#*comically loud inhale*

[malwarechips]

iterators and their weird slugs

[innerfare]

Going Down On You - Part 1 

Summary: how they go down on you

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: pure smut

CW: NSFW // oral sex, shameless dirty talk, Kid is a little mean

——— 

Luffy: 

As soon as the two of you are alone, he’s pushing your legs apart. Often times, he doesn’t even take your clothes off, just pushes what he can to the side and buries his face in your pussy. He eats you out like an all you can eat buffet and comes back for multiple rounds. 

He slurps so loud- comically loud. 

“So tasty,” he’ll mutter. “I could eat this for hours.” Sometimes he does. He doesn’t stop when you cum, he stops when he’s had his fill, no matter what time it is. 

Sometimes, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night ravenous. If you’re wearing panties, he rips them off, so you’ve learned to sleep naked. Half asleep, he’ll bury his face between your legs until he’s had his fill, lapping tiredly at your folds, humming and groaning while he does it. If you try to squirm or get away, he gets super annoyed.

“Stop it,” he grumbles in that slight raspy voice of his, lips glistening with your juices. “I don’t care if you’re tired, I’m hungry.” 

What Luffy wants, Luffy gets. 

If the two of you were stranded on an island together, he probably wouldn’t even hunt for food. He’d just strip you down on the beach and pin you with his face between your legs until the two of you were rescued. At times, he even prefers eating you out to fucking you. 

Zoro: 

When he’s hungry, he won’t ask. He’ll just pry your legs apart and go to town as casually as making a cup of tea, though he does it with such fervor you think he must be an addict. 

He usually drags you on top of him and makes you sit on his face so he can lap at your folds at his leisure. He prefers to sit with his hands behind his back while he does it, as if he’s a king and you’re servicing him by letting him tongue your poor, aching cunt (you are), but if you’re being naughty, he’ll wrap those massive hands around your thighs and hold you in place. He also gets super annoyed if you squeal or squirm. 

“Quiet, woman,” he’ll tell you, furrowing his brows. “You’re distracting me.” 

He likes to spread your lips apart and take a good look at you first. He’ll bury his face in your folds and inhale as deeply as he can several times, taking his sweet time before he begins poking and prodding. He’ll mutter to himself as he does it. 

“Mmm, that’s good. Yeah, just like that. That’s a sweet pussy. So sensitive. I bet I can make it cream.” 

He’ll stop in the middle of what he’s doing to place some warm, lingering kisses on your folds before ramming his tongue back inside you. Really loves spitting in your hole and pushing it in deeper with his fingers. Will literally drool in your cunt because he enjoys seeing it spill out. 

Sanji: 

Literally so loud when he does it, makes the most over the top, dramatic noises, moaning as if you’re sucking him off. He especially loves to suck on your labia (no hate to innies but he definitely prefers outies, if you know what I mean). This man would carry a picture of your wet pussy around in his wallet if you let him. He takes the opportunity to taste you very seriously, a little too seriously. Has spent so much time perfecting his technique it’s unreal. 

He’s so sweet about it, too, and so grateful. 

“My precious babygirl, thank you so much for letting me taste this sweet pussy.” 

Such a giver he would happily give up his own pleasure for yours, but that doesn’t mean 69-ing isn’t his absolute favorite thing in the entire world. He especially likes it when he’s sitting up with his back against the headboard, your ass in the air and your face buried down in his lap (helps with the height difference, too). He’ll hold you open and massage your ass while he laps at your folds. 

Always wants to finger you in this position but can’t bring himself to do it, doesn’t want to waste a single drop of your juices; also just can’t keep his face out of your cunt long enough to manage. If hickies on your clit were possible, yours would be covered constantly. He also wants to eat his cum out of you after you two fuck.

Ace: 

All of those manners he worked so hard to learn go right out the window when he gets your panties off and his face between your legs. Is especially obsessed with the smell of you; as soon as he catches the scent, he’s on you like a beast. He wants it all over his face and hands. He wants to fall into bed and smell you on his sheets and pillows. 

“The best smell in the fucking world,” he’ll groan, dragging his nose up your slit. 

His favorite is to put you on your back and push your bottom half up so your bare cunt is high in the air, completely exposed and vulnerable for him to eat at his leisure. He’ll put his big, strong hands behind your knees and hold your legs in an impossible position while he buries his face in your juicy cunt, the knowledge it’s all his enough to make him hard. 

“Fucking delicious. And it’s all fucking mine.” 

Like his brother, he has quite the appetite, but unlike Luffy, he’s never just content to devour you. He’ll lap at your folds until you’re overstimulated, and then he’ll pull out his thick, veiny cock. He’ll shush you as he pushes it into your quivering cunt and fuck you until he’s as spent as you are, and then he’ll fuck you a little more.   

Sabo: 

Another ravenous appetite. Sabo is so messy when he eats you out. He’ll have your juices and his saliva running down his chin and smeared all over his cheeks. He’s even gotten it in his hair before. He doesn’t care, though. When he gets his face between your legs, he gets pussy drunk and completely spaces out. Time stands still, and the only thing that matters is pushing his tongue into your quivering little hole. 

It’s his favorite way to wind down after a long day, and if he’s been away on a mission, he’ll most certainly return with a new mission: to suck your soul out through your clit.  

He’s especially good with his tongue. He’ll stuff it into your hole and massage your most sensitive areas, working it in and out of you while his thumb kneads your sensitive clit. He likes to change positions a lot, putting you on your back then flipping you on all fours before dragging you down to sit on his face, and he’ll have a wicked grin on his face the entire time. The most important thing is that your fingers are tangled in his hair while he works. 

His possessive side really comes out while he’s going down on you. With Sabo, there’s no such thing as your pussy, only his pussy. He'll spit on your folds and leave hickies on your inner thighs to mark you as his.

“Nobody else gets to taste you. Not now, not ever.” 

Law: 

Most definitely uses it as a punishment. He’ll chastise you while he fingers you slowly, his lips mere inches from your leaking cunt. He’ll scold you for being so wet for him or for whining/being impatient. 

"Poor thing, you're aching for it."

When he does finally go down, he’s meticulous about it, tonguing every crevice and licking up every last drop. He’ll make you hold your own legs up and wide open so he can have easier access, and so he can busy his own hands with your breasts. 

On the occasions he does let you lower your legs, he really enjoys your fingers in his hair and your feet resting on his back. Especially likes it when you use your feet to push him away so he can wrestle with you a little; he pulls rank, too, telling you that you have to listen because he’s your captain or a doctor. 

“Y/n-ah, stay still. Doctor’s orders.” 

He’s a spanker and if you get too loud, his hand will come down on your breasts or ass until you grab a pillow to muffle your cries, never mind that the sound of him spanking you is louder than your moans. Also, he has a habit of falling into bed at 2am and waking you up with his head between your legs. 

Kid: 

Prefers to eat you out from behind. There’s no division between eating ass and eating pussy as far as this man is concerned, either. He does both or neither, and putting you on all fours or bending you over something is the easiest way for him to get what he wants. 

He’s so mean about it, too. “Poor little thing. You can’t function properly until you’ve been tongue fucked by your man, can you?” 

He’ll chew your nipples raw and snap at you to stop whining about it, you brat. He’ll pull back to spit directly onto your folds, doing it quite loudly because he knows it embarrasses you and makes your hole clench, you adorable fuck bunny. He’ll flick your clit and laugh when you squeal, and he’ll make fun of you when you cum, you needy slut. If you cream or squirt, you’ll never live it down, you pathetic whore. He’ll hold it over your head, but don’t take that to mean he doesn’t like it- he’s obsessed with your cream. 

He’ll spank you, but he prefers to bite. Your ass will be covered in bite marks and hickeys before he ever plunges his tongue into one of your holes. He’s feral when he does, growling and grunting the entire time. And when he’s finished, he’ll place a few sweet kisses on your cunt and ass, give you a light spank, and tell you to get yourself cleaned up. Unless, of course, he wants to fuck you after, in which case you’re in for a long night. If he eats his cum out of you, he'll most definitely be fucking another load into you.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[satorena]

.𖥔˚. he asks if you believe in soul ties. you laughed, but your heart whispered yes before your mouth could catch it. 1.6k wc.

the second time wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

not to you, anyway.

it was late night. not romantic nor dramatic— simply late. one of those hazy nights, with slumped muscles and fried brains from one “one more round?” too many, where breathing next to the right person felt like an exhale. one that ended with tangled limbs, throaty moans and soiled sheets.

it wasn’t anything like fireworks. it was something deeper, quieter, like fleeting warmth left in a hoodie after someone else wore it.

sitting at the edge of the bed, half-wrapped in comforters that reeked of your unison, you mindlessly scrolled through your phone. he traces shapes at the column of your bare spine, lightly dragging his fingernail from the dimples in your lower back up to the middle of your shoulder blades. he revels in the way a soft gasp crawls out your chest and momentarily draws your attention away from your screen and back onto him.

she smelled of his pillow now. fuckkk, he’s so cooked.

“you ever think about soul ties?”

he blurts out before he can help it. he doubts he’d be able to hold it back even if he tried. his voice is gravelly, thick with the sleep he hadn’t drifted into yet, and it broke the silence a dropped glass.

you turn around, eyebrows raised in amusement, “seriously?”

he swallows thickly, “yeah.”

your lips part, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath, and gojo engraves the sound in the deepest parts of his memory. “you’re asking me about soul ties. . . right now?”

somewhere in the midst of his question and your reflection, his hand finds yours, and thumbs at the smooth skin enveloping your knuckles, “you make it sound like it’s weirder than it is,” he mutters, suddenly second guessing every molecule of sincerity that led him to voice it out loud.

“it is,” you answer, smiling so gently that any inch of doubt that had surfaced is immediately dismissed. he’d kill for you. he’d watch the world burn for you. “we’ve had sex twice. and i’ve known you. . . what? three weeks?”

“and a half,” he corrects you, like it makes it any less ridiculous.

you fully turn toward him, pulling the covers over your kiss bitten, love marked chest, phone now entirely forgotten. the light from the bedside lamp catches the slope of your cheekbone, the curve of your smirk, “okay, i’ll bite. why’d you ask?”

he runs his hand— not the one you started subconsciously squeezing at— over his face and inhales sharply, “because i don’t feel normal after this.”

your head tilts and your eyes widen curiously. cutely. god help him.

“i mean—” he gestures vaguely between the both of you, still sprawled under his sheets, your joint hands flailing around. “after you. this. us.”

“and you think that’s because of a soul tie?”

“i think,” he starts carefully, “that there’s something here. and it feels too familiar for how new it is. and i don’t know if that’s chemistry or karma or. . . if it’s just because you look at me like you already know all my secrets.”

you snort, an ugly but honest sound that’s so authentically you. it makes his heart skip a beat and jump starts a nasty flock of butterflies in the depths of his stomach, “you’re really going full poet on me, huh?”

“don’t make fun of me,” he pouts, laughing despite of himself.

“i’m not,” you assure him, voice incredibly soft, pressing your palm into his. his fingertips hover over yours almost comically, but in a way that makes him want to keep you in his pocket and shield you from this cruel world. for now, he settles with flexing his fingers to lock yours into his, “i just didn’t peg you for the type.”

he hums, “what type?”

“the type to sleep with a girl twice and start talking about the metaphysical ramifications of it.”

he rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, “you ever felt something like this before?”

you hesitate.

and that was enough to make his chest ache in places he hadn’t even known were tender. you look down at your joint hands laying in your lap and curl your fingers around his index. there aren’t any languages in this universe that could translate how deeply he feels for you.

“i think i’ve felt parts of this,” you speak after a beat. there’s vulnerability laced into yours words, “little echoes in other people. but never the whole thing at once.”

his heart does something stupid at that. “so you feel it too?”

the trail of your eyes from your lap to his face is as slow as your growing smile. “maybe.”

“you’re gonna make me work for it, aren’t you?” he isn’t complaining. he wouldn’t want it any other way.

you shrug in faux nonchalance, eyes glinting. “you’re the one bringing up soul ties. that’s big talk.”

“i know it sounds crazy,” gojo falls back onto his mattress and stares at the ceiling. “i just. . . you kissed me, and something in my brain short-circuited. like something ancient woke up.”

“oh my god,” you laugh, clutching his blankets tighter to your frame. the grip on his hand also tightens, “you’re so serious right now.”

“i am!” he agrees, unashamed and prideful. “i’ve never had sex and immediately wondered what kind of spiritual fallout i was gonna have to process.”

you stare at him, wide-eyed and amused. he likes that look on you, amongst others. “you make it sound like i cursed you.”

“maybe you did,” he mutters, focused. “would definitely explain that magical ass pussy; consider me bewitched.”

he expects the gentle swat at his shoulder and the honeyed giggle that follows suit. he is not one of god’s strongest soldiers— you make him so weak in the knees. he is but a fool for you, entirely smitten and fully submitted.

there’s a sudden pause. and then, “satoru,” if you say his name like that one more time, “you think sex means that much?”

“not always. but with you. . .” he looks at you, really looks. “it doesn’t feel. . . casual. even when we’re trying to pretend it is.”

you slowly nod, your gaze distant like you were trying to read a thought off the inside of your eyelids. “i know what you mean.”

he waits.

“i’m not usually sentimental,” you admit through a shaky breath. he squeezes your hand as silent support. “but something about you makes me want to be.”

gojo sits up then, long legs crossed, blanket now pooling around his hips. he lets out a huff that blows at dampened fringes on his forehead. “you scare me.”

you blink, “why?”

“because i don’t think i’d know how to unfeel this if i needed to.”

your expression cracks open just a little. subtle but not. it isn’t shock. not even tenderness, but something between recognition and surrender.

he shifts, brushing your knee with the back of scarred knuckles. “i’m not asking you for anything. i just wanted to know if you believe in it.”

you stare up at him for a while, and this time your gaze was unguarded.

“i think soul ties exist,” you mumble quietly. “but not always forever. sometimes they’re just for the right moment. a lesson, maybe. a wake-up call. a connection you needed when you were drifting.”

he thumbs at your ring finger. “and us?”

you take a deep breath. his heart drums wildly against his chest. oddly enough, it’s the calmest he’s felt in a while

“i don’t know yet,” you admit easily. your eyes focus on the way he imagines the sight of a heavy rock sitting atop the digit. “but if i’m tied to you. . . i don’t feel like running.”

uncharacteristically, that shuts him up. he feels a weird sentiment claw at his throat and hold him snuggly. his shoulders drop a little, as if your words loosened something around his ribs.

you both sit in stillness for a moment.

then, you shift closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. he wastes no time to tilt his head towards you, the warmth of your breath fanning his cupid’s bow. with a little smile, you start, “you know what’s funny?”

“what?” he’s a little breathless. you’re too beautiful for your own good.

“you were nervous to ask me that question,” your hand cups at his jaw and lazily traces the softest of stubbles peeking through pores. “but i’ve been scared to admit that you’re the first person in a long time who makes me want to stay after.”

he doesn’t hide his surprise.

“i always leave,” this time, it comes out hushed. the scrape of your nails at his neck feels good. “always. first night, second night— it doesn’t matter. i leave before it means something.”

he needs to know. “and now?”

you shrug, “i’m still here, aren’t i?”

a grin breaks out across his face, crooked and too full of affection. he tilts forward and lands a sweet kiss on your lips. he parts away with the softest of smacks but the goofiest smile, “soul tie confirmed.”

a girly laugh erupts from your stomach, and you nudge him playfully on his shoulder. “don’t get cocky.”

how could he not? when you look at him like you need him even half as badly as he needs you? he’s already leaning in again, “no promises,” and seals it with another kiss. he presses his body weight onto yours and traps you in between his mattress and himself, dizzying off the taste of your tongue in his mouth.

he feels your hearts interlinked through your chests. and even if neither of you said it out loud, he’s positive you felt it as well— that invisible thread, woven quietly between skin and spirit, tugging like a soft yes.

incredibly self-indulgent. my man my man my mannn

[urdreamydoodles]

DC COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

DC Comics Characters with a S/O who is shy and has social anxiety

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kal-El (Clark Kent), Barry Allen, Diana of Themyscira, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, John Constantine, Roy Harper, Koriand'r (Starfire), Kara Zor-El (Supergirl), Slade Wilson, Kent Nelson (Dr. Fate), Rachel Roth & Zatanna Zatara

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

- Bruce Wayne is a man who understands silence better than most. He does not mistake your quietness for weakness, does not see your hesitation as something to be corrected. He knows what it means to live inside one’s own mind, to wrestle with shadows no one else can see. And so, when you struggle to meet the world’s gaze, he does not push—you need only glance at him, and he understands.

- He shields you from Gotham’s prying eyes without ever making you feel fragile. At galas, where the air is thick with wealth and expectation, his hand remains at the small of your back, a silent promise that you are not alone. If the press grows too bold, if whispers turn sharp, one glance from him is enough to silence them.

- If someone ever mocks you for being reserved, Bruce does not raise his voice. He merely turns, his presence shifting the air itself, and in a voice so calm it is almost cruel, he asks, “Do you truly believe your words matter to me?” They never speak to you again.

- When anxiety claws at your ribs, Bruce does not try to solve it like a detective hunting answers. He does not drown you in reassurances. Instead, he stays beside you, steady as Gotham’s skyline, his presence an anchor when the storm inside you rages.

- At night, when the weight of the world is too much, he lets you curl into his warmth, his heartbeat slow and certain beneath your ear. “You are safe,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair. “You are mine.” And for the first time in your life, you believe it.

Kal-El (Clark Kent / Superman)

- Clark Kent loves gently, patiently, with a kindness that feels like sunlight on a winter morning. He never rushes you, never asks you to be more than you are. He simply loves you as you exist, without condition, without hesitation.

- He notices the way your breath quickens in crowded places, the way your hands tremble when too many voices overlap. And so, he stands beside you, tall and unwavering, his presence a shield against the chaos of the world.

- If someone speaks cruelly of your quiet nature, Clark does not glare, does not threaten. He merely tilts his head, a smile so warm it almost burns. “I think she’s perfect the way she is,” he says simply. And somehow, that is more devastating than any punch he could throw.

- When your anxiety spirals, when the world feels like it is closing in, Clark holds you close. “Breathe with me,” he murmurs, his voice like a lullaby. And as he inhales and exhales, slow and steady, you find yourself matching his rhythm.

