#there is so much wrong with him but the way he dresses is not one of those things lol

[bpmiranda]

A Simple Favor |l. howlett| nsfw

A/N: based on a request, ex fwb!logan, angst, smut, 20+ f!reader, mutant!reader (unspecified abilities) unprotected sex, oral f! receiving, fingering

Complicated barely scratched the surface when describing what you and Logan were to each other. Relief, perhaps. A fun time, maybe. You definitely weren’t together, you knew that much. Logan wasn’t the type to settle down or commit, at least not to you apparently. As far as you were concerned, you were a placeholder for the one he really wanted; Jean. It didn’t upset you, didn’t make you think less of yourself. You weren’t exactly head over heels for him, so why should it matter that he only wanted to spend the nights with you? You were too busy during the day as it was to spend it pining over some guy like a schoolgirl, something you saw all too often as a teacher here at the school.

“Hey,” His voice brought your attention away from the papers you were grading at your desk and you smiled up at him. “Wanna hang out tonight?” He asked as he walked over to you, leaning onto your desk and smirking as he noticed how your thighs looked cross over each other in your tight pants.

“Yeah, my room?” You ask, looking down at the papers again as you continued your tasks. Logan lets out a small groan and you give him a surprised look as you lift your head again. “What?”

“Your bed’s so small, baby.” Logan grumbled and you couldn’t help your laugh. The sound made Logan’s chest swell and he chuckled too. “Come to my room, please?” He asked as he caressed your jaw gently.

Still grinning, you shake your head softly as you agree, “Sure, Logan. I’ll see you tonight.” You say and you’re surprised by the way he lifts your chin and kisses you. A gasp leaves your mouth as you realize your classroom door is open and you quickly push back on your chair so you roll away and separate yourself from his lips. “We agreed not in public.” You tell him in a stern tone and he only smirks.

“Please, you liked it.” He says with a wink, not failing to notice the smell of your arousal as he leaves and you sit flustered behind your desk.

You don’t love him, you remind yourself, sighing as you take your reading glasses off and rub your eyes gently with your fingertips.

It took a few months to realize that you did perhaps feel something deeper for him, something more than sexual attraction. The banter between you was always flirty and light hearted, but you were craving to hear something real from him. You wanted to know what was going through his mind the way Jean so easily could, without even having to pry inside his head. You know he offered her his feelings without a second thought.

“What’s wrong with what we’ve got now?” Logan asked, a little taken by your sudden need for more. You had told him in the beginning that this was okay, that this was what you wanted too, something good with no strings. Logan liked you, he truly did, but he just couldn’t seem to give up on the idea of him and Jean. A part of him needed to see it through.

“Logan, I can’t keep doing this if there’s no end goal. I just - I need to know where your head is at with us. Do you still want her? Do you want me? Cause you can’t have both.” You told him in a serious tone.

Logan was sitting against the headboard, looking at you with a solemn look and you wondered if tonight he would finally open up to you, tell you what he felt for you. “What do you want me to say?”

Or perhaps not.

“I want you to make a choice,” Your eyes are watering threateningly, but you refuse to cry over this, over him. “Because if this is all you can offer me, it’s just not enough anymore.” You said in a quiet voice as you stood by the door ready to go back to your room.

To Logan, you had already made your choice when you got up and got dressed. If you didn’t want this anymore, he wasn’t going to keep you here. What he offered wasn’t doing it for you anymore and that’s a choice you made, not him. “If that’s what you want.” He said with a small shrug and you let out sad sigh as he still refused to make a clear decision, always leaving it up to you.

“See you around, Logan.” You said before leaving his bedroom.

A Year Later…

It was awkward at first having to see Logan around the school, but you weren’t some disillusioned little girl. You knew that not all relationships would work out, especially not ones that weren’t exactly official to begin with. You and Logan didn’t have an established relationship, it was just pure fun and out of necessity because you’re still a woman at the end of the day, and he’s a man. It didn’t hurt when you started seeing him and Jean spending more time together. It made you feel more reassured in your decision to end things now that you saw his choice was clear. It made it easier to be friendly, to tease without the whole dance of ‘will we, won’t we?’ but you certainly missed the physical aspect of your odd relationship.

Unfortunately, no one could quite do for you what Logan did in the past. You went on a couple of dates with men, both mutant and non mutant, but they weren’t exactly up to par with what you needed. You wanted someone that could take control, someone that knew exactly what your body responded to, what got you going. Especially now with all of your work piling up on you, your students didn’t care about the material you were so passionate for, it felt like nothing was working out the way you wanted it.

Logan always made you feel better about the bullshit that clogged up your mind, but you doubted he wanted anything like that anymore. Your heeled shoes echoed softly against the wooden floor of the halls and you were painfully aware of how tightly wound and frustrated you felt, and you knew why. Perhaps that’s what you needed. To simply get him out of your system. What was the harm if he didn’t want you and you didn’t want him, it would be a simple collaboration. You knew you weren’t emotionally attracted him, he couldn’t seem to put the effort into being the man you needed in a partner, but he was always a great lay and better friend.

While deep in thought, you found yourself taking the all too familiar path to his bedroom and smiled to yourself as you saw that his door was wide open, as if waiting for you. Logan was moving around inside the room, shirtless and you leaned against his doorframe, biting your lip as you watched him. “Hey there,” He said as he spotted you, smirking as he pulled on a hoodie to sleep in and he looked over at you with a raised brow. His eyes looked over your body in your tight pencil skirt and white button up, your breasts giving those buttons something to do. “Late night?” He asked, walking towards you as you stood in his doorway. You only gave him a small nod. “You okay?” He asked with concern, as if he could read your mind. Logan would never tell you, but he could smell when something was wrong with you and right now you reeked of frustration and…arousal. His eyes searched yours as you shook your head slowly. “What’s wrong?” He asked, touching your arm gently. You placed a hand on his chest, fiddling with the zipper of his hoodie as you let out a sigh.

“I need a favor, and I don’t want you to bring it up ever again after tonight.” You said as you looked back up at him. This was a conversation he had all too eagerly been waiting for and Logan nodded as he watched you with a small smirk while you rolled your eyes at him. “Nevermind.” You said, turning to walk away, but he grabbed onto your hand and pulled you back to him. Your chest was pressed against his as he dipped his head down until his nose brushed against your own.

“Go on, pretty girl, ask me.” He insisted.

A pulse ached in your heart before you built up the courage to breathe out, “It’s a simple favor,” He nodded. “And you can say no.” You reassured him.

“I’m sure I won’t.” He said in a cocky manner and you wanted so badly to smack the arrogant look off his face, but you couldn’t help the bashful grin that stretched your lips as you two were teasing and flirting again. The familiar dance that preceded a mind-blowing, toe-curling night of events.

“I need you.” You whispered, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Logan hated how things ended between the two of you. He hated that you weren’t mad at him because he deserved it, he acted like a jerk. His eyes searched yours and he recognized the look in them, they were veiled with want and he knew he wanted you too. “Is that right?” He asked as he brought you into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. Your smile was somewhat triumphant as you sat on the end of his bed and he knelt in front of you, his hands caressing your knees and bare thighs while you held his face in your hands.

“Please.” You purred before kissing him gently.

Logan returned the kiss, eagerly wrapping an arm around your waist so he could press you to his body as he moved further up the bed. “You need me?” You moaned softly against his mouth, nodding as he hooked his fingers into the openings of your blouse and ripped the buttons, the distant clattering of them making you grin. “Fucking missed you.” He sighed as he kissed the tops of your breasts and you ran your fingers through his hair as you head rolled back in pleasure.

“Fuck me, Lo,” You pleaded, undoing the drawstring of his sweats while he groaned against your chest at your eagerness. “Like only you can, baby, please.”

Your words made him eager, riled him up, and he quickly tugged your skirt off with the help of you shimmying your hips out of it. Logan felt his mouth water at the sight of your lace underwear and he ripped it off without a second thought which made you whine with desire. “How do you need it, pretty girl?” He asked with a smirk as he watched you tremble from the way he ran his fingers through your wet folds.

“Give me everything, Logan.”

His mouth latched onto your slit, his tongue probing in your core, feeling the gumminess of your walls and tasting your arousal running down his throat as he ate you out. Your head was spinning from how good it felt, how he still managed to know what got you going after a whole year. Logan’s hands were gripping tightly onto your thighs, keeping them spread apart for himself as he intended to ruin you. “Always tastes so good.” Your body arched up from the pleasure, his teeth nipped at your clit and your eyes stung with hot tears. Two thick fingers slid into you, curled into that spot that made you grip on the sheets while you called his name in ecstasy. “Like that, baby?” He asked and you nodded desperately as he continued finger fucking you while sucking and biting your sensitive bud.

“Oh, fuck, yes!” You gasped, your legs trembling with the force of your release, your juices coated his fingers and his lips and he only continued. “Oh, my god, Logan!” You groaned in approval as he extended your orgasm, mumbled incoherently into your cunt as you indulged in that euphoric feeling you’ve been missing. “Please, fuck me.” You begged, tugging on his biceps to bring him to hover over you. Logan removed his hoodie and sweats while you undid your bra clasp and discarded yourself of your ruined blouse. His eyes stayed attached to yours as he aimed his swollen head into you core and you whined as his thick length entered you slowly, making you feel every inch of him as he split you open.

“Shit,” Logan groaned as he sunk into you, he sat heavy inside your tight core as he pulsed and twitched. “Baby, I missed you.” He breathed out as he rested his forehead against yours, swallowing hard while he felt the way you squeezed him.

You weren’t going to say anything like that, you didn’t want to talk yourself into something that wouldn’t work again. You only moaned in response and kissed him softly as he started thrusting into you, hard and deep. “Just like that, baby.” You praised, one arm hooking around his shoulders and your hand resting over his chest as you made out while he drove himself deep into your pussy. “Oh, yes!” Your eyes watered as he caged you in with his arms on either side of you, grunting against your mouth as he angled his hips into yours with calculated movements.

“Let me feel it, Y/N,” Logan groaned as he was dangerously close to his release. “Wanna make you cum, pretty girl.” He murmured, pulling away from your lips to suck gently on that spot at that base of your neck that made your pussy clench and he only continued to force himself through your contracting walls. “Fuck.”

Your body always gave into him so easily and you felt your lower belly tighten with a pleasurable tension. “‘M so close.” You mewled, tugging on his hair as you rolled your hips against his own, desperately seeking out a release. Logan pinned you down to his bed by your hips and he fucked himself into you, growling as he watched your creamy sheen paint his cock as you orgasmed. The way he could never let you be in control turned you on more than anything. “Sh-shit, Logan!” You cried out as you writhed and trembled underneath him while he emptied his load inside you, throbbing against your sensitive walls as he swore underneath his breath.

The two of you laid quietly for a moment and you sighed shakily as he slowly slid out of you, he watched your face as you bit your lip and your eyebrows scrunched together in pleasure. “Is that what you needed?” He teased, caressing your belly softly and you rolled your eyes playfully while gently pushing on his chest. Logan chuckled and dipped his head down to pepper your neck with kisses while you caressed his broad back. “Stay with me.” He asked, or demanded, dazed from the way you felt around him, reminiscing in the long nights you two shared together in the past.

Your heart ached with guilt and you shook your head. “You know this was a casual thing, right?” You whispered suddenly. Logan pulled away from the crook of your neck and you gave him a sympathetic look. “I just don’t want you getting the wrong idea and I would appreciate it if we just kept this between us.” You said, sitting up as he got off the bed. You forced down the lump in your throat and sighed as you used his sheets to cover yourself. “We’re friends, Logan. We’ll always be good friends.”

Logan wasn’t going to argue, he knew he had messed up his chance with you and so he nodded as he handed you his hoodie and you gave him an appreciative smile. “Right, this was just a favor between friends.” He said with a shrug and you tried to ignore the hurt in his voice as you zipped on his hoodie which fell at your thighs. Logan helped you gather your ruined clothes and you gave him one last kiss as he walked you to his bedroom door.

“Thanks, Logan.” You smiled.

Logan returned your kind smile and he nodded. “Any time.” He winked, making your face warm as you shook your head lightly and grinned at him. Logan watched you go and he sighed to himself knowing he had had the chance to keep you. It was the classic, cliche case of right person, wrong time.

In an angsty mood today, probably because of the hurricane😅

🏷️: @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @peterparkernotfound @httpsells @evasmlp @ayatotiddies @thatlittlered @seasonofthenerd @littlemisscantloveyouback @scorpiosaintt @simpingfor-wakasa @spencerswh0r3 @thatweirdtheaternerd12 @shybluebirdninja @iamburdened @pinkanonwriting

[dropsnectar]

When a Fox is Bored...

M!Kitsune x gn!reader

NSFW

A Kitsune who recently inherited a new territory, of which your house is smack in the middle of. 

As an easily bored spirit, he finds the thought of pranking you hilarious. He starts out with small things, moving your cereal bowl in the morning, replacing dish washing detergent with dish soap. He laughs quietly to himself as he watches you search for what should have been obviously in front of you, eyebrows furrowed, and confusion fueling his quiet laughter. He watched you run around in horror, trying to scoops bubbles into water buckets. Something about your confusion and panic satisfied him. 

He made a habit of visiting you and making something go wrong. But after the fifth prank, something changed. You laughed at how your water bottle, once filled with water, was now orange juice. Your missing backpack, instead of being on the table, under your bed. You cleaned the place up, reducing clutter. You kept your bags close, and hummed to yourself as you searched about, peaceful. This picked at something in him. Your worried expression had been his after all. He upped the ante.

He messed with your washing machine. That prank took a while, since as a spirit of nature, tech was foreign to him. Filled with pride expecting your eyes to go big and your lips purse for him, all you did was roll your eyes and take your clothes and laundry detergent to the bathroom. You turned on a little play on your little black rock, and filled the tub with water soap and clothes. Then you got to work, stomping like you were pressing grapes for wine. Despite the distraction of the “phone”, your face was still crinkled in effort, sweat drifting down your brow. He liked this expression. Maybe this too was a prank well done.

At some point, you had started making double helpings for dinner. In the past, meals of ramen and grocery potatoes salad had turned into steaks, chicken and pasta. 

You would pour two glasses of wine and put out a plate and a glass on the old stump by the back door. Curious, the kitsune would eat up, soon enamored with your cooking.

About time! It was only right of you to give him offerings. You were in his territory after all. In the mornings you would collect the dishes, and the cycle would continue.

Of course, this didn't mean he would stop his favorite source of entertainment. Far from it. He'd replace your coffee maker with one of a differing model. He'd leave piles of fruit by the door, savoring your surprised reaction as you looked around, not noticing the small form he had taken behind the door. He learned your preferences, your schedule, even your sorrows as you poured over a hastily scrawled budget that just wouldn't add up the way it should. 

He had to admit sometimes his pranks grew even farther then he meant to. You had dressed up to the 9s for a much needed job interview, with a man whose soul was so gray he could see it through the phone. You had gotten in your old, rusty car, only for it to get hit by a huge black Denali, five minutes from your house.

Out stepped a gentle older man in a weathered cardigan. The old man listened to you cry, as you waved about a dead phone, and explained how you couldn't afford this. You had missed the job interview you so desperately needed.

