#owen sleater x reader

[saintmurd0ck]

step aboard the saintmurd0ck express with a one-way ticket (multiple stops included) to see your favourites, across the world and across the galaxy! it may be a belated celebration, but it's a better time than never to unveil the newest subway station... connecting you to your dreams.

grab a ticket, sit tight and enjoy!

this will run from 12 AM AEST (10 AM EST) on September 24 for 1 week (closing on October 1) 💗

this is an 18+ event only, and anonymous asks/requests must abide by my request guidelines

To buy a ticket, please select your destination, choose a prompt, and decide who will meet you on the other side.

*Multiple stops and poly pairings are very welcome!

🚇 34th St-Hudson Yards: romantic confession

🚇 86th St: enemies to lovers

🚂 Atlantic City: domestic intimacy

🚈 Heuston Station, Dublin: i want you, so badly

✈️ Jedi Temple Hangar: folklore-inspired angst

characters include: matt murdock, frank castle, michael kinsella, charlie luciano, owen sleater, anakin skywalker

completed submissions | masterlist below

la douleur exquise - owen sleater x reader - 34th St-Hudson Yards and 86th St

all fired up - michael kinsella x reader - 86th St

glass ceiling - matt murdock x vigilante!reader - 86th St

[farfromstrange]

Little (suggestive) glimpse at the Owen Sleater x Reader One Shot I’ve been cooking up. Pre-editing phase, of course, but I thought I’d share it with those of you who care. Coming tomorrow.

Smut under the cut. 18+ Minors DNI.

[…]

A broken breath of, “C’mere,” fills your ears. You were parched before, on the verge of imminent death in a desert so lonely, but when his lips land on yours, he breathes life into you again. He sustains you, body and soul. A taste of heaven and sin and high-grade Irish Whiskey. You have always preferred it neat, anyway.

His fingertips are burned permanently into your skin like an invisible tattoo. He touches you, and the world falls apart. He kisses you, whispering sweet promises of a future beyond all of this—beyond prohibition and this house of cards Nucky has lured him into—and everything just… stops. He knows how to make you fall apart in the cruelest of ways, yet it is more addictive than a drop of liquor could ever be. You need it. You crave it. Even if it hurts.

Effortlessly, Owen lifts you up onto the dining table behind you. Your lips part to allow him in, his tongue darting out to explore you like he’s starving, and all you can do is sit back and take it.

You reach into his tousled brown locks, stuck together by the gel he uses to keep it flat against his head, but you prefer when it’s messy. Your fingers find the strands for something to hold onto as he takes you apart and puts you right back together again.

He’s going to be the death of you, you know it.

Your hands desperately tear at each other, two animals on the prowl, gasping into each other’s mouths as Owen tries to lift your skirt above your hips. He pulls at the garters around your thighs, his calloused fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake as they try to rid you of the fabric hiding your weeping core from him.

One of his hands rests against your throat, feeling your pulse jump under his fingertips. He’s not trying to take the air from your lungs, he just wants to feel you.

A moan slips from your lips to his, and he swallows it. You’re senseless. Owen has you in the palm of his hands, pliant to his every touch. And if he told you to go to hell with him, you would do so in a heartbeat.

The trail is hot where his lips leave sloppy kisses along your jaw. Saliva attaches to your skin when he pulls away, and it mingles when your lips and tongues lock in an intricate dance for dominance. His erection presses against your cunt from where he’s standing between your spread legs, pulling you impossible closer to him, and he rolls his hips in response to the sharp nails dragging along his scalp.

He grunts. It’s so sweet when he moans for you. Never in a million years would he show himself like that to anyone but you. The side that can be submissive after being in control all day. When he just needs someone to hold him and he’s too scared to admit it, he comes to you and you know exactly what he needs.

Catching your breath between the assault of his kisses, you try to appeal to the sanity of you both. “Owen,” you rasp, “People eat here.”

Perhaps it wasn’t your strongest argument. His lips pull into a smirk against the juncture of your neck. “So?” he counters. “I’m a starvin’ man.”

[…]

(Side note: When I see him I can suddenly relate to ‘But Daddy I Love Him’.)

[dyns33]

The Bond

I miss writing about Charlie Cox characters and so I made a real long Vulcan Owen stories

Things weren't always easy between Y/N and Owen.

This might seem normal, because things had never been easy between Humans and Vulcans. Although Vulcans had a reputation for being logical beings, they could be very cold, insensitive, rude, and mean.

Faced with Humans, emotional, illogical, easily offended and prone to violence, this did not make a very good mix.

Fortunately some humans were calm enough to appreciate the Vulcans' attitude, and some Vulcans were intelligent enough to adapt to the difference of Humans.

Between Y/N and Owen, that should have been the case. Everyone in Starfleet thought so when Captain Kirk announced that these two new recruits were going to work with his crew.

Owen was a Vulcan like almost all Vulcans. Y/N was not a human like all humans. Without having followed Surak's teachings, she loved science and reflection, and with her intelligence, she demonstrated great rigor and logic in her work.

Her colleagues had a hard time with her. They could see that she wasn't mean, maybe a little shy, not knowing how to deal with them. It was still rare for her to make friends.

“It will probably be easier with a Vulcan.” one of her instructors had said.

It was worse with the Vulcan.

The first problem encountered was Owen's inexplicable habit of pointing out all her errors and omissions. It wasn't often, but whenever it happened, he was there to say so, without ever congratulating or complimenting her when, on the contrary, she was doing a good job.

“Do you know the quality of your work ?”

"Indeed."

“So I don’t see why I need to tell you about it when there’s nothing to add.” he decided, keeping a neutral expression. “But when you clearly cannot see that the quality is not acceptable, it is necessary for you to be informed.”

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek to keep from answering him. Because it was pointless, and because she knew he wasn't wrong. She didn't want his compliments anyway, his opinion didn't matter.

She continued to take his criticism, letting Dr. McCoy and her other colleagues come to her defense when it became unbearable.

The second problem was that Y/N would have loved things to go well with Vulcans, and even more so with Owen. If she forgot the times when he opened his mouth to insult her work or her intelligence, he was much more interesting than most of the people on the ship.

Cultivated, clever, and very pleasant to look at.

They could have at least been friends if he had behaved differently, and she tried not to think that anything more than friends might have been an option either.

The last problem, the most important, occurred following an accident. This should never have happened.

If she could have, Y/N would have slapped Captain Kirk for his catastrophic management of crises, which he created himself most of the time, because of his need for adventure.

The ship had suffered a lot of damage from an attack, there had been a lot of injuries, including Owen, and Y/N hadn't thought when approaching him to help him.

As soon as she touched him, she knew she had made a mistake. One more.

Owen didn't tell her this time, watching her hand on his arm, which she quickly removed after an electric shock ran through her body, as well as a strange feeling in her head.

"We'll need a healer." he whispered.

"… The Medbay is full, but I can treat you here."

"No. I'm talking about our bond. It will need to be stabilized with a Vulcan healer."

"…Our bond ?" she asked, avoiding looking at him, not really wanting to hear what he was going to say, not wanting to understand.

"We are compatible. Your mind touched mine, and we are now bonded."

“And the healer can undo that ?”

"No. The bond seems strong, we are highly compatible. It would be risky. And after what happened to my planet, bonds are rare and precious."

The bond. Owen only spoke about this bond, and its importance, and never about her, about them, about feelings or that kind of thing that was obviously useless and illogical in his eyes. Nothing romantic, even though it seemed so strong.

Very strong according to the healer who examined them, stating that it was indeed a rare bond, formed without the help of a priest, and that it was impossible to undo.

This did not seem to bother Owen, who simply stated that he would use his shield as often as possible, to prevent their work from being disrupted by stray thoughts.

That's what she was in his mind, a parasite, who made mistakes, who risked compromising him with her base human instincts. He must have seen what she felt for him, this strange mixture of hatred and love, this desire to be closer to him.

Everyone congratulated them on their "marriage", which hurt her even more. So romantic. Y/N then discovered that a lot of people had noticed that she wasn't completely uninterested in Owen, which was worse than anything. A real humiliation.

She locked herself into work, preferring to stay alone the rest of the time. No one seemed to notice, her "husband" first, too busy with his own experiences.

Y/N told herself that she shouldn’t blame him. He hadn't asked for this bond, and he was acting the way his culture and species had always acted. She had inquired about it, she had discovered this shameful secret that was the pon farr. The only time he would come to touch her, if he didn't choose death through meditation.

At least, that was what she told herself until she saw Captain Kirk with Commander Spock in a corner of the ship.

They were kissing. The commander's cheeks were green, his eyes sparkling, as he whispered what sounded like tender words to the captain.

He was half human, but Spock had always acted according to Surak's principles. Vulcans were therefore capable of romance and proof of love. Owen just didn't like her. This had been obvious from the start. It was a real test to remain calm when he came to her to discuss a problem while checking her calculations, which seemed wrong, again.

