#she’s unbearable at times tho

[jentlemahae]

cristina and dr burke may be the hottest couple ever seen on television

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[carma-tjol]

potential adhd diagnosis arc? hello??

[mirick-vn]

Our teachers' been assigning us a lot of activities lately... mostly roleplaying, and I love writing the scripts in the group.

What I don't love is the fact I only get to sleep for less than 4 hours a night because I have to stay up writing it since the teacher only gave us 2-3 days before we have to present. It's been a rough week with all our activities and projects from other subjects catching up and overlapping with each other, I just wanna sleep.

It hasn't even been a quarter into the school year yet :(

[abbyslovergirlxo]

could you write more for ambessa? thank you very much

Yes, General

Ambessa Merdarda x FemReader

Word count: 1.3k

Synopsis: You find yourself in General Merdarda’s bedroom, partaking in what she calls ‘training’.

Warnings: soft/hard!dom Ambessa, sub!reader, enforcer!reader, overstimulation, breath play, choking, wlw, Ambessa is just a lil mean, strap usage

A/n: you’re so real for this and yw!! I wrote this on my work break lol. I GO NUTS FOR THIS LADY LIKEEEE. I hope you guys like this tho lol! not proofread and a little rushed to be honest. But here we are. Also Sevika x Brothel!reader coming soon 🙈

“ Move your hand.”

The command was surprisingly gentle but it was in direct contrast to the speed of her hips. Years of combat and taking over literal countries must’ve attributed to such stamina, you’d always thought. But you didn’t hold much thoughts now, not when Ambessa was promoting you to avert the hand that currently pushed against her hip.

“ bessa…” You were breathless. “ p-please…”

“ It’s General, soldier. Hurry now, move it. Your training isn’t finished.”

This isn’t exactly what you’d call training. But she clearly thought otherwise. If anything you should’ve known the moment Rictus appeared in your stationed room, telling your commander something along the lines of ‘ General needs her’. Of course you were sent away without a hiccup, without so much as a ‘ what on earth for’. Nobody questioned the general.

You secretly regretted your release having been so smooth. Now you could barely feel your legs, for the first two hours they ached unbearably with all those the positions she forced you in. You moaned out a complaint to her about it at one point. Strong soldiers push through the pain, was all you received in return.

Ambessa grew impatient, deciding to move the shaky hand herself. She laced her fingers through it, holding it down against the bed as you wept. She was able to pick up her speed more freely now, quite viciously too. The stark black strap disappeared into you over and over.

You were countless orgasms in and she showed no signs of slowing down. Even now in your stomach you felt another threatening to surface. With tears in your eyes you took in the sight before you, Ambessa huffing and groaning, each of your thighs pooled around her. She was naked, her muscles flexing with each thrust, especially her stomach.

It glistened slightly, wet with you, under the ambient lighting of her bedroom. Her hair was pulled into a bun, a few strands loose and frizzy. You were fixing your lips to ask your General for a release when suddenly she pressed the entire weight of her chest on you, your stomach colliding with hers.

Ambessa slowed her thrust a bit in this position, deeper with its trajectory. Your pussy clenched around her harder, your legs wrapping around her instinctively. You grunted at her weight but appreciated it nonetheless, her warmth overheating your already scorched skin.

She kissed along your shoulders, drinking in your “hah…hah…hah’s” flowing from your mouth. She got close to your ear, nipping at it and rejoicing in the reaction she pulled from your body. It reminded her of the way you’d hitch every time she’d slap your ass.

“ How are you feeling?” She whispered.

You pouted knowing it really meant to report your current standing. She smiled at you still trying to rip your hand from her grip, though now with the strong woman practically swallowing you that was impossible. Even more than before.

“ feeling…tired, g-general.”

“ And?” She prompted.

Good, you thought. So fucking good.

Silence met her, well if you consider whimpers and moans silent. Regardless you didn’t answer, mind too caught up. Instead you closed your eyes, rocking your hips mindlessly against her.

This caused her to slow down even more, instead doing thrust that were deep and harsh, the harness burning against your skin.You yelped, your free hand gripping her bicep. She pulled back slightly, just enough to see your face, gripping your face. You opened your eyes now, weeping.

God, she loved this face. She loved everything about it, the way your skin flushed, your eyes fluttered closed, lips unable to close from all the noises you needed to let out. And don’t get Ambessa started on the salty tears you always offered her. To her, this face was a testament to how good she fucked you. And you looked like this every single time she was inside of you.

“ Hey…” she cooed. “ Stay with me.”

You nodded as best as you could, hoping to appease her.

She smiled down at you, her speed picking up now in what you assumed was a reward. Regardless of the reason, you considered it a reward with the way it sent another rush of pleasure through your stomach.

Deciding that you still weren’t as alert as she needed you, she let go of your chin. Your head immediately sank into the bed, eyes threatening to turn white. Short lived though, before she finally released your hand. She immediately found use for it. She couldn’t help but smile wilder seeing you already got your clit wet for her.

Ambessa thought you were going to combust with the sounds she pulled from you, she wouldn’t have put it off so long if she knew you’d give her such a show. Your legs shook but found no other place to be but around her, toes a second away from curling.

“ t-t…too much—“

You attempted to give yourself relief, using your own hand to rip hers away. That didn’t work of course, her fingers were big and calloused, much stronger than yours. All you earned was a glare, an especially threatening one. Cowardly, you moved it, letting your fingers tangle into the sheets.

Her face softened at this, pace speeding up again to that impossible speed. Sweat melted between the two of you as her breast and stomach pressed into yours.

You thought for a moment you heard a husky whispered ‘so messy’. But you couldn’t be sure, the plap plap plap’s were louder than whatever else echoed in the room.

Something was burning, aching, and it was growing harder to ignore.

“ general! ‘m…gonna cum!”

“ Thats good, Darling.”

Your orgasm didn’t even get to hit you before her large brown hand was wrapped around your throat. Dizziness found you when she applied pressure, each finger squeezing into your neck. Instinctively you jerked slightly, using your hands to paw at it. It did absolutely nothing as you cried, throat tight and oxygen lowering.

“ Go ahead, finish.”

Pouting, desperate nails scratching her knuckles, you finally let go. It felt like a freight train had hit your nerves, every part of you felt like it was on fire. You hadn’t even felt it when you squirted, the only evidence being the stream of wetness down your ass and on Ambessa.

But she didn’t let up, instead she lifted her head so she could look at you again, eyes locked. She kept her thrust up, pressing harder on your throat, you kicked slightly, your ankle hitting her back slightly.

She only smiled.

“ You’ve got it, Darling. You can take it.”

Strength gone, your hands dropped, slump and mind gone. You felt like you were on the brink on unconsciousness, the line between being here and there blurred. But it never blurred the feeling over your orgasm being dragged out, cunt sensitive and weeping.

She nodded proudly at you, relishing in the way your body fought for both pleasure and air.

“ Yes, juuust like that, that’s a good girl.”

Your next orgasm wasn’t as intense but it left your legs shaking, mind empty and a satisfied Ambessa. Once her hand was off your throat you coughed violently. She snuck a hand behind your back, rubbing it. Once you calmed she pulled out of you, effortlessly tossing the harness off.

Wordlessly she picked up your still limp body. You simply crumpled into her, tired beyond belief. She walked around her grand bed frame, laying you down on the left side. She was sure to out your head on the pillows gently. Gently she crouched down next to you, leveled.

You whispered a thank you to her and she returned that with small methodical peppered kisses on your sweaty skin.

“ You did such a good job for me.”

You smiled weakly at her, wondering silently if you could be credited for anything. After all she had been the one doing most of it, just breaking you into two. But you decided that accepting the praise was better than pondering.

“ you did too Ambessa.”

She opted to not correct you. She always thought Ambessa sounded better on your lips rather than general.

“ Such a sweet girl you are.”

[iceunhie]

voicelines about you: as their lover ! (part 2)

featuring: sunday, aventurine, blade (+ black swan, acheron) [ part 1: dan heng, jing yuan, gepard, kafka, jingliu. ]

notes: well. the long awaited part 2 is here! (i took absolutely wayyy too long to finish this but a lovely anon requested the penacony cast so i just waited until now haha) stay tuned for either a future aventurine fic or a sunday fic tho; reblogs are appreciated! main masterlist.

Sunday

About [Name]: Ah, you speak of my beloved. [Name] has managed to strike your interest as well? Heh, I'm joking. You aren't that type of person, no? ….But yes, my lover truly is quite stellar, if not incomparable. I doubt I'd find anyone in the universe as lovely as I do them.

About [Name]: Smitten Robin often jokes about how my eyes change whenever I see them. ‘Softens like the smitten man you are,’ she says. Well, my sister is hardly wrong about matters of the heart, and to be fair, her words are indeed correct. While I cannot be with them every second of the day, despite my only wish to do so…. I suppose this much is fine. At the very least, this bewitched version of myself shall ward any that dare take [Name] away from me.

About [Name]: Preparation. …My mansion has everything [Name] shall ever desire. As for I, what I only desire is them alone, and for them to be right by my side. When the time is right, what's mine shall also be theirs, and none shall ever separate the two of us again. Should anyone attempt it, well, there's a reason my mansion is built the way it is.

Aventurine

About [Name]: [Name], [Name], [Name].... I see that you too have an eye for priceless treasures. Unfortunately for you, this particular one is already mine to behold. Mm, I wonder how my lover must be faring right now…. Missing them is truly, horribly debilitating.

About [Name]: Unworthy Whenever I think of [Name] being with me, of all people… Sometimes, the thought is unbearable. To think they would care for someone like me…. How truly lucky I am. Or maybe it's the other way around? Hehe, take a guess.

About Topaz: Contradictory Topaz and [Name] get along fairly well, despite her rather obvious dislike for me. Nonetheless, I suppose I can understand why. My lover is irresistibly charming~ Now, does this make me jealous, I wonder…. How about we bet on that?

Blade

About [Name]: Though this sword may be battered and broken, if you harbor any intention of harm towards them, I will not hesitate to brandish this blade.

About [Name]: Mara Infliction When afflicted with mara, the senses are ravaged ceaselessly, muddying the mind—being unable to distinguish ally from foe. This is my path. And yet their face is clear, pure amidst the carnage, alleviating the haze for but a moment. My mind may be overridden with hatred, but I will never forget that feeling of salvation.

(BONUS: Kafka’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Truly A Shame Bladie’s little darling, hm? Definitely a wonder, that one, taming him so easily. Those two are definitely an interesting case, that's for sure. Scary, marastruck Blade and them…. truly a shame. Even I know just how the ending of that particular script will end.

Acheron

About [Name]: …They are my lover, yes. Hm? Tell you more about them? Heh, I think you'd have better luck asking [Name] instead of me. I probably wouldn't even know where to begin.

About [Name]: Keeping Memories Despite the fact of my memories being in less than the best condition, [Name] always tells me about all the exciting things they've come across, whether it be delicious food from various planets, or even the most mundane things like the sound of the rushing water, the sight of fireflies in the night. They truly make everything worth remembering.