 This was the part that bewildered the kitsune. He wasn't sure if it was his own magic or yours, but the older man offered you a job on the spot, twice the salary you were looking for. The old man's aura was a gentle green. This satisfied the kitsune. This man would take care of his favorite victim.

His heart filled with satisfaction at how you bounced and garbled out thank yous. He didn't fail to notice that dinner that night came with a whole tray of brownies. You made him cupcakes when you got the huge insurance check in the mail. 

After dinner, he was surveying you as you watched “Net-fix”, something about a mute woman rescuing a lake monster, when you turned the TV off and headed upstairs. 

This intrigued the kitsune, as you usually watched television for another hour before passing out. 

You took off your pants and crawled into bed. The room was quiet except for your breathy moans as you pleasured yourself, one hand working yourself up under your underwear.

The smell that filled the room was mouthwatering. And the way you mewled out made the kitsune feral. He was on you in a few minutes, transforming from his invisible form to his most majestic one. He leaned over you, eyes red and hungry, as he pinned your free hand over your head and licked his lips.

“Its you.” You whispered, voice light and merry. It was like it had been a long grey winter and the sun had finally decided to come out. It was an expression he had never collected from you and it made his heart heavy.

“I knew you were here. Thank you. For everything.”

He stared at you, now full of apprehension. But a peice of him was still so full of joy that you recognized him. That you saw him and wanted him with you now.

“You have been my playtoy. I have made your life difficult more times than I have lightened it.”

“You kept me on my toes” you laughed out, tone innocent. “But I know how to deal with boys who tug my pigtails. And you haven't tugged on them in a long time.” You reached your other hand forward and brought it to his cheek. It was a gentle gesture of affection, but it did not have the soothing effect you intended. 

Your hand smelled so full of your core it drove him insane, dick throbing and hard under his robes. He took your hand and brought it to his mouth, swallowing down any residue that had been left on your fingers. The face you made was adorable, how your eyes glowed and the ghost of your tongue peaked out from your lips. He was going to collect so many faces from you tonight, and they would all be his. YOU would be his.

He discarded his robes and your underwear with magic, a tidy pile on the chair next to the bed. Then, he was on you, mouth nibbling your neck, biting you collarbone, before licking at the marks he had made. He rutted his hips against you for relief as he claimed your mouth, your tongue swirling around his. Your hands grasped hard to his back, nails scratching. It was your way of claiming him too, of this he was sure, and it was just too damn cute.

He dragged himself around your entrance, laughing and saying he wouldn't enter you until you begged him for it. You pouted at him and huffed, but eventually gave in, asking him to fill you. He did so with one hard thrust causing you to cry out, your eyes rolling in the back of your head.

He kept a quick pace. Your eyes were glazed, your core molten hot as he hit every little spot inside you that would bring you closer to release. You tried to hide it at first, hands covering your mouth but your eyes gave it away. He let you conceal yourself for all of five minutes before he had both your hands pinned above your head, his thrusts jutting at an unforgiving pace inside you. 

He was feral. THERE it was! That was the face he had wanted, the expression he had wanted to capture from you since the very beginning. Your panting, your eyes glazed over, mouth open in a silent plea, THAT'S what he wanted all along. And it was his! You were his now. The realization, the feeling of you, and the way you cried and clenched around him in release was what finally sent him over the edge. Against all odds you came together, riding out your ecstasy with sighing breaths. 

His mind was hazy with afterglow as he pulled you into his arms, large fluffy tails wrapping around your legs, arms, even one teasing at your face, a tickle. You laughed and kissed the fluff before turning over and kissing his nose, eyes bright. You were sated and happy. 

“Could we maybe, make a habit of this?”

He grinned at you. Every single feature of him was dripping with mischief when he replied.

“You think I'm satisfied with just this? There's so much more I have planned for you, you silly thing. Be prepared, got it?”

[rayhalloffame]

Obsessed with calling Patrick and Art nicknames/ pet names and vice versa!

Art calls you “angel” for sure, because you’re his sweet little thing who can do no wrong. He always says it softly, after you’ve just woken up or whenever you’ve done something nice for him. Doing something nice gets you a “sweet girl”, too.

And Art is also a big user of “pretty girl” because he just thinks you’re so so pretty and you need to know it all the time. He says it when you’re laying together and he’s stroking your face while he gazes at you lovingly, or when he’s so deep in you that your eyes are teary and you can’t get a word out so he’s kissing at your open mouth and reminding you that even when you’re cock drunk you’re still the prettiest girl in the world to him.

You call Art “Artie” when you want to get your way, with batted lashes and lip biting. It works every time and he normally ends up rubbing your feet or in between your desperate thighs, though he likes to be there just as much as you want him there. Or when he’s begging for release and whining so nice, and you coddle him, ask him all these questions so sweetly, so taunting, followed by his nickname, until he’s groaning loud and long.

Patrick calls you “baby” because you’re his little baby, simple as. He likes to put on this hard exterior but you always have him weak in the knees. He uses the petname endearingly, when you run into his arms after a long time apart while he’s touring, and says it again in agony when you ride him slow and tease him.

Patrick calls you “dirty girl” when you’re liking the newest kink of the week. To be honest he might like it a little more than you but he has to humiliate you a little bit, knows how much you get off on it.

You call Patrick “Pat” with exasperation when you fight, and again with exhaustion when you’re tired of fighting. The latter has him apologizing immediately, holding your face in his hands. But you also use his nick name when you’re calling him from the next room over to come zip up your dress that he tries to take you out of almost immediately, or you say it sweetly when he does something like buy you flowers.

Art’s your “baby” and Patrick’s your “my love” and they know exactly who you’re talking to when you call them by one of their many names.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Into the Woods - George Weasley

Summary: Waking George up to go out for a morning walk at the Burrow has him feeling quite frisky... This is basically straight up smut... 1.1k+ wc

The cool morning breeze had you snuggling deeper into George's side, chills running down your legs as the short sundress you wore did little to help warm you up. George, barely awake and holding back a yawn, welcomes your soft touch, a hand snaking around your waist to subtly pull you closer to him. "Maybe next time I won't wake us up quite so early." You admit, glancing up at your boyfriend, who chuckles at the comment. "I'd usually agree but I'm actually enjoying the privacy. You, me and the sounds of nature." A laugh bubbles in your chest and you jokingly push George away, who stumbles on the grass, gasping out a "You flirt!" despite both of you knowing how much you enjoy it.

When George finds his way back near you, both his hands make their way onto your hips, forcing you to face him. You cock your head to the side with a curious smile, accepting the kiss he leans down for. One of your hands rest on his cheek, though you begin to pull away when you feel his tongue swiping at your bottom lip. "George" You whisper when he chases your lips again, pressing individual pecks on them before trailing kisses on your cheek and down to your jaw. "George!" Lighting pushing his chest away from you, you attempt to separate the boy's lips from the area he begins sucking at on your neck.

His lips separate from your skin with a popping sound, though he doesn't fail to dig his face in the crook of your neck instead, hands on your hips moving to trap your body against his in a loving hug. "What's wrong sweetheart?" He asks, the wind making his ginger hair tickle your cheek slightly. "Georgie what are you doing?" "'M not doing anything." But his hands say otherwise, trailing down to your ass where he begins fondling you. You raise your eyebrows with a small smile on your face, one of your hands coming up to play with his short hair before asking him "Is this because of what happened yesterday?"

At your boyfriend's silence, you let out a small giggle. When you'd been called down for dinner in the middle of a quite intimate moment, you knew George would struggle to sit through the meal, however you hadn't been expecting long lasting effects. "I can give you a quick one if you want." You muttered, yelping when George immediately straightened up, one hand clasping around yours to drag you behind the trunk of a thick tree. George didn't hesitate to press his body against yours, a hand quickly making its way under your dress to pull your panties down to your ankles as he began kissing your jaw again.

"George! I meant like, like a handjob or something!" You whisper yelled, actions contradicting your words as you laced a hand in his hair, pulling him towards your lips to kiss you properly. He willingly obliged, this time gaining access to your mouth as he twined his tongue against yours in a messy kiss. Pulling away with a pant, George mumbled "Fuck, turn around for me sweetheart." You obeyed, spinning around and bending over just enough for your butt to stick out. Putting both hands on the tree trunk for support, you listened closely to the sound of George unzipping his trousers. He guided his cock between your thighs, wetting himself with your juices before spreading them down on his cock.

Clumsily, George probed two of his fingers near your entrance, whispering in your ear "Just want to prepare you for me baby." before sinking them into you. You whined at the intrusion, eyes widening at your own sound before remembering where you were. "George... Georgie, how close are we to the Burrow?" Your hips rocked back and forth with your boyfriend's fingers, looking over your shoulder to see him peering around the tree trunk. "Far enough."

You didn't even notice him taking his fingers out until he began pushing his dick into you instead, emitting a gasp from you as you gripped the wood in front of you. You heard George curse deeply, hands regaining position on your hips as he began to thrust into you at an increasing pace. Your chest hit the rough trunk in front of you with every powerful thrust, and you were squeezing your thighs together for more friction, the mix pain drowning you in pleasure. George leaned in closer to you, lips latching onto your neck to aggressively suck hickeys that would be impossible to hide in this dress. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you back onto his dick with every thrust of his pelvis to hit your core at an angle that brought you too close to your orgasm too quickly.

Warning George of your approaching orgasm with a moan, you let him grab the nape of your neck, using the momentum to pull your torso off the tree trunk and up against his chest. He trailed that same hand down the front of your body, sneaking under the skirt of your dress, he cupped your pussy, thumb delving between your folds to put pressure on your clit. "Fuck, George!" You moaned, shutting your eyes tightly and throwing your head back on his chest, hands latching onto the thick denim of his trousers as your orgasm overtook your body, thighs beginning to shake slightly. "Yeah, that's it baby." You heard George mutter, hitting you with harsher thrusts that only increased the duration of your orgasm as he reached his high too, abs flexing with effort as he quickly pulls out of your cunt, aiming his cum away from you.

A hand still rests on your hip as George continues pumping his cock, milking out his cum with loud pants to catch his breath. You mimic his breathing, both hands now resting on your waist as you wait for your legs to stop shaking. George recovers before you, tucking himself back in his trousers and leaning down to pull your underwear up your legs. When he finishes, he wraps his arms around your front, pulling you back against his chest to press loving kisses against your forehead. "We have to check that one off the list." He whispers against your forehead, prompting you to spin in his arms, tugging the bottom of his shirt and pressing yourself on your tippy toes to steal a couple of real kisses from him. "Oh so that's why you did this? A bucket list?"

George shakes his head, making direct eye contact with you, a wide smile on his face as he confessed "No, I was just really horny."

[mya-valentine]

Headcannon: Tomura Shigaraki with an S/O Who Teases Him

Shigaraki absolutely hates how much his S/O teases him… at least, that’s what he tells himself. He’s not used to people pushing his buttons in such a playful way, and it throws him off balance. Every time they poke fun at him, he shoots them an annoyed glare, but deep down, he’s amused, even if he’d rather crumble into dust than admit it.

His S/O loves teasing him about everything—his posture, his video game obsession, the way he scratches his neck when he’s stressed. “You’re gonna wear a hole in your neck at this rate, Shiggy,” they’ll say with a smirk, earning an immediate growl in return. But despite his irritation, he can’t help the faint smirk that sometimes flickers on his face.

They’ll call him cute or handsome just to watch his reaction, knowing it makes him squirm. Shigaraki will scoff or dismiss it, but the faint blush creeping up his neck is impossible to miss. His S/O will push even further, saying, “Aww, Shiggy, don’t get all shy on me now,” which only makes him scowl harder and mumble something under his breath.

He’ll throw sarcastic insults back at them, but his heart’s not really in it. His S/O knows it’s all in good fun, and honestly, it becomes their favorite game—seeing how far they can push Shigaraki before he snaps. Of course, his version of snapping is dramatically throwing his hood up and sulking for a while.

Despite his annoyance, Shigaraki secretly loves the way his S/O can make him feel normal. When they tease him, it’s not because they’re afraid of him or walking on eggshells around him—it’s because they genuinely like him, and that’s something he’s not used to. It’s oddly comforting.

Sometimes, Shigaraki will try to get them back, mimicking their teasing tone or throwing a sarcastic jab. “You think you’re funny, huh? You’re the one hanging out with a villain, so what does that say about you?” He’s proud when his S/O just laughs it off, unfazed. He’s still learning the teasing game, but he’s getting better.

When they make fun of his appearance, like his messy hair or the way he dresses, Shigaraki will roll his eyes and mutter, “You think I care about stuff like that?” But secretly, he’ll glance in the mirror later, wondering if maybe he could style his hair a little better, not that he’d ever let his S/O know.

His S/O loves playfully daring him to do things he’d never normally do. “Bet you can’t go a whole day without scratching your neck,” they’ll challenge, and Shigaraki will immediately take it personally, determined to prove them wrong… for about an hour, before he gives in and grumbles about their stupid dare.

The more time they spend together, the more Shigaraki realizes that his S/O’s teasing actually makes him feel seen. It’s not about making fun of him—it’s their way of connecting, of showing they care without getting all sappy about it. And while he’ll never outright say he likes it, he does let them tease him more than anyone else.

His S/O is probably the only person who can get away with playfully touching his face or hair without him recoiling in disgust. He might slap their hand away, but it’s half-hearted, and sometimes he’ll even let them brush some stray hair out of his face—though he’ll grumble, “Don’t push your luck.”

When he’s in a particularly bad mood, his S/O knows how to balance their teasing. They’ll tone it down just enough to lift his spirits without going too far, understanding that even the King of Villains needs a break from time to time. And while Shigaraki won’t say it, their teasing is one of the few things that actually helps him feel a little better.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[allllium]

andrewgarfield!peterparker x reader where reader has the biggest crush on peter but doesn't know he's spiderman? angst to fluff please!

have lovely day/night <3

Unrequited (I've always loved you)

~ Sorry this took so long and it's a lot longer than I usually write but I love how it turned out <3

~ Fluff, hurt/comfort?, Angst, WC: 2,274

~ Your best friend has a secret

Being in love sucks. Being in love with someone that's not in love with you sucks even more. But that's fine. Everything's fine. Nothing can go wrong when you're in love with your best friend.

Peter looks over at you as you repeatedly tap your pencil against your notebook, very obviously not doing the homework. You're sitting on his bed while he's across from you at his desk. Ignoring the tap from your pencil, you look around his room, lost in random thoughts, well thoughts mostly of him.

"You alright?" He asks, soft voice coming from a few feet away.

"Ugh, just bored." You slightly whine. Standing from the bed to look more around his nerdy room. All the walls are covered with different things that you don't really understand.

He just nods and returns to his work. You admire him from your stance behind him. The way his fluffy hair falls softly in front of his face or the way he's dressed so casually but still looks so good. You don't understand how one person can be so perfect. Not to mention the way he's stronger than he looks, allowing him to maintain his lanky figure that fits him so well.

Out of your boredom you start rummaging through all the stuff he has lying on his bookshelf, which leads to opening all the drawers you can find. You continuously look over at him to see if he has a problem with what you're doing but he makes no move to stop you even as he watches what you're doing.

