#other than that its pretty soft ig

[povlnfour]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ TALES OF CANDOR (LN4)

pairing: lando norris x f!author!reader

summary: lando’s girlfriend has a secret identity. she’s not quite the girl next door everyone assumed, and he might just be the inspiration for more than just her instagram captions.

warnings: some hate comments

* faceclaim: mélanie, aka wailcester on ig (please imagine her as you see fit)

ੈ✩‧₊˚ landonorris just posted a photo

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landonorris some days @ home

👤 tagged yourusername

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user i hope ur enjoying ur time off!

user no hate but like what does his gf actually do?

user literally nothing she’s jobless💀

user it’s giving🏅👷‍♀️

user lando i love u but half naked pics of ur girl isn’t helping how much we dislike her…

user what’s she reading!!!

yourusername a thousand splendid suns by khaled hosseini!!

user ofc u are. i totally believe u acc read well written books. u probably just read gossip columns but want to seem interesting🙄

ੈ✩‧₊˚ musingsofcandor just posted a photo

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musingsofcandor biscuit approves of the final draft🤍

👤 tagged acatcalledbiscuit

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user HELLO??? CANDOR DOES THIS MEAN WE R GETTING A NEW BOOK

user i love that we know more abt candy’s cat than we do her…

user can’t wait to read it🥹🥹

rickriordan has to be my favorite thing you’ve written!

user RICK’S READ IT??? OH YOU KNOW ITS GOOD

user lando norris in the likes he’s just like all of us fr

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo

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yourusername ‘when she finally got the camera film developed, seeing his face made it all come rushing back’🦋🫧🧚🏻

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user im sorry i know we r meant to be supportive but she annoys me sm. is she just living off of lando’s money?

user omg the caption!!!

user i recognise it, where’s it from?

user it’s from ‘tales of peter rourke’ by candor!!!

user 🤢

user we get it… ur dating someone rich. now get a job!

ੈ✩‧₊˚ mclaren interview

[captions:

interviewer: what have you been up to in your break?

lando: a lot of lounging around with my girlfriend. read a few books too!

interviewer: anything good?

lando: i’m really into magical reality at the moment! that kind of it’s all normal till it’s not stuff, you know?

interviewer: any good recommendations?

lando: if you like that same genre, i recommend ‘the right side of upside’ by candor! it’s pretty recent, i finished it last week.]

comments

user he likes candor??? he’s so real for that

user KNEW I COULD TRUST HIM

user bad taste in women good taste in books

ੈ✩‧₊˚ musingsofcandor just posted a photo

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musingsofcandor thank you for all the love lately on ‘the right side of upside’. insane seeing so many of you recommend it, biscuit and i are eternally grateful. love, candy🤍

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user QUEEN DID YOU SEE LANDO RECOMMENDED IT

user CANDY HAS A MAN???

user love u forever ur so talented

user CANT WAIT TO SEE WHAT YOU DO NEXT. CANT BELIEVE WE HAVE TO WAIT NOW

musingsofcandor it might be sooner than you think ;)

user UM. candor is this a soft launch?????

ੈ✩‧₊˚ landonorris just posted a photo

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landonorris got some super helpful race advice today

👤 tagged acatnamedbiscuit, musingsofcandor

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user OH MY GOD MY WORLDS ARE COLLIDING

user LANDO WE NEED TO KNOW EVERYTHING IS SHE CUTE I FEEL LIKE SHES CUTE

user break up w ur gf and date candor when

musingsofcandor biscuit says he can’t be held responsible for the outcome🐾

landonorris can i hold you responsible instead, candy?

user UHHHH WHATS GOING ON HERE

user i just know y/n is feeling THREATENED

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo

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yourusername all mine

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user LMAOOO U STARTED SWEATING HUH

user candor could steal ur man if she really wanted to

user GIRL YOU’RE SO OBVIOUS

landonorris yours🖤

user STOP LYINGGGG

ੈ✩‧₊˚ an exclusive interview with candor : entertainment weekly

interviewer: so candor! tell us how it really feels having the world at your feet!

candor: [laughing] honestly quite normal! it’s a blessing and a curse, really, not having my identity revealed. i get to live my life without those pressures, but i don’t get to see anyone and thank them for reading!

interviewer: do you ever get the urge to approach someone reading one of your books?

candor: all the time! whenever i go browsing in book stores and see someone looking at or buying mine, i have such a temptation to scream THANK YOU at them!

interviewer: do you see a future in which you reveal your identity?

candor: maybe! there are a few of my fans who know who i am, those who attend the secret events and signings, but i’m very lucky that they all respect my privacy and haven’t shared anything further. perhaps one day soon i’ll finally let everyone in on the secret.

interviewer: and we can’t talk to you and not bring up your cat — or rather, who your cat met the other day…?

candor: oh! i’m assuming you mean lando norris? yes! he’s a pretty good friend of mine, he’s been a big support over the last few years and we found some time in our schedules last week to meet up.

interviewer: so you’re a formula 1 fan?

candor: huge fan! i’m a big mclaren girl so lando and i met through their events!

interviewer: oh fantastic! see folks reading this, she really is just like us!

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo

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yourusername cars going vroom vroom makes my heart go boom boom

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user lmao posting before and after candor’s interview. girl ur not subtle.

user im so sorry but ur clearly so threatened it’s hilarious

user i don’t get all the hate in here??? she’s just in love n happy?

user shes a gold digger

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ੈ✩‧₊˚ musingsofcandor just posted a photo

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musingsofcandor told you it wouldn’t be long🫧 ‘thomasin jeffe, the cat, and the diplomat’ will be with you next friday. a lot of love poured into this one over the past few years, i just couldn’t wait any longer to give it to you🤍

already a member on my website? check your emails🦋

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user WHDHSJSJSJSJS

user OH MY GOD ITS HAPPENING

user THE EMAILLLLL🥹

user candy omg where do you live that looks so pretty!!!!

musingsofcandor monaco !!

landonorris 🖤

user lando using the black heart and candor using the white… i’m sorry to his gf (not really) but they’re meant to be

ੈ✩‧₊˚ user just posted a photo

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user the best day of my life!!! thank you so much candor for being the absolute sweetest human and taking time to talk to each and every one of us! i cannot wait to read thomasin jeffe, the cat, and the diplomat🥹🤍

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user YOU MET HERRRRE???

user WHO IS SHE TELL TELL TELL

user candor asks us not to share her identity so i’m gonna respect that but LET ME TELL YOU I WAS SHOCKED

user i recognise her from just that inch of her face but i can’t tell whERE FROM

musingsofcandor it was WONDERFUL to meet you! i hope you enjoy the story🤍

user wish people on twitter were as kind as this,,, there’s photos of her going around :/

ੈ✩‧₊˚ f1wags just posted a photo

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f1wags the internet has been in PIECES after famous author candor’s recent book signing. photos have emerged of the popular anonymous author from the event, revealing her to be none other than LANDO NORRIS’ GIRLFRIEND, Y/N! turns out, she has a job after all👀 (pictures taken from y/n’s instagram!)

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user i… cannot believe this

user see. when y’all were hating on her you were secretly worshipping her

user @ everyone who was an arse to y/n… KARMA IS A BITCH!

user WHAT????

user HOLY SHIT LANDO HAS BEEN DATING MY FAV AUTHOR THIS WHOLE TIME????

ੈ✩‧₊˚ yourusername just posted a photo

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yourusername well. the secrets out. it’s been a long few years, but it’s nice to not have to hold it in any more.

both my accounts will remain active for separate purposes, but i’m excited to be able to introduce you to candor as she is in her whole truth — just like her name suggests🤍

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user ironically this is exactly how i picture marian elsie from thomasine jeffe looking. full fairy

user i am. so sorry. so so so sorry. i know nothing can ever compare for the things we said but i really am

yourusername thank you. no hard feelings on my end🤍

ੈ✩‧₊˚ landonorris just posted a photo

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landonorris my candy. it may not have been how you intended, but i’m glad i get to show off how proud of you i am.

i’ve watched you as both candor and y/n for a while now, and i love both versions of you entirely. i cannot wait to see what you do now you have the freedom to be whoever you want to.

and hey, pretty cool to be able to say i’m the inspiration behind some of your characters, huh?🖤

ps. so glad i can finally share photos of mY CAT. even if he does hate me biscuit is MINE as well

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user love the clarification that the most important thing to lando is sharing photos of his cat😭😭

user MORE PICS OF BISCUIT PLEASE

user i’ve always been in love with her i can say that confidently

user oh so you’re a successful fanboy

yourusername biscuit told me to tell u ur smelly for using him for likes

landonorris you literally said to me omg i can post about biscuit now YOU FEEL THE SAME DONT LIE

ੈ✩‧₊˚ musingsofcandor just posted a photo

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musingsofcandor i’ve had a bit of inspiration for some time🤍

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user MOM AND DAD

user i can’t believe this. my worlds are colliding

user I KNEW CAPTAIN ROURKE FELT FAMILIAR IN THE TALES OF PETER ROURKE

user i can’t believe my fav ever love interest is based on lando….

landonorris i love you. thanks for immortalising me🖤

————

a/n: hello hello! another one whilst i recover!

so this was based on an anon request and i have had so much fUN writing it!!!! whilst i don’t normally do requests generally due to being overwhelmed easily, this one stood out to me as i Love books so i was inspired. to the anon who requested, i hope this is what you imagined🤍

in terms of further requests! whilst i can’t promise i’ll do them, if you have any pressing ideas you think would work with my style , do feel free to send them in ! i always love to hear your ideas (and any thoughts on my works!! please send feedback as well!!) and will try gradually to get through some🤍

fun fact: all the book titles are based on actual books i have written hehe

fun fact pt2: yes her pseudonym is chosen bc i watched divergent last night

taglist (found in pinned post): @idkiwantchocolatee @vellicora @alessioayla @bborra @crimeshowjunkie @minkyungseokie @paolexsstuff @celestialpato @champagnelovers101 @loxbbg @hobiismyhopeu @tsukishitm-a @moonypixel @champagneproblems17 @ironmaiden1313 @lqvesoph @sunflower-golden-vol6 @six-call @skatingiswalkingincursive @peqch-pie @m0cha-bunny @woozarts @he6rtshaker @iluvvmeeee @goldenalbon @izzy-marvel @lucyysthings @lichterfee @tallrock35

[jolapeno]

4. green smoke

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter four of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.7k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over IG. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used, you wear a date outfit but not specified and the shoes have heels but not mentioned what kind. minor discussion of past canon events incl. drugs. no use of y/n. an: if this as a friends episode this would be called "the one where they talk"

prev chapter | frankie's ig

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Friday soon arrives.

It comes hand-in-hand with a tumultuous storm, bringing with it ominous rumbles echoing through your house. The air feels charged with tension, wrung tight, all sense—as if it’s holding its breath while the world around seems to retreat into darkness. Even if the time on your laptop says 14:43.

Your gaze fixates on beads of rain running down the window, all racing one another—like you have been for several minutes. The steady patter provides a rhythmic backdrop to your solitude, interrupted only by the occasional sighs that escape your lips and the soft tapping of your pencil against the notebook—a feeble attempt at pretending you’re concentrating.

Pretend is the optimum word.

Merely putting on a show of focusing on the task at hand. In reality, your eyes keep flicking to your phone—the one lying silent on the counter, eagerly anticipating the next notification that’ll make it illuminate.

Your work, the one thankfully with a deadline of next week, continues to sit ignored—barely considered, never mind plotted. Because it isn’t what fills your mind.

It’s him.

Just thoughts of him—mind populated with vivid memories that refuse to fade, unable to stop lingering on the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles or his infectious laugh. The one which has dug itself a place into the walls of your home, lit it up.

Then, you think of his lips, the ones that are purposeful, all heavenly. The mere thought of them sends a shiver down your spine, a longing present, spreading—

Unloading a delivery and you’re falling on me.

It's difficult not to smile at his message.

Something he effortlessly elicits from you now. Has done so since the very beginning. A thing he continues to do so the more the two of you speak.

It's giddy, almost teenage-like, the way your heart scampers to catch itself as your fingers try to pretend they're not darting to reply.

Excuse me? Rain. Oh, that is such a dad joke. It was. I’m pretty proud of it. Bet it made you smile. I will not confirm or deny. So that means it did. Shut up.

Thumbs swirling over the screen, you roll your lips, toes twitching on the floor as you grin.

So, how big is the candle going to be in the middle of the table? Ummm, appropriately sized for a restaurant? Hmm, I have only gone on dates with inappropriately sized candles. Are you flirting with me when I’m at work? Are you saying that like you don’t flirt with me when I’m at work? In my defence, you choose your own hours. Do you mind me flirting with you? Not even a little bit. Good. Because guess what I’m wearing right now? Hopefully nothing. I’m wearing sweats and a baggy T-shirt. Still hot. Get back to work, Butterscotch.

You know it’s not long—a handful of hours until you’ll be across from him.

Likely with your smile hurting your cheeks, eyes unable to stand looking away from him for more than a few minutes. Unable to explain or rationalise how straightforward it is with him, how natural it feels to get swept up in all of this and find yourself wanting to be around him.

Something you try to put to the back of your mind, to not clock-watch, not count down. Doing well at it until you hear your phone buzz and see his name appear on your screen.

The laundry you're putting away ignored, the item dropped from your hand to the floor, before wiping your hands on your thighs, taking a measured breath, then lifting the phone to swipe it.

His voice fills your ear almost immediately. All hello and your name, a can you hear me? following.

And your heart skips a beat—missing a whole thud against your ribs as you stare at the outfit hanging on the closet door.

“I’m really sorry—“

And your heart falls. Descends gradually, like a feather freefalling. Doing so until it has nowhere else to go but sit in the hollow void. Disappointment beating, pulsating.

“—Harold… he had to leave early, his heart was playing up and he said he’d come back. But I can’t make him do that, wouldn’t be able to enjoy ourselves if he just—"

“—Frankie—“

“—And I’ve tried to move the reservation, rang the restaurant. But, they’re booked up and I really want to take you there—”

“—Frankie?”

You brush the fabric, the hanger holding on to the top of the door with sheer will as you do so between thumb and finger. Half-smiling—even still. Listening to the way he takes a breath, to the way he cares so much.

“It’s okay,” you interrupt, swallowing, shoving the dismay down. “I… promise.”

The voice you hear back is soft. So tinged with sadness, and regret, you half-want to call him Butterscotch just to make him laugh. “You sure?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you reassure him, comfort him—voice steady as you do so, "We can reschedule. It's not a problem."

A moment of silence follows, with a sense of letdown settling in the air like fog. It sits there, resting, hanging. Because even if you know it’s just a minor adjustment, a twinge of disappointment still seeps in. Not so much a sharp pang, but a lingering weight that makes your shoulders sag, as though everything had deflated like a balloon slowly losing air.

“Baby… I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, a smile making its way onto your face despite the circumstances. "There's always next time."

“Not drove you away then?” he half-laughs, one you imagine is a little forced.

“Not even a little bit.”

Sighing, you swear you hear him smile with it. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

You grin, nothing but light and easy, “Just make sure next time you can show up, that’ll be a good start."

Frankie laughs, it flowing down your ear before it’s joined by a promise that he will and he can call you later, if you like? A thing which sounds like a good idea, even more so when it's followed by the fact he wishes he could stay—talk, but you know. Nodding to no one but yourself as you bid him goodbye, leaning against the wall—hanging up, full of bittersweet.

You let your head fall against it, rolling it there as your eyes flick back up at your clothes, lingering over it.

And an idea appears.

It grows—smothering over sadness before it blooms.

Then, you’re grinning. One almost as large as you do when he makes you giggle. Almost.

You’re thankful the sign still says open when you step out of your car—fingers tugging at fabric, ensuring it sits how it’s supposed to.

Even for a surprise, you wanted to look as picture-perfect as you should have been entering the restaurant. The paper bags catch your leg, noise crinkling against the air as you yank on the handle—entering, being washed in wood chippings, bleach and paint.

For a moment, one stuck between time and space, you look. Glance. Unsure where to find him, until your eyes land on him and find his head lifting at the sound of your entering.

Whatever Frankie had been in his hand dropped, all forgotten. His mouth parting at the sight of you. Taking you in. Sweeping brown, surprised eyes all over you as heat rises up your neck and brushes over your ears.

“I know I’m a little overdressed for buying a hammer, but…”

Mouth falling open, he looks torn between grinning and speaking. “What are you…”

Shrugging, watching his eyes roam up and down the outfit you’d chosen. The one that had been on the hanger for days—one you’d not thought could be replaced by anything else.

“Well,” you begin, smirking, “My date got caught up at work and I’d been really looking forward to seeing him.”

Frankie smiles, hand rubbing along his jaw as he stares.

“But then, someone told me there’s a secret restaurant here. One behind a metal door that says, Staff Only?”

Dropping his hand, and swiping his tongue across his lips—he slowly moves around the register. Coming to join you as you hold the bags up, the heels of your shoes clicking on the shop floor tiles as you meet him halfway.

“I also suspect that you might not have eaten, since you've been alone for most of the day.”

It’s at that moment his stomach roars. It grinds, what you assume is coffee, before groaning inside of him as he claps a hand on his apron.

“The only problem is,” you say, narrowing your eyes, scrunching your nose. “I… I didn’t know what you would like, so I might have bought a ridiculous amount of food.”

Taking a bag, his eyes widen when he opens it. “You’re staying, right? To help me?”

Reaching inside the bag he didn’t take, you pull out a single, battery-powered candle. “It’s a date.”

He gives you a wide smile, his eyes twinkling with happiness. "I just need to lock up," he says.

You watch with a flutter of excited nervousness as he moves around the store, flipping the sign on the door from 'Open' to 'Closed', and then securing the door. The lock clicks into place, echoing in the quiet store. He then proceeds to shut off the lights, plunging the store into a soft, inviting darkness lit only by the glow from the streetlights outside.

Turning back to you, he extends a hand.

"Shall we?" he asks, his voice filled with anticipation. You place your hand in his, feeling the warmth spreading through your fingers.

As you walk together towards the back of the store, a tinge of excitement flutters in the air. The 'Staff Only' sign looms above the door like a secret entrance to a place you shouldn't be, but with a gentle gesture, he ushers you inside.

You don't miss the way his fingers brush your lower back, the heat they ignite up your spine as his chest meets your back, face close to yours. Lingering, eyes sweeping over you.

"Lemme just..." he whispers, elongating it, before he bends to pull you a chair out—one with three wheels, no back—fingers sliding up to brush over your shoulders as you sit down.

“Careful.”

Swallowing, you suppress the effect he's having on you, forcing a smirk. “Oh, I’ll try, Morales. Don’t want you to have to fill out the accident book.”

“Harold would murder me.”

Snorting, you watch him join you—taking the candle from your hand, flicking it on and placing it directly in the middle before the two of you begin taking food out. He gazes at bundled packaged burgers, stealing a fry from the bag before it’s laid out over the desk.

“So, as it’s our third date.” His eyes flick to you, mid-bite of his food as you twirl a fry in your fingers. “I get to ask you challenging questions, right?”

“Fuck,” he says, under his breath. Grinning. “Alright, let me have it.”

Nudging him with the tip of your shoe he laughs. “Okay. You and Luca’s mom?”

“Ah.”

Grabbing a napkin, he wipes his mouth. “You don’t have to worry.”

“And as everyone in history knows, those words are how people stop worrying.”

Smirking, he turns on the wheely stool, facing you, knees abutting yours. “We haven’t been together since he was born—we… we weren’t even together by the time he reached six months. He… he doesn’t know any different. We have things we say, and truly, she’s a fantastic mom, we have a great co-parenting situation.”

“Okay.”

His fingers land on your knee, dancing over them, light and feathery as he sighs. Heavy. Weighted. It makes you swallow, makes you want to dig your fingers into your leg to stop yourself worrying, thinking—overdramatising whatever it is.

Scratching his head, he rolls his tongue from his cheek to the front of his teeth. “I wasn’t a good person then… a lot of shit had happened—I’d left the service, found myself… haunted, I guess? Me and her, we met, we… seemed good. She seemed good. And then, I…”

Your hand slides over his, one of your fries still in hand as you do. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I want to.”

