#there is a scalping going on here but i'm not sure who's getting scalped and the lovers-to-enemies arc vibes are real rn

[nemesyaaa]

KCKZLDSKSS OMG ITS CRAZY BECAUSE I JUST ADMIT MY CRUSH ON TOPPER TO ZYA LIKE FEW MINUTES AGO AND YOU PUT SHERRIFF TOPPER AND I'M GONNA LOSE MY MIND. tbh I forget that you have another farmer'q daughter reader so i was like wtf that's not my girl. but this one is wild and free spirit, I love her and the dynamic she get with rafe. even with topper and the other officers. it makes me think of the movie clip wanna go by Britney Spears. anyways, it's fucking fantastic. so fan of this new pairing and i can't wait to read more of them 😭😭‼️🤩

“she gave me a hard time and resisted arrest, so now she’s here.” you scoffed at his words, a bitter laugh emitting from your throat. “i gave you a hard time because you tried to apprehend me before the asshole that started it!” — lmfaooo am i a little insane for shipping those two....

“i’m already in the shit house with rafe for manhandling you last time, don’t make me do it again.” speaking of rafe.. “you’re not scaring anybody, topper.” you used his first name against him, catching him off guard. — PLEASE SHE'S SO COMFORTABLE 😭😭😭😭😭 stay strong topper

“where’s sheriff cameron, anyways? i’m sure he’d love to know that you haven’t fixed my skirt since i’ve gotten here. i think the new boy has already stolen a peek at my underwear.” bryan’s eyes widened at your words. “i haven’t, miss, i swear!” topper glanced over at him with irritation evident on his face. “she’s fuckin’ with you kid, jesus.” — sorry but i kinda shipping topper and reader (sorry but get your gf now rafe before i want them married)

rafe was so scared of what people would think of you two, he never showed you affection in public, let alone take you out on a proper date, yet here he was; willingly taking someone else. — dont you want to be a man, baby??

you two stayed kissing like this until he grew rock solid in his pants, the buckle of his belt not being the only thing poking your tummy. “i don’t want you with any other women. i can’t take it.” rafe nodded, his bottom lip shining with your gloss. — the only man who is really HARD on us

“you have my word, sweetheart. i’ll set aside time for us to be together, i promise.” his sheriff’s hat tipped to the side, revealing his buzzed scalp. “but if i see you with that maybank kid i’ll have to lock him up for good.” — when rafe is jealous of a kid 😭😭 I find it so cute. siakskzkzz I love them

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ everyone is lucky farmer’s!daughter!reader is in a jail cell when she finds out her favorite sheriff isn’t around because he’s on a date with another woman..

warnings: mentions of being groped in public, just a little bit of southern dialect, small town gossip, mentions of jj x reader, lots of comebacks and insults, jealousy, implied age gap, reader stays the night in jail, hitting, very slight physical altercation, reassurance, comfort (?), little bit of kissing, suggestive ending

a/n: read more of sheriff!rafe and farmer’s!daughter!reader here <3 i would say this particular situation takes place in the beginning stages of their complicated relationship lol. also feel free to request for this pairing!

wc: 1.5k

“what did she do this time?” sheriff thornton looked up from his desk, an amused smile playing on his lips as you glared at him from under your lashes. “she threw drinks over at keith’s son, ‘said he groped her and all hell broke loose.” your wrists ached as the metal of the handcuffs dug into your skin, your boots scuffing the concrete flooring before the sheriff behind you plopped you down in a chair. “she gave me a hard time and resisted arrest, so now she’s here.” you scoffed at his words, a bitter laugh emitting from your throat. “i gave you a hard time because you tried to apprehend me before the asshole that started it!”

both of them ignored you, leaving you to sit uncomfortably in the main office while bryan, the newest rookie in the department, got your paperwork together. “uhm— do you have anyone you could call? it looks like you’re going to stay the night in here..” he looked almost scared as he broke the news to you, his eyes blinking rapidly as you shot daggers at him from where you sat. “are you pulling my leg?” you narrowed your gaze, “there’s no way in hell i’m spending the night here.” you shook your head, hopping onto your feet. just then, topper came in and sat you back down.

“i’m already in the shit house with rafe for manhandling you last time, don’t make me do it again.” speaking of rafe.. “you’re not scaring anybody, topper.” you used his first name against him, catching him off guard. “where’s sheriff cameron, anyways? i’m sure he’d love to know that you haven’t fixed my skirt since i’ve gotten here. i think the new boy has already stolen a peek at my underwear.” bryan’s eyes widened at your words. “i haven’t, miss, i swear!” topper glanced over at him with irritation evident on his face. “she’s fuckin’ with you kid, jesus.”

dragging you up by your arm, topper lead you to the back where the holding cells were. “it’s a shame you’re wearing nearly nothing,” he shoved you inside, “it’s gets pretty cold in here.” you cursed under your breath when he finally uncuffed you, your fingers itching to punch him square in the mouth. he watched as you adjusted your denim mini skirt, his eyes trailing down your bare legs. “you’re a mystery, y’know.. ‘way too young to be acting up like this.” if you had a penny for every time someone brought up your age, you’d have enough money to leave this shitty town and never look back.

“and you’re just annoying.” you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest before sitting at the edge of the cold steel bed. you should’ve been used to the discomfort by now, considering you’re here at least once a month, but you still couldn’t help but shiver at the harsh contact. “i need to talk to sheriff cameron. i shouldn’t even be here.” topper walked out of the cell, locking it shut behind him. “yeah, well he’s not on duty tonight. my pal finally scored himself a date.” he laughed. you felt your stomach twist at his words. not a damn thing was funny. “what did you say?” your voice was barely above a whisper when you looked up at him and met his eyes.

“yeah,” he nodded, “me and the department decided we’d stitch him up with ms. belle, she teaches the children’s sunday school down at the church.” he winked. your leg was bouncing now, your chest heaving with anger as your eyes brimmed with tears. “who knows, maybe after tonight they’ll be the newlyweds of the town.” you looked down at your feet before topper could question anything, your nails digging crescents into the palm of your hand. once you heard the heavy metal door slam shut, you covered your mouth with your hand as tight as you could and screamed.

rafe was so scared of what people would think of you two, he never showed you affection in public, let alone take you out on a proper date, yet here he was; willingly taking someone else. no matter how many times you told him you didn’t care about what anyone thought, he insisted that it was for your own good that no one saw you running around with a man who was much older than you were. the people of this town were far too judgmental to just accept something like what you and rafe had. figuring it was pointless to use your one free phone call, you settled into the hard surface before curling up and shivering yourself to sleep.

“y/n..” it was the next morning, and you were far from letting go of the information you found out last night. “y/n, you’re free to go.” your eyes were open as rafe patted your back lightly, his touch only fueling you with pent up anger. turning around, you shoved his hand away, your eyes bloodshot from crying so much. “don’t touch me again,” you hissed, “not ever.” rafe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as you got up on sore legs. “i had to stay here all because you were too busy with someone else!” you spat, shoving him again except this time in his chest.

“hey, you stop that!” he said through gritted teeth, shooting up to his feet before backing you up against the cement wall. “i hate you!” you whispered, attempting to get out of his grip. your efforts were deemed useless of course, your strength being nothing compared to his. “no you don’t.” he pinned your wrists down by your sides. he hated when you said shit like that, then again he knew you had every right to feel the way you did. nothing about your shared arrangement was fair, especially for you. “i went on that date for the sake of getting everyone off of my back, alright? it didn’t mean a thing.”

you laughed, avoiding his heated gaze. “well surely it meant something, because you agreed. you agreed and got ready and dressed nicely for her. you fixed your hair, you shaved, you put on your best smelling cologne and you picked her up. don’t you dare tell me it didn’t mean nothing when you put in that much effort.” rafe blinked, his nostrils flaring as he cupped your chin and forced you to look at him. “it didn’t mean a thing.” he repeated. you stared at him, reading his eyes as best as you could. “sure.” to say you were hurt would be an understatement.

“i mean it,” he started, “i did it for appearances. i’ve never been married, i don’t have any children. people talk around here, y/n, and just recently did i hear something about us both. people are catching onto your ‘get out of jail’ free card, and you could only imagine what their reasoning for that was.” he grimaced, recalling the disgusting words filtering the air of the diner where he drank his morning coffee. while the claims weren’t completely false, his said intentions couldn’t be more wrong. “rafe,” you glared at him, “i. don’t. care.” not wanting to rile you up any further, he let go of you before you could get the bright idea to knee him in his manhood.

“you know.. how do you think i feel when i have to see you around here kissing jj fuckin’ maybank, and i can’t do shit about it, huh? how do you think i feel when i see him have his hands all over you? you think i like that shit?” you rolled your eyes, about to step out of the open cell before he shut it closed. “why do you do that? why do you get joy out of pissing me off?” rafe caged you between his arms, his gun holster digging into your hip.

“first of all, i’m keeping up appearances just like you.” you stood up on your tippy toes, pecking his cheek before you placed your lips right next to his ear. “and secondly; you only act like you care about me when i’m all over someone else. it’s either that or i have to get into legal trouble just to get you to myself. so you try to imagine what that makes me feel like.” you pulled him close by the buckle of his belt, his large hands finding your hips as he towered over you. “do i really have to go to jail just to get a kiss?” rafe leaned down, his lips finally taking your own. he groaned at the taste of you, your cherry lipgloss still sticky with its sweetness.

you two stayed kissing like this until he grew rock solid in his pants, the buckle of his belt not being the only thing poking your tummy. “i don’t want you with any other women. i can’t take it.” rafe nodded, his bottom lip shining with your gloss. “you have my word, sweetheart. i’ll set aside time for us to be together, i promise.” his sheriff’s hat tipped to the side, revealing his buzzed scalp. “but if i see you with that maybank kid i’ll have to lock him up for good.” you smiled, your red nails raking down his buff arms. “yes, sir.” rafe cursed at the nickname as he glanced down at the digital watch on his wrist.

“i got about an hour to spare..” you hummed at his words, palming him through his pants.

“well what are we waiting for?”

[theinfinitedivides]

uh Anthony Ramos sir. how do we go from Mind Over Matter to Villano. how does that pipeline work exactly

[archangeldyke-all]

I miss CEO Sevika :(

What about Reader and Sevika going to...idk a dinner party/charity event with multiple companies in attendance. Sevika is one of the speakers for the night and while she's nervous, she knocks it out of the park. Meanwhile Reader is like "wow my wife is such a fucking boss and so hot for doing that on stage, I can't NOT suck her off and get fucked in a random, out of the way bathroom right afterwards."

i was thinking about this ask the entire time she was up there by vander's statue giving her speech. my sweet baby.

men and minors dni

sometimes, you forget just how important sevika's work is. most days you're stuck in your office together, making phone calls and signing documents.

but it's nights like this, when sevika's company has its annual ball, that you're hit with how much sevika does for the community.

the company built on the idea of giving low income communities low interest loans to build businesses and homes. there're several neighborhoods and families that you know personally that have had their lives transformed by sevika's work. but it's not just that.

it's parks built on the company's dime, community centers and pools and basketball courts sponsored by sevika herself. it's the team of social workers and accountants sevika's carefully hired over the years, who make sure that your clients are trained in financial literacy so they don't fall through the cracks. it's underfunded public schools-- the schools you went to as a kid-- being sent busload after busload of books and computers and supplies from your wife. it's medical bills being paid off by a mysterious, 'anonymous' source--the chickenscratch on the checks all matching your wife's.

and nights like this, with each lead team member of all the departments giving presentations of the differences they've made in the community this year, where it really hits you how incredible your wife is.

your poor wife. sevika's currently on the brink of passing out from her nerves, a glass of whiskey shakily clutched in her palms as she waits behind the stage. "baby." you coo, reaching up to cup her face.

sevika winces and pouts in your hold. "i hate public speaking." she whines. you chuckle.

"i know, love." you sigh. you'd give this speech for her if you could-- but it's kinda a requirement that the ceo speak at these big events. "it's just five minutes, talk about the good you've done this year, get some claps, get some laughs, then we can bail." you promise her.

sevika pouts even more, slouching down against you. "you remember the first time we put one of these shitshows on?" she asks.

you giggle and nod.

your second year working for sevika, a few months into dating, and the company had the first of it's now notorious annual balls. of course, back then it wasn't quite as sophisticated as today's is, but it was pretty memorable. after her speech (which she nailed, because despite how much she hates it sevika is good at talking) sevika ran off the stage, high on the applause she'd received, and practically leapt into your arms where you stood backstage. "fuck i can't believe i did that." she whispered against your scalp. "and they liked it!" she laughs.

you giggled and kissed her cheek. "course they liked it, you're very easy to like."

and then sevika said the words you'd been dying to hear her say, the words you were trying desprately to keep inside your throat until she was ready. "i couldn't've done it without you, y'know." she whispered. your smile got softer, and sevika leaned impossibly closer to you. "you kinda scare the shit outta me and... i think i'm in love with you."

you had just grinned and kissed her, mumbling a teasing "you think or you know?" against her lips.

and here you are, nearly ten years later, on the same little patch of floor backstage of your favorite venue, smiling up at your wife.

"course i remember, baby. one of the best moments in my life. right up there with meeting you 'n marrying you. think it'll be in the little montage that flashes before my eyes once i die." you say, giggling.

sevika smiles sweetly and kisses you. "yeah, me too." she whispers.

you hold her for a moment, hoping the touch will help her relax a bit, both of you swaying gently in your dark little corner as you wait for seamus to finish his speech and introduce sevika. "you're gonna do amazing, y'know. you do every year."

"ugh. i know." sevika huffs against you. you giggle.

"so then why are you so worried?" you ask. sevika shrugs against you.

"just. 's a lotta people. and i like when you baby me." she says.

you burst into laughter just as the audience on the other side of the stage bursts into applause. sevika groans, and you give her one last good squeeze and a smooch to her cheek before pushing her toward the stage. "go ahead baby. you got this." you encourage her. sevika smiles shyly at you, and you curse. "shit, sev, wait! i left a kiss mark on your cheek!" you squeak, scrambling to grab her wrist and wipe off the lipstick that must've transferred from her lips to your own, then onto her cheek.

sevika ducks out of her hold, though, her smile only growing. "good. let 'em see it." she says, winking at you before ducking under a curtain and out onto the stage.

the crowd bursts into applause at her appearance, and your heart melts as her words sink in.

she's such a fucking sap. you love her so much you think you might explode.

she nails it, because of course she does. by the time she walks back off stage, there are literally people chanting her name, like she's a rockstar or something.

you intend to tease her about it, but then you see her and her sweet shy smile, your very obvious kiss mark on her cheek, and her hands nervously clutching her note cards, and something ravenous courses through your bloodstream.

you nearly tackle her to the floor as you launch forward to kiss her. sevika gasps, and her notecards go flying as her hands reach up to hold you tight. fuck you love her. she's the most incredible woman you've ever met.

