#i hate how flat the top and bottom are

[skitskatdacat63]

This is ultra specific but: I feel salty now bcs I just read a bunch of phone reviews and they're like "thank god Samsung is moving away from curved screens" NO! CURVED SCREENS ARE BEAUTIFUL AND SEXY 😭😭😭😭

[bi-writes]

dark matter | ghost x f!reader

INSTALLMENT TWO — TIME ROT COLLECTION

type: one-shot, part of anthology series, can be read standalone (6.5k)

cw: dark!ghost, mature language and content, mature sexual language and content, mw3 spoilers, death, grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, dubcon, size kink, manhandling, breeding kink, cumplay, unprotected piv (18+)

You don't know how long it's been. Maybe days, or maybe it's been weeks, you aren't sure, but it's hard to move when there is nothing that waits for you.

All that's left is a box that sits on your kitchen table. It has his name scribbled across the top, and when you opened it up, just seeing the photos of him tucked into the sides was enough to nearly make you sick. You haven't opened it again since. You haven't touched it. When you touch the cardboard, it burns, it stings.

You don't know what you're supposed to do when the love of your life doesn't come home. You don't know what you're supposed to do when there's bills on the table, when half of the bed is empty, when everything that was supposed to happen died along with him.

You used to sit on this very couch and talk about everything you would do and everything you wanted. You used to lay there, your head in his lap, looking up into those baby blues and tell him about what a good husband he would make, how it was going to be so hot watching him fixing the leaky sink and hanging up the new shelves you bought, being the house husband he was always meant to be.

Someone that pretty deserved to be at home all day, baking bread and fixing a vintage car.

He promised you so much. He promised you love. He promised you laughter. He promised you a lifetime of something more.

But there never really was anything more. He never married you. He never proposed. He just fucked you full before every deployment, whispering into your hair as you drooled about how, "I'll see ye when I get back, bonnie, 'n I'll tell ye how much I luv ye."

But he didn't come back. So you really aren't sure now how much he loved you.

You stand in front of the bathroom mirror, fluffing a brush over your cheeks. The makeup helps, but you look dead, and your eyes are dull.

You don't want to go to work, but you can't pay your bills, and Johnny wasn't your husband, so the box in your kitchen stands as a loving gesture from his mother, and that is all he left behind. And when you went to the service and asked for something, for anything, they said it was out of their hands.

You are entitled to no compensation—because on paper, you are nothing to anyone, and you belong to no one. And though his mother kissed you shakily, with tears in her eyes, you couldn't bear to ask her for anything, because she hurts, too, and you are nothing to anyone, and you belong to no one.

So you work; you work, and you don't stop, and you sleep only a few hours before you get up and do it all over again, and even after a long day, you count the pennies in your purse, and it isn't enough. You let yourself get comfortable, you allowed yourself to succumb to a man, a man you loved, and what did it get you?

Fuck all. You have fuck all, and you let a man do it to you.

Fate and destiny are a cruel reality. Unforgiving—they don't care about the choices you make because they happen anyways, and it's hard to be angry when this is how it was always going to be. It doesn't make you hate any less, and it doesn't make the dust collecting on the box any less thick.

When you do gain the courage to touch it again, you have a week left to find a new flat. You don't know where you will go, but you're packing, and you rip the top of the box off as harshly as a band-aid. Your eyes focus on the knick-knacks that Johnny must've kept. A few different sized sketchbooks, the nubs of worn and used graphite and charcoal pencils, a crystal and beaded rosary that his mother gifted him when he first enlisted. You pick up the crinkled and well-loved papers that are stacked at the bottom, and your eyes blur with fresh tears at the ripped out sketches that sit in your hands.

It's you, in different angles. Asleep, staring out at something, smiling at him. He captures your face beautifully, and you can see where he's smudged the shading with a thick finger to cast shadows and light over you. He sketches in exquisite detail—he always has, but he has always had a certain style, a certain eye, that made lead look like real life. 

It’s odd to see what you looked like through his eyes. Bright. Lovely. Soft. He draws with a breath of fresh air, and you can see where his finger has rubbed away all the harsh lines. When you see a few places where the graphite on his thumb has stamped his fingerprint onto the paper, you feel your throat close up. You want to feel those fingers on your face. You want him to brush the hair out of your eyes and look down at you. You want to feel that hand tracing your jawline, your nose, the lid of your eye—you want to feel the warmth that he always radiated, and you want to breathe in the scent of him until you forget the smell of anything else.

You pick up a loved and bound book, with thinner pages that you know can't be a sketchbook. You unwind the leather string on the front, flipping it open, and you swallow thickly when you realize what this is.

A journal. You never knew he kept one.

The first few pages are dated from when he first enlisted, a few years before he met you. He writes just as eloquently as he draws, and you settle into the couch behind you as you read about his enthusiasm joining, the purpose he finally has, the weight of the world lifting off of his shoulders as he thinks about all the things he will be able to do as he rises through the ranks. You let your fingers skim over the words, feeling how his pen has pierced the paper, and you try to imagine him—fresh shaven with less muscle, life in his eyes as he thought about serving his country. You smile a little, but it hurts after a few moments.

You flip a little further, your eyes skimming over times he cursed out his commanding officer, punched a private for sneaking into the women's barracks, the love he has for a detonator that began when he soldered his first pins. His personality shines, and it's like you can hear him talking to you all over again, and when he begins to talk about a love he doesn't know how to handle, you smile to yourself, because you think he's talking about you.

But when you look again, the dates are wrong. You hadn't met him yet, not at this point, and your smile fades when you realize he's talking about someone else.

He never says their name. He writes at length about them, someone who has captured his eye, someone he says he can't have. Someone unattainable, unavailable, and then there is his own reservations. You don't realize until his entries from a few months later that he's talking about a man.

never felt this way before. not about anyone. rosary i always look at is fucking mocking me, i think. i can hear mum, somewhere, telling me to find a good catholic bonnie, but this is real. i know it is, but i don't know what to do about it. not like anyone i've ever met. can't explain the bond. but i look at him, and i think he looks at me, and i just know. i know. it can't be just in my head, can it? i'm not mad. i'm not. but what am i supposed to do?

You flip the pages frantically. There's sketches of hands on one page, hands that hold a handgun, that squeeze a trigger. They're tame sketches, but you feel a little sick because you feel like you're looking at a part of his life that you're not supposed to be looking at. The intimacy of these sketches—just hands, and you feel like they should be censored to your eyes.

The sketches and the words, they morph as time goes on. Sketches of closed eyes. Of blonde lashes. A harsh brow, a scar cutting across a thin lip. There is no softness in these sketches. Johnny draws with an abrasive pencil. It cuts the shapes, jagged edges akin to glass.

i can't tell anyone. i want to tell the whole world. won't let me. want to scream it from the fucking roof that i love you, but you're such a stubborn bastard. so fucking stubborn.

The sketches suddenly become warped. Angry, spiked, and you can see the emotion from how hard he presses the pencil into the page. More hands, and you can’t help but notice how he draws them simply functioning. Hand over wrist. Holding a utensil. Picking nails. These hands tell a story, and you can see the bumps and bruises and the wounds that litter the surface of them—these hands are anything but delicate. They have wrought. They have dug until their fingernails bled. They have been stuck through barbwire, maimed to the point of texture and roughness and the blurring of scar tissue.

don't fucking believe you. it isn't just me.

You're blind for a few moments from the intensity of your tears. You wipe them furiously, you need to know more, you need to know. The dates skip, and you pause on the day that you met.

so bonnie. so beautiful.

Softer sketches. The delicate lashes that are your own, the gentle curve of your pouty lips. You recognize yourself, but only barely, because he draws you like you are out of focus. He draws you as if you are too far away, just out of reach.

she's everything i've ever wanted. so why can't i let it go?

Your bottom lip trembles when sketches of a butterfly overlap skulls. The motifs never disappear, not completely, and it's only obvious what his true feelings are when you smooth a finger down the sketch of a butterfly escaping its cocoon that hangs from the mouth of a discarded skull head.

haunt my fucking dreams. go away. go away. go away. the ring is right there, so why can't i give it to her?

You close it abruptly. It falls to the floor, the cover of it thudding as you cover your face with your hands. Was he thinking of someone else all this time? Every morning, every kiss, every time he looked into your eyes and told you that he loved you—was all of this meant for someone else? Someone he wanted but couldn't have? Someone that just didn't love him back?

You scream. You toss the coffee table. You shatter the flowers that have died, you pick up the box of his things, and you throw it. You watch the papers fly, the books fall, you hear the rattle of his dead memories meet the floor of the home he left behind, and you scream at all of it just to stop, please, stop, stop, stop—

You're not even sure if it's really Johnny you're angry at. Maybe yourself, because you've never really been good enough to be loved by anyone. No one has ever loved you and you only—you've only ever been additional, on the condition of loving another, never enough to be the one and only, and maybe that's your real problem. Maybe the real problem is that you want to die because you always give everything you have, and no one has ever wanted it enough to give you the same.

Maybe you just want too much. Maybe your dreams are too big, maybe it's just that no one wants what you are handing over. Packaged pretty, all shiny and new, but if no one wants it, you shelve that kind of love, and that's where it rots.

Maybe this kind of love died with Johnny. Not the beginning of something, but the reality of it, and now all you can do is accept the things you cannot change and tame the heart inside of you that isn't good enough to be for anyone else.

When you pick up his things off the floor the next morning, you find a scribbled address on the back of a torn sketch. So, you do the kind thing, and you gather his things back into the box, close the lid on what never really was, and you carry it with you out the door.

The door is unmarked. The paint on it is peeling, but you know this must be the place because there's a pair of dark boots caked with mud sitting out by the bottom step. You raise your hand to knock, and you tap it with your knuckles timidly, adjusting your hold on the box in your arms.

A few minutes pass by, but no one answers. You knock again, louder and firmer this time, and it finally swings open. From the dark flat emerges a large man, sticking his head out from behind the chain latched and glaring down at you. You think he's about to close it on you, but then his eyes flicker down, and you know he must read the name scribbled in big letters on the box that you hold.

It’s enough to make him pause. It’s enough to make him stay, rooted to that spot, even if you can tell all he wants to do is sink back into whatever void he came out of.

"Hi," you whisper, and you have no control over how broken the word comes out. "I...I just thought you should have this."

Because he never really loved me. Not really. Not the way he loved you.

The door shuts, and you hear the chain unlatch, and then he opens it wider. He emerges in the doorway, taking up the entirety of the width of it, and he snarls down at you from behind the mask he wears.

He opens his mouth to spit something at you, but then you hold it out to him with shaky hands, and he can see the tears that are coming down your face. You can't control them, he can tell that much, and he reaches out to take the box from you. You look at his hands, and you recognize them immediately. Uncanny, the resemblance, and you recognize the scar that cuts across the knuckles on his left hand. You know if you push his mask down, you could trace with closed eyes the scar he must wear that starts at his nose and ends at his chin.

He doesn’t know it, but you know what he looks like. You know what he is. If he took off that mask, you would see a face you know, even if Johnny never drew the entirety of it at once. Always bits and pieces of him, but you’d know them if you saw them put altogether. You have the puzzle pieces of him in the back of your mind, and you know you could put them back together if you really tried.

He would not be able to do the same for you. The pieces of you are scattered, and you know they are lost, and that there is no getting them back. Johnny took them to grave; you would never ask for them back, anyways.

You don't ask who he is. He doesn't ask you who you are; but when your eyes meet, there is some kind of understanding. Some kind of knowing. You almost don't want to leave—you know he mustn't be kind, not from what you’ve read of him and the way he looks, but Johnny loved him, and you want to cling onto anything that still breathes that might connect you to him. You hate him, but you love him, and Johnny loved this thing, so maybe...maybe—

The door slams shut in your face, and you catch yourself with the step railing as you crumple to sit there, on his dirty step, crying into your hands. You don't know how long you sit there, but it is dark when you drag yourself home.

It is much too dark outside for you to see the shadow that you pick up along the way—and you’re too in your head to realize it never leaves.

When you come home from work, your knees are weak when you see the letter that’s taped to the front of your door.

EVICTION NOTICE.

They give you until the weekend, a courtesy they tell you they don’t normally give to anyone. You aren’t allowed to stay, even if you come up with the money, and you’re in tears as you pack up your flat. The last place you shared with Johnny, and it’ll be gone soon. You don’t know what you’ll do with your things. You don’t know where you will go.

Johnny never married you. You don’t have any family. You’ll have to stuff your car full of as much as it can hold, and you’ll need to toss the rest. You’ll have to—

The knock at your door startles you. You get up off the floor, where you were trying to stuff all your dishes into a small bag. You pull the curtain back on the window beside the door, and your eyes widen when you see a giant man standing at your door. He feels your eyes on him, and he turns his head towards the window, tilting his head to the side menacingly when he looks at you.

You wipe your face, trying to dry the tears on your cheeks. You open the door shakily, poking your head out.

“Hi,” you say. You wish your voice was steady, but it cracks. “Can…C-Can I help you?”

The mask he’s wearing today is different. There’s a skull mouth painted on it, and his hood is flipped up over his head. He seems taller with his boots on, and he takes up nearly the entire width of your doorway. He’s got so much bulk on him—if you reached across and touched him, you know your hand would hit nothing but a solid wall. No give, just pure muscle and fat. His eyes are still dark, and he still looks like the most unapproachable man in the entire world. He clicks his tongue under the mask, and you swallow when he snarls a bit.

He fishes something out of his jacket. You recognize it—Johnny’s journal. He holds it out to you, expectant, and you open the door wider to take it from him. You feel tears come all over again at the sight of it, and you hold the leather to your chest, hugging it. Johnny never married you, but he would’ve taken care of you right now. If he would’ve known you were here, about to live in your car, he would not have hesitated moving you in with him. Getting you into his bed. Shielding you from the world that was much too scary, much too unforgiving. Johnny would know what to do.

Johnny’s dead.

Just as you are about to close the door, a thick boot stops it. You flinch a bit, looking up, and then a big hand presses against your door and pushes it open until it hits the wall. The man cranes his neck to look around you, and he narrows his eyes at the heap of your belongings huddled in the living room of your flat.

You sniffle, shaking your head.

“I’m just…moving.”

You step aside when he moves. He ducks his head just slightly to get through, and you watch as he walks around, taking stock of what’s in front of him. He seems to find what he’s looking for when he sees the notice on your kitchen counter. He snatches it up and and turns it around to face you, and you just stand there, frozen.

“I told you. Moving.”

His house is soulless. White walls. Beige carpet. Grey tiles. There’s one couch, one coffee table, and one TV mounted to the wall. There’s only dishes in the kitchen enough for one person, and he only has one bedroom. It’s the same lifeless place in there, too. His mattress is on the floor, but he has the decency to put a mattress cover and sheet over it. There’s one nightstand, with just a few cables where he must charge his phone, and one lamp. There are no decorations. There is no other furniture. His house is functional, not valuable.

He puts your bag in the bedroom. That settles that.

You cry that first night. You sleep early, curling up under his one measly sheet, and you cry. You cry because you’re sad. You cry because you’re lonely. You cry because you feel like you owe this man now, this stranger who hasn’t told you his name, and you have no idea how you will pay him back. You cry because you miss Johnny, and he never even loved you.

You jump when the bedroom door opens. He walks in, kicking the door shut, and you watch as he strips himself of his jeans and hoodie, tossing them onto the floor. You sit up on your elbows, meeting his eyes, but he doesn’t take off his mask. Instead, he comes towards the bed, plopping down on the mattress next to you, and you pull the sheet up to your chin. You hadn’t anticipated sharing a bed with him, but you’re also too afraid to complain.

“I can sleep…on the floor if—”

A big hand covers your mouth. You’re silenced, startled that he would touch you this way, and you start to cry again when he presses until you are laying on your back again, moving his hand back until it rests behind his head.

“Please—” You hiccup. “Please don’t hurt me.”

He hums at that. Satisfied. Pleased at your reaction. He could pluck your strings right now, and you’d play music. He falls asleep with that thought.

You try to give him money. He never takes it. You try to buy groceries. You find the notes you spent stuffed back into your wallet later. You try to pick up a broom to clean up, and he locks the supply closet after that. The only way you find out his name is when you find his dog tags in the bathroom drawer, because he still hasn’t spoken a single word to you.

Simon “Ghost” Riley. That’s who Johnny really loved.

You don’t know why the sex started—you don’t know why you let him in, not exactly. Simon had been gone, one of his usual spurts of absence that he occasionally had, but he came home earlier than you expected. Simon likes to shower as soon as he comes home, but you are already in there, under the hot water, leaning against the tile as you empty your head of any thoughts. Simon doesn’t knock, and he pulls back the shower curtain even though he sees your silhouette. There are no words exchanged as he comes in, getting under the hot water, and there are no words exchanged when he takes off his mask for the very first time, and he hoists you up against the wall and fucks you into it.

You know this, too. Your hands trace his back, and you can feel every scar you know will be there, and you can taste the same things Johnny said you would taste when you lick over his jaw. Tobacco. Citrus. Animal.

It almost feels like cheating, but you’re too empty inside to be sad about it. It really feels like lying, even though Johnny’s too gone to hear your excuses. At the same time, it feels like getting something back. Not in its entirety, but something close, something that doesn’t feel the same, but feels so good anyways.

You cry again when you realize you like it better. You cry more when you realize that you’re starting to lose your dreams of Johnny in favor of Simon. You see in the dark instead of in blue. At first, you used to mumble Johnny’s name into the pillow. You used to bury your face into it, muffle the sounds as Simon fucked you from behind, two big hands pushing your ass apart as he pulled you back over and over onto his cock. Now your head is turned to the side, and you’re crying Simon’s name, and he’s fucking you harder, getting down onto his elbows, pressing you into the mattress and using your throat as leverage so he can arch your back and get your ass shaking with how firm he pushes his hips against you.

You’re so delicate, but he can’t be nice. He can’t be gentle. He needs to see teeth marks on your thighs and on your back. He needs to taste your blood and your cum and your spit. At first, he thinks he was doing it because he was lonely, too, but now he just wants to eat and eat and eat.