Nodding, he half smiles.

And then he does.

He tells you about his days in the army—and the sleepless nights when he was back home. The sense of loss he felt without it, the uniform that meant nothing when he joined a regular job. How flying helicopters for people with money who had no cares in the world began to make him hollow, carving a piece inside of him that didn’t fill with laughter at barbecues and trivia nights. He tells you how he’d rambled to someone about the lack of sleep, before he found a little white bag in his locker—an opportunity, a chance to not overthink.

That it had stayed there for days, almost a week until there had been news about someone he had once worked with.

Then he explained how it wasn’t a problem, but it also very much was. How he was lost, drowning—that people reached out, but the lights had been on, but no one was home. How it became a coping mechanism, a small dose to take the ache away—before he learnt he was going to be a dad. Her worries about him making her ignore the signs, much further on than they thought—and then, one month later, how he failed a drug test.

Trace amounts, barely anything, but still plenty.

His license, revoked—paused. His future dwindled, a baby due to arrive, one he’d heard the heartbeat off at the same time as he found himself at the threat of being alone. A second chance dangled, offered—do better, Frank. Don’t be selfish.

“—but, I didn’t change. Don’t change.”

Your heart falls, and descends.

Watching him shake his head, grabbing a handful of fries before stuffing them into his mouth as he chews, and you pick at one from your own box.

“Things were good—Luca, he had ten toes, ten fingers. He was great, happy. It made us being good seem real? But, it lingered, y’know? If work kept me later, there was this distrust, this question. And I couldn’t blame her, didn’t. Never would either. I broke that, I know I did. But…”

“It wasn’t healthy?”

Shrugging, he swallows, before nodding. “Then, I helped a friend, one from my squad. Had to… it was dangerous. I was gone longer than I said—and she worried, panicked. I knew before I left that when I got back I’d likely find my stuff packed—not that I blame her. I know we tried. But, I broke it. But now we’re better… better co-parents than partners, you know?”

Nodding, you chew, rolling the salt on your lips together. A beat passes, ice clanging in the drinks, cartons scratching against the table as the two of you eat.

“That was probably a lot.”

“It’s okay. Are you… are you good now?”

Nodding, he chews another fry. “Clean since Luca was born. Five years, fifty-seven days.”

“Well, I know this might be weird to say, but I’m proud of you.”

Smiling, he chews his cheek, meeting your eyes for the first time since he began sharing. “You’re a bit too good for me, you know that?”

Smirking, you steal one of his fries. “Oh, a hundred per cent. You might have a bunch of followers and good taste in paint colours, but did you know that I can sand down a dresser to the point a prominent Instagram DIYer has told me ‘I did a good job’.”

“Doesn’t sound that trustworthy. Bet he doesn’t know what you call wrenches.”

Pouting, you narrow your eyes as he laughs. “Thank you for telling me.”

Nodding, he rolls his lips. “I had to… ‘cause… are we enacting third date-talk honesty?”

“Of course.”

Half-smiling, he nudges himself closer on the stool. “I really like you.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you look up at the ceiling, before grabbing his knees and wheeling yourself closer. “I quite like you too.”

Smile spreading, he places his hands on top of yours. “Yeah? Because I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to… run from all of that.”

Smirking, you try to move closer, even if the wheels of both stools try to prevent you. “Did you know, honesty is really, really hot?”

Brows raising, chin lifting, his lips slide further into his cheek. “I’m glad you came.”

“I’m glad too.”

Swallowing, his fingers slide in between yours, eyes flicking from one eye to the other. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous, that.”

“Well, I’ve seen your house now.”

Nodding, you smile. Feeling it, whatever he’s going to say, ask, think lingering in the silence. His grin widens, a spark igniting in his eyes that sends a rush of warmth through you.

“So, I think it only seems fair you see mine.”

Wiping your hands on your napkin, licking your lips as you cross a leg over the other. “Well, for fair sake I definitely should.”

“Do you want to… now?”

“Tonight?”

Nodding, that same flush of pink rises up his neck, up his jaw.

Smirking, you loosen your hand from his—resting your palm on his cheek, elbow on your knee. “I’d like that.”

The car ride to his should be tense, but it isn't.

Instead, it's filled with soft laughter, teasing comments and shared glances—your fingers twitching, wondering whether a hand on his knee is too soon. Even when everything else feels so normal, natural.

When he pulls up outside his place, anticipation fills the air—a rush of warmth flooding through you, making your fingers clamp together and stare out at the place as he says, this is it.

It’s nice, well-kept—charming, from what you can already tell. Eyes spot chalk drawings on the patio, lit up by the outside lights and a plastic red car close to where he's parked.

“Luca has some good parking,” you smile, pointing to it next to you both. “You learn from him, or?”

Smirking, he undoes his belt. “Maybe, I taught him how to park. I’m very good with heavy transportation.”

You don’t miss the way he emphasises the sentence. Your 'oh' is swallowed by the sound of him opening the door and telling you to wait.

Watching as he moves around the vehicle, his eyes holding yours. Earlier, you'd been thankful that the rain had taken a pause; now you wished it hadn't stopped its lashings that glued clothing to skin, thighs pressing together on the seat before the door beside you opens.

“What a gentleman.”

“Just wanted another chance to chance to check you out, really.”

Swatting him, he takes your hand, his laugh blending with yours as he leads you up to his front door.

If he feels nervous, he doesn’t show it. Finding his keys and slides one into the lock without missing. Opening the door without as much as an awkward shove of the door.

If anything, it’s effortless. It not even squeaking or catching as he pushes it open.

“It’s not a lot…” he begins.

But he couldn’t be more wrong.

It’s cosy and warm. Exuding an unmistakable homeliness that immediately comforts you. Dark woods, off-whites, and splashes of orange, caramel, and greens intertwine harmoniously, creating a space that feels both freshly decorated and deeply loved. A balance you assume exists because of him being the one to bring it all together, knowing from the videos you've seen how talented he is.

As you glance around, you begin to see the traces of the Frankie you’ve been getting to know. Photographs of him at the beach, with his son, with friends and more with Luca at varying ages.

Then, there are the plants. An assorted mix of them, some big that you remember from photos, some greener than others—some tall and in plants with animal faces like raccoons and beavers, others in decorative pots placed on shelves.

As you step in further, you spot furniture you recognise from videos—even noting the stacked pile of books from a photo he’d shared recently and a record player on a side table.

“C’mon, let me show you around.”

He leads you, hand in yours, showing you his well-equipped kitchen, and dining space. Occasionally, he points things out, like the markings on a wall he’s using to measure how tall Luca gets and the scuff marks from dragging the dining table in after varnishing it. Before finally, the two of you are outside the half-open door to his bedroom.

Frankie giving you a wink, bodies almost flush.

“That where the magic happens?”

“Not usually…”

"Maybe that's cause people haven't been saying the right magic words." Shrugging, you lick your lower lip, staring at the beading on the door. "I should tell you, I've heard I'm quite good at magic words..."

You let it linger, sit. Before you turn on your heel, fingers brushing over a table as you head back in the direction of his living room.

He follows, a step or two behind, letting you and your eyes capture all the personal touches before you feel fingers on your wrist, tugging you back, body flush to his.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, you find your throat dry—eyes flicking to his mouth.

“Go take a seat, I’ll bring us a drink.”

It’s soft, the nod you do as he slips his hand from your waist. You move, almost on auto-pilot, to sit down on his sofa, running your fingers over a cushion—one stitched with greens, golds and oranges.

When he reappears, you look up at him, noticing the hint of nerves in his gaze as you plaster on a reassuring smile as he places them down on the coffee table.

Slowly, you reach out, squeezing his hand, "Your home is lovely, Frankie."

He chuckles, a soft blush creeping up his cheeks as he joins sitting down. "Yeah?"

Nodding, you press your knee against his. “So.”

“So.”

With a smirk, you draw a measured breath. “I believe... I want to kiss you now.”

Swallowing, his gaze flickers to your lips, lingering, before snapping back up to your eyes. Warmth spreads over your cheeks, neck and ears. “I believe you should, Rainy.”

A response there, nestled between teeth and tongue, is muffled as his lips meet yours—for the first time in several days.

an: as a warning, the next chapter will include smut. if you wish to skip the smut, you can miss the chapter as there will be no other scenes. the following chapter will pick up the next morning.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[j0eyj0rdis0n]

can we get some sub toby moments? like he’s on top and all that but he’s just so whiny

thanks!!

Gotcha covered! I hope this is good enough! Again unedited because I’m lazyyyy

SUBBY DOM TOBY

Fandom: Creepypasta

Plot: Toby loves fucking you so much that he becomes a whole new person when he does

Warnings: Soft sex, unprotected sex, that’s about it?

You loved having Toby on top of you, honestly you liked having him wherever you could. Top, bottom, sideways, whatever ways, you didn’t mind. But what you loved more than that? When he actually starts fucking you.

That confident persona just melts away as soon as he bottoms out. Feeling your soft squishy walls around him just makes his mind fill with static. The good kind of course. You love watching the way he gets so damn pussy whipped for you. If you remember correctly he told you one time that “your pussy is magic”. And tonight you were working your magic.

Doing absolutely nothing.

You watched happily as Toby bottomed out, letting out a breathy moan. “S-shit babe- I’m not gonna last long at a-a-all…”

You could only chuckle as you stroked his hair softly, looking up at your pretty boy barely keeping it together and he hasn’t even moved yet.

He starts up a slow pace, rhythmic moans coming out ever so often when he hits that gummy spot in you. It’s almost as if your pleasure is his too. But as usual, it’s not long until he loses control of himself. Mind and body included. His pace has gone fast and heavy, hands planted on either side of your head as he fucks you relentlessly into the bed. His eyes flutter from the pleasure.

“Mm f-fuck, m’ gonna fill you s-so full… Buy y-you a bi-ig house… Fuuuuck- We’ll have b-babies together… Ahh, gonna ma-ake you s-so happy-“ He groaned out, watching through half lidded eyes as you nodded rapidly.

Oh how he loved it when you agreed so quickly.

“You’re so f-fuckin’ hot babe-“ Toby breathlessly moaned, leaning down to leave dark marks on your neck.

You found it so sweet how he saw you as the most beautiful thing in the world. And the best part was you didn’t have to even do anything. All you had to do was lay pretty underneath him and he did the rest. Just with some sweet praises.

He loved the way your back arched and your chest pressed against his. How warm you are and how your pretty nipples felt against his chest. Pulling one hand from its place beside your head, he tweaked your nipple softly, getting you to squirm just the way he likes.

“J-just like that babe- Sooo good for me. Come on, I know y-you’re close.” His thrusts continued to pick up pace, the wet sounds that came from between your legs only urging him on more.

You were seeing stars as you came. Your chest heaved with heavy breaths as he followed suit, filling you up until he couldn’t anymore.

He gave you a sloppy kiss before pulling out, leaving you whining from the empty feeling.

“Awww don’t whine b-babe! We got tomorrow t-too!” Toby said with that stupid smile, giving you one more kiss before laying down next to you.

The rest of the night was filled with soft kisses shared between the two of you, marking each other all over, and mumbled praises against flushed skin.

[writingstoraes]

three words, eight letters 💌

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: written imagine

word count: 4.01k (got carried away)

notes: ok ik there are several of this prompt here but i wanted to give it a whirl :]] also in a slump with my ig imagines so i figured i should finish this since its been a draft for such a looong time lolol no warnings, this is just very fluff-coded!

about: the three times charles almost said "i love you," and the one time he finally did.

Charles wanted to tell you the three aching words he's stored in containment. All he wanted was the right time and the perfect moment, but for the love of his and his alone, he just cannot find it.

He had been racking his brain on how to tell you - because when he looks at you, it's like those three words are just going to explode out of his chest. Every time you smile, laugh, or even breathe in his direction, he realizes just how smitten he was for you. He thought about just saying it out of the blue, unplanned but also when the time felt right. But he also thought about going about it as if it were a proposal because you deserve nothing less than the best he can give.

There were times he thought it was too early to say.

You had just been dating a few months in, and though he felt strongly for you and he did love you, he didn't want to say it too fast or too early out of the fear that it might drive you away.

It's no secret Charles was no chef. He gets a good laugh when other drivers tease him about it but he doesn't pay it any mind. Some people are just good at other things, like how he sucks at cooking but can drive a car that goes as fast as lightning. It is also no secret that he wanted to impress you with skills other than driving - so he doesn't know what entered his mind when he realizes he's on his way to the supermarket as he decides to try and cook dinner.

He scoured the internet for an easy recipe, finally smiling to himself when he finds a simple pasta dish he thinks he can do. To an average person, the dish was really easy to make. So simple that an unsupervised child could follow it. Directions were clear and the website had pictures - he just needs to make a simple sauce, cook some pasta, and grate some cheese. He tells himself nothing could go wrong, what he was about to cook was absolutely just elementary. But he's not an average person, he was Charles, and he is a terrible cook through and through.

Having convinced himself he could cook something so simple, he had forgotten how he messed everything up. He's pretty sure he blacked out, because when he came to his senses, the pasta was overcooked, and the sauce mysteriously evaporated into the air so the pan was just red drops with charred pieces of cheese on the side. He tried to taste it, and he deems it inedible. He was so occupied with cooking it had slipped out of his mind that you were coming over, so the next thing he hears is the sound of your soft knock on his door.

The kitchen was an absolute mess and the apron he wore was extremely dirty — he almost thought about pretending he wasn't home and not answering the door. Of course, he doesn't do that, so he lets you in and the first thing you smell, is cheese.

"Were you cooking?" was the first thing you ask him.

He didn't answer, instead, he planted a chaste kiss on your lips and hurriedly walked back to the kitchen.

He had expected you to laugh once you saw the mess he made by trying to cook just to impress you, but surprisingly, no chuckle erupted out of you.

"Sorry," he says softly, taking off his apron and quickly cleaning up the pots and the bowls he used up.

"I wanted to cook you dinner. I found this recipe online and I thought it was easy," he sighs. "Cooking absolutely hates me. You're okay with getting takeout for now?"

He really did expect you to laugh.

But the second sentence that came out of your mouth: "I'll help you clean up."

It didn't take a lot of time to clean everything up. Thanks to Charles' inability to measure things, he had a ton of extra ingredients, and since he seemed to really like the dish he aspired to cook, you decide to make it for him.

Charles sat at the counter watching you calmly cook the recipe he'd intended to accomplish, your hair parted to the side while you wear the ridiculously messy apron he had worn earlier. He watches you cook the pasta and the sauce at the same time, able to keep your eye on both without neglecting the other. To your defense — the recipe really was easy. But Charles didn't seem to think so, which was why he was sitting on the counter with heart-shaped eyes.

"See, this is what it should look like when the pasta is done cooking," you hold up a piece, cutting it in the middle to show Charles it has cooked through.

"It helps if you check it from time to time if you're not sure. For the sauce, I think you just had your heat on a little too high, but that's okay — you can do it right next time." you smile softly at him, eyes squinting before you shift your attention back to the pan.

Charles had tried cooking before. But up to this day, you were the only one patient enough to actually teach him how. And it didn't help that you looked so beautiful while doing so; hair parted to the side, apron hanging a bit loose on your body, and a smile so captivating it blinds him a little. You weren't perfect, you did laugh at him eventually, but not before guiding him through the recipe he'd chosen. And quite surprisingly, he could cook this same exact dish properly for Arthur next week.

It was clear Charles was no help in the kitchen, so he resorts to hugging you from behind, head resting on your shoulder, breathing slow and steady. He gets a whiff of your shampoo and your perfume he absolutely loved. Your hands soon make their way on top of his that rested on your stomach, thumb rubbing circles on his. Charles was pretty sure you could feel him smile widely behind you, a thought he chooses to ignore because he didn't care anyway, he was at his happiest.

"I lo—" he starts, catching himself off-guard. For a moment, time stops; and he's not sure what to say next. He thought it was too early, but he wanted to say it.

"I love pasta, you know that?" Charles continues, trying to save whatever he's left with. Thankfully, you didn't notice his desperate attempt to cover his supposed mistake.

He tells himself: maybe next time.

Charles' mother had been pestering him for a long time about meeting you. Every time he came home, he was greeted with, "When am I going to meet your girlfriend?"

Even his brothers, Lorenzo and Arthur, were all so ecstatic about meeting you properly for the first time. The two see you around the track for brief periods of time, but in their defense, you haven't introduced yourself properly to Charles' family. It didn't help that Charles himself talked about you like you hung the moon and stars, and made the universe using your own bare hands, because his whole family, mother and brothers aside, all wanted to meet you.

The two of you were finally headed to Charles' childhood home, finally about to meet his entire family. And the word entire was an understatement because everybody was there. From aunts, cousins, and his nieces and nephews, all of them were anticipating your arrival. A lump forms in your throat just by the thought, but you try to battle it with a deep breath as you fixate your eyes on the mirror.

"Do you think they're going to look at this dress and think it's too revealing? Or too short?" you shout from the closet, straightening out the creases of the crisp white dress you were wearing.

Charles enters the room and he swears he could have just died right then and there. How you manage to take his breath away with minimal effort remained a mystery to him.

"I think..." he drags the second word. "I think they are going to be completely in love with you."

"Hopefully not in the same way I am, because I don't plan on sharing you." he softly chuckles, giving you a reassuring smile.

Technically he had said the l word already but to him, it didn't count, only because he didn't say it to you directly.

An hour into meeting you, the entirety of Charles' family adored you wholeheartedly. He didn't want to give credit to himself but he knew they would find no reason to not love you, though he reminds himself to tell you he told you so when you get some time alone together later. He could listen to his family members praise you all day. You had managed to meet each and every one of his side of the family present at the dinner and Charles could not help but admire how carefree you were at interacting with people he held close to his heart. His mom could not stop raving about how great you were and kept asking why he did not introduce you earlier that it makes her slightly mad, which was followed by a hearty laugh and an assurance that she loved you to bits.

You just managed to dazzle and charm every person you talked to. His brothers adored you and you managed to get along so well with them even if your most apparent common denominator with them was racing. His aunts could not stop telling Charles how beautiful you were and how you seemed to be so kind and fit so well with him. They were already asking Charles when's the next time you visit and you haven't even left his home yet. For some odd reason, you got along well with his uncles, too.

But the cherry on top, the last straw, and the tipping point that tugged the heaviest on the strings of Charles' heart were seeing you with his nieces and nephews. He was fond of children, gleeful every time he sees one on the paddock, especially when they are clad in colors of red and yellow, his team's staple color scheme. However, he never knew how disastrous it would be for him to see you with children.

There you sat on the patio, his niece behind you as she messily tried to braid your hair. You had a big smile on your face, laughing at the somewhat theatrical act his other nephew was performing in front of you. In your hands was a glass cup with gelato and a small spoon, raising the spoon occasionally to feed the little girl tying your hair. His lips slowly form a smile and he feels his chest was bound to explode any time soon. He stood there and realized that he was completely, utterly, and irrevocably in love with all that you are. In other words, he was down bad, and he wouldn't even dare deny it.

After the festivities of getting to know each member of his family, you and Charles were finally given time alone in the kitchen. Everyone else was occupied setting the table and fixing everything up for dinner. You were part of it though, he just found you getting the pies in the oven after you volunteered to do so.

"I told you so," he says, slightly taking you by surprise, not enough you drop the pies though.

You turn to him with a sheepish smile, "Told me what?"

"That they would love you," he replies.

"Well, I am very loveable. Can't blame them."

"I know you are. That's why I lov-" he transitions into telling you what might be one of the most important things he's ever going to say in his life.

"Charles, dinner's ready!" Arthur calls out, cutting his train of thought. The two of you shift your gaze to the dining area, seeing Arthur and Lorenzo waiting for the two of you.

That's why I love you. That was what he wanted to say.

Charles sighs, telling himself that maybe getting cut off was a sign that this was not the right time. He'd repeat himself, but he thinks there are other times when he could tell you he loved you without interruptions.

"What were you saying?" you ask, not wanting to hang him out to dry.

"Oh. I said I know you're loveable. That's why I love seeing you charm every single member of my family."

