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ineffable-romantics · 9 months

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Some thoughts on why and how I believe Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship would incorporate sex/why I do not read them as wholly asexual:

This is something I've seen the most discourse about in this fandom, and I've had a few thoughts of my own that I really wanted to expand upon in a full meta/character analysis post. I do understand that this can be a contentious topic, so first, let me clarify a few things:

First of all, this is going to be long. Tbh it probably won't be that organized either. I ramble and I'm not very good at editing, so just... you know. Be warned. (*Hi, it's me from 2 days after writing this; I'm really not kidding, it's LONG)

These are all my own thoughts. They might not be hot takes, because recently I've seen more than a few people come to the same conclusions on a lot of these points as I have. But I've also had these notes in my drafts for about a week and a half now, and have been continuously adding to it as things have occurred to me. This post is essentially just somewhere for me to collect the separate but related meta I've been kicking around in my head.

I fully respect anyone who does see and prefer an asexual reading of this relationship. These are my own thoughts and interpretations as someone who is not asexual. I am in the LGBT+ community, so while I do know a few things about the asexuality spectrum, I am by no means an expert.

This is NOT something I expect, need, or even necessarily want the show (or, God forbid, Neil's tumblr ask box) to address. Tonally, it's just not that kind of show. Newt and Anathema's sex scene was very much played for laughs, and it worked for that reason. If the show found a way to address it in a way that was both appropriate for the tone of the show and ultimately satisfying, then great! But there is so much more to this relationship than sex, and I didn't need a kiss to confirm their love, so I certainly don't need a sex scene. As immortal beings (as I assume they'll stay) there is so much of the rest of their lives we'll never get to see. You can headcanon them as asexual and potentially be right. I can headcanon them as not and be equally potentially right. Again, these are just a collection of my own thoughts, because I think the question of sexuality (or lack thereof) is just as interesting a facet of these characters as any other.

Note: Tbh I've been second-guessing this whole post and debated deleting the whole thing several times for being silly or unnecessary, bc I don't want anyone to think that this is the only thing I care about when it comes to this story/characters. But if nothing else, it's inspired me to write in a way that nothing has in a very long time, so I've decided it's worth continuing, if for no other reason than that.

This is going to be a mixed bag of textual reading, subtextual reading, and a full-on reach or two. It's been a while since I've been in an English class, but if my teachers expected me to find a deeper meaning behind blue curtains, you can expect me to read too deeply into the symbolism of a loaded rifle or an ox rib. (This is probably not what my professors had in mind when grading my literary analysis papers but oh well) My point is, if it feels like a reach, I'm as aware of it as you are. I am in no way saying that all (or even any) of my points made were deliberate on the part of Neil or the actors or the writers or the directors. I am no longer the delulu Apple Tree Yard child of my youth, I promise.

If anything said here is in any way offensive or hurtful to anyone in the asexual community, please do not hesitate to message me or comment and let me know exactly what it was. I promise you it is not my intention to do so, and am happy to clarify or outright edit anything that reads that way.

With all that being said, let's talk about why I think Crowley and Aziraphale would absolutely fuck nasty incorporate sex into their relationship.

Note: I am out of practice with essay writing, so I think I'll just go down the bullet points of notes I have been making, and expand on each as best I can

Food

Where better to start than with Aziraphale's introduction to Pleasures Of The Flesh? (Just a heads up, this entire post may feel very Aziraphale-heavy, and with good reason).

This might be the least hot take here. We've all seen the Job minisode. We've all seen That Scene.

Whether this was intentional or not, the symbolism here is off the charts. Eve was tempted by an apple. So why not go a similar route and tempt Aziraphale with another fruit, or cheese, or bread, or literally anything else for his first experience with food? Instead, we go with a huge, glistening slab of fresh meat that he proceeds to absolutely go feral upon, moaning and gasping into his meal while Crowley watches with what definitely doesn't look to be disgust or even satisfaction with a good temptation. There's surprise at the ferocity of Aziraphale's appetite, certainly. But ultimately he looks to be intensely fascinated by it, while the thunder crashes, the music crescendos, and the earth literally shakes around them.

(It's also interesting to note how very little it takes for Crowley to tempt him with the ox rib. One murmured suggestion, a bit of unwavering eye contact, and vavoom Aziraphale immediately meets him in the middle.)

Cut to Aziraphale devouring the rest of the meat with Crowley splayed back on a makeshift bed, drinking wine and continuing to watch him indulge through half-lidded eyes. Outside a thunderstorm rages while they're learning secrets about each other in warm flickering firelight. It's cosy, it's intimate, and if they'd thrown in a bearskin throw blanket, it might as well be a post-coital scene straight out of Game of Thrones.

The next time (chronologically) we see them discuss food is when Aziraphale "tempts" Crowley with oysters in Rome. So Crowley first tempts Aziraphale with meat and then Aziraphale tempts Crowley with what is widely regarded to be an aphrodisiac. Interesting.

And then chronologically after that, the Arrangement begins to form, which has always reeked of a friends with benefits situation. Just to throw that in there.

It's What Humans Do

In the very first episode, we're shown Gabriel's obvious disgust and bewilderment towards Aziraphale eating sushi, calling it "gross matter" and being proud of the fact that he does not sully his body with it. Aziraphale initially tries to defend his own enjoyment in it, before passing it off as something that humans do, as something he simply has to do in order to blend in (which we know very well is not the case).

He does this again in season 2, passing off Nina and Maggie being in love as "something humans do". But it isn't, is it? Angels are beings of love, and can sense it, and understand very well what it is... up to a point. Even romantic love is obviously within their wheelhouse, given what we now know happened between Gabriel and Beelzebub (we'll come back to them).

What the "humans do" that angels wouldn't understand is messy, physical forms of love.

But here's the thing: Aziraphale and Crowley love doing what the humans do. They love drinking, they (or at least Aziraphale) love eating. They love music. Crowley loves driving and sleeping and watching rom-coms and sitcoms. Aziraphale loves reading and doing magic and earning little licenses and certificates for achievement in his various hobbies. They love to playact at being human so much that they've stopped playacting and started building a genuinely human lifestyle for themselves and with each other.

Once together in an unambiguously romantic sense, why do we think they wouldn't also want to explore one of the most prominent, intimate, powerful human expressions of love and desire with each other?

Angels, Demons, & Asexuality

Here's where I really want to clarify that in no way do I mean that sex is necessary for a healthy, fulfilling, and loving romantic relationship, or that the lack of desire for sex makes you any less human. Asexuality is a sexuality as valid and human as any. What I would say is that it is definitely in the human minority compared to allosexuality.

Angels and demons, on the other hand, are predominately asexual. Sexless/genderless unless Making An Effort. (Which, btw, is a concept introduced as early as the original book; why even bring it up as a possibility? Why not keep angels/demons being sexless/asexual as a hard and fast rule, if not to open up the potential for later use? Chekhov's Effort, if you will. And isn't that something that Aziraphale in particular is shown to do time and time again? He makes an effort in French and driving and magic, doesn't he?)

And this is why I don't believe Aziraphale and Crowley necessarily need to be asexual, narratively. There is already a huge amount of ace rep within the angels and demons (and no, not just the horrible ones. Muriel also doesn't "drink the tea" and has no reason or desire thus far to Make An Effort, and there are certainly other angels and demons who aren't horrible like the archangels seem to be who likely wouldn't Make An Effort either).

The central conflict for Aziraphale and Crowley is that they are on their own side, the ones who went native, the ones who are so different in so many ways from their respective hives. It would make sense for them to also break away from traditional angel/demon asexuality.

I say "traditional angel/demon asexuality", because I would also like to note that I would absolutely not rule out demisexuality for either of them. This post is being written to as a response to people who specifically believe that they (like the rest of the angels/demons seem to be) would be sex-averse in a relationship, and that it wouldn't be a factor in their relationship. I could easily read them as demisexual, but I do think there would be no real way of verifying this, because they've never been able to form as close an emotional relationship with anyone else but each other. Certainly not in heaven, and I can't imagine they would be able to form that kind of attachment with any of the humans, who they love and emulate but ultimately regard as the separate species they are. So yes, they could either be allosexual or demisexual, in my opinion.

Then again, now that I think about it, Making An Effort itself could be a great metaphor for demisexuality, since they would be entirely sexless/asexual until they have enough of an emotional connection with someone to consciously manifest otherwise. Since the other angels and demons don't generally form those types of emotional connections with anyone, there hasn't been a precedent for it.

Except...

Brielzebub

We do have a precedent for it now, don't we? Gabriel and Beelzebub fell in love. They are a direct foil for Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship, speedrunning right through their courtship and finding their happily ever after on the other side of things.

For being such a 1 to 1 comparison, it feels deliberate that they did not kiss. They held hands, they were gooey with each other, but they did not kiss. That feels like such a deliberate thing to omit when you know what's to come at the end of the episode between Crowley and Aziraphale.

And going back to the food = sex metaphor for a moment, let's notice how even as they fell in love over the years, even when pints and crisps were there on the table in front of them, they never felt the desire to reach out for them. They didn't need to. It's a date (love story) even if you aren't eating dinner (sleeping together).

Yes, I know Jim liked hot chocolate. No, I am not counting it because I don't consider Jim and Gabriel to be the same person with the same proclivities, and Jim was highly suggestible at the time anyway.

