#milk x magazine

[zegalba]

John Yuyi for Milk X Magazine (2021) Photography: Zhong Lin — Armor Boots by Balenciaga

[kisses4reid]

convenient pt.3 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

pt. 1 | pt.2 (you cannot read this without prior reading)

summary - spencer likes the girl from the convenience store

warnings - awkward conversations and long silences, both of them being hopeless romantics, allergies/sickness

genre - fluff!!! college!fem!reader x earlyseasons!spencer

a/n - thank you for the love and support on this series. it goes without saying i appreciate all of you all 🫶 thank u @raevyng for the cameo. sorry this is short, it’s either i upload this part or i make y’all wait for another week - i like you guys too much to do that.

“good job on you’re stem cell report, y/n. it was very informed and unique. i liked the, now who was it… william blake quote you included!” the teacher spoke before a class of 60. it was back to teaching new information before the next assessment, you were just about finished typing the professor’s notes before she spoke up. the mention of your name nearly made you jump.

a few of the students looked back up at you, some looking around because they had no clue who you were. you liked it better that way.

you also had no idea who william blake was.

“oh- um. thanks.” you say barely above a whisper. professor raena simply smiled and pushed back her shoulder length bob from her face. she started talking again, so did your friend.

“thanks? the professor who’s known to call out people for their incompetence more than smile in the classroom just praised you. that’s all you had to say?”

maybe logan wasn’t your friend per say. maybe she was just someone who sat next to you the first class and also happened to be your neighbour. she was stubborn and straight-forward, insanely intelligent and also smelt great. but she was caring, and gave you tough love when you needed it.

you glanced at her and smiled awkwardly, “i didn’t have much time to think about an answer.”

“i spend most of my time thinking about what i’d say to professor raena if she ever complimented me.”

“that’s because your-“ you suddenly muffle a cough into your hand, “obsessed with her.” you bring out a small packet of tissues from your bag and wipe your nose, nose reddening. logan leans slightly away from you and you roll your eyes.

“you’re not going to catch anything, it’s just allergies.” you lean back and try to continue typing notes but logan continues,

“you should go home, have some medicine, get some sleep.”

“i can’t, i’ve got work.” you whispered, a man in front of you turning around to shoot you with a side eye.

“you’ve told me multiple times that your manager wouldn’t care if you stole from the store. i’ve also told you many times i also don’t care.”

“yeah well… i like working there, that’s all.”

she rolls her eyes again, and waves you off, her long brown hair blocking her disappointed expression from you.

you stayed loyal to your job for two nights, for nothing. sure you got paid, and sure you got to steal some strawberry milk to ease your throat for a couple of minutes, but it felt boring. you actually started to file through the month old magazines you sold for double the price of a new one. you almost made it a third day without dying of allergies (and another secret feeling of sickness you constantly ignored), before you decided you were over it.

you stood up, flipped the door sign so the word ‘open’ faced you, and turned off half of the fluorescent lights before someone was suddenly in the corner of your eyes. spencer was opening the door so quickly you thought you were being robbed, you wouldn’t have seen him if not for the bell ringing on his entry.

“y/n.” he panted, watching your fingers hover over the last light switch. there was two lights left flickering softly above the front door and the check out desk. he looked stoic in the light, dressed in a grey sweater a little too big for him (like his mother had bought it for him telling him he’d grow into it) and black slacks. he seemed to have gotten a trim, his hair just under his ears now. “you don’t close until 1.”

he was confused, eyes wandering with a light hint of relief. like he was happy he didn’t miss you.

“yeah.” is all you said before you turned away from the light switch and returned to the register, assuming he would get his usual. but he didn’t keep walking, he just turned his body to face you. his eyes were expectant, delirious in a way like he needed something from you.

it was silent before the tension literally forced you to speak, “um. i need to close the store before i pass out. so i can uh… get home alive.” you look down and realise the pile of tissues before you was making a mountain, quickly grabbing them and stuffing them in an over filled bin.

“um.” a cat caught his tongue, he looked down to his feet.

spencer was sitting in his desk chair, scrolling on his government provided computer through forums and websites on ‘how to ask out a girl.’ not realising a majority of his team was reading them as well. he heard a small, familiar giggle behind him, quickly closing the tab and turning his head to be met with many other faces. jj slapped garcia on the shoulder with a smile, who’s hand was over her mouth, morgan and emily also smiling. spencer sighed and was about to cover for himself before morgan stepped in,

“look, pretty boy. no websites or article is ever going to teach you how to ask out a girl. they know nothing.”

emily joined, “yeah, none of those things are going to work. i mean, one of those said ‘don’t take no for an answer’. that’s straight up harassment.” she chuckled. morgan walked forward and placed a hand on spencer’s shoulder.

“all you have to do is talk. learn to what she likes, and be confident.”

“that’s easy for you to say.” spencer mumbled.

“who is this girl anyways? who’s taking our genius away from us?” garcia asked, today her hair was adorned with green themed pieces and a small pink flower clip.

spencer couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth perk up when he thought about the girl who worked at the convenience store. the girl who’s report honestly impressed him. the girl who knew his total without looking at the register. the girl who called him good looking without noticing, like it slipped off of her tongue with no second thought. “just someone.”

you were not just someone.

“yeah you should get home. you look terrible.” spencer’s eyes widened as you raised an eyebrow, “no i mean- not terrible- you never look or have ever looked terrible- i just meant today- no you- like you’re sick and obviously- i mean you don’t obviously look terrible- it’s just uh…” he nodded at himself after he noticed a smile creeping onto your face. “you know what i mean.”

“i know i look terrible, thank you.” he was slowly walking up to the register.

“you really should go home, i shouldn’t keep you here because of some coffee.”

you eyes stung and were puffed in redness, you nose dried yet running, eyebrow lines permanent from warding off a migraine. any other customer you would stay for, but you felt less guilty with him. not because you didn’t care, because you knew he did.

“yeah, thank you.” you grabbed your bag, put your empty water bottle into it and walked over to the lights, turning off the last ones, leaving you both in darkness. spencer was waiting for you, quite creepily as he was basically just a block of void. “you sure you don’t need your 3 minute lasagne?” you joked, and he smiled.

“no, this is fine.”

this? them? you thought this man was articulate.

you opened the door with a key-accessed button that automatically locked it after it closed, and walked into the warm streetlight with spencer.

“bye spencer.” you looked up to him only to find his eyes already on you. his face was plain of emotion, except maybe it was just the lighting that made you think he looked disappointed. not at you, at himself. he was silent, hands making their way into his pockets. it was a habit, you had learned. “what’s wrong spencer?” you asked softly, sniffling immediately after.

it was cold, the wind let a stray piece of hair cross your stuffy features.

“do you like old bookstores, y/n?”

you blinked, taken aback. “yeah. i like old bookstores.” you huddled into your sweater, a darker grey compared to his with a large font displaying your university.

“okay, goodbye y/n. see you tomorrow.” he hurried off into his car and you followed him with you eyes in curiosity.

you were already walking away before he could turn around and ask you something, he felt like he had missed his chance. but there would be more. spencer closed his eyes in frustration and took a breath, starting his car before texting the team’s group chat.

“Attempt One failed. 😐👎”

there was a string of messages after but he didn’t read them. all he could think about was the percentage of people who die alone, and then the percentage of people who are like you.

the next night he appeared at the normal time, around nearly 11pm. but he wasn’t the only one, logan was there with you, studying behind you on the floor.

she was bored, and needed to get out of her room, and the only person she knew well enough was you. there in her mens pyjama pants and an over-sized shirt that read ‘RIP Princess Diana’ with a photo of owen wilson on it, her computer warmed her lap and made a soft whirling sound the in the background.

“hi y/n.” spencer waved, he felt bad about last night. you were barely walking straight when you left and he could tell you wouldn’t get out of your ‘work clothes’ (whatever you wanted to wear with a vest over it) before falling onto your mattress, and he drove away. he didn’t even offer to take and walk you home, let alone give you a ride. but his hands were sweating and his heart thumping in his ears, and he couldn’t think straight.

“oh, hi spencer.” you turned from your own textbook splayed on the counter beside you to see spencer and his tall self. a bag of apples, a 2 minute bolognese container, and a bag of coffee. you scan them, weigh the apples, and watch him.

he wasn’t meeting you eyes. you furrowed your eyebrows for a second before telling him his total with a sniffle.

“i’m sorry for not driving you home,” he lifted his head, a piece of chocolate brown hair crossing his left eye, “or walking you home. or making sure you made it home safe.”

you widened your eyes slightly and sat still before spencer cleared his throat and continued, “i was nervous, about being around you. and my friends- my colleagues- told me i need to be more confident around you so.”

logan had stopped writing, glancing through her bangs up at you both. your mouth was slightly agape before you realised how stupid you looked and how awkward you were making it.

“oh- no it’s okay spencer, you don’t have to say sorry. i was- i’m fine. um,” you tilt your head with the corner of your lips quirking up with little resistance, “you talk about me to your friends?”

spencer nodded, put his hands in his pockets and thought for a second. he wished there was a better place to do this, a better person to take over for him.

all you have to do is talk.

spencer is great at talking.

“did you know that you could be scrolling for seven weeks before you can reach the end of ‘how to ask a girl out’ results on google? i was scrolling for a long time but then my friends told me to just talk and be confident, but i’m only good at one of those thing. so i was trying to ask you out last night but then i- well i failed basically, it isn’t my strong suit,” he took a breath, “so basically i’m saying sorry for not asking you out and not driving you home.”

it was silent, even a customer stopped humming.

“and also your allergy medication isn’t strong enough for your symptoms.” he glanced down to a white and blue box by your hand. you looked down, seeing logan in the corner of your eyes, hand covering her face.

“spencer-“

“dude just ask her out.”

spencer’s face dropped, and he looked over the counter to find another woman sat down, a cringed out expression on her face. his nervousness increased after he realised this wasn’t as private a conversation as he thought. wiping his hand on his vest, he continue with a gulp,

“no i can’t. not here, um. i’ll see you on monday. and i promise i’ll uh- be better? i’ll try again, so. okay see you on monday.” he quickly took his groceries and walked off quite speedily. you watched him walk away and then once he was out of sight, you simply stared at the box of allergy medication on the counter.

logan groaned in the background and said something about growing balls, but it was tv silence for you.

you didn’t know how to go out with someone, your last relationship was in your first year of high school with a guy who thought baby’s came out of a woman’s bum. not that spencer meant he wanted a relationship, no it could just be a friend ‘going out’. totally not romantic.

you slump and stuff your face in your hands. you didn’t care if you hadn’t dated for however long, he didn’t seem to be a man-whore at all. you just cared about how you were actually going to say yes to a man you’ve only talked to inside of an off-brand convenience store on the night shift.

you muffle a scream before the same silent customer placed a carton of milk on the counter.

“$2.50.” you grumble.

you carried logan’s computer bag as she took out a box of strawberry pocky on the sidewalk. the store was locked, the air was crisp, the light was flickering. you didn’t say much until logan couldn’t stand it anymore.

“you know when you’re this silent it’s actually pretty nice, i like peaceful walks home.” you nodded, and continued your racing thoughts with your line of vision stuck on the concrete as you both walked the block to your apartments. she sighed, “but it’s odd. you love talking. a guy likes you and you go mute?”

“his name is spencer, he does something dangerous for a living, he likes old books and drinks a lot of coffee. he gets home late at night, looks skinny but can lift a box of flour above his head with ease. he’s insanely smart and reads poetry, and helped me with my stem cell report.”

you look over at logan who looks a little disgusted but mainly confused.

“he helped me lift that box of flour without me asking. i have no idea who william blake is. i have no idea how he managed to put poetry in a biology report, and i have no idea how he can admit he’s going to ask me out and then not ask me out. his favourite colour is purple, his favourite fruit is grapes but he buys apples because they’re cheaper. and his name is… spencer.”

logan stopped in her tracks, making you copy. you flung out of whatever trance you were stuck in and raised an eyebrow at logan, “what?”

“what? oh no i don’t know, maybe you’ve just never told me about a man you happen to know a lot about, and yet don’t know anything about. you sound insane- not in the ‘loony-bin way’, in the romcom way. it’s disgusting.”

you both continued to walk, climbing the stairs to the foyer of your building before she took back her bag and gave you the pocky, mumbling, “you need these more than me.”

the elevator ride was mostly silent, and that continued before you both unlocked your apartment doors right beside each other.

“you need to ask him out, if he doesn’t do it first.” she entered her apartment before you could speak, let alone think.

suddenly your apartment felt lonely.

so did spencer’s.

he was cross legged on his plush couch on a call with penelope garcia, she was squealing every second minute trying to create a plan for spencer to ask someone out.

“spence, you’re making this very hard. how am i supposed to be your coach if i only have half a team?”

“you can find someone’s address with half a fingerprint, i think you’ll be fine.” he takes a bite of his 2 minute bolognese.

“that takes the fun out of it. i can only give you tips if i know her personality.”

spencer sighed, and thought for a second, he could practically hear penelope’s growing smile knowing she had won.

“her names y/n.” garcia squealed. “she’s smart and pretty. and her favourite colour’s purple and she studies biology. she knows my groceries off my heart and she’s allergic to pollen. she works late at night at the convenience store two blocks away from my apartment building, and she likes old book stores. she’ll be introverted around an extroverted person, but extroverted around an introverted person. she can read my expressions faster than anyone else, she tries out different hairstyles when nobody’s in the store, and she’s funny.” spencer smiles to himself, “she’s pretty.”

“you mentioned that, lover boy.”

pt.4

taglist: @jeffswh0re @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @trashmonstersara @wannabewolf @evysian @navs-bhat @mywellspringoflife @daphnesutton @smalls155 @amortencjja @anuncalledbridge @belsreid @redmurderbaby @tatilolz @criminalmindsandhouse @forensicuntology @nomajdetective @ilikw @screechingphantommaker

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝟷.𝟿𝚔 || 𝐎𝐔𝐓-𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐃

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You ask Sirius if he’d still love you if you were a worm.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Sirius Black x fem!reader

The Gryffindor common room was alive with its usual evening buzz. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the scattered armchairs and sofas where students unwound after a long day. Yet, something was distinctly different about this particular evening, and it wasn’t just the sight of Remus Lupin trying to hide a smile behind his book.

Sirius Black—usually the life of the party, the source of everyone's laughter—was pacing the room with the expression of a man who had just been told he was being disowned (again).

The reason? You, his usually forgiving and smitten girlfriend, were sitting on the opposite end of the sofa, glaring at him with the intensity of a thousand howlers. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife—or at least thick enough for Lily Evans to finally take notice.

“What’s going on with you two?” she asked, setting down her Muggle novel and looking between you and Sirius with a raised eyebrow.

James perked up immediately. “Yeah, Pads, why do you look like a puppy that’s been kicked? Did you finally tell her that awful joke about the werewolf and the moon?”

Remus shot him a look. “Don’t even think about it, James.”

But Sirius was too busy grovelling to engage in their usual banter. “It wasn’t a joke! I was just being honest!” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with the kind of desperation that made Peter look up from his sweets.

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest and shooting him a look that could have curdled milk. “Honest? You call that honesty? You could have at least pretended to be romantic!”

Peter, munching on a chocolate frog, looked between the two of you in confusion. “What did you do, Pads?”

Lily leaned in closer. “Yeah, what did you say that was so terrible?”

You finally looked up from your magazine, fixing Sirius with a glare that could melt the snow on the highest peak of the Forbidden Forest. “Do you want to tell them, or should I?”

Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—like a fish out of water. “It’s not that bad…”

“Not that bad?” you scoffed, slamming the magazine shut. “I asked him a simple, hypothetical question—”

“A trap,” Sirius interjected quickly, holding up a finger. “A trap disguised as a question.”

You ignored him, continuing as if he hadn’t spoken. “I asked if he would still love me if I were a worm.”

A beat of silence.

Then, James erupted into laughter, nearly toppling out of his chair. “A worm? You asked him if he’d still love you if you were a worm?”

Remus was struggling to keep a straight face, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked between you and Sirius. “And… what did you say, Sirius?”

Sirius looked pained. “I… I said no.”

James fell out of his chair for real this time, clutching his sides as he howled with laughter.

Lily, however, looked scandalized. “You said no?”

Sirius nodded helplessly. “But—”

Lily cut him off with a look of pure betrayal. “Why would you say no? She asked you if you would still love her as a worm, Sirius! The correct answer is always yes!”

“I know that now!” Sirius exclaimed, looking around the room as if begging for backup. “But at the time, I wasn’t thinking about the emotional implications! I was thinking about the logistics!”

James was gasping for air, tears streaming down his face as he tried to compose himself. “Oh Merlin, this is too good. Padfoot, mate, you’ve really done it this time.”

“What logistics?” you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s not that complicated! Would you still love me or not?”

Sirius threw his hands up in the air. “But you’d be a worm! How am I supposed to know it’s you? What if I accidentally step on you, or you get eaten by a bird? And what would we even do together? It’s not like we could… I don’t know, go on dates or—”

You rolled your eyes so hard you could’ve seen the back of your skull. “That’s not the point, Sirius! The point is that you didn’t even hesitate to say no. I could’ve been anything—a cat, a dog, a bloody flobberworm—and you just shot me down!”

Sirius threw his hands up in the air. “Well, yeah! I mean, how am I supposed to love a worm? It doesn’t even have a face! Or a personality! It’s just… squirmy and gross!”

