#FanFiction

[thediktatortot]

Just so you all realize and see it in action:

This fic was finished in 2015 and the author hadn't had a comment since 2016. They appreciated the comment even though it was just emoji hearts, they were happy and surprised to receive love on their older fic.

Don't stop commenting just because it's an old piece or because you think you can't come up with something smart, witty or thoughtful to say.

Just say anything. Just put an emoji. Just let them know you appreciate their work.

[turbo-toast]

Poll for writers and artists

Whether you write fanfic or original works or paint/draw, be it fan art or original work or whatever else - I have to know, because I have a feeling this is going to be very decisive:

Please reblog for sample size!

[mostly-funnytwittertweets]

[midnights-dragon]

I'm genuinely disappointed about Ao3 turning off guest comments. It's a necessity at this point from how many spam bots/AI bots there are, and people who plain up harass authors, but it's so fucked up that it has to happen, and honestly so sad because some of my favorite comments EVER are from guest commenters. And I hate that me leaving my works unlocked potentially opens me up to getting my work copied by AI, or my comments spammed with fucking porn GIFs which was apparently a thing that was happening. It's just honestly sad that we can't even have one good thing anymore without AI and shitty people ruining it.

[moondirti]

simon sees a familiar face. (AO3 mirror) tags: darkfic. ghost x nude model! reader. (given a stage name but no discerning characteristics.) violent intrusive thoughts. objectification. rough sex. marking. dacryphilia. possessiveness. dubcon photo sharing.

It's the slip of her skin in his periphery. Moisturised, gold shimmer body glaze. Tucked up against the bar and nursing a negroni in both hands, her dress riding high up on her thigh. Sticks out like a sore thumb in a pub like this, where seedy men come to drink their woes away. Just a little too clean, prim and perfect polish. Pretty enough to make his teeth hurt.

He has to do a double take before he can be sure. Where he would know her calves, those hands and varnished nails, anywhere, he can hardly believe it until she turns a quarter angle and her face comes into full view. Lips he's seen perked up and glossed into erotic O's. Eyes so often half-cast and sultry, lined in kohl, that it's odd to see them wide like this; looking around, searching for something.

Yeah. Simon knows her. Knows her like the grip of a gun, the rip release of a hand grenade, the flat lining of barrack cot mattresses. Knows her so well that his cock chubs up in an almost pavlovian response, fat and heavy and leaking already, like a bloody sixth former seeing a pair of tits for the first time. In all honesty, this might just be the equivalent for a man like himself. Aching jowls, frothy lips. Ageing, dirty beast – thrown the most delectable fucking bone.

Because it's her. Cut straight from the centrefold of his favourite magazine and pasted a mere four feet away. Just as alluring, as provocative as she is in the poster he'd gifted Johnny on a deployment birthday. The object gracing every page not adhered together with dry cum. The one thing that gets him – and frankly, every other mutt on the task force – through long missions.

He throws back the last of his bourbon and slips his mask back over his chin. The haunt is emptier than usual. He assumes the big guy by the doorway is responsible, no doubt hired to follow her around and scare the creeps away. Simon must count as one – if his intentions, latched like filthy claws in his stomach, are anything to go by – but he's also bigger. Bolder. Probably has tattoos that outlast her bodyguard's experience in the field. So he takes his chances as he stretches up and prowls up to where she's sitting.

"Selene Harlow." It's a stage name, of that he's certain. But he has nothing else to call her by, not having fallen short of searching for her true identity. She's good at keeping herself safe from perverts like him. A good fucking girl, if not a little minx.

"Only on the clock." She smiles softly, dipping the orange peel in and out of her drink. It looks untouched, glass sweating onto the bar top. He thinks of holding her head back by her hair and knocking the concoction down her throat. "You don't look like my date."

Simon makes a sound. "No' your usual type, then?"

"I didn't say that." Her dress is low cut, bandage tight. When she breathes in, he devours the way her chest heaves out of the material. Begging to pop free, or else be ripped open right here. He can't imagine she would be opposed to being stripped in public. Not with her breasts plastered on a million different publications, issues displayed in the illicit material case behind every gas station counter.

"Well, he must be soft in th'head."

She shrugs. "Don't sound so surprised." Simon wonders, if he were to press his thumbs down onto each collarbone, how much pressure it would take to snap them in place. He's always liked the delicate arch of her shoulders, the swan-like column of her neck. With how he fixated he is on them now, he can hardly place the dejection in her voice. "Not a lot of people wanna go out with a girl who does what I do. It was only a matter of time before he found out."

"Can' be too pissed at him, a'suppose."

"Hm?"

"His loss is my gain."

"Aha." A flash of teeth. She turns on the bar stool to fully face him, and her knees knock his. Soft fucking legs, plush like a chew toy and he knows– he knows what they look like completely nude and spread open. But nothing could've quite prepared him for how different it is to see them in real life. To see her – real, fleshly, blood full – and not be able to take. Have to hold himself back despite the way he's pumped himself raw to her arse almost a hundred times now. He lost the plot some time ago. His mind must think of her as his. "Is that what this is?"

And what is this? Simon doesn't have a name for it. All he knows is the way his head itches, the tantalisation crawling in his skin. The sheer self-restraint it takes not to pocket her home and chain her to his bed. He wants to dig his teeth into her cheek.

Instead–

"Could be."

"I think that's up to me." She crinkles in a wily little smile and he chuckles because it's funny. Funny because she takes him to be a good man. But with the way her bodyguard is eyeing him from across the room (fucking muppet), he knows that's not the quality he's projecting. There's the urge to crack a sick joke, something about clipping a bird's wings, just to see her pick up on the rot he carries with him. "You military?"

"Tha' obvious?"

"Hm, no. Wild guess." She straightens her back and the vague gesture she makes with her wrist is enough to drive him up a wall. It sets a timer, ticking time bomb, in his brain that'll detonate if he doesn't get his nasty old hands on her waist. Thirty seconds on the clock. He can never be patient when it comes to sweet things. "Your... stature. And I tend to be popular with servicemen, anyway. What's your name?"

"And why do you wan' to know my name, bird?"

She flutters her lashes, pointedly looking down to where he's bulging in his jeans. Bird is right. She shines like one with pretty feathers, begs to be plucked, because why else would mother nature create things like her if not to appease men like him?

"Figure you'd want me to moan it later."

And it's like watching one fly into a cage on its own accord. His blood boils hot and thin, flooding his head until his eyes strain with something ferocious. "Why wait." Simon says. He can't wrap an arm around her waist fast enough, scooping her from her seat and wrapping her tight against his side. Tight enough that, if she changed her mind, she wouldn't be able to flap her way out of it. "Name's Simon, and there's a bathroom 'round back."

It's nasty. Depraved. Graffiti lines all four walls and it's no coincidence that the one he pins her up against looks the filthiest. Something in him craves to see her degraded (the same part that marked a picture of her in black ink, chicken-scratch body writing proclaiming her as his), brought down to the same peg that he occupies. Beasts with too much baggage stored in their marrow. Humans, men, with moral compasses that skew a tad too far left. Animals. Animalistic.

"I don– Don't usually do this..." She breathes, excuse stuttered through little whimpers as he mouths at her jaw. Maybe she's afraid of living up to her name, or whatever image Selene Harlow projects. Not a prostitute, he can almost hear her say. Tastes the fear of misconception, sour on otherwise tart skin. He hums and tugs her breasts free with one, scarred paw.

"Doesn' really matter, bird. Were fuckin' made for it." He squeezes the two mounds, pinches knotted nipples and rolls them between his fingers until she cries. Her voice breaks in little bubbled sobs – starts crying so fast that, christ, it must be some sort of record – and he aches in his trousers. Ready to burst if he doesn't bully his cock into a hole soon, just like she's been ready to be unravelled all night. "Made to be mine, yeah? Bloody 'ell, jus' look at you."

