#like. 'mm. no one might care. but i care. and i think that should be enough reason for me to write' and etc etc

[moonstruckme]

hi mae!! how are you?

i recently burned my thigh with my iron curler and it formed a big scar. it started slowly bubbling up and i accidentally popped it like 2 days ago so now i have fresh skin open 🥲 it’s extra sensitive and i have to patch it up. and when i let the wound breath it HURTS 😭

i was wondering if you could write about this with emt!marauders? or maybe just james? idk lol whatever you feel like writing it about.

AND IF YOUVE WRITTEN ABOUT THIS ALREADY, MY BAD 😃😭

Hi lovely, I'm good! I'm really sorry this happened, it sounds awful!! Hope it's feeling a bit better by now <3

cw: severe burn (no details)

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 786 words

“I don’t think we should do this.”  

“I mean,” says James, sitting patiently opposite you on the bed, “I don’t love it either.” 

“Then let’s not,” you bargain.

 He gives you a sorry smile. “What do you think we should do instead, angel?” 

You take a deep breath. “Leave it,” you say on the exhale. “It’ll heal eventually. Or it won’t, and the bandage will become my new skin. I could be fine with that.” 

“I’m somewhat attached to your real skin.” 

“We all have to make sacrifices, James.” 

Your boyfriend gives you an amused look, but there’s worry beneath it. You feel guilty for putting him through this. It’s bad enough that he has to change your bandages for you because you’re too squeamish to do it yourself, but now you’re also making him convince you as if it were his idea. 

You blow out a long breath, tilting your face up toward the ceiling. “I can’t see it.” 

“You don’t have to,” he reassures you. “You can close your eyes, baby.”

“How bad is a little infection really?” you ask, but you’re already laying back, succumbing to the plushness of your pillow. 

“I had a dog bite get infected once,” James says, pulling your leg into his lap. Strong, gentle fingers on the underside of your thigh. “I didn’t enjoy it.” 

“You got bitten by a dog?” You turn your head to see him, but he shoots you a look and you sigh, covering your eyes with your hands. “When was that?” 

“When I was little.” One of his hands stays cradling your leg, but you feel the fingers of the other probing carefully at the edges of your bandage. Apprehension climbs up your throat, mingling with the ache of affection that’s already there. You appreciate how delicate James is with you, peeling the bandage up gingerly by one corner instead of ripping it off like some might. “It wasn’t really the dog’s fault, it was just spooked and I didn’t know enough to stay away.” 

You hiss as the bandage sticks to a tender bit of skin, and James coos an apology, stroking the unharmed skin beside it soothingly. Then the whole thing comes off, air hitting the wound and making you tense all over. 

“What happened with the bite?” Your voice is somewhat strained. 

James hesitates. “There was a lot of puss involved,” he says. “You won’t want to hear the details.” 

“Mm, thanks.” 

He chuckles. You can hear him twisting the cap off the antibiotic ointment. Your fingertips press harder into your brow bone. 

“You alright?” he asks softly. 

“Mhm. I’m ready.” 

You still gasp through your teeth when the ointment makes contact with your skin, and James grips your leg more firmly to keep you from flinching away. 

“Sorry,” he hisses, working fast as he can with gentle, caring fingers. “Sorry, baby.” 

“Not your fault,” you squeak out, keeping your own fingers pressed tightly over your eyes. “Thank you for doing this.” 

James doesn’t seem to want to accept your thanks, and you let the silence sit. When he’s done, you both sigh. 

“Thanks,” you say again. For good measure. “Couldn’t have done it without you.” 

“Definitely not,” James agrees. “I’ve no idea what we’re going to do when I’m hurt someday and neither of us can look at it.” 

You drop your hands from your eyes and sit up on your elbows, careful to look only at James and not down at your leg. It’s not hard. He’s a lovely sight, even with that sympathetic pinch to his mouth and worry tightening the muscles around his eyes. You reach for his hand, and his expression lightens. He wipes his fingertips off on his jeans before giving it to you. 

“We’ll have to call Remus,” you say, squeezing his fingers. 

A laugh startles out of him. “I thought you were going to say you’d put your squeamishness aside for me. Or that it wouldn’t be gross because you love me, or something.” 

“I would if it were true,” you reply, “but I’m afraid I won’t be much help if I’m gagging over you the entire time. I’ll hold your hand while we both don’t look, though.” 

“Mm, fair enough.” He scoots closer on the bed. His hand finds your opposite hip, rubbing a slow back-and-forth. “And you’ll distract me with kisses while I’m nursed back to health?” 

“If it’ll help.” Your voice is soft. “Though I should point out that I haven’t received any kisses.” 

Twin dimples appear on either side of James mouth as he leans over you, careful to avoid your hurt leg. “Patience, angel,” he murmurs as his lips brush yours. “I’m not done with you yet.” 

[obstinaterixatrix]

oh I really liked this one but I can’t really pin down what made it stand out to me. more drama/tragedy… it feels more self-aware in a way? I like how dulled some of the emotions are portrayed.

[katierosefun]

character development is really going from getting lost in writing stories for other people to writing stories that you know that no one but yourself and maybe the same five people are going to like i think, i think that’s character development for me

[cheonstapes]

miguel o’hara stars in… ‘THE SWEETER THE JUICE’ o(^-^)o

･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡. miguel o’hara x reader .｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･

SMUT

now he’s finally got you pregnant, he’s gonna do what he’s been dreaming of all these years. suck. those. tits.

same universe as this miguel.

cw; lactation kink, pregnancy, breeding kink (not really but yknow me), dry humping, titties, older nerd!miguel, they’re finally married!

800+ words

@cheonstapes : she’s back! again!

if miguel had to pick a part of your body he loved the most, it’d definitely be your tits.

if you think he was obsessed before — you don’t wanna know what goes through his head as he watches you waddle around his house, carrying his kid, sighing every time you leak through another shirt. you had forgone a bra ever since you got pregnant, saying how uncomfortable they feel against your chest — not that he was complaining.

“for fucks-sake, again?”

he was so used to hearing you say that, he already had a shirt on hand for you to change into. you were so grateful for your doting husband that you completely missed that nasty glint in his eyes you usually only see when he’s bending you over the bed and fucking you raw — luckily for him.

“here, honey. lift your arms for me.”

as you do, he pulls the shirt up — the soiled fabric catching under your swollen breasts as he wiggles it off you. “ah, shit — thanks, baby. but fuck, am i’m so tired of changing shirts every 10 minutes!” you might be tired, but miguel cannot get enough of it. he was already so fucking hard, practically salivating at the sight of your bare breasts still leaking down your heavy belly.

“maybe you should just ditch the shirts all together, love — you know i hate seeing my beautiful wife uncomfortable.” miguel’s voice was a soft whisper in your ear, lips slowly tracing down the side of your jaw to your sensitive neck — kissing the skin so tenderly. his calloused hands gently massaged the taut flesh of your tits, probing and squeezing at your nipples to let out small trickles of that sweet milk.

“migs, how many times are you gonna say that?”

“as many as it takes for you to finally listen.”

the breathy laugh you let out did little to qualm the feeling deep in his gut — he was dead serious, there was absolutely no reason for you to be in shirts all the time when you have him to take care of you whenever you needed a good milking. his hips were already sinking into to the plush of your ass that he loved oh-so-much — especially with how much fatter it got during your pregnancy.

it was almost as if he had lost control of his body, a hand landing on your waist to bend you over the counter as he mindlessly ruts into you. “dios, nena, eres tan hermosa. vas a ser la mamá más guapa, ¿verdad? mm, my pretty, little mama.” miguel never failed to turn you on to no bounds, like, you have a walking greek god as a husband — but those fucking hormones were making it unbearable.

the force at which he was pushing against you had shifted your drenched panties to the side, leaving practically nothing between you and his drooling bulge. his fingers tightened around the fat of your hips, squeezing the flesh delicious hard as his free hand flipped you over — pushing your back against the edge of the counter. “shit…been waiting to taste these all fucking day, honey.”

mindful of your growing belly, he hiked one of your legs up on his hip — craning his neck down to suck on a pert nipple. wasting no time, and at a much better angle, he continued to grind against you — his tip catching against your engorged clit. “m—migs, baby, fuck…” the way he swirled and sucked so eagerly reminded you of when you first started dating, how determined he was to knock you up before the two of you even moved in together.

the taste was so addicting, some of your milk trickling down his body — dripping onto the ground beneath you. you knew he was about to cum, hard — his eyes had rolled back, breathing in heavy pants, hands rushing to pull down the waistband of his sweats. “gonna paint my girls in my cum, love — sé una buena chica y mantenlos juntos para mí.”

“‘course, baby.” you nodded breathlessly, squishing the globes of fat together as he pumped his cock dry — head thrown back as ropes upon ropes of his hot seed coated your tits, sliding into the self-made crevice. “god, what did i do in my past life to have a wife as sexy as you, mamí?” his spent cock bobbed against his thigh as he trapped you against the counter — kissing you deeply as his wet hands reaching up to rub the cum into the skin of your breasts.

“mmph — y’know, i heard cum’s good for the skin. it, uh, helps with the blood circulation in your tits — i think we should do this more often, love.”

“migs, if you weren’t, like — a whole scientist, i might’ve believed you. if you want a titjob, just say that.”

“…i mean, you said it — not me.”

all your home shirts were promptly locked away and never to be seen again.

-new year, new waiting for cheon to get her shit together andpost!

[daytaker]

The Gang React to You Petting Their Hair

Lucifer

"I am only going to say this once: stop."

You get one warning. One. If you do not cease and desist, he is throwing you out of his study, so help him Diavolo's Dad. No, he does not like it. No, not even a little bit. You really aren't going to stop? You're just a glutton for punishment, aren't you?

....You're very lucky he's too busy to hurl you bodily from this room. He'll just endure it for now.

Mammon

"Hah?! What's the big idea?! This is the revered hair of THE Great Mammon, I'll have you know. So that'll be 100 Grimm a touch, thanks! ....Hey, no, wait, why'd you stop?"

Once he's done turning bright red and clearing his throat, he'll try to capitalize on this whim of yours by offering you a discount on hair touches. A very poorly-planned scheme, because you're not going to pay to do something he'll start begging you to keep up as soon as you stop.

Oh, so Mammon is willing to let you touch his high-value hair for free? You're so honored. What a good boy you are, Mammon. (You can expect a bit more sputtering and some denials that he is anything like a good boy, but bro's into it big time. If he had a tail, it would be wagging.)

Leviathan

*shrieks in confused, touch-starved otaku*

Wait, no, he didn't say to stop! What's with these mixed signals? Petting his hair then stopping just because he shrieks a little bit? Did you want to touch his hair or not? Is it greasy? Oh god, when did he last bathe? ...It was only the other day. You have no reason to be disgusted. You're just a bigoted normie who assumes all otaku are crusty and gross!

Ahhhh?!?!?!?! Again?! Fine! Just don't change your mind again, because that's super confusing! And yeah, obviously he's blushing, you're petting his head and it feels nice and kind of tickles! ....Mm.... You know, once he's settled into it, it's really relaxing, actually...

Fast forward an hour or two and he's probably conked out with his head in your lap, drunk on affection and mostly asleep.

Satan

"What exactly do you think you're doing?"

It feels weird. Why are you doing that? Wait, you're petting him? Like he's....a cat? Hmm. Interesting. He'll allow it. But you should do it properly. None of this mussing his hair around with wild abandon. You have to be gentle and use small movements. Maybe use your knuckles? Gently though. There, that's it.

So this is what it feels like. Admittedly, he probably wouldn't take kindly to this if anybody else was doing it, no matter how well they imitated proper cat-petting technique. But you're a special exception, so in the future, if you feel the need to do this, just let him know. And for the love of all things unholy, don't breathe a word about this to his brothers.

Asmodeus

"Oh, you like my hair? Isn't it soft? I'll show you the conditioner I use."

Asmo loves having his hair played with! Or brushed, or combed, or tugged (just not too hard, please!) His hair is silky smooth thanks to a mixture of his natural good looks and his shampoo/conditioner combination. He'll let you borrow them if you're interested. Your hair will look amazing! And it'll feel even better!

This is cozy. He'll just settle in and let you do this as long as you want. Careful you don't get too handsy; he knows how irresistible he is.

...Well, maybe if you're a little handsy he'll let it slide, but just because it's you.

Beelzebub

"Are you....petting me?"

Kind of weird, but it feels nice, so he isn't complaining. It's a little bit embarrassing, just because it makes him feel a little bit like a puppy, but then again, who doesn't like puppies? He'll be able to continue to go about his day not minding you petting his hair now and again. The only awkward part is how damn tall he is. You might need to keep a step stool handy.

