#maybe there's a way to have more control over it?

[moonstruckme]

Hiii Mae!!

I'm literally on my hands and knees worshipping your work everyday🫶🏽

Was wondering if you'd consider Poly!Marauders, or any one of them, x Reader who's house is being broken into and they phone one of them or if Reader is walking home alone from a night out with her friends and someone starts following her?

Thanks a lot!!

Thanks for requesting!

cw: man (eek!) (no but actually in the scary way), reader being followed at night. modern au

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 870 words

Anxiety crackles in your fingertips as you dial Sirius’ number. Every ring feels like a year off your life. 

Sirius picks up on the third. “Beautiful,” he says in greeting. 

“Hey.” Your voice is light automatically, reluctant to make things seem dire when they might not be. “Are you busy?” 

“Never too busy for you.” You can hear him moving away from some noise. A television, maybe, or a group of people talking. “You headed home already?” 

“Mhm, yeah. Are you…where are you?” 

“At the pub on King Street. You should come join, James is buying.” 

You hear some playful protest, presumably from down the table. ‘James is buying,’ he says—just invite the whole bloody town, why don’t you? You stop listening as Sirius makes some jibe back. 

Kings Street isn’t far from you. You turn a corner and pick up your pace. 

“Yeah, I’ll come,” you say. “Maybe, um, would you want to meet me halfway?” 

It’s an odd request, coming from you. You practically hear Sirius register this, his chair audibly scraping back and the voices in the background growing quieter as he moves away from them. His tone says it, too. “Yeah, baby, ‘course. What’s up?” 

“I’m okay,” you say swiftly, though you don’t know if that’s strictly true. You don’t feel very okay. But it seems a silly thing to act that way when nothing has happened. “I’m just, I’m…” You lower your voice a tad. “I think maybe this guy is following me? I don’t know.” 

“Following you?” Sirius sounds outside, now, the crowd noise dying away entirely. “Where are you coming from?”

“I’m coming down Dalling now,” you reply, loud enough that the man about twenty feet behind might be able to hear. “Passing Blythe.” 

“Okay, I’m coming. Is he walking close to you?” 

“Not very. It’s probably fine, I’m just…” 

“I’m coming,” Sirius says again. “Stay on with me, yeah?” 

You do, though neither of you speak after that. Sirius’ speaker fills with the rushing of air, like movement, and you suspect if he was listening all he’d hear was your controlled breathing down the line. You’re afraid to look behind you any more than you already have. Occasionally, though, you catch a glance in a storefront window angled just right. You convince yourself your pursuer is gaining. 

You turn the corner onto Kings Street, about to update Sirius over the phone when a figure crashes into you. 

You take in a panicky breath, throat tightening on a scream, as hands land on your shoulders to steady you. Sirius has an odd look on his face, alarm fading to relief in the second before he hauls you to his chest. 

“Sorry.” He sounds breathless, like he’s been running. “I’m sorry. Hi, baby.” 

“Hi.” You clutch at him. You wonder if you might be shaking. “Do you—do you see him? Blue shirt.”

“I see him.” Sirius’ hand splays protectively over your mid back. He keeps you pressed close to him, staring your pursuer down over your shoulder. You know the power of a Sirius Black glare. You’ve never been on the receiving end of a real one, thankfully, but you’ve seen it do its work on occasion. You don’t envy the other man. 

“I don’t know for sure if he was following me,” you murmur. “He’s just been there for a long time. It was making me nervous.” 

“I think he was.” Sirius’ tone is also quiet, though not infirm. “He’s seen us, though, I think he’s about to turn. Just a second, lovely.” He kisses your forehead, his grip never loosening. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say, though your hold isn’t easing either. 

Sirius kisses your head again. You feel the breath he lets out fan warmly over your skin. “He turned. He’s gone.” 

You squeeze him impossibly tighter, frantic with relief. You’re definitely shaking. 

“He’s gone.” Sirius gives you a good press before adjusting his hold, keeping his arm around your shoulders but pointing you toward the pub. “It’s okay. Fuck, I’m glad you called. I was scared I wouldn’t get to you in time, but you were moving faster than I gave you credit for.” He rubs the flat of your chest where you’d collided with him. “Sorry for ramming into you.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” you chide, keeping practically melded to his side as you walk. “Thank you for coming. Really.” 

Your boyfriend tsks. “Course, sweetness. How’d you end up walking home by yourself, anyways?” His tone turns a bit chiding, the sort you suspect would be worse if Sirius weren’t still feeling sorry for you. “You can always call me, you know that.” 

Sirius doesn’t like when you walk anywhere alone, especially at night. You do it more often than he knows. You might do it a tad less often for a while, though. 

“I know,” you say, contritely enough that he kisses your head again, a truce bestowed. “Just, thank you.” 

“Stop with that.” He pulls you closer to his side playfully. “You don’t have to thank me, you freak. I hope you are ready to tell tales of my heroism, though. I just got up and ran out without saying anything; James is going to have lots of questions.”

[marvelstoriesepic]

I Would Let the World Burn

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Non-superhero!Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: You attend a public Avengers event as Bucky’s girlfriend for the first time, but things spiral from nerves to chaos in a matter of seconds. And when you’re caught in the crossfire, Bucky unleashes.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: violence; injury; PTSD elements; emotional distress; explosions; mass panic; allusions to death; protective!Bucky; nobody hurts his girl; seriously, he’s a little feral here

Author’s Note: I need protective Bucky all day and all night omg. Thank you so much, my love, for this absolutely amazing request!! I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

The lights are everywhere.

Glinting off skyscraper windows and camera lenses, bouncing off metallic armor and too-white smiles.

The voices are everywhere. They swarm like bees - the press, the fans, the murmuring of people watching people.

The flash of the cameras is a strobe light stinging the back of your eyes. Reporters shout questions like bullets, flinging them past your ears and into your chest.

You feel your lungs shrinking in your ribcage as if they’ve decided you’ve seen enough. Felt enough. Been too much.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Not in this crowd, not in this dress, not in front of a hundred reporters and their glittering cameras. Not in the spotlight. Not on the arm of the Bucky Barnes.

You tug at the hem of your dress, fingers nervous, breath catching on a sigh you don’t release. Everyone here looks like they belong - as if they were born to walk red carpets and sip sparkling drinks under light that only blinds you. You feel like an ink smudge on a page of golden script.

It’s the first time you’re out in the public with him. The first time the press will capture who’s been speculated to be the former Winter Soldier’s girlfriend.

Bucky spent the night whispering reassurances into your skin, but it seems you should have listened to his words rather than the feeling of his plump lips all over your body.

Your hand is in his, and his thumb traces slow circles against you, metal fingers warm from your skin. His other hand rests lightly on your back. He hasn’t let go of you once.

You look up at him.

And he’s already looking at you.

He looks perfect, tailored, controlled, dangerous in a way that makes people stare too long and then look away even faster.

His hair is swept back tonight, save for one defiant strand that keeps falling across his brow. You keep watching that strand as if it’s a lifeline. Like if you can count how many times it falls, maybe your nerves will shut the hell up.

You know he feels how tense you are.

He frowns, and it’s so soft it nearly breaks your heart. That Bucky Barnes can frown like that. As if you just told him you were fading into dust.

“Hey,” Bucky coos, voice soft, voice low, the world dissolving for a second into nothing but him and you. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You try to nod. But you can’t lie to him. Words jam in your throat, caught somewhere between the beat of your heart and the reality of who he is and who you are not.

“I just-” you manage, but it’s a little shaky, you look around. “I feel out of place.”

Bucky tilts his head, brow still furrowed tightly. “Why?”

You open your mouth, then close it again. Try to explain how it feels to be ordinary in a sea of extraordinary. How it feels to be his, but not one of them. How terrifying it is to not have armor, or training, or anything more than love for a man who could kill with his pinky finger and kindness in his eyes just for you.

Bucky steps in close, crowding the noise out with the breadth of his body, his warmth, the familiarity of his scent - cedar and cold and something quietly him. His nose brushes yours, and it’s stupid how it grounds you.

“I’d rather be anywhere else,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “I’d rather be nowhere. Just me and you. On a rooftop. Under the sheets. In the woods. I don’t care. Just not here. No noise. No cameras. No Stark in a tuxedo with a martini making bad decisions.”

You laugh, and it trembles out of you.

His smile is all softness and secret promises. His eyes are glinting. “But if I have to be here - then I'm glad it’s with you.”

The way he says it - quiet, low, as if it’s something he only ever told the wind - freezes everything inside you and sets it on fire all at once.

You blink, and the fear stutters. Collapses a little. Because it’s not you and the Avengers. It’s you and Bucky.

His lips graze your ear, then your temple, taking his time. He’s not bothered at all by the cameras flashing around you, capturing this moment, capturing the Winter Soldier going soft on his girlfriend.

You want to fall into him. You want to crawl into his chest and live there.

You let out a breath. It’s just beginning to feel okay. The world quiets just for a second.

Then it explodes.

There’s a metallic whine, a rumble like thunder swallowed by stone. The ground jerks beneath your feet as though it’s trying to shake you off. Screams tear through the air. A plume of smoke mushrooms in the sky as fire roars from the far end of the pavilion. People scatter. Glass shatters. Concrete buckles.

You don’t even have time to be shocked when Bucky already reacts.

He pushes you behind him so fast your teeth snap together. He doesn’t look back. His body shields yours, metal arm braced outward, flesh hand pressing you into his back, eyes scanning for threats.

Another explosion cracks through the sky, rips through the atmosphere like an angry god. And right after, the next explosion follows, punched through the sky like a fist made of fire.

You cough, eyes watering. There’s debris. Someone’s car door skitters across the ground like a dead insect. Tony’s suit whirs to life across the square. Natasha’s already sprinting. Sam is in the air.

Bucky is moving, dragging you behind a line of armored cars, his body is coiled with tension, his expression is deadly serious.

“Stay here!” he orders. It’s his soldier voice. Cold steel and no argument. He’s never used this voice on you before.

“Bucky-”

“Y/n, stay down,” he barks sharply, and you nearly flinch. But his tone is not filled with anger. It’s filled with fear. “Do not move until I come back for you.”

Your heart is pounding so hard you think it might break your ribs. Your head is shaking from side to side so fast, you can’t do anything. “No- Bucky-”

He cups your face, his hands stiff, his hold almost rough. He leans in. “Stay. Here,” he growls. “I can’t do this if I’m worried about you.”

His eyes tell you he already is. He will be. But he doesn’t tell you.

He waits for you to nod, although he doesn’t have the time. An almost aggressive kiss is pressed to your mouth, then to your forehead, and he is gone. Thrown into chaos, lost in the smoke and fury and shouts.

You barely register the space he leaves behind. The smoke moves like a creature through the crowd, making people disappear wholly. Somewhere nearby, there’s another explosion. The screams rise again, louder.

You crouch lower, press yourself against the cold steel of the car, try to breathe through the hammer in your chest. You want to do what he said. You try to do what he said.

But the panic moves toward you.

You don’t see where it starts. Just feel it. A shove. A push. Someone collides with your hiding place, someone is behind you and suddenly you’re on the ground. White-hot pain at your side. You fall hard enough to see stars. A sharp ache slices down your shoulder where debris must have caught you. Blood runs hot and slick beneath your dress.

Disoriented, you try to push up on trembling arms but they shake too much, and everything is spinning.

You don’t see the soldier until you turn your head and there’s a flash of metal in his hand. A knife.

“Y/n!”

It’s your name. It’s Bucky’s voice. It’s not a shout. It’s a roar. As if it was ripped out of his chest. As if he’s afraid of what he’ll find when he gets to you.

From fifty yards away, across smoke and bodies and fire, he sees the blood blooming on your sleeve. Sees your fingers twitch as you try to sit up. Sees the man with the knife coming too close.

And he is barreling through the smoke like something unholy, eyes wild, teeth clenched, hands balled to fists. The light behind his eyes just snaps.

He moves as though he’s been set free. No hesitation. No fear. No softness left in him. His face is stone, is fury, is death, is Winter Soldier. His arm gleams under the flames, a ghost of his past resurrected in defense of his present.

Bucky hits the guy with bone-crushing force, enough to send teeth skittering across pavement. A scream echoes once before it’s cut off. Another blow. Another. Fist to face. Elbow to jaw. A crunch that sounds like death and rage all rolled into one. His vibranium hand wraps around the man’s throat, and you swear you see something flash in his eyes - something ancient and broken - before Bucky picks him up and slams him against a crumbling wall. Again. And again.

It’s not strategy. It’s not mercy. It’s pure rage.

Somewhere, Steve yells his name like a warning.

Bucky doesn’t stop.

“Bucky-” you croak, blood warm down your arm. You try to sit up.

In an instant, he turns back to you, easing up on his brutal hold and the soldier crumples to the ground. Bucky’s whole body is tight with adrenaline, his breath sawing in and out as though he ran through a warzone - which he kind of did. For you. His eyes find yours and shatter.

He’s at your side in half a breath.

“Baby,” he whispers, hands on your face, on your shoulder, trembling now. “No, no, no. You weren’t supposed to be- I told you to stay-”

“I tried,” you defend weakly, dizzy. “I didn’t- I’m okay. I think. Just- grazed me, maybe-”

But he’s not hearing you. Not through the panic tearing holes in his composure. His hands flutter, unsure where to land without hurting you more. His voice drops, gravelly and hushed. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. Shit, I should’ve known-”

“Hey.” You grab his wrists. “Bucky.”

He stills, but he won’t meet your eyes. Your thumb brushes the inside of his wrist. “I’m okay.”

But he’s too far in his head.

He wraps you in his arms in seconds, cradles you as if you’re made of moonlight and scripture, as if you’re hallowed and half-broken and held together by threads only he can see.

His metal hand supports your back, curved protectively around your spine. His other hand is pressing your legs into his chest.

The darkening sky is still full of smoke and sirens.

Colors smear across the sky like blood in water. Reds and blues. Shouting and static. Flashing lights and fractured ground. Somewhere nearby, someone is screaming. Somewhere farther, something explodes.

But not for him anymore. He doesn’t seem to hear anything. Doesn’t seem to listen to anything other than your breathing, your pulse.

He walks fast, but carefully. Erratic feet cut through rubble, his jaw is locked so hard, his body so rigid, he surely is in pain from holding all that tension. His eyes are storm-dark and unblinking. No one stops him. Not Steve. Not Tony. Not even the medics who see the look on his face and take a cautious step back as though maybe the devil borrowed his bones tonight.

He never trusted any random medic to look you over. It has to be someone he knows.

You whisper his name.

Soft. Breathless. Almost an apology.

And he almost drops to his knees.

“I’ve got you,” he rasps, hoarse and urgent. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You know you are. But he doesn’t.

Your fingers curl in the collar of his suit jacket. His real name - James - lives on your tongue but never quite makes it out because he’s holding you too close, and perhaps saying his name might crush him completely.

He smells like smoke and ash and steel and blood. Your temple is tucked against the curve of his neck, where his pulse thunders beneath the surface. He’s warm and shaking.

He bursts into the quinjet that brought you here like a man on fire, like a man trying to outpace grief, and he yells something sharp. He lays you down - reluctantly, tenderly, surrendering - onto a stretcher, but his hands don’t stop touching you.

He’s a storm with a purpose, and that purpose is you.

You, safe.

You, whole.

You, alive.

“Bucky,” you try to ease, blinking up at him, face pale under flickering emergency lights. “I told you, baby. It’s not that bad.” Your voice is soft. Slow.

“You were on the ground.” His voice cracks.

“I was on the ground for like two seconds-”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It stopped, baby. Okay? There’s no fresh blood.” You are close to whispering.