(BONUS: Black Swan’s Voiceline about [Name] !) About [Name]: Eye Of The Storm Ah, you speak of that Galaxy Ranger's companion…. The abyss that is her consciousness seems to only become calm in the face of them, akin to the eye of the storm. A shining light in the middle of nothingness—that is something that even she cannot let go of. No wonder Miss Acheron is quite taken with them.

Black Swan

About [Name]: The memories of Memokeepers are sorted into various categories by their importance. As my lover, my memories of them hold the greatest value of all. Such memories…. even if the Remembrance wishes for me to hand them over, I doubt I will ever allow it.

About [Name]: Dancing My proficiency in the act of dancing is all thanks to my continued practice with [Name] on our shared time together. Fufu, ‘dates,’ if you will. Every moment I spend in their arms, swaying to the beat of the music at every turn… those are the memories I wish to forever retain.

About Acheron: Indebted One time, Miss Acheron managed to get lost in the middle of the Reverie Hotel’s halls... as usual. [Name] came across her then, and proceeded to have a lovely chat with her. I owe her a debt for keeping my lover company as I was preoccupied with some matters the Garden of Recollection entrusted to me to relay to the family. Next time, perhaps I should invite her over for some dinner with [Name]....

end notes thanks for sticking around the part 2 (for the ogs who read pt 1) and do look forward to more HSR content in the future! also did i say i love aventurine

© 𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐈𝐄 : do not repost, copy, or plagiarize my work.

[hcneymooners]

dad’s best friend ambessa perhaps ..? :3 i love ur age gap fics ur so talented

⋆ come, and be my baby.

dad's best friend!ambessa x f!reader. men & minors dni. synopsis: you've always been a troubled, searching girl. ambessa, your father's long-time best friend, is your self-ordained solution. cw: age difference, older woman/younger woman, reader is implied to be between 22-24, emotional hurt/comfort, dom/sub, dom!ambessa, sub!reader, you're a little bit of a conniving bitch still love you tho, unhealthy relationship dynamics, codependency, slight emotional manipulation, listen you had to lock in, non-sexual intimacy, pleasure dom!ambessa, rough body play, manhandling, pet names, lesbian sex, dildos, vaginal sex, implied penetrative sex, implied strapping, oral fixation (ambessa), praise kink, mommy kink (specifically mama), implied exhibitionism, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, begging, spanking, impact play, face sitting, desk sex, you guys are definitely freaks but you love love love each other.

notes: hi, honey baby. this might be the most erotic questionable thing i've ever written. i hope you're happy with it. i went a little overboard and a bit non-conventional with the trope. i adore you & thank you for requesting, mami.

two things in this world reigned absolute: that you were glad your life would only be lived once, for you couldn't do this again, and that you were ambessa medarda's favorite girl.

the medardas were a family heavy with conflict, and perhaps that's why the matriarch and your father were best friends. they both were volatile people, sometimes prone to cruelty, with soft spots for certain people that were darkened with rot at the edges—perfumed with the sweet notes of their rage.

you were both of their favorites, and therefore, when your parents got divorced, you'd acted through the narrow scope of a confused and aching little girl and chose your father. once you'd shed that naive nature, you traced your way back to your mother in secrecy. you indulged in hushed phone calls in the middle of the night, timing your exits from your room with the fading beat of your father's boots as you left.

every month, she promised to get you.

the glass would fog with your breath as you waited in that tall, flaking phone booth, each passing car's headlights casting long shadows across your face. you memorized every crack in the booth's floor, every water stain on its ceiling, until they became as familiar as your own disappointment.

you wore the same outfit: thick, wool tights in burgundy tucked under the gleaming straps of your mary janes and layered underneath the dark denim of your favorite jeans. you cradled yourself into a black turtleneck, your hair tamed into two plaits that rested against your neck underneath the fabric. your eyes would be wide and searching, one hand gripping the curved handle of your brown leather suitcase and the other shaking around your well-loved copy of prozac nation.

she never came, but you showed up every time.

one night, a maserati did skate up to that ancient meeting spot, and you straightened from where you'd been dozing standing up. an overly tinted window rolled down, and you were met with the strong gaze of ambessa medarda, whom you hadn't seen since your early days. you didn't remember much, just yellow-tinged memories of being spoiled by her and being picked up and tossed into the bright sky above the farm she owned.

she must've moved back.

at first, she said nothing, just cataloged your most recent iteration of your "going with my mother" outfit and worked her jaw. finally, she leaned over and popped open the door before leaning back and letting you make the choice. embarrassed and teetering on the edge of emotional collapse, you slid in and shut down as she pulled away. this was how you met her again. seventeen and sobbing, emotionally wrought and disappointed from all angles. you probably came off unbearably young, dreamy, and unprepared for the challenges of real life.

it was only later that ambessa revealed that her first thought was that you needed a mother, that you needed her. that you were a girl abandoned and fighting your best against the more experienced hands of life.

⋅˚₊‧ 🕯୨୧ 🦪 ‧₊˚ ⋅

from then on you were her newest daughter, until you weren't. you noticed how 'miss' became 'dear' became 'darling,' each new endearment a step closer across the chasm between you. the way she said your name changed too, softening at the edges like butter left in sunlight.

by nineteen, you were practically sequestered to her house by your personal desires, curling at her hip as you grew into yourself. even now at an older age—still far younger than her—you came home from university only to lay all of your belongings in the warm wood of your makeshift bedroom (the guestroom, really). she taught you to appreciate aged whiskey, watching with amusement as you struggled not to grimace at the burn.

"small sips, little one," she'd say, her hand warm against your lower back.

you learned to love the taste, if only because it meant sharing these quiet moments in her study, the leather of her armchair creaking as she leaned forward to pour you another finger's worth.

you and mel even developed a soft friendship that lessened the tension between her and her mother, tall arguments tempered by the agreement that they would not aggravate your ptsd from the divorce days. sometimes you caught mel watching you both with worried eyes, but you'd grown tired of other people's concerns.

you'd rather have this - ambessa's fingers absently playing with your hair as she read reports, the way she automatically ordered your coffee exactly how you liked it, the subtle possessiveness in how she introduced you to her colleagues.

regardless, you knew that you and ambessa's relationship spun on an axis that could be labeled uncomfortably intimate, maybe even imbalanced. for all that everyone said, you couldn't find it in yourself to be concerned. you regarded her as all that you had, something that wouldn't leave.

she indulged you, kissing your forehead when she came in from a day at work or texting you about what replacements you had wanted for certain items on the grocery list. she rarely called you by your name, always coaxing you forward with firm, warm pet names. they were swollen with affection, a doting '(my) sweet girl', 'baby girl', or 'little one.'

your favorite one was invoked from a spontaneous trip to paris to meet an art collector she'd purchased from, only to return bearing handcrafted soaps and a penchant for calling you 'chouchou.' that stopped about two weeks later, but you wrote it down under your list of desired tattoos. what didn't stop was the way she'd buy authentic silken scarves to tie around your neck with careful precision, her fingers brushing against your pulse point in a way that sent you shivering.

the shift was gradual, like watching shadows lengthen at sunset. one evening, as thunder rolled outside and rain lashed against the windows of her study, she pulled you closer than usual. ambessa’s fingers traced patterns on your skin as she read, and when you tilted your head back to look at her, she met your gaze with an intensity that made your breath catch. the thunder cracked again and the peeking champagne of your bra strap slipped down your arm. still, neither of you moved.

the moment was eventually broken by mel’s surprise of coming home for the weekend. you pulled yourself upright, intending to put together a small plate for her. before you could leave, ambessa strolled up behind you and adjusted the strap, so that it was firm and held tight to the delicate bones of your shoulder.

for a moment, you thought you’d felt her lips right beside it.

⋅˚₊‧ 🕯୨୧ 🦪 ‧₊˚ ⋅

"you're not a little girl anymore," she murmured one night, weeks later, her voice carrying the weight of aged whiskey and unspoken promises.

you were curled in your usual spot beside her, but everything felt different - charged with an electricity that made your skin prickle. you couldn't remember when the maternal comfort of her touch had transformed into something more, but you knew there was no going back.

"i haven't been for a while," you replied, your voice steady despite the way your heart hammered against your ribs. her hand found your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze, and you saw in her eyes the same hunger that had been growing in your own.

your fingers traced the rim of your whiskey glass, ice long since melted. the study had grown dark save for the amber glow of her desk lamp, catching the silver in her hair like moonlight on water.

you'd noticed her watching you more lately, her gaze heavy with something between concern and desire.

"you remind me of her sometimes," she said quietly, breaking the silence. "mel, when she was younger."

the comparison should have stung, but you knew better. you'd learned to read between her lines, to understand the weight she carried. you were not mel's replacement - you were something altogether different, more dangerous.

you set your glass down carefully, the crystal making a soft sound against the carpet.

"i'm not her," you said, voice steady as you rose from your chair. "i won't leave."

the words hung in the air between you, heavy with promise and threat. her laugh was low, throaty.

"no, baby girl. you're nothing like her at all, are you?"

she spoke the endearment deliberately this time, watching how it made you shiver. you'd both been playing this game for months - you with your calculated vulnerability, her with her careful restraint.

you moved to stand behind her chair, hands resting on her shoulders. through the silk of her blouse, you felt her tension, the way she stilled like a prey animal. but ambessa medarda was nobody's prey, and you both knew it.

"i need you," you murmured, the words leaden. you were trying not to sound as crazed as you felt . "and you need someone who needs you."

her hand came up to cover yours, her gold rings dense and cool against your skin.

"you're very clever," she said, something like pride coloring her voice. "i should send you away."

"but you won't." you pressed your lips to her temple, breathing in the scent of her perfume - something expensive and french. mango wood and black rose if you remembered correctly, discovered during your illicit investigations of her bedroom. "because you understand me better than anyone. because we're the same."

she turned then, catching your wrist in a grip that walked the line between gentle and controlling.

"the same?" her thumb pressed against your pulse point, counting out the rhythm of your wanting. "you're barely older than my daughter."

"age is just a number," you said, and then laughed at how young it made you sound. "no—that's not what i mean. what i mean is that we both know what we want. we both know how to take it."

the silence stretched between you like spun sugar, delicate and sweet. outside, leaves skittered across the gravel drive, and somewhere in the house, a clock chimed eleven. you watched emotions play across her face - desire, concern, resignation, hunger.

"if we do this," she said finally, her voice rough like aged bourbon, "there's no going back. no playing innocent. no running away when it gets hard."

you smiled, all teeth and triumph poorly disguised as submission.

"i told you," you said, sinking to your knees beside her chair, resting your head against her thigh like you had a hundred times before - but different now, charged with intent. "i'm not going anywhere."

her hand found your hair, nails scraping gently against your scalp.

"my clever, terrible girl," she murmured, and you could hear in her voice that she'd surrendered to this animal between you. "what am i going to do with you?"

you turned your face into her touch, lips brushing against her wrist where her heart copied yours, beat for beat.

