#loved these looks from him I had to draw them

[rafelandia]

In the Middle of the Night (Rafe Cameron x fem!reader)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: smut, little bit of cum play, unprotected sex

Summary: Rafe can't sleep. Luckily, the antidote to his ailment is laying in bed right next to him.

Author's Note: I can't stop thinking about Rafe waking Y/N up in the middle of the night for sex. I am addicted to the trope of Rafe being an asshole to everyone except his girl, but this is more of a soft!Rafe moment than anything. If you enjoy, please give a like or reblog. And any requests for blurbs/one shots/etc. are always welcome in my inbox!

Before Y/N came along, there were many ways in which Rafe would conquer the restlessness that crept up on him in the middle of the night. He would go for a run on the beach with nothing but the moonlight to guide him, hunker down in his home office and crunch numbers, read a few chapters in his current favorite non-fiction. There were dozens of outlets Rafe had conditioned himself to do when he just couldn’t fall asleep despite knowing that he should. He was older now and staying up all night like he would as a teenager just wasn’t good for him in any capacity anymore.

All of these outlets, but they suddenly went out of the window when he met Y/N. She was unlike any other woman he had ever been with or even met before, but he supposed that’s how it always was when you were in love with someone. He swore he could stare at her features for forever, that she was more intoxicating than any substance or drink. But looking at her in the glimmering moonlight that shone through the cracked shades was not what put him to bed whenever that frustrating feeling of not being able to close his eyes came insidiously creeping into his head.

There was something about the way her hair was mussed about her head like a halo around her pillow, or maybe it was the way that she was sleeping on her stomach so that the swell of her breast peaked through the comforter. Either way, Rafe couldn’t help but feel his boxers growing tighter the longer he traced his eyes over the shape of her sleeping body next to his.

He slid his body over towards her, turning her and wrapping his arms around her body so that his front was flush with her backside. Warmth radiated from her sleeping form and his hands found their way to her breasts. Rafe began gently kneading them in aim to draw her from her slumber, but the most he got out of her was a shift in her bum on the mattress. A low rumble escaped from his chest at the way she unknowingly ground herself against his cock.

His next attempt was to go for her neck. Rafe always teased her for being so sensitive there but at the same time, there was nothing more that he loved than feeling her turn to putty in his hands when his lips roamed about the column of her throat. He started nipping at her skin with his plush, pink lips, just barely meeting his skin with hers. Goosebumps raised in response to his touch as his kisses grew sloppier. It was when he’d hit her sweet spot with his tongue that he heard the sound he’d been searching for. Rafe swears he’s never heard anything more heavenly in his entire life, that soft, half-moan half-groan that fell from her parted lips. It brought his neediness to the forefront.

“Baby,�� Rafe grumbled against the crook of her neck, tickling her with his outgrown stubble.

Amidst her hazy state she was able to hum back at him, though it sounded once more like a broken moan.

“Need you to wake up,” he hoarsely whispered as he began working himself against her backside, slowly but surely rutting his hips into the skin of her bum to ease some of the tension that had built up in his cock.

He couldn’t see the way the corners of her lips turned up knowingly. She was no stranger to this Rafe, the Rafe that woke her in the middle of the night with an itch that he just couldn’t seem to scratch. It was almost comical to her, the way that he’d do just about everything in the book besides coming right out and telling her that he was in the mood. Sometimes, she’d tease him and pretend to be asleep longer than she actually was before turning over and giving him what he wanted, but not tonight. Unbeknownst to Rafe, he had stirred her from quite the dream, so there was no need to dance around the ledge this time.

With a sigh, she resituated herself in the bed, turning in Rafe's arms so that their faces sat mere inches from each other.

“Hi,” she sang through her sleep-ridden voice.

“Hi,” Rafe repeated back to her in the same groggy tone. "Can't sleep?" she asked, a tinge of playfulness in her voice.

He gave no response - just a lazy smirk in return. Even in the darkness, Y/N noticed a flush rising up his neck and cheeks. He'd been caught.

“Need some help?” she quirked her brow and gestured downwards to the tent in his boxers.

“Maybe,” he answered with a sleepy chuckle.

She knocked him on his back so that she was straddling his waist and sitting on his now painfully hard cock; the feathered duvet now pooled at their knees. Rafe hissed at the commotion, but the feeling soon turned to bliss when her hands snuck into the waistband of his boxers and she took his length in her fingers. It felt heavy in her grip as she smeared the silky beads of precum along his tip, coating him in preparation to make home within her tight, warm walls.

“I was dreamin’ about you,” she spoke lowly as she gently twisted her wrist around his cock, reveling in the way Rafe's brows were furrowing together in response to her touch.

“Yeah?” he jested.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, “We were kinda like how we are now. But this is much better,” she finished with a tantilizing pump of her hand.

Rafe's hips jutted into her fist, wanting more than just her teasing touches. It almost made her laugh aloud, how needy he could be in the middle of the night like this. She wanted him just as much, only due to her still-drowsy state, she was able to control it.

She leaned down and laid her body flush with Rafe's as she kissed him for the first time since he’d woke her. They tasted of the remnants of their minty toothpaste and mostly of morning breath, but that was the furthest thing from their minds. Rafe held her close to him as his tongue slipped between her lips, aching to get her going as quickly as he could. His arms slid under the ratty Kildare High School t-shirt of his that she slept in so he could lift it off of her frame, breaking the kiss for only a fraction of a second before they were intertwined again.

Once her chest was free of clothing, Rafe ran his hands along the sides of her breasts and spine, chilling her skin with his cold hands. He ducked his head down to kiss the center of her chest and then outwards to her wrap his plump lips around her erect nipples. Those velvety, smooth sighs of hers turned into the moans that Rafe adored oh-so dearly. Y/N began to feel the wetness from her core pool at the front of her panties. One of her hands cradled his neck, snugly but not tightly as she kissed him, but she was able to move the other down to grip his cock in her digits once more.

“Y/N," Rafe pleaded, his hazy, hungry eyes peering up at her. He needed her to do something, anything before he lost his whits.

She locked eyes with Rafe as she sank down slowly, splitting herself on top of him. Rafe always swore that the way the wrinkle between her brows reared itself and her lips parted just slightly when she first felt his cock first enter her was by far his favorite face of hers. Well, his second favorite, apart from the face she made when she came, he supposed. He gripped onto her hips tightly as she lowered herself fully onto him, exhaling a sigh of relief when she made it all of the way down to the base of his cock.

They soon found their rhythm, Y/n bouncing and rolling her hips against his while they chased their highs. Her early morning sensitivity caused her to melt in Rafe's arms with the way his tip was able to brush against all of the sweetest spots that made her eyes roll back into her head and a shiver run down her spine.

All that was heard in the otherwise silent room were sounds of wet skin meeting harshly each time she pushed herself back onto Rafe. Their lips chased each other in between thrusts, eager to be as close to each other as they possibly could. Sweat pooled in the dip of her back and in the grooves of Rafe's toned stomach, the two of them yearning to reach their ends.

Y/n's bouncing soon turned to lazy, barely motivated rocking as she found herself almost physically unable to continue. The tendons in her thighs were screaming for relief and the heat that surrounded her made her feel like she was trapped in a sauna. She could feel herself right there, right on the brink of getting to where she needed to be, but she was growing frustrated that she wouldn't be able to get them both there on her own.

“Rafe,” Y/N whined as she gripped both of Rafe's shoulders tightly, knuckles growing white from the hold she had on them.

He sensed her weariness, but he was waiting to see how long it would take her to beg for him to take control of the two of them.

She raised her eyes from being buried in Rafe's neck to look at him.

“Please,” she moaned.

“I've got you, baby,” he huffed, barely able to spit the words out between each manual breath.

With one fluid motion, he had her flipped over onto her back and plunged back into her soaking cunt once more. Y/N cried out at the new angle of Rafe on top of her, watching his dainty, silver chain dangle inches away from her face.

“Gonna make me cum if you keep looking at me like that," Rafe muttered into her ear as he mouthed against her neck, “You gonna cum for me first though. Right angel?”

He continued to drill his cock into her heat, each time brushing against the spongey part of her walls that made her thighs shake and reflexively want to close. Rafe caught wind of her trembling and forced her legs open with one of his strong, veiny hands, pressing it even deeper into her chest with his other arm pressed deep into the mattress to balance his body on top of hers. Their stomachs brushed against each other with every thrust, only adding to the overwhelming sensations that they were both feeling.

“Your pussy's so perfect. Like it was made for me," Rafe moaned. "Gonna fuck you like this every night for the rest of my life."

His words of encouragement took her right back to where she was before, right at the brink of breaking. Her moans went up an octave and Rafe could tell by the way she had started to clench around him that she wasn’t going to last much longer. He knew for certain that with the way that her cunt was so expertly gripping his cock that he wasn’t that far behind her.

"Need you to cum, baby. Need to feel it," Rafe was nearing his breaking point, but knew he couldn't be satisfied without feeling her clench around him first.

Unable to speak due to the way he was pounding into her, Y/N gripped Rafe's shoulders even harder than he was fucking her in response. This made Rafe cockily smile and only pushed him to fuck her more fervently and deeper. His hips would certainly leave light purple bruises on hers come morning.

Her release sprung on her quickly, her walls spasming around Rafe's thick, pulsing cock. Y/N let out a sound akin to a high-pitched whine blended perfectly with a scream - it was so beautiful to him. Her orgasm came so suddenly that it caught Rafe off guard as well; he had but mere moments before he found himself filling her up with his warm, milky seed. It was so sudden and intense that it seeped out from around his cock and onto the plush, silky sheets.

They rode it out together, Rafe pumping into her slower and sloppier than just minutes before. Y/N was becoming overwhelmed with the sensation and he was quick to pick up on it. Rafe pulled out slowly, watching Y/N wince as her now-swollen heat contracted around nothing but emptiness. He ran his fingers along her pussy, collecting her wetness and his cum on his digits before gently pressing the mixture back into her core. She hissed at the feeling of him inside of her again and it made Rafe's dick twitch. He could easily go again, but he knew that she couldn't. It was intoxicating to watch her squirm. Next time he thought to himself. He loved to drive her crazy.

They both laid there, Rafe resting his full weight on top of her while they listened to the sound of each other’s heartbeats return back to their resting rate. She twiddled with the clasp of Rafe's chain while he pecked soft kisses on her sweat-slick breast with his lips.

"I love you," Y/N sighed, her eyes beginning to close as she teetered the line of consciousness.

"I love you, too," Rafe was just as exhausted as she was. Finally.

When they regained their bearings, Rafe reached across the bed for the shirt he’d pulled off of her body. With caring hands, he cleaned the two of them, tossing the soiled garment somewhere off into the floor to be dealt with in the morning.

“Thank you,” Rafe mumbled into her skin as he crawled back into the covers with her and pulled her into his arms once more.

“Anytime,” she laughed, still somewhat out of breath.

“But will you please go to sleep now? You have a presentation in the morning and you only wake me up to fuck when you can’t sleep so I’m assuming you’ve been awake this whole time,” she sounded like a parent talking to Rafe, which while he would never admit, he adored.

She felt Rafe's laugh reverberate off her chest and shake her body, to which he then promised her he’d be good and go to bed.

Rafe could go on midnight runs and read as much as he could, but nothing could put him to sleep as easily as this.

[coldkingwasteland456777]

Ok wait i just read the tags and this got even better, I love the Heavenly Demon version of the abyss, (love thinking about how long it would take for Binghe to clean Shen quingqiu's blood off his sword, like every time he looks at it he almost throws up but if he goes to clean it he just hears SQ manically apologising for staining his sword with his unclean blood and just *can't*)

Ok because in the heavenly demon version I assume Binghe is still the protagonist and SQ is the big bad that reappears and has to be defeated in a glorious battle and obviously SQ had internalised a view of LB as his executioner that is disgusted by him and so after going through the torture of the abyss and then finding Xin mo which obviously does not help his sanity he unexpectedly runs into Binghe in Jinlan city (I'm thinking he's going through the path of joining Hua Hua palace sect because as a heavenly demon essentially demons flock around him in the demon realm so he's trying to avoid his canon fate as a Demon Emperor that has to be put down by becoming a righteous cultivator that blends into Hua Hua palace and never has to come into contact with LB BECAUSE the system disconnected as he fell into the abyss because like in canon Luo Binghe is the power source so SQ could do whatever in the abyss and when he got out he only took Xin Mo because he had no other way out and now he's got the sword he's under it's influence and it's not letting go. also because SQ is so lovely that everyone that knows him is outraged at Binghe for casting him off as his disciple or if he's going with the lie that he was kidnapped at the conference by demons and only just managed to fight he way out now then they can be outraged binghe didn't look hard enough for him, which is hilarious because in reality every moment binghe could spare he was using to find way to break into the abyss despite knowing he as a human could not survive) so basically when they have they're unexpected reunion SQ is both terrified and furious, even though he does'nt want to draw the protagonists ire and get executed early (and he doesn't want to hurt Binghe), binghe represents his death and his presence has re awoken the system which is the reason he just had to through years of torture.

So, SQ is so calm, incredibly calm, and his behaviour is appropriate for reuniting with a Peak Lord because of course they have no other connection. He is not holding by any feral rage by the skin of his teeth and he's definitely just not looking LB in the eye because he doesn't want to get even more of his attention.

From LB perspective, he is having an out of body experience he is so overwhelmed, all higher functions have shut down, he's just kinda, staring at SQ (genuinely questioning if he's hallucinating) but then one of the Hua Hua ask SQ a question like "Shen-shidi" and he's like ok, ok, this is real, and his chokes out "Shen Quingqiu?" and SQ, doesn't even *look* at him, and the wave of euphoria kinda breaks when he rapidly is crushed by the truth that of course SQ hates him of course! He must despise him because everything was his fault and-

so much mental spiralling happens, and he ends up fainting and when he wakes up Mu Qingfang asks him what happened, has he been infected and so and so but he can barely get a word out before LB demands to know where SQ is and then MQ gets that familiar sad sympathetic look in his eyes that LB despises because SQ is *not dead* but then he starts freaking because of course SQ is not dead but *of course* but what if he's not here? What if it wasn't real? (he's experienced this sort of situation many times, so he sprints out of the infirmary before anyone can stop him and sprints to where the Hua Hua disciples are staying and bursts in demanding to speak to SQ and of course the HH disciples are angry and deny him entry and so he goes to push through them because they don't matter and see SQ slip out the window

SQ is is like i'm fucked, my death is now, clearly the protagonist is hunting me down because despite everything I've done, despite the fact I haven't even hurt anyone and I didn't choose this I deserve to die-- and basically goes down that spiral as he runs through the city, he's either so discombobulated he forgets to teleport or he's used too much qi to be able to teleport right now so he's stuck and also the sword is particularly bloodthirsty because its hungry which isn't healing SQ handle on his growing fury at his inevitable death

So when LB catches up and corners him in an alley because of course, SQ thinks, the protagonist would find him because he never had any chance since he was thrown into this dumpster fire of a world!