Bucky doesn’t seem eased, though. He sits beside you. Big body bent in half, elbows on knees, one trembling hand reaching to gently - so, so gently - brush your hair from your forehead.

And then he says it.

“I would’ve burned the whole goddamn city to get to you.” Quiet. Like a vow. Like a confession. Like faith. Like a truth, he doesn’t know how to carry anymore. “I would’ve torn down buildings with my bare hands if I didn’t see your breathing. I don’t care who saw. I don’t care what they think-” his voice breaks, his breaths spill all over his words. “I can’t be okay without you.”

You stare up at him. Your throat is tight, eyes are stinging. Because he doesn’t say things like that. Not often. Not out loud. You see it in his eyes every day, in the way he looks at you, in the way he treats you. But it’s something else entirely to hear him form those words and let his tongue roll them out.

He presses his forehead to yours. His breath ghosts over your lips. His eyes are closed. His hand cups the back of your head.

He’s holding you so close to him, as if he’s never intending to let go ever again.

[robert-smirke-official]

MAG Avatar Fuckability Tier List

It’s here. You’re welcome. Avatars are ranked most fuckable (S Tier) to least fuckable (F Tier). They are also ranked within their respective tiers. In true Robert Smirke style, I will not be accepting criticism. Fight me.

S Tier

Have special traits that actively contribute to the sexual experience.

Daisy Tonner (Hunt) - excellent strength and stamina. Essentially has a werewolf form, and we all know how hot Tumblr gets for werewolves. Deserves the #1 spot.

Jared Hopworth (Flesh) - will mold his body into whatever shape you want. May also mold your body into whatever shape you want. Can help with your dysphoria, might steal your bones.

Annabelle Cane (Web) - if you’re into bondage. Webs that are never too tight or too loose, and that can move on their own.

Tom Han (Flesh) - an avatar of the Flesh absolutely knows his way around a body. Also an incredible cook. He will make you dinner first, just don’t ask what’s in it.

Jude Perry (Desolation) - perfect temperature control, and hard into sadism. She will ruin your life, but the sex will be fantastic.

Breekon & Hope (Stranger) - two for the price of one, but they are so in sync that you’ll never feel the awkwardness of a threesome. Also, they’re blue collar workers. Very hot.

Michael Crewe (Vast) - imagine sex in freefall, like an eagle. I’ve never tried it but it sounds thrilling. Nobody but the two of you in a vast, empty sky.

A Tier

S Tier with drawbacks, or excellent options without being exceptional.

The Distortion (Spiral) - everyone wants to talk about "mind-breaking sex" but nobody wants to deal with the consequences. You’re gonna have a hell of a migraine.

The Coffin (Buried) - some people like to be crushed under the weight of their partner. Very clingy.

Emma Harvey (Web) - excited to experiment in the bedroom. May bring other Avatars over. Does not understand the concept of safe words.

Simon Fairchild (Vast) - old but still spry and flexible. No drawbacks, but doesn’t make S Tier because the Magnusverse has more to offer.

Martin Blackwood (Lonely) - a good listener. Will take your needs to heart. The human version of a cheetah’s emotional support golden retriever. Not exceptional, but dependable.

Manuela Dominguez (Dark) - sex with the lights off. Intelligent and bold, likes to take charge. Not extremely distinguishing.

B Tier

Mostly good options with some less-than-ideal traits.

Alfred Grifter (Slaughter) - an old man who's still got it, and a musician to boot. Don't let him choose a playlist to "set the mood." The mood is murder.

Elias Bouchard (Eye) - besides being subjectively hot he really doesn’t have anything going for him. Short temper. You do not want this man's pipe.

Julia Montauk (Hunt) - intense, but maybe you’re into that sort of thing. Will break up with you just to get you back. Daddy issues.

Jonathan Sims (Eye) - knows what you want in bed, and is good at getting you to open up. A little too anxious to be a really good lover.

Oliver Banks (End) - attractive, sure, but distant, like trying to fuck a statue. Doesn’t help that he can see when you are going to die.

Hezekiah Wakely (Buried) - expert at putting you to bed afterwards, but the sex itself? There are better options.

C Tier

Mostly bad options with redeeming qualities.

Gertrude Robinson (Eye) - constantly checking you out for weaknesses. Will not make eye contact.

Trevor Herbert (Hunt) - canonically grimy, though some people are into that. Body of a 70 year old marathon runner.

Dexter Banks (Web) - your classic film boyfriend who'd rather watch Das Boot than actually get busy. At least he's not transphobic.

Benoit Macon (Corruption) - are you open to threesomes with his beetle wife? How do you feel about becoming a rotten log full of termites?

Samson Stiller (Eye) - plenty of circuits for you to short out. Refuses to log out of Omegle.

Nathaniel Thorp (End) - likes games, but won't let you win. Too bony for good cuddling.

Gabriel (Spiral) - you’ll feel like putty in his hands. You’ll also develop a phobia of doors and fingerprints.

D Tier

Will give you a bad experience, or just boring.

Jonah Magnus (Eye) - prefers to watch. Dusty.

Agnes Montague (Desolation) - doesn’t want to hurt you, but literally cannot touch you without giving you third-degree burns.

Angela (Flesh) - very possible you would wake up the next morning without genitals.

The Piper (Slaughter) - hard to find a private spot in the middle of a war zone. Unfuckable due to bagpipes.

Not!Them (Stranger) - disconcerting, especially since the person you think you’re having sex with is actually dead. Emotionally distant.

Maxwell Rayner (Dark) - feels like he is going to crumble to dust. Insists on doing it with the lights off. Doesn’t know any interesting positions (he is from the 1700s).

F+ Tier

Just for Jane Prentiss (Corruption) because some of you are into that shit.

F Tier

Active health risks.

Nikola Orsinov (Stranger) - maybe some of you want to fuck a mannequin, but this one is actively homicidal. May also steal your skin.

Mary Keay (End) - gross as fuck, will kill you horribly, and the sex isn’t even very good.

Sarah Baldwin (Stranger) - by all accounts, taxidermied animals are nasty to cuddle with.

Monster Pig (Flesh) - no! What? No!

Raymond Fielding (Web) - has no friends. Will fill you with spiders. Also a devout Catholic. One of those has to be a deal-breaker.

Peter Lukas (Lonely) - does not want to be there. Likely has never been more intimate than being on first-name basis in the workplace.

John Amherst (Corruption) - girl the rot

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just What I Need 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, control, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: In an effort to evade a creep, you walk head first into Bucky Barnes. (short!reader)

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: based on this

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The dress you choose is simple. Light pink. Nothing too over the top. You're not sure about what to wear on a date. It's your first one. Ever.

You flit around your apartment nervously. There isn't much room to do so. You keep knocking into things. Ugh. Why are you so nervous?

Maybe it's because of Bucky. You barely know him. He's a stranger. And he just told you to be ready. Oh, but how many men do you have even asking for a date?

The knock at the door makes you jump. Oh, it better not be Debbie telling you to turn down music you don't even have playing. You swear she imagines things to be unhappy about.

You shuffle to the door and slowly pull it open, keeping the chain in place. You let out a squeak of surprise.

"Bucky? How-- you didn't buzz up. Didn't I give you the number?"

He smirks and tilts his head as he extends an arm to lean on the door frame. "I have tricks," he assures you. "You ready, doll?"

You look at him. He looks nice. A black button-up and black pants; polished shoes that shine. His hair is parted and combed neatly. You can smell his rich cologne.

"I think," you say. "Just a minute."

You shut the door and spin away. You grab your purse and stumble to step into your shoes. Maryjanes with a short kitten heel.

You unhook the chain and open the door. Bucky pushes himself straight. "Thought you were about to ditch me," he chuckles.

"Sorry, no, I..." you lock the door and smile at him nervously. "Grabbing my stuff."

"Well, doll," he steps back and gestures to you with open hands. "Give me a spin. Let me see."

"Huh?"

"Well, you look good in the front. I bet the whole picture is even better."

You fidget and hook your purse on your shoulder. You wring your hands and turn slowly. Your body thrums with heat. You come to face him again, his teeth dug into his lower lip as he hums.

"Gorgeous, doll. And you're all mine."

He offers his hand. Your eyes flick over to the other; the one with the glove hiding metal plates. You quickly latch on. You don't want to be rude and you have no idea what you're doing. You'll let him lead the way.

He shifts his hand to grip yours. His hold on you is strong. He turns you down the hall. He struts proudly along beside your sheepish slink. You've never been the type to stand out.

Outside the building, the evening air is balmy. The street lights glow above and the moon beams down. He gestures along the sidewalk.

He stops you at a sleek black car. Even in the dim, you can see how the paint shines. It sticks out like a sore thumb in your neighbourhood. He opens the door and doesn't let go of you until you're in the seat.

He shuts the door gently and circles around to the driver's side. You take the subway, you walk, rarely you'll dole out for a cab. He has his own car. He must be well off. Is he as famous as he let on? Why didn't you look that up yet? Too busy, too anxious.

"Go for a nice dinner, get to know each other," he says as he turns the engine and it hums quietly. "Sounds like a dream getting to spend the night with a girl like you."

You blush. He's flattering. Almost too much. The praise is overwhelming and you don't want to come off ungrateful.

"Thanks."

"Thanks. No need. It's just the truth." He insists.

He pulls out from behind the car parked ahead of him. He steers with one hand as he snakes the other over the shifter. He grabs yours again. As he steers casually, his thumb rubs your knuckles. The touching is almost as smothering as his words.

You watch the streets pass by. You're not sure what else to do or say. You don't know if you've been to this part of the borough. He finds a spot and puts the car into park. He squeezes and reluctantly lets you go.

"Don't move," he commands.

He shuts off the engine and unclicks his seat belt. He gets out and hooks around, opening your door so swiftly it frightens you. You fumble to untangle from your seat belt and he once more opens his hand. You take it and he helps you to your feet. Your purse catches awkwardly on your hip as you stand and the contents spill onto the ground.

Bucky tuts and releases you. He bends to gather up your lip gloss, mascara, and your phone. He examines the last. His eyes drift up to yours.

"Wanna turn these off for the night? No distractions?" He asks.

"Oh, uh... yeah," you straighten your purse and reach for your things. He hands over the makeup but keeps the phone. He holds down the side button. You stare. It's another moment before he gives it to you.

He reaches under his jacket and slides out his phone. He taps the button at the top and puts it away again. He takes your hand just as you drop your phone into your purse.

"Come on. I booked us a table."

He tugs you up to the pavement. He pauses as he steps over the curb. He stops you as three men pass by, garbling loudly and laughing. He growls and shakes his head. He ways until they clear the space before he pulls you forward. "Punks," he mutters.

He guides you down the sidewalk to the hazy restaurant beneath a neon blue moniker. He lets you go and opens the door. He's so polite. You're glad to have him to lead you.

He enters behind you and greets the woman stood just inside with a tablet leaning on her bent arm, "hey, table for two. Barnes."

She scrolls through with a smile, "ah, yes sir, I see it here." She taps and lifts her head. "This way, please."

She strides through the doorway behind her and Bucky nudges you ahead of him. You follow her and he tails you. He puts a hand on your hip and keeps it there, as if not to lose you. His fingertips curl into you as he lets out a silty drone. He gets closer as you're shown to your table. He pulls out the chair as the hostess promises the quick arrival of a server and taps away on her heels.

You fold your hands on the table and look around. There's women in sparkling necklaces with beautiful chignons. You feel underdressed and underdone. You chew your lip.

Bucky sits. His own eyes scan the space and his forehead stitches. He huffs and arches a brow. You follow his gaze to another table. The blond man there shifts and quickly looks down at his menu.

"I didn't realise it would be so... fancy," you twiddle your fingers nervously.

"What'd you mean? You look wonderful, doll. The only girl in the room I can see," he pushes his shoulders wide and winks. "Not just me either."

He looks around once more. You don't understand what he means. You stare at the table.

"Something to drink?" He reaches for the smaller leather folio on the table.

"Hm, just water," you shrug. "I don't really... drink."

"Of course you don't, doll. You're a good girl. I know that," he considers the first page then closes the menu. "You don't want something fancier? Sparkling?"

"I think I'm okay," you assure him and wring your hands. Overly conscious of the frantic act, you pull your hands into your lap.

He clucks and his eyes narrow over your shoulder. He hunches slightly, almost defensively. He sighs.

You twist and look behind you. You just see tables with shadows. There's too much to focus.

"You notice it too, huh?" He rasps.

"Notice?"

"All these men. Staring at you."

"Me?" You squeak.

"Uh huh," he nods. "The minute we walked in."

"No, I don't think..." you eyes crawl over the table and find another pair. Brown eyes that seem to look above you, not at you, but you can't be sure.

"Right? I mean, that dress is amazing on you, sweetheart. Spectacular." He purrs. "But I'm not into sharing."

"Sharing... no. They aren't looking at me."

"Oh yeah? And what about that creep I scared off the other day? He wasn't following you?" He turns his blue eyes on you. "You don't get it, doll. You don't see the bad in people. That's why you asked me for help. You're this little mouse scurrying around in a city full of tomcats."

"What?" You shift in your seat as heat scalds across your chest.

"Look around then... tell me they aren't looking."

You gulp and do as he says. Shyly, you skim the space with your eyes. You frown and face him with a fruitless shrug.

"But... why?"

"Look, doll, you deserve the best. It's what I'm tryna give you but we can't stay here. I can't sit here and let them gawk at you. You're my girl," he grips the table and pushes his chair out. "Come on, we're going."

"What? Where?"

He sniffs and steps around the table. "Somewhere private. Somewhere safe."

He shows his palm and waits. You accept his hand and he pulls you up. 

A woman in all black approaches. "Oh, I was just coming for drinks--"

"No need. You can release the table," Bucky grits. "We're leaving."

"Oh, sir, I'm sorry. Is there something the matter?"

"Nothing you can fix," he shoulders past her and drags you with him. You give an apologetic wave and bow your head down.

He doesn't stop until you're outside. He heaves out a breath and his grip on your tightens. You squirm.

"I just couldn't stay. I'm sorry, doll. It's okay. How about we go back to mine, order in?" He turns to you. "Just us. That'd be perfect, wouldn't it?"

You stare up at him. Your nerves are still flickering. You can't believe what just happened. And after that man on the subway, you're starting to see these things more and more. You can't trust people in this city. It's lambasted across the newspapers and whispered outside your apartment door.

"Sure," you agree. "I just want to get out of here."

🤍

Bucky's building is nice. Just as nice as his car. Nicer than your place.

His life is so much bigger than yours...

He takes you up on the elevator as you bounce nervously on your feet. You never imagined your first date going like this. It isn't that you imagined one of those silver screen romances but the night has been unexpected for sure. You never thought you'd be going home with a man on the first night. It's not like that, but still.

He unlocks his door with a small fob on his keys. You just have an old-fashioned key. Another shortcoming. You feel smaller and smaller by the moment.

He holds the door and waves you inside. He flips on the lights as he follows you in. The high ceilings and open concept have you in awe. Windows stretching from floor to ceiling let in the night sky.

"Wow," you murmur.

"Bigger than I wanted, but the building is high security." He explains. "Got nothing to fill the space with."

It is a bit sparse but not any worse for it. He brushes by you, dragging his hand around your lower back.

"I got some sparkling juice. Buddy brought over this organic stuff. He can be a bit much," he chuckles. "What kinda food you into? Steak? Sushi?"

You watch him pass through a wide doorway. You can see right into the modern industrial kitchen. That's a style, right? It's like one of those decor magazines. Or a set for a photoshoot that's used once and torn down.

"Sure, juice sounds nice, thank you," you take off your heels before you trail after him. "I'll have whatever you like. I'm not picky."