"keep me," you said simply. "just keep me."

the study grew quieter still, the only sound was your shared breathing and the distant whisper of wind through bare branches. you'd won, you knew, but then you'd been winning since that first night in the maserati, since you'd looked at her with calculated tears and let her save you. you loved her - truly, deeply, with all the fierce possession of your young heart - but you'd learned from your mother's absence that love wasn't enough. you had to learn how to hold on to what you wanted.

and oh, how you wanted this - wanted her, with her silver-streaked hair and elegant hands and eyes that saw right through you and wanted you anyway.

her fingers tightened in your hair, and you looked up to find her watching you with an expression that made your breath catch. the lamp clicked off, and in the sudden darkness, you felt rather than saw her move. her hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

"stand up," she commanded softly, and you did, letting her guide you until you were perched on the edge of her desk. the wood was cool against your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat of her body as she stepped between your knees. "are you sure about this?"

your answer was to reach for her, fingers curling into the cotton of her blouse.

"i've never been more sure of anything."

the clock struck quarter past, and the last autumn leaves rattled against the window as she leaned down to kiss you, tasting of whiskey and an affection hard won.

you kissed back lazily, squeezing your thighs together as one of her hands came to direct you by the base of your neck. she slotted the two of you together, lips sliding and grasping at each other between soft inserts of tongue. your teeth seemed to buzz with unnamable energy as she leaned forwards, hands bracing around you, so close to cupping your ass.

you needed her touch, needed to know whether your fantasies had been well-conjured or only pathetic in their imaginings. you’d spent nights tucking your fingers into yourself, trembling quietly as you pictured the shape of her mouth and how it would fit over you.

as if reading your mind, ambessa firmly spread your legs apart with a forceful hand and came closer to you. you let out a weak moan as her teeth scraped your neck, a hand coming to press down on your stomach as if to see how much space she had to fill.

you were so immensely grateful for the flimsy structure of your sleep shorts, the fabric tugged easily down your legs by only one of her fingers. she used that same finger to feel out the shape of your clothed cunt, her throat trembling with a low sound of satisfaction.

you were wet and desperate, wrapping an arm around her broad shoulders so that you could grind against what was now two fingers.

ambessa moved your panties aside with no great effort, sliding a finger into your tight heat. gradually, she built a rhythm inside of you until you were bucking where she held you. after a minute, she slid it out and into her mouth.

“mmm,” she said consideringly. “my babygirl is so sweet for me.”

you’d swallow a boat of fucking blackberries if you had to, choke them down despite your allergies and sealing throat if that meant she’d taste you again.

“ambessa.

she laughed and you saw her eyes glittering in the dark, the light brown so bright with want they seemed gold. it was then you realized you’d never said her first name alone before, and she must’ve realized as well because her hand suddenly clenched around your throat.

“do you remember when you turned twenty and got drunk with those miscreants from the town over?” your mouth twitched at her avid disgust. she could be quite classist. you’d work on that. “you don’t because you practically drank your body weight, but i do. do you want to know why?”

you gasped out a ‘yes’ as she used her free hand to grope the peach of your ass before switching to thumbing at your pebbled nipples.

“i remember that birthday because you stumbled into my room and climbed into bed with me.” you felt dread rising. “you bumped against my back, like a little bunny, and worked yourself into quite the state. and the whole time you kept apologizing. you were saying ‘sorry, mama’, all slurred and saccharine, over and over till you finished.”

you were so hot with shame you could’ve set the house burning. she smiled, slow and teasing, as she pinched your nipple hard. you let out a high moan.

“i liked that.”

you were squirming now, two of her massive fingers back to stretch your pussy.

“i liked it very much. i had to make sure not to wake you as i fucked myself.”

your eyes widened, like two coins, as the words registered. ambessa laughed again and lowered to her knees, yanking you forward so your ass hung off the edge of the desk. she was still tall enough to tower over you, shadowing the sopping mess of your cunt.

with an annoyed roll of her eyes, she pulled her fingers away and reached behind you, returning with a pair of scissors. with two efficient cuts, your panties were hanging in tatters around your hips. your pussy was exposed in all of its pink glory and it pulled apart with a soft squelch as she pushed your thighs up and out, guiding your hands to hold them for her.

she tugged a hair tie from around her wrist, drawing her gray mass of curls into a loose bun. several strands fell around her face, but she only pushed them impatiently behind her ears. you slapped your hand around blindly, eventually flicking on the bright desk lamp.

“i want you to see me,” you breathed, and she cupped your cheek.

“i’ve always seen you.”

and with that, she went down. she started with a long, luxurious lick up your cunt, her lips suckling around your clit as she reached the top. you moaned loudly and dropped your hands from your thighs, raising them to tug and pinch at your tits. she kept your legs open by sliding the bulk of her back between them, sliding back down to lap at your hole.

for someone as rigid as ambessa could be, she was messy when eating you. she didn’t care to savor, not right now. she’d wanted you for what felt like forever, and you wanted to black out beneath her.

she further spread you open, thrusting her tongue into your heat and feeling you clench. back and forth she went, slobbering over the pink of you until you were tearing up. she suctioned her mouth over one of your lips, large and gleaming, pulling away so that it slid from her mouth with a wet extended ‘pop!’. you clutched at her head, rocking yourself into her unforgiving hold. she blew gently over your hole, watched as it fluttered.

“mama, please.”

tenderly, she grazed her teeth over your clit, soothing the sting with her tongue as she sank three fingers inside of you. ambessa fucked you hard and fast, your tits bouncing as you whimpered with a hand over your mouth. a hand came down like thunder on your ass, the crack hard and hot. you wailed and clutched at her, begging her to go faster, to mark you, to swallow you whole.

“there you are, baby girl. tell me what you need.”

“mama, wait—” you shuddered around her crooked fingers, the world turning white as your head grew hazy. “wait. mama.”

“hmm?”

you scrambled at her, pushing her until there was enough space to slide from where you’d settled at her wrist. wobbling, you turned on your hands and knees, pushing your ass up into her face and falling into a brutal arch.

“like this please.”

“anything for my girl,” ambessa said and you shook because you couldn’t see her face but you could feel her voice.

her fingers dove back into you, her mouth joining the effort. you were floating, only briefly aware of the consistent slaps to your ass through the pain ricocheting pleasantly through you. you pushed back, fucking yourself the way you wanted. she let you, steadying you when you began to lose rhythm.

“bessa, i can’t—i can’t see you,” you slurred and she hummed into your weeping pussy.

your stomach grew tighter and tighter, the world narrowing down to the way she slurped and worked into your cunt. you gripped the opposite edge of the desk, extending yourself as your orgasm began to boil over. quickly, ambessa swung herself under you and brought you down on her face. her arms flexed around your stomach, the corded muscle circling you as she moaned into your cunt.

the vibrations set you off. you felt like you were flying, like you were fucking free.

“oh shit, mama. fuuuuckkkk.”

your voice was unrecognizable to yourself, cracking and raspy. time stretched and winded. you knew your legs were shaking, that you’d squirted over her and yourself.

you didn’t know how, but ambessa was undressed now and rearranging you like a doll. you were back up on your knees, but she was draped over you with her heavy tits branding your skin with their warmth and weight. her hair was down and around you; it smelled like her shampoo, a curtain of coconut and cinnamon.

she bumped her hips against you, caught the silicone tip of a dildo again and again against your loose hole. you turned your head and opened your mouth like a baby bird so she could spit into it, stuff her fingers in.

she began to break into you, bullying your cunt into accepting her cock. you did what you always did. you pushed back and let her in.

you only ever gave her what she needed.

⋅˚₊‧ 🕯୨୧ 🦪 ‧₊˚ ⋅

morning light filtered through dense curtains, casting the bedroom in baby pink. you watched your rings catch the light as you stretched - the marquise diamond throwing prisms across egyptian cotton sheets, your simple gold band warm from sleep.

you'd chosen them together - ambessa insisting on the marquise cut for the engagement ring (something as unique as you, sweet girl) while you'd wanted the classic simplicity of the wedding band, a quiet echo of forever.

the bedroom remained your favorite place - all cream linens and dark wood, familiar as breathing. in the mornings, you could pretend time stood still, pressing chapped kisses against her strong bare arms in the quiet before the day began. sometimes you climbed on top of her, sunk as far as you could into the broad helm of her body.

despite the passing years, she remained your most fortified sanctuary.

"baby girl?" ambessa's voice carried from the en-suite, still commanding even wrapped in morning softness.

you could hear the water running; a bath being drawn.

“coming, mama.”

© hcneymooners. ⚚ special taglist: @sugrcookiiee @icespiceluva @16novvs @tnash-tammy @dyk3miffy @iwasholic @absandsevikasgirl @blackdykegirlblogger @fortluocha @neganwifey25-blog @rottngrl3 just pop me a message or comment if you want to be added to the taglist.

[bellaveux]

Helloo!! can i ask you a fic where reader is obssesed with cooking/baking and is really good at it and nat loves to eat whatever reader gives to her, super fluff! I just love the way someone can mix some things together and make it taste good tho i'm not able to :P

taste of home | n. romanoff x fem!reader

genre: fluff

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: natasha loves your cooking, especially when it’s made just for her. after being away on a mission, she finds herself missing not just your food, but you in general—and everything that comes with being home.

content warnings: fluff, kissing, soft!natasha, reader is good at cooking but nat will probably start a fire lol

word count: 2.4k

Natasha was never really one for cooking. She was great at a lot of things—following orders, handling high-pressure situations, even outsmarting some of the most dangerous people in the world—but somehow, cooking always felt like it required a kind of patience she didn’t have. Following instructions? Sure. That part was easy. But there was something about the process, the time it took, the attention to detail that seemed to escape her. It wasn’t that she didn’t try, but everything she made always came out either too bland or a little burnt. Even the simplest meals seemed to mock her, reminding her that not everything could be solved with precision and efficiency. She found herself more often than not reaching for a jar of peanut butter, slathering it on some bread, and then calling it dinner. It was easier that way—quick, no mess, no stress.

But then there was you. You made cooking look like second nature, your hands moving with a kind of ease Natasha envied. Your meals were homemade, warm, and full of flavor, and every bite left Natasha wondering how something so simple could taste so perfect. It was one of the many things she loved about coming home—knowing that you would have something on the stove or in the oven, filling the apartment with a warmth that Natasha had never really known before.

She had long grown accustomed to the food she encountered on missions or during her travels—unremarkable meals in sterile hotels or bland, quickly prepared rations. The food rarely satisfied her; it was functional at best, a means to an end rather than something to be enjoyed. She could eat it, of course, but it never brought her the kind of comfort she craved. It was always your cooking that had spoiled her palate for anything else.

When Natasha found herself hungry and miles away from home, away from the large apartment you shared with her, she would think of you, and it was like a switch would flip. The image of you standing by the stove, a warm promise of something delicious, would fill her with an eager joy that made the waiting almost unbearable. In those moments, she would dream of coming home, of the way you would smile at her, greeting her with a gentle kiss, as you stirred a pot or slid a dish into the oven, the kitchen filling with the rich, inviting aromas of a meal made with love. It was a small, comforting certainty that awaited her after each mission.

