#will have to wait for a bunch of these to come off hold at the library

[marsmaximoff]

🪩; club pentagon 𖦹₊⋆☾

content warning: ‘long haired’ fem!reader. suggestive. drugs, alcohol.

word count: 1.4k 💜

author’s note: y’all idk what’s happening to me. like i swear when i watched the show i didn’t care about him. in fact i didn’t even like him. and now i can’t stop thinking about his hot face and hands 😔 expect more fics to come cause i’m going crazy. btw, i apologize for the possible mistakes as english is my third language. enjoy <3!

divider by @strangergraphics <3

the colorful lights create a shiny veil over the club. the music reverberating throughout the place, accompanied by loud, excited screams and intoxicated voices, acts as a barrier to the real world.

while i wait for my friend to come back from the bathroom, a guy catches my eye, separated from the rest, in a corner. he must be around my age, a bit older. and i don’t know what it is exactly, but something immediately lures me in. something about his aura, his vibe.... maybe it’s the dark hair, or the tattoos on his arm, the way he’s talking to the man next to him like he’s important... 

he looks hot. and like a total dick too. 

“you like him?” your friend inquires cheekily, noticing your stare. “i haven’t seen him before.” you don’t forget someone like him. his tall frame and dark clothes adding to the arousing pull i’m feeling. “he’s the reason we’re here. i found the club through him; he promotes it.” “do you know him?” there’s a growing curiosity inside of me, to know more, “not at all”, to get closer. “he looks like a playboy,” she declares, to which i can only agree. “an attractive one, tho.”

on cue, as if he had heard us -impossible given the distance- he takes his eyes from that man and locks his gaze on mine, sending a flutter through my stomach. but i don’t shy away, seeing his eyes go down my body, checking me out, unashamedly. a hussy grin accompanies the action while i keep the intense eye contact going for some time before turning around and heading back to the dance floor. as i do, i feel his gaze slide over my body and smile to myself, satisfied, trying to sensualize my walk a bit.

the night continues as usual: drinks, dancing, some flirting here and there, all that still carrying a boost of confidence from that previous interaction. 

eventually, i take a break sitting by the counter, and almost in no time, a smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and something else surrounds me. 

“hey” he speaks with confidence and a certain ego; the grin is back where it had been before. he leans on the bar and studies me, daringly, carefully. that seems to fuel my boldness, because my hand moves almost instantly towards his face, slowly. he doesn’t back away or stop me; he doesn’t even flinch. i gather the remaining white powder from the warm skin right over his upper lip with a finger and lower it, showing it to him. “oops, my bad,” he says playfully while grabbing my wrist. then, he brings it to his mouth and licks it off my fingertip without one of us breaking eye contact for a single second. holy. fuck. afterwards, he laughs softly, my heart rate going crazy, “want some? i only have the best.” i shake my head, choosing to keep my drifting lucidity. 

my gaze travels down his body until reaching his tattooed arm. “you like ‘em?” “i dont see many people around who have them” “yeah…bunch of pussies. these didnt hurt at all, you know.” the smugness of his words an obvious sign of his eagerness to impress. “you got more?” “oohh, someone’s interested…” i scoff finding his teasing annoying, yet unable to deny the way i have to press my lips together to hold back a smile. “i love tattoos” “yeah? wanna touch?” his comments come off so nonchalantly, flirting a natural habit of his. “i mean, you've already gone for my mouth...” his voice lowers a bit, having the clearly much-expected effect on me, and i give in, my yearning taking my fingers to his arm. the smooth and steamy flesh welcomes me with a satisfying shiver, and the hitch of his breath makes me slow down, caressing softly, seductively. 

i don't know if he's trying to contain himself, or enjoying it too much, but i see him biting his lip, and it feels so good to find a tiny crack in his confident facade, the growing heat in my belly seconding it. the initial trace of ink becomes a search of his now more prominent veins, up and down. “i like how it looks.” i give him a final graze, but this time it’s my hand that strokes his arm all the way down his slender, ring-adorned fingers which i hold and toy with before letting go to replace them with my drink, leaving him all greedy for more. his skin on fire. 

he’s affected now, trying to break the spell, attempting to somehow regain control while his breathing’s all over the place. cute. 

the drink sugars my senses, but it’s not nearly as sweet as the feel of him. 

“you like the club?” he goes back to his usual self, his comfort zone, something he can proudly show off. “yeah, i like the ambience”  “i can show you around…this place’s my second home.” i know what he's doing, using an excuse to move this somewhere quieter, more private, more comfortable…. but i decide to play a bit with him. “i don’t know… i'm really enjoying this area.” he smirks, “and it only gets better, we don't leave the best within reach of just anyone”, getting closer. “so you’re saying you'll make it worth my time?” he pokes his cheek with his tongue, turning me on even more. fucking tease. “in fact you'll regret it if you don't come.”  “mmm…im not sure…maybe i need a preview….” his face is mere millimeters from mine, giving me a perfect view of the mischievous look that takes over his. then, he grabs a small bag from his pocket -more white powder- and pushes my hair away from my shoulder, the contact leaving goosebumps everywhere. when the bareness pleases him, an unfamiliar feeling covers my skin. and then i realize, he’s pouring it on me. jesus christ. he leaves a shivery trail up to my neck, molding it to get a perfect line. his hot breath is getting me dizzy, his hand enveloping the other side of my neck, his allure a dangerous mix with the alcohol. he snorts the line in one, the tip of his nose tickling my burning skin. “yesss, shit baby”, he groans huskily underneath my ear, adding a bit of pressure with his hand, and i feel my wetness starting to become uncomfortable. 

he’s laughing when he pulls back, “how’s that for a preview?”, finishing rubbing the remains of his nose. but i can only focus on his fingers, fuck. i need more. “not bad” i try so hard to think of something witty, flirty, to keep the back and forth going, but i can’t. my brain is foggy, my body is flaming, and my belly is killing me with all those damn backflips. “not bad? that’s not nice of you….imma have to do something about that attitude of yours…” i stand up from the stool, suddenly desperate to get out of there. “maybe i do need that tour, a change from the loud music and everything” god i’ve truly become pathetic. and it seems to amuse him, “yeah? i thought you liked the ambience here….” “and i thought you said you’d make it worth my time” i make him smirk again, what a damn sight, and before i know it he’s taking me who knows where.

the moment the door closes behind us, my back is pushed to the wall, his arms caging me. this time, his eyes stay on my lips while he bites his. “fuck, you’re so hot” i can’t hold it anymore. the praise gets to him and makes him snap, harshly pressing our mouths together. the kiss is rough, desperate, as if we were running out of time. i let out a muffled moan as he brings me closer to his warm body and slides one hand towards my neck, adding some pressure. i’ve never had such a messy, intense kiss before, it makes my legs weak. he keeps asserting dominance the whole time, and bites my lip before pulling back and heading towards my neck. 

my moans get louder as i feel him leaving hickeys all over my skin. “it’s namgyu”, he corrects me, hovering over my flesh. but the blood is already pounding in my ears. “huh?” 

 “i want you to know what to moan”

[writingduhh]

Ok last one (for tonight😈)

Having a planned date night with Ted that goes wrong and you end up back at his or your apartment (or shared) and he comes up with a cute last minute date inside the apartment and he’s so sweet

So sweet omg

Plan B(etter)

The night had started off like a dream. Ted had been hyping up your date all week, dropping hints about reservations at “the fanciest spot in town” and a “fun and romantic surprise after.” By the time the day arrived, your excitement was through the roof.

You dressed to the nines, carefully choosing your best outfit, ready to wow Ted and see him looking sharp in return. As you finished the final touches in the mirror you couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction would be.

When you stepped out his jaw practically hit the floor.

“Wow” he said, voice barely above a whisper as his eyes swept over you. “You look... incredible. Like, seriously. I’m dating a movie star, apparently.”

Heat crept up your cheeks at the way he stared, his awe so sincere it made your heart flutter. “You clean up pretty nice yourself” you teased, smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle in his blazer.

“Not even close to how good you look,” Ted said, grinning as he leaned down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Let’s make this the best night ever.”

At least, that was the plan.

By the time you were standing outside the restaurant, it was clear things weren’t going as planned.

“Lost the reservation?” Ted asked the host, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline. “Like, poof? Gone? Vaporized into thin air?”

The host offered an apologetic smile, but you placed a gentle hand on Ted’s arm before he could keep going. “It’s okay,” you said softly. “We’ll find somewhere else.”

Ted gave you a determined nod, pulling out his phone. “Right. No big deal. We’re not letting this little hiccup ruin the night.”

But then the next restaurant was packed with a two-hour wait, and before you could decide what to do next a storm rolled in. Ted, ever the optimist, suggested grabbing coffee and taking a stroll by the river. But the rain turned torrential. You both ended up sprinting back to his car, soaked to the bone and laughing through the chaos.

Now standing in the entryway of your shared apartment your clothes clung uncomfortably to your skin, makeup smudged, and your shoes let out an embarrassing squelch with every step. Ted sighed, running a hand through his messy hair as he shut the door behind you.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice heavy with guilt. “I wanted tonight to be perfect, and instead, it’s been a total disaster.”

You stepped closer, resting a hand on his chest. “Ted, it’s fine. Really. Plans don’t matter. We’re together. That’s what counts.”

He smiled a little, though his brow was still furrowed. Suddenly his face lit up like he’d just had the best idea ever. “Okay,” he said, standing straighter. “Give me ten minutes. Don’t ask any questions just trust me.”

Before you could protest he disappeared around the corner. Moments later he returned, holding up a dry sweatshirt and a pair of his flannel pajama pants. “Here,” he said, tossing them to you. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay in those wet clothes. Go get comfy.”

You caught the bundle, already smiling at the thoughtfulness in his voice. “Thanks, Ted,” you said, heading to the bedroom.

Once changed, you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight in the mirror. His sweatshirt was several sizes too big, the sleeves dangling past your hands, and the pants bunched up around your ankles. You adjusted the oversized fabric, feeling oddly cozy and comforted by the lingering scent of him.

When you returned to the living room, Ted’s reaction was instantaneous. His eyes widened, and his grin stretched so wide it made your cheeks flush.

“Well, would you look at you!” he said, leaning casually against the kitchen doorway. “You look so tiny and cute in my clothes. I can’t handle it.”

