#he’d get so pressed over this phrase

[the-moonprophet]

no bc he absolutely would

[moonstruckme]

hello mae! I had a request I’d like to give you. I was wondering if you could write a poly!marauders x reader where reader has never slept beside anybody before bc intimacy isn’t something she’s used to therefore she’s not used to being that close to anybody. everytime she shifts she’s afraid to wake up the boys, or she just doesn’t know what to do.

I know you have “first night with marauders” so if this is too similar I totally get it. 🖤

Hello sweetheart, thank you for your request!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 990 words

You’re terrible at this. 

Each of the boys is sound asleep. Sirius has his leg hooked over yours and one of his arms tossed over James’ chest, Remus’ hand has to be halfway numb underneath your pillow, and James is snoring softly on the far side of the bed from you. They’re all so obviously comfortable, practiced in resting like this, whereas you started to get stiff a half hour ago and you’ve been unable to make yourself relax since. 

Every movement takes a year, you’re trying so hard not to wake them. You feel like the girl in a movie who’s trying to sneak out of the bed of a one-night stand, all taut muscles and bated breath, except you only want to roll over. Slow, microscopic movements have to be the key. 

Your back crackles softly when you shift your weight onto your other hip, and a sigh escapes you before you can stop it. 

A low, croaky hum comes from just in front of your face. Your brain is a tempest of expletives. 

“Hey.” You can nearly feel the gravel of Remus’ voice buzzing against your lips. “You’re up.” 

Muddled with sleep, you can’t tell if his tone is reprimanding or simply observational. “Sorry,” you whisper regardless. 

“Wha’ for?” Movement under the pillow beneath your head, and then a long-fingered hand is nestling beneath your cheek. His scars and calluses slide familiarly over your skin. “Can’t sleep?”

Nope, and now it’s two of you. Guilt grows vines around your ribcage. Remus sounds more awake by the second. 

“I’ll be okay.” You press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, hoping to mollify him. “Go back to sleep.” 

Your boyfriend makes a half-aware disgruntled sound. “No, not without you.” 

As exhausted as you are, you have to bite down on a smile. When he’s uninhibited like this, Remus really is quite the flirt, all his dorky, sweet thoughts coming out before he can remember to stop them. He’s nearly as bad as James. 

You think he must see a hint of your smile in the dark, because Remus’ own lips tilt upwards. He leans closer to kiss the cool skin of your cheek, the only cold part of you thanks to a heavy duvet and the body heat of three lovely boyfriends. A kiss for a kiss. 

He leaves his lips there as he murmurs, “What’s wrong, dove?” 

Well, funny he should ask. What’s wrong now is the slight tickle of his stubble against your cheek, the hoarse quality to his voice in your ear. His breath warming your cold skin, and the hand he slides across the space between you to rest on your hip, layered in between the sheets and your pajama bottoms. 

But you know that’s not what he’s asking. 

“I can’t get very comfortable,” you confess, speaking so softly he wouldn’t be able to make it out if his ear weren’t two inches from your lips, “and I didn’t want to wake anyone up.” 

Remus hums, as though this is a prognosis he’d already reached and was merely waiting for you to confirm. You can hear Sirius’ voice as clearly as if he were awake: know it all. 

“They can sleep through anything,” he says. “One time the fire alarm went off, and James didn’t even stir. Don’t worry about them.” You must be emanating guilt, because he strokes his thumb over your hip pacifyingly. “And I don’t mind being woken up. I’m in and out of sleep all night anyway, it’s not hard for me to get back. You’re not used to sleeping with so many people, yeah?” 

Your face warms at his phrasing, though of course you know what he means. “Or with anyone,” you murmur. 

“Mm. I think I know what you need.” 

You don’t realize Remus’ plan until he’s already sat up. He reaches over you, rubbing James’ shoulder gently while you protest vehemently through whispers. 

James wakes with a yawn, taking Remus’ hand automatically and bringing it close to his face. “Wha’s’it?”

“Take her,” Remus requests drowsily. With his other hand, he nudges you forward. 

James starts to blink his eyes open, and you see no way out. You start climbing over Sirius as delicately as you can. “Sorry,” you whisper, to him, to them, to the room in general. 

Remus helps you out by tugging Sirius into your place. The other boy whines but settles quickly, rolling over to sling his leg over Remus’ instead. 

James welcomes you as heartily as his sleep-addled state will allow, adjusting the covers over you and smudging a few toothpaste-scented kisses onto your face. 

“Y’can’t sleep?” he asks. 

You shake your head. “Sorry.” 

He makes a soft dismissive sound. “C’mere, angel.” 

You refrain from telling him that you’re already here as his arms find their way around you, soft and firm in all the right places and deliciously warm. He starts to make slow, sweeping circles onto your back with his hand. 

“Jamie,” you murmur, grateful but embarrassed, “don’t stay up for me. Go to sleep.” 

“M’basically there,” he replies. “You first, yeah?” 

You can hear Remus’ breathing evening out behind you, syncing with Sirius’, and you’re suddenly sure that this is part of a routine he and the boys shared before you ever met them. That’s how he knew to hand you off to James, and how James knew exactly what to do. Something about that comforts you. And far be it for you to mess with tradition. 

You shuffle closer to James under the covers. He obliges you happily, adjusting his grip so he’s holding you more securely, with your leg resting against his and your forehead an inch from his nose. The shushing of his heavy palm on the material of your pajama top is the only sound in the world. 

You hear his breathing starting to deepen again, but James is right; you beat him there. 

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - dub/con, afab!reader, cockwarming, medical malpractice, nonconsensual drug use, manipulation, unbalanced power dynamics, and obsessive behavior.

[commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.]

“It really is a shame to lose such a lovely patient.

His hand drifted from your thigh to your hip, rocking you back as you tried to squirm away from him. He was too deep, too big, and you’d been sitting on his cock for too long. Whenever you tried to shift your weight, though, the arm wrapped around your waist would tighten its hold and drag you back into place, leaving your ass slotted against his hips and your cunt struggling to clench around his base. You didn’t know how long he’d kept you like this, but it must’ve been longer than an hour, if not two, three, four. Despite your foggy senses, you could feel slick dripping down your thighs, an empty void in the pit of your stomach where pleasure should’ve been. You could remember hearing that Harper was a good doctor, but that couldn’t be right. Doctors weren’t supposed to make you feel so bad.

“I mean, I know it should be a doctor’s goal to see their patients off as happy and as healthy as can be, but—” He paused, sighed, and you could picture him rolling his eyes, feigning wistfulness as he let out an airy chuckle. “Good, obedient patients can be so rare, especially in a town like this. I’m allowed to mourn the loss of my best charge yet, aren’t I?”

You felt him twitch inside of you, and in search of a distraction, your gaze fell to the collection of papers fanned out over the desk in front of you. You knew you were supposed to be reading them, but the text seemed so impossibly small, and your last round of medication was still clouding your senses, making it hard to focus on much of anything beyond the throbbing in your core, the feeling of his cock stretching you open despite your body’s best attempts to force him out. You could recognize the phrases, signal out words like ‘unfit’ and ‘dependent’ mixed in with the rest of the benign text, but when you tried to put it all together, none of it made sense. It was all you could do to check the boxes Harper pointed to, sign your name on any dotted lines that hadn’t already been filled by his. You could only hope that, when you finished, he’d let you stand up, get off of him, go back to your cozy room with its nice, soft padded walls. You couldn’t imagine having to sleep in his office, again.

“And you’ve been so cooperative, too,” he went on, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. You felt his lips against the shell of your ear, then your cheek. “Always taking your medication, always following your treatment plans, always coming to our little sessions with an open-mind – the pinnacle of an ideal patient. Honestly, sometimes I think I could tell you to stick your hand in a vat of boiling water, and you’d do it with a smile on your face. All for the sake of your recovery, of course.”

It was him moving, this time – shifting forward until your stomach was pressed against the blunt edge of his desk and he was all-but draped over you, his body pressed flush against yours. You let out a pitchy whine by way of protest, but Harper didn’t seem to notice, only humming as his hand found yours. “Almost done, little mouse. Just one more page.” He was practically cooing as he took you by the wrist, guiding your hand to the bottom of the final page. Two thick, cutting lines occupied most of the available space, his neat signature taking up the first. He brought you to the second, almost daunting in its vacancy, his index finger tapping against the back of your hand. “You remember your name, right? Can you write it for me?”

It was so hard to think, to stay awake, to try and remember a time where he hadn’t been planted so deeply inside of you. “If…” you started, only to trail off. You blinked once, then twice, and did your best to force your tongue to move. “If I do, can I go home?”

Usually, Harper hated it when you talked about the orphanage, about school, about home. You hadn’t meant to, you just wanted to go back to your room, and you moved to correct yourself, to promise that you didn’t want to be anywhere but this hospital, his hospital before he frowned and prescribed you another electrotherapy session, another dose of the small, white pills that left your thoughts blurred and your body hot. But, anything you might’ve been able to spit out died with a breathy laugh, a peck to the corner of your jaw. “Of course,” he purred, rocking his hips gently against yours. “Sign, and I’ll take you home tonight.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt yourself start to smile. Hastily, smudging the ink more than once, you scrawled your name across the brutal line, dropping the pen and going slack against Harper as soon as you were finished. There was another open-mouthed kiss to your throat, then the dip of your shoulder, and he dragged you back onto his lap with a playful squeeze to your thigh, a grin pressed into the crook of your neck. You squirmed unabashedly, now, your hands  graspingly weakly at the arms of his chair in hopes of pulling yourself to your feet, but Harper held you tight. “Where do you think you’re going, little mouse?”

“I need to— You said I could go—”

“Just give me another minute, darling.”

His cock pulsed against the walls of your cunt, and you felt something break open inside of you.

“I want to appreciate this moment before we get you to proper, brand-new home.”

[acmeangel]

♡ You're a member of Levi's Squad, and he asks you to marry him, when disaster strikes.

♡ SFW ♡ Canon!Levi x Fem!Reader ♡ One shot, a bit angsty, mentions of blood, injury, near-death experience ♡ Word count: 3019 ♡ Summary: After finally accepting that you're there to stay, Levi asks you to marry him. You're a member of his Squad, and being with him has always felt right. Not too long after, a dangerous scouting mission leaves you with a grave injury, and Levi is faced with the fear that you might not make it.

When Levi asked you to marry him, it wasn’t with some extravagant proposal or planned-out, grand romantic evening.

You both were lying in your bed in the barracks, your body half-draped on top of his, your fingers lazily playing with strands of his hair. His hands grazed up and down your back with a steady, soothing tempo.

You’d both returned from a scouting mission earlier that day — one with too many casualties, as there always seemed to be. Levi had recruited you to be on his Special Operations Squad years ago, based purely on your stats from previous missions with other squads. At first, he had respected you, much like he’d respected all of the members of Squad Levi; a group of people willing to join the riskiest regiment and put their lives on the line in the futile hope to save humanity.

Respect had eventually turned into friendship, which had then grown into something more. You two loved each other long before your romantic relationship had begun; so when it finally did, it felt natural, like it was always supposed to be that way.

In your bed, that night, he looked at you with a tender softness that bordered on melancholic. It was a look that he didn’t show often. His eyes revealed how deeply he cared for you, how much he wanted to shield you — who he saw as one of the last few truly good things left in this world — from the cruelty, violence, and destruction that ran rampant around you. It was a look that no one else ever got to see.