You shot him a withering look. “So that’s it, then? You’re only with me because I have a face?”

“Wha—no!” Sirius spluttered, eyes wide. “That’s not what I meant at all!”

Remus, barely containing his amusement, decided to chime in. “Pads, I think what she’s trying to say is that you should’ve said yes, no matter how ridiculous the question was.”

Sirius looked like he was having an existential crisis. “But it’s a worm! How am I supposed to kiss a worm? Or hold hands? Or—”

You cut him off, your voice icy. “Oh, so that’s all I am to you? Someone to kiss and hold hands with?”

Sirius’s eyes widened in alarm. “No! That’s not it at all!”

James was now thoroughly enjoying the show. “Sounds like it to me, Pads. You’re only in it for the snogging.”

Peter, ever the peacemaker, tried to step in. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that…”

But you were on a roll now, standing up from the sofa and glaring down at Sirius, who was still kneeling in front of you. “If I were a worm, Sirius, I’d have a heart, even if it’s small and squishy! But apparently, that’s not enough for you!”

Sirius, now in full panic mode, reached for your hands, trying to make you sit back down. “But I don’t want you to be a worm! I love you as you are—human, beautiful, with a proper face!”

You yanked your hands back, crossing your arms again. “So you only love me because I’m not a worm. Not because of who I am.”

Remus snickered behind his book. “You’re in deep now, mate.”

Sirius shot him a desperate look. “Not helping, Moony.”

Remus decided to step in. “Sirius, you have to understand—these questions aren’t about the actual scenario. It’s about the sentiment behind them. She was looking for reassurance that your love is unconditional.”

Sirius threw his hands up. "But it was a worm! I thought honesty was important!"

You finally looked up, narrowing your eyes at him. "Honesty? You just admitted you wouldn’t love me if I was a worm, Sirius. That’s not honesty, that’s cruelty!"

Peter piped up, "But… how would he know if the worm was you?"

Everyone turned to Peter, who shrinked slightly under the attention. "I mean… if you were a worm, how would Sirius know? And… does a worm even have feelings?"

Lily shakes her head, still laughing. "You boys are impossible. The worm is a metaphor, you idiot!”

Sirius rubbed the back of his head, still looking confused. “A metaphor for what?”

You sighed, leaning back against the sofa cushions. “For love, Sirius. For whether or not you’d love me no matter what.”

Realization dawned on Sirius’s face, and he looked genuinely horrified. “Oh… Oh. I see now.”

James, having finally caught his breath, piped up, “Well, it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? You’ve got to make it up to her now, Padfoot.”

Peter nodded sagely. “You really messed up this time, Sirius. Girls don’t just ask you if you’d love them as a worm for no reason.”

Sirius turned to you, eyes wide with desperation. “Okay, I get it now. I was wrong. I should’ve said yes. I should’ve said I’d love you even if you were the slimiest, wriggliest worm in the world.”

You raised an eyebrow, letting him squirm under your gaze for a moment before speaking. “And why should I believe you?”

“Because,” Sirius said, his voice softening as he took your hands in his, “I love you. And I don’t care if you’re a worm, or a dog, or a… or a Blast-Ended Skrewt. I love you for who you are, not what you are. And if you were a worm, I’d find a way to make it work. I’d carry you around in a little jar, and I’d protect you from birds, and… and I’d even learn what worms like to eat!”

But you weren’t having it. “Too late for that, Black. You’ve already made your feelings clear.”

James leaned back in his chair with a smug grin. “You know, Pads, if you’d just said yes in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this mess. But now, she knows your true feelings.”

Sirius turned back to you, his expression one of pure, unadulterated pleading. “Please, love, I’m sorry. I was just being stupid. You know I’d love you no matter what, even if you were… I don’t know, a Blast-Ended Skrewt!”

You blinked at him. “A Blast-Ended Skrewt?”

Sirius nodded earnestly. “Yes! Anything but a worm!”

Remus couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer. “And you think that’s better?”

Sirius groaned, running his hands through his hair again. “Okay, bad example. But you get what I mean, right? I’m sorry. I love you—worm, human, Skrewt, whatever.”

You paused, staring down at him as he knelt before you, looking thoroughly pathetic. The room was silent, all eyes on you as they waited to see what you would do next.

Finally, you sighed and sat back down, though you still kept your arms crossed. “Fine. I forgive you. But you’d better start thinking before you answer stupid questions in the future.”

Sirius beamed, his relief palpable as he quickly scooted closer to you on the sofa. “I promise! No more stupid answers!”

James leaned over, whispering to Remus. “Bet he’ll say yes to anything she asks now.”

Remus smirked. “No doubt about it.”

Sirius, now fully back in your good graces, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss to your temple. “So, just to be clear… I’d love you no matter what, even if you were a worm. A very cute worm.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, though you tried to hide it. “Good. Because if you ever hesitate again, I might just have to turn you into one.”

Sirius laughed, pulling you closer. “And I’d still find a way to love you.”

James, watching the two of you, sighed dramatically. “Merlin, if this is what love is like, maybe I’m better off single.”

Lily rolled her eyes, nudging him playfully. “Oh, please. You’d have said the same thing if I’d asked you.”

James grinned, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “You wouldn’t have to ask. I’d love you no matter what.”

Lily blushed, playfully shoving him away. “You’re ridiculous.”

James smirked. “So, Sirius, if she were a Blast-Ended Skrewt—”

“No,” Sirius said quickly, “We are not going down that road again.”

Hope you all liked it!

[bia-wayne-west]

Milk with cookies and bedtime stories [Batmom x Damian Wayne]

Synopsis: It was just a few months ago that Damian was included in the Wayne family. He still didn’t like you, but you tried so hard to make him appreciate you. During a patrol, Damian got hurt and after Alfred took care of the little boy’s wounds, you surprised him with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk.

Characters: Damian Wayne and Reader [YOU]

A/N: I wrote this quickly. Hope you like. In this imagine, Batmom has been married to Bruce since he adopted Dick.

I want to apologize if there are any writing errors. I'm a Brazilian girl and I don't speak fluent English, so I may make some writing mistakes. Feel free to correct me.

I hope you read, like and feel how cute Damian is.

Requests are open

MASTERLIST

You were sitting on the kitchen stool, reading a fashion magazine while you waited for your husband to return from patrol.

Bruce forbade you to stay in the Batcave, as he was afraid that someone would break in and find you, alone and unprotected.

As soon as you felt the ground shake, it meant that the Batcave had opened and that Batman had arrived with his Robin, Red Robin, Red Hood and Nightwing.

You ran to the clock that gave access to the secret entrance to Batcave. The elevator quickly took you to where your children and husband were.

“Hey, my love. You got back before 5am!” You said, running up to Bruce Wayne. He still wore black clothes and was without a mask. Your husband didn’t respond. He was serious and had a worried expression on his face.

“A man dropped Damian from a three-story building .” Bruce said looking at the boy who was sitting next to Alfred.

You finally noticed Damian, whose face was bruised and his leg was bandaged. You walked over to the boy and knelt in front of him.

“I’m fine, Y/N. I fell on top of a car and didn’t break any bones.”

“Damian, darling, are you hurt?” You asked, looking into Bruce’s son’s green eyes.

You smiled, in a motherly way. Damian didn’t consider you a mother, unlike the other three boys who called you ‘mother’ and ‘mommy’ all the time. Your husband’s son only considered you as a stepmother, but that didn’t stop you from taking care of him as if he were your son.

“I’m going to run you a hot bubble bath. After Alfred takes care of you, I think you’ll want to relax in the warm water.”

“Thank you, Y/N, but I’m not your baby.” He said rolling his eyes and turning his face to look at Alfred.

“Damian!” Bruce warned his son. But you smiled at your husband, showing that everything was okay. You left the Batcave, heading back to the mansion to prepare Dami’s bath.

(…)

Damian was already in his room. You were heading to the boy's room, with a tray in your hand.

The clock said 2:32 am, but you were sure the boy hadn't slept yet. The Waynes used to sleep only when the sun came up.

Yout left hand knocked lightly on the wooden door with the boy's initials engraved on it. Ypur ears picked up a “you can come in”, authorizing you to enter Damian’s room.

“I came to see if you were okay, Dami.” You said, entering and closing the door behind your body. Your arms came off the tray on the bed, seeing that the boy was sitting on the mattress. “I brought milk and cookies, this will definitely make you feel better.”

“Why do you do these things, Y/N?” He asked, with a questioning look.

“I didn't understand. Don't you like what I do for you?”

“At first I thought you had a plan to win me over and then you would hate me for being Bruce's biological son.” He said, seeing you take a cookie and offer it to him.

“I would never do that. I love you, Dami, even if you don't like me. These things I do for you are normal motherly actions.”

“My mother didn’t do any of that. She only got cookies when she did something good.” He said, his eyes shining like he was going to cry.

“Oh baby. I know you don't consider me your mother and I don't want to force you into anything, but I want you to know that these things I do are because I love you.” You explained, smiling widely at him and drinking some milk. “Do you know what my mother did for me when I was hurt?”

“No.” He said, while devouring several cookies. “She also gave you cookies and milk?”

“Yes, and she also told me a bedtime story.” You argued, running your hand through the boy's hair. “I'll tell you a story.”

“I’m not four years old, Y/N” He murmured.

“Damian, you’re not old enough to hear a good story before bed.”

“OK. Just don't tell stories about princesses or ponies.”

“Clear. I'm going to tell the story of a boy called Dami. He was so brave and beautiful, he was a strong and fearless boy.” His lips formed a smile as he said the words. Damian's eyes were bright and sweet. “One day, he went to the forest to play with the birds and found a portal to a magical world.”

“Like Narnia?: He asked, completely interested in your story.

“Yes, but without the closet. The magical portal led to a kingdom full of witches, fairies, vampires and any magical creature you can imagine.”

“Even elves?” He questioned you again. Now Damian was lying in bed and you covered him with the blanket.

“Of course, elves can't be missed.” You said. Your heart filled with love and you almost cried when you saw the image of the boy who hated you six months ago totally interested in a bedtime story. “In that kingdom there was a crystal that served as oxygen for all beings there, but a terrible villain broke this crystal and stole its essence, leaving the world without magic.” Damian still had complete fun with your narration. “Then, the queen called Martha went and asked the brave Dami to hunt down the villain and recover the essence of the crystal.”

“And he did this?”

“Yes! Dami took a sword and shield and went out to the magical kingdom in search of the villain. He went to an ancient village in the kingdom called Gothym and met three knights named Grayson, Todd and Drake. They sent Dami to the mountains where he would find the villain.”

“And he found it?”

“He found it, but it was difficult. The villain was hiding in a ruined castle north of Gothym. Dami fought bravely with the villain and defeated him. Dami recovered the essentials of the crystal and in exchange, Queen Martha gave him a personal portal to return to the kingdom as often as he wanted. Dami was a brave hero and defeated the evil villain.” You told the story while running your hand affectionately through the boy's hair. “Did you like the story?”

“Yes, it was the best story anyone told me.”

“I'm glad you liked it, my love. If you want, I can tell you a story every night.”

“Todd would make fun of me if he knew.” He said, looking at you so intently that you knew he was embarrassed for having liked the story.

“I'm gonna tell you a secret. I told Dick, Jason and Tim stories for three years, but they didn't want to.”

“Did you tell Todd bedtime stories?” He asked loudly, as if it were some blasphemy.

“Of course, and he loved them all.”

“So I want to hear stories before bed.”

“I'll love telling you, along with a glass of milk and cookies. Good evening, Dami.” You said getting up from the bed. Your lips found the boy's forehead.

“Good night, mom.” He said, making you look surprised at him. “I can call you mom? Since Dick, Jason, and Tim call you Mom, I thought you might as well.”

“Of course, my dear. You can call me mother and I will call you my son.” Your arms wrapped around the body of the boy, your son. Love seemed to explode in your heart. “Good evening, my dear son.”

“Good nigh, mom.”

You gave Damian one last kiss on his forehead, before picking up the tray and taking it to the kitchen. After washing the dishes, you went to the master suite, the room shared between you and Bruce.

Your husband was lying on the king size bed, waiting for you. After showering and putting on your pajama, you laid down on the bed.

“Damian called me mom.” You said to Bruce, earning a smile from him.

“With bedtime stories, milk and cookies.”

“How did this happen?” He asked, setting aside the iPad he was using to hug you.

[yurimother]

Independent Yuri Magazine 'Galette' Crowdfunds First English Edition

Galette, the independent creator-owned Yuri manga magazine, has successfully crowdfunded its first English edition on Kickstarter. As of writing, over 300 backers raised 3.7 million Yen (25,000 USD), more than doubling the project's initial goal of 1.8 million Yen (12,000 USD) with 14 days left in the campaign, which launched on August 2.

The project hit three of its four stretch goals, adding a book cover and new color illustrations and pages from the various contributing authors.

The first English edition of Galette includes a translated selection of titles previously published in the Japanese edition. These works are:

Liberty by Izumi Kitta and Moto Momono

The Last Winter Sun Shower (Girl Friends extra edition) by Milk Morinaga - Girl Friends is licensed in English by Seven Seas Entertainment

That Woman in the Infirmary by Miyuki Yorita

Fluffy, Fuzzy, Dreamy. by Mera Hakamada

The Girls' Arcadia by Haru Yatosaki

Sky Blue Melancholic by Ringo Hamano

I Want You to Show it Only to Me by Nekohariko 22

This is the first of seven planned English volumes of Galette. Each volume will be crowdfunded, and after all seven are released, Galette plans to publish Japanese and English editions simultaneously. Future volumes will not be published if any volume fails to meet its required funding goal.

Galette is an independent magazine that began publishing quarterly in 2017. The magazine just celebrated the launch of its 31st issue. It is largely crowdfunded through memberships, along with sales of print and digital editions of the magazine, the spinoff publications Galette Meets and Petit Galette, and publication of collected volumes and works from the magazine, including Moto Momono's The Rain and the Other Side of You (licensed in English by Digital Manga Inc.) and Milk Morinaga's My Cute Little kitten (licensed by Seven Seas Entertainment).

You can check out the Kickstarter for the English Edition of Yuri Manga Magazine Galette and contribute to the project today.

Disclaimer: YuriMother has pledged to the Kickstarter Source: Official Kickstarter Page, Galette X account

[plasticfangtastic]

Dairy Girl

A Homelander X F! Reader fanfic

A/N: I am still working on my other projects but I just wanted to write something fun and light to get me back into writing. I hope y'all enjoy this short little piece, btw i aint got no kids so i have very little idea how milk banks work, this will be a 2 or 3 part story.

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

Word Count: 3K

Part 1– Heifer

Such a small box, smaller than a shoe box, just big enough to fit its contents with enough space for his ghost to move. You stared at the small box as its buried in the family plot… you never thought of visiting this place to ever bury the last shred of happiness you had left, his body was born weak, so small you wonder if you’d given birth to a child or a chick, 2 months ago you had come home to find your now ex in bed with his ex, he had turned this betrayal on its head and blamed you for it, something about your lack of desire lately, about how your pregnancy had given him amounts of pressures he'd never agreed with, talking endlessly about his needs and how much you’d ignored him.

Whoever this man was, you didn’t recognize him.

Time blurred into nothing but disconnected colors and shapes, all you know was that the stress and anguish lead to this.

A box under soil.

Days passed and in your empty apartment, surrounded by all the stuff you bought you stood in front of the sink, throwing a bottle of fresh milk down the drain feeling tremendous guilt, the doctor said you would dry out soon enough but your breast had swollen so much your bras no longer fit– even the spare ones you bought just in case they’ve grown a size too big from what you expected, you booked an appointment with your doctor hoping they could give you whatever cocktail of drugs to dry you out and save you from the pressure and pain in your chest, it had been nothing but a passing message from a worried neighbor who had stop by to give you some mail that had been sent to them by accident when she mentioned her daughter-in-law had donated her excess milk after her little one refused to latch, she gave you the name of the charity and after much thinking you gave in, you lost your baby but there was some woman out there who could end up experiencing your same grief if their baby starved to death, yours simply born too small and weak to hold your finger for very long.

It felt good, you met the women running the charity and even some of the faces of the women you helped, as you delivered your frozen packs to the women’s clinic where the charity operated, it helped you heal, it gave your pain purpose, but as the months faded behind you a part of you worried about how much you keep producing, less than before but still too much, yet you keep going knowing it would end soon enough. 

Perhaps somebody in the clinic or the charity had dropped your information to these people but you'd received some mail regarding some research trials Vought International was running and how they needed some donors to drop fresh samples, in their pamphlet they offered to pay a decent amount--your divorce had been costly plus having to move to a new place and breaking your previous lease had left your bank account quite dry, this was cheap money, you had given your milk for free, you looked at the few pouches you had collected for next week's drop you saw a wonderful opportunity to make some quick cash.

You went to the Vought Clinic and saw a few other women filling up forms, reading old magazines or dilly-dallying on their phones until some nurse called their numbers, you filled the medical form, waited less than half an hour before your number was called, brought into a small bleach scented room, the nurse read your form and told you she would take a blood sample, a doctor came in, reciting whatever script he’d been given about what this project was, giving you big words you had no interest in, this was about providing better milk formulas closer to natural milk than anything currently in the market apparently, thanking you for your donation, he looked at your form smiling as he saw your inked words.