Gabriel and Brielzebub's big happily ever after moment (as of now) was one between two asexual supernatural beings. They did not need to kiss to drive the point home. They showed what Crowley and Aziraphale could have, if they would only acknowledge it.

Crowley & Aziraphale's Dissatisfaction

But they do have that already, don't they? If you really think about it, what do Gabriel and Beelzebub do with each other that Crowley and Aziraphale don't already? They hold hands, they spend time together, they create little rituals, they give gifts, they're visibly and verbally affectionate with each other, etc. They are more or less already in a romantic asexual marriage relationship with each other, aren't they?

And it doesn't seem to be enough for either of them.

At the beginning of the season, Crowley is immediately shown to be unsatisfied with the way things are. Obviously part of it comes from living in his car, but it seems to be more than that (especially since Aziraphale makes it clear that the bookshop is just as much Crowley's as his, implying that he could have been living there the whole time and is choosing not to, for some reason?). You could argue he's feeling unmoored without Hell telling him what to do, but isn't that what he wanted? Isn't that what he still wants, by the end of the season? All season long, he's never indicated the desire for a new job, or a new project. He stopped the apocalypse because he wanted the freedom to openly spend time with Aziraphale, to spend his time on Earth however he sees fit. Until Gabriel arrives, he has exactly that (minus a flat).

So where does the dissatisfaction come from? And if it represents anything to do with his relationship, what does he want out of it that he isn't getting already?

I think Crowley only really comes to the realisation of what he's missing when Nina names it for him, not only putting them in the category of romantic, but physical (outright asking if they are sleeping together). These two posts [1], [2] go into more detail about what I mean, but I think it really pushes him into acknowledging that their relationship is more human than either of them have stopped to consider, and what that might mean as far as everything a human relationship can entail.

After all, Nina and Maggie only advised that he should talk to Aziraphale, make clear his feelings. The decision to kiss him, to tip them over the edge from nonphysical to physical, that was all him. And no, kissing isn't sex, but I wonder how taboo even that might be in the kind of all-encompassing asexuality most angels seem to identify with. (If they're disgusted by food and drink, I can only imagine what they think of snogging, much less sex.)

Aziraphale doesn't have this moment of someone observing their relationship from the outside. He loves Crowley, and as of 1941 probably even knows he's in love with him in a way that Crowley doesn't understand yet. Which makes sense, since love is technically his job, he'd be more likely to recognise it for what it is.

However, Aziraphale's reference for romance and relationships is Jane Austen. It's chaste. It's dancing and dinner and doing sweet things for each other and roses and candles and handholding. He contextualises his love for Crowley in that soft fantasy sort of way, where it's there, it's obviously there, but it's neat and easy and unspoken. Not to quote Glee in this, the year of our lord 2023, but it's all very "the touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets".

Someone should tell that to Aziraphale's face, then.

I'm not going to pretend I know what Michael Sheen's script notes were, but there were definitely some Choices™ made. Because yes, there were plenty of moments in both seasons with Aziraphale looking at Crowley in a sweet, loving, smitten way. And then there were moments that were yearning.

But yearning for what, exactly? All of those sappy Jane Austen tropes already apply to the two of them. So why are there moments where Aziraphale is looking Crowley up and down like the last eclair in the window and licking his lips and visibly exhaling like he's trying to get in control of himself (see: Bastille scene + Crowley telling Muriel to ask him if they have any other questions about love)? Why is Aziraphale not only unconcerned when Crowley shoves him bodily up against a wall in s1, but staring at his lips and a beat too late in noticing Sister Mary's arrival? Why are some of his lines so suggestive? I'm sorry, but the car ride after the church explosion might as well have been the beginning of a Pizza Man porn with a really weird Blitz theme. If even my mother picked up on that vibe, I can't imagine it wasn't intentional on part of both the dialogue and the delivery.

(This section may feel like more of a reach/joke, but I'm really only 20% joking. These are writers and actors who are EXTREMELY good at their jobs; they know what they were doing here.)

More importantly, I don't think Aziraphale is even aware that there is more to what he wants. He lives in the Jane Austen fantasy and it never even occurs to him that he might be interested in anything further. It never even occurs to him that, as an angel, there is anything further to be interested in in the first place. Until Crowley forces it to occur to him. Just like I believe Nina forced Crowley to confront the idea that romantic love is what he's been feeling all along, I believe Crowley forced Aziraphale to confront the idea that physical intimacy is something he's been wanting, without even realising.

Aziraphale's Hedonism

Expanding on Aziraphale for a moment. We talked about his relationship with food, but we all know that Aziraphale is defined by his love of things that Feel Good.

It isn't just that he and Crowley love human things. Aziraphale loves the best of the best, or at least his version of it. He doesn't just love food, he loves going to fancy restaurants. He doesn't just love clothes, he loves soft, cosy, warm, plush clothes, or shiny, flashy, bougie fashion. He loves the warmth of tea and cocoa, loves getting drunk, and sitting in a comfy chair in the sunlight. He doesn't just experience, he indulges.

Given the emphasis put on things that Aziraphale loves just because they Feel Good, it feels narratively strange to assume that he wouldn't enjoy the feeling of being touched, or that he wouldn't be willing to try it, at least once, with someone he cared very deeply for. And just like the ox rib, I think that once he gets the first taste of things, he would absolutely tip over into complete and utter self-indulgence.

Dancing

I also think that dancing could be construed as a huge metaphor here. After all, we're told flat-out that angels don't Dance. Except one.

I would argue that Aziraphale, in fact, Made An Effort to learn how to Dance. He threw himself into the gavotte with delight (at a Victorian gay club; noted) and worked hard to be good at it. He's chomping at the bit to Dance with Crowley, working up the nerve to ask him with undeniably romantic intent and eagerness. So, angels don't Dance... unless they Make An Effort to do so.

We are told that demons, on the other hand, do Dance, but not well. Makes sense, since they're the ones who would want to encourage a deadly sin like lust, but have as little understanding of human love and physical intimacy as the angels. Crowley, however, is shown to be an excellent dancer at the ball, especially in his compatibility with Aziraphale.

(But Aziraphale WandaVisioned the ball so everyone knew how to dance! Yes, he did. However, the rest of the brainwashing doesn't seem to affect Crowley in any way, and they did actually live through the time period where this sort of dancing was a social norm; I'd be surprised if he never needed to learn. After all, the demons can't spell either, and Crowley is at least functionally literate, as far as we know.)

As of today, it's also been confirmed that when Aziraphale asked Crowley to dance, Crowley replied with "you don't dance." Not "WE don't dance". So going along with the metaphor, Crowley is just now discovering that Dancing is something Aziraphale is interested in at all, much less with him, and not denying that he himself is interested in Dancing. In his defense, I believe he was asleep for a few years while Aziraphale was learning the gavotte, so he wasn't exactly aware of Aziraphale's hot girl summer.

Love Languages

I want to expand on that; Crowley and Aziraphale's compatibility. Specifically in regards to their individual love languages.

We all know Crowley's love language is Acts of Service. I don't think there's any debate there. He loves it, Aziraphale loves it, they're both aware of it, we're all aware of it, God and Satan are aware of it, no surprise there.

You may disagree with me, but I believe Aziraphale's love language is Physical Touch, for a number of reasons. One of which being his aforementioned hedonism. Aziraphale likes things that Feel Good, remember? He likes soft clothes, and well-worn books. Neil himself has said that they like holding hands. And any time he is taken by surprise (Brielzebub getting together, the wave of love in Tadfield, etc.) what is the first thing he does? Reaches out for Crowley. He stops him with a hand to the chest in the pub. He leads him by the hand to the dance floor. He guides him by the waist in the graveyard. He reaches out during the entire Brielzebub scene, whether he can reach Crowley or not. Despite his own turmoil, he grasps at Crowley's back during the kiss.

The one time Crowley reaches out for him (not counting the kiss yet; we'll get there), he is aggressively pushed against a wall (by someone he loves and trusts) with a complete and utter lack of concern (and perhaps some interest, depending on how you read it).

And when he isn't reaching out for anyone, or there isn't anyone to reach out to? Well, he's wringing his own hands together, squeezing his own fingers, as if to find that physical comfort in himself.

So. With that theory in mind, we have Aziraphale (Physical Touch) + Crowley (Acts of Service). Throw in 6000+ years of deep love, cherished companionship, and forcibly repressed longing, and there is a very real potential of this combination resulting in fierce sexual compatibility. Where Aziraphale would want to touch and be touched, to indulge in physical pleasure with someone he adores, in the same the way he indulges in every other fine thing in his life. And where Crowley would want to indulge him in return, to give him everything he wants, and to take pleasure in Aziraphale's pleasure, in the same way he enjoys watching him take joy in food everything else.

So Aziraphale is an angel who is insecure about his own less-than-holy desires, who would want to treat Crowley like a luxury to be touched and cherished and adored. And Crowley is a demon who has, over the millennia, been unhappy about how they've been forced to deny even their friendship with each other, who would want Aziraphale to feel comfortable and safe and encouraged to indulge in earthly delights. That sounds like a stunning recipe for sexual compatibility to me.

"You said 'trust me'" / "And you did"

Just like the Job minisode, the Blitz is RIFE with symbolism (intentional or otherwise). This one will be quick, but I did want to touch on it because I thought it was interesting. Maybe I'm reaching at this point, but I'm assuming you read the tin.

