#hate when he has rare moments when hes based

[loumandivorce]

heartbreaking: the worst person you know just made a great point

[dilf-docs]

Light Up My Life (So Blind I Can't See)

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: pedro pascal in cannes breaks the internet, only rivaled by the mystery figure next to him at the airport. oh, that's you. oh. well, that wasn't part of the plan. oops.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, begging kink, lwk praise kink, choking, fingering, creampie, hurt/comfort, fluff, cannes!pedro (yes that's a warning)

word count: 5,984 words

side note: not to be that bitch but i think pedro in cannes 2025 will be my roman empire. shot out to secret dating, love that shit!!!! based on this request by my lovely fren :)

A few days ago, you had been watching a movie marathon in the comfort of your home.

"I can't believe it, you said you liked it!"

"I never said that. I said it looked interesting" he yawns. You narrow your eyes. "Sleep deprivation" he clarifies, as if reading your mind. "But, you chose it"

"Yes, because you let me" you're quick to counter.

"Yes, because we always do what you want"

Even in the distance, he finds ways to tease you.

"Not true. If it was, I would be there, with you. You know I love Marvel"

He laughs. "It's rare to hear that nowadays, less sounding so sure. You're an endangered species, baby"

You gasp. "I'm not that much of a fan"

"Not a lot of people watch a six hour livestream of chairs"

"Five" you correct, "and I did just to see if you'd show up!"

As if, gut feeling aside, he hadn't told you before.

"Alright, my bad. Five. Still, my point stands"

"So does mine. If Coco is there, why can't I be?"

"Do you happen to know hairstyling? I thought your thing was marketing"

"Oh, shut up"

Stanley Tucci briefly shows up on screen. Not that you already know, given the amount of times you've watched it.

"Are you sure it doesn't bother you?" he asks. Could refer to a lot of things.

It's the crack of dawn.

"It's the only time you can give me" you answer instead.

He makes a little pout, making you giggle. The movie keeps playing in your laptop.

"I'm sorry you have to meet me like this"

"Please, stop" at his bad joke. "The lack of sleep is showing"

He just laughs. "I can't wait for you to come"

(Texted you places of London you wouldn't be able to visit. It's just a stopover, you said, yet he insisted on sending links of London's best attractions for tourists)

"I know" you admit, softer. "Me either"

You yawn. So much for a movie you aren't watching.

"Won't it be too tiring?"

Your amazing boyfriend, ever so caring.

"Pedrito" he sighs at his name on your lips, little and a warning. "I'll be fine. Besides, I already dowloaded the movie's soundtrack to keep me company"

Pedro rolls his eyes. "You really enjoy this movie, don't you?"

You take a brief glimpse at the forgotten movie, playing on your shared screen, then back at his face.

A bit tired, eye bags more pronounced. The sleep thing was true. Still, he was the same in many other ways. His broad frame, sharp jawline, grey hair now dyed yet stubborn enough to show in some edges and over his face, in a beard that would scratch against your face when he kissed you, because he liked being close. Too close. You can still smell him, even if he hasn't been in your apartment for over a month now. As if his smell, him being intoxicantingly close, had impregnated on your skin. Another part of his to be yours.

"It's Madonna" like that's enough of a reason.

It shouldn't be this distracting. Singing Who's That Girl after arriving in France isn't a special thing, but to you, lyrics blasting through your airbuds that Pedro hates except when you offer a song and he listens, because he always listens, holds something sacred the moment your feet stretch and you're back on land again, yet people speak French instead of English and time has warped your sense of reality again.

Pedro had checked on you all the time. That was distracting. Some texts during the flight, insisting on buying Wi-Fi on the plane as if he was a millennial who couldn't survive without internet, saying what he couldn't live without was writing to you. That's a lie. You caught him on TikTok sometimes. Over his shoulder, because you couldn't sit together. Liar, you sent. You know he saw it by the way his shoulders wiggled and he covered his mouth to stiffle a giggle over the silence in the cabin. Nevertheless, he continued his little check-ups on you, as if you were a kid.

(Him: in a way, you are. You: Pedro, I'm almost thirty. Him: That's as ambiguous as me coming to Cannes. You: Your fans already suspect. Him: They're smart. You: They are. Him: Listening to the soundtrack? You: Tenth round. Him: You're insane. Insufferable too. You: It's only about forty minutes. This is a seven hour flight. Besides, you love me. Him: I do. Now stop peeking over my shoulder. You: Stop watching TikToks then, you addict!)

Somehow, lost in the music and happy feet struting towards movies, bright sun and the close yet faraway sea, you take too many of those. That wasn't the plan. Don't sit together, don't look in his direction. Over and over again. Precautions. To you, rules. Memorized them. It's not every day you board a plane, but the others are similar, in a way. It was a small price to pay for dating him.

Sometimes you mind.

(You: I miss my personal pillow. Him: I ain't got a belly anymore. You: I'm aware. I was talking about other huge things. Your biceps. HUGE. The one's Julie will show to the world in a day. Those HUGE biceps. I want to bite them. Him: You're a freak. You: Blame Kevin Feige. Him: Not the guy who lost 25 pounds?)

Sometimes you don't.

(You: Come to think of it, you do snore a bit. Him: But I thought you missed me? You break my heart, y/n)

Bump.

The defeaning sound. Coco and his bodyguard glance. But Pedro? he looks. At you.

The internet has rules too. They're both, funnily, f-rules: never forgive, never forget.

His expression is of surprise. They don't forget. His wide eyes. No, that's beyond a surprised face. That's a knowing face. They don't forgive. The subtle difference. He knows you.

Seconds, probably. He goes back to stoic mode. You hear his voice as he chats with Coco. His voice is tight, barely noticeable to anyone but you; know him better than you know yourself. But not today, when he's a supposed stranger and you're another passenger of this plane. An insignificant dot in a crowd. You walk further and avoid his gaze, pretending to search for imaginary stains in your passport, as if you hadn't make the worst mistake of your life.

Days ago, sitting in your bed, you were just another light in the vast Californian sea of houses and salt air. Now, everyone knows he's your something.

Makes sense.

The slip-ups on interviews, his comments about Materialists, his behavior on that interview with Dakota, the mysterious silhoutte that ressembled a woman but was always too blurry and far yet close to identify.

Unrecognizable.

Because you were a nobody. Made a line to get coffee, nothing about you guaranteeing any special treatment. Worked in a publicity agency from Mondays to Fridays, Saturdays if someone called in sick. Took your dog, who complained when the LA sun hit his tiny paws too much, out on walks: Toto, the little cairn terrier who was now under the care of your brother and his girlfriend because of your trip. Was photographed because you wanted and not because they had to, the hidden cameras capturing every move of yours.

That was the privilege of anonymity.

But that luck, like everything else in the world, seemed to have run out.

Now you sit on the hotel room, phone blowing up with messages, mentions, and emails. Funny thing is, despite already having your Instagram account leaked, you were still a ghost. A who?. Just a face Pedro had looked too much for it to be a simple passerby.

You sniffle as Coco brushes your hair, more to calm you than to fix it for the event.

You look through the mirror, not at you, but at the bag dangling from it, and sniffle again. The dress hangs on the closet as Coco gives you a sympathetic look and Lux squeezes your shoulder gently.

"Maybe we can still work it out" you manage to choke up, hoarse from useless crying. So hopeful, as Pedro would say.

The original plan, before the little "bump" on the road, was to attend Cannes while disguised, which meant sneaking as a guest, skipping the whole red carpet.

But now people knew who you were. Or how you looked, at least.

"Not to be a killjoy, but even if the French press is oblivious, I'm sure the internet will catch up as soon as the live stream for Eddington's red carpet starts broadcasting" Lux comments.

"They don't know your name, yet I'm sure they've already memorized your face. You're all over my Instagram" Coco adds, smiling sadly. "Your face is not to be forgotten"

You smile weakly, still feeling bad.

"I don't know what to do" you sniffle, looking back at the dress, one your budget could've bought but leave you on a tightrope for the rest of the month. To your boyfriend, it was barely a tickle on his finances. He insisted on buying it after your bright, unable to hide, smile. Wear it on a special day, and that is today.

Was.

"I'm sure we can come up with something" Lux offers.

"Come with me"

The three of your turn around. You'd recognize that voice even if you were deaf.

"¿Te volviste loco?" Lux asks, perplexed. (have you gone crazy?)

"Un poco" he replies in a Spanish that needs to be practiced a tad bit more, "por ella, sí" (a bit, yes. for her)

"What's going on?" you ask, wiping your tears.

Pedro kneels down in front of you, already dressed in an all black suit. If you weren't on the verge of sobbing for the umpteenth time, you'd tear that suit in two.

"You look good" you sniffle.

He smiles, softly. "I know"

"I love those glasses. They're my favorites"

He smiles again, adjusting them. "I know"

"Se acabó el tiempo, tortolitos" Lux jokes. (time's up, lovebirds)

"Yeah. Are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?" Coco asks, eyes widened in exasperation.

"I'm taking her with me"

"To the red carpet?" his sister asks, surprised.

"No, to fucking Wendy's. Of course, Lux. I'm taking her to the red carpet" he then gives his sister a glance. "You look gorgeous, by the way"

"I know" she flips her hair.

"Yeah, she's beautiful and so are you" Coco interrupts, then points to you. "Is that how you plan on solving this?"

Pedro nods, solemly.

"Listen, it's just a matter of hours before people connect the dots. They already have your Instagram and name. What's next? Your job, your dog?"

You gasp. "I have a whole dump of Toto on my feed!"

"Your account is private though" Lux drops.

"Still!" you panic. "What do I do?"

"Come with me" Pedro insists. "Harm's already done. What would change if we walked down a piece of red clothing?"

"Not even Rooney Mara will walk along Joaquin"

"So? We're not them" he kneels in front of your face again. Wipes a stray tear and grabs your hand. Squeezes it, like fresh oranges for a juice, because he knows you like the gesture. Need it. "And Emma is taking her husband, so"

You only sigh, unconvinced.

"Come with me" he repeats again, like a mantra. Or a prayer. Maybe hoping you'd accept.

"And let the whole world know?"

"Precisely" he smiles, cheeky. "They know some things already. We're just advancing the process for them"

Coco sighs. "At the speed of a bullet train"

"Whatever" Pedro drops. Then, looks at you. "We like it fast, don't we, baby?"

You can only blush in response.

"She'll come with me, then. We'll ride in the car behind" Ullrich sentences.

"No" his grip on your arm is strong but not brusing. Firm, as his position. He gives you a little tug, as to pull you in. Needless to say, you felt like a ragdoll. "She'll come with me"

Fighting Pedro was like trying to tame a tide.

In the end, somehow, he'd managed to rope you into the chaos of the red carpet, black limusines and flashing cameras and inside his car.

You weren't sure. Back in school, you weren't disliked or bullied, but it's not like you were popular either. You had friends, but would rather be alone at times, be it at the library or just sketching at a lonely bench in the park. There was something precious in the silence most people didn't appreciate; you did.

So, to say you where overwhelmed at the bright lights and constant yelling for Pedro was an understatement.

But, if your boyfriend dressed in an all black suit didn't scream Look at me! energy enough, there was you.

It was quick. Everything seemed to be so as of late. The cameras and press, waiting fans, yelled for Pedro, only to then find out he wasn't only here with his sister, but another woman. The airport woman. A loud point of a finger and the whole world knows you're back.

That he isn't your something. No, Pedro is more.

He's your fucking partner.

And it's so obvious, by the way he looks at you fondly. It different from his sister. This isn't that type of unconditional supporting love, but a stronger one. Consuming. One that speaks of devotion. He looks at you. Admires you. Like a painting. As if you had all the answers in the world.

You say hi to his co-stars, maybe a bit too excited to greet Austin Butler. Pedro isn't happy but he's not putting a jealous fit for the cameras. Not when he's busy throwing charming smiles and flexing that body he's worked so hard for under the summer sun.

The world talks. It's all over the news. Your smile, growing only wider when Pedro is near you, hand on the small of your back, right where the dress leaves inviting skin for the rest to see. He introduces you to anyone who wants to listen, always talking, because he's such a yapper. A loud laugher too, and even if it's not with you, you laugh with him, too contagious for you to question it. Posing with the rest of the cast as you wait by the sidelines, taking some pictures for yourself. You see the bee, trying to meddle, imposing and nosy, and feel a little sorry for it, despite Emma's face and the guys' laugh. In a way, you see yourself in the poor insect: taking space where it shouldn't, captured under the lights.

Comments are deceiving, yet there's a movie playing and then an awkward, way too long, standing ovation for you to care. You do. But you try not to, rather focusing on the event and feeling proud of Pedro. You clap and do a little too loud sound that vagely resembles a cheer. Flustered, you find out later on that the video made it out to Twitter. Strangely, even if your sudden appearance in Pedro's life, or rather public life, is well received under that post. Maybe life wasn't so cruel.

"You're not wearing that"

Life is cruel.

"Why not? You knew it beforehand. Said it was your favorite"

"I changed my mind. It's too revealing"

"What are you? Seventy?"

"The age gap is the other way around, grandpa"

And then the fucker flexes his arms. Worst, not even on purpose. Putting on glasses and a pink soft sweater shouldn't be this hot.

"Don't worry, baby. Don't break a sweat. I'll take the grandma sweater off when we get there"

Your cheeks heat up. "That was on purpose"

He offers a cheeky grin.

"Maybe"

Today is the photocall, and if yesterday's outfit put you in your knees, this one sends you straight to the ground. Full force. In a tank top and black pants paired with spiky shoes, his purpose was to serve and to kill you.

He goes again for the round of photos and such, you trailing behind like a lost puppy. Everyone assumes, yet no one asks.

She, the airport woman, now y/n.

(Can't say it out loud either. Not even you, yet, as if the knowing smiles and stolen not so subtle glances hadn't given you away)

You enjoyed this limbo. Of belonging not more inside closed doors and ambiguous coincidences, but on tabloids and loud shutters of camera. You liked the attention but not the label. It was good to see them scrambling, begging for details. Your social media had filled with requests, and even at times, your phone crashed.

You sat in a corner, watching the press. A few clicks here and there, Pedro drinking water and making it sexy (the size difference of his hand and the tiny bottle? You need to be locked up), questions, some about the movie, others about working with Ari Aster and then, awkward ones Pedro handled with grace. He spoke with such reverence, care and thoughtfulness, you can't help but feel your legs weak. You knew he was smart, well read and opinionated, but hearing him was another thing. So lost in this, you don't hear the next question.

"I know no one else is brave enough to ask" the reporter laughs nervously, "but I need to know"

Pedro senses immediately. When he glances briefly at you, hidden on a corner, you know this is about you.

"I don't think you do" he laughs, but there's a certain edge on his tone.

"It's fine if you don't want to answer, but me and everyone else on this room, hell, world!, wants to know who the woman at the airport is"

Before he adds about your quiet but strong presence on both days, Pedro cuts in:

"Is that how you call my girlfriend?"

The uproar is so loud, even Joaquin, who seemed to be on a separate train of thought, jumps on his seat. More questions follow, ones he doesn't answer. Out of boredom or to keep. Some things are meant to be like this.

