#of course his name is pronounced that way

[xaer1s]

ㅤㅤ ❛ ㅤ✿ ──────​ cuteness clad in silk ⸝⸝

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ 최산 ] ─── ​CHOI SAN​ ⨾ ATEEZ

ㅤㅤ synopsis:ㅤsan was always a calm and collected guy, not riling himself up easily but this simple change you made tonight, unexpectedly -especially for him- had him feeling a bit too excited.ㅤ⨾ㅤwarnings:ㅤnsfw!!, spooning sex, unprotected sex (guys don't do it), needy-dom!san, fem!reader, sub!reader, clit play, p in v, cream pie, lil begging?, pwp??, pet names, slight overstim, lil swearing, praisingㅤ;ㅤword count:ㅤ1,8kㅤ;ㅤa/n.: after my other account with the name of xa3r1s got shadow-banned and i didn't really get help from the staff, i decided to make another blog. i probably won't reupload all of my works. happy reading

ㅤㅤ › ARCHiVE ; NAViGATiON ・・・・・; ✉︎ message me on: @smnxi ; please reblog and follow if you like my posts! do not spam likes, or you'll be blocked, sorry! ♡

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ• . ˚ ⋆ . ｡.

. . . having to lay your head on the pillow at the most boiling hot night in mid august was just straight up torture, so you decided to change sleepwear. placing the soft cotton shorts and thin, plain tops aside, for an even thinner, pure white nightgown. it actually looked very cute if we’re gonna be honest and very practical too. you never once thought about wearing one but when you finally gave it a try and it wasn’t that bad at all.

the silky fabric clung to your skin because of the after shower steam in all the right places, pronouncing your hips as the material stretched deliciously. showing the faint outline of your nipples and the straps occasionally slipping down on your bare shoulders, made your boyfriend attention perk up. it had san already in a frenzy.

experiencing you like this first in his whole lifetime was a game changer for him, he just got so used to seeing you in your usual night wear that he didn’t really pay attention to it anymore. not to misunderstand, you were absolutely cute like that too.

now turning off the lights, making your way from the bathroom to sit on the edge of the bed, your bare feet quietly thumping on the cold wooden floor, the harsh feeling sent goosebumps over your skin. the bedroom was quiet and dark aside from the lamp’s small, orange tinted light providing the only source of light, placed on the bedside table. still, you felt his sharp eyes tracking over you. the window wide open, the gentle summer breeze tickling your skin and the sky foggy.

he was already under the warm, fluffy duvet, his dark eyes drinking in the sight in front of him just within his reach, and at this point he was just struggling to keep himself composed and his actions in check. he itched to reach out to tug the inviting material off of you, he had so easy access it made him go nuts.

of course you noticed, his gaze quite literally burning holes into your back as you made yourself comfortable under the blankets, pulling it over you as you curled against his side, as he continued to stare shamelessly. a content sigh escaping you and a gentle smile made itself clear on your lips.

“hug me..” just like you asked, one of his arm draped over your shoulder to pull you flush against him, his palm splayed out flat on your waist as his fingertips caressed you gently over the shiny fabric.

he already saw you in every way he possibly could by now after spending years with you and knew every inch and crevice of your soft body like the back of his hand. still, the innocence you carried in wearing a simple white nightgown with nothing but panties underneath just send tingles of excitement through his body, straight to his cock and made his heart thump faster. you seemed so pure and adorable in his embrace, soft locks falling forward and framing your cheeks, eyes ready to flutter close to drift off to sleep, knowing nothing about his inner turmoil.

the cute little flares adorning the hem where it rode up your thighs, made his tummy hot. after some time, now deep in slumber, you turned to your other side, presenting your back to him. he managed to force himself to sleep too but as soon as you moved, it shook him awake. his tired gaze traveling to your frame and gulping down a big lump in his throat.

adjusting himself after you, missing the feeling of your body against his, san wrapped his arms around your mid section, his front pushing against your back. he was already struggling real bad at this point, but the quiet whine you let slip out in your sleep and the way you wriggled your butt against his crotch in the search of his warmth just did the work.

his hold now tighter as each second passed, hips bucking into you, just slowly and lazily grinding himself through his sleeping shorts. making sure you were still asleep and snoring softly, his face found its home in the back of your neck, your hair brushing against his face as he made incredible effort to muffle his whiny moans while rutting himself against you.

in a futile attempt to keep quiet, his teeth sank into his plump lower lip almost drawing out blood and god he was ashamed of himself for being so fucking horny just from lying next to you. his embarrassment from the absurdity of the situation slowly seeped into pleasure as a small wet patch made itself visible in his already tight underwear.

you stirring awake, a quiet whine escaped from deep within your throat, blinking your weary eyes open to meet with darkness. it took a few seconds to realize what’s going on behind you, your lips parted with an exhausted sigh.

“san..” but he continued, you didn’t protest, not when he was so adorably needy, you knew he simply just wouldn’t let you until he’s satisfied.

“darling.. i’m sorry- you’re just-..” he tries to explain, his voice coming in quick and unsteady pants, his palm flat on your hips now and fingertips flicking over the hem of your clothing. “can I, please?.. the tip.. only the tip, i swear, baby..” even while asking for permission, he didn’t seem to stop grinding so instead you just appreciated the effort of him pleading so desperate for you. reluctantly, you mumbled a small and very exhausted ‘yeah’ and gave the green light.

you were tired but you still weren’t so cruel to leave your handsome boyfriend wanting so of course you gave in even if it meant sacrificing a little sleep. feeling his hands inch higher on your sides, pushing the material with them, giving himself more place to reach. one of his hand rested on your ass and the other moved to pull the waistband of his shorts just under his member, letting it lewdly slap against his firm abdomen, eliciting a quiet hiss from san.

taking himself into his grip, his fingers tightened around the flushed red tip and his thumb smeared the sticky pre-cum across his already pulsing erection with a low groan before giving it a few squelching pumps quickly for an easier slide. his breathing heavy and actions unsteady, he managed to hook his fingers into the elastic band of your panties, tugging it down your thighs just enough for him to finally reach your most sensitive places. this was all it took for him to get to you, hiking up your nightgown and simply just pulling off your underwear. the thought alone made him twitch in his firm grasp, making his hold tighten around it.

his fingers grazed your dripping slit, feeling the evidence of your excitement on the pads of his fingers, so slimy and warm, it made his mouth water, his tasting buds aching to just lick it off. pushing those fantasies aside, he felt like he’d explode if he’s not in you in the next two minutes. he moved flush against your back, his other hand guiding his throbbing erection to nudge your entrance, sinking slowly in with a stretched out moan, breathing it against the back of your neck.

he bottomed out, just savoring the exquisite feeling of your warmth surrounding him, you clenching down tightly in response, feeling the small ridges and veins running along his cock against your wet walls, it made your needy hole gush too. his digits dug into your plush hips, his nails forming small, red half circles as he squeezed your flesh to guide you slowly. his other hand sneaked its way around your torso aiming to have you as close as humanly possible while he was taking you from behind.

“so warm and snug.. you feel so good, baby.. bet you love feeling me inside you so fucking deep..” he seethed through gritted teeth, pulling out to quickly slam himself back, his tip kissing your cervix, your body jerking forward with a sudden gasp from the force, his arm keeping you safe and still, pressing you back against his broad chest.

your juices dripped down along his shaft, coating it thickly, sweet droplets landing on the sheets beneath you, your hole fluttering crazy, sucking him in subconsciously. his cock dragged along your gummy walls lazily, his eyes closed down as delicate whines left your plump lips.

one of his hand slipped between your thighs, nudging them further apart, the pads of his index and middle finger drawing circles furiously on your puffy, throbbing clit as he continued to thrust away, pace only picking up slightly. the pleasure had your muscles tense and your back arch, instinctively squirming from him while he shushed you, trying to keep you there with force and helping to guide your movements.

“‘m close!-.. s-san!..”

“yeah.. go ahead, my sweet girl..” to his reassurance wrapped words, the knot in your tummy tightened further, heat spreading all over your body from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, your skin tingling. “you deserve it, let go.. let me feel you come over my cock. can you do that for me?..”

with a sharp pinch and a quick tug on your swelled nub, a loud moan rippled from your heaving chest as your release hit you like a tidal wave, clamping on his shaft as he continued to piston into you from behind. fucking you through your orgasm turning into chasing his own high when he moved even faster. it was almost as if he didn’t hear your protest. you reached behind, pushing on his chest with your palm and legs closing on his hand still between yours. he resisted well, by just easily keeping you in place.

“it’s okay- i know, love, i know.. a little-.. just a little more, yeah? gonna be good for me and make me cum too, hm?” his sweet and comforting tone made you relax, stopping all your earlier resistance. his abdominal muscles flexed and with a stinging bite in the nape of your neck, he shot his hot ropes of thick seed deep into your waiting womb, your fucked out body shuddering at the sensations.

after a few, sloppy thrust, he finally stilled inside you completely with his spent cock. catching his breath while he peppered soft kisses to the reddened marking he left just now.

his hands sliding to your sides now, soothing your heated up and flushed skin as your eyes fluttered down close, ears already starting to block out his quiet words targeted towards you.

“‘love you.. so grateful for you, baby..” a small, genuine smile threatened to stretch on his lips as he just followed you to sleep soundly, pulling the duvet over you to tuck you in again, keeping you in his strong yet so caring and gentle grip, making the clean up tomorrow’s problem.

plagiarism is strictly forbidden, do not translate my works, copy them or publish them on another site ; @xaer1s

[lesbianvaljean]

Hugo spends much of "A Tempest in a Skull" setting Valjean up to be crucified.

The name "Jean Valjean" is seen as a sentence in and of itself: "to ever hear that name pronounced... would be the end of all things for him." As Mellow has written the name derives from Pontius Pilate's presentation of Jesus prior to his crucifixion!

Hearing the name Jean Valjean causes a "rent veil" and an "earthquake", both associated with the death of Jesus.

Valjean is seen as dying to save another, and by that achieving new life: "to surrender himself to save that man [and] to become... Jean Valjean, that was, in truth, to achieve his resurrection."

The narrator emphasizes a binary choice between Valjean or Champmathieu ("a stranger.... whom destiny... was thrusting into the gulf in his stead") being sentenced, paralleling the choice Pilate makes between Jesus and Barabbas.

If that all weren't enough, Hugo twice explicitly compares Valjean to Jesus approaching crucifixion. First Valjean yields to a "mysterious power which said to him: 'Think!' as it said to another condemned man, two thousand years ago, 'March on!'". Then, the chapter ends with a beautiful long comparison of Valjean to Christ in Gethsemane.

So, we end Tempest in Gethsemane. Where next? Well, the Stations of the Cross, a traditional narrative of Christ's road to the cross which invites Christians to walk with Jesus from his sentencing to his burial, just like Jean Valjean is about to do.

All 14 stations, I think, show up somewhere on the road to Arras. Some of these connections are explicit, some are more tenuous — would love to hear folk's thoughts on these + any I might have missed!

