#is more prone to smiles than frowns

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

Bragging Rights - LN

Summary: Lando and y/n constantly argue over who has the bragging rights. But Lando knows he's got means of silencing his girlfriend.

Wrote some of this while watching the Bahrain GP and I've only got one thing to say...sorry to anyone Team Danny Ric, but RB should've never called for a driver swap. Team Yuki all the way (even if little angry man should not have done that in lap stunt, I low key get the anger but no excuse for dangerous driving he might even have got himself a trip to see the FIA)

No part 2 requests please

Spending a few extra days in Bahrain between testing and the first race weekend(ish). So most of the drivers have family and friends at the very least with them.

Lando bringing his girlfriend is going to be pretty much full-time, at least if he gets a say in it and usually y/n is hard-pressed to say no. Unless it's about him being the luckier one between the two of them.

After a morning workout with Jon, he returned to the hotel room hoping to grab y/n to go to golf with Zak and the father and son duo of Carlos'.

He's about to call out when y/n steps out of the bathroom, her hair freshly dried, body dressed in a baby pink floral dress that has little yellow flowers on it, bare foot at the moment and her attention fully on her phone as she moves around.

She definitely hasn't realised he's there. So he just sort of takes a moment, enjoying the time of admiring his girlfriend as much as he can.

Y/n is muttering under her breath to herself, too quiet for him to hear from the distance but he can't help but smile in amusement over it. She only mutters to herself when she doesn't know someone else is around, otherwise she'll try to keep her verbalised thoughts silent.

Finally she turns and finds him smirking at her and falls silent, her whole body seeming to drop it's pent up energy as she spots him.

"Hey, how long have you been there?" Y/n frowns moving towards him before a flicker of a smile appears when she pushes onto his toes and kisses him.

"Not too long...long enough." He shrugs then dragging his gaze up and down her body. "I don't know whether to take you out and show you off to every person we see, or rip off that dress and show you how good you look while I fuck you in front of a mirror."

Y/n flusters just at his words, despite her usual eagerness to argue about her not being the one who should be showed off. He can sometimes successfully get her tongue tied and make her fumble a little. He loves every single time he manages it, puts an invisible score under his own name.

"I don't know if Zak would be impressed with you cancelling golf." Y/n finally mumbles before she clears her throat and turns around. "I need to get shoes on."

"God forbid you go bare foot." Lando hums knowing that y/n hates feet, including her own and would do anything to avoid having them out in the fresh air. Lando almost considers it a luxury he's caught her without slippers on or even just with socks on. "I need to change dead quick, not dressed for golf."

Y/n hums waiting, and while he changes, she takes the opportunity to return the gesture of admiring her boyfriend's body. Which in her humble opinion is far more impressive to look at than her own.

"You know, it's moments like this that I realise why other girls hate me so much for dating you." Y/n states hoping to get her own back on him which thankfully works to an extent. He's not quite so prone to getting flustered but she knows an eye roll means she can mark a score under her name.

"Shut up." Lando laughs before he moves over to her. "And you don't deserve hate from anyone."

Y/n hums at that before quickly shoving her feet into her shoes and grabbing her bag. She does play golf, but only so she's not completely bored while watching, it is certainly not a hobby that she'd choose if given the choice.

-

Lando can't stop his grin over capturing and posting a video to his Instagram of y/n just trying to look like she knows what she's doing while she stands with Zak trying to direct her in as helpful a way as he can.

But y/n is pretty shocking at golf, but Lando would be lying if he said she didn't look good doing it.

"Woooh! That's my girlfriend!" Lando exclaims suddenly making the rest of the group around them laugh while y/n grins at him. "Go on baby! Hit the ball!"

He's only being so loud because this is something she does to put him off his game for her own amusement. He'd like to say he hates her for it, but seeing her smile is well worth the momentary loss of concentration.

To his and certainly Zak's surprise she positions herself before swinging the club and managing to make the best hit she's ever made.

"I think you need to hype her up more often, it has the opposite effect on her to what it has on you." Zak chuckles making her look back with a lot of pride then jogging to Lando.

"I'm not terrible!"

"You are never terrible at anything." Lando states softly making her smile at him brightly. "Got new bragging rights."

"Shut up." Y/n laughs before shaking her head.

-

Walking through the paddock for the media day which is oddly on a Wednesday, something y/n has made multiple comments about finding very jarring.

"It's colder than I expected." Y/n comments while Lando looks at her for a moment.

She's certainly not dressed as layered up as himself, still wearing a summer dress though he's now going to ruin her light blue tea dress and Nike air forces on her feet which is better than the sandals she considered.

"We'll get you a jacket." Lando smirks while she sighs knowing that Lando is always so eager to have her dressed up in McLaren team uniform. Another form of him getting to brag to people.

When they get into unit, y/n is bundled in one of the layered rain jackets, the blue being quite reminiscent of the old light blue that McLaren had on the car, there's some traces of it on the uniform but it's slowly being worked off of the team colours.

"You look amazing." Lando grins zipping the jacket up for her a bit.

"Yeah...thanks." Y/n hums a little pouty that her outfit isn't what she wanted it to. "I'm gonna get too hot in this, I can tell already."

"You can unzip it if you get too hot." Lando laughs then pulling her forward against himself. "I love you..."

"Mmm...love you too." Y/n smiles quickly pecking his lips.

"Come on we have the track walk to do." Lando sighs earning a small smile. "Is that a yes?"

"I'm going to beat you to the shouting about you." Y/n smirks while Lando laughs a little at her words. "You know I will."

"Not if I do first." Lando shrugs while she narrows her eyes on him taking the challenge.

"Y/n are so annoying." Y/n laughs before she looks at him for a moment.

The two do get out for the track walk and y/n immediately begins shouting to fans.

"Hey guys! He looks good today, right? I know I'm-" Y/n's words are cut off when Lando's hand comes over her mouth and silences her.

"Y/n is looking good in papaya today right?! I think she looks good!" Lando exclaims as the fans just watching with laughter over the couple's shenanigans. Lando's hand is still over her mouth when he turns back to her. "You going to admit defeat?"

A quick headshake leaves him having to endure leaving his hand there while she pokes her tongue out and licks his hand.

"Yeah, that's not going to work." Lando declares while he continues to walk with his hand over her mouth till she's finally slobbered on his hand till he really can't bear keeping it there. "You are so disgusting."

"Thank you." Y/n grins then grimacing when she has to wipe her face clean and squealing when Lando wipes his wet hand on her jacket. "Lando!"

"It's your drool." Lando laughs managing to still wipe his hand on her jacket. There's a somewhat silent agreement of them not continuing their bragging contest. At least not till they get back to the paddock.

That's where they see Max with Charles and Carlos who all turn to look at the two.

"You, you are in uniform." Carlos comments, always one to point out the obvious.

"She looks good right?" Lando grins earning a eye roll since she knows she can't exactly brag about Lando to the other drivers or they'll just take the piss.

"She always looks good." Charles states making Lando immediately push y/n behind his own body looking the man up and down while Charles surrenders his hands as Carlos and Max laugh at the fact Lando is treating Charles as such a threat. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Are you calling me ugly?" Y/n gasps loving to fuel the drama while Lando tsks and pushes her back behind himself.

"Ignore her." Lando instructs before reaching his hand back to grab her own. "We actually need to get to McLaren but good seeing you guys."

Y/n waves at the three, shooting Charles a warm smile since she thinks that she knows that Lando's protectiveness was taking jokingly but also the know when to take a warning.

By the time they get to the unit, she's removed the jacket and Lando is carrying it by the time they are indoors.

"I think I've got a new brag, my F1 driver boyfriend carries all my stuff for me like the gentleman he is." Y/n grins while Lando smiles at her softly when they get up to his driver's room before he tosses the coat down and manages to pick her up then lie her down on before climbing on top of her. "Yeah, thanks. Love to double as a mattress."

"Not something new to grab about?" Lando questions making her fake a laugh from underneath him. "You can say I'm right, I know you want to brag about it."

"You know I think I might be feeding your ego too much these days. May have to stop bragging so much about you to humble you back down to earth." Y/n hums while Lando just lets his weight weigh heavier down against her. "Dick."

"Yeah, you could brag about that for me too. I wouldn't complain." Lando smiles then finally kissing her lightly.

"You can't stay here forever...you have to go back to media duties."

"I know, I just...wanted time alone with you."

Despite Lando's usual extroverted persona, he does seem to sometimes just want moments of being without people. Not surrounded by cameras or just crowds of people. He really loves having moments alone with y/n really.

"Will you...let me do a curl routine with your hair tonight please?" Y/n asks softly while running her hands through his hair.

"Yes. Only because you brag about them in online when I let you."

Taglist: @namgification @hiireadstuff @jsjcue @geniusalpaca @itsjustkhaos

#fanfic #f1 #formula 1 #lando norris x reader #lando norris #ln4 x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando #norris #lando norris mclaren #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #ln4 #mclaren f1 #lando norris fluff #lando norris fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 fluff #ln4 x you #ln4 x y/n #ln4 one shot #lando norris one shot #mclaren formula 1

[bruisedboys]

also also!!!!!! peter x clumsy!reader might be the best pairing. because his spidey senses ugh he’s always catching you before you trip. like an arm around your back and then he dips you down to be dramatic and you get all flustered. and!!! if you’re not in arms reach he definitely shoots a web at you to pull you into his chest before you can do any damage. you both have several heart attacks a day because you’re such a klutz.

I am always on the peter x clumsy reader agenda!! they are so special to me!!! also the thing you said about him catching you and dipping you down omg I could die.

fem!reader 0.7k words

You’re still in the process of patching yourself up when Peter gets home, your knees scraped and a box of big Band-Aids waiting for you on the coffee table. You were hoping to be done by the time he got home, to save him the worry. No such luck. You hear the front door open and you don’t have time to hide your fresh wounds, your evidence of yet another accident.

You’re sure you look quite pathetic when Peter emerges in the doorway.

“Hi, dove! I missed— are you bleeding?” His smile drops and so does his bag. He doesn’t bother taking his jacket off. He strides across the room and gets to his knees in front of you. His hands find your thighs, thumbs just shy of your fresh scrapes.

“Oh, honey,” he coos. He’s not shocked, at least. You think maybe it’s happened so many times it doesn’t phase him anyway more.

His eyebrows pinch together as he scowls at your poor knees, his hands squeezing your thighs. He gives your injuries a once over before lifting his head to look at you sadly. “What happened?”

You frown. “Tripped in the driveway,” you admit moodily. “I’m fine, really. Looks worse than it feels.”

Peter huffs morosely, “I wish I was there when it happened. Could’ve caught you, baby.”

You melt. You’re endeared by his care for you. You smile at him and reach out to push his hair from his forehead, his curls soft under your fingers. You drag your hand down the side of his head, fingers heavy, and let your palm rest over his cheek. Peter’s eyelids flutter under your touch.

“It’s okay, Pete,” you tell him brightly. “You can’t win ‘em all.”

Peter laughs, his smile blinding. “Thanks, babe.” He twists his head so he can kiss your palm, a warm press of his soft, wind-bitten lips. “Let’s get you patched up now, hm?”

Peter patches up your knees, hands gentle as he cleans your wounds and presses Band-Aids over them. He’s a practiced hand, having done this plenty of times, on your legs, elbows, fingers, you name it. Though you must admit, you’re far less prone to accidents with Peter around. He catches you more times than he doesn’t. Today was just bad timing.

When Peter’s done fixing you up he lays a kiss on each of your knees, over your fresh white Band-Aids.

“All fixed,” he says happily, sliding his hand up your thigh to give your hip a squeeze.

You beam and cover his hands with yours. “Thanks, Peter.”

Peter stands and pulls you up with him. Your knees sting, but only a little, and it’s nothing you’re not used to.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, head ducked so he can meet your eyes, his hair tumbling into the space between your heads. “I can get you some ice, if you like?”

You shake your head. You’d much rather have him stay this close forever. “I’m okay, Pete.”

Peter still looks unconvinced, a frown tugging at his lips. He thinks for a second, then, “Do you want a hug? ‘Cos I know I do.”

You giggle. You’d kill for a hug right now. “Sure.”

You push your arms under his and he circles you in his strong hold, pulling you as close as he can to his chest. He’s careful to avoid your knees bumping his, legs moving so yours are between his. You push your face into his firm chest and breathe him in, his smells, his cologne and the wind on his clothes and that lovely scent he carries around with him everywhere, like old books and coffee shops.

Peter’s face falls into your neck and he sighs, practically melting into you, latching onto you like glue. He’s warm and he’s soft and he’s Peter. The pain in your knees is completely unnoticeable when he’s holding you like this.

“My poor, clumsy girl,” he says eventually, mostly fond, but there’s a whisper of cheek that you don’t miss.

You scowl into his chest. “M’not clumsy,” you whine, though you definitely are and you both know it. “The pavement is uneven.”

Peter pulls back, his big hands on your upper arms. He’s smiling like an idiot. “It is?”

You nod fervently. “Yeah. S’why I tripped.”

Peter nods slowly like you’re telling the truth, like the pavement in the driveway isn’t perfectly even.

“Stupid pavement,” he says.

You giggle and hide your face in his chest again.

-

#I kind of changed the scenario so I HOPE THIS IS OKAY <3 #𖦹 aerial! #★ mal writes! #ღ bugboy #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker blurb #peter parker x y/n #peter parker headcanon #peter parker drabble #peter parker imagine #peter parker headcanons #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter parker imagine #tasm!peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter parker drabble #so many tags 😭😭😭 dies of too many tags

[mitsies]

-;, panda bear ; nagi seishiro > nagi can't help but be jealous of your stuffed toy.

nagi seishiro frowns at his phone. his teammates move and chatter around him, getting ready to go home after practice but he remains slouched against a wall with his shirt off and towel thrown haphazardly over his shoulder as he stares at your message.

it's a picture of you, and you look as pretty as ever. you're sitting on the couch of your shared living room with your laptop on your thighs, with what seems to be an essay displayed on the screen. the jumper you're wearing is big and evidently one of his.

yeah, yeah, you're gorgeous- that's not what's upsetting him. what really pisses nagi off is the stupid stuffed animal snuggled into your side.

it's a stuffed panda, the one nagi got you 2 years ago on your very first valentine's day together. he'd never really expected it to last as one of your favourite items in the world- and it didn't. only a few months later, you'd sadly reported that you could no longer find the plush toy. actually, this was much to nagi's benefit- it meant that you'd have more physical affections reserved for him, anyways.

but then, just recently, the both of you had moved in together, and in packing up your items the stuffed panda had resurfaced. at first, nagi didn't care. you were elated, good for you- it didn't bother him too much.

until the pictures started.

whenever nagi was gone for an extended period of time, you'd shoot him a selfie, or a .5 picture of you in the stuffed animal's company. sometimes you were working. others cooking, or about to fall asleep. and nagi couldn't understand why it made him so bitter.

"ay, nagi!" he looks up from his screen at reo's voice. "you gonna keep standing there like you're in an emo magazine shoot or are we going?"