So LB grasp at his shoulder desperately trying to tell if this is real and SQ, just, snaps, completely

He slams LB into the wall, cracking his head against it and screams at him and at the same time loses control of his human disguise and LB pretty dazed, from the possible concussion, the fact he can feel SQ he alive, he's real- and the slightly nonsensical screaming

I don't quite know where it would go from their but it would be fun if SQ mauled LB a bit, maybe ended up feeding him his blood (LB didn't understand what was happening but he just drunk the blood without protest because he's insane) and then HH and cultivators from other sects come across them due to system meddling and because SQ is so out of it, he's easily knocked out but the one thing he does before the fight is knock LB out with his blood parasites because he still perceives him as the biggest threat

so LB wakes up AGAIN, but this time he's told that Hua Hua palace has 'kindly taken responsibility for missing a demon in their midst and taken SQ to the water prison for execution' and of course all of Cang Qiong are protesting but LB hears this and IMMEDIATELY goes to break out SQ out of prison

on a completely separate note; shizun luo binghe with a disciple shen yuan who fell into the abyss??? *thinks about LBH canonically stealing SQQ's corpse for 5 years* he'd hallucinate i think. like, like visual and audial hallucinations.

Keeps thinking he's seeing SQQ in the corner of his eyes, or wandering between the trees, amongst a group of disciples. Thinks he hears him calling for him, but its just the wind or another disciple.

Gets Xiu Ya reforged but patently fucking refuses to make a sword mound. Because his disciple Is Not Dead :))) There was No Body. He's Not Dead. And If You keep Insisting That He Is, He's Gonna Skewer You :). He's holding onto Xiu Ya so he can return his most favored disciple's sword when he returns. It's on his hip right next to Zheng Yang where it's supposed to be.

Also this motherfucker?? does not sleep btw. He has the image of SQQ, wide eyed and hysterical and standing at the mouth of the abyss burned into his fucking eyelids. Can't use the dreamscape to escape it either because he keeps trying to save him and either he does and it's an incredibly cruel trick to wake up to, or he doesn't and he gets his heart broken in several different pieces again.

There is no convincing this man that Shen Qingqiu is dead. Absolutely nothing at all. He is buried so deep in denial that moles would be jealous of how deep he is. He keeps making tea for two in the bamboo house only to remember that it's just him. SQQ's fans are hiding everywhere, little reminders of his presence. He goes to wake up SQQ on the mornings he sleeps in-- only to find the room empty.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

yandere!young justice x magician and sorcerer!reader

BUUUUUUUUUT,the readed is a part of the team,however,shows no interest in them,and it just there because she kinda just has to,and no matter how much they try to get her attention,she never gives them any of it.

(I love your writing btw😼)

Yandere! Young Justice x magician! Reader

The Cave was quiet, as it always was at night, the hum of machines and distant murmurs of the world outside barely touching the stillness that clung to the mountain like a second skin. In this isolated hollow, surrounded by the cool stone walls, you could hear your own thoughts—the whisper of spells, the pulse of magic, the unspoken words you chose not to say.

You never had to explain yourself here, never had to wear the mask of pleasantries or pretend you cared about anything more than the mission. The others, they didn’t understand. They couldn’t, not really. You weren’t like them, never had been. You didn’t need the comfort of their companionship. You didn’t want their attention, their curiosity, or their pity.

And yet, they tried.

Conner was always watching. A silent presence, brooding and intense, always lingering in the background, his eyes following your every movement. He never asked questions—no, that wasn’t his style. Instead, he observed, the way a predator watches its prey, calculating, waiting. He never made an effort to speak, not in the way Wally did with his incessant jokes or M'gann with her quiet warmth. Conner was patient, cold, waiting for something to crack, for something to change.

His silence was a constant reminder. He didn’t need to speak; you could feel his presence, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, always at the edge of your vision, always waiting.

It was unsettling, but you never let it show.

Wally was a different story altogether. His energy was like a crackling fire, unpredictable, always bouncing from one thing to the next. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t leave you be. "Come on," he would say, leaning over your shoulder as you worked on a spell, his grin wide and carefree. "Show me something cool. You know you’ve got some crazy magic tricks up your sleeve."

His insistence was always accompanied by that grin of his, mischievous and bright, as though his charm could draw you out of your shell. But you never did. You never gave him the satisfaction of seeing you smile, never let him see you as more than just another teammate. It wasn’t his fault—he was just trying to make the team feel more like a family. But you didn’t care about family. You didn’t care about any of them.

“I’m busy,” you’d say, dismissing him with a flick of your hand, returning to your spell. And Wally, ever the optimist, would laugh and zip away, the sound of his footsteps echoing as he left you to your silence.

But it wasn’t enough for him, no. His persistence was a thing of legend. Sometimes you’d catch him watching you, his gaze fixed, a question burning in his eyes. "Why are you always like this?" he seemed to ask with every look. But he never voiced it. Instead, he’d turn away, hoping that somehow, eventually, you’d change your mind.

Then there was Robin. The dark and silent watcher. He knew how to stay in the shadows, how to be everywhere without being seen. His presence was like the night itself—always there, always watching, never truly gone. Robin was the most subtle of them all. He never asked outright; instead, he would drop little comments, observations that always felt like a puzzle, like he was trying to figure you out, piece by piece.

"You know, you could talk to us more," he’d say, casually leaning against the wall as he watched you work. His tone was light, almost playful, but you could sense the undercurrent of something more—something deeper. “We don’t bite, you know.”

You didn’t respond. Of course, you didn’t. The only response he got was the steady flick of your fingers over the spellbook, the quiet hum of magic filling the space between you. He didn’t try to get too close, not like Wally or M'gann, but his eyes never stopped tracking you, always measuring, always calculating. Robin was patient, the kind of person who knew that some things took time, that some people had walls that needed to be broken down slowly.

And you? You weren’t going to let him.

M'gann was the opposite. Her presence was always warm, soft, inviting. She would sit beside you, her legs tucked under her, her eyes wide with curiosity. "You know," she would say with that gentle voice of hers, "I could help you with your spells. I can be a good study partner, if you ever need one."

Her kindness wasn’t forced, never had been. It was natural for her, as natural as breathing. She wasn’t like the others who were driven by some sense of duty or curiosity. No, M'gann’s attention was genuine, a quiet offer of companionship. She was the one who tried to reach you without asking, without expecting anything in return.

But you didn’t need help. You didn’t need her to reach you. And so, you’d quietly decline, giving her nothing more than a polite smile before returning to the words in your book, the pages filled with symbols that had no need for her warmth.

And then there was Artemis. The sharp, straightforward one. She didn’t waste time on subtlety. Her approach was always direct, blunt, like a sharp blade that never hesitated. "You don’t have to be so closed off, you know," she’d say, her voice a mix of irritation and something else. It was hard to tell with Artemis—her eyes were always guarded, her emotions always hidden behind a wall of indifference. "We’re all in this together."

She had a point, of course. But you didn’t care. You didn’t care about being “in it together.” You had your own path to follow, and they weren’t a part of it. You didn’t need to explain that to her, or to anyone. So, you’d give her a nod, a brief acknowledgment that wasn’t really an acknowledgment, and move on with your work.

Kaldur was the calm one, the quiet one. His respect for you was obvious, but it never crossed the line into anything more. He would offer you a nod as he passed, his gaze soft, his presence steady like the water he controlled. He didn’t push you the way the others did. He didn’t try to break down your walls. He simply respected them, kept his distance, and allowed you to be as you were.

But even Kaldur had moments when his gaze would linger on you, just a second too long, like he was waiting for you to finally open up, to let him see more than the cold silence you kept locked behind your eyes.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough for you to feel the weight of their gaze, the quiet pressure of their attention. They thought they understood you. They thought that if they just tried enough, kept reaching out, eventually, you’d let them in.

But you wouldn’t.

In the midst of their attempts, you kept your distance, always lost in the pages of your spells, your incantations, the quiet hum of power that thrummed beneath your fingertips. They were drawn to you, like moths to a flame, their fascination burning just beneath the surface of their words, their glances, their actions.

But you would remain untouched. You would keep your secrets locked away, your magic a barrier between you and the world they wanted to draw you into.

They didn’t understand it, not really. They couldn’t. You were not like them. You didn’t need what they offered. You didn’t need to be a part of their team, their family, their world. You were the silent watcher, the one who kept their distance while they reached out, always hoping that something would change.

But it wouldn’t.

You weren’t there for them. You were there because you had a purpose, one that had nothing to do with them, nothing to do with the team, and nothing to do with any of their quiet, unspoken obsessions. You would remain distant, and they would keep trying, never understanding why you remained so cold, so unreachable.

And that, for now, was enough.

(A/n: thank you kind fellow fur🤭😽)

[luveline]

hi jade!! could we get some kbd!steve where r has had a long week at work or something like that and steve makes her favorite for dinner and she just gets all clingy and a little teary and all that mushy ushy stuff

KBD —mom!reader, 2k

The drive home feels longer, roads you’ve taken each week day for years metamorphosed into winding lanes and long stretches of tarmac. You stop at the small store just outside of your neighbourhood and attempt to pick out a treat for each girl and your sweet husband. 

It costs more than the tags say it will. Your bag breaks on the way to the car. You have to go back into the store to buy Steve another glass coke, but he deserves it. If you think about crying on the street that leads into yours, it’s your secret. 

The door opens before you’ve parked the car. Avery waits on the stoop, shifting from foot to foot in excitement. The second the car is off, she’s barrelling down the step of the house without shoes. 

“Ave! Babe!” you say, laughing as she pins you in place. “No, go back inside! It’s so cold out here!” 

“I couldn’t wait to see you!” she whines. 

Steve is there and down the steps immediately. He grabs her up and tosses her over his shoulder, laughing but clearly disapproving, “I didn’t even hear the door, just you yelling,” he says. “Shit, come on, come inside, it’s freezing!”

“Steve, you’re not wearing socks either.” 

“I had to save my girl. Where’d she go, did you see?” 

Avery giggles roaringly against his back. “Dad, put me down!” 

Steve gets Avery unharmed back inside of the house. He lets you pass and locks the front door, it’s creaking, stuck handle slammed up and key turned. He puts the chain on, like you’re being followed, checking the peephole before turning to you with this look, arms out and hands up, a sign of relief coursing through him. “My girl,” he says, cupping your face in both hands. 

You give a surprised smile. 

“I thought I was your girl!” Avery says.

“You are my girl,” Steve says, tipping your head to one side. He’s smiling like it’s his birthday, or like you just told him you found a hundred dollars in one of your pockets. “But mom’s my girl, I have a couple, you know?” He talks to Avery, stares at you. “I’m glad you’re home. I have a surprise for you and I hate waiting.”

“You do?” 

He squeezes your cheek and parts from you. “Ave, go get some socks. I’m gonna turn the heating up. Wait, let me feel those feet before you go.” 

“You are not touching my feet, you tickle.” 

“Then go get some socks on them! Gosh, you’d think I just left the front door unlocked or something, the way she ran out.” 

He shares a big smile. 

In the kitchen, the shutters are open. The lingering piles of yet to melt snow in the back yard make the whole room white, illuminating the family table, the fridge covered in magnet-pinned drawings and appointment cards, the sink and all the drying dishes. Poor Steve, he must do the dishes three times a day before you get home. 

There are things covered on the stove waiting to be reheated, and in the oven, you can see a large ceramic baking tray. 

“What are you making?” you ask. 

“That’s your surprise, honey. That and one more thing.” 

You shake your head, nonplussed. “What?” 

Steve opens the cabinet under the sink to unveil a bouquet of flowers. Which means he must’ve gotten four girls dressed to take to the store on a day where he hadn’t needed to. He must love you a whole lot to bother.

“What’s in the oven?” you ask. 

Steve puts the bouquet in its vase on the table for you to inspect. “Your favourite, duh. All the trimmings. Enough for you to have three helpings, if you want.” 

“What’s the occasion?”

“Since when do we need an occasion?” he asks, taking your wrist across the table. 

You give the flowers a good long analysis. Your favourite flowers too, with baby’s breath, carnations and peonies to bulk it out, all light pinks or whites, the odd light blue one tucked throughout. 

“I think I was having a bad day,” you say. 

“What?” he asks worriedly. “What’s wrong?” 

He should know not to ask you like that when you’re upset to begin with. He’s lucky you don’t burst into breathless sobs there and then, but your eyes go hot, your waterline fills, and he’s all to easy to collapse against for a hug. The bag at your elbow clinks against him. 

“Thank you,” you say. 

“Sure, honey, but what happened?” 

You sound squeezes as an orange for juice as you explain it, wobbly in his arms, “It’s just been such a long week, m’sorry, and I had a bad day, and I got you a glass coke from Ernie’s but the bag broke, so I had to go back in and tell them I smashed glass out there–”

“Maybe Ernie should get better bags,” he says. 

“Sorry. I shouldn’t cry over coke.” 

“No, you should never cry.” He encourages you back to kiss your nose, still smiling as he says, “Ever. They should make crying illegal, I don’t wanna see you doing it ever.” He taps you under the chin. “You’re home, cool? Nobody can bother you for the next two days, it’s just me, and your daughter, and your other daughter, and your other,” —he starts laughing as you do, infected— “daughter, and that baby. Also a daughter.” 

“Oh, yes. Who can forget my troop of girls,” you say, sniffling as he swipes under your eye with his thumb. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

You could tell him everything now, or you can save it up for tonight, tell his shoulder after dinner and a shower and a few hours of TV and chips. It’ll all feel less shitty then. And he’s drawn your attention where it should’ve been —where are your girls? 

“I’m okay. Thank you, handsome.” 

“Handsome.” He feels down your arm, pretty and warm among a cool-white kitchen. “Flirt. How about you go give your kisses and I’ll set the table?” 

“You sure?” 

He’s all smiles, it’s crazy. “The quicker I feed you the better, I’d wager. Kiss for luck?”

What luck? you think, but pout softly for a kiss that rocks your world regardless 

I’m a princess, you think, pushing the door that leads to the living room. Inside, Beth, the second eldest, is sitting with Wren, the baby. Wren is sitting on a playmat in a duckie covered onesie, smiling and giggling as Beth puts on a show. Beth’s holding an octopus toy and a Barbie, making them talk to one another in different voices. 

You don’t want to interrupt them, but Wren sees you over Beth’s head and starts doing the wiggly, nearly frantic things babies do when they’ve missed you. If you don’t grab her quickly she’ll burst into tears. 

“Beth!” you say, kneeling down beside her as you grab her sister. “Hi, bubby. What are you playing?” 

Beth reminds you that you’re beautiful, your smile on her lips as she says, “Mom! When did you come home?” 

“Just a few seconds ago.” You situate Wren on your chest for kissing, popping a few spares on Beth’s temple. “Okay? Good day?” 

“Great day!” 

“Good, I’m so glad.” 

Beth crawls to you to give you a hug from the side. Somewhere in the background, Avery calls, “Daddy! Dove is making a mess in my room AGAIN!” and Steve’s calling back, “Okay! I’ll be right there, Avery! Just gimme a minute!”

“DAD!” 

Wren gurgles at you. “Da?” she says. 

“Heard that, did you?” you ask her. 

Steve takes the long way, pushing into the living room and throwing a grin at the three of you on the floor. “Honey, I’ll be right back. The table’s set, okay? You can go sit down and I’ll start plating up.” He doubles back before he can leave, again staring at you with a smile. “Jesus, you’re perfect. I could just look at you forever.”

“Isn’t he charming?” you ask Beth. 

She gives an agreeable nod.  

The moment he’s gone you realise you actually don’t want him far away from you. It’s a strong feeling to understand it while bathed in love from two beautiful kids who missed you. Wren tries to kiss you, surely wanting one of her own, while Beth gets up and tries to persuade you too. 

“Come on, mommy. We can sit at the table.” 