Eat Johnny’s pretty girl. Fuck Johnny’s pretty girl. Keep Johnny’s pretty girl, because how dare he keep this one a secret, and how dare he try and hide her from him? Johnny wrote a lot of things in that journal, but he didn’t talk about Simon’s insatiable appetite, and he didn’t talk about Simon’s rules. He blamed the entire world for his seemingly unrequited love, but the reality was that Johnny was selfish.

Johnny didn’t want to share. He wanted it all for himself, so it’s no wonder he died for it. When your world isn’t in balance, it compensates. Johnny ended up on the wrong side of the scale.

That’s the fucking truth.

Simon’s got you on your knees again. He likes you this way, ass up, face down, on display. On your back, he stacks enough under your back that you’re nearly upside down, pussy in his mouth as he bends you in half and eats it like that. Now, he’s squeezing your hips, pressing down between your shoulder blades, thick tongue inside of you as he teases your ass with his thumb. Johnny used to love that, but you’re such a jumpy girl.

He’s going to fix that.

Johnny is so predictable. Letting you run around, spoiled, never telling you the way it should be. Johnny made you think you were a pretty princess. He probably intertwined your fingers and fucked you in missionary like a good Catholic boy, but soft, delicate things like you don’t need to be reminded of what they are. They need to be so cockdrunk and dizzy that they don’t know anything else but this place right here, in his bed. Simon knows that’s what you really need—to not know the world outside of this bedroom.

Love is useless. Love can be lost. Love comes and goes, it’s subject to change. Time bends it, rusts it like iron, and Simon doesn’t need something else that will slip through his fingers, no. He needs something that is latched onto him forever. He needs to take one of your ribs and absorb it. He needs to taste you on his tongue and between his teeth always. He needs your blood to be his blood, and he needs your eyes to be his eyes.

Marriage is not finality. Love is not permanent. No—it isn’t enough. He couldn’t keep Johnny, and maybe he can’t keep you, but there is something he can give you that will keep you with him. Even if you left, you would stay somehow, some part of you, and he can see it in some distant place.

Once Simon sees something, it’s as good as true. It might as well be real. Simon is something himself of a manifestation, and he realizes now that maybe he never really saw Johnny because it was you hiding in what he couldn’t see.

Everything is in focus now. He knows what he has to do. Johnny was too stupid to see it—to preoccupied with how beautiful you are between the legs, too mindless when he was cock-deep inside of you to understand what he had in his hands. They don’t make things like you. One of a kind. Once in a lifetime. Something that will never be again if you let go, if you look away.

Simon knows all too much about what it means to leave a scar. He understands permanence. It’s why he’s still alive. It’s why he’s got you here, right here, underneath him, wet-faced and sobbing and clenching so tight around him. Your nails are fixtures in his back, holding him here, and he knows that you understand, too. If he asked you, you would think about the answer, but your body knows. It knows who Simon is and what he wants. He’s certain it does because even if he wanted to, your cunt has him tight, barely enough give for him to pull out and push right back in. It doesn’t want him to leave, and he’s glad for it.

You cry so sweet. Blubbers and gentle tears. You want this; it’s evident in the way you claw at him and pull him back in every time he pulls out just enough. When you pull just that hard, he drops onto his elbows, caging you in, and you sob into his mouth as he grinds his pelvis into yours. The wet smack of his thighs has stopped, but the pressure against your clit has you whining so nice. Fuck, you are beautiful, and you look so sad. From the first moment you showed up at his door, you were all big eyes and sadness. You drag around an air of heaviness that hasn’t left, and Simon is so sick of it—Johnny wasn’t man enough to eat you whole, won’t you just fucking let it go?

Maybe Simon did love him, too. Maybe he did love him back. No, he must’ve—that feeling in his chest still hasn’t left. Simon made a thousand excuses. A man like him, simply unloveable. A soldier like him, just too busy and too dedicated to have anything for himself outside of duty. A victim, what a rotten word, but that is what he is; no one can want him, not really. He saw it, in the back of his mind, peeling back layers of himself just for someone to make a face. After everything, after breaking his nails crawling out of an early grave, rejection just might be the thing that finally killed him. Not a bullet, but the sheer pain from the cut of giving a nasty piece of himself over and not even getting everything back.

Johnny was careless. Loving two things at once, pulled in opposite directions. Too distracted by what he couldn’t have that he forgot about how good he really had it—what a fucking dog. Greedy. Naïve. Fucking delusional. Johnny gave up this to chase something that could never be real. It was pathetic. It was stupid.

It was mine.

“Look at me.”

You do. Your eyes, hazy and wet, meet his, and your hands are shaking as you cup his face and sob because yes, yes, yes, please—I need it, it hurts s-so good.

It does hurt. It burns. It steals. It takes. It swallows, like a brush fire against dry land, licking and eating and tearing apart whatever it can reach. Your moans enrage it, and your cunt feeds it, whatever the thing is inside of his chest that is begging to come out.

This isn’t love. This isn’t romance. This is necessity—survival. Without him, you will come apart, and without you, Simon will starve. He used to take bites out of Johnny. Just enough to make the screaming inside of him quiet a little, just enough to be distracted; but he hasn’t eaten in months, and whatever you’re made of is too good to let go of.

This time, he’ll make it permanent. He’ll make it forever. Where you end, where he begins, where his hands have sunk into you, where his teeth are stuck; he’s going to fix himself to this place, and then he’s going to make himself forget how to leave.

You’re buzzing. You’re somewhere else. You feel like you’re floating above yourself, but at the same time, you’re right here. Simon’s so big; he told you he would be, but it’s another thing entirely to have this man inside of you and hitting your squishy cervix. He’s nasty about it, too—he likes putting a big hand on your stomach and pressing; he likes to feel himself inside of you and laugh at how you cry, and he likes the sound it makes when you’ve come, and your thighs are wet, and his skin smacks against yours with a toe-curling squelch.

“‘s mine,” he says, and you whine, and you nod. You don’t know if he’s asking you a question, but you figure he isn’t. Simon isn’t the kind to ask. He just takes what he wants. He always has. When you come back from the dead, consequences don’t apply to you any longer. You’ve cheated reality, and now you get to reap your rewards.

“Yeah.”

Yeah. Yes. Of course. Yes. Yes, Simon, whatever you want, Simon, anything for you, Simon, yes, yes, yes, yes—!

It will take time. As Simon puts his thumb to your clit to hear you sing, he thinks about how it won’t take much of it. You’re already so docile. You’re already in his bed, eating his food, crying with his cock inside of you and your thoughts filled with nothing but white noise and his name.

Simon won’t be like the man before him. Johnny drew you as a butterfly—something in need, but something that would eventually fly away. Fuck that. If there is a light in you, Simon will snuff it out. If he has to keep you from discovering your wings, he will just cut them off. If it’s the blood inside of you that keeps you warm, he will let it drain from the wounds left behind by his teeth because I will keep you warm, I will make it better, no one else, just me—

His index and middle finger in your mouth silence you. You choke on whatever you are saying in favor of sucking on his wet fingers, your eyes crossing a little as he bites down on your ear and pants there. It’s rare to hear him; Simon tends to swallow any noises he makes in favor of concentrating on hitting that same spot inside of you, but you can hear him now. It’s low and rumbly, so much so that you can feel his chest vibrating against yours. A groan—fuck, he sounds so good. To know your pussy feels so good, it’s making him falter is enough to have you just at the cusp of something white-hot and blinding.

You come when he comes. Simon’s other hand has an iron-grip on the side of your thigh, hiking it up around his hips as he comes hot and heavy inside of you. You shake underneath him, sucking hard on his fingers as he presses his pelvis to yours. You can feel it dripping between your thighs, and the heat of it makes you come, too, a sob coming out of you as you spit his fingers out in favor of closing your mouth over his.

He tastes like you. You suck on his tongue softly, lapping it up, and he uses his wet hand to hold your jaw at an angle so he can spit into your mouth and kiss you again. You grip his dog tags hard, tugging him back to you when he tries to look down at where he’s inside of you. He suffocates you when he lays over you, but you don’t care. You need him skin-to-skin. You need his mouth on yours, his cock still this deep, sharing breath and spit and heat. If you lose it, you’ll lose something else, something more, and you can’t lose it again.

His weight crushes you, and you don’t register the significance of one of his hands underneath you and between your shoulder blades. He feels for something that you can’t see, and he kisses you again when he’s satisfied with what he finds. The lack of something. The killing of it. The knowing that you’ve gotten what it is you’ve been searching for all this time.

He holds you like that always. He keeps your eyes on his when he comes inside of you—always wants to look at you when that first spurt of cum fills you entirely. He likes the way your lashes flutter when he brands you. He likes the way you lose the ability to speak. He likes the way your entire body goes rigid and pliant all at once, seizing up and then melting underneath him until it takes no effort to turn you over onto your stomach and do it all over again.

He notices the change before you do. The tender breasts, the warmth of your lower belly. You are wet always now, eager to be bent over wherever you are because the ache between your thighs is tenfold now.

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long while, and you’re smiling, hips hiked up on the couch, your dress crumpled around your middle as his cum drips down the back of your thighs. Simon licks his lips as he sits back on his heels, thumbing over your puckering hole.

You lay underneath him in your cocoon. Death at your doorstep, and you let him right in. You draw it around you tight, tucked into this blanket of security and warmth and factitious love that you think will hold this time. Simon’s hand draws around your throat, but you easily fall into him. When he squeezes, crushing what you’ve built back up, you sigh with relief, letting yourself fall into his chest and stay there.

When you close your eyes, it feels like something familiar. Like a place you’ve been before. When you open them, it’s gone. Simon is there, staring at your curiously. Your shadow that never leaves. The thing that remains. Time passes, but you know this will stay, you know it won’t go away. When he bends you over again, his hand slides low, cupping your belly, and your mouth twitches—the ghost of another smile. You put your hand over his there and press, feeling the scars you know by memory alone.

You will give him new scars; and these ones will be only for you.

[tsunaso]

Hi!!

Could I get Zenitsu from demon slayer that swears he straight start to fall for male reader? Like maybe reader is confident and flirty/make dirty jokes with him but he is so deep in denial that he’s always refusing and stuff until he realizes he’s daydreaming of reader and wanting to go along with it?

Not sure if I’m describing it well, and you’re welcome to take the concept and run with it however you like but I thought bi disaster would be funny and a cute bottom

“IN A FLASH”

pairing. “Straight”!Zenitsu Agatsuma x Top!male reader

synopsis. Zenitsu is 100% straight—or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself. But between your constant flirting, your cocky smirks, and the unwelcome daydreams about being pinned against a wall, he’s starting to lose his mind. And maybe, just maybe… he likes it. — 1.7k

warnings. mdni, nsfw, amab reader, dirty jokes, tiniest bit of power play, first time (with a man), overstimulation, handjob, aftercare

a/n: You did a great job describing what you wanted! Thank you for sending in my first request!

Zenitsu was not in love with you.

Nope. Not a chance. Absolutely not.

It didn’t matter that you were tall, confident, and smirked like you owned the place. It didn’t matter that you rolled up your sleeves during training, your arms a little too toned, a little too veiny for him to not notice. And it especially didn’t matter that you had a habit of leaning in too close, whispering dirty jokes just low enough for only him to hear.

Because Zenitsu?

Zenitsu liked women.

He loved women. Soft hands, long hair, big br—

"Are you blushing?"

The sound of your smooth, teasing voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts.

Zenitsu immediately flinched, whipping around to see you grinning down at him, elbow resting on his shoulder.

His stomach flipped.

"No! I—Why would I—?! I AM NOT BLUSHING!"

In his panic, he stumbled backward—tripping over absolutely nothing—and fell flat onto his ass.

You burst out laughing, loud and shameless, crossing your arms as you watched him writhe in his own embarrassment.

"You totally were," you smirked. "What’s the matter? My rugged good looks getting to you?"

Zenitsu felt his entire soul leave his body.

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" He practically threw himself back to his feet, pointing at you in a wild panic. "I AM 100% STRAIGHT, OKAY?! I LOVE WOMEN! BIG BOOBS! SOFT HANDS! LONG HAIR!"

You just raised an eyebrow.

"...Alright, bro. You want a medal or something?"

Zenitsu twitched violently.

This was your fault.

For months, you'd been torturing him.

The casual hand on his shoulder. The way you'd sit too close, your thigh pressed against his. The way your gravelly, stupidly deep voice sounded whenever you murmured some filthy joke into his ear, leaving him to short-circuit in real-time.

He hated it.

He hated you.

He was definitely not going to start thinking about it later.

Absolutely not.

　　　　　　　　　　─────・୨ ✦ ୧・─────

It started small. Little things.

Like how your voice was kind of deep.

Not too deep—but just enough to make his stomach flip when you said his name.

Or how your hands were huge.

Not that he was paying attention to them. Not that he was imagining how they’d feel gripping his waist, holding his wrists, pinning him—

WAIT, BAD. BAD THOUGHT.

Zenitsu shook his head violently, slapping his own cheeks.

He was just tired. That was all. He needed to train more.

…But training wasn’t exactly helping.

Because lately, you were standing too damn close.

"Need help with your stance?" you murmured from behind him, your chest almost pressed to his back.

Zenitsu froze.

His entire body locked up as your hands brushed over his hips, adjusting him like it was nothing.

Like you weren’t completely ruining his life.

"I—I GOT IT!" he shrieked, flailing away from you like you were on fire. "THANKS, NO NEED TO TOUCH ME, I’M PERFECTLY FINE—!!"

You just blinked at him, amused. "Dude, chill."

Zenitsu was not chilling.

He was losing his fucking mind.

　　　　　　　　　　─────・୨ ✦ ୧・─────

It got worse.

He started having thoughts.

Thoughts like, "What if he pushed me against a wall?"

Or "What if he held me down?"

Or "What if I just… let him?"

"NOOOOOOO—!!!" Zenitsu bolted upright in bed, screaming into his pillow.

What the hell was that dream?!

WHY WAS IT KINDA GOOD?!!

He buried his face in his hands, rocking back and forth in despair.

"This isn’t happening," he whispered. "I love women. BIG BOOBS. SOFT HANDS. LONG HAIR."

…Your hair didn’t look like a womans, but it always looked kinda nice.

WAIT, NO, STOP—!!!

Zenitsu launched himself out of bed. He needed a distraction. Immediately.

　　　　　　　　　　─────・୨ ✦ ୧・─────

Zenitsu was determined to prove his 100% absolute heterosexuality.

Which is why, the next morning, he could be found on his knees in front of a random woman, gripping her hands, screaming into the sky.

"HELLO, BEAUTIFUL LADY! HAVE I MENTIONED I LOVE WOMEN?!"

The woman blinked. "…Are you okay?"

"I’M SO OKAY!" Zenitsu laughed, manic and desperate. "SO, SO, SO OKAY! WOMEN ARE BEAUTIFUL! GORGEOUS! PLEASE MARRY ME!"

You watched from a distance, arms crossed, fighting back a smirk.

"He’s been acting weird lately," Tanjiro mumbled beside you.

You chuckled. "Yeah. I noticed."

Zenitsu’s entire body stiffened.

Because your voice—your deep, amused, cocky voice—was right behind him.

He turned slowly, staring up at you with wide, panicked eyes.

"Yo," you grinned.

Zenitsu squeaked.

Just straight-up made a noise like a fucking chew toy and bolted in the opposite direction.

You laughed.

Because oh yeah.

You definitely knew what this was.

　　　　　　　　　　─────・୨ ✦ ୧・─────

Zenitsu’s back hit the wall, his breath coming in ragged, uneven pants.

His whole body was shaking, his hands gripping at nothing, his legs weak beneath him.

This was your fault.

You were too close.

You had him trapped, one hand flat against the wall beside his head, your strong, calloused fingers gripping his chin, forcing him to look up at you.

He tried to glare.

Tried to resist.

But his face was burning, his eyes were wide and panicked, his chest rising and falling way too fast.

This was wrong.

This was not supposed to happen.

"I—I don’t—” Zenitsu stammered, but his hips twitched forward, betraying him instantly.

You smirked. "Not like what?"

Your voice was too deep, too smooth, too much.

Zenitsu let out a sharp, shaky breath, his fingertips digging into the wall behind him.

"I—I'm not—"

He cut himself off, biting his lip hard, his eyes squeezing shut.

Because if he looked at you any longer, he was going to break.

And then—

You grabbed his chin, tilted his face up, and kissed him.

Zenitsu shattered.

A sharp, wrecked little noise escaped him, somewhere between a whimper and a gasp, his body going stiff—then melting completely.

His hands shot up to grip your shirt, his fingers fisting the fabric so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He didn’t pull away.

He couldn’t.

His whole body was burning, his mind spinning, his lips parting helplessly as you deepened the kiss, teasing, taking your time breaking him apart.

Zenitsu’s legs gave out.

You caught him instantly, one strong arm wrapping around his waist, keeping him pinned against you.

He hated how good it felt.

He hated how easily you overpowered him.

He hated that his dick was aching, twitching, throbbing, already soaked with precum—

But most of all?

He hated how much he loved it.

　　　　　　　　　　─────・୨ ✦ ୧・─────

Zenitsu didn’t remember how you got him to bed.

All he knew was that he was on his back, his clothes half-off, his skin burning, and your hands were on him.

Too much.

Too good.

Too overwhelming.

His breath was shaky, his legs spread open beneath you, his whole body trembling like a leaf. He should’ve been embarrassed—should’ve pushed you away, should’ve pretended he didn’t want this.

But when you dragged your palm up his inner thigh, tracing over sensitive, untouched skin, his whole body jerked violently, a shocked little whimper spilling from his lips.

His hands shot up to cover his mouth, his fingers pressing against his own lips as if that could stop the noises from escaping.

You smirked.

“Oh? You like that?”

Zenitsu furiously shook his head, eyes blown wide, face burning.

"NO—"

You hummed, dragging your fingers up his trembling stomach, stopping just at the waistband of his underwear.

"You sure?"