Natasha found something inexplicably thrilling about watching you cook. It wasn’t just the delicious meal you made for her that excited her—it was the sight of you looking so beautiful, the way you moved effortlessly around the kitchen, lost in your own world. It was endearing. She’d often stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a small smile, just observing, feeling a flutter of warmth in her chest. Your delicate brow furrowed as you tasted and adjusted seasonings, your hands deftly working with ingredients. She always finds it hard to resist the urge to come up behind you, wrap her arms around your waist, litter kisses against your shoulders, listening to your laugh.

Steve glanced over at Natasha, noticing the faint, almost imperceptible smile playing at her lips. They were both sitting in the Quinjet, the low hum of the engines filling the quiet space as they cruised back home after a grueling two-week mission overseas. He hadn’t seen Natasha this relaxed in a while, and he certainly didn’t expect to catch her lost in thought, eyes soft, her usual sharp focus dulled into something more distant.

“What’s got you smiling?” Steve asked, his voice breaking the silence.

Natasha blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, her smile fading just slightly as she looked over at him. She shrugged, trying to play it off, but Steve knew her better than that.

“Nothing,” she said, but there was a lightness in her voice that didn’t match her usual tone after missions.

Steve raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. “Right. I’ve never seen you smile after two weeks of dealing with mercenaries and sleeping in freezing bunkers.”

Natasha couldn’t help but smile a little wider at that, shaking her head. She glanced down at her hands, fingers brushing the edge of the seat. Her mind was drifting to you, as always. Just the thought of walking into their apartment and seeing you there, warm and welcoming, was enough to make her feel like she could breathe again. She thought about you standing in the kitchen, an apron tied loosely around your waist, cooking something that would inevitably taste better than anything Natasha had eaten on the mission.

“I’m just... thinking about home,” Natasha finally said, her voice softer now, a warmth spreading in her chest at the thought of you waiting for her.

He grinned knowingly at Natasha’s response, his tone teasing as he leaned forward a little. “Yeah? Got someone waiting for you?”

A faint heat rose to her cheeks, though she masked it quickly, rolling her eyes at his question. “Something like that,” she muttered, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward again.

Steve laughed softly. “You don’t have to hide it, you know. I think it’s nice. You deserve something—someone—good to come home to.” His voice was genuine, and when she looked up at him, she could see the sincerity in his eyes. It meant a lot coming from Steve.

“Yeah,” Natasha murmured, her mind drifting back to the image of you back in the apartment. There was something grounding about knowing she had someone to come home to, someone who made the hard world that surrounded her a little softer. Her smile deepened at the thought, her fingers tapping lightly on her knee. “I guess I’m pretty lucky.”

Steve glanced at Natasha, his smile lingering for a moment before his gaze shifted out the window. The horizon stretched before them, the compound slowly coming into view, nestled miles away. He watched it quietly for a moment, the soft hum of the Quinjet filling the air.

Natasha leaned back in her seat, stretching her arms above her head with a sigh. "I’m also pretty excited to eat something that’s not the stale food they pack us for these missions." She wrinkled her nose, thinking about the bland, vacuum-sealed meals they'd had for the past two weeks. "If I have to eat another energy bar, I might lose it."

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, nothing like field rations to make you appreciate real food." He took a sip from his water bottle, glancing at her with a teasing grin.

Natasha was never a picky eater. But throughout the two weeks away from you, she didn’t eat as much. The food they had packed was functional—protein bars, dehydrated meals, and tasteless energy snacks meant to keep them going. But Natasha could only force herself to eat the bare minimum, just enough to keep her energy up for the task at hand. Meals usually felt like a routine, not something to enjoy, and as the days dragged on, her appetite shrank even more. She ate just enough to keep herself going, but it never felt satisfying.

And she was grateful to have something, of course—yet each bite only reminded her of what she was missing. But out in the field, food was just fuel, but at home, when you cooked, it was more than that. It was comfort. It was love. And as much as Natasha needed sustenance, she craved that feeling more.

After what felt like the longest mission in months, Natasha finally stepped off the Quinjet and into the compound, exhaustion clinging to her bones. The familiar hum of the base was a strange kind of comfort, but all she could think about was getting back home. Back to you. After sending you a quick text, she moved quickly, her mind already half out the door as she peeled off her tactical suit and threw on something more casual. Her simple black leather, jeans—nothing special. Her body was sore, her muscles tight from the mission, but the thought of seeing you made everything easier to bear.

Natasha sped through the dimly lit streets of New York in her sleek black car, the city blurring past in streaks of neon and headlights. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than usual, excitement building in her chest. She could feel the familiar hum of the engine beneath her, but her mind was already miles ahead, picturing you waiting for her at home. The drive felt agonizingly slow, even though she was pushing the speed limits, navigating the familiar route with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times. Every red light felt like an eternity, every stop a moment too long. She wasn’t one to rush, usually careful and calculated, but tonight she wanted nothing more than to be home, to see you.

Finally, her building came into view, and Natasha parked quickly, barely able to contain the smile that tugged at her lips as she made her way inside.

You always missed her when she was away on longer missions. And you tried not to think about it too much, but every night, you’d catch yourself making enough food for two, even though you were the only one there to eat it. Tonight was no different. You made enough for two, like always, as if some part of you knew Natasha would be back soon. As you reached for a spice jar, the soft click of the front door unlocking echoed through the apartment. You paused, your heart skipping, your hand stilling over the stove.

The door creaked open, and you felt a familiar flutter in her chest. You heard the soft jingle of car keys and the faint click of the front door closing from the kitchen. The footsteps that followed were gentle, and you could almost picture Natasha’s careful movements—the way she set down her bag and slipped off her shoes.

You continued to stir the pasta, your smile remained soft. After a beat, you felt Natasha’s strong arms wrap around your waist, sending a shiver of delight down your spine. Your breath hitched slightly, a contented sigh escaping your mouth as you leaned back into Natasha’s body.

“Hi,” you let out a soft laugh as Natasha’s lips brushed softly against your shoulders, trailing delicate kisses along the curve of your neck. Each touch was light, almost hesitant, but full of love. You laughed softly, the gentle tickling sensation making your shoulders shake as you tried to stifle her giggles.

Natasha mumbled quietly back against your skin, the vibrations from her voice causing a shiver of delight. The sound was barely audible, but it was filled with tenderness. Natasha’s kisses continued, mingling with the soft laughter that filled the kitchen.

“Hi, baby,” she repeated, her chin now resting atop your shoulder, looking down at the stove where your hand mixed the pasta gently. “Missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you said, turning the stove off, the sizzle of the pasta fading as you gently moved to turn in Natasha’s hands.

Her arms kept you close to her body, and before you could fully turn around, Natasha’s lips found yours. She sighed against them, feeling you smile softly against hers. Your hands found their way to her face as her hands squeezed your hips firmly.

 You pulled away from the kiss, your hands moving up to cradle Natasha’s face gently. You studied her for a moment, your brow furrowing as you took in every little detail—the slight hollowness in her cheeks, the way her body felt just a tad bit thinner against yours. Your thumb brushed softly along Natasha’s jawline, your voice soft with concern.

“How was the mission?” You asked, using your middle finger to brush a couple strands away from her face to tuck it behind her ear.

“Long,” she sighed, leaning in closer to your touch.

“You look a little skinnier,” you murmured, your eyes searching Natasha’s. “Have you been eating?”

Natasha gave a small nod, but it wasn’t convincing. You knew her too well. Knew how missions drained her, how she barely ate more than she had to, always brushing it off like it didn’t matter.

“You should eat more, Natasha,” you said quietly, your hands still holding her face as if you could protect her from the world, if only for a moment.

“I’ll eat when you cook for me,” Natasha’s eyes softened as she stared down at your lips, her voice quiet, almost a whisper. “I like it when you cook for me.”

You exhaled softly, your lips curving into a gentle smile as Natasha’s fingers lightly traced the edges of your waist. You could see the sincerity in her gaze, the way her tiredness seemed to melt away just being here, just being with you. It made your own heart swell.

"Let’s eat, then,” you replied, your smile widening as you brushed a thumb tenderly over her cheek.

Natasha pulled you closer, if it was even possible; her voice was a low murmur against your neck, her lips grazing the soft skin there in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “What if… I had some dessert first before dinner?”

You let out a small laugh, rolling your eyes even as a coy smile tugged at your lips. “Very funny, Romanoff,” you replied, trying to sound stern but failing miserably when your fingers tightened in Natasha’s shirt. You gently nudged her back with a soft, playful push. “Go get the plates.”

Natasha chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. She quick kiss to your lips again, lingering just long enough to leave you wanting more before finally pulling away. Her hands trailed down your sides as she stepped back, a grin still playing on her face.

"Fine," she said, her voice light as she moved toward the cabinets.

She set the plates on the table, her movements slower than usual, as though savoring the moment. When she finally sat down and took her first bite, the rich, creamy taste of your truffle pasta hit her immediately. It was delicious—better than anything she could’ve imagined after two weeks of bland mission rations. She let out a contented sigh, her shoulders relaxing, the tension of the last few days melting away. You sat across from her, watching with that soft, knowing smile, and all Natasha could think was how much she loved this—loved you. She loved the way you took care of her without even trying, loved the way you made coming home feel like a blessing. For the first time in weeks, Natasha felt truly at peace, and as she took another bite, she couldn’t help but think that there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

navigation! (natasha’s masterlist is still in progress lol)

[nanivinsmoke]

Hello nani!! I just wanted to say I just read your all of me logan x reader and I love it! Was wondering If you could do logan x reader smut with the song ride by somo (been having it in my head for a while) but if you can't that's fine keep up the awesome work love!!

Ride .

✩ logan ‘wolverine’ howlett x mutant!femreader

♪my body on your body baby, stickin like some glue…♪

✩ you usually don’t sleep with your coworkers, but during this mission….the tension between you two becomes unbearable.

✩ tags: nasty, slutty sex, sex in a car, riding, oral sex, creampie, rough fucking, everything is slutty when it comes to him, jealous logan, you are a teacher at the Xavier school for the gifted, added some plot too, you can control any form of matter, liquid is your fave tho…

✩ note: hello! thanks for the req, anon this song choice 🙂‍↕️ I’ve got freaky followers! also had xmen/x2 wolverine in mind. song at the bottom of the page!

Charles left you in charge for today, something he does once every two months with his head teachers. He did it so you guys could gain experience and know how to take charge if something ever happened to him. It happens more frequently than you’d think.

Before you, it was Storm and she did an amazing job. Everyone loved her as the school’s professor, there were less accidents within the school and more mutants had come too. Unlike Scott, who was more brutal with his approach, leading to some students leaving the academy. Charles was upset and even though he didn’t show it, everyone knew it.

However, unlike those two, Logan was a little more reckless with his approach. There’s was fight breaking out almost everyday, but those same fights were mended that same day they happened. Plus, tons of students joined just because they heard THE Wolverine was there. He might’ve been a dick most of the time, however he had a heart.

And that’s why you decided to partner up with him for today’s mission. Well, that was partially true. In all honesty you had the biggest crush on him and you wanted to get the opportunity to be with him all day. Hoping to get the chance to jump his bones.

You entered the conference room with a smile, your chunky, patent leather boots echoing against the wooden floors; turning your coworkers attention over to you. Your hair flowed beautifully as you made your way in front of the round tables cleaning your throat while looking at their faces—your eyes lingering on Logan’s a little bit longer, before you spoke.

