#living breathing stereotype

[ronithesnail]

As a nonbinary person, the amount of monster i drink is going to mutilate my body far more than any surgery or hrt i get.

[lesbiansforlucio]

Does anyone even care about Tales from the Pizzaplex? Probably not. Have the Pressure friend group before everything went to hell.

[rowarn]

bizarre thought.....shadow entity!ghost..... @sgtgarricks is responsible for this!!!

i already want to write another part to this LMAOOOOOOO

part : two

when you first moved into your new house, you knew it was old and had been vacant for a looooong time. it had a bizarre history of people living there and moving out months, even weeks later. most people declined offering a reason for their quick move but others would just vaguely supply that the 'energy was dark in that house', you weren't bothered.

it was a nice, big, house and for damn cheap too. you weren't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

your first nights in the house, you understood what they meant. there was something off about the house for sure. at random times, you would feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, as if alerting you to danger. when you would turn around, there was nothing there. but it would leave you with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

it wasn't until a week into your new life that the first weird thing happened. it was like something from a stereotypical horror movie. you heard a strange sound and got out of bed to investigate. when you got to your kitchen, all the cabinets and drawers were open and your kitchen chairs were placed on top of your table -- which had also been moved across the kitchen.

you tried to take some deep breaths to calm yourself as you returned everything back to normal. you went over and over in your head for some kind of explanation for the event before finally landing on the fact that this house was fucking haunted.

strange events kept happening after that. lights would turn on, your kitchen cabinets would be open, sinks and showers would turn on, doors would slam from across the house. you were losing sleep over it. every single night you'd be woken up by some strange event and you were beginning to understand why the past tenants had moved out so fast.

this was a rotten way to live.

the final straw for you was the night the activity really seemed to ramp up. whatever spirit was haunting you wanted you out now. multiple doors slammed, jolting you from your sleep -- your heart racing from how hard you had been startled from your dreams. you got to your feet and turned on your lamp only to find it wasn't working.

next, you tried the overhead light. same thing.

fuck. it had caused the power to bust.

now you were really scared.

you grabbed your phone, using the flashlight to navigate your way out of the bedroom. the floorboards creaked beneath you, considerably louder without the hum of electricity.

you were halfway down the hall when you heard it. quiet at first, but definitely there. footsteps. mimicking your own, as if echoing after you took your own steps, making sure you knew it was there.

you spun around, shining the light upon nothing. you let out a heavy breath, noticing the way the flashlight shook from how hard you were trembling.

"a-alright, ghost," you called into the empty house, too scared to feel stupid that you were talking to nothing, "i-i'll admit i'm pretty scared right now. i-i know you probably want me out of your house. this is your house, i get it. bu-but i already sunk all my damn savings into moving in here s-so i can't leave!" you swallow, a loud gulping sound that would be funny if you weren't about to piss yourself, "s-so if we could just live together for a little while longer. i-i promise i'll get out the second i have the money!"

there was nothing but tense silence. you felt like an idiot the more seconds that passed. were you trying to make a deal with a fucking ghost? a spirit of someone who probably died in this house? what kind of shit had your life become?

you peered into the inky blackness of the hallway, blinking as you try to futilely see. it takes you a moment to realize you're not just staring into the darkness of your hallway. it's something else.

pure darkness. a dark entity taking form in the blackness of the night. you want to step back, primal fear coursing through you like you never felt before. whatever fear you were feeling was primordial in nature -- as if this entity was something you were born to fear.

the darkness began to swallow up the hallway, eating away at the light your flashlight had created. the air felt heavy and oppressive, making it difficult to take in oxygen.

you swear you could feel hands on you, grabbing you and pulling at you. the longer you stared into the darkness, the more you thought you could see things. eyes. hundreds of eyes. but when you blinked, the images vanished.

then, all at once, the entity was gone and your light was shining down the hallway again unimpeded. after another second, the sound of the electricity slamming back on filled the house and you collapsed to your knees.

whatever that was, it was dangerous. you knew that now.

but it didn't hurt you. perhaps it agreed to your terms and would leave you be now?

oh how wrong you were. sure, it wasn't nearly as scary as that night but now you saw it.

around every turn.

you could see the shadow take shape from the corner of your eye but when you looked, it would be gone. you would be brushing your teeth and when you looked in the mirror, it stood behind you, making your heart leap out of your chest. when you would turn, it wasn't there.

you were no longer woken up in the night, at least. but you weren't sure if you preferred the regular haunting stuff to seeing the ghost or not. you were on the fence about which was worse.

after another scare from the ghost, you jumped so hard that you almost fell over, "alright you -- ghost! will you quit scaring me like that!?" you found yourself shrieking.

to your abject horror, you heard laughter in return.

the shadow shit was fucking laughing at you. like it was enjoying this.

it wasn't evil laughter either. it sounded like pure enjoyment.

you suppose it wasn't out of the realm of possibility for a ghost to make sounds but it didn't make it any less horrifying.

you started talking to it more after that. once you heard its voice - sort of- it became easier. the fear also dissipated in time. sure it would jump scare you from time to time to get a laugh but other than that, it became like living with a really annoying roommate.

"will you get out of my mirror!" you snapped, mouth full of toothpaste with you facemask on. its disappearance was marked with its mirthful laughter.

you also noticed as the days and weeks passed, it stopped looking like a shapeless shadow and more like a person -- a big one at least. well over 7 feet tall. if you looked for long enough, you could almost make out what you think is a skull where the face would be on a human.

one night, you're laying in bed, comfortable. there's rain pelting outside on your window and distant thunder, too nice of weather to sleep away. so you just choose to relax and listen to it.

"ghost?" you find yourself calling into the darkness, "are you there?"

its silent but you feel the air grow heavy and you know that it's arrived. it seems to have...consciousness, you realized. it reacts to you and listens to you. there's one thing that's been plaguing you that you want to ask, though you're not sure if it will answer -- if it can answer.

"you're not really a ghost are you?" you ask.

you're greeted by silence for several, long seconds before you hear it. it's deep and masculine, a whisper of an echo following its voice when it speaks as if multiple things were speaking but only one voice was amplified, "no."

it's the answer you were expecting but that didn't mean you liked it. you swallow harshly around the lump of anxiety in your throat.

"are you going to hurt me?" you ask it, dreading the answer to this one. just because it's been toying with you doesn't mean it's not still dangerous.

"no," it responds again. you can hear footsteps, the entity walking closer and closer to your bed.

you let out a relieved breath at that. though, you're not sure if you should actually believe the dark entity that lives in your house. but at this point, you've really got no choice except to take it's word for it.

"what's your name?" you find yourself asking it.

"ghost," it responds quickly.

you laugh at that, "no, you're real name."

"ghost," it insist, "you gave me a name."

a lightbulb goes off over your head.

"is that why you're being so nice to me?" you ask, not sure if 'nice' is the appropriate word to use.

"i wanted a name," it answers, "you gave me one."

"a name in exchange for living in this house," you muse, deciding to roll over in bed, "alright then. goodnight, ghost."

"rest well," it responds before vanishing, freeing the room from that oppressive feeling.

you close your eyes and will yourself to fall asleep, briefly wondering where ghost even came from and what exactly it was.

this is unedited i wrote it in a fury of inspiration i hope u enjoyed it regardless of how WEIRD this was LMFAOOOOOOOOOO

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

despite assumptions and stereotypes, steve harrington actually doesn’t love dating around. sure, he does it and at the end of the night if someone wants to go a little bit further, who is he to say no? he’s only a man, after all.

but steve and eddie have been… doing whatever they’ve been doing for a couple of months now and steve wants more. when steve finds what he wants, he holds on tight with everything he has. but this time is a little different. eddie’s made it pretty clear that he’s not exactly looking for anything serious. steve’s pretty sure eddie likes him, but he’s not sure that affection goes far beyond that thing he can do with his tongue.

which sucks. steve’s still gun-shy from what happened with nancy and tommy and jonathan back in high school. he hasn’t felt this way abt anyone in a pretty long time and it just sucks that eddie’s only interested in coming over at 3 in the morning. steve wants to go to the drive-in and to the state fair and out to lovers lake for stargazing. he wants dates and sleepy make out sessions and movie nights on saturdays.

but steve likes eddie so he’ll take whatever eddie’s willing to give him. he knows it might make him pathetic or whatever, but he’s accepted it. it’s fine. he’s just waiting for the day eddie stops showing up, for the day that eddie looks at him and tells him enough is enough, that it’s been fun and all but eddie’s on to bigger and better things.

saturday nights are the worst. steve knows eddie plays the hideout almost every weekend and steve’s left to sit home alone thinking about what eddie might be getting up to out at the dive bar. he knows what eddie looks like when he performs, knows how beautiful he looks in the low lights. he’s seen the way the audience looks at eddie while he’s on stage, grinding his hips into his guitar. it makes steve’s stomach hurt just thinking abt it. and sure, more often than not, eddie comes crawling into steve’s window in the late hours after his show ends, sweaty and smiling, high on adrenaline. those are steve’s favorite moments, the moments when he gets to kiss the look of triumph off of eddie’s face, when he gets to watch that look get replaced by a look of pure pleasure. but one day, probably soon, eddie won’t come crawling through his window and steve will be left alone in the worst case scenario.

so when a customer at family video gives steve a look, smiling, and asks him if he’s busy this saturday, steve can’t really find a reason to blow him off. the guy—pete—is dressed in a cut up band tee, his hands in his pockets as he leans against the counter, all cool confidence and charm. steve can’t help but compare him to eddie. but steve doesn’t want to be left in the dust when eddie and dustin and robin all eventually leave this shitty little town, so he agrees to a date. what’s one date gonna do? he knows eddie dates, even though they don’t really talk abt it. it’s not like he’s doing anything wrong.

for the first time ever, steve is the one getting picked up on a saturday night. pete rings the doorbell, leads steve out to his beat up pick up, and even opens the door for steve to slide it. steve feels something a little fuzzy in his chest and can’t help but smile as pete gets into the drivers seat. pete starts up the car and pulls out of the driveway. once they turn out of steve’s neighborhood, pete reaches over to slide his hand into steve’s.

“so i heard abt this pretty cool spot. live music, pool, beer,” pete glances over at steve and squeezes his hand. “you in?”

steve’s breath hitches a little. he’s kind of missed this, the promise of a first date, the magic of things just starting out. it feels even better to be on the other side of it, to have someone else take control. he pushes aside the wish that this was someone else.

“sounds good,” he finally responds, shooting pete a small smile. pete grins.

ten minutes later, they pull into a gravel parking lot and steve’s stomach drops. there aren’t that many bars in hawkins and even fewer places that host live music on the weekends. he should have known, really, that the one place they’d end up is the one place eddie’s guaranteed to be on a saturday night.

i’ve been sitting on this draft since the fall. inspired by rory and logan at that one tarantino party in gilmore girls. heard ao3 was gonna be down for a couple of hours, so here u go lol awkward spot to land on but part ii to come :P encourage me to finish this…

[cakelitter]

Strawberry Scented

Older! Leon x Bunny! Reader

warnings: somnophilia, p in v, fingering, oral, pet names, praise

summary: You remain still, blissful as ever. Your dreams must be nice, hopping in meadows and basking in the sun; or is that too stereotypical of him? Wonder if you dream about him, does your mind replay the sweet and innocent time you spent together? Or do you get dirty dreams about him like he does?

words: 1.8k

a/n: uni is literally taking up all of my time, but i'm glad that i get to finally post. so sorry for the inactivity, hope you enjoy!!

His pretty bunny.

Your chest rising and falling, mellow breaths, the only thing that can be heard when he steps into his room. Always so clingy, following him like his shadow whenever he’s home, wrapping your arms around his as he takes care of the chores around the house. Snuggling up on his lap whenever he sits on the couch.

And when he’s away, you curl into a ball on his bed. Your fingers loosely gripping the sheets the way you grip his shirt while laying on his chest. Bunny hybrids can’t talk, your self-expression confined to either drooping or perking those fluffy ears of yours. However, he understands you pretty well, droopy means no, perky means yes, nose twitch is a maybe, and a tail twitch means “you’re getting on my nerves”.

While there is no way for you to verbally express how much you miss whenever he’s not around; your actions tell him all that he needs to know.

Funny how the universe just dropped you off at his doorstep, no like literally. Walking out of his house, fifteen minutes late is a regular occurrence for him, but tripping and almost breaking his fucking face on the pavement isn’t. Leon is not clumsy; can’t afford to be, a single slip up on a mission and he’s not making it back home.

However, he had his fair share of tripping over a things. A curb, a rock, his own damn foot, but tripping over a bunny hybrid is definitely a first.

You were curled up on his door mat (one which is certainly uncomfortable) lifting your sleepy head to give him the nastiest stare for disturbing you before going back to sleep like nothing happened. That stare was so nasty, he almost apologized for stepping out of his own house. Judging by that, he’s most probably not your first victim.