"I wanna know," he insists as he searches the fridge. He takes out a long-necked bottle, "raspberry apple? Sound good?"

"Yeah, um, thanks."

He nods and moves along the counter. He's at ease. Not like at the restaurant. He was on high alert. You understand. You're much more comfortable at home.

He pours a tall glass of the juice and replaces the bottle on the fridge shelf. He grabs shorter brown bottle and pops the cap with his thumb. He takes the glass off the counter and offers it to you. You take it with another thanks.

"So, what do you usually get when you go out?"

"I don't eat out," you shrug.

"Aw, come on. Doesn't have to be fancy. Pizza? You know, when I was a teen, we lived off water pie. It's... different," he chuckles.

"Pizza's good with me," you sip the juice and your cheeks pinch.

"Whatever you say, doll. And I mean that. I want to give you everything you want so I don't want you just agreeing with me to agree," he nears and smiles as he reaches to pet your cheek. "A thing like you can ask me to get on my knees and I'll be kissing your feet."

You giggle in surprise, "please don't."

"Ha, alright," he shows his palm and swigs from the beer in his other hand. "Like I said, you're the boss."

[wvyik]

i'm okay now. s.w. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

sam winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: your cramps are unbearable, your mood is fragile, and all you want is sam. good thing he’s already there; warm hands, soft voice, and all the love in the world just for you.

⤿ warnings: period cramps, general fluff, tummy rubs that will melt your heart, a little emotional but mostly just cozy vibes, pre-established relationship, a whole lotta warmth, both physical and emotional.

⤿ notes: just a lil sam being the best boyfriend ever because we all deserve that. hope this brings you some comfort and warmth, just like he would. (..◜ᴗ◝..)

The pain had started early, one of those mornings where your whole body felt like it had been wrung out and left in the cold. Your lower stomach throbbed in a deep, mean rhythm, like some cruel little drummer inside your body was banging on the walls of your uterus just to see how loud you’d scream. You were cramping hard, your back hurt, and no matter how you arranged your blankets or curled into yourself, nothing seemed to help.

The world outside your bedroom might as well have not existed. Your phone buzzed with messages you couldn’t bring yourself to answer, your tea went cold on the nightstand untouched, and you hadn’t even bothered changing out of Sam’s old hoodie. It smelled like him still, warm cotton and the faintest trace of cedarwood shampoo, and maybe that’s the only reason you hadn’t started crying yet.

By the time you heard the familiar creak of your bedroom door, you didn’t even lift your head. You just curled a little tighter, tucking your freezing toes under the blanket and squeezing your eyes shut against the sting of tears.

“Hey, sweetheart,” came that voice—his voice—low and soft and threaded with concern. “Heard it’s a bad one today.”

You didn’t move, didn’t even try to fake a smile. Your throat felt tight, and your body was too heavy, like your bones were waterlogged. “It’s stupid,” you mumbled, voice hoarse from disuse. “I’m being a baby.”

You felt the dip in the mattress before anything else, and then suddenly Sam was there, his long body pressing up behind yours, arms wrapping gently around your waist like he didn’t want to jostle you. His hand found yours under the blanket, fingers warm and grounding, and when he kissed your temple, you finally let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“You’re not being a baby,” he said gently. “Your body’s working overtime right now. You’re allowed to feel like crap.”

“I just…” You hesitated, your voice so soft it barely made it past your lips. “I feel gross. My stomach hurts, my back’s killing me, and I almost started crying because I dropped my hair tie earlier. Like, who even cries over a hair tie?”

“You, apparently,” he said with a little chuckle, brushing your hair off your forehead. “And honestly? Valid. I’d cry too if I didn’t have this much self-control.”

You giggled weakly, then winced as another cramp rolled through you. You turned a little in his arms, curling your fingers into the soft fabric of his hoodie and burying your face in his chest like it might shield you from the world. He didn’t hesitate— he just pulled you in tighter, kissed your head again, and rubbed your back in slow, careful circles.

“Sammy,” you whispered, voice trembling just a bit. “Can you—could you maybe rub my tummy?”

He didn’t even answer. Just shifted slightly so he could reach under the blanket and rest his hand right where it hurt. His fingers were warm and wide and sure, and the second he started moving them in gentle circles, something in you broke open. Not in a bad way, more like you’d been holding yourself together so tightly, trying to power through, and now you could finally exhale. The pain was still there, but it felt… softer somehow. Easier to bear with him there.

You sighed, pressing your cheek against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart. “Thank you,” you murmured. “For taking care of me. Even when I’m kind of pathetic and bloated and hormonal and mean.”

“You’re never pathetic,” he said firmly. “And if this is your mean version? I think I’ll survive.”

You laughed again, properly this time, and when you looked up at him, his smile was so full of love it made your chest ache.

He reached for the book on your nightstand—the one you’d been too uncomfortable to hold for more than a few pages at a time—and opened it to where your bookmark stuck out. “Mind if I read to you for a bit?”

You shook your head, nose scrunching slightly. “No. That sounds nice. I like your voice. It makes everything feel less… sharp.”

So he did. He leaned back against the pillows, one hand resting protectively over your stomach, and started to read. His voice was soft and steady, the words wrapping around you like another blanket. You didn’t follow the story exactly, but it didn’t matter. It was the sound of him, the warmth of him, the way he’d pause every few paragraphs to kiss your forehead or shift the blankets to make sure you were tucked in just right.

At one point, you mumbled sleepily, “How’d I get so lucky? You’re like… the ultimate period boyfriend.”

He huffed a laugh, nuzzling your hair. “You’re the one who’s stuck with me reading 600 pages of fantasy just to make you forget you’re cramping. I think I’m the lucky one.”

You smiled against his chest. “You could read a cereal box and I’d still fall asleep happy.”

“Noted. Next time I’ll bring you Frosted Flakes lore.”

You were drifting in and out of sleep now, your body finally relaxing for the first time all day, and just before you let go completely, you murmured, “I love you so much it hurts.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just held you tighter, pressed a lingering kiss to your hairline, and let his hand keep moving in slow, gentle circles over your tummy.

“I love you more,” he whispered. “Even on the crampy days.”

And that’s how you fell asleep— safe in Sam’s arms, wrapped in the softness of his voice, the warmth of his touch, and the kind of love that asks for nothing but to be felt.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @tendertulip @tinas111 @unstable-cucumber @everythingisaspectrum @pennywatsonlafayette @lunaleah @amsliajskxkxkx ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library.

[stars-eclipsing]

If you take requests or suggestions, might I ask for pegging Mohawk, Sinister, or Lensless Mark? (Take your pick tbh) all of the variants are so pretty I NEED to top, bite and choke them 😔 unfortunately, there is a serious lack of Dom!Reader in this fandom

You can totally ignore this if you want to, I always feel awkward abt writing these cause I don’t want to ever seem rude or entitled 😭

Omg, not at all!!! I love this idea so much hahaah

Also, I completely agree, in regards to all fandoms ngl! So I just decided to put out the content I wanna see, lol

uhh warning very perverted I guess

✩ MOHAWK MARK ➔ Asphyxiation, Reader is like, mean

His eyes roll to the back of his head when the obscene shlick! sound of your strap thrusts into his asshole again. His spine shivers and he moans into the pillow at the feeling of fullness. A feeling that may just be better than the thrill of controlling the entire Viltrumite empire. Just maybe. 

Both of your bodies are slick with sweat, and the air around you is intoxicated by the heady, unmistakable scent of sex. Your legs still haven’t begun to ache from sitting on your haunches for so long, but it’s only because you have practically memorized this position, and the view, too. Besides, your body has already learned its lesson on becoming tired when pleasuring Mark, and it won’t be one it soon forgets. 

“Shit.” He chuckles shakily, shifting slightly to accommodate the fullness, “So are you planning to make me cum by Christmas or what?” 

You pull out, keeping just the tip in, and he groans. “It would be a nice gift.” You hum, then push the pink rubber back into his warm, inviting hole. Your lips form a small smile when you notice a shiver pass through him. “But I'm not so sure you even deserve it.” 

He frowns at your flippant comment, looking behind him to see your calm face. You drag your fingernails gingerly across the length of his spine, helping him subtly into an arch. He takes the hint, although not without a bratty huff under his breath. 

He rests his head back on the soft pillow, a pillow made with material better than silk, worth more than half your internal organs back on Earth. To your gleeful delight, it will be ripped, ruined and discarded. Funny. But honestly, you never really did like him to have nice things too often.

He’s just far too spoiled, in your opinion. 

His eyebrow twitches in annoyance, “Just so you know, I wouldn’t treat you like this.” 

The frustration breaks way to a half-truth. Would your despicable Mark torture you while he was on top? Absolutely. Would he adhere to your set of cruel methods? Not exactly. While he preferred to pull as many orgasms from both of you as possible, you believed in the art of patience. Of drawing out the perfect, warm orgasm that steadily bubbles up from the deepest part of your stomach and burns off your nerve endings when washing through. 

The kind of orgasm he would be reaching for every time he’d sit on his plush bed and draw his hard cock from his pants. He’d stroke the underside of his sensitive dick and think: “I wish my angel were here to help” Though you wouldn’t live to see the day he expresses any sentiment of gratefulness. 

However, Mark believed in patience just as much as he did mercy. In no quantity at all. 

He senses that he hasn't swayed you at all by the way you lightly trace over the skin of his hips, and he sighs. He succumbs to desperate, perverse methods like some kind of whore. 

He shimmies his hips upwards a bit, trying to entice you into fucking him hard like he wants. He whines, “C’mon, baby don’t you want to make your man proud?” He says in the prettiest voice he can muster. 

Sadly, you can read Mark like a book, and all the act does is make you roll your eyes. 

You really can’t teach an old dog new tricks. 

You grab the sides of his narrow hips, and meanly squeeze the fat of his ass, deciding to humor him, “Can I get a please?” 

He sticks his tongue out in distaste at your demand, yet he predictably complies. Though not without uttering the word in the most annoying way possible, “Please–” 

The sentence ends on a choke when you quickly pull the plastic dick out of his hole then slam back in, taking pleasure in the sound that he makes. 

You grip the back of his neck for leverage, and pound his greedy hole into oblivion. Because when has Mark ever even deserved nice things? Even a romantic orgasm would be far too much for him. He was too much of a goddamn leech. 

You press your chest to his back, pushing him further into the mattress, intending to get inside of him as deep as possible. You switch your grip from the back of his neck, to the front, squeezing at his airway mercilessly. 

He chokes, surprised at your boldness. “Oh, fuck– shit, babe.” He laughs shakily, taking perverse joy in your rough treatment. “So good to me, aren’t you?” 

Not bothering to spare him a respectable response, you continue to pound into him like that's what he was made for. You don't grace him even a second to take in a breath. Just the way you fuckin’ like it. 

The lewd sounds of skin slapping fill your bedroom like they were made to be there, and you barely resist squeezing his throat like you’re going to kill him. Keeping it to an every once in a while. 

Though… you honestly can’t resist the sounds of his sweet choking, so you channel all your strength into your fist. Leaving him gripping for purchase on the mattress. 

The sounds of fabric ripping, or his face turning pale don’t deter you. In fact, it does the exact opposite effect, giving you motivation to fuck him harder. He continues to sputter chokes and pleas, but is largely unable to by the unwavering force you have around his neck.

When he starts to shake and twitch uncontrollably, you begin to understand what exactly he’s trying to babble. 

“C-Cu-.” You bite the cartilage of his ear, then let loose on his airway, just so he could spill the words out, “Gonna- fucking–” He stutters hoarsely, and his hips twitch and jerk. 

You hum in affirmation to his warning. Spoiled, spoiled, spoiled.

Using your free hand, you snake it down to his poor, leaky cock, and squeeze its base roughly, delaying his orgasm. 

You let go of his throat and smile when he gasps in a large breath. 

He coughs, "Baby, please, wait--"

“Say please like you fucking mean it.” You lick at his neck, then bite the area harshly, and he screams. You still don’t let up on the abuse your strap-on does to his poor hole. 

“P-Please!” He cries, gasping desperately. You push his face back in the pillow, making sure he struggles for breath, “Please!” You hear him scream into the pillow, muffled. 

You dig your fat cock into the deepest part of him and let go of his dick. You smile when his hip stutters and his dick releases its seed onto the sheets beneath him. 

Weak spurts spill from his tormented cock and he groans. It’s only then that you decide to pull out, making him whine. 

You sigh, tiredly and get off of him. You feel hot, and disgusting, and Mark still somehow got what he wanted. You tsk to yourself.

Silently working on removing the belts from your hips, he rolls on his back to look at you, quirking a brow, ”Why’d you stop?”  

✩ SINISTER MARK ➔ Asphyxiation, oral fixation, dog imagery

Mark’s mouth wraps around the bright pink of your strap-on like it’s a glorified chew toy. You’re lucky it’s not your actual dick. Because with the way he bites, chews, sucks, and drools all over it, you’re sure it would have been a strict off-limits zone for him. 

Your hands move to tangle into his dark, thick hair, petting it softly. Hoping it the action will let up on his aggravation just a tiny bit. 

It works, because he shoves the cock up his mouth deeper, letting out a small choke as he sucks. 

He looks at you with the prettiest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen, waiting for his well-needed praise after such a hard day.

You know if you don’t give it, he’ll have your head. Or at the very least, he'll sulk in a corner. Either case is less ideal than the other.

You coo to him, watching spit drip from his lips and onto his spread thighs, “So good, Mark.” The dribble is everywhere from down his mouth, and you can't tell when exactly the sweat ends and the saliva begins, “You look so pretty like this.” 

His moans are muffled around the pink dick. He takes slow, measured breaths through his nose, so he won’t have to stop for air frequently, and blinks his eyes up lazily at you. Then rolls them. 

Exactly like a pretty puppy. 

Despite the defiance, you still play nice, “Are you going to lube up my dick so it can go in your pretty hole?” His hard dick between his thighs twitches at the reminder, and he does his best to nod with the strap-on in his mouth. He tries to say, “Yes”, but it comes out more like an incoherent garble. 

He tries his best to slide the thick cock from out of his mouth, coughing and sputtering when it’s fully out. He wipes at the dribbles of saliva around his lips, speaking throatily, “Yes, I want to.” 

The plastic cock drips of his saliva, practically soaked in it. Yet, he puts his mouth back on the tip, sucking lightly to get used to the feeling, before putting it halfway through his mouth. 

He tries to shove as much of it as possible inside of his mouth, but then looks up at you for help when he doesn't seem able to. 

“Help?” You ask. If he could pout around the dick, he would. You grab the back of his hair again, and steadily help him down the length of it. 

Instinctively, he stutters and chokes as the sex toy slides down the wet cavern of his mouth. He instantly grabs your thighs for support, trying to alleviate the intruding feeling. You remove your hands from his hair and stroke at his cheek, trying to coax him back his measured breathing through his nose. 

There’s no point in pulling him off. If he says he wants to take it all, he’s going to take it all. And no amount of praise will get his mind off his goal. 

He looks back up at you, ‘Help me.’ he seems to say.

You sigh. For all his imprudence, you cannot wait to make him cry on your dick. 

However, you are beginning to  feel impatient at the way he only steadily inches more of it down his throat. The slow pace is starting to frustrate you.

The hedonistic side of you wants him around your cock, now. Irrationally, you grab the hair on the back of his head harshly, he gasps around the cock at the contact. You brutally push him all the way down to the base of the cock. 

He chokes around it immediately, and his grip on your thighs turns bruising as his throat tries to accommodate to the sudden intrusion. He fails, and a pool of drool spills from his mouth, but your hands don't let up, keeping him there. 