Belphegor

"Nnngh, knock it off...! ... ... ...I changed my mind, do it again."

His initial reaction to being woken up to you stroking his head is annoyance, because dammit, he was sleeping. But once he shakes the cobwebs out of his brain, he'll realize that it actually felt really good and he could absolutely fall asleep under these circumstances.

He'll wait a little while, hoping you'll give it another try of your own accord, but if you don't, he'll eventually cave and grumpily ask you to do it again.

Diavolo

"Hahaha... That's enough, now."

He isn't actually a fan. Maybe it's the fact that he's a prince and has been acting as an autocrat more or less for centuries, but being stroked like an adored pet feels really degrading. Of course, he won't hold it against you, but seriously, stop.

Barbatos

"Are you finished playing around quite yet?"

Another one who isn't into this at all. He's more than happy to spend his free time petting you, if that's what you're interested in, but he is a petter, not a pettee. Read into this what you will.

Solomon

"You're so forward!"

Solomon likes it very much. Too much, possibly. Are you flirting with him? There's something incredibly intimate about touching someone's hair, don't you think? No, please, continue.

Simeon

"Um, what are you doing? ...As long as you're enjoying yourself, I guess!"

Simeon is more bewildered by this than most. Like, are you trying to scratch an itch for him? Is this one of those "viral memes" he's heard so much about? Well, it feels nice, and it isn't as if it's hurting anybody. He'll indulge you for now.

A little to your left, please. Ahhhh, that's the spot...

Luke

"Hehe, that tickles... Hey! Is this a Chihuahua joke?!"

It feels kind of nice, but as soon as he takes a second to think about it, he realizes that you're treating him at best like a little kid, and at worst, like a dog, and he isn't having any of that. He'll scold you for treating a Celestial being so casually, remind you that he's actually a lot older than you, technically, so who's the real baby, and secretly pine for more pets for the rest of his life.

[luveline]

could I get some miguel aftercare pls 🙏🙏🙏

cw suggestive content mdni !! I actually loved writing this it was the highlight of my day, thank you for requesting. fem, 1k

“You’re doing that thing,” Miguel says. 

You’re breathless where he’s fine, voice lost as you ask, “What thing?” 

He smooths his hands across either side of your face briefly. “Locking up. Relax, sweetheart. Catch your breath.” 

You cover your face with your hands but end up too hot, the back of your neck wet with sweat and your face glowing with heat. Miguel laughs softly, blowing cool air up and down your face where he lays beside you. 

He’d usually call you cariño or some other pet name in his native tongue, so sweetheart is out of the blue but no less affectionate. You close your eyes against his cold breath and slouch toward him, where you’re quickly held in his arms again, his voice quieter as he asks, “You okay?” 

“Mm.”

“Yeah?” He works the soft cup of your bra back down over your chest, pressing a kiss to the hill of your breast. “You sure?” he asks, your skin warmed by his breath. 

You curl down around him, trying to keep him there, your face in his hair and your knee sliding up his thigh as you turn onto your side. 

You’re hot all over and aching, but not unhappy. You walk a careful path up his chest and shoulder to his neck, your fingers brushing over the soft surface of his skin one centimetre at a time, not dragging, just touching, searching for his face. You hold his cheek in your hand and kiss his hair, not caring if it’s slightly ineffectual. He’ll know what you’re trying to convey either way. 

Sex with Miguel nearly always leaves you like this. More than satisfied, desperate to be hugged, and desperate to impress upon him how much he means to you if the sex hadn’t already. Your hand moves with him as he lifts his head to yours, eyes aligned, the familiar hint of a smile playing on his lips. 

“You want me to open a window?” 

“I love you,” you say, because what you want is reassurance that it felt the same for him. 

His voice is velvet. “I love you. Te adoro. When I look at you… me dejas sin aliento.”

“Tell me,” you mumble. 

“I can’t breathe.” 

You tip your head back with a laugh, “That’s ironic,” you say. 

He chases you there, his nose down the curve of your throat and his hands pressing behind your back, wrapping you in, hugging you and kissing under your ear, bridging the gap again. It’s weird to be so together, to feel like one person and to have that end, but he hugs you and it’s nearly the same. It’s a different kind of connection. It eases your heart, calms your hot flush. 

“You are beautiful,” he affirms. “I just have better stamina.” 

“Don’t say stamina.” 

“You’re jealous of my stamina, and that’s okay.” He smiles into your neck before kissing it tenderly. 

Moments of this Miguel are rare. He’s so happy, you only get to see him as uninhibited in moments of intense connection, though that can be anything with him. A teasing remark as he helps you up the short step of the tram or a shared smile when you lean back into his chest for no reason at all, knowing he’ll take your weight. 

You savour it. He’s got a good heart. 

And a great physique. “Doesn’t count. You got it all from a bottle.” 

His lips part. “Oh?” he says, the slight scratch of his teeth sending shivers down your arms. 

His lips close in a soft, soft kiss. Miguel pulls away from you to sit up a touch, and then he’s caressing your hip and your knee like he can sense the ache, his face pensive. “Do you want to shower, or should I bring you a towel?” 

“Whatever you want to do.” 

“I want to take care of you,” he says earnestly, hand back up, resting on the strip of fat between hip and ass. “But…” 

You look at him. Unbeknownst to you, Miguel’s taking you in, and thinking you might be the most lovely thing he’s ever seen, not just because he’s fucked you and you took it beautifully, or the sounds you made, or the feeling of your arm wrapped behind his head as you kissed him, but everything about you. He loves you and you know that, but he can’t convey it right. And he thinks if he cleans you up he might spend an hour just looking at you, because you’re the most perfect thing he’s ever seen, all your marks and wrinkles and softness. He’d lose half the night. 

“You want to fuck me again?” you ask gently. 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” he denies, leaning down over you. You close your eyes and allow him another kiss. “It’s late, we can’t stay up all night. You’re tired.” 

You hum regretfully. “Yes.” 

“Was it everything you wanted?” he asks. “I can…” His hand trails down to your stomach. 

You laugh under your breath. “I don’t think I can anymore,” you mumble, half flirtation and half aching fondness. “Thank you.” 

“Thank you?” He brings his hand up and squeezes your face, taking another kiss, so many now you can’t count them. 

You smile into his mouth. You’re thinking thank you for being caring enough to think about it, and he’s thinking you’re crazy for not expecting it. Regardless, he doesn’t touch any lower, only dropping his hand and rubbing a sweeping, soothing line over your tummy and your side. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers. 

You peek at him through threaded lashes. “Your eyes are closed,” you whisper back. 

“I knew before I closed them, and I know it now.” He sighs. “Sorry,” he says, kissing your cheek, “forgive me. I’ll get a towel.” 

“It’s my fault, being so enchanting n’ all.” 

Miguel kisses you again. “Exactly.” 

[glitter-epoch]

Hiii, always love to see people obsessing over love and deepspace (bc I'm addicted too), can I please request zayne fic about his hands and fingers? Can be suggestive, can be pure smut, up to you lol, ok thanks byee

HIII yes i can!!! i can't believe my first request is a zayne's hands request this feels like a gift. thank you for requesting i hope you like!!!

[ there’s a part 2 now :) ] ☄. *. ⋆ gn! reader | 2.8k words | suggestive, not smut | zayne gives reader stitches but it's deliberately not described in detail/no mentions of needles/blood

“my lunch break ends in fifteen minutes,” zayne had said, staring past your head in thought. “it would be a waste of time to check you in.” 

you stood there in the bustling lobby of akso hospital, one paper-towel-bound hand pressed to the sliced skin over your hipbone, and waited. surely he wasn’t telling you to just leave. you were only friends, so it’s not like he had an obligation to you; but he was your primary care doctor, and...

and. there was, is, an and. you’re not sure what exactly to call it, and zayne is so adonis-like you’re embarrassed to even suggest he might like you.  

“i’m sorry,” you said in earnest, a little surprised by his usual coldness that you’d arrogantly assumed would thaw upon seeing your injury. “i didn’t mean for you to drop everything for me. i should have gone to an urgent care, or something, i just thought since you’re here...” 

zayne looked down from the spot over your head, clearly removed from his pensive mood. his intention to argue with you was clear, but he held his tongue stonily until you finished your rambling. 

“no,” he replied. “you should never go to another doctor. i was just thinking.” 

you blushed like an idiot. “ever?” you mocked. 

“mm,” he murmured, back to thinking again. he brought his forearm to circle the small of your back, not touching, and motioned you forward. “come with me.” 

and now, here you are: sitting on the grey sofa in front of the wall-length window, early afternoon light bleeding white all over zayne’s office. for a few moments, he’s left you alone to gather materials, and you relish in what feels like a small victory. 

i’ve been personally invited to the office.  

not like it’s the first time, though.  

zayne returns with a small kit swallowed by the size of his pale hands; the sleeves of his button-down pinned up to his elbows. you shift, balancing your weight unnaturally on one leg. His eyes snag on you as he grabs his glasses from his desk (far taller than the tabletop, he must lean down to grab those, too). 

“lay down,” zayne commands.  

you blink, glancing around to try to figure out the most convenient position to get into for him to work. by the time he’s come over and sat down on the glass table in front of you, you’re still sitting up. 

“you can put your head on the armrest and your feet that way,” he nods, not a hint of impatience in his deep voice. “i can see you squirming. when you sit up like you are, you’re putting pressure on the wound. it must hurt.” 

“i haven’t even shown you the wound,” you retort, not sure why you’re arguing so much- and swallowing a wince as you turn to prop your head up on the side of the sofa.  

“i see your handywork,” zayne replies. he pulls on a pair of blue latex gloves and they snap quietly against his wrists. he’s clearly careful not to let the noise be too loud. “hm.” 

you frown in place of a (shameful) gulp at the sight of the gloves hugging his hands.  

“is this bad?” you ask. “i’m sorry. i tried not to mess with it too much.” 

zayne pieces through the small kit on the table beside him. even his rummaging is succinct; long fingers deftly parsing through the stack of metal utensils inside. he comes up with two sets of narrow pliers and a cotton round.  

he passes the pliers through his fingers like pencils, balancing them between his knuckles, and pours a solvent that looks like lens cleaner onto the cotton pad. 

“not bad,” he says, eyes on the pliers as he polishes them. “the paper towel is fine. but you got it wet beforehand.” 

“and that’s bad?” 

“you’ll be alright,” he murmurs- or maybe he always sounds like that- and discards the cotton round. the corners of his lips just barely curl. “you won’t die, i suppose.” 

“well, i’d hope not. it’s just a cut.” 

“and what did you do this time?” zayne demands softly, fishing in the kit for what you now realize will be sutures.  

“i had an assignment with xavier and failed to climb a fence.” 

“you impaled yourself, then,” he remarks coldly. “and xavier.” 

he sets a roll of sterile surgical threads on a wider cotton pad and turns his eyes to your midriff, which is still mostly covered by your shirt; wound hiding beneath it.  

“xavier, yeah,” you inhale deeply, mentally preparing for the stitches. “my partner. i’ve mentioned him, i think.” 

“yes, you have,” zayne says. his voice is strained. then he inhales, a whole breath through his nose, mouth closed in stoic secrecy; and nods to your hips. “lift your shirt, please.” 

you’re grateful that he’s given you a task and you don’t have to look him in his eyes after that tiny display of disdain (for your partner? for your hips? hopefully the former?). But as you lift your shirt, the paper towel comes loose. 

“ouch,” you hiss. 

you realize you’re probably stressing him out.  

“it’s not bad,” you add, uncharacteristically hoarse. 

“it’s not,” zayne agrees softly, eyeing the wound with his usual cold stare. his eyes refuse to flicker above or below the cut, which rests just over the shallow ridge of your hipbone, right above the line of your trousers. “but it hurts, i'm sure.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

“sure,” he repeats, almost as if to mock you, almost as if he’s just making sure he heard you right.  

zayne busies himself preparing a cotton round of saline, and in the middle of this, says, 

“you’ll have to unbutton your pants. can you fold the waistband over?” 

your neck is suddenly clammy. “oh. yeah, sure.” 

“if you can’t fold them down far enough, you’ll have to take them off.” 

your eyes blow out like glass. 

zayne, whom you suspected might have been deliberately extending the length of his cotton-round-preparing, is surprisingly the one to smile first. almost wickedly. “i would get you a cover, of course.” 