He didn’t shoo you away, didn’t have the heart to. Got a soft spot for animals, especially homeless ones. And while you’re a good seventy percent human, somehow that principle still applies.

And so, you took this as an invitation to sleep there every night. It didn’t bother him, actually left a blanket and other things out for you. Day by day, he started getting attached. You became part of his routine, and it seemed like you enjoyed his company too.

Two weeks later, he decided to let you live with him. Watching you cautiously walk into his house, double checking for approval with every step you take; scared he might yell at you for existing on his property like others would.

Leon never classified himself as a good care taker, can’t even take care of himself. On one hand, he was scared his shitty work schedule would lead him to neglecting your needs. But on the other, letting you sleep out in the open in a world that views you as a freak of nature surely isn’t the best; plus, the idea of you finding a better place to rest than here, leaving him alone the way most people did would feel like a stab to the heart.

And so, he decided to give it a chance.

The fear of neglecting you dissipated the minute you gave him a hug of gratitude; the first unspoken word of yours was a “thank you.” You became all he could think about, missing your warmth on missions and getting work done as fast as possible because he knows how lonely you must feel.

He goes above and beyond when it comes to you. Buying products that cost a fortune for your sensitive ears and the best shampoo for your soft hair. Making sure your lotion smells like strawberries because that’s your favorite, and making sure the fridge is packed with all your favorite snacks.

Bathing you is a whole process, making sure you’re squeaky clean and smelling like three thousand different products by the time he’s done; had you for less than a year and you already have twice as many belongings as he does.

Inching closer to the bed, he lays next to you, placing his hand on your waist and dropping a kiss on your forehead. Your sweet scent engulfs him, wiping away his bitter day and relaxing his tense muscles. His fingers run through your hair, moving the stray pieces covering your face.

Your haircut isn’t the best, mostly because he had to do it himself; hair salons aren’t very fond of hybrids, even the ones that look as agonizingly beautiful as you do. And although he’s been cutting his hair for longer than he can remember, he underestimated how difficult it would be to cut in a straight line.

You sigh at his touch but remain asleep, smiling he kisses your temple. You’re adorable, and he constantly reminds himself not to squeeze too hard—afraid you might burst. But deep down, he imagines that if you did, glitter and flower petals would spill out.

He’s drunk, not on whiskey like he used to, but on your scent. It’s everywhere, on his clothes, the couch, your bed, his bed; can’t escape it, not like he’s trying to anyway.

His pretty bunny.

Rewiring his brain and putting him under an unspoken spell. His finger trails down your abdomen, eyes fixated on your tender lips calling his. Slipping beneath the waist band of your panties, his finger makes contact with your clit, rubbing soft circles as he watches your expression.

You remain still, blissful as ever. Your dreams must be nice, hopping in meadows and basking in the sun; or is that too stereotypical of him? Wonder if you dream about him, does your mind replay the sweet and innocent time you spent together? Or do you get dirty dreams about him like he does?

His fingers drop down to collect some of your arousal. You’re wet, bunny pussy is always wet, always needy. He bites his lip as he feels your dripping hot arousal, rubbing your cute clit till it’s slippery. You shuffle, subconsciously opening your legs further for him to continue.

Another delicate sigh leaves your lips as he pushes his middle finger inside you; moving it in and out before adding another one. The sounds coming out of your dripping cunt makes his dick painfully hard.

He rubs his cock through his jeans, muttering curses beneath his breath. So warm and tight around his fingers and he hasn’t done much yet. Your brows furrow, lips opening before closing again. Unbuttoning his jeans with his free hand, he pulls his cock out, moving his hand up and down the length.

Pulling his fingers away, he brings them up to his mouth. Groaning as he tastes you on his tongue, you taste as sweet as you smell. And surprisingly, you haven’t woken up yet. Apparently, fingering is not enough to wake you up; noted.

Craving more of your taste, he gets up and settles himself between your thighs. His finger hooks your panties and flimsy shorts, pulling them to the side, revealing your sobbing cunt to his hungry eyes.

He might cum just from the sight, glossy and looking extremely edible. Pulling the hood of our clit back, he kisses the bud before licking up your slit. His large hands hold your thighs in place as he sucks on your weeping pussy.

Your sleepy head lifts up, the same look plastered on your face as the day you both met. Your eyes connect, crow feet forming as he smiles; took you long enough. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

Your brows furrow as he fucks his tongue into you. Doing as your told, you lay your head back down, your mind unable to focus on sleeping nor staying awake.  You begin to buck your hips at the pleasure, whining as you do so.

“Missed you so much, baby.”

He can sense your orgasm approaching as your thighs begin to quiver. He pulls away, causing you to lift your head back up. The hand that was beneath your knee slips down to your inner thigh, patting it reassuringly.

Getting up, he removes his jeans and underwear quickly before laying next to you.

“Come here.” He manhandles you to lay on his chest, thighs bracketing around his torso. Peppering a soft kiss on your head, he pushes your panties over to the side again positioning his throbbing cock at your entrance.

His hand grabs your hips, as he penetrates into you gently. Pussy so tight, he might just cry. Burying your face in his chest, your fingers grip his shirt tightly. “I know, I know. You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

Another tender kiss gets placed on the crown of your head as he rubs your back soothingly. His hips remain still, letting you adjust around him before beginning to thrust shallowly. He groans, eyes closing shut as he focuses on the movement of his hips.

Bunnies are born to be bred, only logical explanation for how tight you are around him, for how constantly wet your cunt is without even being turned on. The wet patch on your underwear always evident whenever you slip them off to get into the bath, had his brain all fuzzy when he first noticed it. May or may not have stolen some of them, for personal use.

Picking up the pace, he opts for deeper thrusts, the head of his cock kissing the opening of your cervix. The mixture of your fluids dripping down the base of his length and down his balls. Your whines get louder, thighs beginning to quiver once more.

He can feel wet patches of tear drops seep through his shirt as pleasure overtakes your senses. Whimpering, you continue to squirm above him. Your orgasm nearing causing him to suck in a breath of air through gritted teeth as your cunt squeezes around him. “Yeah, just like that- fuck.”

Your walls flutter, creaming his cock till a white ring forms at the base. He curses underneath his breath, grabbing your hips harshly as he slams into you with vigor. “Gonna cum inside you, sweetheart. Don’t even think this cute cunt will let me pull out.”

His dick throbs as he releases into you, thrusts becoming slower as hot white strings coat your walls. Best orgasm he’s had in years, balls completely empty. His movement ceases, taking in a deep breath and running his fingers through his hair.

Glossy eyes make contact with his, a smile forming on your lips as your nose twitches. Pinching your cheeks, his hand tries to fix your now tangled hair; gotta brush that later. Crawling up his chest, he hisses at the overstimulating feeling. You drop a soft peck onto his lips, happy plastered all over that cute face of yours.

Maybe he should wake you up like this more often.

divider by: @/jimzittos @/kthice

[rafecameronssl4t]

a fic where kook readers hates the idea of Rafe x Sofia and gets irritated seeing them together and at a party Rafe confronts her and tells her that they’re just hooking up and if she’s jealous. Please and thank you 🙏

Standards || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @giorgiawingham

A/n: yeah I’m not on break really since I’m posting lol

Warnings: angst, r is mean in the beginning mb just doing the request!! Stereotypical kook bitchy r 😛

Word count: 1,518

MASTERLIST

The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting a warm glow over the country club as you sat with Topper on the patio, sipping on a cold drink and letting the soft hum of conversation fill the air. It was a calm afternoon, typical of this place, where everyone dressed to impress and mingled like it was their job.

But the tranquillity was short-lived. Your eyes drifted towards the entrance, and the moment you saw them, your jaw tightened. Rafe Cameron, tall, smug, and all too comfortable, had his arm draped lazily over Sofia’s shoulder, his signature smirk plastered on his face. The sight of them together made your stomach churn, irritation bubbling up inside you

She was laughing, her hand clutching his forearm as she leaned into him like they were the perfect couple. Your stomach twisted, a bitter taste creeping up your throat as you watched them, Sofia all smiles and Rafe looking way too content for your liking. He looked different—softer, like he had let his guard down.

“Look at him,” you muttered under your breath, eyes narrowing as you followed their movements across the room. Rafe’s arm was slung lazily around Sofia’s shoulders, her face lit up with a grin that looked almost rehearsed, like she knew eyes were on her. You shifted in your seat, crossing your arms with a sharp scoff. “Our Kook king has completely gone soft, Topper.”

Topper barely glanced up from his phone, but when he finally did, the disdain in his expression mirrored yours perfectly. His lips twisted into a dark chuckle, shaking his head as his gaze flicked toward Rafe and Sofia. “Yeah, no kidding,” he said, voice dripping with judgement. “Rafe with her? Didn’t think he’d sink that low.”

The two of you shared a bitter laugh, finding some perverse satisfaction in tearing them down. It was easy—too easy, really. Sofia had a reputation, and not a good one. She was known for trying too hard to fit into the kook elite, always clinging to the right crowd, desperate to belong somewhere. But she didn’t. Not here. And certainly not with Rafe. The thought of them together made your skin crawl.

“He’s slipping,” Topper muttered, his voice full of judgement for his friend. “Rafe used to have standards.” “Right?” You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your distaste. The sight of Rafe with Sofia made your chest tighten, the annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. “It’s pathetic. She’s pathetic.” Topper snorted, this time putting his phone down, his full attention on the scene playing out across the room.

“She’s just desperate for attention,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “She’ll cling to anyone with money to fit in. It’s kinda sad, actually.” You nodded, your eyes still glued to them, unable to look away from the trainwreck. Sofia didn’t belong here, not with Rafe, not anywhere near him, if you were being honest with yourself. “Exactly,” you agreed, feeling the annoyance simmering just below the surface.

“She’s not even his type. I don’t get what he’s doing with her.” Topper snorted. “He’ll get bored and it’s probably just a phase,” Topper said with a shrug. “Rafe always does get bored, you know that.” You were about to respond, maybe throw in another biting remark about Sofia’s lack of style or how obvious she was being, when you noticed them heading straight toward your table.

Sofia had that too-bright smile plastered on her face, and Rafe—well, Rafe looked like he was enjoying himself a little too much, knowing full well that his presence was getting under your skin.“Great,” you muttered under your breath, sitting up straighter, preparing yourself for the inevitable. Rafe reached your table first, smirking down at you, his arm still casually draped over Sofia’s shoulder like she was an accessory.

“Hey,” he drawled, eyes flicking between you and Topper, clearly amused by the tension in the air. Sofia waved, her smile way too forced for your liking.“Hey!” she chirped, like she wasn’t fully aware of how much you couldn’t stand her. You shot them both a withering look, barely able to mask your irritation. “Rafe. Sofia.” He raised an eyebrow at your tone, but before he could say anything, you rolled your eyes and stood up.

The last thing you wanted was to play nice. “I’m out of here,” you muttered, pushing your chair back and walking away without another word, leaving them standing there awkwardly. Later that evening, the frustration still lingered as you found yourself at Topper’s party. The house was packed with familiar faces, music thumping from the speakers as the evening buzzed with energy.

You needed a break, something to clear your mind, so you stepped outside onto the back patio where the cool breeze offered a moment of peace. You didn’t expect to be alone for long. You heard footsteps approaching, and when you turned, Rafe was there, leaning casually against the railing, his expression unreadable.

You shot him a glance, not entirely in the mood for whatever he had to say. “We’re not together, you know. Sofia and I,” he said, his voice breaking the silence between you. You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you stared him down. “Could’ve fooled me,” you said coolly. Rafe shrugged, pushing his hands into his pockets, his gaze not leaving yours.

“We’re just hooking up. That’s it.” You scoffed, turning away slightly. “Oh, well, that makes it so much better,” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I don’t know why you think I care.” Your words came out sharper than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. The tension between you and Rafe had been simmering for weeks, and his smug expression was doing nothing to ease the frustration building inside you.

Rafe’s lips curled into that infuriating smirk, and he took a slow step closer, his body language dripping with confidence. “You make it pretty fucking obvious, princess,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. The nickname sent a shiver down your spine, and despite your better judgment, you found yourself biting down on your bottom lip. He’d always had a way of getting under your skin, of knowing exactly how to push your buttons, and right now, he was doing it with ease.

You didn’t respond, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But Rafe could see the way your body tensed, the way your eyes flicked away from his for just a second, betraying more than you wanted to admit. “Why, are you jealous?” His voice was still laced with that cocky edge, but there was something more in his eyes—something that made your pulse quicken. It wasn’t just teasing anymore; it was a challenge, daring you to deny it. You scoffed, forcing a laugh that felt hollow, even to you. “Please. You wish.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rolling off his tongue, as if he knew exactly what game you were playing. Shaking his head, Rafe ran a hand through his hair, his gaze never leaving yours. “I have standards,” he said, his voice dropping lower, more serious now. “You know I wouldn’t actually get with a freakin’ pogue.”

