#golden retriever!reader

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . SUCKING

WARNINGS : BUNNY!SUB!MATT. GOLDEN RETRIEVER!READER. FINGER SUCKING. ORAL FIXATION. PRAISING.

matt had always been a little shy, but right now—sitting between your legs with flushed cheeks and twitching fingers—he was downright skittish.

you had him caged in, one arm draped lazily around his middle while the other rested on his jaw, your fingers barely grazing his bottom lip.

“c’mon, bunny,” you cooed, tilting your head with a soft, encouraging smile. “open up.”

matt swallowed, his throat bobbing as his eyes flickered between your face and your fingers. he was so obedient—he always had been.

he listened.

his lips parted, and you took your time, brushing the tips of your fingers over his tongue before pushing in further. his breath hitched, lashes fluttering as he instinctively wrapped his lips around you.

“good boy,” you murmured, thumb stroking over his cheek.

matt whimpered, his hands clutching at your wrist, unsure if he wanted to push you away or pull you closer. his tongue moved shyly against your skin, warm and wet as he suckled ever so softly.

you groaned, voice dropping to a purr. “knew you’d be sweet like this. listen so well.”

his whole body tensed, ears burning red as he let out the softest, most desperate little whine against your fingers. slowly, you pushed your fingers deeper, feeling his tongue swirl around the digits before hitting the back of his throat softly.

he gagged slightly, his eyes widened, sputtering a little as you pulled your fingers back.

“shh, you got it baby. you can take them a little more, yeah?”

a/n : credits to @theyluvivi for sub!bunny!matt and goldie! she let me write this for them :>

[moonstruckme]

PLEASE!!! im on my hands n knees begging. poly!mauraders with a hyper partner that give off golden retriever vibes I BEG

Happy to oblige my love!

poly!marauders x golden retriever!reader ♡ 1k words

Sirius is still in the process of waking up when you come inside, bags of groceries in your arms. 

“Morning!” You lean over the top of the couch to kiss his cheek as you go by, all but skipping into the kitchen. “Have you been outside? It’s gorgeous.” 

Sirius levels you with a deadpan look. “Do I look like I’ve been outside?” 

“You should,” you say, undeterred by his attitude. “Spring is in the air! The sun is out, the trees are starting to get their little flowers—I even bought us some tulips to put on the table.” 

“That’s nice,” he mumbles, sinking deeper into the cushions. He knows he really should help you unload the groceries, but it feels like his bones have been replaced by barbells. Luckily, he hears a set of footsteps coming down the hall. 

“Hey, sunshine.” James comes in fully dressed, pecking you on the lips before starting the coffee machine. “What’d you get?” 

“I got tulips,” you tell him excitedly. “Have you been outside? It’s a really lovely day.” 

James smiles, sliding one of the bags away from you as you start snipping the stems of your tulips so they’ll fit in a vase. “Yeah, I poked my head out for a sec. It is nice.” His glance slides over to where Sirius languishes on the couch, grin going somewhat cocky. “Morning, Sirius. You could help with the groceries, you know.” 

Sirius waves his hand. “Two of you are enough.” 

The coffee machine starts to gurgle, summoning Remus like a siren’s call. He trudges out of the bedroom, sleep clinging to his frame. Sirius opens his arms commiseratingly.

“It’s hardly ten,” Remus grunts as he collapses into them. “How have they already been productive?” 

“I know, they’re so perky.” Sirius pets down the cowlick at the back of his boyfriend’s head. “It’s freakish.” 

“You’re freakish,” you say brightly, bringing them each a cup of coffee. Sirius has no clue how you’ve managed to unload the groceries so fast, or where you found the time to doctor his coffee the way he likes it. You’re like a machine. You laugh giddily when he nips at your fingers as you pull away. “Remus, wait until you see the weather outside, it’s so perfect. I think we should have a picnic. What do you say?” 

“I say it’s too early for decisions,” he mumbles, sitting up off Sirius so he can drink his coffee. “But that sounds nice.” 

You beam as if you’ve gotten a full-stop go-ahead, breezing back towards the kitchen. “We can make brownies,” you say, bringing your vase of tulips to the table, “and sandwiches, and lemonade. And we can go to that park with the stream—what’s the one?” 

You look to James, who in turn looks to Remus. 

“Mayfield,” Remus says. 

“Right! We can go to Mayfield park, and hike over to that meadow-y area.” Sirius glances your way, and you’ve already started taking down the ingredients for brownies. “It’s so sunny and nice out, you guys won’t believe it. We can bring a frisbee or something.” 

“Hiking and frisbee?” Sirius murmurs to Remus. “I don’t like the sound of all this activity.” Remus snorts. 

“That sounds great, angel.” James apprehends you before you can start pouring things into the mixing bowl, putting a mug of decaf tea in your hand and steering you towards the living room. “I think these guys are going to take a bit to be ready for all that, but I’m sure it’ll be fun.” 

“Right.” You look a bit abashed, sitting down criss-cross-applesauce in the big armchair. “Yeah, we don’t have to go, like, right now. You guys just woke up.” 

“Thanks for noticing,” Sirius says wryly. But when you fidget in your seat and he can feel James’ glare boring into the side of his head, he throws in an eye roll of feigned reluctance. “Get over here.” 

You happily transfer into his lap, letting him brush your hair aside and squealing when he plants a wet, squelching kiss on your neck. Remus, sensing that Sirius’ attention has a new captive, leans back into James, who winds his arms around Remus’ middle gamely. 

“Now why would we go outside,” Sirius asks, nosing at the underside of your jaw as you giggle and squirm, “when we can just do this all day?” 

“You could just as easily do it outside,” James points out. Sirius whines petulantly against your skin, setting you giggling again. 

“He’s right,” you reason, transferring your tea to your other hand so you can wrestle Sirius away from your neck. “We could do this in the sun, with wildflowers and trees around.” 

He pouts. “But you know I burn easily,” he says, “and poor Remus’ hip can’t take the hike.” 

“You don’t know what I can take,” Remus huffs, and Sirius realizes he’s chosen the wrong avenue for his argument. “If my hip hurts, it’s only because your mum was so rough last night.” 

“I don’t particularly enjoy being compared to Sirius’ mum,” says James. Remus’ ears go a bit pink as he mumbles an apology. 

“I won’t let you burn,” you tell Sirius. “You can use sunblock, or we’ll find you a nice shady spot. And Remus, if your hip’s bothering you, we can always find another park. One without a hike.” 

Any vexation that might usually be summoned in Remus by mention of his aches and pains melts away in the face of your earnestness. “Thanks, dove, but I’m alright,” he says. “It’s fine today.�� 

James rubs the skin just above Remus’ hip lovingly, and you send him a beaming smile. “It’s probably because it’s so nice out,” you say. 

“Yeah, Sirius,” James turns on him. “It’s so nice out. Do you really want to miss out on what could be the single most beautiful day of the year?” 

Sirius really could give a shit, but he sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine, let’s picnic.” 

“Yay!” You won’t be contained any longer, hopping up from his lap. “I’m going to go get the frisbee.” 

“The frisbee’s in the attic,” Remus muses, then raises his voice so you can hear him. “Don’t go up in the attic by yourself.” 

“I can get it,” you call back. 

“Don’t,” he warns. “You need someone to hold the ladder, just—” The ladder groans as it comes down and Remus echoes it, starting to stand. But James pats him on the shoulder, encouraging Remus back down as he gets up. 

“Slow your roll, angel,” he calls ahead. “I’m coming.”

[starkeyszn]

‘GOLDENRETRIEVER!RAFE who will look at you with those big blue eyes and pouting lips when you don’t cuddle him back.’

wait i need this in a blurb this is so cute ☹️💌

🐕 ⌇ PUPPY EYES 𓂃 ⸝⸝

you’re barley five minutes into the movie when you feel his stare. fully burning into you.

you sighed, grabbing the remote to pause the movie and turn your head to look at him. “what, rafe?” he blinks at you, like he’s been caught red handed.

“nothing.” he says in that, oh so—soft tone, what he uses when he desperately wants something off you.

“rafe.” you narrowed your eyes.

his bottom lip pouts out, “you’re all the way over there!” you was three feet away.

“i needed space—” you emphasise to the blanket smushed in the middle of you, “it’s hot.” you grabbed the pillow holding it on your lap.

“but i’m cold.” he argues, eyes wide, blinking with some sparkle in them.

you snort, “you’ve been clinging onto me for the whole day, ray.”

“and it wasn’t enough!” he says dramatically, flopping onto his side so he’s facing you completely. “i need constant affection—what if today is my last day! you’ll regret not giving me all the attention.”

“you’re so full of it.”

“full of love.” he corrects you, reaching his arm out to you. ��please, sweetheart. i’ll be so good.��

you try to resist, but when you meet his eyes, his big blue ocean eyes staring right back at you, twinkling with some admiration.

you mutter something, tossing the blanket, huffing, before crawling over to him.

his face lights up noticing, his grin immediately widening, as he opens his arms, pulling you into his lap. “knew you couldn’t resist.”

you roll your eyes, but nuzzle your face under his chin, immediately feeling his warmth. “better?” you mumbled against his chest.

