#that this is THE girl will made the painting for...

[lovecla]

MAKE IT TO THE MORNING ; JACK HUGHES

PAIR jack hughes x fem!reader

SUMMARY being jack hughes’ girlfriend comes with a lot of hardships— but in the mornings, you realize it is all worth it.

WARNINGS unedited, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f. receiving), rough sex, p slapping, cockwarming, dirty talk, jack is lowkey a little shit, reader loves him tho, inspired by the song “make it to the morning” by partynextdoor. freaky af!!!

WORD COUNT 2,3k

FROM ME TO YOU a little late (literally, it’s like 3am for me), but this is my thank you gift for you guys because today i woke up with 700 of you!! i’m still too in shock to say anything besides thank you so much. i was celebrating 600 followers like a month ago and now this. i’ll keep working hard to give you guys good content <3 ily and pls enjoy

𖧷

don't scream or shout, i'm workin' my way down

girl, you gettin' loud, now put it in yo' mouth

THE SOUND of your heels clicking against the marble floor were enough to piss anyone off. It was annoying, repetitive and even you were starting to get tired of the little tec tec sound, but you couldn’t stop.

Dating Jack Rowden Hughes was not for the weak. And you knew that, more than anyone else. Being his girlfriend of three years— the longest time he has ever been in a relationship, mind you—, you knew that the prize was good, but the job of keeping it was tiring.

You stared at him across the room, talking to some random fans who definitely didn’t know what being a fan was, since they were all over him, with their hands on his arms and shoulders.

He eyed you from time to time, blue eyes making it hard for you to stay one hundred percent mad at him— truthfully, you knew that all it would take for you to forgive him for his playboy behaviour would be a single kiss and an aggressive make out session.

“It isn’t so fun watching from here, huh?” Quinn’s new fling, or whatever the girl standing beside you was, said, approaching you quietly. “Trust me, I know how it feels.”

You hummed, not engaging with her. You knew Jack wouldn’t actually do anything, but still, it didn’t feel nice to get painted as the dumb girlfriend who has to watch her famous boyfriend laugh and take pictures with hundreds of girls while she stands in the back.

“I’m lucky my Quinn isn’t as nearly as talkative as he is,” she continues, despite your silence. “But you know, Jack is everyone’s favorite.”

You turned your head to the side, watching the girl next to you eye Jack the same way she eyed Quinn, hungry and suggestive, and that was enough for you.

“Sorry,” you interrupted, putting your wine glass down— it had been empty for at least ten minutes— and smiling apologetically. “I have a terrible headache, so I think it’s time for me to head out.”

“Oh, sorry to hear that,” she pouts, and you can feel your eyes twitch. “It is pretty late too, so you must be tired.”

“Mhm.” You nod, looking at your phone. 3:46a.m.

“Do you want me to call Jacky?” She asks, expectantly, and the way she says his name makes you want to smash her face against the crumbles of cake sitting on the buffet table.

“No, no, it’s fine, don’t worry,” you play dumb. “It was nice seeing you…”

You forgot her name. It was probably something like Olivia or Madeline, but still. You didn’t remember.

“It was nice seeing you, too!” She says, apparently clueless to your lack of memory— and interest. “I’ll text you later so we can talk more.”

“Sure thing, yeah.” You walk towards Jack with long, careful steps. “Hey, babe.”

His eyes are on you immediately, his hair moving around with his abrupt move. He smiles, stepping out of the little circle the girls had made around him to wrap his arms around you.

“If it isn’t my favorite girl,” he says. “Hi, baby.”

You can feel the girls’ eyes on you, burning your skin like the fictional fairies’ whenever they touch iron. It is a feeling you are used to already, but you feel yourself shivering either way.

“Can we go?” You ask, bluntly ignoring the other women there. “It’s late.”

“Yeah, we can,” he nods, turning his head back to his little girl group before smiling at them. “See ya, ladies.”

See ya, ladies?

“Bye, Jack.”

“You’re the best!”

“See ya next time!”

You can’t hide your pout on your way home— you don’t even try to. You have your arms crossed in front of your chest as you sit in the front seat of Jack’s absurdly expensive car, listening to the quiet hum of his air conditioner and the annoying noise whenever he turns on the turn signal.

“You’re not mad… are you?”

His voice is tentative, almost as if he’s scared of asking the question.

“Are you kidding me? You spent half of that ridiculous party talking to women. Tell me I can’t be mad about that.” You hiss back, not looking at him. You know there are high chances of you folding bad if you do.

“Baby, I already told you, it’s all business,” he says, once again, because he has, indeed, told you that several times before. “I can’t have them saying I’m a rude guy, can I?”

“Sometimes I can’t believe the shit you say,” you scoff. “You literally told a reporter to fuck himself last week, on live. Talk about being a nice guy now, Jack.”

“Come on, you’re not being fair!” He exclaims, and you can hear the pout on his voice. “He talked shit about you. He was lucky I didn’t punch him in the face.”

You rolled your eyes, biting your lips to hide your smile.

Little does Jack know you jumped out of the couch when you saw the transmission and giggled while you sent texts to your best friend about how you would have to be the mother of his children.

You stayed silent, looking at the dark streets, briefly forgetting about your anger to notice how beautiful your city is. There weren't many people in the streets at that hour— it was summer, yes, but it was almost four a.m and it was still Monday, and a lot of people were still working.

When you got to your and Jack’s apartment— a two bedroom penthouse with plenty of space and a kitchen you still fell in love with every time you looked at it— you didn’t waste time before heading to the guest bathroom shower, a clear sign that you didn’t want Jack to join you, which you knew pissed him off.

You were quick even though you weren’t sleepy, washing the soap off your body under the lukewarm water; happy because it was your favorite scent.

You got out of the stall, opening the bathroom door after you wrapped the towel around your body, deciding to change inside your bedroom.

Or at least that’s what you thought you would do.

“Y/n.” Jack calls you, sitting on top of the bed.

“Fuck, Jack,” you grunt. “You scared me.”

“I can’t have you mad at me, baby,” he says, getting up and walking towards you, only stopping when your covered chest is touching his. “You know those women mean nothing.”

“Jack,” you sigh. ���We’ve been here before. You can’t just say that every time you flirt with other women.”

“I wasn’t—” he starts, but interrupts himself mid sentence. “You’re making shit up.”

“Am I?” You ask, holding the towel tighter. “You damn well I’m not.”

“Listen,” he says. “I’m not proud with the way I acted but I already told you—”

“It’s all business. I know, you know, we all know.” You roll your eyes, stepping back and moving forward so you can leave the room. His hand finds your waist almost immediately, locking you in place. “Jack—”

“You’re so full of complaints, baby,” he whispers. “Every time we go out you complain about something.”

“I wouldn’t complain if you didn’t give me reasons to.”

He clicks his tongue, running his fingers over your naked arms. You shiver slightly, hoping he doesn’t see it. “You want more?”

“More what?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“More reasons to complain,” he continues, chuckling as he lowers his head and hides it in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. “Real reasons to complain.”

“Wha—”

“Because I’ll give them to you, if you want to,” he licks your skin, and you can feel yourself start to malfunction. He’s a little shit, you think, as you slowly start to give in. He’s a little shit and I’m in love with him. “Or I can keep your mouth full so you can’t complain anymore.”

He stands up straight again, staring at you while his fingers move to where you were holding your towel.

“What’s your pick, baby?” He whispers, removing your grip from the soft fabric around your body, letting it fall on the floor, like a puddle of water on your feet.

You’re fully naked, and he can’t even pretend he’s not looking— he is. He always is.

Jack kisses you with hungry, tender lips. He holds your neck while he licks your lips with his tongue, hot and messy. He tastes like beer and you hate it, but you cannot get enough.

You wrap your own arms around his neck, holding him so close to you you could feel his heartbeat. Kissing him never got old, and if you were to write down your top ten favorite things about Jack Hughes, his kiss would definitely be number one.

You breathe in his scent, your favorite ever since you met him, and you can feel your legs start to give in, just like the rest of your body. It’s late at night, almost morning, your body can’t keep up with your mind and you want to tell Jack to fuck off.

Yet.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers against your lips, as he guides you to the bed, laying you down with your hips on the edge of it. “Let me give you something to make noise about.”

That’s the only warning you get before he gets his knees on the floor and separates your legs, leaving you open and exposed. You feel his fingers spreading your lips open, and when his tongue finds its way to your clit, all of your previous complaints are gone.

You close your legs around his neck, holding him in place, while he puts on a show for you, his fingers tracing the wetness pouring out of you.

You let out a soft moan, holding his hair with your hands, not bothering to be gentle. His tongue found your clit again, rubbing it in slow, circular motions.

“Jack.”

You trash under him as he flicked your sensitive nub with his mouth, the wet noises making you want to disappear. Jack always seemed pleased to go down on you, but you still aren’t used to this fact about him.

“So sweet, baby,” he murmurs, the vibrations of his words sending shivers down your spine, as he dives in again.

He has you curling your toes and arching your back, moaning his name loud and proud, but still, he doesn’t stop. He slides his arms under your thighs, holding you in place by gripping your waist, hard.

He has you coming in under five minutes— it’s a shame it’s over so soon, but what can you do, really. He looks up at you between your thighs, and the sight alone has you moaning, desperate for something else.

You pull his hair, gently, signaling to him that you wanted him up, closer to you, and so he does. He kisses you again, and you get to taste yourself on his lips, moaning loudly inside his mouth when you feel his dick trapped between his body and yours.

“Jack,” you whisper again, placing both of your hands on his cheeks. “I need you.”

“Yeah. I can see that.” He says, chuckling as he gets off you and removes the rest of his clothes.

He slides inside you with no hesitation or whatsoever, knowing too well that your inside’s have his print all over it. You both moan loudly, louder than you should be moaning at four something in the morning, but you can deal with the complaint letter later.

He holds your legs together, pressing them against your chest, almost folding you in half. He is being rough, something you absolutely want to kill him for, but you let yourself enjoy the roughness for a moment; you can scold him later.

You can feel him deeper now, as your body gets dragged up and down against the mattress, making you want to scream.

“You’re wet,” he says through his teeth and you can tell he’s also giving in. “Y/n, fuck.”

You’re clenching around his length as he strokes your G spot, dragging his dick against your walls, once again making sure you can take everything he gives you.

“Harder.” You hear someone ask, probably yourself, and you also hear his low chuckle. “Not enough.”

“Still complaining?” He asks, but doesn’t give you time to answer. Instead, he removes his right hand from your waist and does the one thing he knows it will have you drooling and begging under him.

He slaps your pussy. The wet, loud sound that fills the room makes you squirm, unconsciously trying to remove yourself from his hold. But he’s stronger, always has been.

“Take it, baby.”

He then slaps you again, and again, and so many times you stop counting. The feeling of his cock throbbing inside you, and his rough slaps against your clit is enough to make you come, leaving you almost lifeless under him.

“Good girl, Y/n,” he says, kissing your lips, briefly. “I’m gonna come, fuck.”

“Inside, please,” you hear yourself mumbling, and you’re not even sure if Jack hears it.

“What was that, baby?” He asks, his thrusts getting sloppy.

“Inside?”

“Fuck,” he curses. “I’m—”

He cums inside you, the familiar feeling making you sigh with bliss. You are both panting, the room smells of sweat, alcohol and sex, and you swear you can see the sun start to rise through the bedroom’s floor to ceiling windows.

You’re just about to tell Jack you want to go to sleep when you feel him start to pull out, which has you protesting, immediately.

“No, I— sleep inside, please?”

His blue eyes are staring down at you, and now, there’s a hint of a smile plastered on his face. He nods once, manhandling you around until you’re under the sheets, with your back glued to his chest, and his length still nestled inside you.

“Well, if you’re still mad at me,” he whispers. “At least we made it to the morning, huh?”

“Shut up,” you whisper back, barely hiding your smile. “If you keep talking, there won’t be any other morning.”

He laughs, kissing the top of your head. “Very well, then.”

𖧷

NHL MASTERLIST. JACK HUGHES MASTERLIST

[reddtulips]

something something ghoap staying at johnny’s family farm that’s less than two hours away from glasgow.

they barely reach the damn place because simon insists on driving and takes a wrong exit on the highway and johnny has to piss a hundred times during the drive.

the air is crisp and cold and frosts the tips of their noses and simon forces indifference when johnny’s fingers brush simon’s to hold the duffel bag so he can close the trunk of the car.

johnny knocks on the front door and his mother rips it open, hugging his son and without a second to think, hugs simon as well and ushers them inside.

johnny’s father is a simple man and gives simon a firm handshake and a pat on his back and shows him the dining room, a feast set on the table and every salad under the sun overflowing in hand painted bowls that johnny’s mother made when she did pottery ten years ago.

johnny’s sisters are there, his niece and nephews as well, all children and simon sweats thinking how in the hell he is supposed to talk to them. are the boys at the appropriate age to know about guns and knives? or do they look at encyclopedias of greek mythology and dinosaurs? does the niece like barbie and dress up? or is she one of those girls that like to collect bugs and draw hopscotch on the pavement with colorful chalk and wipe the excess from her fingers onto her pants?

they watch him with eager eyes and giggles smothered behind tiny hands, and watch in awe when he lifts his balaclava to expose his mouth so he can eat.

johnny does the talking at the table and simon can’t understand a fucking word he’s saying because he’s gone full scottish with his family, only hums and nods occasionally. he wolfs down every piece of food, the human trashcan that he is (and because he doesn’t remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal), and nearly combusts for a second time that day as johnny’s mam places a plate with a thick slice of apple pie in front of him, vanilla ice cream melting over it and puts a hand on his shoulder, “johnny told me ye have a sweet tooth, so i made it especially for ye.”

simon who does silent breathing exercises so he doesn’t cry because he misses this so fucking much. to sit down with a family and enjoy a meal together with loved ones and not fight, nor scream nor yell nor cry nor throw food nor break plates and it’s just laughter upon laughter upon claps on the shoulders and clutching at arms and pulling each other into side hugs and light jabs that mean nothing and don’t break into full blown fights and simon thinks he’s going to vomit.

simon who gets to see johnny’s childhood bedroom. it’s decorated in superhero posters and hanging medals and trophies from gymnastics and competitive shooting competitions. johnny turns sheepish when simon points them out, teases him and likes and fears the swirl of warmth in his chest when johnny’s ears and neck turn red. he’s told “still a better shot than you,” and if johnny were anyone else, he’s be given toilet cleaning duties for the next three months.

simon who wants to pull out and empty every drawer, check every nook and cranny and learn and suck in every single piece of information and story there is about johnny and what — there’s pictures of you as a kid? with a mohawk? fuck off, soap, lemme see.