"sev." you whisper between kisses you can't stop pressing to her skin. "sevika."

"y-yeah?" she asks, her voice squeaky and excited.

"can i blow you in the bathroom, please?" you ask. "want you so fuckin' bad."

sevika shivers full bodied and lets out a shudder before she grabs your wrist and starts sprinting toward the bathroom. you cackle the entire way.

your favorite thing about this venue is that they have plenty of single stall bathrooms. you and sevika have used this feature to your convenience many times over the years.

sevika's already rock hard in her trousers by the time you lock the door and pin her to the wall. she's clawing at you, whimpering as she tries to catch your lips in a kiss. you giggle, cupping her jaw and kissing her soundly, shoving your tongue in her mouth to calm her down a bit.

sevika sighs heavily, and you pull away, gasping a breath before dropping to your knees.

"fuck. i'm not gonna last, baby, fuck." sevika whines as you paw at her pants. you giggle.

"you better. want you to cum inside my cunt, love." you say.

sevika makes a pained noise, and her dick jumps in her boxers. you laugh. "you better touch yourself while you're suckin' me then." she says. "want you to cum with me."

it's your turn to shiver. you claw at her boxers, a little growl escaping you when her cock's finally revealed to you. "fuck." you grunt, before leaning forward and just pressing your face against her cock.

sevika sighs dreamily, reaching down to cup your face as you nuzzle her dick. "so pretty on your knees." she whispers. you smile up at her. "lemme see you touch yourself." sevika requests. you shove a hand down your waistband, rubbing your wet clit with your fingers as you rub your face against her length. "that's it, baby. fuck. now put your mouth on me, love."

you're needy for her, so needy that you take a little too much of her at once, gagging loudly on her cock.

sevika moans at the feeling then laughs at the embarrassment on your face when you pull back and catch your breath before trying again.

"don' laugh at me." you pout, spitting on her dick and jerking her while you blink back your tears.

"'s just cute baby. so fuckin' needy for me you choke yourself on it." she sighs.

you shiver a little. you can't really deny that. "you did amazing, by the way." you whisper. "you always do."

sevika's shoulders scrunch up to her ears, and her eyes dart away from yours. you giggle. "shush. you aren't supposed to be talking right now."

you laugh and kiss her wrist, then try again, taking her back in your mouth and slowly working down her cock.

sevika melts against the wall behind her, and her eyes fly back to yours. you hum around her and she groans. "shit, i'm not gonna last, baby, fuck." sevika whines as she starts thrusting into her mouth.

drool is trailing down your chin and into a puddle on the floor, and when sevika's thigh starts shaking you sink two fingers into your cunt, getting ready to take her.

"fuck, i love you." sevika whines. "i love you so much, baby, love your fuckin' mouth, love fuckin' your mouth--" she cuts herself off with a little giggle, and then she groans. "off-- off-- pull off baby, i'm gonnahh!" sevika shudders as you pull away right before her orgasm. she glares down at you, and you giggle, kissing her clothed thigh. "get up here." she growls, tugging you to your feet and roughly shoving you back against the sink.

you grin, shimmying out of your pants with sevika's help, kissing her anywhere you can reach as she hauls you up.

"you ready for me?" she asks, rubbing her cock against your soaked folds. you whine and nod.

"been ready for you since you put that suit on." you tease.

sevika just chuckles and pushes in, both of you groaning at the feeling.

"oh fuck, please tell me you're close." sevika whines, ducking down to bite at your neck as she starts hammering into you.

your hand flies to your clit, rubbing quick little circles against it in time with her thrusts. "s-so close." you whimper.

sevika shivers at your answer, then lifts up to kiss you on the lips. "i love you so much." she whispers.

"p-please cum inside me, sev, wanna make you feel good."

"y-you always do baby, fuck!" she shouts as she fills you up, cumming and shivering against you.

you grin, satisfaction and pleasure filling you equally until you're falling apart around her, laughing and moaning as you pull sevika to your chest.

"you really did do amazing, you know." you sigh after you catch your breath.

sevika smiles against you. "i know. practiced really hard last night, my wife finds it sexy when i give speeches."

"your wife finds it sexy when you do anything, love." you correct her. she grins.

"can we go home now?" she asks.

you giggle and nod. "kinda have to babe. my shirts covered in drool, and i'm sure we got cum somewhere on your pants or something." you say.

sevika cackles.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz @strawberrykidneystone

[chrissv4mp]

𐙚 ᯓ stupid crush — ᡣ𐭩

she didn't understand why she felt like this, why she felt so... warm. especially when you were around. any time you even came within a 5 feet radius of her, she'd feel like she was going to explode. her cheeks would heat up, and she wouldn't know how to act, what to say—she didn't even know how to breathe when you were around her. which reminded her... you were lying right on her chest, and that only made the struggle to breathe worse. she hopes you didn't notice, but with the way your hand ran across her stomach so often, she was sure you might've caught on earlier than she expected. billie had been the one to invite you over after you got off your shift, and you happily accepted her invitation because she was never really the one to ask.

so, here you were, your bodies laying on her bed as a song from your shared playlist plays at a low volume from the speaker on her nightstand. the rain from outside hit her window, the quiet pitter-patter noises making the whole scene complete. it was something straight out of some classic friends-to-lovers film. her bedside lamp was on, lighting the room up just enough so that you could see her face and she could see yours. she was counting each of the little freckles on your face as you shut your eyes, relaxing into her. she ran a hand through your hair, her fingers scratching your scalp so softly, so carefully as she lulled you even further into a sleepy state of mind. she was praying you didn't hear the fast beating of her heart as she held you, not moving too much because she was scared that she'd do something wrong and you'd leave.

she grabbed her phone from her pocket, careful not to make too much noise as she unlocked her phone and went into her voice notes. she was sure you were asleep by now, your gentle breathing and quiet demeanor, a crystal clear sign. but, as she played the most recent one, titled 'stupid crush,' she regretted not making sure that you were actually asleep. her voice erupted from the speaker on her nightstand, and the first words that were heard were, "this is fucking stupid. i... love y/n. there was that—?" until billie finally came to her senses and paused it, the music resuming almost immediately. if her heart wasn't racing, it sure as hell was now. you stirred in your... sleep?—daze?—she didn't know, but now you were looking directly into her eyes with the... softest expression on your face. your eyes spoke for you, but billie was sure she was misreading the smile that began to creep onto your face. you were going to laugh. make fun of her—

"what's so 'fucking stupid' about that?" you giggle softly, voice slightly raspy and eyes glossed over with multiple emotions. all of which were for billie to decipher because she knew damn well she wasn't gonna get any answers from between your pretty pink lips until she finally admitted her feelings. but she didn't know what to say, and not even the music playing softly in the background calmed her anymore. she shut off her phone, tossing it to the empty side of the bed as she gulped quietly, "tell me, i'm quite interested." you sat up, sitting on her lap as you always did because you could never not be at least somewhat in her personal space. maybe that's part of what helped develop her crush on you. her stupid crush. on you. her best friend, of all people. she cleared her throat of the suffocating feeling as she sat up straighter, body tensing as she hopelessly murmured, "because you're my best friend. we're—y/n, we can't be—"

"who says we can't be together?" you scoff, a half-amused, half-annoyed look on your face. when she blinked, it was like you were a million miles closer to her, your lips inches apart, breath fanning over her face. she gulped again, eyes scurrying over to the empty side of the bed, biting on her lip nervously as she tried to think about what to say. it wasn't like she didn't want you to be her girlfriend, she was just... scared of messing it all up. when you cupped her cheek and turned her head back towards you, her eyes widened, "gimme one reason." you whisper, eyes darting down to her plump lips as you scoot closer to her body, shorts riding up your thighs. she doesn't respond, feeling frozen in the same song that just ended began to play again through the speaker, "billie," you murmur, lips only inches away from hers, almost brushing against each other as your hand travels down and wraps around the back of her neck, pulling her in closer. when your other hand comes up to her shoulder, she only then decides to speak, "because it'll be ten times harder to let you go."

"then you better hold me tight so that won't happen." you whisper before your lips crash softly against hers, pulling her closer by her neck. she doesn't pull away, your words slowly processing in her head as her own hands cautiously grab a hold of your waist, almost pulling you onto her lower abdomen in an attempt to get you closer. she wanted you two to be whole, even after all the doubt she spat out before. your words sunk deep into her heart, and now she didn't have a worry in the world. as long as you were with her, everything would be fine. she'd just have to hold you. close. tight. secure. as long as possible... and maybe even forever. she smirks against your mouth as she feels your tongue run across her lower lip, pulling away only a few inches as she opens her eyes, staring deeply into yours and never looking away, "so... i guess i should rename the voice note 'stupid girlfriend,' now?" she giggles as you roll your eyes, pushing her shoulder softly, "i think you're the stupid one."

𐙚 amiyaps : guys the landing of my flight scared the absolute SHIT out of me... cus tell me why we were dropping so fast bro 🙁

𐙚 tags : @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livialifesblog @devynscomet @her-favorite @cannibalsclass @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @meliciousmel13 @zayluvss @hrtsdollie

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Aftercare w/ Ateez ♡

♡ Pairing: ot8!ateez x fem!reader

♡ Genre: fluff/suggestive/a lil drop smutty

♡ Warnings: mentions of sex/penetration, lots of physical affection, and a bunch of fluffy, lovey dovey vibes.

♡ A/N: This one's a request from a darling anon who wanted some Ateez aftercare so I'm here to deliver. I hope this is everything you wanted it to be, my love!

♡ Hongjoong ♡

Hongjoong loves nothing more than to shower you with words of praise and affirmation. When you’re done making love and you’re draped across the bed, your naked body beautifully displayed for him, he’ll start applying tender kisses to your lips, whispering to you how utterly magical you are. He’ll praise you for how good you were for him. How good you always are for him. His lips will lightly skim the softness of your skin, sprinkling kisses all over your body. Your breasts. Your belly. Your thighs. Right between your legs when your clit’s still sensitive from the night’s activities. The whole time repeating those praises like some sort of prayer. Praises that make you feel loved and safe and beautiful because you are.

♡ Seonghwa ♡

Seonghwa’s favorite way of caring for you is running you a nice candle lit bubble bath. He doesn’t get in with you, not because he doesn’t like the feeling of your body wet against his but because he lives to pamper you. He’ll sit on the edge of the tub, washing you up, taking his time to give proper attention to every part of your body, making sure his touch conveys the depth of is affection for you. He could spend all night watching the warm, soapy water drip down your body. And the way your breath hitches when he gets to your breasts, rubbing your still stiff nipples beneath his palms, drives him crazy every time. He wants you to feel as good as you do when you reach your high and his touch is more than enough to bring you right to the edge again.

♡ San ♡

San gives massages that could make a girl feel like she’s in heaven. His strong hands smoothing fragrant oils across your naked body as you lay there allowing your tense muscles to melt into his touch. He could chart his course around your body with his eyes closed. He’s done it a thousand times. He knows how to ride the curves of your hips, applying the perfect amount of pressure to bring that euphoric feeling back to your body. He’ll run his strong hands across your ass, soothing the sting of a few slaps he dished out in the heat of the moment earlier tonight. And no matter how many times he’s done it, it never gets old for him. He never gets tired of exploring your body and taking in all the ways it responds to him, letting him know that it loves him as much as he loves it. As much as he loves you.

♡ Mingi ♡

Mingi will find any excuse he can to keep his tongue down your throat and a shower together is the perfect opportunity to do it. When he guides you into the shower, his lips are at yours the entire time, his long arms wrapped around your waist to keep you close. The water always spends a minimum of five minutes just rushing over your bodies. It’s like kissing in the rain only infinitely more intimate. When your lips are tender and you’ve nearly run out of air he’ll finally let you go, turning you around to wash you up, starting with your hair. That man can massage a scalp so well you find yourself purring with pleasure. Don’t even get him started on your body. When it’s your turn to wash him he’s more than eager to let you. He’s addicted to your touch and savors every second that he can feel it.

♡ Jongho ♡

Jongho isn’t known as someone who’s big on physical touch but it’s a different story entirely when it comes to you. There’s nothing he loves more than to have you in his arms. Truly, nothing compares to the feeling of your skin pressed to his, your limbs intertwined as your head rests on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, feel how in sync it is with yours. He likes to kiss the top of your head, his fingers teasing the small of your back, trailing up your spine to set off sparks that leave you buzzing inside. It always pushes him to the point that he’s pulling you up and into an intoxicating kiss, the head of his cock teasing your clit the tiniest bit before he’s easing you back down, leaving you both hanging in that perfect space between arousal and serenity that keeps your mind all fuzzy in the best way. 

♡ Yunho ♡

Yunho started singing to you one night when Alexa decided she didn’t want to play your favorite song and it’s been a tradition ever since. When the night has been particularly long and your body’s lying limp in his arms, he’ll stare into your eyes like they’re as beautiful as the night sky, singing songs that make your heart flutter. He gazes at you so lovingly that you lose yourself in those warm brown eyes, feeling as wrapped up in them as you do his embrace. You always get so giggly when he leans in to kiss his way down your neck or along your collarbone. It’s like you can feel the melodies vibrating through your body, making parts of you sing that you didn’t even know had the capability to. Even if you’re exhausted, his voice awakens something inside of you that makes you want to risk it all and beg him to devour you all over again which he would gladly do.

♡ Yeosang ♡

Yeosang would stay up forever with you if you asked him to but, on those nights where he knows you need your rest, his favorite thing to do is take a nap with you. All wrapped up in a warm, cozy blanket, your favorite show or movie playing on the TV. He watches as you fall asleep, your breathing growing softer as you drift off to have the sweetest of dreams. Only then can he fall asleep too, dreaming of that quiet moment in the middle of the night where you’ll wake up again and plant kisses all over his face, your sleepy eyes barely open. He’ll wake up and kiss you back, kisses so sweet you can’t tell if you’re awake or if this is still a dream. Pulling you on top of him, he’ll explore your figure beneath the blankets, slipping inside of you once more, making love to you much gentler this time around. He’ll have to repeat the cycle of putting you to bed all over again but it’s not like he’s complaining. He never would. 