"… These are not my calculations. They have been changed." she sighed as she read the report, staying as far away from him as possible and refusing to look at him.

"Really ? I'm going to ask to find out who made this mistake in this case. Can I see the original calculations ?"

"Here."

"Hmm. They are correct."

"Sorry you can't criticize me this time. Leave me now."

Except Owen didn't let her. He stood by her desk, staring at her with a weird look, and for a moment a strange feeling took over her body, something warm, almost comforting.

Then he approached, which made her step back, afraid when she saw that he had moved his hand in her direction.

"What are you doing ?"

"Ashayam… It appears you are troubled. Emotionally compromised. I can help you channel…"

"I don't want your help. I don't want anything from you, leave."

“Ashayam…” he repeated with an almost sad look, before greeting her and leaving the room.

This word was unknown to her. Ashayam. Another insult ? Y/N asked Uhura who seemed surprised by her interpretation, telling her that it was better that she asked Owen. She didn't, returning to her work.

On her desk, she found flowers. Odd. Probably a mistake, a prank, or her colleagues who saw that she wasn't doing well lately and who tried to cheer her up.

Then there were the chocolates. A ring. Science books. And finally a long parchment written in a language impossible to understand. In Vulcan.

Reading it, Commander Spock's cheeks turned green again, muttering that it was an old poem.

Y/N didn't know that Vulcans wrote poems, and she didn't understand why she had received one. It seemed absurd that Owen would offer her all this.

Her pride and curiosity being stronger than her fear, she finally decided to go see him, finding him in his room, reading. She placed the poem in front of him.

"Why ?"

"I do not understand your question." he said very honestly.

"Why all these gifts ? Why now ? You saw that this bond made me suffer and so what ? Are you pitying me ? I don't want your pity. I wanted to love you, really. I'm afraid that I love you a little to tell the truth, which is the worst mistake of my life, the stupidest thing I ever…"

"I love you too."

It was rare that Y/N didn’t know what to say. As a scientist and an intelligent woman, she always knew what she should say or do. But no one had taught her how to react to a Vulcan who told her that he loved her.

“I have loved you for a long time, without daring to declare myself.” he continued. "I didn't know if it would be reciprocated. Now I know that you love me too, I knew it when we touched, and our bond is an irrefutable proof. It was a great moment of joy. So intense that I needed a healer quickly to not lose my mind, then a lot of meditation to remain calm. I think of you all the time. So blinded that I did not perceive the rest, your unhappiness, the need for contact, of communication. You are psi-null, you did not perceive my feelings in return. If anyone made a mistake, it was me."

"… You criticize me all the time. You spend all your time showing me my mistakes !"

"It is important to see your mistakes in order to correct them and not do them again. Most of them are due to fatigue and overwork, not of lack of intelligence from your part. If I didn't know you were clever, I wouldn't even have try to show them to you. But my primary goal was for you to rest, in addition to having an excuse to see you. I… I must have expressed myself incorrectly. As with the rest. I am now trying to repair my faults, Ashayam, but I can't find the right method. It says here 'if you love them, let them go', but I don't understand the meaning of the sentence. What can I do to make you happy ?"

It wasn't a book for his work that he was holding. Like her, Owen was reading up on Terran culture in order to know how to properly court Y/N. He had also asked their colleagues for advice, which hadn't really helped him because they all said something different.

There was nothing logical about love, the poor guy was lost. He might have known what to do if he had thought less, but he seemed afraid of what he might do. He still wanted her happiness. He loved her.

He loved her.

"… A kiss would be a good start." Y/N whispered.

Owen looked at her, as if to determine if she was serious, before nodding, standing up to come towards her, and holding out two fingers. She looked at his hand with a frown.

"Uh… Yes ?"

“I'm initiating a kiss.”

“I see a lot of fingers and not a lot of lips.”

“Lips ?” he repeated, frowning as well. "Oh. A Terran kiss. My apologies, I didn't understand, Ashayam."

"What does that mean ?"

“Beloved.”

Without giving her time to process what he had just said, he pressed his mouth to hers, obviously unaware of how to act, but doing his best. As soon as their skin touched, the pleasant feeling returned, Y/N's body immediately relaxing and moving as close to Owen as possible, one hand on his neck, and the other on his cheek. He imitated her, letting himself be guided.

He was shaking a little, his breathing quickening as Y/N kissed him really hard, sucking on his lips, searching for his tongue, and letting her hands roam his back. Quickly, she found herself against a wall, Owen abandoned her mouth to nibble on her neck. One of her moans unfortunately seemed enough to stop him.

"… I need to meditate."

“It was a good start though.”

"I need to meditate. I have to conduct an experiment in a few hours."

“That gives us a lot of time."

“Ashayam, if I don’t meditate, we won’t leave this room for several days.”

Oh ? Oh.

Y/N was a little disappointed, but she was still a professional, bowing to the importance of sience over everything else. So she left him, even if she couldn't help but kiss him on the cheek before leaving while he was already in a meditation position, which made him groan.

In the corridor, she passed Commander Spock and Uhura, who showed a big smile.

"I see you've been talking to Owen."

“Indeed, why ?”

“You should zip up your collar.” Spock said simply, looking down.

In the reflection of a window, Y/N saw the small bite marks and hickeys that the Vulcan had left, which she hid with her hand while stammering, while Uhura chuckled gently, patting her shoulder.

"They can be bestial and possessive, like cats. Be careful, they are much more sensitive than they let on."

"Nonsense."

"Kirk tells me almost everything, Commander."

"… Please excuse me, I need to speak to the Captain."

“Speak, or speak like Owen with Y/N ?”

Commander Spock growled, which actually made Uhura laugh, giving Y/N a chance to run away before the linguist had time to ask her questions.

In the end, things were pretty simple between Y/N and Owen. They were two scientists with very poor social skills, in love, respecting each other's work and abilities, and living proof that it was perfectly possible to be intelligent and stupid.

[why-do-i-breath]

"i hate you" " no you don't"

Y/N had always known that Owen Sleater was trouble. The rugged Irishman with a devil-may-care attitude had a reputation for being a ladies' man, and Y/N knew better than to get involved with someone like him. But despite her better judgment, she found herself drawn to him, unable to resist his charm.

One night, they found themselves arguing over something trivial, their voices rising in anger. Y/N was so fed up with his flippant attitude that she finally blurted out, "I hate you!"

Owen's expression softened for a moment, his eyes searching hers. "You don't mean that," he said softly.

But Y/N was too angry to listen. "I do mean it," she spat. "I hate everything about you, Owen Sleater."

For a moment, there was silence between them, as they both struggled to find the words to say. Then, suddenly, Owen leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a fiery kiss.

Y/N was caught off guard, but she couldn't help but respond to the intensity of his passion. It was as if all of the anger and frustration between them had boiled over, leaving only raw desire in its wake.

As they pulled away, Owen looked at her with an intensity that took her breath away. "You don't hate me," he said firmly. "You love me, and you're just too scared to admit it."

Y/N felt her heart racing as she listened to Owen's words. He was right - she did love him, despite all of his faults and shortcomings. She just didn't know if she could trust him enough to let herself be vulnerable with him.

But as Owen continued to kiss her, his hands roaming over her body with a hunger that left her breathless, Y/N found herself giving in to the passion between them. And in that moment, she realized that she didn't care about his flaws or his past - all she cared about was the way he made her feel.

For the rest of the night, they were consumed by their passion, exploring each other's bodies with an intensity that left them both exhausted and sated. And even though Y/N knew that their relationship was far from perfect, she also knew that she loved Owen Sleater, flaws and all.

[farfromstrange]

I am literally chewing on dry wall. Holy shit 😵‍💫

What are you waiting for? || Owen Sleater x Reader

18+ for Sexual Content. Minors Do NOT Interact

Pairing: Owen Sleater x female reader (no y/n)

Wordcount: 3k

Warnings: Language, drinking, unprotected sex, gendered pet names (good girl, ma'am, etc), minor degradation (use of 'slut')

A/N: This is just pure smut at the request of @kayxvii. This request kiiinda got away from me. My first time writing smut and writing for Owen so take it easy on me and enjoy~

Tagging: @catholicdaredevil @someplace-darker @murrdxcks @carters-things

Music filtered through the hall, just barely overpowering the cacophony of drunken voices of people having a good time. The air was thick with sweat, smoke, and the overwhelming scent of too many expensive perfumes. It might have been too much were it not for the amount of whiskey in your own system dulling your senses enough to make the bustling party enjoyable. What really had you buzzing, however, were the fleeting but electric touches of one Mr. Owen Sleater.

It had started as looks across the table from one another as you ignored the conversation around you. Under the table, the toe of your shoe just lightly grazed his calf and you could see the barely contained smirk that tugged at his lips. Those soft, plump lips you found yourself staring at on more than one occasion as the night progressed.

When you got up to find yourself another drink it didn’t take long for Owen to follow you up to the bar. He settled in beside you, a hand on your lower back to alert you to his presence. Even as he looked at you with a charming grin, his hand stayed put.