“I want to run something by you,” he stated, his voice level and smooth as ever.

“Oh, do tell, Captain.” You laughed, faintly, your eyes sparkling with a glint of amusement.

His hand traced up your back and slid around your neck, his thumb rubbing gentle, affectionate circles onto your skin.

“How would you feel about the two of us being together, like this, forever?” he asked, his gaze locking onto yours, an unusual stiffness in his expression. You couldn’t believe it, but he was actually nervous.

You blinked once, twice and tilted your head. “Levi, are you asking… me to marry you?”

You weren’t entirely surprised that this was how he’d phrased it — he’d never been one for verbosity or overly sentimental language. He’d showed his love for you more in his actions; in the way he always checked you for injuries at least three times after a mission, in the way he’d stroke the back of your hand with his thumb when he held it as you fell asleep, in the way he’d insist on giving you half of his own breakfast every morning so you’d have enough energy for the day.

“Yes, Y/N,” he’d said, his hand shifting to cup your cheek, his soft gray eyes settling into yours. “I’m asking you to marry me.”

You felt all of the blood rush to your head, your entire body overwhelmed with excitement, joy, and love for Levi.

“Yes,” you managed to say — and repeated the single word at least twenty times, as you leaned in to press your lips to his, peppering him over and over with kisses.

“Alright, alright,” he’d mumbled after the twentieth kiss, his cheeks then flushed with a soft pink blush.

You beamed with joy as you pulled your face back from his, your eyes glimmering with adoration.

“So,” you began, a hint of playfulness in your voice, raising your eyebrow, “do I get a ring then, or what?”

His lips pressed together, his gaze narrowing just a bit as he considered the question, a puff of air escaping his nose.

“Fine.” His voice was a low, dry mumble, but his lips bent into a small smile, the tension in his forehead releasing. He couldn’t help but give into every one of your requests, no matter what.

His eyes scanned around the room, looking for something suitable, before he reached out to the bedside table, the muscles in his shoulders and back flexing as he took a paperclip from a stack of papers. Turning back to you, his fingers worked with precision to unravel the paper clip, the wire of which he used to form a nearly perfect circle. He took your hand, his touch gentle, and slid the makeshift paper clip ring onto your ring finger in one swift, delicate motion.

“How’s that?” His eyes studied your face, intently waiting for any sign of reaction. “Temporarily, anyway.”

Your cheeks blushed uncontrollably and you gleamed with a smile so wide it made the muscles in your face turn sore. Seeing you this way made him smile — a real smile.

“It’s perfect,” you’d whispered, practically choking the words out. “Much better than any stupid diamond I’ve ever seen.”

“Think we need to do the whole ceremony thing? Or can I just start calling you my wife now?” His brows scrunched together slightly as he waited for your answer, and you could tell how badly he wanted to skip the frills and formalities and simply be yours, eternally.

At the sound of the word ‘wife’ your chest swelled with affection, and your eyes became misty, blurring your vision of him.

“Screw the ceremony,” you whispered, your voice shaking with overflowing emotion. “We’re married, now.”

“Good,” he whispered back, his own voice fraught with feeling, as his thumbs brushed away the tears that had begun to roll down your cheeks. “I love you, Y/N. You know that.”

His eyes bore into yours, seeking confirmation. He didn’t say ‘I love you’ often, only when it really counted.

“I know,” you whispered. “I love you, too, Levi.”

******

It was only weeks after that — after the moment Levi decided, finally, that you would be by his side forever, that he knew you’d never leave him — that your squad was faced with a particularly dangerous mission.

It was another reconnaissance mission, much like all of the other Scouts’ missions had been, but no one could have anticipated the amount of Abnormals. The Scouts hadn’t reached a single objective before entire groups of Erwin’s formation had been wiped out by the Abnormals, which were making their way closer and closer to the center groups. Erwin had officially called for a retreat — something he rarely ever did, only when the situation was dire.

Levi Squad raced forward on horseback, galloping past the blurred, unidentifiable carnage of comrades; the once green fields had turned red and rotten.

Your gaze was fixated intently on Levi, catching glimpses of his profile as he led the squad forward — to anyone else, he looked entirely collected. But you knew him too well and had memorized all of his micro-expressions, and based on the tension in his jaw and the chilled intensity of his gaze, you knew he was worried, too. He’d often admitted that he never knew what the outcome of these missions would be, that no one did, and you could see his mind racing with that exact thought.

The pounding of impossibly large footsteps caused the ground to shake just slightly, enough to make your head whip around and see a group of Abnormals charging forward with unprecedented speed and force.

“Captain!” You’d called out, drawing Levi’s attention. He’d simply glanced over his shoulder and ordered to keep moving forward per Erwin’s command; based on the looks the rest of the squad exchanged, you knew they were unsure about this decision.

Before anyone could think or say another word, one of the Abnormals had surged forward and began to reach for Eld, whose blades were inexplicably jammed in his ODM gear. The panic in his eyes was enough to strike fear into anyone.

You sprung into action immediately — this was simply how you were. You never wasted time thinking, you only acted. It was reckless, perhaps, but you’d gotten results time and time again, and the thought of losing a friend without trying to save him was unacceptable to you.

This was one of the things Levi loved most about you, and it was also one of the things he wished so badly to change about you. He admired your selflessness, your fearlessness, the way you never seemed to be paralyzed by indecision. But, sometimes, it felt to him like only a matter of time before something terrible would happen to you.

You’d managed to sink a grappling hook into the Titan and propel yourself off of your horse, in the direction of Eld, knocking him out of the Titan’s path. You’d planned on being able to then reach the nape of the neck and put an end to this, but you were too rash, too impulsive to anticipate that the Titan’s next movement would whack your ODM wire to the side, bringing your body flinging through the air with it.

The rest, in your recollection, was more or less a blur. You knew that the Titan curled its fingers around your body, its grip bruising your skin and rendering you too immobile to fight back. You knew that you’d heard Levi yelling — actually yelling. You knew that the Titan had brought you to its mouth and managed to sink its teeth into the side of your body enough to make you lose consciousness, but not enough to kill you. You knew that Levi was the one who had intervened, who had saved your life. The last piece of memory you had was the sight of Levi’s face as he grabbed you from the Titan, a look that was so intense, fear-stricken, and furious, it bordered on crazed.

After getting you back onto the ground, Hange had ridden over on horseback and hoisted your limp body onto the horse, carrying you out of harm’s way.

Levi took care of that Titan himself — he made sure of it. Blinded by rage and agony, he slaughtered the Titan with a brutality he typically withheld. Normally, Levi did only as much has he had to in order to kill a Titan. This wasn’t fun for him, it wasn’t a game; he didn’t like fighting, he didn’t like being violent.

But this was different — he sliced the Titan apart, his movements a fevered, merciless haze, his vision red with bloodthirstiness. By the time he was done with the Titan, it was a mere pile of limbs, and he was drenched in its blood.

He’d finally reached the wagon that you’d been placed in, climbing into it with urgent movements, trailing Titan blood behind him. His pupils were constricted; his eyes were glowing with panic.

Your body was lying flat in the wagon, Hange and some of the other squad members hovering over you, attempting to tend to your wounds, their efforts proving futile. They’d managed to wrap a bandage over where the Titan had bit you, but you were bleeding through it with no sign of stopping. There wasn’t anything left to do until you all returned inside the walls.

“Get the fuck away from her! Don’t fucking touch her!” He shouted, his voice coarse and sharp, his arms effortlessly shoving everyone else away from your limp body. He stood over you, his eyes wild with emotion, his chest rising and falling with breaths so heavy it looked almost painful.

When he dropped to his knees beside you, his eyes caught sight of your hand, on the makeshift paperclip ring he had made you, that you’d refused to ever take off. An ice-cold chill rushed down his spine, so sharp it felt like it was actually ripping him apart from the inside out.

“Why is this wagon moving so damn slowly?!” He snarled to the rest of the squad, his eyes desperately glued to your face, while the others scrambled to try and speed the journey up as much as they could.

He grasped onto your hand with both of his as if the sheer force of his grip could heal you and bring you back to him. His eyes didn’t waver from your face once, his gaze burning into your skin, searching for even the slightest sign of life; all he was met with was your sweat-glistened skin. You looked peaceful and it snapped his last thread of self-control — he wanted you to fight.

An uncontrollable, livid, primal growl escaped his mouth, unable to form any coherent words. Spit flung off his lips and into the wind, his expression was frenzied with helpless rage and despair.

The rest of the squad’s expressions froze. They’d never seen Levi be anything but stoic, apart from when he was actively slicing the nape of a Titan’s neck. Goosebumps dotted their skin as they simply watched, eyes wide, unsure of what to do. Levi had forgotten anyone else was even there; he cared about nothing in that moment but you.

He watched as your face turned lifeless, as your breathing became so shallow that it was hardly perceptible. You were slipping through his fingers, and there was nothing he could do about it — for once, his strength meant nothing.

“No,” he barked, his voice gruff and strained, his grip on your hand tightening until his knuckles turned blazing white. “You won’t be taken from me. This shitty, goddamned world is not going to take you from me. You gave your word, Y/N. You said forever. Don’t back out on me now.”

His cries didn’t make a sound, but the sight of his back heaving raggedly and his hot tears dropping down onto your face was unmistakable. His face was twisted with anguish; his teeth were visibly clenched together so forcefully that they could’ve cracked. His hands began to involuntarily shake as they held onto your hand, the paperclip ring digging into his skin.

******

The next time you’d opened your eyes, you were confused. Your vision was blurry for a few moments, until you were met with the sight of the medical unit and you realized you were lying in one of the beds.

The next thing you saw was Levi’s face, the veins in neck tense with distress, the circles under his eyes darker than you’d ever seen them before. You took a deep breath, which hurt, and you felt the bandages around your waist expand and contract against your skin.

Upon seeing your eyes begin to faintly blink open, Levi moved to the edge of his chair, his hand urgently reaching out for yours, his eyes wildly moving across your face.

“Y/N?” His voice was raspy with disuse and lack of sleep, his tone pleading and tinged with hope.

“Levi…?” you whispered, groggily, your voice low and coarse.

His eyes fluttered closed with relief, his shoulders slumping as his head dropped down to your hand, holding it to his forehead with reverence. “Oh, thank god…” He whispered, his voice stilted with emotion.

Once Levi composed himself, and you began asking him questions, he explained to you, briefly, what had happened — he didn’t want to alarm or worry you with the more gruesome details until he was sure you were okay. All he told you was that a Titan had attacked you on the last scouting mission and that you’d been in the medical unit for weeks.

You’d learned later that the entire time, Levi had barely left your side. He’d sat in a chair next to you, watching you, talking to you, holding your hand, and urging you to wake up and come back to him. At night, he’d slept even less than usual, nodding off in his chair for only an hour or so here and there. Some of the other squad members could have sworn they’d even caught glimpses of Levi crying when he thought no one else was around.

The only time he ever left your side was if he had to go to briefings and meetings. When he did, he’d threaten medics into sitting by your side, outlining grave consequences for if anything happened to you while he was gone. He’d skipped meals, trainings, and anything else that wasn’t absolutely mandatory for him to attend.

After he’d finished helping you sip some water and become less groggy, he just looked at you, his eyes scanning over every centimeter of your face, as if making sure that you were really awake and stable and it wasn’t some insomnia-induced hallucination.