Frayed little tapestry. If he weren't so mad with lust, he'd obsess what drove her to this point. What brought her to some shitty pub in Manchester to meet a good for nothing lemon. Why she mewls and completely melts into him when he slaps her tits, just to see the way they jiggle. He's an ugly bastard, definitely punching just by breathing the same air as her, and yet she's so perfectly willing. Flaying herself open, skinned alive. Gasping selfish gulps of air when he finally pulls off his mask to sink his canines into her shoulder.

He's so used to seeing her posed, perfectly still. To have her like this, a trapped worm underneath him, feels like concentrated lightning on every artery. Overstimulating. Paralysing. He never thought he'd see the day where she exposes herself in motion: folding her dress up over her wide hips, slipping soaked panties down to her ankles.

(In fact, he vividly remembers brooding over an interview her magazine had added to the corner of a cover page, once. Selene Harlow tells all! Answers inquiries on video pornography and more!

I don't think I'm the right person for that sort of scene. Not much of an actress, I'm afraid.)

Not that her feigning was ever a concern. Simon knows the giddy gossamer over her eyes can't be artificially replicated. She's too clumsy, too amateur in the way she readies herself for him. Used to doing all this prep in a frilly dressing room with apathetic staff members directing her. Sways a bit on her heels and holds onto his thick forearms as she widens her stance. He stands until she's steady, then drops to his knees in search of the star of this show.

And the sight is as much a bludgeon to his self control as seeing her for the first time was, trigger for the feral mongrel that barks and chomps on his ribcage. Her cunt is just as perfect up close in this grimy bathroom as it is well lit, professionally oiled, and printed on coated paper. A little fuzzy, swollen enough that it flowers open for him on its own. Shyly inviting him to dig his nose right under her clit and inhale, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the scent of her, undiluted. Salivate blooms around his teeth.

When he flattens his tongue against it, she tries to find purchase in the roots of his shorn hair. Nails scrambling along the buzzcut until she forfeits and clamps her hand behind his ears, head thrown back to knock against the wall. If he were a nice man, he would spend hours buried between her legs. Sated by licking her slick from its source, like a kitten given a bowl of cream. Would make her cum until she forgets how to keep quiet, until she screams his name loud enough for the world knows their muse is off the market now.

But if he were a nice man, he wouldn't be defiling her here. He would've taken her out to the Greek place that never seems to have room for him alone, and then back to her apartment, where he'd drop her off with a chaste kiss and a promise to call her tomorrow.

So Simon combs through her lips once, twice, three times. Coats her in enough spit to be able to shove two fingers with little fuss, and scissors them apart. The little thing stretches to accommodate his ministrations immediately, clutch swallowing him up to the second knuckle and sucking around him when he spreads her hole for his leering eye. It's cute – so fucking cute how she clenches and keens and cries. Neck arched up above him. Apple of eden, blank canvas. His fingers leave her cunt as he rises to bite into it.

(Truthfully, she could've done with more prep. She wasn't lying when she said she doesn't do this often, whatever this is. But the way silver pebbles brim on her lash-line makes his chest twist, the dog rearing on its haunches, ready to pounce – and he thinks he'd like to see her babble in pain as he splits her open on his cock.)

"Gonna take you home after this, y'hear? Fuck you well 'n' good, all proper like. Fold ya over a mattress and print my cock on your guts, birdie. Never let you forget it. "

"S-Si! Simon, please. I n-need..."

Ichor beads in the shape of his teeth, streaking oxygenated red down her throat. He makes a mess of it, smearing it across the marred patch of skin, and brings the fluid up to her face to rub it into her cheek. The type of marking he'd reserve for his third or fourth going with someone – if anyone ever lasts that long – but is absolutely necessary right now. Here, with her. Technically their hundredth something time together, if he were deranged enough to count the various times he'd spent himself over her spreads.

But nothing can supersede the truth of the matter. He streaks blood along her face and licks it off in a show of merciless possession. Pretty things like her get plucked off streets and ruined everyday, despite her cynicism on her value, and he can point to at least three other men by name who would slaughter to be in his place. Best to stake his claim now, clamp a collar on the exotic fowl he pulled down from the sky.

"Need wha', hm?" His tongue laps at her cheek, laving over the contour of her nose and swiping right under her eye to catch the tears that freely fall. She winces when he gets too close, hands faltering along his waistband.

"Your... d-dick. Please, please. Just wanna be fucked, Simon."

He plants a rough kiss onto her mouth, all teeth and tongue, and finally ladles himself free of his jeans.

Just wanna be fucked.

Daft, silly girl.

She should've chosen anyone else.

It takes a bit of pressure to feed himself into her cunt, pinning either leg to the sides of his hips as he guides his cock toward the opening. If she was putty before, she's positively liquid now, boneless rag doll slumped onto him. Dead weight. Letting him take control of this fight. Content to do nothing, slack-jawed and empty eyed as her hot walls come to embrace him completely. Her breath halts, the air recalibrating to just the sound of his ragged grunts, and he considers it an invitation to wrap a fist around her neck.

"I'll do more than jus' fuck you, pretty thing. Won' ever let you out of my sight."

And he means it.

It's impossible to withdraw completely from her – vacuum sealed too tight, too good, around him. So he fucks in short thrusts instead, snapping his pelvis back, only to shove forward once her legs begin to flail about. It's brutal even by his standards, rough in a way that supplants pleasure with pain. A small pity surfaces when her lip trembles, discomfort wringing her darling face up like a dish towel. Wet and pathetic, but he sneaks his free hand down to knead at her swollen clit anyway.

Like oil, it slips and hardens, tense enough that he knows she won't last long if he keeps it up.

Simon feels his own release encroaching. Unfurling at the base of his spine to form something cruel and primal. His vision tunnels to fixate on her – not the filthy bathroom or the lewd squelch of her pussy taking him in. Not the banging on the door by a customer desperately needing to piss, or otherwise, her bodyguard concerned at the choked screams carved from her lungs. Just her. Little bird.

The howling in his head doesn't stop, but it sure as hell quiets down when she soaks the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. Squirts, off-white fluid gushing from her and trickling onto the tiled floor. His movements grow stilted, off-rhythm, at the sight. His want grows claws and scales, grows wants that have wants. Beastly. He sees red.

"N-noghonbirfcontraahl." She gasps, suffocated still by the fingers pressing crescent-shaped scars beneath her jaw.

"Don' give a shit." He growls, then cums.

(Really, he doesn't. To see her swell up with his child is just one more added temptation, carrot on a stick. He bucks like a rabid animal and bookmarks that thought away for later.)

His seed doesn't stay put when he pumps her full of it. It gathers and drips out of her, undeterred by the barrage of his softening cock. When he pulls out, it draws milky treks down her legs. There's the instinct to shovel it back into her, tape her lips shut until the spend takes; but as he pockets her panties and helps her readjust her dress (after polishing himself clean on the expensive fabric), he finds he quite likes the thought of parading her around like this.

"C'mon," He nips her earlobe. "let's walk you home."

Simon does end up making good on his promise. They hardly get any sleep that night, sweating on every available surface her flat affords. By the end of it, she's so tuckered out that he has to lift her to bed. Hardly cognisant as he strips to his boxers and sidles up right next to her.

What doesn't escape her notice, however, is when he pulls his phone out to snap a picture of her like this. Fucked to oblivion, puffy pussy oozing about three loads worth of cum.

"W-what are you–" Stuttered. Panicked, like a pet that has at last realised it's been caged.

"Shhhh, birdie. You're my model, ain't you? Let me show you off, yeah? Won' let it get into the wrong hands."

"Promise?" She whimpers, tucking into his broad chest. She isn't in the condition to give her proper assent, but he takes it anyway, kissing both eyes and carding his fingers across her scalp.

"Promise." He mutters, then sends the portrait off. "Jus' to men like me."

Sgt. Garrick: ?! Is that Capt. Price: Christ, Simon. Someone ought to muzzle you. Johnny: I don't believe you. Johnny: Pick up my calls. Johnny: SIMON.