johnny opens the left door of his wardrobe and it’s covered in baby pictures of him and his family and simon’s chest tightens but he doesn’t break his gaze. Lo and behold, Johnny points out a picture on top and holy shit, it’s him holding a fat, orange cat the size of half his body and he’s sporting a long mohawk. His cheeks are stained with tears but there’s a forced grin on his face and blood on his chin. johnny explains it was his 7th birthday, he fell off a swing, hit his chin and his mam still wanted a photo. the cat’s named ‘fergus’ and he’s still alive and has lost most of the weight. he explains more photos but simon’s eyes keep coming back to the first one and he just wants to lean down and leave a gentle kiss on the scar covering johnny’s chin.

the kids don’t leave simon alone, as much as uncle johnny protests and tells them to get tae and let ‘em rest, he’s been drivin’ all mornin’ but watches them from the kitchen with a soft smile as simon walks around with the kids hanging and clutching at his strong arms like they’re monkeys and simon can’t get enough of their giggles and ooh’s and ahh’s when he tells them heroic and child-friendly war stories about their uncle. he also tells them that he sucks ass at taking orders and sharing his MREs and that they should listen to their parents and respect their elders and share with each other. johnny smothers a grin behind his hand as simon uses his lieutenant’s voice when speaking to the kids about these things.

johnny steals simon away then, “gotta show ‘em the horses”, and simon keeps his distance and doesn’t dare get up on one of them. the cockiest, “scared, Lt.?” with a shit-eating grin from johnny makes him grab the reigns and climb on. johnny leads the horse down the field and they fall into a comfortable silence. simon can’t get enough of the peace and quiet and chirping of birds and gentle yet chilly breeze on his hands and johnny is suddenly coming to a halt.

simon looks down at his sergeant, and his cheeks are flushed red and there’s determination and well-masked hesitation in his blue eyes and before simon knows it, he’s being pulled down by the sleeve of his jacket and johnny is cupping the sides of his face and pressing a gentle kiss over the material of simon’s mask. it’s innocent, quick, almost like it doesn’t even happen and isn’t registered. but their gazes meet when they part and it’s over for both of them because simon is fervently pushing his mask up and cupping johnny’s cheeks and they’re both leaning forward again and pressing kiss upon kiss upon kiss on each other’s lips and simon finally thinks,

i’ve found it. i’ve found home.

[hrrtshape]

EMMA±??±?±?±?±??!?!?!?!OMGORMGOGMG????? STORYTIME HELLOW WHERE DID U EVEN SHIFT TO

i spent 15 days in the upper east side and now i have an existential crisis about my real life (but in a hawt way)

unlike my previous shifts, where i’d spend 10 minutes, maybe 20, dipping my toes into a life so much better than this one, i spent fifteen whole days in my better cr. fifteen days ago, i woke up in my king-sized bed with 1000-thread-count sheets and realised i had, in fact, won in life.

i had done it. no brief glimpse, no fleeting moment before snapping back to my real-world peasantry. fifteen days. enough time for a full socialite saga and to meet my beau!?!?!??! enough time to wake up in pyjamas which might as well been the most comfortable thing i've ever worn, hear the distant clatter of someone else in the other rooms, and stretch luxuriously as if i were in a renaissance painting. i could smell money in the air FOLKS!?!?!!!! not new money, but old money, the kind that sits heavy in the walls (!??!?!?), the kind that makes people say your last name like it means something. and this was my life. MY LIFE. at last. took it long enough.

the first morning, and you have to understand my main character syndrome for this, i stepped out onto the balcony, the manhattan skyline.....mhmhmhmhmhm....mhm. mhm. mhmm. stretching before me like a personal prophecy, and i felt it in my bones!!!!!!: this was home. MY HOME. okay. so. then i went around, you know, exploring my little room (not little...) and girl the moment i stepped in front of a mirror.......WHO'S THIS BABE???? yea. yea. i even had a cat !!!!

then i went to school. sorry, went, i mean DRIVE. now, here’s the dealio. i had scripted myself into this effortlessly put-together, socially untouchable, well-adjusted manhattan teen heiress life. but there were gaps in my logic. big ones. like, for example: i couldn't drive. i didn't know how to drive !!!

and yet, there i was in the morning in my super super super sSUPPPERRR cutesie school uniform, keys in hand, standing in front of a car (a Porsche, people, a porsche!!!) that looked like it cost more than my entire life back in my cr. so, i acted like i totally knew what i was doing. slid into the driver’s seat with the confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before, adjusted the mirrors like i had a clue, and started the car.

and then? i picked up lily-rose depp.

(she's not an actress in this dr, by the way. just my best friend. which is infinitely cooler.)

she didn't even question everything. just said i looked really hawt today. i was blessed. seriously. like i'm typing this and also screaming i want to go back.

somehow. miraculously. i got us to school in one piece. st. lazarus international college. it looked like a cathedraland felt like a warzone. we pulled up alongside a line of obnoxiously expensive cars (not a single honda in sight!?!?!?!?), and i barely had time to breathe before stepping out onto the pavement, uniform pristine, COACH. MOTHAUFCKING COACH TOTE bag slung over my shoulder like i was about to solve world hunger instead of sit through calculus (that shi fucking sucked btw !!!! but my school's classrooms were drop dead gorgeous).

anyways. i now have to brush upon something that made me almost let out a humongous squeal when i saw him. CORIOLANUS. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes,ewfygweuvbuihweiusvbgiweu`rs. i saw him. yep. yep. i had to slap myself. metaphorically.

SO. i had scripted that on my first day, i would give coriolanus snow a nosebleed.

and !?!??!?!?!!?! IT SUCCEEDED. when i first saw him, he was leaning against a row of lockers like he owned the place and i swear to god i almost moaned. crisp white shirt, tie loose, cheekbones sharp enough to wound, eyes narrowed. pray.

HO. HE WINKED AT ME. and then i walked past him with my bfffffff lily-rose and. and. and. nosebleed. bro. bro. bro. BROSKI. the way he blinked..........the way his breath hitched just a little as the first drop of blood slid over his cupid’s bow. the WAY he tilted his head back, tongue darting out briefly over his lip. oh my god. i was actively fighting to not go and jump on him and like do vile disgusting things.

i had won the war, but at what cost?

because he was so hot.

SO FUCKING HAWT.

uh. so. yeah. that was just the first two hours of my better cr, and it was already putting my entire existence to shame. like, objectively, scientifically, undeniably better than anything i have ever done in my cr.

ssssoooooo. IF ANYONE WANTS TO HEAR MORE…do let me know. because, hands clasped, eyes glistening, heart on the verge of combustion, i am being so serious. this was the peak of my human experience. i have tasted divinity PEOPLE. i have lived too well. i fear i must go back, or else i will experience genuine withdrawals from the lack of my paramour’s face in my daily visuals.

so yeah. if you’re curious… hit me up. (evil, knowing laughter echoing into the abyss)

OH AND. whenever i'd go to sleep there i'd like cry out of fear that i'd wake up in my cr but whenever i'd wake up just...there...i'd literally pray to god. BECCAUSE EIJISEJFEWUSHFIHEJI. i'm there.

anyway, i am so not okay about this. i keep coming back to edit, rewrite, relive. but okay. listen. if you ever had even a sliver of doubt about shifting, i am kneeling right now, hands clasped, eyes wide with conviction, telling you!!!!!!!

SHIFTING IS SO FUCKING REAL.

it’s real in a way that defies logic, in a way that makes the air feel electric, in a way that rewires your entire understanding of existence. so real. so unimaginably real.

[etclouie]

day one — captain’s girl

ᯓ ꨄ︎ — summary; hearing your boyfriends name always seems to catch your attention (James Potter x fem!reader)

ᯓ ꨄ︎ — warnings; established relationship, james kinda being a tease??, possible ooc james, uhm that’s it tho i’m pretty sure

ᯓ ꨄ︎ — word count; 1,044

ᯓ ꨄ︎ — a/n; event was a very last minute decision so trust it’s not perfect

prev day | next day louie’s 14 days of love | main masterlist

being James’ girlfriend always meant hearing his name when you walked the castle’s corridors, but what you didn’t account for was it to garner your attention every time. 

whenever someone said his name, your head tilted towards them in hopes that he was with them. 

which left you with a twinge of disappointment every time, longing to see that boisterous grin you fell in love with. 

today was no different, you were sat in the great hall finishing off some homework. scribbling idly at the parchment in front of you when another group of people walked through the doors into the hall, chanting James’ name.

this time though, he was there. in the middle of the sea of people, which had a smile tugging at your lips. 

his eyes met yours while he pushed past everybody in his way, barely showing them a second glance as he made his way towards you. 

your smile grew as he came closer until he was sitting next to you, lips soft as they pressed a kiss to yours, whispering out to him. 

“hi Jamie”

the nickname made him smile, leaning in to kiss you again before the sound of Sirius and Remus talking grew closer as they followed after James. 

ignoring the pair as you dotted at your boyfriend, right hand lifting to brush his disheveled hair out of his face before he pressed a kiss to your wrist. giggling as he pressed another kiss to your wrist, and then another before he whispered out to you. 

“hi love”

there was something about his voice that made your head spin and your heart swoon, it was always warm and comforting. 

his presence a pleasant surprise compared to the usual disappointment that came from hearing his name without him being around, eyes unable to pull away from his face. 

“missed you”

he quirked a brow at your words, a small teasing jest that made you roll your eyes at him. though he knew there was no malice to it, his face painted itself a look of mock offence. 

“hey hey, i missed you too—which is why i’m here”

he told, reaching for your bag that you’d stuffed under the table so he could put away your things, ignoring your protests and complaints about having to finish your homework. 

instead of listening, he leaned in to kiss you again. softer than before as you melted into him, your fingers pushing up into his hair to pull him closer. 

you could hear Sirius chuckle behind you both, which made you part from James. giggling again as he tilted his head to throw Sirius a glare, his hands lifting in surrender before he turned back to Remus. 

“i know we haven’t seen much of each other lately so i’m taking you out tonight”

James had stood from the bench next to you, your bag slung over his shoulder as he held out both of his hands to you. 

confusion drawn across your face as you slowly followed him off of the bench, hands taking his as you mumbled out to him. 

“but James i’ve got homework and you’ve got practice”

he shushed you with another kiss, his left hand lifting to cradle your face as he pulled back. resting his forehead against yours as he whispered back. 

“just came from practice, so i’m yours all night”

he wiggled his eyebrows teasingly which had you rolling your eyes at him again, curling into him as his left arm wrapped around your shoulders. 

your head laying on his chest while he looked down at you, walking you both out of the great hall and towards his dorm so he could change. 

“but your stuff—“

you started, but he shushed you with another kiss. deeper this time, and his teeth nipping at your bottom lip in an attempt to deepen the kiss even more. 

pulling back before he could deepen it even more, he whispered against your lips. 

“already at my dorm, wanted to personally escort you love”

you couldn’t help but sigh, you knew you needed to finish your homework but he was so easy to give in to. 

leaning in you stole another kiss, grumbling against his lips. 

“ever the gentleman”

he chuckled at that, shaking his head as he continued to walk you towards his dorm. his left arm still around your shoulders as he pulled you in closer against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

once in his dorm, you sat at the foot of his bed. watching him move around the room, pulling out clean clothes and move back to you. 

his arms on the bed on either side of you as he stole another kiss, whispering against your lips. 

"been meaning to ask you something, love. Sirius mentioned it the other day, but when you hear my name, do you start looking around for me? or do I just have that effect on you?"

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the teasing lilt of his voice, playfully slapping at his shoulder before he chuckled. a knowing look gracing his face as he slowly tugged off his shirt, tossing it aside and meeting your eyes again. 

his smirk widening as your eyes raked down his body, looking away reluctantly as he played into your stares, flexing his arm and the muscles tensing at his movements. 

“you’re unbelievable”

you grumbled, unable to keep your eyes off of him. letting your eyes flick across his body again as he continued to smirk down at you, a small hint of smugness filling him. 

he moved into your space again, causing you to lay flat against his mattress as his body blanketed yours. 

his lips pressing to yours to steal yet another kiss, the longing you both shared coming to a head as you chased after him as he pulled back—getting you right where he wanted you, easily giving in despite your efforts. 

“fine, yes i look for you when i hear your name—now go shower” 

he lifted from you with ease, smirk still across his face as he grabbed a towel and his clean clothes. tossing them over his shoulder as he called out to you over his shoulder. 

“that’s my girl”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[maleyanderecafe]

Over the Moon (Visual Novel)

Created by: Bibibbb99

Genre: Shonen ai

Over the Moon is a beautiful demo that honestly can be finished off as it's own short game. Despite the fact that we never see Galileo, the main lead, we do get to see the chemistry between the two boys as they have class and go to a festival together. The artwork is pretty and beautiful and I think it has good potential for a sequel or a more fully fleshed out game if needed. This game doesn't seem like it's available at the moment, so we'll keep this as a sort of documentation of what the game was.

The story starts out with Galileo in a dream, on the bottom of a spiraling staircase where he can either go up or down. Going up he sees a woman laughing and dancing with her lover, a star. As she dances with the star, you hear her confess her love. If Galileo goes down instead, he instead hears a resentful voice, crying out and wondering why they chose someone else but not them, confessing their love and begging to why they chose the star instead of them. Either way, Galileo is woken up by his roommate, Atlas, who has made the two tea. You can choose the type of tea, though there is a special interaction for choosing pepperment with too much sugar (which Atlas will say he will only make on special occasions since if he lives that way he might incur health problems) or if you choose black tea, which Atlas will be extremely happy since the two of them share the same taste in tea. Otherwise, Galileo will thank Atlas for making the two of them tea each morning, which will make Atlas happy and blush. Galileo starts talking to Atlas about a book he read, where Atlas talks about a romance between a wanderer and a librarian who must stay in her library, the school work the two have to do and how Atlas is pretty good at Potionology and finally gossip between other classmates, specifically two classmates named Theodore and Lucas. Although Atlas seems to disapprove of rumors, Galileo talks about how the two are planning to dance during a quiz to distract the professor, though Lucas ended up chickening out, with Atlas commenting that it's cowardly to betray your friend like that. Finally, Galileo talks about the dream he had, either of the girl dancing with the stars or the mournful voice, which will lead to Atlas talking about how similar the dream is with a story he's read.