“You’re done with the Scouts,” he’d said, finally, his voice firm, unyielding — it wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“Huh?” Your brows pressed together with confusion. “Who decided that? Erwin? What, does he think I’m useless now?”

“No, Y/N.” He shook his head, taking a soft breath before continuing. “I’m deciding it.”

“Levi-“

“No,” he cut you off before you can even think to object. His jaw clenched, his expression was fraught with concern. “Y/N. I thought you were… gone. It nearly killed me. This- nothing can ever happen to you again. You’re my wife. I need you to be here, with me. I need to know you’re safe, Y/N. I can’t- if you’d actually… Please, Y/N.”

For a moment, this surprised you. Outside of missions, Levi had never told you what to do or asked anything of you — he was protective, but not possessive. You being with him, caring for him, and loving him was more than he’d ever dared to hope for in his life. To him, you’d settle for him despite his most hidden scars, and it felt wrong to ever ask for more.

But he was asking you to do this. Begging you. For him.

“Okay,” your voice dipped to a gentle softness, your hand reaching out for his again, somewhat weakly. “Okay, Levi. I’ll leave the Scouts. Nothing will ever happen to me again. Everything’s going to be okay.”

A slow, uneven breath escaped his lips, as if expelling all of the fear and tension in his body. He collapsed into you, softly, his forehead pressed against your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he breathed, the words barely making a sound. “I love you, Y/N. More than you’ll ever know.”

He didn’t say it often, only when it really counted.

Masterlist

Requests are OPEN!

Requested by anonymous!

Taglist (message me to be added!): @leviykwim

[maskedbyghost]

Simon knew marriage came with adjustments, but nothing could have prepared him for life with a writer.

It wasn’t just the weird questions—though there were plenty of those—it was the way your mind never seemed to slow down. You’d be doing something completely normal, like folding laundry, and suddenly stop, eyes going distant.

He’d barely have time to ask what was wrong before you’d rush off to scribble something down, muttering about plot twists and character arcs.

Sometimes, he’d wake up in the middle of the night to find you sitting up in bed, phone screen lighting up your face as you frantically typed notes because “this idea can’t wait until morning.”

It meant half-finished coffee cups scattered around the house, abandoned when inspiration hit.

It meant narrating your own actions under your breath, like “she sighed, stretching her arms above her head” while actually doing it, which always made him raise an eyebrow.

And then there were the moments that made him question everything, like when you casually asked if he thought someone could realistically survive being shot twice in the chest or how long a body would take to decompose in a swamp. He used to answer with concern. Now, he barely looked up. “For a book?” “For a book.”

At first, he thought the strangest part was the research, but then he realized it was how easily you pulled him into it. You used him for everything—testing out fight scenes by making him grab your wrist so you could figure out how a character would escape, running your hands over his shoulders and down his arms as you mumbled about muscle structure and “what kind of build do you think my main guy should have?”

You studied him constantly, stealing phrases he said, describing his expressions in your notes, even admitting once that a few of your male characters had a bit of his attitude.

And then there was the way you used him for other inspiration. He figured it out one evening when he saw you sitting on the couch, staring at him with that look—one that usually meant you had something on your mind, but this time, you weren’t saying anything. Just watching.

He glanced over from where he was cleaning his gun. “What?”

You didn’t answer right away, just tilted your head slightly. “I think I want to write a new scene.”

He raised his brow, setting his things aside. “What kind of scene?”

A small smile played on your lips as you stood, walking toward him. “Something a bit messy.”

Simon leaned back, arms resting lazily on the couch as he looked you up and down. “You need details, then?”

“Mhm.” You straddled his lap, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. “Need to get it just right.”

He smirked, his hands settling on your waist. “That why you’re lookin’ at me like I’m about to be put to work?”

“You don’t mind a little hard work, do you?” you teased, nails scraping lightly against his skin.

His grip tightened, voice low. “Not if you’re gonna make it worth my while.”

Much later, when you were tangled in the sheets, catching your breath, you rolled over and reached for your phone. Before you could even unlock it, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against Simon’s chest. “Nope,” he muttered against your shoulder.

You laughed. “I just had a thought—”

“Don’t care.” His voice was warm and heavy with sleep. “Whatever you’re about to write down, you can remember it in the morning.”

“But—”

A hand slid down your hip, fingers pressing into your skin in a way that made you shiver. “I said, in the morning,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. Then, just to make sure you listened, he added, “Be a good girl and go to sleep.”

Your entire body heated at the words, your brain short-circuiting for a second before snapping into overdrive. Without a word, you bolted upright, nearly diving for your phone as you started typing furiously.

Simon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Are you serious?”

“Shhh,” you hushed him, fingers flying across the screen. “This is really good.”

-------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah

[capquinn]

how would quinn react to reader doing that prank about when he says “goodbye/goodnight i love you” and you don’t say “i love you” back just to mess with him

omg this guy avoids tiktok like it’s the plague so there is no doubt in my mind that he has absolutely no idea about this trend so he’d be SO confused and wouldn’t know what to do with himself except pout and stay close until he gets to the bottom as to why you hadn’t said it back 😭

Quinn’s brow furrowed the second the words left his mouth and yours didn’t follow.

“See you soon. I love you,” he had said, as casually as ever, tossing his backpack over one shoulder, leaning in for his usual goodbye kiss.

But instead of the automatic, almost musical "love you too," that always followed, there was… nothing. Just you, standing there, watching him with the faintest glimmer of mischief in your eyes. At first, he paused, waiting like you’d simply forgotten. Maybe you were distracted. Maybe you didn’t hear him. He glanced back at the door, then at you again, the crease between his brows deepening.

“You good?” he asked, his voice light but tinged with the slightest bit of uncertainty, like he wasn’t entirely sure if this was normal or if he’d just entered a parallel universe where you suddenly forgot how this whole goodbye thing worked.

“Yeah,” you said breezily, smiling just enough to make him squint.

“Okay,” he said, drawing the word out as he shifted his bag higher on his shoulder.

He moved toward the door, opening it halfway before pausing again. And you could see it — really see it now — the way his mind was spinning, trying to figure out what he’d done, if he’d done anything, and why you weren’t playing along.

He half-turned, his hand on the doorknob, giving you one last expectant look.

“You, uh…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice quieter now. “You sure everything’s okay?”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Yep.”

And that’s when the full force of Quinn’s what-the-hell-is-going-on face hit you. He didn’t look mad — not even close — but the confusion was written all over him. His mouth opened, closed, and then opened again like he was about to ask a question but didn’t quite know how to phrase it. His hand fell from the door as he took a step closer, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You didn’t… You didn’t say it back,” he pointed out, almost cautiously, like maybe it wasn’t something you’d realised. “I said 'I love you.' You usually…” He trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line as he waited for some kind of explanation, one that you weren’t giving because you were too busy pretending you had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. You tilted your head, your expression perfectly blank except for the big, wide eyes you fixed on him.

“Do I not say it enough?” he asked, softer this time, like the words came with a little sting. “Is that what this is?”

And now you felt guilty because, of course, he’d think this was some kind of message, like you were trying to make a point instead of just pulling a dumb prank for no reason other than your own entertainment.

“Quinn,” you started, the smile breaking through despite yourself.

But he cut you off, shaking his head slightly, the tiniest bit of exasperation creeping in.

“Because, like… I mean it every time. You know that, right?”

And now you couldn’t hold it in anymore. The laugh bubbled out, loud and sudden, and you reached for his hand, tugging him closer. “Oh my God, Quinn. I’m kidding. It’s a prank.”

His brow shot up. “A prank?”

“Yeah,” you said, still laughing as you slid your arms around his waist.

He huffed, but there was relief in it, his hands settling on your hips as he gave you a halfhearted glare.

“Not funny,” he muttered, though his lips were already twitching. “I was about to cancel my flight.”

“Sure you were,” you teased, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw. He didn’t move, but you could feel the smallest twitch of a smile forming despite the way he was still obviously trying to stay mock-annoyed. “See? You’re too sweet. That’s why I had to mess with you.”

Quinn let out a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head like he was already filing this away as one of the countless pranks he’d endure over a lifetime with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his voice gruff but too soft to be anything but affectionate. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You couldn’t help it — you started laughing again, the sound spilling out as you tucked your face against his chest, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I love you,” you said through your laughter, your voice muffled.

His smile finally broke free, slow and warm and just so Quinn.

“I love you too,” he said, his tone soft now, steady, like those words were always going to be there no matter how much you tried to mess with him.

[its-avalon-08]

Hiiii ! I don’t know if you’re taking requests or not but I had an idea for a Lando x reader imagine where they’ve been dating for a little bit (it’s still very new) and then one of his ex’s comes back into his life (platonically) and he completely forgets about the reader until someone comments about his getting back with his ex and he realises how much he’s neglected reader. So he has to make it up her.

Angst to fluff please

see me again (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, tears, comfort, neglect (GUYS WHY SO MUCH ANGST WHO HURT YOU)

Lando and Y/N’s relationship was still wrapped in the charm of newness. Six months in, everything felt fresh and exciting—every touch, every shared secret, and every stolen moment was etched with the novelty of love.

The mornings were Y/N’s favorite, especially when she woke up before him. She’d sit by the large windows of his Monaco apartment, sipping her coffee as the sunlight played across the harbor. Lando would shuffle out, hair tousled, mumbling something unintelligible about coffee before wrapping his arms around her from behind.

“You’re up early,” he murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I wanted to watch the sunrise,” she replied, smiling as he pressed a kiss to her neck.

“I’m way more interesting than a sunrise.”

“Debatable.”

He feigned offense, but the way his lips curved into a smile gave him away. These quiet moments were theirs—a world apart from the public eye and the roar of engines.

It was during one of these serene mornings when his phone buzzed on the counter, the name Sophia lighting up the screen.

“Who’s that?” Y/N asked casually, sipping her coffee.

Lando glanced at his phone and grinned. “Oh, Sophia. My ex. She’s back in Monaco.”

Y/N’s stomach tightened, but she kept her expression neutral. “Oh, that’s nice. Are you two still in touch?”

“Not really. We parted on good terms, though. She just wanted to catch up.”

Catch up. The phrase hung in the air like an unspoken question.

“That’s... nice,” Y/N replied, her tone light but forced.

“It’ll be fine,” Lando reassured her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’re just friends now.”

At first, Y/N convinced herself it wasn’t a big deal. Lando was an open book, and he’d never given her a reason to doubt him. But over the next few weeks, Sophia’s presence loomed larger in their lives than Y/N had anticipated.

“Hey, love, can we raincheck tonight? Sophia wants to grab dinner, and I haven’t seen her in forever,” Lando said one evening, his tone casual, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N’s stomach sank. “Yeah, sure. No problem,” she replied, masking her disappointment.

But it didn’t stop there. Plans were canceled or cut short. Lando would come home later and later, distracted and tired. The easy laughter they used to share was replaced with curt conversations, and Y/N felt like an afterthought in his life.

The final straw came when she arrived at the paddock one weekend, hoping to surprise him, only to find him deep in conversation with Sophia by his car. They looked so comfortable together, laughing and reminiscing, that Y/N felt like an outsider looking in.

“Y/N!” Lando called when he spotted her. “Come meet Sophia.”

She forced a polite smile, shaking Sophia’s hand. The woman was beautiful and warm, everything Y/N wasn’t sure she could compete with.

“It’s so nice to meet you. Lando talks about you all the time,” Sophia said, her smile genuine.