Charles was not having the best day. His own team had botched his home race for him once again and on top of that, he had gotten a 3-place grid penalty in Monaco. Don't get him wrong, he was ecstatic to be home. The warm welcome of the fans was unbeatable. Banners, posters, and the Monaco flag waved around the streets of Monte Carlo.

This season has not been good to him so far. So just once, he wishes to catch a break.

The two of you were walking around the paddock as Charles was headed to the Ferrari motorhome to prepare for the race. His hand was on your waist as he guided you in the sea of people. The track was entirely at capacity - engineers, celebrities, VIPs, reporters, you name it. A few meters from the garage, a reporter from a well-known sports channel calls his attention.

It was routine, and Charles was used to it. You were standing not too close beside the cameraman, just watching Charles answer the questions he was asked. The reporter's inquiries were the usual, he had asked how Charles felt about the penalty, how he thinks the car will perform, what upgrades Ferrari is planning on implementing, and all the likes. You watch intently, giving Charles a small smile every time his gaze went your way.

Though the reporter fixated on Charles' "disappointing home race", his words, Charles knew how to handle the questions and answered them composed and professionally. After all, he has been doing this for quite some time. Deep down, it stirred you slightly as it seemed like the reporter was only recognizing the lapses on Charles' side and insinuating that it was entirely his fault.

You tried to pay it no mind until he makes a passing careless and offensive commentary that you could not just let pass.

"I guess some fans were right - monegasques today have nothing to look forward to. Wonder how they feel when their only driver is not only in a horrible car but is tussling with being nothing special."

Nothing special.

Nothing to look forward to.

Something in your ears rang and your vision went dark. You could see Charles' face drop from where you were standing and your heart absolutely broke for him. He proceeds to nod his head toward the cameraman and made haste and you did not hesitate to follow him right away. If you felt distraught and angered after that comment, you wonder just how he felt after hearing it, and at his home race, nonetheless.

"Charles, wait," you jog slightly, seeing as his pace was a lot faster than you. You could tell he just wanted to get out of there. You reach for his hand, tightly grasping it and he stops walking.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," he says lowly, upset written on his face.

"Why are you sorry? It's his fault. He was offensive and careless. He humiliated you and worse, what he was saying was not true."

"C'est bon." It's okay. You two were finally at the garage, a little far from the reporter. Deep down, though Charles wanted to at least defend himself, he feels all the energy he has left had been sucked out of his body.

"No, it's not. He doesn't know what he's saying. I don't want to let him get away with that, he can't just go around telling people things like that. You may be too nice to tell him off but I'm not."

"You don't deserve this," you say with conviction, walking away from the garage and prepared to give the reporter a piece of your mind.

You don't plan to cause a scene, you knew better than that. You weren't going to shout or curse, but you wanted to get your point across. Soon after Charles follows you, clearly trying to stop you but was too late when he saw you already talking to the reporter. He had no choice but to walk closer to you, grasping on what you were saying.

Your voice wasn’t loud. From where he was standing, he could see how calm and composed you were while you gave the reporter the lecture he was probably not expecting. The track was fairly busy and noisy. You could hear engines starting, and conversations of people he doesn’t know, which caused his inability to understand and hear what you were saying. 

He just stood there - watching you defend him from the asshole of an interviewer, your hands making small gestures for emphasis. The reporter’s face slowly displayed guilt and resentment as if he was clearly affected by whatever it is you said. Soon, the noise around him subsided and the only thing he was able to hear was the last thing you told the reporter. 

“I don’t ever want to hear you talk like that about Charles ever again. If you’re only going to disrespect one of the most hard-working people I know, better to not approach him in the slightest.  He did not pour blood, sweat, and tears into this sport just for you to utter those words to him.” 

Your voice remained soft but it was steady. You turned your heel against the reporter and a cameraman who was clearly surprised by what he just witnessed. You walk back to him, giving him a small smile. 

He wanted to just stand there and stare at you. No one has ever done that for him before. He had his fair share of disrespectful interviewers and questions that downright offended every fiber of his being but he always chose to not pay it any mind. It did not help that you were the kindest person he knew — so seeing you decide right away to defend him like that just made him feel all sorts of things. 

The two of you proceed to walk back to the Ferrari garage, your hand tightly grasped by Charles. At the time, he desperately wanted to embrace you and whisper just how much he loved you. He wanted to drag you to a discreet corner and just hold your face while he tells you the three words he’d been keeping to himself. 

But he remained frozen in awe of you, and so he fails to tell you once again.

“Can I-” Charles starts, trying his best to get up from the couch. 

“I already told you. The answer is no,” you reply firmly, shifting your gaze to the man with the slightly swollen cheek. 

He huffs a little bit loudly, wanting to show his disappointment.

“Baby, the doctor said no strenuous activities. You just had your wisdom tooth extracted, so no, you can’t go skiing with Joris.” you say as you walk toward the couch, fluffing the pillow his head rested on and putting a soft blanket on top of him. 

“Please just rest. You lie down right where you are and I will be preparing dinner soon. I just have to finish something first.” 

“My favorite?” he asks, putting on the sweet tone you were always soft for.

“Anything for you, my patient.” you smile, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Okay. I’ll rest,” he sighs, adjusting himself on the couch to face sideways. “You take care of me so well.” 

Charles was under a lot of painkillers. His dentist appointment had been rescheduled hundreds of times as he claims to be too “busy” to get his wisdom tooth extracted. If it weren’t for your incessant nagging because he was already in pain, he probably wouldn’t have pushed through with it. He tried his best to look tough in front of you, but as someone who drove cars that are as fast as lightning, you could tell he was nervous. 

The doctor had to reassure him that there would be anesthesia plus painkillers to combat the pain he would be feeling after. After finding out he was medically allowed to eat a ton of ice cream after the procedure, he was more than happy to oblige.

However, the combination of Charles, anesthesia that’s wearing off, plus painkillers is not equal to a drowsy Charles. He had more energy than usual and was naughtier than normal. In other words, he was hyper. He was not muttering nonsense like the famous wisdom tooth aftermath videos on YouTube nor did he want to sleep all day. He wanted to do so many things he was about to get overstimulated. So no matter how weak in the knees Charles usually made you nor how you always give in when he asks you for something, skiing and going to the gym for a heavy workout after he just had his tooth extracted were just things you cannot say yes to. 

Not long after, the ever so fueled with energy of a boyfriend you had was deep in slumber on the couch. He probably tired himself out from listing a thousand reasons why you have to let him go with Joris and his friends today. He was ceaseless, after all. His lower body was covered with the blanket that you put on him earlier, chest slowly heaving up and down, mouth slightly apart, and lightly snoring. 

He looked so peaceful. For a while, you just sat beside him and went on to study the features of his face. The pointed nose, the tiny freckles that are most evident when the sun hits them, and the eyes that seem to contain galaxies and universes in it. 

“I know you’re staring, chérie,” he quietly says, eyes still closed. 

“No. I’m just checking to see if your face is still swollen.” you reply, playfully rolling your eyes at him. 

“Not swollen. Just say you’re looking for an excuse to study my beautiful face.” he teases, shifting himself so he’s now in a seated position. 

“That’s the anesthesia talking, Charlie,” 

“Wore off already.”

“Fine, I was staring. You’re so pretty, how could I not?” you say, shrugging your shoulders before standing up to prepare dinner. 

“I love you.” Charles says before you could even move away far from the couch where he was seated. 

I love you. 

You stop in your tracks, your back still facing the Monegasque who was clearly waiting for a response yet slightly relieved he told you what he had been wanting to say for a while now. 

“I already know what’s going through your mind,” he says, lightly laughing. “This is not the painkillers nor the anesthesia talking. I’d spent so much time debating on when to tell you.”

“So many accidental “I love you’s” thrown away. Figured there’s never a right time. I love you every single day so why wait for a perfect moment?”

“I love you. So so much.” he repeats. 

You turn to him with a smile you can’t contain, walking over to him and engulfing him in what seemed to be the tightest hug you’d ever given anybody. 

“I hope you know I’m still saying no to the skiing.” you laugh. 

Charles chuckles, and you could feel the vibrations of his laughter from his chest. His grip on you only tightens, sighing in relief. 

“That’s okay. I’d rather be with you anyway.” he says, squeezing you once more before breaking away from your embrace.

“Hmm, swaying me with pretty words, Leclerc?” you raise a brow. 

“Never!” Charles smiles sheepishly as he puts both his hands up in defense. 

“For what it’s worth — though you’re like a child hopped up on sugar earlier, I love you too.” 

-------------

tagging: @slytherheign <3

notes: i think this is my first time writing something this long! i also have a 3.5k word work in progress but i cant find the will to finish it lol very angsty though!

thank u sm for reading and lmk what u think hehe <3 also pls send requests for ig imagines for charles! will try to do it as soon as i can!

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hey love! if you're still accepting requests, could I get an extremely wild, rough and feral nsfw Daemon x wife fem!reader please? (feel free to ignore and sorry if the request is weird, but I'm thirsty for this handsome fictional man who unfortunately doesn't exist)

Frost Bite

Daemon Targayen x Stark!Reader

Summary: You were travelling back to home soil in anticipation of your wolf's heat cycle. Besides the fact that you could not stand the sound of your prince husband's breathing and the fact you were certain he would perish in the cold, there was one more reason why you did not want him to join you: the fact the heat was affecting you too.

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: Basically PWP, 5k+ SMUT T_T (non-con [daemon touches her while she's asleep], virgin!reader, she cries for various reasons, fingering, choking, biting, degradation kink, corruption kink, spitting, marking, edging, oral [fem receiving], breeding kink, cream pie), RIP feminism, opens with a wet dream, brief mentions of near death experience in a snow storm, dark!daemon (but imo its just canon daemon) fem!reader, wife!Reader, soft!daemon, typos, etc.

A/N: YEAH MINORS DNI. LOL SO I was planning to write this for my part 2 of my Stark!Reader, but i got lazy and didn't want to create a whole plot leading up to the smut, so i removed it all together, which I guess worked out swell for you nonnie, since I was planning something absolutely unhinged. I hope you liked that fic of mine since you're basically getting a p3 of it So here's part 1, here's part 2, but you don't need to read any of them to understand, but i suggest you do for background cos lol this is PWP T_T Next part ig but its a blurb "✨Magic✨" OMG NEXT PART BUT ITS NOT A BLURB "Moon Cycle" Also nonnie, i wanted to tell you albeit asking for smut is pretty awkward HAHAHAH you gotta process these feelings somehow you know. i mean, we could have been criminals, like Daemon, instead but we're not, and that's what matters (unless you are a criminal in which case im closing my eyes) this gif of him is so large on pc but idc he's so hot MATT I WANT YOU SO BAD FUCK OFF if someone snitches to big brother again like in In Your Defense /: Idk if you want to be, but I'm tagging everyone I tagged in the previous fic, as well as the others that commented there SO HI THIS IS SMUT YOU CAN GO IF YOU WANT LOL HAHHAH @aralezinspace @em-the-lurker @blue1006 @mukduk-not-murder @min-jianhyung @deniixlovezelda @moonmaiden1996 @thatmysteriousblog

I caught him. I caught him doing the very thing I dreaded to catch him do. The one thing I accused him of doing every night, though in my heart of hearts I wished he did not... not that I would ever admit it to his face. Because why would I? Admitting it would mean- "You want me," Daemon heaved against the neck of the woman beneath him. He cranes his neck up as he thrust into her, smirking, eyes dark, "you want this to be you," he pants as he stares at me, "don't you?" I am in my place, frozen, watching and hearing the woman come undone underneath my husband who kisses her tenderly. "Daemon," I whimper helplessly, teary eyed, "Daemon please." "Fuck off."

I jolt awake, sweat sheening my neck and chest. I turn to my bed, empty, because though Daemon insisted we sleep together and I could not fight him in his decision, he did not return to me until nigh dawn.

I wipe my face as I recall my intensifying dreams.

It seems my travels up North would come quicker than anticipated.

And as much as I wanted to tell him I told you so, oh to all the gods, how badly he deserved it, there was no time for me to gloat when Daemon did the very thing I warned him not to, fall into the icy river.

It was instantaneous. The cracking of the ice, the splashing of water, the scream that escaped me. Maybe I should have left him in the cave we kept Caraxes, who he insisted on bringing. But then again he would have insisted on joining me to the cabin, the way he insisted on joining me here up North in the first place.

And now I had to deal with the consequences of his actions.

It was sheer miracle that I got him out of the river without falling into it myself, sheer stupidity of me to rid him of his coat and offer him mine when the blistering snow storm was not relenting, and quite clearly the sheer will of the gods that both of us made it to the cabin... barely.

The moment we walked in, I shut the door and scrambled towards the fireplace. As my fingers shivered, I thought of Havoc, and how at least I know she would find mine and Daemon's corpses if ever we do not make it. I had sent her away when the storm came out of nowhere because we had to find cover for Caraxes, and she would not have been any of help to us if she were here with us anyway.

My poor pup. She would be heartbroken if she saw me frozen. And Caraxes...

I curse the flint, I curse the cold, I curse the gods, and I curse Daemon for every time I failed to light a fire. I thanked the Stranger for finally allowing me the mercy of my eventual success.

Once the fire was burning steady, I get on my feet and run to Daemon, hauling him over to the fire roughly in haste where he helpelessly kneels in front of. He could do nothing but shiver as I scramble to get some dry clothes and sheets for the both of us.

I yank him closer to the fire and begin to undress him.

Seeing as he is nothing but docile to my actions and how his skin was turning grey, I began to grow frantic, "you cannot fucking die, you prick!"

I rip his top off and quickly clothe him, "I did not go through all the trouble of marrying you for nothing. I refuse to be forced into another marriage because your stupid ass froze to death."

Daemon's shudder comes out in a thick condensation.

"Fuck," I whimper, as I struggle to get him out of his boots and breeches.

I shrivel up at the feel of his frozen fingers then brush against my arm and I shake my head rapidly, realizing there was no choice. The only way I can warm him quickly enough is if I share my own.

I strip him naked, pulling off the shirt I struggled to put on him as well, then wrap him in a fur blanket in the meantime. I then take off my own clothes and hiss at the nipping cold.

The fact Daemon does not even look at my naked form strikes a chord in me.

I straighten him up and fix the blankets on his legs and thighs before I sit on his lap. I press my bare chest against his and whimper at his dangerously concerning coldness.

He shivers against me as his face rests helplessly on my shoulder. His breath that hits my skin is not even hot.

"Remember, you're too fucking stubborn to die," I say as I wrap my legs around his torso and graciously place his fingers beneath my bottom.

His lack of warmth literally brings tears to my eyes.

I reach out for the other blanket and wrap it over myself, consequently Daemon, before I wrap my arms around him and breathe hotly against his face.

I rub his back, "will you allow irony to take you? The hot blooded prince defeated by the cold?"

He releases a shiver and moves his head. He mutters something, but his quaking body does not allow me to make sense of it.

"Do not waste your energy," I chide.

And so for a long moment, we stay like this, wrapped in each other's arms, sharing each other's heat. I do my best to warm him. I even nuzzle against him, the way Havoc did me, just so I could warm his stupid face.

Daemon finally finds it in him to lean against my touch, and when he does, he mutters under his breath, "irony-" shudder, "-would be if the- N-Northern princ-ces-s-ss died in the cold."

My face contorts and yet I cannot help but chuckle at him, glad he can sputter his nonsense again, "then I should make Caraxes burn you for your stupidity."

I shiver when I feel his icy lips kiss my neck. Goosebumps form on my skin when I feel the hot breath that follows. My hands rake up to his nape, where I then dig my fingers as I pull away.

"N-n-nno!" he stutters, hands coming around my hips to brace me tightly, "I ss-swear I'm not warm yet-t-t."

I pull back again though to face him when I said, "I only wanted to tell you," I lean my forehead against his face, "I fucking told you so, you stupid idiot."

I rest my face on his shoulder and close my eyes, knowing I would not be off him any time soon.

I dream about him. I dream about kissing his shivers away. I dream about pulling the fur blanket that separated our legs away, and riding him until he was warm.

I dream about how good he feels, and how he burns inside me. I dream about calling his name, unlike how I did in my other dreams. I was no longer calling out in betrayal, I was calling out in pleasure.

Daemon.

Daemon.

"Daemon," I trail off in a groan, willing my heavy eyelids open. I feel pressure building up inside me before I understand what's happening.

I not know how, but I am laid on a bed, head on a pillow, form still naked. Daemon is sat up beside me, peering down at me and his hands.

I whine.

His fingers-

"Oh fucking hell," he groans as his other hand begins to knead at my breasts, "you feels so good wrapped around my fingers, I-"

I cut him off with my squeak, hands flying to his arm, thighs closing shut, squeezing this hand in between my thighs.

"Daemon," the dazed quality of my voice is gone.

He tilts his head, face twisting, a challenge.

When I struggle and wrangle against him, all it takes is his hand on my throat to make me go still. I barely manage a choke and my breath continues to leave me as his fingers quicken their pace inside me.

He only releases me after I shake and shudder when I come.

It is overwhelming and nothing at all like I have dreamed or imagined, unlike all the times I've touched myself in secret. It was intense but there was a shame tied to it.

My entire body is hot and tears prick my eyes at his relentless ministrations.

"You were too fucking ready for that," Daemon mutters dryly as he quickly pulls away and shifts in his spot, "how long have you imagined fucking me, hmm?"

Before I even have the brain to do something, he crawls down the bed, "was it when you caught me touching myself to you?" He sinks down, grabbing my legs, "or have you done it before and withheld me of your sweet cunt for no fucking reason?"

All at once, he brings his face between my legs and begins to lick all the slickness off my pulsing core.

"DAEMON!" I scream, pressing my thighs close as I push myself up on my elbows, trying to break free of him.

He ignores me and forces my legs open even as I kick them in protest, "you will not deny me something you so clearly want yourself."

He grunts and pushes my legs down before grabbing my hands that were shoving him away, "you fucking bitch," he grips me tightly, "you will not find it in yourself to fight me off once I make a whore out of you."

I growl at his words, feeling my stomach drop along with my tears because of it.

I was realizing just how strong he really was, and how in moments where our arguments got a bit physical, he has probably holding back. The revelation of this does not cease my attempts at freeing myself, but it is as pointless as I feared.

Daemon rises up from his spot, nearing me, up until he is breathing against my cheek and rubbing his hardened length against my wetness.

I turn away from him, unable to really do anything else and shudder as he speaks, "you said it yourself, you did not go through all this trouble marrying me for nothing."

I screw my eyes shut, feeling tears fall, "Daemon."

He shushes me, pulling my arms up above my head, "you should not worry. I refuse to die now that I know of your lust."

I whimper as he rolls his hips against me, "still, the idea of someone claiming you- fuck-" he groans gutturally, "had I died..." he trails of in another groan, "someone else would have gotten my prize and it would have been all be your fault."

Daemon squeezes my wrist in one hand then grabs my jaw, forcing me to turn to him. I keep my eyes shut though as he heaves hotly, "I should utterly ruin every part of you so you can never have anyone but me. Though make no mistake, I would never let that happen as I so fucking breathe."

"Hypocrite," I scoff.

He laughs and I tense at the feeling of his vibrations, "she speaks."

I dare to look at him as I pant, "you do not desire me. You're just a spoiled brat who merely wants to wet his cock, just like how you do every night."

"Oh," he groans, "is this jealousy I hear?" He squeezes my cheeks, "is my pretty whore jealous that she is not the only one?"

"Fuck you!" I manage out though muffled.

Daemon laughs at the feel of tears rushing down his fingers, "do not cry, foolish wife. I'll have you know I have not wet my cock ever since I called out your name when I fucked someone else before our wedding day."

He releases my face. I attempt to even out my breath.

"I hadn't even realized until she asked me who-"

"And you think you deserve an award for that?!" I quip through my heavy breathing.

He lets out a laugh that makes me whimper, "I think you ought to know that mine own want for you has made everyone else undesirable," he licks my cheek, making me pull my head away from him, "I have been so pent up in want and for what? Because you're too bull headed to allow me anything other than my lonely hand?"