As you're digging around you eventually reach his closet, you're a little hesitant because you don't wanna press your luck too far but what are best friends if not nosy. His closet is small and way overcrowded with clothes you swear he's never worn. You wouldn't doubt that his aunt tried to sneak them in to help him fit in more.

Something catches your eye as you go to shut the door. You wouldn't think anything of it but the red color of it deeply contrasts the rest of the closet. It looks like fabric but it's not hanging up with the rest of his clothes. Instead it's in a box on the floor, only a piece of it visible as if he rushed to put it away.

Peter shoots out of his chair when you bend down towards the box. He grabs your arm and pulls you away so he can quickly shut the door.

"What was that?" You ask in suspicion. Peter's reaction is one you haven't seen from him before.

"Nothing." He tells you, a serious look falling over his face. He pushes you a little further so he can stand between you and the door.

"Peter, c'mon." You deadpan. All the embarrassing things it could possibly be run through your head. Nothing you think of would warrant this much of a reaction.

"No. Leave it alone." He doesn't exactly snap at you but it's definitely on the line of it.

"Okay then. I'll go now." You tell him quickly. You gather up your stuff and look at him one more time before leaving, his gaze is focused on the floor in front of him. Shaking your head in even more confusion, you leave.

You don't see him for the rest of the day. Or the next day. Or even the day after that. You get the feeling he's avoiding you. It's a mystery why you think to yourself in a sarcastic tone.

Of course you see him around school but he always does more than necessary to avoid looking at you. At this point you're determined to know what was in that box. Is it a huge violation of his privacy, yes. Do you care, no, not one bit. If he doesn't want you to violate his privacy, why would he hide things from you? Make it make sense.

It's not that hard to get access to his closet considering Aunt May will let you in the house will no explanation. After school you walk right in, she gives you a bright smile and continues whatever it is she's doing. Not one question.

You have no problem going into his room, he's probably off skateboarding or whatever else nerds do in their free time. Once you get your hands on the box, that he's now shut completely, you have second thoughts. Maybe it really is wrong of you to invade his privacy like this? Oh well you open it anyway.

Holy shit. You don't even know what to think as you pull out a spiderman costume. You think, well hope, it's a costume because you don't know what to think about your best friend being the New York superhero.

How? When? How again? Is this why he's so strong? You've been friends with Peter long before Spiderman showed up which means he chose not to tell you. Is it because he doesn't trust you? Or maybe he doesn't like you as much as you like him? That stings.

Now you know why he was so adamant you leave it alone. But how is this even possible? He swings from buildings and fights giant lizards. How are you supposed to believe that your Peter can be doing that?

You quickly put the suit back in the box and hurry out of his room. As you rush down the stairs, he's coming up, running into his shoulder halfway down. You know he immediately knows but you keep running anyway.

He doesn't even stop to explain as he continues up the stairs. You walk home and wonder if there's any possibility it was just a Halloween costume.

Your phone rings over and over and over. It's obviously Peter. It's only nine in the morning on a Saturday so you have no plans of getting up or moving enough to answer your phone.

You're guessing he's mad. He should be. Now that you know what it is you can think a little clearer and you understand that maybe you should've respected his wishes a little more.

You don't answer the phone because you know he'll be mad and you don't want him to ever be mad at you. Or he'll be sad and you don't want that either. But of course, above all, you don't want to admit to him that you were wrong.

Once you finally get to moving out of bed, you spend a lot of time reading articles on Spiderman and trying to figure out how he does what he does. Now that you know Peter is Spiderman some of it makes more sense but all the other stuff makes even less sense.

Your phone rings a couple more times and you get a dozen messages but eventually they all stop. You focus your time on reading every single thing you can about him. From everything about the giant lizard to saving cats from trees and catching falling women.

"That was an interesting day." A voice comes from behind you. You jump out of your seat and turn to face them. A not so flattering shriek leaves your mouth and your heart beats faster than you thought possible.

"Peter, what the fuck." You gasp. Heart still racing and breathing slightly heavy. You take a moment to look at him, taking notice of his messy hair and the fact that he's in the Spiderman suit. Obviously he looks insanely hot but very very angry.

"Oh what? Did I invade your privacy?" He mocks, throwing down the mask you're just noticing was in his hand.

"I mean you came through the window so I'd say so." You whisper, not sure what you're actually supposed to say.

"I guess we're even now huh." He takes a seat on your bed and you almost want to say something about outside clothes on your bed but you don't have that right.

"Yeah I'd say so." A simple shrug of your shoulders has him rolling his eyes.

"That's the second time you've said that."

"I don't know what else to say."

"I wonder why." He mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

"Were you ever gonna tell me?" You ask, hurt covering your voice.

"I wanted to." You sit next to him on your bed.

"No you didn't. You should've told me."

"I don't see how it's any of your business." The setting sun shining in through your window glows on his face. You can see every detail of both him and his suit.

"Because we're friends. I don't know, maybe it wasn't."

"Really? You're gonna play this card." He stands in front of you.

"What card, Peter?" You almost yell back.

"You! Acting all sad and betrayed, trying to pretend you don't know if we were ever real friends." He's yelling now too.

"What does that even mean!? I'm allowed to be upset when you keep something like this from me!" You stand up, not liking the way he was looking down at you.

"It's none of your business." He enunciates every word to get his point across.

"Fine. It's not my problem. I shouldn't have done it. Now get out of my room."

He stares at you for a full minute. Like he's not done with whatever he wants to say or maybe he just wasn't expecting you to snap. Either way he respects your wishes, waiting only a moment more to leave out your bedroom window.

The next week rolls around very similar to the last. You go to school, you go home. Peter still avoids you, and what looks like everyone else. Throughout the whole week you don't see him talk to Gwen or anyone else he usually hangs out with.

It's not until Thursday that Gwen actually comes up to talk to you. Usually you would talk everyday but she's been more than busy with her band.

"Hey, are you alright?" She asks, coming up behind you as you put stuff back in your locker.

"Yeah, why?"

"I don't know Peter's being weird and all mopey so I thought he finally kissed you or something." She sighs so freely like she didn't just say something like that.

"What do you mean finally? Why would he kiss me?" She looks panicked. Clearly she wasn't supposed to say something but everyone knows Gwen isn't someone that keeps secrets very well.

"Fuck." She turns around and starts walking off. You slam your locker shut and follow her.

"No, no, no, no. Gwen, you get back here."

"I can't, I wasn't supposed to say that." She starts walking through people and down random halls.

"Gwen, you better get talking or I'm telling Peter what you already told me." That makes her stop in tracks. She turns to you with a look of both disbelief and betrayal.

"You're not even on speaking terms!"

"We'll go on speaking terms outta spite."

"Fine, I'll tell you but you can't tell anyone." She points her finger at you accusingly.

"Who would I tell?"

"Peter may be an insy tinsy bit in love with you."

"Gwen!"

"What? I'm not the one in love with you!"

You take a deep breath while you try to process everything you've learned in the past three minutes.

"I've been trying to get him to admit it to you forever but he didn't want to do it until he told you he's Spiderman." She continues her explanation, not realizing she's yet again saying more than she's supposed to.

"So you already knew he was Spiderman?"

"Fuck." She whines and turns to leave again but this time you let her. It's not her fault Peter didn't trust you. Or that he's in love with you.

"Gwen told me she told you." Peter says, not even a moment after you opened your front door. "And so I guess I don't really have a choice but to explain myself. And I mean that literally because Gwen is giving me no choice." He talks quickly. It sounds like he's trying to say it as fast as possible to get it over with.

"Wanna come in?" You ask, again not knowing what to say. It's funny how all it takes is his presence to make you more nervous than you ever have been.

He walks in hesitantly and doesn't move further than the entryway before he starts talking again.

"I only told her first because I'm not in love with her. I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want it to affect anything, but I didn't want to tell you I was in love with you before I told you that I was Spiderman because it didn't feel right to keep that a secret."

"That makes no sense." You run your hands tiredly over your face. "I mean seriously at least have a good excuse."

"I don't have one. Okay, I don't know why I didn't tell you."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I love you and I don't want this to ruin anything." He looks down at his feet, breaking the eye contact you were making.

"I love you too but if I was a superhero I'd tell you."

"I know you would. I don't know why I didn't." He shrugs. "Did you just say you love me?"

"Not if it takes you that long to notice." You smile, forgetting about being mad.

"I really am sorry." He says, stepping closer to you.

"So am I." You say, also taking a step closer.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks, closing the space between you.

"Of course." Your smile grows even wider as his lips reach yours.

[eccentricallygothic]

Apology Boy

Description: Paul finally apologizes for the scar(s) he gave you when he saw you for the first time. 

Pairing: Paul Lahote | Human mate!You.

Warning(s): Paul's anger, possible past angst, fluff, Paul is a crazed mess for you, size kink (duh), imprinting/mates, abo!verse but you're human, possessiveness, fingering, cunnilingus (worship), breeding kink, licking, biting, smut with plot because oh God I can never stop myself, teasing, pet names, unprotected p-in-v, overstimulation, manhandling, light dom!Paul because I am still me. MDNI.

Type: Request, for the sweet @wishyouloveme, here.

MASTERLIST

Just like any other day.

. . .

It hit Paul like a freight train and caused sweat to form in ice cold drops on his otherwise warm skin. He had just returned from patrol with Embry and was spread over Emily's dining table whilst stuffing his face with the food she had cooked for them. Everything was fine and dandy. It was a pleasant day and the weather was nice and cool. Soon, he would be done with his daily obligations and then he would go home.

But then Sam came up behind Emily who was standing next to her mate's seat at the head of the table, one hand on the frame and other on her hip as she listened to Seth drone on and on about something that Paul's voice refused to register due to what unfolded next.

The pack leader's strong arms snaked around the waist of his delicate lover as he nuzzled his nose into her hair until the tip had found its way past the dark strands and against her tender cheek until it was caressing and tracing the scars he had left on her. 

All blood drained from Paul's skin and something in his head clicked. His surroundings faded to a dim buzz and the next few moments went by in a blur. 

And then he was standing in front of home.

“Paul!” You yelp in surprise at the sight of your nude lover. He usually dresses himself at Sam's house after patrols before coming home to you. 

Since you are human and your initial experience with the pack had both been overwhelming -thanks to your lover imprinting on you the first chance he was given- and traumatizing -as said lover who was much worse at controlling his primal urges back then had lost control at the sight of you because he was so overcome with raw, foreign emotion he did not know how to process-, you prefer to keep by yourself near the outskirts of the community in a house that Paul had moved in with you upon your request. 

The pack life is simply too loud and… public for you; a city girl used to her secluded places and treasured privacy.

You notice that Paul is panting -which is very unlike him due to his superhuman strength- and a redness outlines his eyes when his huge form approaches yours. “Are you— Paul!” You gasp and nearly flinch from both the shock and impulse when he lets his heavy body collapse on its knees in front of you. “What the hell happen—” you never know with your hyper emotional mate.

His long fingers push your sweater up and out of his way so he can stroke the soft skin of your stomach with the tip of his nose, his head nuzzling into your chest as his dark eyes flutter close and he inhales a deep whiff of your scent. It is the only thing that never fails to calm your hot blooded lover down. 

“What's wrong?” Your voice lowers to a concerned mumble as you peer down at him, your fingers cradle the dusky skin of his handsome face -as much of it as you can reach- and your nails rake through the male's jet black mass of short hair. “Honey?” He only behaves like this if something went wrong or when he is in need of comfort, which are both rare occurrences as he is the usual caretaker in your relationship. But you aren't a complete stranger to him acting like this. 

Ever the uncommunicative one, the male only sighs— no, whimpers against your skin as if he's wounded and softly feels your skin with gentle caresses of his fingers. Words require thought, patience and wisdom. Unfortunately, Paul's instinctual mind runs too fast for those things to catch up with it in time and rash actions get carried out before better sense can supply him from its store.

“Paul…” A shiver runs down your spine when his lips that had begun to softly peck your navel find their way up your stomach before they halt to ghost over the healed, plum coloured lesions that stretch across your tender skin in menacing shapes akin to claw marks. “What are you doing?” Though he never mentions or discusses it verbally due to the guilt he feels, sometimes Paul becomes hyper aware of the scars of his unmediated passion that mar your skin and tries to make up for them in his own wordless ways.

Except, this only ever happens when you're underdressed or the two of you are indulging in activities typical to couples and the sight of them reminds him of their cause. He has never stormed into the house stark naked and marched up to you like an unreadable oversized pup on the brink of tears like this. 

“I am sorry.” You nearly jump due to how unexpected the sound of his words are. Usually he just sulks in silence. “Baby, I am so sorry” Paul never speaks when he is in one of these moods. Especially when he is experiencing bouts of guilt for his actions during his first encounter with you. “Oh, God” his body grows heavy against yours as he practically pushes his face into the crevices like he wants to become one with them and fill them back up to their original state with parts of himself. 

“Paul— oof!” Your smaller body yields to his weight and the ground slips from underneath your feet. “D- Did the guys say something?” You fear the worst as Paul's protective hands catch you before your back can hit the wooden ground and you cannot help but whimper from how his lips lock with the scars in thick, desperate and hurried apologetic kisses. 

Paul and his pack mates play rough and sometimes they go too far with the teasing. So though he clings to the tough guy act in front of them, he dismantles into you once he is home if their words ever get too far. Yes, the tussling and fighting is not enough if it's serious. And just sometimes, when it gets too much for him to bottle it up, he shares some of it with you. But most often not, since he knows how you feel about the pack and he does not like to worry you.

“I am sorry it has taken me this long to say it out loud, baby… but I am so sorr—”

“Paul, hey, look at me” but he refuses to detach himself from your skin in his shame, his big hands safely holding your whole body up against his. “You don't have to—” you cannot help it, you hate to see him like this when you know how badly he regrets it. You hate for him to hurt.

“But I do” he nearly growls against your skin, his fingers tightening on your hips to brace himself against the war in his head. “There’s not a day that goes by where I don't regret it.”

“But you didn't do it on purpose, baby” you sigh when he refuses to let you see him. Your fingers try to pry his stubborn face upwards. “And you worked and improved for us, didn't you, hm?” Your eyes earnestly search for his. “Don't sell yourself so short.” One of your hands rubs his tense shoulders to try and ease their guilt-stricken stiffness. 

“All the same” ever the stubborn knucklehead. “I should have done this a long time ago. But I was selfish and I was afraid that if I verbally mentioned it…” He hesitates and the love you behold for him renders you helpless against a burning urge to reassure him. 

“My love—”

“I was scared you'd get reminded of it and…” He takes a deep breath and then gulps down the bile in his throat, blinking back tears. “L- Leave me…” Paul's voice is barely a whisper and your heart breaks at how vulnerable he sounds. “And I am such an asshole for it because it had more to do with my fear of you leaving me than you reliving your trauma…” 

“Paul…” You blink and try to focus, but his warm gropes and caresses falter your steam of thought. 

“I love you, I really do, so much” he peeks up at you just a little, dark eyes frightened for the first time since the day he scarred you. “Please forgive me. I don't ever want to lose you. I know what I did was irreversible but I swear I'll spend the rest of my life fixing it… if you'll let me.” You shake your head. 

Does he really think there's an off chance that you will leave? 