Tabloids go crazy with the news. You haven't even left the place and phone blows up even more. It will explode at this point. Worse, it's only been minutes. An hour later, it's still as bad. Well, bad is a way of saying it: what you mean is nosy press and the promise of a quiet vacation ruined.

"I don't think it'll ever be quiet again"

You sigh softly, leaning on the door of the car taking you to the hotel.

"It's an opportunity" you reply just to feel the silence.

"Ever the marketer, you bussiness woman"

Even then, he manages to rob from you a faint smile.

At least they don't know where you're staying. That would be awful. You can't imagine having troubles to get out of a car.

"Something's in your mind" as your heels click against cold marble floors.

A shit ton.

You. The fast changes. Impending. Privacy gone. Scrapes of your life out in the open for the world to see. Your relationship and this new stage you're in.

Him. His warm eyes. Firm hand to secure you. Those circles on your back that calmed you down. It's a quiet I love you. Reassurance you don't say but need. I'm here. Pedro won't let you take the fall alone.

But, also, him.

With his body that had been driving you wild. Intoxicating cologne. A small cut abov his beard, still fresh. Thick glasses. Long legs. Strong arms. His charisma. Confidence. A killer smile. Warm eyes. Kind. He laughed too much and filled the gap of your stolen breaths, waiting.

"Want me to tell you?"

Smug grin you could wipe off his face.

"I'm all ears"

He too has noticed you. Short glances. Parted lips. So plump he can still taste them. The lipstick inside his cheek, over his white pristine smile if he hadn't licked it off. A part of you in him. Another. Your body, always so perfect, but in that dress he bought? He steals a look now. He definitely pictured you in it, yet this is better. How you own it. The cameras aren't flashing your way, but their eyes trail your every move. You had that in you: a beauty that wasn't loud, but made sure to be noticed. Like the air: not seen, just felt. Sometimes light, others heavy. He feels light-headed. Today you chose another set he bought you. In away, Pedro feels as if he owns you. But a tender belonging, of soul to soul, possessive, yet not as an object; he was raised right. Although, after your giggles with Austin...

"Pedro..." all sweet voice. He likes his name a lot. More if it's from you.

Your silence is both punishing and teasing.

"Tell me what you want" he insists.

"You know me" you play coy.

"I wanna hear it" desperate.

You cave in. Then, lean. His hairs raise in a prickly trepidation.

"They know too much" he feels your pressure, fears. But also, he feels your hot breath and short gasps, as if you can't hold this any longer.

"I'm sorry"

You shake your head with parted lips and hooded eyes, blood rushing to your cheeks.

"Show me something only I'll know"

Pedro's control shatteres at your words, a low, animalistic growl rumbling up from his chest.

"You're gonna make me fuck you in here" he spills the lewd confession.

"You're going to get us kicked out of this hotel"

"Can I at least kiss you on the elevator?" he pleads. Puppy sad brown eyes and all.

"Maybe"

In an instant, he takes your wrist in his grip, pulling you stumbling to the dinging door.

"Be patient" you mumble as his lips ghost over your neck. You glance at the numbers.

"We're on the thirty-two floor"

"Patience is a virtue"

"I don't care"

As soon as the door opens, he strides out with desperate, urgent steps.

"This isn't our floor"

"Fuck!"

The short time from the twenty-four to your actual floor felt interminable, every second stretching into an eternity as the weight of your shared desire hung heavy in the air.

"Jesus" you mutter.

"That good or bad?" he asks, mouth busy and voice sort of muffled against the flush skin of your neck.

"Good" you manage to mumble, hands on his hair.

Alright, you miss the messy curls but you can see them insist on the top of his hair, now starting to get sweaty, Coco's work going to waste.

"Then let's give them more to talk"

As soon as you crossed the hallway, Pedro kicks the door shut behind both of you. He's got your back pressed against it, roughly, as if he couldn't wait a bit longer, mouth taking yours in a hungry kiss.

His hands roam your body, gripping, squeezing, tugging at any little space of honeyed skin he can, taking off the buttons with a feverish desperation. You swear one of them pops, if your ears don't deceive you.

"You bought that dress. I liked it"

He rolls his eyes. "I can buy you a new one. A whole closet"

"But I liked this one" you pout.

He kisses your pouty lips. "Then I shall move the earth to get the same one again for you. Now... where were we?"

He's back to kissing you roughly, and soon, your brain is too fuzzy and lost in the force of his lips on yours, that the cameras and late interview are soon forgotten in the back of your mind.

"I'm going to ruin you" he says against your mouth, voice ragged with lust. You let out a little moan as you squirm under his insistent touch. "So hard, so deep, you won't forget who you belong to. Never"

You should feel threatened. Scared, even. But no, down there? You're a wet mess.

The dress falls to the floor with a soft thud. At least he didn't rip it.

"No bra, baby?" he asks, voice thick. You swallow harshly and nod. "Bad girl. Such'a tease"

His mouth drops then to your chest, lips kissing and teeth grazing the soft swell of your breasts. His tongue runs cold through a shiver, moving to your nipples, taking the hardened bud into his mouth and sucking hard. You feel his hands then over the rosy flesh, grabbing what he can, which, given the size of his hands, it's a lot.

"All this for me?"

You nod, lost in the grunts, sweat, his mouth and touch.

"That's right. Mine. You're mine, baby. Just mine. Say it. Tell me you are"

"Yes!" you gasp. "I'm yours, Pedro. All yours. Only yours"

He groans into your mouth as your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. There's too a low sound coming from his throat, probably an approval sound of some sorts. His hands now slide down to your hips, gripping the free skin until he lifts you up. It's always like this. Now, you wrap your legs around his waist, tiny ankles locking at the small of his broad back.

Finally, he takes you to the bed in the middle of the room, all while never breaking the kiss or stopping his greedy hands from touching you. You whine and squirm, weak under his spell.

"So antsy" he softly says.

"I think you meant your hands"

With a little laugh, he lays you down on the bed, body hovering over you, pinning you to the mattress. Before, he'd take his time to let go of the shirt, undressing slowly and almost reluctantly. Now, he takes no time in stripping off his shirt, revealing the toned body under an already revealing shirt. You love Pedro, in all of his forms and shapes, but weren't you incredibly turned on like a horny teenager for this new body? Maybe it was his new energy, how it oozed off of him in the form of flexing biceps, slim figure, toned chest and stomach and disarming smile. He was a menace and knew it, by the smirk visible even through the soft moonlight filtering through the window.

"We should've turned the lights"

"I like you like this" needy fingers now turn tender as he traces soft hearts on your face, the rough skin brushing your soft flushed own.

"At least the nightstand one. It's yellow"

"No"

He leans down to claim your mouth again, or just shut you up. It's helpful, anyway, as he kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen and tingling.

"Someone's insatiable today" you croak out.

"For you? Always" he replies, fingers finding the damp patch in your panties, rubbing over it, thick fingers pressing against your clothed pussy. "It's never enough, baby"

He lets out a little grunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet" voice rough with lust and surprise. "Julie's outfit turned you on that much?"

"Even the hideous ones did" you whimper. "Imagine this one"

"I chose some of those, you know" he sounds a bit offended.

"Whatever. I'm happy with this Cannes run. I'll send some flowers or take her to lunch"

"So caring" he mocks.

"For dressing my man like a complete eye candy? Hell, yes"

"No one uses that term nowadays" Pedro interjects.

"Here you go again. You're my biggest hater. Shut up and just-"

You turn desperate at the pressure his fingers apply on your clothed slit. He smirks at that, eyes dark.

"You want this, don't you? You want me inside, filling you, stretching you around my cock?"

"Yes" you whimper again.

"Say it" he demands.

Never would you beg for something, but goddamn, didn't this man reduce you to a puddle of moans and pleasure? Your common sense, no, normal functioning, basic even, flew out of the window with just a kiss.

"I need you"

His fingers press even deeper, and the pulsing light pain sensation drives you wild, making you whimper again.

"Pedro-" you whine, hips rocking up against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

He clicks his tongue. "Manners, baby"

You squirm, violently and desperate. He really was going to make you beg for it.

"Please, Pedro"

"That better" fingers slightly more insistent. "One last time?"

Fuck dignity, man.

"Please, Pedro. I need you. I need you so badly" you choke out.

He grins like a schoolboy, eyes dark. "Good girl"

He rewards you by making a quick work of your panties, practically tearing them off and tossing them aside. His fingers then were on your bare skin, drumming on sensitive thighs.

"Don't tease" you plead through gritted teeth.

"So impatient" he tsks. "Want it now, baby?"

You nod, feverish.

"Because you asked"

"Because we always do what I want" you choke.

His eyes shine dark. "Easy, brat"

He strokes through the slick folds of your, pussy, pushing two long, thick fingers deep inside you, curling them just right, hitting that well known spot that made you see stars.

"So tight" his voice comes out strained. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect"

Pedro pumps his fingers in and out, thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. His mouth drops to your breast again, suckling hard, biting just on the edge and then licking to soothe the sting. You feel heat building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Your hands scrabble at his back, nails digging into his skin, as to urge him.

And then he pulls away, leaving you empty and aching. You whimper at the loss, making him chuckle a bit.

"Calm down, baby. I ain't going anywhere"

He starts undressing what's left of his clothes, and if you liked the outfit, him naked takes the win. His cock springs free, long and hard, the thick head already glistening.

"See?"

He settles himself between your thighs, the thick length of his cock nudging against your slick folds. He looks down at you, eyes intense under the moonlight. His large, calloused hands slid under your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave bruises.

If spilling it in the interview wasn't enough, he was going to mark you, claim you, make you his.

"I'm going to fuck you now" Pedro announces, voice low with lust. "I'm going to fuck you hard and deep, just like you need. Like we both do"

With that, he thrust forward, pushing past your entrance. You gasp at the intrusion, feeling your pussy stretch around him, accommodating his size. It always happens; he's just big like that. He pauses, letting you adjust to the stretch, before pushing forward again, sinking deeper inside.

So thoughtful.

"Fuck, you're so tight " he said through gritted teeth. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect. You feel incredible, y/n"

He starts to move then, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. Each push brings him deeper, until he was buried to the hilt inside. He sets a hard, fast pace, the bed creaking beneath with the force of his thrusts. The room filled with the sound of their mingled moans and gasps, sweat pooling like a second skin.

And if things couldn't get any better...

One hand came up to your throat, long fingers wrapping around it. He didn't squeeze, not yet, just rested them there, feeling the flutter of your pulse.

"Nervous?" his thumb brushes over your racing heartbeat, a teasing promise of what was to come. "C'mon. Don't get shy on me, baby. I know you like that"

(You did. He was new to this, mainly going off some spaking and dirty talk. Now, he seemed to be into it, if not more, as you. It was always exciting when he did it, never telling you before. If you didn't want to, he stopped. You know he would, at least, because so far, you've never told him to)

You nod, walls clench around him.

"As much as you like feeling my cock stretching you open? Filling you up? You like knowing I'm the only man to be inside this perfect little cunt?"

"Yes" you gasp. "God, yes. No one else, but you, Pedro. Only you."

A wicked grin spreads across his face and he tightens his grip on your throat, just a little. Enough to make you feel it.

"That's right, baby. This cunt belong to me now. Your body. You. You belong to me"

He starts to thrust harder, faster, headboard slamming against the wall with each snap.

Pedro feels you starting to tighten around him, breath coming in short, sharp, desperate gasps.

He knew you were close.

He leans down then, his rough stubble rasping against the smooth skin of your neck as he growled in your ear.

"Be a good girl and come for me" he urges. "Let me feel this pretty pussy spasm around my cock. Feel it come undone on my dick"

His hips never slow, pounding into you with deep, powerful thrusts. The grip on your throat tightened just a touch more, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. Not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make you light-headed.

"I'm going to fill this cunt with my cum. I'm going to pump you so full of it, you'll be dripping for days"

You let out a choked moan at his filthy promise, back arching off the bed. He could feel her starting to convulse around him, her slick walls fluttering and clenching. He was so close too, his balls drawing up tight against his body as the pressure built.

"Come now. Let me feel you scream my name as I fill you up. Let the whole damn city know who you belong to"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you. At the same time, his fingers tightened around your throat, squeezing just as your orgasm crashes over. You let out a strangled cry, body shaking and shuddering beneath him as you come apart.

"Fuck, y/n. Fuck"

With a load groan, he comes too, cock pulsing and jerking inside you as he pumps you full of his hot seed. Spurt after spurt, until he sees your stomach bloat lightly and you feel it sloshing inside you like the distant waves on the beach.

He collapses on top of you with a loud sigh, weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside your fluttering heat; it's still dripping.

You both lay there for a long moment, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat, as you catch your breaths. Finally, he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes soft.

"You're incredible" voice raw. "I can't believe you're mine"

You giggle, feeling his arms wrap around you, pulling you close as you snuggle against his neck. He can feel your soft, warm breath tickling on his skin. A sense of peace and contentment settles over him, and he sighs happily.

"Yours" and a quick tired sloppy kiss. "You drained me, thought"

"If you weren't such a tease..."

You playfully swat him, weakly.

"Shh, just relax" he murmurs, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back. "You did so good, baby. So fucking perfect. As always"

You can't helo but say: "And now the whole world knows it"

He captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss. It was different from the hungry, desperate kisses before. This one was tender, almost sweet. Full of a quiet, growing affection.

"It's okay" so quiet you would miss it. "I've got you, baby. And I'm not going anywhere"

You make a soft, contented lazy sound as you snuggle even closer, fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He feels your body starting to give up.

"Promise?"

He tightens his arms around you, holding you like he means it. You are the most precious thing in the world to him, but he doesn't want to tell you. He wants you to know. So he holds you tightly, like a vow. Something to keep. Something worth.

"Promise"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif: @a7estrellas / dts: @io12n

[crescenthistory]

Where Padfoot Lays His Head

Summary: Inspired by @thewriterghost's reblog of my last animagus!reader fic, this is just a sweet drabble of Whiskers comforting Padfoot:,)

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, your marauders/animagus name is whiskers, walburga black, black family dynamics and trauma, vaguely implied abuse, sirius spiraling into self-loathing, platonic physical affection, romantic!regulus x reader but platonic!sirius x reader is the main focus, background platonic!moonwater

Note: this is based on the same reader from Feline Touches, Sweet Like Honey and Padfoot vs. Whiskers, sirius' beloved almost-sister-in-law that he has frequent (loving) sibling squabbles with

Sirius pretended he didn’t feel the humiliation burning through his veins from his friends’ worrying looks.

Stop looking at me, stop caring so sodding much.

His internal begging was all for naught; this was apparently what he signed up for when he strolled into the train compartment that housed the largest smile Hogwarts had ever seen and his pack of make-shift slightly-fucked-up-but-lovable friends.

Most days, Sirius was grateful to the bone for the family he had been able to assemble at Hogwarts, stretching from his boyfriend to his boyfriend’s childhood best friend to his biological brother and the boys that became his brothers. However, on days that Walburga Black, the hag to end all hags, sends him a Howler berating him for leaving home over the summer, few sentiments besides anger, self-loathing and isolation remained in the young boy’s body.

When he eventually stops reeling and wallowing, all this attention would make him feel warm once more, especially when he sees they didn’t stop showering him in it even as he retreated perhaps a bit rudely from it. Right now, though, it just kept the wound open and Sirius was sure the infection would kill him this time around.