There are 14 standard stations (which also would have existed in Hugo's day, although not sure about their ubiquity in French Catholicism at the time.) Lots of variations exist -- if you're curious, here's a standard liturgy and some Vatican reflections.) So these 14 certainly don't include all the possible parallels. Valjean is denied by his three convict friends, for instance, as Jesus was denied three times by Peter; in 1.7.5 Valjean eats and rejects bitter bread, which I read as a nod to Jesus tasting and rejecting the sponge of sour wine; and even Romainville references Rome, of course the empire under which Jesus was crucified. But I think the 14 give a good sense of how totally central the crucifixion narrative is.

Jesus is condemned to death - Javert is quite clear in 1.6.2 that someone will be condemned to die in prison under the name of Jean Valjean. This is expanded upon at some length by Valjean in Tempest.

Jesus takes up his Cross - Valjean begins his journey to Arras in the tilbury.

Jesus falls the first time - Valjean's first delay: the tilbury's wheel breaks.

Jesus meets his Mother - Valjean's mother does not appear here. But we do get a strange dream featuring his brother, which may represent a similar familial presence before an immense suffering. Like Jesus' mother, Valjean's brother cannot save him; he cannot even accompany him through the end of the dream.

Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus carry the Cross - The young boy helps Valjean find a new cart, which lets him continue his journey to Arras.

Veronica wipes the face of Jesus - We could read this as the old woman who lends Valjean her cart. The veil Veronica is said to have used to wipe Jesus' face took his image and was venerated as a relic for centuries as the true image of Jesus (Veronica means "true image"). So she is seen in the Church as a compassionate documentary witness to his suffering. I think there's a case to be made that the narrator might be taking the place of Veronica here, showing us the imprint of Valjean's suffering in the documents, like his journal, that Valjean produces.

Jesus falls for the second time - Valjean's second delay: the horse is exhausted and road work lengthens the way.

Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem - I think this station can be seen in the reaction of the courtroom spectators, who are transformed into "sympathizing hearts" as "capture all souls and turn witnesses into spectators" Certainly Jesus's reaction is appropriate: "Weep not for me but for your children"

Jesus falls for the third time - Valjean's third delay: the cart's whiffle-tree breaks.

Jesus is stripped of his garments - Valjean destroys his old clothes, in an attempt to strip himself of his identity.

Jesus is nailed to the Cross - Valjean arrives at the trial. Note that both the trial and the crucifixion are scheduled to begin at 9 a.m. (Mark 15:25), although obviously the trial actually happens in the dark.

Jesus dies on the Cross - Madeleine confesses himself to be Jean Valjean, marking the death of the persona of Madeleine and this phase of his life, and saving Champmathieu. See Hugo's description of the crowd’s reaction: a silence like that of the grave." And, later: "the whole crowd, as by a sort of electric revelation, understood instantly... the simple and magnificent history of a man who was delivering himself up so that another man might not be condemned in his stead"

Jesus is taken down from the Cross - This is trickier, but I think we can read the unknown crowd member who opened the door for Valjean as Joseph of Arimathea, who took away the body of Jesus and opened the door of his own tomb for him. See the context Hugo gives here: “those who do certain sovereign things are always sure of being served by some one in the crowd.”

Jesus is laid in the tomb - The door closes behind Valjean and this section of the book ends.

[scuderia-piastri]

networking

✮⋆˙summary: two moments where red has managed to bond with her fellow drivers, and one moment where she hasn’t (sort of)

✮⋆˙warnings: google translated spanish because i don’t speak spanish (duo is rolling in his grave), stupid fia regulations, danica patrick, pierre’s hair (or lack thereof)

✮⋆˙a/n: took a while but motivation struck at 4 am and who am i to ignore it after it ghosted me for weeks on end? also, thank you so much to my friends @foreveralbon and @vroomvroomcircuit for helping with this one !! <3

rrcsav masterlist

one

sitting in the stewards office, red’s eyes darted around to whatever her vision could focus on. plaques, posters, clocks, anything. next to her, franco stared straight ahead with not a single thought behind his eyes. and nobody could blame them, because the stewards office was definitely the last place either of them wanted to be at the moment.

but the rules were written, and no matter how unfair they were, the two drivers couldn’t avoid a summons to the stewards office for their “derogatory remarks about the FIA” at the press conference. at least the other drivers found them funny. hell, even lewis gave red a pat on the back and said not to worry. still, she doubted the team would be too happy about the fact that their new driver was about to be the first to receive a fine for the new regulations.

“so,” the steward sitting directly in front of her started the conversation, glancing down at his notes. “mr. colapinto, you and ms-“ he hesitated.

“red is fine.” she replied automatically, not bothering to wait for him to attempt to pronounce her last name.

the steward nodded. “during the press conference, you two stated that you think the new regulations were ‘unnecessary and an insult to the drivers’ rights to free speech’. i assume you both have read through the regulations of this year, and understand why the FIA has deemed them necessary?” he looked to franco.

“lo siento, no hablo inglés, no entiendo qué dices.” franco replied immediately, to which red, as well as the stewards, gave him a strange look. franco returned the look with one of his own, signaling to her to play along. (sorry, i don’t speak english, i don’t understand what you’re saying.)

getting the hint, she bit back a smile and turned to the stewards. “kya? mujhe aapka bhaat nahi samhaj tah hain. aap hamase baat kya kaarana chaahate hain?” (what? i don’t understand you. what did you want to talk to us about?)

the men in front of them looked at each other uncomfortably. “everyone-”

“estoy un poco cansado de esta reunión, tal vez deberíamos irnos ahora.” (i’m getting a bit tired of this meeting, maybe we should leave now.)

“vaah, ye office kya sundar hain. ise kon banaaya?” (wow, this office is so pretty. who made it?)

“maybe we should all go, practice should be starting soon.” the man on the far right decided, setting his notes down. “you can have a warning, this speech won’t be tolerated next time. you’re free to go.”

“ah, gracias!” franco beamed, looking at red in success.

two

“i mean, just look at how she’s performed so far. you could claim it’s the lack of experience or because she’s a rookie, but oliver bearman, an f2 driver at the time, stepped into a ferrari in 2024 on short notice on a very difficult track and still managed to finish ahead of lewis hamilton himself. let’s face it, the girl is not ready.”

red stood and watched the footage with her arms crossed. she hadn’t done as bad as danica was making it seem at all, and it wasn’t fair. of course she was behind lewis, she was a goddamn rookie up against a seven time world champion for christ’s sake.

“she talks quite a lot, doesn’t she?” ollie remarked, coming up behind red and crossing his arms as well. “she seems to have a great tendency to twist data to be in her favor and leave out important bits.”

“that’s a great way to put it.” red scoffed. “for a woman, she sure talks like she hates every other one trying to get into the sport.”

“more the reason not to pay her any attention.” ollie shrugged, turning to face red. “you did a good quali, by the way. that squeeze into q3 at the last minute after the botched strategy was impressive. i just have one question.”

she smiled back at him. “thanks, you did great too. what’s the question?”

“kimi and i have a little bet. did you and franco really manage to talk your way out of a penalty from that press conference?”

three

“no, no, i’m not saying it’s bad. i’m just saying…” red titled her head. “is flavio making you do this? do you really need to spare all the weight from the car that you can?”

pierre shot her a glare in return. “no-”

“you have to admit it’s weird to outside eyes! both you and jack just seemingly shaved your heads at the same time. if this is a call for help-”

“oh mon dieu, i don’t have time for this.”

francisca.cgomes

francisca.cgomes ❤️

redracing OH MY GOD YOURE GORGEOUSSSS

redracing oh my god pierre’s hair….

⬑ pierregasly …🤨?

⬑ redracing no, it’s nice… it’s… wow!

⬑ pierregasly Isn’t it past your bedtime?

landonorris the hair, mate 😂

⬑ redracing lots of talking for someone who looks like they walked out of a old time western saloon with that mullet

⬑ landonorris you were literally just making fun of him too!

⬑ redracing okay yeah and that was ME what’s your excuse

⬑ landonorris okay ms “had to pretend to forget english to get out of a penalty last week”

⬑ charlesleclerc lando be nice

⬑ landonorris what did i do ????

⬑ redracing thanks… dad?

⬑ oscarpiastri oh new sibling. cool. welcome to the family.

⬑ maxverstappen charles stop adopting the rookies we have too many

taglist: @sid-is-gr8 @mellowarcadefun @justadesirebel @foreveralbon @inchidentofftrack @demvnsriot

[missilewithamaninit]

wait no no no. Jean is pronounced Jean? as in John with the French j sound?? Not Jean as in apple bottom jeans??? oh my god please tell me I'm not the only idiot who's been reading it this way the vibes are so different please

[leatherbookmark]

And What If I Told You. There's No 'W' Sound In 'Wooyoung'

[webism]

☆ bestfriend!satoru likes seeing you in his clothes a little too much.

it starts with lending you a jacket when you're out late and it gets cold. he laughs at you first, makes fun of the way you shiver, but then his eyes drift and he realises he can see your hardened nipples through your shirt and suddenly he's layering you up in his jacket just to keep his mind from short-circuiting.

but the sight of you in his jacket is no help either, not when you drown in it because he's so damn tall and he's reminded of the difference in size between the two of you and for the first (more like third) time he's wondering what you'd look like beneath him in a mean mating press. how you'd feel shaking under his body weight: like how you're shaking now, but pleasure wracking your body rather than the cold wind.

he tells himself it's fine to have these thoughts. you're his best friend, you spent every waking hour together: it's only natural that his thoughts would eventually drift southwards. he'll snap out of it, he just needs to jerk off and clear his mind.

so he walks you home, and lets you keep the jacket.

but that night, he's in the shower with hot water scalding his skin, eyes squeezed shut as he strokes his cock at an inhuman pace. fucks his fist with anything but you in mind—he thinks about all his past trysts, about whatever porn he's seen lately, about his fucking cursed technique.

and he thinks he has it, he's pumping his cock with crazed strokes in an attempt to cum and clear his mind, but just as that pleasure starts to break into white hot lust, all he sees is you. in nothing but his jacket, wrecked on his cock and begging him for more.

and when he cums, he sees your eyes pleading up at him from where you’d rest on your knees, ready to take his load into your mouth because you crave the taste. He swears he can feel your fingers splayed over his thighs… your tongue tracing the pronounced vein that runs up the underside of his cock… your heated presence in the shower alongside him.

satoru says your name as he cums, and realises he’s wholly fucked and not coming back from this.

so, naturally, gojo plays into it.

the next time you see him is at his place, you come around to spend time with him and talk about the mundane that always seems exciting when spoken in the lilt of your voice. he offers you a drink, pours you a glass of red and promptly spills it over your pretty top—purely accidental, of course.

and he only takes a moment to admire the way the soaked fabric clings to your skin before he’s bolting into action and offering you a shirt of his own.