“You're still producing 4 months after…” The doctor handed you a disinfecting wipe and a freshly steamed breast pump in a silver tray– we just need two samples, please press the alarm to let us know you’d finished, then follow Nurse Potts to the front counter to sort out your payment.”

It had been an awkward experience, but there you were 300 dollars richer, you probably should’ve read those papers a bit closer before signing but money was money and you were told to come back if you could.

You did it a couple times for 2 months, much like a man donating sperm for pocket money or plasma to pay the rent.

That was the first mistake, you headed home and woke up the morning after wishing you had stayed out for an extra hour or two, perhaps caved in to your friends pressures and tried going back to dating (after all your ex was whoring himself all across the lower east side without moral qualms) or hookups so you would had gone to a different address, maybe you should had taken a taxi instead of taking the train and walking home.

Regardless you woke in some strange empty room, the only thing beside your person was a pair of pale pink hospital gowns, grippy socks, clean underwear and a pair of thick large towels, you screamed and banged on the door for an ungodly amount of time but nobody ever came, you stayed alone in that room for what could have been 12 hours or more… maybe less… who knew it was all too much, suddenly a sharp sound cut into the silence a note had been slid under the door, you rushed to the note.

It was instructions, they wanted you wearing their clean clothes, you could not leave the room unless you did so, and as much as you hated the idea, you wanted to get out so badly, you knew if you wanted to escape your only chance came in knowing your surroundings, you begrudgingly and tearfully changed, waiting until anything changed– the doors hissed opened, a woman in a sharp cream coloured suit stood there with clipboard and an armed guard, at the sight of the heavy looking gun– you froze.

Then you took the first step towards hell.

You knew the following things: You lived in some basement area– there were no windows, only elevators. You weren’t alone, there were other women here and they made sure to keep your interactions at minimum no doubt to keep all of you submissive and not getting any ideas, sometimes familiar faces will fade and you could only speculate nightmares. Lastly… your purpose, the reason you were trapped here in the first place was… to lactate.

A plucky little thing that stayed optimistic despite your shared horror called herself a ‘Heifer’ she wasn’t wrong… you lived in a small cell where everything had sat on top of each other feed to keep fat and producing milk much like a cow, whoever developed this diet knew of all the ingredients known to help production, and you knew there were putting something else in the food for your breast begun to feel uncomfortable, for a little while you thought you could fight it by starving yourself, then two men with guns came into the room and told you to eat or else.

The time you spend outside this microflat hong-kong style cell was in the milking room and the shower room, you were ordered to stay clean and quiet, at least in the milking room you had some television and could spend time with the other women, but they keep you isolated, you could do very little, sometimes music would play and a book would be dropped with your food but your happiness wasn’t priority, you had to fill a quota.

After a couple weeks of this you simply accepted defeat, too many guns… not enough spaces to run, and nothing to come home to… a man that wanted to sue you for more feeling as if the judge had been unfair, a pestering family who acted as if they had been the only ones who experience loss, an empty cot you still hadn’t gotten rid off and piles and piles of bills, in this quiet cool room you had spend endless hours thinking, you didn’t love your job, you had been distant from most of your friends and you could only imagine that they assumed you had run away or killed yourself after what happened nobody could blame you.

Existing for the sake of existing until you could figure out what to do next.

“Good Evening… I’m glad you’re eating so well” The lady you met the first day said as the door hissed open, she watched you like a hawk as you process this sudden interruption, clutching at your paper thin blanket, you looked at the floral fabric in her arms and the clipboard under her arm– I need you to sign this before you’re allowed upstairs”

“Am I being let out?” You said anxiously, no way it could be that easy you thought.

The lady let her smile waiver, looking at the unseen guard then at her wrist watch as she handed you the clipboard.

“Your performance might determine how soon you'll be release…”

“You assume I won’t go to the police…”

“That wouldn’t be wise Miss L/N but we assure you that you’ll be sufficiently compensated for the inconvenience.”

You wanted to yell, but a voice in the back of your head thought of this but nothing but pageantry, you were dead either way, but perhaps this could be your opportunity to escape, whatever they wanted to do now meant being outside of these buried walls, you signed the sheet without thinking, briefly considered stabbing the bitch in the eye but is likely they would turn you into swiss cheese before you even took a step too close, she took the paperwork from your hands and in change handed you a long sleeved dressed straight out of the mormon section in target, she closed the door and you dressed up.

The halls looked so odd when you didn’t wear your prison clothes, the other few doors housed sleeping and bored girls, your plucky friend hidden behind one of them, the new girl hidden behind one of them and the girl you seen before in the milking room once hid behind one of them.

They took you to an elevator– it was old box, if you had to guess by the button’s design maybe built in the late or mid 70s, you never left their side until the elevator closed before them, the box moved slowly, a dingy silver box with low honey coloured lights, so dim… and you were alone, as the light chime as it went up you felt your entire being sink into your stomach, your heart beating so fast you were sure you were gonna have a heart attack before the doors opened once again, swallowing dry spit, your eyes opened so wide it hurt.

Quiet… it was so quiet when the doors opened, you expected something else, something menacing… something frightening– not an old house, an old house in the middle of some evergreen forest, everything screams old, untouched, museum like, like it's meant to present this idea that somebody lives here but not really, despite it being an elevator hidden behind a bookcase, you take a few cautious steps, your naked feet bury in the plush carpet, there’s bird singing outside and the sun is so bright and warm it hurts your eyes, the cool tones gone and this feels like a bad dream, pinching yourself but you’re awake, tragically awake, a weird wiry smile creeps on your lips, an almost laugh escapes your lips before you can feel tears burning your eyes.

“Hello…?” You ask and you don’t know why.

As you venture into the living room, hands firm against the tacky dark pink wallpaper, you found old floral couches that matched the drapes and despite how old school it was it had a charm to it.

Then you saw him.

Perusing the VHS collection filled the entire bookcase on the wall, just rows and rows of VHS boxes, some plastic and some cardboard, the TV boxy and just as antiquated but who cared— he was there.

You ran before you even realized you done it, crashing into him with desperation, tears staining your cheeks and you could barely breath as you tried so hard to speak.

“Homelander please help me!! I’ve been kidnapped!! Please!!” You cried, pulling on his suit– please!!”

Those endlessly blue eyes more poison dart hide than veronica flower bush the more they stared at you calmly, his lips into a thin smile and his hand thad taken your wrist inflicting just enough force to keep you firmly in his grip… to show you how he wasn’t an ordinary man, he looked at you as your tears changed meaning as if you were the most unfortunate creature he’d ever seen, his lips parted just enough to show those sharp canines that had looked so charming in sidewalk posters, now you could sense their presence squeezing at your jugular.

“You are so much prettier in person, Y/N.” His voice is disturbingly soft and calm, intimately quiet as he takes a whiff of your neck, moving you to make it easier, his free hand creeped towards your hip– I was so glad when I saw your picture and you weren’t hideous.”

Trembling against him, a nonexistent cold draft blew against you, your whole body shivering and covered in goosebumps.

His eyes fixated in your breast, mouth agape as his tongue dared to lick his lip, watching you like a starved man at a las vegas buffet, his hand slithering upwards, you know where this is leading, you can’t stop crying but you can’t scream either, you're just there as his hand avoids your breasts and creeps towards your back and presses your bodies together.

“I’m so glad you signed that sheet, I was getting sad endlessly waiting for one of you to agree to the deal” He says quietly, you stare at him and you realize you should’ve actually read that stupid sheet– why so scared? I ain’t gonna bite.” He bites the air as a joke and you could tell that that single bite could have torn your finger off cleanly.

His eyes shift to your clinging fingers that stayed so stiff against his padded suit, you stopped squeezing at him now they rested limp against him.

“Let’s watch a movie…” 

It’s an awkward dance concluding in sitting down on a couch, its surprisingly soft and you’re sinking on the cushion while your mind dissolved in the sky, the coffee table had a humbled spread of snacks, pizza and milkshakes, not once did you notice, you stared at him clutching at your dress as he picked something out of the shelve, watching as his hand worked the VHS player, the clicks and whirling all you could focus on. He sat beside you as the speakers began to play the included trailers, he took the drink urging you to do the same with a menacing look, filling you with incomplete thoughts as you obeyed.

Malt vanilla marinated in your tongue, you had a terrible thought.

‘Milk’ 

You were there to provide milk… to whom? Why just milk? You thought they would sell your body or your organs, experiment on you but… they wanted your milk, but who was buying it? Who was drinking it? Where did it go? You stared at the pretty blond whose arm kept your shoulders still, you saw the news– you’d known he had a child and who knows with whom but his kid was old enough to not need it… was it for him? You thought… thinking of it as ridiculous until you remember how 20 minutes ago  he was staring at your tits as if he was malnourished, you looked at his lips pursing as he took a long sip of his milkshake and wonder if that was milk… from a cow… not a heifer like you.

Homelander smiled at you.

“I don’t like ‘The mothman prophecy’ , never been a Richard Gere fan” he said casually.

“He was really good in ‘Pretty Woman’ . This one is okay…” You looked at the screen your voice so stiff– what’s going on…? Mr. Homelander… I…"

“Shhh… watch the movie” He leaned against you resting his head on your shoulder– you tasted the best… every batch perfection– such delicate custardy taste… So this is what we are gonna do… I’ll keep you in this floor so you’re not so bored ."

You swear he’s purring as he rubs himself against you marking you as much as he was making himself comfortable.

“There’s cameras everywhere… The glass is bulletproof, doors won’t open without a fob and code, and there’s no phones or internet, but if you do manage to get out of here just be aware I’ll know.” He said such terrible things as if it was nothing– if you tried to off yourself there will be 3 armed guards and nurses here in less than a minute but if you behave I promise you– you’ll be allowed out, but only if you gain my trust.” He looks up at you as you focus on those thin lips of his– there’s no kitchen but your meals will be delivered… if you want anything just tell the camera over there.”

He pointed at the corner tucked in between two VHS tapes was a small camera.

“I like you Y/N you're cute… you’ll behave for me, right?”

You nodded, too afraid to disagree.

“Now… let’s finish the movie… I actually like this part”

You stared at the pizza box, you could at least tell that the pizza was from an american restaurant, which made you feel safe ‘Select Pizza and Grill” said in the box and you knew you were somewhere in Pennsylvania, far from your apartment in Clinton Hill.

You looked at your boobs feeling his piercing gaze on them, you started drawing lines connecting weird things together, back when you were donating your milk, girls joked about people buying for medicinal and fetish purposes, this spelled itself out for you.

Maybe you could get out of here… but you had to do something weird… but as you heard the birds outside and the warm light peeked into the room, you realized maybe you could leave… no you’ll leave, you’ll go back home and you would find a way to ruin this man and those bastards beneath you, you’ll get them out too, so you took one courageous breath and forced a smile on your dried lips.

“You really liked it?”

“Huh?”

“My milk…” You mumbled– you know I never tasted it myself but am glad to get a review.”

“It’s really tasty” he bites his lip.

Your hand plays with one of the buttons on the dress.

“It hurts a bit… I usually get asked to pump around this time… dunno if you know this but it's a bit painful when they get this swollen.”

The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know and as you leaned away from him pulling on buttons with slightly trembling fingers, you watched him follow your movements like a snake chasing prey.

“Would you help me out, mister superhero?” Is not flirty but is slightly playful and you’re surprised that you can lie that well, he’s so shameless as he shakes his head enthusiastically, mouth opening for you– please don’t bite.”

He gasps as you let him see all that he’d wanted from the get go, why he put you in that box, why you ended up in this place for.

His body was lighter than you thought as he sunk against you-- eyes closed, body limp against yours, he made the softest sounds it put you at ease somehow, for a moment you saw a very small being latched on your chest, you’d only experienced it once before, and it was seared into your mind as a painful yet tender memory, so you close your eyes dreaming of a fantasy far removed from this peculiar reality, half lid eyes found a man so blissed out your lips curved, this was unbelievable, the world most famous supe keeping you hostage just so you could indulged him.

But you knew now… that this was your way out.

[lace-coffin]

Slasher kinks headcanons

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Minors DNI

Slashers x gender neutral! reader

Trigger warnings : consensual non consent (cnc), blood, degradation/humiliation, kidnapping? (Only for Asa)

Kinks: general rough sex, bdsm dynamics, daddy/mommy kink, humiliation/degradation, knife play, primal/prey & predator play, praise, sex whilst ovulating/on period, medical play, topping from the bottom, anal, face fucking, face slapping, spanking/punishment, breeding, knotting, hucow kink, phone sex, the list goes on

did anyone request this? No. Am I going to make u all look at it bc I’m a horndog? Absolutely

I will be writing a top/bottom section for every slasher! No gentials will be mentioned for reader (hole is used to be neutral) but strap/cock will be used in relation to the reader topping.

Michael will also have an extra t4t section for my friend bc there isn’t enough t4t Michael < 3

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas isn’t super experienced in sex before he meets you, infact you’re his first partner. Obviously he knows some of the ins and outs (pun intended) from his own teenage curiosity and hormones. He also might have stolen Atleast one of Hoyt’s porno magazines before now.

Tommy would become more confident in taking the lead once he knows what you like a little more, then he’d be ok trying other positions and bottoming sometimes. Stuff in the beginning might be pretty slow and steady but after you’ve been together a while it can get a lot more intense.

Definitely has a breeding kink, has a dream of having a big family with you and raising them on the farm to continue the Hewitt name. Something about seeing his seed leak from your abused and puffy hole makes him want to breed it into you harder. Tell him you want him to make you a mommy/daddy/parent (even if it’s not biologically possible) and you’ll be manhandled into a mating press until he feels he’s filled you up enough for it to take.

In the same way it makes him feel so pretty and desirable if you tell him your going fuck a baby into him, he doesn’t care if it’s not technically possible, tell him your going to knock him up and keep him round with your seed, he’ll be moaning around your cock/strap like a slut. Push your fingers into his mouth to give him something to keep quiet on : )

Hucow kink! Loves it whether he’s the one submitting or dominating! Let him lead you around the barn with a cute cowbell collar and cow ears on! Loves to include chest play, no matter what gender (or lack there of) your chest he loves grope it, abusing your nipples until they’re swollen/hard and sensitive, don’t worry though, he’ll be more than happy to lave over them to lessen the sting. If your a good little heifer he’ll shove you face first onto a hay bale, pounding you until your hole is gaping and cum is leaking from it into the rough hay <3

If Tommy is being submissive in this situation he’s super eager to please! Tie him up and Milk his cock over and over until he’s actively squirming away from your hand and groaning in overstimulation. He’s a good boy though and knows his place so he won’t break the binds even if it would be easier for him than most people. Humiliate him and make him moo/beg for your cock/strap! Fuck him whilst using his horns as a grip.

Bubba sawyer

Like Tommy bubba is also inexperienced, raised under Drayton’s view that it’s “sex or the saw”. Due to this Bubba viewed sex as a betrayal of his family, being told it was only there to distract you from what’s important. Please be patient with her and reframe her view of sex, let her know she’s not dirty or immoral for having needs and desires.

Once they know more and gain more experience they’re super eager to impress! Litterally goes down on you like it’s their job. You might have to tap out after a few orgasms because he could drink you down for hours. He’ll leave you shaking and leaky and just look up at you with a happy smile on their cum smeared face.

He loves praise and to know that she’s doing a good job, tell them that they make you feel so good in a way no one else can. Don’t be afraid to get a little more rough with your language however, he loves when you compliment how his cock stretches you just right or how he’s made to take your strap/cock. It feels so taboo for them and makes them squirm.

Absolutely loves it if you use feminine names for her in bed. Doll/baby/princess. Makes him feel so pretty and cared for! Play with bubbas tits, they have an ample chest to paw at 👀 will absolutely mewl into the bedsheets and press their tits further into your hands. Loves to be called mommy! It lets them know you feel safe and comfy with them.

Jason voorhees

Jason is another slasher with a skewed view on sex, his mother taught him it was sinful and the reason for his death, but surely anything he does with the person he loves that feels this good can’t be wrong. Encourage him and let him know it’s ok to fulfill his need and he’s not dirty or wrong for it!

Jason is happy to let you take the lead most of the time considering his inhuman strength, he doesn’t want to hurt you and would feel more comfortable if you took things at your own pace, not wanting to get too excited and manhandle you too much (not that you would mind in the slightest). He’s also not opposed to the sight of you on top of him.

He loves it when you take control, using his cock like it was made for you, draining it for all it’s worth. He loves to know he’s the one making you feel good and he’s the one you love. Praise him and tell him how good he’s doing, that he knows all your favourite spots and can make you fall apart. let him know you own his cock and you’ll do whatever you want with it (with consent obviously)

Despite this, if Jason’s had a bad day with trespassers escaping or traps breaking on him he may be inclined to storm through the front door and pin you to the nearest service, spearing you on his thick cock and leaving you dripping without warning or mercy.

Jason will be open to bottoming over time once his confidence in being intimate has improved and he feels less anxious about trying new things. He’ll still need a lot of encouragement to relax but once he does he’s happy to let you take care of him. Hold his hand as you stretch him open on your fingers, exploring parts of Jason he didn’t even know were an option. He gets a little addicted to the feeling of being used, fucking into him with reckless abandon. You can be rougher with him when topping because of his inhuman nature, thrust a toy or finger in his ass along side your cock/strap, he can take it. He doesn’t have much of a gag reflex due to being undead so fuck his face to your hearts content as long as you wipe his tears and drool for him and tell him what a sweet boy he is for you!