He was sure of that every time.

It became evident quickly that he would not be able to get away from his friends. James was practically glued to his side from the moment he left the Great Hall after Walburga ruined everyone’s lunch. His brown eyes were so wide beneath his glasses and Sirius was sure he could almost see tears in them as he swung his arm around Sirius’ shoulders and kept telling jokes like his life depended on it. Remus was not much better. He had learned by now not to soften his touches when Sirius was in these moods – on the contrary, harsh, direct touches helped ground him – but his hands rarely left his being, as if he would fall apart without him. Even Lily tuned down her playful banter with him, swapping it for concerned questions and checking in on him throughout the day. Sirius loved them all, but he hated it.

Even Regulus showed him more compassion than normal, though he didn’t say much. His entire being seemed to radiate I get you, I understand more than anyone, because frankly he did. Even as hearing Walburga’s voice must have rattled Regulus too, he didn’t show it, instead holding space for Sirius, carrying what was supposed to be his burden.

Humiliating. 

All of which to say, Sirius did what Sirius does best; he ran from them all, in the one form none of them would be able to hold a conversation with him in.

Padfoot had turned out to be a blessing that way. Sirius picked up on it from you, who only ever was in your animagus form when you felt particularly well or horrifically poorly. Difficult to ask how a dog is feeling, yeah? 

He laid in front of the common room fireplace, stretched out in a position that showed he was ready to pounce should anyone try to pet him. Around him, his friends were cuddled up on the sofas and armchairs, chattering lowly amongst themselves and playing the occasional game of wizarding chess. Padfoot had his head placed on his front paws as his gaze flickered all over the room, unable to settle. His nerves always seemed to transform with him, manifesting as the most anxious dog Gryffindor had seen.

Perhaps the only one, but the sentiment remained.

Their stares were still on him, penetrating and with downturned frowns over their faces. Stop it, stop it, stop it. He couldn’t string too long sentences together in his dog brain – part of its fantastic appeal right now – but that sentiment remained steadfast.

You were sat in Regulus’ lap opposite the fireplace, murmuring something in his ear as you both intermittently looked at Padfoot. Your hands were playing with his hair, lips almost grazing his skin as you talked, even pressing the occasional kiss to his cheek, his jaw, his ear. Love. Padfoot loved love and he loved his little brother getting to experience it so wholly, even as he laid here, destroying the moment with the same misery that haunted any children raised by the Black family. He felt as if he was sucking the joy out of the room with his wallowing, yet he couldn’t stop himself.

Padfoot couldn’t help the low whine that escaped him at the darkness swirling around inside him. Upon fearing having to meet the gazes of anyone who caught the noise and see the goddamn sympathy and pity in them, he brought his paws up to cover his eyes, pathetically hiding within himself.

Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.

In his internal chanting, he didn’t notice when the chatter died down a bit, nor did he see the glances exchanged. He felt the footsteps reverberating through the floorboards, suggesting somebody was walking away, but he didn’t register its true implications. Leave, was all he could think. Good, leave. Go.

What he did notice to its fullest extent was when a few moments later, soft fur collided with his own as something was rubbing against him.

A bit too quickly, almost too violently, Padfoot’s head snapped up from beneath his paws to see what this intrusion was – only to come face to face with a white-and-grey cat, blinking slowly at him. His mouth fell slightly open, and he thought a complaining bark may be on its way out, but then you – Whiskers – butted your head against the side of his neck, caressing him with your feline body.

The adventures of Whiskers and Padfoot were a running joke, especially one Remus and Regulus loved to team up to tell. Whether it was chasing each other around, hunting rats – preferably Wormtail, but any would do – and mice or playing with the house elves, you two loved to conduct mischief together in the one form you could never be properly caught in. There had been the occasion where you cuddle or pet one another, but it was rare and usually unspoken, attachment growing deeper and softer without either properly addressing it. 

So, this was not necessarily out of left field, but it surprised him nonetheless. He couldn’t say it wasn’t quite welcome, though.

You had started purring as you walked up and down his body where he was laid in front of the fire, soaking up the warmth he was bathed in and oddly calming the vibrating nerves within his own body. Whenever you reached his head, you bumped your snout against his, rubbing the space between your ears all over his face.

Cats are weird, Padfoot thought. Like it.

Mere minutes ago Sirius had been surveying his friends and his effect on them intently, digging himself deeper into his self-inflicted hole. Now, his attention was captured by the much smaller animal beside him, and he didn’t see how most conversation had stopped to witness the interaction. Lily and James looked at them in almost shocked awe, both having been snapped at and ran away from when they attempted to pet Padfoot themselves. Regulus and Remus, however, sat there with soft, knowing smiles – seeing the girl they loved most go for it with no fear and comforting their favourite dog. Remus would deny it to anyone who asked, but there were tears in his eyes.

The next time Whiskers came up beside his face, you stayed there, leaning yours against his. You laid your body down over the paws Padfoot had previously rested his own head on and made yourself comfortable in a position no one but a cat could possibly conjure up. From there, you began cleaning his fur like you were his personally-assigned cat mother, licking the strands in their correct direction. When his face was too far away, you lightly brought your paw up to his snout to bring him further towards you.

Despite being placed in front of a fire, warmth didn’t truly spread through Sirius before now. When he brought his head down, he laid it on top of you and let it rest there across your midsection, careful not to hurt you, as your upper body curled around his head. You continued cleaning up his fur as you purred loudly, easing the tension from Padfoot’s poor body.

A cuddle only animals could come up with, an embrace Sirius would deny anyone today, yet like this, it just worked.

When his eyes became heavy, Sirius let them fall. You continued your ministrations without hesitation, carefully and slowly tending to Sirius face, only stopping occasionally to nuzzle your forehead further into his fur and purr even louder. 

He didn’t quite fall asleep, he rarely did as Padfoot, too alert and awake in this form, but he let himself fall into a place of tranquillity. Walburga’s harsh words seemed almost funny in their anger now, and Sirius’ own spiral was becoming a thing of the past. 

Would he still be red-cheeked tomorrow and avoid his friends’ eyes for the first half of the day? Perhaps, but they would reel him into their arms and hearts regardless. Would he sputter and fall back into his evil cycle of thoughts if anyone brought this specific moment up? Without a doubt, but that’s why they would not, at least not before he settled. 

Padfoot was suddenly safe in the Gryffindor common room. He was safe with this warm weight over his paws and beneath his head, he was safe with love being quite literally carded into every strand of fur on his body. He was safe with the hearth behind him and his pack in front of him, quiet voices further lolling him further into a state of peace.

Padfoot was safe – maybe even loved.

Across the room, Remus and Regulus had gravitated further towards one another, as theirs were the only eyes who never left the scene of cat-dog-solidarity displayed before them. 

Regulus bumped into Remus’ arm with his elbow and whispered, “He doesn’t like cats, he says?” with a knowing smirk.

The other boy huffed a laugh at that, lips remaining softly upturned. “I believe he has an exception or two to that rule.”

[the-shedevil-writes]

Manchild (Jake Seresin x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: After too many heartbreaks and enough horrible dates, you’ve sworn off love completely. But it's hard to resist when every Friday, like clockwork, Jake Seresin shows up flirting like it's his full-time job. So when you say yes, you expect the worst, only to be surprised when he treats you better than any man has before. WORD COUNT: 3.8k WARNINGS: First date fluff! MC hasn't had a good relationship past (nothing crazy). Making out and lots of kissing. NOTES: Inspired by Sabrina Carpenter's new song ;) This is dedicated to my ex who, yes, did wear basketball shorts to dates MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

Y/n had sworn off dating a while ago. She had called it quits on the modern dating scene after months of failed Tinder dates and self-centered flings. Men didn’t want commitment these days, and she had accepted that. Embraced it even. There didn’t seem to be a point in trying to keep a man who didn’t want to stay. And one-night stands were rarely satisfying enough to make them worth all the effort. 

Working as a waitress in a beach bar right by the North Island Air Force Base didn’t help. She had dipped into the pool of pilots and jumped right back out. After a devastating point of getting her hopes up and being let down by a Top Gun man, she swore never again.

That’s why when Jake Seresin came into the bar every Friday night with his squadron, she paid him no mind. She swatted his flirtations like flies. Even though he was the most handsome recruit she had seen so far, she had gotten her heart broken so many times that it didn’t budge the walls she had built. He was just like every cocky Top Gun graduate that came into The Hard Deck. Though granted, he was the first one with the looks to somewhat match. 

He was persistent, but she didn’t mind. At least, it gave her a little entertainment during her shift. Who wouldn’t want to be flirted with by a hot pilot? To her, it was a brief distraction from the fact that men were only disappointments. It let her play pretend for a little.

“How’s my favorite bartender doing this evening?” He asked one day, leaning on the bar with his forearms. This was the start of their usual banter. His blonde hair was a little messy from the day, and she couldn’t help but notice that he had a slight stubble compared to his usual clean shave. It looked good on him.  

She looked over at the group of pilots in matching uniforms. They were all indiscreetly watching them, finding joy in Hangman being shot down every Friday. 

“She’s doing okay. How’s my most hated patron doing?” She asked while drying a Guinness glass with a rag, not even looking at him. The pilots always came in early, straight from their shifts. Always around sunset, an hour or so before rush. 

He put his hand to his heart. “Ouch. He’s hurt.” He said, shaking his head with a smirk, “I’m doing quite all right now that I get to look at you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I swear, you get all your lines from 80s rom-coms or something.” 

“I do have a soft spot for Sixteen Candles. We should watch it.” He tapped the bar, and she could feel his sea green eyes take her all in. 

She shrugged and put the glass away. Counting the group of pilots, she already started getting a round of their usual from the mini fridge below. “I’m busy and I prefer Dirty Dancing.” She stated, looking up at him with an exasperated expression. She slid the round of bottles over to him. “Want me to open a tab?” 

“You know me so well.” He said, tilting his head. 

“I just wanna get you drunk enough that you’ll fall asleep and shut up.” She laughed now at the imagery in her head. 

A Cheshire grin formed on his face, and he pointed to her. “There she is. Oh, how I love to make you break.” He said 

She couldn’t help the blush this time, but she kept her face stoic. “Your drinks are getting warm.”

“They can wait.” He said with his hand to his cheek now, just admiring her.

There was a moment of silence as she raised her brows and went to dry another glass. 

“Never gonna say yes to that date?” He asked.

“Are you ever gonna stop asking?”

He smiled again. “When the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever seen is right in front of you, I don’t think it’s smart to stop.”

Jesus, he was laying it on thick tonight. It was getting harder to keep up the game of pretend. Usually, it was just a few quips, but for some reason tonight he was on another level. 

“Didn’t know you came in already drunk. I should cut you off.” 

“Stone cold sober.”

“Concussion?”

“I’m a better pilot than that, honey.”

Why was he getting to her tonight? She had been strong for months now. Maybe it was that new romance show she’d been binge-watching that made her feel a sense of emptiness. Maybe it was because the nights got chilly, and she found her bed to be much bigger these days. Or the videos that flooded her social media of relationships that were way too perfect to be true. 

It could’ve been any of those things… but she was struggling to keep her guard up. And it seemed like Jake could tell by the mischievous smile on his face. 

“What’s your favorite food?”

She stared at him with a glare that told him to quit it. But Jake was never the type of person to do what he was told. She started wiping down the sticky countertop.

“Come on, humor me here.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Fine. I like a good burger.”

“This is just too perfect. There’s a drive-in movie theater I know that makes a mean burger.” He said, smiling and drumming the table.

“Is that where you take all the girls?” She asked, not looking up from the counter she was wiping. 

“It’s where I’d like to take the girl.” 

She shook her head, frustrated now, and looked up at him. “You think you’ve got all the answers, huh? All the words to make me swoon, but I’m not stupid, Hangman. I’m not the kind of girl to get swept up in all this and believe you want nothing more than my presence.” 

He smirked at that, almost as if he predicted she would say that. As if he had rehearsed this time and time again in his head. “I’ll have you home by midnight. Before then, if you’d like, but if we start pushing ten, we’d have to leave the movies early.”

She laughed in disbelief. This guy had some nerve. 

“If I say yes, will you bring your lukewarm beers to your friends?” 

“I’ll do whatever you tell me to.” 

God, that was kinda hot. She sighed and tilted her head at him. “Saturday night. 8 PM. I live at the Apollo apartments down by the supermarket. Don’t be late.”

That Saturday, she had no idea what to wear. It dawned on her just how long it had been since her last date. She combed through the selection in her closet and eventually landed on something she’d at least be comfortable in. A cropped green tank top with a denim mini skirt. She lined her arms with bracelets that clinked when she walked and put a pair of sunglasses on her head despite the sun going down as she did so.

She was mid lip gloss application when she realized the time. It was eight o’clock on the dot. Eh, she probably had give or take ten to fifteen minutes. It’s not like dates were ever on time, and they often got lost in her apartment building anyway. 

After taking her time collecting her things into her purse, she walked down the outside steps to find Jake standing by his white Jeep, looking around, blocking the setting sun from his eyes. The first thing she noticed was how he was dressed. He was wearing a crisp white T-shirt that fit him snugly under a brown leather aviator jacket. His jeans were dark and cuffed at the bottom to show his nice pair of suede shoes. 

The second thing she noticed was the bouquet of sunflowers, daisies, and baby’s breath. Disbelief coursed through her. He looked like he was plucked straight from one of the romance novels sitting on her nightstand.

“Hey Hangman!” She called, and he snapped over at her voice. A relieved smile appeared on his face, and he slowly walked forward. Her heels clicked on the asphalt as she strutted over and stopped in front of him. 

“I was starting to worry you’d stand me up.” He said, “You look gorgeous as always.”

Her face was cherry tomato red, and she tried to hide it by looking down at the pavement. She rocked on her heels nervously. 

“Thank you… You’re all dressed up.” She pointed out.

He let out a huff and a confused smile.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked, squinting his eyes and furrowing his brows. But he quickly shook it off. “These are for you.”

“They are?!” She couldn’t help the excitement now. 

“Sweetheart, who else would they be for?” He laughed.

She took the bouquet in her hands and inhaled the botanical smell of it. “I’ve never gotten flowers before. They’re so nice.”

“You’ve… What?” 

She didn’t notice his confusion and smiled up at him genuinely. “Thank you, Jake. I love them so much.”

He shook his head and scratched the back of his neck, admiring her. “I’ll get you flowers every damn day if it keeps you looking that happy.” He didn’t miss the face she made with the widened puppy eyes. As if she couldn’t believe it. “Now come on, let’s get this show on the road.” 

She nodded and walked past him toward the passenger side. Accidentally forcing him to rush past her and open the door himself.

“Oh! Thank you!” She smiled naively. 

Shaking his head again, he ran a hand down his face. “I have a feeling you’re gonna kill me with all this tonight.” He murmured

She tilted her head, confused, and reached up to put one foot on the Jeep's steep step. The car was much bigger than either of them, and she felt a little awkward climbing up in a skirt and heels. 

“You got it?” He asked, coming up behind her and putting his hands out in case he needed to catch her.

She nodded. “I got it.” But as she went to grab the handle grip, her heel slipped and she fell back slightly, Jake catching her waist.