“much better.” he sighs happily, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

[idkyetxoxo]

One | The Sweetest Sins | Daylight

Pairing - Rhysand x reader

Word count - 2.2k

Warnings - None

|| series masterlist || next ->

Being mated to the High Lord of the Night Court was, according to nearly everyone in Prythian, a feat reserved for the most poised, powerful, and mysterious females alive.

Graceful. Elegant. A walking embodiment of shadows and seduction.

And then there was me.

Where Rhysand was a symphony of control—velvet words, razor-sharp smiles, and the ability to turn silence into a weapon. I was... considerably less so. 

A one-woman whirlwind of untamed commentary, emotionally driven decisions, and the attention span of a magpie in a gemstone shop.

The Night Court hadn't known what hit it. Honestly, I wasn't sure Rhys had either.

At the very least, he never admitted it out loud.

Tonight, the long table in the House of Wind gleamed beneath soft golden faelight, platters of food scattered across its polished mahogany surface like offerings before gods. 

The air buzzed with the scent of roasted meats, spiced vegetables and the soft whisper of wind through the arched windows.

Rhysand sat to my right, a portrait of composed elegance in black. His attention flicked lazily between his plate and the conversation around him, every movement precise, practised. 

The silver circlet in his dark hair that I had insisted he wore caught the candlelight as if even starlight bowed to him.

Meanwhile, I vibrated beside him full of energy.

Cassian lounged across from us, already three glasses in and visibly bracing himself for the storm that was me. 

Azriel nursed his drink with quiet vigilance, shadows curling lazily at his shoulders like they, too, were eavesdropping.

"So," I continued brightly, "I told him, 'If you hate females so much, your father must have given birth to you.' And he didn't laugh. I mean—come on. That's good, right?"

Cassian barked out a laugh so loud he nearly choked. "You did not say that."

"Swear it," I said solemnly.

Azriel made a quiet, strangled sound, somewhere between a chuckle and a groan while still looking at me like I was a particularly amusing wildfire. 

Probably wondering whether to douse me or let me burn.

Next to me, Rhysand didn't say a word. He simply reached over, calm and sure, and twisted a lock of my hair gently around his finger. 

A silent tether. A quiet reminder that he was listening, always but more importantly, that he adored me exactly like this.

Just that little hum of amusement—the kind that said, You're ridiculous, but you're mine.

Honestly, that had been the exact energy the first time we met.

I'd been dangling upside down from the shelves of a particularly large library in Velaris. I had my reasons, of course. One of which involved a particular book I just had to get my hands on and a very angry, very large librarian who'd chased me up there with fury.

I was laughing because panic does that to me sometimes when Rhysand appeared below in a sweep of darkness and tailored perfection, looking up at me like I was mad.

"You do realise," he had said, casually folding his arms, "that beam is weight-rated for manuscripts, not mad females."

"I'm testing structural integrity," I called back, trying to sound dignified as blood rushed to my head. "For... Night Court security."

He had tilted his head. Smirked. And then I had felt it—

A tug. Gentle, invisible, unmistakable. A golden thread sliding into place, stitching something warm and ancient into my ribs.

The bond. It didn't snap—it sang.

And I knew that he'd felt it too.

Because one second I was contemplating the dangers of gravity, and the next I was in his arms, shadows coiling around us like a curtain drawn between the rest of the world.

"You're mad," he had murmured, voice curling in amusement as he tucked a stray strand of my hair away from my face

"You caught me," I had whispered back. It was all I could manage in the moment.

His eyes had burned like starlight when he spoke his next words. "You're mine, after all."

And now, seated beside him, I still wasn't sure if he'd ever recovered from that first moment.

Poor High Lord.

But then again... he had kept me.

"You're glowing again," Cassian said, mouth full of food. "Did you go snooping around Helion's library again or is it just post-mating glow?"

I blinked innocently at him. "Or maybe I'm just hot, Cass."

"Or delusional," Azriel muttered, eyes still on his wine.

I stuck my tongue out at both of them like the picture of maturity and leaned dramatically into Rhysand's side. 

He, of course, remained stoic, like a marble statue that had been mildly inconvenienced by a mischievous bird. A bird now stealing food.

With zero remorse, I reached across his plate and speared a glistening honey-roasted carrot with the wrong fork.  My fork. His plate. Classic.

"Are you going to eat your own food... or just all of mine?" Rhys asked lazily, tipping his chin toward his now empty side of the plate like he hadn't already predicted this outcome.

I blinked at him with round, doe-like eyes. "Are you gonna eat yours?"

There was a pause, just long enough to imply this was far from the first time we'd had this conversation. Then, with the patience of a male who had clearly accepted his fate, Rhys exhaled, slow and deep.

Cassian snorted into his glass. "She's like a raccoon in a pretty dress."

"She's been stealing my meals since our first dinner together," Rhys said mildly, as if he hadn't already resigned himself to this fate centuries ago.

"You weren't eating your asparagus!" I declared. "And I was hungry."

"Whatever you want, darling" he replied.

I grinned triumphantly, commandeering Rhys's entire plate like a conquering general and stabbing another carrot. "I think we should introduce Nuala and Cerridwen into our marriage."

Cassian choked on his wine. Azriel didn't even bother pretending not to listen now.

Rhys barely blinked. "And why's that, darling?"

"So we can always have access to food like this." I popped the carrot into my mouth and let out a completely inappropriate moan. "I could die happy with a tray of these beside me."

Cassian leaned back in his chair, smirking. "If you two are looking for a third, you don't have to look far."

I waved a dismissive hand. "Nuala and Cerridwen would make it a third and a fourth, Cass. Keep up please."

Rhysand nodded sagely. "She's not wrong."

Then, just to add insult to injury, he scooped up a spoonful of velvety pudding, the good kind, the one I'd been eyeing since we sat down and held it up to me in offering.

I puckered my lips dramatically. He groaned like I was killing him slowly, but still fed it to me. 

The pudding was creamy and spiced just right, and I gave another content sigh that made Azriel shoot a look toward the ceiling like he was begging for the Mother's mercy.

Rhys's hand slid to my waist, and with zero warning, he pulled me into his lap.

"Keep stealing my food," he murmured near my ear, voice as low and dangerous as it was teasing, "and I'll have to exact revenge. Slowly."

I turned in his arms, grinning with no shame whatsoever. "Ooh, terrifying. What are you gonna do? Feed me dessert until I surrender?"

Rhys's smirk curved slowly, dark and full of promise. The kind of expression that said he'd already thought of a dozen ways to ruin me—sweetly, slowly, delightfully. 

"Something like that," he murmured, voice low and velvet-smooth.

His fingers brushed just beneath the edge of my shirt—nothing improper, but possessive. And warm. Gods, he was always so warm.

"Come taste," I whispered, voice curling with mischief as I scooped another bite of the rich, spiced pudding. I held it up to my mouth, licking the spoon slowly before popping it between my lips with a sinful little hum.

Rhysand's eyes gleamed, half-lidded and amused. But I wasn't done.

I leaned in, a whisper of movement, and pressed my mouth to his.

The kiss was soft at first, teasing. My lips brushed against his with a slow, deliberate slide, like caramel melting on the tongue. Then I parted them slightly, just enough for the taste of sugar and cinnamon to linger between us.

Rhys responded immediately.

His mouth deepened the kiss, tongue slipping past my lips to steal the sweetness right from me. It wasn't frantic, not rushed just a deliberate claiming, a savouring. 

Like I was the dessert now, and he had every intention of devouring me slowly.

The whole table seemed to vanish. The candlelight, the food, even the cold mountain air. There was only Rhysand, kissing me like he was drinking in something he'd been thirsting for all day. 

Like I was his home, his heat, his grounding point.

He pulled back an inch, barely enough for breath, his lips still grazing mine. His eyes were molten, voice low and hoarse when he spoke.

"Delicious."

Cassian groaned dramatically flopping back in his chair. "I'm going to be sick."

"Lovesick pups," Azriel muttered under his breath, though the smallest hint of a smile ghosted across his face.

But I didn't care. Because Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court, kept holding me like I was his greatest victory... and I was still eating his pudding.

"You're mine, darling," he murmured, thumb brushing across my waist like he couldn't stop touching me. "Even if I lose every meal to you, I'll still count myself lucky."

"Good," I whispered back, chest pressed against his, "because I'm keeping you."

With that, I slid off his lap in one smooth bounce of motion, practically vibrating with renewed energy. Like the kiss had been a jolt of sugar to my bloodstream rather than something to slow me down. 

My legs barely hit the floor before I tugged on Rhys's arm, wide-eyed and ready for chaos.

"C'mon," I chirped, full of mischief, "let's go do something fun."

Rhys didn't even blink. Just one perfectly arched brow lifted as he looked down at me like I was an adorable storm cloud wrapped in silk. "Fun?"

I tugged again on his hand, already halfway out of the chair before I halted mid-motion and turned back toward the table, eyes wide. "Oh! Wait—grab the pudding."

Rhys blinked slowly. "The pudding?"

"Yes, obviously." I looked at him like he was the unhinged one. "You think I kissed you just because I like you? No, no. I intend to lick the rest of that pudding off you next."

There was a beat of silence.

Cassian made a strangled sound. "There goes my dinner," he muttered, shoving back his chair as if he couldn't get away fast enough.

"I don't need to hear that," Azriel added flatly, already vanishing into the shadows like the spirits of his patience had finally fled his body.

A swirl of red and gold flashed at the edge of the dining room.

"I do," Mor said, breezing into the room with a glass of something sparkling and undoubtedly strong in her hand. Her golden curls bounced with each step as she flashed a wicked grin. "Please tell me someone's taking notes."

I grinned and threw my arms out dramatically. "Mor! Save me from these overgrown bats!"

She snorted. "Darling, if I tried to save you, you'd just end up dragging me into your chaos."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

She came over, kissed the top of my head in greeting, and winked at Rhys, who gave her an arched brow and the faintest nod—some amused form of communication that probably meant we love her, but she's your problem now.

Then she turned, already backing toward the door with her drink in hand and mischief still sparkling in her eyes. "Sorry, darling. I'm heading back out. There's a wine-soaked rooftop and three dancers waiting for me."

I gasped, placing a hand to my heart. "Without me?"

"You're otherwise occupied," she said over her shoulder, eyes twinkling. "Have fun doing... whatever it was you planned on doing."

Cassian made another strangled sound. "I'm begging you all—stop saying things that make me picture them doing things."

"Then stop listening," I said sweetly.

"Then stop narrating," Azriel's voice echoed faintly from a distant shadow.

Rhys, for his part, didn't even flinch. Didn't look surprised. If anything, he just let out a low, amused breath, like he'd predicted this from the moment I sat down.

He tilted his head, ever so slightly, and the corner of his mouth curved in that lazy, lethal smirk that made knees weak across courts.

"You want to lick dessert off your High Lord?" he asked, voice silk-wrapped sin.

"I always want to lick dessert off you," I replied sweetly, tugging him toward the hallway with both hands wrapped around his wrist like a leash. "And you keep letting me, so really, who's to blame here?"

Rhys's laugh was low and indulgent. "One day, I will say no to you."

"No, you won't."

He didn't argue.

Instead, he reached back with his free hand, grabbed the little silver dish of pudding with a dramatic flourish, and held it aloft like a trophy. "Lead the way, trouble."

I beamed.

And as we strolled out of the dining room hand in hand, with the pudding held in one of Rhys's hands and my shoes clicking too loudly on the marble floors, I felt his gaze drift back to me. 

Steady. Fierce. So full of love it made my steps stutter.

And somewhere behind us, Cassian was probably still gagging, Azriel was probably begging the Mother for patience, and dinner had ended in complete romantic chaos.

But Rhysand—High Lord of the Night Court walked beside me like the stars had never burned for anything else.

Maybe power didn't need poise. Maybe what it needed was balance. Not a perfect High Lady, but a storm to match the sea. 

Someone who'd burn the world down with laughter and rebuild it with love.

And Rhysand... Rhysand had always known how to hold fire.

A/n - First part in what's going to be a very fluffy, chaotic, love-drenched series!

This part is all about setting the tone—a warm, messy introduction to the dynamics between them and how their bond snapped into place :)

Thank you so much for reading and please don't hesitate to share your thoughts, I genuinely love reading your comments across all platforms. <33

Daylight tag list - @sttvrdustt @thirstyroses-world

[livecrow]

Gundog!Soap's errand gets derailed when he catches your scent.

A retriever "retrieves" a plump bird.

Shifter/Hybrid Dark!Soap x fat reader

(cw: kidnapping)

Soap’s popping down to the shops.

He just needs to pick up an ingredient for dinner last minute. Ghost isn’t home yet, so he’s off the lead. Unsupervised. Normally, they’d get the messages together, but he only needs one thing. He could manage it. It wouldn’t be more than a wink.

But as he mills about, he can’t help feeling off.

Like he really is a dumb dog wandering around without his owner, his lead might as well be dragging on the floor behind him, collecting lint and stray bread ties—

It’s turning into one of those days where he feels far more mutt than man. 

Without Ghost’s firm hand grounding him, the place is a cacophony of input. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many colors, too much movement—all melding together into a murky emulsion of stimulus under the glaring LEDs. 

He squints down the vast row of isles for longer than he’ll admit.

Eeigit.

He should have written a note.

Thought he could have remembered one bleedy thing. Ye dinnae need a list for one thing—

Feeling frustrated and dafty, he resigns himself to traipsing down each aisle and hoping something jogs his memory. Pride wouldn’t let him call up Lt. He’d never hear the end of it. He’s a birddog for chrissake, proper braw at findin’ things—when he knows what he’s fuckin’ looking for. 

Least he can skip the sundries. He knows that much. Soap’s more than happy to avoid the detergent aisle. Stuff is bowfin. Stings his nose, makes his heid ache.

Lot of good his heid was anyway, feeling fuzzy, like it was packed with cotton. Might as well be. Nothin’ else between his ears. Certainly not the one fuckin' thing he pulled on his gutties and left the house for—

He let's loose an irritated huff and it's probably a bit too close to a growl than is wise.

Soap's trying to make good time, but he's a solid four isles in and hasn't had any luck. Eventually, he finds himself staring down a sea of tins. Fruit and veg, beans, and the sort. His eyes scanned the labels, but even readin' was a real Herculean task when he's feeling so out of sorts.

The canine part of him can't be convinced deciphering rows of little lines and squiggles is a proper use of his time. Especially when he could be usin' his nose instead.

Some wee bairn has starts greetin’ a few aise down.

—Green beans, peas, sliced carrots, corn, diced potatoes. Nae, that wasn't it—

....who in their right mind buys tinned tatties?

A passing trolley is making an awful racket. Discordant shrill squeaks and clunks of a stuck wheel scraped against his ear drums.

—It’s definitely not the asparagus—shites mingin’, and that’s fresh. Wouldnae faff about with a recipe that called for that. Cannae think how foul tinned would be… 

Soap sighs in exasperation. As he goes to abandon this aisle, he steps back to turn and bumps into something.

Soft. Soft, soft, softness presses into his hip—

The kind of softness that cradles, that molds around him. Softer than any of his toys. Soft an’ cozy as his own bed, maybe—nae, softer. His bed didn't have the same give, the same wobble. It was a softness that sent a literal shiver up his spine, saliva pooling in his mouth. That smell—

Not something, someone then.

An incidental collision, a bird had been trying to slip by him just as he stepped backwards.

The touch was there and gone in a second but he was mournful for its absence. The scent lingered at least, soothed the whine that crawled into his throat. There was no artifice to it, no acrid chemical edges that came with any fragrance found in a bottle.

You had actually managed to catch him off guard. The shiver that rattled through him began with a slight jolt of surprise at the two of your union. He must have been more out of it than he thought, he hadn't even noticed anyone else in the aisle. He'll never get used to being startled, but he wouldn’t hold that against you.

“Oh, sorry,” you muttered apologetically as you stepped back, embarrassment coloring your face. The contact clearly ruffled your feathers a bit.

Soap’s mouth shuts with an audible click, he hadn’t realized his lips were parted. He hurriedly swallows a completely unadvisable pant in your direction.

“Nae bother, hen,” he blinks. Finally finding his human voice, responding like he's supposed to when he's out and about on two legs. It’s a little breathier, a beat later than he should have responded, lower too. There's a rasp there that chafes the very air. 

...Maybe his head wasn't packed with cotton.

Maybe it was your soft, downy feathers that was muddling him up, making itself a sweet little nest in his cranium—

The bird sends him a polite, restrained smile as it scurries off.

His world narrowed, like he was watching through a spyglass. Or was it a scope? Regardless, everything else but you dissolved into blur, even his peripheral was swallowed up. Framed you in a vignette. Every tiny aspect of the minute interaction seared painlessly into his mind.

A pretty, fat partridge.

Wandering too close.

Game like that, ambling by all round and plump, right under his snout? Feathers close enough they almost tickle his nose—

It's instinct, ya ken?

Mind, for a dog that retrieves quarry, it’s in his nature. Cannae help it anymore than the shade of his coat. So, is it the dog's fault then, when he lunges? Snatches the bird up, into his warm mouth? Firm and soft all at once. The delicate control from a pup that can cradle a raw egg without fracturing the shell. When he brings it back to his master, tail waggin’ as he’s done a hundred other times?

Nae. Noone’d blame him.

He can already practically feel the pantomime thumping of your frantic heartbeat in his mouth—echoing his own excited pulse. 

Soap’s keen eyes never left his prey, even as your back was foolishly to him. His hind paws were already ahead of his brain, he followed, trailing at a distance. Stalking.

Thing should know better, he might have been a wolf. You’d have waddled straight into it's gaping maw, mistake the canines for stalactites and his tongue for a cozy spot to lay your little head.

But no, he’s no wolf. He’s safe. Won't take a bite out of you. He's a good boy— 

Good dog.

Bird dog. A Gordon Setter, Si says.

A jack of all trades, proficient at tracking, pointing, and retrieving. A soft-mouth breed. That’s very important. Most dogs cannae do what he can. Pick up a bird without pricking it. Ghost has been working with him, trainin’ him up. Helping him be more patient, learn new tricks.

Your scent—it was so hard to describe, but he luxuriated in it, nose twitching. It was warm, but not torrid. Sweet, but not cloying. Rich, but not heavy—

Familiar, somehow. Like a childhood lovey. Cheek-worn and supple as a lamb's ear. 

He’s struck by a piercing déjà vu.

It should have confounded Soap—but it didn’t. It just was. The strange mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity that shouldn’t normally coexist. He didn’t know you, nae. But it felt like he should. Maybe he’d seen you in a dream? Some sticky remnant from a past life? Nothing else could explain the strength of the reaction that gripped him by the scruff. Commanded him to “fetch”.

...He’s doin’ so well. Being so, so careful—game’s normally still, after all. Not wriggling about anymore. Is much more effort to control his grip on a bird thas tryin' to fly away.

Thing squealing like a squeaky-toy doesn’t help, zaps somethin' in his brain, even though he’s hardly pressing. Ghost will look at you an’ see there’s no teeth marks on you. He’s being good. Knows better. Not even a tiny nibble. 

Soap's so pleased.

Only wish he'd had his tail out, so he could articulate his excitement properly.

He’ll take you home and keep you. Rest a heavy paw on you when he wants you to stay put. Carry you round the house with him. Share his food with you. Show you his other toys. Only roughhouse gently, like he would a puppy. Bat you around a bit. Paw at you real gentle like. This soft, living squeaky-toy that he can nap with. Even let you nest in his own bed, tucked under his chin. He’d only ever mouth at you gently, you'd learn you wouldn’t have to fear his teeth. He’d rasp his tongue over you, help you preen yer pretty feathers.

He ached to sigh happily against you, rut his face against you. Wanted all the rest of his sighs to be against you, pressed into your skin. Nose at your crown, in your soft neck, on your squishy belly. He’s curious where on you that scent would be the strongest.

Ghost will be so proud when he sees, when he proudly lays you at his boots—

You'll like his owner. He'll pet you real nice. Ghost always knows the right spot, even before you do. Thoughtful.

So thoughtful that he won't even mind that he'll have to sort something else out for dinner.

[moonmunson]

hello my old heart

a/n: wally clark has invaded my brain space and i cannot seem to rid him from my mind his himbo charms have seduced me. just in my mind this is set in the late '90s, but mr. martin isn't evil. none of the other kids are really mentioned by name, but this would be a few years after charley's death. as always i'm writing with a plus sized!reader in mind but anyone can read it.

summary: struggling with becoming comfortable in death, wally has made himself your new buddy.

cw: general angst and sadness over being dead, wally is a sweetheart who just wants to help. hurt/comfort with a sweet ending and a little bit of kissing. gn!reader, theatre kid x jock

wc: 2.1k

You think you’ve been dead for a little over a week. It’s hard to tell - time moves so differently here. It feels like static on the skin, the way the TV screen feels fuzzy when you touch it after it's been turned off. You haven’t spoken much, and the other dead kids don’t expect you to for a while. They’ve all told you that everyone reacts differently to their death, that there’s no right or wrong way to cope. 

You’re worried that if you open your mouth, it’ll be difficult to stop crying. Or screaming, or both. So you sit quietly in the circle in the gymnasium, listening as Mr. Martin leads the support group meeting. You’re appreciative of his trying to get you to open up, but you’re only capable of responding in nods and shrugs. When it’s over, you go to make your way back to the auditorium. It might be weird to some, considering you died there, but it’s still the place you feel the safest.

A few steps out of the gym, you hear pounding footsteps coming up next to you. It’s Wally, because of course it is. He’s dubbed himself your ‘Unofficial death guide.’ He’s the sweetest, and you wish you could actively participate in conversation with him. 

“You goin’ back to the auditorium?” When he talks, you have to crane your head to the right and all the way up because he’s so fucking tall. You nod, and he parrots it. 

“I don’t know how you can go back to that place. I couldn’t even look at the football field for like a week after I died.” Even when you don’t respond, Wally keeps going. “I also don’t know how you stand sharing a space with Mina. She's, like, totally scary.” He makes a face then, pinched up, like he’s imagining being trapped in a room with the other, objectively more aggressive theatre ghost.

It makes you giggle. Like, audibly giggle. Wally’s eyes widen, surprised that he was able to get a noise out of you. He laughs in return, a breathless exhale. He’s clearly proud of himself. 

“I have got to get you to do that again.” You shake your head no, even though the smile hasn’t left your face. “I’m serious, I have got to hear that laugh again!” 

When you round the corner near the front office, you stop in your tracks, the smile on your face quickly fading. Your mom and dad are there, holding a box with everything that was in your locker. It’s a weird feeling. You hadn’t forgotten you were dead, obviously, but everything had felt very up in the air.

Like the moment before a show starts - everyone sitting in the audience, the curtain still down to block the view of actors taking their places. Like limbo. Seeing your parents, their tear stricken faces, that makes it feel real. Too real. The sharp breath you take in alerts Wally to the fact that something is wrong, and he follows your gaze to the two adults standing at the front desk. 

“Oh shit, are those your parents?” Wally asks, his voice taking a softer tone. He has a volume control problem, everyone knows it, and you’re appreciative that he’s quieted down for this.

You nod, a small jerk of your head. He brings a tentative hand up to your shoulder, and when you don’t move away, he places it more firmly. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I really am. Do you wanna go up and see them?” 

You don’t answer, you just walk away. Wally calls after you, but doesn’t follow. 

The auditorium truly is your safe space. You were never brave enough to actually perform anything, though your teacher had begged you to. She’d heard you singing to yourself one day, and asked why you’d never auditioned for anything. You’d just deflected and said the stage fright would make you freeze. She’d been understanding, but encouraged you to think about auditioning for the show this year. 

You were a senior, it’d been your last opportunity to be in the spotlight, but by the time auditions came around you’d chickened out. The hidden disappointment on your teacher’s face wasn’t so hidden, but she made sure you had your usual spot on the tech and run crew portion of the show.

You died a few weeks later, tripping off of the stage while setting up a set piece and breaking your neck falling into the orchestra pit. Like a sick fucking joke. 

Now, you sit in the audience, gazing at the stage. It’s still blocked off by crime tape. The show for the end of the year has been effectively cancelled on account of your dying. ‘Postponed indefinitely’ is the term the overhead announcements had used, but you all knew what that actually meant. It just wasn’t gonna happen. 

You mostly just feel numb. Obviously your death isn’t something you could ever prepare for, and just like every other ghost in the building, your life had been unfairly cut short. Just like everyone else, you’d had plans for the rest of your life. None of them solid or reliable, but you’d had some idea of what you wanted your life to look like. A well paying job that you genuinely enjoyed, maybe a husband or wife and a few kids. All of that is gone now. 

Your parents in the front office felt like a kick to the gut, salt in the wound. The look on your mom’s face, the way your dad was cradling the box of your things like if he held tight to it enough it would bring you back.. it was too much to bear.

And Wally, sweet, kind, Wally. He’s been trying really hard with you, and you can’t even work up the nerve to say something to him. To thank him for being there for you, or answer any of the many questions or jokes he throws your way. 

You don’t even realize the tears are streaming down your face until they drip onto your hands in your lap. Once you feel the first one, the rest fall in quick succession and before you know it, you’re audibly sobbing in the empty theatre. It’s almost embarrassing, the way your cries echo because of the acoustics. 

Wally comes in quietly, and sits down next to you. You’ve been too preoccupied to notice anything other than your tears, heavy and streaking down your cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. He’s warm, and when you grab the front of his sweatshirt, he holds you tighter.

It takes a while for you to calm down - you’d been holding everything in for too long - you were bound to bubble over and explode at some point. When you feel yourself come back to your body, Wally is still holding you. He’s stroking your head and whispering comforts to you. You don’t deserve him, you think.

He’s still rubbing your back when you pull away to look at him, but you’re distracted by the wet spot on his sweatshirt - the light grey darkened by your tears. 

“Oh,” you whisper, your voice cracking from how long it’s been since you’ve spoken, “I’m sorry.”

Wally’s eyes widen, not prepared for you to start talking, and he jumps to console you. “Woah, hey, don’t even worry about it. This ratty old thing? I’ve been wearing it for like, almost twenty years.” He giggles a bit, continuing, “I honestly think this is the closest this thing has been to a washing machine even longer than that, so. No sweat, promise.”

You nod, thanking him. 

“Are you, like…” he trails off, not sure how to ask you if you’re okay. It’s a silly question, he knows that. “I remember the first time I saw my parents after I died. There was a vigil on the football field like a week after it happened. Everyone was there, and they were all crying and it was so weird. I didn’t feel dead yet, like I hadn’t accepted that it really happened.”

“That must’ve been really hard for you, Wally. I’m really sorry.” Your eyes meet, and he shrugs.

He smiles, a sad, nostalgic thing. He can’t tell you it’s okay, because it’s not. Instead, he goes to hold your hand. “I promise it will get better. It just takes some time. It’s gonna suck for a while, but we’re all here for you. I’m here for you.” His thumb rubs circles on the top or your hand, and you smile up at him. 

“Thanks, Wally. I really appreciate it.” Your interconnected hands are grounding you. It’s the first time you’ve felt a semblance of peace since you died. “Do you mind if we sit here for a little bit? It’s quiet, I don’t want to leave yet.” He nods, and the two of you just sit there.

Just like Wally said it would, it gets easier.

You start going to more of the meetings with Mr. Martin, and you actually start participating. It was weird at first - you thought people would make a big deal out of your finding your voice again, but they just smiled, proud of your growth. Wally has been your biggest cheerleader, but they’re all really supportive. Even Rhonda, though she still sports her gloomy demeanor. 

When they fix up the stage and clear the crime scene tape, the school holds your vigil there. Wally is right there with you in the audience, holding your hand while your parents speak. Your theatre teacher speaks too, and talks highly of you. Your brightness, the passion you had for theatre. When she says you had a beautiful voice, that you could’ve been somebody, she directs it at your parents. They agree, it seems. 

There are still days where it's really hard. You retreat back into your shell, refusing to leave the auditorium or speak to anyone. Wally's patience with you is endless, and when you allow him to stay with you, he spends all day cracking jokes to help you feel better.

One day, instead of letting you isolate yourself, he drags you out onto the football field to get some sun. "We don't really need vitamin D anymore, but I really think it'll help. C'mon, the sun on your skin? Wind in your hair? Can't beat that, babe." He leads you out onto the field - one hand clasped in yours and the other holding a backpack.

The pet names are a new thing, but you don't mind it. He'd slipped one day, called you sweetheart, and immediately backtracked and apologized profusely. All you could do was laugh and call him cute.

"Where did you even get that?" you giggle, following him to a spot under a tree near the edge of the field. "Did you steal that from someone?"

He drops your hand to bring it to his own chest, offended at your assumption. "Me? Steal? I can't believe you'd think so lowly of me," he plops onto the grass, patting the spot next to him, "Yeah I totally stole it, emptied it out, and then filled it with a shit ton of snacks and drinks so we could have a picnic out here." He unzips the bag, pulling out at least ten different bags of chips and candy bars.

"This is really sweet, Wally," you can feel your face heat up, though hopefully it'll just look like it's because of the heat. "It's like a date, almost." His head shoots up to look at you, pink dusting his cheeks and ears.

"Y-yeah, if you want it to be. If you think you're ready for that kind of thing." He stutters, a nervous boyish thing. He's the sweetest person ever.

“I am, I think,” you nod while you’re talking, like you’ve made up your mind, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” Wally ducks his head down, chin meeting his chest. He’s fully blushing now - it’s the cutest thing you’ve seen in a long time. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and maneuvering your body so your back is pressed up against his chest, head resting in the space between his head and shoulder, “is this okay?” 

You turn your head to try and look at him, and he angles his towards you. His face is inches from yours, and if you had a heartbeat, it’d be beating wildly right now. You can almost feel it, the pitter patter of it in your chest. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the space under his eye. You nod, and move in to kiss him. 

His lips are so soft, and the way they move in conjunction with yours provides much needed relief. You stay like that for a few minutes, and when you’re done, he rests his forehead against yours. Eyes closed, feeling the gentle breeze sweeping up the hill you’re sitting on. You never had anything like this when you were still alive, the easy conversation and back and forth banter. He’s your new safe space. You don’t have to worry about anything when you’re with him. 

“This is perfect.”

a/n: wally clark is actually so special to me and when i think about him for too long i get very emotional. my shayla. i wrote this in the span of like a day and a half so if there are any mistakes i'm sorry LMAO

if you liked this story, please like and reblog!! it'd mean the world to me, even if you just drop a silly comment. i want to write more for wally because he desperately needs more stories on here.

[zevrra]

foaming at the mouth why didn’t i think of this sooner AAA

modern!jayce wearing those grey sweatpants. the ones that fit him perfectly, hanging off his hips effortlessly, catching every eye within a 10 mile radius. not to mention the so very obviously dïck print along the seam in the front and god did the sight make your mouth water.

he had just finished his own work out, shirt off, sweaty, and wearing those goddamn sweatpants. and you swore he did it on purpose, just to tease you. he was your personal trainer and you really shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts about him but there you are, staring at the way his biceps flex when he picks up any sort of equipment. how his chest tightens with every movement or the way he effortlessly throws around large sums of weight. the sweat that beads and rolls down his toned abs, curving down his v line, going lower and lower into that happy trail of his— just to disappear under the sweats he wears.

those damned sweatpants would haunt your dreams.

and when he catches you staring, he’d slide one side of his headphones off of his ear, glancing at you with a little concerned glint to his eyes before he realizes what you’re staring at—oh lord—he probably smiles. all soft and “innocent” like as he makes his way to stand in front of you.

“you ok?”

“uh…yeah, perfectly fine.” you’d lie; trying your best to avoid his eyes.

he’d probably laugh a little because he knew better. his own face flushed a little red as he practically towers over you. and if you point out the blush across his cheeks, he’d definitely lie and say it was just from his work out; nothing more.

“you sure about that?”

if his words didn’t make you blush, his hot, heavy hand trailing along your arm, squeezing your shoulder, and pressing his fingers gently into your neck lights your face on fire. you were still in public and he was this bold? you were definitely in for some trouble. and just as you thought; trouble comes in when he’s bending just the slightest bit down to catch your adverted gaze once more, your faces merely inches apart now, as he whispers: “let’s work on some core techniques with a private lesson today.”

[tojisun]

also i keep thinking about johnny and how he still goes around calling you his girlfriend even when you’re already broken up just cause it makes you reach out to him, texting angrily how not only are you broken up but you’re already talking to someone else. and johnny just goes, “kyle, right? yeah, s’my type too, hen.”

“fuck you,” you reply back.

days later, johnny sends you a selfie of him and kyle with a message that says, “he said i can join!”

“jesus,” you whisper, awed and horrified at the same time. maybe even a little interested too, who knows.

[superbatsbison]

thinking of poly superbat x male reader

you and bruce are an established couple

ofc he eventually reveals the fact that he's batman to you

it gets to a point. especially since you're living together

afterward, you become more involved in both bruce and batman's life

because of this, occasionally, you run into some of the other members of the justice league

mainly clark

sorry, i mean superman

he's always hanging around the manor

going over cases with bruce

sometimes coming back with him after particularly grueling missions

and who are you to turn away a handsome face?

who said that 👀

at first clark is surprised that bruce has such a kind boyfriend

or any boyfriend at all really

he didn't peg bruce as being emotionally available. or into men....

ANYWAY

he obviously doesn't need help patching up like bruce does

but often times his mind wanders...

thinking about what he could do differently

What would happen if things went wrong.

soon, he finds himself zoning out in the batcave

and- oh? you're sitting by him

your soft gaze and strong hand rubbing his back helps to calm his racing thoughts

he finds it easy opening up to you

you sit and listen to his worries. giving your input when you think he's running circles in his mind

meanwhile, bruce is across the cave watching you two

he adores you for your big heart and caring nature

watching you comfort his closest friend makes him feel warm inside

he also can't help the passing thought that you two look good side by side

wait what....

maybe he should call it a night

but the pattern continues

you and bruce continue to grow closer to clark

often making him a topic of your conversation

and poor clark

clark feels terrible for the feelings he's developing for you both

i mean you're a couple for god's sake!

a very kind....generous....attractive couple....

is he a bad friend?

meanwhile, in gotham, you're asking yourself if you're a bad boyfriend

you feel like the worst partner ever

you love bruce so much

and yet you've been thinking about clark almost just as often

oh, what would bruce think if he knew.

pan to bruce, who's already clocked onto what's going on LMFAO

i mean, he's not the world's greatest detective for nothing

clearly, he can see clark and his boyfriend are developing something

and he should be angry. right?

hurt at the least?

but all he can manage to feel is endeared

he thinks about clark joining your relationship

treating clark the way he treats you

clark... treating you the way, bruce... treats you

oh my god he's bricked

flash forward to you two laying in bed together

😏

in the silence of the peaceful moment, him blurting out, "honey I think we have feelings for clark"

you shooting upright off his chest

after the initial panic fades you both finally talk it out

speaking of talking it out, poor clark is left to relay his miseries to lois

when he gets done describing all the events of the past couple of months, she starts to laugh

clark: what? 🥺

lois: they're totally trying to say they like your vibe

this gives him hope that he's not making things up

soon you three are back in the cave

except the energy tonight isn't solemn like usual

it's charged

you and clark are in your usual spots side by side

bruce in his chair with his mask and gloves off

eventually, your conversation with clark fades, and you're left looking into each other's eyes

you both lean in for a kiss

after a few moments, clark remembers himself and pulls away to look at bruce

his eyes are wide as he expects bruce to unleash his wrath

but instead, he simply stands and walks over to the pair of you

he sits behind you with a hand around your waist

his thumb rubbing up and down on your stomach

he reaches the other out and puts it on the back of clark's neck

using his leverage, he pulls clark into a kiss

they're both so much taller than you

they're practically kissing over your head

not that you're complaining

it's the perfect angle to plant your own little kisses underneath their jaws

there in your own little cuddle pile, you all confess to each other

clark is over the moon to have the affection of you both

he quickly finds a home in your dynamic

now, instead of having weekly post mission meet-ups in the cave, you all decompress in bruce's comically large bed

[konigslittleliebling]

definitely think that, even though he probably has a PR and social media team, Boxer!König doesn't take any sponsorship deals without the approval of his wife. any interviews, any cameos, anything and everything- he looks to his wife for the final say. (his team is begging you behind his back to please approve of xyz thing-)

so true LMAO

“so, könig. why do you call yourself that?” asks a journalist from the crowd.

your husband looks to you, expectantly. almost pleadingly. you nod to him. “it means ‘king`.” he bluntly tells them.

“you see yourself as boxing royalty?” the journalist persists.

könig looks to you again and you chuckle, nodding in silent consent for him to answer. “ja.” he replies.

or when his media team want to post a promotional article on his protein brand — advertising a new flavour of shake powder. “i will ask my wife first.” he’ll tell them. of course you tell him it’s fine, he doesn’t need your permission. the man even runs it by you every time he receives letters from fans.

“yes, könig, you can open your mail!”

at one press conference, he was asked if he’d be fighting again after his next fight. he looked to you, to which you shrugged. that was his decision. but he kept looking at you, waiting for your say.

“baby, it’s your career.” you whispered. “it is my career.” he answered. you snorted, his panel face-palmed.

the only time he didn’t consult you first was when he was asked to star in a new movie. the plot was pretty safe. your typical boxing romance with every cliché you could name. his character had a love interest, one he’d have a sex scene with. he turned it down immediately, hanging up on the agent with a blank “nein.”

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . CAUGHT YOU BUNNY

WARNINGS : BUNNY!SUB!MATT. GOLDEN RETRIEVER!READER. MATT WEARS ONE OF GOLDIES SKIRTS. TEASING. SMALL DIRTY TALK.

matt wasn’t normally one to be nosy—he didn’t mean to be.

maybe he did this time—but in his defense, goldie had left her closet cracked open, and her laundry basket smelled like her, and her skirts were right there. folded neatly. floral, soft, summery. one of them even had sunflowers on it.

he’d seen her wear it the other day, bouncing around campus like she owned the sun, smile big, hair wild, hands full of iced coffee. and something about it stuck with him. the skirt. the way it swayed. the way she teased him about it, said, “you’d look so cute in one of these, baby bun. wanna match?”

he scoffed, ears red, but now? alone in her room, his hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, he stared down at the skirt in his hands like he wasn’t supposed to have it—be he just couldn’t help himself.

not even five minutes later, the skirt was sitting a little too high on his thighs, and he was biting his lip as he stood in front of her mirror, his cheeks flushed. he turned and fumbled around until he found the bunny ears she’d bought him—and made him wear—the memory making his cheeks heat more as he slid them on.

and maybe—maybe—he posed. just once. bent forward a little, hands on his knees, blinking up at his reflection with wide, bashful eyes. that’s exactly when Goldie walked into the room. she paused in the doorway, blinking once. then twice.

“oh… my god.” a grin spread across her face like wildfire. “matt.” he froze—unable to move as his gaze shifted to hers in the mirror.

“matt.” she repeated, her tone seeming a little more firm.

he squeaked.

goldie dropped her bag with a thud, still grinning. “is that my skirt?” matt shook his head. “no—maybe—I—I was just—” he turned around quickly, tugging the hem down, but that only made it worse. it swished around his thighs. “it’s not what it looks like!”

goldie stalked forward. “no?” she teased, her eyes flicking over him. “because to me, it looks like my sweet little bun wanted to play dress-up with out me.” she said, a fake pout playing across her lips.

“goldie,” he whined, the ears on his head drooping.

“aw, don’t pout.” she cooed cupping his face and leaning in close, voice soft but teasing, “you’re lucky you’re cute. look at you. my pretty boy in my skirt, wearing the ears I gave you. you know what this does to me?”

his breath hitched. “I—no?”

“wanna know a secret, baby bun?” she murmured, letting her thumb drag down his flushed cheek. “i’ve always wanted to ruin you in one of my skirts.”

his knees buckled just a little. “g-goldie…”

“mmhmm.” she leaned closer, lips brushing his ear. “gonna sit you on my lap. make you beg for it with those big, watery eyes. make you tell me you’re a good bunny. that you wear my clothes because you belong to me.”

he whimpered. “I do, I belong to you—”

“oh, I know, sweetheart.” her hands found his waist, gripping the fabric of the skirt and tugging it just a little higher. “now be a good bunny and hop on the bed.”

and matt scrambled backward, heart pounding, ears flopping. he landed on the bed with a soft bounce, thighs parted, eyes wide and pupils blown.

the skirt had never looked better.

a/n : again creds to @theyluvivi for bunny sub!matt and golden retriever!reader. she has given me permission to write things for them. there’s also gonna be a pt. 2 per @mattybsgroupie ‘s request 😛

[writing-until-i-drop]

First Time | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader | wc: 2,226

No use of y/n | 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings! Oral (fem receiving), unprotect p in v (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk, mentions of rough oral (male receiving), lmk if I missed anything

Ao3

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

You picked at your nail beds, anxiously waiting for the familiar blue Bronco to pull into the parking lot. You had been on a blind date from hell, arranged by one of your well-meaning co-workers. The guy had been late, flirted with the waitress, had ordered for you, and worst of all, had gotten your name wrong twice. Well, maybe that wasn’t the worst part but after the rest of the night, it had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

You had excused yourself to the bathroom once the bill came out and called Bradley, begging him to come get you. Now, you were behind the restaurant, hoping your date didn’t come looking for you. 

“Thank God,” You sighed, rushing to the Bronco. Bradley scolded you for not waiting until he was in park but his whining stopped when you launched yourself across the bench seat at him. He gathered you in his arms without hesitation. 

“I've got you, honey,” Bradley whispered into your hair. You thought you felt him press a kiss to your temple but the feeling was so fleeting you couldn't be sure.

“I'm never going on a blind date ever again,” You whined. Bradley chuckled, rubbing your back. He hadn't been too keen on you going out with a stranger in the first place, making his displeasure known but also acknowledging that you were a grown woman who could do as you pleased. It annoyed a part of you that he didn't try harder to stop you. 

“You know I hate to see you sad, honey. What can I do to make tonight better?” Fuck me? Your first thought was not a viable response and you knew it. You and Bradley were destined to be really good friends, the type of friends others looked at and assumed there was something more. You would and had denied it in the past but secretly…secretly you were in love with your best friend. 

How could you not be? He was handsome, kind, attentive, and his mustache? You had cried the time Jake and Javy had convinced him to shave it and were inconsolable until it grew back a few months later. 

“Can we have a movie night at your place? And get pizza?” 

“Food wasn't good?” Bradley reached around you, buckling the middle seat belt over your lap. He normally insisted that you sit in the passenger seat, since it had the cross-body seat belt, going on and on about your safety.

But tonight, he didn't mention it, he also didn't mention what he was thinking when he draped his arm over your shoulders after switching into gear. Not willing to look a gifted horse in the mouth, you rested your head on his shoulder. 

“He ordered for me without even asking and it was awful, Lee.” His fingers, which had been tracing patterns on the exposed skin of your arm, froze when you used the nickname.

Normally you just called him by his first name and occasionally his callsign. The one time you had addressed him by rank and he fell down Mav’s front porch steps, which had given you enough reason to never do that again. Even if Bradley had promised that the two incidents were unrelated. 

“I'm sorry, honey.” 

“No you're not,” You rolled your eyes. “You didn't even want me to go on this date in the first place.” Bradley sighed. 

“Was I happy that you were meeting a strange man? No. But I also would never wish for you to have a bad night, so, yes, honey. I'm sorry.”

“God, I wish I could clone you,” You mumbled softly. 

“What was that, honey?” 

“Nothing.” 

When you got back to Bradley’s place the first order of business was getting out of your dress and heels. 

“I’ll order the pizza,” Bradley said, offering you a pair of sweats and one of his tee shirts.

“I thought we went over how ordering for a woman is a bad thing,” You teased and Bradley rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well unlike that douchebag, I know exactly what you like.” This time, it was impossible to miss the kiss on the temple that turned your cheeks pink. “There’s makeup remover in the bathroom.” 

“Pick a movie, I’ll be down in a minute,” You squeezed his forearm, moving past him into the bathroom. In the medicine cabinet was your brand of makeup remover and it made your stomach twist with butterflies, of course Bradley had your brand, he must have seen it when he visited your apartment. But why was it in his medicine cabinet and not stored away? It was like he was expecting you to be there, looking through his cabinets for it.

Once changed, you went downstairs. Bradley was sprawled out on his sofa, sipping on a beer, your favorite drink was waiting for you on the coffee table. You paused at the base of the stairs, taking in the sight before you. It was everything you wanted but didn’t think you could have. 

“What’s going on in that head of yours, honey?” Bradley held out a hand, beckoning your forwards. You moved without thinking, letting him pull you on the couch beside him.

“Just thinking,” You answered noncommittally. Rooster chuckled, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“What are you thinking?”  Did you take a chance? Did you run this risk of ruining the relationship that meant the most to you?

“Nothing,” You muttered, moving out from his immediate grasp. Bradley didn’t let you get far though, pulling you back to his side. “Bradley.” 

“Does this have something to do with you wanting to clone me?” So he had heard that, you groaned, which was answer enough for him. “What about me isn’t enough that you want two of me?” 

“That you don’t want to sleep with me,” The answer tumbled out before you could stop it. You went to pull away again but Bradley stopped you, moving you onto his lap, reminding you just how strong he was. “Lee, I-” 

“You don’t need a clone to have that,” Bradley’s eyes were molten, staring into yours with an intensity that you had never experienced before. His grip on your hips tightened when you didn’t say anything, “I’ve been crazy about you for a long time. I just didn’t think you felt the same.”

You closed the gap, pressing your lips against his in a soft kiss. Bradley didn’t waste time, kissing you back with a desperate need, one hand slipping beneath your shirt, pressing against your back gently.

You arched into him, letting him deepen the kiss. Kissing Bradley was like having a roman candle explode inside your chest. Explosions and excitement shooting through you as he buried his other hand in your hair.

You tugged at his hair, relishing the loud moan he gave. Your hips ground down, feeling exactly why they called him Rooster. Bradley pulled back, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pulling moans and whines from you.

“Still think you need a clone to get the job done?” He nipped at your pulse, “All you have to do is ask, I’ll give you anything you want.” You tugged at his shirt, Bradley chuckled. “Talk to me, honey.” 

“I want you to fuck me, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” You saw the moment when Bradley’s brain stopped working. He blinked a few times, swollen lips parting in surprise. “Then I want you to tell me how you know what makeup remover I use.”  

“Can you say that again for me, baby?” You giggled, pulling off your shirt.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw, I want you to fuck me.” Bradley groaned, pulling you in for another kiss. This time it was harsh, all teeth and tongues, noses knocking against each other. He shifted you onto your back, settling between your legs. “Lee,” You moaned as he palmed your breasts roughly.

“Love it when you call me that,” Bradley pulled at your sweats and you lifted your hips to help. You giggled as they went flying across the room, “No one else calls me that.” 

“Good,” You moaned, hands threading into his hair as he kissed down your chest.

“How attached are you to your bra?” He asked, tugging at the flimsy straps.

“The bra’s expensive,” You undid the clasp yourself, tossing it towards your sweats. “Panties aren’t.” The sound of ripping fabric filled the room but your protests were non-existent as he began lavishing your breasts with attention, licking, sucking, and biting both of them until you were a squirming mess.

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” He kissed his way down your stomach. “And all mine. All fucking mine.”

“Lee,” You cried out when he licked you without hesitation. Bradley ate your pussy like a dying man, his mustache brushing against your sensitive clit. “If you ever,” You grunted as he slid a thick finger into you. “Shave your mustache again, I’ll key your Bronco.”

Bradley’s response was to double his efforts, adding a second finger, scissoring them to open you up for him. You felt your orgasm building, the coil in your stomach tightening painfully so.

“Come for me, baby.” He sucked your clit hard, the coil snapping as the orgasm washed over you. 

“Lee,” You moaned, vision going fuzzy. Your legs tightened around his head but Bradley didn’t slow down, elongating your orgasm until another one caught you off guard. 

“All fucking mine, baby.” Bradley gave you one last lick then kissed you, giving you a taste for yourself that had you moaning into his mouth. You barely heard the loud knock at the door, Bradley grabbed a blanket and covered you. “Stay covered, I don’t share.” 

“Noted,” You sighed, exhausted from two back-to-back orgasms.

Bradley quickly paid the man and abandoned the pizza in the kitchen, he scooped you into his arms. “What are you doing?” 

“Following orders,” Bradley grunted, squeezing your ass. He kicked his bedroom door shut behind you, placing you on the bed. “You think you’re ready for me, baby?” 

“If you don’t fuck me, Lee, I’m calling Hangman.” Bradley growled, pulling off his sweats and boxers in one go. You gulped, he was huge. 

“What did I just say about sharing?” 

“You might have to remind me,” Bradley was on you in an instant, kissing you hard until you were dying for air. “Bradley,” You scratched his back.

“What don’t I do, baby?” 

“Fuck me, apparently,” He bit down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pulling a load moan from you.

“Keep it up with, baby, one of these days I’ll fuck your mouth until you pass out.” Your pussy clenched around nothing at the thought of it, “Now, who’s the only one who gets to touch you like this.” 

“You,” You pulled him in for a kiss. “Now, please, please, please, fuck me, Lee.” 

“Condom?” You shook your head,

“Clean and on birth control. You?” 

“I’m clean,” You felt him notch himself at your entrance. “Ready?” You shifted your hips upwards, urging him to hurry up. “Words, baby.”

“‘Ready.” He pushed forward, his thick cock stretching you out until you were gasping and whining his name with every inch he gave you.

“Halfway there, baby.” Halfway? You groaned, digging your fingers into the sheets.

“Fuck, Lee, you’re huge,” Bradley chuckled, distracting you from the pain by playing with your nipples. He stilled when he bottomed out, giving you time to adjust. You felt so full of him and of pleasure, you knew it would only get better once he started to move.

“How do you want this to go, honey? You’re in control here,” You settled your hands on his broad shoulders, squeezing his strong muscles.

“Ruin me, Lee. We can do it slow and sweet after dinner,” He gave you a peck on the lips.

“Whatever you want.” He pulled back then snapped his hips forward, hitting a spot that had you crying out. He pace was relentless and exactly what you wanted, Bradley fucked you into the bed like a man possessed. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Squeezing my cock like a good girl,” You squeezed around him. “You like that, huh? You like being my good girl? Words, baby.”

“Yes, shit,” You scratched your nails down his back. “I’m your good girl, just don’t stop.” 

“Give me one more, baby,” His calloused fingers set a quick pace, rubbing your abused clit until you were screaming. “That’s it, come for me.” Your third orgasm hit you harder than the two before it, incoherent babbles spilling from your lips. “Think you can give me another?”

“No, no, no,” You whined but when he pulled his hand back you forced it back down. Bradley chuckled, happily working you up again.

“We’re going to have to work on your communication skills, baby,” You kissed him, nipping at his bottom lip. Bradley’s thrusts became erratic, he was close. “Come on my cock while I fill you up, baby.” That was all it took, you came and Bradley followed right behind you, spilling inside of you. 

“I think,” You panted as Bradley all but collapsed on top of you, “I think you broke me.” He chuckled, kissing your face all over as he shifted off of you, pulling you both onto your sides.

“How does a bath sound?” 

“Pizza first.” His stomach rumbled in agreement,

“Whatever you want, baby.”

a/n: this fic got away with me, it was supposed to stop when the pizza got there

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[starkeyszn]

🍸 ⌇meeting golden retriever!rafe for the first time 𓂃 ⸝⸝

the club was packed, humid, and too loud for someone like you. someone who preferred quiet corners and matcha. your friends had begged you to come out tonight, with some resisting, and offers of free drinks, you were convinced.

you were clutching a glass of something orange and fizzy, a cherry placed on the rim of the glass.

until he spotted you from afar. rafe cameron. his eyes locking into yours.

you looked away—an instinct, not used to the attention of being on you.

he was making his way over—oh shit! he was walking over to you! wearing that precious smile, that made you wonder if he even knew how to frown.

“hey.” he breathed, sounding like he’d be waiting to speak to you all night. “uhm—i just saw you sitting here, and i thought you would like some company! not in a creepy way! just—i’m rafe!” he rambled.

you blinked, surprised by his tone, that his tone seemed genuine, not cocky, not pushy, just warm.

“i’m okay—” you smiled gently.

he tried to mask how his smile dropped, immediately feeling awkward, his palms going sweaty.

“i’ll just stand here for a second—” his eyes diverted to your drink, “is that a shirley temple?”

your hands were wrapped around the glass as you looked down, “yeah it is.”

“i love the cherries on them.” he grinned, “my sister says it’s my ‘kid at heart’ drink.”

you giggled, and that was his in.

he slipped himself in the booth, his chin resting in the palm of his hand.

you nearly talked for 2 hours—the music blending into the background as the both of you spoke, the conversation flowing easily. he asked your favourite hobbies—and if you liked dogs, only because he had one himself.

when you admitted you were nervous in crowds, he just nodded. “oh no, don’t worry—that’s cool. i get nervous in, like, libraries. all that silence? intimidating as hell.”

you smiled, finally feeling like you met someone who understood you, and when he noticed your smile he looked like he’d won the lottery.

eventually, he offered his hand — palm up, open, with no pressure behind it. “come dance with me. just one, i promise I’ll embarrass myself first.”

you hesitated, which he immediately noticed. you watched him, spin around, jumping around, “what are you doing?” you giggled.

“showing you that it’s okay, and nobody cares.”

your heart melted inside, nobody has done this for you, you stood up, joining him on the dance floor. “that’s the spirit!” he cheered, gently taking your hand and spinning you around.

“you haven’t asked me my name.”

“well what’s your name, pretty girl?”

you replied with your name, he repeated it, “suits you.”

“i’m rafe—rafe, cameron.” he added, making you smile at the addition of his last name.

and that’s how it started, not with some hookup but with soft laughter, and a boy who shined so bright you couldn’t help but lean towards him.

[idkyetxoxo]

Daylight | Rhysand | Series Masterlist

Pairing - Rhysand x reader

Summary - She's all sunshine, sass, and golden retriever energy. He's strategy, long-suffering patience and black cat energy. She talks enough for the both of them—he listens like she's the only sound in the world. 

A series of stolen bites, impulsive favours, loud declarations (and louder denials), uphill treks filled with endless chatter and rooftop silences where love speaks louder than words.

A female who refuses to slow down, and the male who never asks her to. Just... matches her pace, in his own way. A love that looks a lot like chaos—and feels a lot like home.

He is night incarnate. And still, she is his daylight.

Tags - established relationship, sunshine x grumpy, energetic wife x calm husband, fluff, banter-filled romance, golden retriever and black cat

Contents -

☼ One | The Sweetest Sins | 2.2k words

☼ Two | Wicked Favours | 2.2k words

☼ Three | Delicate Claims | 2k words

☼ Four | Weightless Kind of Love | 2.2k words

☼ Five | Afterglow | 2.1k words

ACOTAR Masterlist

A/n - As always content warnings will be at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing.