You laughed, tugging at the oversized sleeves. “Oh shut up.” You teased. “They’re a bit big, huh?”

“A bit?” he teased, walking over to gently tug at the sweatshirt’s sleeve. “You’re practically swimming in them, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You rolled your eyes, though the warmth in your chest betrayed your attempt to play it cool. “Well, don’t expect to get these back. They’re mine now.”

Ted sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. “I guess I can’t complain. You wearing my clothes is basically a walking advertisement for how great my taste is.”

“Oh, is that so?” you replied, laughing as you made your way to the couch.

“Absolutely,” he said, following you with a playful glint in his eye. “And bonus points for being the hottest model I could ever ask for.”

Once you were settled under a blanket Ted revealed his secret plan: a tray loaded with mugs of hot chocolate, a bowl of popcorn, and an assortment of snacks scavenged from the kitchen.

“Plan B,” he announced with a proud grin. “We eat junk food, watch Shrek, and I spend the rest of the night reminding you how much I adore you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, taking the mug of hot chocolate from him. “You really have a way of turning a mess into something perfect, don’t you?”

He shrugged, leaning into you as he pulled the blanket tighter around both of you. “What can I say? I’m good at making lemonade out of lemons. Or in this case, making rainy nights into cozy ones.” A smug grin on his lips.

As you sipped your drink and leaned against him, you realized that while the evening hadn’t gone to plan. But with Ted by your side, it was better than perfect.

[egophiliac]

ENG PLAYERS I BESEECH YOU

I have been informed that you guys are getting part 4 of episode 7 tomorrow, which means we are FINALLY going to get the official romanization of Revaan's name, somebody please tell me because I need to know what it is.

like, yes, it's probably just Revan/Levan, but look, I'm sitting here with my finger over the button of all these Laverne and Shirley jokes and just waiting for the opportunity to deploy them --

[etoiline]

TBR 2025

Tagged by @wrencatte !

Nine books you want to read in 2025

[aomiiine]

CALEB, THE FARSPACE COLONEL

AT THIS SHIP YOU WILL WITNESS … current!caleb & fem!reader. warning(s) -> MDNI. [18+ only]. needy/possessive caleb, might be ooc caleb, apple as a gag(?), squírtinğ, implied créámpîes, cûm eating, multiple órgáșms, cûnnilingúś, no plot, just smut, not proofread wordcount. 1.6k (kinda short cs idk much ab him yet & i dedicated my whole púśśy into this forgive me) tags. @ljubimaya

𝐻𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝒯𝒰𝑅𝒩𝒮 with single-minded determination to keep you near him at all times. Even with a 180 degree turn of his personality during his interrogation of you before, he assures you that protocol was the only reason for his brief change. Yet in the privacy of his room, he doesn’t exactly change to normal..

You didn’t know what brought you to the current situation you were in. To be more detailed, the situation you were in included you sprawled out on his bed, shirt bunched up beneath your chin with Caleb’s body hovering above you, burying his cock into you with reckless abandon. It all started with an innocent, heartfelt confession. But little did you know that calebs’ feelings would run so deep, so intense, to the point he had to have his mouth latch onto one of your tits, eagerly suckling on a nipple all the while his hips were unrelenting.

“W-wait, Caleb, please, I can’t cum again,” you whine with a sob, hands above you clinging onto his pillow for dearlife as he brought you to the brink of your nth orgasm. Caleb on the other hand seemed better than you despite the fact he would follow you every time you came, spilling his seed into your warm channel as if in sync. In truth, he wanted to cum the moment he slid inside your wet heat, but decided against it, wanting to cum with you. “Yes you can, I know you can, sweet girl,” he mumbled persuasively sweet against your flushed skin, your tits aching in the best way in his squeezing hand and warm mouth.

“Caleb, Caleb, fuck—! I feel weird,” you sobbed with a drawn out moan, hips beginning to squirm at the unfamiliar feeling in lower belly. His cock was stretching you out so good, almost too good. You thought you were on the edge of another orgasm but it felt completely foreign to you, fearing that you might embarrass yourself if Caleb kept on going like this. But Caleb himself was undeterred. Instead, a knowing smile of satisfaction crept on his face at your pleas, knowing exactly what was coming. “Of course you are, baby,” he cooed softly, hand fondling your right breast slipping down your back to thumb over the sensitive nub of your clit, rubbing it quick, tight circles that made your body arch into him with a cry.

Your legs quivered and kicked weakly on Caleb’s hip all the while he was fucking into you like it was nobody’s business, eager to push more of his cum into your already fully pussy. He could feel the heels of your feet burying into his lower back, quivering with pleasure that he knew was unfamiliar to you until now. Until he brought it to you.

his touch was precise, coaxing but going above your limits to make sure he makes your mind blank out. And true to his intentions, you cried out, loud, arching off the bed with splutters of profanities leaving your lips along with a wail pleading of his name when the pace of his thrusts into you sopping cunt quickened along with the rub and pinches of the throbbing nub of your clit.

Your lips parted in a silent scream when you felt yourself squirting all over his thick cock, yours juices surely overflowing onto his pelvis and down his balls to drip onto the sheets, making you gasp repeatedly, velvety walls spasming uncontrollably around Caleb’s pitifully hard dick, making him hiss a heavy ‘shit’ before he fucked into you more, prolonging your orgasm to reach his own. His hips jerked erratically into you, balls drawn up tight with his incoming orgasm until he came to an abrupt stop, hand previously rubbing your nub now holding you down by your pelvis all the while his throbbing cock pulsed with each pump of cum into your already filled cunt, making sure to overflow you with his seed.

Caleb’s chest heaved with heavy breaths to catch his breath, pulling away from your boneless, sweat sheened body on the bed, with his length deeply sheathed inside your warm hole still. With a few more shallow thrusts, he finally pulled out, breathing out a moan at the erotic sight of his cum that made a ring around his base, your leaking slit no less sexy.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot like.. Panting like a bitch in heat just for me,” caleb taunted, his own cheeks flushed red all the same along with his body coated with a thin layer of sweat like yours was on his bed, chest heaving from exertion. He couldn’t help the sly smirk that crept up his face, hand sliding down your thigh to pat the plush flesh there twice as if he was praising you, saying ‘good girl’.

Your pants died out and your breathing came back to normal, your limbs weak on the bed after a moment. Your lids felt heavy during the brief period when Caleb wasn’t doing to you, head burying into his pillow beneath your head to succumb to the sleep that called for you. But it seems like your supposed childhood friend had other plans for you.

“Urk..! Caleb.. what’re you doing now..” you slurred, mind still hazy from the mind blowing orgasm he gave you to process the tug he made on your leg. Your head lifted from the pillow weakly to see what he was doing standing off the edge of the bed, other hand moving to wrap around your other leg for another tug until you were close to the edge of the mattress.

“Shh.. get your rest. I’ll clean you up while you sleep, yeah?” the man with violet eyes shushed with a teasing lilt, reaching an arm over to grab one of his red apples nearby to bring them up to your lips, leaning forward to meet your half-lidded gaze. “Try not to be too loud.. I don’t want any of my colleagues coming over for a noise complaint,” he spoke in a near whisper, making the fresh red skin of the apple to kiss your equally succulent lips. You brought up a hand to hold the apple, letting him pull away. Yours brows furrowed at the implication that he wasn’t done, already biting down on the sweet fruit he gave you.

Leaving you oblivious, Caleb knelt between your legs that hung over the edge of his bed, positioning himself so he could lean in close to your pussy which he left in a mess, globs of his semen still oozing out to drip down the delicious curves of your ass. With eyes gleaming with unsated lust, he propped an arm under your thigh, the other hand pushing the other thigh further apart to give him access to your dripping cunt. He stopped pulling you apart when he could see your weakly clenching hole, head dipping to lick a firm stripe up the wet slit, making sure to flick over the clit too before repeated the action once more, though sloppier this time.

The evident shivers you made at his ministrations made him grin at the while he lapped up at the remnants of your juices that stained your folds, alternating between tongue-fucking your slick warm heat and sucking and biting on your sensitive nub for an extra boost of pleasure to shoot up your spine. Caleb’s gaze flickered up to your squirming form whenever he found the strength to peel his eyes off your filled pussy, scooping up his cum that he stuffed inside your used cunt to taste himself, then shove it back into you. The man could barely hear the muffled whines and whimpers you made whenever his slid his tongue as deep as it could go past your entrance, unrelenting with his pace, utterly absorbed in the act of pleasing you along with ‘cleaning’ you.

your earlier boneless body flared up again at the persistent strokes of caleb’s tongue on your wet heat, feeling his hand on your thigh knead your flesh and squeeze it tight whenever he lost himself in your depths for a long while before pulling away to get some air, only when he felt the unforgivable burn in his lungs. The way his nose grazed your neglected clit was equally unforgivable, only offering the nub a few kitten licks that nothing to sate its throbbing need for stimulation. Yet when he sensed your impending orgasm, it was as if a switch went off in his head, his focusing shifting to your pitiful clit to assault it with full force, nibbling and swirling his tongue around it relentlessly. The man was thankful he gave you that apple, or else the volumes of your cries at the delicious orgasm he was about to make you reach again would have escaped his room to the ears of his unsuspecting colleagues.

“For fuck’s sake, Caleb, slow, fuck..! Slow down..!” You thrashed your hips all over his face, grinding for dear life. You could feel your climax coming in, and it was coming in fast. You rocked your hips into his face a few more times before you brought the bite covered apple to your mouth for another full bite, throwing your head back with a hand gripping onto the pillow beside your head, an overwhelming sense of ecstasy washing over your body, barely able to overcome your sobs.

“I could make you cum all the damn hours of the day if I could, princess, fuck.. you did so well,” Caleb grinned against the damp folds of your pussy, half of his face smeared with your cum which he slurped with unrivalled eagerness. He pulled away from between your thighs to look up at you properly, curl of his lips growing only wider at the sight of your utterly passed out on his bed, his earlier praises falling to deaf ears.

[flwrkid14]

Tim Drake’s Coworkers (ft. The Fenton Family)

It’s not that Tim doesn’t like the Batfamily. He tolerates them just fine. Damian is great for sparring (if you like sparring with a tiny murder machine), and Jason’s brand of dark humor isn’t too bad once you get used to it. Dick’s a bit too much sometimes, but overall? Fine. Totally fine.

But the thing is… they’re just his coworkers.