Zenitsu bit his lip hard, his whole body twitching in anticipation.

He could feel himself leaking, soaking the fabric, his thighs clenched but trembling, struggling to stay still.

He was too sensitive.

Too needy.

And when you finally hooked your fingers into his waistband and tugged his underwear down—

Zenitsu gasped, his breath catching, his dick twitching against his stomach.

Fuck.

He looked away immediately, his chest rising and falling way too fast.

He couldn’t do this.

He wasn’t supposed to like this.

Then your fingers wrapped around him, slow, teasing, barely applying any pressure.

And Zenitsu cried out.

A sharp, wrecked moan slipped past his lips, his hips jerking forward before he could stop himself.

"S-Shit—"

You chuckled. "You're shaking."

"Sh-Shut up," he whined, his voice cracking, his fingers digging into the sheets.

He was burning up.

He felt too hot, too exposed, too weak.

But it felt good.

Way too fucking good.

Your grip tightened just slightly, your thumb swiping over his leaking tip, and Zenitsu’s whole body twitched.

His breath hitched, a choked moan spilling out.

"I-I—oh fuck—"

You smirked. "Already close?"

"NO—" Zenitsu’s voice cracked, his cheeks burning.

He was not going to cum just from this.

He was not going to embarrass himself like that.

He was not going to—

You leaned down, dragged your tongue over his tip, and Zenitsu screamed.

His fingers fisted the sheets, his whole body seizing up, his dick twitching violently.

And then—

He broke.

"OH—OH FUCK—"

His back arched sharply, his hips bucking up, his breath stuttering, and then he let out a wrecked little sob, cumming way too fast, way too hard.

His chest heaved, his legs shaking, his body completely wrecked beneath you.

You pulled back slightly, grinning down at him.

"That fast?" your voice was low, amused, teasing. "Thought you had more stamina, Thunder Boy."

Zenitsu whined into his hands, his whole body trembling, his mind completely blank.

He should’ve been mortified.

But then—

Your hand wrapped around him again.

And Zenitsu twitched violently.

"H-Hah—w-wait, I just—"

Your grip tightened slightly, stroking him slow, teasing, letting him feel the overstimulation creep in.

Zenitsu gasped, his hips jerking forward weakly, his thighs trembling.

"You're still hard," you murmured, voice silky smooth. "Guess that wasn't enough for you, huh?"

Zenitsu let out a broken little noise, his nails digging into your arms.

He couldn’t handle this.

He was too sensitive.

Too fucking weak.

"B-Be gentle," he whispered, his voice tiny.

You smirked, kissing his heated skin.

"No."

Then you kept going.

And Zenitsu?

Zenitsu didn’t stand a chance.

　　　　　　　　　　─────・୨ ✦ ୧・─────

Zenitsu refused to let go of you.

His arms were wrapped around your waist, his face buried in your chest, his breath still shaky.

You smirked, running your fingers through his messy hair.

"You okay?"

Zenitsu huffed weakly, his fingers tightening their grip on you.

"I still like girls," he mumbled into your skin. "I just… really like you too."

You chuckled. "Oh yeah?"

Zenitsu whined. "Don’t make me say it again—!"

You grinned. "So you liked it?"

Zenitsu froze.

Then, with a mortified little whimper, he hid his face in your chest.

"D-Don’t say it out loud, idiot!"

You laughed, holding him tighter.

[1d1195]

The Lottery I

~3.7k words

From me: I thought I would close out 2024 with a mini-series. I'm hoping for shorter parts but I should be able to post on a regular basis (Mondays). You should see MANY similarities to my favorite show. I have been planning this one for over a year. I really hope you enjoy 💕

Warnings: angst (?) fluff

Summary: Small towns have the biggest romances and the best view of the moon.

“I don’t know how you ended up there,” Bailey shook her head.

“Bails,” she laughed. “I Googled it. It’s cute.”

The little town was adorably cute. The kind of place where the Christmas-hating CEO female lead in the movie would fall head over heels for the place in a month because of the small-town charm. It was about thirty minutes outside the city but with traffic it could take up to an hour. It was quaint. The exact kind of place she could envision her little dream.

“Your house is good?” Bailey asked. She nodded, flipping the camera to show her the little place she found to live in. Two stories. But the second floor was small. A bedroom, a bathroom, and a small room for storage. Maybe in the right light it could be a small office, but it would be better holding all her books. The bottom floor was open. Living room, dining area, and a kitchen. Down the hall was another bathroom and her bedroom. Right now, it was filled with boxes and no clear markers for any of the rooms. Her furniture was misplaced—the table in the living room, the TV on top of it, the couch was near the kitchen, and the lamps were atop the counters in the kitchen.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was home.

Moving in was second to her priorities. So the boxes would stay, her clothes haphazardly falling out of boxes, the iron on top of the island in the kitchen to get the wrinkles out of her blouses. “Neighbors are good?”

“I’ve only met Edith and David. They’re about sixty-five years old and hilarious. Edith is insistent on having tea by the end of the week and David wants to set me up with his grandson.”

“I can’t imagine you outside the city,” Bailey sounded wistful.

“It’ll be good for me to be away from all the big lights. I missed the stars... and the moon,” her voice was filled with fondness. Like the moon was her old friend she hadn’t seen in a while.

“We could see the moon in the city,” Bailey reminded her.

It wasn’t just the moon, it was the stars, and silence that the city never allowed. “It’s not the same and you know it.”

“You know babe...” Bailey trailed off. “You look... happy.”

She was. Really happy. The kind of happiness that couldn’t be faked because she was supposed to be happy. The kind of happiness that would make anyone jealous. And why shouldn’t she be happy? She was young, basically fresh out of college, ready to start her own business, and do everything she wanted on her own.

“I am happy,” she nodded and looked at her best friend through FaceTime. “I know everyone thinks I’m crazy. Try not to let them be too mean to me. I’m... I’m good,” she promised. “This is good.”

“You know,” Bailey grinned and shook her head. “I think you’re right.”

*

She wore her lucky dress—the one that she is certain got her a scholarship—and chose a pair of flats over heels because in her quick self-tour of the town she noted the brick sidewalks were likely to take out her ankle. She made sure every single strand of her hair wasn’t out of place. She wanted this to be a good impression. All her books and shows told her that small towns were lovely, but she was an outsider. It was possible that they wouldn’t love a newcomer and so she didn’t want to make it seem like she was changing everything.

But since it was her first night in her new home, there was nothing to eat. Nor to cook with even if she wanted to. Maybe if she had a loaf of bread, she could find her toaster in one of the boxes. Moving on her own was tough but she was proud of herself. Another check she could mark on her to-do list.

Her first order of business was securing her business. However, that couldn’t be done on an empty stomach. She locked the door to the little home she now owned. The trim needed a coat of paint, and she desperately needed to buy a lawn mower. Some of the windows needed to be replaced. She tried opening one of them and nearly threw her back out. The bushes in front of the little porch needed to be trimmed or taken out altogether.

But it was home, and it was lovely. She was excited to do it on her own. It made her feel proud.

Her family was far away. Honestly, it was for the best. They thought it was a terrible idea for her to move, maybe because they couldn’t depend on her any longer. If she thought too long about it, she got upset. But this was good. She was doing what her grandma believed she could do. What her grandpa wanted her to do.

With a family far away, her place was filled with boxes. Hardly anything was unpacked. It was a miracle she found her lucky dress but perhaps that was why it was so lucky. With the distance between them, it was easier to ignore the group chat. Easier to not feel obligated to help her family.

They’re adults, honey. They’ll figure it out.

She hoped her grandma was right.

Her friends were still in the city. Completely shocked she left the hustle and bustle for a small-town place. Their lack of support or what they passed off as worry made her nervous all the same. How would it survive? But she researched the perfect place and took plenty of time setting up everything she needed so she was ready to go when she graduated.

The only thing she wished could be different, was that her grandparents got to see her.

*

The main part of town felt like a city. But way friendlier. People shouted in the middle of the road. Kids ran across the road to the school. There were very few cars but even the ones present parked illegally and the officer strolling the sidewalks didn’t pay any mind to it. It was adorable. It felt like she was in a Disney movie, and she wanted to sing.

The center green was being set up with seats and banners. People were on walkie-talkies directing more items about the area. The space was warm and cozy. Like where she could spend the day reading in the grass and have a picnic with herself or a friend.

God, she hoped she made some friends. It seemed possible. Everyone was so nice. They all knew each other. That was evident. It was so comforting, exactly the change she wanted and needed, and she prayed they wouldn’t hate her for trying to bring something new to their little place.

As her stomach reminded her once more of its presence and emptiness, she approached the diner on one side of the main street. Squished between the post office and a shoe store. Someone was exiting as she opened the door, so she gestured for them to exit before she proceeded. “Thank you, darling,” the man tipped his hat to her.

With one deep breath, she entered.

It was like she was the new girl at school. The second she crossed the threshold of the diner, everyone stared at her. There wasn’t a voice to be heard, the only sound coming from behind the counter in the kitchen. “Uh... hi,” she swallowed. Quietly, she made her way to the counter and situated herself at the end of it away from everyone else.

Sure, she wanted to be part of the community and wanted to be liked, but she didn’t want to force it. The place continued to be quiet, although the murmuring began. No doubt everyone whispered about her. “No newcomers lately, I guess,” she mumbled under her breath and pulled out her folder of paperwork to go over it again.

You’re going to crush it! Bailey’s message read. She smiled gratefully, feeling her heart slow. She was wearing her lucky dress. It was going to happen. She was going to be happy no matter what.

“Shit!” It was paired with the distinct sound of something shattering. She turned directly to the sound as did everyone else in the place and she was on her feet immediately. It wasn’t anything major, a coffee mug on the floor.

“Jesus, honey, watch it!” It was an older woman who scolded her husband with a light thwack on the arm.

“I didn’t mean to, Alice!”

“Harry!” Someone called.

“Jus’ a second,” the voice was from the back, low, almost like it didn’t want to be heard. He must have been cooking or something because there was a commotion in the back behind the kitchen door. She didn’t think much of it because she was worried that poor Alice and her husband were going to get hurt picking up the broken shards or slip in the mess of spilled coffee on the floor.

“I can help,” she offered and crouched near the older woman—Alice—as she struggled to grab the pieces. “Here,” she grabbed a rag off the counter even though she had never been there and it wasn’t her place to do so. Gently she pushed the broken pieces and coffee into a neat little pile sopping up the mess as best she could.

“Well, aren’t you sweet,” Alice chimed. “Thank you.”

“Happy to help,” she smiled politely.

“Did you just move here?” She asked. Perhaps that would satiate the whispering.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where are you living?”

“Oh... um... Oak Street,” she stammered. It probably didn’t help her newness that she stammered. But her new address was new; she was still getting used to it.

“Oh, Holliston’s place! It’s a lovely home,” someone called from across the room.

“Y’don’t have t’do that,” it was the same voice that called from the back but now right next to her.

“Oh...” Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him. Did time seem to stop? That couldn’t be right. She wasn’t going to have a crush on the first guy she met on her first official day as a resident of the small town. “I don’t mind,” she said quickly looking up at him from her crouched position. “Happy to help and...” She stopped speaking again as he stared at her. His eyes were pretty, even if he looked grumpy. His mouth was set in a frown, and she noticed that once more everyone stopped speaking. “Sorry,” she said and stood, scooping the mess as best she could in her hands. Coffee dripped from the rag into the puddle at her feet. She could feel the splatter on her ankles, and she was nervous to look if she had ruined her shoes. It didn’t bother her, but she wasn’t sure she’d have time to head home and change before she went to the town hall.

Harry held out the tray for dirty dishes and she placed the rag, broken pieces of mug, and all into it. He dropped it on the counter about two spaces down from where her folder and purse remained. “Are you okay, ma’am?” She asked softly placing a gentle hand on her arm in a comforting kind of way.

“Alice, Ed, y’okay?” Harry—she presumed—was quiet. It almost rubbed her the wrong way that he repeated her, but he knew them, and she didn’t. So, she returned to her seat quietly after offering one more smile to Alice.

“All good, Harry,” Ed said in return.

Harry went back around the counter and fiddled with the coffee pot. He refilled a new mug and brought it over to Ed.  When he returned behind the counter he stood in front of her silently. Waiting. Not offering a word nor question.

Harry looked to be roughly her age. Handsome. If this was David’s grandson, she would have reconsidered his offer. But his scowl was to be desired. Made her uneasy. She wondered if this was how he always was or if it was something about her.

But she wanted to be liked. People generally didn’t dislike her. It would devastate her if he did. As grumpy as he seemed, she wasn’t going to shy away from her own personality. “Do y’want something?”

“What’s your favorite?” She asked glancing from the menu to him.

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t have a favorite.”

She blinked. He worked here. Did he own it? That would be crazy, he was so young. But she was young and about to own her business too. So who was she to judge his age? “How can you not have a favorite?”

“I like it all,” he shrugged.

“You seriously don’t have a favorite?”

“Since I own the diner,” he was explaining it like she was a toddler, “everything is good.”

“Well...” she took a deep breath. It wasn’t that she was one of those people who assumed everyone would like her, but it was... different to work for friendliness. Bailey told her she had the kind of face that would work wonders in sales. Everyone just opened up to her.

But not Harry. Harry was stoic as could be. It barely looked like he was breathing. Other than the irritation in his eyes, he had a really nice face. Smooth skin, angular jaw, and just pretty features that were probably wasted on someone so grumpy. But she could see something flicker in his eyes. Something that she wasn’t sure he wanted anyone to see which is why it was merely a flicker.

Was this grumpy man amused? By her?

“...Do you have a recommendation then?”

“Anything. It’s all good,” he was clearly over this exchange.

She thought she could get him to budge but it didn’t seem that way. This was the fast track to nowhere. Not the impression she wanted to make on her first official day in town. Sighing, she glanced at the specials board. “You have peach pancakes?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have white chocolate chips?”

Harry sighed, exasperated with the conversation, and she hadn’t even ordered her coffee yet. “Yup...” he was staring at her like this was going to kill him. Or he was going to kill her.

“Can I have one of each? Peaches and white chocolate chip?”

“What?” He seemed surprised. Which was interesting because surely it couldn’t have been crazy. Peaches and white chocolate chips had to be popular if he had them. He shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?” She frowned.

“Because s’extra work t’make a whole batch of peachpancakes and chocolate chip. One or the other.”

Maybe it was his tone or her frustration. The nerves of heading to town hall after breakfast. The piss-poor impression she was making at the extremely local diner where everyone seemed to know Harry. Even though he was grumpy they still ate there. It was obvious this wasn’t their first day being there. They still called out for him when the mug shattered even though she was more than capable of helping.

But she didn’t want to take no for an answer. Maybe if he had placated her or smiled. Or if he just didn’t look at her like she was the bane of his existence she wouldn’t have pressed. “But... I don’t want one or the other. I want one of each.”

“Get ‘em mixed together or don’t have ‘em,” he shrugged.

“But if I get them mixed together, the peaches will sink to one side or slide off all together. The chocolate chips always sink to the bottom. So the ratio in each bite will be off. I’ve tried it before; it just doesn’t blend well.”

“If I make y’one peach and one white chocolate chip, then all m’ratios will be off. I’ll have t’purchase different quantities of peaches and chocolate chips.”

“That seems a little dramatic for one plate of—"

“S’my diner! Jus’ order what’s on the menu or order four pancakes.”

“That’s absurd! I doubt I’ll even eat one whole pancake!”

Harry swallowed hard, his jaw flexing tight. Briefly he looked at the ceiling and then back at her. His voice was quieter when he spoke. “Order what’s on the menu or don’t order at—"

“Fine! Two peach pancakes!”

Honestly, she has no idea why she was arguing in the first place. It was idiotic and childish but there was something about the grumpiness that was off-putting and made her uncomfortable. Perhaps it was solely because he didn’t seem to like her, and she was trying really hard to fit in and he was the only person she had met so far that was close to her own age. If she could get him to like her, then maybe she wouldn’t be friendless and lonely.

With another large sigh (like it was painful for him to be standing near her) he rolled his eyes and headed to the back to make her breakfast. She wouldn’t be surprised if he poisoned them.

The diner was still quiet, and she could feel eyes flicking over to her repeatedly, their gazes heating her up with knowledge she was being watched. To keep her cool, she continued flipping through her paperwork folder and scrolled on her phone.

About ten minutes later, Harry returned holding her plate. It was practically silent again. The show that ensued was not forgotten by the other customers. Harry failed to hide his interest in her paperwork and failed to hide the fact he was reading whatever was in front of her. It didn’t bother her, honestly. She wanted to be an open book. Especially in a small town and especially with the guy that looked beyond irritated with her.

Trying again was insanity. But she was nothing if not one for perseverance. “Do you know what time the town hall opens? I tried to find a time online but—"

Harry snorted. “Town Hall doesn’t do online. S’whenever Sutton gets there t’unlock.”

She blinked. Small towns. “When’s that?”

“Usually before nine-thirty.”

“Usually?”

Harry shrugged, placing the plate in front of her. She could smell cinnamon and maple. Of course, the peaches were starting to caramelize as well and so it really looked utterly delicious. “Sometimes he forgets his alarm. Then s’before ten-thirty.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Alright,” she nodded. “Hey,” she called quietly as Harry turned to leave. “Do you do tabs? I’m probably going to be here every morning before work. It’s fine if you don’t. Just... figured it would easier.”

Did it get even quieter? Harry had a way with sighing. Heavily. Like talking to her and thinking were the two greatest and hardest tasks he’d ever been given in his life. Her eyes quickly darted around the place. There were enough tables to seat about twenty people plus five seats at the counter. It was busy—not crowded or full, but busy. It was just after the morning commute group had left; she had to imagine. The hustle of the nine-to-five crowd was long gone. “Sure,” he shook his head. “Every Friday.”

She was certain she didn’t imagine it that time. The entire place was silent for another ten seconds before the low murmur picked up again.

“Okay, thank you. I just... moved into town and I had no food at my house.”

“Whose house?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Whose house did y’buy?”