First of all, Crowley not wanting to admit to never firing a gun before; comes off as someone who very much does not want to admit to their crush that they're a virgin ("You must have done this lots of times!" / "Umm.... yyyyyeah.")

(You could make the argument that Aziraphale having a firearms license and a Derringer in a hollowed-out book is symbolic of him not being a virgin while Crowley is. I disagree, for reasons I'll go into later, but it's a valid reading. However, I see it more like keeping a condom in your wallet; it's there in case you need it, but the opportunity has not yet risen no pun intended.)

More importantly, the theme of this entire minisode is trust. We already know they trust each other with their lives against the rest of Heaven, Hell, and the world. But specifically, this is about the importance of having complete trust in your partner in a charged, physically vulnerable, intimate moment, where the only danger is between the two of you.

Aziraphale needs to believe Crowley would never hurt him if he can help it. Crowley needs to trust Aziraphale's unwavering blind faith in him. Frankly, it all feels very symbolic of two people deeply in love losing their respective virginities with each other.

The trick is a success, and they share an intimate candlelit dinner in which they reaffirm their faith in each other. Aziraphale also begins to voice his agreement with Crowley, that maybe Heaven's rules shouldn't have to be as black and white as they are, and that there are benefits to... blurring the lines, shades of grey, wink wink (at which point even my mom was like, whoa guys, this is a family show).

Btw also: Can we all agree how much it looked like Crowley was getting ready to get a lapdance in that one scene? You know the one.

Also also: "Aim for my mouth"? Come on.

The Birds & The Bees

Now that I think of it, there's also something to be said for the fact that Crowley and Aziraphale are both obviously familiar with where babies come from (how they're made and how they're born) while the other angels aren't.

Something something Aziraphale and Crowley fundamentally understand sex and reproduction in a way the other angels (and probably demons) very much do not, nor have any desire to.

Probably not important. Just thought it was worth mentioning.

The Kiss™ & Religious Trauma

The Kiss. Where to even begin?

This has definitely been the hardest one to start, because there is so much going on here that I definitely won't be able to cover it all, and will certainly miss a few things here and there.

Aziraphale's reaction to the kiss afterwards is the most interesting to me. And I don't mean directly after, I don't mean the "I forgive you" part. I mean the way he touches his lips when Crowley is no longer in the room and he no longer needs to save face, when he is completely alone. Had it been directly after the kiss, it would have been rightfully read as horror, or disgust, a shield to discourage further action.

It's not. It isn't just a touch, it's a press. As desperate and angry and unexpected and imperfect as the kiss had been, Aziraphale is pressing it into himself, recreating the feeling as best he can. Beneath all the poor timing and shock and hurt from their fight and fallout, I think it's fair to say that it was something he enjoyed. Something he doesn't think he should enjoy, something that Feels Good that he only allows himself to indulge in when completely alone.

Remember, Aziraphale's idea of love is Jane Austen and gentleness and courtship and fantasy. If he'd ever even considered kissing an option, it might have been gentle pecks, cheek kisses, forehead kiss, hand kisses. Soft, safe, chaste affection.

Crowley's kiss turns all of that on its head. He introduces physical intimacy in a very real, very messy, very human way that I don't think Aziraphale ever even considered could apply to them. Considering what other angels are like and what they look down on, even Aziraphale's Jane Austen fantasies probably would have been considered taboo.

So for their first kiss to be rough and desperate and passionate in the way it was, of course he was confused and in shock. It was deeply physical, and as overwhelming and awful as it was in the moment, it Felt Good. Enough that he grasped at Crowley and kissed back, if only just for a moment, before stopping himself. Enough that he actively pressed it into his lips afterwards, in private, to remember.

I adore how Neil has decided to evolve these characters past the first book/season. More so in this season, Aziraphale and Crowley have both become such interesting allegories for queer people on either side of the spectrum of toxic religion. Aziraphale in particular obviously, because he is the side that so desperately wants to believe, to make a difference, and to unlearn all of the propaganda he's been fed over such a long time. Just like so much of organised religion, there is so much that he is told, time and time again, that he should not want, that he is silly or stupid or outright wrong for wanting. It reminds me so much of the severe Catholic guilt one might feel for wanting/engaging in sex for the first time, and the stigma of being queer layered on top of that.

What is so critical to Aziraphale's character is that he goes on wanting, and more than that, actively pursues. He was convinced to go up against Heaven and Hell and stop all of Armageddon because he wanted to go on listening to music and eating lunch and reading books and enjoying the simple company of the person he cares most deeply for, even if that person is supposed to be the enemy.

All this to say that if angels are as generally asexual/sex-averse as I believe them to be, narratively speaking, it would make sense for Aziraphale to be singular in that regard as well. Mirroring his first experience with food, it would make sense for Crowley to be the one to first introduce this new messy, physical, human dynamic between them, for Aziraphale to hesitate (obviously we are at the Hesitation phase at the moment), and then (eventually) for him to dive in wholeheartedly, to absolutely glut himself on this new thing that Feels Good. It would make sense for his character development to show him overcoming his metaphorical Catholic guilt and pursuing the sexual intimacy most (if not all) of the other angels would scorn.

(I can't help but remember that plot idea Neil described from the unwritten sequel, with Aziraphale in a hotel room trying to watch a full porno by way of the free 2-minute teaser clips so he wasn't technically sinning by paying for it. I so hope this is used in season 3, because gosh, I wonder why Aziraphale would suddenly be so interested in observing human physical intimacy after 6,000 years. Lonely and doing a little surreptitious research there, angel?)

Crowley, on the other hand, is the queer person who has broken free from his toxic religion. He prides himself on being his own person, on their his own side. He doesn't have the hang-ups Aziraphale does. He doesn't worry that he's going to be judged or cast aside for wanting things he's not supposed to. So it only makes sense for him to be the first one to suggest/initiate physical intimacy. It makes sense for him to be the one who "goes too fast" (another fantastic example of this dynamic beginning as early as s1; what is that conversation in the car meant to represent, if not Aziraphale being overwhelmed by the intensity of their relationship, and his fear of succumbing to it when he believes he shouldn't? It's also interesting that this is the first conversation to take place in Soho, just after watching Aziraphale realise he's caught feelings for a demon, with the red glow of lust serving as the backdrop).

Do I think the kiss in and of itself was sexual? No. I think it was a passionate and devastating last-ditch effort on Crowley's part to convey the way he feels for Aziraphale. Not just that he loves him, but that he loves him in the most human way possible. But I do think that the kiss represents how they can move forward from here, and what they might want to explore with each other once they feel free enough to do so.

In Conclusion

I am sure, deep in my bones (unless we are explicitly told otherwise), that this was both of their first kisses no, I'm not counting the gavotte, and that neither of them have ever thought to do anything else physical with the humans while they have been on Earth. Like I said before, they adore the human race and lifestyle in general, but ultimately view them as a separate species altogether, and they seem mostly happy to keep to themselves and each other, unless otherwise necessary. I just can't see either of them being drawn enough to a human to pursue anything close to sex. If Crowley in particular has had anything to do with sex in the context of temptations, I'm positive he would be inciting lust amongst the humans themselves, not involving himself directly. At least not that directly.

So, like every other human experience they've had on Earth, sex is something new that they could explore together, just the two of them, on their own side. A deeply intimate, tangible declaration of their love and everything they've gone through to earn it. A visceral finger to give both Heaven and Hell. A renewed appreciation for their corporations and for each other's. A enjoyable method for immortal beings to simply pass the time in each other's company. A new and exciting way to Feel Good, and all the variations that come with it.

You might agree with this post, or you might not. Whether this is something that is ever addressed or not, it doesn't matter to me. This is a brilliant love story either way, and I genuinely feel so privileged to witness it.

But I just can't find it in myself to imagine, given everything we know about these two characters, that sex isn't an experience they would both consume with wholehearted enthusiasm, curiosity, and profound, ineffable adoration.

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Bonus feature: the very silly notes I made to myself that inspired this post

2K notes · View notes

cosmal · 1 year

Note

waitttt aerial writing poly!marauders?? omg. how about them looking after sick or injured reader I feel like that could be so cute!!!! they’re all worrywart bfs tbh

emergency contact

summary james gets called when you faint at work. and then sirius. then remus. you feel awful

content poly!marauders x fem!reader

note this was combined with another request. I accidentally deleted it I'm super sorry but it was a request for poly x fem!reader where the boys come to your work after fainting!

You feel really embarrassed sitting at the end of the bar, ice pack held to your head, mouth wrapped around the straw in your drink.

Your embarrassment turns to worry when you see James walking across the room. He’s rushing, hair a mess, mud tracked up his calves. He’s still in his rugby kit.

You turn your head to look at your colleague. “Ash, you told me you wouldn’t call anyone!” You’re not really upset, you feel like a bit of a nuisance.

“It’s procedure, Y/N. I’m sorry.” She doesn’t sound very sorry. You don’t blame her.

“Sweetheart,” he says when he reaches you. He’s frantic, soft about it, but still upset. “Are you okay? They told me you fainted.”

“I’m really sorry,” you say instead of a hello. You feel entirely stupid.

“What?” He grasps your shoulder and squeezes hard. “What are you sorry for, honey?”

“I feel bad,” you say quietly, voice a little thick. You screw your face up and your head tinges. A dull pain that radiates down into the back of your skull.

