#is this a fic. a hc. or an imagine

[killerpancakeburger]

Imagine: Ghost giving you the shovel talk after Soap and you made your relationship official

It's the evening, you two are smoking outside in companionable silence, taking in the star-spangled sky. Suddenly his voice pulls you out of your daydreaming.

"So... you n' Johnny, eh?”

You feel an ominous shiver run down your spine - you do not like the turn this conversation is taking. His tone is steady, like it usually is, but it means nothing when that specter is involved. He could be slicing a throat and his voice wouldn't waver a iota.

If there was anything you learned about The infamous Ghost, in the absence of his identity and the face beneath the mask, it was that the names he used for the people he considered his family were anything but random. Soap was the most common way he refered to his Sergeant, but a Johnny could slip here and there. "Johnny" was personal; intimate; vulnerable; and possessive all at once. Not in the way an insecure lover would act - although...? Maybe...? -, but in the way a pack member would bare his fangs at a newcomer to protect his mates.

There was something animalistic buried within him that would resurface from time to time, when the risk was too great, when the survival of the 141 or of any of its members was jeopardized. Something you would not risk to vex. Simon was extremely protective behind closed doors, it wasn’t a scoop, but you thought yourself safe from his fangs... or at least you did until now.

"Yeah?"

How you hate the interrogation in your voice. As if you were seeking his permission. Like a child knowing they're asking for too much but doing it anyway.

You busy yourself with your cigarette, trying to look unfazed.

"He may sound like a fuckin' playboy most of the times, but he's actually a sensible kinda fella. Doesn't go around givin' his heart to just anyone, y'know?"

You gulp. Take a deep breath. The only way out is through. Might as well be done with it.

"So, is this the part where you swear that no one will ever find my body if I hurt him?"

You're proud of how casual you managed to sound.

He actually chuckles at that. A relaxed, raspy, unbothered kind of sound. Maybe you will walk away with your life tonight after all.

"Got it all figured out, don't ya? But that's good. Saves us some time."

He tosses his cigarette and, for the first time since you’ve been outside, he turns to you and look you in the eye. His stare is as intense as ever.

"We're in agreement, then? Ya'll treat mah boy well?"

"Wouldn't dream of anything else."

"Good lass."

A pause, then:

"This works both way, y'know that, right?"

"Hmm?"

Too busy celebrating your escape from the valley of the shadow of death, you haven't been completely paying attention.

"If he gives ya trouble, I'll knock some sense into that thick head of his."

You look at him again, your face beaming and your chest tingling with a newfound joy.

"Thank you."

You smile, unable to stop the motion of your lips. Your gratefulness is not for the threat he proclaimed, but for the friendship he extends to you.

He doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.

Suddenly a burly arm wraps around your neck.

"What were ya guys talkin' about!? You’ve been there for ages." Pouts Soap.

Glancing over at Ghost, you can see that Johnny has tried to grab him by the neck too, with a lukewarm success, considering the height difference between the two of them.

"Nothin' ye need to concern yerself with", retorts Simon, lying as easily as he breathes.

As Johnny turns to you in hopes of finding an easier target that will confess everything, you nearly miss the conspiratorial wink Ghost sends your way. The action is so far removed from his usual character, you understand that the discrepancy is made to amuse you. So you giggle.

Tonight the sky is full of stars, and your heart full of bliss, the way you feel like your chest might burst with happiness at any moment, with those two men at your side.

A/N: Platonic!Reader x Ghost my beloved 😫 🖤 Tried to make Ghost the less OOC as possible, as usual >_< but man its not a walk in the fookin park.

Trouple potential tho? 👀 sorry not sorry, I can't help it, I love the ambiguity...

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Sweet Like Chocolate (Venom Drabble)

Eddie/Venom x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: Venom's enjoys it when you're his host.

CW: fluff, making fun of Eddie

Venom Tag List: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

WE ARE NOT A BABY.

You tut and continue about making Venom’s tater tots. It hadn’t really been a genuine thought. It’s just that when you and Eddie trade Venom between you like parents trading a toddler for alone time, it kind of felt that way at times. Not that you were complaining, of course. Any time with Venom piggybacking in your head was time well spent in your own personal opinion. 

It was just a shame that you weren’t a better match. Then he could come around with you more often. But no, that was Eddie’s responsibility, it would seem. 

“I know, V- you know how human brains work. Thoughts just pop in unannounced.” 

I WILL ALLOW IT.

 

You chuckle and pour yourself a glass of wine. A tendril of Venom’s form spreads from your back to put the wine bottle away for you, and you thank him kindly. Checking the timer on the tots, you frown. They were going to be at least another fifteen minutes. 

“What do you want to do tonight, V?” You ask, plopping down on the lounge chair and taking a sip. 

WE WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU. 

You smile softly, and Venom chuckles in your brain in response. That took some getting used to, actually, hearing someone laugh in your mind. But like all things, you acclimated. 

“We’re doing that, buddy,” you reply. 

YOU ARE FAR NICER THAN EDDIE. EDDIE IS MEAN. 

You take another swig of your wine and flick the TV on quietly, flipping through to get to Venom’s favourite channel. 

“How do you mean? Eddie’s a sweetie deep down,” you respond, finally finding the channel and putting the subtitles on for yourself. Eddie was always a sweetie. It was just that he was a bit gruff. Venom grunts. 

EDDIE’S AN ASSHOLE. 

You hear the bathroom door creak open and turn around, seeing Venom’s tendril rooting around in there for something. You don’t question it further than that, knowing that whatever he’s looking for will be found. 

You’re proven correct when the tendril returns with your hairbrush. You dutifully fluff your hair out from the neck of your cardigan for Venom, who hums appreciatively and begins to brush at your hair. 

It’s something he likes to do for you. You’re not sure whether it’s because he enjoys the sensation himself, or whether it’s something he does for you. It could be both, all things considered. Your eyes flutter shut, and you lose yourself in the motions for a few minutes. 

“He can be an ass,” you finally acquiesce. “But he means well.” 

Venom’s head materialises from over your shoulder and faces you. His tendril pauses its ministrations in your hair for a moment, and he appears thoughtful. 

“I suppose,” Venom replies. “We prefer you. Prettier host.” 

You flush pink and brush a hand over Venom’s cheek. Or what would be his cheek, you supposed? 

“You’re a sweet thing, V.” 

Venom nods, ripples of his skin flowing over his form. 

“Like chocolate, yes?” 

You laugh and make to get up when the timer for the tater tots goes off. 

“Like chocolate.”

[ddejavvu]

more best friend james with no boundaries headcanons please 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽 like sirius and remus definitely side eye the two of you but they don’t ever make it noticeable 🫢 they’re just waiting for the two of you to finally get together 😵‍💫 like james definitely rests his hands in between your thighs when he’s cold and remus is always muttering to sirius how that is definitely not best friend behaviour

Sirius and Remus stop in tandem, beat up shoes stomping to a halt in the middle of the floor. It would be comical if their gazes weren't so scrutinizing and judgmental towards you where you're curled up in James's bed.

"Are we interrupting something?" Remus raises a brow at you where you lay pressed to James's chest, his hands wrapped around your waist and tucked into the space between your thighs. He'd been griping about the chill of the air against his hands after realizing they wouldn't stay tucked into the sleeves of his sweater, so when he'd pried your thighs apart to slip his hands between them, you'd let him get his fill of your body heat.

"Jus' the most boring book I've ever read," James drawls, popping his head lazily off of the pillow to stare at his friends, "Don't even know why she reads this shit, anyways."

"I read it because I like it," You hum, used to James's disdain of your more 'boring' (read: not dangerous, reckless, or foolish) hobbies, "But I'm more curious as to why you read it over my shoulder, James, if it's so boring and awful."

"Not much choice," He reasons, but you both know he could shut his eyes if he wanted to be free from your novel, and you squeeze your thighs together in hopes of pressing his hands painfully together as a reprimand.

James makes a sort of stunted groan as his knuckles scrape painfully together, but when you release your grip, he doesn't pull away. He merely settles his head back against the pillow, eyes sneakily roving over the page you're reading.

"Remus, a word." Sirius grabs the man by his right scarred hand, tugging him towards the closet. They disappear inside together, and when the door shuts behind them, and Sirius manages to swat the sleeve of his leather jacket out of his face, he stares at Remus with wide, urgent eyes.

"Did you see that?" Sirius gawps, as if maybe Remus hadn't noticed James's hands resting inches from your core, "That is not normal friend behavior?"

"I bet two galleons they kiss within the month," Remus wagers with a smirk on his face, and the expression is contagious where it transfers to Sirius right away.

"Within the week," Sirius solidifies his stance, holding a hand out for Remus to shake, "You've got a deal, Moony."

--

The moment the closet door shuts behind Remus and Sirius, you crane your neck to look backwards at James.

"They're not even trying to hide it anymore," You breathe, keeping your voice low so that the two boys can't hear you, "What do you think they're doing in there?"

