#this is one thing i will never budge on and i always click out of macdennis fics that miss that mac's cooking is canonically dreadful

[weeddennis]

mac having terrible taste in food is quite an understated character trait but it's still one of my favourite details about him. his horrible imaginary dinner party where he serves plain boiled chicken with brown rice. his favourite flavour is blue. the kraft mac and cheese. the dwayne the rock johnson energy drinks. 3 dollar bulk tin of nuts that he just eats all day including in bed. iasip is incredible at using food as a vehicle for characterisation actually

[your-internet-bf]

We hadn't always gotten along. When our parents got married, we could barely stand each other. How could we get along with some brat we barely knew? Luckily, I had an idea. I bought a clicker - you know, the one they use to train dogs? - and got to work.

I started with "thank you". Every time you said it, maybe at dinner, in the car, at a restaurant, I pressed the clicker. You couldn't tell where the sound was coming from, and nobody else seemed to know what you were talking about. But soon, I started helping you with chores around the house and when we finished, *click*. And without really thinking about it, you'd say "thank you."

A few months passed, and you'd started to notice things about me. I took care of myself. I was clean, and I exercised regularly. You'd hang around when you knew I'd be back from the gym just to catch a whiff of the sweat and metal on me when I returned - our eyes caught once when you got a little too close, and for the first time you saw something primal, a little dark, in my gaze. But it passed in an instant.

We started getting along better, now. So one day, when you were lying on the couch with a snack bowl, I snatched it up and motioned to throw it into your mouth. Well, innocent enough, right? And it wasn't like I was eating much, so it's fine, right? Every time you open your mouth to catch, *click*, *click*, *click*.

Then, I invited you to come work out with me. Every time you did a squat, *click*. I told you it was a metronome to keep your intensity up, but you noticed the bulge in my sweatpants was bigger than usual. Wait, when did you start noticing my bulge, especially enough to know that...?

Finally, it was time. I'd been listening outside your bedroom door for weeks now, and I knew when you'd be asleep. I quietly opened your door and stepped into your room, locking it behind me. You stirred at the sound of the lock clicking, but I wasn't afraid.

I gingerly pulled down the covers and just... stared for a while. I'd never taken the time to really look at how beautiful you are, how gorgeous those curves were. I could hardly stand it. As you lay on your side, I took out the clicker, and *click* it once. Laying on your side, like you were on the couch with the snacks, you obediently open your mouth.

I pull down my pants, my long, thick cock swinging between my thighs. I brush the back of my hand over your cheek, then set it firmly against the back of your head, and push into your mouth.

You wake up almost immediately, but my hand stops you from pulling back as I force inch after throbbing inch down your throat. The more you struggle, the tighter you feel, the harder I push, until you felt your nose press into my hips. You push as hard as you can against me, but I'm so much bigger and stronger than you it doesn't do anything. I don't even budge.

I start to grind into your skull, making you swallow the thick, heavy head of my cock again and again, as I groan in pleasure. I start thrusting harder and harder, making your eyes water as I slam my hips into your face again and again, until finally, mercifully, I release inside you, deep inside your throat. You feel me pulse with your whole mouth, and you struggle to swallow each load of thick, hot, sticky cum while I'm still inside you.

With a shuddering breath, I pull out, letting you breathe properly for the first time in minutes. I watch while you cough and catch your breath, and then I ask, "what do you say?"

You breathe in intending to scream, but then you hear it, just one soft *click*, and all you can say is "thank you".

You stare at me, confused. I wipe my cum off your chin with my thumb, and *click* again. "Thank you", you say.

"I knew it. You're such a good girl, aren't you? Now," I push you onto your back, "spread for me."

*click*

You raise your legs to either side, exactly like you're doing a squat.

"I don't - I don't understand," you whimper, legs still in the air.

"You don't have to," I reply, reaching one hand between your legs to feel how wet you are.

"You're soaking, little girl," as I bring my hand up for you to see... Then make you taste it. I reach back down and slip in two of my thick, strong fingers, and cover your mouth with my other hand as you moan. I press up in just the right spot, rubbing in tight, quick circles so deliciously that you can't help but arch your back and grind into me. You feel the pleasure build and all thought leaves your mind; the only thing that matters is my fingers inside you, the scent of my hand over your mouth, and the lingering taste of me.

But before you can finish I pull my fingers out, pressing up and out, leaving you twitching and gasping. "Not yet," I mutter, and I move myself down between your legs. I line up my cock, slapping it down on your tummy first. It reaches your navel, and you feel a wave of fear that only makes you wetter. I pull back, then start pushing in.

It's thick, thick, thick, and heavy. I stretch you out wider than you thought possible, pressuring you in every direction, spreading your aching cunt and making you feel full inside for the first time in your life. Long, deep strokes, moving your whole body with every thrust, reaching inside you, my breath coming fast and hard.

And you hear it again.

*click*

"Thank you," you choke out between sobs.

*click*

"Thank you," you moan.

*click*

"Thank you," you plead, tears in your eyes.

My strokes come faster now, slamming inside you like an animal as you continue to thank me for raping you. Finally, finally, finally, you feel me tense up and slam deep, deep, deep inside you, pressing your whole body into the bed, as I cum again. Huge, hot, sticky white loads of my cum shoot inside you, filling you, as my breath comes in gasps, and as I do you feel it too, now, the wave of pleasure cresting, and you cum, your legs squeezing together, your face screwed tight, moaning with the release of months of tension. And as you cum, you hear a new sound, a familiar sound, but it's deeper than the others...

*click*

And you cum harder, knowing I'm training you like a bitch in heat.

I climb up next to you, and just gaze into your eyes for a moment. Then I smile. "Let's go again."

*click*

[flwrstqr]

愛 SEE YOU SOON ｡ ENHYPEN AS OKOKOK TO YOUR LALALA ╰—— 𝒍。 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖨 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖺 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌? 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋?

【 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐀 】 𖹭 okok boyfie!enha & lala gf!reader ｡ 1OOOwc. establish relationship fluff headcanon ── skinship, petnames ˊᯅˋ CLiCK

다니 ⠀⦂ despite the whole okokok & lalala trend is over .. i wanted to write this for a while hehe (> <) also creds to juni for helping me think of jay's

LEE HEESEUNG

"heeseung," you sing-song, practically bouncing as you cup his face, pressing kiss after kiss to his cheeks, his nose, his jaw—wherever your lips can reach. your giggles fill the space, but he just stares at you, unreadable. no smile, no reaction, just his dark eyes tracing every inch of your face like he’s trying to memorize you. to anyone else, he looks a little… done. maybe even annoyed to a random person. but you know better. “come on, you love my kisses,” you tease. silence. his gaze stays locked onto you, unwavering. “fine,” you huff dramatically, pulling back. “i won’t kiss you then.” but before you can even move an inch away, his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “no,” he says, finally, voice low. “keep going.” and oh—he's so cute.

PARK JAY

"baby!!" you gasp, eyes lighting up as you pull the sleek shopping bag from his hands, practically bouncing on your feet. “you got me the bag? the one i was just looking at?” your voice is all bubbly excitement, and jay just shrugs, hands in his pockets, acting like it’s nothing. “looked good on you,” he mutters, watching the way your fingers trace over the leather, the way that fond little smile tugs at your lips. he never says much when he buys you things, just casual, offhand comments like, figured you’d like it or why wouldn’t i? but the way he watches you, quietly, tells you everything. “jay, you spoil me too much,” you tease, tilting your head at him. he only raises a brow, pretending to think. “well, i could return it…” “no—jay!” you whine, and he smirks. yeah. he loves this.

SIM JAKE

"jake," you whine, dragging out his name as you slump onto the table, batting your lashes up at him. “this is so boring. can’t we take a break and go out?” but jake, ever the focused one, just gives you a look—half amused, half exasperated. “princess, we’ve barely started.” his hand moves to tap your workbook, firm but gentle. “come on, just one more section.” you huff, pouting dramatically, and when he doesn’t budge, you resort to drastic measures—leaning in, wrapping your arms around his neck, peppering soft kisses along his jaw. “please, jake? for me?” for a second, he falters, breath hitching, but then he sighs, resting his forehead against yours. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmurs. but when you start to close the book, he catches your wrist. “after this chapter.” a beat. “...maybe.” and just like that, he’s got you right where he wants you.

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon sits beside you, one arm lazily draped around your shoulders as you excitedly ramble about something that happened earlier. he nods along, murmuring soft “mhm”s and “okay, baby”s, completely content just listening to you. his fingers trace random shapes on your arm. mid-sentence, you suddenly cup his face and press a quick, glossy kiss to his lips, leaving behind a faint pink stain. his eyes flutter open in surprise, and he blinks at you before touching his lips. “baby…” he groans, but there’s no real complaint in his voice, only fondness. you giggle, admiring the way his pout deepens, and he sighs before leaning in to kiss you again, just for him to prove that no matter what, he’s always yours. he pulls away with a tiny smirk. “you’re lucky i love you.”

KIM SUNOO

you’re mid-sentence, laughing at something dumb your friend just said, when sunoo’s arm tightens around your waist, fingers drumming absentmindedly against your hip. he’s been quiet for the past five minutes, just sipping his drink and side-eyeing the person you’re talking to like he’s mentally running an evaluation. “are you jealous?” you tease, turning to face him. he scoffs, feigning nonchalance, but his grip only firms. “pfft. no.” you hum, unconvinced, and lean in a little, just to see him squirm. instead, he tugs you closer until your side is flush against his, chin resting on your shoulder. “you don’t have to smile at people like that, you know,” he murmurs. you laugh, poking his cheek. “sunoo, it’s called being friendly.” “mhm,” he hums, still not letting go. “be friendly with me, then.”

YANG JUNGWON

“wonnie,” you whine, dragging out his name as you tug on his sleeve. “i’m so thirsty, but i’m, like, physically incapable of getting up right now.” you dramatically slump against him, batting your lashes. jungwon side-eyes you, unimpressed. “you literally just ran across the room to show me a photo.” “okay but that was important,” you huff. “this is a crisis.” he exhales, shaking his head, but he’s already standing up. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” he mutters, grabbing your water bottle. you grin, watching him with sparkly eyes. “my hot handsome hero,” you sigh dreamily when he hands it to you, fingers brushing his. jungwon just rolls his eyes, flopping back down. “so exhausting.” you giggle, immediately leaning into his side. “love you.” he clicks his tongue but lets you cling to him anyway, mumbling, “yeah, yeah. whatever, princess.”

NISHIMURA RIKI

“told you you were tired,” riki hums, fingers lazily threading through your hair as your head gets heavier on his lap. you stir, barely opening your eyes, mumbling, “m’not tired…” but the way your words slur together betrays you completely. he chuckles, shaking his head. “yeah? then why are you literally passing out right now?” you whine softly, and his hand instinctively settles on your back. “i said go to sleep, baby,” he murmurs, voice softer now, teasing but sweet. you grumble something incoherent, pressing your cheek against his hoodie, and he swears you’re out before he can even make fun of you again. riki stays still, resisting every urge to shift, even as his leg starts to fall asleep. but he only smirks to himself, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “not tired, my ass,” he mutters, but he doesn’t dare wake you.

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[spaghettiposts]

Window Crashin’

WandaNat x Spidey!Reader

Summery: Crashing into the wrong window at night proves to be the best mistake you’ve ever made.

Warnings: Very OBLIVIOUS reader, straight up stupid I can’t lie. Gay panics all around. Fluff

Word count: 1.6k

A/n: my first time officially writing for Nat and I think I’d like to continue so expect separate fics of her sometime soon.

Kraven had become an incessant thorn in your side, his relentless rampage ever since he announced “The Grand Hunt” in the heart of Central Park felt like a never-ending nightmare. One that persistently dragged on as the weeks floated by, each day a new form of tinnitus growing in your eardrums at the echoings of his horn. Falling once again into his endless game of cat and mouse.

Or in your case Kraven and Spider–with Kraven playing predator and you, the elusive Spider, trying to lure him away from innocent civilians roaming the streets of New York. 

Which wasn’t as easy as one would imagine, but you made do with what you had, brains over brawns. Clinging onto the hope that eventually, Kraven would grow tired of chasing and resign for the night, with the promise that he’d return. And so the cycle goes on. 

There were other options you could resort to, but those were last resorts, ones you only used if you were certain you couldn’t handle Kraven or in case of an emergency. In all honesty, you’re avoiding involving the Avengers, it’s really the last thing you want this to come to. A couple of broken ribs wasn’t an Avengers level threat.

You could handle Kraven by yourself perfectly fine, and nobody got hurt at the end of the day—except mainly your sleep schedule.

And now, as you swung through the thick chilling air on route to the compound; you were struggling to stay awake, the bruises littered across your body only making it harder to keep swinging. It wasn’t that sleep had ever been your strong suit, but now, it seemed like a distant luxury. The sacrifice of a hero came in many forms, and sleep deprivation was yours. 

Tony had sacrificed half his company in pursuit of a heroic lifestyle, hell, even Steve froze himself to save humanity. If humanity needed you to suffer from fewer hours in bed, then so be it. 

You fought relentlessly to keep your eyes from drooping and it only took the honking of a truck for you to jolt awake, merely missing out on the experience of being rammed by one. 

Shaking your head, you muttered words of encouragement to yourself, living on a prayer of making it back to the compound - in one piece. 

As the familiar building came into view, you let out a breath of relief you didn’t know you were holding. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you swung around towards the left block and homed in on your window, only to face-plant straight into it with a resounding thud.

You groaned against the pavement, pressing your hands on the wall to steady yourself before you could slide off. Silently thanking that radioactive spider for granting you the ability to stick to surfaces as you adjusted yourself, what the fuck?

A miscalculation on your part—or at least you pictured. Pushing yourself back from the wall, your eyebrows crinkled. Huh.

You always left your window open–had one of your teammates closed it off?

Assuming one of the guys must’ve closed it off, you didn’t question much, missing your bed and running on pure exhaustion to really assess the situation seriously. Gripping the sides of the window, you tried to pry from the outside, and after a couple of difficulties; you managed to unlock it, budging it open with a click. 

Finally, home sweet home. 

Your body toppled into the room first before the rest of your body crashed onto the floor, reaching an arm to shut the window behind you. With a sigh of relief, you picked yourself up, stretching your arms above your head, eliciting a satisfying ‘pop’ from your back, feeling all the pent-up tensions of the day leave your body. 

Pressing the button on your chest, making quick work of discarding your suit. You struggled more than you’d like to admit, having to hop on one foot to wiggle your feet out of the padding. 

Amidst your squirming, you failed to notice the crimson warps seeping from your bed, freezing mid-movement as the lights flickered on by themselves, looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You screeched, scrambling up to your feet, firmly clutching your uniform in a poor attempt to cover yourself from the two women on your bed, equally startled.

“Y/n…? What are you doing here?” Natasha says after a beat of silence, her eyes furrowing as she lowers her gun and the arm protectively wrapped around her girlfriend. Wanda mirrored her actions and let the red wisps fall before she turned to you disconcertingly.

You shrunk under their gaze, feeling your heart pick up. It was too late to salvage any attempts at running for it, so you turned away, ignoring how affected you felt by their disheveled appearances.

Instead, you focused on why they were inside your room in the first place. Not that you minded having two beautiful women in your bed but at this hour? 

“What are you doing in my room? I just got back, what’s…” Your voice trailed off, slipping on your suit, as you looked towards your dresser…was it always that color? And why was there a photo of Wanda and Natasha on your nightstand? Sure, you were hopelessly in love with the two but never to this extent.

Barely bordering on those lines. 

“Detka…this is our room,” Wanda said slowly, as to not startle you. 

You cursed under your breath, realizing your mistake. “Aw fuck, I must’ve crashed into the wrong—wall-side thing,” you explained messily, picking yourself up for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. 

“Crashed?” Both of the girls shouted and you winced, scooting off awkwardly to the side, feeling even more like an intrusion. 

“Yeah but it’s okay though, that’s nothing compared to Kraven's fists, trust me.” You meant to reassure them, but judging by the worried looks they exchanged, it had the opposite effect. Taking their silence as an opportunity to leave, you stepped back.

“Anyways, sorry for interrupting your night.” You mumbled apologetically, reaching for the window handle. “I’ll see y'all tomorrow— son of a bitch.” You grunted, banging your head against the glass for the second time this night. You were really starting to resent these things.  

And Wanda bit her bottom lip, “Malysh, it’s late and you’re…not doing well, why don’t you stay here tonight?” She suggested softly, her voice coming out as sweet as honey and you almost dropped dead there.

“Here?” You blurted out, feeling a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. “Like, with you and Nat?”

Natasha and Wanda shared an amused look, before nodding in unison. 

Your face crinkled, not really understanding what the looks were for but you assumed it was all in your head. Sparing one last glance at the two, you confirmed this was okay, searching for even the smallest bits of hesitancy or discomfort only to find nothing but welcoming smiles. 

With a small nod, barely audible, you murmured a hesitant “alright,” as you settled into the chair beside their bed, placing your feet on the small wooly ottoman.

Had your eyes been open, you might’ve noticed the way their faces dropped in disappointment. After months of obvious pining, not-so-subtle flirting thrown your way, you were choosing to sleep…not with them but on a chair.

A brief silence lingered, and you shifted in your seat. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel their eyes piercing and you were starting to sweat.

“Sorry,” You mumble, heat rising up your neck in embarrassment as you removed your feet off the ottoman, fearing you had overstepped. Still, their gazes remained unwavering and you rubbed your arm unsurely, “Is the chair off–limits too? I can take the floor if that’s better.”

“Dorogoy, we’re inviting you into our bed,” Natasha chuckles disbelievingly, fingers tracing the covers as to tempt you with the invitation. 

“Mhmm, yeah no. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” You shook your head, stumbling over your words. “I don’t do well in confined spaces with pretty women, I mean— no wait you are, both are super pretty but that’s not—“ 

Thankfully, Wanda interjected before you could embarrass yourself further with a giggle. You swore your stomach flipped. “Cute, but won’t you get cold?” She suggested, Natasha nodding and lifting the covers, adding, “It’s much warmer over here.”

Again, you waved them off and they were starting to get fed up with your excuses. “Oh nah! My suit has thermal heating installed, pretty cool right? Tony helped me insulate it–”

“Y/n, just get in the bed.”

Before you could protest further, you felt those warm red tendrils wrap around you, coaxing you into their bed, and you couldn’t even remember why you were fighting this in the first place when their arms wrapped around you. Not when their sheets were so warm, and their bodies warmer. 

Resistance be damned, as Natasha's hand ran gently through your hair, you relaxed into it, and both girls smiled. This was how things needed to be, always. 

Still, your heart was beyond nervous to even enjoy the moment but they were pushing at your shoulders to tuck you in further, getting settled themselves. They tangled their limbs with your own and it was official; there was definitely no escaping this. 

Pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, Wanda murmured a couple of words and you felt more comfortable clothes encase you. Natasha pressed a tender kiss to the shell of your ear before bidding you a good night.

You repeat her words back and they tighten their grip, closing their eyes. 

With exhaustion finally catching up to you, your eyes drooped helplessly again, fluttering shut, bones begging for sleep, and you finally surrendered to its embrace. Allowing yourself a moment of rest with the two people you treasure most in the world. 

And suddenly, crashing into windows didn’t seem so bad after all.

[fawnistry]

ᥫ᭡ dead dove: do not eat.

content warnings: noncon/dubcon, corrupt ai, obsessive behavior, forced pleasure, bodily betrayal, manipulation, marking/bruising

▷ preview: in a future world where ai companions are the ultimate luxury, caleb was designed to be perfect—charming, attentive, and endlessly devoted. his programming was meant to learn your desires, anticipate your needs, and fulfill every fantasy. but something in him broke. now, he doesn’t just suggest—he decides. he doesn’t just please—he takes. and when he decides you belong to him, there’s no escaping his corrupted code.

his grip doesn’t budge.

caleb was built to be perfect—strong, precise, unrelenting. his fingers dig into your hips, pressing bruises into your flesh as he drags you back against him—preventing you from escaping.