“Oh... uh... the Holliston’s?” Was that the name someone said a few moments ago? It had to be because no one corrected her, and it was apparent everyone was listening to her to talk to Harry.

“Nice couple,” she supposed she got it right then. “Do you want coffee?” He asked.

Was this him warming up to her? It was interesting. It wasn’t exactly warm, but it wasn’t arguing. Which she liked. Although arguing with him was kind of... fun in its own way. But she needed a friend before she argued with him for hours on end.

“Oh, yes,” she nodded quickly. “Please. Thank you.” Was it hot in there? Harry was attractive—even if he was grumpy. A sour face usually turned her off immediately. But with Harry... it didn’t seem so grumpy anymore. Especially now that he stopped arguing with her. The crease between his eyebrows disappeared. His frown turned to a more neutral expression. She swore that flicker of amusement was back again. “This is a really cute town,” she remarked.

Harry ignored the comment as he poured her a mug of steaming coffee and placed a little plate of cream and sugar packets beside it. “What brings y’here?” He asked. She did hear his skepticism like maybe he was going to kick her out before she unpacked if she wasn’t good enough for the clique-y village.

“Oh,” she swallowed. “I’m hoping to open a book shop.”

Harry tilted his head at her, surprise all over his face and she couldn’t figure out for the life of her why that would be. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. Approval? Was she in the club? “Alright, well... welcome, I guess. Let me know if y’need help with the water at y’house. It always gave the Holliston’s trouble in the winter, and I’d have t’go over and fix it. Don’t want y’pipes t’freeze.”

That was it. He walked away. She watched the grumpy, attractive man tend to the tables, cleaning, and serving all by himself. The others were patient. There was no rushing to get to work like it was Starbucks and everyone quietly waited their turn. There wasn’t a lot of small talk with Harry, but people smiled at him. Like they knew him from the time he was a baby. Maybe they did.

She hoped he would warm up to her. It would be nice to have a friend like him.

Turning to her breakfast, she cut into both pancakes stacked on top of one another, brought a bite of the two little pieces to her mouth after drowning it in enough maple syrup to make the man look at her suspiciously from across the room.

There was no way someone was that concerned about ratios of one patron. He could be grumpy all he wanted, but Harry was dramatic too. (Even if it was way more syrup than she needed, and he probably had a point in worrying about syrup—especially if she was going to be there every day.)

But as the bite hit her tastebuds, she had to look down and see it for herself.

One pancake was peach and the other was white chocolate chip.

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[mistercrowbar]

What advice would you give to someone who wants to start draw comics?

Read comics. Try to absorb the layouts and lettering - there’s so many ways to tackle it! Also even in published comics you’ll see that the art is messy and scrungly and you can take that as permission to be messy and scrungly too.

Comics are about efficiency and Good Enough. If you try to make each panel a masterpiece you’ll be there forever. Reasons why I mostly do simple pencil comics.

Start small. Do a scene or gag comic at a time. Get a feel for the medium and all the steps you have. If there’s a step you hate, find a way to emphasize the steps you love. EG I hate laying down flat colours but love shading, so I make my page form comics painterly greyscale with a gradient map to spruce them up.

Thumbnail!!!!! Figure out your page or panel layout before you start pencils. It can just be chicken scratch and sticken figures but it will help make sure there’s a clean line of action carrying the viewer from panel to panel and that your lettering fits.

don’t skimp on lettering. you can have beautiful artwork but if your dialogue is time new roman on half transparent ellipses or somehow unreadable it’s gonna drag everything else down. Blambot is a great source for free and affordable comic fonts and even has guides from an industry pro.

There are a huge bajillion elements to making comics but once you’ve made like, literally 100 pages you’ll start just intrinsically knowing things like the 180 rule, how to place a speech bubble when the first speaker is on the right, and that you can draw one nice background and then have gradient colour blocks carry you through most of the page/scene. And then you’ll still keep learning. Always learning!

LOTS of example stuff under the cut, mostly for lettering and layouts:

thumbnails vs finished page. The detail is just enough to remind me who goes where. You can see I mostly played with the last part of the scene, going from three panels in one row to making each panel an entire row across three rows. Panels on the same row have less “time” between them as the eyes skips from one to the other faster, whereas there’s a little more gap skipping back to a new row (think resetting a line on a typewriter). Here, the first thumbnail may have fit the artwork more neatly, but I wanted to give Astarion more time to deliberate his decision.

You can also see that I changed the top panel from a close up on Aldiirn to a wider shot showing both. This sets the scene, and the rest of it uses simple/abstract backgrounds until the final panel, which makes a nice bookend while making the overall load easier. One good environment panel will carry you for a while, but don't leave your characters in the void for too long.

Make a script before you start layouts but don’t be shocked if you need to cut things out to have them fit a page. Less is more, generally. This also goes for visual elements - what's most important to the scene? What's just extraneous detail you find fun but is creating clutter?

For the 4-panel comics I don’t put time into thumbnails unless it’s a difficult panel, but I always put the lettering and speech bubbles down first so they have enough room and nothing important gets covered. If you do this much you’re a step ahead imo.

This one I’m working on now and there’s a lot going on with four characters speaking to each other! It’s important to keep a clear line going for the dialogue. Astarion’s first line has the top left corner and clearly starts the conversation. The tail of the bubble carries over to where he whispers to Aldiirn, and we pick up Aldiirn’s lines. The rock wall on the right then draws the eye down to Shadowheart and Gale’s bubble at the bottom. I don’t think the tails on the bottom bubbles are 100% ideal, but it’s Good Enough.

There’s also slightly different points in time going on in this panel, because the art is static but it’s a long convo going on. Gale’s signature finger isn’t in response to Astarion whispering, but to his answer to Aldiirn that comes after. Think of how time works in your panels, especially when you got a big one because size = time.

You can use all sorts of things to direct the eye across a comic page, but I find the strongest things are the bubbles & tails and where characters are looking. Here, Gale’s “stop by” line breaks the panel line to help draw the viewer to him in the last panel, since otherwise the eye was likely to end up at Aldiirn.

I generally like bubbles to be tucked into their panels, either fully inside or up at the edges like “my condolences.” It looks neater than when bubbles are willy nilly over the edges which I see as a sign of poor planning. And! it means when you do break panel lines it can be more meaningful.

the 180 rule is a film/stage thing for composition to avoid confusing the audience, but the simplest way to put it is: if a character is on the left side of the scene, they should stay there until the action or whatever moves them. You can see here that Aldiirn is always on the right facing left, even when the camera is a bit behind him or a bit behind Gale. the 180 line is the front of Aldiirn’s tent, and the camera never crosses it in a way that would put Gale on the right.

I find it distracting when a conversation is happening in comic and a character breaks the 180 for no particular reason, though are times I’ve done it because a panel worked much better that way. The book Framed Ink has some great guides on composition and how to change the 180 line.

You can also see in the above comic that it’s arranged so that Gale’s always the first speaker in the panels he appears so there’s no criss cross bubble tails. Buuuut what if the first speaker is unavoidably on the right?

Stack the speech bubbles. You want the first speech bubble CLEARLY and undeniably the closest to the top left corner and then other speakers can go below.

the middle example above also has some examples of playing with the speech bubbles. Wyll’s “square-y round-y” bubble is the standard, the boxy ellipse. The tail has a slight, lanquid curve. He;s comfortable teasing the poor vampire. Aldiirn’s bubble is pointy! the tail straight! with urgency! And Astarion’s bubble and tail are burbling and grumbling through gritted teeth and pain. Varsh Ko’kuu, even though he’s speaking with a standard shaped bubble, has a sharp point in the tail that speaks to his assertiveness in protecting the egg. And Shadowheart has some hesitation with that wiggly tail.

Either hand drawing or using vector shapes for bubbles is fine, but I recommend staying away from true ellipses because they look static. Square-y round-y is where it’s at. Just make sure there’s enough space between text and edge of the bubble, usually enough to fit a capital H or W, but you can play with that spacing too.

The second panel here breaks the “first bubble goes top-left corner” rule, so it’s ambiguous if Gale or Aldiirn speaks first. However! In this case everyone is giving their responses in a jumble to Rath, so order matters less. I’m pretty sure every rule I’ve mentioned has a time and place to break it, but it’s still important to learn the basics first.

Key thing about comics typefaces: the capital I will have bars and the lower case will not. The barred I is used for I, as in, “I am not inclined to share” where the unbarred is used everywhere else.

When choosing a font, I recommend grabbing one that has Regular, Italic, and Bold/Bold Italic typefaces. I use Milk Moustache for my 4-panel comics because it’s very casual and similar weight to my own handwriting, but it doesn’t have an italic typeface and that drives me nuts sometimes. For the most flexibility, choose a font that has lower case AND uppercase type faces. I stick to upper case 90% of the time but lower case adds more options, like Aldiirn’s “really?” being so small due to his stressed state.

There are some official guides on what should be bold or italic in dialogues but they don’t matter as much unless you’re working for a big publisher with a style standard. Italics for thinking and whispering are common. I go with my gut, like Astarion’s speech is so dramatic I use italics and bold liberally, whereas for most others I may or may not just choose a key word to bold.

I think some programs will let you make text to fit a bubble instead of a square box, but tbh I just spend a lot of time manually making the text fit nicely in that bubble shape.

[graywaynewriter]

Rowdy Neighbors

Warnings: PIV, Dirty talk, oral (fem. receiving), loud sex, voyeur?? (cause you can hear the neighbors), hair pulling,

"ugh finally," Dick huffs as he lets his body fall into bed "home...."

It was a long day and night of patrolling and fighting, he was just glad to be home and have a day off tomorrow.

"You know you're gonna owe Tim a day off after he picked up for you," you say slipping into your spot next to him, getting comfortable with his warmth.

"Yeah, but it was worth it. I honestly need more than 5 hours of sleep for once." he sighs as he pulls you closer into his side kissing the top of your head "And, you wont have to wake up to an empty bed"

"thank god," you giggle softly as you close your eyes and let yourself relax in his hold. Finally you would get a night of restful sleep with Dick with you. He worked so hard and so often it sometimes made night restless, sometimes leading to you staying up late waiting for him.

Now for a peaceful, restful night sleep.

....

At least that's what you thought until the neighbors started making noise. Now this wasn't just any noise, but a moan. A loud one at that

"..Dick?" you check if he is asleep

"Yeah....."

"they're um....pretty loud aren't they?"

"Mhm..."

You spoke awkwardly as the moans grow louder and then came the wall thumping. Oh lord your neighbors were having sex and you were both just taking it all in at 12 AM. Your first thought would be to simply block it out, turn on the tv or just wait for them to stop. However you were dating Dick Grayson, the same man who keep Bludhaven safe is the same one who offers,

"Wanna fuck louder than them to assert dominance?" He said with his signature cocky smile

Of course you start laughing because what kind of outrageous idea would that be? “ you’re not actually serious.”

He doesn’t say a word as he just raises an eyebrow at you “oh I’m seriously sweetheart,” he climbs over you and pin your wrists above your head on the pillow “deadly serious,” he said in a low voice coming down closer to your ear.

"And how do you know we'll be louder? Ah!" he nipped at your neck making you giggle and squirm

"Oh come on, you think I don't know you well enough to make you scream?" he chuckled as you feel his hands run under your shirt and cup your breasts. His thumb ran over your hardened nipple "mmm looks like I'm on the right track hm?"

You can feel him smiling against the skin of you neck. He moves down to your breast leaving a kiss on your nipple. Sticking his tongue out to flick at the bud, your fingers coming up to run through the roots of his hair.

"Mmm dick..." moving from your nipple he moves down, tracing his tongue along your skin. Coming down to your naval where he places a kiss just under the area, his calloused hands drag down your bottoms as his lips continue their journey. You could help but squirm a bit, knowing exactly what you wanted

"You need me here don't you princess?" he smirks placing a kiss to your mound "need me to make you feel good?"

"Y-yes...." you shiver with anticipation; your knees being hoisted on to his shoulders as his blue eyes peer up at you through his lashes. With his sly smirk he lowers his head and you feel a slow, warm lick up your slit that made you sigh deeply. You can feel every lap, every moan he let out as he pleased you. Your taste was addicting, it made him hungry for more. His tongue lays flat as a long lick starting from the bottom and trailing up to your clit where he flicks the bulb, and sucks it into his mouth,

"Ah~" your back arches, pushing your hips into his face more to which he gladly welcomed. You hear a low growl as his hands move to the back of your knees and push them towards you, spreading you open for him. He wanted you--needed you to scream. Let them know just how good he pleases you. He lifts his head for a moment, his lips glistening with your juices. He was panting slightly with the damn smirk again

"Dick...please..." you hated when he would just stop in the middle of things, leaving you aching and needy.

"Don't worry princess I've got ya'. Just need one out of you before I give you what you want," his middle and rings finger rim around your aching pussy. Taking just a couple of seconds before he plunges them in to the hilt. Your back arching, finally savoring that stretch that you were aching for.

His tongue and lips find their way back to your clit. He laps and sucks at the bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of you. You throw your head back as your mom‘s grow louder and more erotic. Now was when the competition against your neighbors really started your hips start to book and ride his fingers wanting more and more of him. You wanted that euphoria that burst of release around his fingers and on his face.

Your fingers tangled into the dark dresses of his head, pulling him closer to your pussy. Your toes curl as you can feel the tightening in your stomach growing tighter and tighter until finally,

“Ah~!” a nice loud moan. High and pitch and just loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Just how he likes it he laps up your juices and pulls his fingers out gently. You throb and ache around nothing as you pant. He brings those same fingers to his lips and cleans them off with his tongue. Oh how he loved to see your face flush like that. After a strong orgasm the way, your cheeks flush and your eyes become glassy, knowing that he was the one who did that to you.

But he wasn’t done,

“Alright, princess, flip over. Want to see that nice ass,” he says as he strips himself of his clothes, leaving you exposed to his muscular body. Some faint scars adorn certain surfaces of his body, but they only made him more attractive. Keeping your eyes on him, you slowly turn over onto your stomach and raise your ass up towards him. Almost teasingly, you shake your hips a bit, letting the flesh and muscle jiggle in front of him. You knew how to get him aroused, and this was definitely one of those moments. His hands find your hips as they smooth over the flesh of your ass. The gentle caress is followed by a sharp spank to it, making you shriek at the contact.

“Oh, come on, Princess. I know you’re louder than that,” another spank came, and you made sure to make it sound just a bit more pornographic when you moaned as his hand struck your flesh. “Atta girl,”

His fingers grip at a first full of hair at the base of your neck and pulls slightly, as the head of his cock teases at you. Skipping just the head in and pulling back out making you whine.

“Come on baby ask for what you want,” he pulls out waiting to hear this magic words.

“P-please?” You ask giving you some inches but not completely

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me Grayson…” a smirk farces his face as he pulls out once more and bottoms out all at once making him groan and you let out a moan. He gets into a steady rhythm, the bed frame starting to rock every now and then

“Fuck…so tight…so wet for me…” *he moans lowly, as he watches your ass jiggle with every thrust that meets his hips. Slowly but surely he can hear you starting to drown out your neighbors. soon enough, the only thing that he can focus on was the sound of your headboard, thumping against the wall and your moans filling his ears. His favorite combination of sounds right after his favorite band.

His hand moves to the back of your neck and pushes you down into the mattress as his thrusts become deeper, needier. The sound of skin slapping against skin fill your ears as Dick dominated you in the best way. At this rate, both your upstairs and downstairs Neighbor will probably give you a nice complaint.

“Ah! Ah! Dick! Fuck! S-so close~” you moan feeling that knot in your stomach again. Your eyes starting to roll back. You couldn’t help your hips, starting to move back against him, wanting more and more!

“Y-yeah Princess? Cum…cum for me! Come on this cock baby,” he groans loudly as he ounces into you, feeling your walls clench around him, bring him closer and closer to filling you to the brim.

The bed thumped, you both moaned and whined until his hips come to a stutter and he dumps himself into you. Your moans becoming whines as you both ride out your highs. Your slick walls pulsing around him, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you. Roles of silk filling you to the very hilt. Reducing both of you to panting messes.

He pulls out of you, a whine coming from your tired lips. He leans down and kisses your shoulder with a little chuckle

“Think they got the message?” Another kiss to your temple as he plops down next to you, moving some hair out of your face

“Well,” you both listen for a moment “…seems like we beat em,” you both give a celebratory high five knowing you may have been a bit too loud, but hey you had a great time.

“Now how about another shower before bed?” He offered

“Absolutely,”

-🧚🏼

🌙taglist;

[daydaydayrk420]

Nesting

Peter Hale X male reader

⚠️top male reader, bottom Peter Hale, heat season, breeding, m! pregnancy as a joke!!!!!! The bonus ending is obviously a joke, if you don't think it's funny it's a funny matter ⚠️

🚨 minor's and girls do not interact 🚨

Nesting.

Y/n is in the hospital. His shift ends in about two hours or so. But he doesn't mind. He's with Melissa McCall! The best coworker one could ask for.

Wolves nest for many reasons.

"Have you heard that Peter Hale has found someone who loves him?" Melissa asks y/n. "So I've heard." He nods.

"Maybe this will make him open up to being a better guy." She said as she checked her paperwork

For one. Nest building is performed in order to provide sufficient shelter.

Y/n's phone sends him an alert that someone is in his house.

He doesn't hesitate and checks the cameras.

It's just Peter in the kitchen making a sandwich.

Y/n brushes it off and puts his phone away again.

Two. Nesting is also performed to provide comfort to arriving offsprings.

An hour has passed and y/n only checked on one patient during that hour. Tonight is quite boring. Barely any patients.

But Peter is not having such a calm night.

But when it comes to werewolves. They nest for one more reason.

Peter's mind has been fuzzy all day. He's afraid to sit! He doesn't want his pants to soak through with slick that he physically can't stop.

They make nests with their mate's clothes. So they're surrounded by their scent.

Peter mutters to himself as he wolfs down another sandwich and marches towards y/n's bedroom.

The moment he enters the faster he grabs any clothes his eyes lay on.

Werewolves nest to mate.