“Come on. You can do it,” You goad, tilting your head to the side, “Can’t you?” 

You see alarm bells ring in Mark’s head, and he tries his best to accept the length of it in his greedy mouth. “Can.” He slurs. 

His nose kisses the skin of your stomach, and he blushes, making it even more difficult for him to breathe. But he’s keeping himself there, unmoving. Though you do see him chewing around the plastic to alleviate the burn of his throat. 

After a few more seconds, Mark moves a few inches down the cock, landing halfway. He swallows, or– tries to swallow. His throat fucking burns. 

He continues to suck and chew around the cock, getting lost in the warm feeling of his mouth filled. 

You tap his cheek a few times. He opens his eyes to look at you through his lashes. He hadn’t even noticed he’d closed them. 

You're beginning to feel a little more impatient.

“Mark…” You move your feet airily, then slightly drag it across his dick, barely touching. He instantly grips your thighs again and chokes around the dildo. His neglected dick twitches at the simple contact, and he closes his eyes as he tries to even his breath again. 

“You want to be filled up?” He moans around the cock at your filthy words, “Wanna be mine?” 

Slowly, he moves his lips across the dick and out, leaving it with a lewd pop! Fucking hot. 

He heaves when he’s finally met with air. His face is sweaty and debauched, eyes glazed over like he had just gotten fucked. He’s a complete slut. “I’m already yours, I don't have to work for it.” He says throatily, vocal cords basically compressed off. 

You hum, just trying to keep him quiet. He can get pretty mouthy, and you can’t bother to hear bitching when you’re so horny right now. 

He’s feeling extra touch starved after barely being offered any stimulation before it’s taken away, so he stands up quickly. You lay down on the sheets, and before you can even bother to start to get comfortable, he’s already clambering onto your lap. 

You raise an eyebrow, like you’re not just as turned on, “Someone’s eager.” 

He lines his hole with the bright pink plastic cock, dripping of his drool and spit, pressing his hands to your stomach for support. 

The tip breaches his hole, slicked up and ready for his awaiting hole. You’re so fucking jealous. You can’t imagine how warm and silky he feels…

He moans, tipping his head back, but doesn’t dare stop at just there, continuing to slowly descend down the pretty dick, his hole fluttering around it. 

When he reaches the hilt of it with ease, he shifts, trying to relax himself onto it slowly.

But you know better. You know that he wants to be treated like the cumtoy that he is. 

You tap his hips, then squish the flesh. He moans in response. “Come on, baby. Move.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Im calling this work: "Do you think you peg me in every universe?"

"Duh."

Thanks for the request, meow meow meow

♡

[belovedenzo]

nsfw mattheo riddle headcanons…

things to expect from matty if he’s fucking you

│ words; 900

│ notes; just a few various sex headcanons w/ mattheo <3 enjoy! felt like giving ya’ll some sugar hehe

│ warnings; MDNI 18+ nsfw below! toxic! mattheo. drinking. kinky :b

│ A bully. No matter how much he loves or cherishes you- once he’s in that type of mood there will be no mercy. Once he hits that deep place inside of you that causes a gasp to rip from your throat- he can’t take it anymore. He’ll insult you, demean you even while simultaneously praising you. If anything he ever says hurts your feelings he’ll kiss all the bad away when he’s done with you and apologize. 

│ Whines. An occasional groan or moan is common- especially when your lips are wrapped around the head of his cock. But what can be heard most are the deep, long whines that tumble from his lips when his mind disappears for a bit. 

│ When he’s done- you leave. Unless you mange to put Riddle under a spell and make him fall in love, you will be lumped in with all of the others. If you’re not the girl he loves then you can leave when he’s done with you. No sleepovers, no cuddling, maybe a quick smoke. However that being said, he’ll still always come back to you for more later because he likes to sleep with the same girl for a while.

│ Passionate. While he may be dismissive to commitment, you can always expect Matty to be attentive and passionate while he’s actually fucking you. Unusually sweet words will fall out of his mouth amongst the rougher ones, things he would never say otherwise. 

│ Manipulative. No matter how angry you are with him, he is able to persuade you that all will be okay and you won’t be mad anymore if you just left him fuck you. It works! (does it?)

│ Jealous. If he chooses you to be his play thing, no body else is allowed to touch you but him. Until he is done with you, just the sheer sight of someone else showing interest in you while send him into a tail spin. The second he is finished though, he could care less.

│ He bites. Specifically your neck and thighs- especially with you beneath him in any way. He loves to take this time and bite just hard enough for you to flinch and suck in a breath. Toxic! Mattheo would totally bite you till u bleed if he’s pissed at you. 

│ Loves to give hickey’s. While pda may not be his thing, he does like everyone to see the marks he has left. If the biting wasn’t enough trauma to your skin, giving you hickeys makes him feel accomplished and established like everyone should know to keep their hands off you while he’s the one marking you.

│ Slow and deep. He isn’t always that way, but it’s definitely his favorite motion of the ocean. If his day was decent and nothing weighs heavy on his mind, he likes to go slow and steady to hit all the good spots. However on a bad day you can count on getting your walls bruised. 

│ Affectionate. After care may not be the best if you don’t mean too much to him but during what ever he’s doing to you, kisses will be peppered all over you. Hands will fall on every inch of your skin and massages will come with every grip he gets on you.

│ Anger fucking. If you make him jealous or angry, count on a hate fuck. He expresses his emotions through dominating you- even if it hurts. 

│ Drunk sex. Mattheo is definitely more open and sweet when he’s under the influence of alcohol. Your most intimate moments with him have been when he’s a shot away from being too far gone. He softens and has more fun with you while he’s inebriated- almost like he’s been weakened. 

│ Dacryphilia. If you got pathetic enough to cry in front of him especially if it was due to him being too harsh- it kind of turns him on. He’d be lying if he said seeing you cry didn’t make his dick hard. 

│ Lazy. He loves it when you ride or do most of the movement for him at least. Not only does he like to see you work for it, but it’s less of a job for him. 

│ A huge tease. He likes to have control of your entire day. All day he’ll make sure to keep you on your toes with small glances and brushing of limbs. Eventually if you seem excited enough that will have entertained him enough and he’ll give you want you want (need) from him.

│ Has a huge mouth. You can bet that all of his closest friends in Slytherin know about the two of you sleeping together. He likes to show off.

│ Keeps you as close as possible. When he is being more passionate with you, the closer you are to him the better. He likes your foreheads to touch, your chest, anything that makes him feel as close as possible for just the time being. 

│ Throat grabber. His favorite place for his hands to be is around the front or back of your neck. Sometimes even both wrapped around the sides- only slight constriction. He also knows you secretly love it when he chokes you. Sometimes he goes too far, you have seen stars but it felt good while he buried every last inch of himself inside you.

luv, spell

requests are open!

taglist; lmk if u need to be added or removed! @draco-malfoys-lovergirl @dearmisshoney @shyamanuensis @riddlesbunny @enzosbabyangel @juliet-017 @ur-local-wizard @nottsstar @riddlesrizzler @riddleswhcre @riddlesgirlie @riddlesgrl @eternalbuckley @leona-hawthorne @obsessedwithceleste @pizzaapeteer @nemesyaaa @viperify @hayleygrrr @prythiansprincess @writingsbychlo @nottslove

[tokoyan]

- The debt he decided i owed.

pairing: Geum Seong-je x reader

Warning: Abuse (verbal & physical)

word count: 892

pt1 // pt2

Has it been a few days? Or a few weeks?

Since Seong Je started standing outside my all-girls school—every Thursday. At the exact fucking time I finish. He always knows. He always did.

At first, I thought it was a coincidence. A one-time thing. But it wasn’t. He was always there. Waiting. Watching. Like clockwork.

It’s been a few weeks since that night. The night everything changed. The night I should’ve been safe—but wasn’t.

I had just finished an after-school activity. It was dark, colder than usual, and the streets were unusually quiet. I had no other choice but to walk. I knew the route well. But that didn’t matter. Not that night.

As I passed a narrow alley, I saw a group of guys. Smoking. Laughing. Whispering. They noticed me. Their eyes locked onto me like I was prey. And for some fucked reason, they all decided—without speaking—to follow.

At first, I thought maybe it was just in my head. But then I heard their footsteps. Getting closer. Matching mine.

I picked up my pace. So did they.

“Hey! Wait up!” “We’re not gonna hurt you!” one of them laughed. But that creepy grin on his face told a different story.

My heart pounded as I started running. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I just ran.

Then, one of them nearly grabbed my bag. But before he could—boom. A solid kick knocked him backward to the ground.

I turned around, breathless, terrified. Standing there was a tall guy with messy dark hair, glasses slightly crooked, and fists clenched. He didn’t hesitate. He moved like he’d done this before. A few more punches. Another kick. Some of the guys scrambled away, cursing and yelling.

“Fuck…” he muttered, glaring at the guy crying on the ground. “You stained my fucking pants, you bitch.” He looked down in disgust, brushing off his jeans. Then his eyes met mine. He scanned me slowly. Head to toe. And smiled. Not kindly.

That was the night he saved me. But it was also the night he claimed me. The night he decided I "owed" him money for him saving me that night.

Now, it’s Thursday again. 5 p.m. The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon. And there he is. Like always.

Leaning against the school’s brick wall, looking bored out of his mind. A cigarette in one hand, his phone in the other. He’s playing some game.

“Fuck this shit,” he mutters as “GAME OVER” flashes across the screen. Then he turns. Sees me.

His expression doesn’t change much—but I know he saw the way I flinched. I’m trying to hide it. The fear. The disgust. The helplessness. But he sees everything, but he just simply didn't care.

He slips the phone back in his pocket and starts walking toward me. “was School fun? any drama?” he jokes. His voice lazy. Like we’re friends. Like he doesn’t scare the shit out of me.

I stay still. Silent. Trying to control my breathing.

“Money,” he says flatly, holding out his hand.

“I… I don’t have it yet,” I say, eyes lowered. It’s not a lie. I’ve run out of savings because of him. My job at the convenience store hasn’t paid me yet. And I can’t ask my parents. Not again.

He stares at me for a moment, like he’s trying to decide whether to believe me. Then—“You’re lying,” he says, stepping closer.

“I’m not… I swear I’ll have it by next we—”

“Dumb fucking bitch,” he snaps, jabbing a finger against my forehead and pushing me back. I stumble.

“I’ve been so fucking lenient with your whore-ass, and you can’t even bring me my fucking money?”

Before I can say anything, his hand is in my hair. He yanks hard.

I cry out, tears streaming instantly down my face from the pain.

I just wanted him to stop. I just wanted to go home. I wanted it all to be over.

He watches me for a moment. Watching my tears fall. Then lets go.

“You’re coming with me, you bitch,” he says lowly.

Then he grabs my wrist, dragging me off the school grounds.

I didn’t know where he was taking me. I didn’t know what he was going to do to me. But I was terrified. And I knew this wouldn’t end well for me.

[worksbykai]

SAVE A HORSE

paring : paige bueckers x azzi fudd

content : possessive paige, azzi being inlove

synopsis : this

notes : Heyy, I’m trying to get some one shots in before I start my series I’m super exciteddd it’s a pazzi au so be looking out. I hope you enjoy (not proofread)

Paige walked out of the tunnel with her mind locked in, she barley heard the crowd erupt as she made her way out. She waved to couple of fans above her who were screaming to the top of their lungs, that doesn’t hurt? A smirk came on her face as she laughed at her own thoughts. “What’re you laughing at?” DiJonai asked as she shoved Paige a little. “Nothin” Paige said shaking her head as she made her way to the bench. Nai rolled her eyes at her friend’s humor as she tucked in her jersey, making her way to the court.

……

Paige had been so hyped for her teammates the first 2 quarters, hyping them up, yelling, LOTS of yelling, mostly laughing with her fellow rookies on the bench. Wings were up by 10 to the Mystics who kept turning over the ball and their shots were not falling, Paige wasn’t complaining though. Just as Paige was getting comfortable with the flow of the game she saw her coach come down the line “Bueckers, your in let’s go.” As soon as Paige stood up, taking off her shirt that was covering her jersey, the crowd blew up in cheers, everybody getting up and flashing their jerseys that had Paige’s number on it, holding up their signs, Paige’s heart swelled at all the support, smiling as she tucked her jersey in. Paige crouched on the floor, waiting to check in, her blue orbs scanning the crowd, she saw so many people but some who looked more familiar.

Ice, then Kk, then Ashlynn, Morgan, she put a name to everyone’s face making her smile grow larger, but once Paige’s eyes landed on her, the person she was looking for the whole time, her heart skipped a beat.. two beats. She was in all her glory a warm simple smile planted on her face, not doing to much but doing just enough. Paige’s eyes scanned her body she couldn’t really get a good look from all the way on the court but she did see a skirt that held to Azzi’s curves, and were those cowboy boots?

“BUECKERS!” she heard as she snapped out of her trance and quickly ran into the game, promising herself to give her best and maybe do a little extra for her girl, her teammates to of course ..

……

Azzi

She felt the moment Paige spotted her, she felt like she was being watched then once her eyes darted down to the court, she saw her blue orbs looking at her, completely focused on her. Azzi knew she looked good, and she knew she looked this way on purpose. Of course she would have to stand out amoung her other teammates, she made sure Paige saw her.

The moment Paige started playing, Azzi knew she had an effect, she was shooting, assisting, and Azzi was loving every second of it, the way Paige calmly celebrated her shots, or stole a look at Azzi when she made a shot and Azzi gave her a ‘pretty good’ look as she slowly nodded her head, doing just enough. Even though Azzi was keeping it under control she couldn’t help but getting mesmerized in Paige, her eyes followed her every move. Nachos getting cold at this point. “Must be enjoying the game” Carol said as she nudged Azzi a little making Azzi blink a few times. “What? I mean yeah it’s a good game” She said, trying to defend her basically drooling over girlfriend, but can you really blame her?

As expected Paige dominated the 3rd and 4th Quarter like she owned the place. She ended with 17 points 2 rebounds and 4 assist, making the wings take the game, 94-79. Paige high fives some fans who had their hands out, signed some autographs, smiled for some pictures but she was gravitating towards one place, one person. Once she got to her friends, Kk immediately cradled her in a hug, Paige hugged back but was more focused on the woman behind her. Azzi, standing there, and now she can get a better look at her . Cowboy hat, Goddess Braids flowing to her waist, Paige’s jersey was across her chest but she had it cropped, As Paige’s eyes traveled lower, she saw the skirt that had caught her attention earlier, it was a blue denim that hugged her perfectly, with Azzi being turned around she could see the custom ‘Bueckers’ on the right back skirt pocket, and ‘5’ on the other one. pared with some cowboy boots that matched perfectly with the hat.

……

Paige

Paige swore she forgot how to breath as she said a few words to Kk, trying to get through everyone as quick as possible. Only thing she didn’t like was Azzi talking to Emily, the talking wasn’t the problem, it was the constant laughing and the way Emily’s hand brushed Azzi’s as she was talking about something that Azzi must have found ‘interesting’.

Once Paige finally made it over there she coughed “Good game” she said interrupting Emily as her hand snaked around Azzi’s waist for effect. “Oh.. yeah it was” Emily said giving Paige and obvious fake smile. There was some awkward silence, neither of them daring to break eye contact as the tensions began to rise. “Emily, I’ll see you around, ok?” Azzi said putting her hand on Paige’s back, sending the message for her calm down. Emily finally broke the eye contact as she looked Azzi up and down. “Yeah..” She spoke as she made her way out the arena with her team.