“You certainly know how to hold your whiskey,” he let out a breathy chuckle. He motioned to the bartender for two more drinks while his other hand shifted to skim your hip. The touch was light enough to send a shiver up your spine.

“I live in Atlantic City. It means I have practice.” You lifted your chin slightly, trying to avoid letting him in on how much he was affecting you already. Though by the way he leaned into you, nearly caging you against the bar, it was safe to assume he was already well aware.

“That the only thing you have practice with?” He asked, voice low enough that only you heard it amongst the buzz around you. You side-eyed him as you lifted your refreshed drink to your lips, taking in the boyish grin that hid something a little more devilish.

“That’s mighty bold of you, Mr. Sleater.”

Owen leaned in closer, no longer disguising the game between the two of you from prying eyes. His breath fanned down your neck, the scent of whiskey and his cologne drowning out everything else. You lazily took another sip from your glass before sitting it down and turning toward him, your chest pressed to his. You looked up at him expectantly, watching the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“So is toying with me under the table in front of all these people. At least I’m much more subtle.” A slight shift of his hips and you could feel the press of his erection against your side. You swallowed down a smirk of your own, tilting your face down to look up at him through your lashes.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You trailed a finger down his chest further and further down until you snagged a finger in the belt loop of his pants. Owen reached a hand up, using a single finger under your chin to guide your gaze back to him. You leaned in just enough that he could taste the liquor on your breath before pulling away completely to turn back to your drink.

Owen choked down a groan of frustration, rubbing a hand across his lower face as he looked back out to the crowded room surrounding the two of you. Not a soul had been watching the little dance the two of you were engaged in, but he knew he had to get you alone if he really wanted anything from you. Nucky was otherwise preoccupied at home for the evening, so Owen had a rare free night to take his time with you. Though that was the last thing he wanted. Right now he would have even dared taking you against the bar if he could, but that wasn’t quite his style. Especially not with you. Owen wanted you all to himself.

“Is that so?” He turned back to the bar to finally reach for his untouched drink, throwing it back in one swift motion while his other hand found the small of your back again. He barely flinched at the burn, more than used to it by now.

“I’m simply out here trying to enjoy a few drinks with friends.” You smiled coyly, shaking your drink at him just enough for the ice to clink against the glass.

“You’re bein’ a right tease is what you’re doin’.” He ducked himself back into your line of sight, raising a challenging brow at you. You giggled, watching him tap almost impatiently against the wood of the bar.

“Oh yeah? And what exactly are you going to do about that, Mr. Sleater?” You taunted, knowing full well what you might invoke from him.

The way Owen stood straighter, shoulders back in an imposing stance made your heart race. He towered over you, once again fitting himself into your personal bubble though you certainly didn’t mind. The hand that had previously rested on your lower back now held you with intent as he guided you closer to him as if that were even possible with the breath of space between you. His body heat and the electricity of his commanding touch had you sweating, your breaths coming out a little more shallow. When he leaned in to whisper in your ear, lips grazing your earlobe, you thought you might melt at the hard edge of his usually soft lilt.

“I’m gonna fuck you until you beg me to stop.” His words sent a visible shudder through your body, a small gasp escaped your lips. The bluntness of his words thrilled you. The thought of his hand, currently so warm and firm on your lower back, traveling over your chest and between your thighs made you bite back a moan. There was no hiding his smirk as he watched you shift in an attempt to hide the uncomfortable wetness settling in your core.

“Then what are you waiting for?” You leaned in enough to purr against his lips. One of your hands subtly reached to palm him through his slacks and he let out a growl before grabbing your wrist with a stern grip. He gave you a look before his grip became more gentle and he lifted your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

“Just you,” he said with a lopsided grin, lips brushing your skin.

Owen wasted no time at all getting you back to his flat. It was everything in you both just to get the door open and no sooner than it shut behind you, he had you pinned against it. His lips were as soft as you imagined, even through the rough eagerness of the kiss itself. His tongue darted in your mouth and he groaned at the taste of you. The taste of liquor that still clung to your tongue was far sweeter than it ever had been from the bottle and he was sure he would never get enough. He cupped your jaw as he deepened the kiss as best he could, trying to get as much of you as he could.

You moaned into his mouth, making quick work of his vest. He handled his collar and tie himself as you hurried to unbutton his shirt. The moment his bare chest was exposed to you, your nails raked lightly across his skin before coming back up to rest on his shoulders while he rucked up your skirt. He trailed his fingers along the inside of your thigh and stopped, chuckling as he pulled away just enough to get a good look at your face.

“Not a single thing under your skirts tonight, hm?” He moved his hand a little higher, teasing a finger through your wet folds and pulling a needy whimper from your lips. “Almost like you were plannin’ for the night to go this way, love.”

“Almost like it,” you taunted back, desperately grinding against his hand for any friction you could get from him. Owen grinned and dipped back in to kiss you with the same hunger. His hand between your thighs gathered up your wetness before circling your clit in lazy circles, drawing out a whiny moan from you. Your head tipped back and he trailed sloppy kisses across your jaw and down your neck. He sucked and nipped at the skin in a way that you knew meant you would be covering your neck with more makeup than your face for the next week or so.

Owen finally slipped two fingers in your soaked cunt and you moaned his name as he crooked his fingers just so. He dragged his fingers over a spot that had you seeing stars. He built you up just enough you have whining loud enough for the neighbors to hear before pulling away; this time making you whine from the lack of sensation. When you looked at him in desperate confusion he just dove back in to kiss you while his hands reached for the backs of your thighs to lift you up. Your legs wrapped around him, hips bucking against his as the rough material of his slacks teased your exposed clit.

You barely paid attention as he carried you toward his room, stopping a couple of times just to pin you back against the wall and grind his hips against yours for some relief of his own. Deft fingers undid the buttons at the side of your dress and let the material fall loose behind you. His kisses traveled lower as he nipped at the skin of your chest before taking a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it just enough to tease. You arched into his with a quiet gasp, fingers finding his hair once more.

Eventually the two of you made it to his room and he tossed you on the bed. Before he could do anything else you reached out to undo his belt and pants before pulling them down with his briefs. His cock sprung free of their restraints and Owen groaned at the relief. You bit your lip, taking in the sight of him before looking up to meet his gaze. He reached out to cup your cheek before you pulled him to sit on the bed. You slid to your knees before him, looking up at him through your lashes. You leaned in to place light kisses across his thighs, teasing him just the slightest before licking a stripe up the length of him. His fingers knotted in your hair, not yet guiding you. You took him in your hand, your thumb tracing over the tip to spread the precum forming there. His eyes fluttered shut, quiet groans escaping him. That wasn’t enough for you though. You wanted to hear him.

You gave the tip a couple of kitten licks before taking it in your mouth and swirling your tongue around the tip. You watched his face scrunch up and jaw drop in a silent groan and you might have pouted at his lack of reaction were his cock not preventing you from doing so. You tapped his thigh, hoping to gain his attention. When his eyes opened to glance at you curiously, you took a deep breath through your nose and took him in as deep as you possibly could. He let out a loud moan and jolted, accidentally bucking into your throat as the sensation of your full mouth caught him off guard.

“Fuckin’- Christ that mouth of yours is gonna be the death of me,” Owen groaned and you gave a content hum around him that sent a shiver up his spine. “If that pretty little cunt of yours feels anything like your throat I am in for a very long night.”

The feel of him on your tongue as you started bobbing your head and his crude language had your walls fluttering around nothing. You moaned around him as he gave your hair a light tug, helping to guide your pace. He let you do most of the work, however, mostly just spurring you on with his grunts and groans. The sounds went straight to your core and you couldn’t help but to dip your hand between your thighs, rubbing desperate circles around your aching clit.

“Look at you, such a slut you can’t even- ah, suck my cock without touchin’ yourself. D’you always get this needy or am I just special?” He groaned, eyes screwing shut again as you hollowed out your cheeks around him and moaned in response. His hips jerked up again, this time much more intentional. You tried not to choke at the sudden sensation of him hitting the back of your throat. Both of his hands were knotted in your hair now and you relaxed your jaw, letting him get his use out of you. Your own hips bucked slightly as you continued to toy with your clit.

His pace started to falter and you knew he was close. You weren’t about to let him be done yet, so you pressed a hand to his abdomen to gently push him away. He let his hands fall away from your hair and watched you, panting as you pulled away with a loud pop. Saliva trailed from your abused lips to his tip and his cock twitched at the sight.

“Everything all right?” He asked, cupping your cheek as you straightened up on your knees. You raked your nails lightly across his thighs, up his chest, then settled with your arms around his neck.

“Can’t be letting you have all the fun now, Mr. Sleater,” you giggled and he huffed out a laugh before dipping in to kiss you again.

“And what would you like from me then, love?” He gave a lopsided grin against your lips.