The school bells ring for classes, and the two boys end up studying and going to class, leading to going into the library afterwards. Atlas compliments Galileo on his math scores and can either whine or playfully tease Atlas about it. Atlas seems to know that Galileo works hard on it despite beating Galileo in his scores. To this Galileo challenges Atlas to who can finish their maths first, with the winner being the glorious winner (as Galileo puts it). Atlas ends up winning before Galileo is halfway, so he declares Atlas the winner. Atlas asks Galileo to take off his blazer vest as there's a button that has been loose. Galileo can either refuse, take off the blazer or ask for Atlas's blazer to wear in return. If he does the latter, Atlas will blush and as Galileo continues his homework wearing Atlas's blazer and, Atlas will sew his blazer in return. After this, Atlas will talk to Galileo about a night market that's happening that a teacher mentioned during class. Atlas seems prepared for this venture and the two end up going to the fair together.

At the fair, Galileo can either look around or specifically look into one of the stores. If Galileo decides to look around, he and Atlas will browse around, looking at various potions, stuffed animals and others until Atlas specifically looks at one of the stalls. He looks at the painting of a cozy cottage with flowers and reminisces about living there (with Galileo) until they go back. Conversely, if Galileo looks specifically at one of the stores, a place that sells model telescopes, the vender and Galileo will talk about stargazing, with the vender even talking about a shooting star event. He loses Atlas for a bit but finds him looking at some jewelry, where Atlas decides to buy some as a gift to his mother.

Upon going home, Galileo immediately passes out. Atlas after checking if he's fallen asleep, talks about how he was worried that he had put too much sleeping potion into yesterday's tea and that he might not wake up. He has adjusted it, happy to see Galileo's expression every morning when he wakes up. If Galileo went to look at the telescopes, Atlas will unravel the present, showing a ring, and will slide the ring onto Galileo's finger and his. If they went around, Atlas will talk about how the painting was about the future he wanted with Galileo. He states he'll do anything for that dream, and that he hates living in the capital and how he doesn't want to be the family heir, wanting the two of them to run away together. Atlas will have different responses depending on whether or not he was allowed to sew Galileo's shirt, with him being extremely happy if the two of them swapped blazers for him to wear. If you specifically choose the block tea, tease him and trade blazers with Atlas, he will also have a short cute blushy scene where he will try to kiss Galileo on the cheek. After this, he tells Galileo goodnight and says he has to do some "pest control duties" tonight, excited by the face that he will make in the morning.

Upon waking up, Galileo sees Atlas frowning as the two of them drink tea. Atlas breaks the news that Theodore pushed Lucas off the balcony, leading to Lucas being in a coma and Theodore being kicked out of school, claiming that after the incident, the two had an argument and shoved Lucas off the roof. Galileo attempts to comfort Lucas, blaming himself for telling him of the rumor, with the last shot of the game having Atlas elated at the fact that Galileo is hugging him.

First of all, the artwork in this game is seriously gorgeous, from the CGs and the cute little moments that Atlas has with Galileo. The close ups of Atlas are extremely pretty and the small chibi moments are really cute. Even the backgrounds are made to be extremely pretty as well.

The story itself is generally pretty simple, establishing the daily life of Galileo and Atlas in boarding school, drinking tea together, going to classes together, studying together and going to the fair together. The story itself does a pretty good job for some aspects of foreshadowing, with the dreams showing both sides of Atlas's devotion, the more desperate and pathetic side and the romantic and loving side. It is pretty clear that Atlas loves Galileo, but to what extent is fairly unknown at least until we get to the end, when he seemingly causes Lucas to go into a coma and blames it on Theodore and drugs Galileo. I'm not sure why Atlas decided to go after these two boys, likely because Galileo showed interest in their shenanigans perhaps (or to teach him a lesson in the idea that he really does not like listening to rumors), though he does use this by pretending to be extremely upset that this happens so that Galileo will not do this again and so he can get a hug from him. We also learn a bit from the special interaction where Galileo is from a richer family (probably the reason why his grades are so high because he has to live up to his family's legacy), though he has no use for being the heir and will do anything to run away with Galileo. It seems that he's been drugging Galileo for a bit (though based on his worry that he over did it, I'm not sure if it's been a very long time yet) just so he can see him wake up and sleep. There are plenty of cute moments with Atlas fawning over Galileo such as when he complements him and blushes, making their favorite tea (worrying about his health or otherwise happy they share the same tastes), being extremely happy to mend Galileo's clothes (and even more so swapping them) and dreaming of a future together. I also just like the relationship built up between the two, with Galileo being a bit more teasing towards Atlas, and Atlas admiring Galileo and helping him when needed. Generally the only big gripe I have about it is the fact that we never really see Galileo or know too much about him. Technically he is the player character, but given at least on the itch.io page he is likely the red haired character, it would be nice to have some cgs that incorporate both of them. The general motif of stars is really nice, and is placed in most aspects of the story, or at least the key ones. I honestly think this game can be considered a full game, even if short, and it would be cool to see a sequel or even prequel. But as a demo, I think it can also be expanded on if needed to fill out other points.

Overall, extremely pretty and fun game with a nice yandere in it. As I said, I like the relationship developed between Galileo and Atlas and the general world (learning Potionology sounds cool). I hope to see more from this game and characters in the future.

[pinksugarberries]

Random se-mi hcs (no game au)

₊ ⁺ ⊹ ₊ ⁺ ⊹

﹒　૮꒰◞ ◟ ꒱ა　⸝　new upload!　❜

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　⸝⸝　　◦　　tags: regular gay se-mi glaze, facial piercings, smutty parts, hair pulling, mentions of smoking, fictional death, reader and se-mi are switches during freaky time, female reader intended, brat tamer

　⸝⸝　　◦　　a/n: hey chat i don’t really know what people out here uhhhhh im gay ok yeah let’s get start

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SFW

she likes listening to chase alantic to give her a ego boost after something really embarrassing happens or she breaks up with someone

she owns over 30 hoodies and justifies it as “i just run cold…! why are you judging me?”

she owns a nintendo and plays animal crossing (her favorite character is coco or wolfgang) i feel like she has a toxic relationship with fortnite (im NOT projecting..) like she hates it but she just continues to go back. “one more game”

if she’d ever play stardew valley, she would marry abigail (IFYKYK)

she likes plants and flowers and her favorite flower is a hyacinth

whenever some makes her mad secretly, in the middle of the night will boot up sims, make a sim that looks like the person and kill them. (she prefers drowning BUT lighting fires is also a good choice)

she HATES the people who uses the strawberry poundcake body mist excessively. it makes her get a headache and her nose gets all tingly

she likes cooking but she’s impatient and bluntly sucks at it. if she’s cooking at someone’s house they would probably say “what is burning?”

romantic but sucks at being romantic, please help this girl :(

gets her nails painted, or she does them herself. she really likes burgundy and black so she would do those colors :-)

she owns over 10 chokers that look the same but are for different occasions

ok the time you FREAKS have been waiting for

smokes, but only when she’s stressed

NSFW

definitely talks you through it, but more degrading words than anything.

remember that tongue piercing that i said he has in my last blog? yeah, she uses that to arouse you even more whine she’s EATING you out.

slurps ever single drop of cum after she’s done

adores your tits, and also convinced you to get pierced, now they are even more sensitive for her to play and fondle with while you’re fucking her brains out, or the opposite, while she has her strap on, she loves to see them bounce around, usually letting you get on top of her.

when she’s doming, she is mostly gentle, but she will continue to get rougher and rougher. if she hasn’t made you a crying, whimpering, and shaking mess than she hasn’t done her job correctly.

her favorite position is definitely doggystyle or missionary while she’s doming you

she LOVES shower sex. like completely adores it.

she definitely owns a 8 inch black strap and dicks you DOWNNNNN with it. can’t prove me other wise…

now while your doming HER, she could be a blushing, squirming mess,

you’re even more of a brat while your doming her and it pisses her off SO much…

you grab her choker while your rubbing your clit against hers

while you’re eating your DELICIOUS meal (her punani) you occasionally stick a few fingers in, 4 max and it makes her go INSANE. makes her cum instantly all over your face

when she’s giving you the MEANEST most DEEP backshots, she likes to pull your hair and smack your ass. a little too much but it’s ok because it’s se-mi :-)

[00valentina-writes00]

✞⛧ Her servant ✞⛧

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, femdom, strap-on use, dominance and submission, power dynamics

Word count: 1.2k

You were dusting the ornate shelves in Mel Medarda’s private quarters when her voice sliced through the silence like a blade.

“Come here.”

The command was low, smooth, yet undeniable. Your hands froze mid-motion, the feather duster trembling in your grip. You turned slowly, your eyes meeting hers across the room. She sat in her plush armchair by the fireplace, her golden-toned skin glowing in the firelight, her almond-shaped eyes piercing into yours. She was the epitome of elegance, her hair styled into an intricate updo adorned with delicate gold accents that caught the flickering light. Her lips, painted a deep, rich red, curved into a subtle smirk that made your stomach twist with both fear and desire.

You set the duster down and approached her, your heart pounding in your chest. Every step felt like an eternity, the weight of her gaze making your breath come shorter. When you reached her, you stood tall—or as tall as you could manage under her scrutiny—your hands clasped neatly in front of you.

“Yes, my lady?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mel didn’t respond immediately. She leaned back in her chair, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her wine glass. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, until it became almost unbearable.

“Kneel,” she said finally, her voice soft but commanding.

Your knees hit the carpet before you could even process the command. The plush fibers cushioned you, but your heart was racing as you lowered yourself before her. You kept your eyes downcast, staring at the delicate embroidery on the hem of her gown. Her presence loomed over you, suffocating and exhilarating all at once.

“Look at me,” she said, and you obeyed immediately, your eyes lifting to meet hers. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a spark in her gaze—something that made your stomach flutter.

“You’ve been watching me,” she said, her tone as calm as still water. “Stealing glances when you think I’m not looking. Isn’t that right?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I—I don’t know what you mean, my lady.”

Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve seen the way your eyes linger. The way your breath hitches when I’m near. You’re drawn to me, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burned, your entire body trembling under her scrutiny. There was no denying it now. She knew. She had always known.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Mel chuckled softly, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down your spine. “Good girl,” she purred, leaning forward slightly. Her fingers brushed against your cheek, and you gasped at the contact. Her touch was warm, electric, and it sent a jolt of desire through your entire being.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re like this,” she murmured, her voice dripping with amusement. “So obedient. So ready.”

Your breath came in short, shallow gasps as her fingers trailed down your cheek, your neck, your collarbone, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She cupped your chin, tilting your head back slightly so you were forced to meet her gaze.

“Undress,” she commanded, her voice firm yet gentle.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the buttons of your uniform, fumbling with the fabric as you tried to obey. Mel watched you with a predatory gaze, her eyes raking over your body as you slowly peeled the layers away. The room was silent except for the crackling of the fire and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

When you were finally bare before her, Mel’s eyes darkened with desire. Her gaze lingered on your exposed skin, and you felt a flush of heat rise to your cheeks. She reached out, her fingers trailing down your chest, your stomach, your thighs, leaving you trembling with anticipation.

“Beautiful,” she murmured, her voice low and husky. “You’re so beautiful like this. Bare. Vulnerable. Mine.”

You whimpered, the sound escaping your lips before you could stop it. Her words sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t help but ache for more.

Mel stood gracefully, her gown swishing around her as she moved to a nearby cabinet. You watched, your breath hitching, as she opened it and pulled out a golden strap-on, the firelight glinting off its polished surface. She held it up for you to see, her lips curving into a smirk.

“This is what you’ve been longing for, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “What you’ve been aching for.”

You nodded, unable to speak, your body trembling with anticipation as Mel slowly began to strap it on. The sight of her, so regal and powerful, with that golden phallus strapped to her hips, was enough to make you dizzy with desire.

“Bend over the bed,” she commanded, her voice firm.

You obeyed without hesitation, your body moving of its own accord as you positioned yourself over the edge of the plush mattress. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but you didn’t care. You wanted this. You needed this. As you looked over your shoulder you see the Devine view of Mel pulling her sleeping gown over her head, the white silk contrasting with her darkened skin in a way that was alluring enough to make you whine. Your eyes couldn’t help but to flick over the curves of her breasts and stomach, the way the strap slightly dug into the skin of her hips- it was all madding.

Mel stepped behind you, her hands trailing down your back, sending shivers through your body. “You’re so perfect for me,” she murmured, her voice soft yet filled with authority. “So obedient. So ready.”

You gasped as you felt the tip of the strap-on press against your entrance, your body trembling with anticipation. Mel pushed in slowly, deliberately, her hands gripping your hips as she filled you inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming, the pressure and fullness making you moan as she began to move, her thrusts steady and controlled.

“You’re so tight,” she murmured, her voice low and husky. “So perfect for me.”

You whimpered, your hands gripping the sheets as Mel increased her pace, her thrusts driving you closer and closer to the edge. She was in complete control, her every movement calculated to bring you to the brink of ecstasy.

“That’s it,” she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Take it. Take all of me.”

You cried out as the pleasure built, your body trembling as Mel fucked you with relentless intensity. You were completely at her mercy, your every nerve alight with sensation as she pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me,” she commanded, her voice firm. “Now.”

Your body obeyed, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as you came, your vision whiting out as Mel fucked you through your climax. She didn’t stop, her thrusts driving you to release once more, her hands gripping your hips with bruising force as she took you to the edge again and again.

When she finally slowed, you were a trembling, panting mess, your body completely spent. Mel leaned over you, her breath warm against your ear as she whispered, “Good girl. You’re so perfect for me.”

You whimpered, your body still trembling with aftershocks as Mel pulled out, her hands gently caressing your back. Her touch was soft, soothing.