Azzi finally turned to Paige “What was that?” She said giving Paige a confused look. “Ion know what you talkin bout.” Paige said shrugging as she stretched her arms out. “Ion think she knew you had a girlfriend.” She said making Azzi chuckle. “You just dominated the hell out of this game stop being jealous.” Azzi said making Paige disagree. “I’m not jealous, letting people know.”

Azzi shook her head “your crazy” she said as Paige finally pulled her into a long awaited hug “you love it.” Azzi melted into the hug missing her girlfriends smell “maybe.”

[girl-lostconnection]

Popping cherries and squeezing lemons

Warnings: [Alpha!Kyle x Beta!Reader x Omega!John Price, omegaverse au, biting, lactation, John milking Reader, smut, John is mean bastard, Kyle might be bastard just as big as John, forced rut, possessive and obsessive behaviour, abrupt ending, jealousy, unhealthy relationships]

Kyle knows you for so long and he has always been there for you — a warm palm on your shoulder, a smile you could feel with your cheek when he’d press close to you, a tickling feel of his lashes when he’d nuzzle into you.

Gentle and affectionate.

Kyle is a good alpha, the proper one — none of expected possessiveness and weird habit to put you under his thumb and press down till you pop out of the socket so he can have you loose and defenceless.

Kyle is a good friend, you know as much because you know him since forever — his hand in yours, school lunches spent together and first drinks shared — noses scrunched, laughter bubbling in your chests.

You watch him throughout the years, the gradual and imminent transformation into adult of a pretty boy with hair that smelled like sun and coconut oil, with dimples that always made you press smooches to his cheeks.

You were inseparable once — a double trouble, never leaving school without the other, never leaving each other behind.

Kyle has been there for first kisses and first dates, Kyle has been your date to the school dance when the time came because who else would he go if not with his best friend?

Why would he want for anyone else?

Kyle has been there and has been a good friend and maybe that’s how everything happened the way it is.

Because, to say the truth he should have done many things differently.

And he would have if he knew what would happen.

Just to start with the first one, Kyle would have never vouched for your transfer as 141’s medic.

He would have never introduced you to captain John Price.

It was an oversight, really, his youthful naive conviction that just because Price is omega nothing would go wrong. Surely captain has better things to do than to take sudden interest in team’s another beta.

Well, Gaz miscalculated and now has to watch as his own captain ropes in his own sweetheart, sinking the hook in the skin so soft it’s almost welcoming.

Dragging you lower and lower.

A touch here, a caress there, a hug too tight and an arm draped over the shoulders. 

Nose rubbed on your temple, lent jacket when you forget yours, knuckles rubbing between your shoulder blades so you’d stop hunching and straighten up.

Nothing that should alert Gaz per se, nothing unusual — Price is their pack’s lead omega, Price is the captain and it’s normal that his instinct is to care and have everything under control.

But it’s always somehow more dubious with you — touches lingering, John’s smiles stretching his lips under that beard of his, his eyes crinkling when you’d tilt your head to look at him.

Price smells like cherries and rum, like smoked sugar poured in the wound to form a crust, like blood mixed with honey.

Price is poison and cloying sweetness, Price is oppressive heavy smokiness that’s not even alphas can tolerate.

Too much, too sweet, too rich — his scent is heady enough to make men lightheaded, his scent wrapping around him like a serpent — scales rustling, coils tightening.

John’s smell hardly anyone likes, that’s one of the reasons he usually wears blockers and takes suppressants. But even those don’t fully help with the bloody thing.

It’s nothing new to him and he made his peace with it a long time ago, even before it got thicker, before people started getting headaches just because they can’t stand it.

But you do for some reason. 

You seem to genuinely like it — never once complaining about it, never turning away, never trying to evade John’s touches or cuddles.

Making John’s omega vibrate with excitement cause that’s a good mate right there — letting him be affectionate, letting him grip your limbs and pull to his chest when it’s colder outside. He can’t have you catching hypothermia so in his arms you go.

It’s nothing at first, at least not that he thinks about it much at the very beginning, simply welcoming you with a firm handshake and short nod.

Just a new shoulder that he really hopes is as sturdy as Garrick said.

Pup has been singing you praise ever since he got his foot in the door and that definitely should tell Price something.

Whether about Kyle’s own heartache or your utmost competence, John isn’t sure at first.

But while he doesn’t know you — he knows Gaz.

And as young as Kyle might seem to be, sergeant is a sharp one.

Cold-headed and incredibly good, sniffing out imperfections like it’s his bloody specialty, raw power of his honed by self control most would develop after years of discipline.

John at times wondered who was it that made genius confident Garrick rein himself in this tightly?

He gets his answer shortly after you arrive.

Around the same time that he decides to actually give it a go with you as another beta. Nothing to lose at this point and it won’t do to have just four of them.

Latest incident landed Gary on medical leave until further notice, so their barracks are even emptied than before.

And it goes well, you are soft-spoken and honest, you respect the hierarchy and you blend into the team well enough to make your transfer a permanent one. For John, you, as lovely as you seem to be, are just a teammate at first.

Someone who can stand all of him and not only carefully cut out and molded parts that he presents.

Just someone to sit with at dinners and someone on whose shoulder he can lean on without seeing them scrunch their whole face cause apparently his omega reeks.

You are so different and so new with your fresh scent and careful touches and attentive eyes.

Being so good to him, making his omega stretch out and show off, because you really do like how he smells, don’t you, sweetheart?

Not only leaning into him, but turning your head to nuzzle in his neck when his instincts take reins and he has the whole team huddle with him for warmth. 

It’s fucking freezing in the safe house and he runs as hot as a bloody furnace might so it’s a question of preserving warmth. For the most part.

Doesn’t help that John’s scent gets heavier, that his blockers thin out until his team has to choose between warmth and getting a bloody migraine.

Kyle and Simon has to breathe through the mouth, Johnny just opts for hiding his face in Simon’s throat but you…you don’t turn away and don’t hide your face.

You just look at John, eyes a little dazed, lips slick with saliva from when you licked them.

You know you shouldn’t look at him like that, you know that fraternising with the commanding officer is frowned upon, that no one would understand and that surely, John himself would hardly want a beta when he’s an omega this prime. 

But in the moment it doesn’t matter one bit, because Price — stern, controlling and heavy-handed Price purrs.

Low sound that reverberates through your chest and ribs, flips the switch in your head, makes you want to nuzzle into him and sit on your knees as he pats your head and calls you good.

Cause everyone knows that happy omega is purring omega and if you could make your captain purr then you definitely did something right as team’s beta.

So with a quiet groan you press your face in his neck, aching to touch his hands, to intertwine your fingers with his so he can be everywhere, so you never have to leave.

Highly fucking inappropriate, you’d be lucky if he just has given you a smack like you are a naughty pup. 

But John instead pulls you in, thick calloused fingers of his stroking your own scent gland when you lean closer as he coaxes out the clean fresh smell — too faint for his liking right now, but oh, so delicious. 

Like water from the mountain springs, like snow, like ice in his usual drink, like morning’s fog. 

You dilute his oppressive sweetness, soften the edges of his, get the team a gasp of fresh air when they feel like crawling out of the safe house and blowing the cover.

Such a good beta, pulling your weight in the team and clearing these muppets’ heads, aren’t you, sweetheart?

John smiles at you when you look up at him unsure if you can keep nuzzling into him like that, if he’s okay with you doing it. 

His fingers tightening around the nape of your neck, pulling you back to tuck under his chin. 

Kyle can wait, sweetheart. Surely, he won’t mind if you get acquainted with his captain a little closer, right?

Nothing bad about it, just some bonding time, some pack connection building, some warmth only you can give to pack’s lead omega.

Kyle would understand, love. 

Kyle most surely would not fucking understand, tongue of his licking the inside of his teeth, tracing the canines of his, pressing on the sharp edge of them. 

He can’t put his finger on what exactly is going on or what his captain is doing, but Kyle can sense that something is in fact happening. 

He can’t tell if that’s too much, because Price is the captain, the top on their food chain, the strongest link between them all.

But he is also omega and while they are a tight knit unit, they couldn’t help but recoil when John would rub his scent on them.

Not even realising that they do.

John has tried to be there for all of them and it’s no wonder he touches you more than the rest if only you seem to like his smell. That only you seem to like John’s omega and get fiercely adored in return.

But Kyle doesn’t like that one bit. 

Not when you return to your bunk half lidded and drunk on something worse than a stiff drink, your hair and clothes seeped through with rum-soaked cherries and smoked honey.

Your neck still tingling from how much captain Price (“Johnathan for you, love”) rubbed his face on it, his beard scratching you in a way that made a sweet ache unroll in your belly.

You don’t speak to Kyle much after your evening visits to Price’s office. Not anymore. Your limbs too heavy and your heart thumping, because your captain can be smelled all over you even hours later.

Heavy, sickeningly sweet, domineering pressure that spreads over your skin like a fever, that swallows and topples over your own scent. 

Kyle has always loved the way your his beta smelled— fresh and clean — keeping him in line, clearing his head when he’d lean in too close or his eyes would linger too long on the sliver of your skin when you’d stretch.

Kyle always loved that he could press his face to your shoulder and it would be easier to breathe, your fingers rubbing behind his ears and the back of his neck. Light massage from the beta he was pining after for as long as he remembers.

He always felt like nothing would separate you, not when you spent so much time together, practically joined at the hip — his scent mingling with yours, your limbs intertwined, his palm staying on your shoulder as a silent claim.

At least, it did before you got transferred to his team and Kyle’s captain took sudden liking to you and huddled you under his wing. 

Now it feels as if John can hardly go without touching you through the day at least couple times — rubbing his smell on your clothes, scenting you when you’d come to him — only encouraging your tentative reach for soothing that he as omega can provide.

But oh, he can provide so much more than that and Kyle doesn’t fucking like the enthusiasm he sees.

Because recently it seems like Price is very up to showing what else can he give you. What else could pack’s lead omega bestow upon you if you had only given in.

Kyle doesn’t like the idea of sharing his favourite beta.

Kyle likes even less the fact that he isn’t even sharing anymore — nowadays you are tucked under captain’s wing and wrapped in his scent.

Fucking unfair, that is.

You aren’t John’s to take, you aren’t anyone’s, frankly and if someone should have gotten the chance to have you, it would be someone who took all the right steps and ensured that you were theirs and theirs only.

Someone like Kyle, maybe.

After all, he saw you first, he knows you the longest, he has been slowly easing you into the idea of him courting you proper.

Into him giving you a bite and rutting into you until your legs are would shake and your scent would sweeten and you’d bathe him in your own pleasure. So his sharp citrus can be softened by you, so your ice can melt into his basil. 

So you two become better together, so he gets you all to himself forever and always. Without his captain’s weird glances and weird touches and heavy cloying smell that makes Kyle’s head ache.

Kyle knows it’s not right to just rope you in, simply on the basis of scent compatibility alone, it’s not right to influence your judgement or take advantage of your cravings. You are beta, you are more sensitive to smells, they should be better than that.

But here comes Price with his sickening sweetness and his deceptively soft smiles and his hard eyes — edges of them so sharp it’s a wonder he doesn’t cut through glass with his glare. 

Price who asks for you during his heat.

Just for comfort, he swears, just to have some company.

After all, his scent gets almost poisonous to others during this time of the month and you seem to be the only one who tolerates him so well.

Isn’t it perfect how well you two work together?

Price who smiles at you, practically glowing from the moment you appear on his doorstep and pulls you in — noses at your cheeks and neck, locking the doors behind you.

No need to go anywhere, sweetheart, he has everything ready. Want to see his nest? He made it perfect, he hopes you’d like it, he hopes you’d stay.

Just for a moment, love. You just smell so good, it’s so much easier to breath when you are here. 

Price who pulls you in his nest, nuzzling in your throat, licking at you gland, his pants already sticking to his skin because fucking hell, he hasn’t been this soaked since he was in his 20s.

But here you come with your awestruck gazes and your clear scent and it’s like the dam bursts.

And you know, sweetheart, John is older, John has been alone longer, John doesn’t mind playing dirty to get what he wants.

But sorry, love, being fair and going through courting and easing you into the thought of being with John, like he is some pup eager to get his paws on you?

No, that’s just silly.

He can see you leaning into him, can feel your nose nudging his scent gland — your chest expanding when you would breathe him in.

You are perfect.

You are for John and only for John.

And you wouldn’t leave your captain to just deal with his heat like that, would ya, sweetheart?

No, he knows you’d be good to him, can see how you look at him, can feel the way you lean into him and sniff the air, catching him out of the crowd.

The first time you tugged air in and turned your head blindly, finding Price in the crowded mass hall he almost bent the fork, he was holding, in half.

You, already so well-attuned to him, you, already needing him so badly and already coming to his office late at night when it would get too much.

Seeking him out, being good and asking politely for just a morsel of his attention.

Pretty thing, how did Kyle even had enough self control not to mount you the first day he saw you? You must have smiled at the lad, offered your hand, breathed him in and world became brighter.

Did you like it, sweetheart? Did you like Kyle with his long fingers and full lips and gentle touches?

Would you have agreed to spend the rut with Garrick if John hasn’t gone off his suppressants to induce his early heat?

Well, if he had to guess, now we will never know. It won’t matter anyway after today.

John who kisses all over your face, groping the fat of your hips and tummy, palms sliding up to get handfuls of your tits — kneading until you shiver, until your nipples plump under his touch, until your smell gets sharper.

Ice cracking, river roaring, rain finally dripping down.

Here we go, love, fucking finally. 

Your shirt will be probably ruined but it’s so worth it when John can finally massage your chest, fingers rubbing your soft skin, his lips ghosting over your shoulders. Such a perfect mate for him, Garrick’s loss is John’s gain. 

John coos “it’s okay, sweetheart, I’ve got ya” and sucks on your tits until you start kicking and sobbing — too sensitive, too raw for the first time, it’s never happened to you before and you don’t know what’s going on. 

That’s okay, love, nothing to fear, he is going to take care of you like a good omega.

Your good omega.

John will give you some proper loving that Kyle never got around to giving.

John promises as he massages your chest, milk beading on your nipples, squirting out in thin dribbles when he presses harder. Oh, you are just gorgeous, aren’t you?

John murmurs “bein’ so good for me, sweetheart” and pulls your shirt off, pressing himself harder into you — his smell wrapping around you like a heated blanket, cloying your head, pulling you under.

Cherries dipped in rum, honeyed infection, smoke of sacrificial incense.

Price coos when you whimper “too hot, Captain, I can’t—“, because of course you can, love. You have to, the process has already started. Can you feel it, sweet thing?

The way your tits ache without his hands on them, the way your vision tunnels on him, your thighs cramping when the change wrecks through you.

Ever been in a rut before, love?

He bets you haven’t.

Never before have you experienced how it feels to have a hunger this raw in your chest, the phantom cracking of your ribs opening you up like a Viking’s eagle, like a can that Price finally cracked and now he drags the lid off of you.

Opens up the way to the slick warm insides of yours, deliberate calloused fingers on your tits milking you for him.

Going to be a good alpha for him, won’t you? Going to take care of your John and take him as he is, forever and always, aye?

You won’t need Kyle anymore, you won’t need anyone but John, he will take such a good care of you, he murmurs, lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking it in his mouth with areola.

Hungry, impatient, maw of his scorching on your over sensitive flesh when he gorges himself on the taste of yours, eager to get every drop.

Eager to have your heart on his tongue and your milk in his mouth.

He knows it must feel overwhelming, like you are melting (like he is melting you), tears and snot running down your face, your pupils blown wide, your fingers curling to hold on tighter.

Just like that, sweetheart. It’s not going to be scary, John’s got you, you can let go and give in. Nothing bad would happen, he promises.

You’d be good for your captain, wouldn’t you?