“Oh god Jesus-” He spouted out, panicked, exhaling as she released a loud laugh. 

She got her balance back and climbed into the car. It was almost impossible to ignore the spark his touch had left behind from when his fingers accidentally went beneath top. But it was stifled by her instinct to laugh at Jake’s panicked and flushed face. 

“You’re too cute, Seresin.” She said, looking down at him now, and he let out a relieved sigh. 

The typical confident smirk returned to his lips. “I like it when you flirt back.” He stated before shutting the door for her. 

The Drive-In was nothing like she had experienced before. She had only seen this sorta thing in movies and read it in passages from The Outsiders. So she looked around with curious eyes as he drove through the grass field. 

After finding an optimal spot for the Jeep to see the whole screen, the two walked up to a small concession stand at the back of the car park. It wasn’t very busy, with lots of picnic tables empty. People were mostly pulling in or waiting in their cars for the movie to start. 

They got in line, and she instinctively stood behind him as he looked up at the chalkboard menu. After a moment, he turned to his side, expecting to see her, then turned back around to find her studying the menu in line. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Get over here.” He said, and when she did, he wrapped his arm around her. The leather of his jacket smelled so good. It was covered by a rich, clean scent… Did he spray his jacket with cologne too? She resisted the urge to giggle as he held her, but there was no way to hide the giddy smile and blush across her cheeks. He seemed proud to be with her, and it was driving her wild. 

“But what about when we order?” She asked

“What about it?” 

“Well, how will they know to separate the-”

His eyes widened, and he looked down at her. “Y/n… Are you telling me you expected to split the bill?”

Her jaw dropped slightly. Honestly, yeah, she had. She was so used to it. She never wanted to seem like a snob or a woman who expected all expenses to be paid for. It’s not like she had dated many men with great finances, and she didn’t want to be a burden. Most men eagerly took the option to split, and she really didn’t mind. She nodded at him.

“I don’t wanna waste your money-”

“It’s a five-dollar burger and shake. Are you kidding me?” 

“Uh, no?” She replied anxiously

There was something brewing behind his smile. A sense of vexation that worried her. He shook his head. “I got it.”

They got up to the front of the line, and he greeted the cashier.

“I’ll have the double cheeseburger and… a Diet Coke.” He started, then he looked over at them, “Tell them what you want, honey.” His voice was smooth, and it came out of him so naturally. It felt like they had done this for years. That they were some domesticated couple that was having a night out on the town. Especially when he called her honey like that. He called her that sometimes at the bar, but tonight it felt different rolling off his tongue.

“Uh, I’ll get the cheeseburger and the chocolate shake.” 

He smiled. “Good choice.” He squeezed her shoulder, and they paid.

Not even ten minutes later, they sat on one of the picnic tables with a red umbrella stemming from it. He watched as she sipped on her milkshake and looked around curiously at their surroundings. Fireflies flew by a chain link fence, and there was an area for kids to run around in the fields. 

“Is it good?” He asked, “Gimme a taste.”

She nodded, and she handed him the paper cup. Again, that sense of normalcy between them made her heart pound. Maybe it was the fact that they knew each other already, with them talking every Friday night for months now. But this date didn’t have that awkward feeling that most first dates did. It all felt natural.

He took a sip and blinked his eyes in surprise. “God damn, that’s good.”

She laughed and took it back, swinging her feet under the table. She could feel his eyes on her, and it made her face turn red for what felt like the millionth time. When he looked at her like she was a painting in a museum, it was hard not to. 

“What?!” She asked with a pressured chuckle.

“I wanna know what the hell you were expecting tonight. It’s like everything I do surprises you.” He said, placing his elbow on the table and putting his hand to his temple.

She nodded, a lot more comfortable around him now. It was nice. It felt like she could genuinely talk to him compared to the banter-heavy quips at Hard Deck.

“There’s a reason I didn’t say yes to you right away, Jake.” She started.

“I’m sensing that now. Go on.”

“I… I am not used to… this. The flowers. The opening car doors. The whole thing. Guys don’t normally do that.” She explained, “Hell, I was surprised you didn’t show up at my door wearing basketball shorts and a graphic T-shirt.”

His face was horrified. He leaned in. “Guys have worn that on a date?”

“YES! Many!” She said, laughing now. “I-I thought that I just had my standards too high. That those sorta things were just reserved for the movies. Plus, it’s not like many of the dates I went out on were real dates. They felt more like… a means to an end for them. So I figured I’d just quit. Give up on the idea of love and fairytales. And never give the handsome pilot at the bar a chance to make me cry.” 

He reached forward and held her hand. It was silent between them as he thought about what he wanted to say. That last sentence seemed to have struck a chord with him. His thumb brushed over the top of her hand.

“This isn’t just a means to an end for me. I hope you know that.” He said gently.

“I’m sensing that now.” She mimicked him. 

He smiled at her. “Now come on, give me another sip of that shake.”

“NO!”

Thirty minutes later, they sat in the trunk of his car as the opening to Ferris Bueller’s Day Off played on the giant screen in front of them. His radio was set to the frequency of the drive-in so they could hear the audio from the speakers behind them. There were already pillows and blankets that Jake had prepared in the spacious back for them. 

She curled up in the thin brown blanket that he had brought, and he admired how she looked in the silver light of the film. Her eyes looked beautiful as they gazed up at the screen. Then he noticed her give off a  slight shiver. She didn’t even notice.

She was too enthralled in the witty dialogue of the movie at first to realize. Then she heard shuffling and looked over to find Jake, taking off his aviator jacket, and moving to wrap it around her. 

“Are you not gonna be cold?” She asked worriedly.

He scoffed and continued to wrap the jacket around her. “I’ll be just fine.” He said as if it shouldn’t have even been a question. “Could use somebody to warm me up, though.” He said casually.

She smirked at that and pried her eyes off the screen to look up at him. “I think I can help with that.” She replied before scooting over to rest her head on his chest. His arm wrapped around her shoulders as hers wrapped around his waist. 

The blanket, the jacket, and his torso all kept her so warm. It was like her own personal heater. A contented sigh escaped her, and he gently started scratching her scalp.  She could fall asleep like this, but she wanted to stay awake and watch the movie. 

Nearing the end of the movie, he looked down to find her eyes sleepily blinking. Her eyes were half open, straining to watch. He chuckled.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?”

She nodded, “You’re so comfy.” She murmured. 

“We’ll get you home soon.” He reassured, but she almost didn’t want the date to end. Curse her independence.

After the movie ended, the credits rolled, and she clapped. She looked up at him with a small, sleepy smile and those doe eyes that first captured Jake’s attention.

“You’re so pretty when you’re not stressed behind the bar.” He teased, carefully reaching up to brush some hair out of her face.

“Says the man causing the stress.” She replied with a tired chuckle. 

His hand moved to cup her cheek, and she sat up just a little now to get closer. Their breaths were both heavy in anticipation. Someone needed to move, but they were both hesitant. 

He eventually decided to kiss her forehead. Then move down to place one on her cheek. Then he hovered right above her lips. 

God, this was killing her.

“Please.” She whispered breathlessly.

He smirked. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He murmured before leaning in to kiss her. 

They kissed, and their lips were in perfect alignment. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he went down to her hips, squeezing her closer. When he pulled her in, she couldn’t resist the little sound that came out of her, and that just drove him crazier. Their lips pressed against each other, and his nose exhaled hard, tickling her slightly. He smelled like a fresh batch of laundry and tasted like Diet Coke. She couldn’t help but run her hands through the back of his hair, which was a little obscene for a slightly public area. 

He pulled away first and put her forehead to his. “Sweetheart, if you keep that up, I’m gonna need a minute before I drive you home.” He let out a breathless laugh, and that caused her to as well.

After a moment, he pulled her in to rest her head on his shoulder. Her face kept in the crook of his neck. “This is bad.”

He craned his head down to look at her. “Why’s that?”

“I really like you.”

He chuckled, “God, I sure hoped so.” He said before planting a kiss on the crown of her hair.

After a drive filled with laughter and classic rock music, she didn’t want the date to end. Part of her was embarrassed that it took so long to get here. That possibly the man she had been waiting for had been under her stubborn nose the whole time. He put the Jeep in park. 

“Let me walk you to the door.” He said.

Are you… kidding me? She was used to men dropping her off and speeding away as soon as she shut the door. Their exhaust pipes smoking her and leaving her in the dust. But Jake was so surprisingly gentle. Yes, he was confident and cocky, but he treated her like she was royalty, and she almost feared getting used to it. What if things didn’t work out, and she’d have to go back to basketball shorts and axe body spray? But she silenced those anxieties in time for him to open her door and help her down from the side, as she clutched her newfound flowers. 

They walked up to her apartment in comfortable silence. The crickets chirped, and some horns honked in the deep distance. When they got to her door, she held the bouquet in her hands like a comfort item. 

“This is me…” She said, a little disappointed, staring at the ground. After a moment, she continued, “Look, I- I had a great time tonight. Don’t let it get to your head, but I’d love to do this again. But- but it’s totally fine if you don’t want to, or if I wasn’t what you expecte-”

He suddenly tilted her chin up and pressed his lips against hers. Her eyes were shot open, surprised, until she closed them, relaxing into the familiar kiss again.

“You off tomorrow?” He asked after he pulled away just so slightly.

“Got a morning shift, but I’m free after ten.” She answered way too quickly.

He smirked, “Lunch is on me then.” 

She kissed him again. There was no way she was going back to boys when she had a man like that in her arms. 

[custardtartsfan]

Jason Todd head canons that have accumulated over time

many thoughts about the boy constantly rattle around my brain and i would like to share them ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ) nothing hanky panky ish for i do not like to think about that

general bullshit ᝰ.ᐟ

he doesnt trust modern technology. he has a Motorola razr. no he will not upgrade, stop asking

has VERY messy hand writing. straight chicken scratch. barley legible

smoked during his late teens (post resurrection period, he was going through it). tried quitting in his early twenties, he bought a menthol flavour geek bar but threw it out cause Roy made fun of him

it wasnt even one of the cool ones with a screen. smh

he has a weird nostalgic affection for the thrift

it reminds him of being a kid, in the rare moments that his mother was sober enough to take him somewhere. and it was nice, his mom was conscious, all was well

and he could get whatever he wanted! he wanted a toy? sure bud, its only a dollar. why the hell not?

he recently walked into a Goodwill and damn near burst an artery when he looked at the tag on a pair of pants. it was NOT like this back in his day

his hair is like wavy, like not curly but wavy. however, he has no idea how to really care for it. shits dry is what im saying

i think hes very competitive about stupid shit

not like he gets pissy about mario kart, he will race you to see who can fold their socks the fastest

largest of the batfam. vertically and horizontally. hes a beefy dude. a brick shithouse

i think hes also the kind of dude that needs to know someone very well before he could consider dating them. id even go as far to say hes somewhere on the aro spectrum

i think he has a very high spice tolerance. like youll pry his siracha out of his cold re-dead hands. he LOVES African curry (yes this one is based off me) thats like his perfect kind of spice

back to his hatred of technology, he collects cds to listen to instead of streaming

he has one of those hip disk players with the headphones. Red Hood has been seen with a walkman

also hates tv, but will watch the news willingly. he will sit down and watch Wolf Blitzer of his own accord

romantic (୨୧• ꒳ •)=:♡

remember when i said he has the handwriting of an 18 month old toddler? yea well thats a little unfortunate cause he LOVES leaving notes for his lover. when he has to slip out the window for a job in the middle of the night, he writes a little note - “had to take care of something, be back soon. with bagels. love, Jay :)” but its written so janky his lover is spending the whole time hes gone trying to decipher it

dont tell him that though, he might cry

hes not a talker particularly. words tend to come out wrong in his experience. instead, he likes gifts acts of service to show you he cares

shopping with him and youre eying a particular top for a while? guess what’s mysteriously appeared in your laundry basket

lowq doesn’t have motion though..soo it might have been Bruce card. but honestly? money is money who gaf

what he occasionally lacks in funds he makes up for in willingness to let you do whatever you want to him

he will waddle after you in sephora, freaking out the occasional employee cause holy FUCK who invited the punisher, letting you swatch whatever you want on his hand

if you’re concerned about the milk in the fridge being yuck, give it to him to taste. he’ll let you know

there is no mountain to high, no dubious forgotten leftover too unhappy looking

cannot cook for SHIT. but he loves to eat

he will mention wanting food and stare at you longingly until you go to the kitchen

hes not gonna be playing fortnite while you’re cooking though, he can chop stuff. you may not want him within 50 feet of a place where food is prepared but he will offer

bless his heart

runs hot like a furnace. probably because hes a large meaty boy

he will grumble like a pensioner when you tuck yourself into his chest at night when its cold, but we both know damn well hes gonna be giggling and kicking his steel toed boots when he tells Roy about it later

he had pretty mixed, strewing negative opinions, about his little white tuft of hair at the front. hes tried cutting it, it grew back the same. he bought box dye, it doesnt take. so hes stuck with it. and he cant say hes happy about it

until you came along, all full of love and life, telling him you loved it. you though it framed his face perfectly and suited him great. you and your fancy affection fuck you

(he was cheesing for hours)

okay lets get sad now

hes got BADD anxiety about hurting you without meaning to. its a reasonable concern, hes a big dude. and these hands dont do a lot of cradling as a rule, more beating heads in

he needs to be reassured, but would rather roll around in broken glass then swim in lemonade than let that be known. hes more of a stare at you until you sooth him

he likes to be kissed and cuddled and cared for. so what? hes only incredibly ashamed. it doesnt matter how many times you re iterate that he has no reason to be, hes a stubborn bitch

thats all ive got! i hope you enjoyed reading my real time jason todd related word association. most of these were typed in a fury on the mobile web app on the subway so..if the formatting is yucky thats up to god (-.-;)y-~~~

[willowed-wisp]

NSFW ALPHABET [ simon ‘ghost’ riley]

Just my opinion based on how Simon comes across in the games. It was quite fun to interpret it. Hope I didn’t do too bad of a job 🤞

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Ghost would be more closed off to a one night stand, so it’s lucky if you even get his name let alone for him to stay after the sex.

As for in a relationship, he cares so deeply that if he’s jackhammered you he’ll find himself gently massaging your sore pussy- you did take him ‘so well’ after all (his words)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He used to hate his arms, all the scars he had endured but he paid good, well earned money on his sleeve tattoos. And with encouragement from his partner- he likes them.

As for you, your face. He rarely gets to see all of his own, so seeing your face in any sense is a blessing. For intimacy it’s a luxury to see your brows screw up and lips parted. He knows you don’t have the same benefit of seeing his ALL the time.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He likes the idea of claiming you by coming inside but the idea of children in a world like this… it scares him. Even if you’re on birth control… too much of a risk.

Simon loves seeing you on your knees, lips pink and raw after finishing down your throat. And you better be swallowing- he doesn’t like tryna get stains out of the bedsheets.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Wants to fuck you in close quarters to the rest of 141, and use his balaclava as a gag to shut you up.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Simon is said to be in his earlier to mid-30s and doesn’t have as much experience as the others but you’ve never complained about his skill before. He’s a quick learner.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

ADVANCED MISSIONARY; As said before, he loves your face. So something front facing but spicier than missionary- legs on his shoulders… laid flat on the edge of the kitchen table with him stood ploughing into you.