“Charles left me in charge for this month. For my very first day, i expect great results! In order for great results to happen, we have to put in the effort. I compared the results from the last couple of months. Logan and Storm, the two of you were outstanding. Quantity of students and Quality of missions were in our high range, however with you Scott……we were very low.” You turned your attention over to him, watching his body tense up and earning a chuckle from Logan.

You cleared your throat before continuing, “This isn’t to bash anyone, but to help us grow as a school and as teacher’s. These mutants come from all over to us because we understand them. They want to be comfortable and not reminded of their past lives. So, in order for this all to happen, im giving you all new partners.” There was some whispers as they turned to look at their current partners.

“Storm and Jean, you two are together. Hank and Nightcrawler, Scott and Colossus. Logan?” He pulled out his cigar and connect his eyes with yours.

“You’re with me.”

The two of you walked side to side as you approached the school’s parking lot passing the variety of cars, on the way to your own. “So, what’s this mission about?” He spoke from behind you, his eyes following your hips as you walked, trailing down to your ass and how heavy it looked in those black leather jean’s you were wearing.

“We’re looking for a mutant named Cupid and no he’s not the blonde bitch from Olympus.” You cursed, earning a chuckle from Logan.

Finally reaching your car, Logan was amazed at your taste. Your car was a matte black dodge charger, with lightly tinted windows and matching leather seats. He hopped in the passenger seat while you occupied the driver’s. “Tell me more about this love bastard,” now you were the one to chuckle. God was he hot.

“Cupid’s been causing a lot of issues in city, he currently resides in a small town and the mayor has asked for our help. His powers are based on two emotes everyone has. Love and Hate. He can control a person based on those emotions.” You pulled out of the lot, driving to your mission’s destination.

“Now, we can either do this Charle’s way or my way.” He turned to you, with an eyebrow raise, puffing on his cigar.

“And what way is that?”

“You’ll have to wait and see, baby~”

The car ride was quiet, besides your radio playing and the sound of his breathing while puffed on his cigar. However, Logan took glances at you from here and there. Watching how your eyes would gleam as the sun hit it, how you would bob head to the songs you liked, and those lips….god your lips looked heavenly. He could stare at those all day, wishing he could kiss them forever.

“Logan?” You called out and he snapped out of his days, looking around before looking back at you. “You okay? We’re here.” You raised an eyebrow and he nodded, the two of you stepping out of the car and approaching the apple green house.

You lead the way, while Logan watched your back. Those hazel eyes stuck on your derrière. “I don’t know exactly how he uses his powers, so just be on your game, Lo.” You turned your head slightly, giving him a small smile before turning around to knock on the white door. A few seconds after, a male appeared wearing a ruby red robe and blue boxer’s, pinching his nose as he sniffed.

You turned to look at your partner before back at the mutant. “Are you, Ezekiel?” You asked, a smile on your face while Logan wore his usual resting face. “Depends, are you the cops?” He asked, eyes falling from yours and onto Logan’s before going back to yours. You shook your head and smiled once more.

“Do you mind if we come in? We aren’t going to hurt you, we just wanna talk.” He said nothing, studying both of your faces before turning away; letting you both in. You followed after him, looking around his house—trying to understand him before speaking with him. Logan watched as the kid plopped on his messy couch, pulling out a small trinket and sniffing the contents. He let out an exasperated sigh and locked eyes with Logan.

“Want some?”

“I’m good, bub.” You finally joined them and sat down in the small chair across from him, Logan opting to stand besid you—cigar in the corner of his mouth.

“We’re from the Charles Xavier school for the gifted mutants. We heard about the little trouble you’ve been causing here.” He looked at you and relaxed on the couch, smirking.

“Trouble? I just help those that needed it, isn’t that what you do? I heard about this school….this Xavier guy seems like a quack. Not interested, but if you lose the top, I might be convinced.” You could sense Logan’s mood change and you held your hand out, letting him know that you had this. Guess it’s time to do it your way. Sorry Professor.

You slowly undid the buttons that held your black button up together, freeing some of your cleavage, making both Logan and Ezekiel look at you. You stared at him, smirk etching onto your face while you used your powers on the cocky mutant. He started to choke and gasp for air, causing Logan to look at him and then at you.

“Listen, do you want to die? These people are going to get fed up with you quite soon and when they do, they won’t stop until they hunt you down and have your dumb blonde head on a stick. But why wait for that when I can do it myself?” Your tone was cold and your eyes had darkened, scaring the mutant. His pale face was turning a shade of pink and Logan was getting worried.

“Princess….” He started off, but you held your hand out again. “What do ya say? Want me to kill you? Or will you let us help you and keep you safe?” You released the pressure on his throat, letting Ezekiel catch his breath. He nodded and let out a breathless okay, and you smiled; quickly buttoning your top back up before standing on your two feet.

“Good, see you at the school. Logan, give him the card.” You said leaving the two men in the house. Logan dropped the card onto the dark oak coffee table, before looking at the mutant.

“Dude, she’s crazy!”

“Tell me bout’ it,” He muttered on his way out.

You sat in the passenger seat while Logan drove, looking out the window, in complete silence. There was some obvious tension there and you were trying your best to find out why.

“Logan? Is there something wrong?” You turned and looked at him, eyes dancing across his face. He was silent and then he looked at you, his mouth painted with a scowl.

“Yeah there is.”

“What is it?” He said nothing and you continued to look at him, before he pulled the car over on the side of the road, putting it in park and turning it off—unbuckling his seat belt along with yours.

“Think that was okay? What you pulled back there? Showing him what’s mine?” Your eyes widened and you could feel a throbbing sensation below, you crossed your legs in your seat and kept your face unreadable. Seeing you show off your breasts to the mutant had Logan seething, those were for his eyes only. You were his.

“Did Cupid use his powers on you? You okay.—“ He cut you off and pulled you by your hair, forcing your face towards his and pressing his lips onto yours—which you happily accepted. His lips were so intoxicating and you couldn’t—didn’t want to pull yourself from them. Finally getting what you wanted and when he pulled away, spit trail following, you whimpered; eyes plagued with arousal.

“Logan…” you whispered and he chuckled. “I know princess, I can smell how much you want it.” He patted his lap and you practically hopped out of your seat and into his lap, reconnecting your lips while grinding against his bulge that pressed into your middle.

Both of your hands roamed each other’s bodies, kissing and licking on each other’s sensitive spots, the car steaming up from your actions. Soon, you couldn’t bear the teasing anymore and you slowly pulled your clothes off; your top along with your bra being flung into the passenger seat—while you continued to occupy his lap.

His large hands cupping your breasts, earning a soft moan from you, before he replaced his hands with his mouth; his warm tongue glued onto your sensitive nipples. You couldn’t help your moans, hands tugging on his hair, lower half grinding on his clothed cock.

“Please Lo….neeed you to fuck me,~” You begged, moaning when he put your nipple in between his teeth, teasing it lightly.

“Gotta taste you first. Get that pretty ass in the back, princess.” You happily hopped in your car’s back seat, tugging your jeans off your thighs while he climbed in the back right behind you, pulling the jeans completely off of you—putt them with the rest of your clothes.

He eyed your half naked body, licking his lips while he trailed down from your face to the wet spot that appeared on your dark grey panties. “So wet for me. Never give this pussy up, okay?” He spanked your clothed cunt, making you yelp out and nodded your head; bottom lip between your teeth—watching his every move.

He pulled off his leather jacket, and unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down to his ankles; his muscles practically ripping through his beater. Both set of lips flushed with wetness, ready for what’s to come next and when he connected his mouth with your sopping wet cunt after tearing those panties off ya—your eyes immediately rolled back into your head.

Logan’s own eyes closing after tasting you, savoring how sweet you tasted. He had been thinking about this ever since he met you. He had fantasized about you every night, dreaming about you cumming all over his face. And now here he was, fulfilling his wish.

His tongue lapped up your juices like he was a dog drinking from his bowl, sucking on your throbbing clit; making you let out a series of moans—hands connecting with his hair again. “F-f-fuck….feels soo good, Lo’.” He hummed in response, lips still attached to your cunt while he added two fingers into the mix, pumping in and out of your wetness.

You were a babbling mess, moving your hips up and down; almsot riding his face—orgasm seconds away and you desperately needed to let go. “Gonna cum for me princess? Go ahead, cum all over my face. I need to taste how gushy this cunt can be.”

He was so nasty with his words, you couldn’t help but to let go; cumming all over his face and creaming on his fingers. Logan didn’t stop lapping up your juices or fucking your with his fingers, he kept going—wanting to drain all of you, until you had to beg him to stop. You pulled him up by his hair and smashed your plump lips on his, tasting yourself—moaning while he palmed your still throbbing cunt.

You pulled away and pulled his boxers down by the hem, freeing his cock; his eyes glued to yours as you immediately went to rubbing on his head. His translucent slick melting into your hands while you rubbed and jerked his mushroom tip. You watched his face contort with pleasure, his hips slowly pumping up into your fist.

“Stop teasing me, princess.” He let out a small whimper and you felt a heartbeat shoot through your core after hearing it. Logan watched as you spread your legs across his lap, squatting and angling his dick at your entrance—lowering yourself down and hissing from how he stretched you out. He was so big, pushing your walls past its normal limit. It had been a while, but none of them had ever reached his size.

“So big…” his hand fell on your hip, fingers grasping onto your ass, holding you when you finally lowered down onto him all the way.

“I know baby, but you can take it.” He slapped your ass making a slutty mewl leave your lips. You stayed like that for a moment, cunt clenching and unclenching around him before you started to bounce on him. You gasped as his tip practically kissed your cervix, his dick so deep inside of you.

But, as you continued to move, that threshold of pain vanished and was replaced with pleasure. You happily bounced on his dick, skin clapping with each move you made; his lips ghosting yours as your face was mere inches apart.

“Just like that, princess….shit,” You were so fucking tight and wet, cunt so slippery, creating a sheen of wetness on his cock. The mutant never had anything like this and he wasn’t going to give it up to anybody.

“Showing off those pretty titties to other men? Fuck, i could kill him. Want me to do that?” He grunted, pushing your hips down, making you take him even deeper. You shook your head and gripped onto his muscular shoulders, keeping steady as you bounced.

“N-no…I'm sorry, daddy! Fuck—you’re reaching so deep, Logan!” You were clinging to him so tightly, the man was losing it. He pushed you all the way down, big rough hands gripped your waist, while his tip was pressed right in your cervix—before he scooted halfway off the car seat and pushing your torso closer to his, proceeding to drill your cunt sloppy.

The loud squelching noise combined with your sweet noises was enough fuel for the wild mutant. Your ass jiggling with each movement, rocking the car as you bounced. You were close, so close now and he felt it. Felt how your walls were spasming around his girth and how louder your moans got when he hit that spot over and over. And he was right behind you too.

“Let it go, princess. Cum for daddy~” His voice was deep and sensual, adding to the intense pleasure you were receiving—making it easier for you to cum. You were seeing white as you came; nails digging into his shoulder blades while gushing all over his cock.