"i'm coming," he replies, shoving his phone in his back pocket. as much as he dislikes that stupid stuffed panda, who was the recipient of your attentions much more than nagi was, it seemed, he'd much rather be home with you than anything else. that, and he had just concocted a plan.

you look up at the sound of the keys jingling outside the apartment door, and a grin grows on your face subconsciously. turning the heat off on the stove, you depart from your position in the kitchen and move to open it.

"hi, sei," you smile as your boyfriend steps into the doorway, "how was practice?"

his black duffle bag plops to the floor and his arms wrap around your waist. he smells like earth and salt but you don't mind too much, simply humming and moving your hands around his neck to run through his overgrown hair. his face finds its way to the crook of your neck and you feel him exhale.

"boring. i'm glad i'm here now."

"you always say it's boring."

"because it is."

with a light laugh, you untangle yourself from him, much to his discretion. "i've got dinner on the stove. go shower, you're gross."

he huffs and picks his bag back up before making his way to the bedroom. opening the door, nagi is greeted by none other than his sworn enemy- the panda bear.

he stares at it. its buttoned eyes look back. nagi thinks he sees demons swirling behind it. dropping the bag, he closes the bedroom door. this was going to get messy.

you're only slightly startled when you hear a thump coming from your bedroom. nagi was 20000 centimeters tall- he was prone to clumsiness at times. but then it happens again, and again, and again, and you think it would be really irresponsible for you to not check.

pushing aside the cutting board, you travel up the hallway to your shared bedroom. the door is closed, and when you push it open, you're greeted with the sight of nagi holding your large stuffed panda bear in a headlock.

his gaze snaps to you. you stare at him. "seishiro," you start slowly, "what the fuck?"

nagi makes no moves to explain himself, simply slowly shifting away from the stuffed bear. "um."

"why are you beating the shit out of a stuffed animal?"

he's plaintive in his response, putting a crack in your stern facade. "it deserved it."

"and why is that?"

"looked at me funny."

"i'm sure it did, with its button eyes. the ones that, y'know, can't move."

nagi edges his way to a standing position, before he picks up his bag again and begins removing his dirty clothes and putting them in the laundry bin as if nothing had happened.

you stand with your arms crossed over your chest in the doorway for a few beats, before a resigned sigh leaves you. "dinner will be ready in 5. please leave my stuffed animal alone."

"'kay."

you make your way back to the kitchen, and nagi locks eyes with the pair of buttons once more. now, it was really game on.

#nagi seishiro x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock #seishiro nagi x reader #seishiro nagi #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro #bllk x reader #reader insert

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - implied non/con, nonconsensual drug use, obsessive behavior, and gn!reader.

It was starting to rain.

When you’d let yourself into Neuvillette’s office, the sky had been clear and blue, the sun shining so brightly that you’d had to squint whenever you were facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the wall behind his desk, but clouds had gathered since then, smothering the light and casting the world in a dull, grey hue – only interrupted by the occasional bolt of webbed lightening or crack of thunder. It hadn’t started to fall yet, but it would. You’d lived in Fontaine long enough to know that storms never stopped at just an overcast sky.

You tried to find a window, to check if you could see the haze of rain in the distance, but your body ached at the thought of moving, a sharp shock of pain running from the pit of your stomach to the back of your throat. With some difficulty, you managed to turn your head, but a gloved hand wrapped around your chin and dragged you back into place before you could so much as hope to check on the storm’s progress. You let your eyes drift back to Neuvillette, a small frown tugging at the corner of your lips, but he seemed unaffected, too busy rutting his hips against yours and groping at your waist to notice your disappointment. He was probably distracted. Even in his best moments, he tended to be more oblivious than his stoic demeanor would let on. You loved your job, treasured the opportunity to tend to such an extensive archive, but your boss could be airheaded, prone to burying himself in his work for days at a time and taking hours to do little more than admire the way the sea broke against the shore. Things like your petty, mortal concerns weren’t really worth his attention.

…it was Neuvillette above you, right? You were still in his office, splayed across one of his velvet-lined love seats, and you could remember sharing a cup of tea with him after you stopped by to drop off the case files he’d requested, but this didn’t feel like something Neuvillette would do, and it didn’t look like Neuvillette above you. You could recognize a few disconnected features – silver hair, fine clothes, porcelain skin – but they were all misplaced, all distorted to the point of complete unrecognizability. His hair was unbound, falling around you in thick curtains and casting the world around you in a bleary haze of ivory, and his clothes were in a similar state of disarray, silk and leather wrinkled and disheveled, his shirt and undercoat torn open to reveal his heaving chest. His skin was worst of all, stained with a dull pink flush and marred with sweat and drool. His lips were bruised, swollen, and you could see a thin line of azure scales creeping up the side of his throat, slowly infecting his—

That pointed, acidic pain ran through you again, but you tried to ignore it, to block it out, to think about other things. Things you could understand. Things like the rain. You could hear it, now – pattering against glass, creating a near-deafening fog of numbing white noise. In the absence of anything else to occupy yourself with, your mind turned backward, first to the strange, bitter taste of the tea he’d served you, then further, to when you started your work with Neuvillette and how comforted you’d been by his steady hand and gentle smile. Eventually, you uncovered a well-buried conversation you’d had with your neighbor when you first came to Fontaine, something about a saying her children liked to repeat to the point of nausea when the rainfall forced them inside. It was about a monster, or... was it a dragon? It was hard to remember. It was hard to think.

You felt something wet fall onto your cheek. A raindrop, you figured, even if you couldn’t imagine the Palais Mermonia ever springing a leak. There was another, then another, raining down freely until you managed to lift a hand, finding Neuvillette’s cheek. “Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon,” you mumbled, your voice rough, hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Please don’t cry.”

A hitched sob, a face buried in the dip of your shoulder, Neuvillette’s skin cold as ice against your own. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about the chill, the dampness, the throbbing ache now stitched into the fabric of your being, what little energy you still had waning until you couldn’t bear to keep your eyes open, until you were just some limp item underneath him. It was all you could do to hope that, by the time you woke up, the Neuvillette looking after you would be your own, that you’d be able to do more than blink and dream.

It was all you could do to hope that, by then, the storm will have passed and you’d be able to see the sun again.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #genshin imagines #yandere neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #yanderecore #yancore

[frostbitebakery]

If Obi-Wan were prone to dramatics, he might wish to be on a battlefield instead of PR’s attempt to drum up war support from the public.

“I forgot to tell Waxer to check the supply line order before sending it out—“

So does Cody, if he had to guess.

“Turn that frown upside down, Commander,” the photographer says cheerfully and continues to click away, equally as cheerfully.

Cody does something to his face Obi-Wan theorizes must approximate a smile under torture.

“On second thought,” the photographer paddles back airily, “a serious look is just as appropriate!”

Cody’s face falls into its usual expression with the additional pain of PR responsibilities.

“General,” he gnashes out between his teeth, “the supply line order is incomplete and we’ve officially just lost the chance to do it. We’re going to be out of DC15 chargers in another month and I have to stand here—.”

“B3,” Obi-Wan interrupts before Cody can spiral further.

Cody halts in entirety, stare boring into the camera and making the photographer start to sweat. “…B2.”

Obi-Wan hides his too pleased smile behind a hand. “I told Waxer to check the supply line order. The order status is complete and languishes through the many hindrances of bureaucracy as we speak. C3.”

“A3,” Cody shoots back immediately. And narrows his eyes. “Did you finish signing off on the battle plans for Dxun V this morning? I know you wanted to reread the exfil plans—“

“Commander, look here!”

“— and we need to get them to the admiralty today if we want any hope of meeting the timeline.”

“Gentlemen, serious, not angry! Or like a stunned tooka, General.”

Obi-Wan has, in fact, forgotten about the signature entirely, the blank line getting buried underneath all the other pressing minutiae somehow necessary to run a systems army. He waves at the photographer, polite smile in place. “If I might suggest a pose? Is that appropriate? I do not intend to undermine your professional experience.“ He gets an enthusiastic nod in response. “I hold this here data pad and act like I am signing important documents. Like so? Splendid.” He turns back to Cody. “Of course I have. A1.”

Cody visibly chooses not to comment and Obi-Wan smiles brightly at him. Cody shakes himself out of his thoughts after less than a second. “We are allowed our pads? I’m getting mine.” He pauses, sly eyes creased in humor. “Also, C1. I win.”

Obi-Wan can feel his smile growing even more.

“Gentlemen!”

in cohorts with @adiduck on this one

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #star wars #star wars the clone wars #my art #GQ Coruscant strikes again #courtesy of Adi and me playing tic-tac-toe #frostbitebakery art

[teejaystumbles]

Happy Halloween! It's the last day of October and the last bingo square for the Monsterfucktober Bingo finished - "science gone wrong"!! 👻🧟🥰

I couldn't help writing a little story for this - find it under the cut! Thanks to @valiantstarlights for the idea of Hob reacting to Dream's voice!

Morpheus looked at his new creation and frowned at the mismatched skin tones of the shoulder and leg. He had tried to keep most of the man’s body parts but the left knee had been so badly crushed that he had rather used a whole different limb than try and repair or exchange the joint. It would make for much smoother maintenance than having to deal with an inserted knee joint that was much more prone to infection or damage. The upper left arm had also been badly damaged in the accident that led to the man’s death - well, near-death. His brain waves had been declared too shallow to warrant any actual activity. The man had had no family, and no friends had come forward or visited. The man had carried a donor card, though, and so, with no one to protest, he had been quietly shuffled into Morpheus’ lab with little fanfare. Morpheus knew that what his employers did to obtain his materials wasn’t strictly legal but he tried not to think too much about it. He was being paid very handsomely to do his research, and not just in theory.

He was very satisfied with this new try. It was only his second finished work, having been commissioned after the Corinthian was a sounding success - well, mostly. He huffed and set about disinfecting the needle he had used to close up the throat of the man. His employers had had only one complaint about the Corinthian-

He talks too much, and he talks back. No need to include capacity for speech in the next one, Doctor.

Morpheus looked at the young man’s handsome face and sighed. “I would have liked to hear your voice. I’m sorry.”

He turned around and switched on the life support to see if everything ran smoothly. While he cleaned up the lab there was only the quiet whooshing sound of the respirator. He knew it took time for the subject to come back to life. He would probably have to use the defibrillator to really get it going-

A sudden loud beep from the heart monitor made him jump and turn around.

The man was sitting up and staring at him. He’d removed the respirator mask and slowly pulled off the ECG monitoring electrodes. His eyes were wide and milky, not yet able to see. It was a condition the Corinthian had never recovered from - in the end Morpheus had given him bionic eyes. With this new subject he had hope that the original eyes of the man whose body he had used would recover once a steady circulation had been achieved. (They had been the most gorgeous brown eyes Morpheus had ever seen after Calliope left him and he hadn’t been able to switch them for bionic ones straight from the start.)

“That was fast. Good- Good morning,” he said, stunned at the man’s fast return to waking. Morpheus grabbed his recorder and switched it on. “Subject 002, Working title “Hope”, Day 62 - subject has awoken after life support was activated. No respirator necessary, it seems. Subject is alert and- hey, hey, what are you doing? Take it easy!”

He dropped the recorder as the man suddenly stood up from the metal table and stepped towards him, only stumbling once on the unfamiliar leg. Before Morpheus could stop him the man had boxed him in against his lab desk. Morpheus felt several papers shuffled and bottles getting pushed over by his elbows as he tried to keep his distance but the man nearly crushed him against the edge of the table. He smiled down at Morpheus, unseeing eyes still focused on him, and hummed. Morpheus gasped, shocked at this unusual display of coordination and force so soon after waking up. He needed to keep up the subject’s emotional balance, he needed to give positive feedback to not induce a backlash or violent reaction to an unfamiliar situation. The Corinthian had taught him that.

“You’re, you’re doing really well. This- this is great. Very good,” he praised, heart hammering, trying his best to keep his voice low and soothing.

Subject 002, “Hope”, grinned happily.

#can I find endless ways to name Hob Hope? you bet #dreamling #the sandman fanart #the sandman fanfiction #monsterfucktoberbingo #hob gadling #dream of the endless #teejaystumbles #frankenstein au

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for S; the one where Clark panic-adopts his teenage clones (yes, including the supervillain one). 

Maybe it’s a trap, Match thinks warily as he stares down the crystal-lined hall stretching ahead. A trap would make more sense than Superman bothering to be concerned with his injuries. Much more. 

But also it’s fucking cold and Thirteen is already headed inside, and hell if he’s going to get left out here alone with Superman right now. He’d actually rather never be alone with Superman again, at this point.

Match follows Thirteen in, and Superman closes the doors behind them. 

“Welcome home, Kal-El,” a voice says, and a luminous hologram of a man in long robes appears in the high-ceilinged, arching hallway in front of them. 

“Home”? Match thinks in absolute incredulity. That cannot possibly be accurate. Just–no. Not even slightly. 

“Hello, Jor-El,” Superman says, smiling at the hologram with a slightly stressed expression. “We have a couple of guests.” 

“I see, yes,” the hologram says, looking from Match to Thirteen, and then back again, his eyes lingering assessingly on Match. “Jor-El”, apparently. “Well-done, Kal-El. You are proceeding very well, for lacking a proper birthing matrix to work with.” 

“That’s, uh–that’s not–” Superman cuts himself off, looking flustered. “I didn’t commission them, Jor-El.” 

“Isn’t Jor-El your dad’s name?” Thirteen asks, peering curiously at Jor-El. “And you kinda look like . . .” 

“I am an artificial intelligence formed from Jor-El’s memories and cast in his image,” Jor-El explains. “I maintain the Fortress when Kal-El is away.” 

“Sick,” Thirteen says, then looks embarrassed for some reason, possibly because he sounds like an idiot. “I mean–cool.” 

“The current external temperature is 15° F,” Jor-El says agreeably. 

Match cannot for the life of him figure out what he should be doing here, but “escaping this conversation” is an increasingly tempting option. 

“I need to make a call,” Superman says, clearing his throat. “But first–ah, Jor-El, can you scan our guests for injuries and pharmaceuticals? Just–general health scans, actually, but focus on injuries and pharmaceuticals, please.” 

“Kon-El has high levels of hypnotics and sedatives in his system,” Jor-El says. “And your youngest has moderate levels of sedatives and tranquilizers, along with low levels of opioids. He has one second-degree burn on his stomach, another on his right thigh, and a minor head injury. All other injuries are negligible."

“What?” Superman startles, his eyes snapping to Match. “They drugged you?”

Match frowns, not understanding why the man looks so surprised by that idea. 

“Yes,” he says anyway, since apparently there’s actually a question there. 

“Why?” Superman asks. Match continues not to understand why he’s surprised, or why he’s asking questions with such stupidly obvious answers. 

“To keep me manageable,” he says, because why else? Superboy is prone to anger and rage and drastic emotional spikes, and Match was made from the same template. And everyone knows what an angry Kryptonian can do. 

Even just half of an angry Kryptonian. 

Superman stares at him, looking . . . unsettled, almost. Thirteen grimaces. Match really doesn’t understand what the problem is. 