Jason’s very sweet with aftercare, making you a warm drink and cleaning you both up with a wet rag, he appreciates if you do the same for him, maybe bring him his cherished teddy bear to ground him until he feels less floaty.

RZ! Michael Myers

Michael may be quiet but he’s very forward and unashamed with the things he wants. Don’t expect Michael to be shy when it comes to needing you. He’ll silently wrap around you from behind, grinding his need into your behind no matter the time or place, although he’ll back off if you tell him no, he’ll pout and let out a grunt of understanding, leaving to deal with it himself if your not in the mood.

Michael is more relentless in topping when he’s come back from a hunt, the adrenaline quickly turning to arousal as he smears the still slightly warm blood over your lips.

I defiantly think Michael enjoys CNC (consensual non consent). He hasn’t had a lot of control over things in his life considering he spent most of it in Smith’s Grove unable to even dictate the most simple aspects of it. He likes the total power exchange and the control he has over you as you squirm underneath him. It really riles him up if you fight back, biting him until he bleeds and thrashing so he can hold you down even harder. Michael loves to silence your pleads with his knife, running the dull side of it over your flushed and tear laden cheeks, moving it down to your throat as a warning.

(Will absolutely make you suck the handle of his knife until your eyes are teary before stuffing as much of it as he can into your man cunt. If you don’t want to Accidently cut your thighs then you better lay still and take it like a good boy.)

To add onto this I think he enjoys cnc on the receiving end to, if he wants to submit he wants to be dominated completely and wholly without mercy (safewords in place obviously). Michael likes to be handled roughly and shown that even if he is The Shape that you can break him down into a drooling mess. He’s 90% legs but Lord does he get insanely hard when you fold those long legs in half and drill him into the bed with your cock/strap.

(Hold him down and strip him of his coveralls and boxers, eat his pussy before he can even get a chance to steady himself. Manhandle him into position and rut your cunt into his, ignoring his pleasure and using him to get off selfishly. He’ll look at you dumbly and fucked out after, long hair frizzy and a mess of slick on his thighs)

Pull him aside and use him whenever you want, if he rolls his eyes or acts bratty feel free to slap him around! He loves a firm smack on the cheek when he won’t open up more than he likes to admit, he likes to feel powerless under you.

Michael would totally be into predator/pray with him playing the predator. Stalking you through the woods or the empty streets of Haddonfield with his trusted knife. He’s not worried about you being in any actual danger because he’s the bulk of danger in the town anyway. he has no doubts that should someone try get the best of you in the dark he could take care of them and not break a sweat. He stalks you through the town loving the way the your pace picks up the longer it takes for him to strike. He knows it’s inevitable, there’s no where you could go that Michael won’t find you. Don’t expect to make it home once he corners you, you’ll be pushed against or bent over whatever surface is nearest and having his cock bullied into you.

(Michael would grab you and slam you against a tree once he had you cornered, making quick work of his zipper and underwear. T-dick engorged with arousal and want, lips glistening behind the dense brown hair. He pushes you to your knees and gets to work. You will be spending the next while with your mouth and fingers pressed against Michael’s cunt, your head jerked harder and more forcefully the closer he gets)

Billy lenz

Billy is also very forward with what he wants as we can see from the movie, though I do personally headcanon that Billy is hypersexual due to his trauma so sex can go either one of two ways. Either he’ll be super into it and eager or ashamed and feeling disgusted with himself, if it’s the latter please reassure him it’s not dirty or wrong and try distract him with something else.

This couldn’t be a Billy lenz kink post without phone sex. He loves to call you up when your busy (shopping, on a walk, at work) and spew filth down your ear, telling you all the things he’s going to do to you or that he’ll let you do to him. The riskier the location the better. Sometimes he’ll even already be touching himself, mewling down the receiver like a slut for you to come home.

To add onto this I think he’d have a kink for fucking you whilst you talk to someone on the phone, giggling as he nudges his dick against the perfect spot, making you keen into the speaker.

Billy loves dirty talk on either end, whether it’s him telling you how he’s going to choke you on his fat cock or you telling him how good he feels inside you and to cum inside. He adores degrading you, making you feel like a cum dump. He’ll taunt you, telling you you’re only good to warm his cock and get him off, making you sniffle and repeat it back to him for his own satisfaction and ego.

He occasionally thought about the possibility of bottoming from time to time before meeting you but brushed it off since he’s not super familiar with it and didn’t want to meet up with a stranger to try. That didn’t stop him from experiencing with a finger or two but he wasn’t informed and didn’t use lube so it wasn’t good lol.

All this changes after you mention it one night in bed, excited but nervous Billy accepts. It turns out he’s a complete bottom bitch, such a slut any time you can get him under you, he’ll moan without holding back not caring if the other sorority members hear. He doesn’t care whether you’re pounding into him with his face smashed into the covers like a whore or if he’s riding you greedily, he loves it anytime he can have your cock/strap in him.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is incredibly needy and intense, inexperienced but excited to get as close to you as humanly possible. He may come off a little bratty and demanding but he’s completely willing to wait until you’re ready, he’d never do anything you didn’t want. When you are ready it’s all hands on deck, Brahms wants you all the time at any time.

It doesn’t matter if you’re impaled on his cock or if your burried inside him, Brahms is just happy to be close and horny lol

Absolutely has a mommy/daddy kink (dude has crazy mommy issues). He enjoys it when you take the reins for him and tell him what to do, order him about, tell him how to please mommy/daddy just the way they like. You already have quite the control over him in your daily life anyway, telling him what to do and when, making sure he follows his rules. Talk Brahms through how to ride your shaft/strap, make him slow down and speed up whenever you feel like it for your own enjoyment, ignoring his pleas to fuck him properly.

Brahms is horny pretty often, as a result of this penetrative sex isn’t always a need. He loves having free use of you, fucking your thighs until he spills all over them or grabbing your hand and rutting against it whilst you read a book in the other.

Spanking! Nothing puts unruly little boys back in their place like beating their ass until they beg you to stop, all of Brahms’s brattiness seems to disappear once he knows he’s pushed it to far and has a punishment coming his way. He’ll cry and beg you to change your mind but it’s too late, bend him over your lap and rip his trousers down. If he’s been extra ill-behaved bring out the paddle, switching cheeks and making him count until his ass has a pretty pink flush to it.

Asa Emory

Asa demands to be in control, that much is clear and that translates over into bed too. You might have met Asa organically through his university lectures or a museum, if this is the case then you will still be with him under the guise of a 24/7 power exchange relationship. If you met him via kidnapping and was taken to the hotel to be a pet then this will still be expected of you but with the addition of being experimented on/tortured for his own satisfaction. You won’t have a say on your freedom. (I’m going to be writing it from the perspective your kept at the hotel as a pet because it’s more likely)

Asa gets a sick thrill out of treating you like a dog. Fucking you whilst gripping the leash wrenched around your neck until you’re wheezing for air. He’ll make you bark for his cock just to laugh at how pathetic and needy you are, humiliating yourself so you can get your hole stuffed, disgusting. Paw mitts and belts on the thighs/calfs are used to make you practically immobile, totally reliant on him to fulfill your needs and unwilling to do so until he’s broken you down into a sobbing panting mess.

Even when bottoming Asa takes control, barking orders at you about how he likes to be fucked, faster, deeper. You better not even think about cumming without permission or you won’t be cumming again for the next few days whilst he uses your cock/strap like a sex toy. Asa pulls you by your hair as you eat his ass, choking/slapping you if you’re not doing it to his liking. At the end he’ll spit in your mouth and make you say “thank you sir”, forcing your jaw open to make sure you swallowed it all down and patting you on the cheek as a reward.

Medical play is a favourite of his. He enjoys nothing more than stripping you naked and strapping you down to the chilly metal medical table, securing your wrists to the wrist clamps. Snapping on his black latex (unless you’re allergic to latex lol) gloves Asa will dissect you bit by bit. New toys are regularly incorporated to see if he can get a different reaction from you. This can be through pain or pleasure, they’re both the same to him. Clamping your nipples and pulling them until they’re red and sore or landing slaps on your hole for squirming too much. Writing your reactions down on his clipboard and looking at you as nothing more than one of his specimens to pull apart and observe. If he notices a reaction he hasn’t seen from you before he’ll try again and again to recreate it no matter how taxing that may be on your body. Speculums are a favourite of his, prying open and inspecting your most private parts, pressing his fingers or different toys in to see how you react, spread hole twitching at the stimuli and unable to do anything about it. It feels intimate and violating in a way he loves to be able to look at your inner most parts so coldly and close up.

Yautja/predator (female and male)

Yautja are naturally pretty dominant in bed, the whole culture they live in revolves around shows of strength and resilience. Your mate thrives off taking care of all of your needs and proving themselves worthy and this is no different in bed. Always happy to satisfy your needs as your lover and the one who cares for you, your mate will come to help out any time they smell your arousal.

Female Yautja

Your mate naturally takes care of you in bed, a headstrong women who has earned her place on the higher end of society, because of this she loves to dress you up in the finest clothing and jewellery on Yautja prime, showing off her status and by proxy, yours. Don’t think you’re going to just leave the house in it though, she’ll pin you down, eyes taking in every part of you, the way the silky fabric lays across your centre, ready to be opened like a gift. The outfit will include a gold collar to match, one with her mark carved in it so everyone knows who you belong to. She may even take to fucking you in public if anyone tries to challenge her bond with you, your abused hole on display for anyone to see.

As your mate she trusts you to return the favour, however control isn’t given over that easily. You may be the one inside her cunt but she’s the one using you until your spent, a death grip on your collar as she looks down at you from on top, snarling in your face and a placing marking nips against your throat with her mandibles.

Once mating season rolls around she’ll be even more demanding, the instinct to mate and breed you at its peak. You’ll be kept in the nest of furs and fucked over and over. If you pass out? Not her problem, she’ll keep going until she’s satisfied your scented up and marked properly. She takes no brattiness during this time either, acting out or being difficult will earn you getting pinned to the furs, mandibles flared and snarling until you submit.

Male yautja

Another one I think would enjoy primal/predator play. Your mate stalks you through the jungle whilst cloaked. He knows your every exact move and you’re none the wiser. He loves how he can taste your fear in the air but he knows it’s all for show because he can taste you arousal permeating the dense tree’s too. He’ll appear out of nowhere just as your adrenaline reaches it’s peak and swipe your ankles, forcing you down to the leafy floor with him. He lets out a clicky laugh at the surprise scream you let out. Wasting no time he mounts you like an animal and ruins you again and again until your both spent.

Your mate can tell when you’re ovulating and he’s ecstatic to help. Blood is so common to him in his daily life it doesn’t phase him at all, he’s perfectly happy to get down and a little messy, you smell so sweet to him during this time. If this matches with his rutt then you aren’t leaving the bed for a few days, he’ll fuck into you mercilessly until his swollen knot pops inside you, connecting you both together. Once it deflates he’ll scoop his cum back up and push it into your hole, not wanting to waste a drop.

Sometimes it’s nice to be taken care of, and you prove this by absolutely destroying him. Go feral, show him how much of a capable mate you are, wrestle him to the floor and ruin his hole, leave bites and marks on him to claim him. He’ll snarl the whole time and fight back but he loves it. He may even let you use a toy/strap with a knot on it to emulate being seeded and stuffed at the end.

[rroseselavyyy]

then, could i request: Yoongi and yn go to the beach, she's wearing a small bikini, Yoongi can't resist her tits and starts touching them (in front of all the people there). pinching nipples, sucking, fondling...untill the both of them are so horny that they just fuck right there in front of everyone? if its way too kinky I could tone it down a bit? haha

honeysuckle - myg

pairing: yoongi x female reader

warnings: smut, breast play, exhibitionism, unprotected s*x

a/n: here is your request dear anon :) I hope you like it! 🩷🥹

His eyes lingered on your bikini top as he tried to hide his fascination with your barely covered tits. You were reading a fashion magazine under your sunglasses as he applied sunscreen to your legs, his fingers inadvertently digging into the flesh of your thighs. There were drops of water from your wet hair dripping down onto your breasts and Yoongi wanted to look away but the sight was too captivating.

Yoongi knew it was impossible for him not to give in to his animal nature when you asked him to put sunscreen on your breasts.

His hands felt gentle on your skin, massaging your breasts with great care until you let out a trembling whimper. As his touches grew bolder, his eyes found yours as if to ask your permission.

Yoongi realized you were as eager as he was by the way you tugged at his hair, eyes closed and panting heavily. He made you lie on your back while he crawled on top of you. Soft kisses on your nipples became much more aggressive as if he was sucking the milk from them. The thought of it alone sent blood rushing to his cock as the mental images of you feeding his baby with your beautiful tits flashed through his mind.

You bit your lower lip to muffle your moans as his wet kisses traced a path between your collarbones to your jawline. His hands found their way to the swell of your breasts, squeezing them shamelessly.

"Baby, do you feel it?" Yoongi brought your hand to his growing bulge as if you two were in your own bedroom and not on a beach where anyone could walk in on you. "I'm so horny for you."

You were not like this at the beginning of your relationship with Yoongi, on the contrary, you would freak out the moment he laid his hands on you in public. But you seemed far from feeling ashamed when he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, making your body tremble in the summer breeze.

Your mother was right in everything she told you about him. He had been a bad influence on you.

"Don't you think it's hot?" You looked at him under your lashes, your mind too dizzy to make out any of his words as his fingers skilfully toyed with the hem of your bikini bottoms. As he smiled confidently over your lips, the sight of his wet hair and sunkissed cheeks made your pussy ache with desire. "I mean, the risk of getting caught?"

You almost cried as he pulled the bottom of your bikini aside and teased you with his middle and index fingers. "It's okay beautiful, I've got you." Your sand covered legs brushed against his in a delicious way as he pushed his wet shorts down far enough to get his dick out. "Let me take care of you."

Yoongi planted wet kisses on your cheek as he slid the head of his cock into your pussy, which was already soaking wet with the evidence of how much you wanted him. It didn't seem like getting caught by someone was on your plate, considering he was ready to explode when he felt your heavenly walls fluttering around him.

You kissed each other to muffle the sound of your moans. Even though you were making love in a public place, keeping the sounds of the declaration of your love to yourselves was your way of maintaining a kind of privacy.

His hips picked up a pace that made you see stars. As your body spasmed with an intense orgasm, your legs were wrapped around his waist as if you didn't want to let him go. Soon his cum filled you to the brim and then you felt the familiar sensation of his embrace, his arms wrapped around your form in a way that made you feel at home.

"You're a freak of nature, you know that right?" You played with the hair at the back of his neck as you teased him with a weary smile on your lips. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you recovered from your orgasm, his chest heaving from your earlier activity. "And you love me for that."

[cherryredlove]

☆ his grand prix prize ☆

Modern! F1 Driver! Aemond Targaryen x Model! Reader SMUT

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

You're the hottest gal on the runway, the face of Highgarden Haute Couture. When your brand invites you to the Oldtown Grand Prix, how can you say no? And how can you deny the handsome driver that steals your heart on the track?

Word Count: 1.7k

Themes: SMUT, 18+, aemond is a simp, oral, worship sex, mirror sex, p in v, pearl necklace, creampie, reader is a baddie and she knows it, aemond's got both eyes

i'm aware the model world isn't as glam as it seems but for fanfic's sake let's pretend xoxo

part two here

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

"Here's your coffee, Miss Y/N." Your personal assisant Dyana scampers over to give you your to-go coffee order, an oat milk cappuccino, which you gratefully accept.

You're standing on the sunlit grid of the Oldtown International Circuit, the excitement of the Grand Prix hanging in the air.

For you, a supermodel who has graced the covers of every major fashion magazine, the scene is exhilarating. This isn’t your usual glamorous world of the runway, but an invitation from the brand you model for brought you here. And standing in the middle of it all, with the air of a man who owns the entire circuit, is Aemond.

Your invite is no ordinary gesture; you're the face of Highgarden Haute Couture, and your presence at the latest F1 Grand Prix is meant to be a statement. As you weave through the paddock, you notice Aemond’s unmistakable figure. He stands by the Red Bolton racing team’s pit, looking every bit the modern racer in his red-and-black racing suit.

You’ve seen photos of him before—the handsome Aemond Targaryen, the rising star in the F1 racing world. Pictures don’t quite capture the striking presence he has in person, though, with his silver-blond hair and piercing eyes.

You catch his eye just as you're adjusting your oversized designer sunglasses, a smirk playing on your lips. His gaze is unwavering, even from a distance. A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth—a challenge.

You approach him with confidence that matches his own, feeling the heat of the midday sun and the collective gaze of the crowd.

“Impressive,” he drawls, his voice a low rumble. “I wasn’t expecting to see the Highgarden Haute Couture ambassador gracing the pits of an F1 race. Not quite the runway, is it?”

“Not quite,” you reply, matching his sarcastic tone. “But speed has its own allure, don’t you think? Not everything has to be about strutting down a runway to be thrilling.”

His smile widens, revealing a flash of amusement. “Indeed. And what brings you specifically to Oldtown? Here to witness some real action or to simply grace us with your divine presence?”

You tilt your head slightly, enjoying the banter. “Maybe I just wanted to see if the legend of Aemond Targaryen matched the reality. You’ve got quite the reputation.”