♡ Wooyoung ♡

Wooyoung keeps a fridge filled to the brim with your favorite snacks and he’s always excited to surprise you with that new one you keep saying that you wanted to try. Feeding you makes him so happy. Seeing the way you smile when you really love something, doing your little happy dance while you straddle his lap. It’s the cutest thing he has ever and will ever see. He’s sure of it. If there’s a crumb or a drop of anything on your lip it gives him the perfect excuse to kiss you, suckling at your soft lips as your fingers rake through his dark, velvety hair. He kisses you until the flavor of whatever you’ve eaten has faded, pausing to check in on you and see if you want more. More food? More kisses? More of him? More of whatever it takes to keep you feeling as good as you do at this moment. Whatever it is, it's yours.

[snowsinterlude]

overprotective, lovesick, deranged.

(yandere coriolanus x reader)

summary: your ex boyfriend couldn't seem to let you go.

if i can't have you, no one can.

trigger.warning: yandere coriolanus, obslove (obsessive love), stockholm syndrome, drugging (no its not for sexual purposes), pregnancy, marriage, horror, depictions to murder (explicit), dubcon, p in v, cockwarming, extremely toxic behavior, unhinged coriolanus, this fanfic contains extreme toxic behavior and too much blood, if uncomfortable with that content, please, don't read it.

"This might get a little messy, I'm sure.

Heads rolling for the one I adore

This may become a little brutal if I'm honest

But it's any-anything for you my dear, I promise"

overprotective.

coriolanus snow was a man of ambition; one of those who won't quiet down until the moment he had what he wanted. this was something that happened to the women he got involved with too.

lucy gray baird was one of those. the moment your now ex-boyfriend was sent to district 12 you could tell something was wrong. you could not care less, though. he wasn't your boyfriend anymore and in your most honest opinion it was something good.

when he came back you were with a different man; one named valentine, who stayed with you when you saw coriolanus kissing lucy gray. who comforted you during this time and who hugged you everynight when the thunders during rain times echoed so hard that made you feel like being killed by one of those.

valentine, who's head was decapitated in front of you.

coriolanus, who was smiling to you as he opened the 'gift' he had prepared to you.

you, who couldn't help but throw up at the sight of your dead boyfriend. you, who passed out by the sick sight of his decapitated head, his eyes opened by strings of a red line, needled carelessly. the same eyes who used to look at you with so much affection and love, now weren't looking at you at all.

when you woke up, your hands were tightly wrapped up in a tight knot that he learned to do as a peacekeeper. strung up reasons.

"good morning, my love." he smiled, kissing your forehead. you were still in the kitchen, dressed in a white dress, you didn't remember putting it on. you didn't like the fabric nor the color of white- it would always get stained too easily. "you finally woke up."

you didn't had to think much to know that what happened wasn't a dream. it was real. he killed your boyfriend.

you opened your mouth, and the scream you left was enough for him to slap you across the face. once you begun to cry, he kneeled in front of you, hands cupping your face as you shaked.

"it's okay baby, snow's here for you,"" he kissed your face, making you melt into crying as hard as you could, sob after sob making your doll heart heavy. "remember you used to call me snowflake?" he asked, and you nodded cowardly, afraid of saying anything that might make him furious. "i'm still your snowflake."

and he hugged you, caressing your scalp as you ugly cried in front of him, but to him, you would never look ugly.

lovesick.

with your face pressed against the mattress, you stared at the gigantic mirror that covered an entire wall, watching yourself.

it's been three months since valentine died, and two months since snow untied you, carried you like a princess bride and bathed you, always murmuring the waltz that played when you both met.

maybe it wasn't so bad after all. he took extra care of you, never slapped you again- it was a relapse. he took care of the red slap mark in your cheek, apploed ointment on you everyday, prepared your favorite meals and left you to your own peace, let you mourn the death of that pathetic boy you decided to date.

it wasn't his fault, right? no- it was. why the hell were you thinking that the victim was the one to put to blame for their own death? are you dumb?

well, you aren't- but you're starting to become.

why were you smiling at him as he showed you the dress he brought you? why did your heart flutter when he made you desserts? c'mon now, he killed your boyfriend. ex-boyfriend?

he wasn't there to protect you now, was he? why would he be important in anyway? of course, he was the sweetest to you, never questioned when you moaned coryo's name instead of his, he knew how hard it was to you.

for fucks sakes, what were you doing? what were you thinking?

coriolanus entered the room he made to you after three knocks, a tray with golden white details on his hand, with two toasts, less than a dozen pancakes that he knew you liked, a cup of strawberry juice and a small bow of green grapes.

once you ate at least half of it and drink the juice, he was by your side, caressing your hair.

"bunny?" he called, taking you off your own state of blankness.

"yes?"

"do you hate me?" you wanted to say yes. wanted to spit on his face for asking such a dumb question after holding you hostage and killing your boyfriend, you truly wanted to.

but you didn’t. "no," and maybe you didn't hated him at all. maybe that juice with the truth-telling pill didn't had much of an effect on you

"hm." he hummed, lips curling into the pretty smile he had. "it's good to know that."

he put the tray aside, laying by your side. why have you been laying like a sick woman at it's death bed? ah. yeah, he didn’t liked the idea of you going away, he said he didn’t want you to leave him. how cute.

you smiled at the thought. then you had to gather all the senses you had left to scold yourself.

it didn't last long though, the moment his hands found your hips and started grinding on you, you felt aroused. you shouldn't be, this was the man that killed your boyfriend. this was the man who slapped you. this was the man who didn't let you go around the house with the excuse that he didn’t want you to leave him.

but of course, your cunt didn't had the same thought that you did. so, by the amount of teasing and the way his soft, slender fingers found your clit almost immediatly, you couldn't help but moan and grind back, feeling as if you were humiliating yourself.

"s-stop that, coryo. please." you said. "i'm still mourning valentine's death-"

"i'm sorry, dove, but your pussy doesn't seem to agree with that." and he rolled your nightgown up, pulled his pants down and finally his dick was grinding against your wetness, the tip teasing your clit as he didn’t went inside, why he wasn't going inside? you needed him in.

your breath hitched at the thought, your hand gripping the sheets as he slowly thrusted, but never inside of you.

"tell me, dove, do you want it in?" he asked, his index finger teasing your clit.

"n..no, i-i don't-" he chuckled at your own lies, you felt like laughing too, the exact moment he kissed your shoulder you had to close your own lips, aware that you would end up smiling at him.

"i don't think you don't want it. tell me, baby, what do you want exactly?"

your breath hitched, you could feel how harder your nipples were compared to before. you shouldn't be wanting this. and you knew that. but you loved him so much.

"y-you. please, i'm sorry, coryo." what were you sorry about? you didn't do anything wrong other than mourn and cry.

"you're forgiven, baby. now, just let me enter you, okay?" you nodded. you were pathetic, that nod was pathetic, looking at you in the mirror was pathetic, seeing how you surrendered so easily to his touch was pathetic- the fact that you were ovulating was pathetic. the fact he knew you were fertile was psychotic, and mostly pathetic cause it was you who let him know about it when you were both dating.

you slurred a long and low moan out of your mouth, your eyes closed shut the second your walls were slowly stretched by his dick, it wasn't as painful as the first time, but you felt like being ripped apart.

dubiously, you let his dick kiss your uterus like never before. you felt so ridiculous when his dick went further into you, when your warm walls squeezed his dick into you, when your pussy felt like gushing and you cockwarmed him with pleasure, and you fucked him back, moving your hips almost like you didn't want him to see you moving.

"you would look so good pregnant, don't you think, baby?" he asked, his hand going upwards and abandoning your clit to pass on your belly. "you'd be so pretty. more than you are already"

you shook your head, panic taking over you.

"p-please, coryo. don't do it, not inside, please. not inside" of course, he didn’t even cared about your mewls, thrusting harder into you, earning a bunch of moans out of your mouth, your voice echoing as he spread your legs and made you look into the mirror to see the mess you were.

your boobs bouncing out of your nightdress, your pussy beautifully welcoming his dick inside your cunt, his balls slapping against your clit due to the pose, and the more you concentreated on the pleasure, you were closer to cumming.

"yeah, keep squeezing me like that, dove" he said into your year, sucking on your neck. you moaned as an answer "i'm gonna fuck my baby's into you."

you squeezed him too tightly, your pussy gushing around him before finally cumming. too good, too good. were all that you could think of.

"such a pretty girl, baby. you will be such a good mom." he said, finally cumming inside of you, the hot seed flowing inside you and leaking a bit.

you turned to see his face, recieving a kiss that you promptly deepened.

you were doomed.

deranged.

his grandma'am was the one to acompany you to the altar. the entire panem was there or outside waiting to see the marriage of the new president snow.

you smiled at him under the veil, your swollen round belly being the one that claimed attention more than anything. you were in fact a beautiful mom, carrying his twin girls in your heart and stomach.

you still loved him after all, who would know?

not even him expected you to say yes, not in the marriage, not at the proposal, and not at any other situation, specially when he was impregnating you.

"do you, mr. snow, accept mrs. y/n as your wife?" the priest asked, a sweet smile on his elderly lips.

"i do."

"and you, mrs. y/n, accept mr. snow as your husband?" he asked to you, and you smiled, cherry lipstick covering your lips.

"i do."

you caved your own grave, and you knew it. but if you died, you would take him with you.

that's what love is about.

[soft-girl-musings]

Salt & Pepper

Moon Knight System x GN!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: rated T for teasing, domestic fluff, author does not condone touching people's hair without permission, no use of Y/N

wc: 1,078

fic summary: Marc, are you familiar with the term "silver fox"?

A/N: i might have a problem lol

_____________________

“Put. It. Down.”

Marc Spector does not startle easily. So when he nearly falls from his perch beside the bathtub, you’re surprised you have to steady him.

“Jesus, where’s the fire?” Marc picks up the towel and small cardboard box he’d dropped because of your outburst.

Shifting your focus, you zero in on the latter: hair dye, just as you’d suspected.

“So this is what you get up to when I’m away?” You tut, cradling his temples and shaking your head. "What happened to you?" 

"What? Nothing, I'm-"

"-I wasn't talking to you," you sigh, resting your forehead against the crown of his head. "How long has he been treating you like this, you poor things?"

“Ha-ha.”

You release his face to study it. "But seriously, how long have you been dying your hair?”

 “... For a couple of years. Started to turn gray from stress a while back, and I guess it never stopped.” He fidgets with the loose edge of the container.. “You really never noticed?”

You take the box and set it beside him. “You hid it well.”

You’re not judging him for dying his hair, it’s just… surprising. Marc’s never been one to fuss over his appearance, as far as you could tell. When you first saw his closet, you’d half expected it to be lined with the same outfit ten times, like in a cartoon. Most days, “dressing up” means adding a jacket or blazer.

 “Since when do you care? About your hair, I mean.” 

He shrugs. “I’m not gettin’ any younger, honey.”

“Neither am I.” You kiss the bridge of his nose. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. Goes double for me, don’t you forget it.” Leaning in, Marc tries for another kiss, but you duck and grab the hair dye before turning away with a mischievous smirk.

“Gotta keep you honest,” you wink and dart out of the room before he can catch you.

_____________________

"Love?"

"Hm?"

"Might fall out if you keep playing with it like that.”

You’d been standing behind Steven for the past couple of minutes, meaning to check in on his preparations for his morning tour but had gotten distracted. Very distracted.

“Sorry,” you sigh, your fingers leaving the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck and trailing down to his shoulder. “It’s just… hm.”

Your conversation with Marc must have taken root: over the past few weeks, you’ve noticed the hair that had been dangerously close to another round of boxed dye abuse steadily turning lighter. A subtle blend of silver strands mix with the darker curls that frame his face, making his hair shine a bit brighter in the light of the desk lamp.

“It’s like starlight,” you finally state, leaning in to rest your head against his.

Steven sputters and puts his book aside. “Starli- that’s a bit much, yeah?” His brow furrows, but there’s no denying the smile tugging at his lips.

“Not if it’s true,” you contend. You adjust the reading glasses that had slid down his face and tuck a stray curl behind his ear. “It’s a good look on you.”

There’s no denying the heat rising to his cheeks when you talk. “This– you don’t–” Steven caves and sets his book down, hopelessly flustered. “Either go away or get over here. Cheeky.”

He makes room for you to settle into his lap, which you giddily accept. Your hands sink back into his curls and he shivers as you scratch his scalp.

“Did I ever tell you I had a thing for my professor, once upon a time?”

“Oh my days–” 

You’re not sure who kisses who, but you’re certainly not complaining. Neither is he.

_____________________

The time apart has been agony.

You check your phone for the fifth time this evening. They’ve been gone for what feels like months (it’s been weeks) handling some business in California, of all places. Marc said he’d call when they were on their way home, meaning no news is sad news.

You’re pulled from your pity party by a knock on the door. It’s late, and you’ve already signed for your dinner delivery. Slowly, you get up and grab the bat you keep by the entrance (with a sock slipped over the end per Jake’s advice).

The knocking continues, getting more urgent. You take a deep breath and look through the peephole. A large brown eye stares back and you yelp, dropping your bat. The unmistakable boom of Jake’s belly laughter mocks you from behind the door.

“You’re hilarious,” you groan, standing the bat back on its head and unlocking the door.

You’re ready to lay into him when you open the door, but you’re stunned into silence. Jake’s smile is highlighted by silvery stubble, dusted with black. He adjusts his cap as his dark eyebrows raise in mock surprise.

“What, no hello?”

You tear your eyes away from his jaw. “Hm? Oh. Hi.” You open the door wider for him to step in. “Marc said you’d call first.”

“No fun in that, is there? Besides, you looked ready to handle some trouble.” he shrugs off his coat as you lock the door behind him.

“Trouble, yes. Nuisance, debatable.” You sidle up to him and drape your arms around his waist. You place a kiss on his cheek; it’d be impossible for him to not notice how you let yours drag along the rough line of his jaw.

“I missed you too,” he laughs again. “But man, is it warm in here…”

He tosses his cap and it takes everything in him to not lose it when your eyes widen at the sight of his hair, now more gray than black and curls longer than you’ve seen them before. You’re too enraptured to be embarrassed at your obvious loss for words.

“Your hair…” You reach up to touch it, but Jake grabs your wrist.

“Tsk, tsk, you threaten and barely say a word to me, then go straight for the goods without so much as a ‘please’? What happened to decorum, hm?”

“You fucking tease,” you huff. “...please?”

“Well, since you asked nicely–” Jake can barely finish his thought before your lips are on his, your hand tangled in his starlit hair as soon as he lets go.

“I take it we should cancel Marc’s haircut?” he murmurs as you catch your breath.