“You mean they always drug you,” Superman says slowly. 

“Obviously,” Match says dubiously. “I wouldn’t be manageable otherwise.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Thirteen mutters under his breath, putting a hand over his mouth and looking nauseous. Match doesn’t bother wasting time on trying to figure out why. Thirteen never has rational reactions anyway.

#s #wip: clark panic-adopts his teenage clones

[idyllcy]

marry you

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: Komaeda meets his beloved spouse after his luck finally gives him one thing.

Komaeda doesn't have many memories from his childhood.

Not many, but he has a single one he's never forgotten. He has a finished green ring pop that he carries on him at all times, and he has a photo that reminds him of the event in his wallet that he guards with his life.

Komaeda remembers it quite vividly. 

The sun shone brightly, and the flowers in his backyard were a nice, bright color compared to how they were in the rest of his memories.

Nagito Komaeda remembers that moment with his whole heart.

Under the burning sun of June, Nagito Komaeda had gotten married to you as a seven-year-old.

It's hard to forget one's first love.

"Nagi!!" You beam, running at the boy. "Let's get married!"

"H-huh?" Komaeda's eyes widen at you, and you grin at him. 

"I heard that's what people do if they're in love!"

"B-but we're not old enough!"

"But you love me, right?"

"Y-yeah?" Komaeda tilts his head in confusion.

"I love you too! So let's get married!" You grin. You're missing a tooth because you just lost one, but Komaeda thinks you look really pretty under the sun. A child doesn't know the word ethereal, but Komaeda would've called you that if he had known. "I'm wearing the whitest clothes I have today, just for this moment!"

Komaeda blinks.

"I don't have a ring," He pouts.

"Do you have money?"

"Yeah," he stares at you. 

"Let's go get ring pops!!" You pull him from the grass, and he stumbles after you. The sun burns his skin lightly. He's always been prone to sunburns, but he doesn't seem to mind as you're racing down the neighborhood to get to the convenience store. 

Komaeda sits on the parking block as you rush inside with his money, and he pouts. He chases after you, whining about how since he was richer he should pay.

"Nuh uh! I brought money too!"

"But I have more money than you!" He pouts. "Also, as a gift. I didn't get to buy you your wedding outfit."

You yelp as Komaeda takes your silence as an answer and runs off with the two rings. He pays for them quickly, rushing the cashier with a pout on his face as you rush to grab him. He grins as the cashier hands him the receipt with a laugh, and you pout.

"Nagi!"

"No takebacks!" He blows a raspberry at you, and he grins. "I bought your ring, hah!"

You frown, and his expression softens at your discomfort.

"I'm sorry," He mumbles. "But I wanted to pay."

"It's alright," You mumble, reaching for his hand. "Who's the ring bearer? Ring.. ring boy."

"Can Hope do it?"

"Yeah," You mumble back, following Komaeda. A part of him wants to rip open the candy and eat it, but he thinks it'll be gone by the time the two of you are done with the wedding.

Komaeda remembers the way you had jumped up and down while explaining to his parents what the two of you were going to do. Your parents had laughed, and Komaeda's parents had ruffled your hair affectionately. They would help officiate the wedding.

Komaeda remembers how his mom and your mom had pushed you into a room to help you get ready, and he remembers how his dad with yours had dragged him to the backyard to pick flowers for you. Komaeda remembers how hard he was sweating when he finished making the bouquet for you. It was so pretty. Komaeda had done his best to give you the prettiest bouquet. 

You looked pretty when you stepped out of the room. You had your mom put lipstick on your, as a child asks, and you had grinned at Komaeda affectionately. He remembers how you looked while walking down the aisle. Well, it wasn't an aisle. It was the garden pathway that Komaeda had deemed as the prettiest while you were getting ready. 

You wore white, as one does on their wedding, and Komaeda had changed into his best outfit. He remembers how Hope, only a puppy at the time, had dropped the rings in their packaging twice, and he remembers his dad helping the puppy take then to him. He remembers the way you ran down the garden pathway, a smile so bright it put the sun to shame on your face as you stopped next to him.

"Do you, Komaeda Nagito, take Y/n L/n as your lawfully wedded spouse?" Komaeda's dad does a dramatic wave of his arm at you.

"I do!" Komaeda remembers that his cheeks hurt from how hard he smiled.

"Do you, Y/n L/n, take Komaeda Nagito as your darling husband?" His dad does the same to Komaeda.

"Yes!" You jump excitedly. "I do!!"

"Please exchange your rings!" Komaeda's dad laughs heartily as the two of you rip open the package to slip on eachothers' ring fingers. Komaeda struggles a little because yours won't fit, and neither does his, but the two of you make it work. The ring is too big for the both of you; you guys have to hold it on, and Komaeda's mom grins as she pulls out her camera. 

"Baby, that's the wrong finger," Your mom lowers herself to your height, and she helps the two of you fix the ring placement. "This one," she slides the ring onto your ring finger. "That's the ring finger. The middle finger is for engagement."

"What's engagement?"

"It's like promising to marry someone," She smiles, adjusting Komaeda's ring. "But the two of you are married already, so it's the ring finger."

"Alright," You mumble, staring at the blue candy on your finger.

"I now pronounce the two of you married!" Komaeda's dad laughs as the two of you hug. 

"Smile!" Komaeda's mom holds a camera up, and you press your lips to Komaeda's cheek.

Komaeda turns red, stumbling over his words as you grin at him. 

"W-what was that for!"

"I heard you have to kiss at a wedding," You pout. "I saw it on TV."

"Does that mean I have to kiss you?" Komaeda mumbles, flushing impossible redder.

"Maybe," You shrug. "You don't need to-"

Komaeda presses his lips to your cheek in the second photo, and your eyes are widened in surprise. Komaeda remembers you smacking his chest lightly afterwards, whining about how he caught you off guard. He remembers how you had bit his ring pop in retaliation and how he got offended, so he bit yours. The two of you had finished your ring pops in his backyard on his swings, and the two of you had watched the sun set. 

Komaeda's mom had printed out the photos she took for the two of you to keep as a memory.

He remembers you tucking his into his wallet and how you had tucked yours into your wallet.

"Now we match!" You lips and tongue were blue from the candy, but Komaeda didn't mind. You still looked really pretty.

"Now that we're married..." Komaeda trails, staring up from the grass. "What do married people do?"

"I don't know," You pause. "They kiss and have kids... and stuff."

"But we're still kids," Komaeda mumbles. "We can't have kids yet."

"Yeah," You pout. "But promise me that we'll talk about it when we're older!"

Komaeda intertwines his pinky with yours, and he mumbles to himself. "What if you cheat."

"I would never!" You gasp, sitting up. "I could never do that! Nagi, I love you!!! People who love each other don't cheat!"

"Alright," Komaeda sighs. 

"You won't cheat either, right?" You mumble.

"Yeah," Komaeda grins. "I could never. I love you a whooooole lot!"

"How much?"

"Thiiiiiiiis," Komaeda waves his hands around. "Much!"

"Well," You mumble. "I love thiiiiis much too!" You mimic his wave, and Komaeda laughs. 

"No I love you more than that!"

"Oh, yeah? Prove it!"

Komaeda wakes up to the sound of his alarm, dragging his limbs out of bed. Ah, how nostalgic. His luck had moved you away from him immediately after the two of you got 'married'. He misses you. A lot.

Komaeda stares at the clock on his bedstand, and he glances at his wallet and keychain. He had dug a hole through the ring to loop a chain through. It's carried around with him. The photo of the two of you is in his wallet, tucked behind a plastic covering to avoid getting ruined or wet. 

The sun presses kisses to his face, and he washes up for the day. He brushes his teeth, eyes trailing to the necklace hung up. He dries his hands, and he clasps it around his neck. Tucking it gently behind his uniform collar, he grabs a slice of toast, and he heads to school for the day. 

The sun burns his skin, but he supposes he'll be fine. He has sunscreen on, and he's sure he'll live. He doesn't get sunburnt as often anymore.

He wonders how his luck is going to affect him today.

Stopping at the vending machine for a drink, he opens his wallet. As he does, to glance at the photo, it starts raining. Komaeda panics at the sight of the photo getting wet, and Komaeda feels his heart shatter in his ears. Rushing to get under a roof, he tries drying the photo however he could. It gets worse, and Komaeda feels his stomach churn uncomfortably. He wants to cry. 

The panic flooding his body makes him unaware of anything else going on around him, and he bites his bottom lip as he gives up on restoring the image. That was absolutely awful. Is his luck trying to kill him? Oh, god. No. He's praying something good happens today. By the way his luck was, it'd be strange for something good to actually happen.

The rain clears up, and Komaeda rushes to get to school. 

He was held back; he didn't need to be late to class.

At the gate of the main course, Komaeda slips on a puddle and lands face-first into the cement. It hurts. He gets up onto his knees, and he rubs his nose. There's blood coming out. He grimaces, and he mumbles to himself. What an awful morning. Just how much did the universe hate him today? His luck was absolutely awful. What the hell?

A hand offers him a handkerchief.

"A-ah, no, it's alright," He smiles, looking up at them. "It'd be rude for me to dirty an ultimate's handkerchi..." His eyes widen at the sight of their face. "ef."

"Even if it's your spouse's?" You help him up, pressing the fabric to his nose, and you have him tilt his head forward to stop the nosebleed. Komaeda doesn't fight your movement, body relaxing at your touch. He missed you. Ah, he can feel tears forming in his eyes. "I'll take you to the nurse's office."

"A-ah," Komaeda panics. "It's fine!"

"I insist," You mumble. "I know how to stop one, but I need you to sit down."

Komaeda doesn't fight you as you lead him to the nurse's office. Mikan helps him out, and you lean on the wall as he gets treated.

"You're still injury prone, huh?" You laugh as Mikan excuses herself at the sound of the bell.

"We're late for class," Komaeda mumbles, getting up.

"I told Mikan to explain that we'd be late," You smile. "You can walk slowly."

Komaeda stares at you for the first time, taking your features in. You haven't changed a single bit. He stares at you, growing embarrassed with each passing second. You're so gorgeous. Hell. You look just as pretty as the day you left him. He wants to see you in white again. Can he propose again? Did you still have your ring base? Do you still have the photo? Wait. Shit. The photo.

Komaeda fishes out his wallet, checking to see if the photo had dried and was still in one piece. 

It is not.

"Nagi?" The name rolls off your tongue naturally, and you slap your hands over your mouth. "Sorry. That came out naturally. I'm not sure if we're-"

"We're married," Komaeda swallows, face red. "You can call me whatever you want. Uh, my photo... got ruined. I'm sorry. You can smack me if you wan-"

You gasp. "You still have the ring!" Komaeda jumps in his skin, and he watches as you pull a necklace from under your uniform. "I have it too!"

Komaeda's throat goes dry at the sight of you with the necklace. 

"Ah... I," He fishes out the necklace you bought him, and he pauses.

"You still have it!!" You gasp. "Nagi!!"

Komaeda catches you in his arms, and you peer up at him, eyes bright with life. "Let's get to class. We have to tell them we're married. It just makes sense to!"

As Komaeda gets dragged by you again, he can't but feeling he's at peace. Home is where you are.

"Can... I propose to you properly when we put it on paper in the government?"

You look back at him with a grin. "That's a given."

Komaeda could kiss you right now.

#komaeda x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda #danganronpa x reader #sdr2 x reader #sdra2 x reader #☾.fics

[izvmimi]

malevolent enterprise ch. 1

cw: ceo!au. sukuna and yuuji are siblings. drug use. header by @/cafekitsune! a/n: background to a series of oneshots. masterlist

Exactly two unexpected things occur exactly one week to the hour of Wasuke Itadori’s death - 1. Yuuji Itadori, second grandson from his only son Jin Itadori, inherits all of Itadori Enterprises and its subsidiaries and 2. Yuuji’s older brother and lifetime antagonist Sukuna formally changes his name to Ryomen, and establishes Ryomen Industries.

Yuuji, in moments, is saddled with the grand title of C.E.O., and Sukuna, if he didn’t have enough reasons to dislike his kind, caring younger brother, has finally added yet another one to the list. This part doesn’t particularly bother him, after all, even Yuuji has to admit, no matter how much he has tried to love his brother over the years, Sukuna is fundamentally a piece of shit. 

And that’s exactly why he’s the perfect choice for the job.

Yuuji sighs and takes another piece of sushi off of the left flank of the poor girl who’s been laid prone and nearly naked on the table for most of the evening. He’d ask her if her shift was coming to an end soon but even he had to admit it felt weird asking about the work conditions to a girl who was meant to be a prop at an event that was theoretically in his honor. The salmon is exactly the right temperature and feel in his mouth and he can’t ask for more. He offers her a thumbs up as he walks past her which has her somewhat confused, then makes his way back to the lounge chairs.

Sukuna by now has stopped schmoozing all the other industry leaders in the room and now contents himself with four giggling floozies in his lap, his practically blood-red eyes glowing in the neon club lighting as he smirks at him. Yuuji gives him an exasperated look but finds a seat far away alone. He’s actually not sure why he’s still here - the new personal assistant that was assigned to him is already sending emails from the interim chief that he still doesn’t understand and Sukuna’s already told half of the attendees he expects him to run Grandpa’s business into the ground. A few girls venture in his direction, one of which Yuuji has to admit is pretty enough to make his cheeks warm (if it’s not his last three beers finally kicking in) but Sukuna’s already whistled and called them over by the time the first girl opens her mouth to introduce herself.

“I’ve got plenty of arm space to spare!” he practically cackles, and the last girl, the pretty one, takes a last look at Yuuji before apologetically sauntering over to his brother for attention. Sukuna and another young CEO, who Sukuna cruelly trash-talked just less than a month ago, take shots off of another woman’s chest, and Sukuna finishes off the theatrics with a line of coke down her abdomen. 

Yuuji rolls his eyes, but before he can get up and finally convince himself to leave rather than tolerate his brother’s antics, another body slides into the booth next to him, bumping him on the shoulder.

“New CEO!” 

Indoor sunglasses cover the young man’s eyes and before Yuuji can smile and embrace him, Satoru Gojo has him practically in a headlock mussing up his hair. 

“Oi! Stop!” Yuuji hisses, embarrassed to be treated like a kid, especially in the presence of his older brother already trying to force him back into the shadows. Yuuji recollects himself, adjusting the lapel of his shirt but Satoru frowns.

“I’m shocked you made it,” Yuuji says. He’s delighted to see his family friend, just as odd and eccentric as Sukuna can be but with less of the dickish behavior.

Somewhat. 

"I mean hopping on my jet, cutting my vacation short-” Satoru stops and sighs, stretching out his long limbs as he leans deeper into the soft cushions, “but of course I’d show up to congratulate you.” Gojo sits up suddenly, leaning in, and Yuuji doesn’t ask himself how he can see through those. 

“So are you gonna compete with me now? Throw me out of the market?”

Yuuji grins. “I don’t think you’re touchable in all honesty, but even if you were,  I think we can both agree to be successful.”