“Yeah, well these days, Rafe,” you muttered, your voice laced with frustration, “I don’t even know you.” His smirk faltered for a second, something flickering behind his eyes. For just a moment, it was like you had struck a nerve, like maybe he didn’t know how to respond to that. “You don’t know me?” he echoed, his tone softer, but still challenging.

You took a breath, standing your ground. “Not anymore.” Rafe’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if your words had gotten under his skin more than he wanted to let on. “Sofia’s just fun for now. She’s not permanent.” His tone was dismissive, almost like he was convincing himself as much as you. There was an edge to his words, like he was trying to brush it off, but the way he held your gaze—intense, lingering—told a different story.

You couldn’t help the way his words made your heart beat a little faster, though you tried to ignore it. He was playing some kind of game, you were sure of it. A game where the lines between teasing and something deeper blurred just enough to make you question everything. It was maddening. “Whatever you say, Rafe,” you muttered, not giving him the satisfaction of a real response.

You turned to leave, but you could feel his eyes on your back as you walked away, the tension between you thick enough to cut. But even as you left, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this conversation than either of you had said aloud. Something unspoken lingered in the air, hanging heavy between you.

The way he’d looked at you—challenging, almost daring—stayed with you, creeping into the corners of your thoughts long after you’d stepped away. You wondered, against your better judgment, if maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the only one feeling something more. Something deeper. Something neither of you were ready to admit, but that was quietly pulling you both in.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

logan howlett blurb 18+

hi hi im sorry guys this isnt awesome but i love my wolverine and maybe ill make a part two or perhaps something cool like that if ya like it! also just general warning for smut and some kinky age gap stuff! also. reader is fem and a mutant! word count: 1030 edit: you can now read a full version of this blurb here!

You are absolutely enthralled with him. It’s actually sort of pathetic how your fingers twitch at the sight of him, at how the mention of his name or god forbid the sound of his voice makes your head snap up, attention deficit disorders be damned!

Funnily enough, you had no damn interest in Xavier’s stupid mutant school, because to you, you’re not an outsider because of your mutant abilities (that don’t have much of a physical apparition, at least one that you can’t hide) but because there’s never been much of a place for you to fit in.

But, you were behind on rent and of course, you fucking hate your job, so why not? You’d be able to be slightly less of a freak, and you’d get free room and board in the process! (Where Charles gets all of his money, you do not know.)

And because you’re a little older, Charles doesn’t force you to sit in a class room to learn about basic arithmetic and grammar lessons, so you really only do some training around three times a day, you have your own room (with a dusty box under the other bed, you also suspect your room used to be the ‘sex’ room) and you have the weekends off.

So for a twenty something year old with few ambitions, the social skills of a Martian with autism, and a huge crush on every older emotionally unavailable man you meet, it’s a pretty good set-up.

You’re waiting for time to pass in the garden, just reading a rather interesting book that Charles had recommended after he noticed you needed something to pass time before you started making bad decisions.

You hear his heavy footsteps on the gravel before you see him. Your heart beats faster, but you will yourself, do everything in your power not to glance up at him. And you let out a breath as you succeed, keeping your head down.

“In your natural habitat, are you, spitfire?” Your head darts up to him—There’s no way he isn’t talking to you, you know you’re the only one in this garden. And you can see his lips twitch up and you want to crawl out of your skin!

“My-My natural habitat?” You laugh, closing the book you’re reading because your attention is locked to him now.

“Yeah, seems like it.” He saunters on up to you and sits on the bench next to you.

And let’s make something very clear—

Logan Howlett does not sit.

This man poses, as if there’s always some invisible camera capturing every frame of movement, from the way his legs spread out, to the way his chest lifts when he inhales.

Fuck, you think you might die if you can’t suck him off right now.

“And what exactly is my uh.. habitat?” You question.

He takes out his lighter and a cigar, placing the cigar in his mouth as he gestures to the space around the two of you, lighter in hand.

“A garden.” He says, matter of facility, as his voice is muffled only the slightest bit by the cigar.

And you just sort of look at him before asking,

“Oh, you enjoy being boiled down to your mutations, Claws?” You question, and as he goes to light the cigar, he smirks.

“Alright, you gotta admit though, it is cliché!”

You are absolutely in agreement, there is zero doubt you are as much of a walking, breathing, real life living, stereotype.

“It is not!” And the pair of you give each other this look, like you’re both shocked at how whiney that statement is!

“Uh-huh, sure, Spitfire.” It sounds almost like he’s purring at you.

When he lights his cigar, he’s sort of eying you for your reaction, whatever you might say.

“You know, smoking is not only bad for you, it’s awful for the environment.”

“You’re probably the most cliché little freak around here.” Which.. honestly..? Shouldn’t possibly turn you on as much as it does.

You just stare at him for a minute, and he smirks.

“Cat got your tongue?’

And maybe it’s stupid and maybe it’s immature but your hand just comes over to fiddle with the pointed part of his hair.

“We’ll you certainly look the part.” He just looks at you, and honestly? The way he’s looking at you, it’s like he’s proud of you for teasing him.

“Aw, there’s my little spitfire,” He teases, just to see how red you get. And red you are— it’s embarrassing. And here’s the kicker—You are young. Exceptionally young, and what’s insane about that? How horny it makes both you and Logan.

The idea of fucking your innocent cunt, tight and all his, drives him genuinely mad. And you are, quite literally, a whore for the idea of riding this older man’s dick. You know he’s big—sometimes you see the outerline of it when he walks away from you all huffy and puffy.

“You’re a tease, Claws.” You respond, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Says you,” he raises and eyebrow, leaning closer to you now, “You’re the one laying around in the sun, looking like that.”

“Looking like this?” You scoff. You’re wearing a muscle tee and a pair of ripped jeans, but the gaps are huge and he can see your thighs. He wants to devour you, and you would let him if he only asked.

And let’s be clear—he is fucking you with his eyes. There’s no way to go around it.

“I think you’re just.. horny.” You tease, and he just growls. Seriously, this man who is undressing you with his eyes, growls, because he does want you and he is horny!

“I think you’re onto something.” He purrs, and you want to just.. god. You don’t know how to express the pit of desire that grows in you. “I would fuck you until you couldn’t think, right here among your pretty flowers. Would you like that, baby?” he asks, his hand finding your thigh.

But you just cough on the smoke from his cigar, before frowning.

“You really shouldn’t smoke.”

"Aw, I'll make it up to you," he smirks, "Promise, spitfire."

[prokopetz]

It's pointless arguing about which Link is the scrungliest because they're all the scrungliest, on different axes of scrungle.

Twilight Princess Link is scrungly in a Serious Fantasy Protagonist™ sort of way, his clothes and skin sporting an even coating of grime of no specific origin, forever slightly but noticeably damp, and inexplicably smelling faintly of used motor oil.

Breath of the Wild Link is scrungly in a lives-alone-in-the-woods sort of way: surprisingly well groomed, because Hollywood stereotypes notwithstanding, letting your hygiene slide is not conducive to long term wilderness survival, yet 100% prepared to catch a fish with his bare hands and eat it live and wriggling in front of you.

Wind Waker Link is scrungly in an unsupervised middle schooler sort of way – charming enough from a distance, but you probably don't want to know what he's got in his pockets, and if you touched him your hands would come away greasy. Why is he greasy?

It's scrungle all the way down.

[reiderwriter]

Unfair We're Not Somewhere

Chapter Eight of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: With a little bit of help from someone who could relate a little bit too closely to your situation, Y/N tries to come clean. Tries.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy symptoms/ general pregnancy things, unsub mentions, plot.

A/N: Chapter Eight! I'm so excited for where the rest of this series is going to go, though I do feel like people are going to be a bit annoyed by this one lmao. Let me know your thoughts in the comments below or in an ask! Don't be too mad...

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

You sat quietly in the clinic as you waited for the pharmacist to fill your prescription - a simple pregnancy multivitamin that was supposed to help your food go down, make your hair shinier, and fix all your problems.

You wondered if the bottle could tell Spencer you were pregnant. You wondered if it could make him magically okay with that and prepare him for fatherhood, too. 

Your phone buzzed, and you surfaced from the field of thoughts you'd been lost in as you checked it. 

“Outside,” an unknown number had sent. You took that as your queue, stood up, and left the clinic, trying your best to avoid looking back at the small boy Spencer had been playing with. 

You weren't sure if you were going to have a boy or a girl yet. You didn't mind either, though you'd always envisioned yourself with a big enough family that you assumed at least one of each was inevitable. Though even you had to admit how stereotypically nuclear that was, and how only 18% of the country was living that was lying anyway. 

You shoved psychology from your head for a few minutes and let yourself breathe.

“Y/N!” JJ signalled from the driver's side of her still running SUV. She waved slightly, and you smiled politely as you quickly paced around to the side of her vehicle and got in. 

“Hi,” you said, unsure if you should introduce yourself or not. She'd been in the office the day you'd been taken into custody (protection), but you still had yet to speak to her. She'd been exempt from protective duty so far due to her status as a senior field agent and the fact that she had two kids and a husband at home waiting for her. 

You were sad she was the anomaly in the BAU, the only one with someone waiting on her. 

“I'm Y/N,” you said, still unsure if you should hold out a hand or not. You hadn't made the best impression on most of Spencer's colleagues, and while you didn't think there was much point in trying, you still couldn't bring yourself to be intentionally blasé. 

“I know, you're all we've been talking about for weeks,” the woman laughed, pulling out of the clinic car park and smiling at you. 

“Oh, right. Case. Of course, I've heard you probably know more about me than I know about myself.” 

“We have a profile, sure, but that's not what I meant.” 

You nodded awkwardly and stared out the window for a second, the sky darkening slightly as it prepared to rain. 

You drove for a few minutes before JJ spoke up again. 

“I don't know if Emily told you, but it's actually my day off today,” she said, turning off into a cul-de-sac you'd never seen before. 

“Oh, oh my god, I'm so sorry. I could've just got a taxi or something or just… gotten over myself. You didn't have to-” 

“Yes, I did,” she looked at you for a second, cocking her head to the side in a gesture that said, ‘and you know why.’ It was a look only a friend would give, and you felt an instant connection with her. 

How had Spencer found so many wonderful, big-hearted women to surround himself with, and how could you get in on it? 

You supposed, by letting him get you pregnant, you'd probably found a cheat code for whatever the answer might have been. 

“Anyway, it's my day off, so I promised my boys a fun day at home with mommy. We're doing finger painting and macaroni art. I hope you don't mind getting messy.” 

“Wha-? Me? Oh. No, not at all,” you tried to seem nonchalant, but your heart suddenly beat faster now that you were faced with this unexpected opportunity. As a lecturer, you'd been surrounded by kids professionally for years now. 18 to 21 year old kids. The kind that already had defined morals, world views, and, secretly, alcohol tolerances. The last time you'd encountered any kind of child younger than 18 was when you yourself were under 18.

The joys of toiling away at a doctorate for the better half of your adult life. You knew how to talk to professors and scholars. You were absolutely scared shitless of interacting with a kid. 

“H-How old are they?” You asked, trying to sound polite but falling somewhere between anxious and terrified with a simple stutter. 

“Well, Henry is turning 8 in November, and Michael is just about 22 months. He's just about talking, which is as fun as you can expect.” 

Her voice was tired, but there was genuine affection there, love for her kids and pride. You wondered if your voice would change if you'd suddenly begin speaking like that, too, about something other than a paper submitted to a journal or a job opportunity. 

She pulled into a street parking space and turned off the engine as two bright haired little boys came bouncing up the path of their garden to greet her, stopping at the gate. 

“Mommy! Michael got glitter on the carpet, and Daddy said we shouldn't tell you.” 

“And you have no sense of loyalty when a pretty face comes around, do you?”

Hopping out of the car, you heard JJ's husband drawl as she greeted him with a kiss. She'd probably only taken half an hour to pick you up, but they were still greeting each other so warmly. For a second, you wondered what that would be like before you remembered throwing yourself into Spencer's arms the night before. Your face heated as you stood awkwardly at the side of the car, trying not to cradle your stomach as you watched the family interact. 

Would your baby ever get that tall? Would it have brown eyes like Spencer, or one's more similar to your own? His hair was curly. Maybe your baby would get hair that waved like his, too. 

After all, JJ's kids seemed like perfect compromises between her and her husband. Other people's kids didn't, though. You wondered a lot of things before JJ gestured you over again. 

“Henry, Michael, this is Aunt Y/N. She's going to do those crafts with us today - after we've locked away the glitter and thrown away the key.” 

You laughed as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pushed you forward into the chaos of two kids under ten. 

You were a little startled as the smaller one - Michael - grabbed your hand. He had a pacifier in his mouth, though he was probably outgrowing it, and he stared up at you with big, wide eyes, blinking and sizing you up as he toddled along beside you. 

Your heart grew three sizes, and you felt sorry for ever being afraid of interacting with the kids. 

JJ whispered to her husband quickly as you entered the LaMontagne household, and he greeted you quickly. 