[xcaffeineandcuddlesx]

ominis, self-assured but wary of relationships no matter the extent of his admiration.

he’s internally battling himself on the daily, torn between his lover’s sweet nothings of reassurance and the detrimental ideals and feelings of inadequacy his family tried to instill in his youth.

he doesn’t care about blood status, in fact, he would prefer someone that isn’t a pureblood just to stick it to his family.

he wants nothing more than to be committed entirely to each other, wishing he only had a last name he was proud to give to you, a name he would be proud to prolong with a family of his own.

he holds so dearly your attention and endearment, but keeps distance for the first few months of your relationship, wanting it not to ruin him if you decided a gaunt wasn’t worth entertaining.

he’s getting better with learning how valued he is, but cannot help the nagging thoughts of insecurity. he understands how different it must be to adjust both a romantic and casual life to accommodate a lover with one less sense. you think him foolish to believe you ever cared.

ominis can’t say he struggles with blindness, only that he wishes for your sake he had sight.

to take you to your favorite museums and experience them to the fullest, to watch the sunset with you - he hears it’s beautiful but would say it almost certainly pales in comparison to you if anyone mentioned them, to see the love that fills your eyes when you look at him.

oh, the things he would give to see your smile instead of settling to hear it in your voice.

neither of you require grand gestures to feel appreciated, so your love is made apparent through actions, though not lacking in words.

his heart melts when you started replacing your typical paints with textured ones. he was infatuated, running his fingers over your detailed works and following the stoke patterns so often it began to wear.

he would commission matching jewelry, imprints of your fingerprints onto a pendant. he loves the tactile reminder that you’ve entrusted him with a piece of your identity, and his with you.

should you want a pomegranate, he would be ever eager to peel one, uncaring of how long the task would be. he would let his admiration show for you with the stains of garnet on the pads of his fingers and beneath his nails. he doesn’t know of it, of course, but you find comfort in the fact that he carries his passion for you on his own skin; such a form of intimacy.

not without practice, he learned several styles of braids so that he had a place in your daily routine, beaming when you tell him he would make a wonderful father to a little girl.

his clothing in need of mending? it began as a one time thing, he found you practicing fonts with your threads and asked you to embroider your name so he could feel it. now, every time you fix a piece for him, he soothes himself on his worst days, caressing his fingers along the inside of his button down’s cuff where your name resides.

he would memorize the notes of your favorite songs, practicing endlessly in private to be able to fill your shared space with piano instrumentals.

in a modern world, you would surprise him with a personally made audiobook of his favorite novel. he listens to it as though it contained the secrets of the universe.

you two would roam the isles of a craft store, searching for the best textures to make matching dual-sided, no-sew throw blankets from. he revels in the peace of mind knowing that when it’s not your arms around him, he can still sleep with your warm embrace.

never letting you run cold, even if he had to hide his reddened fingertips in his pockets, his coat would be more yours than his at this point.

he would always replenish your favorite perfume once you ran low, secretly buying a second vial to use on his pillows and bedding when you’re away.

he would let you stand on his toes while you danced if you didn’t know how, any excuse to keep you held close.

ominis is such a kind lover, endlessly devoted.

[torturedtypewritersdept]

https://www.tumblr.com/torturedtypewritersdept/774051964138995712/babe-can-we-put-requests-for-dr-rafe?source=share

ahh ok ok!! <3 'cause now i can't stop thinking about coming back home from a bad day at work with a fever and all you want to do is just changing into your comfy clothes and going to sleep but of course rafe notices that you're feeling bad and he won't let you go to sleep without doing a check-up on you and taking care of his girl <33

hope you like it babe! took a little creative freedom with the request!

blue eyes + bruises - blurb - poison

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :)

You stood in front of the kitchen stove, brewing a fresh pot of water for the tea that you were so desperately craving; the forest green backsplash and the artificial plants that hung from the ceiling in macrame holders were among the first things you caught in your field of vision as you looked up from the tea kettle. Your seven month old bump created a barrier between your body and the appliance in front of you and as you went to turn around at the sound of the pitter patter of tiny toes against hardwood, you felt the newest Cameron flutter in your belly. You moved your hand against your stomach, placing it there for a moment. For you, this was the epitome of holding him, hugging him, until he made his escape from the home he had created within you. You were brought out of your momentary bliss only a mere moment later as the pitter patter of Millicent June Cameron’s feet thudded across the hardwood again, this time stopping directly in front of you with her best canine companion Murphy right beside her. He barked before plopping down into a sitting position parallel to where she stood as she smiled up at you.

“Hey, pretty girl. What are you and Murph up to?”

You questioned her as she wrapped her tiny hands around the backs of your knees.

“Color!”

Her squeal was muffled against the skin of your legs. Your two year old, blue eyed beauty, was only fluent in the words of her favorite things; chicken, color, and daddy. She said your name from time to time as well, but Rafe lived rent free in her head almost constantly and you couldn’t blame her. She was her daddy’s girl and so were you.

“How fun, baby. Did you color me something?”

You questioned, pulling her back from your legs to look at the piercing blue orbs she had inherited from her daddy.

“Mhm!”

She grunted gleefully, tugging on your hand to show you her creation. You quickly turned around, taking the kettle off the burner and shutting the stove off before following her tiny figure down the hallway. You stopped as you took in the condition of her playroom and sighed. Not only was it messy; toys scattered across the floor like lines in an abstract painting, but her creation, the one she was so desperately proud of, was all over the wall in what looked to be a permanent marker. You heard the door open only mere moments later and keys jingle in the tray by the door. Rafe was home.

“Millie!”

You whimpered silently, careful not to scold her for something she was so proud of.

“Where’s mama and my June bug?”

He called down the hallway, to which Millie responded by running out of the room and almost knocking you down, Rafe eyed you carefully down the hallway as you gripped onto the wall to keep from falling.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”

She squealed as she ran. He knelt on the balls of his feet at the end of the hallway and waited for her descent into his arms, scooping her up and spinning her around once she met him.

“Hey, June bug! Did you have a good day with mommy?”

She nodded her head ferociously in response and laid her head on his shoulder as he looked down at her. He hugged her tightly.

“I need you to go say sorry to mommy, okay?”

“Why?”

She asked, puzzled at what she had done to warrant an apology.

“You almost knocked her down, baby. Remember we have to be careful with her, we don’t want her to fall and hurt baby brother, do we?”

He questioned her with his forehead to hers. She giggled as she placed her tiny hands on either side of his cheeks before retreating into herself.

“No.”

She responded shyly as Rafe kissed her forehead and put her down, watching her tiny body scurry down the hallway to where you stood. Her little hands went to the bottom of your tummy, rubbing gently. You watched her in awe and were thankful she inherited Rafe’s kind, quick to apologize nature.

“I sorry, mommy. I sorry brother.”

She spoke into the air and you picked her up, placing her on your hip.

“It’s okay, baby.”

You cooed, readjusting the bow that sat in her hair. You carried her back down the hallway, Rafe meeting you halfway and taking her from your arms.

“What did I say about carrying her?”

He said grunting, well, more like whining. He had been completely overbearing since the day the two of you had found out you were pregnant with the second Cameron baby, which included now, as he scolded you for carrying your first born down the hallway against your swollen belly.

“I know. I’m sorry, but I just wanted to hold her. She was being so sweet, acting just like her daddy.”

You responded, giving him a sly smirk. He responded by putting Millie down as the two of you completed the journey back to the kitchen. Millie ran to where Murphy laid on the couch, giving him a gentle rub and a boop to the nose. You made your way to the stove again, placing the kettle back on the burner as the water was now cold again and your tea had simply been forgotten about. Rafe came up behind you, placing his two large hands at the base of your pelvis and lifting.

“God, you have magic hands.”

You said, letting out a sigh of relief as the pressure against your hips had been lifted.

“I sure do.”

He replied cheekily, placing a kiss to the nape of your neck.

-

The morning started as every morning had recently, Rafe working to get you ready for physical therapy and out the door in time for your appointment. Every morning was blissfully sweet, you opened your eyes to his blue orbs staring at you, like he couldn’t believe you were real and in his defense, he had a good reason to believe it was all a dream. The loss of love so great will do that to a person. Nevertheless, he stared at you and brushed your hair away from your face every morning before retreating from the bedroom and wandering to the kitchen to make you breakfast. He always asked you what you wanted before kissing your forehead and leaving the room, returning only minutes later with piles of pancakes or eggs and bacon or sometimes cereal, depending on your mood. This morning was different than any other morning you and Rafe had shared. The routine the two of you had built was followed to a tee, as it always was. But, today, as he watched your eyelids flutter under your sleep, he noticed that your face was flushed and it looked like sweat was running down your temple.

“Sweetheart, are you hot or just happy to see me?”

He whispered against your skin, as he placed his lips to your forehead. You were hot and still not stirring.

“Baby?”

He questioned with more base in his voice. Still, you didn’t stir or make a sound. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was but he knew something was wrong. In the same way that he knew something was wrong the day he met you, he knew it was now. He quickly threw the blankets off of his body, stumbling out of bed and into the bathroom, frantically searching the thermometer. A fever was currently his worst fear, the last thing he wanted was for you to be sick, especially if he was the cause. He found the thermometer and quickly slid it across your sweaty forehead. He moved swiftly down the bed uncovering your leg and pulling off your brace to get a better look at your knee. He lifted your ankle gently, knowing that pain was the worst for you when you first woke up, and removed the brace from underneath your leg. He carefully lifted the bandages to see his worst fears confirmed as your knee was swollen, red, and inflamed. You had an infection. The thermometer beeped just as he had come to his conclusion and again his fears were confirmed as he read 101.2 across the screen.

“Shit.”

He cursed under his breath, moving to put your brace back together before running back to the bathroom and running cool water over a washcloth to place on your forehead.

-

You felt a coolness against your forehead and began to stir, blinking rapidly. Your eyes felt glued shut and heavy, but you opened them, only to find your sweet man standing over you.

“Rafe?”

You said his name like it was a question, confused on where you were or what he was doing hovering over you like that. Weren’t just in the kitchen with him, with Millie? Where’s Millie?, you wondered.

“Hey, sweet girl. How are you feeling?”

He asked, rubbing your hair away from your forehead. It was only then that you relaized it had been stuck to you by sweat.

“Where’s Millie?”

You asked in response, ignoring his question.

“Who?”

He questioned, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“Millie? Our child? Where is she?”

Suddenly, Rafe’s face fell, realizing that he was going to have to tell you that you didn’t have a child, not yet.

“Baby, we don’t have a daughter.”

His voice was sorrowful as the words left his lips and immediately, you were confused. You reached under the blanket, feeling for the baby bump you had previously been sporting and it wasn’t there, it was gone. You had dreamt of your future, your life – with him. You wanted so badly for it to be real and it wasn’t. You had felt lots of pain in your life, but none could compare to that.

“What’s this for?”

You question confusedly, reaching up to your forehead, feeling the coolness of a wet washcloth sitting on your forehead.

“You have a fever baby, I’m trying to bring it down.”

He replied and you didn’t question him, he was a doctor after all.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

He asked promptly.

“I have a headache and I’m cold, but I feel fine.”

You replied, groaning a bit as you spoke.

“I’m pretty sure you have an infection, baby. So, I think we should go to the emergency room.”

Your eyes went wide at his words and his heart broke as your lips jutted out in a pout and your eyes filled with tears.

“Please don’t make me go back.”

You whispered and his heart clenched in his chest, the muscles surrounding it squeezing and contracting.

“You’re sick baby, if we don’t go it could get worse. I’ll be with you the whole time, you know that.”

He said, helping you sit up. You could only look at him in silence as the tears ran down your cheeks.

“I’m scared, Rafe.”

You replied shakily.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. Why are you so afraid? Didn’t I take care of you well enough? Don’t you trust me?”

His questions fell out of his mouth rapidly.

“Of course I do, Rafferty. But, what if they admit me? What if I have to stay again? I just got home! I just started to feel okay again!”

You raised your voice as you continued to sob. He quickly took you into his arms and brushed your hair away from your face as he laid kisses on top of your head. You clung to his bare chest as you cried, his tan, muscular skin quickly became wet with your tears.

“Look at me, mama.”

He said, holding your cheeks in his hands. You stared into his blue eyes, they were full of love and care as they always had been.

“We don’t have to go, baby. I’ll call in some antibiotics and go get them, yeah? But I need you to promise me something.”

He said. Your eyes softened and you nodded in response.

“If it gets worse, you have to go, sweetheart. I won’t lose you. I won’t.”

His words hung heavily in the air and you understood them. You understood him. After going through such a tragedy with Molly, you knew you had to listen. You knew you couldn’t do that to him too, not if you could help it.

“I promise I won’t put you in that position again.”

You responded, laying your head against his chest as he placed a kiss on your temple.

taglist:

as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please shoot me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track <3

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[violettwrites]

dancer in the dark — daryl dixon

fem!reader x daryl dixon — france

WE’RE BAAAACK !!!

i’ve been rewatching the daryl dixon spinoff and i missed my daddy so here you go !! this is heavily based off the vibes of gibson girl by ethel cain so i highly reccomend listening while you read. enjoy !!

p.s i don’t usually write third person but i was kinda writing from daryl’s point of view so it just fit better 😭

the demimonde was a world of its own. the glow of dim red lights bathed the club in something intimate and sinister, like a place where secrets came to dance and never left. the air was thick with perfume and cigarette smoke, the kind of haze that softened edges and blurred reality, making everything feel just a little more unreal.

daryl dixon had seen his fair share of places like this before the world ended— seedy bars, dim-lit dives, places where people went to forget. but demimonde was different. it felt like another world entirely, like he was stepping through a door into something he wasn’t supposed to witness.

he didn’t belong here. he knew that much. his boots were too worn, his vest too rough, and his presence too heavy for a place where people pretended the world outside didn’t exist. but he didn’t care about fitting in. he was here for information— tracking a lead.

and then he saw her.

she moved like smoke curling from a lit cigarette— slow, deliberate, intoxicating. dark lashes framed eyes that held a spark of mischief, lips painted a shade that belonged to trouble. she was just a dancer. no. she owned the stage like she had carved it from the bones of this broken world herself.

daryl had never given much thought to performances like this, but he couldn’t look away. the way she swayed, the way her fingers traced the air like she was speaking something only the lucky ones could understand. it had his breath catching in his throat.

when the song ended, the spell she seemingly had him under didn’t break. she locked eyes with him as she stepped off the stage, as if she had known he was watching all along. the corner of her mouth curled up ever so slightly— not a full smile, just enough to tell him she knew exactly what kind of effect she had.

daryl swallowed hard, fingers flexing at his side nervously. he had seen a lot of beautiful things in his like, but this was different. she was different.

and for the first time in a long time, he wanted to get closer.

she moved through the club like she owned the place. people parted for her without realising they were doing it— drawn in by whatever force she seemed to carry with her. daryl watched, his fingers moving to tighten around the strap of his crossbow, his heartbeat a little too steady for how damn unsettled he felt.

now, he wasn’t the type to get shaken by a pretty face. he’d seen plenty in his time— before, after. but this? this was something else. something slow and dangerous, like the feeling you got right before a storm broke.

she finally reached him, leaning one hand against the edge of the table he was standing at, her nails tapping against the worn wood in a rhythm only she knew. up close, she smelled like smoke and something sweet, something expensive, something that didn’t belong in a world this broken.

“you don’t look like you belong here.” her voice was smooth, low, teasing. she was american. he could tell by her accent, and the way she held herself, like she had seen something of the old world before it burned. it made him wornder how the hell she ended up here, in france, in this den of ghosts and whispers.

daryl raised a brow, his lips quirking just slightly. “neither do you.”

that made her grin, slow and knowing. “maybe,” she shrugged her shoulders, “but i make it work.”

she comfortably leaned on the table, like she had all the time in the world. the red light caught on the curve of her collarbone, the faint sheen of sweat from the stage still clinging to her skin.