“Paul” when you cup the side of his face, he hides into your stomach again. “Hey,” you try to duck your face closer to his. make him look at you. “Look at me” your intended request comes out an order due to all the emotions you feel. “I forgave you a long time ago. That's the reason why I am still here” you finally manage to place your forehead against his, making your breaths mingle with his. “I love you more, so much more.” He opens his mouth to drone so you beat him to it. 

“Now shut up and kiss me.”

Paul is taken aback at your demand, his widening eyes prove it. But as surprising as it may be for him, this isn't something that was unresolved for you until today -unlike him- so you aren't as overwhelmed with angst. Because your mate has proven his love, devotion and worthiness of you through his actions over the course of your relationship. He has shown you that he loves you and that he is sorry for what he did. 

If anything, his innocently intimate and lovestruck worship of your body has fired it up instead of making it sentimental. 

And so you want him. 

Bad.

“But—”

“No buts. Kiss me.” You are breathless as you urge him to do so, your hands try to pull his face closer into yours although in vain because his bigger and stronger form remains unbudging. 

Paul's eyes search yours for assurance. “... Yes, ma'am” he whispers once finds it and the next thing you know, you're being pounced down onto the floor with his arms cased around you to protect you from the impact. 

And though you always feared that him getting physical in this manner would trigger you, you giggle against his mouth that he drags across your chest and up your throat to clamp onto yours. Your arms circle around his broad shoulders and instead of trying to repel him -like you suspected you would despite having grown to trust him now- you pull him closer as you whimper into the tender yet hungry kiss, feeling your legs climb the lower half of his body instinctively.

“Paul~” you needily blabber against his tongue that he uses to enjoy the sweetness of your mouth, his balmy lips enveloping everything your mouth has to offer in tight, big kisses. “Mm~” your chest aches from the strain the lack of oxygen puts on your lungs but your sparking nether regions only scoot closer to his that you feel riling up against yours, your hips grinding against his and limbs tightening around his rock hard body.

“Mine” he growls against your mouth when he has no choice but to pull apart at last, his coarse fingers groping you in greedy handfuls while peeling away any fabric that hurdles their path to your skin. “All mine” you moan at the feeling of his teeth grazing against the tender skin of your boobs that he sprays with kisses and licks. “God, mouse, I love you so much” the strength he puts into pushing everything you wear on your upper body away from it leaves you breathless. You love the thrill you feel when his touch feels like he is on the horizons of the dangers he is capable of. When he is so worked up and desperate that he cannot help but get rough because your sweet sweat and arousing body heat fires him up the way it does. You are addicted to the sight of him not giving in to his beastly impulses despite all that because he loves you so much. It is scary, yes. But it turns you on too.

“I love you too, Paul” though he likes to act cocky and all-knowing most of the time, you know he needs to hear it too. Underneath all that knucklehead play fighting and manhandling of his, he needs reassurance just as much as the next person and though he tries not to burden you as his different lifestyle is hard enough for you as it is, you don't have to be part wolf to feel him and hear his heart. 

“You're so perfect…” The way he peppers wet kisses along your cheekbone whilst relieving you of the rest of your clothing causes for your eyes to flutter close to cherish the tingling feeling that sparks your body alight. “Just—” when you try to reach for him to also make it enjoyable for him, he plants your hands above your head and softens your confused pout with a kiss. “Just let me take care of you today, yeah? Don't worry about anything.” 

“But— oh!” He reaches for the mating mark that sits on the right side junction of your neck where a she-wolf's mating glad would be. And though you lack the physical features to feel him through it, the meaning that it holds for Paul serves as a bridge for the biological gap. “Oh…” You turn your head sideways to rub your cheek against his shaved one, your hips roll into his hand that dips between your legs and you shudder against Paul's hot tongue that drags across the impressions of his teeth that crevice your skin. 

“Taste so fuckin' sweet, baby” there is a strain in Paul's voice because of how much strength it is taking him to hold himself back from impaling you full of his cock right there. “So perfect” the lower half of his body leaps down so he can rub his bare erection against the softness of your leg. 

You moan at the feeling. “Paul,” you whisper into his hair, the feeling of his sharp teeth causing for slick to sizzle up to your entrance from the inside. He growls out a quiet yes, baby against the mark, one hand constantly caressing the dents running along the width of your stomach. “Don't hold back” you go to touch his rock hard cock and he grunts in denial, seizing your wrist in his fingers faster than you can blink. 

His face comes up to dominate your vision. “No, mouse, tonight is all about you” another kiss squishes out any protest you can form and when his invasive tongue has your nostrils flared from the breathlessness, Paul drags it down your writhing body in the company of heavy pecks until his mouth is between your thighs and he is propping one up with a broad shoulder and the other with his hand that isn't occupied with caressing the evidence of his temper. 

“Paul—!” He knows how shy you get when he is between your legs like this. 

But it's not his fault you taste so fulfilling. 

“Sh, little mouse, you're perfect” he kisses any and all insecurities away with gentle kisses, the hand that cases one of your thighs stroking the tender inside with its thumb. “And you taste so good too” he takes his time worshiping your pelvis, deliberately leaving out your pussy to save the best for last. And though you pretend to disapprove and whine for him to come back up and just fuck you instead, his soft kisses that vibrate into your skin every time he moans at the feeling of your nether skin touching his slightly chapped lips, you find yourself helplessly crying out for more at the end. 

“Paul, please!” You feel his mouth twist into a smirk and your hands dart to finger his thick hair to withstand the sensation of his mouth hovering over your petals. 

“Please what, mouse?” You roll your eyes at the taunt in his voice. 

“Please touch me!” Your fingers impatiently tug at his short strands and he grins.

“Oh, mouse, but I am touching you” you whine and his shoulders vibrate under your knees from his devilish mirth. 

“Y- You know what I mean!” Though your cheeks are already aflush, you feel new heat seep underneath the layers of the reddened skin. 

“Mmm, but I thought you wanted me to—”

“Paul!” You desperately whine and he lets out a deep cackle.

“Fine, geez” he is so mean when he gets smug. You go to scowl down at him but he takes the mound between your legs in a deep handful and feels the slit between your petals in a vertical caress of his thumb before you do and you end up letting out a loud moan instead. “Needy much?” You bite your lip and wantonly roll your hips closer to his mouth. “Tsk, tsk. Impatient little mouse…” The tip of his digit presses between your nether lips that are dusted with pearly discharges of your arousal and a cherry red flush and your hips buck in anticipation. “You're lucky that you're so pretty and I like you so much…” Your spine trembles in your skin when you feel the coarse skin of his thumb against your ultrasensitive folds. “Because I typically don't appreciate things so small ordering me around…” Your back arches when he finally sticks the hot tip of his tongue between your nether lips.

“Oh…” You feel your toes curl. “More, please, Paul, more.”

He is so enchanted by your sweet scent and addictive taste that he is ignorant to anything that isn't your body. “But you, my dear mouse, you're something else…” His strong hands take your ass in them and he firmly kneads the plump skin, talking pretty much over you with a lust-drunken madness. You mewl out a moan at the feeling and Paul growls at the sound you make, pulling you closer to his mouth as he presses an open kiss to your pussy. “Fuck,” he groans and licks his lips that glisten from your slick, his own tip leaking at the taste of you. “I've never tasted anything like you before and I sure as hell am never gonna get tired of it.” 

“Paul!” you cry out when his tongue twirls against your entrance, his nose rubbing against your clit to caress it with the tip as he begins to eat you out.

His growl that vibrates your soaked folds to a buzzing life causes your eyes to roll to the back of your head. “Paul” you moan breathlessly, his name turning to a prayer as you tremble on the verge of releasing more slick.

“Gimme that sweet cum, baby, let me taste it” your lips part and you can't help but arch into his mouth with need. His hands are merciless, the one on your ass kneads it with rough gropes as the other massages the underside of your thighs in broad, determined strokes. You moan and writhe against him, your vision blurring at the hot waves that take over your body.

“I am gonna— oh, Paul!” He moans against you as you tremble and then release more even slick into his mouth. His tongue is in heaven as he greedily licks up all he can get. 

“Fucking hell, baby” the grainy tip of his tongue pokes and prods at your entrance, working the little hole open. “I can't wait to stuff this pretty little pussy full of my pups.” 

“Mmm, oh fuck, Paul, oh fuuuck” when he finally penetrates the tight barrier and his hot tongue invades your sensitive cavern, the burning knot between your hips gets tighter. Paul moans at the feeling of your delicate walls and though the vibrations of his doing so shakes you to your core, you cannot help but greedily wrap your legs around his head to both stay in place and withstand the pleasure.

“Oh, God, Paul, ’m so close!” Your voice is a breathless mewl and he growls at the vulnerable sound, his cock hurting from need. “Oh, fuck” you tremble so badly that you'd collapse into the ground if your knees weren't propped up by your mate's shoulders. “Oh fuck, oh fuck” Paul’s jaw flexes against your thighs when he begins to fuck you with his tongue, one hand fumbling for your cunt before he tickles the hood with his thumb. Your back arches and you clench your eyes shut, your chest heaving as you gasp out his name.

“Tsk, tsk, mouse” his hot breath fans your sensitive folds and you can't help but whimper at the feeling of his middle finger replacing his tongue. “You need to relax.” His hand that holds your ass pats your cheek in an endearing yet condescending way and your whole body tenses up at the touch even more. “I'm gonna take care of you, baby” you cannot help but rock your hips to his finger stretching your insides out against it. “You're mine and I'll never let you get hurt again, I promise” he croons before pressing a tender kiss to your clitorial nub. “You know that, right?” He kisses the slick covered inside of your thigh next to soothe your shaking body. “Tell me you know you're mine” his possessive words make the heat between your legs to go haywire.

“I am yours, Paul” you breathlessly promise him before letting out a moan when he tickles your folds with his tongue in a praising manner, satisfaction breaking out on his handsome face at your obedience.

“Good mouse” he begins to lap at your nub and your walls tense around his finger as a result, causing for your slick to slosh from the opening and down Paul's hand. “Shh, mouse, easy now” he cooes to get you to relax because of how tightly you are clenching yourself and it only gets worse when he adds a second finger. Your hips are so tight. You are on the edge. “You're gonna let me take care of this cute little pussy, aren't you?” You whimper at the feeling of being stuffed full and being licked at the same time.

“Y- Yes, Paul!” The air is heavy with the smell of slick and the sound of him slurping your juices up.

He adds a third finger and you nearly burst into tears from the pleasure. “Oh God, Paul, I am gonna cum!” Your entrance burns from the stretch and you moan from the bittersweet discomfort. “Please, lemme cum! Wanna cum so bad! Please, please!” Your submissive side comes out because of how overwhelmed you are and Paul can cum from the fragility of your voice right here.

“Hold it for me, mouse, good girl, c'mon” you sob at his cruel denial and he closes his lips around a mouthful of your folds, soundfully sucking at the clammy skin as he speeds his hand up to practically hammer your trembling pussy into an orgasm. Your toes curl and you throw your head back, fingers tugging at his hair as you tremble violently against him. Your back arches from how his free hand pinches and twists your nipples, softly landing occasional smacks to your boobs. “Good girl. I know you can take it” his hand then comes down to massage your ass cheek to make for a better stretch. “Relax, baby” you sob out his name and he smiles against your quivering core, his cheek gently caressing the inside of your thigh to get you to loosen up a little because you are clenching so hard.

“You're doing good, mouse. So good” his lips buzz against your clit. “Take it, baby, take it” your walls twitch against his coarse digits. “That's a good girl” he praises you while continuing to stuff your pussy with his fingers, the feeling of being filled up to the brim causing for you to shake and tremble violently. “That's my good girl” his tongue licks your clit as his fingers curve inside of you to search for your sensitive bundle of nerves that always makes you let out the sweetest of melodies.

“I'm gonna— I can't anymore, Paul!” Neon shapes cloud your vision when his fingers graze your sensitive spot and he growls at the feeling of your walls convulsing around his fingers.

“Yeah, baby. You can cum now” he finally relents and you cry out from the joy. “My little mouse, give me that sweet cum” his mouth never stops moving against you and you are so overcome with emotion that you are not sure if the tears that are streaming down your cheeks are due to pleasure or pain. “Gimme it, mouse. Gimme it” his tongue is like a beast that eats you up to satiate its starvation. You cry out his name from the pleasure.

“Paul! Paul, Paul— oh god!” The tongue is too much, though it gives you everything you could ask for at the moment, you need to escape. But when you try to pull away Paul catches your hips and holds you in place. 

“Now, where do you think you're going, little mouse?” There is a beastliness to his voice.

“N- No, Paul! No more—” you don't get to finish your plea because his mouth clamps down on your sensitive flesh to suckle on it in big, eager kisses again and your heart threatens to burst through your chest.

“Oh fuck” the knot between your legs tightens so hard you cannot maintain it anymore. Vertigo breaks through your hearing. “Oh— Paul!” The orgasm takes over your whole body, your mind blurs from the burst of sensation that courses through your blood and everything turns into a euphoric mess. “O- Oh God…” You tremble from the aftershock and Paul groans when he feels you squirt. He releases your hips and you fall back onto the floor, your body too weak to withstand its own weight. “O- Oh fuck…” You're breathless and your body feels like jelly. “Paul, oh Paul…” Your fingers desperately try to reach for him like you're no older than a baby and you notice that he is stroking his hurting cock because of the need to bury his knot in you, a pained expression etched across his face. “P- Paul, I am ready” though you can barely speak, your body shakes from the need to be filled up by him.

“Mouse… are you sure?” Though his voice strains from the painful need, he prioritizes your comfort over his and your heart wells up.

“Y- Yes” you try to sit up. “Fill me up, please” he needs no more encouragement after that. With a low growl, he jumps onto you and you feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance in a heated caress that makes you whine, your body even forgetting to yelp from how he pounces on you. 

“I'll never hurt you again, mouse” he whispers into your ear as he buries his nose into your hair, cock throbbing between your legs. You gasp when he enters you in a quick thrust that makes for all the air to bolt out of your lungs. “I promise.” You tremble in his hold and Paul groans at the feeling.

“I know” his mouth clamps down on the mating mark upon hearing your whisper and he slowly stretches your pussy to fit around his erection that even after all that fingering is still too big for your tiny cunt. The overstimulation causes for stars to form in your vision. His cock twitches inside you and he growls, the tip of his tongue tickling your nape in need.

“That's a good girl, baby” the hand that cups the side of your face tenderly strokes your cheek. “Relax for me” when your walls finally adjust to his log-like girth, Paul grins against the mating mark. “You're doing so good for me” the thrust of his hips causes for his cock to rub against your sensitive spot and your eyes roll to the back of your head with the feeling. “There's my good girl. You take my cock so well.” He releases his bite, hips pistoning up and down between your legs as he baby talks to you and strokes your hair to comfort you against the overstimulation that makes you whine.

“Paul!” You tremble as he fucks you in slow, long strokes and you cannot help but cry out his name in need.

“I'm here, baby. I got you” he murmurs into your hair and you moan at the baritone of his voice. “Take this cock, baby, you got it” he pants as his fat cock slides in and out of you. Then he suddenly grunts and readjusts you in his hold because the position is not comfortable enough for you and he can feel it. “God, you're so perfect.”