“So you're Spencer's lady friend. It's nice to meet you. It's nice that you're real. Honestly, I was getting a little-” 

A look from JJ cut him off, though he did still seem a bit confused. 

“I'm sorry, am I under the wrong impression? JJ said you were pregnant with Spencer's baby, y'all aren't…” 

“Oh my god-” you whispered, suddenly panicking again but whispering just in case. You weren't sure if the pair was religious, and though you certainly weren't, it probably wasn't the best time to blaspheme. You needed as much god as existed in the world. 

“So, does everyone know?” You asked JJ, trying to keep your voice bright and calm, so Michael didn't take too much of an interest and grow frustrated by hushed tones. You knew enough about child development and psychology, it translated over, right? 

“Everyone who's observant. Luke noticed the pregnancy vitamins in your bag, Tara was talking about your mood swings in the office the other day. I guess you told Emily earlier, and I have two kids.” 

You nodded at the answer. 

“And Spencer?” 

“You haven't told him yet?” JJ asked, slightly surprised. 

“If I told him, you'd know.” 

“Well, you're right on that. He's not the most easy-going during pregnancy,” JJ laughed and steered you into the living space, where your de facto art studio had been set up for the day, along with the offending glitter bomb. 

“Really? You thought you could keep that a secret?” 

“Well, of anyone was going to find it, it was going to be my beautiful, smart, funny, profiler Wife,” Will said, giving her a small peck on the cheek as she rolled her eyes at him. “I'm clocking in now. Call me if you need anything.” 

You waved him off, and sat down with the kids. 

JJ started the craft and then planned your hasty escape as the two boys were enraptured by making the perfect macaroni necklace, dusting it in objectively too much glitter as they proudly created their art. 

In the kitchen, she handed you a mug, and you sipped it quietly as she began again. 

“So, you're not dating?” 

“Nope.”

“And he doesn't know you're pregnant?” 

“No.” You took another sip and shifted from one foot to the other. 

You knew what was coming next. It was what you'd gotten next from Emily, from Penelope, from yourself when you'd thought about it for longer than ten seconds. You needed to tell him. 

“Okay. What's your next move?” 

You were so shocked you almost splashed the hot tea over the mug you held, close to burning yourself as you turned to face her. 

“I… what?” 

“Well, what's your next move? You're what, five months along? You're not going to be able to hide it for much longer. And you have to think about maternity leave, your hospital stay, and names, and who's going to drive you to the hospital. And obviously, how you're going to pay the hospital fee, and then custody and child support.”

“Oh god…” 

“And you also have to sort your relationship out with Spencer. So where are you starting?” 

It wasn't a question that didn't have an answer. JJ was staring at you, waiting for one as you opened and closed your mouth, head suddenly so empty you almost forgot what you were talking about. 

“He doesn't like me,” you suddenly blurted and wished you hadn't, face crumpling as you physically cringed at your own words. 

“Y/N, he was telling us about your toothbrush yesterday. Part of the office has a theory that he made up this case as a reason to get closer to you.” 

Again, you felt the heat blossom on tour skin as you looked away, taking another sip. 

“We don't do anything but argue.” 

“You do at least one other thing,” JJ said, hands on her hips as she confronted you. 

“No, that doesn't count. We were still arguing while we were doing…that.” 

“TMI,” she groaned as you fanned yourself. “Y/N, I know for a fact that Spencer is at least half in love with you. If you're absolutely sure you don't feel the same way, you need to at least let him down easy.”

“I…. I don't know. He's infuriating sometimes, but then he's so smart and annoying. But he's pretty great at comforting me. And the, uh, the other stuff, that was good, too.” 

“Don't need to-” 

“Like really good. Like, I'm not surprised I ended up pregnant practically first time good-” 

“Back on topic, please!” JJ whisper shouted, throwing her hands up as you zipped your mouth shut.

“You like him,” she said. 

You sighed and finally gave in. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I like him.” 

“Great. What next?” 

“Next, I tell him I'm pregnant and make him hate me for a while.” 

She patted you on the back and poised you another mug of tea before leading you back over to the kids and sitting beside them at the table. 

“We can plan something later. For now, macaroni art is calling.”

You weren't sure if it was the stern, practical pep-talk from JJ or the little tiny grasp of your hand from Michael. Maybe it was even Henry's goodbye of ‘see you soon, Auntie Y/N’ that had you suddenly invigorated, but you suddenly kicked yourself into gear. 

The pregnancy wasn't going to put itself on pause while you worked up the courage to tell Spencer about it. You had to do it. 

JJ dropped you off at home at 6 p.m., knowing that Spencer would be back at the apartment shortly. 

“You're sure you don't need me to stay up there with you? The commute can get a bit long this time of night, Spencer could be anywhere between 15 and 45 minutes.”

“No, I think… I think I need some time to think about how I'm going to do this. I need some alone time.”

She nodded quietly and sent you off after calling Spencer and giving him an update on your whereabouts. 

You paced the apartment wondering what the best option was. 

You could go for the bookshelf again, though it was still organised into your first message. You'd not moved a book in that stack at all, and surprisingly, neither had Spencer. 

Running into your room, you grabbed the pair of baby shoes you'd thrown into your bag from your apartment. Maybe if you left them on the shelf next to the books…? 

You put them there and frowned, wondering if he'd be able to see them from the door when he walked in. He was so used to the surroundings of his house that he really didn't check for irregularities. 

You moved them to the coffee table. Then you wondered if you should just hand them to him when he walked in. 

“Spencer. I am..pregnant,” you practised, looking into the bathroom mirror as you tried to force a smile. 

“Spencer. We're pregnant. No, not a chance,” you sighed. 

“Spencer, I have a parasite growing in me. I've had it for five months now, and then I'll have it for another four and hopefully a long time after that as well.” 

That one was mostly a joke. Mostly. 

“Spencer, I… We're going to have a baby.” You looked down at your bump again and decided that was probably your best option. It wasn't a state. It wasn't a condition or a parasite. It was a baby. 

You rubbed your stomach again and looked up, wiping away tears from the corner of your eye as you composed yourself again. 

The doorbell rang, and your heart race picked up. It was time. Spencer was home, and you were going to tell him. 

Suddenly, you were filled with excitement, with happiness. You ran to the door, stepping on the sofa to get there quicker as you ran to pull it open. 

Maybe it was the pregnancy brain fog, but you forgot where you were. 

Spencer Reid lived in this apartment. He didn't need to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. He'd never done it before. But you'd already swung the door open quickly, and you were so relaxed and ready for it to be him that when a hand extended and covered your mouth with a cloth, thick with a scent that had your body protesting, you could do nothing but crumple to the floor with your hands cradling yourself, protecting the life growing within you. 

🔖@mindfullycriminal @aliteralsemicolon @r-3dlips @alexafromamazon15 @jasf444 @subunitless @thebloomingeagle @lackingoriginalthoughts @empressgraytea @2hiigh2cry @jiuseoks @readinglatenights @placidus @dreamsarebig

@pisceslovrr @waywardgoddess66 @tampon_racecar @kbaby-024 @luvdella @feyresqueen @a1dyn @pleasantwitchgarden @kolasbombaf @lovehadlovelost @kissesforspence @moonchildooh @bubbleebubz @theoraekenslover @melagem02 @calypso-read

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@Cattosmush @im-this-girl @Sarcasm-and-stiles @lovemelaunic @lllucere@ Cattosmush @lariclifford @daphnesutton Ccatstars @Iniyalovesall @solemnarration @emma-e-a @haygirleyhay Mel-knee @broadwaytraaaaash @Wildflowerpassion @itshardtopickaname @Timidquindim

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[silhouetteonpaper]

On The Run

Summary: You were used to the usual routine; completing a mission for some quick cash, running to the next hide-out in order to stay off the grid. But you weren't off the grid, not to Natasha. She still kept tabs on you, just in case. And now, she needed to find you—fast, before you both end up on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s kill list. Natasha Romanoff x Reader WC: 2,465 Warnings/Themes: Gun use, mentions of past relationship, angst, fluff

The Amalfi Coast, nine months after the Sokovia Accords.

The coordinates to the safe house led you down a winding road, barely big enough to fit two cars side by side. When the ocean view got so close, you wondered if the road would lead right off a cliff—It finally placed you at the simple stone house on the Italian coast. You were expecting a small touristy town, full of the stereotypical lemons and pizza, hoping to stop in a nearby town to try its various delicacies—maybe even relax and have a drink. But instead, you were surprised with something new. It was far from touristy, rather a humble area away from the large population. Small farms, vast orchards and vineyards, grasslands. And of course, the ocean, lapping softly right in front of your eyes.

When you pulled the car into the cobbled driveway, you could see the waves glowing with oranges and yellows of the sun; white tufts flowing over the rocks at a consistent pace, the crisp sea spray filling the air. It was almost too picturesque to be your next hideaway, like something you’d see on a brochure. But a few weeks of this, you weren’t going to complain.

Putting the car in park, you stepped out into the world and let the sun hit your face. Something was different about the Italian sun, like it truly got under your skin and filled your soul. It felt nice to stretch your legs after a few hours in the car, driving far enough away to remain hidden. After stealing intel for a large organization, you had no choice but to hide. If you stayed alive long enough, you’d earn a large sum. It was the same routine, accepting a mission from some wannabe-criminal organization, a quick in-and-out heist to earn you some quick cash. It was the only way you could keep food on the table, especially considering your situation.

Months had passed since the Sokovia Accords, leaving you on your own without a care; constantly on the run like a bird in flight while doing missions whenever possible. Yet this time, you weren’t working for just any organization. It was HYDRA. They offered a deal you couldn’t resist, it just made sense to accept it. Besides, you were laying low from S.H.I.E.L.D. anyways after the accords, you’d be living in a safe house regardless. So what, if you accepted a mission from the highest bidder who happened to work for the other side? You weren’t anyone’s property, and you sure as hell would never sign a paper like the accords that enforced such things. You were grateful to at least have a place to call home for the time being, knowing others weren’t as lucky. 

Grabbing your duffel bag from the trunk, you walked up the driveway into your new home for the next few weeks. It was made of stone, rustic, with an older interior. It was even more Italian than you could’ve pictured. The floorboards creaked as you stepped inside the open living room, green couches covered in a thin layer of dust, no TV in sight. You let your duffel hit the ground with a thud, dust flying through the air as it caught in the sunlight flooding through the glossy windows. You gave yourself a quick house tour, finding the bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom with ease. The perfect place to hide out for a few weeks, alone and unbothered. Taking a deep breath, you unzipped your duffel to begin unpacking.

That’s when the feeling of something cold pressed against the back of your head, eerily similar to the barrel of a gun. Your heart dropped into your stomach, forcing you to remain frozen. You assumed you’d be alone, just like anyone when they step into their own safe house, one you triple-checked would be abandoned and untraceable. But you internally cursed yourself for not clearing each room when you entered anyway. You should’ve known to expect the unexpected, especially when there was a target on your back.

“Hey, don’t waste a perfectly good silver bullet on me. One swing of a knife will do…” With a racing heart, you tried to bargain with whoever was behind you. Was it bad that you often turned to humor in tense situations? Maybe, but it was the only sentence you could form with a gun held to your head. Your worst fear wasn’t dying, it was not having the upper hand. You raised your hands in the air slowly, keeping your head completely still as the pressure suddenly… disappeared.

“Don’t give me any ideas.” A familiar voice muttered, lowering the gun back into its concealed spot. Natasha. What could she possibly be doing here? You spun on your feet to face her. The agent with glowing locks of red hair, someone you used to know well, intruding without a word. It was almost like you could still see the mark you’d left on her, through the smile lines creasing her eyes when she’d squint, or by the grown-out highlights in her hair you artfully dyed. But now, she wasn’t an agent, not for S.H.I.E.L.D. anyway. Just like you, she ran when the terms of the accords finally got in the way of those she loved most. Including you. But now, you’ve both found yourself on opposite sides. Her, fighting for her friends, and you—fighting for yourself.

Swallowing the past, you looked at her dead on. “I didn’t realize they double booked this Air-BNB.” You joked, wondering if she would leave so you both could pretend this interaction never happened. Just like the last handful, all shoved under the rug. Because it was easier to pretend your relationship never existed than to face it head-on.

Natasha couldn’t help but smirk, deep down missing the humor that filled each of your interactions. But that was the past.Now you were the enemy. She had to keep a stoic expression—if not for you, for herself. “Sorry to crash your vacation.” She shrugged, slowly stepping around the place like she owned it. 

You furrowed your brows, watching her every move. You hadn’t seen her in over a month, and the first thing she did was hold a gun to your head? Your not-so-secret hideout was easily found by the Widow—not surprising, but intriguing. Why would she need to find someone she knows is hiding? Something was up, but it was impossible to see past the facade she carefully constructed. “What brings you here?”