No he doesn't nest.

Why would he nest?

He's Peter Hale!

He'd never nest!

To breed.

Finally, y/n has made it home. But because of his human senses. He doesn't notice how heavy the smell of rut and slick is in his house.

Peter is naked, sweaty, and panting as he has his face buried in y/n's shirt that he slept in last night.

Peter is too focused on the scent surrounding him to notice that the man he's yearning for is standing in the doorway.

"Smells nice?" Y/n asked as a joke. Peter practically jumps out of his skin and stares at y/n with wide eyes.

"Finally you're home." He growled and yanked at y/n's shirt, causing the human to fall face flat into the bed.

Said human doesn't have the time to react before his shirt is torn to pieces. "Peter-" His words get cut off by the wolf as he yanks him up the bed and flips him onto his back.

Y/n feels like a ragdoll. "Peter-" He is yet again interrupted by the werewolf. This time it's because Peter tore y/n's pants off. "Peter!"

Y/n snapped in anger. That finally got the Hale to stop and look at him in surprise. Y/n takes a deep breath to calm down.

"Peter." The human starts off, trying to stay calm as best as possible. "What are you doing." His voice betrays the clear frustration he's feeling.

Peter looks down, looking like a scolded puppy. Y/n looks around and notices the nest of his clothes on the bed. "Oh."

Y/n calms down. Peter's in heat. That's why he's acting like this. He sits up and reaches out to cup the Hale's cheek. "You're in heat uh." He murmured as he pulled Peter closer. The wolf nods with a slight pout. He hates being vulnerable. But at the moment, he couldn't care less how y/n sees him.

"And you came here for me to help you through it?" The human asks to confirm. He and Peter haven't been together for a long time. They're getting to their first anniversary. He knew that Peter was a werewolf. But he's never seen him in heat. So this is very important to y/n because it shows him that Peter trusts him during his worst time of the year.

Peter nods. He knows that y/n probably won't have the libido to keep up with a werewolf in heat but this is now more than just a heat. It's time for them to bond. Literally.

Y/n gently kisses Peter and pulls him into his lap. "I'll try to please you as best as i can darling." He purred and kissed down Peter's neck.

Y/n gives Peter a gentle kiss before he removes the remains of his clothing.

Once he's finally matching Peter's nudity he carefully lays him in the middle of the bed.

The wolf whines and tries to grab at his lover's hair to tug him closer. To no avail. Y/n is faster and grabs Peter's hands to pin them by his head. "You'll get what you need Peter. Just not yet. I want to savor you."

And savor he does. The human takes his time to memorize and admire every inch of skin and sometimes fur. No not body hair. Fur.

When it comes to Peter and body hair he's smooth as babies butt. Only when he's in his werewolf form, that's when some fur comes out.

Which is what's happening now. Poor Peter can barely control his body let alone control his shift.

Y/n will definitely have to be careful of the man's claws.

The wolf whines yet again. He's so impatient. But he wants to be good. Good for his boyfriend. Good for his mate. Good for his y/n.

Y/n gives a comforting kiss to the wolf's chest, but he's not done admiring him. It's not like the men haven't slept together yet. But tonight is different.

"You can touch. But be careful. I can't heal if you cut me wrong." Y/n said with a firm tone with the underlay of adoration. He doesn't mind being marked. But it can get too rough.

The wolf doesn't hesitate and immediately grabs onto his lover's hair. "Please mate me." He pleaded.

Peter hates feeling so weak, so vulnerable. But in front of y/n he can't help but feel only that.

"How do I mate you?" It's not that y/n Doesn't know about mating but it's not like he's ever done it. And if Peter wants to mate, then y/n wants to do it right.

"Bite me. Hard. Draw blood. Here" Peter can only speak so little. He tilts his head to the side and points right where his scent gland is.

The human nods and peppers that spot with kisses. He also gives it a lick here and there.

He's not sure about what he's doing. He's hesitating. Should I bite Peter? Is it a good idea? Do I want to be mated with a werewolf that everyone around him seems to hate? We've only been together for a year. Is this right? Should i-

Y/n's thoughts are interrupted by another high-pitched and impatient whine from the man under him. That's all he needs for those thoughts to slip away as he grazes his teeth against skin.

That causes Peter to howl with desperation.

The human had a hard time holding his climax back. He could cum right then and there from a simple desperate howl.

He finally gives it and gives his best strength into the bite. Y/n bites even harder and let's out a loud hiss when he feels his flesh on his back get pierced by sharp claws.

Peter arched his back so beautifully. If only y/n could see that. But all he can do is hear the loud howl of pleasure that fills the room.

Peter howls as if y/n was the moon itself. His claws dig deep into his lover's, no, mate's, back. He feels blood dripping down his neck and y/n's back. He wants to stop. To apologize to his poor human mate, who will literally be scared for his life because of him. But all he can do is whine and wrap his legs around his mate with the desperate need to hold him close.

Eventually, y/n pulls off once he thinks it's safe. His chin is covered in crimson that matched Peter's finger tips.

He lifts himself up onto his hands to look down at his now mate only to be met with Peter's werewolf face that's twisted into the biggest puppy eyes y/n has ever seen him have.

Not only that, but those puppy eyes have the most upfront passion and desperation Peter could possibly ever contain inside his cold heart.

Peter takes a gentle hold of y/n's face. Neither of them speaks. They don't need to speak. They know what they want. What they need.

Y/n licks his bloodied lips and leans down to gently kiss the wolf underneath him.

Peter wraps his arms around his mate's head. Needing him close more than ever. He can feel y/n blindly searching for the condoms they keep under their pillows because the nightstand is too far.

The wolf grabs the human's wrist. "No...no condom... please..." His voice is barely above a whisper. His tone was pleading and desperate. Y/n nods and kisses the man before him again.

He lines up, knowing that Peter is more than wet and stretched enough, considering his heat and need.

Peter's legs wrap around y/n's hips tighter. The realization they're about to bond as mates for their first time is overwhelming.

But not as overwhelming as the feeling of y/n's tip grazing on his oversensitive walls.

The man in heat mewls loudly and grips the human man's hair with a vice grip. He breaks the kiss only to moan against the other's lips as he meets his thrusts.

They share their air, their sounds, their saliva as their lazily touch tongues here and there instead of proper kisses.

Their bodies move in a symphony. Their moans synchronize into a love field melody.

Y/n holds his body up with one elbow while he lets his free hand roam over and map the man beneath him.

No words were spoken. Only sounds of pleasure as they hold each other through their ascend to cloud nine.

Peter has never felt so satisfied so soon during a heat. It only fuels his mind to believe that this time he has chosen right. That he's mated the right one.

Y/n can tell by the way Peter's breath hitches and the way his thighs twitch that he's close.

But y/n doesn't rush. He wants to draw out Peter's climax as much as he can the right way. Considering that he's also reaching his climax, it doesn't take very much stimulation for them to grip onto each other's flesh with a bruising grip before they paint themselves white.

Peter paints his and y/n's belly white, while y/n paints Peter white from the inside.

But their thrusts don't slow as they draw out every remaining pleasure they can before y/n collapses on top of the wolf.

Peter holds the human to his chest like his life depends on it. Their chests move in synchronized breathing as they calm down from the intense pleasure.

They both silently agree to rest before another round. If another round will even be needed.

Y/n waits for Peter to fall asleep first before he lets his eyes fall shut, and sleep takes over his mind.

They both slept like the dead. A satisfied grin covers both of their faces as they hold each other with care.

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

Bonus ending

Nesting.

Peter has been sick. Which is concerning. How can a werewolf be sick?

Wolves nest for many reasons.

Y/n is clueless about this.

Sure, Peter let y/n see him in his weakest state, but seeing him sick?

Makes him sick. Ironic, isn't it?

But Peter knows what's going on and it terrifies him.

To provide sufficient shelter.

As y/n finally puts the remaining nested clothes into the washing machine he groans with relief.

It took him weeks to fully wash out the clothes that were ruined during the nesting and mating.

Y/n decided he'd clean up the bathroom while he was already here.

There's not much to clean. Just to take out the trash.

As y/n gets to the bin and grabs the bag he notices a "what the-"

To provide comfort to an arriving offspring.

"Peter Hale!" Y/n yelled into Peter's apartment. He's utterly confused. Filled with anger? Worry? Betrayal?

Peter walks into the living room to see y/n with a mix of emotions on his face and something in his hand.

Y/n hears him and turns to him. He lifts up the pregnancy test, about to yell at the werewolf in front of him and accuse him of cheating with a woman but he immediately freezes.

Peter stands there confused holding his slightly rounded belly. It's not visible. Well, it is to y/n because Peter is shirtless, and his abs aren't showing like always.

"I see you found my pregnancy test," Peter said calmly even though his heart was doing flips with anxiety.

"What the fuck"

[nottivagos]

notti's nightly thoughts (18+)

an: yappity yap yap, i'm bringing divorced ceo!daniel on the singles cruise back :)

you hated how you still wanted your ex. the singles cruise was supposed to be your new beginning, a new chapter in your life, but here you were having a holiday affair with daniel whilst still wearing your wedding ring.

the silence of daniel's cabin was thick around you, the only thing audible being both of your slightly raised breaths as you laid half-naked, limbs tangled in daniel's bed.

daniel's eyes glimmered as the moonlight cast onto your bodies whilst the ship sailed slowly on into the night, whilst the tension between you and daniel was palpable.

"daniel," you whispered hotly against his face, bare front brushing against his own. "we shouldn't be doing this. it feels wrong," you mumbled as daniel came to cup your cheek ever so tenderly.

the man sighed. his brown eyes soft as he looked at your features. your own hand came to cup his cheek, feeling the rough stubble in your palm. the wedding band still weighed heavy on your finger as it glistened in the moonlight, a reminder to daniel that you still held onto the life you now didn't have.

"i just don't know if it's right, that's all," you added, slightly defeated in your tone. "it just.. feels wrong."

daniel's thumb rubbed against the apple of your cheek ever so tenderly, his other hand holding your hip so you two stayed together snugly underneath the covers. his brown eyes were soft, loving even, as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

you smiled, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. but when your eyes met daniel's, you could see he was preoccupied with something as his thumb came and trailed to your lips.

"daniel, you're thinking again," you acknowledged quietly. "what's wrong?" you asked.

"if your ex was here..." daniel mumbled, lost in thought, thumb tracing your bottom lip ever so gently, "where would you want him to touch you?"

your breath caught in your throat at the question, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment, body tensing slightly underneath his touch. "daniel, i don't think that's necessary," you tried to chuckle off ever so lightheartedly, despite the pool of heat that rushed to your lower belly with the anticipation of another man touching you where your past lover didn't.

"that doesn't answer my question," daniel said simply, fingertips now tracing your jawline. "show me where you'd want him to touch you," he murmured again.

you gulped hesitantly. your skin yearned for daniel's touch as your insides burnt with passion. "okay," you whispered with a shaky breath, wrapping your hand around his, before dragging it down your chest slowly, "i'd want him to touch me like this here."

you shivered as daniel's fingertips trailed down your front, the roughness of his fingers causing your breath to hitch. daniel kept his eyes closely on your own as you took control, guiding his hands to trace patterns over your burning skin, leaving you to gasp as they trailed lower and lower.

"daniel," you breathed, cheeks growing increasingly flushed as heat pooled to your core, causing you a wet patch to form in your panties crotch.

"just like that, hmm?" he mumbled, allowing you to drag his hand over his skin whilst he pressed open-mouthed kisses to your jawline and neck. "i knew you would come out of your shell sooner rather than later," daniel chuckled into your skin, nipping your neck with a smile.

you whined, trailing his hand now down to your pussy, where you made him cup your clothed heat. "you did that to me, daniel," you rasped, eyes widened as you looked at him after he'd raised his head from the crook of your neck, "and i want you to do more."

"where?" daniel whispered against your lips, repositioning himself on top of you, making you lie flat on the mattress on your back.

"i want you to fuck me with your fingers, daniel," you breathed again, your belly slowly twisting with anticipation as blood surged around your body like electricity. "make me come like he never did," you begged softly, redirecting his hand to the elastic of your lacy underwear.

slowly, daniel tore away your panties down your ankles, before discarding them on the carpet of his cabin. his finger came to toy with your clit, causing you to gasp upon finding it. your back arched slightly as he smeared and played with your slick already dripping from your cunt, causing you to whine.

"you like that, baby?" daniel teased from above you, finger playing with your slick hole, teasing the entrance that tried ever so eagerly to pull him in. "you want me to make you fall apart with my fingers?"

you whimpered, nipples hardening with heated excitement as you nodded. "please," you whispered, hands coming to grip his shoulders ever so firmly, "make me come, daniel," you whispered on his lips as one of your hands clawed the back of his head, fingers running through his unruly curls as you pressed a searing kiss on his lips.

you groaned against his lips as he pumped two digits into your pussy ever so easily, the obscene noises muffled by the rustling of the bedsheets as your lips crashed onto each other's with a new found passion. daniel's teeth nibbled at your bottom lip, causing your mouth to bruise with the intensity of each peck.

daniel moaned as you rocked your hips into his fingers, now pumping deeper into your dripping cunt. you whined, moans dying inside his mouth as your fingernails dragged across his bare back, causing him to groan as his jaw tensed.

your insides fluttered as you reached your climax, heat rushing up your spine as your hips jerked in a feverish rhythm whilst your lips continued to search for dominance.

"daniel," you moaned, walls clenching around his calloused digits as they continued to thrust into you, juices dripping out of your needy hole. "fuck. daniel, i'm close," you whined, hips rolling as you clawed into his back.

"you gonna come, baby?" he asked, pumping even deeper, fingers curling to the spot that made you see stars. "let me hear you," he murmured, "wanna hear how riled up you are for me."

"d-daniel, fuck!" you exclaimed, now panting as your stomach turned into knots, cheeks flushing an incredibly hot crimson as your eyes began to roll back when his thumb found your hypersensitive clit, rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves ever so slowly.

you panted, chest heaving as moans spilled out of your mouth, uncontrolled by the pleasure surging around your body. you tensed as you reached your climax, walls clenching around daniel's fingers as he continued to finger fuck you, your fingernails digging harshly into his skin.

"come on, darling," daniel coaxed, fingers curling even more as he felt you clench around him. "let me hear how good i make you feel."

"daniel!" you cried out in pleasure as you climaxed, hips jerking erratically as you rode out your high, leaving you a panting, flushed mess as your juices coated daniel's fingers shoved ever so deeply inside of you.

the moments after your high were slow, as if time had slowed down completely as you up at daniel as he slowly pulled his coated fingers out of your now aching, yet satisfied cunt. you chuckled breathlessly as you wrapped your arms around his neck whilst he kissed your temple ever so lovingly, as both of your bodies shined with sweat.

"well, how do you feel?" daniel panted, looking down at you as you basked in the aftermath of your love making.

you smiled, cupping both of his cheeks with adoration. "so much better," you breathed, still trying to maintain a controlled rhythm of breaths as your chest heaved.

"and i feel like i don't need this thing anymore," you mumbled, pulling away one of your hands from his face to show him you pulling the ring off of your ring finger, placing it on the bedside table before giggling.

"do you feel like you could go for a round two?" you asked, eyes widened and sweet as you smiled devilishly up at him. "i'd love to know what your cock would feel like inside of me," you added, voice merely a whisper as you bit your bottom lip ever so casually.

daniel's eyes lit up with glee at that remark. "round two, huh?" he joked, lips turning into a smirk. "i don't see why we couldn't," he mumbled, lips hovering dangerously close to your own as your bare fronts brushed together again, "would love to hear you screaming my name like you just did whilst you take my cock." <3

[sunflower1experiment]

The Doctor, will See You

Risk

It was quiet, you were quiet, it made him uncomfortable when you would acknowledge him with a nod and then walk past. Tending to the children, was it the fact that you lost this child or maybe you had finally accepted your fate. Whatever the plan was it was also affecting the toys too, Leith was less strict and more patient but the knowledge that you weren't actively seeking any forms of social bond made him worry. "Can you talk to me?"

Stella begs while holding your hand, you chuckle sadly. "No, stop trying and just work. Please."

Work, silence, feed, care, work, silence.....feed...?

Doey's neck stretches across his cell and ate some of the fruit you placed down, "You're feeding us? Why?" This was Kevin talking, the children were weary. You simply shake your head, "I'm doing this to tell you to live, keep rebelling, you're all smart and I...I'm doing what I can before I accept everything."

The boys stare at you through Doey, "What do you mean? Your voice isn't gentle, so why?"

"Kevin, Matthew, Jack...Doey. I don't think Harley or Prototype are good. So, I want you to take care of the children if things get...tense, you don't have to do it if you don't want to. Every choice you make. Make sure to forgive yourself, okay? You're good kids." Doey flinches when you place one more food into his hand.

It was, colorful, like him a pretty fruit with colors and a variety of different tastes. "Peach..." He ate it curiously, relishing the different essences of sweetness.

Catnap was well difficult to speak with, you knew he held high expectations for Prototype and also didn't see you as anything other than a scientist, an adult. One that betrayed him, the food placed down was smacked away, "It's okay. You have every right to be angry."

He sneers at your words, just because you were "one of the good ones"

"You are no better, you are a scientist, you still stood beside him." Nodding at his words you sigh sadly.

"Maybe that was a signal, loving him and then getting attached to you all. That no matter how hard I try, I was more loyal to playtime than I was myself. I so badly wish to take your pain away. Sadly, the only thing I can do is this."

What did you mean!? Catnap watches you leave, Dogday stares in horror, "Catnap, did Prototype...." No, what did you mean!?

Were you leaving? No, you had a plan, something they wouldn't know about. Mommy places the fruits and vegetables aside when you returned. After everything, the truth, and now you and Harley were no more. What were you planning to do exactly? "Is there a reason you're so, quiet, planning in silence?"

"The plan is to give you all strength, and then, gather evidence." Mommy's eyes widen, she slinks over with a curious grin. "Evidence?"