So you go, mostly because she sounds adorable. You carry Wren to the table and find Steve’s already made her her soft food. You try to make baby food a few days worth at a time, but it’s nice to let her have little tastes of the same meal as everyone else. He’s blended some of the veggies into a bowl, sat cooled and waiting for her with a bib on the high chair. 

“Your daddy’s in great form today,” you mumble into her hair, sitting her down, and attempting to get the bib on her before she can grab her spoon. She’s enthusiastic, but not actually coordinated enough to use one yet. You sit down by the high chair to feed her. 

“Is it okay if I sit here?” Beth asks, taking your usual seat. 

“Yeah, of course. Want me to serve you now, or could you wait, bubby? Just until dad comes down.” 

Beth shakes her head. You forget sometimes that she’s not a baby, not a toddler, but a child big enough to grab her own knife and fork. “I’ll wait, just have some bread.” 

“Okay, bubby. Thank you. You gonna butter it yourself?” 

“Yeess,” she drags out. 

Steve brings Avery back, along with your last, grumpiest daughter, Dove. She isn’t necessarily miserable, just contrary. When she was Wren’s age she’d already mastered the word no, when she sees you, she glares at you, crying out in disbelief, “You’re in my seat!” 

“Come and sit on my lap, big girl, I gotta feed your sister.” 

“I don’t want to sit on your lap.” 

“That’s hurtful.” You pout at her with loving eyes. “Dove, didn’t you miss mommy? I missed you soooooo much.” 

Success. She climbs into your lap and lets you rub her arm while you can. Steve takes the seat on Beth’s other side, further away then you would’ve liked. He serves everybody their dinner, does it all beaming and fawning over his dinner guests. 

Your bad week fades away. By the time Steve’s stolen Wren-duty and you’ve finished your dinner, you’re feeling delightfully full and doubly loved. Like they know you need it, each of your daughters capable of doing so gives you a hug (or in Dove’s case, a kiss on the arm). 

Leaving you, and Steve, and baby Wren. 

“What do you think, milk?” he asks her. 

She seems to think it over. “Ba?” she asks. 

“Buppy? You want your buppy?” 

He pulls her out of her high chair, makes her a bottle of milk with her held to his chest, and then sits down in the chair next to you to cradle her and feed her a few ounces. 

“So,” he says, as though he isn’t exhibiting frankly audacious levels of dad-stamina and esteem, “about that long week, are you feeling okay?” 

You hold his wrist where he holds the baby. Wren’s getting so big, she takes up the length of his arm, a healthy chub around her neck and on her tummy. 

“Y/N?”

“I’m okay, yeah.” 

“Just got on top of you?” 

“Yeah, I guess so. Shit, I didn’t get you your coke or anything for dinner. I got the girls chips.” 

“It’s okay, we have time to spoil them. They ate tons.” 

“What was breakfast like after I left?” 

“Avery was so happy she didn’t have school I don’t think she noticed there were no fruit slices.” 

You fall into conversation. He leans against your shoulder as you rub the length of his arm, encouraging your clinging to the fullest extent. 

[mattscoquette]

how do you think matt would react if he found his girl sh-ing? (u should make a one shot on this <3) would chris react the same as matt?

matt finding out his girl is sh

. detailed mentions of self harm and anxiety !! pls read with caution <3 this is also in no way romanticizing sh ! remember u are loved :)

you shakily pried open the back of your phone case, carefully removing the small blade you’d taken from your shower razor. standing over the sink as water poured from faucet, you slid up the sleeves of your sweater, an array of both fresh and healed scars adorning your skin. you felt tears prick your eyes as you began to slide the blade against your skin, slashing new cuts into your wrists.

as hard as you tried, you just couldn’t stop yourself from hurting yourself. it had become your way of coping with your anxiety, and your solution to every situation that arose. and matt, poor matt, was so observant in your change of behavior. the way you only wore long sleeves, how you seemed to panic whenever he held your hand. you two stopped having sex months ago. and you noticed how it affected your relationship. you noticed how everything that you did affected your relationship. and that only made you want to hurt yourself even more.

matt deserved a better girlfriend. or so you thought. in your head, you were ruining matt’s life. you were barely there anymore, feeling like you were a ghost watching your life from the outside. and you loved matt so much, so much that it hurt, and all you wanted was for him to be happy. but to you, if you weren’t happy, matt couldn’t be happy.

lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize the mess of blood you were making in the sink, and matt knocking on the door softly. “baby are you good? i’m home with food.”

you cursed underneath your breath, hurriedly turning off the sink and holding a fist over your cuts, trying to stop the flow of blood. i’m okay was all you could unconvincingly rasp out.

“are you sure? can i come in?” matt called out, his voice as sweet and caring as ever. because why wouldn’t it be. you were matt’s entire world, the only thing that mattered to him was you.

“i’ll be right out, i’m okay.” you spoke, trying your best to stop your voice from shaking. you looked down at your cloth covered wrists, dark stains seeping through the sleeves where your hand was clamped around them.

but, matt knew you. he knew something was wrong, and he knew you weren’t okay. so, matt being matt, pushed his thumb against the lock, twisting it as it unlocked. slowly, he turned the doorknob, opening the bathroom door where he saw you standing inside, a panicked expression on your face as you held a hand over your wrists.

matt’s eyes scanned around the bathroom, his face falling as he realized what you were doing. the blade on the counter, the blood in the sink, the way you were drawing your arms into your body. and suddenly, the last few months made sense. "sweetheart.” he couldn’t even manage a whisper.

matt swiftly made his way to you, wrapping his arms around your body as he held you tight. you couldn’t stop the sobs that racked your body, crying hard into matt’s chest while he just cradled you. he kissed the side of your head repeatedly, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as he pulled you both down onto the tiled floor, letting you climb up into his lap.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffled, burying your face into his shoulder, “i’m sorry i’m so messy.”

matt pulled away, his expression as if you had just personally offended him. his ran a thumb across your tear stricken cheek, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “don’t be sorry, i’m not upset.”

he continued to comfort you, rocking you back and forth in his arms on the bathroom floor.

“i’m always gonna be here for you.” he mumbled into your hair, feeling his own eyes begin to well with tears. “no matter what.”

“always?”

“always.”

© mattscoquette

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ i kinda wanna start trying to write more angsty stuff like this, ty for this request ! can’t lie i lowk cried writing this but i feel like it lowk helped me in a way bc i used to struggle w this. anyway i hope u guys like <3 and if anyone needs someone to talk to im here !!

[mirohlayo]

F1 DRIVERS AND YOU (their crush)

KISSING THEIR CHEEKS

( include piastri, norris, leclerc, sainz, hamilton, russel, verstappen & ricciardo )

warning : none just fluff

note : little nod to max's 4th championship win, congrats to him, sooo proud !!

─ OSCAR PIASTRI

I know for sure boy was blushing so so hard. But it's absolutely adorable and cute. Oscar is very patient with you, and even though he dreams of being able to touch you in a more than friendly way, of being able to at least have the right to a little kiss, he restrains himself and tries not to act under his impulses. . However, when you decided to quickly kiss him on the cheek, out of nowhere, he actually felt himself melting from the inside. His cheeks have never blushed so much, and his heart has never beaten so quickly.

─ LANDO NORRIS

Ugh, you guys can barely hold eye contact, but he's already so in love. So mad in love even. Despite the fact that you are still shy, especially him, that you struggle to make eye contact without blushing afterwards, Lando can't help but ask for more. Just a little extra. So, when he walked you to your doorstep, he immediately asked you if he could have even a mini kiss. Your lips naturally landed on his cheek, brushing against it, almost like a ghost kiss. And when you pulled back oh... He was already touching the place where your lips rested, cheeks as pink as yours.

─ CHARLES LECLERC

This was absolutely surprising to Charles. But he would love to be able to feel that feeling again. When your lips pressed naturally against his cheek, your hands framing his face perfectly. He didn't move for at least a good two minutes, trying to figure out what just happened. If it was real. He was so shocked that he didn't see you lean in again to place another sweet kiss. He blinked a few times, and you could only giggle silently. Oh, it was the best day of his without a doubt. And if he could live it again, he wouldn't hesitate for a single second before saying yes.

─ CARLOS SAINZ

He only had eyes for you. And he loved seeing you smile, and making you happy. So from time to time he spoils you, and although you don't like it when he buys so many things for you, you always end up thanking him warmly because after all, it's adorable. You always hugged him, hugging him a little tighter each time, but this time it was different. You wanted a change from hugs, so with a surge of courage and love you gently kissed his cheek to thank him. He was dizzy, almost on the verge of passing out. He couldn't hold back a shy smile, and above all he couldn't settle for a hug from now on.

─ LEWIS HAMILTON

He waited there patiently, sitting in a corner of the garage before getting in his car. You were a few feet away from him, watching the mechanics adjust the final modifications to the car. He couldn't help but admire you. And stare at your lips. God, he would give anything to be able to feel them against his skin. And as he was about to get in the car, he stopped when he felt your arm rest on his forearm. And without knowing how, your lips crashed onto his cheek in a quick kiss. His best smile appeared on his face, as he tried to hide his blush by putting on his helmet. Finally, his wish came true, right?

─ GEORGE RUSSEL

He can't stop replaying the scene in his head. He already found you so perfect, so beautiful and incredibly intelligent. It wasn't just a crush anymore, it was George, a simp for you. But already his heart was speeding up just by looking at you, he really thought it was going to stop beating when you gently kissed him on his cheeks. It was pure, sweet and... terribly affectionate. He tried to appear as normal as possible, but inside he was a mess. His whole body was telling him to kiss you and tell you everything he has in his heart right now. And he's sure that day will come soon, because there's no way another day will pass without a kiss from you.

─ MAX VERSTAPPEN

As the race draws to a close, Max is finally a 4th time F1 world champion. And getting out of his car, as he proudly waves his arm to greet the crowd, only one thing is on his mind. You, you and only you. So it was natural that he found you among the crowd, looking at you as if only you existed in the world. His hair was still damp, his face still covered in drops of sweat, but that absolutely didn't stop you from pressing your soft lips against his cheek, for a long time. Passionately. And oh, that sweet gesture was better than any championship. His eyes spoke for themselves.

─ DANIEL RICCIARDIO

He will never, ever stop teasing you about the kiss you gave him. Quite simply because he loves seeing you smile and laugh, but above all because he secretly wants you to repeat this gesture over and over again, for eternity. Honestly, you wouldn't even have to ask him for permission as he will already be ready to receive another kiss from you on the cheek. It was by far the most beautiful experience of his life, and oh, his heart always asks for more when he sees you. So, he hopes to feel your lips on his skin again, even if it costs him to tease you all day long.

[parkersbliss]

the 141 and their obsessed girlfriend

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x female reader 

synopsis: you love your boyfriend, maybe a little too much that some of the things you say are... concerning to say the least.

warnings: kind of gory for simon, sexual innuendo, death threat, reader is just unhinged and in love with her man fr

a/n: if you get it, you get it. these all may or may nOT be things I've said to my boyfriend to which he said I was "batshit crazy but in a sexy way"

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for tf141!

—

Ghost:

You sigh, laying your head down on Simon’s chest. His reaction is instinctive, an arm wrapping around you and pulling you closer. You snuggle further into him, his warmth radiating onto your skin. A reminder to you of where your home truly was. 

You can hear his heartbeat in his chest, pumping at a steady pace. You count each thump, rhythmic and soft. Faintly, you hear the sound of air moving in and out of his lungs and the slight bubbling of his stomach from the food you had eaten earlier. 

Simon’s hand strokes your lower back, drawing circles as his eyes focus on the rugby match. He’s unaware of his actions, something he’s too used to when he lies with you. He likes feeling the warmth, the subtle pulse, and shivers. It’s a reminder that you’re real. 

You’re too lost in his heartbeat to hear the narration of the game. There was something so comforting to listen to him, affirming what you knew was true. Your boyfriend was alive, his heart circulating the blood through his body. You push yourself further into his chest, wanting to be closer. You couldn’t get any closer, you knew that, but you needed to be. There was some part of you that kept urging for it. 

“Simon,” You call out. 

He looks down at you. “Hm?”

You meet his eyes. “I want to cut through your skin, open your ribcage, and feel your heart.” You said it casually, not faltering and maintaining eye contact with him. You needed to crawl into his chest and live there, be one with him. Closer. 

Simon doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink at your words. “I’d want nothing more than to have you cradle my heart in your hands.” 

You move to straddle him, resting your legs on either side of his hips and leaning your chin on his sternum so you can really look at him. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

He scoffs. “Quite the opposite.”

“Even if I want to live inside your chest?”

“If I could make that happen, I would.” He runs a hand through your hair, tugging gently at the knots. 

You smile at him. “I’d let you live in mine and use my lungs as your personal trampoline.” 

Simon chuckles a beautiful sound to you and lets his hand rest on your hips. “I would be honored.” 

You trace patterns on his chest, huffing. “I just want to live in you.” 

“Unfortunately, you’ll just have to settle for my dick in you.”

You purse your lips from on top of him. “I guess that’ll do.”

Gaz:

You set your phone on the bedside table, lying on your side to look at your boyfriend. He was shirtless, with nothing but his briefs on in bed. Your eyes trace up and down him, taking in all the curves of his muscles and the lines of his abs to the slight stubble of a beard and the downward slope of his nose. God, he was so pretty. 

As if on cue, he turns to look at you. “What?” He murmurs in that voice of his. Kind, but a hint of grit to it. He made it so easy for your thoughts to run wild. You wanted to have his kids. See his eyes in them, the curve of his nose. Actually, scratch that you wanted—“I wanna get you pregnant,” You blurt out. 

Kyle laughs, loud. He isn’t sure he quite heard you correctly. He hopes he did, but then again, you did have a knack for breaking silence with something worth talking about. “What?” 

“I wanna get you pregnant,” You repeat. 

He stills, staring at you and how your face is unwavering. He’s not quite sure what to make of that sentence. He stares at you, your lips pursed in thought and eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief. “That’s simply not possible.” 

“I know,” You said. “But I just want to be able to like fuck you for once.” 

“Oh my god.” 

You shake your head, suddenly aware of how unhinged you sound. But that’s just what Kyle did to you. You were downright obsessed with him. Everything about him made your thoughts melt into a pile of mush and goo. One look at him had you practically reeling. You couldn’t fathom how he was real and yours, nonetheless. “Sorry! You’re just so fucking pretty and it’s like I need to bend you ov—,” 

“Babe,” He cuts you off. “Okay! I get it.” 

“No, but like—,"

He raises his brows at you. “It’s not biologically possible.” He restates, emphasizing that he was not letting that happen and neither was the world. Thank god, he thinks. 

You flop down onto your back on the bed with a groan. “So unfair. We should be like seahorses.” 

Kyle hums, choosing to humor you. “Uh-huh, sorry babe.” 

“I’m just so obsessed with you. I have so many feelings I just… I don’t know what to do with it.” 

Kyle’s hand traces up and down your arm. “Well, we could start with not getting me pregnant.” He moves to situate himself on top of you, pressing his nose into your neck. “But maybe there’s a compromise here, hm?” He kisses the soft skin, and once again, your brain melts into nothing. He was so good to you. He made it easy for you to forget everything in the world but his name on your tongue. So you couldn’t get him pregnant. There was a better idea ahead. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

Soap: 

You sat at the table next to Johnny, coffee in hand. You both sit in silence, observing the people passing by on the street. You make note of a man frantically texting on his phone, a little girl chasing after a bird, a couple clinging on to each other. 