“And what’s the verdict?” he asks, leaning his gorgeous body casually against the sleek body of his Red Bolton car, as if he has all the time in the world.

“I’d say reality is exceeding expectations,” you admit, pushing your sunglasses down your nose for effect, allowing your eyes to linger on him for a beat longer than necessary.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased by your answer. “Likewise. I’ve heard of your successes. Modelling must be quite the race in its own way. But here, it’s all about strategy and speed.”

“Then let’s see if your strategy is as good as they say,” you challenge, feeling a rush of excitement. “After all, I didn’t come all this way just for the scenery.”

Just as you're about to continue your back and forth, a team member approaches Aemond, indicating that the race is about to start. He nods, acknowledging the interruption, then turns his attention back to you.

“Stay close,” he suggests, his voice carrying a promise of more to come. “After the race, I’ll show you why this world is as exciting as any catwalk.” You nod, acting with an unimpressed air as you flip your hair and walk away.

You watch the race from the VIP area, a glass of prosecco in hand. Aemond's Red Bolton car shoots down the track, weaving through the pack with precision and grace. The sheer speed and skill he displays are breathtaking, as if he's dancing on the edge of control. Each turn and straightaway is a testament to his expertise, and you can't help but admire his talent.

As the laps progress, you feel yourself drawn into the excitement of the race. Aemond is relentless, pushing his car to the limit as he battles for the lead despite starting on pole. The crowd roars with approval, and you find yourself cheering along with them, caught up in the adrenaline of the moment.

Finally, after a heart-pounding final lap, Aemond crosses the finish line in first place. The stadium erupts in applause and cheers, and you can’t help but join in. His victory is well-deserved, and you feel a surge of admiration for the man who conquered both the track and your attention.

As the celebrations commence after the podium, you find yourself drawn back to the pits, where Aemond is basking in the glory of his win. He looks like a king who’s just claimed his throne, his eyes bright with triumph. He spots you amid the crowd and makes his way over, a glint of satisfaction in his gaze.

“Well?” he asks, that familiar teasing tone back in his voice. “Was that thrilling enough for you?”

“Impressive performance,” you reply, genuinely impressed. “I can see why they call you the best.”

He chuckles, a deep, genuine sound. “Flattery will get you everywhere, especially when it’s coming from someone like you.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but there's an undeniable chemistry between you—a spark that promises more than just banter. As the sun begins to set over the Oldtown Circuit, painting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, you find yourself looking forward to a night with your champion.

“Care for a victory drink?” he proposes. “The bars are a no-go, but my hotel has excellent room service.”

“I’d like that,” you agree, linking your arm with Aemond, who visibly preens at having some real arm candy by his side.

Aemond's hotel room at the centre of Oldtown is lavish and luxurious, exactly what you're used to. You send Dyana a quick text to let her know you won't be needing dinner at your own hotel tonight. And that you might be bringing a date to the brand event tomorrow.

Aemond orders you a selection of wines to choose from to his room, and you sit on the balcony sipping a Dornish red as Aemond lights you a cigarette.

You love being watched. It's why you're a model. You love the camera, love the fans, and the admiration. You love your job, and right now, you love Aemond's eyes on you. The way his eyes follow your perfectly painted lips as you take a delicate sip. The way his eyes linger on your chest, your coiffed hair, manicured nails. You smile into the glass, loving the effect you have on such a gorgeous man.

The sun has truly set by the time the bottle has been finished, and you find yourself sat on a chaise longue as Aemond kisses your hand.

"You're beautiful, you know?" He murmurs. You giggle chastely, allowing him to kiss the corner of your mouth. "And you're smart, so lovely." His lips seem to beg for more.

You indulge him, kissing him and letting his hands wander to your hips, pulling you closer. His grip becomes firmer as your hands wrap around his shoulders.

"Let me have you, princess." He whispers against your lips. You pretend to think, as he huffs against your neck. You stand up, holding your hand out and walking him like a dog to the massive plush bed.

Aemond sinks to his knees as you lie back from the edge. His hands revently take off your red dress, smoothing over your curves and soft skin. He shakily exhales, massaging your tits, and you guide his head down to meet your perfect pussy.

Aemond's eyes roll back at your sweetness, tongue lapping against your folds. You moan lightly, hands digging into his scalp as you scratch him with your nails.

Aemond's mouth is masterful. He glides over your spread labia, tonguing at your soaked hole, suckling your aching clit. You throw your head back, turning your gaze to the side and notice the huge mirror that covers one wall. You pussy gushes with excitement at your idea, but you are distracted by Aemond's pointed tongue flicking your nub, his fingers curling inside your heat to draw a long, languid orgasm from your hips.

Breathlessly, you sit up, shoving his pants down as he kneels above you on the bed. Your lips part around his cock, your hands jerking the shaft and massaging his balls. Aemond makes the most lascivious noises, your tongue swirling against his tip in a pattern that mimics an infinity symbol.

Aemond caresses your glossy hair, hips bucking into your face as he draws pleasure from your tight throat. You suck in your cheeks, swallowing hard and he cums, pulling out to spray ropes of white hot cum against your collar and chest. You gasp, pussy ablaze.

Aemond pants, kissing you hotly as you let his cum dry on your plush skin, a welcome decoration. He follows your eyeline to the mirror, smirking as he understands your desire. His big hands hoist you you until your bent over with your perfect ass in the air, facing the mirror.

You nearly cum at the sight that greets you, hair mussed up, lashes dewey, covered in Aemond's cum, and the man himself behind you, ready to fuck you senseless in doggy.

His nudges his cockhead through your lips, sheathing himself fully. You moan at the sight of his abs flexing, appreciating the Greek God of a man as he fucks you hard and fast with rapid snaps of his hips.

He is gorgeous, your true match, and Aemond reaches to rub your clit with his deft fingers, and you mewl at the feeling of another breathtaking orgasm at Aemond's hands.

His cock fills you up to completion, and you relish at how his eyes are glued to your tits, your open mouth, your eyes that are lost in ecstasy. He lets out a strangled moan, desperately rubbing your clit as he cums deep inside you, gasping at how your pussy flutters around him as you cum.

You both lie there, eyes locked in the mirror as Aemond strokes your back and hair softly, as if you're made of glass. You smile at him, rolling onto your side to steal a kiss from the man that stole the Grand Prix title and your heart.

• • • • • • • • • • • • ✦ • • • • • • • • • • • •

AN: thought I'd combine my love for f1 with ultimate babe aemond, hope yall enjoy! spent 4ever trying to make a westeros pun on an f1 racing team, red bolton was my best lol. love me a baddie reader and simp aemond, check out my masterlist for more modern aus and smut xoxoxo

[itsonlydana]

hello! I see you have requests open...(?) for the hobbit/lotr, and I was wondering if I could request a modern!thranduil x reader fanfiction? the reader is some sort of barista/baker/other thing, and Thranduil is obviously all rich and shit and comes in once, is enamoured by shy, flustered reader and then becomes a regular? obviously, they end up together in the end. thank you!

Lattes and Love | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

it's a rainy monday, perfect for a meet-cute with the new, handsome and rich customer that you totally don't embaress yourself in front of

tags/warnings: coffeeshop!au, fluff

word count: 2,7k

an: oh, this was such a good request! Thoroughly loved writing it :)

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

"Falling for customers strictly forbidden!" was the non-negotiable rule for anyone who found themselves working at the loveliest café in Laketown; 'Beans & Leafs'.

Despite being written out on a wooden board behind the counter and in the kitchen, this rule was obviously ignored by more than half of the employees; the others were either happily coupled up, had no interest in romance, or had such an unhealthy work-life balance that this didn't matter anyway.

You, on the other hand, a longtime single and die-hard lover of romance novels, were one of the employees who couldn't go a month without an over-the-counter crush, serving coffees and teas as well as heart eyes and shy blushes.

You had perfected your craft of pouring coffee while thinking of scenarios where, instead of getting a tip, the handsome brunette with the gentle smile would wait until the end of your shift and invite you out for not coffee, but a drink, perhaps.

These fantasies did no one any harm; you would even go as far as to debate that the love you pledged for the customers was an ingredient that fitted exquisitely into the crushed beans and steamed milk.

There had never been any complaints, so there was no reason whatsoever why your boss, Bard, flung his arm out and pointed at the sign when the doorbell chimed one rainy Monday morning.

The weather had been particularly awful the entire weekend, clouds hanging low and leaving you to barricade yourself into your apartment, and when you'd left the house this morning, paddling away on your bike and avoiding muddy puddles as well as you could, the skies were still gray and gloomy. Inside the café the warm lamps tried their best to fight against the pale sunlight that fell through rain-streaked windows, coloring everything in washed-out watercolors.

When you followed the length of Bard's hand however it was as if the sun broke through, even if it was only for the few seconds you stared at the man who just entered the shop and stepped into the small line of customers.

He was breathtakingly gorgeous, right up the alley of models you saw in fashion magazines with his sharp cheekbones and the pair of high-waisted jeans that hugged his waist perfectly. Even his long black coat seemed like it was tailored for his broad shoulders and he looked, by all means, expensive.

"Eyes, Darlin', eyes."

It was only when Bard gently nudged his hip against yours as he passed you from behind and tapped one finger against the sign again, that you bewilderedly realized that hadn't been a direction to the customer's eyes – oh boy, they were twinkling like starlight – but rather a command to advert yours.

"Stop bossing me around," you groaned quietly, glad for the jazz music that played from speakers over your head and the chatter of the few other customers that had found their way into the 'Beans & Leafs'.

"I am your boss. I have every right to command you 'round," Bard said, knocking his knuckles against the sign, "And a rule 's a rule. Doesn't matter if you're the best worker I've got 'round here."

You stuck your tongue out at him of the corner of your mouth under the pretense that it was nothing but concentration over the milk you were pouring into a cup for the customer in front of you.

"You're so annoying," you said as you turned your back on the counter to grab a new cup. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

The question was directed at Bard but it's not his warm voice that answers your teasingly snappy question, but a deeper one without the familiar drip of Bard's accent:

"Yes, actually, so I would appreciate my latte with three shots of espresso for takeaway please."

You immediately flew around, hot shame bubbling up straight into your cheeks as you squealed, "Oh shit– I mean, shit, sorry!"

Of course. Of course, the 6ft beauty was the next in line, casually resting one arm on the counter and scrutinizing you with those captivating bright eyes that, now that he stared at you and there wasn't anything between you except the bar and miles of shame, did look exactly like starlight. This was so unprofessional and it didn't help that you were frozen on the spot.

You heard Bard's rough laughter, saw him shaking his head in not-so-quiet disbelief out of your peripheral vision and it only fueled the blush that took over your whole face. "I'm so sorry," you apologized and lowered your chin to look away from the customer and down to the coffee machine instead.

Flaming red cheeks reflected in the silver metal greeted you as you let the machine take over for the espresso – arabica beans from Brasille, rich, sweet and slightly nutty, and, if brewed correctly, which you always managed, would leave a lingering taste reminiscent of dark chocolate. "Whole milk, oat, almond, or soy?" you asked, swallowing the lump of embarrassment that was lodged in your throat.

"Oat, please."

You nodded and fell into the rhythm that you were used to, that, despite the hope the ground would tear up and swallow you completly, comes like second nature. "I just want to let you know that I truly wasn't talking to you," you started and foamed up the milk, hiding behind the steam.

The customer huffed out an amused laugh. "No? You're only that cheeky to your employer?"

Great, now he thought you were an employee who didn't respect her higher-ups. "No no! It's a joke," you cringed at the nervous chuckle you laughed, "Nothing serious, just joking. He knows I would never disrespect him, he's a good boss, one of the best actually! And–" you heard your rambling and wanted to close your eyes at the next blink and never open them again, "– and I should probably stop talking now."

Bard passed you again, patting one hand fatherly on your shoulder though this helped barely because the slight touch immediately zipped straight through your spine. In what could only be described as unfortunate timing your arm flinched forward, breaking the carefully concentrated pouring of steamed milk into the paper cup, and to your horror you watched as the foam parted through the coffee.

And created the perfect heart.

You gave yourself a second to breathe, to stare down into the paper cup and this was totally fine; you made latte art all the time and most of your favorite customers got a heart one day or another. And even if you didn't know the man at all and already made a fool out of yourself, other coffee places did this as well.

It's just coffee.

But it was never just coffee with all the love you poured into it, wasn't it?

So you steeled yourself, ignored the churning of your stomach, and plastered on a flustered smile. "Here's your coffee, Sir." The heart cheekily smiled right back, foam bobbing on top and this was definitely a moment you would be thinking about, maybe even use as an opportunity to reevaluate the importance of Bard's stupid sign. "Cash or card?"

He already pulled out a sleek wallet, manicured nails and long fingers pushed a neat $20 over to you. He wore a smirk, the corners of his mouth turned so far up that white teeth showed and dimples buried themselves into his cheeks. "Cash. I suspect the tips go straight to–" one finger lifted and pointed straight forward, "you?"

"Me," you repeated and quickly shook your head, "I mean yes, they go to me."

"Good," he chuckled, "wouldn't want anyone else to share what you earned rightfully, don't we? Keep the change."

"But Sir!" you protested because this tip was ludicrously big for a latte; more than double the amount of what he had paid for the drink on its own without the free show of you being a complete fool.

The man arched an eyebrow though it carried nothing but curiosity instead of the superiority that it would communicate by an older, more stuffy guy.

You busied your hands, cleaned the frother, and emptied the remaining ground coffee into the trash before you ran a rag over the machine, or otherwise, the probability of ruining your nailbeds was much too high. "The coffee's maybe not to your liking – what if you absolutely hate it?"

"Then I will simply order another one another time," he replied and the hope that sprung up inside your chest, another time– another visit, he would come back– bounced around your ribcage and threatened to burst right through.

Your throat clicked as you swallowed, looking up from the dark brown coffee that filled the next mug, coffee black, arabica beans imported from Peru, fruity and perfect for the cappuccino order, up to the man, this stunning beautiful man who tipped like he could throw away money and not notice the amount missing, the epitome of all what you've dreamed about and exceeding those standards the longer he stood around.

You grabbed the opportunity, damned the sign because why the hell should anyone be forbidden to fall in love with him and bit down on your lower lip, smiling softy.

"Could I get your name?"

"I already have my coffee," he said amused and the heat was back in your cheeks. "But it's Thranduil. Nice to meet you," Thranduil's starlight eyes dropped to the name-pin buttoned to your apron and flittered back up, warm and deep voice wrapping around your name in a manner that was close to too overwhelming. "Now, let's try this drink, shall we?"

Completely entranced by his soft-looking lips that twitched back into a smile at the sight of the heart, eyes locking on yours again as he lifted the cup, you watched him take a sip.

A soft hum.

Long lashes fluttering shut against the apple of his cheek.

Yep, there was no way back from this. By the end of your shift, you would probably bike home and dream about this moment, when Thranduil opened his eyes again and you were still staring, caught despite the line forming behind him, other customers held up by Bard, this wonderful man you would never ask anything of him ever again, and Thranduil competed in the new game of who would look away first.

"Sweet," his voice was still deep, coated by a warmness that only satisfactory coffee would bring, and you swore you tasted the chocolate on your tongue as you bit down on it.

The way your eyes scanned the work area to check if you had accidentally poured sugar into his coffee, he didn't order any, right? – and while the oak milk carried some sweetness with it, it wasn't much but what if– were a clear message of slight panic, nervousness of having gotten his order wrong and Thranduil quickly deescalated the deep frown forming in your eyebrows.

"Ah, don't worry. I wasn't talking about the coffee," Thranduil said, and, lifting the cup to his lips, he winked at you over the rim.

He left you like that, mouth hanging slightly open while your mind ran the calculation of whether or not he had flirted with you.

You spent the rest of the day in a haze, only managing the midday and afternoon rush with the memory of Thranduil whom you swore, you saw rushing past the window of the shop in the evening, long hair flying in the wind at his quick steps and if your mind didn't play tricks on you, his head turned when he passed you, eyes finding yours in a second that quietened down all the sounds.

The next day, he came in again, a phone pressed to his ear and an apologetic voiceless: "So sorry," when the call was seemingly important enough for him to take his latte, foam-heart included, and dashed back outside, leaving you another hefty tip but no further interaction.

You sighed.

For good measure, you even glared at the sign.

Thranduil stopped by on his way to work every morning from Monday, Thursday and Friday, ordering his latte until it waited for him at exactly 7:45, the heart inside the coffee wandering onto the takeaway cup when you started scribbling his name onto it, first on the dot of the 'i' and then, later, when you were brave enough, next to the name.

It was a hurdle, more than often you had the sharpie pressed into the paper, blacking out from sheer panic that seeped through you like the dark ink that ended up either a smiley or a flower or full stop.

Thranduil would come in, sweep you off your feet by simply smiling or smirking at the new doodle on his coffee, steaming hot as soon as the bell announced his arrival, and leave. Never without tipping you enough for you to buy a new bike at the end of the first month of him visiting the 'Beans & Leafs'.

On Saturdays, Thranduil came in and settled his tall body into one of the window tables, entirely oblivious to all the ogling he got from passersby as well as customers, they stared all the same at his beauty and the weekend always got better because his sole focus was on you.

