back arch as your skin tingles all over. "Gonna bark for me?" 

You quickly shake your head before hiding in Johnny's chest, cheeks ablaze. "'m shy." You whisper, hoping said reservedness won't disappoint him. 

One of Johnny's hands makes its way up your body, stopping to stroke the top of your head soothingly. "It's okay, pup, it'll come." He reassures you, not let down in the slightest. "Jus' keep grinding."

Your hips move with renewed fervour, chasing the rapidly building high that twists and coils in your stomach. Pleasure radiates out from your core, flowing through your veins and clouding your brain—refocusing yourself entirely on being good for Johnny.

"Feels good?" Johnny asks in response to your escalating whines and moans. "Use yer words for me."

Words are hard to form when your throat is so tightened and your mind so blissed out, but you have to obey. Each thrust pushes you closer and closer to the edge, closer to your reward. The tension between you and Johnny has been building for so long, with your need rapidly spiralling from the moment the two of you first started talking.

You need the release, need to cum under Johnny's touch and command—finally let him into your mind where his commands will make their home. As your thighs tremble around Johnny's, you force yourself to summon the strength to lift your head, to use your words just like Johnny had asked. 

"Feels good, so close." You admit, voice not above a whisper as you get hypnotised by the sparkling blue eyes that are hidden by hooded lids. 

Johnny is looking at you like he's going to devour you, and all you've done so far is rub your slick cunt all over his thigh. You shiver with the thought of just how much more intensity can build between you—you wonder how you're going to survive it.  

"Needy pup, want ye tae cum fer me. Jus' fer me." One of Johnny's hands now cups your chin, forcing you to keep your eyes locked onto his as you continue to writhe wildly against him.

His words push you so much closer, your brain waiting for his word as you try your hardest to not cum even a second before he tells you too. 

"Can ye do that, pet?" 

You nod mindlessly as your body goes into overdrive, the pressure making your body coil tighter as your brain finally fizzles out of any coherent thought. All you can do is keep your eyes fixed on Johnny, as you replay his words over and over in your head. 

Pet. Pup. Hump. Whine. 

Operating entirely on instinct, your mouth falls open, tongue lolling out as you pant and whine—right on the edge, waiting. As if in your thoughts, Johnny senses that you're right at the edge, as his thigh tenses to be the perfect surface for you to rub against, and his hand forces your cunt down even more snugly before. 

"Pretty pup, tha's it." He coos, voice dripping with sweet, gentle authority. "Cum fer me."

With his command finally whispered, you buck one more and fly over the edge, straight into the ecstasy of a blinding orgasm—one that's weeks in the making. 

Johnny continues to coax you through it, whispered praise and encouragement accompanying every little aftershock until you practically collapse against his chest. 

"Oh my god, that was..." You struggle to breathe, still struggle to think as you sink into Johnny's embrace. "I needed that, thank you."

Soft touches adorn every inch of your body, Johnny petting you sweetly and embracing the sensitivity of your skin in the afterglow. "My pleasure. Ye were such a good girl fer me." 

"Sorry about your jeans. And you not—"

Johnny doesn't let you finish your unnecessary apologies. "Dinnae be." 

He pulls you even closer, arms wrapping around your waist and back and holding you in a tight, reassuring embrace as the both of you come back down to normalcy. You can practically feel the smile on Johnny's lips with every kiss against your forehead, and his unbridled joy is still radiating off of him when you finally lean up to reconnect your lips with his. 

After a few sweet pecks, you find yourself burrowing back into his chest as you try to suppress a yawn. 

"Tired, bonnie?" Johnny asks, voice quiet. 

You respond simply with a gentle nod.

"Let's get you to bed, then." He chuckles, tapping the backs of your thighs to encourage you to stand. 

You can't help but whine just a little, entirely resistant to moving even if Johnny's bed is only a short walk away. "It's too early to sleep." You try to reason, even if you have no clue of the time.

Johnny presses another kiss to your forehead—his smirk cheeky and eyes bright. "Who said we'd be sleeping?" 

With assistance from Johnny, you sleepily stumble to his bedroom and immediately plop yourself down on the edge of the mattress while Johnny fetches your forgotten bags from the entryway. 

Your orgasm has left you a little boneless and ignited an even stronger craving for connection with Johnny. He parts from you for even a moment, and your body calls out to be cuddled up with him again.

Luckily, he returns quickly, setting the bag down beside you so you can sleepily rifle through the bag for your pyjamas.

When you finally locate the silky set, you urge yourself off the bed and head for the bathroom. Johnny stops you by the wrists before you can reach the door. 

"Where are ye going?" He asks, an adorable look of confusion on his face. 

"To get changed." You explain, trying to stop your voice from trembling with nerves. Despite just cumming on this man's thigh, there's something startling about the vulnerability of changing before him that makes your walls shoot up and your body stiffen. 

Johnny's thumb runs over your wrist, as his expression softens, and he releases his hold.

"'s okay." He nods, turning to grab his own pyjama bottoms and beating you out of the door to the bathroom, leaving you in the comfort of his room. "Shout me when yer done, aye?"

The door clicks shut behind Johnny, as your heart fills with warmth at his easy and sweet accommodation of you. 

You slip off your dress first, folding it semi-neatly and slipping into the bag before you opt to slip off your panties too—they're still soaked through from your earlier activities and were clinging to your folds almost uncomfortably. You quickly shimmy on the matching silk set—cute shorts with a cami top, as you try to remember the confidence you felt when trying the set on.

You call out to Johnny, beckoning him back into the room and hoping his reaction to your outfit is everything you could hope for.

When Johnny slips round the door, his eyes almost jump out of his head—though you're sure yours are doing the same. "Fuckin' christ, bonnie." 

Your eyes rake down Johnny's body just as he does you—his chest is bare, and his plaid pyjama bottoms are slung low on his hips. You can't tear your eyes away, as they dart around taking in every little feature—the broad muscles, slight dusting of hair, or constellation of scars and freckles all down his torso. It's hard to decide which part of him is the most delicious, the most deserving of your eyes' attention. 

"Christ yourself." You whisper, completely in awe. 

Johnny steps forward, taking your hands in his and pulling you into his warmth. His smile is adoring, his eyes showing nothing but reverence as he takes in every detail of you—you wonder if he's recognised just what you've done. 

"You look so good, I wanna eat you." His words are purred into your neck as he presses kisses along your skin, and his hands slip all over your silky skin and barely-there clothes. His hands find their way to the hem of your top, pausing slightly as if asking for consent. 

"Johnny..." You whine as you turn your head nervously, shielding your embarrassed expression from view and desperately hoping you don't have to explain yourself further. 

He cups your jaw tenderly, without any intention of turning you to face him. His voice is just as considerate. "Nervous?" 

"I know it's silly, but..." You trail off, unable to finish your sentence. 

I'm scared you won't like what you see. 

I'm scared you'll leave once you get what you want. 

I'm scared I won't compare to what you imagined, to what you deserve. 

Johnny can sense it all, or at least some of it—as his eyes briefly flare with intense worry. He pulls away before you can ask, flicking the light switch and plunging you both into inky darkness—the room only illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. 

"How's this, hen?" He asks, finding his way back to you.

Somehow, the barely-there lighting of the room feels like a safety blanket—a joyous hiding-in-the-pillow fort feeling, instead of being subjected to a spotlight that seems to amplify all your insecurities.

"Better." Your smile is genuine as you reposition atop the bed, pulling Johnny with you gently as you seek comfort. The two of you scramble up the bed, laying over the covers and facing each other—just inside each other's embrace. 

Johnny's handsome features are visible enough in the dim, with his easy smile still lighting up the room. "Will just have to feel ma way around... if tha's okay." 

"Touch but don't look, instead of the other way around." You laugh, the act releasing some of your pent-up worry. Your hand chases Johnny's, moving it from the bed to your body and encouraging him to touch you. "Sounds good to me." 

"That's ma girl. Ye feel fucking divine." He sighs his words into your skin, leaning forward for a kiss as his hand dips under the fabric of your top and rests on the curve of your waist. His thumb still appreciatively strokes across the satin of your pyjamas.

"I bought these just for you." You admit, voice a soft whisper. 

"Did ye pick the colour of my eyes on purpose, pet?" 

So he had noticed, you think. "Yeah..."

Johnny's easy expression falters for a moment, his usual confidence wavering in the face of such a heartfelt act. 

"Fuckin' christ." His hand squeezes at your side as he lets out a shaky sigh. "And as if I wasn't hard enough."

"Oh?" Your hand reaches out to rest on Johnny's chest, fingers raking down slightly on your path of exploration, headed straight for the waistband of his bottoms where your ignited curiosity is focused. 

Your fingers itch to feel his cock again, remembering how deliciously hard and huge he had felt under your touch in the café. This time, you could feel him without reservation, and experience exactly the effect you have on him without any barriers of material or propriety. 

His eyebrow arches at the action, and his eyes sparkle interest. "Bonnie, where's tha' hand going?"

"I wanna feel it, please." You whisper, accompanying your words with a teasing touch as you slip your thumb under the waistband and tug at the elastic. 

Another tremulous exhale passes his lips before he pulls the lower one between his teeth. "When ye beg like tha’, how can I say no?"

Your hand dives below his waistband as you eagerly wrap your hand around the satiny smooth skin of his cock—feeling the bulging veins and the way the tip leaks with sticky pre.

“Fuck.” You continue to explore his length, stroking slowly and reverently as you watch his face for his reactions—relishing in each quiver of his brows or flutter of his lashes. “Honestly, I don't know how I got this far without begging you to show it to me.”