[vanteguccir]

Roslyn | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where a storm is happening and Y/N is afraid of thunder, making her seek comfort in her best friend's brother arms, Matt.

Warning: Thunderstorm.

Requested?: Yes, by anon

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Nick's room was a welcoming haven for Y/N. The walls decorated with frames and posters and the rustic wooden furniture provided a feeling of security and comfort. She had spent countless nights there, in his soft, cozy bed, surrounded by the familiarity of her best friend.

However, that night, the tranquil atmosphere was abruptly interrupted by the distant roar of thunder. Y/N curled up under the sheets, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She has always been afraid of storms, ever since she was a child. The thunderous sound of thunder and the flashes of lightning in the black sky left her petrified with fear.

With each thunderclap, she could feel the anxiety building up inside her, squeezing her heart like an iron fist. Her body shook involuntarily, and she struggled to control her rapid breathing. The feeling of helplessness overwhelmed her, leaving her unable to move, as if she were trapped in an endless nightmare.

Y/N knew she needed to calm down. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the frightening sound echoing through the top floor window. The girl took a deep breath, trying to find some inner peace, but fear continued to envelop her like a relentless shadow.

Deciding to seek comfort, Y/N reached out into the darkness, searching the comforting warmth of the boy beside her. She tried to shake him gently, whispering his name in an urgent tone. However, Nick remained motionless and sunk into a deep sleep, only a light mumble escaping his throat.

Frustration and despair began to build within her. She couldn't face this storm alone. The girl tried to curl up against his back, but her body exposed to the room had no effect in calming her down, Nick remaining oblivious to her silent call, lost in distant dreams.

Y/N bit her bottom lip, fighting back the tears of frustration that threatened to spill over. She felt so small and powerless in the face of the force of nature outside. The sound of thunder seemed to grow louder, echoing in her mind like a relentless reminder of her vulnerability.

With a resigned sigh, Y/N got up from the bed, determined to get help. She knew exactly where to go.

Sneaking out the white door and down the stairs, careful not to make any loud sound, Y/N arrived at Matt's bedroom door, knocking softly on the wooden surface. She waited for a moment, her heart beating nervously in her chest as her right leg bounced incessantly in anxiety until she finally heard a sleepy murmur coming from inside the room.

The door slowly opened, revealing Matt's silhouette on the threshold. His eyes were downcast and sleepy, his brow furrowed in confusion and anger at being woken up, but his expression immediately brightened upon seeing Y/N standing there.

"Y/N, hey, what are you doing here? Are you okay?" Matt asked, his voice soft and concerned as his eyes took in the way her body was shaking.

Y/N swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to escape. She moved slightly closer to Matt, her arms crossed tightly against her chest, seeking the comfort she so desperately needed.

"I... I can't sleep with this storm, Matt. I'm so scared, and Nick won't wake up." The girl confessed in a shaky whisper, her chest burning with embarrassment for waking him up with something so... trivial. "I'm sorry for-"

Without hesitation, Matt wrapped Y/N in a comforting hug, interrupting her sentence while pulling her closer and holding her firmly against his chest, his arms wrapping around her shoulders with just the right amount of strength. He could feel the tremors that ran through her body, almost sensing the palpable fear that consumed her insides.

"It's okay, sweet girl. I'm here now." Matt whispered, gently stroking the girl's hair with his right hand. His presence was like a balm to Y/N's grief-stricken soul, slowly dispelling the shadows of her fear. "Come on."

The boy took a few steps back, eventually pulling her along before slowly closing the door. He kept his left arm firmly around her shoulders as he straightened his posture, beginning his slow steps towards his unmade bed.

With his free hand, the brunette pulled the duvet down before gently guiding Y/N to the mattress, helping her lie down on the side he didn't sleep on. He adjusted the strands of her loose hair so that they were not on her face, watching her eyes blink slowly in sleep, her eyelashes trembling with each thunderclap.

Matt quickly walked over to his own side of the bed, laying down on the still warm surface, right where he was previously lying, before pulling the duvet up, tucking it tightly around Y/N's body so that not a piece of her skin covered by thin pajamas would be exposed to the freezing air.

He laid down on his side and rested his head on his pillow, extending his left arm - which was against the mattress - and, with his free hand, gently pulled Y/N, encouraging her to get closer. The girl quickly got the message, pressing her cold body against Matt's warm one and laying her head on his outstretched bicep, her legs shrinking and her knees pressing against the boy's abdomen, a sigh of relief escaping her nose almost instantly.

Matt encircled her torso with his right arm, bringing her closer - if that was possible - and lowering his face, sealing Y/N's forehead with his lips tenderly, conveying a sense of safety and protection that she so desperately craved. The brunette caressed the warm skin of her face with the tip of his nose gently, whispering small words of affection and reassurance, muffling the sound of thunder against Y/N's ears while his hands caressed the back of her shoulders.

As the night progressed, Y/N gradually felt calmer and more serene in Matt's arms. The sound of thunder still echoed in the distance, but now she was no longer alone.

"Thank you, Matty." Her voice, now sleepy and low, came out of her mouth in a whisper, her eyes gradually closing as the sound of slow breathing and rhythmic heartbeats that echoed from the his larger body acted as a natural tranquilizer for her.

"Anything for you, petal."

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My requests are closed, but my asks are always open ♡

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

~ taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @sturniolowhore @luvr4miya @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @ksskianshd @soimightlikeoldmen69 @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @soso-scarlettolivia @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @patscorner @strnilolo @bernardsbendystraws @mattsneezing @poetatorturadaa @meg-sturniolo @orangeypepsi @jnkvivi @chrisactualwife @watermelonreid @iammattswife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment here)

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

hello 🩷recently found and loved your account so i’m here to ask from you!!

criminal minds SSA aaron hotchner x reader

i’d love any explicit smut 😋

ideal trope(s) would be jealousy, established but secret relationship due to workplace like the whole thing stems from AH being jealous af that you’re getting hit on or smth and he can’t do shy about it in public but oh when ur home.. 👀👀👀

hahaha sorry the brain rot is real

thank you if you do this!!

and i hope u never stop writing i’ve been reading ur other posts too i love them sm

༉‧₊˚. 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

— pairing: aaron hotchner x plus size!reader

— summary: your new relationship brings out a side of aaron that he had never seen before.

— warnings: established relationship, jealousy (obvi), unprotected sex, rough sex, teasing, couch sex, aaron lowkey bends you like a pretzel, heavy praise, he taps you on the cheek (lovingly ofc), implied creampie, consent king aaron!!, slightly insecure aaron, implied age gap but not specified, body massages and an implied size kink!

— wc: 2018

⋆ a/n: WOW a long smut fic, who would have thought? anywho, i'm trying to break free from posting headcanons because i just know they'll overtake this account. thank you for this request!

masterlist | AO3

Aaron felt his eye twitch. 

His eye never twitches.

The culprit? The maintenance man that won’t stop talking to you. 

He had so much paperwork he needed to complete, the stack of it had begun to tower, but Aaron couldn’t manage to get himself to focus on anything else but you. 

Your relationship was fairly new, so you both had just agreed to keep it low-key for now. It wasn’t like you guys were lying, how could you when you were constantly surrounded by nosy profilers? 

With new relationships came new feelings, and one of them he hadn’t felt since he was a young man somehow managed to resurface right under his nose: jealousy.

Yes, he had his moments of jealousy when he had first gotten with Hailey, but this? This was different. The age gap between the two of you wasn’t that large, but it was considerable enough that when he saw men closer to your age creeping around you, it always put him in a foul mood.

Like right now he just wants to storm down there and kiss you right in front of that stupid kid. The urge was primal and unfamiliar, and quite frankly it drove him insane.

Aaron was sure you hadn’t meant to come off as flirtatious, and who were your colleagues to step in if you looked genuinely interested in the guy? For all they knew you were single.

Oh, yeah, this was going to drive him over the edge, and it was all your fault.