“I love you, Paul” you murmur into his ear, your hips lazily rolling against his as you hold him tight. 

“I love you more” the latter part of his sentence turns into a growl due to his struggle with the positioning and he collects your limp form in his. “And I can do this better” though he roughly pushes your bodies off the floor to head for the bedroom, his fingers subconsciously caress your back in gentle strokes to make up for how your bare skin rubbed into the floor during the ordeal. You whine from how his heavy sack puts a strain on your entrance where your bodies connect as he does so. He cooes praise and reassurance in your ear as comfort, peppering your mouth with gentle kisses.

.

The next morning when he leaves for patrol in a black tank top and some shorts, there is a shy grin on his face as he looks back at the door one last time to wave you goodbye. You blush and return the gesture, biting your lip like it's the morning after your first time with each other. 

“Geez, man, not the dreamy eyes!” A groan sounds from somewhere in the woods and you gasp before ducking behind the door. Chuckles and howls follow. 

The jerk brigade has arrived.

“Someone get these two a room!” You recognize Jake's voice and shake your head as you peek outside from behind your shield. “Oh, wait, they did that already!” You cannot help but snort when you see that Paul has begun to jog in the direction of the voices. “In light of how the whole town learnt all the ways in which Paul's name can be moaned last night” uh, oh. That's not going to be good. Your lover is very private and sensitive about you as it is and when someone tries to pry or joke about matters of this sort he does not appreciate it. Especially if it's his hormonal friends that he knows too well. “Paul, Paul, oh, Paul!” Your cheeks burn in embarrassment and Paul snarls before he flings his shirt off and jumps into the air, transforming into his beastly form midway and disappearing into the woods to attack the offendor.

You see the great trees shake from the tussle that you can practically visualize behind them and the encouraging howls of Paul's pack mates further confirms it. They love to get a rise out of your easily excitable boyfriend and he loves to put them in their place, being the strongest after Sam. Their crossing of each other's boundaries for the sake of fun used to concern you in the beginning but Paul himself assured you that that was just how they played and it was not coming from a bad place. 

So you wait for the ferocious crowd to move further away into the jungle that surrounds your house before you walk down to the dirt road to collect his clothing with a lighthearted shake of your head. A smile graces your lips as you do so and you cannot help but graze the now covered scars that your superhuman lover gave all his love to last night.  

Though it will be a while before he does, you cannot wait for him to come back home to you.

. . .

I am sorry if it sucks omg I really hope you like it <3

[xx-babyyyblue-xx]

Slytherin Boys Personality

I have now been able to do all of the boys personalities. Let me know if there is anything I left out please

Draco Malfoy: 

Evil personality that can be redeemed with enough work, or with the love of a certain someone. Refers to his girl as his Princess. Daddy issues.

Ambitious: Drive for power, recognition, and success as well as uphold his family legacy and prove himself as a worthy member of a pure-blood wizard community

Proud: Superiority complex that leads to displays of condescension and arrogance. Can get him into trouble because he may say things that he does not mean out of anger because the prejudice is what he knows 

Insecure: Despite outward confidence, struggles with deep seated insecurities that has him constantly seeking validation and approval from his peers (and his parents). This fuels his need to prove himself and maintain a certain image. 

Short Temper: Loses his cool very quickly due to his need to be right and prove himself, but will attempt to make it right fairly quickly 

Blaze Zabini

Probably the most positive and playful out of the entire group

Loyal: Loyal to a fault. His friends are above everything, even his love interest at times. They are the ones who are going to decide everything for him even if he doesnt realize it is happening 

Sensitive: Overly sensitive to the point where he is going to start arguments over little things. He doesnt enjoy PDA because he feels that it makes him look weak and he does not want to be perceived that way. On the plus side, his sensititiviy to things also means he always dresses well and smells really nice

Smart: Definitely the best study buddy. He is the person that others would copy off of it 

Playful: The kind of guy that is going to playully tease you but never in a way that will make you upset. 

Player: He is attractive and he knows it and will often playfully flirt in order to make things go his way. 

Lorenzo Berkshire

Short Temper and Holds a Grudge: Will get angry very quickly and then ignore you for days until he realizes that he misses you and makes it up to you by doing something that shows you that he cares. 

Trust Issues: He is the kind of guy that would create a fake account to “catch” you cheating or will flirt with a girl whenever you are talking to much to another boy

Funny: Has a great sense of humor because of all of the things that he has been through in his life. When everything is at his best, he is a very happy person. 

Mattheo Riddle

Daddy issues and a drug addict who loves sometimes a little too hard and a little too much 

a highly imaginative, highly intelligent, and highly sensitive person, gets into fights

Possessive: He will defend the things and people that belong to him or have value to him and does not care about the consequences

Toxic and loves to party- will be the kind of guy who will pull you back and forth in a relationship but its not because he doesnt actually have feelings for you, but because he doesnt know how to handle them when he does have them. 

Tom Riddle

Smart: Smart without even trying and makes it known whenever you make a mistake because you are therefore dumb in comparison

Jealous: What's his is his and he will take anyone down whom he believes is going to take away the things that are his

Anger issues: Does not know how to cool down and won’t admit when he is wrong. Instead, when he realizes that he is even slightly in the wrong he will attempt to make up for it and move past it without actually talking about it 

Theodore Nott

French in a lot of ways: Smoker, calls you Bella for beautiful, and is rude 

Protective: The kind of person who is going to drop kick anyone that says anything negative about you or any of his people. 

Troublemaker: He does not care about the rules so he will do what he has to do in order to make his point known. He is always in trouble of some kind and that gets in the way of a lot of things. 

Player: Has had many many girlfriends and has a list of people that he needs to avoid because of the way that he has toyed with and broken their heart 

[sunsdiary]

( @ ) YEE TO THE...WHORE? ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა . . .

toji fushiguro & gn reader · farmers market · domestic fluff · hubby!toji · step-son!megumi · suggestive (his tiddies are out) · family bonding · crack fic

toji barely dressed appropriately when the time called for it. you never knew if this was something he did intentionally or if it was out of pure laziness, but when your three year old step-son picked up on his unusual habits of wearing flip flops out in minus ten degree weather, that was when he changed.

for the better, you weren't sure. his fashion style was still questionable, nonetheless, but megumi started copying him.

"eh hehe, loo'! papa 'nd i- matchin'!"

megumi is starting to acknowledge his fathers accent more and more as the months grew by. it was practically part of his vocabulary by now, and at one point, you had to tell your husband off for swearing so much around him.

when megumi glances up at you, there's something similar to delight in his eyes as he holds his balled fists up in the air to cheer. he quickly notices you are also dressed for the occasion and all the toddler can do is stare.

"p-pwetty..." is what he manages to come out with.

you give him a warm smile that conveys a simple 'thank you', but that fades when you look over at toji who walks into the room.

silence ensues rapidly. you couldn't believe your eyes.

"seriously, toji?"

"wha'? ya don't like the fit?"

you think its quite ridiculous how toji is trying to flirt in front of his three year old son right now, flexing the muscles on his biceps and swaying his hips that enhance the large silvery buckle on his belt.

megumi's head goes back and forth between you and him as you cover your face with your fingertips. your forehead twitches into a frown.

megumi demanded to dress up to the upcoming farmers market. it was a common occurrence that the three of you went into the city every month, but this time they were also holding a cowboy festival.

toji stood before you, confused. he wore black denim jeans underneath his creamy-coloured chaps with boots that had large spurs on the heels. moving up, he wore an open leather coat.

...... ...........

...........................

...

did you forget to mention that that was it? that was all he was wearing.

oh, and of course, a cowboy hat with a red bandanna tied loosely around his neck to top it off.

"you couldn't of...put something underneath that, toji? what is wrong with you?"

"what do ya mean?" he gives you a quick and subtle wink.

you point directly at his exposed chest. "this"

it took a lot of convincing yourself to tear your eyes away from his hairy chest and happy trail, but you were in the presence of your step-son. his son.

toji never dressed appropriately when the time called for it...

"megs seems to approve of it."

but when the toddler heard the mention of his name, he frowns and speaks up articulating a sassy tone.

"nuh uh, papa say he want to impress you with his pepperoni."

the heat in your cheeks makes its way to your chest and you burst out laughing after further silence. toji's mouth twitches and turns slightly downward, a bright hue of red saturating the apples of his cheeks as he hears your laugh resonate through the room.

"ah... bean, ya ain't gotta expose papa like that...?" he rubs the back of his neck, looking away from you, almost confounded.

you weren't impressed, but maybe you were... well, by how bold and utterly ridiculous he was. you wish he took something serious for once.

"so what? ya gonna let me go out like this?"

"hell no. put some clothes on, tart."

"wha is a t-tart?"

megumi peaks up and your body twitches in reaction. the same hand as before comes up to your face, sighing loudly this time. toji breaks out into a laughter. megumi then proceeds to attach himself to your leg like a leech.

"have some dignity here, for your son, please, toji. unless you want him blurting out about how massive your 'pepperoni' is at school."

toji's laugh fades as quickly as it comes. he stutters, a little flustered, before mumbling something underneath his breath. he tristfully walks out of the room again.

when you watch him leave, he pulls a wedgie from his jeans and all you can do is snicker while shaking your head.

you crouch down to little megumi's level. "what are you most excited for megs?"

"hmmm hmmmmmm" he taps his chin adjusting his cowboy hat. toji listens to your voices fade into the background until he closes the door to your shared room.

"are my nips really that big?"

he proceeds to take his coat off, standing in front of your body length mirror, a deadpan expression forming on his face. he unconsciously runs his tongue over the scar on his lip.

the mirror was large, but even then, it still couldn't fit his whole frame into the reflection. it's not like he needed to see his own face anyways when he was checking himself out in the mirror.

toji sighs, turning his body a fractional amount to flex the muscles on his back.

"should i stop working out chest? i thought they liked tha"

[velocesainz]

Oscar Piastri

friends to lovers(I wanted to ask if you don't mind adding that when they're going to have sex reader is insecure of her body)

Bathrobe: You're literally perfect

Mesh top: Why do you care so much

Shirt: Your moans are my favourite sound

Tank top: I can't get enough of you

Tunic: Jealous? So what if I am jealous

Cufflinks: Jealousy

Leg warmer: Degradation

Tie: Choking

Mirror sex

A/n: Thank you for the order! Enjoy!

Friend no more

F1 Masterlist | Main masterlist | Taglist

Summary: Oscar and reader are best friends and garner feeling for each other. Reader thinking it’s a lost cause after being accidentally friend-zoned by Oscar tries to move on but Oscar has other plans

Pairing: Oscar piastri x reader

Warnings: smut, slight angst

Order receipt:

Bathrobe: You’re literally perfect

Mesh top: Why do you care so much

Shirt: Your moans are my favourite sound

Tank top: I can’t get enough of you

Tunic: Jealous? So what if I am jealous

Cufflink: Jealousy

Leg warmer: Degradation

Tie: Choking

Bucket hat: Mirror sex

Face mask: Insecure reader

Reader pov:

I sat at our apartment waiting for my best friend to arrive so we can get ready to go together to a party that Oscar decided to drag me to

One thing about me is that I care deeply for the people I love and will to anything for them, even it means sacrificing a perfectly good lazy saturday evening that I could've spent watching tv shows and binge eating chips.

I love Oscar, much more than a friend and I have a suspicion that he feels the same judging by the way he cares for and looks at me . His mom herself told me she was sure that he liked me but you never know, I'm waiting for him to make the first move just to be sure

Me and him have been friends ever since we were in diapers. Our parents were best friends and so we followed the same. I followed Oscar around in the gap year I had taken before uni and we grew impossibly closer.

I was still working on my degree in aerodynamics hoping to join Oscar in his ventures in formula 1.

My train of thought was cut off by the doorbell ringing pulling me back into the real world

I quickly opened the door and let Oscar in

"So what are you planning on wearing?" Oscar questioned as he started picking out what he was going to wear

"I don't really know, maybe a pair of jeans and a shirt?" I responded still contemplating outfit choices

"Oh come on that's so boring, let loose, wear some dresses for a change" He told me and took me by surprise

I guess he was right, maybe he was going to confess and that's why he's making me dress nice.

I put on a short satin black dress feeling sort of exposed and insecure and quickly did my make up and curled my hair

"Ok I'm ready to go!" I called out to Oscar

I froze when I saw him, he looked so goddamn hot. He was in a simple pair of blue jeans a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up

I swear I was going to melt right then and there

"Y-you look absolutely gorgeous" He sputtered

"Getting a compliment for you? I must look really hot then huh" I replied sarcastically

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves now. Let's get going or we will be late, not that we're not late already"

It was in Oscar's nature to be late to whatever or wherever he goes to do but he's been slowly working on it.

We both sat in his Mclaren and drove to the club where the party was

Upon reaching there we were met with a crowd. I had not met Oscar's friends in formula 1 as of yet so I was nervous as well as excited to meet them today.

Lando approached and brought us in

"So who is this beautiful woman you have with you today Oscar?" Lando questioned

"This is my childhood best friend y/n. We grew up together" Oscar replied breaking my heart

"Are you sure she's not your girlfriend mate?"

"I don't like her like that" With that my heart shattered into tiny pieces. I thought he liked me back.

I guess I was wrong this whole time. I was only his best friend, nothing more.

After we reached the table I quickly made my way away from Oscar to sit at the opposite side

I saw Oscar flirting with a really pretty looking model making me dig an even deeper hole in self hatred and insecurity.

I decided to speak to Lando who seemed interested in me. I mean I had to get over Oscar in one way or another.

As we were talking we slowly started flirting and touching each other softly

Oscar pov:

As soon as we reached the table y/n went and sat at the opposite end of the table which was very odd, she loved sitting next to me.

She was then approached by Lando which made my heart sink. I have liked her for years but I never had the guts to tell her and at this point I don't think she likes me anyways.

Observing th two of them I saw them flirting with each other and lightly touching each other all I could see was red.

I don't know what came over me but I walked over to them and grabbed y/n's hand dragging her out of there

"Hey what gives?" she shouted at me

I ignored her protests and threw her into the car and drive straight to our apartment

As soon as we got home I dragged her inside

"What the fuck is wrong with you? I was having a really nice conversation with Lando until you rudely came and interrupted us" she exclaimed

"You both were getting too flirty and close to him. If I hadn't stopped it you would've ended up in his bed" I tried to explain

"So what Oscar? Why do you care so much?" she snarled out

"I care because you're my best friend and i don't want to see you getting hurt" I replied

"It was literally as if you were jealous of me and Lando being close" she said

Hearing Lando's name made me clench my fists.

"Jealous? So what if I am jealous" I replied my eyes getting darker

"W-what-" I cut her off with a passionate kiss

She broke the kiss quickly

"I'm just your best friend Oscar, go back to those hot models. I'm not as pretty and hot as they are"

This made me angry. How could she think of herself like that? To me and a lot of other guys she was the most beautiful woman ever.

"You’re literally perfect darling. I'll show you just how pretty you are darling" I whispered huskily into her ear and dragged her to my room while kissing her.