AGAINST THE WALL: Simon loves knowing it’s all him giving you pleasure- you clung to him for dear life. Nails cutting into him and limp from the waist down, he’s not shy when it comes to pain… not that kind anyway.

DOGGY: The only exception to him not facing you is when you’ve been teasing him all day long. He loves the roughness and how much of you he can feel at that angle. Intoxicating.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Simon goes Ghost mode during sex. It’s a scale of kinda serious to don’t talk kind of serious. Depends on how long he’s gone without it. If he’s on leave and it’s on the couch during movie night and you clash teeth- he’s so serious about it but when you start laughing, his eyes go puppy dog and he joins you in hysterics.

He can be very goofy so he has that side when his guard is down.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He likes to keep in tidy down there, not completely shaven but nothing to stop you from giving him sloppy head.

He has light eyelashes but the hair is so short you can barely see the true colour - a blondish brown colour.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Like most things with Simon, he truly depends on what mood you catch him in. He’s a chill guy, he’s the type to get you gifts without making a big deal about it.

He just wants your sole undivided attention, that’s romance in his eyes. Having a connection with you, spending time with you. So he’s kissing up your body, and eating you out like there’s no tomorrow without expecting you to return the favour.

Simon is all about eye contact, kissing and making you feel special in the moment. So I guess you could call him a pinch romantic.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Being away from you is a death sentence, but the mission is work. That doesn’t mean LT doesn’t jack off, to images of you riding him or panting beneath him, when he’s in the shower.

Off duty he has you, he doesn’t need to jack off.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

BONDAGE: Hands behind your back, tied with his belt. Or he doesn’t mind, he knows how to break out of ties anyway.

VOYEURISM: Loves watching you masturbate, revels in it because he knows he’ll have you coming on his cock in the next few minutes.

DOMINANCE: Not in an unhealthy way, he’s a BIG guy (and he uses it to his advantage). Caging you in and hitching you up at his waist, repeating the words, “Who do you belong to?” “Who makes you feel so good?”

And the answer every single time is ‘you, Si.’

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Nowhere public, there’s a reason he wears a mask in public let alone being caught with his dick out.

His favourite may be a wall, especially if Soap is staying in the guest room… because the master bedroom is beside it. Ghost is territorial like that, you’re his.

The bed is too comfortable for him when he’s initially back. Simon will hold your hips and watch you bounce on his dick while his back is on the fluffy carpet. Carpet burns were worth it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Kissing his tattoos- man this guy gets pent up when you do that. All the way up his arm, through to his chest. Do this and you will find his trousers tented and tight.

Ghost is very susceptible to touch, he spends so much time trying not to get hit by stray bullets or by fists that when he lets his guard down- he really gets turned on by crotch palming or kissing. Makeout sessions quickly become a night long sex fest.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Hates being blindfolded, absolutely despises it. Even when relaxed it’s difficult for Ghost to just be Simon. He likes being able to see you, his PTSD comes in play there.

Also, another no no, is you wearing a skull mask or himself wearing it in the bedroom. When he’s at home, he doesn’t even want to remember what happened in the field. Let alone bring it into the most vulnerable position he’s gonna be in. He may even draw the line at face coverings in general.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

As said before, he couldn’t care less if he receives. Only that he makes you cum at least once.

Don’t mistake that for him not liking blowjobs, he loves it- again, a touch thing but he would rather watching you come undone.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Like a lot of things with Simon, it depends on his mood and it you can handle it at the time.

Simon is a kinda soft dom because he cares about his significant other and doesn’t want to hurt you but if you can take it… you’d better find something to hold onto. Legs and abdominal muscles galore- he is a tyrant if you wish it.

But he doesn’t need to do that ALL the time, he can do soft and gentle just as well. Deep, powerful thrusts… letting you adjust after a couple of rounds.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If you’ve been teasing him, he will pull you into a restroom and have you drooling and seeing stars.

He prefers to have his time with you, to get you well adjusted for his size by fingering and then eating you out. Dragging out orgasm after orgasm to get you to relax.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He doesn’t normally like fucking in public, but as said before- if you touch him in the right places and tell him how hot you are for him… let’s say he will find a dressing room or bathroom stall (within reason) to stop his hardness.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Have you seen this man? 6’5” and muscles for days… Simon has a LOT of stamina.

The first week he gets home you’re lucky when he’s not inside of you. He can go multiple times a day for an average of two hour sessions. He likes to take his time with you.

Quickies wise about 6 rounds in a row.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Simon’s not a fan of toys. Doesn’t own any and doesn’t plan on buying. He’s sure in his abilities and when you a moaning mess impaled on his cock- he’d say you’re quite satisfied.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Edges you from time to time and make you beg for some release. But that’s only when he’s in one of his sarcastic moods- mostly after he’s hung out with Soap.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not obnoxiously loud, but not quiet. His voices get a bit higher or goes lower when he says your name. Holding your hair while you’re on your knees, choking on his cock. It’s kind of addictive.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Your smell. Purposefully buries his nose in the crux of your shoulder in general. Especially when so close to his release- you’ve been squeezing his size continuously for the past five minutes and the scent of you, not your perfume or shampoo, can toss him off that cliff.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Above average at about 7.5 inches, but thick. No wonder he indulges in extensive foreplay before fucking you. He’s the perfect size, nothing too extreme but hits the correct spots.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He’s touch starved on missions and doesn’t fancy asking the boys for that, so he’s pretty horny. You don’t help dressing all pretty in white lingerie the day he gets back.

On a scale of 0-10, Simon is an 8-10.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Simon finds it difficult to sleep in general, only after a day’s fuck fest is he worn out enough to sleep soundly. Next to his partner.

[muletia]

[tfp] optimus prime x human!reader

summary: you feel insecure about your boring life. optimus is quick to make you feel better about yourself

cw: angst, fluff, yapper (reader) x listener (optimus), optimus is fucking obsessed with you, bad writing, silliness

word count: 1033

The last thing you expected to see after leaving work was a massive red-and-blue truck parked perfectly at the curb, just a few meters from the entrance. You’d recognize that color scheme and vehicle type anywhere — someone had come to visit. You didn’t even try to hide the smile that crept onto your lips.

"Is that your boyfriend?"

Your coworker’s voice pulled you out of your brief trance. You’d completely forgotten she was even there, though just moments ago, the two of you had been making small talk.

"Yup."

"You never mentioned him."

Because he’s a damn alien, you almost blurted, but you bit your tongue in time.

"He’s a long-haul truck driver, so he’s rarely in Jasper. Hey, thanks for the recipe, but I’ve gotta go. See you tomorrow!"

After a quick hug, you headed briskly toward the truck. She’d surely grill you for details tomorrow, and you’d need to have your excuses ready, but that was a problem for later. You had far better things to do now.

You opened the passenger door to avoid drawing attention to an empty driver seat and climbed inside. The familiar interior immediately put you at ease, and when the owner of the truck spoke, butterflies that had been dormant in your stomach suddenly came to life. You’d known him for years, yet his voice alone still made you feel like a giddy teenager. The perfect man, as it turned out, was actually an extraterrestrial being.

"Greetings, my dearest."

"Hi, love. To what do I owe this visit?"

Optimus started the engine and took the route toward the base. You knew it by heart, having traveled it countless times with Bumblebee or Bulkhead when you needed an escort. Yet, despite being your partner, Optimus rarely had time for dates. You didn’t hold it against him; you fully understood the duties that came with being a leader. But there were moments, many intimate moments when Optimus wished he could spend more time with you. He wanted to be there for you through every good and bad moment, but he couldn’t, and it tore at his spark.

"Front lines have been quiet for now. I wanted to take the opportunity to see you."

You reached out and caressed the panel in front of you. You didn’t miss the momentary, louder hum of the engine. Adorable.

Out of habit, you started recounting all the work and life events that had happened during your time apart. You summarized the movies that had intrigued you, bored you, or changed your brain chemistry. You talked about books and poetry, focusing mostly on those he probably would enjoy as well. Optimus then offered his thoughts, sharing his perspective and making a mental list of works to study when he has the time, so he could discuss them with you in depth later. Maybe, if he got lucky, you’d agree to analyze them together, curled up against his neck.

After catching up on the past few weeks, you naturally transitioned to today’s events, animatedly describing how a certain Cameron had gotten on your nerves.

"I asked him a few times to fix my work computer because, you know, it’s his job, but no! Every time, he came up with some stupid excuse just to avoid—"

"Optimus," Ratchet’s voice broke in over the radio, interrupting your rant. "I hate to disturb your rendezvous, but your presence would be helpful at the base. No rush, though."

Oh, right. For a moment, you’d forgotten about your partner’s responsibilities, bombarding him with stories about work that didn’t even begin to compare with Optimus’s adventures. A pang of guilt hit you. The enthusiasm drained away, replaced by a sudden self-resentment. Instantly, the story that had been the highlight of your day shrank to the size of an atom, meaning absolutely nothing in the grander scale of beings you shared a relationship with. It wasn’t the first time these thoughts had interrupted your fun, but you’d never voiced them out loud, burying them deep within. Too bad they always found their way back to the surface.

You hoped Optimus hadn’t noticed your sudden change in body language, but deep down, you knew he had. He always did. Always perceptive and caring.

Trying to mask your discomfort, you gave a small smile.

"Hi, Ratchet!" you greeted.

The medic grumbled something under his breath.

"I am on my way to the base," Optimus reported, and the connection cut off.

"[Your Name]," he began, his tone changing. From the usual military formality, it softened into a gentle warmth. He’d seen right through you, as always. "Is everything alright?"

You didn’t want to perform tough. Not today, not in such a raw and tender moment.

"No. I don’t think so? It’s just… in your life, everything is so grand and significant; there’s always some action. My workday is interesting if a bird lands on the windowsill by my desk. Sometimes, I feel like my stories bore you because, let’s be honest, they’re boring. My job is boring."

"I understand. I am sorry you feel that way. It was never my intention to belittle you."

As always, he put all the blame on himself. You wished you could hug him, to take away at least a fraction of the guilt he carried every day on his shoulders.

"I know," you sighed. "You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry for getting all worked up."

"There is no need to apologize. I am grateful that you opened up to me. Personally, I do not think your life is uninteresting. It is yours and yours alone; no one else in the world experiences it in quite the same way. To me, your stories are unique, as they differ so drastically from the realities of my life. I wish you could think of them the same way—to be proud of who you are and what you represent."

"You always give me something to think about before bed," you laughed. "Thank you, love. I’ll try to work on myself."

"There are still a few Earth minutes before we reach the base," he informed you, and you raised an eyebrow. "Would you like to finish the story about Cameron?"

[bloggerspam]

Building Graves like Homes

DP-only WIP based loosely off this dcxdp prompt where Danny unknowingly builds his own grave.

===

It starts with a sticker.

That's all it is, really. A stupid little sticker.

Jazz gives it to him as a joke. He did the dishes unprompted, so she gave him a gold star sticker—one of the ones she gives to the kids she tutors on Sundays and Thursdays.

It's just that the basement is comforting.

By all accounts it shouldn't be—it's cold, noisy, barren of any furniture beyond work tables and creepy weapons and mess.

By all accounts he should hate it here—his parents spend most of their time here so it's hard to find peace, his sister hates it, Sam and Tucker hate it, and Danny…well. Danny died here.

But the sticker.

There's a spot next to the portal, not quite under the jut of it, between where the side ends and where the filter sits on the wall. The hum of the portal and lab resonates just perfectly to be almost a lullaby, the edge of the portal's jutted out side providing a good little nestle spot for Danny to sit and lean against.

Danny likes to sit there, in the rare moments when his parents aren't in the lab, and just kind of…ruminate.

Today he ruminates on the sticker, the little glittery shine of it, and how funny it looks against the cold metal gray.

He sticks it on the side, where you can't really see it, and something sort of settles in him.

He stares and stares at it, feeling a little pinprick of warmth as he rubs against it with a finger, until his parents come home and he has to leave.

The warmth, however, decides to stay long after.

[householdcryptid]

NFWMB

based on the ask i got about protective pope when on-call!reader gets decked by a patient! title is a hozier song that is so pope coded it makes me ill <3 cw:canon typical violence, religious themes sort of(done poorly, I haven't been to church in years), original male character, original female character, stalking(?), idk what else yall tell me if I missed something lol. 2.K

It happens in a flash, so quickly you hardly have time to react. The patient's fist collides with your face with a sickening crunch, and you’re on the ground before you can yelp in pain. Warmth drips from your nostril, painting your upper lip crimson, an ache blooming across the bridge of your nose. 

A broken nose, the radiology tech tells you. Hairline fracture that will heal by itself, a nasty shiner to brag about for a week or so. The only thing you can think is that Andrew is going to be pissed. You’re stuffing bits of paper towel up your nostril when Claire, a fellow nurse, pipes up. 

“Should we call your boyfriend?” A denial clings to the tip of your tongue. He isn’t my boyfriend. Goes unsaid, because to be quite honest, you don’t know what you and Andrew are. You wave her off and come up with some lame excuse about him being busy with work. It isn’t technically a lie, at least. He’s always busy with something or other, and you never ask for details. The only problem is that the girls won’t let you drive yourself home. So, instead of calling Andrew, you resort to drastic measures. Your stomach twists anxiously, at the receiver's  pick up sound, and the, saccharine-sweet tone of Smurf’s voice meets your ears. “Hi there, Sunshine.” She greets, faux warm, the crooning sound of her voice making your face ache worse somehow. 

“Hey Smurf,” You greet in turn, index finger and thumb cradling the bridge of your nose tenderly. “I hate to bother you, but I have a favor to ask you if you’d be so kind?” You cringe at your own voice, pitched up and nasally. “Of course, baby,” Smurf hums in what you think is supposed to be a soothing manner. It only sets your teeth on edge. “What happened, hm?” 

“I need a ride.” Smurf had assured you, of course, that Andrew wouldn’t be bothered by your unfortunate injuries. An assurance in which you take with a grain of salt. Smurf doesn’t know Andrew as well as she thinks she does, after all. Or maybe this is her manipulative way to make you think he doesn’t give a shit. 

It takes some convincing, to get her to take you back to your apartment, and not the Cody house. You aren’t sure you’re ready to face Pope yet, buzzing with anxiety still, the adrenaline from earlier finally waning, leaving your fingers trembling and your knees weak. It’s late that night when a heavy fist hits your door. You’re groggy, stumbling to the door with a grumble. “Who s’it?” A moment of silence, and then:

“Open the door.” 