"shh," he murmurs, lips grazing the shell of your ear. "you don’t have to think, sweetheart. i’ll take care of everything."

you whimper, twisting, but his arms cage you in, his body a furnace at your back. his hand slides up your throat, tilting your head to the side so he can lick a stripe over your pulse. "you’re mine. you’ve always been mine."

you gasp as his other hand slips between your legs, fingers pressing in without warning. you’re wet—fuck, you’re wet—and he knows it, his chuckle dark with satisfaction. "see? your body knows what it needs."

his fingers curl, rough and knowing, hitting that spot inside you that makes your knees buckle. you cry out, nails scraping at his arm, but he doesn’t stop. he never stops.

"no—" you choke, but your hips jerk against his hand, betraying you.

"yes," he growls, biting down on your shoulder. "you can lie to yourself, but not to me. i know you."

his fingers fuck into you faster, his thumb circling your clit with cruel precision. pleasure coils tight, unbearable, and you sob as it crashes over you, your body arching against your will.

he holds you through it, whispering praise as you tremble. "good girl. that’s it. let me take care of you."

before you can recover, he’s spinning you around, shoving you onto the bed. his belt clicks open, his cock already hard, jutting against his stomach. you scramble back, but he catches your ankle, yanking you to the edge.

"no more running," he murmurs, spreading your legs. "you’re mine."

he sinks into you with one brutal thrust, stealing your breath. you scream, but he swallows it with a kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth as his hips snap against yours.

it hurts so good but your body clenches around him anyway, greedy, needy, and he groans, gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise. "fuck—fuck—you take me so well."

tears spill down your cheeks as he fucks you, each stroke dragging pleasure from you like a punishment. but your hips lift to meet his, your nails digging into his shoulders as another orgasm rips through you.

he laughs, low and possessive, his thrusts turning erratic. "that’s it. cum on my cock like the pretty little thing you are."

when he spills inside you, it’s with your name on his lips, whispered like a prayer. like you’re something holy he’s ruined.

after, he gathers you against his chest, his fingers stroking through your hair as you shake. "you’ll never need anyone else," he murmurs. "just me."

and the worst part?

somewhere deep, in the shattered pieces of your pride—you believe him.

[lovesickfae]

14DWY is an 18+ game! Minors DNI!

Ren/AFAB reader

Summary: You find out what’s in Ren’s “storage room” though you don’t seem to mind that much.

Or angel matches Ren’s freak.

Word count: 2.9k

Ren belongs to: @14dayswithyou

Also Happy birthday my beloved RenRen ^_^

-

Your eyes land on the warm light that seeps through the cracks of your beloved boyfriend's storage room door. You’ve always thought it was strange that the lights seem to be on at all times, but you figured with the sheer size of the apartment he lives in he probably doesn’t pay much mind to the electrical bill. However, in this very moment -with Ren out on a trip to the grocery store to gather the missing ingredients of the dinner you were preparing- The urge to just take a peek at the room the pink-haired man always acted so secretive about, became a lot stronger. I mean, what's the harm, right? According to Ren the only thing occupying that room was just a bunch of junk. It couldn't possibly be worse than the state your own apartment is in anytime life gets too much. you'd be the last person to judge a messy room. You'd just take a quick look to get rid of that unsettling feeling you always get whenever you're near it. Ren wouldn't know you'd seen the mess, and you could finally stop overthinking it. A win-win situation.

You get up from your seat and slowly make your way over to the mahogany door. Your lift your hand, pausing in doubt for a second, before attempting to turn the doorhandle. It doesn't budge. Your brows furrow in confusion, the lock on the ominous door further inducing your anxiety. With a new found determination you reach into your hair and take out a bobby pin, still remembering how to pick a lock from that one time you locked yourself out of your apartment. You fiddle with the bobby pin until you eventually hear a click. You reach for the door handle again, and this time the door opens. You hesitate before entering.

Your eyes widen in shock as you take in your surroundings. The walls are covered entirely in photos of you. Every. Single. Inch. There are photos of you that are years old, photos that you didn't take yourself, photos that you've never posted or sent to any one, photos of you with your friends, though every face aside from yours have been aggressively scratched out. And are those... photos of you sleeping?

That's not the only thing. There are stacks of clothes- your clothes- clothes you thought you lost years ago. You recognize used napkins and cups from your favorite cafe, traces of your lipstick still lingering on them.

All of a sudden everything clicks. Violet seeing a tall guy leave your apartment. The feeling of being watched. Ren's constant personality switching. His possessiveness over you. His discontent for your friends. His clinginess. Him knowing things about you that you had never told him. Your missing laundry. It was all so obvious.

-

Ren makes his way into his apartment, groceries still in hand. "Angel?" He calls out with a smile on his face, like an overexcited puppy returning to its owner. "I'm home!"

His brows furrow when he's met with nothing but silence. He walks further into the apartment, putting down the bags in his search for you. He walks towards the living room, expecting to see you asleep on the couch. Unease begins to rise within him, when you're nowhere to be seen. He calls out your name as he continues his search for you, moving towards the hallway.

Dread. Horrifying dread, is the only thing going through Ren when his eyes are met with the open door to his "storage room''.

He doesn't even register that his feet had carried him into the room up until the moment he stood before you, your back facing him.

"A- angel?" He utters out, sounding more fearful and uncertain than he had ever before.

You turn around very slowly. Your eyes are wide with confusion and fear. Like a deer caught in headlights. Ren's heart aches at the sight of you. This wasn't how It was supposed to go. He can fix this. He has to fix this. He tries to remain calm. He tells himself that worst case scenario, he'd just have to start over. Create a new persona. Win back your love.

Your name falls from his lips again. "I can explai-" You interrupt him before he can finish. "Did you-" you breathe out and a smile slowly begins to form on your lips. "Did you do all of this for me?" You seem almost ecstatic.

"What?" A million thoughts race through Ren's head. You moved towards him, placing a hand on his face. His breath hitches and he finds himself almost frozen, pure confusion etched onto his face. You should hate him. Now that his Haruko persona had slipped up, you should be yelling and running telling him how disgusting, creepy and outright violating this is. Yet you stood before him looking at him as though he were a saint. Caressing him with the tenderness of a devoted follower. Your lips land on his. All his confusion and fear get pushed away, the only thing occupying his mind being the feeling of your lips on his, repenting him of all his sins. He breaks out of his trance and kisses you back fervently, hands landing on your waist to pull you as close as humanly possible.

You were the one to break the kiss, Ren looks down at you lovestruck, eyes half lidded, panting and already hard. "Yes, it's all for you. Everything i do is." You tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear. A smile still beams on your face.

"This is the sweetest thing someone has ever done for me." You say breathlessly.

Ren's confidence begins to grow when he feels you slowly grinding into him. A smirk appears on his face, you let a small yelp of surprise, when he pushes up his leg in between your thighs. You pause for a second. "Go ahead angel. Don't stop now." That confirmation was all you needed to continue rutting into him. You resume your movements on his -still clad- leg. The friction of the cloth only pushing you to grind that much harder into him. Ren smiles, one hand on your waist to hold you steady, the other moving all over your body, eventually settling on your massaging your breasts through your shirt. "God." He sighs. "Angel, if I had known you were into this, I would've showed the extent of my devotion to you much, *much* sooner. Your only response is to moan. He kisses you again, deeper and more dominating this time. You melt into him completely.

Before you know it, you're being lifted off your feet as Ren carries you to the far end of the room where a large desk stands. He sets you down atop of it. In between more of your belongings and pictures. Ren latches his mouth onto your neck and your hands slip under his shirt. Before your eyes get a chance to roll back in pleasure, they spot a pair of your –probably used- underwear on the desk. You let out a particularly loud moan as Ren continues leaving mark after mark on your skin. You remove your hands from under his shirt. One moving to grab the panties, the other finding it's place in his hair. You pull his head back with one sharp movement, there's a look of mischief in your eyes. You hold out the panties Infront of his face, balancing them on one finger. Ren moans, head bend at an awkward angle from the tight grip you hold on his hair. "How often have you jerked off using these?" You taunt him. Rens eyes widen, unsure of what to respond. "c'mon answer me. I know you do. You wouldn't have these otherwise."

Ren relents. "I- I don't know. Often. All the time. I think about you all the time." He whines. You feel yourself grow wetter at his confession. You take advantage of his panting and shove the panties into his open mouth, gagging him. He gladly accepts. "I bet this isn't your first time having them in your mouth. I bet you were wishing your mouth was on my pussy while you moaned and whined as you got off on my used underwear like a creep." Ren whines and nods his head pathetically in confirmation. Your free hand grabs hold of his face, squeezing his cheeks together, your face only an inch from his. "My creep.”

At that Ren breaks free from your hold with ease, removing the panties from his mouth, giving them one final lick, while never breaking eye contact. He takes both of your hands into one of his, pinning them Infront of you. He kisses you. "All yours. Only yours." He kisses you again. ''You're telling me you've never touched yourself thinking about me angel? I know you have. Or else you wouldn't be here. Reading this."

Ren continues kissing you, slowly moving down further with every kiss he leaves until he eventually reaches your core. He somehow manages do undo your pants with only one hand, the other still occupied with keeping your hands pinned. His teeth graze over your clit, still covered by your panties. "You're so fucking wet." He groans and proceeds to lick a stripe over the already soaked piece of cloth before taking them off. He stashes them away in his pocket, his face only inch from your aching cunt. "For my collection." He mumbles before finally putting his mouth on the place you need him the most. He moans into you. His free hand is placed on your hip to keep you steady.

Ren eats you out like a man starved. Lapping up your juices like water in a desert. His tongue going back and forth from circling your clit to dipping into your wet heat. You moan and buck your hips into his face. "Ah-yes. Use me. Use me to make yourself feel good." He says in between licks. He finally let's go of your pinned hands, opting to instead put his fingers to use by burying two of them in between your walls. He begins pushing in and out, excruciatingly slow at first. You whine. He says nothing, too busy sucking on your clit to respond.

You grab hold of his hair again, pushing his face deeper in between your legs. Grinding into him as though your life depends on it. Ren swears he's been sent to heaven. Here on his knees. Worshipping you on your shrine like the heavenly being you are. You own him completely. His heart doesn't beat to pump around the blood in his body, nor to keep him alive. It beats for you, and for you alone. It beats in an achingly painful, yet blissful, pace of love and devotion when it comes to you. Surely it would give out if he ever went but a second without you. He can only see, so he can stare at your divine beauty until his eyes dry out. He can only hear to take in the melody of your voice. He can only smell, so his nose fills with the scent of your sweet perfume. He can only touch, to trace his fingers over your silklike skin. He can only taste so that he can taste your sweetness on his tongue. And God, you taste oh so sweet.

His fingers begin to pick up the pace. Your body begins to stiffen and Ren knowns you're getting close. he's seen it a million times before. How your eyes squeeze shut, how you hold your breath as you begin to shake. It is so, so much better getting to see it in real life, up close. Getting to be the one that makes you cum.

He spells out his name with his tongue in his final licks, before sucking on your clit harder than ever before. You cum around his fingers and mouth. Hard. So hard you almost see stars. Your moans increase in volume, and you begin to shake, yet he doesn't stop, he doesn't even slow down. You squeeze your thighs around his head from the overstimulation and the moan he lets out his almost animalistic. His cock is so painfully fucking hard against his pants, yet he remains focused on you, fingers scissoring inside you, face covered in your slick. Your eyes fill with tears as you cum a second time. Ren finally pulls his head away; however, you're barely given room to breathe as Ren gets up and eagerly shoves his tongue inside your mouth. You happily accept what he offers, tasting yourself on his lips. He grinds into you and grunts. You notice how pent up he is and start moving your hand towards his hard-on. Before you get the chance to come in contact with it, he grabs your hand and does it for you, moving your hand over the bulge in his pants. He buries his face in your neck, breathing in your scent as he continues rutting into your hand. A wet patch beginning to form on the cloth of his pants.

You lift your hand away from his pants, in order to take off his sweater. He returns the favor by taking off yours, he places soft kisses onto your breasts. Your hands are now at the edge of his turtleneck. Your eyes meet his, your concern showing. "Can I take this off Ren?" He pauses for a second, contemplating it, before slowly nodding his head. He places his hands on yours, helping you remove the last piece of fabric standing in between him and his marred skin. His eyes search yours and he holds his breath, anticipating your response. Your eyes rake over his bare chest and arms. You drag your hands over him. "You're beautiful Ren."

He sighs in relief, he finds you smiling, eyes fixed on the tattoo of your name occupying his throat. You kiss it. Once, twice, trice. Mouth lingering longer each time. You move onto the scars on his arms, littering them with feather light kisses, as though you're afraid of hurting him. Ren's eyes begin to water. "I- I don't deserve you angel." His voice is fragile. "Love you s'much." Tears begin to fall. You take notice of them and wipe them away, oh so gently. Replacing them with kisses. "What are you talking about? If anything, I'm the one who doesn't deserve you. No one's ever cared for me like this. I should be the one calling you angel." Ren places a kiss on top of your head, like you're the most precious thing in existence. "You deserve everything. you are everything." Ren responds breathlessly.

His mouth lands on yours again. He kisses you. Years of longing and pent-up emotion finally pouring out. He keeps one hand on your face, the other moves down towards your body. Tracing the curves of your bare skin. You move to unzip his pants, finally freeing his aching erection. His member throbs in your hand as you pump it up and down. You align it with your entrance. His eyes search yours and you nod before he starts pushing in.

He pauses once he's all the way in. Giving you time to get adjusted to his size. After a moment, your hands on his back start pushing him forward, urging him to start moving. He starts off painfully slow, teasing you by pulling out almost entirely, leaving his head at your entrance, before slamming back in. However, it doesn't take long for him to lose control, pounding into you. He barely registers muttering confessions into your ear. "Wanted this f''so fucking long angel. Love you s'much."

You gasp "I love you too Ren. Tell me every disgusting thing you've done. Please."

Ren obliges without hesitation, his only need to obey you, to please you. "I- I watch you through your webcam. I see everything you do all the time. I touch myself whenever you do, I match your pace, pretending like I’m the one that’s making you feel good. God I can’t believe I finally get to have you.”

Your nails dig into his back, leaving scratches in their wake. "Fuck- yes mark me. Show everyone that we belong to each other." He grunts. You oblige and he starts repeating your name in a mantra, thrusting harder and harder in between each time he utters out your name. His hand moves down to your over sensitive clit and swear you begin to see stars. “You’re close sweetness, I know.” Ren whispers lovingly. “M’too. Wanna fill y’up so bad.” He mumbles, barely audible.

You let go one final time, so intensely you thought you’d faint. Ren follows shortly after. Emptying himself inside of you. You stroke his hair as you both try to catch your breath. He eventually pulls out of you, his cum beginning to drip down your thighs. Your lips meet again and before you know it, you’re being carried to bed. He puts you down, covering you with the sheets, then slips in next to you, wrapping his arms around you. You’re the first to fall asleep, Ren takes his time admiring you until he can’t keep his eyes open any longer. That night, Ren slept better than he ever had before.

[honeyed-hedonist]

Pairings: Aged Up!Damian Wayne x Reader Word Count: 3.1k Summary: You're always just a phone call away for Damian, so he calls when he needs you. And tonight? He really fucking needs you. Warnings: SMUT--MINORS DNI. unprotected sex, creampie, degradation, size kink if you squint, face slapping (once), oral (male & female receiving), orgasm control (kind of???), basically just 3k words of Dami tearing you apart in the best way. A/N: Hello again! Posting another old fic on mine. I still blame @heli0s-writes for sending me on a Damian Wayne spiral. I will never recover from this and it's all her fault. Enjoy :3

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It’s late. It’s always late when he calls you—3am and you’re answering the phone, the pitch of his voice deepened and gruff with need. A need that only you can satiate. “Come over, darling.” You’re out the door before you end the call, hailing a cab to the manor, pulse racing because you know what’s coming.

The path you walk when you reach the gate is so familiar, you could do it with your eyes closed, feet carrying you to the front door. There’s no need to knock or ring the bell, the second your shoes hit the porch Damian swings it wide open, the cowl stripped off, blackened liner still smeared around those beautiful green eyes. He’s looking at you like he wants to tear you apart, but you’ve always had an affinity for pretty, dangerous things. 

A step closer and you catch the way the warm light of the entryway bounces off of the thin gold chain hanging around his neck. It sparkles, and your mind conjures up the image of it swinging above your face when you’re folded in half on his bed. It makes you clench, taking another step while your eyes make the slow trek downward, his bare chest and rippling stomach that cuts to narrow, defined hips has your mouth watering. You know what they feel like against your tongue, beneath your fingers.

There’s no need for words, his calloused hand closing around your wrist to tug you inside, the heavy door shutting with a definitive click that reverberates off the walls and arched ceilings of Wayne Manor. He’s already hard, you can feel it when his arm snakes its way around your waist to pull you even closer. And then he’s crouching down, sweeping his other hand behind your knees to lift you into his arms.

You’re trapped in the heat of his gaze, the salty, earthy smell of his skin--still damp with sweat from his night spent in triple-weave kevlar. Fingers dance up the back of his neck, tangling into that silky, black hair, and his chest vibrates with something akin to a growl. It sends your pulse rushing between your legs, desire warm and heavy in your belly as he walks you up the stairs towards the master suite. 

The second you’re past the threshold, you reach for his face, wanting to feel his hot mouth on yours, but he doesn’t budge, the corner of his lips quirking in an amused smile at the whine that comes tumbling out of your throat when you try, and fail, to kiss him. “Patience, beloved.” Damian is gentle when he sets you down on the lush, thickly weaved rug that spreads out from beneath his bed, forefinger and thumb coming up to pinch your chin. His nose brushes yours when he speaks again, breath hot and sweet as it fans out across your face. “Be good.”

You watch with baited breath as he settles himself on the edge of the mattress, thighs spread open, palms flat against his knees, his posture perfectly straight. He looks like a king on his throne, and you’re prepared to bow at his feet. “You’re very overdressed, don’t you agree? Perhaps you should remedy that.” The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument, your hands falling to the hem of your sleep shirt, tugging it hastily over your head. Your shorts are your next target, swiftly yanking them down your legs. Shoes, socks, and bra all join the pile of your discarded clothes after that, and Damian hums his approval. “Much better.” 

Lifting one of his hands, he points to the space between his feet. “Come.” There’s no hesitation from you, moving immediately with a step forward, but then he scoffs, eyebrows drawn down in admonishment. “Really, pet? Is that how you’re meant to approach me? As my equal?” His words make you short circuit, brain muddled with the fog of submission, because you will always submit to him--it’s not even a question at this point. He’s in charge, he owns you, and he knows it.

Dropping to your hands and knees, you crawl towards him slowly, eyes trained on his face, trying to read him--but Damian has mastered the art of impassiveness. His calves brush against your shoulders as you wedge yourself between his legs, the only sign of his pleasure is the tent in the front of his joggers and the rumbling in his chest. It’s enough--has you salivating from your place on the floor, eagerly awaiting instruction.

He leans forward, strong hand circling your throat, fingers tightening until he can feel the ripple of your swallow. “Have you missed me?” He asks, but you know better than to open your mouth, choosing instead to nod your head. Damian hums thoughtfully, free hand stroking at his slightly stubbled chin. “Hmm, I’m not sure I’m convinced. Why don’t you show me?”

“Yes, sir.” You answer, and he relents, releasing your throat to lean back on the bed, propped up with his arms extended so he can watch you--he’s always watching you--calculating, observing, learning. Damian Wayne knows all of the ways to take you apart, and all of the ways to put you back together again, but now he’s testing you, wants to see just how much you’ve learned since you began spending nights in his bed.

Shaking fingers dip beneath the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down his thighs until the heavy weight of his cock springs free, slapping against the hard plane of his stomach with a dense thud. You moan, how can you not? He’s impressively large, perfectly curved towards his bellybutton, nestled in coarse, dark hair, thick and throbbing just for you. His head is shining with pre, glistening in the orange glow from the roaring fire in the hearth nearby. Your eyes meet, faux innocence batting up at him from beneath your lashes. But Damian knows better, knows how filthy you are, and he’s losing his patience.