“Likewise,” Y/N replied, her voice tight.

----

The invitation had been on their fridge for weeks: a prestigious event honoring young researchers. Y/N had worked tirelessly on a groundbreaking discovery, and the award was a testament to her dedication. Lando had promised to be there.

That night, Y/N stood in front of her mirror, adjusting her dress nervously. She had picked a navy-blue gown that Lando had once said brought out her eyes. She sent him a quick text as she slipped on her heels.

Y/N: Heading out now. Can’t wait to see you there.

But as she arrived at the venue and scanned the crowd, he was nowhere to be found. She sat at the table reserved for her friends and family, her phone buzzing in her clutch.

Lando: Sophia’s car broke down, and I had to help her out. I’ll come as soon as I can.

The evening passed in a blur. Y/N walked on stage to accept her award, smiling for the cameras, but the empty seat next to her screamed louder than anything else.

When she got home, her trophy in hand, Lando was already asleep on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled when she woke him up. “Sophia was stranded, and I couldn’t leave her.”

Y/N just nodded, swallowing her words. What was the point of saying them if he wasn’t listening?

---

Their Friday date nights had been a sacred tradition from the very beginning. It was their way of carving out time amidst their busy schedules. Y/N had planned something special—dinner at the restaurant where they had their first date, followed by dessert at their favorite ice cream shop.

She waited at the table, checking her phone every few minutes.

Y/N: Are you on your way?

No reply.

Thirty minutes turned into an hour, and the once-cozy restaurant felt suffocating. Y/N paid for her untouched meal and walked out, her heels clicking against the pavement as she headed home.

When she entered the apartment, Lando was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone.

“Hey,” he said casually. “Sorry, I lost track of time. Sophia and I were talking, and—”

“You forgot,” Y/N interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended.

“I said I’m sorry,” Lando replied, frowning. “You could’ve called.”

“I shouldn’t have to,” she shot back, her frustration boiling over. “I planned this night for us, Lando. Not for me to sit alone while you spend the evening with her.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t mean to,” Y/N repeated bitterly. “That’s the problem.”

---

Y/N had been looking forward to their weekend getaway for weeks. It wasn’t anything extravagant—just a quiet trip to the countryside, away from the noise of Monaco and the demands of Lando’s career.

She packed their bags and waited by the door, excitement bubbling in her chest. But an hour before they were supposed to leave, Lando called.

“I can’t make it, love,” he said apologetically. “Sophia’s moving, and she needs help with her furniture. Raincheck?”

Raincheck. The word felt like a slap.

“Sure,” Y/N replied, her voice flat.

The weekend passed in solitude, and the bags she had packed remained untouched by the door.

Each instance chipped away at Y/N’s patience and self-worth. By the time she confided in Alexandra and Charles, she wasn’t just frustrated—she was heartbroken.

The facade cracked later that week when Y/N confided in Alexandra and Charles during a quiet dinner at their place.

“I don’t even know who I’m dating anymore,” she admitted, tears streaming down her face.

Alexandra wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “Y/N, you need to tell him how you feel. He can’t fix what he doesn’t know.”

Y/N shook her head. “He doesn’t even see it, Alex. I feel invisible. Like I’m just... here while he’s off with her. And the worst part? I don’t even think he realizes what he’s doing.”

Charles, who had been silent, finally spoke. “That’s not fair to you. You deserve better.”

“I don’t even know if he loves me anymore,” Y/N whispered, her voice breaking.

Alexandra hugged her tightly, while Charles looked at her with quiet determination. “Then he needs to figure it out,” he said firmly. “But not at the cost of your happiness.”

Y/N nodded, her heart heavy as she realized she couldn’t keep going like this. Something had to change—because the person she had fallen in love with felt further away than ever.

time skip--

Chapter 2: Cracks Become Chasms

Lando stood near the McLaren motorhome, signing autographs and laughing with fans. It was a typical morning at the paddock, but the air felt heavier today. The whispers had started earlier, and by the time a journalist approached him for a quick interview, the weight of the rumors was impossible to ignore.

“So, Lando,” the journalist began with a smirk, “there’s been a lot of buzz about you and Sophia lately. Fans are wondering—is there something going on? A reconciliation perhaps?”

The question hit him like a brick.

“Uh, no,” he stammered, forcing a chuckle. “We’re just friends.”

The journalist raised an eyebrow. “It’s just, we haven’t seen much of Y/N lately, and you and Sophia seem to be spending a lot of time together. People are starting to talk.”

Lando felt the color drain from his face. “Y/N and I are fine,” he said quickly, brushing off the comment. But doubt began to creep in.

As he walked back toward the garage, he spotted Alexandra striding toward him, her expression thunderous. Her heels clicked sharply against the pavement, each step radiating fury.

“Alex, hey—”

“Don’t Alex me,” she snapped, her voice louder than he’d ever heard. “What the hell is wrong with you, Lando?”

“Wait, what?” Lando blinked, taken aback.

“You’ve been an absolute idiot, that’s what!” Alexandra’s voice rose, catching the attention of several passersby. “Do you even realize what you’ve done to Y/N? She’s been breaking her heart over you, and you’re too busy playing hero for Sophia to notice!”

“Alexandra—”

“No!” she interrupted, pointing a finger at his chest. “Do you know where Y/N was last night? Crying her eyes out because she doesn’t know if the person she fell in love with even exists anymore!”

Lando stepped back, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out.

“You’ve been canceling on her, forgetting her, neglecting her! And for what? To be Sophia’s knight in shining armor? She’s your past, Lando. Y/N is your present! Or is she not anymore?”

“Alexandra, enough,” Charles murmured, stepping in. He gently pulled her back, his hands on her shoulders as he whispered something in French, his voice soft and soothing.

“Don’t defend him,” she snapped at Charles, though her tone softened slightly at his touch.

“I’m not defending him,” Charles replied, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Alexandra’s rage. “But you’re scaring him, and I’d rather he listens than shuts down.”

Alexandra huffed but stepped back, crossing her arms as her eyes burned holes into Lando. “If you care about her at all, Lando, you’d better fix this. Because if you don’t, you’re going to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

The words echoed in Lando’s ears as he retreated to the privacy of his driver’s room. He sat on the edge of the couch, his head in his hands.

Was it really that bad?

He grabbed his phone and opened social media, his heart sinking as he scrolled through countless comments.

@fan1: “Is Lando back with Sophia? Poor Y/N hasn’t been seen in ages.” @fan2: “Sophia again? Guess Y/N deserved better anyway.” @fan3: “Y/N’s been posting about her work, and Lando hasn’t even acknowledged her award. But sure, let’s talk about Sophia’s car breaking down.” @fan4: “Why does it feel like Y/N is just an afterthought to him now? I miss when they seemed so happy.”

His breath caught as he stumbled upon a photo of Y/N at her award show, standing on stage with her trophy. Her smile was radiant, but something about her eyes looked off—distant, hollow.

Lando scrolled further, finding more pictures of her. There was one she’d posted of their planned getaway, the caption reading, “Maybe next time.” It had been liked thousands of times, but the comments told a different story.

@fan5: “It’s sad seeing her try so hard when Lando doesn’t even show up.” @fan6: “He doesn’t deserve her if this is how he treats her.” @fan7: “Sophia’s great, but Y/N is the one who stood by him. What is he doing?”

Each comment was a stab to his chest, and Lando realized with horror that everyone had noticed his neglect—everyone but him.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling as guilt clawed at him. How had he been so blind? Y/N had been giving him everything, and he had taken it all for granted. Alexandra’s words echoed in his mind: She’s been breaking her heart over you.

Lando’s chest tightened as his thumb hovered over Y/N’s contact. He didn’t even know what to say. Would an apology even be enough?

time skip --

Chapter 3: Silent Realizations

The apartment was eerily quiet when Lando stepped through the door. He set his keys down carefully, as though afraid any sound might shatter the fragile air of tension. He glanced at the clock—it was late, far later than he’d intended to come home.

The smell of food lingered faintly in the air, but the dishes were already washed and stacked neatly. A plate of leftovers sat covered on the counter, untouched. He frowned, guilt gnawing at him. She hadn’t waited for him for dinner.

The living room lights were dimmed, and his heart clenched when he saw Y/N curled up on the couch, a blanket pulled halfway over her. She wasn’t asleep—her eyes were on the TV, but the blank look on her face told him she wasn’t really watching.

“Y/N,” he called softly, his voice breaking the stillness.

She glanced at him briefly, her expression unreadable, before returning her gaze to the screen.

“Hey,” he tried again, stepping closer.

“Hey,” she replied, her tone distant, polite.

It broke him.

Lando stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do, before his feet carried him to her. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to explain or defend himself. Instead, he sank onto the couch beside her and wrapped his arms around her tightly, pulling her into his chest.

Y/N froze at first, her body stiff against his. She didn’t hug him back, didn’t move, didn’t even speak.

“Please,” Lando whispered into her hair, his voice cracking. He held her tighter, as if letting go would mean losing her forever.

After a moment, something in her broke. Her arms wrapped around him, clutching him like he was the last lifeline in a storm. Her shoulders shook as the first sob escaped her lips, and then the dam burst.

She cried into his chest, her tears soaking through his shirt. Her pain poured out in waves, raw and unfiltered, and Lando held her like his life depended on it.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice barely audible over her sobs. “God, Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

Her crying didn’t falter, but he kept going, the words spilling out of him in a desperate rush.

“I’ve been the worst boyfriend. I’ve neglected you, hurt you, made you feel like you don’t matter, and it’s all my fault. You’ve given me everything, Y/N, and I... I’ve been too blind to see it.”

She pulled back slightly, her tear-streaked face looking up at him, her eyes filled with anguish.

“You don’t even see me anymore, Lando. I'm invisible to you,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I see you now,” he said, his voice fierce, his hands cupping her face. “I see you, Y/N. And I hate myself for making you feel invisible, for making you question your worth, for making you cry when all you’ve ever done is love me.”

He rested his forehead against hers, his own tears slipping free. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. You’re the reason I smile, the reason I feel grounded, the reason I believe I can be better. And I’ve taken you for granted. I’ve been so caught up in my own world that I forgot how much I need you in it.”

Her lip quivered, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I miss you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I miss us.”

“We’ll get us back,” Lando vowed, his hands trembling as they brushed her tears away. “I swear to you, Y/N. No more excuses, no more distractions. I’m here. Fully, completely, here. And I’ll spend every day proving it to you, if you’ll let me.”

Her arms tightened around him again, her sobs subsiding into quiet hiccups. For the first time in weeks, she allowed herself to believe him.

“I just don’t want to lose you ever again,” she murmured, her voice small.

“You won’t,” he promised, his lips brushing her forehead. “I’ll never let that happen. I love you, Y/N. I love you so much.”

They stayed like that for a long time, tangled in each other’s arms, the silence now filled with unspoken promises and fragile hope. It wouldn’t be easy, but Lando was determined to make things right—starting now.

--

The apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside. It had been weeks since everything had fallen apart, but in the aftermath, Lando had rebuilt their relationship brick by brick. Every day, he showed up—not just physically, but emotionally. Dinner dates, goodnight kisses, endless inside jokes—it was perfect. Y/N felt like they’d found their way back to each other, stronger than ever.

But perfection could still hide lingering fears.

