#anon requested

[v3nusxsky]

Mars!!!!!

Can I request a mommy Larissa x reader where reader cockwarms Larissa while sucking on her tits, and Larissa is just relaxing maybe reading a book while also brushing her fingers through r's hair, praising her, and then Larissa tells r something like "be careful baby, else mommy is gonna cum" and she does inside r, which throws r into a massive orgasm. Whatever scenario you want. Heavy praise/mommy/nursing kink.

Purest form of unity 18+

*authors note~Happy Easter/4/20 if you don’t celebrate! This is the first fic back from the injury that meant I couldn’t really type all that well. Only fitting it’s weems that is posted first considering I started writing her first*

Trigger warnings~ praise kink, mommy kink, nursing kink, dom Larissa, sub r, cockwarming, shifted anatomy, pet names for r, oral fixation, dry suckling, soft mommy Larissa

Prompt~ see ask^^^

………………………….Banner to come…………………………….

Ever since consciousness seeped into your brain this morning nothing seemed to be in your favour. Exhausted and bleary eyed you lazily rolled over to check the alarm clock before you leapt out of bed in such a frantic hurry. First, you woke up twenty minutes after your alarm and then in your haste to make up time you stubbed your toe against the bedside table. Then to add to it you simply couldn’t find your carefully placed shoe. Oh and not to forget that in the middle of all that you didn’t even have the time to fix your hair properly or even get a warm drink before barrelling into your classroom. Later than you’ve ever been before.

As the day wore on things continued to fail you. Your door seemed to be in a constant state of motion, people coming and going constantly. By lunch time you couldn’t help but be emotionally and mentally exhausted from the day, so many students had been sent to you the most ridiculous things. It still blows your mind that a student, just a year shy from graduating, decided it would be a brilliant idea to throw a chair in bounty class. Affectingly smashing a greenhouse window and causing unnecessary chaos. Releasing a small sigh was all you could do before flying into action. Only it didn’t end there, when you weren’t teaching you were helping other classes with behaviour management. You hardly had time to teach let alone just stop and take a breather.

Teaching is hard, you knew that. Teaching outcasts? Even harder. You love the students of Nevermore but sometimes you just wish it would all slow down. The chaos, time and workload was often overwhelming you, leaving you wanting to rip strands of hair from your head. Yet all it takes is one break through, one student you’ve helped make a difference to that reminds you why you do what you do. Why you sacrifice so much of yourself, every day.

What seemed like an eternity later, you finally managed to drag yourself to your wife’s office. Every step was slow and calculated like a person who was carefully gluing themselves together piece by piece. Your bag full of papers to be marked hung over your shoulder as if it weighed a ton. Entering Larissa’s office you instantly felt the pull to the fireplace, the way it casted such a beautiful glow around the room, reflecting off the dark mahogany wooded furniture. Walking silently towards the couch near the fireplace it was if you fell into a trance. The tiny crackles it released as the wood burned steadily, releasing the earthy aroma to be enjoyed as you watched the flames engage in their relentless pursuit of cat and mouse game. Sitting in front of the fireplace allowed the fire to envelop you in its own warm embrace, providing you with a sense of peace warmth and a soothing atmosphere you enjoy for hours to come.

The constant flickering of the flames were enough to keep you interested as you watched them dance. Chasing yet never quite reaching the end goal. In a way you couldn’t help but relate to the flames today. No matter how hard you’d tried to catch up and make the day better for yourself something would weigh you down once more. Never quite reaching the desired end goal. Like a flame there was only so much you could handle before coming burnt out. Truthfully, you have no idea how long you stayed entertained by the fire, stuck in the depths of your own mind but at some point you allowed your gaze to wonder. Larissa’s office is stunning, tall mirrors that span the length of the ceiling, some carefully placed mirrors around the room also. Her desk in the centre of the room while a door joined the office to your shared quarters. Not forgetting her huge beautiful doors that you’d entered however long ago, all neatly furnished with gold fixings. Elegant yet simplistic in the most beautiful way.

Larissa was mid way through another meeting in her day when you entered. At first glance, everything seemed fine. It wasn’t until she payed closer attention to you as the alumni meeting droned on. The way you hung your head towards the ground ever so slightly, the fact you seemed almost drawn into yourself. Smaller. A few loose messy strands of your hair so evidently out of place alongside the way you seemed to stare down the fire place as if you desired to see into the depths of its soul. Now Larissa was no mind reader but she knew her wife like the back of her hand. You needed her. But in what capacity? All she could do is feign paying attention to the meeting and observe you closer.

Finally the meeting was over allowing the shifter to snap the laptop shut and stretch out her stiff back muscles with a pleased hum. It took less than a minute to stride over to where you sat. Crouching down effortlessly in front of you and taking a quick glance as your face that was being bathed in a golden hue showed her what she already suspected. Your almost vacant looking irises were the final clue to what you needed from her. It was her smooth hand that cupped your cheek gently that snapped your attention to her. “Hi” you murmured so quietly she almost missed it.

“Hello darling, how’s my girl doing?” She made sure to speak softly, her words being soaked in the love she had for you. The way she noticed your eyes took a watery sheen to them made her heart clench more than the lazy hum she got in response. “I’m here for you sweetheart. You do know that yes?” Larissa tried again only to receive a small nod and sweet light mumble in response. Her soothing movements of gently stroking your cheek never sized even as she gently guided you to face her, “My poor baby, do you need mommy to help you tonight hmm?”

Big doe eyes shining with unshed tears from the tough day met Larissa’s ocean blue irises, her wife’s lower lip trembled ever so slightly that if she as much as blinked she’d miss it. Larissa could almost see the cogs in your brain turning, trying to formulate a reply before you dropped eye contact and settled for a nod accompanied by a whimpered “yes please mommy.” In that moment, Larissa couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the love she held for you. The way you almost seemed ashamed by needing her comfort, her love, broke her heart and gave her a vital bit of information. Today was a bad day for your mental health. You’d have all of her no matter what and on the good days you were good at remembering, needing love, comfort and support deserves no shame. You didn’t deserve to battle alone and she would do anything to support you through it.

“Such a sweet girl, mommy is here for you baby” the shifter murmured moving to stand to her full height, left hand extended to you in a silent request. Almost instinctively you took her hand and allowed the older woman to lead you to her desk chair. “Mommy?” Your confused plea caused Larissa to smile soothingly at you. “It’s okay sweet girl, mommy’s gonna sit in her chair, and you can sit on my lap yeah? I know how much my baby loves her snuggles.” As graceful as ever the blonde made quick work of settling both of you into the chair, you straddling her thighs comfortably, facing your wife as she cupped your cheeks. Her thumb trailing over your plump bottom lip, in which you instinctively swiped into your lips with ease and began to suckle lightly. “Pretty girl, anything you need from mommy, you just take it okay?”

“More” you muttered around her thumb, eyes holding a slightly glassy tint to them. It was so quiet Larissa almost missed it but the vibrations against her thumb gave your plea away. The way you were almost pawing at her chest couldn’t have been a clear indication to what you were seeking. “Mommy please” you whined helplessly trying to find the words to articulate your requests but each attempt came out muffled and not making much sense. Your words seemed to blur together only adding to the frustration you could feel bubbling away within you. “Hush darling, mommy knows just what her special girl needs. But you have to stand up for me hmm?”

As if you were a china doll, Larissa gently moved you from her lap to stand by her desk. Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth your eyes tracked every movement she made with a curiosity that seemed almost child like. Larissa made quick work of unbuttoning the buttons of her dress to free her breasts that were still cradled in her sapphire lace bra. You were entranced as she skillfully slipped the clasp free and lost the bra, her pert nipples standing to attention due to the change in temperature. A soft whine filled the room before you even realised that it occurred from yourself. Your gaze locked on her chest with a laser focus. So laser focused in fact you missed Larissa skilfully shifted her anatomy with a practiced ease. A simple tap to your hip refocused your fuzzy brain, “come and sit on mommy’s lap baby. Gonna be a good girl for me yes?”

It took a few seconds for the command to settle within you but you soon found yourself taking your rightful place on her lap, hovering over the newly shifted anatomy that was creating a tent in the principals dress. “Mommy” you blinked to gather your thoughts, “want it.” Simply lifting your hips enough to allow Larissa to strip you of your own underwear before helping you settle once again on her lap, this time her cock nudged against your soaked slit. “Are you sure you want this darling?” Her concern was touching and if you were in a clearer mindset you would’ve found it adorable. Yet here and now you just whined at her reaching down between your bodies, joining Larissa’s hand to guide her shaft into you. Larissa sank into you easily, your walls accommodating her sheer size with ease. Contented at finally feeling full, connected and loved you let out a happy little sigh as your eyes fluttered closed.

"Doing so good for mommy sweetheart, just let the stress melt away for me like a good girl" she murmured softly as her hand trailed up your spine. The tension seemed to leave your body almost instantly when your mouth made contact with her by flawless soft skin of her breasts. It was as if the simple contact was enough to soothe the troubles of your day and your mind. This wasn’t a new situation in your relationship at all, Larissa had offered to go through the process of inducing the production of milk for you but for now you were content with just being able to be this close. Perhaps in the future you’d take the step together but for now this was more than enough for you.

It was easy to lose track of time when you spent time with your lover like this. The feeling of being full, your inner walls contracting every so often due to how amazing it feels, your slick arousal almost leaking onto her lap with the amount of time she spent in you. Larissa would busy herself with working on her laptop or on occasions softly reading to you. The days she read to you were your favourite, the softness her words held, the way her breath with hitch with every squeeze of her shaft and the pure love she looked down at you with when you shifter to get better access to her chest.

Larissa couldn’t get over how amazing it felt to be snuggly settled in your warm cunt, it was amazing she lasted a few minutes with how good you always managed to make her feel, “be careful baby, else mommy is gonna cum darling.” The fuzziness had well and truly set in for the night, your body responding but hugging her dick tighter as you continued to suckle her, small whines of protest at the idea of this moment being over. Why? Why does something so good only get to last a few minutes? It’s not fair. Your right hand moved up to grip her other boob, a clear plea to not end the moment. “Fuck baby, mommy can’t hold on much more. My good girl just feels that good” Larissa moaned when you accidentally squeezed her breast as well as a strong suckle to the breast in your mouth. It was that combination that had Larissa spilling into you. The way you expertly milked every last drop of her cum and the sensation of her filling you up sent you tumbling into your own pleasure. Your fuzzy mind went blank, your vision blurred yet your suckling still continued as if it were the only thing tethering you to her.

Even when you felt Larissa soften within your walls your contentment never seemed to fade away. “Baby? Let’s get you to bed sweet girl. Mommy needs to clean you up my love” Larissa’s gentle attempt at persuading you to move seemed to fall on deaf ears as you happily suckled surrounded in the cloud of bliss she’d graciously given you. A tap to your hip gained your fuzzy attention, “come on darling, let’s go get all comfortable and warm in bed, mommy won’t leave your side.” With her promise, lots of whining and whimpering as the process of detaching your body from hers and lots of praise, you were snuggling up in bed with the love of your life, this time suckling on her chest with the intention of soothing yourself to sleep. The connection you shared with Larissa Weems was just the purest form of unity you could have ever wished for.

Word count~ 2361

[idontplaytrack]

Hi bubba!!! I hope you are okay!

Hey, i've been thinking *a lot* about regina George lately... so i was wondering.. would you be willing to write for Regina George x Latinx!reader

Reader is being like the talk of the school and everyone agrees they are hot and wants them. There is the novelty factor- but their accent makes them even more so. So regina wants to make reader theirs stat? Maybe throw in some of Regina calling reader spanish petnames?

Ps: YK WHO IT IS –🐇

Worship me(or leave)

Regina George x gn Latinx! reader

Warnings: some coarse language?

Regina crushes hard, but her pride causes her not to make a move until she feels a threat and can’t get what she wants

- w.c: 1.5k

Was junior year really the peak of the high school experience? For the first time in Regina George’s life…she wasn’t the centre of attention, she wasn’t the talk of the school, she didn’t feel like the Apex Predator. Regina felt threatened.

“Gretchen, who is that?” Regina subtly turned her head to the girl to ask.

“She’s new. y/n. So far, everyone’s been saying she’s really hot and I—”

“If the next word that comes out of your mouth is ‘agree’, you can feel free to go sit with the art freaks. She’s mediocre.”

“No, she’s not mediocre.” Gretchen continued, “I stand by that. What? That’s a fact.”

Regina rolled her eyes, slamming her locker shut. “Let’s go.” Regina said flatly. Karen followed immediately, Gretchen took a second, distracted by the new student. You.

You caught her gaze for a second, her eyes went wide and she scampered away on the tail of the tall blonde.

Throughout the day, Regina couldn’t figure out if she was impressed or repulsed by the amount of attention you were getting. She saw nearly everyone that managed to go up to you to ask you out. Why? You had almost every single class of yours with her. Regina liked a challenge, so much so that she was going to go up to you to ask you out herself just so that you would say yes to her first. Possibly.

Whenever you talked to anyone. A student, a teacher…Regina’s ears would perk up. She found herself intrigued— no, in love with the accent you had. But, she was simply in denial. No, Regina George would never admit that to anyone, not even herself.

You, however, couldn’t be more unbothered by the attention. You could usually see through people, if they were genuinely being nice or just faking it so you’d befriend them. That was why you didn’t even entertain Regina’s staring. The girls that hung out with her were nice, though. You had a class together with them and got grouped up with them for a project already.

And then came lunch. It was chaos, all the students chatting, playing instruments, laughing at jokes. Somehow, you were used to it. The noise got all tuned out, and you just focused on eating your lunch alone. Karen and Gretchen invited you to sit with them, but you declined their offer. You didn’t want to be at the same table as Regina. Not when it felt like she’d been glaring at you practically all day. You didn’t want any part of that. After school, you waited outside the gym for Karen and Gretchen. The three of you were going to be starting work on the project this afternoon.

“Oh, hi!” Gretchen walked out from the gym first, Karen was right behind her. “Hi.” Karen greeted with a little laugh at the end. “How was your first day here?” Gretchen asked while you all walked to the parking lot.

“It was pretty good, actually. But Regina is getting annoying because why is she staring all the time like she’s a cat whose tail I stepped on?”

“She’s…like that. Don’t mind her.”

“Clearly.” You scoffed, getting into the backseat while Karen sat in the front with Gretchen.

“She can be nice.” Karen chimed in.

“Sure.” You almost laughed, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Anyway, any suggestions on what we could do for the Chemistry project? Lewis said we can basically do anything as long as we can explain it and make sense. It’s like 25% of our grade.”

“We could probably Google for some ideas, choose the one we like the most.” You shrugged.

“True, true. Shouldn’t be too hard to complete, right?”

You spent a good part of the afternoon at Gretchen’s. The project was straightforward, and really easy to complete. And, it was completed by the time you all parted ways. You ended your day with two new friends, so that was the good part— well other than finishing a project well ahead of time.

Over the next week, you got to meet more people. And the more you got to know them, the more you got to know about Regina. So far, it was mostly negative. “Regina asked for your number.”

“What?” You squinted, “Gretch, please don’t tell me you gave it to her.”

“No, but I was scrolling on Insta, and your post was on my home page. She followed you.”

“Well, my page is public, so whatever.”

As you said that, your phone screen lit up. And it was none other than Regina— sliding into your DMs. Okay, you could admit, she was attractive. But if she wasn’t a good person, you sure as heck wouldn’t want to be associated with someone like that. You detested her ‘worship me or leave’ type of attitude.

Besides that, the first half of your school day was pretty calm. Once lunch rolled around, you were ready to have some food. But, someone grabbed your arm. “I need to talk to you.”

“No, Regina.”

“I just need three minutes.” She continued.

“Fine, make it count.” You stopped off at the side of the hallway, watching the students filtering out of the hallway to the cafeteria. All of them eager for lunch, but highly interested in the fact that Regina was finally talking to you.

“Did Gretchen ask you out?”

“I knew it.” You said with a shrug, “Even if she did, it’s none of your business, really. I haven’t even talked to you once until now. So far, it hasn't been a great first impression.”

“I’m sorry. I know you’ve heard a lot about me, but it’s complicated. I’m trying to change, but that’s… not what I wanted to talk to you about. Truth is, since you got here, I’ve been intimidated because I’m used to being the centre of attention. I know, sucks of me. But also, among the things you heard about me. I know you’ve heard that I’m a lesbian. That’s the one truth I want to remain, the rest? I want to change that.”

“Your point?”

“It’s— it’s been hard for me to accept that I like girls. And you come in here, looking all tall and perfect and me being scared of being like everyone else, I couldn’t admit that I was crushing on you too.”

“Now I’m impressed. Took you sooner than I thought you would to be honest than keep up with the glaring. This is more like it.”

Regina smirked and it turned into a smile, a genuine smile, “See you around, cariño.”

You squinted, watching as she turned on her heel to leave, chuckling. She saw you and laughed too. See, this was what you wanted. To see the real her than the facade she was putting on. There was no point in that, but this? Having actual conversations? It felt good to have that, not just polite greetings and check-ins.

You saw her in your next class and was paired up, in the name of fate because the random name generator come up with her name and yours. For the first time since you started school here, you were actually glad to be in the same room as Regina, because she wasn’t pretending anymore. It was less draining for you and for her.

“Buenas.” Regina smiled softly and slid into the desk to you.

“You don’t have to try to impress me, George.” You chuckled over your words.

“Impress you? I’m just glad I have someone to practice my Spanish on.” She continued with that signature smirk on her face. Only this time, it felt a bit more like a tease than the usual intimidation, “Spent my first five years in Spain, came here and I eventually sucked at it. Maybe now I won’t have to worry about flunking out of Spanish class.”

“Is this your tricky way of asking me to tutor you? Have you learnt nothing from the first time you talked to me?”

“I was not planning to ask you to tutor me, but since you’ve put that on the table…can you?”

“I can.” You shrugged, “But would I?”

“Come on! What do I have to do? Pay you to teach me?”

“Tempting.” You went along with it, “Or…you could just buy me a coffee or something.”

“And are you just telling me how I can repay you for agreeing to tutor me or trying to ask me out on a date?”

“Take it as you please.” You answered calmly, “You never know what’ll happen, Regina.”

“Huh.” Regina nodded slowly, “Claro.”

Your lips tugged into a bit of a smirk, you glance at her.

“So you’ll tutor me, right…?”

“Ay, yes, Regina. I will tutor you!” You laughed.

“Great.” She smiled back, “Thanks, cariño.”

“A heads up on the nicknames would be nice.” You joked, “Are you planning on using them on me all the time from now on?”

“Take it as you please, y/n.” She sighed, “I heard never know what will happen, after all.”

🏷️Tag list:

@arandomeee @ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128

[straykidsnerd255]

Hey, saw you were open for request for SL.

Can i get some headcanons for Antares, Ashborn and Tarnak, falling in love with someone under their army thats super weak physically but makes it up in their skills as support. (Maybe a healer, a mage, or a blacksmith)

You sure can! I hope that you enjoy these little head canons and thank you so much for requesting!! You are also the first person to send in an ask for these 3 monarchs!!

Antares is known for hating weak members of his army, but for some reason, you were the exception to that hatred. Even he didn’t understand it. 

He always tried to figure out why he was never able to kill you off. There was just something about you that made him refuse everytime he started contemplating that idea.

Then he saw your healing abilities for the first time on the battlefield. You may not be strong physically, but your healing aptitude was beyond what Antares could believe. 

As time went on, Antares found himself watching you train. He would find himself watching over you when the rest of his army started to pick on you. 

Over time, Antares slowly began to fall for you. He didn’t understand how a monarch such as himself could fall in love or even know what love is but he didn’t question it. 

You noticed something off about Antares when he suddenly started to get close to you. 