She avoided eye contact. “Would you be scared off if I said you?” The words nearly caught in her throat, her eyes finally finding yours. You crossed your arms, opening your mouth but realizing you were at a loss for words. It was rare that someone rendered you speechless, yet Natasha somehow did. She always found new ways to surprise you.

“That depends, is this a honeymoon I wasn’t made aware of?” Even like this, you couldn’t help but joke, and a part of you kicked yourself over it. But Natasha’s amused and even more drawn to you. Still, it wasn’t the time. Based on her expression that quickly returns to a serious frown, she was clearly there for something more pressing.

“I’m here because of S.H.I.E.L.D.” She stated plainly, like she had thrown all of her concealed weapons out on the table. You inhaled sharply, eyes turning dark at the mention of them. They know. They must’ve found out about HYDRA and sent Natasha in their stead. She could break down your walls, and detain you in a second. But even more pressing than that, was the fact it could be true.

Your heart nearly broke into two, but you weren’t going to reveal that. “You’re working for them again?” You questioned like it was an interrogation. She shook her head, realizing just how destroyed the trust between you both was. Because of S.H.I.E.L.D., but not for?

“They’ve decided to renew the warrants out for our arrest. They’re coming for us.” Her words were cautious, like even speaking about it would cause a brigade of agents to appear at the front door. Your gaze fell to the floor, the implications flooding into your mind like poison. It was impossible for you not to run over every option, every possibility in your mind. Calculating carefully what your next move would be; how you’d escape yet another wild chase across the world. It’s what you’d always do in the face of a challenge, overthink each option until your mind was left numb—the only thing left to do after was hide.

Natasha easily noticed the old habit; her gaze watching your eyes fall, darting across the floor, your lips curving into the slightest of frowns. She was studying you—and although slightly out of practice after all this time, Natasha never forgot completely. “Hey,” her voice was soft, enough to draw you out of your swirling thoughts. A stern expression on her face, yet a certain warmth beneath it. Hidden under her eyes if you dared to look close enough. “I didn’t come here to stir up trouble. I came here to… be of help.” It was hard for her to admit it, the fact she did want to get you out of the situation safely. It had been months since she showed her care for you, the support you’d assumed faltered after you chose to follow a different path in the ongoing war.

The words were a relief, but you weren’t sure if they were true. It had been a while since you were able to trust someone, constantly out on the run from safe house to safe house. Alone, because it was easier that way. You desired it greatly, to share the burden of your reality with anyone else, but it wasn’t as simple as that. Especially not with Natasha. It was never simple with her. Even now, when your options are seemingly slim.

“You come here, hold a gun to my head, and now you’re trying to get me to trust you?” You weren’t trying to hide the fact there was a broken relationship between you both, especially after the anger you were forced to direct at each other after the accords. But deep down, maybe you knew that wasn’t ever Natasha talking, it was the puppeteering of S.H.I.E.L.D. Still, no one controls the Widow, not even you. She could’ve gone about it differently, you both could have.

With the light pouring in from the window, you could see her face more clearly. She looked tired, like she traveled far to be here today. Those little details never went unnoticed by you. “I needed you to listen.” Natasha almost sounded… desperate. It laced her words, like she was speaking from her heart and not from her mind.

“You could’ve just sent a text.” You commented, watching as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Both of you knew the truth, that S.H.I.E.L.D. was already tapping into your supposedly ‘untraceable’ phones. If she had sent a message, they’d know you two were teaming up. But was that what was really happening?

She chuckled. That laugh, you’d waited so long to hear it again. It reminded you of why you let your humorous side show in the first place. For people like Natasha, who appreciate a cunning sense of humor, a quick joke amidst a serious situation. And this was most definitely serious. You toy with the idea of following her lead, agreeing you’d both need to figure out an escape plan from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s approaching attack.

“What did you have in mind? Y’know, to get us both out of this unharmed?” If she’d come unannounced, she at least had to have a plan. You knew her well enough to expect that Natasha never comes unprepared. 

She took a deep breath, making you question if she really did have a solid plan. “We run, like always. I know of a place Northwest we can stay. And we’ll keep dodging them until…”

“Until they forget about us. Again.” You finished her sentence for her, already understanding where this was headed. Running, hiding, with no end in sight. But the way she phrased it made something inside of your heart skip a beat. She said we. We, as in the two of you would run together, this time on the same side.

Thousands of questions formed in an instant, yet one stuck out over the rest. Where did that leave you both? Friends? Enemies? Acquaintances? You were unsure who the woman standing before you was. Natasha, whom you could still feel the soft touch of if you closed your eyes—or Agent Romanoff, who was stoic and cold, whose work was a relentless priority. Even if it was the former, did she like the idea of you two running off together? Or could she just not handle the guilt of letting you flail?

“Your eyes are doing that thing again.” She spoke, her stare intense with something that felt like more than strangers, more than friends. She wanted to convince you. “I think it’ll be good for us.”

You look at her, letting your expression relax, letting your worried posture fall. She wanted this. “There’s no team bonding better than hiding out together.” You joked softly, letting your eyes fully see what was in front of you. Not just Natasha, but what this could mean for the two of you. Was it time to stop your streak of being alone? Was it a sign of weakness?

“I like that, team.” Natasha smiled, and suddenly your heart felt like it was going to fall into your stomach. Not because you were scared of running, but because you wanted this, to be with her. The idea of you two hiding away together—keeping each other safe, isolated from the world, it didn’t sound so bad. It scared you how vulnerable you felt, more than the fact the strongest force of agents was on their way. How you felt okay with this, how you longed for this.

To say you were desperate for the touch of another would seem like an overstatement, especially since you’re not someone who feels that deeply. But when Natasha stepped closer toward you, her slow breathing audible by the time she stopped—you weren’t going to back away. Like a magnet, she was drawing you in. “What d’you say, will you run with me?” Her lips curved into a smile, eyes locked with yours. There was no way you could turn her down.

“I will always run with you, Natasha Romanoff."

[peeweekey]

super graphic ultra-modern girl like me!

pairing: haley x reader

wc: 2k

tags: mature (NOT explicit) , closeted lesbian haley , both of you are drunk , making out

synopsis: where sharing lipstick with your best friend haley makes you feel… things.

a/n: reader: oh ho ho, i sure hope kissing my bff doesnt awaken anything in me! (it did)

i wrote this listening to super graphic ultra modern girl by chappel roan! haley fits so many of her songs its insane

your head is aching, spinning like you were sent to another dimension that consists of disco flashing lights and the nauseating smell of spilt vodka—all thanks to the sheer amount of alcohol you consumed in the past 5 hours. it’s pushing 3 AM—the strappy 4 inch heels are chafing your feet, the skimpy skirt clinging to your hips ride up in a way that would scandalize the small village mothers, and body glitter covering every inch of your skin. 

you feel light, weightless as you flutter and float through the rhythmic bass engulfing the club. you nod your head to the beat of the music, swaying your hips that loosen with every sip of the sweet alcoholic drink in your hand. 

you’re bouncing up and down to party rock anthem when your phone buzzes. fishing it out of your pocket, you squint your eyes to make out the notification. you bow your head, trying to make out the message over the flashing lights.

an amused laugh bubbles out of you. haley.

—> go 2 thr bathroon rn

—> hurry or else

you turn and wobble out of the middle of the dance floor, swaying to the beat while maneuvering the sea of sweaty bodies. the bathroom is in an isolated corner by the entrance of the club. you push the door open, stumbling slightly when it takes a little less effort than you expect.

you enter the club bathroom, shutting the ornate door behind you. it slams with a resounding slam, dampening the loud candy pop songs blaring through the party outside. 

your heels click against cool marble as you saunter to the long, seemingly endless, stretch of mirrors and faucets. twisting the knob, a rush of tap water flows freely; it contrasts satisfyingly with the heated skin of your hands. you wet your fingers, dabbing your cheeks and neck with cool water. you sigh, shivering with the instant relief it brings.

as you cool yourself off, you think—you do wonder what haley’s predicament is, she texted you with much urgency. 

perhaps she fell into the toilet—or maybe she’s drunk herself to the point of spewing her guts out in one of these very cubicles. the latter though makes you giggle. a notification buzzes from your phone, as if the sound of your laughter summoned it.

—> idiot

—> i can hear u laughing from here

you snort.

suddenly, without warning, you feel a warm hand pull you into a stall. it’s a sudden jerking motion, and you almost lose your balance to fall flat on your face. a gasp rips out of you as you clutch on to the very warm, very soft thing that keeps you from falling and twisting your ankle. before you even register the situation, you’re being dragged in to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. 

you’re frazzled, knocked off balance by a rude and very disrespectful stranger who obviously has no morals. you feel your blood boil, ruthless insults ready at the tip of your tongue—

—then you look up, and that feeling dissipates. instead, a cheshire grin splits your face, “haley.”

she’s the living breathing stereotype of a wild party girl like this; blonde hair in waves down her back that smells sweetly of strawberries, nails buffed and painted a pretty baby blue, and make-up done up to the absolute nines. her sequin skirt sparkles and winks as she shifts. pretty, you’ll ask if you could borrow it next time—

manicured fingers snap and you’re pushed out of your own thoughts. haley crosses her arms, standing in between your thighs, looking down at you with a displeased expression. “took you long enough.”

you offer a sheepish smile. “i was busy.”

“yeah,” she sneers, locking the stall door behind her. “busy shaking your ass to trashy zuzu club songs.” 

you ignore the sharp jab with a roll of your eyes. “what’s up?” you ask, your words slur slightly, almost tapering off into incomprehensible gibberish. “didya you puke or something?”

“ew. no,”the loud is just making my head hurt,” she replies, massaging her temples. “stick your legs together, i’m gonna sit on your lap.”

she knocks your thighs together with her knee. haley maneuvers you to her liking, your bare thighs pressing together when she spins and sits perpendicular to your lap.

“hm.” you feel the weight of her settle on top of your thighs. the warmth of her skin meeting yours under the cut of her skirt. you barely repress a shiver at the heat radiating off her skin. “woah! okay now you really have to tell me what’s going on.”

you're met with a faceful of strawberry-scented blonde hair when she shifts away—ignoring you. good news for her, your drink-addled brain doesn’t seem to care. in fact, your drunk brain figures it is a perfect time to shamelessly flirt. your tongue is loose enough, and your brain has completely thrown away its filter. as friends, of course; building camaraderie as people say.

“you smell nice, did you use that strawberry shampoo i gave?” you murmur, brushing the locks away from your face. you feel haley squirm in your lap. you know she used it, the pride bubbles up in you at the thought. 

it’s overly warm, that plus the buttloads of alcohol brewing in your gut makes your skin feel on fire. 

haley growls. “stop talking, dumbass.”

you roll your eyes, pinching her thigh. she yelps, high and breathy, swatting your hand away. she meets your eyes, her blonde brows furrowed.

“geez…” a lazy smile playing on your lips. “just take the compliment, hales.”

a ghost of a smirk appears on her cherry colored lips. glossy and pink. you wonder if they taste as sweet and tart as real cherries do—

you wince internally. thinking like that is not a good idea. damn your alcohol foggy brain, making you think of the inane idea of lusting after your best friend. 

you knock your forehead into her shoulder. “so are we just going to sit here all day?”

“i just need to touch up my lipstick,” she says. facing you with an expectant look. “then we can go back.”

“and that’s why you called me,” you raise a brow. your gaze trails to the cherry coat on her lips—it looks perfectly fine to you. in fact, she looks absolutely darling like this. 

“you need some?”

“…are you offering?”

“why not? we share all my shit anyway,” you shrug. “i think it’s somewhere in my purse—”

“where’s your purse?”

“i left it with the others, i think it’s with abby, i'll text her.” you say. fumbling for your phone, you reach in the hidden pocket of your skirt. the walls enclosing the cubicle restrict your movements; you bump your elbow against the flimsy wood as you dig deeper into the flimsy pocket. your skirt is skin-tight against your hips, you feel the woman above becoming increasingly agitated as your attempts to fish out your phone come out fruitless.

haley huffs above you, shifting; making your wary gaze snap back to her. she looks down at you with a pout—you’re damn sure she’s just as hammered as you.

“too far,” she whines, taking a firm grip of your jaw. your cheeks puff with the force of her squishing them, you feel the pointed tips of her nails digging into the fat there. she swings a leg over you, her hips bracketing your waist as she sits atop you. 

this position feels strangely intimate; like all your senses are overwhelmed with only haley. the heady scent of her skin, the short sounds of her breathing in your ears, the burning feeling wherever she touches—it’s all her, her, her.

which shouldn’t make you feel the way it’s making you feel; like you're buzzing with adrenaline. you feel the blood coursing through your veins at race car speeds—spreading all throughout your body. your cheeks feel hot, you feel dizzy with all your senses stimulated by your best friend.

the reverberating bass from the music outside shakes the walls; like some sort of finality as it thumps, thumps, thumps.