“what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this? an american, too,” she asked, tilting her head.

daryl exhaled through his nose, leaning back. “lookin’ for someone.”

her grin widened, almost sinister. “hope it’s not me. that’d make things too easy.”

that made him smirk— just a little. he took her in, the way she held herself, the way she seemed to be measuring him just as much as he was her. he wasn’t sure what he had expected when she sauntered over, but he was definitely not expecting this.

“got a name?” he asked, his voice gruff.

she leaned in, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin. “depends on who’s askin’.”

daryl held her gaze, steady, unwavering. “daryl.”

she let his name settle between them, rolling it over like she was trying to decide if it suited him. then, finally, she spoke.

“nice to meet you, daryl.” she leaned back again, that same teasing smirk playing on her lips. “you can call me whatever you want.”

daryl huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “that right?”

she shrugged, eyes gleaming in the low light. “sure. long as you say it nice.”

something about her— hell, this whole place —felt like walking a tightrope over a pit he couldn’t see the bottom of. but hell if he didn’t want to take another step forward. he wasn’t sure what it was; her confidence, her sharp tongue, or the way she looked at him like she already had him figured out.

“think i’ll stick with the truth,” he said, his voice low, steady. “what’s your real name?”

she considered him for a moment, tapping her nails against the tabletop again. it was a lazy rhythm, but he got the feeling she was testing him, seeing if he was the kind of man worth answering.

then, finally— “(y/n).”

he nodded, letting her name roll of his tongue. “(y/n).”

she liked the way he said it. he could tell by the way her lips twitched, just a little.

“so,” she hummed, leaning her chin in her hand. “who’re you really looking for, daryl?”

he glanced around the club, scanning the dark corners, the clothes of people drinking and talking in low voices. “a man named quinn.”

her expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes sharpened. “can’t imagine why someone like you would be looking for someone like him.”

daryl lifted a shoulder. “got somethin’ i need.”

she studied him for a beat, like she was weighing something in her mind. then, slowly, she leaned in again, close enough that he could see the smudge of her lipstick.

“quinn doesn’t deal with just anyone,” she murmured. “but me? i might be able to help.”

daryl didn’t move, didn’t let himself react too much. “that right?”

she smiled, slow and dangerous. “that’s right.”

a slow song started up, something haunting and sensual. (y/n) stood up straight, stepping back, tilting her head toward the dance slow. “c’mon,” she said. “dance with me.”

daryl scoffed, shaking his head. “ain’t much of a dancer.”

she grinned. “didn’t ask if you were good at it.”

he exhaled through his nose, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. every damn instinct told him to stay seated, to keep his guard up. but there was something about her, something that made him want to throw caution to the wind— just for a minute.

so, against all better judgement, daryl dixon followed her out onto the dance floor.

the moment daryl stepped onto the dance floor, he knew he was in over his head. the red light above cast everything in a slow, fever-dream haze, and the music— low and sultry —seemed to vibrate through the floor beneath his boots.

(y/n) turned to face him, tilting her head, a lazy grin tugging at her lips. she didn’t reach for him immediately. instead, she let the moment stretch, like she was giving him a chance to walk away.

he didn’t.

“relax, daryl,” she murmured, stepping closer. her hands found his shoulders, fingers light but sure, sliding down his arms before guiding his hands to her waist. he tensed— only for a second —before exhaling through his nose, letting himself follow her lead.

“see? not so bad.”

he huffed at her, shaking his head. “ain’t exactly waltzin’ here.”

she laughed, low and sweet, the sound curling around him like a slow burning fuse. she swayed, guiding him into the rhythm of the music, her body moving in time with his. daryl was stiff at first, unused to this kind of closeness, this kind of softness. but (y/n)? she moved like she belonged in moments like this, like she’d done it a thousand times before.

“you’re holding on like you think i’ll disappear,” she teased, fingers brushing over the back of his neck. “you nervous, cowboy?”

daryl scoffed at her. “ain’t my first time dancin’.”

that made her smirk. “no? could’ve fooled me.”

he rolled his eyes, but she caught the way his fingers tightened slightly at her waist. it was subtle, but it was there— that shift, that moment when he let himself sink into the moment.

“you always drag strangers onto the dance floor?” he asked, voice low.

she hummed, pretending to think about it. “only the ones i like.”

daryl didn’t say anything, just held her gaze. steady and unreadable. but there was something in his eyes— something dark and curious, something hungry but restrained.

the song dragged on, slow and hazy, stretching time into something almost unreal. (y/n) pressed a little closer, her lips near his ear now, just enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath.

“quinn won’t trust you,” she murmured. “not right away.”

daryl stiffened slightly at her words. “that supposed to mean somethin’?”

she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “means you’re gonna need me.”

daryl searched her face, trying to figure out what game she was playing. but it this was a game, she placed it well. too damn well.

before he could answer, the song ended, and (y/n) stepped back, her hands slipping from his shoulders like a whisper.

“meet me after my next set,” she said, flashing him one last slow, knowing grin. “i’ll see what i can do.”

then, she was gone, disappearing into the crowd like smoke, leaving daryl standing there, his hands still tingling from where he had held her.

yeah. he was in deep now.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 134 (Still Dodging Danger in the Jungle)

Spencer Pancakes awoke to the furious buzzing of a swarm of killer bees inside their rental. With holes in the walls for windows in the sweltering jungle it wasn't surprising, but still unwelcome. Luckily, Spencer had a stick of guzmania pollenis to ward them off.

Heather slept heavily through the attack, still fatigued and woozy from the spider bite and subsequent antidote. But her body was healing, and though Spencer was wide awake thanks to the adrenaline rush of dodging bees, she let Heather sleep and moved to her workbench.

Spencer's dedication to preserving the treasures of Selvadorada had become a lifelong endeavour. She was well aware of the threat to ancient artifacts posed by local cartels who unofficially ran the territory, but she was smart about who she spoke to in the jungle, and always carried the proper permits for her digs.

She never felt more like herself than when her hands were callused, using her tools to shift the earth around priceless icons of a lost society. Spencer was determined not to let Omiscan culture be lost to famine, war, or the sands of time along with most of their structures.

Today's adventure involved exploring the Omiscan pyramid, looking for artifacts and attempting to disable modern traps set by tomb raiders desiring their own personal treasure vaults.

Heather and Spencer thought it fortuitous they'd decided to explore the underground temple complex today of all days, because when daylight broke through the jungle on their last morning of vacation, it was pouring rain outside.

Heather called Conrad to check in, and Spencer called her family, before the women packed their gear and headed into the jungle.

"He's worried about me after the spider bite, but I'll be fine as soon as the antidote runs through my system," said Heather, approaching a vine-covered gateway to the temple complex. She pulled out her machete and took a swing. "See? I'm alright. I'm sure the fatigue is down to jet lag, too."

But Spencer was distracted following her conversation with her family. "Apparently, Jett had a nightmare last night about Elsa Bjerg-Watson's death."

"Spence, I'm so sorry." Heather said. "I thought he was doing alright the morning after it happened."

"Everett's talking to him, and he set up an appointment with a counselor as soon as I'm back. I'm never excited to leave this place, but I'm glad we're going home tomorrow morning."

These adventurous moms were starting to miss their families, but they made the most of their last 24 hours in Selvadorada exploring the temple.

They set up excavation sites to dig through various mounds of dirt. They studied bowls, totems, and painted heads to disable traps and search for artifacts, travelling deeper underground while the rain poured heavily outside.

While the girls were exploring and digging, I got two separate notifications that 'Yoltic Xicoténcatl used a condom.' Clicked his face and flew to a woohoo bush at the temple complex. Twice! And I hung around like a creeper because I wanted to see who he was woohooing, and I think it glitched because they never came out.

I haven't played enough in Ciudad Enamorada, where Yoltic is from, but I'm familiar with him in @matchalovertrait's Alegria Legacy and I just wanted to know if he and Dani have been travelling in Selvadorada lately. 👀

After almost a full day underground, Heather and Spencer had lost sense of time and missed the sunset. But their digs were successful and they were both enjoying themselves. Heather felt better than she had in days, and before they finally realized how late it was, Spencer built a death totem with pieces of artifacts she found and put back together.

She was well on her way to becoming a bona fide Jungle Explorer. (Level 3 of 4.) She hadn't achieved her life's goal just yet, but she'd be back.

The beauty and mystery of the jungle would always hold a piece of Spencer's heart, but she and Heather were both ready to return to their families. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: If killer bees indoors at 3am is a new bug, I didn't even realize it because the windows don't have glass in their rental!

BONUS! Spencer returned home to rainy Henford to find Pawbin Hood, still dressed in the Sherwood Forest getup Heather bought him when she was 14 (she's about 34 now), outside her family home looking for treats. Pawbin Hood was alive when the game started and I'm wondering if putting him in the outfit really did make him immortal. 🤔

[avonnimimi]

Ruin Me

➽───❥ The Series. Part: 1 |

☥| a/n: Hi my babies! i know i keep starting series and never finish them but i can’t focus on one thing for too long, i promise ill get to the others soon. Got the idea from this pretty girl @shoyoist you should go check out her work! MEN AND MINORS DNI

☥| content: boxer!Vi, journalist!reader, porn with a plot, obsession, lesbian sex, strap (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), squirting, petnames (princess, baby, doll, good girl), overstimulation (r!receiving), stone top!Vi, upcoming toxic relationship. lmk if i missed anything!

Your first glimpse of her in the ring was something out of a fever dream. Violet, they called her. An up-and-coming boxer, a force of nature in the brutal ballet of the ring. Your job, a lowly intern at a prestigious journalism corporation, was to document her ascent, to dissect her every move, to capture the essence of this enigmatic fighter.

Notebook clutched in your hand, you sat ringside, the energy of the crowd a palpable hum around you. Your pen scratched across the page, capturing the raw power of her form, the way her muscles coiled and flexed, the almost feral intensity in her eyes. The way she moved, each punch a symphony of controlled fury, each breath a ragged gasp of barely contained rage. It was mesmerizing, terrifying, beautiful.

Your gaze lingered on the intricate ink that adorned her back, a story told in lines and shadows. Her eyes, dark and smoldering, held a depth of resentment that both intrigued and unsettled you. You felt a pull, a strange, inexplicable yearning to understand the source of her anger, the fire that burned within her.

She won three fights that night, each victory more brutal than the last. Afterwards, you were ushered into a small, sterile room, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and sweat. Violet sat across from you, her movements economical, her gaze distant. You watched, transfixed, as she unwrapped her hands, the stained cloth wiping away the blood that trickled from her nose.

You cleared your throat, the sound fragile in the charged silence. "Hello, Violet," you began, the click of your pen a nervous counterpoint to the pounding of your heart. "Since this is our first interview, I won't be asking any questions. Just say what's on your mind, yeah?" You offered a tentative smile, hoping to ease the palpable tension in the room.

Her eyes, finally meeting yours, held a warmth that belied the icy exterior. They were consuming, drawing you in, holding you captive in their depths. You felt the weight of her anger, the raw, untamed power of it, and instead of fear, you felt a strange sense of fascination, a desperate need to understand.

"My name is Vi," she muttered, her voice low and rough, each syllable a brushstroke against your already frayed nerves. Then, without another word, she rose and left, the door slamming shut behind her with a force that made you jump. You bit your lip, the taste of blood mingling with the metallic tang in the air. You had four words. Four words to show for your efforts. You were going to be in trouble.

But those four words, My name is Vi, resonated within you, a secret whispered in the darkness. They were a key, a starting point, a promise of something more.

That night, you lost yourself in the labyrinthine depths of the internet, searching for any scrap of information about this enigmatic woman. Articles painted a fragmented picture: a shadowy manager named Silco, a missing sister, a recently ended relationship with some polished, uptown woman. The images, though, those held you captive. Her unwavering stance, the defiant tilt of her chin, the messy dark hair, the full, sensual lips… You scrolled and clicked, each image, each article, fueling the growing obsession that burned within you. You wanted to know her anger. You needed to know her.

The next morning, you were reprimanded, your paltry four words deemed insufficient. They sent you back to the arena, back to the source of your burgeoning obsession.

This time, Vi was different. Distracted, her movements less precise, her focus fragmented. She still won, her raw power undeniable, but the fire in her eyes seemed dimmed, banked by some unseen force.

The post-fight interview was a repeat of the first. Vi sat across from you, her legs spread wide, her scowl etched deep into her features. The aggressive posture, strangely, made you blush.

"Hello, Vi. Good match today," you offered, your practiced smile faltering slightly under her intense scrutiny. "I have a few questions for you today."

She didn't respond, her eyes raking over you, assessing, analyzing, trying to decipher the meaning behind your words.

"How many matches have you won since you started four years ago?" The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the click of your pen and the soft hum of the air conditioner.

You almost repeated the question, fearing she hadn't heard you, but then, her voice, rough and gravelly, filled the small space. "Ninety-three."

You scribbled down the number, your hand trembling slightly. God, she's beautiful, you thought, the realization a sharp pang in your chest.

"Which opponent have you struggled with?" you asked, your gaze flitting between your notepad and her eyes.

She was watching you, her breath steady, her expression unreadable. She had fewer cuts and bruises than last time. A part of you, a small, desperate part, ached to reach out, to tend to her wounds, to soothe the ache in her jaw.

"None of them," she answered, her tone flat, devoid of emotion.

You nodded, dutifully recording her words, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. Fuck, she's hot.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the question that had been burning in your mind since you'd stepped into the arena. "Why did you look so distracted today?" The words were barely a whisper, but you knew she'd heard them.

She stared at you, her expression blank, unreadable. You waited, your heart pounding against your ribs, unsure what to do, what to say.

And then, just like last time, she got up and left.

You returned to work the next day, a newfound confidence bolstering the lingering ache in your muscles. The fleeting praise from your superiors was a mere distraction from the all consuming obsession that had taken root – Vi. She was a constant presence in your thoughts, a phantom limb you yearned to touch, understand, possess.

Two weeks later, you were drawn back to the arena. Anticipation thrummed through you, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. Vi's entrance was delayed, her opponent pacing restlessly, unaware of the impending storm.

When she finally emerged, your breath hitched. The controlled intensity you'd previously witnessed was gone, replaced by raw, untamed energy. Her eyes blazed with a feverish violet light, pupils dilated, focus fractured. Adrenaline fueled her, her movements sharper, more frenetic, each exhalation a visible plume of heat in the cool arena air.