“it’s like you’re trying to steal my wardrobe, huh? first my jacket… now my shirt… got something to admit to, hm? you like wearing my clothes?”

it’s playful banter, you think, and roll your eyes with a huff as he hands you a shirt that’s oversized even on him. he wants to see you drown in the fabric, covered in him through clothing until he can cover you in another aspect of himself.

you make him look away while you change, though you know it’s an effort wasted because he’s all-seeing or whatever. and when satoru finally gets a look at you in his shirt he knows it’s game over. it’s like he’s left a mark on you, staked him claim not through bite marks or hickies as he usually would, but through the fabric that adorns your skin. his clothes smell like him, look like him, and are being worn by you.

he’s beyond hard, his cock is tenting his pants and he’s almost offended you haven’t yet noticed, because there’s no hiding a boner when you’re his size. you’re sweet enough not to look, even steal a glance out of curiosity—but he isn’t; his eyes are roaming your skin in such a heated way you feel feverish. it’s how he notices the wine that has spilt on your skirt as well.

he could tell you—offer you a pair of his sweats and cum in his own pants as the way they’d hang off your hips—but he doesn’t. instead, your best friend satoru gojo, the man you know like scripture, drops to his knees and takes the hem of your skirt between his fingers.

“what are you doing?” you think he’s cruel for a joke like this, when he looks so good on his knees, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as if he’s aching for a taste of you. you squeeze your thighs together, groan at the thought of gojos relentless teasing if he realises you’re soaking wet right now. “this isn’t funny.”

“i’m not laughing,” he says, tone flat. “your skirt is stained.”

“oh,” it is, you can see the wine seeping into the fabric.

gojo laughs, his grin sinful. “what? you get all flustered when i’m on my knees? how lewd.”

“shut up,” you try and step backwards, put some space between him and your pulsing heat, but his hands come to grip your thighs, fingers cool as they brush under your skirt and press into your skin. “you’re an asshole, toru.”

“i know,” his fingers creep higher. “i’m sorry.”

“no you’re not.”

“i know,” he parrots. “but you will be.”

“wh—“

in one practiced movement, satoru rips your skirt down and exposes you to him. he has to bunch up the shirt of his you wear with one hand and keep you from running with the other, but he’s met with a beautiful sight as a reward for all his pining.

“for coming to my house with no fucking panties on and acting like you don’t want me to fuck you like we’re more than friends.”

you learnt quickly upon befriending satoru gojo that he always seems to get what he wants. this is no exception, because after he spends so long fucking you with his tongue that his knees go numb against the cold tile, he’s got you laid down on his couch, his t shirt bunched up over your waist just enough for him to watch his cock sink into you over and over and over again.

he loves the sight of you grabbing at the fabric to keep it out of the way— how you whine for him to just let you take it off, all for him to press his lips to yours and conjoin you so you couldn’t undress even if you tried.

how with each thrust of his ravaging cock into you, he’s whining like he’s not the one in control. babbling filth as if he’s not got you pinned and taking every last inch of him—he’s pussy drunk and overbearing in his excitement and slurring his words as he speaks against your open mouth.

“never allowed to wear your own clothes again,” he steals your breath with each gasp he gives between thrusts. “only mine. i’ll burn yours, fuck, i hate your clothes.”

“you…” gojos fast rutting stalls your sentence. “…you brought me that skirt.”

“yeah? well where is it now?”

you recall the lecture you tried to give him when he threw your wine-stained skirt into his trash bin. you’d protest his dictation of what you wear if you had the mind to do so—but his cock is hitting your g spot in tandem with the ministries of his fingers over your clit… you’re half-near brain dead with the way he splits you open and unravels you like the threading of his clothes he’s fucking you in.

you can’t count your orgasms, only feel them shoot static up your spine with each one gojo manages to pull from you. and when he cums, spills over your parted thighs to dress you further in the essence of him, you swear you hear him babble something about putting a ring on your finger some day, to dress you in something of his permanently.

but friends don’t talk like that.

they don’t fuck like this either, though.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Teacher: Class, we have a new student joining us today. Danny, could you tell us a little about yourself? Danny, standing up: Ugh, okay. My name is Danny Fenton. I'm from Amity Park, Illinois. I moved to Gotham with my siblings. Teacher: That's lovely, Danny. Do you have any hobbies? Danny: I like to stargaze, but it's tricky here in Gotham to see them. Teacher waiting for more: *Stare* Classroom: *stare* Danny panics as the class stares at him. I also really liked helping Dan with his experiments. Teacher: Who's Dan? Danny: He's my eldest brother. He got a job at Wayne Labs three months ago, so we moved. Classmate: What kind of experiments do you guys do? Danny: Dan's a chemist. He likes to create antidotes to various poisons or toxic substances. Last month, he made the new Anti-Fear Gass Antidote! Classmate: *scoff* Yeah, right, and I'm the tooth fairy Classroom: *laughs* Teacher: Alright, everyone, settle down. Danny, welcome to Gotham, but you should be careful with your fibs. They can be dangerous in this city. Danny: I'm not lying. Teacher: Of course not. Everyone turn to pages three and twelve in your math textbooks- Danny, please sit down. Danny: *sits* It wasn't a lie Damian: I believe you. Danny: Really? Damian: Yes, my Father signs Dan Fenton's paychecks. Danny: Oh, does he work at Wayne Labs, too? Damian: .....In a way. Would you happen to know who I am? Danny: Damian Al Ghul. I heard you tell the teacher you prefer that name. Damian: .....Yes. Your pronunciation of my last is perfect. Most people claim it's too hard. Danny shrugs: If I can learn to pronounce Obi-Wan Kenobi, I can learn how to say your last name. Most people are just rude. Damian, under his breath: Is this the rush Mother felt when she found her Beloved? Danny: What? I'm sorry I didn't catch that Damian: Do not worry about it. Merely know that you belong to me now Danny: Like a friend? Damian:.....In a way. Danny: Cool :D

[ozzgin]

hear me out okayy imagine house full of obsessed monster x clueless human reader

I hear you alright. 👀 Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, mildly NSFW, obsessive behavior, stalking

You had been selected for an exchange program organized by the monster realm: one human to live with monsters, and one monster to walk among humans. They called it a cultural exchange.

Of course, you only found out about it after being kidnapped from your apartment. You thought you'd been taken by some mad serial killer and begged for mercy, until they finally dropped you before a regular looking office desk.

"Why the hell is the human so pale? What did you do?"

The monster lackeys fidgeted and mumbled some barely audible excuse. A slime creature poured you some coffee, and you gawked in confusion. The horned beast at the other side of the table seemed to realize his mistake.

"...They didn't tell you anything, did they?"

You shook your head in denial. To their defense, they'd never dealt with a human before. They must've gotten too flustered in the process, forgetting to speak. Or something along that line. You waved your hand, accepting their explanation, then probed for more details.

The whole ordeal is really mostly meant to satisfy their own curiosity towards humans, but they obviously couldn't express it so crassly to you. It's an exchange, you see. You, too, get to learn about monster customs, from the comfort of a shared home.

Thus, for the indefinite future, you'll be living with several creatures as roommates. You have been provided with your own room, naturally, in order to ensure your privacy.

Then again, how much privacy can one possibly get when surrounded by horny, deliriously infatuated creatures? Your underwear occasionally goes missing. You swear you feel watched every time you shower. And even more bizarre, you sometimes wake up to find a sticky film covering your pillow.

It must be anxiety. It was such a sudden change, after all. That's what the monstrous mates tell you in a sweet, caring voice. You appreciate their involvement, completely oblivious to the perversions taking place behind your back. Even the organizer couldn't foresee the unhinged thirst these beasts have for you. He didn't intend to ship you off as a wet dream to a pack of monsters.

"Is this alright, you think?" you ask, doing a little spin in the living room in order to show the chosen outfit from different angles.

The monsters shift slightly in their seats. If they were to be entirely transparent, you'd look much better stuffed with their appendages, pressed between them, coated in their fluids.

"Looks great", one of them manages to mumble, somewhat feverish. He let his mind wander too much.

"By the way, what were you doing last night? I could hear you saying my name repeatedly from your room."

The creature visibly tenses up.

"I was...I was practicing. It's a little hard to pronounce your name, you know? Being human and all..."

"Why didn't you just say so? I can help you with it. We'll practice until you finish properly", you declare with an innocent smile.

God. Keeping their hands off is becoming harder by the day.

[More Monsters]

[acid-ixx]

ch.1: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1, chapter five pt 2,

read until the end for an author's note.

if there was one thing you hated more than the crime-filled streets of gotham, it would be empty promises.

when was the last time they attended your birthday? or your school ceremonies? or any special event that meant for you to be the center of attention?

plot twist, there was no last time, or a time before that or any day that they were there for you.

not your eldest brother, dick, not your dead brother, jason, of course tim wouldn't be there for you, damian's absence is a given, not even your sisters would come, and most especially not your father, bruce wayne.

you never wrote wayne as your last name. in every test, it would always be your mother's last name. in every document that you had to fill, you would violently scratch in the name of your father, wishing it wasn't required at all so you wouldn't have to hang your head in shame everytime someone looks at you incredulously for having the bruce wayne as your father but never once appearing to be with you.

you can't recall a time you had called him your dad, or even considered him as one.

if you could count the times you have seen him in person, it wouldn't even fill ten fingers. even interviewers and paparazzi have more luck in coming across him than you would, his child.

it sucks, really, how despite having nearly sharing the same age as tim, you never once saw him outside of his room. you thought you would've been the closest to him, but the most you have seen him was when you were watching the news with the "new" robin popping up, or worse; when bruce would be seen guiding tim through the paparazzi and not you. alfred had to drag you away from the tv that day because you were already suffering through a panic attack just seeing those two act so close; ripping your hair out just from watching the news wasn't a good way to cope.

you remember being so jealous of him, of how bruce would always spend time with him and not you. it made you wonder, were you special enough? tim is so brilliant, you could admit. and you were, too, having enough comprehensibility as a child to find out they were vigilantes a year or two after living in the manor— but you weren't good enough like tim. you weren't cut out to be like a detective or a fighter.

it was no wonder why bruce chose them over you.

it came to you in the form of talking to tim that had you discovering that no one ever mentions your name inside the house, proving it to be true when tim had hesitated calling your name and even stuttered through pronouncing it. and then he left after finding you were of no use to help him. alfred had to stifle your sobbing after tim left the room, allowing you to cry on his chest whilst you sat beside him.