On Saturdays, he got his coffee, a Cappuccino served in dark blue mugs that complimented his white-blond hair and the rosé of his lips that savored every last drop, and he started asking you for your opinions on the breakfast options.

The first time he did it, long legs crossed over each other and his head propped up on his hands listening intently, you rambled on the entirety of the menu, babbling on and on and on:

"We got wonderful apple rose tarts, that truly look like roses, and rhubarb pie or a lemon shortcake – that one goes perfectly with the chocolaty taste of the coffee beans! And we have croissants, banana bread, and a cheese Danish!"

"Mhmm, all of those sound ama–" Thranduil started but was interrupted by your nervous continuing chatter:

"And of course, you could have a chicken and avocado sandwich, if you want something more savory. Or our chefs make a mean bacon and egg one with arugula and a blueberry vinaigrette?" you asked and threw a quick look to Thranduil who hid his amused smile that lit up his whole face behind his fingers. "Oh, or are you a vegetarian? Then I would recommend the olive, tomato and hummus bagel, but maybe you don't like olives. For that, we have a walnut quiche–"

"Yes, I am vegetarian–"

The smile bloomed past the, noticeably large, hands, the corner of his mouth curling up while his eyebrows furrowed in the concentration of keeping still, watching you in awe as your breath held on far longer than his ability to remain calm and it was only a matter of time until you were done.

Your eyes landed on the dimples, the soft crow feet next to his eyes, and low on oxygen you finally managed to detangle yourself from the menu that you had previously, in preparation for this moment, had carefully written down on your notesblock, the page now crinkled at the edges and most of the ink smeared under the hard press of your thumbs.

"Great! Do you want me to repeat the vegetarian options?"

Thranduil ordered all of your recommendations.

Not all at once, it wasn't past you to bring out dozens of plates at his request but Thranduil kept to two cups of coffee and worked his way through the display of cakes, pies, breads, rolls and sandwiches, always prepared by you.

You served him his first coffee with a heart in his mug and a plate for him to eat and after rushing through the next hour, eyes locking across the room now and again whenever you looked up from the coffee machine and he from his plate, you would bring him his second cup, carrying the heart-coffee and another one for you to sip on during your break, legs brushing against each other under the small table.

It was there, at this table, that Thranduil asked you out, not two months after the first interaction.

It was also at this table that he kissed you for the first time, tasting like love, lattes and a bit of chocolate.

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

[getozitos]

baby-sitter problems!

(choso x fem reader)

summary: seeing you taking care of his baby brother might have ignited something inside choso that he wasn't really aware of.

c.w: porn with plot, friends to whatever this is, breeding kink, choso wanting YOU (🫵) as his baby mama, baby fever, sleepy sex, dacryphilia, petnames, explicit content, dry humping.

you've known choso for years now. around four years of a platonic relationship were you got used to the idea of being treated as one of his friends, or one of his brothers.

anyways, you loved him. and that was enough for you to be delighted with any type of love signal he showed to you! even if it was something ridiculously simple, like, buying your strawberry milk when you don't have money.

i mean, he's just too busy trying to be the best old brother ever to try and pay attention to how you feel — to how he feel too.

taking the job of baby-sitter that his mother held to you, you accepted happily that yuuji itadori was the prettiest baby you've ever seen. got you thinking about having children, too. i mean, he's just so sweet, so sickeningly beautiful and his little laughs were so funny. of course you'd want to have a son just like him. specially when he wrapped his entire hand on your finger and laughed, chuckling like the silly baby he is.

choso, on the other side, never noticed that and never really had the desire to have a family, he already had one, with his brothers, his mother, and his dear friend that he loved dearly and held close to his heart — as a sister, right?

well, that was how he felt about you last week, when you were laughing about some silly joke you both saw on a magazine. now, with this motherly side of you that he had never seen, he felt his heart burn with delight as he watched you taking care of his baby brother. he wanted you to take care of his children, too. he wanted you to have them.

god, how dumb can this boy be? i mean, five years of friendship in which you always tried to flirt with him and yet he only noticed now that he really, really, reaaally loved you. god, he was so dumb that it surprised himself, even.

finally, after a long day of changing, bathing, feeding and, in summary, taking care of yuuji, you finally found yourself resting at choso's bed, so tired that your head felt heavy. it's okay, it was actually pretty normal to find you sleeping on his bed. the unusual part was the fact that his dick twitched with the sight of your sleepy form scrooling through your phone.

he crawled up the bed, getting on your back and holding your waist, hugging you closer; this was unusual too. but you wouldn't complain, now, would you?

of course not.

and so, sleepy and stil tired, you turned to face him, your leg on his waist.

"chooso, you didn't say that being a baby-sitter would be so hard" you sighed, hugging him. it was quite common for you both to act like that. years of friendship prepared you both to be like that, somehow.

"you didn't really ask," he smiled, kissing your forehead "and everyone know that taking care of babies is hard."

"i know, but yuuji is such an small angel... i couldn't just say no" you laughed.

"you know, you looked really pretty taking care of him" you frowned. that wasn't common too.

"you think so? i think i looked like a mother." you chuckled. "like, a real one."

"and you did. maybe that's the reason for you to look so pretty," he smiled, his voice sounding husky as he spoke "maybe you should be a mother, y'know?"

sleepy, you could feel his hips grinding on yours; an unusual bulge on his pants as you too grinded back on him, breathing hard.

"maybe if i find someone worth of me." you said, looking into his eyes.

"and how would that someone be?"

"someone who could take me," you whispered "someone who know me well, i think i'd rather have a friend as a husband than someone who wants me for my looks"

"a friend?" he asked, just as sleepy as you were. slowly, his hips still grinded on yours; you could feel his bulge on his pants, hard as a rock. he breathed on you, his eyes begging for something that you wanted him to say.

"a friend, choso."

"please, y/n," he started "would you please have my children?" he asked, panting. you smiled, deciding to stop yourself from ignoring your own wetness, your sensibility.

"you're the worst" you said, breath hitching.

"why?" he brushed his lips on the back of your hand, and just then you noticed how he entwined your fingers.

"are you trying to make me go crazy?" he frowned "i mean, i liked you for so long! why just how..?!"

"i'm sorry, y/n" he pleaded, feeling the taste of guilt taking care of his body "i just... i didn't want to accept it"

"what? that i liked you?" you frowned even more.

"no. that I liked you" he breathed "and I still do. i'm sorry, i couldn't help it- i'd rather have you by my side for me to protect you. i couldn't possibly bring myself to force you to be on my side- i didn't know that you liked me too"

"well, now you're playing dumb" you scoffed.

"i am serious. i swear i love you, but if i accepted that you liked me too then.. i wouldn't be able to hold myself. i would want you to me. i would want you to be mine" he bit his lip "so, i held you close in hopes that i'd see you as a sister. i'm sorry i hurt you. would you please forgive me?" he looked you deep in your eyes, lip shaking.

"took you long enough to ask," you said, smiling before kissing him, your tongue delving past his lips and tangling itself on his, holding him closer as you both kept humping eachother.

god, maybe that was the worst idea you've ever had; i mean, this was the worst position you could possibly think of. that was until he pushed your leg to lace itself on his hip, giving him more space to keep on humping, grinding you.

you groaned, breathing heavily as you looked down to see the bulge on his shorts. you didn't knew this size was, like, possible to have. he was pretty big.

then, without any type of thinking from your part, you were already soaking wet on his dick, feeling him made you almost cry from how good it actually felt.

you gripped his shoulders, letting him fuck you as slow as he wanted to; you swore to god you were seeing stars.

"choso..!" you panted, your fingers curling on you to try and find your clit. when you did, you could swear you felt your body being stroked by a lightning just from how godly this felt.

"yes, baby?" he asked, hands on your hips as you thrusted more show. "wanna say something now?"

you nodded almost impaciently as he told you to go on.

"do you think i.. would be a pretty mother?"

"oh, i'm sure you will. i know for a fact that you would be the sweetest mother on earth ", he said, smiling "i'm gonna make sure you get pregnant, okay?"

"you perv." you chuckled, kissing him lovingly. "you're the worst, you know?"

"hmm... you can tell me that when i'm done fillin' you, hm?" he smiled, kissing your temple.

"mhm."

you smiled before having him going faster, his dick filling you was too good to be true, your pussy felt tight on him and really, he loved it. you were just so warm on him, you would be so pretty with a full tummy and just the idea of it made his mouth go directly to your boobs, sucking on them and licking them, not even caring for the sensitivity you seemed to be struggling with.

he kissed you again and again, as if your lips were the sweetest poison he tasted.

"i love you so much," he breathed out, his hands tightening on your hips as he moved faster, his hips pistoning on you as his eyes seemed glued to yours, a loving gaze on them "so much."

you smiled, fingers tangled on his hair as you marked him with a hickey on his neck "i love you too," and with your legs laced on his hips, you finally came, getting tighter on his dick and moaning on his ear.

"you're so eager for it, are you?" he smiled, kissing your neck before shooting his cum inside you and fucking it inside you to keep you full of his love, of him.

there wasn't much surprise to what happened after that. you really got pregnant, he took responsibility for it, taking you to live with him before you guys had your own apartment and finally, marrying you.

pregnancy did you good, you were glowing, practically. to the point people were always saying that it was clear your husband didn't stress you.

how happy would he be when you told him you be having twins?

[gofishygo]

price x trans ftm reader who started his transition later in life? like just thinking... they served a tour or two together before reader transitioned. had a little fling going on, potentially on the way towards more. but after whatever mission/tour theyre on is over, reader slowly stops keeping in contact with price.

years down the line, the reunite during some sort of mission. price recognizes readers last name or callsign but the face he's met with is different. this man is happier.

price and reader get to talking in some downtime and decide that once this is all over (the mission they're on), they'll try and take some time together to make up for all the time they'd lost together. and price gets to meet the real you.

[PRIDE MONTH- WEEK ONE] : through green hydrangeas (my heart lies) price x ftm reader (part 1/2)

notes : (somewhat innacurate) descriptions of military, injury, brief outlines of smut (no explicits mentioned), gender dysphoria, reader gets outed towards the end. this may be edited later on.

wc- 1.8k

urzikistan- take down six targets aligned with al quatala, all terrorist backgrounds. a mission where location and timing and team were everything, pointed into maps and plotted into files, handled with fine-cut secrecy, knife-point precision, landed directly into price's aged hands. And now, at the final stretch, he'd been handed a few recruits at his expense. Fought with laswell against them, argued that his team could run through the enemy.

(and by god, how can he focus on the task at hand when he sees the shine in that operator's eyes, the curvature of his face? warm and familiar, the mother's milk suckled by a pup.)

It’s odd, having to work with a man so similar to her. narrowed eyes and sharp teeth, even sharing the same gun hed swore he gifted her- considers for a moment that maybe she’d changed, now baring a different name on id’s and passports, records crossed out and scrawled over. stole her last name as well, and before he’d even met you, he had already considered asking laswell to ship you off to whatever pmc would accept you.

but at the same time, he bites his tongue, wire muzzle to some refectory dog.

you seem to truly be alive, words barked with flame, spilled from your stomach, full-toothed smile instead of the sleazy grin she wore. you are her and aren’t her- and sometimes, maybe, he lets himself think youre better. sweeter. hates the way he still gives you the same greeting as he did to that woman, selfishly using a subordinate to fill out some cavity in his chest. but he can’t have it any other way, doesn’t want to have it in any other way.

a world where slowing down didn’t mean stopping. had a nice ring to it.

-

it's 0400 on the day of deployment. there's brittle crust in the ducts of your eyes that you hadn't been able to wash of in the changerooms, and now you are holding onto gun and hanging onto the sky by plane, listening to the clicks as you load and unload the magazines. missions like these, capture-kills with enemies that outdid your measures of brutality and lived for the beliefs of bloodshed in liberty; they weigh in your chest, some layers of adrenal fear smuggled under the layers of methodical, stoical behaviour. the buzzing headache that never left as a child, the feel of pressure wrapped around crevices of the cerebellum, tightening.

in these plights, you'd used to knock on price's door, hands itching to roll into fist- turning the fear you'd guide like a shepherd into the spit in stout-littered kisses, how you pulled off his clothes like the vulture to a corpse. the way your body moved against his was the nicotine you'd smoke on long nights. it was sickening, at first, how much control that you revelled in, the way that his name had found its place under your tongue. the way that he grabbed at the bone in your hips, worshipping, devotee. taken to his body like addict to a drug, the dissociation between you heart and the fat-filled mounds on your chest washed out by lust. he makes it feel like the ache was never there, that you could scream with the voice that had been trapped beneath high-strung vocal cords, unfortunate biology. and you let yourself beg to god; why, oh god why, why were you given a body at the cost of your life?

but now, navigating through some twisted buildings under the cover of night, clearing rooms in the hotel, you know that you're changed. the revelation behind the woman beneath price's sheets all those years ago, who'd stolen your skin and your eyes and your face- it could cost you your life, could have you shunned and dying like a dog on the streets. and yet, you still hold a weary head up and dream about-

Johnathan price. he still festered in your ribcage, face slipped away into the back of your skull, the bug you'd yet to squish as you drive military blade into an enemy's neck and muffle their mouth through dying thrashes. He nods, gruff sound muted behind mutton chops, murmuring an audible 'clear' through the fizzle of comms. And you let yourself wonder, if maybe those prismarine eyes can find yourself in the body now known as home. (He swears that your smile matches the woman he'd fell for through sparring matches and facebook posts. that old face he'd barely managed to blot out with cigars and whiskey and downed with bourbon and-) your team proceeds down the hallways,

‘all stations on right wing, target four is down. I repeat, target four is down. zero KIA.’ and your mouth quirks up a little. ‘deems that Ghost’s aim still doesn’t fail,” you muse. His eyebrow raises- only slightly- at the tense of your words. still.

“certainly doesn’t,” and you want to drink the strain in his voice until its ache is gone.

another few minutes of clearing the building. the repetitions of breaking open the same doors with the same crowbars, gun peeking through the side of the frame. So similar, practiced in recon and real-world situations, yet never being comfortable, safe. it’s almost automatic at this point, reducing your phycology to nothing more than the gun that you wield- deciding, acting. but looking over at price- the look in his eyes know’s you’d been injured. Bubbling fire deep in your marrow, fear bittering the air around you; foul, unappetising, yet it feels the captain wants to swallow you whole.

-

and now it rips through you- feels like your insides are pouring out, scrap of kidney and intestine pooling out at the starburst entry point. some pained shriek ripped out of your throat. at one point, you waited next to the doorframe of a room, (sixty-four left wing, is it?) and the next, some enemy operator had opened a hole in your stomach.

whatever moment between that is an animated blur, dismal and discoloured where sound pools in your ears instead of song. a captain- your captain, tackling the man to the ground in a double-leg-takedown, throwing down the gun at their side, the high wail of shots fired ringing into your ear while a teammate -the milky white patch on her face makes you assume it might be nova- drags you behind the wall as cover, your teammates taking position to cover for price, but also rip through the inhabitants of the room. and for the first time in the mission, you let fear curdle in your throat alongside the blood clinging to it’s walls, drip into your bloodstream and bury itself into bone. cant tell if the shadow hazing your thoughts is the predecessor death or subdued panic finally breaking though it’s confines . and you find it bitter, stupid, wholly in your heart, that even as your stomach spills onto the floor of a home that wasn’t yours, that part of your brain still festers. a possibility that the only man who could make your heart beat- john price, and his affair with the woman who’d stolen your soul and locked it behind flesh. Letting out some bitter laugh, feeling blood trace your lips whilst some stray bullet manages to hit the skull of an enemy, heard by the ungodly gurgle and tear of bullet through flesh, confirmed by the hum of your comms. “target two on left wing down, one broken-” price, now next to you, lets hard eyes settle against your form, dying star. “-seems to need medic.” another voice fizzles to life on the radio- laswell’s, you presume. “team delta, split to d1-d2. d1 continue to clear left wing, d2 head to rendezvous point.”

you can only really groan, blood bubbling to your throat when price hauls you to face his side, hissing out some curse as you hold shaky hand to where the blood seems to be leaking from. “easy there soilder-“ john grunts, wrenching your hand out of the way with a firm grip- a bear gripping her cub the scruff of it’s neck, holding it so tenderly between her teeth. one of your other teammates- cant identify them, head too filled up with adrenaline filled cloud and the haze to blood loss to register their shape- seems to toss over a roll of bandages. and if you had breath left, you would have barked out some half-assed remark about how strategically awful it was to tear off the gear and pull off the shirt of your uniform, but the nerves of the paled scars below your chest being revealed to cold air had your mouth shut, jaws locked, like wired muzzle to a dog. trying not to choke on the blood and jerk away when his eyes meet the placement of the wound.

it's diasporic, shaped like a dying star above you tattoo you’d had engraved deep into your dermis all those years ago. the 141’s old symbol- jagged sword without the skull, olive branches extending through its frame. a part of you far more distinctive, more tolerable to remember than thought of the girl who had decided to have it etched into her skin. And now your captain can see both of those on you- in you- and shamefully, you let lurid fear bite into you, thoughts snapping with teeth, breaking down the glass bars that composed the cage you made. Price may never kiss that tattoo again during the long nights, now look at the memories you’d made with a lens tinted by hatred. “nice to put a name to the face,”

he murmurs, wrapping the bandage to compress the wound, once, twice, thrice around your waist. Hauls your arm around his shoulder and begins the trek to the rendezvous point. one arm was pressed just above where he knew your tattoo rested, no mind to whatever blood trickles in the cracks of his fingers. “ill see you back at burningham, love,” its like your submerged in water now, eyes blurry with seawater and ears deafened by the tide filling their crevices. with the last of your energy, you tug yourself towards price, fingers tangled in his, doubling over and feeling the bandages settle under the layer of fat and muscle on your ribs. letting yourself dream of him for what seems to be your last time, fingers tangled together, pretending that your gasps for air were nothing more than laughter echoes against crashing waves on british shores, letting fresh saltwater air tangle you hair and travel your windpipe.

by the time the captain scoops you up, you’re far too deep in oceanwater, back against rocky seafloor. “stand strong, soldier,” and even through his gruff voice, you still notice the way it almost begs, song of prayer tucked away deep in his voicebox . some words he had hidden. price pulls you closer with his arm, fingers clawed and desperate, and the world crashes against you all at once.