But you are so gone you aren’t sure whether or not you can promise him anything at this point. You just know that you are still leaking, your mouth watering when you turn your head and nose at John’s scent gland.

Cherries — ripe and achingly sweet bloom on your tongue, your teeth aching to sink into his gland and god, this is fucked up, this is so wrong, you can’t do this.

Not to your captain, not when John was so kind to you.

But John licks his lips and angles his head to give you more access, nudging you to dive deeper to taste firsthand.

John has your sweetness on his tongue and on his beard, John has a cheeky “pop that cherry, lovie, don’t be shy now” slipping from between his teeth when he pulls your hand in his pants.

Pushes it between his thighs, letting you scoop up generous amount of slick and pull it out to take a look.

And well, that’s just mean of him — his scent so much brighter there, heat under your skin boiling you alive, fever of him ravaging your body when he makes you suck your fingers dry.

Taste him, sweetheart, see if he’s as sweet as he smells.

You watch John with heavy half-lidded eyes, sharp ice of your scent cutting through his, your hands dragging his sweatpants off.

Too far gone to care about ethics or propriety, too far gone to remember the Kyle you like — the Kyle who kisses you where it hurts and Kyle who often cups your tummy with that dark look in his eyes.

Like he is imagining something.

Like the future that he wants is so close he can almost taste it.

But all you can taste is John — thick hairy thighs of his opening for you when you dive down to drag your tongue to his leaking hole, his scent driving you half feral.

It’s sticky and sweet and you are drunk on him, not a thought in your head when you bite his thighs, not a single thing bothering you when you finally get a proper taste of him.

Straight from the source.

Room is too hot and too humid, sweat dripping down your back, your heavy chest still leaking, nipples aching and you are so bad, so greedy for imagining Kyle’s fingers massaging them and promising to make it better.

Price who coos at you when you are between his legs, lapping up his slick, making you captain feel so fucking good, being so good to you omega, making John feel safe and cherished. 

Eating him out like you won’t get another chance, teeth scraping soft skin, your throat clicking when you almost choke on him.

Greedy beta, got your mouth full, don’t you?

John wonders what would Kyle say if he saw you like that — deep between John’s legs, slurping up everything he gives, disheveled and drugged up on his scent.

What would Kyle say if he saw that gone, empty look in your eyes when you look up at John like he is god you didn’t know to worship, like he is everything there is, like he is the end and the beginning.

Bacchus driving you mad, pouring ambrosia down your throat until you don’t remember your own name.

He is sweet as he rasps in your ear that you are so good to him, such a perfect beta, such a good mate for him, his fingers stretching you out.

Using his own slick as the lube.

You don’t remember much detail after that.

Just your teeth all over John and his thighs trembling when you’d force them to stay open because he cannot just invite the wolf in and expect it to sit like a dog.

And the heavy clouding smell of cherries, alcohol bitter on the root of your tongue, saccharine affections of Price’s — bloody and feverish, melting you down.

So he can shape something new out of it.

John let’s you go only in a few days and only because Kyle almost takes the door off it’s fucking hinges, throwing away the discipline and threatening to use Simon as a battling ram if he doesn’t get you back.

Simon grumbles that he wants nothing to do with this whole situation and disappears before Garrick wrangles him and actually tries to take the doorframe out of its set.

Kyle is sharp citrus, almost bitter in the aftertaste, basil of his ripening until the underlying sweetness stuffs down the throat of anyone who dares to breathe in.

Kyle is mad, because this is unfair, because John cannot bloody take you simply because he wants you and no one else fucking wants him.

He gets exactly three more words out before he is being dragged in by the scruff of his neck, hit with scent so sweet it almost makes him retch. The cloying sweetness of rotting meat, the honeyed infection spreading all over him.

John in heat is dangerous.

John in heat is mean mean bastard of a man and he doesn’t tolerate someone trying to take his favourite beta away when he still might need them and when your tits are still leaking.

But Kyle feels it before Price even gets to say to him to fuck off and zip it up if he doesn’t want to get hell and high water.

Kyle feels you because of course, he fucking does — a hound attuned to your scent, a lovesick pup of an alpha that always kissed your jaw just shy of your scent gland, his breath ghosting over it.

His mouth watering at the mere thought of finally sinking his teeth into you.

You were always his, he can find you anywhere, he will find you anywhere if you ever leave so, please, don’t.

Kyle likes being good and likes you thinking that he is good, that he is different, that he is the proper alpha.

Kyle sneers at John, trying not to breathe through the nose and crouches down in front of a nest he can’t get in.

Even half feral and aching for you he knows better than to get in the nest he was not invited into.

Price just might murder him in cold blood and throw him out of the window, later claiming that it was either self defence or the fact that Kyle’s heart couldn’t take it and the lad decided to end it all.

That would have been an interesting conversation to have straight after heat.

So Kyle crouches in front of the nest, you scent ripe with something he doesn’t understand, the change that he didn’t feel before.

Ice of yours now poking like you are an iron maiden, embrace of yours would bleed him dry probably, considering the state you are in right now.

“Baby, look at me.”, Kyle murmurs, his voice gentle when you groan, nuzzling in John’s pillow, rage bubbling under his skin, cauterising his bleeding heart. Dull throb of his head driving him mad — cherries and ice cold water, rot and frost, honey and cream.

…cream?

Kyle tugs air in against his better judgement, John’s scent hitting him with full force, strong enough to make Garrick’s teeth ache from instinctual urge to claw at him until captain is bleeding and pliant.

“Love, look at me. Please, doll”, Kyle coos instead, eyes raking all over you, eyes lingering on the swell of your tits, on the creamy fresh scent that curls around him like your usual hug.

Almost like nothing changed — his hair still smelling like sun and coconut oil, your eyes still crinkling in the corners when he smooches your cheek. “Talk to me, baby”

But the memory leaves as fast as it came, Price’s heavy presence right behind like an artillery recalibrating to hit him — gears turning, ammo restocking.

Price doesn’t like him here, doesn’t like that Kyle’s citrusy rage makes you whimper, doesn’t like that you still crawl out of his nest into Garrick’s arms.

“That’s good, love, you are doing great. Tell me what hurts, tell me how to help.”, Kyle babbles, cradling you in his arms, not liking the same half drunk look in your eyes that you usually sport after an evening with John.

Kyle saw you first, Kyle had you first, you are Kyle’s beta.

But you whine and pull his palm to cup your tit, his brain short circuiting, his molars aching when he opens his mouth to ask what do you mean. And then it hits him.

His fingers flex, sinking in the soft flesh, massaging it gently and milk squirts out your nipple, lending on Kyle’s shirt, scent of cream heavier in the air, John’s teeth almost grazing Kyle’s nape when the man growls out “gentler, muppet”.

As if Kyle doesn’t know how to treat you.

Kyle had you before John could even dream of someone like you, Kyle knows all about your firsts, Kyle takes responsibility for taking most of them.

And this…here he should have been first too. But that’s okay, baby, it’s alright, it’s not your fault. He knows you’d be good to him. He knows you’d let him make it better.

Kyle licks your nipple, lashes fluttering, his vision tunnelling to you, rotting cherry clouding his mind when he sucks you in and you whine.

Babbling something about “Kyle, sensitive—” and “alpha, please” like you don’t know it’s enough to make him pop a hard-on.

Kyle flicks his tongue against your swollen nipple, eyes of his glued to your face when you start crying, everything in him crawling out to take-take-take.

You look so pretty when you cry for him, fat tears and flushed face and heart pounding, making your scent richer, making Kyle want to down you in one sitting.

He holds back only on years of discipline and self control, but god, you are not making it any easier, baby.

Not having any pity on him at all when you let him suck your tits and drink his fill, when you whimper for him, but reach for John.

Naughty thing, he should have taken you before bringing you to John’s lair.

Should have guessed that pack’s lead omega would harbour you close to his chest. Should have known you’d get hooked on Price and drunk from his scent alone.

Kyle should have remembered that you were always a lightweight.

Well, he will remember it for the future, his long fingers prying your jaws open so he can finally kiss you, ignoring John’s head nestling closer to your tits and ignoring John’s mouth latching on your left nipple in so he can suck on it. Greedy bastard.

Kyle licks into your mouth, slow and certain, biting your lips till you whimper and bleed for him, till he can finally get what he always wanted.

He hums softly and licks the blood off, glances up to see tears streaming down your face.

Poor baby, you must be so sensitive. So tired.

Captain’s scent alone probably didn’t let you rest much.

You couldn’t pull away from John even if you wanted to, but judging by the sated and relaxed look on Price’s face — you didn’t want to.

Judging by glaring lack of pants on both you and captain and entirely befuddling amount of bites on John’s legs — the man wouldn’t be able to pull you off even if he tried. And he didn’t plan to try shit.

Your and John’s scents are mingling in the air, mixing into something entirely new, Kyle’s throat clicking when he tugs it in, part of him wanting to throw up, other part of him wants to fuck you silly.

Cherries and cream, rum and ice, rot and frost.

John is a glaring cavity in here, John is an infection, John is dangerous and he made you ache, he made you different, he coerced you in here.

He also made you lactate, Kyle’s mind whispers, shiver running down his spine when he licks his lips and pops your right nipple in his mouth, curling around you.

Perfect darling, so that’s how you’d taste if he threw the propriety out the window and pumped you full until you were bouncing a chubby pup of his own on your hip.

Pup with your crinkling eyes and Kyle’s hair, pup with your nose and Kyle’s smile. Smelling like your milk and coconut oil Kyle would use for their hair.

For a moment the fantasy seems so vivid, so real that he forgets himself.

Forgets John’s hands trying to peel his away, forgets your pleading “can’t cum anymore—” because that’s just silly, baby, of course you can.

Whatever happened with John doesn’t count, right?

John himself shouldn’t count, that wasn’t fair, that wasn’t by the rules.

Let’s try this again, okay? He is going to do his best, you just stay where you are for him, love.

Kyle knows you are going to be so good to him, Kyle knows you wouldn’t just leave him in a state he is in, you like him too much, he just knows it.

Maybe you should go back to whatever you were doing between John’s legs, take some pressure off frustrated captain while Kyle feeds his knot to your hole.

You look slick enough to take him to the hilt, just arch a little, will ya?

And then it all goes black. Wraps veil around your eyes — cloying sweet and brightly tangy.

You come back from your mandated medical leave after another week — still sore and still tired but it’s better now.

No more heat, no more pulling of your skin, no more leaking of your too full, too big tits, no more unending slick out of your holes.

Nothing out of ordinary.

You come back to the mass hall smelling like water from the mountain spring, like morning fog, like clinking ice in tall glasses.

Like you again.

At your arrival Kyle perks up, ever so worried, ever so soft and friendly like he didn’t ravage you with the desperation of man starved of any affections. You’d pity him if you didn’t know any better and didn’t know Kyle. Starved of affections, your ass.

John sits on the other side of the bench, moving aside to make space for you, ready to take you back under his wing and wrap you in his scent and pull you under.

Lead omega, prime omega — his raspy praise still rings in your ears, his hands still knead your hips when you close your eyes.

They watch you and very pointedly try to not look at each other.

Two grown man in a squabble over something that could have been solved with a conversation or two.

But they don’t want to talk, do they? That only want to take and take and take.

Because apparently you are their favourite beta.

You sigh, rolling your aching shoulders and plopping yourself right between them — your knee pressing into John’s thigh, your elbow nudging Kyle’s.

You really are no better if the only thing you want is to take just as much. Just as selfishly.

Some people say that you can’t have a cake and eat it. Well…maybe they should watch how you will.

[jakezzgirlz]

love love love Jake who knows he's being manipulative, trying to coax you into a quickie because he just wants you so bad, knowing damn well it won't be quick, but also knowing you couldn't say no to him when he gives you that look. Or when he tells you how he just wants to have fun with his pretty girlfriend, how's that a bad thing :((

ೀ TOOK ME 5 FUCKING DAYS IM SO SORRY :c i also kinda went off track... PLEASE INTERACT IF YOU ENJOY!!

ᝰ.ᐟwarnings ¡ DARK THEMES, coercion, verrrryy bad jakey, manipulation, painful sex, cervix fucking, possesive jake, jake is an insecure asshole, quickies uhhhh idk

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

He doesn't understand why you just cant be there for him when he needs you? He's always been there for you when you need to relieve some stress so why cant you be a good girlfriend and help him out? You'd guys would fuck like bunnies before but now you can barely spare 10 more minutes? Thoughts flood his head- maybe your not attracted to him anymore, or worse- maybe your seeing someone else. The thoughts plagued his mind even when he pushed them away because he cant stand the fact of you being with anyone else.

His fear of losing you warped into control, all because the idea of losing you was far more terrifying than the guilt of keeping you close by any means. Finding any way to claim you just to reassure himself that 'your not going''. You never even realized how you depend on jake. His voice calmed the noise in your head, and his presence was a kind of safety you couldn’t recreate on your own, jake knew you needed him, how much you depend and trust him. So he decides to use that to his advantage.

He'd disguise it as love, he’d isolate you gently, starting with casual comments like, "I just don’t think your friends really get you the way I do,” or "You always seem drained after seeing them—maybe you should take a break." Over time, you'd find yourself spending more time with just him, because it felt easier, safer. He’d play the role of your protector, framing himself as the only one who truly understood you, making you doubt your own judgment. When you were upset or anxious, not feeling energized enough for sex, just needing to rest. He’d flip it—“After everything I’ve done for you, and this is how you treat me?”— So you'd give in, letting him use your body no matter how sore or painful your core feels from his cock plunging deep, and filling you up with cum again and again.

Begging you before you leave to work for a quickie with his pleading eyes promising that he'll be quick. But behind those eyes is the need to claim you as his, to have you go outside with your pussy stuffed with cum-his cum.

Trying to talk to jake nowadays just turns to sex. Bringing up how you feel isolated and he will look at you crazy before he shrugs it off and kneels between your legs kissing you through your panties. Even when your pussy's still spasming and leaking out his cum- he'll make you miss the first half of your friends birthday party just to shove his cock down your throat... won't let you wash away the mascara that's running down your face.

At first, he might frame sex as a way to feel closer, saying things like, “I just want to be close to you. Isn’t that normal?” But soon, the choice would start to disappear. He’d push you past your comfort zone, brushing off hesitation with, “Why are you acting like this? Don’t you trust me?” or “You’re my girlfriend—you should want this too.” If you tried to set boundaries, he’d act wounded, withdrawn, or angry, forcing you to carry the emotional weight of “rejecting” him. Over time, sex would stop feeling like affection and start feeling like obligation—something she gave to keep the peace, to avoid conflict, or to prove her love. No longer taking his time with you, no more sweet words- just his cock bruising your insides-stretching you beyond belief, just his hands holding your head while he face fucks you. Looking at you with his beautiful brown eyes because he knows-you can't say no to him.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

likes, comments and reblogs appreciated !

[augureysfeather]

...reading this over, I can absolutely see that. There's not saying that he ever had control over his visions and/or had control over them when he was younger...nor was it ever said that his visions, specificially, all or ever came true (I think, maybe the movies we could have gotten would have gone into detail...)

Heck, I think it's even likely that this COULD have been the way the remaining two movies would have tackled his visions, as in, he unwillingly instigated his entire downfall... (Need more reasons to see Grindeldore as a tragic lovetale? Here we go!)

Grindeldore Theory:

I think that young!Grindelwald had a glimpse of the future and knew that he and Dumbledore would fight, so he tried to stop that from happening. But similarly to the way Voldemort fulfilled the prophecy by trying to control its outcome, Grindelwald’s actions as he attempted to prevent his vision were (partly) what caused the fight.