People watching. A favorite pastime for the two of you. 

You watch as a girl walks by, her gaze lingering on your boyfriend a second longer than you’d like. Her eyes rake up and down his figure, and she pulls out her phone, no doubt texting someone. 

You turn to Johnny, who’s oblivious to it. “I’m going to fucking kill her.”

His head snaps towards you. “What, love?” 

“That girl,” You gesture with your head. “I’m going to kill her.” 

“Why?” 

“She looked at you.” 

Your boyfriend nearly spits out his coffee. “So you’re gonna kill her?” 

You glare at him. “That’s merciful.” 

“Oh really?” He jests you. 

You nod your head, setting down your coffee and pulling out your phone. “If I really wanted to fuck with her, then I could find her home address and slightly misplace all the objects in her flat and watch her go insane.”

Johnny stares at you, concern etched into his face. His eyes sweep your face for any ounce of joke, but he knows you’renot. He always wanted a possessive girlfriend. “You’re crazy.” 

“Crazy about you,” You correct. “If I ever see anyone look at you like that again, I’m going to call an airstrike on them.” 

He grabs your hands. “Love, you never have to worry about anyone else.”

“I don’t worry. They should worry. If they wanna stare, then they can stare at the ceiling before I gouge their eyes out.” 

Johnny sighs. He loves you, truly. But to say you weren’t sometimes a little unhinged was an understatement. You always had a jealous streak about you, it’s what initially drew him in. That fire he saw in your eyes, dangerous but beckoning him closer. The idea of a possessive girlfriend really did turn him on. It was just moments like these that he wished he could carry around a giant sign that said “Please don’t look at me unless you wanna die.” 

“You’re something else, you know?” He asked, running his thumb over your knuckles. 

You melt a little at the gesture, and he can see your shoulders relax. “You’re mine.” 

He presses a quick kiss to your lips. “True, and you never have to do that. So please stop threatening random people on the street in public.” 

You smile at him. He was so sweet. “You’ll never find a bitch crazier than me, baby.” 

“I never want to,” Johnny insists. “Though, you can show me crazy in a different way…” 

You can see his eyes sparkling with something and you bite your lip, grabbing his hands. “Let’s go home.” 

Price:

You’re sat next to Price on the couch. He’s got a hand slung over your shoulder, keeping you close as you lean your head into the crook of his neck. He was warm, a giant teddy bear covered in rippling muscles. His beard scratches the top of your head, but it’s not uncomfortable. In fact, you love the feeling of it when you’re kissing. The soft pinch of his hair against your face. 

But honestly, you loved everything about him. There wasn’t one thing about him you could dislike. Well, maybe that he was gone so long sometimes. In reality, it just made you want him more though. It created special moments like this, where you knew time was futile. 

You sigh, playing with the hairs of his beard. You feel like them against your fingertips, pinching and prodding. 

You gaze up at your husband, his blue eyes focused on the screen and dark lashes contrasting with his pale skin. 

“Honey,” You murmur.

He hums, looking down at you. “Yes?” 

You cock your head at him. “I want to take your beard hair and make it into matching sweaters for us.” 

Price, unfazed by most things, is fazed by this. He could take a bullet, and wouldn’t flinch at a grenade or a gun pointed at his face. But that. 

That was a sentence he wasn’t sure how to unpack. 

“What?” He asked. 

You giggle a little. “You know, the clippings in the bathroom. What if I started collecting them to make a sweater?” 

Price nods, humoring you. “Darling, please don’t do that.” 

“Why not?” You pout, sticking out your bottom limit. 

“That would be itchy,” He insists. “My beard is already itchy enough. You don’t want to wear it too.” 

You don’t, he’s right. You just wanted to say something to see his face contort. He was so comfortable around you that it made it easy to catch him off guard. And really, a part of you was that obsessed with him. 

“Fair point, I suppose,” You concede. 

He’s surprised you surrender so easily. “You don’t already have a collection going, do you?” 

You laugh, patting his chest. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

He pauses. “No, I would not.” You snuggle closer to him, going back to playing with his beard. His arm drops to your waist, giving it a squeeze. “You’re insane, my dear.” 

You grin up at him, planting a kiss on his lips. “In more ways than one.” 

Price kisses you back, sneaking his hands under your shirt and higher. “Amen.” 

He was never religious, but that man did get on his knees for you.

-- END --

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🏷 taglist: @trxpslxt @looking1016 @the-kakawshi-bird

[josephquinnswhore]

the day your heart stops yearning - pedro pascal x female reader

summary: pedro is tired of the two of you dancing around your feelings for each other.

word count: 1.2k

content warnings: bitta jealously, insecurity from reader, mentions of sex, suggestive comments etc. Pedro is the loml I swear these new pictures have altered my brain chemistry.

Wrapping the towel around yourself tightly, you sit down as your swimsuit soaks through the material. Hair dripping wet and skin cooled down from the sea water. Pedro looked incredible, his hair wet and curly. Droplets of water running down his toned chest.

His board shorts tighten and stick to his thighs and crotch. Swallowing thickly, you help him put his sling back on to support his shoulder injury.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” His voice calls to you softly, drawing you out of your thoughts, every time you were with Pedro, you seemed to be lost in them. Somewhere far away from him.

There’s a moment's hesitation where you process what he’s said, reeling yourself back to the serenity around you. The two of you are on a small boat, surrounded by clear blue water, bright and mirroring the clearness of the sky. Not a cloud in sight.

There’s a formation of an unnaturally curved rock, shaped by erosion, perhaps the gods. The sight would’ve been worthy of such creation. Pedro was wearing nothing but his multi-coloured board shorts, and a deep blue sling.

“That doesn’t even come close to it. I can't describe how it feels to be here.”

With you.

But the words are lost, dying on the tip of your tongue as they had many times before. More often than not the two of you had done this, your own separate outing together aside from everyone, co-stars and friends.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?” The concerned murmur is met with a smile that he reserved for you. All teeth baring and eye wrinkles exposing themselves, the smile that reaches his eyes. His deep brown orbs aren’t much to be seen now, eyes squinted as he laughs.

“You’re worrying about me at a place like this?” He tilts his head, the one curl from his messy brown mop of hair falls onto his forehead, and he runs his hand through it, pushing the hair back off his skin.

He’d always found a way to lighten the mood, sending some kind of solemnness emitting from you today, he knew you better than anyone. The feeling had his insides clenching with anxiety.

It had been happening for years, the two of you having some unspoken moments where you couldn’t deny that there was a connection between you, something so effortless and heart wrenching at the same time. So many unspoken words and almost confessions.

“Hey,” he draws you out of your head again, lost in the fog of heartache and doubt.

He looked so good with Connie, that’s all you’d thought about since you’d flown to Malta with Pedro. They seemed so perfect for each other—the way he looked at her while he filmed their shared scenes. It felt real.

“Don’t worry about me, I’m just thinking about some things.” It was easy to brush off, or to pretend to anyway.

“Since when do you keep things from me? Somethings going on with you, come on, spill your heart to me honey.” Meeting his gaze, the brown orbs suck you into an intoxicating familiarity of the love you so desperately crave.

“Can this wait? I don’t want to ruin all of this.” Gesturing to the view, the lapping sound of the water against the side of the boat, the gentle rocking sensation sends your stomach spiralling into more unease.

“You aren’t ruining anything, talk to me.” Setting his can of beer down, he shuffles closer to you, placing his hand on your exposed thigh. “Talk to me.” He pleads again.

“I miss you.” The simply utter broke the silence between you, cutting through the background noise.

He knew what you meant. There hadn’t been much time for the two of you to see each other. Between filming for Gladiator II and the new Fantastic Four franchise. Yet—he knew it ran deeper than that.

You missed the picnics, the shared gazes of knowing and mutual love. The late night dancing and his hands running through your hair, the two of you unable to let go of one another.

The sex you miss, too. But not nearly enough as you crave for his skin on your own, for his hand in yours and his heart in your hands.

“Oh, sweetheart—“ he sounds so sweet, so sincere, but you cut him off anyway.

“Pedro.. don’t. We don’t need to do this today.”

He stares at you, wondering what’s happening in that head of yours.

“You know how I feel about you, right?” He murmurs, tracing unnamed shapes over your skin.

“I suppose so.” All he gets is an uncertain shrug from you.

He frowns, the stress lines on his face appear on his forehead. “My heart is yours, sweetheart.” He utters your name softly, fingers leaving your thigh to caress your cheek.

“What’s it matter how we feel? We can’t be together. You practically are married to the entire internet and it’s not practical for us to date.” Finally, he was getting to the root of it all.

“Fuck being practical,” he murmurs. “Tell me how you feel, just say it to me, I’ll do right by you.”

It feels like your throat is swelling up, preventing you from uttering the words you’ve longed to tell him for years. Somehow, you blurt them out in an anxious whisper.

“I love you.”

Before you could process the admittance of your love, he had pressed his own lips softly against yours. It certainly wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, but this time felt more authentic.

Your fingers caress his face, his facial hair tickles your fingers as you hold him against you, his nose is pressed into your cheek and it’s a little awkward. But your heart is pounding erratically in this moment, eyes closed and focusing on the feeling of his lips, his hand clutches the back of your neck.

After a few moments, he pulls away from you, pupils blown wide take up most of the mass around the deep brown iris. “I love you,” the whisper in return was made against your lips, his nose against your own.

“Tell me you’re mine, that we’re going to do this properly.” He pleads, he’s too close for you to look at anything but his eyes. The pleading gaze of hope in them.

“I want that, want you.”

The words aren’t lost on him, the entire afternoon is spent in seclusion, the two of you holding each other, kissing and wrapped around each other as if you were two halves of a whole.

Your fingers are white, lathered in sunscreen as you apply the substance on Pedro’s back. “We really should’ve done this hours ago.” You scold lightly, to which he laughs, shaking his head.

As you trace his back while you’re applying the sunscreen, making sure to cover all the freckles on his skin, and his arms as you trail down. Fingers running up the muscled limb as you return to the base of his neck to give a light massage.

He’s not subtle when it comes to how you made him feel, a loud breathy groan escapes his lips.

“Feel good?” The purr turns his cheeks red—he turns to you.

“Such a tease. If we weren’t in public you’d be in trouble.”

“Maybe we should head back to the hotel now then?”

He perks at your suggestion. The corner of his lip tugs upward in a slight smirk. Pleased with the idea of having you all to himself.

“My girls just got all the right ideas, don’t she?”

My girl—his girl. After years of pining and yearning over more from him, he’s given you the chance you’d dreamed of.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Y'know what? I think it'd be funny as hell if a human farmer (y/n) befriended a xenomorph. And it acts like a cute, drooling, ..alien dog. And their male Yautja parter tolerates the Xeno while in front or near his human mate. But when y/n disappears. They both are just at each other's throats?

If that's okay, also I love your writing! And I cannot wait to see more! And I hope you have a lovely day/night

Lost Dog

Character: Con'tei (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader with Xeno

Word Count: 1784

Summary: As a farmer on a planet not many know, you live your life contently. Waking up early to go out into the fields and work. It's just yourself and your mate, Con'tei. Until a special alien shows up and worms its way into your soft heart instantly.

Author Note: This is such a funny idea.

Masterlist

Ao3

Ever since that day you stumbled upon an injured Xenomorph, it’s been attached to your hip. Since that same day, Con’tei has wanted nothing more than to tear the alien apart. No matter how many times you asked him to at least be civil with the thing. The Yautja has his own thoughts of the Xenomorph. That being having its head upon his wall. Specifically above the bed. Its nonexistent, lifeless eyes peering down at you. Con’tei was sure to let you of every detail to paint a picture inside of your mind. Every time.

When the Xeno looked up at you, guts nearly splattered across the edge of your corn field, you had fallen. Though it has no eyes, you felt compelled to help it back to your dwelling. Con’tei had been off on a hunt and left you enough time to patch up the creature. Until the Yautja returned and smelled the scent of a hard meat on the property. It took lots of sweet talking to get the male to calm down and listening to your voice.

Finally, Con’tei was able to think clearly after he saw you were okay. No injuries. No smell of blood. Not even fear in the air. The Yautja was more than confused on the what, why, and how. That only grew worse when he only had to take step to the side.

There in the bath tub of the dwelling sat the observing hard meat, just peering at him. You physically had to wrap your arms around Con’tei’s thin waist and pull the newly blooded away.

Worst of all, the xeno morph lept out of the tub when it saw the struggle. Its instincts flaring to life. It thought you were fighting the enemy and rushed out to help. Water dripped down its black, scared hide. Sharp silver teeth were bared at Con’tei. Its long, black tail whipped side to side.

A yelp slipped from your lips. Con’tei pushed you off of him a bit too harsh and lunged at the creature. You fell down to the ground and landed wrong on your wrist.

The two clash for a second when your sharp cry sounded an alarm. Each held onto the other, ready to draw blood. They whipped their heads over to your lying, prone form. One pushed at the other and nearly climbed over each other.

Con’tei reaches you first and kneels down at your side. But, he’s shoved off to the side by a black, skeleton hand. A deep bellow tumbled out of his chest as he reared back up to kill the hard meat somehow in your shared home.

It’s your crying that breaks the two of them up again. They separate once more to rush to your aid. For the moment, they were able to ignore the other. Con’tei’s dark orange hands touches at your hands. One was pinned to your chest by the other. Pain radiating from one. A deep purr vibrated from the Yautja in a comforting manner. His bright yellow eyes scanned over the rest of you. The only thing that was of concern was the wrist you were clutching onto.

Across from you, the xenomorph was whining and nudging its elongated head against your cheek. The move didn’t go unnoticed by Con’tei who snarled and scooped you away from the creature. This nearly became a tug-of-war match until you shouted, “stop it!” Each alien stilled.

“Stop fighting, please! I’m in pain and you’re only making it worse.” Con’tei whimpered and bowed his head in a manner that resembled a kicked puppy. “And you’re not making it any better by flailing around.” The xeno lowered its own head, tail dropping to the ground.

“Now, please, put me down. I think I just pulled a muscle in my wrist no thanks to the two of you,” you snapped at the two of them. The anger mostly coming from the pain sprouting from your throbbing wrist.

One look in your heat gaze had the Yautja listening to you. Your feet gingerly touched the ground. Con’tei was hesitant to let go of you at first. His gaze couldn’t stop flickering towards the creature he was sworn to kill. His muscles twitched as he fought every single cell in his body not to leap over you and slaughter it where it stood.

Instantly, you turned towards Con’tei and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Hey! Look at me, sir,” you demanded. The burnt orange Yautja had to drag his gaze off of the xeno. You had just turned your back to it with little care of your safety. “I know you are freaking internally and externally but let me explain.”

He bristled. Of course, you better explain in why in Cetanu’s name is there a hard meat in your home. And why was is following you around? Why was is it protecting you? His first thought was dismissed when smelled no change to your body. It hadn’t implanted anything into you. Con’tei snorted and crossed his arms.

You couldn’t help the sigh, shoulders sagging a little. “Okay, I deserved that.” Con’tei could agree with that. “But, you must see it from my side. I was working the field when I stumbled across this poor thing, all injured and begging for help.” He was ready to shake some sense into you. “I took it home and nursed it back to health. Now, its like a dog! It follows around and helps me around the house and even in the field.”