“Please, don’t.” He says. Firm with a hint of worry he’s trying to mask. If James cries you think you might too, and you really wouldn’t put it past him.

You drop the pack to the bar and take his hand, fingers damp with condensation that transfers to his palm. “I’m fine. Promise.”

“You bumped your head?” He uses his free hand to hold your face, careful where he has his fingers. His eyes track over your face to search for any harm. You’re blood-free, luckily, though there’s a red mark blooming up and into your hairline. Most likely to bruise.

“Yeah.” Your eyes flutter closed because you can’t help it.

“You’re not feeling drowsy?” comes James’s voice.

“No, feels nice,” you chuckle, a tiny huff of air. “Your hands are warm.”

You don’t expect it, but suddenly, you’re hearing Sirius’s worried voice come from the other side of the room. You crane your head around James' broad shoulders to see him, haloed by the light coming through the front door.

“Why is he here?” you mumble, feeling worse by the second. It comes out worse than it sounded in your head.

Apparently, he hears you. “He is here because James had to call him.” He hugs you almost immediately. Big, warm hands come around to cage you in against his chest. You hide the good side of your face into his neck and huff. “Do you not want me here?”

You pull back quickly and really regret it. Blinking back the hot, pinching pain in your face. “What? No, I’m just…ugh.”

Sirius pouts, then hums a sympathetic noise from the back of his throat. He keeps his hands on your shoulders. “It’s okay, honey. Don’t worry about it, yeah?”

You close your eyes and incline your head to lean it down on his ringed-up hand. Your cheek all smooshed up against him.

“Is she okay?” You hear him ask James. He hums a yes. “She’s not concussed?”

“She doesn’t think so,” he says.

“She is right here,” you mumble. You pull back from his chest and swing your legs over the chair.

"I'm sorry, lovely." He looks like he wants to hug you again. "You're okay? Had some water?"

You nod. "Just really wanna go home."

"All right, let's go, yeah?" James takes your elbow to help you off the stool, and Sirius steadies you by the shoulder. It's kind of adorable how gentle they're being with you. Soft hands and pinched brows. They both make a funny sound when you wobble a little.

James grabs your bag and throws it over his shoulder and you all leave.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," you say before you get to the door. "Were you at work? You won't get in trouble for leaving, will you?"

"No, it's okay. Don't worry about that." He smiles.

You will. You'll no doubt feel bad for the rest of the week.

You bump into Remus on your way out. He holds the door open for you. He looks like he's run up the block. "Rem, baby, they didn't call you too?" You're not sure why you hadn't expected it. If he wasn't here, he'd definitely feel horrible.

"Dove, you're okay?" he pants. He holds your face in his hands and you try not to cry. You're not sure if having them all here makes you feel better or worse. "God, I was so worried."

The first tear leaves a hot track down your cheek. You push yourself into Remus's chest instead of answering and wrap your hands around his waist. He crosses his arms over your back.

He moves you out of the way of the entrance and you scuffle along with him. Your tears are slow, dampening his shirt, catching the brunt of your upset. You don't make any horrible sounds, just quiet, sticky tears.

He encourages your face back with a firm, pinching hand. You blink back the end of your cries. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare everyone."

"Don't worry," he says, corners of his mouth trembling into a sad smile. "It's all good. As long as you're okay."

"I just," you take a stuttering breath, "just got really tired. I probably shouldn't have worked today."

Sirius kisses the end of your eyebrow, right across your temple. "You've been working a bit too much, I think."

"I didn't ruin anyone's day?" You sniffle way too sadly for anyone's opinion. Remus squeezes you closer with almost bruising fingertips.

"No, lovely," James says, sticky smile gracing his lips. "Don't worry about it, okay? We just wanted to be here for you. That's our job."

"Right," you say, voice catching at the end.

Sirius shucks your jacket on for you as the wind outside picks up. "Speaking of being here for you," he says. "Is James your emergency contact?"

"No, you all are," you tell him, a hint of laughter in your words.

"Right."

Then, you start actually laughing. "Was he the only one to pick up?"

"I think so," he joins in.

"What if it was serious?" Suddenly, you're teasing.

"It was serious!" Remus balks.

"You didn't answer the phone!"

Everyone goes quiet. You burst out into the biggest fit of giggles, smiling so widely it hurts. "I'm kidding!" you say, struggling to speak. "God, stop. Look at your faces! Stop - stop it, my head hurts."

James cages you in against his chest, stealing you from Remus. "My poor baby," he coos. "Oh, they're awful, awful boyfriends."

"Fuck off," Sirius grumbles. "Just cause you're always on your phone."

"Don't listen to them, honey." He's awful. "You comin' in my car?"

"If you stop being mean, then yeah."

"Yeah, you fuckin' tell him, Y/N." Comes Remus's grumpy voice.

#james potter #james potter x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #sirius black #sirius black x reader #james potter fanfiction #remus lupin fanfiction #sirius black fanfiction #poly!marauders #poly!marauders x reader #poly marauders #poly marauders fanfic

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the-offside-rule · 2 months

Text

Jenson Button (McLaren Era) - Formal

Requested: yes

Prompt: reader using Jensons name instead of his pet name

Warnings: none tbh

Jenson's fingers tapped against the steering wheel as he navigated the familiar roads home from the McLaren Technology Centre. The hum of the engine was drowned out by the cheerful voice of his girlfriend, Y/n, on the other end of the line. "Heya, love." She said, her tone a touch too sweet for the usual end-of-day call. "Could you do me a favor?" Jenson smiled, glancing at the clock. "Of course, darling. What's up?" He asked, beginning to drive down the long road down the MTC. "Well, I was thinking... can you swing by McDonald's and grab me some chips, maybe a burger and a chocolate shake? I'm craving it." She requested, her voice holding a peculiar edge.

"Yeah okay, darling. Burger, chips and a chocolate shake, got it." He replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. Y/n rarely asked for such specific fast food orders. "Oh, and Jenson-" She continued, emphasizing his full name instead of the usual pet names she used. "Make sure it's fresh, okay?" A small frown creased Jenson's forehead. "Not if you keep calling me that." Jenson replied. "What do you mean? I called you Jenson." Y/n said, kind of confused. "Why the sudden formality? You never call me Jenson unless something's up." Y/n giggled amusingly. "Nothing's up, love, I promise. I just thought it would be nice for a change."

"Well don't, please and thank you. I quite like you calling me my pet name." Jenson's skepticism lingered as he pulled into the McDonald's drive-thru. "Jenson, your parents gave you that name." He rolled the window down. "Yes, my parents. You, darling, are my girlfriend. I like when you call me love and if you don't I'm afraid I'll have to block you." He ordered the requested items, making a mental note to ensure they were as hot as possible by the time he got home. As he drove away with the bag of fast food, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Y/n's request.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Jenson's heart raced as he hurriedly navigated through the evening traffic, eager to reach home and see what he'd done done annoy his girlfriend this time. The anticipation of seeing her after a long day fueled his desire to press on the accelerator just a bit more. Blue and red lights flashed behind him, causing Jenson to let out an exasperated sigh. Pulling over and groaning, he rolled down his window to meet the stern gaze of a police officer. "Do you have any idea how fast you were going?" The officer asked upon reaching the car. Jenson offered a sheepish smile. "I might have been going a tad over the limit, officer. Apologies, I'm just trying to get home."

The officer raised an eyebrow. "Home, huh? And where might that be?" He asked. "Right down the road." Jenson replied, gesturing vaguely ahead. "I've been away for a while, you see. Just eager to get back." The officer eyed Jenson skeptically. "You expect me to believe that? You're in quite a hurry. Who do you think you are? Lewis Hamilton?" Jenson couldn't help but chuckle at the comparison. "No, but I've beaten him a good few times." He replied, smirking.

The officer's expression remained stoic. "I don't appreciate jokes, sir. License and registration, please." Suppressing a sigh, Jenson reached for his documents and handed them over. The officer scrutinized them before returning to his patrol car to run a check. As Jenson waited, he couldn't help but replay the encounter in his mind. He understood the officer's duty, but the delay was becoming increasingly frustrating.

Finally, the officer returned, ticket in hand. "I'm issuing you a speeding ticket, Mr. Button. Please drive more responsibly in the future." Jenson gave a fake smile and took the ticket. "I appreciate the reminder, officer. I'll keep that in mind." As the officer walked off, Jenson mumbled to himself, the words "complete arsehole" being repeated multiple times.

Once home, he found Y/n sitting on the couch, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "You're back! Thanks, Jenson." He handed her the bag, studying her carefully. "Alright. What's going on? Why the sudden craving and the formal use of my name?" Y/n smirked, unable to keep the secret any longer. "Okay, okay. I just wanted to see how you'd react. I like getting reactions out of you." She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

Jenson raised an eyebrow. "Really? You made me drive to McDonald's and speed home because I thought you were pissed off with me. I got a speeding ticket!" Jenson said, lifting the ticket. "And you have a Happy girlfriend who now has McDonald's." Jenson chuckled, shaking his head. "You're something else, Y/n. Next time, just ask for McDonald's without the elaborate plan."

"It's not as effective though, is it?" She teased.

#f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 oneshots #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 x you #f1 x reader #jenson button x you #jenson button x reader #jenson button oneshots #jenson button blurb #jenson button imagine #Jenson button imagines #jenson button fluff #jenson button

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agendabymooner · 5 months

Text

SOMETHING SCANDALOUS !!! DANIEL R. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: she was so drawn on him that she couldn't find herself to care where she was. (pt. 3-ish of something watchful and something jealous).