And it never really clicks for the Bats until Danny Phantom joins the Justice League and everything starts unraveling.

———

The revelation comes during a League meeting. They’re strategizing about some ghost-related chaos, and Danny floats into the Watchtower, bright and glowing.

“Oh, hey, Tim,” Danny greets casually, giving him a little wave.

Tim doesn’t even look up from his tablet. “Sup.”

Superman looks between them, confused. “…you two know each other?”

Danny grins. “yeah, he’s my brother.”

Dead silence.

“WHAT?!” Bruce’s bellow shakes the entire room.

Tim finally looks up, unfazed. “What? Did you think I just spawned into existence?”

“You have a brother?!” Clark sputters.

“Two siblings, actually,” Tim corrects, utterly nonchalant. “Danny’s the younger one. Jazz is the older one. She’s great. Super organized. Kept me alive in middle school.”

Bruce’s eye twitches. “Why—why am I only learning this now?”

Tim shrugs. “It didn’t seem relevant.”

“Relevant?” Diana repeats, incredulous. “You’re the brother of Danny Phantom and it’s not relevant?”

Danny, who’s been munching on some ectoplasm candy, jumps in: “Honestly, Tim’s always been kind of private about his personal life. We just figured it was his way of coping with the whole ‘raised-by-rich-neglectful-aunt’ thing.”

“Yeah, about that,” Tim interjects, glaring at Danny. “Thanks so much for dumping me with Aunt Janet, by the way.”

Danny shrugs sheepishly. “Mom and Dad panicked! They thought you’d get ghost-napped next!”

“Uh, correction: Aunt Janet left me to raise myself, so that plan was awesome.”

Bruce, trying to keep up, interrupts: “Hold on. Your parents left you with Janet Drake?”

“They didn’t know she sucked at raising kids,” Tim deadpans. “And to be fair, they did call. A lot. I just didn’t pick up.”

Jason, who has been cackling this entire time, leans forward. “Wait, wait, wait—so you’re telling me that the Replacement’s entire family is a bunch of ghost hunters?”

“Yup.” Danny pops the “p” with a grin.

“You’re kidding me,” Steph says, borderline hysterical.

Tim sighs, clearly over it. “Look, it’s not a big deal. Jazz keeps the parents in check, Danny handles the ghost stuff, and I… stay out of the way. It’s fine.”

“FINE?” Damian glares. “Drake, you’ve been fraternizing with ghost hunters while working with a vigilante group, and you think that’s fine?”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “Dami, chill. It’s not like it affects work. You’re my coworkers. They’re my family. Separate categories.”

Cue collective Batfamily malfunction.

———

Later, Danny is chilling in the Batcave, feet kicked up on the Batcomputer, chatting with Alfred. The rest of the Bats are still spiraling.

“Tim, we’ve lived together for years!” Dick exclaims, sounding genuinely hurt. “How are we only your coworkers?”

“You’re not my family,” Tim explains, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Danny and Jazz are my family. You guys are my teammates. It’s different.”

Jason throws his head back, laughing. “Oh my god, Replacement, you’re stone cold.”

“I’m not cold,” Tim argues. “I just don’t think we need to make it more complicated than it is. We work together. That’s enough.”

Meanwhile, Danny is wiping tears of laughter off his face. “Oh man. Jazz is gonna love this.”

[plutotheplum]

thinking of ex-husband!sylus

ex-husband!sylus who was sickeningly generous during divorce proceedings. he had his lawyer agree to each one of your requests without batting any eye.

ex-husband!sylus who still remembers your anniversary. he sends over expensive gifts, tokens of his affection, hoping to win you back.

ex-husband!sylus who visits every month on his obnoxiously loud bike so the entire neighborhood knows that he's back.

ex-husband!sylus who brings along his pet crow, and then gets jealous when it cozies up with you.

ex-husband!sylus who has luke and kieran spy on you when you go out on dates.

ex-husband!sylus who acts like he doesn’t know why your dates have been ruined by unforeseen misfortunes (he pays luke and kieran extra if they manage to sabotage the date).

ex-husband!sylus who sees red when you manage to bring a man home, despite all of his interferences.

ex-husband!sylus who still has a spare key and waits inside for you to get home with that pathetic date of yours.

ex-husband!sylus who pulls you into the filthiest kiss, tongue and all, in front of your poor date who watches with wide eyes.

ex-husband!sylus who knows you miss him when you go limp in his arms and respond to his kiss just as eagerly.

ex-husband!sylus who knows how desperately you try to push him away, and yet will always come back to him.

ex-husband!sylus who is so riled up that he has to take you right then and there, up against the front door.

“w-wait,” you gasp out, feeling his lips suck harsh marks against your neck as he hauls you up into his arms.

“i've waited long enough,” he hisses, bunching your dress up at your hips as he rips your pretty, lacy panties off. he can't believe you'd wear such cute panties for another man.

you scrabble at his shoulders, trying to stay stable with the way you’re held against the front door whilst your ex-husband fumbles with his belt.

sylus pushes his cock into you roughly, his head falling against your shoulder when he feels the dizzying wet heat of your cunt. he’s finally back home.

the front door shakes with every thrust he delivers to your poor pussy and you quake in his arms, his movements tearing loud moans and whines from your throat.

you find yourself kissing your ex-husband desperately, hands in his hair and legs locked around his waist.

it's messy, rough and your breath hitches when you see his shirt shift, exposing the necklace around his neck. your wedding rings hang from it.

sylus grins at you, gripping your cheeks to hold your head still.

“i love you,” he says gruffly, kissing you over and over again until you wail and kick your legs out at the force of your orgasm.

he groans, his grip on you faltering as he comes at the same time, thick cum spilling inside of you.

you feel yourself slide down the door, legs too weak to hold yourself up until sylus catches you by the waist and tugs you close to him.

it’s not hard to see the adoration in his eyes when he cleans you up and pulls you into bed.

he lands soft kisses against your cheek, presses his forehead against yours and whispers his vows from years ago.

there's tears staining your cheeks when he slides your wedding ring onto your finger again, pulling you into a tender kiss.

sylus promises himself he’ll never let you go again, no matter what. 

because he knows you’re his. 

his precious darling.

[hyuny-bunny]

skz + types of p*rn they watch (w/links) pt 1. hyung line

MDNI (+18) content warning: p*rn, nsfw links, mentions of rough sex, use of female anatomy, breeding, spanking, choking, fingering, oral (f receiving) most afab reader terms.

a/n: if the links are not working for you, you may need the app as most are not compatible with a web browser

pt 2. maknae line

chan: he's definitely watching twitter/x porn. as for what side of x he's on all depends on the mood. he definitely seems to stay on a more "vanilla" side. probably has a keen interest on size kink and breeding videos. but what they all have common is riding. it gets him so riled up seeing ones shot in cars because the next time he sees you it's all he thinks about. he'd love nothing more then to have you riding his dick, his hands holding your hips in place, eventually snacking a hand to lightly you choke and bunching your skirt in the other hand while you sloppily bounce on his cock. maybe he's taking you out to a nice dinner & movie but once your back in that car he's practically begging you to sit on his cock.

"baby, i need you so bad. come here, ride me, need to feel this pretty pussy on me."

breeding

riding

minho: there's so many things i could say about him. i don't think he necessarily needs porn to get off or actively looks for it, but i do think he loves being able to send you links that either remind him of the both of yours sexcapades or things he wants to do to you. i feel like he watches a lot of overstimulation, spanking, BREEDING, and just a sprinkle of voyeurism. i think he gets really turned on by the ones of girls in pretty lingerie wearing collars with bells, so every movement makes the bell ring. he almost collapses to his knees when he gets home one day to see you wearing the collar he bought, the one he'd been hiding and waiting for the right moment.

the only thing on your mind is the feeling of your sopping wet cunt being suffocated by minho's cock. he's got a fistful of your hair in hand, pulling you up from your pillow before landing a hard smack on your ass, never letting up on his thrusts.

overstimulation

spanking

changbin: another one in my books that loves size kink porn. not because i think he likes someone smaller, but more so the fact that he likes the feeling of being able to make someone feel so small. in seo changbins biceps, we trust. i think this one in particular will have him pleading with you to let him try it. you might feel reluctant because of any underlying insecurities at the though of feeling like you're "too heavy" (there's so no such thing to him) . it isn't till he's got you lifted up against the wall with no holding you either than his arms & shoulders, his mouth lapping away at your pretty cunt, any worries you ever had dissipated along with your ability to use your words.

"bin-binnie please i-i can't hold on much longer" a string of whines follow suit. he's been at it for a while and you've already had two orgasm but he's relentless. all you can hear are his groans and the squelching sound of his tongue abusing your cunt. he lifts his head up from between your thighs with you hand webbed in his hair, mirroring your worn out lustful look.

size kink

making you feel small

hyunjin: to me, i think hyun goes either of these two ways. he's the most depraved man known to walk this earth that loves it sloppy, messy, wet and downright lustfully filthy. the latter also leads me to believe he's not big on porn, prefers either his imagination or his OWN videos. one he's recorded (with your consent + encouragement) while you've done it together. he needs the passion of either love or the passion of wanting to make the either cum so hard they've gone to heaven (preferably both). if he's watching videos, his favorite ones always have the girl shaking and crying in pleasure by the end. he needs to see the passion, lust to be able to get off. when it's you, it's different, if anything it brings him back to those moments to fully remember the need between the two of you. that being said he's heavy into breeding/cumplay and semi restraining. he loves seeing the hands held behind the back and holding someone in place while they fall apart in his lap + cock.

it was supposed to be a quick kiss, which turned into heavy petting, and now he's brought your leg over his hips. the panties you were wearing discarded somewhere in the room, one arm is wrapped around you holding you tightly to his chest while his other hand is at work. his middle & ring finger are knuckle deep thrusting into you and he's groaning into your neck sucking hickies in all your favorite spots.

semi restraints

playing w you in his lap

[fictionismyreality3]

Scary Dog Privilege

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, allusions to violence

Notes: I want all four of them to walk behind me while I carry a bunch of shopping bags 🤭

Gaz is probably the most level-headed of the 141, but that doesn't mean he won't go to bat for you in an instant. While he might not look as outwardly imposing as Ghost, or have the mecurial grin that Johnny can sport, he is like a snake.

Gaz will walk beside you while you're out, larger hand around your smaller one, a flicker of danger in his eye that only shows to anyone who looks a little too long. He doesn't need bloodly knuckles when he has his tongue.