Not minding it at all, you found it quite nice when he would brush his hand against yours, your stand to your side, glaring at members of his army that made fun of you.

Now, your hand is always intertwined with his. You notice a slight upturn in his lips as he directs his army. 

During a battle, you rushed towards a dragon to heal it, but it snapped its jaw at you, glaring darkly. Antares didn’t take kindly to that. 

That dragon disappeared and was never heard from or seen again. 

Antares commanding his army to allow you to check over their wounds and heal them if necessary.

As his feelings started to get stronger, Antares got more and more protective of you. 

Antares is not a very PDA type of person, but will hug you and press kisses to your face behind closed doors. 

During a battle, you were heavily injured causing both his dragon army and himself to go crazy. 

No one was allowed to hurt you. NO ONE.

You had been a part of Ashborns army most of your life, but you were never that strong. You didn’t have the aptitude to even fight alongside his army.

However, Ashborn seemed to really like having you in his army. You were, after all, the blacksmith under Ashborns rule. 

You were tasked with making Ashborns weapons along with a few of his shadows weapons. 

One day, while in the process of making Ashborns signature weapon, the monarch appeared before you, watching you work. 

His body language is different from the usual dark, emotionless attitude he would always give you or his army. 

Ashborn started growing more protective of you, always snapping if one of his soldiers from his shadow army got angry with you. 

He would appear when it was time for you to make a weapon for him and watch as you delicately worked on the weapon.

Ashborn noticed the way he had slowly started to fall for you. 

He tried to ignore the feeling, but everytime he did, the feeling would only come back twice as strong

He noticed the way you took pride in crafting not only his weapon, but his shadow army’s weapons. Making sure they were ready for the toughest of battles. 

He finally believed he could tell you that he liked you, and that he was starting to fall for you but something in his mind told him you would never love him back.

He still told you. Came to you while you were working, pulled you from your seat and told you his feelings.

You were shocked of course. Who would have thought the Shadow Monarch Ashborn would fall for his lowly blacksmith

But you had also fallen for him. The way he commanded his army, and the way he was so gentle when talking with you. It made your heart pound in your chest.

The way he shows you that he truly loves you, is by pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, and his breathing soft. That’s how you know.

You were constantly picked on for not being as strong as some of the other mages in Tarnak’s army but that didn’t stop you from serving him with your everything.

You had been tending to something of his asking when one of the other mages played a trick on you. 

Tarnak happened to see it and killed off the mages that hurt you watching as they pleaded and begged for mercy. 

He didn’t understand why he killed those mages to begin with. He didn’t understand why it made him so angry when they hurt you like that. 

Then it clicked. He fell in love with you. Not because of your power, but because you were simple, strong in what you could do, but always caring towards him. 

The others served him out of fear. You served him out of pure loyalty. Something he hadn’t experienced before. 

What made falling in love with you easy was the fact you were only nice to him and cold to everyone else. 

The other monarchs? You couldn’t care less about them. You wouldn’t acknowledge them. Or even bow when they appeared in the room. 

The monarchs cornered Tarnak and demanded that you receive punishment for not bowing to them during a meeting. 

Tarnak rolled his eyes simply stating that you had no obligation to treat them the same way you treated him. 

Pissed, the other monarchs continued to demand before he grew angry. He shouted that you didn’t have to bow to them because you were not serving any of them. That you were his and belonged only to him. 

Tarnak refused to show up to any other meetings on account that he was just extremely angry that they demanded you to bow to them. 

You picked up on his anger and did everything to make him smile again. To see that slight happiness that filled his eyes the last time you made him laugh. 

Practicing your magic in front of him or around him always puts him at ease. Your magic was so simple yet so beautiful and delicate.

He knew you would never leave him, not with how loyal you were to him. You defied the monarchs before, even dying by the enemy to keep him alive.

[justsomerandomfanfic]

heyy, I would like to request a platonic and romantic DC mashup if that ok with you!

I'm 19 and I go by they/them, I haven't really figured out my sexuality but I like every gender. I have light brown hair, dark green eyes, really pale skin, a small nose and freckles, pretty tall (1,90m) and curvy.

my hobbies are reading, drawing and just learning random facts. My favourite book is howls moving castle, my favourite show is haikyuu and my favourite movie would be your name. I love punk rock but I do listen to every genre but my favourite band is stray kids. My favourite colour is purple. I'm russian and am fluent in russian, English and German since I live in Germany. I'm an introvert and red bull addict. I have social anxiety and ADHD.

Already thanks if you are gonna write my mashup. If not that's fine too. Also feel free to correct any mistakes!

Hello!

I would love to write you romantic and platonic matchup for DC for you!

I love DC so much!

<3333333

It usually takes me a moment to really find a romantic match for someone, but after reading your information, I instantly thought of someone!

So I hope you like them!

(Also, living in Germany? That's super cool!)

<333333

I hope you like your matches!

Enjoy!

<33333

Romantic and Platonic Matchups; DC

~~~

Romantic;

~~~

DC;

Conner Kent -

You met Conner through Tim Drake, your close friend from college.

Tim had mentioned his 'broody, sometimes grumpy but loyal' best friend before, and one day, Conner randomly appeared when you were studying together in Tim's dorm.

Conner had flown in through the window, much to your surprise, (and mild panic).

Tim, completely unfazed, just greeted him with "You're early."

Meanwhile, you were sitting there, wide-eyed, clutching your Red Bull like it was a lifeline.

"Who's the deer in headlights?" Conner teased, smirking at your startled expression.

After introductions, you quickly realized Conner was more than just a superhero - he was awkward, sarcastic, and a bit of a dork.

You made a joke about his dramatic entrance and to Tim's horror, Conner actually laughed.

That's when Conner decided he liked you.

At first, your friendship was slow but steady.

You were introverted, and Conner wasn't exactly the most social either.

But somehow, your dynamic just worked - you bonded over mutual sarcasm, deadpan humor, and chaotic ADHD energy.

You started to text a lot, mostly sharing random facts you learned, like "Did you know octopi have three hearts?" or "Cows have best friends."

Conner thought it was adorable and even started replying with his own facts.

And memes, lots of memes.

He found your love for punk rock fascinating and, despite being more of a country-rock and rock-and-roll kind of guy, actually asked for song recommendations.

He now has a few Stray Kids songs on his playlist because "You like them, so they can't be that bad."

Since you were friends with Tim, you naturally got roped into Wayne Family chaos, and Conner always made sure to stick around, just in case things got too overwhelming for you.

He noticed how social anxiety made large gatherings exhausting, so he'd sometimes pull you aside for "recharge breaks" - flying you to a rooftop where you could just sit and breathe.

Inside jokes galore!

Tim constantly sighs in exasperation whenever you and Conner get sidetracked talking about conspiracy theories.

"For the love of Gotham, focus!"

Conner found your drawings amazing, and he treasured every single one you gave him.

If you caught him staring too long at a sketch of him, he'd just awkwardly look away and pretend he wasn't totally swooning.

The shift from friendship to something more was subtle.

It started with little things - Conner offering you his jacket even when you said you weren't cold.

Him memorizing your coffee or tea order.

And the way he always seemed to position himself protectively near you in public.

One day, you were having a bad ADHD day, struggling to focus on an assignment, and Conner helped keep you grounded.

He read out your notes while gently running his fingers through your hair absentmindedly.

You had to fight the urge to melt into him.

The moment Conner realized he was in love with you?

You were talking about your favorite book, Howl's Moving Castle, and when you mentioned how much you loved Howl's 'extra, dramatic, but soft-hearted' personality, Tim snorted and said, "Oh, great, you basically just described Conner."

That made Conner go completely quiet, watching as you scolded Tim, lightly hitting his arm.

You started subconsciously mirroring each other - the way you sat, the words you used, even your habits.

Tim was sick of it.

The confession happened accidentally.

You were ranting about something (probably about an annoying professor), and Conner just... Blurted it out.

"You're really cute when you're mad."

You froze, "What?"

Conner immediately looked like he wanted to yeet himself into space.

"Uh, I mean. I think you're cute all the time. But, uh, I especially like you when you're mad. Or happy. Or just... In general."

Cue awkward silence and staring.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, you said, "That was an adorable, but terrible, confession."

"Yeah. I know."

But then, you smirked and nudged his shoulder. "Good thing I like you too."

Conner's relieved grin was so soft, and instead of saying anything, he just pulled you into a hug.

Being with Conner meant lots of simple, domestic moments.

He wasn't big on grand gestures, but he was big on consistency - always showing up, always taking care of you.

He was already fluent in Russian, but quickly grapples with German for you.

Late-night Red Bull runs, where Conner flies you to random gas stations or stores just because he knows you need your fix.

He loves cuddling.

It took a while for him to admit it, but he melts when you run your fingers through his hair.

Kisses on your forehead when you're stressed.

"I'm not letting you go to bed without something to eat."

He's so stubborn about making sure you eat.

Movie nights where he lets you pick everything.

He doesn't always get what's happening in 'Your Name,' but he loves the way your eyes light up when you talk about it and watch it.

When you're drawing, he watches in fascination and sometimes leans in really close, just to see every detail.

He would do anything for you.

If you ever had a bad day, he would drop everything just to make sure you were okay.

You ground him - on his bad days when he feels like he isn't enough, you remind him that he's not just a clone, not just a weapon - he's Conner.

And that's enough.

You bring him a sense of him he never had before.

He always has a hand on you - whether it's holding your pinky when you're walking side by side, resting his hand on your knee, or just gently tugging on your sleeve.

He remembers all of your little quirks.

The way you get lost in thought when reading, the way you bite your lip when focused - he loves it all.

"You're my favorite person."

He says it so casually, but every time, it makes your heart race.

He tries so hard to draw something for you once.

It's kind of awful.

You treasure it anyway.

Whenever he sees something purple, he thinks of you.

"Dude, you're obsessed."

"There just flowers, Tim."

"Conner, this is the third purple bouquet that you gave them this week."

"They like purple."

Protect your fiercely - not just physically, but emotionally.

If anyone ever makes you uncomfortable?

They are gone.

Fly you to see the stars on bad days.

Be your biggest supporter in everything you do.

Learn your favorite songs just to hum or lightly sing them when you can't sleep.

"'Cause when our eyes lock, it's like my heart stops~"

You help him find his place in the world.

You make him feel so loved.

You are always in his corner, no matter what.

You give him a home - one that isn't just a place, but a feeling.

~~~

Platonic;

~~~

DC;

Tim Drake -

You and Tim met in college, both showing up to the same advanced literature class.

You had arrived early, sitting in the back corner with a Red Bull in hand, already engrossed in your book.

Tim, equally early but looking exhausted, took the seat next to you without a second thought.

It wasn't until you muttered a sarcastic comment under your breath about the professor's overuse of the word "paradigm" that Tim smirked and responded in kind.

That was the moment he decided you were worth getting to know.

You didn't bond immediately - both of you being introverts, there was a lot of comfortable silence before you started causally exchanging book recommendations.

One day, he caught a glimpse of you sketching in the margins of your notebook - doodles of fictional characters, little concept art pieces, and even a tiny, detailed Batman sketch.

He was intrigued.

Your friendship started with shared study sessions in the library, where you two would sit in silence for hours, only occasionally muttering sarcastic remarks about your coursework or the absurdity of college life.

Tim found your ability to hyperfixate on learning random facts fascinating - sometimes you'd randomly blurt out things like, "Did you know cows have one stomach, but it is broken into four different segments?" in the middle of studying, and he'd just blink at you before filing it away in his own brain for later use.

He was the first person who truly understood your ADHD brain in an academic setting - if you got distracted or overwhelmed, he'd gently guide you back to focus without making you feel bad about it.

Since both of you are introverts, you developed an unspoken rule: no unnecessary small talk.

It was completely normal for you to just sit together in the same room, doing your own thing without feeling the need to fill the silence.

Caffeine-fueled study marathons.

You'd bring Red Bull, he'd bring coffee, and together you'd survive sleepless nights before exams.

He'd be the one reminding you to at least try to sleep though.

Music-sharing sessions.

You introduced him to Stray Kids, and while it wasn't his usual genre, he begrudgingly admitted that some of their tracks were pretty good,

In return, he'd send you deep-cut punk rock playlists that matched your vibe.

You forced him to read 'Howl's Moving Castle,' and he actually really liked it - Howl reminded him too much of some people in his life, but he wouldn't elaborate.

He, in turn, introduced you to detective novels, and you'd spend hours theorizing about plot twists together.

Since you loved learning random facts, Tim made it a game - who could find the most bizarre, obscure fact first?

It became an ongoing competition, and you'd both randomly text each other things like, "Did you know wombat poop is cube-shaped?" at odd hours of the night.

Tim was the first to notice that you and Conner had a thing before either of you even acknowledged it.

He saw the way Conner's gaze softened when you spoke, how he always seemed to find an excuse to be near you.

When you finally admitted to liking Conner, Tim's response was very flat.

"Wow. What a shock. No one saw this coming."

He acted completely indifferent but was secretly pleased because he trusted Conner to treat you right.

If anyone else had tried to date you, Tim probably would've done a full background check, but since it was Conner?

He just sent him a text saying, "If you screw this up, I'll know."

Tim was 100% behind the scenes helping Conner plan the perfect way to confess.

But, well, you know how that went.

Conner never got to use Tim's advice.

He quickly became the person you ranted to whenever Conner did something dumb but endearing.

“Tim, do you know what he did today? He tried to cook me breakfast and set off the smoke alarm.”

He got used to seeing Conner drape himself over you like an oversized golden retriever, and while he pretended to be unimpressed, deep down, he thought it was cute.

Whenever you and Conner had a minor disagreement, Tim would be the neutral party - he’d listen to both sides, then calmly say something brutally logical that made you both realize you were both being ridiculous.

If Conner was away for a mission, Tim made sure you weren’t lonely, even if it just meant sitting with you in silence while you both read or drew.

He always remembers your favorite drinks and snacks.

If you’re having a bad day, he’ll show up with a Red Bull and a pastry, no questions asked.

If your ADHD made it hard to remember important deadlines, he’d subtly remind you without making you feel bad about it.

“Hey, didn’t you have an assignment due next week? Want help planning it out?”

He’s your low-key bodyguard in social settings if Conner's not there.

If he sees you getting overwhelmed at a party or event, he’ll casually swoop in with an excuse to leave.

He never forces you into uncomfortable social interactions - if you don’t feel like talking, he gets it.

You don’t need to explain.

Since he’s a workaholic and forgets to take care of himself, you make sure he eats and sleeps properly.

Sometimes you’ll just shove a granola bar into his hand and give him a pointed look.

You doodle little sketches of him as a detective, which he pretends to roll his eyes at but secretly keeps in his notebook.

When he’s deep in a case and hasn’t slept, you’ll text him reminders like, “I will physically fight you if you don’t take a break.”

If he ever gets overwhelmed with work, you’ll just quietly sit with him.

No pressure to talk - just silent companionship to help him focus.

You and Tim have a quiet, understanding friendship.

You both respect each other’s introversion, and there’s no need for constant chatter to fill the space.

He’s not overly affectionate, but in his own way, he cares deeply - he just shows it through quiet acts of support rather than big gestures.

Your friendship is the kind that lasts a lifetime, built on mutual respect, sarcasm, and a deep, unspoken bond.

He's the best friend-brother you could ever ask for.

[lesyarei7]

🅷🅴🅰🅻🆃🅷 🅲🅷🅴🅲🅺🆄🅿

WARNING OF NSFW CONTENT ─ 🔞mdni, Explicit warnings and numerous lewd descriptions. Same on 🔗AO3

Madara x FemReader, Modern AU, 2611 words 

🔗Request 7 for @beautyblueblossom

Thanks for the request, @beautyblueblossom It was fun to explore a hospital setting and shift the focus to the doctors when things took an unexpected turn... 😉✍️🔞🌚😏❤️‍🔥

By 🔗lesyarei7 - Sep 21, 2024

🅷🅴🅰🅻🆃🅷 🅲🅷🅴🅲🅺🆄🅿

The day he was had been long and tiring for Madara, a 28-year-old man who had made an appointment for a male health checkup and a visit to the urologist. He had missed his previous checkup a few years ago, which was the reason for his current visit. Despite feeling fine, he wanted to ensure everything was in working order. Anxious thoughts swirled in his mind as he waited for his appointment, wondering if something might be wrong.

Earlier that morning, he had gone to the hospital for initial tests, but more would come during his visit with the urologist. In preparation for the appointment, he had been instructed to abstain from sex and any ejaculation-inducing activities for 4 days, as well as avoiding alcohol, caffeine, and drugs.

As the last patient of the day at the doctor's office, Madara's appointment was scheduled for 5:30 pm. 

"Please, do come in, Uchiha Madara." The doctor stepped away from the door and motioned for Madara to enter. She was clad in a pristine white lab coat, her long hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. 

Madara, who had expected to see a man, was taken aback by the sight of this woman before him. He remembered making an appointment with a male specialist, so he was surprised to see her instead. "I apologize if you were expecting my colleague," she explained, her voice soft and professional. "He had an emergency and I am filling in for him today." 

"I perceive," Madara muttered, his eyes scanning over her figure as she led him to a private room. He couldn't help but notice how her robe revealed just a hint of cleavage, causing a slight unease within him. "This should only take a moment," she assured him as she took his medical history. Though he tried to focus on the questions she asked, his mind kept wandering back to the unexpected beauty of the medic standing before him.

Before the examination begins, I must ask you some questions to better understand your current health. 

Are you experiencing any issues with achieving or maintaining erections? Does ejaculation cause any discomfort?

Madara's response was firm and unwavering. "No," he replied.

"Moving on, do you have any pain during sexual activity or any other sexual dysfunction?"

Again, Madara shook his head.

"Have you been feeling any pain in your lower abdomen, pelvic area, or genitals?" You prodded further. 

As you continued with the questioning, you turned to inquire about lifestyle factors. "Do you smoke, drink alcohol, or use recreational drugs?"

Madara hesitated for a moment before admitting, "I occasionally drink alcohol." You made a note of this information before moving on to ask about diet and exercise habits.

"Do you experience a lot of stress in your daily life?" You probed further.

"It varies," Madara responded. "It depends on my work schedule."

"Got it," You nodded understandingly. "Based on your previous medical tests, everything looks normal so far. However, I will need to conduct an examination now." With that, you put on a pair of gloves and asked Madara to remove his lower clothing for the examination.

He unbuttons his pants, sliding them off and revealing his perfectly toned physique through the open buttons of his shirt.

Your eyes greedily took in his build, unable to tear away from the perfection in front of you. But you snapped out of it, reminding yourself to remain professional. What's wrong with me, you thought, trying to push aside the cravings that had been building up since your last relationship ended.

"Before we proceed, is it alright if I begin the physical examination?" you asked, your voice steady.

Madara met your gaze, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Go ahead," he said with a smirk, his tone casual but confirming his agreement.

With a determined focus, you examined him rectally, confirming everything was normal before moving on to the rest of his body. As you ran your hands over his abdomen, you couldn't help but admire the defined muscles beneath your fingertips. Madara smirked at your obvious admiration, causing a surge of heat between your legs. His gaze was electric — dangerous — and you knew you were losing control. You bit your lip, struggling to maintain composure as your thoughts wander where they shouldn’t. This wasn’t right, but the heat between you two was undeniable, growing stronger by the second.

"Is this really part of the examination?" He leads on, his eyes darkening with lust as your hands wander over his shape. You found yourself caught between professionalism and yearning as the words hung in the air, thick with tension.

"Are you comfortable continuing like this? I need to be sure before we take this further," you murmured, your voice soft but serious.

Madara’s eyes darkened, his smirk widening."I wouldn’t still be here if I wasn't."