“I want you to fuck me like you threatened.” You nipped his bottom lip before standing, gently guiding him to lay back. He adjusted himself toward the head of the bed before you straddled him.

“And who am I to deny you that then, ma’am?” His hands rubbed up and down your arms before settling on your hips. You reached between the two of you, lining him up with your entrance before sinking down on him. He groaned low in his throat compared to your high gasp as you tried to adjust to the feel of him. It took a moment, but you finally rolled your hips against his. He was almost overwhelmed by the feel of you. While your hands were planted firmly on his chest, his hands were roaming and grasping at everything he could. Your hips, the soft skin of your thighs, your throat, your hair. He just needed to feel you.

His hands finally settled on your hips as he adjusted his position to fuck up into you. You cried out at the first thrust. He hit so deep it had you seeing stars immediately. You could feel that knot tightening deep in your gut and your moans turned into something more like pathetic whines.

“Fuck- Feel so good. Takin’ me so well, love. Your cunt was made for me,” he rambled, gripping you bruisingly tight. As he could feel himself inching ever closer to release he sat up, holding you tight against him as you continued to bounce in his lap albeit far more sloppy.

His lips latched onto your neck once more, nipping at a mark still sensitive from earlier. The combination of his lips on your neck and his hands gripping you for dear life had his name pouring from your lips like a mantra. Your arms were around his neck, one hand locked into the hair at the nape of his neck. That knot continued to grow tighter and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

“O-Owen, please! I can’t-'' you panted, voice strained as you continued to climb towards pure bliss. Owen’s lips found yours again, kissing you with a hunger you’d never felt from anyone else before.

“Yes you can, love. Go ahead, cum for me. You’ve been so good. Such a good girl for me,” his own voice was strained as well, but his praise was the last thing you needed to send you over the edge. You held onto him as if he would disappear at any second, crying out for him as blinding pleasure took over your whole being. The way your walls squeezed him sent Owen cresting over his own peak soon after. He stilled your movements with a firm arm around your waist and spilled into you with a groan of your name.

Owen collapsed back on the bed, gently pulling you down with him. You adjusted yourself to allow his softening cock to slip out of you and rested your head on his chest. He was struggling to catch his breath just as much as you were, heart racing under you. His fingers carded through your hair gently as you both tried to compose yourselves.

Eventually you propped yourself up to look at him, leaning in to kiss him much more tame this time. You pulled away and giggled, earning a raised brow from Owen.

“Something the matter, ma’am?” He questioned and you shrugged with a coy smirk.

“Oh nothing. I just don’t quite remember begging you to stop is all.” You batted your lashes at him, tracing shapes across his chest absentmindedly. You adored the cocky grin he gave you in return.

“And who said I was done with you?” He challenged. Before you could quip back he had you flipped and pinned to the mattress, a surprised yelp escaping you that quickly turned into a giggle fit as he attacked your neck with kisses again. You had a feeling he was going to make good on that promise after all.

[angelinajolie0213]

so when will we see Mr. Charlie Cox as People’s Sexiest Man Alive?

[mylambandmartyr]

There is some absolutely sinister shit going on in the boardwalk empire tag on ao3 good lort‼️‼️

[bellaxgiornata]

Seeking Forgiveness [Part Seven]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.6k

[Full summary and installment list for this series can be found here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains angst, emotional hurt, delayed comfort, pregnant Reader

a/n: I have finally gotten this update up for y'all! It's been written and sitting waiting for over a month, but now that I'm not trying to write holiday fics (though I might still write that Owen Sleater one), it's back to business as usual! Feedback is always appreciated!

Fidgeting with the beer bottle between his fingers, Matt wasn't paying much attention to the room around him. Which said a lot about his current focus considering how loud Josie’s bar was this evening with the crowd that had filled the space tonight. He also wasn't paying any attention to the conversation Foggy and Karen had struck up a while ago at their table about a client they'd met with earlier today. Because despite the fact that Matt was currently sitting with the pair of them drinking back his beer, his attention was entirely elsewhere this evening. On you a couple of blocks away in your apartment.

Admittedly there wasn’t very much that he could pick up on at this distance where he sat at Josie’s, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from trying to hear what he could–even if he knew he shouldn't be invading your privacy like this. It was already bad enough he always stopped by at the beginning and end of his patrols, always wanting to make sure things were alright. Though deep down he knew he kept doing it because he was desperate to feel connected to the pair of you somehow. He just couldn't seem to stay away despite that being what you seemed to want him to do. 

His eyes narrowed in concentration behind the lenses of his glasses. It sounded like you were cleaning up whatever dinner you'd made in your kitchen, which made sense considering the hour. You usually ate around this time after work. As he listened to the faint sounds of dishes clinking together, he wondered what you’d made to eat tonight. You'd been craving pesto pasta like crazy but constantly kept forgetting to add the items to your grocery list. Something Matt only knew because of his new habit of lingering on your rooftop as Daredevil, not because you'd actually spoken to him recently and told him yourself. For which he kept chastising himself about doing, except he couldn't seem to stop eavesdropping. 

Like right now.

Despite you making it clear you wanted nothing to do with him for the time being, he had tried calling you repeatedly in the hopes of finding a vastly healthier and less invasive way to stay connected with you, but you'd only answered once and it was to ask him to stop calling. You told him when you were ready to talk that you'd reach out to him. Which meant he hadn't tried to show up at your apartment as Matt Murdock, trying to respect your wishes. But that ultimately put him in a difficult position, because not communicating with you meant he couldn't prove himself to you–couldn’t prove how sorry he was for what he’d done. He'd been back and forth on that for the past two days, constantly feeling like the clock was ticking on him finding some way back into your life to show you that you and that baby were what he wanted.

An abrupt, loud snapping noise sounded directly in front of Matt’s face and he jumped in his chair, blinking rapidly a few times behind his glasses. The noise instantly had broken his concentration from his thoughts and your apartment, something that had taken him quite a few minutes to lock in on in the first place considering the distance.

“Matt, buddy, you in there?” Foggy asked.

Matt cleared his throat, forcing a smile onto his face at the sound of his friend's voice. Gradually and begrudgingly his attention and senses returned to the bar around himself.

“Yeah, sorry,” he replied. “Was just zoning out, I guess.”

“Thinking about her again, aren’t you?” Foggy solemnly asked.

“Kind of hard not to,” he muttered.

He felt Karen’s hand land gently on his shoulder before giving it a comforting squeeze. He glanced in her direction, sending the tense smile her way. Despite how much he'd screwed things up with you, and how much Foggy and Karen cared about you, they'd still been incredibly supportive of him. They'd even been understanding of his initial angry outburst at the office for which Matt had guiltily apologized for numerous times by now.

"She's doing alright," Karen assured him. "Though I'm guessing you already know that."

Matt ducked his head, awkwardly running a hand across his mouth as he felt the guilt burn within him. There was no point in denying it. You had to have already figured it out yourself when he'd left that stuffed narwhal at your apartment after you'd gone back to sleep the other night. It wasn't as if he'd expected that to make you feel any differently about him, but he hoped you knew that he was still here. Still around. Still thinking about the both of you. Still wanting the both of you. 

"Yeah, I stop there at night," Matt admitted awkwardly. "Not for long," he lied, "just enough to know things are alright. That she doesn't need anything. And to uh…hear the heartbeat."

Truthfully it had become his new favorite sound, even more than the beat of your own familiar heart. It was muffled but strong, faster than the usual heartbeats he heard all day long. 

"Have you tried just showing up?" Foggy asked curiously. "You know, the way people usually do, not the way you usually do? Just to see what would happen?"

Matt shrugged, shifting in his chair. "I've thought about it," he answered. "I'm just always torn between respecting her boundaries and wanting to show her that I'm still here for her. That I want to be. But I'm always afraid if–” he paused, wincing as the thought crossed his mind. “I'm afraid if I do, it'll only upset her more. Push her away from me even further.”

Karen hummed in thought beside Matt. The sound caught his attention, his head tilting a bit to the side towards her. The noise almost sounded like one of disagreement. 

“What?” Matt asked. 

“I think,” Karen began carefully, “that she's actually a bit conflicted.”

Matt's attention focused entirely on Karen now as he straightened in his chair. His brows rose up curiously onto his forehead, eager for her to elaborate. 

“Conflicted?” he asked curiously. “Conflicted how? About what? Me?”

“Yes,” Karen answered with a faint nod. “I mean she obviously still loves you, Matt. That doesn't just disappear overnight. Ideally I think she'd want you to be raising the baby with her from the way she talks. Going through all of this with her. But she's still hurt. And she's scared. And she, well, obviously still doesn't believe her and the baby would be a priority to you.”

Matt twisted in his seat, fully facing Karen. “So what're you saying?” he pressed.

He heard the way the air shifted as Karen shrugged beside him. Her lip suddenly caught between her teeth where she lightly chewed it for a moment. The pause was killing Matt, his hand tightening around the neck of his beer bottle. 