He chuckles as his hips buck slightly to meet your touch, frenetic energy building inside of him. “Guess for now you’ll just have to keep feelin’. Make up fer lost time.”

“Johnny…” 

“Yes, puppy?”

You stroke down to the base, gripping it firmly for a moment as you speak. "There's no way you're fitting that inside me—" 

Johnny's eyes flare with ravenous need, his smile turning delightfully sinful before he devours your protests with a messy kiss—a hand gripping at your chin. 

"Shhh, I know that pretty cunny can take me." He purrs his words into your mouth, forcing you to practically swallow them and all of their intensity. "When the time comes, we'll go slow. I'll take care of ye, train my puppy to take me."

Your body squirms involuntarily, arousal and surrender washing over you in waves as Johnny's authoritative tone melts you back into a submissive headspace. 

"Your mouth is evil, Johnny." You whine and shiver. "You know what you do to me, right?" 

"I have an idea." He smirks, as the hand gripping your down trails down your neck and over your body before stopping at your waistband for permission. "Wouldnae mind more of one, though, if tha's okay." 

"Please."

It's impossible to hold back your gasp as Johnny's thick fingers finally slide in between your soaked folds and make contact with your sensitive clit. 

He swipes through your wetness repeatedly, dipping down to tease at your entrance before pulling more slick over your clit and swirling it easily with his fingers. You curl into him slightly, forehead falling against his as your legs fall apart, and you surrender to his touch. 

Each stroke feels electric, and your hips rise and fall to chase every little sensation you get from the way he explores you. You find your eyes drifting shut from the pleasure, and the need to shield yourself from the intensity of his hungry stare. 

"Fuck, drippin' fer me." His voice is lower, coming from deeper in his chest, as you feel his dick throb. He's stopped rutting into your hand, instead focused entirely on you.

"... When I got home after our date, I was soaked right through." You admit, voice shaky and unsteady and wracked with pleasure. The glow radiates outwards from your core, coiling in your stomach. Despite your earlier release, your need is still overwhelming—Johnny's touch feeling better than anything you've felt in so long.

"Always makin' a mess. Making a mess on ma fingers right now."

"I can't help it." You whimper helplessly, and even more so when Johnny's fingers withdraw from your folds and leave your cunt aching for him. 

Your eyes fly open in time to watch him take the soaked digits in his mouth, cleaning your mess off of them with his tongue as he gives you an intense, unwavering look that makes your cheeks blaze.

"Taste heavenly, bonnie. Think I need more of a taste, though." He grins, his eyes raging with a hunger that makes your stomach flip.

"Fuck," You sigh, wanting his mouth on you and yet feeling a sense of guilt for even thinking about letting him. "I... I should get you off first." 

You return to stroking his length, your movements having stilled as he had focused on you, but his hand moves to grip your wrist—stilling it in its tracks. 

"Lass, if you give me the word, there's nothin' coming between me and eating tha' kitty of yours. Not even my own cock." 

The certainty in his tone and his look almost have you convinced, but that niggle of insecurity and worry still lingers in the back of your mind, urging you to deny yourself of the pleasures Johnny can give you.

"I don't usually..." You trail off, struggling to finish your sentence. Part of you wants to say you don't let guys go down on you, but it's not like the last one even cared to offer.

You haven't even told Johnny any details, yet he seems enthusiastic enough to compensate for any of the experiences you've had in the past. 

His expression cycles through a myriad of emotions—confusion, sadness, and anger, before he settles on a soft yet determined look.

"Do you want me to go down on ye?" 

"Yes." Your answer slips out far too quickly, but the thought of his mouth on your cunt makes your head spin.

His hand returns to cup your cheek, stroking reassuringly as his eyes plead with you. "Then please, bonnie." 

You swallow, pushing away the voices in the back of your head as you nod, and Johnny scrambles down the bed. 

He pulls down your shorts and tosses them aside, before his arms wrap around your thighs to pull them apart. His lips quickly find their way to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, kissing and licking and biting ever so slightly as you squirm helplessly beneath him. 

His muscular arms keep your lower body exactly where he wants you, as his kisses move higher and higher before they press the outside of your folds and make you cry out. 

"Poor little neglected kitty." He coos, before pressing more kisses to your lips. 

"Johnny—"

"Shh." He interrupts you sharply yet playfully, looking up from between your legs and fixing you with a light-hearted glare. "Am making introductions." 

He refocuses his attention back on your cunt, a hand moving so he can stroke his thumb back and forth over your sensitive nub while he coos sweet nothings into your centre.

"Need someone to take care of ye? I'm a good owner, promise." He dives in and captures your clit in an open-mouthed kiss, sucking slightly before pulling off with a pop. "Know how tae play with ye just right."

It's overwhelming, the way he talks and the fact he's talking to your cunt like it's separate from you, and yet something he's just enamoured with. 

He starts eating you in earnest, tongue swiping up and down your folds, stubble rubbing against your skin—sweet, hot pleasure trickles through you with every little sensation, and you know you're not going to last long under Johnny's mouth.

"Fuck, can't wait to see ye properly. Pretty pussy, all fer me." 

He dives back in, all tongue and lips and slick, wet heat as he makes love to your clit and folds with his mouth—drawing out every whine and whimper you're capable of making. 

"Oh my god," You gasp, hand falling to his head so your fingers can tangle in his hair. "You're so good fucking with your tongue." 

When he pulls back to talk, his lips glisten with your arousal. "'m not just talk, bonnie. Think ye can take my fingers too?"

"Please, please." You beg, almost urging him back to your core as his fingers circle your entrance before slowly sinking in. 

The two digits stretch you slowly, getting you accustomed to the assault before his tongue is on your clit again, all of him working in tandem to make you shiver and squirm. Your cunt squelches with each thrust and lick, Johnny forcing more arousal to leak from your pretty hole as he lavishes you with attention and pleasure. 

"Such pretty sounds." He mumbles, though his eyes don't meet yours.

"Do you mean me or..." You swallow nervously, shyness overtaking you as you summon the words to address yourself. "...her?" 

"Both of ye." He growls, before feasting with renewed fervour. 

You've never had a man eat you like this in your life, as Johnny drinks your nectar like he needs it to survive, and caresses your insides with the most reverent touch. His has you completely undone beneath him, moaning loud enough to disturb the neighbours and racing towards your peak in record time.

Your legs shake against his hold, your hips naturally rising to meet his mouth as your pleasure builds and builds, pushing you ever further toward ecstasy. 

"I'm close." You whimper when the precipice arrives, and Johnny doesn't hold back in the slightest.

"Cum fer me." He mumbles, before sucking you over the edge. Your thighs squeeze and tremble around his head as you explode under his tongue and clench around his thick fingers. 

His attention doesn't wane until he's wrung every little bit of pleasure out of your quivering body. "Mhmmm. Good girl."

He presses one last kiss to your clit, bidding her goodbye before he gently slides your shorts back up your legs and joins you at the head of the bed.

"Fuck..."

The afterglow flows through you like lava in your veins, filling you with a warmth that only grows as Johnny strokes your face. 

"Can I kiss ye?" He asks, his lips hovering just a fraction from your own. 

"I need you to. I'll just ignore the taste of myself."

"Your loss."

He closes the distance, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, one so achingly sweet you pay no mind to the taste of yourself on your tongue. 

Johnny continues to caress your face as he deepens the kiss, making you breathless once more.

You find yourself having to turn away from the kiss to bury your head into the pillow as you stifle an overwhelming yawn. 

"Tired fer real now, sweetheart?" Johnny whispers, chasing you to press kisses to the side of your head. 

You turn back to face Johnny, noses almost brushing together as you give the slightest confirmatory nod. "'m a little sleepy." 

Johnny rushes to slide off the bed, throw back the covers, and position himself on his back. He pats his chest in invitation, smiling at you ever so sweetly. "Your pillow awaits. Non-negotiable, aye?" 

It takes a little bit of shuffling on both behalves to get you settled under the covers and snuggled up to the warmth and comfort that is Johnny's chest. Your cheek is pressed to his pec as your arm settles across his torso—he loops an arm around your back and pulls the other one over his body, holding the thigh that rests over his hips.

You cuddle in closer, relishing the way your bodies fit together, and the way his chest cradles your head so perfectly. "Mhm. Comfy pillow." 

"I'm glad—"

You interrupt him immediately, your hand coming up to smooth over his chest and squeeze appreciatively. 

"Shh." You whisper condescendingly, imitating Johnny's tone from earlier when he was between your legs. "I'm making introductions."

His chest rumbles with a laugh, as he lets you get well acquainted with his pecs. "Brat." 

Your eyes quickly slip shut, your hand stilling of any further movement. Johnny's voice is a sweet whisper from above you as you drift out of consciousness. 

"Sweet dreams, bonnie."

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[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Seeing How Your Body Works-Furina X Vamp! Reader

@melodic-haze , seeing as you liked the first one of this little anthology, here is the second part.

Next up, I am thinking March 7th

Warnings: Non-Sexual Nudity and intimacy

“Are you sure about this?” Furina asked in a whisper as she straddled your waist and put her hands on the side of your face, the bed moving slightly under the two of you.

“Of course I am milady. I’ve seen all of you, it's only fair you see all of me.” you muttered, your eyes looking directly into hers.

Furina leaned down, bracing her hands on your bare shoulders, and whispered “Thank you, my love.”

Then, she leaned back, and the both of you could see everything.