Reader pov:

Oscar took us to his bedroom and pushed me onto the plush bed

He took off my clothes one by one admiring my body but being the insecure person I am I tried covering myself

“Don’t do that. You’re literally perfect. Stop shying away and hiding from me” he told me and placed me in such a way that I could see myself in the mirror

“Watch yourself while I fuck you bitch. See how pretty of a slut you look for me”

With that he lined himself up and thrusted into me bottoming out immediately

I let out the loudest moan I ever had and as he continued to thrust into me I moaned non stop he felt so good

“Mhph your moans are my favourite sound. Keep moaning whore”

He then switched positions from doggy to missionary and thrusted into me again

He put his hands around my throat lightly choking me causing me to let out a moan

“Oh you like that little slut? You like when I choke you like that?” He asked

All I could do was nod in response

We both were approaching our highs and his thrusts turned sloppy

“Where do you want me whore”

“In my mouth please” I pleaded

He pulled and pumped himself to the edge while circling my clit which also brought me to the edge

Thick strings of hot cum entered my mouth and I swallowed it completely savouring the taste

“You’re so perfect for me baby. Never leave me” with that he hugged me and we both fell into a deep slumber

A/n: hello lovelies hope you guys liked this, it’s kind of a long one. As always make sure to send any feedback. Kissies ✨

Taglist:

@grantaires-waistcoat

@tellybearryyyy

[darklydeliciousdesires]

John Shelby Vs. Breakfast - A John Shelby/Reader Short.

I haven't written for any of my Peaky lads in a hot minute, so I thought I'd do a little fun, fluffy piece for my fave ginge <3 Enjoy!

Words - 792

Warnings - None, just John being John!

Clattering. Swearing. Burnt toast. Those are what greet you after descending the stairs, coming into the kitchen to see perhaps the most unnatural sight in the world; John cooking. Or rather attempting to.  

“Bastard, bloody thing!” Yes, the cast iron pan handle heats up while cooking eggs and bacon in it, not that he’d realise, being a man. Naturally, he’s had a woman perform these tasks for him all his life, so why would he know that? “Oh, shit, shit, shit, not again!”  

At least this time when he reaches for hot metal, he has the sense to cover the end of the toasting fork with a kitchen towel, pulling the slices of bread from in front of the fire. “Fuckin’ hell!” 

You stand and watch it, the sexy, ginger ball of stress whirling like an agitated tornado around the space, John much too predisposed by messing up the preparation of breakfast to notice you there, his entertained audience of one.  

“Alright, I can save that. Scrape the burnt bit off. Right, kettle’s almost done. Sodding hell! How the fuck do women do this and make it look so bloody easy?” 

“Because we’re magicians,” you finally speak, watching him jump before he spins around, pointing at you through the chaos of his own making. 

“You should be in bed, still!”  

Shrugging, you approach, stroking his bare forearms, his sleeves all rolled up. “I was wide awake, so I thought I’d get up.”  

He bustles, waving his arms. “No, no. Ain’t supposed to be like this. I had a plan! Bring you breakfast in bed and now it’s all bloody going wrong!” 

Casting your gaze over his shoulder, your eyebrow flutters upwards. “I don’t think that has anything to do with me coming down the stairs, John. The pan is smoking, by the way.”  

His face falls. “Fuckin’ hell!”  

“Do you want a hand?” you offer, watching him move it from atop the range, scraping the slightly overdone eggs and bacon out onto two plates. 

He waves his hand towards the table. “No, you sit down.” 

“I can do the teapot, at least?” 

More hand gestures are directed. “Sit down, bab!”  

He’s adamant to do this, so tucking your dress, you take a seat, picking up the morning paper as he butters the toast. Finishing plating up the breakfast and pouring the tea, he brings it to you, everything a little crispy and haphazardly presented, your new husband looking at you from under a few furrowed brow.  

“Don’t look nothing like when you make it, but I hope it tastes alright, at least.” 

Digging your fork in, you take a first mouthful. “It’s lovely, darling. Thank you. What made you want to cook for me in the first place, though? You always denounce it as woman’s work. Not that you should. We’re in the twenties now, us women are to have our equality.” 

“Oh, not you an’ all!” he groans, rolling his eyes. “You and bloody Pol and your women’s lib!” His little wink indicates he isn’t a hundred percent serious, picking up a slice of toast and taking a huge bite, crumbs collecting at the corners of his lips. “And I did it because I wanna make amends. Ain’t proper that we’re married and I can’t take you on honeymoon. Nah. Even a weekend up the seaside would have been nice. Got all this fuckin’ shit round me neck, though.” 

Indeed, he has. You know well who you married, and the life of a prolific gangster is seldom easy. Or, in this case, flexible enough to allow for time away from Birmingham with his new bride.  

Reaching for his hand, you stroke the freckled flesh, cocking your head. “You’ve no amends here to make, love. I know, I understand. It is what it is.” 

“Yeah, but it bloody shouldn’t be, cos’ you deserve more!” he fumes, forehead creasing. “And I can’t give it to ya right now. Feel like a right bloody joke of a husband, I do.” 

“You know what you can give me, though?” you tease, John not immediately picking up on the connotations. “A bloody good seeing to.” 

He pauses his chewing, an eyebrow arching. “Get that scran down your neck sharpish, bab. I might not be able to take you away even for a weekend, but I can take you to bed instead.”  

To be honest, is seeing a lot of time pressed against a mattress beneath your new husband not the point of a honeymoon? You’ve always thought so, at least, therefore it matters not where that mattress happens to be. Whether further afield or Birmingham, as long as John is there, it’s all the honeymoon you need.  

A slightly cremated breakfast is an added bonus, too.  

[shybluebirdninja]

The Wrong Wedding

Summary: You and Bucky accidentally show up at the wrong wedding after his GPS leads you astray. Instead of leaving, Bucky (in all his grumpy glory) suggests crashing it “just for fun.” You two end up on the dance floor, Bucky makes a hilarious speech, and by the end of the night, you’re taking home more wedding cake than the actual guests. Who knew the Winter Soldier could be so mischievous?

Pairing            : Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Genre              : Fluff

It all started with Bucky's insistence that his GPS app was better than mine. He was so confident—borderline cocky—about it. We were supposed to be headed to Steve’s cousin’s wedding, which was in the middle of nowhere, somewhere off a dirt road, in a place with more cows than cell towers.

“Trust me,” Bucky had said, flicking his phone screen with his vibranium fingers. “I’ve been using this app for ages. It’s foolproof.”

Clearly, Bucky hadn’t met the one fool who could outsmart even the most advanced piece of Stark tech: himself.

An hour into the drive, I noticed something was off. The trees were looking... different. Like, spooky, “I’m going to kill you and your super-soldier boyfriend” kind of different.

“Bucky, I don’t think this is the way,” I said, squinting out the window. “Did Steve’s cousin plan their wedding in the middle of a horror movie set?”

He just grunted, glancing over at me for a second. “Relax. We’re fine. GPS says it’s just a few more miles.”

I leaned forward and saw the little blinking dot on his phone. “What does ‘Danger: No Road Access’ mean?”

He blinked. “Probably just a suggestion.”

“Uh-huh. And what about ‘Entering Restricted Area: Authorized Personnel Only’?”

Bucky shrugged, his fingers tapping the steering wheel like he didn’t just guide us into a potential military test site. “It’s fine. Steve’s family is kinda military, right? They probably booked a spot near a base.”

“Right.”

Another fifteen minutes passed, and finally, we pulled into a parking lot filled with cars. There were people milling around, music playing, and... was that a fountain of champagne?

“See?” Bucky smirked, throwing the car in park. “Told you.”

I eyed the fancy decorations and wedding arches. “Steve said his cousin’s wedding was supposed to be a ‘rustic, simple affair.’ This looks like Beyoncé’s vow renewal.”

Bucky frowned, glancing around. “Well... maybe rustic means different things to different people?”

I shot him a look but shrugged. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with. But if this isn’t the right wedding, you’re making the speech to the bride and groom.”

“Deal.”

As we got out of the car, Bucky fixed his suit jacket, pulling at the cuffs like he wasn’t used to dressing up. I, on the other hand, was just praying my dress didn’t ride up in the wind as we walked toward the entrance.

The moment we stepped inside, something felt... wrong.

First of all, there were way too many people for Steve’s cousin. Secondly, there was a chocolate fountain. With gold flakes.

I leaned over to Bucky, whispering, “You sure Steve’s cousin isn’t like, the secret heir to a throne or something? This feels kinda royal.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the room. “Yeah, this seems a little... much.”

Just as we were about to turn around, a woman wearing a glittery, over-the-top dress—clearly tipsy—grabbed Bucky’s arm. “Oh my God, you made it!” she squealed, eyes wide. “Natalie will be so happy!”

I stifled a laugh as Bucky’s face froze in horror. The woman didn’t even give him a chance to respond before dragging us toward the dance floor, where the bride and groom—Natalie and some dude we had never met in our lives—were having their first dance.

“Yep,” I whispered, biting back a smile. “We’re at the wrong wedding.”

Bucky glanced at the bride and groom, then back at me. “You wanna leave?”

“Are you kidding?” I grinned. “Hell no. We’re staying.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Why do I let you talk me into this crap?”

“Because you love me, obviously.” I tugged him toward the open bar, smirking. “Come on, might as well enjoy the free booze.”

We spent the next half hour trying to blend in, sipping champagne and stealing bites of hors d'oeuvres that looked way too fancy for regular humans. Bucky kept looking around, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation. I, on the other hand, was living for it.

“So,” I teased, leaning on the bar, “when are you going to make that speech you promised?”

His face went pale. “You were serious about that?”

“Dead serious.”

Before he could protest, the tipsy glittery woman from earlier suddenly appeared, now holding two glasses of champagne. “Oh my God, you have to give a speech! You’re practically family!”

Bucky looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor. “I’m practically family?”

The woman waved him off. “Natalie will love it! Go, go!”

I shoved him lightly. “Come on, Barnes. Time to shine.”

He groaned but stood up, adjusting his jacket like he was going into battle.

As he took the mic, I could see him searching for something to say. Anything.

“Uh,” Bucky started, clearing his throat awkwardly. “So… weddings, huh?”

I bit my lip to stop from laughing. This was already a trainwreck.

“They’re... great,” he continued, glancing at the bride and groom who were staring at him expectantly. “You know, marriage is like... teamwork. Like... um, the Avengers. You got your Iron Man, who’s always doing his thing, and then there’s Cap—Steve—who’s, uh, really good at giving speeches...”

Oh. My. God.

I buried my face in my hands as Bucky rambled on about superheroes and teamwork, comparing marriage to “coordinating a mission,” and something about “taking down Hydra together.”

By the time he wrapped it up with, “So yeah... uh, congrats, I guess,” the room was dead silent.

Then, suddenly, the bride—Natalie—burst out laughing, clapping her hands. “That was amazing! Best speech ever!”

The rest of the crowd erupted in applause, and I couldn’t stop laughing as Bucky stumbled off the stage, red-faced and glaring at me.

“Did you really just compare marriage to taking down Hydra?” I gasped between fits of laughter.

“Shut up,” he muttered, downing the rest of his champagne. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You love me, remember?”

He grumbled something under his breath, but I saw the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The rest of the night was a blur of dancing, stealing more fancy food, and somehow convincing Bucky to slow dance with me. He wasn’t great at it—he kept stepping on my toes—but seeing the Winter Soldier awkwardly trying to sway to a love song was probably the cutest thing I’d ever witnessed.

By the end of the night, we were sitting by the chocolate fountain, eating cake and pretending we belonged there.

“So,” Bucky said, licking some frosting off his thumb, “wanna tell Steve about how we crashed the wrong wedding?”

I shook my head. “Nope. This is between us. Our little secret.”

He smirked. “Deal.”

As we got up to leave, the bride ran over to us again, giggling as she handed Bucky a massive box of cake. “Take this with you! You guys were so fun, I’m so glad you came!”

Bucky blinked, looking down at the cake. “Uh, thanks?”

And just like that, we walked out of the wrong wedding, carrying more cake than we could eat in a month.

As we got into the car, I glanced over at Bucky, who was still holding the box. “So... GPS app of yours, huh? Foolproof, right?”

He shot me a death glare. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

I grinned, leaning back in my seat as he started the car. “Admit it, Barnes. You had fun.”

He didn’t respond, but the small smile on his face told me everything I needed to know.

And as we drove away from the most ridiculous night ever, I couldn’t help but laugh. Who knew the Winter Soldier could be such a troublemaker?

[frostiwars]

let's pretend i live on the west coast and it's still DAY 5: AU!!

do you think we're gay in every universe?

in which i turn insane and draw 5 different drawings for one prompt. and as a result, the rendering is a lot rougher, but oh well! i hope the designs are fun enough!!

GORE WARNING!!!!! and design ramblings under the cut

Role Swap: i referenced hanyuu from higurashi for king metata because, while dedede has no idea about how to properly dress in traditional voidborn-based royalty attire (because his parents never taught him), metata wears EVEN MORE traditional garb, fancified, and a tiara rather than a crown cap. instead of hiding his wings in his cape, he hides them in his silk scarf. i didn’t even have to change his hime cut. he’s still cocky and arrogant but less traumatized so he’s less serious and more haughty. also his bow tying his hakama is shaped like an M haha. meanwhile, knight dede is far more armored, aiming for bulk over dps, and of course his armor has his classic triangular patterning all over the place. instead of the jaw scar, his eyes are clawed over. i wonder how that happened...

Species Swap: voidborn dedede is shorty mcshort short, even shorter than regular meta. he’s so short he doesn’t even wear hakama cuz he’d just trip over them, so he sticks with just a kimono and obi (once again adding to the androgyny common in most voidborn designs). his geta are less bulky as well. it’s not seen fully because his wings are out but his cloak goes all the way to his ankles instead of his knees. additionally, his wings have a blue gradient that matches the new color of his robe. his hammer is more embellished, like if galaxia was a giant mallet instead of a sword. and to keep with the ‘circular’ feeling for the hair common to my puffball gijinkas, i gave him kinda croissanty hair. meanwhile, avian meta has eschewed much of his armor for the sake of piercing and aerodynamics. he’s much lighter and his sleeves flow out to make room for the wings he can spawn on his arms. and of course his hair is slicked back and feathery like Coo and Vul. even his mask has a few more spikes to imitate bird talons.

dedede is a negatively-to-neutrally charged voidborn. i talked with my sibling @clutzicone-dts and they suggested denial as a birth emotion. i also like @moonmacabre01's idea of using regret. very fitting for a redeemable character

Gender Swap: normal dedede wears his garb in a feminine fashion, wearing the kimono over the hakama, so fem dedede does it in reverse, tucking the kimono inside the hakama. different sandals again, and wearing just the crown while eschewing the cap, mostly so i can have her long flowing braids more visible. at least she has a top knot to resemble the pom pom tho. meta meanwhile is largely unchanged physically (duh, voidborns don't have physical sex) with outfit adjustments. she keeps some design aspects from her younger days to distinguish her from normal meta while still seeming in character. tassels on the shoulder pads, and a hood on the cape instead of the frill. plus her lower body armor is longer and more decorated to give the illusion of a skirt without actually being one and i gave her low double buns to keep the round hair shape without just leaving it as a bowl cut

Mirror Versions: i have a whole ass complicated headcanon for the mirror dimension. i think it would be best described that, in this gijinkaverse, the mirror dimension is less an alternate universe and more an alternate timeline that went wrong at a very specific point. it's led to shadow dedede being much more... in tune, let's say, with the dark matter blade within his heart. and dameta isn't very pleased about that. after all, the two never got the chance to reconcile over Meta Knight's Revenge before things went to shit in that world. so they have a very complicated, somewhat tragic relationship. but i can talk about that more another time. let's just say that all of this is why i made certain slight changes to the two's designs. but i also gave dameta striped legs because stripes are for evil people

Bad Ending:

:)

no spoilers. feel free to theorize about it. i'm sure there are plenty of clues to let you figure it out on your own.