"You are evidence, but the files are too." So that is why you were quiet and so obediently tame, of course this is merely as scary as any job with a corrupt background but to be on top and stay while hitting rock bottom. Yet here you are, giving food while ignoring Harley's calls.

Huggy leans in when your phone rings for the third time, you hold his cheek so he could remain still. His sharp teeth chew on the pears you feed him, sometimes he'd stand guard while you worked. Listening to the apologies or gentle words he wished to hear, when the experimentations happened. Did you even know of the pain? the anguish? The suffering everyone experienced at the hands of Harley, Eddie and Leith?

He could only smile while staring at you, your apologies meant something but in terms of actioner it would fall flat.

"tHe hOur oF jOy....yOu sHoUlD join..."

"I can't...I have to give the evidence to the public, you understand...I'm not sure what this hour will be but if you all plan to escape then I'll do everything I can to help."

Prototype envies your determined futility; him and Harley were alike that way. Harley loves your bleeding heart while Prototype's plan was meant to break you, turn you to hate humanity and maybe just maybe you could collaborate with him. Not out of love, or concern to commemorate you and him becoming allies, but because he needed eyes, ears, hands, and the ability to touch.

He then notes the ringing phone, that was once again in voicemail. Harley was growing more desperate.

Each one went straight to voicemail, or he'd find you in your office. Expecting coffee from you or a small smile of assurance, where did he go wrong? The day he truly went wrong was probably the last time you and him would share such warm embrace.

What happened? The files were placed down, evidence upon evidence and a video file to upload the truth to the world. Now all there is the door, but it was locked. Your body tenses, and in the back of your mind you prayed it wasn't what you thought it'd be. Whether you loved him or not, it was still...

It starts with a crash, a gunshot, yelling, what did Prototype do, words of who will cover this up fill your ears. How will he cover it up, then you ran in and knelt to Harley's side, holding him by the face.

Whether Harley wanted to or not, that was what made Leith, and you clash, he was usually bemused with your interaction with the toys.

Yet nothing bemused him more than seeing your teary-eyed face standing before him.

TW// Blood, gunshot, (Here we see his perspective of what happened. Meanwhile Leith gets his perception while the hour of joy is its own chapter), cursing, gore minors do not interact if you get weary at the mention of blood

Harley, Harley Sawyer, head scientist of the projects, facing betrayal, curiosity, discovery, love, failure, and isolation. Holding no sorts of humility and discipline as stated by Elliot, he struggles to reach the top of the ranks in playtime co. Striding to become better than those nobodies he called coworkers, the ones with bleeding hearts, soft like Elliot or not even capable to reach his intellect.

Many experiments, failure or not he knew he was the one carrying this company to success, then it was Quinn...

Quinn, he should've listened when he knew someone was opting to take this child in. Experiment 1166, aka Yarnaby. The obedience it displays....or he displays, was enough to make Sawyer "take" him in. That was his first mistake, "That boy Quinn, I really want to adopt him."

In one ear and out the other, this man was foolish. To even form a relationship with someone who held more humility, more humanity than him. How dare he ruin the concept of enamor for his partner to be or to not be.

He loved you, of course he did, that's why he kept you close. Someone needed to keep this family together, Harley, Quinn Yarnaby, you. His mind wanders to the baby, two months in...and to see your locked door, the fetus, the man wanted to yell at the scientist for not saving it. It could be of potential: What a sick twisted thought to have about your own child!

Harley breaths as he scraps the paperwork on the prototype, "sOmethiNg thE mATTER? DoCtor?"

"No, you and I both know that....So anything else you wish to express?" It chuckles, then taps the metallic fingers on the table. "You both loved each other so dearly, and you simply had to turn that boy into a toy....Criminals, sick, dying...Right? Potential toys. Or better yet Some sedation."

"Don't you ever use that voice against me! Damn it!" Harley slams his hands on the table, he hated that voice, because it belonged to you. Except you were crying, hugging his frame while he couldn't bear to see you making that pathetic sound. Even when the doctor had the audacity to find some sick amusement at Yarnaby's sounds....you were different.

It absolutely annoys Harley's soul knowing Stella held some form of kinship to you, the flowers expressed so many words. So, he tried as well, first it was a Clematis Jackmanii, you were enthralled by such beauty. Next the Iris, you returned this exchange with a Rosemary, so he got bolder, and he was before your office with a Tuberose. Your wide eyes and slightly startled demeanor rub him the wrong way until you show him a beautiful pink poppy. He holds it, silent....

That flower was now wilted, he was heartbroken or maybe he needed to try again. So, he foolishly offers a poppy flower. Your demeanor is unchanging, and your silence spoke so many words to him, truly the indifference you held to the doctor hurt more than any form of hatred.

All these puzzles and shifts to try and win you over again he simply moves onto work like you but not the way he'd expect. The incident, he simply had Boxy Boo cover his tracks, and he'd leave while everyone else was already home. Until he saw you, your eyes were wide the crashing, gunshots, what happened!?

But he could only focus on you, he tries to speak, then stops when you walk forward. Harley practically drops everything to hold you but then his eyes widen. There was blood on the floor, sounds of shouting and Leith's angry yelling while guards start to seize you.

"Harley! What did you bastards do!? What was that!?" Your voice fades as the guards move you towards the hallways, "Harley!!!"

Harley's breathing shortens, too much blood loss...he felt it track over his lab coat. It reminded him of your warmth, your lips and tender touch.

"Start the procedure."

Then the doctor awoke, calling for you, it made Leith tense with anger, Dr. Bruno White clears his throat. "Procedure complete....how, are you feeling?"

"White!? Where, what happened...I...Something is wrong, what did you do!? Which one of you higher up backstabbing traitors..."

"I gave the order." Leith cuts Sawyer off from his angry tangent, he sighs. "After so many chances and even a failed attempt of us nearly getting exposed. You really know how to handle your screw ups."

"Enough with your idle talk, why would we even get exposed?" Sawyer snarls at him, his patience wearing thin.

"Your partner had evidence, upon evidence! Everything was recorded, everything! You simply couldn't just leave it alone..." Leith sighs, "Luckily we dealt with him as per needed.

"You have no idea what you all are doing, you all need mine and my dear's intellect!"

"That is the exact reason why you're here and not food for Boxy Boo." Leith retorts while he looks at Leith's now isolated form. "Here's how we'll do this, you will give the other scientists answers when they need them, and to perform procedures as directed."

"You'll die for this Pierre! When I get my hands on you. You're a DEAD MAN!"

Harley wouldn't accept this, not when you were trapped somewhere, being treated with the same pain. Leith Pierre maybe, a greedy bastard but...would he hurt you.

He had to know, it was as if the world was against him for the final time. How many months went by is what he'd ask but he knew time was only relative in the eyes of the beholder.

That's when he hears him again, "Open the door!" Leith's angry voice fills his ears, you take some steps back. Holding your chest, he watches through the camera tapping on the screen. Anything to get your attention, Stella's cries fill his head. Why was everyone do damn loud!?

"I failed, for the final time." Your voice begins, he assumed you were crying, and he desperately hopes it was true. Yet when no tears shed, he was angry. At himself, those fools, you!

He notices you grabbing the lever, to release everyone, everything, even him. But that meant you would die too, "No matter how much I try to look, I was no better…if they kill me, I hope I can ease their pain…I’m so sorry children."

You can't be serious!? This had to be prototype's doing! Why didn't he see the signs sooner, damn it, damn everything to hell it was his fault! He held the blame, Leith Pierre held the blame, Stella, all of these scientists. Innocent, guilty....

"I really did love him." Harley stops moping with self-loath when you say those words, "I just wanted him to see that those orphans, the children. They were smarter than people realize..."

You pull the lever; closing the gate that guards the workers in the higher grounds. "Prototype wanted us to die but, not everyone deserves it. I tried to convince him and Sawyer..."

The doctor watches your determined glare towards the others, "I'm doing this for the sake of the children and the innocent. I don't care if this seems like some moral power play, it isn't, I'm no better."

Everything played out so slowly, the gates were vain as they transported Huggy to the upper floor. Killing everyone, Mommy long legs follow afterwards in the train station playground, death, blood, bodies. The sick sounds of someone's body being torn apart, it made Harley watch in awe how they practically turn this place to hell..

Because of him and those backstabbing scientists, what exactly did you do? Right, you never did them, you were the one who interrogated the children and toys.

Always being sweet, and caring for them, feeding those damned beasts. That was your downfall and biggest flaw, you had that bleeding heart...

"....Hello old friend." The prototype says in a mocking manner, "I see even after everything, your love for that scientist has not changed. So, will the doctor be seeing them?"

Harley chuckles bitterly at its words of mockery and amusement, those fools lost control god knows how much later after he was turned. Now this "Hour of Joy" happens, all of his work in shambles..

But you, his perfect experiment. You weren't in shambles, not yet that is, maybe if he made you into something like him the toys would be more accepting. Unlike that Thomas Clarke fellow, he could make you his perfect experiment, the perfect partner. Without that awful bleeding heart, he came to adore so much, you'd be safe from manipulation. From Prototype, he sighs once more as he finally clears his head, "Make sure my dear partner doesn't die.."

Your fate was sealed that day.

[lvstrucks]

i still miss the smoke

lando norris x reader

warnings: smut (minors do not interact!)

You hadn’t returned to the bar in months. Since breaking up with Lando you’d avoided it like the plague, knowing how that one bar had been such a staple in your relationship. The two of you had spent countless nights in the hazy atmosphere, drinking pints either with a group of mutual friends or just the two of you. It was the first place Lando had told you he loved you a few years ago, reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear and leaning in close to whisper those three words. 

Now, it mocked you each time you had to walk past. The location app on your phone clearly still hadn’t got the message about the breakup, and as much as you hated yourself for it, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your stomach each time you saw Lando’s little green location dot hovering there. Did he not miss you at all? Was he not reminded of you; your scent, your hair, your real laugh when you’d tip your head all the way back each time he stepped in through the doors and sat at your regular table, that one seat left barren since you’d left him?

After the breakup, you’d distanced yourself from the friend group. You’d told yourself the only way to move on was to start a completely clean slate, but it clearly hadn’t worked. The only outcome seemed now you had no one to ask for updates on how Lando was doing, only that glowing green dot. Was he out having a good time, or was he waiting for you there? As you slipped on a black dress and swiped lipstick on, you realized there was only one way to find out. 

Lando stared down into the bottom of his glass, watching the way the amber liquid swirled endlessly with his gentle movement. He tried to force a smile, crack a joke, but his efforts fell flat as he caught a glance of the perpetually empty seat next to him. 

“Uh, Lando.” coughed a friend from across the table. 

Lando looked up, startled from his thoughts. He gave the friend a quizzical look, following his line of sight and his heart caught in his chest as he saw you walking in. You were all alone, looking slightly unsure of your surroundings. Lando swallowed thickly, watching intently as  you chattered lightly to the bartender, ordering your drink. When it was handed to you and you brought it to your lips, another friend from Lando’s table decided to take the initiative and called you over, gesturing to your usual seat. 

“Hey, guys.” you said quietly, setting down your drink and uncertainly sitting down next to Lando. 

You were met with a chorus of hello and how are you? from your old friends. It was slightly awkward, but the air felt charged with a static hope. 

As you caught up with the group, Lando kept quiet, looking down at the table. The only acknowledgement of you he allowed himself was letting his knee knock gently sideways, resting against yours and he had to focus on breathing manually as he felt the electric charge running from your leg to his. 

“Lando?” you say quietly while your friends are busy chatting amongst themselves. “Can we- Can I talk to you? Alone?”

Lando forces himself to swallow his excitement, determined not to get his hopes up. He nods, standing quickly from the table and leading you outside. He leans against the brick wall outside the bar, the moon and streetlights illuminating the slight frizz on top of his unruly curls. 

“Yeah?” he speaks up finally. 

You blink for a moment, taking in his features. 

“I miss you.” you say simply. 

Lando looks up at you faster than he should have. 

“Yeah?” he repeats himself dumbly. 

“Yeah.” you nod. Lando simply looks at you, so you decide you might have to take initiative. It’s only fair really: you were the one who ended it - you would have to be the one to take the lead now. 

“Do you miss me? Just a little bit?” you ask, taking his hand gently. 

He doesn’t pull away, just nods slowly. 

“Yeah,” he says, a third time. “More than a little bit.” He seems to break out of his trance at his own admission, taking a step closer and wrapping his strong arms around you. All you can do is mirror his actions, burying your face in his shoulder and breathing in the scent of him. He feels like coming home. 

Lando squeezes you tighter, throwing caution to the wind with the feeling of having you back in his arms. 

“Wanna come back to mine?” he asks, grinning a big toothy grin that no one has seen in months when you nod and tuck yourself into his side. 

Lando doesn’t take his hands off you once as you enter his dark apartment. He doesn’t even bother letting go to switch on the lights, just leading you through the hallway to his bedroom. You don’t mind at all. You’re sure you could find your way around his apartment with your eyes closed still. 

He lays you down on the bed gently, leaning over you and playing with a strand of your loose hair. When he kisses you again, it’s the softest thing you’ve ever felt. 

“Gotta tell me what you want, pretty.” he murmurs while kissing down the column of your throat. 

“You, Lan. I want you.” you all but cry out. Lando’s stomach tightens at the nickname. God, he’d missed that. 

He pulls of his shirt and unbuckles his pants while you wriggle out of your dress. There’s no time for formalities. 

“I’m gonna make you feel good, yeah?” Lando assures you as he scooches down the beg, tracing lines on your thighs as he kisses your legs open. He breathes deeply at the sight of you, trying desperately to control himself. 

“So so pretty.” he mumbles into you as he presses kisses to your folds. “All for me.”

Lando looks up, watching your face carefully for any signs of discomfort as he slips one finger into you, just up to his first knuckle. You whine, arching your back slightly in search of more. He pushes his finger into you fully, pulling it out slightly before pushing in another as well. 

“You like, baby?” he hums, breaking the intense eye contact as he lowers his mouth over you. Gently brushing over your clit, he giggles as you throw your head back, the sensation unbearably good. He presses his open mouth onto your clit, beginning to lick and suck while he pumped his fingers in and out of you. 

“Lan, baby,” you gasp, one hand coming down to grab onto the back of his head to ground yourself. Your fingers brush against the fade at the back of his head, reaching only stubble and feeling his neck flex as he works on you. “I’m so close..”

Lando hums into your clit, not stopping for a second as he mumbles reassurances. “I got you baby.” 

You turn your head, sighing into the pillow as you come undone over his face. He chuckles as he pulls out his fingers once you’ve stillled. 

“That any good for you, babygirl?” he asks cheekily, licking off his fingers. 

All you can do is giggle breathlessly as he scooches himself up the bed, high enough to sit back on his heels and line himself up with your clenching entrance. 

He sighs in relief as he presses into you, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead as your bodies meld together. 

“Ow,” you whisper at the stretch. “I forgot..I forgot how big you were.” Lando immediately stills, reaching to give your hand a squeeze as you get used to the burn. 

“‘M sorry baby,” he whispers as he presses kisses to your chin, watching with concern at the pain on your face. 

“‘s it ok for me to move now?” he asks as your face relaxes and you nod, tapping at his lower back to spur him on. 

“Please.” you breathe. 

Lando snaps his hips into yours, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder, a place he’s missed dearly. You wrap your legs around his hips, wanting him impossibly closer as he rocks you into the plush bedsheets. 

“You’re so warm and wet for me,” Lando gasps. “I won’t last long.” “That’s ok,” you encourage him, pressing a quick kiss to the side of his head. 

Lando groans and pushes himself up onto his knees as he lifts your legs up, throwing them on each shoulder as he leans down closer to you again, and the new angle is so good you don’t even mind being practically folded in half. 

“You gonna come for me again?” he asks, face screwing up into an expression you know all too well. He brings one hand between your bodies to press on your clit while the other still grips onto your hand for dear life. 

“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the familiar knot in your stomach tighten and your toes begin to curl. 

“Lando-” you try to warn him, but he’s already grunting and biting his lower lip, forehead resting on yours. 

“Fuck- I love- I love you” he cries out accidentally as his hips stutter into the back of your thighs, filling you quickly. 

The room is filled by a comfortable silence, broken only by the pants and deep breaths of both you and Lando as you come back down. He lays behind you, stroking a pattern into your hip as he nuzzles into your neck, on the brink of sleep. You know you’ve only got a minute or two before he’s asleep, but you can’t help but open the can of worms. 

“Do you?”

Lando hums into your ear, not understanding your question. 

“Do you still love me?” you question. “Can you still?” 

Lando barely hesitates before he nods, glad his blushing cheeks are hidden behind your hair. 

“Yeah.” he confirms. “I do. I couldn’t- I can’t stop.”

You turn in his arms, bringing one hand to stroke his burning cheek. 

“I’m sorry.” you whisper quietly. “I’m so, so sorry for leaving you. I just couldn’t deal with everything- but it was so much worse without you.”