I try to wrangle out of his grip again, and he presses his whole body on me in response, "it's quite adorable that you still have it in you act like you didn't just call my name out loud while you dreamt of fucking me."

He rubs his nose against my jaw, "you wanna know how I know?"

"Fuck off-"

"You were rutting against me like a hussy," he sighs, "by the gods, had I known you were so wanton at night, I would have never granted you the insult of sleeping alone."

I could feel myself burn hotter with each word that leaves his lips despite myself. I did not want him to catch me like this, but there was no use; I was already caught.

As Daemon rocks his hips on mine, he hisses, undoubtedly feeling how much wetter I had gotten was beneath him.

"Fuck," he trails off, "here's what going to happen," he whispers, rutting against me rougher.

I cannot for the life of me withhold my whimper.

He chuckles as he presses his face against mine, "I'm going to make you come with my tongue and then I'm going to fuck you until you cry."

"Daemon, please stop-"

"Your heartbeat against my cock and how fucking wet you are disagrees with your protest, little liar," he croons. He lifts his head, then leans his forehead against mine, "don't worry, my little virgin, you will not cry because it hurts, you will cry because you'll want it so bad that it hurts."

"Daemon-"

"You will not refuse me," he whispers, though it is anything but sweet, "not when there is not a sliver of doubt in my mind that you want this too."

He brings his hands to my neck again and I wait for his grip to tighten, but it does not, "now say it."

I look up at him as my breathing quickens.

"Yield," he commands, breathing heavily all of a sudden.

I look up at him feeling my belly swirl in ways I could not ever explain.

"Admit to both our ears that you burn for me just as I have been fucking burning for you."

I yelp when he puts pressure on my throat then releases it.

"Say it," he barks.

"I-"

"Say you want me," he says softer this time.

I am disarmed by his quick change in tone and a shiver leaves me as the cold finds its way to my belly as he pulls away. Daemon releases my hands then begins to crawl down. His eyes are fixed on my as he mutters once more, "say it."

I shudder as he presses my thighs against his cheeks then whispers, almost begging, "say it."

I turn away from him and close my eyes, awaiting his next actions, for it was not like I could stop him if I refuse.

"Say it," he urges louder, "you know you want to."

I clench my jaw, "just do what you want and be done with it."

He growls, and goosebumps form on my skin when I feel him bite at the inner most part of my thigh. I grip at the sheets at the feel of teeth and tongue. I bite my lips tightly to keep myself from making any noise.

"I should, shouldn't I?" Daemon mutters.

I yelp and look down at him when his finger strokes my core.

His eyes are dark as he airily chuckles at my reaction, "after all I have given you my name, my Targaryen queen. You are no longer your own, you are forever mine."

I watch him as he lifts his head up and kisses my sopping heat. I flinch when he nips at me, drawing my nub out with his teeth. He lifts his head as he releases my flesh. His chin is glistening with my slick as he says, "I want you."

My breath leaves me when he says this.

"And I know you want me too, but I have to-- I need you to say it." He repositions himself in my thighs, "you are after all married to maniac," he breathes against me, "now, say it."

He shakes my thighs, "SAY IT!"

"I want you," I snap, "Daemon, I-" a loud cry rips out of me before I can even continue.

The sound of him lapping his tongue on me, eating me out as if I was his final meal, was somehow louder than my cries. I cannot help but so violently react to him as he devours me. He forces me still in his grip and fights off the movement of my thighs with his face.

It seems as though my admittance has reduced me into nothing but needy sounds.

Without another thought, my hands reach down at him and dig into his silver hair. I arch my back and pull at him when his tongue flicks into me.

"Fucking slut," he mutters, squeezing my thighs as he pulls me apart.

I scream out his name as he digs his face deeper into me. I lift my head up when he pulls away to laugh, "look at you, rutting against me like the needy whore you are."

I don't have time to find offence in his words because I still, not even realizing I was in fact moving my hips against him. He laughs as he continues his work, leaving me no time to feel embarrassment and only hot pleasure.

He is fucking good at what he does. He's so fucking good that my mind wanders where it should not. How much practice has he gotten to be this good? It is precisely because of this that I finally break, "all for you, Daemon," I grab his cheeks, "all for you-- all mine."

I do not see how his eyes dart up to me for I then throw my head back and whine. I feel myself come close to my undoing, "fuck, Daemon, don't stop."

I shriek when I bites me.

Just as I am inching so close, all at once, he pulls away from me.

I pant and stiffen as I hear and feel him spit on me. Much like all other moments, I do not have time to react. When I turn to him, he grabs my legs and shoves me to my side.

I begin to panic when he rises to his knees.

"I'll be fucking damned if I don't make you come on my cock right now," he grunts, making my eyes drop down to the very thing, erect, hard, and angry.

"Get on your knees, bitch," he blurts, though he doesn't give me much of a chance to as he drags me up into the position he wants me by my hips.

I haven't even propped myself up on my arms yet when he unceremoniously begins to pound into me.

I am certain if anyone could hear us in the middle of this storm, they would think I was mad, or worse, being tortured.

"I'm going to breed that prurient wolf in you, just as I'm sure your wolf, Havoc, is being bred right now."

I growl at the idea and feel my belly tighten at his words.

Daemon groans before he chuckles, "that's it, isn't it?"

His relentless thrusts begin to grow sloppy. Suddenly, he yanks me by my hair and lifts me up. His other hand slaps to my throat to offer painful support as he pulls me up against him.

I choke on my spit when my form presses against him with difficulty. He sinks down on his knees, my core wrapped around his length as he shifts me in a snug position atop him.

His hands make their way to my breasts to roughly grope them. His teeth sink down on my shoulder.

I release a wild sound as my own hands come on top of his. I am left moaning at how his mouth sinks into my skin.

Daemon makes sure to suck hard before pulling away. For a moment he catches his breath before speaking, "you did not want me here because you are affected by your wolf's heat, aren't you."

The way I begin to slowly bounce on top of him is enough of an answer to him.

He laughs as his hands depart from my tender breasts, one going down to my sensitive nub, the other sealing my throat again, "you are a fucking selfish bitch for keeping your cunt from me."

My breathing becomes arduous when he tightens his grip around me.

"You would have preferred to touch yourself to the thought of me?" he questions as he rubs on my sensitive nub.

"Daemon," I gasp, pushing my head back as his lips latch on my neck again.

He ceases the moment of his fingers as he finishes grazing on my skin. "Yes, my pretty whore?" he mutters in between his kisses, "what do you want, hmm?"

My breathing strains when his hand tightens around my throat more. I catch my breath when he releases his grip to push my hair off to the side, "tell me what you want me to do to you."

I call out his name. He calls out mine.

I find myself grabbing his hands as I moan out, "I want you to fuck me."

Without another word, I am thrown down to the bed. The only reason I'm still on him is because of his hands that latch on my hips.

I am nothing against his strength. He handles me like a ragdoll, fucking me with absolutely no regard and nothing else in mind.

I make sounds that mean nothing. His name is polluted by my whimpers and cries that you cannot make head or tail of.

I would not last any longer with how he was handling me, even if I wanted to, even if I tried.

"That's it my easy bitch," he pants, "come around me like the needy whore you are."

"Daemon-"

"Your eager cunt will take my seed well when I fill you up," his one hand leaves my hip and rips my head back by my hair again, "don't you think, pretty wife?"

"Yes," I reply without thinking, "yes, yes, yes, yes-"

"And you will give me your pups," he mutters, "bare my dragons, like a dutiful wife will you not?"

My only response is my body breaking orgasm. I shiver beneath him, falling powerless as I scream his name and crumble, absolutely boneless.

Daemon lets out a string of curses as he milks out my reaction for all he's got.

He does not waver once bit and it maddeningly delicious.

My voice hikes up when I feel him release inside me not too late after.

"Fucking come slut," he barks as he snaps his hips in me, "take it all just like that."

I bury my screams in the cushions he presses on, unrelenting. When he finally does grow sloppy, I take a moment to catch my breath and relish the feel of him.

I whimper when he pulls away and slaps my ass.

"The absolute mess you've made of yourself," he coos, as he rubs the skin he slapped.

I can feel myself leaking, I can feel it all over my legs, on the sheets, and I could practically feel his pleased smile as he watches the lewd display. I could not bring myself to care at all though, not when my legs begin to fall.

I squeak when Daemon rearranges me on the bed. He is not at all as rough as he was with me a while ago, but his strength and my lack thereof does not really allow him to be gentle.

He falls onto the side of the bed next to me and gathers me into his chest. When I roll over to him, I groan at the feeling of my wet thighs pressing together.

"Do not make issue of that," Daemon says as he watches me squirm. He pulls me close to him, arm over my shoulders. His other hand hooks behind my knee, dragging me atop him. I whimper and push my hand on his chest when I feel core empty out on his thigh.

He does not allow me to pull away and I turn to him because of this. Daemon forces me close against him, "are you so haughty over my come that you cannot bare the thought of it-"

"But it's getting everywhere," I start off loudly but end with a whisper.

Daemon's nostrils flare as he shakes his head, "I should sure hope so."

I feel my cheeks burn and so I decide to hide my face in his chest.

His laughter intensifies, and I do not enjoy how my head bounces on his ribcage because of it.

"Oh meekness suits you well, my dear."

I weakly mumble, "fuck off."

His amusement continues as he rubs my arms, "you mean, 'I want you to fuck me, Daemon.' "

"I did not say it like that!" I quip, lifting my head as I turn to him, finally making him cease his stupid laughter. The sight of his stupid smug face still glimmering in slick renders me frozen.

Suddenly I am aware of how cold the room still was.

"Pray tell, how did you say it?" he hums, pushing hair behind my ear.

I furrow my brows and press my cheek on his chest again, admitting lowly, "I didn't say your name at the end."

"My," he draws shapeless figures on my skin, "I'm glad to know the moment is burned in your very being."

"Fuck off," I mutter under my breath, scratching my eye. It dawns onto me that my face was equally as wet as Daemon's. Heat rises up my face again when I realize I really did cry because of how good he felt.

"Don't fret," he sighs, "there is a reason why you should not worry yourself about how your pretty cunt is leaking blood and come. I shall fuc-"

I turn to him in concern and push myself up.

Daemon furrows his brows and shakes his head, "it is normal," he soothes, grabbing my cheek, "or did you just forget your maidenhood was still intact after imagining fucking me?"

I am suddenly aware how real everything was. My husband has finally gotten me to consummate our marriage and all his talk of me bearing his seed could may well come true. My chest begins to constrict as my mind floods with endless scenarios.

"Well, if you start frowning like that, I might actually feel bad," Daemon mutters, lifting himself up on his elbows, "what's wrong?"

I look at his concerned expression and find myself speaking before I realize, "did you mean it?"

"Mean what?" he clarifies quickly.

"That you want me," I quip just as fast.

He stares at me for a moment, as if he was taken aback or measuring the truthfulness in my voice. When a prolonged moment passes between us, he realizes I was serious.

"Fuck," he drops his head back, "it must be exhausting to be a woman with your overthinking."

"Well, pardon me for not-"

"You are pardoned," he blurts, making me whimper when he suddenly flips us over.

I am beneath him again. He does nothing but press his weight on me, but I struggle beneath him, not enjoying the idea of remaining in an uncomfortable position.

He misreads my intentions and hinders me from moving, as he wraps his arms around me, "I just told I want you, that I burn for you, that I want you to mother my children. Do you honestly think I am one to say that to anyone?"

I gulp as he shifts to nestle his face in the crook of my neck, "I..." he breathes against my skin. He does not continue as he opts to kiss my neck instead.

When I move to wrap my own arms around him, he speaks again, "I am at your mercy. You saved me from freezing to death when you could have easily decided to rid of me."

I press my cheek against him and begin to comb through the long hair on his back, "I was serious about my distaste to remarry."

"Well, you will not," he quickly retorts, "you will have me until the end."

I bring my legs around him as I release a sigh, "consider me overjoyed by the thought."

He chuckles as he shifts, "you do not sound-"

"I did not want to admit it," I cut him off, "but I think I..." I turn to him as he lifts his head, "I think I... care for you, Daemon... I-"

"Love you," he finishes, staring at me with an unreadable expression.

And for the first time since our nuptials, he kisses me. He kisses me not because he has to, not for the sake of showing everyone present, but because he wanted to, for the sake of showing me.

He is nothing but warmth, nothing but fire, nothing but him. Daemon is not sweet, but in this moment he put even honey to shame.

He begins to stir on top me, though he makes sure his lips do not leave mine. It is because of my moan that we are broken apart, the moan that leaves me when I feel him slip inside me.

"Daemon-"

"You know how I fuck," he sighs, rubbing his nose against mine, "but now we'll both know how I make love."

[w2sarcher]

hiiii! i love your work and i just wanted to request a harry insta au but reader is american, all kinda inspired by “so american” by olivia rodrigo. thank you sm!💐💘

omg hi lovely!!! thank u so much @themirrorballgal !!!! i loveee this song sm so thank u for this idea. hope you enjoy!!! feel like this is a bit shit but i tried lol i'm v british so hope this isn't awfullll & sorry its a bit short!!!! xxx

so american | harry lewis

summary: y/n & harry being an iconic american x guersney duo

face claim: ig : gracie.mckenna_

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'Drivin' on the right-side road, he says I'm pretty wearin' his clothes'

y/nusername posted a photo!

liked by ksi & 490,039 others! y/nusername driving around my favorite place with my favorite boy! tagged wroetoshaw location : brooklyn, new york city

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freyanightingale miss you!!!!

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wroetoshaw driving on the left>>>

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ynharryfan mother and father

harryfan1 harry hating america but loving it since y/n>>>

ynharryfan2 pls do a nyc vlog w harry 😭😭😭

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y/nusername posted a photo!

liked by wroetoshaw & 380,026 others! y/nusername first trip to guernsey!!!! tagged wroetoshaw location : alderney, guernsey

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r0sielewis love you girl!!!

taliamar adorable

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wroetoshaw pretty girl ↳y/nusername ❤️❤️

harryxlewisfan omg mom and dad in guernsey

w2slover Y/N WEARING OG MERCH

ynharryfan harry calling her pretty in the comments i can't

harryfan1 omg she's met his family i can't

ynharryfan2 my usa queen finally made it to the channel islands

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'And he's got hands that make hell seem cold, feet on the dashboard, he's like a poem I wish I wrote, I wish I wrote'

y/n_username posted a photo!

liked by wroetoshaw & 380,026 others! y/nusername london archives tagged wroetoshaw location : london, england

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wroetoshaw you know what they say about big hands ↳y/nusername big gloves?

harryxlewisfan HAND SIZE DIFFERENCE

w2slover OMGGGGGGGG

ynharryfan i can't w these twooo

harryfan1 queen is in london towwwwwn

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'When he laughs at all my jokes, And he says I'm so American'

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y/nusername posted a photo!

liked by wroetoshaw & 310,029 others! y/nusername alexa play 'all american bitch' by olivia rodrigo location new york, new york city

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freyanightingale come back soon!!!!

taliamar love ur face

faithlouiseak aaahh miss u b

wroetoshaw biggest american bitch ever ↳y/nusername okay guernsey bitch boy

wroetoshaw joke miss you my pfb ↳y/nusername wtf is pfb ↳wroetoshaw my proper fit bird x ↳y/nusername uk slang will be the death of me

harryxlewisfan their interactions>>>>

w2slover nowonder harry's been moody in sidemen vids recently, our queen is back in her homeland 😭😭😭

ynharryfan harry better get in his private jet and fly his ass over to nyc now

harryfan1 how has harry bagged himself y/n

-

wroetoshaw posted a photo!

liked by callux and 810,560 others wroetoshaw little miss america tagged y/nusername

zerkaa she's turned you soft

y/nusername love u my guernsey boy💙💙💙

miniminter cringe

sidemanxfan HARRY POSTING???

harryxlewisfan my faves

w2slover little miss queen of america more like

ynharryfan not a day goes by where i'm not jel of what these two have omg

sidemenfan2 logan x ksi got nothing on this duo

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a/n: hope this is okay. thanks for all the love on my other works you're all fab and i love making these, i know i said i'd stop the social media au's for a while but they're so fun to make and don't take that long so i'm obsessed lol

[mymomhatesmyguts]

Budweiser (connor murphy x fem!reader)

Scenario: You're one of Connor's best friends- his only friend, in fact. You snuck through his window as you do every Friday, only to find him drunk and sobbing.

A/N: i wrote this in 2nd person but is 1st person preferred? idk, its my first time writing fanfics on tumblr :)

"Con..." You say, gently reaching out to touch his shoulder, to offer some sense of relief, even though you can tell he's far beyond hugging it out at this point.

"No, just-" He cuts himself off with a drunken hiccup as tears roll down his face. "Just leave me alone." He buries his head in his hands, his back shaking with sobs. You wish you could take him in your arms, kiss his pretty face until he stops crying, but you're just friends. Thats all. Thats all you'll ever be.

"Connor, please? Tell me what's wrong?" You coo, your voice soft enough to mirror the voice of a mother speaking to her child. He just shakes his head, flinching slightly as you rub his back gently. "Connor..." You coax, finally getting him to look up at you with his reddened, tear filled eyes.

"You don't love me." He says with a sniffle before bursting into sobs once more.

"I... what? Of course I love you." You say, almost incredulous. And it's true, of course it's true. You love him more than a dog loves his master, crave him more than a flower craves the sun, need him as much as a starving man needs a warm meal. But how can you tell your best friend that when he's drunk and sobbing on his creaky mattress at one in the morning?

"No!" He says, suddenly raising his voice as he stands up abruptly. "No, no, no, you don't love me the way I love you!" The tears roll of his cheeks like raindrops in a thunderstorm. He hiccups dryly, slurring his speech as he continues. "I... I want to kiss you and I want... I want you to be my girlfriend-"

"Connor, you're drunk." You cut him off, almost numb with shock.

"But that doesn't mean my feelings arent real!" He says, shouting now, without any regard for his sleeping sister and parents.

"Con..." Your voice is soft again, kind, the honey-sweet voice he's come to crave every night. "Believe me. If you were sober I would... I would kiss you right now, but you're drunk. I don't want this to be a drunken regret, and I don't want to take advantage of you." You say sternly, but not unkindly. Connor sinks to the bed, smiling goofily now.

"Yeah?" He says, grinning ear-to-ear like a fool. He giggles, then hiccups again, which makes you laugh and then you're both laughing and trying to shush each other at the same time, for fear of awaking Zoe, or worse- Cynthia and Larry.

"Yeah." You whisper, smiling at his dumb grin as you stand, dusting off your jeans. "Text me in the morning if you still feel the same when you're sober, yeah?"

"M'kay. G'night.." He slurs, falling backwards onto his bed.

"Sweet dreams," You whisper as you slide open the window, but as you turn back to check on him one last time, he's already snoring into his tear-stained pillow.