Gojo is satisfied with this answer. Clinking his beer bottle on Yuuji’s forehead, a move that genuinely throws him off guard, Gojo downs the rest of the bottle then turns, winking at a girl in Sukuna’s court, and when she nearly rises, Sukuna gives him a practically glowing red glare. 

Gojo laughs, then turns back to Yuuji who snorts.

“I think there are enough girls to spare, Aniki,” Yuuji teases. He leans in, draping his arm over his senpai’s shoulder. “After all, I’m pretty sure Sukuna’s laywer friend is here, just waiting for you to get on her nerves.”

Gojo laughs. “She hates my guts but I know she wants me in hers.”

Yuuji sips on the beer he’d set aside, not bothering to make an additional comment, remembering the last time he mentioned the redhead to him, he’d spent nearly thirty minutes just talking about her tits. Despite this, the same man could easily be found in numerous news articles with a number of different women, so he couldn’t actually be sure of the depth of his interest, but Yuuji had the feeling that Gojo felt a little differently about her. 

A sideways glance makes it clear that Satoru is already scanning the room, to see if she’s still here amongst the throng of people. Yuuji watches Sukuna who seems to have chased away the extra floozies and now sits with one girl straddling him, his own hand suspiciously low down the curve of his ass, and the other licking and whispering into his ear, something that looks vaguely doglike. Yuuji frowns and looks away, but Gojo has already risen, his own instincts prompting him to find someone to go home with. 

But before he can go off and get really wasted, Yuuji realizes he has a serious question for the more experienced corporate bigwig before he calls it a night.

“Aniki.”

Gojo’s head turns to him, a drunken half-smile on his face.

“Ne?”

“It’s a work question,” Yuuji answers with a tinge of discomfort. Asking for help is embarrassing at this stage, but Gojo is the only one who doesn’t judge him, rather helps even if it’s in a way that seems ridiculous, like some kind of flippant genius.

Gojo frowns.

“Fine, but you have to promise to have a good time.” 

With that, Gojo starts to sway with the music, and with the great length of his body and limbs, dressed in all black from head to toe, Yuuji is briefly reminded of bamboo gently swaying in the wind. He stifles a laugh before rendering himself serious again. 

“You’ll call me a dumbass but I have a new vacancy that’s sort of high up and I’m trying to figure out who to hire.”

The lenses obscuring Gojo’s eyes don’t help Yuuji gauge his thoughts but Gojo is still dancing so Yuuji continues talking.

“I want someone from the outside. Someone who didn’t know my grandpa or Sukuna. Any recommendations where I should start looking?”

Gojo does a full body roll, then stops. 

“I’ll send you an application tomorrow. Now loosen the fuck up.”

Yuuji blinks, then starts the two-step of a man who is under too much stress but not drunk enough.

“Okay.”

#yuuji x reader #gojo x reader #sukuna x reader #yuuji itadori x reader #gojo satoru x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #mimi writes: malevolent enterprise #daydreams: jjk #mimi's notes

[l0ngschl0ngking]

These hands were made for worshipping you

Francisco “Catfish” Morales x f!reader

summary: Frankie wants to show you exactly how much he adores you

warnings: SMUT (oral - f!receiving, pussy drunk Frankie, vaginal fingering, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, like 1 spit on the pussy, squirting -3:)- , body worship, size kink -kind of?-, dirty talk - Frankie has a foul mouth), mentions of reader being insecure about her body, mentions of postpartum depression, mentions of food, cursing, dad!frankie and it’s me so…fluff of course

word count: 7k (of filth)

A/N: Frankie is my fav Pedro character so I hope I did a good job writing him :)).

Francisco Morales is an observant man – punctilious dared you to say – he notices even the smallest of details. Whether it's about you, his friends, or the people he meets on the street. He notices the small crinkle of your nose when you smell something good or the way you squint your eyes when you are deep in thought. You guess it's from his times in the army – if you weren't attentive on the mission you were as good as dead.  

So Frankie notices the way you quickly walk past mirrors now – or when you do look at yourself in one – your sad look as your eyes dance across your face, your body which changed after the birth of your baby girl. He sees the small frown adorning your face and the way you huff. When you catch him looking at you, you quickly smile and try to hide this look he cannot quite place – but Frankie notices. He wants to make you feel good. He always does. It's Frankie – your Frankie – who wants nothing more than to please you. 

So an idea pops in his head. He has planned a nice romantic dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant  – god knows he hasn’t taken you out on a date since birth and it's been almost 2 months now. His parents said that they would come and pick up little Gracie – you were adamant and not sure if that was such a good idea at first, you weren't apart from her before. But Frankie has a way with persuasion – all it takes for you to give in are his brown eyes paired with his fluffy hair and patchy beard and you are done for. So it's no surprise when you say yes to his plan to try and make you feel better – normal.  

 He read it once in this shitty magazine when you two were waiting for your doctor's appointment – that women are prone to postpartum depression, mood swings after birth…And he hated even thinking that you might feel that way. He tried to help as much as possible when he came home from work – exhausted most of the time than not. His soothing voice telling you to relax, his big hands paired with his calloused fingers massaging your shoulders, his hot breath on your skin when he kisses you so softly onto that spot on your neck – the smooth tone of his voice hushing your worries and the sweet nothings released from his mouth whispered in your ear.    

 So you feel even worse when none of his soothing words help and his gentle touch makes you feel even more anxious. When his hands make contact with your skin you want to pull away. Because he deserves better and you know that – you are disgusting. Your clothes don’t fit you anymore even when you try – emphasizing the word try as most of the time you are too tired - to work out. Your body has changed now and you feel repulsed by the way you look, by the way you walk and talk. You feel like you are not good enough of a wife, let alone a mother. You keep telling yourself that he touches you just because he feels obligated to – as your husband. Because how could he love this horrid-looking person staring back at you anytime you look in the mirror?   

And what makes you feel even worse is the way he makes it all look so damn easy – the parenting. When he comes home from work he tries to take care of both of you and he never complains. He never has mental breakdowns – like you do - when Gracie cries to the point you just want to lock yourself in the bathroom. When she doesn’t want to latch on although you know she is hungry. But you think he knows – because it's Frankie – and he just doesn’t want you to feel bad, he never calls you out on it. And she seems like such a ray of sunshine with him – he makes her calm down immediately with his sheer presence. And you feel bad for Frankie because he really –really – does deserve better than this – than you. So you want to make it up to him – your behavior, your incompetence – and you dubiously agree to his proposal for a date.  

 You pack up everything for your daughter – and you also triple-check everything too, before you are satisfied. You packed her two bags and Frankie thinks it's too much for not even one day – he doesn’t say anything, however. He knows his parents are capable of taking care of his chiquita – after all, they took care of him and raised him. And he knows you don’t doubt them – you are just worried – and he understands. When the evening quickly rolls and you hear the bell , you want to go and get it but Frankie just shushes you and tells you to get ready – his patchy beard scratching you when he presses a brisk kiss on your cheek when you try telling him for the hundredth time where everything is and that they have to reheat the milk in the warm water. He takes Gracie from your arms and blows raspberries on her tummy – she laughs and he laughs along with her as he opens the door. You only hear the hushed voices of his parents as they greet their only granddaughter when you go upstairs to your shared bedroom.   

Frankie is still dressed in his sweatpants and a soft cotton shirt which you got him as a joke before Gracie was born -Girl Dad written on it in a pretty cursive font, his signature well-worn-off cap sitting on top of his head when he runs up the stairs after he tells his mother the instructions you gave her and she just brushes him off and scoffs – as if offended - but he knows she meant it in a heartwarming  “I know what to do, mijo” kind of way. He passes his chiquita to his dad and presses wet kisses onto her whole face - saying goodbye to her. She doesn't even seem to care though as she laughs at something Frankie's dad does and Frankie smiles as he softly closes the doors.  

You and your mother-in-law get along well and she respects you – and you respect her in return. After all, she raised Frankie and he grew up into a pretty great man - in your opinion.  She is also more like a second mother to you as yours lives in another state and you can't see her as often as you'd like. Opposed to Frankie's parents who live close by and help you with Gracie as often as they can. And you are grateful for that as you still don’t know how to navigate in this new role of a mother. Gracie loves them too – especially her grandad who calls her “mi little princesa”– and doesn’t she know it? Last time he bought her this pink princess-looking dress and even though she fussed when you try to put it on her she calmed down when her grandad almost cried and took thousands of pictures  - while making the silliest faces at her - of her which he shows to all of his friends anytime he has the chance now.    

When Frankie faintly opens the bedroom door, he stands in the doorway – leaning against the doorframe as he watches you stand in front of the full-length mirror you two bought when you just moved in. It's an old thing but you fell in love with it when you found it in one of these old antique shops you were passing by one day. Pretty hefty with the wooden frame adorning it and Frankie complained at least another week after he carried it up the stairs that his lower back was now killing him because of it.

So he watches when you smooth your hands down the material of the pretty floral dress you are now wearing – funnily enough Frankie’s favorite and the only one which you could actually zip up all the way. He sees the way your shoulders sag down and the way you shake your head at yourself. He sighs quietly and steps into the room – for a man his size he can be quiet as a mouse and he sneaks behind you – his hands making their way to your waist. He lowers his chin onto your shoulder. You meet his gaze in the mirror and he offers you a small smile – the compliment he wants to say sits on top of his tongue – but you beat him to it, the tears threatening to escape you, now stinging your eyes. 

“I look like shit, Frankie.” It surprises him really – he knew you were feeling down, he could see it – but this is the first time you actually say something about it to him. He tried to talk to you but you always just closed off and he never wanted to push on the subject – not wanting to make you even more uncomofrtable. He grips your waist tighter and one of his hands brushes the unshed tears from your eyes. His thumb smoothing over the soft fabric of your dress. You feel the vibrations of his voice on your shoulder when he speaks. 

“Baby, you are absoutely breathtakingly gorgeous.” He whispers and the way he says it – full of endearment and love, with the soft tone he only reserves for you makes it easy for you to believe him – or to at least try to believe him. You shake your head in disagreement and he grabs your chin – his thick fingers squeezing – making you look at him in the mirror. Really look at him. "And I don't know why you feel the way you feel but I do want to help you because I love you so fucking much it hurts me sometimes." The ghost of his whispered confession lingers in the air and you swallow thickly as he holds your stare. You can feel the way his chest heaves with every pass of his breath because he is so close to you - so fucking close. You feel his hard chest pressed up against your back and his soft stomach on your lower back, his bulge pressing against you. In the mirror, you can see how broad he is opposite to you - his shirt straining against his shoulders that you love to rest your legs on while he eats you out. 

 And for someone as attentive as Frankie he is also pretty unassuming when it comes to himself. He praises you every chance he has, he touches you anytime you pass by him. He's tall and lumbering and he doesn't even know the effect he has on you. You try to tell him constantly how much you love him - god and do you ever - and try to make him at least half as loved and appreciated as you feel. He always just shrugs you off with a shy chuckle under his breath and blush on his scruffy cheeks. You love him for him and it doesn't hurt that he is also the most gorgeous man you've ever encountered. With his brown eyes and curly hair, his patchy beard and aquiline nose and that stupid hat that seems to be glued to his head. And somehow he is yours.

You love the way he towers over you and how his solid chest now presses against your back when he hugs you from behind. Or fucks you from behind. And you miss it - god how much you miss it - the way his big fat cock feels against your walls and how it seems to split you almost in half - even after all these years together. But even though Frankie doesn't seem to be repulsed by you – he hasn’t tried any moves on you since the birth of your baby girl and the thought of him not finding you attractive anymore bruises your beating heart. 

 He can sense the change in your body language – the press of your ass against his crotch, your head bumping onto his shoulder and he digs his blunt nails into your hip, the hand that was holding your chin smoothing over the soft skin of your now exposed throat, down between the valley of your breasts and stopping on your stomach. He feels you tense and he places a delicate kiss on your neck – the feel of his beard sending shudder down your spine. A silent moan falls out of your lips when his tongue pokes out to suck on your skin and you feel him smirk against you – the scrape of his teeth making you writhe under his touch. You don’t want to feel this way anymore – unattractive and worthless – and it seems Frankie can read your mind as he meets your eyes when you open them and look at him in the mirror. A hushed: “Tell me what do you need” is said between the soft nips left on your nape and it's hard to concentrate with the way his deft fingers toy with the hem of your dress.  

 Francisco Morales is a patient man – he can wait hours for a target to show up or wait while you shop for new clothes -he especially enjoys when you buy new langerie. And he is equally as patient now as he waits for your answer. Basking in the way you just let him hold you after so long without tensing up immediately. You are now putty in his hands which explore your new body he hasn’t had a chance to really touch. And he absolutely fucking loves it. He loves all of the new curves and how his calloused fingers dip into your soft flesh. He traces it with a newfound adoration and appreciation for you. You birthed his daughter and he cannot believe you are so strong and perfect – his exquisite little wife. He wants to show you how fucking much he adores you – all of you. And so he waits for your answer – he roughly exhales when he hears the low “Just need you, Francisco” as you squeeze one of his hands holding your upper thigh. 

He nods – once, twice – before he carefully unzips your floral dress which falls from your shoulders. He presses light kisses into the crook of them and he moves to kiss your shoulder blades, his fingers tracing the beauty marks adorning your back. His touch is electrifying and you whine his name pathetically when he squeezes one of your tits tenderly. The shiver that runs down your spine slowly makes its way into your limbs when he sinks onto his knees and drags your dress down along with him – you want to say that he shouldn’t – his knees will hurt tomorrow if he keeps kneeling on the floor but he muffles your protest when his teeth sink into the meat of your ass – his tongue smoothing the sting he leaves there. The words he says are slurred when he inhales your scent – his nose pressing into your cunt shamelessly, his fingers spreading your ass cheeks open.  

 “Missed this pretty pussy, querida.” You want to tell him you missed this too – his fingers digging into your flesh and his tongue on you. Frankie is not much of a talker – everyone who knows him knows that. He just sits and listens - sometimes he quipps something or joins the conversation after a while and he is content with that. But in the bedroom? That’s a different kind of Frankie – you call him “pussy drunk Morales” and it's pretty accurate. He can spend hours between your thighs and he is just as happy and content with it as you are – if not more. He is a talker in bed and when you first slept together it surprised you – and it was a welcome surprise for sure. “Gosh, I am gonna make you feel so good, hermosa. Want you to watch how I finger you in the mirror.” And he also isn't shy to tell you what he wants in bed.

You swallow thickly – your Adam's apple bobbing – when you can see his hands dip lower, smoothing them along your ankles and then back up – his thick fingers moving with preciseness. He knows your body like his own and he can map out every single sensitive spot on it with his eyes closed. Frankie wants to please and his mission is to do so - the inner pilot in him sitting in the front seat whenever you two have sex together. He knows which buttons to push at the right time and which not - to wait out. You whimper and try to push your hips against him – too impatient, to wound up. The small chuckle that cuts through the – other than that - quiet room makes you want to jump his bones right then and there. He enjoys it when you squirm in his grasp but tonight he is just as needy as you. It's been so long – too long – since he last touched you like this.