It was Furina’s idea.

To keep everything “Equal” as she said.

You were the only one who needed to be exposed as she examined you.

But she insisted.

And so, here the both of you were.

Not a single piece of clothing on either of you.

Furina, holding herself upright on your midsection, legs spread and knees on both sides of your torso as her breasts slowly rose and fell in tandem with her breath and she looked you in your eyes with a deep trust and fondness.

Slowly, she dragged her hands up your chest and to your throat before placing her fingers on the underside of your jaw.

Wordlessly, you opened your mouth and Furina could feel the muscles under her fingers tense as your fangs came into view, glistening in the pale light of the moon and the stars.

Gently, Furina removed her hands and placed them on the side of your face once more slowly bringing them down your jaw to where her index finger could easily into your mouth to feel the fang.

It felt like any other tooth, but then she ran her finger up the edge and then, she put the slightest amount of pressure onto the tooth, causing it to slice through her perfect skin with ease.

Your entire body twitched in response and your pupils narrowed as your irises began to glow.

Furina was undeterred.

She trusted you completely.

She knew that, if you so wished, you could split her open before she could do a single thing at this distance.

Her death would be a foregone conclusion.

Unbothered by this thought, she continued to admire your body.

She could already feel her finger going numb and a rather pleasurable tingling begin to radiate from the wound.

“A vampire’s Toxin numbs the wound and causes the nerves to activate, sending signals to the brain that cause it to release high amounts of endorphins.” Furina recited the explanation you gave her before all of this began.

You nodded your head slowly, careful not to move the placement of her bleeding finger which was still in your mouth, the sweet taste of her blood making it hell to fight the urge to wrap your tongue around the wound and taste what little bit of her you could.

Just the few drops that had slid down your throat made you feel like you had downed twenty cups of tea filled with sugar, electricity was running through your veins but in the same moment, you could feel the want to think slowly fade away and a sense of calm overtake you, your limbs going limp upon the bed.

Are you sure Furina isn’t the one with the semi-paralytic toxin in her blood?

If she did, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Especially not when you were shaken out of your stupor by her removing her now longer bleeding finger from your tongue that you had wrapped around the wound without thinking.

Embarrassment turned your face red as you looked to the side.

“If just a few drops of me could do that to you, I could only wonder what would happen if you decided to go straight for the source!” Furina said rather pridefully as she forced you to look her in the eye by gently turning your head towards her, a grin on her face and a faint blush on her face.

Then, Furina removed her hand from your chin and placed both of hers on your shoulders as she slowly lowered her body, laying flat against you with her ear on your chest, directly over your heart.

Like any living being, your heart did beat.

However, it was slow.

Much slower than it should be.

For every three beats of her heart, your’s beats once.

And that is where Furina laid there, listening to your heartbeat, listening to your breath.

Her skin felt like it was burning you, but it was not an unpleasant burn.

Your cold skin was making her want to do nothing but close her eyes and let the cold devour her.

She was more than willing to let it.

Purely because she knew she could find you inside of it.

And that is how the two of you spent the night.

By the time morning came, neither of you could tell where Furina began and you ended.

For the entire night, there was nothing beyond the space the two of you occupied.

No requirements, no laws, nothing.

There was just you, and her.

Holding each other close, bare skin on bare skin, basking in the wondrous feeling you both felt from the other.

[cameronspecial]

Begging for more Zach content pookie

What Is Love?

Pairing: Dad!Zach MacLaren x Reader

Warnings: Really bad science

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.7K

Masterlist

Zach stands in front of the hot oven and reaches in to grab the finished pizza from the oven. He has no idea where his children are in the house, but he knows his wife is having dinner out with friends and that his eldest son should be home from his girlfriend’s house soon. Right on cue, the front door opens and in comes Isaac. The teen boy's normal quick pace is replaced with a slow one. This causes the father to turn toward the kitchen entrance with worry. “Are you okay?” The son doesn’t answer right away. There is a lost look in his eyes that tells Zach Isaac is lost in thought. “Are you okay?” he repeats his question. Isaac finally snaps out of his head and looks at his dad with a straight smile. Silence falls over the pair. Zach assumes he isn’t ready to talk about it and goes back to get dinner ready. “How did you know you were in love with mom?” Zach freezes, not expecting that question. It’s a hard question to answer because it is impossible to explain. “I… I guess I just liked her,” he tries to explain. His carbon copy tilts his head, “What does that mean?” Zach strokes his chin in thought of how to make sense. “Let me tell you about when your mom and I first said I love you,” he elucidates. “Well, more like when I told your mom I love her for the first time…” 

———

Her hands were a little cold as she took the nods off of his head. He stared up at her with wonder in his eyes. Her study had been going on for three months now and while he found it to be a useless study, he was thankful for it because it led him to meet her. It is ironic for him to find love during an experiment meant to demonstrate that love is merely a rush of endorphins that fool one into doing crazy things. Her belief in love parallels what she was researching and he accepted this view, much to his disappointment. It was the small things he noticed that made him fall for her. The way she played with her earrings while examining his brain scan. The way she always tried her best to go past small talk. The way her jokes were always so corny, yet her laugh was contagious. “As you know, this is the last test we need for this experiment. I would like to thank you for participating in the study and you will get your payment when you do the exit survey,” she got the protocol out of the way before continuing. “I want you to know that you were my favourite brain to observe.” A blush reddened his cheeks at her flirting.

“I bet you say that to all your participants,” he brushed off, looking down with his palm on his neck. She shook her head, “Nope, you are a great conversationalist and you are the one that proves the hypothesis of her study. You said you weren’t in love and you didn’t have any brain activity.” His smile dropped at her words. He may not be great at science, except he understood what a hypothesis is and what hers is. He didn’t like that he confirmed her disbelief in love. “Ooh,” he huffed out. She looked down at him in concern as she put away the pads that were scanning his brain. “What’s wrong?” she worried. He took a wild chance he didn’t know he was going to take, “I love you.” She reeled back, stepping away from him. “Wh-what? What are you talking about?” she questioned. 

“The time we’ve spent together all these months has made me fall in love with you.”

“You don’t know what you are talking about. That can’t be true. Your brain scans didn’t show any endorphin activity. It’s impossible.”

She is backed up against the desk with her arms crossed. “Maybe your test is stupid then,” he argued and quickly regretted. Anger flushed her. He just called her an academic career stupid and being nice didn’t mean she would let him talk to her that way. She scoffed, “I guess it is a good thing you don’t need to participate in it anymore.” She stormed out of the room, commanding that one of her peers finish taking care of Zach. 

———

“Wow, that did not go well for you, Dad,” Isaac comments, shoving the guac-smeared chip into his mouth. “If you and mom have such opposing views on love, then how did you guys get together.” Zach cringes at the memory. Worry takes over him as he imagines what could’ve happened if it didn’t go the way that it went. “I would say it was when I went on a date with Becky,” he thinks out loud. His son raises his hand, “Hold on, Becky. As in Aunt Becky, Becky?” The older man raises his finger to his lips. “Let me finish my story. So it all started when I went on a date with your Aunt Becky…”

———

It probably wasn’t the best idea to go on a date with the best friend of the woman he loves; however, she asked him and he let out a panicked yes. So now, he was sitting in front of the black-haired woman, tapping his foot like crazy. Her eyes met his over his glasses and she laughed. “I only asked you on this date as a cover. I need to talk to you about Y/N,” she informed. Zach’s eyebrow raised, “What is there to say about her? I love her, but she doesn’t love me or even believe in love.” “That’s because she is scared,” Becky explained, boring her green eyes into his. “Her home life sucked, so it led her to use science to explain away a sensation she never experienced. She may not think she loves you, but I know otherwise and I’m here to help you two idiots.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she gets all flustered when you come up in the conversation and I have been to more soccer games than I have ever been to in my life in this past semester alone.” 

“Really?”

“Yes, so listen. This is what you are going to say.”

———

“So you didn’t actually date Aunt Becky,” the listening boy verifies. The storyteller nods, “I suppose I never did. It could be better explained as a friendly meet-up. Can I finish my story?” The teen stops talking and indicates to continue. “I followed Becky’s advice and tried to confess my adoration to your mother again…”

———

He knocked on the door with uncertainty, holding the tulips up in front of his chest. The front door swung open and the person of his desires stood there shocked. The shock turned to anger. “Are you here to continue the discretization of my academic career?” she grumbled. Her right arm crossed over her left one as she leaned against the door frame. “What is love?” he began the conversation in the manner he was instructed. His face scrunched once he realized he didn’t address her question. He wished he could restart to avoid the embarrassment. He couldn’t. “What?” she puzzled, head tilting at an angle. He pressed on, “You say that love is only a chemical reaction in your brain. I say that it is simply a feeling that you have for a person. It’s just liking someone. Simple as that. No explanation. No physical correlation to your brain. Even though we have different views on love, there is one thing in common between the two. Do you know what that is?” 

Her head moved from side to side and he stepped forward, handing her the bouquet of flowers. “We both have a definition of what love is, but we’ve never experienced it before. So scientifically speaking, how can we know if either of them is true,” he contended. Her hand flew to her earring and she began tugging on it. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to show you why we are meant to be together.”

“Why are we?”

“Because we can use each other to learn what love is and once we determine a definition, we can compare and determine who is correct.”

She chortled, “That’s ridiculous. If we go into an experiment with the expectation of falling in love, then it would be biased and-.” “Um, can we stop with the science analogy? I’m not going to lie, I can’t keep up,” he interrupted. Her eyes rolled in their sockets. “Fine. We can’t be in love because it’s just not possible.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because it isn’t there?”