(name) wayne was so, so lonely.

you would've accepted their absence long ago, but you were a stupid child who needed care and reassurance because your mother left you for good at the age of five. you were too naive into thinking you would receive the same love from your family just like the other kids in elementary would. you were a child who expected too highly of your father, thinking that he would pick you up from school with that picture perfect photographed smile of his and kiss your forehead and tell you that you did a great job at school today.

it was your teachers who would be the one having to walk you up the stage whenever you achieved an award. alfred would be too busy sometimes to attend your school ceremonies because he had to assist bruce with missions. of course, you understood his priorities. after all, he tried his hardest to make you feel less lonely inside the mansion, it wasn't enough but he was there at least.

it was long ago that you stopped praying for your family to attend at least one of your birthdays.

it's ironic, really, for a child to prep and plan for their own celebration just to hope that a single member of their family to even walk by the kitchen and join them in on their already lonesome celebration.

too bad everybody only goes to the kitchen when alfred cooks for them. who would want to taste sadness in a sloppily made birthday cake, right? nobody, not even you would have the appetite to eat your cake with the knowledge that it was you who had to put all the effort to bake it because you didn't want alfred to feel obligated to. knowing nobody would celebrate birthdays with you, save for alfred, it was expected that you started to prefer cupcakes.

because then you wouldn't be scolded for making such a mess.

you never cooked family meals after the incident where nobody came and to not waste food, you had to bring in large containers to bring to school so you could celebrate your birthday there.

it was there that you find more solace in your small group of friends compared to the desolate rooms of the mansion. your family celebrates holidays together as a whole, but you never once attended after that one time where everybody had forgotten to get you a gift for christmas, save for alfred who gave you a bracelet (one that you cherished deeply). you only smiled weakly and hopelessly, sneaking into your room before the family dinner.

it was alfred again who bought you leftovers and sat on your bed for an hour to encourage you that there's still more christmas's to go.

you never believed what he said. not anymore.

there was a period of time where you hated them more than anything, blamed them for everything and became more rebellious, purposely failing tests, fighting your classmates and disrespecting teachers in hopes that for once your father would bat an eye on you. that only resulted in you being taken out of the school and being transferred into another, for a behavioral reform is what alfred stated to you when you annoyed him for answers.

damian started to bully you a bit more harder after that incident, calling you immature and childish, a weakling, an attention seeker. how someone at your age should've known better. you were convinced that he was relishing in the heartbroken glare you gave him, ignoring the way his eyes widened momentarily at your reaction before sneering and walking away.

alfred gently scolded you, but you were too choked up and instead you almost tripped running inside your bedroom, locking yourself in for what seems like hours.

you don't want to remember the immense breakdown you had that evening too, screaming on your blankets and destroying your things and hurting yourself because... because you had lost your old friends for nothing! your caring teachers, your academic progress, everything! every single thing for an ounce of attention! because he didn't have enough energy to come with you to the guidance counselor and he only had you transfer out so you wouldn't ruin the wayne's reputation!

you hate him, you hate bruce fucking wayne so much and you hate clinging onto their empty promises and sorry's to make it up for you. you hate how their promises were never even said directly to you, you hate how alfred was your only source of hope for a medium of communication.

you hate them all.

and worst of all, you hate yourself for drowning in hope. for wishing you were physically stronger so you could at least bond with them through training. for dreaming about a day where they could surprise you and told you they were just testing you and that you actually had worth inside this manor. for praying nightly that they'll smile at you like the heroes you see in tv rather than that of pity.

you wished there was a universe where gotham was safer, more protected with no criminals littering the streets. maybe then they would have more time to notice you crying every night, writing self destructive entries in your diary, sketching what would've been a happy family. they wouldn't have to wear their silly costumes to fight crime and instead would save you from your own demons.

if...

if you were brutally tortured and killed by the joker, or forced to choke on the fear toxin by the scarecrow— hell, even beaten to near death by some random goons; would they have given you a sliver of their love? would they finally look at you and save you from yourself?

because despite your resentment, you would never lie and say you didn't feel blessed that you were thrown to a family of talented individuals.

your drawings of a complete and happy family holding hands together and a diary filled with rants and fantasies of spending time with them proved just that.

you were blessed with them yet cursed at the same time to never reach the same level to be even considered part of their lives.

you were hopeless. you never amounted to anything. you were just, you.

thirteen years have passed by then, and in those years you were proud to say your development as a person, albeit slow, transformed you from a child that succumbed to neglect to an independent person who managed to maintain a comfortable circle of friends, a scholarship for a college far away from gotham, and an apartment of your own (you were a bit in debt due to having to pay for your own because no way in hell would you ask for your father for financial support).

allowance was scarce, your food supplies weren't infinite compared to back when you were living at the wayne manor, and you weren't greeted to michelin star restaurant meals cooked by alfred— but you were content, and that was enough.

though content translated to nightly breakdowns whilst finishing projects or writing essays, the point still stands! at least you had celebrated your eighteenth birthday with drunk smiles and your friends spoiling you to death when you had opened up about your first lonely years of life. everything was going well for you, truly.

you were so, so happy for the nice turn of events. and you wouldn't have made it so far if you hadn't slapped yourself out of the delusion that they actually cared for you.

look at you now! independent and with a life of your own! you'd give yourself a pat in the back.

you hadn't blocked them at all, but their contacts were empty (save for a few desperate messages that date back years ago) and you were fine with that. it's not like tim or bruce or barbara considered you important enough to be stalked. hah, as if!

alfred communicates with you time to time, reminding you to eat a complete meal rather than those one dollar priced noodles that tasted like pure salt. he told you he misses you a lot, you and your annoying, daily rants about life and school. he misses your awkward smile and when you would help him cook whenever the others aren't around. he misses it when you imitate his posh accent when you taste test his food and give commentary about it.

you miss him, too. growing up, you realized just how much effort alfred would exert just to spend a lot of his time on you.

now, he told you that you are still welcome to the manor whenever, and how he cleans your room weekly in case you'll visit him.

whenever you audio call with him, you'd tear up just a bit at the realization that alfred was more of a father figure than your own biological father. because he at least attended your graduation to make up for the other times he was unable to join you.

what's even better was that he gifted you something you had always wanted for your birthday. despite it being delivered to your door rather than him giving it to you face to face (since you had refused to give him your location and him respecting that decision at least), the heartfelt letter he left you was more than enough to let you cling onto pieces of your past. after all, it was him who greeted you by the door when you were first introduced into the family, bruce being too busy with paperwork that day when you were a measly five year old.

you had started to teasingly call him 'alfie' and a few more nickname after that, which results with a chuckle over the phone every time you had come up with a cheesy name for him whenever you get a wee bit irritated at his own way of making fun of you.

if only this was your life years ago, then maybe you wouldn't have been jealous of all your other friends and pushed them away that day, maybe you would learn that sometimes, family comes in the form of the people outside of your house rather than inside.

that reminds you, maybe you should reconnect with your old friends back in elementary and apologized for your sudden explosive behavior.

you were laying on your bed, phone in hand and opened your inst*gram app to stalk through the names you could remember. well... that was what you should've done, if not for the fact that a notification popped up the very moment you pressed on the search bar and you had accidentally opened a chat with your oldest brother, dick.

you would've ignored the desperate messages you have sent him from the past which all varied from inviting him to eat dinner with you or to at least join you to play in an arcade or anything to convince him to talk to you, all of which were unseen, if not for the fact that it was him who sent you a sudden "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" message, alongside a few more replies that spammed through your phone...

oh!

... that was enough to make you sit up and want to hurl.

dick grayson was a man of many talents. the mature eldest child, the ideal good leader despite his anger issues from time to time, and the same guy who set the standards high for the future robins. he is bruce's greatest achievement.

it was safe to say that if not for the support of many, then he would've suffered so many falls and would've never been strong enough to stand up despite the pain and continue his fights. nightwing was what many superheroes strive to be, an image of light in a grove of darkness such as gotham.

so why was it that he felt like he has failed so deeply right now?

inside your room, dick stands with furrowed brows. it felt too clean to look used. your furniture was polished and look untouched, the lights were too bright and the windows were bolted shut. there were no signs of life other than the notebooks and sketchbooks that were neatly tucked on the middle of the bed and the trinkets that scatter through your desk.

dick stalks through the room, careful to not make a noise as he walks over to the closet, opening it and finding nothing.

he bites his lips at the implication that this was probably the second time he visited your room and how it was also the longest time he remained here. compared to his other siblings, you were the one he noticed the least and... now he feels bad for dismissing you.

didn't he promise to take you out for dinner months ago?

damn it, he was way too focused on his mission that night and ended up ditching and forgetting you! oh god, dick facepalmed and clenched his teeth, seething in some air because no fucking way did he actually remember to feed damian's dog, titus, the same day but forgot to take you out for an important event...

it occurred to him that that was the same day you scored a perfect on "the hardest test of my life!" you had bragged to him awkwardly when he wasn't listening nor looking and you, wanting to celebrate what was a small achievement for dick, chose him to spend time with you!

dick had to carefully breath through his mouth then gulp down the shame he feels right now. he- he has no time to focus on the past but rather the present. he has to find out why the hell is your room so lifeless, yeah... then he'll make it up to you today, definitely.

huh?

is it just him, but why does the room seem so small? it looked like it was meant to be for a kid. clearly, there wasn't enough space for a growing individual like you... did bruce not provide you with a bigger bedroom? ah, dick would definitely tell bruce to relocate you to a bigger room, the current one is too small for even a dog in a manor to sleep in.

dick doesn't want to admit it at all, but... he hasn't seen you for the past few months, or not all, really. sure, he had only recently visited the manor since he's bludhaven's vigilante now, but even through his time in gotham he had never seen you other than the times you pulled his sleeves from back when you were a child.

back when you were a child.

how old are you now? you were so small back then, innocent too. he can recall your curious eyes, your chubby cheeks and the way you stutter through your words as you try to talk to him.

you were significantly younger than jason, and was adopted a week before tim was introduced to the family. he remembers you peeking through alfred's back, gleaming with curiousity and whispering to the butler if it was really the dick grayson. he smiled fondly at your dumbfounded expression, the way your mouth shaped into an "ohh," when he was the one who answered that, yes, it was him. then you whispered again if you can take have an autograph from him, to which he chuckled and told alfred that he'll help accompany you to your room.

when your five year old body tried to waddle closer to his body for an ounce of warmth when he had been guiding you up the stairs, that was also the first time he called you baby bird, with the way you coddled him so closely. his hands find itself patting your head, ruffling your hair and grinning as you both make your path through the halls.

he comes to immediately regret leaving you alone after he had introduced you to your room, remembering his duties as a vigilante than that of a brother.

but despite his early memories of you, he wants to see his baby sibling all grown up now.

had it really been years?

when was the last time you ever had a full-on conversation with him?

was there even a time that he had approached you by himself?

he had always called you baby bird after the first time you meet because of the age gap you two shared. the rare times he acknowledges you, you gave him that look filled with such adoration, like you were proud of him for being your older brother. why did he not notice you?

oh, his baby bird...

dick gulped, trying to ease his shivering by sitting on your neatly folded blankets and taking a worn diary in his hand, one at the bottom stack of books. well, if it was a personal diary then maybe you would've hidden it better, right? he figures since it was all placed on the center of the bed like a piece of treasure that... it would be alright to take just a glimpse.

to confirm if you still see him as your favorite brother.

dick's heartbeat spiked, hoping your entries would be filled with, he doesn't know, anything that didn't implicate some sort of hatred for the family, for him. hoping that despite his lack of attention towards you, that there would still be a spark of love for him. if what he thinks was actually true then... he doesn't know what to do with himself.

he flips through the first page, noting how it was bulkier than the others. the paper was filled with glittery decorations, sequence beads and cheap stickers sparkling at every angle the light hits. it was meant to be a design for the 'front cover' of the notebook, colors blended in a cacophony of rainbows and butterflies and flowers beyond the messy calligraphy that merely states "(name)'s diary!"

dick stifles a grin just from skimming through at the amount of mistakes and erasures, clearly written by the the younger version of you; naive to the world and its cruelty. he commends your creativity, his eyes softening at the few doodles that were written on the corners of the pages.

you're just too adorable for your own good, so much so that the thumping in dick's heart beats louder and louder, ears wringing uncomfortable inside your unventilated bedroom. but he just couldn't rip his eyes away from the diary, daydreaming about how proud you must've been when designing your own diary. he could picture your wide eyes, shy and harmless, and your feet kicking back and forth whilst you decorate your stuff.

everything was what he expected it to be on the first few pages of the diary. all your little rants about your daily life, your eargerness to meet your entire family from your father's side, and the hurt you experienced from your mother's sudden abandonment.

he would've skipped through another diary, one that lacked design and color, save for the name plastered on the front, if not for the grim undertones at every end of your entries despite the child-like manner it was written in.

it all started with "i wish to see my father soon and my big brother dick again!", "alfred told me my father can't come to the parent-teacher conference, he says he's in a veryyy important meeting :( but alfred would come!", "dick told me he can't help me with my science project but he promise he'll help me with something else later!" which halfway through the diary, your style fluctuates and lesser effort was exhausted on the writing.

one entry in particular, written on the last page of your diary, shattered a sliver of hope within dick, his breathing momentarily ceased from reading through your sentences; uncharacteristic of you, too mature for someone at the age of ten to write.