- At night, wrapped in his arms, the world does not feel so terrifying. “You are my heart,” he whispers, his lips brushing your forehead. “You don’t have to be loud to be strong.” And in his embrace, you believe it.

Barry Allen (The Flash)

- Barry Allen moves faster than the world, but never too fast for you. He sees the way crowds unsettle you, the way words sometimes fail you, and so he slows—just for you, always for you.

- When the world overwhelms you, when voices are too loud, Barry takes your hand and grins. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” And in a blink, you are elsewhere—on a rooftop overlooking the city, in a field where only the wind can hear your thoughts.

- If someone mocks your quiet nature, Barry does not get angry. He simply smirks, vanishes for a moment, and returns with every embarrassing childhood photo of the offender that has ever existed. “Oops,” he grins. “These might just end up all over the internet.”

- When your thoughts spiral, Barry does not try to talk you out of them. He distracts you, making you laugh, filling your world with so much joy that your fear does not stand a chance. “I love you,” he says between kisses, “just the way you are.”

- At night, he holds you close, his heartbeat quick, his fingers tracing patterns against your skin. “No rush,” he murmurs, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “I’ll wait forever for you.” And in that moment, time itself seems to slow.

Diana of Themyscira (Wonder Woman)

- Diana is a warrior, a goddess, a force of nature—and yet, with you, she is the gentlest thing in existence. She sees the way you hesitate before speaking, the way the world feels too big sometimes, and she does not ask you to be louder. She only asks that you let her stand beside you.

- In crowded places, Diana ensures no one speaks over you, no one diminishes your presence. And if they do? Her eyes turn to steel, her voice a blade as she says, “You will not disrespect her.” No one dares challenge her.

- If anxiety grips you, if your hands shake, Diana takes them in her own. “Breathe, my love,” she whispers, her voice like a hymn. “You are stronger than you know.” And somehow, you believe her.

- When the world overwhelms you, she takes you somewhere quiet—a temple, an island, a place where the air itself is soft. “You do not have to fight the world alone,” she tells you. And in her presence, you never do.

- At night, wrapped in her arms, you feel invincible. “You are a wonder,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. And in that moment, you finally see yourself through her eyes.

Arthur Curry (Aquaman)

- Arthur is the ocean—vast, untamed, and fiercely protective of those he loves. He does not need you to be loud, does not need you to be anything other than who you are. “You’re perfect,” he says gruffly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

- He notices when the world feels like too much, when your breath quickens, when you shrink into yourself. And so, without a word, he takes you to the sea. The waves crash around you, drowning out the noise, leaving only the two of you. “Better?” he asks, and the answer is always yes.

- If someone ever mocks your shyness, Arthur does not threaten them. He simply raises a brow and says, “Say that again, and you’ll find out how long you can hold your breath underwater.” They never speak to you again.

- When your anxiety consumes you, Arthur does not try to fix it. Instead, he pulls you into his embrace, his strength steady, unwavering. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmurs. And with him, you never do.

- At night, as the waves sing their lullaby, Arthur holds you close, his voice low and sure. “You’re safe with me,” he whispers, and in his arms, you finally believe it.

Hal Jordan (Green Lantern)

- Hal Jordan is a man who burns bright, a force of willpower that does not waver. He is reckless, headstrong, loud in every way you are not. And yet, he never makes you feel small. When you hesitate, when words die in your throat, he does not push—he only grins, nudges you playfully, and says, “Take your time, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

- Crowds do not faze him, but he sees the way they unsettle you. At galas, where the air is thick with arrogance, he throws an arm around your shoulders, his presence a barrier between you and the world. If someone speaks over you, dismisses you, he leans in with a cocky smirk. “You wanna try that again?” They always back down.

- Hal does not pity you. He does not try to change you, does not see your quiet nature as something to fix. Instead, he makes the world easier for you—deflecting attention when you need space, filling silences with easy laughter, standing beside you when your voice shakes.

- When anxiety tightens its grip on you, Hal does not give speeches about courage. He simply takes your hand, presses a kiss to your knuckles, and murmurs, “You’re the bravest person I know.” And somehow, coming from him, you believe it.

- At night, as you curl into his warmth, he strokes your hair absentmindedly. “You don’t have to be loud to be strong,” he whispers. “You already light up my whole damn universe.”

Oliver Queen (Green Arrow)

- Oliver Queen has a voice that can command a room, a presence that demands attention. But with you, he is softer, quieter. He sees the way your fingers twitch when too many eyes are on you, the way your breath quickens when conversations turn sharp. And so, he keeps you close, a steady hand at the small of your back.

- He is fiercely protective, but never suffocating. If someone mocks your shyness, he lets them speak, lets them dig their own grave—before utterly dismantling them with a smirk and a well-placed remark that leaves them stunned and humiliated.

- Oliver is patient. When you struggle to find words, when anxiety makes your voice small, he does not interrupt, does not rush you. Instead, he waits, his gaze steady, as if what you have to say is the most important thing in the world.

- When the weight of your own mind is too much, Oliver pulls you away from the noise. “Come on,” he says, leading you to the rooftop, where the city stretches below like a painting. The wind tugs at your hair, the sky swallows the world whole, and suddenly, breathing is easier.

- At night, when you lie beside him, his fingers tracing lazy circles against your skin, he murmurs, “You don’t have to change for me, sweetheart.” And in his arms, you realize—you never want to.

John Constantine

- John Constantine is a man of shadows, of smoke and sin, but with you, he is something else entirely. He does not mock your quiet nature, does not sneer at your anxiety—he understands it. He knows what it means to battle demons no one else can see.

- If someone dares to speak down to you, to make you feel small, John does not waste words. He simply tilts his head, lights a cigarette, and smirks. “Say that again,” he drawls, voice like gravel. They don’t.

- He does not try to fix you. He does not drown you in reassurances. Instead, he is simply there—a hand on your back when the world is too loud, a sarcastic quip to pull you out of your own head.

- When anxiety suffocates you, when your thoughts turn sharp, John does not ask you to explain. He simply takes your hand, murmurs, “C’mon, love,” and takes you somewhere quiet, somewhere the world cannot touch you.

- At night, as you lie tangled together, the scent of smoke and magic in the air, he kisses your forehead. “You don’t have to be loud to be powerful,” he murmurs. “You’re already the strongest person I know.”

Roy Harper (Arsenal)

- Roy Harper is fire and recklessness, all sharp edges and easy grins. But with you, he is soft. He sees the way you hesitate before speaking, the way crowds unsettle you, and so he fills the silence, keeps the world at bay.

- He notices everything. The way your hands tremble when too many voices overlap, the way your breath quickens in unfamiliar places. And so, he stays close, his presence a quiet promise—you are not alone.

- If someone ever mocks you for being shy, Roy does not hesitate. He steps forward, his usual smirk gone, his voice lower than usual. “Say that again,” he challenges. They never do.

- When your thoughts spiral, when anxiety makes your world small, Roy does not try to talk you out of it. Instead, he takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and says, “I got you.” And somehow, that is enough.

- At night, tangled in his embrace, his voice is softer than the wind. “You don’t have to be anyone but yourself,” he murmurs. “I love you exactly as you are.”

Koriand’r (Starfire)

- Koriand’r is warmth itself, a sun given form. She does not see your quiet nature as a flaw—she sees it as something beautiful. She marvels at the way you observe the world, the way your eyes say more than words ever could.

- She is fiercely protective. If someone ever speaks cruelly of you, her lips part, and suddenly, she is explaining—in the most diplomatic yet devastating way—why they are entirely incorrect and should reconsider their life choices.

- She does not try to change you. She does not ask you to be louder, does not demand that you match her energy. Instead, she meets you where you are, her love a steady, unwavering thing.

- When anxiety grips you, when your hands shake, she takes them in her own. “You are safe,” she says softly. “You are loved.” And with her, you believe it.

- At night, wrapped in her arms, she presses a kiss to your forehead. “You are a star, my love,” she murmurs. “Even the quietest lights shine the brightest.”

Kara Zor-El (Supergirl)

- Kara Zor-El is sunlight and boundless energy, a force of nature that cannot be contained. She soars through life with a confidence you admire but do not share, yet she never makes you feel lesser for it. She finds beauty in your quiet nature, in the way you observe before speaking, listen before acting.

- Crowds do not unnerve her, but she sees how they weigh on you. So she stays close, her presence a shield, her voice filling the silences you cannot. If someone tries to talk over you, she steps forward, her bright blue gaze unwavering. “They weren’t finished speaking.” The world listens to Supergirl.

- Kara has a way of making you feel safe. Whether it’s wrapping you in an unbreakable embrace after a long day or placing a hand on your back when anxiety grips you too tight, she reminds you that you are never alone.

- When your thoughts spiral, she does not push. She simply takes you flying, carrying you high above the earth, where the air is clear and nothing matters but the way she holds you close, whispering, “Breathe, love. Just breathe.”

- At night, as you lie in her arms, she presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to be loud to be strong,” she murmurs. “You already hold my whole heart in your hands.”

Slade Wilson (Deathstroke)

- Slade Wilson is a storm contained in a man, all precision and ruthlessness, a blade honed to perfection. He is not gentle, not with the world—but with you, he is something close to it. Your quiet nature does not confuse him; he sees it for what it is—a mind sharper than most, a heart too big for the weight it carries.

- He is not a man of comfort, but he learns for you. When your hands tremble, he stills them with his own. When your voice shakes, he listens. He does not fill silences unnecessarily, but he makes sure you always know he is there.

- If someone mocks you for being shy, Slade does not waste words. He simply turns, fixes them with a stare as sharp as a knife’s edge, and says, “Do you have something useful to say, or are you just wasting my time?” The fear in their eyes is answer enough.

- He does not coddle you, but he protects you fiercely. He teaches you how to steady your breathing, how to hold your ground when the world presses too close. “You don’t have to be like me,” he tells you, voice low. “But I will make sure no one ever makes you feel small.”

- At night, when the world is quiet, he pulls you close, his lips ghosting against your temple. “You’re stronger than you think,” he murmurs, “and I don’t need you to change. I like you exactly as you are.”

Kent Nelson (Doctor Fate)

- Kent Nelson is wisdom incarnate, a man who has seen beyond time itself. He carries the weight of eternity, yet somehow, he still finds wonder in you. He marvels at the way you move through the world, at the quiet strength you do not realize you possess.

- Your anxiety does not unsettle him—he understands the weight of a mind that never quiets. When the noise of the world becomes too much, he takes your hand, leading you into the sanctuary of his magic, where the air hums with ancient power and silence is a comfort, not a void.

- If someone dismisses you, speaking over your soft voice, Kent does not need anger to command attention. He simply tilts his head, the air shifting around him, and says, “You will listen.” The room stills. No one interrupts you again.

- He teaches you how to anchor yourself, how to breathe through the storm in your mind. “There is power in stillness,” he tells you, guiding your hand over an old tome, letting you feel the hum of magic that does not need to be spoken aloud to be real.

- At night, when the weight of the universe is momentarily lifted from his shoulders, he cradles you close. “The quietest souls are often the strongest,” he murmurs against your skin. “You do not have to be loud to leave an impact.”

Rachel Roth (Raven)

- Rachel Roth is a paradox—darkness and light, fire and ice, distant yet deeply feeling. She does not flinch at your social anxiety, does not misunderstand your silences. She simply accepts them. With her, you do not need to explain yourself.

- She knows what it is to be overwhelmed, to have emotions too large for one body. And so, when anxiety grips you tight, she takes your hand, grounding you with a simple, whispered “I’m here.”

- If someone speaks unkindly of you, Rachel does not raise her voice. She does not need to. The shadows around her shift, the air thickens, and suddenly, the offender stumbles over their words, swallowing their own cruelty.

- She never asks you to be anything but yourself. If words fail you, she does not demand them. She understands the language of glances, of fingertips grazing against fabric, of the way your breath catches when the world feels too much.

- At night, as you curl against her, she murmurs against your skin, “You don’t have to change for me.” And in the hush between words, you realize—you never want to.

Zatanna Zatara

- Zatanna Zatara is effortless charisma, a woman born from magic itself. She commands attention wherever she goes, yet she never expects you to do the same. She sees the beauty in your quiet nature, the depth in your silences.

- She does not push you into the spotlight, but she always makes sure you know you belong. If a room is too loud, too overwhelming, she leans close, murmuring soft reassurances in a language older than time, words that hum with warmth and comfort.

- If someone mocks your shyness, she does not lash out. Instead, she smiles sweetly, tilts her head, and mutters a single backward spell that ensures they trip over their own feet every time they try to speak.

- She teaches you that magic is not always about grandeur. Sometimes, it is in the smallest things—in the way she always seems to know when you need space, in the way her fingers brush yours before lacing them together, in the way her voice steadies yours when you feel like disappearing.

- At night, as the world fades into quiet, she presses a kiss to your forehead, her voice soft as a spell. “You don’t need magic to be special,” she whispers. “You already enchant me just as you are.”

[gurugirl]

Intuition | bfd!harry

Summary: Harry's got a surprise for you.

A/N: It's been a while! Enjoy!!

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning: 18+ only, smut, fluff, breeding kink, age gap

Best Friend's Dad!Harry masterlist

Harry was up to something. You knew he was. You’d been around him long enough to know the signs that he was keeping a secret. He was trying to act normal. All lovey with lots of touches. He came home from work that evening with this look on his face like he had a secret he wanted to tell you but had to wait.

“What is it? What are you smirking about? I can tell you want to say something,” you poked his ribs after he got out of the shower and you stood next to him in the bathroom in front of the mirror.

“I’m not smirking,” he smirked.

“Yes, you are!” You laughed and pointed at his reflection in the mirror.

He licked his lips and tried to hide his smile but the dimples remained deep in his cheeks as he turned toward you and wrapped you in his arms. He was still damp after his shower. The towel around his waist tucked in well so it didn’t slide off when he moved his hands up your back and pulled your face to his, pressing his mouth against yours.

He was definitely hiding something. Trying to distract you. And the distraction did work eventually when he got your clothes off and tossed you in your bed and shut you up by making love to you.

“You want a baby? Yeah? Want to be a mommy, Y/n?” Harry was driving into you deep and then pulling out to his crown over and over again, long deep, slow strokes that had you at his mercy.

And you did want that. Harry’s divorce was finalized. It felt like it took so long and the stress that you two went through was difficult but it had been worth it. He was done with Mrs. Styles, who was going to be changing her last name back to her maiden name. You didn’t feel elated about it all, but it was nice to have that chapter over with. You’d never fully recover from the guilt of what you two had done but you couldn’t help that you’d fallen in love with him.

“Put a baby in me, Harry. Want to make you a daddy…” you moaned when he smacked his hips against yours with a thud.

And even though he was already a dad you loved saying it like that. Telling him you’d make him a daddy and he’d talk about making you a mommy and it was so hot. And truth be told, being off birth control had boosted your libido and you wanted it all the time. You hadn’t realized the way your hormones would react to going off it.

“Fuck me, sweet girl… Gonna put a ring on this finger,” he groaned as he took your left hand in his, weaving his fingers between yours and gripping your jaw with his other hand, “Gonna be such a good mommy to my babies…”

The bed under your back was creaking as he thrust and your pussy was so wet the sound would have been comical if you weren’t so gone for it. Gone for Harry.

“Mmm… get it in there deep, just like that…”

Harry rocked into you, keeping his hips glued to yours and you inhaled sharply at the pinch in your cervix. Every time he shoved himself all the way in it ached but you only wanted more and more. Loved that he was tucked into you so far that when he’d come there was less distance for his sperm to travel to get where you wanted it to end up.

“Like that, baby?” Harry looked down at you and tightened his hand around yours as you trembled and puffed out a loud moan, “Gonna come on my cock and let me fuck my babies into you?”

“Yes!”

Harry’s deep groans were egging you on. It felt so good. It always did. Harry was a good lover. The best lover.

The front of his muscled thighs were pinned against yours and when he dropped his mouth to your lips you couldn’t hold back a moment longer.

Pulsing and clenching around him as he licked into your mouth, your head was blurry and your heart was pounding and then his orgasm rocked his body as he let out a strangled cry and pumped everything he had into your tummy.

And needless to say, you were out like a light once you’d gotten cleaned up and he tucked you into bed, holding you in his arms and the conversation about what he was hiding was once again on hold.

.                 .                 .

“You’re still here?” You looked at the clock on your bedside table and over to Harry in bed who was stretching his limbs and yawning.

“Mmhmm… Took off today.”

You grinned and rolled toward him, placing your palm on his chest, “That’s nice. Is there a reason you took off?”

That look again. The one that said he was holding something in appeared and he smiled at you, his hand cupping your face, “There is a reason. Yes.”

“Okay. What is it?” You cocked your head with your eyebrows raised.

“A surprise. You’ll find out soon enough.”

“A surprise? Oh, come on! Tell me what it is!” You sat up and got to your knees with a wide grin, “You gotta tell me what’s going on!”

Harry’s soft eyes dropped down over your tits and your tummy and he grabbed your hips, bringing you down to his chest, “You don’t listen very well do you?” He swatted at your bottom making you puff out a laugh, “Said… you’ll find out soon enough.”

“Harry!” You groaned and tried to pull yourself up but he tightened his arms around you so you couldn’t budge.

“Y/n!” He mocked your voice and you laughed at his attempt at speaking in your tone.

“If I give you a blowie will you tell me?”

Harry sat quietly for a moment and let out a breath, “I’ll tell you regardless. You just gotta be patient. But I’ll take a blowie if you’re offering.”

Of course, that wasn’t the answer you wanted so you wound up wiggling from his arms and pulling his t-shirt on before sauntering out of the room to start the coffee.

You were anxious though. You wondered what the surprise was. Why Harry needed to take a whole day off work. What it was he’d been keeping from you…

But there was something else as well; All his recent comments about putting a ring on your finger. You thought it was possible that maybe he was going to propose too. It was no secret that he intended to keep you around. You’d both talked about ‘forever’. Obviously. What with the talk of having a baby and getting a place together.

And there was also the fact that your lease was coming up very soon. So soon it was giving you anxiety because you hadn’t really begun to look for a new apartment, outside of viewing a few houses that were for sale and Harry reassured and told you not to worry about it. You trusted him but there was that little question in the back of your mind that he was perhaps getting things set up for you without you knowing.

Those were just guesses, though. Whatever it was Harry was planning was something you were looking forward to learning.

“What should I wear for this surprise?” You held up a dress against your body as Harry entered your bedroom.

“Whatever you want. Whatever you feel best in.”