And as he continued to split your cunt in half, his own release came down hard and he was pumping milky white ropes inside of you. He growled in your ear, sending shivers down your back and straight to your cunt—earning a stream of clear arousal from it, drenching his cock and the seat beneath him. You had never squirted before and with Logan being the first, had you deeper in love than you were ever before. You were his for the taking.

After cleaning you up and helping you get dressed, Logan left you in the backseat of your car before starting the car up and continuing with the drive to the mansion. He kept his eyes on you in the rear view mirror, watching you as you slept; a smile etched on his face before he placed a cigar into his mouth.

He was in love and he was never going to lose you. You were his best rider after all.

[terrifiedtrinket]

TW. YAPPING!!!!! and i think i say cum once or twice probablie

TGE TROLLS WOULD NOT SMELL GOOD !!!!!

i feel like at most they smell neutral??? or however tf bugs smell

but especially like while and before they play the game?? at the very least they dont smell traditionally nice.

they dont smell like flowrrs and nice things

ESPECIALLY NEPETA!!!! SHE SMELLS LIKE DEAD THINGS MOST OF THE TIME!! SHE STINKS OF ANIMAL AND BLOOD AND SWEAT AND SHE DOESNT SHOWER SHE LIVES IN A CAVE

like no hate to the person who said she would smell like sour candy but like….. why?

i feel like if the troll blood castes were scented, olive blood would have a more natural scent and they wouldn’t be sweet

AND EVEN THEM SHES STILL STINKY!!!!!

the meowrails stink. i love them. but they stink.

equius smells like BO and motor oil and nepeta probably smells like cat piss.

ALSOOOSODOSOSOSO i feel like it’s really weird when people imply or headcanon that the trolls have flavored cum?? like tht feels weird

i feel like even if they did it probably wouldnt be human flavors like chocolate

i dont even wanna think about what i think their cum would taste like tho so im not even gonna try to form an opinion. you do u mann(or do the homestuck trolls ig bc clearly thats ur thing)

UH

i mean clearly not all of their smells are unbearable because clearly the humans dont mind it too much(or at least dont say anything) but also a lot of the biggest offenders are dead so

gamzee smells like drugs. and. dead trolls.

he’s the only i can maybe see smelling sweet because of all the faygo

ik if they were humans they would stink too

like vriska would lie about taking showers i just know it. vriska would drench herself body spray and claim she showered.

trolls wouldn’t smell sweet at the very least

they come from murder land

they don’t smell like vanilla dream

[101maverick]

Damian Wayne Ah Ghul with a reader who is super shy? Like she meets his family and she's practically hiding behind Damian? No pressure, but I'm just a naturally shy person myself.

A/n: I've been thinking of a meeting like this for a while now! tho in my daydreams the reader is a lot more bubbly and stuff, but this one is super fun too! I think I might write them both out :) When it comes to Damian I tend to envision him around his canon age (12ish I think?) because it gives me agency to explore puppy love and I find it so cute! Plus I'm a sucker for school shenanigans hehe🤭 Here Damian is around 15-16 :) Hope you enjoy!! If you like my work, please consider reblogging and checking out my other works through the master list in my pinned post<3

Word count: 1642

Meeting the Family

Your hands are clammy.

Not even overtly so, just enough to make you uncomfortable, to get that unbearable out-of-place sensation one always gets when something's slightly wrong and it feels like life has decided to point a spotlight to it.

You nervously adjust your dress' skirt, fiddling with the hem to make sure it sat at just the right height. You had spent an embarrassing amount of time picking it out, having Damian come by your house earlier than necessary to make sure your choice was appropriate for this occasion, along with your hair and what little makeup you had decided to put on.

He had assured you countless times that you 'could never be anything less than far above standard' , and while that did put you at ease you still have to do your best to relax as you build up the courage to enter the house, Damian waiting by your side.

You and Damian had started 'dating' around three months ago now, and this was your first time meeting his family.

Whenever you think back to how he proposed to you a chuckle curls your lips upward, remembering how out of your depth you felt as he announced his intent of 'courting' you while he held a baby kitten out to you.

The memory loosens you up a bit, and you nod to Damian, who rings the doorbell. He's been holding your hand the whole time, something you find extremely sweet. He gives your hand a squeeze.

Sooner than you'd like, the door opens and you are greeted by the Wayne family's butler, who your boyfriend had informed you is basically like a grandfather figure for them.

He’s an older man, standing tall in a prim and creaseless suit despite his age. His eyes crinkle as the corners of his mouth uptick just the slightest bit, remaining composed as he greets you two.

“Ah, Master Damian, you have finally returned with our guest I see.” He says, looking at your boyfriend. He then turns to you. “My name is Alfred Pennyworth. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, miss…” he trails off.

You can feel your cheeks burn up, and your tongue tangles up as you haste to give him your name. You try to downplay the stutter as much as you can, and rush through the rest of greetings and pleasantries. “It is very nice to meet you as well, mr. Pennyworth.”

Mr. Pennyworth just nods curtly and opens the door wider, making space for you and Damian to enter. "I am glad, miss. Please, follow me to the sitting room." After a nod from Damian, he turns around and starts walking down the hallway to the left of the grand staircase the Manor's foyer opens up to.

The ceiling is extremely tall in this part of the house, two stories high at the very least. The ancient mahogany of the staircase is intricately carved, and the deep, rich blue-green carpet covering the steps gives the entire ensemble a much more regal look, with the way it matches the curtains that are pulled apart to let in all the midday light from the six-feet tall arch windows. It feels way too regal for someone like you.

Damian, on the other hand, looks completely in his element. Not only is this his house, he just fits in with this sort of environment, this regal, sophisticated, high-class one. The blue-green of the curtains and carpets makes the emerald of his eyes pop, and the dark mahogany compliments his tanned skin, reflecting the golden glow of the sun.

Looking at him, you feel a bit surer of yourself, and you straighten your shoulders to match his stance. You're just meeting his family. You can do this.

Mr. Pennyworth leads you to the sitting room. Damian's entire family is lounging there, the majority sitting up while a few rest on the plush couches and chairs. The moment you step foot in the doorway, all conversation stops and all eyes turn toward you.

You can't do this.

————————————

Each of the Wayne family members are here, it seems, and the more you stand there the more you want to crawl out of your skin.

All of these people have been gathered here today for a family lunch because you have come over, and dang if that doesn't make you feel like the inconvenience of the year.

Only a fool doesn't know about how important each of them is, and you certainly aren't one.

Richard "Dick" Grayson, world-class acrobat and notorious heartthrob since his teens, and he surely has better places to be today than here. Keeping up with all of his connections is basically a full-time job, with how Gotham socialites are.

Jason Todd, recently come back from his years-long trip around the world, could be playing golf with the Prince of England right now instead of meeting his youngest brother's high-school girlfriend.

Timothy Drake, at nineteen is C.E.O. of Drake Industries and Bruce Wayne's representative for Wayne Enterprises, right now he could be closing billion-dollar business deals.

Duke Thomas, had graduated from high school at sixteen and at eighteen is in the most prestigious chemistry program in the Continent, he could be studying for the cure of cancer right now.

Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne's only daughter and an extremely elusive person for the media, you're sure she'd much rather a virtual stranger wasn't snooping around in her family's home.

There are also two other people, a red-haired woman that looks to be around Dick Grayson's age and a blonde girl around nineteen.

And, of course, there's Bruce Wayne in the flesh. Billionaire, philanthrope, C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises, arguably the most important person in Gotham and certainly the richest person in New Jersey. One of his charities is always in sight every time you turn a corner on the street in Gotham Proper, his company's name is plastered on almost every single electronically device you can find, and his name is always in the mouth of the press, making headlines day in-day out.

Oh Gosh, you can already imagine it. 'Lowly peasants thinks she can date his son, Brucie Wayne obliterates her and her dynasty'.

Before you know it, your breathing has become laboured and you're standing pressed to Damian's side, trying to fuse with his shadow.

You have no idea how you're gonna hold a conversation with all of these people.

Damian, bless him, saves you. "If you all could quit ogling my beloved like imbeciles, we could go on with introductions." His chin is held up high, and he takes turns staring into each of his family members' eyes, as if daring them to object. With the way he's standing, his body almost covers you, giving you a blanket of security that allows you to relax.

The rest of the room's occupants regain their composure, and Mr. Wayne breaks out into a blinding smile, coming up to you.

"Pardon me! We just hadn't heard you coming down the hallway is all. It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Mr. Wayne holds out his hand, and you shake it. His grip is gentle. "Come in, please, make yourself comfortable."

Damian guides you to a couch next to which is a window. The rays of sun catch in his dark hair, reflecting almost-blue. He looks at you, and as he does so you relax. Damian may rarely show it but he has an extremely expressive face, and you have learned to read it.

Right now you read sureness in his jaw, calmness in the set of his brow and something warm and reassuring in the slightest widening of his eyes, the one that happens specifically when e tilts his head downwards to fix his gaze better in yours.

"I must admit I've been waiting for this moment for a good while, I was very curious. Damian has talked a lot about you."

Your eyebrows raise. You start fidgeting with Damian's hand in your lap. "Oh, he-he has?" It comes out as a mumble. You'd beat yourself up over it in normal circumstances but as it stands, you're just glad you are talking at all.

This thought is overshadowed by an eruption of laughter from further inside the room.

"Oh yes he has, the brat has been talking our ears off all day for months! By how he talks, he thinks you've hung the moon and the stars in the night sky." A cackle follows the sentence. You're pretty sure your cheeks are on fire.

Next to you, you notice the tips of Damian's ears turn darker. "Quit your complaining, Todd. It is not my fault if everything you do is subpar compared to her every action."

"Da-Damian!" You whisper-yell next to him, "You can't just say that!"

"Oh, don't worry," Pipes up someone from a chair. You recognise him as Timothy Drake. "Seeing as you've put up with him for months, I think we all believe it. It takes the patience of a saint to do that." He says, a slight smirk on his face.

The rising of cackles in the air and the indignant squawk from Damian pull a little giggle from you, and you squeeze Damian's hand while Dick Grayson placates him.

Mr. Pennyworth, who had disappeared down the hallway after you had reached the sitting room, reappears at the entrance. 1679

“Masters, Misses, the lunch is ready. If you may follow me to the dining room…”

“Thank you Alfred.” Says Mr. Wayne, and after a curt nod from the butler everyone files out of the sitting room.

As you take your place next to Damian at the dining table, listening to Damian and Timothy bicker, you feel more at ease than you ever hoped of feeling while waiting on the front steps.

Your hand is warm in Damian’s still.

————————————

A/n: I wish I had been able to put more Damian/Reader interaction in this but in order for it to work in my vision of their eventual relationship I need them to be alone so unfortunately it couldn't happen for this pic :( I do have more Damian x Reader requests in my inbox tho so there's a high chance I'll be able to expand on it! Plus I'm considering making a list of head canons for Damian and Reader's relationship >:)

[keferon]

They were two

I dont write a lot of angst stuff, but exploring the idea of how death can affect two linked people was extremely interesting.

Tw : Shockwave and Orion continuity

Death, derealization, lot of confused feelings and thought.