Your free hand grazes the scruff on his cheek and you grin. “I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

_____________________

A/N: marvel you cowards give us gray-haired moon knight

ty for reading <3

event tags:@moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro @queerponcho (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[cthulhus-curse]

Soft mommy Wanda who…cradles you closely whenever you have a bad day, something yoou don't even need to tell her. "Mommy knows," is what Wanda oftentimes explains. She will hum softly as you lay against her chest, her arms wrapped around you as nimble fingers trace lazy fingers along your exposed skin -- her body similarly nude. She will plant one, two, and maybe three kisses for good measure atop your forehead, each bettering your mood more than the last. "I'm here for you, baby," Wanda promises you. "Mommy will always be here."

Soft mommy Wanda who…loves cooking for you. She takes it very seriously, ensuring to try a handful of recipes on a weekly basis. You feel a tad bit antsy as you sit around waiting for whatever new meal your mommy will prepare for you, but she has none of that. Instead, Wanda sends you off to enjoy some time alone, partaking in your hobbies to not dare peek into the kitchen and ruin her surprise. One of your favorites ends up being a deliciously made tomato soup, albeit simple, with a grilled cheese oozes out the cheddar in only the most mouth-watering of ways. And of course your mommy doesn't let you take a bite of your food unless she blows on it to make sure you won't burn yourself.

Soft mommy Wanda who…can spend hours between your legs making you see the stars. She gets off from simply using her mouth to please you, at times her fingers which stretch you out in the most lewd ways imaginable. Wanda leaves love bites all over your skin, worshipping you as though you were an entity -- which, in her mind, you might as well be. And when you cum, Wanda has to hold you down. "Shh, mommy's got you, sweetheart. Let go for me. There you go. There's a good girl. Oh, you did so well for your mommy."

Soft mommy Wanda who…enjoys aftercare more than anything. She just loves taking care of you so much. Cleaning you up, getting you a glass of water and a snack, all while she peppers sweet kisses on you. And then of course she draws a bath for the two of you to enjoy, ensuring she sits behind you to carefully wash your hair, her fingers casually massaging themselves along your scalp, as you relax on her.

Soft mommy Wanda who…shudders when your lips encircle her nipples. Oh but does she love it. At times she has to grab a fistful of your hair to keep herself grounded, but soon finds relief in the way you suck on her breasts. It makes her feel all warm and fussy inside, much like your checked-out mind in those moments. "There you go, baby. Bet that feels good, huh?" Wanda mumbles to you, her lips hovering over your forehead as you keep nursing. "Such a good girl. Oh, mommy's best girl."

[niccolites]

green cliffs: - lessons in mortality. chapter one

highlander!soap x fem!reader. cw attempted sexual assault. read on ao3 here

On the same patch of land that you once took your first step, you are dragged out of your home by your hair.

There are things of little consequence: the blinding beam of the sun, how its heat doesn't reach you, snatched up by the snapping wind. The peeling paint of your broken fence, the pitchfork that has been abandoned in a bale of hay instead of with the rest of the tools in the barn.

You focus on this, the bite of the cold on your cheeks instead of the nails that are digging into your scalp. Easier to try and distance yourself from the fear that is gaping in your stomach, instead wondering if it was you or your brother who left that pitchfork out like that. You decide that it must have been your brother, he had been the one in the rush to get to the river to catch the ‘better’ fish this morning.

There are three strange men around you. You don’t know any of their names. You had seen them in the distance, the stark red of their coats along a distant hill, barely even a day prior. Your village had seemed to suck in a breath, air stilling with their approach. Now, the wind howls, the noisy exhale after that tense beat.

Trouble, your brother had warned you. Told you to stay in the house as much as you could. Tend the crops, feed the animals and keep your eyes down. He would go out, speak with your neighbours to get information on who these men were and what they wanted.

And you had done what you were told, had darted across to the barn, to the coop. Like a horse jumping at the sight of a snake before it even coils to snap.

It didn’t matter anyway. A spooked horse gathers more attention than a calm one. Your brother is sitting by still waters somewhere else, and you are here, gritting your teeth at the sting of your hair being ripped out by clumsy fingers.

Seemingly bored of dragging you, you are shoved to the ground, collapsing in a pile of skirts in the dirt. The men guffaw at you. They’ve clearly been drinking, the stench of whiskey is foul, and one of them still holds a bottle of it. Swings it around and you feel some of it catch the end of your dress. The laughs have a bitter edge to it. They’re angry, you realise, a new spike of fear shooting up your spine. You have just met these men, but they are treating you like you have wronged them in the past. Here to exact their revenge.

Soldiers, likely. One of them is still holding their bayonet, the other with a pistol slung around their waist. You don’t know how high-ranking these soldiers are, you don’t know if that would make a difference in how they are going to treat you. Worse, likely. Not even a month past and one of your neighbours had been strung up to the post, back bloodied with a whip until he collapsed. The punishment for not welcoming God’s own into your home, apparently.

Usually the English presence in your village is more official. A battalion, passing through and making sure that everyone is minding their own. There had been another Jacobite uprising, somewhere to the west of your village. Scottish men gathering to try and overthrow King George, reinstate the Catholic Stuarts. It had failed, but English law recently had become a lot more permanent, tangible in light of this rebellion.

These may be soldiers on your land, but they were operating as men. English law placed to the side, it’s overseeing eye shut for just long enough for what they were planning for you.

You are pulled up, arms yanked behind your back. Held in place by the first soldier while the other two prowl around your home.

“You know, I'm sick of you stuck-up cunts,” the first soldier hisses in your ear. There’s a twist in the muscle of your shoulder which makes you whimper. “You'd bend over for your sheep before you would us. I bet you have as well.” You can see his dark hair in the corner of your eye, smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Oh, come on, Grahams,” the second interjects, reaching over to catch your chin in his clammy hand. “She looks like a good girl. I bet you haven’t even been touched. Am I right?” His thumb pushes on your lower lip, his own mouth parting beneath the heavy curl of his pale moustache. Salivating, the way a rabid dog does before you put it down.

You stay silent. Feel his skin on yours, how he pulls your lip down. The parting of where you were and where he drags you down. Feel that ugly gap of space, an inch but it feels like a mile.

“Alone in that house?” the third asks, not even sparing you a glance. He’s pouring his drink over the edge of your field, just outside the second fence. The border between your yard and the crop you and your brother had laid down, scarcely a few weeks before. The third soldier has small eyes, and a pig nose, turns to give you a horrible, hating look. “Bet she’s had the entire village between her legs,” he sneers.

The first soldier distracts you, breath polluting you as he huffs a laugh. Tightens his arms around the lock of yours and ignores you as you grunt in pain. "Well, I’m sure that she wouldn’t mind the King’s own men from taking what they are owed, yes?”

The third man, apparently done with talking, throws the rest of his bottle over your fence and strikes a match. The catch of fire always surprises you. The match is suspended in the air for a flicker of a moment before it connects to the pool of liquor. A blink, and the fire roars, summoned into life and it eats all of the crop that you and your brother had laid on that once tilled field.

The memory of you and your brother, on your hands and knees as you planted that crop. The acceptance of exhaustion that comes with physical activity when you know it must be done and so you do it. Body connected to mind, an idea and then the yield.

Impossible to reconcile what had taken hours to do, lit up within a second. The fire branches across everything, almost licking the third soldier himself. Everything swallowed up, a horrible demon, brought by these men, a senseless cruelty that you can barely comprehend.

You howl, a wounded animal sound, lunging forward and then yanked back immediately. Everything is separate, suffocated by sensation. There is only the connection between the fire and your eyes, the conclusion that your brother is going to have to bow in that dirt again.

You shriek again, when you are stopped from preventing this, arms protesting in the twist that the first soldier forces them into. Told to stop your squealing. The second soldier steps back into your eye-line and grins down at you. Yellow teeth, dark eyes. Another demon on your land, seeking retribution in something that you have not even committed.

His mouth moves, but you barely hear it, blood rushing in your ears. Your face is hot, molten with tears. Brain and body disconnected. The socket of your shoulder is boiling, every yank pulling a tense groan from between your clenched teeth. You know that you are going to hurt yourself if you keep struggling, or maybe one of these men are going to hurt you. But you keep pulling, huffing with fruitless effort.

The second soldier reaches down, fingers digging into the collar of your dress. His fingers cold against the hot flush that has spread across your chest. A tear in the cotton cloth that covers most of your clavicle. Another shriek, ripping up your throat and into his face. He barely flinches. You are a cat with its tail caught, it doesn’t matter how sharp your teeth are anymore.

The first soldier with your hair in his teeth. The second with his hands groping down your chest. The third man, kicking your fence to get it to buckle and catch in the flames as well. Paralysis like a fist around the base of your spine. A yell that starts in the bottom of your lungs, builds until you are almost sick with the force of it.

Another yell, one that does not fully register until the soldiers take notice of it.

"What on -" the first soldier starts to say, before the rest is lost in a strangled noise. The second soldier steps out of your vision and you see what is stopping him.

Your father was no soldier, although he had been when he had to be, god rest his soul. He used to tell you about the true highlanders, the real soldiers and the swords that were as broad as they were, and how they would swing them as if they were an extension of their own arm.

It sounded like folklore. Mythology, until you see the swing of that broadsword, splitting the third soldier at the waist like the crack of an egg.

You barely have time to catch sight of the fourth man before you are thrown to the ground again, dirt catching on your palms and digging in.

It feels generous to call it a fight. There is a brief tussle between the new man and the two soldiers that had been holding you prone, before they are brought to heel. Blood seeping into the dirt. Half of the second soldier’s face thuds to the ground, his moustache halved. He stares sightlessly up at the sky, half an expression stuck and immortalised.

You lie in the dirt, watch as your tormentors are silenced, lives ended and left to pool in the soil that you used to dance across when you were younger. It is entirely unfair, the three men that were able to drag you around like a ragdoll, cut into like slabs of cheese.

It’s breathtaking, watching this man save you like it is the easiest thing in the world. He finally stills, the first soldier lying limp on his knees before he is kicked aside. You hysterically wonder if that is what would have been done to you, if these three Englishmen had gotten their way. A passage of time interrupted, snipped like the threads of fate. Time redirected.

You stare up at him, barely able to connect that your arms are your own now, even though you had been wrestling for them to be this entire time.

Your saviour, a bloody mess on his kilt and three dead men around him.

"Thank you," you manage. Voice crackling as you form full words now. The stench of gore is another presence in the yard with you. Thick, you resist the urge to gag as it seems to catch in your teeth as you inhale noisily through your mouth.

The man who saves you is silent, breath heaving out of him. He is massive, with dark hair that is pushed back out of his face. A light beard and red in his kilt. Red everywhere, actually. Staining the white of his cotton shirt beneath the crossover of his kilt, staining his skin. His broadsword is almost the same height as him, almost as wide. Metal catching the sun, glowing red as it drips blood.

It takes the man to stumble back to force you into action. You force yourself up, staggering towards him. You reach the centre of his chest, his breadth suffocating you, encompassing. You catch his bicep to right him, the equivalent of smacking your hand against stone. Now that you are standing chest to chest with him, you realise if he were to fall, you would not be able to catch him.

"Are you alright?" You ask, staring up at him. The blood on his face doesn't seem to be his, for the most part. There is a cut across his brow, leaking a lazy trail of blood down his temple and you almost reach up to touch it without thinking, before you catch yourself.

His eyes are blue. The sky brought down to you.

You almost laugh, delirious. Self-conscious under his rapt gaze. You tilt your head and catch sight of the fire again. As if other sensations had been halted under this man’s gaze, you are brought back to the present with the crackle of fire. You curse under your breath, stepping out of the pull surrounding this man, darting away to get a bucket to extinguish the flames.

You feel the ghost of a hand across your back before you are gone, furiously pumping the handle of the well and tossing the water across to the fire. It takes a few journeys, something that has your hands fumbling as you try to work faster.

The man is there, pulling the bucket away from you even as you try to stop him. He is able to swing the water further, catching more of the flames. His gait is longer than yours, but you notice that he seems to be stumbling as he is putting weight on his right leg.

After you pass him two more full buckets of water, the fire is finally put out. You take stock of the blackened field. All of it razed, deader than the men who are still sinking into the dirt a few feet away from you. You swallow harshly, angry tears pricking at your eyes. It will take a month, longer even, to fix this. You can imagine the devastation on your brother’s face when he sees this. Resist the urge to turn to the corpses and give them a few good kicks.

You want to give into the lump in your throat and cry over this, but the man fills you with purpose. You roughly swipe at your face before you face him, catching him already watching you. “Your leg - is it alright?” You ask, trying to keep the burned field out of sight. Better to focus on what can immediately be fixed.

The man stares at you for a beat too long. Almost as if waiting for you to speak again before he does. "One of the bastards caught me in the leg," he says. His accent is thick, deep in a way that has you flushing. He tilts his leg, lifting his kilt enough for you to see the gash on the back of his calf. The flesh looks torn open, which makes you wince.

"I can patch that up," you offer, grateful at the opportunity to take your mind off of the events of the past hour. You step closer, hands hovering, unsure if he should be walking. "My brother cut his arm on a scythe once, wrist to elbow, and I managed to stitch that up,” you add, even though the man doesn’t seem to care about your past experience with wound tending.

"You the village nurse then?" the man asks, reaching over to drape his arm over your shoulder. There is a moment of his weight pressed into you that almost makes your knees buckle before it is lifted. His hand stays though, warm on your opposite shoulder. He seems to be guiding you into your home more than you are. He is a hot line along your side, hip to hip. The sway as you acclimate to his walk, sturdier on your right leg as if to compensate for his.

“Hardly,” you manage to respond, kicking the door open for him to get inside. “My brother is just clumsy.”

You set him on the chair in your kitchen, bustling around for some cloth and a needle and thread. Your kitchen is like a picture in a book, just how it was when you woke up this morning. Time has not moved here, your mug is still by the sink. Your brother’s boots by the door where he had forgotten them this morning. Life before the fallout, perfectly preserved.

“It’ll look ugly, but it’ll do the job,” you warn, tossing a cushion on the floor to kneel on, gesturing for him to elevate his foot on the other chair.

“I trust you to make my leg as handsome as it was before,” he says, a smile that slips from his mouth when you come back to his side. You kneel down, a wet flannel in your hand that you cover the wound with, wanting to the extent of the damage beneath the aftermath that covers it.

You glance up at him, finding him watching you. Eyes dark now, water before a storm. You give him your name, suddenly realising that you haven't yet. Admonish yourself for being rude.