"XX/XX/XXXX.

dear diary, it's my tenth birthday today. i celebrated with my friends at school. they told me i always look down whenever it's my birthday. they think that bruce would throw a fancy celebration for me. i tried to hide my laughter from them. it's a really funny joke. i haven't seen him for months. i told dick that he was invited but i don't think he remembers it's my birthday today. alfred told me to come out of my room, he said he cooked my favorite dinner, that he's sorry he got my present late, but i don't want get out of my room. i heard dick is gonna watch a movie with tim later. i don't feel so good, my chest hurts, but i don't want to get out right now.

i'll eat the cupcake tomorrow."

it had been nearly two hours since dick had sat on your bed, eyes dilating whilst reading through your first diary. the cold season had already pricked his skin, but his entire body felt so unnaturally warm, a warmth that scorches him, searing deep into flesh. a lump had form in his throat, accompanying the hellish throbbing of his heart.

"fuck..." he brought his fingers to his head, carefully massaging his forehead but it relieves nothing. he wants to see you right now— he needs to talk to you. god, he has to apologize, he needs to see what you look like right now, needs to know if you're alright.

you're clearly not.

he has to oppress the urge to punch the walls, reminding himself that it's your room he's in and if he damages your already delicate property, then he's proving himself worse than he already is.

he rushes to grab another diary, the one at the top of the pile, skipping to the end of the page.

nothing. all the entries were months ago, all written in vague detail like you were starting to hide secrets. his teeth grinds against each other, frustration seeping through his veins.

he needs to— shit, he needs to find you right now. he needs to find his baby bird and make up for the all bullshit him and his family had done. if you were gone for months, even years; he doesn't even want to think about it.

but how?!

there were no signs of you. anything written your diary, your drawings, the trinkets on your bedside table— they signal no clues whatsoever, all dating back to months, even years. it's not possible at all, for nobody to notice your disappearance. dick would've noticed sooner. he should've noticed sooner. oh, he doesn't even want to think about the dangers that await you outside the mansion. with how naive you were about the outside world, you wouldn't last at all.

his baby bird wouldn't survive gotham's streets, especially not when winter was nearing.

think, grayson, think...

his phone!

he immediately reaches into his pockets to grab his phone, clammy fingers swifly encoding his password and opening his contacts.

your number was the quickest to find, it was the only one without an icon of you and an endearing nickname. he makes a mental note to change that soon and replaced your default name to your nickname.

then, without hesitation, he typed, "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" sending the message without rereading, foot tapping impatiently against the floor as he scrolls through all your previous messages.

messages that he should've replied to with the same level of enthusiasm as you. skimming through the past, unseen texts as your motivation began to dwindle the further he refused to reply back. he promises he'll never make you feel invisible again.

seconds feel like hours for him, as he blows raspberries to pass the time, too concentrated an ounce of a reply to even notice the entirely new presence inside the room.

it's alright to call you, yes? after all, dick just wanted to check in with his baby bird and see if you're doing swell and dandy and... safe without him...!

his thumbs pressed on the call button before he could think through his actions, his other hand runs through his hair, sweat running down his forehead as if he had ran a marathon.

he waited, and waited, and waited until the call beeped and provided its automated response. he calls you again but the line immediately cuts off, he tries to spam you with more messages but they weren't delivered.

you blocked him.

fuck, he messed up big time. he needs to get to the batcave. he needs to find your fucking location before it's too late. dick needs to see you again before he loses it.

but before he could carefully place your sketchbooks back to its rightful place, he sees a silhouette at the corner of his eyes; short figure, arms crossed, and a sneer on his eyes already tells him who it was.

damian wayne.

he forgot to train with damian today.

but it doesn't matter, damian has to see it for himself— what made dick so disheveled, so delirious. damian has to finally see just how much of a wonderful sibling you are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: this was 4,600+ words and it drained the energy out of me. it was supposed to be posted tomorrow but i was too motivated !! i'm also quite proud of this chapter. it was a pain characterizing dick grayson and the reader. i really hope this is as good as the prequel because it's 3am right now and writing dick's part was a pain in the ass ^^' as always, please do comment or send asks if you like it for quicker updates!!!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @alishii, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @deadinside-09, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa (shoutout to her specifically because i got motivated from their comment!)

[ldrfanatic]

Oh Bella

Italian!Theodore Nott x Fem!Reader

synopsis - 3 times the reader teases Theo’s Italian roots + 1 time she celebrates them

cute, lazy fluff, no angst just happy vibes for a happy christmas :)

slytherin boys masterlist works

warning - internet translated Italian

(got these ideas from Ben and Fabio on instagram they’re so funny)

It wasn’t easy to date Theodore Nott. It was always rewarding but it wasn’t always easy.

For starters, Theo grew up in Italy and has one of the thickest Italian accents you’ve ever heard. There were a few times over the course of your relationship that you had to ask him to repeat himself a few times. Like when he was trying to tell you that Draco had invited you out on a double date with himself and Hermione.

You had just woken up from a nap when Theo walked into the Slytherin common room after quidditch practice. He flashed you a breath taking smile and all but skipped up to you as you rubbed your tired eyes. You felt your heart melting in your chest at the sight of your adorable boyfriend.

“Buongiorno Bella.” (good morning beautiful) Theo swooped down and delivered a soft kiss to the side of your face before plopping down next to you on the couch. “Guess what?” You hummed in response as you snuggled deep into his side.

“What’s up Theo?”

“At quidditch practice today, Draco says that you and I, we can go out double with them.”

In your tired brain, Theo’s words made even less sense. You sat up from his side and stared at him with your brows furrowed. “Huh?” Theo stared blankly back at you. He brushed a piece of your hair away from your face.

“Still asleep, Bella?”

You shook your head lightly but it didn’t convince either of you entirely. A chuckle rumbled through Theo and his chest vibrated in laughter.

“Draco says we can go double out with Herminone.”

Now it was your turn to laugh at the way Theo pronounced Hermione’s name. You’d all been friends for about two years now since she and Draco had started dating, but he still couldn’t quite pronounce her name correctly.

Finally deciphering his thick accent and slightly broken, but still cute English, realization dawned upon you. You tried to smother a smile as you stared at your boyfriend in pure adoration. “You mean he invited us to double date with them?”

Theo looked at you for a few seconds before standing up and sighing a little dramatically.

“Mio dio Bella, that’s what I said”

“Mmm of course, Theo.”

So, dating Theodore Nott was not without its challenges. But it also wasn’t without its fun.

1.

It was Mattheo’s birthday so of course the Slytherin common room was filled to the brim with drugs, alcohol, and probably the sluttiest girls in all of Hogwarts. Theo was sitting at a table off in the corner with both of your guys’ drinks and was noticeably uncomfortable in such an environment.

You’d gone to get ice for your sex on the beach when you had a mischevious idea. You scooped a little more ice into the cup and started making your way back to Theo.

You caught sight of Mattheo what was sitting on one of the large couches dead center in the room. He had three girls all over him right now and Lorenzo was giggling uncontrollably as he passed him a joint. Mattheo caught your eye and winked playfully. He liked to flirt with you to rile Theo up a little bit every once in a while.

You finally made it back to your table where Theo was swirling a deep red wine in a glass. His lips quirked up in a small smile as you took your seat next to him. Without speaking, he reached out and pulled your chair impossibly closer to his before throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Ciao Bella.”

Your entire body bloomed at the sound of his thick accent over his husky voice. Warmth settled over you like a fluffy blanket on a snowy morning.

“Ciao Theo.”

The surprise on Theo’s face was more than enough to make you happy that you’d taken up Italian recently. You practiced with Lorenzo in some of your free time and he was a pretty good teacher. You made eye contact with Theo and winked before settling into his side.

Theo immediately became suspicious as you were known for your antics.

“What are you up to Il mio piccolo piantagrane, hm?” (my little troublemaker)

“Nothing Theo, relax.”

He stared at you suspiciously for a few seconds before his body finally loosened.

The opportunity was too great to miss.

You leaned over both of your drinks and dumped ice into your sex on the beach before then dropping a few ice cubes into Theo’s wine.

His reaction was nearly instantaneous.

“Oh! Bella, no! No, no, no!” His lips turned up in disgust and multiple muted expressions left his mouth in what you assumed were Italian swears.

“Che diavolo? Ghiaccio nel vino? No! Il vino è sacro.”

(what the hell? ice in wine? no! wine is sacred.)

A large hand came and ran through his messy curls and the laugh you’d been surprising burst suddenly from your chest. Theo’s eyes snapped to yours and you recognized the mischievous glint.

A squeal left your mouth as you leapt up from your seat and took off around the common room with him hot on your tail.

2.

The second time that you decided to make your poor sweet Italian boyfriend question all decisions to be with you was at dinner one night. You weren’t intentionally teasing him at first as you stared down at your empty plate trying to think of what you wanted.

You glanced over to Theo’s plate next to you and saw a mouthwatering pasta that he’d conjured. You tugged gently on the sleeve of his green sweater and his attention found yours immediately.

“What’s wrong, bellissima?”

“Can you get me some of that, please Theo?”

“Of course.”

He took your plate in his hands and after a few seconds his dish was sitting in front of you. You noted how he made sure there were no tomatoes in yours like there were in his. Theo knew you hated tomatoes. It was so sweet it almost made you feel bad for what you were about to do to his little Italian heart.

Almost.

Theo picked up his fork and started to dig into his food before he stopped abruptly. Lorenzo too stopped eating his own food and the pair stared at you incredulously as you shoveled the pasta into your mouth.

“Oh Bella.”

He seemed more horrified than anything else. You loaded more food into your mouth being careful to eat as much as a lady as you could.

“No.” You stared at him blankly with a sheepish look before resuming your meal. “Bella, no. Twirl. Like this,” Theo picked up his fork and expertly swirled the noodles around before bringing it up to his mouth.