The fight was a brutal ballet of controlled chaos. Her punches landed with devastating force, radiating palpable heat. She was a predator toying with prey, movements deceptively languid, lulling her opponent before unleashing a flurry of devastating blows. She fought only one opponent that day, leaving him shattered in her wake.

The wait in the sterile room was agonizing, anticipation curdling into restless frustration. When Vi finally arrived, a half-hour late, a dissonant grin stretched across her face, jarring against the vacant, unfocused look in her eyes.

"Hey, princess," she drawled, her voice rough, laced with a playful edge that didn't reach the depths of her gaze. "What kinda bullshit questions y'gonna ask me today?" She sprawled across from you, legs spread wide, a brazen display of dominance. Her presence filled the small space, sending a shiver of desire down your spine. Her eyes flickered downwards, acknowledging her effect on you.

"Are you on something?" you asked, genuine concern lacing your voice, your notebook forgotten.

She shook her head slowly, then let it fall back against the chair with a groan. "Y'know you're pretty when you try to analyze my fighting," she murmured, her words a caress against your raw nerves. The realization that she'd been watching you watch her sent a wave of heat through you. "But is that the only thing you watch me for?" Her eyes, slightly lidded, met yours, their intensity stealing your breath.

She rose, fluid and predatory, and stood before you, gripping your jaw, tilting your head up. Her thumb traced your bottom lip, sending a jolt of electricity through you. Your wide, innocent eyes locked with hers.

"I know when pretty things like you want something," she whispered, her voice low and husky, a promise and a threat. "And I can give that to you."

You couldn't answer, your voice trapped, but she wasn't wrong. She'd seen through you. You wanted her with a desperate hunger. You wanted to unravel her enigma, feel her heat, drown in her gaze.

And that's how you found yourself in her apartment, on her bed, her body a weight against yours in a mean mating press. She moved with controlled ferocity, her hands mapping your body, her lips leaving a trail of fire. The pleasure was sharp, intense, her voice a constant murmur of praise and encouragement, pushing you further into the abyss of sensation.

Her fingers teased your nipples, drawing moans, while her tongue traced a path down your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. With each thrust, she whispered encouragement, her voice a dark melody against your skin. You cried out her name, your pleas mingling with her moans, the world narrowing to the feel of her joined with you, her hot breath on your skin. She was a force of nature, muscles tense and powerful, eyes dark and consuming.

"Good girl, baby," she growled, her hand tightening around your throat, the pressure a delicious counterpoint to the building pleasure. "Don't needa think about anything but this dick."

"Fuck, Vi," you moaned, the words torn from you, met with a deeper, harder thrust that sent pleasure crashing through you.

The intensity spiraled towards a blinding crescendo. She whispered promises, her voice a siren song.

"Yeahhh, you take it so well f'me," she panted, voice thick with desire. "Gonna make you cream all over my cock."

And you did. You came hard and fast, convulsing around her. But she didn't stop. She kept moving, pushing you further, the pleasure shifting, changing, almost painful.

"W-wait...Vi, it feels...nnggh...feels weird..." you gasped, the unfamiliar sensation a ripple of fear.

She silenced you with a deep, possessive kiss, then whispered, "Don't worry, pretty doll. Been takin' it like such a good girl. Gonna make you cum so hard. Wanna cum f'me?"

You nodded frantically, desperate pleas escaping your bruised lips.

She rode the waves of your pleasure, pushing you past the edge again and again. She filled you completely, her fingers finding your clit, rubbing it in time with her thrusts, sending you spiraling. She pulled out, then slammed back in, the pressure change triggering another orgasm. You squeezed around her, and a jet of your own arousal spurted out, slickening her stomach. "Fuck, you squirtin’ for me, princess?" she growled, the sound a mixture of surprise and possessiveness.

When your spasms subsided, but your pussy still throbbed, she pulled out, her fingers immediately diving between your folds. She curled and pumped, her touch expert and relentless, even as your overstimulated nerves screamed in protest. "Not done yet, pretty girl," she murmured, her voice rough with desire. "Gonna make you cum again." She stretched your slick walls, her fingers mimicking the rhythm of her cock, building the pressure until you were squirting again, crying out her name incoherently. This time, she lowered her head, her tongue lapping up your release, her moans a counterpoint to your cries.

Finally, spent and sated, she cleaned you up, dressed you, and took you home, leaving you with the throbbing ache between your legs and the ghost of her touch. Your notebook remained empty, journalistic ambitions forgotten in the raw, consuming desire. You had learned nothing about Vi, the fighter, but everything about Vi, the woman. And you craved more.

—————————————————————————

this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2025

[dramaticallytotal]

For Your Entertainment

Oh my god, another TDWT au???? Whaaaaaat?

Yep.

I will not apologize UwU

This au will feature Chaos Gremlin Noah. We've seen in canon he genuinely enjoys chaos and drama as long as it's not involving him, and I wanted to focus a whole fic around that. In this one, he is way more apathetic than in my other aus, and he is really only friends with Team E-Scope and Owen. So he really doesn't care what happens to anyone besides his friends in the competition.

Him being a little Chaos Gremlin is why he has managed to be Chris McLean's longest standing employee ever. They get on like a house on fire. Chris is arguably a king of chaos, so I just love the idea of him emotionally adopting little chaos gremlin Noah and bonding with him. In this au, Chris does tell Noah about having to fire him, and of course, they plan to stage it while Noah helps budget and take inventory of everything they will need for the new season. He is also publicly helping with the fake show, so it looks like he has no idea about the new season. There are some interns and crew who would love to snitch to the producers on him and Chris if they caught wind of their plans.

Noah is the one who selected and approved Alejandro, being the newest competitor as well as one of the fake stars of Dirtbags. If anything else, the guy will stir things up and make things entertaining for Noah while he pretends to be lazy and useless. But Noah and Chris agreed that he would embrace his original marketed title as Schemer. And he's all for it, as long as it keeps him entertained.

A bored Noah is a dangerous Noah. Chris found this out the hard way. (He never thought he would have to talk a teen out of actively blackmailing a very successful producer in the company, but well, life is full of surprises).

Noah knows all the challenges because he helped plan some! He was very proud of himself. Oh, he made sure things were safe but just barely, I mean, he doesn't want to end up hurt or dead in these challenges, so he had to make some safety features and everything. It's weird, but Noah actually feels...excited about the new season. Oh, and he left Chris some of his blackmail material in case they producers want to change anything or are being assholes. They had been planning on buying out the company, and Noah thinks this is the perfect chance. Chris will run the show how he wants, and when he gets complaints, some anonymous "interns" will leak the messages, emails, or calls and show the viewers just how fucked up and corrupt the producers are. This plan has been a year in the making.

Which is a long time for one of Noah's plans to take off, but they want to do this right and come out the winners/heroes.

The day of the plan dawns, and Noah is practically trembling in excitement, but he's had a lot of practice pushing down his real emotions (thanks, Mason). He played his role perfectly all up to the bus rescue. He thankfully was able to get Eva to stay by pretending to fall asleep, but he knew she knew he wasn't sleeping. The trust she has for him has him feeling all warm and fuzzy. He loves Eva. She's basically his ninth sister. Beth ended up staying, too, because Lindsay wanted to paint her best friends nails, and that absolutely could not wait.

The rescue happened, and finally, they were on the bus to the plane. Eva wanted the window seat, and Noah would give it to her since she stayed. Plus, the aisle seat was perfect for observing everyone and seeing what was going on. It looks like Harold and Leshawna were off again, which was not surprising, which would mean a small amount of entertainment for Noah. Then there was the whole Gwen, Courtney, Duncan thing that had Noah holding back a smile. That whole train wreck would bring him so much entertainment.

But who really had his attention was Mr. New Guy. Oh, he knew his name, Alejandro, but he had to pretend he didn't. He could already hear the giggles from the girls who thought he was attractive, and he could already hear the boys grumbling. Noah made sure to give a comment or two about he hoped Mr. New Guy wouldn't just be another Justin, which made some laugh, and Courtney glared at him. Oh yeah, he forgot those two were friends. He also caught the slight smirk from Alejandro before the boy suppressed it.

The competition began, and Noah was surprised that Ezekiel made it, but with Duncan up and quitting (goodbye love triangle drama), it made sense that they had to even out the teams. So, the first challenge became a reward. Boring.

He saw the way Alejandro had flirted with the girls, specifically Bridgette and Leshawna. Which probably meant they were his first targets. Oh, that was fun~!

And he could help move things along! And if, by doing so, he got rid of Harold, even better! So he made sure to make comments about Leshawna falling for Alejandro when he was close to Harold. Or he would make sure to act disgusted at the cultural insensitivity (yes. Noah will always be responsible for Harold's elimination XD). It got the ginger right where he wanted.

Then Harold was gone, and Noah knew it wasn’t all him given he had witnessed Alejandro talking to Harold a lot, and he caught on to the subtle manipulations. That guy was good!

Then the Yukon happened, and he knew he didn't hide his glee at seeing Bridgette stuck to a pole well, given the look Alejandro had given him.

"Good work." He whispered with a snicker to Alejandro.

"I'm not sure what you mean mi amigo." Of course the guy would play dumb but whatever.

"Hmm. Whatever you say." He tried to be blasé but the wide smile then kept growing on his face was probably a dead giveaway of how he felt.

And maybe that's what shot him in the foot because the next day, Alejandro was flirting with him. Noah was pretty confident it was because Alejandro was scared he figured him out (he did) and was going to expose him or something. Like hell! This was the most fun he was having on a season. And if him acting coy or shy or flirting a little back with Alejandro had most of the females mad at him, so be it. It just made everything all the more entertaining to him.

He did hurt his ankle in the Yukon (this will always be canon to me), so pain medication was a must but he had been stubborn in not taking it because it either makes him drowsy or puts him right to sleep and he doesn't want to be voted out (and miss out on all the drama and fun) because he couldn't contribute much to the challenge. But Izzy, Owen, and Alejandro made him take the medication.

So, the next challenge, he was a little out of it, but Izzy or Owen carried him when there was running or walking. He was able to climb the rope at least, and he volunteered to be put in the baby carriage, which was fine by him. He fell asleep, which was not a surprise.

No being swapped with a baby, though, because Alejandro made Izzy guard Noah. Heather had planned on doing something but couldn't because even she was not crazy enough to go against Izzy.

It was a reward challenge, which was great! What was not great was the challenge in Germany! Noah wanted first class! He craved it! And he knew they had it in the bag the moment he saw Alejandro flirting with Leshawna again. He made sure to have discussions with Izzy when Leshawna was around and made it seem like he didn't know she was there.

"I mean, it's honestly pathetic. How obvious Heather's crush on Alejandro is." He drawled.

"Izzy knows!!! Girl has got it bad! I didn't think you'd notice it, though NoNo. You're not usually one to notice these things." Izzy gossiped as she tried to put Noah's hair into pigtails. She knew what he was doing and was all for it. He's her chaos brother!

"Normally, and this kills me to say, but normally you'd be right. But it's so obvious that even Owen has noticed, and that's saying something."

"I don't know, Owen is pretty good at knowing when someone likes someone."

"Agree to disagree."

"Is this about him trying to set you up with that-"

"We are not talking about that!" Well, no acting there was necessary. He did not want to talk about that disaster of a date. Ever.

"Well, it's not like Heather has realized it yet, which makes it all the more entertaining for us." This is why he loved Izzy. She knew when to drop things, she knew how to roll with his plans, and she liked chaos just as much if not more than him.

"True. I'm more worried about what she'd do because of said crush. Even if she doesn't realize it, she's already snapped at her teammates when he's flirted with Leshawna."

"Oh yeah! She definitely seems like one of those people who would do anything to get someone to back off her crush. Izzy knows."

"Mmm. You would seeing as you're the same way. Normally, I don't worry for anyone, but I can't help but feel bad for Leshawna."

"Why?"

"Because it's obvious Alejandro likes her, and we already established that Heather likes him, so it's not out of the realm of possibility that Heather will so or do something to come between the two."

"Oooooh."

He couldn't hold back his smirk when he heard Leshawna storm off, and Izzy immediately matched his with one of her own.

Then the challenge happened, and he played up not knowing what Alejandro was doing up until the guy purposefully lost the challenge. Once they were back in the plane, he immediately dragged the guy down to the cargo hold to confront him. He, of course, tried to deny everything and tried to flirt with Noah in the same breath. Noah was not having it.

With more strength than he thought himself capable of, he shoved the guy into the nearest wall. He had to look up, given he was only to the guy's chest (short king Noah, my beloved), but he poked him in his abs to get his attention.

"I don't care that you got into Harold's head and made him vote himself off. Mainly because I was getting into his head first. And I don't care that you helped and flirted with Bridgette enough to get her to make out with a pole! In fact, I thought it was hilarious." He admitted.

And just to see more of a reaction than just the wide green eyes he was staring into, Noah started walking his fingers up Alejandro's torso oh so slowly. It got the eyes off of him for a second, and he thought maybe he saw a blush forming, but those green eyes held his attention once more.

"And I even decided to be nice and help you get to Leshawna! I had to let Izzy mess with my hair! But it was all for the sake of getting entertainment, and you, sir, make a lot of it happen. So I was content to let you play your game."

His fingers reached Alejandro's bull necklace, which he wound his fingers around and tugged.

He didn't miss the gasp the boy in front of him breathed out, given how close they now were.

"But I'm not so content when your actions mess with my game. I don't like to lose when I know we had every opportunity to win and would have won had you not thrown. You may not think much of me, I mean, I did get out early in the first season. But then again, I manipulated my way into being thrown off. I was not about to spend my summer in that shitty camp. And so far I've been playing in the shadows this season."

Great. He was monologuing like some cheesy villain. But I mean...he was being paid to play a villain this season, so he might as well go all in.

"I'm keeping you around for my entertainment and amusement. Purposefully losing is not something I find amusing, so the next challenge you better give it your all or I'm going to have to really play and you don't want that." He hissed before leaning back and patting Alejandro's cheek and letting go of his necklace.

"Good talk." And with that, he sauntered out. That was fun!

He missed the absolute heart eyes Alejandro had been giving him.

__________

Basically, a villain Noah au, where Alejandro falls for him so hard. The two create an alliance and dominate the game, all the while Alejandro is trying to get Noah to date him. Noah thinks it's just Alejandro being Alejandro, but he does like him, and he thinks it's very funny that the guy can't handle when Noah flirts back with him.

Boy this got long.

Enjoy.

[reginaphalangelobster125]

Hoodie

Steve Rogers x Reader (romantic or platonic)

Summary: A mission doesn't go to plan and Steve blames himself.