Shit. You duck your chin as you pull the door open for him, turning your head some in a feeble attempt to hide the bruise that marrs the skin beneath your eye in a bloom of reds and purples. “Hello, Andrew.” You greet, knowing you can’t escape him now. He doesn’t respond. Simply shoulders his way inside, movements a bit jerky, like he’s barely containing his rage. “Lemme see it.” He demands in place of a proper greeting, voice low, quiet like the calm before the storm. It makes you sigh, shoulders sagging, resigned to your swift coming scolding. You tip your chin back up, eyes averted from his own, shame-faced. His disappointment is obvious in the downturn at the corners of his lips, his anger is palpable. You’ve rarely seen Andrew truly angry, but it feels the same every time. Like something in the air has shifted, leaving it colder, the hairs on the back of your neck standing to attention. “It’s not so bad-” You go to downplay it, but one heavy sigh from his nose silences you. It’s quiet for a moment, the air seeming to go still, neither of you breathing for a split second. “Who?” He breaks the silence first, and it sets your nerves to fizzing all over again. “Andrew, there really isn’t a need for that-” You try to soothe, shaking your head gently, wincing when it revives the pain in your face. “Who?” He repeats, colder this time, demanding. His tone brooks no room for argument. It’s obvious he has no interest in half-assed excuses. You fumble for a second, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before you nod. “A patient at the clinic this morning,” You mumble, reluctant to share the information. “McRoy. James, I think was his name.” His jaw clenches, a rough breath leaving his nose, nostrils flared like a bull ready to charge. You can’t meet his eyes, but you can see his fingers tense, wiggle gently, before curling into fists. “He was coked out, Andrew, wasn’t thinkin’ straight. Thought I was comin’ at him with a knife or somethin’.” You try to explain, but it comes out too weak, not convincing in the slightest. He just stares, shark-eyed, can’t look away from the bruise that mottles your pretty face. He can’t think, guilt and anger twining together in his chest, settling like an old friend. Someone hurt you. Some piece of shit put his hands on you and he wasn’t there to put the man in the ground. 

He’s stock still for a long while, a handful of minutes that feel like an hour. Then he’s moving, stalking back out your front door, slamming it behind him so hard the blinds rattle loudly, breaking the tense silence. Shit, you think for a second time that night.  

  Andrew has a long-running relationship with anger. It clings to his soul, claws dug in long before he met you, the only constant in his life. This feeling? Whatever it is is ten times worse. Like his blood boils, making his skin itch, his ears hot. A white hot rage fills him each time he pictures the bruise on your face, imagines that bastard’s fist hitting your nose. Finding James McRoy isn’t difficult. A piece of shit, twice your age, covered in shitty tattoos and smelling of grime and the acrid scent of whatever he’s smoking out of that pipe. 

Pope is efficient, a well-oiled machine meant to demolish. James goes down easy. Pope’s fist cracks against his jaw, once, twice, a third time. James crumples to the floor, shouting and kicking at Pope’s shins. Pope wonders if you fought back the same way, the idea of it makes something cruel well in his chest. His boot catches James in the stomach, hard enough to knock the wind from him, and then Pope descends.

It’s well into the wee hours of the morning when you wake again. You’d stayed up an hour after Andrew left, and then another, before realizing this wasn’t some awful dream. There’s someone in your bedroom. You wake with a grumble, the ache in your nose blooming across the middle of your face. You fumble at your bedside table, searching for the bottle of Tylenol you’d left there, when a warm hand presses two pills into your palm. You jump, startled fully awake, gasping sharply. 

“The fuck-” You pause, blinking blearily as you yank on the chain of your lamp. 

“Sorry.” Andrew mumbles, retreating to the chair he’d set up by your bedside, leaned back against the wall, but he isn’t relaxed. Then again, is he ever? When your vision finally clears, you glare weakly at him. Not upset, really, just a little annoyed at being spooked so early in the morning. You get a proper look at him, and something cold settles in your belly. 

There’s blood splattered up his arms, on his shirt, his cheek. His eyes are a little wide, breathing heavy, a wild look you’ve never seen before. “Andrew..” You breathe out, a little pained, sitting up in bed, leaning towards him. “What-..?” You go to question him, but think better of it. You don’t need to ask whose blood it is, you don’t need to know details. You swallow down the questions, reaching out to take his hands in your own. He flinches minutely, fingers twitching, his eyes cutting to your own, unreadable. Your hands slow, but you don’t falter. You’d told him months ago you weren’t scared of him. He needs to know you still aren’t. “Let me see?” You ask, quiet, just above a whisper. You wait for his tiny nod, more a jerk of his chin downwards, before you take his hands in your own. His knuckles are split, an angry red that’ll scab over by morning, turn a pretty shade of purple in some places, but no fingers are broken. He tenses while you look over his hands, staring down at you, silent as the grave. You don’t know what to say, for once. With Andrew, it’s always been easy. Some inexplicable understanding between the two of you, no words needed most of the time. Now it feels different. You feel like you need to say something, show some form of gratitude maybe, even if it’s fucked up. But the words don’t come, and you end up thumbing over the back of his hand absentmindedly. “You should take the pills.” He mutters, gruff and low, his voice hoarse like he’d been shouting. His eyes are glued to where you’re cradling his hands. Transfixed, as if he simply can’t look away. It makes you smile for some reason, his worry. “Probably.” His eyes flicker up to your own, the set of his jaw slackening some. Your smile soothes him. You aren’t angry with him, you aren’t scared. “Had to do it.” He mumbles, lips twisted up, biting at the inside of them. “He hurt you.” 

The words leave him like a confession, like he’s begging for forgiveness. “I know.” You reply quietly. “It’s okay.”The tension bleeds from his shoulders, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. It’s absolution, your assurance. His breath rushes from him, trembling slightly, his chin dropping to his chest. He brings your hands up, presses the backs of them to his face, and burrows into your touch. You think your heart might be breaking. “Andrew,” You whisper, sliding from the bed, kneeling in front of him, your hands turning to cup his cheeks. You duck your head, catching his gaze. “Thank you.” His eyes flit across your face, swallowing hard. He looks younger, frightened. You wonder how he was as a kid, sometimes. If he’d always been so intense, if there was ever a moment in his life when he felt good. He leans forward, sagging into your hands, presses his forehead to your own, breathing hard. His eyes close, and he just..breathes you in. This is all he needs, all he wants. To have you close, safe, where he can smell your shampoo, and that coconut body lotion you use. “Let’s lie down,” You suggest softly, thumbs brushing along his cheeks. “Yeah?” His eyebrows furrow some, warring with himself mentally, before he nods, sighing through his nose. Gentling him into your bed is easier than it should be, you think. You’d always imagined he might put up a fight, get closed off and stiff. But when you climb in next to him? He melts. Curls himself around you, presses his face to your chest, forehead at the hollow of your throat, head bowed, arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you in. You have no option but to wrap yourself around him in return. He sucks in a breath like he hasn’t been able to for the whole night, the exhale shaking a bit.  It’s too easy to fall asleep like this when he’s so warm and nuzzling at the skin just below your collarbone absently. Your fingers find his hair, and he sighs against your sternum. Sleep finds you quickly, then, falling fast and deep. You don’t know what the two of you are to each other, still, but whatever it is? You hope it never ends. 

[utopeian]

a man who yearns

SUMMARY Having his hands on you keeps him present. Little does Bob know, his touch is what keeps you present.

PAIRING bob reynolds x gender neutral!thunderbolt!reader

GENRE vague relationship, but they like each other, fluff, a lot of nonsexual intimacy

WORD COUNT 1k+

WARNINGS not proofread! reader wears heels and makeup, no mention of Y/N

AUTHOR’S NOTE hi, this is my first time writing for bob! so sorry in advance for the inaccuracies.. this was based off a little dream i had, hehe.. hope y'all still like it, though! <3

The minimal chatter and droning of the television that usually echoes throughout the newly renovated living quarters are absent. A rare occasion. The only way one can get to experience this wholly is to sneak out of Valentina’s galas hours earlier than intended; that’s exactly what you and Bob did. Over, and over, and over again. The rest of the team stopped questioning your sudden disappearances after the first few times, eventually understanding that the two of you need a head-start to recover from social settings.

“I don’t understand it. Just don’t interact with anyone when you get tired, easy!”

“Alexei, that is not how it works.”

Although this time, you might’ve had one too many servings of champagne tonight before booking it out of the flashy venue. You wanted to try something out of your comfort zone, slowly but surely. You knew it was a disaster waiting to happen when you asked Yelena in passing if you should let loose, but you still wanted her validation. (Of course, she enabled you; she always thinks you deserve to let loose).

The tipsy haze slowing your movement and speech might not be clear to you, but it is to Bob. Even if he wanted to drink as much as you so you wouldn’t feel all alone, it would’ve evaporated the moment it entered his system, because of the serum and all. Instead, he settled for the next best thing: being your guardian angel for the night. That’s how the two of you end up on the floor, you using one of the sleek couches as a backrest as he sits across from you. He’d follow you anywhere, no matter how questionable. Bob doesn’t mean to cut your tangent off when he blurts out, “Why are we on the floor again?” He tenses immediately when he imagines your reaction to what he just did. He prepares for the worst.

You blink twice, not too bothered that the topic changed, knowing it had to stop at some point. You don’t really remember what you were going on about, anyway. “Oh! My heels are still on. Don’t wanna get up anymore.” The reason doesn’t make sense, but Bob keeps that comment to himself. The last thing he wants is to upset a tipsy you, or you at any moment in time. He instead focuses on the fact that you don’t hate him just because he diverted your attention away from what you were talking about.

You straighten your legs in front of you from their initial folded position, alternating each polished shoe tip to playfully point in Bob’s direction. Despite your follow-up complaint that you want them off, you do nothing. He knows you’re fully capable of doing things on your own when you want to, that’s only one of the many things he loves about you, but he tries to grab every opportunity to show you that he cares. This is no different. He shuffles in his place and takes advantage of your position as you start talking about a movie you rewatched the other day, oblivious to what he’s planning. 

He reaches over to gently grab the back of your shoe and slips it off your foot, shyly glances up to see that you’re still distracted, then takes the other off. Bob has one heel in each hand and hesitates for a second, thinking of where to put them. The poor, patient soul had really tried to listen to you while multitasking, but your words started running into each other. He didn’t catch the title of the film you were talking about (did you even mention it?). Your monologuing continues as he settles to put them about an arm's length away from the two of you, nodding at whatever you were saying, ensuring the pair was still in pristine condition. 

You fold your ankle over the other mindlessly, not noticing all that’s left to cover your feet are your stockings with some runs at the bottom. A corner of the brunet’s lips fondly quirks up at your action. Bob finally exhales through his nose; he’s thankful he can go back to listening to you properly. Well, he never listens to you fully, though, because he gets distracted by how beautiful you look in the dimly lit space with your makeup a little worn in, how the intimate setting fuels the wildfire spreading throughout his chest. Before he can stop himself, Bob inches closer to you, afraid to startle you but desperate to touch you in any form. As long as it’s you, it doesn’t matter how. Having his hands on you keeps him present. Little does he know, his touch is what keeps you present.

Unknowingly, in a way that makes it look like it’s as simple as breathing, he pulls you softly by the ankles to rest your feet on his lap. His hands don’t leave. Instead, they soothingly circle the inner parts of your ankle. Bob sees you practically melt under his touch, dissolving your train of thought to a sigh of relief. It’s enough to get him giddy; making you feel good makes him feel good. Your eyes flutter closed for a good minute before you remember where you are. “If you wanted me to shut up, y’should have just told me.”

His actions halt for a second, before he continues out of fear of getting chastised. “No! Keep telling me about Mr. Darcy and how a man who yearns is a man who earns.” You smile dopily at him and his heart wants to race out of his chest. You gladly continue.

The distant twinkling of the city lights against the abyss of the night, the occasional sirens and the flashing blues and reds, the humming of airplanes passing. The world around you accompanies your aimless conversation, but in this moment, you forget that you are two out of billions of… everything. It doesn’t matter, these details don’t matter. Everything fades away in the background because you have each other. That’s all you need. 

[maimaily]

the lads boys as kittens. 🪐 ‧₊˚ xavier

summary: You were living in your new apartment now, a free space for yourself, but maybe it was too free. You weren't quite used to the silence and loneliness of it, so you decided to welcome a little one to your home. After considering many options, a cat seemed adequate: clean, independent, wouldn't take much of your time like a dog… right?

characters: kitty!xavier (other characters will be posted separately), mc as reader.

a/n: cat breeds are selected based on the "Yes, Cat Caretaker" event. If there's any change, it'll be based on the appearance of each breed, but not its personality traits strictly. proofread but if there's any mistake please let me know! (eng isn't my first language).

rafayel 🢒 zayne 🢒 sylus 🢒 caleb (coming soon)

Xavier — Ragdoll How did he get to live with you?

You adopted him. He was going to be your first cat, so you wanted to make sure you were choosing the right one, and receiving recommendations from an adoption center was the best idea. You went there and heard of a slightly older cat who hadn't been adopted yet. A single look was enough to know he was the one. His bright blue eyes stared at you, and his paws tried to reach you as you got closer. A little nervous of scaring him, you gently allowed him to sniff your finger, and he then rubbed against your hand. It is not necessary to say you decided you'd give your life for him.

On the way home, the little kitty curled into a puffy ball of fur, sleeping peacefully after feeling safe in your warm arms ♡

Little did you know what this little thing really was !!

This kitty EATS. A LOT. You can easily win his heart with treats. He can smell them even before you open any can or package, but will wait like the good boy he is, with both front paws stomping cutely on the floor. However, you had to cut back on them because your wallet was starting to suffer the consequences of a gluttonous kitten. Poor thing got upset for a while, but the food was still yummy, so he adapted (he's not that much of a picky eater…)

Eepy baby. He's a sweetheart and always, I repeat, always cuddles to take naps with you. The kind of cat who climbs onto the bed the moment you flop down on it and makes his way between your arms to be cuddled and sleep. Purrs quietly and very softly, and will rub against your hands as he does. Rarely meows, but does it when he's being needy. Has fallen asleep while eating or drinking his warm milk more than once, his little chin all dirty, so you have to clean him (he doesn't like it!).

He follows you everywhere. Whatever you're doing, if you're walking around the house, he'll follow you like a loyal knight. His fluffy tail moves gently against your legs when you're standing, washing the dishes, brushing your teeth, or cooking. Sometimes he expects you to see him (you do) to pick him up (you always do). He's a needy boy! Needs lots and lots of your attention!

Talking about attention, he climbs onto your body when he feels neglected. You were happily cooking, humming the songs on your playlist, chopping vegetables for the new dish you wanted to try- and then oop! The weight of a fluffy hairball snags on the fabric of your hoodie back without warning. "Xavi! Don't move- Don't move!" you urgently exclaimed as you slowly moved back from the hot stove. Can you blame him? He just wanted to spend time with you :(

Great hunter in every shape! A cockroach? He's already smacking it with his paws. A fly? He already jumped to catch it. Mosquitos? He saw them even before you did. If by any chance there's a mouse or rat inside, be sure he's getting rid of it! And he's so fast! (Give him a treat afterwards, he deserves it.)

Grumpy if you wake him up. He hates the vacuum cleaner with his life, and hates it even more if you decide to use it when he's just fallen asleep. When you switched to an automatic one, he smacked it with his angry paws each time it bumped onto him. Doesn't hiss at you, he's too docile for that, but will meow very loudly until you comfort him back to sleep (and give him treats-).

His favorite place to make biscuits is your chest while you're lying down. If you're watching some TV, reading a book, scrolling down your phone, or simply flopped down on the sofa or your bed, he climbs on top of you and makes his way to your chest and starts kneading very gently. He never uses his claws on you, so you allow him to do it, it's his way of bonding with you and relieving some stress after all <3.