“What isn’t there?”

“The science!”

He groaned, “Science doesn’t have all the answers. It’s why people still have to do research, right? So why can’t love be something you can’t explain?” At this point, tears had begun to well in the corner of her eyes. “Because if love isn’t something scientific and it is something that just is, then how come my parents didn’t love me? How come I never got to feel it? If it is something so easy to have, how come I was deprived of it.” A pain shot through his heart at the sight of her distraught. He finally understood her resistance to the idea and stepped forward, dropping the flowers to the flower so he could pull her to his chest. “The universe hasn’t been fair to you. This made you decide that you had to use science to explain why it wasn’t unfair because it made it easier for you to process. Nevertheless, it’s okay to admit that you don’t know something and I’m here to help you learn.” She cried into his shirt. “What if I’m not capable of love?” He could sense the worry she felt and smoothed down the hair on the back of her head. “Then I’ll have enough love and endorphins for the both of us because I know that love can simply be there and doesn’t have to be anything physical.”

———

“In that moment, I knew what love was. It isn’t one thing or another. It is in the eye of the beholder and up to you to figure out what you define it as. If you are questioning whether or not you love Kira, then listen to your heart because it will tell you what it thinks,” Zach guides, getting up to call his other children for dinner. He leaves his eldest child to think over the story he just recounted. He is glad for the question because it gives him a chance to go down memory lane. 

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[chronically-ghosted]

Little Monsters

rating: 18+ Explicit

pairing: dieter x f!reader

word count: 5K

summary: A phone call home to your family has you missing them desperately . . . especially your husband, who always knows exactly what you need.

warnings/tags: pregnancy, Dieter has children and is actually a really good dad, director!reader, 1st half is mind numbing tooth rotting FLUFF, 2nd half is straight filth and dieter has a nasty nasty mouth, masturbation, camera/phone sex, slight breeding kink, one single use of ‘Daddy’, if I had an ounce of shame left in me I would not have posted this

a/n: special shout outs go to @spookyxsam for showing me about how babies work and to @lunapascal and @mysterious-moonstruck-musings for talking me off the daddy dieter ledge. this is my first pregnancy fic and i do not know what came over me (she lied, knowing damn good and well what happened to her brain chemistry)

from @yoursoulsunbreakable 's request: Hello sweetie, congratulations on your milestone <3 Here's my request for the little drabble: 5. “Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.” With our precious Dieter and smutty? Hope it'll inspire you 😘

🤍Masterlist

“Tell me what you would want to do, if you were here right now.”

“Oh, Dieter, I’d – I’d –,”

“Yeah?”

You let out a burst of air from your lips, flopping back against the pillows. “I’d ask you for a foot rub,” you whine into the camera. 

He chuckles, the sound a bit garbled through the speakers. He leans forward into the camera, as if trying to see down your body, the angle of the phone against the hotel’s lamp not quite right. 

“Is Bravo Baby number three giving you trouble?” 

You eye your swelling feet over the steadily swelling bump. Well into your second trimester and the list of shoes in your closet you could still wear is shrinking rapidly. This also happened with your second child and when Dieter made one joke about keeping you barefoot in the kitchen, you nearly threw a butcher’s knife at his head. You stroke the left side of your stomach to preemptively soothe the little brat before they start wailing on that spot all night, sighing into your husband’s sympathetic, pixelated face. 

“They’ve been grouchy all day. Tom had to leave me in the car for a bit after we scouted a potential place for the exterior shots to finish taking pictures because somebody was having a grand old time wearing me out.” You narrow your eyes at him through the camera. “As if there was any doubt this was your child.” 

This is a constant inside joke between you. Your first kid, a girl, was a beautiful blend of both you and Dieter. His eyes, but your hair, your cheeks, and his nose. He also got to name her – said it came to him after he bought some chocolate and water at the hospital lounge –

“Zelle, Dieter, ‘Zelle’?? Like the money transaction service?” 

But you had been too zonked out on painkillers and endorphins to object (you thought it was beautiful at the time), and he signed the papers anyway. Neither of you had come up with a fitting name before then and he swears the instant he held his baby girl in his hands for the first time, it came to him, as if the stars rearranged themselves in the sky with that name. Incurably a romantic at heart – your husband – you found it sweet and also idiotic, but it was too late now. 

Your second one, Orion, had his name written down on a post-it note you carried in your purse for months and you made sure to show the nurse when you were admitted. Not that Dieter would intentionally go against the name you had agreed on if the baby was a boy, but there was a slim chance he’d get so caught up in the moment and, with watery eyes, tell the nurse to write something like Mars Bar on the birth certificate. 

And, for all that, Orion could have been a carbon copy of you.

The joke started when Dieter picked him up from his crib one night and brought that gurgling little mouth right up to his nose. “Are you sure you didn’t just spontaneously create this one? I don’t see a single hint of me in this little guy.” To which Orion giggled around a drool-damp fist and promptly bopped his father on the nose with it. 

“Are you saying you don’t remember what happened the night he was conceived?” You asked with a smirk over your shoulder as you returned some baby bibs to the drawer. 

Dieter snorted and slid Orion into the crook of his arm, those onesie-white feet seen kicking over his forearm. “Now Mommy is just being plain silly.”

That was five years ago and you couldn’t exactly deny you were excited for the smell of newborn to be all over your husband again. 

“I’ll be glad when we hit the last trimester,” he says, chin propped up on his wrist to stare down at you in his other palm, “so I can wave that doctor’s note in your face when you try to work too hard . . . like you are now.” 

You shift onto your side to face him, rolling your eyes. “You only like the third trimester for the sex hormones.” 

After spending most of your first pregnancy, and at least half of your second, trying to claw Dieter’s eyes out if he so much as breathed in your direction, he was delighted to find that by month seven, the hellcat who had taken over his wife’s body turned into a needy, whiny little kitten. 

Some of the best orgasms of his life come from those months, he swears up and down. 

“I’m not going to complain,” he grins, peering down at you from those prescription sunglasses. The Dieter you used to know wore them because he was constantly hungover; your husband wears them because he keeps accidentally misplacing his actual prescription glasses. “All I’m saying is you better be back in time so Daddy can play house with Mommy.” 

The shrill cry is heard through the phone, the closed bedroom door, and at least one hallway:

“Is Mommy on the phone?” 

Barely a second later, you watch over his shoulder as the door flings open and a wild blur of arms and legs dogpiles Dieter onto the bed. You hear him grunt, the camera flips up to the ceiling, as Zelle and Orion clamor for the phone. Chuckling to yourself, you take up the phone from the bedside table and hold it in your palm as you lean back against the pillows and your children’s faces flash over the small screen. 

“Mommy, I made a bug out of noodles and string today.”

“Mommy, I saw a cat that looked like a cow today.”

“Mommy, Daddy’s broccoli tasted funny - you cook it better!”

“Hey!” He lunges for Zelle’s little ankle and pulls her up around her waist as she giggles helplessly. 

You can barely see them, Orion’s pudgy little finger over most of the camera, Dieter’s hair and Zelle’s kicking feet visible only in flashes. 

“You better go help your sister, Orion!” 

Needing no other prompting, he drops the phone against the pillows and leaps onto his father, squealing at the noise Dieter makes. Where Orion got your looks, he had all of his father’s mannerism. You blinked twice when as a toddler Orion’s purposeful pout had looked so similar to his father’s, you wondered if they had practiced it together. Orion is ruthless when it comes to the tickle wars and immediately goes for Dieter’s neck. 

“Help!” he chokes, “I’m being overrun by tiny monsters!”

Zelle roars at his hip and Orion howls – he’d be a werewolf for Halloween a third year in a row if the tradition continued. Despite more frequent and loud protests about his poor back, Dieter lunges forward and yanks Zelle under his arm like she’s a football. He does the same to Orion and faceplants with both of them successfully pinned. It’s the oldest trick in the book and you muse what he’s going to do when they are too big to do that to anymore. But, as Dieter likes to say, one colossal nightmare at a time. 

“Peace treaty?” His voice is muffled by the blanket. 

“Stand and deliver,” they repeat, breathlessly and red faced. He lets them go and the two bodies barely move, grins still plastered to their faces. Cheeks pink, Dieter crawls over and snags the phone.

“See, darling?” he says between heavy breaths, “this parenting stuff is easy.” 

“Mommy, when are you coming home?” Zelle pops her head between Dieter and the phone, her cheek pink and her little hands pushing her hair off her face. 

“Yeah!” Orion pipes up, crawling over Dieter’s back, hooking his tiny hands over his father’s throat. Dieter’s eyes bug out for a moment before adjusting the five year old’s grip. “Are you done chasing the dragon?”

At that, Dieter snickers and you can’t glare with fire in your eyes like you’d like to so you plaster on an overly sweet smile on your face. 

“Rori, we asked you not to say that. It’s a stork, remember?” 

Orion frowns into Dieter’s curls. “But I want a baby brother or sister that comes from a dragon’s egg.” 

“Yeah, Mom, a dragon baby is way cooler than a stork baby.” 

Oh, you are going to kill him. 

This was another ongoing joke . . . for Dieter. Orion’s teacher called home one night after Orion proudly announced that his mommy was off chasing the dragon. Understandably concerned about the phrase, she called to make sure everything was alright, only to find out what he meant was that his mother was expecting a new baby and instead of a stork, his father told him that Mommy was going to find a dragon to put a new egg inside her tummy, and then the new baby would eventually pop out from the egg. 