“Should I pack a bag? Bring tennis shoes? Will pictures be involved?” You were trying to get it out of him. He wasn’t giving you anything, though.

“No need to pack anything. If you want to wear tennis shoes you can. Just trust me when I say you don’t need to worry. Okay?”

Harry was wearing his typical getup. Jeans and a t-shirt so you just decided to go casual as well. But you did make sure you looked cute. Just in case pictures would be part of the surprise.

He was excited to show you what he’d done. He hoped you didn’t freak out. There were moments when he thought he should have you involved but he wanted to surprise you. Wanted to make it special. He didn’t get lots of chances to do things like this with you. And maybe he’d gone a little overboard on this but he’d committed and couldn’t back out now.

Your mind raced with the possibilities of what he had planned. You felt like it was something big. You braced yourself to be surprised. And boy were you when you pulled into that familiar neighborhood with the cute house you looked at with Harry months before. The one with the yard he couldn’t stop talking about.

“Harry…” you warned in surprise when he pulled into the driveway of the three-bedroom house and turned off the car engine.

“What?” He raised his brows at you in question, as if he couldn’t fathom what you were surprised by.

“What is… what’s going on?”

Harry didn’t answer as he climbed out of the car and you opened the passenger door and stepped out, looking up at the house and then at Harry.

He grinned at you and reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys with a pretty pink and silver key chain that read, “Home Sweet Home.”

You covered your mouth when he placed the keys in your hand and then he nudged you toward the house, “Know you loved this place. So I bought it for us. It’s ours. Finished up all the closing of it a few days ago and took today off so we could celebrate.”

Harry had his own set of keys as he unlocked the door and opened it up for you to enter first. You did love the house when you first viewed it.

And now there was a table with dining chairs and a big beautiful bouquet of flowers in the center.

“I’ve put a bed in the master bedroom already. King size. No more double bed for us, baby,” he grinned as you looked around. You were stunned that he’d gone and gotten a mortgage on a house and went through the whole process without you knowing.

“I can’t believe you did this.”

Harry stepped in front of you and pulled you into his arms, “For us. For our family. For you.”

You walked through the house again to get reacquainted. Harry had done the smallest bit of furnishing but mostly it was bare. Ready to be furnished and decorated. The bedroom he had nearly ready. The bed was huge and it had sheets and fluffy blankets atop, a dresser, and a side table on both sides. The ensuite had towels and he’d bought soap and lotion. But when he brought you down to the kitchen the fridge was mostly empty but there was a container of something (something sweet he said) along with a bottle of champagne.

Of course, Harry popped the bottle and pulled out two champagne flutes from the cupboard and you clinked glasses before sipping the bubbly drink.

“To me and you. To forever. I love you,” he spoke as he took your hand in his and lifted it up to kiss your knuckles.

“I love you too, Harry. I know I’ve been really quiet but I’m just processing all this. It’s a shock. But I’m so happy. I can’t believe it.”

You carried your glass of champagne with you into the backyard, which still looked terrible, but it was spacious and Harry shared with you his vision again. What it could look like…

You watched him wave his arms around as he kept looking at you as he spoke, “And this… we can just have a nice patch of flowers. The shade is perfect here and it’ll really brighten up this corner. The tree will need trimmed back but it’s going to be perfect to hang a swing off of and little string lights for nighttime. We’ll put some outdoor furniture on the patio after I clean it all up. Trim out the weeds and fill in the spaces that got overgrown…”

A soft smile covered your face as you watched how excited he was. You were excited too, though. Everything was perfect for you two in that moment. You had the love of your life with you and he had bought a house to make a home in. A place he wanted to share with you. A man you trusted and found yourself falling more in love with every day.

You placed your glass down on the brick ledge near the patio and stepped in front of Harry as he was still yammering on about what he would do with the space and wrapped your arms around him, pressing your cheek into his pecs, “I love it, Harry. It’s perfect.”

And your hormones were raging as you inhaled his scent and he squeezed his strong arms around you. It didn’t help that he kept talking about children running around, what with you ovulating like you were. You had been keeping close track of it and after months of being off birth control, you were finally starting to feel like your body was adjusting to its natural cycle.

Tilting your head back to look up at him you saw him already looking down at you, “Let’s go test out that bed.”

And now it was Harry’s hormones that were raging. He practically dragged you to the master bedroom and you found yourself testing out the bed just as you asked.

“How do you like it?” Harry panted as he sunk into you over and over again.

You were out of breath as you squeaked out a sound of approval.

“That good huh? Gonna make me a daddy? Gonna let me fill you up with babies, Y/n?”

Harry wasn’t gentle as he pumped into you, harsh thuds against you where he’d grind down every time he buried himself into the hilt. He pulled back, nearly completely out before snapping his hips forward into yours. He set the most delicious cadence, thick shaft filling you and rearranging your insides.

When he slowed down he dropped his mouth against yours, rolling into your wet pussy.

“I’m ovulating,” you breathed against his mouth. You were finally able to speak now that he was fucking into you more languidly.

Harry parted from the kiss with a filthy grin on his face, “Is that right little girl? I get to fuck my come into your fertile pussy?”

“Mmm… yes sir… fuck me til it sticks. Want it so bad. Want your babies and your come…”

The new bed was sturdy, unlike the old one at your apartment. No squeaking or creaking or headboard ramming into the walls… just the sound of your creamy pussy wrapped around Harry’s fat cock and the slap of skin.

It was an excellent way to celebrate the purchase of the new house. A little champagne and a good fucking in the new bed… and hopefully it would end with you pregnant.

You’d never had baby fever or whatever this was. But something about Harry just did it for you. You wanted him in every way. Wanted to show everyone how he was yours, that you’d won, that no one could come between you two. Logically you understood the flaw of that thinking, but logic flew out the window every time he was balls deep; that masculine body over yours, his deep voice saying filthy sweet things in your ear, and his big cock that had you hooked since that first day at your apartment all that time ago.

“Oh my god, baby… look a’that…” Harry shifted himself and lifted your hips so you could glimpse the way he was filling you slowly and pulling back, shiny arousal coating his shaft, “Made for each other.” He began to thumb over your sensitive bundle of nerves as he rolled into you, eyes on the action happening where you were connected “Feels good doesn’t it?”

You nodded, “You always feel so good, Harry. I need you…”

He moaned, “I know, baby… I need you too.”

You rocked your hips into his hand as he continued fucking into you until he moved again, tilting himself over you and taking the back of your neck in his big palm, and pressing his lips to yours.

Harry’s hips were glued to yours as he pushed into you, ensuring he stayed nice and deep, massaging your inner walls with every thrust in. The pressure of your orgasm built and built as he lapped his tongue against yours and tucked his cock deeper and deeper until he was no longer rearing back, his pelvis rolling over your clit.

Soft whimpers and pants were muffled from your mouth as he kept your lips occupied with his own.

His thrusts were becoming sloppier as he pressed himself to you and you could feel him trembling. When he moaned against your mouth and rutted in smooth and deep he hit something achy, you simply came undone. Harry had to lift his mouth from yours as you moaned and he gasped at the way you were gripping him and pulsing around him until he couldn’t hold back and pumped into you, stuffing you with his come.

It was a favorite. The feel of his throbbing cock releasing inside you. That way you knew your pussy was siphoning every drop from him and how good your cunt felt on him. His soft whimpered moans as he stilled his hips against yours and twitched until he was milked dry, balls properly drained.

Lying in bed together, limbs wrapped up and sweaty bodies breathing and flushed hot post-orgasm you turned to look at him and lifted your knee, draping your thigh over his hip, “I love you.”

Harry moaned and opened his eyes and pulled at you, his arms wrapping around you, “I love you, baby.”

“I’m pretty sure that was it.”

Harry turned his eyes and looked at you, “What was it?”

You grinned and drew your hand up his strong chest, “Well, we’ll see… but I think you just got me pregnant.”

Harry laughed and you giggled with him. Mostly it was just a tease. You’d have no way of really knowing at that point. But something in your gut told you that there was a good chance of it.

“And what makes you think of all the times we’ve gone at it since you’ve been off birth control that this was the one?”

“Well… it’s been months since I got off birth control and for the past couple of weeks I’ve really been more in tune with my body because of it and my ovulation cycle is starting to get to normal and today my insides were aching and I knew the only thing that would make me feel better was to orgasm and that’s because I’m ovulating.”

Harry grinned and ran his thumb over your neck, “Well I fucked you this morning after coffee, baby. Maybe the one from this morning got you knocked up.”

Biting your lip you slid yourself over Harry and straddled his lap, taking his hands and bringing his palms up to cup your tits, “Either way… feel this?” You squeezed around his hands over your tender breasts, “Haven’t had swollen breasts in a really long time. The ovulation is strong this month. And today it’s at its height. My whole body wants to be pregnant.”

The soft gaze on Harry’s face as he looked into your eyes was full of affection and love as he pressed over your nipples, “Extra fertile today, yeah? Then let me recover a bit and I’ll fuck you again. Just in case third time’s a charm, ya know?”

You laughed, “I mean the day is still early. I think I’m gonna need lots of orgasms today to feel better and you’re just the man to give them to me. Plus, we need to celebrate properly.”

He pulled you down, pressing your chest against his, and groped the globes of your ass in his hands, “Well sounds like I’m gonna have to go buy sparkling grape juice for you, huh Mama?”

You both cackled loudly as soon as he said it. And you both understood it was just post-sex hormones talking in that moment. But you’d know soon enough if your intuition was right. You hoped it was.

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[asiatic-apple]

If requests are open, maybe some fluff with a fem reader with caleb please? go any way you please, and ty

Thanks for the req, nonnie! I was so excited to make my own choice for this one. Prompt #17 reminded me of when he notices a small cut on MC’s hand by stalking her Moment posts lolll—so I wanted to write something comical in the same vein. Hope you enjoy!

Last chance to send a request!

Playing doctor

Caleb x female reader

Prompt: carefully bandaging the other’s wounds, even if it’s just a tiny cut

Content: a little bit suggestive…especially at the end, caleb is such a mother hen, possessive!caleb

You’re sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, your back against the couch, surrounded by the chaos of tiny plastic parts and instruction booklets. Caleb’s plane model kit has taken over the entire area in front of the coffee table.

The glossy box it came in promised “historically accurate parts and museum-quality realism.” What it didn’t mention was that building it would feel like doing surgery with tweezers and a prayer.

While you carefully sort dozens—or maybe hundreds—of parts into organized piles, Caleb lounges beside you on the carpet, elbows propped on the table.

Excitement radiates off him like heat. He’s been infodumping about fighter jets for the past thirty minutes straight. And honestly, you’re enjoying it. His voice pitches higher when he’s animated, and his hand gestures get wilder the longer he explains the mechanics of wing flaps and thrust ratios.

He’s so adorable that your teeth ache. Something else, much lower in your body, aches too. But you try to ignore it for now. You’re barely looking down at the pieces in your hands anymore, too enamored by how passionate he is.

“And the thing about the intake valves,” Caleb says, flipping the instruction manual around to point out a diagram like it’s a national treasure, “is that most people don’t realize the way they rerouted airflow in this design actually boosted acceleration by–”

He gasps, loud and sharp, his face stricken in horror.

You glance down at the model parts in your hands, panic spiking. Surely you didn’t break something. There was no snapping sound, no loose plastic. Everything looks intact.

“What? What did I do?” you ask quickly, heart in your throat.

His large hands gently engulf yours, forcing you to drop the parts onto the floor as he peers down at your fingers with the intensity of a man defusing a bomb.

“Pip-squeak,” he scolds softly, brows drawn. “I told you to be careful.”

“Huh? I was being careful. I didn’t break–"

“The wingtips are sharp.” His voice is low and reminiscent of when he’s reprimanding his subordinates at the Fleet. “Didn’t I tell you that?”

You frown, examining your hand. There’s no blood. No scratch. Nothing.

But then he presses lightly on the pad of your pointer finger, and a faint sting blooms. One single drop of blood beads up at the tip like it had to fight hard to exist. You’re not even sure how he noticed something so miniscule before you registered the cut.

Caleb inhales like you’ve been shot.

You scoff. “You’re kidding, right?”

He is not.

Before you can protest, he drags you down the hall, mumbling about risk of infection and tissue trauma like you’ve barely survived a Wanderer ambush.

You don’t resist him tugging you toward the bathroom. Not because you agree with him, but because you’ve learned there’s no reasoning with him when you’re hurt. Even slightly hurt.

But growing up with him made you stubborn. And you like to push his buttons.

“Caleb,” you whine dramatically, “it’s literally a paper cut. I’ll be fine.”

“Nope,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ in that insufferably cute way of his. “It’s plastic. Which makes it worse than a paper cut.”

You snort as he pulls out the first-aid kit from the medicine cabinet like a man preparing for battlefield surgery. With the help of his Evol, you’re deposited on top of the bathroom counter while he digs through antiseptics and gauze with military precision.

“Uh huh, and is that your professional diagnosis?” you tease.

“It is,” he counters, holding up the antiseptic like it’s holy water. “You’re bleeding. And I’m not risking it getting infected. Not on my watch.”

You bite your tongue instead of pointing out how annoying or stifling his overprotectiveness can be sometimes. Mirth flickers in your eyes while you watch him gently dab a cotton round with antiseptic before hovering it over your finger.

“Sorry, pips. This might sting.”

You grin and hiss dramatically as soon as it touches your skin. “Oh god…the pain!”

He hums sympathetically, his lips twitching with a smile. “Shh, I know. It’s okay. Doctor Caleb’s here.”

He is such an ass sometimes. But you snicker anyway. “You know you’re insane, right?” you mutter, sticking your tongue out at the overbearing doctor.

He wraps your finger with one of the ridiculous smiley-face band-aids he likes to keep around for “emergencies.”

“Yeah. Insanely in love with you,” he retorts, kissing your bandaged finger with a proud little grin.

God, he’s insufferable. And you stupidly love him anyway.

You jump down from the counter and let him take your good hand before leading him back toward the living room.

“Come on, Doctor Caleb,” you deadpan. “Your patient still has a jet to build with you.”

“As long as you promise to let me handle the sharp parts,” he mutters, shooting the scattered pieces a distrustful look when you enter the living room again.

“No promises.”

He sighs heavily. “Then I’m saving the kit for later and wrapping both your hands in gauze.”

To prove his point, he grips both your wrists, locking them against his chest while you laugh and try to escape. He tugs you closer, the look in his eyes becoming a bit darker once you’re close enough for his lips to brush your temple.

“You should listen to your doctor.” His voice is lower, a delicious-sounding threat edged in his words. “I’m the only one who knows what he’s talkin’ about,” he murmurs.

You blink up at him, confused for half a second—until you remember Zayne. The actual licensed doctor who’s patched you up on more than one occasion. Who Caleb wishes you didn’t have to see anymore.

You smirk, deciding to play along. “But Doctor Caleb forgot something important,” you whisper, running your bandaged finger down his chest. “You didn’t prescribe any medicine for the pain.”

His brows arch, curiosity and heat mixing in his gaze.

You lean in just a little closer, your voice dropping to a teasing purr. “And I was such a good little trooper, helping you with your model kit all afternoon. Don’t you think I deserve a reward?”

💕 tag list: @heartyluv @doeeyes515 @lethalasylum @starryeyed-apple @starlitfics @craeatio @rafayelslittlestar @ruralamours @alyssac9 @blushofeve @alastor-simp @nezuswritingdesk

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Want to be added to my tag list?

dividers by @/sister-lucifer

[lightsoutletsgo]

the one where ollie lives alone (cl.16 x bearman!reader)

pairing: mainly ollie bearman x oldersister!reader for this part but there's a plenty of charles leclerc x bearman!reader here and there!

word count: 4.2k

warnings: a whole lot of stupidity mentions of death, seemingly angsty in some parts (you'll see what I mean) this might be one of my favourite parts I've written for any series ever 😭 it's so dumb but so funny (according to the people who proofread for me!) as always let me know what you think! your comments are always appreciated. happy reading! mimi 🤍

taglist: @arieslost @iamapersonwholikesunicorns

“Jesus Y/N, what the hell is in here?” Ollie wheezed as he staggered past you, arms straining under the weight of the box he was carrying. You rolled your eyes, “You’re so dramatic Ols, it’s literally just makeup.” 

“Is that the last box ma belle?” You turned and saw Charles in the doorway, staring at you fondly. “Mhmm! Everything else is in the van.” You held your arms out to him and he crossed the room, pulling you in by your waist and kissing you softly, “I can’t believe you’re finally coming home with me…” You smiled, looping your arms round his neck, “Me either,” He booped your nose with his own, a loud cough making the two of you jump apart as Ollie leaned against the doorframe, one eyebrow raised, “Are you two done being gross?” “Shut up dummy.” You punched his arm as you walked past him towards the front door. You inhaled deeply, it felt strange but exciting to be moving out and into Charles’ apartment. 

Behind you, Charles watched Ollie stare at you, looking like he wanted to say something. He quietly padded up behind the younger driver and nudged his arm,  “Are you going to miss her?” Ollie was startled but quickly scoffed, “Hmm? No way!” Charles gave him a pointed look, “I get the whole place to myself! I can’t wait!” Charles gave him a smile and punched his arm gently, “We’re only ten minutes away if you need us.” Ollie laughed, “Thanks but I can manage!” 

♯ incident 1 - the dishwasher ��.∿  As it turned out, Ollie could in fact, not manage. Mere hours after you’d left him, you found yourself sprinting back up the stairs, cursing the old apartment building for still not having an elevator. You reached the floor of your old apartment and checked the door to see if it was open, turning the handle and entering you called out, “Ollie? I got your text!” You poked your head into each room as you went, searching for him, “What’s the emer…gen…cy…” You trailed off as you reached the kitchen, Ollie staring up at you with wide eyes, crouching next to the dishwasher that was… pouring out soapy bubbles? “Ollie!” “I think I made a mistake.” He said dryly, suspiciously poking some of the bubbly foam next to his shoulder, “Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” You said sarcastically, thinking of a solution, “You put dish soap in didn’t you?” He nodded sheepishly, “There were no dishwasher tablets left so I just… thought on my feet?” You facepalmed and sighed, “Okay well, we need to- DON’T OPEN IT!”