His anger flooded back to Con’tei’s mind and nearly blinded him. How could the one person he loves in the universe say such stupidity in the moment? He knew you were smarter than this. Yet, here you were proving him wrong with each word that falls out of your mouth.

The xeno made its point by coming up behind you and nuzzling its ugly face into the crook of your neck. His muscles flexed. “And why do you have it our home? Why isn’t it dead?” Injured, you should’ve had little trouble by exterminating the cursed thing. Why did your heart have to be so big? Why did your luck have to be so terrible?

Your face soured. You stepped back and patted the top of the xenomorph’s smooth, shiny head. It gave a chuff and rubbed against you some more. “Because, it was injured! I had to save it. I wasn’t going to let it die! What kind of person do you take me for to leave an injured creature for dead?” By Paya’s name, if he didn’t love you so much. He desperately wanted to shake some sense into you. Maybe rattle the thought of care for it out of your head.

“Exactly why it should be dead. You had a chance to kill it. Why didn’t you take it?” His hunter mind couldn’t grasp the thought process of your ooman brain.

Those were the wrong words to say.

“I told you! It was injured and I’m not like you. It looked so sad and pathetic. Now, look at it! It’s like a puppy I’ve always wanted. A very…” you trailed off to glance over your shoulder. “A very big, scary puppy who would protect me!”

There was truth to your words. Clearly, it was willing to protect you from someone who could easily kill it. But to leave it to live, Con’tei couldn’t let himself live with that knowledge. Even if it showed compliancy to you at the moment, who knows when its baser instincts kick in and slaughter you or use your body for a host.

Con’tei huffed and narrowed his bright eyes on you. “I said no.” The Yautja was still young and recently gained his clan marking during his chiva against these blasted creatures.

The way your brows jumped at his denial; then, your gaze darkened. Con’tei felt a drop of fear fall into the pit of his stomach. “No? Well, mister, it’s not up to you. You go off on these hunts all by yourself for a week or so. I’m left all alone!” You turned your head and nuzzled against the unforgiving, smooth surface of the xenomorph’s cheek. “What happens if something attacks our home? I can’t protect it to save my life. With it, I could at least stand a chance.”

What were you thinking?! After everything he’s told you about his near failure during his chiva, you had wished for the hard meat to stay. You go against his direct order to protect you keep it!

Yet… the truth behind your words sunk deep into the soft tissue of his brain. The knowledge this planet held many dangers while you sit at home, unprotected and weaponless, churned his stomach. Con’tei gritted his mandibles and looked over your shoulder. The creature had its face turned towards him, chin resting on your shoulder.

He tried to think of ways to convince you. Maybe, he’ll spend what little credits he had to get you a creature to protect you. Something he could train from a young age. Something that wasn’t a hard meat that could tear out your throat in a instant.

When his gaze returned to you, his stubbornness finally cracked. A groan sounded from him. “Little one, I swear…” he trailed off then let his shoulders sag. “Alright, alright. Fine. But, you must have it trained. A collar will be put on it. It will send an electric shock through its body, immobilizing it should it turn on you. I’m warning you, my mate.”

All of his stories he’s told you were fresh in your mind. His near defeat of his own life by these creatures. But, the loneness of sitting in an empty house made life difficult.

A squeal pierced the air. Your arms snatched around his waist. Con’tei jolted at first then let himself settle in your embrace before his own arms return the motion. The hunt had been long and made him long for this affection with you this entire time. What is he going to do with his little ooman who has him wrapped around their tiny pinkie finger?

With a sigh, he lets you go.

“Okay, you two be good then. I’ve gotta go clean up the bathroom!” You blew each of them a kiss before skipping towards the bathroom. The door was closed behind you to clean up the mess the xenomorph had left behind in his wake of protection.

Both of the alien’s watched as the door closed behind you. Then, they snapped their heads towards the other. A second paused the still air. Each lunged at the other in a clash of fangs, claws, and snarls.

[dearggntlereader]

mattheo riddle x reader mattheo realizes hes in love with you. TW: kissing some cursing and as always picture does not represent the readers looks

are we in love? . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

Mattheo has loved you for as long as he can remember.

He loved you when you sat next to him in potions, eyes shy and frame small. He smiled at you then and introduced himself, starting a fabulous friendship. He loved you when you grew into your personality, getting more and more comfortable around him. He loved you when you let out huffs of laughter at his antics, followed quickly by a roll of your eyes.

He might have loved you a little less when you were dating that gryffindor bloke. Actually, no. He might have liked you less but he loved you all the same. He still loves you.

He loves you when you just woke up, eyes tired, lazy smile and messy hair. He loves you when your shooting glares at him in class, hissing at him under your breath “Focus, riddle. You’re distracting me.” He loves you when you're cleaning him up after a fight, causing him pain and wincing in tandem with him every time the cloth meets his face.

But is he in love with you?

Draco would scoff “obviously, dickhead.”

Blaise wouldn’t even grace him with an answer, only smiling in that ‘i know something you don’t’ way of his.

Pansy would bark out a laugh “you’re so stupid, riddle!”

Enzo would argue that he merely likes your presence, but he is just as stupid with emotions as Mattheo himself is. So, that doesn’t help.

Theodore would shake his head with a soft laugh and knowing look, “What do you think?”

He could never ask Tom about this.

So seeing as most of the people he holds dearest would say yes or atleast insinuate that, that should be his answer.

But then he thinks back to the start of your friendship. When you smiled at him with still crooked teeth, grabbed his hand with zero elegance for a handshake and he felt the same tugging at his chest he feels now.

And he wasn’t in love with you then.

He barely knew you, nothing to be in love with.

And now he knows you. He knows you when you're happy, feeling on top of the world just the same as he knows you sobbing into his chest, refusing to leave the bed for days on end.

The same feeling is still tugging at his chest, urging him to look at something he just can’t find.

It’s tugs become stronger every time he looks at you, a weird feeling in his stomach bubbling up with more force whenever you smile at him.

Just as you are now.

Everything inside of him is screaming to tell you something, to do something. But, what? 

“...you know?” your voice trails off, looking at him. 

You were standing between rows of books, holding an Astronomy book in hand. Surely you were ranting about class to him and whilst he would usually love to listen, he didn’t register a single word.

You're frowning slightly and he has to fight the urge to lift his fingers to smooth out the wrinkle forming between your lovely brows.

He loses the fight.

Your skin is soft under his fingers and your frown is replaced by something much softer. 

You’re looking at him with a mix of surprise and intrigue. The slight gleam in your eyes makes Mattheo want to lean in and kiss your pretty, pouty, perfect Lips. He wants to bite them until he draws blood, wants to tug at them to see them bounce back. And god, how much he wants to feel them on his skin, on his Lips, whispering soft secrets into his ear.

Stop.

No.

He was not in love with you, right?

A voice that sounds an annoyingly amount like Draco floats around his brain, “Then why the fuck do you want to kiss her, fuckface.”

He mentally tells Draco to ‘shut the fuck up’ before directing his Attention back to you. His eyes flit from your mouth up to your eyes.

Fuck.

Oh, god- he’s in love with you.

Your pupils are blown wide, dark and dilated, fixed on his Lips- just as his had been a second ago. Your eyes aren’t filled with lust or heat, simple adoring. And isn’t that just ten times more devastating. You're looking at him like you love him and all of a sudden Mattheo is falling. 

Or maybe he’s been falling for a while, falling for you, into you. Losing himself in your love, in your words and laughs and eyes. 

Most likely, he was always falling.

From the moment your eyes first meet, eyes are the windows to the soul after all. He is so in love with your soul. He wants to melt into you, curling around your spine and spilling into your veins, until you couldn’t possibly force him away.

But if he can trust the look in your eye, you might not want to force him away. Even if you had the chance.

He feels your mouth before he realizes he moved. Your lips are already parted when he meets them, inviting him in. Only a split second passes before you kiss him back, sighing into the kiss.

His hands settle on your waist and as the kiss picks up, they start roaming all over your back. Your hands fall into his hair and everything clicks into place. 

He can faintly hear the heavy Astronomy book fall to the ground beneath you two.

The haziness falls away and all Mattheo can feel is you. Your hands, your mouth, your skin, your body.

He’s convinced you were created for him just as he was for you, the way you fit together turns the falling into floating. 

Mattheo doesn’t want to meet the ground ever again, not if floating feels like this.

Okay so, this is based off something @dustie-faerie commented a while ago and after some playing around and writing and rewriting we ended up with this<333

[madaqueue]

EPISODE 3: A TASTE OF HONEY IN DEFEAT

satoru thought he would have no problem winning a bet he proposed, but a month is too long to go without a taste of anything this sweet.

themes/content: smut. edging, handjobs, mean-ish dom!reader, satoru being whiney lmao, premature ejaculation + he cums inside, light bondage (satoru receiving). (wk: 2.1k)

a/n: this is part of @luv-lies no-nut-november collab!!! so excited to have been a part of this, hope you all enjoy >:3

“You know I trust you, but don’t you think the ropes are a bit much?” Satoru giggles as you tighten the final knot around his wrists, shoulders bulging and arms stretched overhead.

“I know you trust me - it’s you I’m worried about, ‘Toru.”

“What, worried I won’t be able to keep my hands off you?” The smirk painting his features veers into a grimace as he winces, straining against the tightening rope.

“No. I’m worried you won’t be able to keep your hands off yourself.”

Pink lips draw into a pout. “Aw c’mon, you know I’ll be good! I’m the one who made this bet in the first place, remember?”

You hum as you tug his hands down, testing the strength of the woven cerulean adorning his skin. The headboard shakes with the movement.

“And yet, you were so willing to break the rules.”

It had been quite a sight, truly - your dear Satoru, splayed across the bed, whimpers and moans falling from his lips like honeyed rain. They landed heavy in your ears, sticky and sweet. When the door creaked open, he made no effort to stop the fervent motions of his fist up and down his cock. He was flushed from head to toe, too lost in his own pleasure to recognize the sound of your footsteps approaching. It was only when your hand rested atop his that he jerked up, clouded eyes turning apologetic.

“I know I wasn’t supposed to, I know, I just couldn’t wait-” he had babbled.

“It’s okay,” you purred, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. “But you knew the deal, remember? I’m the only one allowed to touch you this month, right, Satoru?”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry-”

“And how close you were to cumming, too.”

“I wasn’t going to, I swear-”

You hummed and squeezed his base, earning a gasp. “You know it’s not good to lie, either. Remember, you made this bet, sweetheart. Were you really so willing to throw it all away? To lose?”

“I wasn’t going to lose, I promise, I just needed something-”

He was getting worked up, panicked thoughts racing through his mind. He braced on his forearms to sit up, but with a purposeful push you guided him back onto the sheets.

“It’s okay, my love. If my poor baby is so needy, I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you something.”

His eyes widened when you pulled the ropes from under the bed, eyeing him like your next meal, a starving predator ready to pounce. And here was your prey, so ready for the taking, offering himself to you as a good piece of meat should.

And now, he’s tied up like one, too.

“I wasn’t even going to break the rules,” he whines impatiently.

Sitting back, you admire your work: your strong, determined Satoru spread and waiting. Trailing a finger down his stomach, his skin burns hot in its wake.

“That’s certainly not what it looked like to me.”

“I-”

“Because to me, it looked like you couldn’t handle going even a month without touching this needy little cock of yours.”

He pouts. “I’m not little,” he huffs.

A giggle bubbles from the back of your throat, bouncing past your lips.

“And besides, I can handle it, I swear! I made it almost the whole month, I did, I just-”

Tilting your head, you gaze down at him. “What, got too desperate? Poor Satoru, ‘The Strongest,’ couldn’t even follow the rules of a bet he made?”

Blue flashes against white as he rolls his eyes. One hand ruffles his hair, cooing down at him.

“It’s okay, baby, I’ll make you beg to break this silly little bet of yours.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs, hiding the way pink creeps up his neck and decorates his cheeks, stained like flower petals. He’s soft like them, too.

A light chuckle lands in the air when your palm grazes up his length. He twitches in your hold, warm skin on warm skin.

“H-hah, see?” His mouth hangs open between the words. “Told you I could handle it.”

It’s gentle touches at first, to ease him into it: slow strokes, light fingers. And yet, he’s still wrapping his throat around whimpers.

“Aw baby, I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Your lips curl into a smile, breath hot behind them. The words come out syrupy, dripping in sugar (and Satoru has always had a sweet tooth). His stomach aches in hunger - hunger for your hands, your body, your control. Whatever you plan to do to him, he’ll swallow it whole, bigger and bigger bites until his cheeks swell and all he can taste is you.

The grip around his base tightens, running up and down. Something about your skin is so much softer than his, untainted by the cruelty he lives through, only dirtied by desire. It spreads over his skin, glistening white and sticky.

When whines begin to twist through the silence, his eyelashes fluttering to bat away the impending tears, he doesn’t have to say it - he’s close.

Just as his muscles begin to tense, you rip your hand away.

There’s a choked little cry he lets out, hurt like an animal you spared from death. One that was ready for it, for the warmth and comfort it provided.

“Why’d you stop?” His voice is strained already, a high-pitched draw across his vocal cords. His eyes are sparkling and wet.

A peck to his cheek sends shivers down his spine. “Because you’re not supposed to finish, remember, silly? I’m just helping you hold up your end of the bet, after all.”

A sound like untuned violins, haunting and beautiful all the same, plays from his throat. You giggle at the music.

“C’mon, Toru - you wanted this, remember?”

“I know,” he grumbles, scrunching his nose. “Fine, fine, do whatever you want.”

You smile.

(You would have anyways)

Your gaze falls upon the aquamarine rope, the matching eyes, before trailing back down his steadying chest.

It stutters when your fingers trace up the veins of his cock.

It heaves when you cup a palm around his balls.

You squeeze.

“F-fuck,” he groans, hips lifting off the bed.

There’s a word living at the tip of his tongue, its shape burning into his mouth.

Harder.

Luckily, you know your Satoru - you know what he thinks, feels, wants. And as a lover should, you happily oblige.

The sound he makes is garbled and choked, utter nonsense. It came straight from the depths of his body, a pure animalistic response, one he couldn’t have controlled if he tried.

Already, he’s beginning to tremble in your palm - it’s getting easier to do this, make him shake like a lost leaf floating through the autumn air, held captive by the gusts of your wind. Up and down, he travels with you, because of you.

Again, you pull your hand away.

Again, he whines.

“Noooo,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything. It was automatic, the expression of displeasure, ripped from him with the loss of your warmth on his.

“What’s wrong baby? You want me to stop?” It’s more fun when he has an out, when he could say no and chooses not to. When he wants this just as badly as you. “You know you-”

“No.” It's more breath than sound. “No, please. Keep going.”

And as a lover should, you happily oblige.

Precum drips down his length, covering him in remnants of desire. They cling to his skin like silky webs, woven from devotion and need. Each slick pump of your hand up and down creates more and more and more, a beautiful pearl at his slit forming one moment only to be spread by your circling thumb in the next.

Each time you reach his base, you squeeze. Each time you reach his tip, you twist. In this dance you both twirl and breathe and feel in beat, holding on to one another with sweaty hands and tired muscles.

“Remember, you can give up whenever you want,” you coo, the sweet glue of a trap.

But Satoru doesn’t dare taste, doesn’t dare step inside - he knows better.

(Right?)

“I’m not - fuck - giving up.” He tries to throw you a smile, but it lands at your feet.