You try to maintain a professional demeanor as you continue to examine his penis, scrotum, and testicles. Despite your best efforts, the warmth of his skin beneath your gloved fingers stirs something deeper, an urge you cannot resist. But as you touch Madara, causing him to close his eyes in arousal, it becomes increasingly difficult to resist the temptation burning between the two of you. Your hands moved with practiced precision, but your mind was far from the sterile professionalism you were supposed to maintain. Your gloved fingers glided across his heated rind, the latex creating a soft rustle with each movement. His scent — a mixture of sweat and something primal — filled your senses, clouding your thoughts and making it harder to maintain the clinical detachment you should have. The sight of Madara — so strong, so composed — was making it difficult to concentrate. A voice in the back of your mind screamed for restraint, but the overwhelming pull of him — the heat radiating from his body, the way his muscles flexed under your fingers — was too much. You knew this was wrong, but at this moment, you didn’t care. Heat pooled low in your belly, and you chastised yourself for letting your thoughts wander. Focus, you mentally commanded, but as your fingers brushed against his skin, the electric connection between you only intensified.

Madara's dick was a thick and impressive sight, its length becoming fully engorged from your actions. Every vein and curve stood out in stark relief, tempting you to run your fingers along its shape. As you caressed him, you could feel your own body responding with pulsing need. His hardness grew even more at your touch, and you couldn't help but admire the powerful effect you had on him. Your pussy throbbed with hunger as you watched him grow harder from your pleasuring.

Madara’s jaw clenched, his gaze following your every move. "I thought this was supposed to be a medical exam," he taunted, his voice dripping with unspoken urge. You met his gaze, a sly smile tugging at your lips. "It is," you replied, your tone playful yet challenging. "But I’ve found… certain methods can be very effective." His smirk widened, and you could feel the tension building, thick and heady in the air.

His breaths grew heavier and more labored, a visible sign of his arousal and frustration. You smirked at him, knowing full well the effect you were having on him. Your voice steady despite the way your pulse quickened, - "It's time to collect a sample of semen for overall sperm health tests," you stated matter-of-factly, hoping he wouldn't mind. But even if he did, it was too late now. You had given him a hard-on with your tantalizing words and now you intended to follow through on your intentions as his doc. Madara raises an eyebrow, but the hint of a smirk betrays his willingness. "I see," he drawled, leaning in just enough to make the space between you feel smaller, more intimate. "And how do you plan on collecting that sample, Doctor?"

"I will gather a sample of semen in the most enjoyable manner possible..." You take hold of his shaft and show him your preferred method.

"Let’s see how skilled you are." Uchiha huffed, clearly taken aback by your bold behavior. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, everything hung in the balance. He could walk away, but instead, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"Is this really what you want?" he asked, his voice a low growl. You met his gaze and nodded, desire thrumming through your veins. 

"Asking me to continue?" you inquired, almost challenging you.

He met your gaze confidently and nodded. "Yes," his breath ragged. "You know exactly what I need, don’t you?" Madara's voice dripped with fire, and there was no mistaking the challenge in his gaze. You met it head-on, a wicked smile curving your lips. "I do," you whispered, your hand tightening around him. A mischievous glint lit up in your eyes as you studied him. "It's not easy abstaining from sex for four days, is it?" you taunted, fully aware of the struggle he must be going through.

"I will help you out. We both will help ourselves," you added, enjoying teasing him even further. With a firm grip on him, you began stroking him faster, using your skilled hands to give him a handjob while sitting beside him.

As his body struggled to maintain its last shred of composure, his moans reverberated in the small room. "Ah...fuck..." he groaned, his bones tensing as pleasure washed over him.

"I am gonna cum," he warned, but you didn't slow down. Instead, you continued to jerk him off with determination until finally, with a loud gasp and shudder, he released into your hand. You couldn't help but feel satisfied with yourself as you looked at the mess in your hand before wiping it clean with a tissue. It was all part of being a good healer - taking care of your patients in every way possible.

Startled, you realize you were supposed to use Madara's seed for a test... 

"Oh fuck," Madara mutters under his breath, a bead of sweat forming on his brow as he looks at you. His gaze is intense and piercing, and you can feel your heart racing in response. "You played me well, you dirty doctor. It was never your intention to do the test." He reaches out and grabs your thigh firmly, causing you to gasp in surprise. With a swift motion, he pulls off your robe, exposing your large breasts that bounce and jiggle from the sudden movement. Your skin flushes with heat as your eyes meet, electricity crackling between you.

"Do you want this to continue?" His voice is laced with dominance and a hint of danger. "It would be best if you let me fuck you if that is true. I don't want to end up facing legal consequences for physical violence."

You're momentarily speechless, caught off guard by Madara's sudden change in demeanor. But then a wicked smirk crosses your lips as you remember the effect you have on him.

"Yes," you say boldly, meeting his gaze with confidence. "Masturbating you made me drenched... So why don't you do your own examination, Doctor Madara? Would you mind checking?"

A flicker of surprise flashes across his face before he grins, removing his shirt and undressing you completely. Your frame trembles with anticipation as he murmurs about how hot you are while sucking on your sensitive nipples.

He positions you on the table, spreading your legs wide open. At that moment, any resistance or hesitation melts away as you give yourself over to the intense pleasure that Madara can provide.

Desperately trying to stifle your moans, you feel his fingers plunging into you relentlessly. "Oh baby, struggling to keep quiet? Do you fear someone in this hospital will hear? Don't bother..." he taunts, thrusting his fingers in and out of your dripping pussy with a devilish smirk. He leans over you, smothering your mouth with a deep kiss as your anatomy convulses with pleasure. Your fingers claw at the table and his hand, while your legs shake uncontrollably and your stomach tightens with each powerful thrust. The overwhelming sensations send you into a state of pure ecstasy, your eyes rolling back and a guttural groan escaping your lips. "Good girl," he whispers in your ear before pulling away, leaving you wet and wanting once again.

As you catch your breath, you can feel his arousal growing once again - just in time for round two.

"You're driving me crazy, Doctor Y/N," Madara growls as he grinds his rock-hard erection against your throbbing muff. Your juices mingle together, creating a slick trail down your stomach as he presses harder, demanding entrance.

You begged, your voice hoarse and desperate. "Just enter me already!" 

His lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Oh, how eager," he taunted, savoring your desperation. Your cunt throbbed with need, craving his dick. 

"Please...Madara," you moaned, unable to resist any longer. "Fuck me." 

But he silenced you with a harsh command: "Hush." With one swift motion, he plunged his fingers into your mouth. You eagerly suck on them, tasting yourself as he finally enters you, filling your slick pussy and causing a wave of intense satisfaction to crash over you, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Pleasure shot through your shape and you grit your teeth from the sensation.

He ravaged you with a primal ferocity, his hands grabbing and squeezing your breasts as he thrust into you with reckless abandon. Your legs wrapped tightly around his bum, every movement sending waves of glee through your body. With each deep, powerful thrust, you screamed in ecstasy, your nails digging into his back.

As he neared his climax, Madara buried his face in your neck, groaning as he filled you with his hot jizz. He pulled out and released himself on your stomach with a guttural grunt.

You collapsed onto the table, completely spent and covered in sweat and cum. A satisfied smile crossed your face as you panted for breath. "That was quite the examination, Doctor Uchiha," you purred.

You grinned at him, still breathless from the intensity of it all. "Well, I suppose that was… thorough," He playfully provoked you, wiping the sweat from your brow. Madara smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "I’m nothing if not dedicated to my health," he replied, his tone playful. You laughed, shaking your head. "I'll make sure to add it to your medical record: highly recommended treatment."

He leaned over you, licking your lips and causing shivers to run down your spine. "It was my pleasure," he replied, smirking. 

"I was blown away by it," you murmured as you sat up and traced your fingers along his face. "Do you always fuck like that?"

"In response to your question, yes, I am insatiable in bed. I haven't fucked in four agonizing days. If I seemed harsh with you, filthy medico, it was due to the pent-up frustration I was experiencing."

"No, I like it a lot." You traced your fingers along his cheek, feeling a surge of lust coursing through you once more. "Perhaps we should meet again," you tempted, your fingers tracing his jaw.

Madara’s eyes glinted with amusement. "Only if you’re as eager next time," he grinned back, both of you still basking in the aftermath of intense passion.

"I am," you confirmed, your lips curving into a smile.

Grinning, he helped you clean up the mess before stealing one last kiss from your swollen lips. The intense chemistry between the two of you was undeniable - this was just the beginning of a wild and passionate affair.

๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑  ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑ ๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑  ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑ ๋ㅤ ࣭  The End๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑  ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑ ๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑  ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑ ๋ㅤ ࣭  

🔴Previous 🔗Request 6

🔴Fanfiction AU Requests are open! 🔴For those who wish, you can send them anonymously via 🔗Tumblr, 🔗Tellonym, or 🔗AO3 – whatever works best for you!

🔴Rules:🔴

🔴 AU Universe only – Real-world setting, ordinary people, heterosexual relationships, woman x male.

🔴 Characters: Madara only, NO ships, reader x relationships are okay, etc.

🔴 NSFW/SFW requests are welcome.

🚫 I won’t write about kinks such as rape, hardcore BDSM, slavery, underage characters, incest, cheating, or bestiality. No threesomes.🚫

⛔ If I’m uncomfortable, I will decline the request. I reserve the right to deny any request.

🔴 Anonymity is allowed if you'd like to submit your request anonymously.

🔴 If it takes me longer to post, it’s likely because I’m short on time.

❤️🇹​​🇭​​🇦​​🇳​​🇰​​🇸​ ​🇫​​🇴​​🇷​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​​🇷​ ​🇦​​🇹​​🇹​​🇪​​🇳​​🇹​​🇮​​🇴​​🇳​ ❤️

Reblogs are appreciated, it was a fun request, hope you liked it.❤️ Rules for Requests

[hislittleraincloud]

Can you write a fanfiction about Wednesday having diarrhea and Thing cleaning her ass??

Things Can Only Get Better (a.k.a. “Woe, woe, woe-oh-oh, woe-woe, woe-oh-oh (woe, woe, woe-oh-oh, woe-woe, woe-oh-oh) woe, woe, woe-oh-oh, woe-woe, woe-oh-oh (woe, woe, woe-oh-oh, woe-woe, woe-oh-oh)”)  (Rated Mature(ly Immature), Wednesday & Thing, diarrhea, period poop, periods, squick, 336 words)

It was raw, and it stung.

The second she’d heard her bowels rumble on the last bite of her Tapatío-enhanced triple patty El Diablo burger she knew she’d be in trouble, but she didn't care at the time; she was on her period and craving the burning umami of that cheesy, charbroiled beef blended with those batter-encrusted jalapeño poppers, slathered in that fiery habanero sauce. Absolutely anything to distract from the wretched tearing of her insides that had been sloughing out into her Mooncup.

It felt like an attempted suicide, her little red ring rubbed raw and suffering from her reckless and unwise decision for a temporary problem. 

The first blast was relieving, but it was quickly extinguished and replaced by horror and regret as she felt the cold backsplash of toilet water combined with red hot fecal lava shooting out of her ass and the inky, gelatinous goo resembling warmed blueberry preserves molting from her womb splatter against all of the muscles  and orifices that were trying to violently void it all.

It took a few courtesy flushes before Thing could even start helping her wipe, though it wasn't exactly helpful when there was so much of everything everywhere that her crack resembled the remnants of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that had been thrown against the wall during a food fight. The first sopping wipe as Wednesday allowed herself some tears was the most embarrassing, and it was clear that the roll on the mounted roll holder would soon be gone as would be the extras on the roll holder next to the toilet.

But now she sat in silent prayers as she felt the knotting pain in her abdomen return. She didn't know which hole was getting ready for the umpteenth expulsion, but either way, both holes were burning, the tender skin unwillingly exfoliated by only the roughest of toilet paper brands as demanded by her kooky father because it builds character.

At least Thing always remembers to wipe from front to back.

✨✍🏽💩✨

[peakyscillian]

hey Lau! I loved your latest date series update! Was just wondering do you have images in your head of what Ophelia and Albie look like? Or is that something you'd leave up to the reader to imagine?

Hey anon ☺️ ahh thank you!

I do have a sort of idea of what they both look like - I've included pictures under the text break & descriptions but I haven't gone too deep because I also like the reader to be able to imagine them however they want when reading about them!

TDS | Masterlist | divider by @/strangergraphics | Not my photos.

Ophelia is like a big mixture of Eden & Cill - she's got Cillian's blue eyes, she's got Eden facial expressions & attitude down, she's a brunette like both her parents, with straight flicky hair - she'll be cursing Cill when she gets older and the flicks are hard to tame! Her bone structure is softer but still has the trademark Murphy cheekbones.

Albie has his mama's green eyes but you can just tell he's going to grow up with deadly cheekbones and a sharp jawline like his dad! He's more Eden now in his toddler years but he's going to be an unmistakable Murphy when he grows up! His hair is already growing long and resembling Cillian's with the texture. Albie is more like Cillian personality wise.

Just an added bonus! Some family album snaps 🤭

[valetoria]

ུᩧ LADS TWITTER LINKS !

৻ꪆ instructions. before clicking, you must be logged into your acc and have twitter open in order for these links to function .

XAVIER. ꒱‎

lazy humping. ⋆ grinding yourself on him. ⋆ missionary w your legs closed. ⋆ freakydeaky. ⋆ thigh fucking. ⋆ kissing & eaing you out. ⋆ to your satisfaction. ⋆ backshots. ⋆ exhibitionism.

SYLUS. ꒱‎

taking it w no complaints. ⋆ handsy when handling you. ⋆ size kink. ⋆ using your throat to his liking. ⋆ backshots. ⋆ cute girl treatment. ⋆ chained & ruined. ⋆ had to add this in.

ZAYNE. ꒱‎

riding him in the bathtub. ⋆ tease me, baby. ⋆ clit rubs. ⋆ lingerie fucking. ⋆ late night heat. ⋆ in the shower. ⋆ undressing & stripping you down. ⋆ blowjob in cute bunny ears.

RAFAYEL. ꒱‎

stay still. ⋆ kitchen counter. ⋆ backshots & the plushies witnessing. ⋆ fucking you into the mattress. ⋆ fingering selection. ⋆ stretching your holes out for fun. ⋆ a wins a win.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing References: Character Development

50 Questions ⚜ Backstory ⚜ Character-driven Story

Basics: How to Write a Character ⚜ A Story-Worthy Hero

Basics: Character-Building ⚜ Character Creation

Types of Characters: Key Characters ⚜ Literary Characters ⚜ Flat & Round Characters ⚜ Morally Grey ⚜ Narrators ⚜ Allegorical Characters ⚜ Archetypes ⚜ Stereotypical Characters

Worksheets: Backstory ⚜ Character ⚜ Kill your Characters ⚜ Antagonist; Villain; Fighting ⚜ Change; Adding Action; Conflict ⚜ Character Sketch & Bible ⚜ Protagonist & Antagonist ⚜ Name; Quirks; Flaws; Motivation ⚜ "Interviewing" your Characters ⚜ "Well-Rounded" Character

Personality Traits

5 Personality Traits (OCEAN) ⚜ 16 Personality Traits (16PF)

600+ Personality Traits ⚜ 170 Quirks

East vs. West Personalities ⚜ Trait Theories

Tips/Editing

Character Issues ⚜ Character Tropes for Inspiration

"Strong" Characters ⚜ Unlikable to Likable

Tips from Rick Riordan

Writing Notes

Binge ED ⚜ Hate ⚜ Love ⚜ Identifying Character Descriptions

Childhood Bilingualism ⚜ Children's Dialogue ⚜ On Children

Culture ⚜ Culture: Two Views ⚜ Culture Shock

Dangerousness ⚜ Flaws ⚜ Fantasy Creatures

Emotional Intelligence ⚜ Genius (Giftedness)

Emotions (1) (2) ⚜ Anger ⚜ Fear ⚜ Happiness ⚜ Sadness

Emotional Universals ⚜ External & Internal Journey

Goals & Motivations ⚜ Grammar Development ⚜ Habits

Facial Expressions ⚜ Jargon ⚜ Swearing & Taboo Expressions

Happy/Excited Body Language ⚜ Laughter & Humor

Health ⚜ Frameworks of Health ⚜ Memory

Mutism ⚜ Shyness ⚜ Parenting Styles ⚜ Generations

Psychological Reactions to Unfair Behavior

Rhetoric ⚜ The Rhetorical Triangle ⚜ Logical Fallacies

Thinking ⚜ Thinking Styles ⚜ Thought Distortions

Uncommon Words: Body ⚜ Emotions

Villains ⚜ Voice & Accent

More References: Plot ⚜ World-building ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[v3nusxsky]

Write the wandanat smut... for the sake of my mental sake I need your brilliantness (only write it if you want to)

Mommy’s toys 18+

*Authors note~ this one lives in my brain rent free. I’m so excited to give this idea from @wandaslittlebird and put my own spin on it. Also having a rough day so I had to reach into my wips to finish this off. *

Trigger warnings~ voyeur dom! Wanda dom! Nat x sub reader, voyeurism (new kink) edging, oral, strap on, sex toys, daddy Nat, mommy Wanda , degrading kink, praise if you squint?

Prompts~ see ask^^^^

Stumbling across voyeurism was never meant to affect Wanda this much. So much so it’s all she can think about. She knew her girlfriends would never be against trying something new in the bedroom but the possibility that Natasha or yourself might dislike this new found desire of hers still unsettled her. Wanda loved to play with you, that’s a given but something about having the power at her fingertips to control your pleasure just makes her feral. Focusing purely on watching every little movement as your pleasured by Nat under her commands. Even just thinking about it riles her up. That accidental discovery planting its strong roots of desire within Wanda refusing to let go.

Natahsa was the first one to notice the change in the witch. Subtle but to her trained senses she couldn’t miss it, you however remained oblivious. With you on a mission Natasha had the perfect chance to sit down with Wanda and discuss what was so evidently on her mind these days. Wanda couldn’t help but be relieved when Nat listened and even reminded her how much you love being guided through masturbation while they are out on missions. Neither you or Natasha would shame Wanda for wanting to explore and try something new. And it was from there that your loving wives hatched a plan to bring the desire to fruition.

Unknowingly you fell into their trap. Days stretching on where they let bratty comments slide, lulling you into a false sense of security. You continued to get bolder with each passing day, testing the carfully arranged boundaries in order to gain a slither of their attention. Both of your wives continued to ignore your bratty behaviour until Nat was called for a last minute intel mission. Wanda couldn’t help but give into her dominant side. Natasha would understand if she got you ready for the evening.

“Mommy” you whined again for fifth time in quarter of an hour. “Fine” you huffed at the silence that followed, “perhaps Carol would want me.” It was a low blow, you knew that. Wanda and Natasha are very protective of you, both having high levels of jealousy and dominance. “Brat” was all Wanda muttered in response before her magic reached out to restrain you. Red whips wrapping around your torso with a practiced ease. “Mommy! Let me go” you squealed in response with flailing limbs fighting against her tight magical hold.

“No.” A simple statement. One you weren’t expecting due to the previous comments being ignored. “Daddy” you whimpered pathetically continuing to squirm as her forest green eyes raked over your bound figure as she returned to your shared room. “Don’t daddy her dekta, you’ve been practically begging for this for days now, and now what do you say Nat, want to play with our brat?”

Magic provided the ease for Wanda to strip you bare with her mind and bind you to the bed. Fully on show for your lovers as the paid you no mind, wrapped in each others arms, lips entwining as you helplessly watched. “Welcome home Dekta” Wanda mumbled against Natasha’s lips, nimble fingers stripping her from her suit with a practiced ease. The way she would run her hands over the newly exposed skin was driving you wild. You want to touch! “Share mommy” you pouted before you even realised what you said. The pathetic whimper gained you a slither of attention as Wanda commanded Nat to shut you up.

Heaven. The way she plunged her skilled tongue into your aching core, the skill she had to trace intricate patterns on your throbbing clit always amazed you, her strong grip pinning your thighs open, allowing her to reacher deeper within you. Your slick covering her lower face as she ate you out like a starved animal. “Stop” Wanda demanded when your thoughts of cumming on her tongue got too loud. You weren’t to come till she said so. The annoyed whine you let loose when the red head removed herself from your aching cunt was magical. She should’ve recorded it.

“Here, use this on her, don’t let her come Dekta, I’ll reward my good girl if you can do this for me” Wanda murmured, handing Nat your favourite vibrating toy before bringing her in for another kiss, moaning as the taste of you seeped into the kiss before removing herself to sit on the chair on the other side of the room. “Put a show on for me baby. Show mommy how badly you want to come.”

Natasha is a skilled lover. There’s no doubt about it. The way she works you up so perfectly only to rip the pleasure away at the perfect time is maddening. Truly. The sounds clawing their way from your throat as you fought the magical bindings didn’t seem human. All while feeling the witches intense gaze on you. The way she was clearly taking in every little detail. If you had the upper hand you maybe would’ve commented she should take a picture. It would last longer. But right now the only thing you knew was the feeling of the vibration assaulting your puffy clit. “Please daddy! I wanna cum for you. Please daddy feel so good” you mewled feeling the beautiful pain of being on the edge once more. You just needed a bit more. A firm press of the toy would do. Only for the red head to remove everything instantly. “Fuck sake!” You practically screamed with frustration. This isn’t fair.

You couldn’t help but whine in frustration when you heard wands chuckling to herself and praising Natasha for a job well done .”Poor baby.” Wanda cooed teasingly, “Do you want daddy's cock, baby? Do you think you're ready for daddy to fuck you?" It didn’t occur to you, Natasha was being incredibly submissive to the witch, maybe you would’ve if your mind wasn’t clouded by the denial bestowed on you. “Hmm, I'll think I'll have daddy use the purple strap. The one with the- what did you call them- the 'mean ridges'? The ones that scrap against your special spot so perfectly?" Well you were fucked.

“And I think I want you on the bed just like this, on your hands and knees. I wanna watch those pretty little tears run down your face while daddy fucks you." Wanda freed your limbs before coming to position you where she wanted you, Nat seemingly following the instructions and began to strap up. The pure power play of Wanda being the only party clothed was certainly noted on your part. But the second you tried to pull at her shirt, she tutted at you like a disobedient puppy. “Leave it” was all she offered you before returning back to her seat, admiring your position as your chest heaved trying to calm down properly. She’d never seen you so riled up before from only one of them touching you.

“And don't even think about letting your arms give out. If can't see your pretty face, I'm gonna make daddy stop, understand?" She threatened as your arms began to shake with the weight of holding your body weight battling your desperation. “Wands, she’s leaking on the sheets” nat murmured eyes glued to your leaking pussy as she moved to find her place in Wanda’s scene fully strapped up. “Because she is a desperate whore for us Natty. Were you good for me? Hmm or do I need to check you set up right?” Being on show like this and being ignored wasn’t your favourite way to spend your time but if anything was clear, you were better to play along than fight back. “Did everything you asked Mommy” Nat teased back chuckling when you whined at the title.

“Go on Dekta, make her cry for me. Let mommy see her toys playing perfectly together.” Your new position allowed you to gaze into wands eyes as Nat pushed into your eager cunt. You couldn’t help but whimper, “daddy,” at the stretch she created. “Fuck so pretty, taking me so well Dekta” Natasha murmured appreciatively, eyes glued to watching you drag her deeper inside. “Please” you practically sobbed, desperate for more. Anything. Yet no matter how much you pleaded with her to move, Natasha waited for Wanda to demand it.

“Such a desperate slut, you haven’t worked out what’s going have you darling? Daddy won’t listen to you, she’s my toy who’s using my other toy for me. So be a good girl and take what we give you” Wanda muttered before nodding to her other lover. The way she slowly pulled out so just the tip of the faux cock was inside of your greedy little hole before slamming back into your warmth. “Oh Natty keep going our dumb little slut likes it rough” Wanda called chuckling as your mouth fell open into an “O” shape. The way her hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises as she drilled herself into you almost distracted you from watching Wanda’s hand sneak into the waist band of her trousers. Almost.

It didn’t take long for the pace to drive you insane, moaning like a common whore your arms gave out. “Out” she demanded and Natasha complied slipping from your messy cunt. “No no no! I’m sorry please no mommy” you sobbed struggling to push yourself back into position. Tears streaming down your cheeks at the continued denial. “Cry for me Dekta. So pretty when you cry for mommy. I did warn you. Cause a dumb little bitch can’t listen when she needs to be fucked dumb.”

This time there was no warning as she plunged into your core again, instantly falling back into her ruthless pace. You trained your gaze on Wanda, determined to follow her desire and enjoy the show. Your tears started to mingle with the slight drool leaving your mouth as you were pushed to the edge for whatever number it was tonight. “Please oh god mommy please make daddy make me cum. Wanna cum for mommy please” you sobbed, desperately wishing to get what you need. The orgasm you were given was nothing short of magical, your inner walls milking the dildo for all it was worth, Natasha grunting as she fell with you, continuing to dig herself deeper into you. Wanda was next, the sight and sound of her lovers enjoying themselves caused her to fall too, hips bucking against her own fingers. “Natty stop” Wanda murmured, taking in your absolutely spent body. The way you collapsed after riding the pleasurable waves was rather comical. “Want more” Nat grunted practically sulking as she slipped from your core, cock thickly coated in your slick. “Later, look at her Nat. She’s throughly fucked. Let her rest my love.”

Wanda gentled rolled you onto your back, stroking your sweat covered hair from your face, “can mommy clean our sweet girl up?” You knew you should reply, but all you could do is whine In response. So deep into bliss you forgot how to form words. Together your lovers worked on cleaning you up and settling in to bed, your head on Wand’s chest as Nat was the big spoon. “Good girl for us Yano that? Our best girl” was the last thing you remember hearing before sleep claimed you.

Word count~ 1884

[idontplaytrack]

aaaaa!!! you opened regina requests!! i love your work sm and im so glad abt this 😭 can i request regina x fem!reader where regina's had a really bad day and she just feels insecure about her body the moment she gets home and reader comforts her and eases her worries?? basically body worship fluff (or if you wanna make it more spicy, up to you!!) i trust your brain. tysmmm <33

She will be loved

Regina George x fem! reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut. Coarse language, insecurity about body image, angst, comfort/fluff

“You can speak of anger and doubts

Your fears and freak outs and I'll hold it

You can share your so called shame filled accounts

Of times in your life and I won't judge it”

Last night, you were on the phone with Regina and something seemed off so you gave her a video call. You were right, because she told you something had happened between her and her Mom. Which unfortunately wasn’t unusual, but so infuriating because you knew what happened. It was usually one of three things— what she ate, what she wore or her grades. Of course, those were the main…quote-unquote, problems. There were always more issues in June’s opinion than meets the eye. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

She looks at you, then away, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. 

“Regina.” You insisted.

“No, I don’t. Not now, and not over a FaceTime call.” 

“Okay.” You agreed, “Let me know when you’re ready. If you want to, I’ll come over, or I can pick you up.” 

“Not tonight, I just— I just need to sleep this one off. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” 

The lack of a nickname addressing you at the end? This was one of her tells that she really wasn’t in the mood, or had the energy to talk. She needed alone time, to calm down and get rest. So you let her off the hook— you said good night to her and hung up. “Good night, I love you.” You said, smiling softly. She forced a smile, “Night.”

“See you tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at 7:15.” 

You were expecting school to be a little rough, and you were right. She was expecting the same too. “G, why do you always get cheese fries? The other options are not all bad.”

“Just not feeling those options, Gretch.” 

Well, it was a genuine question. The school food was great here compared to what you had at your old school. 

“Okay.” Gretchen stopped asking and went back to chatting with Karen. Meanwhile, Regina’s brows were knit together. She seemed to be thinking, but then also…started to seem like she was in distress. “Regina.” You said quietly, looking at her.

She took a deep breath, “I’m fine.” You didn’t buy it, she was already in a bit of a…bad mood after yesterday. Every little interaction like that, it only seemed to push her closer and closer to a breakdown. “I’ll be okay, y/n.” She insisted, “I got this.” No one else at the table noticed. Not Karen, not Gretchen…just you. Her voice was quivering, her eyes— shifty, and glossy. She wasn’t okay. “Do you wanna go home?”

“Home?” She bites back a scoff, “No, thanks.”

“To mine?” You clarified.

“No.” Regina shook her head, she went back to eating her food. You couldn’t help it but keep an eye on her. Why was it so damn hard for her to accept any help? To open up? To you of all people?

After lunch, there were three more classes left. You didn’t have the last two with her so you couldn’t exactly make sure she was alright. You could only hope. 

“I’ll meet you at your locker after the last bell. okay?” You pecked her cheek.

“Okay, baby.” She smiles softly, then evidently biting the inside of her cheek before she turned to leave.  You usually had no problem being away from her but when things got tough, you hated that. You would spend all day, everyday with her if you could. “Hey.” You hear Regina behind you as she tapped your shoulder. Turning around to face her, your greet, “Hi. Let’s go?”

She nodded silently as then took her hand in yours and walked out of school with her. Regina sits in the front with you, like she always does. Except she was just sitting there and staring into space— another bad thing. You had to get her out of that god awful place in her mind.

“Regina, you know this. We gotta talk about it.”

“What’s there that you don’t already know?” She asked, defeated.

You shut your bedroom door, gesturing for Regina to sit down. She does, letting out a sigh as she looked up at you. Her gaze follows you as you moved towards her and sat down in the spot beside her. “I’ll be fine, you know. Always happens, I just need to deal with it until it blows over.”

“What happened, Reg?”

She wanted to scoff but bit back, “Well, you know my mom.”

Of course.

“It’s the same thing, every time, y/n.” Regina replied through gritted teeth, the annoyance within her bubbling up to the surface. “Everytime. ‘Regina, maybe you shouldn’t wear that. It’s too tight, it doesn’t look good.’, ‘Regina, leave the cupcakes alone. You’ve had enough food for the day. We gotta watch what we eat’, ‘Regina, have you worked out today?’ I am so sick of it.”

You gazed into her eyes as she revealed all of that and more to you. “She’s been like this my whole life. Why am I still not used to it? Why am I still listening to what she says? I know it’s no good for me, but I just— I can’t stop thinking about what she’s been feeding my mind for the last eighteen years.”

You grabbed her hands and held them in yours, giving them a squeeze. Tears were starting to fall from her eyes…she was blinking profusely, trying to get rid of them, flustered. “It’s okay.” You assured. 

She shook her head, sniffling.

“Regina.” You repeated, “It’s okay. Let it out. All of it.” 

“When I was a kid, she used to make me finish my plate no matter what.” Regina exhaled shakily, “Then when I got older, I listened to my body, you know? I stopped eating when I was full but she’d tell me I was wasting food if I threw out what was left on my plate. I didn’t want her to get mad, so as pissed as I was, I finished my plate. I was pretty active, so it didn’t really affect me. Middle school, puberty happened. My body changed.” 

Wiping away her tears quickly, she continued, “And I always held more weight somehow. Well then, you know what. My eating habits got bad and I’d go days at a time without eating. Then it was the opposite. Now I’ve just been trying to heal from all of that but she’s been making it hell for me and sometimes I cannot do anything but feel like shit for a few days then get back to normal. We’ve been together almost a year, we’re off to college next year. We’re going to be adults but I’m still plagued by childhood problems. It’s ridiculous.” 

“It’s not ridiculous.” You told her, leaning down to catch her gaze, “It’s not. You’ve been putting in a lot of effort to get better and anyone would be stupid to not see that.”

“Really?” She scoffs, “Even when I have days where I literally do nothing but cry about what she’s told me years ago, or do even worse things, because of her?” 

“Yeah. Even then. It takes a lot of strength and courage to push through all that, and pick yourself back up. Which you do, every single time no matter how hard it gets.” 

Her frame seemed less tense by the time she stopped talking. With your thumb brushing over her knuckles, you said, “Regina, I need you to remember that I’ll always be here for you. Not just for the good things, for anything. Tough, sad, infuriating. Anything at all. You are not alone. I’m your partner.” 

She looks at you, tears welling up in her eyes again.

“I know it’s hard, I know why so you don’t have to keep explaining yourself. And I know it seems like I’m offering nothing but companionship. But that’s sort of what a partner is. I’m here, to keep you company. No matter what life throws at you.” 

Another deep sigh falls from her lips before she goes, “Thank you.” 

“I love you.”

A pink hue tinted her tear-stain cheek as she tried to hide a smile. “I love you so much.” You added on.

“I love you too.” She squeezed your hand in return.

“And you know I’d do anything for you.” You smiled while your hand rested on her thigh.

————

Regina tensed up slightly at that touch. A harsh exhale was heard from her as you smirked to yourself. “Anything…” Your finger traced her pale skin. You looked up, meeting her eyes once again. Regina had that look, she wanted this. She wanted you. “To prove it.” 

“Do you want me to make you feel good, hm?” Your hand relocated onto her cheek, cupping her face. Like a switch has flipped, she immediately gave in to the temptation and nodded eagerly. Her eyes closed and you leaned in to capture her lips into your own. Fleeting kisses were swiftly followed by longer kisses…ones of desire. A whine slips from her mouth in the midst, sending a rush of heat that pooled between your own thighs. You’d back her up against the headboard, she sat with her legs naturally spread open while you straddled her, your knees on either side of her hips. You hands were grabbing her face, lips having never left hers since they latched on several minutes prior.

Regina whimpers this time. You chuckled, “You want more?” It was a little amusing to see her reduced to nothing but meek little noises when under your control. You loved it though, having slightly more dominance over her than typical. And well? She loves being beneath you, that’s for sure. Her head rolls back on reflex, inviting you to work her neck over. And expectedly, when you’ve hit a certain little spot, you’ve earned your first moan. Smiling to yourself, you continued your action until she got louder and squirmier. “Fuck.” She cursed. 

Your hand moves down south, grabbing a handful of her breast without having to look. Regina panted, the air right by your ear tickled you and sent a shiver down your spine. 

“Take it off.” She grumbled.

“As you wish, baby.” You smirked, reaching back underneath her shirt and unclipping her bra before you detach yourself from her and removed her shirt then got the bra out of the way. Your lips resume its work along her neck, your fingers play with her tit on one hand. You tug on the teat, and she gives you a pretty high pitched moan. “Does that feel good, honey?”

“Yeah—” She says, you didn’t even let her finish that word before you pinched that hardening tip between your fingers. “Shit.” You climb off her, pulling her pants down on the way after getting a hurried nod of approval from her. Settling yourself down between her legs on the mattress, you wasted no time and ran your tongue up and down her slit. Already, she was breathing heavily and you saw her groping her own tits for more stimulation.

“Don’t be shy, now.” You chuckled, thumb moving to rub her clit at the same time your mouth worked. Regina flinches, a muffled noise comes from her. “Don’t hold back, Regina.” Your free hand massaged her thigh, “I want to hear you, baby. I wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.” 

The strokes of your tongue quickened, becoming firmer and more purposeful. Your hand on her clit then shifts and you instead slide two fingers inside her. Regina gasps, and flinches. Her leg moves out of position slightly but it remained that way, her body gradually getting overcome by increasing pleasure. You two digits pumped in and out of her at a leisurely but consistent pace, making sure you hit her g-spot everytime. That, sends a shock through her body without fail, making her head spin in pleasure. You feel her fingers combing through your hair roughly, keeping your head in place. Your brows were raised briefly but you carried on, “Fuck, right there— right there—” Regina whimpered, strained. “Don’t stop—”

“Mmkay, baby.” You hummed, keeping at this exact pace and place for awhile. You feel her wetness on your chin, but you couldn’t care less. You were lost in the moment, feeling her writhing beneath you, hearing her making all those noises for you. You were drawn to her like moths to a flame, your only priority now was making her feel good and making her come, worshipping this beautiful body of hers. Worshipping every single inch of her.

“You’re so beautiful.” Your mouth and fingers left her entirely, then you clambered back up to meet her face. “You’re my beautiful girl, aren’t you, Regina?” Brushing her cheek, you gave her a smile as you broke away from the kiss. You pulled her down carefully so she now laid on her back, you reattach your lips to the spot on her neck and started to kiss your way downwards…covering every bit of her exposed skin with a smooch. “Fuck—” She whined, “F—I need you, I need you. y/n—”

“Answer the question, Regina.”  You smirked, fondling her tits while hovering over her. She kept quiet so you grabbed at the flesh harder, forcing the lewd noises out of her mouth, followed by impatient nods, “Y—yes— yes— oh, fuck—”

“I’ll be right back.” Kissing her once more, you got off her and then the bed.

“Baby, come on.” She grumbled.

“Just getting the strap, babe.” You winked, “Be patient~”

Regina exhales exasperatedly, looking at you while you walk to your closet and put on the harness behind its door. You’ve gotten her all hot and bothered already and you were absolutely enjoying yourself at this moment. “Open up, baby.” You tapped her thigh and she did as you told her to. Dragging the tip of the shaft along her throbbing cunt, the whining and whimpering from her resumes. “Aw.” You teased, “Are you ready, darling?”

“Yes— yes— oh my God…” She swallowed thickly, nodding her head while she kept looking at you. She knew you would ask for eye contact, so she did it first. 

“Please, do it, please.” Regina pleaded desperately. 

“Oh, good girl.” You smiled cheekily, lining up the tip of the shaft with her entrance. You were swift, pushing into her before she could say anything. All you heard was a low moan when you entered her and gradually bottomed out. “You okay, baby?”

“Yeah, yeah, I am.” She replied in a whisper, unintentionally whimpering at the end. You retracted and pushed into her more forcefully, a whimper just erupts from her throat like that. Hearing her just spurs you on, you went faster and faster, plus her noises matched up with your movements. It quite literally feels as though you were ascending into a whole new dimension. The noise of both your skin hitting each other’s, combined with the wetness? Whatever it was, it was obscene and had you weak in the knees. But, you persisted. Your hand was on her knee, pushing that leg of hers up as you continued railing to her. She was babbling…curse words, your name, incoherent noises. Goddamn. Her mind was one clouded mess, miles away by now. 

When Regina’s back arched off the mattress, she exclaimed, “Oh, fuck!”

You looked at her, slightly worried, “You okay? Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no, no, no, no, no.” She gasped, “Don’t— don’t stop. That feels so fucking good, baby. Keep going— I’m so close— so close—”

“Alright~” You smiled, relieved and eager, “Don’t hold back, Regina.” You resumed your consistent motion of impaling her, watching her face contort, watching her eyes roll to the back of her head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” She babbled in a daze. “Let it all go, Reg. Let it all go.” 

“God, you’re insane…” She panted, breathless.

“You’re the one gushing now and I’m barely doing anything anymore.” You retorted.

“God, keep going.”

“What?”

“I want more, keep going.” Her voice was airy, soft. “Keep going?”

You nodded, giving her what she wanted and completely disregarding the state of your sheets. “Oh, you’re so hot, baby.” 

“Fuck’s sake.” Regina chewed on her lower lip, “I— I need your mouth— God, fuck—”

Once again, you went along with her happily, pulling out of her then promptly diving back into her cunt, tasting every last drop of her. And yet, she just kept spilling into your mouth. At this point? You couldn’t care less if you drowned. “Damn.” You chuckled, “How far can you go?”

“Push me.” She ordered.

“Well, since you asked…” You shoved your fingers back inside her, assaulting her sensitive spot while lapping her up without complaints. 

Somehow, her pitch got higher, making you giddy. You feel her tightening around your fingers rapidly, and you kept going to push her over the edge again. She came, and she came hard. She even backed away a little, so you immediately stopped. That was it, she didn’t want more and you knew. It’d been discussed— if she backs away like that, you’d stopped.

With a tentative hand on her thigh, you shushed her, trying to help her find her breath again. “You’re okay, I got you. You’re okay.” 

She nodded, “I know, I know. Oh— my God, I love you.” Hiding her face in her hands to hide the blushing, you brushed her hands away when you crawled back up to lay down next to her. “Look at me.” You held her face in your hand, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. She does, and you continue, “I love you. sometimes your mind’s gonna try to convince you otherwise…but, I really, really do. I love you so fucking much and I never want you to forget that.” 

“After all of that? I won’t ever be able to get you out of my mind.” She jokes, her usual smirk on her face.

“I mean it. I love everything about you, every little bit of you. Just like you do me. You are perfect the way you are.” 

Regina kisses you back, snuggling closer to you. “I know you do, and I promise. No more of that ‘keeping things to myself’ next time…I’ll try my best to talk about it, with you, or with a therapist.”

“And if you ever need to get away from your house, please don’t hesitate to come over to my place. Please. Come over here yourself, or call me, or text me. Anything.” 

“Roger that.” She smiled just slightly, which turned into a smirk. “Also, you are freakishly good at whatever that was. Never came this hard in my life.”

“Well, you also did more than that, but…anything for you, eh?” Your fingers traced along her arm. Regina chuckles, “Oh, I’m just as shocked as you are. Sorry about the mess.” 

“I’m not sorry, Reg. They’re just sheets.” You laughed, rubbing her back. “You wanna take a shower? Freshen up?”

“That sounds nice, sure.” 

“Alright.” You got up first, then pulled her up, “Let’s go.” She smacks you on the ass while you walk ahead of her, entering the ensuite bathroom first. You gasped, “Regina.” 

“I think, it’s only fair that you get your turn too now.” She whispers into your ear, sending a chill down your back. “Do you want that, baby girl?”

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@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @ludoesartandstuff @pda128

💭A/N:

So…my first Regina x reader smut 🫣

[riesread]

Hiiii!! Could you write a jude x soft!reader where he believes rumours and thinks reader is cheating on him and doesn't try to hear the reader out and he's so in the moment that he doesn't think about what he's saying and kicks the reader out (they live together) , reader gets into an accident and she's in the hospital etc (REAL ANGST basically) BUT ends in FLUFF please 🙏🏻 (cuz sad endings are tooo hard to accept 😭)

Sorry Ik this was sooo so detailed 😭😭

dear anon you can read it here. hope you enjoy it!!

[justsomerandomfanfic]

hello, I'd like to get a matchup for mha! Im 20 yo, she/her, matc with man. App: pale skin, brown hair, blue eyes, dark eyelashes and eyebrows. Have bad eyesight but wearing lenses. Have birthmarks on arms and legs. Personality: emotional, spontaneous, expressive most of times yet responsible and organised. Like to tease close ones. Love dark humour and sarcasm. Love learning something new, kpop, cherry flavour and smell, physical stuff like hugs, warm baths. Hate insects, infantile people.

Hello!

<3333

I am so sorry that this took forever to post!

I had a lot of fun writing this :)

<333333

I also really hope that you like your character matchup!

<333333

Enjoy!

Romantic Matchup: My Hero Academia

~~~

Romantic;

~~~

My Hero Academia;

Keigo Takami (Hawks) -

You were the new rising pro-hero

You were efficient, talented, and organized, with just the right mix of sass and sarcasm that threw Hawks completely off guard

You got assigned to several missions with him due to your complementary skillset

His speed and your precision

At first, he teased you constantly, trying to throw you off - as you did to him unknowingly on the day you first met

But instead of getting too terribly flustered, you teased him right back - deadpan sarcasm and witty jabs that made him actually laugh harder than he had in months

He claimed you were "his favorite teammate," even though he technically had no authority to make you his permanent partner

However, that didn't stop him from constantly requesting to be teamed up with you

You quickly became a chaotic duo with surprising synergy

He was reckless and breezy

You were calculated and prepared

He'd wing it

You'd sigh through it, already pulling out the Plan B you predicted he'd need

You shared late-night ramen after patrols, swapped stories, and roasted bad villains with sarcastic commentary

He noticed how you love to learn, so he'd randomly text you cool trivia

"Did you know hawks have the sharpest vision of any animal?"

You'd reply with something snarky, and then both of you would go back and forth on voice memos

He secretly adored how emotionally expressive and spontaneous you were

It made him feel more alive, more seen

Keigo started lingering longer after missions, pretending to be lazy or not wanting to do the paperwork, not yet, secretly soaking up your presence

He'd say things like...

"Gotta recover from all that life-saving hero stuff. Hope you don't mind me crashing here for a while."

He'd find excuses to touch you

Casual hand on your back

Brushing your hair from your face

Stealing your cherry-flavored lip balm "by accident"

You started catching him watching you when you weren't looking, his eyes softer, fonder

He'd bring you cherry-flavored bath bombs, claiming they were "just something he saw that reminded him of you"

Once, when a villain cornered you, he lost his cool completely

Ripping through the sky faster than sound to get to you

Afterward, you caught him trembling slightly

"Don't do that to me again, okay? You scared the living hell out of me."

That's when it really hit you

That this wasn't just friendship anymore

One night, after a long mission, you both ended up on a rooftop watching the stars

You were teasing him about a mission mishap when he suddenly grew quiet

"Hey... I don't wanna joke this way. I like you. Like, more than I should."

Your teasing grin faltered, eyes widening, heart skipping

"You're smart, hilarious, sharp as hell, and you look at me like I'm more than just some flashy bird. I don't get that a lot."

You reached out, placing your hand over his

"I was wondering when you'd figure it out, birdbrain."

He kissed you then, featherlight at first, as if still making sure it was real

Dating Keigo means a mix of chaotic flirtation, rare softness, and protective instincts on overdrive

He lives for your teasing

He gives as good as he gets

Your sarcasm is his favorite thing

He makes sure to bring back something cherry-flavored every time he's gone

He learns a few K-pop dances to make you laugh, claiming he's trying to stay "relevant with the youth"

He loves physical attention and affection

You'll be in the middle of organizing your room, and he'll just come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and nuzzle his face into your neck

Warm baths together become a ritual after hard days

Him washing your hair gently, tracing birthmarks with soft kisses

Nothing sensual or sexual, just soft, loving, and worshiping

Your apartment becomes a second nest for him

He leaves feathers in your bed and always brings snacks to restock your kitchen

And his apartment?

Oh yeah, most of your clothes are over there for when you crashed at his place

He'll build you a "no-bug zone" on your balcony using one of those protective nets and some high-tech gadgets to make sure no bugs bother you if you are relaxing on your balcony

He'll fly you to secret rooftops just to stargaze, wrapping you in his wings because you'd probably get cold - if you forgot a jacket

You start making to-do lists for home to keep him on track

He pretends to hate it, but follows it exactly

You keep cherry-scented candles around the place - his and yours - and he always lights them before you get home at either place

He'll carry you to bed if you are too tired to move or already asleep while studying or working, whispering, "Even heroes need rest, dove."

You wear his jacket all the time, and he pretends to be grumpy about it in the beginning, but literally melts every time you do

And at some point, after catching you wearing his jacket more often, he starts to tease you about it

"Looks better on you than me, gorgeous."

"You know what? Keep it."

"You're killing me, dove. Wearin' my clothes."

He would risk everything if you were ever hurt

He's fast, but he's even faster when it's you in trouble

He will buy you cozy cherry blossom-themed hoodies because he saw them and thought they looked soft

He memorizes your schedule to surprise you with lunch, a forehead kiss, and a feather - if you're lucky

He lets you see the vulnerable side of him that no one else gets

The side that worries, that wants to be loved for Keigo, not just Hawks

You keep him grounded

You remind him to eat, sleep, and not take on too much

You organize his hero reports and call him out (lovingly) when he's being reckless

You hold him when he has nightmares

You don't ask questions, just pull him close and let him talk when he's ready

You let him vent with dark humor and sarcasm, knowing that laughter is the best medicine, and how he copes

You surprise him with random facts you learned

And you surprise him with little random gifts

Like a crow, you give him shiny rocks or some other ticket that made you think of him

You two together?

An unstoppable, soft-edged storm

Chaos meets order

Teasing meets tenderness

Wings meet warmth

And love?

Yeah, it's real

And absolutely swoon-worthy

[lesyarei7]

🅻🆄🆂🆃🆈 🅹🆄🆂🆃🅸🅲🅴

WARNING OF NSFW CONTENT ─ 🔞mdni, oral sex Same on 🔗AO3

Madara x FemReader, Modern AU, 2888 words 

🔗Request 6

By 🔗lesyarei7 - Sep 13, 2024

🅻🆄🆂🆃🆈 🅹🆄🆂🆃🅸🅲🅴

Madara is a highly esteemed lawyer in Japan. You were facing difficult legal issues that could potentially leave you homeless if not properly handled. A once-trusted relative had stabbed you in the back, weaponizing your darkest secrets in a ruthless blackmail attempt. Feeling desperate, you remembered that Madara, who is only 31 years of age, was renowned as the top attorney in Tokyo. As his former employee, you had recently left your job at a call center after working there for 2 months due to family health concerns. Before that, you spent 6 months working under him at the law firm.  Despite his busy schedule, Madara had sometimes chatted with you during your time as his employee. He even once offered to drive you home. So you decided to reach out to him for help.

Your heart is racing in your chest, a mixture of panic and desperation overwhelming you. Madara stands before you, listening intently as you explain your dire financial situation. You have no money at the moment, but you need help immediately. With a heavy heart, you offer to take a loan from him and pay him back once the case is resolved. He nods, his piercing gaze probing for more details.

"Y/n," he interrupts, his voice low but unwavering. "I will help you. But on one condition..." He pauses, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. "If the case is successful, you will sleep with me instead of paying me back." He doesn’t blink, but there’s something beneath his words — hesitation? A flicker of vulnerability was quickly masked by his usual stoic expression. Something flickers in his eyes — a brief flash of uncertainty before his mask of control slips back into place. Could he be nervous too?

Your jaw drops at his brazen demand, and you find yourself dumbfounded.

You are stunned at such a proposition. It's not that Madara isn't attractive or your type, it's just so unexpected and sudden that your stomach clenches in discomfort. You have never been the type to give yourself to a man so easily, especially not one that you barely know. Sure, you have met Madara before and he has given you rides home occasionally, but that was the extent of your relationship.

Anger rises within you at his disrespectful proposal, but it's quickly overshadowed by fear. What would happen if I walked away? The thought of losing everything weighs heavily on your mind. You can't just call him a filthy motherfucker and walk away, as much as you want to. Your breath quickens, and you feel trapped between your principles and the reality of your situation. This is not how I imagined saving myself. Every instinct screams at me to walk away... but I can’t afford to. Still, desperation gnaws at your resolve, and with a heavy sigh, you reluctantly agree. The words taste bitter in your mouth, but you need his help, no matter the cost.

"Very well," Madara responds coolly, accepting your terms as if they were nothing. You take a deep breath and begin to give him all the detailed information about your legal issues, grateful for his help but also feeling uneasy about the price you may have to pay in the end.

Two long, grueling weeks had passed since the intense battle with your relative. Throughout the ordeal, you found yourself noticing little things about Madara that you hadn't before — the way his lips curled when he was deep in thought, or how his gaze lingered just a moment too long on yours. You couldn't deny the small rush that came every time his hand brushed yours while exchanging documents. But you pushed those feelings down. There was too much at stake to let your emotions complicate things. Yet, with each passing day, a subtle tension grew between you, and you wondered if Madara felt it too.

Now, standing before Madara on the day of your triumph, it was time to fulfill your promise to pay him.

"Meet me today at 7," he reminded you in his smooth, confident voice. "I'll send a taxi to you."

You couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth and embarrassment flood through you, causing your cheeks to turn as red as a ripe tomato as he winked at you, knowing that he could see right through your nervousness.

"I'll throw you the address," he added playfully as if it was some kind of game between the two of you.

You donned a form-fitting black dress that hugged your curves and let your long hair flow loose down your back. As you made your way to his apartment, you couldn't help but feel like a prostitute going to meet her client. It was your own fault for agreeing to this arrangement... despite the flurry of thoughts running through your mind, you were filled with worry and confusion. Throughout the entire time you had worked on the case together, Madara had been nothing but reserved and aloof. His true emotions were always hidden behind a mask of calm professionalism. 

How would he behave?

As if sensing your thoughts, Madara stood near a huge window in a pristine white open-collar shirt and fitted black pants. His chiseled features and sharp jawline only added to his already overwhelming handsomeness. "Come on in, y/n," he beckoned, gesturing towards the plush leather couches arranged in front of him.

Madara loomed over you, his towering figure casting a shadow over your body. His hot breath tickled your skin as he leaned in, causing your heart to flutter with a mixture of fear and excitement. Madara's breath was hot on your neck, sending shivers down your spine. Your heart raced in your chest, unable to control its erratic beating with him so near. "You're so tense, my dear. Are you afraid? Don't worry, I won't bite...unless you want me to." His voice dripped with seductive amusement as he flashed a wicked smirk. You were rendered speechless, completely lost in his intense gaze and forgetting how to take a breath.

Your words were barely audible as you mumbled, "I just... it's so wrong..." Your gaze dropped to the floor, unable to meet Madara's piercing stare. A sudden movement caught your attention as Madara turned away, his broad back now facing you.

"Just leave, Y/N," he said, his voice heavy with something you hadn’t heard before — regret. His gaze softened, no longer the cold, calculating lawyer but a man wrestling with emotions he wasn’t used to. He glanced away for a moment, jaw tense. “I don’t want to force you into anything,” he added, quieter now as if speaking more to himself than to you.

Your eyes widened in surprise and confusion. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"I don't want to force you into anything," he continued, his tone softer now. "I won't find any satisfaction in having sex with someone who doesn't truly want it."

You couldn't help but think about payment, knowing that was your only means of survival in this twisted world. "But what about payment?" you managed to say through the rush of thoughts.

"Forget it," he said dismissively. "Your well-being is more important than any monetary compensation." His words caught you off guard, a glimmer of something resembling kindness shining through his hardened exterior. "You couldn't put a price on something that should be given freely and willingly." Madara continued, sipping a drink and looking out the window.

Your heart raced as you looked up at Madara's intense gaze. "It's not that I don't want you," you muttered, your voice shaking slightly. "It's just all happening so suddenly and fast for me..." You couldn't deny the strong attraction between the two of you, but you needed time to process everything before taking things further.

Madara turned to face you fully, his piercing eyes softening for the first time. What’s happening? Your pulse quickens. You had always thought of him as distant, unreachable — but now, there’s something different in the way he looks at you, something warmer. "I understand, Y/N," he says, his voice lower, almost tender. It’s then that you feel the pull, the undeniable chemistry between you both. You swallow hard, wondering if he’s feeling it too. But is it just lust? Or something deeper? The questions swirl in your mind, but you find yourself leaning closer to him regardless.

"Let's spend some time together and see where it will lead us." His hand reached up to gently caress your flushed cheeks, sending shivers down your spine.

At that moment, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. It was like a spark igniting within you, filling you with warmth and desire. And then, just as quickly as it began, he pulled away and smiled at you. "Take all the time you need," he whispered before letting you go.

The intimacy of the moment left you feeling both exhilarated and nervous about what was to come next.

As the week went by you spent more time with Madara, going on dates and walks together. You started to realize that your initial assumptions about him were wrong. He didn't push you or pressure you in any way, and you appreciated that. You weren't the type to jump into bed with someone without any emotional connection, and he provided that for you.

Bedroom

As you followed him into the bedroom, the weight of the earlier deal felt distant, almost irrelevant. This isn't about repaying a debt anymore, you thought, your heartbeat quickening with something far more genuine. My body reacted to him in ways I never expected, craving his touch not out of obligation, but out of an undeniable attraction.

Madara’s commanding presence filled the room, but instead of feeling powerless, you felt drawn to him, more aware of your desires than you had ever been. His eyes searched yours, not with dominance, but with a question — one you were ready to answer. You wanted him, not out of obligation, but out of a longing you hadn’t anticipated. With each step toward him, the power shifted. This was no longer a transaction, but something far more real.

His assertive hands explored your frame, eliciting intense sensations of pleasure as he removed each piece of clothing from your quivering form. He murmured compliments into your ear, his moist kisses generating a profound sense of exhilaration throughout your entire being. With every caress, you experienced an increasing level of arousal, overwhelmed by the compelling desire to surrender to him.

For several days, you had been preoccupied with thoughts of Madara's passionate advances, which stirred within you a profound sense of desire and longing. Now, in the confines of a hotel room, you found yourself realizing those fantasies as he skillfully explored your physique with his tongue. Your being responded instinctively to his expert touch, each movement eliciting intense waves of ecstasy. Your thighs involuntarily pressed against his head in a display of unrestrained pleasure as he firmly grasped them, enhancing his access to your most sensitive areas.

How he provided you with pleasure was unparalleled, eliciting sensations that coursed through your bones and causing them to tremble with ecstasy. Each contemplation of his presence in such an intimate context had culminated in this moment, which proved to be even more intense and exhilarating than you had previously envisioned.

With a primal growl, you grasp Madara's head and pull him closer, urging him to continue his passionate assault on your swollen and sensitive button. You writhe on the bed, arching your back in pleasure as waves of ecstasy wash over you, causing your shape to convulse and tremble. Goosebumps spread across your skin, accentuating every inch of your body that tingles with delight.

"Oh fuck...Madara," you groan as he skillfully works his tongue over your throbbing clitoris, sending electric shocks through your core. He devours you like a predator, savoring every drop of your sweet essence and leaving you yearning for more. You gasp breathlessly, barely able to form coherent words as the pleasure overwhelms you.

His dark eyes glint with desire as he gazes at you hungrily. "Your moans are intoxicating," he rasps, his voice thick with lust. "You're incredible, you gasp, still reeling from the mind-blowing experience. His dark eyes sparkle with amusement as he smirks, "You gave me an instant boner, Y/N."

Touching Madara's waist, you smiled seductively as you sat beside him. You could feel the heat radiating from his throbbing erection, sending shivers down your spine. With a sly smirk, you took him in your hand and slowly stroked him, relishing the way he squirmed beneath you.

"Do you like me to take care of this for you?" you purred, already knowing the answer.

Madara's eyes darkened with lust as he nodded eagerly. Without hesitation, you lowered your head and enveloped him with your lips, teasing the sensitive tip with your tongue. He let out a guttural groan, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guided you with desperate urgency.

You hummed in pleasure as his shaft filled your mouth, taking him deeper and deeper until your nose pressed against his pelvis. He moaned loudly, his grip on your hair tightening as he reached his climax.

With a final gasp, he released his grip on your head and you pulled away, watching as his hot cum dripped onto your hand. But there was no time to bask in the afterglow — Madara's eyes burned with desire as he gazed at you hungrily.

"Give me a few minutes," he growled, "and I will fuck you senseless."

You couldn't resist giving yourself a quick taste of his lingering seed, feeling intoxicated by the intensity of his release. You licked your fingers, reveling in how dirty you could be.

Your hands glided over his chiseled abs, marveling at the ridges and curves of his perfect physique. You lay on your back as Madara slowly ran his hardened cock along your pink folds, eliciting tingles of pleasure from your shape. With a gasp, he entered you and began to move his hips in a gentle rhythm. Your kisses were passionate and urgent as his dick deliciously filled you. The warmth of his skin against yours sent shivers of ecstasy through you, as you savored every moment of this intimate encounter.

Your anatomy trembles as you wrap your legs tightly around Madara's back, gasping for air.

With each thrust of his powerful hips, you moan in pleasure and bite at his ear, begging for more. He eagerly obliges, sucking on your sensitive nipple until you feel a surge of electric pleasure shoots through your flesh.

Your sex with him is intense and passionate, a mix of gentle love-making and raw lust. You cling onto him, biting and scratching at his back in desperation as he quickens his pace, growling praises in between grunts of pleasure. "You're amazing y/n...I never want this to end," he groans as he cups your breasts firmly in his hands. The sensations are overwhelming, driving you both towards the edge. "Ah, Madara...I'm gonna cum..." you cry out, feeling your orgasm building inside of you. "Mm...me too," he responds his apex drawing near. In perfect rhythm, you move together as one, lost in a blur of ecstasy.

In a frenzy of passion, you rub your throbbing clitoris, eager to experience every ounce of pleasure with him. The wet sounds of skin against skin intensify as Madara pulls out and releases himself onto your trembling stomach, both of you panting heavily from the intense orgasm.

But Madara is not finished with you yet. He leans in close, using his skilled fingers to push you over the edge once more. You writhe and moan under his touch, experiencing a blend of pain and pleasure that only intensifies your arousal. Your body trembles with overwhelming pleasure, your mind engulfed in a wild frenzy of desire as you reach the pinnacle of ecstasy.

As you lay there, exhausted and breathless, Madara's lips brushed against yours in a passionate kiss. "You're incredible," he whispered, his voice brimming with adoration.

"I like you, Y/N," Madara confessed, causing a flush to spread across your cheeks. "I never intended to use your body for mere physical pleasure. I genuinely care for you." Your heart swelled at his words, and you wrapped your arms around him, unable to contain your feelings any longer.

"I didn’t expect this… but I feel the same way, Madara. I want to see where this goes," You murmured, your voice laced with emotion. "I would love to date you and embark on this journey together." For the first time in weeks, you felt grounded, like the chaos of the past was finally behind you. His arms wrapped around you felt more like a promise than a possessive hold, and you smiled softly into his chest. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t just about sex; it was about finding comfort, trust, and maybe even love in each other. A sense of peace washed over you both, and you realized that this was the start of something far more meaningful than either of you had anticipated.

๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑  ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑ ๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑  ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑ ๋ㅤ ࣭  The End๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑  ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑ ๋ㅤ ࣭ ㅤ⭑  ☆ㅤ ๋࣭ㅤ ⭑ ๋ㅤ ࣭  

🔴Previous 🔗Request 5

🔴Fanfiction AU Requests are open! 🔴For those who wish, you can send them anonymously via 🔗Tumblr, 🔗Tellonym, or 🔗AO3 – whatever works best for you!

🔴Rules:🔴

🔴 AU Universe only – Real-world setting, ordinary people, heterosexual relationships, woman x male.

🔴 Characters: Madara only, NO ships, reader x relationships are okay, etc.

🔴 NSFW/SFW requests are welcome.

🚫 I won’t write about kinks such as rape, hardcore BDSM, slavery, underage characters, incest, cheating, or bestiality. No threesomes.🚫 ⛔ If I’m uncomfortable, I will decline the request. I reserve the right to deny any request.

🔴 Anonymity is allowed if you'd like to submit your request anonymously.

🔴 If it takes me longer to post, it’s likely because I’m short on time.

❤️🇹​​🇭​​🇦​​🇳​​🇰​​🇸​ ​🇫​​🇴​​🇷​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​​🇷​ ​🇦​​🇹​​🇹​​🇪​​🇳​​🇹​​🇮​​🇴​​🇳​ ❤️

Reblogs are appreciated, it was a fun request, hope you liked it.❤️

Rules for Requests

[yeyinde]

caging a wolfdog

Simon Riley x Babysitter!Reader

18+ | groping. dubcon. infidelity. blue-collar Simon in a loveless marriage finds another way to entertain himself when his wife is too busy fucking her Pilates instructor to come home. victim blaming. future wife grooming. breeding. implied contraceptive tampering. spitting/spit kink. gross/mean Simon.

It's something to mend the gap between paying for college tuition, and surviving on more than air and the stale crackers they give out at the food bank. A job that takes up less space in your calendar than studying for finals or finishing up last-minute projects due before the end of the term.

And, in all honesty, the kid makes it easy.

Tommy doesn't fuss like most his age. He sits on the couch with his iPad perched on his knees, watching grown men scream in front of a camera for hours. Sometimes he stirs, asks for snacks. Something to drink. But mostly, he just scrolls YouTube Shorts, and puffs out peals of childish laughter at whatever he finds amusing.

It's the easiest job you'd ever had, really. He has no complaints about eating chicken nuggets and Kraft dinner on the nights when you stay later and have to cook something for him. Even when you try to make it healthier by chopping up celery with homemade ranch on the side, it barely makes him whine.

He eats. Scrolls. Pouts about his bath. Negotiates bedtime for ten more minutes with his iPad. And then he's sleeping by ten, hugging the device tight to his chest as a man hollers about Minecraft beneath him.

And that's the extent of it.

An easy job. An easy kid.

The problem, really, is his father.

And more specifically, the way he can't seem to stop touching you.

You're not sure why it happens, just that it does. Becomes some strange staple in this arrangement where you never leave his house without having his hands on you at some point.

But maybe the writing was always on the walls because even as he was showing you Tommy's bedroom, he folds himself over you, spine pressed against his chest, and murmurs in your ear about bedtimes and baths and all the things a babysitter is meant to hear—

But not with the hard, firm outline of their employers cock against their ass.

You should have said something then. Put your foot down. Rained hellfire and retribution over this man and his gross, foul perversions.

Should have done a lot of things, probably. But in the end, the span of his hand over your belly, so wide it threatened to swallow you up, kept you quiet. Docile as he shifted his hips—wife down the hall, flatly informing him she has a class tonight and probably won't be home, so don't bother waiting up, Simon—and rubbed his cock against you, grunting in your ear about how pretty you are. Such a sweet girl, too.

So good for his baby boy.

Keeping quiet seems to spur him on. Spreading the thick, heavy length of his body against your spine isn't enough to quench whatever sticky, awful desire brims in his chest. Insatiable now that he's had a little taste, he gorges himself on what he can get away with.

What you let him get away with.

(if you didn't want this, pretty thing, you'd have said so, wouldn't you? big, strong girl like you. you can 'andle yourself. but you ain't because you want this—)

Broad hands cupping your breasts as he leans over your shoulder and pretends to instruct you on how Tommy likes his lunches. Little more, he rasps, calloused fingers slipping under the band of your bra, and pinching your stiffening peaks between a too-big thumb and forefinger. The rough, dry graze of his scarred skin was some awful amalgamation of stinging, abrasive pain and pleasure. Likes his sandwiches cut up jus' like tha'—

Grabs a handful of your asscheek on the way out the door, pinching the flesh so hard, it aches when you sit down. Rutting into you like a beast when he comes home, and Tommy's already in bed. C'mon, he grunts, hefting you up from the couch. Gotta go an' check on 'im. But it's just an excuse to bend you over banister as you peer into Tommy's room, groaning as he shoves his clothed cock against the cleft of your ass.

Husks in your ear about how good you are for him. He and Tommy both. Such a good girl, ain't you?

It's strange. All of it. And maybe that's why you let it carry on. Continue even though you know he's married, and has a child. And—

He's odd. Intense. Weird.

Looms in the corners of the room sometimes, content to just watch you. Eyes dark, endlessly black. Fixed on every move you make. A wolf wearing a man's skin. A monster in faded blue jeans and black steel-toed boots.

Uncanny.

Scary.

Massive in a way that stole your breath the moment you laid eyes on him. A full body bloom of dread at the scale, the size, of him. Like staring at the face of a mountain, mind reeling over the incomprehensible height of it. Vertiginous. Dizzying.

Thinking about him always makes you feel a little bit sick. Lying on your back and staring up at the sky. Cosmic quasiness. Unease that trickles down from your ancestors and fills your pores with the bitter, acrid tang of fear.

But between the noxious, rolling worry—the unmistakable feeling of a starving man staring at you like you're nothing but a scrap of tender, fresh meat—is a heavy, sick sort of heat congealing in your belly.

It was easier, at first, to lie and say you stayed for the money. Broke college student with a sinkhole of debts already growing on the periphery, biding its time before it sucks you into an unfathomable, inescapable chasm. Bled dry. Used up. It'll crush you.

But this—

Simon works around your schedule. He's gone for most of the day—pulls twelve-hour shifts Monday to Saturday at the oilfield—and is fairly lenient when you have a test, sending Tommy to his uncle's instead. Staying the night is an unorthodox arrangement, you're sure, but it works itself out in the end. Being here to take Tommy to school before heading to your morning classes (the rest all available online), and then free to pick him up after and wait for Simon to come home eases the stress of a long commute to your dorm and then here, to the dorm and then back again. A small respite, sure.

And if he pushed, insistent, that you sleepover, well—

You can hide it behind a wall. Pretend he's just looking out for his son even if you have to lock the door in the spare bedroom at night, and wake up sometime to the sound of the knob rattling.

He lets you use his spare truck whenever you need it. There's always a pot of coffee waiting for you in the morning. He keeps a tidy house and a strict schedule, but money is always in your bank account or tucked into an envelope on the counter a day ahead of when you agreed he'd pay you.

But living on top of each other like this is almost unbearable.

You see more of Simon than you do your own family. Friends. Even his wife. A woman made of contradictions, it seems. Dutiful mother, but only when it matters—parent teacher conferences booked in advance, the darling starlet of his birthday party that passed—and you try to keep out of her way. Shame, maybe.

Do you know what Simon does to me when you're in the next room? Do you know what he says when you're bent into downward dog as your Pilates instructor fucks you on the matt?

Or just the knowledge that both of you, in your own way, are adulterers.

But having something in common with the woman who is more of a guest in her own home, her child's life, than you are is a sickening thought. So you squash it. Ignore it.

All of it—

His hands on you, rough and proprietary. The foul, dirty things he whispers in your ear—Tommy's been askin' for a baby brother, 'bout time we gave 'im one, don't you think? Spread your pretty pussy around my cock and keep ya nice an' plugged until it fuckin' takes—when no one is around. How these incidents keep getting progressively closer to his bedroom door, his marital bed, and one day, you think he might drag you in there and not let you out again until those promises he forced from your lips are fulfilled.

You bite your tongue. Taste blood between your teeth hours after he leaves for work, and curl into the couch as the minutes tick by until Simon's supposed to come home. Trying to distract yourself as much as you can, but there's no escape from it. From the way there was something different about him this morning. Something heady. He didn't touch you, but just quietly observed you with those strange, unfathomable eyes of his. Sinkholes wanting to swallow you down.

Hungry.

And when you asked him if he wanted breakfast, he'd just said, oh, I'll eat, birdie. You can bet on that, and then left out the door without another word.

It takes you until noon to unravel the knots in his expression, and what you find makes your heart jump like a trapped rabbit in a snare.

Possessiveness. Want. Hunger.

But most damning of all—

Anticipation.

In the room over, Tommy giggles, high and shrill, at a video. The noise jars you back into reality. A car drives down the lonely street. The timer on the oven dings. Tommy gurgles again, the sound pasted over a loud, pitchy shout that rankles down your spine. Slowly, achingly, you unfurl your body from the tense crouch you collapsed into, head thick. Underwater. In a fog. Thoughts dripping down the sides of your skull in a slow, syrupy crawl.

Your eyes dart to the clock. Three hours.

oh, I'll eat, birdie.

"Come on, Tommy," you warble out, gingerly moving towards the kitchen. Three hours. There's a buzzing inside your head that grows louder, more restless with every step. "The pizzas done."

On the fridge, a neon pink post-it note mocks you. PILATES TONIGHT AND DRINKS WITH THE GIRLS!!!! DON'T WAIT UP!!

Three hours.

You lick the blood off your teeth.

oh, I'll eat, birdie—

He doesn't bother cleaning up before he goes home.

Caked in grime, sweat, dust from the fields, crudeoil glued under his nails—a walking biohazard of filth, but he lumbers into his truck the moment he's finished, cock already thickening, straining against the harsh fabric of his jeans. Sticky on his thigh where it lays, twitching at the thought of his little birdie sucking his dirty fingers clean.

And you'll do it. He knows you will.

You've been so good for him, haven't you? Sweet little thing.

He scrapes the top of his tongue against his teeth, pulling up the taste of stale, bitter coffee. It's acrid, sour in his mouth. Swallowing around it, he grips the wheel tightly and sifts through the multitude of things he wants to do to you as he navigates the familiar path home. Muscle memory, but there's an emptiness in his belly. An itch under his skin. If fizzles, cracks; want and desire thick in his throat.

He's been thinking about this all day. You—laid out on his bed, fingers gripping the sheets tight as he folds you in half, kneecaps to your ears. Feet kicking out behind the heft of his shoulder. Bearing all his weight down on you. Crushing you.

Pumping you so full of his cock, his cum, that you whine afterwards—too empty, Mr Riley—and he has to stuff you full again just to shut you up.

Whiny little thing, he'll coo, nasty and mean as he fucks you again and again and again—

Another scrape. Tongue against teeth pulling over tastebuds. Sourness in the back of his throat. So bitter, so nauseating, he can't wait to make you swallow it down and beg for more as you try not to dry heave all over his dirty boots and onto the clean floor.

More, please, more even as you gag.

He's too hyperaware for the drive to pass in a blur—it's all startling present, each second ticking down in technicolour—but when he finally slows to crawl in front of his house, he has everything he wants to do to you laid out in a neat, concise list. Left you a defiled mess in his head, leaking cum and begging for more.

Anticipation is a maw in his gut that growls and snaps its jaws, too eager to sink inside the pretty thing that's been playing House in his mind. In his home.

He left it unfed for too long.

And now, it's time to eat.

You're not in the living room when he enters.

It's silent. The idling television paints the room in a pale, neon pink.

The clink of his keys, the thud of his boots, are the only sounds popcorning through the dim, quiet room. He casts his gaze towards the stairs to the left, sees light spilling out from Tommy's room down the hall. The nightlight burning away.

He shifts on the balls of his feet, hums something under his breath. A relic from a bygone era when the man Tommy was named after might have pulled him aside and said man, this isn't you.

Simon keeps his boots on as he trudges through the still, winter night of the house, eyes shifting past each corner, every crevasse. More muscle memory he can't shake. All filed away. Catalogued. Meticulously scoured as he shifts through the hall, pausing only to crack Tommy's door open and steal a glance of his son. Knows he won't be able to sleep without it.

He finds him tucked safe and sound in his bed. iPad on the floor connected to the charger. The screen is frozen with the image of some brightly coloured game that'll hold his interest for another day before it becomes yet another thing Simon packs away. More memories on shelves. Something to feel scraped out, hollowed, when he grows another inch and Simon starts to see more of Tommy in him than he can stomach.

The air stings his nostrils when he breathes in. The burn gives him time to shift around the potent ache of fatherly affection he never thought he'd feel back into the guarded lockbox he keeps it in whenever Tommy isn't in view. With it tucked back in, safe and sound, he lets the thrill of the pursuit fill him again.

Another hum. He peels away from the door.

"Hidin' on me, birdie?"

He knows you're here. Your boots are still drying by the front door. The air still clogged with your scent. He follows it like a bloodhound until he reaches his bedroom door where he finds you on the bed. Waiting. Uncertainty clinging to you like a second skin he can't wait to peel off, run his fingers through the bloody mess until you're raw and aching; shiny new toy stripped bare just for him.

Your mouth pops open. The inside a pretty ring of pink. He thinks about it, about sinking inside that soft little hole, making you gag around the thick of him as he feeds you his cock.

Clean it up f'me, birdie

But it's clear from the way you flit nervously on the comforter that he'll have to work you up to that.

Slow and steady. It's not his usual approach—he's in the habit of taking what he wants. Still. He slows. Glacial. Notches his shoulder against the doorframe, staring. Waiting. Waiting—

And finally:

A shift. You tense. "Mr Riley—"

"Take your clothes off."

Your throat shifts when you swallow. "Mr—"

If you didn't want it, he reasons, you wouldn't be in his bed. Waiting for him.

"Now, birdie."

There's that pause he expects. The hesitation as you stare, searchingly (pleadingly), at him, trying to take a measurement of just how serious he is about this. But he knows he gives nothing away. Just stares with streaks of dirt on his brow, washed down by thick trickles of sweat. Eyes lazy, lidded. Mouth flat. Even.

You demure after a moment. Hands falling shakily to the hem of your sweater, curling beneath the fabric. Gaze downcast, staring wide-eyed at the curve of your jean-clad knees. Bemused, maybe, that it got this far. That you let it get this far.

He doesn't give you time to think about it. Cocks his head to the side, puffs out an impatient breath. "Hurry up. Ain't got much time before my wife comes back."

It's a low blow. He feels it skim his knuckles, a sucker-punch.

You suck in a sharp breath. He wonders if you'll make things difficult now. Fight back. This isn't right. What you're doing to me isn't right. We should stop, Mr Riley—

Instead, you peel the sweater off.

It's artless. Clumsy. Each movement wracked with nerves, uncertainty. There's no coyness to the action. It's not even sexy, or coquettish; nothing about it is done to entice, to seduce. This is an action completed twice a day, every day. Routine. It's mundane, perfunctory.

And yet—

"Fuckin' hell, birdie—"

Something about the latent unwillingness of it all chokes the air from his lungs.

Cock thick in his trousers, throbbing like a wound, he steps into the bedroom, making his way towards you in nothing short of a prowl. It's been building up since you first appeared at his doorstep, eyes wide and bright and scooped Tommy up into your arms until he squealed with laughter.

"I got him," you chirped when he reached out reflexively, dancing artlessly out of the way of his snatching claws. "Don't worry. He's fine with me."

This is your fault, of course. For looking the way that you do. For burrowing under his skin like a parasite. A festering itch. Being close to you always felt like a toothache. Dry socket. Something that made his head split.

"On the bed, birdie," he grunts, hands falling to his belt with a urgency he hasn't felt since he was a clumsy, knobby-kneed teenager. "An' spread your legs f'me."

You give a startled gasp that makes his cock throb, and he groans low in his throat at the waxen look in your eye, the slight quiver to your lip. You look queasy—torn between disgust and fear, eyes slipping to the scarred hands that yank hard on his zipper, cup the bulge that splits through the spread seam, dirty fingers gripping himself tight—and he has to roll his head back to keep from snapping at you to roll over.

A noise does spill out—an impatient rumble gnashing between jagged teeth—when you sit there, bared from the waist up, and watch him with wide eyes. Making no move to show him that pretty pussy he cupped in his palm before. That soft, wet heat in his hand that felt too delicate, too sweet, to be touched with his dirty fingers. Something that rankled down his spine, buzzed in the back of his head when he pulled them free—stained, nails blackened with dirt, crude oil, and glistening in the low light of the kitchen.

He wants it again—on his cock this time. Wants to see that soft pussy get him all wet as he ruins it. As he peels back, sitting on his haunches, and takes in the awful mess he left you in. Poor cunt swollen and abused from from being forced to take the full, fat length of him as he bullies it inside over and over again; puffy lips all sticky with his cum. Sore and stretched and used. Raw after such a vicious pounding—

"Pants off, birdie," he bites out, yanking his jeans down beneath his aching balls. "Ain't gonna like what 'appens next if I 'ave to ask again—"

You give a startled gasp at the rough, callous growl hewing his words, and he wonders if anyone has ever spoken to you like this before. So demanding. With an edge of cruelty slithering out. Demeaning—

No. No one but him, he decides, stroking his cock as he watches you clumsily kick out of your pants, demurring in a faux show of bashfulness as your fingers skim the hem of your panties. The picture of coy shyness as you drop your chin to hide the wobble in your lower lip, the glistening wetness in your eyes as you grapple with indecision. Child's play of modesty.

A farce.

Just the mangled growl of your name is all it takes for those trembling fingers to inch into the hem of your panties, tugging them clumsily down your thighs.

He could come, he thinks, to just that. This. The bloom of fear etching across your brow, panties tangled against the knob of your knees. Unwilling to bend down and push them off the rest of the way. Scared to, maybe.

It buzzes in the back of his head. The idea of paralysing you with nothing more than a sharp bark and crook of his finger; your fear as delectable as that little sliver of skin he can see peaking out at him.

"ain't go' all night," he cuts in with only a quarter of the ice he uses on the field, and feels a deep thrum of satisfaction purr through his chest when you squeak, flinching at his rough, brassy tone.

Your panties fall to the floor in a rumpled pile between your feet, toes curling into the carpet as you try to close your knees as tightly together as you can get them to hide yourself from his heavy-lidded gaze. A last play at modesty. Gaze inward, nervous. A skittish little rabbit with nowhere else to run.

The way you stand before him on shaking knees, trembling like a leaf, makes him want to sink his teeth into you and shake. Little virginal offering to a rapacious god. A feast all for himself. He wants to chew you up. Eat you alive.

But he opts, instead, to bite his tongue until he tastes blood, and bark at you to get on the bed as it oozes between his teeth. Feels something animal split open inside his chest when your eyes widen as he steps into the room, a slow pursuit, a prowl, and has to bite down on the urge to give chase when you flinch, backing away from him quickly. Naked and scared. Running from him with a nervous tremor, but he doesn't miss the way you make, quietly, for his bed.

Eager. Obedient. Fleeing from him like a scared little animal unaware of just how enticing you are.

"Good girl, birdie."

It takes three fingers to open you up, but even that doesn't feel like it's enough.

Not when he knocks your knees apart, wedging his too big, too thick body between them (and then stares, and stares, and stares at your bare cunt, slick and sticky from his hand; flesh left swollen from the brutal spear of three thick, dirty fingers shoving inside—less of a stretch and more a carve: he carved you open) and spits.

You weren't expecting it. Nothing could have prepared you for the suddenness of this degrading act—the nasty, demeaning way he spits on your pussy, and huffs, amused, when the foamy mess slides down your swollen clit to pool between your folds. His finger chases it, rubbing it into your skin, pushing it into your hole.

Ain't got lube, he says, words bordering on a strange equinox of bluntly nonchalant and utterly caustic. Should be thankful m'doin' this much.

Thankful.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, and you try not look at his cock again when he grips himself tight in his big, dirty hand.

He's too big. Too fat. It makes you a little nauseous to stare at it, him—his cock. Marbled like a bruise. Thicker at the base. Veiny. The head is swollen. The tip is soaked in a thick, paste-like spill of precum, and for a horrible second, you almost thought he would make you lick it off.

(later fills the empty space in your head, and you try to mould yourself around the idea until you can decide whether or not the feeling that blooms in the pit of your belly is really dread.)

His hands were rough. Scarred. Dirty. Caked in oil. Stained. He didn't even bother to clean up before he lumbered onto the sheets behind you, one hand falling to grip his cock through his dusty pants, the other heavy on your neck, pushing you down into the mattress that reeks of fabric softener and stale cigarette smoke. Old sweat.

He doesn't need to tell you that she doesn't sleep in this bed anymore, but the idea of it prickles in the back of your head as he pushes you against the sheets and undoes his jeans with an ease that's more muscle memory than thought. Practiced.

You don't have the right to be jealous, but it hums through you like a sickness when you think of him doing this to her. His wife, you add, just to make it hurt. A knife in your gut that aches when you breathe—

"keep breathin', birdie," he grunts, spreading his fingers wide apart inside of you. "Don't get all tense on me now, or I'll have to start over."

You're not sure what that means, but you think you know better than to test his tenuous patience anymore than you have, and so you still. Go quiet. Breathe as he spears you deep, deeper still, and carves a space for that monstrous looking cock to fit—

where it belongs, he'd said, hunched over you like a nightmare in the daytime. All shadow and sinew. Stitched from broken daydreams of a brassy voice in your ear murmuring soon, birdie as his wife pretended to pack a lunch in the kitchen and he rubbed your nipple through your shirt before he slipped off to work.

But it's over too soon. His dirty, stained fingers slipping free from your aching, sopping cunt, leaving you empty—bereft—for a moment as he shuffles up the bed, splitting your knees wide apart to make room for the asburd width of him to fit.

An impossibility, really, but as Mr Riley—call me Simon—is wont to do, he makes it so. Wedges his wide thighs beneath yours until your hips tilt up in his lap, opening you wide. Obscenely so. And—

A grunt.

He stared. And stared. And stared.

Just looked at the split of your cunt sitting invitingly in his lap, wet and messy from his fingers, the cruel push of his palm against your clit. Swollen. Aching already—

"Want it, huh, birdie?"

The words I'm not so sure anymore hitch in the back of your throat, rearing up as he reaches between your legs to grip himself tight, too tight, until he turns a sickly shade of purple around the head that looks wider than anything you'd ever had inside of you before. But he doesn't give you a second to think before notching himself against you, giving a little push that forces the swollen head to sink inside of you—

Just the tip, really, and it already hurts. Stings like a papercut as he stretches your cunt around him, sharp and sudden.

"Too big—" you whimper, tossing your head to the side, breathing in the tang of fresh linen and musk as he grunts above you, pushing and pushing—

Something has to give.

It doesn't surprise you much when it ends up being you.

"Tha's it, birdie. Open up f'me."

It's not so much an opening as it is a siege. A conquest. And with him perched above you, heaving like bull and bathed in shadows that glue alone the mismatched asymmetry of his face, making him look less like a man and more like a figment, a statue—this Stygian being that swoops down and presses his palm against your throat, the other digging into the pillow beside your head, grunting—you feel ever bit of the battered receptacle he turns you into.

Forcing himself into you with a rough grunt, a brutal shove that—for one dizzying, awful moment—you swear you can feel inside your throat, taste on the back of your tongue. Choking on it. But then he's sinking in. Splitting you apart with brute force and that little bit of slick that you know must be stained pink—

"Good girl," he's grunting again, shoving another inch into a space much too small for him to fit. Savouring it. Relishing in the whimpers, the hiccups punched out of you with every flex of his hips. Eyes rolling a little, just a touch, when you feel something warm tickling your cheek and realise you're crying. Shush, birdie, he says, a quiet coo, but he looked delighted. Don't cry. Not yet—

another flex. two more inches. it feels like being speared open; flayed alive. it hurts. it hurts so much, you can't even begin to think through the pain, but he's huffing. groaning low in his throat as he adds:

"—'cause m'not even halfway in yet, pup."

The admission shocks you so much, you barely notice him spreading his knees beneath yours, squaring his stance, until it's too late.

"Wait—!"

If it weren't for his hand tightening around your throat before he speared the last several inches into you, you're sure the wail you might have let out would have woken Tommy. A good thing, you think, dazed, still soundlessly howling around the burning ache of him using his absurd weight to drive into you (balls deep, birdie, he grunts, and sounds so ridiculously proud, you nearly preen—), making you take every last inch. Selfishly carving more space for himself inside of you. Hollowing you out until his whole cock is drenched in your pink-stained slick—

"Makin' me all pretty, aren't you?" Huh, birdie? Nice and fuckin' pink.

A sob bubbles up beneath his palm, and he coos when he feels it, shushing you with a groan as he keeps an awful rhythm, flexing into you. Grinding deep. Carving and cutting and hollowing you out—

"Tha's it, pup," he grunts, eyes masting in leonine pleasure as he bucks into you without respite, taking his bliss from the burning stretch of your cunt. And stupidly, you think about preening. Smiling wide and big and lying to yourself about how bad you want this, him, even as the tears dribble down your chin.

Siphoned satisfaction, maybe. Or just the press of his fingers against that little thing inside of you that made you turn your cheek to his touches. Letting a married man shove his hands down your pants while you made breakfast for his kid and his wife called out to him from the next room about not waiting up for her too late.

Giving in.

That's what this feels like. A slow corrosion from the moment you knocked on his door and said you were here to help him with Tommy to now, buried under his bulk as he batters into your aching cunt, splitting you apart.

Sweat drips down his nape, pours off his face, and when it hits your skin, it feels like battery acid against your cheeks. But with his hand still lodged around your neck, there isn't much you can do except take it. Like his cock, his spit, his sweat. Let him ply you with all of it, every inch, until your body becomes accustomed to the ache.

"Fuckin' stranglin' me."

His cock hits something inside of you, and it isn't really pleasure that blooms in the pit of your belly, but something like a panacea. A wound that's soothed through touch.

Like a knife that hurts more coming out than it does stuffed inside.

But it' saws and it splits. Tears flesh. Rearranges your insides until you're wrapped tight around him, throbbing like bruise against the thick of his cock. A tight fuckin' fit, he says, and inches his fingers up to grab your cheeks. Squeezing until your mouth pops open, mewling at the deep, aching pain, and then he spits.

You don't need him to tell you what to do this time. You just close your mouth and swallow what he gives you, whimpering around the sudden ruck of his hips, a harsh jerk that slides his cockhead against the seal of your womb, dredging up a wave of pain that's soothed by the kiss of that fattened tip pressing against the sting once more. Soothed by touch. By the flood of endorphins.

Fitting, you suppose, since it feels a little bit like being eaten alive when he fucks you, grunting and snarling like a beast as he pounds into you, half-mad and starved, and you remember reading somewhere that people rarely experience any pain when they're bitten by a shark.

An oddly serene experience, out of body almost, as they're taken apart by razor-sharp teeth.

That's how you feel looking up at him, feeling the drip, drip, drip of his sweat splat on your cheeks. Warm, milky breath ghosting over your forehead. A barely there kiss when he bends down, growling into your hairline that he's gonna fill you up, pup; that Tommy's been begging for a little brother, 'asn't he? and ain't it time we gave 'im one?

You think no and don't. please don't, please, but your hands stayed curled into the duvet instead of reaching up to push him away. Knees dropping further apart as he bends down with a brassy grunt that you feel in your belly, between your hips, like molten lead. A pulsing flutter—sore muscles gripping tighter and tighter as he grunts again, and tells you to keep opening that pretty cunt up for him, birdie. Let him get even deeper.

The collar of his shirt dips low, unveiling a mass of moulted flesh suffused together in a pink ribbon array of crisscrossing scar tissue and burns. It's an odd time to notice that he hasn't bothered to undress, just shoved his jeans down his thighs and pulled his—monstrous, ugly—cock out, and forced it into you. But you do. And you feel it so acutely in your chest that even without his hand on your throat, you doubt you'd have been able to breathe. It just—

It says something, you think. Means something.

And maybe it hits you like a fist, too. A bludgeon to that little thing in the back of your head that keeps reminding you this isn't okay. That you're not supposed to be in this bed, with this man.

Marital vows, it says, all wrapped up in the scent of stale sweat and detergent. A whisper of Candy Kiss peppering the room when you arrive; a sweet sillage that tickles your nose whenever he leans down, cupping your breast in the palm of his hand. The flash of metal sitting snug on his thick ring finger. Cold and dry against your damp skin.

It crumbles under the sway of his big, thick body sawing away between your hips; turns to dust, dissolving into soot as the growls spilling out his chest tremble through your bones. The ring doesn't matter. It never did.

Not when he's decorating the space he hollowed out inside of you with these dizzying daydreams—weaving a damning tapestry with fingers bleeding from cuts made by the knife of his own artifice. Staining it red.

Pretty pink.

And eventually the ring warms between his hand and your heated skin until you can't tell the difference between metal and flesh.

(but in the smeared residuum of ash and rust, something stirs, asks if you ever really could at all—)

"Gonna make me a dad again, ain't you, pup?" Huh? He growls, rough and mean. Gonna have t'start callin' me daddy soon—

You're not sure when it started building, but the edge is suddenly there. Within reach. And he tells you in rasping groans that he feels it too. Gonna cum, biride, he says, and it sounds like a threat. A warning. It's a razor scraping against your nerves, pooling heat between your hips.

No, you think again, but your hips roll as much as they can with him bearing down above you, cradled between your slick, damp thighs—roughened up, chafed by the repeated scrape of denim. Eager for it. Hungry. Like you're starving.

And what did he say before? Oh, yeah—

Oh, I'll eat, birdie.

You feel that gnawing, gaping emptiness in your belly as he huffs, breath sticky and warm, glueing to your skin as he pants his desire over your flesh, inside your body. Pace stuttering on his next exhale, morphing into a choppy, clumsy grind—just the desperate, furious graze of his cockhead digging into that bruised, tender spot inside of you where pleasure and pain suture themselves together until one is almost indistinguishable from the other. Fear and desire warping around the edges until you're trembling from the urge to flee, but bearing your neck at the vicious spread of teeth gaping open above your caught jugular.

Simon presses his face against the side of yours, smearing sweat and spit over your heated, damp skin from where a cut in his upper lip leaves his teeth in a constant snarl, bared to the world in a vicious, brutal display of aggression, and the nudge of it against the softened, ripe apple of your cheek is what sends you over the edge before you're ready.

It's mean. A nasty, ugly climax that throbs more like a wound than a satisfying end; pulsing and spitting fire as you yowl into the bubble bulging along his ear, clawing at the duvet, and bringing your other hand up to twist into the wet fabric clinging to his broad back. Needing to hold on. To find purchase as he grunts into your skin with each brutal plunge of his hips, and then sinks his teeth into your pulse, drawing blood—

You're still clenching around him, throbbing like an infected wound, when he lifts his pinked up muzzle, bearing his crooked, bloodied teeth, and grunts with his release. Filling you with a burning, stinging heat. Painting the tapestry he hung on chiselled flesh. A home of his own making. The apex of your being is a crevasse for him to sink his desire inside until something grows.

Tommy wants a baby brother, he'd said, and as you knot your hand tighter around his sweaty shirt, you wonder if maybe you should have paid more attention to the pills you shoved into your mouth each morning, making sure they all looked exactly the same—

"Fuck, birdie," he snarls into your neck as he throbs inside of you, cock jerking until it lodges against the battered, bruised seal of your womb—soothing the ache, you think, giving a weak pulse, a little, desperate clench around him—grunting like this is all your fault.

And maybe it is. But he doesn't give you much of a choice when he ruts into you still in rolling, feverish humps that knock your teeth together each time you unhinge your jaw to tell him to stop.

(But you won't, of course—)

His hands are hot against your clammy skin, searing and rough as he pulls you back into his chest with a grunt, mumbling something about a cigarette as you pant into the sweat-slicked nook of his arm, trying to make sense of what happens next.

You should leave. And really—you're a little surprised he hadn't kicked you out already. Shoved you off of him, told you to pack your things. He'll call when he needs you next because with this burning desire of his sated, what else does he need you in bed for?

But he tightens his grip when you try to wiggle away from him with a salt-crusted, sleep-drenched noise of dissent.

He isn't done with you, he mumbles, pawing at the end table for the carton of cigarettes he left there this morning. Blue Zippo still tucked neatly inside.

It's something you'd noticed during the first week when you opened a drawer looking for Tommy's iPad charger and found his hidden stash—along with the rest. Little clues that piled up until the pieces fell, and you realised this was a strange, habitual thing of his where he needs to leave things lying around the house—a carton of cigarettes with a lighter; a duffle bag full of clothes for him and Tommy. Non-perishable food stuffed inside a rucksack. Cash. Knives. All within reach.

Most people live in their homes. Clothes in the drawers. Shoes on a rack or piled by the front food. Food in the cabinets. They carry their smokes with them or keep them in a convenient place for whenever they need them next. But Simon seems keen to uproot himself at a moment's notice. Bags within reach. Necessities all packed by the front door, ready to go. Each room has a satchel hidden somewhere. A carton of smokes. A lighter.

It means something, you're sure. Nestled between the layers of a restless, caged tiger circling its iron-barred domicile for the first chance at escape is a travesty written in spoiled ink. Chiselled into the bars, imprinted there like braille for you to run your fingers over until pockmarks make sense.

Like why Candy Kiss is left on the vanity, sitting atop a drawerful of untouched clothes. The smell of fresh linen. Pilates on a weekly basis. Don't wait up peppering the air; a soft echo cradled in the harsh snap of a door closing. Eyes barely blinking away from the flashing screen.

Or—why your clothes disappear each time you do the laundry. Lace panties and satin bras first—an almost banal perversion that barely made a gurn at. Then tights. Sweaters. Shirts. Jeans. All missing with a nonchalant shrug of a massive shoulder, and a stare that didn't much pin as it skewered. Flayed. A flat, even dunno, birdie. Maybe the ghost knicked it.

Tightly wound artifice you'll never make sense of beyond the bags and the cigarettes. The stares that make the hair on your neck stand on end—

"Fuckin' hell, pup," he grunts suddenly, pinching the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger as the other slides down your curved spine, grabbing a handful of your asscheek in his palm, giving a vicious, painful squeeze. "Can feel your little cunt leakin' all over my leg—"

He slips the filter between his teeth with an appreciative hum when you jerk, a mocking huff spilling out when you try to clamp your legs shut around the thick split of his hip wedged between them. You can feel it, too—the thick, sticky ooze of him leaking out of your sore cunt, smearing pink-tinged cum all over his jeans. He hadn't let you get up after rolling off of you—just barked at you to leave it. Keep it, birdie. Gotta take, don't it?

A barb you hadn't said anything to, opting to ignore that, like everything else he does. Did.

Will do because you can tell, even beneath all those hidden layers, that this isn't a one-time thing. No. This isn't just a man stuck in a bad marriage fucking the nanny because he can. It's deeper. Worse, somehow, than a gross older man with a fetish for younger women he can financially control. Another pervert slaking his lust on whatever artless little thing falls into his web.

No. No—

This is missing clothes stuffed inside bags kept around the house. Pills that leave a strange aftertaste on your tongue of something a shade too sweet—

You think about running. Slipping out of his hands, this bed that reeks of stale sweat and sex, putting on your clothes, and leaving this house. Burying yourself in debt again, schoolwork, and limping (with your tail between your aching thighs) back to your landlord. Never looking twice at an ad for a babysitter in your life.

—and maybe spend your whole life wondering why people mix wolves and dogs to create something that never truly feels at home in the patchwork skin it wears; pieces of ancestors it can't relate to;

But you don't.

(—you never do.)

You lie there and take it. Like the leers he aimed at you when you first showed up on his doorstep, reeking of financial desperation and swallowed down the litany of things he said to you under his breath with a wobbly grin and your eyes fixed on the tile, convincing yourself it would pass. That you were more than just a pretty face he couldn't wait to cover in his cum. A soft ass he wanted to sink his teeth into before getting his cock in there next. Tight little pussy he was so eager to break in. Pantin' like a bitch in heat, ain't you, pup? can hear you gaggin' for it a mile away—

Biting your lip so hard it bled. Blood between your teeth. Your hands curling into the coarse, starchy fabric of his work shirt when he leaned down, permanent snarl on his face from the manmade cleftlip, and reached down to grab a handful of it. Testin' the merchandise, he cooed, low and mean and ugly. Words wrapped up tight in barbed wire. Brassbound. Said nothing as he pinched your nipples through your shirt, or when he shoved his hand beneath the hem and groaned at how soft you were.

Dirty hands leaving stains all over your skin you couldn't see, but felt like a fresh, weeping tattoo. Pulsing with infection.

(Such a needy little thing he trusts with his son while his wife is gettin' railed by 'er Pilates instructor, huh? But that's fine, ain't it? Need another one, anyway. A better influence for Tommy. Someone who'll give him that little brother he's been buggin' for—)

And so, you slacken your jaw when he grunts, barking at you to open up. Say nothing when he drags his hand back up your body to grip your jaw tight in his palm, squeezing your cheeks until they pop open. Let him spit in your mouth, and swallow down the foul, stale tobacco taste of him on your tongue.

Nod, like an obedient little pup, when he says good, ain't it? and let him roll you onto your back again, wrenching your thighs apart so he can see for himself the mess he made. The one you let spill all over his jeans.

Good ones, too, he huffs, eyelids slicing over the jaded edge of obsidian into a derisive pantomime of a contented cat squinting to show affection. Half-mast in pleasure as he says he'll wear them again tomorrow an' let all the boys see what a mess you make of me—

His gaze drills into the wet, slick seam of your puffy, bruised cunt, grip tightening—vicious, possessive—until his blunt nails sink into your skin. Branding. Bruising. His fingers clench down until it almost feels like he'll break through muscle to touch bone, but just when it starts to really hurt, pushing past that strange equinoctial point where pleasure and pain wrap around each other on a razor's edge, he peels back with a grunt. Leans over you to spit in your mouth again, a wet, foamy glob that hits your bottom lip before it oozes into your mouth, tasting of stale smoke and bitter tobacco. A flavour that reeks of permanence, and smells of an incipient wolfpack—all animal musk and wildness brimming up against stale sweat, laundry detergent, cigarette smoke, and sex.

Cruel, almost, like the gurns etched into his face by the missing chunk of flesh on his upper lip. Snarled and deadly. Mocking in a certain light. Like a constant sneer. Derisive and dangerous.

But not nearly as terrifying when he lists forward, dropping down to catch your jaw in his hand, the other planting itself in musty pillow beside your head, caging you in, and says:

"—and now you're makin' me a daddy again, birdie."

There's a taste in the back of your throat that's much too sweet for the dirty, oil-stained fingers he slips between your slack lips, scratching over your tongue. It reminds you of a spoonful of sugar. Grape-flavoured medicine poured over the top. And you wonder how quickly the pills you have been taking would dissolve in water when you sprinkled the white granules down the drain.

Something else you won't mention even as this house he burrowed inside changes shape—clothes in drawers, bags in the closet; the lingering scent of Candy Kiss a spoiled, stale sillage hidden under the smell of newborn and warm milk. Crushed animal crackers and Nicorette. The sound of a gaping, newly formed maw yowling for attention clashing sharply against the exaggerated screams of a grown man howling about a video game on Tommy's iPad.

thanks for hiring me and don't worry, Mr Riley, I can manage him morphing into a new sound, a continual echo of welcome home, and she called again asking about custody, daddy.

Something that throbs like a fresh wound before knitting itself together again into a thin, pink line; skin all shiny and new. Pulsing with the echoes of everything you dipped your chin again, mumbling around the malformed words of please, and don't, and now,

don't stop, please don't stop

What else are you supposed to do, really, other than lettingnhim slake the remnants of his lust between your sore, slick-stained thighs until he grunts, coming inside of you again to the damning symphony of a creaking bed, heels against the floorboards, and the sizzle of a cigarette burning away in an ashtray.

"Wait—" swallowed down by a mangled mouth. A hooked, crooked nose slides along your sweaty cheek as he all but purrs in satisfaction.

All his, he says.

And you don't fight it even as the blood pools between your teeth because you knew that from the start.

[abbotjack]

Um i have a request that can go either dr jack or dr robby, its up to you and the people🙌

Him figuring out you're pregnant before you even notice? Like he's so in tune with your body that when he's in you or when he feels you up he notices the subtlest change 👀 and when you wonder why your period is late its the final 1% for him 🤭 now he's 100% sure before you even suspect it

Absolutely, here’s the Jack Abbot version—grounded, intimate, and very Jack-coded.

LIFE WE GREW SERIES MASTERLIST <3

content/warning : pregnancy symptoms, emotional overwhelm, soft marriage vibes, denial, reader in her "i’m fine" era, jack in his "no you're not" era, smut (married, emotionally grounded), pregnancy, food/scent aversion, mild mention of nausea

words : 3,144

You’ve been married to Jack Abbot for thirteen months and a week—but the two of you have been together for four years.

And somehow, you’re still learning him.

Still adjusting to the way he folds his t-shirts into perfect thirds. Still moving his boots away from the front door, even though he always leaves them there. Still catching the way he’ll wait until the lights are off, the blankets pulled up, and then remember one more thing he has to tell you.

You know his rhythms. His moods. The way he kisses you a little differently when he’s worried but won’t say it out loud.

What you sometimes forget is that Jack’s job never really ends—he never really clocks out.

He’s an ER doctor. Which means he’s always watching. Always reading. Always two steps ahead of a problem you haven’t realized is there.

MONDAY – The Morning Slips

The light’s already different when you open your eyes.

Softer. Higher.

You blink at the ceiling, then at the clock.

7:08.

Your breath catches. “Jack?”

You sit up in a rush—sweats and a worn old shirt clinging from sleep—and nearly trip getting out of bed. He’s not next to you. Your alarm isn’t ringing. Your phone is somehow still on Do Not Disturb.

“Jack?”

“Kitchen,” he calls back, voice calm.

You shuffle into the hallway, hair barely brushed, already calculating how fast you can get dressed and be out the door. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Jack looks up from the coffee pot. He’s already dressed—scrubs on, ID clipped, stethoscope tucked in his jacket pocket.

“You didn’t even flinch when your alarm went off. I turned it off after the third round.”

You stare at him. “You let me oversleep?”

“You never sleep through your alarm,” he says, stepping toward you with a travel mug in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. “So I figured something was up.”

You groan. “I’ve got Q1 projections due today.”

“I emailed Rhonda. Told her you were running late.”

You blink. “You emailed my boss?”

“She sent back a thumbs up emoji.’”

Your laugh comes out surprised. “She would do that.”

“I made your coffee. It’s in the mug with the chip you like.” He hands it to you. “No cream. You’ve been skipping it lately.”

You frown. “Have I?”

Jack just nods. “You said it tasted too sweet last week.”

You take a sip. Still feels off—but you smile at him anyway.

“Thanks.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead. “Go shower. I laid out your dark gray sweater—the one you like for presentation days. Pants are on the chair.”

You freeze. “You picked out my clothes?”

“Only because I figured you’d be half-asleep and half-angry. I’m avoiding both.”

“You’re a menace,” you say, but it’s soft.

“You married me anyway.”

He brushes your hair back, fingers lingering a second too long at your temple.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Me? I’m great.”

“You’re looking at me weird.”

He shrugs. “I think I’m just impressed.”

“With what?”

“How well I know you.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re smug before 8 a.m.”

“I’ve earned it,” he says, nudging you toward the bedroom. “Go get ready. Your spreadsheet empire awaits.”

Thirty minutes later, as you’re rushing out the door with your laptop bag and still-wet hair, you find a granola bar tucked into your coat pocket.

The one you always forget you like until you’re starving at 10 a.m.

You don’t remember saying anything about needing one.

But Jack knows.

Of course he knows.

TUESDAY – Heels and Sore Feet

When you come through the door, Jack’s already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, dish towel slung over his shoulder like he’s been home a little while—but not long enough to fully settle.

You kick off your work shoes in the entryway, wincing slightly as you press your toes into the hardwood. “Remind me again why I thought real leather heels were a good investment.”

Jack leans back from the sink and tilts his head toward you. “Because they were on clearance and you were feeling powerful.”

“Right.” You flex your feet. “Power comes at a cost.”

“Come here.”

You shuffle toward him, dropping your tote bag by the counter. He doesn’t kiss you yet—just takes your hand and guides you to sit at one of the stools. Then he crouches, gently lifting your foot into his lap.

“Jack,” you laugh, “you do not need to—”

He starts massaging your arch with his thumb, firm and slow. “You’ve been on these all day. Let me.”

You lean back with a sigh. “This is how you trap me. You pretend to do the dishes, then you pamper me into silence.”

He smiles but doesn’t look up. “Worked yesterday.”

You wiggle your toes and close your eyes. “Feels so good it’s kind of criminal.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

He glances up just once—and clocks the light puffiness in your ankles.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just moves to your other foot.

After dinner—simple roasted veggies and couscous, eaten off the same two mismatched plates you’ve had since your first apartment—he walks behind you and wraps his arms around your waist while you’re rinsing your glass.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says into your shoulder.

“Just thinking about that ridiculous Excel model I have to finish.”

He kisses your hair. “Take tomorrow slow if you can.”

You nod, but your hand rests gently over his where it sits across your middle.

You don’t notice it.

Jack does.

He says nothing.

WEDNESDAY – The Bloat Debate

You’re standing in front of the hallway mirror, poking at your stomach with the kind of exaggerated annoyance only someone married can safely get away with.

Jack walks by on his way to the bedroom, dressed down in sweatpants and a t-shirt, pausing when he sees your face in the reflection.

“You good?” he asks, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You sigh dramatically. “I look like I swallowed a beach ball.”

Jack walks up behind you, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “A small one, maybe. Like a decorative beach ball.”

You shoot him a sharp look. “Jack.”

He holds up both hands. “Hey. You brought it up.”

“I said I feel bloated. I didn’t ask for live commentary.”

He smiles and wraps his arms loosely around your waist, hands resting over the area you were just inspecting. “You’re the one poking yourself like a Pillsbury commercial.”

You snort. “I’m serious. None of my pants fit right this week. I sat down today and my waistband tried to fight me.”

“You’ve been eating the same stuff. Drinking water?”

“Barely. Work’s been insane.”

He kisses your temple. “Could be stress. Could be timing. Or maybe your body’s still sorting through Monday night’s gourmet masterpiece.”

You squint at him. “What masterpiece?”

“The one where you ate dill pickles, white cheddar popcorn, and two spoonfuls of peanut butter. In that order.”

You pause. “…It hit the spot.”

Jack grins. “Sure it did. My stomach was scared just watching.”

“You didn’t stop me.”

“I was afraid to interfere.”

You smirk. “You should be.”

He grins. “Noted.”

You shake your head, laughing, then rest your hands over his. “You sure it doesn’t look like anything?”

Jack doesn’t answer right away.

Because it does.

Not in a dramatic way. But he knows your shape. Your weight. The way your body settles against his at night. And lately, something’s… shifted.

Still, he kisses your shoulder and says simply, “You’re still the best thing I’ve ever looked at.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back into him. “Suck-up.”

He hugs you tighter. “Only for you.”

THURSDAY – The Blanket Negotiation

You’re on the couch by the time Jack gets home—already in pajamas, legs tucked under you, remote in hand, a bag of sour candy opened beside a half-finished cup of tea.

He walks in, shrugs out of his coat, and takes in the scene like a man walking into a painting he’s seen every day for four years and still isn’t over.

“You started without me,” he says.

“You’re twenty minutes late. Statute of limitations has passed.”

Jack walks over, leans down to kiss you, and pauses.

He looks at the bag of sour candy. Then the tea. Then back at you.

“That combo feels… bold.”

You shrug. “It’s balance. My body wanted chaos and comfort.”

He slides onto the couch beside you. “Didn’t you say your grilled cheese was ‘too much’ at lunch?

You sigh. “It was aggressive. The cheese had opinions.”

Jack laughs softly. “And now you're chasing it with citrus acid and sleepytime tea.”

You offer him a sour gummy. “Don’t question the system. Just participate.”

He takes one. “Yes, ma’am.”

Jack tries to nudge the blanket to him. You hold your edge tighter. “I got cold first.”

“I just walked in from outside.”

“You’ve got more body heat.”

He squints. “You’re hoarding it.”

“You’re late and you didn’t text. I get blanket privileges and first pick on snacks.”

He laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “I can’t argue with that logic.”

You smirk and finally shift, letting him under the blanket.

Once settled, he rests his hand on your leg—his thumb absently drawing circles near your knee while your attention returns to the screen.

You’re focused on the show.

Jack’s focused on you.

The blanket drapes across your midsection, and he notices the slight pressure you’ve been keeping there all week—how your hand keeps resting just under your ribs like your body’s trying to say something your brain hasn’t caught yet.

He doesn’t bring it up.

Instead, he leans a little closer.

“You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” you mumble. “Just tired. I’ve been tired all week.”

He nods. “You’ve been going hard.”

“I haven’t touched laundry all week. I’m down to mismatched socks and silent prayers.”

Jack smiles softly. “Want me to run a load?”

“You did the last one.”

“I’m on a streak.”

You lean your head on his shoulder. “I married well.”

“You did.”

FRIDAY – The Way You Feel Tonight

It starts when you straddle his hips.

Jack’s back is against the headboard, pillows kicked aside, and you’re already skin-on-skin—his t-shirt discarded on the floor, yours halfway up your ribs. You’re in nothing but underwear, palms on his chest, nails dragging lightly across the sparse hair there.

He watches you like he’s trying to burn the image into memory.

“You sure you’re not too sore from the gym yesterday?” you tease, rolling your hips just enough to make his breath hitch.

“Positive,” he says. “Although if I die right now, I want it on record this was worth it.”

You grin. “Noted.”

His hands slide up your thighs slowly, thumbs pressing into the backs like he’s reading your muscles through the skin. Then his touch goes gentle. Palming. Bracing.

But when they move up to your waist, they stop.

His fingers settle across your lower belly, just under your navel. Familiar territory. But it doesn’t feel quite the same.

The curve is a little firmer. Rounder. Not bloated—different.

You keep moving over him, unaware. His eyes never leave your face.

“You okay?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow.

Jack refocuses. “Yeah. Just... distracted.”

“You can stare later,” you say, lifting your hips to tug your underwear down. “Hands now. Mouth soon.”

“God, I love you,” he mutters.

“Then prove it.”

He flips you onto your back, mouth already at your collarbone, breath warm, kisses slow. He trails one hand between your legs and groans when he finds you wet and ready, slicker than usual.

You pull him down with a hand behind his neck. “Come on.”

But he’s still slow.

Like he’s measuring.

Like he’s trying to feel every millimeter of you, confirm what he already suspects.

You’re tighter. Not tense. Just changed.

You gasp as he eases inside. “Jesus—”

It’s good. So good. His hips rock into you slow, steady, deep. One of your legs hooks over his back, heel pressed to his side, chasing friction.

Every time he hits just right, your hand fists in the sheets. Your moans are breathless, open-mouthed, involuntary.

Jack watches your face like it holds answers. His pace stays smooth, even as you start to beg.

“Jack,” you gasp, eyes fluttering. “Harder.”

He gives you what you want. A little more pressure. A little less space between his body and yours.

You feel full. Stretched. But not uncomfortable.

You feel held.

And when you come—hard, back arching, fingers digging into his shoulder—he follows seconds after, groaning your name into your skin like he’s never said anything truer.

He brushes your hair back, fingertips trailing your temple.

“You’ve been looking at me weird all night,” you murmur.

Jack smiles. “No, I haven’t.”

You lift an eyebrow. “You were studying me.”

“I was watching you.”

“Same thing.”

He doesn’t respond.

He just presses his hand to your stomach again—light, thoughtful, like he’s grounding himself more than anything.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

Jack just smiles.

“I’m already in deep,” he says quietly.

You kiss him once, quick. “Weirdo.”

SATURDAY – The Vendor You Walked Away From

It’s just after noon when you stop by the market. Something normal. Familiar. Something you and Jack do when there’s nowhere else you need to be.

You loop through the vendors casually, fingers brushing the edge of a produce crate, checking for ripeness. Jack keeps pace beside you, a canvas tote slung over one shoulder. He doesn’t say much. He doesn’t have to. He’s just watching the way you move.

You’ve always been precise. Sharp, even in small motions.

But today, there’s hesitation.

You reach for a bunch of mint, fingers brushing the stems—then pause.

Jack notices before you say anything.

You pull your hand back, subtle, and move on to the next table without a word.

At the bakery stall, you order for both of you. Jack takes a bite of the rosemary bread. You don’t touch yours.

He watches you stare at it for a few seconds too long.

“I’ll eat it later,” you say finally, tucking the paper bag into the tote. “Not in the mood right now.”

He doesn’t press. Just nods, and walks with you.

Fifteen minutes later, you pass a vendor handing out samples of honey and cheese—something you’d normally stop for. Your eyes flick over the setup, then move away quickly. Not forced. But intentional.

You keep walking.

Jack stays silent until you’re halfway to the car.

“Did that smell bother you?”

You glance at him. “What?”

“The cheese. You looked at it like it turned your stomach.”

You shake your head. “No. I just didn’t want it.”

He nods once. Doesn’t push.

You unlock the car. He loads the bag in the backseat. You slide into the passenger side and adjust the seatbelt low.

He notices that too.

On the way home, the radio’s low. You’re watching traffic, thumb tapping absently against the console.

Jack glances at your profile once. Then again.

“You’ve been different this week,” he says.

You don’t look at him. “So have you.”

There’s no bite in it. Just quiet truth.

He exhales through his nose. “That’s fair.”

You turn your head finally. “Is there something you’re not saying?”

Jack watches the road. His hands stay steady on the wheel.

“No,” he says after a pause. “You’ll say it first.”

SUNDAY – Three Weeks Late

It’s just after 11. The laundry’s done. The dishwasher’s running. You’ve wiped down the counters twice.

You’re standing at the fridge, pinning up a receipt, when your eyes catch the calendar.

Your stomach dips.

You count the days with your finger—slowly, carefully, like you don’t quite trust yourself.

One. Two. Three—

Three weeks late.

Not five days. Not “I think I skipped one.” Three.

You turn your head toward the living room. Jack’s on the couch, half-sunken into the cushions, phone in hand, scrolling through the news without really reading it. His coffee sits untouched on the table. One leg stretched out, the other—his prosthetic—resting beside him like it always is when he’s home and grounded, the kind of settled comfort only the two of you know by feel.

You don’t mean to say it yet.

But it’s out before you can take it back.

“Jack?”

He looks up instantly. “Yeah?”

You stay by the fridge, fingertips grazing the door like it’s anchoring you.

“I’m... three weeks late.”

There’s a long pause.

Jack doesn’t move right away. Just watches you—quiet, focused, already reading every inch of your face.

Then, calmly, he leans forward.

His movements are familiar: practiced, unfussy. He shifts to the edge of the couch, pulls the prosthetic toward him, and straps it on like he’s done a thousand times—smooth, sure, muscle memory in every motion.

You don’t speak. Just watch him move through it with the same quiet purpose he’s carried through every hard season of your life together.

When he stands, it’s quiet—just the familiar click of the prosthetic locking in and the muted slide of his socked foot across the hardwood.

He crosses to you without hurry.

When he stops in front of you, his voice is low. Certain.

“Do you want to take a test?”

You nod.

“I don’t have one.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, you do.”

You blink.

“Top drawer,” he says simply. “I bought one Monday.”

You stare at him. “You—what?”

Jack shrugs. “I figured you’d see it when you were ready.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You’re not even a little surprised?”

He steps closer, voice low, steady. “You’ve been different. Not in a bad way—just… off your rhythm. You’ve been switching between hoodies in the middle of the day like none of them fit right. You keep standing at the fridge and forgetting what you opened it for. And your leftover curry—the one you swore was better the second day? You didn’t even take a bite.”

You stare at him. “You kept track of all of that?”

“I love you. I notice you.”

You go quiet.

Then reach for his hand.

“Come with me?”

“Of course.”

You sit on the bathroom counter while the test processes. Jack stands beside you, leaning against the sink. Neither of you talk. There’s nothing left to say.

You both look down at the result at the same time.

Positive.

You exhale like it’s the first full breath you’ve taken all week.

Jack rests his hand gently on the counter behind you—not pushing, just there.

Your voice breaks the silence.

“We’re really doing this.”

Jack nods. “We already are.”

You smile—small, but it stays.

And Jack leans in, brushing a kiss to your temple like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done.