You looked on in horror as Ollie pulled open the door and a torrent of soapy warm foam spilled out and all over the kitchen floor, creeping further into the centre of the room, was it… growing? You looked over at your brother to see him staring back at you with comically wide eyes. “So that’s why we don’t do that.” You said, face deadpan. Ollie giggled nervously, “Oops?” A snort from behind you had you turning round to see Charles filming the whole thing, “Oh some help you are babe.” Charles coughed to cover up his laughter as he put his phone away and entered the foamy bubbly monstrosity that was now the kitchen. “Somewhere under here there’s a bucket and mop.” “Ollie?” “Yeah?” “You’re going in.” 

♯ incident 2 - french toast ⊹.∿ A few days had passed since the dishwasher incident and you dozed in Charles’ arms, enjoying the lazy Sunday morning sun slipping through the bedroom curtains. The previous night’s activities had left you a little worn out and with no plans for the day, you had wordlessly agreed that a cosy day in bed was just what you needed. A shrill sound pierced the air and jolted both you and Charles awake. You scrambled to find your phone, as Charles groaned, hands rubbing his face as your hand came up to feel how quickly your heart was pounding. You glanced at the screen as your hand met your phone and you scowled, Charles rubbing your back and doing his best not to laugh as he saw who was calling you,  “Ollie Bearman, you better have a damn good reason for calling me this early on a Sunday morning.” There was a pause, “It’s eleven o’clock?-” “That’s not the point!” You sighed, “What do you need?” “Well, you see… I have a question.” “Go ahead,” “So I was making french toast right? And I followed the recipe exactly as you wrote it out! Right amount of eggs, milk and sugar.” “So what’s the issue?” Ollie sighed, “It won’t cook but it smells a bit smokey…” You pinched the bridge of your nose, “Then turn it down?” “I don’t know how!” “Turn the hob dial down dummy!” Ollie went silent for a second, “Did you say hob dial?” Alarm bells started ringing in your head, “Why would I adjust the hob when I’m using the toaster.” You froze for a moment before pulling your phone away from your ear and putting it on speaker, unable to believe what you were hearing, “I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Charles gave you a concerned look, sitting even closer to you and wrapping one arm around you while the other rubbed your knee comfortingly 

“I said, I’m using the toaster.” You stared at your phone, mouth slightly agape, “You’re making french toast in the toaster?” “Correct.” Charles snorted and choked back a huge guffaw of laughter as the hand he’d placed on your knee came up to cover his mouth, his face turning pink with how hard he was laughing, “Ollie! French toast isn’t made in the toaster!” “It’s called french toast!” You pressed the video button and changed the call to facetime. Your brother stared back at you, looking rather dishevelled, “That’s a rather deceiving name if you ask me!” You groaned, facepalming, “You make it in a frying pan” Charles was no help next to you as he wheezed silently, grabbing his own phone to record the conversation for later use and hilarity. “Well how was I supposed to know that?!” Ollie was indignant as he pleaded with you through the screen, “OLLIE! You’ve watched me make it hundreds of times!” He pouted through the screen letting out a little ‘hmmph’ “Well if you hadn’t abandoned me, we wouldn’t have this issue would we!” You rolled your eyes, “For the last time, I did not abandon you! I live a 10 minute walk away!” 

You sighed before laughing at your brother lovingly, “Alright then silly, head over for lunch and I’ll show you how to make french toast the proper way.” Charles snorted once more and you both burst into giggles as your brother scowled at you, “Stop laughing at me!” Ollie whined, you caught your breath and wiped your eyes, heart warm at the silly moment you knew would turn into a fond memory, “Uhhhh Y/N?” You looked back at the screen to where Ollie was turning the camera round to show you a sparking, smoking toaster, “I don’t think it should be doing that…” You cursed as Charles scrambled out of bed, pulling mismatching socks on as you grabbed a hoodie, “Change of plans Ols, we’re on our way!” 

♯ incident 3 - Gerald ⊹.∿ Things were peaceful for a couple of days after the french toast debacle - something you were more than thankful for, wrapped up in your perfect little bubble with Charles. Of course you continued to text Ollie, but there had been no major crisis that required your immediate attention. Until there was. 

It had been one of those long lazy days spent at home, until Charles had announced he was taking you to dinner and told you to get all dressed up. You’d slipped on one of his favourite numbers and he’d shown his appreciation more than once, sliding his hands round your hips and squeezing while you waited to be seated, pulling your chair out for you to sit down and sliding his hands down your arms once you were seated, moving his chair round the table to sit closer to you so he could place a slow smooch against your neck. You hummed happily as he fed you a mouthful of his dish, “I knew you’d like it!” You smiled at him, “I like most things you suggest…” He bit his lip as his eyes darkened slightly, “Is that so?” You nodded, eyelashes fluttering as your lids close, “What if I suggested something a little… more intimate?” You giggled, picking up your wine glass to take a sip and hide your face, too shy to keep the eye contact, “I wouldn’t mi-” Your phone blaring cut you off and you gasped, rushing to put your glass down as other customers in the restaurant glared at you, Charles chuckling quietly next to you, his hand resting on your thigh and rubbing soothingly. 

“Ollie I swear to go-” “He’s dead.” You heard your little brother sniffle and adrenaline kicked in, “Ollie, who’s dead?” You kept your voice as calm and quiet as possible, you heard him sniffle once more before a sob left his mouth. That was all you needed to hear before you were grabbing your clutch and nodding towards the door. Charles tilted his head and you mouthed your brother’s name. He nodded understandingly and rushed to pay the bill before you were both scurrying back to his car. As soon as you were buckled in you put your phone on speaker, “Ollie… Honey… what happened?” Charles also looked panicked as he heard Ollie’s choked sob, “He was fine and then he just… wasn’t.” “Who Ollie, who’s not fine?” You pleaded, “Ge-” You cursed as the call cut out, “It’s okay ma belle, his phone probably just died, we’re almost there okay?” You nodded, hands nervously twisting and wringing together in your lap. Charles eyes darted to your hands for a second before looking back at the road, one hand leaving the steering wheel to gently hold your hand in his. You looked at him and squeezed, a wordless thank you. 

As soon as Charles pulled up, you were racing out of the car, slipping your heels off and carrying them in your hand as you sprinted barefoot up the stairs of the apartment building. You reached the door and rang the bell, knocked, called his name, anything you could think of to attract his attention. The door opened slowly and it wasn’t Ollie that appeared but Arthuer Leclerc, looking ever so sombre, “Arthur?” Your eyes were panicked as you looked him over for any injuries or obvious isses. He simply held his hand out to indicate to you to enter and you slowly stepped through the door, “Where’s Ollie?” Arthur nodded, head down towards the ground and the panic rose in your chest again, “He’s in the living room, saying his goodbyes.” “Goodbyes to who?” You paced down the hallway and burst into the living room, your jaw dropping at the sight you saw.

Ollie stood in front of the coffee table that was lit with candles, dressed in a suit and your brain suddenly registered that Arthur had been dressed the same way. You were even more concerned when you saw Arthur’s girlfriend fully dressed in black,  standing next to Ollie with a comforting hand on his shoulder. You approached him slowly, arms opening and your expression softening as he turned to you with a red splotchy nose and red-rimmed eyes, he fell into your arms and you patted his back, gently shushing him, “What happened, Ols?” “He’s gone.” Ollie croaked out, “Who’s gone honey?” Your voice was gentle as you stroked his hair, the same way you did when he was younger and couldn’t sleep, “Gerald.” “Oh.” You said softly, “Was he a friend?” Ollie nodded and you held back a wince as he rubbed his snotty nose onto your shoulder, knowing he needed you, “He was such a good friend.” You led him over to the couch and sat down, his head falling onto your shoulder as you continued to play with his hair. 

You were aware of Charles appearing in the doorway and you gave him a brief smile, before turning your attention back to Ollie, “Would I know this friend?” Ollie nodded, his sobs quieting to sniffles, “You were his friend before I was.” Your stomach dropped as you frantically thought of who Ollie could possibly be referring to, feeling guilty that your mind was blank, “The funeral was lovely.” Arthur’s girlfriend nodded solemnly, a hand over her heart as the other hand came up to dab her eyes with a tissue, “The funeral has already happened?” You were confused as Arthur nodded, “Just before you got here.” Your eyes shot to Charles who was just as concerned and confused as you, “Wait, the funeral was here?” Ollie scoffed, “Well where else would it have been?” “Wait Ollie,” You held his face in front of yours, “Why was the funeral in your apartment?” “He wanted to be remembered in the place he was most happy…” Ollie sighed wistfully, his head turning to look at the coffee table once more. 

You squinted, focusing on a shape amidst the flickering candles and once more your mouth gaped as you stood up and stormed over to the other side of the room. “Ollie. Bearman.” You gritted your teeth, “Don’t tell me that this was all about a fucking cactus?” “Succulent!” Ollie snapped at you, wiping away a tear from under his eye, “He was a succulent,” He whispered as he looked down at the floor. Charles broke first, snorting in the doorway and you watched as he did his best to choke down his laughter, coughing and shaking his head, you watched as he excused himself from the room for a moment to force a solemn expression back onto his face. He returned but you could see the laughter threatening to bubble over as he took in the sight before him. Ollie, his younger brother and his younger brother’s girlfriend all dressed in black and in mourning for a succulent that sat sadly on the coffee table and looked like it had been watered a little too much.

“I’m glad you got here,” Arthur spoke up suddenly, “Oh goodie, do tell me why.” Your tone was sarcastic. “We’re about to do the funeral exit.” Charles was holding in his laughter so much that he now had tears streaming down his face and Arthur patted his back with a ‘there, there’ and handed him a tissue. “Arthur’s girlfriend has agreed to sing the exit song and we’re so thankful she has.” “Who is we Ollie?” You brow furrowed as you looked around the living room,  “I-I…” You sighed. “Go ahead.” You all stood still, heads to the floor as Arthur’s girlfriend launched into a rendition of ‘Memory’ from Cats, “Miiiiiiidniiiiiight, not a sound from the paaaaavemeeeent.” Charles quietly crossed the room to stand next to you, nudging you gently with his shoulder, “Interesting date night hmm?” You growled, “Don’t you dare encourage him.” Ollie approached you,  “Do you want to say your final goodbyes?” “Ollie, why would I care about a succulent?” He gasped, “It’s Gerald!” “Yes Ollie so you said, but why would I care that it’s name is Gerald?” Ollie shook his head, “Don’t even recognise your own friend…” Arthur tutted and even his girlfriend gave you a disapproving look as she continued wailing in the background, you mentally made a note to apologise to the neighbours the next time you were here during normal sociable hours. 

You rolled your eyes at your younger brother and stepped forward to ‘pay your respects’ to the succulent. Your eyes narrowed, “Oliver. James. Bearman. That’s MY fucking succulent!” “It was nice of you to wear black.” He continued, nodding towards your dress and Charles blazer and pants, ignoring your exclamation. “We were on a date!” You screeched, Charles once again powerless to help in any way, instead just collapsing with laughter. You growled as you lunged for your brother, “Ollie, I swear there will be a funeral tonight.” You hissed, “Yours!”

♯ incident 4 - spiderman ⊹.∿ After everyone had said their goodbyes to Gerald, he had been unceremoniously dumped into the rubbish bin and that had been the end of it. Ollie had promised to buy you a new succulent and had learned that they did not, in fact, require watering every day, and you now forever had ‘Memory’ stuck in your head. Once more, peace had been restored but you doubted it would last much longer. 

Your theory was proved correct when a few days later, your phone rang. An unknown number. You ignored it at first, all too aware of strange reporters and crazy fans who would do anything to get closer to Charles. You simply went back to reading your book, until your phone rang again. It was an unknown number still and you grumbled, rolling your eyes and answering quite snappily, “Yes? Hello?” The voice on the other end of the line seemed almost taken aback, “Umm excuse me is this Y/N Bearman?” You sighed, “Yes it is, no I won’t give you a quote and yes Charles is great in bed, goodbye!-” “No wait please! I’m from downstairs! You live in 10B yes?” You stopped as your finger hovered over the end call button and brought the phone back up to your ear, “Uhhhh I used to, yes, can I ask why?” “Oh, well there’s a man trying to climb onto your balcony and I was concerned that’s all.” Your stomach flipped, your mind rushing to thoughts of someone breaking in when your little brother was home alone, “I’ll come over now! My younger brother still lives there.” You raced to grab your keys and jumped into your car, deciding to get there as soon as possible rather than walk. Who was stupid enough to break in in broad daylight? You briefly considered calling the police but you were sure the idiot would be gone by the time you got there. Your car pulled up and you craned your neck to look up at the balcony of your old apartment. Your eyes widened and you gasped as you spotted that there was indeed a man hanging off of your balcony, “Holy shit,” You mumbled, scrabbling to open the door and race towards the apartment complex. The closer you got you squinted as you realised the hoodie looked ever so familiar. “Ollie?!” You yelled up and shrieked as your brother looked down at you, giggling nervously as his feet kicked back and forth as he desperately searched for a footing, “What the fuck are you doing?” “Uhhh I can explain!” He yelled back to you, “H-hold on, I’m on my way up!” You hurried up the stairs, once more cursing the lack of elevator as you finally reached your floor, unlocking the door and rushing through the apartment to french doors out onto the balcony. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” You screeched, leaning over the balcony and diving to grab him and pull him up, “Ollie that’s so fucking dangerous!” “Look!” You heard a kid shout from the street below, “It’s Spiderman!” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, "He wishes!" You paused for a moment to yell back, before resuming hauling your brother over the apartment balcony. “How did you even get up here? Why are you up here?” Ollie chuckled, panting slightly as he finally threw one leg over the ledge, “Funny story actually…” You raised an eyebrow, “Well please share,” “I forgot my key…” “I-” In your shock you almost let go of him and his scream attracted the attention of yet more passers by below, laughing and pointing at the odd sight they were witnessing. You smiled down awkwardly before turning back to Ollie once more, “Why didn’t you call me?” Ollie whined as you began to tell him off, “Because I didn’t want you to find out…” “Oh so this was a better idea- Ah!” You squeaked as Ollie tumbled over the ledge and onto the balcony. Landing on your stomach in a tangle of limbs, “Your foot is up my butt!” “Yeah well it wouldn’t be if you hadn’t been being stupid! Anyway, get your elbow out of my eye!” “Oh I’m sorry, I was making sure I wasn’t about to fall to my death!” You shoved Ollie off of you and led there on your back, panting, Ollie much the same,

“For the record, you are the shittiest spiderman there is.” “Thanks, that’s really boosting my confidence.” “Glad I could help.” 

♯ the resolution ⊹.∿ “We need more protection.” You announced loudly, stepping into the kitchen “Excuse me?!” Charles choked on his protein shake, cheeks turning pink and you heard Max snort on the phone, “God, no! You pervs… I meant like, we need protection from Ollie and his dumbass incidents.” Max cackled, “Charles has sent me the videos, I was dying at the dishwasher incident.” You groaned, crossing the room to stand next to Charles who sat at the breakfast bar. He grinned as you rolled your eyes at Max who you could now see was on facetime.  “Yeah, well I’m turning grey way sooner than I should!” You joked. You chatted with Max a little longer before Charles signed off with the promise of joining him to game later. 

You sighed, leaning against Charles’ side,  “What’s wrong ma belle?” You took another breath and paused, “I’m just… worried about Ollie…” Charles put his arm around you and rubbed your back soothingly, “What has you so worried mon amour?” His expression was warm and you knew he wasn’t angry with you, rather genuinely curious, “I just feel like… maybe he isn’t ready to live on his own yet?” Charles nodded at you and you took that as a signal to continue, “I mean, he’s always had me there to help him and I know someday he’s gonna have to get used to me not being there but I just feel like right now…” You trailed off with a sigh, “He still needs you.” Charles finished and you gave him a grateful smile and nodded. “But, I don’t wanna leave you. I love living with you and having you around and I love just... living life with you. Am I selfish for not wanting to give that up?” You bit your lip, moving away from Charles to pace the kitchen floor. Charles shook his head with a fond smile, 

“Ma belle… You’re not selfish for wanting to do something for yourself and I’m proud of you for wanting to pursue that, especially since it’s me you want,” he slid his arms around you as you stepped next to him and dragged you backwards to him, making you giggle, “but I also know that you want to be there for family and I can understand that, you guys are close, the same way that me and Thur are, probably even closer.” You hummed, leaning back against him, “Thank you for being so understanding.” You sighed, “Now I just need to work out how to fix it…” Charles smiled and turned you round in his arms, nudging your nose with his, “Well… we have a spare room?” 

Which is how you found yourself hauling boxes upstairs a week later, “Jesus Ollie, what the hell is in here?” You wheezed out and Ollie simply smiled at you, patting you on the head as he walked past you, arms empty, “You’re so dramatic Y/N, it’s literally just a few bits.” You poked your tongue out at him as he mimicked your words from just a couple of months ago. “Is that it mate?” Charles head appeared from behind the apartment door and Ollie nodded, as you finally conquered the stairs and planted the box down on the hallway floor. “Now let’s go over the rules one more time Ols.” He sighed, “Fine…” “Rule one?” You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow, “No dish soap in the dishwasher…” He grumbled, Charles chuckled, “Rule two?” “No cooking without supervision.” Ollie recited as you nodded, “Don’t worry, that rule applies to Charles too.” “Huh?!” “Shush baby, rule three?” You turned back to Ollie, “No watering the succulents unless instructed, no matter how sorry I feel for them.” You nodded, “I am not having a repeat of Gerald and the… funeral.” You shuddered, as Charles snorted before asking, “Rule four?” “Always call one of you two if I forget my keys…” “And?” You raised an eyebrow, “No climbing balconies under any circumstances.”  You clapped your hands together and smiled, “Good! Well I can’t think of anything else, can you?”

You turned to Charles who shook his head and Ollie who just shrugged, “In that case, let’s go! Pizza for dinner sound good?” The three of you walked into the apartment and the door to the hallway swung shut, your arguments about pizza toppings muffled through the door, but the happiness and love you felt for each other not dulled in the slightest.

[queenimmadolla]

𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐝

Summary: A glimpse into Eddie’s morning as a first time and young dad with his baby. Oh, and you’re there, too.

Warnings: allusions to sexy stuff, descriptions of breastfeeding (it’s natural—suck it up), and fluff.

a/n: pulled this one out of the vault for you guys, written last July. hope you like it!

Eddie’s up before you and surprised to see it’s light outside, a sight he hasn’t woken up to in the last couple of months. Two, to be exact.

  That’s when the two of you had brought Penny home.