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

You know what, I have to get this off my chest so here's my essay on why Anakin and Padme's relationship in Attack of the Clones singlehandedly sinks not only Episode II, but detracts from the entire prequel trilogy.

Here's the thing: the prequels are a tragedy, chronicling Anakin Skywalker's lamentable fall to the Dark Side and becoming Darth Vader. But the movies spend SO. MUCH. TIME. foreshadowing Anakin's fall, we never really get to see him be a hero. (I will always be immensely grateful to The Clone Wars for giving us this desperately needed characterization for Anakin).

The same applies to Anakin/Padme's relationship. Their romance should be a tragedy, and really the only way to make something tragic is to make the audience root for it to succeed in the first place.

But their relationship as depicted in the movies is so toxic and covered in red flags I can't root for it to succeed. (And Anakin himself is already apparently one breath away from going full Dark Side so there's no chance to root for him either.)

Side note about "I don't like sand" since the problems with their romance often get chalked up to "Anakin is awkward" : "Awkwardness" could have worked, because awkwardness CAN be sweet and endearing when it's coming from someone who is shown to be kind and compassionate (see: Tech in general, but also with Phee). But Anakin, 10 years after TPM, isn't depicted in AotC as truly kind or compassionate or anything even approximating heroic until maybe the Battle of Geonosis at the very end of the movie. So yeah, Anakin being an idiot young adult when talking to a girl he likes is understandable; it's all his other behavior that is absolutely unacceptable.

Just a few "highlights:"

- Padme covers the cams in her room because she doesn't want Anakin watching her, then directly calls out Anakin for the looks he's giving her and tells him it's making her uncomfortable... And Anakin's response is creepy smile and then later he persists in talking to her about how he dreams about her etc and so forth.

^ Oh, if only the above or similar had been the actual scene...

- Inexplicably (and out of character for the Padme we got to know in TPM), Padme just... rolls with it and lets Anakin continue the creepy behavior she just told him she didn't like? Okay, guess we're reinforcing the idea that when women say "no" they don't ACTUALLY mean "no," persistence always wins, just gotta keep trying no matter what the woman says.

- Anakin strokes Padme's bare skin (she still hasn't said anything to indicate she's okay with this kind of attention), and she kisses him before pulling away and expressing regret over it. Since there's no other explanation given for Padme's sudden attraction to Anakin, we're left to assume that Padme must have been hiding her feelings for him from the get-go and therefore it must have been right for Anakin to keep testing her boundaries (do I really need to spell out how deeply problematic this messaging is??).

- Padme tells Anakin a relationship isn't feasible. (I have frequently come across comments on her "dominatrix dress" in this scene because apparently if a woman is going to turn down a man she has to plan on wearing, what, a burlap sack I guess, so the guy doesn't "get the wrong impression"). Anakin then shuffles full responsibility for his feelings onto her because of "the kiss she shouldn't have given him."

- Anakin commits one mistake and bad decision and egregious crime after another in the movie, as noted above it's not until Geonosis that he makes any decision that could be marginally considered heroic or "good," and... Padme likes this awful behavior, apparently?? Where did Padme liking this come from??? (If you're going to have freakin' rational smart independent kick-butt PADME fall for something like this, at least explain/show WHY.)

- By the time we get to the "We're about to die so yeah I totally love you" cliche, I'm not even cringing anymore because I'm just trying to figure out how we got to this point in the first place.

So... Yeah, we keep being told this is an epic tragic romance, and all I can see is two hours' worth of indicators that if Padme were my real-life friend, I'd be holding an intervention long before Anakin got assigned to her security detail on Naboo. FOR FORCE'S SAKE, PADME, HE'S BEEN THROWING UP NOTHING BUT RED FLAGS! RED MEANS STOP!!!

Again, this isn't just "Anakin doesn't know how to talk to girls because he was raised as a space monk." (Come on, people, Obi Wan was raised the same way and he does NOT act like that... But I digress.) This is Anakin being a creepy stalker who doesn't listen to the woman he supposedly loves and won't take no for an answer, and he ends up rewarded for it, and we're supposed to cheer him and Padme on and want them to be together?

No. Not me, at least.

And with this as the backstory going into Revenge of the Sith, with us never getting the chance (in the movies) to see Anakin at his best even with the woman he supposedly loves, Anakin's fall doesn't really feel tragic - it just feels... inevitable. His fall is plenty tragic and regrettable for the Jedi and clones and the Republic in general, of course; but with respect to how Anakin's demise affects him, it just hits as being a long time coming.

(At the end of the day, the only reason why I tolerate Anakin/Padme in TCW is because I actively ignore everything about their relationship from AotC. TCW also did such a stellar job showing enough of Anakin's good side contrasted with his darker tendencies that Anakin's fall in RotS now finally hits me as tragic for Anakin in particular. And the only reason why I rewatch AotC is for Obi Wan and the Yoda v Dooku fight, I almost always skip over 90% of the "romance" scenes at this point because I don't like gagging while watching a movie.)

[toracainz]

High Rollers

Masterlist

Summary: Steven Grant, financial savant, gets played

Warnings: Inaccurate depictions of DID (only knowledge from the show/comic and some light research). Alcohol. Comic Book version of the character,

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: Thanks goes out to @missdictatorme for requesting this little fic!

Defending New York from bad guys, supervillains, thugs, vampires, and whoever else chooses the night as the backdrop for their crimes isn’t cheap. Not even a little. And with the way Marc fights, it’s not going to get any cheaper any time soon.

That’s where I come in.

My name is Steven Grant. Though I’m not one to brag, I’m the one that makes sure our little crime-fighting gig stay open for business. We’ve had some setbacks, but I always manage to turn things around and make a quick buck. It helps to have friends in high places after all.

That’s how I found myself at another charity gala, after explaining (again) to the boys why attending these “boring rich folk circle jerks”, as Jake so colorfully commented, was important. They knew why I had to attend, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t moan and complain as I got dressed for it. Sharp suit, tame, clean-cut hair, and deep pockets. Deep pockets that were definitely dipped into when you began to battle me for one of the items at the auction.

☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽

This particular gala was benefitting several charities, plenty of people to rub elbows with, plenty of connections for Steven to get in contact with. He arrived, not-so fashionably late, and began doing the usual song and dance, making small talk and talking business. Some aquaintences of his introduced him to other well-to-do types, more names to add to the contact list if he needs them.

The hourdourves were passable, the scotch was the only saving grace.

After a bit of mingling, the people were funneled into the auction hall for the real reason everyone was there. There were some items that other rich people had donated for auction to be sold with the proceeds benefitting the different charities.

“Alright, Steven. Don’t get too carried away.” Marc chimed in for the first time since Steven had left The Mission.

Steven raised his glass to his lips, attempting to conceal his side of the conversation. “Don’t think you’re quite qualified to give advice on the handling of our money. Gotta keep up appearances don’t we, don’t want to snub the wrong people by being stingy.” Taking a sip of his scotch, Steven takes his seat, setting the glass on the small table next to the bid-paddle. As everyone began to settle in, Steven’s eyes landed on you. He hadn’t met you yet even after all the schmoozing from earlier. Had you slipped in at the last minute? Judging by your outfit and your appearance, he thought art like that couldn’t be rushed.

Almost as if you could feel his gaze on you, you turned, your eyes falling on him. Steven flashed you a rather charming smirk, slightly raising his scotch glass as a sort of wordless greeting. When you smiled back to him, Steven knew he had to find you after the auction.

The auctioneer stepped to the podium and gave the usual introduction and forced jokes before beginning. Item after item, plenty of high rollers were throwing their money around snatching up whatever eccentric items someone else had donated. Events like this weren’t really for the charities so much as it was a time for those in high society to do a bit of dick swinging. Steven played along, bidding occasionally to show he was interested, even purchasing a couple things. The next item up was slotted to benefit the city animal shelters and other humane societies. The profits would be split among a few facilities. Steven thought it was a great cause and one of the facilities was in the neighborhood of The Midnight Mission, so he figured Marc couldn’t argue since it would be in service of “our people”.

Steven raised his bid-paddle to kick things off since hardly anyone else was jumping in. A couple other people placed their bids, all of whom Steven outbid. It became clear to the room who was gunning for the item. Before the auctioneer could give the final call…another paddle was raised…your paddle. Steven was a little surprised, partly because he thought he had the bid in the bag and the other part was how strategic your bid was. This could get interesting.

One after another you and Steven were practically battling for the bid, exchanging glances and smirks, the two of you knowing this game you were both playing, or at least the “game” you might play later. For some rich folks, this kind of tension might be considered flirting or even foreplay, and with the way the corners of your lips curled after each bid, Steven was looking forward to the after-party.

Eventually, once the price had risen quite a bit outside the budget that Steven had set for the night, you finally conceded. Though Steven wasn’t sure you would give up, but as the auctioneer made the final call, naming Steven as the victor, it was clear. He looked around, giving a small wave and nod to the people as they gave a soft applause. The claps died down as his gaze fell on you again.

Steven’s brows raised, a silent question, “Give up?”

You chuckled softly, though you were too far away for him to hear you, shrugging slightly. A silent answer, “Guess so.”

Taking another sip of his scotch, Steven let out his own breathy chuckle.

“Havin’ a good time there, Grant?” Steven could hear the smirk in Jake’s voice.

“So much for not getting carried away.” Marc always had a way of making Steven roll his eyes.

“All part of playing the game, gentlemen. All part of the game.” Steven took another sip, finishing his glass and motioning to a waiter for another as the auction continued. Steven decided that he’d done enough damage tonight, doing the mental math of their collective finances.

☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽

The after-party was nothing but the first part of the event, but with more boasting and more drinks. This was a little more casual now that everyone had loosened up by lightening the load their money had weighing on them. Steven took to what he was good at — more talking, more networking — all the while looking for you in the crowd while feigning interest in what his conversation partner had to say.

It was longer than he would have liked before he caught a glimpse of you and when he saw you talking to someone he already knew, one of the charity gala hosts, Steven took the opportunity to politely excuse himself and make his way over to a potentially much more enjoyable conversation.

As he approached he caught the eye of the older woman.

“Mr. Grant! I was wondering when I’d get to see you! You made quite the stir at the auction, you know.” Her smile was huge and her energy radiating, either from her natural demeanor or one too many cocktails.

“That so? Don’t think I could have done it without our friend here…you are?” Steven deftly maneuvered the conversation into an introduction to which the gala hostess quickly obliged, telling Steven your name, one that Steven won’t soon be forgetting.

You nodded with a playful smirk as you offered Steve your hand, which he took and gently pressed your knuckles to his lips.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Grant.”

“Please, call me Steven. No sense in formalities. I’d say we know each other quite well after our encounter earlier.” Wanting to be a gentleman, and not press his luck too soon, Steven let go of your hand, but he’d be damned if he took his eyes off you, which you seemed inclined to do the same to him.

“Aren’t you two just hitting it off! I should have known you two would mesh, especially after that generous donation to their animal shelter.”

“Their animal shelter”? Steven wasn’t sure he heard her right.

“Beg pardon?” Steven looked at her, a bit stunned.

“Oh HO! They played you good, Grant. Gotta give ‘em props for sure.” Jake didn’t waste time expressing his amusement. Marc on the other hand…Steven could mostly hear grumbling.

“Yes, the animal shelter your bid went to…our lovely friend here is the chair and executive director for that animal shelter and a number of others in the surrounding neighborhoods.” She placed her hand on your shoulder, doing a little pose as if presenting some item from the auction. You couldn’t help but chuckle. Try as you might, it was difficult to hide your smirk. The jig was up, it would appear that your secret was out. You half expected Steven to either blow up for being played or make some snide passive aggressive comment…either way his money would be going to your organization. But you were rather pleasantly surprised when he laughed as well.

“Well played, well done. Takes a lot to pull one over on me and you did it in no time flat. Perhaps, now that I know who you really are, we could take this discussion elsewhere and maybe you could tell me a bit about your organization that I’ll be benefitting. I’d like to get to know the people I’m working with on a more…personal basis.” He winks before offering his arm to you, the gala hostess giddily bowing out to allow you two to find your own way through this event. The corner of your lips quirking up as you take his arm.

“Sounds delightful…lead the way…Steven.” Pressing your body a little closer to his, he begins to lead you over to the more private rooms. He had already reserved one should he need to more openly discuss finances with Marc and Jake, if he needed to make a call, or just have a moment to himself…after all mingling can be exhausting especially with the wrong people, but there was no mistaking it…you were absolutely the right people.

☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽☽

Hope you enjoyed!!! Please reblog to help share the fic with others!!!

taglist: @roseqzpd @rosecentaur1916​ @ahookedheroespureheart@sleepyamaya @parkeepingparker @lockleysgrl @marc-spectorr @vermillionsails @harrys-titties @n0ripeaches @missdictatorme @bitchyglitterfox @spacecowboyhotch @randomchick546 @teacupcollector @local-mr-frog @stevenknightmarc @ahookedheroespureheart @mccn-bcys @juneknight @moonz33 @autismsupermusicalassassin @spicydonut25

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

The Old Gods and The New

War Games | Loki x Reader

The King of Asgard takes control and an ultimate is made. But as aggressions increase aborad, old enemies arrive in the village.

Warnings: 18+ plot is happening, sorry! Angst, threats, mysogyny.

A/N: is this my posting schedule coming back? Two fics in a week, two consecutive weeks posting TOGATN. Who is she!?

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @reveriesources

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

The King was ready for business. 

It had been a few days since Loki’s disappearance and every moment that he was gone the village seemed to fall deeper into despair. His mischievous manner was irreplaceable and, in its absence, no one felt much like smiling. The normally happy and content village was almost silent in its despair. The celebrations were cut short and the decorations taken down. 

Even Thor’s naturally optimistic nature couldn’t buoy the town up against the waves of sadness that beat against them, eroding any sense of hope. This, their sanctuary, their new life, had been infiltrated and desecrated once more. It had been shameful enough to see a guest taken from their harbour, but for their Prince to have been kidnapped? It was unthinkable, unbearable. 

Brunnhilde had attempted to keep your spirits up by inviting you round for drinks and dinner, making sure Thor and Jane took shifts sitting with you in the evenings and insisting that everyone went out to the pub for lunch every day. But there was no saving your smile. Loki’s absence was a void in your heart, in the very depths of you, and no amount of garlic bread and mulled wine from The Dog and Bilgesnipe was going to rectify that. 

So she dressed for business instead. Brunnhilde had delayed a formal meeting again only to send messages to the few others she trusted and to wait for the outcome of Thor and Jane’s conversations.She tried to reach Asgardians that had left the village for other adventures and a friend, Carol, dear to her heart and exploring the stars. A last hope, just in case things went wrong. 