“I am gonna give you exactly what you need, baby.” You believe him – he always gives you exactly what you need – and more. His hands spread your ass cheks open once more and he fucking spits on your gaping hole. You jolt at the sudden action but he holds you close. He coats his finger in the spit, putting pressure on the tight ring of muscle whispering “another time”. And you are so so desperate – you'd let him do anything to you right now. Not that other times you wouldn’t - he proved to you over and over again that he will make anything incredible for you.

He is slow with it – as he enters you with one of his fingers, adding the second one right after and he hisses when your walls squeeze them. The thickness of them makes your eyes roll into the back of your head, closing your eyes you focus only on the feeling of being so fucking full and when he moves, your hand shoots back – tossing his hat off and gripping his hair. He fucking loves it -your fingers curling into his locks and he feels your nails scrape against his scalp. He wants more, needs more – and so do you. So he starts moving the fingers inside of you and the moans that fall out of your mouth are worth every fucking minute that was building up to this moment.

“Look at yourself, querida. Look at how fucking wrecked you look for me.” His voice is strained and you as he says – you always do. And the sight that you see makes your heart bit a little faster, and the muscles in your cunt pull tighter. You see Frankie's head poking out to watch too – his lips ghosting across your outer thigh while his fingers keep working inside of you. His hair is wild – and you grip him tighter by it– his face twists in pleasure and it makes him speed up, makes his finger hook and pat your walls with a newfound want. Your mouth hangs wide open, your brows furrowed, the bead of sweat running down your neck disappearing between the valley of your breasts. You see every reaction to his onslaught – every twitch in your muscles, every inch your mouth opens wider in pure bliss, even the way your breath picks up when Frankie presses against something incredible inside of you and you tell him to keep going.

You see the way the muscles in his neck strain – the vein on it clearly visible to your hungry eyes now. You spot the way one of his hands fists his cock that strains against the flimsy sweatpants. Every time he groans against your flesh quick “Fuck, so fucking pretty,” every time he whispers “Make me feel so good, want you to feel so good too, querida,” only brings you closer and closer to the edge. It's written all over your face – the hunger – carnal and selfish. And you want to cum, you feel the coil in your belly pulling tight but it's not enough and you sob in frustration. Your fingers flex in Frankie's curls and you plead for something – anything. You almost cry when he pulls away – his fingers leaving your fluttering cunt.

His fingers are coated with you and he doesn’t want to waste even a single drop – bringing them to his mouth he moans at your tangy taste, closing his eyes. He swats your thigh when you plead him “Frankie, Frankie, please, please. I was so close” and he just shushes you with “I know, baby, I know” after he pulls his fingers out of his mouth and stands up – groaning at the flash of pain that shoots through him. He turns you quickly and his hungry mouth is on yours not even a second later – the first time he kisses you tonight and you moan into his mouth as he “shares” your taste with you that sits heavy on his tongue. It's slow and soft and his grip on your hip doesn’t falter, his other hand bringing you closer – pressing against your lower back. Your fingers curl into the soft cotton of his shirt – holding him in place. Kissing his bottom lip first – your teeth scrape it and you give the same attention to the lower lip. The kiss makes you warm and fuzzy, it makes something in your chest bubble with an infinite love for this man - your man -in front of you.

He's warm and solid under your palms and his hand snakes onto the hinge of your jaw – opening your mouth wider, craving more. You hold onto him tighter, sighing deeply as his tongue explores your mouth. It makes your toes curl and when he pulls away you are breathless – your breath coming in short huffs. He doesn’t look much better – his hair is tousled, hair sticking in every direction and your hands try to slick it back but it's no help. You want to bury yourself in him, in the way he makes you feel so damn protected and loved. You chase his mouth again but he just gives you a quick peck and gifts you a broad grin that you want to kiss away.

“Go and sit on edge of the bed, hermosa.” You quirk an eyebrow at him but eventually turn – with a shake of your hips you comply with his request – sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing your arms over your stomach as you watch Frankie slowly undress. His shirt comes off first and you lick your lips when you see the expanse of his back, the muscles flexing deliciously when he grabs the mirror and brings it to you – and wait, why the fuck is he bringing the mirror to the edge of the bed? He places it in front of you and stands next to it looking at your bare skin – licking his lips and you try and shield away from his gaze – the nasty thoughts still screaming at you at the back of your mind – and maybe Frankie really is pretending. Maybe – maybe-

“You still with me, baby?” The term of endearment falling from his lips makes you fucking emotional and you nod when he kisses one of your hands – pressing butterfly kisses to each and every one of your knuckles– kneeling in front of you. He grabs your hands – pulling them away from your stomach – soft and flabby now with stretch marks adorning it and you look away because he is so close you feel the ghost of breath against it and he must feel so disgusted by you – you don’t wanna see it in his eyes. He grasps your chin and orders you to look at him – when you do you see no disgustment in his eyes – nor is he pulling away from you like you expected him to. “Don’t want you to hide from me, querida.” He mumbles against the skin on your wrists and he shifts on his knees – getting closer to you. He touches your inner thighs softly and then his hands move higher – sliding over your hips and onto your tummy. He moves you even closer to him. His lips dance across your belly now – the pads of his fingers dipping into the curves on it and he hums when he feels you slowly relax.

After he is happy with his efforts on you – pecking every fucking inch of your “So undeniably gorgeous” body as he whispers filth onto your skin – your brain stops working after a while and all you can think of is Frankie when hovers above you. Tucking your hair behind your ear he kisses your collar bone and his hand moves behind your head – his forehead bumps with yours and the other hand strokes your sensitive nipple – you whimper and your hot breath tickles his face. “Baby, you gonna sit on my face and you will watch yourself in the mirror while I eat you out, yeah?” It seems like a question but it isn't – at least not really. Frankie wants you to sit on his face and there's no room to argur about it. He is good at giving orders – and you are glad to follow them. Your inside twists in anticipation when you nod.

It's certainly not the first time Frankie asked you to sit on his face - because this man loves to eat pussy – for breakfast, lunch and dinner. From the back, front - on a counter, floor, couch. Pretty much everywhere and anytime. When you first started seeing each other and he told you he “wanted to eat your pussy” you just laughed – thinking he must be kidding. But when you looked at him you learned that he was completely and utterly serious and didn’t understand what was so funny about it. And god, he was incredible in it. He would spend days between your thighs if you'd let him.

He flips you both over – you are now on top of him and him under you. Your thighs lay on the side of his narrow waist. You feel him through the material of his sweats - feeling the wet spot on them - and you make an experimental roll of your hips – his hands flying out to stop your efforts as he groans. “Up, baby. Gosh, missed your pussy on my tongue. Come on, up, up. Please, querida, please -” His nails dig into the flesh of your ass when you start moving up his body – your nails scratching his nipples as you do – and his hips buck up, pleading with you “Please, please, baby, need that wet pussy on my mouth.” He is lewd with his words and you grip him by the hair when you hover above his head, his neck strains when he tries to reach your dripping core - just a little taste- but you push his head back down and look at yourself in the mirror – your hair is wild and so are your lust blown eyes. You look sexy - powerful- when you see how this man writhes under you and wants “Just a little taste, hermosa. Give me a taste. God, this pussy was made for my mouth.” Your chest swells with incredible need for the feel of his tongue, his touch, him.

He pulls you down on him and your hands fly from his hair onto the mattress as your fingers grip the cool sheets. The first swipe of his tongue against your folds makes your head fall back and Frankie watches with hungry eyes your reactions – his hands coming to hold yours in his. His palms are a little sweaty under you and he feels like he is on fucking fire while he licks into your cunt as you clench around his tongue. He muffles something against you and you look down at him – he looks so fucking blissed out that it makes you whine as you buck against his mouth. He squeezes your fingers between his and pulls away from your sopping folds, pressing wet kisses onto your inner thighs. “Look at yourself, baby. Fuck, this cunt was so fucking needy to feel my mouth on it. Wasn’t it?” You nod frantically and you look back into the mirror when his tongue swirls against your clit, your back arching.

The swell of your breasts calls for his attention and he pulls one of his hands away from yours – your free hand grips his hair when he toys with the nipple between his fingers –a trickle of milk beading from it and that makes him hungry for more as he mutters a quick “Fuck yes.” His tongue plunging into you and he fucking loves the sounds you make for him. The sweat on your skin builds up with your upcoming orgasm. You start grinding onto his face and he moans in agreement, his eyes closing in concentration because – fuck – he needs you to soak his face. “Yeah, use me, baby. Just like that, c'mon. Fuck my face. I want it,” He growls - you do as you are told and Frankie is unable to form any other words, his jaw locking as he tries to not let a single drop go to waste, brows furrowing. His hand slaps you across your ass and soothes the sting with his palm, it burns your skin and you plead him to do it again, again, and again-

If anyone tried to tell you Frankie doesn’t enjoy eating pussy you'd tell them they are fucking crazy. Because you feel it from the way vibrations come out of his chest, his fingers tighten against you and he is so fucking deprived to feel more of you, always wants more of you. And he is also the fucking best at this – all calculated swirls and licks of his tongue, efficient swipes of the pink muscle against your walls, on your clit. “Fuck, baby. Gonna cum, Francisco. You are gonna make me cum!” You squeal and he doubles his efforts – his mouth sucking on your clit, and you look away from the mirror as you gaze down at him and he wants you to cum but also doesn’t want to this to stop, never wants to stop. It makes you keen under his touch. He doesn’t pull his mouth away from you to tell you to “Yeah, fucking soak this face. Want this needy little pussy to squeeze me tight.” he just keeps going and it only takes two or three swipes of his tongue against your bundle of nerves before you are cumming – soaking his face as he wanted.

You aren't sure which one of you is louder – your ears ring and you are pretty sure you passed out as white-hot pleasure shoots through your entire body – making your nerves feel like they are on a fucking fire. When you come back from your senses and feel he isn't stopping – wants to clean you up but it feels like too much and you try to push his head away and scramble from him but his hands lock on your hips as he holds you close. And then he kisses you on your pussy – butterfly kisses pressed against your clit, your folds as he breathes you in – your curls tickling him on a nose. You slowly move down his torso and he can feel how wet you still are on his skin. He slowly sits up and grins at you – it's a sight to behold. His beard is all shiny with your slick and he licks his lips as he holds you close – pulling you by the head to kiss your already awaiting lips. His hard-on presses against your bare core and you sigh into his mouth when you feel him twitch against you – grabbing him and he quickly pushes your hand away – breaking from the kisses. “Querida, I am gonna cum in my pants if you keep doing that. I almost did. You make me hard as a fucking rock.”

“Would that be so bad?” You grin against his mouth and he whispers “cheeky” before his tongue enters your mouth once again – the taste of you makes your head spin. His fingers dance against your searing skin and you lounge in this moment of post-sex intimacy. His nose traces your jaw as he kisses you on it and he nuzzles against your neck when you kiss him on the top of his head.

“Hm, not really. It would just mean I'd have to eat you out again before I could sink my cock into this sweet cunt.” He says the dirty words as easily as he asks how was your day. It makes the tip of your ears turn a deep red color and you giggle breathily.

“You have a foul mouth. Has anyone told you that before?” He hums when you massage the back of his scalp – your nails scratching the spot behind his ear and he almost but purrs.

“I believe you did. Once or twice, or anytime we fuck.” He throws you a toothy grin.

He nips at the skin on the crook of your shoulder and suddenly the atmosphere changes once more – his hips buck up when you swirl your bare cunt on him. The press of his lips against you is now more urgent, dire and he whimpers when your hand takes him from his boxers – your thumb circling the red head as a bead of precum spurts out. He spits out a quick “fuck” before he is throwing you onto the mattress – shucking his sweatpants off of him and he is scrawling back to you seconds later. He handles you like a ragdoll – you face the mirror as he kneels behind you, your face smushed against the sheets as you watch his ministrations, his hands hooking under your hips to hold you as he pleases. His cock throbs against the back of your thigh and one of his hand tugs lazily on his cock – notching it at your entrance and coating the head in your wetness.

“I am gonna fuck you so so good, baby. And you will watch.” He reaches forwards and grips your chin making you look directly into the mirror – the soft belly of his pressing against your lower back as he does so and it makes you moan in concurrence. You see the flash of white teeth in the mirror before he is pushing into your already awaiting and fluttering cunt. The moans you both let out as he pushes all the way in are downright lewd. Your walls are sensitive and you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock. The thickness of him makes it feel like he is in your guts and you choke when shifts – the head of him brushing against something glorious inside of you. He notices when the muscles in your pussy squeeze him tighter and he focuses on the spot – not really moving, trying to find the right angle.

You cry out when he makes an experimental thrust of his hips and it never felt this way before. He chuckles in pure happiness because he knows he found it and he bends closer to you – his dick pushing deeper, deeper – so he can whisper into your ear. “Oh, baby. This will feel so fucking good for you. Fuck, let me hear you.” You don’t hear him as clearly because you feel like you are falling in and out of consciousness every time his cock passes through your walls. He pulls back away – his fingers tangling into your hair and pulling you back by it – the quick nip of his teeth on your ear making you look at him in the mirror. “Told you to watch, so you will watch, yeah?” You nod – not trusting your voice as your throat closes down on you. He grips you tighter, and the pads of his other fingers pet your clit. “I need to hear you say it, baby. Tell me what a girl you are and that you will watch as I fuck you on my big fat fucking cock.” You hear the snarl in his voice and he stops moving, his teeth sinking into the flesh on your shoulder. “C'mon, tell me. Tell me, baby.” He orders and you sob – you look and sound pathetic and Frankie loves everything about it.

“Yes, baby – Frankie, I will watch how you fuck me on your big fat cock. Please, just move. Please, please, please -” The breath is knocked out from your lungs when he does, his hands falling from your hair as he traces his fingers down your spine and you try to watch as he told you. You watch his face as he watches how he disappears in and out of your fluttering cunt, how his hair bounces with his every movement, how his hand now grips your hip moving you closer to him. You see the way you are completely fucked out, how your mouth opens wider with every pass of his cock – you see the way he bends down and slows his movement just so he can lick the salty sweat rolling down the base of your spine. All you can do is whimper when he pulls back and seems to only concentrate on his cock inside of you.

He angles his hips and when he pushes deeper inside of you – his balls smacking against the meat of your ass – you want to crawl away from him because it feels like you are going to pee. The calloused pads of his fingers circle your clit and he plunges his dick onto that spot over and over again – you plead with him to stop, it feels too fucking good and you don’t know if you can handle it. He smacks you once, twice, three times – his fingers digging on that spot where it stings and it's too much – all too much. You feel the coil inside of you snap and your chest falls onto the mattress, the intense pleasure crashes into you in waves and you faintly hear Frankie hiss as he pulls out of you as you soak him - his pubic hair drips in with your slick and the sheets are wet but he wants you to do it again.