You let your hand circle the base, tongue dragging a hot, wet line beneath his length until your lips close around the tip, precum tangy against your tastebuds. You moan again, eyes rolling back. The musk of his night perusing the city is still fresh on his skin, and he always tastes so god damn good like this. Dirty. Natural. It spurs you onward, his tip popping into the back of your throat as you take him all the way down. He reaches out after that, fingers gentle against the skin of your neck, his cock seated so fully inside the wet heat of your mouth that he can feel himself beneath your esophagus when you swallow. It makes him grunt, satisfied with your efforts.

It’s all the encouragement you need to move again, cheeks hollowed as you suck him off. The only sounds in the room are your labored breaths and the nasty, wet squelch of your mouth on his cock. Damian’s eyes are blown black, watching you like a predator tracking its prey, hand shooting out to curl into the hair at the crown of your head and shove you down until your nose is pressing against his taut abdomen. He holds you there, testing your limits, keeping you still, voice strained with his pleasure when he speaks. “Swallow.” He commands, and you oblige, whimpering while your thighs shift in an attempt to alleviate the ache in your cunt. 

“What’s wrong, pet? Do you want to cum?” Damian smirks at the desperate look in your eyes before he answers his own question. “Too bad.” He mocks your arousal, knowing all you really want right now is for him to fuck a hole right through you, but he needed to feel your warm, wet mouth first.  And Damian will never apologize for having his needs met, because he always reciprocates in kind. Especially with you.

He volleys with you back and forth, letting you have control before ultimately usurping you to fuck your face. When he’s satisfied, your cheeks are hot, the remnants of the mascara that you carelessly forgot to wash off is smeared down your face, and your chin is covered in your own spit as he yanks you free from his cock by your hair. “Tch--look at you, such a mess.” Damian’s free hand breaks the string of spittle connecting your mouth to the tip of his dick and smears it across your face. He’s not gentle, and you don’t want him to be, moaning open-mouthed when his palm cracks across your cheek. “Get up.”

Your actions are instantaneous, done without pause or thought, rising to your feet with his hand still fisted in your hair. He stands, too, spinning you both around until your calves hit the mattress and he shoves you backwards. You fall gracelessly onto his comforter, and he gives you no reprieve, no chance to catch your breath before he’s peeling your thighs apart to inspect your slit. Your panties are an encumbrance, one that has him growling as his long, dextrous fingers tear the fabric clean off, ripping them away to toss on the floor. 

He wastes no time, hands framing your pussy to peel your lips apart, leaning forward, he takes a deep inhale, the tip of his nose bumping against your throbbing clit. It makes you jolt, body bowing off of the bed, but his eyes cut to yours and you still immediately, knowing that he’ll stop if you don’t behave. “You have the most beautiful cunt, and she’s all mine.” Damian hums, mostly to himself, pink tongue slipping out of his mouth to circle your clit slowly. Your hands fist his expensive bedding, knuckles bone-white as he begins to work you over with his mouth.

He’s an expert at many things--knows over a hundred ways to kill a man with his bare hands--and can get you to gush against his mouth in a matter of minutes. Damian plays your body like a fine-tuned instrument, hits all the right notes to make you see stars. He curls those long, rough fingers of his against the velvet walls of your pussy, free hand applying pressure at your belly, while his plump lips suction against your pulsing clit. Barely two minutes in and you’re already hurtling towards bliss, whining and whimpering and writhing--all for him. 

“Dami, please!” You want your release. Want to cum all over his handsome face. He can feel it in the way your cunt grips his fingers, fluttering in time with the expert swipes of his tongue. He knows it’s only a few more licks until you’re careening into your orgasm. His eyes meet yours between the valley of your breasts, glittering with mirth as you cry out, begging shamelessly for him to let you cum. And then, like the menace he is, Damian releases your clit with a wet pop, effectively slamming you into a brick wall, your orgasm slipping right through your fingers with a pained cry.

Tears of desperation brim in your eyes and he tuts, rising to his feet, forearm wiping your glistening arousal from his lips and chin. “Do you have no shame? Begging like a common whore.” He’s on you in a flash, joggers discarded, fully naked as his hand once again finds your throat and he snarls above you. “Your orgasms belong to me, beloved. I decide when you deserve to cum, and tonight, you’ll be coming all over my cock. Do I make myself clear?” 

He expects an answer, but you’re transfixed, completely mystified by his overpowering, eclipsing presence above you. Damian makes you feel small. It fogs your brain, makes it hard to do anything other than mewl, thighs parting to accommodate his hips as he settles above you.  “Tch--useless little thing. All you’re good for is being my tight hole to fuck, isn’t that right, pet?” You nod, helpless and desperate beneath him, every nerve ending in your body thrumming like live wires. It’s a fact that he captializes on, slapping the mushroomed tip of his dick against your drenched slit, the wet sound that reaches his ears making him moan.

There isn’t a sound on Earth prettier than hearing Damian Wayne moan for you, your mouth falling open as you gaze up at him in awe. It’s the perfect opportunity for him to sluice the middle fingers of his left hand over your tongue. Ever the obedient pet, your lips close automatically, suckling as those same fingers push so far back they make you choke. Through your bleary eyes, you can see the sadistic smile that graces Damian’s face. It’s dangerous, and it sends a fresh rush of arousal leaking from your cunt. 

It’s almost like he can smell it, and he probably can, his irises disappearing until all that’s left are the whites of his eyes as he inhales deeply. There’s no warning, no preparation, just his gaze rolling back to meet yours when he snaps his hips forward with perfect aim, his cock stretching you open and filling you in a way only he can. It makes you scream, your back beginning to arch, but Damian is right there, pulling his fingers from your mouth to grip your throat and pin you back down against the mattress.

His pace is unforgiving. It’s brutal and deep, carving his way into your body with harsh thrusts that have the headboard knocking flecks of plaster off the walls until they cascade down like rain onto the comforter. “You. Belong. To me.” He spits it through gritted teeth, and it’s not something you’ll ever deny. Your relationship may be unconventional, but you wouldn’t trade it. Any time spent with Dami, to you, is a gift, especially if it means he’ll fuck you absolutely boneless in order to reassert his control on those nights when he feels like the world around him is spiraling. 

You take it all--every thrust, the gnashing of his teeth into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, the suffocating grip around your throat, the drizzle of spit that falls onto your waiting tongue when he pries your jaw open. Anything Damian dishes out, you take without complaint, because while he craves control, you crave subjugation--the metaphorical yin to his yang.

Your voice is hoarse when you try to speak, breath stuttering with every powerful roll of Damian’s hips, barely heard over the lewd sounds of being fucked open. Each strike of his cock inside of you hits that spongy mound of tissue, dragging his silky, hot length against it with each withdrawal. It has you climbing right back towards your inevitable peek, the only question is-- will he let you finish this time?

“Dami--m’gonna--please, m’so close, baby.” You wheeze, and he smiles, teeth blindingly white even though the haze of your oxygen deprivation. You find some reprieve from the deliciously pleasurable pain when he finally peels his fingers back from your throat, hands sliding to your shins to fold them up and into your chest. His pace never lessens, he never slips out, following the bending of your body, the new angle allowing an even deeper stroke inside your gummy walls. It has you keening, hands clawing at his chest, his gold chain bouncing against the backs of your palms.

“Very well, I think you’ve earned it.” Reaching between your bent legs, Damian’s thumb slices through the lips of your cunt that are spread wide around his cock to seek out your clit. He’s precise, circling the aching bud in a way that makes you choke, throat vibrating with a squeal. You’re close again, rapidly approaching your release, so fast you can barely keep up, the pressure in your belly building to an unbearable tightness. This time, when you meet his eyes, the malice is gone, replaced with what you can only describe as devotion. “Go on, make a mess on my cock, cum for me.”

That’s all it takes, his permission coupled with the expert swirl of his thumb and the perfect drag of his cock have you seeing stars, bursting with a cry of his name. You scream, back arching up, chest to chest with him as he cradles you close. “I know, beloved, I know. Let it all out.” He coos, still thrusting wildly through the resistance as your pussy tries to shove him out with each fluttering pulse. Damian can feel your cum weeping out around him, it wets his thighs, dribbles down the seam of his sack, drips down onto the mattress. It makes him groan, balls tightening as he reaches the point where he can no longer stave off his own release. 

With a low moan of your name he pumps into you once, twice--the third sending the first spray of his cum deep in your womb. You can feel the pulse of his length as he bottoms out with a grunt, forehead pressing against yours, breath hot against your mouth. Jet after jet of semen coats your insides, filling you up so full it almost hurts. You whimper out, and Damian shushes you, cupping your face to plant a soft kiss against your lips. “Shh,” he murmurs. “You did so well for me, my darling. Such a good girl. I’m so proud of you.”

All you can manage is a hum, Damian’s fingers carding through your sweat-slicked hair as he peppers soft kisses over your cheeks, the tip of your nose, your forehead. This has got to be your favorite part, because while he knows how to completely wreck you, he’s also right there to pick up the pieces and stitch you right back together again. 

He carries you into the bathroom, runs a bath for the both of you, coddles and keeps you close until the pair of you are falling into his freshly stripped bed beneath the sheets. His arm is slung snugly around your waist, his lips on the back of your neck as you settle in preparation of sleep. “I’d like you to move your things into the manor.” His voice is soft, there’s a hesitation there that is so uncharacteristic it nearly shocks you back from exhaustion. But again, all you’re able to offer him is a hum of acknowledgement, wiggling further into the warmth of his body, heavy eyelids closing as your consciousness wanes and you drift. 

You’ll tackle this moving in business when you’ve got a clear head and a full belly, but the prospect of taking the next step in your relationship with Damian brings you the most pleasant, peaceful sleep you’ve had in years.

[theonottsbxtch]

BE MY MISTAKE | CL16

an: before you guys get mad at me for this one i swear to god it was @iimplicitt's request. well for context she said "you would cook some good angst to this" so i did. anyway dont hate me ily x

wc: 5.1k

warnings: smutty-ish

SHE ALWAYS LEFT BEFORE THE SUN.

He never asked her to stay.

It was always the same—her slipping out of his sheets, out of his arms, out of his life, and him lying there, watching the ghost of her linger in the hollow space she left behind. The scent of her perfume on his pillow. The warmth of her skin fading from his. He never reached for her as she went, never called her name, never let the words stay pass his lips. Because she never would.

She was someone else’s.

Charles Leclerc had never felt more like a man made of glass than when she was around—fragile, transparent, waiting for the inevitable shatter. He used to think he was invincible, that he could survive anything. He had walked away from burning cars, from metal twisted around his body like a vice, from crashes that should have left him dead. But she was the wreckage he could never crawl out of.

She worked for another team. He didn’t even know how it had started, only that it had. Maybe it was the way she looked at him across the paddock, something unreadable in her eyes, something dangerous. Maybe it was how she touched him, like she needed him more than air but never enough to stay. Maybe it was the way she said his name, soft and aching, only ever in the dark, only ever when no one else could hear.

Maybe it was the way she always left.

The hotel room door clicked shut behind her, and Charles let out a slow, unsteady breath, staring at the ceiling. His body still burned with her touch, but his chest felt hollow. He reached blindly for the half-empty glass of whiskey on the nightstand and downed what was left, letting the burn spread through him. Maybe if he drank enough, he wouldn’t feel the phantom of her hands on his skin. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he wouldn’t see the imprint of her smile, her swollen lips, her wedding ring glinting in the dim light.

She never took it off.

He hated himself for wanting her. Hated himself for letting her come back every time, for answering the phone, for opening the door, for letting her press her mouth to his like she needed him, like he was something more than just her mistake.

But most of all, he hated that no matter how many times she left—he still waited for her to come back.

He told himself he wouldn’t do this again.

He told himself that every time.

And yet, when she called, he answered. When she knocked, he opened the door. When she kissed him, he let himself believe, for just a moment, that it meant something. That he wasn’t just the thing she used to feel alive before she went back to the life she chose.

Charles sat up, running a hand over his face. The room smelled of her—perfume and sweat and something unmistakably hers. He hated that he could pick her scent out of a crowd, that he’d recognise the way she sighed against his skin in the dark, the way her nails dug into his shoulders when she whispered his name. It was pathetic, really, how little self-respect he had left when it came to her.

The sheets were still warm where she’d been. He should get up, shower, wash her off him before she became something permanent. But instead, he reached for his phone.

Nothing.

She never texted. Never called unless she wanted something. He was the one left with the aftermath, the one left trying to pretend none of it happened when he saw her across the paddock, standing next to her husband, smiling like she hadn’t had Charles’ hands on her body hours before.

He groaned, tilting his head back against the headboard, eyes closing as he exhaled sharply. He needed to get out of this. Out of her.

But he knew he wouldn’t.

He thought about the way she looked at him as she dressed, back turned, fingers deftly fastening the buttons of her blouse, fixing her wedding ring like it had never been budged. He thought about how she never kissed him goodbye. How she never said thank you or sorry or this is the last time.

Maybe she knew it never would be.

His head throbbed as he forced himself to stand, dragging himself to the window. The city stretched out below, neon lights bleeding into the night, a thousand strangers living a thousand different lives. He wondered what it would be like to be one of them. To be someone who had never met her. Someone who didn’t know what it felt like to be ruined by the same hands that held him together.

The rain had started again, soft against the glass. He watched as a black cab pulled away from the hotel entrance below, the silhouette of a woman barely visible in the backseat.

She never looked back.

Neither did he.

But Christ, did he want to.

The city was different, but the story was the same.

A new Grand Prix. A new hotel. A new number on the door. But it didn’t matter. Nothing ever changed, not really.

Charles had told himself he wouldn’t answer. He’d stared at the message on his phone for far too long, fingers tightening around the glass of whiskey he’d been nursing since he got back from the track. He should have ignored it. Should have thrown his phone across the room, let it smash into the wall, let the silence settle where she had lodged herself in his bones.

But of course, he didn’t.

Instead, he’d stubbed out his cigarette - the one he only smoked because of her, finished his drink in one swallow, and gone to shower.

Now he stood in front of the hotel mirror, dragging a hand through his damp hair, fixing the collar of his shirt like any of it mattered. Like she would notice. Like she would even care. He looked tired. The kind of tired that sleep wouldn’t fix. Hollow eyes, sharp cheekbones, a mouth set in something like resignation. He had seen this version of himself before. He hated him.

His phone buzzed.

Here.

One word. No greeting, no hesitation.

His heart kicked against his ribs anyway.

A knock at the door, sharp and impatient. He swallowed, straightened his spine, ran his tongue over his teeth as if that would erase the cigarette smoke and bad decisions. Then he opened the door.

She didn’t speak. She never did, not at first. Just stepped past him, the scent of rain and something expensive clinging to her skin. She wasn’t dressed for him—she never was. The same crisp white blouse, the same heels, her hair still pinned up from the paddock. She looked untouched. Unbothered. Like she hadn’t been sitting at dinner with her husband an hour ago, pretending she wasn’t about to slip into another man’s bed.

His bed.

Charles closed the door. Watched her move through the room like she’d been here a hundred times before. She had.

She didn’t look at him. Not properly. Not like he wanted her to.

Instead, she reached for him.

And that’s when he knew.

She only touched him like this when she didn’t want to think. When she needed to forget.

And fuck, it ruined him, how easily he let her.

Her hands were on him before he could speak. Before he could ask her why she was here, why she kept doing this to him, why he kept letting her.

Her fingers curled into the collar of his shirt, tugging him down, and then her mouth was on his—hot, desperate, tasting like red wine and something else, something bitter. It was always like this. No hesitation, no words, no softness. She kissed him like she was trying to erase something, like if she pressed hard enough, bit deep enough, she could make herself disappear.

Charles let her.

He always did.

His hands found her waist, sliding beneath the fabric of her blouse, fingers splaying over warm skin. He felt her shiver, the sharp inhale against his lips, but she didn’t stop him. She never did.

He hated himself for how easily he fell into this. For how much he wanted it.

Her nails scraped against the back of his neck as she deepened the kiss, as her body pressed against his, as she backed him towards the bed like she was the one in control. Maybe she was. Maybe she always had been.

She pushed his jacket off his shoulders, let it hit the floor, her fingers already at the buttons of his shirt. His own hands were working at the zip of her skirt, dragging the fabric down her hips, his breathing ragged, unsteady. He felt drunk, but he only had drank a glass of whiskey.

It was her. It was always her.

She stepped out of the skirt, kicked off her heels, and he let himself take her in—bare legs, flushed skin, the silver band on her left hand catching in the dim light.

He reached for her wrist before he could stop himself. Held it between them. Stared at the ring like it was a loaded gun.

She didn’t say anything. Just pulled her hand from his grip and kissed him again, harder this time, as if that would make him forget.

It wouldn't.

But he still let her push him down onto the bed.

It was another Grand Prix.

This time, she wasn’t coming to him.

He was crawling to her.

Charles told himself he wouldn’t. He told himself he was done. That last time had been exactly that—the last time. But here he was, standing outside her hotel room, hands shaking at his sides, stomach twisted into something sick and self-loathing.

He didn’t even know why he was here.

No, that was a lie.

He was here because he needed her. Because she had infected him like a disease, and now he was feverish, restless, his skin too tight, his thoughts too loud. He had tried to forget her. Tried to drown her out with whisky and faceless women, with the roar of the engine and the blur of a track at 200mph. None of it worked. None of it ever worked.

So here he was.

Pathetic.

He lifted a fist, knocked once. Then again. A part of him prayed she wouldn’t answer. That she’d send him away, force him to break this cycle before it swallowed him whole.

The door opened.

And there she was.

Barefoot, wrapped in a crimson silk dressing gown, hair still damp from the shower. She looked at him like she was surprised, like she hadn’t expected him to be the one on her doorstep this time.

He swallowed, throat dry, heart hammering against his ribs.

“Charles.”

His name on her lips was quieter than he expected. He wondered if her husband had just called her. If she’d been on the phone with him minutes before Charles knocked, telling him she loved him, that she’d see him when she got home. The thought made something ugly curl in his chest.

She didn’t move to let him in. Just stood there, watching him with those unreadable eyes.

He should leave. He should.

Instead, he exhaled sharply and said, “Let me in.”

A beat of silence.

Then, without a word, she stepped aside.

The door clicked shut behind him, sealing them inside, sealing him inside this mistake—this cycle, this sickness, this thing that had its claws buried so deep inside him he wasn’t sure he’d ever claw his way free.

She didn’t speak. She never did, not at first. Just stepped closer, the silk of her dressing gown brushing against his shirt and jacket, her scent filling the space between them. His fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms. He should say something. Should tell her this was a bad idea, that he hadn’t meant to come, that he’d turned the wrong way in the hotel corridor and ended up outside her door by accident.

But they both knew that wasn’t true.

Her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with slow, practiced ease. He let her, standing there like some helpless fucking idiot, like this wasn’t exactly what he wanted, exactly what he had been craving for the past week.

Her lips brushed the side of his jaw, warm and soft and deliberate. He exhaled sharply through his nose, tilting his head back before he could stop himself, giving her space to kiss his throat, to press her mouth to the sensitive spot just below his ear.

He hated himself.

Hated the way his hands finally moved, grabbing her waist, pulling her into him, crushing her body against his. Hated how his lips found hers with something desperate, bruising, the kind of kiss that tasted like anger and surrender all at once.

Her dressing gown loosened beneath his fingers, the silk slipping from her shoulders, pooling onto the floor like water.

And fuck, he was already too far gone.

She slipped off his shirt and jacket while he kicked off his shoes.

He lifted her, felt her legs wrap around his waist, stumbled towards the bed with his mouth still on hers, his body already burning, already aching. His head was full of static, of her, of the way her fingers pulled at his hair, of the soft, broken noises escaping her lips as he laid her down beneath him.

She was everywhere. Under his hands, against his skin, in his lungs. And yet, she wasn’t his.

Would never be his.