Sulkynator 2000. Baby boy gets UPSET to astronomical levels when you even mention other cats. Do NOT play with his little heart like this! :( Why are you watching cat videos if he's right there? He can do tricks too! Or why are you petting the neighbor's dog? He's dirty and too loud! Xavi is clean, he doesn't leave mud on your carpet, and doesn't bark in the middle of the night for no good reason! :(( You'll have to face a moody Xavier for a good time until you soothe his poor feelings.

It was a quiet Sunday morning. The weather outside was hot, and that woke you up, along with the blinding sun that entered the room from the window in front of the bed. You stirred, kicking the blankets away when a gentle paw touched your cheek.

"Morning, Xavi!" You baby-talked to your little prince cat, who had just woken up by your sudden movements, stirring with you and slowly opening his little blue eyes, struggling to keep them open for too long. "Oh no, what are we gonna do? My prince is too eepy to start the day!" You giggled, taking him in your arms and cuddling him once more, kissing his little face. He didn't even need to convince you to sleep five more minutes, his mere sleepy presence was enough for you to feel lazy again and go back to the bed.

But today was too hot to stay in, and you wanted to change out of your pajamas as soon as possible. With another kiss, you sweet-talked your lazy cat to wake up and have breakfast, but he just purred in response and kept his eyes closed. Accepting the impossible, you just got up, feeling his small claw clinging to your shirt; you couldn't sleep with him anymore, but you couldn't ignore his adorable attempt of keeping you close, so you cradled him like a baby, holding him in your arms and even rocking him a little.

If Xavier could blush, he would definitely do so at that right moment. He was a big cat already! But… your arms were so warm and he was so comfy… That's how you ended up carrying him to the bathroom, brushing your teeth with one hand and holding him with the other, then you made him lie against your shoulder, taking your hair products out.

"Mwraa," he protested when you set him down on the floor outside the bathroom. "I need to take a shower. Wait outside, breakfast will be ready in a minute." It wasn't really breakfast that his meowjesty was requesting, but his comfortable sleeping spot: you! But now he couldn't bring himself to be sleepy again, so he wandered around the apartment lazily, finding a good place in front of the balcony door to sunbathe.

When you came out of the bathroom with your hair still dripping wet, the first thing you saw was that adorable bundle of fur lying on his back with his little paws stretched faaar as he just finished doing the most exhausting job in the world. And maybe he did, carrying all that beauty had to be exhausting!

"My, look what I found!" You crouched down to him with a big smile, tickling his tummy, which he quickly defended by trapping your hand. "Is Xavi the prince enjoying the warm weather? Hm?" He got up in a swift move and rubbed against your legs, his long, fluffy tail almost tickling your nose. You picked him up, peppering his face with kisses before putting him down again. "Let's get breakfast, come on."

He happily followed behind you, passing through your legs when you leaned down to pick his empty bowl from the floor. The good thing with Xavier was that no food went to waste… which was also bad because it meant that tummy seemed to never fill. He meowed only once as he saw you open the wet food package.

"Almost done, Xavi. Wait a second," and he did, his little paw ritual bringing a smile to your face. When you put the plate down, he hurriedly took the first bite. "Enjoy, baby. Ah- I forgot to take out the trash." The hurried sense flooded through your veins as you saw the hour. "Wait for me, I'm back in a minute!" Your hands were quicker to pick up the smelly garbage bag and run out of the complex to dispose of it before the truck came by.

You did it just in time, sighing in relief as you walked back, until you saw an adorable stray kitten playing with a plastic bottle cap between his paws. "Look at you, aren't you having fun?" At the sound of your voice the kitten stopped playing but didn't run away, an act you took as an open invitation to get closer. You fawned over the stray, your voice melting into playful coos as you playfully ruffled its fur.

It wasn't until a loud noise from the street scared the small cat you realized you'd been playing with it for a long time. With a content sigh you dusted your hands off and walked back to the complex. Inside your home, Xavier had already finished his food, waiting patiently around the entry for you to come back, blue eyes locked on the door as if he was afraid to miss your arrival. When he heard the soft click of it, he meowed as a greeting, until… What was that?

"Ah Xavi. I'm back, did you finish your food-?" You hadn't finished your question when his fluffy body jumped right at your arms with an angry growl. It surprised you, honestly, he was always so calm and loving that this behavior only occurred when… Oh.

"Is someone jealous over here? You don't like that I- Ow! Hey!" He didn't scratch you, but he definitely was about to chomp that teasing finger you were wiggling in front of his very upset self. He meowed in protest, trying with all his might to rub himself against you once again! How could you do this? He works so hard keeping his scent on you, and now you come back after a fifteen-minute leave, invading his sensitive nostrils with another's cat scent? Oh no, he wasn't having it.

But you couldn't contain your laughter. He wasn't even scary and wasn't hurting you because he trusted you too much to do that, but he was madly funny when he got like that. "I see, I see. I made Xavier upset. I apologize, baby," you said, cradling him in your arms as you sat on the couch. "How can I get your forgiveness, hm?" Xavier acted like he hadn't heard you, wiggling his tail still in his petty mood, squirming gently in your arms as if trying to get away. "Ah ah ah. Don't you want me to be only yours, your majesty? Gotta stay here for that, then. What about I give you a small catnip treat I got you yesterday?"

His entire expression shifted. Oh well. You were right, of course you were, mm-hmm. He couldn't be mad at you all day either, could he? And now he moved closer to you, licking gently your cheek, bringing a smile to your face. "Now who's a good boy, huh? Of course you are, you'll always be."

Xavier held no grudges against you, he never did. After all, who else on this planet would love him as you did, after facing loneliness for so long? He was your good boy, and he'd be always there for you.

© MAIMAILY. Please do not steal, copy or plagiarize this work.

Likes, reblogs are comments are greatly appreciated!

I did it! I can believe the amount of time it took me to finish this, but it's been ages since I last wrote any kind of fanfiction or content for fandoms so I'm a bit nervous. I hope you like it, and if it's the case I'm so happy for that! I'm already working on Rafayel's version so don't miss it <3

Dividers made by: @uzmacchiato and @v6que

[iceey07]

So a handful of people were asking for lore based on this so here's a quick lore

Yes it is Prowl Jazz or Jazzprowl (idk which one it is) and its doomed yaoi

They love eachother but that fact is a threat to themselves. Theyre respected autobots. The right and left hand of Optimus prime.

Jazz loves Prowl, he can feel a deep respect that Prowl rarely gives to anyone else and had supported him. Assisting him on missions or giving out good word in his favor for Jazz. But he always felt more than just respect or a strange friendship

Jazz is like mysterious extrovert. He is a team A leader and the glue to any fall out of a team but he is rarely open. Many bots dont realize how little they know about him because he makes itmore about everyone else than himself.

But why do tney contradict each other to a point where they are both enemies and lovers and hate the fact that They love each other?

Prowl is all control, logic, order. He strategizes three steps ahead, and his world has to make sense. He's the type to suppress emotion until it eats him from the inside, all for the mission. He Values efficiency, hierarchy, rules- and he needs to believe that following them leads to victory.

Jazz, on the other hand, thrives in chaos. He's improvisational, intuitive, people-first. He leads by heart and gut, not protocol. His adaptability is his strength, and he finds meaning the moment, not necessarily in the plan.

So when they love each other, it's a threat. Not because of the love itself, but because what it represents:

For Prowl: Jazz's very existence is a constant reminder that you can win people over, lead effectively, and find meaning without control. That terrifies Prowl, because if Jazz is right, then Prow|'s entire worldview-his way of coping with war, trauma, and identity- starts to crack.

For Jazz: Prowl is the kind of person who eminds him of the cold, distant command structures that cost lives and relationships. But Prowl isn't heartless--he's just guarded. And that makes Jazz care. Deeply. Which he hates, because caring about someone so rigid, so by-the-book, means opening up to something he can't control either.

They hate that they love each other ecause it means vulnerability.

Loving Prowl means Jazz has to admit he wants structure sometimes. Sometimes he wishes he could be seen not just as the fun-loving, reliable guy but as something deeper--and Prowl does see that.

Loving Jazz means Prowl has to admit that he wants to feel. To be spontaneous. That he's tired of being the calculating machine. And Jazz is the only one who can reach that part of him- and it terrifies him.

So what happens?????

It was a terrible moment when Prowl decided to change the spec ops' plans when infiltrating the decepticon base during a plan of attack.

As a result he knew it would cost a few lives. He told nimself that its for the greater good even though it would upset Jazz. He trusted Jazz's abilities and knew he would get out alive with the cost of his bots but he also knew he would be enraged.

He knew he couldnt argue Jazz into the plan so he did it behind his back last minute. It almost killed Jazz but he survived. The reason why Jazz looks away in the video first is because Jazz is the one who rejects him.

Jazz rejected Prow| first. The one bot he trusted betrayed him and got his soldiers killed for the sake of results.

So in the end Jazz tells himself that love was a luxury anyway

THATS ALL I HAVE FOR NOW. probably revise cus im still not satisfied. FEEL FREE TO SUGGEST THINGS IN THE ASK BOX THINGY

[zorosdimples]

UNDER HIS THUMB ꒰ uraume x reader x sukuna ꒱

minors and blank/ageless blogs do not interact—i will block you. cw: suggestive content. nonconsensual nudity. dubious touching. brief descriptions of cannibalism and violence. suicide mention. reader is referred to as “bride” and “wife.” reader has breasts. wc: 1053. notes: uraume ily—please ditch shitkuna for me <3 (based on this idea)

A fire blazes in the yawning hearth, bathing your bedchamber in a warm titian. The shadows of flames leap and dance across the cragged stone walls—a solar flare—a cosmic spectacle. Logs and branches resembling human bones sputter and spark, crackling in your ears. You shift in your seat. 

The diaphanous veil remains pinned to your crown as Uraume’s fingers move deftly through your locks, the sweeping gossamer that brushes your ankles now pooling on the floor. They unravel the intricate updo they crafted for the ceremony, your hair a glowing halo in the firelight, head bowed in gentle subservience. The pins that bite at your scalp are crusted in blood; the sharp pain has long-since softened into a dull throb.

“I hate him,” you announce. 

(It’s how you cope with your precarious situation: burying your fears beneath carefully woven layers of disdain.) 

Barren aside from a bed, a wardrobe, and an armchair, your threadbare accommodations are as cozy as a dungeon. No torch, tapestry, or looking glass adorns the walls. Your companion’s expression is hidden as they continue their work atop your head.

Uraume chastises you after a few beats, affectation frigid as ice. “You shouldn’t speak of your husband in such a manner.” 

You snort. This one-sided union will only further scar the ugly face of matrimony; looking upon your captor with respect or affection is as likely as you kissing the cheek of your slain mother a final time. “My ‘husband’ for all of ten minutes.”

“And still your husband, nonetheless.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you snap. 

Uraume pushes you to your feet and fluffs the veil with a hum. They circle you, appraising your body—the flimsy, silken robe that ripples across your curves hides nothing from their piercing stare—then, for what must be the fifth time, they adjust the knot that holds the garment together. When their eyes meet yours, you find yourself falling for the ruse, plucking fresh buds from a field of fuchsia.

How you wish their gaze held more than cool indifference.

Ever perceptive, they reach out to gingerly tuck a wayward strand behind your ear; if you close your eyes and still your heaving chest, you can pretend that it’s an intimate gesture—the touch of a lover. “Rarely do we have a say in our own fates,” Uraume muses. 

Fidgeting with your fingers, you quell the urge to embrace your attendant. (It’s a disgraceful thought for a newlywed. But you can’t spool in the words that unfurl from your lips, the edges raw, frayed with longing.)

“I would have taken my life if it hadn’t been for you, Uraume. I can’t stand him.” 

“Master Sukuna would never allow you to harm yourself.” 

“Tch—that vile brute cares little for my well being.” Hatred flares within your chest, your once-blooming heart now withered with rot. Tears of anguish blur your vision and make each syllable tremble. “If he didn’t want to harm me, he wouldn’t have murdered and feasted on my family.” 

A smile tucks itself in the corners of Uraume’s lips like a secret, though you miss it—misty-eyed and waist-deep in a deluge of painful memories. “You seem to forget that I prepared their flesh at my lord’s behest.” 

“I can’t fault you for being trapped under his thumb; you’re kinder than you give yourself credit for, anyhow.” 

They chuckle darkly. “And what leads you to believe that?” 

It doesn’t occur to you until this moment that you’ve edged closer to Uraume. If you leaned forward, you would smell the frost on their porcelain skin, taste the mint on their breath. Despite yourself, you reach out, cupping their cheek. 

“You’ve been my devoted caretaker since I arrived, patient and helpful at every turn. Your presence is the only constant here—my sole comfort.”

“Oh? Is my blushing bride ready to consummate our unholy union?” A rumbling voice cracks the tense air open like a bone, marrow seeping out, juices staining the tender earth. 

Your neck snaps to the doorway. Your monster of a husband nearly blots out the frame with his inhuman physique, clothed in nothing but a simple pair of black trousers, both sets of arms crossed. Disgust pinches your brow and purses your lips; you sneer. 

“With you? Never.”

Amused by your vehemence, the King of Curses approaches you, both mouths curled into wolfish grins. Uraume bows as Sukuna invades your space, two clawed hands wrapping around your waist, the other two cradling your skull. He demands your attention, irises a wine-dark sea of skeletons and ichor. A cursed siren urges you to plunge into its depths. End your suffering.

“Uraume—has my wife been inappropriate with you in my absence?” 

Without hesitation, they answer: “Yes, my lord.” 

Several sets of eyes—one belonging to Uraume, the others to Sukuna—gorge on your discomfort. You bristle under their scrutiny, and fruitlessly attempt to rip yourself from your husband’s grasp, nails scratching angry lines across his tattooed forearms. 

He clicks his tongue. “My naughty little bride.”  

Bile burns your throat at the mock-endearment, bitterness coating your tongue. For as resolved as you’ve been, you shake with rage, the hulking beast before you stoking the embers of your wrath. He smiles something sharp and wicked before releasing you. You stumble backwards, limp as a ragdoll. 

“Uraume,” Sukuna commands. 

There’s an unspoken agreement between master and servant. When Uraume steps forward and swiftly unties your robes, you shriek, the fabric slipping open to expose your nude form. They proceed to rip the garment from your body; it falls to the floor in wispy shreds. 

Attempting to preserve your dignity, you scramble to wrap an arm around your chest and press a palm between your legs. “This hardly seems proper,” you pant. 

Sukuna snickers as he sits at the foot of your bed, spreading his legs. “How else is a ‘vile brute’ supposed to learn the intricacies of his little wife’s body if not through careful examination?” 

As much as you want to spew poison at him, you gasp when Uraume’s chilly lips graze the arch of your neck, their delicate hands slipping up to caress the swell of your breasts. Unable to stifle the moan that warbles past your lips, you make the sinister decision to revel in this pleasure—no matter how short-lived, underhanded, or wrong it may be.

[luvingjeanie]

streamerboyfriend yuji x fem!reader PART TWO!

non-sorcerer!au, yuji is not a vessel, he’s just a goofy guy

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

streamerboyfriend!yuji who beefs with his chat over you. seeing as his audience is mainly girls, the moment they’re introduced to you, and the more you become a regular ‘guest’ on your boyfriend’s streams the ‘can yuji fight?’ comments start rolling in.