"Oh, you were just askin' her a question?" All piercing gaze and sharp tone. "Looks like you were just leaving, yeah?"

Soap on the other hand, well... he's a little more physical with the people he's protective of. The man will not hesitate to throw a punch or two if someone so much as looks in your direction a little too long.

Johnny's a little too eager, seeing his abilty to protect you as a way to prove his love. Many nights at the bar with the team have ended with you or Simon pulling him off of someone who tried to order you a drink.

"C'mon, bonnie-" He'd plead, spitting some blood out in his desire to get back to the brawl. "Let m'show ye how good I can fight f'ye."

Price is a little more quiet in his protectiveness, but a little more showy than Gaz. A big hand on the small of your lower back, all burly and gruff as he follows you to whatever store you want to go in next.

Doesn't mind making a point of who you belong to, but prefers using his years of being in a position of leadership to his advantage. Someone giving you trouble at the check out counter? He'll have a nice chat with the young man about the importance of good manners.

"Go wait in the car, little one." God forbid someone tries to charge you $300 for an oil change. "I'm just going to go over the bill with our friend here."

Ghost just has to stand there. The man is like a wall of darkness and shadow and will take advantage of his soulless brown eyes. He doesn't hold your hand while you're out, but thats only because he believes any outward display of affection would get you linked to him and killed.

That said, he doesn't even really have to touch you for others to know you're his. Will follow you around like a lost puppy, just hovering behind you as you walk the streets and point to displays in the window. His presence is threatening enough. But he has no qualms getting messy.

"Simon... he only asked for directions." You stared down at his bloody hands. "..fucker spoke t'you." "Yeah, for directions-"

"Didn't like it."

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. satoru’s love for you has never diminished—even after being your husband for a few years now. in fact, his love for you continues to increase with each passing day.

wc. 500-ish

tags. husband!gojo satoru x wife!female reader. fluff. satoru being clingy as per usual. reader gets called ‘sweetheart, my wife.’

“and my lovely wife right here will have the vanilla flavour,” satoru announces to the ice cream man. he’s smiling from ear to ear as he shamelessly puts emphasis on the word ‘lovely’.

it’s embarrassing to you. especially because everyone in the queue - plus the vendor - is staring at you. some giggle at the affectionate display from your husband, others just stare or roll their eyes.

satoru does not care about any of them. all he cares about is expressing his love to you in any way he can—whenever, wherever. this time he went for a much more. . . direct approach.

“you didn’t have to say it like that,” you mumble under your breath. you tug at satoru’s arm, clinging onto him whilst hiding your face against his bicep.

you get even more flustered when the man behind the counter nods at your lover’s words—telling you he ‘agrees that you’re indeed a lovely woman’.

satoru feels a sense of pride in having you with him. he always does. seeing the reactions of others when he’s boasting about having a pretty wife makes him feel all giddy.

“why? i’m proud of my wife,” satoru shrugs nonchalantly. he lowers his head to yours, looking you in the eyes from behind his sunglasses. he giggles once he sees that flustered expression of yours from up close.

the sorcerer ruffles your hair before over excessively nuzzling his cheek against yours. perhaps he’s actually experiencing what’s called a love surge, “my girl, my sweetheart.”

you cringe at the cheesy moment that’s happening. you love satoru and his clingy affectionate gestures, but when you’re surrounded by a bunch of people, it can become overwhelming.

you whimper and scrunch your nose up, “mghhh, stop it—we’re in public, ‘toru.”

a futile attempt to stop the white haired man. though, after a few seconds, he actually halts his movements. satoru pouts dramatically whilst holding your face in his hands. he squeezes your cheeks together, “awww. . . but what if i want the world to know that i’m the luckiest man ali—ow!”

you bite satoru’s thumb the second it teasingly rubs with your bottom lip. he’s always so touchy and knows no boundaries when it comes to pda. however, it does make you happy to know that he’s not afraid to show you off to the world.

you playfully frown at your husband, his thumb still between your teeth. it’s cute how easily flustered you get. it makes him want to play with you some more—to tease you some more.

“alright, alright,” satoru gives up and sighs deeply. his head is held low as he steps back to give you some space, “i jus’ wanted to let my girl know how much i adore her, y’know.”

“hah, i’m not falling for your dramatics this time,” you chuckle and roll your eyes. you grab your order once it’s done and walk out of the shop without waiting for your pouty but lovely husband.

you hear him whine out your name. satoru hurriedly grabs his own ice cream cone before rushing after you. once he’s caught up, he wraps his arms around you from behind and lifts you up.

“hey! you can’t just leave your hubby like that. c’mere,” satoru smirks and you can hear it in his voice. you kick your legs, though to no avail.

“gojo satoru! don’t you dare,” you warn whilst holding tightly onto your dessert. satoru ignores your warning and spins you around in circles with him—laughing at your high pitched shrieks.

he doesn’t stop until you’re both dizzy and have to hold onto each other to prevent from falling. satoru kisses your neck gently and you can feel him smiling against your skin, “i love you, sweetheart.”

his love for you has and will never fade. many may say that the honeymoon phase will end sooner or later in a marriage, but that’s definitely not the case with your marriage.

satoru will always be head over heels for you and his affection for you will never stop. even if you’re both old and grey; he’s going to love you all the same.

[caitlinsnicket]

ekko relationship headcanons

warnings: smut at some points, pretty sure it's just a handjob and a few suggestive comments, that's it.

a/n: i still got one exam left but i managed to birth this. he's a very sensitive topic for me, do NOT even mention him to me I am SAD goodbye

Calls you a bunch of nicknames all day long but freezes the second you give him the same treatment. Call him pookie once, and he'll just stare back at you, not really knowing what to do.

He's slick when he wants to be: talking lower and lower so you have to get closer to him, placing his hands near your body but never actually touching you, staring right into your eyes and then glancing at your lips, letting his eyes wander over your figure until you're shifting under his gaze.

Still, he flirts but always waits for you to initiate actual contact, like kissing or hugging/cuddling (at least in the beginning). It's both a show of how much effect he has over you and a silent question of whether or not you actually want to touch him.

The casualness of your touch sends him reeling. He loves the way you'll just brush his cheek to remove some dust out of nowhere, pull a few of his locks back from his face when he's talking to you, or straighten his clothes for him while telling him what you want for dinner.

He gets bashful quickly whenever you start touching him or talking to him near his face, and after a while—even if you've been together for some time—he just gets overwhelmed by your closeness and almost always loses focus. You have to call him a few times so he can get his mind off your lips and try to keep the warmth of his cheeks under control.

He's clearly touch-starved, and you realize this because whenever you hold his cheeks or just brush your arm against his, he chases after it, his eyes glazing over and twitching slightly in place. You make it your personal mission to keep him as content as you can, and that means touching him all the time, at any moment, for no apparent reason.

Whenever he's wearing crop tops, you run your fingers over his skin until he's shivering and almost whimpering, his belly rising and falling rapidly with your warmth around him. His hands grip the nearby table, and he bites his lip, bucking his hips up to meet your hand. It can go one of two ways: you keep going until he's coming all over your hand, teeth biting into the skin of your neck as he works through the aftershocks, or you give him a peck on the lips and leave him all hot and bothered.

Either way, what bliss.

He likes holding your hand at all times: while he tinkers, while flying around, while having dinner, in bed before falling asleep. Sometimes you'll let go because it gets too clammy, and he proceeds to grab your other one. He kisses your fingertips and knuckles and lets your intertwined hands rest near his face for a second, just enjoying your warmth.

He's always touching you in some way and feels really good (proud) whenever you return his affections in public. At the same time that he gets shy and understands that his life is not all sunshine and rainbows, he still allows himself to enjoy these quiet moments, like he's a normal guy in a normal world.

One day, you're alone in his lab, applying the white paint he loves so much on his face, being so near and yet so far. When you're done, you hover in front of him, your hands still dirty, getting closer and closer by the second. He tilts his head up to meet yours, just a little, but just enough.

And then he needs a second, just holding you a few inches from him, taking his time to get ready for your lips. He wants to do it right, and he gets so worried about it that he almost forgets what he's about to do until you pull his hands up to your face and kiss his palms, telling him that it's okay.

He pulls you closer then, touching your lips with his own, incredibly warm, and then he lets you lead. Going with the flow is easier for him than taking the lead right away. When you touch his neck, trying to get as much of him as you possibly can, his eyebrows furrow, and he almost loses balance. Please, he thinks, keep touching me.

After that, whenever you kiss him, he's just a mess. He usually rests his hands on your waist, arms, or face, never letting them wander too far without being sure you're willing to go there too, and his face warms profusely whenever you take his hand and push it lower.

He also lives for the casual pecks throughout the day, when you're just passing by or when you're about to leave him to do something else. If you happen to wear lipstick, his cheeks will receive a colorful, sticky look from how much you kiss them. He might pretend to forget about it just to parade your mark around.

After a while into the relationship, he's not as fidgety, but still feels his heart race whenever you lean in to kiss him.

Whenever it's raining (and it's actually safe to go outside), he grabs you by the hand to run around in it, splashing you with the puddles on the ground, grabbing you and spinning you around until both of you are dizzy. Then he kisses you with wet lips and cold cheeks.

His favorite part is after, when the two of you take off your wet clothes to dry off. The intimacy of being able to take care of you in your most vulnerable state makes him feel good about himself.

He loves dancing too, pulling you to him even when there's no music, swaying from side to side—sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly—but always hiding his face in your neck to feel as close to you as he physically can. He especially loves it when you hold him back as hard as you can, singing along to a song or murmuring a melody you remember, as a reassurance that you need him as much as he needs you.

Taking naps around the firelight base, or just on the tree itself, his arm over your belly as your heads are turned in each other's direction. The warmth of the little sun that filters down there keeps both of you comfortable for a long time. Sometimes you wake up and it's already dark, making the two of you laugh.

He kisses your forehead and pulls you close, his head just above yours, hugging you tighter when you give him a light kiss on his neck. His heart beats in the same rhythm as yours.

[tender-rosiey]

“IT’S LAUGHING?! IT’S ALIVE?!”

— gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, and toji hearing the baby’s first laugh (f!reader)

a/n: guess who's back, back again then I will be gone again (probably)

GOJO SATORU:

your husband is, admittedly, a very funny guy.

his humor always manages to get to people one way or another, so even if he doesn’t get a laugh, he certainly gets some sort of reaction.

not with his little angel though, the one person that he would die to see her laugh.

no matter how much tickling or raspberries he blew, it was never a laugh, merely a smile or a very short giggle if he was lucky.

he would come across a ton of videos of babies having hearty laughs and simply wished to be able to get the same reaction out of his daughter.

it is the reason he is currently burying his face in your chest and whining, “I feel like she thinks I am just not that funny.”

“satoru, she is still a baby,” you hum, fingers carding through his hair, “you know that babies have different views about what is actually funny; actually, I saw baby not long ago at a photo of number eleven. it was so cute!”

“but I tried everything! even the unusual!” he huffs, standing up to retell all of his failed attempts, “I tried dropping stuff, quickly stirring a liquid, lightly touching her with a balloon—everything!”

he looks at his daughter with his best puppy eyes, “come on, d/n! isn’t there anything that would you laugh a belly laugh?”

a little idea pops into your head. giggling, you sneak off leaving your daughter trying to comfort her wailing papa the best she can.

d/n is caught up with satoru until you finally come back and she smiles, “mama!”

“hi baby!” you grin before smacking your husband—lightly but not so lightly—with a roll of newspaper.

he yelps, “y/n! why would you do that?!”

but he is cut off by his little girl laughing, and I mean laughing so hard she kind of leans back.

you wait until she is quiet again before smacking him with the roll one more time, and she, once more, starts laughing heartily with small little wheezes and a long breath in the end when she calms down.

your husband, mortified, picks his daughter up, “d/n! you’re not supposed to laugh when papa gets hit! you’re supposed to get sad!”

she starts giggling and kicking her feet, putting her hand lightly on his nose. she tilts her head confused, and satoru thinks he knows what she is waiting for him to say. he shan’t falter!

at least, that’s what he thinks.

d/n takes matter into her own hands and smacks him on the forehead, resulting in him yelping and her going into a laughing fit that lasted a minute or so.

how unfortunate that his most precious takes pleasure in him being hurt.

his head snaps towards you, but he guesses that it makes sense since you also love teasing him so much.

a bunch of devils he says! two cute devils he laments.

GETO SUGURU:

geto is convinced that he was blessed with two angels, her cute little twins from his beautiful wife, you. he is also convinced that they would do no wrong—which is like what wrong can a baby a couple months old do anyway.

he ignores how gojo screams about being bullied by the girls, how that one mean babysitter was yapping about how they most definitely threw their toys at her intentionally, and how miguel syas that the girls always hide his glasses because they love seeing his stressed face.

to geto suguru, his daughters could do no wrong.

aside from that, he also noticed that his daughters love playing with hair, sometimes eating it which makes him scream but oh well.

for the most part, they know to treat their father’s hair gently as they watch you and himself do it.

that’s why he never thought that his darling angels would get their first belly laughs by pulling on his freaking bangs.

each twin holds one of the bangs and with all their baby power, they pull and pull almost like they want to tear it off his head.

and while he adores that his daughter are laughing so much—for the first time too—that they stumble back almost turn red, but he really doesn’t want to bald before heat least reaches his 50 or something.

another problem is that you never interfere unless he straight up screams for your help.

that made him realize how much of a common occurrence it is and he finally decided that he needed to put his foot down.

so he sat his girls down—including you because you’ve tolerated the violation of your husband’s hairline so much—and took a deep breath.

“girls, we need to learn that papa’s hair is fragile and we shouldn’t pull on it so much,” he turns to you with the quirk of an eyebrow. “right, honey?”

you barely hold back your smile before nodding and loyally supporting your husband, “why, of course, my love!”

he rolls his eyes, “so, be good girls and don’t pull on my bangs, please?”

one of the twins, while the other frowns and starts fussing. you lock eyes with your husband, and you both try to telepathically figure how to handle this, until your other twin starts crying.

now, you have two crying babies.

congratulations!

so your husband concedes and kneels in front of them, bravely offering his bangs. almost instantly, they stop crying and start pulling the bangs on their respective sides.

they start laughing and squealing again, and geto starts to think that balding is a small price to pay for his angels’ happiness.

he should probably stop calling them that though.

NANAMI KENTO:

now, in constrant to nanami, his daughter came out all bubbly and smiley, and it had nanami going as soft as a marshmallow.

it also didn’t help that d/n is convinced that her dad is indeed a marshmallow in which that she could only touch him softly.

she would gently pat his cheeks, press clumsy little kisses to his forehead, and squeal in order to cuddle with you or him. she also is extremely empathetic and starts crying whenever she sees someone hurt or genuinely frowning.

that was also the reason why gojo adored her since her crying cut anyone’s session of bullying him short. though, of course, he buys her a ton of toys to make up and comfort her.

he fails to realize that the true way to comfort her is to place in your arms or nanami’s.

like that one time when she bumped her head lightly and started crying profusely, throwing punches at gojo who was supposed to be babysitting her—poor choice but who am I to judge. she screamed and squirmed, demanding she be comforted.

however, none of the toys gojo bought were working.

and the two of you were called into a mission, so he literally is rendered helpless. that is until nanami returns a tad bit early than planned, and satoru couldn’t have been more relieved.

he hurriedly places d/n in kento’s arms, and the little girl takes a few seconds to realize who is holding her now.

she looks up, smiling at her dad. he instantly smiles back, “hey there,” he hums, “did you miss me?”

anyway back to what i was saying: a very sensitive and empathetic baby, right?

so when one day, you have your girl perched on your lap and nanami is going all out with scolding gojo, no one expects your daughter to burst one laughing.

you giggle, looking at her, “d/n, you like seeing papa scold uncle gojo?”

gojo gasps, “what?!”

you usher your husband, “babe, try it again!”

nanami nods with determination and gathers everything gojo ever bothered him with and translates it into a bunch of very child-friendly insults.

with each reproach, gojo deflates and d/n starts laughing more, squealing and wheezing. your husband abandons the crushed gojo and goes to hold d/n in his hands, “you okay there?”

she squeals and reaches for her feet, eyes never leaving her father’s. you coo, “she is so cute!”

“I never imagined my daughter would laugh at the sight of me, out of all people, scolding gojo.”

a very wounded gojo screams, “well I sure did! you family of haters!”

your husband frowns, but before he can talk, d/n cups his face and starts babbling a bunch of nonsense. nonetheless, your husband hangs onto every bit of said nonsense. 

gojo takes that chance to flee to the hills.

meanwhile, you’re holding a camera and recording the lecture(?) your tiny angel is giving your husband.

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

your baby is the son of the all-mighty king of curses.

the man who sends terrors throughout the lands, the mere sight of his face is enough to cause someone to pee themselves.

everyone cowers in front of him, except you and more recently his son. on the contrary, in fact, your son can’t help but cackle whenever his dad puts on his “scary” face.

the first time it ever happened was when you were strolling the palace with s/n in your arms.

you know not to enter the throne room whenever sukuna has the villagers over to “hear their complains” as it almost always ended with him slicing one part of their body off.

you figured that it would be okay to at least pass by it since they always had the door closed—that started when you gave birth—but to your surprise, the door was open this time, giving you and your son a front row seat to sukuna degrading his subject.

“you’re wasting my time,” your husband states, and the villagers starts panicking.

“a-apologies my lord, pl-please grant me a-another chance!”

your husband scowls, “and now you’re ordering me around?”

the villager starts crying and kneels to the ground. on the other hand, your son couldn’t have been laughing more. his laugh echoed so loudly in the room that it drew everyone’s attention.

sukuna stares at the baby in your arms and scowls again, “y/n, why is he here?”

your son squeals and starts laughing again, hiding his face in your chest. you light up at his laughter, and sukuna finds himself livid at how the scene makes him feel content—until he notices the villager staring at you as well, what a short-lived happiness.

swiftly, sukuna slashes the villagers into cubes, and your son—who came out of his hiding spot—bursts into a fit of giggles that has you wondering just how much of sukuna’s sadism was passed to your darling son.

while you ponder over that, sukuna quickly makes his way to you, dismissing all the servants and tasking them with taking out the trash.

when your husband is right in front of you, you look up at him with a frown, “my son is laughing at torture, sukuna.”

“he is probably laughing at how pathetic the man looked,” he says as he smirks and pulls you close.

you huff and bounce s/n lightly, “shut up, old man.”

sukuna quirks an eyebrow and leans to be on your eye level. his hand is placed on your head, and he threatens, “you’re insulting your husband?”

s/n gasps lightly before harshly latching on sukuna’s face, fingers digging into his second pair of eyes. sukuna does not give any reaction except standing up to his full height.

your son, however, is relentless and is still hanging onto your husband’s face.

you don’t know how to react. sukuna doesn’t know how to react.

s/n just lets out a series of battle cries.

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

if there is anything that toji is doubtful of is whether his son actually loves him or not.

why you ask? well, the only thing that gets the kid laughing—aside from you laughing or smiling—is literally any inconvenience that happens to him.

he remembers that one time when shiu was over to discuss some business, nothing out of the norm. megumi was on just sat on his high chair beside toji since you were at work.

toji was just sipping on his coffee when he burned his tongue, “gosh damn it!”

shiu was about to make fun of him, but megumi beat him to it as he started laughing heartily, even taking breaths in between to calm down but to no avail.

toji’s eyes widen as he stands up to go to his son, “no way you’re laughing at me getting—what the hell?!”

toji groans after he bumps into the table, glaring at his son who starts laughing all over again. meanwhile, shiu chuckles and teases toji, “I think your son just loves you so much, doesn’t he?”

your husband rises to his feet, quickly carrying megumi and lifting him in the air. he grumbles, “I want my wife back.”

another time was when you guys grocery shopping.

you had most of the list crossed out and the only thing left was the frozen vegetables. easy, right?

so you, your husband, and son quickly made your way to the section—since megumi wanted to go to the park later to play with yuuji.

megumi stays in your arms, while toji goes to grab them. considering how unlucky this man is, the bag slips from his hand and falls flat on his face, and it freaking stays there.

to your darling son, comedy had never reached this peak, so he lets out a guttural laugh.

you want to join in on the laughter, but you noticed that toji is standing still, with the bag on his face.

so you walk to him, gently taking off the bag and teasing him, “you okay, champ? that made quite the noise.”