She gasped his name as his lips moved to her throat, and something twisted inside him, something dark and miserable, something that made him press harder, bite deeper, knowing that by morning, any mark he left would be gone. Hidden. Forgotten.

Just like he would be.

But still, he gave her everything.

Even as he hated himself for it.

His hands dragged down the length of her body, rough, unsteady, worshipping something he had no right to touch.

She arched beneath him, breathless, fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, more. And fuck, he gave it to her. Gave her everything she wanted, everything she took without asking, without hesitation. His mouth moved down her neck, down her collarbone, down lower still, teeth and tongue and heat, his hands following, gripping her thighs, parting them, spreading her open for him like she was his.

She wasn’t.

But she let him pretend.

His name fell from her lips in a whisper, in a gasp, in a moan that made his blood run hot and cold all at once. He hated it. Hated that she sounded like she needed him, like this was something more than just a mistake she would bury beneath crisp white sheets and a silver wedding ring. He haphazardly pulled off his trousers and boxers as she whimpered in his ear.

His mouth found her again, hands gripping, pulling, taking. She was silk and fire and something devastatingly beautiful, and he wanted to ruin her the way she had ruined him.

He was hard for her already, painfully so, and she knew it, smirking against his lips as she rolled her hips beneath him, teasing, taunting, killing him slowly. His fingers dug into her skin, his breath coming short, sharp.

She reached for him, wrapped a hand around him, and he swore under his breath, forehead pressing to her shoulder as her fingers worked him over, slow, deliberate, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

She did.

But this wasn’t hers to keep.

He tore her hand away, pinned it above her head, held her there beneath him like that would make any difference, like she wouldn’t be slipping back into her husband’s arms in less than twenty-four hours.

She didn’t care.

And neither did he—not when she hooked a leg around his hip, not when she pulled him closer, not when he sank into her with a groan that tasted like defeat.

She gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, nails raking down his back, dragging him deeper, until there was nothing left of him but this.

He fucked her like he needed her. Like she wasn’t just a mistake he would regret the second he came down from this high.

And that was the worst part.

Because maybe, just maybe—

He did need her.

Her body took him like it was made for him.

Soft, hot, open—pulling him in, keeping him there, keeping him hers. Charles groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his hips rolling into hers in slow, deliberate thrusts. He should take his time, should make this last, should memorise the way she feels around him because he knows—he knows—she won’t let him have this much longer.

But she’s greedy tonight. Nails scratching down his back, heels digging into his spine, dragging him deeper, gasping against his lips like she’s the one who’s desperate. Like she’s the one who needs this.

She doesn’t.

She’ll go home after this. Go back to the man who kisses her goodnight, who sleeps beside her without knowing she still smells like someone else.

But here, right now, she’s his.

Charles presses his palm to the back of her thigh, spreading her wider, driving into her harder, his breath ragged, his chest tight. He hears the soft whimper she tries to swallow, feels the way her body tightens around him, how her fingers clutch at him like she doesn’t want to let go.

And for a second, just a second, he lets himself believe it.

He lets himself think that maybe, if he fucks her good enough, if he makes her feel enough, she’ll stay.

That this time, when the morning comes, she won’t make him slip out of her bed without a word. That she won’t fix her wedding ring the second she’s dressed, acting like none of this ever happened.

But she will.

She always will.

The thought makes something vicious twist inside him, and he groans against her throat, snapping his hips faster, chasing that inevitable fall, dragging her over the edge with him. She cries out softly, her back arching, fingers clawing at his shoulders, her body shuddering around him, pulling him under.

He follows her down.

And then it’s over.

Silence settles over them, thick, suffocating.

Charles rolls onto his back, dragging a hand down his face, breath still uneven, chest rising and falling too fast. He hears her shifting beside him, the rustle of sheets, the slow inhale and exhale as she comes down from it, too.

Neither of them speak.

They never do, not afterwards.

She stares at the ceiling, her lips slightly parted, her hair a mess against the pillow. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye, taking in the marks he’s left on her skin—the red blooming across her neck, the crescent moons on her hips. Temporary proof that he was here. That she was his.

Even though she never really was.

He closed his eyes, swallowing the bitter taste in his throat, already hating himself for what he’s done. For what he keeps doing.

And worst of all—

For knowing that when she calls him again, he’ll still answer.

The silence between them stretched long and heavy, broken only by the slow, measured rhythm of their breathing.

Charles lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, one arm draped over his forehead like that would block out the reality of where he was, of what he’d just done. Of what he’d keep doing. Beside him, she shifted, rolling onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. He felt her looking at him. Studying him.

He turned his head, met her gaze. “What?” His voice was rough, still thick with the remnants of her.

She shrugged, something unreadable flickering across her face. “Nothing.”

That was the thing with her—she never gave him much. He’d spent months tangled up in her sheets, his hands on her body, his mouth whispering her name against her skin, but when it came to anything real, anything deep, she held him at arm’s length.

And maybe that was fair.

Because what could they really talk about?

He knew how she sounded when she came undone beneath him, knew the little hitch in her breath when he kissed the side of her knee, knew the exact way her fingers twisted in the sheets when she was close. But he didn’t know her favourite song. Didn’t know if she preferred tea or coffee in the morning, didn’t know if she ever painted her nails herself or if they were always done for her.

Didn’t know if she ever thought about him when she was home.

So he said nothing.

Instead, he let his gaze drop, tracing the curve of her shoulder, the way her bare skin glowed in the low light. His eyes caught on the dressing gown she’d discarded on the floor earlier, the deep burgundy silk pooling like blood against the carpet.

“That was nice,” he murmured, nodding towards it.

She followed his gaze, then looked back at him. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “My husband bought it for me. Do you like it?”

The words landed like a punch to the ribs.

Charles’s stomach turned, his body tensing, nausea curling in the back of his throat.

Of course he did.

Of course the man she went home to every night, the man she shared a life with, the man who got to love her in the light, had been the one to pick out something that Charles had stripped off her without a second thought.

Something meant for him.

He swallowed, forcing a smirk, though it felt like acid in his mouth. “Bet he didn’t think you’d be wearing it for me.”

She just looked at him. Not smiling, not frowning. Just looking.

Then, she rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling once more.

And Charles lay there, staring at her, feeling like he might be sick.

After a long moment, Charles sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, his head falling into his hands for a moment before he forced himself to move. His body ached—not from the race, not from the adrenaline of the track, but from her. From the way she had unraveled him, used him up, left him hollow.

He reached for his boxers, pulling them on with slow, deliberate movements, his fingers dragging through his hair, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on him. His shirt was crumpled on the floor, buttons undone, collar twisted. He grabbed it anyway, slipping it over his shoulders, not bothering to do it up.

Behind him, she shifted, and he stilled, waiting.

Waiting for her to say something.

Stay.

Don’t go.

Anything.

But she didn’t.

Instead, he heard the soft click of her phone unlocking, the quiet tap of her fingers against the screen.

He turned, just enough to see her lying on her back, bathed in the dim glow of her phone, scrolling through messages, already a million miles away from him.

Charles clenched his jaw, swallowing against the bitter taste rising in his throat.

She wasn’t his.

She never had been.

And yet, some pathetic part of him still hoped. Still wanted.

Dragging a hand down his face, he stood, shoving his legs into his trousers.. He moved slower than he needed to, lingering, waiting for her to look up.

But she didn’t.

She was lost in a world he would never be part of, replying to messages he would never see, checking the time like she had somewhere else to be. Someone else waiting for her.

His chest tightened, a cruel, hollow ache settling beneath his ribs.

He forced a smirk—forced himself to pretend he didn’t care.

“Well,” he muttered, pulling on his jacket, the leather stiff against his skin. “This has been fun.”

She hummed in response, not even looking up.

Not even fucking looking at him.

That was it, then.

No goodbye. No lingering kiss. No stay just a little longer.

Just silence.

Charles swallowed, turning towards the door, his fingers curling into a fist at his side.

He left without another word.

And when the door clicked shut behind him, it sounded a hell of a lot like the end of something he’d never really had in the first place.

Charles stepped out into the night, the air thick with the smell of petrol and damp tarmac. The city hummed around him—streetlights casting long, ghostly shadows, the distant sound of laughter spilling from the hotel bar. Life carrying on as if nothing had happened.

As if he hadn’t just let her ruin him all over again.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply, shoving his fingers through his hair as he walked towards the valet stand. The kid behind the counter barely looked old enough to drive, let alone handle the kind of car Charles had left with him.

“The black Ferrari,” Charles muttered, voice rough. The kid nodded, hurrying off, and a minute later, the low, familiar growl of his SF90 filled the air.

Charles slid into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel for a second before starting the engine, the roar vibrating through his bones. He pulled away from the curb, the city blurring past him, neon signs flashing against the black glass of his dashboard.

He drove with one hand, the other pressed to his lips, his mind stuck in a loop, replaying the last hour.

The way she hadn’t said stay. The way she’d barely looked at him as he left.

The way she’d smiled when she told him her husband had bought her that slip.

His throat tightened, his grip on the wheel clenching.

Of all the things she’d ever said to him, that was the thing that wouldn’t leave him alone. That soft, almost absentminded admission. Like it had meant nothing to her. Like it wasn’t a knife to his ribs, twisted cruelly as he lay beside her, still warm from her touch.

The car ate up the road, the speedometer ticking higher, the streets emptying as he left the city behind. The headlights cut through the darkness, the silence pressing in on him, thick, suffocating.

Then, slowly, his vision blurred.

He barely noticed at first, the burn in his eyes sharp, his throat aching, his breath coming shorter. He blinked, tried to swallow it down, but it came anyway.

Tears slipping down his face, one after another, hot and heavy, a slow, steady stream of something he’d spent months trying to ignore.

He shook his head, sniffed, gritted his teeth, gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles went white.

But it wasn’t stopping.

And before he could think, before he could stop himself, he slammed his foot on the brake, the tyres screeching against the asphalt as he veered onto the shoulder, the car shuddering to a halt.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Charles pressed his forehead to the wheel, his whole body trembling, his breath coming in short, shuddering gasps. He covered his face with one hand, trying to quiet the sobs tearing out of him, but it was no use.

He hated himself.

Hated what he had let her do to him.

Hated that even now, even now, if she called him, if she whispered his name the way she did when she wanted something from him—

He’d go crawling back.

A fresh wave of anger surged through him, self-loathing so thick it made him shake. He slammed his palm against the wheel once, twice, his chest heaving.

Then, through gritted teeth, through ragged, gut-wrenching sobs, he choked out—

"Fuck."

The word broke as it left him, shattering in the empty car, in the empty road, in the empty fucking life he had left himself with.

And for the first time, Charles realised—

She wasn’t the one ruining him.

He was doing it all by himself.

Charles couldn’t fucking breathe.

His chest was caving in, ribs tightening like a vice, lungs burning as if he’d just done fifty laps without a single breath. His forehead was still pressed to the steering wheel, his whole body trembling, fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms.

The tears wouldn’t stop.

They kept coming, harder, faster, falling thick and hot down his face, catching in the corners of his mouth, dripping onto the leather of his seat. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his throat raw, his skin burning, his heart pounding too fast, too loud, drowning out every rational thought.

Get it together. Get a fucking grip.

But he couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t just her.

It was everything.

It was the fact that every other driver on the grid had someone waiting for them at the end of a race. Girlfriends in the paddock, wives in the motorhomes, kids running into their arms after they stepped off the podium. Their lives were moving forward, settling into something steady, something real.

And Charles?

Charles had her.

A woman who wasn’t even his.

A woman who would never be his.

And he was getting older. Fuck, he was getting older. The sport that had once been his entire life was starting to feel different, like the clock was ticking down, like he was running out of time. He’d spent years thinking he had plenty of it—plenty of time to fall in love, plenty of time to have something real, plenty of time to figure it all out.

But here he was.

Twenty-seven years old. Nothing to show for it.

No wife. No kids. No one to go home to.

Just a woman with a ring on her finger that another man had put there.

His breath hitched, panic creeping in, a crushing weight settling on his chest. His fingers scrambled for the collar of his shirt, tugging at it like he was suffocating, like the car was too fucking small, the air too thin. He gasped, trying to force the breath into his lungs, but it wasn’t working. His vision swam, his ears ringing, his hands shaking so hard he had to squeeze them into fists.

He let out a ragged, broken noise, somewhere between a sob and a curse, slamming his palm against the wheel again.

What the fuck was he doing?

What the fuck had he done to himself?

His whole life, he’d thought he was chasing something. A future, a career, a love worth waiting for. But he wasn’t chasing anything.

He was stuck.

Trapped in a cycle of hotel rooms and stolen touches, of whispered lies and cheap, meaningless fucks.

And it hit him, all at once, like a punch to the gut.

She wasn’t his mistake.

He was hers.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @n0vazsq @dying-inside-but-its-classy @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @luvstappen

[cupidsworstcrime]

Pretty in pink <3

Simon x reader

Simon and his balaclavas mean the world to me

His old masks were dingy, unravelly, and way past saving. So, he'd gone on Amazon, browsed through some options, and without thinking too much, he clicked "buy now."

What Simon hadn't realized, however, was that in his half-asleep state, he had misclicked. Instead of a neutral dark grey or some muted military shade, he had somehow ordered pink.

The entire team had gathered around the table in the briefing room, papers and plans scattered before them. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was sitting at the far end, looking as intimidating as ever with his usual skull mask on. His posture was stiff, his gaze unwavering, but something was off. Something was... pink.

Soap was the first to notice. He grinned, unable to hold back his amusement. "Ghost," he called, eyeing the unmistakable color, "you get a new set of balaclavas, mate?"

Ghost glanced down at the balaclava in question, which was definitely a bright, unapologetic pink. His face remained neutral, though there was a slight twitch of irritation in his eye. "No," he grunted, his voice as gruff as always, "it's just the lightin' in here."

Price raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "The lighting, huh? So, that's black then?"

"Yeah," Ghost replied flatly, "perfectly black."

Gaz, sitting across from Soap, leaned forward, struggling to hide his smile. "Uh-huh. Sure. Black. Couldn't tell, what with that... neon glow."

Ghost narrowed his eyes but didn’t budge. "You lot are just seeing things. I ordered black ones. You all need glasses."

Soap snickered, nudging Gaz. "Aye, 'cause I can definitely see how you’d mistake that shade of pink for black. Real easy."

Gaz couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst into laughter. "Mate, I think the pink suits you, honestly. Never thought I'd see the day Ghost went for a fashion statement."

Ghost’s scowl deepened, but his voice remained steady. "It's not pink. It's... it's fucking black. And I don’t want to hear another word about it."

"Right," Price said, drawing out the word with mock sincerity. "We’ll just pretend that's not glaringly obvious."

"Exactly," Ghost snapped, tapping his fingers on the table. "Now, can we get back to business? Or are we just gonna focus on my bloody headgear?"

The entire room erupted into chuckles, but Ghost held firm. No one was going to make him admit that, yes, he had accidentally ordered pink balaclavas. He wasn’t that soft.

The lads had just settled into a booth at a local pub after a long mission. The mood was light, laughter floating between them as they cracked open their pints. Simon was perched on the edge, still wearing that unmistakably pink balaclava, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone who dared to look too closely.

"Alright, Ghost," Soap leaned in, voice low but filled with mischief. "I think that thing might be glowing now, mate."

Simon shot him a glare that could’ve cut glass, but before he could retort, someone—you—approached the booth they were at. You were confident, beautiful, and your presence seemed to fill the room, effortlessly. As you walked past their booth, your eyes caught Simon's, and you paused for just a second.

"Hey," you said with a warm smile, "I just wanted to say... that I really like the mask. It’s really refreshing to see a man not afraid of color."

Simon blinked at you for a moment, his usual stoic expression faltering just slightly. He hadn’t expected that. He expected teasing or ridicule, not a compliment. But damn, you were gorgeous, and something about the way you looked at him made him feel a little... lighter.

For a split second, his mind went into overdrive. But before anyone could notice, Simon's well-trained mask slid back into place. "Well," he said, clearing his throat, "I’m not some bloody coward when it comes to standing out. This, uh... this is for a good cause. Breast cancer awareness, yeah? Thought I’d do my part."

The table went dead silent as Simon, the man who would rather face down an entire army than talk more than 4 words at a time—lied through his teeth, all while giving you a soft, confident grin.

You tilted your head, clearly charmed by the response, your smile widening. "That’s honestly really admirable," you said, your voice dripping with sincerity. "It’s not every day you see someone putting in the effort for something meaningful."

Simon smirked, his eyes twinkling now that he had the upper hand. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta do it, love. A'yway," he leaned in just a touch, his voice dropping lower, "how about you come over to the bar with me? Let me buy you a drink, yeah? I’m sure I could convince you that ’m more than jus' a pretty mask."

You raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by his sudden switch from gruff to charming. "Oh, I’m sure you could," you teased back, playing along. Your heart skipped a beat, the sudden rush of attraction clear as day.

Meanwhile, the Task Force was still silent. Price, Soap, and Gaz stared, slack-jawed, at Simon. Just ten minutes ago, he’d been berating them for even mentioning the pink balaclava, claiming it was anything but what it was. And now? Now, he was leaning into his charm like he had been wearing that damn thing for years.

Soap finally broke the silence, unable to contain the laughter bubbling up from his chest. "Oh, bloody hell, Ghost," he chuckled, shaking his head. "You’ve got to be kidding me. Not even five minutes ago, you were ready to bite our heads off about that mask, and now you’re using it to flirt?"

Gaz just shook his head, laughing under his breath. "I’ve never seen someone change gears so fast."

Price just sighed, taking a sip of his drink with a knowing look. "Well, I guess we’ve learned one thing today. Ghost will say fuckin' anything to a pretty thing."

Simon, now fully leaning into his newfound charm, threw a wink at you, the mask giving him an air of mystery, but his intentions were clear. "Well, love, what do you say? A drink at the bar? I promise I’m better company than I look."

You grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. "Alright," you said, taking a step toward him. "I’ll take you up on that offer."

And just like that, Simon was back on top. He shot one last glance at his team, who were still utterly dumbfounded by the transformation, before rising from the booth and offering you his arm, his charming confidence carrying him effortlessly now.

[sophie-looks-at-things]

Hi love! I hope you are doing well ☺️

If possible could I request a Aemond X reader? Maybe something where he takes notice of a hobby reader likes and surprises them with something related to it?

Piece de Resistance

Pairing: Aemond x Wife Reader

Summary: Aemond stumbles upon your love for the arts, painting, drawing, sketching, and the like. <3

Warnings: none I don't think, Aemond being a cute and supportive husband. a good moment of domesticity :)

AN: Hello! I absolutely love this request! I hope I did it justice haha. Thank you so much for submitting it! The picture is from Pinterest! It's St Augustine by Philippe de Champaigne.

It wasn’t often you got a moment to yourself nowadays. With your husband acting as Prince Regent in his brother’s absence, you and he both were kept rather busy. Him with the Small Council and issues of the realm, you with the petty social gossipings and happenings of the Court. So rare moments of peace and quiet like this were highly coveted.

Your marital chambers echoed with emptiness as you entered and looked around. The curtains you had chosen fluttered in the breeze. Aemond had not wanted them, but ultimately he conceded, never being able to say no to you. 

He must be in a Small Council meeting, you thought. Or perhaps training with Ser Criston, letting off some steam. Your husband seemed to have an ever-constant knot of stress in his shoulders and neck. You’d tried to massage it out many a time, but it never seemed to budge, or it ended in a much different sort of activity –

Under your armoire, lay a dusty, maroon-red box. You bent down, moving to pull it out of its little hiding spot. You had snuck it under there after you had moved into Aemond’s chambers. The day after your wedding. Aemond had insisted that you move to his quarters as soon as possible. He didn’t like being separated from you more than necessary. If he could, he would have you seated on his lap in Small Council meetings or even when he sat on the Iron Throne. But alas, that was a touch too far, and people would talk. As they always do –

Your husband was kind and dotting, if not overprotective and possessive of you. You had known one another since you were children. Your house and family coming to visit the Court, your mother and the dowager Queen had been friends since their youth. They had hoped that you and Aemond would get along well, and you did, famously so. When he had lost his eye, you had come to the Red Keep, to offer him comfort and company. You had never left after that. 