He breathes it back, like he wants to hold it in his mouth for a moment. “John,” he replies after another pause. “I get called Johnny.”

“Am I allowed to call you Johnny?” You ask, turning back to his leg. You catch sight of his chest stuttering over a breath. You tuck your hair behind your ear, frowning to yourself. You know if your brother were here, then you would not be speaking to this man so casually. That knowledge makes you feel like you are doing something inappropriate. Something to be ‘caught’ doing. Extra dash of sugar before the whip of the belt across your backside.

“Absolutely, angel. Well, dependent on the work you make of my leg,” he adds, tone musing. He seems amused by you, mouth smiling even as his eyes stay that dark colour. Trouble, your brother had described the soldiers. You aren’t so certain he wouldn’t describe Johnny in the same way.

You resolve yourself to your work. It’s not a bad gash, when most of the blood is wiped away. One of the soldiers must’ve stabbed it in, and then pulled it to the side, splitting the flesh. You wonder how he was able to stand on it, nevermind help you with the fire. You murmur a warning before you stab the needle in, threading the wound closed. A thin layer of poultice along the loose white cloth you have, an attempt to prevent any swelling before you wrap this around the wound. Tie the ends. The beginning of a thank you for what Johnny has done for you. His blood stains your hands, sticky into the crevices of your palms.

You squeeze the red out of the flannel and stand, roles reversed. He looks up at you, gaze reverent in a way that makes you faintly embarrassed. “The cut on your brow doesn't seem as bad,” you murmur, half-excusing yourself. You’re not doing anything untoward, but you feel the need to pre-emptively explain yourself. 

You wipe the blood on his face away, other hand hovering uncertainly, before you cup his chin. Hold him in place as you clean him up. It's something that you think would be normal, but feels outrageously intimate with how hot his gaze is on your face. Swallow and watch as his eyes drop to observe your throat move.

You avoid his eye, difficult when you can see that flash of blue darting around. You feel swallowed up by it. His attention feels like the sun has finally reached you, reaching through the wind to land on your skin. Scalding where his eyes land. You’re suddenly aware of the rip in your bodice, how it looks like you are bending over to show him the view down your chest. You snap up straight when you realise that he is looking.

You’re being ridiculous, you decide. This is the man who saved you from those horrible soldiers. A fate worse than death, most likely. Raped, murdered and burned most likely.

The cut on Johnny’s brow as stopped bleeding. “I think you’ll live,” you pronounce, voice falling flat at the end.

Another gap of quiet. Standing over a man who saved you, his blood on your hands. Three dead men in your yard. The burned crops, that smell wafting in, ruin and death.

“You live here alone?” He asks, accent catching on the ‘o’ sounds.

“No, my brother…he's away, fishing,” you explain.

Johnny barely seems to hear you, hand on your wrist. Thumb on your pulse, like he's listening to more than your words. “There may be more soldiers,” he says, gaze dragging away from you to the window. Darting back again as if he can barely stand to not be looking at you. “We have to go.”

You stammer, something in your spine locking at the idea of leaving your home. “I can't, no, this is my home - my brother - Ian - he’ll be -”

Johnny stands, a wall of muscle in front of you. The size of him silencing you. “There are English men dead on your land,” Johnny tells you, fierce suddenly. The snap of teeth. “Now, they may not believe that a sweet thing like you could do this, but they’ll make an example of you anyway.” His words blow the air out of your lungs, a shudder in the shape of a breath. You think about what he’s saying. You, on that post with your back whipped until everyone can see beneath your skin. Saved from the lawless and delivered to the law, the punishment eerily similar.

You shiver, fear worming through you. The scowl on his face smooths out, and he reaches up and cups your face. Sticky with gore, you can feel the print of hands left on your cheeks. “We have to go,” he repeats, firm. The full force of his will is something to bow to.

Your shoulder twinges, familiar with that sensation of being caught and forced into position. You twist your mouth, that ignored lump in your throat making itself known again. You blink up at Johnny, blood in the light beard across his face. The blood of the men who hurt you. Offering to save you. Again.

Your saviour is a stranger in your kitchen, and when you murmur your assent, he smiles like a wolf.

[rubytuby]

winner winner

college!art donaldson x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none lol, just short and sweet :)

note: stanford art my beloved wow… that’s boyfriend, pookie even. also i have to say that i am a patrick girl and i'm cooking up something there for yall. let me know if you liked pleak!

As the sun beat down relentlessly on the Stanford practice court, every movement felt more grueling, the exhaustion seeping into your bones. After picking up stray balls for what seemed like the hundredth time, abandoning your racket and never looking back sounded more than enticing. Bending down to retrieve another ball, you could feel the pounding in your head, a dull throb forcing you to close your eyes. Your scalp was wet from sweat, and you could see your damp hair hanging in the corner of your eyes, clinging to your forehead as you moved. Stuffing the balls into your shorts pockets, you trudged back to the center of the court, wiping the sweat from your forehead with a sigh. 

Through half-lidded eyes, you blankly stared at hitting partner, Art Donaldson, who was looking right back at you with a big grin on his face. You cocked an eyebrow at him and shook your head impressed by his ability to look absolutely unphased by exertion. You felt another throb in your head and winced and placed your thumb and pointer finger over your eyes.

Art's grin faded, replaced by a look of concern. “Hey, you good?” he asked, stepping closer, genuinely worried for you.

You dropped your hand and waved him off, forcing a tired smile. “Yeah, yeah, just give me a sec,” you replied, though the pounding in your head was reminiscent of that one time at tennis camp when you almost got heat stroke.

Art eyed you skeptically, doubting your words. "Are you sure? You look like you might—"

"No, I can play," you interrupted him mid-sentence, your voice firm despite your fatigue. Art tilted his head to the side. "I swear I'm fine." You flashed him an exaggerated smile to prove your point.

Art’s eyebrows lifted slightly, lips curling into a subtle, amused smile. He knew you’d never call it quits, regardless of how tired you were. He then removed a ball from his pocket and held it out, shooting you a knowing look. You simply met his gaze with a blank expression. As you positioned yourself to receive the serve, he spoke with a hint of amusement in his voice, "Alright, this one's gonna be 130. Ready?"

"If you keep taunting me, I might just forget we're here to play tennis and accidentally walk back to my dorm," you joked.

"Well, you know I wouldn't mind going back to your dorm," he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes and gave him a tight-lipped smile, bucking your head in an effort to get him to stop talking and actually serve the ball. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and squinted against the beaming sun, silently cursing yourself for telling Art he could take whatever side of the court he wanted.

Art tossed the ball into the air and smacked the ball with his racket, you braced yourself, eyes locked on the ball's descent. With a swift motion, you swung your racket, the satisfying thwack of ball meeting strings reverberating through the air. Art effortlessly returned your hit and let out a soft grunt, initiating another rally. At this point in your practice, you had resigned yourself to serving each hit directly to Art, too tired to bother with tricking him. Art, though, seemingly wanted you to put the work in before you could call it a day. Hitting the ball just inside the front of the service box when you were way back by the center mark.

"If you wanted to win so badly, you could’ve just asked me to play nice," you remarked, words heavy with exasperation as you let the ball bounce off into the distance.

Art watched the ball roll away, silently celebrating. "Where's the fun in taking it easy?" he teased. "Maybe I wanted the challenge."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "Yeah, yeah," you replied. "I'm sure those distracting grunts are just part of your master plan to win, right?"

Art shrugged and walked over to you, leaning against the net. "Well, they're not meant to be distracting," he retorted, a smirk on his face. "But if they're taking you out of the game, maybe you're not cut out for this."

"Oh, please, last time I checked, the WTA and ATP didn't have any categories for grunts and groans," you said, turning your back to Art as you walked back to the baseline.

Art laughed, smile widening as he prepared to serve up another ball. "Maybe they should consider adding it," he quipped as he tossed the ball into the air. 

Art served the ball with a slice. You returned it with a swift backhand, and the rally began again. Each of you fell into a rhythm, the ball bouncing back and forth across the net.

"This is match point," you called out.

"If you say so," he replied, a confident grin spreading across his face.

The rally eventually grew more intense, each exchange faster and more furious than the last. Art’s eyes glinted as he positioned himself for the next shot. Suddenly, with a fluid and powerful motion, he sent the ball rocketing toward the far corner of the court. Your eyes followed its trajectory, a split second of realization dawning on you as you scrambled to reach it. But it was too late. The ball landed just beyond your outstretched racket, bouncing twice before coming to a stop. You halted and let out a frustrated groan, a pout forming on your lips.

Art watched as you dropped your racket and flopped down onto the court, frustration evident on your face. Laughing softly to himself, he sauntered over, picking up your racket along the way.

He leaned down next to you and patted your cheek, holding your racket out with a playful grin. "Tough break, champ," he teased.

You playfully tugged the racket from his hand and stood up, sticking out your tongue. "You live for these moments, don't you?"

Art grinned mischievously and nodded. "Oh, absolutely," he replied with a laugh. As the two of you strolled toward a nearby bench, he playfully snagged your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"I swear to god I almost had it," you mused, shaking your head.

Art responded with mock dread, “Oh no, you lost for once, your reputation may never recover.” 

You both plopped onto the bench with a thud, limbs splayed out as you leaned back, panting heavily. The exhaustion from the intense rally was apparent in every breath you took, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

As you settled onto the bench, you placed your oversized bag on your lap and began rummaging for your water bottle. Art scooted closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Then, after some serious searching, you unearthed your water bottle with a triumphant expression. Art feigned surprise, raising his eyebrows in mock astonishment before gently lifting your legs to rest across his lap, tracing his free hand against one of your knees. 

You brought the bottle to your lips and promptly you chugged down half of it in a couple of big gulps. Art stifled a laugh, watching you with amusement. "Thirsty?" he teased, nudging you playfully with his elbow.

You shot him a playful glare, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Shut up," you retorted, but the smile on your face betrayed your annoyance. He removed his hand from your shin and reached for your water bottle, but before he could grab it, you snaked it away from him, furrowing your brows and shaking your head.

"Nuh uh, what's the magic word?" You said, wagging your finger in his face.

Art raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to make me beg?" he teased, leaning closer to you, his face mere inches from yours.

“Maybe later,” you said, closing the gap between you two, smiling as you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before handing him the water bottle.

Art grinned, taking the bottle from your hands. "Ok, now, can I please have a sip of water?"

You faked pondering for a moment. "Well, since you asked so nicely."

After taking a long drink, Art handed the bottle back to you with a smirk.

You giggled, rolling your eyes. "So, a rematch tomorrow?" you asked. "Coach says I need to work on my ‘’sloppy forehand’—whatever that means."

Art scoffed. "You? A ‘sloppy forehand’? Sounds like something he made up to get you to play harder," he teased.

"His words, not mine," you replied with a shrug.

Art leaned back against the bench, narrowing his eyes as he looked at you. "What if the loser buys dinner tomorrow?" he suggested.

You raised an eyebrow. "Is this your way of saying you’re tired of paying for me on every date?”

Art's expression softened, and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "It's not that, you know I don't care," he said, voice tender. "I just thought it would be a fun incentive."

You looked off to the side and faked pondered before saying, "Alright, deal."

Art leaned in, his lips brushing against your cheek in a gentle kiss. "Just so you know," he whispered into your ear, "I'm not planning on losing."

[diwatopia]

★ amethyst ; poly!marauders.

info: fluff, poly!marauders x gn!reader, under 1k.

there's a slight burn to your scalp as you apply more bleach to the small chunks of your hair, all sectioned into four neat squares to make the process easier.

your gloved hands squeak as you continuously clamp and unclamp your fingers over your locks, rubbing in the solution to get your hair to the light blonde you desire but it becomes increasingly difficult as you reach the back of your head.

"whatcha' doing, dolly?" sirius chirps, head popping past the door frame to get a good look at your odd stature: one foot on the lid of the toilet, the other planted firmly on the tiled floor as you attempt to get the last strand towards the base of your skull.

"can you see if i got the roots towards the back?" voice huffing in frustration as you scratch your burning scalp.

sirius coos teasingly, kissing at your clean temple when you pout. "you missed a couple spots. got any extra gloves?" his voice softer than before with a sickly sweet expression that makes your brain all gooey and melty.

you nod dumbly, handing him a pair of black latex gloves and practically purr as he gently scratches at your scalp, ceasing all itching and burning with his magic touch.

"are the boys back too?" you ask, already hearing the two pairs of socked footsteps thud against the hardwood floors. you've got your answer.

"hi, sweetness!" james pipes up, head peeking round the corner alongside remus'.

you smile, lazily reaching for them but not enough to disturb sirius who's hard at work. "what color are we going for today, dovey?" remus asks with curiosity, grin matching yours as he rushes to grasp at your hand.

"not sure... i have two different colors but i need your help deciding," your lips tucked into an adorable pucker as you mull over which color to go with.

two boxes lay on the countertop, pink and purple hair dye that are basically close in color but completely different vibes. you glance over to the boys, more so at sirius due to the fact that he's the best styled out of the bunch.

"i think i'm leaning more towards purple but i asked marls and she said pink so now my brain's all in a twist..." you pout slightly.

silence falls, the only thing being heard is your phone playing music. sirius is the first to speak, "i think you should stick to purple, doll."

then a flurry of agreements can be heard from both remus and james as if they were waiting for sirius' opinion before speaking upon their own.

"agreed, purple suits your skin tone!" james speaks as if he's just happy to be here, starry-eyed with a dopey grin to match.

remus nods along with james, "and it doesn't seem like it's a royal purple, it's more of an amethyst. i think you'll look extra pretty, dove."

you flush pink, "purple's the way to go then," soft giggle bubbling past your throat.

★ diwa's notes: i'm actually not sure how i feel abt this one but ty for 300 (?) notes on "lovely"!!!

© hobietopia 2024.

[pampushky]

his words so contrived

Alpha! Lando Norris/Omega! Lauda! Reader - chapter 3 - 4.9k

TW: no mention of abuser other than as him. mentions of abandonment and severe physical trauma in the form of a house fire. lore drop on the main character too!!

I'm back!! Bit of a jumpy chapter this time, getting some world building and establishing familial ties!

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Mid-September, 2007. Hof bei Salzburg, Österreich.

Niki, at the ripe age of 58, feels much too old to be going through raising a pup again. Yet here he is, carrying you in one arm while making scrambled eggs with his free hand, all while you’re half in your wolf form, half in your human. Your tail thumps against him as you whine, fuzzy ears flattened to your head when he once again hushes you, urging you to be patient. 

“But I want ham!”