A/N: AAAHHHH i'm scared this is really bad but whatever ig?? i looooove connor sm i think we should actually get married. feedback in comments pls? 🥺🥺

[angelismmm]

omg can i req x-rated: the queen, blade with 7 and 10(?) its fine if u can only do one of those 👍👍 take as much time as u need to write huhu 🫶🫶

— i deleted my progress on this like 5 times, thne i went to sleep HELP

☆ warnings. nsfw, sex, all that stuff, fluff and smut at the same time, breeding kink (always n forever), bdsm, hickeys, choking

You look so adorable with my hands around your neck. You know we're more than just friends with benefits, you know that. — headcannons on blade being into bdsm ig idk

definitely likes to choke you during sex. the bruise it leaves when he lets go turns him on, like super on. it's not like he wants you to get hurt, but when he sees the bruises or marks he put on you and you can't help but just take it all in makes him feel so good.

probably you both got on the stellaron hunter business together, meeting either as kids and been with each other since or, well, meeting in early adulthood. I doubt that he went to college or what, but he probably just met you at work too. then you both worked it up from there

had an insanely hard amount of time trying to get to know you as a person honestly, and while on a mission, you both just got so tired of competing with each other in silence, why not work together?

basically you guys had hate sex for no reason, that's it, and no one else but you two know about it. the way he breeds your hole should only be to his knowing. and that's how he's done it. but slowly he's started to be more publicly affectionate, and almost barking at anyone that flirted with you.

he just.. wants people to know you are not up for dating of any kind. but it's not like you guys were the one dating.. right?

jealous asf when he sees someone else makes you laugh, and fucks his frutration out on you when you both are in private.

but he knows you don't like it either when he's acting up with someone else, only you should make him feel like that, and letting him work so easily in and out of your hole is a good way to say you're mine!

he loves choking, like seeing you in pain isn't really what he prefers, but when he's the reason to cause that pain, and hearing your little whimpers when they're touched or what? damn!! do you wanna see mini carbon copies of him or what???

likes to see when someone notices the bruises around your neck from last night, because you were just so adorable with his hands around your pretty neck!

you both actually liked each other, but treated each other like just another one night stand, like no ❌❌ dont say that ❌❌ like you bth are in denial till he gotta say somthimg ☹️‼️

during sex, probably after filling up your hole w his warm cum n stuff, he'll finally say; "we are more than just friends with benefits, you know that."

and indeed you do, you both start going officially out together, starting at a little coffee shop. somewhere far and away from everything else.

as he worked so sloppily and messily in and out of your hole, he couldn't help but utter the words "we're more than just friends with benefits, you know that." your eager nods were enough for him to finally finish, feeling all his warming cum shoot up inside you. slowly you felt his cock go soft inside you, looking back to his gaze, "gotta make sure it sticks, babe."

im mentally ill 😘😘😘‼️

⟢ ⁺ ﹒ ₊ TAGLiST ◌ !!

@edit-me-prettyplease @reveihehe @hyuga-nhi @red-kh @arseniiiarso @h4wkz @rinn31 @ablondehoe @chaik1 @pianopuppygirl @lupicalbestwolf @usagiagastopia @venniin @himeru-soulmate @whirlingfish @yanqingisim @expressodepressogetoffmyproperty @wasurerarerukara @yanfeimainsstuff @sayonara3939 @stygianoir

[lix-ables]

🎀 𝐬𝐤𝐳 + 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 ... 🩰

— minors dni, 18+ content.

🧽 smut includes, perv thoughts, exhibitionism + voyeurism, use of mirror, sexting, slight pillow humping (sigh), bondage - use of ties/ribbons, gagging, dirty talk, edging, groping, lingerie kink, panty stealing, corruption kink, oral fixation, dacryphillia, mentions of f and m rec, marking, mentions of tempurature play - ice, etc ( happy reading lovelies ‹33 )

🫀note: this was fr so much fun to write though i reposted this like 3 times so far, but third times a charm ig. please show this one some love, reblog and leave feedback !! it's my baby and im proud of it fr 😩

masterlist | do not repost or translate | words : 3019. ©︎ lix-ables

꒰ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 ꒱… he'd watch you get into the car, his eyes looking you up and down when he saw what you wore - now for him, whatever you wore, he loved it. he thought you looked good in anything you wore. but today was so much more different - he couldn't hold it in. any other day, he'd think about it, and get himself off in the shower or in his room when you weren't home. but he had to tell you. now, he'd be polite but oh so teasing about it.

his free hand would rest on your thigh, while the other was placed on the steering wheel, his voice soft and low.

“wore this for you,” you tease back, pulling slightly at the hem of your skirt. “is that so?” chan smirks, his eyes focused on the road. how he wishes he was watching you right now, maybe stuff a finger or two to keep you from talking at all.

you'd laugh about it, trying to tease him more, before he mentions it and you tell him something was in his head for him to be this needy. “you think its funny,” he puts in, his eyes deadset on the road.but thats when he starts telling you about the thoughts he was having more recently than ever, and he can see you pressing your thighs together from the corner of his eyes. with his eyes on the road, and his mind filled with you, he'd guide you, instructing you more so, telling you things you'd want to hear, and things you have heard before - only thing is you're in the car with him. “fuck i bet its that pretty nude colour, hm? you know how pretty thats gonna look when i slide my dick between those tits of yours?”

“c-chan,” you whine, whispering for him to stop and focus. “oh i’m focused enough, baby. but i don’t think you are hmm?”

his words continue teasing you till the red light, and so now you'd have to be careful for him, there were other vehicles next to you, but chan didn't care about that. no one was watching you from how close he was. if he couldn't take matters into his own hands, he'd have to talk you through it. “take that off baby and be slow. one finger in. tease yourself for me, no one can see you - but they wish they could, hm?”

꒰ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨 ꒱… with minho, it’s simple, and he knows it as well. he loves teasing you to the point that you’re frustrated with him, and he fucks the frustration out of you – with his fingers gripping at your waist as he fucked you from behind, not forgetting to leave marks and bruises to your back. with minho, its also all about fun. from the moment he found out that you get too worked up and annoyed at him when he sent you a dick pic, just once, he wanted to try it out again.

with his thoughts about how you’d feel, with either your fingers or your lips wrapped around his length, teasing him, making him pull you closer, he seats a chair in front of the mirror in your room, a long white ribbon in his hand, taking his shirt and his sweats off, placing them in front of him on the floor, before sitting down on the chair, the cool wooden material making him groan in pleasure. if only he had ice with him right now, he’d bring it in a glass surely, keeping it down on the ground next to him, before taking a piece, teasing the tip of his cock, letting the coolness of the object in his hand melt so that it dripped onto the floor. and he fucking wished you were there to watch him tease himself. he’d either make you sit across him, and make you watch him as he got off, or he’d have you on your knees, while you tried to top him.

“desperate to top me hm?” he’s whisper, when he thinks of you showing up with one of his ties, suggesting that he had them around his wrist while he fucked your mouth. “you know you can’t do that right? no matter how much you try?”

“shut up and let me try,” you mumble a reply, as you bring the cloth tie to bind his wrists. how he’d love to tease you about it, before he did the same to you.

<remember the time you wanted to top me?> he sends in a message, reaching for the ribbon that he had set aside, and clicking a picture to send it to you.

<remember how you said i’d look pretty with my hands tied? bought this to see how you’d tie me up :))>

and now all he had to do, was wait for you send in a reply, telling him how frustrated you were.

꒰ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧 ꒱… now, you grind your pillow, not knowing that he's there, your fingers curling into the material of the pillow, your buttoned up shirt off, revealing your tits.

the way he'd just almost let out a moan when he sees you ride that pillow, when he sees you grab a tit, teasing the nipple once, wishing it was his thigh instead, and wishing it was his fingers instead, flicking and licking that sensitive bud. that's when he has a thought - he needed to see you ride that pillow in front of him, while he was in the room. but that's also when he hears you call out his name, whining until it gets too much, your fingers curling into the material of the pillow case as you rode your high out.

all this, while changbin watches. all this, while he thinks about scenarios of his own, wishing it was him, instead of that inanimate thing under you and between your thighs because of course, he'd be able to get you off as well, much more than the pillow. he's confident of that much.

he'd also think about how when you both went shopping, and you pulled him into the dressing room with you, making him sit down as you changed in front of him. he was your friend, sure - more like a friend who comes over every other night to fuck your brains out, but at that moment, at the dressing room, he had only one thought - his fingers tangled in your hair, as you clamped a hand over your mouth from whining when he reached over to pull you close to him, bringing his dick out only to buck his hips into you, a small help from you making him continue the same movements over and over, until you rode him with your fingers digging into his shirt as his own fingers stuffed past your lips, your tongue twirling around his fingers while his other hand rubbed your clit. “fucking needy little thing, aren’t you, doll? always needing something to stuff you up full, hm?”

꒰ 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 ꒱… when you're in the car with him, hyunjin has thoughts about you, and it was more now than before, because you just happen to wear his favourite pair of lingerie – he knows this because he took a peek at what you were wearing when you got in, the wind exposing a little bit of your thighs and also the shirt you wore? exposed the top half of the lingerie.

now he didn't mean to look at it. he knew deep down it would be an issue for him, but it was hard for him to control the need to just pull you to him and let you ride his fingers.

“you look good today,” he mumbles as he places his hand on the steering wheel, pausing a minute to take a good look at you. fuck. he should not have done that. and he knew it was wrong for sure, but when he saw the lingerie, his mind just... wandered.

he remembered from the time how he whined at the sight of you on your knees for him, getting him off while his friends/roommates are just outside in the living room, his fingers way too tangled in your hair, pulling and tugging on it while you looked up at him, your eyes watching his every expression. he'd be embarrassed by the fact that he has thoughts about you, unlike chan who is polite about it, but he can't help it. he'd obviously let you tease him, even if it would be torture for him, he cares about you and how you'd feel.

꒰ 𝐣𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠 ꒱… when you mentioned buying a couple of cute things to try on for him, jisung’s mind was busy. busy with thoughts about how to bring up the topic of gagging – how he wants to see you under him, with either his shirt or your panties in your mouth, while he fucked you. he also wanted to bring up the topic of how he had at least four pairs of your lingerie lying in his room, which he jerked off to… until one day, you found it yourself.

“ji, what’s this?” you call out to him, and he looks up from his phone, paying attention to the flimsy object resting between your fingers – your panties. “uhm, about that… i wanted to uh, talk to you –” he fumbles with his words, shooting straight up, ready to walk towards you with an explanation at the tip of his tongue.

“nuh uh, sit back down,” you shake your head at him, walking to the couch where he sat, motioning for him to sit down. with your hands coming to a rest on his shoulder, and your legs on either side of his own, you straddle him, keeping in mind that your crotch came directly in contact with his own bulge, which seemed to grow harder under you, and you take this as an advantage to grind against it a little.

“tell me more,” you hum when he groans in a needy tone, his hands on either sides and on the couch, fingers aching to fidget with something, anything. “tell me what you do.” “fuck, uhm. i uh –” “– jerk off to them?” you finish for him, bringing the material in between the two of you, before grinding against him once again, which earned a hiss from the boy under you. “shit can you no –”

“show me.” you smile at jisung, hand him your panties, inching forward and leaning close to him at the same time, and he shuffles in his seat. “show me how you jerk off with it. i’m sure you have thoughts, about me, maybe?”

“i’m sorry i just –” “i want to see,” you push again, this time resting your fingers on his chest, caressing the material under your touch. “i want to help. please let me help.”

꒰ 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱 ꒱… felix has always thought about how you’d look with his fingers in your mouth, sucking on them. maybe even thought about your lips wrapped around the length of his dick, as he bucks his hips slowly, thrusting in and out to see your expression every time he pulled away. so when you came to him about your oral fixation, knowing absolutely almost to nothing about it, you could say he was pleased that you came to him, instead of someone else.

“what is it that you want to know, darling?” he whispers, his fingers tangled in yours as he seats you both on his couch, and he turns to face you. “i just keep wanting to have something, anything in my mouth, and i can’t help but feel –” you explain, only to stop when you see felix smiling at the words you chose. “what?” you mutter, clearly embarrassed now. “let me explain it to you in this way,” he starts, letting his hand rest under your jawline, tilting your chin to make you look at him. his thumb rests on your bottom lip, while the other fingers support your chin from under. “open, love,” he parts his lips, assuring you that he wouldn’t do anything without your permission. “it’s alright,” felix smiles, as he watches you part your lips for him, letting him slip his thumb inside, before he continues.

“suck. slowly, i’m not going anywhere,” he assures you again, his eyes watching you look at him, while his thumb was in your mouth, and he almost lets out a single groan when he feels your tongue twirl around it. “that’s it, there you go,” felix mutters, the smile on his face never leaving as he continues, “you, my darling, have the need to suck on something all the time don’t you? that’s okay,” he responds when you nod your head, while continuing to suck on his thumb. “i think there was a time when i used to bring people over, i’d either want to eat them out or mark them up, nice and pretty, all the time,” he recalls, his choice in words making your cheeks turn a shade of pink as you pull away from him.

“sorry,” you mumble, wiping your mouth of the drool before looking back at him. “that’s alright, love. i think i’d be able to help you with that fixation of yours, hm?” “it’s not going to change anything between us, right?” you question, hoping you’d still get to be friends with felix. “sure, baby. nothing’s going to change except me satisfying your oral fixation, or teaching you how to,” he smiles. but in his mind, he was thinking about how he would transition from having you suck on his fingers, to choking on his dick, but at your own pace. he wouldn’t want to corrupt you too much now, would he?

꒰ 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧 ꒱… seungmin had been thinking all morning about how good you felt, with your lips wrapped around his cock, while a set of his fingers rested on your head, stroking your hair, tugging on it every now and then when he felt you were teasing him a bit too much; another set of fingers gripped your own, as you looked up at him, your eyes filled with tears. “shh, pup. fuck… right there,” he hummed, just when your tongue kitten licked the tip of his cock, before letting him buck his hips into your face, your throat making a sound out of pleasure when he did so.

“fuck,” he mutters, raking his hands through his already messy hair, his fingers slipping past the sweats he was wearing, wrapping firmly around his length before fishing it out right after he pulled the material down for better access. just the mere thought of you tearing up, while being on your knees for him and ready to have him past your lips had him groaning in pain. and just when he needed you, his mind would wander – thoughts about you, sometimes scenarios of your hands being tied behind your back with the tie he wore that day – the navy blue cotton material tight around your wrists, but not too tight to stop the circulation of blood – god, the image he had in his head made him lose control, even when he knew he shouldn’t. on other days, thoughts about him deep throating you when he felt the need to just cool off as he gamed with the boys, you’re on your knees, he imagines, not even out of your work clothes as you took him as deep as you could, your nails digging into his thighs as his hips bucked into your face, his cock making you choke and gag, before it had you drooling – a fantasy he needed to come true.

so that’s when he decides to text you – <when’re you getting here? i need to fuck that pretty throat of yours.>

꒰ 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧 ꒱… when jeongin found out about his new found fetish for being tied, he came and knocked on your door, hoping you’d answer quickly. “i need you to help me,” he mumbles when you open the door for him and he makes himself at home on your couch. by now that couch was his favourite place - his second home, if you could say. “do you need me to get you off or…”

“it’s complicated,” jeongin sighs, as he pulls out his black tie from his sweats, and places them on the coffee table in front of you. “fuck, i want to try something, please?” he whines, the neediness in him being so obvious that you kneel down in front of him, holding the tie in your hand, and look up at him. “what do you want me to do, baby?” you nod, resting your hand on his thigh, while your other hand feels the material of the tie in between your fingers. “tie my wrists please? want you to tease me, but i don’t think i can stop myself from holding on to something, and i don’t want to hurt you,” he shuts his eyes, laying his hands in front of him, for you to take and tie them up.

which is what leads to the current situation – you on jeongin’s side, as he sits with his dick out in your hand, his shirt riding up to his chest, while his hands are tied behind his back.

“fuck, please don’t tease,” he whines out, his fingers curling an uncurling at the way your fingers stroked his length. “you were just telling me about how you weren’t being good,” you remind him, applying a little more pressure on your grip than before, which makes him exhale deeply. “shit, y/n… you k-know i can’t–” “talk? i do know that, but you need to tell me what you did,” you caress his bare thigh and look at the way he curled his toes. “you’re going to be sitting here all night, baby, and i’ll make sure you come at least thrice more before i let you go,” you remind him, your voice soft as you let him ride out his second orgasm. “so tell me, what thoughts have you had about me, hm?

taglist. @hwajin @starlostseungmin @chrisbahng @niinjo @chvnnie @lixhues @joonszn @cherryhanji @blueberry-chan @dnadoublefelixx @ethereallino @stuckwithaphobiaa @chewryy @bangchanbabygirlx @zizis-world12 @aimeexx @whatudowhennooneseesyou @nightlychans @americanokisses @katieraven @comet-falls @hwan-g @svintsandghosts @idek-at-this-point-lol @es-kay-zee @writerracha @bbujiikseu @lethallyprotected @sstarryoong @tulips-stuff @guchiljeu @derinxfam

[natsarrownecklacx]

Your Love For Her

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count- 630 ish

Summary- You’ve never been good with words, so you find another way to tell Wanda how you feel about her.

Warnings- smut 18+ minors this is not a fic for you, thigh riding (r and w) soft smut ig.

ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ

Walking Wanda backwards until her back is up against a wall. Your hands trail all over her body, memorizing each and every dip and curve.

She doesn’t talk at first, too enamored with the feeling of your hands on her, the look in your eyes as you take her in.

You ghost your hand up her bare thigh, teasing her by trailing it just a little higher than the hem of her skirt.

She says your name, coming out in a breathy whisper. “Y/n”

You snap your eyes to hers, her green orbs desperate and drowning in arousal.

“You’re so pretty.” You say in a whisper, watching as a smile makes its way onto her face. You lean in to kiss her, slow and intentional.

You need her to know she means something to you, that you feel for her more than words can say.

You slot your thigh between hers, your lips tugging up at the corners as she slides her arms over your shoulders, pulling you into her, your lips hovering over hers.

You straddle her thigh, your soaked panties coming in contact with her bare leg, wanting to feel even closer to her, needing her to feel just how affected you are by her.

She pulls away from your lips, her voice soft as she mummers. “Your so wet.”

You can only nod in response before leaning in to press your lips against hers again. Your thigh lifts, putting pressure between her legs and she gasps, giving you access to slide your tongue into her mouth.

Wanda starts moving her hips against your thigh, grinding back and forth, keeping her mouth on yours.

Her arms cross behind your neck, keeping you in place against her as you start to move back and forth on her thigh. Both of you moan into each other’s mouths, the idea of getting off on each other, together, causing the heat in your stomachs to burn brighter.

Wanda tenses the muscle between your legs, drawing a whine from your lips. She pulls back for a moment, long enough for her to get a glimpse of your pleading gaze.

“Wanda.” You say, your voice pleading for her to understand.

“Oh, baby.” She says, leaning in to place a loving kiss on your cheek. She understands now.

You love her. You need her. She's your safe place, your home. The thought alone sets a wave of arousal shooting through her.

The pleasure between her legs is too much, the drag of her core over your leg pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

“I’m going to cum.” She moans, the sound dragging you right up next to her at the edge.

“Oh god, me too.” You moan, resting your forehead on hers as you both grind against each other, reaching your highs at the same time, both of you shaking and moaning, holding onto each other as if your survival and sanity depended upon it.

It takes you both a minute to come down from the high, breathing heavy and your body’s still entangled, the shared heat lulling you both into a sense of calm.

She shifts her leg beneath you, pulling it away from your dripping core and making you whine, your arms coming up to wrap around her. You need her to stay.

“Wanda-”

“Shh, baby. I just want us to move somewhere more comfortable.” She says gently and you nod your head, a sigh of relief leaving you.

“I’m not going anywhere, y/n.” She says more confidently not, moving herself to ensure you're looking her in the eye. “Not without you.”

You smile and lean into her, filled with nothing but happiness knowing she finally understands how feeling and not only that but she feels the same way.

ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ

A/n- enjoy this fic I banged out in 15 min cause I couldn’t get the thought out of my head.

[sapphichotmess]

IBLBM

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x plus size!f!reader (Bonnie)

Semi-inspired by “Talk” by Hozier

18+ mdni

5k+ words

Warnings: horrendous writing with very little dialogue (bc idk how to human), dubious consent (both drink alcohol but are not drunk), oral (f! receiving), unprotected piv (pls be careful), unexpected feelings?? (i was feeling fluffy at the end ig, bc it wasn’t supposed to end happily). 

The sounds of mindless chatter and loud laughing ring in Soap’s ears as he sits on the bar stool that creaks as he fidgets, placed next to the wall in the far corner of the run-down bar he frequents after deployment. Soap sips his whiskey, trying to drown out the distracting thoughts that had invaded his mind, racing through his head as fast as the bullets that had been recently fired at him. His striking blue eyes seem sunken and his cheekbones more pronounced in the dim lighting; his rugged features turned more harsh. The memories of the recent mission weigh heavily on him, seeing as his usually upright posture is wilted and slouched. Still, the laughter around him seems to provide a temporary escape.

Leaning against the peeling wallpaper, he absentmindedly runs his fingers across the sticky bartop in swirling patterns. At the same time, he brings his glass of whiskey up to his pouty lips to take another sip of the burning liquor; his blue eyes focus on something other than the bartop: the bonnie lass with her head thrown back in laughter at something one of her friends said, chubby cheeks squished as she smiles widely causing her eyes to almost disappear. The vivid joy of her laughter contrasted with the dark thoughts that haunted Soap. His mind wanders, succumbing to desires and fantasies that watching the lass offers—a brief respite from the harsh realities of war that usually storm his thoughts.