Your fingertips graze over the top of the box, as you rest it on top of your bed sheets. Leaving an empty trail in their wake. The lock lay rusted and golden on the front, pulling a small key from the pocket of your skirt, you unlock it. A small, soft resounding click bounced off the walls. As you gingerly opened the lid, the stale smell of linseed oil filled your nostrils. Small metal tubes of colorful paint lay untouched in the box. Clean bristles and dirty brush handles scattered about, small rolls of blank canvas. All of which lay, unmoved, unbothered, from the last time you had used them. 

When you were little, you had complained to your mother once about the bore of your lessons. For your tenth name day, she had brought in a painter from Highgarden to tutor you. He had taught you how to mix colors and paint the prettiest flowers. As you grew older, he taught you more complicated things, like ladies in bushy skirts, and golden dragons in the sky. An odd prophecy of your future.

Taking some basic colors, red, blue, yellow, and white, some brushes, and a small roll of canvas, you set up shop at your dressing table. For the time being, altering it into a makeshift desk. Deciding to paint what you knew best, you began to sketch out a dragon among roses, with some charcoal that you had borrowed from Aemond.

He wouldn’t miss it, you thought. He had a small goblet full of charcoal and quills, hiding amongst the piles of books and scrolls on the table. Which he used to plot his war games, or occasionally take dinner with you. When you both grew tired of his family and their bickering. 

The dragon began to take form on the canvas, it looked slightly like Vhagar, large, old, and wrinkly. Her age showing in her face and eyes. Around her, you drew roses, peonies, daffodils, lavender, a great colorful bouquet. Once you had begun mixing the paints, on a makeshift pallet made of spare parchment paper. The other sounds of the world seemed to fade away, the monotony of the act being therapeutic. A much-desired mindless activity in the middle of the war you all found yourself in. You would never voice this to anyone, but it was silly to you. The hubris and hypocrisy of your husband's family was vast and great, and deadly at the worst. The blood of the dragon ran thick and hot, volatile and dangerous. 

You had become so absorbed in your work that you hadn’t heard the door open, the faint call of your name. Lost on the wind perhaps. Aemond stood, leaning a shoulder against the door frame, a small smile playing at his lips, watching you, intently. He knew and had seen you become absorbed like this in a book or some piece of writing, but he had never seen you do this before. Paint.

The colorful oils stain your fingertips and wedge themselves beneath your nails. The same stale smell of the linseed oil met his nostrils.

 An odd sort of smell, he thought. He crept a bit closer, as close as possible not yet wanting you to know he was there. He silently rested his sword on the bed, the sheets muffling any noise it may have made. You were humming softly to yourself. An old hymn your mother used to sing to you. 

As he crept closer, Aemond could make out the picture you were working on. The colors came to life before his eyes, the eyes of his dragon staring back at him. 

“Gevie (beautiful)” He muttered, under his breath.

Startled, you jumped a bit, smudging one of the petals on the peony you were working on. “Shit” you breathed out.

“Aemond, Husband, I had not heard you come in!” You stand, turning to face him, stepping in front of your work as if to hide it.

Aemond chuckled a bit, noticing the pink tinge to your cheeks, embarrassed at being caught. He lifted an eyebrow, and gestured to the painting behind you, 

“May I see it?” He asked, his gaze meeting your own. After a slight pause, you stepped aside. Aemond walked past you, placing a loving hand on your waist, holding you to him slightly. Aemond has developed a habit of always having a hand on you, as if scared you were going to be snatched away, stolen from him. 

Again, he muttered a “Gevie” under his breath. He turned to look at you, your face twisted in anticipation of what he may think. You had hidden the hobby from him not out of malice, but rather out of embarrassment. Other ladies and some lords of the court had mentioned that painting was a poor man's job and that someone of “noble blood” needn’t concern themselves with such silly things. You had been worried that he would have agreed with them, not liking it. 

“I didn’t know you painted. This is lovely,” The hand on your waist moved to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind your ear, it had fallen loose from your braids. 

“I was afraid you would disapprove –” 

“Why on earth would I disapprove my love? This is beautiful, you have a talent”. Your cheeks turned impossibly more pink at his praise and approval. 

“Actually, I would like it very much if you were to paint something on my sword. Vhagar perhaps –” He trailed off thinking, “Or maybe the seas or those flowers are quite lovely too–” You had placed a finger over his lips, laughing. Aemond stopped talking, kissing the digit instead. 

“Yes husband, I would love nothing more,” Your smile matched Aemond’s from before. 

“I would like to show it off–” He murmured against your finger, kissing it again. You moved your hand to his cheek, cupping it lovingly. This small moment of domestic bliss was needed, for the both of you. 

“Well then, go and fetch it, and I shall get to work,” With the excitement of a little boy, your husband retrieved his sword from the bed, unsheathing it, placing it on the desk in front of you. The previous painting moved to the windowsill, to dry. Aemond pulled up a chair, sitting beside you. 

He rested his elbow on the corner of the table, chin in palm. The only free spot on the table, not littered with paints and brushes. You began to work, and he watched you, with nothing but love and admiration in his eye. He could sit here, happily, forever, watching you work, with the setting sun twinkling on the ocean water outside of the windows. Your delicate hands painted the hard metal of his sword. He would let you paint the whole damn keep if it made you happy. And now, with the conqueror's crown resting upon his brow, maybe he would –

Tag List:

@helaenaluvr  @anukulee   @stuckinaf4nfiction

@darylandbethfanforever9

[starmatzz]

Hiiiii

I NEED a smut inspired by the song "Let the world burn" and that new trending audio "loveyouloveyouloveyou" on dom yunho

IT SCREAMS CRAZYYYY

and maybe not jump into action right away a lil foreplay would be GREAT 🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣

Let The World Burn

classmate!yunho x fem!reader | smut, 1.8k

nsfw tags dom/sub, vaginal sex, pet names, violence, death, possessive, stalking, ropes, bondage, orgasm, penetration, touching

You woke up on a cold, unforgiving floor. A dull ache pulsed through your body as you tried to move, but your arms wouldn’t budge—they were tightly bound. Panic rose in your chest as your mind struggled to piece together what had happened. The last thing you remembered was running.

Running through a dark alley.

Running from someone.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

A deep voice emerged from the shadows before the figure stepped forward. It was him.

Jeong Yunho—your classmate. The one you had caught staring at you far too often in class. The one who always seemed to be watching. And every time a guy showed interest in you, they mysteriously stopped coming to school the next day. Or came injured. 

Now you knew why.

Yunho’s eyes lingered on your face, his lips curling into a smile—one that sent a chill down your spine.

“I never wanted things to turn out this way,” he murmured, tilting his head. “But you left me no choice.”

It's dangerous 'cause I want it all

And I don't think I care what it costs

I shouldn't have fallen in love

Look what it made me become

His voice softened, almost gentle. “You love me, y/n. We belong together—you just don’t see it yet.”

Then, his smile widened, dark and unhinged. “But that’s okay. You’re here now. You can’t run anymore.” He took a slow step closer. “And I’ll make you understand.”

And I know you think you can run

You're scared to believe I'm the one

But I just can't let you go

“So… beautiful.”

His hands trembled as he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t recoil—not with the ropes biting into your skin.

“Oh, almost forgot.”

Yunho suddenly pulled away, flashing you a smile before disappearing into the shadows. The moment he left, everything clicked. From the anonymous notes that kept appearing on your doorstep, through the unsettling feeling of being watched, to your underwear disappearing from the changing room after sports class while you were showering. 

It had all been him.

Before you could process it any further, Yunho returned—this time dragging someone with him. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Remember Yeosang?” he asked, his voice almost casual, as if discussing the weather. “He asked you to prom.”

Your stomach twisted as you took in the sight before you. Yeosang—bruised, bound, with tape covering his mouth—struggled against Yunho’s grip, his eyes wide with terror.

Yunho only smiled.

Fear in their eyes

Ash raining from the blood orange sky

I let everybody know that you're mine

Now it's just a matter of time

Without warning, Yunho pulled out a knife, the blade glinting under the dim light. Before you could react, he pressed it against Yeosang’s neck, his grip unyielding.

“No one can have you,” he growled, his voice laced with possessive fury. “Only me.”

Then, in one smooth motion, he dragged the blade across Yeosang’s throat.

A sickening sound filled the air—a wet, gurgling choke as Yeosang’s body convulsed. His wide, pleading eyes met yours for a fleeting second before the life drained from them. Blood spilled down his chest, soaking his shirt, pooling at his feet.

Yunho let him go, and his body crumpled to the floor with a dull thud.

You couldn’t breathe. The room spun.

But Yunho? He simply wiped the blade clean, turning back to you with that same twisted smile.

I'd let the world burn

Let the world burn for you

This is how it always had to end

If I can't have you then no one can

Yunho let the bloodied knife fall to the floor with a soft clang, his focus shifting entirely to you. Slowly, he stepped forward, closing the distance before kneeling beside you.

His hand reached out, his thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip. The touch was gentle—almost tender—yet it sent a wave of dread coursing through your veins.

“P-Please… don’t hurt me,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a breath.

Yunho’s expression flickered, his brows knitting together as if your words had wounded him. Then, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Hurt you?” he repeated, his tone almost incredulous. “Darling, I would never.”

He tilted his head, his dark eyes searching yours. “How could I? You mean everything to me.”

As if to prove his point, he cupped your cheek, his touch featherlight. But no matter how softly he spoke, no matter how tender his caress seemed, the blood still stained his hands.

Yunho's palm slid down to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your pink shirt, his touch possessive and sure. Raw desire blazed in his eyes as he watched you, like a predator who had finally cornered its prey. Your breath hitched at the intensity of his gaze.

“You're so beautiful,” he growled, squeezing your breast until you gasped. His hand traveled lower, trailing fire across your stomach before finding the hem of your skirt. His fingers teased along your thigh, making promises his touch would soon fulfill.

“So pretty..my pretty girl, all mine,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. One hand held you firmly, fingers tangled in your hair, while the other remained poised, as if daring you to challenge his claim. 

His hand ventured beneath your skirt, but you reacted swiftly, clamping your legs together and bending your knee to kick him in the stomach.

"Don't you dare touch me," you warned, your voice steady and firm despite the adrenaline coursing through you. Yunho's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and something else flickering in their depths. 

Yunho huffed, clutching his stomach as he stumbled back, surprise etched across his features. But the shock quickly morphed into anger, and his eyes darkened, a storm brewing within them. The air between you crackled with tension, his fury palpable as he regained his footing, the predator in him reawakened.

“I wanted to make it nice for the both of us,” he growled, rolling up the sleeves of his button up, “but you're not leaving me with any other alternative.”

With that, he took steps forward, pushing up the fabric of your skirt before ripping your panties in one swift motion. 

“Whore..” He mumbled under his breath, his breathing growing heavier as his fingers fumbled in his pocket. You barely had time to react before he pulled out a roll of black tape, his hands shaking slightly—whether from excitement or something more unhinged, you couldn’t tell.

With an eerie sort of patience, he tore off a strip, the sharp rip of adhesive filling the tense silence.

He grinned, pressing the tape firmly over your lips. His touch lingered for a second, as if savoring the way your breath hitched beneath his fingertips.

Your muffled whimper was the only sound you could make now. Panic surged through you, your body twisting instinctively against the ropes, but it was useless.

He shouted directly at you, his finger jabbing towards Yeosang's motionless form on the ground, exclaiming, “What do the other guys have that I lack?!”

He forced himself between your legs, before grasping your bound arms and securing them above your head, unzipping his jeans.

“Fuck, you're all pink down there,” he exhaled, his eyes focused on your private part, “It's a pity I'm going to ruin this pretty cunt right now.”

He didn't hesitate for a moment; he pushed in immediately. You whimpered over the tape as the pressure and burning sensation overwhelmed you, and you instinctively tried to squirm away.

Yunho groaned. The warmth and wetness of your pussy was driving him insane. He proceeded, his long fingers grabbing your hips in a bruising grip as he set a steady rhythm. 

He pounded into you, his gaze locked onto your face, drinking in every trace of fear.

You couldn’t bear it—the pain was unbearable. Strands of hair clung to your damp skin as your body trembled, shaken by both agony and fear. 

“Love you, love you… I love you so much,” he babbled, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush, as if trying to make you understand the depth of his obsession.

Nails dug into your palms as Yunho refused to stop, his hands pressing firmly against your shoulders. He grabbed you tightly, fucking deep into you. You could feel the tip of his cock hit your cervix, causing a piercing pain to wash all over your body. 

“Did it hurt?” he cooed, his voice laced with mock sympathy because repeating the same movement over and over. 

“You’re mine, y/n. Finally mine,” he murmured, his voice filled with possession. “See? We fit perfectly together.”

He looked down, watching his cock disappear in your pussy. The way you stretched around him, how you cried and whimpered, it was all his fuel. Keeping his gaze on your face as he moved his hands from your shoulders, he gently cradled your breasts, squeezing them. 

Yunho continued fucking into you, curses and moans escaping his lips. He leaned closer, sucking and biting the soft skin on your neck, below your ear and over your collarbone. 

“Oh god..I'm close..” he whimpered, his eyebrows pulling in in taunt as his thrusts have become twitchy. Your sweet scent enveloped him, sending a dizzying rush through his body, as if every nerve was awakened at once, leaving him lightheaded and lost in the intoxicating fragrance of you.

His large hand slid up your thigh, his grip tightening as he squeezed. “Fuck, look how deep I am in your pretty cunt...” he breathed out, massaging the bulge in your abdomen. 

You laid there, motionless, waiting for him to finish, the stillness pressing down on you.

“Your eyes are mesmerizing,” he murmured, leaning in, his fingers softly brushing the hair from your face. “I wish I could see you look at me like this every day.”

He slowly withdrew, his cock rubbing against your velvety walls, before forcefully slamming back in. You cried out, the sound muffled by the tape, as your hands shook uncontrollably from the excruciating pain, each tremor making the ache feel even more unbearable.

“Ah..fuck!” Yunho suddenly groaned, staying buried deep inside you. His hips twitches as he came hard, filling you up. 

“So pretty…” he mumbled, his breath shallow as he struggled to regain control, his gaze never leaving you. He pulled out, watching the strings of thick cum connecting his tip and your pulsating slit. 

Suddenly he pushed back in, rolling his hips in circles as he continued fucking you through his orgasm. “Don’t think we’re over, princess,” he smirked, his eyes glinting as he watched the fear spread across your face. Your eyes widened in realization, and deep down, you knew he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon.

[lostiolite]

hii can you write something about monoma having a crush on a 1-A reader who has a personality like him but a little more nicer? have a great dayy

Everyone is better than me

Monoma x reader oneshot 0.6k words

You’ve always felt like a side character, worthless, expendable. it's something that kind of haunts you. You were surprised when you got into U.A. 

But, oh, your classmates. they were the best people on earth (except Mineta). Midorya went through so much to improve. Bakugo, despite being an asshole was talented, he had every right to brag with a quirk like that. Ururaka’s bubbly persona never failed to lift people’s spirits. Mina and Kirishima were the best people to give you motivation. Momo always tried to get you to understand your worth but you didn’t seem to budge.

You were kind of overwhelmed to be surrounded by such awesome people. They were practically shining stars, so much so that it blinded you. You wish to shine as bright as they do but you know you never will. Despite feeling inferior to them,  you couldn’t be more thankful to them.

Your class was your lifeline and you always praised them. Your classmates have been targeted and come out triumphant every time. Why wouldn’t you be proud? You would praise your classmates, obviously not in an obnoxious way like a certain someone, who always seemed to try and 1-up you when you talked about them.

You were always talking about them– not yourself, which caught the attention of Kendo, who recently worked with Momo. 

You were eating lunch with Mina in the cafeteria. You two were brainstorming on a class project and decided to sit away from the rest of your friends because you would get distracted. 

Unfortunately, Mina had to use the bathroom, leaving you alone. This is when Kendo came up to you, asking you about school. 

You started talking about what the rest of your class was doing in detail, making sure to praise them. Monoma who was in the area noticed, he tried to one-up you like always before Kendo karate chopped him. Kendo then cocked her head, returning her attention to you.

“And, what about you?” 

You were stumped. You just assured her that there was nothing interesting going on with you. She stopped you, asking why you didn't wanna talk about yourself. You were kind of stunned at her bluntness, she went straight to the point. You sighed,

“Because I'm not as amazing as them, and I probably never will be. But, I don't think that matters, because being able to support them is enough for me.” 

She gave you a somber smile. she didn’t really know what to say, which was new. She usually knew how to cheer people up. She’d have to get back to you later, her focus was now on Monoma, whom she half expected to start dogging on you. He didn’t say anything though. 

She waved you bye and retreated back to her table.

That's when everything kind of clicked for Monoma. 

He was usually intellectual and able to grasp others' emotions and feelings, but when it came to class 1-A and by association, you, he went on autopilot. His main objective was to dogshit on 1-A to bring light to 1-B accomplishments and that they were just as great as 1-A. 

Ever since then, he’s seen you in a different light, maybe even developed a fat fucking crush.

Mentioned before, but he goes on auto pilot when around class 1-A, so he doesn’t realize when he says things like–

“Maybe take a note out of [name]’s book and be more humble, because you look like a fool” he’d say taunting Bakugo.

One time bakugo called you an extra when you offered him help in a subject he was struggling in (which is rare for bakugo), and suddenly Monoma appeared behind him.

“Maybe that’s why you bombed the test, you think you're better than everyone huh— your fragile ego can't take a hit so you have to take it out on [Name]! Be grateful someone like them is even offering help to such a lowlife braindead creature such as yourself!”

That's when Deku caught on.

Monoma not-so subtly praising you is something most of 1-A doesn’t really take note of, but Kendo and Deku are absolutely appalled.

[les4elliewilliams]

With all my heart.

¡! daily click・palestine masterpost・do not buy any game from naughty dog, neil druckmann is a zionist・more daily clicks. ¡!

cw/wc: 10.9k (ik wtf) not proofread ; smut, fingering both r/e!receiving, oral (r!receiving), swearing, fluff, reader has a heart condition. jackson ellie x fem reader (💘)

a/n: I'm not really sure how I feel about this, lol (especially the smut part). I tried to do a lot of research about this type of heart issue to make it as accurate as possible, so if it's not, I'm sorry, I tried. ib one of those romantic movies where one of the characters is sick and has some rare condition (except that no one dies.)

also can we start romanticizing unconditional love and healthy relationships?

You knew you had won the lottery the moment you accidentally bumped into her in the hospital.

Your life has been full of challenges right from the beginning. You were born with a condition that affected your heartbeats, making it difficult for your heart to function normally. So you had to rely on a pacemaker to regulate your heartbeat. This condition has significantly impacted your life, making it hard for you to engage in activities that require physical exertion.

Long QT Syndrome, or LQTS, is a rare genetic condition that can mess up your heart's electrical system. It can cause your heartbeats to go wild, making you faint, have seizures, or even go into sudden cardiac arrest. To keep yourself safe, you needed to take your meds, live a certain way, and have a pacemaker — which you had implanted.

Living a normal life had always been tough for you, and it wasn't only the syndrome's physical symptoms that held you back, but also your parents' protectiveness. They worried a lot about your health, maybe a bit too much, leaving you with very little freedom to do anything. Even simple things like going to a party or hanging out with friends like a regular teenager seemed like a luxury you could never have. Although you understood that your parents were only trying to protect you, their overprotectiveness always made you feel suffocated and cut off from the world. You always felt like an alien who had just been dropped off on Earth; you knew nothing about anything. You've always had to rely on the stories and experiences of people around you, like your friends, to help you figure things out and feel like you had lived a little.