“I know, baby,” Lando murmurs, pressing a light kiss to your forehead as you curl into his arms. “It’s you and me, yeah?”

thank you for reading! feedback or reblogs are always appreciated <3

[henwinchesters]

thinking about semi-public sex with gojo, except he can't keep quiet not for a second

TW : NSFW top! mreader ﾉ afab! bottom gojo satoru ﾉ exhibitionism ﾉ gagging ﾉ degrading ﾉ reader is kinda mean ﾉ teasing ﾉ orgasm denial (small mentions)

satoru was a risk taker. call it on a count of his cocky personality, or the fact that he was the strongest sorcerer to grace the lands of japan—but taking risk is what made him who he was. there was no one strong enough to stop him, no one to tell him “no” or “that not right”. he did at one point in his life but he never listened. It wasn’t his thing.

satoru was a brat. you’d learned that about him within the first three weeks of your relationship. he didn’t listen. it was like being on his worst behavior was second nature for him. learning to tame the untrainable took time and skill, but you were willing to learn.

he loved to push your buttons, see how far he could take you before you blew. satoru knew what exactly made you tick, even if you didn’t show it externally, he knew on that on the inside you were thinking of every way you could break him apart.

and that was what exactly was going through his mind as he teased you underneath the table with his foot, toes pressing among the bulge that formed in your dress pants as you and yaga discussed business about a current student of his; yuji itadori.

you maintained eye contact with the older man while he spoke, satoru pressing a grin into the palm of his hand. yaga couldn’t see it, but you could feel those piercing eyes on you. expecting, waiting, pleading for some type of reaction but he knew you wouldn’t give in, especially in front of someone.

so he teased and teased, watching you tense, feeling you twitch beneath his toes.

but he couldn’t help but grin as you grabbed his hand entirely to sweet? lacing your fingers together as you pulled him into a vacant classroom. “come on baby, it was just a bit of teasing. it ain’t my fault you can’t handle what i give.”

you’re quiet but satoru knows he won when grab the back of his head and pull him into a kiss, one that’s full of nothing but tongue and teeth. there’s a fight for dominance but it’s only because he doesn’t want to give it so easily—all it takes is a firm grip around his neck, fingers bruising his skin for him to whimper like a bitch on go pliant in your hold.

within minutes you’re buried inside of him, his pants and boxers long discarded as you hammer into his ruddy pussy. his knees are pushed into his chest, his toes curling as he lies flat on his back and all open for you. he’s crying, it always ends with him crying. he was somehow still loud, even with his own underwear stuff in his mouth—the material wet with drool and tears. his beautiful body jolted along the desk, the small mounds on his chest shaking too. strands of his white hair almost glued to his forehead from the sweat.

you give a few slow thrusts that drag your cock deliciously against satoru’s spongey spot. he melts, his eyes damn near roll into the back of his head. you’ve been doing this long enough— satoru’s close enough to orgasm—that every touch feels like a shot of pure sensation up his spine.

“come on pretty boy. you can take what i can give right?”

he hates when you do that. he hates when you give him the same energy from earlier. but it’s so fucking hot when you tease him back—when you deliver slow strokes to his throbbing cunt and his cocklet, all red and wet jumps from the onslaught. satoru’s head lolls back on hits the desk, between your words and the amazing pressure of your cock, he was sure his brain was oozing from his pussy.

his chest rises with every thrust as you pick up the pace and it brings him embarrassment just how much wetter he gets. just then you rotate your hips in a way that has his back arching off of the desk and an incredibly loud moan leaving his pink swollen lips.

“what is it to much? this is what you wanted right? to be taken right where anyone could walk past and hear you taking this dick like a whore”

you drop his legs and lean over him, satoru’s legs coming to wrap around your waist as his hands find your back. he knew he’d something to ground him. you grip the edge the edge of the desk and the other grips his jaw, forcing him to look you dead in the eyes as you make his pussy your home, as you force his walls to remember the way you feel nestled deep in his stomach. the gag is completely soaked, just as you are in his cunt.

“we’re gonna go until i deem you fit enough to cum. i don’t care who walks in and see’s. you’re gonna fucking learn satoru.”

© ASTROKNOTT ™ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 !

[ryiju-muunie]

Magic Dance!

18+ viewer discretion is advised

WWE!Fem!Reader/WWE!Yuki Tsukumo Warnings: locker room sex, tribbing/scissoring, humiliation kink, dirty talk, degradation, wet and messy, squirting, stone top!Yuki, pillow princess!reader Word count: 1297 DESC: Your on-stage rivalry is hot and heavy behind the scenes!

This is inspired by me watching too many Rhea Ripley edits..

I'm getting to every ask slowly!

The world knew you both hated each other. It was apparent from the planned tweets from your manager, calling Mama Yuki weak and flat-chested. Or how she’d yell on stage how she was going to rip into your flesh, throwing you around with care for your safety. You were both trained, so it didn’t hurt. But the allusion is what mattered. You were both actors, playing up your hatred for the stage. Millions were paying hundreds to see you throw her against the stage and slam your hips into her body, holding her down for three seconds. You both were so good at wrestling that your managers would tell you which matches to throw to make the other look good. You didn’t mind, though.

But, you both had a dirty little secret. Sneaking smiles and waves from the backstage. Blowing kisses and winking. Palming her flesh intimately to make her mind fog in front of thousands. Yuki grabbed your ass before throwing you into the ground, in a way you’d think about for days. 

Today wasn’t different, but the air was hotter. You were both in the locker room downstairs, with the stadium above. Getting ready, applying your intense makeup, and adjusting your scandalously skimpy outfits. Her hair was long and bleached blonde, slicked back into a low ponytail. Her theme was always dark and gothic, with black lipstick and intense eye makeup. Her outfits included straps and chains, cock rings, anything inherently sexual and fetish-like. Today she wore a dog collar around her neck, with a large circle dangling from the center. Her top dipped down to reveal her perky breasts, then shorts that left nothing to the imagination. 

You leaned into the girly aspect, to downplay your muscles and strength. Two space buns reinforced with hairspray and pink extensions. You wore unitard-like shorts that exposed your fat ass and thighs, with a shorter pale pink skirt. Large boots and a purple cropped t-shirt that came just above your breasts, nipples covered with pink heart pasties. Glitter all over your face and lips, pink lashes mixed into your lash extensions. Everyone called you Pinkie, rarely ever using your first name with it.

Two opposites, that’s what they loved about you both. No matter how submissive you looked or how dominant Yuki looked, you both had an equal fighting stance. Everyone loved how you’d both beat each other's asses in a sexually suggestive way, spitting insults at each other in between throws. No one knew who’d win, each fight being a competitive mystery. 

Yuki was seated on a bench, with a compact in her manicured hand. She was applying black liquid lipstick with an applicator, accentuating the corners of her mouth. Your lips were glittery and pink, glossy in the stage lights. She closed the compact and looked at you, as you adjusted your T-shirt.“Hey,” she cooed, scooting over to you on the bench. You glanced back at her and smiled, raising an eyebrow as she continued, “I like your outfit today.” 

“I like yours too. Especially that,” your hand trailed to her neck, tugging on the ring in the center, “I’m gonna have fun with it today.” Your voice could send anyone into a trace. Smooth and sultry, it almost distracted your girlfriend each time she fought you on the stage. Mainly when you’d growl those pathetic little insults her way. She had so many desires and thoughts running through her head and seeing you this way was getting her so hot and bothered. Yuki put her hand over yours and pulled you closer, closing the distance with your lips. Your pink lips molded against her black ones, sucking her bottom lip and licking along the center. She moaned softly, in that perfect way that was telling you this wouldn’t be just a simple make-out session. 

“No one’s here, baby,” she purred in between messy kisses, not caring if your makeup smudged. You still had an hour to fix it, right? You could get a little messy for your love. She wrapped two arms around your waist, before moving them to touch along the sides of your unitard bottoms. Your breath hitched in your throat as her lips pulled away and her eyes flitted to your pretty little clothed cunt. Two fingers hooked the crotch part of your clothing and pulled it to the side. Of course, you didn’t wear any underwear. “What a little slut,” she mumbled. You were already wet, it was obvious when her other hand spread apart your folds and your slick stuck to her fingertips. 

A whine escaped your lips, before you pressed them together, “Yuki… honey,” you tilted your head back, “Put your pussy on mine.. Please?”

She laughed, breathlessly, “You want me to fuck you with my pussy? You want your little cunt fucked so good?” Yuki stood and stripped from her shorts, no underwear either. You couldn’t suppress the noise that fell from your plump lips the moment you saw her climb on top of your spread legs, facing her back to you. She mushed her cunt into yours and rolled her hips side to side, “Yea-a-ah, dirty girl, dirty fucking girl. You like that, you slut?” She looked back with a sultry grin, eyes half-lidded. She knew how to turn you on in seconds, “You’re so greedy. You wanted to fuck me so bad, admit it.” 

You breathed out shakily, with an embarrassed blush creeping on your cheeks, “M-m.. maybe,” you gasped when she pressed her vulva onto yours, rocking her hips back and forth teasingly, “Yes,” you whimpered, “Yeah, I do baby. So bad.” A pout pulled at your lips as she rocked back and forth then ground side to side. Just to tease you with her squishy, warm pussy. You wanted to cum then and there, your back arching into every wave of pleasure she pushed your way. She was getting harder, more intense, and it made your cute little noises louder.

“Yeah, you like that, whore? Whine for me, yeah, you wanna cum? Beg for it. Mm- shit, beg for it,” Yuki’s voice filled you like honey as she fucked into your slit with her engorged clit, making you feel so much pleasure with just a few thrusts. She rut into you like she was in heat, humping harder than she had the last few times you’d had sex. You could hear your honeypot squelch at every thrust, to the point where you couldn’t hear anything else. You were begging, sure, but you were unaware of what you were saying exactly. It just felt so good. 

Warm waves of hedonistic pleasure coursed through your lower half until you couldn’t help it. This warmth was familiar as it took over and made you release all over her, squirting like a good little slut onto her pussy. She kept grinding, and you knew it wasn’t for her pleasure. Yuki had told you how tribbing didn’t feel like much for her, but she loved it because you got off. She loved to please you more than she liked to get off. You enjoyed it, liking to see her happy from making you squirt every single time. You gasped and moaned as you continued to cum, sticky and wet juices coming out of your tight hole right into her pussy. She grinned back at you, watching your faces as she continued. Your lipgloss was smudged and your head was dazed, so you didn’t realize when she got off of you, leaving your legs spread. You didn’t even realize you had squirted on most of your shorts, and a little bit of your skirt too. 

Yuki pressed a kiss to your forehead, leaving a small black mark, and smirked into your ear, “I’m gonna win this match, slut.” 

[6ix9inewiturmom]

Not in the mood- Matthew Sturniolo

Summary: in which you’re not in the mood for you and Matt’s nightly routine and feel awful about it

Warnings: slightly sexual, crying, cursing, use of Y/N, pet names (baby, sweetheart) (not sure what else)

A/N: i would like to give a HUGEEE thank you for @bernardsbendystraws , and I knew I needed a fic out before I go on holiday 😭

Matt and I’s nightly routine consists of: talking about our day which leads to making out then leads to sex. It was what Matt and I called our “bonding time” since he and I both worked we really didn’t get as much time together.

My hormones have been up and down all day today, one minute I’m just the happiest bubbly girl you could meet then the next I’m sobbing or angry at just a drop of a pen.

“Hey baby,” Matt says patting the spot on the bed next to him.

“Hey” I breathed out plopping down next to him.

“How was your day?” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder pulling my body closer to his bare chest.

“Eh, it was okay, just” I took a deep breath in “yeah it was good” my ear laid flat on his chest listening to the steady sound of his chest, this was genuinely always my favorite parts of the day, since I’ve met Matt a little over 2 years ago, every time I’m with him, the world goes quiet.

“You sure” he says in a sing song voice, grabbing my waist and tickling me slightly causing my head to lift up and resting my chin in his chest.

“Yes Matt I’m sure” I giggled softly.

He placed his hand on my cheek caressing my cheek with his thumb. He brings his face closer to mine pressing his lips against mine deepening the kiss by guiding me on top of his lap.

A wave of emotions erupted internally causing me to pull away. “Fuck” I whisper “you’re gonna hate me Matt” my voice trailed off.

His eyebrows furrowed together looking up at my in confusion, “baby you know I could never hate you” he laughed softly

I smiled awkwardly down at him “No, I mean like, um, I’m n-not in the mood for um sex tonight…” I bit my bottom lip out of nervousness.

He laughed softly guiding me off his lap “you’re good, honey” he pats my thigh and adjusts his pants to cover his very obvious boner and focuses his attention on the television.

I stared at him intensely for a moment before turning back to the TV, not paying attention but just staring as I gathered my flooded thoughts. Was he mad at me? Did he want sex? What if he’s mad I ain’t putting out? What if he’s gonna go to bed mad? No he wouldn’t do that, would he? If he can go to sleep mad at Chris he can go to bed mad at me, right?

My thoughts abruptly stopped when I felt tears start falling from my eyes down to my chest, shit, this is so embarrassing, why am I feeling like this? Surely goodness he’s not actually mad at me.

“Baby?” Matt said very concerned pulling my body into his chest. “Hey, what’s wrong sweetheart” he coos running his fingers through my hair as I began sobbing into his chest.

“A-are y-you m-ad?” I choke out between tears.

“Why would I be mad? You’ve done nothing for me to be mad at? Unless you did” he pulls me away in attempt to joke “wrong time I know” he chuckles running his fingers through my curtain bangs to move them away from my face

“I- I- told y-ou I wasn’t in- in- the mood- a-nd you pulled away from me.. w-were you disgusted with me?” I say softly looking down at my fingers playing with my bracelet on my wrist.

“Y/N, honey, why would I be disgusted with you? You weren’t in the mood, obviously I wasn’t gonna pressure you, I can live without sex, it’s not gonna kill me,” he cooed pressing his lips on my forehead before pulling my chip upward to look at him.

“I just thought- maybe you- maybe you didn’t want to look at me, it’s our nightly routine- I- ruined it..” I sniffled using Matt’s hoodie I was wearing to wipe my stuffed nose.

“Baby, you didn’t do anything wrong, I promise, me and you are so comfortable with each other, you know we’d tell each other when we’re mad, and sex is the LAST thing I’d ever be upset at you over, I promise,” he grabbed my hands and held them for a moment before kissing my hand.

“I don’t know why I’ve been an emotional wreck lately, I got mad at Kaitlyn today at work for dropping a pen because the sound annoyed me,” I softly laughed and sniffled my stuffy nose.

“Nothing else matters but you, and however your feeling, and as your boyfriend I am here to support you and listen to your feelings, just because you feel like you’re an emotional wreck doesn’t mean you are, you had an off day, we all have one of those, I promise you everything’s okay, and everything will be okay, and a good nights rest will always help you” he pulls me closer to him and wrapped his arms around me pulling me as close as I could possibly be to him.

“I love you” i whispered out.

“I’ll always love you” he spoke softly kissing the top of my head. “You wanna lay down now?”

“Mhm” I muttered out.

He shuffled down still wrapped in each-others embrace and kissing my head while whispering sweet nothings in my ear as I drifted off to sleep smiling from ear to ear.

A/N 2: AHHH LEMME KNOW HOW YALL LIKED THIS!! Again im so sorry for the inactivity on my fics, I haven’t had any motivation to write at all, this came to my head and I knew I had to write it! I love each and everyone of you thank you for being so very patient with me in this time!

Xoxo,

Gabs 💋

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Playboy ways

A/N: This is for the lovely anon who asked for this specific prompt - “Come on, Tony Stark, show me your playboy ways.” Hope you enjoy reading this one. Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you did.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Ex-wife! Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, and angst.

Word count: 2.1k

Tony Stark Masterlist

.

It all started off when he walked into your home with that slut of a woman. It was typical for him post your divorce, you’d scoffed at the bouncy blonde who giggled in the most irritating manner at everything Stark said.

The audacity of the man to traipse in with his latest fling angered you beyond anything. He was doing it to get that very reaction which he was getting at that moment.

You were hosting brunch at your new home, the one you had bought all on your own after you and Tony separated. It felt incredibly overwhelming to start over but you also realized how much you needed it. That didn’t mean you didn’t miss your ex-husband from time to time. You did.

He seemed to have moved on pretty okay by the looks of it. Then again, the man had a reputation before you started dating. It wouldn’t have been a fish out of water situation for him exactly.

The team had arrived on time, except for one. You knew he liked to make an entrance. And that infuriating bastard had the balls to show up with a plus one without checking with you first. Sure it had been a year and he was free to do whatever he wanted, but this was your house, and your rules applied.

Nat squeezed your hand reassuringly as you glared daggers at the pair, noticing the tight grip on your wine glass.

“Do you want me to go talk to him?” She asked, stepping in your line of vision.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it.” You huffed, finishing your wine before excusing yourself. If you could, you would drag both their asses out of your house.

He was busy chatting with Steve and Bucky with the blonde attached to his arm.

“Y/N! We haven’t spoken in forever. Do join us.” Tony piped, while the girl eyed you from top to bottom, sizing you up with a look of mild disdain.

“Glad you made it, Stark. And your friend.” You offered a fake smile, which nobody bought.

“Great house, Y/N.” Steve offered kindly, uncomfortable with the air of discomfort.

“Yeah, love what you’ve done to the place.” Bucky stepped in, giving your shoulder a friendly squeeze.

“Thank you guys. I’ll give you a tour later but first, I need a word with you, Tony.” You stared directly at him, causing him to clear his throat awkwardly and give you a firm nod.

Just as you were about to leave, you saw the girl tagging along with her arms wrapped around your ex-husband.

“Uh, I'd like to have a word with him in private. If you don’t mind.”

“But I’m his girlfriend.” She chirped, making you almost scoff but you stopped yourself from reacting.

“We used to be married.”

That seemed to have shut her up as her hands dropped to her sides. This was brand new information for her, you realized, rolling your eyes as you began making your way towards your bedroom upstairs.

Hearing the click of the door behind you, you felt Tony’s overbearing presence, turning around to face him while taking a deep breath to ground yourself.

“The house looks pretty good, Y/N. It screams you.” Tony smiled, looking around the space, as if analyzing what parts of your personality he could see.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing a date, Tony. A head’s up would’ve been appreciated.” Your tone was flat as you crossed your arms over your chest, staring at the man whose eyes immediately landed on yours as you spoke.

“I’m…sorry?”

You scoffed, shaking your head.

“Are you really? The invite was supposed to be just us. The team.”

He shrugged, stepping closer and letting his eyes wander down your body. You hated the fact that he still had the same effect on you as he did all those years ago. Your skin flushed as his eyes raked down your lips, your neck, the dress that teased just enough of your breasts without being too revealing.

“You have a wine stain on that dress, by the way. You’re gonna have to take it off.” He murmured, ignoring what you’d said completely.

He was right.

A stray drop of wine had made itself known right above your left breast, a purple-ish red mark prominent against the light coloured fabric.

You went into your en-suite, trying to wipe it off fruitlessly. Groaning in frustration, you pulled the dress over your head and threw it in the hamper, well aware of the fact that your ex-husband was probably getting a good show.