You offered him a gentle grin before promptly resuming what you were doing before. From across the table Lorenzo started whisper screaming at Theo in Italian.

“Theo, Cosa c'è che non va nella tua ragazza? Lei mangia la pasta come una bambina!” (what’s wrong with your girlfriend? she eats pasta like a child!)

Theo stared at you astounded as redness crept up his face. Then it finally dawned on him that you were teasing.

“Bella per favoreee.” He dragged out his words with a small smile on his face at your teasing. You both knew that you knew the proper way to eat pasta.

“No more teasing love.” You nodded through your giggles and Theo wrapped a thick arm around your waist and pulled you into his side.

3.

So, you knew that you promised Theo no more teasing last week but when you overheard him and Lorenzo complaining earlier in the most adorable stuttered English you couldn’t help yourself. You were walking down towards the common room to get lunch with the boys.

Theo, Lorenzo, and Mattheo were sitting in the common room all having a discussion. Suddenly you heard your boyfriend’s sweet Italian symphony of a voice shift into one of astonishment. You peeked around the corner and saw both him and Lorenzo staring at Mattheo like he’d just said the most offensive thing ever.

“What do you mean you have the cappuccino in the afternoon, huh?” His fingers came to rub at his temples and you had to stifle your laugh behind your hand. “Puah! cappuccino è solo per la mattina.” (Cappuccino is only for the morning).

Mattheo stared blankly at the two. Finally you decided to step in before the vein in Theo’s forehead burst.

“Theo? I’m ready.”

By the time that you made it to the Great Hall, the boys seemed to have forgotten about their earlier conversation. Mattheo walked quietly in step next to you while Theo and Lorenzo conversed in Italian so quickly your head was spinning.

“Psst. Y/n I have an idea on how to make that little Italian boy of yours blow a fuse.”

(“Maledizione Lorenzo, non credi che se sapessi cosa regalarle non andrei fuori di testa?”)

You cursed yourself that you couldn’t understand what they were saying. After staring at the side of Theo’s handsome face for a few moments longer you let out a disgruntled noise and turned to Mattheo.

“Fine! What?”

And that was how you found yourself in this situation.

Trying your absolute hardest to keep a straight face without looking at Theo at all while you sipped on your cappuccino that you’d conjured in your cup.

“Oh Bella.”

Theo’s familiar distressed tone rang out from next to you. “You cannot be series, amore mio.”

“Do you mean serious, Theo?” Mattheo chimed in with an amused smirk.

Theo made a dismissive Italian noise and waved Mattheo off. He swore under his breath before grabbing the side of your face and turning it to him. “Bellissima, it is too late for a cappuccino!”

You smirked up at your distraught boyfriend and pressed a quick kiss to the softness of his cheek. “I know, amore.”

Theo stared at you before throwing his hands up in the air and turning back towards his lunch. Mattheo’s deep laugh burst out and you couldn’t help yourself but to laugh along with him.

You were so busy laughing you hadn’t noticed that Theo was staring at you with a smile. He was so very in love with you.

+ one time you celebrated Theo’s Italian roots

April 25th was meant to be celebratory. La Festa della Resistenza. And Theodore Nott was stuck at quidditch practice.

Meanwhile, you were scurrying around the common room with Lorenzo trying to set up the perfect surprise for Theo. With Italy’s Liberation Day approaching, you’d noticed Theo had been a little down lately. You knew that it was because he was missing his family.

Normally, his mother would prepare a big feast and the family would sing the song of the resistance, Bella Ciao. You’d taken a floo to his home in Italy and gotten some recipes from his mother directly, all his favorites. And now, you were trying desperately to teach a group of first year Slytherins how to sing the song that you’d been practicing for weeks.

You sighed deeply as you realized the little buggers you bribed with a few galleons each were not at all going to get the song down in time. You conjured your purse and shelled out a few galleons to each child before shooing them out of the common room.

By the time Theo got back from quidditch practice, everything was perfect. You were standing in the center of the room in a deep red dress that you knew was his favorite. When he saw the spread, Theo thought his heart might stop. You looked nothing short of stunning.

“Oh Bella.”

It didn’t hold any of the distress that it normally did. This time his tone was thick with adoration. Theo felt a lump moving up his throat that caught tears behind his eyes. His heart clenched in his chest. This was one of the most thoughtful things that anyone had ever done for him.

Just when he was certain you couldn’t get anymore perfect, your sweet voice rang out in an impossibly beautiful symphony that rivaled Pavarotti.

“Una mattina mi sono alzato

O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao

Una mattina mi sono alzato

E ho trovato l'invasor.”

Theo held you closer to his chest and pressed his forehead against yours as he joined for the next verse.

“O partigiano, portami via

O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao

O partigiano, portami via

Che mi sento di morir.”

The two of you swayed as Lorenzo joined and the three of you sang the rest of the song together. When you finished, you all made plates and sat down in the common room.

“When did you learn all of this, Bella?”

You smiled gently at Theo while he stared at you like you were the most perfect being in the world.

“I took a trip to Italy to see your mother a little bit ago. She told me about La Festa della Resistenza the Celebration of the Resistance. She talked about how important it was to Italy’s history and that it marked the Resistance victory in the Italian Civil War. Then when I saw how sad you were to be away from home at this time I knew I had to do something.”

In that moment, Theo knew that there wasn’t anybody he’d ever loved as much as he loved you. He took your face in both of his hands and pressed a deep kiss to your lips.

“This is perfect, bellissima, thank you so much.”

[lowkeyren]

TWO CAN PLAY THAT GAME!

in which — sunday, realizing he fell head over heels for you, tries to push you away, only to have his efforts backfire, which leads to a heated confession.

pairing — sunday x gn!reader

wc: 2.3k, arranged marriage, hurt/comfort, woooo tension!!!, takes place before penacony quests, sunday fumbles everyone cook him rn, apology scene ib maxton hall, reblogs r much appreciated! from event req: here + art by @/hanahanayart on x

the first thing sunday noticed about you was how you consistently avoided meeting his gaze, how your eyes seemed to wander, frequently darting to the ground. 

even now, as you’re sitting across the table from him, you’re fidgeting with your hands, fingers nervously twisting the small charm on your bracelet. your eyes flit from the patterned tablecloth to the rim of your teacup, never settling on him for more than a moment. 

you’re tense, he notes.

as you both go through the marriage contract, he finds himself distracted by the way your eyebrows furrow in concentration, and how your fingers fidget with the edges of the document; a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he observes your gestures. 

the moment you notice him staring however, you stiffen and abruptly shift in your seat. he watches as the flush on your cheeks grows more pronounced, and your words come out in awkward stammers as you try to continue the subject.

though he catches on, quickly averting his gaze to spare you any further embarrassment. the corner of his mouth twitches as he shakes his head slightly. 

right, you must be the type to be easily swayed by looks and status. 

of course he’s aware of his own charm, and even more so, the effect he has on others —evident by the multitude of pursuers vying for his hand in marriage. 

but something is different about you, different enough to intrigue him, different enough to distinguish you from the rest of the crowd, different and compelling enough for him to entertain the idea of marrying you.

sunday is a busy man. 

his schedule is packed with a myriad of tasks ranging from managing various negotiations to organizing the upcoming charmony festival. his desk is cluttered with intricate sketches of the festival’s layouts, post-it notes with scribbled annotations, stacks of detailed itineraries, and reminders of… you.

you have a knack for surprising sunday with unique gifts that inevitably end up on his desk. 

for instance, the delicate keychain that’s shaped like a tiny halo dangling just of reach, or the hand-knitted coaster he sets his mug on, or a handwritten note reminding him to take a break with a small doodle of him in the corner, or the sleek pen he’s using right now, personalised just for him (he complained about pens having grips that were too slippery or uncomfortable once.)

somehow, you never fail to invade his thoughts at every given chance. the worst part? he actually started looking forward to your presence —much to his dismay.

he doesn't know when exactly it started, but he’s certain “it’s all your fault” because he finds himself checking his phone much more frequently, eagerly awaiting your messages. he’s also become attuned to your daily visits, recognizing the distinct sound of your footsteps as they approach his office. heck he even finds himself rearranging his schedule to make sure he’s free during your usual visit time.

you plague his mind to the extent that it distracts him, where he finds himself unable to focus on his work without your voice suddenly echoing in his thoughts; the sound of your infectious laughter, the warmth of your smile like a siren’s call, and the endearing stutter in your words when you say his name —which all seems to linger and sway with every thought. 

sunday fears that he may have loved you more than he will ever allow himself to.

sunday gazes at his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his hair. his brows are furrowed, and a deep sigh escapes him as he tries to calm his turbulent thoughts, gripping the edge of the sink for support.

his current dishevelled appearance bears a striking resemblance to that of a fallen angel; stunningly attractive, yet marred by a decadent edge that whispers of turpitude.

as the head of the oak family, he shoulders countless responsibilities and maintains a careful distance from those around him. so is it wrong when he feels a twinge of insult, almost as if it's shameful to be powerless to resist you, when you entered his life with a mere marriage contract but seamlessly wove yourself into the deepest, darkest corners of his heart?

“sunday, are you okay? you’ve been in there for a while!” your voice echoes from the other side of the door, tinged with worry and care.

he’s confounded by your unwavering concern, unable to fathom as to why you continue to pour your heart into him, even as he remains cold and indifferent. he appears detached to you, often aloof and devoid of any intimacy —yet you never seem to mind. 

you make him want to tear down the carefully constructed barriers he’s built around his heart and hold you close. even now as you soothe his back and gently preen his wings, he finds himself lost in thought, contemplating the possibility of abandoning his old ways and allowing himself to be vulnerable with you.

but he thinks you don't have to be so insistent on winning him over, really. because he has already belonged to you in a way that’s intrinsic, a devotion deadlier than hell. 

perhaps he just hasn't come to accept it yet.

walking along the streets of golden hour, sunday is painfully aware of the stare you fixate on his figure, even though you try to be discreet about it. when his hand lightly grazes against yours, you freeze momentarily, your body tensing before you quickly adjust your pace to match his long strides, positioning yourself at his side.

you notice that his face is etched with a grim expression, lips drawn tight; he appears visibly stressed, a noticeable contrast to his usual calm demeanor. 

“ahem…” you clear your throat, “y’know,” you begin, your voice soft with an attempt at comfort, “whenever i feel upset, i've found that treating myself to something nice to eat always helps lift my spirits.”

your words hang in the air as he remains silent, his gaze fixed ahead; undeterred, you continue speaking.

“there’s a new restaurant robin told me about yesterday, would you—”

“—stop talking.”

his words seem to have escaped louder than intended, drawing the attention of bystanders who now stop to observe the scene. murmurs ripple through the crowd as they exchange curious glances. 