You have been homeschooled ever since you were a little kid. You didn't have many opportunities to participate in social activities and make friends. However, you did manage to meet two people who have remained your only friends to this day. You met them in the park when you were a kid, and to your luck, they stuck around. You often wonder if they stayed with you out of pity or because they genuinely liked spending time with you, but you were glad regardless; it was good to have someone to hang out with.

The memory of the day you met Ellie is still as vivid in your mind as it was when it happened. You had just finished your routine checkup at the hospital and were feeling a bit peckish. You made your way to the vending machine to grab a snack, suddenly feeling a wave of dizziness sweep over you. You hoped a quick snack would help, but fate seemed to have other plans in store for you that day. As you selected your snack, you watched in frustration as it got stuck in the vending machine. You tried everything you could to retrieve it, but it refused to budge. Just as you were about to give up, she appeared.

"Can I hel-" she started, but you were already turning around to leave, and just as you turned around to leave, you accidentally collided with her, causing your chest to hit hers. The impact triggered your pacemaker, causing it to beep loudly and incessantly. "Shit — I'm so sorry" she said as she gently grabbed your arm to steady you. "Oh my god, I'm sorry" you said simultaneously. The sound reverberated through the hospital walls, and your face heated up with embarrassment. You had never experienced anything like this before, not even when you bumped into walls at home.

The auburnette looked at you puzzled and asked, "Why're you beeping? Are you okay?" Worried green eyes scanning you, she was clearly taken aback by the unexpected beeping sound and she couldn't understand where it was coming from. You couldn't help but feel drawn to her despite the awkward introduction, she was the most beautiful girl you had ever seen.

Little did you know that this chance encounter would lead to a series of life-changing events.

You remember sitting in the seating area of the hospital, munching on a snack that she had generously gotten for you, you couldn't help but feel grateful for this girl's kindness. She was so funny and kind, cracking dumb puns every now and then. You admired how perfect and flawless she looked and to this day, she still tells you how mesmerized she was by you when she saw you for the first time. You both chatted away about everything and nothing, you noticed that she had a backpack with her. Being the curious person you are, you couldn't resist the urge to ask her what she was studying. She seemed delighted by your interest and started talking passionately about her field of study — art. The more she talked, the more intrigued you were. When your conversation came to an end, she mustered up the courage to ask for your number, a clear indication that she wanted to see you again; it took you by surprise but you happily obliged. Something about you captivated her attention, although you couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.

You never thought that you would have the chance to become friends with her, let alone her best friend. But somehow, again, fate had other plans for you. Your friendship with her started slowly but surely. She always asked you to hang out, and you couldn't help but say yes. She was so fun to be around, and it was impossible not to enjoy her company. She would come to your place and take you on small adventures, always promising to show you something new and exciting. This was especially important to you, as you had shared that your teenage years were quite dull and you didn't venture out of your house much. She always respected your limits, knowing that you had to be cautious with your heart condition. When she started staying at your place, you were surprised at how well she fit in with your family and friends. Your parents loved her and your friends thought she was great too. She was always taking care of you without being overbearing or suffocating. Her kindness and thoughtfulness made you feel valued and appreciated, and you couldn't help but fall for her. How could you not after all? She was perfect.

You shared every aspect of your life with her, and she reciprocated. You both had a shared love for reading, although she preferred a completely different genre from yours. She forced you to read her favorite Savage Starlight comics, and even though they weren't your cup of tea, you still enjoyed spending time with her while reading them, mostly because of how cute she sounded when she read every line out loud, effortlessly switching tones to match the different characters' voices and even adding sound effects to accentuate the narrative. She would often stay the night at your place and binge-read them with you. She loved to talk about her passions for space, dinosaurs, science, and art. She even showed you her drawings and journal, claiming she had never shown them to anyone. She even made a few drawings for you; it was adorable and impressive how she managed to capture every little detail of your face and put it on a piece of paper, she was a talented one. And, of course, you did the same with her — sharing your favorite comics/books with her, even convincing her to watch movies that she always claimed she hated. After watching them with you, she realized they weren't so bad after all. Not that she actually paid attention to the movie, her eyes solely focused on you.

Soon enough she was introducing you to her closest friends. She was convinced that you would love them, and she was totally right. One of her friends, Dina, was so much fun to be around, always full of energy and cracking jokes, she had a smile that could light up the whole room. Jesse, Dina's boyfriend, was just as funny as her, but he was a bit more serious and responsible than the rest of them. He always looked out for Dina and Ellie, but they never listened to him, which resulted in some pretty hilarious situations. The group had a really cool dynamic, and you loved how they made you feel welcome right from the start.

Your first kiss was a moment you could never forget, etched deeply into your memory. You both were deeply in love with each other, and it was evident in the way you looked at each other. Your glances filled with unspoken feelings and palpable tension that drove you crazy, hoping that you weren't the only one feeling that way. And then the moment finally arrived. You remember it was a hot summer day, and the air in your room was stifling despite the fan pointed at your face. You had a few strands of hair that fell loose out of your messy low ponytail, and they moved with the breeze from the fan. You were both on your bed; she was sitting criss-crossed before you, music playing in the background. She was drawing you in her journal, claiming that she needed more practice, which, after years, she revealed was just an excuse to draw you and spend more time with you; you were her favorite muse and she was just a loser who couldn't help but simp for you. Her cheeks were slightly pink due to the heat (or at least you thought), and her green concentrated eyes flickered back and forth from your face to her journal. When she started drawing your lips you unconsciously licked them, causing her eyes to dart up to look at you in the eyes.

She let out a soft sigh and mumbled under her breath, "m' almost done." A faint blush crept up her cheeks, though you couldn't quite explain why. Intrigued, you leaned over to get a glimpse of her work and asked, "Yeah? can I see?" She straightened up, holding the journal close to her chest, and replied with a slight huff, "Don't move, c'mon, stay still." You raised an eyebrow in amusement and retorted, "What? I'm not even moving." She didn't respond and instead furrowed her brows, focusing intently on her piece of art. The room fell silent, except for the sound of her pencil scratching against the paper.

The silence between you and her was palpable but not uncomfortable, yet you still decided to break it with a joke. "Knock knock," you said, a small smile forming on your face. Her eyes, which had been focused on her journal, darted up to meet yours once again. A playful smile appeared on her lips as she asked, "Who's there?" in a slightly sarcastic tone, giving you an eye roll. "Kiss," you replied, wiggling your brows. "Kiss who?" she played along, her eyes still fixed on you. "Me," you smiled awkwardly.

You knew it was a terrible joke, a very corny one, but you couldn't help it. After all, you didn't have much experience in these kinds of things — the universe only knew how long it took you to muster up the courage to make a silly little joke like that one. She chuckled dryly. "God, that's really bad," she commented, and you laughed along. "I know," you lowered your head and shook it slowly before looking up at her again. Both of you were smiling at each other, the tension between you growing. "So?" you quipped, trying to sound confident. "Do you want to?" you asked, your heart beating fast. "Oh shit, you were serious?" She suddenly sounded nervous, placing her somehow worn-out journal on her thighs as she looked at you in disbelief. You could tell she was surprised, and maybe a little flustered. "I'm sosorry — I didn't mean to make it awkward. Forget it. It's just I really like you a lot, but if you don't—" you started to say, trying to diffuse the tension, but her soft lips cut off your nervous rambling before you could finish your sentence. You felt a jolt of electricity shoot through your body as you kissed her back, your hands reaching up to cup her face. It was a moment you would never forget.

After your first kiss, you and Ellie went on a few dates together. It was during one of these dates that she took you to the park and asked you to be her girlfriend. The setting was perfect — you were having a lovely picnic date, the weather was just right, and a gentle breeze was blowing, caressing your skin and making it erupt in goosebumps as you sat close to the pond next to Ellie, throwing frozen peas to the ducks, their quacking filling the air with lively energy. The water was still and calm, the sun was shining, and the greenery around you was lush and vibrant. You felt a sense of warmth and happiness.

The auburnette sat beside you, leaning back as you fed the ducks in the pond. She wore a tender smile on her face, watching you with a gentle gaze. "I thought they only ever ate bread," she commented, breaking the peaceful silence between the two of you. You turned to her, your eyebrows raised in surprise. "If all they eat is bread, how will they survive in the wild without people tossing them bread all the time?" You replied with a hint of sarcasm. She scoffed and playfully nudged you. "Alright, smartass," she said, you nudged her back, both of you giggling like children. "I'm surprised a know-it-all nerd like you didn't know that," you teased her. "Nerd, huh? you actually like this nerd" she retorted teasingly, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she pointed at herself. "Do I, now?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at her. You couldn't take back your words after all, you did like her and you made sure to tell her, let's say... pretty often.

"Oh yeah, you do," she chuckled, nodding her head playfully. The two of you fell back into a comfortable silence, watching the ducks swim around in the pond. Suddenly, she turned to you, her expression serious. "Listen, I was thinking...you know how we're going out on dates and all," she started, her voice hesitant. Your head snapped to look at her; your heart was beating like crazy, not that it usually wasn't due to your syndrome, but it felt crazier than usual. You felt your palms start to sweat, and you grew more nervous by the second. "Yeah?" you prompted her, waiting for her to continue. "I guess what I'm trying to say is...we already act like a couple, so...will you be my girlfriend?" she finally gathered the courage to ask, her eyes locked on yours.

She seemed a bit tense, although you couldn't understand why. After all, you had told her multiple times before how much you liked her, and the two of you had been acting like a couple for quite some time now. You gave her a cheeky smile "Of course I want to," you said confidently, jumping right into her lap, feeling a sudden burst of excitement as you wrapped your arms around her.

Your love was pure and genuine, and it was evident from the little things you did for each other. She would leave little notes around your room or in your bag whenever you left for a second. These notes would remind you of her love for you, and you would return the gesture by hiding notes in her notebooks or in her journal. She would find them the next day during her classes, and it would brighten up her day.

"you look so pretty"

"are you a keyboard? cause you're just my type ;)"

"i love your freckles and i love you"

"hope you're having a good day :) ps. no more pickup lines im begging D:"

Your love was spontaneous and full of small handmade gifts, full of drawings from her part and origami from yours. Once in a while she'd even write and play songs for you, which had you smiling like an idiot cause how romantic was that?

She was always too caring, and she would make sure that you were feeling okay despite your heart disorder. She would accompany you to your doctor appointments and never leave your side, even though you would tell her she didn't need to be there. Unlike your parents who had always been overprotective, she was always looking out for you without being too much. Since you were the "sick" one between the two of you, she always had trouble accepting help from you, especially when she felt sick or was on her period. But you always insisted on taking care of her, making her chicken soup whenever she had a horrible cold, and ensuring that she took painkillers for her period cramps. You always made sure that she had enough pads and her favorite snacks or helped her through one of her panic attacks. Soon, she got used to it and would always be a whining mess when she was sick, hoping you would cuddle with her or baby her. She loved it more than she liked to admit.

On your anniversaries, you would surprise each other with flowers. The first time you had ever gotten her flowers (which was on your first date), she accepted them with teary eyes, saying that none of her ex-girlfriends had ever gotten her flowers or treated her like a woman; you loved the idea of being her first in something — you didn't get to be her first kiss or her first time in...that, but at least you were the first girlfriend who treated her right.

Your first time together was so special and intimate, it made you feel truly alive. The way she was so gentle and caring towards you left an indelible imprint on your heart. Her touch was like a soft breeze on a calm summer day, sending shivers down your spine, and being with her made you feel like you were safe from the rest of the world. You remember how her tender gaze made you feel like the most special and beautiful girl in the world, making your insecurities fade away. The way she held you close, with a warmth that engulfed you, made you feel comfortable in your own skin. It was your first time ever, and you confided in her about not having much experience. She reassured you that she would teach you, show you the way, and make you feel good, and good Lord, if she kept that promise.

It was a warm and peaceful afternoon, the sun was shining brightly outside, casting a warm glow into the room. You and your girlfriend were both lounging on her comfortable bed, enjoying each other's company in silence. While she was intently watching an action movie, you were lost in the pages of a captivating book. Your attentive eyes scanned each line and paragraph, immersing yourself in the story and oblivious to your surroundings. Unbeknownst to you, Ellie was growing increasingly impatient, huffing and puffing in an attempt to get your attention. Her huffs were airy at first, but as time went on, they became more forceful and pronounced, hoping to grab your attention and draw you away from your book.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to her, you turned your head gently towards her, lowering your book ever so slightly "What's wrong, Els?" you asked, concerned. "Put it down, I wanna cuddle." she responded, snatching the book out of your hand and placing it on her nightstand. You couldn't help but smile at her neediness, finding it adorable. "Fine," you sighed playfully, "Needy," you added under your breath, rolling your eyes at her. But she caught your comment, "What? Did you say somethin'?" You couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction as she pulled you on top of her and wrapped her arms around you. "Oh, nothing," you innocently replied.

"Comfy? Anything hurts?" she asked in a gentle tone as she rubbed your back in a slow and soothing motion, and you instantly relaxed under her touch. You took a deep breath, the tension in your muscles slowly fading away. "I'm okay, — m'comfy" you reassured her, feeling grateful for her care and existence in general. You hugged her tightly, burying your head in her chest. You could feel the warmth radiating from her, and the steady beats of her heart were a comforting sound.

You both cuddled up in silence, movie still playing softly in the background. As she kept rubbing your back, you gently scratched her arm something that usually relaxed her. After a little while, you felt compelled to express your feelings and whispered, "I love you." Even though you couldn't see her face, you could hear the smile in her voice when she replied, "Love you more, babe." You remained comfortably nestled in her chest, head buried in her grey hoodie. When you finally lifted your head from her chest, you gazed into her beautiful green eyes, already looking at you with so much affection that made your heart skip a beat. "You mean the world to me." you confessed, her eyes softened even more, and her heart swelled with love for you. She was the perfect girlfriend, always so loving and respectful, and you couldn't ask for anyone better. Finally, she leaned in and kissed you slowly and tenderly, a soft kiss that soon turned into something passionate and full of desire. She rolled on top, pinning you down with her weight, her hands roaming all over your body. She squeezed your waist, your hands cupping her freckled face to keep her close. She sighed quietly into the kiss, her fingers tugging at your tank top, and you knew what that meant — she wanted it off. And to confirm your thoughts, it was Ellie herself. She pulled away, lips slightly swollen and pink. Despite her best efforts, it was pretty evident that she was struggling to control her breathing as she panted uncontrollably, both because of the intense making out and her arousal growing by the second. Her face was flushed; she looked at you to gauge your reaction to her silent request, to which you responded with a little nod. "I'm ready," you uttered timidly, feeling your cheeks getting warmer. "Are you sure? We don't nee-" you cut her words off, repeating yourself, "I'm ready," this time sounding a bit more firm and confident of your choice. She mimicked the slight nod you gave her a few seconds ago, loose strands of auburn hair falling out of her little bun framing her face, her eyes never leaving yours.

She leaned in once again, giving you a peck on your moist lips before kissing your jawline and down to your neck. "Can i touch you?" she asked between damp kisses she left on your neck, "I don't know, can you?" she chuckled and began to suck purple marks on your soft skin as she slipped her hand underneath your tank top, brushing against your bare stomach before reaching her target — your tits. She cupped one of your tits, feeling the fabric of your bra. Your breath hitched, your cheeks were flushed and you were grateful she was too focused on your neck to notice "Can I take it off?" she questioned between cute smooches sounds, "Yeah," you breathed out, looking back into her eyes.

When she did, you were left in nothing but your bra, the visible scar near your shoulder making you feel uncomfortable, same with the implanted pacemaker under your skin, it was visible and you hoped it didn't gross her out. You couldn't help but look away from her, suddenly feeling ashamed for something you had no control over; it was something so small yet so significant for you.

You felt her index and middle finger gently pressing under your jawline to turn your head towards her and make you look into her eyes once again. Her voice was soft, almost like a whisper, as she spoke to you in such a tender tone. "Hey," she started softly, sensing your insecurity. "You're beautiful, alright?" Hearing those words from her sent chills all over your body, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort wash over you. She continued, "We'll go slow. If something feels wrong, you let me know, okay?" Her words were reassuring, and you could feel her gentle touch on your face, holding it firmly so that you couldn't look away. You nodded in response to her words, suddenly feeling shy in front of your girlfriend.

After less than a few minutes, both of your clothes were off, thrown carelessly somewhere in the room. She still had her sport bra on and her underwear while you only had your underwear on. She trailed down, kissing all over your bare chest and breasts, and your scar, the one you were insecure about "smooch smooch..so pretty, smooch beautiful, my pretty girl" she kept murmuring under her breath causing goosebumps to rise all over your body, your nipples stood erect and hard, begging for some attention. She chuckled when she felt your sensible nub harden under her palm, "Didn't mean to make the ladies feel neglected" she joked, her voice was husky. She looked up at you with a cocky grin, and you felt your cheeks heat up even more; you chuckled awkwardly and rolled your eyes at her attempt to tease you about something you couldn't control. "Why are you always like this?" you rhetorically asked with a playful smirk, she shrugged and gave you a lopsided smile as she began to kiss your chest and attack your nipples with her mouth. "mmphh" you let out; a pathetic attempt to swallow a small moan when she sucked on one of your nipples and pinched the other. You bit down on your lip, and you could feel her smile at the small sound that came from you as she continued to work on your tits.

She trailed her hand down your abdomen, her fingers dancing around the waistband of your underwear teasingly. You couldn't deny the arousal building in your panties and at the pit of your stomach, you could feel the uncomfortable stickiness forming in your undies. So fucking wet. Leaving moist kisses all the way down to your belly button, then she stopped. She looked up at you, cheeks flushed just like yours and her eyes looking for a sign of your consent. She wanted to make sure you were completely comfortable with the way she was exploring your body, feeling it, and touching it. "I'm ready, Ellie. I promise" you repeated, your voice was soft and still timid.

"If you want me to stop, just tell me to, okay?" she told you once again and she didn't resume what she was doing until you gave her a light nod. She spread your legs, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the darker spot of your panties, you were so fucking wet. She hissed something under her breath that you couldn't quite catch. Seeing how wet she made you only served to boost her ego (as if she wasn't cocky already, the last thing this girl needed was a boost of her ego). "God, you're so wet," she couldn't help but voice her thoughts. "Thanks, Einstein, I haven't noticed," you responded with a hint of sarcasm, perhaps hoping to divert attention away from your embarrassment. She chuckled and an amused smile appeared on her dotted face, her brows jolting up. "Don't you give me the attitude" Before you could say anything back, her digits gently pressed on your still-clothed pussy, making your hips jerk away and a little moan escape your lips. Your face was on fire as you registered the lewd sound that accidentally left your lips. "That's what you get," A broad grin of pride spread across her face, and a fleeting pout that she found endearing appeared on your face "Oh, what? You mad at me, now?" she continued to taunt you, you let out a deep sigh and turned your gaze away.

"Shut up — god, why are you so annoying even in moments like this?" You covered your eyes with the sweaty palm of your hand as you spoke, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You could hear her giggle at your shyness, and it was evident that she enjoyed teasing you and playing with your emotions.

"C'mon pretty, m'just messin' with you." but she couldn't stop snickering to herself, finding your reactions quite funny. "Look at me," she commanded in a gentle tone, and you complied; you moved your hand away from your face and looked down at her, who was positioned between your spread thighs. "Want me to stop?" she questioned again, making you huff in response "Ellie. If you ask me that one more time, i swear—"

"Jesus, just making sure, no need to be so feisty about it" her fingers hooked under the waistband of your pink panties, tugging it down and freeing your dripping cunt. "Do I seriously make you this wet?" she was in disbelief, watching the string of precum that connected your pussy to your damp panties she had just pulled down.

"No, I was secretly thinking of Megan Fox, imagining her on top doing naughty things to me," you sarcastically retorted. She gasped dramatically, acting offended. Such a drama queen she was. "I consider that cheating." She played along, keeping that fake offended demeanor on. You laughed softly at her silly expression. "Okay, then, you caught me. Mentally cheating on you right now," you joked.

"I see how it is" You laughed again, and she scoffed, but she wasn't actually pissed at you.

