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[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I really loved your career day fic and I was wondering if you could do a Shut up mom fic with the same lineup with nanami tho if you write for him🥺 👉👈

Shut up, Mom!

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, mostly crack, cursing, jjk men as dads / fem!reader

An: I would be delighted to write this anon :) my requests are open, loves. If you want me to write a specific idea, definitely ask and I’ll try to deliver on it! also, if anyone wants to be on a taglist please let me know. So, I gave Sukuna a kid in this one because I didn’t really see Yuji calling you mom or him dad. Yuji calls you two unc and auntie :)

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

“Aoi, did you take out the trash?” You ask your nine-year-old son while trying not to giggle. Aoi has recently discovered pranks, and he suggested playing one on Satoru. You couldn’t help but think that was an amazing idea.

Your husband was leisurely sitting on the couch, playing a game on the console he and your son shared. He was able to see you from his peripheral vision while you and Aoi were in the dining room. He didn’t seem to be too intrigued by the conversation, but Satoru is a chronic eavesdropper. He can’t help it with his technique and all.

“No, mom. Why can’t you do it?” Aoi plays his role perfectly, even throwing in an annoyed groan at you. Gojo cut his eyes towards you two, but he stayed silent for a moment. He knew this was your battle to face, and he wasn’t usually the disciplinary parent anyways.

“Because I told you to do it, Aoi. It’s your chore.” You say, putting on a serious voice as you would if he had really been sassing off to you.

“Ugh. Shut up, mom!” Aoi yells with a dramatic eye roll.

Immediately, you hear the game console cut off. It seems like you two had garnered Satoru’s attention. Footsteps carry into the dining room, and your all too tall husband leans against the doorframe.

Aoi sees his father, and his eyes widen. Your little actor. He then tries to walk off, but Satoru easily put his hand out against Aoi’s chest, preventing him from going anywhere.

“Woah, woah, woah, there little man. Who do you think you’re talking to there?” He interjects as his hands slowly unwrap his bindings from around his eyes, letting you know that he’s about to get serious.

“She’s getting on my nerves, dad!” Aoi continues to play the role, even though you can tell that he’s scared shitless.

“Hey, look at me.” Satoru says as he bends his knees to be eye level with Aoi. Your son complies with his dad’s order. “I don’t give a shit, okay? Never, and I mean, never tell your mother to shut up unless you intend on fighting me afterwards. She says to take out the trash, you say yes and take out the trash. Do you understand me?” Satoru says as he holds his son’s shoulders, squeezing them a bit so Aoi knows he’s not fooling around.

“Because I don’t think you want to fight me, do you?” Satoru questions. His blue eyes beam in the light, making your son nervously sweat.

“Baby, it’s just a prank.” You quickly interject with a laugh as you gently nudge your husband away from your son.

“Yeah dad, I was just acting!!” Aoi’s nervous gaze flutters into an adorable smile.

Satoru rolls his eyes and playfully laughs along. “You two are too silly, makin’ me turn off my game for this.” He shakes his head as he wraps his eyes back up.

“You were like gonna hollow purple me!” Aoi shouts with an excited laugh, and he reenacts Satoru’s cursed technique.

“Yeah, I love your mom a little too much.” Satoru responds with a grin up towards your direction.

SUGURU

Mimiko and Nanako are coming into their teen years, and recently, they’ve been obsessed with the idea of TikTok. After seeing the “shut up mom” prank all over, they knew that they had to play it on Suguru.

You, of course, agreed to help them pull off their little shenanigan.

“You two are not going out. It’s a school night.” You chide at the twin girls, giving them a small wink as Suguru was enjoying a cup of tea while sitting at the breakfast bar. He was scrolling mindlessly on his phone, reading the news or something like that.

“Mom, please. Everyone’s going.” Nanako pled and even threw in a small pout.

“Yeah, who cares if it’s a school night?” Mimiko chimed in.

“Girls.” Suguru warned as he normally did when you were having to deal with the twins. He didn’t like the idea of the girls ganging up on you.

“I said no. I bet you two didn’t even do your homework yet either.” You carry on, eyeing the two girls as if they were really in trouble.

“Ugh! Mom, shut up!” The girls somehow managed to say in sync. The two had obviously practiced their lines.

The tea glass hit the counter, and Suguru a stood up from his seat on the stool. “Hey. I don’t ever want to hear that kind of language in this house, especially not to your mother. Got that?” He said as he eyed your daughters.

Your husband was a bit of a strict father to the girls. He really just wanted them to turn out good, so he was the main disciplinary figure in the house.

“Dad! She’s-“

“Aht.” He cuts Mimiko off, and starts to walk up to the girls. “I didn’t ask. Apologize to your mother this instant. Then, go upstairs and do your homework. You two are grounded from going out for at least a month.”

“Sugu, it’s a prank.” You say as you can’t hold back a laugh from how angry he got that quickly. “It’s a prank, sweetie.”

Your two girls were nodding quickly, holding their hands out in surrender. “We saw it on TikTok!”

Suguru rolls his eyes at the three of you. “That app is no good for you.” He quietly chides. “Did you two do your homework?”

Mimiko and Nanako exchange nervous glances, and they both run up to their rooms to get it done.

Your husband laughs quietly and shakes his head before sitting back down on his stool. You walk over towards him and card your fingers through his long hair. He lets out a long exhale of contentment while leaning his head into your touch. “What are we gonna do with those two, hm?”

“Love them and try our best to teach them.” You softly respond before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

TOJI

Toji is a pretty laid back dad. He lets you take the lead on a lot of the parenting aspects, since it comes to you more naturally than it does with him. However.. he has his moments.

“Megumi, come help me do the dishes.” You say to your 13-year-old son. He’s in that weird stage of puberty where you’re his best friend one day and his worst enemy the next, which means he sometimes agreed to play pranks with you.

“Busy, mom.” He mumbles at the table as he’s trying to learn the hand signs for one of his shikigami. He was left learning this stuff on his own since Toji wasn’t a sorcerer, and you weren’t apart of the Zenin clan. You had no idea how to do the hand gestures.

“You can do that after you’re done helping me, Gumi.” You say as you turn on the kitchen sink. Your son doesn’t even acknowledge that you said anything.

Toji eyes him from his seat at the dining table, waiting for his son to comply.

“Gumi. Get in here.” You finally say after a minute of him not responding to you.

“Shut up, Mom!” He raises his voice at you, and immediately, Toji is on him quicker than you could respond.

“What did you just say to your mother, brat?” Toji grits as he stares down at his teenage son. Megumi looked back up at him mortified. “I brought you in this world, and I will take your ass out of it if I hear you speak to your mom like that again.”

“Baby, baby, baby, it’s a prank!” You say as you rush over to Toji. Megumi cracks a nervous smile, and you gently nudge Toji back.

“It’s a prank!” Megumi shouts as he leans back away from Toji slightly.

Your husband lets out an annoyed grunt. “You two play too much. Gonna make me kill my own son.” He says as he releases Megumi’s shoulder. He walks back over to his seat at the dining table and smacks your ass on the way back.

SUKUNA

“Ryu, come take out the trash!” You yell to your son. He recently brought up the idea of pranking Sukuna by yelling at you to shut up in front of him. You had urged your son that this was a bad idea, but he was persistent.

Sukuna was sat at the dining table, eating whatever Uraume had prepared for him. Usually, Uraume handled the trash as well, but you distinctly told them to leave it.

There’s no response.

“Ryu! Trash now!” You call out again in a more frustrated tone.

Sukuna is biting his tongue at this point. There is nothing that he hates more than insolence, especially towards you. You’re his queen, and he demands for all to respect you, including his son.

No response.

“Ryu!”

“Okay mom! Shut the fuck up!”

All four of Sukuna’s eyes widened, and he put down his fork. “Domain expansion. Malevolent-“

“It’s a prank!” You shout as you spin to look at Sukuna quickly. Your son is standing behind you, quite literally trembling in fear.

“Yeah- it’s a p-prank, dad.” Ryu stutters out.

Sukuna narrows his gaze, and he looks between the two of you. “Foolish.” He grunts. “Boy, come have a seat.” He commands, and your son reluctantly complies.

“If you ever pull some shit like that seriously, I’m not afraid to start over and make a new kid. I got nothing but time on my hands.” Your husband says while eyeing your son.

“Ryu’s a good kid, Kuna.” You assure him as you walk over to your husband and rub on his shoulders a bit.

“Mmm, for now.” He mumbles, and he nods his head to the trashcan. “Take the trash out.”

NANAMI

Your husband was sitting in the living room, enjoying his “lazy Sunday” as he called it. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. He couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful for the life he was living right now.

He had everything he ever dreamed of: a stable job, an amazing wife, a small family in a loving home.

You were sitting next to him, casually rubbing on his thigh through his pajama pants. You and your daughter had been texting about playing a prank on your dear husband, and it was finally going to happen.

“Hana, did you fold the clothes like I told you to?” You call out to your daughter as she’s in her bedroom. Nanami turns a page in his book, still not paying too much attention.

“Mom, I’m doing something!” Your daughter yells back.

“Hana, get in here and fold those clothes!” You shout back, getting a bit more serious. Nanami lets out a small sigh as he places his mug on the coffee table. He’s normally quick to nip Hana’s attitude in the bud.

“I’m busy!”

“Hana!”

“Okay mom! Just shut up already!” She finally yells as she storms into the living room. Nanami shuts his book and immediately stares down your daughter.

“What did you just say?” He asks as he sits up from his cozy position. His jaw tightens a bit as he glares at Hana.

“I just told her to shut up. She’s being overdramatic.” Your daughter continues, playing her part perfectly.

“Who’s her? Your mother? You’re telling my wife to shut up?” Nanami says as he starts to stand up.

“It’s just a prank, Ken!”

“Dad, it’s a prank-!”

You and your daughter both shout nervously, and Nanami looks at both of you confused for a moment. It then clicks in his head. “God, don’t stress me out like that.” He chides as he relaxes back on the couch. He wraps his arm back around you and picks up his book again.

[wileycap]

Selected Excerpts From The Fire Nation Royal Palace Servants' (Unofficial) Handbook

Or: Revisions To Normal Protocol After The Ascension Of Agni's Exalted Flame, The Dragon Of The Sun, et cetera, Fire Lord Zuko

1. Agni's Exalted Flame, The Dragon Of The Sun, et cetera, Fire Lord Zuko should not be referred to by his full titles and styles, no matter the context. This appears to annoy him. "Fire Lord Zuko" and "Lord Zuko" are acceptable, as well as "your majesty" and "my Lord".

1.1 "Lord Hotman", however, is unacceptable.

1.2. Even if the Avatar specifically requests you to address Fire Lord Zuko as that.

1.3. In fact, any attempts by the Avatar, the Lady Beifong, the honorable Tribesman Sokka or even Master Katara to get you to address Fire Lord Zuko by anything other than his proper title should be disregarded.

1.4. Referring to Ozai of the Fire Nation (titles rmvd, dishon.) as "The Loser Lord", however, is acceptable.

2. Fire Lord Zuko is aware of the concept of mortality, but does not seem to understand how it relates to His Majesty. Following activities should be discouraged: Free climbing, glider usage, contact with exotic animals larger than a turtleduck (or smaller, if the animal is known to be venomous), amateur theatre productions, cooking, sailing, spelunking, botany, please see full list in the Matron's office.

2.1. It should be noted that His Majesty's belief that mortality does not apply to him does not appear to be completely unfounded. After several "close calls", it has been decided that upon his demise, Fire Lord Zuko should lie in state for at least two weeks.

2.1.1. We do not want another incident.

3. The turtleducks in the Western Pond do not need to be fed by the servants any more.

3.1. However, the turtleducks should be rotated out at regular intervals in order to prevent overfeeding.

4. At any official social functions, at least three servants should be vigilant in case His Majesty tries to tell a joke.

4.1. It should be noted that there is no concern for His Majesty's jokes being offensive, crass or otherwise contrary to good taste. They are simply very bad. His Majesty always ends up embarrassed.

5. Any children left unattended in the Royal Palace for more than 15 degrees can be retrieved from the Fire Lord's office.

6. Should His Majesty go missing, the following places should be searched: roofs and any high places, cellars and secret passages, the fur of the Avatar's sky bison (which is surprisingly deep), and every place that an ordinary five-year-old would think to hide in during a game of "Hide and Explode."

6.1. All of the Imperial Firebenders as well as any soldier who wears a mask during the course of their duties should be questioned.

6.1.1. Important note: Some of the soldiers who are especially close to His Majesty can perform a passable imitation of him. Efforts should be made to prevent an uneducated soldier from, say, conducting a meeting with the Minister of Agriculture.

6.2. After the recent incident, that list is expanded to include the Kyoshi Warriors and any other groups that might wear concealing full face paint.

6.3. If all of these measures prove ineffective, a letter should be sent to The Dragon of the West, Prince Iroh, asking His Highness to return His Majesty.

6.4. If a ransom note is delivered, it should be immediately checked against the handwriting samples from the honorable Tribesman Sokka as well as Avatar Aang, before any other actions are taken.

6.4.1. Replying "Good luck, he's your problem now" to a ransom note is absolutely unacceptable.

6.4.1.1. To further drive home the point, the Royal Archives are required by law to preserve every single piece of royal correspondence. That thing will end up in a museum.

This handbook will be updated should it prove necessary.

[gloomwitchwrites]

You send him a text "Thanks for the flowers, babe" attached with a photo of a bouquet as a prank. Obvs, he gets jealous/possessive.

Anon, I love this. I cackled the first time I read it, and I've been wanting to get to it for a while. There are so many requests (and I will get to them all), but with my health being shit, I'm trying to select from the pool where I'm not overworking my brain or stressing myself out trying to come up with something. This prompt came very naturally to me.

These are all spicy. Period. I didn't hold back with this one. Maybe I'm ovulating or some shit but I literally couldn't write anything but smut for this prompt. I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope you enjoy.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, dirty talk, praise, spanking, oral sex (female & male receiving), face fucking, restraints, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, jealousy, possessive behavior, orgasm control

Word Count: 4.4k

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores it, attention stuck on Price who stands in front of a large map of Europe.

There are pictures—some have a red “X” through them while a couple others have black question marks. The mission isn’t done, but that isn’t surprising. This has taken months to complete. It’s been slow, and entirely too complicated for Simon’s liking.

His phone buzzes again, the vibration pulling his attention away.

When the third buzz comes in, his agitation turns to worry. Simon never allows messages to come through at work unless it’s from very specific people. To have three come through in less than two minutes stirs something in his gut.

Price starts talking again but Simon’s brain is melting. He reaches into his pocket and fishes out his phone. Keeping it next to his thigh, Simon awakens the screen.

Your name is there and 3 new messages.

Simon glances up, but no one is looking at him. Silently, he unlocks the phone and clicks over to his messages, tapping on your name.

At first, Simon doesn’t understand. His brain short-circuits, and then unbridled jealousy comes roaring forward.

The first message is a photo of a beautiful bouquet sitting on the kitchen island. It’s fucking large, taking up most of the space. The flowers are different shades of pink, yellow, and orange. It looks like spring.

Beneath the picture are two texts.

Thanks for the flowers!!

I love you!

But Simon did not get you flowers. He didn’t order these, and he certainly didn’t have them delivered to the flat.

Fuck. What the actual fuck.

Someone else did this.

Simon’s first thought is that Johnny did it to prank him. But Johnny has been a bit subdued today, and his attention isn’t on Simon at all.

No. It’s likely not him.

Simon locks his phone and stews. He can’t just leave this meeting. It’s important, but he’s going to get to the fucking bottom of it.

By the time Price dismisses them, Simon is already out the door, charging toward his locker to grab his stuff. It usually takes him a half hour to arrive home, but today he does it in twenty. When Simon bursts through the front door, he’s ready to toss those flowers right off the balcony.

But then he sees your face—how happy you are—and Simon melts. You throw yourself into his arms, and Simon instinctually responds, embracing you tightly. He presses his face into your hair and inhales.

“Missed you,” you say, grabbing both sides of his face and kissing him. “Thank you for the flowers.”

I didn’t get you any flowers.

Simon smiles because it’s all he can manage. That jealousy from earlier starts to curl back up, twisting around in his ribcage.

“Did you like the note?”

You frown. “What note?”

The way you ask is…odd. It’s far too innocent in the presentation. Simon knows your cues and this seems forced to him. But the sender didn’t leave a message. That doesn’t give Simon much to go on if he’s going to track down who sent them.

“Maybe they forgot,” he replies, kissing your forehead. “Show them to me.”

With a bright smile, you take his hand, guiding him into the kitchen. They’re much more stunning in person and Simon momentarily freezes. Did he forget your birthday? An anniversary? An important event?

Simon recalls nothing for today’s date.

The jealousy rises again but he clamps down on it. Anyone could have sent this, especially a friend of yours or a family member. Doesn’t mean there is someone out there with predatory intentions. And for all Simon knows, you’re having a laugh, riling me up. You’ve done it before.

“They’re lovely,” observes Simon. “Better than the picture.”

Your grin is gorgeous, a thing Simon wants to bottle up. You open your mouth to answer him but the dryer goes off. “Hold on,” you call over your shoulder as you dash away. “Let me change over the loads.”

When you disappear, Simon goes for the bouquet. He quickly checks through every flower and between the stems, even sticks his fingers in the dirt. Simon doesn’t know what the fuck he’s looking for, but he’s grasping for anything.

The only thing of note is the business card which Simon quickly plucks from its holder and tucks into his pocket. Simon steps away from the bouquet when you appear again.

Jealousy is stewing, showing its fangs, curling tighter around Simon’s ribs.

When you reach for him, Simon sweeps you off your feet, planting you on the kitchen island. You giggle, but Simon cuts it off, drawing you to the edge to seize your lips in a fierce kiss.

That jealous viper between his bones tells him to possess you.

Simon’s hands drop to your waist and then your hips. He settles himself between your legs, hands moving down to your bare thighs.

You’re flushed with embarrassment, attempting to hide your face from him, giggling his name as you fist his shirt.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” rasps Simon.

Your lips part and Simon slides his tongue inside. You moan, suck on his tongue, and release him. Simon’s grip on your thighs tightens.

“All day?” you ask softly.

Moving his hands to beneath your thighs, Simon tugs you into his arms and carries you over to the dining room table, but doesn’t place you on top of it. He brings you to your feet, and then his fingers curl around the shorts that are little more than underwear.

“Take these off.”

“Simon—”

“Do it,” he growls, releasing them and bringing his hand back to his side.

Slowly, you do as he says. You bring them up so that Simon can see them before tossing them to the side. That viper in him hisses, the venom leaking into his system.

Simon slides his hand between your thighs. You lean back against the table, hands resting on the edge as you part your legs. What his fingers find only makes him groan.

Withdrawing, Simon licks his fingers clean. “Turn around. Bend over the table. Show me what I want.” With a smirk on your lips, you face the table, and bend forward, going up on your toes.

Fuck the flowers and whoever sent them. You’re his.

Simon unbuckles the front of his belt, undoes the zipper of his pants, and frees his aching cock. He needs to be inside you, to hear you say his name, to feel you come around him. He needs to possess because it’s the only thing he can do right now.

Guiding with his hand, Simon rubs the head of his cock through your slickness. You’re already so wet for him—so fucking needy, and he’ll devour it all. Give you exactly what you want while taking something for him.

As he starts to slide in, you whimper. Reaching back, your hand grabs your ass, opening yourself a bit wider for him.

Bloody hell.

Simon doesn’t want to go slow. Using his grip on your hip, he slides all the way in, making you take him to the hilt with one forward thrust of his hips.

Your gasp is choked, and then Simon is lost, pounding into you as if this is the last time he’ll ever fuck you. It’s only your tightness, your breathy moans of pleasure, and the desperate why you say his name. It wraps around him, satiates the viper, calms the rising jealousy until it’s only you Simon can focus on.

Through the haze, Simon finds your clit, plays with it, slows his thrusts until your orgasm arrives, squeezing him so tight he almost finishes right then and there. But once that wave crests and crashes, Simon is back at it. Planting both hands on the table on either side of your waist, Simon stutters out, his lower back tensing, everything draw up.

Simon’s orgasm is an unraveling. All the tension melts as he finishes, and even then, he continues to thrust, pushing his cum deeper inside you. His chest heaves, body shuddering as he draws back a bit. Your breathing is just as labored.

Easing out of your body, Simon admires the bloom of cum at your entrance. He presses it back inside before helping you unbend from the table. Turning you around to face him, Simon claims your mouth in a deep kiss, his grasping the back of your head.

You form to him, and Simon’s hunger flares.

“To bed,” he says, drawing you away with a tug on your hair.

“To sleep?” you ask, smirking.

Maybe you did all this. Planned it all from the beginning.

Naughty girl.

Simon shakes his head. “Not yet.”

He releases you, and then smacks your ass for good measure. Squeaking, you scurry away toward the bedroom. Simon stands there for a moment, composing himself. Reaching into his pocket, he withdraws the business card. There is an address and a phone number.

Glancing over his shoulder at the bouquet, Simon comes to a decision. Stalking toward his duffle, Simon secures the business card in a side pocket. He’ll deal with this at work.

Right now, you’re getting undressed.

And Simon is much more interested in that.

Flowers can wait.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You send the final text and lock your phone, leaving it on the coffee table.

It’s just a little prank. A tease.

Kyle is always a gentleman even when he makes your toes curl and pulls unseemly sounds from between your lips. But riling him up can be just as fun. Kyle isn’t one to be jealous or even possessive of you. He’s certainly protective, and his presence always makes you feel safe, but you’re aching for something else right now.

The flowers weren’t all that expensive. And they are pretty.

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it.

It buzzes again.

When you check the screen, you see two new texts from Kyle. You stare at it, and set it back down. You’re going to let him stew and question. If anything, Kyle might think the flowers innocent.

Tapping your fingers against your knee, impatience stirring in your belly, you stare out the patio door. You need to distract yourself, but the urge to look is too strong. Snatching the phone back up, you glance at the messages.

That’s sweet, love.

But I didn’t get you flowers.

Honesty. This man is terrible at lying or hiding his feelings.

You tap out a reply.

Of course you did! Loved the note you left with it!

Kyle’s reply is instant.

Note?

You nearly cackle at the ceiling and when you hit send.

I want you tonight. You know you can have me whenever lol. No need to send flowers about it.

Within seconds of you hitting send, you phone starts to vibrate. Yelping, you nearly drop the thing. Kyle’s name and a photo of him at the beach pop up on your screen. You stare at it, allowing it to go to voicemail. He calls again immediately.

You launch off the couch, pacing as the phone falls back into voicemail. It’s a bit thrilling knowing that Kyle is likely worked up on the other end.

Answer the phone, comes Kyle’s next text, and then, I’m coming home.

Oh shit.

You are all nervous excitement waiting for him. And when he does come barreling through the door, you’re a bit shocked at the sight of him.

Slowly, he shuts the front door, striding into the kitchen where the bouquet is. He stares at it for a long moment before turning his gaze on you.

“Kyle,” you say brightly, walking toward him.

He holds up a finger and walks past you. You hear the opening and shutting of doors, of drawers being opened, and items moving around. Kyle returns, hands on his hips, concern on his features.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I didn’t send you those flowers.”

“Didn’t you?” you reply, innocently, moving toward them.

Kyle shoots forward and begins digging through the stems. “Where is that bloody card?” he mutters.

There is no card. No note. You made it all up.

“Kyle,” you say, but he ignores you.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he says, ripping opening the plastic to see inside.

“Kyle,” you repeat, adding a bit of volume behind your voice.

Again, he ignores you, scattering the flowers across the countertop.

“When I find the fucking wanker that—”

“Kyle!”

He turns, eyes a bit wild. Kyle looks ridiculous, and you suddenly feel terrible. You reach for him, placing both hands on either side of his face. “There’s no note.”

Kyle blinks like he didn’t hear you correctly. “What?”

“There’s no note,” you repeat. “I bought the flo—”

Kyle groans loudly and places his entire hand over your face, muffling the last few words. “Bloody hell, baby girl.” He lightly pushes off, dropping his hand, and stepping back.

You grin sheepishly as Kyle crosses his arms over his chest.

“What was the goal?” he asks, leaning forward a bit.

You shrug your shoulders. “To rile you up?”

Kyle laughs, short and clipped. “Rile me up?”

“Yes,” you say slowly.

He leans in a bit more, a smirk on his face. “And what do you think was going to happen once you riled me up?”

You know that Kyle already knows the answer to this question. But he’s indulging you. As he always does.

“I didn’t think that far,” you reply, but it’s far from the truth.

You wanted to rile him up so that he’d come home and fuck you like a man possessed.

Kyle bites down on his bottom lip and you track the movement. “No, love. You did.” He straightens. “And I know what you want.”

Kyle steps into your space, his head dipping as if to kiss you but pausing just before. “You need a good throat fucking. I need an apology. And then I can give you what you want.”

“Kyle,” you breathe.

“On your knees, love. Present your mouth.”

You obediently drop to your knees, and part your lips.

“Wider,” he almost growls.

You do so just as Kyle reaches down and undoes the front of his belt. He doesn’t even look. Doesn’t flinch. The belt is gone and the front of his pants are open by the time Kyle grabs your face and brings you close.

“Tongue out.”

You do so, and Kyle taps the head of his cock against it before sliding it back and forth over your tongue. His hold shifts, falling to the nape of your neck.

“Take it like a good girl. Got it?”

You nod, and Kyle draws you forward, forcing you to take all of him. Holding you in place for a few seconds, Kyle only eases you back once your gag reflex kicks in. Kyle adjusts his stance, and your hands grasp the sides of his thighs.

Kyle’s hand on the back of your neck tightens as his other hand tangles in your hair. Keeping you in place, he starts to thrust, fucking your mouth like he would your pussy. All you can do is cling to him, to hold on as he grunts above you.

There isn’t any anger there, just a stern brow and a need for control. It’s delicious. Entirely mouth-watering. Your core warms, a slickness blooming, indicating just how much this turns you on.

To bring Kyle toward his end, you make little sounds in your throat. It makes him stutter. It makes him moan. Beneath his pants, you feel the muscles in his legs tighten. And then he’s forcing you down his length, throating him entirely as he comes down your throat.

Breathing through you nose is the only thing holding you together. And when he slides you off, you cough, wiping at your lips.

Kyle’s hand caresses your cheek, drawing your gaze to him. He arches a single eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

Reaching out, Kyle draws you up to your feet, bringing you close. His smile is soft, and when he comes in for a kiss, it is consuming.

“Now that you’ve riled me up,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Kyle pulls away, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip.

“Take off your clothes. Kneel on the bed. And bend over. Got it?”

You nod, and Kyle drops his hand.

“That’s my good girl.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny’s ears are ringing.

“You better be bloody joking,” he growls at his phone.

On the screen is a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Flowers that you’re thanking him for. Flowers that he didn’t send.

And the card? Bloody fucking hell. That card is going in the shredder. Johnny will tear it apart with his own teeth if he has to. Some fucker had the bright idea to send you flowers like he’s the one you’re dating.

No. Fuck that.

Johnny might be the demolitions expert, but he knows Ghost could dig around for him if he asked. Scratch that. Johnny is asking right fucking now.

“Hey, Lt!” Johnny jogs over to Ghost and turns his phone around. “Can you trace who sent these flowers?”

Ghost’s expression behind the balaclava remains flat. “It’s a fucking photo, Johnny.”

Cursing under his breath, Johnny forwards the image to Ghost. Ghost checks his phone, enlarging the image.

He grunts. “Should be easy.” Ghost glances up from the screen. “Why?”

“Someone making a move on my woman,” replies Johnny, holding back a growl.

“Done,” says Ghost. “Give me a couple hours.”

It doesn’t take Ghost long, and Johnny has to laugh out loud.

“You fucking naughty thing,” mutters Johnny as he unlocks the door to your flat.

When he enters, you’re nearly on your toes, eager for him. It’s cute, but you need to learn first. Sure, the prank is harmless, but you were wanting a rise out of him.

Punishment is needed.

“Johnny,” you say brightly, coming around the counter to greet him.

As you arms reach for him, Johnny removes his belt. Your gaze drops, but he is faster than you. Johnny has the belt around your wrists and secured before you can even protest.

“What are you doing?” you ask breathlessly.

“Thought I wouldn’t find out?” Johnny tuts. He yanks you forward, bringing the two of you almost face-to-face. “Bought those flowers yourself.”

Johnny tugs on the belt again. You stumble into him and he spins you around. With another quick tug, Johnny has the belt looped onto one of the coat hooks embedded in the wall.

Reaching down, Johnny palms your ass, his lips pressed to your ear. “Got me all jealous at work. Had Ghost stalking the flower shop and everything.” He squeezes, and then smacks your ass. Hard.

You whimper. “Johnny. I’m sorry.”

“No apologies, love.” He kisses your throat. Your skin is soft and he inhales, savoring your scent. You’re freshly showered, and the smell of your shampoo invades his nostrils.

It doesn’t take much to rid you of your underwear. It’s just you in an old shirt and your bare ass on full display. Johnny slides his hands between you clenched thighs.

“Spread them.”

You do so obediently and a primal part of him simmers with pleasure. Johnny slowly drops to his knees behind you. He savors the view, taking his time to enjoy the sight before him. Even from here, Johnny can see how slick you are. How wanton.

He’s going to devour you. Make you beg. Deny you what it is you most want until you’re a fucking mess for him. That’s punishment enough.

Johnny tests by running one finger over your pussy. It comes back glossy. He pops it into his mouth, groaning at your taste.

“Want me to eat this pretty pussy?” asks Johnny, running his finger over you again.

You nod frantically. “Yes. Please.”

That’s a start.

Johnny leans in, the tip of his tongue playing with your entrance. He traces it with his tongue before slipping inside, slowly fucking you with it. It’s not enough, but Johnny knows this. He needs to suck on your clit and give you his fingers to make you come.

But even then, you’ll have to wait.

You’ll have to beg.

Johnny trails upward, swirling his tongue, finding your clit. He teases it. Flicks it back and forth in a steady stroke. You’re already growing wetter. You’re already moaning above him. Too bad you don’t know what’s coming.

Johnny slides one finger inside of you, pumping twice before inserting a second. You’re tight around him. He can feel the stretch.

He works you slowly, lightly thrusting his fingers in and out of your pussy as he teases your clit with his tongue. Above him, your moans come unbroken and loud. It’s sweet. He loves the sound. But Johnny knows your tells, and when your muscles begin to clench and unclench quickly, he ceases all movement.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, glancing down.

Johnny chuckles. “You have to earn it love.”

“Johnny, please,” you beg.

“What’s that, love? Didn’t hear you?”

“Please,” you say, drawing it out.

“Please what?” he prompts.

“I want to come,” you murmur.

Johnny smirks and starts fucking you with his fingers again, but doesn’t put his mouth back on your clit. It’s not enough for you. You’re squirming. Wiggling. Needing more.

“You pull another stunt like this again, love, and this,” Johnny smacks your ass with a sharp thwack, “will be red.”

“I’m sorry, Johnny. Please. Just—please.”

Johnny teases your clit with a quick swipe of his tongue. “Beg some more.”

You do. All sorts of obscene things fall from your lips. When tears form in the corner of your eyes, Johnny finally gives you relief.

He fucks your gorgeous pussy with his fingers. He tastes and teases until you’re crying out, clamping around him as you come undone.

Johnny withdraws. Straightens.

You’re still hanging on the hook.

He frees you from it, but does not remove the belt from around your wrists. Johnny presses you against him with a flat palm upon your stomach.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmurs.

“I won’t.”

Johnny kisses your throat. “To bed.”

You frown, holding up your bound hands. “But the belt.”

“Stays on,” he says, fisting the tangling leather. “Until I’m done with you.”

John Price

John isn’t one for texting.

You’ll send him a barrage of texts only for him to call you hours later asking what you were texting him about.

Which is why you didn’t think this plan would work.

But then it did, and now you’re bent over John’s lap, bare ass in the air.

John told you that he was working late to catch up on paperwork. Whenever that happens, he always gives you a call to check-in and hear your voice. It’s routine at this point. A comfort. Most of the time, he just wants you on the other side, to have you talk about the day or whatever you want while he’s working. John will usually remain silent, listening, basking in your voice.

You planned it perfectly, knowing that he’d check his phone before giving you a call. You sent the photo of the flowers. A beautiful display really. And they were on sale. You also sent him a picture of the makeshift “note” that you made for it. All it said was “thinking of you” with no name. All of that was follow up by a “thank you” and promises to please him later.

John was calm when he called you—almost eerily so. When you thanked him from the flowers, he didn’t reply. He simply pushed past it. The thing is, John saved all of that energy up for when he came home.

Your ass stings. John rubs the spot he just smacked before squeezing.

“Now, love. Tell me the truth.” He says it so sweetly, like it’s such a simple thing.

And you don’t know how much longer you’ll last under this barrage.

“You bought them for me,” you whimper, keeping up the façade.

John shakes his head. “We both know that’s not true.” He squeezes your ass again, the sting burning slightly when he let’s go.

“I’d guess you’re seeing someone else but that would be lie. Wouldn’t it?”

He punctuates this statement by slipping his hand between your thighs, his fingers running over your pussy, parting your slickness. John dips one finger inside and then another, only to retreat and grab your ass cheek with the same hand.

“I know just how to make you wet, love. You have no one else to run to.”

“I told you—Fuck! John!” You jolt in his lap as his palm comes down on your already throbbing cheek.

“Be honest, love. Or you’ll get a few more.”

You swallow down your pride. You wanted him riled up, but you weren’t expecting this. Not for John to come home, strip you down, and bend you over his lap.

“I bought them,” you grumble.

John’s hand eases. “You what?”

“I bought them,” you snap.

“I knew you did.”

Before you have the chance to form a retort, John guides you up and into his lap. He grabs the front of your throat, bringing you close to him. He does not kiss you. He simply hovers.

“You’re going to straddle my lap and bounce on my cock until I fill you up. You understand?”

You nod, and Price let’s go of your throat.

“Get to it,” he purrs.

John is fully clothed, and you’re wearing nothing at all. You undo the clasp of his belt, pull the zipper, and he flexes his hips enough that you can work his pants down a bit. When his hard length is free to you, you straddle him, lining yourself up.

He remains impassive as you start to sink down. The stretch is perfect—as it always is, and you groan as you seat yourself entirely on his cock. Gripping his shoulders, you roll up and back down, rocking when you can to give your legs a break.

John still stays quiet but his gaze is assessing. Slowly, his hand comes around your neck again, and this time he squeezes slightly. It’s not to hurt. It’s to dominate and possess.

“Who do you belong to, love?” he asks.

“You,” you murmur, sinking down on him.

“Say it again,” repeats John.

“I belong to you,” you gasp, coming up and then back down.

“Again,” and this time there’s a growl in his tone.

“I’m yours, John.”

“Fucking right,” he says, crashing his mouth to yours.

The kiss is a claiming, one that shoots through your body and consumes your limbs and control. You shudder, pussy clenching, and then John is fucking up into you, his hands on your hips.

You’re no longer in control. It’s just John, and his need to possess.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @cherryofdeath @sapphichotmess

@saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @ravenpoe67

@tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @ninman82 @lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg

@yawning-grave81 @azkza @haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff

@cod-z @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic

@talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @suhmie

@ash-tarte @eternallyvenus @spookyscaryspoon @vrb8im @enarien

@nishim @lovely-ateez @thewulf @certainlygay @miaraei

@spicyspicyliving @kidd3ath @no-oneelsebutnsu @beebeechaos @lxblm

@jackrabbitem @jaggersinclair @dakotakazansky @daemondoll @keiva1000

[soulprompts]

KNOCK - KNOCK PROMPTS.

listen i recently became obsessed with the amount of television shows that have a mystery person knocking on the protagonist's door as a major finale cliffhanger, and it got me thinking, and now we have this list that a few immensely talented people helped me with! that said, we know the drill by now. DO NOT ADD TO THIS LIST OR CLAIM IT AS YOUR OWN! IF YOU HAVE IDEAS FOR MORE PROMPTS SEND THEM TO ME AND I WILL ADD THEM!

[ KISS ]: sender shows up at the receiver's door and impulsively pulls them in for a passionate kiss that punctuates a lengthy slow-burn between the two.

[ WOUNDED ]: sender arrives at the receiver's door with considerable injuries, in dire need of help and emergency care that only the receiver is either trusted enough or convenient enough to provide.

[ TEARS ]: sender shows up at the receiver's door in tears and in need of comfort after a long day (or week, or month…)

[ DEFEATED ]: sender arrives at the receiver's door after having lost a considerably important battle (metaphorical or literal) and needing a place to recuperate from the loss.

[ FUGITIVE ]: sender, having just become a fugitive from the law, runs to the receiver's home in the hopes of finding shelter and safety with them.

[ GIFTS ]: sender arrives at the receiver's house with gifts for the homeowner themselves.

[ APOLOGY ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to apologize to them for a past wrong-doing (specify if you wish!)

[ DATE ]: sender arrives at the receiver's house to take them on a romantic date.

[ HANG OUT ]: sender arrives at the receiver's house to hang out with them for the day.

[ GO OUT ]: sender heads to the receiver's house to take them out for a day of fun/relaxation.

[ COLLECT ]: sender shows up at the receiver's house to collect something that the receiver has either purchased for them or borrowed from them.

[ DELIVER ]: sender shows up at the receiver's house to deliver something to them that either the sender borrowed or the receiver requested from them.

[ CONFRONT ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to confront them about an on-going problem between the two of them.

[ FAVOR ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to ask them for a favour.

[ RECRUIT ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to recruit them for an upcoming task that the sender is unable to do alone.

[ ROOMIE ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to move in with them.

[ COMFORT ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to comfort them after the receiver has a difficult time or experiences a significantly difficult event.

[ HELP ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to help them with something that the receiver is either procrastinating or unable to accomplish on their own.

[ LEISURE ]: sender goes to the receiver's house for a movie night or a game night.

[ WARN ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to warn them against doing something that they suspect the receiver is preparing to do.

[ THREATEN ]: sender goes to the receiver's house in order to threaten them.

[ REUNITE ]: sender returns to the receiver's house after having been away for a while, intending to reunite with them.

[ GOODBYE ]: sender goes to the receiver's house to say a final farewell after learning they're due to leave town, possibly for good.

[ SECRET ]: sender sneaks out to the receiver's house to meet with them in secret.

[ BAD NEWS ]: sender arrives at the receiver's doorstep to deliver some bad news to them (SPECIFY THE NEWS).

[ PARTY ]: sender arrives at the receiver's house to attend a party that the receiver is hosting.

[ NEIGHBOUR ]: sender, having just moved in next door, arrives at the receiver's house to introduce themselves.

[ ENGINE ]: sender's car breaks down in the same street that the receiver lives on, leading the sender to knock on their door to ask for help.

[ PRETEND ]: sender knocks on the receiver's door to ask them to pretend to know them for the sake of a cover story.

[ VISIT ]: sender goes to the receiver's house for a casual visit.

[lunamugetsu]

Delivery!

Flash was currently being held captive in a black of ice. How he got like this he wasn't sure. All he remembered was that he was running across Central City keeping the peace until suddenly an ice beam shot out of nowhere and froze his feat to the ground.... and the rest of him.

"Alright you got me! Show your face!"

"Well I was going to regardless. No need to yell." Out pops Danny Phantom carrying a bag with him and holding out an envelope.

"What? Who are you?"

"My name's Phantom. Danny Phantom. I have a message for you. I couldn't get your attention earlier so I thought this was just the next best way to get you to stop." Danny said as he unfreezes the speedster.

"Uh, okay." Flash said as Danny gives him an envelope.

On the envelope there are drawing in crayon and stickers and in marker it says: to Flash.

"It's from Susie, she'd said you'd remember her."

He remembered a Susie, a little girl that he used to see in the children's hospital. She had leukemia. He spent any minute he could making sure the kid was smiling when he was there. He was heartbroken when the nurses told him that she had passed away before he could give her her birthday present. Flash examined the crayon written words, it was just like Susie's writing.

"How did you?"

"Just read it."

The letter reads:

Dear Flash,

I'm sorry, I wasn't there when you showed up for my birthday. I never got to tell you, but thank you for being at the hospital with me when I was scared of going to treatment or when I had to take my medicine. Thank you for making me smile even when I didn't feel well. Thank you for playing games with me when I couldn't go outside. Thank you for talking to my mom and dad at my funeral. That was really nice. I drew some pictures for you but I never got to finish them when I was in the hospital so I drew you some new ones. Danny says that he'll give them to you.

In the envelope was a series of different colored papers all with different crayon and marker drawings of Susie and him playing in different scenarios. One where she was a doctor and he played the injured patient. One where they were both superheroes. Another one where they were playing shadow puppets when she wasn't feeling well. Page after page were different drawings of them playing with the last one was covered in glitter with a big heart with a crayon drawing of him and Susie.

"Susie said that her biggest regret was that she couldn't say thank you to her hero before she passed. So I bumped her up on my delivery list."

"What?"

"Oh yeah, I never fully introduced myself. I'm Danny Phantom, you can call me Danny. I'm the designated delivery person for the afterlife to the living realm. Any messages or special requests from the dead are delivered by me!" Danny hands him a business card all official.

And it does say: Danny Phantom special delivery service for those of the non-living variety!

"She also said she wanted to give you one last hug before moving on."

"What do you?" Flash is halted from saying anything else as he feels a pressure against his legs. He looks down to see a translucent small figure. She was a picture of what she looked like before the chemo. Susie gives him a smile and a hug before fading before his eyes.

Before Danny officially takes up the mantle of Ghost King he's trying to do a job that would have him interact with all of his citizens first so he could get a feel of it. Hence him making connections with both the living and non-living people (he went big-brain for this idea)

Extra scene:

"Oh that reminds me, I have a card for you from someone else."

"A card?" Flash opens the card only to get sucker-punched in the face. (like one of those cartoon boxing glove punches)

"A punch card." Danny said

Flash groans as he looks at the card that has the words: STOP MESSING WITH TIME! from CW

Obligatory Gotham Scene:

Danny standing in front of a beaten up Joker that has been tied to a chair.

"Just so you know I have a back order of a lot special requests for you. And since I can't exactly kill you, that would create so much political tape. I can let them make requests for certain actions. So right now I have over 50 requests for me to break your legs and over 30 to pull out your teeth and break your jaw. Some of them contradict each other because they want to make every word you say hurt you but others want me to curse you so you can't speak again. So I'll just have to get creative." Danny says winding his arm back and form.

He is for sure being completely professional about, he gets no personal gratification from beating up a crazy clown at all. (said nobody ever)

[adrienneleclerc]

Heyy can you write a onsehot of charles being really really really clingy to the reader ,like wanting cuddels kisses

YES!!!!! I don’t think I ever wrote Charles in a clingy way so it’ll be fun to try!

Attached at The Hip

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Hispanic/Latina reader

Summary: Charles has a break between races and decides to spend it with his girlfriend. However, his girlfriend is not paying attention to him.

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: sorry it’s been a while since I have posted anything, I went to California as my graduation gift. Thank you for your request! I am so happy you like my writing enough to request a oneshot! If I haven’t gotten to your request yet, I AM WORKING ON IT, te lo juro por las haditas.

Charles had a 3 week break between races and what better way to spend this break than with his lovely girlfriend? When Charles came back Tuesday afternoon, he cuddled with his girlfriend, they watched a movie together, he gave her many kisses because he missed her so much. However, Wednesday morning Charles woke up without Y/N by his side and with the smell of baked goods. Charles walked into the kitchen and saw Y/N with her cupcake apron, frosting one batch of cupcakes, pulling another batch out of the oven, and putting another batch in the oven.

“Mon ange, it’s 7 am, what are you doing baking?” Charles asked.

“I received an order for cupcakes, muñeco. It’s a birthday party so I’m making cupcakes for the children and for the adults. I made margarita cupcakes for the adults and s’mores cupcakes for the children. I obviously wanted the cupcakes to be fresh, the party starts at 1, that also gives me time to deliver these.” Y/N said, showing Charles the tray of macarons that were made yesterday before he came over. “I spent the entire morning frosting them. If you can take the cupcakes out of the oven when the timer rings, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“I thought we were going to spend the day together.” Charles pouted, getting closer to hug Y/N but she walked away from his hug.

“Muñeco, i would love to cuddle you, but I have to deliver these to the café before they open.” Y/N packed the macarons in boxes very carefully and left the apartment, leaving a very sad Charles. When the timer dinged, he took out the cupcakes using Y/N’s oven mitts and placed them on top of the stove, turning off the oven. Y/N got back with bags of groceries for her apartment and her business.

“Ma Belle, are you still going to bake?” Charles asked.

“Charles, i supply macarons everyday for a café plus personal orders. I’m a busy girl, muñeco.” Y/N responded, Charles hugged her from behind.

“Can’t you take a break, please.” Charles whispered in her ear, kissing her neck as well.

“Muñeco…” Y/N whines

“I haven’t gotten any attention today.” Charles whined

“Let me frost the cupcakes and I’ll give you all the attention you want. Until 12 that is, then I’ll have to deliver these cupcakes.” Y/N said.

“I’ll take it.” Charles pulled away from Y/N, kissing her and letting her do a baker’s job. As soon as she finished frosting the cupcakes, she laid down with Charles and he was very happy with her in his arms. They watched the Spanish TV show “Ni Una Más” with English subtitles for Charles when Y/N’s phone rings, it was the mom who was throwing the birthday party.

“Hello, yes the cupcakes are ready, I’ll be over there in a few. S’mores cupcakes for the kids and margarita cupcakes for you guys, alright, bye.” Y/N hung up the phone. “Muñeco, I gotta go.” Y/N tried to get up but Charles held her tighter.

“No, please stay.” Charles begged against her neck.

“Muñeco, this is how I make my rent, I have to drop off the cupcakes.” Y/N said, getting up successfully and putting the cupcakes in their respective containers. Charles got up as well.

“At least let me drive you.” Charles said.

“Nope, you’re staying here like a good boy, okay.” Y/N said, opening the apartment door with cupcake boxes in hand. “Stay…good boy.” Y/N left the apartment, leaving Charles again.

After Y/N was paid 200 euros for the cupcakes since they are flavors that not everyone else makes, she went back to her apartment and found Charles on the couch.

“Finally, you’re home! Let’s spend some time together, yes? We should go out on the yacht.” Charles said, “or we could stay in bed,” Charles hugged Y/N from behind.

“You’re so clingy. But you’re adorable, let’s go.” Y/N said. Charles silently cheers and grabs Y/N’s hand to lead her into her bedroom so they could watch TV and rot in bed together.

The End

I hope you like it, I don’t know how to write “clingy” because I have a fearful avoidant attachment style so I don’t know what “clingy” typically looks like but I hope it’s acceptable

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

Tip Your Driver

Week #15 Prompt: Modern AU | Word Count: 4115 | Rating: T | POV: Steve | Characters: Steve, Eddie, Wayne, Robin | Relationships: Steddie, Platonic Stobin | CW: Language, Non-Explicit Mentions of Sex | Tags: Modern Setting AU, Delivery Driver Steve, Rock Star Eddie, Meet Cute, Good Uncle Wayne Munson

Of all the shitty service jobs Steve's had, this one is definitely among the worst.

And he's been stuck working some pretty shitty jobs over the years, both before and after they moved out here. If he hadn't hated the one at the shoe store so much, because ew feet, he wouldn't be doing this in the first place. At least that was in one location, a steady paycheck, and not that far from their apartment. But, he didn't know that feet draw in some weirdos, so here he is, lugging other people's shit around, because he needs the money.

He just sighs as he pulls up in front of the address on the app. He double checks the posted numbers over the garage, and it seems to be the right place. Everything matches enough for him to call it good.

The house is really nice.

It's not in The Hills or anything, so he hadn't expected something so nice.

Now, Steve doesn't mind delivering groceries, not really, but this guy, Eddie it says, ordered a bunch of heavy shit, and the tip was only the mediocre bare minimum. Which, he wasn't that mad about, until right now, after he's seen the house this guy lives in. 

No, now he's pretty annoyed.

Whatever. Par for the fucking course from Fancy Pants Rich McGee over here. How the hell you spell chauffeur? Chauffeur. Indeed. Maybe he should make tiktoks about situations just like this. Robin keeps hounding him, saying if he'd just do it, that he could rake in a little extra cash. 

He's skeptical. 

Steve looks back at the house. 

Oh well. He left his money behind for a reason, the only thing he kept was his car because his parents were dumb enough to put it in his name. And honestly? It does him no good to be jealous or whatever the fuck he's feeling right now.

At least this guy had been responsive, and pretty nice, when answering Steve's messages about substitutions and out of stock items. Not everybody is, unfortunately, acting as if Steve is the one stocking the store himself.

Steve opens the back hatch of his car, and leans in to grab the first items to be left at the door, as requested. If they don't see you, they feel less bad about the shitty tip, Steve's learned.

But it's fine. Steve doesn't want to deal with anyone face-to-face today, anyway. Because he needs to hurry. He and Robin are already a couple days late on rent, and he's gotta try to make up the difference today. If not, they're gonna be fucking screwed. Why is this city so goddamn expensive to live in? It's bullshit.

"Let me help," comes the voice right next to him, and Steve jumps, hitting his head on the open hatch door.

Now, he's skipped over annoyed and has been vaulted straight into pissed off. 

Partly at himself for being so far in his own head that he didn't even hear this guy approaching, but mainly at this asshole for even being in his personal space in the first place. He needs to take about three big steps back.

"Oh, fuck! Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" the guy shouts, and Steve hasn't even seen this asshole yet, but he knows he hates him. 

"Most people don't help unload the car," Steve snaps, turning to look at him, and the guy is looking back at him with big, big brown eyes. Robin would call them doe eyes, without a doubt. Well, fuck. Fine. Steve softens his tone, "It's okay. I just wasn't expecting you."

"Sorry," Eddie says again, still too close. "I'm Eddie. I ordered the groceries. Can I help? Please?"

Steve nods, and lets him reach in and grab his own case of water, while Steve picks up a few of the sacks. It's the least the guy can do, now that he's given him a headache. Literally.

Steve carries the sacks towards the porch, and leans over to put them down.

"Just come on in," Eddie says, and the door swings open, banging against the rubber doorstop on the wall.

"Don't bang the door!" comes the yell from the other room, and Steve peers into the house and sees an older guy sitting in a lift chair, with a walker in front of him.

"It's my door, old man, I'll bang it if I want to!" Eddie yells back, but there's no heat there. Steve can hear the teasing affection in his voice, and Steve can't help but smile.

"Don't come crying to me when there's a hole in your wall. Can you patch drywall? Because I can't right now," the guy, probably Eddie's dad the way they're bickering, snaps.

Eddie ignores the question from his dad.

"C'mon, this way," Eddie says, looking over his shoulder at Steve, as Steve lingers on the step. 

Well, no. That's not. You don't go in stranger's houses. It's, like, rule one. And just good common sense. Which apparently Steve has none of, because he does follow Eddie into the house. 

Robin will kill him, if this Eddie dude doesn't kill him first. 

Steve puts the bags down on the counter, and heads back out to make another trip, Eddie following, "That's my uncle. He's just crotchety that he had to have his broken hip replaced, and now he's dependent on me for the near future."

Steve laughs, "Well, maybe don't bang the door and he won't be crotchety."

"You heard me. It's my door," Eddie says, smiling wide. He's pretty, very pretty. Long, dark hair tied up on top of his head, and heavy tattoos all along his arms, creeping up onto his neck.

He's honestly gorgeous. 

Steve wonders if he's famous. He doesn't look familiar, but he looks like he could be famous. And his house is pretty fucking nice. This is L.A. Everybody is somehow famous in L.A. Except for Steve and Robin. They are definitely not famous.

Unless he's a tech bro? But he doesn't really look the type.

Either way, famous or not, Steve smiles back, can't not, not when he looks like that, then asks, teasing him, "Well do you know how to patch drywall?" 

"Fuck no. But I could hire someone to fix it if the door knob somehow gets through the stopper."

"Well, at least you have a plan," Steve says, and Eddie laughs.

"He just hates the city. Hates my house. Hates everything. Except me. He loves me," Eddie says, as he grabs a case of Gatorade in one hand and the case of pork and beans in the other.

That's a lot of beans. 

"That's a lot of beans," Steve says aloud, even if he doesn't mean to, even if he knows better than to comment on other people's groceries. 

But Eddie laughs. "Tell me about it. Man likes what he likes, though. There's no changing him now." 

Steve nods, grabbing another handful himself. It's nice that Eddie is taking care of his uncle.

"I'm not usually home much, hence all the groceries being ordered at once. Sorry about that. The cabinets were pretty bare, and I just didn't want to leave him home alone. He's still a fall risk, even if he keeps insisting he's not."

"That's okay, I understand. Big orders are more common than you'd think," Steve says, stepping back into the house that he's probably not going to get murdered in, thankfully.

Big orders are common, he's not lying about that, and more often than not, the tips offered for shopping hundreds of items, are less than you'd think. So, this order wasn't even out of the ordinary. Not really. That's why Steve took it. Some pay was better than none, especially today, that's for sure.

"Still. I'm grateful. You saved my ass today, man," Eddie answers. 

"Well, it's my job," Steve says, and Eddie laughs.

They finish bringing everything in, and Steve nods at Eddie, "Okay. I think that does it."

"Here," Eddie says, and plucks an envelope off the counter, "I always worry that your tips in the app will get eaten up by the corporate assholes taking their cut off the top. So. Cash is king."

Steve takes the envelope. A tip he doesn't have to report? Why thank you, Eddie. 

"Thank you. You didn't have to do this, or help bring it in, you know? But I appreciate both."

Eddie smiles, "Thank you for getting all that shit for us. We both appreciate it. Don't we Wayne?"

Wayne grumbles, but Steve's pretty sure he doesn't appreciate anything right now. He knows he wouldn't either, if he had broken his hip.

They say their goodbyes, and that's that. Steve will never see Eddie with the pretty eyes ever again.

At the next red light, Steve opens the envelope, expecting an extra ten or twenty bucks, maybe, but is shocked to see that there are three, insanely crisp one hundred dollar bills inside. 

Holy shit. 

That's way more than he usually makes in a single day. Two days, even. Just by delivering one order that he didn't think was gonna pay well at all.

And he got to look at a hot dude for a minute or two. 

It's enough to cover what they were short on the rent, even. It might not have felt like a lot of money to Eddie, if he handed it over so readily, but it feels life-changing to Steve, right now. He remembers when three hundred bucks wasn't anything to him either, back when he had access to all his parents' money and all their unhappiness.

Now, it's different. 

Robin's gonna shit.

Hot damn.

Thank you, Eddie.

"Booyah," Steve says, slapping the envelope on the counter. 

Robin picks it up, and thumbs through it. It has Eddie's tip, and the few extra bucks he picked up during the rest of the day. 

"Oh my god, no way! Where did you get this much cash, dingus? Are you turning tricks on the side now?" Robin asks, and Steve laughs. 

"Yes. I thought I'd see what I could get for this ass," Steve says, turning and pushing his ass outwards in her direction. 

She doesn't even look, but says, "Honestly, you might be worth more than this, as much as I hate to admit it," she comments dryly, and he smiles. 

"No, some rich dude that ordered a bunch of heavy shit gave me a big tip," Steve explains.

"That's what she said," Robin teases, and her eyes are still wide as she looks at the bills in her hand, "Seriously, though. Thank you, rich, old dude," Robin says. 

"Rich, but not old. I think he might have been famous in some way. YouTuber? Musician? I don't know. Nice house." 

"Well. Describe him. Let's Google him," Robin says, wiggling her fingers in the air like she's stretching before this big task she's about to undertake.

Steve isn't sure searching for him is gonna work, but he lets her try, "Eddie. Probably a little older than us. Lots of tattoos." 

"Was it Eddie Vedder? Please tell me you know who Eddie Vedder is, dingus?" 

He knows who Eddie Vedder is, Jesus. 

He gives her a look, "Not that old. And he was heavily tattooed. Is Eddie Vedder tattooed? Plus, this guy had dark eyes. Really dark. And no flannel." 

She keeps looking on her phone, showing him options, "Him?" 

No. 

"Him?" 

No. 

"Him?" 

"No. Not him." None of them are. Nobody she shows him is the same guy. So, he thinks of all the famous Eddies he knows of. 

"Was it Eddie Van Halen?" Steve asks. 

"Since he's dead, probably not," Robin says. 

"Oh," Steve says. He didn't remember that. And he'd be too old, anyway. "We're looking for someone that looks kinda like young Eddie Van Halen. But with tattoos."

"You're obsessed with the tattoos. Was it Ed Sheeran? He has lots of tattoos," Robin asks, and he rolls his eyes. 

"Robin. I think I know what Ed Sheeran looks like. This man was not ginger. Dark hair, dark eyes. And he was American. Maybe this guy is just rich? Not famous at all. It doesn't matter. I'll never see him again, anyway. We'll just thank him from afar for saving our asses today." 

Robin sighs heavily, and puts her phone down, "If you'd got yourself a rich boyfriend we'd have it made all the time." 

"Well, I'll work on that," he says sarcastically. 

At least for now, they can pay another month's rent. That's a big win. Huge.

Maybe they can keep their heads above water, now.

And they do, by some sort of miracle. It was only three hundred bucks, but that was enough of a windfall to get them back in the black. And somehow they've stayed ahead since, for nearly two whole months. They haven't been this stable financially since they arrived in town.

Today, Steve flips through the different apps he drives for, trying to decide what order to take, when he sees a huge pizza order. The order is absurdly big, but the tip is decent, and picking up a stack of pizzas is infinitely easier than shopping a whole-ass grocery list. Steve's just seriously questioning if it'll all fit in his car.

He's gonna risk it.

Luckily, it does, but there are pizza boxes piled high in every seat and the rear. He definitely doesn't have hot bags for all of them. Hopefully he doesn't get caught in traffic.

The area seems familiar, but when Steve pulls up in front of the house, he knows why. Eddie. Only, the last time it was groceries, not food, that he delivered here. 

There are vehicles everywhere. Clearly some sort of party, Steve thinks, to require this amount of pizza. And as soon as Steve steps out of the car, Eddie is out of the house, being trailed by three other, mostly leather-clad, guys. It'd look threatening, if Eddie wasn't smiling so big.

"Steve! When I saw Steve was my driver, I was like, maybe? But Steve's a common name, and there was no picture, so I didn't get my hopes up, but hey! It is you!" Eddie shouts, moving to the back of the car, "Watch your head this time, sweetheart," Eddie adds, and Steve is sure he's blushing. 

He just stands there kind of dumbly, watching as Eddie commandeers his order right out of Steve's vehicle. Eddie's definitely unusual. 

Eddie hands stack after stack of pizzas to the waiting guys, making them carry the bulk of it. And Steve watches as they ferry them off towards the house, Steve not having to even lift a finger this time. 

Now, it's just him and Eddie standing on the curb. 

Eddie holds out an envelope, and Steve looks at it.

"Man, thank you, but you tipped so well last time, you really don't have to again."

"I want to. You provide a service, I want to pay for that service," Eddie says, shaking the envelope, and Steve reluctantly takes it. Whatever is inside, will really help him and Robin stay ahead. It did last time. He's not really in a position to say no, even as well as they are doing at the moment.

"Thank you, truly," Steve says, tucking it into his pocket, "How's your Uncle Wayne's hip?"

Eddie smiles, so fucking wide, "You remembered! He's good. Great. Headed home soon, which I'm certain he's thrilled about. He's definitely never coming here again. I'll have to go home when I want to see him."

Steve laughs, "Glad to hear he's better, if annoyed."

"Do you want to stay?" Eddie asks, "We're having a little going away party for him. The more the merrier. Or, is your shift not over? You could come back?"

Steve doesn't have a shift, he can clock in and out to take orders as he pleases, and right now he'd really like to accept Eddie's offer. Even if it's probably just Eddie being polite. A pity ask, if you will.

"You don't have to invite your delivery driver into your house, you know? I could be a murderer."

"Unlikely," Eddie says, "and I'm not inviting my delivery driver. I'm inviting you, Steve."

Steve thinks over the options, and then nods. He can go in for a bit. If he's uncomfortable, he can get right back on the clock, no harm, no foul.

"Okay, let me park," Steve says, and he does just that. Putting the envelope of cash into the glove box without opening it. He doesn't want Eddie to see him scrounging through it. That feels tacky.

The pizza boxes are already open on every available flat surface in the kitchen and living room, and Eddie shoves a paper plate into Steve's hands, "Eat. Drink. Be merry."

Steve nods, and grabs a slice from the nearest box. He's not picky.

The house is full of people, and a lot of them seem vaguely famous. Like this is an industry thing, instead of a going away party for an old man with a newly not-broken hip.

Steve's worked enough of these events. They tried the catering thing for a while, and it was fine, for Steve anyway. Robin was just a little too clumsy to carry trays of dainty hors d'oeuvres around rooms filled with beautiful women in expensive dresses.

This isn't any of that though. This is cases of beer being chilled in kiddie pools, and dozens of pizzas. Fancy house, but not a fancy party. Steve spots Eddie's uncle sitting by himself on a couch, a beer resting on his knee and a paper plate of pizza on the arm rest.

Nobody else is sitting by him, so Steve goes over, "Can I sit?"

Wayne grumbles something that could be yes, could be no, Steve's not wholly sure, but he chooses to go ahead and sit down beside him.

"How's your hip?" Steve asks.

"Who are you?" Wayne asks, looking at him, suspicious.

"Steve. Uh, a delivery driver? I've brought a couple orders to you guys now. And Eddie invited me to stay."

Wayne nods, and goes back to his plate, "Hip's fine. Ready to go home."

"Where's home?" Steve asks, and he's not sure why. Clearly this man has no interest in making small talk with him.

"Indiana," Wayne says. 

"Hey! For me, too. Small world."

"What're you doing in California, then?" Wayne asks. "Trying to get into show biz?"

"No. No way," Steve laughs, "Not for me. Uh, my best friend? Robin? She wanted to move out here. Wanted an adventure. And I wanted her to be happy. So. Here we are."

Wayne nods.

"Did you break your hip in Indiana and Eddie dragged you all the way out here?" Steve asks.

"No," Wayne answers, "I came to visit him and broke my hip before I got out of the airport. This is why I don't take vacations."

Steve smiles, "That's bad luck. Sorry."

Wayne nods his head, and Steve assumes that's the end of this conversation, and they sit in silence for a few moments.

"You're Steve? The one that brought the groceries a few weeks ago?" Wayne asks.

"That's me," Steve confirms.

"He's been talking about you non-stop. I was like, just order more groceries. So, he tried. It was never you. Now we have more food than he'll ever eat. Probably need to take it to the food pantry."

Steve grins, looking down at his plate. He isn't sure what Eddie would want to see him for. They definitely aren't on the same level.

Eddie is across the room, talking wildly with his hands.

"He's a good kid," Wayne says, quietly, "All this? Not him. Not all of him, anyway."

Steve looks back at Wayne, "What do you mean?"

"All this fancy shit. I'm proud of him that their music has done so well. But he's a good kid. And he just wants to be happy."

"Don't we all," Steve says.

"People take advantage. If you're here for the money, for the fame. Just. Move on. Eddie would give it to you. But he wants something more. Needs it, I think."

Steve thinks he could be something more. But he doesn't really have anything to offer Eddie in return, and maybe heeding Wayne's warning wouldn't be such a bad idea. What business does he have getting involved with a famous musician? None. 

"Got it," Steve says. "Well, I'm glad your hip healed."

Wayne grumbles at that, and it makes Steve smile.

Steve puts his trash in the can, and looks around. The hallways are lined with platinum records, news articles, and he leans close to read the name. Eddie Munson. Corroded Coffin. He's never heard of them. He'll have to look them up on Spotify. 

He doesn't belong here. 

He takes one last look at Eddie. 

Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin.

He tries to memorize his name, his band, so he can tell Robin later, solving their little mystery.

And then he ducks out of the front door, walking down the long driveway towards his car. 

"Hey, Steve! Wait!" Eddie yells from behind him, and Steve slows. 

"Hey, man. Thanks for having me," Steve says, turning to look at him.

"You're leaving already?"

Steve nods, "Work, you know."

Eddie nods, "Okay. Well. Come back. Anytime."

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says, because he's pretty sure Eddie means that, "Enjoy your party. I'm glad Wayne's hip is good as new."

Steve turns to keep walking.

"Steve. Uh," Eddie says, and Steve considers pretending he didn't hear him. It'd be easy. The music is loud, probably pissing off the neighbors, but Eddie keeps talking. "Listen. I like you. Yeah, I know. I barely know you. But. We got good vibes, man. Can you not feel that?" Eddie asks, and when Steve turns to look back at him, he sees that Eddie's hands are shoved deep into his pockets. 

He looks nervous.

He's famous, clearly rich, and beautiful. He could have anyone he wants. But he looks nervous talking to Steve. Who delivered the pizza. Make it make sense. Goddamn. 

"Eddie," Steve says.

"Do you not feel it? If you don't, I'll leave you alone. I swear. But if you do…"

Steve nods, "I do. But I'm a delivery driver. I live in a tiny apartment that I share with my best friend. We barely make ends meet. You could have anyone. Why would you want me?"

"Because I like you," Eddie says, "and I want to get to know you. I didn't grow up with anything either. I'm not old money. I'm new money. Brand new. So. I'm not that out of touch yet."

Steve smiles. He's old money, he just doesn't have access to it anymore. Eddie's new money, and doesn't know how to handle it. They'd be quite the pair.

Eddie keeps talking, trying to wheedle a date out of him, "Just. Let me take you out. Just us. Let's see if there's anything here," he says, motioning his hand between the two of them.

Steve wants to, he really does. 

"Okay," Steve finally says, "nothing fancy. A normal date."

"We can definitely do that," Eddie says, and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Let me give you my number."

Steve rattles off his number, Eddie texts him, and it buzzes against Steve's thigh. Already coming through, showing he's serious.

"Dinner? Movie? Bar? You name it," Eddie offers, eyes never leaving Steve's.

"Dinner's good. Nowhere fancy, though," Steve warns. 

"Do I look like I like fancy places?" Eddie asks, looking down at his own clothes.

And Steve's eyes cut back to the gorgeous house.

Eddie laughs, "Fair enough. But I don't."

"Can you go out in public? Or are you too famous?" Steve asks. "I'm not familiar with your band, sorry."

Eddie laughs, "I think I like that you aren't, sweetheart. That means that maybe you like me, just for me. And I can go out. Nobody cares about me all that much."

Steve nods. Alright. They can go on one date, and see how it goes. 

Well. That's how it goes.

Very, very well.

So well, that Steve's now satisfied and loose in Eddie's bed, when Eddie laughs, rolling into Steve's shoulder, face pressed to his skin. Lips kissing his shoulder, biting at him gently. Playing with him.

"What?" Steve asks, smiling as Eddie slides his hand into his, squeezing. "What's so funny."

"I tipped my driver," Eddie chokes out, laughing around each word, pressing his crotch into Steve's thigh.

Steve laughs, looking down at this ridiculous man clinging to him, "That you did. And damn well."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

[coff33andb00ks]

lando + 13. that’s it. thx <3

I received the same request twice omg so this is for both of you <3 13: linking hands together during sex (warning: smut)

driver + number = drabble/short fic <3

Having sex with Lando is a wild card. You never know what, exactly, to expect, though you did have indicators. If it's morning after waking up it'll be slow and sweet. If you're at a race weekend with him and he grabs your hand to pull you into his driver's room it's going to be hard and fast, a desperate quickie that you always pray no one will overhear. Hotel rooms usually signify a wild marathon with breaks for snacks and naps, because gods forbid he go without trying to get a noise complaint.

At home, though, it's always a mix of all of them. Sweet and slow, wild and hard, a marathon or a sprint. Either or, you love them all.

Tonight, though, is different. He'd taken you out to dinner, had flowers delivered, had ordered a ride instead of just driving himself, had spent way too much money on champagne at the restaurant. He doesn't go all out often, but when he does, it's for you.

For a horrific moment you think he's going down on his knee to propose, and wonder why you aren't relieved that he doesn't, holding onto his shoulder while he unfastens the strap of your high heel and slides it off your foot. He removes your other shoe, hands sliding up your legs as he gives you the look that had made you say yes the first time he asked you out.

"Are we celebrating something?" you ask, worried you've forgotten. Contrary to what you would have thought, Lando remembers the dates of random firsts in your relationship. First meeting, first date, first sex, first fight, first trip together, first meal cooked together, first night you stayed over. It's cute and endearing and also a little scary because you can only remember the major firsts.

"Just us," he promises, slowly rising to his feet.

You melt, because of course you do, wrapping your arms around him when he grabs your hips and pulls you to him. And you wish you could shout from the rooftops how much you love him, how he truly is the most romantic man when he doesn't need to be. He kisses you, champagne and chocolate, and before your love-fogged brain can catch up you're in bed, his head between your thighs, gripping the sheets while you call out his name.

It's still different, but the same. His little whining gasp and the pause after he enters you. The breathless whisper of your name just before his hips begin to roll. The fullness, the incandescent glow of loving and being loved in his eyes. You hold your breath, waiting for him to switch to the desperate fucking, but he doesn't. He stays slow, eyes locked with yours, hands everywhere from your ankles to your chest to your throat. He leans down for a kiss and you finally breathe.

You're clutching the sheets, the slow passion driving you crazier than any intense quickie ever will, body arching beneath his fingertips, gasping and crying out as his hands sweep up your sides. He whispers gentle words, talking you through it as only he has ever been able to do, his breath hot against your ear while his palms stroke down your arms. His fingers gently pry yours from the sheet and you gasp his name, hands tangling with his when he stretches them above your head.

"Let it out, baby, no one will hear," he whispers, squeezing your hands when you start to tremble. "It's just us…"

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Lookalike (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Inside the highest tower of the Red Keep, lives a girl with long silver hair...

Warnings: Oh man. What a trip. Rapunzel, innocence kink, daddy issues, cursing, mature language. Light groping, kissing. Daemon, and all his usual warnings. Manipulation. I tried to make it whimsical. You know, a fairy tale.

Requested: Yup. For the bingo. Daemon + retelling of another story. Posted it early because I couldn't sleep last night so I stayed up finishing this.

Once upon a time, in a far away land called Westeros, lived a King and a Queen. The Queen was a beautiful woman, with hair made of spun silver and gold.

The King and the Queen had a daughter, a bright girl called Rhaenyra. They loved her deeply, but as many powerful men behind him, the King could not help but wish for a son.

When the Queen had carried Rhaenyra, her pregnancy had been harsh. She had struggled to fall with child, and when she had, she had been sick the whole time. The Queen was not too sure if she could withstand another pregnancy.

“My love, I need my heir.” The King said to her. “You must help me and try again.”

“But husband, you know we cannot. The Maester said pregnancies were too rough on me."

“If I can't have my heir, I fear I will lose my throne!”

So the Queen decided to try again. Soon, she was with child. Yet, the Queen could feel something was different, this time. She got twice as large as she was when she was carrying Rhaenyra, her body ached even more. Only the hottest baths could soothe her abundant pains.

“This pregnancy is not normal, not normal at all.” Said the Maester, when examining the Queen. “I fear the delivery will be hard.”

And hard it was. For there was not one baby but two. A girl and a boy, a moon and a sun. The parents only found out when the Queen was unable to deliver the baby, and the King, believing it to be his precious heir, ordered the Maester to cut her open.

Wailing into the world they came, shrieks so loud they rose half the Red Keep. Every bell in the city was toiling for them. The King named his heir Baelon. The girl, the little moon, was forgotten. That was you.

Too young to know it then, your first hours were spent in your sister's arms, both of you forgotten in favor of the new heir. But it was barely hours at all when your little brother passed away.

At the funeral, the King was the picture of despair. His Queen was dead by his hand, his heir lasted no longer than a day. Now a father to a baby girl he didn’t know how to care for, and an unruly maiden.

Perhaps, sensing his despair and hoping to offer some words of comfort, and Arryn cousin took you from him and gasped:

“By the Sevens! If she is the very image of Aemma as a babe.” No one took in consideration that this Arryn cousin was not, in fact, older than the Queen.

“Is she?” The King asked, on the verge of tears. Your father could not stop remembering your mother’s face, as the Maester aided your entrance into the world. Her cries haunted him even in his sleep. He was turning into a decaying corpse, from inside out, guilt rotting him alive. “Rhaenyra, come here.”

“Father?”

“Does she look like your mother?”

Your sister squinted at you. You yawned, a toothless, sweet thing. Rhaenyra wasn't very knowledgeable about babes, but she liked you. You had grabbed into her finger the first time you had seen her, tiny fingers turning into the most adorable rings.

“She has her beauty.” She answered, politely. The King hummed, an idea sparkling into his head. Soon, the highest tower in the Red Keep was being repurposed, and the Hand relocated.

Nine and ten years later, that brings us to you, in a continent named Westeros. Inside it, Seven Kingdoms. Inside them, a city called King's Landing. Inside the city is a castle. In the castle, a tower. In the tower is a room. In the room, a girl. You.

You stared at your reflection, squaring your shoulders. You gave yourself a big smile.

“Father, I want to try claiming a dragon.” You repeated to the mirror, before shaking your head. “No, no. Too disrespectful. Lord Father, I was wondering if I could go and try to claim a dragon?”

The reflection did not answer. You frowned. You didn't like groveling, but you weren't too sure of what else you could do. Perhaps, sending him a note would be better.

As the youngest sister of the heir to the Iron Throne, you had led a sheltered life. Even more so, as the spitting image of his late wife, according to your father. When looked in the right light, your eyes were the same shade hers had been. And the way you spoke did resemble the short, clipped speech of the Vale.

No one dared question those things, even though your accent had been ensured by your father by providing you with tutors only from that region. The King was very protective of you, set on expiating his guilt over the death of your mother by ensuring your safety.

All of your care had been provided by him after her death. Viserys knew nothing about child-rearing, but refused to let any servant touch you beyond the wet nurse. You grew into a child, and your father didn't even know how to cut your long, silver hair.

Years passed, and soon you learned to take care of yourself. Used to long hair as you were, you never thought about cutting it. Instead, your mind was preoccupied with more urgent matters. For example, how could you get out of the Red Keep.

Sometimes, your father's protection turned overbearing. Unlike your older sister, you were not allowed to leave the castle. Nor had you been allowed to partake in the activities other young ladies did. The only way you had managed to know the world around you had been through your books and observations.

Your rooms were in the tallest tower in the Red Keep, ensuring you would be kept safe from intruders and even invaders, if such a thing ever came to pass. You had double the guards Rhaenyra and Viserys did. Instead of providing his new Queen with a sworn shield, he had chosen to devote all the Kingsguard to you.

While you knew your tower had been used for other things before, it had clearly been refurnished. Now, it worked as a castle of its own, inside which you had a tiny kitchen, bathing quarters, rooms, and a library. The idea was that you would never need anything outside it. A tiny universe, just for you. You had plenty of space for your books and trinkets, but it made for a lonely existence.

Each time there were unknown men roaming the Keep, you got sent back to your tower. Your father didn't like the idea of you being married off or corrupted by them. You were too precious, too good. He had said that when the day came, he would find you a good match. One that, you suspected, would keep you close to home. Perhaps Aegon, or one of your cousins in the Vale.

If you married at all, of course. Your father had gone through a phase of encouraging your faith in the Seven, in the hopes of you deciding to be a Septa. If you did, the King would be most pleased, for it would mean you would never suffer the same fate as your mother.

You wanted neither. What you wanted more than anything was to see the world, do the things Rhaenyra told you happened outside the Red Keep. And according to you, it would all get started if you got your own dragon.

With a dragon, you would be protected. Your father always used your lack of one as an argument for denying you the experiences ladies your age had. Your egg had not hatched, but if you claimed one, you would surely be allowed to leave.

Unfortunately, what was required to be able to bond with a dragon had been deemed too dangerous for you. King Viserys had banned you from the dragon pit, arguing that dragons could be unpredictable.

Today, you had been sent back to your tower due to an impromptu visit from your Uncle Daemon. You knew the man by reputation only, by how much he angered your father. If there was one person who you were prohibited from speaking to, it was him.

You had heard the rumors, of course. A few years back, after your mother's passing, he had taken Rhaenyra to a pleasure house. Whatever had happened inside was between her and him. To your father, though, it was enough to keep you away from him.

Smile. Square your shoulders. Try again to assert yourself. You eyed your reflection once again, wondering how you could convince the King to let you try to get a dragon. Outside, something scraped against a rock, again and again. Curious, you went to the window.

On the very base of your tower, there was a man hopelessly attempting to climb upwards. He was very dashing, sporting the same silver hair you did, only much shorter.

“Who are you?” You asked, slightly frightened. In truth, you were not used to strangers being so close to you. Your father always said men were dangerous, and that outside the Red Keep there were aberrant creatures, mean and ruthless, that hurt young maidens for their enjoyment. “Step away from my tower, or I shall call my guards!”

The man ignored you, choosing instead to stab a sword between the rocks that made up your tower. You screamed, alarmed.

“Stop that! That's not allowed, you are damaging my tower.”

The man ignored you, trying to use his sword to climb. He grunted in exertion. You ran towards your chambers and filled a jar with water. Then, you ran back to your window and dumped it on his head.

The man shrieked and fell down the few meters he had managed to progress. You laughed, startled.

“Aren't you a fearsome thing?” He muttered to himself. Then, he looked up at you, with the most purple eyes you had ever seen. “Please, Princess. Help me out.”

“Why should I? You are an intruder.” You glared down at him, not even entertaining the notion, but deciding to play along regardless. In truth, you were curious about him. And starved for companionship.

“I am being chased.” He screamed up at you, frantically looking behind him. “Please, help me.”

You leaned down towards your window, bracing your arms on the edge of it.

“Bad business, that.” Your voice was cheery and woefully uninterested. This was the most exciting that had happened to you in years, you were not about to stop it. But at the same time, you did remember all of your father's warnings. There were people out there that were not kind.

“Damn it, you are just like Aemma. Pair of cynics.” He cursed, and started to try to retrieve his sword. Your eyebrows raised.

“You knew my mother?”

The man looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun with a hand. He squinted at you. His bone structure reminded you of someone.

“I did.”

Your mother. A cynic. You smiled. No one had ever told you about her, not beyond all those polite things everyone said about the dead. How kind she was, how beautiful and learned. It did nothing to make you feel closer to her, these empty platitudes. They were generic, they could be talking about any woman.

Your father never went beyond that, either. The Aemma he talked about was an idolized version of her, a woman frozen into a perfect state of likeness to the Mother. He didn't allow anyone to contradict him, not even Rhaenyra. When you were younger, she had told you your mother had been hesitant about having another pregnancy, and struggling to carry another baby to term. Your father had banned her from visiting you during the next six moons.

But this stranger was speaking of her as if he knew her well. Your heart ached to know more about your mother, know the real her. It was enough to help you make your choice. You gathered your hair and threw it down the window.

“Come up then.” You ordered.

The man looked at the mass of hair in bewilderment. He touched a strand of it, fascinated by the way it picked up the light. He did not move.

“Use it as rope. You won't hurt me.” Were all men so dumb? Surely, if this one was so slow, he could not be a threat.

“Of course. Magic hair. Fucking Viserys.” The man started to climb. He got quickly inside, panting with exertion.

“You know my father, too?” Your body tensed. This, you did not like. What if he was one of the men that were supposed to visit the castle today? One of those who corrupted and hurt young maidens?

Your heart started to beat harder and harder. You tried to convince yourself he might not be a bad man. Perhaps, he had met the King through your mother. Regardless, you turned away from him, keeping your voice and posture deceivingly calm.

“Would you like some water?” You did not wait for an answer, starting to move towards the kitchen. You reached into a cabinet, as if searching for a cup.

The man followed. You could hear his footsteps on the stone floor.

“I do know your father.” His voice was strange. As if he were realizing he was making a mistake but couldn't pinpoint why. Uninterested, you took out a cup. “He is a great King.” He added, hurriedly. Just in time for you to grab a pan, turn and smack it against his head as hard as you could.

The man dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. You hiked up your skirts and rushed to his side. Kneeling by him, you took a closer look at his sword and grinned. You had seen it before. In your books. That was Dark Sister, Visenya's sword.

You had caught Daemon Targaryen. What better proof to show your father that you were not helpless? You tied him to a chair and gagged him for good measure. Then, you pushed him inside your bathing quarters. Only then did you call for a guard.

“Could you summon my father? I need him.” The guard bowed, but didn't speak. Most of them didn't. Your father said they weren't allowed to.

Despite not receiving an answer, you knew your father would be here soon. He always came when you called. You placed a kettle in the fire. Before it could boil, King Viserys was already there.

“Dear.” The King kissed your forehead. You tried not to wrinkle your nose at the smell of herbs and milk of the poppy. Your father always smelled like a medicine cabinet. “As beautiful as your mother, like always.”

You smiled.

“Father. Tea is not ready yet, but sit.” You pointed to your small parlor. When you were a child, the two of you had used to pretend you were a great lady, hosting tea parties there. It had been how he had taught you courtly manners.

The memory was bittersweet. Your father was good to you. He had raised you as best as he could, loving you more fiercely than any of his other children. It was not your intention to upset him, but you knew this topic would do exactly that.

“Were you lonely, my heart?” The King settled on one of the loveseats. You sat across from him.

“I did miss you.” You gave him a coy little look. “But I asked you to come for something else.”

“Do tell.”

“Father. I think I am ready to claim a dragon.” You rushed to say, almost tripping over your words. Already, you could see how his expression was clouding over, a storm raging behind his eyes.

“You know you are not.” The King answered, sternly. “It's too dangerous.”

“I can handle myself.” You fought for your tone to remain even. If it came out too angered, your father would say you were hysteric or having a tantrum, and refuse to take you seriously. So was the curse of being a woman.

“My heart, you have never stepped out of this tower.”

And you had not. But what did dragons care about one's knowledge of the world? You had read about dragons bonding with babes, sharing their cradle with them. To claim one, being well traveled or wise was not required. One had to be chosen, that was all.

You raised your hands in the air, palms up, as if placating a beast.

“I don't want you to get upset, Father. I wanted to prove to you that I am capable, too.” You got up and opened the door to your bathing quarters. “Do not be scared.”

The bound Daemon was still gagged, inside the tub. This time, though, he was awake. Upon seeing his brother, he immediately started screeching and squirming, making up a ruckus.

“Shh.” You said to him, kicking the tub a little. He was turning out to be a very annoying guest. “As you can see, Father, I caught him.”

“And you put him in the tub.” The King said, perplexed.

“He was dripping water all over my floors.” But your explanations fall on deaf ears, since your father has already moved on from his shock. He grabbed Daemon's shirt, forcing him to sit upright.

“Haven't I told you this tower is out of limits?” The King barked at him. “I will throw you into the deepest, more dark and humid dungeon I can find, and then I will…”

“Father.” You did not like being ignored. Daemon was a secondary concern, you just wanted to know if you were allowed out now.

Yet, your father seems to think the issue was an entirely different thing.

“Oh. Sorry, dear. What father meant is that Uncle Daemon has been very bad.” He gave him a shake for good measure.

“I can tell.” Your tone was flat. “Have I proven myself enough to be allowed to try to claim a dragon?”

The King let go of Daemon. He turned towards you and tenderly started checking you over for injuries.

“I would die if something happened to you.” He answered, evasive. You didn't need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. It was too dangerous. It was a no.

Five more long days went by. Poor you, having to stay all day in your tower. After Daemon, your father had now deemed it too dangerous to allow you to roam the Red Keep. It was the tower and nothing more. All you could do was sing Old Valyrian songs and look out the windows. Sometimes, birds would chirp from above, and you would feel slightly better, as if they were singing with you.

Perhaps it had been your song, what had led him to you. Perhaps it had been his own guilty consciousness for a sin long forgotten, or a sliver of empathy for the lonely girl in the tower up above. Whatever it was, before the sixth day came to an end, Daemon appeared under your window.

“Princess, Princess, let your hair down.” You heard him say. You walked to your window, curiously. Daemon was back!

“Come down if you want to be free.” The Prince ordered. “I do not have much time.”

His words stilled you. Freedom. Your father often said freedom was a dangerous thing. If you let people make their own choices, it was much more likely that they would choose unwisely. That was why you were kept in the tower, safe from the world and bad decisions. As long as King Viserys controlled your life, you would be protected.

But what if you left? What if you ran, jumped out of your tower and made your way to Dragonstone to get your dragon? You imagined a version of yourself, dress fluttering in the wind like a flag as you ran, barefooted in the sand. You imagined yourself feeling the sun in your face, having your first cup of mead or watching a parade.

Then you imagined yourself tripping and falling into the sea. You didn't know how to swim. No one saw the need to teach you such a thing. You imagined yourself at the parade, getting robbed. You imagined a man, trying to hurt you. What if people out there, what if Daemon, were truly as wretched as your father said they were?

Your face must have shown your distress because Daemon, impatient, shouted something more.

“I won't hurt you.” The Prince raised his hands in surrender. “I will not tell you I am a good man, but I will take you to Dragonstone.”

His honesty was what sealed the deal. You threw your hair down, grabbed one of your warmest cloaks, and shouted for him to loop your hair around a branch and not let go.

Daemon obeyed. You jumped, and as your feet hit the floor, you wished to be able to say you didn't look back. But you did. And as you saw the silhouette of your tower getting smaller and smaller in the distance, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness deep in your chest.

Noticing how quiet you have gotten, Daemon adjusts your cloak and gives you a grin.

“Do you want to ride Caraxes?” He asks. You match his grin, sadness nearly forgotten. There is a whole world out here, begging to be explored. You can be sad later when the adventure ends.

Caraxes is the most bewitching creature you have ever seen. He is red and serpentine, looking so much like the drawings of dragons you used to do as a child. You nearly scream in excitement.

Daemon whispers to him to stay calm, but Caraxes seems to sense your happiness, for he keeps trying to correspond your loving pets.

“Oh, by the Seven Hells.” The Prince pushes you towards the saddle. “If neither of you stop the tail wagging, we are going to get caught.”

“And we don't want that.” You agree, kissing Caraxes' scales one last time.

Caraxes gives another excited, full-body wag. He seems to be preening under the attention. Daemon must not praise him very much, which is a shame.

“You are such a good boy. So pretty, too.”

Caraxes preens even more. It makes his body shake, tail hitting against the floor in an ominous beat. Daemon groans.

“Enough, enough.” The Prince grabs you by the waist and gets you up in the saddle. You shriek in laughter. Caraxes appears to be happy about it, too, since he starts spreading his wings. “We are going to get caught.”

Daemon jumps into the saddle, hugging you tightly to him. You squirm, unused to the closeness of another human being. When your father and Rhaenyra touch you, it's never like this.

Daemon feels overwhelming, in the best kind of way. His chest is firm, and his smell surrounds you. His arms around your waist hold you tight, but remain loose enough to not hurt you. Your hips fit snugly against his, and make something you can't yet name stir in your lower belly.

It's different. It's strange. You want it to stop. Why do you feel so nervous, as if Caraxes was suddenly dropping down and not barely getting ready to fly?

“Soves, Caraxes.” Daemon orders, careful not to scream in your ear. “Are you alright, little Princess?”

You cease your squirming, hoping that he doesn't notice whatever is different with you.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“You keep squirming as if there were ants inside your bodice. Are you uncomfortable?” The Prince snickers by your ear, pressing a soft kiss right by the top of it. What happens next is impossible to hide. Your body gives a shiver, all of your hairs standing up. The sensation is as confusing as it is pleasant.

“My stomach feels funny.” You complain, knowing that it isn't exactly that, but close enough that he probably won't question it.

“Funny how?” Daemon kisses behind your ear. You make a hurt, confused noise. You have been kissed before, but never there. In your experience, kisses are not this devastating.

“Funny.” You refuse to elaborate because while naive, you are not dumb. This must be precisely why your father wanted you away from men. If they were able to inflict so much pleasure, it was no wonder why maidens let them do whatever they wanted to them.

“Does it hurt, little Princess?” One of his palms goes to your lower stomach, pressing slightly. “Here?”

You squirm. So he definitely knows.

“Yes.”

“Hurts? Or…?” Daemon's hand goes dangerously low, nearly pressing between the parting of your legs. You squirm more. He brushes something that makes you jolt, delighted.

“We shouldn't.” You answer. It would be much more convincing if you were not relaxing into him. He laughs right in your ear, but retracts his hand.

Even with his hands away from your most sensitive areas, you still feel worked up. Your bodice is too rough against your skin, the way Caraxes moves under both of you makes the area between your legs tingle.

You keep your eyes firmly on the sky in front of you. As it starts to change into pinks and yellows, the feeling ebbs and starts to fade. You feel sleepy, so you recline more against Daemon. A tiny yawn escapes you.

“Tired?” Daemon brushes your hair back, much more tenderly than your father would. With your father, the touch is always harsher, more possessive. As if he is always grasping to the last threads of Aemma he can hold. With Daemon, it feels like he is actually touching you.

You hum, soft and sweet.

“Sleep, little one.” He kisses your cheek. “I'll wake you up when we get there.”

The next time you wake up, it is in an unknown bedroom. At first, you panic. The canopy over the bed looks too similar to the one in your tower, and you wonder if perhaps you dreamed it all. Daemon, Caraxes, the flight, your feelings. Then, you get even more scared because the more you look, the more you realize this is not your room.

You get out of bed. You are still dressed in the same dress you were wearing earlier, but your shoes are gone. The door is closed. Fear grips at you. What if Daemon has sold you to someone evil and rotten, as your father says people outside the Red Keep are? What if he is the evil man?

You rush to the door. It opens easily. There is a hallway that looks much like the ones in the Red Keep, but there is no one there. You scream in fear.

Another of the doors opens in the hallway. Daemon, in a sleeping shirt and breeches, runs out.

“Princess!” He hurries to your side. You are crying, you realize, as he wipes away some of your tears. “What is it?”

“I woke up alone, and I didn't recognize…” You sob, softly.

“Oh, little girl.” Daemon scoops you in his arms. “I should have thought of that. I am so sorry.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you look at him, eyes swollen from your crying.

The world had impressed you during the day, but now that the night had fallen, and you found yourself in an unknown castle, you were afraid. What if there were monsters lurking in the hallways? Or if you needed something? What if someone hurt you?

“I do not want to go back there. I am scared.” You rubbed your eyes. Your hands dug into his arm, not wanting to let go of him.

“Do you wish me to keep you company while you fall back asleep?” Daemon asked, gently smoothing your hair down. You must look a mess, and would find it embarrassing were it not for the fact that being alone in such a big place terrifies you. At this point, you would do anything to keep him here.

“Please.” No more words are needed. Daemon doesn't want you to beg, nor does he want anything in exchange. It's comforting.

One of his hands goes to your shoulder blades, leading you back to the room. Daemon tucks you in and sits by your side.

“I'll stay until you fall asleep.” He says, smoothing down your frown with the gentlest touch. Daemon starts to hum in High Valyrian, softly. You know the melody. It's about flames and burning together. Almost against your will, your eyelids start to drop.

“Don't… Don't want you to go.” Your body feels so heavy, as if sinking into the mattress. With great effort, you manage to curl your fingers around one of his.

“Oh, Princess.” He says, interlacing your hands.

“Stay.” You order.

Daemon lets go of your hand, and you whine, awake instantly. You go to sit up, but he shushes you.

“Shh. I am just… Let me.” He slides under the covers, behind you. You close your eyes, trying to relax against him. It's no hardship at all. Now that the candles have been blown, the light is low and Daemon feels so warm against you.

He starts to trace your features. Finger meets brow, temple, cheek. Thumb brushes nose, then lips. Idly, so very idly, his voice mutters near your ear.

“How many mouths has yours kissed?”

The question startles you. You suppose there is no harm in telling him, yet there is a tinge of embarrassment over it, too. It has finally dawned on you what this new, uncomfortable, thrilling feeling is. Desire. You lust after Daemon.

“I have…” You answer, softly. You do not dare speak it out loud. Not when you rather know exactly how far the two of you are. “How about you?”

“I have lost count. Twenty, perhaps more so.” Daemon says it so casually, as if it did not matter at all. But to you, it does. What are you, compared to this man? How could you want him in such a manner, having so little to offer?

“What makes it special, then?” There has to be a reason for him to bother with kissing all these people. Perhaps, to him, all kisses feel as devastating as his does to you.

“The person, I would gather.” The Prince answers, softly rubbing your back as one would do to help a child fall asleep. You frown. It does make sense. You know what love is, after all. Being in love with someone, or at least desiring them, must make it special.

You would like to kiss him, you think. Daemon is handsome, and his touch does not feel as damning as other's do. He has already provided you with pleasure, even if unknowingly.

You make a wish, then. For your first kiss to be special, with someone you like and that knows what they are doing. If not Daemon, at least someone like that.

“Was your first special?” You ask, curious.

“No. She was terrible. Sharp teeth and all.” Daemon moves your hair aside, exposing your neck. You barely get any warning before he is taking a bite out of your nape. For a playful gesture, it's oddly painful. Your body tenses, and you try to fight it, but Daemon's hands are like a vice around your waist. “Like this.”

With no other choice, you ride it out. Pain is nearly unfamiliar to you, beyond small cuts or painful cycles. It's scorching red and hot, making you break into a sweat. Daemon forces you to take, and take, gently holding your hands in his. It's only after that you go limp under him, twitching slightly, that he lets up.

The aftermath of pain is sweet, you learn. Daemon kisses around the painful bite and blows a raspberry behind your ear. Now that he has let go of your nape, you find out that the pain was not so bad. You are not even bleeding.

“You are such a good girl.” Daemon praises. “So strong. I'm so proud of you.”

You preen as if you were Caraxes, delighted to make him feel proud of you. Daemon smiles against your temple, as if amused by you, and presses a little kiss there. It’s so tender, and so loving, a sharp contrast to his earlier behavior. It makes you feel as if you were once again on dragonback.

“Could you kiss me?” The words escape out of your mouth, without any real thinking. You know they are the wrong thing to say as soon as they leave your mouth.

Daemon pulls away from you. A hurt, confused noise leaves your throat, hands desperately searching back for his warmth.

“Oh, little Princess.” Daemon mutters, tone full of regrets. “I should not.”

“Why not?” You complain. You are not used to being denied so. The only times others do not bend to your will, you get what you want by your own means. Case in point, leaving your tower. Your father had said no, so you had ensured it happened by other means.

“I have done…. What I have done to you, why I took you…” Suddenly, it is as if an icy hand has taken hold of your throat and started to suffocate you. Betrayal settles over your features, overpowering it all.

“You are only doing this to piss off my father.” You say, shocked. Daemon raises his hands, trying to interrupt you, but you halt him with an imperious wave. “You had no intention of taking me to the dragons. You sought to ruin my reputation, as you did Rhaenyra's.”

“No, Princess, no.” Daemon shakes his head. You get up from the bed, angered. He does not try to stop you. “I swear I didn't mean for anything untoward to happen.”

“I bet you said that back then, too.” You retort. You have half a mind to do something crazy. To grab the fire poker and smash his head with it, to set the whole place on fire. You want to make him hurt.

“I… I did mean to anger your father.” Daemon admits, still trying to placate you. It only makes you wish to scream and scream and never stop. “But I do think it is a shame not to let you even try. Dragons are your birthright. Denying you is unnatural.”

You glare at him. You are unconvinced of the truthfulness of his words. Your father was right. You were unprepared for the world, and it couldn't show more. Daemon has tricked you as easily as if he were taking candy from a babe.

“I'll take you there regardless. I promised to.” His eyes are pleading, but you do not wish to hear him, or see him any longer. Instead, you sit in front of the vanity and look at yourself.

The long, silver hair. The scared eyes. The night, the first you have of freedom, is spent utterly cold and miserable. You stare at yourself and stare at yourself until you think you are going mad.

Daemon does not say a word. He doesn't leave the room, either. Perhaps he falls asleep at some point, perhaps he does not.

You look at your reflection again. You look at your hair. Silver, like his. The lovely color Daemon loves so much. Long, and braided back, flaunting your maidenhood and youth. Forever your father's little girl, never allowed to grow, to love, to lust.

A braid that long won't allow you to claim a dragon. You are more likely to set yourself on fire or trip on it. It's that thought that gives you the determination needed to do what needs to be done.

In the first drawer of the vanity there are a few miscellaneous ribbons. There is also a pair of scissors. You grab it, and grab your braid. You chop it off. As it falls from your shoulder, you feel a weight lift off from you. No longer your nape is heavy with the weight of all these expectations laying on you.

There is a woman staring at you, from the mirror. She looks like she is getting ready for war, eyes alight with determination. You stare at the contours of her face, mesmerized by what you see. All traces of Aemmas's ghost are gone from your reflection. You look more like yourself than you have ever done.

Daemon is up at sunrise. He may have been watching you chop all your hair off and expose the lovely bite mark that now mars the skin of your nape. He may have been sleeping. Whatever it is, he doesn't say a word about your change of appearance, choosing instead to dress in silence.

“Off we go.” He says, briskly, leading you out of the castle. Daemon points to a hill in the distance. “But after that, you are on your own.”

You are suddenly filled with doubt, the determination you had felt when looking in the mirror dissipating under the morning light. Your stomach clenches. Your legs are sore, unused to the exercise of riding. The bite on your neck burns.

"I do not feel ready to claim a dragon.” You say to him, as you get closer and closer to the hill. You feel like a fool. What if your father is right? What if you end this escapade with nothing to show but a ruined reputation?

“You are.” Daemon answers, barely paying attention. It makes you angry beyond belief. To make your mood known, you stomp over a few leaves, grinding them to dust under your heel. Ugh. Why were you looking to him for reassurance in the first place? It was not like Daemon wanted to help you. He just wanted to make himself feel less guilty over trying to cause a scandal and kill your father from the fright.

“I am not.” It’s almost as if you can hear the voice of your father in your head, telling you exactly why no dragon would bond with you. You are a fool, you are a little girl, you…

“You are a Targaryen.” Daemon interrupts your trail of thought with a squeeze to your nape. Right over the bite. It makes your knees nearly buckle. “You were born ready.”

“But what if it isn't enough? What if they see me, and don't want me? I am not brave, like Rhaenyra, or cunning like you or learned like my father. ”

“They will.” Daemon says. “Because you are strong here.” He taps your sternum. “And your father is a fool for not seeing it.”

You look at him. Past the guilt, past the acting up to get your father's attention. His eyes are nervous, but they hold the same steely determination yours had earlier. Daemon believes in you, you realize. You look up at the hill and think to yourself, it is time to see if you can claim a second dragon.

[eevees-hobbies]

What Your Friends Don't Know About Your Boyfriend Yuta Okkotsu - NSFW

Authors Note: I’m working on an anon request and some KNY headcanons, but inspiration struck. And, look, something JJK related! See, I DO watch other anime.

Synopsis: Fem! ReaderXYuta Okkotsu. Modern AU w/no curses. The Yuta Okkotsu that your friends meet is NOT the Yuta Okkotsu that you know in the bedroom. 

Content Warnings: fondling in public and around others without their knowledge, some demeaning dirty talk, minor jealousy, you may or may not have fucked your college football team depending on who you ask, perverted & possessive Yuta, smut. Minors Do Not Interact.

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When you first introduce your boyfriend, Yuta Okkotsu, to your friend group, they greet him excitedly. He’s respectful—albeit shy, especially since clubs aren’t exactly introvert-friendly. He’ll offer to buy them all drinks while listening to them reminisce about their college adventures with you. Being a good boyfriend, Yuta listens with vested interest and parrots the occasional, “Hm, is that so?” and  “No way, Y/N did that?” 

When Yuta excuses himself to go to the restroom, they corner you and launch into their observations of him, “He’s so cute!” and “How’d you get such a shy boyfriend?” oh, and the funniest one, “I bet you have to speak up for him ALL the time when they get his order wrong!” 

What your friends don’t know about your boyfriend is that throughout the night, he has been inconspicuously—under the cover of the packed crowd in the venue—sliding his hand up the short dress that he requested you to wear. His long fingers knead and fondle the plush of your cheeks as he smiles at something your friends say—them oblivious even as his fingers slide in between your thighs, playing with the thin fabric that separates your heated mound from his fingers.

What your friends don’t know about your boyfriend is that as soon as you pass the threshold of your shared condo, the door closing with a final click that is symbolic of the sound of a snapping chord that unleashes the brewing sexual tension between you two, he’s pushing you against the nearest wall, his leg between your thighs and knee pressing against your hot, wet sex. “I didn’t know my girlfriend was such a slut in college. Seriously? The entire football team?” he sneers as he bites at the sensitive skin on your neck. “Y-Yuta, that is NOT-, “ but he pulls away suddenly, his jaw set and his eyes clouded with jealousy and lust, the dark circles under his eyes only exasperating the chill you feel climbing your spine as he delivers a quick and hard smack to your ass. “Get your ass to the fucking room. Now.” 

What your friends don’t know about your boyfriend is that when it’s just the two of you, relegated to the quiet and dark bedroom, he folds you in half like he owns you, putting you in a series of positions—mating press, doggy, you straddling his lap in reverse cowgirl, anything that makes him feel as deep inside of you as possible.

What your friends don’t know about your boyfriend is that when he presses his body so firmly against you, you sometimes can’t tell where your body starts and his ends. His fingers grope at your tender flesh as he slides his tongue into your mouth, his hard dick pressed firmly against your still-clothed cunt, creating an unimaginable, pleasurable sensation from the sheer friction alone, until he decides that your panties no longer serve a purpose and rips them off with his bare hands.

What your friends don’t know about your boyfriend is that it doesn’t matter how much you beg or plead with him; he’ll tease your drooling hole by pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance just baaaaarely enough to give you a taste but not nearly enough to satiate any of your want for him. “Beg for it, baby. I don’t know if you've earned this quite yet.” And when he’s satisfied with the way your voice cracks when you proclaim your absolute desire for him, and you shake your ass under him, hoping to “accidentally” move in a way that would allow you to swallow him into you. But Yuta knows your games, so he’ll press a large hand against your lower back, pushing you deeper into the mattress; he won’t relent until he’s taking you on his terms. Finally, without warning, he’ll plunge his girth into you, eventually giving you what you need. Your cock hungry mind is SO pleased, but it’s so sudden and brutal and so fucking much that your body writhes underneath him. Still, Yuta is unforgiving and unmoved by your whimpers. Quite frankly, the way you struggle against him only makes his dick twitch inside you more.

What your friends don’t know about your boyfriend is that he’s an entirely different person in the bedroom. His shy persona now overshadowed with the filthiest of words and low, drawling moans, “I bet your friends know I was fingering you tonight. I bet they could smell you on my fingers as I passed them their drinks.” He drives himself even deeper into you, fucking you like he’s chasing a high that only your sweet, tight pussy can give him. His incessant pounding only gets more ruthless as your moans grow louder and your attempt at speech nonsensical. “Nngh, Y-Yuta, fuck….feels….dick…” You try bouncing your ass back to meet his thrusts, but they’re sloppy because, fuck, you can’t think straight with him fucking you like this, and he gives your ass another firm smack, “look at you all slutted out. What would your friends think twerking on my cock like this?”

What your friends don’t know about your boyfriend is that he’s pleased, no, delighted, when you cum so hard on his dick that he can see your white cream coating his own flesh. It goes directly to his ego, and the sight alone is enough to push him over the edge because maybe you did fuck the football team while you were exploring your sexuality in college—but he’s the one who has you making a mess on his dick right now, and that thought alone is enough to bring him from skirting the edge of his own orgasm to being careened over it until he’s moaning your name and grabbing your love handles so hard that there will undoubtedly be bruises the next day.

What your friends don’t know about your boyfriend is that he never pulls out. Your pussy unable to hold the volume that he shoots into you as he climbs off you, and his cum drips out in thick, white masses.

[koolades-world]

Ok so this is on the angsty side, you can write this how you generally want but I do hope you keep the concept the same, you can add less angst if you want

Ok so

A replaced AU where MC is pretty much discarded by the brothers so they can pay more attention to the new exchange student. It starts off slowly at first, them saying they want to make sure RN(replacement name) knows their way around and that they’re new so they want to make them feel welcomed, but then it starts becoming where they stop hanging out with MC in general. They stop inviting them out, they forget to tell them food is ready or that they ordered food(they don’t even get them food either). MC just feels very forgotten

Ok so for the actual request now lol

Can you do pretty much this concept for a fic with MC who got attacked and really badly injured by another demon, was found by either Solomon or Simeon, and after they contacted Diavolo(and got MC bandaged and cleaned up) they all collectively decided(Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Solomon, and even Luke) that they wouldn’t tell the brothers what happened. They wouldn’t even have MC go back to HOL, they let them stay at purgatory hall and would have Barbatos keep an eye on them when they were in RAD. They’ll wait to see how long it takes them to notice their absence. And months pass. Months of MC slowly healing from her trauma of being attacked and slowly learning how to be a basic human again. None of the brothers realize MC is even gone. They only notice once one of them need something from them and they ask if anyone has seen them. When they go to Diavolo to ask, he immediately reprimands and yells at them for not noticing the fact that they were gone for MONTHS. He asks where they were when MC was attacked and bleeding out on the floor and where they were when they were healing from that attack

They now all feel like shit and they just get the exact same reaction from Solomon and Simeon when they try and call them too. Everytime they see MC in public, they always have someone by their side, always ready to keep them away from them. When they do see MC from far away, they see how small they look, how they’re constantly looking around and flinching at any sudden movement or loud sound. They feel even worse by the day. They were all also blocked on MC’s DDD so they can’t even try and talk through messages or calls. They need to slowly regain their trust, if they even regain it at all.

Yeah that got a little angsty lol

Again you don’t have to make it as angsty as I described, you can make it as angsty as you want(I would love a good cry though lol)

Please please please and thank you! Take your time with this one if you need

this request vanished on me a couple times now so I grabbed it as soon as I saw it again! curse tumblr and whatever it’s on. really hope they get around to fixing that because it is so scary and nerve wracking to have something disappear on you like that

i can only assume the second ask was also you haha it was quite fun to read and really get into the idea you created :) i decided to use Rn for the replacement mc, like how I used Mc as a name, since i liked it so much

alright enough about that, i love my angst and it feels like you almost knew it haha. you asked and i will deliver! i veered off the idea a little, but i hope you enjoy :)

enjoy <3

bygone

It was hard being second best at anything. Constantly being passed over and just missing the mark of being best. It hurt, knowing you were so close yet so far from number one. But what you were to the brothers now was far worse than second best; forgotten.

You don't know when this all had started, and initially, you'd been forgiving, because the treatment Rn was getting was the treatment you wished you'd had when you arrived in the Devildom. You wouldn't want to wish a negative experience upon them, since you were in their shoes at one point. And yet after everything, you couldn't find a reason to blame them for anything.

It wasn't their fault they were in the Devildom. It wasn't their fault they were more likable than you. And it wasn't their fault you were attacked.

It was particularly gloomy that day, and it was so windy you almost got swept away a couple times. But the brothers didn't care and you knew it. Your Purgatory Hall friends were all busy at clubs, and while they'd offered a quiet corner for you to do your work in so they could walk you home, you refused. You didn't want to bother then even though you knew they didn't mind.

You thought the walk home would've been uneventful, like it usually was. You were right, and you made it home safely, until you realized you'd left an important textbook in your locker. You made it successfully back to RAD, and were in front of your locker trying to open it when you were slammed from behind into it. You must've hit your head, because everything after that was hazy and you struggled to recall what happened, or who attacked you. The next thing you remembered was Simeon hovering over you, looking more distressed than you'd ever seen him.

The morning after, you woke up with a pounding headache you thought was due to your morning alarm. You'd reached over to turn it off, but before you could, Luke rushed in the room and began scolding you for trying to get up. As he talked at you, his words went in one ear and out the other. The other members of Purgatory Hall, as well as Barbatos entered the room at some point. They all looked strained or disturbed in a way. When you asked what had happened, Solomon was the one to break the news to you. You didn't know quite how to feel, but you knew at the very least that you were finally in good hands.

After this, the four of them sat in the room with you, and just chatted with you. It was nice to feel welcome in such a casual space again. At some point, you realized you weren't at home, and were instead at Purgatory Hall. That was when they revealed their plan to just not tell the brothers, and that you were more than welcome to live with your friends at Purgatory Hall instead. You felt a weak smile form on your face. It was good to be wanted again.

As time passed by, you grew physically better thanks to the attentive care of your new housemates, but the same couldn't be said emotionally. In the comfort of home, you felt safe, especially surrounded by your wonderful support system. At first, you couldn't even bring yourself to leave the house, and the first time you saw one of the brothers again was a major setback, but you did what you could. Those around you gave you all the time you needed to heal, and you let them know you were finally ready to try and take that next step again.

Barbatos and Diavolo had invited the residents of Purgatory Hall over for a nice little tea party, which you were proud to say you were now included in. They’d told you to get dressed up to spend a nice afternoon with them and enjoy yourself. It was something to look forward to, so the night before, you laid out an outfit. The next morning, you woke up feeling excited for once. Your new support system seemed determined to make this the best day possible, and despite asking them not to jump through hoops for you, they went to whatever lengths possible just to see you smile.

You felt possible the happiest you’d ever been since before Rn arrived when you got to the castle. All the little D’s welcomed you enthusiastically and ushered the four of you into the castle. Diavolo was already seated, but got up as soon as you walked into the room. He greeted you with a hug and soon, the five of you were happily talking. Barbatos joined you at some point, and knowing you would insist he relax, he sat down with the promise to get up if you needed anything.

It was supposed to be perfect.

You were enjoying your second cup of tea when there was a frantic knock at the door. It was distant, but you could all hear the panic behind it. Barbatos was the first to get up and he announced he would check it out. The five of you glanced around at each other, but continued as normal. A couple minutes went by, and a little D flew into the room and pleaded with Diavolo for help. This alarmed all of you, but Diavolo had you sit back down while he went to go assist Barbatos. Solomon and Simeon exchanged glances, but did as he asked.

You began to hear yelling, and the door Diavolo had just left through burst open. An awfully familiar pair of blue eyes locked onto you. "Mc!" Mammon called out. You froze, not sure how to react. Solomon stood up, pushing his chair back and letting it scrape against the ground.

Before anyone could speak, Diavolo pushed past Mammon and stood directly in front of him, arms crossed. "I didn't give you permission to enter my home." You'd never seen Diavolo more serious. Mammon was hidden from view now, thankfully, but that couldn't stop the sound of his voice reaching your ears.

"You lied to us. Mc is here." Mammon's tone was so sharp, it nearly cut the tension in the room.

"Why would you do that? We miss them." Levi sounded more angry than you'd ever heard him. The noise of his tails thrashing angrily about against the marble floors echoed through the hall.

"Oh really? You miss them, you say? Did you miss them when they were alone because of your actions? Did you miss them when they were bleeding out in the halls of RAD? Did you miss them in the months of recovery? You were so consumed with Rn that you failed to notice the absence of the very person that solved many of your problems and brought your family back together." Diavolo had shifted into his demon form in the middle of his rant. You could feel the waves of anger peeling off of him, and you knew sure as hell that the brothers could feel it too.

The room was filled with silence again. Solomon moved to stand next to the future king. "You should go now." His voice was soft, but firm.

"I'll see them out." Barbatos was behind the brothers somewhere. They left without much resistance after they got a glimpse at your face. During the entire interaction, you felt silent tears streaming down your face. Luke leant over and tried to offer you a handkerchief with his name embroidered on the corner. When you didn't move to take it, he dabbed the tears from your face for you and embraced you tightly.

"I'm sorry about them, Mc." Diavolo walked back over to you and stood behind you.

"It's alright." You hugged Luke back. Diavolo joined in, causing Solomon and Simeon to as well. "I have you guys, don't I?"

[thevirtualvalentine]

TAPE ONE : PIZZA DELIVERY !

Starring… PORTGAS D. ACE 📸

SET SCRIPT :

“Hi hi hi!!! For the follower request event, can i get a pizza delivery Ace? Sweet boy, kinda clueless, and a sweet reader as well? 🥹��️”

MATURE WARNING(S) : unprotected penetrative sex, cheesy porno dialogue, cunnilings (you sit on his face), slight breeding kink if you squint, afab/fem reader, Ace thinks you’re really pretty, thick!dick ace (canon), switchy!ace, & he calls you “sweetheart/pretty girl.”

DIRECTORS CUT : for my love @kingofthe-egirls !!! I loved this prompt so much and have been itching to complete it since I saw it. Thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy. 🖤

A Friday night with nothing to do, a product of boredom. You didn’t feel like doing anything tonight, especially cooking. Sitting in your apartment in shorts too tiny for your ass and a tight tank top, waiting for your pizza delivery.

Getting your usual favorite combo from the local shop guarantees a good comfort meal with some quiet TV before you head to bed. The couch offers you adequate back support after a long week at your desk, sighing and falling into the cushions while ads play in the background as ambiant noise.

Time slips you before there’s a series of knocks at your door, playing a rhythm as you’re pulled from your trance. “Yo, Delivery.”

Checking the peep hole before unlocking the door you’re faced with the cutest delivery boy. He’s in shitty combat boots and cargo shorts matched with a half buttoned uniform shirt. His long wavy black hair kept under a hat as he reads the receipt, “a large pizza for y/n?” You open the door wider as you step into frame. “Ohhh, for miss pretty y/n,” he corrects himself, tipping his hat at you with a smile.

Giggling slightly you cover your mouth, “yeah, y/n. Thank you so much, let me get my wallet.” You wish you could invite such a cutie inside but you know it’s against better judgement. Turning around you make your way through the apartment looking for your wallet.

Ace, the delivery boy, grins watching your dainty ass sway as you saunter back inside. Tiny shorts riding up between your cheeks as you bend over the counter, but he’s just the delivery boy. A distressed look crosses your face before you walk back to the doorway where he’s leaning. One arm holding your pizza and another flexing as he rests his weight into it.

“Everythin’ ok?” A pretty girl like you should never have such a perturbed look spread across your face like that.

You lean forward, studying his name tag. “I’m sorry Ace, I can’t seem to find my wallet. I must’ve left it at work.” Feeling like an idiot you’re barely able to look at him. The guilt of making him come all the way from across town to deliver your order setting in.

“I can help ya find it,” he offers, ignoring the fact he’s on the clock. It’s not the first time something like this has happened at work, just not to someone so enticing.

“No no,” biting your lip as you try to think of a solution that’ll remedy the situation. You look at him, worried to find an annoyed expression on his face but you heat up finding such a soft handsome gaze thrown your way. A complete stranger so bothered by your troubles. “How bout I pay you back? Whaddya say?”

Confused, he tilts his head; was that not the problem in the first place? “How,” he asks curiously.

Looking into the hallway, you check down both ends before tugging him inside by the collar. “Like this.” Leaning on your tip toes not letting go of his shirt you kiss him softly, taking over his senses with your soft plush lips against his. Ace drops the pizza and doesn’t even bother to catch it as it clatters to the floor. “That ok with you?” Your eyes looking at his lips and then back to the rest of his face.

He’s lit up bright red as he nods dumbly, “more than ok.”

You push him back against your front door chasing his lips once more. He tastes like cinnamon gum as you swipe your tongue against his bottom lip, eager for entry into his mouth. He grants it to you unquestionably, equally craving the feel of your heated tongue sliding against his. Muffled groans escaping him as your hands caress his warm exposed skin beneath his shirt.

“You’re s’good at this,” he says in between each wet smack of your mouthes. His hands wrapping and groping along your waist and backside, kneading the plump flesh like playdough. The cutest part is he’s much taller than you, bending down so you can kiss him how you want.

“You think so? I can get better.” One of your hands leaves his chest, trailing down his toned body as you palm his hardening cock in your hand. “Oh, and you’re so big Ace. Almost like you’re paying me with all this.” Heavy breaths leaving him as you cup his dick tenderly and give such feverish love to his neck all at once. It has him rutting into your hand trying to satiate that itch that’s been bothering him ever since he saw you in the doorway. Little shorts leaving nothing to the imagination.

You unzip his cargos, leaving only his thin boxers between his growing length and your nimble fingers. He rolls his hips harder each time you tease the waist band and lick his lips as you both swap saliva. “Stop teasin, thought I was ‘sposed to get paid.”

“You’ll get compensated, delivery boy,” you grab him by the belt loops as you lead him to your couch. Smiling as you push him back, he plops against the cushion with a soft ‘hmp’. Ace takes off his shirt, throwing it to the side as he man spreads to ease the ache in his balls, bulging erection awaiting your attention. “Want your dick sucked or what?”

While that sounds like a great idea, Ace is more eager to taste the sweetness between your legs. “Sit on my face pretty girl, wanna eat you.” He pulls you by the back of your thighs, edging you closer to his body as he starts to slide down your shorts. His forwardness makes you glow, slotting your hands in his hair, ruffling it slightly while he tends to your clothes. For a delivery boy, he sure knows the art of seduction. You’re practically dripping for him already.

He kisses your hipbone while waiting for you to join him on the couch. Sliding down the cushions, grabbing hold of your legs as you mount and hold the backing. “You sure?” He stares up at you from the valley of your swell breasts and smooth tummy, not having any of your objections. He sits up to swipe his wet muscle from your clit down. A soft ‘oh’ leaving your lips as he gets to work.

“Mhhm,” he moans as he taste you, almost analyzing its components like a savory sauce. He plants his hands on your waist, pulling you down further onto his mouth— it’s as if he’s not afraid of suffocating down there.

He’s eating you out like a man starved, dipping and curving his tongue into your oozing hole before suckling on your clit. He ignores the mixture of spit and slick on his chin as he devours you greedily. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ good, could eat this every day.”

Your soft moans encourage him to give you more, he needs you to fuck his face. He uses those same hands to hook around your ass and thighs, dragging you down on his tongue as he licks your insides. “Oh shit, ah— wait Ace,” you try to sit up, running from all the attention but it’s no use.

His strong arms keep you planted in place, “no runnin’ m not done yet.” Fuck this guy is hot, it’s like he’s straight out of a shitty 80’s porno as he makes you cream against his mouth. He slurps and sucks your hole as you whine loose chants of his name.

Adding his hands into the mix when he slides two fingers knuckle deep inside you. Scissoring your tight walls, you shake feeling those calloused pads massage your g-spot. “Gotta cum for me sweetheart, then I’ll fuck you as a tip.”

It feels even closer cause his tongue does not relent from your throbbing bud. Sliding it back and forth while his fingers give you something to squeeze on. “Yes yes, like that!” You sound so raunchy taking advantage of his face; running your hips in a figure eight along his tongue.

He’s grinding against the air trying to find friction, shallow thrusts up that match the pace of his fingers inside you. So close, you start pinching your nipple trying to tip yourself over the edge of raw pleasure. The pizza delivery boy of course notes this, groaning as he watches you play with yourself. He wants to replace his hand with yours, pinching and tugging at your dark bud. But, he has to keep you in place while he fucks you on his fingers. “Gonna— oh fuck,” here it comes.

Your orgasm crashes hard, washing over you in one big wave as you almost collapse on his face. He drinks whatever you offer as you whine and cry out, it’s too good. “Think you’re stretched? Cause I really wanna fuck you now. Ya look really hot when you cum.”

He’s swiping the culminating wetness from his face into his mouth, sucking the fingers he had inside you like a greedy bastard. Licking and suctioning onto the pads to emphasize how needy he is for you. Oh, he’s good.

“Be my guest, pretty boy.” Ace has never really thought of himself as pretty, so hearing someone as beautiful as you say it, it must be true. He flushes a light shade of pink while removing the rest of his clothes.

“Condom?” Like an idiot, he didn’t bring any and his wallets downstairs in the shitty delivery car where he typically keeps one if he’s lucky.

“Want you inside, I’m on the pill.” Oh.. and he gets to pound you raw? He’ll definitely be coming back here. Shaking your ass back and forth at him as if to invite him over. “Cmon I want the tip already.” He laughs at your two way pun, rubbing your ass in his hands as he marvels the sight of you bent over the side of the couch.

Ace sees his hard work continuing to drip down the insides of your thighs, smirking while lining his fat tip up with your cunt. He spits in his hand before pumping himself to make sure it’ll fit just right. You’re pushed forward till your hips meet the arm of the couch, sandwiched between two immovable forces.

He’s trying his hardest to not just slam into you, your pussy is so warm and wet around his cock and there’s nothing separating the two of you. You’re squirming from the sheer size of his length even after all that work he did to prep you. “Doin’ so good taking all of me sweetheart. Just a lil’ more.” He doesn’t know if he’s saying that for you or himself at this point, the way your bare walls grip his cock makes him double over.

The couch gives before Ace does, each thrust of his strong hips into you makes it creak and slide forward. He starts off with deep punctuated strokes, each one earning a high pitched cry from you. He’s pummeling your cunny, making your hips rub against the arm as your knees begin to buckle.

“Feelin’ good pretty girl?” But when you go to open your mouth any answer is replaced with moans that sound so pornagraphic. “Fuck your cunts so good. Suckin’ me in.” Being drilled by the hunk of a man behind you and the friction of being fucked into the couch is bringing you near your second orgasm of the night, you start to feel it licking at your insides tentatively.

Ace isn’t in much better shape himself, fucking your pussy raw is taking all of him to shoot his load right in you. He needs to get his moneys worth after all. “Can’t cum yet pretty, wanna see you.”

He moves you both to the couch so you’re flat on your back, one leg hooked around his small waist as another dangles off the couch. “Easy baby, remember to breathe,” he says before easing himself back in. That feeling of fullness returns and brings a dopamine rush with it as he flashes a toothy smile your way. Savoring the feeling of sliding his tip through the gummy resistance.

Your body is so warm beneath him as he drives in and out of your soaking cunt. “Cmon’ give it to me baby. Know you were so close…” Ace trails a hand down your abdomen, spreading his palm across your stomach as leverage while he fucks you stupid. Hair shrouding his face as he coos at you. “Please, dont wanna without you.”

The way he pleads for you is what does it, breaking the dam that was holding back another mind shattering orgasm from this sexy delivery boy. “Ahh fuck, cumming— oh! I’m-” you’re gripping onto him for dear life, firm biceps not budging an inch even when you start to dig your nails into his skin.

It all happens so fast he doesn’t even realize he’s also cumming right behind you, too caught up in the way your sultry lips fall into an “O” shape as you scream his name loud enough to be heard by the entire complex. He buries himself to the hilt, mind boiling with the thought of how he’s fucking his cum into you raw. For some reason the idea only pushes him to not pull out, letting you keep all his seed as he mewls. “Take it, take it all,” sweat accumulating at his hairline.

You’re squeezing him like a damn vice while you come undone, face scrunched so pretty. It makes his cock ache inside you, relishing in the soft sighs that come from your parted lips.

You both start to come down from your lust filled highs when he speaks again, “mhhhm, you’re still a few cents short.” He kisses you, leaning forward and almost suffocating you into his large chest.

Oh boy, hopefully he clocked out.

Enjoy? Reblog & click 2 see event masterlist!

[nahoney22]

Congratulations on the followers!

Can I please request a fluffy enemies to lovers with a clone of your choice with the prompt “Did you just call me cute?”

Would love to see any! Female reader if possible. Thanks! 💓

Up Close and Personal 🌊

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female!Reader

word count: 3.9k

prompt:

• “Did just call me cute?”

Plot: When you accidentally let slip you thought Fox was cute, he grows curious and wonders if you still think the same under the helmet.

Warnings: Safe for work, grumpy/sunshine trope, teasing, awkward moments, flirting, kissing, mutual pining, accidental confessions.

You’ve been working alongside the Coruscant Guard for a while now, handling everything from delivering reports to managing routine tasks that help keep the operation running smoothly. Most of the clones greet you with a warm smile and friendly chatter when you drop by.

You were cheerful and always had a smile on your face, nothing ever seeming to phase you.

But when it comes to Commander Fox, he doesn’t seem to match your enthusiasm. Where others find a moment to chat or joke around, Fox’s response is always the same: curt and dismissive.

You remember one time when you entered the office, probably a fortnight ago, laughing with Thire and Stone as you handed them their files. “You’re a lifesaver,” Thire had said with a sigh of relief and grin after his had miraculously gone missing. You of course always had extra, just in case.

Stone chuckled and added, “You’re the only reason we stay organised.”

Before you could reply, however, Fox cut in. His tone like durasteel. “Can you just leave the files and go? Some of us are trying to work.” He hadn’t even looked up, but the chill in his voice was unmistakable. You forced a smile, and rolled your eyes at his attitude when you left the office that day. It didn’t bother you as you were used to his moods but you couldn’t help wondering what it would take to get past that fickle exterior.

And despite his attitude, you had noticed Fox’s subtle care for his brothers; something you found rather endearing. You’ve caught him running silent armour checks, making sure everyone’s gear is spotless and in perfect order. Of course, it’s not about vanity but simply about keeping his men safe.

It’s those types of moments that make you think there’s more to him beneath the mask. Or helmet in this case.

Today, you decide to do something different. Rumors have been swirling that the Guard’s workload has been overwhelming lately. Crime in the lower levels is on the rise, and the boys are sadly running themselves ragged. So, you arrive at their station with a special treat: caf orders, each customised exactly how you know they like it.

You start with Commander Thire, who breaks into a grin as you hand him his cup. “You’re too good to us,” he says, taking a sip. “Thanks.”

Next is Stone, who raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Didn’t expect this today,” he says, taking the steaming cup. “But I’m not complaining.” He shoots you a wink. “You really know how to keep morale up.”

Sergeant Hound, busy tinkering with his gear with Grizzer snoozing at his feet looks up with a smile when you hand him his drink. “You actually remembered mine,” he says, sounding almost impressed. He takes a long sip before giving you a small nod. “Cheers. Really needed this.”

Finally, you approach Fox. He’s leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, watching you carefully through his visor. “I’ll assume you didn’t get me anything,” he says, voice as flat as ever.

You fight back a smirk and meet his gaze behind the visor. “You assume wrong, Commander.” You slide the cup across his desk. It’s strong, with a hint of sweetness—your best guess based on what you’ve observed. Alongside it, you place a small sweet treat and the stack of data devices you’ve been carrying. Oh, and you also could help but draw a small smiley face on the lid to his cup.

Fox doesn’t touch the drink. Instead, he gives a sharp nod. “Just leave it and go.”

You swallow your disappointment, trying to keep your smile from faltering. “Of course, sir.” You turn to leave, the brief flash of hurt lingering despite your best efforts to shrug it off. Huh, maybe it did get to you.

As you exit, you catch a glimpse of Thire, Stone, and Hound exchanging looks before Thire’s voice cuts through the room. “You know, Fox, a ‘thank you’ wouldn’t kill you.”

Fox remains silent, but you don’t stay long enough to see or hear his reaction. The door closes behind you, and you let out a quiet sigh.

Moments later, you hear quick footsteps behind you. “Hey, wait up!”

You turn to see Thire jogging to catch up. “Don’t take it personally,” he says, offering a sympathetic smile. “Fox is… well, Fox. If he didn’t like you at least a little, he wouldn’t let you stick around.”

You laugh softly, though the sting hasn’t fully faded. “Doesn’t feel like it sometimes. I know he’s under a lot of stress, but still…”

Thire nods, understanding in his eyes. “He’s got a funny way of showing appreciation. But trust me, we all see what you do for us, even if he doesn’t say it. You’re a bright spot in this whole mess.”

Your smile this time is more genuine, though still a bit weak. “Thanks, Thire. I just wish I could get through to him, you know?”

“Give it time,” Thire says, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “He’ll come around. Until then, we’ve got your back.”

A few days later, you arrive with—surprise, surprise—yet another stack of files. You expect to find the usual group in the office, and sure enough, Thire, Stone, and Hound are all at their stations, busy with their tasks. But there’s one notable absence: Commander Fox. You glance around, scanning the room in curiosity.

Before you can ask, Stone notices the way you’re searching and smirks. “Looking for someone?”

Your cheeks warm slightly, realising you’ve been caught. “Nope,” you reply, a little too quickly. “Just… making sure I don’t miss anyone.”

Thire chimes in, an amused glint in his eye. “Sure, that’s what you’re doing.”

You roll your eyes playfully, trying to play it off. “Honestly, you guys are worse than all those gossiping cadets and shinies.”

“Did Fox ever apologise for the other day?” Hound asks as you stand nearby, shifting through some flimsi. His question surprised you a little since you hadn’t truly thought about it until now. But, you shake your head with a dismissive wave. “Nah, but it’s fine. I’m used to him being a grump. Besides,” you add with a smile, “you lot make it worth coming around.”

But then Stone started to dig a little deeper as he leans back in his chair. “Did you think about what Thire said? About Fox not minding you hanging around?”

You bite your lip, remembering Thire’s words all too well. Now that did have you wondering for most of that night. For someone who always wanted you to go, he never actually told you to fully leave.

“Yeah, actually. It got me thinking… maybe he’s not as bothered by me as he pretends.” You pause, considering your next question. “Hey, have any of you actually seen him without his helmet?”

The three of them exchange glances before Thire nods, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “How do you think he downed that caf you brought him the other day?”

You lean back against the wall, arms crossed as you think it over but also a little smug knowing that Fox clearly liked your drink choice for him. “I always wondered what he looks like under there. Maybe he’s got some cool tattoos, or, like, bright red hair or something; to match the gear.”

Stone shrugs, pretending to be nonchalant. “Could do. But we’re not spilling anything.”

You narrow your eyes at them playfully, but before you can push further, you find yourself blurting out, “I mean, I bet he’s kinda cute.”

There’s a beat of silence before all three of them break into laughter. Hound gives you a teasing nudge. “So, you’ve got a crush on the boss now, huh?”

You wave them off, feeling your face flush. “No, I mean—well, no, yes, kinda? I don’t know!” You fumble with your words, realising you’ve put yourself in an awkward spot. You wouldn’t say it was much of a crush but you did admire him.

“It’s not like that. He’s just interesting, I guess. Annoying, but in a weird way, it’s kind of… cute?”

The boys exchange amused glances, and you’re about to defend yourself further when you notice all of their gazes suddenly lock onto something—or someone—behind you. The laughter dies down, and your stomach drops.

Before you can even turn around, a deep voice rumbles from directly behind you. “Did you just call me cute?”

You freeze, feeling your blood run cold. Slowly, you turn to face Fox, who’s standing there with his arms crossed, his helmeted visor trained directly on you. You can’t tell what expression he’s wearing underneath, but the deadpan delivery of his question makes you want to disappear into the nearest ventilation system.

“I—uh…” you stammer, utterly at a loss. “Well, you see—”

Thire, Stone, and Hound are barely holding in their snickers, clearly enjoying your discomfort. Fox’s posture remains unyielding as he waits for you to say something. Anything.

You finally manage a weak shrug. “I mean sure, why not?”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence, and you’re certain you’ll never live this down. But then, just when you think it couldn’t get worse, Fox turns his helmet slightly as if considering your words. “Interesting,” is all he says before he strides past you, not giving anything away.

The room erupts in laughter as soon as he’s out of earshot, leaving you standing there, cheeks burning, as Thire claps you on the back. “Well, if that’s not a confession, I don’t know what is.”

“I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

Stone grins. “Nope. But hey, at least now you’ve got him wondering.”

You playfully slap Stone’s arm with the thick stack of flimsi you were holding. “You’re impossible, you know that?” you tease, but there’s a grin on your face despite your embarrassment.

Stone just chuckles, dodging away from your reach. “You make it too easy, kid.”

Shaking your head, you wave the guys off. “Okay, I’m leaving before I say anything else stupid. You’ll just have to survive without me for a bit.”

As you walk away, you can still hear their laughter, and although your cheeks are still warm, you can’t help but smile.

Over the next week or two, you notice that Fox isn’t in his office as much. You’re not one to pry, but eventually, Thire lets it slip that it’s the Supreme Chancellor who’s been keeping him busy, not the fact that he might be avoiding you. “He’s been running all over the place on Palpatine’s orders,” Thire had said. “Trust me, it’s not about feeling awkward with you around.”

You nod, but you can’t help the nagging thoughts that linger. Still, you push them aside, deciding it’s better not to dwell on it.

One afternoon, you arrive at the office, balancing a tray with the usual caf orders and some sweet treats. It’s become a bit of a weekly ritual now, something the guys seem to look forward to. But today, when you step inside, the office is eerily quiet—no Thire, no Stone, no Hound. And non-surprisingly, no Fox.

You frown, setting the tray down on the nearest desk. “Hello?” you call out, but the only response is the hum of the overhead lights.

Shrugging, you decide to leave everything on their desks for when they return. You place each clone’s drink down, making sure their reports are organised alongside them.

When you reach Fox’s desk, you pause. It’s a bit messier than usual, the clutter showing signs of someone who’s been overworked and stretched thin. Your brows furrow in concern as you instinctively start tidying up, sorting the files and stacking the more urgent ones on top.

As you organise his drawers, you’re about to close one when something catches your eye. An empty caf cup, tucked away almost like it’s been hidden. You pull it out and recognise it immediately—it’s the cup you gave Fox the other week, the one with the little smiley face you drew on the lid. Your heart skips a beat. He kept it.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at the cup, a small, unexpected warmth blooming in your chest. Maybe there’s more to his gruff exterior than you first thought. Maybe he does have a soft spot for you, even if he won’t admit it.

“Can I help you?”

You jump, nearly dropping the cup as you whirl around to face the door. There stands Fox, his arms tucked behind his back, his gaze unreadable behind his helmet.

“Fox—Commander!” you stammer, hastily shoving the cup back into the drawer and closing it. “I was just… fixing things.” Your voice trails off as you awkwardly step away from his desk, suddenly finding it difficult to meet his gaze.

He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, and you feel your pulse quicken. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”

“Oh! Sure, of course!” You’re flustered now, your mind racing. “Is it about the reports? Or maybe the supply request? Or—”

“No.”

You clamp your mouth shut, cheeks burning as you mentally curse yourself for rambling. You stand there in silence, waiting for him to continue, while he circles around you with the careful precision of someone used to keeping others off balance. His presence is commanding (oh the irony), making the room feel smaller as he closes the distance between you.

“I had overheard something the other day,” he says, his voice low, almost conversational. “You were wondering what I looked like. Wondering if I had tattoos, colorful hair…” He trails off, his tone giving nothing away.

“I—uh��well, I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just curious, you know? I hope you didn’t take offense, Commander. It wasn’t—”

He stops in front of you, so close now that you can see your own reflection in the dark visor of his helmet as you crane your neck to look at him. “Why not?” he asks, cutting off your nervous rambling. “Do you not want to know if I’m ‘cute’ or not?”

The words hang in the air between you, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. His tone isn’t mocking, but there’s a subtle challenge in his voice, as if daring you to admit something you haven’t even fully acknowledged to yourself.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, searching for a response. “I—I mean… maybe?”

His head tilts slightly, as if studying you. “You know, I rarely remove my helmet. It’s part of who I am, part of the uniform. Most people never see what’s underneath.”

“I get it,” you say quickly, eager to reassure him. “It’s not like I need to know. You’re still you, helmet or not.”

But as you speak, he moves closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “And yet, you’re curious.”

Your gaze flicks up to meet his visor, the tension thick enough to cut through. “Maybe a little,” you admit, barely above a whisper.

You think he’s about it leave, a small stagger in his step. But instead of stepping back as you expect, he reaches up and, with a slow and deliberate motion, removes his helmet.

Your breath catches in your throat. You were expecting him to look like the other clones but nothing prepared you for this.

His hair, salt and peppered with a few streaks of silver, is slightly messy but still shows a hint of soft curls. Framing his face in a way that’s both rugged and refined. But it’s his eyes that catch your immediate attention.

A deep, rich brown, just like his brothers but darkened by exhaustion. Yet somehow still smolder with an intensity that makes your heart stop. They’re striking, alive with an alluring warmth that makes it hard to look away.

You’re utterly speechless, barely registering that your mouth has gone dry. He’s not just cute; he’s absolutely gorgeous. His lips curve into a knowing smirk as he tilts his head at you, clearly gauging your reaction.

“So, tell me…” he drawls, his tone soft and low as he notices your gaze drifting to his lips, “how ‘cute’ am I?”

Your mouth opens, but the words you want to say get stuck somewhere in your throat. You feel a sudden heat rising to your cheeks and creeping down your neck, making you feel warm under the collar. For months, you had wondered what it would be like to be this close to him, to hear his voice without the filter of that helmet, to feel his presence in an almost tangible way. Now, with his breath fanning your face, it’s almost overwhelming.

“You’re… you’re…” You struggle to find the right words, but everything comes out in stutters as your brain short-circuits under the intensity of his gaze.

Fox leans in closer, his eyes never leaving yours, his lips still curved in that teasing smirk. “Mhmm? I’m what?” There’s a playful and teasing lilt in his voice as he inches nearer, clearly enjoying how flustered you’ve become.

Before you know it, you’ve backed up until you’re nearly pressed against the edge of his desk; close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, and it’s impossible to think straight. Your pulse feels like it’s pounding in your ears. Especially as he leans in even further, the distance between you shrinking until it’s nearly nonexistent.

His breath is warm against your skin as he adds, “Come on, I’m waiting. You were so curious before. For someone so chatty, you have gone awfully quiet. Why’s that?”

Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, but the only thing you can focus on is how close he is, how those deep brown eyes are watching your every reaction, and how his lips look infuriatingly soft. Finally, you manage to stammer out a broken, barely coherent, “You’re… more than cute.”

Fox chuckles as he straightens slightly, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Good answer.”

You let out a nervous chuckle, brushing a hand through your hair, thinking this is the end of it. But he barely budges before asking, “Do you want to know what I think about you?”

Breath shaky, you avoid his eyes. “Let me guess… annoying… too talkative…”

“Distracting,” he cuts you off.

Before you can respond, his hands lift, gently cupping your face. You’re caught off guard as his thumbs brush tenderly over your cheeks. A soft gasp escapes your lips at the unexpected warmth of his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you lean into it. His presence is all-consuming, his closeness dizzying as his nose lightly brushes against yours, sending sparks dancing down your spine.

His voice is low, rich with a sincerity that makes your heart race even faster. “I find you distracting. Beautiful and distracting.”

Before you can fully process his words, his lips capture yours in a kiss that’s impossibly gentle and utterly intoxicating.

It’s slow and unhurried, his lips moving against yours in a way that feels both tender and deliberate. Your eyes widen in surprise at first, hands raised but unsure where to place them.

Fox was kissing you. the Commander Fox was kissing you. You didn’t even know what this meant fully. Had he been harbouring feelings for you after all this time?

The initial shock soon melts away, your body relaxing into the kiss as your arms instinctively wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The feeling of the warmth of his mouth on yours, the soft press of his lips sending a sweet sent an addictive thrill through your veins. He’s steady and confident, guiding the kiss with a gentleness.

His hands remain on your face, anchoring you to the moment until one slides back to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair that makes you gasp against his lips.

You can’t help but chase after his lips, the slow and tender rhythm of the kiss drawing you in deeper. He’s all you can think about—the taste of him, the feel of him, the way he’s holding you as though you’re something precious.

Fox finally pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. His eyes, those deep, mesmerising brown orbs, search yours as if he’s looking for something—confirmation, maybe, or understanding. You’re not sure, but whatever he sees in your gaze seems to settle something inside him.

His thumb sweeps over your cheek again, a soft, almost absent-minded caress as he holds you there, still so close. “You have no idea how distracting you are,” he murmurs, his voice hushed.

You’re left breathless, your heart racing in your chest as you blink up at him, dazed by it all. “You… you kissed me,” you whisper, your body still flushed against his as you try to piece things together.

“I did,” he replies softly, his hands now moving to rest on your waist, grounding you in the moment. “Is it okay that I did?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess it’s just… I thought you didn’t like me.” You pull back slightly, leaning against the desk this time. He looks down at you, his gaze unexpectedly soft.

“I’ll admit I haven’t been the kindest to you,” he says, a touch of regret in his tone. “The lads gave me an earful the other day.”

“So, was it a guilt kind of kiss or…?” you mumble, sincerely hoping it wasn’t.

Fox’s eyes widen slightly, and he quickly shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing like that,” he exclaims, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m not great at showing how I feel, and hearing you call me ‘cute’… it pushed me in the right direction. Made me realise I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t care.���

His sincerity catches you off guard. “Oh,” you say, your voice small but relieved.

He offers you a small smile, the kind that’s rare for him, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “So, would you consider going for drinks with me tonight?” he asks, his tone hopeful but tinged with the same guardedness that’s always been there.

The hesitation in his voice makes you understand how much this moment means to him, and you can’t help but smile back with a genuine, warm smile. “Yeah, I’d like that,” you reply softly.

Fox’s shoulders visibly relax, the tension you hadn’t even noticed finally easing as he nods. “Good,” he says, his voice low and a little rough around the edges. But there’s a warmth there now, something new that you hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing before. “I, uh, have to get back to the Chancellor. I knew the others wouldn’t be here today, and I know your routine, so I figured I’d have time to speak to you before heading back.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. “So, you’re not supposed to be here?”

“No, I’m not,” he admits with a somewhat sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “I may or may not have told the Chancellor I had an important matter to tend to.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you did that.”

Fox joins in with a chuckle, the sound rich and surprisingly pleasant, before he takes a final step toward you and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “It was worth it,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart skips a beat as he pulls back, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer. “I’ll see you tonight?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

“Definitely.”

🌊 Masterlist is pinned 🌊

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[teapartyprincess4two]

heyyy can u pls do sfw/nsfw matt with tough gf😮‍💨😮‍💨

Tough- M. Sturniolo

pairing: Tough!reader x Boyfriend!Matt

classification: SFW & NSFW head cannons

inspiration: request^^

warnings: some 18+ content, use of y/n, established relationship

summary: head cannons of Matt with a tough girlfriend!

—

☆SFW

For your entire life you’ve been classified using one word: tough. You’re extremely resilient, stubborn, and hardworking, and these are all qualities Matt loves about you.

☆ You refuse to ask for help, even when you desperately need it and most times Matt doesn’t even know you needed help to begin with.

☆ A flat tire stares back at you, taunting and challenging you to change it.

☆ You roll up your sleeves and throw your hair up in a pony tail, gathering the tools necessary to swap the tire out.

☆ Sweat is dripping down your face and glistening against your shoulders. “Babe? What are you doing?” Matt asks, watching tentatively from the porch.

☆ “Changing this damn tire,” you grunt, tightening the last bolt before throwing the wrench back into the tool box.

☆ You prefer comfort so your wardrobe is a mix between girly and tomboy, consisting mainly of graphic t-shirts and baggy jeans.

☆ “I’m ready,” you say, hopping off the last step as you enter the living room.

☆ Matt leans against the couch, peering behind him to catch a glimpse of you. “Is that my shirt?” he asks, getting up to examine your outfit better.

☆ “Yup. Let’s go, we’re gonna be late,” you reply, placing a cap over your straightened hair and adjusting your plethora of necklaces.

☆ “She lowkey got that shit on though,” Chris chuckles from beside Matt, earning himself a playful push.

☆ Sometimes you don’t measure your words or your tone, forgetting that you’re talking to your boyfriend and not one of your ‘homies.’

☆ When the conversation is normal, he ignores it. But when your tone meanders into rude territory, he immediately puts an end to it.

☆ “Dude, what the fuck?! I cleaned that shit yesterday! How is it already dirty, bro?” you exclaim, hands pointing accusatorially at Matt.

☆ “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just talk to me like that,” he responds, jaw clenched. “Let’s start over, yeah?”

☆ You take a deep breath, exhaling all your anger before replying, “Babe, what the heck?! I cleaned that thing yesterday! How is it already dirty, baby?”

☆ Matt knows you threw the pet names in there for show, but he appreciates you trying, even if it is laced with sarcasm.

☆ You’re insanely strong and when you’re not at home or at work, you’re at the gym.

☆ “I’ll be back in like an hour, okay? We can order something for dinner when I get back,” you peck Matt’s check, slinging your duffel back over your shoulder.

☆ “Hmm okay,” he murmurs, delivering a quick slap to your ass.

☆ Matt’s grateful that you aren’t overly affectionate in public, mostly because he’s extremely reserved and prefers to keep your relationship private.

☆ The most you’ll do is hold his hand, hug him, or kiss his cheek. Sometimes you’ll be even less affectionate when around his friends and siblings.

☆ That doesn’t mean you don’t mark your territory though, especially when you get jealous.

☆ “Hi baby,” your voice is high-pitched and excited, a very unusual mix coming from you. You cling to Matt’s side as another girl tries chatting him up.

☆ “Hi,” he replies, wrapping an arm around you and resting his hand on your ass. He’s slightly confused, but quickly realizes you’re jealous.

☆ When you start kissing, the girl finally gets the hint and leaves. “Dumb bitch,” you grumble, pulling away from Matt slightly.

☆ He chuckles and pulls you back in, showing you he only has eyes for you.

☆ “Need help?” Matt asks from behind you, watching as you struggle to reach something from the top shelf.

☆ “Nope. Almost got it,” you reply, your tongue poking out in concentration.

☆ Matt pushes against your backside, wrapping a strong arm around your waist as he reaches over you.

☆ “Here,” he hands the item to you, watching the frustration leave your face.

☆ Arguments, although they’re few and far between, can escalate very quickly between you two.

☆ You’re both stubborn, so no matter what you always believe you’re right.

☆ Angry, hurtful words are exchanged and before you know it you’re both storming off in opposite directions.

☆ You’re not one to cry easily, but if the argument is frustrating enough the tears will start flowing.

☆ “Y/n?” Matt asks tentatively, peering into your shared bedroom to find you curled up under the blankets. Your small sniffles fill the room.

☆ A frown forms on his face as he joins you under the covers, immediately you pulling into him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, pecking your forehead. “Me too,” you hiccup, burying your face in his chest.

☆ You’re not afraid to slap Matt’s ass, especially after he does it to you.

☆ At first he used to hate it, but now he knows to expect it.

☆ Usually you’ll sneak your hand into the back pocket of his pants afterwards, walking around like that no matter where you are.

☆ A long list of to-do’s is constantly forming in your mind, even on your days off, and you’re not afraid to get bossy so it can all get done.

☆ “Matt, you mow the lawn and wash the cars. I’ll clean the house and do the laundry,” you instruct.

☆ “So bossy,” he laughs.

☆ “Or you can just do all of it?” you suggest with a quirked brow and a sassy hand on your hip. “No ma’am, I’m going.”

☆ “Mhm that’s what I thought.”

☆NSFW

Your tough girl attitude can sometimes get you in trouble, earning you punishments that put you in your place.

☆ When you’re together in private, Matt sees a side of you that you never show the world.

☆ You’re sweet and soft, juxtaposing the tough girl demeanor you usually display. If you ever act up in public, though, Matt is quick to remind you of this when you’re in private.

☆ “Wanna act stupid? Yeah?” He grunts, hips rocking against you at an ungodly pace.

☆ You whimper, too fucked out to respond. “That’s what I fucking thought,” his harsh words are followed by a hand wrapping around your throat.

☆ Your smart mouth is usually what gets you in trouble. “You think you look cute talking to me like that? Embarrassing me in front of all our friends?”

☆ He holds a firm grip of your face, forcing you to make eye contact as you reply with a hum.

☆ That’s enough for him to shove you into the bed, face down ass up. He slips into you without hesitation, hips snapping so harshly against your skin that the sound echoes throughout the room.

☆ “Not gonna stop until you learn your lesson,” he growls, pulling your hair into a ponytail and using it as leverage to fuck you harder.

☆ The pleasure is so good that you don’t even want it to stop, you just use your smart remarks to egg him on.

☆ Other times, your attitude travels into the bedroom and you have Matt beneath you completely overstimulated.

☆ “Y/n— fuck! I can’t anymore,” his words are choked, his eyes squeezing shut as he tries to focus on lasting longer.

☆ “Yes you can baby, I know you can” you purr, rocking your hips back and forth on his cock.

☆ Without another warning, his hips are stuttering as his hot cum paints your walls. That was his fourth orgasm and you show no signs of stopping soon.

☆ He loves teasing you because he knows you’ll get riled up enough to dominate him.

☆ He’s leaned against the headboard, eagerly awaiting your next move.

☆ You crawl over to him, situating yourself over his crotch. Instinctively, his hands travel to your hips, a firm grip pushing you down on his erection.

☆ A tsk escapes your lips, “You’re not gonna get what you want that easily, baby. You’re gonna have to work for it.”

☆ Your words put him in a trance and he’s ready to comply to your every command.

—

MASTERLIST

A/n: she (me) is not tuff - L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

—

taglist: @nicksmainbitch @sturniololovers @mayhem-72 @worldlxvlys @gnxosblog @meg-sturniolo @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattnchrisworld @sanyi5 @lustfulslxt @whicked-hazlatwhore @tworosesblackthorn @mxqdii @fawned01 @junnniiieee07 @sturniolololover @missriddle03 @k-l-a-w-s @hearts4chris @maryx2xx @biggesthat3r @herxyzblog

note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐

[theroyalyandere]

yandere prince trying to denied the fact that he was abso-fucking-lutely obsessed with female servant reader. this man is in his denial stages. he's always shouting at the female servant reader that she was just a peasant and he was a god (we all know he is fuckng delusional but since its a yandere well then its not so suprising.) and the peak is when at one time the prince caughting the female servant reader being too close to the other prince who was visiting his palace. so when he caught up the female servant his jealousness began to rise as much as the rage he's feeling and he immediately pulled her away from the other prince, and then he bring her to his fancy chamber and yk, they fuck while the prince say "fuck i'm.. i'm so fucking in love, fuck.. you're mine now, yeah, yeah you're mine." and the female servant reader is only muttered "no" and "please" repeatedly. please make this noncon, the darker the fics, the better.

yandere!prince x female servant!reader smut 18+

cw: reader has a vagina, delusional yandere, noncon, obsession, jealousy, toxic relationships, male masturbation, humiliation, dacryphilia, drowning, punishments, spanking, groping, power imbalance, cucking (oops), a little god complex maybe???, mentions of children/pregnancy, slapping.

a/n: I put so many warnings please tell me if I missed something. Also I added more elements in this if you don't mind!

you've been working for a while as a servant to the royals and most of the time you attend to the prince because of his request

you do not know why he chose you out of all people he's the one who chose you yet you find yourself always receiving his anger and him shouting at you

the prince loves to humiliate you in front of everyone and you chose to bear it instead of losing your head if you ever snapped

he would often spill his drink on purpose, asking you to lick the liquid on the floor where everyone will see

he would also give you the most complicated tasks leaving you exhausted by the time you complete each you do not know why he torments you this much but he does it out of love, he thinks he loves seeing you on your knees, that desperate look on your face, the way your face falls when he insults you, he thinks you look so pretty and pathetic

he wants to lock you in a dungeon where only him has access to

he would often sneak to your quarters where sometimes you cry out of frustration

he gets hard at the sight of your tear stricken face, he would often close his eyes and masturbate to the thought of you crying underneath him it never fails to make him cum every single time

he tells himself he is not attracted to you yet his territorial nature over you says otherwise

he despises it even if you're a second late after he asked for you

the prince is the one who often delivers punishments when you fail to do something or displease him in any other way (which is all the time)he would bend you over and spank your ass until it's all swollen and your eyes filled with tears, groping you in the process after your punishment you always end up sobbing making his heart flutter with the way you look at him with those doe eyes

the prince can't help himself but be soft on you which can be rare however when he softly kisses your tears away it always leaves you confused then he would later shift back to his cruel self

his torment would continue until..he dragged you away to accompany him to walk beside the pond, he purposely dropped an item of his onto the water and ordered you to get it for him

you reluctantly lean down to the pond to reach for the object then suddenly you were pushed into the water

you watched as everything became a blur the prince looking down at you, just watching you struggle

you flail your arms and try to swim with your might

you keep shouting for help but no one could her you nor help you

as you start losing consciousness, you hear another splash before you faint from exhaustion

you wake up on a bed with people surrounding you, your vision blurry and a head that felt like cotton

you groan out from the aches and pain in your body

you blink to see who was arguing right infront of you

as your vision clears up, you see the prince arguing with someone unfamiliar.

the other person scans your condition and his eyes land on yours

he immediately walks closer towards you despite the prince's protests

he introduces himself as the prince of the neighboring kingdom

he treats you gently like a fragile glass and asks how you were

too lost into his kindness, you fail to acknowledge your prince's presence

you continued to respond to the questions thrown your way while the possessive prince walked out

for the times you were recovering, the kind and gentle prince kept visiting you. always having a bouquet of flowers or food in hand for you.

you slowly became closer to him as he extended his stay to get you even more as his new friend.

you introduce him to a bunch of stuff that doesn't exist yet at his kingdom.

your attention and time preoccupied by the kind hearted prince. you feel at peace, almost living a fairytale life.

meanwhile, everyone else is walking around egg shells when your possessive prince crosses their way

his tantrums got even worse as he watches you go on a date with the foreign prince.

he tried a different bunch of ways to sabotage the other but he always failed.

as he sees how your face glows with happiness he slowly comes to a conclusion that he loves you, after so many times denying it and now he admits how much he wants to touch you, kiss you, and make you his.

he remembered that all he wanted was you and seeing you so happy with another is making his dark intentions come out to light.

he's supposed to be the only one you treat with respect, you should be looking at him and only him. he should be the one you're worshipping and he's about to make you pay.

later that day, after you were escorted by the prince you've come to acquainted with gently kissed your hand before you enter your chambers.

you turn around with a soft smile on your face as you reflect on the events that happened.

you let out a gasp as you see who's sitting at the foot of your bed.

he smiles menacingly as you get stuck in place while he walks towards you.

your knees trembling from fear seeing how dark his eyes look.

you let out a whimper as he corners you and he presses a handkerchief to your face before you fall unconscious.

you wake up tied to his bed in the grand chamber.

you look across you and see your beloved prince tied on a chair with a gag on his mouth, protesting to set him free.

your eyes tear up at his predicament, as you look to the side the possessive prince, the one you despise the most walk over you like a vulture about to gobble up his prey.

you shout profanities at him and ask him to let you go.

it turns him on seeing the flame in your eyes.

he only let's out a dark laugh.

"you think you can live without me? running away with your prince like a happily ever after. but that's alright I'm here to make you realize that you belong to me."

he crawls over you as you try to kick him but the chains restrain you, he gropes your legs, thighs, stomach, then your chest.

burying his face into your breasts as he looks up at you.

"I can't wait to claim you with my child in your womb."

you cry and shout to get away from you but he only kisses and marks you roughly while the one you love watches you get ravaged by the other.

tears stream down your face as he licks your cheek.

he rips your clothes leaving you naked.

the prince forces your legs open before taking out his hard member.

he pulls you towards him as you try to get away but he was too strong.

he looks behind him and rub his cock against your swollen pussy.

"watch as I take her, maybe that should teach you not to touch what's not yours."

with that, he thrusts into your cunny with a groan while you let out a wail of pain

he doesn't let you adjust as he grabs your throat pinning you down onto the bed brutally fucking you.

"No- p-please!! stop!"

tears cloud your vision as your breath lessens from the way he's squeezing your air pipe.

you slowly stop thrashing as you grow tired and come to accept your fate.

you keep crying as he takes you by force.

he slaps your cheek noticing how you seem to lose focus.

"You're all mine you hear me? I love you so fucking much, can't you see that?"

he mushes your lips together and kisses you hungrily.

the prince changes your position so you can see your beloved's reaction at your defilement.

he watches you wide eyed, tears also streaming down his face as he helplessly watches you.

the one ramming behind you pulls you close to him with your back against his chest.

"No one can take you away from me now, you're mine forever."

[tinydefector]

Soundwave Rut cycle

Word count: 1k

Warnings: smut, breeding, G/T, giant/tiny, gagging, valveplug.

Soundwave masterlist

Rut cycle masterlist

I know it's taken me a while to get this one posted, I kinda got writers block for this piece and was working on others but it's finally here wooo

Ask and request are open

___________

Soundwave had disappeared after the meeting with the autobots and Decepticons. No one had seen him and they weren't particularly interested in finding the communication officer and Spy, everyone was too busy trying to keep their possessors in order and not lose themselves to their rut with the scent that the humans emitted. But had anyone been paying attention they would have been able to narrow down his location to a small supply closet, in which he had whisked the sweet little human away too. They were in the meeting earlier delivering energon cubes to everyone despite how all the bots watched them with a want to claim them, Soundwave had been the one quick enough to catch them and hide them away from prying optics of both Autobot and Decepticons. 

Muffled moans bounce off the walls of the supply closets, a human clings desperately to soundwave as the mech continues to thrust into them. His Rut had hit harder than anticipated, and he had gotten the delightful little human to himself without much issue. 

Their smaller frame seemed to fit perfectly against Soundwave, as if they were made for each other. 

Their fingers dig into Soundwave platting as their head is thrown back into his cassette carrier, a whimper is muffled by Soundwave's digits as he slowly thrust back into them, their eyes pinch closed As their legs shake. Soundwave's voice resonated with a hint of smugness and teasing as he leaned in against their ear. "Eager?" It almost sounded like a chuckle from him. Another whimper escaped the human.

With a calculated precision, Soundwave continued his movements, relishing in the way they clenched and keen, fingers desperately grabbing whatever part of his frame they could reach. "Muffled moans suit you well," he added, pressing his masked face into their shoulder, nuzzling against them as he delivers a much harsher thrust. They buck into him and sobs and whimpers fall from their lips, tears welling up in their eyes as Soundwave builds them up. 

They let out a sobbed moan around his digits as soundwave hills inside them. They shutter and whine Soundwave's voice carried a tone of dark amusement as he observed their reaction. "Such sweet sounds you make," he purred in delight, The static dancing across their form added to the allure of their smaller and softer frame. He had never experienced something like them before and he intended to enjoy every moment, claim them, and perhaps keep them for himself, he wasn't opposed to humans, they had their uses and this one, well this one he would very much enjoy keeping around. 

His free servo moves to trace their stomach feeling each movement as he ruts into them, Each thrust has his bulging their stomach. It's a delightful sight as he watches over their shoulder admiring each time he presses in and out, watching how well they take him.  His mask retracts only for him to press a trail of kisses against their shoulder.

 His voice drops into a seductive tone as he kisses up their throat until he reaches their ear. A hot vent of air hits their skin. "Hmmm, my little Carrier" he murmured, his words a blend of desire and dominance. Each thrust is more powerful than the last, he's careful with them, but still powerful enough to know how easily he could destroy them. his spike fills them so much to the point he could very much break them, but he doesn't want that, no need to fill them completely.

His desire was to breed them and swell them with his sparkling. As he nuzzled against their shoulders, his movements grew more urgent, a hunger to fill them full of his transfluid spurs him on. The sound of metal sliding against skin echoes alongside muffled moans in the dimly lit room. The raw, unbridled image of them with his sparkling is painted as a vivid picture in his processor.

Their hips move with his, clenching and shuttering as he purrs against them. "Such a perfect fit," he purred against them, each movement pushing them closer to the edge of ecstasy. As he spills inside them, flooding them with transfluid, Soundwave's control fractures as he desperately grinds into them, growling and snarling into their shoulder,   tightening his hold on them to make sure they can't get away, a primal need to ensure they were completely full, bred to his liking.

 They pant and whimper leaning back against Soundwave, he spreads their legs to admit his transfluid dripping from them, he continues to record and take photos wanting to capture everything and document it into his memory. As his transfluid dripped from them, down his thighs and on the floor of the supply closet. He lets out a deep hum of delight as he watches the way their chest heaves with each intake of oxygen. Delighted in how thoroughly sauteed they looked slumped against him. 

praise slipped from his lips as he slowly pulled out, “Such a good little Carrier for me”.  transfuild gushes from them leaving a large puddle under the two, whimpers leave his little human again as he moves one of his servos down to press his digits into them in hopes to make sure they don't lose anymore of his transfluid. 

With his digits out of their mouth, they sob loudly as he slowly begins thrusting his digits in and out of them, bright pink transfluid covers their thighs and his servo. Each thrust has them arching into him, over-stimulated from how many times he had wound them up. “Soundwave!” They nearly cry only for him to turn their face and capture them into an eager kiss. 

“Behave Carrier, loss of Fluid will result in another round” he rumbled. They clenched around his digits at the thought, he had already thoroughly ruined them and was threatening to do it again. They keen as he nips their shoulder. Soundwave runs his tongue against their skin taking in the taste of pheromones And hormones,  delighted when they tasted like his, like they belonged to him. It would deter any other mech from trying to take them, be they Autobot or Decepticon. 

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