This was something you had to relay through the phone to the teacher . . . because Dieter was curled up on the floor, laughing so hard he went mute, tears rolling down red cheeks. This had been his ‘stork’ story for Orion, and apparently unaware of just how impressionable a five-year-old is, told him that Mommy was chasing the dragon for a new egg. Dieter says his greatest regret in his life is that he wasn’t there to see the look on Orion’s teacher’s face. 

After that, you (and Dieter once he recovered) tried to alter the story enough so that he wouldn’t accidentally imply his mother was off on a drug binge, but evidently too much stuck. 

“I’m meeting with the dragon tomorrow, okay? I’m not chasing after anything. We’re having lunch. Right, Dad?”

“Absolutely.” He nods seriously at Orion and kisses that fat little cheek. 

“When is the dragon gonna give you the egg with my baby sister in it?” Zelle asks, matching Dieter on her stomach. Dieter’s confidence manifested perfectly in his daughter; you and him had told her many times that the baby might be a little brother, but she just stuck her nose in the air. “I know it’s a sister,” she said, with a characteristic roll of her eyes. 

“A couple more months, baby,” you smile, unconsciously rubbing at your stomach again. Baby Bravo is suspiciously quiet. Not soon enough. “But I’ll be home tomorrow, but you two have to be good for Dad until then, okay?” 

Orion nods from Dieter’s shoulder, but Zelle smirks up at her father in a way that is well beyond her six years.

“I promise to eat all of Daddy’s nasty broccoli!”

Dieter’s own impish nature, thrown right back at him. The one solace you found is that your husband might have finally met his match. 

He grabs her, flips her on her back, and blows a strawberry on her tummy as she shrieks with glee. 

“Alright – that’s it – it’s bath time for all naughty monsters!” He hikes Orion over his shoulder and picks up Zelle by her waist. He glances back over at you, his eyes bright and a giant smile on his face. 

You swear every time you see Orion, there’s less and less baby in his pudgy face, his little hands. Zelle is constantly saying and doing things that surprises you with the depth of their awareness and you know it doesn’t all come from you or Dieter. 

Your heart actually aches from missing them so much. 

“Monsters, say goodnight to Queen Monster–,” more yelling, roaring, “I’ll call you later tonight, okay, baby?” 

You nod, your eyes suddenly hot and tight. “O-okay – love you all.”

“LOVE YOU!” The three-headed monster yells in unison as it lumbers out of the bedroom.

You end the call, just before the tears spill. Again on your back, you stare at the ceiling feeling incredibly sorry for yourself when the baby rolls over and kicks you in the ribs. 

Hey, I’m here too!

You laugh, a little watery, and you wipe your eyes with your palms. Just get through tonight and you’re home. 

“Okay, okay, I’m up. Let’s get ready for bed, would you like that?”

It’s late. You know you should be asleep already, but the shower had taken longer than expected. The phone call with your husband and children lingered in your mind when you turned on the water and stripped down. Your heart was so full to see Orion’s pout and Zelle’s mischievous grin, especially after such a long day on your feet and for all his teasing, Dieter’s own ease and confidence as a father, as well as a husband, left you feeling . . . warm. In fact, your mind’s eye lingers on him in the memory of the call: his beautiful, rich curls – those square black glasses that made him look annoyingly mysterious and so goddamn hot – his biceps flexing as he throws around his children with ease, his shoulders broad and straining against his shirt — his bulging forearm making his triangle tattoo pop – his wedding ring that replaced all the other rings –

The good news is the baby was almost here. The bad news is that you’re suddenly irrationally horny and your all-too-eager husband was a plane ride away. 

Entirely naked besides the white hotel robe around your shoulders, you sternly ignore the plush tingling between your legs and try to focus on rubbing in lotion into your legs, your hips, over the old and new stretch marks over your stomach. Your fingers rub underneath the curve of your stomach and accidentally brush the damp curls, sending tiny shock waves up your pelvis. You gasp lowly, freezing, eyes tightly shut, fighting back that wave of arousal. 

Goddamn it. 

At first you think the ringing is between your ears, your blood rushing hard and fast, and then you realize it’s actually your phone going off.

Daddy Dieter, the screen reads.

You frown at the clock – if it’s late for you, then it’s very late for him. When he said he’d call you later, you didn’t think he meant literally later tonight. Still frowning, you put down the bottle of lotion and answer the phone.

“Dieter?” 

“Hey, baby. How’s your night?” 

He pulls back the phone and your mouth flushes with spit. He’s shirtless, sunglasses replaced with his actual glasses, that silver earring glinting in the low light. In the center of your bed, he’s propped up on several pillows with his arm tucked behind his head. He has thickened over the years, his chest and shoulders taking on a new weight as if he physically grew into fatherhood — and God, if his bicep was bulging before –

“Dieter –,” your voice is hoarse at first and you have to clear your throat to get anything out of your mouth that isn’t a whine. “Dieter, what are you doing up?”

He shrugs like he’s just been bored at home. “Bath time was easy. Orion wanted just one story and Zelle didn’t put up a fight when I told her it was bedtime and she had to put away the crayons.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Did you slip them Benadryl?” 

“Wow! No! Did you ever think that maybe I’m just that good of a dad?” He scoffs, mildly offended. And then he smirks. “I told them you’d come home sooner if they were good.”

“Ah, the old Santa Claus trick.” You nod sagely and sit down on the edge of the bed, the movement tugging the robe slightly. “Always a classic.”

“Yeah, I –,” Dieter’s eyes widen, edges going dark. “Are you naked?” 

You swallow, his sudden shift in tone causing your thighs to clench. You cross your legs as tightly as your belly will allow, your chin held high.

“I’m in a robe, Dieter. Took a long shower.”

His eyes glitter with interest, the tip of his tongue running on the edge of his bottom lip. “How long?”  

Feeling hot and swollen for months now, you flush pink, an overripe peach beneath the slightest pressure of his thumb. 

“Dieter–,” it’s a whine but you shake your head. “Please don’t tease. I’m so . . . sensitive right now, and I won’t be home until tomorrow and–,”

“Baby, baby, breathe. I know it hurts.” He sits up, his eyes big and dark. “I remember how wet you get around now.”

Your cunt drools onto the robe below you, thighs sticky, his words ringing in your ears. 

“Dieter, don’t –,”

“I know I can’t help you but what if I showed you how to help yourself?” 

You whimper, arousal now hot and warm in the pit of your stomach. The strength of it makes your pelvis ache. You know it won’t be the same as him, but his voice, it might be enough. You nod, your heart pounding, hand holding the phone shaking. 

“Then lie back, baby.” Dieter purrs and it’s almost like he’s pushing you back with his hands. You shift up the bed, careful to not step on your robe with your heels as you center yourself in the covers. But Dieter’s moving, off the bed, and he’s adjusting something behind his phone.

The baby inside you can feel your heartbeat racing and they turn, uneasy. You soothe them with small circles just above your hips, your lips between your teeth. But that touch on your skin, the look in Dieter’s eyes, you brush lower on your skin and immediately you shudder. 

“Baby, please, hurry, whatever you’re doing, hurry –,” 

You drop your fingers over your thighs, curling and uncurling, drawing imaginary lines like he does in the mornings against your shoulders and back. 

“Just a second, sorry, almost got it.”

Then he steps back, the phone hovering in the air. Dieter sits on the bed and the camera holds the entire bed in view. Dieter is nothing if not a performer, bringing a tripod into the bedroom when he knows you need him the most. He’s so fucking hot.

“Can you see me, baby?” 

You nod stiffly. “How do you want me?” 

“Whatever way is comfortable,” he smiles and it’s almost as hot as his smirk. Fuck, he loves you so much. You slide the robe off your shoulders, exposing the tops of your breasts as best you can and still keeping your phone up. “Perfect, baby, that’s perfect.” 

Your hand drops to your thigh again, dragging your nails up under the swell of your belly and you twitch. 

“T-tell me what you would want to do,” you begin, your voice shaking, arousal smooth as it licks up your spine, “if you were here right now.” You feel warm all over, the sheets cool against your calves. 

This far away, you can’t see his eyes clear enough to watch them darken entirely, but his low grunt is enough. It’s time for him to perform for his pregnant and insatiable wife. 

He slips his glasses off and tosses them onto the bedside table, where they land with a clatter. You can’t even think of scolding him when he lifts his hips and yanks his gray sweatpants down his knees, then to the floor. He’s half-hard as he shuffles back to the pillows, nearly in the same position you are. You shift to match him entirely, needing the immersion to be total and complete. You’d cry if he could actually touch you.

“Are you comfortable?”

You nod again. But Dieter shakes his head, his fingers digging into his thighs. “I can’t see you this far away, baby. I need you to say it. Talk to me.”

He was usually the one vocal enough for both of you, any coherent language impossible with the mess he makes out of you. You can’t imagine what you’re going to sound like, not when you’re this needy and desperate already.

“O-okay, Dieter, I’ll try.” 

“Good girl.” You whimper again, trying to restrain from touching yourself before he tells you to. But you’re throbbing, the heat blooming from your cunt rushing to the rest of your body, the baby in you restless. As if mother and child can only be soothed by their father. “Now, breathe, darling, you’re flushed.” 