[hp-hcs]

okay what about mattheo following the hufflepuff boy he’s crushing on into the woods and discover some magic beast he’s been taking care of!! And he’s just like damn I want him

aaaaaaa sorry for not writing for a couple days, y’all. my fuckin roommate decided to be a dumbass and broke his motherfucking leg, so i had to very hastily write this while he’s high off his ass on ketamine 😀👍

quibbler — mattheo riddle x male! hufflepuff! lovegood! reader

warnings: dumbledore bashing, alluded snape bashing

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Luna floated down the train’s hallway, followed in tow by her younger brother—a daydream-prone Hufflepuff who was oblivious to the advances of half of the school.

“Hello, little Lovegood,” your prefect, Cedric Diggory, said warmly, looking you up and down with a quick glance as he leaned out of the doorway of his friends’ compartment.

“Hello, Mr. Diggory,” you said with a dreamy grin. “Quibbler?”

He took the magazine you held out for him with a wide grin, immediately flipping through the pages. “Thanks, little Lovegood.”

You waved farewell, already starting back down the hallway. You heard Cedric sigh behind you, before returning to his compartment.

You moved onto the next room, sliding open the door and peeking in. The conversation inside halted, and you saw three startled faces looking up at you.

“Who the fu- oh, hello Y/N. You’re looking radiant as ever,” Pansy Parkinson said, fluttering her eyelashes at you.

“Thank you, Miss Pansy,” you said softly. “Quibbler?” You held out the magazine in her direction.

She took it immediately, causing Draco to lean forward and give you a charming grin.

“Got one for me too, little Lovegood?”

“Of course, Mr. Draco!”

The last occupant of the compartment was a boy you’d never seen before. He had an odd guarded look on his face that was severely faltering as he watched his friends communicate civilly with a Hufflepuff a year below them.

“Who are you?” He asked bluntly, although not intending to be rude.

You look over and smile at him. “Hullo, mister. Y/N Lovegood. Quibbler?”

“Mattheo Riddle,” He introduced ambivalently, taking the proffered magazine with some hesitation and raising an eyebrow as he read the cover.

“‘How To Ward Off Wrackspurts’?” He questioned. “What’s a wrackspurt then?”

“Invisible. They make you all confused and higgledy-piggledy. Your friends are full of them.”

The boy glanced at his two friends, who had abandoned attempting to read the eclectic magazine in favor of just staring at you with dreamy gazes.

“Right…”

“See you around then, mister,” you said, stepping back out into the hallway and sliding their compartment door shut before continuing on your journey, unknowingly taking Mattheo Riddle’s heart with you.

~~~ “You’d better watch out for nargles, mister.”

Mattheo startled, looking around for whoever had broken his reverie.

You stood there, your uniform shirt a rumpled mess, tie nowhere to be found, in non-uniform compliant shorts and mismatched socks. You blinked up at him expectantly.

Mattheo licked his chapped lips. “What?” He croaked, his voice cracking.

You didn’t mention it, nor the obvious tears he was hastily wiping away.

“Nargles,” you repeated. “In the mistletoe.” You point upwards, at the small bundle of leaves dotted with white berries hanging above your heads.

His cheeks flushed and he started to stammer something out, but you interrupted him again.

“Here,” Shifting the milk crate that you’d tied a pink ribbon to, thus turning it into a satchel that you carried your schoolbooks in, you pulled off one of your necklaces, holding it out to him.

It was a butterbeer cork on a string. Mattheo blinked.

“Keeps the nargles away,” you explained dreamily. He took the necklace from you with utter reverence and care, swiping his sleeve over his face once more to clear off all of his tears.

“Thank you,” he whispered, looking bewildered as he stared down at the simple pendant resting in his palm.

You just smiled, turning on your heel and starting to skip away, humming to yourself.

~~~ “Did you hear?”

“I heard he was…”

“…believe it! Hogwarts!”

“The Quibbler? Isn’t that the…”

“What’s all the chatter about?” Mattheo asked, elbowing Draco in the side to get his attention.

“Oh, little Lovegood’s in huge fucking trouble.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Draco shrugged. “Apparently he wrote an article for the Quibbler with some strong opinions in it that were considered uh… overly critical of Hogwarts staff. Dumbledork’s trying to claim libel, or something, I dunno.”

“What’d he write?” Mattheo asked. “I didn’t even know he could be critical. Or…opinionated, for that matter.”

Draco pulled a copy of the latest Quibbler out of his bag, handing it over. Mattheo flipped through bizarre crosswords, ads for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products, articles with titles like ‘Scrumple-Horned Snorkack Sighting!’ and ‘Mer-Murder: Siren Scion Shocks Sire!’, before finally flipping to Op-Eds.

==================================

Write-In: Hogwarts Student Defends Slytherin House!

Slytherins are not bad.

The system here at Hogwarts is bad. “Healthy house competition”? More like, “Hey what if we divided these eleven year olds into ‘brave’, ‘nerd’, ‘evil’, and ‘other’”.

And inter-house friendship between the ‘good’ houses and the ‘bad’ house is frowned upon. Why? Cleverness and ambition are not inherently immoral things. You know what is immoral? Allowing a house to win the House Cup, only to add enough points after the fact to change the winner of the Cup to a completely different house. But I digress.

Slytherin students here spend seven years being taunted, bullied, and outcast, and then everyone acts surprised when they get revenge? They spend years being put down, and then suddenly, they’re offered power back. Can you blame them? Now, I am in no way defending the actions of [Editor’s note——the student uses You-Know-Who’s actual name here], but I can understand the former students’ reasons for joining. And honestly, I am tired of seeing my peers be treated like a collective persona non grata, when almost all of the former Slytherin graduates are actively against [You-Know-Who]. A very small percentage of the Slytherin house are or were the turncoats in question, and it’s immoral to ostracize an entire group for the actions of just a few people. Collective punishment is a war crime.

But Hogwarts still continues to have clear opinions and preferences on all of the houses, doesn’t it?

Gryffindor is deified by the staff and in the eyes of the general public.

Ravenclaw is patronized and mocked for holding intelligence in high regard.

Hufflepuff is forgotten.

And all Slytherin students are labeled ignoble and contemptuous at the ripe age of eleven.

But alas, this dissent will change no opinions. I’m afraid that Hogwarts’ staff’s inequitable treatment of its students only means that they are digging themselves into a deeper hole, while rapidly losing the amount of people willing to hand them a ladder. I have no respect for adults who bully and abuse children.

– Apoplectic Anonymous

==================================

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Draco nodded. “Dumblefuck’s been trying to cover it up, but Loony- Luna keeps handing more out every time he confiscates them.”

“Dude,” Mattheo shook his head with wide eyes as he scanned over the Opinion article again. “Wait- how’d he even know who wrote it? This is anonymous.”

“Dunno, man. Nobody can figure that part out,” Draco shrugged, looking around the Slytherin common room. “Hey guys! We oughtta throw a party for little Lovegood when he gets back from Dumbledick’s detention!”

The other Slytherins immediately agreed, cheering.

Mattheo just shook his head in surprise again and glanced back down at the article.

His left arm itched.

~~~ “Thank ye for th’ help, son,” Hag- Professor Hagrid said cheerily, clapping one large hand down on Mattheo’s shoulder.

(He’d never admit it, but Mattheo was forever grateful that Professor Hagrid held no grudge against him for what his dad did to him.)

((Unlike some of the other teachers, who held twenty-year grudges over being friendzoned by the girl they called a slur.))

He stacked up the last few pieces of firewood, wiping his brow and embedding the axe into the chopping log. “‘Course, sir. I could use the extra credit anyway.”

Professor Hagrid chuckled heartily. “Well, I c’n take it from here, son. Oh! Bit o’ advice?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s a certain blond who hangs out in th’ forest, yeah? Not that you heard it from me.”

Mattheo felt his cheeks redden as it was insinuated that even his teachers knew about his silly crush dear Merlin.

(He did file that bit of information away for later, though.)

~~~ You skipped through the woods, happy to take over your sister’s duty of feeding the creatures. You stopped in a clearing that looked like any other, making a beeline for a certain tree.

Mattheo carefully picked his way through the forest duff, staying an inconspicuous distance away from you. He winced every time a dry leaf or branch snapped under his boots, slowing down and peeking out from behind a row of trees at you.

You tapped on the tree’s bark, waiting patiently until a…creature, an odd, spindly, twig-shaped creature crawled out from a small hollow recess in the tree and onto the sleeve of your coat.

“Hello, little friend! How are you this lovely evening?” You spoke softly to the creature, but your voice carried far in the otherwise quiet forest.

Mattheo watched as you let the creature crawl all over you, holding out a handful of sunflower seeds for it as you rambled on and on about anything and everything.

All Mattheo could think of was:

Oh.

Damn.

[slut4celebs]

Angel Baby

Olivia Rodrigo x Reader, Jenna Ortega x BestFriend!Reader

Word Count: 1,702 words

Trigger Warnings: a lot of fluff

Synopsis: A songfic based on Angel Baby by Troye Sivan in which Olivia and the Reader see each other after their decision to never date anyone ever again.

“I just think… Putting yourself out there wouldn’t be the worst idea.” Jenna said, glancing up at her best friend, who was currently examining her ice latte as if it were the worst thing to ever exist. Though, Jenna had come to realize (Y/n)’s face wasn’t towards the latte, but rather a way to pretend she wasn’t horrified by her suggestion. “(Y/n), come on. You’re amazing and talented. You deserve love. I have this friend… I would really like to introduce you to her. And, I heard you call her pretty before when we were flipping through a magazine.”

(Y/n) chose to refrain from rolling her eyes. “Another girl in the industry… great.” (Y/n) said sarcastically, wincing a bit when the disappointed frown that graced Jenna’s face appeared. She hated when Jenna pulled out the frown, an involuntary expression that only showed around people who knew her well enough to notice it. “Look, I just don’t think dating is good for me. All it ever led to was me locking myself in my apartment, missing three auditions that would’ve been amazing and totally mine if I would have attended, and me almost drowning in my cereal bowl.” She reminded, getting a little snicker from Jenna at the mention of when (Y/n) cried in her Fruit Loops, and Jenna had to lift her head from the bowl. She had milk all over her face, and Jenna had to take five minutes to keep from laughing.

Jenna grew serious though as she tapped the table. (Y/n) could almost groan, knowing what her best friend had up her sleeve. Undeniably, it was the best friend pact. Jenna was calling in a favor. (Y/n) could read it so clearly on her freckled face as Jenna tried to pick her words carefully. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to deny a favor of this caliber since Jenna very rarely pulled out the Best Friend Pact Favor. This was something they created on set of a movie they starred in together at the age of twelve. Since the creation of this sacred pact, they have stuck to it, using it to call dibs on being each other’s dates to events, help them avoid awkward questions asked by paparazzi, fans, and interviewers, and more.

“I hate to do this but… I’m invoking the pact.” Jenna said, leaning back in her chair. (Y/n) sighed deeply but waited, wanting to hear Jenna out. This was obviously something that had brewing in her mind for awhile. “Honestly, I’m worried about you and her. I think you two would be good for each other. I just want you to give it a chance. A real chance, (Y/n).”

(Y/n) ran a hand down her face, risking her makeup’s safety when she did. “Fine, fine. Just tell me who it is. That way I can plan something.” She agreed, taking a sip of her coffee, debating chugging it to get out of the coffee shop faster. But instead, she remained calm and just panicked on the inside. She knew that Jenna was genuinely worried about her and the fact that she complained a little too frequently about being lonely. Plus, it had been a year since her breakup to the girl who always put down her dreams for her own. Maybe it was time to put herself out there. Besides, Jenna knew her taste quite well, saying as they were going on almost ten years strong in their friendship.

“Ha, as if I would tell you upfront and risk you leaving as soon as you saw her.” Jenna rose a brow. She tended to know her a little too well. Admittedly, she probably would run. But who’s to say that’s still not a possibility given that she could go to wherever Jenna would drop her off at… She could also just sneak off. “You’re also not allowed to sneak out as soon as I drop you off. This date is going to be on Saturday at six, I’ve decided. Dress nice but not overly nice. Basically, a pretty blouse and jeans. Oh! And that leather jacket that you look super fucking hot in.”

A snort escaped her at Jenna’s words and she allowed her gaze to meet Jenna’s deep brown ones. “I’m beginning to think you’re setting me up with you.” She teased, earning a playful shove. (Y/n) found herself to be grateful that the shove was officially the end to the conversation. Now, they’ve moved onto better topics like filming and dessert they’ve had recently. She finally felt the tension caused by the conversation leave her shoulders as she listen to Jenna talk about a special dessert Emma, her Wednesday co-star, had her try.

On Saturday, Jenna dropped (Y/n) at a pretty popular celebrity hangout, that way she wouldn’t know who she was setting her up with. (Y/n) drummed her fingers on the table, fist against her cheek as she waited for some kind of clue for who it might be when someone unexpected caught her eye at the bar. Olivia Rodrigo. A guilty pit fell in her stomach as she looked around, completely abandoning whoever Jenna might be dropping off soon now that she was settled. Instead, she approached the brunette who was ordering a glass of wine.

“Good choice. I’ll have the same.” She settled by the girl, who looked over and smiled a bit. “It’s been awhile, Liv,” (Y/n) greeted her friend. She has always had sort of a thing for Olivia, not that she would say it out loud. Only Jenna knew. “How has the music scene been going? Please tell me your third album is coming out soon. I’ve been craving a new vinyl with your name on it.” (Y/n), being a big supporter of her friends’ works, bought their movies and vinyl's. This included Olivia. She had her Sour album, her Guts album, and even her Guts Deluxe album.

A small smile fell on Olivia lips as she sipped her wine. “I didn’t expect to see you here, (Y/n).” She leaned in, closer to the girl. “The third album might come sooner than you think.” She said with a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “What about you? What have you been working on as of late? Any movie I should be keeping my eyes out for?” Olivia winked, causing (Y/n)’s cheeks to heat up. She reminded herself, in that moment, that she swore off dating. She couldn’t flirt with Olivia. But Olivia seemed to be flirting, a little bit, with her. Was she being delusional?

Their conversation continued, and (Y/n) forgot about the fact that she was there for Jenna and whoever she would be bringing. She didn't know if there was anyone waiting for her, looking out for her. Her attention was just on Olivia. "Honestly, I wasn't excited to come out here tonight." (Y/n) swirled the wine around in her glass as more was poured. Their conversation had turned into something less of small talk. Now, they were going into deeper conversations, both agreeing that the dating scene has sucked. But there was an ease to their conversation that made them feel comfortable. That's how all of their conversations seemed to go.

Olivia frowned a bit, eyes searching (Y/n)'s for a moment. "Oh? Why is that?" She questioned the girl. (Y/n) found herself at a loss, not knowing how to explain that she had abandoned a potential date to join Olivia. Mostly because she knew that leaving whoever it was behind like that was wrong. However, she couldn't help herself to be so drawn in to the girl in front of her. She just had this way about her that always drew (Y/n) in. From their first conversation, Olivia had become someone (Y/n) deeply appreciated and welcome into her life. And that wasn't something she did often.

"Well, I don't want you to think I'm a bad person. It's just… Jenna was trying to set me up with someone, but I've just sworn off dating. Though, I'm starting to think that… you know, I shouldn't do that." She cleared her throat, cheeks burning at the insinuation that she would give up dating for Olivia. But she would. She would love to take Olivia on a date and not just sit in front of a bar, talking over a couple glasses of wine. "I just totally abandoned whoever she was trying to set me up with because I saw you. I couldn't help myself."

A smile fell on Olivia's lips. For a moment, she had turned away from (Y/n) before she let her brown eyes meet (Y/n)'s eyes again. "You didn't abandon your date. Jenna had me come meet you here because I swore it, dating, off, too. I'm also thinking that was a dumb idea, now, though. I just needed some wine before I walked over to you because… You make me nervous. Jenna asked me about you, and I said you were stunning and like the perfect person. That's how this whole thing got set up. I just was too nervous to tell you 'hi' when walking in." She admitted softly. The admission cause (Y/n) to lose that guilty feeling that was heavy on her chest before she leaned in. Olivia followed in the motion, their lips connecting gently.

They were both lost in the feeling before the bar tender told them they couldn't make-out there. So, (Y/n) pulled away, paid for both of their drinks, and left a big tip before leading Olivia out of the building. Olivia had taken her to her car, dropping (Y/n)'s assumptions that Jenna had dropped her off as well. This was a good thing because now, as two celebrities who were followed constantly by paparazzi, they had a sense of privacy. (Y/n) drew Olivia back in and the two kissed for long moments until they couldn't breath anymore.