“hales,” you start, your mouth dry. “what—”

she stares at you, her crystalline eyes shining in the dim light of the bathroom. a pretty pink flush paints her cheeks til the tips of her pearl-adorned ears. you feel her breaths against your cheek—short and warm. “stay still, the gloss you have on your lips will do.”

your ears have to be fucking with you… your eyes widen and you swear you feel your heart jump up into your throat. “huh—”

“what?” she says in response to your wide-eyed expression. her tone drops to something akin to a purr. “your lipstick is such a pretty shade.”

helping is what friends are for, right? maybe this is merely the alcohol talking; because she doesn’t like you like that, totally—and the disappointment you feel is not because of that either. 

you swallow the heavy lump in your throat; your voice is strangled and stuttery when you speak. “f—fine.”

“perfect,” she grins. “hold still.”

this is the least you were expecting when you walked into the club bathroom; who knew you’d end up with haley in your lap and hovering over for what is technically a kiss. you will your eyes not to close, burning the view of her leaning over you into your brain. you shudder; this is not a sight that will leave you for months to come.

you squeeze her hip as her face hovers closer, palm lingering at her scratchy sequin miniskirt. you crane your neck, anticipating the brush of her lips against yours. your other hand travels to her upper back, stroking her locks of golden hair; under your ministrations, you feel her tremor slightly.

it feels like eternity when you finally connect. 

sparks fly the moment you feel the plush softness of her mouth against yours, moving in a salacious rhythm that you doubt is for only sharing lipstick. 

her lips are sticky with what remains of that cherry lip gloss; it smears all over your own lips, spreading your deep red lipstick everywhere; at the corner of your lips, at your chin. your eyes flutter shut, a contented sigh escapes your mouth and haley uses that as an opportunity to deepen the kiss. she drags her hand up and up, curling her fingers into the base of your neck.

you jolt, the pleasure fogs your mind; your thoughts are muddy, the only coherent thing is of haley. 

your tongue swipes at her bottom lip, chasing the fruity flavor of cherry cola on her lips. it’s sweet, she’s sweet. you feel lightheaded with the overwhelming sensations of it. sure, you’ve kissed once or twice—but it never felt like this; soft and desperate and hot and tingly, affecting you all throughout your body. 

your breaths are labored when she pulls away and you feel it's too soon. a clicking wet sound when her mouth disconnects from yours that makes you shiver. you feel dizzy with warmth; heat is pooling low in your belly, a low buzzing sensation overwhelms everywhere haley touches. 

her lips as wine-red as yours. the same color lipstick smeared messily on her lips. haley wipes the corner of your cupid’s bow, where some of the color had smudged, her breathing heavy and pupils dilated as you stare. her hands feel delightfully warm and soft against your skin. golden strands of hair brush against your cheeks, making you squirm in your seat.

you can barely restrain your delighted giggle, in awe of the absurdity of the situation. haley laughs too, a light sound like a tinkling bell. you slump against the cold tile wall behind you, boneless and in disbelief— did you really just make out with your best friend? and at a grimy club bathroom no less.

time seems suspended here, cramped in a stall with only the sound of heavy breathing. there will be a lot more questions when you leave, lingering glances at your pleasure-pulled hair and smeared lipstick. 

this is what friends do, what you and haley do. your eyes track her every move, unabashedly staring as she readjusts her top. haley catches your eye, smiling like the cat that got all the cream. 

she cranes her face to your ear, whispering. “thanks for the touch up, babe.”

[jngkz]

THE MEN OF THE 12 SIGNS & THEIR RED FLAGS (PT. I)

₊ ⊹ apply these to PERSONAL plants and especially stelliums.

₊ ⊹ as for generational planets, account for them if they are in the what i like to call "the partnership houses" (1st/3rd/5th/7th houses)

aries men

₊ ⊹ short tempered ASF! one of the most irratible and easily frustrated out of all the signs. especially if things aren't going at their specific pace. their short tempter leads to arguments. not as argumentative as virgo men tho lol.

₊ ⊹ LOYAL ... until they don't want to be. similar to their fire sign sister in law sagittarius, aries men will be your ride or die but once they are even slightly bored they'll go ghost.

taurus men

₊ ⊹ SCARILY good at hiding secrets. their red flags/true character won't even show up until months into the relationship. be having you wondering if you really even knew them at all.

₊ ⊹ too nonchalant. i'm not even explaining this one cause i bet everyone reading this has had atleast ONE experience/encounter with a nonchalant taurus man, OR knows someone who has.

gemini men

₊ ⊹ flirty AND oblivious (.....except they're not oblivious at all).

₊ ⊹ they're the type to be friends with all their exes and see no harm in it. WILL claim he and his exes are one big happy family.. after borderline freaking it on with every single one of them.

₊ ⊹ ALWAYS playing devils advocate. they just be taking whatever side you're not on for the sake of a little giggle and a debate. even if that means hurting your feelings in the process.

cancer men

₊ ⊹ mommy issues on 10. but yall already knew the tea on cancer men!!!!! don't be suprised if his mom shows up w him on your dates.

₊ ⊹ manipulative. will be incredibly defensive during arguments and might even put on this sad boy facade that'll make you feel bad for him. but girl just know it's all for show.

leo men

₊ ⊹ will hit on any living breathing thing. has for sure already hit on and tried to get with every person in your friends group.

₊ ⊹ obsessed with themselves. yeah idc the leo stereotypes are true.. no matter how good of a person u think they are. it's interesting (to say the least) because they also tend to be very insecure. tbh they just love put on an arrogant front.

virgo men

₊ ⊹ YALL KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT VIRGO MEN.

₊ ⊹ EXTREMELYYYYYY argumentative. WILL start arguments and WILL always believe that only they are in the right. from what i've seen, 99.9% of women's villain origin stories began because a virgo man wronged her.

₊ ⊹ perfectionists. just very critical and particular about what they like - sometimes so excessive that they project their unrealistic expectations onto their partners.

ok that's all 4 nowwww. might post a pt.2 who knowssss

[lordprettyflackotara]

kehlani || mattheo riddle

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. i have no tw’e for this besides the fact this is meant to be like a ✨mystery✨ so happy kinktober detectives!

Mattheo Riddle did not care for relationships.

His father had taught him long ago romantic entanglements were a waste of time. Even with his mother being his father’s right hand in war, he saw her nothing more than just another soldier. Mattheo adored his mother, resulting him deciding it wouldn’t be suitable for him to treat a witch like that. So as he attended Hogwarts University, he focused on his studies instead. The expectation of reviving his father was on his shoulders, the death eaters lurking in the shadows eagerly awaiting Mattheo’s next move. Truthfully Mattheo was a bit behind on his responsibility of being the dark lords son.

Besides stirring up generic chaos in classroom settings with his posse, Mattheo wasn’t living up to the expectations everyone had placed upon him. If anything him and his mates were enjoying having a break from assisting in world domination. Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy were his right hand men, both pure bloods and death eaters themselves. To pass time besides creating entertaining mischief, they found themselves doing what most wizards were doing at their age: partying until the motherfucking sun came up.

Slytherin’s had always been known to throw the most exciting parties, but the outrageous substances at these parties only escalated once they were all in University. With the war over and many Slytherin’s sent to azkaban, the remaining sought to get high or drunk to find a way to cope with their sorrow. Whether or not they believed in Voldermort’s plan was irrelevant, many just coping with the evil stereotype placed upon them. Or in Draco and Theodore’s case, their parents being sent to azkaban for life. In Mattheo’s case, both his parents were dead. The expectation was exhausting if he were being honest, something he only was with Draco and Theo after a good blunt.

It was another one of those kind of nights, the Slytherin common room crowded with party attendees. Not many other houses had the courage to attend Slytherin parties and when they did, they dressed in neutral clothing to blend in. Mattheo could always spot another house member from a mile away though. Gryffindors were often too rowdy, Ravenclaws too reserved, Hufflepuffs too eager to try anything and everything put in front of them. They might as well have written their house on their forehead if you asked Mattheo. He watched the party over the rim of his red solo cup, a custom that Theo had shamelessly stolen from muggle culture. After the war Theodore Nott had been sentenced to community services to assist the muggles. The council assumed it would help them abolish his stigmatization. Unfortunately all it really did was introduce him to the world of muggle drugs.

Draco stood beside Mattheo, inhaling the freshly rolled blunt. If there was anything the three of them thought muggles were good for, it was their drugs. Strobe lights and blaring music helped Mattheo drown out any sort of coherent thoughts, his body living in the now. Theo elbowed him from the other side, cocking his head to the left. “Hey, who the hell is that? I can’t figure out what house she’s in,” Theo asked. He gestured to you, Mattheo’s eyes lighting up at the sight of you. You looked like a breath of fresh air. He had never seen you before, but merlin were you stunning. You wore a black sparkly dress as you talked to what looked to be a Ravenclaw. “Couldn’t tell ya. But she’s not Slytherin so therefore she’s most certainly not pure,” Draco chimed in. Theo and Draco were on opposite ends of the spectrum. Theo would fuck anything with two breasts, while Draco only sought out purebloods. Mattheo feared the pureblood ideology had seeped a little too deep into the blondes head, but he’d never mention it.

“Huh. She doesn’t look like any of them honestly,” Mattheo muttered. Finishing his drink he carelessly tossed the red solo cup away, wiping his upper lip with his sleeve. Curiosity was beginning to nag at Mattheo as he watched you laugh. “I think i’ll go find out,” He announced, confidently strolling over to you. The moment he arrived to your conversation the Ravenclaw boy took a hint, disappearing into the never ending sea of swaying bodies. Your eyes met Mattheo’s, the brunette digging in his pocket and taking out a box of cigarettes. “Cig?” He offered, handing it out to you. You politely declined, watching him place a cigarette between his lips. “Who doesn’t smoke these days?” He asked, lighting the cigarette with the end of his wand. You awkwardly shrugged. “I guess me,” You answered. Mattheo couldn’t quite understand why he was even talking to you, putting aside the morbid curiosity. “So what house are you in?” Mattheo asked. He figured once you answered he’d lose interest, as he did most things.

“Hufflepuff.”

Your answer surprised him, considering how confident you were standing. “Thats shocking,” Mattheo answered honestly. You seemed confused, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? Why is that shocking?” You asked. Mattheo chuckled as he inhaled his cigarette, relishing in the feeling of the tobacco swirling around his lungs before he exhaled. “Well, usually Hufflepuff’s piss themselves when I try to talk to them,” Mattheo explained. He found the situation odd. He had been around the block many of times and was always able to stop the micro movements that belonged to each house. Yet you shockingly displayed none of them. “Huh. You don’t seem so scary to me,” You quipped. Mattheo found himself entertained, chuckling again. “Do you know who I am?” He asked. It was impossible that you didn’t know who he was if you were a student here. “Of course I do. You just aren’t that scary to me,” You replied. The brunette was at a loss for words, the tension between the two of you growing awkward. Mattheo glanced at his friends, who were observing the two of you chat from a far. He figured he should return to them, having the answer to the question they wanted to know.

Just as he was about to walk away, your voice interrupted him, “Wanna dance?”

Your question had taken him aback. No one had ever asked him to dance before. Doing so took a lot of courage, a strangely Gryffindor trait for such a confident Hufflepuff. “Sorry sweetheart I don’t dance,” Mattheo declined, a sly smirk crawling up his lips. You laughed at his remark, grabbing his arm. “Sure you do,” You replied, dragging him onto the self designated dance floor. Mattheo didn’t recognize whatever song was playing, the bass loud and borderline overbearing if he was sober. The only dancing he had ever done was traditional ballroom style, the kind you’d do at the Yule ball for example. He wasn’t quite sure what to do as you swayed your hips in front of him, your eyes gleaming up at him as you patiently waited for him to join. He nervously finished his cigarette, tossing it aside and exhaling through his nose. It wasn’t often Mattheo felt nervous, but your confidence compared to his reluctance definitely made him feel so. You grabbed his hands, your touch warm and soft as you placed them on your hips. You pressed your body against his, Mattheo’s cheeks growing hot. “I’m not quite sure you wanna do that sweetheart, i’m not gentle,” He purred.

Mattheo wasn’t a virgin or anything, having experimented plenty in his teen years. He knew he was rough when it came to sex. He had been on the straight and narrow for a couple of years now, focusing on world domination or whatever his father wanted. But your hips were tempting. Your confidence made it all of the better, your long eyelashes batting up at him. “I didn’t ask if you were. Who knows? Maybe I like it a bit rougher,” You hummed. You turned around, your ass placed against his crotch. Mattheo readjusted his grip on your hips, squeezing the flesh harshly even with your dress providing some form of protection. Mattheo’s hips involuntarily grinded against yours, your body shamelessly dancing to the music. “You’re playing in the snake den princess, wouldn’t want you to get bit,” Mattheo grumbled into your ear, his breath deliciously hot against your skin. You grinned at the sensation, soaking in the attention. “You don’t scare me Riddle,” You replied, pushing your ass against him. He felt himself growing hard under your touch, having not felt someone this close to him in a long time.