You inhale, the air notching on every bone in your spine, and exhale, your lungs shuddering, eyes shut. “Dieter, please, tell me what you’d –,” 

“I’d touch your thighs,” he says with such immediacy, your eyes spring open. He’s got the knee farthest from you bent up, as if putting himself on display, turning his hips towards the camera slightly. His other leg is stretched out long beside him and his left hand strokes his cock. Hair and shoulders backlit from the far lamp, the image of him like this alone — just for you — has your cunt clenching, a moan spilling from your lips. “Touch your thighs, baby.”

You can’t grab as much skin as he does, but you try. You lift your knees, and massage the backs of your thighs, then up to your knees, and back down. You can almost feel his breath on your calves and you shudder. “What else? W-where else?” 

“I’ve been thinking about your tits for days,” he groans, the sound strangled, his cock now fully-hard and red. He cups himself, twisting as slow as he can take it. “Tell me what your tits feel like.” 

“Sensitive,” you gasp as you draw two fingers across your nipple and squeeze gently. Dieter only uses his mouth now on them, so you wet them with yours and return them to your swollen bud, slowly twisting and pulling. 

He’s watching you through the camera, eyes wide, breath sharp when you suck your fingers into your mouth. “Fuck, yeah, that’s right. Get them wet. What are you thinking about?”

“You. Your lips around my nipple, under my breast. Your teeth. They’re so heavy, Dieter.” 

His hips jerk under his hand, his fingers moving faster now. You can’t quite hear what he’s muttering, but you catch weak mumblings, “gonna feed our baby”, “yeah, your tits”, the baby” —

“Dieter, please–,” 

“Touch yourself with your fingers wet from your mouth. T-t-tell me what it feels like.”

With a relieved cry, you slide your hand down from your tits, over the swell of your belly, and in between your thighs. Wetness clings to the curls, to the curve of your ass, your body so ready to take him, and it locks up when you slip a finger inside.

“So wet. Warm. How many fingers can I put in?”

“One, but – can you already do two?”

You nod, the huff arching into a whine. “Yeah, baby. You have no idea how wet I am. I can slip in two with no resistance.”

“Jesus,” he pants and slows down, his hips rocking of their own accord. “You’ve got me so hard.” 

You curl your fingers inside of you, searching for that spot made and found and praised by him. Your folds plump and achy, you twist your wrist, scissor your fingers, but it’s not the same. It’s not the same as his three fingers plugging you up, readying you to take so much of him, it’s enough to ease the sharp ache for a bit. You moan, fucking yourself more. He hears it, sees it, and grunts. 

“You can come wherever you want, baby,” he murmurs, his own hand hesitant to match your speed. He tugs on his balls and his toes curl, his neck long and tense. “Fuck, I need your hands.”

“Me too,” you sob, real tears pricking the corners of your eyes. It feels good but it’s not the relief you need. It’s pathetic but you don’t want to stop. You can’t get in deep enough, even if you could get around your big belly. “Dieter, I can’t reach. It’s – I’m –,”

“Breathe, love, it’s okay.” His voice is soothing, calming. The same one he uses when you’re in labor and the sweet honey warmth of it sinks into your bones, easing the panic. You slow, gasping, tears pooling down your temple. Your orgasm is harsh, sunken in the dark, waiting for you to draw it out.

“What can you reach?”

“My clit.” 

“Then touch that. Can I see?”

You nod, angle the phone down as you rub that electric nub. 

“Oh, fuck, baby. I know it’s frustrating and I know it hurts, but you look so fucking good. So wet for me. Your pussy is perfect, pink, just how I like her.”

“Yeah?” you spin your fingers faster. That hot arousal returns steadily, melting back the resentment towards your own body the longer he praises. 

“Oh yeah.” You can hear the slap of skin on the other end of the phone and you can picture Dieter flat on his back jerking himself off to your pulsating cunt and you moan, loudly, tension evaporating from your body. “How do you feel?”

“Good. Tight. I just need a bit more.” 

“Me too. Let me see your face, pretty girl.” You turn the camera and gape at the sight on the screen. 

Precum drips out of his now-purple cock, his chest flushed and neck sweaty. He’s twirling the head around with his thumb at the pace you’ve set with your fingers against your clit. 

“Look at what you’ve done to me. You’re so fucking gorgeous. Can’t wait for you to be home so I can eat you out for hours.” 

“I want your cock in me, Dieter,” you gasp, furiously rubbing on your clit, sending wave after wave of pleasure coursing through you. Your cunt clenches in time with your thudding heartbeat. “You’re so thick. I wanna feel the stretch.”

“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you hard.” The confession is a low snarl, a promise made between the ridges of his teeth. He fucks his fist faster, the noise over his labored breathing obscene. “Gonna put your hands on the headboard, your pussy in my lap and I’m gonna fuck up into you until I fill you full again. Wanna make you pregnant twice.” 

Arousal floods your veins, your thighs a gooey mess. You toss your head back, back arching, and you moan as loud as you can. 

“Oh– shit, oh, oh, shit–,”

“You’re gonna leak all over my thighs and when you’re done coming so hard you can’t see straight, I’m gonna lick it up all off you, my wife. Mine. My baby. Mine. Fuck, you look so good full of me.”

He’s never this possessive, never angry that he can’t have you but he sounds livid. He fucks his fist, his hips bucking into nothing, his other hand squeezing his thigh so hard his knuckles go white. 

You circle your clit one more time and finally — your orgasm crests, your body locking up, your cunt gushing – and it leaves your mouth before you can stop it –

“Oh, Daddy–,”

You hear him gasp as if electrocuted, and you have to drop your phone to steady yourself as the weight of white-hot pleasure explodes across your body. You rock, breath gone from your lungs, mouth open in a silent scream, and everything slams back into you and you gasp, high and loud, every inch of your skin hot and trembling. You don’t realize you’re sweating until you feel it drip off your neck.  

All you can hear is Dieter panting from your phone amongst the covers, the sound muffled. Your eyes flutter as the warm waves languish, then curl, and finally, you sigh as the last waves drain out of your body. If you weren’t lying down you’re sure you’d be dizzy.

“Oh my god,” you mutter breathlessly to no one in particular.

“B-baby, you still there?”

You blindly feel around for your phone, arm so weak it’s trembling as you pull the camera towards your face

Dieter looks about as fucked out as you feel. Cock limp and still dribbling, his stomach and chest are covered in cum. He pushes his damp hair off his forehead, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. 

“Holy shit, baby, that was …”

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing your dry tongue, wishing again he was here so he could get you a glass of water. “I hope that wasn’t all of it because I really want you to say all of those things again tomorrow when you’re inside me.”

He groans and adjusts his limp cock. “You say that now but wait until Baby Bravo kicks you in the kidneys. You’ll be feeling a lot less generous towards this,” he gestures aimlessly to his naked body, “then.”

You chuckle. “Let’s just hope for the best. Besides,” you say, groaning a bit as you sit up to wipe the sweat off your neck with the robe, “I’m pretty sure I can have you eating out of the palm of my hand. Now that I know your secret . . . Daddy.” 

Dieter groans as you laugh. He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be so surprised by now when you make me discover new kinks.” 

“Mhmm hmm.” 

He rolls his eyes as he gets up and picks the phone off the tripod. Holding the phone to his face, he wipes the cum off with his sweatpants before turning his attention back to you.

“How are you? Feel better?”

“Much better.” You stretch and lean back in the bed. If he was here, you’d probably be asking to eat you out, but at least the knife’s edge of desire has dulled. You can at least wait until nap time to jump your husband’s bones. 

“Good,” Dieter sighs, satisfied. “I’ll be there to pick you up from the airport tomorrow, okay?”

He always gets like this the nearer the due date comes, as if he can’t stand to see you lift a finger unnecessarily. You smile and nod, never wanting it to be any other way. 

“I’ll text you when I land.”

“Okay. Good night, my biggest love. I love you, so much.” 

“I love you too, Dieter.” Goddamn hormones, making you cry again. 

“Now lemme say goodbye to our little traveler.”

You wipe your eyes with your thumb as you tilt the phone to your swollen belly. 

“Good night, Baby Bravo. Can’t wait to have you around.”

And, at the sound of their father’s voice, they stir. Not kick or hurt. Just a tiny foot against your tight skin.

You are officially crying now. 

“They said hi, didn’t they?”

You’re nodding, crying, and he can’t see a damn thing. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “They said good night, Dad.”

He’s patient with you as you wipe your eyes, cheeks flushed again. 

“Baby, don’t cry, you’re breaking my heart.”

“You’re just a really good dad. And I’m so lucky,” you blubber. “This is it! I’m never leaving to go scouting again. I can’t take it.” 

“Mhmm. Let’s revisit that when you’re about two months postpartum and clawing at the walls.”

You laugh with him, your own sticky and goopy. “Fine.”

“Go to bed, love, and for the record, I’m the lucky one. Don’t forget that. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.” You blow a kiss and he catches it. You roll your eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You stay like that for a bit, cradled by the pillows, and your phone on your chest, thinking about everything from Dieter to the next school picture day, to the next family vacation, and of course, the zillion things you have to get done with work before the baby comes — hopefully all from the home office.

She kicks. 

You smile, wondering how you and Zelle both just know it’s a girl. Dieter has his own suspicions, he says, but he’s saving them. Orion would probably be thrilled to have a dragon in the family. You snort, hand over the place where she put her little foot.

“I miss them too, sweetie. And once you’re here, we’ll outnumber those silly boys. Maybe we’ll have to get a dog. You’ll like dogs.”

She’s silent, maybe sleeping, maybe thinking about what the heck a dog is. You smile, turn off the lamp, and peel back the covers. The sheets are cool and soft.