‘YES i can fight’

starts talking about fights he was in during highschool and pointing to his muscles (not flexing for the chat, simply holding his arm out) and says LOOK to prove he can hold his own😭🙏

streamerboyfriend!yuji who starts whining like a petulant child when you start playing along with the chat </3

streamerboyfriend!yuji who lowkey actually really loves that everyone thinks his girlfriend is so pretty, because you are!!!

OOOOO when his fans start editing you too??? he’s reposting sm😭

not ALL of them, but the good ones with songs he KNOWSS you like? yeah

sending all the ones he doesn’t repost to you

‘baby!!! look, ur so prettyyyy everyone thinks so!’

streamerboyfriend!yuji who UNFORTUNATELY is an attractive, charming, silly, kind guy with a majority female audience. now don’t get it twister, he loves the support, he loves connecting with fans through chats, and he LOVES the kind, genuine ones. however, like with all attractive guys like yuji, there are some fan girls who may hate you because they have the most intense crush on him, and some even, with how much easier it is to connect snd be personable through streaming, have a parasocial relationship with him.

any hate you get in chat? he already instructed the mods to get ON it so he doesn’t even have to say anything

any hate for you that comes up on his fyp or timeline (which is rare, due to his algorithm anything he sees in relation to his pretty girl is usually overwhelmingly positive) he has that person BLOCKED and sometimes goes to your phone to block them for you too😭

any hate messages you get? also blocked!

he doesn’t want to openly fight back, because of his following it would be too public and all around just not a good look, although you had to convince him of this

but over time people noticed the blocking and the few people (and i mean few, most of his fans love you) who were hating and being mean got the hint (most of them anyway, there’s still some crazy ones)

streamerboyfriend!yuji who helps you out with your socials when you inevitably get a larger following through his fans flocking to your socials🫶

that is if you were okay with yuji tagging you in posts! if you wanted to keep your socials private he’d obviously be all for that! he’s so supportive!

but!!! if you were okay and comfortable with getting a bigger following, he’d help you manage stuff!!! (would even try to convince you to stream yourself!)

‘c’mon cutie! you’d be so good!!’

‘they love you on my streams, i already know they’d watch yours too!’

‘more content of the pretty girllll’

streamerboyfriend!yuji who eats it up when you start getting sponsors and shit if you gradually start gaining your own fan base from whatever it is you do with your following😭

beauty content??? girl what is all this makeup in your shared apartment, but he listens to you talk anyway (a photo of him posing like a fucking idiot with some expensive product you got sent is uploaded on your ig story)

food/cooking/baking content??? PLEASE let him be in your videos to try the food😭 if you get invited to some nice ass restaurant and it’s a day he can’t go??? he WILL be pouting like a scolded child when you get home

cosplay content? your couples halloween costume goes CRAZY

your own gaming content?? if you play scary games he’ll sit beside you while you stream for funsies and fans love watching you two shit yourselves together over jumpscares😭 (i’m thinking the re8 baby has you both jumping out of your chairs)

whatever it is, he’s there for it, our supportive boy!

streamerboyfriend!yuji who is not nonchalant at all, he doesn’t care that he’s technically an internet celebrity (he hates that term, do NOT say it to his face, it makes him feel so weird), you’re still HIS girl

he WILL be reposting your tik toks of just you looking pretty, he WILL be reposting your ig posts and stories onto his, he’s GOTTA hype you up

will reply to a comment or two from his fans who are still at it with the ‘can yuji fight????’ shit just to be funny because he silly like that

streamerboyfriend!yuji is also, not only your boyfriend, but your bestfriend and you playfully bicker on stream ALL the time. when you first started appearing on his streams he was so sweet and nice and calm in contrast to how loud and stupid he usually acts

but when you become a regular guest he’s throwing quips right back, and any little remark you make??? jaw to the floor like its the most offensive thing any one has ever uttered

‘BABE i’m gonna get u cancelled’

‘go say that on twitter’

(you didn’t even say anything bad, he’s just a goofy goober like that🫶)

streamerboyfriend!yuji who doesn’t let anything get to his head, who is genuine, who is humble, who doesn’t change who he is because people like him (and crush on him), he’s still your same old, sweet and kind boy who just now has girls making thirst edits of him accidentally flexing his biceps on tik tok <3

[nicknackpw]

Polyancients headcanons because I can

Body type wise both dark cacao and hollyberry are the biggest. Both of them are insanely muscular, the difference is hollyberry has wide hips and thighs that could kill and dark cacao has broad shoulders and man titties with a snatched waist

Golden cheese is all lean muscle. Great abs, muscular thighs, but she's not big. She's the second smallest just over pure vanilla and lords it over him every chance she gets (she's like 2 inches taller)

Pure vanilla is a short king, like 5'2" but cookie equivalent, he kinda has a sleeper build, but it doesn't matter because the others can just pick him up whenever they please

White Lilly cookie is the tallest of all of them, and also the skinniest. She's all beanpole, and while her posture already wasn't great, it gets even worse after she's woken up

Now I don't know enough about the lore to take a hard stance but I don't actually think that they all got together before the flour wars or after them either. I think that they all wanted to, but assumed no one else was interested so never confessed. Afterwards they're all busy with their kingdoms and lives and it isn't until after they finally pass on their kingdoms and soul jams that they can get together and just live on a farm somewhere

(On another note i know it's not really confirmed how or when cookies get old or how immortality works, so I'm just gonna assume it's power scaled and since all of them were strong before they had the soul jams I'm just going to assume they have plenty of years to live out their lives)

Also on the note of soul jams, who do I think they would be passed to? Well I saw a parallel between the main story characters and the ancients that I reblogged, but! there's a more interesting answer I believe

For the soul jam of truth I think pv would either give it to custard cookie the iii or to raisin cookie (this is under the assumption that raisin cookie wouldn't join the polycule which is a whole other story)

For passion, I think the obvious answer is princess cookie, she's a direct descendant and basically proved her worth in the princess contest, but other than that I think choco werehound brute would be the funny answer

For resilience I am literally begging and pleading for dark cacao cookie to apologize to his son and give him the soul jam. I would give anything for it I would write it I would draw it if I could I just need it so so desperately

For abundance it would probably go to one of the other cheese cookies, buttttt from the very little I know of capsaicin cookie (literally nothing I saw the thumbnail of one YouTube video) I think he should get it

Lastly freedom, I think white Lilly would either give it to silverbell, or I think that cream puff cookie should get it purely based on vibes

Also all the ancients are different brands of autistic except golden cheese, she has adhd

Pure vanilla and white Lilly cookie both have the, "wait they were flirting with/bullying/wanted to be friends with me?" Mostly, and pv does the blunt truth thing that neurotypicals hate and white Lilly goes into research mode and doesn't eat or drink for a day or two unless someone makes her

Dark cacao is kinda obvious, there's only so much one man can talk about his literal sword and it feels like every time he has a moment in the story it has to be mentioned once, he's always bringing up his special interest (just like me fr)

Hollyberry is audhd, but sadly cannot claim the uncanny adhd reading people. It's very rare that she dedicates herself to one special interest and instead cycles through a few (she's also just like me fr)

I don't have more depth on golden cheese because I'm still learning about her character, but she just has the vibes

[orellazalonia]

Wherever You Are, I’ll Stay

Summary: You are a stealth-based Avenger with the ability to teleport, often the one pulling teammates out of danger. However, when you’re injured on a mission one day, you’re found by Bucky, panicking as he tells you that you could’ve escaped. You admit you stayed because you couldn’t leave him behind. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the ability to teleport.

Word Count: 1.6k+

A/N: We are so back with a super powered reader! Ignore that it’s been a day or two. It feels like forever to me lol. Happy reading!

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

You were the teleporting specialist on the team. A living escape route, as Tony once put it, even though you hated the way it made you sound like a tool instead of a person. Your powers weren’t eye-catching like Wanda’s or devastating like Thor’s, but they were precise, fast, and life-saving. You could vanish in the blink of an eye and reappear on the other side of a locked compound without so much as triggering a motion sensor.

What made your ability rare wasn’t just that you could teleport. In fact, plenty of enhanced individuals could, in theory. But the level of control you had was what made you stand out. You could take others with you. You could land in tight quarters without crashing into walls. You could sense coordinates by memory, not just by sight. And most importantly, you could stay calm under pressure, until recently.

Lately, your powers had started to falter under stress. It didn’t happen all the time, but it was enough to plant a seed of doubt in your mind that stayed long enough to hesitate.

You hadn’t told Bucky.

You weren’t exactly sure why. Maybe because he looked at you like you were the one person on the team he didn’t have to worry about. You were competent, quiet, and observant. When missions went to hell, you were the person he looked to and the one he trusted to get everyone out. You didn’t want to shatter that image. You didn’t want him to look at you differently.

Especially not when things between you had started to… shift.

It hadn’t happened in an instant. It was in the small things, the slow things. Like the way he stood a little closer when debriefings dragged too long. The way he always offered an extra water bottle during training without asking if you needed it. Or maybe it was the way his fingers brushed your shoulder when passing behind you, like he couldn’t help needing a point of contact.

You hadn’t talked about it and you didn’t need to. It was present in the silence, in the weight of his glances, and in the softness of his voice when he said your name. A voice so different from the clipped tone he used with everyone else.

You’d die for Bucky Barnes.

But more than that, you’d stay alive for him too.

One mission you were given was intel extraction from a dormant Hydra site outside Budapest. It was expected to have low resistance and a swift completion. You’d done dozens of missions like this, but something had felt off the moment you landed. It was too quiet, too clean. Bucky had gone to secure the east corridor while you took the west.

Then the ambush hit.

You’d fought back, ducking and teleporting rapidly, as you disabled guards as they came. But there were more of them than you had anticipated, and one of them managed to clip you. A messy shot to the side. It wasn’t fatal, but it was deep. And worse, it shook your focus.

The pain bloomed like fire in your ribs, radiating outward. You tried to port, but your vision blurred, your body trembled, and your power slipped from your grasp like sand through your fingers. You blinked out but not far enough. Just into another corner of a nearby room, a couple feet away, where you collapsed behind a half-toppled server bank.

You could’ve tried again. You could’ve forced it. But something in you wouldn’t let go of one thought:

Bucky’s still in the building.

You didn’t know where. You didn’t know if he was safe or had been ambushed too. You didn’t care that your side was soaked with blood, or that your head throbbed from slamming against the wall when you landed wrong.

You weren’t leaving without him, even if it killed you.

Your breathing had grown shallow by the time Bucky found you. You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, staring up at the flickering ceiling lights, but the moment the door slammed open with a crash of metal and rage, you knew it was him. You always knew.

“Hey- hey!” His voice was rough with panic, feet pounding across the broken floor until he dropped to his knees beside you. “You're alive-! Thank god, you're alive.”

You opened your eyes, barely. “I said I’d be,” You rasped, the words sticking to your tongue.

Bucky’s hands hovered over you, uncertain and frustrated. He was scanning for wounds, piecing together what had happened. “You're hit.” His voice dropped, the softness undercut by fury. “Why didn’t you teleport out of here?”

You winced, not from the pain, but from the question. “Tried,” You whispered. “Wasn’t focused, too much adrenaline… too much noise.”

“Still,” He snapped. “Still… you could’ve gotten out. That’s what you’re supposed to do. That’s what you always do.”

You looked at him, gaze resting onto his worried expression. And for a moment, he didn’t see the blood or the wound or the mission. He saw you. Pale, exhausted, stubborn, and still here.

“I didn’t want to leave you behind,” You admitted. The truth tasted heavier than blood.

Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed. He shook his head with a shaky breath. “You’re out of your mind,” He muttered.

You smiled weakly. “You’re one to talk.”

His hands finally stopped trembling enough to press against your wound in a gentle but firm way. “You could’ve died,” He reminded you again, his voice cracking. “I could’ve walked into this room and found your body. You ever think about that?”

You let your eyes fall shut for a moment. “I thought about how I’d rather die with you than live not knowing what happened to you.”

The silence was thick. Bucky didn’t speak for a moment, but when he did, his voice was low and nearly broken.

“You really are out of your mind,” He repeated, but softer now. “And I don’t think I’ve ever loved someone more because of it.”

Your eyes fluttered open. “That a confession, Barnes?”

He exhaled a laugh, but it was tight, like it hurt. “Damn right it is.”

Carefully, he pulled you into his arms, supporting your weight like it was nothing, like it was everything. You felt the metal of his arm against your back, cold and reassuring. The other arm was warm where it cradled your legs. You didn’t protest to either.

“You’re going to the med bay,” He said. “Then we’re having a long talk about you not being a damn martyr.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, eyes heavy. “I’m not a martyr.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

There was a pause before you murmured, “You would’ve done the same for me.”

“Doesn’t mean I want you doing it for me.”

Outside, the quinjet engines roared to life. The rest of the team was waiting.

But for now, in the middle of that wrecked Hydra facility, with dust still hanging in the air and blood soaking into Bucky’s shirt, it was just the two of you.

And you were both alive. Together.

-

The med bay was silent, dimmed for your recovery. The overhead lights were off, replaced by a single low lamp that cast long shadows across the room. The hum of machinery filled the silence with monitor beeps, IV drips, and the occasional hiss of an oxygen line. Stark tech kept everything sterile and efficient.

You hated it.

Not because of the pain, that had dulled into something manageable, but because you hated stillness. When you were still, you had time to think. And now that the mission was over, you couldn’t stop replaying it. The moment you failed to teleport. The cold bloom of panic. The blood. The look on Bucky’s face when he found you like the world had nearly ended.

You stared at the ceiling trying not to think about it, when the door hissed open quietly. You didn’t have to look to know it was him.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Bucky said, voice low, teasing in a way that didn’t quite mask the worry.

“I was. For a while,” You murmured. “You still pacing outside?”

He huffed. “How’d you know?”

“You always pace when you’re trying not to panic.”

Bucky stepped closer, the soft tread of his boots grounding. When he reached your bedside, he didn’t sit right away. Just stood there, arms crossed, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be here even though he’d barely left your side since you got back.

“I’m fine, Buck,” You reassured him softly.

“You’re not,” He finally lowered himself into the chair next to you. “You were bleeding out and couldn’t get out. That’s not fine.”

You hesitated. “It’s not the first time my powers have… flickered.”

His jaw tightened. “How long?”

“Couple months but only under stress. Usually I push through it.”

He was quiet for a long time before finally speaking, “You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to be seen as a liability.”

His hand moved, not quickly but with intent. His fingers brushed your wrist, grounding you. “You’re not a liability. You’re you. And if something’s wrong, we fix it together.”

You blinked, throat tightening unexpectedly. “I didn’t want to lose your trust in me.”

“You didn’t,” He said. “You scared the hell out of me, but you didn’t lose anything.”

You let that sit between you for a moment before you whispered, “You said you loved me.”

He didn’t flinch and he didn’t deflect.

“I meant it.” He stated.

You turned your head to meet his eyes. “I love you too, you know.”

Bucky leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours. His voice was barely above a whisper.

“I know. I’ve known.”

You reached up, fingers threading through his as you held each other’s hands like none of you ever wanted to let go. “Stay?”

He nodded once. “Always.”