  Eddie yawned, impressively loud before he slapped a hand over his mouth, gaze flickering to you but you were still asleep; on your stomach with your face partially hidden in your pillow. You’d successfully kicked the sheets off yourself in your sleep, leaving your legs bare and your top half covered with one of Eddie’s larger shirts. 

  One of your legs was bent at the knee and raised up near your elbow.

  God, you always looked so fucking delectable. All he’d have to do is rouse you with some kisses pressed to your neck, settle himself behind you, pull his boxers down and move your panties to the side and he could just—

  Eddie inhaled sharply, tearing his gaze away from your body before his blood could rush off to an area he didn’t have the time to acknowledge, as the very reason he couldn’t partake in his little fantasy cooed from her crib. 

  She’d been the result of a very similar event.

  He took a couple of moments to calm himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he promised, soon.

  Then he got out of bed, snagging a band t-shirt from the dresser as he walked to the crib on the other end of the room.

  Eddie yanked on the shirt—only briefly struggling with the arm holes—before he was peering into the crib, mouth breaking out in a megawatt grin.

  Penny was awake alright, big brown eyed stare focused on a sticker that had been plastered to the wall of his room long before she was even conceived. You’d swaddled her before putting her to bed last night, so she looked like an adorable, content burrito.

  Once she realized Eddie was hovering over her, the sticker lost her attention and those big beautiful eyes were on him, sparkling as her mouth parted in a gummy smile big enough to rival his own. 

  Daddy came to rescue her from confinement. 

  “Hi, baby, good morning!” Eddie cooed, trying his best to excitedly whisper so as to not disturb you, but he couldn’t help it. He was still so thrilled—and fucking terrified—to be a dad, to have that cute face peering up at him every morning and waiting for him when he got home from work. She always looked at him like he was the greatest thing to walk the earth, always so delighted to see her daddy.

  Even though she’d start crying for you the moment you came into view—but you had an advantage he lacked, you always had her food on you. Her walking meal ticket.

  And Eddie couldn’t even blame her, he was a huge fan of your boobs and he’d even bet he appreciated them more than Penny. 

  Eddie reached into the crib, tugging the tucked in corner of the blanket out and as the blanket around her loosened, Penny’s arms shot up near her head, her tiny body arching as she stretched for a comically long period of time. Eddie chuckled, using it to his advantage, he slipped an arm behind her back and head with the other supporting her bottom as he picked her up, pressing a kiss to her head (and giving her hair a secret little sniff to get a whiff of that baby scent of hers).

  “Did you sleep good, honey?” He cradled her in one arm, tucked close to his chest as he carried her out of the room to start on breakfast. 

  Penny obviously didn’t answer, head resting against his collarbone.

  “Heard you woke up mom last night—well, early this morning, I guess—with boobie demands.”

  Eddie pulled the fridge open, hovering in front of it as he debated on its contents before selecting the cartridge of eggs.

  He didn’t want to put Penny down, happy to have her curled up in his arms, so a simple breakfast would have to do. A pan was pulled out, so was a little bit of cooking oil and soon Eddie was breaking the eggs out of the shell—angling his body to the side so Penny wasn’t at risk of possible oil splash back—and letting them cook.

  “You like eggs?” Eddie asked, stepping a little ways from the stove as he hitched her higher on his chest and held the eggshells out for her to see.

  She kicked her legs, a roll covered arm shakily reaching out towards the shells but Eddie kept them out of her reach.

  “Uh-uh, no sticky fingers for you, young lady.”

  The shells were tossed in the trash can but Penny didn’t care, twisting her upper so her chest was pressed to his. She gripped his shirt loosely in her chunky fist as she leaned forward and mouthed at his shoulder, effectively soaking the area with her drool before she began to suckle.

  “Jesus, you act like we starve you.” Eddie chuckled, reaching for a recently washed pacifier to pop into her mouth.

  She seemed to prefer it over his shirt, doing a full body sigh once she was suckling on it, with her need partially sated (eddie knew he had about fifteen minutes to wrap up breakfast before she realized nothing was coming from it and would start crying), Penny went back to cuddling into his chest. 

  She was starting to be a little more active—not sleeping as much as she did this time last month but for the most part, her movements were still unstable. She had good neck control (you’d had to pin Eddie down to keep him from picking her up when she’d immediately cry upon being put down for tummy time), she liked to kick her legs like she was about to take off for a marathon, but she still couldn’t quite hold things for long (unless it was hair or fingers) and had yet to roll over without you cheating and nudging her the rest of the way.

  Speaking of making Penny do things…

  Eddie lost to his intrusive thought, rearranging his hold on Penny so he was gently grasping her sides as he placed her feet on the counter. Immediately, she popped down to squat before shooting up again. And then she did it once more, getting comfortable with using her legs.

  She didn’t even seem to wonder why Eddie was making her stand, she was more focused on staring intensely at her own feet.

  Then Eddie made her jump, lifted her up and down and up and down, and when that got her smiling wide enough for her pacifier to fall out of her mouth, Eddie moved onto the cabinets.

  “Go, baby, go!” He turned her on her side, miming the motions of her chunky legs running over the top cabinets like some baby ninja and laughing at how big her smile managed to keep getting, her big eyes squinting with it.

  “What are you doing to my baby?” You asked as you emerged from the bedroom, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

  “She’s gonna be the next Karate Ki—hello.”

  Eddie couldn’t help himself, dark gaze trailing over your figure as you stood there, hair a wreck, no pants, oversized t-shirt—ooh, and a leaking nipple. 

  Eddie’s favorite. Yum.

  You followed his gaze, scoffing at the dark stain growing over your left boob, hand pressing against it to stop it as if you were applying pressure to a wound.

  “It heard her,” You pouted, lip stuck out and wobbling at him as you referenced your body’s response to the sound of your baby. Crying, giggling, whimpering—didn’t matter, your milk ducts went into overdrive, aware that your baby was conscious and could need a feeding. Her baby noises were like a trigger sequence.

  Eddie lifted Penny to his face, pressing fervent kisses into the chub of her cheeks, “Score for you, babe!”

  You rolled your eyes, completely, utterly fond and smitten over the interaction. He briefly abandoned the kitchen to hand her to you after you’d made yourself comfortable on the couch, ready to fall to his knees in adoration.

  You pulled the shirt over your breast, and despite trying to place your nipple in her mouth for her, Penny struggled to find it, mouthing greedily at your boob, her little head turning this way and that way but always missing the peak. 

  “Girl, it’s right there.” You laughed. Penny gave it like four more seconds of trying before her whimpers kicked in and you hurriedly managed to get her to latch, stopping the outburst.

  And just like that, Penny was content, making satisfied little squeaks as she nursed and stared up at you, pretending like she hadn’t been moments away from screaming her lungs out.

  And Eddie was distracted, solely focused on the two of you and how he wanted to roll around on the carpet because the cuteness aggression was almost unbearable. If this was how he would be spending every work-free morning for the rest of his life, he was ready to convert to being a morning person.

  Especially if those big sparkly eyes and that gummy smile would be staring up at him. GOD-she was so stinking cute. He wanted to smother her in his affection, but she was growing annoyed with Eddie all up in her face and squishing the chub she was accumulating. She even cried if he faked chewed on her chunky cheeks for too long.

  “What’s that smell?” You asked, snapping him out of his love stupor as you sniffed loudly.

  “FUCK!” Eddie bolted back to the kitchen, smoke surrounding the pan and what had once been edible eggs, “Hey, honey, what’s your opinion on extra crispy eggs? You a risk taker?”

“The answer to that is hurting my nipple right now.”

“Valid. That was a very fun risk.”

divider ℗ cafekitsune ♡

[1800titz]

Ex-boyfriend/hairdresser!Harry (first part)

The one where Y/N gets drunk, cuts her hair, and Harry fixes it (feat. complimentary gut rearrangement)

6.5K on patreon

patreon masterlist (with 323.2K WC and updating) : main masterlist

In this moment, standing there in her high-waisted jeans and vaguely ironic crop top, clutching her phone and blinking down unevenly at the screen, Y/N is possessed by the sloppy confidence only poor lighting and moderate intoxication provides; the firm conviction that she has never looked better in her life and her ex-boyfriend needs to know about it. Immediately. Now. 

1.3K preview

“…Hi,” Y/N starts, her mouth nearly pressed to the speaker as she leans one shoulder against the brick, grappling the phone to her ear with two hands. 

The unmistakable shuffle and the distinctly worn note lacing his tone, pitching it a touch deeper, denotes that he’s probably in bed, and— given the hour— either still half-asleep or freshly recovering from a rude awakening. 

“Well, well, well,” Harry clears his throat, hoarse and sleep-groggy, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

In the long beat of silence Y/N provides, she basks in the loose softness slipped across her limbs and the warmth coursing over her body, courtesy of the last vodka something-something she had finished before deciding to call him. It thrums through, entangling with her blood and forging a warm syrup under her skin. Her head feels dizzy— that inimitable cloud that infiltrates as an effect of inebriation, curling along the edges of her skull and airbrushing all her thoughts into oblivion. The phone in her palm emits a crackling sound through the speaker, and his blunt interception— wryly amused— is what peels through the muzzy layers that’ve condensed over her mind and thrown her original mission off. 

“…Bit ominous, that,” Harry murmurs pointedly at her lack of retort, “Alright?”

“Mhm.”

Instead of immediately expanding, Y/N only hums the affirmative in response and settles back into a silence that can only be described, from an outside, sober perspective, as semi-troubling. A typically sobering coolness clings to the night, but the young woman still feels warm and just as buzzy as she’d felt indoors. She rocks against the wall, the gritty texture of the masonry grinding against the cheap fibers of the thin, acrylic-based leather-knock off she’d thrown over her sleeveless top to curb the chill. Despite the way the bar door is closed, some loud, trending pop song still spills from indoors, muffled and almost incoherent. Her eyes slip shut and she weakly bobs her head to the melody, less rhythm and entirely more feeling.

“—Right. Do you need something or are we just practicing our breathing?”

As if half-asleep herself, Y/N’s eyes flash open, lashes fluttering, and takes a deep inhale through her nostrils. The world feels soft like it’s been melted with a sickly Instagram filter, and her skull feels about fifty pounds and simultaneously weightless all at once. A little ruckle of concentration chisels in between her brows as she threads the words together in her head. 

“Yeah. Hey. Listen. I need you to listen, okay,” symbolically, she raises her palm up in a universal stop motion, teetering forward (though the man can’t see it), “…You ever just— think about, like, how soft your balls are?”

There’s a quiet moment that stretches comically long— the kind of bemused pause that, in a sober state, would cause Y/N to double-check if he was still on the line. Instead, her insobriety only causes her to duck her chin nonchalantly as she picks at the brick with her pointer nail. When Harry finally answers, he sounds a tad bewildered.

“…What?”

“Like. Your balls,” Y/N blurts matter-of-factly, eyelids half-mast. “They’re soft. Like, squishy. I was, I mean… I’m, like,” she takes a long, deep breath, and the tail end of her confession rides on the exhale that slips past her chapped lips, “…thinking about them.”

On the other end of the line, the man in question is lying supine in bed with his ankles crossed and his topsheet half-kicked off, one forearm laxly slung behind his head against his deflated pillow as if the unscheduled phone call is an audiobook meant to be consumed for midnight entertainment. Across the room, the electric clock on his dresser reads that it’s nearly two in the morning, though he’d caught that detail over the top of his screen when her ringtone has roused him awake. He’d been asleep, or somewhere close to it— drifting, half-listening to a 6-hour medley of rain noises he didn’t even remember putting on, donning the same pair of boxers from the start of the day and a mild simper that had dimpled sleepily somewhere between the words “listen” and “balls.”

With full transparency, Harry would be lying if he said he hadn’t expected the phone call (given it was her, given the hour) to consist of anything less raunchy. He’d have bet good money— genuine, foldable currency— seeing her name light up his screen, still wearing that silly otter emoji he’d branded her contact with ages ago, that this late night chat was going to involve an invitation to spend the night with another warm body under the sheets. Since the duo had called it quits on their label, loose, shamelessly indulgent interludes seemed to become a common theme in their situationship. One-offs that never quite managed to stay a one-off after the first time. It was just too addicting, for the both of them. Familiar. A déjà vu stitched into the seams of his pillowcase. He thinks a fitting slogan for their flings is a more accurate spin on a well known saying— “if it ain’t broke, why actually break it?”

Sex had never been the root of their issues or anything remotely in the territory of a topic of concern. In fact, quite the opposite. Both parties were consistently left thoroughly satisfied, and after the first fling, the pair had decided to indulge in ultimate free will and continue the pattern. Sex with exes almost always inherently carried the risk of curdling and becoming messy— but not with Y/N. No, in this particular arrangement, there was an unspoken agreement. Neither party necessarily had interest in rekindling the spark, and the pair was satisfied to leave their casual encounters as just that; entirely casual. No strings, no feelings, nothing beyond a slot of time when tensions bubbled and inhibitions slipped. The key, he supposes, was infrequency. Consistency builds habits; habits build dependence; dependence builds longing when it’s missing. Routine (in the context of stringless sex) braids a noose. And with Y/N? Twine didn’t even exist in the picture with what they had left. It was entirely inconsistent, entirely hedonistic, and neither partner minded, because there was no room— no time— for fallout. 

It’d been a while since the two had seen each other in that context (or at all, really), and the only calls he ever receives from her nowadays are in some way related to their noncommittal affair. So yes, in theory, he wasn’t surprised to receive a call trying to lure him into her sheets. 

He just hadn’t entirely expected to get such a ridiculous, honest ode to his testicles. Or their texture of all things. Granted, it was going to either be this or a long-winded string of erotic half-thoughts in a voicemail, and when given the choice, Harry has always far more enjoyed live action entertainment. 

With his brows furrowed curiously over his narrowed, drowsy eyes, the drawn out pauses in her speech, the distinct way she struggles to string consonants together, and the altogether seemingly aimless ramblings she gives him (sweet nothings whispered into the receiver with the energy of someone who doesn’t entirely recognize the planet they’re on), Harry recognizes that she must be alcoholically impaired. That, or she’s suffering a serious concussion and really should seek medical assistance.

An incredulous, amused scoff garbles his speech through the speaker, and it’s obvious enough (though, not to her) that he’s muscling down snickers, “…Are you drunk?”

“No,” Y/N argues, drawing the word out, but the slur to her speech gives away her drunken demeanor before she admits the truth. “Yes. Maybe. A little. But like— not bad, like— festive.”

“Festive?” Harry repositions back against the stack of pillows he’s settled on, the edges of his mouth peaking.

“Yeah. Like, normal.”

He sounds half-convinced through the speaker as Y/N slumps back. “Define normal for me then, party girl.”

Y/N chews into her lower lip to stifle the edges of her mischievous grin by the root, voice soft and purposefully lust-laden, “Normal enough to want your balls in my mouth.”

[sturnsstars]

a little longer - gdragon

authors note: first time writing for gd, i hope its okay. ngl this thought randomly popped into my head yesterday so i have to write it… also i feel like jiyong is super whimpery in bed when he’s being topped?

tags: smut no plot, men whimpering, blowjob, head pushing, slight throat fucking, cum eating

I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME.

your cheeks were starting to get sore from sucking them in, your lower jaw having a sting to it. you kept your hands steady on ji-yongs thighs that were spread to let you sit in between them, fingertips gently pressing into the skin that had ink under the layers, making slight indents into the plush muscle.

“jagiya- oh god…” ji-yong whispered through an exhale, his chest jerking up every so often whenever he inhaled with a stutter, unable to help himself from the subtle twitches and squirms his body made.

your mouth left a quarter of room to fit your hand around the base of his cock, occasionally tightening your hand around him, just to hear him squeal out a noise that could be considered pathetic.

“slow down- slow…” ji-yong was practically begging you, but you couldnt help it. he just looked so good in that recent photoshoot, you needed to show him how it made you feel. the way his tattoos were peaking out through the mesh shirt, the leather pants, his hair messy. all of it.

while he was begging you to slow down, his hips were rutting upward into your mouth and casing the feeling, making you squeeze your eyes shut tighter when you felt his hot and aching tip kissing the back of your throat, focusing on your breathing while ji-yong was focusing on trying not to come too early from the way your tongue felt on the underside of his dick.

you just barely calmed your actions, loosening your grip around his girthy base, easing the suction in your cheeks, a small and shaky sigh of relief leaving ji-yong. ji-yongs hand gently rested on the back of your head that was raising and lowering in a medium and rhythmic pace, his thumb caressing it for a second before his body tensed up slightly.

“dont stop… m’so- oh…” you casually glanced up at ji-yong when he informed you that he was close to coming, his head leaned back against the almost comically large and expensive bed frame he had, his adam’s apple raising every time he managed to squeeze out a mewl of some sort; high pitched, low pitched, breathy.

you took in a deep breath through your nose, almost like you were preparing yourself for his release, the ticklish feeling of his cum shooting down the warm and gummy walls of your throat, when he pushed down on the back of your head, your lips bumping into your fingers that were still enclosing his cock. what you got in return, was his tip stretching the space, making you choke and hum in shock, the feeling of it making ji-yong teeter on the edge of his orgasm.

“oh fuck- hm-mm… m’sorry aegiya-ah.. a-a little longer…” ji-yong’s head fell forward, his face scrunched up, just as much as his body tensed, keeping your head down on his cock as you sucked, his abdomen flexing as you felt the almost unnoticeable twitch of his dick, your throat feeling sticky as his cum shot into your mouth, a long string of pants and whines and moans in your ears, sounds you would never get tired of.

when ji-yongs body finally relaxed and he was stuck on a panting spree, you slowly lifted your head, making sure to keep your lips around him until you reached the end of his tip, pulling off with a loud and wet ‘pop’ that broke the heavy and thick atmosphere in the bedroom.

you took a deep swallow, his cum coating your throat as it went down, your hand gently releasing its grip on his cock to gently stroke it up and down, your fingertips coated with the saliva-cum mixture that veiled over him. you sat upright on your knees, your eyes stuck on his face; how relieved he looked. little did he know, you were sliding your panties to the side to get ready to ride him until your legs gave out.

[rainedravens]

↳ ❝ 𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙙! 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨!! ❞

(tw.ᐟ.ᐟ contains: one singular f-bomb | wc.ᐟ.ᐟ contains: 586 words | highschool! au, gender neutral reader, fluff | fanart by @musapylsa | not proofread or edited.ᐟ.ᐟ)

↳ nerd! armin, who accepts your request to tutor you when you get a not-so-fun mark on your trigonmetry quiz...