------‐---------------

One second. One second earlier they were still the two hero, legends of Earth. Those who piloted the more advanced technologic piece never created by the human's kind.

One second earlier they were still-

HURT. HELP.

Shockwave knew he was dying. However the amount of pain and fear was surprisingly high for a dying body, something corrosive was eating his whole brain alive, and everything he could think of in his body was screaming for mercy.Why. why.

Stop please. Stop.

He could feel the thrilling pain splitting his brain and heart in half. The beast was watching him with two eyes. Eyes of hunger and pride. He saw images. Illogic. Indescriptible. Some people he didnt know about were watching him with pride and joy. They felt nostalgic.

Le me die.

LET ME LIVE

An irregular, crushing sound was, on top of that, smashing all the fragmented pieces of his mind.

Was he even Shockwave ? What was even Shockwave ? He screamed. Maybe. He was still screaming. Surely.

Why is it taking so long.

HELP ME PLEASE

The sound was slowing. Becoming more unbearable and intense. As if it wanted to trap his mind between two of those beat.

Seconds after. But he was still here, fragments of fear and pain. Why was he still dying ? Why-

SHOCKWAVE

LET ME LIVE

I WANT TO DIE

He was Shockwave. Why was he pleading at himself why was he-

HE WASNT DYING.

HE wasnt dying. He was still in pain because. Because he was not. The one.

His overwhelmed brain stopped. Oscillated. From an amount of pain driving him to madness to a gaping hole.

Emptiness. Nothing.

Its only when something stop, usually that you take conscience of how much you needed it. The sound. The unbearable sound. Was gone.

And then. At this very time, almost drowned in darkness, he realized.

Those crushing sound were heartbeat.

And the heartbeat was no more.

He was no more.

No. Shockwave was still there. Who ? Who disappeared ? Who was filling his brain with nothingness ? He couldnt manage to find. He wasnt Shockwave. Was. He was….

He was feeling something. Something was dragging him out of the void. His body. He remembered. Shockwave was…..feeling something on one of his shoulder. It was light and weak. A single touch. One thing that touched his shoulder.

Another one. Another feeling.

I DONT WANT TO DIE

Pain was back. She was injecting her elegy inside of his neurons. He could sense all of his nervous system being set on fire.

This time, he could tell he was screaming.

The back of his head. Was burning him.

I DONT WANT TO DIE

HELP

I DONT WANT TO DIE

I DONT WANT TO DIE

I DONT WANT TO DIE

SHOCKWAVE

His name, again. A violent start repercuted through his entire body. He could feel it, lava filling his veins. He could move it.

He was. Shockwave returned. Was dead.

His corpse opened its eyes. Too much informations. His body was able to move now. He was dead. Wasnt.

The touch on his shoulder appeared again. Eclipsing by its lightness all the violent pain in the rest of his body. He decided to move Shockwave's eyes.

The touch. Belonged to another.

He was dead. He was dead dead dead.

Impossible. Why why why.

Orion.

Suddenly he couldnt see anymore.

Orion.

Orion. Orion was Shockwave's death. The sound. The heartbeat sound. Was silent.

I DONT WANT TO DIE

The scream inside of his brain. Orion was screaming. That was him. Him. Him. The back of his head. Burned. Ached. Hurt. The images. Orion's life.

I DONT WANT TO DIE

HELP ME

But ? The heartbeat was silent. Gone. It was gone. Orion.

I DONT WANT TO DIE.

It camed from the back of his head. His implants….they were burning him with Orion's life. Even tho it didnt exist anywhere else. His fear, his pain were very alive, filling him with horror.

The pain was there.

I DONT WANT TO DIE.

It was there. It was still here. Orion was begging at him. Saying it didnt wanted to die.

The heartbeat was silent.

But Orion was not.

Orion was not gone.

I DONT WANT TO DIE.

“You wont. Never again”.

The heartbeat was silent but Orion was not

[judespoets]

dramatic | jobe bellingham

summary: this req

pairing: jobe bellingham x fem!reader

genre: angst/fluff

warnings: slight arguments and harsh words; not proof read!

Jobe and you were seatet next to each other on the large table, decorated with Christmas decor and filled with delicious food. You were celebrating Christmas together at the Bellingham house this year.

"Can you please give me the potatoes, (Y/N)?" you heard the familiar voice of your boyfriend, Jobe ask you, pulling you out of your daydreams.

"yup" you answered shortly, reaching for the potatoes in front of you and handing them to Jobe without giving him a look in the eyes.

The two of you had a fight earlier but were too late to communicate and solve it so you got to the Bellingham's pretty angry with each other, the harsch words you exchanged still lingering in the back of your mind.

It was a stupid argument about Jobe running late which resulted in you doing all the chores at home alone. You usually didn't mind but you were sad and angry at that moment, turning the conversation into a heated argument.

The tension was unbearable and you really tried to hide that you were mad at each other but you saw how everyone noticed. It wasn't the usual warm, lovely mood in the room and every time you thought about Jobe's words, your eyes started watering just a little bit.

The attention was currently not on you and Jobe right now as you felt a familiar hand placing itself on your thigh, making you shiver.

"(Y/N) please just stop being so dramatic about this right now." was what you heard him whispering inside to you.

And that was it. The room fell silent as they heard your chair scraping across the floor. You stood up as quickly as you could, excusing yourself in a hurry and quickly running up the stairs into Jobe's childhood bedroom.

Maybe you were overreacting but you were hurt, for you, Jobe’s words hurt, and he didn’t seem to understand that.

As you were sat in Jobe’s old room the dining room was silent until the older Bellingham spoke up.

“What happened man? I have never seen (Y/N) so sad and quiet.” he asked his brother.

Jobe sighed, “I came home much later than I told her I would today. We agreed to do the chores together and then just spend the day together. We had like this huge argument and I said some pretty bad things.” he said regretfully, burying his face in his hands.

“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal for her tho. I mean we are together now.” he said, looking at his brother.

“Jobe, she wanted to spend some of Christmas with you, only you. I would’ve been hurt too.” Denise popped in.

“What did you say tho? That she’s so upset?” Jude asked carefully.

Jobe sighed again, looking absolutely regretful. “I said that maybe we shouldn’t spend any time at all together anymore, since she’s so upset about me being late this one time, I don’t even know why I said that.” he added.

“That’s fucked man, even I wouldn’t have said that.” Jude said.

“Jobe, please talk to her. It’s early. Don’t ruin her whole Christmas.” Denise said, slight disappointment evident in her voice.

Jobe immediately stood up, coming towards the bedroom, knocking on the door carefully.

You didn’t say anything, you wanted to talk but at the same time you just wanted him to leave you alone, to not hurt you anymore.

As the door opened slowly, the oh so familiar face greeted you. He looked different tho, guilty almost.

“What do you want?” you snapped.

“(Y/N)-“

“No Jobe, if you just want to argue again, go away.” you admitted, looking down hurt.

“Baby, no. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things.” he answered, sitting down next to you.

“Obviously.” you answered.

“I want to spend time with you. I always do.”

“Didn’t seem like that when you were late today.” you told him, obviously angry now.

“I know. And I’m really sorry. I didn’t know that today was so important to you.” Jobe said, putting his arm around you, holding you as he saw the tears forming in your eyes.

“I just- you know that my family is not here. And I was alone the whole day, I love christmas and I just wanted to spend it with you, I really put a lot of thought into your present and I couldn’t even give it to you in private. Jobe, you really, really hurt me today.” You admitted truthfully, all that anger turning into sadness as the tears kept running down your cheeks.

Jobe’s grip around you tightened with your words, he felt really bad.

“I really fucked up today. I know that. And I was so focused on the fact that I will see my family today that I totally forgot you can’t spend Christmas with yours. I promise I will look after your feelings more. I’m sorry, baby.” He told you, placing kisses on your head.

“I know. And thank you, for apologizing.” You said.

“I love you, (Y/N). And I want to spend every Christmas with you, forever.” He said, kissing your forehead.

You closed your eyes at the feeling, finally feeling comfortable again.

“Do you want to go down again? Get some food in you, you didn’t eat a lot yet.” Jobe asked you, his fingers stroking yours.

“Yeah.” You said, wanting to get up again.

“Hey!” Jobe called out, pulling you down again.

He took his thumbs and wiped away the tears on your cheeks. Kissing both of your eyes carefully.

“I will never make you cry again, my love.” He told you, finally connecting his lips with yours.

[writersblockiskillingme]

Hi, I didn’t see a what not to request thing so ignore this if your not comfortable writing death - but can I request Coriolanus Snow x reader who is a tribute in the games but dies and there’s nothing he can do about it. Just pure angst.

The Fall Of Snow

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader

Summary: She was just supposed to be a pawn in his games, a way to get the Plinth Prize. He wasn't supposed to care. She was just a tribute, after all.

Warning/s: angst, death, kind-of-psycho Snow, Snow in love, crying, probably some spelling and/or grammar mistakes

Author's note: So Snow's actions and behavior may be a little out of his character here, but that is because I made him helplessly in love with reader. I hope this is okay. Enjoy!

The red chair where he sat now seemed to uncomfortable to sit in.

Coriolanus' already strong grip on the armrests of the chair somehow just seemed to tighten, he felt certain that he will probably brake the wood out of which the chair is made of. He felt cold sweat dripping down his forehead as he felt the uncomfortable feeling of shivers going down his spine.

His breathing became raspy, his academy's red uniform somehow became tighter around his neck. He felt like he was grasping the last strings of air in the room crowded with the other mentors, he felt like he was breathing just for the hell of it.

His chest started to squeeze so much it started to hurt him.

He couldn't get the air to tear through to his lungs, and for the first time in a long time Coriolanus' vision became blurry with tears.

He knew that she would be dead either way. She was from District 12 for God's sake! She was the weakest target. Her lack of throat-slicing, bloodthirsty, violent nature was going to be her downfall the moment she stepped into that arena.

She was quite small, weak even, but not like that was surprising to him. She came from the loser District. She was somehow a person who wouldn't hurt a fly, let alone kill someone. Even if it was a stranger.

He knew all of this, therefore he didn't have any reason to be surprised.

Yet it felt like he was going to choke on the uncomfortable, unbearable even, feeling of something in his throat as he felt cameras moving onto his face to capture the moment where a tribute lost a mentor. Or rather mentor losing their tribute. But this wasn't like the times before, with the other mentors, with his classmates, that left the room before him.

He knew that this is different. He felt it.

Coriolanus Snow was aware that he was supposed to have the control of his emotions like many times before.

Right now, what he was supposed to do is what was expected of him to do. Look into the camera and wave it off. Play it off as if he was just happy to be here. To play a modest, charming, bright and above all young Capitol citizen and to lean over toward Lucky Flickerman's microphone, that was already showed into his face, and to answer the questions with a charming smile pressed onto his face.

Yet he couldn't even look away from the screen on the wa in the middle of the room, let alone answer Lucky Flickerman's questions like many before him.

He watched her dead body on the floor in the middle of the arena with a shaky breath that left his lips without his permission.

Lucky Flickerman's questions rang next to his ear.

It seems like he was repeatedly asking him something yet Coriolanus somehow never heard him. Every noise in the room came into his ears as a form of beeping.