“We don’t have any, maus,” He can’t help but laugh, looking at your grumpy little face, and the sharp teeth that poke out from under your top lip. Your proper canines were coming in— the upper two already in and sharp. He’d really have to make sure you knew how to properly shift, sooner rather than later. And he’d definitely need to read up on what proper child-rearing looked like now, his boys had been born in the early 80’s, and, well, things had certainly changed since then. Especially given your circumstances. 

If raising a normal child alone was hard, then raising a very traumatized and mildly disabled pup would be a whole other ball game. Niki didn’t even know where to start, even with all the books on modern child-rearing and trauma-informed parenting that Marlene had gotten for him. It was all new. 

Point and case, it was now decidedly healthier to let pups figure out their forms on their own, and it was no longer… taboo, to have your children running around with their more animalistic traits on full display when running to the grocery store. Even when going to the track to watch a practice, or to listen to the Ferrari drivers rant, Niki isn’t shocked anymore to see how many drivers also have a set of wolffish ears or their tail out, aside from in the car. Hell, Nico had been prancing about as a wolf, yapping and howling happily when he’d seen you in the paddock. After some coaxing, you’d even come out of your shell a little bit to play with the other German. Once you’d met Lewis, though, it’d been all over. He was your hero, letting you cling to his back as he sauntered around the track in his big, lumbering canine appearance while Niki did his job.

Granted, you would be stared at regardless, especially with the mottled scars on your face and neck. Your scalp had, by some miracle, been mostly missed in the flames that had claimed your mother’s life. One of your fluffy ears was gone, a bumpy ridge of skin where your pale white fur should have shown through. Though your hair was growing back rather choppily, due to the emergency buzz cut the hospital had given you just a year before. It’s unfortunately, the only feature you don’t share with your mother, or Niki. It had been the same color as his sons— but now it’s near white. From the stress, according to your pediatrician.

Who, ironically, is also one of the reasons that you’re now legally, Niki’s pup. Clinging to him as he cooks breakfast. Altogether, he’s not doing too bad this time around when it comes to parenting. You’re picking up German quickly. You're advanced in many subjects, and the therapy (both physical and mental) is doing wonders for you. 

“Eggs are for dummies,” you grumble, face against his shoulder as you glare at the pan, your good ear flattened against your head. “I don’t like eggs. S’not good meat.”

“That’s not true,” Niki sets you down, to look at you sternly for a second. “Eggs are full of protein. They’re good for you. Meat is protein. Eggs are like super meat. Now, do you want cheese or not?”

You squint at him suspiciously, not bothering to answer the question. “My other grandma said good wolves eat only meat.”

There it is again. Another mention of the oddities of your Dam’s pack. Very traditional it seems, teaching you about the proper place of each designation.

“Was your other grandma a race car driver, like I was?” Niki asks, and you tilt your head as if thinking, before then grinning at him as you shake a ‘no’ out. “Richtig. Eggs will help you grow into a big strong wolf, like Lewis or Micheal.” Niki sighs, and you immediately brighten, ears popping up in interest. You’re too much like Lukas and Mathias, both of them had a similar phase of only being able to partially shift. Perhaps your biological father had, too. But Niki pushes that down, and instead turns his attention to getting the eggs from the pan, hoping they haven’t burnt. 

“Can we see them again? Will Lukas and Matt be there?” You start to squirm beside him, and he laughs, loud and happy. “Please please please—” 

“I will call and ask,” Niki says, when the eggs are finally cooled enough that he feels safe enough to give them to you without you burning the roof of your mouth or tongue. “Eat these slowly, bitte meine maus—”

“Danke!” And you eat from the plate with a ravenous hunger and stare at him expectantly for more when you finish your eggs in minutes, one of your little fangs jutting out over your lower lip. You look at the empty plate, and then to him. “More?” And then a look of concentration settles on your face. “Mehr?” 

“You need to eat slower,” Niki sighs, and crouches down to be on your level, ignoring how his knees pop, and the way you whine, little ears folding down as he looks at you. “I’ll always have food for you to eat.”

“But what if you don’t?” You whimper, and he pulls you into a hug, hating how your scent has lost the youthful, milky aroma a pup should have. You don’t smell at all like a pup your age should– your scent glands had been damaged by the flames of your mother’s home burning. Too mature, with only a hint of the milky smell associated with youth. You’re even having trouble picking up on the scents of others, needing to get much closer to them. Your therapist and pediatrician had recommended a service dog. Whenever you present, part of Niki is worried. Worried that you’ll think yourself inadequate of a much too harsh world for those who were injured and disabled. 

“I promise, so long as you are my pup, I will make sure you will never want for food again.” Niki whispers, bending down to look you in the eyes. Ignoring how his knees pop and groan as he kneels beside you. Hands coming to cup your cheeks. “And you will always be my pup. No matter what anyone may say.” 

Mid February, 2024. London, England. 

Oscar lets out a low, appreciative whistle when he steps into your London flat. Logan is already there, helping you unpack while Mathias and Lewis argue about what music should be put on. Niki is ordering takeout and rolling his eyes over some vegan order Lewis insisted on making. And Lukas is very dramatically telling your new service dog, Eggroll, about how terrible his day has been. Holding her to his chest and walking around the living room. She perks up when she sees you, and lets out a loud bay, wanting to be closer to you.

When she is let down, she pads over to you happily, tail wagging and droopy ears lifted ever so slightly. Her claws click on the wood floors, and she bays again when she realizes someone else is with you, laying immediately with her nose in her paws, as if to express her disgust. Oscar holds out his hand while Lukas settles to rest his chin on top of your head, complaining about how you need to get better snacks if he’s expected to visit often. But Eggroll’s eyes are back on you, your devoted little lady following your every step as you make your way into the living room, Oscar behind you. The beagle then jumps onto the couch and lets out a dramatic sigh. She doesn’t need to work right now, not while you’re surrounded by those you consider your pack. So she rolls on her back, asking for belly rubs while looking up at you pitifully. Like she didn’t pull an entire pumpkin roll down from the counter that you’d baked last week. 

“Nice place. A bit far, though,” Oscar says as he witnesses Mattias and Lewis start to wrestle on the floor while Logan just carefully sets a little nick-nack from the box he’s unpacking onto the window sill, admiring the little figurine. 

“Not really. It’s like… half an hour?” The American approaches, leaning down just a bit to gently press his nose against Oscar’s, greeting his courting partner happily. “Plus, that’s nothing to how far people have to drive sometimes. The nearest Walmart—”

“So American of you to mention Walmart,” Lukas grumbles dramatically, but there’s a fondness in his tone as he pulls the skinny man in to ruffle his hair, earning a squawk of protest from Logan, before your older brother leaves to go lay beside the dog. 

“Besides. I’d rather have a better work-life separation this time around,” your tone is dry, and for a moment, a flash of guilt crosses Logan’s face before it’s gone, replaced by a smirk. 

“Holding onto your hatred for Lando isn’t a good work-life balance!” He says in a sing-song voice, and that makes not only Lewis temporarily stop wrestling with Mathias on the floor, but also makes Niki cover the receiver of the phone with one of his hands, looking at you in confusion. Your cheeks puff up, and without even saying anything, your two closest friends in the world are now badgering you about how consistently annoyed you still are with Lando Norris after just a week of working with him in preparation for Spring testing. 

“He’s a brat,”

“And you aren’t?” Niki says dryly, which makes you puff up again, this time with your chest. Niki looks at you, looking at you with a raised eyebrow, the scar tissue scrunching slightly. “I spoiled you rotten, meine kleine Maus.”

“Favorite pup,” Mathias mutters, but it’s sweeter, his chin on top of your head like Lukas had done after he’s done getting up off of the floor, smugly glaring at Lewis from where he was nestled. “I mean, you behaved better than we did.”

“Not really,” Niki tuts, walking over to cuff one of Mathias’s ears, laughing as he sees the more wolf-like traits on her head. “You didn’t see her throwing a tantrum over not having ham.”

“Ham?” Logan tilts his head. “You threw a tantrum over ham?”

“I was like, six!” 

“And you were the most adorable little thing in the world,” Niki sighs, shaking his head as he puts his chin in his hand, a small smile on his face. “So tiny. You would constantly want my attention. Kept hanging onto my legs whenever we were in public.”

“I remember those days,” Lewis says wistfully, as if remembering how you used to cling to him whenever Niki was off working at Ferrari before transferring to Mercedes when the team reformed. “I think I got a picture of that framed, somewhere. Where you were tugging on my ears during a break between free practices.”

“Ah! Yes, I did get that for you. When she was interning at Mercedes, under Bono,” Niki grins, and looks back at you, pride deep in his eyes. “My pups. All so talented. So smart. Look at you all now!” 

Lukas, Mathias, and yourself don’t even have time to protest when he starts to babble in German over you, looking at the little trio in front of him fondly. Lukas looks like he wants to combust. Mathias is stone faced as usual, but the pink flush on his skin does little to hide his embarrassment, especially in front of so many people he considers pack.

“Sisi,” you whine, putting the heels of your palms into your eyes, groaning loudly in embarrassment as your pack starts to move around you, working to make the task of unpacking go quicker as everything settles back into place. 

One more person joins the fray, with Nico Rosberg happily prancing into the flat just thirty minutes later. You go straight to pouting in his arms, and he just looks smugly at his mate. Niki goes back into the kitchen to help Mathias organize and clean everything on the countertops. Lukas has stocked the cupboards and cabinets. 

“They’re horrible, I know, Nesthäkchen.” Nico coos, and you just curl further into him, sniffing quite dramatically as Lewis chuffs, hiding his laughter as he noses at his mate’s hairline. “So mean.”

But there is a knowing look behind his eyes, as he meets Lewis’s gaze. Both are grinning. Wordlessly communicating with each other in a way only they can do. 

Oscar watches this all a bit curiously, as he and Logan help slide several books into place on one of the many bookshelves around the room. His breathing stutters whenever Logan’s fingers so much as brush against his. And he wonders if he’ll be able to communicate with Logan the way Lewis and Nico can. Or even Niki and Marlene, despite the fact they weren’t together anymore. 

Another brush of Logan’s fingers against his makes his breathing nearly stop when it turns into the American lacing them together, and slowly bringing Oscar’s hand to his mouth, placing a sweet kiss on the back of his hand. Blue eyes sparkle with mischief as he looks back at him, smiling when Oscar flushes pink.

Caught you. Logan’s eyes seem to say. 

Maybe they will be able to communicate like that one day. But until then, Oscar will settle for this, as he shyly smiles at Logan.

Early August, 2005. Hof bei Salzburg, Österreich.

You are finally cleared to leave the hospital. After nearly five months in the hospital— the longest stay being for three of those months in a private hospital in Vienna— you are allowed to leave.

Marlene had helped him pack the day before. Lukas and Mathias had cuddled you for hours in their canine forms, both of them soothing your anxiety. You’d fallen asleep like that after dinner before they’d left to go make sure the house was ready. You were still hugging the scented wolf plush that was doused in their scents when morning came and it was time to leave.

And the funniest part? You’re not even awake when you do leave. Asleep in Niki’s arms, drooling slightly as he holds you, your unbrunt cheek pressed against his shoulder. There’s no paparazzi, no worries about anyone getting a picture of you before you are ready to make a public appearance, not this time.

So Niki hunkers down for the three-hour drive, sitting in the back seat of the car while Micheal drives. Because, Micheal, even now, even when on a break is more than willing to help out the elder German-speaking driver as he adjusts to raising a child. Again. 

“She is tiny,” Micheal marvels while looking at your sleeping form, from where he waits by the car, opening the back door for Niki. “Are you sure she is really almost five?”

“She’s a runt,” Niki murmurs, speaking German so you don’t understand him. You’ve taken to the language well, but you’re still getting used to everything. “She will grow. This… chaos hasn’t helped. Her therapist said she will eat more, when she adjusts.”

“Poor thing,” Micheal coos, eyes soft. And Niki can tell he’s thinking of his own pups. “She is a Lauda. A good, strong Austrian lion.”

“No, Laudas are rats,” Niki corrects, smiling down at you as you shift in his arms, mumbling a slurring string of English in your sleep. “...the rats survive in the end. But… perhaps she is more of a mouse. Fierce but small.”

“A mouse?”

“Clearly you never heard stories of them in labs.” Niki shifts you in his arms, letting you snuggle against his chest. You’re all but bald, the hair fully shaved. He’s been letting you steal his baseball cap whenever you go outside. Letting you hide the shaggy mess your hair currently is. “Mice may be smaller… but they are twice as fierce. Just as clever. Only more compact. Faster.”

“How do you know about how mice act in labs?”

“Mathias talks quite fiercely about how unfair the treatment is,” Niki chuckles, while thinking of his son. “He’s quite close with the Hamilton boy… the one that McLaren is helping to raise up.”

The drive is otherwise quiet. You wake up an hour in, yawning loudly and showing off the little fangs you’ve grown. You had lost your first milk tooth while in hospital. Your right lower canine. And Niki had gone all out for it. Wanting you to feel as loved and welcomed into his pack as possible. He would have had the entirety of the grid there, had it not been a Monday right after a race.

But Micheal had made time. Coming into the room with his pups and mate, grinning broadly, and listening to you shyly talk about what the tooth fairy had brought to you. Your new sire may have gone… slightly overboard, showering you with gifts. But so had your older brothers! Lukas and Mathias had snuck in sweets that you definitely weren’t supposed to be eating, for the sake of the medications you were on. You were surrounded by all the gifts, many of them you hadn’t even come to open yet. 

Little did you know you had a mountain of gifts waiting for you at the house. A whole room to yourself, right across from Niki’s. 

“Sisi… where’we at?” You blink, your words still slurred from sleep. Just as you shake your head a bit, as if to wake yourself up, your ears lengthen, fluffy and soft. You’d started calling him Sisi, an easier way for you to pronounce Sire. “Gotta pee.”

“Hallo, little mouse!” Micheal looks back for just a second, grinning. “I’ll pull over soon, Kleiner.”

You just hum, peeking out the window from where you’re settled in Niki’s arms. Eyes wide as you look at the tall mountains around you while Micheal pulls into a place to stop. You don’t protest when Niki doesn’t let you walk on your own, even though you can, just hiding your face a little bit more in his neck as you go outside of the car. There aren’t any paparazzi around, too caught up in other issues. But a few eyes bulge out of people’s heads, seeing Micheal Schumacher and Niki Lauda at a gas station. You’re now in Micheal’s arms, carefully repeating the names of candies and sodas that are unique to the German-speaking world while Niki pays for a few softer snacks, already doctor-approved from an extensive list of foods.