"Just so you know… I'm going to take you out now. This time, without Jenna finding her way into the relationship." She joked, causing Olivia to grin widely. Their lips were reconnected, and the two knew that they about to be so lost in each other for what very well might be forever, with any luck.

[ruershrimo]

k. nobara x fem!reader | two pretty best friends??

synopsis: nobara is nothing short of drop-dead gorgeous. you're really gay and super in love even though you think her affection toward you is merely platonic. but then an encounter during the sister school goodwill event makes you discover that you're also super oblivious.

seriously, how do you simultaneously keep those two up?!

word count: ~2.7k, tws: not really anything besides (noritoshi) kamo trying to hit on you??? it makes sense when you read it lol ('tw kamo' LMAO), reader throws shade (?) on mai and noritoshi, reader is called a ‘little mouse’ but more because of demeanour rather than,,, her figure,,,

you meet kugisaki nobara for the first time in the concrete jungle of tokyo. there, she looks like magic in a person, pure magazine model material: dyed brown hair cut girlishly short, wild and frayed at its ends like a paintbrush that had accompanied its owner for years; eyes the hue of a saccharine sweet milk chocolate bar; her back straight and confident, bold and all in place, as if she is where she should be and she knows this. the pinnacle of beauty, this girl is, perfect picture on the cover of vogue. 

she’s got skin that looks milky, silky; loved and kissed with her own tender, painstaking care, it seems. there’s a little bump on it— a blemish that goes unnoticed by the boys, covered by concealer, but it just makes her all the more beautiful. 

you’re barely able to talk to her. your brain goes blank as if it’s short-circuited, stricken and frozen in place. she opens her mouth and a melody sings mellifluously like a restaurant cabaret from an old record in your grandparents’ house. 

she’s magic. 

the second time you meet her, she drags you out shopping and you follow her like a magnet, not even bothering to make a begrudging reply. you’re hauled along by the collar, almost, and you let her. 

“I’m so glad that I’m not the only girl, honestly,” she states as the two of you walk along the pavement, “I can’t imagine having to handle those two all on my own, they must’ve been insufferable! actually, how did you deal with those idiots?” 

you have no idea how, actually. but the boys, savants in some ways yet complete imbeciles in others (oh they really could be bumbling idiots sometimes)— would never understand or comprehend this, any of this. no being of the male species would; they wouldn’t notice the way her eyes catch the light, her irises bursting into a kaleidoscope of colour, or the way she sits so confident of herself, position relaxed and powerful and self-assured. they wouldn’t have the mind to see these things, all right in front of them, and appreciate these traits, admire them. 

your words are almost caught in your throat; your reply comes out mangled and weak like asphyxiated fish from an iron net. “I– I don’t know, honestly,” you stutter, “I just, um, avoided them… but I guess it seems that they’re really close to each other already.” 

“...hey, you okay?” she asks, grabbing hold of your hand. your heart stops and nearly flatlines, heat pooling up in your cheeks. the summer air feels hot. yet it swelters you even more as she inches closer to you, her breath— mint mouthwash and grape-flavoured, mouth-cooling gum— nearly burning literal assaults on your skin. “no need to be shy. I mean, the two of us have got to stick together, you know!” 

“I’m– I’m okay, thanks. sorry.” 

she pulls herself away, and the little circle you have around you misses her in her absence, almost whining as you remind yourself that if she were to get any closer to you in proximity, you could possibly faint, or things could get much worse. 

“but seriously, if you’re a shy person, don’t let people pick on you or intimidate you!” she rolls up her sleeves, an impish yet valiant smile on her face, “I’ll beat them up if they do!” 

the third time you meet her, she’s teaching you a better way to do your makeup. something simpler, she says, a trick she learned online, something meant to mimic the stuff of movie stars and their picture-perfect, freshly-kissed lips. 

you don’t know how it’s gotten to this, though: your knees bent on the sofa as her legs are split on your lap (it looks less erotic than it sounds, you’re sure, but it still makes your brain feel like it’s being waved and wrung all over like a raggedy piece of cloth). she straddles your sides this way, snug between your lap and your stomach. 

“then you’re supposed to just dab it all around like this,” she continues, the blistering heat in your head spreading through your body pervasively as she presses her thumb to your lips, catching your breath in your throat. she places her hand on the side of your face, her fingers caressing your jawline and her thumb resting on your cheek, so close to your eyes that you can see it in your peripheral vision as you stare up at her, rendered a complete and utter mess. 

“come on, don’t be shy. stay still!” 

“sorry, kugisaki…” 

“hey,” she stops, her eyes boring into yours, unassuming and free of any sort of malintent, “don’t be so polite. you prostrate yourself too much, especially around me. seriously, don’t say sorry for everything, and just call me nobara, okay? we’ve got to help each other out— we’re both the girls of the group, the better half and all that. and we’re most of the only girls in this school. the ratio is crazy. so we’ve got to stick together and stuff, be comfortable with each other. no more apologies or self-doubts!” 

every bit of contact her skin has with yours lays a blooming garden of goosebumps on your skin, from your cheek, sliding all the way down to your shoulder. 

how could you act normal about this?

“see?” she asks, holding a mirror up to your face when she’s completed it. “you look beautiful! woah, I’m so good at this, honestly. it makes you feel pretty, right?” 

you’d never be as beautiful as her. for a long time, you’d thought you’d never be beautiful at all. 

but for once, you do. even if you won’t ever compare to her— and you guess nobody else ever could as well— it’s the way she says it, that gleam in her eye as she flashes you a grin while you marvel at how your face looks when it’s ‘dolled up’. you feel like you’re in a painting. like you’d been loved enough to be put in one. 

so you smile back at her, your teeth bare after years of covering your face in pictures and dreading when you couldn’t. she makes you believe that you could be beautiful. maybe that’s what real beauty is. that’s why she herself is beauty beyond compare. “yeah.” if you think about it and believe it enough, then you could embody it. like this, people would want you because you think they would. like this, you could be knockout because you think you could. you’d always known that her confidence factored into her beauty. 

“if you want, I could teach you how to put more makeup. it’s not that you need it to look ‘pretty’, but it would help you show others how you want to feel pretty. the reason why this looks good on you is because I did it to make your features stand out a little: see? you’ve got these gorgeous lips, so I made them look like that,” she highlights, “oh, yeah— want me to take a picture?” 

“you like kugisaki?” fushiguro asks. 

you remain silent. 

he rubs at his temples. “oh my goodness, you do. you’re in love with her.” 

“…not like you would understand,” you retort under your breath. he hears you anyway. 

“she’s so beautiful,” you start, sighing, “and so kind and confident. like she can walk into something and know exactly what she needs. she’s put together like that. and she does things with purpose. she doesn’t wander aimlessly or fight without a goal. she’s so good at makeup and fashion and resourceful when it comes to playing by her skills on the field, and she’s so outgoing and welcoming with people who she can get along well with, and she’s so warm—

“oh, I can’t stress it enough, fushiguro. I— she’s literally perfect. I like her so much, I-I feel like I’m on a cloud or something. every day feels like that.” 

“you’re down bad.” 

“I know,” you choke out pathetically. 

“but I’m pretty sure she already thinks the two of you are dating.” 

“…wait, what?!”

this happens, well— around the fiftieth time you meet her: 

sports festival preparations have been as lively as bubbles in soda pop lately, and you’re sitting down next to her, knees bent on the pavement, mourning a classmate you barely knew and the fact that he could have been a lifelong friend had he not been snuffed out prematurely. as you take another swig of your drink— green tea in the can so that she can have it too if the coca cola’s making her teeth have that weird, fuzzy, plaque formation-indicating feeling like always— she places her hand on yours. 

the heat on your cheeks, the barely formed but nearly forming sweat on your body. that stuff isn’t going to go away, ever. you’re pretty sure of that. even with a thousand indirect kisses from sharing food and even warming up to having her lying back flushed to your lap, it’s never going to go away. each time she looks at you, your gaze is transfixed on hers, your voice nearly comes out mangled, and you feel heat blossoming on the back of your balmy neck. 

“yeah?” you ask. 

“you know, [name], I love you. a lot. like, you’re really special to me,” she smiles warmly, a faint hint of red on her cheeks, just like the rose in her name— though that could just be your imagination. 

“...I love you too.” 

“heh,” she giggles, an impish, graceful, secure sound, like a kiss to your ears, your favourite song playing on the car radio in a memory from several years ago, “I’m glad!” 

it’s wonderful. 

your worst fears are never confirmed, but there are definitely things that give way to them. 

you’re quite sure that nobara herself isn’t like that— she does talk about having a boyfriend, but she doesn’t actually want to date a boy, you’re sure. the closest thing to a crush that you’ve ever seen her having is her admiration for maki— and you understand that. 

you respect maki: she’s impeccably smart, strong, and everything in between. yet her existence begets a small worry. if nobara crushes on maki and they end up together, what would be of you? 

the only thing you’d be certain of was that you’d keep loving nobara. you’d just want her to be happy, after all— all your tears and mourning for time spent on purposeless yearning, just to see that grin on your face. that would be worth it, a fair trade. 

but this is how you’re proven wrong, and you fall deeper in love with nobara after that. 

before the sister school goodwill event starts, the six of you (plus yuuji— you’d hate to admit it but seeing him again nearly made you break down in tears) have been given the opportunity to meet the kyoto students and welcome them. it goes about as well as you’d expected it to be— at least the physical portion of the fights and conflicts hadn’t already begun there. 

after having met them, you’re sure that half of them are out for blood here. they’re an eccentric crowd, but not just eccentric, per se— borderline terrifying. you’ll be sure to avoid them throughout and just focus on the plan. 

which is why you nearly sprint in the other direction like a deer from wolves when you see kamo noritoshi and zenin mai approaching you. 

and zenin mai has a stunning face. even if it can’t compare to nobara or her sister’s, she’s got a charm to her, a glint in her eye that you’re sure somebody else will appreciate someday. (just not you.) kamo is just there, his eyes closed for some reason even though you’re sure he must be fully capable of keeping them wide open, and his hair in an awful haircut that you fail to understand the appeal of. probably something traditional that his clan wanted. 

“oh?” mai says, a lilt in her tone. you’re going to get bullied, right? your stomach lurches forward and you nearly keel over, fainting— an all too familiar feeling. the popular people in school used to do that, especially the rude athletic boys. she would probably be popular among them, had she been born into a normal life. “what a little mouse. she seems like a doormat.” 

“zenin, teasing our competitors is unbecoming of members from our lineages,” he admonishes before mai groans. “shouldn’t you be with the other tokyo students?” kamo asks. 

why couldn’t you have just had to meet todo? he’d say that you had wonderful taste in women, you’re sure. why the girl with family issues and the guy with family issues and an atrocious haircut? 

“I, um— I got lost. but I don’t know if they’re going to have me anyway, I mean yuuji’s stronger than me so now I’m just going to be the weakest member there. anyway, um, nice chat, I’ve got to go, bye-bye—”  

“no,” kamo denies, “itadori yuuji besmirches the title of ‘jujutsu sorcerer’.” 

“and the title of weakling goes to maki, not you, I’m pretty sure,” mai says, “but you’re an adorable little thing. what’s your name— something-something, [name], am I correct?” 

what were they doing, completing their sentences like that?  did they practise their lines in the morning, staring in the mirror and repeating them over and over? they sound like people who’d be mentioned in the local family restaurant comedian’s shows— no, not even their shows, they’re not entertaining enough to be in their shows. they’d just barely be mentioned in passing in the bits so that five audience members could get an extra laugh they’d eventually forget about. 

“maki’s really strong, though,” you refute, trying to keep your mind calm “and yuuji, too. it’s hard fighting with them because nobody can ever beat them down, really.” 

“durability does not equate to power,” kamo claims. well, and then there’s someone like him, with neither. “and be confident of your own abilities. I can sense your cursed energy from here. it’s impressive,” he remarks. 

“...I appreciate the thought, but really, I have to go now—” 

“oh, stay for a while, won’t you?” mai asks, inching closer to you like a large ant from the corner of a room. how were insects always so good at slipping into houses and mentally impaired when it came to exiting them? 

kamo joins her, gripping your wrist. you’ll have to sanitise your hand and double-wash your sleeve now, especially after what you said (you’d be fine if mai was doing it, but why kamo? kamo of all people?) 

“ah, and this may seem rather spontaneous, but you’re rather beautiful.” really, it only sounds as good as it usually does if nobara is the one saying it. it feels like his words are assaulting your ears. “good luck.” 

“come on, don’t let her go yet—” 

“[name]! you okay?” 

it’s nobara. thank goodness, it’s nobara. 

“what the hell do you two think you’re doing to my girlfriend?!” 

girlfriend?! 

“oh, nothing,” mai goes, “just playing with her a little. she’s a doll. you picked well!” 

the only thing she can play with is her fucking audacity. 

“ugh— let’s go, [name]! don’t care about these people!” she pulls you along by the wrist. 

“I should’ve made sure you were okay,” she says as the two of you walk to the tokyo students’ gathering point. “I was worried! you’ve got to stick to us next time.” 

“sorry… but they really didn’t do anything. but, um… I think kamo tried to hit on me…?” 

“ew— with that haircut? hate it when twos go looking for tens.” 

“but um…” you hesitate, “about what you said, am I really… your girlfriend?” 

“huh?” she pulls back, “I thought we’d been dating for almost a month!” 

“wait, what—?!” 

“I even told you I loved you! we literally sleep on each others’ laps!” 

“I couldn’t tell if that was platonic or romantic or not! I mean, I don’t mean that I don’t want to date you, I just meant that I didn’t know—” 

“okay,” she exhales, “since we both need things to be clear. want to be my girlfriend?” 

“like, a girlfriend-girlfriend? like, going out on dates and stuff and um…” 

“yeah, a girlfriend-girlfriend. we can go out on dates and do even more than that, maybe,” she greens cheekily. 

“woah… I mean— it’s a dream, I—” 

“so it’s a yes?” 

“yeah—” 

she kisses you and it effectively shuts you up. her lips taste like a latte from the fancy coffee shop the two of you had visited two days before. to think that she’d seen it as a date, while you’d thought the whole thing was just another outing between ‘friends’... 

it’s the best feeling ever. 

this is going to flop too lmao but back at it w the low-quality posts but

[its-avalon-08]

hii, can you write a headcanons for kimi as being boyfriend of a model? tysm!

world apart yet we fit

kimi räikkönen x model!reader

kimi, despite his stoic exterior, secretly keeps every magazine cover or spread y/n is featured in. he has a hidden folder on his laptop titled "the most beautiful smile" which is just y/n's modeling photos.

y/n knows kimi hates attending galas or award shows with her, so she finds ways to make it fun for him. they create a secret game of counting the most outrageous outfits or spotting the most bored celebrities.

kimi isn't the most vocal with his feelings, but he always makes sure to pick y/n up from the airport after a long modeling trip, no matter how early or late it is. he has the biggest bouquet of flowers in his hand along with her favorite take out.

kimi knows healthy eating can be difficult during long modeling shoots. he preps little care packages of her favorite trail mix and healthy snacks to sneak into y/n's luggage.

kimi hates crowded restaurants, so after a race weekend, they have a tradition of ordering takeout from their favorite local place and having a movie marathon in their pajamas (which are matching).

y/n hides little notes with motivational quotes or silly jokes in kimi's race helmet before qualifying or the main race. eg- "my icemean, show them hell xoxo y/n/n"

kimi pretends to be grumpy when y/n gushes about him in interviews, but secretly he loves it. he'll catch her eye from across the room and give her a small, genuine smile.

y/n knows how much kimi values his privacy. she never forces him to be on social media with her, but she might sneak a goofy picture of him relaxing at home into her instagram story every now and then. (he pretends to be annoyed but secretly adores the attention).

kimi isn't the best gift-giver, but he always remembers those little things y/n mentions in passing. he once surprised her with a rare book on a finnish artist she'd admired from afar and he got it for her.

y/n encourages kimi to reconnect with his finnish hobbies. they spend summer afternoons going for quiet nature walks or fishing in the finnish countryside, just the two of them.

kimi, who hates flying, will conquer his fear and accompany y/n on certain shoots if it means they get to explore a new location together.

y/n knows kimi isn't the most expressive with words, so she's learned to read his emotions through small gestures. a raised eyebrow means he's proud of her, a small squeeze of her hand means he's happy. but kimi surprised her and with the help of sebastian as him teammate, he became more expressive and comfortable with pda.

after a particularly tough race, y/n will find kimi sketching in his notebook. it's a little-known hobby that helps him de-stress. she'll sit beside him in comfortable silence, drawing circles with her finger on his bicep, just being a calming presence.

they have a tradition of celebrating each other's victories, big or small. whether it's a podium finish for kimi or a major campaign booking for y/n, they clink champagne flutes (or milk if it's late) and celebrate each other's achievements.

kimi hates the male models who get to comfortable and makes it a point to stay as close to her as possible, causing y/n to jokingly call him her guard dog.

kimi and y/n adore eachother to the end of the earth. he calls her kulta <3

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

i hope you enjoyed! happy reading <3 do send in more requests! as for pre existing requests- im working on it! lots of love ava

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️