"are you sure it's okay? i don't want to, like, bother you or anything..." your eyes divert from his, abashedly hiding your face.

you had only recently begun hanging out with mikasa, who you knew through mutual friends and a shared art class in third period, and it didn't take long for her to introduce you to her boyfriend, eren. they were easy to get along with, and after learning you shared a few advanced placement classes with their other friend, you learned it was easy to get along with armin, too.

sure, he was definietly more shy than his friends, but his love for movies and tv, plus his insanely high marks, brought a charm to him you grew quite fond of.

you just weren't sure if he was quite fond of you.

↳ nerd! armin, who is going absolutely insane inside because you basically asked to hang out with just him.

"no, no! it's totally fine! i-i'd love to!" he quickly responds, shaking his head in reassurance.

↳ nerd! armin, who quickly fell for you, and kept falling harder the more you stuck around.

↳ nerd! armin, who is extremely fond of you, but too shy to say it out loud.

unlike you and your hilariously cute obliviousness, eren and mikasa immediately clocked armin's interest in you.

"oh, and in art, i swear those doodles looked like armin--"

"l-like me??!" he whipped his head around to mikasa, ds suddenly unimportant as you doodling him was mentioned.

while mikasa stifled a laugh at his reaction to the staged mention, eren burst into laughter, falling over as his amusement continued.

flushed pink and red, armin understood the prank, huffing as he turned back to his pokemon platinum run.

↳ nerd! armin, who along with mikasa and eren, is unaware that you do draw him in the margins of your math homework.

↳ nerd! armin, who despite his heart beating blisteringly fast at your proximity, patiently shows you the difference between questions in radians and degrees after school.

↳ nerd! armin, who watches as you adorably interrupt his lessons by pointing out the posters, comics and funko pops littered around his room.

↳ nerd! armin, who steps outside of his room while you work on more questions to take a fucking breather because oh my god you're sitting on his bed right now.

adjusting his inhales and exhales to the imaginary square in front of him, armin fixed his glasses, took another deep breath, and forced himself to reenter his room.

your attention flew to his entry, eyes like stars as you shot up with your notes in hand.

"look, look, look! i got it!!" you essentially pinned him against his own doorframe, a perfectly solved general solution with proper restrictions presented to him.

armin could hardly comprehend it, far too focused on whatever shampoo you used as its delicious vanilla scent flooded his senses.

"you're the best tutor ever, i can't believe i never came to you for help before." you flip your notes closed, stuffing it into your backpack as you spring yourself back onto his bed. "what should we do now, 'min?"

↳ nerd! armin, whose heart skips a beat as you gift him a nickname.

↳ nerd! armin, who quietly freaks out about the little doodles he caught a glimpse of when you flipped your notes closed.

↳ nerd! armin, who pretends to lose in smash bros. until you actually beat him like ten times, and then ten times more once you quickly learn the button inputs.

↳ nerd! armin, who can't wait to tutor you again.

↳ ❝ 𝙙𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙙𝙨 ❞

⋆ @bernardsbendystraws ⋆ (i'm not sure who made the animated one, but if its you please lmk and i'll credit!!) ⋆

[tender-rosiey]

hiii! can i request for fyodor, dazai, and ranpo hcs about "the romantic things they would do to win your heart" ty!

“I WANT YOUR LOVE”

— how dazai, fyodor and chuuya try to win your heart

a/n: i went through the five stages of grief writing this UHOFHO also sorry I didn't include ranpo; I hope you like it nonetheless <3 up next is husband!sukuna

OSAMU DAZAI:

so, I wouldn’t say extravagant BUT I would say that it is pretty loud

like gives you a huge bouquet in front of literally everyone kind of loud

also literally shouts your name whenever he sees you, “AHH BELLADONNA, MY BEAUTIFUL Y/N HOW GORGEOUS YOU LOOK TODAY!”

the way he brightens up in your presence is also so obvious like eugh take your lovesick self away bro

he also has a special sixth sense that tells him that you’re close by

when he does get to you, he literally showers you with affection

also, you know when he ditches meetings? he would literally attend them just to be with you, if you’re there that is

same case is when he is running away from kunikida, my man chooses to live his last moments gazing at your beauty and then happily suffer kunikida’s wrath

exhibit a:

“atsushi, have you seen dazai?” kunikida asked as he and atsushi patrolled the streets.

atsushi shook his head, but quickly went to get you, who was busy finishing the taiyaki you got as a treat for yourself after a day of hard work.

however, looks like this travail won’t end so you look up at both of them and tilt your head lightly, “do you guys need something?”

atsushi doesn’t answer, but instead inhales deeply and screams, “DAZAI-SAN, Y/N IS HERE!” which you could bet that the entirety of the city heard.

it’s quiet for a while, but then you hear the sound of rapid steps and panting. the moment you look back, you’re tackled by the bandaged man who merely chirps a happy ‘belladonna!’ as the both of you land on the ground.

“here he is, kunikida-san,” atsushi says with a smile and kunikida nods thoughtfully then proceeds to scribble something in his notebook.

you do hear, amidst getting yourself squashed in a hug by dazai, kunikida mumbling something along the lines of “scream ‘y/n is here’ so dazai can appear”.

he literally doesn’t try to hide it, but that’s like in the very beginning of him falling for you

when he realizes that ‘crap it's serious’ and that he really did fall for someone

I feel like his way of trying to win your heart will change to be much more intimate and quieter

like he is still loud and chaotic on daily basis, of course

but you will find yourself sharing a lot of quiet moments where you just bask in each other’s presence

he gets protective as well, but like people can tell he IS being protective, but YOU can’t

not because you’re dumb, oblivious or anything, it’s just that dazai doesn’t want to make you feel like your relationship changed and low-key doesn’t want to make it awkward

a protective that makes you go ‘what’s wrong with dazai’ and makes the other person go ‘I need to run’

I also see him still getting you bouquets, but they will be accompanied with small notes

they could be like the following:

“you are so beautiful that I swoon for you.”

“I hope your day was as lovely as you are.”

“how can someone be this effortlessly gorgeous?”

of course, they still include comical ones

“I accidentally knocked the tomato soup on kunikida’s pants yesterday, and his face was as red as said soup from anger. you could say that ‘the time of the month’ was a bit harsh on him ;)”

I also feel like he will try to initiate conversations a lot more (idk how because like y’all already talked A LOT)

It’s just that he becomes curious about what you think of everything and purely wants to know more about you, your views in life and whatnot

you could be talking about the silliest things and he would still be so interested and fully indulge you

I see him also sharing with you places with beautiful scenery that he often goes to; it’s just so intimate and he WANTS to make you know that you’re special

he jokes and still flirts loudly, but there are quiet moments because he wants you to understand that you having a hold on his heart is no joke

FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY:

hm, it’s been a while since I wrote for him

so remember how I said dazai is kind of subtle in showing his genuine interest?

well, with fyodor you can’t even tell whether he changed or not

it’s just a normal everyday fyodor

BUT there some stuff he does extra

he gets protective, but just a little

so before, he used to glare at anyone who gets near you to hurt you which makes them quickly stop in their tracks, now he just instantly grabs their hand and threatens to kill them

another thing I see him doing is like taking you to places that he finds amusement in or like enjoys lol

that’s to show you off or show you a part of him in a more obvious way

he wants to show you his interests and see if they appeal to you as well or not

if they don’t then fak you, I mean then it’s fine cause variety is key

“fyodor.”

“yes?”

“couldn’t we go to a more entertaining place?” you inquire as you sip your drink and stare at the man who got you here in the first place.

fyodor smirks lightly, “whatever do you mean? this is highly entertaining.”

“1 year olds eating chess pieces is not my kind of entertainment, but okay.”

literally does stuff like this for giggles and his actual entertainment

loves messing with you but like lowkey

I also see him starting to compliment you more, like just smol compliments and sometimes you even have to read between the lines to get it

but sometimes he doesn’t even try to hide it

like nikolai could be doing god knows what, but just know it’s chaotic and sigma is trying to stop him but it just results in more chaos

and fyodor would just sigh and say something along the lines of “truly, an intelligence similar to y/n’s must be hard to achieve especially for you two.”

nikolai just laughs a laugh that screams bro stfu

sigma is just offend cause like why insult me while flirting with y/n?? tf did I do???

I also think that he will be more recognizing or acknowledging of your talents?

like with fyodor, I think the biggest sign of him liking you is accepting you as an equal and not treating you as a pawn or someone less than him

exhibit a:

“fyodor, shouldn’t this arrangement be discussed without someone like her present?” the man sneers as he looks you up and down, “she doesn’t seem trustworthy nor intelligent enough to keep up with our conversations.”

you hold back from responding and merely look at fyodor, who looks at the man in silence. he clears his throat lightly after he sips some tea and speaks up, “my apologies, but if anyone lacks in intelligence then it’s certainly you.”

both your eyes and the man’s widen at fyodor’s reply; the man is angered and he stands up abruptly, “how dare you say that?! It is more than obvious that I possess more intelligence than your subordinate here!”

fyodor raises an eyebrow in inquiry, “who said that she is my subordinate?”

the man is confused, and so are you, but fyodor pays no mind as he continues, “about the trust part, the only reason you’re going to do your end of the deal is because of the information I hold against you,” a smirk takes its place on fyodor’s lips, “meanwhile, her, I can give her a knife and she wouldn’t stab me, even in a million years.”

lmao if that ain’t down bad and blindly in love then idk

also, as we all must’ve guessed: he is pretty classic in terms of ‘flirting’ with you

but I do see him gifting you a rose of some sort and saying a smartass line like “even with its thorns, the rose is considered a sign of love and romance; is that to imply the hardships that come with loving someone?—“

boy shut yo ass and give me the damn flower

CHUUYA NAKAHARA:

chuuya is someone really honest so I think he will be really obvious and clear about wanting to win your heart

albeit a bit on the tsundere side sometimes but oh well

it’s still a lot more open that the others I have mentioned and feels very genuine

I also believe that he would want you to know that he likes you

plus I don’t think he can hide it well anyway

so he gets teased by everyone along with yourself

“ooo, who caught the heart of our badass mafia executive?”

and he would just grumble, “wow, i wonder who.”

of course, it’s a given that he would buy you souvenirs and gifts cause HEYYYY YOU DESERVE THE BEST

exhibit a:

“y/n, I need to give you something!”

you perk up at the voice and smile at chuuya, “yeah?”

he looks you in the eye for a moment before grumbling, face a soft hue of pink, and getting out the gift he got and placing it on your desk.

“aww, chuuya, you shouldn’t have!”

he crosses his arms and looks to the side, cheeks burning slightly, “yeah yeah, but I wanted to get you something.”

the smile never leaves your face and instead gets bigger as you see what’s inside. the thing about chuuya’s gifts is that they are always thoughtful.

“do you…like it?” you hear him mumble softly and just to hug him tightly.

“thank you so much! it’s amazing! I really love it!”

he stumbles over his words before yelling, obviously flustered, “t-that’s good! but you don’t have to hug me!”

“you don’t want me to?” you ask, slightly sad and chuuya wants to kick himself for making you like that.

“I DIDN’T SAY THAT EITHER!”

lmao, I love the guy

when you guys do get into a relationship, he is a lot less shy and open for affection but we are still not there yet hehe

something to add is that he also loves taking you anywhere you like

like either drive you there with his very cool motorcycle or you guys hanging out at some place

and like the places are…very extravagant to say the least

“so what do you think of the place?”

“chuuya, the walls are painted gold.”

“and?”

“chuuya, the fountain is dripping gold.”

“you don’t deserve anything less.”

Idk about you guys but I also think chuuya is a huge tease when he wants just not as horribly or as big as dazai

like just light teasing in general but it’s still so flustering; they’re things like:

“did the doll forget her keys again?”

“poor baby, want me to kiss it for you?” (but a lot less derogatory than when he said it to dazai 🤡; he really does want to kiss the pain away for you <33)

chuuya is rather protective by default so I feel like that won’t change, maybe amplified? but you can’t tell the difference because chuuya was always willing to beat some ass anyway

I see him being pretty attentive to your needs as well

like he has a bottle of water for you ready and maybe some food along with any personal essentials. he is a little grumpy when giving it to you, but it’s just to mask how nervous he is because of your smile

another thing, i think he does is write you letters

and they most of the time have poems? since you had told him about how he somehow (he did take offense to the word) has a good way with words

he also loves getting praised by you so it’s worth it even if it makes him a bit shy

now to end this on a cute note, the beginning phase of his confession included one of his poems accompanied with a rose

and its last lines were:

“once I believed love poems were foolish yet now I do nothing but dream about love”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @gojosblackqueen @kryscent @kunikida-simp @whoami-72 @waosobii

copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[rottingworship]

Beg and Bargain

The Proxies x F!Reader | Chapter Seven

[Masterlist]

Summary: Things are getting dicey, and only seem to get worse when you are sent out with the person that seems to like you the least.

Warnings: gun violence, mentions of suicide, mentions of sexual acts, blood, mentions of murder, not so healthy dynamics, non-sexual name calling, not beta read (of course, let me know if i happen to miss any <3)

Word Count: ~3.1k

A/N: I'M BACK AND LOVING BEG AND BARGAIN AGAIN. I do apologize for taking the break, but I feel better now. It was much needed. Things are getting exciting!!! No smut this chapter, but there may will be more soon 😈 divider credit to @sister-lucifer

You are sitting at the table; the last 24 hours have been awkward to say the least. Brian is tense, Toby seems ready to fucking murder you, and Tim is probably the happiest of the bunch. You had been able to do your own thing though. No one had really bothered you since Tim found you in the bathroom.

You are eating a frozen meal, supposedly it’s a Salisbury steak… You aren’t too sure though. But really? At this point you don’t care.

“D-Don’t you go back to w-work soon?” Toby sits in front of you.

Immediately, you tense. Your eyes widen momentarily, before you hide your fear. Toby seems to have caught it though. You snarl your lip up at him, and click your tongue, “What about it?” You grumble at him.

“W-well, what are you gonna do?” He is nosy. He seems curious, but not in a concerned way. More of a snotty kind of way.

Your eyes roll back and you groan, “Toby…” You inhale. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure a-are bratty.” Toby snarls back. “Tim needs to handle that.”

The most disgusting, guttural noise you can muster slips from your throat and a loud laugh follows. You shake your head. You may fear Toby, but you do not need to be put in any place. You almost fall backwards, out of your chair. It's so comical. “Tim?” You almost shout. “Shut the fu-”

Toby’s knuckles are suddenly white, nails digging into his palms. You do not finish your sentence. You swallow hard. “Say it.” Toby’s breath is shaky. “Fi-finish your fucking sentence.” His voice is dangerously low. You inhale sharply and shake your head ‘no’. “What were you g-going to say?” He is fuming. He obviously does not want to shut the fuck up. “Were you- Were you going to make me shut up?” He cocks his head at you.

“No.” Your head drops. Your eyes are cutting up at him through your lashes. You can’t help but be so scared. “But-” You exhale heavily, “I can do that.” It’s like you just remembered you can control him. But with consequences… Toby seems excited when you say this. “I won’t though.” Your voice is soft. “I’m not going to give you that satisfaction. Especially because you still haven’t returned my panties.” You finish your little frozen meal.

Toby looks like he wants to launch the table. “That w-wasn’t me!” He almost screams it at you, leaning across the table. You flinch back. “Why the fuck would I lie about it? I bet it was Brian!” The front door opens. Brian and Tim walk in. “What was Brian?” He cocks his head.

“You took her panties!” Toby is yelling now. You are startled. Brian and Tim seem used to it. “Sh-she thinks I took them, but- but it wasn’t m-me!” Toby is furious. He is standing up now. You feel so small sitting across from him.

“Fine!” You snap, “It wasn’t you! You didn’t fucking do it!” Your voice is strained.

Toby storms off, Tim stops him. His hand hits Toby’s chest and he pushes him back into the living room. The look in Toby’s eyes is absolutely feral. “This is my house! Do not-”

“Shut up.” Brian rolls his eyes. “We need to talk to her.” He points at you. “And ‘we’ includes you.”

Your stomach drops. Tim and Brian walk into the kitchen and sit down at the table. Toby stands a little ways away, in the living room. Fuming. “What’s going on?” You cock your head. Are they finally going to kill me? Am I still useful? You think to yourself. You are sure all color has drained from your face. You want to puke.

“You are supposed to go back to work soon-” Tim starts.

Toby interrupts. “I a-already asked ab-”

“I quit.” You interrupt Toby. Your eyes are on Tim, and Tim alone. You bite the inside of your lip. All of them seem confused. So much so that they all ask you ‘what’ in unison. Toby seems the most frustrated.

“Oh!” He throws his hands in the air. “I s-see! Tim is just s-so fucking good-”

“Toby!” You yell at him without thinking. “What the fuck?”

“I mean,” He scoffs, “yesterday y-you were in his room naked, and now y-you quit your job?” He shakes his head. “What the fu-fuck did you do to her?” Toby is looking at Tim now.

You swallow hard. Your eyes are stuck on Tim. Waiting for his answer. He seems smug. You are praying he doesn’t say something stupid. “Tim-” You whisper at him. “Don’t.” You do not want him to push Toby any further.

“Why’d you quit?” Toby looks back at you. His eyes are dark.

“I had to.” You are baffled. “I can’t work in these conditions!” You want to flail around. “Are you aware of my- our circumstances?”

“Very.” Toby’s voice is low, lethal, full of venom.

You don’t say anything else. You are sitting straight up in your seat, hair standing on end, and eyes wide with fear again. Toby leaves. He stomps to his room and slams his door. Your stomach turns.You let out a nervous laugh, “That guy, huh?” You give an awkward smile to Tim and Brian. “He sure is-” You swallow hard, “-something.”

“Oh, by the way,” Brian smirks at you, “you’re going out with him later.”

Tim immediately shoves his friend. Your stomach leaps into your throat. “What? When? Why?” You ask, full of fear and anger.

“Well, we don’t need you fucking around if you go out with Tim. And Toby’s good at these kinds of missions…”

“What kinds of missions…?” You cock your head.

“The killing kind.”

You are tired. Truly. Exhaustion is catching up to you quickly and you have no way to even rest right now. You have trekked through the woods towards your destination. And to be honest, that could be anywhere. You might as well be walking towards your death. You spot a cabin ahead and figure that's your stop. It's a bit bigger than Toby’s cabin and there is a singular light on. The upstairs light.

You look towards Toby, who is not stopping for anything. “Psst,” you stop walking. “Where are we?” You really have no clue.

Toby grunts and turns towards you. “Wh-who’s the bastard that wants you dead?” He sounds so… done with you. You should obviously know whose house you are at.

Your blood runs cold. “Ethan…?” You ask. You now know, but it still comes out like a question. Toby rolls his eyes and keeps walking towards the cabin. You are stuck briefly. Toby has a way to hide his identity. You do not. Your stomach turns. You quickly creep behind Toby and stay as close as possible to him; as much as you are not sure you want to do that. “How do we do this?” You whisper.

“Follow m-me.” It’s all Toby gives you.

He approaches the door, slowly. And then does the opposite of what you think he’s going to do. Toby’s foot slams into the old wood and the door flings open. Every single light on the bottom floor is off. Toby yanks you into the house and you cover your mouth, keeping in a yelp. It's impossible to see where Toby is moving, but you hear his footsteps; you try to stay close by. Toby grabs your arm and begins to guide you --albeit roughly-- up the steps. There is a light coming out from under a closed door.

Toby does not let you go. As you both near the door your anxiety is rising. You are growing antsy and, more importantly, terrified. Toby briefly releases you and slams into the door. It easily opens, almost falling off of its hinges. Toby steps into the room, you hot on his trail. The lights may be on, but the room is completely empty.

The chair in the corner of the room seems to have been sat in recently, someone is nearby. Ethan is nearby. You swallow hard and look at the back of Toby’s head, waiting for his next move. The hair on the back of your neck begins to stand on end. You begin to turn around and something slams into your head, hard. You stumble forward and slam into Toby, the both of you are sent flying to the ground. You let out a whimper and cry out for help. Cry out for Toby.

He is quick to get back on his feet. You, however, are stunned. You look up and find Toby standing between you and Ethan. His hatchets are now out and he is pissed. He snarls under his muzzle and swings at Ethan. The man dodges and trips Toby, easily moving around him and towards you. Toby hits the ground, his head slamming into the wood floor.

“Come on bitch,” Ethan hisses, “aren’t you gonna control me?”

Your face contorts. You shake your head violently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

He pulls a gun off of his hip and brings it to your forehead. “Tell me, cunt, how did John die?” You are stuck. Memories of John the night you had him killed come flooding in. Tears prick your eyes and you hold back a sob. Your eyes are laser focused on Ethan, so much so, you don’t see Toby standing up behind him. “Did you mind control him? Did you force him to put that gun to his head?” Ethan’s voice is steadily rising. “Because I fucking know he did not do that on his own accord!” He screams, spit flying. Toby raises a hatchet. “Do not! I will fucking shoot her!” Ethan pushes the gun harder against your forehead. Toby freezes.

“Please,” You are begging. “I don’t know-” Your eyes screw shut. You shakily inhale and Toby tenses. He needs you to tell that man to back the fuck up. Your eyes open and you begin to speak. “Put your gun down.”

Ethan blinks at you. His hand twitches. Your stomach sinks. It did not work. Ethan laughs; he laughs so hard you are shaken up once more. Tears threaten to spill once again. It did not work. Why did it not work? It’s all you can think as you sit there, about to be fucking murdered. Your eyes shoot to Toby, who seems to be just as baffled.

“Oh,” Ethan smiles, a wickedness you have not seen before takes over him. “This is good. This is really fucking good.” He laughs again. He seems to be breaking. “I’ll handle you in a minute, I have to take care of your little boyfriend first… You sure did move on so quickly!” Ethan directs his attention to Toby, who is most definitely ready to fight. His movements are swift, the gun moving from your forehead to Toby’s direction in milliseconds.

Without thinking, you move and fast. “No!” You scream, pushing yourself up and slamming into Ethan. Your hand grabs his arm, moving the gun upwards. As it goes off, the bullet goes through the ceiling.

“You dumb fucking-” Ethan does not finish his sentence. He whips around as fast as possible, the gun slams into your face, and you fall back down. Your head hits the ground, again. As you are slipping in and out of consciousness, you feel a boot press to the side of your head. Before there is any more pressure placed onto your cheek, the boot is gone. You feel warmth covering your face, but that’s all you can process as you try to stay awake.

You let out a soft sigh and quickly let go. You don’t try anymore. You let yourself go into the darkness.

The sound of birds chirping brings you back to reality. With your eyes closed, you take in your surroundings. You are most definitely on the couch at Toby’s cabin. Your face aches and your head is pounding. You let out a cry and your eyes shut a little tighter. The floorboards creak a bit aways from the couch, footsteps near you.

“Careful.” A voice you do not recognize begins to speak. “You may have a concussion.”

Your eyes shoot open, and you sit up, a little too quickly. You are face to face with a woman. A woman you most definitely do not know. You look around the room, finding no one else, and then back at her. Her dark hair frames her face, her eyes look almost emotionless. Yet, she’s staring at you with an intensity you do not like.

“Who the fuck are you…?” You feel fear. She snorts. She really thinks this is so funny. “I’m not fucking joking, I will make you-”

“Not in this state, you won’t.” She deadpans. “Anyway,” Her head drops to the side, ever so slightly, “I don’t think you’d be okay with the consequences of compelling me right now…”

“Okay… Well, why the hell are you here?”

“This used to be where I slept, before you got here.”

Chills run up your spine. There’s more than just Toby, Brian, and Tim? “Sorry.” That is the only thing you manage to get out. A stupid apology. She rolls her eyes at you. You shift, pulling your legs up to your chest, and you hold on tightly. You can tell the woman finds that weak, you do not care. Not at the moment.

The door of the cabin opens. Brian and Tim walk into the room, some grocery bags in hand. Tim looks at you and the woman and he narrows his eyes. “Kate… I hope you’re being nice.”

“She’s being nice.” You nod at him. Nice enough… You give Tim a soft smile. “Can I ask what happened last night? Is Toby okay?”

Kate is the first to answer you. “After you were knocked unconscious, Toby brought you back here-”

“Is Ethan- Did he-”

“Don’t interrupt me.” Kate starts again. “Ethan is alive. If you had not been so reckless he may be dead now-”

“Reckless!?” You snap. “I couldn’t fucking compel him, and he was about to shoot Toby!”

“Do not interrupt me!” Kate snaps back. You immediately lean back, hitting the arm of the couch. “Toby picked saving your ass over killing Ethan. He let Ethan get away to make sure you were safe!” Kate stands up, hands falling from her hoodie pocket. You tense. Everyone is tense. You watch Kate in horror. “Things have shifted since you arrived.” Kate snarls, lowering herself to your level. “For some reason these men just adore you… If that had been me in that fucking house-”

“Wh-what would you have d-done?” Toby enters the room. Your eyes dart towards him.

Kate backs up from you and lets out a frustrated noise. She exits the house abruptly and you look at the men. You let out a nervous laugh and then sigh awkwardly. You look at Toby and mess with the hem of your shirt, placing your feet on the floor.

“Uh, thank you…” You mumble the words.

“What?” Toby cocks a brow at you.

You groan. “Thank you!”

“For what?” He wants you to explicitly tell him why you are thankful.

You want to combust. “For saving me.” You stand up. “You could have easily just- not saved me! But you did. I fucked up, being reckless, or whatever…” You roll your eyes. “But I'm alive at least.” You inhale sharply through your mouth, your nose hurting too badly to breathe through it, “I don’t know what’s really going on in that head of yours,” you narrow your eyes briefly, “or what your feelings are towards me; we all have a lot going on! If you want-” You pause momentarily, causing Toby to tense. “If you want, we can start a new, clean slate…” You wait for his answer. You feel like you are going to die when he just continues to stare. Your face contorts. “We don’t have to actually,” You cross your arms, “We can stay the exact same and I will hold everything you’ve ever done against you forever-”

Toby laughs. “I j-just saved your life, and all y-you’re offering is a clean s-slate?” He is acting as if it’s the most comical thing he’s ever heard.

“I don't owe you anything, actually! But I’m thankful.” You take a step closer to him, feeling a bit braver, knowing he saved your life makes you feel like he does not want to take it. “What do you think you deserve?”

Toby shakes his head. “You-You’ll revoke the cl-clean slate.”

You let out a laugh. “Okay, really, don’t tell me.” You put a hand up and nod.

“Do I get a clean slate?” Brian asks from behind you.

“N-no! You did-didn’t save her life. You just- just recorded her. Fu-fucking creep.” Toby is standing beside you suddenly.

You genuinely cannot tell if Toby is playing around or not. “Toby,” You gently place a hand on his arm, without thinking about it. Toby does not relax; in fact, he grows more tense. “I’m feeling generous. I mean, I did not die. That’s a plus! And, uh, you guys are kind of all I have right now, I don’t want there to be tension in the house…”

“Wow,” Toby smirks at you. He’s about to say something diabolical, “Me- Me saving your life and the h-head you got from Tim really has you f-feeling generous, huh?”

Your hand drops from Toby’s arm. You snap your head towards him and stare, mouth agape. You quickly look at Tim and narrow your eyes. “You fucking told him?”

Tim looks at Brian, mimicking your shock. “You fucking told him?”

Brian laughs, hard and loud. “I mean, yeah. We all kind of live together… It was bound to get out.” He has a point.

You are still upset though. “God, at this rate, Kate knows!” Toby nods at you. You stomp your foot in frustration. “I wish I had a room!” You want to hide.

“Just go to Tim’s.”

Your jaw clenches. “Shut up! I’m trying to start over with your three!” Your fists ball up. “You guys do not make anything easy…”

For a brief moment, it’s normal. As normal as it has been. The four of you are standing in the living room, not fighting, the guys are laughing. Maybe at your expense, but nothing is going wrong. And most importantly, you are alive.

You try to ignore the fact it will not be like this forever.

[woradat]

SCENARIO : FINE PRINT

PAIRING - swindle x reader

After the war ended with the Autobots technically “winning” and all – what was left of the economy and legal system resembled a scrapyard fire on a windy day

Enter you: the infamous gray-area legal consultant with a perfect courtroom win streak and a billing rate that makes senators sweat. As long as clients bring enough shanix, you're their savior in a three-piece suit. Which is why you haven't had a single peaceful recharge cycle — former Decepticons are lining up outside your office like it's a Black Friday sale, all begging for: “record wipes / charges dropped / confiscated property restored”

Apparently, galactic war crimes are just.. paperwork now

And one of the most unhinged clients you’ve ever had the misfortune (or financial fortune) to take on?

 Swindle

Arms dealer. Con artist. Entrepreneur. A one-mech Wall Street crash with wheels. He swears up and down he’s done nothing wrong—he just happens to maintain a “business contact list” featuring every name responsible for minor incidents like, oh, intergalactic war. According to him, he's not guilty, he's just networked

—

“I didn’t sell weapons to radical insurgents! I just... opened a pop-up shop next to their hideout. Coincidence!”

“You literally put up a sign that said ‘Half off for certified terrorists"

“That was just marketing!"

·

·

Swindle talks like he’s being paid by the word, lies like it’s a religion, and schemes with the grace of a turbofox in a jewelry store. He’s slippery, shameless, and morally bankrupt—but hey, he pays on time. (In stolen tech, counterfeit credits, or suspiciously ticking crates, sure. But still.)

You? You’re sharp, strategic, and so chronically unimpressed you might be legally classified as allergic to bullshit. You despise his laugh, dread his entrance, and yet… you keep taking his jobs. Because, well. Money smells better than morals.

Every deal starts with ten rounds of shouting, legal threats, and Swindle trying to weasel out of his own paperwork. Every time ends the same

“Swindle” you begin, with the tone of someone who’s about ten seconds from launching themselves into the sun. “You just confessed to registering a business that sells personal nuclear energy... under the names of three dead bots.. that's–”

Swindle beams like a mech who just got away with shoplifting a tank “It’s called creative accounting! And hey, I never used those names to buy bombs. That was, like, a totally different Thursday”

You inhale slowly. Exhale even slower. Somewhere in your frontal processor, a stress circuit quietly fries itself

“Do you want to walk out of this courtroom, or should I go print out the arrest warrant myself in Comic Sans and hand-deliver it to Ultra Magnus with a bow?”

Swindle raises both hands like he’s being held at blasterpoint—optics wide, grin wider “Okay! Okay! I’ll follow your script! Just—please—don’t write ‘intent to defraud’ in the summary. It’s bad for the brand”

You blink “Brand? You’re a glorified black-market vending machine with legs

·

·

Swindle and you? It started as a business arrangement—a painfully loud, legally questionable business arrangement. But somewhere between the bribes, the threats, and the deeply unethical invoices, things got... complicated

You both are survivors. Quick with your words, quicker with your lies. Not evil, just desperately allergic to poverty. And as much as you hate to admit it, Swindle: the galaxy’s most untrustworthy lifeform, might just be the one who gets you the most

He’s a walking lawsuit in a sales pitch, you’re a ticking stress ball in a three-piece suit. He flirts like it’s a side hustle, and every time he drops some smug one-liner your way, there’s this... weird tension. The kind that makes you grip a file folder hard enough to bend steel, just to stop yourself from throwing it at his smirking face

Because sure, he’s slippery, shameless, and full of scrap. But primus help you—he always pays and worse… he always comes back

—

NOTE - I wrote it just in case I ever make a fanfic about him in the future or I'll just leave it to rot. Just thinking about Swindle, he's funny guy. Why not write it down? What my mind was thinking at 2am when I should have been asleep

[wol-fica]

shamelessly requesting for a smut with any JO char that gives g!p r head when r is asleep 👉🏻👈🏻👉🏻👈🏻

based on this:

https://twitter.com/_maiqo/status/1661162706739638272?s=20

summary - ^ (in the link)

an - that comic did something to me…

————————

Tara hummed softly to herself, throwing her dirty laundry in the washing machine. She had just finished taking a shower after her nap and her workout, and was now planning on organizing and cleaning the apartment after a spurt of energy came to her.

She turned on the machine, before opening the dryer to get out the fresh load she did earlier. The clothing was warm on her finger tips, sending a pleasant chill down her spine from the heat.

After settling the laundry basket on her hip, she strolled out of the scullery to head to the bedroom to fold the clothes. Tara was aware of you sleeping, you had told her you were probably going to take a nap after school, which is why she found you passed out on your shared bed.

She smiled at the sight, gazing at your sleeping figure for a moment. You stirred slightly, a soft mewl passing through your lips as you rolled onto you back. Tara cooed at you, taking out her phone to snap a picture before going into your shared closet to silently put away her clothes.

She slid an airpod into her ear while she worked, quietly singing and dancing along while she folded her garments. Her music was loud, but not loud enough to drown out the noises you started to create. At first she thought you were just dreaming, being that you were huffing and mumbling, but that soon turned into pathetic sounding whimpers and whines that had her concerned.

So she came out of the closet, her eyes finding your body shifting uncomfortably in your sleep. She frowned, coming around the bed in thoughts of waking you up until she saw what was making you so squirmy.

There, under the conceal of your slightly tight grey sweatpants, was a large bulge. Tara’s eyes widened, her gaze focused on the rather huge tent in your pants. She glanced at your exposed stomach, her pupils expanding at the flex of your abs and the line of dark hair leading into your sweats.

“Oh sweetie…” She mumbled, kicking off her shoes and shorts before climbing onto the bed with you.

She knew you needed your sleep, the nap was well awaited and very much useful for you tomorrow, so she planned on making sure you stayed that way.

She watched you inhale deeply, before her hands grabbed the hem of your sweats and pulled. Your cock spring free, standing at a tall 7 1/2 inches, with its veins throbbing and a small amount of precum leaking at the tip. You were big, the biggest Tara had ever seen and taken, but she wasn’t complaining in the slightest.

Her mouth watered as she pushed your legs up and apart, so they were bent at the knee and spread open for her. She got a good view of your balls, large and twitching as you dreamt about god knows what. She squeezed them slightly, before diving in with a broad lick up your shaft.

You groaned, hips bucking up slightly at the feeling. Her tongue reached your tip, catching the precum that was leaking out. She licked her lips, savoring the sweet taste of you before opening her mouth to take your tip in.

Her lips wrapped around you, tongue expertly licking and massage your sensitive top. You whined above, your thighs twitching in Tara’s grasp. She hummed in response, taking more inches into her mouth before you were sat snugly in the back of her throat.

“Mmph!” You moaned, one of your hands sliding down into her hair, “T-Tara!”

Her eyes snapped up to you, seeing your head thrown back into the pillow and your lips parted in a guttural moan. She smiled around your length, her tongue sliding up and down your shaft that sat in her throat.

Tara loved having you like this, enjoying the control she has over you. It was different from when you were buried in her pussy, that feeling was more intoxicating and pleasurable, while sucking you off was more satisfying and relaxed. She knew she was giving you the pleasure you needed, and she knew you very much loved it as getting a blowjob was one of your favorite things.

“Baby…” You whined, hips bucking up, “Please…deep throat me…”

She blushed at your forwardness but complied, opening her jaw wider to take the rest of you in. Soon, her nose bumped against your abdomen, the head of your cock nestled deep in the back of her throat.

She gagged around you, taking a long inhale through her nose before licking and sucking around your member. You cried out her name, both hands now in her hair to try to get her even closer. Slurping noises could be heard throughout the bedroom, mixed in with Tara’s muffled moans of satisfaction.

The knot tightened, a familiar feeling growing until it snapped abruptly. You came with a cry of her name, your cum shooting straight into her stomach. She swallowed greedily, throat bobbing with each suck.

“F-fuck…okay okay…” You pulled on her hair, trying to get her off due to overstimulation.

She giggled, pecking your sensitive tip before crawling up to sit on your abdomen. Her hands cupped your face, leaning down to kiss you passionately.

“That was extremely spontaneous.” You mumbled against her lips, feeling yourself harden when her ass bumped against your cock.

“Mmm, and you should let me spontaneously ride you.” Tara suggested, grabbing the hem of her shirt to pull it over her head.

She reached behind her to unclasp her bra, letting the garment fall and tossing it somewhere behind her. Her breasts spilled free, round and plump and waiting to be sucked on.

“Let me sit up.” You murmured, moving to do so while Tara got your own shirt off of you.

“God…your abs are sexy as fuck.” She observed, running her hands along your muscles, “So toned…”

You chuckled, pulling her hips up and back so your tip could run through her folds. She hissed at the feeling, pushing your hands away so she could have control. You let her, watching with blown pupils as she slowly lowered herself onto you.

She let out a hefty moan, her face scrunched at the feeling of you being so deep. Her walls pulsed around you, warm and velvety. Soon, her hips began to rock back and forth, creating an easy rhythm for her to follow.

Tara shuttered, moaning your name freely as she worked. Your hands found solace on her waist, kneading and pushing her as you pleased. You encouraged her, pulling her up and slamming her back down on your length to suggest a proper bounce.

She complied, adjusting herself before beginning to bounce up and down on your cock. The sight of your penis appearing and then disappearing back into her had you feeling like you were on cloud nine. With each slam of her hips, a large bulge appeared in her stomach from the sheer deepness that you achieved.

She kept going, resting her hands on your chest to give herself leverage. Her tanned skin had a sheet of sweat on it, creating a glossy look for her. Her hips grinded down into yours, causing you both to moan at the feeling.

“Damn babe….you look so good in my lap.” You praised, squeezing the fat of her ass, “So pretty and perfect.”

Tara moaned in response, rocking herself harder on top of you. She was chasing her high, clearly seeking the satisfaction of cumming. Your patient was wearing thin, and soon broke when her pace slowed slightly.

So you grabbed her by her hips, forcing her down onto your thickness before flipping you both over on the bed. Your hips pulled back before slamming into her, pounding away at a fast pace that had her losing her breath with each thrust.

Your head dipped down, mouth finding solace with sucking her nipple. Her hands clawed at you, your name being screamed as her walls clamped down tightly. She came with a loud cry, her back arching prettily while a gush of wetness covered your penis.

That didn’t stop you though, and you brought her straight into another orgasm as you finally found yours. Your hips drilled into her until you pushed yourself as deep as you could go, pumping and humping pathetically against her while you came.

“Fuck.” You breathed, letting Tara run her fingers through your hair, “That was…I…”

“Shhh.” She murmured, kissing your temple and pulling your face into her neck, “You still need that nap.”

“While I’m still inside of you?” You questioned, sleep crowding your senses as she scratched your scalp.

“Just go back to napping.” She cooed, teasingly squeezing you, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You purred, giving her a sudden pump of your hips that made her squeal in surprise, before pushing her legs up onto your shoulders and pounding yourself back into her.

“Screw napping, I wanna fuck you.” You whispered into her ear while she screamed your name.

——————————

ye

[redvexillum]

Thirteenth Kiss: Captivate III

A/N: Listen. He's ... doing his best.

Tags/Warning: f!reader, eventual smut, fake relationship, Lucifer is touch-starved

<- PREV || TABLE OF CONTENT

“You know…” you murmured, your voice light with teasing as your knee sank into the plush surface of the king-sized bed. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, creaking faintly in the quiet room. You dropped to your hands with a feline grace, brows raised as you looked up at him from your position. “You have hundreds of rooms in this absurdly massive house. We don’t have to do this.” 

Lucifer flinched, clutching the blanket like it was a lifeline, dragging it up over his bare chest with almost comical urgency. His knuckles were pale from the strain of his grip. “Nope,” he said too quickly, voice thin. He drew in a breath, held it for a beat too long, then added, “I don’t mind. This is… better. For comfort. Mutual comfort.” He tried to smile, but it barely touched his lips and didn’t even graze his eyes, which flickered with thinly veiled anxiety. 

You pressed your fingers to your lips to stifle a laugh, the warmth of it slipping between your fingers as you giggled. The sound felt too loud in the stillness of the room. The absurdity of the situation still hadn’t worn off—Lucifer Morningstar, powerful and terrifying, squirming beneath a blanket like a nervous teenager on his first sleepover. 

After finalizing the odd little transaction that had landed you here—as his pretend girlfriend—you’d spent the evening talking about literally everything. Favourite colours, trivial pet peeves, the kind of conversation meant to fill silences but never scratch below the surface. There had been an invisible line between you both, a careful distance you didn’t dare cross. 

Except when it came to Charlie. His tone shifted every time her name crossed his lips: warm, wistful, almost reverent. You could practically see the glint in his eyes when he talked about her. 

You noticed the glimmer of gold on his left hand. A wedding band, simple and elegant. 

Unmoving. 

Untouched. 

And when the night stretched long enough to make the shadows yawn across the walls, he insisted you stay with him. Not to share a bed in the way others might assume, but simply to lay beside him. 

To exist beside him. 

You leaned in now, bracing your hands on the mattress, smirking as you looked into his wide, panicked eyes. “So… are we going to cuddle?” 

His reaction was instant and violent. He choked on a breath, coughing like he’d inhaled fire, his face a shade of gold you hadn't seen on him before. 

You burst into laughter, loud and uninhibited. “I’m just kidding, Luci,” you said playfully. Then you paused, tilting your head as you studied him. “Can I call you that?” 

He rubbed his chest, trying to recover, eyes still darting anywhere but at you. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Sure, that’s fine,” he said in a voice that had pitched up to something almost… boyish. 

You glanced down at yourself—at the simple white spaghetti-strap tank clinging softly to your skin, and the pale pink shorts cinched at your waist with a satiny bow. The heart-shaped curve of the fabric accentuated the smoothness of your thighs. 

You looked back up at Lucifer. 

And smiled. 

How cute, you mused, biting the inside of your cheek to hold back a smile as you caught the telltale flush blooming across Lucifer’s ears. You laughed quietly to yourself, warmth settling in your chest. It was moments like this that made it hard to remember he was supposed to be your client, not your… well, not anything else. 

You slipped beneath the heavy blanket, the fabric cool against your skin before your body heat gradually softened it. The bed was enormous—absurdly so. You could stretch your arms out in every direction and still not reach the edge. It made your usual mattress feel like a child’s cot in comparison. 

“Must be nice,” you murmured absently, eyes drifting upward as your head hit the plush pillow, “to sleep on a bed this big every night.” 

Your gaze wandered over the canopy above you, where rich royal-purple drapery hung in soft folds from the carved wooden posts that framed the bed. Ornate and regal. The kind of thing you’d only seen in period dramas or overly indulgent furniture catalogues. It smelled faintly of lavender and something deeper. Perhaps, old paper? Ink? Him? 

The silence stretched for a moment, interrupted only by the soft rustling of sheets. You turned your head slightly and caught sight of Lucifer lying stiffly on his back, his gaze also fixed on the ceiling. The space between you could easily fit another person. He hadn’t moved any closer, not that you expected him to. 

“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, tinged with something brittle. “It’s… a bit too big, though.” He let out a half-laugh, small and self-conscious, like he wasn’t sure whether he was making a joke or a confession. 

Then, almost too quickly, he shifted gears. “Anyway! We should get some shut-eye. Big plans tomorrow!” His voice lifted with artificial cheer, the kind that made your heart ache a little. He rolled onto his side, facing away from you, shoulders pulled tight and defensive. “Good night!” he added brightly, as if the words could mask the sudden drop in energy. 

You stared at his back for a moment. He’d put even more space between you, and not just physically. The bed felt colder somehow—emptier—despite how large it already was. 

You blinked slowly. Once. Then again. 

You exhaled quietly and turned onto your side, facing away from him as well. “Good night,” you whispered, your voice barely above the hush of the room. 

You closed your eyes, trying to coax your body into sleep even as your mind wandered. Tomorrow would be the beginning of the performance. Only three days left to convince Charlie that you’d been her father’s secret lover for years. Just three days to make her believe a story that wasn’t real. 

You could do it. 

You were a professional, after all. 

Lucifer lay curled on his side, spine curved inward like a crescent moon, sheets bunched awkwardly around his waist as he tucked his knees closer to his chest. The shadows in the room were gentle now, the light from Heaven's gate barely managing to filter through the heavy drapery, painting pale streaks across the canopy above. But the quiet wasn’t peaceful. It was loud in that aching, suffocating kind of way that only settled in when you were pretending not to feel. 

He regretted asking you to sleep beside him. 

The words he used earlier—to foster connection, to build intimacy, to sell the story faster—felt hollow now, echoing in his chest like a lie he had told too many times. He could still see the look on your face when he’d said it: one brow lifted, your lips twitching with disbelief. You hadn’t bought it. Not really. But you’d smiled anyway and agreed. 

That smile, it had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. 

He shifted, and the cold brush of metal against his skin made him flinch. The gold band, long forgotten on his finger during the day, now felt heavier than ever. It nudged his finger like a whisper of the past, a quiet reminder. 

A ghost. 

How long had it been since someone had shared this bed with him? Truly shared it? Not as a guest, not for appearances, but in the sacred, unspoken way people once did when love wasn’t so far away? 

There was a time—long ago—when this very bed had felt small. When Lilith would curl into his side, her laughter still ringing in his ears while their tiny Charlie scrambled between them, limbs flailing, giggling wildly. They’d all collapse into a warm, tangled heap of breath and blankets and soft goodnights. 

Back then, the edges of the mattress had seemed to close in around them like an embrace. 

But now…?

He pressed his face deeper into the pillow, the scent of old memories clinging to the silk. He hadn’t been able to get rid of the bed. Too much of him was buried in it. Too many pieces he couldn’t face. The mattress sagged in familiar places—echoes of bodies that once filled it. 

Now, the vastness of it mocked him. A monument to emptiness. The cold side of the bed always stayed cold. 

It was too big. 

Far too big. 

For one person. 

And yet… you were here. Just a few feet away, your breathing soft and steady. He hadn’t looked at you—not since he turned his back, like a coward—but he could feel your presence. Quiet. Patient. Kind, even when you didn’t need to be. 

He had you. For now, at least. 

But did that make him feel less alone? 

He wasn’t sure. 

All he knew was that the warmth on the other side of the bed wasn’t just from the blankets. 

And that terrified him. 

The loneliness clung to him like a second skin. Always persistent, always suffocating. No matter how many layers of silk, status, or charm he wrapped around himself, it always found a way in. It gnawed at the edges of his soul, slow and constant, like ocean waves eroding stone. 

There was regret, too. Small, flickering embers glowing weakly in the pit of his chest. Not enough to ignite, but enough to burn. If he had just been honest with Charlie from the beginning, if he had faced her questions and her pain instead of hiding behind this elaborate farce… none of this would have happened. You wouldn’t be here. This wouldn’t be happening. 

But… 

When was the last time someone had asked him about him? About his memories, his joys, his griefs, without judgment or agenda? He had grown so accustomed to performing, to manipulating conversations and reading sinners like open books. He knew the signs of false interest. The glazed eyes. The vacant nods. The polite smiles stretched too thin. 

But with you… there had been none of that. 

You listened. You heard him. 

And under the pretense of getting to know each other, for the sake of the illusion, of course, he realized he'd spoken more about himself in one evening than he had in years. Decades, maybe. He hadn’t even thought to ask you much of anything. The realization sat heavy in his chest. 

Tomorrow, he promised himself, clutching the thought like a vow. Tomorrow I’ll ask. I’ll listen. I’ll see who you are—really are. 

A soft sigh broke the stillness, followed by the gentle rustle of the sheets. 

He startled, breath catching, heart suddenly hammering against his ribs like a caged bird. 

Carefully, slowly, he turned. 

You were sleeping peacefully. 

Draped in those pastel pajamas that clung softly to your form, you seemed to glow in the night's light, every detail sharpened by the darkness surrounding you. Your lips held a faint curve, as though smiling in some distant dream. You looked… serene. Open. Vulnerable in the quietest, most sacred way. 

His eyes lingered on your hand resting between the two of you, the same hand that had cradled his earlier with a gentleness he hadn’t expected. He could still feel the ghost of your touch, warm and firm and grounding. 

His fingers twitched, aching with some unnamed desire to reach out again. 

And yet, all he could feel was confusion. 

It was the only emotion he could name in the whirlwind pressing against his chest. 

Confused, because this was all supposed to be pretend. A fabrication. A game. A lie wrapped in soft smiles and false memories. 

But if that were true… why did it hurt? 

Why did he feel sorrow coiling beneath his ribs like smoke, thick, and aching? 

Why did your presence bring both comfort and a sharp, unexpected grief? 

Confused. 

Confused… because in a bed built for two, where once he had been truly loved, he was lying next to a stranger. 

And somehow… he didn't mind it. 

“Wait—wait, wait,” you sputtered, shaking your head as you held a forkful of syrup-drenched waffle midair, your brows climbing in disbelief. “Back up. How did we meet again?” 

The morning light poured through the velvet curtains in golden beams, warming the sprawling bed you still hadn’t gotten used to. And to your complete surprise, the day had started with breakfast in bed. From Lucifer Morningstar himself. 

He had entered the room with an almost boyish pride, balancing a tray like a waiter at some five-star resort. The food looked absurdly good—five golden waffles stacked tall, each one glistening with amber-coloured syrup and topped with a perfectly square pat of butter melting at the centre like it belonged in a painting. A bowl of ripe strawberries and blueberries sat beside it, their scent sweet and fresh. Another plate held three thick-cut strips of bacon fried to a crisp perfection, and two sunny-side-up eggs with yolks like twin suns. 

You couldn’t lie. It made your heart flutter just a bit. The effort. The attention. The ridiculousness. 

But now, sitting up with pillows fluffed behind you and a tray balanced on your lap, you were trying to hold back laughter as Lucifer gave you the most serious look in the universe. 

“We met at the Duck Gala,” he said without hesitation, tone grave and completely devoid of irony. 

You blinked. “I’m sorry, the what?” 

“The Duck Gala,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. 

You squinted at him, brow furrowing. “That’s… that’s not a real thing. That’s not a place. Is that even a sentence?” 

Lucifer’s face lit up with delight. “I’m so glad you asked.” 

And just like that, over the course of the next twenty minutes, as you nibbled your waffle and popped berries into your mouth, he launched into an elaborate explanation. It might’ve been insane if he hadn’t delivered it with such charismatic certainty. 

Apparently, the Duck Gala was a prestigious, exclusive annual event held at Lucifer’s estate. An event he invented for no one but himself. According to him, it was a celebration of “the finest, most misunderstood creature in all of creation: the duck.” He claimed (deadpan, mind you) that he helped design the original duck alongside God, and to this day, he honoured that artistic achievement with a private black-tie gala. 

“But you’ve never invited anyone?” you asked, mouth half full, trying not to laugh. 

“Never,” he said proudly. “It’s very exclusive. So exclusive that only the ducks are aware.” 

“And I’m supposed to tell Charlie,” you said slowly, “that her father, who’s never mentioned a single gala in his entire life, has an elite yearly event centred around ducks, where you invited no one… and just forgot to tell her about it?” 

Lucifer picked up a strip of bacon, bit into it with an exaggerated crunch, and shrugged. “Exactly. Sounds perfectly reasonable.” 

You stared at him. 

He smiled with a flash of charm, then waggled his eyebrows. “Theatrics, darling. You have to sell the absurdity so well it becomes believable. Trust me.” 

You looked back down at your plate, shaking your head as you cut another piece of waffle. Warm, fluffy, rich with syrup—it was delicious. But even the sweetness couldn’t distract you from the looming truth. 

“Yeah,” you muttered under your breath, “Charlie’s definitely not going to buy this shit.” 

And yet, as he continued to babble about duck tuxedos and quacking orchestras, you found yourself laughing. Not fake, not forced. Real. Honest. 

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind the madness so much. 

In the end, after plenty of gentle prodding—mostly on your part—you mutually agreed on a more believable story: you met through an online dating app. 

Simple. Relatable. Closer to the truth. 

And the closer you are to the truth, the easier it is to lie. 

The only adjustment was the timeline. Instead of claiming it was yesterday’s whirlwind chance encounter, you decided you'd met two years ago. Long enough to build a history, short enough to make it plausible you’d kept it quiet. 

Still, you didn’t miss it—the way Lucifer’s shoulders drooped, the small pout on his lips when you vetoed his precious Duck Gala origin story. The disappointment was faint, but present, and it tugged at you with a strange, unexpected ache. 

Your words came before you could think twice. Careless at first. Reflexive, even. 

“Well,” you said casually, licking a sticky trail of syrup from your thumb, “maybe this year, you should invite me to the Duck Gala.” 

You met his gaze, offering a teasing grin. “Sounds like a fun event. Plus, if you’re the one catering, that alone makes it worth attending.” 

His expression shifted like sunrise breaking over a bleak horizon. 

His eyes lit up, warm, almost childlike in their brightness. And his smile curved with real, radiant joy. 

Cute. 

That was all you told yourself. 

Just cute. 

You weren’t here to feel anything. This was just a job. An arrangement. But that didn’t stop something soft from blooming in your chest, no matter how much you tried to ignore it. 

You told yourself you just wanted to lift his spirits. After all, in Hell, it was rare to find someone like Lucifer. Most hellspawns were cruel, bitter, hardened by their damnation. But him? He was… different. Softer around the edges than he’d probably like to admit. 

And if you’d met him in the human world, back when you were still someone else, someone you weren’t proud of, you might’ve taken advantage of that softness. Manipulated it. Used it. Left him broken and empty, like so many others. 

That thought hit you hard. Bitter and uninvited. 

A sharp, sour taste coated your tongue, stealing away the sweetness of the waffle. An old memory, unwanted and unwelcome, nudged its way into your mind. A shadow of your past self, cruel, and cold and selfish. 

Your eyes drifted downward to the tray he had brought you this morning. The breakfast he’d made with surprising care. 

You felt the shift before you heard his voice. 

“What’s wrong?” 

The softness in his tone startled you. It wasn’t prying, just concerned. And that only worsened it. 

You blinked rapidly, pushing back the tendrils of memory like sweeping dust beneath a rug. You refused to let them take root. Not here. Not now. 

A breath. Then a bright, airy laugh. 

“Oh, nothing,” you said, reaching for a piece of waffle and stuffing it into your mouth like a chipmunk hiding from its own thoughts. “Just picturing what a Duck Gala would actually look like!” 

You chewed dramatically. “Mmm—yum! Ten outta ten, Luci.” 

He chuckled, eyes lingering on you with a quiet kind of curiosity. But he didn’t press further. 

And you were grateful for that. 

You glanced at him again, your heart quieter now, your thoughts calmer. 

Today, tomorrow, and the days that followed—however long this lasted—you would keep choosing better. Keep proving, if only to yourself, that you have changed. 

That you were no longer that person. 

And maybe… maybe in helping Lucifer with his problem, find peace, or even just hold on to a scrap of happiness… 

Maybe…you could earn a little of your own. 

NEXT ->

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