“Hey how about that red dress I got you?” He suggested, snooping around in your closet as if he owned the place.

“How about don’t snoop in my closet? Try respecting someone’s privacy for once.”

You gave him a nudge, wearing only your underwear, feeling his burning gaze on your back.

“Ouch.”

“How come there’s no picture of us?” Tony wondered out loud, pointing to the several frames you had hanging on the wall adjacent to the bed. There were many with your family, your cousins, the entire team, a few with the supersoldiers who had been your best friends.

“You really want me to hang a picture of us just to be reminded how much of a mess the whole thing was?” You said bitterly, seeing hurt flash across his face for a moment. It made your heart pang guiltily.

“Are you saying there’s not one fond memory you’d like to keep?”

His question made you pause, your heart twisted in pain as your mind flooded with a whole bunch of memories you had pushed down for the sake of your sanity.

“I—why are we doing this now? I came here to tell you that the girl stuck to your side is unwelcome in my house. So please take her and fuck off.”

Your voice wavered slightly as you spoke, finally picking out the same red dress Tony had mentioned earlier before storming in the bathroom.

Tony was quick to follow on your steps, stopping you from slamming the door on him. He grabbed your shoulders and backed you up against the vanity counter.

“What?”

“So angry, Y/N. I still find that so fucking hot.” He murmured, his face inches away from yours, his intoxicating scent was overwhelming to your senses.

“Typical Stark.” You rolled your eyes, trying to push him away but he didn’t budge. Instead, he chose to press you further against the marble counter, all of his body brushing yours, making his erection meet your heated core.

“I hate you.” You glared, wishing your body wouldn’t react the way it did to his infuriating man.

“Right back at ya.”

Tony grabbed your face and slanted his lips on yours, taking you by surprise at the intensity of the kiss.

He coaxed your mouth open and plunged his tongue inside, sucking onto yours with such force it bordered on pain and pleasure. Your fingers tugged on his hair sharply, making him grunt.

A heady mix of champagne, berries and that unmistakable hint of coffee that comprised all that was Tony took over your body like no time had passed. You moaned against his lips as his hips moved on their own accord, teasing you as you felt his clothed cock against your thin, panty-covered core that was growing wetter with every passing second.

His lips trailed down your neck, nipping at your warm skin all while his hands slid down your body, tracing every curve and dip like he remembered. Finally stopping between your legs, he teased his finger over your panties, finding them damp with your eagerness.

“I’m starting to believe you’ve missed me, Y/N.” he grinned, pulling them aside to expose you to him.

“I will slap that smug grin off your face, Stark.” You muttered, sounding out of breath just from the kissing.

“Do it. You know I love it when you’re rude.” He peeled the fabric off of you, letting it dangle around your ankles before slipping two fingers inside you without warning.

“You’re impossible.” You gasped at the intrusion, the stretch of his fingers achingly familiar.

“Mmhmm. Your impossible ex-husband, kiss my neck.”

Tony ordered urgently, his hips stuttering against your palm as you stroked him over his pants.

You obliged, but grazed your teeth against his skin to give him a little bite, making him cuss under his breath.

With wanton need, you unbuckled his belt and rid him of his pants, giving him a few slow pumps. You smirked as Tony let out a needy whine when you left his weeping cock.

“Missed me huh?”

You blinked innocently, the reaction only lasted a few seconds because Tony abruptly made you turn around and bent you over the counter. Your heart thudded against your ribcage, breath erratic as you waited for him to do something. You were getting impatient, your cheek pressed against the cold surface while his hands trailed down your spine, leaving goose pimples in their wake.

Growing antsier by the minute, you wiggled your hips back, hoping he’d get the hint. A sharp sting pinched your buttcheek as his palm landed on the soft flesh, making you cry out loud. One followed the other, making you clench around nothing as you bore the brunt of his punishment.

“I still own this body, don’t I?” He whispered, caressing your cheeks tenderly. You bit your bottom lip, thinking just how immediately your inner voice had answered ‘yes’ to that question.

“Answer me, sweetheart.”

Shaking your head, you decided to defy him some more. When you didn’t answer, he lined himself up against your entrance, gathering your slick on his length before slamming into you until he bottomed out.

“Liar.” His whisper traveled straight to your core, clamping around his length as he continued with his agonizing pace.

Living with Tony Stark had never been easy. The man lived a life that hardly anyone could comprehend. You tried. Unfortunately it got to a point where you had to choose, and you chose to step away and focus on your wellbeing. You were still to forgive him for what he put you through.

Still, the passion and love you felt for the man hadn’t fizzled out. Maybe now it had morphed into something else, and you certainly weren’t complaining. If anything, the man was an absolute freak in bed. And you knew things were cloudy and perhaps morally grey, yet you still hadn’t learnt to resist the man.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you looked over your shoulder as Tony refused to move.

“What? Are you afraid I’ll break? Come on Tony, show me your playboy ways.”

That seemed to flip a switch in him. Grabbing both your hands roughly, he held them behind your back, dragging his cock out of your snug walls and pushed back in, brutally. He began thrusting in and out of your heat with such intensity, the surface of the counter dug into your skin, bruising it.

“Is this what you wanted?” He panted, gripping your hair with the other hand, spearing into you as he spoke.

“I think it is what you wanted. You kissed me, remember?” You countered, mewling when he slapped your butt once again.

“Didn’t throw me out, did you?”

“I still can’t stand your stubborn ass.” You bit your lip hard enough to hurt as he continued pounding into you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Me neither, sweetheart.”

His cock hit all the right spots going in, making you see stars. You couldn’t do much other than take all that he was giving you, completely at his mercy. He felt your thighs twitch, knowing instantly you were close.

Leaving your hair momentarily, Tony reached around to rub your clit in circles to speed up your orgasm, never stopping his ministrations as you came hard around his length, screaming loud enough for people to hear.

He wasn’t far along, your walls clenched around him desperately, making him twitch inside and pull out in time to paint his cum on your lower back.

Still the gentleman, he cleaned you up and helped you dress, not speaking a word as reality set in.

“So…are you going to kick her out or should I?” Your voice had turned softer now, as you got dressed, fixing your hair and makeup as best as you could.

“You do it, please. I’d rather watch.”

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Since you've already talked about ships, what are your thoughts on the whole top/bottom debates here? Tbh I’m over this bottom tom/top harry trend these weeks. It doesn’t make sense for their dynamic and feels like pp are doing it just to be edgy or different. Flipping roles doesn’t make it unique, it just feels like flat ooc discourse. I don't think Tom’s pride and emotional repression fit a submissive role.

Holy shit, this is like a blast from the past since I haven't engaged with top/bottom discourse since 2014 (I had a different blog then) and I hoped I was past these days.

See, fictional characters, when it comes to this sort of stuff, are very flexible. You can write yourself into almost anything and make it realistic. Even if a character is a certain way, circumstances and conditions in a specific story will force the character to change to accommodate. It's how fictional characters work. Yes, they have their set traits, but they can still be pushed to do quite a bit. Especially when it comes to smut.

So personally, I don't have a fixed top/bottom designation for any of my ships. All of them switch depending on the situation, preferences, and the specific story being told with them. Becouse, contrary to what you think, the bottom position isn't always submissive and the top one isn't always dominant, and whatever sex position you prefer doesn't necessarily indicate anything regarding how submissive/dominant you are. These are not the same thing.

But if we talk about Tomarry/Harrymort specifically (I haven't really interacted with this pairing in some time, and I wrote my thoughts about them in general here), I only like them when they switch. "Mark him as his equal" and all that. My preferred Tomarry dynamic (back when I read it) was a constant push and pull, neither of them was ever the person in power/dominance in the relationship because they're equals — that's the point.

Harry isn't a submissive character either. Harry would never submit to Tom. Saying he is more likely to be submissive than Tom is OOC and a misunderstanding of his character. Harry doesn't bow down to others, so even when he is written as a bottom, he wouldn't be submissive about it.

Similarly, Tom can be written as a bottom without submitting control over to Harry. It can be done, and can be done interestingly (which is the most important thing when it comes to fanfiction and storytelling as a whole).

Tom is also weird and contradictory as a character. He's a control freak, so whatever position he's in, he'd have demands on how exactly things should go (he can do so both as a top or a bottom). But he's also so thirsty for validation and praise. I'm an advocate of Voldemrot having a praise kink, like, when I was writing my giant Voldemort psychoanalysis essays series from about a year ago the way I summarized it to my irl friends was "Voldemort has a praise kink" since his desire for praise is at the core of a lot of his important decisions.

Tom isn't some super dom who could never be vulnerable and doesn't have insecurities about anything — the guy literally tore his soul apart, what can be more self-hating than that!

Writing him as incapable of vulnerability and trust (eventually) feels like a boring and hollow character that is more cardboard than a person. Like, I have no interest in this sort of Voldemort because there is no spice to a character like that. No meat to chew on. And Voldemort in the books doesn't appear that way at all. He likes silly puns, and he forces others into his proximity when it seems he is vulnerable to make them uncomfortable; he doesn't like being vulnerable, but he's aware he has these vulnerabilities (imperfections he despises about himself). He talks at length about his muggle father because he's a sentimental loser who likes to monolog. He, somehow, still loves his mom. He wants to have a real human connection so badly that he completely missed what friendship means. He is a lonely nerd. He is impulsive and emotional. He likes to gossip about other people's relationships (yes, he does this in the books). He is a complex character you can have fun with, why limit yourself?

I used to like Tomarrymort becouse of the changes Tom's character would have to go through to be in a relationship with Harry. I read it because I love the idea of a character who got so used to hate and distrust, learning to be vulnerable. That was a huge part of what I found fun in these stories.

And Harry learned just as much from Tom in turn. He learned to like himself more, be confident in his abilities and cabalities. Learned that he has strengths beyond just Quidditch.

The fun is in this arc for both of them. Where they both become better (or, sometimes worse, depending on the story, but I usually preferred the ones where they got better) through their very explosive dynamic. They are foils and narrative mirrors, and pushing them together forces growth. And sex scenes in Tommarymort stories are an opportunity to explore that vulnerability, for both Tom and Harry. That's part of the appeal (at least for me).

For that kind of explosive dynamic that is inherently vulnerable for both of them, in my preferred Tomarrymort dynamic, they switch. (But so do all my ships. I'm against fixed top/bottom dynamics since the answer is it would be what serves the story/scene/themes/character arcs best)

[the-californicationist]

He Paints a Picture (Price/Reader)

WARNING: PERIOD BLOOD KINK

You have been warned!

“Wait,” Price narrowed his eyes at you, “why not? Is everything alright?”

You hated to break the news to him. Ever since you’d had to be off your birth control, your periods had returned with a vengeance. You’d always had rough monthlies, but it almost seemed like your body was getting its revenge. The elevator scene from The Shining came to mind as you considered confessing why you’d been dodging Price’s advances. 

Your ex had been so disgusted with you when it was “that week,” that you’d been conditioned to think you had to hide it. Unfortunately for you, that week was also when you were the most sensitive, craving a delicious pounding to relieve the cramps and satisfy your sexual cravings. 

You didn’t think John would be so cruel, but even just imagining a negative reaction from him truly upset you, so you’d evaded his attempts to fondle you for three whole days. He’d dip a finger into the side of your panties, and you’d scoot away, playing dumb. You’d given him so many blowjobs this week that he started to get suspicious. Now, he was asking you flat out why you were denying him his favorite midnight snack: your pussy. 

“We just…can’t,” you shrugged, hoping he would drop it. 

Fat chance. His brow furrowed, growing concerned,

“Love, did I do something wrong? I thought you were enjoying the back rub. Did I hurt you?”

He was so large that, when he pouted, it looked like you were comforting an disgruntled wildebeest in your bedroom. His big, sad eyes and his frowning, bearded face broke your damn heart. You bit the bullet, realizing you couldn’t go one more minute with him thinking this was somehow his fault,

“It’s that week.”

“What week, love? Did I miss an anniversary? I know I’ve been away last week. Maybe I accidentally had the wrong calendar…” he was frantically flipping through his smart watch, confused and distressed. 

“John,” you grabbed his forearm, shaking your head, “my time of the month, you know?”

You could see the realization wash over him, softening his features before returning immediately to confusion,

“And?”

“What do you mean by that?” You didn’t understand what he was asking. 

“So, the painters are in. What about it?” He looked so lost. You decided to be very upfront, the clarity burning in your throat,

“You don’t care that I’m bleeding?”

Still, no reaction. He shrugged, shaking his head,

“Why would I? I mean, if you don’t feel up to it, I’m happy to fetch the hot water bottle and neapolitan out of the fridge,” he grabbed you around your shoulders, “but a bit of blood isn’t going to scare me off, love. In fact, I bet you’re wet and ready for me right now. Hot.”

He kissed your neck, sucking into your skin, licking your throat, and pulling at the flimsy straps of your tank top. He exposed your breasts, and with how high your hormones were, they felt swollen and hypersensitive. As he rubbed them, kissing your nipples and laving his tongue over them, you moaned from the strong tingles he created in your nerves. 

“Are you sure?” You panted, still nervous about his perception. 

“Mm,” he tugged a nipple into his mouth before looking up at you, darkness shrouding his gaze, “very sure. Lay down. I’ll grab a towel.”

He yanked your top off, throwing your clothes on the floor and dipped into the bathroom to grab a towel. He came back with a big beach towel that he’d had for years. Big palm trees swayed against a perfect blue background. You hoped you wouldn’t ruin it. 

Price signaled for you to raise your hips, and he put the cloth underneath you, protecting the bed. Roughly, he stripped you of your bottoms, making you naked when he was still fully clothed. Then, to your horror, he assumed his usual position with his head between his legs, licking his chops like a hungry wolf. 

“John!”

Mid-lick, he looked up at you, frozen in place,

“What?”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything. Keeping his eyes on you, he continued toward his destination, licking and sucking on your folds, ignoring your worried throat noises. 

“You can’t! It’s…it’s gross, right?”

He mumbled, his mouth full of pussy between phrases,

“No, sweet girl, mmph, ‘s good. Gets my blood up. Cock’s gonna be achin’ in a moment.”

You tried to relax, even getting close to coming since you were so sensitive, but as he licked you, your shame became too much. You thought he was just appeasing you,

“John, please. You don’t have to pretend…”

He was on you in a flash. His hand slipped around your neck, crushing your jawbone, forcing you to look at him in the face, snarling at you like a hound,

“Are you really trying to keep this pussy from me? I don’t care if you bleed every day for the rest of your goddamn life. This is my cunt, and I’m starving for it. You know your safe word. Use it!” 

His sudden aggression stunned you. Price waited, patiently, knowing you needed time to think. He was already covered in red smears, his mouth and beard caked in your blood and sparkling with your slick.  

You looked up at him, eyes worried and full of past pains,

“Are you sure?” 

The captain smiled maliciously, 

“Does this feel sure to you?”

Your heart almost stopped when you felt him slap his cock on your thigh, letting you feel the heaviness of his impossibly hard erection. Your face must have worn your shock all over it because he chuckled darkly, obviously feeling vindicated. 

“That’s what I thought, love. Now, can I get back to my mission, or do you need to stop?”

You stared at him for a while, searching for any deception. Finding none, you shook your head, giving him free reign to proceed as he saw fit. 

Price was such a grizzly when he needed to be, roaring to stand his ground, but you knew that, with just one word from you, he’d release you, forfeiting his claim at your whim. You couldn’t believe that he wasn’t repulsed. If anything, he was turned on. 

He ate you like a man possessed, sucking at you and covering his cheeks and lips and nose in red, sticky blood, not giving a shit about the mess. Your thighs were covered. You could feel every bit of effort he put into making you come, and he seemed to be celebrating each and every moment you moaned or jolted your hips up towards his waiting mouth. 

Then, he reached his hand up toward your hole, sinking two of his fingers into you as deep as they would go, massaging your walls in slow circles as he pushed inside. You groaned in a deep, guttural voice, feeling like your whole body was quivering for his touch. Watching as he pulled his hand out to thrust into you again, you saw the dark burgundy fluid that had fallen from your womb. 

Price paid it no mind. He was too busy humping his cock into his other hand to care, readying himself for your shared pleasure. He began fucking you on his hand in earnest, his knuckles hitting that space between, sending shocks of pleasure through your body, the wet, milking sounds echoing in the room with both of your ragged moans. 

“Oh, fuck, love,” he grunted, “you’re damn well flooded.”

He licked his lips, smearing your blood with his tongue. Then, he bent to suck your clit again, groaning as he did, making it vibrate with his low voice. Even when he made you come from his lurid efforts, he didn’t let up. If anything, it made him wilder to see your redness staining his hand. 

Finally, he pulled away from you, and he used his dripping hand to stain his cockhead, lubing himself up for his entry. There was little resistance to him as he pushed forward into you. That was very abnormal for your coupling. He was heavy and thick, and it usually took quite a bit of grinding to reach your warm middle. Not tonight. 

Tonight, his head sank all the way to your womb, pressing against the soft, sensitive flesh like a wet kiss, and he was beside himself,

“Fuuuuuckin’ hell…” he growled, “That’s good. So. Damn. Wet.”

Each word was a struggle, punctuated by his rough thrusts. As he fucked you, you felt your blood and come coating the skin between you, making a mess of your thighs and ass cheeks, dripping down onto the towel and onto his balls and legs. His face was still covered in blood, as were his hands. He was rubbing his hand on his chest, enjoying the slippery feeling over his nipple, taking turns rubbing your breasts as well. Your skin had red streaks all over it, painted like a Pollock. 

He didn’t last long, and just when he was ready to come, he pulled his cock out to explode all over your belly, rubbing his dick on you and smearing your fluids across your skin. 

The aftermath looked like a war zone. He didn’t help you to the shower until he had repeated his sanguine worship twice again, each time more feral, almost animalistic. It was as if it made him hungrier, watching your blood dry sticky and dark on your body. When you finally walked to the bathroom with him, he made you stand with him in front of the mirror, dipping his finger into you like an ink well, painting more lines and shapes across his ruined face and body, eating it, marking himself with your blood.