“oh, how nice of you.” 

he laughs barely, an exhale from his nose. you unbutton your trousers, fabric shifting against metal.  

he inhales at the sound. 

the blue latex over his knuckles catches light from the windows. you watch moments later as he threads the sutures, fascinated by how efficient his hands are. they’re longer than they are wide, and slender, not bear-like; but big nonetheless. and yet his fingers move like knitting needles, never missing a beat, never shaking. “would you like to do it yourself?” zayne asks suddenly. 

his voice is like a hum, always vibrating in his chest. 

you bristle. “god, no.” 

“then why are you staring?”  

you’re hoping he won’t finish on that very word, but he does, and he looks at you with his usual resolve of steel. you decide that no answer is the only good answer, and instead say, 

“okay. good luck. don’t mess up, please.” 

he chuckles and leans over you, the breadth of his sharp shoulders blocking the sun. “i never mess up.”   

the words ‘mess’ and ‘up,’ are foreign on his tongue, like he’d never refer to a mistake so casually, like he’s never made one in his life. he probably hasn’t, you think. 

zayne lifts up the cotton round, which is practically the size of a pea in his hand. “i’m going to clean around it. the solution may sting, but not much. it will be over fast.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

he chuckles again. “sure,” he hums, and then, before he presses down, “here.” 

he swipes the cotton round over your hipbone, startlingly light. goosebumps rise instantly on your flesh. his fingers are icy, even through the gloves; they radiate cold like a lamp radiates heat.  

zayne is kind enough not to mention your instant squirming and moves quickly to start the sutures. 

“this will be fast, too,” he says, looking unwaveringly into your eyes. like he’s trying to will the fear out of you. “not as fast as that, but faster than you’d imagine.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

“there it is again,” he smiles. “sure.” 

you grin incredulously. “i don’t know what else to say. you’re about to stab me.” 

his smile is thin and almost prideful as he grabs his glasses and slips them on. he leans over your hips, then looks up at you; pushing them up the bridge of his nose. 

“aren’t you glad it’s me, at least, and not some stranger?” 

you’re busy inhaling and exhaling like a horse, trying to calm down. “i am glad it’s you, yes.” 

your desperation throws him and his jaw sets like a stone, adam’s-apple bobbing.  

“alright,” zayne says, nearly whispering. “now.” 

he begins the sutures. you gasp, instantly, at first through your nose and then through your mouth; which pops open unwittingly. it’s nearly a whine. 

“i know,” zayne murmurs, leaning back a tiny bit as he works; so his face is visible to you. “i’m sorry.” 

“it’s okay.” 

you bite down hard and screw your eyes shut, but all you do is flinch each time his fingers move. he stops almost instantaneously, like pulling the plug on a treadmill. 

“look at me,” zayne says, deep voice rumbling against your thigh.  

you peel one eye open and then the other. 

“i know it hurts,” he says gently. “but you can’t move. i could seriously hurt you.” 

“sorry, sorry,” you nod. “i know.” 

the pools of his eyes are clear. he’s resolute in his instructions as he speaks, every word confident. 

“breathe the entire time, through every suture. i can work while your stomach moves; i can’t work if you’re flinching away.” 

“okay.” 

his brows lift. “okay?” 

again, you nod. “okay. i’m sorry.” 

“no apologies,” zayne says. 

he presses his hand flat to the side of your belly that’s unharmed, the tips of his long fingers just barely curling around the slope of your waist. you inhale slowly at that, blinking rapidly. his hand is cool as glass.  

you panic, as if he can somehow feel the coil that winds up in your stomach; watching his fingers splayed across your navel.  

“i’m going to try again,” he says. you can feel the words all the way down to his fingertips. then his thumb moves, caressing the skin just over your waistband. “breathe.” 

well, i can’t now. 

“got it,” you grind out. 

“good,” zayne hums. “three, two, one...” 

and it starts again. you bite down, tongue taut to the roof of your mouth. 

“don’t,” zayne warns, stern as ever, but his fingers keep working. “breathe. i can see whether you’re doing it.” 

the coil in your stomach tightens. you peel your eyes open and watch him work, knuckles grazing over the soft, thin flesh that’s been revealed from behind the waistband of your trousers.  

his eyes flash away from your navel as you start to watch. moments later, you’re stunned to see how laser-focused he is, pupils never moving from your cut.  

“do you ever get nervous doing this?” you ask, apt to make the time pass faster by talking. like your mouth isn’t wet just watching him do his job. “are you nervous?” 

“no.” his reply is instant. “i’ve done this hundreds of times.” 

you’re stunned. “i would be nervous.” 

“you are nervous,” zayne murmurs. “close your eyes.” 

the ball of his wrist presses into the juncture of your hipbone.  

“no,” you gasp. too fast. 

zayne’s fingers slow, utensils suspended. he looks up at you, somehow feeling taller still. “no?” 

you shake your head. “i-i don’t like not knowing what you’re going to do next.” 

oh, sure.  

he’s stopped working at this point, watching you like a hawk. “then i’ll tell you what i’m going to do before i do it.” 

“that’s okay,” you exhale. i’m dying. 

zayne’s eyes rove over yours, not unkind, but uncaring about how visible his assessment of you is. clinical, even still. the corners of his lips curl up.  

you’re not sure how it’s possible for your stomach to drop while laying flat on your back, but it does; your ears hot as irons.  

he goes back to work without another word. you’re so embarrassed, you finally shut your eyes and let your head weigh on the armrest until he’s done. 

“alright,” zayne says. “that’s it. don’t move.” 

you keep your eyes shut, nodding. “i really can’t thank you enough, i-” 

“watch.” 

for a moment, you lay there. then you open your eyes, peering down at him, too uncertain to be shocked yet. “what?” 

zayne takes his small kit from the table and places it on your lap. you startle, blink, as he sifts through the contents of it. gloves still on.  

“this is another cleanser,” he hums, his voice uncharacteristically musical. “i’m going to clean around the sutures.” 

you stare incredulously at him. “...okay.” 

he’s not fooled by your aloofness. zayne’s right hand works slow circles with a cotton round around your cut; the other comes down flat to keep the waistband of your trousers from getting in his way. both are cold to the touch; never quite warming.  

your jaws come apart and you barely manage to stop your mouth from falling open as discards the cotton round and takes the corner of your waistband into his hand. 

he buttons your trousers; pulls the zipper up. 

you watch like a fool. then, when he’s done, and you think you’ll have to admit to what you’re thinking, he furrows his brows at your face.  

“did you cut yourself here, too?” he murmurs. 

“where?” you croak. 

zayne shakes his head and slowly peels off the gloves; letting them slide slowly off his fingers. “mm. here.” 

he reaches forward and spreads fingers to cup your temples. one thumb glides over your browbone, low enough that you can see it; four or five times before removing his kit from your hips and leaning back.  

you exhale harshly and move to sit up, wondering if you’ll be able to somehow flee the office without another word. 

“not yet,” zayne says. “lay back again. you don’t have to put your head back; just lean back.” 

and you do it, instantly, because...well, because.  

zayne pulls a rectangular gauze pad with an adhesive border from the small kit. then he leans forward- he'd be positioned between your legs, if you opened them- and pulls your shirt up once more. 

as he presses the bandage over your sutured wound, it seems like even he can’t look at you. but his usually statuesque expression is lifted with amusement, plus something more sinister.  

“you like to watch me work,” he hums. 

his fingers dip under your waistband to smooth the bandage over. 

“shut up,” you bite. 

he leans back and watches you with no further offerings- words or otherwise medically dubious practices- and looks quite pleased. his breath is ragged, though; chest lifting and caving. 

“thank you,” you exhale. your tongue darts out over your lips.  

his pupils are swollen. “sure.” 

you grin, caught off guard by the joke. it sounds ridiculous in his voice.  

“my break will be ending,” zayne says, stony as ever once again as he walks to his desk.  

you stand, smoothing your hair down like something far more scandalous just occurred than stitches. 

“what do i owe you?” you ask. this earns a genuine, icy glare. 

“nothing,” zayne replies, pulling on his white jacket and grabbing his things. “but go to the front desk before you leave. i’m going to call in a prescription ointment for you.” 

you blink at him, thrice. a little dizzy. “oh, wow. thank you.” 

as zayne strides to the door, you think he might genuinely leave you there without another word. but he takes the door handle, and, almost shy, turns over his shoulder and says, 

“i’d like to stay with you, but i can’t. i’ll be working until dinner.” 

“no, no,” you rush, stepping to meet him at the door. “i’m fine. thank you so much, for doing this. i was just thinking.” 

he still can’t look at you, but at that; zayne grins. 

“i’ll call you when i get home,” he says. then, “is that okay?” 

you swallow. “of course.” 

“i want to know how the sutures feel in a couple of hours,” he adds. 

“oh, sure,” you tease. 

his eyes darken, like darts. you’re almost afraid.  

zayne opens the door for you and waits for you to pass by, eyes full of mirth as he looks down at you. “i’m glad i could be of service.” 

he raps his fingers on a clipboard until you look away. you blush feverishly all the way down the hall at how he says ‘service.’ 

☄. *. ⋆

this is not how you do stitches nor how you sterilize utensils. anyways FIRST POST. lol. anon if you or anyone else wants a part 2 of this (nsfw) i wiiiiiill do it lmk

[freedomfireflies]

MR. STYLES AND PEACH DOING SOMETHING FOR THE LIVE STREAM !! maybe she can squirt again ?

OOOOF abso-fucking-lutely!!! This one is also inspired by this image!

“Tell them.”

“I…shit, I—”

A firm spank to your ass. “No. You watch your fucking tongue, Peach. And tell them. Tell them how many times you’re gonna cum for me.”

With a shaky inhale and quivering thighs, you brace yourself against the mattress and whimper, “Five. Five times—”

“Good girl. One for each day till Christmas, yeah? And how many times have you cum for me so far, hm?”

“Tw…twice, Sir.”

“That’s right.” You can hear the grin stretching across his face. “Think I should give you my cock now, Peach? Think you deserve it?”

You nod as best you can given in the position you’re in. You want to deserve it. Want to be filled, and stretched, and cared for. In a way only he can do.

“Yeah?” His fingers gently trail down the length of your spine. Dancing over the curve of your ass and the sparkling Christmas lights keeping your wrists bound to your thighs. “I think you do. Think you’ve been so good for us. Haven’t you?”

You turn your head until you can glance over your shoulder at him. “Yes, Sir…trying.”

“Mm.” He hums, and it makes your clit throb against the vibrator. “Trying. Bet you are, baby. Trying so hard to make me proud, hm?”

You only whine as another wave of pleasure rolls through you from the toy beneath your hips.

“I know,” he says, before his hand comes down in another firm smack to your right cheek. “All right, then, baby. Make me proud. Show ‘em how well you take my cock, yeah? Show ‘em how a good girl behaves.”

And you vow to do just that as you feel him move closer and sweep the tip through your arousal.

Harry is always incredible to you. Eager to please and make things fun. To toss you around like a toy and have your body bend to his will.

But Mr. Styles – Sir – is a completely different beast. Insatiable and unrelenting. Perhaps mostly for the cameras (like the one pointed at you both right now), but also for the power it brings.

He might be the one giving the orders, but you’re the one in charge.

With one quick squeeze to your hip, he begins to push in. Thick cock stretching you open while you’re simply forced to lay on your stomach and take it. 

And it’s perfect. Especially after such a long, strenuous day of his teasing. And with two orgasms already under your belt from the vibrator, you’re overstimulated and far too sensitive. You don’t imagine it’ll be long before the third.

“There you go, there’s my little cumslut,” he exhales, driving in just a bit further but not quite all the way. “Missed this, didn’t you? Missed Daddy’s cock—”

“Yes,” you gasp before stumbling over a whine. “Sir, please—”

“So fucking greedy, aren’t you, my love?” Another squeeze to your waist before he’s burying himself all the way. Sheathing himself inside your cunt as you both release a deep, satisfied breath. “That’s it. Just like that.”

And you can’t hold back. Can’t hold off. The combination of vibrations to your clit and the fullness of his cock just about kills you. And without really meaning to, you cum for the third time with little to no warning.

But he loves it. Groaning in your ear as his chest presses to your back. Indulging in every flutter of your cunt as you let go.

“Shit, Peach,” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your bare shoulder. “Feel so good around me, you know that? So fucking warm…so wet. This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? Was made to get fucked by me—”

“Shit…shit, Sir—”

He spanks you again before he’s suddenly grabbing hold of your throat and lifting your head from the bed. “What did I fucking say, hm? You watch your fucking tongue—”

“Sorry—” you gasp. “M’sorry, Daddy…just feels so good.”