It was safe to say you were excited when Aaron had decided to call it an early night, you just hadn’t expected him to jump on you as soon as you breached the threshold of your home.

He didn’t give you time to think or even put your things down, his briefcase followed along by your purse collapsed to the floor with a surprisingly loud thud!

Your lungs burned and your face was hot, heated between the two furnaces that were Aaron’s large and work-worn hands. You desperately clung onto the sleeves of his suit jacket, the material twisting between your fingers to keep yourself sturdy as he walked backwards.

“A- Aaron wha - what’s going on?” You pleaded breathlessly. You had to slightly shove the man away even though you were met with his uncharacteristic resistance. He just stood there and stared at you like a wild man, pupils dilated and chest rising and falling with every hastened breath he took.

He shook his head and blinked, like his thoughts were escaping him. Aaron couldn’t think when you looked at him like that; your lips kiss swollen with a light sheen of spit, your blouse covered breasts grazing his firm chest.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” Was all he could say before reconnecting your lips. 

He continues to walk backwards before the back of his calves meet the couch. He allows himself to drop down with a slight oomf, his needy hands tugging on yours encouragingly until you clambered onto his lap.

He didn’t give you time to show him any hesitancy, his palms gripping your hips firmly and all but holding you down against him. You gasped at the feeling, your fingers scratching at the shaved hairs on the back of his neck. 

“Aaron! What has gotten into you?” The question was a flustered giggle. Aaron’s eyes casted to the side in a rare show of nervousness. 

“It’s ridiculous.” He mutters. “I can bet you a million dollars that whatever you’re going to say isn’t as silly as you think it is.”

“It was that guy. The one that wouldn’t stop talking to you.” It took you a moment to think back on it before you finally understood what he meant. “The maintenance man? What about him?”

“He was flirting with you, and - I don’t know, it made me feel things I haven’t in a long time.”

Saying the actual word jealousy seemed so juvenile to Aaron; he was a grown ass man with a grown ass man job, so what right did he have to be acting like this?

“Oh.” It was long and drawn out. You felt a smirk begin to form on your face and you gently coaxed his eyes to meet yours. Aaron’s gaze was unsure. 

“You know I’m yours, right? I don’t want anyone else that isn’t you, no matter how young, rich or tall.” Your hips begin to grind down on his and Aaron chokes back a groan. His grip on your flesh gets stronger and it draws a whimper out of you.

“Yeah?” He asks sensually, his voice a low purr. He aids in your grinding and your head grows fuzzy. “Yeah.”

He’s quick to reposition the both of you, your back now resting on the couch cushions. He kisses down your neck, nipping lightly at the skin there. It sends a shiver down your spine and your lower half canting up, desperately searching for friction. 

Your hot cunt meets his knee. “Ah! Aaron.” You whined, fingers digging into his shoulders. Your boyfriend has one foot on the ground and the other wedged between your legs.

Aaron rises from your chest for a moment, shoving off his suit jacket and working the buttons on his shirt. You take it upon yourself to take your blouse off, arms reaching behind you to unclasp your bra with learned precision. 

His eyes fall on your breasts and you could have sworn his movements gained a bit of franticness.

“Like what you see?” You couldn’t help but tease, your hands now working to shimmy your pencil skirt down your thighs. “Very much.” Aaron agrees with a lazy half smile. “Here, let me help.” You lift your hips up and he takes both your panties and skirt off at the same time.

The casual show of strength made your stomach clench, and you all but snatched Aaron by the back of his neck back down to your level. A noise of surprise escapes him and you take it as a chance to slip your tongue in his mouth.

Your body begins to heat up, his taking grabs and grips driving you insane.

“Fuck me.” You heave. Aaron pulls away from you, “Are you sure? You aren’t prepared well yet, and I don’t want to hurt you.” You smile softly. “As much as I appreciate your concern about me, I’ll let you know if there’s any discomfort, okay?”

Aaron thinks on your words for a moment, mulling them about in his brain before relenting at the feeling of your sweet, tempting hands stroking his bare chest.

“You always have to keep me on my toes, don’t you?” 

“That was in the agreement.” You bite playfully. He snorts and rolls his eyes, but sits up once more to unbutton his pants. 

With what feels like forever, he’s finally bare for your hungry eyes and clambering on top of you.

Resuming his old position, he wraps your legs around his waist, the tip of his cock poking at your slit. The two of you shiver at the feeling.

“Are you sure about this, sweetheart? You know I don’t mind eating you out; I’m in no rush.” Your cheeks turn warm at his crudeness. “I’m sure, baby. I need you. Now.” With one final search of your face, he begins to push forward.

Your breath catches in your throat and you hold on to his muscular biceps. Your eyes flutter shut at the full feeling of him, your legs trembling and stomach tightening. 

The first initial stretch hurts of course, but with a minute of laying there adjusting to Aaron’s size as he delivers very stimulating circles on your clit to distract you from the discomfort, you find yourself loosening up.

“Move.” You grunted quietly. 

Aaron’s jaw is set tight, the vein in his forehead slightly bulging when he proceeds to thrust experimentally. Your lips roll in between your teeth to hold back the whorish moan that threatens to practically barrel out of you. 

He does it again, and again, and again, until all of his self control is thrown out the window and the only thing he can think of is you; of how tight you are around him.

“It feels so good, baby. So, so good…” You babble, your hands reaching up to grip the armrest of the couch for more leverage. “I know honey, I know. ‘M gonna get deeper, okay?” Aaron groans. You nod wildly, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of your face.

He steadies himself on the knee placed on the couch, lifting your legs up so either one sits on his big, broad shoulders. 

The change in position caused your back to arch, your mouth dropping open into an ‘o’ shape as you struggled to keep your head on straight.“Mphm! You’re so - you’re so deep.” You cried out, tears brimming on your eyelashes. “I know I am, baby. But you can take it right?”

“Mhm! I can! I know I can!” 

“You can take it because you’re mine right? Because you’re my good girl?” 

His praise pushes you dangerously close to the edge, and you’re honestly convinced that the crescent shape of your nails will leave an imprint on the material forever. The couch cushions stick to your skin like glue, the so of skin hitting skin resounded throughout the room lewdly.

A hand lightly slapped your face, your cheeks squeezed between his fingers, puckering slightly.

“I asked you a question, didn't I sweetheart?”

“You did, you did! ‘M sorry. ‘M your good girl, please.”

What you were begging for, you didn’t know; was it mercy? Was it a desperate call for your sanity? Whatever it was could wait, because you were going to cum.

“Gah! God, Aaron, ‘m gonna cum! Help me cum, please.” You begged again. “I got you honey.”

Aaron’s hand slithered down your body before landing on your clit, a calloused thumb drawing it around in firm circles. Your body moved and convulsed violently, your moans growing in volume – you’re sure you’re going to receive a noise complaint in the mail later.

That coil in your stomach threatened to snap, and all you could think to say was, “Cum with me?” 

To be frank, Aaron was ready to cum a few thrusts before, but he was always one to prolong his pleasure if that meant satisfying you.

“Of - of course.” He stuttered, his dominance slowly slipping away from him.

Aaron bent forward just a little more to test how far he could push you, and though you were sure your muscles were going to ache when everything died down, but God, this was so, so worth it.

“F- fuck!” You swore as you came.

Everything disappeared for a moment besides the sound of Aaron’s guttural groan that sounded more like a loud, long-drawn-out whimper than anything when he came too.

You were slowly brought back to reality by Aaron massaging your sore muscles, gently twisting them and rubbing out any potential knots that threatened to form. You knew he'd disappear in a minute to grab something to wipe you down with, but you couldn’t seem to find it within your post orgasmic bliss to care.

“Mm, that’s nice.” You rasped, your eyelids fluttering open to face your disheveled boyfriend. His hair was all out of place in the best way possible, his bare body shining in a clear sheen of sweat. If you weren’t so tired, you think you’d jump straight to a round two.

“I’m sure,” Aaron’s voice was just as hoarse as yours. “I think I pushed your body a bit too far.”