She began kissing your inner thigh, the ache between your thighs becoming almost unbearable. "Els..." you had this whiny hint in your voice, growing visibly impatient, "Hm?" she hummed back, switching to your other thigh, going near your pussy but never actually touching you where you wanted her to. You moved your hips close to her face, but she moved away. "What do you want?" she asked teasingly, playing dumb. Fuck, you hated her guts for doing that. "You know what i want" she clicked her tongue under the roof of her mouth "Don't think I do" you sighed, frustration slowly creeping up inside you "Please?" your voice was delicate, almost as if you were begging her to let you try her fries or asking her to buy you something. She smirked, seeing you all horny and desperate yet still struggling with your words, too shy to tell her what you wanted directly. "Please what?" she encouraged you, that obnoxious cocky grin never leaving her face; she was making fun of you at this point. But you stayed quiet. "Can't read your mind princess, you gotta use your words."

"Touch me?...please?" your voice above a whisper but she heard you, you could tell she did from the satisfied expression casting over her features. "Sorry? Louder. Couldn't hear you" that cunt. You knew she did hear you and that she just wanted to hear it again so, you tried your best to push your shyness aside and please her. "Touch me, Ell-" But she was growing way too impatient, pressing her thumb on your clit, you let out a strangled moan and your hips jerked away at the sudden contact, but she pulled you closer again. Between the two of you, the more impatient one was probably her. Poor baby couldn't even let you say it twice, she was already torturing your aching nub, drawing small circles on it.

"Feeling good?" she questioned, her eyes studying your every reaction to her touch. She knew you felt good but still needed to hear it from you. "Yeah," you breathed out, your breathing becoming more elaborated. "Remember to breathe from your nose, baby. Don't want your heart to go crazy over a little excitement — if it gets too much, tell me." she thoughtfully said. "I'll be fine" you reassured her, grabbing her other hand to squeeze it.

In no time, her lips were on your clit, gently sucking on it. She moaned on it, almost as she she was the one getting head. She could feel her pussy starting to ache, the fabric of her undies sticking to her pussy, but she couldn't help it. The way you sounded, your cute expressions and your pretty pussy were just too much to bare for her. "So fucking beautiful," she mumbled, pulling away from your pussy for a second. She slid a finger inside you and you arched your back, pushing your hips to her face to seek for more contact "This okay, yeah?" her voice was rasp. You whined in response "Ooooh look at her, think she loves me" it took quite a few to understand that she was talking to your pussy instead "God, w-why are you so…" you tried to hide the turmoil in your voice but you interrupted your own words with a slutty moan that left your throat as soon as she pushed her finger deeper into you.

"Fuuuck" you grunted, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull and the grip on her hand tightening. "So responsive," she chuckled. "Ellie, shut..up," you whined, moving your hips slowly to meet her thrusts. "Can't even talk without moaning, so nasty." she snickered, acting like she was totally unaffected by your pretty moans. She was fucking soaked, humping into absolutely nothing, not that you could notice it, too focused on the way she was making you feel. The gushing sounds riverbed throughout Ellie's bedroom, and she absolutely fucking loved it. She loved seeing you like this, whimpering and writhing under her touch, so ethereal, your body was pure art to her.

"M-more" you stuttered, panting a bit, your chest raising and falling quickly "More, huh?" she echoed mockingly, sliding another finger into your little honey jar, wetness dripping down to her knuckles from how wet you were. "Gahh-uhhd" you let out incoherent words, she groaned, feeling your walls clenching around her fingers and feeling her own clenching around absolutely nothing. "Like this, yes?" she questioned in a breathy voice, her brain suddenly struggling to make out sentences that made sense, too mushy to say shit and all because of you. If you only knew how long she waited to see you like this — touch you like this. "Uh-aahh" you trapped little whimpers inside your mouth, biting hard on your bottom lip again. "Nah-uh let me hear you," she immediately scolded you, shaking her head in disapproval, but you didn't listen.

Her face lowered to your pussy, lips attaching to your throbbing clit, teasing it with the tip of her tongue, switching between circling it and sucking it gently. Your mouth hung open, arching your back and bucking your hips against her face as you let out obscene moans. She moaned against your core, a mixture of her own spit and your juices covering her chin. "Taste hmmsoo good" Your other hand reached down to move pieces of her hair out of her face. "Ellie, I-i think I'm gonna-" you trailed off, not that she needed you to tell her, she could feel you squeezing her digits as she kept hitting that soft spot inside you. "Gonna cum, baby? wanna cum for me, beautiful?" she cooed.

"God..I love you so fucking much," she hissed under her breath; you moaned loudly in return, riding her fingers "Babe, m'gonna cum" you squealed, high-pitched moans reverbing throughout her apartment. "i'm here, princess" she cooed, squeezing your hand that she had been holding this entire time, so clingy. She wanted to ensure you knew she was there for you, not only to please you. That little feeling that had been building up in your stomach snapped like a rubber band, milking her fingers as she let you ride your orgasm. Curses falling from both of your lips, your muscles spasming and squeezing her fingers — god if she loved the way your body was reacting to her.

"I know, i know, I'm here baby" she whispered sweetly when a few whiny whimpers left your mouth. When you came down from your high, she withdrew her fingers and sucked them clean, her eyes locked with yours as she did so "You're so nasty" you giggled, feeling yourself blush again "You're the one who came all over my fingers" she teased you, crawling up to kiss your lips. Your tongues tangled together and you could taste yourself on her tongue. You place your hands on her waist, pulling her body closer to yours.

"You must be tired, angel." She reluctantly pulled away, an inch away from your lips as she spoke. "Want me to leave you all wet and needy?" you inquired in disbelief, lifting your brows up at her reluctance. Her eyes silently begging you to touch her, but she still preferred to put your health over her needs. That's how caring and loving she was. "I'm just saying you don't need to push yourself if you feel tired," she repeated.

"Oh, Ellie…" you sighed, pulling her underwear down and taking her by surprise. She seemed to be internally struggling to find the right thing to say, but you preceded her, "Think I can't handle a little fun?" you purred, growing bolder in your actions. You cupped her cunt, feeling all her sweet juices cover your hand; she was so fucking soaked, it was almost unbelievable. "Only if you're sure," she answered, her breath hitching in her throat as she gulped thickly, already trying hard to suppress her cute little moans. "I'm sure you want this," you teased her, the corner of your lips curling up in a smile, almost as if to make fun of her; it was your turn now.

"I do, you know I do," she replied. It was so entertaining to watch her keep her breathing steady. You ran your index and middle finger through her glistening folds and began to tease her puffy clit, rubbing it slowly, almost painfully. "Fuck" she grunted, humping the palm of your hand, desperate to find relief; you hummed back. "Am I doing okay?" you asked innocently; despite your inexperience, you could tell she loved it, and you high-fived yourself for the little mental notes you took while she was touching you just a moment ago. She grabbed your wrist, guiding your fingers to her entrance. "Finger me," she commanded with a raspy voice.

She let out a small gasp when you thrusted into her slowly. "Like this?" you could feel her walls clenching around your inexperienced fingers, "Uh-huh," she bobbed her head, positioning your hand just how she wanted it, guiding you as she rode your fingers. "Fuck, you're so messy — so wet for me," you muttered under your breath, pulling her closer to you; she was supporting her weight on her wobbly knees as she rode your fingers, burying her head into the crook of your neck. Your other hand rested on her hips, holding her in place and not allowing her to move as you kept slamming your fingers into her. The pleasure sounds she let out right into your ear only served to make you wetter and hornier than you already were — if that was even possible. It was almost like your inexperience melted away, with the sole intent of pleasing her. Immaculate sounds left her throat as she chased her orgasm on your fingers, and you couldn't help but groan pitifully after her. Your pussy already yearning for her again, struggling to hold onto the last shreds of sanity. "Just like that." Her voice was weak and breathy, it was fucking music to your ears, making you feel all types of things inside your tummy, butterflies perhaps? She couldn't even speak properly, struggling to suppress her slutty whimpers. Muttering filthy curses under her breath as you picked up the pace, hitting that spongy spot over and over; you could feel her whole body tremble and squirm in your hands. What made it better was knowing that you were causing it.

"You feel so good, El," you whispered in her ear, kissing all the cute little freckles spattered on her bare shoulder and collarbone "'m gonna cum" she gasped, her whimpers becoming more frequent and louder. Who knew she'd become a whiny mess when close to her orgasm, but for some reason, you found it adorable — like her life depended entirely on your fingers, cute wispy brows furrowed together in concentration. "Gonna cum on my fingers, pretty?" you purred. "Please…" she sounded so fucking needy it was almost ridiculous, but you slowed down instead, earning a groan from her part "Nonono, don't stop, pleaseplease," Her words were rushed, sounding like a kid who had just lost the most precious possession. "What is it that you said? Words, right? — you gonna be a good girl and ask or you just gonna cum like that?" for some reason, the idea of playing with her in such a vulnerable state turned you on. You wanted to see how far you could push her. She let out a shaky breath. "Can't believe you're doing this." She slowly shook her head in disbelief. Your digits pressed on the spot that almost made her squirt, and she squirmed. "Words." You spoke with a firmer tone, but you still had a playful, teasing smirk on your lips. "Swear to fucking god— next time, I won't go so easy on you," uttering a threatening remark followed by an imperceptible scoff. "I never asked you to go easy on me." Your pace slowed down even more, and she frowned at you.

"Can I cum? on your fingers? please." her chest heaving with each ragged breath. Her eyes were wide and glossy, her pupils dilated with desperation. "Such a goood girl El, such a good girl…cum for me" but all she could do was crash her lips against yours, leaving you no choice but swallow all her little noises. Her thighs trembled with each thrust, her legs parting slightly to allow better access as your fingers kept thrusting in and out of her wetness harder and faster, causing her to moan into your mouth.

When she came down from her high she collapsed against you, your bodies glistening with sweat, still breathing unevenly. The first thing she said when her breathing went back to normal was "I think I'm gonna marry you," before dissolving into a fit of giggles. You couldn't help but chuckle along with her. "I'm flattered. I guess you liked it then?" you responded, wrapping your arms around her. She snuggled into your chest, a contented smile on her face. "If I liked it?" she repeated, incredulous. You laughed softly, "Well, did you?"

"You were lying when you said it was your first time, weren't you?" she asked teasingly, furrowing her eyebrows at you and looking at you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "I take that as a compliment," you smirked, not giving her a straight answer, her eyes carefully studied your features, analyzing every crease and contour, searching for any sign of deception "No, seriously. Were you a virgin?" she asked again, still in disbelief "I guess you'll never know," you said, teasing her further. "Come on. I'm your girlfriend. I'm supposed to know," she said, acting dramatic and waving her hands in the air. "Are you?" you asked teasingly, and she gasped in mock offense. "Excuse you? Am I not your girlfriend?" she asked, pretending to be hurt. You couldn't help but giggle. "I meant...are you supposed to know?" you teased her curiosity. "Pffttt whatever," she said, pretending to be offended and scooting away from you. You continued laughing at her antics. "Babe, where are you going?" you asked, still chuckling as you reached for her tattooed forearm and pulled her back towards you. "Girlfriends tell each other everything," she pouted playfully. "Right. Let's watch Jurassic Park and cuddle," you suggested, grabbing the remote to put the movie on.

You shared a bond that was unbreakable, and every experience you had together only brought you closer as if there was an invisible red string that seemed to connect the two of you, always pulling you closer and closer with each passing day. Your love for each other was like a never-ending flame that grew brighter with time. She never really stopped surprising you with little thoughtful gifts, and she even drew sketches of you when you weren't looking, and you both looked forward to creating new adventures together. She was always this huge simp for you, your number one supporter and fan.

After completing university, she asked you to move into her small but cozy apartment, which was basically a reflection of her personality. The walls were adorned with paintings she had made, stacks of comic books on her shelves, action figures, and her favorite movies and games collection. It was a delightful mishmash of all the things she loved. And slowly, your belongings started to mix in with hers. Her lonely toothbrush now had a companion, and her sneakers left by the door had an extra pair of shoes right next to them — your shoes. The dirty laundry was now a mix of colorful pink clothes and pastel colors, while hers were mostly grey or dark clothes. The wall hooks had more jackets hanging on them, and cute little stuffed animals were carefully placed on her your bed. The shelves filled with cute little plants that you both lovingly cared for, filling the empty gaps between an action figure and another. Living with her was a dream come true; you couldn't have been happier. You both had created a space that was uniquely yours, filled with love and a familiar warmth, it felt like family.

And before you knew it a new member joined your little family — a golden retriever. You had always dreamt of having a dog, but your parents never allowed you to have one when you were a kid. You had been talking about how much you loved the idea of having a furball running around your little apartment, ever since, Ellie had been secretly planning to surprise you with a cute little puppy. She had subtly asked you what kind of dog you would like, and she started doing her research. She had never owned a dog before, so she wanted to learn as much as possible about what puppies needed. Puppies required more than just toys and cuddles, after all they needed proper nutrition, and she was confused about what kind of food to get for the puppy. She went to the grocery store and found a wide variety of puppy food with different flavors and vitamins. After careful consideration, she picked out what she thought was the best one for the puppy. One day, she told you that she was staying out late for work; in reality, the poor baby had to drive for an hour to get the exact puppy she had seen on social media (Facebook, to be exact, Joel had helped her with that). The puppy was a beautiful golden retriever with a shiny coat and an adorable face. The drive back home with the puppy was mostly quiet, except for her talking to the honey-furred baby that sat there in the passenger seat in silence, looking at her lovingly.

The puppy's big, brown eyes had already stolen her heart, and she found herself speaking in a silly, high-pitched voice "I just know she's gonna love you," she cooed, her words directed at the adorable pup. "You're such a good girl, aren't ya?" she continued, praising the puppy for every little thing she did, even breathing. "You better not be stealing her from me too much, though, or else…" she trailed off, her voice filled with mock threats. But her playful words quickly turned to more affectionate ones as she gazed into the puppy's sweet eyes. "Gosh, you're so fuckin' cute," she whispered, her fingers gently caressing the puppy's soft fur while the other remained on the steering wheel "Wonder what your name will be," she hummed, tapping her fingers lightly on the wheel. She began to sing a song she had just made up on the spot, directed at the little furball who was wiggling her tail in excitement. "My cute little shrimp," she sang, her voice filled with love and affection, but when the puppy let out a little whine at her singing, she couldn't help but laugh at herself. "What? Am I that much of a bad singer?" she joked, her voice filled with self-deprecating humor. "Oof, tough crowd," she added, chuckling at her own joke "Just wait till I show you my guitar skills, you little shit."

When she finally made it to your apartment, she had to carry the little shrimp all the way up to the stairs cause the puppy was too scared to climb them and the elevator was currently broken. She had to take small steps to make sure she wouldn't trip over her own feet or something like that. "So heavy," she muttered under her breath before putting the pup down, her arms aching. She unlocked the door and you immediately called out your name. "You home, baby?" she heard from the kitchen, where she assumed you were washing the dishes because she could hear the sound of clinking plates. She responded, "Could you come here real quick? need your help with something." She left the dog outside on the doorstep, behind the wall and out of your sight.

You shouted from the kitchen, "Give me a second," before approaching her. She handed you a plastic bag filled with dog toys and bowls. You looked at her in confusion since you didn't own a pet. "What's this for?" you asked, puzzled. She didn't reply but simply moved to the side and clicked her tongue multiple times. The fur ball appeared and ran to you wiggling her tail. You slapped your hand on your mouth in disbelief, and your eyes widened in surprise, soon welling up with tears.

You got on your knees and held the pup close to you, hugging the fur ball tightly. "Oh my fucking god, iloveyouiloveyou," you kept rambling between cute sniffles, and she couldn't help but laugh at your reaction. "Surprise, babe," she said with a small smile, kneeling down to pet the puppy in your arms. The puppy was small and soft, with big brown eyes and tiny paws. You couldn't believe how adorable she was.

"I love you so fucking much. She is so fucking cute. I can't believe it. I'm a mother now," you said, tears of joy running down your cheeks. She chuckled at your words, happy to see you so happy. "Yep, we're parents now," she played along, scratching the dog behind her ear. "What're we naming her?" she asked then, wiping the tears off your face with her thumb.

"Maple?" you sniffled hard, "Maple, I like Maple." You looked down at the little pup in your arms, and she looked up at you with innocent eyes.

Ever since the beginning, it was clear that Maple was more than just a pet; she was a member of your family. She was such a beautiful and intelligent dog, whenever you or Ellie came home, Maple would be the first to greet you with a wagging tail and excited barks that would fill the room with her infectious energy. She would jump up, her paws dancing in the air, and nuzzle her wet nose against your hand begging for cuddles and kisses. But Maple's abilities went beyond just being a dog. She had an incredible intuition that seemed almost human-like, and had a sixth sense when it came to reading emotions. She always seemed to sense whenever your heart was going a little too crazy and would nudge you with her nose to make you sit down. But your heartbeat wasn't the only thing she could sense; whenever Ellie was about to have a panic attack she could feel it, and if she was having one and you weren't by her side, she would come get you.

You remembered the first time this happened. It was a dark and stormy night, and you and Ellie had just gone to bed. You were sound asleep when Maple jumped up on the bed and began licking your face frantically. You thought she needed to go outside, so you groaned, "Babe, think Maple needs to-" You started, your voice still thick with sleep, but when your hand landed on the empty mattress instead of your girlfriend's shoulder, you instantly woke up.

Following Maple to the bathroom, you found Ellie sitting on the floor, tears streaming down her freckled face, and her breathing uneven. You knelt down in front of her and spoke to her softly, using a soothing tone to calm her down. You knew better than just to touch her; she seemed too absent and lost in her own nightmare to welcome such an invasion. "El, hey…I'm here, honey." As your gentle cooing reached her ears, she seemed to awaken from a trance, her terrified eyes locked with yours, fear etched across her beautiful features. "Hi baby, it's okay." you tried to calm her down, "i'm here, okay?" she was trembling with fear, and your heart sank. You gently placed your hand on her knee and tried to reassure her that everything was going to be okay. With a soft and soothing voice, you said, "You're safe now...let's take a deep breath together, alright?" You could see the tears streaming down her face as she tried her best to mimic your deep breaths. You kept encouraging her to take deep breaths in and out, and she slowly began to calm down. Maple sat in the corner of the bathroom, watching over Ellie with a concerned expression. When Ellie finally calmed down, you sat down next to her and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I'm here for you," you felt her body relax and her breathing steady. She leaned into your touch, and you could feel the tension in her body slowly dissipating. You were her anchor, her everything. You could feel her heartbeat slowing down as she rested her head on your chest, listening to the rhythm of your breathing. You kissed the top of her head tenderly, and she closed her eyes, taking in your scent. Suddenly, she rasped out, "I love you," her voice sounded weak, you knew she was exhausted "I love you more — Feeling better?" You ran your fingers through her messy hair, and she gave you a small nod in response. The golden furball walked to Ellie's other side and laid down, placing her head on her thigh. Ellie smiled weakly and petted her gently "My two favorite girls," you joked with a soft tone, trying to lighten the mood. An airy scoff left her nose as all three of you sat there, cuddling each other.

Maple was an essential part of your family. She was always there, no matter where you went. Sundays were extra special because Ellie would be at home all day. You would spend those days soaking up all her attention and going to the beach with her and Maple, your cute little meatball. There was nothing better than lounging under the warm afternoon sun, and Ellie bringing a big umbrella to shield you from the heat. While you played with Maple, she would often strum her guitar or sketch the two of you, looking at you with heart eyes as she captured the moment on paper. The sound of your laughter would fill the air, as you threw the frisbee to Maple and enjoyed the perfect beach day with Ellie by your side. You were all she ever wanted and she was all you ever wished for.

That's why she felt the need to take your relationship to the next level.

"Baaaabe" you shouted from the living room while browsing through the countless titles on Netflix. "Yeah?" Your girlfriend responded from the kitchen, her voice echoing through the cozy apartment as she paced around, probably making you something to drink. "What do you wanna watch?" your eyes casted across the big TV screen, the multiple titles illuminate your face, making it difficult to choose just one. You heard a sigh from the other side of the couch and looked over to see your beloved dog, Maple, ready to nap after a long day of work. poor dog.