“oh… well i just wanted t—”

“just, leave me alone for once,” he interrupts sharply, each syllable from his lips like a drop of acid, eroding the walls of your heart until nothing is left but a hollow ache.

a flash of regret crosses his face the moment he sees your face drop. he watches in silence as you nod curtly before pushing your way through the gathering crowd, the haunting image of your hurt expression only further exacerbates the stress he’s already grappling with. 

you gaze at the chat screen with sunday’s name, your fingers hesitantly hovering over the send button; his words from a few days ago echo relentlessly in your head, replaying over and over again.

you sigh before putting your phone down. he probably doesn’t want you bothering him, right?

in that case, even if he was 'annoyed' by you, why did he have to say it in front of everyone? sure he was cold to you at times, but you thought he cared for you at least a little. and if he intended to push you away, why accept your gifts in the first place? 

regardless, you’re not about to forgive him so easily. your dignity demands that you maintain your distance for now, not merely out of pride but also to give him a taste of his own medicine. 

sunday hasn’t received your usual “good morning” text today… the day before, and the week before. actually, he hasn’t seen you at all either. (but robin has, she mentioned that she noticed you seemed a bit down. when she asked about it, though, you didn’t give her a clear answer.)

his office feels eerily quiet without your timely “interruptions”; his desk, once cluttered with your little gifts and notes, now sits noticeably emptier. most importantly, your absence only serves to distract him more than your presence ever did.

he has lost count of the times he’s run his hand through his hair, a familiar gesture of frustration that has become all too common lately. what he said that day, was purely “in the heat of the moment”, a lapse into uncharacteristic harshness he now deeply regrets. 

he envisions the hurt in your eyes, the way your expression crumpled as his words pierced the air, the weight of his own words gnaws at him, and he feels a pang of guilt so sharp it almost physically hurts.

he may have been reserved with his affection, but he never intended for his words to wound you so deeply. ultimately, he was only trying to guard the vulnerability he rarely reveals; but now, his facade has crumbled. and even he can no longer convince himself of the cold indifference he once tried to project.

it’s a bitter irony that he thinks you shouldn’t try so hard to win him over, when he tries just as hard to resist you. 

his efforts would have paid off,

—if only his heart is as cold as he pretends it is. 

he hears your footsteps for the first time in two weeks.

as you enter, he tries to mask the relief on his face, but his eyes betray him, softening as they lock onto you; his pulse quickens, and he rises from his desk almost instinctively. as usual, you keep your eyes averted, but today, the familiar shyness has been replaced by a palpable tension that he can’t ignore.

you set the stack of documents on his desk before turning to leave in silence, but his hand reaches out and gently grasps your wrist, halting you in your tracks. 

“—wait, please,” his voice trembles.

you turn around, finally meeting his gaze. the steady rhythm of his heart quickens into an erratic flutter, almost like a caged dove desperate to escape.

“i apologise… for what happened that day.” 

“a simple ‘sorry’ would suffice for the embarrassment you put me through, but it doesn’t erase the sting of your words or the way you belittle my feelings,” your voice quivers slightly.

you shake your head and let out a frustrated sigh. “listen, i’m not a pawn for you to play with. just tell me how you really feel, not what you think i want to hear.”

you pause, searching his face for any sign of genuine emotion, but all you find is the same frustrating distance. “i mean it, i’m truly sorry, please let m—”

“you can’t just say you're sorry and expect everything to be fine." you scoff and wrench your hand away from his grasp with a sharp jerk, “cut the crap, you’re seriously driving me insane!”

there's a pause before he responds. “im driving you insane?” his eyes narrow, his expression growing intense as he steps closer. with each step he takes towards you, you retreat until your back hits the edge of a bookshelf, the cool wood pressing against you. 

“but do you know what you do to me?” his hair tumbles messily and hangs over his forehead. “do you think it’s easy for me to keep my composure when everything you do makes it harder for me to hold it together?” 

his hands, which were previously clenched at his sides, now grip the edges of the bookshelf on either side of you, closing the space between you even further. 

“maybe i’ve been distant,” his voice, though strained, holds a desperate edge. “but it’s not because i don’t care, it’s because i'm terrified of what i might feel if i let myself get too close.”

“it’s because you drive me insane —and i can’t get enough of it.” 

you pause, taking in his raw confession before burying your face into his shoulder; a damp patch forming on his clothes. “but it’s not fair, sunday.” your fingers dig into his shoulder, but he couldn’t care less.

“you can’t push me away and then pull me back in with your words.” your words are muffled; he tenderly runs his hand along your back, his soothing touch calming you down.

he sighs before saying, “i know i’m sorry, please give me some time, i’ll make things right.”

“promise?” you ask, lifting your gaze to meet his. he gently cups your cheek with his hand, his thumb softly caressing your skin.

he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, “i promise.” 

and this time, he lets himself sink in your embrace, holding you tighter than before. it’s then he realises just how much he had missed out on. 

extra:

“darling...” 

“hm?” you gently stroke his wings, smoothing out the feathers with delicate care. 

his wings flutter slightly under your gentle hands, softly rustling as you brush through the layers of plumage.

“why were you delivering documents to me that day?” he asks, voice laden with curiosity.

you let out a soft chuckle as you recall the nervous expressions of the staff on that day when sunday walked into his office. his wings had fluttered with every tentative step someone took toward him, a clear sign of his agitation. 

“i don’t know,” you reply with a hint of amusement. “maybe none of your staff dared to come near you, so they asked for my help.”

he subconsciously leans into your touch, a soft smile playing on his lips. “well i’m grateful you came by,” he murmurs, though he can’t quite hide the way his wings quiver in response to your tender caresses.

“it turns out, i got more than just a set of documents that day."

you raise an eyebrow playfully. "oh? and what might that be?"

he leans in closer, his forehead gently touching yours, “a reminder of how much i need you."

MASTERLIST ; EVENT M.LIST

[sagatale]

Dreams Of You

Hello everyone! So, I thought I would give posting fanfics a shot, starting with this small "blurb?" of Jacob Black. Obviously, aged up! I have been wondering quite a lot recently how imprinting would feel and be perceived since it's described as more intense than normal love. I really hope you like it, and if you have any other ideas for a longer fanfic you would like me to write next, let me know, and I might write it!<3 sexual content 18+ minors dni

“I dream of you all the time.” His voice was low, his breath brushing against your collarbones as he found a place in the crook of your neck. Warmth surrounded you, scorching skin burning through the layers of clothing, heating you until all left were cold fingertips and even colder lips. “Even when I’m awake, I still dream of you.”

The words were almost unrecognizable as his mouth pressed against your bare skin, sending shivers down your spine. His words never failed to make your heart flutter at his blatant affection for you. Never did it cease to overwhelm you, for he told you that there were truly no words that could describe how he yearned for you every minute—every second of his long, exhausting days. 

Indeed, you couldn’t imagine what that was like, for if you harbored feelings in that vast amount, there could be no other way for you to deal with them than simply exploding. 

Sometimes, when Jacob was perched over you, arms wound tight under your back as he hugged you close to him, strong legs helping him push into you, you could almost be sure your thoughts weren’t too far off the mark. The way his hands always seemed to handle you softly now strained against his strength, pulling you so tight against him as if having you close was the only way to keep him from eating you alive.

His pronounced brows permanently furrowed something so terribly, eyes tightly shut as sweat dripped down his skin, the salty substance dripping down your chest as his lips distracted themselves by dragging his tongue over your pulse, breathing in your scent til it consumed him whole. Strained breaths could be heard, grunts mingling with your quiet whimpers as your hands trailed over his shoulders, feeling his body tremble beneath them, shaking something so terrible. 

You’d ask him if he needed a break, worry consuming you when his strong arms gave up, pressing into you more urgently as the bed rocked against the wall. Yet it turned out there wasn’t anything the matter with his stamina as he growled in protest when you tried to sit up, his heavyweight over you making your attempts futile, desperate lips finding yours as he slowed slightly, grinding into you as you moaned at the tortuous rhythm he set. 

“You’re shaking, Jacob.” You’d say quietly, fingers threading through his damp hair as his hazy, warm, brown eyes found yours, once more planting his lips against yours. “I’ll be okay.” He’d mumble through the kiss, tongue caressing yours as his hand softly placed itself on your cheek, threading over your skin as if it were porcelain.

It didn’t take long for him to move inside you again, eyes glazed over as he stared into yours through lidded eyes, mouth open over your gasping one as your fingers ran through his black hair. Bringing him down to you once more, you felt the ridges and bumps of his upper body against you, muscles clenching with every thrust as if it took every willpower of his to control himself. 

“God.” He panted out, releasing you to slap his hands against the mattress, gripping the sheets tightly in one hand as you heard them rip under his harsh treatment, the other hand taking hold of the headboard. The wood complained under his hard hold, crumbling as his hold tightened. Your hand found his cheek amidst the pleasure coursing through you, thumb carefully stroking the skin as you whispered his name.

It felt like every sense of reality was swept away from Jacob as his unfocused eyes fell on you, heart thumping so hard against his chest it felt like it would punch through both skin and bones. Shaking his head, he looked at you again, still finding your lidded eyes staring back at him like he had created the world you walked on. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” He grunted, reveling in the feeling of your cold fingertips against his hot cheek as his stomach coiled something so terribly, making him believe he was going to go insane with desire.

In a way, he always feared being this close to you, for only being in your presence was overwhelming for him, never mind feeling your soft skin against his and hearing your pleasure-filled whimpers as he took you. Oh, how he had longed for you, how much he longed for you now, even though he was the closest to you he could ever be. 

He didn’t lie when he told you he always dreamed of you. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you, like you were carved into his eyelids. He never could get close enough, and while that was a curse in itself, it was a curse he wouldn’t trade for any other.

[diorcities]

Nct dream calling their gfs loml (fluff)

⠀   ⠀ ── 💌. ִֶָ ᡴꪫ nct dream calling you loml !

so cute!!. library.

mark. you think you've heard it by mistake. “what's the love of my life doing?”. lifting your head from the book to bump into his serene, distracted countenance trying to see what you're reading. “what?.” he probably thought out loud, because he repeats it again without it this time. that until he realizes, getting flustered immediately and hiding his face on your neck. “no. say it again.” “oh, shut up.”

chenle. what a prick. he usually uses it to get away with getting his way after he's bothered you. he places kisses on your unresponsive mouth while clearly enjoying it. “you're the love of my life.” but the way he says it —with mockery in his annoying demeanor, doesn't hide the tint of affection when he pronounces it. so he drags you by the waist towards him, to continue kissing your smile.

haechan. he won't stop saying it now that he knows the reaction it has on you, but he knows that if he uses it a lot then it won't have the same effectiveness. picks the right moment, like when you're barely awake so he can wrap around your waist and bury his head on your neck. “how was your sleep, love of my life?” the way your skin bristles makes him decide that the best way to do it is to wake you up telling you that. little does he knows it'll always have the same effect because it's not just the meaning, it is also him.

jaemin. he says it all the time like it's your name, and you never get tired of hearing it. your heart still shrinks and warmth spreads in your chest. maybe he doesn't know the effect it has on you; that he says it even when he's distracted makes you want to explode. “what do you want for dinner, love of my life?” he kisses the crown of your head when you snuggle with him, and even though you're on top of him, he's not close enough for you.

renjun. he likes to surprise you with flowers every time he can. and he also likes to go on spontaneous dates on a weekday. when you ask him the reason for the special occasion, he simply answers with the greatest obviousness in the world, “because you're the love of my life.” and even though he usually says the same thing every time you ask him, you can't help but make your heart want to burst with love, and he can't help but not get tired of knowing it either.

jeno. you appreciate how hard he tries to help you with your homework, or when you're doing heavy lifting, or when you just want to reach the top shelf in the kitchen. he's always there when you need him without you knowing it. “do you need help with that, love of my life?” but it's the first time he's said it and you're too far off the ground to process it without the stool wobbling and almost falling to the floor, of course, if it weren't for your loyal helper boyfriend, catching you before you fall.

jisung. being away from you is the worst experience of his life. of course the first thing he when he's back is try to melt into a hug with you. you laugh at the effusiveness that emanates from him with his arms around you. “i missed you. love of my life.” you're both so fuzzy you don't pick up what he says at first. “what?” and because you're so close together you think you've felt his heart stop when he realizes what he's said. you stand there, laughing silly as a blush spreads down his cheeks, “you heard me.”