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), based on a request from my ask, use of explicit language, pwp, what is beta reading, unprotected sex (a no no), semi-public sex + mirror sex hehe, oral sex (m receiving) + deepthroat, p in v, exhibitionism + mentions of voyeurism (!!!!), just straight up nasty tbh, degrading ('filthy baby'), mentions lando watching (something jealous), lewis + max + lando + daniel scene at the end.

song rec: agora hills by doja cat (i've been playing this song endlessly now)

note: i know i'm not taking any requests atm but god did i want some exhibitionist!danny. anon, forgive me if this is way below what you've expected but i've done my best xx

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

she hadn’t expected herself to act like this. in a club restroom, of all places.

but she was so drawn and drunk on him that she couldn’t find herself to give a fuck. her mouth humming around his thick cock as daniel exhaled sharply and muttered beneath his breath.

“fuck, such a good fuckin’ doll f’me,” he swore, his half-lidded eyes peering down at her with nothing but lust. “suckin’ me off in a club bathroom— y’really wanna get caught, huh?”

her eyes nearly shed tears as she inhaled the last of the oxygen she could consume, the tip of his cock resting at the back of her throat as her tongue swirled on the underside of his cock.

the echoes of daniel’s groaning remained inside the bathroom. the couple were thankful for the privacy of this place— as if this public place was meant to be shagged on by two desperate people.

“you should see yourself, princess,” daniel moaned as she began bobbing her head, “sucking me off in a bathroom where some drivers can walk into— like you want them to see you.”

her legs instinctively shut and rubbed against each other, desperately finding a way to scratch the itch in between her legs as she moaned. the vibration of her mouth made him groan deeply.

“yeah? you really want that huh? filthy baby,” daniel taunted her. “wan’ them to see you? wanna remind them that you’re my filthy girl?” he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her away from his cock, making her cry quietly at the sharp pain of her roots and the lack of cock on her mouth.

her skin met the cold marble tiles of the sink, feeling his hands bruising her hips as he slid into her. she let out a shrill cry, his cock bottoming out inside her cunt.

“god, baby you’re so fuckin’ divine,” daniel thrusted his cock inside her, his length reaching and hitting her sensitive spot repeatedly as she cried in pleasure. “yeah- let it all out. you like this, hm? you like this cock inside of your cunt?”

“fuck- daniel, yes!” she exclaimed, holding onto her dear life as he continued to fuck her from behind.

the australian took a hold of both her arms and held them behind her, watching her tits bounce in front of him with grace and filth that he hadn’t expected to act on.

his hand propped her chin up and tapped on it lightly, “look at you,” he demanded quietly, “open your eyes pretty girl.”

as if she was in a drunken haze, her lust blown eyes opened and trailed down from her bouncing tits to his cock— her mouth drooling at the sight of it sliding out of her.

“you like that?” daniel chuckled behind her, nipping at her ear as she mewled. “oh you do. you definitely love that, sweetheart— you are such a filthy thing.”

“and i thought fuckin’ you in front of lando would cut it,” he cooed mockingly, his pace increasing as she babbled about wanting to cum. “turns out you want more to see you, huh?”

“‘m sure they wouldn’t oppose to that,” daniel continued, “could see all of ‘em eye-fucking you when you wear those fuckin’ dresses to the paddock. pierre hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut about you, either— tellin’ me that you’re hot as fuck. i don’t blame him.”

“and max?” daniel chuckled darkly, “he wants to fuck you too, baby— can you just imagine how it’s gon’ be if he finds out that he can’t have everything he wants just b’cause he’s the champion? i pity the poor man.”

“maybe lando should warn ‘em,” his cock continued to spear her insides as she screamed silently, her hand holding on to his arm behind her as her cunt throbbed. her walls called for orgasm— yet he continued fucking her like she wasn’t eager to reach her high. “tell ‘em that i’m not the type to share— but to brag, no?”

“or should we just let them find you here?” he laughed quietly, his mockery turning into a sign of pleasure as he said, “god fuck— baby, cum f’me, yeah? i can feel- god, fuck.”

“fuck danny~” she let out a loud whine, her body reaching her high as she clenched around him. daniel let out a choked moan, his cock twitching and coating her walls white as he reached over to kiss her hard.

the restroom, once filled with filthy words and sounds of desperation and pleasure, fell silent as the music outside continued to be loud enough to cover their heavy breathing.

but it wasn’t loud enough to not create a scandalous story that was shared amongst the singles of the grid.

a week after, when daniel arrived before the driver’s pre-race conference began, max and lando gave him a knowing look. the australian returned their expressions with a puzzled one and lewis finally gave up his act and chuckled.

hearing lewis’ laugh, daniel gave them all an annoyed look, “okay, what the fuck is going on?”

max grinned mischievously and leaned against the wall with a smirk.

“i knew you were into pda,” lando joked, “but i didn’t think you’d go as far as that.” max chuckled at that.

daniel gave lando a glare. out of all of them, lando shouldn’t be joking about that; not when lando witnessed daniel fuck his girlfriend's brain out before. even the brit knew that but he couldn’t help but laugh.

“we’re just saying,” lewis cleared his throat, “if you wanted us to catch you two so bad, you could’ve just let us join.”

daniel scoffed haughtily, “you fuckin’ wish.”

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @topguncultleader @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa

♡ moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1

#formula one imagine #f1 imagine #f1 smau #💌 re:moony’s planner #formula one smut #f1 smut #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #formula one fic #daniel ricciardo x you #danny ric x reader #daniel ricciardo #formula 1 smut #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 blurb #♔ something sinful ⎯ f1 smut

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sebastianwallows · 1 year

Text

Lust

Sebastian Sallow x f!Reader

WARNING: 18+ smut, dark!sebastian,

NOTE: Anon request for "Seb + lust potion". Everyone is aged up! Tbh I don't know how I feel about how this turned out

Sebastian wasn't innocent at the beginning or end this quest. He had taken an interest in the dark arts since his 4th or 5th year at Hogwarts. He was driven by his parents ceaseless curiosity while they were alive and later in life by trying to cure Anne. After everything happened with his uncle and everyone involved chose to spare him the justice of the wizarding world, he toned it down.

That didn't mean he let go of it entirely. He continued to explore things that could be considered "dark arts" but things that could be used day-to-day or at least when it was convenient. Currently, he was in his home at Feldcroft, alone without Anne or Solomon to be his keepers.

He drank a bit too much Dragon Barrel brandy, especially for someone trying to accomplish what he was. He wanted to modify a draught of Amortentia in a way that made it more than some temporary infatuation, but a way that made someone painfully lustful. And the someone he wanted to give it to was you.

You were the only person who was really in his corner anymore, but he hadn't been able to think straight since he'd officially lost everyone else. He hadn't been able to settle with all of the guilt and fear that any day one of you would just turn him in. So, he had taken to drinking and being a degenerate no matter how much you tried to save him.

If you knew his secrets, maybe you would finally turn your back on him for good, but for now, you couldn't help that you loved him all these years.

Sebastian's problem was now that in the midst of his drinking and scheming, he took the Amortentia himself as opposed to having more of his brandy. He passed out shortly afterward, at least making it to his couch. Which is where you found him in the morning.

You had come as you did every morning to make sure he at least ate one meal without booze. You came over sleepy and with just a knitted shawl to cover your night dress. It wasn't as if Sebastian was ever aware enough to notice you anymore, not like the hungry glances you used to see from him. And it was always dark when you wandered over from your stay, getting ready for the rest of your day in Sebastian's home.

When you came in the first thing you noticed was that he hadn't even made it to bed last night. It made you let out a sad sigh. You weren't cleaning up the mess of potion bottles he left out for god knows what, he could deal with that on his own, but you at least planned to wake him up.

"Sebastian..." your voice was soft as you shook his shoulders, unable to be anything but tender with him despite everything.

He heard you and groaned. He expected his skull to be throbbing from last night, but he felt really confused when the blood rushed to a different head. His eyes shot open and he startled the both of you, making you stumble to a seat right next to his knees.

"Sebastian?! What the hell did you drink last night?" He figured that out about as soon as his eyelids felt heavy looking at you. He could see the outline of your breasts, your hips, your curves; he could see everything through your thin gown and felt like he was going to explode. Did you always come over here like this? Is he that stupid to not have taken you yet?

His thoughts wandered all over the place as you placed a hand on his chest in worry. "Sebastian? Are you in there? What's wrong?" You hadn't seen him look this sober in a year or two honestly.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, running a hand threw his hair before he propped himself up, face just inches from yours.

"I-yeah, I just had some really strange dreams. I don't know what happened last night."

You crossed your arms, ignoring the lure of his rough morning voice before scolding him, "Well, I'm not cleaning up whatever all this is. I'm not your maid."

His maid? Is that really how you felt? You stood up, shuffling over to his kitchen to get hot water started. His jaw nearly fell to the floor as he saw your entire silhouette through your gown; with the way, the sun was shining it was like you were delivered to him on a silver platter.

He couldn't think straight. He was thinking about how constricting his pants felt, how hot his skin was, how much he wanted to practically eat you alive.

He stood up to stretch before he followed after you like a puppy. He peeled his old shirt over his head without a care. He felt like he was going to melt with it sticking to him.

