#Replacement Parts for Lazy Man

[gaywizardzone]

i spend months hammering out the intricate lore of my universe where everyone i care about in this manga is a woman and then what do i do with all that effort? draw them in Outfits.

[enbye]

I've had this:

As my header for forever but a while back I found out that I actually hate dr phil immensely and wish him nothing but the deepest darkest suffering known to man, so I replaced him with Dave:

[phantomrose96]

The alt-right's foothold into Gen-Z is frustrating and I can see from over here how they're doing it.

You've got a generation of young-adults who are learning to be adults for the first time and for so many of them it sucks. It sucks to be in your first shitty apartment where things break, and to have your first shitty car that needs maintenance, and to be working a low-paying service or retail job where you get berated all day and barely scrape by. And you go home and you have taxes to figure out and electric bills to figure out and a screen on your phone to rot into to destress.

And this is men and women, equally, in this spot. But the alt-right messaging gets to tailor their approach to gender.

And hey women, yes you working a shitty job for shitty pay, overwhelmed by financial responsibilities and car repairs, what if you actually didn't need to do ANY of that? You don't need to. And you don't need to feel guilty about it. (You're not quitting, you're not being lazy), you actually are just embracing the chance to be exactly who an ideal woman should be. You should actually be beautiful, and demure, and barefoot in a sunny kitchen, glowing, pregnant, hearing the joyful sounds of your children while you bake a roast for your wonderful husband (strong, protective, loves you, handles the finances, handles the jobs, handles all the things you hate). OUR ancestors (don't mind the dogwhistle) did this for GENERATIONS, and modern society has failed you instead!

It's offering to break women out of all the parts of their real life that suck, and do it in a way that promises they're actually being better, being more admirable, more moral, more respectable, more correct, can feel good about, can feel proud about, as a Woman as Feminine as Mother as Goddess.

And the thing being promised does not need to actually reflect reality. It's a fantasy. It is not real. For every "beautiful demure barefoot" day, you'd be having another one covered in shit changing diapers of screaming infants with screaming children while your husband ignores you because it's Women's Work (take pride!) But that doesn't matter. It just needs to sound better than the reality they're living.

Then the men are targeted too. And it's the same in that it's getting to them by appealing to pride in their gender, but the messaging is different. It's "those finances are hard but ACTUALLY you're leveling up, you're grinding, you're finance maxing." It's hard but it's the kind of hard that is a challenge you can WIN at, boast about, post about, prove your manliness. Knowing cars, knowing home repairs, knowing taxes, that's your MAN pride, and you are so elite, you are so sigma, you are the envy of everyone, you are a masculine man. Women love you. Women will defer to you. Strong, respected, moral, loyal, unshakeable. Unlike those pansy men (mind the homophobic dogwhistling) who will whimper and cry like girls. You are better.

The shitty retail job is actually humble beginnings because you're minmaxing your way to financial success (bitcoin, crypto, investments). You can sleep with any woman you want as long as you're confident, and then you'll find one who understands how smart and confident and strong and protective you are and she will defer to you as her man. She will birth your children and teach them good morals and you will make it. Our ancestors lived this way for generations (dogwhistle) and modern society took it from you.

And with that messaging it makes it clear who the enemy in all this is - modern society that has convinced women to torture themselves with high education and terrible jobs, turned them Ugly with Ugly opinions and bad hair and nasty attitudes, yelping about "rights" and "equality" (pitting them against men! TAKING things from men!) All the while, society has been trying to emasculate men--replace them with women, make them soft and emotional, make them gay, make them WEAK. We've been made WEAK.

The naive women hearing this go "I'm not ugly! I don't hate men! I DO hate my job and my finances. I've been tricked. I'm actually rebelling by declaring my goal is to get a Perfect (White) (Christian) moral husband who will make all our decisions and protect me and our children." (And when she's financially trapped in an abusive marriage...? When she's suicidal with PPD but her husband won't touch that because it's Woman Hysteria...? And when her husband leaves her for someone who was as hot as she was 20 years ago and now she's figuring out finances, health care, taxes, bank accounts for the first time in her life...?)

And the men go "They've been TAKING things from us for too long! It's time to be men again! It's time to take pride! I am strong and confident. I am in charge! I never show weakness!" (And when he's got a gun to his head due to the depression he's never been allowed to talk about as Women Feelings...? And when he's financially ruined from a crypto scheme that stroked his ego and robbed him blind...? And when he's dead from alcohol poisoning and none of his adult children notice because no one's spoken to 'Dad' in 15 years...?)

And it's so hard to fight because you're arguing against a fantasy. How do you disprove their fantasy? It's so hard to explain to them, hey you're working a shitty job where you have no future because the rich bastards took it all from you. And now you're doing their work for them. You hate society because of what they've done to it and now you're doing their work. Now you're targeting groups who've never done anything to harm you and the guys responsible are laughing to the bank. How do you explain? How do you disprove fantasy?

[grillpartshub-blog]

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[innerfare]

Kisses - Part 1 

Summary: How do they kiss you?

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

Genre: Fluff, Slight Smut

CW: Slight Smut so I'll say NSFW // messy kisses, hickies, brief implication of oral sex

——— 

Luffy:

So greedy, probably the greediest kisser in history. Uses lots of tongue, too. Grabs you by the hair and jerks your head back so he can better shove his tongue down your throat. The sloppiest kisser known to man, not that anyone would ever know. He always gives you sweet pecks when there are others around that leave them unaware of just how hot and heavy it gets behind closed doors. Gets annoyed if you try to kiss all over his face and bats you away, but if you want to rile him up, this is most definitely the way to go. 

Zoro:

His kisses are a bit lazy, but deep. Also lots of tongue, to the point he’s used tongue when kissing you on the cheek without even realizing. Takes kissing you very seriously, gets grumpy if you two haven’t made out a little bit during the day, expects to make out with you at bedtime. If you try pulling away before he’s had his fill, he’ll tell you to stop and put a big, calloused hand on your cheek to pull your lips back to his. His eyes actually roll into the back of his head when you kiss his chest and shoulders. 

Sanji:

Always starts out sweet, mostly because he’s paralyzed by the fact that you’re kissing him. Even if you’ve been in a relationship for years, pressing your lips into his makes him freeze because he’s worried that if he moves, his heart will explode. As he gets used to it, he’ll gingerly place his hands on your cheek, maybe even experiment with tongue. He can’t get enough of your kisses, but he also lets out a breath when you stop kissing him because he can finally breathe again. Actually lost it one time when you kissed his knuckles. 

Ace:

Usually pretty slow, savoring every bit, but that doesn’t mean the kisses are sweet or soft. They’re deep, the kind that devolve into almost pure tongue. He’ll put his hand on your chin and tilt your head up, leaning in like he’s going to press a modest kiss to your lips, only to leave you got and bothered. A very good kisser, too, not even from experience but simply because he has a natural gift. Has a good rhythm, can get you worked up with his hands tied behind his back. Almost always smiles into it. Melts when you’re on your knees and press gentle kisses into his thighs. 

Sabo:

Lots of stolen kisses. They’re quick but heated, the sort that always promise more to come. He’ll catch you in a narrow hallway and pull you around the corner or else into a store room or empty RA classroom for a bit of privacy and shove his tongue down your throat. If he can’t get any privacy, he’ll place a quick kiss on your cheek or temple, so quick nobody else even notices. But you do, and it drives you crazy. Every kiss is like it could be your last, and it feels so incredible you’re determined to have another. Sweet kisses in NSFW places will earn you his unwavering loyalty. 

Law:

Deep and warm, but not very sloppy. It takes a bit for him to use tongue, but when he does, it’s measured. Doesn’t shove his tongue down your throat, just pushes it slightly into your mouth. Pretends to be annoyed if you get sloppy but secretly lives for you biting and licking his ears. So many hand kisses, too. Often catches your hand when you pass each other in the hallway and place a warm kiss against your palm. Will also mutter things into your neck between pressing kisses into the crook of it. Kiss him on the cheek if you want to see him blush.

Kid:

So messy, so sloppy, will definitely bite your lips and tongue. He’s everywhere all at once, going down to your neck to replace any of your hickies that have faded before going back to your swollen lips. What people don’t know (and he’d kill you if you told anyone) is that, when he falls into bed late at night, completely exhausted and smelling of sweat and motor oil (basically his cologne), he gives you the sweetest, softest kisses, pulling back to gently brush his thumb over your lips before leaning in to give you another. He has also, on very late, drunken nights, allowed you to kiss his most sensitive scars.

———

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

[charles-leclerizz]

🐚 OCEAN EYES - # CL 16

on the runway : Charles Leclerc x fem!vausseur!reader

inspiration ( warnings ) : swearing, drinking, smut [p in v, fem!oral!receiving, shower sex, beach sex, semi-private sex etc etc.]

VIP's in the front row ( taglist ) : MUTUALS GET INSTANT TAGS [@vroomvroomcircuit, @disneyprincemuke, @verstappen-cult, @starkwlkr, @sailing-with-100-ships, @foreveralbon]

Before the show begins ( synopsis ) : You are Ferrari team principals grand-daughter and over this time, you've become close with the teams golden boy, Charles Leclerc. If your grand-father could replace you with anyone, it would probably be this guy. So, how mad do you think he would be if you, fucked him?

Designer notes : so, inspiration strikes in the weirdest ways icl. it's not too filthy, cause theres shower sex. ha ha, you see what I did there? anyway enjoy <3

You’ve known Charles for years, being the granddaughter of his team principal, it was a bit hard to avoid him. Sure, your Pépé had warned you against interacting too much with his star driver, but when had you ever listened.  

That’s how you ended up walking down to the semi-private beach of your grandparent’s family home, tucked away in the exclusive part of Saint-Tropez. There were a few drivers present, already swimming in the shallow, aquamarine waters, recharging before the start of the season. Their girlfriends were also there, lounging on the pure white sand, you walked towards them.  

The heat clung to your skin like thick honey, your cover-up doing barely anything to shield you from the warm, sleepy sun. You greeted the girls, giggling at something that one of them said, pointing at the child-like men paddling further away from shore. That’s when you noticed him, Charles was a part of this gaggle, the water lapping at his waist, pulling down his shorts playfully- just enough for you to notice the tan lines between the dimples of his back and his bathing suit.  

You tried not to stare, but apparently failed, since he noticed your presence as soon as your manicured feet touched the beach, and pivoted at his waist, green eyes sweeping over your body; settling on your face as he waved.  

It took him a total of 10 minutes to break away from the group and wade his way up to shore. To you.  

“Nice of you to join us.” He teased, shaking his hair, spraying you with salty droplets.  

You held up your hands, protecting your sun-cream infused skin, “I brought snacks. That’s got to count for something.” 

He smiled- lazy, dimpled- and sat down next to your perch on a towel, “depends on what you got.” 