“Don’t get started, Aaron.” You chided lightly. “It was perfect, okay? You were perfect. Now get up here.” 

You dragged him from where he was and laid his body on top of yours.

“Down.” You demanded playfully. “I’m heavy, honey.”

“Don’t care.” You exaggerated the ‘don’t’ and pulled the rest of him down.

“I want to lay like this for a minute.”

“Alright,” Aaron nodded to himself. “I can do a minute.”

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[loonylupinblack3]

Overprotective

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, intoxication, suggestions of violence occurring (nothing actually happens just very brief suggestion)

Summary: Going to the club and getting drunk without your overprotective boyfriend is never a good idea

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: posting bc of max's win in china

Max had always been protective of you. Since as long as you can remember Max had acted like your protector, stopping you from doing risky things and helping you when you did them anyway and hurt yourself.

You were childhood best friends, having known each other since you were five and he was six, brought together by a love of karting. As time passed and the two of you grew up, your relationship stayed strong, but changed. Feelings grew between the two of you, though it took until you were 21 before you two did anything about it.

So you were used to Max’s slightly overprotective tendencies. It was second nature to you, as familiar to you as breathing. However, that didn’t mean it didn’t get on your nerves from time to time, like tonight for instance. You were supposed to be going out with your girlfriends to a newly opened club, but Max was having some trouble letting you go.

He raised his eyebrows when he saw you enter the living room from his seat on the couch, eyes roaming your body. You were wearing a cliche club outfit; short black dress, heels, and bangles on your arm. You could see the appreciativeness in Max’s gaze, but also concern.

“You look nice,” he said, putting his phone down.

You smiled and gave a little spin. “Thank you. It’s the dress I got on Tuesday.”

Max stayed silent for a moment, considering what to say. “You look very beautiful, Schatz, don’t get me wrong…. But is that what you’re wearing out?”

“Is there something wrong with it?”

Max hesitated again. “It’s just… it’s not very restaurant friendly.”

You made an ‘o’ shape with your mouth. You had wondered briefly why Max had been so calm about you going clubbing, but you’d brushed it off thinking he just didn’t mind it. Now you knew it was because he didn’t actually know.

“Well, Max, that’s because we’re going clubbing, not to a restaurant,” you say slowly, waiting with baited breath for his reaction.

Max blinked, surprised. “You’re what?”

“We’re going clubbing….”

Max opened his mouth then closed it, clearing his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged. “I thought you knew.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You thought I knew you were going clubbing? Even though I didn’t say anything about it? Or warn you about drinking too much?”

You grimaced. “I know how it sounds but I genuinely didn’t realise you didn’t know.”

Max sighed. “I know, I trust you. I just don’t know if going clubbing is a good idea.”

“But it’s already been decided. And I got dressed up.”

You pouted slightly and Max rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m just worried about you.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine. Me and the girls have sorted everything out.”

Max started. “You mean it’s just going to be you girls alone? What about Izzy’s boyfriend Liam? Or Kate’s boyfriend? They’re not going?”

“It’s a girls night,” you reminded him. “No boys allowed.”

“Schatz….” Max warned. “I don’t feel comfortable letting you go to the club alone.”

“I’m not going to be alone-”

“You’ll be with a group of girls, all of you vulnerable and easy to prey on,” Max said sternly. “I’m not trying to be mean, but without a man around you there are certain people who will take that as an opportunity to try and hurt you.”

You sighed. “I know Max, but we’re fine. We know one of the bartenders and he’s promised to keep an eye out for us, plus Liam will be driving us home so we have a ride. Seriously, you don’t need to worry.”

Max frowned, looking at your face for any trace of doubt. “I always worry about you.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Max continued thinking before eventually conceding, walking up to you and wrapping you into a tight hug. “Be safe,” he murmured into your ear.

You returned the embrace. “I always am.”

You pulled back, still in Max’s arms, and he tugged down your dress with a slight scowl. “Too short.”

You rolled your eyes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Goodbye Max.”

“Don’t drink too much,” Max said, “and text me when you’re coming home.”

You nodded your head and hugged him goodbye once more before leaving the apartment and your boyfriend. You knew he was worried, knew he’d probably be worried for the rest of the night and wait up for you, which made you feel guilty. He hadn’t prepared for you to go out clubbing, completely different from a tame meal at some restaurant, and you knew he’d be agonising over it for the rest of the night.

All you could do was answer his texts and make sure he knew you were safe. 

Except things didn’t go to plan.

You arrived at the club and everything was fine. You looked around, taking pictures of the new place, and greeted your bartender friend. You ordered some drinks and stayed by the bar for a bit, talking and catching up, before one of your wilder friends, Lily, suggested shots and then dancing. You weren’t much of a shot person, mostly because you were a lightweight, and you hadn’t planned on getting too drunk tonight but everyone was egging you on, and you didn’t want to be left out so you agreed, the four of you slamming down tequila shots like you did in college.

Then it was off to the dance floor, you, Lily, Kate and Izzy forming your own circle, dancing and laughing with one another. And you were having fun. You were feeling happy, giddy, and the only thing that would make this night better would be to have Max by your side.

You stepped out of the dance circle, moving back to the bar as you took out your phone. Noticing the multiple texts from Max left unanswered you felt a pang of guilt, but it was distant compared to the excitement you felt.

y/n: maxieeeeeeee

maxie❤️: you okay?

y/n: im the bset y/n: i mss yoi y/n: u shoud come tothe club

maxie❤️: are you drunk??

y/n: jst a litttle bit

y/n: lily siad shots

maxie❤️: you did shots? are you okay?

y/n: im grate

y/n: u should cmoe hree

y/n: i wnna party wth yoou

maxie❤️: already on my way

If you were sober, you probably would have picked up on the annoyed/concerned tone Max’s text had, but you were not sober, so you texted him a ‘yaaaaayyyyy’ and turned your phone off, waiting for what you thought was going to be your party ready boyfriend.

Instead, after you’d had another shot with your friends and continued dancing, you found yourself face to face with your concerned and worried boyfriend.

“Maxie!” you slurred, throwing your arms around your boyfriend in a hug. “Come dance with me!”

Max chucked, trying not to show his concern, but his tight hold on your waist gave him away. You pulled back and looked at him. “You are going to dance with me, right?”

Max sighed, manoeuvring you so you were off the dance floor. You were almost too drunk to notice, just clinging onto your boyfriend. “I’m here to take you home.”

“But I don't want to go home. I’m happy here,” you whined like a child.

Max muttered under his breath, “did I or did I not tell you not to drink too much.”

You frowned at his bad attitude. “I just want to dance.”

He shot you a look. “You can dance at home where you're safe, not in a club full of strangers while drunk out of your mind.”

You pouted but your boyfriend had already made his decision, half dragging half carrying you to where he parked his car. You knew better than to fight Max when he was like this, even drunk, so you sat in the passenger seat with your arms crossed, glaring at the road ahead of you while silently cursing Max and his stupid overprotectiveness. 

Max glanced at you as he drove. “I can tell you’re upset with me.”

“I was having fun,” you complained, “and you took me away from it.”

Max sighed. “I’m sorry Schatz, I am, but I wasn’t comfortable letting you stay in a club full of strangers drunk without me.”

You pouted again. “So why didn’t you just stay at the club with me?”

Max laughed a bit. “Because I only enjoy clubs when I’m drunk, and the whole purpose of me being there would be watching you while you’re drunk, not the other way round.”

It made sense even to your drunk brain- sort of -so you dropped the subject, letting Max off the hook. Maybe you’d argue with him in the morning when you were sober and had a better grasp on reality, but as Max parked in your driveway and helped you out of the car, all you wanted to do was curl up with your boyfriend and go to sleep, which is exactly what you did.

Max helped you undress and got as much makeup off your face as he was able to with his limited skill set and then got you into bed, laying down beside you. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest where you sighed into it, content.

“I love you,” he murmured into your hair.

Even drunk and half asleep, you still managed to reply, “I love you too.

[mariyekos]

Okay to reblog to help sample size!

[brigid-faye]

Art by Readiert for my fic Let Me Believe (Ever After)

Listen. In a Cinderella AU - I know Remus is the obvious down and out Cinderella. But. Which one of them has canonically awful family? Which one of them would have a dramatic outfit reveal?? Exactly. We stan Cinderfoot and Prince Moony.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk

Edit: minor grammar

[thisnightissparkling089]

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[huggingkoalas]

is this hatred? or love? part 1

pairings natasha romanoff x fem!reader

synopsis what happens when you have to share a bed with your enemy?

word count 2.9k

warnings fluff, teasing, gunshot wound, reader’s injured, pet names (sweetheart, love), one bed trope, enemies to lovers, they’re both so in denial it makes me want to bang my head against the wall

author’s note haven’t had the time to write in a long time. i honestly had a lot of fun writing this, natasha being the most annoying fucking tease is the biggest headcannon to me <3

navigation main masterlist | request guidelines | about me

“Need a hand, dorogaya (sweetheart)?”

“Shut up, Romanoff.”

“If you say so.”

With your dominant hand pressed firmly against your wounded abdomen to stem the bleeding, your other hand trembled as it swiped the card through the reader. Natasha leaned her back casually against the adjacent wall, her boredom thinly veiled by a feigned yawn as the reader emitted its third ‘beep’ of rejection due to your insufficient force.

“We’ll be here all day. Aren’t you supposed to have super soldier serum in your blood?” 

“I said shut up.”

With an exasperated scoff, Natasha snatched the card out of your hand. She forcefully swiped it through the reader, the satisfying click of the door unlocking echoing in the corridor. As the door swung open to reveal the dimly lit motel room, Natasha couldn’t help but grin smugly.

“See? Easy as pie.”

You grunted in response, carefully adjusting your stance to maintain pressure on your wound. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, love.” She replied breezily. 

With a nod of appreciation, you stepped through the doorway, a wave of relief washing over you, although the throbbing pain in your abdomen dampened it. Natasha followed suit, closing the door behind her and locking it. She walked past you, her demeanour shifting subtly from teasing to attentive as she scanned the room. Once she familiarised herself with the layout and window exits, she turned back to you, nodding her head to give you the all-clear.

The room looked ordinary like any other hostel room, with neutral-toned walls and simple furnishings. A small table sat in one corner, adorned with a lamp and a few scattered brochures. Across the room, a worn-out armchair stood next to a narrow window, its curtains drawn shut to block the dim city lights. On the opposite wall, a modest dresser provided limited storage space, its drawers slightly ajar. Despite its lack of luxury, the room emanated a sense of comfort. As you looked around the unremarkable surroundings, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of gratitude for the simple shelter it provided.

While you were busy surveying the room, Natasha’s attention was on your injured abdomen, a subtle flash of concern in her eyes. The sight of the fresh blood staining your shirt in the brief moments it took to open the door tugged at her heartstrings, even if she would never admit it to you.

“How bad is the wound?” She inquired, pointing a finger towards your abdomen.

You glanced down, noting the slight redness seeping through the fabric and onto your shirt. “Well, I wouldn’t have this wound if someone realised that a HYDRA agent was aiming at them.” You retorted.

Natasha smirked, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Hey, it’s not my fault they can’t resist taking a shot at me, I’m irresistible.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle despite the ache in your side. “Irresistible, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

“Of course.” She shrugged casually, giving you a knowing look. “I honestly think we both attract trouble wherever we go. It's probably the only reason Fury paired the two of the biggest troublemakers on this mission, right? He’s probably having the best day of his life without having to deal with us constantly being at each other’s throats.”

You smirked, acknowledging the truth in her words. “Seems like Fury knows what he’s doing after all.”

 “Well, I’d like to think he’s getting some entertainment out of it.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Entertainment? More like a headache.”

Her smirk softened into a faint smile as she shook her head. “Just because you saved me doesn’t mean that I don’t hate you still.”

“Likewise, Romanoff. Just because we’re being all buddy-buddy right now doesn’t mean I suddenly like you.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eyes. “Good. Wouldn’t want things to get too sentimental, partner.”

You knew that the word ‘partner’ was dripping with teasing and sarcasm. The two of you were anything but cooperative with each other. You both frequently exchanged biting remarks, teasing, and insults. You couldn’t help but wonder what you had done to make her despise you so much. You were nice to her when you joined the Avengers all those years ago, but it always seemed that she harboured a deep dislike for you. When you spoke up in a team meeting, she would scowl and you could always feel her gaze burning a hole in your skull.

In the beginning, you tried to get along with her and be as friendly to her as you were to everyone else. From offering her assistance during training or helping her with her mission reports, nothing you did ever seemed to break the coldness and distance in her heart. You knew she wasn’t the most extroverted person, but you never saw her act that way towards others. Eventually, you gave up and decided it was best to ignore her, just as she had ignored you. 

Of course, once you started ignoring her too, Natasha’s behaviour changed. She started teasing and taunting you, finding ways to provoke a reaction from you even when you tried to ignore her. And she kept winning. Her incessant teasing had a way of getting under your skin. It was a frustrating cycle of provocation and reaction. You felt like you were constantly on edge whenever she was around. 

But reluctantly, you couldn’t deny that everything had changed during the mission an hour ago. Despite the heated tensions, you both had an unspoken agreement to watch each other’s backs in battle.

As the weight of the moment settled on you, Natasha’s gaze softened, and her concern for your well-being was evident in the depths of her eyes. “But seriously,” she said, her tone changing to genuine concern, “let me help you tend to that wound before it gets infected.”

You shook your head slightly. “It’s okay, I can take care of it myself.”

Her expression tightened slightly, her concern unwavering. “Stubborn as always,” she muttered under her breath.

You met her gaze with a steely resolve. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve handled worse.”

Her lips formed a thin line, showing her frustration. "Think of it as a way of repaying you for helping me.” She insisted, her voice firm.

You knew she wouldn’t give the matter up. The both of you were equally as stubborn as a mule. “Fine.” You relented, offering a nod. 

“Great,” Natasha replied, a hint of relief in her tone. “To the bathroom then. I’m sure this motel room has a first aid kit somewhere…”

You and Natasha made your way to the bathroom, her footsteps echoing yours. Silently, you took a seat on the edge of the closed toilet seat. You leaned back against the toilet’s tank, the cool porcelain surface offering a brief respite from the tension in your muscles. She wasted no time in retrieving the first aid kit from the mirror cabinet and moving towards you. 

“Take off your shirt,” She instructed, settling the first aid kit on the tiled floor.

Your brows furrowed in surprise at her directive. “W-What?” You stammered, looking down at her with an incredulous look.

Natasha rolled her eyes at your surprise, her patience wearing thin. “Come on, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” she chided, her tone tinged with exasperation. “I can’t clean your wound if you have your shirt on.”

Reluctantly, you began to peel off your shirt cautiously. Each inch revealed the angry red gunshot wound beneath, eliciting a whine as the fabric grazed against your wound. At least you were lucky that the bullet passed through instead of staying inside your body. As more of your skin came into view, Natasha’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. A blush crept onto her cheeks, betraying her normally composed demeanour. Despite her best efforts to maintain her composure, the sight of your exposed skin stirred something within her, igniting a warmth that she couldn’t quite suppress. Quickly, she averted her gaze, busying herself with preparing the first aid supplies. Though she tried to hide it, the flush on her cheeks lingered.

As you finally removed your shirt, Natasha’s expression softened even further. “Thank you for sacrificing yourself for me. It was incredibly stupid, though.” She murmured, her voice softer now.

“It’s alright, Romanoff.”

“You can call me Natasha, you know. You’re the only one in the team that still calls me by my last name.”

“Alright, Natasha.” Your lips twitched into a small, appreciative smile. 

In a comfortable silence, Natasha began to carefully clean the wound with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol, her touch gentle yet precise. The warmth of her fingertips against your skin sent a shiver down your spine. As she worked, you couldn’t help but steal glances at her, admiring the focused expression on her face.

Natasha’s brows furrowed as she delicately dabbed at the wound, her lips forming a thin line. Now and then, she would scrunch her nose up, a small, endearing gesture that softened her usual stoic expression. Despite the pain, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips at the sight of her.

Once the wound was cleaned and dressed, her gaze met yours with a sense of satisfaction. “There,” she said softly, relief in her voice. “All done.”

You offered her a grateful smile, “Thank you.”

A small, genuine smile curved Natasha’s lips as she met your gaze. “Anytime, dorogaya (sweetheart).”

As she rose to her feet, a blush crept onto your cheeks. You were well-acquainted with Natasha’s tendency to use nicknames on you, especially ‘dorogaya’, but it was typically wielded with a teasing edge. This time, however, it wasn’t accompanied by the usual teasing tone. Instead, it carried a genuine warmth that caught you off guard.

“Uh…” You stammered, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest at the unexpectedly sincere endearment. Clearing your throat, you tried to push aside the fluttering in your chest.

Her smile widened at your reaction. “Nervous, are we?”

“Shut up, Natasha.” 

She chuckled softly at your retort, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she teased, her tone light and playful.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips despite the warmth still lingering in your cheeks. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, though there was no real bite to your words.

With a shake of her head, Natasha reached down to offer you a hand. “Come on, let’s get you back on your feet,” she said.

You hesitated for a moment, touched by her gesture, before placing your hand in hers. With a steady grip, she helped you to your feet. She moved to the doorway before looking at you over her shoulder. “I’ll let you shower first. Try not to get water on the dressing.”

“Got it.”

With a final nod of acknowledgement, Natasha closed the door behind her, leaving you alone in the quiet of the bathroom. Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, you slipped off the rest of your clothes and placed them in a pile with your soiled shirt. A sense of relief washed over you at the prospect of washing away the grime of the day’s events. You turned on the water, allowing the warm cascade to envelop you as you stepped beneath the stream. Despite the lingering ache in your abdomen, the sensation of the water against your skin was soothing, easing the aching tension that had settled in your muscles.

As you stood beneath the spray, you couldn’t help but reflect on the events that led to this moment. Fury had sent you and Natasha on what was supposed to be a routine mission, but as these things often went, it spiralled into chaos. The intel given was faulty, the security stronger than anticipated, and you were in over your heads before you knew it. It was a mission gone wrong, one of those rare instances where even the most meticulous planning couldn’t prevent disaster.

In the aftermath of the debacle, with your injuries sustained and the mission being held in another country, there was no choice but to seek refuge in a motel room for a night before a Quinjet could transport you back to the Avengers Compound. Fury had booked a motel room for you and Natasha, a nondescript haven tucked away from prying eyes. It was a humble accommodation, far removed from the luxuries of the Compound, but at least it provided a temporary sanctuary where you could tend to your wounds without drawing unwanted attention.

As you stood beneath the shower’s warm spray, the mission’s events were still fresh and raw as they replayed in your mind like a relentless loop. The close calls, the split-second decisions, the adrenaline-fueled rush of combat. And yet, despite the chaos and uncertainty, one thing remained constant — Natasha fighting with you side-by-side.

You couldn’t help but marvel at Natasha’s resilience. Her determination even in the face of overwhelming odds. She had saved your life more times than you could count, her skills as an assassin matched only by her unwavering loyalty to S.H.I.E.L.D. 

However, this time was different. During the mission, the roles had been reversed. In a moment of instinct, you had thrown yourself between Natasha and the gun aimed in her direction, putting your own life on the line to protect hers. The only reason you could think of for making a reckless decision like that was that simple —  you couldn’t bear the thought of losing Natasha, even if you hated her with your whole heart. There was no hesitation as you acted on pure instinct, driven by a need to protect her.

As the warm water washed away the physical remnants of the mission, you emerged from the shower. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you stepped out of the bathroom, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as the steam-filled air gave way to the coolness of the room. 

Immediately, your gaze was drawn to Natasha, who sat on the edge of the bed, her expression a mix of surprise as she took in your appearance. You couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves at the intensity of her gaze, prompting you to tighten the towel around yourself in a subconscious attempt to shield your modesty.

Finally, Natasha broke the silence. “Sorry for staring. I.. uh-” She faltered for a moment, her words trailing off as she cleared her throat, seemingly struggling to find the right thing to say. “We have a problem. There’s only one bed.” 

Her words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were at a loss for how to respond. You looked down at the singular bed Natasha was sitting on. You couldn’t help but feel a flush of embarrassment colour your cheeks. The prospect of sharing a bed with Natasha added a whole new layer of complexity to your already complicated relationship with her.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Natasha suggested, standing up.

You felt a pang of guilt wash over you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that it wouldn’t be fair for her to sacrifice her comfort for your sake.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You interjected quickly. “You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor instead.”

Natasha crossed her arms, regarding you with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not being ridiculous. You’re the one that’s injured, you should get the bed instead.”

You shook your head. “I appreciate the concern but I really can’t let you sleep on the floor. We’re both equally exhausted from the mission and besides, you need a good night’s rest too.”

Natasha’s expression softened, her gaze meeting yours with a mixture of gratitude and stubbornness. “I can’t let you sleep on the floor either,” she countered, her voice firm.

You sighed, realizing that neither of you would easily back down from this standoff. “Alright, how about this,” you proposed. “We share the bed. It’s really small, so we’ll have to sleep pressed up against each other, but at least neither of us has to sleep uncomfortably.”

Natasha hesitated for a moment, considering your offer. “Are you sure?” she asked, her tone softening with concern.

“I’m sure.” You nodded, offering her a reassuring smile. “Go take a shower. You smell.”

She chuckled softly at your attempt to lighten the mood. “Yes ma’am.”

As Natasha disappeared into the bathroom, you took a moment to collect your thoughts, relieved that the tension between you had dissipated, at least for now. Sharing a bed with her was certainly going to be an… interesting experience.

You reached for the bag you had dropped near the doorway and pulled out a fresh set of clothes. Quickly, you dressed yourself. As you settled into bed, you heard the door open as Natasha emerged from the bathroom. You were facing away from her as you felt the bed dip behind you when she got into bed. Feeling her presence behind you, you turned your head to offer her a small smile. 

“Can I… wrap my arm around you? It’s the only way we’ll both fit in this bed.” Natasha remarked, her voice laced with a hint of embarrassment. 

You chuckled softly, feeling the tension easing further as you nodded in agreement. “Sure, yeah, go ahead.”

As Natasha shifted closer, her front pressed up against your back and her arm gently encircling your waist, you couldn’t help but feel the butterflies in your stomach at the sudden intimacy. Despite the awkwardness, there was a surprising comfort in the warmth of her touch, and you found yourself relaxing further in her embrace.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Natasha murmured, her breath warm against your ear.

“Goodnight, Natasha.” You replied, a sense of contentment settling over you as you closed your eyes.

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[bobateababe]

🎀 𝓇𝒾𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒮𝓊𝓀𝓊𝓃𝒶'𝓈 𝓉𝓊𝓂𝓂𝓎 𝓂🌺𝓊𝓉𝒽 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝒽𝑒'𝓈 𝓈𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑔 🎀:

You whine softly, tossing over for the nth time that night. You couldn't sleep, you've tried every trick in the book from counting sheep to simply closing your eyes and waiting for sleep to take you. However, sleep simply ignored you and you lost count of the sheep.

Something else was bothering you, something deep inside you..like a fire. Ah yes, arousal.

Your sweet and strong husband lay beside you, in a deep sleep. Unlike you, his side of the bed was perfectly laid as he slept as still as a log. However, you needed him awake. You needed him to be inside you; thrusting deep and hard. The thought of it fuels your arousal more, making you clench your thighs.