Soap takes another mindless sip of the amber liquid in the glass in his hand; the burn of the whiskey provides a physical distraction, a reminder of something tangible amidst the war and chaos of his thoughts. His blue eyes, ordinarily sharp and focused, betray a hint of vulnerability, softening as they follow the curves of the young woman's body, fixated on how her ample body seems to spill out of her seat in the most tantalizing way. The contrast between his wandering mind's harshness and his yearnings' softness is lost as he gets lost in the pretty lass, pink tongue darting out to lick his dry lips hungrily. 

Steamin’ Jesus, how he wanted to bury his hands in the pillowy softness of her hips and ass, drag her malleable body against his firm, unforgiving muscles. 

Soap tried to shake off the intrusive fantasies, lifting his gaze from the enticing scene. With its peeling wallpaper, sticky bartop, and the influx of civilians and soldiers alike, the bar offers a refuge of anonymity, a place where he could momentarily forget the weight of his responsibilities. 

Yet, the pull of desire lingers, weaving an intricate web of softness around the hardened soldier in that dimly lit corner of the run-down bar. Shooting the rest of his liquor to the back of his throat, Soap stands, wincing at the loud creak of the stool. The Scot takes a second to breathe deeply, making sure his posture is straight, his brown mohawk is neat enough, and his rakish smirk is perfect before swaggering over to the lass he had his eyes on; he knows that he will have a distraction in the form of plush thighs and whimpering sighs tonight. 

Soap's army-regulated boots make a subtle, purposeful thudding sound against the scuffed floor as he approaches, stopping just behind the object of his affection. The hum of conversation around him seems to dull in his ears as the air charges with an unspoken tension. His piercing blue eyes focused on his objective. This is not unlike having to seduce a mark when he’s undercover. 

The bonnie lass, oblivious to his presence, continues chatting animatedly with her friends. However, the sudden pause in her friend’s response is palpable as Soap's tall, broad-shouldered presence commands their attention. Their curious gazes turn toward him, and a hushed silence settles over the immediate vicinity. Every eye is turned to Soap as you turn to see what had caused the interruption, the laughter lines around your mouth and eyes fading into wrinkles between brows as you meet Soap's eyes with a curious gaze. 

Looking into yout eyes for the first time is like an atom bomb exploding—something beautiful and dangerous lighting up his irises, blocking out anything else. Soap feels as though time herself has stopped for him to have this moment, looking deeply into the most beautiful eyes he has ever seen. His rakish grin has fallen from his face, a drop-jawed, open-mouthed, and wide, starry-eyed look taking its place. 

“Lass” is the only thing he rasps out in a rough, accented voice, charming confidence washed away. 

Your friends giggle at the man’s loss of words, glancing at each other with smirks. 

One woman says, “If you keep your mouth open like that, you’ll catch flies.” 

This seems to break Soap from his haze, prompting him to snap his jaw shut with an audible clack of teeth. His cheeks burn like an inferno, red rising from under his shirt all the way up to the tops of his ears. The lass’ friends giggle more at his embarrassment. 

The bar, with its worn-out decor and the lingering scent of alcohol, resumed its normalcy. Sounds of creaking and conversation that had faded from Soap’s ears came ringing back. Soap, however, now stands on the precipice of a different kind of explosion—the unpredictable chemistry between two souls in a crowded, dimly lit bar, where a simple gaze has the power to alter the course of an ordinary evening. 

Shaking his head and sending his once-neat mohawk astray, Soap tries again, “Would ye dance with me, hen?” 

Your friends turn their attention back to you, who, by now, has lost the curious gaze and now adopts one similar to Soap’s from earlier—though you manage to keep your mouth shut. 

“I–umm…” is all you can stutter out in your confusion; what does a man like him want with a woman like you?

“I just…uhhh…I saw you from over there, hen,” Soap explains, pointing to ‘his’ corner of the bar, “and I just had to have a dance with ye. Yer body—steamin’ Jesus, Bonnie—ye could be a goddess just on looks alone. And yer laugh. It’s like faeries tinklin’ in my ears.”

Your face has heated to a nearly volcanic level because of the unexpected attention from such a specimen of a man; he wore a compression t-shirt that fit snugly around his arms and torso, bringing your attention to his hard, bulging muscles and black sweatpants that clung to his thighs like a second skin. Soap was pure sin, your mouth watering as you eyed him up and down. 

​​The vivid imagery of his words, combined with the genuine warmth in his eyes, sends an erupting flush of heat to your cheeks like a volcano boiling over. Soap's unexpected flattery, though eloquent, leaves you feeling both surprised and complimented.

Your friends exchange sly glances, perhaps recognizing the rarity of such a moment. Not only was a man asking you for a dance rare, but you reacting to a man with such awe was, too. 

Not above using his words—and his refined talk—to his advantage, Soap begins again, “Lass, ye ‘ave stolen my full attention. I’ve gotta ‘ave at least one dance with you. Please, Bonnie. I’ll get down on my knees and beg if that’s what ye want. Anything for just a taste of ye.” 

Glancing at your friends, who all give you looks telling you to go, you mutter, “Fine,” before getting out of your chair and standing before the behemoth of a man, “But I don’t even know your name.” 

Soap flushes darker at his misstep. “My name’s Johnny.”

“Well, Johnny boy, let's get dancing before you fall on your knees and beg.” 

Perking up like a dog whose just been given a bone, Soap squares his shoulders and runs a hand through his mussed mohawk, shuffling on his feet. He knows he has you in his grasp and will bring you home. He’s already got in mind all the things he wants to do to you, imagining the noises you will make as he wrings pleasure from you. 

Feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement, you allow Soap to take your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. As he leads you through the crowded bar, the familiar sounds of mindless chatter and laughter become distant echoes. The atmosphere shifts as you approach the small, rarely used dancefloor, a space that seems to exist in its own pocket of the world.

Soap's grip on your hand is firm yet gentle, guiding you with a quiet—though dominant—confidence. The flickering lights overhead cast a soft glow on the worn wooden floor, and the notes of an old, familiar song begin to play.

The dancefloor, usually abandoned in a corner of the bar, becomes the stage for an unexpected lust between you and Soap. 

Without a word, Soap places his free hand on your waist, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. The distance between you dissipates as he pulls you gently into his body, your plush softness smooshing against his stiff muscles. The warmth of Soap's hand on your waist is comforting and electrifying. Now softened by the dim lighting, his blue eyes hold yours with an intensity that speaks volumes. For a moment, the world's worries outside the bar seem distant, and you find yourself captivated by the unexpected charm of the rugged soldier.

As Soap leads you into a slight sway to the music, keeping his body solidly on yours, the silence becomes even more grating. 

​​Soap breaks the silence with a soft chuckle, the sound vibrating through your intertwined bodies, causing a slight shiver to race up your spine. "Never thought I'd find myself dancing in a place like this," he admits, lips lifting in a slight smirk, his voice carrying a hint of gruff amusement.

You manage a small smile, feeling a mix of emotions—surprise, joy, and a twinge of vulnerability. "Me neither," you reply, the music providing a gentle backdrop to the exchange.

As the two of you continue to move in harmony, Soap's gaze remains fixed on yours. "Ye know," he begins, his tone sincere, "sometimes ye find something good in the least expected places." His words linger in the air, prompting a thoughtful pause. "And sometimes," he adds, a playful glint in his eyes, "ye find yourself dancing with someone who makes even the dimmest corners feel bright."

In a fluid motion, Johnny leans down, his movements both deliberate and yet surprisingly gentle. The scent of whiskey and gun oil hangs in the air as his battle-worn hand glides from your waist to your jaw, cupping it with a rough tenderness. He can feel the heat in your cheek as he brushes his thumb across it. 

Johnny’s touch is commanding and caring, the callouses on his fingers a testament to his countless battles. There's a quiet assurance in how he holds your face as if trying to convey a depth of understanding beyond the spoken word.

Simultaneously, his other hand grips your hip firmly, sending a thrill through your body.

You and Jonny share a few breaths, looking at each other through lowered lashes. The dim lights cast shadows on your faces. Then, Johnny grabs your face tighter and pulls you up to meet his lips with yours. The first touch is light, just a graze of his chapped, cracked lips on your lips. The next is all heat and passion. 

Johnny uses his grip on your jaw to force your mouth open so he can slip his tongue into your mouth, tasting the sugary drink you had been sipping on and the essence of your flesh. His lips tasted of strong whiskey, potent and intoxicating, something you could get drunk on. 

Johnny's movements are deliberate, each touch calculated to evoke a response. He slides his hand from your jaw to the back of your neck, large, thick, and calloused fingers fanning out over the back of your throat, possesively firm but gentle. Your gasp is swallowed into the greedy kiss. Johnny barely lets you breathe, pulling back to adjust his grip on your body before he’s diving back into your mouth. His tongue explores the contours of your mouth, leaving no inch untouched, licking behind your teeth and coaxing you into tangling your tongue with his. Slick pools in your underwear. 

Suddenly, almost as if he knows your reaction, Johnny pulls away with a slick sound, a string of saliva binding you two together until he swipes his tongue across his lips, drinking in your taste. His eyes are pools of dark blue, a raging sea of blue covered almost entirely by black. He looks crazed, like a hungry wolf; his mouth is set in a barely perceptible snarl, brows pulled down as he focuses on his meal: you.

“Bonnie, I’m gonna be honest…I gotta have you. Taste you. Worship you for the goddess you are.”

“Johnny, I’m not sure…” you trail off nervously, “I mean, my friends are here, and I didn’t drive here.” 

“I ken ye are worried, but you don’t ‘ave ta be worried. Ye're aff yer heid if you think I’d do anything to a Bonnie lass like ye” Johnny looks into your eyes before purring into your ear, “Imagine being loved by me.” 

His rough, accented voice right in your ear sends tremors throughout your body, slick soaking through your underwear as your lust grows. 

“Okay” 

With that breathy word, Johnny has his mouth on yours again, subtly grinding his erection against your midsection. You let out a breathy whine at the feeling of his length. 

Johnny takes a deep breath and steps away from you, “I would take you right here if I could. But I cannae. So, we should grab a cab to your place before I fuck you in front of everyone.” 

Drunk on lust, you can only nod your head rapidly, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the door. You only remember to wave goodbye to your friends right as you open the door and step outside into the chill of night, letting the door slam behind you. 

Letting you drag him into the cold night air, Johnny chuckles at your enthusiasm, his Scottish mutterings carrying a sense of amusement. "Ye ken that I havnae gotten a cab yet, right, Bonnie?" he remarks, the humor evident in his voice.

Your response is a content hum as you huddle into his body, seeking shelter from the biting winds. The warmth of his embrace starkly contrasts the cool night, and you find comfort in the proximity.

Amused by your eagerness, Johnny pulls his phone from his back pocket, his other hand ensuring you're nestled close to him. The desire for closeness is palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the connection forged in the bar. The faint glow of his phone illuminates his features as he orders a cab after asking for your address, the anticipation of what lies ahead adding an electric charge to the air.

As you wait for the cab, the world around you becomes a blur of dimly lit streets and the distant sounds of the city. In this pocket of time, suspended between the closing door of the bar and the arrival of the cab, the connection between you and Johnny continues to simmer, a flame that refuses to be extinguished by the cold night air.

Soon enough, Johnny is protectively ushering you into the back of a cab, climbing in right after you so as to not be too far from you. The warmth of the vehicle envelopes you both, a stark contrast to the chill you left behind outside—though it doesn’t hold the same feeling as being held in Johhny’s arms.

As the cab weaves through the late-night streets, the cityscape passes by in a blur of lights and shadows. Johnny sits close, the space between you minimal, as if he wants to ensure you feel his presence beside you. His hand holds the meat of your thick thigh, kneading the flesh there and teasingly dragging his fingers closer and closer to your core before sliding back down, a smirk placed on his lips. 

The cab comes to a smooth stop in front of your house, the engine humming softly as it idles. The quiet neighborhood surrounds you; the journey from the bar to this quiet residential street feels like a transition from one world to another. 

The glow of streetlights casts a soft illumination on the surroundings, creating a gentle ambiance. As he steps out of the vehicle, Johnny glances at your house, eyes filled with curiosity. You get out of the car and into the crisp night air is crisp next. The cab door closes behind you, the vehicle pulling away and leaving you and Johnny standing in the cool night air. The world outside is hushed, as if holding its breath, and the energy between you two remains palpable. The moment is pregnant with possibilities. 

You drag Johnny to your house by the hand, unlocking the door with only the moonlight to guide you. Leading him into your house, you take your shoes off in the entryway, waiting for him to do the same. When Johnny is done taking off his boots, you lead him to your bedroom in the dark, heart beating faster and faster the closer you get to your destination. 

Without bumping into anything, you reach your room, quickly running to turn on your bedside lamps. The few times you had a chance like this, you opted for the softer lighting of lamps over the harsh luminescence of the overhead lights. 

The ambient glow accentuates your soft, round features, casting a gentle radiance upon you. The warmth and subtlety of the lighting create an ethereal ambiance, turning the ordinary into the extraordinary. Johnny, momentarily caught in the beauty of the moment, watches you with wide, twinkling blue eyes. 

As his brain catches up to the visual feast before him, his eyes sharpening with hunger for a taste of you, Johnny rushes to you, pulling you into a searing kiss. He commandeers you with unspoken authority and leading hands, their touch firm and possessive as they steer you wherever he wants. And where he wants you is on your back, on your knees, and on top; he doesn’t mind as long as he gets to have you. 

He will have you. 

Pulling away from his bruising kiss that lingers as you move, you take one of his hands—the one he had gripping your waist—in yours, walking backward toward your bed. When the back of your knees hit the bed, you plop down on your plush ass, giggling as you bounce a bit. 

Your laughter is a melody that makes Johnny smile, his white teeth showing as his lips curl. As you settle into the bed, Johnny positions himself between your legs, his wide stance forcing them further apart. He forces your head up as you lean back on your hands, bringing your lips together once again. Johnny cants his hips into yours, thick erection tenting his pants and pressing against your core. The breathy moan you let out in response to the stimulation allows Johnny to slip his tongue into your mouth for the second time tonight, eager to taste more of you. 

Johny continues dragging his dick against your core while he releases your lips from his, sliding them down to your jaw. He begins licking and nipping at the juncture where your jaw meets your skull, pulling breathy moans from you. 

Johnny's lips trace a path from your neck to your earlobe, where he delivers a gentle nip. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and his warm breath against your ear makes your heart race.

"Keep making those noises, Bonnie," Johnny whispers, his voice a low, seductive murmur that resonates in the intimate space between you, "and ye won’t be gettin’ rid of me."

You let out a nervous giggle in response as your body rocks against his, following his easy movements. Your giggle gets cut off with a choked whine when his cock hits your clit just right. Johnny huffs hot air into your neck as he works to keep the angle just right so he can keep hitting your clit. After a minute of this, you shove Johnny back by his shoulders, sitting all the way up. 

As Johnny stumbles to keep his footing, you stabilize him by placing your hands on his hips. After he was steadied, you use your hands on his hips to your advantage by slipping them underneath his shirt to feel his scarred abdomen. 

The soft glow of the bedside lamps casts a warm hue over the room as you sit back, a smile playing on your lips. Johnny's muscles jump under your touch as you glide your hands up his torso, rucking his shirt up with them. Johnny allows you to slide his shirt off. His arms lift in cooperation, and the fabric is discarded, revealing his defined physique. The soft illumination accentuates the contours of his body, making his abs appear extra defined in the gentle light.

You glide your hands back over his stomach going down towards the low-sitting waist of his sweatpants. As you go to palm his erection through his pants, Johnny grabs your hands in one of his larger ones. 

“Not yet, Bonnie. I wanna taste you first.” 

After Johnny states this in his rumbling, accented voice, he releases your hands from his grasp and pushes you fully up onto the bed, your feet no longer dangling as your back hits the bed. Breathing heavier and your pussy pulsing with need, you watch with lidded eyes as he crawls towards you on the bed, a predator hunting his prey. He looks like a god as the lamplight illuminates the sharp features of his determined face, mouth shit in a tight line, and eyes focused solely on you. 

Johnny stops just before you, hands wandering up your covered legs. 

“Can I take these off, Bonnie?” he asks, fingers pulling at the waistband of your pants and underwear. When all you do is whimper in response, he tuts and shakes his head. 

“I asked you a question, lass. You best answer it.” 

You manage to breathe out a “Yes, please, Johnny” in response. 

Johnny nods his head in approval of your verbal queue, hastily fumbling with the button of your pants before tearing them—and your sopping panties—down your legs. He watches as your thighs spill from the fabric covering your lower half, the flesh jiggling slightly from the force used to rip the pants and underwear away from you. He is practically drooling and growling, desperate to get a taste of you, to get to see all of your soft body on display for him. 

Deciding he wanted you naked before he ate you out like a wolf starved, he crawls a bit farther up the bed to tug your top from your body with warm hands on flesh, matching your steps from earlier. When he’s got your top,  pants, and panties off, he leans back to leer at your uncovered body, laying so pliant in just your lacy underwear. 

All for him. 

Matching his thoughts, Johnny cups your breasts through your bra and thumbs your peaked nipples, purring, “Is this all for me, Bonnie?”

You nod your head with a shuddered breath before remembering his command. 

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” 

Johnny continues his assault on your nipples, tugging and tweaking them to total hardness through your bra while kneading the fat of your breasts in his large, warm hands. He doesn’t forget his objective, though—he never fails the task he is given; he stops the assault on your top half to slide under you, forcing your back to arch prettily, thrusting your covered breasts towards him. Johnny uses the space to unhook your bra with one hand, helping you remove it from your arms before diving head-first into your chest, nuzzling his nose into the crevice between your tits, and inhaling through his nose noisily. 

“Steamin’ Jesus, Bonnie, you smell so good.” 

His words cause your body to heat up, squirming in his hold. He opens his mouth and laps at your skin like a dog, groaning throatily at the salty taste of your skin. 

“Johnny!” you squeak. 

Johnny pulls back with a smirk, mockingly saying, “Bonnie!” in a high-pitched voice. Then, looking straight into your eyes with his stormy blues, he orders, “Be a good girl and open yer legs for me.”

You’re useless against his accented voice, following his order without thought. Your thick thighs part, making a slight sticking noise from the wetness left from your weeping cunt. The glistening sight and moist sound of your wet heat causes Johnny to groan deep in his chest, his dick throbbing in his sweatpants. If he wasn’t careful, he would end up fucking you sooner than he wanted. So, instead of waiting any more, Johnny scoots down the bed, his feet hanging off the side, and lays down flat. His broad shoulders force your legs wider until he has your chub squished in his hand, dented with the force he’s exerting, dragging your legs over his shoulders, hovering by his ears. 

“Don’t be shy, Bonnie. I like it rough,” he says with a wink before diving into his meal. 

The first hot, slick swipe of his tongue over you has you keening, hips bucking into the feeling. However, you can’t move far because Johnny’s got his hands fastened across your hips like a seatbelt, holding you to his starving mouth. He continues licking from the bottom of your pussy all the way to your clit, flicking his tongue once he gets there. His scruff burns against your thighs, but it only makes you hotter. Your head is pushed back into your bed, neck bared, back arched sensually, and one of your hands grips Johnny’s brown mohawk with trembling fingers, the other gripping your sheets tightly. 

Your breathy noises and tangy taste drive Johnny crazy, right along with the way you feel: soft, pliable, squishy in his hands, so malleable and willing. You submit to his every word, every touch, every breath, and he can’t get enough. Gripping you harder at the hips—probably leaving bruises, though he’s a little satisfied by the thought of staking his claim—he drags you impossibly closer, burying himself in the smell and taste of you, muffling his groans in your skin. 

Moving on from lapping at the whole of you, Johnny instead focuses on your dripping entrance. He drags his tongue over it several times before dipping into you, hips bucking into the bed at being able to taste you from the source. Johnny continues dipping the tip of his tongue into you until you’re whining loudly, pleading for more. 