I think that after having said vision Gellert put the idea of the bloodpact in Albus’ head. He didn’t make him swear that they’d stay together or that they would rule together; he focused on them not fighting specifically, because that’s what he had seen and fear.

When Grindelwald confiscates the house of the Non-Magiques, this is what we get in the script:

This, along with Grindelwald’s slow walking and searching look and Rosier’s aimless walking behind him, shows that they were going to confiscate a house but they didn’t have decided upon a specific one.

Then, we see Grindelwald taking a strange expression, closes his eyes and when he opens them he points towards the house… which makes me believe that he chose and searched for the specific location based on a vision he had.

And what did this remind me of? But of course of the way Jamie Campbell Bower performed Grindelwald’s reaction during the bloodpact-scene:

I believe that, as they made the pact, Grindelwald had a vision which made him believe that his and Albus’ fight had not been prevented despite the pact. With such a ‘knowledge’ and being aware that Aberforth disliked him, Grindelwald (who has been described by Rowling as someone who would do anything to keep Albus by his side) would perceive Aberforth’s truth-bombs as kindle for the fight he had foreseen.

Grindelwald’s extreme reaction probably was his desperate attempt to do damage control and prevent the fight, which ended up making things worse and actually instigated. Moreover the effect of the pact as they fought each-other might have been what caused Ariana’s death, which would mean that Grindelwald’s very attempt to not lose Dumbledore was EXACTLY what ended up creating the unbridgeable rift between them.

[bu3ck3r]

tied together — part 4

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: let’s see if y’all gonna like it ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

tied together – masterlist

paige’s pov:

paige wasn’t even pretending to focus on film anymore.

her laptop was open, paused on a frame showing south carolina’s transition set — azzi at the top of the key, flicking the ball to the wing — but she hadn’t hit play again in ten minutes.

she was staring.

staring at azzi’s hands.

the way she dribbled, how fluid and controlled it was. staring at the way her shoulders shifted just before she exploded into motion.

and staring at her face — that locked-in, razor-sharp expression paige knew better than anyone.

azzi looked good.

too good.

paige flopped onto her bed, groaned, and dragged her hands down her face.

she was in trouble.

because watching game film wasn’t just watching game film anymore. it was watching her.

the girl who made her stupid. the girl she loved.

and the girl she might have to play against in a few days.

she zoomed in on the bench footage, pausing at moments where azzi smiled or tapped her fingers on her knee in that way she always does when she’s focused.

she doesn’t even realize nika’s behind her until she hears the door click.

nika walked in, saw the paused screen, raised an eyebrow. “you’re literally down bad.”

paige laughed. “say it louder, maybe the hallway didn’t hear you.”

nika smiled. “so when are you telling everyone?”

“about what?” paige teases.

nika just gave her a look. “you said it. i know you did. you look different.”

paige’s smile faded a little. “i don’t know when. or how. i don’t want it to blow up in her face.”

nika nodded. “but you’re not gonna keep her in the dark forever, right?”

“no,” paige said quietly. “not anymore.”

her phone buzzed on her chest.

you stalking me again or are you just bad at film study?

paige smiled without meaning to.

maybe both. can’t confirm.

you’re predictable.

you’re distracting.

you love it.

paige stared at that last message a beat too long.

her chest ached. and swelled.

she typed.

i love you.

no hesitation.

a second passed.

then two.

then—

i love you too. i miss you.

paige’s throat went tight. she set her phone down for a second like it was hot to the touch.

she missed her, too.

missed her voice, her laugh, her legs tangled with hers under the blanket. missed falling asleep to the sound of azzi’s breathing. missed knowing she was close enough to reach out and touch.

later azzi called.

in her comfiest hoodie, curled in her bed while paige talked about practice, her upcoming media day, and how she nearly airballed a three because she was thinking about azzi’s smile like a dumbass.

azzi laughed, soft and low. “you’re literally obsessed with me.”

paige leaned closer to the screen. “don’t act like you’re not eating it up.”

“maybe i am,” azzi shrugged, trying to play it cool, but her cheeks turned pink.

after their facetime ended azzi was sitting on the floor in her bathroom with her back against the wall and her knees pulled to her chest, phone glowing in her palm.

she kept rereading paige’s message.

she never got tired of it.

she never stopped needing it.

god, she was in deep.

and she wasn’t even trying to climb out.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

their conversations lately had changed.

it wasn’t just teasing anymore — though there was still plenty of that.

now, everything felt more like… home.

azzi you iced today?

yes mother.

okay rude. but also hot.

you’re so obsessed with me p.

correct.

not denying it?

i literally watch your clips before bed. i’m cooked.

azzi laughed out loud, alone in her room.

god, she wanted to be anywhere else.

more specifically — in paige’s bed. mouth on hers. hands under her shirt.

she swallowed hard and texted again.

i want to hear your voice.

azzi lay on her side, headphones in, staring at paige’s sleepy face on her screen.

paige had one arm tucked under her head, hoodie pulled half over her mouth, hair messy and eyes soft.

“you look like you haven’t slept in a week,” azzi whispered.

“i haven’t,” paige said. “you ruined me.”

azzi grinned. “yeah?”

paige nodded, slow.

“in like… every possible way.” she added, voice soft.

paige didn’t even blink.

“i love you.”

azzi smiled.

“i love you too.”

the facetime call went quiet for a second.

just their breathing.

the sound of someone turning over in the hallway outside paige’s dorm.

“i hate this,” paige whispered eventually. “all the waiting. all the pretending.”

azzi’s voice was quiet. “pretending?”

“that we’re not gonna be on opposite sides of the court in a week.”

azzi didn’t answer.

paige stared at the screen. azzi was blinking at the ceiling, lips slightly parted, breathing like she was trying to stay calm.

finally, azzi said, “we don’t have to pretend. we just have to hold on.”

“to what?”

“to this. you and me.”

azzi’s pov:

practice was brutal.

not only physically, but emotionally.

coach kept shouting about matchups, about tempo, about intensity.

and every time someone mentioned uconn, someone mentioned her.

“you’ll need to pressure bueckers early. don’t let her get hot.”

“she likes to pass when she feels you on her hip. force the drive.”

azzi just nodded. took the notes. nodded again.

but inside, she was breaking.

because yes — she’d defend paige if it came to it.

she’d lock in. she’d play her game.

but she didn’t know if she could do it without shattering something between them.

paige’s pov:

she couldn’t sleep.

she tried.

turned her pillow over five times. opened and closed tiktok.

scrolled her texts with azzi until her eyes blurred.

nothing helped.

so she sent a voice note.

“i’m not okay. i just keep thinking about you. about how close we are to playing each other. and how stupid in love with you i am.”

seconds later, azzi replied with one of her own.

“sometimes i love you more than i love the game. even though i need the game. that’s how bad it is.”

paige smiled through tears.

“you’re everything to me.”

azzi’s pov:

it was the day before the game. everything had slowed down.

there was still noise — interviews, practice drills, coaches shouting — but none of it got through.

azzi walked through it like a ghost.

the truth had finally settled in: if both teams won tomorrow, they’d meet in the final four.

she’d have to guard paige.

she’d have to foul her. body her up. get in her head.

and she hated it.

because paige was already in her heart — and that space wasn’t built for battles.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

azzi stared at the ceiling in the dark, airpods in, trying not to breathe too loud as paige’s voice whispered through the phone.

“…you still there?”

azzi smiled.

“always.”

paige sighed on the other end, soft and broken. “tell me something good.”

azzi shifted onto her side.

“i stole your t shirt and wore it under my practice jersey today.”

paige laughed — low and breathy.

“for real?”

“smelled like you,” azzi whispered. “made me feel better.”

“i love you,” paige said.

azzi closed her eyes.

“i love you more.”

“no, i—” paige stopped. “i love you like… it scares me. like i don’t even know who i am without you anymore.”

azzi’s throat tightened.

“i don’t want to find out,” she whispered.

paige had never been in love like this.

the kind that felt like panic and comfort in the same breath. the kind that lived in her fingertips and her ribs and her throat when she said azzi’s name.

she loved her so much it hurt.

and now she had to go play against her.

or try to.

they were both lying in bed, half-asleep, faces lit by the soft glow of their screens.

paige reached toward her camera like she could touch her.

azzi did the same.

“do you think we’ll be okay after this?” paige whispered.

azzi blinked slowly.

“i think we’re too stubborn not to be.”

paige smiled.

“you’re really it for me,” she said.

azzi’s eyes filled.

“you too.”

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

azzi’s pov:

the arena was massive.

lights everywhere. cameras already tracking them in warmups.

azzi shot around, going through the motions — but her eyes kept drifting.

she found paige easily, across the court, uconn blue and white, warm-up shirt tugged up to her elbows.

focused. beautiful. unreachable.

until she looked up.

their eyes met.

for one second, the entire world dropped out.

no crowd. no pressure.

just her. just paige.

and then paige mouthed something, so small only azzi could see.

“i love you.”

azzi’s heart cracked wide open.

she mouthed it back.

paige’s pov:

tunnel before tip-off.

she felt azzi before she saw her.

that weird magnetic tug that always happened — like gravity tilted slightly toward her when they were in the same building.

they passed in the tunnel, both walking to their benches.

azzi brushed her fingers against paige’s as they crossed.

paige didn’t look. just whispered:

“good luck.”

azzi whispered back:

“you too. come find me after.”

then they were gone — swallowed up by lights and screaming fans.

and the ball was tossed into the air.

azzi’s pov:

azzi found her before the chaos hit.

before the arena lights dimmed and the anthem blared and the crowd swallowed them whole, she took a risk.

snuck into the side tunnel outside the locker rooms, hoodie pulled low, headphones around her neck.

and there she was.

paige.

leaning against the concrete wall, arms crossed, like she was counting down.

she looked up the second azzi turned the corner.

didn’t say a word. just smiled.

azzi walked straight into her, wrapped her fingers around her, and kissed her.

it wasn’t soft. it wasn’t sweet.

it was desperate.

a second to breathe before they couldn’t anymore.

paige kissed her back, rougher than usual, hands on her waist, pulling her in like she didn’t care who might turn the corner and see.

when they finally pulled apart, azzi pressed her forehead to paige’s and whispered, “play your game.”

paige smiled. “you play yours.”

then, softer: “good luck.”

azzi smirked.

“you’ll need it.”

paige rolled her eyes but didn’t step back.

“i love you,” she whispered.

azzi said it right back. didn’t even think.

then they disappeared in opposite directions.

paige couldn’t get her heartbeat under control during warmups.

not because of the crowd or the cameras.

because azzi was on the other side of the court, stretching with her team like she didn’t just kiss paige breathless ten minutes ago in a tunnel that smelled like adrenaline.

uconn jogged through layup lines. paige moved on instinct.

she couldn’t focus.

azzi looked locked in.

like she’d flipped the switch.

and that made paige grin.

because this was the only way they knew how to love each other.

all in. no holding back. even when they were going head-to-head.

azzi’s pov:

hands on knees, braids tight, crowd blurring into noise — she focused on the ball, the whistle, the first possession.

but then paige jogged by her.

and looked.

just a flick of the eyes. a half-smirk.

azzi’s stomach flipped.

she smacked her palms together, bent her knees, and muttered, “let’s play.”

the first few minutes were chaos.

fast breaks. missed shots. sloppy fouls.

but uconn got into rhythm quick — and paige hit her first jumper off a screen.

nothing but net.

and paige didn’t look at azzi after the shot. didn’t need to.

she felt her watching.

two minutes later, azzi checked in.

and walked straight to paige.

they didn’t speak.

just locked eyes as they matched up — azzi on defense, paige on the ball.

paige grinned. “you ready?”

azzi raised an eyebrow. “always.”

paige was quick.

but azzi had studied her.

watched hours of film. knew her favorite spots. her hesitation move. the way she looked down for half a second before pulling up.

so when paige tried to get by her — azzi slid right with her and stripped the ball clean.

fast break. easy two.

no celebration. just a glance.

paige scowled, then smiled.

“okay,” she muttered. “that’s how we’re playing?”

azzi shrugged. “love you.”

paige deadpanned. “not right now you don’t.”

paige’s pov:

halftime – uconn 39, sc 36

she had only 9 points. and azzi had picked her pocket twice.

paige was pissed.

not at her — at herself. but also… maybe a little at her.

because azzi guarding her was like being studied and kissed and smothered all at once.

it was infuriating. and kind of hot.

in the locker room, she barely listened to geno’s breakdown.

all she could think was: i need to score. i need to show her i’m still me.

at second half paige came out aggressive.

first two possessions — mid-range pull-up, then a driving layup.

azzi cursed under her breath.

but it didn’t throw her.

she clamped down harder. got physical. body-to-body on every screen.

they bumped hips. shoulders. chests.

it was borderline inappropriate.

and absolutely electric.

in the final minutes uconn pulled ahead late.

azzi fouled her on a drive, hand slipping down her waist as they collided.

paige hit the floor, let out a breath, then looked up.

azzi stood over her, hands on her knees.

“you good?” she asked.

paige grinned, breathless.

“you touching me like that in front of thousands?”

azzi laughed. “you liked it.”

paige stood, got the free throws, and brought her total to 15.

the last shot of the game was a buzzer beater by paige’s teammate.

uconn won.

but paige didn’t celebrate.

she looked across the court.

azzi was bent over at the waist, catching her breath, jaw clenched.

azzi’s pov:

she held it together in the handshake line.

slapped backs. nodded at reporters. smiled when she didn’t mean it.

when she reached paige, she hesitated for half a second.

then they touched palms. quick. impersonal.

but paige’s fingers brushed hers for just a second longer than they should’ve.

azzi looked up.

and paige mouthed, “text you.”

during the press conference paige smiled through almost every question.

talked about teamwork. adjustments.

no one asked about azzi.

but paige was thinking about her with every breath.

the second the media let her go, she pulled out her phone and texted azzi.

can we meet? just us. somewhere quiet.

azzi’s pov:

she hadn’t changed out of her uniform yet.

just peeled off her jersey and sat in the locker room with her knees pulled to her chest, headphones in, face blank.

she was proud. she was devastated.

aliyah looked at her.

“hey. you okay?”

azzi nodded.

“you sure?”

azzi didn’t look up. “yeah, just exhausted.”

aliyah hesitated, then stepped back.

as soon as the door shut, her phone buzzed in her lap.

can we meet? just us. somewhere quiet.

azzi stared at the message.

she didn’t answer right away.

she just got up, grabbed her hoodie, and left.

paige was already there, sitting on a low metal railing, hoodie up, legs swinging. she looked up when she heard azzi’s steps echo on the concrete.

neither of them spoke for a second.

then paige stood, walked over, and stopped a foot in front of her.

“you good?” she asked quietly.

azzi nodded. “you?”

“yeah.”

azzi stared at her.

“fifteen points,” she said, mouth twitching.

paige rolled her eyes. “wow. straight to that.”

“i mean…” azzi stepped closer, eyes shining. “you talked so much and couldn’t even hit twenty?”

paige’s smile was crooked. “you were all over me.”

“you saying i rattled you?”

“i’m saying…” paige leaned in, mouth brushing azzi’s ear, “you looked hot when you bodied me on the baseline. kind of unfair, honestly.”

azzi laughed, breathless. “you’re sick.”

paige shrugged. “maybe a little.”

azzi went quiet.

then: “that’s not a joke to me.”

paige stepped back just enough to look her in the eyes.

“it’s not a joke to me either.”

a long beat.