When you turned around to meet him you had to work hard to contain your expression. You were looking right into his chest with how tall he'd gotten. All you could see were fleshy arms and chest just absolutely covered in freckles.

"Wait," you looked up at him, unable to contain your surprise as he spoke, "I know you're not my maid. I know how much you take care of me here," he used his fingers to swipe some loose hairs from around your face, "let me be your maid today."

You couldn't contain your laughter at how goofy he sounded. It made him a little bit angry, he just wanted to say whatever would get you to let him ruin your soft skin and he couldn't even manage that right anymore.

"Sebastian, I don't know what's going on today, but just go do whatever you do."

You waved him off, attempting to turn back towards the kitchen when he grabbed your wrist tightly, "I can run your bath for you?"

He dropped to his knees in front of you, looking up at you through his lashes as he brought your hand to his cheek.

"Please. I know I've been a burden, I've been - I've been bad, but I want to help. I want to do better by you."

You eye him strangely, unsure of what is going on. You've seen his charades and empty promises before and this definitely sounded like that. If you didn't know better you would almost think he was trying to seduce you in some weird way, but that would be a first.

"Seb. I love you dearly, but I don't know what you're doing and you know I don't trust you."

He groaned, dropping your hand, leaning his head against your legs. He was completely unable to resist running his hands along the back of your calves.

"Okay, you know how I go to Penny's Pub."

"Yes, Sebastian, unfortunately I do."

He started speaking again, standing up slowly as he did and caressing your curves the whole way up, he decided to play the helpless card, "I'm embarrassed," he intentionally avoided your gaze, " some woman I never met bought me a drink and I didn't feel so good so I came back here."

He was really trying to playing it up as he ran his fingertips up and down the back of your neck, "But I, I think she slipped me a lust potion. It's some gross modification of Amortentia."

He avoided your gaze, the redness in his cheeks in ears made it seem like he wasn't lying through his teeth.

"O-okay and what am I supposed to do?" The rise and fall of your chest came quicker, "You got yourself into this mess, it's nothing to do with me."

You did your best to brush him off, not wanting to give in to whatever game this was. Even if it was true, it didn't mean you owed him anything. He wasn't the Sebastian you used to know.

You attempted once more to turn away from him, but his grip along your jaw tightened. "I need you," he spoke aggressively before his lips met yours in a crushing kiss.

You placed your hands on his chest in attempt to push him back, but he responded by pinning you to the counter, tilting his head so he could speak low into your ear, "I know you need this too," his hand drifted to your skirts, dipping beneath to trace the skin of your thigh, "you can fight me, but I know I'll find you dripping underneath of here. I need the tight little pussy I've never been strong enough to take."

You could feel him drifting closer to the wetness you were ashamed of, you squirmed, but it made no difference. You could feel how stiff he was against you, how his hot commanding breath felt on your neck. "I can't hold back anymore," he whimpered, almost sounding sorry and pathetic for what he was about to do. His fingers passed through your slick folds, smearing it around to press a lubricated thumb to your clit.

"Sebastian..." You gave yourself to how good it felt, hands turned to fists as you clenched onto his pecs.

"I've been so stupid. Could've had you drooling on my cock like this the whole time." You let out a sharp moan of disappointment as he took is hand away before hoisting you onto the counter top.

He looked at you sinfully, your flushed demeanor of want and fear, your rumpled clothes splayed out over your legs you didn't even know you were spreading. He couldn't contain himself as he growled low in his throat, taking the collar of your gown and tearing through the buttons. He yanked harder still until the skirt tore straight in half.

There you were, naked, swollen, soaking, torn between the "no" you know you should give him and the fact that you can't seem to open your mouth open.

"You're so fucking perfect," for a few moments he couldn't bring himself to do anything besides stare and drink you in, "I'm going to leave bruises here," he palmed the skin of your hip, over the curve of your belly, continuing upwards, "and here. Maybe bite marks, maybe I'll leave my seed here to stain you," he flicked his fingers across your nipple, massaging the warm flesh.

He took the step forward to be directly between your legs, pinning your wrists to the counter top. He looked right into your eyes, "I might tie these up to mark them up too. So everybody can see what you let me do."

He knelt in front of you, his blown pupils never looking away from yours as he grabs you by the thighs and pulls you into his mouth. His lips cover your mound, tongue tracing your folds before flicking across your clit.

Your mewls and moans drive him to keep going and work harder, sucking on the sensitive nub and digging his fingers into your thighs. He looked beautiful between your legs, a mess of auburn hair with freckled fingers holding you hostage to his assault.

"Sebastian, Sebastian, I -" Your legs clenched and he gripped you hard to keep you from closing them, he knows your close. He's nearly done in for himself with your taste and scent, he felt like you could be his last meal and he would die a happy man.

When he feels the final tension from your legs he completely releases you, standing up and holding you by the hips. You nearly have tears in your eyes from how close you were when he denied you of it. You could see his damp mouth and chin just inches from your face.

You flinch when he swipes a finger through your folds before bringing it up to your lips. You feel embarrassed to smell and see your arousal. He uses his clean hand to drag your chin down and force your mouth open, "Taste how dirty you are, Y/N. You've been so needy for me this whole time."

You can feel the tears of frustration about to come out as you let him pop his finger into your mouth, forcing you to clean it all off.

"I bet it hurts to be so pent up, so close, but not able to get what you want," a wet slap echoes through the room as you bite your lip to hold back your pleas, "that's how you've made me feel this whole time. Trouncing around in a harlot's clothes, waiting for someone to stop being a gentleman," he chuckled darkly, "but I bet you didn't expect it would be me who would torture you."

You can't find any words as you see the look of nothing but lust on his face, he has no compassion for you right now, he's thinking only of doing all the things he's wanted for so long.

You find yourself slightly surprised as he lifts you up to carry you into his bedroom where he tosses your bare form onto the bed. You feel like prey with how he looks down at your form.

Yet you can't find it in you to look away as he pulls his belt from his trousers first, then unfastens the button to allow the to hit the floor, taking his undergarments with them.

He's bigger than you anticipated. His cock is swollen looking as if it's about to burst at any moment as he crawls between your legs to pin you down. You yelp as he pulls you by you hips to meet his cock, grinding against you while he covers your lips with his.

The kisses are sloppy as his tongue traces patterns on your lips before you let him in, he pulls at your lips with his teeth leaving bitten flesh before you finally let him inside. They're suffocating and intoxicating all at the same time, every sensation feels like it's magnified at this point.

You wrap your arms helplessly around him, feeling his pulse through his biceps and the tensed muscles along his back. He moves down to your breasts leaving a trail of bites while you rut against each other for relief.

He pulls back to take in the full site of you before positioning himself at your entrance. He wants to see you fall apart when you have the full force of him inside of you. Without any time to react he thrusts himself into you, the room filling with the sounds of moans and wet skin.

All he cared about was how you practically swallowed his cock. You were wet and needy and he felt like he could have cum on the spot, but he wanted to hold back. He wanted to make you sore, to show everyone what he had done to you.

He fucked you relentlessly with one hand braced on your hip and another he moved down to play with you once more. He needed you to like it whether you wanted to or not. He needed to know he made you finish with the full force of his cock and his fingers.

You could see how flushed he was in the face and chest, clearly holding back. You couldn't deny how attractive he was as he pounded in and out of you. As you noticed all the freckles on his body in place you had never imagined they'd be; the way his hands looked pressing into your skin almost painfully.

The way he looked down at you with hooded eyes, intent on leaving you destroyed as he fucked you and fought to give you the orgasm he so abruptly took from you earlier.

You felt it building in your stomach and pulled Sebastian down on top of you, feeling greedy to want to feel his weight all over you when you came crashing down. You felt it through your stomach like electricity as you squeezed your legs around him crying out nonsense from the pleasure.

When he realized you were there he picked up his pace, allowing himself the permission to release right inside of you. He grunted and you could feel him so deep inside that you thought you were going to fall apart. He had wanted to shoot his ropes of cum all over you and see you as his crumpled-up little mess, but he didn't have the strength to do it.

He collapsed against you and you both breathed heavily together. He didn't know if the potion made these things any more intense, but he felt like he could see stars from how hard he had just finished. He clutched at you a little more gently than before, nuzzling into your neck.

"Y/N..." your name fell off of his lips in a deep sigh. The smallest bit of guilt settled in with him now that he was 100% not under the influence of anything else.

You let yourself play with his hair softly as he spoke up, "I need to tell you something."

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow smut #dark!sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy smut

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 2 months

Note

I have the most random and oddball question... What would be some expletive type language in Welsh?

I'm playing a dragon in my D&D group who is from this fantasy world's equivalent of Wales and I want to add some flavor when he is fighting that he starts using bits of his mother-tongue instead of Common.

It's easy enough to find a random list of words, but without cultural context I have no clue what would be a proper equivalent of, for example "fuck off you asshole"... I probably am putting "too much" thought into it, but I'm a cultural anthropologist, so it bugs me to not think too much about it.

A funny quirk of Welsh is that we actually tend to swear in English when we need to - because one of the social arenas it survived in was through the chapels, the closest you'd get are things that in English you'd probably associate with your granny saying, or those sad little Christian youth camps in America. One of my favourites is Nêfi blŵ, which is literally just the Welsh transliteration of the words 'navy blue' said in a Welsh accent. Why is this a swear? Unknown. I presume someone somewhere hated the colour.