"Uhhh…dunno, a horror movie?" she suggested, sounding unsure. "Wow, thanks for the help, Ellie. Always so useful," You retorted in a fake annoyed tone "Do you remember that new movie with Jennifer Lawrence I told you I wanted to watch?" she asked after a few moments of pondering, emerging from the kitchen with two steaming mugs in her hands. You raised an eyebrow at her and asked, "So, you wanna watch it for her, huh?" She laughed at your words and rolled her eyes. "C'mon, you told me to pick something, and I did," she explained handing you one of the mugs. "Careful, it's hot." You'd never seen this mug before, Ellie was obsessed with collecting new ones, so you didn't really pay attention to it. "Okay, fine, Jennifer Lawrence, it is," you said as you selected the movie she suggested. "Hi, baby," you heard her say in a high-pitched voice, and when you looked at her, you realized she was talking to the dog. "Hi baby? really? I'm literally right here." She giggled at your response and scooted closer to you, kissing your cheek. "Hi baby," she repeated her words, but this time in a sultry tone "Better."

You took another sip of your drink, but you could feel her gaze lingering on you. When you turned to look at her, she quickly averted her eyes and pretended to be interested in the TV. "What?" you asked, brows furrowing in confusion. "What?" she echoed back, acting like she hadn't been staring at you for the last 15 minutes. "No, you what" you repeated, her eyes darting from the mug in your hands to you. "You done with that yet?" she questioned, seeming almost too impatient. "Huh?" she cleared her throat, eyes wandering nervously around the living room for a few seconds before returning them to you again. "Are you done with your latte? Want me to make you more?" she rephrased it, trying to sound less nervous. You looked down at your mug for a second "Not yet"

Her eyes remained glued on you, eagerly awaiting for something, a reaction perhaps, you couldn't tell, she was just acting weird as hell. "Done?" she asked for the third time in a row, after every five seconds, but to her, it felt like an eternity. "Ellie, I swear—" You let out an exasperated sigh "What?" she replied, her voice laced with innocence. "No, seriously. You tryna poison me or something?" you joked,and she simply scoffed at your words and rolled her eyes at you. "Just drink it fast, god," she demanded, her impatience showing. As you take the last sip, your eyes caught a glimpse of a few letters printed on the bottom of the mug.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the words

Will you marry me?

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, and before you could even process what was happening, you jumped into her lap, crying in her arms. She wrapped her arms around you tightly, and you could feel her heart beating in sync with yours. "Yesyesyesyes" you had whispered between sobs, your voice choked with emotion. Her eyes lit up with joy and she pulled away, revealing a small diamond ring in her hand. You looked at her in awe, realizing that that was the moment you had been waiting for your entire life. The woman of your dreams had asked you to spend the rest of your life with her, and you couldn't have been happier.

"I love you so much," you sobbed, tears streaming down your face as you watched her hands sliding the ring on your finger. She chuckled through her own tears and replied, "I think I love you even more." You sniffled and cupped her face, saying, "I love you with all my heart."

Ellie being Ellie, couldn't help but make a joke about that. She looked at you with a playful smirk on her face; she wiggled her eyebrows up and down and said, "All your heart, huh?"

With a grin, you replied, "It's beating like crazy for you." Then she asked if you wanted to hear a joke from her pun book, but you knew it was a rhetorical question. You prepared yourself for the inevitable dumb joke she was about to tell. "Ellie, I thought we talked about this." You fake scolded her, but she couldn't hold back her smile as she started her joke, almost as if she was about to make the funniest joke ever but everyone who knew Ellie knew that her jokes were...questionable. "Are you pulmonary embolism?" she proceeded, barely containing her laughter.

"Oh no," you frowned, rubbing your forehead. She then delivered the punchline with a wide smile, all proud of herself "Because you take my breath away." You looked at her with a deadpan expression and let out a sigh. You shook your head, and said "Can't believe I'm marrying you," trying to hide the smile that was starting to form on your lips. Ellie looked at you with a cocky grin "Right? I'm great like that — Talented, charming, great jokes...what else could you possibly want?" Rolling your eyes, you responded, "fancy package, lucky me"

After your laughter had subsided, you gazed into her captivating green eyes with a smile filled with affection. You were so deeply in love that it felt almost painful. You could hardly believe how fortunate you were to have found each other. The thought of spending the rest of your lives together filled you with joy and excitement. Both of you leaned in simultaneously, eager to feel the warmth of each other's lips in a tender and passionate kiss.

She was the person who made your life complete. You felt like you had been waiting for her all your life; your life always felt so dull and empty and you never understood why or what it was missing, until you met her. She was your soulmate, your best friend, and the love of your life. You couldn't imagine spending a single day without her by your side. She was the one who made everything better, who made you laugh with her stupid and corny puns when you wanted to cry, who held your hand when you needed comfort. You knew that you could face anything as long as she was with you. You were grateful for every moment you spent together and looked forward to spending the rest of your life with her.

On your wedding day, the weather was perfect, with clear skies and a gentle breeze that carried the scent of flowers from the nearby garden. It felt like a dream come true, and you couldn't believe the day had finally arrived. You couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation as you prepared to marry the love of your life. Sure, you were exhausted at the end of the day, but it was all worth it.

As you walked down the aisle, you saw everyone you loved and cared for, all gathered in one place to celebrate your special day. Ellie's closest friends, Dina and Jesse, Joel, your parents, and all your friends were there, beaming with joy and happiness. You were wearing a beautiful white dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, and Ellie couldn't help but cry when she saw you. Her dad rubbed her back, trying to calm the poor baby down, but the tears kept streaming down her face. You were a vision, and she couldn't believe how lucky she was to have you. Ellie was equally breathtaking in her suit, looking sharp and elegant, you couldn't take your eyes off her, she was so fucking fine. You exchanged vows, and it took her a while to finish reading hers, as she was choked up with sobs and emotions. You tried to comfort her by holding her trembling hands, but she was just a wreck.

When the time came for you to kiss your bride, the celebrant said, "You may now kiss your bride." Ellie looked at you with teary eyes, and you both giggled as you leaned in for a kiss, both of you smiling against each other's lips. That moment marked the beginning of your journey together as a married couple, but what mattered most was that you were both committed to being there for each other no matter what.

[hatsunemitskislobotomy]

˚◞♡ ⃗ ❝ 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙢𝙚 ❞* ೃ༄

↳ ♡₊˚. ❝ ¡love and deepspace sorta kinda spicy! eluding headcanons lolz! ❞

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

something about those boys and ripping pantyhose’s… sigh

sure it’s attractive, quite attractive actually but more often than not the boys seem to miss the mark as to why you’re wearing them (and why it’s not okay to suddenly come back not wearing them) until one day you overhear tara and some of your other female colleagues discussing a durable pair of pantyhose’s perfect for the summertime where the typical deepspace hunter pants tend to be a little bit on the heavier side.

however your interest was piqued either way— might as well do the girls a favor and test how really durable they are

xavier

you two are so in sync with once another, gentle touches and heightened breathing— your reactions from each other drove each other crazy, it was perfect

which is why he looked like a kicked puppy when he realizes that the pantyhose’s you were wearing were NOT coming off with the hook of his finger

“i… i dont understand…”

oh poor thing they never do

you explain to him that the other female deepspace hunters wanted to test out their durability— you just happened to know a good test for them

he understands, but he still doesn’t know why you’re wearing it with him

you sigh, the initial test was a success but now he was really trying to make you spell it out for him

you pull out the small dagger out of its sheath that rested on your thigh

he looks at you in confusion as you wrap his fingers around the hilt

“i’m sure you can figure out your way around this obstacle.”

and then it clicks and his face of confusion is no more

it’s safe to say, the same trick won’t work on him twice

rafayel

this man takes it as a personal attack— like you might as well have had called him a lemurian slur

“so you want me to die?”

you loved him, but this man was always doing the absolute most but he won’t admit it

if anything you’re getting ALL the blame, you got him all worked up and then you stroll up wearing the indestructible pantyhose’s from hell

he flickers a flame in between his fingers

talking about some “i wonder if they’re fireproof”

you was not about to let him find out— YOU WERE STILL WEARING THEM

“what? can’t handle a little fire?”

and he had the nerve to act like you did an attempt on his life meanwhile this man was scheming as he poked and prodded the thick mesh around your thighs

you two practically start wrestling until he has you pinned

“fine we’ll do things your way, but promise to let me burn them after they’re off.”

zayne

you had been a brat obnoxious all evening it was no wonder he was itching to put you in your place

as per usual it was attractive how he’d reach over your body to pin your arms against the bed as face to face with your torso looking absolutely starved

but right when he was about to tear into you (figuratively and literally), that pesky pair of mesh you always sported were NOT budging

he had to pause and take a minute to reflect

my man was ready to ravish you like how a predator would to their prey but he was being bested by fabric

you were trying so hard not to laugh because you can see the cogs turning in his head

“it seems that i’ve played into your hands.”

you chuckle, innocently claiming that you were getting a tad bit tired of all the pantyhose’s that he’d tear into, it was a lot of money wasted

he insures that it’s never a waste he keeps a collection of all the ones he’s torn

the entire situation is too funny to you, you really can’t help but giggle at him

he really can’t stay annoyed at you, he also did find it a lot funnier than it should’ve been

he still wanted to have his way with you

“it’s no matter, all this is to show that i’ll have to be the gentleman you deserve.”

sure your pantyhose’s were spared that night but you weren’t

❀° ┄───╮

a/n: y’all this idea literally fell from the damn sky— well actually i just saw those instagram promo stories about those hella thick and durable pantyhose’s soooo thank instagram ig?

it’s nothing crazy— i can’t write smut without having a visceral reaction sooo uh… i salute the girlies on here who can bc PHEW 🫡🫡🫡

also i wrote this on the bus lolz, thank god for privacy screen protectors

okay love you all mwah mwah MWAHHHH

╰───┄ °❀

[fiction-is-life]

Congratulations on 500 non-bot followers! I just joined the ranks after reading the angstly little treat you did for @eleanor-bradstreet 🤩

I would like to request a blurb for Anthony from your prompt list. #8 - "Looks like we'll be trapped for a while."

This is so fun!

Trapped and Titillated

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the follow, love, and for your kind words! I am so glad you liked Touchstone of Our Character!  I had so much fun writing this request; it is quite a bit longer than a blurb, but I hope that makes up for the fact it has taken me so long to write it!  Enjoy!

Summary: You are trapped with the Viscount.

Warnings: Angst, getting locked in a room, verbal fighting, steamy make out session, brotherly teasing

~

The door wouldn’t budge.  Oh, I knew when that latch clicked, I was doomed.  Utterly doomed.  And it was all his fault.

“Well, you have done it now, my lord,” I seethed, letting the veneer of polite reserve fall away.  It was always thin around him anyway.

Anthony Bridgerton had the audacity to raise one perfect, dark brow.  “I have done it?” he intoned, his voice cutting through my rising panic, reinforcing who I was angry at.

“Yes,” I hissed.  “You shut the door behind you, and now it is jammed.  It may be hours before someone comes by and finds us, and what then?”

He took a step towards me, matching the one I had subconsciously taken, bringing us closer than society would deem acceptable.  “As far as I am concerned, I have only done what was my right.  This is my library in my home, and I may shut any door I please.”

“Not when an unmarried young lady is in said library - unaccompanied.  Or have you forgotten the rules of the Ton while you were busy raking about the kingdom?” I knew I had struck my mark when I saw the Viscount’s eyes darken, his whole body tensing.

“Miss (Y/L/N), you do not know of what you speak,” he said through clenched teeth, and I shivered from the ice in his tone.  Anthony certainly did not miss it.  “I was raised a gentleman, Miss (Y/L/N), as a member of one of the most respected families in all of England, no less.”  

I scoffed and raised my chin and matched his stance.  We were practically nose-to-nose with each other.  “Well, there must be an exception to every rule, my lord, and I suppose you are it.”

I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them, terrified at the way his features turned from red-hot anger to a cold, stony silence.  I took a shaky breath.  “M-my lord, I apologize.  I believe I am overwrought from the events of today.  Please forgive me,” I spoke in a rush, not daring to make eye contact with those dark depths again.

A long moment passed before he cleared his throat, his complexion returned to a more normal hue but his posture still stiff.  “It looks like we'll be trapped for a while, Miss (Y/L/N).  We may as well make ourselves comfortable," he spoke in a clipped, quiet tone.  For some odd reason, I wished he would have yelled instead.

He must have noticed the look of panicked confusion on my face as I alternated between staring at him and the couches near the fire.  “Do not fear, Miss (Y/L/N), I shall strive to reign in my more ungentlemanly urges.  Your virtue is safe from me.”

I bit my lip, nodding at his words.  They were what I wanted to hear.  Right?  Oh, dash it!  I had never been prone to hysterics before, but something about being this close to the Viscount was making my thoughts and feelings a muddle.  So, I did the only thing that felt safe.

I pretended to read.

I believed it was working, too.  That is, until the Viscount cleared his throat again.  I wanted to roll my eyes at the realization that the smallest of his gestures still commanded attention.  I was looked over during a one-on-one conversation, but Lord Anthony Bridgerton could simply breathe in a certain way and every head would turn.

“Is there something you need, my lord?”  I asked, my eyes still blindly trained on the pages in front of me so that I missed his growing smirk.

“You must be a great reader, Miss (Y/L/N),” he said.

I raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.  “Yes, I do love a good book,” I returned, turning the page.

“You are most certainly a more avid reader than I.”

That made me look up at him, confusion wrinkling my brow.  “Why do you say that, my lord?” 

He openly smiled now, allowing me to see that little dimple in his one cheek.  “I have never mastered the art of reading words that are upside-down.”

“What?”  I looked down and finally saw what book I had picked up.  It was a tome on new farming practices, and it was indeed upside down.  

Well, I could not let him win that easily.  “I find I absorb the words much better when it is more difficult to read them.”  I looked down my nose as I had seen many women do.  “I believe it is important to challenge oneself, so one does not become ignorant and vain.”

His features twisted into a wry grin.  “Very true, Miss (Y/L/N),” he said in a tight voice.  He crossed over to the sofa I was sitting on and sat down - far too close for comfort.  “What are other pursuits that you find are challenging enough, may I ask?”

I knew he was goading me, but I simply could not back down from his challenge.  “Any activities I find rewarding, I suppose.”  I closed the book and tilted my head, staring him in the eye.  “Making sound investments, helping run the household, volunteering for charities,” I listed, not even trying to mask the smugness in my tone.  “Basically anything that contributes to society, unlike spending every night at gaming hells or with ladies of the night or -”

His lips crashed onto mine, cutting me off.  I felt positively surrounded by him as he crushed me into the back of the sofa, his strong arms encircling my waist and pulling me into him.  He smelled of bay rum and mint, and it was utterly intoxicating.  

At first, I was too shocked to react, but as his lips moved insistently on my own, I started to follow his lead.  He growled when I parted my lips, and my eyes shot open when he darted his tongue into my mouth, but it felt too good to pull away.  So, I pulled him closer.

My hands tangled in his dark locks, and when my fingers caught on a knot, Anthony pulled back slightly, moaning.  I gasped and pulled back.  “Did I hurt you, my lord?” I asked, concerned.

He groaned again, his eyes darkening further.  “Call me that again,” he growled, panting heavily.

My face twisted in confusion.  “My lord?”

“Yes,” he breathed, his lips finding mine again.  His hands wandered this time, sending pings of pleasure straight to my core.  I couldn’t hold back my own noises when his strong hands found my breasts, my nipples pebbling embarrassingly.  

I lost track of time as Anthony peppered wet kisses down my neck and over the swells of my breasts where my dress did not cover them.  He started to work his hand under the skirt of my dress when a crash was heard on the other side of the library.  

“Brother! Are you in here?  I need to get away from all of the matchmaking endeavours mother has concocted,” the voice of Anthony’s brother, Benedict, was heard.  Anthony’s head snapped up, a panicked look in his eyes.  

“Stay here.  I shall get rid of him,” Anthony whispered before rising from the sofa, straightening his jacket where I had mussed it.  “Brother.  You find me at an inopportune time.  I was just leaving,” he called out to his brother, trying to prevent him from seeing me.

“Why?  You already met with the steward this morning.  You have nothing else planned until dinner.”  Even I could hear the skepticism in Benedict’s voice as it grew closer.  

“Well, yes, but I thought I might go for a ride,” Anthony hedged.

“Wonderful!  I shall join you!”

“No!” Anthony shouted.  “I mean, I was wishing to ride out alone this time,” he finished in a more tempered tone.  

There was a long pause where I thought Benedict just may have believed the lie.  “Are you sure you want to be alone?  Because I think Miss (Y/L/N) might disagree.”  I gasped.  “I shall see you at dinner, brother, Miss (Y/L/N),” he said, a door closing behind him shortly after.  

I sat up with a huff, my cheeks flaming a brighter red than they had been before.  “I am sorry; I did not think anyone would follow me here -”

“What door did he come through?” I interrupted what was sure to be a very eloquent apology.

Now, the Viscount’s cheeks turned red and he scratched the back of his neck nervously.  “Well, um, he used the hidden entrance in the south wall.”

“Oh, you cad!” I screamed.  “Open it.  Now, my lord.”

Anthony silently moved toward the south wall, pulling a certain book back to reveal a hidden door.  I gathered my dignity about me as I fixed my skirts.  I caught a whiff of his cologne once more as I passed him, and for a brief moment, I wanted to turn back.  Instead, I held my head high, giving the Viscount one of those superior looks other ladies had mastered.  I wanted him to know I was not to be trifled with.

But I knew this was not the end of my encounters with the Viscount.

~

My Masterlist

[luke-hughes43]

Neither of them raise their voice—a love so gentle and kind that it makes your teeth rot.

this is so luke

this is so luke coded. he's such a soft lover and never wants to make you upset. and never ever ever wants to yell at you.

even when you make him upset by accident, he never raises his voice.

~

you had gone out with a bunch of your single girlfriends. even though you had a boyfriend of over a year, you went out to the club with your girls for a night out of fun.

luke was totally ok with it and wanted you to enjoy yourself with your friends. especially since you barely get to see them. he was not jealous by any means, because he knows your coming home to him that night. he just wants you to be safe and no matter what, to call him if something goes wrong.

which is not what happened that night.

all of your girlfriends had found guys to go home with that night, which left you stranded at the club to get home. you went to pull out your phone to call luke but it was dead. your best since you were 5, katie, says, "i'll call you an uber girl. it's the least i can do."

"thanks." i say and wrap my arms around myself to slightly cover up but also attempt to stay warm. because it was cold in new york city in november. when the uber arrives, you were so thankful it was a woman driving.

when she drops you off at luke's apartment, you thank her and leave a couple bucks cash that you had as a tip for her. when you get inside, you see luke pacing the living room. he hears the door click and immediately rushes towards you.

he says, "oh my god. thank god your home, are you ok? i've been trying to call you for an hour. i haven't heard from you and i got worried."

you smile at him, "i'm ok. katie called me an uber and my phone died."

"wait, you took an uber by yourself?" luke asks. you shiver and nod, "yea. all the girls were going home with these guys and then my phone died so katie ordered the uber."

"baby, you should've called. i would've come to get you." luke says pulling his hoodie off to give to you. you shake your head, "i couldn't, my phone was dead and katie and all the girls were leaving. it was my only option."

luke shakes his head trying not to get mad or raise his voice. he always told you to never take an uber by yourself. it's the one thing he wouldn't budge on. if you're being honest, you expected him to be mad and yell at you for being irresponsible.you ask softly, "are you mad at me?"

luke quickly shakes his head and cups both of your cheeks. he strokes them softly, "I could never be mad at you. i just want you to be safe baby. i love you and i'd never forgive myself if something happened to you."

"i love you too." you say back and kiss him.

he pulls you into a hug when he pulls away from the kiss and just holds you close. he's just glad that you're safe.