Fists clench into each other, nails digging into his palms. You almost feel bad, the way he’s beginning to writhe within the ropes. It must hurt, you think, the texture soft but never soft enough - it’s nothing compared to you. In spite of his anguish, he knows better than to give up this easily. You haven’t even really begun, not yet.

When his eyelashes flutter closed, you know to pull your hand away.

He’s getting more subtle, the only sign of his impending pleasure a soft flicker of white and blue. But you recognize it, of course - his pleasure lives everywhere in him. In the way his breath catches, in the way his skin burns hot, in the way he gets all too loud or all too quiet.

There’s barely a sound this time. Instead, he just frowns, displeasure spreading across his sweet features. His lower lip sticks out, and he stares at you with cloudy eyes.

“I know, baby, I know. But this is what it takes if you want to win.”

The words don’t ease the growing ache in his core, but your voice does. Every vowel blurs the pain, every consonant gives him something to cling to. He’ll climb himself out of insanity on your breath.

Again, you wrap around him and drag him closer to the edge. Unable to pull his gaze away, he stares down it, looming, waiting. The free fall must feel nice, the wind against his skin, for a moment before he hits the ground. But with a firm hand on the back of his head, you just hold him there. It’ll be his choice whether he decides to jump. Or rather, when he decides to jump.

Another choked groan leaks from his lips when you pause. There are no words left for him to say, nothing but the agony of desire. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if it’ll make the leap any less tempting.

Hushed whispers, not quite praise, tingle his mind. Little hums of “I know,” or “there, there,” dance from your throat, and he writhes.

Distress always looked so pretty on him. Pretty tears, pretty red cheeks, pretty pouts and pretty cries. Perhaps it’s a curse that he looks like a fallen angel when he weeps - if he looked more grotesque, you wouldn’t feel the urge to bring him back into the jaws of pain.

But he lets you comfort him nonetheless, preen his wings and kiss his tears.

This time, when you stop, he thrashes. His skin burns, crisp like it had been warmed by the sun for too long. Everything is too tight, his hands, his arms, his shoulders, his stomach. They need to be loosened; they need to be released.

“Please.”

It’s so quiet, it’s almost not a word, just little sounds from his tongue.

“What was that, baby? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Tears stream from glossy eyes when he looks at you. His lips quiver as he speaks.

“Please, I wanna cum. Please.”

The smile spreading across your face is cold and knowing; he looks beautiful as he falls.

“I know you want to, but-”

“I lose.” He’s panting, gasping through the plea. “I lose, I give up, I don’t care, just, please.”

Hot tears melt beneath your thumb as you swipe them away. His mouth hangs open, as though he could swallow the air, hold it inside him and let that ease the aching. But the only thing that can help him now is you, the only thing he can stomach.

“Okay, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

A loose smile flows across his face, easy like gentle waves lapping at the corners of his thoughts. The sentence itself barely makes sense to him at this point, garbled in his lust-clouded mind. But he knows you’ll help him now; he welcomes the push over the edge.

Straddling his lap, you guide him to your entrance. Sticky and hot, he presses into you. Just as his tip enters your warmth, he hurls himself into the wind.

Everything in his body trembles, muscles tightening and contracting out of time. Eyelashes flutter, whimpers dance like petals as he comes undone.

The only thing he can do is twitch inside of you, pearly strings pulsing with each erratic breath.

Finally, he opens his eyes to find you smiling. Warm lips press along his cheeks, dried tears salty on your tongue.

“Well, you certainly lost this time,” you hum, resting your forehead against his; he looks at you like you created the earth itself, your breath in the wind and your heartbeat in the sun. “But there’s always next year, right?”

[taintandviolent]

Bliss ; Oz Cobb x Reader

summary: After trying a new drug at a nightclub, you lose your friend and run into someone else.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 4.5K | female reader, canon divergence (this kind of warps the events of episode 3 a teensy bit and uhhhh sorry about that, it's all in the name of spice), drug mention (fictional Bliss), technically mild dub con cos reader is hiiiiiiigh as shit but she's very into Oz, grinding, hook-ups, mentions of arousal (both parties), semi-public oral sex, blowjobs.

a/n: thank you for all the love on my last oz fic!! wahooo!!!! here's another, because i'm still obsessed with him! not beta-read or anything... just had to get this out. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

“Open your mouth, honey…” 

You extend your tongue, obediently. The nameless (but very pretty) woman puts a triangle of translucent red candy on the meat of your tongue, and you draw it back in, sucking on it. It’s slightly sweet and melts straight away, leaving a slimy, almost syrupy finish on your tongue. You swallow it down, and look over at your friend, who had taken the Bliss before you had. 

It only takes a few minutes for it to hit and when it does, your entire body feels like it’s floating, your nervous system is buzzing happily while your friend’s eyes are glazed over, a delighted smile on her face. Everything seems to sparkle like the glitter that you’d dusted your eyelids in. “Holy shit…” 

“Yeah,” you echo, equally as shocked as she is. The feeling is indescribable, and you immediately understand why it’s called Bliss. You can’t recall the last time you’d felt this… elated. You’d smoked, you’d done ecstasy, but this… this was something else entirely. 

The two of you collide, crushing your bodies against each other as the music throbs in your ears, thumping in your bones. Your hands explore each other’s exposed skin, tasting it with your fingertips. You’re dancing with her, your ass in the crook of her hips… and then you aren’t. The presence is suddenly gone from behind you. You spin around, searching for her face in the crowd. You spot it as she turns to wave at you.

“I’ll be back!” She shouts, nodding excitedly as she disappears into the sea of people. “I’m going upstairs!” 

Even though you’re still riding the high, you don’t particularly like the concept of being alone. You try to chase after her, turning left and right to avoid the shoulders of other patrons. As you pass them, you see other people indulging in the same drug that is coursing through your system. It’s a collective high, you think to yourself, smiling. How cute. 

Finally, after meandering through the crowds for a few minutes, you spot a small staircase and make a beeline towards it. Your limbs feel jello-y, and you nearly stumble as you take the stairs one at a time. Just as your foot hits the last step, you hear a stern voice calling out to you. 

“Hey-hey, sweetheart.” A man gets to his feet, limping slightly as he takes a step towards you. His voice was heavy, commanding. Even in your intoxicated state, you could tell you were interrupting something. Fuck. Your head sweeps from side to side as you search for your friend. 

Oz takes another step towards you, watching you closely. You were a cute little thing, all dolled up and pretty, just how he liked ‘em… but you didn’t belong here. 

“This ain't an open invitation. You lost?” He nods his head, his scarred lips turning into a frown. 

“I…” You slurred, blinking slowly, a dreamy smile on your face. “I lost my friend… she said she was going upstairs… is this not… is this not upstairs?” 

He heaves a sigh, and seems to mutter an expletive under his breath. “Nah, doll, this ain’t upstairs.” 

You blinked again, pressing the back of your palm against your lips. You pause to shift your small purse back up onto your shoulder. “Shit…” 

Your eyes unfocus and focus again. The man in front of you is big in every way describable. Broad, tall, and his aura… it swallows you whole. He looks rich, dressed well. Dark hair peeks out from over his slightly unbuttoned shirt. You hum. You’d like to blame it on the drugs but you’ve always had a penchant for older men. Especially ones that looked dangerous… and he looked dangerous. 

“I’m… I’m so sorry…” A girlish giggle tumbled out of your throat. “I’m… oh god, I feel so good, I’m sssso sorry to interrupt your…” 

“You take somethin’?” He narrowed his eyes and nodded once. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, looking into his dark eyes. “That red candy… you got any more of that?” You perk up at the idea of prolonging this feeling.  Oz smiled at that, his gold teeth glinting in the light. An example had fallen right into their fuckin’ laps, and Zhao could see it firsthand. Your tongue jutted out at the corner of your mouth, and swept along your top lip, euphorically. He couldn’t help but stare, feeling the heat of arousal grip his loins.

“Gentlemen,” he said, diverting his attention before he stared too fuckin’ hard at you, his accent heavy. “As I was sayin’, Bliss is the new craze. The second it hits the streets, they’ll be bustin’ down the doors for it.” 

He steps out from behind the table and ambles his way over to you. Standing next to you, he’s even taller. You tilt your head back slightly to look – no, to gaze up at him. His face is aged, and deeply scarred – the biggest one disfiguring his top lip – but it’s hot. This guy’s been in a few, and you’re sure he’s got some stories. 

You giggle again, an absolutely delirious sound, and press your hand on the breast of his suit jacket, tracing tiny little circles on the fabric. “Hi…” 

He smirks, feelin’ like that cat that got the canary. A pretty little thing, whacked out on Bliss, fawning over him in front of Zhao and his gang? Priceless. Oz turns his head, nodding to one of the guys sitting at the table. 

“You think on our deal, and I’m gonna’ take care uh’ this one, huh?” 

You visibly preen at the fact that he’s leaving his meeting to ‘take care’ of you… whatever that entails. He could’ve just told you to fuck off, but instead he takes you by the shoulders, steering you back towards the stairs from whence you came in true gentlemanly fashion. As he guides you down the steps carefully, you look behind you at the booth to see the men, all solemn, watching you as you go. Just as they disappear over the wall, you see one of them lean over to discuss something with the others. 

God, his hands are fucking big on your shoulders.   

“Sweetheart – where’s your friend at? You can’t be wanderin’ ‘round this club like this. It ain’t–” 

“I’m safe now…” You lazily murmur, pressing your body against him. He’s wide and warm and you want to press yourself into him until you disappear. “What’s your name, big guy?” 

He swallows a lump in his throat. Your tinier body pressed against his has him feelin’ things he shouldn’t be feelin’, especially seein’ as he’s in the middle of one of the most important deals of his career. The crowd is undulating around the two of you, dozens of hands outstretched towards the ceiling as though it were heaven, sweaty bodies smearing against other bodies, washed in a bright red light. The song swells in your ears, its heavy beat forcing your hips to grind against the man in front of you. 

“We should dance. C’moooon. What’s your name?”

“Oz,” he says plainly, steering you around a corner, through the throngs of people. He’s in the middle of a deal, he has to keep reminding himself of that. This ain’t the time to pick up a new dame.

You repeat his name, drawing it out like a moan, hoping it sounds as good as it feels on your tongue. Another giggle, and you reach up to stroke the side of his face. “C’mon…. Dance….. With me.”

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel him pitch back slightly, stiffening against you. You reach up and wrap your arms around his broad neck, pressing your breasts flush against him. The warmth of his body immediately penetrates the thin fabric of your satin dress, seeping into your clammy, sweat-streaked body. It doesn’t occur to you that he’s not much of a dancer. 

“Sweetheart, c’mon.” He looks over your shoulder, prayin’ that your friend will show up. You’re making it harder and harder to focus. “Where’s your friend at? Huh? ” He’s persistent. You try to frown, but your smile is too strong. 

“I don’t know, silly… I said I lost her. That’s how I found you…” Your hands are still wrapped around his neck, tugging as you let some of your body weight fall, sliding against the front of him. He has no choice but to put his hands on your hips, to hold you up slightly. The touch has you reeling. “What’s she look like?” 

You ignore his question. Besides it’s not like describing her in a sea of people who match the description will help him locate her. 

“Don’t you wanna’ touch me, Oz…?” 

That hits him and he looks down at you with a glimmer in his eye that wasn’t there before. Fuck. Guy like him? Doesn’t get this kind of attention all too often. So yeah, of course he fuckin’ does. And he is touchin’ you, with his large hands still planted on your soft, satin-clad hips, but that’s not in the way he wants. He licks his lips. It probably ain’t you talkin’, it’s the Bliss.

The music swells again, and you spin around in his grasp, pressing your back against the curve of his stomach. He makes a fist in front of your dress, gathering up the fabric just enough so that his fingers can graze the smooth skin of your thigh. It’s so soft… feels so fuckin’ good underneath his hand. Immediately, like a child that was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he lets go, and shifts himself against your body again. God damn. 

You whine at the sensation, open-mouthed and dizzy. Every ounce of Bliss that was coursing through your system had you feeling better than you’ve ever remembered… and you were grinding on some hot older guy? Win-win. 

Your hips continue to sweep back and forth across his body, dipping your hips back to grind against his groin. You feel movement against your ass, and he eases himself into your soft, plush cheeks, forcing more friction. 

“You ain’t thinkin’ straight, doll.” He says into your ear and his hand moves back to your hips, adjusting you. He thinks about movin’ his hand between your legs, fingers teasing at the mound of flesh there. Your soft panties are hardly there to begin with, so the contact would have you both reeling. He knows could feel the outline of her, and you could feel the warmth of his fingers. 

But he doesn’t, it ain’t right and for all he knows, you could sober up and be horrified by your choice. It wouldn’t surprise him any. 

The warmth of his body is enough to arouse you, and you draw the side of your lip into your mouth and bite down, feeling a blush start down your neck. People are grinding on each other all around you, measly amounts of fabric impeding any actual fucking – what’s another pair?

“What? About you?” you say, looking out into the crowd, watching as others are doing the same. You lean back, pressing the side of your head against his chest, and close your eyes, letting the music take you wherever it needed to.

He mutters a yeah; you feel it vibrate in his throat. 

You spin back around and the action puts Oz’s hands on the meat of your ass cheeks. He doesn’t move them, despite his previous thoughts. You snort, dismissing his insecurity. He says nothing, only looks at you, studying the features of your face. 

“Ohhh, I get it.” You nod slowly, closing your eyes slightly. Your finger taps his chest a few times, punctuating your disapproving revelation. “I get it, you think I’m too fucked up to know what I’m doing, is that it?” 

One of Oz’s hands leaves your body to come up and grip your chin, his thumb pressing into your bottom lip just enough to expose your teeth. You lean into his grasp, reveling in the feeling of his hand on your face.  He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. It’s plush and waxy underneath the pad of his thumb, which leaves a glittering streak of lip gloss on your cheek.

“Nnooo…. It’s cute that you care… but no, the red candy –”

“Bliss,” he interjects, making sure you remember it. The more people that know it by name, the better. 

“ – Bliss, okay, yeah. I’d hit on you without it.”

Oz considers that, his tongue darting out to lick his lips again. He squints at you, assessing your sincerity with a hint of intrigue. 

That second of consideration is all you need apparently. You’re craning your neck towards him, your heavy-lidded gaze dropping to his scarred lips. You bite your own, and inch closer – close enough that you can smell the scotch on his breath. You tilt your head to wordlessly indicate to him where you’re headed, and he looks at your ever-approaching mouth with a restrained sort of longing. His hands are still on your waist, which you take note of. 

“Hey! There you are!”

Hearing your friend’s voice, you immediately pull away from him, though he’s a little slower to let go of you. He seems less concerned with being caught; probably a by-product of his lifestyle. You turn to your friend, smiling sheepishly. She eyes the man behind you, quirking a single, defined brow. The apprehension is visible on her face. 

“Heeey. One sec,” you say, before spinning back to Oz. “Give me your phone.” 

You expectantly hold your hand out in front of him, opening and closing your palm a few times. 

“Oh, c’mon, I know you’ve got a phone. You’re not that old.” 

With a slightly perturbed sigh, he leans to the side, his hand slipping into his pocket. He retrieves the phone and holds it out to you, almost guiltily. 

Hastily, you create a new contact before returning the phone to him. 

“Text me if you don’t believe me. Or text me if you do believe me and are curious.” You lean up onto the toes of your heels, and whisper in his ear. “Just text me.” 