However, there are a couple:

Sweary

Sguthan/ysguthan: this is probably equivalent to 'bitch', it's certainly gendered the same way and has similar weight. Except much as 'bitch' literally just means a dog, sguthan means 'woodpigeon'. Why is this a swear? Unknown

Cach i fant: fuck off. 'Shit off', literally. Tbh though I don't actually know anyone who would actually use this. Mileage can and will vary wildly (keep an eye on the notes for other Welsh speakers chiming in), but this one always felt a bit like a sheep's eyeball to me, to use a Pratchett-ism. Like something Golwg would use to Appeal To The Youth. But, it is real, and does work.

Dos i ffwcio dy hunan: go fuck yourself. Now THIS one I use

Twll tin bob ____: Every ____ is an asshole. Naturally, the phrase in Wales is 'Twll tin bob Sais', but substitute Sais for the group of your choice.

Cêr y diawl: go to hell. Literally, 'go to the devil', with devil there being a reasonable stand-in for any devil you wish, not just, like, Satan.

And of course, Wenglish can provide:

Be'r ffyc 'dy hwnna: what the fuck is that

Pwy'r ffyc 'dy hwnna: who the fuck is that

etc

Non-Sweary

Bois bach a mawr: okay listen this is going to sound like I'm joshing you but I swear this is real. It's used by an older generation, admittedly, but even younger generations will say 'Bois bach' sometimes. It, uh. It literally means "Big and little boys". Or just "little boys". Just a sort of general mild exclamation. Or what you say when you sit down and your knees complain. Um.

Ych a fi: gross. Can also be Wenglished to 'Ych a ffycin fi' which is, you know, fucking gross.

Be' ti 'di 'neud?: what have you done?

Be' sy'n bod 'da ti?: What is wrong with you?

Cô ni off, bois!: Off we go, lads (gender neutral)!

There's probably a million I'm forgetting and will think of as I try to sleep tonight, but hopefully these will tide you over. Keep an eye on the notes, I expect others will chime in with further suggestions!

#asks #wales!#closed for cleaning on mondays #linguistics

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recurring-polynya · 9 months

Text

My kid asked me to explain blood types to her today, which made me remember the odd little fact that in the character profiles that appeared at the ends of the earliest Bleach volumes, there are blood types listed for the human characters, but not for the shinigami characters. Shinigami obviously have blood, we've all seen it, we've seen so much of it, honestly, but is it like blood blood? Is blood transfusion a thing they do?

I did not have any particular recollection of anyone ever receiving a blood transfusion in Bleach, but I looked up all the hospital scenes I could think of off the top of my head. Both Byakuya nor Hinamori have sort of a notable absence of things sticking out of them. I'm no expert and I don't even particular like doctor shows, but this is a situation where I would expect both of them to have IVs for hydration, if nothing else. Hinamori's got a respirator and some mysterious carts off to her far side, at least, and maybe Byakuya's just far enough on the upswing that he doesn't need it anymore.

Next shot was the famous Rukia and Renji sharing a hospital room scene.

Renji's respirator goes...under his blanket? Is this right? This doesn't seem right. Rukia doesn't seem particularly attached to anything, although there's kind of a bundle of wires? tubes? coming out of her right shoulder area. You can see them better in this shot:

That sure doesn't look like medical grade tubing, the lower one looks kinda like Hihiou Zabimaru, tbh. IVs usually work by gravity, no? Also those tubes are way too big to be going into someone's veins.

Finally, here's Kira, getting his dubious Squad 12 medical procedure.

More shady, giant, intestine-ass looking tubes that... go into him? wtf. They're attached to a computer. Maybe these are data cables?

The upshot of all of this is that I don't think shinigami have blood transfusions. I can't imagine that they don't know about them, so I imagine it's more of a case of their blood is just part of their soul, like, all of them is just soul all the way down, and it would be nearly impossible to accept a transfusion that was made of someone else's soul (soulmate-enjoying fanfic writers, take note). They do like sticking tubes in people, tho.

This sucks because when I was originally thinking about this, of course I was thinking about all the blood Renji has in his body and whether or not he's a universal donor, because, frankly, if he is, I think they would have a special framed painting of him at Squad 4 and let him have as much donuts and apple juice as he wants.

I think the main reason manga list characters' bloodtypes anyway is because Japanese people use it as a personality test, similar to horoscopes. For the record, here are the characters whose blood types we know:

Ichigo - AO Orihime - BO Chad - AO Tatsuki - AO Isshin - AB Uryuu - AB Don Kanonji (????) - BO

When I was trying to look up what they meant, I found this hilarious graphic, thank you verywellmind dot com

Looks to me like these blood types were definitely chosen to tie into personality at least to some degree (I'm not sure about Isshin, but he probably has fake Urahara Shouten-brand gigai blood-substitute anyway, so I am choosing not to read too deeply into that). Anyway, along those lines, judging from this chart, if we wanted to bootstrap Renji's blood type from his personality, I think he would, in fact, clearly fit into the idiot-on-a-skateboard quadrant. So he is a universal donor! (or at least he would be, if he were filled with blood instead of high-concentration ghost juice.)

#bleach worldbuilding #tw: medical #rukia feels like an AB to me??#i welcome the insight of people who are more medically literate than me #but i actually have a blood phobia which is why i didn't do very much research into that side of this post

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deantfwinchester · 20 days

Text

Hands

Pairing: No-Outbreak!AU, Joel x Teacher!Reader as usual (let's just assume these No-Outbreak Joels are all the same couple tbh), established relationship

Summary: Friday nights are reserved for sweatpants and relaxation, of course. But when Joel's work week leaves his hands a bit worse for wear, the night may need to include a break for a little extra attention.

Warnings: extreme fluff once again. expect it at this point. i'm a one-trick pony, i fear.

A/N: finally got around to putting one of my many bulleted notes-app idea fics into paragraph form again! Will we get another one before the year's out? It's anyone's guess! -_-

——————

Friday nights are your favorites. No dinner to cook or rattling rolodex of tasks to come in the next twelve hours give you both a little room to breathe — to gently unwind from yourselves and into one another. It’s typically quiet, and when it isn’t, the volume is born of laughter from games or stories the three of you share.

Joel comes home from an exceptionally long week. You know he’s been on site every day—the whole team has—working longer and longer hours to wrap up the latest project before the client’s deadline. You’re pleased to hear his keys rattle in the door not long after five o’clock, and relieved because the air’s rapidly cooling earlier each night. Daylight Savings time is coming to an end, and today he barely beat the sunset getting home.

You know the hour means little, however, and are less than astonished at the weary grin he bears on catching sight of you and Sarah on the couch when he walks in the room. She’s already got her purse on her shoulder, eager to head out when her friends arrive, and she’s excitedly recounting the events of the trailer for the movie they’ll be catching tonight. He stands idly in the doorway for a moment, just listening to the two of you chat. You make brief eye contact and smile back, assuring you know he’s there. Neither of you wants to interrupt her avid storytelling.

“Well don’t you sound excited?” he says when she pauses to catch her breath. You both turn to greet him, and he moves more quickly toward you as you attempt to rise, gesturing to you to remain seated. He’ll come to you both.

He plants a kiss on top of Sarah’s head before leaning down to kiss you as he does each night. You place a hand on his chest and pause when he pulls back to get a good look at his face. You see the fatigue in his droopy-eyed smile, but can’t say anything to him. You already know it’s mirrored in your own expression.

The doorbell rings before either of you can speak again, and Sarah jumps up to head out the door. You wish her a good night, and he follows her to the door, checking for a familiar parent in the driver’s seat and seeing her off. You see him hand her some cash to go with his reminder to make good decisions, and he hugs her. You can’t help but giggle when she takes it with a wide smile.

He turns to you laughing when he sees she’s in the car, and shuts the door.

“What?” he asks, brow furrowed in confusion, but amused at the sound of your laughter.

“Smart girl. I gave her a 20 before you got home,” you grin back at him. He stills in understanding and rolls his eyes.

“You couldn’t tell me that two minutes ago?” he asks you in mock exasperation.

“But it’s so much funnier this way!” you add, giggling again. You both know he’s wrapped completely around her finger, though she so innocently does not. It’s one of the first things you noticed about him. One of the first reasons you fell in love.

He shakes his head fondly, and places a hand on his stomach, which begins to grumble softly at him. You raise your eyebrows and meet his gaze. “Any thoughts on dinner?” he asks, and you grin back at him in amusement.

“Handled. Pizza’s already on the way,” you respond and he feigns relief.

“You’re brilliant.” he says, walking up and grabbing your hand on the back of the couch. You run your thumb in little circles on the back of his hand and give it a light squeeze.

“Duh. Now go get changed! It’s do-nothing time starting now,” you respond, patting the top of his hand in encouragement.

“You read my mind,” he says, leaning down for another quick peck before heading off into the bedroom to change out of his work clothes. Naturally, you’ve been in sweats for over an hour now, shedding your own outfit immediately, peeling the school day from your skin. The unspoken uniform for these Friday nights is extremely specific.

The pizza arrives before Joel can even return from the bedroom in a feat of incredible timing. You’re gathering plates and filling glasses with ice when he emerges ready for the night. He moves forward to help you grab the dinner, but you shoo him away to the couch.