Lando shot up in bed, his breathing ragged, sweat dampening his shirt. The room was dark, the faint glow of the moon casting shadows across the walls. His chest heaved as the images of his dream haunted him—Y/N’s tear-streaked face, her cold tone, and the final words that echoed in his mind like a death knell:

“I can’t do this anymore, Lando. I’m done.”

His heart twisted painfully, and he scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to shake the phantom ache. Quietly, so as not to wake her, he slipped out of bed and padded to the balcony.

The cool night air hit his skin as he stepped outside, leaning heavily on the railing. His chest was tight, his throat dry. Despite everything they’d overcome, the fear of losing her still clawed at him.

“Lan?”

Her voice was soft and sleepy, but it startled him. He turned to see Y/N standing in the doorway, her hair messy from sleep and his oversized hoodie draped over her frame.

“Hey,” he whispered, quickly wiping at his face.

“Why are you out here?” she asked, stepping closer. Her brows furrowed as she noticed the redness in his eyes. “Have you been crying?”

“No, I’m fine,” he lied, his voice shaky and timid.

“Lando,” she said firmly, crossing the distance between them. She placed a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at her. “Talk to me. baby”

He let out a shuddering breath, his resolve crumbling under her touch. “I had a nightmare,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “You left me.”

Her face softened instantly. “Oh, Lando…”

“It felt so real,” he continued, his voice breaking. “You said you couldn’t do it anymore. That I’d hurt you too much, and you were done. I tried to stop you, but you were already gone. And when I woke up, I—” His voice cracked, and he covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking as silent sobs overtook him.

Y/N’s heart shattered at the sight. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. “I’m here,” she murmured, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. “I’m right here, Lando.”

“I was so awful to you,” he choked out, his arms tightening around her. “I keep thinking about everything I did—everything I didn’t do—and I hate myself for it. What if… what if one day you realize you deserve better and leave?”

She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, her hands cupping his face. “Lando Norris, listen to me,” she said, her tone firm but filled with love. “I’m not going anywhere. Yes, you hurt me. Yes, it was hard. But you’ve shown me every single day since then how much you care, how much I mean to you. You fought for us, and I know you’ll keep fighting.”

“I just… I can’t fucking lose you,” he whispered, his voice raw.

“You won’t,” she promised, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks to wipe away his tears. “I’m here because i love you. Not the perfect version of you, not the driver everyone sees, but you. The one who makes the dumb jokes, who holds me when I cry, who tries so hard to make up for his mistakes. That’s the Lando I love. And I’m not leaving him.”

Her words washed over him, soothing the storm inside. He buried his face in her shoulder, clutching her as though she might disappear if he let go.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

“You do,” she insisted, pulling back to press a kiss to his forehead. “You’re not perfect, Lando. Neither am I. But we’re perfect together, and that’s all that matters.”

He nodded against her shoulder, the tightness in his chest finally easing. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” she replied, holding him close.

They stood there for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth under the night sky. Eventually, Y/N tugged him back inside, settling them both on the bed. She kept her arms around him, her fingers running soothingly through his hair until his breathing evened out and sleep finally claimed him.

And as he drifted off, Lando realized that as long as he had her, the nightmares didn’t stand a chance. Being with the woman he loved mever felt more right.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Batboys and reader doing the hear me out cake trend and reader pulls out a picture of Bruce when he was in his prime.

Apologies anon but this trend…Do not get me started on how misconstrued the phrase ‘hear me out’ is. I’ll rant about how a lot of ppl should look up the definition first. I’m very passionate about how butchered the trend is that every time I see one I can’t help but think ‘not a hear me out, try again or don’t to save my small remnants of sanity.’ I hate it so much.

Dick

Pouts.

‘My dad? Really?’ He’d ask you.

‘Yeah, what can I say he was a total hunk.’ You shrugged.

‘Was?!’ Dick replied, looking at you as though you had grown a second head. ‘What is he now then chopped liver? Do you not like older men?! Do they loose their charm the moment they have a few grey hairs and lines on their face?!’ He exclaims.

This wasn’t what you were expecting when doing this challenge because now you were being grilled by dick on whether you’ll still feel attractive to him when he himself gets old and grey.

‘I don’t have anything against older men dick, I just find your dad hot in this specific picture.’ You defended yourself and dick only puts his hands on your shoulders and gives them a firm squeeze as he presses his forehead against yours.

‘Sweetheart I don’t think you understand because what do you mean you find him hotter in the picture?! It’s Bruce the man is just naturally photogenic!’ Dick tells you. ‘You could’ve chosen a recent picture of Bruce and say the exact same thing.’

‘Eh, it’s not the same thing.’ You say and dick felt as though he might as well rip his hair from his head because what do you mean it’s not the same thing?! He was now more certain that you didn’t like older men if Bruce was only appealing to you in his youth, his supposed prime.

Needless to say the conversation diverted from the fact that you found his dad hot, to one where dick was trying to prove to himself that you just didn’t like older men/ silver foxes for whatever absurd reason.

Jason

He’s oddly silent.

You feared you did something the moment you pulled the picture of young Bruce Wayne out to put on the cake.

The wait was over the moment he did decide to say something but it was nothing like you’d expect to come out of his mouth;

‘Out of all the pictures there are of Bruce, that’s the one you picked? Nothing about that picture is flattering to him in any way whatsoever.’

‘Oh you’re just jealous.’ You’d tell him and Jason only raises his brow at you.

‘Jealous, babe have you seen me? What’s there to be jealous of that old bat.’ Jason replies as he gestures towards himself before pinching your cheeks. ‘I just think it’s adorable how you consider Bruce in his prime as a hear me out, it’s laughable really but you do you chipmunk.’ He adds.

However when you weren’t looking, he’d take the picture of Bruce from the cake and throw it over his shoulder, for there was no way in hell he was going to have a picture of Bruce on a cake. No sir, Jason would much rather die again than allow his own father to overstay his welcome on the damn cake.

He’d even act innocent when you would ask where the picture went as though he didn’t set it on fire with a lighter after plucking it off the cake. ‘It must’ve grew legs and walked off.’ He’d shrug but it wasn’t hard to know the truth.

His dad can fuck off away from the cake and you.

Damian

Another one who’s not so amused by the fact that you added his father on a ‘hear me out’ cake.

He doesn’t partake in such stupid trends that’ll sooner or later long forgotten by the public consciousness in favour of a new trend that’ll run itself to the ground just as quickly as the last. He questions the publics attention span if it was this short and unreliable, he really does and fears that the age of stupidity has begun with people who think a conventional attractive man with a Roman nose or any other unique feature is a ‘hear me out.’

As if they were any less attractive than a man with a plain featured, and rather unappealing and basic appearance. They’re weren’t, if anything people with romantic noses or any other unique features were just as attractive as the plained featured ones, and Damian found it rather ridiculous that is what is being considered a secrete that many think they’ll be judged for finding appealing.

‘My father? Really?’ He’d say as he looked between you and the picture of his father.

‘Yeah.’ You shrugged.

Damian only sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest. ‘A conventionally attractive man is you hear me out?’

‘Not just any conventionally attractive man-‘ you tried to explain but Damian didn’t allow you the space to do so.

‘My father in his prime doesn’t count, you should really do better research before putting random people on a cake, or better yet don’t partake in a challenge you don’t understand.’ Was all Damian said before he leaves the room, he’s not impressed and feared that there was too many people who for some stupid reason also though his father in his prime is a ‘hear me out.’

It freaks him out and disappoints him greatly of what the future of Gotham and humanity as a whole would look like if these people were to be at the helm.

Tim

Not amused.

He’s sick and tired of people putting conventional attractive people and anthropomorphic animals who are drawn in a specific way to elicit such emotions out of people.

So to see that you had put his father, more specifically Bruce in his first steps as the dark knight, he couldn’t help but look at you disappointedly.

One, you obviously didn’t understand the concept of a hear me out and Tim is more then ready to educate you on what one is with his long ass PowerPoint presentation. And two, really? His dad? What was wrong with his dad in his current old age? Did you have something against older men?

Wait- why was he so suddenly concerned whether or not you find his father less appealing now than how he looked in his prime? He should be more focused on the fact that you found such pristine picture of Bruce during that time, he’s tried multiple times but the resolution was god awful and didn’t do anything to flatter Bruce.

You’re still getting lectured on what a proper hear me out is though. Tim’s got fucking tons.

[burnforyou]

POST SURGERY - LUIGI MANGIONE x READER

!SUMMARY! just some short and sweet fluff about helping lu after surgery :)

luigi stirred on the bed, letting out soft groans as he woke up from a deep slumber. you heard his soft noises and raised your head off of your arms, your neck aching. you slept sat up all night, leaning against the bed next to luigi. morning light falls over his bedroom.

he tried to sit up but the cold metal brace prevented him from moving. pain shot up his spine and he threw himself back down and shut his eyes tight, praying for the pain to go away.

"lu, what do you need? food, water, your medication?" you asked gently, trying to stand up after sleeping in an odd position.

"water, please, vita mia" he croaked out, his voice very hoarse.

you came back from the kitchen with a glass of cold water, a straw, and a full water bottle. you held the straw up to his lips and he took a long sip.

"kiss me please."

you lean down and press your lips onto his with a peck. after you pull away, he stays laying with his eyes closed and a light smile on his lips.

his stomach lightly growls and you finally take in his body, seeing the metal brace hugging his lower waist.

it broke your heart to see him like this, a normally strong and fit person, so weak, in so much pain. you know his pain has been killing him. it's held him back from so much in life and it physically hurts you to see him like this.

you caught on to the slight signs of his pain: his jaw clenching, he’d blink a little harder than usual and furrow his eyebrows. sometimes he’s walk with a slight hunch in his back.

"vivo nel dolore, nella miseria. I can't take it anymore." he'd cry at night, protected by the darkness of your shared bedroom. (I live in pain, in misery)

"I know, lu, we're gonna get you help soon." your eyes would well up with tears, knowing there was nothing you could do to help him.

"are you hungry?"

"mmhmm," he nods, eyes still closed.

"go back to sleep lu, I know you're exhausted. I'll make soup, is that okay?"

he nods.

"can you bring bread too?" he spoke up.

"of course. soup and bread coming right up!" you cheer, trying to lift his spirits, as well as yours, as much as you can. you silently weep in the kitchen while watching his tomato soup heat up in the microwave. you felt so helpless, almost pathetic. there was nothing you could do to help his pain.

you shove a slice of bread in your mouth, swallowing your sobs, and bring him warm soup with a couple slices of bread.

"here, sit," he said, patting the bed beside him. you sit on the edge of the bed, careful to not create a dip in the mattress.

you scooped up a small amount of soup onto the spoon. you hold it to his lips carefully. he slurps up the tomato soup, the hot liquid running down his throat and warming his whole body. you sit with him for almost an hour, tenderly hand feeding him soup and small pieces of bread.

“why do you look so sad?” he questioned, hand reaching for your thigh. he saw how sad and exhausted you looked, struggling to keep your eyes open as you fed him.

“i’m just really worried about you,” you replied, stroking his face. he looked up at you with pain clouding his eyes.

“you don’t need to worry about me.”

“of course i worry about you lu, i don’t want you to be in pain.” you comb your hands through his soft curls.

you shake your head and put a piece of bread up to his mouth so he can’t say anything more.

he swallows the piece of bread and smiles up at you. "sei buono come il pane.” you furrow your eyebrows down at him. the soup made his lips a shade darker, shining with a deep red stain. (you are as good as bread)

“what does that mean?”