“I'm saying I think you should find an excuse and show up at her place,” Karen eventually replied. She held up a finger as she quickly amended, “As Matt, not you-know-who. Don't push her boundaries, just show up long enough to show her you're still here, like you’ve been wanting to do. That you're not giving up. I think she needs that more than she's letting on to you. Maybe…find some sort of way to show her you're trying to be a supportive future father and partner.”

“Okay,” Matt mused, running a frustrated hand through his hair and mussing it as his thoughts began to race. “Okay,” he repeated. “So don't show up with apology flowers. Noted.”

“No, but maybe bring her something else that might help her,” Karen suggested lightly. “Something that might be useful during her pregnancy. To show her you're serious about things with her and the baby.”

“Oh!” Foggy exclaimed, excitedly slapping a hand to the table. “Like an excuse to just show up and see her because you're dropping something off!”

Matt sighed deeply, swiveling back around in his seat. He leant his elbows onto the uneven wooden table as he began to rub his palms together in thought. What could he possibly bring you that might be useful for your pregnancy? Something you might actually be grateful for and need? That wouldn't make you curse him from daring to darken your apartment door?

This was something he'd have to give some thought to tonight. 

Willing your mind to quiet, you lay on your side beneath the sheets of your bed which you'd tugged up to your chin. It was a little after one in the afternoon and you'd been hoping to take a brief nap after lunch, something you couldn't do during the weekdays because of work. Your body usually wanted to give up once this time of day hit, probably partly because of pregnancy fatigue but also because you hadn't been sleeping well lately. 

It was damn near impossible to get comfortable when you laid down even though your stomach wasn't quite that large yet. But the hormones in your body responsible for relaxing your muscles and ligaments during pregnancy were also responsible for the fact that sleeping on your side killed your hips and knees far more than side sleeping ever had in the past. You didn't just wake up to pee or possibly vomit now, sometimes you just ached horribly and couldn't find a comfortable position to sleep in. Which often led to your mind racing and keeping you awake for part of the night. 

Truth be told though, everything on your body hurt lately. You often had headaches–another perk of early pregnancy–along with constant back and hip pain. Your breasts were still quite sensitive and tender, too. The one bright spot through it all this week had been an appointment you had coming up with your obstetrician. The one where you could get your blood drawn and in another week or so, you'd know whether your little devil would be a boy or a girl. It had been on your mind all week, your excitement barely contained and adding to your inability to sleep. 

Trying to push the thought of the baby's sex from your mind, you squeezed your eyes a bit tighter shut. The light from the sunny afternoon was still slipping in past your blinds, making your room almost too bright. The sounds of the city traffic bustling below your apartment weren't helping right now, either. 

But it was an unexpected knock at your apartment door that had your eyes inevitably flying back open. 

Raising your head from the pillow hesitantly, you blinked hard a few times. You hadn't been expecting anyone to stop by today. Brows knitted together, you pushed the sheets off of yourself and ran a hand over your eyes. Moving slowly along the bed, you gradually pushed yourself upright and set your feet on the floor, noticeably moving slower than if you hadn't been almost eleven weeks pregnant. 

Rising to your feet, you sluggishly made your way out of your bedroom and down the hall. Stopping in front of your door, you undid the locks before turning the handle and pulling it open. The sight of Matt standing before you in one of his fitted tee-shirts with an awkward smile on his face took you by surprise. Your eyes widened as you felt your own pulse increase at the unexpected appearance of him. Gaze dropping down, you saw he was carrying an almost comically large shopping bag in his left hand.

“Matt, what are you doing here?” you asked, one hand gripping the door tighter. “I thought I–I asked you to give me space for now?”

“Yes, you did,” he replied awkwardly, that smile on his face growing more nervous. “But I…I really don't want to stay away because I was still hoping you could give me a chance. To prove how sorry I am.”

Shoulders dropping at his words, you lightly blew out a breath. “Matt–”

“Hear me out, please,” he begged, cutting you off.

An earnest look crossed his face as his dark brows drew together above his glasses. Lips pressing together, you released the door from your grip and crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Fine, talk,” you demanded.

“Look, I–I know you want me to stay away,” he began in a rush, as if he was afraid that you wouldn't give him enough time to explain himself before you slammed the door in his face. “And I want to respect that, I do. But I can't walk away from the both of you. I can't . I won't abandon my child and I won't abandon you. I want to prove how sorry I am to you, sweetheart. I want to prove that you can depend on me, that I want this. Because I do.”

“Matt, I already told you that I'd let you have a relationship with your child,” you reminded him. “I'm not telling you to abandon them.”

He shook his head quickly, his hand readjusting on the plastic bag he was holding. It crinkled loudly in his grip and briefly caught your eye again, making you wonder what the hell was in the bag. But when he spoke again, your attention returned to his face.

“You might not see it that way,” Matt countered, still shaking his head, “but to me it's no different. And I won't walk away from you or my own child.” His face grew more solemn as he added softly, “You know me, sweetheart. You know how I grew up, how it affected me. All I'm asking is that you just…just give me a chance to make amends. I made a massive mistake and I hurt you. I was an asshole and I want to fix things. So just…can you at least consider giving me that chance? Please?”

Inhaling a deep breath, your eyes scanned over his anxious, pleading face. Your heart had dropped in your chest the second he'd mentioned his past. Because of course you knew how Matt had felt abandoned by what his father had done, willingly going and getting himself killed when he won that fight instead of losing it which ultimately left Matt alone in the world. You also knew how he'd formed a bond with Stick, his mentor who'd abandoned him the moment Matt displayed his care for the man. You also knew about his toxic relationship–the only other he'd ever had–where his ex had abandoned him because he wouldn't kill his father's murderer. And then of course, you knew how much pain he'd felt when he learned that his mother had been a nun at the orphanage he grew up in, making him feel unwanted because he'd only accidentally overheard the truth as a grown man years later.

Matt Murdock struggled with feeling unloved and unwanted because of his abandonment issues from almost every important figure in his life. And now he was afraid he'd be condemning this child to a similar trauma. The thought of that caused your heart to twist tight in your chest. 

“I'll think about it,” you answered quietly. 

“Thank you,” Matt replied in relief, his expression visibly relaxing.

Your eyes dropped back down to the large bag in his hand, your head tilting to the side as you curiously studied it. Matt let out a nervous huff of a laugh as he shifted on his feet. He extended the bag out towards you and your brows jumped up onto your forehead. 

“I uh, I brought you something,” Matt said, his tone returning awkward. 

For a moment you just stared at the bag in his outstretched hand, unsure what to make of him bringing you anything right now. Slowly and hesitantly you reached out, grasping onto the handles of the bag. Though you let out a surprised gasp when Matt let go and the weight of its contents startled you, almost causing you to drop it entirely. Your other hand darted out, grabbing onto the bag and catching it before it could slip from your grasp. Drawing it towards yourself, you peered inside. 

“It's a pregnancy pillow and a weighted blanket,” Matt explained, running his now free hand across the back of his neck. “I know you have had trouble sleeping lately and I thought they'd help. The weighted blanket should help relax you and the–the pregnancy pillow should help with body pain and the weight of your belly when you're farther along. I actually spent a while researching them. Who knew there were so many shapes?” He chuckled nervously, his hand still rubbing the back of his neck. “Figured this one would work the best for how you sleep–or, how I remember you always sleeping, at least.”

Your jaw dropped as you stared back at Matt, the heavy bag still held in your hands. While the gift was thoughtful and sweet, there was only one explanation as to why he'd brought these particular items which were meant to help you sleep, especially when you'd had a hard time doing exactly that lately.

“Have you been spying on me again, Matt?” you questioned in disbelief.

He hung his head immediately, his shoulders dropping at the accusation. You already knew the answer before he even said a word and your mouth fell open wider.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't,” he apologized shamefully. “I know I shouldn't. But I mainly just check in first thing when I go out at night and–and then once more before I go home. To make sure you're safe and alright because I worry. And I–” he broke off, nervously chewing his bottom lip. “I like to listen to the baby's heartbeat,” he confessed quietly.

Something about the way he'd admitted that last bit had disarmed you. That wasn't what you expected him to say and you momentarily felt your heart soften to him. But your upset about him eavesdropping on you soon washed back over you again, your hands curling tight around the bag.

“I don't like that, Matt,” you warned him. “That makes me uncomfortable knowing my ex is listening in to whatever I'm doing in here and I don't know about it.”

Matt nodded solemnly in response. “I understand, I do. I'll try my best to refrain, but if something brings me nearby at night I…admittedly have a hard time not picking up on things.” He shrugged faintly, his covered gaze still downcast. “I'm just tuned into you and it's sort of a habit by now after how much time we've spent together.”

An awkward silence settled over the both of you at his explanation, the pair of you standing there wordlessly. You weren't about to invite Matt inside–especially not after just learning that –but you could also tell he clearly didn't want to go, either. Though after a moment he shifted his weight between his feet before he glanced up in your direction once again. His lips were twisted downwards at the corners, guilt and sadness barely hidden on his face. You fought to ignore the urge to draw him into a hug at the sight.