You sit in the backseat on Niki’s lap while softly chewing on sliced apples and watching the world blur outside the windows. Micheal chatters happily, talking about how much fun you’ll have living with Niki. You fall back asleep after your snack and curl up against your Sisi, knowing that you’re in the safest place possible now.

When you do arrive, you’re surprised by most of the German-speaking grid being there. You cling to Niki most of the time, but hesitantly open up, answering shyly when spoken to. Nico Rosberg, a young, yet promising star, is the first to make you smile besides your grandfather, rolling over on his back while you shriek in delight, play fighting. 

Late February, 2024. Sakhir, Bahrain. 

“Miss Lauda— any comments on the tension between yourself and your driver? A bit of trouble in paradise, would you say?”

Jenson’s words are careful. Almost kind. You want to growl at the layers he’s woven into his question. 

“You mean not being a kiss-ass?” 

The former McLaren driver splutters for a second, before laughing loudly as he looks at you. The camera seems to focus on your scowl. The first day of spring training, and you’re already being hounded.

“No, I’m being serious. I’m just not a kiss-ass. Why do people think that’s a big hint at tension?” You grumble, your grip on the mic a bit tighter. You’re not wearing the normal makeup. Too hot, even during what is supposedly a cold season in Sakhir. Damn your sensitive skin, and damn the insistence that spring testing always be so far away! “You must remember your time at McLaren, Button.”

“Jesus, you’re like your father.” Jenson rubs a hand down his face, looking at you with a partially hidden smile. You can see the PR officer in papaya just behind him, a horrified expression on her face at your bluntness and overall hostile demeanor. “Well, thank you for your comments, and it’s great to see you back in the paddock, even if it’s not with Williams.”

The moment the cameras cut, he winces at his final sentence. You just stare at him blankly, about to ask why he’d even had to mention the team, while the press officer practically jumps on you, giving you an earful about how bad that went. You just look miserable, the entire time. Jenson knows exactly what went down— he’d been the one to pull Logan off of him.

And Eggroll?

Laying at your feet. Unfortunately not alerting to anything around you that could possibly trigger you, which means you have no excuse to blow her off. Or snarl at Jenson for his roping you into an interview when all you wanted to do was curl up in your nest at the motorhome before your next briefing. But the Beta looks like a kicked puppy already, so you soften, taking in a deep breath, and then pushing the air out through your nose. 

Traitor. You look at the beagle. Who just relaxes even more, her little high-vis vest and multiple service dog patches scuffing against the ground. 

“Maybe don’t let them talk to me then.”

“You’re a Lauda!”

“And?” You don’t even look at her as she lectures you. Your left ear is ringing, making your head pound as you stalk forward. “I am very aware of that.”

“They’ll want to talk to you!”

You just grunt, walking as fast as your leg allows. Eggroll beside you, eventually letting out a very sharp bark at the PR officer when her voice gets just a bit too shrill. 

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to them. Isn’t that sort of Oscar and Lando’s job?” You retort back, your upper lip drawn back as you look at her. Eggroll licks your ankle, soothing the anger and anxiety that threatens to spill out. You pause, and then bend down to lift up the dog into your arms, letting her lick your face until the acrid scent of your anxiety fades. No one else but you can smell it. The scent blockers made sure of it. “....I am not a driver. I am not my grandfather nor a racer. I do not want to be interviewed unless it’s scheduled and approved by Andrea or Zak.” 

The PR officer bites down on her lower lip, eyes flashing with just a bit of annoyance as you leave to go sit in a private area of the McLaren Motorhome. 

Every motorhome was required to have rooms that could lock from the inside for anyone to nest in. Nesting was traditionally thought to be an omega’s task, typically done to self-soothe during heats or stressful situations. But, that hadn’t been the case for nearly thirty years, with more and more studies showing that nesting was a natural behavior that all designations took part in. 

You took advantage of that, using it to hide your actual designation while being able to nest in a private room to ground yourself. Breathe in, breathe out. Scent-blocking patches off. Snuggled against Eggroll and the plush wolf that smelled like your pack, and the soft rabbit of your dam’s scent. It wasn’t perfect— some of the subtleties of the long-lost scent were missing from the little plush bunny Niki had given you when you were first put in his care. Eggroll nuzzles into your side, laying on top of you for deep-pressure therapy like she’s been trained to help keep you calm. Your nose is pressed into the side of the little rabbit, and you close your eyes very briefly. 

Mountain rain. Slightly-rotten leaves. Firewood. That’s what your mother had smelled like. But it’s… it’s still not quite right. And maybe it’s the nostalgia for the woman you hardly got to know, and the milky scent that had once clung to you, but it’s never been quite right.

According to Niki, you’d never smelled like a pup should when he first found you. Your initial panic presentation in the hospital had made you lose your natural pup scent. No milkiness. None of the sweetness that you were meant to smell like. It had thrown your Sisi for a loop, apparently, and then made him even more protective of you. 

While you had no memories of that time— and quite honestly, perhaps only one or two blurry ones of your dam from before the fire— you knew the scent wasn’t right. There was something missing.

Something you’d never be able to smell after the fire. All you do remember about your dam is warmth. Blurry images of being curled up against her on a green, plaid couch. Soft purrs that had since almost faded completely. You don’t remember her voice. You don’t remember her face. You do have a picture of her with you as an infant, tiny fists balled up and your mouth open in a wail. And she’s still smiling at you, a sliver of her teeth visible while she looks at you in her arms, her hair pulled back and out of her face.

Now you only have the first name she’d given you when you were born and the same designation she had. You turn in the nest a bit, studying the little rabbit you’re cuddling into. Eggroll shifts a little, adjusting, and continuing to lay on you, pressing her wet nose into your neck. 

They’d gotten the scent from the few pieces of clothing that had survived the fire. Under all the scent of the burned house, a dangerous mix of chemical fire and melted plastic, was your dam’s scent, and how Niki had been able to get you the little rabbit. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Try to come to terms with everything all over again. Eggroll’s back paws dig into your stomach, forcibly grounding you, and without even thinking, a whimper slips past your lips and you just close your eyes to sleep as you curl deeper in the nest, only vaguely aware that there are faint footsteps pacing outside of your locked door, heading towards the single-digit nesting rooms.

Lando needed to find the nesting suites. He’s well exhausted after the first day of testing, and has been itching to curl under the blankets he’d carefully packed, scented like his Dam and Sire, with his little nieces and littermates, and even Carlos and Max. His pack. People who made him feel loved and needed even when they fought.

When he passes the teen-number doors, he stops when he smells something heavenly in the middle of the open area where all the doors to the suites are. It’s a wide hallway, with soft yellow lighting and a plush carpet. A few hampers to throw blankets in. A few doors are already closed, showing they’re in use. But the twelth door… that’s where the scent is coming from! A scent that’s screaming for him to follow it and find the person it comes from. 

Morning rain. Freshly fallen leaves. Peach cobbler. 

He doesn’t know who smells like that in McLaren but he has to find them. The instinctual alpha part of his brain tells him so— they’re important, they need to be cherished, they need to know how badly he wants to know them!

Even if Lando knows what door the person’s in, he’ll never know who they are until he sees them walk out, if he ever does. The nesting rooms are meant to be private for a reason. So Lando takes a final forlorn look at door number twelve, and goes into number four, holding onto the beautiful scent as he presses the blankets into a border of the plush mattress. 

Find scent. Find and protect and love, his inner alpha whimpers, despite his more logical side knowing that he would be in quite a bit of trouble if he so much as brushed against the door while his instincts were in control. So he melts into his canine form, tucks his paws under his head, and takes a nap, pushing away the stress of the day and focusing on the wonderful scent of the mystery person behind door twelve, and wondering just who could make him feel so weak in the knees without even getting a chance to see them. 

tags: @charlesgirl16 @boo8008 @the-holy-trinity-l @laura-naruto-fan1998 @amalialeclerc @vellicora @st0rmzi3 @poppyflower-22 @hiireadstuff @seonghwaexile @mrsmelinda

[alziel]

i was so glad the second i saw your post abt accepting both Luka and smut 😭 may i request for Luka smut then i love him so much he's such a redflag

“ Affection „

: GN!Reader (Amab)

Summary: Spicy interaction with our beloved Luka

Warnings: Service Top!Reader,Power bottom!Luka,Riding(reader receiving),Creampie,Handjob,Nipple play

A/n: YAYAYAYY, my first request!!! I'm sorry if this seems sloppy!TT. Also I cannot imagine this guy whipping out a dick and fucking someone..

«---------------»«---------------»

Ah..How did you even get here? How did a simple cuddle session turn into a heated moment? Currently Luka was sitting on your lap stroking your dick. He would sometimes speed up the pace then slow it down to tease you.

“Oh my, darling, tears are starting to roll down your face.” Luka teased while speeding up the pace once again, making you arch your back by the sudden sensation. You didn't notice that tears started to fall down your face, to caught up with the waves of pleasure. “You look quite adorable~”

Of course he would. This is Luka we're talking about. You whimpered once you felt him slow down. “L-luka please..” you managed to speak.

“Please what, dear? You have to speak fully if you want to get what you want.” He teased, this guy is going to be the death of me..

“Y-you already know what I w-want..!” I spat out, he suddenly gripped my dick making me choke out a moan. Shit that felt too good.

“I don't tolerate brats who doesn't know their manners.” He warned, how ironic for you to say that when you keep teasing me through my arousal. I quickly grab his waist and place my forehead with his.

“Please L-luka, let me cum? I've been s-so good to you h-haven't I?..” I blabbered, making sure to look desperate. “Please please please please please..” I thought endlessly while waiting for his response.

“Well since you asked me so nicely, I can't just deny you so cruelly..” I cheered silently, I yelped when he suddenly pushed me down until my head hit the pillows.

“O-ow Luka what the--HNNGK!” I bit my lip once I felt something warm surrounding my dick, the feeling of his warm walls almost, ALMOST, sent me through my orgasm. “O-oh fuck..”

“A-ah~..” He moaned, I finally opened my eyes to look at him. His eyes were closed shut,blush covering his cheeks and ears,messy hair sticking to his forehead,hands gripping my shoulder for stability. He looked so pretty and beautiful, he always look like he had been sculptured by angels.

I snapped out of my trance once he started to bounce. Gosh it felt like heaven, did he fuck someone before? No way this is his first time. The sounds he's making sounded so enchanting too--literally everything about this man yells majestic.

“A-ah that's it--you just take it mngh..like a good pet.” He stated breathless, moaning and whimpering between the sentence. I just nodded mindless, too focused on the drowning feeling. But one thing that caught my eye were his nipples, it was all perked up and pink. As if it was screaming for me to suck on them..and so I did. “W-what are you do--oh~!”

I started to suck on one of the buds, swirling my tongue on it and lightly nibbling on it. He seemed to enjoy by how his bouncing got sloppier but his moans grew louder. I brought up my other hand to start teasing his other nipple, lightly twisting and squeezing the pink bud. He brought his hand to rub my scalp, encouraging me to continue.

“F-hah-uck! Keep going doll..m'so close..” I followed his orders and continued to bring stimulation to his nipples, going a lot rougher than before. His moans got louder and started bouncing a lot faster, I could feel it coming again..

“Luka pleaseee..please let me cum--fuck don't stop,don't stop,dont--AH~!" I came inside of him, burrying my face onto his chest, gripping his hips tightly to the point it looks like it'll bruise. White slimy residue painted his insides while the rest started to escape outside of his hole. Soon he came after, splattering onto my chest and his stomach.

We panted while we ride our high out, his hand never left my scalp. Soon he started to chuckle, I slowly looked up to him with a confused expression. “What's so funny?..”

“That was fun.” he admitted while looking his lips, he pinned me to the bed once more. “Let's do it again~”

I gave him a wide eyed shock expression "H-hold on! We just finished a moment ago, shouldn't we take a b--Luka, Luka baby..Luka-!”

Ah this is going to be a long night indeed..

[sugurouge]

— a fire in a flask : lucilfer chrollo x f!reader

content warnings! rope play, possessive themes, jealousy, bratty reader, hair pulling, pet names (sweetheart, kitten, dear), dubcon, asphyxiation & marking @ chrollo, deep throating, rough sex, condescending chrollo, mentions of murder, spit, impact play

summary: after some heavy convincing, chrollo agreed to let you have full control over your play date tonight. unfortunately, the scenario you had imagined takes a different turn once you start dancing too close to the flame

wordcount: 2.2k | my kinktober masterlist

Not much can cause Chrollo to breathe unsteadily; barely anything could take him by surprise. Yet here he is, without power, without control—at your complete mercy. The rope cuts into his taut muscles, the contrast of red against his pale skin is strikingly beautiful. And the groan that escapes his lips something so utterly satisfying as your heel digs into his chest, accompanied by the warning words of, "No, no, you promised me full reign tonight. So behave, Chrollo." You grant him a glimpse of your bare pussy hidden beneath your skimpy dress while pushing him further back into the chair, reminding him to hold still.

"If I had known what you had in mind when you asked for control, I would have never agreed. Why can't you just ride me like all the other girls did?" A sharp hiss cuts off his complaints, teeth digging into the inside of his cheek as eyes filled with anger meet your delighted ones. "Don't tell me about your other flings... I don't like feeling jealous."

With a click of your heel against the ground, you return to standing on both feet and take a step back, allowing yourself a moment to rake your eyes over the exposed figure of your partner. You've made sure to bind him tightly to the chair, rope laced around his upper body and tied securely behind his back. But it's the nearly murderous intent in his dark eyes that really excites you. Being a brat is already so much fun, but being an insufferable demon in full control over the leader of a villainous group? Yeah, it's hard to imagine going back to being submissive.

"Are you done staring? Sweetheart, you're drooling." His smooth-talking voice returns, cockiness and arrogance painting a rather smug expression on his face—one you wish to wipe off. Yet as you remain unnervingly calm, you tick something off in Chrollo's brain, prompting him to nearly ramble. "Hm? Don’t tell me you've already run out of ideas? Tying me up can’t possibly be the beginning and end of your little fantasies. I thought you were smarter than that..."

One step, two steps, three steps, and you're closer than ever before. You bend down, eye to eye with someone who could kill you in an instant, to give him a show of your cleavage nearly spilling from its confines. Your fingers dig into Chrollo's cheeks, forcing his chin to tilt up as you search his eyes for something he can't quite decipher. You're not supposed to be an enigma to him; he’s used to reading you like an open book. That victorious chuckle of yours causes his eyes to squint in suspicion—he's getting nervous.