Hearing his name fall off of your tongue was music to his ears, the green strobe lights dancing off of your body. Mattheo glanced over at Draco and Theodore, who were cheering him on from a far. Draco was intoxicated enough to put aside his pureblood bigotry and was giving Mattheo two thumbs up. Theo on the other hand was plastered, fresh flakes of cocaine still decorating his upper lip. He was mouthing the words ‘fuck her!’ as he childishly humped the air. Mattheo rolled his eyes, before returning his gaze back to you. Mattheo began having an internal debate, wondering if he should give in to his urges. Could he really allow you to be treated like his mother long term if he followed in his father’s footsteps? He bit his bottom lip as he admired your ass. Maybe he wouldn’t be too terrible of a person if he let you seduce him. Just for a night anyways. “Hey you wanna get out of here?” Mattheo asked, his lips a millimeter away from your earlobe. You grinned as you turned around, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Lead the way.”

Mattheo had a lot of questions about you. You were so mysterious, eagerly following him down to the lower level dungeons where the forms were. He shared a dorm with Theodore and Draco, who would know the room was being more than occupied. His questions arose even further when your lips clashed with his before he could barely shut the door. You were eager and desperate to have him, which puzzled him endlessly. Mattheo was a walking threat to any other witch and wizard, yet a supposed Hufflepuff was nibbling at his bottom lip. Mattheo found himself just as desperate to match your energy, not having any relief from pent up stress in Merlin knows how long. He pressed you against the door, kissing down the side of your neck. His large hands cupped your waist, itching to pull up your dress. “Never would’ve thought the devil would be as eager as me,” You teased, tilting your head to the side to allow him better access.

The time for thinking was over, his hormones and desires in full control as he unzipped your undress. “Never seen a Hufflepuff so slutty,” Mattheo countered, his voice husk as watched your dress fall. Goosebumps rose across your skin as he admired your frame, licking his lips. “You’re looking at me like a virgin Riddle,” You teased, causing Mattheo to chuckle. As he lowered himself to his knees he looped his fingers with your lacey black panties, pulling them down before tucking them into his pocket for safe keeping. His mind wondered to your witty comment, making a mental note how Ravenclaw like it sounded. Your glistening cunt was the perfect distraction from his thoughts, your legs slowly spreading open. Like a starved man Mattheo dived into your folds, lapping at your cunt as if he was dying of thirst. “Fucking shit, Riddle-” You moaned, tilting your head back against the door. Your fingers raked through his chocolate curls, pulling at them as he sucked on your clit. Mattheo wrapped his arms around your plush thighs, pulling them closer to him.

You were so cute like this, so desperate and horny. “Feel good princess?” He mumbled into your slick, watching you fall apart against his door. You were bucking your hips against his face, the knot in your stomach tightening. Your thighs squeezed around his head, before a wave of euphoria crashed down over you. Your heart pounded as you danced with stars, your breath shallow as you tried to catch it. You looked down at a cocky Mattheo Riddle, your juices coating his chin and lips as he grinned up at you. “I’m that good huh?” He asked sarcastically. You reached down and grabbed his emerald tie, yanking him to his feet. Mattheo followed your lead, guiding you to his bed. Your tongues danced for dominance as your juices coated your own taste buds. Mattheo fell back onto the bed, watching you eagerly paw at his belt. He put his hands behind his head, attempting to enjoy the experience as obnoxious questions circled his mind. “So uh, how come i’ve never seen you around before?” He asked suddenly. His questioning didn’t faze you though, his belt clinking as you pulled down his trousers.

“I’m a transfer student,” You answered automatically. You palmed Mattheo through his boxers, attempting to get him to focus on the matter at hand. Mattheo found your attempt to be dominant quite brave, causing him to prop himself up on his elbows. “We take transfer students?” He asked. You glared up at him, taking his hard cock out of his boxers. “Quite obviously since i’m here, now do you want me to suck your dick or not?” You quipped, tired of the interrogation. Mattheo verbalized agreement, laying back and closing his eyes as you took him into your mouth. You were hot and everything, but all of your traits were contradicting. It was like you were all of the houses at once. He tried to enjoy the way you bobbed your head up and down on his cock. The way you picked the underside of his shaft and kitten licked the tip to tease him. Yet his mind poked and prodded at him, causing him to prop himself up on his elbows once more. “Yeah sorry just one more question, how did you get sorted if you transferred-” He began, the dorm door opening causing him to stop mid sentence.

Draco and Theo stood in the doorway, covering each others eyes. “I told you he was going to be in here!” Theo hissed, cringing in disgust. Your face was flushed with embarrassment as you scrambled to cover yourself, while Mattheo instantly went to pull his pants back up. “Fuck this,” You grumbled, pulling down your dress. Mattheo scrambled to follow you, managing to button up his pants before trailing behind you.

“Hey wait! I didn’t even catch your name!”

“It’s Kehlani,” You hissed coldly, before shoving past Draco and Theodore and storming out of the room.

[mariclerc]

Falling for you (pt.4) | cl16

Summary: thanks to a debt owed by your father you have to marry the boss of the mafia.

Warning: mafia au, fluff, 5 years age gap, insecure reader, mafia boss!Charles and a bit of suggestive content.

Part 1, part 2, part 3

After what happened at the casino that night, you and Charles returned to Tuscany and everything was going on as usual - he with his sweet gestures towards you, divine food and barefoot walks in the villa's garden. But, putting that aside, you feel a slight emptiness in your chest.

What happened with your father doesn't hurt you in the slightest, because it's what someone like him deserved a long time ago, but something that is not so easy to forget is the constant humiliation and hurtful words about your physique that he said to you almost daily when you were still living with him, months before you married Charles.

Right now you're standing in front of a large, ornate mirror, your reflection staring back at you. You're wearing a simple pink silk nightgown, the thin fabric clinging to your small frame. A sigh escapes from your lips as you critically examines your reflection, just like your father would do to you daily.

You're petite, with curves that don’t quite fit the stereotypical model image... Your thighs are thick, your breasts small, and the words your father had spat at you in the casino echo in your mind every single day since that night, a cruel reminder of his constant criticism of your appearance.

“He’s probably wondering why he’s stuck with someone so damaged like me.” you whispered softly to yourself.

A pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, pulling your back against a warm, solid chest. Charles’ familiar scent of sandalwood and aftershave fill your senses.

“Stuck with you? Oh, cara mia, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” (my darling)

He rests his chin on your shoulder, his warm breath tickling your ear. You shivered involuntarily, a mixture of nervousness and pleasure coursing through your veins.

You turned slightly in his embrace. “You don’t have to say that, Charles...”

“Oh, but I have to, tesoro.”

He gently turned you around to face him, his hands cupping your face. His gaze is intense, filled with a warmth that melts some of the ice around your heart.

“You’re beautiful, y/n. Absolutely stunning!” he whispers softly.

He traces the curve of your cheek with his thumb, his touch sending a shiver down your spine... You blushed under his gaze, your shyness battling with the unfamiliar flicker of desire you feel in his presence.

You looked down at your feet. “I’m not… I’m not like the other women you… you’ve been with.”

He chuckled softly. “Other women? They’re just… shadows. You’re the real thing, piccolina, you’re the sun, the moon, the stars… all rolled into one person.” (little one)

He gently lifts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “These thighs…” he runs his hands along your thighs, his touch sending a wave of heat through your body. “…they’re perfect for holding onto, and these breasts…” he gently cups your breasts in his hands, his touch is surprisingly tender. “…they’re perfect for… well, for everything.”

He leans in and kisses you softly, a slow, lingering kiss that makes your head spin. When he pulls back, your eyes are wide with surprise and a flicker of something more.

“You’re perfect, y/n. Every inch of you! And I want to show you just how beautiful and sexy you are in my eyes.”

He pulled you close again, his arms wrapping around your waist. You rest your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm against your ear. The insecurities that had plagued you moments before begin to fade, replaced by the warmth of his embrace and the sincerity in his voice. You're still shy, still uncertain, but a flicker of hope begins to ignite within you.

He whispers against your hair. “My sweet little melody… my delicious temptation…” he kisses the top of your head. “So precious and exquisite.”

He continues to murmur sweet and sexy nicknames against your skin, each one sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. His hands gently caress and worship your body, slowly chipping away at your shyness and insecurities and replacing it with a growing sense of desire.

The Tuscan sun streams through the window, illuminating the room and casting a golden glow on your intertwined bodies, the morning stretches before you two, full of promise and the intoxicating possibility of something more.

You and Charles and surrender to the rising tide of passion. His touch, initially hesitant and exploratory, becomes more assured, more possessive, yet remains infused with a tenderness that melts away your remaining inhibitions. He kisses you deeply, his lips moving against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm that sets your senses ablaze.

He lifts you gently, carrying you as if you weighs nothing, and lays you down on the plush bed. The soft silk sheets cool against your heated skin, he leans over you, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire and adoration. He continues to kiss you, his lips trailing down your neck, across your collarbone, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

He whispers against your skin. “You’re so beautiful, tesoro. So perfect for me.”

His words are a balm to your soul, erasing years of insecurity and self-doubt. You arched your back, your body instinctively responding to his touch, the unfamiliar sensations both exhilarating and slightly overwhelming. This is the first time that you surrender completely to someone, and the feeling is exciting.

Your voice is breathy, almost like a sigh. “Charles… it… it feels…” you struggled to find the words to describe the sensations that are coursing through your body, the warmth that is spreading from your core outwards, the fuzzy, almost dreamlike feeling that is enveloping you.

He smiled softly, understanding in his eyes. “I know, cara, I know... Just let go, let me take care of you.”

He continues to touch you, his hands exploring the curves and valleys of your body with a reverence that makes you feel cherished and adored. His touch is gentle, yet firm, igniting a fire within you that you never knew existed. The pleasure builds slowly, steadily, like a crescendo of music, each touch, each kiss, each whispered word adding to the symphony of sensations.

Your voice is soft, almost a moan. “Charlie... It… it feels so good.” you closed your eyes, surrendering to the wave of pleasure that washes over you. You'd never felt anything like this before, this intoxicating blend of tenderness and passion, this feeling of being completely and utterly connected to another human being.

Charles whispered against your ear. “That’s my girl. Just relax baby, let it go.”

He continues to move against you, his rhythm slow and deliberate, building the tension, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. You clinged to him, your fingers digging into his back, your body arching against his. The world outside fades away, replaced by the intoxicating sensations of his touch, the warmth of his body, the sound of his heart beating against your ear.

He watches you closely, his eyes filled with a mixture of passion and tenderness, making sure that you're okay, making sure you're enjoying every moment. He murmurs words of encouragement and reassurance, his voice a soothing balm against the rising tide of pleasure.

“You’re doing so well, tesoro. So beautiful, so perfect.”

His words fuel the fire within you, pushing you closer and closer to the precipice. The pleasure intensifies, building to an almost unbearable crescendo. You cried out his name, your voice a mixture of pleasure and surrender, as you're swept away by the wave of ecstasy that washes over you.

In the aftermath, you two lie tangled together, your bodies still intertwined, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. The Tuscan sun continues to stream through the window, bathing the room in a warm, golden light. You rest your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm against your ear. You've never felt so vulnerable, so exposed, yet so safe, so loved, so completely and utterly cherished.

The sheets are tangled around you two, a silent testament to the passion you’ve just shared. You take a deep breath, the air still thick with the scent of arousal and something sweeter, something akin to intimacy.

A wave of emotion washes over you – relief, wonder, and a profound sense of gratitude. A single tear escapes the corner of your eye and traces a path down your cheek.

You speak, your voice barely a whisper, thick with emotion. “I… I can’t believe I... I finally…”

You trail off, the words catching in your throat, the years of your father’s harsh criticisms, his constant belittling of your appearance and worth, and the things he forced you to do had left deep scars inside. The fear of inadequacy, the belief that you wasn't good enough, had haunted you for so long... But in Charles’ arms, in the aftermath of your shared intimacy, those insecurities begin to dissolve, replaced by a nascent sense of self-acceptance and a burgeoning confidence.

He tightens his arms around your waist, his touch reassuring and protective. “Shhh, amore. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, you were… magnificent.” he gently brushes away the tear that lingers on your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin with infinite tenderness. (love) “My little vixen… you set my soul on fire.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead, a soft, lingering kiss that speaks volumes. He then trails kisses down your temple, along your jawline, to the sensitive skin behind your ear.

He nips playfully at your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. You giggled softly, the sound muffled against his chest. The tension from earlier has completely dissipated, replaced by a comfortable warmth and a playful intimacy.

He kisses your neck, his lips lingering on the pulse point at the base of your throat. You arched your back instinctively, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your shared passion.

The ghosts of your past begin to recede, replaced by the promise of a future filled with warmth, acceptance, and the intoxicating knowledge that in Charles’ eyes, you're not only beautiful, but cherished, adored, and desired beyond measure.