With that, you reach behind you, grabbing at the air until your friend’s fingers intertwine with yours. She grips your hand tight and yanks you away from Oz, pulling you into the undulating crowd until you can’t see him anymore. She wastes no time, and immediately drags you back to the dance floor, finding the same woman who gave you Bliss the last time. You both dish out more cash and suck down the crimson shard before both of you are consumed by the drug and the need to dance. 

You run your fingers through your hair, lifting it off your shoulders. “Fuck, I feel amazing….” 

Only an hour passes before your phone vibrates in your bag. Licking your lips, you pull it out. It’s from an unknown number… Gotham City area code… but you know exactly who it is. A pleased smirk curves its way around your glossy lips. 

It reads: You still here?

Yea lol. Are you? Your hips continue swaying back and forth to the beat. 

Yes

You suck on your bottom lip for a moment, mulling over what you want to do. You’re apparently taking too long, because the typing bubble pops up again. You smirk to yourself and run your free hand through your hair, touseling it. You quickly thumb out a string of messages; you’re much faster than him.

Meet me at the bathrooms in 10 

Mens

There always too many girls in ours 

Oz doesn’t reply. 

“Girl, I’ll be back!” You shout over the music. Your friend’s attention snaps to you, looking perplexed.

“Where are you going!?” 

“I just gotta’ meet up with someone!” 

The realization dawns on her and her eyes widen. “Shut up…! Is it that guy from earlier?!” 

You nod. 

“Are you serious?!”

You nod, looking proud. Your friend screws up her face, not withholding how she felt about him. 

Sandwiching her face between your hands, you pull her head down for a loving forehead kiss. “You need to broaden your horizons, baby doll!”  

And with that, you plunge yourself into the crowd, gripping your phone in your hand. A neon sign in an archway guides you to your destination. By the time you get to a vantage point where you can see the bathrooms, you spot Oz; already there, his scarred face illuminated by the glow of his phone. He looks worried, like you aren’t going to show up. After slipping your phone into your purse, you close in the distance. With a smirk, you move your hand towards him, reaching out to touch his forearm. 

“You missed me, huh? Tell me you missed me…” 

“What is this, a fuckin’ – “ 

“It took you a fucking hour to text me, baby. You were thinkin’ about me, weren’t you?” 

“Maybe I was.” 

Oz flattens his palm against the door, giving it a hard push until it opens. You duck underneath his arm and after casually checking your makeup in the line of mirrors to your left, fling yourself into the first open stall. Oz follows, lumbering in after you. It’s a tight fit, but you’re about to give him some breathing room. 

You drop your purse to the ground, and promptly get to your knees, the cold tile floor chilling them as you do. Oz stands tall in front of you, his chest heaving with each breath. His head drops to his chest, leaning forward slightly to look at you over his stomach and he chuckles breathily, looking almost embarrassed.

“Hoh shit… you ain’t fuckin’ around, are ya?” 

You shake your head as your fingers crawl up his thighs, step by step, until you get to his waist band. You unlatch the closure and reach inside the folds of fabric, finding the small zipper with your fingers. A slow, teasing tug pulls it down and you look up at him, a wanton grin on your lips. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his bottom jaw hangs slack, his brown eyes watching you with an intensity that reveals something deeper. 

“You don’t do this very often, huh?” 

He doesn’t answer, but his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Shit, sweetheart… you do though, dontcha’?”  “Enough to know what I’m doing.” Your reply is sharp, and you punctuate it with a curt nod, swiping the pads of your fingers across his underwear to tease his quickly hardening dick. You palm the outline, rubbing it softly. Your thumb finds the tip, teasing it through the layer of fabric. Above you, Oz is still watching you intently, committing all of this to memory. You chuckle through your nose, and lean forward, nuzzling your nose against the hardness. 

“Lemme’ see what I’m working with…” you murmur, before reaching up to the elastic of his underwear, pulling it down harshly underneath his balls and freeing his cock. Framed by a thatch of black hair, it bobs heavily in front of your face, clear beads of pre-cum already leaking from the slit. You breathe hotly, causing it to twitch slightly. He pitches forward, bumping the tip into your lips and leaving a string of pre-cum stretching from your bottom lip to his dick. You lean back, just out of reach and laugh, watching as his expression contorts. You beam, pleased. The smile is mischievous; you love giving head because of the power it gives you, quite literally holding it in your hand. 

You bring your hand up to his dick, wrapping your fingers just underneath the tip. The girth is impressive, even here. With a smirk, you tighten your grip and drag your thumb over the head, bringing some of that luscious pre-cum down onto his shaft. You drag your fist away from your face, watching as the skin slickens underneath your fingers. With a clang of metal against metal, Oz grips the side of the stall tight to steady himself. You haven’t even put your mouth on his dick yet, and he’s already acting like he’s going to topple over. 

“Easy, Oz…” 

Your tongue stretches out past your teeth, flattening over your bottom lip. Taking hold of his cock hastily like a toy, you slap it wetly against your tongue a few times to rile him up. It works; his breath hitches in his throat and he drops his head back against his broad shoulders. His body temperature is rising, even you can feel it rolling off of him. It’s a nice contrast to the chill of the bathroom. 

You swallow once, relaxing your throat before leaning forward to wrap your lips around the cockhead. Your tongue, still flat, massages the underside of his cock as you push your head down onto him, not stopping until your nose reaches his pubic hair. Oz can’t help the sounds that tumble from his mouth; low, tight groans and a string of expletives as you deep throat his cock. His free hand comes down to the back of your head, caressing your tresses and he lets out a deep sigh, adjusting to the warmth of your mouth. You feel the tension in his grip and know that he’s fighting the urge to grip your hair, controlling the speed at which your mouth pleasures him. Your blood is buzzing in your ears, hazy with arousal. 

You pull back and he inhales sharply as you open your mouth wider before diving back down, letting the tip hit the back of your throat. You gag and your eyes snap shut, tears welling at the corners. 

“That feels so fuckin’ good. Shit, sweetheart.” 

Your cheeks cave as you suck him off, bobbing your head back and forth. 

“God damn, that mouth uh’ yours…”

You pull off his cock with a wet slurp and look up at him, dizzy with lust, before reaching up behind your head. Your smaller hand closes around his large hand, forcing him to make a fist in the soft strands before trailing over his wrist, fingers catching on the metal of his gold bracelet. “It’s okay, Oz. You can pull my hair.”  Your tongue darts over your swollen bottom lip, lapping up the taste of him. “Pull it, baby. You’re doing so good…” 

The comment is both a reprieve from his fat cock bullying your throat and a genuine statement. You see those dark brown eyes of his disappear under his lids as they roll back in his head, incapacitated by lust. He growls deep in his throat. Having been given direction and permission, he meticulously begins gathering it up into a ponytail, scooping all the tresses into the curve of his palm. While he does, you lazily lick at the sensitive, reddened head, teasing him further. The action practically makes his hands shake, but Oz manages to grip your hair tight and takes it upon himself to jerk his hips back against your face, sliding himself back into the warm, suctioned confines of your mouth. You nod against his cock, your nose brushing against the hair that greets you. 

You want to tell him that he can fuck your face, but he’s already found a rhythm of bucking his hips into your mouth, so instead of words, the bathroom is filled with the muffled music from outside and the sloppy, wet sounds currently coming from your throat. You walk your knees out a little farther, giving yourself room to slip your hand between your thighs, and into the thin, stretchy fabric of your panties. 

You feel every part of his body tense. He’s close. You know it, he knows it. You push yourself further onto his cock, until your gag reflex activates again, and Oz immediately pulls you off, backing his hips away from your mouth. Your eyes fall to his cock; the tip is glossy and reddened, almost purple, and is leaking profusely. It twitches once and you reach forward to stroke the length of it with your middle finger. 

“You gonna’ swallow that load, sweetheart?” 

With your throat sticky with his arousal, you swallow before speaking. “You wouldn’t ruin my makeup, would you?” 

He grins and chuckles, shaking his head softly. “Nah, doll. I wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it. Open up.” 

You do. You open your mouth wide, and let him ease his cock back inside until it hits the back of your throat again, relaxing the muscles as best you can. Your finger moves from circling your own sensitive, swollen clit to delve into your wet cunt. You let out a little moan around his cock.  Closing  your lips around the shaft, you begin bobbing your head again, waiting for him to take control. 

To your surprise, he doesn’t. He doesn’t, and the hand that’s tangled in your hair goes slack, letting the strands fall back against your neck. This close to an orgasm and he doesn’t absolutely wreck your mouth? He’s got a whole suitcase full of kinks you’d like to unpack, but now’s not the time. With a crooked smile, you bring your free hand up to the base of his dick, stroking into your mouth while your tongue lets the tip grind against it. As he groans and grunts above you, you continue fucking yourself on your own fingers, pumping them in and out of your slick, dripping cunt. It doesn’t take you long to feel that first warning clench.

“That’s it, don’t fuckin’ stop, don’t fuckin’ stop–”

One of his hands comes to rest on your shoulder, gripping it tight. His thick cock twitches in your hands and you brace for the oncoming orgasm. A few more languid pumps, and he groans loud enough for it to echo against the tile walls. His grip tightens on your shoulder as spurts of hot, white cum decorate your tongue and the back of your throat. As promised, you swallow. And swallow again, and again. The heady taste of his cum brings you to the edge, and the heat reaches its peak between your legs, which snap shut at the sensation. Your cunt flutters around your fingers, arousal leaking out onto them. 

You pull off his cock, swallow again and collapse slightly against his groin. His hand finds your head again, petting your hair tenderly. As you both come down off the high, there’s nothing but the distant sound of music and your ragged breaths.

Finally, you slip your arm into the handle of your purse, and albeit somewhat awkwardly, you pull one foot underneath you and push up, getting to your feet. Once Oz sees this, he helps you, lifting you carefully. Once you’re standing in front of him, you reach between your legs again, and gather your finishing with two fingers.  

“Open up.” You repeat, in an almost mocking tone. Though his expression paints a story of confusion, he parts his lips slightly, just enough for you to slide two of your fingers inside. You swipe the slickened fingers over his tongue, back and forth until the slick has coated the muscle. Finally, you withdraw your fingers, watching wordlessly as Oz sucks the intoxicating taste of your orgasm down his throat.

“Thanks for that, Oz.”

“Feelin’s mutual, doll. Feelin’ is fuckin’ mutual.” 

[ppleasexanny]

pictures of us.

matt x reader

you’ve never been in a relationship, not that you don’t want to be in one, but no one has ever found you attractive. your friends always came to you for advice, talking to you about their problems, their crushes, their love lives. 

“what should i say to him?” 

“he’s mad at me, what should i do?” 

“he’s been avoiding me for weeks! should i break up with him?” 

of course, you were happy for them, always offering advice with a genuine smile, but sometimes, deep down, you wished you were in their shoes. so many boys were enamored by their beauty, constantly chasing after them, leaving you to wonder, what about me? what was wrong with you? why didn’t anyone ever look at you the way they looked at them? 

it didn’t take long for you to stop caring. you convinced yourself that you didn’t need anyone to be happy. your life could be complete without someone else filling that space. 

“...but i also was- are you even listening to me?” matt’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, his words breaking through your trance. you blinked, realizing that you were sitting in his room on his bed, watching him talk while your mind had drifted away to places you didn't want to acknowledge. 

“hm?” you looked up, surprised by how much you had zoned out. matt was standing in front of you, dressed in his usual grey sweatpants, the waistband of his red calvin klein boxers peeking out from under them. he was just a few feet away, but your mind had wandered so far. 

“oh, sorry. i think i just... zoned out. what were you saying?” 

matt sighed, sitting beside you, his presence a little more serious than before. something about his tone didn’t sit right with you. 

“you’ve been acting... strange for the past few days. what’s up with you?” his voice was soft, but there was a frown on his face, concern in his eyes. 

“what do you mean by strange? i’m perfectly fine!” you didn’t realize how defensive you sounded until the words left your mouth. your voice rose sharply, startling both you and matt. 

he looked at you, his brows furrowing in confusion. why had you raised your voice? he hadn’t said anything wrong. he was just worried. but why did it bother you so much? 

matt’s voice softened, his gaze shifting from confusion to something else—something unreadable. “i’m just worried, okay? you’ve been... different. more distant.” 

you felt a tightness in your chest, but you didn’t know how to express what was really going on. maybe it was just easier to pretend like everything was fine. 

“maybe i’m just tired,” you said quickly, trying to brush it off. “nothing to worry about, matt.” 

but matt didn’t let it go. “i don’t think it’s just that. we’ve known each other forever, and i can tell when something’s off with you. if you’re going through something, you know you can talk to me.” 

your heart skipped a beat. was he just being a good friend? or was there something more? the way he was looking at you—so earnest, so concerned—it made your stomach flutter, but you quickly shut the thought down. no, you couldn’t be thinking like that. 

you didn’t respond immediately, your mind racing. instead, you changed the subject, almost too quickly. “hey, are you still watching gravity falls with your brothers?” you asked, hearing the familiar voices coming from the living room. “i love that show.” 

matt’s frown deepened, but he didn’t press any further. “yeah. they’re probably still watching. you wanna join them?” 

you smiled, but the thought of spending time with matt felt... different now. what is wrong with me? you thought, shaking your head. stop overthinking. 

𝜗𝜚

you loved music. you loved drawing. and those two passions, together, created something perfect for you. when you drew, it wasn’t just about the lines and colors. it was about the rhythm of the music guiding you, inspiring every stroke. you were like a painter with a soundtrack, each note blending seamlessly with the colors swirling on your canvas. music pulsed through your veins, setting the tempo, and guiding your hand. without it, drawing felt like trying to drive a car without fuel—motionless, incomplete. you couldn’t imagine creating anything without the melodies that calmed your mind and stirred your soul. 

matt was in the living room, watching gravity falls with his brothers. you loved this show. it was fun, clever, and full of strange adventures. but today, your thoughts felt distracted. you knew you shouldn’t, but something about the quiet of the house and matt being so engrossed in his show made you do it. you stood up from the chair that was next to matt’s desk and grabbed the diary he’d left behind, curiosity gnawing at you. 

inside, you found something unexpected 

pictures of you and him. 

at first, you giggled, feeling a warm sensation spread through you as you flipped through the pages. it was filled with things you two had talked about, little moments that seemed so simple but meant so much. but then you turned to the last page. 

it was a recent entry, dated for today. 

"might tell her how i feel tomorrow." 

your heart skipped a beat as you stared at the words, your mind trying to process what it meant. could it be? was matt talking about you? 

you ran your fingers over the page, over the ink. your thoughts raced. he’s been acting different, you realized. but i thought it was just me... 

you remembered the way matt had looked at you earlier, his eyes soft and full of concern. his subtle touches, the way he’d always been there when you needed him. you never thought much of it, not really. but now, the idea that he might feel something more made your chest tighten, and a strange warmth flooded your cheeks. 

you weren’t sure what to do with this new information. should you confront him? did you want him to tell you how he felt? what if it changed everything between you two? what if it ruined your friendship? 

you closed the diary, setting it down carefully on the bed. for the first time in a long while, you weren’t sure what to think, and the uncertainty was overwhelming. 

𝜗𝜚

later that evening, you were sitting in the living room, drawing absentmindedly. matt was still watching gravity falls, but his brothers weren’t there. you could feel his presence next to you, a palpable tension hanging in the air. you kept stealing glances at him, trying to figure out how to bring it up, or whether you should at all. 

just tell him, you thought. but fear of rejection, fear of ruining everything held you back. 

when matt finally turned to you, his voice was soft. “hey... i was wondering if we could talk about something.” 

you froze. oh no. here it comes. 