“Yeah? I know.” He rears back before thrusting himself in. Setting a sharp, unforgiving pace that barrels you toward a fourth. “Can feel exactly how good it feels for you, baby. Tell them. Tell them how fucking good I make you feel—”

“Shi…good,” you whimper. “So good. S’perfect, Sir. Always perfect—”

“Dream of my cock, don’t you? When you’re lying in my bed? Soaking my sheets? Fucking dream of me…dream of me stretching this little pussy. Having you any way I want—”

“Yes…yes—”

“Dream of them watching.” He squeezes your delicate throat in his palm. Just hard enough to make your lashes flutter but not nearly enough to scare you. Only excite you. “Love the idea of them seeing what I do to you, don’t you?”

A question that doesn’t really need an answer. He already knows.

“So maybe I’ll let them.” He’s going faster. Pounding himself into you with a fervor you’d recognize anywhere. “Maybe I’ll let them see just how much of a fucking whore you really are for me.”

You would love nothing more. Because there’s something about this scene – about the way he controls you – that makes you feel utterly safe and protected.

It had been your idea that he tie you up with Christmas lights for the livestream. And he’d smirked, seemingly unconvinced. 

But he changed his mind rather quickly after you showed up in his home office wearing nothing but the lights and a large, red bow over your pussy.

It had been outrageously silly, but the way his pupils dilated, and his chest nearly caved in made it well worth it.

“Look,” he orders you now, lifting your head from the bed and forcing your eyes on the computer in front of the mattress. “Look at what they’re saying about you.”

The comments roll in one after the other. Praising you for the wet sounds you’re making, praising him for the way his cock ruins you, and praising you both for what you’re doing to your audience.

But none of their opinions matter. Only his. As long as he’s satisfied with you…that’s all you really want.

“They think I should make you squirt,” he muses, dragging his teeth down the shell of your ear. Slowing his pace until you feel restless. “They wanna see you soak me. And I think I do, too.”

Just the thought, the salacious, greedy purr in his voice, is enough to drag you closer. To force your body into complacency until you’re squirming beneath his large frame. 

His chest presses harder into your back, using his weight to keep you still, keep you stuck to the bed below. To take every second of pleasure from both his cock and the toy still stuck to your cunt.

And he’s so deep. Reaching spots that have you seeing stars, and yet you can tell he’s holding back. He’s going easy on you. Even after readjusting his position in order to truly wreck you. 

Tears slip down your cheeks, muscles aching from the strain of the position you’re in. From the lights keeping you bound and submissive. 

And yet…it’s everything.

“Go on,” Mr. Styles instructs, squeezing your throat once more before removing his hand in order to spank you. Kneading the tender, red flesh gently before doing it again. “Come on, Peach. Cum for us.”

You’re so close…so fucking close. You just need…just need a little…just need a little more—

“Fuck,” you nearly cry, writhing almost violently as it rips through you. And you know this is what he wanted. Can feel the way this one rips you apart from the inside out, unraveling you like the seams on a sweater.

Everything is wet. The bed, your thighs, the toy, his cock. 

And through every moment, he murmurs, “There you go. Oh, good fucking girl. Giving us everything, yeah? Just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Sweet, dumb little baby. Just had to fucking cum—”

“Shit, shit, shit—”

Another spank, but he doesn’t chastise you this time. “What number was that, hm? Tell us.”

“…four. Four, Sir.”

“That’s right.” His fingers curl around your sparkling restraints, tugging on them as if to test them. “And how many left, hm?”

A trick question. Because you know the real number. But the answer he truly wants, is:

“However many you want, Sir.”

The pleased hum that melts from his chest is like ecstasy, and you can only imagine the smirk on his face.

“That’s right,” he whispers. “However fucking many I want.”

You feel him envelope your body with his, and for just a brief moment, you feel truly comfortable. Protected and safe and so incredibly infatuated with the man behind you.

“So…” he continues before dragging his lips across your cheek. Tempting you with a kiss that he doesn’t give you.

You shiver.

He grins.

“Why don’t you be a good peach…and give us another.”

God I forgot how fun these two are HAHAHA

SO SORRY FOR THE CONSTANT SPAMMING OF BLURBS!! WE ARE ALMOST DONE, JUST TWO MORE!!

Teach Me is next, and I will see you then 🥹💞💞

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobii @caynonmoondreams @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever @saturnheartz

[lilac-5ky]

Aftercare (Toji xFem!Reader)

Summary: A little something where Toji takes care of his darling after a rough session.

w.c: slightly over 800

tags: MDNI, mentions of spanking, creampie, overstimulation, choking, deep throating, daddy kink, marking, Toji being a softie

“You fuck me as if you hate me,” you say with voice shaky, completely out of breath and barely of volume as Toji’s final strand of tousled obsidian hair fades past the door frame, the world slowing down just a bit.

And it is true. He’s left plenty of evidence on your body to be accused of such a heinous crime— The swollen folds of your reddened cunt and the gaping hole that dribbles rich ropes of cum (Toji never liked the idea of wasting a good load on rubber), both agonizing over his absence. The glossy eyes and smeared lipstick (You’d worked so hard to look good for your first-anniversary dinner). The rough imprints of his calloused fingers already settling into a darker shade of pink around your throat. The purple bruises that bloom across your skin like debouched morning glories, cascading all the way down to the sore nipples he’d thoroughly sucked, licked, and bitten into this obscene state.

And that’s only as far as your front side is concerned. No need to think about the persistent sting on both your cheeks or the mean palms that relentlessly smacked them whenever you protested you couldn’t take it— Him.

Don’t go back on me now, sweetheart. I know you can. Pussy’s made for daddy’s cock, mm?

Toji really fucked you as if he despised you with every fiber of his being, but all notion of hatred seems to evaporate when he comes back with a towel drenched in hot water and a warm cup of chamomile. He scoops you in his arms so effortlessly, tucking your head below his chin as if it’s the most precious thing to him— and it just might be, with the way he wipes his mess from between your jiggly thighs, nub so sensitive that when his knuckles brush up against it a whimper is coaxed.

Shhh, he coos, and you feel the timbre of his voice melting in your ears; reverberating in his chest, littered with little crescent moons that trace back to his broad shoulders. You aren’t the one to go down without a fight. You clawed and thrashed your way out of every shuddering orgasm he ripped out, proving the hatred run mutual between the two of you, and at the reminder you smile. A shy smile, not for his eyes, but for his body to feel, as the curl of your lips pressed against each and every kitten claw you could find.

His first instinct is to flinch away. He’s not used to an affection that isn’t packed with pain, but he’s been learning and making steady progress. Because as good as Toji is at hating people to death, he’s come to know that love has ways of killing, too. He feels it every time your eyes meet across a full room; every time your head lifts from your delicate prose to catch him staring rather crudely; every time you welcome him with a grin, even the times when he’s soaked in blood from head to toe, and every time his name leaves your lips as either a moan or a chant, he threads it into a rosary.

The man he once was before he met you is no longer in existence. The wretched, vile, beast of a man who lived for himself and cursed all others. He hasn’t taken on a new gig in months. Hangs up the phone whenever he sees Shiu’s name on it and has memorized all his burner phone numbers. Rejects the heftiest bounties so that your tears, whenever you search for new scarlet strokes on him, remain sheathed behind your eyelids.

He doesn’t want to have to say he’s sorry again. Even if he’s somehow become worthy of your love, he doesn’t think scum like him should be worthy of your worrying. He is an inmate on death row and you are his executioner, and how fitting that is, for he can’t think of a better way to die than from the choke hold around his heart.

He makes sure the towel picks up every last residue of his essence, blows at the smoking cup, and tips it closer to your lips. You gobble it up so fast, dehydrated from the brutal gagging session he subjected you to, and he should be ashamed that seeing you this broken makes his cock twitch again. He still has a few more rounds left in him, but he’ll hold back. As fun as ruining you and reassembling you is, he needs you whole right now.

Once the cup is drained, he sets it on the nightstand and scrubs your jaw with the pad of his thumb. He wonders if the beverage made it down your throat because there’s water running all over your tits. So messy, he hums and reaches for the towel again, and the words that follow, flow so naturally.

“I fuck you because I love fucking you. I fuck you because I fucking love you.”

A/N: brainrot brainrot brainrot brainrot brainrot, h e l p. In the process of writing a proper smut about him. Not sure when it'll drop cause I'm swamped.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet One 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: have a good day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“So, what do you think?” Lloyd asks as he turns to you, outstretching his arms as he gestures to the endless hangers. “All yours. You got your pick.” 

You stand just inside the door of the walk-in closet. The space would take up at least half your apartment alone. You cross your arms as you glance along the rows of coloured fabric hung from the walls, organized in a perfect ombre effect of shades. On the far wall, there are shelves full of shoes and accessories, along with a vanity in the centre. 

“I know you’re a simple gal,” he grins, “but you don’t have to be anymore. Whatever you want, ain’t no mountain high enough and all that.” 

You nod and blow out between your lips. It all still feel surreal like a nightmare. You swallow and tamp down your discomfort. You didn’t hate the life you had. Your small apartment, manageable and tame. You prefer predictability, even if some might say it’s boring. 

“Erm, I dunno,” you slowly trail over to the other side of the closet. 

“Well, you could pick some shoes first. That might inspire you,” he suggests as he approaches you, “you don’t need to be too fancy, you know, you always look nice.” 

“Mm,” you nod,” thanks that’s...” 

You let the sentence hang. This is really freaking you out. Your chest feels tight and your head is buzzing. You shudder out a breath. 

“What... what am I choosing for?” You croak. 

“I told you, jellybean,” he puts his arm around you and pulls you against his side, “it’s a surprise.”  

He reaches to grab a hanger and holds it out at arm’s length. A blush-coloured satin dress with a bit of frill at the bottom of the skirt. It’s nothing you would choose yourself. 

“Sure, that’s nice,” you say, just to appease him. What else can you do? 

“Hm,” he hums, “you don’t like it?” 

“I didn’t say...” 

“You don’t sound very excited,” he pouts as he turns to you, his hand lingering on your hip, “none of it? I got it all for you.” 

“I’ll wear it,” you sniff, “I’m sorry, I’m just... I’m... adjusting.” 

You don’t know how else to explain it.  

He pushes his lower lip out and narrows his eyes, “sure, sure, makes sense.” He drags his hand off your hip and steps back, keeping the dress up as he angles it before you, as if he’s imagining you in it. “This is gonna look so hot, baby.” 

You do your best to stay placid. It’s harder as you heart pounds furiously. You can’t even begin to guess what he has planned but with everything he’s done and said, you know exactly what his intent is.  

“You should get washed up, huh? Then get dolled up. Like I said, won’t need much of that,” he winks, “you could walk in ass-naked and I’m sure you’d stun.” 

You can’t help how your mouth slants at his remark. 

“Alright, jellybean, let’s get you in the tub,” he lays the dress over the velvet bench and spins back, startling you as he grabs both hips and jerks you towards him with a growl, “can I watch? I promise, I’ll try not to touch. Yet.” 

You clasp onto his wrists with a yelp. He curls his lips eagerly and you repress your horror. You don’t want to antagonise. You don’t want him to get any worse than he is. 

“Um, did you want... to?” You murmur. 

“Fucking of course,” he urges you against him, “the things I want to do...” he smirks, “I’m quaking in my boots.” 

He bows to smother you with a kiss. His mustache pokes at your uper lip and up your nose as he hums and slides his tongue across your lips. You squeeze your mouth tightly shut but he pokes through, nearly choking you as he invades. You press your hands to his chest as he locks you into his embrace. 

Finally, he part and you gasp for breath. He snickers as you puff against him. Your skin is crawling as you wriggle in his hold. 

“Yum,” he purrs. 

He lets his arms fall away and quickly snags your hand. You let him drag you around to the door, your feet hollow as they move without a thought. Resistance is plainly not a choice. 

He takes you back into the adjoining bedroom, the one you awoke in, and through another door way against the perpendicular wall. He steps to the side as he tugs you forward and releases you. Your take in the sleek black walls and black tub, the silver shower head in a monochrome booth, and the ebon marble veined with sparkling white. 

“I get it, it’s going to take a lot of getting used to,” he boasts, “this is our home, sweet cheeks. Remember that. You treat it like your very own... it is. Just like me, all yours.” 

You pad slowly inside, if only to keep a distance from your captor. You won’t forget what he is. He can give you all the luxurious things but you remember the days of starvation, of terror. He can’t see himself for what he is but you do. 

“Face masks, body scrub, bath bomb, shower gel, bonnet, robe,” he points at the fluffy purple robe still around you, “slippers,” he flicks his finger towards the mat beside the door, “lotions, creams, everything you can dream of. Oh damn, I can call a nail tech if you want a fresh mani--” 

“Uh, no thanks,” ball up your fists, hiding your short-trimmed nails, “that’s not... that’s okay.” 