"Kissing, probably," James snorts, "Pulling someone into a closet by the hand is not normal friend behavior."

"When are they just gonna give it up?" You scoff, twisting back around to resume reading, "They're so obvious."

"Dunno, love." James hums, leaning forwards to press a kiss to your shoulder where your tank top has slid off of the skin there. He readjusts his hands between your thighs, nestling them imperceptibly closer to your heated core, "Some people are just oblivious."

[rafesmuse]

rafe cameron’s rich and confident baddie!gf hcs ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

moodboard . outfits . masterlist . jj version .

ꨄ︎ rafe usually goes for sweet submissive girls, since he likes to have control, but the moment you laid your eyes on the pretty boy, you knew you had to have him. and as usual, you always get what you want.

ꨄ︎ all eyes are focused on you when you both enter a room, rafe simply being your accessory as your louboutin heels clack on the ground, head held high with your make up, nails and hair perfectly done.

ꨄ︎ rafe used to get lots of attention from girls before, but now that you’re dating him? girls don’t even dare to look his way because of your intimidating aura. if they were stupid enough to still flirt with him, then you’d have no problem putting the bitch in her place. “listen, yeah? you better go flirt with topper or kelce or whoever the fuck, cause trust me, you don’t wanna know what happens when my girlfriend finds out.”

ꨄ︎ you secretly pay the bill at a restaurant when rafe’s at the bathroom, a trick he used on his previous girlfriends. he comes back to the table, pulling his wallet out before you place your hand over it with a smile, telling him it’s already been paid. “oh for fucks sake. you really gotta stop that, a’ight?”

ꨄ︎ it’s always a battle for dominance in the bedroom, rafe desperately wanting to have all the control but you not letting him have it easily. one time he accidentally slipped out a ‘mommy’, which you’ve never let go of ever since. “i never fucking said that, okay? you heard it wrong!”

ꨄ︎ topper and kelce constantly tease rafe for being your bitch but not daring to say a word when you’re around, their demeanour instantly shifting when you walk into the room, making rafe smirk as he looks at you proudly. “not much to say now, top? yeah, that’s what i thought.”

ꨄ︎ you have no trouble confronting ward whenever he treats rafe unfairly. ward was taken aback at first, not being used to rafe’s girlfriends talking back at him, making his eyes widen and almost choke on his expensive wine. later, he realised you’re exactly the kind of girl rafe needed this whole time.

ꨄ︎ you’re the centre of attention at parties— your hips swinging to the beat when you’re dancing with your girlfriends, your short dress leaving little room for imagination. you’d try to drag rafe to the dance floor, interrupting him when he’s busy dealing drugs, but knowing he won’t ever say no to you. “jesus, just fucking leave me a— i mean. i’ll… i’ll be there in a bit, okay?”

[tojipie]

prison bf series linked here !

content: violence, injury, blood, incarceration

˚ ✧ ───────────

prison bf ! toji who beats the shit out of other inmates to have more time on the commissary phone with you, pocketing loose change from his bunkmates to use on your weekly calls.

“this is an automated message from the tokyo prefecture rehabilitative penitentiary, to accept, pres—“

“hey pretty girl.” the bass of his voice sends a tremor up the length of your spine. you can already picture his bulky form leaning up against the brick walls of the prison mess hall.

“hi toji.” you giggle, swinging your legs behind you with glee. “did you get my package?”

“course i got your package.” he laughs, slipping a hand into his pocket to fiddle with the trio of polaroids you’d slipped into the letter. “guards gave me a ton of shit for it though.”

“aww i’m sorry.” you mumble, feeling guilty for the trouble.

“nah, don’t worry about it baby.” he laughs, shifting to looking through the candids you sent of your sweet smile.

“did you end u—”

“wrap it up fushiguro i need to call my fucking lawyer!”

the crunch you hear through the receiver is nothing short of sickening. it’s a while before the older man brings the phone back to his mouth, mumbling incoherently to himself.

“—blood on my fucking hands… hello?”

“i’m here toji.” you say, listening intently to the sound of shrill guard whistles blowing in the background. “do you have to go?”

“you know how it is babydoll.” he says apologetically. you cant help but squeeze your thighs together at how soft he can be with you, even with blood splattered across his knuckles and a room full of men who fear him.

“you’ll visit me this week right?” he asks, wiping his hands on the front of his wifebeater.

“mhm, i’m driving up tomorrow! you want me to bring you anything special?”

“you uhh, still got those chips i like at home?”

“you know i do.”

“that’s my girl.” he laughs, hanging the phone back up on the hook.

[bruisedboys]

remus who needs to make eye contact with reader when talking bc she has his full attention but she tries averting her gaze and he’s Tall so he does that thing where he bends his head down/chases her eyes so they maintain contact

ugh this!!!!!!!! he definitely does this, so hot of him honestly. I didn’t do justice to your idea at all but I gave it a shot!!!

rockstar!remus lupin x fem!reader

Remus gets off stage and he’s somehow a billion times hotter than he was two hours ago. It’s cruel. He’s the kind of handsome that begs to be looked at. You don’t blame his screaming fans. Not when you’d definitely be one of them if it weren’t for your lucky position of the bassists girlfriend.

“Hey,” Remus says, slinging his bass over his shoulder as he jogs towards you. His headset dangles around his neck, makeup smudged under his eyes and his hair in disarray, and yet he heads straight for you, brushing away a couple of techies who try to wave him down. He comes to a halt in front of you, still buzzing with onstage energy. “Can I hug you?”

“Yeah,” you nod, breathless and he’s only said a few words. He’s so handsome you can’t think straight. He hugs you hard, and you don’t even care that he’s sweating buckets. His arms cage you, strong and heavy, and he smells like sweat and musk, his cologne subtle but heady.

“You played amazing,” you tell him as his hands roam your back, one between your shoulder blades and another at the small of your back, pressing you in.

Remus pulls back, hot hands sliding to hold you by the shoulders. He squeezes you, calloused thumbs at your collar. He’s smiling so big you’re sure his cheeks hurt. “

“Cause I had my lucky charm,” he says, chucking you under the chin. “I’m so glad you came, pretty girl.”

Heat flares behind your cheeks. You can’t believe he’s real, can’t believe he’s this handsome and calling you pretty and telling you he’s glad you came to his show. As if you’d ever even think about being anywhere else tonight but here. You dip your head so you don’t have to look at his handsome face, opting instead for the dirty backstage floor.

“I’m glad I came too,” you mumble, toeing a rogue piece of confetti with the tip of your shoe.

Remus follows you down, bending to your height and tilting his head up so you’re forced to look him in the eyes. He’s gorgeous and he’s lovely and he’s so close you could kiss him.

“What did you say, sweetheart?” He asks, lips quirked, his mouth so close that his warm breath fans over your lips. “Can’t hear you when you get all shy like that.”

You groan. He’s awful. “I’m not shy,” you protest, though you are, especially with him. You stick your chin out in a show of fake confidence. “I said I’m glad I came too.”

Remus’ grins and thumbs your jaw, then cards a hand through his messy, sweaty hair. “Mm, I bet you are, sweetheart.”

You know he’s teasing. You don’t mind it as much as you should.

[strange-birb]

Cough*

Jason’s design……

Next time I’m going to go ham with platforms on him like 👀

Not really a design I app for him. I feel like he’s not gonna go all out he’s just vibing idk. He set the makeup being the most prominent thing. His theme is dead boi

He does actually have the scars but I figure paint them all glowey and no one questions it?

He has fun being the zombie on stage and watching his family squirm when they see him in all the makeup lol

Blue lips cold skin wrecked fingernails

Bruce would have an attack 🤣

I don’t really know what to do with Jason’s designs and I’m open to any ideas fr

Official secret band AU!!!

Steph is drummer. Tim singer. Jason guitarist

I’m debating adding another but it won’t be batfam 🤷‍♀️

[appocalipse]

that guy ⊹ steve harrington

summary: After he's been to yet another failed date with yet another random pretty girl, Steve Harrington, your best friend, stops by at the diner your family owns for a late-night chat, same as he'd done a thousand times before. Steve is totally unaware of how much he's hurting you with his endless parade of dates, because after all — the two of you are only friends and nothing more, right? It's not like you have any secret feelings for him… | 2.6k words

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

The moment Steve steps through the glass doors of the diner, you wonder, for about the millionth time that month alone, what is it that you've done so wrong to deserve this kind of punishment.

It's Friday night, and on Friday nights, Steve Harrington goes on dates. It's just like clockwork, really: he meets a pretty girl, thinks she's the one, takes her out on a date, realizes quickly enough that she isn't quite what he was looking for, then comes here after having dropped her back home to sulk with you, in the diner that your family runs, still clad in the outfit he'd chosen especially for his failed date.

To be honest, he never looks sad, per se — more like disappointed. Frustrated, maybe.