"Can I not stare at what belongs to me?" your soft voice whispers, almost too lovingly, a cat-like grin spreading across your face before you giggle. "You're mine, and I'm yours," you continue as you straddle his lap, your arms snaking around his neck while you arch your back to press your hips against his. The frilly dress you chose to wear for him rides up your hips, and Chrollo's fingers ache to dig into the soft flesh of your ass. Nose to nose, you turn soft, sickly sweet, as your lips capture his in a fiery kiss, tongues brushing against each other while your nails tease his scalp and neck. Your fingers curl into his dark strands, tugging until he grunts into the kiss—a fitting punishment for not reciprocating your affectionate words.

How could he focus on your words when his mind is occupied with finding a way out of these restraints? He tries to keep some blood in his brain, tries not to show just how much your little display turns him on. But it’s nearly impossible with the roll of your hips against him, with your plush breasts bouncing and pressing against his chest. "You're going to torture me because of my little act during the mission, aren’t you?" he finally deciphers, the possessive themes of the night at last forming a cohesive puzzle as Chrollo allows himself a moment to think. You need to hide your expression from him, need to avoid eye contact before he reads the answer from your face and makes you crumble in the palm of his hand.

"Think what you will," you sigh against the shell of his ear, praying that your lips on his neck and nails on his chest inflict enough sensations, painting his skin pink, purple, and red to distract him from thinking about your motives. You feel the moan vibrating through his body.

"If you tell me what you want, I might give it to you," you whisper against his skin, confident that he hears every word of yours. Your eyes flicker sideways to meet his hard stare. Chrollo is not much of a talker in these circumstances—his expression is usually enough to get people to behave. But in your case, it only spurs you on further. "Maybe you'll have to beg a little, but that wouldn't hurt, right?" His jaw tightens in response, lips pressing into a thin line, his eyes narrowing as his lids drop. Chrollo humours you by leaning in, the tip of his nose brushing along your jaw before he speaks into your ear: "Once I'm free, you'd better run for your life." The sparks that go off in your mind trickle all over your skin in the form of shivers and goosebumps.

"Baby..." you try to respond, but fuck, is that really your voice? You sound so aroused, it even catches Chrollo off guard. Maybe he's been too nice to you during your playtimes all along. Your eyes fall shut as your lips meet again, and you practically devour him, sucking the air from his lungs with a feverish kiss. One of your knees finds rest between his spread thighs while you cradle his neck in your hands, forcing him into submission as you lean above him.

You finally understand why he enjoys to torture you once you see the desperate mess you've turned him into: chest heaving and flushed, cheeks heated brightly as the red colour clashes with his messy black strands falling over his features. Your lips move on their own, forming words he would usually bring your way if the roles were reversed. "Such a pretty mess for me," you sigh in adoration before the creaking of the chair startles you slightly and turns you silent. You never expected Chrollo to be a man of sheer force to break free, but fortunately, the chair and rope are too sturdy to break that easily.

"You really wish to keep messing with me?" He warns lowly, his patience is starting to wear thin. Lucky for you, Chrollo's restraints only tighten further around his frame as he struggles, the friction burning his skin and making him moan—in pain or pleasure? "Do I look like someone who will surrender? You know better than that, kitten..."

The hands around his neck catch him off guard. You never expected yourself to hold him the way you love to be held, never thought your fingertips would push into his skin and constrict his breathing. But his shocked expression tells the tale, conveying his own surprise upon how brave you have grown to become.

"I told you to beg, Chrollo," you mouth against his lips, your thigh pushing against his cock. No matter how much he pretends to struggle and despise this, the hardness of his cock is evidence enough for you to continue.

"You won't make me do anything of the sort, sweetheart," Chrollo bites back, his pet names turning sour, you notice. Maybe playing with fire will get you burned. But he's tied up well—you made sure of that.

Actions speak louder than words—that’s the motto that guides you as you harshly release his face, pushing him back into his chair to do with his body as you please. Your fingers loop around the tight rope as you explore his body, tugging and tightening his prison, forcing reactions from his lips. Sharp hisses and low warnings to "Stop messing around" have long replaced his little act of keeping it all together. But how could you stop now? Not when you much prefer scratching over his abdomen and rubbing your palm over his clothed erection before unbuttoning his trousers to finally free his aching length. Chrollo would never deny himself pleasure—you know that much about him.

Hence why you push his thighs to spread further as you go down on your knees before him, your lips blowing cooling puffs of air over his cock. "Sure you don’t want to beg me to give you more?" your eyes flicker up to meet his lust-filled ones. Chrollo looks unnervingly calm given the circumstances, yet the alarm bells inside your mind take too long to go off.

"You will give me more, whether you want to or not." Chrollo watches with delight as your expression sours. All these emotions and thoughts running laps behind your pretty eyes—he can see them clearly. Good, be scared of him.

You take too long. Unfortunately, you are always two steps behind him.

"Too slow," his final warning, just before the ropes come undone in an instant. His large palm lands on the back of your neck, holding your face right in front of his crotch. "How!?" you whine pathetically, much to Chrollo's amusement. But he has no time for this farce anymore. Better to make you shut up, make you regret acting out like this. His free hand wraps around his cock, pushing the tip against your lips, tapping against your closed mouth once, twice, before the hand on your neck moves to grasp your jaw and force it open.

"C’mon, dear, don’t act like you didn’t want this to happen," he huffs while shoving his length into your mouth. There’s no mercy in his moves—not with the way Chrollo holds down your head, pressing your lips against the base of his cock until you choke on pre-cum, saliva, and his girth. "You’re in trouble now," he pants the warning over your back as he leans forward, blunt fingertips dragging over your spine while the fingers of his free hand fist strands of your hair. With little care for your scalp, he pulls you off, only to bring you forward to choke on his cock, again and again.

Chrollo bathes you in his moans, not bothering to hide the devious chuckles that mix with his sounds of pleasure as you cry for breath, your knees enduring the bruising pain of the rough carpet beneath you. "Can’t—can’t hear you, repeat that for me," he mocks as you try to protest his relentless assault. Your throat burns, your vision is blurred by tears spilling over your lash line. You smell only Chrollo, taste only Chrollo, feel only Chrollo. It’s too much to handle.

"Beg for me, huh? Beg for me to be nice and I might just be," yet the grip in your hair only tightens before he pulls you off. He wears a poker face, an expression devoid of emotion as he stares into your frightened one, basking in your pitiful state—puffy lips, tear-stained cheeks, and messy hair.

"Beg," he repeats, just as harshly as you did once before. One, two, Chrollo’s patience is already running thin thanks to your earlier games. Why even bother being nice?

"Chro—" you begin, only for him to shove you onto him again. "Scratch that, sweetheart—you brought this upon yourself."

You fully did. What were you even thinking when you tried to control a man like Chrollo? Did you really expect him to let you do whatever you wanted with him when he could, instead, face-fuck you until your filthy mouth is stuffed with his cum? All your mockery will now become a painful memory, a reminder of your place. A brat like you doesn’t deserve more than to be used without receiving any pleasure in return—your aching pussy will serve as a memento until your next encounter with Chrollo. You’d better not touch yourself until then.

divider by @/cafekitsune

[elysptical]

S. Boy

In public? Right here? Yes, Jungkook was rock hard in the middle of the elevator and he had no one to blame but his mind. You two had an agreement, no one knew and no one needed to know. This meant as the two of you rode the crowded elevator to your respective floors he couldn't bend you over and have his way with you. Just sit in intensity as the machine seemed to stop at every single number.

Finally you arrived at number 17, you begin to walk off and closely behind you Jungkook follows. You don't really even notice his presence until your at the front door of your hotel room. You were not blind to Jungkook's "problem" but you knew if you did anything other than act like his coworker there was bound to be someone to screw it up. Hell, it had been three weeks since you two had come together and it was affecting you too.

"Give me five minutes in the powder room then I'm all yours", you walk to the bathroom and he takes no time getting stripped to his boxers.

Out of the bathroom you take your braids from your painful bun and rub your scalp. Seemingly in a hurry he throws you on the bed and removes your pants. A gasp leaves your lips and you look at him confused and a little turned on.

"Look at you finally putting those big muscles to use", you snipe with a laugh taking off your shirt.

"And I see we are forgoing the bra today", he comments on your bare chest and you shrug.

"Free the nip babe", you laugh and he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss that is full of teeth and tongue. He's missed you so much it's painful. You moan into his mouth as his hands grab at the fat of your thighs. He's going to leave bruises with the harsh way he squeezes your flesh.

"I'm going to break you in half tonight", he grunts in your ear before flipping you on your stomach. A single finger runs down your spine and hooks to the underwear around your waist. Instead of pulling down he pulls up watching the fabric disappear between you ass. Your ass is something he could stare at forever. Whether it's in a tight pair of jeans, just barely visible in a skirt , or bare in his hands, he can't get enough.

"Are you just going to stare?", your bratty tone breaks him from his trance and he leaves two smacks on your right cheek. Earning a hiss from you. He runs his nails up your thigh and down your back before hitting again. You almost moan but you know that would only be giving in. He repeats on your left cheek and you know you're soaking through your panties now. He continues to assault the skin of your ass, making sure to leave marks on your pretty brown skin. There are tears in your eyes and you struggle to catch a breath.

"You talk a lot from someone who gets wet at the sight of me", he pulls your waist higher into the air and places his thumb directly onto your panty clad clit, "isn't that right baby?"

"N-no", your stuttered still reeling from the spanking earlier.

"No?", he presses his thumb harder, adding a circular motion giving a pleasurable pressure where you most need it.

You jut your hips back into his thumb and he removes his hand all together. You whine at the loss, his hands turn you on your back.

"I'm going to eat you baby, but you better not cum or I'm leaving before you even see this dick", he sticks his thumb in your mouth and you suck moaning loud at the taste of you on your tongue.

He holds your face, his thumb disappearing past your lips while his descend your body to the hem of you panties. He leaves a sloppy kiss on your hipbone. The smell of you is so present it makes him dizzy with lust. He wants nothing more than to throw you against the wall and fuck you until you pass out. He remembers when you two first met he was too scared to even speak to you. Now he needs you with every fiber of his being.

Some time during his trance he tears away to only thing keeping him from your sopping folds. He groans deep in his throat when he begin to devour you. Open mouth kissing and sucking at your folds, his nose consistently brushing your most sensitive spot. Each time he earns a whine and a curse from your lips above him. He wishes he could record how you sound, listen to it every day like his favorite song. But now he'll make sure you continue to moan and squirm.

As for you it is almost impossible to keep from wetting his face and the bed. The way his mouth is moving against you is sinful and pulling everything from you.

"Jungkook, please, I can't", your hands run through his hair pulling at the follicles.

"You will", he mumbles before returning your heavenly cunt.

"Shit, shit, please, please", you whined choking back sobs of pleasure trying to keep your orgasm at bay.

"Baby you taste so sweet", he groans his hands traveling to your breasts pinching you mounds, nipples hardened by arousal.

"Fuck I can't Jungkook, I'm so sorry", you grab his head and he flattens his tongue. You use his tongue to rub your clit in the sweetest way and the wave hits you so hard you let out a long loud moan.

"Mmhmm", he drinks all you have to offer detaching from your core with a loud pop when you get to sensitive. His lips glisten in your juices and you grab his neck bringing his lips in for a kiss.

  Breaking away with a peck he grabs his hoodie from the bed and throws it over his head.

  "You can't be serious?", you laugh and he laughs to, but continues to shrug on his jeans.

  "Sometimes you have to wait for things sweet heart", he leans in to kiss you again giving your sensitive clit a smack before leaving out the way he came.

   "That bitch", you huff to yourself body still aching to be filled.

finished: dec 27 2020

added: jul 5 2024

[navillee]

Zayne's subtle sub behavior pt II

I see. I guess I'm sharing my braindump about sub Zayne here now on. Enjoy.

• Zayne always asks your opinion about his fashion choices. That's a habit he created, wanting to look like an eye candy for you. To invite your eyes to linger on him more because he loves the feeling of you devouring him from distance while he talks to his colleagues, or even when he's at an academic symposium, not batting an eye on everyone else's thirsting over him, but anxious thinking what are going to be your plans when the two of you meet at some isolated private room at the end of the lecture.

• Make sure to point out every little detail he put on his fashion. Even better: tease him about it. "What are those things on your arm, doctor Zayne?" Pull that armbend and release, just to watch him tensing up and sighing. "It's for me to play with? Such a slut, putting on such a thing, right?" He wouldn't deny it, so you know the answer.

• Why wouldn't he extend it to other areas? If you can choose what his wardrobe looks like, may you also choose his cologne? He would feel so good knowing you like how good he smells just for you. Why don't you pick up a candy for him to eat? He would eat it so contented at a break at his work, knowing you picked it just for him. He's so undeniably pleased by being a perfect man exclusively for you.

• He's a service sub, after all. All he wants is to see you satisfied, and he knows your pleasure shouldn't be never treated as something exclusive to bedroom. Oh no, Zayne would never. He betrayed a god so he could worship and adore just you. He's such a devoted man. Going through all med school and becoming the best cardiologist was only one step of him proving how good he can be for you.

• Searching about menstrual cycles and observing you so he can properly take care when it happens. Letting you sleep on his car and covering you with his coat while he drive both of you home, keeping you company while you travel to search about your own unknown past, cooking home meals at the weekends because he knows you enjoy his food. He has that subtle smile on his face, when the worshiper side of him isn't that subtle anymore.

• At first, he would be insecure about trying to make any sort of physical contact with you. However, it took only one time for him just becoming obsessed with laying on top of you. He would came from his shift at the hospital and spot you laying on the couch or bed. It's done, it's all it takes for him to come crawling at you, looking at your eyes like he's asking for permission. You would open your arms, letting him nuzzle your neck. His body tensed and tired by the hours of surgeries immediately relaxing on your embrace and his brain turning off completely, too drunk in your scent and warmth to think anything. That's the place he belongs to.

• When you start to scratch his hair scalp softly with the tips of your nails, then he comes up with the conclusion that his sleepless and lonely nights at med school were totally worth it.

• Don't judge Zayne if he gets hard while you scratch his hair and nape. This man has such sensitive skin, especially this part, as he insists on saying. Keep scratching to see his adorable reactions getting more and more lustful as the minutes passes by.

• Zayne already told you that you're his first experience, so he can basically get hard by pretty much everything. When he shows off insecurity about not being able to control it, praise him. He can be the put-together-ice-cold-genius from cardiology to everyone else but to you? Let him be the pretty boy who cums untouched by just hearing praises from you.