“what happened out there…” azzi said slowly. “it was just basketball. but it’s not us.”

paige nodded. “it’s just basketball.”

azzi reached for her hand. laced their fingers. “but this?”

paige squeezed back. “this is everything else.”

azzi didn’t remember who leaned in first.

maybe it didn’t matter.

all she knew was paige’s mouth was on hers, and she felt like she could finally breathe again.

it started soft — but didn’t stay that way.

paige pressed her back to the wall, hands on azzi’s hips, fingers slipping under her hoodie. azzi gasped into her mouth, then kissed her harder.

azzi’s hands gripped the front of paige’s hoodie, dragging her closer.

paige whispered against her neck, “still mad i didn’t score more?”

azzi moaned, quiet and low.

“not really,” she breathed. “i was kinda busy watching you run your mouth and look good doing it.”

paige smirked, hand sliding under the hem of azzi’s shirt, brushing her stomach.

“you like the attitude?”

azzi pulled her down again. “i love all of it.”

the kiss deepened.

fingers tangled in hair. lips moving fast. hot. desperate.

paige whispered between breaths:

“i love you so much.”

“you played so good baby.”

they didn’t go all the way — not here, not now. but it was close.

hands on bare skin. mouths pressed tight. the promise of later in every touch.

azzi rested her forehead on paige’s.

“don’t disappear again,” she said.

paige opened her eyes.

“i’m not going anywhere.”

she kissed her again — slow this time. soft. like she was thanking her for something neither of them could say out loud yet.

they stayed like that for a while.

just holding each other.

letting the rest of the world wait.

[2cupids]

gojo can't get enough of the cute cow hybrid!reader farm hand at suguru’s ranch.

contains. f!reader, chubby!reader, lactation kink, hybrid!reader, fingering, reader’s kinda dumb.

satoru told himself he was only visiting suguru’s farm to see what the hell a half-human half-cow girl looked like. it was supposed to be one visit, maybe two max, but he finds himself there every week now.

the first time he stepped into the barn and his eyes landed on you, you were far from what he imagined you to look like. you had cute floppy ears and an even cuter face to match, a perfect balance of the two species. his eyes subtly flicked down to your body and he forgot how to breathe for a moment. an itty bitty bikini top barely covered your heavy tits and high waisted denim shorts covered your cute little stomach pudge. your thick thighs were nicely out on display as you worked in the sweltering heat, swinging your tail slightly to keep a pesky fly away.

yeah. he was a goner from that moment.

it started as genuine curiosity the first couple of times. he asked questions you had heard more times than you could count, but they were asked in a respectful manner that you weren’t used to. he teased you, but he always kept it lighthearted and never crossed any lines.

and you didn’t mind his company either. yes, he was charismatic, a little too talkative for your liking, and a bit cocky, but he was kind. maybe even too kind. you pushed that thought out of your head though because aside from your boss, satoru was one of the few people that treated you like you weren’t an oddity and you couldn’t be more thankful. especially during times when problems arise that are out of your control.

your breasts often leaked milk on accident—something about your hormones were off balance and the doctors couldn’t fix it. usually it only happens a couple times a week, yet for some unknown reason, the problem has started becoming more prevalent around gojo. it’s to the point where they leak almost every day.

it happens unexpectedly in the middle of your conversations, you can feel your body temperature rise as you apologize profusely. satoru’s always extremely understanding every time it occurs, grabbing a towel or some tissue and giving you some time alone. he never seems to mind it, always reassuring you that it’s okay and to take all the time you need. and that’s the truth, because in all honesty he loves it. the way you get flustered and stumble over your words, how you rush to cover your nipples as the liquid wets your top. maybe it’s wrong, seeing how much distress it causes you, but he gets hard during each occurrence.

one night while laying in bed, he can’t stop thinking how it’s such a shame that so much milk goes to waste. that’s when the thought first comes to him—he wonders how your milk tastes.

it was outlandish to think about, even more so to ask you, but he still did it anyways. the question was masked with innocent curiosity to hide his true intentions for asking. “hey, you know i’ve been wondering something.” he starts, his tone more casual than usual and he avoids eye contact. “since you’re a hybrid and all, would your, uh… milk taste different from regular cow’s milk?”

satoru wouldn’t have been surprised if you became weirded out or reluctant, but to his surprise you simply tilt your head and a thoughtful expression crosses your features. “hm. i’m not sure. but… would you like to taste some?” you smile sweetly.

he kept his excitement contained the best he could as he replied, only agreeing to it if you were sure you’re okay with it. but internally? his mind is racing and his dick is already stirring to life as he follows you towards a large bale of hay in the corner of the barn.

the man wasted no time sinking to his knees as you lifted your shirt and let one of your tits free, his lips immediately latching on to your soft nipple and sucking.

it was supposed to be a one time thing, but you’re so naive for really believing that his reasoning for wanting your tit in his mouth was innocent and now, you’re letting him suck the sweet milk from your swollen nips every time he visits.

over time he gets more comfortable and eventually starts groping your breasts as he feeds. something about all this feels off, like you should ask him to take his hands off you—to stop.

but you don’t.

you like the way it turns you on, how your thong grows slick each time without fail.

one hand gently squeezes your breast, causing more milk to come out while his free hand moves to massage the other tit. you like the sight of a man on his knees in front of you, his long, pretty lashes fluttering shut as he sucks. you love the way he softly caresses your tummy too, like it’s the most precious thing on earth.

meanwhile gojo thinks it’s adorable how you always try to keep quiet but you never can, letting a mixture of half-human half-cow sounds slip from your mouth.

now, he’s got your back pressed against his chest, lazily dragging two slim fingers against the walls of your messy pussy. somehow he’s talked you into letting him finger you. silly girl.

warm breath hits your skin each time he opens his mouth to whisper something dirty in your ear, or to tell you how disappointed suguru would be. you want to tell him to knock it off, that his words strike a sensitive nerve, but instead all you do is clench around his fingers every time.

you’re such an easy little thing. at this rate, he’ll have his dick inside you in no time.

cleo’s note. i’d really like to hear your thoughts on this, like did i do hybrids justice with this or no? also ntm on me if my description is kinda off, i don’t go here.

[trashno0dle]

indulged in the demons the other day and made up a npmd au in which max doesn't come back as his own vengeful spirit per se BUT -- he does find a way enact his revenge another way, by possessing none other than pete. because i love psychological horror, ghosts and possession. and more importantly, angst <3

close ups/more info below the cut !!

max doesn't come back as a ghost exactly yes -- but, pete goes back to the waylon house a couple of days after the incident (for reasons) where, unbeknownst to him, max's spirit has attached itself to him and basically ends up possessing him, gradually, with the stronger he gets - rather than killing richie and ruth outright, max decides he wants to have a little more fun with the nerds and so, taking possession of pete's body, mainly at night -- he murders other nerds first, still sending the "nerdy prudes must die" message to torment them. so they know that he's coming for them. meanwhile, pete doesn't know what's wrong with him, why he's so tired all the time, having nightmares so vivid, or why he has blanks in his memory. or, how he keeps acting so unlike himself. basically, the longer max possesses him for, the more he starts to influence pete's behaviour, even when he isn't in direct control. even while not in control of him, max’s presence was enough to alter pete’s own behaviour. so during times pete was in control of himself, he ended up unknowingly gaining some of max’s mannerisms and behaviours.

the others don't realize it until too late. that pete's been taken over. it's a slow enough process that they simply believe maybe he's a lot more like his asshole brother than they thought -- little do they know, the horrors <3

in the end, it's actually grace who discovers pete isn't himself (because. funny) mostly due to her noticing something is wrong with him as the weeks pass. eventually, she recognizes the odd feeling she gets around him as the feeling she got around max. this, and the fact that as time goes on, pete essentially becomes more and more like max as his hold on him grows. grace tells the others she believes pete is “possessed by a demon” and at first, steph is in hard denial. but then thinks more about pete’s erratic and out of character behaviour lately and realizes it's not as far fetched as she previously thought.

i may do more for this au im already having ideas but, thats all for now !!

close ups

[desturns]

──── favorite position. m.s.

part one

warnings. some grinding, tickling session, major pussy behavior

a/n. bye i decided to make a pt two to this randomly, but this might just be a little series with only three parts sooo... this is fun!!

୨ৎ

matt didn't attempt to move once. after you had fallen back to sleep and somehow melted into him even more than before, it was like he died and went to heaven about fifty times. how else would he have been so lucky to have this angel sleeping right in his lap, practically straddling him as your head rested on his shoulder? it was everything he'd dreamed of and more.

of course, his brothers weren't very angelic when it came to their teasing.

“i’m just sayin’, kid, maybe it's time to actually do something instead of sittin’ back like a bitch—”

“chris, hey! he's not a bitch… he's a pussy, there's a difference.”

“oh, wow, thanks for the help, nick,” matt sarcastically replied as he simply rolled his eyes, no longer focusing on the game as they all just talked. he noticed you wiggled slightly, but didn't think much of it.

“just the truth, bro. only pussies have their crush—” “—not my crush—” “—sleep on their laps without making a move. y’know, not while they're asleep, but y'had the opportunity to do something when she woke up.”

“she was tired and was gonna get off me, me asking her to stay was me making my move.”

“damn, matty, your moves are weak then.”

“shut up, chris.”

“i’m just sayin’, matt. when the opportunity presents itself, y'can't be a pussy and back out. get her, dude.”

again, he felt you move against him and at first, he wasn't going to question it. maybe you were just having an intense dream or you were stirring around on his lap to get more comfortable. that seemed obvious, right? but it wasn't until he felt your hips roll against his thigh that matt thought to himself, okay, a little strange, but whatever.

and then it happened again. and then once more. now being both incredibly confused and slightly curious, he pulled his head back enough to look at your face, and it was no surprise when he saw you were still soundly asleep. both your eyes were closed and for a second, you looked like the perfect essence of peacefulness.

and then it happened again, this time a bit more firmly, and your eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, followed by the smallest whine. matt was positive if he was still entertaining chris and nick, he wouldn't have even been able to hear it.

oh.

oh.

so you were having an intense dream

it all clicked right there for matt. his eyes widened a bit and his body tensed up, and he could practically feel the blood rushing to his dick. in his defense, nothing could've prepared him for this. here you were, the girl he's been secretly pining after for months, having a wet dream right on top of him, your body subconsciously grinding against him for some relief. yeah, he knew getting hard at the scene was probably extremely wrong and disrespectful in many ways, but he just couldn't help it.

he could no longer hear chris or nick teasing him about his poor flirting skills or even pay attention to the trio on the screen about to kill him because before he knew it, you were rocking your hips again. he bit his bottom lip in order to suppress a groan as his brain was currently racking up ways to get out of this situation. at least before you woke up and it got really awkward.

“matt, hello? y'there?” in that moment, he didn't really want to be.

“y-yeah, um, i’m here, uh,” he stumbled over his words for a second, his hand leaving his controller and moving to your hip, softly holding it so he could get the courage to stop you and toss you onto his bed. okay, maybe not toss, but to stop you definitely. “actually guys, um, i-i’m gonna get off, ‘kay?”

“kid, we’re in the middle of a game right now, are you serious?”

“yes, chris, ’m serious.” was all matt responded with before leaving the discord call, his hand still firmly on your hip as you occasionally rocked your hips, his other working fast to exit out of everything on his pc.

the dim light from the monitor plus the sound of your shorts rubbing against his sweats was starting to become a bit too much for him. matt wasn't dumb, any longer and his dick would be rock hard and then that'll definitely be awkward if you woke up. so, with much restraint and strength and now holding onto both of your hips, he stiffed your movements, bringing you to a stop. he couldn't just get up, he wasn't that strong. plus, matt was a bit nervous he'd drop you before he could even reach the bed despite it being a foot away.

he could feel your body trying to protest the halt, your hands around his waist tightening slightly, more little whines escaping your mouth and matt honestly wanted to die right then and there. of course, the first time he gets you like this, you're not even conscious of it, and there was no way he'd take advantage of you. not like this.

he was going to do it the right way.

suddenly, your body stopped and matt could feel you tense up.

now, to say you were horribly mortified was an understatement. when matt stopped you in real time, it was like your dream came crashing down. the mysterious faceless man in it stopped his ministrations and you were so incredibly pent up, so pent up that your body refused to find solace in sleep any longer. it didn't take an idiot to figure out what the hell happened, especially when you woke up with soaked panties sticking to your folds and matt's hands on your hips. did you…? no. surely not. right? no, there's no way.

but it was hard to deny when you could now feel matt's dick through his sweats and suddenly, you were shooting your head up from his shoulder, no longer tired. “oh my god, matt! i am so– i'm sorry!” you were speaking with a raspy voice, both from the ridiculous amount of exhaustion and humiliation you just experienced.

he quickly shook his head, trying to hide his flustered expression while also finding the strength to take his hands off you. it’ll come eventually, he was sure. “no, no, i-i mean, it happens, right? you're cool, it’s fine!”

“i can't believe i did that, matty, i am so sorry!” you shrieked again and hid your face in your hands, shaking your head at yourself. you were sure your cheeks were now tomato red and, with the way his hands were on your hips, it was getting worse.

matt stared at you as you tried to shield yourself from his gaze, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment. he thought it was downright adorable, the way you got all flushed and shy. he knew it was for good reason, and he so badly wanted to tell you that it truly was okay, that he didn't even mind. but something held him back and instead of making a move, or charm you into having him ease that ache of yours, he chose the safest route.

and maybe he just wanted to see you smile again.

he took one last moment to look at you perched on his lap, all self-conscious now and guarded up before slowly moving his hands from your hips to your sides. you were confused when you felt his hands move, but before you could even question it, his fingers were tickling the most sensitive part he knew would get to you. your hands immediately moved from your face, moving to try and grab him to stop as laughs and giggles left your lips.

your predicament of getting yourself off on his thigh was momentarily forgotten, now focused on getting him to stop making you squirm in a new way.

“s-st-stop, m-matt!” was all you could express as you flailed on top of him, your face burning itself in his shoulder.

there it was. he could see your lips stretched wide across your face, your smile making him forget about his own arousal as he continued to make you laugh. “not until you promise to stop actin’ embarrassed about it,” he chuckled, the teasing tone in his voice making your stomach flip.

“i-it-it's an emb-barassing thing!” you tried to defend yourself through the forced involuntary giggles that were escaping you. as he tickled you, you slowly but gently began to fall off his lap and onto the floor, but that didn't stop him.

“it is, but it's normal!” he rolled his eyes, his hands now moving under your arms and to the back of your neck. god, who needed grinding and sex when just the sight of you rolling around in laughter was enough to get him off then and there. “y/n, babe, i promise— i don't care. i’d just prefer that next time, you're conscious for it.”

his words made your brain freeze. ‘babe’. ‘if next time, you were conscious for it’. next time? he wanted there to be a next time? you tapped his arm twice, the silent but serious “enough” signal the two of you created and he took the hint almost immediately, his hands leaving your body in an instant as he looked down at you.

you were on your back on the floor, all flushed, chest heaving and your hair sprawled out beneath you. you looked gorgeous. and matt was glad he didn't follow any of his brothers advice. and as you looked up at him, you didn't know what to say. thankfully, matt didn't waste time before continuing, his voice now a bit unsure and hesitant as he realized what the hell he just said.

“i mean, y’know, if y’want to. i wouldn't want to make things weird between us or ruin things or make you, um–y’know what? forget i said anything, actually–do y’need some pajamas or anything, wanna go in the living room—”

“matt,” you cut him off once you caught your own breath, a small smile now on your face. “stop worrying. next time, i’ll definitely be conscious for it.”

it was if you took your fist and physically hit his stomach. he thought he was being too straight forward, but knowing that you were agreeing, that you seemed into it... it was doing things for him.

as you got up from the floor and moved to the living room, as matt's brain caught up with the intense beating of his heart and as he ignored the countless texts from chris asking “what the hell was going on up there”—there was a silent understanding.

and that was good enough for matt.