With a last look in the mirror Brunnhilde tucked a neat braid behind her ear and tugged on the hem of her jacket to make sure it sat right. Perfect. The black suit and crisp shirt was exactly what she needed today as leader, King, of the Asgardians. 

“You look very smart,” Thor’s voice, unusually soft, startled her and she turned from the bedroom mirror to her door, where the god stood leaning against the frame and eating an apple. 

“Thank you,” she touched the corner of her mouth where it felt like her creamy lipstick might have smudged. 

“You’re going to send the message today then?” 

“In half an hour. Is Estrid going to attend?” 

Thor shrugged.

“Well, did you check on her?” 

“Of course.” He looked affronted. 

He had been to see you that morning and found the seasonal plant pots by your door devoid of life. The ivy that had trailed over them in jolly curls lay limp in the puddles of melted snow. The poinsettia in the window was entirely dead, it looked like it’d been set on fire. The leaves and petals were so browned and crisp. 

Using the spare key he crept inside to find the cottage a mess of blankets and cushions, singed furniture and smashed glass. Upstairs you were curled in the middle of the bed, a nest of Loki’s sweaters and shirts scattered around the room. Your eyes looked puffy, and judging by the way you clung to a sodden tissue Thor could only assume you’d cried yourself to sleep after Brunnhilde made you promise not to go storming off to America following last night’s unsuccessful attempt at distracting you. 

“Any news from stars?” Thor took another obnoxiously large bite and Brunnhilde stepped away, glaring. 

“Not yet. I’m just - I’m going to concentrate on this call and hopefully, we won’t need anyone else. Did you hear back from the Avengers?” 

Thor shook his head sadly. He’d used the official phone that Stark had given him after their first battle together in New York, but the line rang without an answer. Then he’d tried Steve, he was sure the soldier would answer, a fellow warrior bound by duty, he was sure to discuss the situation. But he only talked in pleasantries and refused to allow Thor to even mention Loki’s name before saying goodbye and hanging up. There’d been nothing since. 

“Jane had a little more luck though, I suppose.” He said, thoughtfully. Darcy had used her limited influence to arrange a video call with Stark, apparently using up all of the favours owed to her by the Avengers organisation because she now found her work limited and her office smaller than it had been before. “Jane said Darcy has been kept out of some of the levels she used to take her walks in. Perhaps if she is still in the building she can be helpful in the future, should our King allow us to infiltrate and lay siege?” Thor raised an eyebrow and finished the apple, throwing it neatly into a waste paper bin. 

Brunnhilde rolled her eyes, but at least it was something. “We’re making formal contact via the video-” she waved her hand to indicate the ether that she’d be speaking into. “We won’t need to lay siege, we can do this the modern way.” 

Thor sighed in a knowing way. He’d seen the way modern warfare was carried out by Midgard and it still looked an awful lot like throwing people into fights and hoping you had the bigger sword. 

With one last look she grabbed her briefcase, sheathed her sword over her back and made for the door. 

The Long House was just as formally attired as the King and Thor, the higgledy piggledy stack of chairs and tables that normally took up the corner of the room between council meetings, children’s birthday parties and evening get togethers had been neatly removed. The throne, that Brunnhilde usually lounged in with a large understuffed cushion for support, had been polished and moved to the centre of the room, where the Asgardian banners hung from the ceiling between a series of flags, representing the varied makeup of the little village. 

Val took her seat, arranging her suit jacket again and rolling her neck as she eyed the camera set up in front of her. 

“Is this it?” She didn't exactly understand a lot about Midgardian technology, but the young girl behind the camera, Hildr, seemed confident and nodded enthusiastically. 

“We’ll make the call via the laptop, but I thought you'd prefer to have the camera, more professional.” She paused, obviously nervous, this was the first time she'd been called upon for something so serious. Normally it was telekits with politicians where her King rolled her eyes a lot and laughed with her during breaks. There was no jovial bantering now, only solemn faces and tension you could cut like a knife. 

“Good - thanks.” Val was kurt but polite, looking over the notes she’d made with Thor the night before. 

The former Crown Prince settled behind the camera next to Hildr and gave her a thumbs up and a wide smile. 

The blank screen on the laptop made an irritating tinkling noise and then the Avenger’s official conference room came into view. Stark sat between Rogers and Romanoff, their hands folded politely on the shiny desks, their dress equally as stiff and formal. 

Val had met the Avengers on a few occasions and had found them to be brave and skilled, but unfortunately as irritating as Loki did. Despite their differences she'd never been at odds with them and had certainly never imagined quarrelling with them. They were, after all, Midgard’s saviours the same as her own family. And they had been helpful and gracious in aiding them when they first arrived. This unknown had dread settling in her stomach, but she rallied, inclining her head politely before speaking. 

“Good morning,” she spoke first, hoping that consideration for the time difference and some polite chit chat might help to soften the situation. 

“Afternoon.” Stark’s tone was equally as forced, clipped even, and she thought she could sense Roger’s influence in the single word. But it was definitely Romanoff’s suggestion that kept him otherwise quiet, waiting for her to make the first move. 

“What unfortunate circumstances we find ourselves in, I hope that we can rectify this situation quickly.” 

Thor gave another thumbs up and she noticed that there was a movement from the back of the room, the door opening and then closing almost silently, and your face, still drawn, eyes red with tears. But at least your magic was under control now, your hands tucked firmly into the pockets of your trousers, one of Loki’s thick aran sweaters ruching up where the sleeves were a little too long for your arms. 

“Hello, your Highness. I was surprised to hear from you, I didn't think we had any more crazy alien space battles to fight this week.” Stark looked almost bored, almost. Brunnhilde had spent enough times in both war and throne rooms to know when a leader was rattled. 

“Majesty.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s, ‘your Majesty’, but either way, the issue at hand is far from resolved. I call you today as the King of Asgard, insisting on the safe return of Asgard’s Prince Loki to his home of Tønsberg  following his illegal and, frankly, ill-advised kidnapping by the Avengers.” The King sat back in her throne and kept her eyes trained at the eye of the camera. If she looked at you, she would crack and shout and scream and rant and rave, so she remained staring into that camera, as if it might blink at any moment. 

“What an assumption,” Stark scoffed, leaning back in his own chair, allowing the lumbar support to bounce when he placed his booted feet on the table. “Who says we have him?” 

“We have it on good authority, from someone inside of your compound, that Loki has been taken and imprisoned there.” 

Stark shrugged and Brunnhilde exhaled quickly through her nose, tired of the games. 

“Stark, I don’t think you understand, release Loki or we will simply turn up and take him back.” 

He smirked, “come and get him then,” and the screen went blank. 

She stared at herself in the black mirror before propping an elbow on her throne and resting her head. She was getting a migraine, she just knew it was going to be a migraine. 

At a simple look from their King the sparse court of Asgardians quietly left the Long Hall until only you, Brunnhilde and Thor remained, silently staring at the black screen. 

“We can’t let them get away with this,” you whispered, clenching your teeth to stop the rage that billowed inside of you from escaping. 

You’d torched your cottage the night before, the layer of soot that coated your kitchen this morning had been a harsh reminder of your lack of control and, stoking the flames further, you’d sat in the bath hoping the water would stop you from losing control again. Once the half full tub had evaporated you’d given up on that as well, pacing in the cobbled yard at the back of the cottage instead, hoping that the rain would keep your flame from getting too bright. 

“Oh, we won’t.” Brunnhilde agreed before sweeping out of the Long Hall and back into the snowy streets.

Loki lay on his back staring at the ceiling. If he closed his eyes and focussed he could pretend that the fluorescent lights were the warm sun, catching on his high cheekbones while he strolled around the Avenger’s compound with you on his arm. The simple feeling of your skin on his. 

If he laced his fingers together on his chest he could remember the feeling of your small hand clutched tightly to his own, the way you always clung to him in your sleep, clenching your fingers when he made even the smallest movement. 

When he parted his lips he could almost taste you there, the tip of your tongue, the fullness of your bottom lip. 

He surrendered to the memories of you and basked in them, ignoring the sound of voices around him. 

Stark was there, he knew, the cadence of his voice so specific, the rhythm so grating that he couldn’t filter it out. Something about a phone call and how his rules didn’t work on this planet. 

Loki kept his fine features clear and calm, his face relaxed, not a muscle out of place, not a twitch of his eyebrow. Stark didn’t understand the game he was playing. Thor had been too lenient, too kind and jovial in his friendship with these mortals, always pandering to them and going to their silly missions and parties. As if anything that concerned them could possibly be the responsibility of a god. 

He had heard a saying while watching the television with you some weeks before, “there but for the grace of god go I.” It was only because Loki didn’t wish to frighten you that he hadn’t torn the entire compound to pieces before taking you to Tønsberg , but if you were hurt now, or at risk, then there would be no end to his wrath. 

Perhaps they had forgotten, in their short mortal lives, their generations that passed in a moment like a summer butterfly lost to the autumn frosts. They had forgotten that he was a god. His brother was a god. His King was an immortal warrior. And you, his precious Asynja, his beautiful darling, you were a Goddess. Despite Stark’s protests, the world would bend to your will whether it wanted to or not. 

Hildr was called back into the Long House to make one final attempt at reconnecting the call. In the interests of politeness Brunnhilde made a show of pretending there must be some technical difficulties and, to Roger’s credit, he played along. A hint of red tinged the tips of his ears. The super soldier had placed both hands on the table around a piece of paper, clearly some sort of script judging by the way his eyes darted down to it every now and again. 

Thor felt a tinge of empathy for the man, he was good, deep down, but had spent his entire career, before and after the ice, as a puppet of richer, stronger, more forceful men. Despite what Rogers thought of himself, he was still in Stark’s pocket, after all. 

“- while we recognise that the new sovereign state of Tønsberg  has chosen a new King -” he looked up and gave Brunnhilde gave him a small smile, “we also acknowledge that the previous royal family, including Thor Odinson and Loki Laufeyson, have previously held significant positions of power within your home world and new state. However, as a crime has been committed on American soil we, the undersigned, acting as The Avengers, with the authority of the President of the United States, have taken Loki Laufeyson into custody until further notice.”

Thor watched a vein pulse in Brunnhilde’s neck, her jaw clenched. “I understand you think there is some debt owed, but we do not acknowledge your hollow pandering. If Loki Laufeyson is not returned to us in the next twenty four hours we will consider this a declaration of war.” 

From behind the camera you stifled a gasp, grabbing Thor’s hand for support. It was everything you wanted to do, to burst into that stupid compound and take him back. To make the Avengers pay for what they’d put you both through, and you were finally, finally, getting the backing of your King. And yet it felt so huge. Asgard would go to war over this, the nation, small as it was, would be at risk and while your heart sang at the thought of getting Loki back, you couldn’t help the leaden weight that had settled in the pit of your stomach at the thought of what it might cost. 

You closed the door of your cottage behind you, leaning against the solid wood and taking a deep breath. The smell of ash and dying embers had replaced the sweet familiar scent of Loki’s cologne, the brew of coffee in the pot and the spiced cakes he seemed to be able to devour in great numbers without ever getting full. 

If you closed your eyes you could fool yourself into thinking he was there with you, his handsome face all you needed as he bent to kiss you. The cool touch of his lips. Your magic hummed, calling for its partner, and somewhere in the depths of your being you felt a response, a tug on your heart, and the whisper of his breath on your ear. 

“I miss you, Loki.” You whispered, sinking to the floor and letting your head fall to your knees, “I wish I’d told you how much I love you.” 

The tears appeared like a well spring, pouring over your cheeks and dousing the angry flames that threatened to take you over again. You were determined to master yourself without Loki’s help. You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand and studied your face in the little mirror above your key hooks. 

It felt so ridiculously domestic, to see his empty space next to your own, and your determination to fight for Loki yourself returned anew. With one last swipe at your soot and tear covered face you focussed, bringing your armour forth and opened your front door ready to face the Avengers yourself. 

You had hardly made it across the harbour when there was a rumble from the cliffs and mountains that flanked the seaside village. Your spear flared instinctively, flames curling around your fingers in blue ribbons. 

Across the cobbles Thor and Brunnhilde emerged from the Long House, already in their own battle armour and surveying the mist shrouded peaks above. Through the grey of the clouds the afternoon sun filtered through and the three of you shielded your eyes with your hands as you searched for any sign of the commotion. 

Then the clouds parted, and above you was an army, like turrets along the cliff edge, a battalion stood in perfect lines surveying the village below and there, at the base of the cliff, where the Asgardians had set up a style from the park into the wilder countryside beyond, next to the picnic benches and the swings, stood a warrior. 

“Welcome to Tønsberg , traveller.” The King called, her voice carrying on the wind. 

Faces appeared at the windows of the shops and houses, some shut their curtains, pulling blinds down and reaching out to secure their shutters. Others cracked their windows open, hoping to hear the best of the gossip and be the first in the know. 

“Are you Brunnhilde of the Valkyrie, King of the Asgardians?” The warrior shouted back. He was tall and muscular, his face handsome and strong behind his large ornate helmet. He carried a broadsword and round wooden shield, both of which he seemed prepared to use at a moment's notice. 

“Yes, who’s asking?” Thor’s fingers danced along Moljir’s handle, lightning crackling and the mist turning into rumbling storm clouds. Your fire answered as well, snaking between the cracks in the cobblestones, ready to ignite. 

“My name is King Bres, husband of Brigid. I have brought my army here to return the Lady Estrid to her rightful place in my court and oversee her marriage to her betrothed.”

A chill ran through you, he was your mother’s husband? Yet he hadn’t claimed you as his child the way the gods at the Golden Palace had. Your flame licked your legs, soothing the goosebumps that had risen in the wake of his words.

“The Lady Estrid has sworn herself to Asgard and makes her own decision in such matters,” Val turned to you and the movement caught Bres’ eye as well, his full mouth turned into a cruel smirk. 

“I see you continue to misbehave, welp.” He spat, the words filled with venom. “No matter. Your bitch of a mother may have had Lugh hide you from me, but I will have eternity to correct your behaviour now.” His sword gleamed in the crack of Thor’s lighting, the faces at the windows ducking down in response. 

“Estrid will decide her fate, she is a member of our court.” Thor repeated. 

“There will be no decision when I have obliterated your village, Thor Odinson. Then the welp will come with me.”

It was him, that word, welp, the way your kidnappers had spoken to you, your heart raced. Could he really take you from this place? Would Val and Thor make you go, to protect the village? You couldn’t breathe, there was no air. The grey clouds above you turned stormy, the pressure dropping so quickly your head throbbed, and then there was a crash, so loud it made every face rush back to their windows to look. 

Where Bres had been there was now the remains of the charred picnic benches, the park was in ruins. You’d never seen Thor so angry, his brow furrowed as he prepared another bolt of lightning, chasing the battalion on the cliff top back and away from the village. 

In return arrows rained down on the village, you ducked under the shelter of the shop’s wooden awning. 

“Think on this, Thor Odinson and Brunnhilde of the Valkyries, and return the Lady Estrid to my camp by tomorrow at noon or I shall take your sorry excuse for a realm as punishment.” 

Thor pulled Val back into the Long House and slammed the door. 

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