You pulled out an array of brightly colored packets, “I got salted crisps, your favorite. Be grateful.” 

He leaned towards you and kissed your cheek, “merci,” It was just a European thing, you brushed it off, him kissing you was just customary, polite.  

His elbow grazed yours as he took the bag from you. He was shirtless, obviously, toned, tan and glistening with remaining sea spray. It made you blush and look down at your ensemble, suddenly feeling like you were over-dressed. 

Charles noticed your cover-up, woven together to form intricate shapes over your scandalous bathing suit, “Fred let you out the house in that?” He asked incredulously, eyebrows raised. 

You shrugged, “He didn’t know, and it’s not that bad” you began to lift the dress-like garment, “see.”  

The piece fell limp next to you as you stretched, arms held above your head. 

“Oh yeah,” he blinked at your bikini, if it could be called that, “not bad at all” Charles cleared his throat, eyes darting between the straps holding your modesty together and his potato chips. 

You laughed, “eyes up here Charlie.”  

It probably was one of your more risqué options, but you chose it out of necessity, definitely not because you loved riling up the flustered man next to you. 

“Oh my god,” an accented voice exclaimed next to you, “That bikini is amazing.” Kika was propped up on her elbows, sunglasses held on her head with her free hand, “I think I'm gay for you now.” She chuckles as Pierre gapes at her, toweling off his back. 

You looked down at the bathing suit, dual toned cups held your breasts in place, semi-coverage at best with matching bottoms that molded against your curves. Shrugging, you accept the compliment, along with the shared bottle of vodka being passed around the group.  

The rest of the day unfolded like a dream. Laughing with friends, passing around 1 litre bottles of expensive alcohol, swimming until your skin pruned and your limbs were like warm wine. But the best, most unrealistic parts of the day, were when, just for a moment you and Charles would gravitate towards one another. His fingers brushing your thigh on the jet-ski, legs tangled under the water, your chests pressed together as you ducked beneath the waves.  

It was always like this. Teasing. Tantalizing 

But today was different. More serious. More real. 

Once the sun had set and the lights illuminated the strip of shore you were inhabiting, the others headed up for to the villa, for your mémé’s hand-made dinner and warm showers. Charles lingered, you stayed too. Packing up all the towels, and umbrella’s, disposing of the scandalous bottles that lay empty in a neat line.  

“You always stay behind,” You noted, wrapping the cleanest looking towel around your sunburnt shoulders and settling beside him on the sand. 

He hummed, leaning his cheek against his shoulder, eyes tiredly fluttering closed. 

“It’s like you’re waiting for the sea to tell you something.”  

He opened one eye at you, hair damp, smile slow. “Sometimes it does.” 

You snorted at him, but your chest warmed with his whisper. Looking out to the waves, lapping at one another before lazily caressing the shore- you barely notice him watching you, instead of the sea ahead, something heavy behind his eyes. 

Turning to face him, you pull your knees up and tuck your chin between them, towel slipping from your shoulders, taking one of your bikini straps along with it. Charles’s eyes flickered down, slowly.  

“Something on your mind, Leclerc?” 

His tongue swept at his bottom lip, slow and deliberate as he met your eyes once more.  

“You looked good in that bikini today,” he gulped once, hand twitching at his side, “too good, I tried not to stare, I failed.” 

Your heart thumped against your ribcage and shifted closer without even realizing it. “That so?” 

He brought a shaky hand up to your fallen strap, toying with the damp material.  

“I think I’ve been trying not to touch you all day.” He confessed, still unsure whether he should replace the garment, or tug it off with a simple, weak pull.  

“You’re not very good at self-control,” you murmured, voice low and warm, “You know that, right?” 

He laughed softly, letting the strap fall from his hold. “Not when it comes to you.” His fingers brushed your bare shoulder, and you shivered from the touch, head lolling to the side so you could follow the path of his fingertips. It was instinctual, like your bodies had already made the decision before your brains caught up. 

“You going to do something about it?” you asked, head tilted, lashes low. 

His eyes darted to your mouth, then back to your eyes, searching for a sign of hesitance, regret. Something that would give him an excuse not to kiss you.  

“I don’t want to ruin anything.”  

“That’s sweet,” you cooed, shifting onto your knees, so you were facing him, “but I think if we were going to ruin something, we would’ve done it a long time ago.” 

Charles exhaled through his nose, shaking his head a little — half amused, half completely undone by you. 

Then he leaned forward, hand cradling your neck and kissed you. 

It was the kind of kiss that had history in it – thousands of “almosts,” all coming undone all at once. His other hand slid to your waist, holding you steady as your mouths slotted together like muscle memory. Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned against your lips. 

You gasped into him, and he took that opportunity to deepen the kiss - tongue slow and patient. 

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless. 

“I want to see you,” he said softly, fingers ghosting along the towel still draped around your back, “all of you. Without anyone else around.” He meant the house, the geust annex that you had always claimed at your grandparents’ house.  

“No one’s around now,” you responded. 

He blinked. Eyes widening as he looked to your surroundings, “You’re sure? I mean... et si quelqu'un voit ?” 

“I’ve been sure since you walked out of that sea like some slutty James Bond. And I don’t care if they see.” 

“Putain.” He whispered, forehead falling against your collarbone as he laughed, low and warm. “You’re impossible.” 

You shrugged, grinning down at him, fingers tangled in his hair. “You’re obsessed with me.” 

“Yeah,” he admitted, like it was the simplest, easiest truth in the world. 

You tugged the towel from your shoulders, letting it pool behind you as you climbed into his lap. His hands gripped your waist, guiding you easily, before they skimmed down to settle on your hips.  

 You were still wearing your bikini bottoms.  

Charles ran his hands up your thighs, slipping under the damp material, fingertips brushing over the curve of your ass. You leaned forward, leaving small kisses from the back of his ear to his collar bone as you grinded ever so slightly, and his head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut. 

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured like a prayer up to the star littered sky. 

“I think I do,” you said, reaching between your bodies to trace the outline of him through his swim shorts. His hips jerked up slightly, and he bit his lip. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groaned, before pulling you in for another kiss. 

You rutted against each other like that - slow, filthy, sharing too-fast breaths and too-wet kisses - until he was rambling needily in French, practically begging under his breath. 

“I want to taste you,” he said suddenly, voice rough, urgent. 

“You can,” you replied, already sliding off his lap to lie back on the towel. 

Charles knelt between your legs, hooking your knees onto his shoulders, eyes devouring you like he’d dreamt about this exact moment. He leaned forward, pushing your thighs apart as his thumbs stroked along your hipbones gently.  

When he finally ducked his head, licking a stripe through your folds, you cried out - high, shocked, needy. 

He groaned like he’d just won his first race of the season. “Tu es si douce.” 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” you gasped, legs twitching as he latched onto your clit and sucked, slow and devastating. 

That made him laugh against you, and the vibration made your eyes roll back. 

You reached for his hair, anchoring yourself - but he didn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. He moaned like it turned him on to make you fall apart, the taste of you on his lips too sweet, and from the way his hips were moving against the towel, you knew he was getting off on it too. 

Your thighs trembled as your orgasm crept closer, the pressure at your center building and building until it snapped. 

You came with a breathy, broken whimper - twitching under his tongue, gripping his curls like a lifeline. 

When you finally looked down, he was already crawling up your body to kiss you, licking his glossy lips, face flushed. 

“I could die right now,” you muttered, holding his cheeks as he nipped his way up to you, “and I’d go happy.” 

Charles smiled against your cheek. “Don’t die yet.” 

He reached down to tug at his shorts, freeing his cock - hard, flushed, already leaking. 

You bit your lip at the sight, “I need you, like bad, I need you inside of me.”  

Charles bit your cheek, “You have me chérie” 

He lined himself up and pushed in slowly, both of you moaning in sync. 

The stretch burned in the best way - all that tension, finally released. 

He moved carefully at first, studying your face, brushing the hair from your forehead like he wanted to remember every detail. But it didn’t stay slow for long. 

Soon, your bodies were pressed together, the soft slap of your skin on his punctuated by moans and the occasional shaky laugh. 

“I’ve thought about this so many times, dream about it too” he murmured against your jaw. “Fucking you, kissing you like this. I thought I was insane.” 

“You are,” you whispered back, angling your face so his lips slotted against yours “But it’s okay. So am I.” 

He kissed you again, harder this time - a little unhinged. 

When you came again, he was right behind you, whispering your name r against your neck as he finished inside the condom, hips still rolling as he chased every wave of it. 

You lay there, tangled together, hearts pounding war drums. The sound of sea crashing gently filled your ears once the roaring subsided. 

“You need to walk ahead of me,” you said, slipping your cover-up back on, cheeks still flushed. “There’s no way I can walk in right after you and not look like I’ve just been railed on the beach.” 

Charles raised an eyebrow, smug. “That’s because you have just been railed on the beach.” 

You kicked sand at him, grinning. “Okay, Sherlock.” 

He smirked, brushing off his chest. “Fine. Give me two minutes. I’ll go in first and pretend I’ve been, I don’t know, looking for sunscreen?” 

“You’re terrible at lying,” you rolled your eyes and snorted. 

“I’m fantastic at lying. I’m Monégasque, it’s part of the charm.” 

“Fine,” You cross your arms and pop out your hip, “What’s the story Molière ?”  

He looked over his shoulder, already halfway up the short, light wood staircase, “You go in through the side entrance,” he said, glancing over his shoulder like a boy caught stealing. “I’ll head in first and give you a thirty-second head start.” 

You narrowed your eyes. “And then what? You’ll tell them that I evaporated into thin air?” 

He grinned, all teeth and dimples. “Relax. I’ll say you’re rinsing off in the outdoor shower.” 

You blinked. “That’s not even—” 

But he was already gone, bounding up the stairs with the confidence of a man who absolutely just came on a beach towel. 

You waited thirty seconds. Then ten more. Then crept along the patio, hoping no one noticed your flushed cheeks, slightly askew bikini, or the unmistakable handprint pressed into the curve of your thigh. 

As you edged around the corner toward the glass double doors, you heard him. 

“She’s just rinsing off outside,” Charles was saying, smooth as anything, probably flashing that annoyingly innocent smile he used to get out of speeding tickets. “Sunscreen was making her itchy, I think. She’ll just be a minute.” 

You cursed silently, immediately sneaking behind the tall bushes to your grandmother's garden and bent over, cupping frigid water from the garden hose onto your legs, then splashing some on your collarbone, hoping it would cool you off and cover up the fact you’d just had the best orgasm of your life. Your hair was an entirely other story, a lost cause- half-damp from the ocean, half-tangled from Charles's fingers. You did your best and twisted it into a messy bun.  

You tip-toed back to where you left the bag full of damp, used towels and stepped inside, immediately ambushed by the scent of grilled prawns and olive oil and the watchful eyes of literally everyone. 

“Ah, there she is,” Charles said, way too fast, way too chipper, as he leaned against the hallway arch, his damp swimming trunks slipping low over the V of his hips. “All rinsed.” 

You shot him a look. A very deadly, “I will drown you in the sea next time” look. 

“Your hair’s wet,” Carlos noted, brow raised. He was slicing lemons and squinting suspiciously. 

“Outdoor shower,” you said brightly. “Rinsed.” 

Pierre nodded slowly. “That thing’s freezing.” 

“I’m brave.” 

Before Carlos could reply, Charles grabbed your wrist and tugged lightly. “Actually, can I borrow her?” he asked the room, casual as hell. “She got sunscreen in her eye. I think she left her stuff in the guest bath.” 

You nearly tripped over your own feet trying to follow him, tossing the group a helpless, What a weirdo shrug. 

“Bathroom excuse,” you hissed once the bathroom door shut behind you. “That’s your best cover story?” 

He was laughing, playing with the tie of your bikini bottoms. “You have to admit, I handled the pressure beautifully.” 

“You said I got sunscreen in my eye,” you replied, gasping when he lifted you onto the cool marble counter. “You could’ve gone with heatstroke. Heatstroke’s believable.” 

“I’m having a stroke,” Charles muttered, kissing down your chest, “from how good you taste.” 

You kicked at him, weakly, laughing and breathless. “You’re disgusting.” 

“You love it,” he said, flashing a grin before ducking to press his mouth to your inner thigh, right where you were still sore and glistening from earlier. 

Your breath caught. 

“Charles,” you warned, twitching slightly as he nosed against you again, “we don’t have time.” 

“We do,” he said, voice low. “Shower’s quick.” 

You pushed him away and glared. “I had to fake rinse in the hose, Charles.” 

“Sexy.” He tilted his head at you from between your thighs.  

“You just want me naked again.” 

“I need you naked again,” he corrected, tugging down your bottoms.  

“You’re insatiable.” 

“Shut up and get in the shower.” He pulled you from the counter and lead you to the glass shower like a man possessed. 

You smirked as the glass cubicle steamed up. “Very romantic.” 

“I’ll light a candle next time.” He offered 

The moment the water hit your bodies, everything turned slippery and hot and way too urgent. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this since you were eighteen, muttering something in French that sounded like a swear. Your laughs turned to groans and then back to laughs again as you nearly knocked over a bottle of expensive shampoo. 

“Shhh,” you hissed, grinning, trying to muffle your laugh into his shoulder. “I swear to god, if we get caught-” 

“What’s he gonna do?” Charles asked, tilting his face up to the warm stream, “Bench me for... fraternization?” 

“He’s my grandfather, Leclerc.” 

Charles grinned and squirted a generous amount of sickly-sweet smelling soap into his hands, “So I’m keeping it in the family.” 

He lathered it across your body, taking obscene care with every curve like he was committing it all to memory. “You’re ridiculous,” you breathed, shivering when his thumb slipped between your legs. “Someone’s going to hear.” 

“Then you’ll just have to be quiet,” he murmured, sinking to his knees, “Won’t you?” 

You gasped at the feeling of his mouth on you, wet and filthy, tongue moving in lazy circles like he had all the time in the world.  

“You’re insane,” you whispered, nails dragging lightly down his neck. “You’re actually going to make me come in my grandparents’ guest shower.” Your hand clutched the towel rail uselessly, legs shaking under the weight of him.  

“You say that like it’s not a compliment.” he replied, slightly garbled against you and the constant flow of water. 

When your orgasm hit, you bit your own wrist, hard, stifling the noise like your life depended on it. 

Charles stood slowly, his hands trailing up your slick skin, pausing to cup your breasts before he kissed you hard. He twisted you in his hold, pressing you against the tile and entered you with a hand braced around your stomach, a soft moan punched into the space behind your ear.  

The rhythm was rough and fast, water slapping against tile as you struggled to keep your balance, hands splayed flat against the wall. 

“I’m gonna-fuck,” he groaned, “you feel so-” 

You came first, cheek pressed against the aquamarine glass, whispered fuckfuckfuck into the air. He followed soon after, groaning your name like it was his finish line. 

You panted heavily while he kissed your shoulder, your spine, your lower back. 

“I’m never going to recover,” he muttered. “Dinner’s going to be my own personal hell” 

“We are not sitting next to each other,” you said,  the words coming out dreamier than you intended. 

“Fair. I’ll sit across. That way I can stare.” 

You threw a wet sponge at him. 

You eventually emerged, faces suspiciously flushed and hair semi-dry from frantic towel-rubbing. Charles had made it downstairs first, suspiciously fresh in his white linen shirt, greeting everyone like he hadn’t just rearranged your insides ten minutes ago. 

You followed five minutes later, slipping into your seat with a tight smile and an overcompensating, “Sorry! Took forever finding my moisturizer.” 

The table was full, sun-kissed faces, salt-rimmed glasses, and someone already yelling at Pierre for double-dipping his bread. 

But the stares were undeniable. 

Carlos raised a brow at your still-wet hair. “So the outdoor shower’s working now?” 

You blinked. “Oh. Um. Yeah.” 

“The water pressure sucks,” added Pierre. 

“I survived,” 

Fred saved you from further probing, arriving later than the pair of you, fresh from a work call and muttering apologies as he sat at the head of the table. “Hope you’ve all behaved without me.” 

There was a chorus of yeses and too-late giggles. Someone slid him a plate. Conversation picked up again. 

You, trying to be normal, passed the wine carafe. 

Charles, trying harder to be normal, visibly stiffened. 

He’d been charming all evening, laughing at jokes, clinking glasses, talking tire degradation with Lando, but the second Fred sat down, something shifted. He went rigid. Avoided eye contact like it was a death sentence. 

You watched him from across the table with quiet glee. 

Fred, of course, noticed nothing. Or at least pretended not to. He glanced at Charles mid-conversation and said, “You alright fils? You’ve gone quiet.” 

Charles choked on a bite of shrimp. “Oui. Oui, très bien. Just thinking. About-um. Strategy.” 

Your foot kicked his under the table. 

“Strategy?” you echoed, voice innocently amused as you sipped your wine. 

Charles shot you a warning look. 

“Yes,” he said flatly, not looking directly at you. “Hard compounds.” 

Kika, across the table, burst out laughing into her drink. 

Fred raised a brow but let it slide, engaging in hushed conversation with your grandmother. 

Once you were sure your friends were engaged enough not to notice, you leaned over the table, pretending to reach for the salad and whispered to him, voice smug, “You just said ‘hard’ in front of my grandfather.” 

“Stop,” Charles muttered, flushing. “I’m already dying.” 

“I think you’ll live.” 

“Barely.” 

He finally looked at you, eyes narrow, cheeks red-and that’s when Fred turned to him again, barely sparing you a glance as you returned to your seat, salad bowl in hand. 

“Charles, you alright?” he asked, now frowning. 

Charles flinched like he’d been caught mid-crime. “Yes. Very. Uh. Excuse me, I just need to… refill the water.” 

“You’re holding a full glass.” 

“I’m-parched.” 

He stood abruptly, chair scraping, and beelined for the kitchen like a man in flight. 

You turned back to your plate, biting your lip to keep from grinning. 

Fred watched him go, then looked at you. 

“What’s wrong with him?” 

“Sunstroke,” you replied easily, taking a sip of your wine. “He’s very delicate.” 

[dollbrbie]

you knew this was wrong, sleeping with your boyfriend’s father, toji. but you just can’t seem to control yourself around the older man, finding yourself completely captivated by him.

and your poor, clueless boyfriend is just so unaware of it. he just thinks his dad is just being mildly inappropriate with you, just like he usually is, muttering a small apology before rolling his eyes at his dad’s typical behaviour.

he’s yet to pick up on the lingering touches, or the way you bat your lashes at his dad with a pretty smile or even the subtle change in his dad’s personality. he’s definitely been less of a prick these past few weeks. he does think it’s a little odd you’re so nice to him - but he just chalks it up to you wanting to make a good impression on his family, like a good girlfriend would.

it was starting to get suspicious though.

every night you stayed over at your boyfriend’s house with toji always conveniently coming home earlier than expected due to ‘something coming up at work’, you found yourself sneaking away from your sleeping boyfriend and into his father’s bed - that typical lazy smirk plastered across his lips.

the excitement paired with the heat at your core always overshadowed the guilt you had. and when toji fucked you the way he did, it was easy for your head to be left empty of thoughts from the overwhelming pleasure he never failed to give you.

“shh.. keep quiet, baby.”, he whispers with a smirk as his cock kisses your cervix, bottoming out inside of you with every single thrust.

his thrusts were long and deep to avoid the obnoxious sounds of sweaty skin clapping together - while the idea of getting caught sounded fun, he knows you wouldn’t be very happy with him with the aftermath.

his teasing was agonising, your walls stretching around his cock to accommodate his size with the slow circles of his digits against your throbbing clit. you’re peak was on a tilting ledge, ready to fall and you needed more.

toji could see it, smirking at the sight of you trying to hold back your moans with your lips parted and your brows furrowed.

“toji- please, need more.”, you whisper with a whimper, desperate for your release.

he chuckles with a thought popping into his mind, “alright, sweetheart. i’ll give you more.”, he murmurs, leaning down to place a small kiss on your neck before pounding into your pussy with brutal thrusts, causing the bed to squeak way too loudly for your liking.

“w-wait-”, you stutter, his thrusts completely taking the air from your throat and replacing it with the loud, pathetic moans you’d been dying to hold back.

loud enough that your boyfriend woke up with a scowl, annoyed that his dad had brought back some girl knowing you were staying over. but then megumi feels the empty spot in his bed where you’d previously been - feeling his stomach drop as he puts the pieces together.

and suddenly, everything started to make sense.

© dollbrbie | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[suksatoru]

morning muse — ft. sae itoshi x fem!reader

waking up every morning next to a man with the body of a greek god is something you never take for granted.

if there's one thing sae itoshi knows about you, it's that you are shameless when it comes to his back muscles.

he's used to feeling your curious hands rubbing up and over the slopes and expanse of his back in the early hours of the morning. and you're cheeky—you make him shiver under the duvet whenever you place those feather light kisses all over him.

you start by moving the hair resting at the nape of his neck, pressing a single kiss onto the soft skin before gliding your lips downwards, your path traveling to his shoulder blades. and from there, you move down to his back.

sae is used to it now. the moment he feels your fingers brush against his cheek and move towards his neck—he hides the small, rare smile threatening to break out onto his face by smushing his cheek into his pillow. today, you start by pressing a soft kiss onto his scalp.

"good morning, handsome," you giggle, eyes gleaming and far too lively for it being six am in the morning as sae hums sleepily, his voice gravely and deep with exhaustion. instinctively, sae rolls onto his stomach for you, folding his arms and resting his head onto his forearms in the process.

you're crawling onto his back moments later, with your thighs pressed flush against his bare skin. the light streaming from the open balcony window shines directly onto sae, and you pause—taking a moment to admire the sight in front of you.

the sunlight makes him appear like he's glowing—pink tufts curl and wrap around his head like a halo, and the particles in the air look like shimmering glitter in sae itoshi's presence.

sae had that effect on things around him. your eyes move down to his back—your favorite part—and you're trying so hard not to sigh at the mere sight. his muscles flex with impatience when he doesn't feel your sweet kisses worshipping his body like they did every morning, and he squints an eye open to glare at you from where he laid.

"y/n," he mumbles, moving a hand backwards to tap your thigh impatiently as you shush him

"shh...let me grab my phone. my 'sae itoshi's wet hair out of the shower' wallpaper is about to be replaced by my 'sae itoshi's back in the morning' wallpaper," you laugh quietly, leaning over to grab your phone off your bedside table as you snap a quick picture—tossing it onto the edge of the bed once you get a good angle.

sae is the perfect muse—he stayed still for you while you took your picture. whether it was out of laziness or the fact that he just didn't care, you were grateful either way. he rolls his shoulders, and you watch his muscles ripple like waves as he lets out a quiet come on now.

and so your sweet assault begins. sae's entire body relaxes, and he feels like butter melting under you as your lips and tongue paint their devotion in the most passionate manner he'd ever have the pleasure of knowing. no one does it like you do—loves him, that is. those words are muffled by the pillow he's smushed his face into as he speaks them, and sae wonders how he ever woke up peacefully before you came into his life.

your lips transverse sae's back longingly—and you're peppering kisses onto his milky white skin, creating your very own constellation of stars. and sae thinks nothing, absolutely nothing in the world could bring him out of this moment of pure serenity with you.

well, that is until you bite him.

"fucking—ow!"

"oops! sorry, baby!"

[spatialwave]

.........can I request a smutty part 2 of the jayvik x reader fic 🥺

"my ambition" - part two

pairing: jayvik x fem!reader word count: 1.8k tags: mdni! smut (very explicit and shameless), polyamory, threesome, unprotected sex, dirty talking, doggy style, face riding, vaginal sex, blowjobs, cunnilingus, minor aftercare, no use of y/n. notes: i was in the middle of writing it when this ask came in. you read my mind, lol. i may have rushed it and idk if i love it lots but i tried!! ahhh!! credit: art by @/shuploc & divider by @/cafekitsune <- part 1 | part 3 ->

Two mouths left traces over your body—one tender and soft, the other eager and full of energy. Jayce and Viktor had woven themselves deep into your life, leaving a last imprint on your soul. Those two were everything you could ask for, gentle when you sought comfort and tough when you begged more.

“God,” you trembled as your legs spread, Jayce’s lips trailing down your skin until his tongue met with your folds. Your thighs squeezed on either side of his head, and your bottom lip was trapped between your teeth, but the attempt to muffle your sounds didn’t last.

You were leaned back against Viktor, nestled between his legs and resting on his chest. Slender fingers toyed with your breasts, pinching at your nipples in tandem with the way Jayce sucked on your clit. Slow and monotonous, making sure that they could savour the sickly sweet sounds that came from your parted lips.

They loved to torture you. Slow and steady until you were a writhing mess.

“Too much?” Viktor asked, the accent thick on his tongue as his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. 

“No,” you lied, squirming your hips, but Jayce’s hands kept you pinned to the bed.

His amber eyes flickered up, watching the way you wriggled from his touch. Lapping at your cunt and tasting the sweet juices that dripped down his chin.

A heat stirred in his belly as he watched Viktor’s experienced hands cradle the swell of your breasts, massaging them and twisting your nipples with his index and thumbs. One of his hands pulled from your hips, meeting where his mouth had been and easily slipping two fingers inside you—wet and inviting. 

“Good,” Viktor praised, kissing at your neck. His teeth nipped at your skin, licking where he left tiny bruises, “tell Jayce how well he’s doing.”

You were breathless, your walls clenching around the two digits that plunged in and out of your aching heat. “Good, you feel so good,” you croaked, head tilted to the side as Viktor’s warm breath sent shivers down your spine, tickling your skin, “don’t stop—“

“You heard her, Jayce,” Viktor’s spoke, his voice deep in his throat, “don’t stop.”

Your eager lover pulled back from between your legs and continued to finger you with little remorse for your sensitivity, while Viktor’s finger replaced his tongue on your clit. You could see the lustful look in his eyes, how your wetness brought a shine to his stubble-covered chin. His eyes bored into yours, half-lidded, as his fingers curled just right.

Your head tilted back to rest on Viktor’s shoulder, a cry escaping your lips as your cunt was stretched by the fingers inside you. He kept a gentle rhythm over your swollen clit, whispering sweet nothing's in your ear as both men kept you pleased.

Jayce leaned forward, unable to keep himself from crashing his lips against Viktor’s, the sound of their wet kiss loud in your ear and making you twitch. The man behind you moaned, tasting you on the other’s lips, tongues dancing and sliding together. Savouring the taste and loving each other as much as they loved you.

Tired eyes flickered to them, head tilting to watch the display of passion as a lazy smile sprawled across your lips. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Jayce noticed your gaze–utterly fucked out from his fingers.

“Look at her. So fucking beautiful,” he breathed as he pulled away from Viktor, a string is spit connecting their lips. Jayce stopped the rhythmic movements of his fingers, and you whined at the sudden emptiness when he pulled away, but you were unable to make any more sounds when the two digits were pushed between your lips, “taste.”

Viktor shuddered, his cheeks burning red as he watched the way you licked and sucked at Jayce’s fingers until they were clean. His erection was hard against your lower back, aching for some form of stimulation. Anything.

You sucked on the two fingers like it was a show, your tongue wrapping around the length as you took them in fully–easily. Knowing very well that the sight of you was enough to rouse excitement from them both.

“Fuck,” Jayce hissed as he pulled his fingers from your mouth, his cock upright and twitching in anticipation, “On your hands and knees. Now.”

You were slow to obey, which he hadn’t appreciated. A pair of rough hands grabbed at your hips and were quick to lift them up once you had settled into the position.

Meanwhile, Viktor, as gentle as ever, pushed a hand through your hair so it was out of your face. He wore a lopsided smile, looking at you so lovingly, a drastic difference from the way Jayce handled you–and you were so fucking lucky to have both.

“Go on,” Viktor cooed at you knowingly, and you did exactly what he was urging.

Fingers tightened in your hair as your hand flattened against the sheets beneath you, and you dipped down. Your other hand gently held the base of his cock as your tongue licked at the tip where a bead of pre-cum had rested.

Viktor’s eyes rolled back at the mere sight of you.

Jayce’s hands grazed over the globes of your ass, squeezing at the flesh as he pressed against your soaked entrance, teasing. You closed your eyes, focused on wrapping your lips around Viktor’s erection and taking it deep in your throat, swallowing around him with ease.

“You’re hungry for it, aren’t you? So fucking easy for me,” Jayce groaned the vulgar words, watching as his cock disappeared inside you and his fingers squeezed your ass hard enough to leave reddened marks in their wake.

A rugged hum vibrated from your chest, hips shifting as he set up a quick tempo of thrusts that he hadn’t given you any time to prepare for.

“Fuck,” you squealed, Viktor’s cock leaving your lips with a ‘pop’.

His cock pierced deep inside you, rough enough that your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and Viktor leaned forward from the pillows to pepper kisses on your cheeks. A distraction from the waves of pain and pleasure that coursed through your body as you were stretched, a feeling he knew very well.

Jayce groaned, his eyes focused downward and watching the way your cunt tightened around him. Sliding in and out in a quick rhythm that left you white-knuckling the bedsheets beneath your bouncing breasts.

“A perfect little cunt,” he moaned, a hand tight on your hip and the other pushing his hair back as he watched in admiration as you focused your attention on Viktor once more with the little energy you had left. Your head bobbed up and down, swallowing around him as your tongue massaged the underside of his cock–a perfect view for Jayce as he watched the way Viktor’s face twisted in pleasure, an arm resting over his eyes and rosy cheeks.

Both men moaned together, orgasms ramping up quickly.

Viktor gasped, fingers tight in your hair and causing you to whine, “stop–” he warned, teetering on the edge of release sooner than he’d like.

“Let her,” Jayce grunted, whining after a particularly rough snap of his hips, “I’m so fucking close.”

A few beats later, they moaned your name together, the sound sweet to your ears. Swelling your chest with pride and stroking your ego far too much.

Viktor couldn’t stop from bucking deep into your throat, muttering out a quiet apology as he came, honey eyes peeking from under his arm as you swallowed with practiced ease. You pulled away, panting as Jayce thrust inside you one final time, hips jerking as your squeezing cunt milked him.

“You did good,” Viktor murmured under his breath, smiling against your lips as you mewled when Jayce pulled his cock from you. He cupped your cheek, pulling back as his thumb brushed against your cheek, “you can finish now.”

Jayce acted on those words–always having been the one with enough energy to put you two to shame.

He shifted until he was laying on his back beneath you, arms wrapping around your thighs from behind and guiding you with a strong hand on your lower stomach until you were upright. You gasped when his lips connected with your cum-filled cunt, tongue swiping out to flick at your sensitive clit.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered.

Viktor leaned back against the pillows, watching with tired eyes and a lazy smirk. Much too tired to participate, but more than happy to watch Jayce make a mess of you.

“Jayce,” you whined, your hips rocking as your eyes fluttered shut, and his tongue tasted every inch of you. The pressure of his face against your swollen cunt was all you needed to feel the heat beginning to coil in your abdomen. A high you’d been chasing all night.

Both of his hands trailed along the tops of your thighs, nails raking against your skin. He wanted to do everything for you, to let you feel the pleasure you’d so lovingly provided them with.

His tongue delved deep inside you, and his nose brushed at your clit simultaneously; after a few more rolls of your hips at the perfect angle… you were there.

You cried out his name, your voice cracking as your body shuddered, and you chased the high by gripping your hands in his hair and grinding against him like he was nothing more than just a toy for your pleasure. Jayce kept up with your needs, his chin pushing up so he could fuck you better with his tongue, easing you through the orgasm that had you gasping for air.

You whined as you fell forward when the orgasm reached its height, hips violently twitching as you forced yourself away from Jayce’s mouth and crawled into Viktor’s inviting arms and laid atop him. A whimpering mess that was calmed by gentle caresses and fingers trailing up and down your spine.

A low chuckle bubbled up from Jayce’s chest as he wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand, moving until he was collapsed onto the pillows next to you both. 

“I’m spent,” he groaned, pulling the blankets over the three of you.

“You’re spent?” you sighed, “I’m the one who’s going to be sore for a week.”

“And yet, you are the one who begged us all night for this,” Viktor chimed in, a curious look in his eyes as he watched you. The fingers that were on your spine had found your hair, twirling it in his fingers, “I’m joking. Mostly.”

A giggle left your lips as you looked between your lovers, two sets of amber eyes that always made you shy.

“I know. I’m the worst, aren’t I?” You mumbled, sleep creeping up as you felt Jayce roll onto his side and toss an arm over your waist, his face pressed against Viktor’s shoulder as he fell asleep almost instantly.

“Mhm,” Viktor hummed, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head, “terribly so.”

[heartsiebyul]

Twisted Wonderland characters waking up first and melting at the sight of their sleeping lover.

— Second Years : Riddle : Ruggie : Azul : Jade : Floyd : Jamil : Kalim : Silver x reader!

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle wakes with the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, golden beams warming the crisp white linens around him. At first, he instinctively reaches for his planner, but the moment his eyes fall on your sleeping face, his heart stutters—and everything else fades away. You look so serene, lashes fluttering ever so slightly, lips parted as you breathe slow and steady. Gently, he brushes your hair from your forehead with careful fingers, as if afraid to break the spell. "You're too good to me," he whispers, voice barely audible. "How did I ever get so lucky…?" He stays like that, cheek propped on one hand, memorizing you as though every second spent beside you is a luxury he still can’t believe he’s allowed.

He leans in closer, planting the softest kiss on your temple, his nose brushing your skin like a butterfly’s wing. You stir slightly, turning toward him, and a rare, gentle smile stretches across his lips. No rules, no lectures, no responsibilities—just you. He lets his fingers ghost along your cheek, heart swelling with something quiet and precious. “I love you,” he murmurs again, though you can’t hear it. “And I’ll make sure you know it—every single day.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Sunlight sneaks into the room through a sliver in the curtains, casting a warm line across your bare shoulder. Ruggie wakes first, blinking slowly, and instead of his usual groggy dash to get a head start on chores or errands, he just… stops. For once, there’s no rush. His bluish-gray eyes soften as they rest on you, tangled in the sheets, your cheek squished slightly against the pillow. He lets out a breathy chuckle and grins, propping himself up on one elbow as he gently runs a hand through your hair, sweeping it back with lazy affection. “Man, you’re really something, y’know that?” he murmurs, voice low and fond.

He traces the curve of your jaw with the back of his fingers, not wanting to wake you but needing to touch you somehow. His usual teasing demeanor is nowhere to be found—only warmth and a surprising depth of emotion in his gaze. “I don’t get it… what did a scrappy guy like me do to end up here, in bed with someone like you?” he wonders aloud, more to himself than anything. Ruggie leans in and nuzzles his nose into your hair, letting the moment wrap around him like a warm blanket. “I love ya. More than I probably should.” And with that, he settles in close, holding you lightly as if the world outside doesn’t exist yet.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul wakes with a start, expecting his alarm or a knock at the door, but finds only silence and the gentle rhythm of your breathing beside him. The tension in his shoulders melts away, replaced by something softer—rarer. He turns his head and sees you still asleep, the faintest smile on your lips, the morning light catching on your lashes. His heart aches in the best way. His hand moves almost involuntarily to brush a lock of hair from your face, and he catches his breath at how peaceful you look. “You’re so… perfect like this,” he whispers, his voice hushed and reverent, as if any louder might wake you from some sacred dream.

For someone who has built his life on contracts and negotiations, Azul finds this—waking beside you—utterly priceless. He allows himself the indulgence of simply watching you, eyes flicking over your features as if trying to etch them into memory. “You make me feel like I’m worth loving,” he says so quietly it’s nearly lost in the rustle of the sheets. Slowly, he leans in, lips ghosting over your forehead in a silent promise. For just this morning, he’ll let his walls stay down, basking in the warmth of a love he never dared to wish for.

Jade Leech

Jade opens his eyes slowly, the soft scent of your hair and skin already filling his senses. The world outside may still be dark and foggy, but here in bed with you, everything feels vivid. His mismatched eyes study you with quiet fascination—you, so vulnerable and trusting, curled against him. Carefully, he pushes your hair back, watching the way it frames your sleeping face. “How rare… to witness such peace,” he murmurs with an affectionate smirk, fingertips tracing the curve of your cheek.

He finds himself entranced, a slow and quiet adoration settling over him like morning mist. Jade’s gaze lingers, not just on your beauty but on the trust you’ve given him. “If only you knew how deeply I treasure this,” he breathes, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He doesn’t kiss you, not yet—he simply watches, absorbing the stillness and softness you offer. And in that silence, something unspoken passes through him: a promise of protection, of care, and a love far deeper than the ocean.

Floyd Leech

Floyd’s arms are already around you when he stirs, face buried in your neck. He blinks slowly, squinting at the lazy light filtering in from the window. For once, he doesn’t feel like jumping out of bed or dragging you into chaos—no, this moment feels too perfect to disturb. He peers at your sleeping face and lets out a low, sleepy chuckle. “Shrimpy, you’re so cute when you sleep,” he mumbles, booping your nose gently with his finger. “Makes me wanna squish ya, but… I’ll be nice today.”

He nuzzles closer, sighing contentedly as his fingers tangle in your hair. Floyd isn’t usually one for quiet, but something about this stillness with you makes his heart feel weird—in a good way. “I love you, y’know that?” he whispers, half-lidded eyes soft and honest for once. “Even when I’m all bitey… I still love you this much.” He stretches out beside you, long limbs tangled with yours, and smiles like he’s got the world in his arms. Because to him, he does.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim wakes up to sunlight and happiness, even before his eyes open. The warmth of your body beside his is the first thing he registers, and he can’t help but smile before even looking at you. When he finally peeks through heavy lids, his entire expression softens—there you are, his favorite person in the whole world, sleeping peacefully in his arms. He immediately cuddles closer, unable to resist brushing your bangs back and pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. “Good morning, sunshine,” he whispers, though he doesn’t mind if you don’t respond yet.

His heart feels full to bursting, like it always does when he sees you like this—safe, soft, and his. He gazes at you with stars in his eyes, arms tightening around you protectively. “You make everything in my life better,” he murmurs, like a secret. “Just seeing you like this makes me the happiest guy alive.” Kalim stays there, radiating affection, waiting for you to wake up just so he can shower you in kisses and start another day of loving you.

Jamil Viper

Jamil wakes with practiced ease, years of early mornings ensuring he never oversleeps. But today, instead of slipping away to start the day in silence, he stays. You’re asleep beside him, your face relaxed in a way he rarely gets to see when the world is awake. He stares, feeling the tightness in his chest ease with every breath you take. Gently, he pushes your hair away from your face, his thumb grazing your temple with tender reverence. “You really are… dangerous,” he whispers with a faint smile, his voice almost amused. “You make me forget everything else.”

He leans in, resting his forehead against yours for a long, still moment. For once, there’s no mask, no duty—just him, and you. “I love you,” he breathes, not expecting you to hear it but needing to say it anyway. “Even when I can’t say it aloud, know that I do.” He stays like that, the morning ticking by slowly, willing the world to pause so he can keep holding onto this rare peace just a little longer.

Silver

Silver wakes slowly, dream still clinging to his lashes. For once, it wasn’t a dream of duty or danger—it was of you, warm and smiling, and when he opens his eyes to see you still curled up beside him, he feels like he's dreaming still. His heart swells with quiet devotion as he reaches out to tuck your hair behind your ear, hand steady and gentle. “You look so peaceful,” he murmurs softly, a small smile touching his lips. “I hope your dreams are sweet.”

He didn't move, afraid to disturb the serenity in the room. Instead, he studies every detail of your face as if he could commit it to memory. “I love you,” he whispers reverently, a confession that feels too big for words. With the sunlight painting golden outlines around your figure, Silver leans down and presses a delicate kiss to your cheek before settling back beside you. He’ll guard your sleep a little longer, even if he’s barely awake himself—because you’re his most precious peace.

I'll do the requests tomorrow! 💗

[heavenlybodies333]

The Devil Works Hard, but You Work Harder -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

“You’re grounded. Again.”

Your father’s voice rang in your head like a judge’s gavel.

You were so over it.

Okay, maybe you’d gone a little overboard. Caught with a fake ID, trying to sneak into a Georgetown bar that apparently had ties to an open BAU case. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong dad. You were twenty so what was one year more? Except who the hell waited until legal age to drink. To make matters worse, Hotch wasn’t a federal agent playing Daddy Cop of the Year—he had the badge to back it.

But now he was gone, along with the rest of the team, off to retrieve old case files from a station barely two hours out. Quick trip, back by midnight, if not earlier. That gave you time. Just enough.

Unfortunately, Spencer Reid had been designated babysitter.

“Your father just doesn’t want you to get into trouble,” he said now, from the other side of the bullpen, launching into a monologue about legal penalties for fake identification and—was that a tangent on Soviet dishonesty post-Chernobyl? Jesus Christ.

You turned your back to him mid-sentence and made your way into your father’s office. If Spencer even noticed your disinterest, he didn’t let on. The man could give lectures to a wall.

He kept talking, “…and when Pripyat was evacuated, many of the locals weren’t even informed of the reactor’s condition until days later…”

You rolled your eyes and peeled off your hoodie. Then your tank top. Replacing it with a black silk romper, low-cut and backless. The one that made your boobs look gravity-defying and your legs go on for days. You pulled your hair down, shaking it out like a hair commercial, and slid on your scuffed white Converse.

By the time you emerged from your dad’s office, Spencer’s voice faltered like a scratched record.

He stared. And not subtly. “…uh.” His mouth parted, eyes dropping, then snapping back up. “Where are you—why are you—?”

You looked down, slowly, at your neckline like you hadn’t just intentionally flashed him half your cleavage. Then up again with a lazy smile. “You were saying something about nuclear fallout?”

His jaw clenched. He dragged a hand down his face. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not going out,” you replied, voice syrupy and innocent. “Because that would violate the very serious and totally not overblown grounding my father gave me.”

“You’re grounded,” he reminded you, eyes still visibly trying not to look at the way your tits bounced slightly when you grabbed your phone. “Your dad said—”

You interrupted him, tapping your phone screen. “Uber Black’s two minutes out.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “You’re seriously going?”

“Obviously. I’m grounded, not in jail. And my romper’s already on, so…”

“You’re not supposed to leave.”

“I heard you the first time,” you said, slipping on a jacket and flipping your hair. “But that’s your problem. Not mine. Bye, Spence,” you sing-songed, grabbing your bag. “Try not to miss me too much.”

You got to the elevator and just before the doors closed, a hand slammed between them. Spencer.

“Where?” he asked.

You smirked. “Greek row, frat party. Duh.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Yeah, as if” you laugh, half expecting him to stay.

“I’m coming,” he repeated, stepping inside. “Your dad trusted me.”

Fifteen minutes later: Frat Row

The bass hit before you even stepped out of the car. The front lawn was packed with sweaty hormonal undergrads, red solo cups, and the haze of weed in the air.

You didn’t expect Spencer to follow you. But there he was ten minutes later, standing awkwardly at the door, dressed like a narc with his messenger bag and worried face.

You turned toward him, “Try not to look like you’re here to arrest someone.”

“I should arrest someone,” he muttered, watching two guys size you up from across the yard.

You leaned in close, lips at his ear. “You gonna arrest me, Spence?”

His jaw tightened. “Don’t test me.”

You left him fuming by the hedge, hips swaying as you headed toward the keg line. A blonde guy with a backwards hat was already waving you over, leering like he’d just hit the jackpot.

Spencer’s knuckles were white where they gripped the railing.

When the blonde leaned in and whispered something into your ear—too close, too confident—Spencer was already moving. Controlled, precise, like a shark slicing through a pool of drunk fish.

He reached you just as the guy’s hand brushed your lower back.

Spencer’s voice cut through the noise. “Can I talk to you? Now.”

You raised an eyebrow, playing innocent. “Why? Jealous?”

“I’m not—” he stammered. “This is incredibly irresponsible. Do you have any idea—”

The frat guy piped up. “Yo, man, she said she was good—”

Spencer stepped forward, hand curling around your waist as he pulled you gently—yet firmly—away. “Hey,” Spencer said, voice low and polite and dangerous. “She’s with me.”

The blonde snorted. “Didn’t ask, dude.”

“I’m not repeating myself.”

The guy backed off, laughing under his breath. “Whatever, man. Chill.”

Spencer turned to you, eyes dark. “We’re leaving.”

You let Spencer drag you out the door.

“Jesus, Reid. Controlling much?” you teased once you were outside.

He didn’t let go of your wrist. “What were you thinking?” he hissed. “Do you have any idea what your dad would do to me if something happened to you?”

You leaned in close, smirking. “So make sure nothing happens.”

His breath hitched. “You can’t just—this is completely inappropriate—”

“Then take me somewhere appropriate.”

The Uber back to Quantico was silent, your thigh pressed against his, his fingers twitching on his knee.

You barely made it to the back seat of his car in the BAU parking lot before you were straddling him, your mouth hot on his, his hands gripping your thighs like he was trying to convince himself this was still a terrible idea.

“Spence,” you breathed, rolling your hips down. “I’ve wanted this forever.”

His voice was strained. “This is so, so—so unethical—”

“Then stop me.”

He didn’t. Instead, he groaned as you rocked against him, your soaked panties grinding against the thick, twitching bulge in his slacks.

“God, you’re—” he swallowed, “—you’re Hotch’s daughter.”

“And you’re hard as hell,” you whispered, kissing just beneath his ear. “What’s that say about you?”

Something in him snapped. He shoved the seat back, pulled your romper aside, and dragged your panties down with a single, desperate motion. The groan that left him when he slid his fingers through your wetness was guttural.

“Fuck,” he hissed. He undid his belt with one hand, still working you with the other. When he pushed inside, your moan was broken, needy, raw.

“Fuck—fuck, Spencer—”

“I know, baby,” he panted against your mouth. “I know.”

He fucked you like he’d been waiting forever. Deep, controlled strokes that had you crying out in the cramped backseat, his hand wrapped around your throat, his mouth crushed to yours to muffle the sounds.

“God, Spence,” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulders. “You feel so fucking good—”

His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you in place. “You have no idea what you do to me.” he muttered, voice rough.

“Oh, I think I do.” You clenched around him deliberately, biting your lip when his eyes rolled back for just a second. “You gonna come for me, Dr. Reid?”

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, his grip slipping beneath your ass to bounce you harder on his cock. “You’re not supposed to talk like that.”

“Still doing so good though,” you whispered, lips brushing his. “So deep… feels like you wanna fill me up.”

His pace faltered as he bottomed out again, every motion more frantic than the last. The windows were fogged, your hair was sticking to your forehead, and your romper was bunched around your waist like a sin waiting to be confessed.

“I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—” His voice broke, and you tugged his hair to bring his mouth back to yours.

“Inside,” you begged. “Spence—inside.”

He came with a strangled groan, thrusting up one final time as he filled you, panting into your neck. You stayed like that, shivering against him, still shaking from your own orgasm, his come dripping slowly between your thighs.

His hand was still around your waist, trembling slightly as the adrenaline faded. “We’re so fucked,” he muttered into your collarbone.

You grinned lazily, brushing a kiss over his jaw. “Mmhmm.”

You were slipping your romper back up when you glanced at your phone.

47 missed calls.

Hotch: Get back. Now.

You winced, tucking your hair behind your ear. “So… slight chance I’m dead.”

Spencer sat back up, face in his hands.

“Want me to say you tackled me and confiscated the vodka?”

He groaned. “Please stop talking.”

Back inside the BAU – 12:47 AM

You walked back into the BAU with Spencer in tow, your hair messy, your thighs still sticky, and a smirk on your lips like you hadn’t just been railed by the genius of the BAU.

Hotch was standing in the middle of the bullpen. Waiting. His face was stone.

“I asked you for one thing,” he said, his voice low and furious. “Stay put. Don’t leave. And you couldn’t even manage that.”

The team was silent. Morgan froze mid-coffee sip. JJ looked like she wanted to disappear.

Hotch turned to Spencer. “You’re not in trouble,” he said tightly. “You tried to do your job.”

“You and I are going to have a very long conversation,” he said, voice steel.

Spencer stepped forward, but Hotch stopped him with a raised hand. “Not your fault, Reid. I should’ve known better than to think she’d listen to anyone. I’m not blaming you for her choices. I know she’s manipulative.”

Ouch.

Hotch stood at the railing. “Office. Now.” You sulked up the stairs, giving Spencer one last smile before entering hell.

He shut the door a little too hard.

Then came the voice that could quiet nations. “What the hell is wrong with you? You think this is a joke? You think you can just disappear while grounded and embarrass me like this?”

You leaned on the chair across from his desk, feigning innocence. “I came back, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the point. Spencer is not your damn babysitter—he’s a federal agent, and you put him in an impossible position. You’re not a child anymore, but you sure as hell aren’t acting like an adult.”

You rolled your eyes.

He paused. “You smell like vodka.”

And now he looked like he wanted to break something. You waited for him to yell more. Instead, he just stared at you.

“You’re grounded until further notice,” he said finally, voice dead cold. “No car, no phone, no campus housing. You’ll be commuting from here. I’ll pick you up from classes myself if I have to.”

You scoffed. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” He stepped closer, lowering his voice so the team outside couldn’t hear. “You disobeyed me. Lied. Left this building after I explicitly said not to. Do you understand how serious this is? Do you understand what would’ve happened if something had gone wrong?”

You opened your mouth to argue but he cut you off.

“I’m not just your father. I’m a federal agent. And when your name gets dragged into places like this? It doesn’t just reflect on you. It reflects on me. On my team.”

“I’ve seen murderers with more impulse control than you,” he continued, tone clipped, full of bite. “And the fact that you think this is about a party or a drink or a fake ID just proves how out of your depth you are.”

You scoffed. “Please. If I wasn’t your daughter, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“That’s exactly the point,” he snapped. “You are my daughter.” His eyes narrowed, jaw tense. “So here’s what’s going to happen.”

You crossed your arms. “Do tell.”

“This is the last time. Indefinitely. No car. No phone. You go to class, you come home, you breathe under my roof and nowhere else. Try me, and I’ll have one of the team walk you to every lecture, every building, every fucking bathroom if I have to.”

”Dad, if you would just let me FUCKING EXPLAIN!” you began to raise your voice at him. Wrong choice.

Hotch’s voice turned ice-cold. “Don’t raise your voice at me.”

You looked away. “I just needed to get out. Just for a night. I didn’t want to be… here. Locked in. Under a microscope.”

“You’re not under a microscope,” he said.

“You assigned Spencer to watch me like a damn parole officer,” you snapped. “That’s not normal parenting, Dad. That’s surveillance.”

“I know that,” he snapped, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know. But that’s not the point. The point is you keep crossing lines like they mean nothing. And one day, you’re going to cross one you can’t come back from.”

The room was too quiet now. Just the low hum of the BAU bullpen outside the office glass. And you, shrinking a little more with each second.

Hotch stepped back from his desk, paced once, then turned.

“This is over,” he said. “You’ll be escorted to and from your classes for the next month. You’re grounded until I say otherwise. And if I catch you near a bar, a frat house, or—God help me—another federal agent, I will make your life hell. Understood?”

You nodded, muttering. “Understood.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face, suddenly looking more exhausted than furious. “Go home. Get in the car. Don’t say a word to anyone.”

Downstairs, Spencer was pacing.

His tie was loosened, hair mussed from your fingers, cheeks flushed red like he was still feeling the way you clenched around him. His eyes lifted the second you emerged.

“Well?” he asked.

You grinned. “Grounded. Again.”

He exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face. “Jesus.”

You stepped close, so close he flinched. “Was it worth it?”

He didn’t answer with words. Just the way his eyes dropped to your mouth, then your throat, then lower—like he was memorizing every inch again. Like he already regretted how badly he wanted more.

“Yes,” he said finally, voice like gravel. “But it can’t happen again.”

You smiled, pressing your lips to his ear. “That’s what you said last time.”

a/n: I’m not saying this is why I’m going to hell… but it’s definitely in the top five

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[wingedhallows]

omg queen i might die if i don’t get more southern/cowboy!vi!! i would loveee to see either vi taking reader on like a trail ride or just like more of vi being protective over her wife maybe they’re out and about in the town??? idk i just love ur southern!vi works they make me kick my feet and giggle

𝐌𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋

ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 cowgirl!vi x sweet little housewife!reader / 0.6 k words ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 none ᯓᡣ𐭩 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 u ask and u shall recive ! i hope u like it (i love writing for cowgirl!vi)

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

The bar buzzes with noise — rowdy laughter, clinking bottles, the low hum of country music vibrating through the scuffed floorboards. The air is heavy with the scent of whiskey, fried food, and the kind of grease that sticks to your skin.

You’re tucked into the corner booth, warm and settled, Vi’s arm draped casually over the back of your chair. Her thumb traces slow, lazy circles into your shoulder while she sips her beer, all loose-limbed and comfortable.

Then Cole leans in. Smirking. Cocky. About three drinks past his limit and twice as bold as he ought to be. His eyes are glassy, his grin wide and sloppy.

“Bet your pretty little wife wouldn’t last five seconds on that bull.”

Your brows lift, surprise flickering across your face. Your lips part, but before you can get a single word out, Vi cuts in — sharp, clean.

“Ain’t her job to impress drunks.”

Cole chuckles, easy and loud. “I’m just sayin’ — she’s sweet, Vi. Nothin’ wrong with bein’ soft. But she wouldn’t hold on long.”

You glance between them, Vi already shaking her head, jaw set. Her easy calm is gone now, replaced by something low and bristling.

“Don’t even think about it, sugar,” she warns, voice taut with worry.

“That thing throws men twice your size clean off.”

But you’re already standing, that quiet little smile curling at the corner of your lips. Your dress swishes around your knees as you push your chair back, and Vi’s hand slips away from your shoulder like it doesn't want to let go.

“I’ll be careful,” you promise, sweet and soft and stubborn. “Just wanna try.”

Vi groans under her breath. “Lord help me.”

You cross the bar with your head high, the crowd parting around you. The mechanical bull looms in the center like a challenge, a dare with steel bones. You climb up with more grace than sense, settle into the seat like you belong there, and nod politely to the man at the controls.

Vi doesn’t sit. She stands rooted by the booth, hands braced on her hips, watching with her heart in her throat. Her eyes never leave you.

The bull lurches.

And you hold on.

One hand raised high, dress fluttering wild around your legs. The machine bucks hard beneath you, twisting, jerking — but you don’t flinch. You laugh, bright and reckless, like the whole world is yours and gravity’s just a suggestion. You grip with your legs, spine steady, smile wide.

The bar goes quiet, then erupts — whistles, cheers.

And still, you ride.

When the bull finally slows, easing into a stop, the whole place is roaring. People are on their feet, shouting, clapping, stunned.

Vi just stares. Her mouth parts, her breath catches — and then she grins, wide and smug and proud enough to knock someone over.

Cole whistles low. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Vi turns toward him slow, that grin sharpened into something dangerous.

“That’s my wife,” she says, voice cool as ice and sharp as a switchblade. “And if I were you, I’d think twice before callin’ her soft again.”

You hop down, cheeks flushed, heart still racing — and Vi’s already there, closing the space between you like she’s been holding her breath.

Her hands find your waist, fingers curling in tight, voice low in your ear.

“Goddamn, baby,” she murmurs. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

[blondwhxrewrites]

This is the longest thing I've written in years

Bob jumped as the door to his room was slammed open by John, who seemed more or less agitated, but that was nothing new. The man held up a tablet towards Bob, as if he expected Bob to be able to see the screen from across the room.

Well he could, but he was lazy.

"Okay, what am I supposed to be looking at exactly?" Bob leaned forward and squinted as he tried to decipher what was on the screen. Was that a live feed of the lobby?

"There's a woman in the lobby claiming to be your fiancée," John stated, and threw the tablet on Bob's lap.

Bob's eyes grew wide, and he perked up. Without a second thought, he scrambled out of bed and passed John. The tablet clattered to the ground, and John sighed. Well, there went that tablet. It didn't even last a day; at least it wasn't Alexei who'd broken it this time.

"I knew she would come for me!" Bob's voice rang through the hall as he scurried towards the elevator, almost tripping in the process.

He slammed his finger against the first-floor button, impatiently waiting for the door to close. Wait, he looked down. Yep, he'd forgotten to put on socks. He shrugged to himself. That wasn't important, at least not now.

Finally, the elevator door slid open, and Bob's shoulders slumped as he was met with the sight of you calmly talking to Yelena. In fact, you seemed to be in the middle of showing her your engagement ring.

Oh, how he missed you.

"Babe!"

You turned to Bob, and your eyes narrowed as your once calm expression turned dark.

"Sunshine you are so fucking dead—"

Bob launched out of the elevator, and in the blink of an eye, he was right in front of you. You opened your mouth fully prepared to rain hellfire down upon him, but he shushed you and cupped your face with his hands. "I'm sober." He breathed out, staring down at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world—you were.

You stilled. "You're sober?"

He nodded. "I'm sober."

Slowly, the anger melted away from your being, replaced by a happiness that could light up a thousand rooms. "Oh my god, Bob!" You lunged forward and hugged him, laughing as you tried to contain the tears that now threatened to spill.

"I knew you could do it." You whispered, your voice muffled by the fact that you'd practically smashed your face into Bob's chest.

Bob didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you, pulling you even closer to him—if that was even possible.

Wordlessly, Yelena backed away. This was clearly a heartfelt moment that she didn't need to be a part of. She could take the hint.

Bon pulled back from the hug after a few moments, his eyes obviously misty with tears. "We can finally get married now!"

"Woah, Sunshine, one step at a time. You still have a lot of explaining to do, like how a so-called 'spiritual retreat' ended up as a six-month-long stay in Malaysia. Oh, and don't forget how you just disappeared, and the next thing I know, you're on the news being announced as part of the new Avengers."

Bob's expression fell. Seemed like the heartfelt moment was officially over. "I'm in trouble aren't I?" Honestly, he should've seen this this coming.

You rested your hands on your hips and nodded. "You're screwed, Robert—whatever your middle name is—Reynolds."

"Oh shit, he got the full name," Yelena mumbled, and for the sake of her being, she slipped into the elevator. Yeah, she was not dealing with whatever situation that was.

"Good luck!" She called out, waving goodbye to Bob as the doors of the elevators slid closed. "Yeah, he's dead."

This wasn't edited so sorry for any mistakes

[secretlysamcro]

Can you share one of your sluttiest, smuttiest, thought about Jax Teller

Sluttiest, Smuttiest Jax Teller Confessions #1

Jax trying so fucking hard not to cum inside of me. Like when he’s on top, missionary style. Our foreheads pressed together, both our skin touched with sweat. His jaw clenched so fucking tight it looks like he’s in pain from how hard he’s trying to hold back.

I can see it in his face. His eyebrows almost touching in the middle, the little wince that makes the soft wrinkles at the edge of his eyes show when he drags his cock out slow, just to push it back in even slower. And the way he stares at me, like he’s almost fucking begging me to save him from drowning.

And every single time, I make it harder for him. Wrapping my legs around his waist, locking him in deeper daring him to lose control. His fucking chain, swinging side to side, it fucking mesmerises me. He fucking knows it too. That lazy fucking smirk curls on his lips. All fucked out and dangerous, the kind of smirk that says…

“I know what you’re tryna fucking do darlin”

My nails dig into his back, right over the reaper tattoo. He buries his head where my shoulder meets my neck, biting me in response, his breath hot against my skin.

“Fuck…I’m gonna cu…”

He doesn’t even finish the sentence, just pulls back enough to brace himself. One hand wrapping tight around my throat, as he lands with just four more deep deliberate thrusts before pulling out with the most primal fucking moan that’s come straight from within, like it pains him to have to leave my body.

His hands tightening against me as he cums all fucking over me. Stomach, tits, every-fucking-where. Hot and messy and he keeps making those animalistic grunts, like he’s never had to do something so hard in his fucking life.

And when it’s done, when we’re both just about lucid but breathless, he doesn’t just roll off and leave me there. He lingers. Moving slow, careful, like I’m something he could possibly break. The same man who just had his hand around my throat and his cock buried so fucking deep, has been replaced by someone softer, still dangerous of course, but in this moment? Fucking gentle. A gentleness that’s only meant for me.

He grabs at anything, a towel, his t shirt I don’t know, but he swipes over my skin, steady, with no rush. Like this part matters just as much to him as the rest. Once we’re all clean again, he leans back over me, rubbing his nose against mine like he doesn’t want to let us out of the moment just yet. Then, he kisses me, still fucking grinning. Pressed up against me, so fucking warm and intimate.

“You gotta stop doin’ that sweetheart”

And even though he’s smiling, there’s a warning in it, a real fucking warning. Because he knows exactly what I did. And next time? He won’t pull out.

[hy6erion]

can we get more sub jayce pleaseeee? him being a whimpering whiny mess and you’re just teasing him but eventually give into his wants ?

𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 - 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢�� 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⇢ 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐣𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞), 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐥/ 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, (𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭) 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨. 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐰 ♡

Jayce Talis had always been a man of strength.

Everything about him—from the way he carried himself in the council chambers to the sheer power he wielded in the Forge—radiated control, confidence, certainty. He was a leader, a man who made decisions, a man who never hesitated to take exactly what he wanted.

But not now.

Now, he was nothing more than a trembling, breathless mess, sprawled against the headboard, his powerful body glistening with a sheen of sweat, his muscles tight and coiled beneath his golden skin. His broad chest rose and fell with uneven, shallow breaths, his thick fingers wrapped around his own cock, moving in slow, slick strokes—because that’s all he had.

Because you had refused to touch him.

And it was killing him.

His cock was flushed dark, thick veins pulsing beneath his palm, the swollen tip glistening with pre-cum that kept dribbling down his knuckles with every agonizing movement. Every stroke sent sharp tremors through his thighs, his body twitching under his own touch—but it wasn’t enough. Not even close.

Not when you sat there, completely clothed, watching him suffer.

Jayce had never felt so exposed.

You lounged at the foot of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, your fingers lazily tracing patterns over your thigh, your expression composed—like you weren’t even fazed by the sight of him reduced to this, trembling and needy, desperately rutting into his own fist.

“Please,” Jayce rasped, his voice raw, breaking with every syllable. “Baby, please—”

You tilted your head, as if truly considering his suffering, but your lips curled into a lazy smirk. “What is it, love?”

His head dropped back, teeth gritted, throat bobbing as he swallowed down a groan. His hair was damp at the temples, his abs tensing beneath the soft glow of candlelight, every muscle in his body drawn tight.

“You,” he forced out, his breath shuddering. “I need you.”

You let out a soft, thoughtful hum, dragging a single finger up the fabric of your thigh. “But you have your own hand.”

“It’s not the same,” he groaned, his voice almost a whimper, thick with frustration. “It’s never the same—please—”

“Is this what you do when I’m not around?” You leaned forward slightly, gaze dark, voice teasing. “All alone in that big, empty bed, jerking yourself off like some needy thing?”

Jayce whimpered.

His hips lifted, his hand tightening around himself, his body strung so tight he thought he might snap.

“Thinking about me touching you instead,” you mused, eyes locked on the way his cock twitched in his grasp. “Wishing it was my hand wrapped around you. My mouth—”

“Fuck—” He gasped sharply, his whole body shaking at your words, his breath coming in shallow pants.

“Poor thing,” you murmured, watching his muscles flex, his stomach tightening with every desperate jerk of his hips. “You were so close to breaking, weren’t you?”

His head lolled to the side, his lips parted, his breath hitching as his entire body shuddered.

You let the silence stretch, just long enough to let him suffer.

The sharp rise and fall of his chest.

The trembling in his legs.

The broken whimpers slipping through his lips, his cock twitching in his grasp, leaking for you.

And then, softly—mercifully—

“Okay.”

Jayce barely had time to process the word before your fingers replaced his, wrapping around his aching, neglected cock.

The moment you touched him, his body jerked, every muscle in him going rigid as a deep, wrecked moan tore from his throat.

“Oh—” His hands flew to the sheets, gripping them like a lifeline, his entire body twitching, his thighs trembling beneath you.

“Shhh,” you cooed, stroking him with slow, firm precision, your fingers gliding along the thick veins of his length, savoring every shudder that wracked through him. “There we go.”

Jayce was ruined.

His head dropped back, his mouth falling open, his chest rising and falling in erratic, stuttering breaths. “Oh my god—”

“You were so good for me,” you whispered, dragging your thumb over his slit, smearing the slick wetness over the swollen head. “So patient.”

“Fuck—, I—” His voice broke into a sharp gasp, his hips jerking up, desperately fucking into your hand, chasing the pleasure that had been denied to him for so long.

You hummed in amusement, watching him fall apart. “Look at you,” you murmured, tightening your grip. “So desperate. So messy.”

Jayce could barely think.

His hands were fisted in the sheets, his back arching, his thighs flexing beneath your touch, every stroke of your fingers sending fire licking up his spine.

“Please,” he gasped, his voice strained, wrecked, every syllable thick with need. “Don’t stop—fuck, don’t stop—”

But you had no intention of stopping.

Not when he was trembling beneath you like this, completely yours, so weak, so wrecked, so utterly desperate for you that he couldn’t do anything but take it.

And then, suddenly, his breath hitched.

His whole body seized, muscles locking tight, his stomach clenching, his hips jerking erratically—

And then he came.

The pleasure hit him like a violent storm, crashing over him in waves, tearing a broken, sobbing moan from his throat. His cock pulsed in your grip, thick ropes of cum spilling over your fingers, painting his own abs as his entire body shuddered beneath you.

You didn’t stop.

Not even when he whimpered, overstimulated, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his body twitching under your hand.

“That’s it,” you whispered, milking him through it, savoring the way he broke in your grasp, pleasure wracking through him in uncontrollable tremors.

His head lolled to the side, his body completely limp, his skin flushed and glowing, his breath uneven. He was spent. Ruined.

But as you leaned over him, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to his jaw, you whispered—

“Think you can give me another?”

[kenobers]

nsfw alphabet | Jason Todd

what the title says ! tw; explicit sexual content, gn!reader a/n; like always, these are just my thoughts and headcanons

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jason's gonna make sure you're comfortable afterwards. He'll wipe you down, check that he didn't go too far. If you leave afterwards, he'll make sure you get home safe. If you stay, he'll offer you a t-shirt to sleep in. For a while, he wasn't big on the physical aspect of aftercare, but eventually pulling you to his chest becomes second nature. It's like your head fits just right in the crook of his shoulder. Hey, maybe the body heat will keep with the inevitable soreness you'll feel tomorrow. He's big on eating after sex. If you have enough energy, he'll order some Chinese or throw a frozen pizza in the oven. Sometimes it's kind of astonishing how the man will fuck you until you're more than a ragdoll, then immediately demolish like three Big Macs.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves hands. He loves his hands. They're big and strong, they can protect you, please you, provide for you. He adores the way you feel under them, soft and clean. He loves to feel you press against his palm while his fingers disappear inside of you. He loves your hands, the way they feel on his skin. No matter their size, they always look so small wrapped around his cock. He cherishes every mark your fingernails leave along his back, every sting they leave on his scalp when they twist his hair. He loves that your hands can go from caressing his scars to replacing them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jason loves the sight of you, sweaty and panting, with your stomach and thighs decorated in white. He's a little more possessive than he likes to admit, and he secretly feels like he's marking you as his whenever he finishes all over your skin.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves having high sex. When the weed hits just right, so the world reduces to nothing but you...that's that good shit right there. He gets so locked in that there isn't a single thought that could pull him away. He's numb in every place that isn't touching you. It adds a certain level of passion, of desperation, for each of you because your senses are so heightened to each other. However, it isn't very often that he feels both of you are to the same level of inebriated for it.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He isn't as sexually charged as you would think and he typically waits to get to know a person before having sex with them (with a few exceptions, like for a certain crime lord's daughter). So in that regard, one of his body counts is significantly higher than the other, but he's had enough experience to know what he's doing. He knows what he likes and he knows how to figure out what you like.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

So long as your legs are hooked over his hips, he's happy. Jason particularly loves it when he's on his knees while you're on your back with your hips angled over his thick thighs. It lets him get deep inside of you while still being able to look at your pretty face. Not to mention, he loves grasping your hips, spreading your legs wide. (According to trusted resource, SexPositions.Club, this is position 5. Aquarius) He also loves having you up against things. Against a wall, on the kitchen table, the handle bars of his motorcycle. The way you hold onto him in more ways than one really adds something to the moment. And yeah, maybe it allows him to show off his strength to you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Jason's tone depends on the time and place. For the most part, he's serious. He teases you, lets out a low chuckle when he gets a sought after reaction from you, but it isn't humorous. But sometimes...sex is just incredibly unserious. Like lazy morning sex, when neither of you can be bothered to do much more than roll on top of one another. Like you're horny, but Jason looks so goofy with his hair sticking up and you're a real beauty queen with your crusty eyes. Or the aforementioned high sex, when both of you are so lost in your pleasure and giggles.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

His autopsy scar stops where his happy trail begins. Before you were a regular in his bed, he didn't really think to groom himself much. But he figured he should show you some decorum, so he keeps the dark patch of hair reigned in.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jason doesn't take sex lightly. It's either a tool or a declaration of love (no matter how lazy). If he's using sex as a tool, he isn't going to be very intimate. He'll praise you, sing songs about your body, but it isn't going to be very personal. However, when you're in an established relationship, he's very intimate. There's much more kissing and eye contact, lots more "that's my baby" instead of "that's it, baby".

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Oh yeah. Usually only if you're gone though. He'd rather have the real deal. But sometimes...if he thinks about you for a little too long...well, it's hard to hide all that when you're his size...it's just polite for everyone else if he just deals with it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Jason's kinks are sort of a revolving door. He likes to go rougher and he likes to be in charge typically, but everything else is dependent on your moods. One day he'll blindfold you, the next you'll tie his hands together while he gives you orders you have to follow on your own. He'll be daddy once, then sir the next, but his favorite thing to here is Jason. He also gets a thrill out of doing it with the Red Hood mask on. He's also got a praise kink. There's nothing that gets him going more than hearing you babble about how good he's making you feel, about how much you love him. It goes the other way as well. He loves to tell you how good you feel, how beautiful you are, how well you're taking him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Where ever the mood strikes. Generally speaking, his apartment is his favorite place. There isn't a particular room, he just likes the knowledge that this is your space to do as you please. But he does get a little thrill whenever you manage to do it somewhere risky.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It's cliche as hell, but the sight of you in red really does work wonders for him. If he can see your nipples through your shirt, it's over. Watching you doing or say something intelligent is a huge turn on. He likes to watch you work for it. The way you oh-so-conspicuously bend over to pick something up or shiver so your chest sticks out. Make a suggestive face as you drop an innuendo only he understands and he'll see to it that your efforts don't go unrewarded.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He's not a voyeur. If he's gonna do it in a public setting, it's gonna be in a closet or a bathroom stall; somewhere that still shields your bodies from prying eyes. That's just for the two of you. Now, of course there's exceptions - like if you're trying to piss off your mobster father by fucking on his property, then he'll get a little cheeky for the security cameras.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jason is nothing, if not a giver. Just lay back and let him take care of it, baby. This is something he can spend hours doing. His tongue knows just where to work you, he knows just how much teeth you like, where the biting boarders on pain. And if his fingers aren't right next to his mouth, they're kneading your skin, raking his nails across your stomach with a featherlight touch, massaging the kinks in your thighs so you can open them a little more. If nothing else, his mouth and hands can cover a lot of ground.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jason likes it fast and rough. He'll drag out foreplay to his heart's content, but once you're good and ready, he's fucking you like his life depends on it. Then he's flipping you over and doing it again. That said, he has his slow and sensual moments. After a rough night when he's feeling particularly sentimental and grateful for you, he'll take all the time in the world just to watch you underneath him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Pro quickie, but usually if it's an appetizer for what comes later on. It's hard to take a dick that big and casually go on about your day. So, most of the time quickies look like his fingers sneaking down your pants during your lunch break, his head between your thighs in the bathroom at a charity event, or you on your knee taking care of him before patrol.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As mentioned earlier, his kinks are a revolving door, so he would be down to experiment. He's pretty good about saying no when he needs to, and if he trusts that you can do the same, then he's open to trying new risks.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

No one recovers like this man. He can go for as many rounds as your heart desires. Unless he's already been yearning the whole damn day, Jason can last until the cows come home.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't have any toys for himself and doesn't really like to use them on his own body. However, he likes to use the vibrator on you, especially during foreplay. He likes to watch as you curl into him and shake with pleasure while he drives the toy between your legs - especially knowing that it won't be enough to satisfy you for long.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to tease up to a certain point. If you're out doing something, he'll keep sliding his hand higher and higher up your thigh, then pull away completely, or lean down to say something to you so that his breath hits your neck in that one sensitive spot... But once your clothes are off, he can only restrain himself for so long.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Low groans and swears. His mouth as a mind of its own when he really gets going as he praises you, teases, calls out to you. You're his Baby, his Pretty Thing/Girl/Boy, so so good for him, taking it all like this. Oooh. Look. At. You. You can always tell when he's close because his panting turns to grunts, his sweet nothings become more intense as they strain between his teeth.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He's secretly a little self conscious about his body, particularly about his scars. Like, yeah, he's big and muscly and people always say they dig scars, but...some of his are, like, real nasty. Not to mention, that some of them have triggering memories attached to them. He finds his autopsy scar to be especially gross. It takes up so much of his chest and it doesn't seem to want to fade like the rest of his marks tend to do. So for a while when you first started having sex, he found ways around taking his shirt off. And if it did come off, it was in the dark. Once he works up the courage to finally show you all of him in proper light, he's surprised when you're more fascinated with it than anything. He can't suppress the shiver that runs down his spine when you press your lips to the crux of that T-shaped stamp. He probably won't ever love his scars, but he'll always adore the way you treat them.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's a big guy and is very proportional. He's a solid 8 inches standing tall and girthy. He's a lot to take in, which is why he's very adamant about getting an orgasm out of you before penetration.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His libido is strong for you. As previously stated, he's not as sex charged as you would think, but he does have a strong desire for you. He initiates sex fairly regularly, but he doesn't feel the need to paw at your clothes 24/7.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He almost always waits until you fall asleep. If you manage to fall asleep quickly, then he'll follow suit typically.