Warnings: mild description of injuries, beating, mild blood, a lot of pain, angst, hurt/comfort, a little fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

Author's Notes: I wrote this with a platonic female reader in mind but apart from one reference to girls night it could be read as gender neutral. It could be romantic but I love Steve as a friend to the reader and there just don't seem to be that many fics where he's not a love interest or parental figure, but those are just my experiences. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

He was supposed to have your back but he saw a civilian who needed help, he got them to safety but not you. In the minute he had his back turned they had taken you.

He got the rest of the team to help and they eventually found you, on the floor. You were laying on a dirty concrete floor, chained to the wall. You were curled up, bloody and beaten. You had pretty substantial internal bleeding, at least that's what Bruce said. You had a huge bruise on your face, covering one of your eyes and a few small cuts. You had bruises all over your body but most of them were on your torso. You had a few broken ribs and a fracture in your left leg, making it much harder for you to move.

You were in a hospital bed for a few days and you almost went stir crazy so you moved to your room. Everyone in the team came by to check on you between missions. Tony showed you some new prototypes he was working on, after you begged him too. Sam brought some old family recipe he'd cooked up that was supposed to be good for healing, you didn't know if it was or not but it tasted great. Clint dragged Bucky in and made him play Uno with the two of you. It was fun for a while until you were about to murder Clint, luckily Bucky was there and he stopped you from busting your stitches, just barely. Bruce came to check your vitals but he ended up staying for a bit and you watched some trashy TV show that he loved, definitely not what you would've expected but it was fun to yell at the idiot, who was probably named Chad, for picking the wrong girl. Nat, Wanda and Loki came by for a girls night, Loki may not be a girl but he's one of your girls in the truest sense and he would never let it go if he wasn't invited to a girls night. You painted each other's nails, did each other's hair and watched cheesy romance movies (purely to annoy Nat). Thor stopped by at one point, of course it was when you were painting Loki's nails, at this point Loki couldn't exactly surprise Thor anymore so he just sat down with you all and joined in. By the end of the night he had let you paint his nails and he loved the little hammer designs you put on them. Even Vision floated in through your wall, scaring you half to death, but he was surprisingly good company.

The only person who didn't come to see you was Steve. He felt incredibly guilty and threw himself into missions and paperwork and anything to get his mind off of his failure, off of you and your pain. You called him a few times but he wouldn't answer. You knew he could because you spent a week teaching him how to use his phone. You called Bucky and asked him to check on Steve but he said that Steve wouldn't let anyone in his room, let alone talk to someone. You finally caught him on his way to the quinjet. He told you he was going on a mission and he couldn't talk.

Steve knew the mission was dangerous but he had to be Captain America and go anyway. You begged to come with him but he insisted you stay back and recover. You still weren't back to your usual self, it still hurt to move too much. Steve wouldn't let you go, he was still beating himself up for what had happened to you. You tried to get him to at least take someone else with him but he wouldn't listen, he just left.

He had been gone for three weeks and you couldn't stop worrying about him. When he didn't check in on the day he was meant to you cried, Steve always checked in. You were convinced something awful had happened to him. You were walking back to your room and you saw his door was open just a little. You stepped in and your senses were overwhelmed by him. His room was everything anyone would expect, very clean and tidy, not much stuff but enough. There was one thing that seemed out of place, a hoodie was laying atop his perfectly made bed.

It was the same hoodie that you got him for his birthday. It was dark blue, matching his stealth uniform and it had white writing on it, it said 'Est. 1918'. When you gave it to him he laughed at first, then he gave you a huge hug since most people don't know anything about his birthday except the whole 4th of July thing. Most people just say he's over a hundred and make jokes but you really cared. You picked up the hoodie and it smelled like him, making you smile. You pulled it on over your head and it felt like Steve was right there, hugging you and making everything feel okay. It was huge and it hung loosely over your body, going halfway down your thighs. Some would say you looked ridiculous but you felt comfortable and safe.

Days later and you were sitting on a big armchair in your room with your legs curled up under you. You were just staring out the window and watching the city, still in Steve's hoodie. You sat there for hours, completely zoned out, before you heard a knock on your door. You didn't respond, still not sure if you heard it or not.

"It's me" A low, sad voice said from behind the door. You immediately recognised Steve. As you rushed to get up you felt a large twist of pain in your side and sat back down.

"Come in" You called out through gritted teeth, trying not to alert Steve of your pain.

He slowly opened the door, almost afraid to come in and face you. It sounded ridiculous Captain America afraid of you, but he was, he was afraid you hated him. He stood behind the chair you were in, not wanting to face you.

"Are, are you feeling any better?"

"Yeah, are you okay?"

"Me? Why would you care about me? It's my fault y-"

"No it's not, don't think that"

"But it is"

"You were doing what you are supposed to do, save people"

"But I didn't save you"

"Yes you did"

"But I was too late, they already hurt you"

"I've been hurt a lot of times, this wasn't anything new"

"But-"

"But nothing, I'm alive because of you and I won't let you say otherwise"

He let out a small chuckle "God, you're stubborn"

"Yes, but that's why you love me"

"It sure is"

He came around to stand next to you and he saw what you were wearing.

"Is that my-"

"Sorry, I'll give it back"

"No, you look...comfy"

"Yeah, it's um, it's really soft"

"Is that why you took it?"

"No-not exactly"

"Then why?"

"It, it smells like you"

He looked at you for a moment with a questioning expression on his face.

"I know it sounds stupid but, it makes me feel safe, you make me feel safe"

"After everything that's happened, I make you feel safe?"

"Yeah, I was scared you wouldn't come back and this was, nice"

"Why did you think I wouldn't come back?"

"You didn't check in with Tony when you were supposed to"

"I didn't? I sent the message"

"You did?"

"Yeah, it mustn't have gone through" He pulled out his phone and checked his messages "Oh, I didn't press send"

You started to cry and laugh at the same time "You big idiot!"

Steve stared to laugh too "Hey I'm not, okay fair enough this time"

"Come here" You grabbed his arm and pulled him down into the chair with you "You may be an idiot sometimes but you're my idiot"

He was so close to you, he could really see your face, he could see the fading bruises and cuts. He brought his hand up to your cheek and his fingers grazed over the bruise, feather light. He travelled over the bruise on your eye and the small cut just above. His palm cradled your head and his thumb brushed across your cheek.

"I'm so sorry"

You placed your hand over his and squeezed gently "It's okay, Steve"

"I know it's not"

You finally broke, you started to cry and you leaned into him. You buried your face in his chest and wept, soaking his shirt with your tears. His arms wrapped around you, holding you tight.

"It hurts" You whimpered through heavy sobs.

"I know" He said as he kissed the top of your head, squeezing you a little tighter, not wanting to let go.

You laid in his arms for hours, letting yourself feel the pain you had been repressing. You were so tired, you eventually fell asleep, but Steve still held you.

Tags:

@impetusofadream @goldfishthegr8 @avengers-official-recruit-agent @goreygirl03 @xenasolos @sparklyturtlefox @rios-sythe @nekoannie-chan @ilovemarvel12 @hayneyney @n3ponen @8812-342. @everyonesfriend @pinkthick @craftytacopiecash @meryuniverse @aliljaybird

[teslasucks37]

CW: NSFW under the cut, violence and attraction to it, uncensored use of s!ssy (apparently it is a slur but I’m gay and nonbinary and I’m not glorifying the usage of it so I think it’s okay), sub!Charlie, slight fear during sex but he’s into it, afab!Reader (refers to themself as a “girl” like once)

A/N: I’m genuinely tweaking I need him so bad guys. This is like 1.5k words I did not mean to write this much. It also might suck but I just needed to get it out. Basically you punch someone who’s disrespecting Charlie and he thinks it’s hot and u dom him.

Charlie Slimecicle x Reader

Gratitude

Charlie was so cooked.

You had pushed him onto the bed harshly, straddling him and removing your shirt in the process.

You were frustrated, angry, filled with adrenaline.

He couldn’t do anything but lightly place his hands on your hips and watch awestruck as you use the fabric of your shirt to wipe off your bloody knuckles, then discarding it and turning your attention back to him.

He looked so submissive, almost shrinking under your gaze like a bug under a lifted rock.

He had almost the same look on his face when a man had come up to him outside earlier, saying something mumbled under his breath about Charlie’s black painted nails as he passed the two of them.

“Huh?” He asked, unaware of what the man had said.

You’d tightened the grip on his hand you had been holding onto during the walk.

The man chuckled, turning to look back at them. “I said you look like a sissy.”

Charlie didn’t know what to say, freezing at the insult. “I- uh-”

“You- uh- What?” The man snarked back, mocking his pause but wanting a reaction.

You narrowed your gaze, releasing Charlie’s hand and walking toward the man. “Say it again.” You said tauntingly, daring him.

The man stares at you approaching with a scoff. “I said, he looks like a si-“ CRACK.

As soon as you reach him your right hook streaks across his face, making Charlie jump.

The man folds onto the ground on his knees, groaning and holding his bleeding nose.

“You’re gonna apologize now, yeah?” You spit at him, gripping his hair and ripping his head out of his hands to turn his head to Charlie. “Or are you looking to get beat up by a girl for real?”

Blood dripps down the man’s face, trailing over his lips and down his jaw.

The entire sight made him flinch.

He had never been so turned on in his life.

Charlie was usually a pacifist, not afraid to get his hands dirty once in a while, but usually only as a last resort.

But damn if seeing you knock someone on their ass didn’t get him going.

Seeing how strong you were and how unafraid you were to show it off was something that he found so attractive he just didn’t know what to do with it.

It didn’t matter that he was bigger and probably still stronger.

Seeing you able to take care of yourself filled him with a sense of pride as well as arousal.

Charlie was too busy remembering it to notice his pants and boxer briefs were already off as well as your jeans and panties.

And you were currently lining his twitching and leaking cock up with your slit.

As he feels you slam down on it, his head reeling back and his eyes fluttering closed, a whimper falls out of his mouth.

Your lips curl into a smile at the sound.

His enjoyment wasn’t the first thing on your mind at the moment, but it certainly wasn’t the last.

As you lift yourself to bounce on his cock, you dig your nails into his abdomen, undoubtedly leaving crescents of your nails on his skin.

Another whimper emerges from his slack jaw at the slight sting.

“Yeah? Feels good, Char?” You ask, unrelenting in your pace.

He had to press his lips together to hold back an outright sob of pleasure, his lips trembling as he did.

He nods wordlessly, his hands gripping your hips for dear life to stay grounded.

Knowing what you could do to him, what you did to that guy earlier, it filled him with a sense of fear that did nothing but make him harder.

If that was even possible.

His hair is sprawled out against the mattress, fluffy and gorgeous as you ride him half an inch from his life.

His eyes flutter open every once in a while, revealing the most beautiful blue eyes looking completely glazed over with pleasure, before he squeezes them shut again.

You grin, clenching your pussy around him and picking up speed.

“You know, Char… I think you should thank me… For earlier, don’t you?” You ask through bated breath.

You want to see how far you can push him.

How much power you really have over him.

How much it really turns him on when you do this.

And you aren’t disappointed.

“Thank you…” He whispers out, low at first, shaking in place as his core tightens and his cock twitches. “Thank you…”

You can feel his familiar breathing pattern under your hands, knowing he’s gonna cum soon.

“Thank you~” Charlie whines, wrenching his eyes open to gaze at you as he feels his balls tighten in preparation. “Thank you~”

He’s met with you smiling outright, basking in how cute his voice was.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you-” He chants, practically crying out as he scrunches his eyes closed again and his head presses back into the mattress.

You have to bite your lip to stifle your own moans. “Cum for me, Charlie~”

“Thank you… Thank… You- Fuuuuckk!” His fingers around your hips pull you down on him as wanton moans fall from his lips.

You can feel Charlie’s orgasm spurt into you, his entire body shivering and convulsing beneath you as you cum in tandem.

His grip on your hips loosens and then slides off completely, flopping lifelessly onto the bed.

“Thank you…” He murmurs, delirious from pleasure. “Thank you…”

Charlie looks absolutely fucked out.

You slowly get off of him, feeling his cum leak out and fall onto his abdomen.

He whimpers at the sensation, panting and mumbling as he slowly comes down from his high. “Thank you…”

Laying down next to him, you push a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

He turns his head slowly, blinking his eyes open to glance sleepily at you. “Thank you~”

He gives you a lopsided grin as you cup his cheek in your hand.

“I love you~”

“I love you, Charlie.” You smile back, snuggling into him.

He places a hand on your waist and just breathes.

Charlie has never felt more safe.

He’s never felt more cared for.

More protected.

God he loves you so fucking much.

[ghostf1ux]

Going for the Throat

Day 1: Vocal Cords

Word Count: 3.4k

TW/CWs: Bad Dad!Bruce, me projecting onto Jason and Bruce's relationship

Part 1 || Part 2 (here)

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

Rain and thunder pound against the abandoned apartment building where two men face off.

“It's me or him. You have to choose!”

Jason watches with wide eyes as Bruce– no, Batman– turns around, as if he's ignoring a petulant child. He turns his gun from the Joker's head to Batman's.

“Choose!”

In a whirl of motion, he turns and flings his arm out. Laughter– maniacal, cackling laughter– echoes in Jason's ears. A bolt of lightning reflects off a dark, moving shape, the metal glinting dangerously.

He watches it fly towards him in slow motion.

He's too slow.

Too slow to move out of the way– to slow to process– 

Before that batarang is slicing his throat open into a cavernous ravine. 

He drops the Joker. The Joker laughs. Jason clutches at his throat– rivers of blood slipping between his fingers, filling up his throat, and he gasps but no air comes. 

He stumbles back, hand slipping off the wall, slick with his own blood. It pitter-patters against the ground in time with the rain. Green light– the color of Joker’s hair, the color of acid, the color of toxicity and pain– filters in through the windows, the little room where Jason drowns in his own blood starts to fill up with it. It pulls his limbs down, tearing and scratching and burning–

Jason shoots up with a choked gasp, skin slick with sweat. His blankets are strewn haphazardly around him, twisted in his limbs. His breathing is heavy and labored, heartbeat pounding in his ears as he takes in the unfamiliar dark room.

Right. 

He’s hiding out in a club’s back room while Bruce is conducting his investigation or whatever.

More accurately, he’s hunting Jason down while Tim does the actual investigation.

He drags his hand down his face as he gets his breathing back under control, scrubbing the last dredges of sleep from his eyes before rolling over to sit on the edge of the bed. He rests his elbows heavily on his knees, rubbing at the new scratches he’s made over the scar on his neck. Swallowing feels like rubbing sandpaper over a road rash, so he opts to stop doing that.