“Only the best for you, kitty cat,” he says. 

He strides forward and you flinch out of his way. He goes to the tub and cranks it on, water splashing out from the high faucet. He flips the silver lever to put the stopper in place and backs up. 

“Voila, all for you,” he declares, “I’ll just...” he looks around and backs up to sit on the fluffy cushioned stools near the wall, “sit and watch. If you need help getting your back, I got you.” 

He wiggles his fingers and gives a lecherous grin. You withhold a shudder and face the basin, the water battering the bottom. You step forward and peer down into the shallows. You clutch the front of the robe and peek over in his direction but not at him. 

He waits, silently. You sway, squeezing the fluffy fabric as you peer back at the water. You don’t know if you can do it. Not with him right there. 

“Whatsa matter, baby, you need help?” He shifts and you jolt.  

“N-no, I just...” you look down at yourself and frown. 

“Ah, you’re shy. I totally get it,” he coos, “you don’t gotta be though. Your beautiful, so you should be proud. Show it off, honey.” He clucks and shakes his head, “you know that’s the thing these days, all you girls, you’re so insecure, but you trust me, sweet lips, you got nothing to be insecure about.” 

Your stomach flips. You feel hazy. You try to shrug it off and drop your hands to the belt of the rob. You untie it. You’re really going to do this. Why? 

Because you’re afraid? Weak? Yep. 

You shed the rob and look around. You hang it on the hook behind the door and return to the tub. It’s getting deeper and deeper. You touch the bottom of your shirt and scrunch it up in your fists. Just do it quickly and get in. He can only see so much from over there. 

You pull your shirt off, nothing underneath. You push your pants down quickly, your underwear rolling down inside. The skin feels cooler then and tingles across your naked skin as you latch onto the tub and swing yourself over the edge. You barely get a foot under you before you submerge your body in the water. 

You sit up, legs bent, stiff on the porcelain as the water continues to rise. It’s not quite at your chest yet. If you let it fill all the way, it might touch your chin. As you watch the depth climb, you don’t notice him until he closes. You slide to the back of the tub as Lloyd cranks off the faucet. 

You notice how his eyes stray to you. Your legs stay bent in front of you, blocking most of everything. You shrink down, hunching your shoulders as he searches through the ripples. He tilts his head and cracks his neck as he exhales and backs away. 

“Take your time, baby,” he purrs as he rubs his chest. 

He sits again and you lower your head. You’ve never been this bare in front of anyone, rarely even yourself. You’re just not comfortable without some short of shield around you. Your eyes tinge with the threat of tears. You feel like you’ve been hit across the face. This is real. Really real. 

Your eyes flick up and you reach for the purple scrubby on the little black shelf. You just have to get through it. That’s what you’ve always done. 

👄

You stare into the open case. You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the concept of make-up. When you were a teen, you had a phase, and you’ve been to enough job interviews to wield a mascara wand. Still, the amount seems excess. 

There’s almost every sort of product in every shade. Some sort of tap you don’t know what to do with, highlighter, and finishing spray. It’s too much. Your look is either a bare face or nothing at all. More often the former. 

You fidget with a tube of lipstick, clicking the lid up and down. This is all so strange. What are you getting ready for? And why? This isn’t your home, this isn’t your life, and yet it’s all so perfectly planned. 

“Honey bunnnnnn,” Lloyd’s timbre has you dropping the stick. He strides in, flustered, holding up two ties. He’s half dressed. A pair of red velvet pants and amber satin button up. It’s not a look you would go for. “What do ya think? Which tie? Paisley or the stripes?” 

You shrug and shake your head. 

He clicks his tongue, “genius, baby, genius. No tie. You’re right. Just the jacket.” 

Your mouth falls open and you nod, “sure, yeah.” 

You look back at the vanity and huff. Your face is untouched. You sit in your robe in the walk-in closet, mulling over your misery. Self-pity is as inescapable as these walls. 

“What’s up, cheeks?” He asks, “you need some help? I’m thinking you could give a bit more colour to lips but keep the rest very subtle.” 

He crosses the floor and hovers behind you. You stir around in the case and take out two bottles of foundation. You’ve never really used that either but the shades are pretty close. He lays the ties down on the vanity, brushing your back as he does, and pulls back to grip your shoulders. 

“I tried to guess as best I could. Don’t know much about all that but the lady in the store was a blessing,” he massages your shoulders as he talks. You’re tense as steel. “But you know, you got perfect skin so...” 

“Mm,” you put the foundation back and peruse the little shelf alongside the mirror. You reach for the moisturizer. Your skin feels raw.  

“I like it, au natural. Touch of cream, little lash...” 

“I’ll figure it out,” you grumble. He’s kind of annoying. No, he’s really annoying. All of this is annoying. 

“Right, yep, I will get out of your way,” he bends and kisses the crown of your head, “lots of time.” 

He strolls out and you scowl at the mirror. Something about him is getting to you. You’re not an angry person. You’re a nice person. You don’t go out of your way to be around others but when you are, you strive to be pleasant. Or at least, out of the way. 

You spread the cream over your face, watching your reflection as if it’s someone else. Where did he come from? Why? This is some cruel trick because you only ever wanted to mind your business. 

You cap the bottle and put the moisturizer back. You fish out a mascara stick and brush it on your lashes then find a neutral lip colour to put on. Nothing special, just like you. Hopefully he sees that soon enough. 

You pack away the case and push it to the back of the vanity. You get up and go to the velvet bench where the dress lays. He’s plucked out a few things to go with it. A gold necklace with small diamonds speckled along it and a pair of beige heels.  

You peek at the door before you untie the robe. You shiver as your fingers brush your stomach. You close your eyes as you recall how he wrapped you up in a towel after your bath. His touches were more than deliberate but his intrusive gaze made you squirm more. 

You pull on the lingerie tucked under the dress. A thong. You’ve never worn one of those, and a satin and lace bra with no padding. Even as you pull the dress up your figure, you feel like you’re on display. You reach back, bending your arm until your elbow throbs as you push the zipper up. 

“Need some help?” Lloyd’s voice makes you wince. 

You sniff, “sure.” 

You hold up the bodice as he approaches. You refuse to look back at him as he nears. He tickles along your spine with a single finger before he tugs on the zipper. He pulls it up little by little, until the fabric is snug around you. His fingertips drift down your back and he spreads his hands across your ass. You gasp. 

Before you can step away, his hands glide around and he grabs you by the hips. He pulls you against him and rocks with you. He inhales your scent from above and sighs. 

“Jellybean...” he almost sings, “are you...untouched?” 

You lock up and grab at his hands, trying to free yourself. 

“Is that why you’re so shy?” He snickers and spins you around, hands going to your waits, “I’m honoured to be your first.” 

You gape at him, horrified. His intent hasn’t been hard to guess but said aloud, it is all too imminent. 

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi, amazing work! It’s addicting to read all your stuff. Would you care to do one where the good looking villain makes the join me offer and the hero actually takes it? Like I’m all for saving the day and stuff but maybe just maybe I’d say yes if a villain came and told me they’d love me as if I were their world and asked me to join them 😗 👉👈

"Join me," the villain murmured, "and I will give you my heart, the world, and everything in-between that you might possibly desire."

"Yeah, alright."

The villain paused.

"Is this the bit where you tell me that you actually say that to all your enemi-?"

The villain was on them in an instant, crowding them up against the wall, cupping their jaw, kissing their lips.

The hero moaned in surprise, then promptly dissolved. It was impossible to do anything else when faced with a kiss like that. It was a sun of a kiss - dragging everything else into orbit around it, forever, always, until the explosive end of everything.

"Alright?" the villain asked, with breathless reverence.

"Uhuh."

"You mean it?"

"You're a good kisser."

The villain flicked them on the ear. "I meant about joining me....though also the kiss. I'm glad you enjoyed the kiss. Sorry. Should have asked first."

The hero found themselves smiling back, irrepressibly. "It's rude to flick."

"Mm, I'll make it up to you."

"And I mean it."

The villain smiled back at them. Bright. Blinding almost with their joy. They examined the hero in their palms like they were an unparalleled, unexpected, nigh impossible delight.

"...You're welcome to kiss me again," the hero mumbled. "God, I don't know why you're surprised. You asked-"

The villain kissed them again. The universe felt a little theirs already, each breath and press of lips a new constellation dotted along the frantic beat of their heat.

The hero pulled them closer. They practiced surrender and victory all wrapped up in one.

"You didn't think I'd say yes?" they asked, dazed, when they next broke for air.

"No."

"But you asked."

"Well, I always ask."

"Oh my god."

"No! No." The villain's grip tightened on them, holding them in place. "I didn't mean like that."

"You offer your heart to everyone? And I thought I was special. I thought-"

The villain kissed them a third time, though that time it was definitely to shut the hero up, as they laughed against the villain's lips. They felt giddy.

"You're a menace," the villain growled.

"Five years of being your nemesis, and you decide that now? Wow."

"Oh my god."

The hero grinned. They reached out to cup the villain's jaw in turn, cradling them. The villain was something they were allowed to have. To hold. To never let go of. It still didn't seem quite real. They drew the villain closer, so they could initiate a gentle kiss of their own.

"You have my heart too," the hero said, "for what it's worth."

The villain swallowed. Their shoulders sagged. They leaned in to the hero and the two of them stayed like that for a while.

"I'm glad you said yes," the villain whispered.

"Yeah," the hero replied softly. "With me on your side, you might actually win."

"I'll bite you."

"Promises promises."

The villain rolled their eyes, but their gaze was soft with affection. "My utter menace."

"My favourite monstrosity."

The villain snorted, at that.

The hero dropped their hands, only to entwine their fingers with the villain's. "It's nearly sunset. Want to walk into it together?"

"Yeah," the villain said. "Alright."

And they all lived happily ever after.

[moonstruckme]

Glad your back love! I have a request if that’s alright. Remus and reader going on a bookstore date and lunch or something!! That would be so cute. Imagine how excited both of them would be picking out books and being affectionate. Just a lot of fluff and cuteness. Thanks sweetness hope you enjoyed your break!

Thanks for requesting sweetness!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You’re feeling a bit guilty about the teas you’ve snuck in, but if there are two people who can be trusted around books, it’s you and Remus. He takes a careful sip as he leans in to skim the titles, sticking one hand in the pocket of his pants. 

“Island of Love,” he reads, amusement lilting his tone. “Original.” 

“I think I’ve actually read some of that author’s stuff,” you say. 

Remus quirks a brow at you interestedly, hand coming out of his pocket to pull the novel from the shelf. “Let’s see, a summer wedding, the groom’s brother and bride’s maid of honor hate each other, but—oh, he’s frustratingly attractive…and something about passionate summer heat.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Wonder what that could be alluding to.” 

“Alright.” You steal the book from him, slotting back into its space. “I never said this stuff was, like, literature to be studied at Oxford. If you’re going to disrespect my section, run along to yours.” 

“Fairly sure it’s considered rude to abandon your date,” he muses. “What’s my section, by the way?”

“Depressing stuff.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mhm.” You take a sip of your own tea, trying not to fluster under his attention. You scan the shelves idly for a distraction. “It’s all rather doom and gloom. Very well-written doom and gloom, to be fair, but I’m not always looking to have my life changed. This stuff is fun, at least.” 

“I see,” he hums. “Oh, this looks familiar.” 

You turn to see him holding up the shiny new version of the worn and waterstained paperback that rests perpetually on your nightstand at home. 

“How do you know about that?” you ask him. 

Remus smiles. Your heart flutters. “It was on the coffee table when I was over last week. Are you rereading it?” 

“Yeah.” You shrug, turning your eyes away from him. “I reread it a lot, it’s my favorite.” 

“Mm, I noticed it looked fairly battered.” 

“Well-loved,” you correct him. 

He chuckles quietly, and you grin because you can’t help it. “Right, so sorry. My mistake.” 

You brush a piece of hair out of your face, slotting it behind your ear. Watch Remus’ eyes track the movement. “So what’s your battered book?” 

“Hm?” 

“Your favorite,” you clarify. “The book that’s all war torn and full of nonsensical annotations.”

He thinks for a minute. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “I have a few I go back and forth between, but lately it’s been The Secret History.” 

You have to cover your mouth with a hand to hide the full breadth of your smile, and Remus narrows his eyes at you. 

“What?” he asks.

“That book is so depressing.” You shake your head, delighted at being so right. “I mean, it’s beautifully written,” you amend. “Really gorgeous. I’m just not sure I found the plot as compelling as the prose.” 

His mouth actually drops open. You can’t tell how much of the shock is teasing and how much is real. “You thought that book had no plot?” 