You watch as he weaves around tables occupied by laughing friends, past booths filled with couples sharing desserts, then slides into a seat in front of you at the bar. Steve sits down with an exhausted sigh, ruffling up his hair before shooting you a tired smile.

"Hi."

You don't look up from where you're polishing the counter. "Bad date again?"

"Not even close. She talked about horses non-stop."

A quiet laugh slips past your lips despite yourself, and finally, you tear your gaze off the dark wooden surface of the counter to look up at him; he's got this pleased little smile on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly in the way they always do whenever he succeeds at making you laugh, even if just a little.

How are you supposed to keep acting like nothing's wrong when he looks at you like that?

You clear your throat awkwardly and make yourself busy stacking clean glasses next to the coffee machine.

"So...not the one, I take it?"

Steve leans forward against the counter and props his head up with his hand, sighing deeply.

"I'm starting to think she won't ever show up," he says quietly, running his other hand through his hair. You chance another glance at him and note how genuinely worried he looks. It breaks your heart almost as much as it annoys you. "What is it that's wrong with me, huh? I just don't get it."

"Nothing is wrong with you."

"You don't need to be nice to me. We've been friends since forever, remember?"

The word 'friends' makes you wince a little bit inside, but you hide the reaction behind a neutral frown. "Do you think there's something wrong with me? Because I haven't found the one yet either, you know."

Steve's expression softens as he looks at you, and once again you feel that horrible twinge in your stomach that you wish would just stop already.

"It's different. I mean—you're not actively trying to find someone." He reaches out to pull one of the half-melted mints out from the glass bowl on the counter and pops it into his mouth with a shrug. "I go out looking for her and she just doesn't come. If she even exists, that is."

"She does."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I wouldn't hold my breath. God, why am I such an idiot, y'know?" Steve slumps over the counter with a groan, burying his face into his crossed arms. "My love life is a trainwreck."

"At least you have one."

He glances up at you curiously and lifts an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Forget it. Do you want some pie?"

You're not about to tell him what you've only admitted to yourself mere months ago — that you're actually hopelessly, madly, stupidly in love with him, and that you have been ever since the two of you were just dumb kids racing around your parents' diner.

What makes it even worse is that you had no idea your feelings went that deep until Steve started going on these dates of his again. Before then, everything was normal — you met up every weekend and binged on candy, watched bad movies on your couch, drove around town together blasting The Clash on his BMW's speakers...it was good.

Until it wasn't.

"Wait, c'mon, you can't just leave me hanging like that," Steve presses. He shifts a little on his stool to better face you, then gestures at you with his hands. "You've clearly got something you wanna say, so, like—hit me. Lay it on me."

"Nothing. I'm just saying...at least you're trying, you know," you say carefully, measuring each word before speaking them. "And at least you're the one doing the rejecting. Could be worse."

Steve's eyebrows rise high up on his forehead and he looks at you incredulously. "Whoa, wait—are you trying to tell me you've been rejected?"

You busy yourself by filling two tall glasses with soda, then slide one to his side of the counter and keep the other for yourself. "Uh...kind of, yeah. But it's fine."

"But who the hell would even do that?" he blurts out. There's anger in his voice all of a sudden, a defensive fire in his eyes that makes you feel as if someone has punched you in the gut. "To you? You're like, the nicest person on the planet, and super pretty to boot. That's just—that's crazy!"

Your heart gives a violent little jump in your chest. He thinks you're pretty. Steve Harrington thinks you're pretty.

Pretty as a friend, you correct yourself immediately, and sigh as you sip your drink. Of course, it's nothing more than that — just meaningless words spoken in a moment of unthinking kindness.

"Seriously, who?" he presses on. "Give me a name. I'll fight him."

"You mean like you fought Jonathan Byers?" you smile behind your glass, looking at him from over its rim.

Steve looks embarrassed at the memory and drops his gaze for a second or two before meeting your eyes again with a playful little smile of his own. "Different situation, okay, but that's not the point. So? Who's the guy?"

"You...don't know him," you hedge.

"It's Hawkins. I know the stray cats here by name."

"Fine, well, even if you did know him, it doesn't matter. He didn't reject me, exactly...not really."

Steve frowns a little. "Okay, you're gonna have to start making sense now. This is hurting my head."

The funny thing is, he actually looks confused, as if he can't possibly fathom the idea of someone rejecting you. It's sweet, really — way too sweet for your liking, especially when you know fully well he doesn't see you in the way you'd want him to.

You lower your gaze to avoid his and instead focus on drawing random shapes on the counter with your index finger, where tiny droplets of condensation from your glass have pooled up on the dark wood. "I mean, I never really told him how I felt. Not directly. It just…never happened."

"Oh. Well, then how do you even know if he feels the same way?" he asks you, looking rather doubtful.

You steal another glance at him and almost regret it instantly. His eyes are trained on your face, patient and attentive like you're the only thing worth watching in the world. It makes you feel horribly small and selfish and guilty, because after all, what right do you have to want him when he so clearly wants someone else?

You feel like you could cry. You might, if you don't distract yourself with something fast enough.

"I just know. Do you want some pie? I'll go get you some pie."

Without waiting for a response, you rush off to the kitchen even though there's plenty of pies sitting on the display counter at the bar, and you make a beeline straight for the back exit.

The alley behind the diner is blissfully empty as usual, just a lonely dumpster and a handful of sad-looking shrubs and weeds peeking out from under the concrete.

No, you aren't going to cry.

This is stupid.

You press your back against the rough brick wall of the diner and breathe in deep the warm night air, then exhale slowly as you count to ten in your head.

When the door opens behind you and the diner's familiar chatter and clatter of cutlery spill into the alley, you wince, mentally cursing yourself for being so goddamn weak. You should have known better.

You don't have to look up to know that it's him.

"Are you hiding from me?" Steve's voice comes, quiet and curious and maybe just a little bit hurt, even.

"I got...suddenly nauseous," you explain weakly, still refusing to look up and meet his eyes.

There's a long stretch of silence, and you feel Steve move closer to you until he's leaning against the wall by your side. You finally look up and find him smiling, this gentle, amused little thing that makes your traitorous heart skip a beat.

"You look just fine to me."

You stare up at the sky, head against the wall. "I thought I was gonna throw up."

He's still watching you, you can tell; you're keenly aware of his eyes on you, so much so that your skin prickles at the attention. "No, you didn't."

"No, I didn't," you admit with a sigh, and turn your head to finally look at him. He's got this little half-smile on his lips, the very same one you fell for years ago, and you curse yourself silently for never learning how to let him go. Really let him go.

"Hey. Listen. You don't have to tell me, okay?" Steve says gently, pushing himself off the wall to step closer to you. He brings his hand up to your face and tucks a loose lock of hair behind your ear, letting his fingertips linger on the edge of your jaw for the briefest of moments, just long enough for you to wonder whether he knows what he's doing to you.

You don't dare to move. You're afraid of breaking whatever spell has seemingly come over him.

"I should've never asked. That was selfish."

"Forget it," you say.

He's standing close now, close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to be able to look up at him properly. There's a strange kind of tension in his eyes, something dark and unsure and tentative, and his gaze darts down to your lips just the slightest bit.

You're fairly sure you're just seeing what you want to see, your foolish heart playing tricks on you. But you panic nonetheless, feeling a sudden, irrational fear that if he moves any closer, he'll realize the truth — that you're a liar and a coward, that you've been harboring these feelings of yours for him for years.

"I should—I should go. Back inside," you mutter, pointing vaguely at the door with your thumb. "In there."

"Sure, yeah. Okay. In there," he echoes, not making a single move to leave. "Not out here."

"Yup. Exactly. In there."

"So you said."

"Yep."

The wall of the diner is digging into your spine uncomfortably, and your mouth is dry, and your knees feel weak, and your stomach is doing somersaults, and the longer he stares at you with those eyes of his the more you feel like you're burning from the inside out and—

He's not moving. All he does is look at you, really look at you, as if it's the first time he's really looked, as if he's seeing something that wasn't there before.

"Okay, so—"

You try to push past him towards the door, but Steve grabs your arm, making you stop dead in your tracks. He lets go as soon as you look up at him, lifting his hand in front of him in an apologetic gesture.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," he says. He swallows hard and rubs his palm on the front of his jeans, a nervous little habit you think he's always had. He runs his hand through his hair, mussing up the carefully gelled strands, and it's probably the first time you've ever seen him look so flustered.

He laughs nervously and gestures at the ground with his hands as he speaks. "Look, this is just—this is just crazy, okay, but I think I, uh, maybe sort of realized something."

You blink at him, not quite certain you're hearing him correctly.

"Realized what?" you ask, the words barely more than a whisper.

Steve clears his throat and nods at you, seemingly pleased that you've finally spoken. "Yeah, well, this is stupid, but you know how you're always telling me to listen to my gut?"

"You're not making a whole lot of sense right now, Steve."

"Just bear with me for a sec, okay? This is like, totally new to me." He holds his palms up, and you notice his hands are shaking a little. "I just need a minute, alright?"

He breathes in deep and exhales slowly, then shoots you an apologetic look.

"Sorry, this is just...really weird," he confesses. "Weirdly real."

"You're freaking me out," you tell him, but Steve only smiles at you.

"Maybe I should just show you. Because, I mean, what if I'm wrong? That'd be terrible, obviously."

"Steve."

"Yeah, I know, but hear me out, okay?" he says quickly, and takes another step closer. You stand your ground this time, if only because you don't trust yourself to actually move without your legs giving out. "So, look. Here's the thing. You're, like—you're one of the most important people in my life. You've been there for me when nobody else was, and I...you mean a lot to me."

"Steve—"

"Shut up, you're ruining the moment."

He takes another step forward until he's crowding you against the wall, hand coming to rest next to your head on the brick. He's close, so close that you can smell the scent of his cologne and shampoo and laundry detergent, and if you were to lean in even the slightest bit, your faces would bump.

Steve is a little out of breath, his lips parted ever so slightly. And he's still looking at you with that strange, searching expression of his.

"Is this okay?" he whispers.

"I don't—what?"

Your voice catches in your throat. There's no room for doubt in his eyes now, not even the tiniest, slightest sliver of uncertainty left.

"This," Steve murmurs.

He tilts his head to the side a little and leans in until you're sure your noses are touching, and you feel your eyes slip closed in anticipation.

"Is this okay?" he repeats in a whisper. "Please tell me I'm not crazy."

"I think I am."

His lips brush yours. It feels like an accident, doesn't last long enough to be anything but a dream. You can still taste the faint, sweet trace of sugar and mint on your tongue when he pulls away, though.

"Just to be clear," Steve whispers, his fingers brushing lightly over the skin of your neck, tracing invisible lines that make you shiver, "am I the guy from earlier? The one you like?"

You don't have it in you to deny it anymore.

"Yes. It's you."

A wide grin breaks out across his face, and suddenly he's everywhere; he cups your face in his hands, pressing eager, fervent kisses along the line of your jaw, trailing hot and open-mouthed down the side of your neck.

You giggle helplessly, grabbing Steve by his collar to pull him away from you and up to your eye level. He's breathing just as heavily as you are, his hair messy and his eyes bright.

"How do you do this to me, huh?" he pants, kissing your forehead, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. "You just—you just completely knock me out."

A pleasant little thrill rushes up your spine at that.

"Oh yeah?"

"Completely."

You kiss him this time.

[hana-no-seiiki]

inspired from @luxethehumanva ‘s dream about me lmfao

YANDERE! FEMBOY PRINCE who’s an absolute menace to society. He’s spoiled. Absolutely apathetic to the people beneath him. If anything he revels in the horror he paints on others’s faces.

In short, he’s a brat.

YANDERE! FEMBOY PRINCE who’s only ever ‘nice’ to you and you alone.

YANDERE! FEMBOY PRINCE who forces you to sit on his father’s throne with him on your lap, your face buried on his neck, a hand kneading his thighs as he sentences an entire family to death for gossiping about you.

[marlenesluv]

lando + dealing with his gf after cheating scandals

note: i do not view lando as a cheater in any way, shape, or form. but, amidst the new lando and magui rumors, i thought, “hmmm, what if these rumors circulated while he had a gf, aka reader, and it was because of lando and said gf not being public. so, mclaren needed pr for lando to be responsible, so they told him to go out with magui, EUGH, and yada yada you’ll get it!” also i changed locations and shit for the plot lol.

important note: it’s not okay to hate on magui, don’t do it. i don’t agree with what she’s done, but hate def isn’t the answer, especially with neither she, nor lando, gaf about what we have to say. i just used her since they have pics together so, you can imagine someone else if you’d like. the focus is lando x reader here :)

type: this is a head-cannon, but there’s mixes of smau.

pairing: lando norris x secret!gf!fem

warnings: angst but there’s fluff, dw

۵ being landos secret girlfriend was difficult at times.

۵ when you were alone at your shared house? easy. you could talk as loud as you wanted, cuddle on the couch for hours, you could be a real couple.

۵ but once lando left for the races, it’s like he was a stranger.

۵ you felt like a fan watching her crush on television. not a girlfriend.

۵ a girlfriend would be there, in person, supporting her boyfriend. she would be there in the paddock, just like lily was. watching alex and hugging him after a race. or like rebecca, smiling up at her boyfriend like he put the stars in the sky as he won a race.

۵ but you? you watched your boyfriend from the couch, working and making sure that he hadn’t crashed between emails.

۵ yeah, lando would text you and call you, but that’s not the same. not when all you want to do is be there for him in person.

۵ but you couldn’t. unfortunately, last time lando had a girlfriend they broke up. they broke up because of the fans. lando felt pressured to move quickly with her, and he didn’t really even want to date like that. he just wanted fun at the time.

۵ not with you, though. you were different. he loved you and knew from the second you two met at the bar that you were meant for him. he loved everything about you. and neither of you wanted fans or media to ruin it.

۵ but nothing everything is avoidable. hearts get broken, even when- no, especially when you least expect it.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Liked by: f1wags, f1updates, and 72,194 others

f1wagupdates: update!! lando has been spotted today with magui corceiro in australia after the grand prix! fans saw they saw magui attend the race as well, and now the two and being seen hanging out? do we hear a new wag coming? a new couple?

view comments…

user4: i mean…she’s messy but ok

user1: she’s prettyyyy holy shit

user77: isn’t she friends with kika??

user25: yes!

user3: he doesn’t look happy….

user90: meh

user41: looks forced

user2: my mannnnn

user0: honestly, he needed a new gf. he’s been single foreverrrrr

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

۵ and after those headlines popped up, you were done for.

۵ tears? flowing. tissues? everywhere. landos calls? declined.

۵ you frankly didn’t want to talk to him. the mere idea of him cheating on you made you suck to your stomach.

۵ but maybe it made sense. he wanted a public relationship now…maybe?

۵ lando knew he should have told you. he knew he should have told you that mclaren told him o hangout with her to help pr. to make him seem responsible after the grand prix.

۵ lando knew he fucked up. and after not answering his texts and checking instagram and seeing the gossip posts, he knew why. the tags were insane, and he was stressing.

۵ the only girl he loved didn’t want to talk to him, and he was thousands of miles away.

۵ all because of a stupid pr stunt.

۵ lando booked a flight home as he sent a text to magui:

lando norris: hey, magui. i know this pr thing was supposed to last, but i’m done.

magui: oh…ok?

lando: sorry. can you book a flight for yourself?

magui: i’ll ask kika

magui: tell your girlfriend i’m sorry

lando: ???

magui: you obviously have one, lando. it’s fine. i’m sure she’s beautiful

lando: she is

*lando has blocked this number*

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Liked by: y/n.user, danielricciardo, and 1,925,105 others

landonorris: rumors are lame, so here’s the truth. i have a girlfriend, we’ve been dating for two years, and i love her with every fiber of my being. we’ve kept this relationship private for her safety and to go through everything as a pair, not in-front of the world. unfortunately, rumors spread, and they spread fast. but those rumors stem from mclaren pulling this pr move, one to make people think i was in a relationship to make me seem “responsible and mature.” whatever. i am, by the way. but i am in a relationship, not with magui though. i love you @y/n.user ❤️

view comments…

*only certain profiles can reply to this post*

y/n.user: oh my god. get home so i can smack you and then give you a kiss

landonorris: smack me??

y/n.user: you posted my TOES

oscarpiastri: double dates?

landonorris: well that’ll be thrilling

y/n.user: awwww that’s adorable yes

lilyzneimer: i just need to meet y/n too!!💞

danielricciardo: wow, he finally admits it

carlossainz55: i think everyone knew, mate. but ok!

charles_leclerc: congratulations! alex says she can’t wait to meet y/n!!

savnorris: bring her to christmas this year!!

landonorris: i will, don’t fret

olivernorris1: no one was “fretting”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

۵ lando loved you, and he had to prove it once his plane landed.

۵ cuddles for days, home cooked meals (to his best ability), movie nights, appreciation posts, etc.

۵ you moved on from the incident. you understood, especially after an explaining from zak, along with a run down of paddock rules.

۵ races were fun, you loved going and the fans loved you.

۵ oscar’s girlfriend, lily, was wonderful and you two got along perfect. so talking with her while lando and oscar races was nice.

۵ you weren’t fond of how you got here, but you were fond of being here.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

! ── BABY DADDY!JASON TODD who can't come around more than once or twice a year. His way of life isn't sustainable for a home, and it certainly isn't safe for a daughter. You and him decided it was best to part ways before that positive pregnancy test, and since he discovered a kid he helped make it didn't change his level of involvement. He's got a lot of eyes on him, and he can't draw attention to anything important to him.

! ── Your daughter adores him. She squeals with delight every time he visits, running full barrel towards him so he can scoop her up. Unbeknownst to her your concern with how he found you again, and how he broke in to the apartment. Apparently running and hiding is not enough when you face the Red Hood. You reluctantly greet him with a half-assed kiss on the cheek, wrapping your arm around his neck to incline him towards you. Your daughter on his hip takes full advantage of hugging you both at the same time, and pressed against your former lover makes you tight-lipped.

! ── He's dangerous for a number of reasons that span beyond what any angry enemy of his would do if they found out where he's been going. You're most afraid of what he's able to make you do the longer you're with him. Only able to hold onto your anger for so long until he melts that cold exterior and somehow convinces you to let him warm your bed again.

! ── He's got it down to a science. As soon as you give him that scathing look, he tells your daughter to run along because "Mommy and Daddy have to talk." while she thoughtfully strokes his chin with her little hand, only to nod with an audible sigh, shaking out her wild hair she won't let you brush. With a little push to her back, she scampers off to her room and he stands to his full height. "I just wanted to see her." he tells you, with that pleading tone you've fallen for countlessly because he knows you're going to say: "It's not safe." for the thousandth time.

! ── He'll tower over you, incline towards you while you scold him under your breath. A hushed argument ensues that your daughter tries to listen in on, and can only hear bits and pieces about how she's not owned, and her dad should get to see her. Stuff she doesn't understand, especially because she can't understand his lack of presence being such a complicated thing when she has no sense of object permanence. If a dad refuses to be there more, it's a problem. You want to cut Jason out completely. That's not fair, as he'll tell you, to the daughter you get to keep.

! ── It's in the way he stands next to you. He's so much taller than you, broader, and muscled. He bulks up more and more every time you see him. He doesn't use his size to intimidate you, rather takes advantage of something else. Big hands stuffed in his back pockets make his leather jacket sit on his wide shoulders exquisitely. His hair is windblown from his motorbike and just the smell of him has a dangerous Pavlov effect on you. Like your eyes want to flutter as they roll into the back of your head and lightning shoots straight down to your core, stinging at the memory of what it's like to be filled by him. The longer you're with him, the thinner your resolve becomes. It evaporates in front of you as he sweeps a hand through his hair, and his posture slacks. "C'mon." he drags out the word playfully, advancing on you. Your hand interrupts him, bracing on his firm chest to keep him from coming closer. "Can't we talk about something else? You're getting me all worked up. Missed you."

You roll your jaw, that resolve slipping. Addicted to him, you're reticent as his tongue darts out to wet his lips while he's eyeing yours. "Jay..." you murmur, and he can hear the defeat in your voice.

! ── "Lucky we got a sitter, huh?" Jason's smug voice cuts through the wet sounds of sex that fills the room. "Now I get some time with my other little girl." That sick delight causes you to reach back, weakly banging your fist against his thigh. He snickers, wolfish and husky resounding from the back of his throat. "Mommy's been missing me, huh? Can feel her clenching down on me like a fuckin' vice."

His thick cock hurts stretching you out, but you needed that pain. There's something about Jason that keeps you saying yes, and it pushed through your requirement of foreplay, unbuckling that belt in haste, comfort be damned you wanted that dick. You're on all fours and he's giving it to you from the back, just how you like it, fucking you like a dog while his hand tangles all up in your hair. He yanks you back by it, and you can't even think of what to say other than mindless pleasured babbles.

"You let me do this every time I come over. Seems like you fuck with me or something." It's true, regardless of the cruel insults you've thrown at him to get him to stay away from you, it's all because you can't say no to him. It's the reason you got pregnant, it's the reason you can't run away far enough, and it's the reason you fuck him every time he comes to visit the kid he helped make.

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Is That A Promise? (Venom One-Shot)

Eddie Brock x GN!Reader / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: Telling you about Venom does not go entirely how Eddie planned.

CW: mentions of monster fucking, Eddie is oblivious and a dumbass (I think I have a type)

Venom Tag List: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

You’d known Eddie Brock a good while by this point. You’d started dating him a while back, and while he put others on edge, you’d found the way he talked to himself out loud rather charming, actually. 

At first, you weren’t sure if he was just unmedicated, or undiagnosed. But then the news broke about the symbiote, and then there was the footage. And when Eddie started coming home right after news broke of some other attack or taking out of a bad guy or criminal or whoever, you’d put two and two together. 

It was kind of hard not to. Particularly as his conversations with himself could vary from topic to topic in the span of six words or less.

 

Eddie had asked to meet up for lunch today at your favourite restaurant. He’d seemed a bit off on the phone, and given how prone you were to anxiety, your immediate thought had been that he was breaking up with you and that you’d done something to upset him or his bodily guest- who you did not officially know about, of course. 

You’d gotten there early to prepare yourself for whatever shitshow was about to follow and to your immense surprise, Eddie had shown up pretty much right after you. Eddie was always running late, so this change in pace was also mildly concerning. You were not sure how this was going to go and you did not like that one bit. 

“You’re here early, too,” Eddie had said, swallowing thickly and avoiding eye contact. You nodded, and cleared your throat, gesturing for him to sit down at the table opposite you. 

“Yeah, I wanted to make sure we had a spot,” you replied, smoothing down your shirt. Bit of a nervous habit. That and ripping at your nails, but that was beside the point. 

“Right,” Eddie replied. 

And then the two of you lapsed into silence. You spent a good five to ten minutes appearing to read over the menu as if this wasn’t a regular spot for you and you didn’t know exactly what you were going to order. In fact, you’d be surprised if the cooks weren’t already making it up for you even though a waiter hadn’t come over yet. 

“Shut up,” Eddie hissed quietly. You peered over the menu to eye him curiously, one brow arced in question. 

“I didn’t say anything, Eddie.” 

“Yeah, I know. I- uh, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. You hummed, and put the menu down to give him your attention. 

“About me shutting up?” 

“No- God, this is not going at all like I planned.” Eddie rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. 

You said nothing, waiting patiently for him to work out his wording.

 

“I really like you,” he started, and you nodded, replying with the same sentiment. “And, well, there’s something I’ve been hiding from you.”

 

“Right…” This is where you expected him to tell you he was married (doubtful but not impossible) or had cancer or something terrible. Dear God, please no. 

“Look- you’ve seen on the news, yes, the, uh- the attacks. Yeah?” 

You nod. Ah, so he was finally telling you about his friend living literally rent-free in his body. Okay, you could relax a little. 

“He’s me. Venom, he lives in my body. He’s in my head. Like, all the time. Right now.” 

Eddie looked at the table where he was picking at the tablecloth. You were silent for a second, and Eddie clearly took that to mean you were horrified or disgusted or something. You were a little nervous about it, sure, but you’d also been living with him for the last few months. If Venom was planning to take you out, he would have done so by now, surely. You figured this to mean you were safe enough. You’d also seen your fair share of monster porn, so you weren’t exactly unkeen on the idea of dating someone who sometimes had a monster body. It was kind of hot, actually. You shook the thought out of your head and tried to focus.

“Oh, yeah- I knew about that,” you replied, and the way Eddie’s head snapped towards you was almost comical. 

“You what?”

 

“Yeah, I figured that out a while ago. I was just waiting for you to tell me in your own time.”

 

Eddie blinked, and a black residue appeared on the back of his hand. It swirled and gathered on his hand before reaching for you delicately. You met it, brushing your finger over it softly. The goop (for lack of a better word) seemed to shiver pleasurably and you smiled.

 

“Can I meet him later?” 

Eddie nodded, watching the interaction with disbelief. He’d thought that you’d go running and screaming through the doors or something, not be rubbing your fingers over Venom like you were fingering some Play-Doh. 

“Y-yeah, later,” he agreed. “Not here. When we get home.”

 

You grinned and the black substance retreated back into Eddie’s skin as a waiter appeared by your table. 

“What can I get for you? The regular?” 

You looked at Eddie and clicked your tongue thoughtfully. 

“The usual with a serving of chicken nuggets on the side, please.”

 

The waiter nodded, scribbled it own on his pad and wandered off in the direction of the kitchen. Eddie looked at you in question. He knew you weren’t big on nuggets. 

“They’re for Venom,” you explained, propping your head up on your palm. Eddie looked to the side as if listening to something carefully. 

“Venom says thank you-” Eddie said before cutting himself as Venom said something else in his head. “No, I’m not saying that. No. No.” 

“Say what?”

Eddie sighed defeatedly- something you think he did a lot when it came to Venom. 

“Venom said he could kiss you right now.” Eddie looked mortified as the words left his mouth. You burst into laughter. 

“Is that a threat or a promise? I hope it’s a promise,” you replied, wiggling your eyebrows at the two of them. 

Eddie swallowed thickly and blushed as Venom said something else. You’d have to see if Venom could swap hosts sometime. It would be nice to have a conversation while out and about like that. 

“Promise,” Eddie replied. 

Good.

[ddejavvu]

Can you do a spencer reid with a bau reader who is younger and very atractive and when the bau are coming to see him at his apartment for whatever reason and use the key (derek probably has one ngl) they just find a mess of clothes everywhere and them just asleep together

When they wake up they are like:👀😶

Bau: 😏😏

They're not snooping, per se, but the BAU are profilers by nature, and it's not hard to spot the neon pink bra that's abandoned by the side of Spencer's recliner.

"Uh, I think pretty boy's mom has kinda aged outta stuff like this," Derek holds up the bra by one single strap, indicating the lacy cutouts that leave very little to the imagination, "Unless she's got a boyfriend we don't know about, and Spence let her have his place for the night?"

"Oh, come on, is it so hard to believe Spence has a woman here?" JJ pleads, but when she gets several 'subtle' glances from the rest of her team, she relents with a sigh, "Oh, fine. Maybe it accidentally fell into his basket at the laundromat."

"Spencer doesn't go to the laundromat," Emily recites, "Because he has 'no way to realistically verify that their machines are sanitized within proper health regulations'."

"Oh, dude, that man is a wet blanket," Derek scoffs, "But don't tell him I said that- he'll probably start on a tangent about mildew."

"We should leave," Hotch proposes, standing by the door where he'd been trying to keep up an air of polite disinterest despite his intent glances around the apartment, "His keys are hung up by the door, so I'm sure we're just not getting a response from him because he's sleeping. And if he woke up he'd kill you all for wearing shoes on his carpet, so it's in everyone's best interest to leave."

"Hold on!" Penelope gushes, "I just want to check!"

She creeps towards Spencer's bedroom, but at JJ's insistent, 'Shoes!', she chucks her heels back towards the door. One hits its intended blonde target, but the other whacks Derek in the arm, and Hotch is surprised that the dramatics that ensue don't wake Spencer from where he's presumably sleeping. He's sure Penelope will offer to kiss it better.

Penelope tiptoes towards the bedroom door, peering inside the small gap that he'd left before laying down, and finding a Spencer-sized lump under the covers. She nearly turns when she notices that it's larger than just Spencer-sized, and-

"Ooooh, guys," She rushes back to the living room, voice barely hushed enough not to wake you, "He's got a girl in there!"

Derek's victory fist-pump is accompanied by a whispered, 'My man!', but Emily reaches for a pen that's resting in the breast pocket of her blazer. She takes the bra from where Derek had set it on the arm of the couch, rooting around for a post-it in Spencer's drawer and finding a stack of them neatly tucked into the front-right corner. Typical. Just the way he does it at work.

While Penelope describes how close the two of you were sleeping beside each other- 'not an inch apart, guys, they were totally spooning!' - Emily scrawls a neat message on the post-it, dotting the I with a heart.

'Congratulations, Spencer and Mystery Girl!' She writes, leaving the sticky note over the lingerie that she sets on his countertop, 'Tell him to bring you around the office sometime soon - your bra is gorgeous, I need to know where you got it ~ Prentiss <3'

[rafesmuse]

jj maybank’s hot and confident baddie!gf hcs ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

navigation . outfits . masterlist . rafe version .

ꨄ︎ this man is head over heels for you, kissing the ground you walk on type of energy. golden retriever & black cat couple. his friends frequently joke that you wear the pants in the relationship but he doesn’t care about anyone’s opinion— he feels like the luckiest man alive. “i’m her bitch? hell yeah i am.”

ꨄ︎ he feels so proud when you stick up for him, especially against the kooks. he’s ready to fight anyone that disrespects him but before he gets the chance, you’re already putting them in their place. he proudly watches you with the biggest smile on his face, letting you do your thing. “that’s my girl.”

ꨄ︎ doesn’t mind being submissive for you in the bedroom. calls you ‘mommy’ sometimes and lets you take control whenever you want to— it’s so fucking hot to him. he loves it when you praise him while you’re rocking your hips back and forth on his cock, whispering in his ear what a good boy he is.

ꨄ︎ he’s completely obsessed with you. always taking candid pictures of you and setting them as his lockscreen. his instagram page is filled with you as well, whether it’s the two of you together or just you alone. he’s literally your biggest fan and hypeman. “turn your head juuuust a bit to the left mamas, need to get that highlighter on camera.”

ꨄ︎ this man does anything for you. and with anything i mean anything. you ask for it and he will get it, no matter what. “oh, you think that puppy is cute? alright, ma’am. gimme three… maybe four working days and a puppy will be delivered right to your door step.” “j, that’s not wha-“ “sssh, just lemme make my girl happy.”

ꨄ︎ poor baby gets so sad when you get attention from men. he refuses to talk to you for an hour and will pout and sulk all day with his arms crossed. “he totally wanted to fuck you babe” “don’t be stupid, he was the goddamn waiter!” “so? doesn’t mean he didn’t wanna fuck you. did you see the way he looked at you when he served us those burgers?!”

ꨄ︎ you’re very protective of him and you make sure luke won’t ever lay a finger on jj again. jj spends most of his time at your house because he feels so at ease there, but if he needs to grab something from his house, you always go with him. if it escalates, you will have jj’s back before it gets out of hand. "listen, 'cause I'm only gonna say it once. touch him again and you're gonna be in big fucking trouble, got it?”

[tojipie]

welcome home <3

he’s unboxed ! who cheered. by far one of my most requested fics of all time. started this series 6 months ago and it remains one of my favs :,) this is by no means the end though ! i haven’t been writing any of the additions to this series in “order” and i am still 100% open to writing about his life inside/after prison lol. thank u to all the lovely ppl that have been showing love to these since april mwah mwah mwah mwah

as always, prison bf toji series linked here <3

content: (incarceration, fem reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, p in v smut, pining, road head, swallowing, creampie, dirty talk, multiple rounds)

“just step through here and—yep,” the guard waves his security want across your outstretched arms, clearing you to take your belongings from the conveyor belt.

you’d done this dance a hundred times over the past seven years, driving up to the district penitentiary twice a week to see your boyfriend—now fiancé.

toji told you he didn’t have it in him to wait, popping the question during a conjugal visit a month ago. 

the man had known he’d wanted to marry you even before he got locked up. the feeling was mutual, but unspoken, always hanging in the air between the two of you.

you on the other hand had known you wanted to marry toji the moment he whispered his first “i love you,” said to you through the crackly speaker of a burner phone on a night when neither of you knew if he’d be coming home or not.

you make a beeline for the release wing, breaking into a subtle jog without drawing too much attention to yourself. the bouquet of green flowers you’d bought at the grocery store jostles in your purse, leaving a breadcrumb trail of stray petals.

there, around a bend and down the corridor stands the man of your dreams, flanked by officers and personnel at the front desk. 

metal cuffs clack together as the man reaches to accept a clipboard from the release agent, skillfully uncapping the pen with his teeth to fill out the means for his freedom.

he looks up a split second before you speak, dropping the clipboard with an audible clatter. toji tears down the corridor with a look that speaks of relief beyond words.

“toji!” you yell, sprinting to the inmate with outstretched arms. you nearly trip over your own feet with how quick you barrel towards him.

warm bodies clash together at last, squeezing, cradling, and caressing every inch of each other at last. his law enforcement entourage watches from afar, some smiling, others annoyed.

you’re lifted clean off the ground as strong, tattooed arms slip over your head and around your body. thick fingers work their way into your hair, cradling your head to his shoulder. 

actions speak louder than words, you know that much from how quickly he buckles, dropping to his knees with your body still wrapped around his. 

toji smells different every time you come to visit. there were days when the tang of blood stuck to his skin no matter how hard he scrubbed, a telling sign of his short temper. 

other days he’d smell like the earth, soil from the rec field permeating his already brown garments after his morning run.

once in a while, you’d catch hints of industrial paint and car exhaust, a smell built up from hours of making license plates for pocket change from the state. “pennies,” he’d tell you, “that’s all we fucking get in here.”

today, toji smells like himself. like the man you fell in love with 7 years ago in the passenger seat of a BMW, gazing into green eyes while gentle hands brushed the hair from your face. 

you almost think he’s laughing until warm tears trickle through the porous fabric of your shirt. 

strong shoulders quiver as quiet sobs rack his body, you rub his back in small circles, unable to pull away with how tight he’s holding you against his chest.

“i love you,” the inmate whimpers, wiping hot tears with his sleeve. he pulls back to press your lips together, mumbling nonsense in between kisses.

“pretty girl—m’ sorry— missed you,” his hands shake as they curl into the fabric at your waist.

you’d seen him cry exactly twice in his life. the first being the night he’d opened up to you in full for the first time, quietly relaying stories of neglect and abuse from his childhood while you kissed tears from his cheeks.

the second was well, the day he went away.

to see him break down like this so openly was devastating. he hated being emotional, told you it was humiliating. you’re sure he felt more than vulnerable, the leader of the city’s biggest drug ring, crumpled on the floor of a prison hallway 

“it’s okay baby,” you tell him, still rubbing circles into his skin.

to touch him like this, at last, was unlike anything the two of you had been allowed to experience for the past 7 years. this wasn’t your two legally allowed hugs at the beginning and end of your visits, or a quick fuck in a storage closet.

this was love. to hold and be held in front of law enforcement personnel without threat of being reprimanded. this was the first time you had been allowed to feel him under the tips of your fingers with an audience, publicly declaring your claim on each other without fear. 

you never blamed toji for what had happened, as angry as you were that first year. he blamed himself enough for the both of you really. 

you’d come to learn over the years that it had already been too late for him to get out of his line of work way before you’d found each other, a cycle he couldn’t break.

prison was always a possibility, inevitable even. that’s just how it was.

you slowly gather your purse off the ground, cellophane-wrapped flowers coming into view. 

“for me?” he laughs, slightly embarrassed. dark green carnations, just like his eyes. 

“who else?” you tease, watching the distress melt from his face.

you share a look briefly, yours saying you’re safe with me. his saying i know.

the soft clicks of black work boots pull you from your thoughts, a female officer in tow.

“you guys ready to get started?” she asks softly, shooting you a sympathetic look.

toji stands with a chuckle, not letting you respond. silver cuffs dig into the meat of your thighs as you’re carried back to the group.

 ˚ ✧ ───────────

half an hour of paperwork for his freedom. that’s what you give the prison in exchange for his belongings and dignity. 

the waiting room is quiet, sterile air filtering through dated vents. calloused fingers rub over your ankle, legs propped up in his lap.

“feels like a hospital in here,” he mumbles, trying to cut through the silence.

the cuffs are gone, thank god. though you’re more than unhappy with the marks they left on his wrists. toji doesn’t seem to mind, used to almost a decade of this treatment.

the release desk worker slides you two a yellow bag under the glass divider once you finish your task, pointing you in the direction of the bathrooms in case toji wanted to change. 

the inmate—no, ex-inmate you remind yourself— hands you the bag with a disinterested look. 

he doesn’t want to remember, you realize. too scared to wear the suit he had on the day the world took you from him. you quickly trash the old clothes and hold out your shoulder bag to him, fresh clothes neatly folded inside. 

“always prepared huh?” toji smiles, grateful at the gesture. “haven’t changed a bit.”

you wait a couple of minutes outside the single-stall bathroom, physically picking your jaw up off the floor when he emerges.

to say that his old shirt fit would be... egregiously wrong. blasphemous even.

toji’s shirt doesn’t just “not fit”, it’s bursting at the seams as it struggles to accommodate his hulking form, stretching over plains of corded muscle like a rubber band pulled too tight. 

seeing him so often had likely gotten your brain used to the change, preventing you from realizing how fucking big your fiancé had gotten. truly.

the black garment is so tight against his body that it’s practically a second skin. you make note of the way it molds into the dips and curves of his abs, mentally reminding yourself to get him to wear it for you later. 

you suppose the change makes sense. if toji wasn’t with you on a day visit he was always in his cell, sticking to a strict workout regimen to take his mind off things. still, you rack your brain trying to pinpoint how and when such a massive transformation slipped your mind.

a tattooed hand snaps you out of your trance, cradling your cheek.

“you focused?” your fiancé teases, rubbing circles into your jaw with his thumb.

“i think that thing’s gonna explode if you move,” you swat his hand away. 

“would you rather i take it off to be safe?” he asks, jutting a thumb behind him at the waiting room desk.

the workers make no attempt to hide their oggling, faces pressed against the glass barrier separating your party from theirs.

“no— god keep it on,” you mutter, shooting them a nasty look.

“you and your girlfriend ready to go fushiguro?” an officer says, holding the door open for the both of you. toji squats down momentarily to get a grip on your thighs, folding you over his shoulder to carry you fireman style.

“wife,” he corrects, shouldering past the guard and trudging down the corridor with calculated steps.

the coos that ring out from the help desk are humiliating.

waxed tile fades into worn concrete as the two of you pass the threshold into the prison parking lot, your soon-to-be-husband muttering a curt “go fuck yourselves” to the officers who’d wished him good luck on his way out the door.

you’re proud of him for holding his tongue, in a way. knowing toji and his temper there were a hundred more creative and undoubtedly gruesome things he could have said to the personnel who’d kept him locked up for the better half of a decade. 

the world flips right side up again as you’re gently placed on your feet in front of the car. 

toji raises his head to the sky, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

“s’ nice,” he mumbles, reaching to intertwine your hands. “felt the sun during rev time but.. not like this.”

you hum, rubbing your thumb over tattooed knuckles. 

“get ready to experience a lot more sun then,” you giggle. “wanna have a look at the car?” the question is more of a rhetorical one at this point considering he’s already running his hand over the hood with a whistle.

“haven’t seen this baby in a while,” he smiles, internally gushing at your choice to welcome him to the world in the car he used to drive you home the night you met. your fiancé doesn’t have to say thank you, you know how grateful he is from his smile alone.

he falters for a bit, looking like a newborn fawn with how careful his steps are as he circles the vehicle. you figure wearing proper shoes instead of rubber slides must feel at least a little abnormal after 7 long years. 

“alright,” toji states, rolling his shoulders in his too-tight top. “fuck are we waiting for, i wanna go home.”

 ˚ ✧ ───────────

you pay no mind to toji the first time he turns to look at you, opening his mouth to say something before slumping back into his seat with a frustrated sigh.

the fourth time it happens, you speak up.

“what are you doing?” you laugh, eyeing him from the driver's seat

“getting rubbed to death by my fucking zipper,” he mutters, repositioning his lower half to take the pressure off his cock. his frustration isn’t aimed at you in the slightest, all blame placed on his bottoms.

oh.. oh.

the whirlwind of emotions toji had gone through in the past 3 hours alone had taken a toll on his mind and body. but tasting the first morsels of freedom with you, alone in a car that smelled like you? you’d be worried if he wasn’t hard.

you had no problem helping his little problem go away, the question was how soon.

the idea that piques on you is absolutely shameful, you’re not even sure where it came from but you don’t have it in you to care. 

you know this road, you’ve used it a thousand times to make the trip up to the penitentiary. judging by how long you’d been driving you’d say there was about 10 minutes left before ruler-straight tar merged into the twists and turns of the suburbs.

“when did your license expire?” you ask, cautiously peering in the rearview mirror. good, no cars.

“3 years ago,” he laughs, “why?”

fuck it, you think.

“you still remember how to steer?” 

“course i d— oh.”

it finally dawns on him. you smile, shooting him a look that says “want to?”

you’re sure you have your answer judging by how quick he shucks his jeans and boxers down, freeing his cock from its confines.

“oh fuck,” he groans, struggling to keep his eyes open as your mouth presses against his base. 

your fiancé steers while your head bobs just beneath the dash, one hand on the wheel and the other placed firmly at the crown of your head, guiding you up and down the shaft.

your throat flexes around the intrusion, fighting the hulking feeling of his length mercilessly fucking into your mouth.

“fuck, perfect girl— my girl,” he shudders, hips moving to buck into your slick throat.

“gonna cum, gonna— shit,”

fingers kissed in dark ink massage your throat softly, urging you to swallow the hot load coating every inch of your mouth. you flutter around his length, pulling back to clean him off with your tongue.

“fucks gotten into you, pretty girl?” he whispers, so out of breath you barely hear him. 

 ˚ ✧ ───────────

you barely make it up the steps of the house before you’re shoved against the door, tattooed hands groping up and down your body with fervor.

“keys,” he says against your lips, “keys—fuck, now,” his voice is hoarser this time, desperation clear.

you whip around to jam the item into the lock, not unaware of the rock-hard dick grinding into your jean-clad ass from behind.

you’re being carried to the couch before you even step off the doormat, a stray throw blanket cushioning your fall as you’re pressed into squeaky leather. 

“won’t be gentle,” toji groans, ripping your jeans and panties down in one fluid motion.” can’t right now.”

“don’t be.” you say, rucking his shirt off his body surprisingly quick. “wouldn’t want you to.”

you needed him, needed toji to have his way with you. to christen your home round after round until you couldn’t feel where his body and yours ended.

when it came down to it, you suppose 

he smiles at the crude admission, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your drenched folds.

“filthy,” he mutters, said almost lovingly. toji grips his base and sinks to the hilt with a sharp groan, shuddering at the heat of your walls.

the stretch is delicious, filling you from every angle and pressing right against that special spot. you’re surprised at how easily he slams in, though you’re embarrassed to admit it was entirely because of how soaked you were. 

toji immediately pulls back with a flick of his hips, pistoning into you like his life depends on it. 

he hasn’t changed, you think. still so incredibly in tune with your body, skills that would put a pornstar to shame.

this was better than some quick closeted fuck under the cover of night after slipping a guard a rubber band of cash. this was primal, filthy. two bodies writhing against each other, the only goal being complete and utter pleasure. 

toji makes no effort to shush you like he would if you were sneaking around, basking in your sighs and whines like water from a stream.

“missed this,” he says, licking a long, wet stripe from your sternum to your pulse. “missed you, missed having you every day.”

“you’ll have me forever,” you moan, sucking a purple bruise into the tattooed skin of his throat.

thick fingers thread into your hair to hold you to his neck, silently commanding you to bite down.

and so you do. you bite down hard on the junction of his neck and shoulder, licking over pink teeth marks as his thrusts reach their maximum speed.

the pleasure you feel is blinding. stars explode behind your vision while the curve of his cock hits that heavenly spot in you just right. over, and over, and over.

your climax sneaks up on you before you can think, ripping a wail from the depths of your chest. toji’s thrusts falter to a halt as you lock down on him, pleasantly caught off guard by the vice grip you have around him.

“oh my g— holy shit,” he groans, mouth hanging open. dark brows furrow it to a look of pure pleasure, emerald eyes squeezing tight.

“keep going,” you mumble, scratching rivets down the skin of his back. “just keep fucking me please don’t stop please pl—”

“yeah? keep going?” he teases, groping at the swell of your breast. “greedy huh?”

you did want more, that was the thing. you just came the hardest you ever had in years but you’d be damned if he didn’t keep giving it to you.

brutal thrusts shake the frame of the couch. your bodies meld like they were made for each other, sharing pleasure in the comfort that came with the knowledge that the both of you intended to fuck until you physically couldn’t anymore.

“gonna come,” your fiancé pants, mouthing at the curve of one of your breasts. blunt teeth brush over the bud of your nipple, sending shockwaves down your spine

“inside, fuck—please,” you’re practically shaking.

“inside?” he repeats, the word rolling off his tongue like gold. “you want my seed? huh?” 

you nod, clutching to his naked back as he ruts into you, deeper than ever. strong hands grip the back of your thighs practically folding you in half, opening you up in ways you thought to be impossible.

hot release fills you up for the second time that day, shrouding your lower half in a blanket of warmth.

you sigh, low and satiated at the feeling inside of you, pulling toji to your chest when he collapses on top of you.

“we should probably..” toji trails off, completely out of breath. “should probably head upstairs.” he heaves, chest swelling with deep gulps of air.

“or we could go another round?” you mumble, throwing the question out there. 

“shit, yeah.. probably should right?” he chuckles

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[sleyu]

DATING JAMES POTTER INCLUDES . . .

PAIRING: JAMES POTTER X READER

GENRE: FLUFF & SMUT

If anyone is boyfriend coded, it's James.

James is so desperate for your attention. It’s fully up to you how you would react to the stunts he’d pull and all the nonsense he’d say for you to spare just a mere glance at him, but as soon as you do, he’s not shutting up for days. So much so, you’d find Remus on his hands and knees, begging to give James a chance so that he could finally study in peace.

When James falls in love, the person he is infatuated with and the things in relation to them is the only thing that remains in his mind.

‘Ugh,’ he thinks, ‘Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop is an eye sore.’ But wait, ‘Y/n loves pink. I ought to bring her here next time.’ He thinks.

James, contrary to what he makes himself out to be in front of his friends before meeting you, abandons any sense of his pride and ego when it comes to his girl.

Before falling in love with you, James would scoff and snicker at couples around Hogwarts, at people holding hands, cheeks flushed and eyes starry-eyed, as they’d walk together in Hogsmeade.

Meeting you, falling in love with you—finally making you his—made him love every corny, cheesy aspect of being with someone, completely endeared and left sheepish by their every breath and movement.

During ’ O.W.L.S. or any test for that matter, one could steal a glance at James, only to see him absentmindedly writing down your initials with a heart right beside them on his parchment, looking almost bored at his otherwise empty paper.

Anytime he would find himself stuck on a question, he would sigh happily, putting his quill down and all his focus on you, trying to find you sitting in the exam hall, smiling in amusement at the look of determination on your face.

James being in love means him attempting to look for your face during every quidditch match, upon every win, and during every loss, trying his best to search for your reaction. All he wants is for you to see him in his glory, and no amounts of pats on his back or the cheers he receives from crowds compare to the feeling of your thumb caressing his cheek, or your hands softly patting him on the head, telling him how proud you are of him and how you couldn’t take his eyes off him.

James finds it tough to admit and often struggles to communicate it, but he needs your praise. He needs you to tell him that he did good, that he looks handsome, that he’s brilliant for his latest prank, and that no one else compares to him. Of course, it’s an ego boost for him, but behind his egotistic front is a vulnerable, questioning man who doubts himself often, wanting nothing more than to prove himself to you.

‘Did I do good, love?’ he’d ask, desperation seeping from his honey-like voice, as though he’s unable to wait for your answer, fearing the possibility of your displeasure. ‘Please tell me I did.’

Of course, this manifests in your sex life. James needs praise always and rarely ever incorporates degradation into his lovemaking. He not only tells you how pretty you look for him, how good you feel wrapped around his leaking cock, but also begs you to be vocal, to communicate your pleasure and to tell him that you only belong to him and that no one else could make you feel as good as him.

‘Need you to tell me, baby—fuck! Wanna make you feel good—wanna make my good girl feel good—god.’

‘Tell me—tell me you love me. Say it again—need to hear it again,’

James begs that you leave a kiss mark on his cheek for ‘Good luck,’ right before a quidditch game.

The mandatory uniform for Gryffindor Quidditch matches is James’ jersey. Nothing fuels his pride and his absolute enamour for you more than seeing his last name plastered across your chest and back, proudly and visibly displaying your support for him and only him.

After a big win, you can expect to be fucked in the jersey. James swears he’s never cum faster than he has when he took you from behind and watched as your back arched; the name, ‘Potter,’ printed upon your trembling body as though it was a mark of ownership and loyalty.

Dating James means that he’s treating you as though you’re made of glass. Gentle touches and grips to your waist as the two of you walk in the school corridors, and adoring coos when he sees you slump against him, tired from a long day.

‘My poor angel. Always working so hard, yeah? C’mon, I’ll take care of you.’

He’d rather die than hear you call him by his name. To James, calling him by his name means that you’re treating him as though he were any other person when he isn’t. He needs to hear the affection laced in your words. The soft, gentle mumble of ‘baby, darling, Jamie, honey,’ is all he seeks to hear from you and he practically crumbles against the gentle caress of your hand on his cheek when you refer to him by a pet name.

‘James,’ you sigh, exasperated. Your boyfriend furrows his eyebrows, ‘That’s baby to you!’

During the summer, he’d insist you attach a photo of you with every letter you send him, whether it’s you on vacation or simply in your room, he has to get his fill of you.

He’d spend so much money on little trinkets for you, little items he would pick up from the sneaky Marauders Hogsmeade trips.

Sirius would huff as James pulled him into a stationary shop, ‘James, can we please stop making pit stops? We have 30 minutes left.’ James shook his head, grinning to himself as he picked up several pretty pens he reckons you’d love, ‘Need to supply the missus with gifts, Pads.’

James would be so happy once you begin warming up to the Marauders. His favourite people loving his favourite person? It’s his dream come true and as soon as he sees you bickering with Sirius, having long and insightful discussions with Remus, and casually hanging around Peter, he knows he’s going to be with you for a very, very long time. He’ll make sure of it, he decides then.

James would most certainly carry your bag as he drops you off to class. The first time he attempted in doing it, the two of you were tugging your bag for five minutes, arguing with each other about who would carry the pound of weight on your shoulders. He won, much to your dismay, but a surge of warmth bursts through him the first time you hand your bag over to him mindlessly, without him asking or fighting you for it, as though you had expected him to do it. He treasures these moments in your relationship where he begins to realize that habits between the two of you are beginning to grow and that you both are becoming used to being such an integral part of each other's lives.

He constantly tells you that you’re his everything and that all he does is for you and only you.

Study dates with him are entirely pointless as they never lead to actual studying as James cannot survive five minutes without your undivided attention on him. What do you mean you have to read a textbook for an hour? No periodic breaks to kiss your boyfriend or to coo at him? The only way actual studying will get done is if you promise him a kiss for every correct answer he gets—but we all know where that’s leading to.

He was the first one to say, ‘I love you,’ in the relationship. He would probably say it very quickly as he had known he loved you before the two of you dated, but he’s entirely fine with you wanting to take your time in dissecting your feelings for him.

Until you say it back, with every night and morning kiss, every departure before class, he’d whisper a giddy, ‘I love you, darling,’ to which you’d smile bashfully. Once you do say it back, he’s smiling like an idiot for two weeks straight. He would be almost annoying about it, like a child on Christmas Day. He’d tell you that he loves you repeatedly only to hear you say his four favourite words: ‘I love you too.’