You fall asleep, dreaming of little feet, and hands, and wedding rings.

[beloveds-embrace]

Im gonna start with saying that im always THE man hater friend. I say that because your dukedom au makes me think that duchess needs a friend like that lol one that's so angry for her it bleeds into her. I always personally love to see the transition of pitiful to spiteful. It's a genuine thing in psychology where people with CPTSD become angry instead of sad because anger causes an endorphine rush and gives the illusion of control. After a while, your brain pathways change to skip over any other emotion and always snap straight to anger. Idk I'm rambling, but I just feel like Duchess needs a hotheaded friend to stand behind her and go. "Yeah!" when she stands up for herself lol

I am of the firm believe everyone lowkey needs a friend like that, the little chihuahua friend that can and will in fact always be out for men’s blood 🙂‍↕️

If duchess has a friend like that I think things would be a lottt more different- less sadness for starters, more anger, more comfort from at least someone in her corner. And more pride whenever she cuts off anyome who tries to be mean or rude to her, as she should! 🙂‍↕️

[soaqrudyz]

ghost punches soap in the face.

its his own fault, really. everyone knows ghost needs time to decompress after missions, especially ones like this, where absolutely nothing goes to plan. everyone knows this and yet soap had pushed and prodded and poked at him like a naïve kid trying to pet a feral street cat.

his head’s not on right, not yet. he’s still coming down from the fight, the flight, the fear. he’s still denying the fact that today was almost his last, still trying to forget the glint of the blade as it fell past his head. there are ants under his skin that won’t stop crawling even as he scratches.

he’s not sure where he is. he knows they aren’t in enemy territory (are they? are they? are they?) he knows he’s safe (is he? is he? is he?) but his surroundings are fuzzy and blurred, tunnel visioned and disconnected from himself.

soap sees ghost. ghost, who would never let anything bad happen to him, ghost who had his back in every conceivable scenario; it’s ghost’s voice in his ear as the enemy falls, knife just barely scratching soap’s forehead as it’s released from a dead man’s grip.

ghost, his anchor.

and he promptly forgets that ghost needs space after missions, especially bad ones like this.

ghost punches soap in the face.

blood drips from his nose: warm, metallic. he licks it from his lip, smears it with the back of his hand, lets it collect in his palms and knows that ghost put it there. oh how he yearned for it to be ghost’s tongue lapping up the crimson, how he yearned for ghost’s hands ripping his beating heart from its home behind his ribs and savoring the taste of soap’s life on his pallet, how he yearned for ghost to pick his brain apart and gorge on his endorphins.

oh, how he yearned for ghost.

ghost stomps away, fuming. soap wonders when he started wanting ghost to pull the flesh from his body.

he wanted him to clean the bone, bits of soap caught in his cavities, capillaries stuck between his canines. he wanted to be nothing but the memory of liver sliding down ghost’s esophagus, appendix settling in his stomach, blood coating his hands and his teeth and his collarbones. soap licks the flaking blood atop his lip as ghost slams his door down the hall. when did soap’s mental wellbeing begin to rest on ghost’s shoulders?

there is a black hole inside of soap. it pulls and pulls, genetically designed to devour anything in its path. it swallows the oncoming emotions that flood his veins, sucks the tremble straight out of his hands, rips his tearducts to shreds. he is a tsunami of feelings yet he feels none of them, trapped in a cathartic state while simultaneously buzzing.

ghost punched soap in the face, and soap wanted nothing more than for his love to be consumed.

[jeeyuns]

proof of concept: ach tagais 'nós na hoíche

buck/eddie | one-shot (8.2k) | rated e

dedicated to my best babe who likes pb&j's with the crusts cut off so Buck does too :)

(PROOF OF CONCEPT [n] a realization of a certain method or idea in order to demonstrate its feasibility. A demonstration in principle with the aim of verifying that some concept or theory has practical potential.) “The second kind is what I would consider the only right way of doing things. It takes practice and listening to your partner as you play out a scene. It’s called a blood choke, you lightly grip the neck from the front, and—” Eddie demonstrates by tenderly gripping both sides of Buck’s neck with four fingers on one side and thumb on the other, never straying to the center where the skin aches and stings the most. He applies a slow pulse of a tightening grip as he speaks. “Named blood for the carotid arteries you’re applying pressure to slowly on either side of the esophagus to induce light-headedness,” Eddie is still speaking in low tones but Buck feels the instinctive fluttering of his eyes, overwhelmed by the rush of endorphins he can sense racing away from his brain straight down to his cock in three nanoseconds flat from the firm and reverent touch of someone he's in love with.

read part one of this series on ao3

tags list: @rewritetheending, @shitouttabuck, @disasterbuckdiaz, @fortheloveofbuddie, @cal-daisies-and-briars, @eddiediaztho, @daffi-990, @theotherbuckley, @hippolotamus, @jesuisici33, @slightlyobsessedwitheverything, @wikiangela, @wildlife4life, @pirrusstuff, @devirnis, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @transboybuckley, @athenagranted, @eddie---diaz, @eowon, @forthewolves, @911onabc, @mangacat201, @honestlydarkprincess, @housewifebuck, @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy, @paranoidbean, @giddyupbuck, @diazblunt

[healer-pop]

DUDE IMAGINE CERVIX KISSING VENTURE WITH THE STRAP???

god I cannot even tell u how much they would be all over that. bc listen, this act is so sensual and intimate and that’s something Venture is all about. It’s the feeling of fullness, of pressure against the inner most part of you, while you’re basically pressed against your partner and the endorphins it releases is just… wow. unmatchable.

Virgin Venture would go absolutely speechless at the feeling. They would be completely at your mercy, their brain just wouldn’t be able to comprehend the sensation. Honestly, if they’re still being bratty and talking big, it’s the only way to shut them up. A KO. They’d stare up at you with wide eyes, mouth falling open, just completely helpless at the pleasure being rocked through their body right now. Their hands on your shoulders leaving beautiful crescent moons via blunt nails, their own form of tattooing themself upon you. As you fix your gaze on them, breathing whispers of praise on their cheeks, the tears take their place, starting to fall. Wet streams that leave their skin glistening without the two of you realizing, “U-uhng- m-more. More, please, fuck, m-more?”

It’s almost completely guttural sounds, a few words you can pick out mixed into the noise being a couple of strung together letters that Venture can actually remember right now. Anything else that spills from their lips is just gasping babble, punched straight from their lungs.

A Venture with a bit more experience is still in cloud nine, but has more control over their brain function. Their face is blissed out, seeing more colors than humanly possible, staring straight into the ceiling because anything else would be too overwhelming.

Their voice still hitches in places as they talk, “A-aah… yes, yes, cariño. So fucking good. You’re- you’re so deep in me… So deep. I feel so filled up by you. Mm… I- I want you to move. Hard, ok? Wanna… wanna feel you tomorrow too.”

Loose arms, tossed over your neck like a shawl. You lean down to kiss their neck, savoring the moan it pulls as you lick off salty sweat from their heated skin. Their legs pull you in as tight as they can, every time you give a vicious thrust to their cunt. You live for the way Venture shuts their eyes, the broken moans that they hand out shattered by your pace.

They’re completely relaxed in your arms despite the bruising fuck you’re currently delivering to them right now. Open to your desires, putty in your hands. You could line hickies up on their neck. Fuck, play tic tac toe with it, they couldn’t care less. All they can think about is the way your cock hits their cervix every time you push in.

You might literally drive them wild. Expect their clinginess to drive up 500% because getting fucked like that? Yeah, no. Their body suddenly craves everything about you. Your scent, your warmth, your presence. It’s like an undeniable itch that they need to scratch, can’t get through the day with out having some sort of physical contact with you. Like all their hormones are secreting some sort of need. Maybe due to their fucked out state that you created, the way they just completely imprinted on you as theirs… Like, they are hanging off of you the next day.

Many others try and attempt to talk to Venture, but don’t get very far since they’re still not completely able to formulate full thoughts. They chalk it up to poor sleep and let Venture be, but it makes you smile to know the full story.

They snuggle into your neck as you try to get paperwork done, try and pull you into sharing their jacket. They’ve always been affectionate but this feels… different. Almost as if they are gently floating down from sub space, using the physical touch to ease the transition. You allow it, of course, but it’s definitely a plus to have a snugglebug on your arms the next day.

Yeah. Venture definitely likes when you cervix kissing them, but would probably ask that you save it for when they DON’T need to be a single person. Or, you know, have a brain the next day.

[drones-art]

Hey, delete this if its not ok. But, would you be willing to write a Scarecrow fic for one of the kinktobers?

I'd be happy with any of them! Happy Halloween!

How can I deny a special request!!! It's been a long time since I wrote any of the rogues, but I gave it a shot. Prompt: Sounding

Strange that a self-inflicted act would stir one’s fear with little prompting. Professor Crane contemplated attaching the nodes to his heart monitor to himself but, recognizing the thought for what it was, it’s just a distraction.

Tonight he was implementing a new stimulation technique. Since becoming the Scarecrow, the villain had tasted his weight in toxins; from gassed to injections, poisons and hallucinogens. His brain was severely altered.

It had been weeks since he was able to produce any natural amounts of endorphins without the aid of his fear-gas and huffing it straight from the can was not a long-term solution.

With chemical alteration off the table he decided to move onto something more physical: masturbation.

Well, sex in general, but due to his circumstances he had to resort to masturbation. Crane was neither interested nor had access to a partner, at the moment. He tried not to dwell on this fact for too long, it eventually got depressing, but it was a factor in this experiment. Over time, his hand was no longer enough.