“No, I mean, plenty happened.” You turn to face him, forgetting about the books around you for a moment to focus on this one. “But I felt like it happened so slowly, and there was so much in between that was just tons of description. It was like they almost skimmed over the murder part! There were so many plotlines that were brought in and then just disappeared, though I guess I can respect the ways in which it reflected real life.”

You think for a second that Remus might argue with you (he should, really—it’s his favorite book and you’re slandering it), but he keeps his mouth shut, watching you interestedly. 

“And don’t you think Richard was a bit passive? Henry and Bunny had so much going on, but the narrator could have literally been a fly on the wall the whole time. He kind of reminds me of Nick Carroway, you know?” 

“From the Great Gastby?” He tilts his head, eyes squinting a bit (it’s devastatingly cute). “How’s that?” 

“Just, they’re both such flat characters.” You frown. “I don’t really think either of them needed to be in the story at all. I mean, having a narrator that’s a character with no personality is effectively the same as having a non-omniscient third-person narrator, right?” 

Remus is biting the inside corner of his lips like he’s trying not to smile. “Right.” 

“What?”

“I’m just thinking that I need to get you talking about books more often,” he says. And that’s real affection in his eyes, mixed in with the humor. 

You look down, grinning at the front of your shirt, but his little smile doesn’t waver. 

“Shouldn’t be hard,” you say. An awkward, obvious sidestep of the compliment, but he lets you get away with it. “Your turn. Let’s go to your section.” 

He shrugs. “If you think you can stand it,” he says, but starts moving in that direction. You notice he’s still holding the copy of your favorite book. 

“Aren’t you going to put that back?” 

“No.” He doesn’t need to look down to know what you’re talking about. “You’ve already torn one of my choice novels to shreds, now it’s my turn to read yours.” 

A little bite of nervousness snips behind your belly button even as his sidelong look lets you know he’s only joking. “You could always borrow mine.” 

Remus blinks. “I’m flattered that you’d trust me with it,” he says, and it almost has you blushing again, that he knows the significance of you offering him your copy, “but I think I’ll read the un-annotated version first. But if the offer still stands after I’m finished, I’d love to read your thoughts on it.” 

He says it like it’s nothing. Like taking the time to read your favorite book twice, just so he can get to know you more thoroughly, isn’t the sweetest thing anyone’s ever so much as thought of doing for you. You worry that if you look down, your heart will be glowing right through your shirt.

“Alright.” You muster your courage, taking him by the hand. “But now we also have to find one to read together.” 

Remus has looked down at your joined hands, something like shyness coloring his expression, but he looks up to quirk an eyebrow at you. “Are you so sure we’ll be able to find something we can agree upon?” “So long as it involves a main character that actually does something, I think we can manage.”

[jobean12-blog]

A Dash of Spice and Everything Nice

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 2,375

Summary: Every year you bake for the local charity event Bucky hosts- he might be the boss but he takes care of those in need-and this time you get some extra help.

Author's Note: This is for my ongoing Kinktober celebration and my absolute love for Mob!Bucky- he is one of my kinks forever. You all know how I love him soft and sweet but still in charge. Hope you enjoy, thank you all so much for reading! Much love always ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰

Warnings: it's soft and sweet and fluffy and spicy, reader is sassafrass and Bucky loves it, baking is involved but he really wants to eat something else...o-r-al, p i-n- the-v.

Kinktober Masterlist 2023

Before the front door of the house even closes you hear Bucky’s voice.

“Wow doll face. Smells so good in here.”

He walks into the kitchen and you rush into his outstretched arms. He cradles your face in his large hands, letting his eyes wander over your features before slowly bringing your lips to his. The kiss starts out soft and sweet but in the next moment he has you pinned against the refrigerator, his hand tugging at the tie of your apron.

“Wait, wait,” you whisper along his lips. “I have muffins about to come out of the oven and bread that needs to go in.”

“And I’ve missed you all day,” he counters, giving you a boyish smirk.

“Mm, missed you too,” you purr, kissing the corner of his mouth.

You slip from his grasp and flit around the kitchen, checking timers and dough.

The timer goes off seconds later and you pull the muffins from the oven, checking their readiness before sliding in the pan of chocolate pumpkin bread.

“There,” you say with a contented sigh. “Now for the cookies.”

You’re reaching up for a measuring cup when you feel him at your back, his lips skimming the shell of your ear with his whispered words. “Do you plan on baking all night doll?”

An involuntary shiver runs across your skin and you lean back into his embrace.

“No,” you gasp, craning your neck to the side when his lips meet your shoulder and he trails kisses along your throat. “But these have to be ready for the bake sale tomorrow and a little help will make it go faster.”

He stops, his lips still pressed to your skin.

“Bucky?” you ask with a smile in your voice.

“Fine doll. I’ll help you bake but as soon as we’re done we do what I want.”

You turn in his arms and dance your fingers up his suit jacket. “Don’t we always?”

His lips brush yours before his kiss and he quickly has you in his arms, lifting you onto the countertop.

“Bucky,” you admonish, your voice hardly stern and instead breathy and desperate.

“I know, I know,” he groans.

He steps back and runs a hand through his hair. “What should I do?”

You giggle as you slide off the counter.

“First of all,” you say, sauntering toward him. “You have to take off some of these clothes. Wouldn’t want you getting any flour on your Dior.”

His eyebrows raise. “Think I’m going to like baking.”

You playfully roll your eyes even as you start to gently push his suit jacket from his shoulders. Once it’s off you carefully drape it over the back of the chair and start to work on his button down.

With deft fingers you undo the first few buttons, smoothing your fingertips along his skin.

“Do you want me to get you a tee shirt?” you ask as you continue, pushing the sides of his shirt open to run your nails over his abs.

“Do you want to get me a tee shirt?” he teases back.

“No.”

You slowly remove his shirt and hang it over his suit jacket.

When you reach for his belt buckle he stops you with a firm hand on your wrist.

“Doll,” he warns. “You expect me to help you bake after all this?”

“You have to. I can’t show up to the event without my baked goodies…what will I tell everyone?”

“That your husband spent the whole night fucking your brains out and you didn’t have any time to bake,” he states with finality.

You lift your eyes from his flexing abs. “And they’ll all be too scared to say a word about it but then I won’t raise any money for our charity.”

Your pouty lips are too hard to resist and he takes your chin between his fingers, dragging your mouth to his for a heated kiss.

When he stops your eyes remain closed, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks as you sway on your feet.

“We just have to make two batches of cookies,” you whisper, still savoring his lips.

Your eyes open and you continue working on his belt. Once it hangs loosely at his hips you unbutton his pants and then pull the zipper down, revealing his patterned boxer briefs.

You drop to your knees and start to tug each pant leg off.

“Fuck doll,” he croons. “You always look so good on your knees for me.”

You look up at him and nibble your bottom lip. “You’re not making this any easier, you know.”

“I’m not trying to,” he smirks. “And this was your idea.”

As you stand you glide your fingers along his thighs, reaching up to kiss him when you say, “leave your socks on. Your feet will get cold.”

He chuckles and adjusts himself in his boxers, the outline of his arousal prominent in the tight fabric.

“You’re worried about my feet?”

You give him a look before sashaying out of the kitchen and returning moments later with his slippers. When you drop them at his feet he slides them on with a wry smile.

“You’re sassy when you bake Mrs. Barnes. I like it.”

“Don’t get any more ideas and get over there and read me that recipe,” you say as you shake your whisk his way with a no nonsense look.

“Mm bossy too,” he hums.

“Yeah, yeah…” you mutter, playfully glaring now. “And you’re just letting me do it because you like it.”

“Obviously,” he replies, holding your stare even as the corners of his eyes crinkle in delight.

“Recipe Barnes,” you repeat.

He blows you a kiss and then peers down at the paper, squinting his eyes before bringing it closer to his face. His mouth opens as he turns to you but before he can even get the question out you have his glasses in your hand and you’re holding them out for him.

“Thanks doll face,” he beams with a knowing smile, then looks back at the recipe. “Ok so first we need…”

Once you have the batter ready Bucky stands behind you at the counter, his arms on either side of you while he mixes and you watch.

You wiggle your ass into him and giggle when he growls and pins you with his hips.

“You’re not behaving,” he states.

“Who said anything about behaving?” you ask and do it again.

He stops mixing and grabs your waist. “Doll,” he warns.

You hum quietly and take the spatula to continue, ignoring his groans.

“Is it time to taste test?” he asks as he slides his finger toward the bowl.

“NO!” you shout and slap his hand. “It’s raw!”

“Ow,” he whines, making you laugh.

“Ow my ass! Come on, let’s get these on the pan and in the oven.”

“Can I at least taste something else?” he asks, his eyes sparkling with mischief and his hands pawing at your leggings.

“After,” you answer, trying to stop the tremble of anticipation that runs through you.

When the whole house smells of cinnamon, sugar and spice you sigh in relief and set the timer for the last time.

Bucky stalks toward you and takes you in his arms. “Finally,” he murmurs.

You flatten your palms on his chest. “Not yet. We have to clean up and wait for the cookies to come out. Otherwise, they might burn.”

His eyes darken and he holds you in place. “We’re using the dishwasher.”

“Of course,” you say in agreement, your smile saccharine.

He loads the dishwasher in record time while you wipe down the counters and wrap up the cooled muffins and bread.

The cookie timer goes off and before you can get to the oven he has it open and is pulling the tray out.

“Cookies are done!” he says.

“Let me check them. They might need another two minutes.”

You watch the muscles of his jaw flex as he clenches his teeth but he moves away so you can look them over.

You inspect each cookie carefully.

“Now you’re just trying to torture me doll.”

“They’re perfect,” you say after another perusal. “And I have to admit that it is just a little fun.”

“Is it?” he murmurs as he carefully moves the hot tray out of reach and cages you against the counter.

“Mm hm,” you answer and pull his glasses off.

Your fingertips brush along his cheek and he captures your wrist, softly pressing his lips to your pulse before he kisses your palm.

“Thank you for helping me.”

He nods as he continues to kiss along your skin. “For you, always…now turn around.”

Your breath hitches at his tone and you do as your told, slowly turning until his hard length is pressing into your ass.

He carefully unties your apron and lifts it over your head then drops it to the floor. Your shirt follows, his knuckles lightly skimming your back as he drags the fabric up.

You tremble, goosebumps erupting across your skin at his feather light touches. He kneels and hooks his fingers into your leggings, his every movement deliberate as he peels them off and reveals more of your skin.

His hand traces the curve of your ass before he gives it a hard squeeze and bites down on your soft skin.

You let out a squeal and squirm in his grasp.

A low rumble of approval runs through him as he tugs down your panties, leaving them wrapped around your ankles.

He gently slides two fingers along your calf and then higher until he reaches your inner thigh.

“Bend over and spread your legs,” he demands.

Again, you do as he says, the coolness of the counter a stark contrast to your heated skin.

Long, thick fingers tease your entrance and gather your arousal.

“So ready for me doll,” he praises.

You push back, needing more from him but he smacks your ass, hard, and holds you still with a firm grip.

“That doesn’t mean you get what you want yet,” he simpers, his fingers gliding lightly along your folds.

“Buckyyyyy,” you whine.

His lips brush along your skin, tracing the spot where you thigh meets your ass. He moves inward, sucking and licking and leaving marks in his wake.

When his nose runs along your slit you wiggle in his hold, your repeated pleas filling the air.

He continues to tease you with soft kisses and kitten licks, just barely flicking his tongue over your clit.

With both his hands he grabs hold of your ass cheeks and spreads them, burying his nose just above your pussy so he can slide his tongue through you.

You cry out his name and grip the edge of the counter, rocking back onto his face. He slides one hand between your legs and teases your clit, just enough to have you chasing your release with a cry of his name.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when soft hands lift you from the counter and he cradles you against his chest.

His hands wander reverently, the skim of his calloused fingertips making you clench around nothingness.

“Fuck me, Bucky,” you whisper, straining against him.

He runs his nose along your neck, bringing his lips just below your ear. “Say it again,” he demands.

You lift a hand behind you and curl it into his hair, tugging him closer. “Fuck me, Bucky,” you repeat, reveling in his warm breath as it caresses your skin.

His hands slide over your curves and he grips your hips. “You have no idea what it does to me when you say those words.”

You lean into him and sigh when his cock glides through your wetness. He grabs your chin and turns your head, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet and languid kiss that only fuels your impatience.

When you moan into it, whining his name, he shifts and fills you in one slow thrust.

“Oh my god,” you breathe against his lips. “Bucky…”

All you can feel is him inside of you, his heated skin pressed to yours, his hands, his lips. He’s everywhere and everything.