“it means you're as good as bread. its a common phrase, just means you're a good person, and that you're loving and, and stuff like that." he looks down at his hands and fidgets with his brace.

"you're sweet." you pinch his cheek and he smiles to himself.

you put the bowl and utensils on his bedside table, standing up. you yawned and he did too.

“you’re tired?”

"mm, not really," you lied through your teeth.

"I can see the dark circles under your eyes."

“you need to sleep too.”

“i’m not tired.” he blinked his eyes a couple of times, failing to keep them open for long.

“close your eyes, i can see them drooping.”

“lay with me," he pats the bed on the other side of him and settles back on a pillow.

“no lu, you know i can’t” you shake your head.

“per favore, i hate sleeping on my back in a cold, empty bed.” he tilted his head back, getting a sudden stabbing pain up his spine.

"do you want me to put the blanket on you?" he shakes his head. "alright. just go to sleep hun, you'll see me in the morning." you start out of his bedroom, going to turn the light out.

“wait, y/n.”

“what luigi?” you stop and turn your head to look at him.

“what about a goodnight kiss?” he pouted up at you.

me if making everything I write dialogue based was illegal

MASTERLIST - PREV. WORK

!TAGS!

@strawbrriess @bellobambino @f4nfic-lover @btcowboy @chmpgneprblem @soggysouppp @hereandqueer6540 @poohkie90 @miarosalie11 @v1rtualsalvat10n @hypnotizedbyhood @webanglikethat @croucify @cumdnmp @ga33y3 @zeervzn @marzipanlvr @seesaw-it @raekensluver @ddlydevotion @hujirose @darleneslane @babydollfacedangel @withloveforlu @mxdnvghts @strawbxrryaxolotyl @bricapellan16

requested by @huly4a

[pathologicalreid]

first snow | s.r.

in which you and Spencer experience the first snow in your new apartment together

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff. the kind that rots your teeth. content warnings: snow? ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ word count: 954 a/n: so! not margovember! but i've been saving this one for a special occasion (my first snow came!!!!!) and i hope you enjoy it!!!!

“Why are we doing this now?” You asked, cocking your head at your boyfriend after you finished hauling a stack of books off of the shelves.

He was sitting on the floor, dozens of stacks of books surrounding him, so each step you took was precarious. Spencer’s self-appointed job was to sort through the books, but you weren’t getting rid of any of them. No. He’d decided to reorganize them, influenced by an influx of new language books, according to the Dewey decimal system—a phrase you hadn’t heard since grade school.

You hoisted another stack of books from the shelves, thankfully built into the walls, and set them on the ground. “We can never move out of this apartment,” you told him, flipping through an early edition Proust, likely from his mom’s collection.

That got his attention, “Why not?” His legs were crisscrossed beneath him, his hair freshly washed, and glasses perched on his face. Spencer’s flannel pajama pants were likely warmer than your cotton ones, but you felt as though your hoodie had an advantage over his crewneck.

Gesturing your hands out to the piles of books, you raised your eyebrows, “We’d have to move all of the books again.” The two of you had moved into the apartment near the beginning of the summer, right before Spencer started his training at the Academy, and the heat had ended up being more than you bargained for.

Spencer smiled fondly at you, “I like this apartment,” he reminded you, turning his attention back to his philosophy books, “It suits us.”

Looking around, you had also fallen in love with the apartment rather quickly, and you didn’t have much room to complain, knowing that Spencer had sacrificed having a short commute so you could be close to work. The two of you moved in together after you finished school in Pasadena, and he wrapped up classes at MIT, closing the distance and starting the rest of your lives together.

The two of you repainted together, abandoning the miserable taupe that had been on the walls in favor of a dark green; you worked together to make it home, even if you were here more often than him.

Stepping over a teetering pile of novels, you held your arms out for balance as you tried to get to the kitchen, yelping when your foot caught on a book, sending you falling to the ground. You groaned as the corner of a book dug into your side; the blow softened by the cotton of your sweatshirt as you rolled off of the collapsed stack.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked as you rolled over to a safe area. His hand settled on your side, stopping you from rolling onto your back.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you nodded, “Yeah.” You frowned at the books that were left in your wake, “Oh, Spence. Your books,” you sighed, sticking out your bottom lip sadly.

He shook his head, “They’re just books, lovely.” Despite his reassurance, you caught his brown eyes flickering over the fallen novels. At a glance, it didn’t seem like any damage was incurred, but Spencer held his books to a very high standard. You knew he’d be checking them over as soon as you turned your head.

Sitting all the way up, you giggled softly at the way his concern split between you and the books; you thought about pressing your lips to his, but something moving outside the window caught your eye instead.

You squinted out the window, trying to ascertain what was going on, when your mouth gaped in surprise, “Spencer!” You scrambled to your feet, trying to drag your boyfriend to his, “Come on!”

His brows pinched in confusion. He looked around the living room, trying to find what had gotten you so excited, but you were already shoving your fuzzy sock-covered feet into your sneakers. Spencer had no choice but to follow.

Not even minding that you’d folded over the heels of your shoes, you were shuffling down the stairs and making your way to the street. Spencer lagged behind you, and you had already thrown your arms out in excitement by the time he made it outside. “It’s snowing,” You said giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet and spinning on the pavement.

Spencer grabbed one of your hands, stopping you from moving while he draped your jacket over your shoulders, having been too driven to get to the snowflakes to think about staying warm. His eyes were filled with love, leaving no room for judgment.

Sticking your tongue in an attempt to catch a snowflake, you didn’t even care that you were acting like a child. You’d never lived anywhere that got real snow like this before, “Oh, I love snow.”

“Your scarf is in tatters,” Spencer observed, holding the threadbare fabric at arm’s length.

You shrugged, breathing in and letting the cold air nip at your nose, “I haven’t had any use for it. It’s been in storage for ages,” you reminded him, closing your eyes and basking in the snow.

Instead of placing the hole-ridden scarf around your neck, Spencer loops his purple one over your shoulders. “I’ll have to knit you a new one. They’re predicting above-average snowfall this winter.”

Beaming at Spencer, you held out your hand for him to take, and he pulled you closer to him so your back was flush with his chest, the two of you watching the flurries as the lamplight refracted off the tiny ice crystals. “Happy first snow, Spencer Reid,” you told him, leaning your head back on his shoulder so the two of you could share a kiss.

He hummed affectionately, “Happy first snow, my love.”

[sprite-writes-fanfic]

Hey , I was wondering how do you think the Bay Turtles would react to that Tik Tok trend where the gf called their bf their husband ? Like they could be at the lair and April calls reader amd reader is like " Ya I'm at my husbands place " etc.

This is the trend I'm talking about

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeypmGWK/

Very cute idea! Also Bayverse request! 😚👌💙

🐢Calling Them Your Husband🐢

💙❤️Bayverse TMNT x Reader💜🧡

Word Count: 917

CW: Gender-neutral reader, calling him your husband 🥰, fluffy as hell, not proof-read.

TikTok was an interesting platform that you enjoyed scrolling through occasionally, and it wasn’t until one day you stumbled upon the couple side of TikTok. You were planning on scrolling past until a certain one caught your attention, and it certainly got you thinking…

Later that night, you and your boyfriend were doing your nightly activities as you usually did, when you got a sudden call from April. You answered with a smile, “Hey April, what’s up?” You ask, the conversation flowing naturally until she asked where you were at. Without hesitation, you answered, “Oh! Yeah, I’m at my husband's place.” You smile, before glancing over at the turtle beside you, getting the following reaction…

🐢💙Leonardo💙🐢

💙 Leo was staring rather intensely at you, feeling a flood of emotions course through him as he stared at you. He would then let out a soft chuckle, and waited until you hung up. He really liked that, oh he REALLY loved that actually, you saw him as your husband, huh?

💙 Once you hung up, he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you sweetly, “So, what was that about, hm?” He mused, as you giggled a bit. “You want to get married? Why didn’t you just say so?” He smiles, and you couldn’t find it in your heart to tell him it was a TikTok, you just couldn’t, not at the time anyways. And plus, I mean the topic was on your mind after all.

💙 “Oh yeah.” You grin as you draw him into a loving kiss, “Let’s get married?” You ask, smiling at him. A chuckle escapes him and he presses his forehead against yours, “Yeah… Let’s get married.” He swiftly lifts you up, bridal style, “And let’s make it soon. I want this husband title to be more permanent.” He chuckles. (Though you would have to tell him later down the line about this because you felt a tad bit guilty, spoiler; he was confused, but he was fine with it.)

🐢❤️Raphael❤️🐢

❤️ Raph gave you a soft chuckle, before placing a hand on your hip, “Damn right you are.” He smirked down at you. Now this, dear reader, stroked his ego, he absolutely loved it. He waits for you to finish up the call with April, lightly rubbing your skin in a loving manner as he was left with his thoughts for a moment.

❤️ Once you hung up, he kissed your head, “Husband, huh? Get that from somewhere?” He asks, and you couldn’t help but chuckle, “Yes… I did, it was a TikTok idea.” He playfully rolled his eyes, “Now you didn’t mean it?” He teased, making you panic, “Of course I did, Raph!” He let out a small laugh, “Easy, Dollface. I’m messing with you.” He would kiss your forehead, calming you down.

❤️ He was a little disappointed that it was a TikTok trend, but he does have to admit, you calling him your husband certainly felt good. Now he was rather tempted to make you a Hamato, if you catch my drift. But he’d wait, he wants it to be at the right time… For now, he’s just relentlessly bullies you (lovingly) about this for a good while.

🐢💜Donatello💜🐢

💜 Chokes, Donnie literally chokes. He was in the middle of drinking some apple juice when the phrase, ‘my husband’s’, gave him some whiplash with this one. He was choking and coughing, wiping away dripping juice as you panicked and hung up on April to help him, (RIP Donnie, died to apple juice 💀).

💜 Once you finish helping him clean up, he would finally regain his composure, his nostrils still stinging from the apple juice, he asks, “What was that about?” He wasn’t angry, not at all, just really confused about this whole thing. Husband? That’s not the right term, you guys aren’t married (yet)! You end up explaining, “Well… It was a TikTok trend and I kinda wanted to see how you’d react.” You admit.

💜 He chuckles and shakes his head at this, “A TikTok trend?” He asks, “Well, it certainly caught me off guard… But maybe don’t do that the next time I’m drinking apple juice, it isn’t pleasant in the throat nor the nose.” He warns, making you smile, “Right, sorry Don.” And you kissed his cheek, returning back to your fun nightly activities of working on his latest invention.

🐢🧡Michelangelo🧡🐢

🧡 Mikey goes along with it, he’s seen this trend. He wraps his arms around your waist and leans against your shoulder, speaking closer to the phone, “Yup~ Wifeys at my place!” He grins, and now you were feeling yourself get red in the face, now a little flustered that he went along with it. It kinda made you feel a little giddy inside.

🧡 Once hanging up, Mikey was giving you a smug smirk, “Tried to pull that one on me? Well I’m two steps ahead of you, angelcakes!” He grins as he’d kiss your cheek, making you groan, “Damn it, Mikey. I was hoping you’d be a little more on the surprised side, but alas, you know TikTok better than I do.” Making him laugh and nuzzle against your neck.