“don’t even start,” he groans and buries his face in your shoulder, ignoring the wheezing megumi. he then starts complaining, “they keep whining about how he is a quiet and shy kid, but he sure ain’t with me.”

“isn’t that a good thing? It’s important for him to feel free around his dad.”

he turns his head towards you, a frown plastered on his face, “no kid laughs whenever his dad gets ridiculed by life.”

“you told me that you laughed when your dad fell down a flight of stairs,” you deadpan.

“that’s because my dad is an ass; I am not,” he pauses, “for the most part.”

apparently, megumi senses his dad’s distress and starts slowly patting his head, albeit shyly. he lowers his gaze and mumbles, “so’y.”

toji’s eyes widen and he is frozen in place for a moment. your son takes note of that and starts staring him in the eye, waiting for his reaction.

your husband doesn’t take long for a small smile to break out as he lets a small sigh, “’s okay kid,” he hums and pets his head.

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @sonder-paradise @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies@pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @mx-0-child @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso @4sat0ruu @nineooooo @chuuyasboots @alekssashka7 @rieejjyubi02 @satoryaa @nothisispatrick300 @fallencrescentmoon @etheviese @ho34gojo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @the-weeping-author @stray-npc @libbyistired @anon1412 @anakalana @maehemthemisfit @satorustar @b4nka1 @sad-darksoul @ko-fi-heart @pumpkindudeishere @suyaaachin @babyqueen17 @chaosguy352 @murakami-kotone @sukun4ryomen @yumieis @hearts4itoshi @sleepyxxhead @dunixxd @sleepycrybbylaiah @imjustaduckwholikesbread @emilyyyy-08 @spacebaby1 @arabellatreaty @girlnamedutsu

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[neferaskingdom]

♡ It's Not You, It's Your Pants | CL16

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Girl roasts Charles Leclerc’s tragic pants online, then accidentally crashes into him in Monaco. Cue spilled coffee, fashion rants, and an existential crisis about how her life turned into a Wattpad fanfic in under five minutes.

A/N: Just a random crack idea I had after seeing Charles' pants on Pinterest.

CHARLES LECLERC MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

The pants in question:

Monaco was as glamorous as your Instagram feed had led you to believe—blue skies, sparkling yachts, and streets that looked like they’d been personally polished by billionaires. You’d come here for a break from your intense fashion studies, soaking up the vibes (and let’s be honest, hoping for a celebrity sighting). And maybe—just maybe—you’d catch a glimpse of a certain F1 driver whose face had become a staple on your social media, along with some questionable fashion choices.

It was your first time here, a small vacation before diving back into the hectic world of fashion school. Your excuse? Inspiration. But honestly, you just wanted to escape to the Côte d'Azur and sip some coffee.

But you weren’t just an F1 fan. You had your own little corner of fame on Instagram. As a fashion student with a decent following, your niche was breaking down and rating celebrity outfits. Recently, you’d gained serious attention for a video where you roasted none other than Charles Leclerc—the beloved racing prince of Monaco—for wearing, and you quote yourself, “blue baggy pants that looked like they were in a fistfight with a bunch of scissors.”

It wasn’t personal; it was business. And the fact that the pants had star-shaped rips in them? Your comment was basically a public service announcement.

“Look at these pants,” you’d said, holding up a screenshot of Charles sporting his, ahem, questionable fashion statement. “I mean, what are we even doing here? Are these pants or a craft project gone wrong? Who looks at a pair of baggy jeans and thinks, ‘You know what’s missing? Giant star-shaped cutouts for maximum confusion!’”

As you strolled through Monte Carlo, cappuccino in hand, you scrolled through the comments on your viral video.

“Not gonna lie, I kinda miss when Charles used to wear those skinny jeans that made him look like a confused hipster.”

“ARE WE JUST NOT GONNA TALK ABOUT THE STAR CUTOUTS?!?!”

“I think Charles Leclerc has been taking fashion advice from his 8-year-old self. Stars? Really? Babe, it’s not the 2000s anymore.”

“Not the hero we deserve, but the one we need—thank you for saying what we were all thinking about those pants.”

“Leclerc’s stylist should be fired, immediately.”

You chuckled at one of the memes someone had made—a zoomed-in shot of Charles in his infamous star-cutout pants, captioned: “I’m a star, literally.” Honestly, the internet was undefeated.

Mid-laugh, you rounded a corner, not looking where you were going, and—WHAM—collided with someone solid, causing you to spill your coffee, drop your phone, and let out a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a scream.

“Oh my God! I am so, so sorry!” you babbled, fumbling to grab your phone off the ground.

“No problem, really—”

You froze. That voice.

You didn’t need to look up to recognize that slightly accented, velvety smooth tone. The universe had decided today was the day it turned your life into a Wattpad fanfiction.

Charles Leclerc was standing right in front of you.

And not just standing. He was smiling—that damn heart-stopping smile—and then something in his expression shifted. His eyes narrowed slightly as if he was trying to place where he knew you from. You, meanwhile, were contemplating whether it was possible to will yourself into nonexistence through sheer force of embarrassment.

“You’re…” Charles blinked and then a glint of recognition flashed in his eyes. “Wait, you’re the girl from that Instagram video. The one about my pants.”

If your life was a movie, this would be the part where someone hit pause so you could have a full existential crisis. Unfortunately, reality didn’t work like that, and all you could do was stare at him, jaw slack, as your brain tried to reboot.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unsure of how to explain to the very person whose fashion choices you’d roasted in front of millions of people that it wasn’t personal.

Charles tilted his head, his smile widening. “You really didn’t like my pants, huh?”

Oh God. This was happening. This was actually happening.

“I mean, it’s not that I didn’t like them…” you began weakly, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you were currently being confronted by Charles freaking Leclerc. “It’s just… they were, you know, kind of…” You gestured vaguely toward his legs as if that would somehow help explain your deep-seated hatred for the star-ripped monstrosities.

“Kind of what?” he asked, clearly enjoying watching you squirm.

You took a deep breath, deciding to just go for it. “Okay, look. They were confusing. Like, were they pants? Or was it some weird attempt at turning your legs into a constellation? I couldn’t tell. They had star-shaped rips, Charles. also, why were there so many weird cutouts? Are they… windows? Are your pants ventilated?”

Charles let out a snort, clearly struggling to keep it together. “Ventilated?”

You nodded, gaining momentum now. “Exactly! They look like they’re half-torn on purpose, but not in a cool, grungy way. It’s like someone started cutting them up and then gave up halfway through. And the bagginess? Charles, I don’t even know where to begin. It’s like you bought them two sizes too big, but then tried to fix it by adding rips. And it just… doesn’t work.”

Charles burst out laughing, his hand covering his mouth as he tried to rein in his amusement. “You really think they were that bad?”

You blinked at him, dead serious. “Charles, those pants looked like they got into a fight with a pair of kindergarten scissors and lost.”

He was full-on laughing now, and you felt a small victory in that. At least he wasn’t offended. Although, considering how often people talked about drivers online, he probably had thicker skin than you’d given him credit for.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think anyone would notice the stars,” Charles said between laughs, wiping away a tear from his eye. “But you? You gave them a whole five-minute segment.”

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I didn’t mean to turn it into an entire rant! It just… it snowballed.”

Charles grinned at you, his expression softening a bit. “No, it was funny. I saw the video. My brothers couldn’t stop laughing. Arthur sent it to me like five times.”

You blinked. “Your brothers… sent you the video?”

“Yep. They even gave the pants a name. They call them ‘the constellation pants’ now.”

You couldn’t help it. You snorted. “You should burn those pants. Like, immediately.”

He looked down at his legs, pretending to think it over. “They’re not that bad.”

“Charles,” you sighed, suddenly feeling a wave of passion wash over you. “Those pants were an abomination. They weren’t just bad—they were like an insult to pants everywhere. Like, what even were they? Baggy, ill-fitting, with random star-shaped rips? Did they start out as pants or was it some kind of tragic attempt at upcycling? Because I swear to God, it looked like a fabric store exploded on your legs.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting you to dive headfirst into a passionate rant about pants, but there was no stopping you now.

“And don’t get me wrong,” you continued, gesturing wildly. “I’m all for experimental fashion. I love a good risk. But those pants? They looked like you lost a bet to a five-year-old. I’ve seen better craftsmanship at a kids’ summer camp sewing class. They were offensive, Charles. Offensive to pants, offensive to legs, and offensive to anyone with eyes.”

Charles looked back up at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Okay, but what’s so wrong with adding a little personality to my wardrobe? Stars are cool.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “Not when they’re cut out of your pants, they’re not!”

“Fair enough,” he said, still smiling. “But now you’ve got me curious. If I did burn the pants, what would you suggest I wear?”

Was this a trick question? Was he seriously asking you, the random fashion student who insulted him online, for fashion advice? What was your life?

“Well…” you began, mentally assembling an outfit in your head. “For starters, how about something that doesn’t look like it belongs in a bad 2000s boyband? Maybe some slim-fit jeans that actually fit properly. And—oh!—ditch the weird rips. You’re Charles Leclerc, not a rejected *NSYNC member.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by your decisiveness. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I’m just saying… you’ve got the face, the career, the whole package. You shouldn’t let the pants drag you down.”

Charles grinned, leaning in slightly. “So, you think I have the whole package?”

Your brain screeched to a halt. Did he just—? Did Charles Leclerc just flirt with you?

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, star boy,” you shot back, smirking despite the fact that your internal monologue was currently having a breakdown. “I’m only here trying to fix your fashion sense.”

Charles chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. And that’s when the next bomb dropped.

“Well then, maybe you can help me shop sometime?” He said it so casually, like he wasn’t currently turning your entire existence upside down with one smooth sentence. I THOUGHT CARLOS WAS THE SMOOTH OPERATOR.

“I—wait, what?” You blinked rapidly, wondering if you’d heard him correctly. “Did you just… ask me to go shopping with you?”

He smiled again, that devastatingly charming smile that should probably come with a warning label. “Yeah. I mean, you clearly have strong opinions about what I wear. Might as well put them to good use.”

Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. This was fine. Everything was fine. You were standing in the middle of Monaco, and Charles Leclerc—your internet crush since forever—was asking you to go shopping with him. Totally normal. Just another Tuesday. Nothing to freak out about.

Yet your inner monologue was screaming, “MY LIFE IS A WATTPAD FANFICTION, WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

“I, uh…” you stammered, trying to process this. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” Charles replied smoothly, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve got to fix my ‘constellation pants’ problem, right? Who better to help me than the girl who went viral for hating them?”

You were pretty sure your brain had short-circuited at this point. But somehow, you managed to respond, your voice steady despite the fact that your insides were doing cartwheels. “I mean… I guess I could do that. If you really want fashion advice.”

Charles nodded, then casually pulled out his phone. “Great. Let me get your number, and we’ll sort something out.”

You stared at him. Was this real life?

He handed you his phone, and you slowly, robotically, typed in your number, still half-expecting to wake up from this fever dream.

After you handed it back, Charles shot you a grin that could probably melt steel. “So… how about lunch tomorrow? We could discuss your fashion intervention plan.”

Your internal monologue was now full-on screaming. WHAT IS THIS LIFE?

“Lunch? Uh… sure?” you replied, feeling like a character in a rom-com who was two seconds away from tripping over their own feet.

“Perfect,” he said, his smile widening. “I’ll text you.”

And just like that, Charles Leclerc—the man whose fashion sense you had ruthlessly destroyed in front of the entire internet—waved goodbye, leaving you standing there in a daze, wondering if you were hallucinating or not.

Your life? Officially. Unreal.

[guiltyc0nscience]

⋆˙⟡ yapper, chris sturniolo

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis. in which chris is yapping away with his fingers in your mouth because you kept interrupting him.

warnings. gagging, suggestive but no smut.

authors note. this has been sitting in my drafts for quite some time, i completely forgot about this.

“there’s so much shit i need to do for my brand tomorrow, like-“ chris says but being cut off by your voice for the fifth time and he’s only been talking for ten minutes.

“oh my god. i’m so excited for you to release the new items, they’re all so cute.” you gush with excitement as you think about the baby tees and hoodies chris has designed.

“yeah. i think this will be the-“ chris attempts to talk but gets cut off by you, yet again.

“that baby pink baby tee? that looks like heaven. it’s so cute, i can’t wait to-.” you say, but quickly stop as you turn to chris and see the unamused look on his face.

“what’s the problem, baby?” you ask furrowing your brows.

“you. you’re the problem at the moment, actually.” he says with a smirk growing on his face as he trails his hand up your arm, holding his hand in place when it reaches your jaw, “you’ve interrupted me so many times.” he whispers, leaning his face closer to yours as he moves his ring and middle finger up to yours lips.

you and chris kept intense eye contact as he pushes his fingers into your mouth until the lay flat in the middle of your tongue.

his finger’s sit in your mouth for a moment before he pushes them the slightest bit further in. “i swear you never let me talk.” his icy blue eyes stay locked on yours as he moves his fingers just a little more.

when he finally stills his fingers in your mouth, you attempt to talk again, “i do, i let you talk all the time” you try to say but it comes out muffled.

“all the time?” chris repeats back with a scoff, his fingers moving ever so slightly in your mouth, clearly not believing you. he knows you don’t ever let him talk. he just loves any excuse to tease you.

“maybe not all the time, but most of the time” you say but when you do chris plunges his fingers to the back of your throat, causing you to gag on his fingers and tears fill your eyes. and when they do chris pulls his fingers back to sit on your tongue, “now let me talk” he says.

his fingers sit with a little more pressure on your tongue as he waits for you to nod in agreement, watching the tears form in your eyes as you try to recover from the gag. he knows you’ll agree, you always agree.

you slowly nod your head. chris smirks then continues talking, “now you’re finally letting me get a word in. so yeah, the new drop is in about two weeks so i have a bunch of shit i need to sort between now and then.”

his fingers sit still in your mouth as he talks, his other hand that’s around your waist moving up and down your side gently. while his fingers don’t move, they do apply more pressure as he talks, making it harder and harder for you to concentrate on what he’s saying.

chris has yapped and yapped for the past 15 minutes with no interruptions, due to obvious reasons.

you let out a hum as chris brings up something you really want to talk about, but he glares at you and pushes his fingers further down your throat, causing you to gag again.

he smirks as you gag around his fingers again, he’s got such power over you at the moment as he’s in full control. every time you moan, hum, or try to say something, he gags you again. he knows there’s something you want to ask, and he finds this whole situation way too amusing, “there something you want to say, baby?” he taunts with a sly smirk on his face.

he watches intently as you hum and moan around his fingers, his smirk never leaving his face. he loves how powerless you are right now. no matter how hard you try to talk, his fingers will always stop you, and it makes him so amused. he knows that there’s something you want to ask, and he’s fully enjoying taunting you.

“sorry baby, it’s my turn to talk. not yours. but you’ll get your chance later, just not now.” he says in a mocking tone. chris lets out a small chuckle as he watches you struggle. he knows how badly you want to ask him the question, but he’s loving this too much to give you the chance too. “you’re just gonna have to wait a while, baby. i still have more to say. don’t worry.”

he continues rambling on for another ten minutes. this time he only had to gag you twice, unlike last time he had to do it countless times. you really wanted to talk so you brung your hand up to chris’ hand that is in your mouth and attempt to pull it away from your mouth, which chris doesn’t like.

as soon as your hand comes up to his, he pulls it back and pushes his fingers even further in your mouth, his smirk growing as he watches you. he lets out a small huff, “no, princess, don’t try that. this is my turn to talk, not yours. you don’t listen. i have to remind you who’s in charge, don’t i?” he says in a mocking tone.

you look up at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him to let you talk.

chris looks down at you, seeing your pleading eyes and he feels his heart fluttering. every time you look at him like that, he just wants to give in and do anything for you. but not this time, though. no, no, no. right now he’s enjoying how much control he has, and he isn’t giving that up. “ah, princess, baby. stop looking at me like that. that’s not gonna work this time. i’m in charge right now.”

your body deflates when he says that. you really thought chris was going to let talk this time, but you were wrong.

chris notices your body deflates, seeing you give up. he lets out a soft chuckle; the whole situation was so amusing to him. he’s got you right where he wants you - at his mercy. he loves having power over you like this; it’s such a huge turn on for him. he can’t help but tease you a little bit more. “aww, princess. did you really think i was gonna let you talk? after all the times you’ve cut me off? that’s really cute.”

[cursingtoji]

thinking about the first time toji gets to fuck you in your bedroom surrounded by stuffed animals. he knew you were a girly girl and he absolutely adored that about you, your always glossy lips, pink outfit and short skirts were what made him approach you at first.

being older and making more money than you, toji had a better apartment, a spacious and nicely located flat, so the first few encounters were always there until things started to get serious and he asked to go to your place tonight.

toji was far from surprised when you opened the door and he was welcomed to a colourful living room and a sweet vanilla smell, he noticed a couple teddy bears by the couch and a few action figures next to the tv, but as soon as you started to make out on the couch you got up and took him by the hand to your bedroom.

“woah” he let it scape when he saw all your plushies, the big ones were in the floor, a bunch on the shelves and a few more in the nightstand, “sweetheart are you sure this is your room and not a 6 year old’s?” he teased and chuckled when you slapped his chest.

“i like them okay? most of it is from those claws machines so it’s not like i spent crazy money on it…”

“oh yeah? and you got all of those in the first try?” he poked your waist as you laid down in your bed.

“well…” no you didn’t “never mind, kiss me please” you pulled him by his shirt and he placed his knee on the bed before hovering you.

“i’m not gonna support this addiction of yours, you know” he reached back and pulled his shirt off.

“shut up smoker” you giggled and proceeded to take your clothes off as well.

nights with toji usually escalated very quickly but that night he seemed more distracted and a bit uneasy. when he finally had you on your hands and knees his pace was not as fast as normal, in fact he seemed to be shifting a lot.

“toji? you okay?” you asked looking over your shoulder, after pondering for a bit he replied firmly.

“we’re switching.”

“wha—“ before you could process he had already laid on his back and manhandled you onto his lap, “toji~” you whined.

“be a good girl and ride me” he slapped your ass as he helped you sit on his dick, and how could you deny when he bosses you around like that, “that way i don’t have to see those…” he murmured and slapped away some teddy bears in your nightstand. you stopped your movements and started to laugh.

“wait is that the reason?” you chuckled but one hard trust he gave you made you lose your balance and fall on his chest.

“there must be like a thousand eyes in this bedroom” he said looking around and massaging your waist to relieve his own tension.

“oh come on old man” you teased biting his lobe, “those thousand eyes watch me touch myself every time i think about you and you’re not around” that seemed to be enough to bring the big man back to his usual self. toji placed both his feet on the mattress and proceeded to fuck into you as you got up from chest to find a better position holding onto his flexed knees.

“and who gave you the right to touch my pussy huh?”

suddenly the stuffed animals were not a problem anymore.

[fordaryl]

REMEMBER.

minors dni. 2.6k words. smut. daryl dixon x fem!reader. protective daryl. hint of size kink. strength kink.

It's easy to forget his strength when his touch is always so gentle. When you're safe, he lets you forget everything he's capable of; the reason you've both made it this long.

Safety lets you forget.

And then—when it inevitably all it all goes to shit again—you remember.

"Get in!" he calls through the wall of bodies separating you. He keeps the attention of most of them, but there's a few stumbling in your direction—too many for you to handle alone. "Now!" he shouts as he takes another growling walker down.

It goes against every instinct you have—to leave him to fight this alone. But this was his domain. This was when you did whatever the fuck he told you to do. It was how you survived.

You drag the door of the container open, grunting as the heavy metal fights back. It's a makeshift prison cell, one that was supposed to be filled with live bait for the walkers. It would be if it weren't for Daryl. He was almost single-handedly dismantling whatever fucked up enterprise you'd both stumbled upon.

One of them reaches you before you'd manage to push the gate open enough to slip through.

One is fine. You can handle one.

Turning around to deal with it gives you a split second to check in on Daryl. He's making a dent in the mass of bodies, but it's not enough. Not with the shouts of the living making their way closer.

You kick the walker you've knifed back into the mass of bodies approaching, giving you just enough time to slip through the crack you've made in the sliding door and slam it closed behind you.

Locking it is another story.

You have no hope of accomplishing that.

Still, it's enough for now. It's enough to let Daryl keep his focus where it needs to be as you deal with as many as you can through the bars.

Then one gets shot down. Daryl, is your first thought. But then two are shot down at once. And then the voices reach your ears. Voices are bad. Walkers you can handle. The living was another story. Nothing stoked the fear constantly simmers in your gut like the voices of the living.

They shout over each other, calling directions as they pick off the mass with a spray of bullets. You can't see Daryl anymore. He's either dead or hiding.

Hiding. Hiding. Hiding.

You shift back into one of the dark corners of the container as the shouts draw nearer.

“What the fuck happened?! Don't shoot them you dumb fucks! Get any you can back into holding!”

Any second now... any second they'd find Daryl and your world would end. The living were different. The living were monsters of a different kind.

"They're bunched up around this one!" someone shouts.

You hold your breath.

"Well check it out then!" another demands.

Oh, fuck. You grip your pistol. Your aim was decent. You could take one out, maybe two. But there's a whole group... and they were coming for you.

You scramble to the other far corner as the last of the walkers are cleared from the entrance, hoping to take advantage of the darkest shadows. Daryl would be watching... waiting. Any extra moment you could give him could be vital.

"You better come out now," a man calls from outside. He's just out of your sights, prepared for you to be armed and ready to fight. You'd hoped to have the element of surprise. "I ain't asking."

You know what'll happened when they find you. It's the same thing each time. You're prey to people like these—something to hunt in a world without consequences for that kind of thing.

Your silence buys you less than a minute before the first of them are dragging the metal gate open. If you shoot, they'll shoot back. It's not something you'll survive cornered like this. So you bet on them being the same as the rest. You let them know you're prey.

"Please," you call, as meek and afraid as you can manage—vulnerable. Not a threat. "I'm—I'm unarmed."

Then a bright light blinds you.

"What the fuck?" one of them exclaims. Then, "Where'd the fuck this little thing come from?"

There it was. Little. Thing. You were nothing. You're not a threat. You'd bought Daryl more time.

"Come on out, girl. Come on." They call you like you're a dog, something less than human. That's how they see you. Something to use.

You take a small step forward, still blinded by their flashlights. Daryl was alive. He was alive and hiding and he was waiting for something.

You just had to stay alive.

"What do you... want with me?" you ask, still taking tiny steps towards the light. Weak. Vulnerable. No threat.

You get muffled laughter in response. Guards down. Distracted.

"What do we want? We want a little fun, honey. That's all. Just a bit of fun."

They're flash lights drop as you approach the entrance. They've pulled the gate all the way across.

Five. You count five. If you kill two...

"Why is she alone?" one of them questions. He's younger, a little less distracted.

The rest ignore him. Then one of them has you by the arm, dragging you the rest of the way out of the makeshift cell. They're hands send a wave of repulsion through your body as they grab at you, pulling you around and shoving you in front of them. They may as well be the undead the way their touch feels against your skin.

The young one doesn't move out of the way when you reach him. Instead he stares into you, suspicious and angry. "Who are you with?" he asks. Even then, his gun is lowered. Even to him you aren't a threat.

"Get the fuck out of the way," the man gripping your arm says, clearly irritated and impatient.

"But—"

"Now."

His eyes narrow, but then he steps aside—his back pressed to the wall to let the rest of the men past. It's now that you get a look down into the pit of walkers, the one's they've managed to recapture rather than take out. They reach up towards you, hands grabbing for you.

Then, only a few steps later—you're stopped. The man with his hand wrapped around your elbow leans over your shoulder, his rancid breath invading your nostrils as he speaks. "You alone?" he asks. "You tell me right now."

You blink away the burn threatening to pool tears in your eyes. Were you alone? If you were...

The man's grip tightens, the only warning you get before you're forced to your knees and staring down into the pit of hungry walkers. "Speak," he demands, nails carving into your skin. "I'd hate to waste you like this."

There's two other men behind you. Three surrounding you in total. You could take one out for sure. They hadn't even searched you for weapons. They expected nothing out of you at all.

But then there'd be two, only counting the ones in reaching distance. How long would it take the other two further away to aim their guns in your direction?

You were dying tonight if Daryl was dead, that was certain. Your only hope was that he was waiting and watching... but what would he be waiting for...

Your pistol sits at your hip, a comfortable weight.

You take a deep breath. You could wait to die. Or fight now and hope that's the moment he's waiting for... if he's waiting at all.

The man holding you drops to one knee behind you. He leans over to speak in your ear. You wouldn't need to rely on your aim for the first kill, only any that followed. It was a headstart you weren't likely to get again. You reach for your pistol and before the man can open his lips and taint your senses with his rot once more, you shoot him through the underside of his jaw.

Your ears ring as his body drops. But you were ready. The men behind you aren't.

You were nothing. Prey.

The few seconds that affords you are priceless. You manage to shoot one more through the head before he can get hands on his own weapon.

The third is another story. His gun is pointed at you for what must be milliseconds. They drag though, those moments with an enemy weapon pointed at your head always do.

But then Daryl is there, strangling the man with a rifle and shoving his body into the ground with a force that reverberates through the metal. It's only when he snaps the man's neck you spot the bodies behind him.

He'd been waiting for you.

You watch him stand, hair hanging in his face and his chest rising and falling with his deep breaths.

Then his eyes are on you.

Then his hands.

Those hands... the same ones he'd used seconds earlier to break a man's neck. His fingers are feathers across your skin as he brushes the hair back off your face. "Okay?" he asks, soft and a little shaky.

You nod.

"You did good," he says, that deep gravel back in his voice. "So good, sweetheart." His hand makes a trail down to your neck, gentle and slow over your pulse point to rest at your clavicle. "We gotta go," he says. "Stay close for me, yeah?"

—————

The first time after is always the same—after you're forced to remember. It adds something to the way his gentle hands feel as he reaches over your hips to dip between your legs. To the way his body feels pressed up behind yours.

His thick fingers slip between your slick folds as he holds you tight against his chest. Heat. It's an overwhelming heat. He crowds you, practically curled around you.

"You like that sweetheart?" His voice is almost sweet as his lips graze your ears and his long hair tickles your skin. "Huh? You like that?"

You nod with a small whine, pressing your hips back into him—desperate.

He sighs, finger prodding over and over at your swollen entrance—a teasing little hint of what's to come. He dips in slightly, his calloused fingertip pressing into your slippery, spongy entrance just enough to have you whimpering his name.

"Fuck," he grunts. "You need me here? Huh? You all fuckin' empty?"

"Yeah," you whine with a desperate nod. "Empty."

His grip around your ribs tightens for a moment before he's pressing you into the ground—cushioned by the few blankets you carry. He's rolled you onto your belly as he covers you completely, his warmth seeping into your skin from his calves to his hot breath on your neck.

"What do you need?" he asks. As if he doesn't know; as if he didn't always know.

"You."

"Hm?" he hums, sweet and coaxing. "How?"

You reach blindly to find his wrist, gripping it firmly. "Hold me tight," you gasp between jagged breaths. "Please... Please."

His weight is heavy over you as he drops his lips to your neck, a silent acknowledgement of your pleas.

Then he's scooping you up, lifting you and rearranging you exactly the way you want him to. Because he fucking knows.

He has you pressed to his chest with your tits against his skin as he lays back into the makeshift bed you've created for the night. His arms wrap around you, one across your shoulder blades and the other around your waist—secure and firm. His fingers press sporadically into your skin a little more than needed, like he's testing his grip on you; like he's testing he has you in his arms good and tight.

Then he hooks one leg under yours, a gentle guide to part your legs just the way he needs.

"You ready for me, sweetheart?" he breathes against your temple as one of his hands leaves you. It's temporary, you remind yourself. He'd be wrapping you up securely as soon as he'd buried himself deep; once his cock was guided safely into your throbbing cunt.

You nip at his neck in response, chasing with a delicate lick at his salty skin. "Please," you ask softly.

Then he's adjusting you against him a little, ensuring you're exactly where he needs you to be. "I got you," he says as his leaking tip prods at your entrance. "Got you," he repeats. He mumbles this way as he teases; as he plays. This was what he did: pushed you to the brink of desperate sobs as he guides his cockhead over your slippery, throbbing cunt... over and over.... and over...

Saying he liked you needy was an understatement.

Then, eventually, he slips inside. Just the tip.. and not far. Just enough so that he can wrap his arms around you again. Just enough that he can have you whimpering his name as he prevents you grinding down to take him deep inside.

This is when he gives you a hint of his strength. It's easy to keep you from your goal, his strong arms pressing you into his torso a little harder each time you attempt to resist.

He keeps you there, just with a taste of that fullness—a taste of having him as close as it was possible to be. "Kiss," he says, simple and a little croaky.

You obey, pressing your desperation between his lips. It's messy and interrupted by moments where you simply need to breathe, heavily—his lips chasing yours as you attempt to catch your breath.

"Daryl," you gasp eventually. "Now. Please."

His grip around you tightens a little as you drop your face to his neck.

Then he pulls you down to meet his cock, to fuck himself deep. It's hard, exactly like you need it—exactly the way he knows you want it. You bite into his neck weakly as he keeps you there, stuffed full—the thick throbbing length of him stretching you out so completely.

Then, "Like that?" he asks, that sweetness back in his voice—like he's offering you a gentle back massage instead of holding you down on his cock.

You nod weakly in response.

His fingers press into your skin moments before he's moving, fucking himself with your cunt as he pulls you down to meet his messy thrusts. You're completely pliant like this, all control relinquished.

He's got you.

His breathing is quickly transformed into uneven pants as he attempts to grunt broken sentences into your ear. "Sucking me in... sucking at my cock with your messy little cunt... aren't you, baby? Hm?"

One of his hands moves to your hair occasionally, a temporary and seemingly subconscious attempt to get a better grip—or just to hold you closer. His fingers tangle in the strands, never tugging hard—never hurting.

"My girl," he grunts. "My needy little girl."

It's only when he's nearing his end that he flips you onto your back and you get a real display. He grips your hips and tugs you down to meet him as he uses you, each thrust a slapping of skin and punching a helpless sound from your lungs.

Strength. Everything you've been forced to remember.

"Daryl," you gasp. "Daryl, fill me. Please."

His fingers dig a little more into your skin, his hair falling over his eyes. Then his lips part, a grunt... a broken, "Fuck."

He falls over you as he floods you, his cock twitching and pumping you full—just like you asked. But even then, even as he loses himself, he catches his fall—arms landing either side of your head to cage you in. "Got you," he gasps out between desperate lung fulls of air. "I got you."