Stripping his cock vigorously every night had eventually become as dull as brushing his own teeth. It became a struggle just to wring any amount of pleasure from his body. Some nights he couldn’t even get hard despite indulging in an obscene amount of porn.

He had experimented with different techniques, from edging to using various toys, but nothing seemed to work. He even attempted to recreate scenarios from his fantasies, hoping they would reignite the spark, yet even the darkest ones only left him feeling more frustrated.

As the days dragged on without relief, Crane began to worry that his past experiments might have led to an unintended consequence—chemical castration.

There was something missing. Crane was inspired by the thrill of his namesake. He needed fear. Now, he sat on his own exam table with a new set of sterile instruments; long, thin, metallic rods that made his cock twitch, just from the sight of them.

He delicately picked up the first one, the thinnest of the collection, and rolled it between his fingers. It was cold to the touch and Crane imagined what that icy steel would feel like when pushed into his cock.

He didn’t have to wait long. After coating the rod with a liberal amount of lube he lined it up with his slit. As the rod entered, a shiver danced up his spine, an icy tendril of fear and anticipation intertwining with the physical sensation. The cold metal sent a shockwave through his body, chilling him from the inside out, much like the first pierce of a needle into one’s veins. The thrill of fear mingled with the discomfort, creating a new, intoxicating blend of sensations that left him breathless.

Slowly, once the temperature of the rod matched his body, Crane started to move. He twisted it around, pushed it against his inner walls, and even dared to push it down further until he had only an inch of rod between his fingers. The sensation was curiously exotic and did provide promising results. He noticed immediately when his cock started to stiffen around the rod and force it out just a bit.

Crane felt the warmth spreading over his skin, a telltale flush that signaled his arousal, as his heartbeat quickened in his chest. Yet, despite the newfound sensitivity, it still wasn't quite enough to satisfy the craving for intensity that gnawed at him.

His gaze drifted to the next sounding rod in his collection, its larger diameter both daunting and enticing, promising the stretch he desperately sought. Taking a deep breath, he reached for it.

Again, the cold bit him from the inside out but the moan that left his lips promised heated arousal. As Crane inserted the larger rod, the initial resistance was immediate and intense, a sharp sting that bordered on unbearable. The urethra protested the intrusion, the pain slicing through the haze of arousal, like broken glass, causing him to gasp.

Despite the discomfort, or perhaps because of it, Crane's determination only grew stronger, his hand already reaching for the final, most formidable rod in his collection, its girth matching that of his pinky finger.

Lube was no longer a factor at this point. Once the second rod was removed, Crane’s cock was leaking clear fluid down its shaft and over his fingers. It was more than enough for him because any more would make the last size slide in too easily.

The last rod gleamed ominously as it hovered over his open, eager cockhole, its polished surface reflecting the dim light of the lab. His body quivered with anticipation, greedily craving the mix of pain and pleasure that awaited. With a deliberate push, he guided it in, and the moment it breached his entrance, a raw cry escaped his lips, echoing through the empty lab like a haunting symphony of desire and relief.

Being a psychologist, and not a biologist, Crane did not stop to think about any lasting damage to his member this might cause. For the first time in months, he was hard and on the edge of orgasm. He pumped that final rod quick and hard, until the room was filled with the wet squelch of churning fluid and the hot slap of skin on skin.

Crane's entire body tensed with each thrust, the sensation of the thick rod stretching his urethra to its limits was a delicious agony, a fiery line of pleasure-pain that burned through him. Each movement sent electric shocks radiating from his core, a relentless teasing that pushed him closer to the brink. The raw intensity of the experience left him gasping for breath, his senses overwhelmed by the exquisite torture that was somehow both unbearable and utterly addictive.

“Fuck-fuck-fuckl-” The first words Crane spoke to himself all night. He couldn’t hold back now. Sweat dripped over his face, tears tracked across his cheeks, and cum started to pour from his pumped-out cock.

Each push of metal forced the sticky fluid out of his body. It was a violent display, the pain nearly masked the relief all-together, but he couldn’t stop. The feeling itself was more like a pressure release. He was simply another canister of gas being busted open and spewing all its wicked contents.

Crane rode out the rod until the metal became more of an intrusion than a pleasurable addition to his body. When it overstayed its welcome he yanked it out and tossed it aside with the rest—ignoring the specks of red coating its end.

He collapsed back on the table, his body trembling and spent. A hollow ache lingered in the aftermath, a testament to the punishment his body had endured. Despite the faint throb of pain and the knowledge that he had likely pushed himself too far, a twisted satisfaction washed over him—his mind blissfully devoid of regret.

[msfcatlover]

random reverse!robins images

(old post, but fuck it, I’m emptying my drafts. If these sound familiar, that’s why.)

[post-reunion, though I’m specifically imagining post-Red Robin arc] Damian: “Stephanie. Have you seen Jason?  Jason: *slowly sinks down lower on the couch* Steph, purposefully blocking the door with her body: “Nope. Geez, can’t you guys keep track of that kid for five goddam minutes?”

[First patrol while Bruce was “dead”] Cass: “I’m going out as Batman tonight.” Dick, after a full day of trying to find excuses to make her stay home: “FINE! GO AND DIE THEN! SEE IF I CARE!” Cass, realizing she misunderstood the direction of his worry: “…Oh shit.”

[post-Tower fight] Eddie: *barely holding in panic, trying to figure out how to safely get Jason to the medical wing, not trusting his patch-job cauterization to hold up long enough* Jason: *barely cognizant, mostly stuck in a loop of, “It’s really her,” “I’m going to die,” and “She hates me, oh god, she hates me.”*

[Before the reunion, after Steph & Jason won a fight fighting back-to-back] Steph: *compliments Jason’s fighting* Jason: *rides that high for the rest of the night, back home, through the debrief, out of costume, all the way up to his room, and into his pajamas* Jason, looking up in the middle of brushing his teeth & seeing his own still-lingering smile on his reflection: “…After everything she’s done, I still want her approval this much?” Jason, spitting out his toothpaste & rinsing his mouth: “I just can’t learn my fucking lesson, can I? Dad, Steph… why am I always chasing the approval of people who hurt me?” Jason, staring into the sink so he doesn’t have to meet his own eyes in the mirror: “God, I’m pathetic.”

[After Jason calls Steph near the end of the Red Robin arc] Steph, going straight to Tim’s HQ in full uniform & armed to the teeth: “Hey Tim? We need to talk.” Tim: *tries to deflect, because extracting Jason could be dangerous and Tim’s info is about 72 very dangerous hours out of date* Steph, drawing a gun: “Oh really?” Steph, throwing her phone at Tim’s head and stalking towards him across the room: “Because I just got a phone call, you’ll never guess who from…” Steph, looming over Tim and tipping his computer chair back as far as it’ll go: “…apologizing for ‘every joke’ he ever made, and begging to know how I ‘handled the green.’” Tim:  Tim: “………………………………What?” Steph, pressing her gun into Tim’s hip: “Care to explain the sort of mission that lands my baby brother in a Lazarus Pit?”

[Any point post-resurrection] Steph, after being asked about the Lazarus Pit: “It’s like being boiled alive, but your skin heals too quickly to slough off, so your nerves never go dead. Also, you’re drowning. And swimming against a riptide. And I honestly don’t know if the Pit gets you high or if the endorphins just fry your brain, but it’s almost euphoric enough not to hurt.” Steph: “Almost.”

[eclipsedcrystalstar]

More of the Gothic Whores cause I feel like it

Dracula: How would you like to live forever?  Jekyll: I'd hate it. Shut the fuck up.

Hyde: Do you ever wonder why you're still single?  Dracula, eating mayonnaise straight out of the jar with a spoon: Yeah... I mean, I'm perfect! Who wouldn't want to date me?  Hyde, sighing: I can name a few people... 

Carmilla: Jekyll, get that hideous thing out of the living room, would you?  Jekyll: Dracula, Carmilla wants you to get out of the house. 

Adam: We’ll find another route, it’s not safe for amateur adventurers.  Hawkins: That sounds like a challenge.  Adam: I have to stress, that is not a challenge.  Hawkins: ...Is exactly what you say to dissuade the weak of heart from accepting the challenge. Well, challenge accepted!  Adam: There is no challenge!

Jekyll: Anyone else feel good when their brain releases a bunch of endorphins?  Adam: Can't relate.  Hawkins: Why would my brain release a bunch of dolphins? 

The Narrator: Wow, great work on the Halloween decorations. Where did you get the fake skeletons?  Dracula: Fake?

Hyde: I never tell people off the bat that I'm gay. I wait. I wait until they say some homophobic shit and then I laugh and am like "you know I'm gay right?" and watch the look of terror on their face.  Carmilla: Carmilla: I like you.

Winston, reading a recipe: Beat three eggs?  Hawkins: It means like in hand-to-hand combat.  Winston: Ohhhh-  The Narrator: Both of you get out of this kitchen.

Winston: I hate taking off my glasses, because without them, my vision goes from Full HD all the way down to buffering at 240p and I just can't handle that.

Jekyll: When I said you should try being friendlier this isn't what I meant.  Hyde, stirring a cup of tea aggressively: Oh, so now I'm TOO friendly? There's no pleasing you.  The Narrator, who broke into their house an hour ago: Two sugars please.  Hyde: Coming right up. 

Adam: Which is correct, seven and five IS thirteen, or seven and five ARE thirteen?  Winston: Neither.  Winston: Because it's twelve.