His vision blurry even tho he tried to stop it.

The only noise that seemed to constantly increase its volume is his ragged breathing.

Coriolanus watched as another tribute grabbed her body by the ankles as he started to drag her over to the pile of bodies that belonged to other deceased tributes.

Coriolanus watched her laid out hand dragging itself after her, her hair everywhere as one single tear slid down her eyes that were still open.

Haunting him.

Why didn't he do more? What didn't he save her? Why didn't she win? She should have won...

She should have won.

Coriolanus Snow didn't know how it happened and why was it happening.

He suddenly stood up, his hand gripping something in the pocket of his uniform, and without even spearing one glance towards Lucky Flickerman, Clemensia who tried to grab his shoulder before he did something stupid.

He didn't spare a glance at anyone for that matter as his legs carried him away from his chair, away from the room, away from the look of her dead body.

He walked out of the room as fast as he could, trying not to look at any cameras.

He pulled the handkerchief that she used before she was violently thrown into the games to fight for her own life.

It was still wet from her tears.

He felt his own tear dropping onto the handkerchief, mixing with her tears. The tears of his now forever lost tribute.

Coriolanus Snow promised something to himself that day.

When he gets married one day, he will do it out of profit, out of perhaps mutual interest, not out of love.

Never out of love.

Love he had for his tribute brought him here. It brought him this tight feeling in his chest that, no matter what happens or what he does, he can't get rid of.

As he wiped one lost tear with her (his) handkerchief, he promised himself to never loose control ever again.

Yet he knew one thing. Those eyes, hair and smile would haunt him forever, as long as he was alive, but he will gladly remember it. The last thing, along with the handkerchief, he had left of her. His love, his tribute, that died in the arena.

->

->

->

TAGLIST:

@hellonheels-x @especiallythewomenandthechildren @prettyinsatiable @caroline-books @runningfrom2am @10ava01 @thecrowdedstreetin1944

[pssyscker4life]

"What's so weird about liking her?"

Syp: An obsessive guy who never really knew how a woman could be interested in a crazy guy like him. But he's so hot tho, you couldn't resist.

Warning! :satoru x f! reader! kind of a size kink? MDNI GUYS MDNI, sexual interactions, +18, a bit of dirty talk teheee :3

Weird af! Gojo Satoru who was unaware of his obsession with you until Suguru asked him.

It all started out normal; simple glances at your face, your curves, your ass. Everything seemed normal, until slowly the obsession grew bigger.

"Bro, i told you i just find her cute!" Satoru protested as Suguru just said "Sure, sure..." while rolling his eyes.

He forgot about that obsessive subject for a long time, because he believed it was a lie. You're just attractive, that's all. "She's just a girl," the white-haired boy repeated to himself every day he lost himself looking at each of your gestures.

And that level of love led him to this; In his room fucking his fist looking at your Instagram photos. Your bikini photos, with elegant dresses and a smile so charming that he swore that just by looking into your eyes he would be able to release all his precum.

Weird af! Gojo Satoru who never thought about doing it, but he did witchcraft on you so that you would fall in love with him once and for all.

It was all because of a conversation with Shoko, she was talking about how she used that method to make a boy fall in love with her. And oh, of course Satoru wouldn't let that information slide when he got such a pretty girl to bewitch.

And now he's in his kitchen, writing your name on a piece of paper with a red pen and following Shoko's orders. He felt like the luckiest boy in the world; well, now you would be interested in him as much as he's interested in you.

Weird af! Gojo Satoru who felt like his dick was going to explode from that text message you sent him.

It wasn't anything important, just you asking him if he wanted to go out to get something to eat. But, need I repeat? Satoru is obsessed with you, and every single move you made or every single thing you said to him made him hotter than the fucking sun itself.

Weird af! Gojo Satoru who felt an enormous and unbearable need to simply bend you over anywhere and take you. They were just perverted thoughts but god he was so tempted.

He was with several girls, but he knew that you were going to be much more affectionate, much sweeter and much more submissive than any other girl.

Every thought drives Satoru crazy. He imagines you, trembling and eyes rolled behind the back of your head as he fucks you dumb. He's sure your pussy would be far more angelic than his calloused fist that he must stroke himself with while thinking of you.

Weird af! Gojo Satoru who got so fucking excited when you two started dating. You had a crush on him before, but you didn't know if that feeling was mutual, so you kept it a secret.

But, the dates kept going on and on until it happened; that kiss you both wanted so much came true. It wasn't like the rom-coms on TV, but it was so magical. Your lips were so soft and pink, he swore that your lips were like touching the clouds.

He felt so cheesy at the time, but it was all worth it. Because it was you, and he was only interested in you, no one else.

And he knew that this wasn't temporary, he never felt this way. Your eyes were like seeing the most beautiful star, your touch so soft that he felt like it was all just a dream.

Weird af! Gojo Satoru who felt like he was in heaven as your fingertips tangled tightly his hair as you tried to fit Satoru's length inside your wet heat.

"Nggh, 'Toru— 's too big" you complained between overstimulated sobs, which made Satoru chuckle meanly.

"C'mon, baby, i know you can take it all." The white-haired man said as he thrust mercilessly, making his head roll back in pleasure.

He felt like if he came early, he'd have to pull out of your addictive pussy. But you've already cum twice with his fingers and now you're chasing your third orgasm with a thick, rock-hard cock.

"'m cumming, 'toru! mmhh–" Erotic sounds escaped your lips as you felt a knot that needed to be released.

"Yeah? You're gonna cream all this cock, huh?" Satoru was smirking so hard that it didn't seem like he was trying not to cum the whole time. The heat was burning in your insides, and you felt your orgasm hit you like a fucking truck, so hard that you felt like that had been the best orgasm of your life.

Satoru gave a couple of hard thrusts, leaving all his seed inside you, and watching as it slowly overflowed inside you after having completely filled you with his hot cum.

Weird af! Gojo Satoru who now knows that Shoko's witchcraft trick worked, because now he has you asleep in his arms after fucking you senseless! :3

HEYYY!!! this is my first time posting on Tumblr 😺😺 Would love ya if you like and repost, that would be so sweet 😌😌

English is not my first language, so correct me if smth is wrong!

[almond-tofuuu]

❄️Can't lose you❄️

Zayne x reader

Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries but nothing is detailed, a little (lot) of angst, happy ending tho (kind of)

Word count: 600

Zayne's familiarity with injuries ran deep, forged through years of serving as a doctor and navigating the horrors of a war zone. His resilience, honed over time, stemmed from his ability to maintain composure in the face of chaos, a trait that set him apart as an exceptional surgeon. Yet, as he stood before you, your body drenched in a pool of crimson, his usual calm facade crumbled.

The ER exuded an eerie tranquility that night, a stark departure from its usual bustling pace. Zayne couldn't shake the unease gnawing at him, amplified by your absence. It had become a routine, a cherished moment – your brief visits to his office on your way home, a shared tranquility interrupted only by the relentless summons of emergencies. Initially, he brushed off your delay, perhaps you'd been sent out to deal with a group of wanderers, or maybe you simply missed the train again, it wouldn't be the first time, but as time stretched on, apprehension crept in.

The shrill beep of his pager interrupted his thoughts, summoning him to yet another crisis in the ER. Suppressing his concerns, Zayne hastily navigated the labyrinth of corridors, mentally bracing himself for the unknown ahead. Yet, no amount of preparation could have steeled him for the chilling sight that awaited.

There you lay, motionless upon a stretcher, a crimson tide seeping through your shirt.

Zayne's world ground to a halt.

In that moment, a profound uncertainty gripped him, eclipsing the clarity of his usually sharp mind. Fear and panic coiled around him, suffocating his every thought, rendering him powerless in the face of the unthinkable.

The room pulsed with frantic activity as medical staff swarmed around your motionless form, their urgent voices blending into a disorienting noise. Zayne, usually the epitome of composure in the chaos of the emergency room, found himself frozen, his years of expertise rendered moot in the face of your battered figure. Amidst the chaos, a distant announcement pierced through, signaling the preparation of the operating room, but it was the firm grip on his shoulder that momentarily yanked Zayne from his spiralling thoughts.

Turning, he met Greyson's gaze, a silent understanding passing between them amidst the chaos.

"We're taking her to the OR straight away... You should return to your office. I'll update you as soon as there's any news," Greyson's words were a lifeline in the storm.

Unable to find his voice, Zayne simply nodded, watching in silence as they wheeled you away, his heart heavy with unspoken fears.

Alone in his office, Zayne paced with restless anguish, the image of you haunting his thoughts. He, who had never been one to seek solace in prayer, found himself pleading to unseen forces for your survival. Despite his unwavering trust in Greyson and the medical team, his mind betrayed him with a torrent of doubts.

What if the worst were to happen?

What if your injuries were too severe?

What if he never got the chance to gaze into your beautiful eyes again?

His fingers raked through his disheveled hair, a futile attempt to anchor himself amidst the dark thoughts consuming him, unwilling to confront the unbearable prospect of a world without you.

After what seemed like an eternity, a gentle rap echoed on his office door. Ignoring his own disheveled state, Zayne hurried to greet the visitor, his heart hammering in his chest as he swung the door open to reveal Greyson's fatigued figure. The weariness etched on Greyson's face spoke volumes of the arduous surgery.

"Is she..." Zayne started, his voice faltering as he couldn't bring himself to complete the question.

Greyson's reassuring touch on Zayne's shoulder brought a wave of relief, his gentle gaze offering solace as he delivered the long-awaited news. "She's okay, Zayne. Just breathe... she's alive."

With a shuddering exhale, Zayne released the tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his eyes brimming with tears of gratitude as he whispered a heartfelt "thank you" to Greyson.

Gathering his composure, Zayne met Greyson's gaze once more. "Where is she? I need to see her."

Understanding the urgency in Zayne's request, Greyson provided the room number, observing silently as Zayne bolted down the corridor, propelled by a mix of hope and desperation towards you.

Entering your room, Zayne is engulfed by a tempest of emotions. His heart wrenches at the sight of the resilient hunter he holds dear, now lying vulnerable in the hospital bed, yet an overwhelming sense of gratitude washes over him knowing you're still breathing. Drawing closer to your bedside, his eyes meticulously trace the remnants of your ordeal etched onto your skin—every scratch, bruise, and cut a testament to your resilience. Tenderly, one hand reaches out to cradle your cheek while the other gently clasps yours.

"...I thought I lost you..." Zayne's voice quivers with raw emotion, tears finally breaking free as he surrenders to the flood of relief and fear that had been bottled up inside.

Bowing his head, Zayne tenderly plants a lingering kiss on your forehead, his touch conveying both love and resolve. Pulling back slightly, he murmurs softly against your skin, his voice unwavering, brimming with determination.

"I swear, I will never let anything or anyone hurt you again.... You mean too much to me. I-" he pauses, gathering his thoughts. "I should've said it sooner, but I was too afraid... Now I realise that living in a world without you is far more terrifying.... You mean more to me than you could ever know.... Losing you, would be the equivalent to someone ripping my heart out of my chest.... And when you wake up, I'll make sure you know just how much I love you...."