🧡 He placed sweet kisses along your neck, “Nah, that just takes the fun out of it.” He grins widely, pulling away to look into your eyes, “Plus, I’ve always wanted to call you wifey.” He smirked again when he saw you blush a little harder, making you sigh, “Fine fine! You win.” You groan, hugging him around the shoulders, as he laughed softly and nuzzled your cheek lovingly.

[jesuistrestriste]

frustrated, overworked, sad art donaldson who comes home to you after losing what was supposed to be an ‘easy win’

and when he gets in the door, he doesn’t even take his shoes off before he’s tracking you down in your guys’ apartment; he could’ve been a bloodhound in a past life with the way he’s able to find you just by scent alone

when he does find you, curled up on the bed as you work on your laptop, there’s not a moment of hesitation before he’s crawling up over you and pushing your device aside. he’s got this soft, needy expression on his face, and then you feel his sticky + sweaty body pressing down over yours.

he’s already aching in his athletic shorts, pent up from all the adrenaline and guilt from the loss. he begins rutting down over your clothed hips like a dog in heat; burying his face into the warmth of your neck and murmuring little words and whines and moans.

his palms are pressed down on either side of your body to cage you in, his fingers curled to clutch the sheets as he bucks and rolls his cock against your pelvis. you can feel it too, it’s hot and pulsing and heavy in the confines of the fabric, and he doesn’t seem like’s gonna stop to wait for you to give any sort of protest.

you do try, pushing your hands against his chest and saying things like, “Art— wait—“

but he just shakes his head and lets out a pleading, guttural whine as he fucks your body through the layers of cotton and spandex material. your hesitancy to indulge him right away only riles him up more; heightening the desperation boiling in his core.

he’s not even totally aware of what he’s doing now, just mindlessly and frantically pushing his body down over yours and babbling rushed, whispered phrases.

“oh god, please— please, i wan’ you, need you, need this—“

“need to feel you, need to— i j-just— ohhh— fuuhhcckkk—!”

“can i come? i can’t hold it— im not gonna hold it— can’t— stop— oh shit—! baby, i’m gonna come.. ‘m gonna— about to—!”

he spills into his boxers + his shorts, gushing thick ropes as he shudders and mouths at your neck. his jaw is nearly slack.

art’s usually one to take things slow, so this whole thing is odd, but you start to realize that he’s probably only behaving this way because he’d just lost the match you sent him off to on his own.

you don’t need him to tell you that he lost, you know now.

you hold him as he collapses, panting and gasping, and you kiss the side of his head.

“you’ll do better next time,” you whisper to him.

he won’t.

[arminsumi]

geto who's way bigger than you. just imagine sitting on his lap while he hugs you. he might kiss you in the hair or make you ride him until you're dripping all over his pants <3

TOO SMALL TO TAKE IT ALL, HUH?

𝐆. 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 — 夏油傑

🔞 smut / n.sfw / 18+ content

NOTE: did I just read Geto Suguru with a size kink or do I need to get my eyes checked out again 🥴 anyways hehe my dearest mama pieck in my inbox good to see u angel 💗

WARNINGS — fem reader, size kink, implied clothed sex, implied unprotected sex + creampie, hair pulling, light roughplay, teasing/playfulness, dirty talk, slight dom/sub dynamic (?), nicknames (daddy, good girl, baby, etc), lmk if i have missed a warning thank u lovelies

That’s the first thing he noticed about you – you and him, the sheer size difference. It made his eyes light up, it made him smirk. He immediately compared his body size to yours and relished in the fact even your shadow was smaller.

Satoru had introduced the two of you to each other years ago during one especially hot summer. You’d coincidentally stayed at the same hotel in Okinawa for the holidays. Geto Suguru very unashamedly chuckled when you looked up at him, noticing how your eyes skimmed the strip of his physique that showed through his Hawaiian shirt. One of the first things he said to you was “You’re so small” as a playful, cheeky little remark.

And it wasn’t the last time he said it. That was a very common phrase to come out of him. He loved making you very aware of how much bigger he was than you.

Never mind the obvious height difference, he was just bigger than you in every aspect. Hands, feet, forearms, chest, torso, shoulders. So often in the early stages of your relationship, he would put his hand out and splay his fingers so that you’d bring your own hand up to compare, showing off his finger length by curling them over yours, with a suggestive smirk too. At some point he made the very expected dirty joke, “Bet you’d prefer mine over yours, huh? Yeah. I could reach much deeper.”

The size difference between you and him was on his mind whenever he hugged you. He made sure that you felt the tones of his torso pressing tight against your chest.

And it was killing him inside whenever you perched yourself on his lap. You felt his muscular thighs supporting your weight.

Pair those together – hugging him while on his lap? He was conscious of every part of your body that pressed against him, as were you; how could you ignore the press of his biceps against your sides? No one could.

His pants started tightening when he mentally compared every aspect of your body and his body. Your hand and his hand, your shoulders and his shoulders, your leg length and his leg length. You wouldn’t expect nasty thoughts to be circling his mind when he’s pressing such innocent kisses into your hair. But he’s thinking of pulling on that pretty hair, making you squirm on his cozy, comfy, big lap while he stuffs his cock inside your tiny hole.

He sweet talks you while palming and kneading your ass, feeling the supple skin bounce and jiggle makes him giddy.

 Geto was a giant, but a gentle giant. Well, mostly gentle – gentle when he wasn’t thrusting up into you.

He fucked you like a real show-off, ‘cause Geto wanted to make your pussy remember his size. Splitting you open and stretching you out always earned a wolfy grin from his lips. “Feel that? ‘so deep I’m in your tummy, baby. If I cum inside I’m sure not a single drop will spill out.” He coos into your ear, firm grip unmoving from your hips.

The curve of his cock had you seeing stars, it made your body so weak – he liked that. He liked that he had the ability to make your body practically melt in his embrace, he savored the feeling and sight of your body going half-limp like a ragdoll when you were getting fucked too good by him.

Sometimes he was so needy to feel you stretch around him that he didn’t bother fully taking off his clothes, he’d just unbutton and unzip his pants.

“But I’m gonna soak ‘em.” You forewarned.

“Yeah.” He hummed with a smirk, “I like that, baby. Soak daddy’s jeans with your pretty pussy like a good girl. Make a mess on me.”

Now, Geto only gives you a bit of freedom when riding his lap. Those big hands are always attached to your hips and helping to work you up and down. Sometimes he’ll give you the liberty of bouncing on his cock all by yourself, as clumsy as you are in that cock-drunk state, so he can hold the back of your head and give you feverish kisses all over your face. When he feels the tickle of your hair as it slips through his fingers, that’s when he takes a grip of it and pulls back so gently. Geto’s so sweet and gentle – ‘till he’s cumming, that is, then you feel a slight tingle across your scalp as he really pulls on your hair.

“You’re so fucking tiny, baby. Too small to take it all, huh? Deep breaths, there we go – angel you’re so good for me, always listening to me – fuckkk – s-so fucking small, so fucking small ‘n tiny, ‘gonna milk my cum out with that tight hole of yours? Yeah? Good, be good and milk my cum out.”

When he’s through with you, he always praises you like a princess.

“You impress me.” He tells you, “it's so hot that you can take all of me like that, even thought you’re so small. Mhm, that’s right, you’re my baby angel, aren’t you? C’mere, let me kiss you.” He feathers tenderly against the crown of your head, ignorant of the fact his pants are soaked through with his pretty girl’s juices, and presses pretty kisses to your skin.

[itiswormtimebaby]

Here’s what I’m thinking about: Bucky finds out you’ve never been eaten out and takes that personally. 

Gif does NOT represent readers physical appearance, but just look at that tongue

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Bug (+ Brother’s best friend Bucky, plus sized fem reader) CW: Explicit, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, rimming (vague), demanding Bucky but everyone’s into it, Bucky’s mouth, virgin reader

“What the fuck did you just say?” Bucky looks up at you incredulously from where he lays between your spread legs, chin poking into the soft flesh of your stomach, his favorite pillow as of late. You were just so goddamn soft, he couldn’t get over it. 

“How is that news to you? You know I’m-”

“A virgin, not a saint. You’ve dated!” Coming from anyone else it would’ve sounded like an accusation but Bucky was truly just confused, how could someone have access to your body not have their face buried in your sweet pussy twenty-three hours a day? Hell, he’d only licked your essence off his fingers and he was already hooked. You gave a short shrug in response, not sure what to say.

“What about that guy Steve caught you with?” 

“Ew! Never speak of that, he had to bleach his eyes and I had to bleach my brain.” Normally your dramatics would’ve at least earned you a playful eye roll or indulgent chuckle but he was too distraught to offer even that, suddenly rising to his knees, back straight as he loomed over your still prone form. 

“You’re seriously telling me that jackass didn’t reciprocate? None of them did?” 

Again, unsure of how to respond you just offer him a small shrug. 

“Bug, take your goddamn pants off right now.” His tone is deadly serious, eyes blazing. He genuinely looks upset by this new information. 

“BUCKY!” 

“Now or I’m ripping them off.” 

You’re quick to arch your lower back off the bed, rushing so Bucky won’t ruin your favorite leggings, his calloused fingers joining yours in yanking the waistband down over the swell of your stomach and hips before he’s throwing them over his shoulder. As soon as you’re bared to him he drops back to his stomach, rough hands pushing your thighs apart, wasting no time in nosing at your clit. Your mortified to hear him deeply inhale, but it’s quickly lost in a wave of arousal as he begins to talk, seemingly to himself; “Can’t believe no one’s ever tasted this beautiful cunt. Fucking losers. It’s mine now” Filth continues to pour from his mouth between wet open mouthed kisses to your thighs, he alternates between biting and sucking at the soft flesh, before chasing a trail of slick from between your ass cheeks back up to your weeping hole. 

You’d never understood the phrase “he ate pussy like a man starved” until now. It was like Bucky was truly trying to devour you, tongue lapping at your achingly empty opening, a perverse parallel to how he kissed you. His tongue consistently moved over your soaking flesh, licking from one hole to the other before darting back up to your clit, suckling on it as he fucked you on a finger, making you beg for a second. The cycle continued until you were spiraling towards oblivion, his left hand reaching towards you, allowing you to lock your fingers together while your other hand twisted tightly in his hair and his continued to fuck in and out of you, now up to three fingers. 

You hear what vaguely sounds like “tastes so fucking good.” And your name, your actual name, not Bug, before you're using your grip on his hair to press him further into your cunt, grinding against him as you ride out the most intense orgasm of your life so far. Nearly spirally into a second when you come back down to earth and feel his jaw working against your overstimulated cunt as he does his best to drink in your juices. 

He pulls back just long enough to peer up at you, the entire lower half of his face soaked in your slick; “their loss.”

[sweet-s0rr0w]

in the greek tradition

a little something silly for @peachydreamxx, after our chat about statues in British stately homes! with art by the lovely @faiell!😘

***

“Malfoy! Oi, Malfoy!”

Weasley’s shout is unexpected and yet somehow typically obnoxious, shattering the end-of-summer stillness as effectively as a Bludger through a window. Draco closes his novel carefully around a finger, optimistically keeping the page. “What is it?” he hisses – via Patronus, of course, since he refuses to screech back across the Manor’s gardens like an oik.

Of course, Weasley doesn’t get the hint. “Malfoy!” he bellows again, from somewhere behind the box hedge, sounding ominously full of mirth. “C’mere a moment, would you?”