[savanir]

Danyal- or well, Daniel now he supposes, seeing as none of these “kind” strangers can pronounce his name right. Has found himself a golden opportunity to hopefully get back to where he actually belongs.

His current predicament was anything but what he could have ever imagined happening to him. He remembers an attack, an assassination attempt on him and his twin. He remembers taking a hit meant for Dami, he remembers the electricity coursing through his body from the weapon the assassin used and so graciously left in his abdomen, meant to make his body seize which would make attempts to keep him from dying just a little bit harder, and his death just that little bit more painful.

After that he vaguely remembers falling, and then burning green.

Next thing he knows he’s in a foreign place with foreign people trying to “help”.

Wherever he is he’s certainly not anywhere near Nanda Parbat.

But he’ll get back, and the easiest way to do so is to secure transportation and funding.

Which shouldn’t be hard as soon as he’s “convinced” this random rich guy to adopt him.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

Oliver is starting to regret the brilliant PR idea of sponsoring and supporting the new improved Star City foster care system.

In and of itself that’s of course a very good thing, and absolutely something he cares about and is happy to spend his money on, but these things should just be a given, just a thing that’s done because it’s the right thing to do.

Can’t just do that of course… we have to make a huge spectacle about it, showcase some poor but very adorable kids in need of a loving family. make a big party about it.

Oliver is vaguely reminded of pet adoption days that some animal shelters do. Also a good thing he’s in full support of, but that’s animals, and these are actual children.

The thought is making it rather hard to keep a pleasant smile on his face. Thankfully he’s very effectively being distracted by the little guy who somehow managed to attach himself to his leg and refuses to let go.

Oliver looks down.

The boy with the biggest most blue eyes looks up.

There are cameras and reporters and Oliver can feel the bad decision creeping up and the voice in the back of his head screaming, “don’t do it. DON’T DO IT”

Oliver lifts the boy up, “hey there little man, what is your name?”

He gets a big smile in return and the bad decision suddenly doesn’t seem so bad anymore, weird.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

Roy had been talking, or well, it was more like venting to Dinah about something Oliver had done, or said, maybe both, probably both… When they heard the front door open and was quickly followed by a “Dinah I have a surprise but first you have to promise you won’t get mad”

Which… bad sign, very bad sign, terrible sign.

“Oliver what have you done”

The man walks into the room and proudly shows off his latest impulsive decision, “Congratulations, it’s a boy!”

…That’s a whole ass kid.

“Oliver Jonas Queen! you did not!”

But he did and that choice changes everything.

[candiiee]

foreigner! reader, who can only swear and say the basics in Japanese.

“balls.”

“w-what?”

“hi.”

foreigner! reader who calls Izuku by his first name and is so confused when he tweaks out and practically bursts into flames.

“Hi, Izuku!”

“o-oh! uh, um, this is just so sudden..not that I’m not okay with t-this..”

“what?”

foreigner! reader who wonders why Izuku is trying to learn to speak their native language, with hilarious results.

“um, uh, h-how are y-you t-today..?”

“Um, good thank you! You?”

(in Japanese) “oh..I didn’t learn that far.”

foreigner! reader who doesn’t understand their customs and didn’t understand what White Day is and didn’t know it even existed in the first place.

“..what’s this?”

“oh! um, chocolates…for you.”

“oh! thanks! That’s so nice of you.” :) [they said in a very friendly way and didn’t give it a second thought. shame on you]

“yeah…nice..”

foreigner! reader who wonders why Izuku looks so dejected and depressed the next day, unaware they practically rejected him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be? I’m with you, my very platonic friend who will never love me back!”

“Mm, alright.”

foreigner! reader who can tell he is very much not okay, but doesn’t know how to put it in words. nor did they understand what he said earlier.

foreigner! reader who wonders why Mina is so very adamant about making them sit together on the bus, practically squishing them together, as Izuku glares daggers at her, trying to stop the blush from creeping onto his freckled face.

“do..you..hate..me?” you finally asked, trying to pronounce the words that you barely learned yesterday, wanting to make sure he was okay.

Izuku flushed, trying to remind himself that he was perfectly fine being your friend, and never clawing his way out of the friend zone. “oh! um, of course not!”

“He wants you so bad and he’s depressed you rejected him on white day.” Mina buts in, from her seat from behind.

“..come again?” You ask, not quite understanding what she said.

“she said nothing! Absolutely nothing!!” Izuku practically screamed, trying to get her to go away.

“He wants that cookie so effing bad!” hagakure squealed, giggling.

“I really don’t understand..” poor you, trying to understand all the Japanese that they say.

Mina whips out her phone, the translator app at the ready.

Izuku’s eyes widen, trying to reach for the phone, “No!”

Mina smirks, “Relax. I’m just gonna ask them if they knows what white day is.”

Izuku falters, but lets her. “You better ask them just that.”

Mina types in her phone quickly shows you the screen.

“white..day?” you ask, in English.

You write down in the app, and Mina noogies Izuku. “See! They don’t know what White day is! They didn’t mean to reject you!”

“well that’s a relief..” he mumbled to himself.

“But if you do confess to them! Do it romantically! Not on a bus! Got it?”

Izuku swallows, then nods. “Y-yeah.. okay.”

Having caught none of that, and feeling very left out, “What..were you talking about?”

Back comes his blush, “Nothing! Absolutely nothing!” He squeaks.

[rodolfoparras]

Say something stupid (like I love you)

Pairing: Male character x Top Male reader

Cw: 18+, non human yandere character, human yandere reader, stalking, obsessing, possessiveness, masturbation, bondage, blood play, spit play, non consensual voyeurism, dubious consent, dom male reader, sub male character

Synopis: After spending so many years looking for the right one for him, he finally finds you or you find him…

When he first met you he hadn’t intended to fall in love, matter of fact he’d long given up on the concept solely because his partners rarely viewed love and relationships in the same way that he did.

Sure they’ve gotten jealous over him but never did they get possessive like he did.

Sure they’ve loved him but never did they get obsessed like he did.

Sure he’d been in committed relationships but never did they allow him to claim them properly.

And because of that he always broke up with them.

It’s love, he tried to explain, the all consuming type that has you tapping into your deepest darkest desires.

His previous lovers didn’t understand it, no one seemed to do, until he met you.

He had observed you through the shadows at first, not wanting to scare you away before he’d even gotten the chance to say hello.

He’d watch you practice in the garden. You were rather skilled with the sword but there were still weak spots in your swordsmanship, windows of opportunity where someone could come and harm you.

From then on he decided that he’d do everything in his power to prevent you from getting hurt, even if that meant secretly watching you from bushes and trees while you practiced with your sword.

He’d sometimes watch you take short walks to town. You didn’t seem to care whether it was day or night, seemingly determined as ever to finish whatever errand you had in mind. But he cared because sure while you knew how to wield a sword, the world you lived in was very unpredictable. You shouldn’t roam around alone so of course he followed wherever you decided to go.

He’d even watch you sleep until dusk turned into dawn through the window you always forget to close. Sometimes you couldn’t fall asleep for whatever reason, so you’d lay in bed, body bare and on full display lazily stroking your dick, grunts and groans tumbling past your lips, as you steadily worked yourself towards your release.

He tried not to look, it would be rather improper of him. He’d instead trail his gaze around your surroundings to make sure no one was watching, no one else but him.

You never noticed him or maybe you did because sometimes you’d throw a look over your shoulder while practicing with your sword as if you could feel someone watching you.

And sometimes you’d take one too many unnecessary trips to town, each time taking a new and unfamiliar path as if wanting to keep him on his toes somehow.

And sometimes while pleasuring yourself, you’d gaze into the open window, right in the spot where he usually hides himself, eyes searching the dark as if you were looking for something or rather someone, as if you were looking for him.

However the most notable thing was that you never seemed to fear him, at least not from what he could see.

There were no goosebumps rising upon your skin whenever you thought someone was watching you at practice, no pulse wildly beating under your skin when he was following you closely, no shaking limbs except for when you inched closer to your release.

He was intrigued.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and soon enough he decided to make himself known.

When he’d stepped out of the shadows and into the light he’d been intrigued with how much more beautiful you were up close but he’d been more intrigued with how familiar you seemed to be with him.

You didn’t lunge him down to the ground, didn’t bring your sword to his throat, didn’t even try to walk away when he came up to you.

Instead you said his name with a soft smile on your face, pronouncing the string of letters as if you were rather familiar with them, as if you were familiar with him. How you’d found that out, he had no idea.

He was used to an air of caution surrounding his conquests, the other party needing some time before they warmed up to him, maybe two or three dates before they allowed him to steal a kiss but there was no need for that with you.

There was no need for it when you were the one to pull him in for a kiss, a yelp of surprise turning into whimpers and whines, steadily licking into his mouth as if trying to erase any trace of previous conquests, sucking on his tongue and biting on his lips as if trying to devour him, before breaking apart, a string of blood and spit connecting you to him

At that point his conquests usually try to run away. They see the wild look in his eyes, the blood smeared around his mouth and run for the hills.

Instead it seems like you’re trying to prevent him from running away, one hand keeping a vice like grip on his throat, thumb pressing down on his Adam apples til his ears ring and world blurs while the other hand blindly fumbles for the cleft of his ass, fingers brushing over his clothed entrance.

He’d never managed to go as far as to get his conquests into bed yet here you were tying his limbs to the bed posters, using a bit of pre to stretch the tight ring of muscles before sinking into his warm wet heat like you owed it, uncaring of the way he winces and hisses as you set a steady pace with your hips, solely focusing on your pleasure.

You keep your gaze glued to his, like he’d done with you for so many weeks, eyes wide and frantic as if someone would steal him away from you, taking in the tears trickling down his cheeks, the way spit is dribbling down his chin, the way his cock is uselessly slaps against his abdomen while you frantically thrust into him.

And when he thought it was time to leave, feeling absolutely spent and wrung dry, nothing but pathetic spurts of cum spilling from his cock,you had stopped him before he could even get up.

This time you lunged at him, still naked as ever, your hard cock pressing against his thigh while pushing the sharp blade of a knife up against his jugglar.

Right then and there he knew that he loved you

and he knew that you loved him too.