“Yes, yes. Fuck, baby. You soaked me. Want you to do it again. Can you do it again?” He doesn’t wait for your answer before he plunges into you again and you keep repeating his name like a prayer when you feel another wave crashing through your body – you press your ass into him more and he hisses. You vaguely feel the wet press of his tummy against your lower back and he pulls away from you completely as you plop onto the mattress. You hear the slick of his fists on his cock and you muster the energy to raise your head to look into the mirror. He jerks of, the movements of his fists frantic and the muscles in his biceps flex with every pass of his arm. His neck is strained as he throws his head back and cums – the ropes of pearly white liquid falling onto your back. He falls right on top of you – careful not to crush you. It's quiet for a long while and then he slowly moves away from you – you whine in protest as you hear the sound of his feet against the tiled floor.

When he comes back you feel a warm towel on your back as he cleans you up – carefully swiping it between your thighs as well. You feel the bed dip under the weight of him – pulling you on top of him. You listen to the rapid beating of his heart slowing down as he draws patterns onto your spine, kissing you on the forehead. A hushed conversattion between you two as you open up to him - about the way you felt since birth - and he swears to you that tommorow both of you will look for help - so you can talk to a professional about it. And if it is possible - you swear your love for him grows after his quiet promise.

He grins then and you raise your head to throw him a questioning look.

“I made you squirt, baby.” He says it with smugness in his voice and you swat him on the shoulder, grinning too.

“Don't be so smug about it. We both know you are too freaking good in bed, Francisco. So really, it was only a matter of time.” After the sex fog in his brain fades away he is back to his sheepish self as one of his hands rubs his neck at your compliment.

“Was it good, though?” Only Francisco Morales could ask such a stupid question after he made you see stars.

“Yeah, baby. I thought I passed the fuck out at least three times. That’s how good it was.” You kiss his peck and he hums, stroking your hair and you start to feel hungry – your stomach rumbling and he laughs, and reaches for his phone on the bedside table.

“So, because we didn’t make it to dinner what do you want me to order? Pizza, sushi, chinese?” He lists and you think about it before you blurt out “chinese” and he nods, pecking your lips quickly. Before he calls to order though you say: “Love you, Frankie.”

A boyish smirk makes its way onto his face and he looks younger like this – like he has no worries in his life. The dim light in the bedroom makes his golden skin shine and you think about how the heck did you get so lucky. “Love you too, querida.” He says as he presses another kiss onto your forehead.

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[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

So I'm The Villain (Take It All series) - Max Verstappen

Current/Ex!Lewis (also massive age gap)

Summary: Lewis dating a woman in her early 20s was controversial, but he promised her nothing would ruin what they had. What he didn't expect was for the Dutchman who took his title to take his girlfriend.

This is for the girls who love a bit of controversy and definitely love a bit of villain!Max

Part 1 - When I Speak. He Listens.

Part 3 - No Point in Fixing It

Part 4 - Winners Always Win

Part 5 - They’ll Never Shut Up

Talking to Lewis wasn't as easy as Max had fooled her into believing. Which is not his fault by any means but Lewis assured her that if she just listened to him and ignored it then they would get bored and go away.

Y/n didn't seek Max out for help or his attention. So when they're in Brazil for a race that many dub as Lewis' second-home race. Of course that means y/n wanted to be there to support him.

"Y/n, how are you doing?" Max asks as her catches up with her walking through the paddock making her literally jump and straighten up a little.

"I'm good...how are you?" Y/n smiles softly while Max walks with her, keeping in step with her.

"Good. Did you speak to Lewis?" Max questions making her frown. "No?"

"I did. But he said what he always says." She shrugs with a softly sigh. "I just need to ignore them and they'll get bored."

"They never get bored." Max states almost bitterly earning a look from her. "I know I am his enemy. But I am also here as a friend if you need one."

"Thank you." Y/n smiles feeling like Max might understand her a little more than Lewis right now. "How are you feeling about Brazil?"

"I am a winner. I win." Max shrugs earning a laugh and suddenly dawns on him that he'd never really heard her genuinely laugh. At any point, close up or from a distance. The sound is so unfamiliar but it sends a warm shooting through him.

"It's good to see the confidence." Y/n states before spotting Lewis in the distance he it's fairly obvious he's spotted the two of them. "It was nice catching up. Good luck for the race."

Max nods stopping his steps as he watches her walk towards Lewis, waiting on the one gesture that will tell him his chances. The one gesture that will let him know what his likelihood to take this girl who deserves better. And by better he thinks himself as that on this occasion.

She turns back, looking at him with a lingering glance just before she reaches her boyfriend who doesn't look annoyed. But he could be masking the upset with a smile, pleased to see her.

But that look back at Max. He knows that's his invitation in to perhaps play to be the one she is more deserving of.

After all on the occasions that Lewis has fallen short in the past, Max has performed and came out the victor. This time it's not a matter of sport or points.

Admittedly if this goes wrong, if he ruined a relationship with no benefit to himself or even with no benefit to y/n. He hates to think that this all may end horribly and if he has a say, it won't. But if he's going to pursue a plan to steal another driver's girlfriend, especially Lewis Hamilton's girlfriend. He needs to be careful and always consider what is best for her before himself.

-

Lewis had a consistent weekend so far. P5 on both the race and sprint starting grids.

Y/n sits in the Mercedes garage watching the sprint race. Only 24 laps but Lewis ends up P7 by the end. Not a promising look at tomorrow, but they can use the data for the real points tomorrow and he still got an additional 2 points for the weekend that if the sprint wasn't happening, he'd not have gotten.

Yuki ended up ahead of Lewis. An AlphaTauri that is prone to mistakes and retirements beat the 7 time world champ. Sure it was only in a sprint but the media will rinse this.

Lewis doesn't even acknowledge her, annoyance as he makes his way to media and then to the unit for the debrief.

As predicted, Max won. Having made over an 8 second gap from the rest of the pack. Though it was only so small because Lando had performed well getting P2.

If Brazil is Lewis' happy place. He certainly isn't feeling it.

She wanders off deciding not to comment on the matter, not to try and force her company upon Lewis when he is clearly preferring to focus on the task in hand. Getting a win in Brazil. It's important for not only him but the team who performed well enough to get their only win last year. Sure it wasn't his win, but that doesn't mean it can't be this time.

"We have to stop meeting like this." A voice jokes as she passes the entrance of the Red Bull unit to find Max exiting just in time.

"You won the sprint." Y/n comments making Max hum, not sounding all that approving of her words.

"I did." Max states then looking around. "Where is Lewis?"

"In the debrief. I'm sure he'll be there all night." Y/n murmurs while Max raises an eyebrow. "He wanted things to go well today, but I think being beat by Yuki might have been a blow to the confidence."

Max looks at her sadly before she swallows and smiles at him shrugging the topic off with dismissal.

"You and Lando did so well though."

"The McLaren are closing the gap on us. I'd be surprised if they don't manage a race win." Max admits as they begin to walk together, y/n heading towards the exit of the paddock with Max. "I could give you a ride to the hotel if you think Lewis will be here late and just wants to be on his own."

"Oh, actually that would be great. I just need to grab my stuff." Y/n states then making Max nod before she rushes back to the Mercedes unit. Bumping into George as she heads back out, he's also on his way out. "Hi, George."

"Hey, where you off to in such a rush?" George questions before spotting Max and as usual, there's no hiding his thoughts in his expression.

"I think Lewis wants to be alone and Max offered to give me a ride home." Y/n states making George look at her for a moment, clearly processing if y/n is really doing this. But she's impatient and doesn't need one of George's judgemental looks until it's behind her back. "I'll see you tomorrow George."

George just watches her disappear with Max, who doesn't look back but there's no hiding his smirk of victory and George is uncertain of what do to.

-

Y/n ended up having dinner with Max in the hotel, since he discovered that she hadn't properly eaten today, before they divided and she ran herself a bath. Steeping in the hot water till Lewis appears and he's not the easy to read.

"Can I join?" He asks softly after nearing the tub and leaning over to kiss the top of her head before beginning to take off his clothes.

"You know you can." Y/n nods with a small smile before she finds herself joined by him, his body sitting and relaxing back opposite her. Not that it stays like that for long.

Y/n shifts forward till she's straddling Lewis, her intention to help him destress ahead of the Grand Prix being her priority.

"I'm sorry I ignored you earlier." Lewis murmurs before he kisses her collarbone. "It wasn't fair."

"I understand. It's ok." Y/n assures him before using one hand to cup his face. "You know there's a reason people still root for you here, why they cheer for you around the world. Even on your bad days, you have more support than anyone else on the grid. You don't always need to be so harsh on yourself."

"I need to stop taking it out on you. That's what I need to do." Lewis states making it obvious he has his own intentions for this bath and how he wants to end his day. "I need to take care of you and that's what I'm going to do."

And y/n believes him. Not just about tonight, but she's hoping these words mean beyond that. But only time will tell and maybe Lewis has to hope he's just not too late to save his relationship.

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #Max Verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x you #mv1 x reader #mv1 x y/n #mv1 x you #mv1 imagine #mv1 #mv33 x reader #mv33 imagine #mv33 #lh44 #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #Lewis Hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #f1 fic #f1 x reader #red bull racing #red bull f1 #red bull formula 1

[needlereads]

Red Pill

dark!Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Warnings: dark, non-con, sexual content, supernatural(?), 18+ only, drabble

A/N: I don't know what's going on. Lloyd is inspiring thoughts, many thoughts these days.

------

"Lloyd?" You blinked at the sight of your husband. How long had he been standing there, at the patio door? Watching you? "That's...a new look."

He had replaced his full beard with a mustache, so precisely trimmed. Along with the sides so close-cropped, he looked almost military.

Tangible, the emptiness of that moment when he would typically smile at you, all soft and ready for a hug.

A moment he spent, eyes blazing, assessing, watching you some more.

A smiled played at his lips. He raised a hand.

"Come here," he said.

Worried, you rose from your seat by the pool, gripping his hand in yours. Your fingertips barely grazed his smooth jawline, a shiver bolting down your spine.

"It actually worked. Fuck," he murmured, drinking you in. He thought landing in this neat little house had been a fever dream. (Running off after getting shot could do that. Accepting a red pill from an old lady who whispered next to his prone body, bled out and exhausted, about playing with chance -- swallowing that red pill with his final breath -- could do this.)

He drew you in closer. Your scent, your warm little body in his embrace fed the triumph rearing inside him.

The lilt of your name, purred from his lips, had you frowning. It was his same voice, and yet...

(The old hag's magic hadn't been all bullshit after all.) Lloyd snickered, capturing your lips in a hard kiss. (This called for a celebration.)

Before you knew it, he had you inside, stumbling through the kitchen. He growled, pressed his open mouth to yours, licking into you, while large hands picked you up. You couldn't break away for more than a breath, much less a word.

Finally, you managed to push at his chest enough to force space between you two.

"What's going on?" You weren't really asking him.

In the space of hours, something had stirred in the air and turned your husband into a stranger. Someone you couldn't trust, someone who would not be able to give you answers.

Your vision blurred with tears, your heart thundered with fear even as your body buzzed to be touched by this man, his physique so familiar in promising you pleasure. But he wasn't yours.

"Who are you?"

"Don't cry now, honey." He cooed at you, restricting you as you squirmed in his hold. "I'm Lloyd."

Shirt shredded, shorts and underthings torn away, you're left at his mercy.

"Such a sweet thing, and rebellious too." Lloyd's tongue traced the tattoo on your shoulder blade.

You could hear his delight, a less doting tone than when your husband -- your Lloyd -- had praised you for the ink on your body. He kept you pinned in place, playing with your clit and dragging his finger tips along your wet lips.

"I thought I had lost everything." Lloyd subdued you when you struggled up against him, winding your arm to keep your wrist at your back. "Keep still, sweetness. Won't you let your husband taste you?" He breathed out a laugh, brought his other hand up and sucked your wetness from his fingers. His lusty groan brought out a sob in you. "This will have to do for now."

"Lloyd, don't"--

"That's right. It's just me." He took in a greedy breathful of your body's scent, tanged with arousal, quivering underneath him. All of this, his. (Gambled one last time with his last breath, and won.) "Me, you, and a new life."

------------------------

A/N+: universe jumping, open-ended

#lloyd hansen x reader #dark lloyd hansen #drabble

[lidiasloca]

i saw your post and i had an idea! azriel x reader, az comes home from a long mission, he’s tired and he’s upset but won’t talk about it, just fluff as the reader comforts him and cuddles and stuff. If you don’t like it feel free to just ignore this! x

the right thing (azriel x reader)

fluff

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

You can tell.

And not just because of the bond, but because of his eyes. They look almost lifeless. The hazel in them is replaced with a sad black you have grown to hate.

It is a reminder of how much your mate actually suffers in these missions, whether he ever admits it or not. 

“Az?”

He only answers you with, “Hm?” as he makes his way past you to the desk of your room. You know all too well how prone he is to closing in on himself. 

You get up from the bed and start walking behind him. “Wait,” you try a soft tone, not letting your worry get to him. “Azzie, please.”

He finally turns, allowing you a clear look at his tired face. It breaks your heart. 

You realize you’re silently staring, but not in time. “I know I look terrible, but there’s no need to grimace.”

Your heartbeat speeds up immediately. You - you hadn’t grimaced, that you were very sure of. But the thought of Azriel thinking you had makes you rapidly reply, “NO - I mean no, Azriel. I wasn’t grimacing. It’s just - you look very tired.” 

To no one's surprise, he stays silent. So you add, “I’m worried.”

Your mate sighs, as if in defeat. “It’s Devlon,” he eventually mutters. 

You try your best not to go to the male to strangle him yourself. Gods - the times Azriel came home exhausted because of some conflict involving him. You hate him.

Azriel regards you and says, a coy very little smile now on his face, “Stop that frowning.” He brings his index finger to smooth the creases in your forehead, as if to make his instructions clearer.

You know better than to keep asking him more. You know how little words Azriel like using, especially about these things. But you make it a point to talk about this when he’s in a better mood. 

You return his little smile, happy that he seems lighter. 

After a comfortable silence, just staring at each other, he says, “sorry for earlier; you shouldn’t be the one having to cope with my grumpy ass.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Don’t be sorry. I understand, and - I am your mate,” you reply while taking his hand in yours and pulling him.

He opens his mouth to ask when you start leading him, but his answer soon comes, just as you gesture him to the bed. 

“You need to rest,” you command, or try to sound like so.

It seems to work; Azriel climbs into the bed slowly, then whispers, “Yes, my lady.” 

You can’t help your giggle before you follow him onto the bed. “Shut up, mate.”

He turns his eyes to yours, piercing even in the dim light. You know damn well the effect that word has on him. You smile innocently.

“Say it again,” he orders, though there’s amusement in his eyes when he adds, “If you dare.”

“No. Goodnight…” He raises an eyebrow, watching you intently. But you won’t let him win, so you pull the blankets over you, making it obvious that you’re going to sleep. 

You only have time to yelp before he pulls you out of the blankets and cages you with both his wings and his arms. “Say it.”

“No - let me go!” you laugh hysterically as he starts pinching the flesh on your ribs. “Az! S-stop that.”

“Say it, then.”

“Mate! My mate!”

He at last lets go of you, and you can finally draw breath.