He sticks his whole tongue into your pussy, swirling it around and scooping more slick into his mouth as his eyes roll to the back of his head; Johnny could die here, and he wouldn’t be mad. Shaking his head back and forth, he rubs his nose on your clit, making you cry out. 

“Fuck, Johnny, please!” 

Following your pleading cries, Johnny eases his tongue out of you, instead latching his mouth onto your clit and sucking hard. Your eyes close in ecstasy, completely missing the sly smile that graces Johnny’s lips as he—reluctantly—removes one of his giant hands from your waist.

Suddenly, your eyes are flying open, and you’re nearly screaming as you’re filled with two thick fingers. 

“Mmmm, Bonnie, yer squeezing me so tight, and yer so wet. I can’t wait to break you on my cock.” he mumbles against your skin. 

With the thought of you stretching around his cock, Johnny ups the ante, pumping while crooking his fingers to hit the spongey spot at the front of your tight passage just right and sucking on your clit like it was his favorite candy. He has you screaming in minutes. 

Johnny’s fingers slow down to a gentle coaxing, and the suction of his mouth becomes gentle licks, helping you ride your orgasm down. He has wrung every drop of pleasure from you, leaving you relaxed and breathing heavily on the bed, thighs twitching with his gentle caresses. But he isn’t done with you yet. 

Popping his wet fingers into his mouth and sitting up, Johnny moans at the taste of you. 

Slapping your red, beard-chaffed thighs lightly with wet fingers, watching them jiggle, Johnny says, “Damn, lass, you taste so good. I could lay between your legs until I die.” 

Not waiting for a response, Johnny slides out of his sweatpants and releases his erection. Your eyes widen, and a dull throbbing begins at the bottom of your stomach as you watch him slap against his taught stomach. He is huge—huger than you’re used to—not the longest, but certainly the widest; Johnny’d had to have the fattest cock you’ve ever seen, brownish in color with an angry red, drooling tip. 

Noticing your look, Johnny says, “I ken, Bonnie, I ken. I’m a lot ta take, but we’ll make it fit.” 

At this, Johnny shuffles back between your thighs, lifting your legs so they fit over his hips. Taking a hold of his dick, Johnny pumps himself a few times, smearing his pre-come around his cock. Then, he slides it through your wetness, teasingly bumping your clit as he does, just to see your pretty lashes flutter as your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

And then he’s telling you to “Kepp those pretty eyes on me, lass,” using one hand to stroke your overheated cheek.

Your eyes snap open at his gentle command; the air of confidence and authority lacing his gravelly voice catches your attention through your haze. You would do anything he said—jump off a bridge, go running into a house fire, or set your home ablaze—if he used that tone. 

Now that he has your attention, he can finally get to splitting you open. Looking down at where you two meet, Johnny places his dick at your weepy entrance with barely-there pressure, causing him to groan slightly. He shakes his head to clear it before looking back at your eyes. 

“Can I, Bonnie? I promise I’ll be gentle.” 

A weak “mhm” is all you get out before the pressure builds, and he’s slipping his thick cock inside your tight pussy. Your eyes slam shut at the burning sensation, hands latching onto his muscular thighs and leaving crescent moon-shaped indents. One of his hands comes up to tap your cheek, reminding you to keep your eyes open. Then he’s bottoming out, curving just so that his head hits a spot you didn’t think existed. 

Johny sits, fully embedded into your fluttering cunt, breathing through his nose so as to not cum already. He leans down, pelvis hitting your clit, and catches you in a searing kiss, waiting for you to get used to the feeling of him stretching your gummy walls. When you start bucking your hips against him slightly, he pulls back from the kiss while pulling his hips back slightly before he’s sharply thrusting back into your wet heat. Your sharp exhale spurs him on, eyes lighting up in victory and a smirk curling at his lips. 

You can barely hold on as he rapidly picks up a punishing pace. Johnny angles his hips just right to consistently slam into the spot that makes you see stars, his hips slamming into yours with loud slapping sounds. Your whole body jiggles with his movements, entrancing Johny with the subtle movements. He knows he won’t last long, being as pent up as he is. But you’re close, too; he can tell with how tight you’re squeezing him. 

“I can feel how hard yer squeezing me, Bonnie,” he rasps, “I ken yer close…cum for me.” 

Johnny’s words, along with his authoritative tone and the hand he snuck between your sweating bodies to rub at your clit have your back arching and eyes snapping shut. A primal scream of his name leaves your throat while you’re cumming so hard that all you can see is white, and you lose your hearing. 

You’re squeezing Johnny so tight he’s almost pushed out of your wet heat, walls spasming so hard and so frequently. Your almost unintelligible moans of his name are what send him over the edge, folding him in half so he’s growling his release in your ear. His eyes are shut tight, blue eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his hips twitch sloppily as he rides out his orgasm, painting your innermost walls white.  

The world returns to focus as your hearing returns, and you flutter your eyes open blearily. The room, once a blur of shadows and soft glow, slowly sharpens into view. The sounds of heavy breathing and the rhythmic beat of your heart fill the air. 

Johnny, now pulling out and watching hiss cum dribble out of your fluttering cunt, is a silhouette against the ambient light, his features softened in the aftermath. A gentle calm settles over the space as the echoes of passion subside. The soft illumination bears witness to the aftermath of an unexpected encounter that unfolded in the shadows and soft glow of the night.

The night's warmth, both in the embrace of Johnny and the aftermath of shared intimacy, provides a comforting cocoon. As you lie cuddled up with him, the realization of how utterly fucked you are dawns upon you — you've grown attached in just one night. Unbeknownst to you, Johnny’s having the same thoughts as he cradles your soft body closer. 

As the night deepens, you and Johnny find yourselves entangled in each other's arms, sharing the same thoughts of attachment and connection. The soft glow of the room envelops you, casting a gentle light on the intertwined figures lost in the quietude of slumber.

The echoes of the night linger in each of your dreams. As you fall asleep in the embrace of shared warmth, visions of a life together dance through your subconscious. The dreams weave a tapestry of shared moments and whispered promises.

The room, once a witness to the intensity of passion, now cradles you both in the tranquility of sleep, the words once muttered by the Scot, “Imagine being loved by me,” ringing in your ears.

taglist: @tinygarbage @pamasaur @cool-iguana

[slut4msby]

Happy New Year? Miya Atsumu x Fem!Reader

+ tags & warnings; suggestive content, heavily implied smut, atsumu and reader did the deed :0??, borderline fuckboy!atsumu [i have a soft spot for fuckboy!atsumu], not proofread, implied ex bf but no one is specified other than being a vb player so use ur imagination qts :3

+ a/n; hey guys! i'm lea :3. this is my first fic on tumblr in YEARS i used to have an account long long long ago that like NO ONE would know so this is my welcome back ig ;p have some fuckboy!atsumu tehheeheh [i want fuckboy!atsumu so bad or maybe i just have issues teheheh]. also its dec 31 when i post this so HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! stay safe and take care x

Waking up on your own has become a tradition on New Year's Day. For the past three years, a very lonely past three years. Ever since your partner had broken up with you. 

This year was no different, waking up in an empty bed - but not your bed? The realisation left you in confusion. Your eyes darted around the room, cologne, dirty clothes, sports trophies and empty water bottles filled the room. How classy. You sat up against the headboard, head pounding from the alcohol that had consumed your body the night before. Despite its uncleanliness it was a nice room at its core. The problem is, you don't know when you got here or how you got here. Matter of fact if you were even still in the country.

“Hey Doll.” A shirtless figure called from the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, his V-line on full display. He was fit, no one could deny that. His blonde hair messy from his shower, his body littered with hickies and scratches - your hickies and scratches. “You really did a number on me huh?” He let out a soft chuckle.

You tried to respond but your body was still in a state of shock from the man you had managed to catch.

“You alright princess? You seemed to be a lot louder and confident last night.” He teased, walking towards you taking a seat on his bed. “You know, you look good in my shirt.” He adds on in reference to the oversized t-shirt which accompanied your body. He shuffled closer to you, he planted another kiss on your neck over one of the many purple marks he had given you last night, “could get used to having you around.”

“Me?” You question, he only nods in response. 

He grabs your face in his hand. You couldn’t deny his hands were nice, they were big and he obviously knew how to use them. He moved you to look at him, forcing tension. You couldn’t lie from what you could remember is that he was good. He pulled you closer and closer, looking at your lips and then your eyes. “Can I?” He asks.

“Can you?” You respond giving him your infamous ‘fuck-me eyes’.

“Oh doll, we both know we can.” He mutters against your lips, before pulling you in for a kiss which you very happily accept. 

That’s when the memories come back, you could never forget a kiss like that. You remember Kuroo forcing you to a party and meeting him, Atsumu Miya.

“C’moonnnnnnnn n/n-chan it will be fun.” Kuroo begged.

“Tetsu, I don’t know I am happy alone.”

“You’re so boring now n/n-chan.” He pouts. He knows that sentence will rile you up. “You used to be the life of the party y/n.”

“Used to? Oh baby I still am.”

“Then come to the party n/n.”

“Fine.”

You remember walking in and being greeted by Bokuto who you hadn't seen in years. Completely ditching the volleyball scene after your ex-boyfriend. Bokuto was still as huge and friendly as always. You greeted all the familiar faces and were even introduced to some new ones. It was nice. As the hours went on the alcohol overtook your body. 

You had found yourself on a couch on top of him - Atsumu Miya. 

“Woahh pretty girl slow down.” He pulls away from the kiss a string of saliva breaking you apart as he does so. “What's yer name, pretty girl?” He asks before leaving light kisses on your neck forcing a gasp out of you.

“L/n.” You say quickly, “y/n l/n.”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He says continuing kissing down your neck. He would have gone further right then and there however your rendezvous was cut short by Bokuto and Kuroo calling your name. And you thought that was gonna be the last encounter with the mystery man.

“Ohhhh~ n/n-chan getting it on with tsum-tsum.” Bokuto teases.

“N/n is lonelyyyyyy.” Kuroo slurs.

The teasing continued all night, however at 11:58pm everyone started gathering around for the countdown, you were convinced this is the fourth year you would be lonely. Before you felt an arm snag your waist.

“Hey pretty girl.” He purrs into your ear.

“Oh it’s you.”

“I have a name y’know princess?”

Silence.

“Do yer seriously not know who I am.”

“Egotistical by the sound of it, pretty boy.” You respond.

“Atsumu Miya. Y’know? MSBY’s setter?”

“Right. I like pretty boy more.” You giggle.

5

“Yer won't be moaning that tonight trust me doll.”

4

3

2

1

Atsumu pulls you in for a kiss, “So you wanna take me up on that offer princess?”

You can’t help but nod eagerly.

Happy New year to you indeed.

©slut4msby.

[meadowscarlet]

heavenly ━━━ steve harrington blurb.

pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader.

summary: oral sex with steve.

warnings: nsfw, oral sex, fingering, cursing, slight use of degrading terms and uses of pet names.

author’s note: in my ‘i hate my writing but i need to post something’ mood so enjoy this ig. do not copy, post on another site, translate or claim any of my works as your own or you will be reported! nav.

If there was one thing in this world to which you were addicted to, it would be Steve's mouth. Every part of your body had been touched and marked by it, which loved to worship the temple of your softness. He has always had a wonderful mouth, and you are endlessly satisfied by it, but other than his beautiful mouth that gives you endless pleasure, you also love his tongue.

Steve always had a sense of putting you at ease. His love and lust combined for you filled you with his never-ending crystalline passion; there was something about the way he was so committed to please that you absolutely adored about him. He had this kind of charm that he radiated whenever he was around you.

The sensation of his lips against your skin was enough to push you over the edge as you marveled at the way his mouth nibbled and sucked on your neck, covering it with lovebites as you whimpered and moaned underneath him. You were silently sighing as Steve kissed you on your neck, to your collar bones, and then your shoulders. His movements were unhurried, as if he were taking his sweet time to enjoy every inch of you.

You started to tremble as Steve's mouth moved from your shoulders to your bare chest and finally your stomach, grabbing his hair with your delicate hands and biting your bottom lip. His large hands were at your hips as he rough-kissed your stomach and rubbed his thumbs against the fabric of your underwear before pulling it down. You gasped in shock when you realized that you were completely bare in front of Steve.

Not the first time anyway.

Steve's finger found its way to your clit and he rubbed the tip of his fingers on the slit before carefully inserting a finger, then another, making you buck your hips and moan ludicrously. It felt so fucking good, Steve's fingers were stretching your pussy wider, and his other hand went to your thighs to widen your legs to give him more access.

“You're such a filthy slut; are you going to cum just from my fingers?” Steve teased you by pumping and swirling his fingers on your clit.

“God, Steve, shit,” you moaned, your hands gripping the sheets of the bed.

“My pretty baby is so filthy only for me, isn’t that right?” he groaned.

“Yes,” you cried out, soaring on the sensation of his fingers stretching you.

You bucked your hips up, wanting to grind more on his fingers, but Steve's other hand pulled you down and you were breathing heavily as you sneaked a peek at him. You saw his eyes darken with sheen lust as he removed his fingers from your cunt, making you whine, and he lowered his head until his hot breath was hitting the entrance of your swollen pussy, making you moan in pleasure and surprise.

His marvelous mouth began kissing your inner thighs, and you sighed with pleasure. You then let out a loud groan as his lips brushed firmly on your pussy and caressed it. His large hands were both at your waist to prevent you from bucking your hips. The sounds he made as he devoured your pussy caused you to arch your back as his tongue caressed your sensitive cunt.

“Shit,” he moaned against your pussy, making you throb at the buzz of his lips. When you came, you felt Steve smiling against you and he licked every drop clean of your pussy with no shame. His tongue was so fucking pleasing. “You taste so heavenly, princess.”

[ikkosu]

MY DARLING MEDIC

(fem.human.medic.reader x pharma)

summary : tarn strikes up a deal with pharma. but when he refuses, the tank takes up a more personal measure to confront him.

warning : angst. fluff (if you look real close💀). blood. this is the DJD what'd you exoect. bro I fucking died writing this. wanted to cut this in like several parts but decided to merge it together. wanted to write this into a multi-chaptered fic but my commitment could never. could be a series ig. lovely headers by @cafekitsune

One moment he's caught Ambulon at gunpoint, then the next he’s scampering down the halls, clutching the vials close to his chassis as he tears through for an exit. The game is up. He should've known better than to nab the easy path. Responsibility purges itself a mile away when confronted at the baseline of his problems. Now, it's got him cornered and Ratchet — who barged into the room — his friend, his oh-so-dear friend, pulls up a blaster.

PHARMA doesn’t know what to say.

Points it at his face.

His own mirth were flaked with rust, crinkled into a grimace, where along the crevices, the miniscule cracks, oozed spatter of crimson. The gun was unsteady; he’s shaking. He's infected. The uncomfortable feeling of your insides twisting punched him back. It gutted him more than he could realize and he’s got no guts, just thrumming circuits struggling, and failing, to prevent the inevitable.

So he does just that— prevent the inevitable.

A, one, two, three BANG of bullets barrage the other side of the room. Disregarding the startled shout of surprise, he stepped round the corner, making a beeline for the shaft. Storms of remorse whirled around his processors as he pulls himself up the ladder. It jostled and creak, much like how his jitter palms does when he's drunk on andrenaline.

He’s made that mistake again. He should’ve known better. He should’ve. Impulse stumps logic and now, he's outside. In the cold. Digits clinched the edge, close to slipping. Close to falling. Ratchet is aboven and where his optics catch below, he can see the fall, the descending vertigo of ire before his eyes.

“Pharma, buddy — what the hell happened to you?”

YOU scroll aimlessly through the datapad.

He doesn’t know; he might never will.

Propped against the armchair, legs crossed and ankle bobbing, the screen flared your face with a soft blue-ish glow as the lines of words blurred together the more you strained to stare.

You're bored. Tired, too. But mostly bored. You were able to rest in your office after a tough match with several unruly patients. They were mechs. Pretty big mechs. And, they were a little, ah, how do you put this, organicophobes?

One of them had a more dire diagnosis : a t-cog malfunction. A type 3 kind. One that involved the t-cog overheating from too much usage, causing it to, in a way if you were to explain in human terms, like an organ, rot. It was deteriorating quick and the metal shards, miniscule ones, had already infected the internal circuitry.

A kind of job that required smaller, steady hands.

In short, they required humans.

You can handle a bit of discrimination — resentment against Organics was normal here despite the rules ensured to prevent so — but it still gutted you, knowing these mechs can do better than to hate another race from their own.

Especially when the said race tried to save their life.

A little bit of acknowledgment doesn't hurt from time to time.

You hope they were doing well, though.

The silence of the room was broken by footsteps approaching your office. The sliding doors opened with a swish and there you could discern the wide Cheshire grin of smugness amidst the slight darkness of the room. You should really stop shutting the lights, its begging to hurt your eyes. His teeth were practically glowing and was obvious he's quite in a good mood today.

You tucked the datapad inside the cabinet and caved against the cushion of the armchair, tipping your chin up into a smile, brimming with curiosity. One much as a 'whats he gonna pull this time?' type of curiosity.

“Working hard, I presume?” He croons, slinking across the room to your cubicle with several strides.

You quirk a brow; he's got something behind his back but you don’t press.

“Depends on which report you’re haggling me about,” You reply back, a playful smile. “Though, I can’t say for sure which region I am currently hard in, doctor. Would you like a scan?"

It catches him off gaurd for a moment — a simple one, two, three blink of his optics and your smile prods wider upon the not so subtle twitch of his wings. It sags in frustration.

“And here I thought I might have, for once, an appropriate greeting from my darling. I can never grasp your vulgar little mind, no less the entire mapping of your organic, squishy little brain,” His optics twitches as he vents. "But I’m not here to lecture you on prudence, no. I’ve got you a little, ah, herbal gift from my trip off world. The one you adore so much.” Then he adds with a mumble. "So much more than me, apparently.”

You perk up, and if you’re anything like a bunny, those ears would straghten right up to the brim. "What, like tea?”

"Even better, dear."

A ceramic mug is quickly perched onto your desk with a clink. You can't help but to coo in adoration at the utterly adorable little thing. It’s those tiny little teacups with teal blue flowers pasted across. A petite like holder, round and smooth, accommodated the curl of your finger. Nostalgia wrings you nto its clutches, back to teatime with your stuffed animals. You'd always be the princess.

You inhale the drink, warm steam wisps from tea, the color is an emerald-like-ore cadence under the stark white light.

"Since when did they have green tea in Nexus?"

"Earth, apparently. Globalization this, Space-localization that. Ignore the specifics. I'm sure you're better off without another lesson in economy?"

"I'd rather keep my thinking intact."

“Hm, that's a lot less fun. Anywho, I've taken some of my time to make it myself.” He pronounced, optics closed, regarding the cup with a theatrical wave proudly. "In fact, I have purchased the finest, well-endowed tea packet from the best of the best merchants. Never mind the cost, it's a splendid little thing, no?”

You’re still a little stunned admiring the cup but you blurt the first thing to mind.

“Smells fruity, for sure.”

He snaps one optic open, then entire look falls into offense. “Fruity is not what I had in mind.”

Ah, fuck.

"....nice?”

"Not that, either.”

“Ah, er, well — Great....?"

“Try again, dear.”

“C'mon docbot, what do you want me to say?”

”I’ve bought a tea packet that costs more than what this entire hospital is worth and you're describing it as 'nice?'”

You scrambled for words, fishing for the right one until— “Fragrant!" You snap your finger. "Right, fragrance.”

He stares.

You stare.

His rigidness loosens a little.

“One of these days I should really lecture you on the essence of compliments. See there? The mug is a ceramic. I’ve taken much care to handle it. It's from a lovely old organic. Her little shop in Nexus are a must to visit again."

You lean against your palm, eyes crinkled, cheeks round with warmth. “Is this a compensation?"

"For breaking your bed, yes—" you choke a little at that "—Now, go on, taste it.” He bends over to rest his elbows on the table, perching his chin on his two servos like a girl would, kicking their little feet during a sleepover.