Only a moment later, there’s a soft knocking on his door. His immediate reaction is to point the gun he keeps under his pillow at it, slowly, soundlessly prowling closer. It’s probably just one of the girls, but his paranoia has been at an all time high these past few days he’s been staying here.

He cracks open the door, body taut with anticipation.

The soft, makeup-painted face of Kat looks back at him, those doe-eyes that make her customers swoon glancing over him. He sighs, leaning against the doorframe and opening the door a little wider.

“What’s up, Kat?” Jason asks tiredly, scratching his forehead with the back of his gun. She raises an eyebrow, though whether it’s because of the gun or because his voice sounds like it’s been through a paper shredder, he doesn’t know.

“The little one came back. Said the Bat has requested your presence.” She toes the door open a little further, just the few inches Jason will allow her to before stopping it with his foot. “Are you okay?”

Jason just grunts a vague affirmative, not quite meeting her eyes. She watches him idly rub at his neck, covering the raised scar standing out against his tan skin.

“Right, well, if you’re going to go, take a shower first. And leave the door unlocked so we know. He said he’d be waiting in the back.”

With that, she casts one last glance back at him before he shuts the door and she leaves. He sighs, the sound coming out more clipped and rough than normal.

Fuck. Of course this is the day this shit decides to act up.

Begrudgingly, he cleans up the room from his stay. He has half a mind to just let the little demon wait outside and never go to meet him, but that would just lead to him being annoyed by his siblings until he finally did listen, so it’s best to just get it over with now. The faster he can get Bruce off his back and go back to patrols, the better.

Over the next half hour, he takes his time putting the room back together, taking a shower per Kat’s suggestion, and getting back into his suit, sans helmet or domino, seeing as he hasn't been to any of his safehouses since B started hunting him.

He takes the back exit, avoiding anyone who may question why the Red Hood is in the back of a strip club without all of his gear on.

Then again, pretty much anyone who’s here knows the vague idea of what’s been happening the past few days so they probably wouldn’t question it all that much actually. 

As soon as he pushes the door open he sees Damian waiting, passively listening to the girls on break with his arms crossed, resolutely ignoring the way they’re clearly whispering about him. 

He snaps to attention when he sees Jason, straightening up. “Akhi. Father has–”

“Requested my presence, yes,” Jason finishes dryly, muttering the words once he’s closer so he doesn’t have to irritate his throat any more than needed. Damian still pauses when he hears the words, squinting at him.

“What is the matter with your voice?” He asks sharply. Jason brushes past him, waving the girls off as he takes the tarp off his motorcycle he retrieved yesterday. They head back inside, leaving the two vigilantes alone. “Answer me.”

“Nothing's wrong,” Jason huffs, wincing slightly at how the words crackle in his throat. Damian stares at him pointedly.

“Tt. You can't truly expect me to believe such an obvious lie–”

“Just drop it, Damian!” He finally snaps, taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of his nose while resolutely ignoring the stab of guilt in his gut. “...Bad day.”

“I… see.” Damian turns to his own bike, throwing his leg over. Jason takes a moment to steel himself before doing the same, pushing through every instinct and every thought protesting the idea of returning to the manor to do just that.

The ride there is hot and dry, even with the summer wind whipping Jason's face. It almost feels dusty, or maybe ashy? There was a big fire somewhere in the city the night prior– not anywhere close to the club he was laying low at– but the effects from a fire like that would be felt city-wide. Must've been put out, if Damian is here to pick him up and now that he thinks about it, was definitely smelling of smoke. Really, the whole city does right now. 

Aka, literally everything terrible for his throat that can happen right now is happening right now. All he's missing is actually being in the fire.

Well, the day's still young, the sun just barely cresting the horizon. There's a nonzero chance he ends up in one.

This is Gotham, after all.

Anxiety twists his stomach into knots as they roll into the secret entrance to the Cave, motorcycle engines roaring quite a bit louder now that he doesn't have the helmet to muffle the sound echoing in the tunnel. Once it opens into the cave, he's almost surprised to see the whole family there until he remembers they probably just returned from patrol. Based on the fact that everyone's still in their suits, he'd wager he's right.

Jason parks his bike in his usual spot, which also happens to be the closest spot to the entrance. The Cave, usually smelling of bat shit and the cold, thick scent of cave water, now seems to be choked with the residual smells of the fire they were surely fighting just an hour prior.

Awesome. Great. Amazing. He can already feel it clogging the back of his throat, sending his ability to speak even further out of reach.

Surely he won't need it for a fucking conversation, right?

Right.

Jason struts over before Damian can, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow expectantly at the various sets of eyes on him.

“Well, I think it's clear we found the culprit–” Tim starts, before Jason raises a hand, turning his glare to the group of Bruce, Dick, and Cass.

Dick clears his throat. “I think it's safe to say an apology is in order,” he begins. “I'm sorry for jumping the gun, little wing. We should have listened to you.”

Cass nods in agreement. “Yes. I am sorry. Too fast. Ignored words.”

Jason watched with scrutiny, looking for any sign of a lie. When he finds none, he turns his glare to Bruce…

…who isn't even facing him. He's faced towards the Bat Computer, typing away at something on the screen. Jason's jaw ticks, watching the man quietly click away with laser-like focus for a solid thirty seconds before he turns to the rest of his family incredulously. Sparks of anger start to overpower the nauseous anxiety from before.

After another bit of waiting Jason loses his patience and flicks the gun with live ammo out of its holster– levels it at the screen– and fires off a shot. Cracks spider web across the monitor and it goes out, the lack of blue glow making the cave that much darker.

All this before anyone can move fast enough to stop him.

The silence of the normally cacophanous family following the resounding gunshot is heavy. Bats flutter and chitter overhead, leathery wings flapping indistinctly. Steph, Tim, and Dick watch with wide eyes as Bruce spins slowly in the chair. Cass and Alfred watch impassively, seeming unfazed, or, more likely, too good at hiding their true feelings. Damian is the same, but Jason doesn't miss the way his shoulders stiffen and his posture straightens. Everyone is tense, ready to interfere if necessary.

Maybe that should say something about the situation.

Jason dismisses it, just like he dismisses the lingering pain from the injuries he got during that chase and the way his heart climbs into his throat as Bruce slowly stands, glaring at him.

“That was an expensive monitor,” Bruce growls, all Batman in anything but mask. Jason just scoffs, holstering the gun and resuming his previous stance, keeping most of his weight on his toes, just in case. “You will pay for the replacement.”

Jason just raises an eyebrow, humming a sarcastic agreement that makes it very clear he will be doing no such thing. Hums are safe enough, he thinks. They hurt his throat like hell but they sound normal enough.

Bruce seems to accept it, because he continues to talk. “With the chaos of the fire, Firefly got away. You will be relegated to finding her. Once you do, call for backup prior to engaging so we can ensure another large fire is started before she is apprehended.”

Jason blinks.

Blinks again.

Then barks out a laugh. 

It's loud, and painful, and cracking, and doesn't carry a single ounce of humor. He doesn't miss the way several of the surrounding audience members flinch at the sudden 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jason practically wheezes, barely louder than a whisper in his bafflement.

“What was that?”

Bruce's voice distracts him from his moment of sheer incredulity. 

“I said, are you fucking kidding me?” Jason repeats louder, forcing the words out despite how it sends stabs of pain through his throat. His scar itches uncomfortably under the skin-tight turtleneck shirt he wears.

Bruce's eyes furrow, but it's Dick who speaks up. “Are you okay?”

“Fucking peachy,” Jason grinds out. “I'm here for the apology, old man. Get it over with so I can leave.”

“I summoned you here to coordinate your efforts to help the city with ours seeing as the suspect proving your innocence was apprehended.”

“Oh, that's just fucking rich.” His head snaps to Steph, who approaches him with a water bottle like she'd approach a wounded animal on the streets. He glances down at it, then at her, before forcefully relaxing his shoulders and taking it with a grunt of thanks. She nods, clearly trying to hide her concern and failing miserably. He appreciates it nonetheless.

Bruce turns back to the Computer, looking at all the other monitors. “I recommend starting in the Diamond District. That's where she was last seen. Oracle will send you the coordinates.”

Jason savors the last sip he takes before responding.

“No.”

Even the bats go quiet. The silence grows heavier, tension so thick you could cut it with a fucking butter knife.

“I gave you an order,” Bruce growls. Jason bristles, hands clenching at his side instead of twitching for his trigger like they want to.

“I'm not your good little soldier, B! I'll do what I want, whenever the fuck I want, because you don't fucking control me and you need to get it through your thick fucking skull!”

His voice grows to a hoarse, crackling crescendo before it finally breaks and sends Jason into a violent coughing fit that wracks his body, pulling at the stitches he so carefully sewed into himself. At some point someone– Steph, he thinks, by the purple fabric swaying on the edges of his vision– comes over to rub his back and takes the water out of his hand so he can rub his scrubbed-raw throat.

“Okay, I think we need to bench this conversation for today,” Tim cuts in, closer than Jason last remembered. Huh.

“No,” Jason croaks, glaring briefly at the small splatter of blood on his hand before wiping it away.

“Seriously, Jay, I think we need to get your throat looked at–”

Jason just growls his dissent, and woo that did not help.

“If you are to work with this team, you will listen to the orders you are given.”

“Fat fucking chance,” he hisses, something metallic making a small pool below his tongue.

“Okay, no, you're getting your throat checked out,” Dick cuts in, getting between Jason and Bruce to put his hands on the farmer's shoulders. “Little wing, what happened? I know we didn't do that.”

Jason laughs, the sound grating on his throat until a little blood dribbles out from his lips. “You wanna know what fucking happened? He slit my fucking throat, that's what happened, Dick! He slit my throat with a goddamn batarang and he left me to fucking die! He took the Joker and he ran without so much as a glimpse back at his supposed “son”!”

He falls into another coughing fit after that outburst that makes him fully double over, various bodies helping keep him up while trying not to encroach too far into his personal space. He takes the water from Steph's stiff hand, chugging it once he has the breath to do so. 

“I'm done, Bruce. I'm done with you. So you can fuck right off with your orders and all that bullshit. From now on, I'm cleaning up Gotham in a way that actually fucking works.”

There are a few moments of silence, where no one seems to know what to say.

“...Is that true?” Tim finally asks quietly, so painfully genuine and so close to the edge of scared. It almost makes Jason regret saying what he did.

“Father?” Damian prompts, voice so steely he knows the boy is hiding his true emotions behind a well-built wall around his heart.

Jason glares at Bruce, who simply looks back with a stone-cold expression of… disappointment? The resounding silence is telling.

“Babs, find the cowl footage,” Dick orders, grip turning tight on Jason's shoulders. Whether that's in an effort to keep Jason there or to keep himself there, he doesn't know. “Sound off.”

It's only a minute or so later the video is pulled up on the second biggest monitor (seeing as Jason shot the first one). Jason keeps his (no doubt glowing) gaze on Bruce, watching for any sort of tell, any sort of twitch that betrays his emotions.

It's also so he doesn't have to see the Joker or his own pathetic face staring back at him. He doesn't want to know what Bruce saw.

When the others gasp, stiffen, or have some other sort of outward reaction, he knows they've seen it. The moment Jason still has nightmares about and is the predominant reason he wears turtlenecks whenever he goes out.

Meanwhile, Bruce remains stoic. Silent. Stony, cold, and not a hint of fucking remorse.

Dick shakes, Jason suddenly notices. Not with fear, not with sobs, but with rage. A type of rage Jason has seldom seen on his golden-boy face. His breaths are controlled, but heavy, and– oh shit.

In a flash of movement, Dick is in front of Bruce and cracking his knuckles across the man's jaw– no one moves to intercept him. Bruce crashes to the ground under the force of that one hit.

“You could have killed him! You nearly did!” Dick shouts, all rage in his taut-as-a-bowstring form. “He is your son! I know you're an emotionally repressed piece of shit but what the absolute fuck was going through your head?!”

Bruce rubs his jaw before answering. “He was supposed to drop the Joker to move out of the way, so I had the opportunity to catch him off guard to apprehend him.”

Dick takes a deep breath. “What then, Bruce? You just cart your own son off to Blackgate? Arkham? Would you stick them in the same transport truck too? Just put your son– my little brother in the same place as his killer?” He scoffs out a laugh, more out of disbelief than anything else. “Of course you would. Because the mission always comes first. I should have fucking guessed something happened that night when you came here and scrubbed the footage from the main uploads.”

Jason watches the interaction with wide eyes, something warm curling inside him. Shit, maybe Dick actually did mean what he said before.

“I do not wish to reside here any longer,” Damian announces, though not nearly as dramatic as he usually would. He sounds disappointed. He sounds betrayed. He sounds a little more like the kid he should sound like at his age. “Someone who would so callously throw away the life of his son is not one I can trust in the field or in my own home any longer. Thus, my home shall be elsewhere.”

“Yes. You have broken trust,” Cass finally pipes up, looking down at Bruce from her perch.

“Yeahhh! Fuck Batman!” Steph cheers in vindication. “You always were an asshole, old man.”

Tim shoots her a little grin, before turning back to Bruce. “This isn't your city anymore, Bruce. I don't think it ever really was. Not after this.”

Jason looks around in wonder at his siblings all standing with him. Tears prick the corner of his eyes. He looks back down at Bruce, who, with the threat of Dick Grayson still standing over him, hasn't moved to get up. Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to stop him from speaking.

“Operating outside my purview will be grounds for me to apprehend you,” he warns. Jason grins, all sharp teeth and malice.

“I ran circles around you for months back when I was seventeen. Between all of us, you'll be lucky if you even get a glimpse.”

“And don't think I'm on your side with this either,” Babs chimes in from the Bat Computer speakers. “This is vile, Bruce. You broke your rule on your own son. Good luck attempting to even leave your cave.”

“I'll be back to pick up Dami's and Tim's things. If you want to walk around with that playboy face you so cherish, I don't suggest showing it while I'm here,” Dick snarls before turning around. “Alright, everyone, let's get going.”

Together, they pile onto their various vehicles, but Jason hesitates when he sees Alfred waiting by his bike.

“I am sorry, my boy. I… I was not aware of what had occurred that night,” Alfred murmurs. “To think we came so close to losing you again…”

“It's– it's fine, Alfie,” Jason whispers, no longer willing to force his voice into anything louder. Alfred offers him a small, pained smile, handing him a small box.

“Drink this when you return home. It will help your throat.”

Jason smiles something genuine at that, nodding. “I'll keep in touch.”

“Indeed. I would expect nothing less.”