“sure,” you said, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. 

he hesitated for a moment, then exhaled slowly, as if gathering courage. “you’ve been distant lately. and i know you’ve been... busy, but i just want you to know i’m here if you need anything. i... i care about you, okay?” 

your heart skipped another beat, and for a moment, everything else faded away. i care about you. 

suddenly, everything seemed clearer. but as you looked at him, you realized something—this wasn’t the same as what you had imagined. it was more. the butterflies in your stomach weren’t just from curiosity anymore. 

you swallowed hard, your throat dry. “i care about you too, matt.” 

he smiled softly, but there was something more in his eyes. something he wasn’t saying yet, but you knew it was there. and in that moment, 

everything changed. 

a/n... first fic hellooooo what are we thinkingg? send some requests please! i was literally so excited before even posting this lmfao 😭 @strnilolover <3

© PPLEASEXANNY

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Hi! I’ve been loving your starfire x reader x nightwing series so far

Can I request them with a reader who loves books, you can choose whatever genre interest you but maybe they catch reader reading a romance book

Even if you don’t decide to write this I just wanna say how much I love your writing!!

Yandere dick x reader x yandere kory

The library was your sanctuary—a quiet refuge where you could disappear into the pages of a book, leaving the world behind. Today, you had picked up a romance novel, and it had you captivated. The story unfolded in a flurry of passion and forbidden attraction, drawing you in deeper with each turn of the page. The characters, locked in a whirlwind of desire, stirred something within you, and as you read, your cheeks flushed with heat. It was just a book—but the emotions felt so real.

The silence of the room was broken by a voice, familiar and teasing.

“Really?” Dick’s voice drifted into the stillness. You startled, glancing up to find him standing in the doorway, an almost knowing grin on his lips. “I didn’t take you for someone into this kind of thing.”

You slammed the book shut, heart racing, face burning. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, trying to shrug it off, but your blush betrayed you.

Dick moved toward you, stepping into the room with that predatory grace only he possessed. His smirk deepened as he looked at the book you’d hastily closed. “No need to hide it,” he said, his voice low, casual, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. “What part did you get to? The good part?”

Before you could respond, the door creaked again, and Kory’s voice entered with a lilting warmth. “What’s going on?” Her eyes flicked from you to Dick, sensing something was off. She stepped inside, her gaze fixing on the book still in your hands. “I see we’re reading something interesting,” she said, her voice full of playful curiosity.

Dick grinned, eyes never leaving you. “Caught our little bookworm in the act,” he said, almost smug in his amusement. “Didn’t know you were into these kinds of.... passions.”

Kory moved closer, her smile warm but her eyes narrowed with possessiveness. “What’s the book about, darling?” she asked, her voice inviting but laced with something deeper, a quiet intensity.

You hesitated, glancing between them. They weren’t asking about the book, not really. You tried to keep your tone neutral. “It’s just a romance novel,” you mumbled, but the weight of their gazes made it impossible to pretend.

“Mm,” Dick hummed, stepping a little closer, his voice taking on a darker edge. “It’s not just a romance, though, is it?” His eyes lingered on you, hungry with curiosity. “You’re reading about something else, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone soft yet sharp, as if he already knew the answer.

Kory’s hand moved to your shoulder, her touch light but commanding. “What do you imagine when you read those words?” she asked, her voice a soft caress, but underneath, there was something darker. “What do you desire when you close your eyes and think of it?”

Your breath hitched. You wanted to lie, to push them away, but the way they looked at you made it impossible to ignore what they already knew. You were lost in their gaze, trapped by their certainty.

Dick smirked, leaning closer, his presence suddenly filling the space around you. “Let me guess,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, but this time, the intent was different—darker. “You’re imagining the hero taking charge, aren’t you? Making everything about them? Hmm? ”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you couldn’t find the words to deny it. But you didn’t need to speak. Dick already knew. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek, his smile like a secret only the three of you shared. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re picturing us, aren’t you? Us, instead of those characters. What would it feel like if it were us?”

Kory’s touch was gentle, but her fingers were insistent as they brushed over your chin, guiding your face to hers. “You don’t have to be ashamed,” she murmured. Her voice was softer now, but it held a possessive edge. “We can show you something real, something better than any story could give you.”

Your pulse quickened. You wanted to say something, to tell them that you weren’t like those characters in the book. But their gaze was unwavering, their words wrapping around you like vines. They were pulling you in, and you didn’t know how to escape.

“You’ve been reading these scenes because you want them,” Dick said, his voice now deliberate, dripping with certainty. “You want to feel that passion. That heat. It’s not just the book that excites you. It’s what you wish could happen.” His lips quirked as he closed the distance, his presence heavy with intent.

Kory’s hand slipped down your arm, her touch deliberate and possessive. “We can give you everything you’ve been reading about,” she said, her voice low but commanding. “We can make it real.”

You couldn’t move. The weight of their words, the way they held you in their gaze, made it impossible to escape. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Dick’s hand brushed over your wrist, sending a shiver down your spine. “You don’t need the book anymore,” he said, his voice a soft command. “You’ve already imagined it—us—together. Now let us show you how real it can be.”

Kory’s touch was gentle, but her grip was firm as she cupped your chin, her fingers brushing your skin in a possessive caress. “We’re what you need, beloved,” she said, her tone soft but unmistakable. “And we will give it to you. We are your reality now.”

A quiet, impossible tension swelled in the room. You could feel it, in every glance, every touch, the undeniable certainty in the air between the three of you. You were theirs, whether you liked it or not.

“Let us be your passion,” Dick murmured, his voice low, yet warm with promise. “We’ll show you how to burn with desire. With us, you’ll know that what you read in books doesn’t compare to what we’ll make real.”

Kory’s fingers tightened around your chin, pulling you toward her, and for a moment, you saw a quiet, dangerous promise in her gaze. “We will be your passion,” she repeated softly, her voice almost a lullaby, but with the promise of something far more intense. “And you will never look at a book the same way again.”

The words left you breathless, as they leaned in closer, and the room seemed to fade into the background. The world outside was gone—the only thing left was the undeniable heat of their touch, the certainty of their desire, and the knowledge that you were about to be theirs in every way.

(A/n: they don't love them like I love them 🙌)

[lexirosewrites]

I might b getting a cold tht is making me tired but I have a single idea I wanted to send in before I succumb

O!Steve is the God of Children & Protection, his temples r often safe havens for orphans or run aways, first time mothers pray both to O!Joyce the Goddess of Parenthood & War AND Steve the God of Children & Protection for an easy delivery & a healthy child

Steve loves walking hidden behind a glamor among mortals, especially on his festival days, he takes many forms but enjoys running with other young children as if he is one of them, his statues & mosaics & paintings depict him most often as a youthful omega with broad shoulders & eyes like stars wearing a type of clothing tht is worn by children till they come of age

It is on one of his festival days tht he meanders into the city of Hawkins from the woods as if he is a traveler come to give offerings to his own temple, he walks the streets enjoying the sounds of children laughing as they receive free treats & new toys from the priests & priestesses of every temple but especially his, one child runs into him & he stops them from apologizing by pulling out from seemingly thin air something the child had wanted but wasn't being offered among the toys, a book of mathematics. The child is gleeful & when he looks up from the book to thank the stranger (Steve) he is gone. Several more children end up getting gifts directly from Steve throughout the day, an older brother gets a slingshot while his little sister gets a sweet treat not offered at any of the stalls, a red headed girl is given a board of wood crafted w 4 wheels to replace the one she'd broken by accident (she never told this traveler abt her broken board) & her friend who's a resident of Steve's temple is gifted a necklace of finest carved wooden beads after Steve winks at her when she almost blows his cover after immediately seeing beyond his glamor. A timid boy w an unfortunate haircut is given drawing tools & materials. A snarky boy who reminds Steve of a huntress he once loved is gifted a book of various stories from around the land while his much younger sister clutches the cat doll Steve gives her tht she promptly names Cheese.

There's great fanfare as the festival reaches its main event, Steve is curious since every village/town/city does something different for this event. The city of Hawkins puts on a story contest each year tht is judged by the children's response. This year someone steps up last to tell their tale who Steve instantly recognizes as not mortal. This person's tale is decidedly dark & scary & it details some sort of future wherein the God of Children & Protection is to submit to the God of Darkness & Monsters who oversees the world of the monsters & shadows & forced to become his wife. The temple objects loudly to this tale, shouting tht Steve is a virgin God who swore off marriage & courtship & mating when a foolish mortal huntress played w his heart hundreds of years ago, to which the stranger responds he is merely telling the tale of what he wanted, a tale he will make true no matter what it'll take & when the ppl try to get the stranger to leave the stage the stranger suddenly begins to morph & change shape till he towers above the crowd with horns like a crown, claws instead of fingers & alpha fangs larger than is possible.

This is Vecna the God of Darkness & Monsters who is said to never leave his domain of shadows. He proclaims he will lay low the temple tht houses the orphans & run aways of the city & nearby villages tht he will even slaughter the children if he must till Steve appears to him & comes w him as his bride

Steve is abt to reveal himself & jump to protect the children the God is aiming to swipe his claws at when a man runs forward from the crowd brandishing a string instrument tht he uses to knock away the attempted attack, this man then also morphs & changes. The man is now crowned w a wreath upon his head tht reveals him to b a God tht had newly arrived to their land whose cult was still growing without any temples or altars, he has no name tht the humans or others in the Pantheon know, simply taking up the epitaph of the God of Indulgence & Storytelling. This new God bares his own Alpha fangs & declares he would not sit idly by while such a God of Monsters told a tale only meant to scare another into submission.

Then it is pandemonium as a clash btwn Deities begins. The ppl r evacuating the area, many adults prioritizing the children while Steve's temple is also cleared of ppl & Steve feels an anger simmering in his stomach tht boils over when he sees the boy tht he'd given the mathematics book to trip over a rock & begin calling desperately for his mother as she's swept away by the tide of panicking bodies. It explodes when he sees the boy with the slingshot carrying his sister on his back trying to help the mathematics boy up & away. Then Steve cannot contain himself as the little girl who he gave a doll is clutching it & crying as she has also clearly lost her family in the chaos & is does not know where to go.

Steve is charging forward shedding his glamor & pulling from within his clothes a long metal weapon w sharp spikes at the tip. He cuts short an attempted swipe from Vecna aimed at the stomach of the other Deity tht jumped to the children's defense. The alpha God snarls & finds himself out numbered. He continues to fight on two fronts for four days & four nights till Steve calls upon the leader of the Pantheon to intervene in Vecnas disregard for his banishment. Vecna tries to grab Steve around the wrist as he begins to retreat to his world of shadows & monsters but the new God intervenes again as the sky rumbles w the approach of Hopper the God of Justice & Storms, essentially breaking Vecnas own wrist. Then Vecna has retreated & Steve's ire is cooling as he turns to see the destruction wrought by a clash of Deities.

The mortals seem to all b safe, especially the children. The temples r untouched but other buildings have been felled. Steve turns to thank the other God for interfering when he did, but he finds this new God sunk to the ground clutching at a wound on his stomach. Steve is at his side as a grim faced Hopper descends with a furious Joyce at his side, Steve is afraid to touch in case the wound is made worse. This new God's condition begins to worsen till Murray the God of Politics & Love appears with little fanfare telling Steve to simply hold him & let this alpha God scent him.

Steve feels a deep pull within him at Murray's words & as he gathers this new God within his arms he feels a warm light blooming wherever they touch. As Steve cradles his head near his neck the scent he exudes causes a response from the other & when they pull apart to look at eachother without the threat of battle all wounds r healed. Without thought the God of Indulgence & Storytelling then tells Steve his name, Eddie.

Eddie asks to court Steve without a thought to the Deities & gathering mortals around them. Steve heartily agrees.

Hundreds of years from tht battle art depicts Steve the God of Children & Protection embracing his husband & consort Eddie the God of Indulgence & Storytelling

OH YES DELIGHTFUL🥰🥰🥰

[bonefall]

if you're stretching for shadowclan cats to use:

antpelt is mistakenly listed as from shadowclan in battles of the clans, and the wiki had him as a different character for a while. he also has an unnamed apprentice

shredtail is also mistakenly listed in shadowclan during bramblestar's storm

I am absolutely at the point where I'm willing to make absolutely ABSURD stretches. I'm affectionately calling all the extra cats I'm scrounging up from writer mistakes and background scenes "ShadowClan's Glitch Warriors." Thank you so much for pointing these three out, they're going in the list.

Suddenly, I was struck with an absolutely hilarious idea. Partner wanted something fun to draw but still has read absolutely nothing about Warriors, so I pitched;

"I will tell you nothing about these characters or who they are except their names. Draw a Shredtail, an Antpelt, and Antpelt's apprentice. TOTAL freedom over the designs here."

First they drew this lmao,

"This is a joke," they clarified

"NO I LOVE IT," I said, "KEEP GOING"

So we got Dollar Tree Shredtail, Great Value Antpelt, and the best thing I've ever seen in my life. Once they put these designs down, we talked personality and differentiators from the canon counterparts while they colored and refined them;

I loved the bushy gaster tail so much that I swore on the spot I was going to work it upwards into a whole bloodline, including the very obscure background warrior in AVOS, Wasptail. So even though they're mentor and apprentice in BOTC, I've decided these two will also be related. Probably siblings, or auncle/nespring.

The little black one is based off an Admiral Butterfly (it was my idea to make the little spots on their chest look like medals), so the name seems clear to me. Admiralpaw. Xey'll be meewa unless another gender works better; and I'm planning for xem to go out during a bloody battle against The Kin in true admiral style.

(funfact; admiral butterflies are extremely territorial. Males fight each other for control of a plant to attract females to.)

Warrior name is still undecided, though. Open to suggestions, leaning towards Admiralflight or Admiralflower.

Not-Antpelt I'm having name troubles with. I REALLY wanted to name them Majorheart, after a major ant, to keep the "military ranking + bug" pun that Addy's got... but it seems that none of the ants in this area would have a major caste. B'awww.

In the meanwhile, Antspot works fine. Alatefang or Dronepelt could work, too. Feel free to shout out suggestions, this guy's name and gender aren't set in stone.

Lastly, here's Diet Shreddy. Girl now <3

She is 100% going to be killed during The Battle of the True Eclipse, keeping consistent with the mistake in Bramblestar's Storm where Blackstar mournfully calls out the name of a Dark Forest warrior. I'm also undecided on if the actual Shredtail himself dies during that battle in BB, it might just be her.

In any case, she's probably going to be a TPB girl. If she's born during Brokenstar's time, she's one of the younger ShadowClan cats to take part in the WindClan Massacre. Might even be an early apprentice at the time, in a similar situation to Badgerfang (though in BB this was a one-time thing). If not during Brokenstar, then sometime during Nightstar's brief reign.

Right now she has no family, she's in my "reserves" at the side to use as a patch between generations. Her name is probably going to be either Tattertail or Shredclaw, given as an Honor Title after the Battle of BloodClan.

So she had a previous warrior name as well. She seems like the kind of troublemaker who would have the prefix Sike-- a small stream that dries up in summer. Sikestripe, if her name was given by Nightstar, or Sikestrike, if it was given by Tigerstar. Maybe it was one and then the other, in a sign of disrespect to his predecessor's lie.