“And you’re mine,” he whispers in your ear.

“Well, you almost suffocate your mate, you know that?”

“Dramatic.” You smack him with a pillow. “Ouch.”

“Dramatic,” you reply, still out of breath, and quite exhausted after trying to win Azriel in strength. “Now, I need rest.”

He smiles lovingly and says, “Goodnight then, mate.”

You observe him before launching yourself on him, more comfortable than anywhere else. “Goodnight,” you tell him. “Azzie?”

“Yes?”

“Will you tell me tomorrow?” You wrap your arms around him as you can. “About what happened today?” You try not to name Devlon, not now that he seems calm. 

He takes a moment before answering, “yes.” Precise and short, you think, but you‘re still glad he’s willing to open up to you about this knowing how hard it comes for him to do so.

“Thank you, mate” you whisper, which he answers by kissing the top of your head.

Just as you feel yourself drifting to slumber, you hear his voice, barely audible. 

“My mate.”

-Characters by Sarah J. Maas

I was soooo tempted to write the aaron warner “yes, love?” but found selfcontrol somewhere. btw, i'm super happy with how many requests you guys have sent, cause i want to write acotar soooo bad. thanku <;3.

#azriel x reader #azriel fluff #azriel #azriel x female!reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #acotar fic #azriel fanfic #azriel fic

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: First Impressions.

Pairing: Yandere!Xiao + Zhongli x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 1.5k.

TW: Modern AU, N/S/F/W, Rough Sex, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Dubiously Consensual Voyeurism, Questionable Implications, and Unhealthy Relationships.

Morax was taller than you’d expected him to be.

Well, not taller – it’d been hell to wrangle a name out of Xiao, let alone a physical description – but more imposing, more intimidating than you’d known to brace yourself for. You hadn’t thought to wonder just how piercing his dark eyes would be, just how high he’d hold himself, whether or not he’d be wearing the same clean-cut suit you’d seen in the sparse pictures Xiao had shown you, always begrudgingly, always with a scowl a little more pronounced than the one he usually wore. You hadn’t thought about how small you’d feel, sitting in front of him, resisting the urge to cross your legs and curse yourself aloud for not dressing as formally as your limited budget would allow.

You hadn’t expected to have to see Xiao, your boyfriend of a little over a year, straddling Morax’s thigh, attempting unsuccessfully to bite back stiffled whimpers and hitched moans as Morax split him open on his fingers.

Not that you hadn’t thought to ask any questions. You’d practically interrogated Xiao – spent all morning asking any and every question that came to mind (Should you wear glasses or contacts? How long would the drive be? Would he be more impressed if you were the one driving? Should you lie about your major? If you did lie about your major, would he be able to tell?). You’d asked, more times than you could count, if Xiao thought his dad would like you, and when he scowled and reiterated that Morax wasn’t his father, you’d just smiled and asked what he was supposed to be, then. You’d never gotten an answer – just pursed lips and a look you couldn’t quite read. You were starting to see why he'd been so cagey.

Morax wasn’t his dad. Or, you really, really hoped he wasn’t, at least. It was a little hard to gauge a family resemblance when Xiao’s face was buried in Morax’s chest, his fists balled around the fabric of a recently pressed dress-shirt as he fought to stifle the kind of pathetic, whimpering noises you’d never heard him make, before. Despite his best attempts to restrain himself, he was all flushed cheeks and parted lips, pliable and yielding in someone else’s hands. He’d been soft with you, prone to averting his eyes and turning red whenever you did anything more romantic than hold his hand, but never so fragile, never so easily cracked open. This side of him wasn’t just new - it was completely alien.

In comparison, Morax couldn’t have been more composed. His eyes were half-lidded, but not narrowed or clenched. His posture was straight, but not rigid, perfectly relaxed and perfectly poised without one factor compromising the other. He wasn’t frowning or smiling, scowling or sneering – his expression one of pleasant neutrality, as if he hadn’t yet decided how to feel about you, but would've preferred to enjoy your company. It made you want to make him like you. It made you want to run.

He cleared his throat, and you shrunk into yourself, resisting the urge to flee. Vertigo blurred and bruised your senses as you stared up at him from the opposing side of his impossibly tall desk, and you forced yourself to meet his gaze, swallow your anxiety and ignore the fresh wave of dread that washed in to fill the empty space. The door to his office was locked, and you'd needed half a dozen different key cards just to get to this floor, but you just couldn’t fight the intrusive thought that someone would walk in, see Xiao – see you. Morax didn’t seem particularly worried, but you didn’t know whether or not someone in his position would be. “Xiao tells me that you’re a student?”

A small smile came to rest across his lips. “An enterprising young scholar. This industry could use more people like you.” He would know. Xiao had neglected to mention that his Morax was the Morax, founder and CEO of Liyue – one of the most vicious corporations with a vice-grip on the free market, known for their cutthroat policies and ironclad contracts - and you hadn't made the connection until you stepped through the doors of his behemoth of a headquarters, until you finally found it in yourself to acknowledge the name plastered on every available surface. Even now, sitting in his office, it was difficult to believe. The fact that he was also finger-fucking your boyfriend did little to help. “I wanted to meet you sooner, but you know how Xiao can be. Always so shy – it’s a miracle he met someone as patient as you must be.”

Beneath your confusion, something else sparked: the inexplicable urge to impress the man in front of you. That was what you'd come here to do - meet the parents, make small talk, prove to Xiao that he could tryst you with more than just vague half-truths about his past. Only, you weren't meeting his parents, and you hadn't spoken in minutes, and you weren't sure that this was something you would've ever chosen to know.

As if in a daze, you found yourself nodding. “I am,” And then, when his expression didn’t waver. “I’m currently interning with Mondstadt's financial advisement department, too. It’s only an entry-level position, but they keep me busy.”

“I’m just happy to have met him at all.” He spread his fingers apart, and Xiao’s breath hitched, his hips bucking forward and grinding into Morax’s thigh. You could see precum soaking into the dark fabric. It’d leave a stain. “I’m sorry, Morax, sir, but I—”

“Zhongli will do. Outside of this building, there aren’t many people who still call me by that archaic name.” His smile broadened. “Go on.”

You nodded, and Xiao choked on a moan. “I just… I don’t think Xiao ever mentioned how you two knew each other.”

That, however unintentionally, earned a breathy laugh, a certain lilt to the way he held his head. “Xiao worked for me, for a time. I don’t need his help as often as I once did, but loyalty can be a difficult thing to find, and Xiao’s done more than enough to prove his faithfulness.” By way of reward, Morax— no, Zhongli flicked his wrist, curled his fingers in a way that seemed to make Xiao fracture. “I’m assuming you’ve fucked?”

It wasn’t the question that caught you off-guard, you were already numb to the point of distant apathy, but the vulgarity of it. Fucked. Someone like Zhongli shouldn’t have said something like that. Someone like Xiao shouldn’t have been doing something like this. “We have.”

“I’m assuming you had to initiate?”

“No, sir.” Your tongue felt like lead, your mind like quickly dissipating fog. “He’s very assertive.”

Something behind his eyes seemed to catch the lights. From a distance, you watched as he leaned toward Xiao, cupping his chin and muttering something inaudible in his ear before turning his attention back to you. “How is he? Dominant? Controlling? Desperate?” He paused, tapping Xiao’s cheek with his thumb. His pace slowed, and Xiao whined in protest, the sound high-pitched and needy. “Tell me he’s attentive, at least. It’d be a shame if all my hard work amounted to so little.”

You tried to reach for the arm of your chair, to steady yourself, but your limbs felt like they were made of static, your head stuffed with cotton, and it was all you could do to keep yourself upright, to tear your eyes away from Xiao and let your gaze fall to the floor – tasteful faux-wood, freshly waxed and completely unmarred. You don’t know how long you spent there, answering Zhongli’s prying questions with little ‘no, sir’s and ‘yes, sir’s, biting the inside of your cheek and trying to remind yourself that eventually, this would end. You heard Xiao’s voice, pulled so far from the airy grunts and stifled groans he’d usually spare for you, saw something white and thick drip onto those perfectly wooden floors, and finally, Zhongli clicked his tongue, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over Xiao’s exposed form with more than a note of tenderness. He kept Xiao pressed into his chest as he stood, supporting him effortlessly, and only spared you a glance, a smile before nodding to the farthest wall of his office, to a door built into the paneling that you hadn’t noticed, not until he nudged it open with his shoulder and beckoned you inside. You were led, glassy-eyed and trace-like, through a series of vacant hallways and empty stairwells, into a dimly-lit garage where a sleek, black car waited – a luxury model, the engine still running and the driver obscured behind tinted windows. Xiao, legs shaking and swimming in his borrowed jacket, was ushered into the backseat, and then, Zhongli looked toward you, his expression expectant.

“I’ll join you in a few hours.” It was the shell of an excuse, all the polite formality without the explanation, the part that was actually supposed to give you any kind of closure. “Xiao will take care of you until I’m more available.”

You pursed your lips, keeping your eyes on the ground as you spoke. “Do… do we have something else to talk about?”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry. We won’t be talking for much longer.” His tone was light, gentle. Cloyingly saccharine in a way that left your vision clouded and something acidic rising into the back of your throat. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint an old man, now, would you?”

For a long moment, you hesitated.

Then, with no small amount of reluctance, you slipped into the backseat, letting Zhongli close the door behind you.

As the car started moving, Xiao slumped against your side, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. You felt his breath fan over your throat, his body seeping heat into your cold skin as he mumbled something into your ear, nearly lost under the sounds of tires against pavement.

“I love you.”

You didn’t have a chance to respond, not before his mouth latched onto his throat and his teeth sank into your neck.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere scenarios #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact #xiao x reader #yandere xiao #zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli #yanderecore #yancore

[heliads]

Theo raeken x fem!reader, theo confessing to reader but being rejected cause of all the stuff he did to the pack

a theo request?? anon god bless i miss him

masterlist

The first thing Stiles Stilinski says upon sprinting down the hallway to stop immediately in front of you, is, “Theo Raeken is going to kill us all again.”

The second thing Stiles tells you, without a single pause after the first nor one word of explanation, is, “And it’s all your fault.”

Stiles is prone to drama. He’s a lovely boy, sure, you’ve been his friend since you were a kid, and you’ve counted on him to save your life from the millions of dangers all living in the home you both call Beacon Hills, but you’ve learned to take pronouncements like these with a grain of salt.

So, instead of losing your mind with worry like you did the first dozen times Stiles approached you with yet another rumor of death and danger, you just smile, put the last of your books in your locker, and shut the door. Once you take a breath or two, you turn to face him at last.

“Good morning, Stiles,” you say pointedly, “How good to see you again. How was your weekend? Oh, you’re spouting off about another crazy theory? So good to hear! I know you’re going to tell it to me nicely, and you definitely won’t try to do something weird like blame me for it. That would be ridiculous, don’t you think?”

Stiles has the grace to look at least a little needled, but he still stands firm. “I’m not kidding, Y/N. We’re about to get hit by Hurricane Theo, Round Two, and when we’re all bloody, broken corpses, I’ll be having the last laugh.”

You frown. “I thought we would all be dead. How can you be laughing if we’re all bloody, broken corpses like you said?”

Stiles waves a hand irritably. “That’s why it would be the last laugh, idiot. I would rub it in your face then immediately pass away. Anyway, you’re not focusing.”

“I am focusing,” you argue, “I have been focusing on Theo Raeken for a while now. We all have.”

Stiles groans. “He’s going to try to topple our pack again, though. Look, I’ve been watching him for a while, and I know it. I can feel it. And I was right about him the first time, right? Even when you all doubted me, I was right. I’m going to be right again.”

As much as you’d like to have some snappy little comeback, you can’t deny that Stiles totally hit the nail on the head with Theo the first time around. Back when Theo Raeken returned to Beacon Hills for the first time in years, everyone in the McCall pack had been more than willing to welcome him with open arms. Only Stiles had second thoughts about the guy, and Stiles was proven right when Theo tried to kill Scott and take over the rest of you.

Now, though, you’re all aware of Theo’s twisted intentions. There’s no doubt in any of your minds that he’s still scheming, but for now, he’s been holding back. Nothing has happened to alert anyone’s suspicions more than usual, yet Stiles seems dead set in his latest theory.

You sigh and start to walk down the hallway, Stiles by your side. “Fine, then. What makes you think he’s going to pick today to attack?”

“Well, it might not be today,” Stiles admits. “Soon, though. This I promise. And I’m not just making stuff up, Y/N. He’s been acting differently. He even talked to me about it.”

You arch a brow. “You let Theo get close enough to talk?”

“Not willingly, but he wouldn’t leave me alone until I did,” Stiles grumbles.

You have to bite back a laugh. You can picture exactly how that conversation went– Stiles doggedly avoiding Theo as long as he could, Theo just a few paces behind until Stiles gave in and let him speak. Stiles hates Theo’s guts, which is understandable, considering Theo tried to murder his best friend, so whatever Theo had to say must have been important to risk Stiles’ wrath.

Now that you’re finally listening, though, Stiles is holding back the crucial information. He really is so dramatic when he wants to be, isn’t he?

You wave your hand irritably. “Alright, then. Get on with it. What did he say?”

Stiles huffs out a breath at getting rushed like this, but his face turns serious soon enough. “Well, that’s the thing. He wasn’t really telling me anything. In fact, the only thing he really did was ask me about you.”

A pause looms between you. You’re no wolf, but you swear you can hear every conversation happening up and down this hall, how the words echo in your head. It’s easier to pick apart everyone else’s idle chatter instead of comprehending what Stiles has just told you.

“He asked about me? That makes no sense. I’m human, Stiles. What would he want with me?”

Stiles swats you on the shoulder. “Hey, as, like, one of the only other humans here, we’ve got to be proud of ourselves. We have value. I don’t know why he asked, though. He didn’t mention pack stuff or anything. He just wanted to know how you were doing, if you were busy after school or something.”

Your eyes widen. “You don’t think he’s trying to kill me after we get out of class or something? What did you tell him?”

“I’m already a step ahead,” Stiles assures you. “I said you were totally busy and we wouldn’t let you near any of his traitorous pack without the rest of us there to keep you safe. He seems kind of put off by that, but he said that he wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“That’s exactly what someone who’s trying to kill me would say,” you point out.

“Tell me about it. I don’t think he’ll try anything today, at least not at school, but be careful, alright? Don’t go anywhere without one of us. I don’t like this.” Stiles says.

You shiver. “I don’t like it either.”

Theo’s attention never ends well. And, when the two of you turn a corner, you glance over your shoulder and see that someone else has taken your spot at your locker. He’s not trying to open it, just leaning against the metal. He raises a hand in greeting when he sees you looking. It’s Theo Raeken, and judging by the proud smile on his face, he knows exactly who you’re talking about.

You can’t focus throughout that class, nor the next. Theo Raeken is dangerous. He played all of you except Stiles like a fiddle the first time he was trying to kill Scott. What’s to stop him from trying to do it again? Or, worse, what’s to stop him from trying to do it to you?