He deepens the kiss, sliding his hand down to the base of your neck and squeezing lightly. He groans out your name, breaking the kiss and pressing his face into your neck.

“Fuck fuck, fuck,” he chants every time he pounds into you.

“More Bucky. Harder,” you whine.

Suddenly everything is harder and deeper, the sound of skin slapping against skin mingling with your pleas for more.

You can feel the moment he starts to completely lose control, his labored breathing hot against your neck and his grip tightening as his cock thickens inside you. You finish with his name on your lips, your orgasm rushing through you, the squeeze of your walls taking him right over the edge at the same time.

His hips tense and he growls out your name.

You rest your head back against his strong chest and silently thank him for keeping you standing upright because you feel as if you could melt to the floor.

His hold is gentle when he pulls out and turns you around, his expression one of complete satisfaction as he studies you, catching your lower lip with his thumb. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Your smile is soft as you trace the hard outline of his jaw. “I could say the same about you.”

He chuckles and pulls you closer. “Nothing compares to you, doll.”

His hand slides up your back and he cups the nape of your neck, tilting your head back so he can trail kisses along your throat and collarbone.

 “I can’t believe I let you finish that baking,” he whispers into your skin.

“Me either,” you giggle.

“I want more,” he murmurs as his lips find yours.

“I made an extra loaf of the chocolate pumpkin bread.”

At your deadpan words he tucks your hips against his, the feel of his hard cock making you gasp.

“There’s that sass again,” he tsks. “Guess I didn’t fuck you hard enough this time.”

“Guess not,” you mouth back.

“Good thing we’ve got all night then,” he simpers.

@book-dragon-13 @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @goldylions @kmc1989

[mountttmase]

Always There

Note - this is for my lovely Sid @mm-vii 🥹 thank you so much bestie for this request I love dad Mase so much and I’m so glad you love him too. I hope you guys enjoy this and feedback would be much appreciated like normal 🩷

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 3.7K

Warnings - fluff

You’d never been in so much pain in your life. It was almost like you could still feel the pain radiating through you as you retold the story to your best friend on the phone.

‘Sid I swear, like worse than childbirth I’m telling you cause at least then you’re getting a cute thing to take home with you at the end. With this all I’ve got is a scar and aching limbs’ you told her, a slight laugh in your voice so you could let her know it was okay to laugh too but she was feeling more sympathetic than anything else.

The pain had started at the end of last week but you ignored it until you really couldn’t anymore and after an emergent doctor's appointment you were rushed into surgery to have your ruptured appendix removed. It was all so sudden and everything hurt but slowly and surely you were on the mend.

‘How’s Mason coping?’

‘He’s doing alright. I believe they're letting him take ollie to to training tomorrow as Debbie leaves in the morning but he’s been amazing so far’ you smiled, thinking about how he’d really taken charge in the last few days and kept the house running with some help from Debbie who'd come to stay for a few days to help out. ‘Tilly’s still got nursery so she should be fine’

‘Scott and I can always come and check on everything if you need us to’ Sid reassured and your heart swelled at how thoughtful she was.

‘I might take you up on that. I’ll see how he gets on tomorrow’ you told her, not wanting Mason to think like you didn’t trust him to look after everything he’s been doing before you heard a rustling coming from outside.

You saw Mason's head poke around the door, a soft smile on his face as he slowly made his way over to kiss your forehead before heading to the bathroom. He looked exhausted so with a quick goodbye to Sid you made sure you were free to speak to Mason when he reappeared.

‘Hey baby, you okay?’ You smiled as he emerged a little while later, dressed only in his boxers and your heart gave a thud as he flopped down next to you gently.

‘I’m fine. How are you doing?’

‘I’m feeling a lot better actually’ you told him and he craned his neck up to take a better look at you.

‘You look a lot better today. Got a bit more colour in your face’ he smiled before he went a little shy. ‘Do you think I might be able to have a cuddle?’ He asked quietly. Knowing that he’d been refraining from asking as he had to be so careful with you and even though you missed his touch, you still weren't quite ready for a full on hug. You weren’t about to burst his bubble though so you patted your chest so that he would place his head there and positioned his arm so that it was far away from your scar. Thankfully Mason was laid on the opposite side to it so he could cuddle up to your side without any issues but you felt your heart race when hummed contently at the feel of you. ‘Thank you, beautiful. I’ve missed this’

‘Me too’ you breathed, reaching up to scratch over his scalp as he nuzzled into you a little more and all you wanted to was to kiss over his face.

‘I don’t know how you do this everyday with them. Even with my mum's help I’m half dead’ he laughed, kissing your neck gently as he referred to looking after the kids and the house all on his own. ‘You’re like a real life superwoman’

‘You’re doing such a good job though, Mase’ you reassured him quietly. ‘And I’ll be able to start helping out more soon’

‘Well not too soon. You need to be 100% better before you even lift a finger okay?’

‘Okay’ you laughed. ‘I just feel a bit useless stuck in here all day’

‘Well you deserve a rest. But you should have just said if you needed one you know? Didn’t have to rupture your appendix just for some sympathy’ he teased

‘You’re right sorry, I won’t go as hard next time’

‘Thank you’ he winked before settling down into you further.

‘I mean it though, Mase. You’re doing a really great job, I’m so proud of you and the way you always step up’

‘Thank you baby’ he whispered shyly, his cheek warm against your chest. ‘Did you enjoy your soup tonight?’

‘I did’ you laughed, knowing how proud he was about making you dinner even thought it was basically already done for him and he just had to heat it up. ‘I won’t lie though, I can’t wait until I’m allowed solid foods again. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to chew’

‘Only a couple more days and you can have whatever you like’

‘I think I want pizza’ you told him, images of your favourite flashing through your mind and it was like you could almost taste it.

‘If my baby wants pizza she can have pizza’

‘And chocolate fudge cake’

‘That too’

‘Thank you Masey’

‘Anything for you’ he whispered, kissing your neck softly and you felt the goosebumps rise on your skin at his touch.

You spent the rest of the night discussing the next day. Debbie would be dropping off Tilly at nursery the next morning before she left for home whilst Mason would be taking Ollie to training. School didn’t start for another few days and you cursed your appendix for it’s awful timing but Ollie was pretty excited to get to go to work with his daddy and from what you remembered Mason had said they had a few things planned for Ollie to help with.

‘You should get some sleep Mase’ you whispered, looking down at him resting peacefully on your chest and you could almost feel your heart bursting from how much you loved him.

Whatever you needed he was always there.

When you first felt the pain and brushed it off, he was the one to beg you to go and get checked.

When you were rushed to surgery, he was the one who held your hand and told you everything would be okay when they put you under.

When you woke up, he was there again. Stroking your skin and letting you know you were fine. That you were his everything and the thought of losing you killed him and even though his vulnerable side broke your heart there was no one else you wanted to wake up to.

When you came home, he’d set you a space in your bed, made sure you were more than comfortable and had everything you needed whilst giving you time to heal. Promising you that you didn’t need to worry about a thing as he had it under control and the only help he’d had was from his mum who came to stay for two nights when he had a game.

If you were superwoman, then he was your superman. Spending long hours training before wrangling two kids and looking after the house but the dark bags under his eyes made you sad and you wished you could do more to help him. He didn’t expect you to though, and wanted you fully better before lifting a finger.

You felt him get heavy as he fell asleep on you, not having the heart to move him as he looked so peaceful and you’d missed his touch so even though it was against the doctors orders you let him sleep cuddled up against you that night. You’d been sleeping throughout the day so even though you were a little bit tired you spent the next twenty minutes just looking at him. Stroking the soft skin of his cheek, kissing his forehead and wondering how you got so lucky to have this beautiful man all to yourself.

The next day everyone was up and out before you had a chance to wake up. Tilly was apparently furious that Ollie got to spend the day with Mason and had refused to leave until Debbie had coaxed her out by telling her she got a special ride in nanny’s car and she then went without fuss. You made sure to send Debbie a quick thank you text to let her know how grateful you were that she’d come to help in your hour of need before letting Sid know you were bored and she promised to come over after lunch to keep you company.

‘He really has been so good, Sid’ you told her, picking out a nail colour from the bag she bought over before she took your hand and began to shape your nails. ‘He’s got them up in the morning, made sure they’ve got where they needed to be. Got the home again, made dinner, bathed them all whilst still going to training and doing what he needs to do and checking in on me every five minutes’

‘Poor man, I bet he’s exhausted’ she laughed

‘You should have seen him last night. He was so tired, bless him he was out like a light’

‘Do you think he has a new appreciation for you now?’

‘Maybe a little bit. I mean don’t get me wrong, he knows how hard I work but I think it’s really hit home this week’

You sat with Sid and gossiped more until Mase came home with the kids, popping his head round with a gentle smile on his face and your heart thumped as you took him in.

‘Hey Sid, you wanna stay for dinner?’

‘I’d love to, but Scott’s got an event I said I’d tag along to and if I don’t get going I’ll be late’ she pouted, gathering her stuff and after a quick goodbye she was gone.

You were starting to go crazy, looking at the same four walls all day and it was suspiciously quiet outside so you got up as quietly as you could, walking out into the hallway in hopes of finding someone but all you could hear was the sound of the bathroom tap.

You walked towards it, noticing the light was on before you heard Mason's voice and thankfully from the angle you were you could see him giving Tilly a bath but they couldn’t see you.

‘Is that nice tills?’ Mason asked gently, slowly massaging her head as he worked the shampoo into her hair. She didn’t respond but you knew she was loving it, her eyes half open as her mouth formed the most adorable little ‘o’. Letting Mason gently relax her muscles. ‘Mumma always gives me the best head massages when I’ve not had a good day’

Your heart sunk at his words. Why had she had a bad day? From what you could see right now she looked fine, better than fine even as he went to grab the shower head and wash all the soap out, making sure to shield her eyes as she hated getting water in them.

‘How’s that knee baby?’ He asked, popping some conditioner in her hair before looking down at where she was pointing.

‘Hurts daddy’

‘I know baby, you’re so brave though. Took it like a right champ from what I heard’ he told her and your heart fluttered at her adorable little giggle. ‘But when you’re feeling all better again-‘

‘Mummy!’ Tilly suddenly interrupted. Your plan of staying hidden clearly not working as she’d seen your reflection in the mirror so you went in. Masons face a picture as you carefully made your way over to them.

‘Hello bubba’

‘What are you doing out of bed?’ Mason asked. A smile on his face as he looked up at you but you just shrugged trying to play it off.

‘Just fancied a little walk’ you smiled before looking down at Tilly’s knee. A bright red graze now adorning her skin and you felt awful. ‘What happened?’

‘Someone got tackled by one of the bigger boys at lunch today when they were all playing football’ Mason explained, trying to keep his tone light but you could tell he was angry.

‘Do we know who?’’

‘No, but when I find out I swear-‘

‘Mason’ you interrupted with a slight laugh as his cheeky eyes were on you immediately. ‘They’re three, babe. He probably didn’t mean it’

‘I don’t know, love. Some of those kids are massive. I don’t know what people feed them these days to make them so tall’ he laughed, rinsing out the last of the conditioner before reaching for Tilly’s towel. ‘But what I was trying to say before was. When you’re feeling better, you gotta get back out there okay? Don’t let this make you not wanna play anymore. I fall over all the time when I play, you just gotta get back up’ he told her, placing a kiss to her forehead before helping her stand so he could wrap her up and gently lift her out.

‘You guys got any wild Friday night plans?’ You laughed holding onto Mason so you could pull yourself up too and you almost burst into tears as Tilly placed her little hand on your cheek softly.

‘Think just story time like usual once Ollie’s had his bath and then I’ll come join you’

‘I miss story time’ you pouted, until you suddenly had an idea. ‘Why don’t you all come in our room for story time so I can join in’ you beamed, hoping Mason would agree but he didn’t look too convinced.

‘I don’t know baby, you’re still pretty fragile and I don’t want you getting hurt’

‘I’ll be fine, Mase, pleaseeee. I miss you guys’ you told him, sadness evident in your voice and it didn’t take much to convince him. He never wanted to upset you.

‘Go get back into bed mumma. I’ll bring them in soon, yeah?’

‘Thank you Masey’ you whispered, kissing him softly before dropping a kiss on Tilly’s forehead. ‘See you soon okay?’ You told her and she nodded back at you with an excited smile.

Time seemed to be going slower than usual and you were almost asleep again when you heard a knock at the door. Looking up to see your perfect little family stood ready and waiting for you.

‘Come on then’ Mason encouraged, leading them inside before hoisting them up next to you. Ollie taking the space under your arm that you extended out for him and you couldn’t help but pull him into your side and litter his head with tiny kisses.

‘Missed you buddy’ you told him quietly, your heart bursting when he lent up to kiss your cheek softly. Silently letting you know he’d missed you too. Tilly on the other hand was half asleep already and chose to lay on Mason's chest as she was already comfortable.

You weren’t sure if it was your pain killers wearing off or the fact you were all together again but you could feel the tears springing in your eyes as you all huddled together to listen to Ollie read for you all but you held it in as best you could. Not wanting to ruin the moment but you knew Mason could feel your emotions from across the room so when you felt him link your fingers together that were resting on his thigh from your arm that was behind Ollie, you gently squeezed him to let him know you were okay.

You could tell Tilly was asleep. Her soft snores filling your ears and the sound was making you drift off yourself but you didn't want to miss out on anything. In the end you settled for shutting your eyes but still listening to Ollie’s words.

‘I think the girls might be tired,’ Mason told Ollie quietly. Thinking you couldn’t hear but you could. ‘Let me go put Tilly to bed and I’ll come back for you. Do you think you could help mummy lay down?’ He asked when you felt a little hand on your shoulder, you opened your bleary eyes to see Ollie’s face.

‘Come on mum, it’s bedtime’ he told you gently, encouraging you to shuffle down until you were flat and once you were you held out your arms to him in hopes he’d want a cuddle.

Ollie was at that age where cuddles from mum were a bit of a no no but thankfully he got himself settled next to you. Head on your chest just like Mason had the night before and you felt your heart settle as you ran a hand through his hair.

‘Are you okay mum?’ He asked carefully, a slight wobble in his voice and when you looked down his eyes were full of unshed tears.

‘I’m okay baby. What’s the matter?’ You asked, concern filling your voice

‘I was just a bit worried’ he told you.

Tilly was obviously too young to understand what had happened to you but Ollie was older and had clearly been carrying the weight of you being sick on his shoulders. Your heart broke for the little boy in your arms as you held him even tighter to let him know what he was feeling was okay but the little sobs coming from him made you want to cry yourself.

‘Baby you’ve got nothing to be worried about. I’m all better now I promise. I bet it was just a little scary though huh?’ You asked, feeling him nod into your neck and you knew that’s all it was.

He was scared thinking he’d nearly lost you.

‘I’m sorry baby, there’s nothing to be scared of anymore though okay? I’m still here and daddy’s said you’ve been such a big help to him and with Tilly. I’m so proud of you’ you whispered, pulling back in hopes he’d look at you but his red eyes and blotchy cheeks just made you hurt even more. ‘When I’m better we can have an Ollie and mummy day yeah? They’ve just opened that new big arcade in town we can try out and get some lunch there. It’s right by that big book shop you love too. Does that sound good?’

‘Yeah’ he sniffed, a smile finally on his face and you lent down to press a kiss to his forehead.

‘Love you, little man’

‘Love you mum’

‘Hey, what’s all the tears for’ you suddenly heard, looking up to see Mason coming back to get Ollie but he was clearly surprised to find the pair of you upset. ‘I asked you to help her get into bed not to terrorise each other’

‘Don’t Mase’ you laughed, letting him crawl in so the pair of you could sandwich Ollie in between the pair of you, your heart skipping a beat as you felt Ollie nestling into your neck.

‘Are you two okay?’ He asked, and you looked down to Ollie but could tell he wanted to keep it between the two of you.

‘We’re fine, just a little tired’ you told him, gently pressing a kiss to Ollie’s head

‘Shall we go get you into bed then little man?’

You squeezed Ollie extra tightly, kissing his head repeatedly in order to get him to smile and you didn’t stop until you heard his little giggles and your heart finally settled.

‘Night baby’ you whispered’ popping one last kiss on his cheek before he did the same to you.

‘Night mum’ he whispered before following Mason out to his own room.

By the time Mason made it back you were just about nod off and the last thing you remember before you let the sleep overtake you was Mason's lips on your forehead and his soft voice telling you he loved you.

The next morning you could hear giggles coming from downstairs and you smiled at the sound. You’d slept in longer than you’d meant to but you clearly needed it so after listening in a bit more you hauled yourself up to make your way down to join your family.

‘What’s going on in here then’ you asked as you rounded the corner. Catching the three of them covered in flour as they were rolling something into balls in their hands and when you looked down to the tray you could see they were making cookies.

‘Morning sunshine’ Mason laughed. ‘We’re making you cookies but don’t worry I’ll get it all cleaned up’ he assured you as Tilly made her way over to you. Hugging you leg and you ran your hand through her hair as you weren’t quite strong enough to lift her yet. ‘I tell you what, Ollie take Tilly up and go get changed. They’ll be ready by the time you’re done’ he told them. The pair of them walking off hand in hand as you made your way over to a dusty Mason.

‘Cookies for breakfast huh?’ You laughed, resting your hands on his waist as he cupped your jaw and his bright eyes made you smile back at him widely.

‘I’m running out of ideas, can’t you tell’ he joked, resting his forehead on yours as you shared a peaceful moment. ‘You know you’re never allowed to be sick again babe. I can’t do this all the time. And you’re never allowed to leave me. I can barely cope without you’

‘Oh yeah’ you laughed, hands coming to grip his wrists gently and the smile that made its way onto his lips took your breath away. ‘Anything else?’

‘I’m just trying to cover all eventualities’

‘I promise you Mason, you’re stuck with me. For life’

‘Nothing to me has ever sounded better’ he whispered, finally connecting your lips.

I hope you enjoyed 🩷 I’d really love some feedback so please let me know what you think 😌

[ghostlychief]

gorgeous

Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

summary: you’re drunk and you might be making fun of Ghost’s accent (lovingly ofc)

A/N: Inspired by Taylor Swift's song Gorgeous, specifically the lyrics: "You should take it as a compliment that I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk."

Warnings: drunk reader; minors DNI

wc: ~800

~*~*~

You probably should have stopped yourself after your second whiskey coke, but here you are on your third. One could say good decisions are never made when you’ve had more than two drinks, but you really are put your faith in the hands of the heavens tonight.

It’s been a long week.

You could also slightly place some of the blame on your convincing co-worker, Mara, for offering to buy you two out of the three drinks you’ve consumed tonight. Who wouldn’t want a free drink, let alone two?

You and Mara are sitting at the bar, laughing and talking about both of your shitty weeks, when all of a sudden, she stops and looks at something over your shoulder. Her eyes find their way back to yours and a smirk develops on her plump lips.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s here.” Your brows furrow and a small (albeit cute) pout forms on your lips. Your buzz is not helping, while you think about who could have shown up to warrant a reaction like that from Mara.

As you’re about to turn around, Mara quickly places a hand on your shoulder stopping you. “Wait, hold on.” Obviously, she can see something you can’t, and you’re itching to turn around to see who it is.

She places her hand on your forearm, “Don’t turn around just yet. Let him come to us.”

Ah, so it’s him. You have a hunch about who it is.

Your assumption is correct, when a large, warm hand is placed on your shoulder, and the owner of said hand says, “Fancy seeing you two here.”

You would know that accent anywhere, let alone, who owns that accent.

You lightly chuckle, and feel his hand lightly squeeze your shoulder, making small sparks light up and down your tummy.

You turn around in your chair so you can finally see him. He towers over you still, even though you’re on a raised bar stool and as you look up at him and meet his eyes, you grant him a smile.

His hair is slightly tousled, not doubt, slightly longer than the standard military grade hair length requirement, but you love the length of it. It suits him, you think.

In the dim light of the bar, you can still make out the scars that are scattered across his face. You’ve always had the urge to trace your fingertips along them, asking him about each one.

One might say you have liquid courage, and so your response to your very tall and handsome coworker is, “Fancy seeing you here,” in a very much so, exaggerated British accent. You may have also tried to replicate Ghost’s deep voice, which also added insult to injury.

You glance back at Mara who is holding herself back from laughing and when you glance back up at Ghost, you see that his eyebrow is quirked, yet his hand still comfortably rests on your shoulder.

“Your accent is funny.” You dig yourself deeper into the ground, but your foggy brain doesn’t really care. You love teasing your stoic coworker.

“Oh really?” You really love his deep voice. You’ll admit it.

Ghost has since moved, so now, he’s standing in between you and Mara, still seated at the bar. His hand leaves your shoulder, but now rests on the back of your chair. A gesture that makes you feeling warmer, and has you smiling deeper.

You nod your head and hum, “mm hm. But it’s okay because you’re tall, and cute.”

I am seriously going to regret this tomorrow.

You miss Ghost’s quick glance to Mara, who quietly winked at the man, encouraging him. Ghost leans down a bit, so he’s closer to your ear. The bar is quite loud, with everyone talking, and the music playing loud. So, his close proximity leaves a chill down your spine.

“Despite your poor efforts to imitate a British accent, I think you’re cute too.” His gruff voice pierces your ears, and you think you’ve caught on fire by now. No doubt, burning a bright crimson in his presence.

 You let out a soft laugh, forgoing your fake British accent. “I’m just messing around, it’s nice to see you here.”

Ghost lets out a soft laugh before asking, “Let me buy you a drink?”

You’re honestly surprised your coworker, who you’ve had a crush on for the longest time, is offering to buy you a drink. So, you of course say yes, and spend the rest of your evening talking the ear off to your coworker, him doing the same.

And when you wake up the next morning, you notice a text from Ghost, asking you on a date.

~*~*~

[heartfullofleeches]

Remy I miss you I love you also. Titus. I love him and miss him. And also Nightlight reader. Babies. Beloved.

[I had am old blurbo with Nightlight and Titus I scrapped. Here's one for him and Remmy too]

Remmy finding Nightlight Reader at a thrift store while looking for more dolls to add to his collection of antiques. They're the most beautiful "doll" he's never seen- (anything that has a humanoid form and is made of plastic, wood, cotton is a doll to Remmy- even androids). He takes the android home - planning to clean them up and give them a comfortable spot in his room. When Remmy touches the heart on their chest-

"Powering on.......backup battery at 12% percent....Accessing memory...No memories found... error...error...err-"

"Ah!.. That was scary. Hm, where did I end up now? Oh! Hello, tiny person - are you my new owner?"

Remmy instantly falls in love seeing this robot pick up on the dolls on his bed and speaking to it as a normal person. "Um, actually..I think that's me."

"Whoa! Where did you come from? My apologies, owner - what should I call you?

Remmy falls more in love with Nightlight by the second. They're so caring, and warm, and they love to play with his dolls as much as he does. They would follow his every command as part of their programming, but Remmy hardly feels the need to order them around because he knows they'll never leave him and for that he'd do anything from them. Stays awake all night until nightlight carries him to bed making new clothes for them. Buys all the books he needs to repair any minor damages they might have - and completely erase any trace of their memories of the past.

All Remmy needs is Nightlight. All Nightlight needs is Remmy.

-

Titus is given Nightlight Reader as a present from his guards after finding the android in a landfill on earth and repairing them to working order- The emperor has been more irritable than usual- if he dislikes this bot, his guards pray that smashing them to bits will be enough to quell his anger at least for a time. The guards present the android to their king and wait-

"What have you brought to bore me with now?'

"We believe it is an earth made machine designed to relieve stress for humans-"

The emperor chuckles. "Is that so?~ I have been rather pent up recently, and it isn't a complete eyesore, but you are aware of our difference in size, yes? Are you certain it won't break on first use?"

"Er, not in that exact way, your highness. You see, they-"

Titus huffs. "Then what good is it?"

"Just....allow me to turn them on. Please place your finger on their heart, your highness."

"This is ridiculous...."

The emperor does as instructed

"Powering on....Battery at 100%...System rebooting."

"Mm....Huh? What a strange place... Are you my new own..er? Oh, owner- your stress levels are dangerously high - they're increasing by the second! Why won't I sing you a lullaby while you relax with your favorite drink? I know lots, but I can always make up new ones - maybe one about your pretty eyes."

"That..... actually sounds wonderful. I haven't had a decent night of rest in ages. It's humorous to me how you were able to figure that out in seconds when these fools have been with me for centuries. I think I'm going to enjoy your company more than I thought."

Titus cannot go or sleep anywhere which his little nightlight. Feeling their heated, smaller form is all thats needed to knock him out like a light. Nightlight Reader is restricted from joining Titus in meetings for that sole reason. This whole ass tyrant sits in his chair pouting like a child until he can reunite with his little love. Decorates them like the doll they are with jewelry and adorable outfits. Whenever Titus is in one of his rages, guards quickly run off to retrieve nightlight from wherever they're exploring in the palace