This is my first time writing for Rhysand, so I hope it doesn't disappoint!

The series is short, just five parts and each part reads sorta like a standalone one-shot but they're also kinda connected. After diving into some heavy angst, I really just wanted to write something soft and fluffy. 

Now, the inspiration for this series might sound a little silly, but it's actually based on Bugs Bunny and Lola Bunny and their dynamic! I came across a compilation of their clips on TikTok posted by (@relatable4sf), and it immediately sparked this idea for a light, fun series <33

Please don't hesitate to like, reblog or comment along the way, it truly means the world to me. <3

[triplefrontierbabe]

hello! can i request a dr3 x black cat! reader? we all know dr is like a golden retriever and the dynamic with a tough, badass r, i feel would be so good! it gets to the point where the grid is like “mate your gf is kinda scary” and are legitimately scared of her (except for max, and danny tries to tell them shes not). but one night maybe dr (+more) get tooo drunk and the grid sees how caring and loving r really is (takes care of them) and understands that shes just a tough exterior with a soft loving interior please?

if not, its all good!! thank you 🤍

Opposites Attract

summary: Daniel’s the only person who knows how to crack your hard exterior

pairing: black cat! f!reader x golden retriever! Daniel Ricciardo

warnings: mention of drinking, you are responsible for the content you consume

a/n: I love this prompt!! I truly think Danny has the personality fit for a black cat! gf. hope you enjoy!

Daniel loves to smile, a lot. It’s kinda his thing. If Daniel Ricciardo isn’t smiling then something is seriously wrong. You can’t forget about his contagious laugh that livens up any space he’s in. Overall, he’s just a ray of sun bursting with joy.

So you can imagine the confusion on everyone’s faces when he introduced you as his girlfriend. You, the stoic, keeps-to-herself, only-shows-minimal-expressions girl dating Daniel, the golden retriever of the grid.

To any outsider the relationship dynamic didn’t really make sense. But, to be fair, compared to many other wives and girlfriends of the grid, you keep your life fairly private. You accompany Daniel to his races, you watch the race then you’re ready to go home as soon as the last car crosses the finish line. And, unlike many of the other drivers’ better halves, modeling and being in front of the camera is not your thing.

“I can’t tell if she hates me or likes me? She seems a little intimidating.” Lando says to Daniel one day. Daniel has introduced you to many of his mates and you’ve gotten to know many of them on a personal level outside of the paddock. Your stoicism once again triumphing in confusing the drivers.

“No, she does like you, Lando.” Daniel says. “I know she’s hard to read sometimes but she enjoys the company.”

This was a conversation Daniel found himself having often with other drivers. While you did fraternize with the other ladies, your social battery was quick to wear out on long weekends. Often excusing yourself from conversations because you were tired and could only handle so much interaction in one go.

However, after one race weekend, Daniel somehow convinced you to go out with a group of the drivers and their partners. It was a good race for Daniel, he placed P8, so of course a celebration of points was in order.

“It’ll be fun, I promise!” He tried reasoning with you. He had tried many times before in convincing you to go to a bar or club to celebrate. Only once before was he successful, and that was because it was to celebrate his birthday.

“And, we don’t even have to stay that long” he began “just have a couple drinks, mingle a little bit then leave.”

Now that was a plan you could get behind.

“Okay, I guess.” You said, sighing in defeat. It was one night, that wouldn’t kill you. And who knows, maybe people would see you’re not all that emotionless after all.

The night was going along just fine. Drinks were served, conversations were had, music was played. Max somehow ended up dancing on top of a table which resulted in Daniel joining him.

You and the other girls giggled at the sight of the grown men acting like college frat boys at a rush party. Yes, you giggled too. Lando saw it. He tried to take a mental note, amidst his drunken state, of the expression of emotion you had. Who knows if anyone would ever see that again.

“Mate did you just see Daniel’s girl smile?” Lando asked Charles who was standing close by. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a mental note he made after all.

Before you knew it, the clock had gone way past midnight and many more drinks were had. You, however, tapped out after two drinks. Someone in the relationship needed to be the coherent one for the night and it sure wasn’t going to be Daniel.

“Babe, I love this song!” Daniel shouted over top of DJ Got Us Fallin’ In Love as he stumbled towards you and the rest of the group. Once he was standing next to you he started dancing, terribly, attempting to twerk or at least move his butt in a what he thought to be a provocative manner.

As he bumped around you, you couldn’t help but smile at the scene you had now been brought into. Your almost six foot tall boyfriend acting like a newly turned twenty one year old at a bar for the first time. It was truly comical in the way he moved. For being as tall as he was, dancing for him was quite the sight, his lanky arms moving every which way with no rhythm at all.

“Baby dance with me” he whined reaching out to hold your waist and slightly slurring his words in the meantime. He was quite gone. The thing about alcohol and Danny was that it just heightened his golden retriever energy. He’s already very energetic and affectionate while sober, but inebriated? That’s a whole new level.

As much as you were reluctant to leave, you knew if Danny didn’t get to bed soon, the inevitable hangover in the morning would only be ten times worse.

“Okay honey, I think it’s time we head out.” You announce putting an arm around his waist to keep him upright. As soon as your arm is around his tall frame, he leans into your touch just like a puppy who hasn’t seen their human all day.

“But the party’s just getting started.” Daniel said pouting. Once again, a laugh escaped you before you could even process what was happening.

“I know, I know” you began as you put Daniel’s arm around your shoulder. “We can have more of a party later, okay?” You said patting his chest, trying to maneuver him in a way that would make it easy to walk out.

Before heading out, you announce your and Daniel’s departure and thank everyone for such a great night.

The group watches in amazement as you methodically guide Daniel around the crowd and head for the door. And they don’t miss the kiss you press to Daniel’s cheek along the way.

The guys are stunned to say the least.

“I think that’s the most personality I’ve seen from her ever.” Max exclaims, eyes wide at what he just witnessed.

“I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard her speak before.” Charles adds.

“It’s no wonder he chose her,” George begins, “she keeps him calm.”

So yeah, is your and Daniel’s relationship dynamic totally different on the outside? Sure. But he’s the only one who has managed to open up your heart just enough for him.

Opposites do attract after all.

Check out my Masterlist

[radiochex]

LILLY.

pairing: lando x fem!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: mentions of a deaf daughter, y/n and lando's son being a menace to their dog 😭

wc: 560

notes: im the younger sister of a girl who was born blind and mentally impaired, so i know the struggles of managing a family when people from the outside pity you for something that you can't control. i hope that anyone who's in a similar situation finds comfort in this fic.

The fans were in despair. Their favourite couple, their favourite mum and dad had just found out that their daughter — their first baby — was deaf.

Lando and Y/n weren’t worried though.

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

Lando walked into his daughter’s room, leaning against the door frame. She was playing the piano like she always does. How amazed of his daughter he was; she couldn’t hear yet she still practiced like no tomorrow.

Lando turned the lights on and off a couple of times before Lilly turned around. she smiled at her father,

“Does this sound right?” Lilly spoke. She was always a good speaker. Even after she became deaf, she relied on her vocal chords to do the work for her. Lando always knew that she would be amazing.

Lando pulled his hands out of his pockets, signing to her,

‘It sounds amazing, beautiful. I think you need to go up one note at the end, though.’

Lilly nodded, turned around and played the same tune again, adding in her father’s advice. Once she had finished, she turned around seeking her dad’s approval. Lando gave her a thumbs up before closing her door to where it previously was.

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

Out in the living room, Ash was crawling around on his play mat. He was picking up his toys, throwing them around and giggling to himself.

Y/n sat on the couch with the television on. She had a magazine in her hand and rollers in her hair. She had another month off of work so she had every right to spoil herself while she could.

Daizee — their dachshund cross jack russell (…george? 😟-) — was also watching the television. She diverted her attention to Ash every once in a while, being the big sister of the house. Their golden retriever, Charlie, was lying down with Ash and letting the baby play with his ears.

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

Lando sat down next to his wife, giving her a kiss on the cheek before pulling her into his side.

“How’s Lils?” Y/n looked up from her magazine to look at her husband before placing the book down.

Lando nodded, tracing small patterns on her biceps, “She’s doing good, playing the piano last time I checked.” At that, Y/n nodded before turning her attention to the television.

Speak of the devil, Lilly emerged from her room with a skip. That’s what Y/n and Lando loved to see. Even after given the news by the doctor when she turned three, she never let her condition bring her down.

She stopped in front of her mum and dad before doing a little dance and running off to grab a snack from the kitchen. Typical Lilly.

When she returned and sat down on the long end of the couch, she looked over to her parents to see if they needed her attention. As if she knew, Y/n signed to her daughter,

‘How are you feeling today my sweet?’

Lilly nodded, smiling her famous bright smile that even the sea of papaya loved.

“Good!” She answered before turning to watch the show playing on the big screen.

Lando and Y/n shared a look. A look of knowing, of pride. That was their daughter. The fighter that they created.

…And on the floor was Ash, climbing all over Charlie. That poor dog.

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

a/n: thank you all so much for the love and support ive been recieving recently! i cant thank you all enough. here's the fic of the idea from my previous post, i hope it's up to your standards! this is also for @ladyladybuggg who wanted to read this, so i hope you enjoy my love!