You stop by your locker later that day. You had just managed to put the morning’s incident from your mind, but when you unlock the door to find a note pushed inside, it all comes rushing back. The paper inside carries no threats, but you still feel your blood run cold when you read it.

Meet me outside after the school day ends. T.R.

You show Scott and the others at lunch. None of them like it either. Scott agrees with Stiles in telling you to never go out alone, and certainly not to meet Theo like he asked. This has to be a trap. There’s no way it could be anything else.

You’re perfectly fine with that plan, but, as it turns out, it’s a little easier said than done. You end up staying a little while after class to ask a teacher a few questions about an upcoming exam, and when you emerge into the empty hallway once more, it occurs to you that you forgot to tell anyone that you were staying after. It’s not that any one of the pack would intentionally abandon you, especially not after the shift in Theo’s attention today, but they all would have assumed that someone else was with you, and left it at that.

Now, you’re wandering the school alone, listening to the sound of your footsteps echo off of the walls and wondering if he’s waiting for you somewhere. Your phone is in your hand, ready to text one of your friends to pick you up, but you don’t live far from school. It won’t take that long to get home, not if you hurry. You’re certain you can avoid him if you try.

Glancing around to make sure he’s not lingering by the door, you set out into the sunlight. Your footsteps are quick, hurrying around corners and down the sidewalk, but, as it turns out, not quick enough. Then again, how could you ever think you could outpace him? You’re human. Theo is a chimera. He could sprint down the length of your neighborhood in the time it takes you to blink.

You wait for the inevitable– claws in your throat, perhaps, or a knife in your back, something Theo-like and unavoidable, but he doesn’t kill you. Not yet. Instead, Theo Raeken walks next to you, tilts his head up to the blue afternoon sky, and says, “It’s a nice day out, isn’t it?”

You blink. Of all the ways you expected this encounter to end, talking to Theo about the weather was just about last on your list. “What?”

Theo shrugs. “It’s warm out. I don’t know.”

He still seems nice, which is weird, obviously. To be honest, this abrupt change in his usual demeanor is freaking you out more than if he’d just been his normal, scheming, threatening self. At least then you wouldn’t be waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“What do you want, Theo?” You ask at last. “Are you here to kill me or not?”

Theo glances over at you, looking genuinely surprised. “What are you talking about? I would never kill you. Y/N, I could never hurt you. You know that.”

He’s not entirely wrong. During his attempted toppling of the McCall pack, Scott nearly died, and many of you were injured, but Theo never touched so much as a hair on your head. Truth be told, back when he was still pretending to be good, you liked him a lot. He won you over fast, probably faster than he should have. Still, that was then, and this is now. You’re both on opposite sides of a war, and that sort of gulf cannot be easily crossed by anything. Least of all by you.

“Fine. Are you trying to use me to hurt the pack?”

Theo scoffs. “They’re trying to convince you to see the worst in me. I’m not surprised, to be honest. I’m not here to hurt you, Y/N, not in any way. I’m here because I want to take you on a date.”

You stop walking. This is absurd. You wait for him to start laughing or something, call an end to the joke, but he doesn’t. He just pauses by your side. “What time can I pick you up?” He continues, as if nothing has been said at all.

“Never,” you manage, “We’re not going on a date, Theo.”

He frowns. “Why not? If you’re busy this week, I can wait. It’s fine.”

“No, we can’t reschedule, because it’s not happening. You tried to murder Scott. You’re still trying to take over our pack. Why would I go on a date with you?”

Theo lifts a shoulder. “Because you like me. And don’t try to argue, Y/N, I know you do. You liked me well enough before I started moving forward with my plans.”

This, again, is a little closer to the truth than you’d like to admit. Theo was wonderful before he tried to murder everyone you hold dear. He was charming and funny. He partnered with you in class, he helped you study, he walked home with you after school. He was perfectly lovely until you burst into the Beacon Hills High School library one day to find him standing over Scott’s corpse.

“I might have, but that’s over now, Theo. I can’t love someone who tried to kill my friends. End of story.”

Theo shakes his head, brown hair flying around his eyes, which have taken on a glint almost akin to madness. “That’s the noble thing to do, sure, but you don’t have to be noble. We don’t have to be noble. It’s just you and me, Y/N. We don’t need any of them. Come on, you can’t tell me that you don’t want this.”

He says every word with such certainty that you know he believes it. You understand now why he was able to rally the other chimeras behind him, why even Liam was able to fall for his scheming. Theo is someone you want to believe. Always.

Always, even when you know better. Especially when you know better. You take a subtle step back, then two. “I can’t do this, Theo. Even if I went out with you, I’d be wondering if you were going to stab me in the back the entire time. I can’t trust you.”

His face falls. “But you want this. You want me.”

“I do,” you admit, “but that doesn’t make it right.”

He goes quiet. You wait for him to shout or swear or something like the monster you’ve been hearing so much about, but instead, he just looks towards where you were walking again. “Can I at least walk you home?”

You nod. “You remember where to go?”

“Of course,” he answers simply.

He could just recall where you live because you’re a part of the McCall pack and he needs a target. A second, calmer voice somewhere in the back of your head whispers that maybe, just maybe, it is because of you.

The walk back is quiet, but not terrible. You’re both thinking through a grave number of things. When you finally reach your house, Theo stops and faces you in front of the door. “Just–” he breaks off, then manages to finish it. “Think about it. If I were better, would you think about it?”

You let out a low breath. “Yes, Theo, I would.”

He almost smiles. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Theo,” you whisper back, and watch as he turns and leaves your house once more. 

It will be a long time before you can trust him for sure. You have no doubt that he’s got something else up his sleeve. Theo Raeken doesn’t strike you as the kind to give up easily. But then again, that’s why you’re still thinking of him even after he disappears from sight. Maybe, just maybe, Theo will do good on what he asked of you. Maybe, if he was better, he would come back. Until then, you’ll watch, and you’ll wait, and perhaps one day, you’ll be able to say yes after all.

teen wolf tag list: @mayfieldss, @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @rafecameronswhore, @bellabadacadabra, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @23victoria

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#theo raeken #theo raeken imagines #theo raeken x reader #theo raeken oneshot #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf oneshot #teen wolf theo #teen wolf theo imagines #teen wolf theo x reader #teen wolf theo oneshot

[vodika-vibes]

Ohhhhh so I have an idea for ....

Forget-me-not and narcissus

You throw yourself in the way to save (clone of your choice), and he gets super angry at you for doing that because he's loved you forever. You both have but never admitted it ...

You can go from there. Love oo

I Don't Want To Forget

Summary: You are a civilian employee on the Resolute and you're a little bit accident prone, which is why you're shocked when General Skywalker wants you out on the battlefield one day. Luckily you have Kix looking out for you...unluckily, you get shot trying to save Kix's life.

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x F!Reader

Word Count: 1720

Warnings: Reader is shot, and Kix yells

Prompts: Forget-me-not - Don't forget me, Narcissus - unrequited love

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I'm not so sure about this one. Apparently Kix is a weak spot, lol

“The only reason I’m agreeing to this-”

“-is because it’s not up to you and General Skywalker says that I have to be here?” You interrupt, a small smile on your lips as you look at Kix. 

“This isn’t funny.” He hisses, “You have no business being on the battlefield at all.”

“I know, Kix. I’ll be careful, stay by you, and listen to orders. I promise.” 

He sighs and rubs his hand over his head, “That doesn’t make this any better, cyare.” He rubs his head a couple more times, and then he steps closer to you, “This armor stays on until you’re back on this ship.”

“Got it.”

“I mean it, unless it needs to come off to save your life, it stays on.”

“Kix, I understand. Really.”

He sighs and starts helping you with the armor. It was specially made for you, which means it fits well, but since you aren’t a soldier, this is the first time you’re wearing it. Hence needing Kix’s help to actually put it on.

After a few minutes, he takes a step back, “There, done.”

You look down at yourself, and at the plain white armor, and then you look back at Kix, “I feel like a kid playing dress up.”

“Well, with luck, this will be the only time you have to wear it.” Kix replies, before he frowns and tugs on the collar of your armor, “It’s a bit too big on you. Have you lost weight?”

“...I’m not answering that.”

“That’s a yes then.” Kix tugs on your armor again, his frown increasing, “There’s not that much give, so you should be fine.” He grabs the helmet off the table next to him and hands it to you, “Put it on.”

“Woo. Helmets. Enclosed spaces. Right around my head.”

“It’s fine, you’ll hardly notice.”

“I’ve had nightmares like this before you know,” You say as you lift your helmet, squeeze your eyes shut, and then pull it on.

There’s quiet for a moment, and then a low chuckle, “You still have your eyes closed don’t you?”

“...maybe.”

“Go ahead and open them.”

You sigh and open your eyes, blinking up at Kix who’s standing a lot closer to you, and seems to be messing with something on your helmet.

“Alright. The helmet fits fine, how are you doing?”

“Uh…this might very well be the worst day of my life.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Kix replies warmly, he messes with something at your neck, “Do you think you’ll be able to work like this?”

“...yeah. Probably.”

“Alright.” Kix pulls his own helmet on, “Do you remember what you’re here to do?”

“Yeah. Get in, check the droid, download what information I can, and get back to the ship.”

“Exactly that.” He lightly raps his knuckles against your helmeted forehead, “There will be no heroics from you, do you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Then let's head out. Stay behind me.”

Half an hour later, Kix is carefully leading you through a downed starship, shot down by separatists, and you’re miles away from the rest of the battalion.

Which is a good thing, in this case. The rest of the 501st is fighting the droid army, while you and Kix remain unseen.

And you really meant to follow Kix’s orders.

Partly because a part of you thinks that if you follow Kix’s orders he might think of you more fondly and see you as more than just “that accident prone tech from maintenance”, but mostly because you’re very much not a soldier and having set orders to follow is making this a lot easier.

His order of “no heroics” is very easy to follow.

And you meant to follow it.

Right up until you saw a flash of gold out of the corner of your view screen. You turn slightly and see a beat old golden droid (it almost looked like an old HK unit, but that couldn’t be possible) taking aim at Kix.

And you just reacted.

You lurch forward and place your hands on his pack and push as hard as you can.

Kix stumbles forward, and a curse falls from his lips as he rounds on you, but then there’s a sharp pain in your head, and your helmet vision goes staticy, and there’s nothing.

Kix’s gaze is sharp as he keeps his eyes on his cyare.

It was dumb of her to push him out of the way. It was dumb of her to take a shot meant for him, but, at the same time, she saved his life. The blaster round would have gone through an opening in his armor and killed him instantly.

Because of her height, it hit her in the temple of her much thicker helmet.

He shouldn’t be angry.

He shouldn’t.

He should be grateful that she cares enough to save him.

But all he can think about is how his blood ran cold when she hit the ground. All he can remember is the sound her body made as she hit the ground. All he can remember is the panic that he felt when he thought that he saw her die right in front of him.

Tragically, he’s used to watching his brothers die in front of him.

It’s different for civilians.

It’s different for her.

It’s always been different for her.

He leans forward in his seat, and folds his hands in front of his mouth, his gaze lingering on her face. Aside from a massive bruise covering the side of her head, she looks fine.

There’s a low groan, and Kix’s head snaps up. “Cyare?”

Her eyes flutter open and she squints at him, “Kix?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He stands and grabs his penlight from next to the bed, “How are you feeling?”

“M’ head hurts,”

“I’m not surprised. Do you remember what happened?”

Her gaze drifts to the side as she thinks, “...Did I trip over something?” She asks.

“No, sweetling, you didn’t.” Gently, very gently, he brushes some hair out of her face, and cups her cheek, “Can you try to remember what happened for me?”

She sighs and leans into his touch, her eyes closing as she tries to think.

Slowly, Kix rubs her cheek with his thumb, offering what comfort he could.

And then she sighs again and open her eyes, “I’m sorry, the last thing I remember is General Skywalker sending me a message saying that he needed to talk to me.”

“It’s okay.” Kix uses his free hand to squeeze her fingers, “I can tell you what happened. You were shot, sweetling.”

She blinks at him, twice, “I was shot? Me?”

“You pushed me out of the way and were shot in the temple,”

She blinks at him again, seemingly in disbelief, and then she nods slowly, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. At least you weren’t hurt.”

“At least I…” Kix stops and closes his eyes, “You disobeyed a direct order.” He says flatly, “I told you no heroics.”

“You can’t scold me for something I can’t remember, Kix. That’s not fair.” She says with a small frown.

“What were you thinking?” He hisses, “You could have been killed. If you helmet was any thinner-”

“I obviously wasn’t killed, and of course I reacted to save you. I probably did it without thinking!”

“That’s the problem! You weren’t thinking! You never think and you always get hurt!”

She wilts under his glare, and averts her gaze, “...sorry to be such a burden.” She says quietly, hurt clear in her voice. “Next time I’ll just treat myself-”

“That’s not what I meant.” Kix interrupts. “You are not, and have never been, a burden.”

She still doesn’t look at him, and Kix sighs.

He reaches out and gently tilts her head to look at him, “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“S’okay. I’m sure I deserve it.”

“No.” Kix replies immediately, “You didn’t.” He pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts, “It bothers me, you know?”

She tilts her head curiously.

“The only time you come to see me is when you’re hurt.” Kix explains, “Every time I see you it’s because you tripped, or fell, or electrocuted yourself…or got shot, and I…hate it.” He says with a laugh, “I hate seeing you bruised or bleeding, and it’s the only time I see you.”

“...sorry-”

“Don’t…I am not blaming you. I’m,” He laughs again, “venting.” He absently traces your lower lip with his thumb, “I hate seeing you hurt. I wish you would just…come and see me because you want to see me, not because you have to.”

She’s quiet for a moment, “You always seem so annoyed whenever I am brought here with another injury. So I’ve been trying to be more careful, so maybe you’ll stop being annoyed with me. Guess I didn’t do the best job-”

“I love you.” Kix says, “I love you so much, and I know it’s not allowed and I tried so hard to forget about it, to forget about you, but I can’t. And you got shot for me-” He trails off, “Holy shit, you got shot for me.”

She blinks at him.

And Kix leans in and presses his forehead against hers, “I don’t want to forget you. I want…kriff…I want 2.5 kids and a house and a white picket fence, and I want to kiss you so bad that it hurts sometimes-”

He’s not able to finish his, slightly rambling, thoughts as she tilts her head back and catches his lips with her own. 

Kix is so surprised that he doesn’t react right away, and then his hand tangles in her hair and he’s kissing her back like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted in his life.

And maybe it has.

When he breaks the kiss, slowly, grudgingly, he keeps his eyes closed, as if afraid that if he opens his eyes he’ll realize this is nothing more than a dream. But then her forehead is pressed against his, and his gaze locks with hers.

“So,” Kix murmurs, “That was…”

“I like you too,” She whispers, “But I’d prefer it if we waited a bit before we talk about those 2.5 kids.”

He laughs softly, “Deal.” He strokes her cheek gently, “I love you.”

A small, awed, smile crosses her lips, “I love you too.”

#star wars #tcw #vodika-vibes follower celebration #clone medic kix x reader #kix x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks