#i just really want to know what else he did to get reset before knowing the winchesters

[lazarrusrising]

I think it's interesting that Castiel has this sort of dual reputation in heaven, to the soldier angel he's a legend, originally entrusted with the greatest tasks, then forging his own path. To the higher ups he's a known defective, reset so many times because he always finds a way to break protocol, and yet they still use him again and again and they forge him again and again and he frees himself again and again. To the soldiers of heaven he's both the best of what they could be and a cautionary tale. To the generals he's a nuke, a weapon powerful because of its ability to be unconventional but volatile for that exact same reason.

[babyleostuff]

boys and their toys

𝜗𝜚 THEME: angst (+ hints of fluff) 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: idol!wonwoo x fem!reader, established relationship 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 1.9k

SYNOPSIS: fighting with you has to be one of wonwoo’s biggest nightmares, so when you reset his game - will that be enough for him to finally lose his temper?

natalia’s note: i know you can’t technically pause a game, so this is probably going to be big highly inaccurate, forgive me gamer people ://

“did you touch my computer?” 

uh-oh. no “darling”, no “love”, not even a “baby”. that couldn’t mean anything good. 

you turned off the stove, and quickly wiped your hands. it was honestly amazing how the lack of your usual pet name made you spiral because why did your heart start beating so fast all of a sudden, but… did you touch your boyfriend’s computer today? you never had the reason to, it’s not like you shared his passion of gaming, so you never really touched it or did anything with it. even if you wanted to check something you always did it on your own computer or your phone. 

“yes, wonwoo?” you asked slightly out of breath, peeking into your bedroom. 

your boyfriend sat at his gaming chair with headphones covering one of his ears, his brows furrowed and lips pursed out, as he was typing something furiously on his new purple keyboard. “i paused the game before i left for practice today,” he said, and by his cold tone you figured you wouldn’t like what you were about to hear, “and now it’s gone.” 

he finally turned his head to look at you, and to be honest, you’d rather he’d turn back to the computer screen. wonwoo was never the one to pick fights with you, he always insisted on cooling down and spending some time apart to gather your thoughts so no one would end up hurt, and even during the biggest fights you’ve had in your relationship, you’ve never seen him so outwardly furious. 

suddenly self-conscious, you wrapped your arms around yourself. “i don’t know what happened. i didn’t touch anything.” because you didn’t, you were certain of that. “you know i never use it anyway.” sure, you cleaned today, you had your day off, and with wonwoo at work you didn’t have anything else to do, so you figured it’d be the perfect time to do some cleaning and dusting. but there’s no way you reset his game, right? 

“my keyboard is clean, so you had to do something with it,” wonwoo said, his brows furrowing even more. you didn’t like the way his eyes seemed to darken, and you certainly didn’t like the tone of his voice. he wasn’t yelling at you, but then again he was always so soft spoken with you that you weren’t used to hearing him being so cold. 

“i was cleaning, but i didn’t press anything,” you said quickly. “i swear.” 

“you must’ve, because clearly the game had been reset,” he scoffed. “how many times have i told you not to touch my computer when a game is on? is it seriously so hard to understand?” 

you couldn't believe what you were actually hearing. wonwoo, your wonwoo was calling you dumb? “it was an accident,” you straightened your spine, and walked further into the room. “i wanted to clean the keyboard for you since you have been complaining about it being dirty for days now. maybe if you weren’t so lazy you would've done that yourself,” you loved him with all your heart but you wouldn’t let him disrespect you over something as stupid as a video game. “i wanted to do something nice for you, and you know i’d never do anything to your game on purpose.” 

for a second you thought he’d say something back, but instead he only shook his head, and covered his other ear with the headphone. 

you couldn’t actually believe him.  

like an idiot, you stood in the middle of the room in disbelief. you didn’t know why he was so pissed about it, sure - you knew how much time he spent to get to the level he was on, but it was still just a game. besides, his behaviour was so unlike him, and it made everything so much worse. 

“have fun playing your games, wonwoo,” you said, though you weren’t sure if he heard you. not that you cared. you quickly gathered your things, and left his apartment. there was no way you'd stay there, and act as if nothing had happened. 

after a couple of days of radio silence you weren’t sure what to do next. 

it’s not like you would call him or text him or anything - it was his job to man up and apologise, but a part of you, the part that always cared for him no matter what, really wanted to check up on him, which you weren’t sure how you felt about. he was the one to make you feel like the smallest person on earth, he was the one to make you feel like you did something wrong, so why did you feel responsible for checking up on how he was doing? 

you didn’t want to make any excuses for wonwoo, that didn’t feel right, but… you really wanted to talk this out. you had never gotten in a fight where you spent so much time apart - even when you fought when he was on tour you still managed to make up rather quickly. 

and soon you started noticing the small things you were starting to miss. his glasses laying around the apartment, and him running around trying to find them before work. his arms wrapped around your waist as you’d be cooking dinner. his featherlight kisses he’d place on your forehead after coming home late thinking you were already asleep. 

for someone who insisted that fighting with you had to be one of his biggest nightmares, he was being really stubborn. 

you sighed and waddled over to your kitchen to make something to eat. after your fight you really lost your appetite, but you knew you shouldn’t treat yourself so harshly after what happened. to be honest you generally lost the motivation to do anything.

just when you managed to put the pan on the stove you heard a loud knock. the sun had already set, and you felt more than ready to call it an early night after dinner, nor did you expect anyone to come over. “yes?” you opened the door a bit hesitant. a small part of you was hoping it’d be the person you were really starting to miss at this point, but to your disappointment it was a delivery guy, the last person you’d expect to pop up at your front door. 

“i didn’t order anything,” you said, frowning. your first thought was that it simply had to be a mistake, but then you noticed that the bag the guy was holding was from one of your favourite chinese places. well, whoever ordered it had a great taste. 

“is this your address?” he asked and showed you his phone with yes - your exact address. 

he did not just order you takeout. 

“who was this ordered by?” you asked immediately. 

“um, let me check,” he muttered, “jeon wonwoo.” 

you thanked the guy, and took the bag from him. 

and it didn’t stop there. 

for the next couple of days you were greeted with a delivery guy at your door at the exact time you usually ate your dinner. you always thanked them and took the takeout because free food is free food, and if this was wonwoo’s way of being stubborn then so be it - you wouldn’t let the food go to waste just to be petty. 

but you wouldn’t lie - anytime you were greeted by the amazing smell of your favourite food your heart beat a bit faster. wonwoo has always always been a man of silent acts of service, and it never failed to make you feel loved, even now when you were fighting.

the day after the city had been struck by a storm. it was bad, the rain was pouring for the whole day, and you could hear the thunder constantly rumbling in the distance. thankfully you didn’t have to go out that day, but it made you miss wonwoo even more. you always used to cuddle on days like these if he was fortunate enough to have some time off. 

when you got the weverse notification you picked up your phone, and clicked on the app immediately, a reflex you picked up early in your relationship, and read the message your boyfriend posted. 

make sure to bring an umbrella with you today. and if you’re going to drive, be careful  

you didn’t have to think twice to know he wrote this thinking about you. anytime it rained, even if it was a drizzle, he turned into a worried mum, and nagged you about being careful and bringing an umbrella with you, as if he didn’t put it in your bag before leaving for the schedules for you. 

after a week and a half after you stormed out of wonwoo’s apartment you were starting to settle into your little routine of coming back to an empty home, getting the takeout, and eating it alone in your bedroom, where you could feel your boyfriend’s presence more than anywhere else in the house. if you were feeling extra sappy that day you wore one of his hoodies to make yourself feel even more miserable. 

but something changed that week. 

you just closed the door with another takeout when you got the message you were waiting for all of those lonely nights. 

can we talk?  please

maybe you should’ve been more stubborn, and ignored his message. maybe you were wrong for typing out a “yes”, but you didn’t care. it didn’t mean you’d forgive him, you were still very much angry at him, but you needed to see him. needed to see if he was okay. 

i’ll come by after work tomorrow  eat well 

you smiled at your phone with teary eyes as you noticed one more thing you were missing. his stupid “thumbs up” emoji he put in half of his texts. 

you weren’t sure what to expect the next evening. you didn’t know if you’d start yelling at him or if you’d start bawling your eyes out after seeing him after what felt like an eternity. what you were sure of was that you were nervous as hell, which was kind of ironic because you didn’t even feel that way before your first date. 

this time when you heard the knock on your door you knew it wouldn’t be the delivery guy. 

sort of.

“i brought food,” wonwoo said, as if that was what mattered to you. 

he looked bad. the dark purple circles under his eyes. the slumped wide shoulders. the cheekbones more prominent than ever. tearing your soul apart would hurt less than seeing him like this. 

“will you…,” he took a shaky inhale, looking at you from behind his glasses. you had to resist the urge to grab his face and adjust them, as they were sitting crookedly on his nose as usual. “will you let me apologise?” 

“that’s all i’ve been waiting for you dumbass,” you sighed, and grabbed his hand to pull him inside your apartment. 

even though you didn't know how this night would end, whether you would be able to forgive him today, or if you would need more time for everything to go back to normal, you were glad to have wonwoo by your side. you were convinced that the fight happened for a reason, whatever it may have been, but despite everything, you were happy that you could go through it with him.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei @honglynights @jihoonsbbygirl @uhdrienne @bloodcanbehot 

[occamstfs]

Typecast Troubles

After turning down twink roles for too long, Henry needs work. Now. Offered one final lifeline in the role of Brutus, a stereotypical meathead, he has no choice to accept. Worry not, by the end of the audition he'll be more than muscular enough to embody the brute.

Here's an actor learning the hard way that some roles can change you whether you like it or not. Muscle growth and himbofication! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Henry desperately needed some work. For a few years now he had been consistently acing auditions and getting roles, never a lead but never out of work. After being typecast one too many times as bitchy twink and gay best friend he was ready for something else.

Unfortunately for the C-inching towards D-list star the industry did not care about his desire to move on. Never was he in a position safe enough to turn consistent work down. It has now been long enough since someone’s expressed any interest in having him on set that the theoretical actor has begun to search for other work.

Inches away from applying to some unenviable job out of showbiz, his phone rings. Seeing it’s his agent Jeremiah calling, Henry slams his laptop shut and bashes his phone into the side of his head from the excitement. This does not distract from his anxiety at the pile of bills lying in front of him nor the fingers crossed that a solution is on the line.

“Okay Henry, I know what you said a few months back. I fought you on it at the time, after all why shoot yourself in the foot when you’ve got a mouth to feed.”

Henry’s halfway to agreeing and begging his agent to send his resume to every shitty teen drama and made for TV movie out there before he hears Jeremiah continue, “But, I think this little gambit might have paid off. The studio apparently asked for you by name, my friend!  Of course there’s still auditions…”

His agent presumably continues, explaining details about the show and its production, benefits for taking the job, people who might be part of the audition process, but Henry doesn’t hear that. Despite the mail pile filled with aggressive red text still sitting in front of him, with the prospect of work on the horizon, Henry’s mind is preoccupied with what the role is. The fact that he was asked for my name obviously ringing alarm bells that he’ll be back in the circuit of playing teens at least a decade younger than himself, “so what is the part then exactly? Do you have the script?”

There’s a clear hesitation as if Jeremiah isn’t quite sure how to broach the subject, “Don’t you worry now Hen, as demanded it is not at all like your usual stuff. No screaming yaaas or clapping back to your fag hag. No, no nothing the studios y’know, want you to do.” The agent pauses and resets, putting on a saccharine tone as if he knows he’s about to pitch shit as gold.

“Okay! So all goes well, you’ll be going in for a series regular role as Brutus! He’s well- I’ll just read the casting call specs: Brutish and barely literate, this oaf has a heart of gold and mind like a sieve, loves hanging out with his bros-” With each word Henry’s face scrunches tighter. Eventually he has no recourse but to interrupt his agent.

“Jere? What the fuck is this? They asked for me, specifically to come in for this? Is this some kind of a joke?” There’s another pause before Jeremiah releases the telltale sigh of a man at the end of his rope, “Look, Hen. Kid. I get it, you got these big ideas about dream roles and artistic integrity, but you gotta understand. This is what you got, what we got. You know the agency’s breathing down my neck about cutting dead weight. I- Look, you don’t gotta take the gig if it’s no good, but if you’re not willing at least hear ‘em out. I mean shit kid, you’re the one who asked for new ground yeah?”

Were his piling bills and draining savings not enough of a wakeup call, Jeremiah’s words were. Maybe it’s ironic casting, or an animated project, Jere probably said as much earlier when Henry tuned him out. He doesn’t really have a choice. After a prolonged groan, Henry pinches the bridge of his nose and gives in, “Ugh fine- whatever. Just send me the details and I’ll, I’ll do my best.”

Ever the professional, and hearing his client despondent,  Jeremiah shifts gears yet again, “Aces kid. Gonna be a star yet, remember they wanted you. They need you not the other way around. Sent you the information, let me know how it goes. Phone’s always on me.”

The audition is early the next morning, earlier than the actor usually prefers to be awake. The call said something about Brutus being an early bird which, whatever. Henry’s well past the luxury of getting to do what he usually prefers. He briefly tossed over dressing up in character, though checking his wardrobe there is simply nothing that would fit the bill of Brutus.

Instead, he just cleans up as he always does and heads out the door. Wearing a button up and borrowed shoes, with each step closer to the studio he must continually remind himself that they asked for him specifically. For reasons he can’t understand. For reasons he will hopefully understand soon. His questions certainly aren’t answered when he arrives.

Before the actor even enters the lobby the receptionist rushes to greet him, “You must be Henry Harris! We’re so excited to have you in today!” Escorting him to the elevator, Henry is on edge at just how much the secretary seems to be fawning over him. In between what can only be deliberate attempts at massaging his egon Henry catches a few strange remarks, ‘can’t wait to see what you become’ ‘hope you brought a change of clothes.’

It is upon this bizarre encounter Henry reflects as he rides the slow elevator up to the casting office. There he almost recoils away from the door as he’s greeted by another secretary, almost identical to the first who treats him similarly bizarrely. Frequently eying up the actor like a slab of meat, tossing cryptic wanting flirtations as they go. “Here we are! Director Marlowe’s office. Hope you have a productive meeting in there Brutus!”

Henry sneers at the strange escort, “It’s Henry.” For the first time he notices the glassy, almost mechanical look in the eyes of the secretary. Despite being too chatty in their time together, at this his guide simply tilts his head with a grin before turning away and wandering back towards the elevator. Under his breath Henry complains, “Ugh, already ready to write this whole thing off.”

“Mr. Harris, Henry, do come in!” Henry flinches as he turns to find the bearded tank of a man behind him. Welcoming him into the office with an outstretched hand, Henry shifts into his poised polished self and offers his own dainty hand to shake. “You must be, Director Marlowe? Thank you so much for having me in today! I simply cannot wait to see what you have in mind for me. This Brutus character is absolutely the kind of role I’ve been waiting for.”

The director’s wide toothy smile only grows wider as his face betrays nothing besides a desire to get this process started, “Please come in, come in young man, have a seat.” The director leads Henry to a cozy chair opposite his desk before going to sit down himself, “Of course Henry, after all what actor wouldn’t be excited at the idea of a role made for them in mind. Though let’s cut to the chase. You must be wondering why in the world we came to you for this role hm? Quite the leap from twink-phenom to thoughtless gym rat is it not?”

Henry was on the backfoot from the first moment he saw the man, his dark eyes and darker, well-groomed beard were more than enough to set the actor on edge. Now that the man has directly addressed the one line of question that has been preoccupying his thoughts from the moment he heard the name Brutus, Henry is not sure what his next move is to be.

Easily catching the smallest break in the actor’s facade, the director pounces, “Worry not Mr. Harris! Whatever questions you might have will surely be answered by the time you leave today! For starters though, I hope you won’t mind signing a small NDA and consent form? We’re trying something experimental with this show and we can’t risk the exciting details getting out early. I’m sure you understand.” 

Only now does Henry notice the contract sitting in front of him on the desk. This isn’t his first rodeo though and he’s no fool, his eyes narrow at the document and he begins to open his mouth to assert that he’s not going to even humor signing a document without legal advice. Though just as soon as the thought appears he’s reminded how lacking he is in funds for a lawyer. His desperation and curiosity begin to mount his waning caution.

Marlowe raises his hands, feigning sympathy, “Oh of course, by all means if you want to go through the document with a fine toothed comb be my guest, we also have a legal team on site should you need clarity.” The director has a few more droll lines planned on how excited they would be to have Henry on board, perhaps even revealing some of his hand to further entice the actor. Though this is unnecessary as the actor’s apparently even more desperate than they had assumed. 

Biting his lip and already kicking himself for the foolhardy action, Henry Harris signs on the dotted line. Caught off guard, the director frowns in surprise, “Well! Just like that is it? I do believe we can start this process outright Henry.” He reaches and tidies up the paperwork before filing into his desk. Templing his fingers his wide smile returns as he looks down at the actor who nervously stares off into space. 

“The network wants to try something new. I’m sure you’re aware original content is suffering on streaming and the powers that be are tired of finding new creatives. My solution is simple: mold actors into characters so truthful to themselves that the creation of content is simply second nature. Does this make sense to you Henry?”

Having signed away at least some degree of autonomy, wholly unaware just how deep a commitment he just made, Henry decides to focus on the matter immediately at hand, sighing. “Sure yeah. Why me? This guy’s supposed to be a gym bro right? I mean, just look at me!” Motioning towards his pale, purposefully thin body Henry scoffs before looking at Marlowe. 

The director’s expression shifts severe, chiding. “Now Henry. This negative self-talk, don’t you think it’s unbecoming of Brutus?” Henry reflexively rolls his eyes and scoffs, as he is wont to do. Or no, he tries to roll his eyes and does not. He tries to scoff but instead he finds himself nodding, agreeing. Brutus wouldn’t talk about himself like that. 

He glares at the director as underneath thoughts of Brutus slowly flowing into his mind, he realizes something greater than himself has happened. Something sinister has begun to influence his thoughts and he must understand the rules before it is too late. Having spent a solid chunk of change at drama school he is well aware of Faustian bargains. The director simply grins, exposing too-white teeth, “You were saying Hentry?”

Henry’s mouth squirms as the name hits him like a punch. He knows it was deliberate, he knows it is not his name. He struggles to decide if he should dispute it but instead plays along, clinging to his years of experience at keeping up the act. “Sure. Mr. Marlowe, I am of course quite excited to see where the studio goes with this. As you know I will do my best to fill Brutus’ shoes with aplomb. I love a challenge, and playing this character will be more than interesting.”

Pleased, the director sees blood in the water, “Ah yes. His shoes you say, now what size shoes would those be.” Henry, Hentry? hesitates, struggling to play whatever sick game of 4d chess this is. His attention flicks down to his shoes and he discovers just how supernaturally outmatched he is. He knows he’s a size 8.5. He squeezed his feet into size 8 shoes he borrowed from his corporate friend forever ago for this audition, so it’s no wonder his feet feel a little squeezed.

This does not explain how his feet seem to be pushing against the shining leather with each passing second. Hentry’s hand flies to his mouth as he gasps at his feet bursting the seams of his friends shoes. His shock is displaced by grunting pain as toes burst from dress shocks and shoes he does not have the money to pay his friend back for are left tattered on the floor. He feels his soles stretch wider than the soles as his toes splay further, flexing from the pain as they surge onto the carpet of Marlowe’s office. 

Clinging to reality in the wake of this impossible happening, pushing down the visceral bizarre feeling of his feet growing, stretching against socks before bursting from their containment, Hentry finds himself hung up on how much those borrowed shoes cost. Somehow making him more anxious than the fact his body has changed beyond his control. Drawing his attention more than the feeling of thicker soles and a wider foot flexing out of his control. Then from some recess of his mind comes a ripcord. What’s the problem? Why was he wearing dress shoes anyway, surely he should be wearing his gym shoes like always.

To the delight of the director, Hentry’s eyes shift slightly duller as he stares blankly at his feet as shoes begin to reform. The actor doesn’t hear the sound of leather stretching to hide his newly massive feet, doesn’t see as the tanned leather shifts to cheapening fabric, new laces bursting forth and knotting a few times over as the cheap shoes still struggle to contain feet that absolutely do not wish to be contained.

“Much of a runner are you Hentry?” The actor slowly shakes his head, uncomfortable with the memories that begin to surge through it. Clenching his jaw he can’t prevent his mouth from answering, his voice sloppy and slow, “y-yeah. Sometimes I’ll jog, I think? Gotta get the blood pumping before an- umph!-” Whatever admission of gym time that was surely coming is cut off as Hentry forces his arm into his mouth, doing everything in his power to prevent himself from finishing the sentence. 

The wheels have been set in motion however as, sticking out from well-worn ratty gym shoes, slightly discolored socks begin to worm their way up his legs. Launching up past his smooth ankles they struggle to reach too high as new muscular legs begin to form. Eyes determinedly ahead at Marlowe can’t help but steal a glance downward as his calves begin to itch and burn. His mind races with new memories of running on treadmills and down streets as his legs surge larger. New muscle fibers and thick curls strands sprouting forth with every must-be artificial memory. 

They flex in place as Hentry sits there. His calves bulge larger with every faux flex, soon enough they’re the size of baseballs yearning to burst from his dress pants. There’s no risk of this however as his pants rapidly pull up into shorts, exposing the hairy calves to the cold air of this corporate studio. They are however not nearly fast enough on the draw to make it unscathed as thighs larger than his waist begin to bulge into existence.

The chair creaks under the weight of his legs alone as his pale thighs send a few tears into his new gym shorts. Marlowe’s eyebrows raise in shock as he seems almost impressed. Seeing this, Hentry is unsurprisingly of two minds, though for their varied reasons they both yearn to address their boss’ surprise. Jaw slightly sore from pain, he removes his arm and allows his mouth mobility once more. His original self thoroughly convinced that the director's simply so impressed at how well he’s fighting back, Hentry can’t help but try and get a dig in. “Betcha didn’t think I’d put up such a fight huh big guy?”

Perhaps a sign at just how much his mind has been eroded already, Hentry fails to see through the truly pathetic performance Marlowe gives, “My my Huntry! Indeed my terrible powers have been unable to change you at all! Perhaps it is the strength of your legs that allow you to stand so strong in the face of my wicked ways!” He does a twee flinch back, leaving one eye locked on the actor to see his reaction.

Arms crossed and smirking, Huntry’s eyes narrow as he finds himself agreeing with Marlowe, that is after the name of course. His name is, uhh. Doesn’t it start with a B? His eyebrows knit together as he skips past this and tries to find what else is bothering him from the director’s words, his legs are built? He works hard for them after all? Squirming in his chair he feels his powerful ass push him higher as he fights the urge to stretch. 

Failing to hold back, he grunts as he stretches taller. His dress shirt coming untucked from the elastic waistband of gym shorts they had no right of being tucked into to begin with. Midriff exposed it is clear that changes have not arbitrarily stopped at his lower body. Across his thin torso muscle has begun to pack on from nothing. His clumsy fingers scratch at his waist as a treasure trail begins to prickle up and decorate his new lowest rung of abs. 

Eyes closed, Huntry’s mind is totally distracted by the pleasure of his body burning as it grows. Forgetting himself and where he is, Huntry feels his cock pulse as the growing pains of his massive form feel decidedly pleasurable. Feeling the beginning of new muscle on his chest his tight lips twitch into a grin as nipples larger and more sensitive are dragged against his button up by a growing chest.

In no time at all, under the frequent barely quieted moans of delight, his sleeves are strained by biceps  that must have taken years to grow. His blue balls become much more of a problem as he feels the fabric begin to tear, thick arms wholly outsizing the tight sleeves by an order of magnitude. Raised in a flex his veiny biceps send tears down the length of his sleeves as they refuse to be held back. As they refuse to be the scrawny twigs that they may have once been.

Huntry bites his lips he feels pre begin to stain his briefs, no, his jock. His shaky hand begins to reach down, getting so far as gracing his new thick bush of pubes before his quest for relief is interrupted  by the director clearing his throat. “Mr. Buntry? If you recall, we were in the middle of your audition?”

Buntry snaps back to attention, gasping in shock in a deeper voice at having been in such a compromised position in the middle of something so significant. His slightly thicker brows, now jutting out ever so slightly over his eyes, furrow again as he realizes he isn’t embarrassed. Though- why should he be. He’s just a dude, sometimes you gotta adjust right? Yeah. A dumb smile plasters its way across his face as his jaw thickens, his pretty boy appeal falling to the wayside as he shifts to become not quite leading man material, but someone who could easily play a soldier, a goon, a brute. “Whaddya need from me next boss man?”

Shaking his head Marlowe is shocked at just how well this has gone, “I believe you were about to take off your shirt. This is after all quite a physique intensive role if you recall.” Buntry guffaws and scratches his chest, seemingly pulling his pecs larger with every pass of his clumsy, calloused fingers. “Why didn’t ya say so boss huhuh!” He goes to unbutton the shirt before stupidly groaning as he finds obviously he’s not wearing a button up. 

The sleeveless garment has turned into a tank, slightly stained around his pits from deodorant that was instantly rendered obsolete by his heady musk, joined by a dark sweaty patch in the center of his massive chest. Eyes caught up on the strained shirt, he gulps as he tries not to get distracted by his pecs overhanging, by the unmistakable hard nipples showing through the tight top. Barely hanging in there, he gets his fingers under the hem of the shirt hugging his abs and yanks. It gets stuck over his head and he laughs again, trapped in a prison of his own design, pits exposed to the open air as thick curls blossom further from his underarms.

Marlowe’s smile flickers as he wonders if this process was almost too effective. Lost in thought he watches as Buntry stands and struggles to escape, knocking over the chair behind him. Eventually the shirt tears before coming off and the brute guffaws once more, “Sorry boss! Guess I don know my own strength huhuh!” Free from the shirt however, he does what he has done in every audition he can recall and begins to pose. 

Sweat courses down from his hairy pits and shines across his burly chest as he flexes and awaits Marlowe’s feedback. The director’s hitherto constant smile flickers as he wonders how he’s going to be able to run a set with a man who can scarcely find two two brain cells to rub together. Lost in thought he loses track of his polished persona and thorough plan and speaks aimlessly, sniffing the air he complains, “Do you smell that?”

The jock pauses his performance and turns to look at his own pits, bending his thick neck down he laughs and confirms that it’s him. “Huhuh Sorry bro! Thought you wanted me to come au natruale y’know! You’re always saying you want the real Brutus! Well here he is huhuh! Hup!” Grunting he launches into a most muscular, crab pose. 

Marlowe’s eyes widen as the actor refers to himself as Brutus. Clicking his tongue, the director can’t help but feel this has gone off the rails somehow. The plan was to create a perfect combonation of actor and character, but clearly something has gone awry, whispering ‘god damnit’ under his breath, Marlowe forces a smile back on his face as he addresses the man who has yet to stop posing, flinging sweat across the room with every clearly practiced adjustment. “Bunt- er Brutus, yes? Would you mind taking a load off?” 

The new bodybuilder smirks and nods with a “Yuh! No problem boss huhuh!” The director feels a migraine coming on as he sees the behemoth crash to the floor as he sits in a chair that can absolutely not hold his weight. “Oh shit! Sorry Mr. Marlowe!” His mouth is hanging vacant as he struggles to lift his impossibly heavy form. Panting as he often is, when Brutus stands he opts to take a load off on the directors desk.

“Pardon my asking, Brutus. But you are an actor, are you not?” The massive man scratches his defined jaw as his face finishes its transformation into a face that could sell any schmuck some protein powder, “Yeah guess you could say so? I’m always puttin’ out content y’know? Definitely a star huhuh.” A gym influencer? That Marlowe could work with. He temples his hands as he schedules a date to potentially give this process another go. See if they can’t bring back some of Henry’s refinement. These things are complicated after all.

Just to test the waters before concluding this ‘audition,’ Marlowe opts to toss out one final question, “Does the name Henry mean anything to you Brutus?” 

In response the man lights up, “Yeah! Course it does boss! That’s my- uhhh?” Somehow the perpetually confused man looks even more confused for a moment, scratching his balls he holds back from smelling his hand in front of the director before continuing, “‘S that my last name boss? Do I got one of those?” Marlowe waves off the questions, foolish of him to try that. 

“Let’s get you to the locker room hm, Brutus? The young man outside should lead you to the setup we have on site.” Without a second thought Brutus sprints out the door, like a dog chasing a squirrel. He runs right past the secretary, apparently already knowing his way around. Marlowe’s phone vibrates as he sees a text that the next actor is apparently on the way up. Some angsty goth who the network has requested to audition for the role of the show’s rich prep.

Hearing heavy footsteps racing down the hallway he wonders if they are biting off more they can chew. No matter though, these are not his calls to make. Still he sighs to himself as he checks the notes for his upcoming meeting, another tall ask, “No rest for the wicked,” Marlowe complains as a pale frowning form is ushered out of the elevator. This time perhaps he’ll try and take it slower.

[is-this-even-relatable]

Misfortune Teller

tldr: An older Danny, apprentice to Clockwork, does a lot of field work across dimensions, resetting the timeline, queuing future events, and who knows what else. Occasionally, he warns people about such upcoming possibilities, to set them on the right path. How, you might ask? Well in this case... as a wandering fortune teller.

Crack-fic (oh god, it's getting long and my logic brain won't let it remain as crack) where Danny becomes Clockwork's apprentice after getting his GED. Living his infinite afterlife to the fullest. Inspired by this tumblr post.

Working for Clockwork had been... interesting so far. At first, Danny got frustrated by how vague and cryptic Clockwork was. He'd just shunt Danny off to some ancient time with a few words, his own time medallion (Danny carried it everywhere with him now), and then pop back into the portal, leaving Danny with only the faintest idea of where to go.

Eventually, after enough time (ha!) spent around Clockwork, Danny figured out that it just basically meant that he had free reign and to do whatever he wanted. Because if he went on the wrong path, (like that one time in Pompeii when he had almost caused the volcano to explode a few years too early), Clockwork would just pop on by, say another few cryptic words, and then it'd all be fine and dandy, or as he liked to say, "All is as it should be... Now stop practicing your wail by an active volcano."

After telling Jazz about that (it was supposed to be funny, not concerning), she just sighed and shook her head, with a forlorn "think before you act, Danny!" but hey, it'd turned out fine so far, so who cares how he does what Clockwork asks him to do, as long as it gets done, right? Even if it's with a liiiiitle more mischief than strictly required.

Besides. Danny was the one who had been doing time shenanigans across millennia, not Jazz. And he thought he'd been getting pretty good at it too! He'd actually started giving himself a different made-up background for each universe he visited. Sam and Tucker were helping him keep up with the identities on a spreadsheet, so if he had to go back to one he'd already visited, he'd remember who he'd said he was supposed to be.

---

He was on a call with them one evening while haunting Jazz's apartment, doing just that, when he felt a familiar tingle in the back of his throat, as well as a heightened awareness of the seconds passing by, that always accompanied his mentor's appearance.

Sam was talking about his past stint posing as a god of death when he cut in. "Hey- sorry to interrupt, Sam- Clocky's here, guys, I gotta dip."

"Aw, come on! We hardly talked any this past week since you passed your certifications, man," Tucker complained.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah. Partly on you too though, you've been caught up outside of class, and Sam's schedule is nearly the opposite of yours."

Sam hummed in agreement despiter Tucker's scoff.

Danny missed hanging out with them as much as they had in high school, but hey, life goes on. Or at least, theirs did, to college. After finally flunking out of Casper High, he'd taken some time to get used to his responsibilities in the ghost zone, and when he had, he realized that he didn't really have much enthusiasm or timeleft for his human life.

And he didn't really want to go back home either.

But Jazz had made him tie up any loose ends before he noped-off to god knows where, which frankly, he had to thank her for. Getting his GED took a few years, but it was an accomplishment that could be attributed to Danny Fenton, no ghostliness required. Then he was able to let that tether go free.

Pulled out of his musings by a few more grumbles from Tucker, Danny said his goodbyes, promising to call the next time they were all available.

After hanging up, Danny swiveled around, anticipation already lighting up his eyes an ethereal green.

Clockwork, for his part, had been waiting patiently through Danny's lengthy goodbyes. Although he supposed that it tracked for the watcher of time to be patient. With his job, it'd be a nightmare if he wasn't.

"Phantom," Clockwork spoke, calm as always. "I have some tasks I need you to complete as my apprentice."

And Danny, always ready for adventure, didn't need him to explain any further. "Sure! When do you need me to be?"

Clockwork smiled at that. "I am fortunate you are eager. Follow me."

---

Danny popped into existence in this universe with a burst of cold air and static electricity. He found himself hovering by a clocktower above a sprawling, gothic city. Smog and light pollution obscured the stars above him, to his disappointment. He comforted himself with the fact that he'd probably have all the time he wanted to fly someplace less populated to see them later.

He started off by familiarizing himself with the city. As he flew, he followed the trail of power and met the resident city-spirit, a spooky- but kind underneath- woman draped in black lace, who told him her name was Gotham. He spoke in length with her about this universe, its heroes, and her knights. On that, she was very enthusiastic... or at least Danny thought she was, her projected emotions belaying much more than her gloomy exterior. She told him how her knights had been through a lot and would need some guidance fighting the darkness that pooled in her deepest corners, smiling with too much glee, filling lungs with fear, and terrorizing with cold hard bullets.

Danny could sense that the dangers she spoke of were growing in power, ever slowly. The longer they shadowed people's minds and hearts, an intangible thing grew that lent them more otherworldly pull than their physical forms had right to hold.

That must be what he was sent here for.

But... they were weak, pitifully so for him, infinite king as he was. And besides, he wasn't here in that sense. He was a messenger, a simple apprentice. And he could do this however he wanted.

Cue his talk with Lady Gotham, and subsequent idea to arm her knights. With what? Well, he figured knowledge would be a start. Flying high above the city invisibly, Danny noticed a sea of colors and lights by what appeared to be the city's pier. He flew down, noting that it appeared to be the setup spot for a travelling circus or carnival of some kind.

He considered what to do. One of Lady Gotham's troubles was a madman clown, right? Well maybe he'd be attracted to his ilk here... and with the danger came the knights. Maybe he could catch one of them here?

Danny was floating around at the entrance and beginning to formulate a plan when a flyer caught his eye. Looking for a mystic to read fortunes. URGENT!

Hadn't Clockwork said something about fortunes? And he hadn't made an identity in this universe yet...

A mischievous smile crept across Danny's face, splitting it in two with far too many teeth.

---

Half a city away, a man in all black, perched on the very same clocktower that Phantom had Appeared by, shivered as he felt an ominous premonition about his sanity in the near future...

Said man quickly opened his comms to check in with his many, many kids. Yet even after hearing back from each, he still felt apprehensive.

Somewhere even further, Clockwork laughed.

---

And that's how Danny found himself seated at a fortune teller's booth at a pier in Gotham, two days later, for the Tricksy Traveling Circus's grand opening.

[minxmut-cafe]

BEAR WITH ME ?? | 02.

Pairing: Bear hybrid Namjoon x Ferret hybrid reader

Word count: 10k words.

Authors note: HERE IS THE CONTINUATION !! LET'S GOOOO.

Warning: Smut, Vaginal sex, oral sex (M & F receiving), hybrid sex, mentions of death, mention of heat, feral Namjoon, size kink, spanking, mating press, mentions of various sex positions, reader being a menace, Namjoons a gentle giant, rough sex, cunnilingus, idiots in love, reader is immature, Namjoon is suffering, HUGE size difference (Imagine gyomei and shinobu). Masturbation, Namjoons a boob guy. Titty analysis :)

Synopsis:

"Namjoon spots a Tiny ferret hybrid getting pushed around by a bunch of hyena hybrids and decides to intervene. Little did he know that would lead to a series of interesting, traumatising and hilarious memories, some of which he's convinced were attempted murder attempts."

Namjoon frowned at his phone, staring at the empty notification bar.

Nothing.

Not a single text. No missed calls. No chaotic voice messages filled with unhinged rambling.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

At first, he was relieved.

After the hell he went through last night, he figured maybe some space would be good.

Give him time to reset, to push certain thoughts out of his brain.

But as the hours passed, that relief slowly turned into something else.

Unease.

By the time another day rolled around with still no sign of you, Namjoon was officially concerned.

You never went this long without contact.

Were you sick?

In trouble?

Or worse—avoiding him?

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

No.

No, that didn’t make sense.

If you were mad at him, you’d tell him—probably in the most dramatic way possible.

So where the hell were you?

Frowning, Namjoon pulled out his phone and dialed your number.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Then went to voicemail.

Namjoon’s stomach twisted.

Something was wrong.

And he was going to find out what.

The moment Namjoon opened the door to her place, the scent hit him, Namjoon froze.

His brain short-circuited.

Because fuck.

Fuck.

This wasn’t sickness.

This was something else entirely.

A deep, primal part of him recognized it instantly.

Heat.

The realization slammed into him like a truck.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

The disappearance. The radio silence. The way his instincts immediately reacted.

Because he wasn’t just a man.

He was a bear hybrid.

Territorial.

Possessive.

And, when faced with the scent of a fertile, needy female—

Oh, fuck.

His grip on the soup container tightened.

He needed to leave.

Right now.

Before his instincts did something stupid.

Namjoon didn’t even get the chance to think.

One second, he was frozen in place, brain malfunctioning.

The next—

She was on him.

Tiny arms wrapped around his waist. A small, trembling body pressing flush against his.

Namjoon locked up.

Every muscle in his body went rigid.

Because fuck, she was burning up.

"J-Joonie," you whimpered. "It hurts..."

His breath hitched.

His instincts screamed—urging him to hold you, soothe you, claim you.

But he couldn’t.

He shouldn’t.

"I—I couldn’t find anyone," you continued, voice thick with frustration and something dangerously close to desperation. "No one I trust. No one I want."

Namjoon swallowed thickly.

His heartbeat was a thunderous roar in his ears.

But then—

Then you curled into him, fingers gripping his shirt, voice barely above a whisper.

"I’m scared, Joonie..."

His entire world stopped.

"If I don’t mate..." You shivered violently. "I could get sick. Really sick. Aplastic anemia can—"

Namjoon growled.

Deep.

Instinctual.

Dangerous.

Because no.

No, no, no.

That wasn’t happening.

Not to you.

Not on his fucking watch.

Namjoon moved before he could think.

The soup was forgotten, placed on the nearest surface as he bent down and lifted you into his arms.

You gasped softly, fingers clutching at his shoulders, but you didn’t fight him. If anything, you melted into him, whimpering as you buried your face against his throat, your whole body trembling.

His jaw locked.

Fuck.

He had to be careful.

Because he could smell you.

Feel you.

And his instincts were howling.

But he shoved them down and carried you to your bedroom, placing you gently on the bed.

Then he stepped back, inhaled sharply, and forced himself to focus.

"Do you want me to mate you?" His voice was low, steady—but beneath it was something rough. Something dangerous.

Your breath hitched.

"J-Joonie—"

"Listen to me." His gaze locked onto yours, serious and unyielding. "I’ll do it. I’ll take care of you. But you need to understand—"

He exhaled sharply, fists clenching at his sides.

"I’m not doing this just to get you through your heat."

His voice was softer now, rougher—tinged with something real.

"I have feelings for you," he admitted. "I want you. Not just because of this. But because it’s you."

Silence hung between you, thick and heavy.

Then—

"Do you understand?”

Namjoon barely had time to react.

One second, she was sitting there, eyes wide and dazed.

The next—

"Oh, fuck that—"

You lunged.

Straight for his belt.

Namjoon caught your wrists just in time.

"Whoa—!" He gritted his teeth, barely managing to hold you back. "Answer first."

"Joonie, please—" you whined, struggling against his grip. "It hurts—"

His jaw tightened.

Fuck.

You were desperate. Burning up.

And all he wanted to do was give in.

But not like this.

Not without your words.

"Say it." His voice was low, rough—his patience hanging by a thread. "Tell me you understand.”

Your breath was ragged, your body trembling. But this time, it wasn’t just because of your heat.

"I understand," you whispered. "And I feel the same way."

Namjoon’s grip on your wrists loosened.

"I’m not just saying this because I’m—" you exhaled sharply, biting your lip. "—because I’m horny beyond saving."

A muscle in Namjoon’s jaw ticked.

"I’ve felt this way for months," you admitted, voice dropping to a whisper. "Ever since you—"

You swallowed hard.

"Ever since you dry-humped me in your sleep."

Namjoon froze.

His brain short-circuited.

"It took everything in me not to ride you stupid," you continued, eyes blown wide with lust and something deeper. "And now I can’t take it anymore—"

You yanked her hands free and lunged again.

This time, Namjoon let you.

Because his instincts?

They snapped.

Your fingers fumbled with his belt, desperate and shaking.

"Come on— Fuck—stupid thing—"

Namjoon exhaled through his nose, watching as you struggled. Your whining only made it worse, your heat-drunk frustration making his instincts snarl.

When you finally got it undone, you yanked his pants down in one go.

He barely had time to step out of them before you were reaching for his boxers.

He shed his flannel and shirt, tossing them aside.

And that’s when you froze.

Your breath hitched.

"Oh..."

Namjoon clenched his jaw, fighting every instinct screaming at him to grab you, flip you over, and—

You pulled his boxers down.

And your mouth dropped open.

You practically drooled.

"Holy shit."

You barely had time to blink before Namjoon moved.

A startled whine left your lips as he pushed you back onto the bed.

"Joon—!"

Your protest died the second his mouth crashed against yours.

He kissed you deep—messy, desperate, sucking on your lips and tongue like he was starving.

You whimpered into his mouth, arching into him as his hands tore at your clothes.

Fuck, this was so much better than he had ever imagined.

Namjoon barely had a second to breathe.

He pulled back, panting, about to say something—

And then you moved.

Before he could react, your mouth was on him.

"Fuck—" His entire body jerked.

You were a menace.

And you were perfect.

Your body, your sounds—everything about you made his instincts snarl.

His hands trembled as he buried them in your hair, hips twitching at the feeling of your hot, wet mouth—

This was so much better than his imagination.

And he never wanted it to stop.

Your mouth stretched wide, barely able to take half of him.

The rest you palmed with both hands, fingers stroking up and down his thick length while your other hand squeezed his balls.

Namjoon groaned, head dropping back, his massive hands tightening in your hair.

"Fuck—" His voice was wrecked, deep and ragged.

But what really did him in?

The way you looked up at him.

Big, glossy eyes, lips stretched around his cock, cheeks hollowing as you bobbed your head—

He twitched in your mouth, barely restraining the urge to thrust deeper.

Namjoon let you have your way, let you suck him just how you wanted—until he couldn’t take it anymore.

With a deep growl, he tore you away, a strand of spit connecting your lips to his cock.

You whined, eyes dazed and needy.

"Joon—!"

"Baby," he panted, cupping your jaw, thumb stroking your wet lips. "This is your first time. Your first heat." His voice was wrecked, strained. "I really don’t wanna blow my load before I even get to fuck you."

You whimpered, squirming, but he shushed you gently.

"Spread those pretty legs for me," he murmured, eyes dark. "Let me stretch you out first."

His fingers traced down your trembling body.

"You’re so fucking tiny," he muttered, voice thick with desire. "I’m gonna have to be real thorough to make sure this cunt can take me."

And then, with a wicked smirk, he pushed you down and spread your open.

Oh, you threw a fit.

Because of course you did.

"Excuse you—!" You tried to sit up, indignant. "I was having fun, you big fucking—"

Smack.

A sharp gasp ripped from your throat as Namjoon's palm cracked against your ass, the impact sending a delicious sting through your body.

You froze.

Namjoon, towering over you, let out a low, dangerous rumble.

"Behave," he ordered, voice deep, dripping with authority.

Your mouth opened. Then closed.

You gulped.

Maybe... maybe you could let him have his way.

For now.

You pouted up at him, lower lip jutting out in protest. "Meanie," she mumbled, but still, you spread you legs for him.

Namjoon chuckled darkly, large hands gripping your thighs as he settled between them. "You’ll survive," he murmured, gaze locked onto the slick mess between your legs. "Now be good and let me take care of you."

And then—

You choked on a gasp when he pressed a single finger inside.

What the fuck.

"Joon—" your back arched, nails digging into the sheets. "Why the fuck are your fingers so big?!"

Namjoon only smirked, gripping your hip to hold you still as he worked his finger in deeper, watching the way your tiny hole stretched around it. "And you think you can take my cock just like that?" he teased.

Before you could snap back, he pulled you to the edge of the bed, got on his knees, and lowered his mouth to your soaked cunt.

You barely had time to react before his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking hard.

"Ah—!" You jerked, hands flying to his hair.

He licked, sucked, kissed you like he was savoring his favorite meal.

And then—

Another finger.

Your gasp turned into a whine, legs trembling as he slowly pushed it inside alongside the first.

"It hurts," you whimpered, hips twisting as you tried to adjust.

Namjoon growled against you, sending vibrations through your core. "Shh, baby," he soothed, lapping at your clit. "Let me make it better."

Namjoon was a menace.

He sucked you clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the swollen bud, then gently bit down, just enough to make you jolt.

"J-Joon!" You gasped, thighs trembling around his head.

He only hummed, sending another shudder through you.

Your poor clit—already abused from your own desperate attempts to get off before he came over—was throbbing, overstimulated, but he showed no mercy.

His fingers worked in tandem with his mouth, curling, scissoring you open as he stretched you out.

You were still so tight, sucking his fingers in with every push, every thrust.

"Shit, baby," he groaned, kissing your clit before looking up at you with lidded eyes. "Did you play with yourself the whole day?"

You flushed, trying to turn your face away, but he curled his fingers just right—

"Ah—!"

"You did, didn’t you?" he murmured, smirking against your thigh. "Poor thing. Still wasn’t enough, huh?"

You mustered up whatever bratty energy you had left and threw a weak, "Fuck you," his way, breathless and trembling.

Namjoon chuckled—a deep, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine—before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

"Wrong," he murmured against your skin, licking over the fresh bite mark possessively. "It’s me who’s about to fuck you."

You whimpered.

And he grinned.

Namjoon was merciless.

His fingers pressed against that devastating spot inside you, curling, rubbing, pushing just right as his tongue tormented your clit. His pace never faltered, never slowed, dragging you higher and higher until—

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—!"

Your back arched off the bed, eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashed through you.

It was soul-crushing.

It left you shaking, thighs trembling around his head as wave after wave of pleasure wracked your body.

Namjoon growled against you, pinning your hips down as he dragged out every last aftershock, licking you through it, savoring the way she twitched beneath him.

When you finally slumped against the bed, boneless and panting, he grinned.

"Good girl," he purred, lips brushing against your inner thigh. "Now, let’s see how many more you can give me before I fuck you open."

Namjoon wasn’t satisfied with just one.

He added another finger, stretching you out further, making you whimper at the burn.

"Shh, baby," he cooed, kissing the inside of your thigh as he slowly thrust them in and out. "You’re taking me so well."

His fingers worked you mercilessly, curling, scissoring, fucking you open as his tongue never left your clit.

The second orgasm hit faster than you expected—your breath hitched, your back arched, and you cried out, body shaking as pleasure wracked you.

"That’s it," Namjoon groaned, voice thick with arousal, watching the way you clenched around his fingers. "Give me another."

And you did.

By the third orgasm, you were a mess, tears pricking at your eyes as you gasped and whined, your body overwhelmed but still desperate for more.

Only then—after you were a twitching, overstimulated wreck beneath him—did Namjoon finally consider fucking you.

He smirked, kissing your inner thigh one last time before murmuring, "Think you’re ready for my cock now, baby?"

Namjoon kissed you deeply, swallowing your soft whimpers as he sucked on your tongue, making her melt beneath him.

His lips trailed down, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and neck. He focused on every little spot that made you shiver, nipping, licking, savoring the way your breath hitched.

All the while, his fingers never stopped—still scissoring you open, still stretching your tiny, tight cunt, making sure you were as ready as you could be.

"You’re so fucking small," he murmured against your throat, voice husky with need. "Gotta make sure you can take me, baby."

You whimpered, clutching at his shoulders, aching to finally feel his cock inside you.

Namjoon groaned at your desperation but took his time, gently pushing you back onto the bed, adjusting you until you were comfortable.

Then, with a tenderness that almost contradicted the heat in his eyes, he grabbed a pillow and slid it beneath your hips.

"Gotta get the angle just right," he rasped, running his hands up your thighs as he settled between them. "Don’t want you hurting, sweetheart."

He pressed a kiss to your knee, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

"You ready for me?"

Namjoon groaned as he pressed your thighs to your chest, spreading you open completely beneath him.

"So tiny," he murmured, voice thick with awe and restraint as he lined himself up with your entrance. "Gotta go slow, baby. Gotta stretch you open real nice for me."

He started by rubbing your clit with his tip, letting it glide against your sensitive bundle of nerves. The soft, teasing friction had you squirming, thighs trembling as you whined beneath him.

"Shh, just relax," he soothed, replacing his cock with his fingers, circling your clit with slow, deliberate strokes. "Let me in, sweetheart."

And then, he pushed.

"Fuck—" you gasped, eyes widening as the head of his cock finally slipped inside.

Namjoon gritted his teeth, groaning low as your walls clenched around him.

"Shit—so fucking tight," he ground out, barely able to move. "Baby, you gotta—fuck—loosen up for me, okay?"

You tried. You really did. But it wasn’t just the length—it was the thickness that had your brain spinning.

Namjoon exhaled sharply, sensing her struggle. He paused halfway, his breath shaky as he reached down and resumed rubbing your clit, slow and careful.

"You're doing so good," he murmured, pressing gentle kisses to your ankle, your knee. "Breathe, baby. Relax for me."

You whimpered, eyes fluttering as his fingers worked you over, coaxing your body to ease up.

And when you finally did—when you gasped and you walls fluttered, relaxing just enough—Namjoon took advantage.

"Good girl," he groaned, slowly sinking the rest of the way in.

Bottoming out in one, deep thrust.

Namjoon squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep, measured breaths as he stayed completely still inside you.

Fuck.

You were so tight, so unbelievably warm around him, clenching down like you were trying to keep him locked inside you forever. If he moved—if he so much as twitched—he might embarrass himself and blow his load way too soon.

So he focused.

Okay, Namjoon. Think of something else. Think of anything else.

One bear paw. Two bear paws. Three—

Fuck, she’s so tiny.

Four bear paws. Five bear—

Shit, the way she’s squeezing me—

Six bear paws. Seven—

“Joonie…” you whimpered, shifting slightly beneath him.

His jaw clenched.

“Baby, don’t—” he warned, voice strained.

You blinked up at him, dazed and needy, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders as you squirmed.

“Feels so good…” you mumbled, dragging your nails lightly down his back.

Namjoon choked. His arms trembled as he barely held himself together.

Eight bear paws. Nine—

Your walls fluttered around him, and he felt it.

FUCK.

He dropped his head to your shoulder, panting heavily as he groaned, voice muffled against your skin.

“Baby,” he rasped, “you gotta—give me a second—”

You giggled breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in deeper.

Namjoon whimpered.

Whimpered.

Like a bitch.

Your giggle was downright wicked. Even in the throes of pleasure, you were still a menace.

Namjoon’s entire body tensed when you clenched around him on purpose, her tiny hands dragging down his back, teasing him, taunting him. He could feel the way you were testing him, pushing him to his limits.

“Joonie,” you whispered in his ear, your breath warm and teasing. “Are you… whimpering?”

He growled.

A low, deep, guttural sound that rumbled through his chest and vibrated against your skin.

Your laughter immediately cut off.

Namjoon lifted his head slowly, eyes dark and filled with something feral. You swallowed hard, realizing maybe—just maybe—you had pushed him a little too far.

“Baby,” he said, voice thick with restraint. “Do you want to walk tomorrow?”

Your ears twitched, and you suddenly remembered that oh yeah, you were currently impaled on a massive bear hybrid’s cock, and antagonizing him might not be the smartest decision.

But then again…

You grinned.

“I mean… do I really need to?”

Namjoon lost his last shred of self-control.

His hips snapped forward, knocking the breath out of your lungs as he buried himself deeper than you thought was even possible.

Your laugh morphed into a strangled moan.

“J-Joon—oh fuck—!”

He pulled back slowly, deliberately, before thrusting into you again, his thick cock stretching your walls to the limit. You screamed, fingers scrambling for purchase on his broad shoulders.

“T-Take it back—!” you gasped, eyes wide, already overwhelmed. “I take it back—!”

Namjoon chuckled darkly, leaning down to kiss your neck, sharp teeth grazing her sensitive skin.

“Too late, baby,” he murmured. “You asked for this.”

And with that, he fucked you.

Namjoon fucked you stupid.

He pulled out almost all the way, just leaving the tip in before slamming back inside, his thick cock stretching you open over and over again. Your walls clenched around him so tightly, so hot and wet that it made him see stars. His grip on your thighs tightened, nails digging into your soft skin as he fucked you into the mattress.

His cock hit your g-spot every time, his thick tip pressing against your womb with every deep thrust.

You we're gone.

Eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open as breathless moans and little whimpers spilled from your lips.

Namjoon grinned, breathless and wrecked, leaning down to take a stiff, sensitive nipple into his mouth.

The tits he had so carefully analyzed just days ago? Yeah. He was all over them now—sucking, licking, teasing with his tongue before switching to the other, his free hand kneading the soft flesh like he was trying to memorize it.

Between sucks, he grinned against your skin and murmured, “Not so mouthy now, huh?”

You whimpered, legs trembling around him.

Namjoon chuckled darkly. “What happened to all that attitude?”

His thrusts quickened, hips snapping against yours, the wet, obscene sounds of their bodies meeting echoing through the room.

You tried to respond—maybe to sass him back—but all that came out was a pathetic little moan.

Namjoon groaned, feeling primal at the sight of you beneath him, completely wrecked.

“Aw, is my filthy little girl too dumb to talk now?” he taunted, sucking another mark into her skin. “Too stupid to tease me anymore?”

You whimpered, back arching, nails scratching down his back.

Namjoon grinned wickedly.

“You must be real dumb to tease a bear hybrid when you’re this tiny,” he murmured, thrusting deep and holding it, making you squirm. “Did you forget what I could do to you?”

You clenched around him so tight he nearly choked.

Namjoon growled.

Oh.

You liked that.

His instincts snapped.

He pinned you down, laced your fingers together, and fucked you senseless.

You were in actual heaven.

This was everything you had dreamed about, everything you had fantasized about late at night with your hand between your legs. But this? This was so much better.

Namjoon’s sheer size overwhelmed you, his massive frame towering over you, caging you in, making you feel so small beneath him. His thick arms flexed as he held himself up, his weight pressing you deliciously into the mattress, your fingers laced together above your head.

His cock stretched you open, filling you so perfectly that you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe—just feel.

Your walls clenched around him, and he groaned, his pace brutal, his thrusts deep and overwhelming.

“You’re so small,” he gritted out, staring down at where they were joined, mesmerized by the way you struggled to take him. His cock was glistening with your slick, and the sight alone nearly made him lose his mind. “How the fuck are you even taking me?”

You moaned, tightening your fingers around his. “I—I don’t know,” she gasped. “But don’t stop—don’t stop—”

Namjoon growled, burying his face in your neck as he fucked you harder, hips slamming against yours, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the air.

“Don’t plan on it,” he murmured against your throat, nipping at your pulse. “Not until I make sure this tiny cunt is properly bred.”

Your brain short-circuited.

B—Bred?!

You clenched around him so violently that he choked, thrusting deep, his breath stuttering.

Namjoon groaned, pulling back to look at your flushed, fucked-out face.

“Oh,” he purred, grinning. “You liked that.”

Namjoon chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with amusement as he thrust deep and stayed there, grinding his hips against yours.

“Does my pretty little darling girl have a breeding kink?” he murmured against your lips, his breath hot, teasing.

You let out a pathetic little whimper, your hands clawing at his back. “Shut up,” you gasped, but your body betrayed you—clenching down around him like you desperately wanted him to fill her up.

He smirked, kissing you softly—too soft for how brutal his thrusts had been, the contrast making you dizzy. “Oh, you do, don’t you?” he purred against your lips. “You want me to breed this tiny cunt of yours, huh? Fill you up nice and full?”

You whined, trying to move, but Namjoon wasn’t having it.

“Uh-uh,” he growled, pulling you up against his chest, his thick arms caging you in. He wanted to see you. Wanted to watch your face as he wrecked you.

He knew you were close. He could feel it.

And fuck—so was he.

Your constant clenching had him rutting into you like a feral beast, barely holding himself back.

“You bounce on my cock so perfectly, baby,” he groaned, guiding your hips. “Come on, cum for me—milk my cock like a good girl.”

And you did—so perfectly.

Your body tensed, then trembled as you came, your walls squeezing him like a vice, pulsing around his cock. You were so tight, so warm, and fuck—he could feel every little flutter, every little tremor as you moaned his name, you voice breaking into little gasps and whimpers.

Namjoon cursed, his grip tightening on your hips as he chased his own high, rutting into you like a man possessed. “Fuck, baby—just like that,” he growled, his voice wrecked, his restraint snapping.

His thrusts became sloppy, desperate, his cock twitching inside you. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in, his instincts screaming at him to fill you up.

And then—he did.

Namjoon groaned, long and deep, as he came inside you, spilling himself into you with shuddering, wrecked thrusts. His cock throbbed with every pulse of his release, and he made sure—fuck, he made sure you took all of it, staying deep, pressing his hips flush against you.

For a moment, all that could be heard was y'all heavy breathing, your soft little whimpers as you trembled in his hold, completely wrecked.

Namjoon chuckled breathlessly, pressing a lazy kiss against your temple. “Told you I’d stretch you out, baby.”

Namjoon slowly pulled out, groaning at the way your walls clung to him, reluctant to let him go. And fuck—that was the prettiest creampie he had ever seen.

His cum dripped from your swollen, twitching hole, glistening as it leaked onto the sheets. And the best part? You were gaping, your tiny cunt stretched open, still pulsing around nothing, as if begging for more.

Namjoon groaned, his cock twitching at the sight. “Fuck, baby,” he murmured, running his fingers along her inner thigh, watching as his release slowly dripped out of you. He was mesmerized, transfixed, and so fucking tempted to stuff it back in—

You whined, shifting slightly, and Namjoon immediately snapped out of it. He chuckled, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your trembling thigh. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You blinked up at him, dazed, cheeks flushed, lips parted. And then—you smirked, albeit weakly.

“Dunno,” you mumbled. “Kinda feel like I just got rearranged.”

Namjoon huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he reached for the nearby towel. “You did just get rearranged.”

You giggled, wincing slightly when you tried to move. Namjoon gently shushed you, cleaning you up with soft, careful touches. His eyes softened as he watched you, brushing a few damp strands of hair from your face.

“Rest, baby,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

And you did—without a single complaint—because, really, after getting fucked that good, what else could you do?

Namjoon chuckled as you climbed onto him, your tiny body latching on like a determined little koala. He barely had time to settle against the pillows before you were smooshing her face right into his chest—burying yourself in his tiddies like they were your personal pillows.

He huffed, amused. “Comfortable?”

You let out a pleased little hum, rubbing your cheek against his warm skin. “Mhm. Very.”

Namjoon shook his head, wrapping his arms around you, his large hands rubbing up and down your back. You were so small compared to him, his shirt swallowing you whole. It was kind of adorable—annoyingly so.

“Feeling better?” he asked softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You nodded, sighing contentedly. “Mhm. You’re warm.”

Namjoon smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. Then, after a beat, “And your tiddies are great.”

He groaned, head thudding against the headboard. “Oh my god.”

You giggled against his chest, the sound so smug it made his ears burn. But he didn’t push you away. If anything, he held you closer, letting you cuddle up as much as you wanted—because, well...

You were his now.

And he wasn’t letting you go.

Namjoon felt his heart clench as you looked up at him with those big, expectant eyes, your lips brushing against his chest in the softest, sweetest kiss.

“I’m really happy you feel the same way, Joonie,” you murmured, your voice smaller than usual. “I was... worried you didn’t. That’s why I ignored you for two days.”

His brows furrowed, a pang of guilt hitting him square in the chest. “You—what?”

You pouted, rubbing slow circles over his pec absentmindedly. “I didn’t know if you liked me back. And if you didn’t, I was gonna have to move on, y’know?”

Namjoon stared at you, utterly baffled. “Are you serious? You thought I didn’t like you?”

You blinked up at him. “Well… yeah?”

He exhaled sharply, pressing a hand over his face. “Baby, I’ve been down bad for you.”

Your ears perked up. “Wait—really?”

“Yes, really!” He groaned, sliding his hand down to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I literally lost my mind over you. I was suffering.”

You gasped, scandalized. “And you didn’t tell me?”

Namjoon gave you a flat look. “Says you, the one who ignored me for two days instead of talking to me.”

You opened your mouth to argue—then promptly shut it, realizing he had a point.

“…Fair,” you mumbled, sheepishly nuzzling back into his chest.

Namjoon sighed, shaking his head before pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re a menace,” he muttered.

You grinned against his skin. “But I’m your menace now.”

He chuckled, hugging you tighter. “Yeah… you are.”

Namjoon nearly choked on air when you poked his chest, looking up at him with that mischievous glint in your eyes.

“So… when can we do it again?”

His face heated instantly. “What?”

You grinned, propping your chin on his chest. “I mean, I’m all stretched out now. I think I can finally ride you properly.”

Namjoon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “honey, give me five minutes to recover before you start planning round two.”

But you were relentless.

“Oh, oh! Or you could, like, manhandle me,” you continued excitedly, completely ignoring his suffering. “Maybe a full nelson or doggy—oh, you have to mount me at least once before my heat’s over!”

Namjoon felt his dick twitch, and he swore he saw his life flash before his eyes.

“And,” you added, dragging a finger down his chest, “you should let me actually suck you off properly this time. Y’know, since you were being a big ol’ meanie and stopped me.”

Namjoon exhaled sharply through his nose. “I stopped you because I was two seconds away from busting before we even started.”

You snickered. “So now you can last, right?”

Namjoon groaned. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You giggled, looking entirely too pleased with yourself—then tilted your head, suddenly thoughtful. “Oh! Wait—does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?”

Namjoon blinked. “I—”

You gasped dramatically. “Namjoon! Are you telling me you knotted me but you won’t date me?”

His jaw dropped. “I DIDN’T KNOT YOU—”

“Oh my God, you used me for sex—”

Namjoon grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks together to stop your nonsense. “I’m your boyfriend, you menace,” he grumbled.

You hummed happily, looking way too smug despite your squished cheeks. “Good. Now let’s talk about the full nelson.”

Namjoon let out the most suffering sigh.

[anon-188]

pairing: AJ x f!reader | genre: smut ❤️‍🔥 | wc: 1.7k

summary: one minute you were ignoring your ex. the next, AJ had you bent over, making you forget he ever existed.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), minor violence (one punch), public sex (bar bathroom, alley), rough sex, semi-public risk, dominant!AJ, brief alcohol use, possessive behavior, dirty talk, condom use, ex-mention, explicit language, “casual” hookups.

a/n: something short and sweet (except there's actually nothing sweet about it). enjoy!! ♡

They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, right?

Well, that’s what you told yourself as you sat at Jake’s bar—your friend Lili’s fiancé. She had asked, no—insistently suggested—that you come out “just for a night” and blow off some steam. A little reset, she called it. You had said no at first, swearing that you didn’t care about your ex, that you were fine, that you just needed to keep your head up and keep moving.

Then came the promise of free drinks—all night.

And with it? That knowing smile from Lili.

The kind that said she already knew your answer before you did.

Which, in a way, she did.

So that’s how you ended up here—sitting at the bar, heels hooked on the stool’s lower rung, sipping your second—no, third—martini. You weren’t drunk, but you finally felt the edge starting to come off. The one you swore didn’t exist. The one you claimed wasn’t there at all.

That was until—

Your ex’s voice rang out behind you, loud and clear, calling your name.

For a second, you thought you imagined it. A trick of alcohol and nerves. But when you turned just slightly, catching the horror flashing across Lili’s face from the corner of your eye, you knew it was real. Too real.

So you did the only thing you could think of: you ignored him. Kept drinking. Kept pretending he wasn’t there, like the sound of his voice didn’t twist something in your stomach. Like his presence didn’t immediately unravel the calm you’d spent three martinis building.

But he didn’t get the hint.

You felt the way the energy shifted as he leaned against the bar beside you. The sour smell of alcohol hit first, heavy and clinging, followed by the same tired apologies you’d heard more times than you cared to count. Slurred, mumbled, recycled lines meant to tug at something in you that no longer existed.

You didn’t even look at him.

You just kept drinking.

You had been done with him for weeks now—really done. And the breakup? Best thing that ever happened to you.

Well… the second best thing. Because then—

“Is he bothering you?”

You turned at the sound of the voice—deep, smooth, irresistibly rich.

AJ.

You’d spoken to him a few times before, always when Lili dragged you out here. He’d bought your drink once—just slid his card across the bar without saying a word and nodded when you tried to thank him. Lili had sworn up and down that he was into you. You’d laughed, rolled your eyes, told her he was just being nice.

She told you AJ didn’t do just being nice.

And now? Now you were starting to think she was right.

“No, man. I’m not bothering her,” your ex slurred.

“Looks like you are,” AJ said, his voice quick but smooth.

Your ex’s posture shifted—squared shoulders, jaw tight. “Mind your business. She’s my girlfriend.”

AJ didn’t even glance at him. He looked straight at you.

“That true?” he asked, voice low, thick with suggestion.

“No,” you said. Immediately. Maybe a little too fast.

AJ smirked, that slow curve of his lips almost daring, then turned his gaze back to your ex. “I think you should go.”

Your ex bristled. “No. We’re talking,” he snapped, then turned to you. “Tell him we’re talking.”

You didn’t say a word.

AJ stepped forward just slightly, body language still relaxed, but the tension was there. “I don’t think she wants to talk to you.”

It all happened fast.

Raised voices. A shove. Then one clean punch—AJ’s fist connecting with your ex’s jaw before anyone could blink. He hit the floor without grace, groaning as the room went quiet.

Jake appeared seconds later, already pulling him off the ground, dragging him toward the door. You heard him shouting, banning him from the bar permanently. 

Just like that, your ex was gone—hauled out of the bar, leaving behind only the stink of cheap liquor and the echo of one last bad decision.

AJ turned back to you, casually flexing his hand, like it hadn’t just curled into a fist a minute ago. 

And what started as a soft thank you—something small, something shy—ended up with AJ’s hands all over you in the bar bathroom, your backside pushing into the sink. His hands were in your hair, at your waist, gripping your hips like he couldn’t touch enough. Even hiking up your mini dress—not that he had much work to do. The thing was already dangerously short, barely skimming the tops of your thighs when you walked in tonight. Now it was nothing but a scrap of fabric out of the way. One less thing between you.

Your hands were just as restless, clutching at the lapels of his jacket, yanking his tie loose, fingers fumbling hard at the buckle of his belt. You were both eager, neither of you wasting even a second pretending otherwise.

AJ spun you around without warning, hands flattening against the small of your back to bend you forward slightly. Your palms caught the edge of the sink, steadying yourself as you arched your back instinctively.

In the mirror, you caught a glimpse of him all wild-eyed, breathing hard, the barely-there smirk curling his mouth as he dug into his back pocket.

You heard the rip of the condom wrapper, the low rustle of fabric shoved down just enough.

And then he was there—lining himself up, the thick head of him nudging against you, teasing just for a second before he pushed in, slow and brutal, filling you in a way that had your mouth falling open around a ragged gasp.

Your moans mingled with his, a symphony of gasps and curses, echoing against the tile like a song you weren’t supposed to be singing but couldn’t stop. It was messy and desperate, and so goddamn good. His hips thrusted forward again, harder, his grip bruising on your waist as he drove into you. 

The sink bit into your hips as he found his pace, but you barely noticed—too focused on the stretch, the pressure, the way he filled you like he knew exactly how to fuck a body like yours.

“Shit—” you breathed out, fingers scrabbling for grip, palms flattening against the mirror as your forehead dropped between your arms.

You whimpered—helpless, wrecked—and tried to roll your hips in time with his, but he was too relentless, making you take every inch how he wanted. 

Behind you, AJ groaned deep and rough, the sound thick with satisfaction. And then you heard him—low and taunting, right into your ear:

“He ever make you feel like this?”

Your brain hardly processed it through the pleasure ripping through you. You tried to answer—you really did—but all that came out was a broken, gasping, “N-no—”

AJ chuckled darkly, smug as sin, hips snapping into you with even more force, making you cry out again.

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.”

And it was true. God, it was true. That idiotic piece of shit who had just been dragged out of the bar? He had never touched you like this. Never filled you, never fucked you, never torn you apart the way AJ was doing without a second thought.

When it was over—when you were finished, you were a mess. Breathless, your body thoroughly fucked in the best, most obscene sense of the word. AJ didn’t look any better—shirt wrinkled, belt hanging loose, that same cocky smirk still painted on his flushed face.

Then, like it was the most casual thing in the world, he asked for your number.

You huffed out a breath, part chuckle, part disbelief, still trying to smooth your dress down like that would somehow fix the way he’d left you feeling inside. You gave it to him anyway—your fingers typing it into his phone with a shake of your head—and you told him, voice light but serious:

“This was a one-time thing.”

He didn’t argue. He just nodded, sliding his phone back into his pocket, smirk deepening like he already knew better.

One and done, you had told yourself. Firm. Confident.

You had said it then.

And again the second time, when he pulled you into the alley behind the bar the following weekend—your body pressed against the rough brick, his hands dragging your panties down just enough to bend you over, fucking you fast and rough with your fingers curling against the wall, your moans muffled by his palm when they got too loud. He muttered filth into your ear with every thrust—how wet you were for him, how no one else could fuck you like this, how he knew you’d come back begging for more. 

And you proved him right—when twice that week turned into three times, the line blurring, your resolve snapping easier every time he so much as looked at you the wrong—well, right way.

And then came the night you invited him over—your place this time, not the bar, not the alley, not some in-between. You’d told yourself it wasn’t anything different.

But it was.

Especially with AJ’s mouth crashing onto yours the second the door closed, his hands finding your hips overwhelmingly fast. The way you stripped each other bare, stumbling to the couch, knocking over pillows as you climbed onto him, straddling his lap. The springs creaking and groaning beneath you as you rode him hard, his hands tight on your body, his head thrown back as he cursed your name. Your cries filling the tiny space, his name twisting out of your throat again and again just before you fell apart around him.

You kissed him when you came, when your body gave out on top of him, when your nails dug into the tattoos across his chest and you thought, God, this was never supposed to happen like this.

But it did.

Over and over again.

And funny enough?

Somewhere between the rough hands and the rougher kisses, the alley walls and the worn couch cushions, you realized you hadn’t thought about your ex—not once.

Which is exactly how it should be.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

tag list: @alealuvshayden @garretthedlundisbae @sythethecarrot

if you want to be tagged in my future posts, just let me know. i’m happy to do it! :)

[love44lew]

{day one: if i was a worm☙}

彡drivers lewis hamilton, lando norris, charles leclerc

彡genre oneshots, multiple drivers x reader, scenarios

彡summary you ask your boyfriend an odd but very important question

၊၊||၊ i know im terrible at keeping up with calendars, kinktober for example (im sorry 😫) but its only 14 days this time and im getting a early start so lets hope we’re consistent now🙂‍↕️၊၊||၊

彡warnings none!!

—————-

lewis

you were scrolling on your phone when you came across a reel of a girl asking her boyfriend if she would still love her as a worm, so why not ask your boyfriend? you made your way to the living room where lewis was tiredly sprawled out on the soft cushions of the couch, the sight of him half asleep on his phone making you giggle internally.

“lewis..” you called softly, his eyebrow rising as he moved his phone from his face which he held closely like an old man.

“yes baby” his raspy low voice sent tingles down your spine as you nibbled your lip

“would-“

“theres leftovers in the fridge, i put all the dishes away, yes the wifi is working just reset your phone, i found your lost airpod and i put it in the case, and yes, i’ll still love you if you were a worm” he cut you off abruptly before you can interrogate him. lewis is pretty much immune to confrontation since he’d much rather just get everything done right away then just sit around procrastinating.

“i want take out—“

“its done” you stood there in silence with your mouth agape. how is he SO good??

“anything else?” you watched him as he stood up and reached his arms to the celling, his bones popping and cracking with each stretch. he must’ve been there on the couch for a while.

“can i suck your dick?” you mumbled under your breath as lewis stepped towards you.

“hm?” lewis hummed as he slowly leaned to your side and kissed your jaw as snugly rests his hands on your waist

“uhm- w-what should we get?” youd kind of hoped he heard what you said, because gosh did he deserve it

lewis slowly leans to your ear, “if you wanna do that princess, ima need you to speak up” his breath is warm against your lobe, warmth that travels through your entire body.

lando

you were scrolling through tiktok with one hand and the other entangled in your mans curly hair as he rested peacefully between your thighs. his arms wrapped around your leg as he held his phone and scrolled through his explore page on instagram.

you come across this video of someone asking their significant other the hot question of the month, “would you love me if i was a worm”

you glanced down at your unsuspecting boyfriend with a smirk, brilliant way to get back at him for all those pranks.

“honey,” you called for his attention as you ruffled his hair. his head immediately looked up from his phone and at you “you weren’t sleeping were you?”

“no, i wasn’t. what is it darling?”

“i have a question i want you to answer honestly”

he adjusted himself and rested on his elbow, with you now having his full attention. “yeah? what is it?”

“would you still love me if i was a worm?” you asked the golden question, almost allowing a smirk but immediately catching yourself.

his his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, what the hell are you talking about?

“is this a trick question” lando raised an eyebrow at you.

“well if you think it is—“ you turned your head and response.

he stared at you for a second before answering “yes..? i dunno”

“that wasn’t very honest sounding” you interrogated

“well then, you really want to know my honest answer ?”

“yes!” you abruptly responded, curious on his genuine answer

“well, i wouldn’t know it was you and i hhaaaattteeeee bugs..” he looked you up and down before continuing “it would depend where i would find you as a worm though..” he hesitantly finished his sentence

you smacked his shoulder “what does that mean you dingus?” you barked,

lando held his shoulder from the pain “owww why did you hit me” he pouted, his cute sad face stinging your heart

“because..”

“what did you want me to say? no!?” landos voice cracked as he argued,

“i would’ve preferred that over ‘it depends’” you quoted your fingers and lowered your voice to imitate his.

“dont leave me guessing” you frowned

“darling— i didnt mean it like that” his voice softened, hes so easily weakened by you. one little whine and hes showering you with kisses and love and has already bought you a new game for your wii before you could even tell him whats wrong.

he took your hand and kissed your palm and fingers and down your wrist and forearm.

he adjusted himself again for easy access to your neck brushing his nose on the crook before made his way up to your ear where he gently nibbled on the edge, which earned him a chuckle from you, “heyy that tickles !”

air blew from his nose as a smile cracked through. he moved his lips to your cheek and basically motorboated your face until you were laying on your back dying laughing.

“mmm there it is” he smiled down at you as your cheeks burned partially from smiling and other part from the attack on your face.

“what” you mustered to say through a series of dying down chuckles

“that smile” he caressed your face “pretty girl, i love you as you are, okay?” he confessed quietly, as if he was telling you a secret as he leaned down and finally connected his lips with yours.

charles

you and charles were on one of your routine strolls in the park with leo. charles hand cocooned your smaller one as you were side by side.

leo stopped at a tree to do his business and while the two of you waited for him, you had spotted a butterfly, swallowtail to be specific.

you stood and stared at its wings happily flock around the flowers surrounding the tree, pollinating them. beautiful things like this always put you in a state of pondering.

“mon coeur? what are you thinking about?” charles squeezed your hand, calling for your attention.

“hm? oh! look char, its a butterfly” you pointed at the colorful bug that has now calmly rested on a blade of grass.

“ohh, pretty” charles was now admiring it with you, its small torso and wide wings as well captivating him. leo also noticed, now trying to catch it by jumping up with his mouth agape.

your thoughts continued though as your eyes stayed fixed on your boyfriend. a random, stupid question ate at you though: would he still love you as a bug?

or not a bug, but something or someone who wasn’t you. like what if you were a cute little golden mutt like leo or maybe even a butterfly just flocking around, hide originally meant to fend off predators, now a pinnacle of beauty in nature. what if you werent as fortunate to be born as cute or beautiful, what if you were just a worm? their only survival instinct is to dig in damp mud as a birds preying beak chomped at their tail. a silly concept to think of. how could he love you if you were just a mere bug? the running question of if youd be still deserving of love if you were something as minuscule and overlooked as a worm.

you’re more than greatful to have someone like him in your life, he was your rock—the love of your life. everyday you could be more convinced that this was it, hes the one. even right now, as your gaze stays locked on him simply admiring another external matter, you could feel your heart beating happily at the feeling of being around him. you love his soul, and your soul can follow you anywhere—so if your soul wasn’t in this body, but in one less noticeable than one of a human, would you still be worthy of receiving love?

such a decrepit topic to think of.

your reluctantly averted your gaze from charles, now youre focused back on the butterfly— or now butterflies since there was two now. Leo obviously was going crazy so you’d let him free so he can frolic around in the grass while you’d found a bench to rest on and charles followed.

“okay, now back to you..” charles started

“yes..” you sighed, you’d hoped he had already forgotten catching you in deep thought

“your face, somethings on your mind..” his fingers carefully caressed along your cheek “you can tell me anything” his eyes with softened with worry

your heart fluttered and the butterflies that you’d just seen now occupied your stomach, you could honestly kiss him right now.

“well.. uhm” you averted your eyes, his gaze currently making you nervous and overwhelmed with emotion.

“hm?” he hummed

“its stupid..” your face flushed

“when have i thought anything you have said was stupid”

“i dunno you think it but you could say something different” you shrugged

charles guided your chin to face him

“mon beau cygne, je t’adore. i couldnt think you were anything less than what you are” his voice sang to you like your favorite song, it is your favorite song. you’d kept eye contact for a couple seconds, the words everlasting their meaning the deeper you looked into his eyes.

“okay, okay fine. i’ll tell you for a kiss” without hesitation charles leaned in, his soft lips brushed over yours teasingly before taking yours in his. the kiss was soft and light, quick but not at all rushed. as he pulled away his mouth lingered over yours, his warm breath still shadowing the kiss he’d just left.

“now tell me” he whispered and then pulled away, resting his back on the bench.

“uhm.. do you believe our souls are beyond just our bodies?” you asked shyly

“i mean yeah that could be a possibility, but in what way?” charles questioned

“like even after we die, they still follow us to the next life”

“hmm.. well” he paused, pondering the concept “i dont really like to think about what happens after death, if you know what i mean” he shrugs before continuing

“makes me queasy” he let out a half chuckle.

you dont blame charles for his vague response, hes never been very fond of the topic of death because of personal experience with loved ones. you even feel bad now for bringing it up when he was in such a good mood, but also he insisted.

“whats got you thinking about death on a day like this, mon cœr?” he tapped your side, gaining your focus once again.

“i wasn’t originally thinking about death, i just brought it up so i can get to what i wanna ask you” you shifted your body so you were now facing him. almost instinctively charles hand rests on whatever body part he can touch—in this case your arm as his thumb caresses your soft skin.

“um do you think— would you..” you tried to collect your words since delivery of the question would be critical to charles’s understanding of what you wanted from him.

“do you think you’d still love me if my soul wasn’t in this body, like if i wasn’t me but i was still.. me?” your face scrunched as you questioned your own delivery, now that its leaving your thoughts you also had a hard time understanding what you wanted to say in the first place.

“are you asking if we’re soulmates?” charles tilted his head with his eyebrows furrowed

“…pretty much, yeah” you nodded

“then yes, because soulmates are meant to find each other no matter what, and my soul is always looking for you cara mia” his hand reached up to caress your cheek and you couldnt help but kiss his hand. you’re once again reminded on why you chose him, he couldn’t have given you a more satisfying answer than that.

charles gestured for you to get closer and planted a soft kiss on your nose and next to your mouth before slightly pulling away searching for approval in your eyes, lightly touching your lips with his own once he received it.

every kiss you’d received from him felt like there was an atomic bomb going off in your heart. you felt like you could simply grow wings and fly away just from how high you were off your own love for him.

“je t'aime de tout mon cœur” he whispered to you between kisses

you pulled away to look in his eyes again, greenish-blue eyes that had always captivated you.

“qu'est-ce que c'est mon amour?” charles asked with his voice still in a soft tone, his fingers now brushing your hair away from your face.

“nothing, i love you too charlie” you smiled, charles leaned in for another kiss until a familiar bark was heard close by. you and charles looked down to see a fussy leo demanding for love as well.

“i think he wants some love too” you picked him up and placing him in your lap, which he’d jumped up to kiss your chin. you and charles giggled at his energy filled antics. charles leaned down to give leo some love too, while you smiled at the both of them. they’re the exact same.

The blonde and the brunette always competing for your love, little did they know you loved them both the same. you placed one hand on leo and another on charlies head, petting your two boys, now assured the both of them would love you no matter what.

[spencerlicious]

could i request emily x polyglot!reader? someone finds out r can speak multiple languages, so naturally derek challenges her and em to see who can speak the most languages

so emily and r get into a language competition (?) and the 2 make a bet of whoever wins, gets a special prize from the loser *wink wonk* pls? it starts with innocent foreign banyer then ends up gettin dirtier if that makes sense? top!em pls 😊

thank u for reading, if ur not comfortable its all good! :D

hi anon!! thank you for the request <3 this is a super good idea, i was very excited to write it. it kind of morphed from your request a bit, but the main idea is still there. i do want to specify that i am by no means fluent or even proficient in any of the languages used in this fic (besides english 😭) because let’s be real— 4 years of spanish did *not* stick with me, so i used quite a bit of google translate. you might want to keep it handy too! i hope you enjoy :)

p.s. this is my first fic in a very very long time, please be kind <3

love language

emily prentiss x fem!reader

rating: 18+ MDNI

warnings: smut, cursing, oral (r receiving), fingering, dom!emily, i think that’s it?

w.c.: 1.3k

It was a long day for the members of the BAU. Back-to-back-to-back cases on short amounts of sleep were starting to wear on the team, and it didn’t help that the current case was stumping them.

“Oh, look at this, guys,” Morgan says, showing a picture from the newest crime scene. “Looks like there’s some writing in another language.”

You drop your head into your hands, taking a deep breath as you try to reset yourself and focus on the case.

“Looks like French, where’s Emily?” JJ asks.

You study the picture for a second before speaking up. “Dire la vérité— tell the truth.”

Morgan’s eyes cut to you. “Y/N, you speak French? And really, where is Prentiss?”

You’re about to respond as the door opens and Emily walks in from the bathroom. “Emily, did you know Y/N speaks French?”

Her face is surprised. “Huh. I didn’t. What else are you keeping from us?” She jokes.

Your eyebrows raise and you smile. “I speak a little bit more than French,” you say, not wanting to brag.

“What other languages do you speak?” Reid asks curiously.

“Well, French, and also Spanish, German, and Italian. Mostly Romance languages,” you say.

“Here’s a challenge,” Derek says. “Which one of you can speak in a different language for the longest?”

“¿Cómo no sabía que eras políglota?” Emily asks, effectively starting the competition.

“Nunca surgió en la conversación,” you respond plainly.

She laughs. “¡Podríamos haber estado teniendo conversaciones secretas todo este tiempo!”

“¿Qué tipo de conversaciones secretas te gustaría tener, Prentiss?” You say, raising an eyebrow.

She blushes slightly, flustered. She switches to French, trying to keep you on your toes. “Eh bien, je ne sais pas. Des trucs qu'on ne veut pas que Morgan écoute.” Her eyes flit to Morgan’s as she mentions him and he looks confused.

“What are the two of you talking about? And what are you saying about me?” He asks, looking between you and Emily.

You let out a small chuckle. “Tu ne veux juste pas que Derek m'entende te traiter de jolie et qu'il devienne jaloux, hmm?”

“This is all well and good, but shouldn’t we be getting back to the case?” Reid interjects.

“Yes, definitely,” you say, straightening your hair and pulling yourself back into focus mode.

After some more discussion on the use of a foreign language at the crime scene, the team decides to break for lunch. You take a quick trip to the bathroom and end up washing your hands at the same time as Emily.

“So, what was that?” She asks.

You’re caught off guard. “What was what?”

“You think I’m pretty,” she replies. “You told me I’m pretty in French. What was that about?”

You stammer a bit. “Well, I do think you’re pretty, Emily. I think you’re beautiful,” you admit.

“It’s interesting,” she says, stepping closer to you and placing a hand on your waist. “You speak three romance languages, and while it’s not the same meaning, you picked the most romantic language to compliment me in. Even if I couldn’t tell from the long glances and the way your heart is pounding right now, that alone would’ve told me what I’m pretty sure I know,” she finishes, looking you dead in the eyes.

Her hand is heavy on your waist and your mind is racing. “And what do you know?”

Emily’s other hand trails from your shoulder to your jaw and pulls your chin up so you’re forced to look in her eyes. “You have feelings for me,” she states.

You hold her gaze for a second. “I hate profilers.” There’s a noticeable tension between the two of you before Emily smirks at you. You feel yourself inching closer to her and then you’re pressing your lips to hers. She reciprocates the kiss without hesitation, and you feel her hands pull you in by your hips.

The kiss gets broken and Emily rests her forehead on yours as you catch your breath. Your eyes meet and you share a smile. “Embrasse-moi encore, s'il te plaît,” you say softly.

“Oui chérie,” she replies, already leaning into kiss you again. Her lips meet yours in a passionate kiss and she pushes you up against the door of the bathroom. She flips the lock of the door. Emily doesn’t want anyone interrupting.

Emily’s breath was warm against your neck as she kissed the tender skin. Pulling the collar of your shirt aside, she sucks a deep purple mark into your collar bone, drawing soft whines from you. “Shhh baby, don’t want the others to hear you, right?” She says, kissing the skin she marked soothingly.

She switches languages again and whispers in your ear. “¿Que quieres, hermosa?”

You meet her eyes and can feel the lust practically radiating off of Emily. “Want you to touch me,” you respond.

Within seconds, she’s on the floor in front of you, unzipping your slacks. Her fingers trace you through your panties. “You’re soaked, baby,” she says.

“For you,” you say, bracing your hands on the wall behind you as she teases you.

Emily pulls your panties down and rests your leg on her shoulder as her fingers find your clit. It’s almost electric, the way she rubs tight circles into the bundle of nerves. “Emily,” you moan out her name.

Her ministrations stop, causing you to whine out again at the loss of contact. “What did I tell you? Not a sound, or I’ll stop completely.”

You nod, covering your mouth with one hand as Emily runs her tongue through your wet cunt. She groans at the taste. “You’re fucking delicious,” she says, voice deep and dripping with arousal. It’s nearly impossible to stay quiet as her lips close around your clit, teeth gently scraping, making your legs tremble.

Your hands find a home tangled in Emily’s hair as you hold her face close. Her tongue slides back from your clit to your entrance. Your teeth clamp down against your lower lip as Emily’s tongue plunges inside of you. Her face is wet with your slick as she tongue fucks you, the sight alone bringing you close to the edge.

Emily then licks back through your cunt, sucking on your clit as she pushes a finger inside of you. Clouded in pleasure, you can’t focus on anything except the need to cum as she adds another finger and your walls are clenching around her. “Squeezing me so good baby, you want to cum?” she asks.

Your head nods frantically. “Yes— please, wanna cum,” you say breathily.

Emily curls her fingers up to press against that spongy spot inside of you. “Cum for me,” she commands, returning to suck at your clit as she hits your G-spot over and over again.

Your body shakes as she sends you over the edge of your orgasm. Her name is falling from your lips in a quiet whisper as you soak her fingers and face.

“You did so good for me,” she says, standing up and kissing your temple.

Catching your breath feels difficult, but you begin to fix your clothes and look presentable.

“Это было так хорошо, озорная девчонка,” Emily says, fixing her lipstick in the bathroom mirror.

“You may have just rocked my world, Prentiss, but I did not gain the ability to speak Russian,” you laugh.

The two of you make eye contact in the mirror, which starts you both up laughing, when a knock sounds from the door. You freeze, flushing in embarrassment.

Emily unlocks the bathroom door, opens it, and finds an impatient JJ awaiting you. “What are the two of you doing? We have an unsub to catch,” she says, turning around and heading back to the rest of the team.

Emily throws you a wink and follows after JJ.

You’re pretty positive this isn’t going to be a one-time thing.

[fixyourwritinghabits]

How to Handle Critique

I’ve got to admit, I wish I was one of those beatific saints that could take critique with a grateful smile. Instead, I am constantly suppressing a horrible little gremlin at the back of my head hissing at anything from legit plot critiques to grammar corrections. I’m well aware I used that comma wrong, GOD.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m very good at suppressing that gremlin, but the little bastard is still there. He exists because even though your brain knows critique can help, it also knows you worked damn hard on the thing being critiqued, and goddamnit, isn’t that enough???

Anyway, here are some tips on getting that gremlin to shut the hell up.

It is okay to be upset. You worked really hard on this thing, and now someone’s gone and pointed out all the things that suck about it. You cannot control how you feel about one thing or another, but you can allow yourself to feel that way and let it pass through you. Let your critique partner you’re taking time to reflect on it, and go for a walk. Do something else. Let those feelings pass through you before you get back to the page.

Give yourself time. Don’t feel like you need to correct things right away (unless they are minimal grammar tweaks). Some pieces of feedback might take awhile to sink in, especially when you’ve got a whole novel to wrestle through. Set it aside, think about something else for a week or so, and get back to it when you’ve reset.

Get a second opinion and/or ducky friend. It can be very hard to tell the difference between good and bad feedback sometimes. Someone who means very well could give feedback that just doesn’t work for you, and someone who doesn’t give two shits could have spotted that fatal flaw right away. You can bring in a real third party or just make use of the old rubber duck technique, where you talk through the issue with a friend or a Naruto poster telling you to Believe it. Working it out out-loud is a really effective technique to figure out what needs fixing and what doesn’t.

Guide critique-givers toward the feedback you want. I, a person who prefers straightforward fantasy and sci-fi, cannot give the fine-tooth points on how a romance novel should work. However, I can give feedback on what works for me and what doesn’t story-wise. Giving your beta reader or critique partner a list of questions to look for will help avoid vague feedback based on how they don’t like the genre. There are many ways to do this, but consider using the following as a base to tailor your own questions:

Did you get a good sense of the setting? Did the worldbuilding make sense to you?

Was this story clear? Where there any parts that seemed confusing?

What characters did you like and why? What characters didn’t you like?

Did any parts of the story feel slow or repetitive?

Did the beginning draw you in? Did the middle keep you engaged? Did the ending feel satisfying?

If you were to write [insert plot point here], what would you do differently?

Again, all of the above questions are up for debate depending on your goal, but we are rarely taught how to give good feedback, and a guided feedback session would work better for you than a free-for-all.

Figure out what kind of advice doesn’t work for you. It is really hard to give good feedback sometimes, even with guided questions. It can also be really hard to figure out why some feedback doesn’t click with you, and that’s a matter of digging deep to figure out what you really want. You may lean toward characters who are horrible fuck-ups, but your partner prefers more steady characters who always strive to do the right thing. Your characters, therefore, may never click with this person, no matter how much they want to help you. And that’s okay! Figuring out where your critique partner is coming from can help you figure out what parts of their feedback isn’t working for you. Sometimes the only thing you can do is thank them and move on, but you might also want to guide them to focus more on the plot or the worldbuilding when looking at your work.

And last, don’t focus on grammar. It’s great if they point that out, but if you end up changing everything, trying to fix that first is a waste of your time. Grammar tweaks last, plot points first.

And, I dunno, give yourself a treat to get that horrible little mind gremlin something else to focus on. Sometimes patting those bad feelings on the head and sending them away can help way more than ignoring them.

[puckinghischier]

Chef’s Kiss

Nico x fem!reader, soft!Nico, domestic!Nico

summary: Nico fluff, basically

notes: i just really love soft nico and couldn’t get him out of my head so here’s this (also ignore the fact i keep using the same pics in my posts, i need to find more 💀)

[2k]

~

Nico was always trying to do little things to bring a smile to your face. Whether it was having the laundry washed, folded, and put away by the time you got home, sending you funny videos and silly selfies throughout the day, or simply having a glass of your favorite wine waiting on you as soon as you walked through the door, he loved providing small moments of happiness for you. He didn’t have time to do things for you often, his schedule getting increasingly busier as the season goes on, but today he had a completely free afternoon and wanted to have your favorite meal plated and waiting for you to enjoy as soon as you got off work. The idea came to him when you called him on what was supposed to be your lunch break.

“Neeks, I’m so sorry but I have to work late again. I’m having to re-do all of my reports for the day because my boss didn’t like the format that I used, even though it’s the exact format he told me to use three days ago! I swear sometimes he just wants to make my life a living hell. I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

Nico had a fond smile on his face, despite the nature of your call; hearing you rant to him about work was always something he looked forward to. While he didn’t love the fact that you were upset and that your boss was a grade A asshole, he loved being the one you came to when you were frustrated and just needed to blow off steam. It always made him happy to know that he was the one you called when you needed a mid-day pick me up on particularly stressful days. He had tried to tell you multiple times to just quit—that he makes enough for the both of you to live on – but you wouldn’t even entertain the thought. You’d always tell him no and that you needed to pull your weight with the bills and rent, too. You didn’t want to have all of the tears you shed while you were in college go to waste. To quote your exact words ‘I’m going to use this damn degree even if it kills me’. He admired your work ethic and that you didn’t want to have him be your own personal bank, but it was times like this he wishes you would just take his suggestion to heart and actually quit.

“I understand, but don’t work too late, schatz. It’s not good for you. Tuck and I will be here waiting on you when you get here,” Nico looks over at the cat quietly snoozing over on the couch. “I noticed you left your lunch in the fridge; do you need me to bring you something? I don’t have to go back to the rink today for anything, so I could pick up something from that sushi place you like and we could have a little lunch date? Give you a few minutes to reset and recharge?”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t have time to eat today anyways. At this point working through lunch is the only way I’ll be able to come home before midnight. Thanks for the offer, though, Neeks. I have to go, my boss is calling me, probably to tell me something else I did wrong. I’ll text you when I leave, love you,” you hang up the phone, not giving Nico a chance to respond. He knows your boss hates when he catches you taking personal calls on company time, so he just sends you a simple “I love you, too. Please eat something and don’t work too hard” text since you hung up before he had time to tell you himself.

As soon as he pressed send, Nico grabbed his keys and took off to the grocery store. He really only went to pick up the ingredients to make dinner, but he couldn’t help making a quick stop at the local florist, grabbing a small bouquet of daisies he knows you’ll love. As he was driving home, he remembers this bakery you had told him you’ve been wanting to try, so he finds himself in said bakery picking out a few baked goods for you to taste test (and maybe a few for himself, too). By the time he had made it back home it was well past five, when you typically leave your office for the day. Once he brought his haul of groceries, flowers, and pastries in the door, Tuck greeted him by meowing loudly for his food.

“Sorry, Tuck, I’m late for dinner, aren’t I?” Nico asks the cat as he walks over and fills the hangry cat’s food bowl. “Now that you’re fed, I need to get to work on feeding your mom. That is, if I can manage not to burn anything.”

Nico got to work immediately, turning on the cooking playlist you had made and grabbing his ‘Kiss the Swiss’ apron you had jokingly gifted him for Christmas. He pulled out the recipe book that your mom gave you two as a house-warming gift when you first moved in. Just last week you had been talking about how you missed your mom’s famous pasta, so he decided that was his attempted dish of the night. He laid out all of the ingredients and followed the recipe as closely as he could, paying special attention to all of the little notes your mother added in the margins of the typed recipe. About an hour into Nico’s cooking you sent him a text that you were nearly finished and would be home soon, but he was so busy trying to perfect making pasta from scratch that he never even looked at his phone. When he was on his third attempt at the pasta dough, he heard the front door open.

He looked over at the clock to see that it was nearly seven-thirty. He heard your keys hit the bowl sitting on the small table beside the front door and your sigh of relief once you took your shoes off. He could hear the soft thuds your feet made on the hardwood while you walked into the living room. He looked up from the counter to see your tired body drift over to the couch where Tuck laid sound asleep.

“Hey, Tuck. How was your day? Did you catch a lot of Z’s? Dream about catching mice? Poop on your dad’s pillow again?” Nico heard your soft voice say, chuckling at your last question.

The poor kitten had, somehow, got locked in yours and Nico’s bedroom a few weeks ago and neither of you noticed until it was well past feeding time and the little furball hadn’t come running into the kitchen screaming for his dinner. It took the two of you twenty minutes to hear the soft meows coming from your bedroom, the TV in the living room having drowned them out for most of the day. As soon as you opened the door Tuck came sprinting out of the room as fast as he could, acting as if he’d been in there for days. He ran straight to his food bowl and turned around, glaring at Nico and yourself. Later that evening the two of you made your way to the bedroom to settle down for the night only to find that Tuck had left a nice, smelly present on his pillow. Nico was appalled, to say the least. Gagging and holding his pillow out with straight arms as if it was poisonous. You, however, were doubled over with laughter. You fell onto the bed and were laughing hysterically when Nico finally came back into the room, no pillow to be seen.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing; it’s disgusting! The cat shit on my pillow!” Nico expressed, standing in front of the bed with his arm crossed, looking like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum.

“Neeks, it’s hilarious! Out of all the places in the room he could’ve shit, he saw your pillow and thought ‘Ah, yes. Dad’s pillow. I think this will be my new bathroom.” You wipe the tears from your eyes, slightly out of breath from your laughing fit.

“Well, of course it’s funny when it’s not your pillow! If he would’ve shit on your pillow, you would be as upset as I am.” Nico huffed, still in his childish stance.

“Wait, where is your pillow?”

“In the trash.”

“You threw away the whole pillow!?” you exclaimed, starting to laugh all over again.

“Of course, I threw away the whole pillow! I’m not about to sleep on that thing tonight! It’s contaminated!”

“Nico, you could’ve just gotten a new pillow case. You didn’t have to throw your whole pillow away! What are you going to sleep on tonight?” You asked him, amusement clear in your voice.

“Well…I didn’t think that far ahead,” Nico said, his stance deflating a little.

He ended up sleeping on a throw pillow from the couch that night, picking up a new pillow on his way home from practice the next morning. Since then, the two of you have always made sure to keep your bedroom door open anytime Tuck isn’t in his usual spot on the couch.

Nico smiles at the memory, completely forgetting the fact that he was supposed to be kneading the pasta dough in his hands. By the time his thoughts circulate back to the task at hand, he hears you ask the cat “Where’s your dad, huh?” followed by the sound of your clothes rustling as you move to get off of the couch.

“Nico? You in here?” you call as you walk around the corner of the living room into the kitchen. “Neeks- Oh, there you are. What are you doing?” You stopped in the doorway of the kitchen when you took in the scene in front of you. The pots and pans on the stove, the steam coming from a pot of boiling water, the smell of chicken in the oven, and the bouquet of flowers and box of pastries on the counter next to them. Then your eyes move over to Nico, noticing he was absolutely covered in flour. He had flour in his hair, on his face, on his apron, in the floor, and all over the counter.

“Nico, what the hell are you doing? What is all of this?” you asked him once the two of you made eye contact.

“Well, I was trying to have dinner waiting on you when you got home because I know you’ve had a shitty day, but I’ve just now realized that I don’t know how to make pasta from scratch.”

“Why are you trying to make pasta from scratch?” you walk towards him, laughing at how distraught he looks.

“You said you’ve been craving your mom’s pasta recipe, so I thought it would be a good way to cheer you up after the day that you’ve had,” he replied, grabbing a towel to wipe the flour off of his hands.

“Nico, I love you, I do. And I appreciate the effort, but please throw that ball of…whatever that is in the trash and just use dried pasta next time,” you look over at what’s supposed to be pasta dough, reaching him and placing your arms on his shoulders, hands coming together to rest on the back of his neck.

“I try to make you a nice meal and this is the response I get? No ‘nice try’ or ‘wow, it smells great in here!’” he jokes, looking down at you, attempting to look offended, but his eyes only reflect love and amusement.

“You’ll get real praise when you learn how to make pasta from scratch. For now, consider this your compliment,” you stand on your toes, pressing a small kiss to his lips.

“You call that a compliment? Read the apron and try again.”

You laugh before meeting him halfway for a real kiss this time, thinking to yourself just how lucky you were to have Nico in your life.

[loversrocktvgirl2]

BUCKY X READER BUT ITS THAT SONG PANCAKES FOR DINNER BY LIZZY MCALPINE

AHHH HIHIHI AWESOME PERSON so

i wrote this for you

i have been obsessed with lizzy mcalpine since 2021 i don’t think you understand how much i LOVE this request

Stuck In Your Head (Coworker!Bucky AU x Reader)

Inspired by Pancakes for Dinner by the queen, Lizzy McAlpine. 

word count: 1.5k+

You had this cute little mint green spiral notebook. It had lined pages, a gold colored spiral, and it was with you often. After anything happened that made your wheels turn, you would write poems in it. It helped you process things, helped you reset. It was lovely. And you liked writing the poems, even if you had never felt like you’d ever do anything with them. 

Often, Bucky was the subject of your poems. Your charismatic friend who happened to be your coworker. His cocoa powder colored hair, striking eyes, the quirk in his lips when he smirked at you—he was gorgeous. Bucky was a gorgeous man. But more important than his obvious beauty was the way he treated you. Bucky was naturally a little flirty, of course, but he never made you feel like you were too much, too loud, too quiet or too shy, you were just right. His Goldilocks, maybe. He never let you apologize for being happy or excited about something. 

You felt like such a teenager around him. Sure, you weren’t far away at all from your teenager days, but…he gave you genuine butterflies. Real flutters in the pit of your stomach. And your face went warm when he texted, or made a flirty comment. And it was just Bucky, you know? It was Bucky being Bucky and you knew that… right?

You were on a work trip to California for a few days, and now, after a terrible day at the airport, were on your flight home. You had your phone and your notebook in your lap, a pen tucked inside the spiral. The plane took off and you put in your earbuds, listening to the music and looking out the window. Then, the plane began to shake. It startled you, and you looked up at the stewardess. “Just a bit of turbulence,” she assured with a quick smile. You nodded, and went back to looking out the window. 

You weren’t worried. Maybe a subconscious part of you was. But you didn’t feel fear, you just felt inspiration. And you opened up your notebook and began to write. 

Don't wanna be forward

Don't wanna cross a line

But if I were to crash in this plane tonight

I'd want you to know this

Don't wanna say too much

Intrude on your space

But if I were to crash and I never made it home

I'd want you to know this

You tapped your pen against your lips, thinking. And then, you just decided to go for it. You put your pen against the paper, and allowed the angst and cliche to fly away from you. 

And to tell you is too scary

So I'll just say something else

And I wish that you could hear me

When I talk to myself

But this plane might not land safely

So, what the hell do I have to lose

If I just tell you?

You paused. What was next? What did you want to say? And then it came to you. What did you really want from Bucky? Sure, you were positive you were absolutely in love with him, but were you just blindly idolizing him, or was there something that you wanted?

Yes. Yes, there was. 

I wanna eat pancakes for dinner

I wanna get stuck in your head

I wanna watch a T.V. show together

And when we're under the weather we can watch it in bed

I wanna go out on the weekends

I wanna dress up just to get undressed

I think that I should probably tell you this

In case there is an accident

And I never see you again

So please save all your questions for the end

And maybe I'll be brave enough by then

You went back to the office the next day. You wrote notes on the presentation your boss gave and let Bucky doodle little stars on the corners of your notes. Before he met you, he only knew how to draw six point stars, but he’d always wanted to draw five point stars. When he’d told you this a year ago, you’d grinned and laughed and said you’d be happy to show him. And when he gets bored in meetings now, he gently puts a finger on your paper and you slide it a little further out, and he draws five points stars in the margins over and over until he draws one he’s happy with, which he fills in. It’s adorable. You’ve grown to love the little stars.

Your boss calls you to talk with you privately, and Bucky pulls your binder—which your note taking paper and notebook sit on—closer so that he can focus on his stars. Which is when the notebook catches his eye. It’s open. Sometimes, you liked to reread your poems while you were waiting for your boss to show up—you would make little edits, or you would just enjoy what you’d written. Normally, Bucky respected your space, but the title caught his attention. Pancakes for Dinner. 

Don't wanna say something wrong

Don't wanna be weird

But if you're still in love with her

I think that I'll leave it there

And I won't ever tell you this

Oh, 'cause to tell you is too scary

So I'll just say something else

Like how was fall semester?

And what was that song about?

I'll try to hide the way I feel

But I'll just wanna shout

What do I have to lose right now?

I wanna eat pancakes for dinner

I wanna get stuck in your head

I wanna watch a T.V. show together

And when we're under the weather we can watch it in bed

I wanna go out on the weekends

I wanna dress up just to get undressed

I think that I should probably tell you this

In case there is an accident

And I never see you again

So please save all your questions for the end

And maybe I'll be brave enough by then

Well, maybe I won't ever say what's in my head

No, I won't have to say anything

You'll say it instead

The poem makes Bucky tilt his head. It’s…cute. Sweet. Ridiculously soft and romanticizing of mundane moments. You. 

When you get back and see him reading, your face pales. “What are you doing?” 

Bucky sits up automatically, and begins profusely apologizing. “I’m really sorry, it was right there, and no, I shouldn’t have been reading it and I’m really sorry but I saw the title and I love pancakes for dinner, it’s delicious and stupidly underrated and I’m sick of people saying waffles are better and I’m really sorry and I shouldn’t have been reading it and—”

You cut him off, even though his rambling is adorable. “It’s okay, Buck. Just…ask next time, okay?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, okay.” 

You purse your lips and nod too. “Okay.” 

“Are you…are you seeing someone?” Bucky blurts, and you look up at him, startled. “It just sounded like…you were maybe into someone.”

Yes, you, you stumbling twit. “I…can we talk about it later?” you ask, and he nods.

“Sorry.”

You go home that evening without resuming the conversation. And at night, when you’re in your pajamas on your couch, watching some television, your phone rings. You see that it’s Bucky, and you pick up. “Hey, Bucky, what’s up?” You ask, pausing your show. 

“I don’t know what your poem was about and yes, I’m very sorry that I read it because it was intruding on your privacy, but I’m also not sorry that I read it because it was an amazing poem, and god, I shouldn’t be doing any of this, but I’ve had a shot, so it’s okay,” Bucky rambles. “Listen. I don’t know who it’s about, but it’s a lucky guy, okay? And if you like someone, you should tell them, because technically, anything bad could happen at any moment to either one of you, and I think married people live longer than single people anyway.”

“Wow, that’s…that was a lot,” you say. “Um…okay…I mean, I really like you, Bucky, and I don’t wanna screw anything up by telling you this, but—”

“Wait, so the poem was about me?”

“Well, yes—”

“YES!! I was hoping for it!! Yess!! Okay, I’m sorry, please continue, I’m listening.”

You laugh. “Oh my God, you’re such a dork.”

You can feel his smile through his voice. “Yeah.”

“I do really like you, Barnes.”

“Do you know how awesome that is?”

You grin at his excitement. “You’re adorable.”

“Why thank you,” Bucky replies. “I do my best, y’know? But you’re pretty tough competition since you’re so cute yourself.”

You laugh. “Flirty as usual.”

“Did you seriously not think that there was a reason for that?” Bucky asks. 

“I just kinda thought that you flirted with everybody a little bit,” you shrug, even though you know he can’t see you. 

“Well, I don’t,” Bucky says. “I just flirt with you, because I like you very much. Now, I was wondering…do you wanna come over tomorrow? We could have, uh, maybe some pancakes for dinner?”

You laugh at his cheesy pick-up. “Hell yes. I’m there.”

“See you then,” Bucky answers softly. 

tag list:@spaceycat @vidanand @xo-cench @raikan624 @yeehawgiddyup13

[idk-thisistoomuchpressure]

Title: If I Could Give You the Moon

Idol: Anton (RIIZE)

⸻

You weren’t supposed to talk to the idols.

That was one of the first rules you were told on the job—right after “wear black” and “don’t look lost.” You worked backstage, helping reset dressing rooms and guide stage crew in and out with their equipment. It wasn’t exciting, not really. But the music made the walls hum, and sometimes you’d catch the singers standing still just before the lights went up—wide-eyed, young, and suddenly so human.

You only spoke to Anton because he got lost.

“Sorry,” he said, turning around in a hallway that only led to a loading dock. His voice was low, unhurried. He didn’t look rushed like the others. Just a little lost. He looked at your badge and said, “Do you know how to get back to the dressing rooms?”

You showed him. You didn’t mean to walk the whole way, but he kept asking questions—about the venue, about your job, about what you do when there’s no one famous on stage.

“Not much,” you shrugged. “Clean. Fix broken things. Try not to feel invisible.”

He looked at you for a long second and said, “I see you.”

And you hated that it meant anything. But it did.

⸻

The group was only there for three days. Three whirlwind nights of rehearsals and cameras and interviews and fans screaming their names. You only saw him in fragments: sitting on the edge of the stage, sipping from his water bottle and nodding at the techs, slipping you a quiet smile as he passed by.

You didn’t fall in love.

You just fell into something warm. Something golden and small and already fading.

On the second night, you were eating an ice cream outside during your break, sitting on the low concrete ledge behind the building. The sun was setting in a wash of orange and lavender. It felt like a dream you were going to wake up from.

He found you there.

He didn’t say anything—just sat next to you and offered half his melted popsicle. You took it. Ate in silence. A light breeze stirred between you, and for a second, you felt like the world had stopped spinning just long enough to let you breathe.

“I like places like this,” he said eventually. “Where it’s quiet. Where people forget about you.”

You looked at him. “Don’t people always remember you?”

He didn’t smile. Just stared straight ahead. “They remember what they see. Not who you are.”

You wanted to ask who he was, then. But the question felt too heavy. And maybe you didn’t want to know. Maybe it was better this way—him being half-real, half-sunset.

⸻

On the third day, the buses rolled in before sunrise. You knew they’d be gone before your shift ended. You told yourself you wouldn’t wait around, but you found yourself in that same spot out back, sun rising now instead of setting, your legs dangling over the ledge.

You didn’t expect anything.

But hours later, your phone buzzed.

A photo.

The moon, high over a foreign city. Blurry and soft. And beneath it: this reminded me of you.

You stared at it for a long time, in your bedroom that still looked like a childhood you never outgrew. The walls were too close. The air was too quiet. Downstairs, your parents argued about groceries and your future in the same breath, like they were interchangeable.

And you thought: What do you give a boy who has everything?

Money. Fame. The world at his fingertips. Hotels that clean up after him. Planes that wait.

You have nothing.

Not really.

Just the ache in your chest, the memory of a shared popsicle on a hot summer night, and the feeling of him beside you when you felt like no one else noticed you existed.

“If I could give you the moon,” you whispered to the empty room, “I would give you the moon.”

And it’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. But it’s the only thing you have left to offer someone who will forget your name the second the tour moves on.

⸻

A week later, he sends another photo.

A rainy window. A blurry train station. A little caption: wish you were here.

And this time, you feel it rise—resentment, sharp and sour. You look at the photo with cracked hands and a sore back from another double shift. You look at it with your dad’s disappointment echoing in the hallway and a stack of bills you can’t even look at.

And you hate him.

Not in the way that means anything. Not really.

You just hate that he got out. That he gets to see the world. That he gets to remember you when you’re still stuck here, trying not to forget yourself.

But you don’t block him.

You don’t ask him to stop.

You just sit on the same curb during your break, legs swinging, sun setting again. And you let it hurt.

[lolitaonline]

Maid Reader x Ceo Noah thoughts

summary- You are a maid for Noah, a stoic, quiet, ceo who later falls in love with you.

word count-678

TW-mentions of sex but not explicit. (If you feel anything should be added please let me know!

AN- This is apart of a little thought I had last night and really wanted to write it, please like and reblog <3

The first time you had arrived at the house you were a little intimated. You were a little nervous at the thought of having to help look later such a big house. You would later find yourself relieved to find it was just one person living alone.  

Walking into the house and seeing the large living room, kitchen, the different rooms, etc. was surreal. You have been too nice homes before but never this big or nice, or expensive. The thought of having to touch anything exquisite made you a little anxious.  

The first time you and Noah spoke it was very one sided, quick and short. " Laundry, dishes, the usual cleaning, you won't be expected to clean every day, but you will be needed for other things." 

You were first a little nervous about moving into a big house alone although the longer you stayed the longer you realized you would spend most of the day alone.  

Noah would wake up at 6am on the dot every morning and leave until he would come back much later. Coming home to no dishes to be done, laundry done, living room reset was everything Noah needed.  

The last thing Noah wanted to do when he got home was any house chores, which is why he hired you, he did not expect someone so beautiful though.  

Noah would not make you wear a maid dress as that would be ridiculous but as of now, he wouldn't mind seeing you bent over with your skirt lifting.  

You would spend half of your day cleaning or picking up anything out of place or any anything Noah may have tossed to the side such as his jacket, shoes, jewelry that he would toss onto the coffee table.  

You did not like being in his room, scared to break something or misplace something else, you were always quick to be in and out when it came to his room. There was not much clean to, Noah never left a mess and always cleaned up after himself. You would spend most of the day reading until he would get home. 

The longer you lived with him the more you learned he was very on top of what was happening at work, always reading papers, emailing people, phone calls, etc. There would be nights where you would wake up from Noah pacing the house talking on the phone. Sometimes you would see him others you would not see him for days.

The first time you had dinner together was very quiet and awkward. Noah was nice and tried to make small talk with you, but it always went nowhere.  

Occasionally he would stay home and lock himself away in his office to focus on work. He would also call upon you to bring him anything he might need; you didn't mind as there was never much for you to do. 

Overtime as you and Noah get closer which later than leads to you fucking, he can't keep his hands of you. Every weekend now instead of spending it at the office he's spent trying to pull you into bed with him.  

After you and Noah start to deepen your relationship, he has you move your things into his room, wanting you as close as possible. HE JUST WANTS TO START AND END HIS DAY WITH YOUR WHATS WRONG WITH THAT.  

You loved seeing him in a suit anytime he had to go to a meeting, you loved tying his tie and giving him a kiss when you finished. Always wishing him good luck. You were both still a little nervous around each other, but you were excited non the less. 

Although he is still a little stoic and quiet he speaks in his actions. You need medicine, here it is, you want ice cream, what kind do you want, the driver can pick some up. Whatever you need he will get for you. You feel a little sad, Noah has his arms open wide for you to crawl into and sleep for the time being. 

—————

Taglist- @fadingintothegrey

[ncillary]

Self Aware AU (Zayne)

Summary: You have the lowest Affinity with Zayne. The reason is because you want an assured happy end for him before you could be with him. The man has no qualm in being cursed again and again the moment he stays by your side in every timeline.

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

Masterlist Self Aware AU

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| 1 | 2 [current] | 3 | 4 | 5 |

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

"Still can't open it?"

You sulked, "No."

"Have you report it."

"...No..."

"...You want to tell me why? Or am I going to guess?"

You sighed, "I'm afraid that the developer will clean ALL of my blood, sweat and tears, lots of tears, of Zayne's collection if I report it. You usually hear it too, right? Their game no longer having issue but there would be something else happening like level being reset to one. The interaction lost. SO! It could possibly erase all of Zayne's cards if I report it."

"You don't know that."

"If it did? Will they replace it?! No. No. I need to calm down. Yeah. This is much better. My mind is not so jumbled up now." You're craze eyes turning calm second later.

Your friend scooted a bit far from you.

"Again. Need only ONE creepy friend from the duo."

You breathed out heavily.

"Okay. Okay. I get it. How about you log in from another device? It might be that your device has low memory or storage."

You pondered, "That's a good solution. Let me borrow yours."

"Nah-uh. This one is my personal one. I'll lent you the other one."

You snorted, "Tech geek."

"Thank you for giving the creepy title to me again."

"You're not creepy. You're just a geek."

"Same difference."

You both laughed as she excused herself to her room. She handed you her extra device and helped you get used to the new phone.

+---------------+------------------+----------------+

You're standing near her house's front gate. Looking energized and bright in the night setting.

"If you need anything else just tell me. Now. Go and get your precious cards"

You cheered on her encouragement and went home. Ready to give it another go on getting the Myth pair. Zayne's Myth pair.

You immediately sat on your bed. Ignoring everything else. Your trial and error for the past few days in logging in the game has made your days on getting the limited Myth cards dwindle to two days. Tomorrow would be the last chance you had. You were glad your friend was able to come up with a simple solution than you trying to learn how to hack.

Anyway.

You've tried it at your friend's house. The game didn't crash on her phone. Your loaner phone.

Hearts beating anxiously. Still worried it would crash.

*Bling*

The familiar opening played. It's loading perfectly fine. You were all smiley when you could enter the game without any hitch.

Except.

The cafe's empty.

"Wow. It really is bugging. Well. I'll think about that later. What's important is the cards."

You tapped on the Wish icon. The screen flash.

You smile.

Then your smile become rigid.

The empty cafe.

You tapped the Wish icon again.

Same thing happened.

Your breath were ragged now. You exit the game. Uninstall it from the loaner phone. Hand clutched to your phone, about to call your friend that it didn't work and you want to return the phone to her tomorrow.

One tear.

Two tears.

Sobbing. Body shaking from you holding yourself together. Feeling incredulous that you were so sad over unrealistic material.

"Zayne~"

You couldn't help it.

Your frustration was legit.

That was real enough to cry over.

*Bling*

The familiar sound. You opened your bleary eyes.

Your finger automatically tapped Enter.

The cafe was still empty.

Trembling, your finger tapped the Wish icon.

It worked. Your focus was back. You bought the Golden Ticket as much as your Diamonds were able to. The pull began.

*Tring*

You gasped. You got the first one of the pair.

You pulled again. Feeling restless with how much your tickets were left now.

You slowed down. 33 pulls away to get the second one. Your tickets? Only one.

You prayed.

None.

You exhaled heavily but you still smile. At least you have one of the pair.

You went to the empty cafe and saw the NEW on Memories. You tapped on it to marvel at the one you got. There's a lot of red dots on other cards.

Your mind clicked. You immediately ranked up all those cards. Hope restored.

Your Golden Tickets? Six.

That would do.

You pulled one by one. Hearts thumping louder as the tickets count decreased steadily.

*Tring*

Your eyes couldn't believe it. He was there on the fifth pull. You were dancing with your phone.

Finally settling down on the bed. Laying, hugging the phone close to your chest. Grinning. A soft chuckle escaped more and more.

"Thank you." You whispered.

Then you pass out. Unnoticed. The built up stress and exhaustion from the past few days catching up. Tomorrow morning was gonna be a mess of confusion for you.

Your phone slid slowly to your side. It flashed briefly.

Zayne looking solemn.

"I never meant to hurt you like this. For that, I apologize, my dear."

The phone flashes again.

Another character replaced his spot.

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| 1 | 2 [current] | 3 | 4 | 5 |

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------

Masterlist Self Aware AU

-------&&&&&-------&&&&&-------&&&&&------+

[lotusflqwer]

Two for One (Two in One)

a/n: I finally FINALLY decided to write a transformers fic yay! This is a DPax SMUT FIC so…18+ only! I want to thank my lovely beta readers; I love yall <3 Anyway hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: Orion Pax drags D-16 to the roof for a surprise he bought him.

CW/tags: NSFW!!! Sticky sexual interfacing, false spike, double penetration, belly bulge, bottom D-16, top Orion Pax, semi-public sex (at least I think so), sensitive cogholes (idk the name is so that’s what I’m calling it)

Word count: 2.6K

The miners of Iacon finished their last grueling shift of the day. Everyone was in the barracks spending their free time conversing, playing games, or relaxing.

D-16 was talking with Moonracer about snipers. It was her favorite thing to talk about and he had a fair amount of knowledge on the subject.

As they were talking, D-16 felt warm metal press against his back and arms circle around his neck. He looked over his shoulder and saw Orion with a mischievous smile. He knew that smile all too well, and decided it’d be best to ignore him and continue talking with Moonracer.

D-16 turned away from Orion and saw that Moonracer had disappeared and left them alone. He sighed. “Alright, Pax…what do you want?”

“You’re not happy to see me?” Orion fake pouted and slid off D-16. His servo trailed D-16’s arm as he faced his best friend.

D-16 gave Orion a pointed look and crossed his arms with a huff.

“Okay okay,” Orion chuckled, “I just have a little surprise I want to show you.”

D-16 scoffed, he knew this was going to end badly. “I’m not in the mood for one of your surprises—“

“I promise you’ll like it,” Orion quickly interrupted. He took a step forward and placed his servos on D-16’s shoulders. “Pleaseeee,” Orion tilted his helm.

D-16 looked away but sighed in defeat. “Fine…what’s the surprise?” He looked back at Orion, trying not to regret giving in so easily.

Orion instantly brightened up and grabbed D-16’s servo. He started leading him through the hall.

“No one else can see it, so I have to show you on the roof,” Orion explained and he led D-16 to the small stairs leading to the roof.

D-16 closed the door behind him after they ascended the stairs. A cool breeze blew past the two miners, carrying the sounds of the city. It was almost dark and the buildings were lit up beautifully. Sparkles of lights from traveling transformers dotted the skyline in the distance.

Orion gestured D-16 to sit next to him on the bench tucked away in the corner. Orion looked excited to show D-16 the surprise.

“You ready?” Orion asked with a teasing smile. D-16 could only nod. He definitely didn’t feel ready, but might as well get this over with.

Orion reached into his subspace and slowly pulled out a false spike toy. D-16’s optics widened more as each inch was revealed. He had to manually shut down the code that would turn on his cooling fans. The toy was thick and dark purple in color.

“Where…what…PAX!?” D-16 stood up and looked at Orion in shock. “What are you— I mean really that’s— where did you even get this!?” D-16 tripped over his words.

Orion laughed at D-16’s overreaction. “It’s just something I bought,” he shrugged innocently, “thought you might like it.”

“Oh you’re,“ D-16 covered his face to hide his blush, “you’re unbelievable.” His voice was muffled as he sat back down. He peeked through his fingers to look at the toy. It was big…and ribbed…and…he should stop looking at it before he heats up.

D-16 looked up at Orion. He had a slag-eating grin on his face, as if he was proud of the reaction he got out of D-16.

“This isn’t the whole surprise, you know. I have an idea of how we could use this if you’re up for it,” Orion waved the false spike around as he talked casually. Like this wasn’t the most insane thing he’s ever done. D-16 grabbed his wrist to make him stop moving. He tried to speak but only static came out. He reset his voicebox with a click.

“What did you have in mind?” D-16 finally managed to say with little static. His optics flicked down to the false spike and back up to Orion.

“Why don’t I show you?” Orion smirked. He tapped D-16’s modesty panel with the head of the spike and slid it down to his valve cover. Orion gently pushed D-16’s legs apart and kept his servo on his thigh.

D-16’s cooling fans activated to full blast before he could turn them off. He quickly tilted his helm up to avoid looking at Orion. He could feel his valve cycling under his panel.

“I barely did anything, Dee,” Orion teased as he let out an amused hum.

“J-Just shut up,” D-16 breathed as he retracted his valve panel. He could feel his fluids slide down his valve and onto the bench. He felt so embarrassed he stayed looking up and away from Orion.

Orion chuckled softly and nuzzled his helm against D-16’s neck. He started kissing up to his jawline and slid two digits into the wet valve.

D-16 shivered at the intrusion and grabbed Orion’s shoulder. He bit his lip as he felt Orion’s digits pump in and out of him and work him open. He gasped as he felt a third digit enter him. Orion’s fingers kept brushing past some internal nodes and used his thumb to rub D-16’s anterior node.

D-16 felt his charge steadily climbing as he moved his hips in time with Orion. He couldn’t keep back the whimpers that escaped him as Orion continued. Just when he was about to reach his peak, Orion withdrew his digits.

D-16 let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He shot a look at Orion and then glanced at the false spike.

Orion huffed an impish smile and brought the toy to his face. He winked and pushed the head of the false spike into his mouth. D-16’s breath hitched as he saw Orion take as much as he could, each inch disappearing into his mouth.

“Oh Pax…” D-16 sighed as he slid his servo down to his valve. He started to rub his anterior node while watching Orion deep throat the toy. D-16 moved his digits at the same pace as Orion shoved the false spike into his mouth.

Orion bobbed his helm a few more times and let go of the false spike with a pop. His oral lubricant covered the toy. He scooted closer and grabbed the servo D-16 was using to rub his node. He placed a gentle kiss on his servo and aligned the toy to D-16’s entrance.

Orion’s optics flicked up to D-16’s face. D-16 was panting softly with half lidded optics. He started to rub the rim of his cog hole and nodded once for Orion to continue.

Orion slowly pressed the toy into D-16’s valve. D-16 held onto the edge of the bench in a firm grip as he gasped. His calipers rippled, trying to accommodate the toy, as more continued to slide inside him. His mouth was open, but no sound came out.

The false spike finally bottomed out inside D-16. Orion let go and placed his servos on D-16’s hips, caressing them gently. He leaned in close to his face.

“How do you feel?” Orion whispered. Condensation was beginning to form on D-16’s forehelm as he continued panting. His optics were squeezed shut.

“F-Full,” He finally replied in an exhale. His expression was absolutely debauched as he tried to keep his noises from escaping. He felt his valve struggling to cycle around the sizable intrusion, rippling slowly.

Orion chuckled at D-16’s answer. He could see how much he was enjoying this. He placed a kiss on D-16’s slightly parted lips.

“There’s one last part to this surprise,” Orion said as he situated himself between D-16’s legs.

“There’s…m-more?” D-16’s voice was riddled with static as he struggled to speak. Orion simply nodded with a smile. He retracted his spike cover and it immediately pressurized. He sighed in relief when his throbbing spike was finally released from its housing. He gave it a few pumps, fighting the urge to wince from over sensitivity, and aligned it to D-16’s sopping valve.

“It won’t— it…it’s not gonna fit!” D-16 put his servos on Orion’s chest and tried to reason with him. Orion’s spike was already girthy enough and the toy was currently stretching him. There was no way both would fit inside him. His valve managed to fully cycle at the thought and more lubricant fell onto the bench.

“Heh, don’t think you can take it?” Orion asked smugly. D-16 scoffed in offence. Who did Orion think he was?

“Of course I can take it, I—“

Orion immediately stuffed his spike in D-16, making him choke on air and his optics widened. Orion was only halfway in and D-16 could only hold onto Orion and let out a silent scream. Orion moaned when he felt the warm tightness around his spike.

Orion finally slid all the way in and let out a soft whimper. D-16 was so…so tight! Orion could feel the ridges of the toy and the rhythmic twitches from the calipers squeezing his spike.

D-16’s valve stung from the stretch, but that just added to the absolute pleasure he was feeling. He felt so full…so full and so good. His optics began to water with coolant. His valve was stretched so wide it couldn’t even cycle around both spikes.

“Oh…f-frag,” D-16 whispered in between heavy breaths. A chill ran down his spinal strut. He started to rock his hips, desperate for any movement or friction. He wanted more, he wanted so much more.

Orion clicked his glossa and stilled D-16 by grabbing his thighs. A low whine left D-16’s voicebox. He was getting impatient.

Orion wrapped D-16’s legs around his waist. The little movement made D-16 moan and hug Orion close. Their cogholes scraped against each other, producing a wonderful sensation that led to more lewd sounds between them.

Orion grabbed the base of the false spike and his own at the same time, and began to pull out slowly. D-16’s optics rolled to the back of his helm. The only sounds he made were heavy pants. Orion slid out until the tip of his own spike was still inside; at least three inches of the toy was still inside D-16’s valve.

Orion moved his hips and slowly pushed in, his servo still holding the toy and his spike. D-16 whined at the feeling of being stretched out again.

Orion started to steadily pick up the pace with his thrusts. The clanks, moans, and sighs between them were getting louder. Their charge climbing at the same time.

“You like this, Dee? Like being—ahn—filled to the brim with two spikes?” Orion asked, his free servo grasping D-16’s waist.

D-16 tried to speak, but his words were replaced with static. All he could do was nod as drool started to trickle down to his chassis. He looked down and saw a small bulge protruding from the protoform of his belly every time Orion rammed back in. He keened at the sight and threw his head back as coolant tears streamed down his face.

“Pa—aah—ax…Oh! Oh Pax! Mnghh!” D-16 sobbed between static. He could feel how taut his valve was. He was in pure ecstasy as both spikes rubbed every interior node he had.

Orion loved making D-16 feel like this, he loved looking at D-16’s pleasure-filled expressions. He knew they were close to the edge. He could feel their charge electrifying the air around them. They were so close, so so close!

Orion suddenly freed his servos from both the spikes and D-16’s waist. He hooked his hands into the other’s sensitive coghole. D-16 made a surprised noise that turned into whimpers as Orion rubbed the delicate metal. Orion then used it as leverage to hold him in place and pound into him ruthlessly.

D-16 arched his back and gasped in pure delight. His servos clutched onto Orion’s arms as his legs shook. He could feel the false spike nudge deeper inside with each unforgiving thrust, and the pleasurable burn of something being in his coghole. Sparks started to fly each time their hips collided.

One, two, three more thrusts and D-16’s charge finally maxed out. He tensed up and stilled as he overloaded hard with a long whine, fluids gushing from his valve. Orion kept shoving himself inside. The wet and filthy sounds D-16’s valve created tipped him over the edge. His spike pulsated as he emptied his transfluid inside D-16.

They both gasped and panted as they tried to catch their breath. Orion slowly pulled out and sat on his knees. He winced as the cool air brushed past his spike. He looked at D-16, whose chassis was heaving with each gasp. D-16’s optics were squeezed tight and his servo was over his mouth.

“See? I told you you’d like it,” Orion said with a tired chuckle.

“Wh-Whatever…” D-16’s voice was raspy.

Orion looked straight to D-16’s stretched out valve. The dark purple spike was still in there.

“I’m going to take the toy out…then we can go to the wash racks. How does that sound?” Orion said as he caressed D-16’s leg soothingly. D-16 whimpered softly and nodded in response.

Orion slid his thumb up from D-16’s leg to his valve. He gently moved his thumb outwards, displaying the plush protoform and the thick toy inside. Orion slowly pulled out the false spike. D-16 couldn’t help but moan and writhe at the sensation of each ridge slowly withdrawing.

Orion finally got the toy out with a wet squelch and looked back to D-16’s gaping valve. His spike almost pressurized, but he immediately looked away. Orion put the toy in his subspace, noting to clean it later, as his spike retracted back into its housing. D-16 closed his valve cover with a click.

Orion rubbed his servos along D-16’s shaking thighs, trying his best to wipe off their fluids. D-16 looked absolutely worn out. Orion got up and stood in front of D-16, placing a servo on his cheek.

“So,” he started, “did you like the surprise or…did you like the surprise?” Orion asked with a cheeky smile. D-16 rolled his optics with an amused huff.

“I guess I liked it…maybe I liked it a lot,” D-16 answered a bit bashfully. He tried to ignore how his valve twitched behind his panel when he thought about it. Orion laughed and placed a gentle kiss on D-16’s lips. D-16 gladly returned the loving gesture.

“Come on, let’s go get washed up,” Orion whispered after he broke the kiss. Orion put D-16’s arm over his shoulder. He hoisted the grey mech from the bench onto his pedes. Orion supported him as they slowly walked to the stairway leading back into the shared barracks. They started descending the stairs.

“I hope no one notices my limp,” D-16 sighed as he rubbed his face.

“We’ll just say you fell down the stairs,” Orion replied with a shrug.

“Oh yeah, cause that excuse worked really well last time we used it for you,” D-16 said as he nodded his head listlessly.

“Okay well, they only found out cause I didn’t have any dents over my frame so…what if we actually push you down the stairs?” Orion suggested with a grin.

“WHAT?!“ D-16 stopped and stared at Orion. “I swear to Primus, if you push me down the stairs right now, I’ll kill you,” he threatened with a glare. Orion laughed and patted D-16’s shoulder.

“I know you love me too much to kill me,” Orion said as he reached to nuzzle his cheek against D-16’s own.

“Yeah yeah, it’s the only reason I still put up with you,” D-16 feigned annoyance as he gave Orion a loving helm bonk.

The two miners held each other close, enjoying their partners’ warmth, as they continued descending the stairs.

[its-time-to-write]

Hello! Maybe one where Nate kisses the reader like he did Keeley but they’re dating Jamie and he gets very upset but then they call him down and it’s sweet at the end ❤️

This one got real intense, real fast. Deals with some trauma after an unwanted kiss, so be discerning when deciding if you want to read this. Jamie’s really sweet, but this mostly ends up as a look at how it feels when someone does something you have a hard time laughing off.

i can’t breathe without you

It all happens so fast, really. One minute you’re alone in the boot room, talking to Nate about his day, and the next his lips are pressed against yours. Your entire mind freezes and all you can think is Jamie, and you must say something to that effect because Nate is bumbling through an apology, something about misreading signals and being an idiot, but what you’re really hearing is that he thinks any girl who is nice to him, is attracted to him. 

You’re not. 

He should have known, your mind reasons. He should have known you were with Jamie. 

All rational thought is overshadowed by tears threatening to fall. You say, “I have to go,” and then flee the boot room, leaving Nate standing there all alone. 

You’re not really sure where you’re going, but you’re running, pushing past people in an effort to just get out and get away from the feeling of his lips on yours. 

I didn’t want it, you tell yourself. Didn’t want, didn’t want, didn’t want. 

You knock into Ted in your rush. “Hey there, darling, you alright?” he asks, all fatherly concern. You nod your head once and then are gone, pushing through the door and out into the parking lot. You’re running, running fast. Anything to have control over the way your body feels, to hit the reset button, to forget. 

Jamie will understand, he loves you, he’ll understand, your mind tells you. 

You push it away, because now is not a time for hope. Jamie is a man, and they are all the same. Your ex, Connor, broke up with you when a boy kissed you at a frat party. Never mind that you were shoving him off you before his lips even made contact. Never mind that you had been trying to turn your head away. Never mind that he had seen the whole fucking thing and still decided that you were, in his words, “too easy.”

You’re so distracted by your thoughts and your desperate escape that you barely register Sam’s voice and sprint to catch you until his hand has reached for your arm and you violently shake it away, saying, “don’t touch me,” voice hoarse. 

He instantly lets go and backs up, hands in the air. 

You must look feral, eyes wide, hair flying. Face white. 

Sam’s face has concern written all over it as he asks, softer, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you say, just a bit too forcefully. “I’m fine, I just, his lips and I didn’t want it, I swear I didn’t, I didn’t even do anything, but I feel them, and I didn’t do anything I promise, please, please don’t tell Jamie.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until tears fall onto your shoe. Sam’s previous concern has nothing on how he is now. He is downright worried. 

“Do you need me to call someone?” he asks. 

“No!” you reply. “No. I’m fine. It’s just- Nate kissed me, and I promise I didn’t want him to, he just did, and it’s probably my fault but I love Jamie, not Nate, and I need him to know that, ok? I can’t, how am I supposed to keep going, I can’t-” You’re beginning to hyperventilate now. Sam’s hands are up, like he’s calming a wild animal. 

“Hey. Hey now. Why don’t you sit down. It’s alright, it’s just you and me. Take a deep breath for me, alright? Follow my lead.”

You follow Sam’s directives and sit with your head between your legs. Sam takes a moment to type out a message to Coach Beard, while you’re distracted. It says, Find Nate before Jamie does, because who else would it be, and Sam knows Beard will be able to assess and handle the situation properly. Meanwhile, he’s got to calm you down. 

—

Inside the locker room, Beard’s phone dings. He looks away from where Ted is talking to Jamie and then frowns. What are the odds this text is related to you bumping into Ted? Beard, betting man that he is, is sure they’re good. He goes to find Nate. 

Nate is still in the boot room, acting as if nothing’s wrong. 

He looks up in surprise when Beard walks in. 

“Oh, um, hello,” he says. “Is everything alright?”

So he’s clocked Beard’s angry face. At least he’s not a complete imbecile. 

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Beard replies, arms crossed and face stony as ever. “What happened to Jamie’s girlfriend?”

One stammer from Nate is all Beard needs to hear. 

—

Ted tells Jamie, and Jamie is livid. Ted’s phone dings with a help please text from Sam because he has no idea how to help you, and Jamie’s anger reaches a whole new level. 

Beard thinks they should let Jamie have a go at Nate. Roy agrees, and thinks maybe Jamie could use some help. Nate isn’t present, Beard says something about being stuck in the boot room with the handle broken off. Ted knows Beard well enough to know exactly what happened, but now isn’t the time to comment. Beard has both punished and protected Nate, and there are more pressing things at hand. You, for starters. And Jamie, with murder on his mind. 

“Jamie,” Ted says, “I’m gonna need you to listen real good. I don’t know your girl very well, but I do know she has a sweet spirit. You go out there guns blazing, and it’s just going to validate every crushing thought she has about herself.” 

Jamie opens his mouth to speak but Ted puts up a hand. “Doesn’t matter that you’re not mad at her, she’ll take it that way. Things like this are tricky. You want her to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you are 100% on her team.” Ted stops. “You are on her team, ain’t you?”

Jamie stares at him. “You think I fucking blame her for that prick mistaking her bein’ nice for flirting?” 

Ted shrugs. “She ever told you ‘bout her last boyfriend? Matter of fact, she ever tell you about any of her other relationships? You might be surprised what kinda boys are out there pretending to be men. Now, I gotta go make sure she’s gonna be ok. You,” he points to Roy, “don’t let Jamie out till he’s calmed down. You,” he points to Beard, “go figure out a way to get Nate unstuck from the boot room.”

Beard says, “consider it done, Coach,” and Roy just grunts. 

Ted is gone, and it’s just the three of them and their separate manifestations of their anger. 

—

Your head is still on your knees when you hear footsteps approaching. Sam has been sitting on his haunches, two feet away from you. Close enough so you’re not alone, far enough to give you some space. 

The footsteps make your head jerk up. The fear in your eyes is enough to break Ted’s heart. He’s never had a daughter, but he’ll be damned if this isn’t how a father must feel. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, crouching down, voice soft. “What can I do you for?”

His voice is just reminiscent enough of your own father’s that you launch yourself into his arms, crying. 

“Sh, sh, it’s alright, I’ve got you,” Ted says. You have a death grip on him. “Just let it out.”

You’ve almost completely cried yourself out when Ted says, “What do you want to say?”

You pull away and sit back on the curb, hand covering half your face. You shake your head. 

“It’s alright, darlin’. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just want to know what’s wrong so I can help.”

You choke out “Jamie,” and both Ted and Sam are surprised enough that neither of them know what to say. They wait for you to continue. 

A few more tears fall before you say, “I just love him so much. I don’t want to lose him. I need him to know that I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want it. I wasn’t flirting, I swear. He just kissed me out of nowhere and I can’t get rid of the feeling, I just can’t-” You start wiping your lips violently with the back of your hand. 

“Hey, hey listen- listen to me,” Ted says. You lower your trembling hand. You’re vaguely aware of the fact that your whole body is shaking. 

“None of this, and believe me when I do say ‘none,’ is your fault. Jamie ain’t like those other boys you were with. He knows who you are. You did nothing wrong. He’s hopping mad, sure, but not at you. His hearts in the right place. He loves you, and I’m pretty sure if you gave him half a chance, he’d love you forever. There’s nothing that’s going to change that.”

You’re beginning to register Ted’s words. You’re glad he and Sam are out here, and that you’re not alone. Vaguely, you hear the building door open from across the parking lot. There’s a different set of footsteps now, running ones, that come to a crashing halt in front of you. 

You flinch. 

You hear Jamie inhale jerkily and dare to look upward. 

He looks a mess, eyes red and hair mussed. He kneels down slowly to where you’re curled up. 

He doesn’t even know where to begin with you flinching, but by god every breath Nathan Shelley draws is just one closer to his reckoning. 

Jamie breathes out your name, and finally, finally, you make solid eye contact. He reaches for you, and you take his hand, letting him draw you into his lap.

He holds you and rocks back and forth, whispering into your hair while the others quietly get up and back away. 

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. It’s just you and me. I love you and I’ve got you.”

He’s got you, you tell your mind. 

Yes, your brain agrees, he’s got you and he loves you.