“I'll let you go, I can tell my visit isn't exactly what you want, but can you think about what I asked?” he questioned. “About giving me a chance to prove myself?”

Blowing out a breath, you slowly nodded. “I'll think about it,” you told him softly, “but I'm not making any promises, Matt.”

He shot you a tense smile, nodding his head once as he took a step back into the apartment building hallway. Something tugged at your heart knowing he was leaving, but you quickly tried to ignore that feeling, too.

“Hope those help,” he murmured, briefly gesturing to the bag.

Without another word, Matt turned and made his way down the hallway and back towards the elevator at the far end, his cane tapping lightly along the floor. You watched his retreating form for a moment before you forced your eyes away. You didn't know quite what to make of his surprise visit. 

Closing the door of your apartment, you locked it again before dragging the heavy bag back to your bedroom. You were still tired and had every intention of attempting that nap despite the unexpected interruption, and admittedly you were curious about the items Matt had brought you. Would they actually help you fall asleep?

It was a few minutes before you'd managed to unpackage the incredibly soft, gray weighted blanket and spread it over your bed. You'd put the pregnancy pillow up on the bed underneath the blanket afterwards before you'd climbed up onto the mattress and slipped beneath the blanket. Immediately you wrapped your legs around the pillow and snuggled up to it, feeling the pain in your hips instantly lessen in this position. You sighed in relief, letting your eyelids gently drop as you felt the weight of the blanket relaxing you, just as Matt had claimed it would. 

With a soft, contented hum, you nuzzled into your pillow and felt that wave of exhaustion begin to overtake you. But as you lay there waiting for sleep, you couldn't help but imagine it was the weight of Matt's arms wrapped around you, comfortably sinking you further into the mattress. And if you kept your eyes closed and tried hard enough, you could imagine it was Matt's thick thigh that your legs were wrapped around, wedged between yours just like you'd slept many nights in the past with him. 

Which was how you finally found yourself drifting comfortably to sleep–imagining you were safe in Matt’s arms, the place you so desperately missed being. 

Tag List: @mattmurdocksstarlight @just-going-through-the-motions @paracosmic-murdock @yeonalie @auroraslibrary @1988-fiend @will-delete-this-later-probably @two-unbeatable-beaters @danzer8705 @ragamuffin285 @callmebrooklynbabes @spookyboogyuniverse @peachy-aisha @stevenknightmarc @nerdytreeflower @fucktthisworld @remuslupinwifee @kmc1989 @thychuvaluswife @mywellspringoflife @thornbushrose @yarrystyleeza @shiorimakibawrites @marvelcinematiquniverse @vallovesthedilfs @scoliobean @this-is-music @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @swissy23 @babygorewhore @that-girl-named-alex @warsaur @lareinaisabelle @pazii @senjoritanana @mischiefmanaged71 @xxdrixx @jess-rye @hannahbohen @theclassicvinyldragon @karolamurdock @theoraekenslover @mr-underhills-things

[Some tags aren't working, I never fully know why. If I've misspelled yours, please feel free to let me know! Otherwise it's just tumblr being a pain and not tagging for unknown reasons because this always happens. I'm sorry!]

[yarrystyleeza]

Oh my goodness I will never recover from this.

— Painkillers.

pairing: owen sleater x fem!reader

genre: smut, pwp

word count: 400

a/n: I'm on my period, tired from working and horny-- Hence this drabble was born, enjoy! I honestly have no clue how this turned out it’s very late fjfjfjkd

warnings: dirty talking, reader gets slapped in the face once (consensual), the use of good girl, sub!reader, dom!owen, minors dni, rough sex, bd.sm dynamics

"You enjoy this don't ya?"

You can barely hear him from the sound of how loudly he's fucking you. His cock gliding in and out of you with ease, your slick dripping down from his balls and onto the white sheets. Owen has you laying on your stomach, your ass raised and his hand pressing down against the small of your back. It hurts, it hurts but it feels so good. It feels so good to be owned by him. Feels good to be owned by him. Owen leans into your hear, his breath fanning over your damp skin. A shudder runs up your spine.

"Answer me or I swear I'll stop and leave you to clean your own mess,"

His words comes in harsh pants. Every syllable spat into your ear. You manage to part your lips but only ragged breaths come out of your throat. You hear him sigh and suddenly you're flipped over, Owen's face now an inch away from your own.

You can't help but stare at him-- Stare at his lips, his eyes, his face. After all this time you're still stunned by his beauty.

But your train of thought is cut short by his hand slicing through the air, a loud slap echoes against the walls and only then you realize he hit you. Your cheek throbbing with pain as your eyes begin to fill with tears. You see remorse in his eyes but it doesn't last long, his authorial tone replacing it in an instant.

"Answer. Me."

"Yes," you blurt out. "I enjoy it-- I enjoy every part of it-- Please don't stop,"

A smile spreads across his face and he leans down, nuzzling the spot he slapped not moments ago. You hiss at the way it stings.

"Good girl," he purrs, lips tracing the frame of your face. "Good fucking girl,"

You visibly tremble at his words, his hips drilling in to you like they never had before. Your cunt throbs, aches at the way his cock fills you up again and again. The tip reaches your deepest parts, his pubic bone bruising your sensitive clit as he fucks his anger, love, desperation and tiredness into you. His name falls from your lips, you have no awareness of what you're doing, you can only think of him. Owen Sleater. The man who owns you mind, body and soul.

You hope it stays like this forever.

[yarrystyleeza]

𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐚'𝐬 𝟐𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫!

Well, as the title suggests, I am turning 22 on January 30th (yes I can't believe it either), and it's a very very special number to me, I was obsessed with it since I was a kid—because of Taylor Swift's 22 of course (you have no idea how happy my inner child is now!).

However, I thought I should celebrate this very important event with you by hosting my second sleepover! (honestly I was planning to make this a double sleepover if I hit 300 followers before my birthday, but since I didn't, I really had to host a sleepover)

As usual, my sleepover will host games, questions, asks, and definitely, requests!!! <3

The sleepover will be a week long, from January 30th till February 6th, where you can submit asks and requests!

Note on prohibited things that I won't be doing or answering:

No nsfw/dirty asks, writing requests or questions, it's uncomfortable for me sometimes, and this is an all-ages-friendly celebration. No further elaboration, please respect this. <3

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬:

Here's a list of the games we can play:

Kiss/Marry/Kill: you give me three characters and I will sort each one in one of these categories! (make it hard for me)

Would you rather: you give me two things/characters and I get to choose one that suits me better! (for example: night owl or early bird?)

Make an assumption: you literally make an assumption about me and I either prove it or deny it!

Never have I ever: you ask me about things I did or didn't do!

Exchanged Ships: basically, you give me a character that you find as my significant other, and I will give you a character in exchange and why I think it's the perfect character for you!

Random Q&A: you can ask me about anything, whether it's my favorite food or even what fabrics do I prefer to wear, ask whatever you want!

Girly Talks: just talk to me about any girly topic you want and we'll establish a good conversation! Let's talk about books or authors, favorite poetry pieces, maybe movies we loved in our childhood, or even your favorite outfits back when you were a 10 year old! Literally anything!

Rate My Music Taste: give me a song/artist and I will rate it from 1 (absolute flop) to 10 (total banger)! — (this is absolutely done just for fun).

I Wanna Write You A Song: start with a phrase and we will make a totally original song together in the reblogs!

Doodles: give me something simple to draw!

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬:

As for writing requests, I will be taking fluff/angst/violence (blood and gore—due to the nature of the characters I write for) x female!reader requests only. But of course you can request the prompt you desire. <3

As for the characters, here's a list of the fictional men that I would be writing for:

Matt Murdock/Daredevil

Foggy Nelson

Tristan Thorn

Michael Kinsella

Henry (from Eat Locals)

Daryl Dixon

(might consider writing for other Charlie Cox/Norman Reedus characters. example: Ian Hamilton, Owen Sleater, Scud, Murphy MacManus, etc.)

You can ask for prompt included in this list or ones you come up with yourself:

intimate moments / gestures that make me feel love / romantic rainy day prompts / gentle things that make me fall harder in love / fluffy comforting/sick dialogue prompts / lighthearted first kiss prompts / sparring prompts / forced proximity prompts / date prompts masterpost /

Note that I will be tagging the fic requests with #yuna's 22 birthday sleepover so they're easy to find, but they will be sorted in my main masterlist as regular requests! <3

tagging my moots to spread the word sorry for being a little too annoying hehe (and I tried to tag as much as possible but my memory is messing around with me I'm sorry if I forgot anyone): @v4leoftears @remonemo @fizanotfeeza @bunmurdock @bellaxgiornata @kal-0n @1988-fiend @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @floral-charlie-cat @farfromstrange @babygirlmurdock @mattmurdocksscars @itwasthereaminuteago @c-mrdck @xxeycisxx @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mindidjarin @little-miss-dilf-lover @shiorimakibawrites @tongueofcat @marytheweefrenchie @chvoswxtch @devilsmurdock @galaxies-and-moons-and-cox @acharliecoxedfan @folkloreandfall @murdocklorian @munsonownsmyass @abbyhaslongshorts @murc0ck @lazyxsquirrel @theradioactivespidergwen @xxdrixx @saintmurd0ck @softasawhisper @she-likesorchids @peterman-spideyparker @mattmurdocksstarlight @amberlynnmurdock @courtforshort15 @saltedlays @importantnightwerewolf @lene-loki

That's basically everything I have for my birthday sleepover, feel free to submit requests and games! Thank you for coming to my sleepover tonight! <3

[hart269]

Me : I hate kissing but i would kiss you forever

My crush : What

Me : I said I hate you and would miss you never

[saintmurd0ck]

I’m unsure if multiple stops is done this way >< buuuuut 🎟️ ticket for 🚇 34th St-Hudson Yards ("for years i have yearned for you, in secrecy and silence.") and 🚇 86th St (“you bring out the good in me.”) with Owen Sleater please! I’m dying 4 more content about this boiii!!

la douleur exquise

join my sleepover | main masterlist

pairing: owen sleater x reader

warnings: kinda unrequited love (ISH), angsty owen, hurt + comfort

a/n: thank you SO much for being my first sleepover ask! this was so heartbreakingly beautiful to write, and as this is my first ever owen piece, i hope you enjoy 💗 (p.s. tagging mrs sleater, @murdock-and-the-sea)

There’s a breezeblock sinking deep into your stomach as Owen reaches for the coat that’s lived on the hatstand for the past two years. It never mattered that the hatstand sat empty most of the time; not when you always knew he was coming back. 

But today is different.

You barely register the sense of melancholic dread coursing through you, spreading outwards from the centre of your chest. Not when there are a million little things running through the abyss of your mind.

It feels like you’re gasping for air as you take in a staggering breath, doing your best to cast aside the unease carving his initials into your heart. Your voice cracks when you speak, and with it, any attempts you’ve made to ground yourself. “All packed?”

Owen’s lips twitch upwards as he nods, tightening his grip on the brim of his hat.

You’ve known for a while that this day would come, when he would inevitably have to leave Atlantic City. To go home, as he would fondly say. Home being Ireland. 

Not here. 

It couldn’t be here, unless Owen could resign himself to a life working for Nucky, being his right-hand man at best, but doing nothing else except taking orders and cutting down anyone who would get in the way. 

You swallow thickly, tears prickling your eyes as his fingers close around the door handle. You imagine instead that his hand moves away, a man on a mission to seek out his love, but he turns towards you not to then press his lips against your own, but to angle his body towards the promise of his exit. “Ma’am.”

You draw in a breath, wanting to say something, anything, to fill the now-awkward space between you. The fact that nothing comes out shatters something whole within you. He’s reverting back to your old pleasantries, because you’re more strangers-than-not, and now, you’ll have to remember him for longer than you’ve known him.

“Mr. Sleater,” you call out from your place on the stairs, not caring that the words catch in your throat, “You needn’t address me like that.” 

There’s a hitch in every syllable, one that wedges and distorts the sound coming from your mouth. But you keep going. “I thought we’d agreed that you’d call me by name. And don’t you say it’s because of manners.” 

You wait a moment. “I know you’re not capable of manners, Owen.” You let his name roll off your tongue, and for some reason, it’s this instance that feels more indulgent than any other time you’ve used it. It reminds you that you’ve grown fond of his temporary permanence, and even then, fond is too austere a word. 

He smiles sadly. “I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll be goin’ now.” The words echo in your mind even before he says them. “And I don’t know when I’ll be back.” 

He turns the handle, and he’s gone in an instant; so quickly and without further goodbye you would think he’s otherwise vanished into thin air. It doesn’t surprise you all that much, because that’s how it’s always been with Owen: a man of few words, always leaving without a trace. 

It all becomes unbearable too fast as you watch the sunlight filtering into the foyer, the spot where he stood now agonisingly empty. You stare fixedly at nothing in particular, replaying his words in your head, unable to do anything but bring a fist to your mouth to stifle the oncoming rainstorm. 

As you make your way up the stairs, turning your back to the lingering ghost of Owen’s solid form, it hits you that this is what goodbye feels like. This is what it means to farewell something that could’ve worked out, if only you’d properly tried. Your knuckles whiten around the wooden banister, clutching it so tightly it’s a wonder you’re not rooted to the spot, able to move upwards at all. But you trudge onwards, shoving down every hint of his smile, his scent and his warmth, as deep as it’ll go. 

Muscle memory leads you to the edge of the bed, and you sink down onto the mattress, rumpling the crisp sheets. Good, you think, let me stay here. Let me be consumed by the inordinate grief I carry for a man who was never mine. 

It’s then that you feel the dam break, washing away your hardened resolve and with it, two years of missed opportunities and what seems like wasted yearning. Part of you screams that it’s no use dwelling on what could’ve been, but you allow yourself that luxury, if nothing but to live in delusion for just a little more. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror doesn’t do much to help your case; not with your glassily dejected expression, your leaden limbs that hang by your side. 

“All this,” you murmur aloud, your eyes fluttering closed, “for someone who never loved you back.” 

You mull over your thoughts so forcefully that you almost miss the response. 

“Is that what you really think?”

Your body goes rigid at the sound of his voice, your frantic gaze widening as you clock him standing by the door. His name comes out as a squeak, but you say it nonetheless. “Owen?”

He jerks his chin at you, taking a step forwards, his coat and hat markedly draped over the banister. “Now who said I didn’t love you back? Nucky?”

You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. Instead, you purse your lips together, praying that the shallow rise and fall of your chest is noticeable to none other than yourself. 

But it’s Owen, and nothing goes over his head. He fixates on your breathing, hyper-aware at the effect his reappearance has had on you, or more accurately, the implication laying heavy in his tone. 

He walks in, rubbing his face as he paces in front of you. He grits his teeth as he speaks, his voice dropping an octave. “For years,” he starts, seething in anguish, “I have yearned for you, in secrecy and in silence. Years.” He lets out a small, sarcastic chuckle, but the pain laid bare in his eyes fool no-one. “I have thought every day of how to tell you.”

You feel like keeling over, but this isn’t the time. Gathering whatever’s left of your internal strength, you push up off the bed to get to your feet to face him. 

Owen blinks at you, his expression inscrutable. “You bring out the good in me.”

You don’t know what this means — about whether  he’ll stay or go, but you cast aside any reservations, choosing instead to focus on the matter at hand. 

“Do you love me?” you ask, unwavering. 

“Yes.”

You drop to a whisper, taking one of his hands into your own, brushing over every callous with your thumb. You’ve never known how to say anything to him about how you feel, but his candor sparks a light, but you know what you say next is the irrevocable truth. 

“Then I am yours, Mr. Sleater. I am yours until the world — my life — decides otherwise.”

[farfromstrange]

In all seriousness, if I were to write an Owen Sleater fic, would any of you read it? Because the idea I had a few days ago is starting to grow into something more, and I’m thinking about planning it out on paper so my brain will finally shut up.

[dyns33]

Intruder

So this Reddit post inspired me and I wrote my first Owen Sleater story 

When she found out that Owen was cheating on her with Margaret, Y/N initially thought of just leaving.

Take her things, pack her bags, get in her car and disappear.

Then she thought it wasn't fair. Why should she leave ? It wasn't her who was at fault. So she had started to take her husband's belongings, hesitating between tearing them up and throwing them in front of the house.

But then she had thought again. Owen was a proud man. Stubborn. He wouldn't let her kick him out like this, he would come back again and again, being nice, then threatening. It was wiser to leave.

Unfortunately, Y/N was also proud. And so she needed to talk to him before she left. To yell at him. To show him how mediocre he had been, that he was going to regret that she left.

Part of her hoped he would cry a bit. Dropping to his knees, beg her to stay.

But when he got home, after listening to her cries and screams, Owen laughed.

This laugh. Y/N could still hear it when she closed her eyes before sleeping.

           "I don't even understand what you're still doing here." he had said, smiling. "Are you stupid ? Didn't you understand ? Ah, I told Margaret, but I didn't think it was that bad."

           "... How can you say such a thing ? How can you do this to me ?! We've been married for five years ! We love each other !"

           "We loved each other, honey. Well, I think. At first, maybe. But she's so much better than you, you can't blame me."

           "She's married !"

           "She'll leave him soon. Or not, it's not important to me. When you're gone, she can come here as often as she wants. Do you want help putting your suitcases in the car ?"

Without even waiting for her to answer, totally ignoring her tears, Owen had lit a cigarette before taking her things and heading for the door.

He hadn't hesitated for a second. He didn't want her anymore. He didn't care.