"-Kuna" you whisper in the dark, nudging your husband. "Sukunaa" you whine softly "wake up....'need you"

Your husband stays still, muttering softly but not awake and unbothered by your attempts to wake him.

You lay back down for a moment, wallowing in your own defeat. Until an idea strikes you. You climb on top of him, caressing his chiseled abs lightly with your finger.

You position yourself so that your pussy is directly over his stomach and you can feel the lips of his stomach mouth kiss the soft lips of your pussy. You grind down on his stomach, smothering his tummy mouth in your sweet wetness.

"A-aah!" you suddenly let out a sound between squeal and and a moan as you feel something soft and wet caress your folds, licking one long stripe up your pussy.

Sukuna may be sleeping, but his tummy mouth isn't. The sentient creature is wide awake, licking and swirling its huge tongue around your clit, gently sucking at it and kissing your folds. It felt as if it were slowly making out with your cunt, savoring its wetness and wanting to be immersed in it.

You let out a moan, immediately covering your mouth to muffle the sweet sound. Sukuna continues to sleep soundly.

However the stomach mouth is unyielding and begins to fuck you slowly with its tongue. "Aaah!" you cry out softly. Your pussy is sopping wet with the stickiness and saliva of the mouth and your own arousal. The wetness drips down to your thighs as you continue to endlessly grind down on your husband's stomach.

You glance at your husband's sleeping face, his perfect face and jawline illuminated by the rays of moonlight. Sukuna licks his bottom lip, as if he can taste something. He smirks lightly in his sleep. "Can he-?"

Your thoughts are interrupted as the stomach mouth relentlessly laps and laps at your pussy like a dog. The tongue is faster and more skilled than before, kissing your soft lips and the tongue bullying its way past your folds and reaching deep inside you, and fucking you in and out.

Lewd noises fill the air. Wet, slurping noises mixed with your quiet moans disrupt the silence of the night. You begin to ride yourself on his tongue, fucking it as if it were his cock.

"Mmmm! a-aah!" your moans begin to be more and more desperate, more high pitched and needy. The fire in your stomach builds and builds. You whine louder and louder-

"brat." a deep voice calls. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

You open your eyes, and to your horror you find Sukuna wide awake, his eyes blown with lust and a trace of a smirk dancing across his charming face. He places his bottom set of hands on your hips, pushing your gooey pussy further down on his moist tongue.

"d-daddy please!" you cry out. "m'sorry! y-you weren't awake and-" tears of frustration begin to pool at your eyes as Sukuna sadistically smiles and makes his stomach mouth fuck you deeper and harder than before, then, he places one of his hand mouths on your clit; making it suck gently at your clit while the stomach mouth fucks your pussy.

You're in total euphoria. You can't think straight, only incoherent moans and babbles leaving your mouth as you cream around his soft tongue and hand.

"Such an insolent brat" he mutters. "Always so needy." he grabs your face, forcing you to look at him as his two mouths continue to taste your creamy juices. "Im going to fuck you on this tongue all night since you like it so much. And your going to take it all just like the fucking slut you are." he spat spanking your ass hard enough to leave a handprint.

Conclusion? You fucked up. (kinda)

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Just Take It | Bonus Drabble 1

Summary: An encounter with a cashier leaves Jungkook ready to cause a scene Pairing: Inexperienced f!reader x Best Friend's Dad Jungkook (20 year age gap) Word Count: 1K~ Warning: Explicit and suggestive language. Jungkook threatens to kill someone but like not really lol that's pretty much it a/n: This was an ask I got but both the anon and I'm sure a bunch of you love seeing jealous Jungkook so here's a short chapter of something that happened after they started dating 🤭 p.s. written in one sitting and barely edited Start from the beginning

"Can you wait in line for a second Darling? I forgot I needed to get one more thing" Jungkook asks me and I nod my head, humming as he places a kiss on my temple and rushes off to another part of the store.

While I wait mindlessly in line I end up getting lost in the different covers of magazines that are displayed around me in line. Leaving me obvious as to the fact that the cashiers have been switched out. Now having changed from a older man to one who's closer to my age that has been shamelessly checking me out since he laid his eyes on me.

Once I get closer to the front of the line I start to get a little antsy, seeing as Jungkook hasn't come back yet and I had forgotten my purse in the car. Lucky for me though there's no one else behind me in line so I won't have to worry about holding someone up.

"Did you find everything alright miss?" the man asks, having his eyes tracing up and down my figure after he finished helping the customer before me.

"Oh um, yes I did thanks. I'm just waiting for my boyfriend to come back" I point out, quickly seeing the look in his eyes.

I turn around and get on my tippy toes as if that would aide me in finding him faster but I can't seem to spot him anywhere.

I turn back around to face the cashier and notice that he's started to scan each item slower and slower and I'm not sure if it's his plan to keep me here longer or to prevent an awkward lull in the process.

Once he's scanned the last item and is ready to accept payment I look back at him and awkwardly laugh and he gives me a crooked smile in return.

"So about this boyfriend of yours, are things pretty serious? Because if you were mine I would never do something like this to you. Always make sure to keep you close and comfortable" he says, dropping his voice an octave, clearly trying his hand at seducing me.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself" I say and pull out my phone to pay instead, deciding that I'll just have Jungkook pay for whatever else he went to look for separately.

Once the cashier cues the system up for me to pay I feel a hand on my waist and relax, knowing exactly who it is.

"Add this one too" Jungkook says, coming back with my favorite ice cream that we had ran out of a few days ago.

The cashier clears his throat and cancels the payment, quickly adding on said item to the total before cueing up the system again and Jungkook places his card on the reader to pay.

"I thought I'd lost you" I say, laughing awkwardly while the cashier packs up our groceries. "I told you I'd be back. I just couldn't find it because you like the most random flavors that are placed in the weirdest of sections" he teases, placing a quick kiss on my lips.

He glares back up at the cashier who is nervously watching our exchange and audibly gulps once Jungkook cocks a brow at him.

"Next time, take a second before you start thinking with your dick alright?" Jungkook growls out, clearly holding himself back but needing to say something regardless.

"Yes sir" is the only response the cashier gives him, bowing his head as a means of apology but it still doesn't sit right with Jungkook leaving me having to physically usher him out of the store.

"Are you okay?" he asks once we're at his car, loading up the groceries after he's taken a second to calm down.

"I'm fine, although I'm glad that you came when you did. I was beginning to think he was going to try to ask me for my number or something" I say and I watch as Jungkook tongues his cheek, knowing that I probably should've kept some of this interaction to myself.

"Did you tell him you have a boyfriend?" he asks, placing the last bags in the trunk and shutting it a tiny bit harder than he usually would.

"Yeah but he didn't seem to care, asked if we were really that serious" I say, digging his grave deeper and deeper.

"I'm gonna kill him" he growls, making moves to head back inside and I run after him not being able to keep up with his long strides any other way and yank on his arm.

"No come on, let's just go. I'm perfectly fine alright. Let's just go home. Please?" I ask, making sure to add a little more pout than I usually would. A tactic that I hope will work to get him to calm down and forget about it.

He takes a deep breath and nods his head, letting me lead him back to the car and he opens the door for me but before I get in he put a hand on my waist and leaves me frozen in place.

"When we get home I'm gonna show you just how serious I am about you. Okay Bunny?" he asks, posed as more of a threat than anything else leaving me shivering, thinking about what I've gotten myself into.

I let out a choked back 'okay' before he slaps my ass and tells me to get in the car leaving me already clenching, dying to know what he's going to do to me

When he sits in the drivers side beside me he starts the car and places a hand on the back of my seat looking out the back window to help him back out before switching gears back into drive.

He immediately places his hand on my thigh, sliding it up my skirt and starts tracing patterns on the inside of my thigh, driving me absolutely insane from just these simple touches.

I'm fucked.

Hopelessly, painfully, deliciously fucked and I can't help but count the minutes until we get home.

Series Masterlist

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[paperfromtoilet]

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