***

The Tuscan sun streams through the kitchen window, illuminating the vibrant colors of the fresh produce scattered across the countertop. You are humming softly to yourself as you moved gracefully around the kitchen, a vibrant sundress swirling around your legs. The dress, a cheerful yellow with delicate white floral patterns, accentuates your figure, clinging to your curves in all the right places. The air is filled with the tantalizing aroma of simmering tomatoes, garlic, and basil – the promise of a delicious homemade pasta sauce. A couple of days have passed since that first intimate encounter between you and Charles, which has practically been a before and after in the lives of both of you, and insecurities no longer torment your thoughts as usual.

Charles enters the kitchen, his arms laden with fresh herbs gathered from the garden. Rosemary, thyme, oregano – their fragrant leaves release their intoxicating scent as he brushes past them. He stops dead in his tracks, his gaze fixed on you, the sunlight catches the golden highlights in your hair, making it shimmer like spun silk. The sundress, so vibrant and alive, accentuates the gentle curve of your hips, the subtle swell of your breasts, the elegant line of your neck. He stands there for a moment, captivated, his breath catching in his throat.

His voice husky, almost a whisper. “Dio mio… you’re breathtaking amour.” (my god) (love)

He sets the herbs down on the counter, his eyes never leaving the sight of you. He walks towards you slowly, his gaze intense, almost reverent... He reaches out and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek for a moment.

“That dress… it’s… it’s a crime against humanity... It’s too distractingly beautiful.” he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, and inhales the scent of your perfume, a delicate blend of floral scent and citrus, mingled with the aroma of the simmering sauce. “You smell delicious. Almost as delicious as you look.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. You blushed under his gaze, a mixture of pleasure and shyness warming your cheeks.

You smiled softly. “You’re just saying that.”

He shakes his head, his gaze unwavering. “No, tesoro. I mean every word, you’re… radiant... Like the Tuscan sun itself.” he reaches out and gently traces the curve of your jawline with his thumb, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I can’t take my eyes off you. It’s like… like you’re a work of art... A masterpiece.”

He leans in and kisses you softly, a slow, lingering kiss that speaks volumes. The taste of you, sweet and intoxicating, mingles with the savory scent of the sauce, creating a heady mix that makes him dizzy with desire.

He pulls back slightly, his voice husky. “I’m going to have to taste you later... Along with that pasta sauce, of course.”

He winks, and you laughed while blushing, a genuine, carefree laugh that fills the kitchen with warmth and joy... The tension from the previous days, the lingering insecurities, they all seem to melt away under the heat of his gaze, replaced by a growing sense of confidence and a deep, abiding love.

You smiled playfully. “You’ll have to wait your turn, Mr. Leclerc... Dinner first, dessert later.”

You turned back to the stove, your heart fluttering with happiness. The rich aroma of your pasta sauce fills the Tuscan villa, mingling with the sweet scent of the herbs Charles has carefully chopped and added to the simmering pot. You two work together in the kitchen, a comfortable silence punctuated by the occasional playful banter and stolen kisses. The initial awkwardness of your arranged marriage has faded, replaced by an easy intimacy that feels both surprising and utterly natural.

As the sauce simmers, Charles pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your hair.

“You know, cara, I never thought I’d find happiness like this.” his voice is soft, almost vulnerable. You turned in his embrace, your eyes searching his.

“What do you mean?” you asked him softly.

“Before you… life was, well… different. A whirlwind of parties, fleeting encounters. It was… empty, meaningless.” he gently cups your face in his hands, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. “But you… you’ve filled that emptiness with something… real... Something… beautiful.”

He leans in and kisses you softly again, a slow, lingering kiss that speaks volumes. When he pulls back, your eyes are shining with unshed tears.

“I feel it too, Charles. I never thought… after everything… that I could ever feel this way.”

The “everything” hangs in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the years of emotional abuse you endured at the hands of your father, Charles’ eyes soften with understanding. He pulls you close, holding you tight against his chest.

“You deserve to be happy, tesoro. You deserve to be loved. And I promise you, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you just how much you mean to me.”

He kisses you again, this time with a fierceness that takes your breath away. The kiss is a promise, a vow, a declaration of the love that is blossoming between you two, a love born not of obligation, but of genuine connection and mutual respect.

The forced marriage, the initial awkwardness, the lingering insecurities – they all seem to fade into insignificance, replaced by a sense of belonging, a sense of peace, a sense of coming home. You looked at Charles, his face illuminated by the flickering candlelight, and a smile spreads across your face. This man, this mafia boss with his dangerous charm and unexpected tenderness, has become your sanctuary, your safe haven, your home.

***

Inside your shared bedroom, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains, you and Charles prepare for the night. The remnants of the day’s laughter and shared intimacy linger in the air, creating an atmosphere of comfortable warmth and quiet affection.

Charles is sitting on the bed as he watches you brushing your hair, the moonlight catching the golden highlights and turning them into shimmering strands of silk. The simple act, so mundane yet so intimate, fills him with a sense of contentment he’s never known before. He walks over to you and gently takes the brush from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. And then he started to brush your hair, his touch slow and deliberate, each stroke a silent expression of his love for you.

His voice soft, almost a whisper. “Your hair is like spun gold, tesoro.”

You lean into his touch, your eyes closing as you savor the feeling of his fingers against your scalp. The simple act of him brushing your hair feels incredibly intimate, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has grown between you two.

“You’re spoiling me Charlie.” you say softly with a shy smile.

“Only the best for my beautiful piccolina.” he chuckled softly.

He finishes brushing your hair and gently places a kiss on the top of your head. He then pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist. You two stand there for a moment, embraced in the soft moonlight, the silence filled with unspoken emotions.

His voice husky, filled with longing. “I can’t get enough of you, mon bébé.” (my baby)

He leans down and kisses you, is a slow, deep kiss that speaks of passion and tenderness, of vulnerability and trust. You responded in kind, your arms winding around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more demanding, a reflection of the desire that burns between the two of you.

You suddenly break apart, breathless, your eyes locked in a silent conversation. He lead you towards the bed, your hands intertwined. And you two undress slowly, each touch, each glance, charged with anticipation. As you lie down together, the soft sheets cool against your heated skin, he pulls you close, his body molding perfectly against yours.

The night unfolds in a slow, languid dance of love and intimacy. Your shared whispers mingle with the soft sounds of your lovemaking, creating a symphony of shared pleasure and deepening connection. The moonlight continues to bathe the room in its soft glow, a silent witness to the blossoming love that is transforming your lives.

In each other's arms, you have found solace, comfort, and a sense of belonging you’ve never known before. The arranged marriage, once a symbol of obligation and duty, has become a sanctuary, a safe haven, a testament to the unexpected power of love to heal and transform.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hi! Could make some writing notes regarding what happens to the human body when making out? Like the temperature increase and dopamine release, stuff like that? Or maybe just how the body reacts when you're nearby/interact to/with a loved one. I hope you're doing well! I love your posts!

Writing Notes: The Physiology of Love

Love can be distilled into 3 categories: lust, attraction, and attachment.

Though there are overlaps and subtleties to each, each type is characterized by its own set of hormones:

Testosterone and estrogen - drive lust

Dopamine, norepinephrine, and serotonin - create attraction

Oxytocin and vasopressin - mediate attachment

When we are falling in love, chemicals associated with the reward circuit flood our brain, produce a variety of physical and emotional responses:

Racing hearts

Sweaty palms

Flushed cheeks

Feelings of passion

Anxiety

Two decades of research shows that when it comes to early-stage intense romantic love—the kind we often think of when we talk about being lovestruck—a very primitive part of the brain’s reward system, located in the midbrain, is activated first.

Some Physiological Reactions to a Kiss

Pulse and blood pressure increase

Pupils dilate

Breathing deepens

Rational thought retreats, as desire suppresses both prudence and self-consciousness

Lust

Driven by the desire for sexual gratification.

The evolutionary basis for this stems from our need to reproduce, a need shared among all living things.

The hypothalamus of the brain plays a big role in this, stimulating the production of the sex hormones testosterone and estrogen from the testes and ovaries. While these chemicals are often stereotyped as being “male” and “female,” respectively, both play a role in men and women.

As it turns out, testosterone increases libido in just about everyone. The effects are less pronounced with estrogen, but some women report being more sexually motivated around the time they ovulate, when estrogen levels are highest.

Lust and attraction shut off the prefrontal cortex (includes rational behavior).

Attraction

Dopamine

Produced by the hypothalamus, is a particularly well-publicized player in the brain’s reward pathway – it’s released when we do things that feel good to us:

E.g., Spending time with loved ones and having sex.

High levels of dopamine and a related hormone, norepinephrine, are released during attraction. These chemicals make us:

giddy,

energetic, and

euphoric, even leading to decreased appetite and insomnia – which means you actually can be so “in love” that you can’t eat and can’t sleep.

Norepinephrine, also known as noradrenalin, may sound familiar because it plays a large role in the fight or flight response, which kicks into high gear when we’re stressed and keeps us alert:

Released more often at the beginning of a couple's relationship when many unknowns are present, putting the brain in a ‘proceed with caution’ mode.

Early in a relationship, there is heightened adrenalin, which causes feelings like butterflies in the stomach and a faster heart rate. There is also reduced activity in the parts of the brain that help us to make judgements, which is why you may be 'blinded' to another person’s faults in early love or infatuation,

Brain scans of people in love have actually shown that the primary “reward” centers of the brain, including the ventral tegmental area and the caudate nucleus, fire like crazy when people are shown a photo of someone they are intensely attracted to, compared to when they are shown someone they feel neutral towards (like an old high school acquaintance).

Attraction seems to lead to a reduction in serotonin:

It is a hormone that’s known to be involved in appetite and mood.

Interestingly, people who suffer from obsessive-compulsive disorder also have low levels of serotonin, leading scientists to speculate that this is what underlies the overpowering infatuation that characterizes the beginning stages of love.

This explains why people in the early stages of love can become obsessed with small details, spending hours debating about a text to or from their beloved.

Attachment

The predominant factor in long-term relationships.

While lust and attraction are pretty much exclusive to romantic entanglements, attachment mediates friendships, parent-infant bonding, social cordiality, and many other intimacies as well.

The two primary hormones here appear to be oxytocin and vasopressin.

Oxytocin

Often nicknamed “cuddle hormone” or “hormone of love”.

Produced by the hypothalamus.

Released in large quantities during sex, breastfeeding, and childbirth.

This may seem like a very strange assortment of activities – not all of which are necessarily enjoyable – but the common factor here is that all of these events are precursors to bonding.

It also makes it pretty clear why having separate areas for attachment, lust, and attraction is important: we are attached to our immediate family, but those other emotions have no business there (and let’s just say people who have muddled this up don’t have the best track record).

The Brain During a Kiss

The brain goes into overdrive during the all-important kiss.

It dedicates a disproportionate amount of space to the sensation of the lips in comparison to much larger body parts.

During a kiss, this lip sensitivity causes our brain to create a chemical cocktail that can give us a natural high.

This cocktail is made up of three chemicals, all designed to make us feel good and crave more: dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin.

Like any cocktail, this one has an array of side-effects.

The combination of these three chemicals work by lighting up the 'pleasure centres' in our brain.

The dopamine released during a kiss can stimulate the same area of the brain activated by heroin and cocaine. As a result, we experience feelings of euphoria and addictive behaviour.

Oxytocin fosters feelings of affection and attachment. This is the same hormone that is released during childbirth and breastfeeding.

Finally, the levels of serotonin present in the brain whilst kissing look a lot like those of someone with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

No wonder the memory of a good kiss can stay with us for years.

Love happens less in the heart and more in the brain, where hormonal releases and brain chemicals are triggered.

Dopamine, serotonin and oxytocin are some of the key neurotransmitters that help you feel pleasure and satisfaction.

So, your body often approaches love as a cycle.

It feels good to be with that person, so your brain says, "Do that again."

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 ⚜ Notes & References ⚜ Love ⚜ Kinds of Love

Thanks so much for your kind words. Hope you're doing well yourself! Would love to read your writing if these notes inspire you.

[maspers]

Let's be honest, Adrien could totally get away with not wearing a mask as Chat Noir. He is literally so good at Clark Kenting. Everyone knows that Adrien Agreste is a Good Boy who is too Famous and Busy for superheroics, while Chat Noir is a pun-master who lives and breathes chaotic energy and probably lives in the slums based on stereotypes. Heck, it seems like most people forget Chat has a secret identity, because so much of his apparent personality revolves entirely around his role as a Superhero. Ladybug having a secret identity is obvious, she brings it up a lot, and anyone can examine her behavior and go like "Ah yes this person is using an 'I'm in charge here' voice". But Chat's just, like, always there. And always acting like Chat Noir. No way Adrien can be him. Adrien's schedule is so busy he never has time for anything. 

(It is particularly amusing that this logic also applies to Gabriel as Hawkmoth. Being overly dramatic the moment you get superpowers seems to run in the family)