“Don’t you have to buy me a new bed to compensate for that?”

He huffs, “ I already did. This is a bonus. Now, stop stalling. I have a patient to tend in a few hours and unless you've not taken a sip, I'm not going anywhere."

"Right, right. No pressure, doc."

"Very much."

You pinch the cup between your index and thumb. A pinkie is jutted out the for dramatics where you caught his lethargic look of disdain to it. And the final act concludes when the rim kisses your lips and you take a sip.

"Well?"

You stare at the ceiling for a moment.

"s'good...woah, real good." You blink in surprise, licking your lips to process the taste. "It's like my mother's! How'd you make this?"

“I was hoping you’d ask that.” He takes it upon himself to sit on your desk, inching close. "It's a, well, how do I put this — an obscure ingredient I am not willing to disclose."

"...You didn't lace this with laxatives didn't you?" You challenge.

"Laxatives?" He almost balks. "No, of course not. Why would I ever do such a thing? Think again."

You squint like that'll help you think. "Vanilla extract?"

"No."

"Oh, come on! Sugar?"

"Not a chance, dear."

"Milk."

"Far from close."

"Salt?"

"Are you serious?"

"What is this, 20 questions? I'll die by the time I cover the whole list of ingredients." You stand up with a huff.

All he does return, however, is a bemused crinkle of mirth from his eyes.He says nothing, only curling out a digit where it prods the area just above your chest. He taps it. Once. Then twice. It took a moment before the cogs turned on its own, and when it does, your cheeks flared up much to your chagrin.Oh. Oh. Your heart. The secret ingredient is—

—love?

You slumped to your chair, clutching your face to fight away the embarrassment at his audacity. You wanted to say it was the lamest, cheap, heart grabbing compliment of all time but you can't.

You just can't.

It's too....sweet.

"I swear Pharma...." If anything, you're reduced to a sputtering mess.

"Pharma? Not so much. I think 'God' would be the latter end. I swear to God, no?"

"Okay smartass."

"I know my rear-end is quite fine. Though, reduce your compliments to the bedroom, please."

"Pharma!"

There was something innately fond with how he’s fixated upon your scrunched up faces and agitated eyes.

Your eyes, they were always so expressive, so bright, much like stars when they flicker amidst the darkest night. A miniscule notion yet so wide in prominence. A haven he could dwell in when plagued upon with sullen days.

He couldn’t resist, and with his digits squishing your cheeks, he pulls you close. The agitation melts the moment you feel his lips against your temple, cheek, nose then your lips.

You glare at him when he pulls away."

"...You’re really making it hard for me to focus my angry molecules into an explosive blast, you know."

“Blast? Please, the least you can do is wield a knife and you're horrible at combat.Also, that's scientifically inaccurate.”

“Oh, shut up.” You look away, faltering at the sight of the door. “....You know what I meant.”

“How about you, as the humans would say, shut me up for a change?" His eyes became playful, tone borderline seductive. You're still fixated on the door. “On the topic of something explosive. Since we’re getting off our shift early today, I was wondering if you’re willing to test the new coils on our bed—“

“….Pharma?” But your eyes on fixed on somewhere else, or someone behind him.

"Doctor."

That isn't your voice.

Pharma’s sensor flares much as his wings did when he whirled around. His spark churned at the sight of the engraved decepticon insignia on his chassis and the gruesome signature mask upholstered on the mech’s face. A mask intended to revel fear, douse the flames of sanity.

Instantly the atmosphere shifted.

It dawns upon him how vulnerable he currently is. How close youre in proximity to the tank. How easily he could tear through the room and kill you. Lodge a knife through your chest. Leave you there on the floor. Skull, cracked. Brains, spooling. Blood agash. A simple red stain on the rag.

Pharma is terrified — he’s terrified of his unpredictability. Whatever thoughts are churning in his head are reduced to a blank slate as his shadow looms over, dwarfing his frame. He's not even moving. Just lingering there by the door. Any second now he could lose his temper and any second later you could be dead. Reduced to atoms. When crimson eyes flickered over, leaning to the side to get a better look, Pharma steps aside to shield you from his gaze.

“I’ll be there, Tarn.” He says stiffly.

The mech regards you for a moment before striding off. Away. The doors swished closed. How'd he knows where he was?

“Who’s that?” You ask, an innocent question he wished he could answer but Pharma pulls you up to your feet, his optics locked on the door.

“No one important, darling .” He replies yet he's already packing your stuff, pulling and shoving everything from your desk. His servos are jittery, wings twitching, brows furrowed.

You follow him around, wringing your hands. "Pharma? I thought you said—“

“Go home without me, dear.” He whirls around after tucking in your jacket into the last slot of your pouch and slips the bag over your shoulder. "It’s late and you have an early shift tommorow, no?"

You deflate, defeated. "Yeah, but i—"

"I have a meeting to attend. It'll be be fine. I won't stay up too late, I promise."

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He’s composed but you know he’s not. You know from the twitch of his digits he’s hiding something. He's a cunning deceptive man amidst all the layers but he's never a good liar. You wonder if it’s a reasonable time to press but in the end he’ll just figure out another lie to deceive you.

It'll hurt to leave.

You give him a wry grin. “Don’t stay up too late then or she’ll hog the covers.”

“Fortify the bed for me.” He pulls you for a kiss. "Get home safe."

PHARMA doesn’t want to open the door.

"Will do, doc bot."

Instead, he's pacing the front, wringing his servos, muttering to himself. He knows he should. But the temptation to stride in, get it over with, then walk back out was inviting. An in and out kind of ordeal wasn't the kind Tarn tolerates, much rather, he's mech hiding behind the facade of patience.

He's the worst to impatient.

Steeling himself, Pharma juts his chin up, bearing his usual haughty demeanor and barges through the door. Tarn's imposing presence was enough to halt his circuity but he pulls on the act, pedes an impatient thunk against the floor he rounds the desk, slumping on the chair. Unbothered.

“Make it quick. I have my duties to attend. Another influx of patients up from the east were admitted today. My schedules are full."

Tarn says nothing, regards him for a moment before tossing a deception insignia onto the table. It skidded across, bumping his elbow. By the scrapped off sheen of metal surrounding the symbol, it appears to be ripped out. There’s still energon on it. Barely dry. Pharma pulls away with a grimace. He needed air.

"One of your patients that I've taken care of."

By taken : unruly, unethical forms of torture.

“You ruined a nicely done table in favor of your dramatics.”

“Dramatics to which I prefer not to be taken ever so loosely, doctor." He flicks off a chip fron his talons. It plinks on his desk.

“You’re hiding them here.” He grits, a smooth croon of his voice. So deep, relaxing if not for the fact that he's close enough to snap his neck broken.

“No, I do not,”

“You know better than to lie to me, Pharma. You see, I know everything and it doesn’t take long for me to wrench that truth out of you, I assure you. So, answer me : are you hiding them here?"

“What does it matter to you?"

"A whole lot if you're anywhere close to the ranks of a deception warrior. But, for this circumstance, I will turn a blind eye to it and leave you alone."

Pharma straightens up, surprise. "Impossible. There should be a catch."

He can imagine how smug the smile behind the mask is. A crinkle of his eyes, a gentle prod of his lips — a facade so deceiving it was hard to believe this mech was the cause for all the sufferings they've imposed upon those traitors.

"Yes. And I'll get to the point. I accepted your rejection to your proposal last week because I understood your hesitance. I gave you time to think about it and right now it is dire I require more stocks of the T-cogs. Refuse me and I'll have to take up a more, personal counteractive measure to persuade you."

Pharma stiffens. He tries not to glance at your framed picture on his desk.

"You wouldn't want that would you?"

He narrows his optics. “I don’t know what you mean,"

Tarn shoots out an arm, wide digits curled around his neck cables before he yanks him close, clamping down, choking him. The doctor struggles, clawing at his chest.

“You’re meddling with an organic, Pharma—"Tarn croons, squeezing tighter with every disgust that laced his word. "—That is what I mean and while I prefer not to cut out the pleasantries, she will suffer from the consequences of your actions if you’re not going to concede. So, I’m going to make myself clear. Do you accept that deal or do you not?’’

Pharma tugs on his wrist to loosen the grip

“Please, anything, please, I—“ He holds up his hands placatingly, choking down his last grip of pride. "I'll do it. I'll do it! Just don't..."

Please, don’t hurt her.

"....Just don't. She's innocent. Don't bring her into this, Tarn. She's a remarkable doctor, please—"

Tarn releases his hold. Pharma drops to the ground, clutching his neck.

"I'll send you the list of requirements and a few donors willing to concede. You know where to find me when a problem arises."

Pharma is still on the ground, shaking, pressing his helm against the cold, metal floor. The footsteps disappear much like the diminishing hope in his chassis.He shouldn’t have listened, he shouldn’t have. Tarn and his sweet, sweet lies that’ were always so alluring, drawing him into the abyss.

You're in front of him. Behind was Tarn. He's got a blaster. And from the core were wisps of smoke,

THE tea cup, the one with the flowers painted across were discarded shards on the floor. Fragmented much like the reality he denies as he's wrangled behind. Arms tied. Wrists bounded. He stares, distraught.

”Ph..Pharma…” You’re confused as your palm hover overs the stain, the hole on your torso, the white a crimson red. You look down then up, expression contorted like you're asking him why. “I- I don’t understand…” You ramble and three frantic steps back you collapse, stumbling to the floor.

"What have you done....." Pharma tries to wrench away from Helex's grasp, voice rising to octaves. "Organic internal structures are weaker than a Cybertronians! This blow is fatal, do you not realize she'll die?!

Tarn steps over your body, and marches over to the jet, grabbing his face with a forceful shove. "Think again before you lecture me about those flesh-like scum. Why do you think I've chosen this method of action to condemn your actions with?"

"I couldn't get hold of the corpses in time!" He's frantic, shuffling, leaning aside to peer over the wide shoulders of Tarn. " They're not easy to get when you're a doctor every hour. I couldn't possibly kill the patients, cant I? Please, she needs medical attention, Tarn."

"And it's delayed, much like how you delayed my commodities."

"A deal is a deal. You should know better than to disrupt it."

He should've known better.

Pharma shoots out an arm, he clutches the white jacket, the sleeve, pulling the body. He ignores how heavy, how limp and lifeless you were, compared to the motning when you were just laughing, rolling around on the bed that smelt like lavender, smiling about some pointless joke you scoured from the net.

With each pull, crimson stained and scraped the concrete floor, grime collecting at the base of your body. He doesn't seem to mind. He's too tired. Much too lethargic. When he's got you in his arms, he cradles you, holding you. His digits pinch your cheeks, You’re not warm anymore. You’re cold. Just like his armour, just like the air, just like your eyes. Much like a star, it's doused. The brightness — it's gone. No longer flickering. A mass, the singular speck, gone.

“Pharma, buddy —what the hell happened?”

“Everything. Everything did.”

He cups your jaw, presses a kiss to your temple, your nose, then one last lingering kiss to your lips.

[m4ctavish]

Captain Price — General Headcanons.

Masterlist.

Pairing : John Price/GN! Reader

Desc : Just some general headcanons regarding Mr. Price :)

A/N : captain john price?? on my call of duty blog?? its more likely than you think. (also, special thanks to @callsignkonig and @zechie-spams for helping me w/ these LMFAOO)

John Price :

Random thought to start off with but Price probably drinks cheap beer. Like he’d absolutely spend money on expensive cigars but beer? Nope. Absolute dog water quality beer is the way to go

Probably keeps some cigars around, like in a drawer with a false bottom (why he’d need to hide them, i don’t know— maybe he just likes hiding the good stuff)

He absolutely wears camo crocs. (I do not take criticism) You two have matching crocs??? Even better (one of my friends said that he’d wear socks and sandals and honestly, if you wanna take that as a headcanon, go for it)

He’d absolutely take you hiking, jogging or fishing (but like, super early in the morning before the sun comes up, kinda dark and it’s still kind of chilly. lots of morning dew. he wants to watch the sunrise with you :sob:)

He’s an early riser but he’s Not Happy about it. It’s just one of those things that’s engrained in his mind, like he cannot sleep for longer than a specific amount of time before he wakes up (or he wakes up at the same time every day)

If you get up around the same time as him, he’ll brew you something to drink alongside his own cup of tea or coffee (depending on what he’s feeling that morning) He probably has your specific preferences memorized (things like if you want a certain amount of sugar, no sugar at all, creamer or no creamer, honey, etc.)

Price definitely prioritizes others’ problems over his own; it’s easier to solve somebody else’s issues than to focus on his own or to let somebody else fret over him. (you’ll have to sit him down and have a talk w/ him about letting you take care of him for once because he’s always so goddamn stubborn. also, you’ll probably have to tell him that it’s okay to let go of the captain mantle every now and then)

Take some time to massage out the tension in his shoulders or back, he’ll appreciate it. He also loves it when you run your fingers through his hair/just play with his hair or massage his scalp. (Kind of gives me lap dog energy— he just likes resting his head on your stomach/chest and letting you do your thing if he’s had a long day)

Similar to Soap, I feel like he’ll definitely tell you that he loves you whenever the two of you won’t be seeing one another for extended periods of time (either he has to leave for a month or the two of you have to split up for a mission) He’d also press a kiss to your forehead or just hold you tight :AGONY:

Kinda feel like he’s a cuddler if the two of you sleep in the same bed. Guarantee that he’ll always have an arm wrapped around your waist, his face pressed against your shoulders. It’s not a super firm or tight hold and you could move away if you wanted to but it’s enough to be comforting

He’s always super warm too, almost inhumanly so?? Perfect for when you get cold ig

With that said, I feel like this man sleeps like a rock when he wants to but otherwise he wakes up pretty easily, if that makes sense. Like you could whisper a quiet, “John?” and he’d just hum a soft, “Hm?” (Alternatively, can you imagine shaking him awake and he does the thing moms do when you touch them when they’re asleep and they just slowly turn to look at you with wide eyes LMFAOO)

Pillow talk. Sometimes he just can’t sleep so the two of you will spend some time talking about whatever happened during the day or future plans (planned events, missions, etc.) However, if you start talking about stuff like, “John, do you think pigeons have feelings?” He’ll hit you with a joking, “I’m going to bed now.”

He cares about you A Lot. Like, put your life before his a lot; it could be in any scenario and he’d want you to come out completely unscathed if possible. (which may be a bit difficult if you’re also apart of the 141 because it’s quite literally in the job description that you may die at any moment in time 🧍he’d never forgive himself if something did happen to you under his command though. also, i feel like all of the guys are like this but alas)

If he were to have a signature nickname for his s/o, it’d probably be something simple like “Love” tbh or maybe “Sweetheart” (sweetheart perhaps a bit less)

[hetaherr]

the moon as our witness

: wanderer/ scaramouche x reader

: i dont know how to tag this, maybe fluff? crack?? angst

hey this is my writing practice because i struggle with the flow of my writing, especially like pacing and stuff so it's pretty bad imo TT but it's practice so its allg ig. this is very experimental , and i feel a little outta my element because i lowkey am hella informal with the way i write and IM JUST REALLY NOT USED TO IT???? anyway thanks for reading and if u have any advice please drop them! ok anyway reblog to win ur 5050s love u

watching the scene lay out in front of you was the very embodiment of your doomsday, it was the nearest thing to an apocalypse you'd ever seen- to your world of course. it felt like you were spiraling, you felt so asphyxiated as you watched him press himself against that- that bitch as if you didn't even exist. and almost as if the world was solely out to get you tonight, cigarettes after sex just had to start playing. like seriously, was catching your boyfriend cheat on you not gutting enough as it is, you did not need a song to tell you when to 'cry'.

pushing through the sea of people transitioning from jumping up and down to swaying with their partners was absolutely suffocating. in any other circumstance, the crowd would've been just right- like the calm ocean after a storm. but at this very moment, it felt like you were drowning, being dragged into the abysmal nothing that was the deep blue sea.

with a slam of the door, you found yourself rescued by the crisp night air. barely making it a few steps, you crumble by the side of the road. it feels like tonight the tears stung even worse than usual, you can't scream, you can't wail, your throat is all clawed up and drowning feels like it's becoming a lot more literal than metaphorical at this moment.

through your tears, the faint echo of music can be heard, and a soft clink sounds beside you.

"i think you need this more than me." he says, you cant see him clearly through the tears that still continue to pour. you look down and there's a glass bottle of whatever everyone's been drinking tonight.

"i don't drink."

"you look like you should." he comments, you can only scoff at the remark. he takes a seat beside you, a bottle in hand. he hesitates a second, but you don't tell him to bug off. there's a soft silence that comes with his presence, neither of you talk- unless you consider crying to be talking. it feels so pathetic, you can't understand what you could've done to be tossed aside so easily. but the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to contain your emotions.

"ah fuck this." you mumble, reaching out to take a swig of liquid courage. you hiss as it leaves a burning sensation down your throat, flushing your tears away leaving behind a bitter taste. the boy, shifts his gaze toward you- his head resting on his knees, hair framing his face so nicely and it feels a little unfair how fucking pretty he is.

"so much for not drinking." he says, his face is blank but there's a teasing notion to his words and just the way he was looking at you. you let him stare, violet eyes burning into your skin you feel like it's going to leave an imprint. you look back at him, under the warm glow of the street lamp. as you share the gaze, there's a feeling of guilt that has been set aflame within the pits of your heart, after all you still hadn't broken up with that jackass.

you unconsciously continue to stare at the boy, pondering. should you just break up with him through text? should you storm in and scream? should you even make a scene? maybe ghost him?

"a penny for your thoughts?" he speaks up, words so gentle it makes your heart flutter and it feels like the guilt burns worse than the alcohol.

"do you want to help me break up with my cheating boyfriend?" you think out loud. you watch his eyebrows furrow, and for a second you wonder if you made him uncomfortable. he blinks at you, and then slightly shrugs.

"sure."

within seconds, the chilly breeze outside is replaced with the smell of sweat, cigs and alcohol. it's disgusting. the boy takes your hand and lets you guide him through the horde of horny and drunk people that were either passed out or making out. you are reminded of why you didn't frequent these parties. the floor is sticky and you just hope whatever it is you just stepped on was not human fluids. and then you see him, sprawled across the couch with the same girl sitting way too close to be considered 'just friends'. with a smile so smug, that made you glad god gave you patience and not strength.

"that's him?" noticing your hesitance to move forward, the boy follows your gaze. the tears are already threatening to spill yet again, anymore and you fear the headache that follows. and yet your feet don't move, all the courage that that brown bottle clearly gave you wasn't strong enough. you barely hear his words, it feels like your body is moving on it's own as you nod. you hear the boy sigh, his hands gently grab your wrist and pulls you behind his frame. you're not able to react before he speaks up, this time his voice is a lot more harsh.

"yo asshole." he shouts, his hand still gripping onto yours, though it is a lot tighter than before. it startles people around you, and just like all humans and their natural desire to fulfil their curiosity, heads turn toward your direction. you can't even process the next few seconds, as he grabs the bottle out of your hand and pours whatever was remaining of the now warm booze down all over the cunt that sat before you.

"maybe think twice before cheating dickwad" he can't contain his laughter as he looks your now ex, up and down, eyes full of judgement. you look horrified, looking between the boy and your ex, noticing the rage building up as he spits a variety of cuss words. you can't suppress your own laughter, albeit the fact that it's slightly laced with fear- fear that your new friend would get punch right in the nose. so your feet decide it's time to get the fuck out of here, and you pull him out the door running so fast your gym teacher wouldn't have believed it was you.

there's another wave of silence as the both of you were bent over trying to catch your breath, everything that happened tonight was unpredictable and didn't feel real. you took a peek at the boy, he seemed to have the same thought as you catch his gaze. the silence is finally broken as you start laughing, like a maniac you couldn't stop your giggles. you are glad that there is no one else around to see your fit of laughter. there is still that redness and puffiness of your eyes from earlier, its odd given how drastic the contrast is to your current state, its so big that even the black hole would have a difficult time sucking it in.

"after all this, i still don't know your name." you huff. his violet eyes are morphed into that of a crescent. and with the moon as your witness, he smiles.

"you can call me, scara."