Playing to an imaginary audience, Draco rolls his eyes heavenwards, testing the weight of his book in his hand and briefly considering the merits of telling Weasley to fuck off. Of course, in the end his curiosity gets the better of him, and so with a beleaguered sigh he gets to his feet and follows the sound of laughter all the way down to the herbaceous garden, where Potter and Weasley are loitering incongruously, their Auror uniforms a garish blood-red amongst the muted pastels of the foxgloves.

“Course your Patronus is a bloody great swan,” says Weasley, stating the obvious as usual, yet grinning away like he’s told the world’s funniest joke.

Beside him, Potter looks a bit sheepish. “Alright, Malfoy?” he asks, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“What’s going on?” asks Draco, determinedly ignoring their antics.

“Right, yeah,” says Weasley, tugging his hand out of his pocket to gesture roughly past the alliums. “What we were wondering was – who’s this guy?”

Draco follows his gaze – and – ah. Weasley’s talking about the sculpture, then. The very striking, very buff, very naked marble sculpture, which towers over the garden with his wand caught dramatically mid-flourish, his head thrown back, and his eyes closed in some kind of ecstasy. Draco probably should have realised sooner, what with all the time he’d spent alone in the herbaceous garden as a sexually frustrated teen.

“What?” he asks, having now forgotten the question entirely.

“Because, right, I reckon it’s some ancient hero. Like Merlin, or something–”

“Really, Weasley? You think that’s what Merlin looked like?”

“–but Harry says it must be a Malfoy.”

Draco blinks.

 “The hair,” Potter says, quickly. “It’s the same as – you know, you’ve all got all that, like, loose, flowy, glossy… you know. Also,” he adds, “no offense, but having a sculpture of yourself in your own garden seems like kind of a Malfoy thing to do.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “Plus you’re all dramatic as fuck. So who’s right?”

Draco considered the statue for a moment: even moss-stained and weather-worn, it did have excellent hair. Also, pleasingly muscular thighs. “Potter’s right,” he’s forced to admit – at this moment, his second least favourite phrase. “This is a young Xanthus Malfoy the second. An excellent hunter, by all accounts, and one of the last Malfoys to sit in the… what?” he demands, interrupting Weasley, who’s giving Potter what can only be described as a meaningful look. “What’s going on? Why are you both giggling?”

Weasley says nothing. His ears are turning pink: Draco hopes he’s getting sunburnt.

“Well,” begins Potter, nodding vaguely back towards the statue. “We were just saying that he’s… well. That he’s – that it’s a little–”

“You got that right,” Weasley mutters.

“What?”

Potter presses his lips together, avoiding Draco’s gaze. “Well,” he says, delicately. “The thing is. While I’m sure he was an excellent hunter, this particular Malfoy seems to be, well. Lacking something. Deficient, you might say. In one certain – area.”

“His cock, Malfoy,” Weasley adds, helpfully. “His cock’s miniscule, and while we’re at it, his bollocks aren’t much to write home about either. The whole package’s rather… unfortunate, I’d say. What’s going on? Are micropenises a family trait, or did they just run out of stone?”

“Marble,” Draco says, faintly. “It’s marble. And by the way, you two are children.”

“Come on, Malfoy,” says Potter, grinning. “You can’t pretend you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s deliberate, you philistine! It’s sculpted in the fucking Greek tradition!”

“Right.”

“And while we’re at it, it’s symbolic! The… diminutive penis represents mastery over one’s baser instincts. The triumph of intellectualism over… animalistic urges.”

Weasley frowns. “What you on about now?”

“I think, Ron,” Potter says, “that what Malfoy’s suggesting is that the bigger the dick, the stupider the man. Explains a lot, you know.” He smirks, eyeing Weasley in a manner that makes Draco’s brain feel like it may be the wrong size for his skull.

“Oi,” Weasley laughs, reaching out gleefully to whack Potter, who dodges sideways, then turns his ankle on the edge of a flowerbed and falls neatly into a lavender bush.

“It half makes sense,” Weasley says, offering Potter a hand to tug himself up. “The tiny prick thing. I mean, Malfoy certainly thinks he’s clever.”

“He does,” Potter chokes out, clearly on the verge of hysteria. Draco throws up his arms in frustration.

“For Merlin’s sake, Weasley!” he cries, as Potter wobbles dangerously close to the ornamental fountain. “Just because the statue’s got a–”

“It’s alright, Malfoy,” Weasley cuts in, soothingly. “I’ve heard some people are into that kind of thing. Tiny dicks, I mean.” He turns back to Potter, voice strained. “Not that I’ve met any, obviously.”

“I don’t have a tiny dick!” Draco cries, outraged. “I’ll prove it! I’ll show you both! I’ll show you both right fucking now–”

It’s unfair, and unconscionable, and somehow Draco’s hand is down his pants before he can even help himself, and that’s when Weasley finally stops laughing. “Alright, alright!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “Keep your fancy knickers on, Malfoy. We believe you. Right, Harry?”

Potter’s not laughing either, now, and he doesn’t reply; he’s too busy staring, as, jaw set, and mustering all the dignity he can manage, Draco releases his grip on his (perfectly decent sized) penis, and slides his hand carefully out from beneath his waistband. He glares at them both, tugging his robe tightly shut.

“Right?” Weasley repeats, louder this time. “We don’t need to see proof, eh, Harry?”

Potter’s eyes are still fixed on a point somewhere below Draco’s navel, and his cheeks are now stained a most fetching pink. The sun is rather strong today, Draco thinks, feeling his own face heating.

“Harry?”

***

tons of thanks to @tackytigerfic for looking it over 😘

[innerfare]

Blue Balls - Ace: Part 2 

Summary: Ace takes care of his blue balls; text below the cut. If you haven't already, read Part 1 here!

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Afab!Reader

Genre: smut

CW: penetrative sex, dirty talk

Word Count: 1,255

———

Ace couldn’t believe his rotten luck. 

Thatch had you on deck that entire night handling something, and just before dawn, Pops sent Ace out on a mission to a nearby island. It had all happened so quickly and he’d barely had the chance to tell you goodbye and punch Marco in the arm for that knowing, teasing look on his face before he was off. 

When he returned, it was just past three in the morning, and he was absolutely miserable, with a hole in his stomach and a throbbing, aching problem between his legs. He ground his teeth together to keep from groaning as he climbed onto the ship. 

Rotten luck, indeed. 

He’d had a real rough go of things, not just because he had a serious case of blue balls but because that mission Pops had sent him on had proven to be the sort of thing that only the second division commander could really take care of. 

He normally enjoyed that sort of thing, and he’d had a few moments that he relished, but ultimately, his mind was on you and the fact he hadn’t told Thatch to go fuck himself that night. 

Marco met him on deck with a plate of food that Ace tucked into as soon as he dropped his things. As he bit into two rice balls at once, he gave the deck of the Moby Dick a once over. It was deserted, most of the crew asleep in their hammocks for the night. 

“She wanted to wait up for you,” Marco said with a knowing look, "but I sent her to bed. Thatch has been running her ragged, poor thing.” 

Ace grunted with a mouthful of food, Marco’s phrasing conjuring images in his head that he knew he should have been ashamed of. But he wasn’t ashamed. He was tired and hungry, and he needed you.

“You should let her sleep. She’s in for another long day tomorrow.” Marco chuckled and clapped Ace on the shoulder. “But if you want to keep her awake, I’m guessing you could bribe Thatch with some of that sake you brought back.” 

Ace just nodded and headed inside.

Exhausted, he paused outside the door and pressed his forehead into it. His blood was absolutely boiling in his veins, and he knew he needed to calm down some before coming on to you, but he wasn’t sure how to do that. 

A sound filtered through the door, and Ace’s ears twitched. 

No way. 

He leaned in closer and held his breath to listen. Sure enough, he heard a small, wanton moan come from inside his cabin. 

Ace’s heart jumped in his chest. All thoughts of remaining calm and slipping quietly into bed left his mind. He whipped open the door. He intended to slip inside smoothly, but he ended up stumbling, accidentally slamming the door shut behind him. 

You gasped, sitting up straight in bed. You squinted in the dark, only just making out a tall, broad figure in a cowboy hat. “Ace?” 

“Did you really get started without me?” Ace stepped out of his boots, almost tripping he was in such a rush. “You knew I was coming home tonight.” 

“I started thinking you got delayed and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.” You fell back on the pillows, enveloped in the scent of him once more. You were naked under the covers with your hand still between your legs, where you had been rubbing furiously at your clit in a pathetic attempt to get off on your own. 

“I’m here now.” He shoved his shorts down and stepped out of those, too; he never wore anything underneath. He practically dove into bed, struggling to get the covers off your body. 

He felt your lips on his shoulder. 

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe under the weight of your boyfriend, but you didn’t dare complain as the two of you struggled to get the covers out from between you. His crushing weight on top of you was the best feeling in the world. 

Well, one of the best feelings in the world. 

“How many times did you cum?” He asked, finally peeling back the covers. He pressed his naked body into yours and groaned. “How many times did you cum without me?” 

“You interrupted before I could finish,” you told him. You sighed in relief at the feel of his chest against yours. Your hands went straight to his black locks, but they didn’t stay there for very long. You ran them down his face and neck, squeezed his shoulders, and grabbed hold of his muscular biceps. 

“What about last night?” He pushed your head to the side and went to work on your neck, kissing and sucking to his heart’s content, biting so hard you mewled in pain. “How many times did you cum last night?” 

“None.” 

“And the night before?” 

You hesitated, but answered honestly. “Once.” 

He didn’t run his fingers up and down your slit. He didn’t tongue fuck you to make sure you were good and ready. Hell, he didn’t even ask you to finish the blowjob you’d been giving him before the two of you were separated. He just aligned his cock with your slick entrance. 

“Need this so bad,” he moaned into your shoulder. “I have the worst blue balls of my life right now. Hurts so bad.” 

“You say that every time.” 

“It hurts every time.” He pushed the head of his cock into your entrance and let out a loud groan as if nobody could hear. “Oh, that feels so good.” He pushed another inch in. “Tell me how you came the other night, sweetheart. Tell me all about it.” 

“I was thinking about that time you went down on me on deck,” you confessed. “When the others were all drinking in town.” 

Ace hummed in encouragement, pushing another inch in. His mouth watered and his abdominal muscles spasmed at the feel of your warmth encasing him bit by bit.

You whined at the stretch but kept on. “I rode your pillow like it was your thigh. It was so good.” Another inch, another whine. “I’m pretty sure Marco heard. He knocked on the door right after I came to check on me.” 

That bastard, Ace thought to himself. 

He couldn’t stop himself. He bottomed out inside you, pushing your thighs apart for better access. He rolled his hips against yours, fucking you like a maniac, the two of you panting and moaning.  

He was a complete mess, a sheen of sweat appearing on his brow line as he fucked you. He panted and whimpered, his rhythm far less consistent than usual. He rutted into you like he'd never done it before, like he'd never even experienced pleasure before.

Ace at least had the sense to thumb your clit while he fucked you, but he couldn’t think of anything beyond that. He tried desperately to hold off until you came. 

The second he felt your walls tighten around him and your nails dig deeper into his back, he released all of the tension he’d been carrying around with him, filling you with his cum. He gave another few deep strokes before collapsing on top of you. 

“So tired,” he muttered into your hair, still inside of you. 

You rubbed the back of his neck. “Go to sleep, then. We can catch up in the morning.” 

Ace didn’t need to be told twice. He kissed you one final time and was out like a light. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!