The baseball bat was leaning against the wall, somewhat hidden behind a piece of furniture, in case someone tried to break in. Y/N had never used it. Owen had grabbed it, two or three times, when they'd heard strange noises during the night, but to no avail.

The bat was there to defend, not to attack. Not to hurt.

But Y/N was hurt. She felt attacked. And she had to defend herself.

As if she was possessed, she had just taken it, and without the slightest hesitation, she approached Owen before he had opened the door and she hit him on the head, again and again, not stopping when he fell on the floor, when he moaned in pain, when the blood spilled on the carpet, until his skull was totally shattered.

What happened next, she couldn't quite remember.

Realizing what she had just done, she first fell to her knees beside the corpse, sobbing, putting her hands on his back to shake him, hoping he would wake up.

Then she panicked, not sure if she should call the police. She didn't want to go to jail.

Finally, she thought of the garden. Her beautiful garden, of which she was proud of, where she had been very happy, with Owen, who brought her a cup of tea while she was reading lying in the grass.

Her garden with so many places to bury things, and no one to spy on it.

During the night, Y/N buried Owen near a tree, between two rosebushes. She burned the carpet, cleaned up the few traces of blood on the floor, got rid of the bat, took her husband's laptop and wallet, before getting into his car and leaving it in the middle of a wood.

A few days after, she called the police to report his disappearance.

Strangely, it wasn't hard to lie. To cry. Y/N was really sad. She had loved Owen. She wished things had turned out differently.

If he had been nice, if he had apologized, if he had told her it was a mistake, that he loved her, then maybe they could have repaired their relationship.

Nobody knew about Margaret, and nobody knew that she knew about Margaret. The police therefore did not suspect Y/N, who had no reason to kill her husband.

There were searches for several weeks. A march, organized by the relatives, so that everyone in the country would know about the disappearance of Owen, hoping someone would call if they had information.

Y/N was very surrounded during this period, and she didn't really know what to feel. Everyone kept telling her that everything was going to be fine. Her husband would no doubt be found very soon !

But she knew it was wrong. She knew Owen was dead and buried.

A little ashamed, she was still moved by all this support, which helped her to mourn silently, by accepting that her husband had cheated on her, that he no longer loved her, that she had killed him, and it was all over.

So it was a real surprise when someone knocked on the door a month later.

Opening the door, Y/N froze.

           "...Owen ?"

In front of her, the man began to smile. A radiant, happy smile. The same smile Owen had had when they got married.

But it was not possible. It couldn't be Owen. Because Owen was under the tree in the garden.

           "Sweetheart, it's wonderful to see you." the man said with Owen's voice, kissing hrt on the forehead. "I'm not late for dinner I hope."

He said nothing when she called the police to tell them that... that her husband had returned. Two officers came to question him, to find out where he had been all this time.

The man who looked like Owen didn't seem to understand. He had things to do away, but nothing serious. He didn't think that would be a problem. He hadn't imagined that people thought something had happened to him.

           "Oh, my love." he sighed as he turned to her, stroking her cheek looking genuinely sorry. "You were worried about me ? I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

The police asked him to not do that again, before leaving them alone.

Y/N thought that as soon as they were far away, Owen would throw himself on her to hurt her, that he would laugh, do something, but no.

Continuing to smile, he helped her to prepare the meal, he did the dishes after eating, he watched a little television, took a shower and fell asleep, taking her in his arms, murmuring that he loved her.

She didn't sleep that night. Not really the next nights either.

Of course he next day, their family, friends and the neighbours came to greet the ghost. They were curious, they had a lot of questions, but they were mostly happy that Owen was back, that he was well, that he was alive.

But Owen wasn't alive, Y/N thought. He was still in the garden. He had to be.

She had no idea who this man was who joked with her father, who played with the neighbourhood children, who patted his best friend on the shoulder.

She was the only one who knew. No one seemed to suspect anything.

Yet, even though he looked like a twin, the stranger wasn't exactly like Owen.

He didn't smoke. He didn't drink either, laughing gently the first time she offered him a beer, before kissing her tenderly and asking if she didn't prefer a cup of tea instead.

He took care of the household chores while humming. He never complained or got angry. Normally Owen got upset at least once a day, over ridiculous things.

When Margaret and her husband dropped by to say hello, he was polite, but distant. Almost not looking at the one he had cheated on her with, as she stared at him throughout the visit with pleading eyes, full of incomprehension.

           "God, I hate that woman and that fool." Y/N muttered when they were gone, before biting her lip, ready to have a fight with Owen. He didn't like her insulting Margaret.

           "You're right, they're really annoying. I hope they don't come back."

           "... I thought you liked her ? That she was better than me ?"

           "Better than you ?!" cried the man, taking her face in his hands. "Not at all, darling ! You are the most wonderful woman in the world, I am so lucky to have you. I love you, you know that, right ?"

As he kissed her, Y/N remembered for the umpteenth time that this man wasn't really her husband.

That was the biggest difference between him and Owen. He was very much in love. Romantic. Keen. Attentive. Adorable.

The perfect, flawless husband everyone would dream of.

Oh, Y/N could have been so happy, she would have given anything to make Owen like this. But it wasn't Owen. She had killed him.

It was therefore not possible for her to marvel at all these touching attentions, these flowers, these kisses, these compliments, because she always wondered who this man was.

A look-alike ? A ghost ? A demon ? It wasn't a hallucination, since everyone saw him and thought he was her husband.

If it was a ghost, he would have tried to get revenge by killing her a long time ago. A doppelgänger wouldn't have known so much about him, about them, even if he was making some tiny mistakes.

A demon was the most believable, come to torment her by giving her a life she couldn't enjoy.

Yet he tried to relax her, all the time, massaging her back with a big smile and sparkling eyes.

           "I sense you're stressed, babe. Would you like a hot bath ?"

           "... I was thinking of going gardening."

           "Great idea. I love watching you garden. You look so beautiful in the sun, kneeling in the dirt. We can take a shower together afterwards."

Y/N hadn't dared to search under the big tree. She knew what she would find there, she had no doubt. But she often stayed by Owen's grave to remember that he was there, and not in the house, cleaning his shoes and greeting her through the window whenever she looked up at him.

He always seemed to sense when she looked at him. Or he was watching her all the time, it was hard to say.

Once, in the middle of the night, Y/N had woken up feeling a breath on her face and Owen was there, his nose inches from hers, eyes wide open, blank and piercing.

           "...Owen ?" she whispered, shaking.

           "I'm so happy to be with you. It feels so unreal to me."

           "... I'm sorry, Owen. I didn't mean to. You hurt me, but I didn't mean to."

           "Why are you crying, sweetie ? It's okay. You have no reason to apologize. I'm the one who has to be sorry if I hurt you."

           "Who are you ?"

           "You are tired, honey." he purred, kissing her forehead and running his hand over her cheek to wipe away her tears. "Sleep. I'm here. I'm here."

That was the problem, he was there. He couldn't be there.

And he was perfect. So perfect that when Y/N thought of leaving, as she should have done instead of trying to talk to her husband, she couldn't.

Not because she was afraid that this man, this thing, would come after her, but because when she forgot her fear, she wasn't so unhappy.

She had truly loved Owen, despite all his flaws and what he had done to her. She still loved him.

So even if one day he killed her, as punishment for her crime, Y/N decided to stay. The morning she made that decision, as if he knew, Owen seemed even happier than usual, constantly hugging him and laughing like a child.

She couldn't tell if that was a good thing.

[why-do-i-breath]

Why-do-i-breathe's master list

Requests = open

Matt Murdock

* to be added

*Happy birthday 🎂

OWEN SLEATER

* the party

* to be added

Tristan Thorn

* The Everlasting Petal

*stargazers

*to be added

*

Morpheus

*A Parents worry

* to be added

The Corinthian

*to be added

The kind monster

Michael kinsella

*to be added

* cuddle time#

Peter parker

*to be added

A spiders hug

Foggy Nelson<3

*to be added

Frank castle

*to be added

Love where the devil doesn't want it

Henry ( eat locals)

* to be added

( I can't add more GIFs)

More characters are

HP

tom riddle

To be added

Toms obsession

Fred Weasley

To be added

James Potter (young)

To be added

Sirius black (young)

To be added

Remus lupin (young)

Remus being Remus

To be added

The outsiders

Sodapop

How to heal the hurting

Darry

Dallas

two bit

Steve

Pony boy

Jonny

And you can request any other characters and I'll learn what I can about them.

[commander-vas-normandy]

All of my works are 18+. Minors do NOT interact.

❊ = Fluff

⁑ = Angst

⁂ = Smut

The Devil's Backbone (series) (Indefinite Hiatus)

Milking It ❊

It's Been a Long, Long Time ❊

You Promised Me ⁑

Someone At Home ⁑

Somnophilia ⁂

Shame ⁑

You're Home to Me ❊

You Can Hold My Hand ❊

What Are You Waiting For? ⁂

Home ❊

Smile ❊

Remind You? ⁂

So Long As I Breathe ⁑❊