“Nope, I got this. You sit,” you say, lightly shoving his chest away. You leave no room for argument. He grumbles a bit and raises his hands, backing away to the living room. You follow behind him with the pizza and plates, and return once more for the drinks before settling next to him on the couch. He sits on one end, and you sit in the middle, leaving little room between you.

You lean forward, putting pizza on one plate you pass to Joel before grabbing your own, then settle back against the cushion, both sinking in so comfortably a nearly audible sigh fills the room. The comfort in this relief is palpable, and the decompressing can begin. You grab the remote and put on the series you’ve been binging together recently, more for background noise than anything else.

A few slices and sitcom episodes deep, you’ve set your plates down on the coffee table. With your bellies comfortably full, you’ve somehow slumped deeper, though Joel into the couch and you into his side. His arm is draped over the back of the couch behind you, and you’re nearly laying on him, head propped against his shoulder.

You hold his free hand in both of yours and absently play with his fingers for a second when you notice the aggressive wear this week has lent his hands. They’re a raw, angry red at the knuckles; his nails are cracked in some places and peeling in others. Moving your fingers gently down toward his wrist, you focus more directly on the state of his, catching sight of a few hangnails and stretched cuticles that can’t be comfortable. He looks down as you begin to worry them beneath the soft pads of your own fingers, and you meet his gaze, brows furrowed as you look between his face and hands.

“Keep doing that, please,” he says with a sigh before closing his eyes, “I wait all day to feel your hands on mine. They’re so soft.” He lifts your hand to his lips before pressing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. He loves the delicate, reverent way you play with his hands, like they’re small, fragile things in need of tender attention. You take his hand once again into both of yours and gently rub it between them, looking back up at him, concerned.

“How do yours feel? They look like they’re hurting you,” you gnaw a bit at your bottom lip in thought, and he tries to assuage your worry.

“I’m alright, darlin’. Nothing worse than I’m used to,” he says. He knows from your deepening frown that you’re less than satisfied with this response.

You couldn’t care less if he’s used to it, he shouldn’t be. You know the protective callouses forged there don’t mean those hands are unfeeling in the slightest.

“Wait there. I’ll be right back,” you say, rising from his side and hastening to the bedroom. It’s his turn to frown now, both in confusion and at the sudden draft that’s appeared at his side.

You return not a minute later with a small tote around your wrist, and hands filled with half the manicure items you own. You sit down next to him and unpack, laying clippers, files, cuticle oil, and two different hand creams — a lotion he’s seen you use regularly, and a jar that must be a new addition — on the coffee table in front of you, along with the selected polishes and remover you had in the tote bag. You’ve been meaning to do your nails, anyway.

Joel looks incredulously at you, unsure where this is going. Not that he’s a stranger to nail polish — he raised a little girl on his own long enough to have worn the rainbow on his fingers, but tonight?

“Sorry, no color for you today, honey. Certainly not before these are healed,” you say. He’d chip half your handiwork away by Monday afternoon anyway the way he’s been working lately. Facing him, you cross your legs on the couch and smile, holding your hand out expectantly for his. He raises his eyebrows at you, but places his palm gently in your own.

You grab the clippers and get to work on the hangnails first. Any peeling skin or cuticle right there at the nail you clip as gently as possible, making note of the reddened and slightly swollen areas at the base of his nail from which they protrude. Those will need careful attention at the end. He doesn’t squirm or react in any way, but you know they’re more sensitive than he’s letting on.

Next, you clip back any breakages and unevenness in the nails themselves. You’d never find Joel Miller with dirty hands — he gets them clean as soon as he gets home, but all the scrubbing it takes to keep them that way takes its toll. A little trim at their length might help reduce the need for so much each day upon his return.

After clipping, you grab his first hand again and rest it gently in the palm of your left while your right files steadily to even any rough edges left behind and prevent further injury. It won’t take much, but you’re sure to get them smooth so they won’t catch on anything or bother him later on.

The cuticle oil is next. He looks at it questioningly, clearly a bit skeptical, only having seen it a few times when you or Sarah used it. He’s never ventured so far himself. While you brush it gently onto each of his nails, you explain its purpose.

“This’ll just help your nails get a little stronger. It’ll get them hydrated a bit, keep ‘em from peeling so much when your hands get dry. It’s kinda crazy how much better this stuff is for your nails than even water is. Water’ll make the peeling worse, actually. Weird, huh?”

He just nods along, listening to you, content to learn something new as always. Finger by finger, you massage the oil into his nail and nail bed. After the first round you go back through to massage again, both to make sure no oily feeling is left behind, and to prolong the rapidly concluding process. He could use the attention, anyway.

Finally, you pick up the jar he identified as a new addition: a canister of a hand repair cream labeled for “Healing of dry or cracked skin.”

“Never seen that one before,” he says, reading the label, “What d’ya need this for? Your hands are never dry! I think they’ve been soft every time I’ve held 'em since the day I met ya,” he smiles at you, and you bashfully brush off the compliment.

“I don’t need it. I use the other one,” you say with finality, opening the jar and pulling the first of his hands into yours. You don’t grab a large dollop of the stuff. You don’t want him to feel a disconcerting weight, grease, or stickiness from this unfamiliar formula, so you get a little and begin. You add a bit more each time you reach a new spot on his knuckles, palms, wrists.

You take your time, gently massaging into those roughened, tender hands far more than a simple healing salve. He understands why you have the jar now, looking at you knowingly, and you smile back. No words need be exchanged.

Once you’ve finished the last finger and the last stroke on his hands, you squeeze the one in your own, then pat it gently with your other, “There. Gotta feel better now, yeah?”

Joel stares at you like he just watched you reach up and place the moon in the sky, if for no reason other than to light his path.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. Thank you sweetheart,” he says, squeezing your hand back and smiling reverently at you. You blush beneath his gaze and look away, unsure what to do with the admiration rolling off of him in waves. You lean back against the couch, file in hand as you start going at your own nails.

“Good. Don’t let 'em go that long again, either. Where they start hurtin’ ya? Maybe we oughta make this a weekly thing. Manicure night? Been needing someone to do my right hand,” you grin, wiggling the corresponding fingers at him. He smiles back at you, then reaches over and pulls you toward his side, back to your original position laying against him, head resting once again on his shoulder.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says fondly into your hair, planting a kiss to your head in the process. You get comfortable once more, foregoing any plans to do your own nails tonight. You both know those “manicure nights” will be for him — and you’ve got Sarah to do your right hand already, when you do hers.

You grab the same free hand once again and admire your work, then lace your fingers between his own, and rest your twined hands on his leg. You’re satisfied knowing the hand behind you on the couch is comfortable now, healing from the week’s toils and melting into the comforting haze of the early autumn evening.

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lokideservesahug · 16 days

Text

Perfect pair

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-Pairings: Lewis Hamilton x famous!actress!Reader

Warnings: Maybe a swear word or two, idk. There is loads of mentions of dogs so Im sorry if you're allergic :(.

Notes: I saw a tik tok (by the user ayloparis) about celebrities seen on raya, the celeb dating app. And Lewis was just there (middle photo above)!?!? And it stuck in my mind (also Ben Hardy was there aswell, how random).

Summary: When you moved to Monaco, the last thing you expected was your greatest fan and a fan of a race car driver to almost force you to go on a date with said F1 driver. But when you find that same man on a dating app, it doesn't hurt that talk to him; especially because he's so gorgeous.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Yourusername

Yourusername: Great awards weekend with an even better ending of going home to my best friend🤍

Liked by hamm4rtim4, thelomlyn and 3,987,091 others

View all comments

User1: Girls be saying the most heartfelt, sweetest things ever about someone and that someone ends up being their dog...

↳Yourusername: 😮It's me! I'm girls!

↳User2: Dont blame you tbh. I also love your dog Y/N

User3: One of these days, She'll post a soft launch (it'll never happen)

↳User4: Nothing can ever get rid of her baby from her posts!

Thelomlyn: Y/NNNNNNNN?

↳ Yourusername: You're back!!

↳ Thelomlyn: You know it. Also its probably a stretch but you know you said that you'd trust me with almost anything?

↳ Yourusername: OH no... But yeah?

↳ Thelomly/n: Well a friend of mine (hamm4rtim4) and I think we've found the perfect guy for you

↳ Yourusername: Oh... I'm intrigued. Who do you think this guy perfect for me is then?

↳ Hamm4rtim4: Sir Lewis Hamilton

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Yourusername

📍Circuit de Monaco, Monte Carlo

Yourusername: What a great weekend! El made a new friend @roscoelovescoco. And well done to his dad @lewishamilton for managing to get the win, it was an amazing race. 🤍

Liked by Lewishamilton, roscoelovescoco and 3,678,905 others

View all 6,876 comments

Roscoelovescoco: It's was lovely's to see's you's!

↳ Yourusername: And it was lovely to see you. Although I think El misses you already. She looks devastated without you!

↳ Roscoelovescoco: Well's we've God's to see's you's soon then!

↳ Yourusername: I wouldn't have it any other way🤍

↳User1: Awww that's so adorable

↳User 2: Lewis x Y/N and Roscoe x El. It's meant to be!!!

Lewishamilton: Thank you for your support (and for dogsitting Roscoe).

↳ Yourusername: Any time. And like I said we'll done, you did truly brilliantly this weekend 🤍

↳ Lewishamilton: ❤

↳User3: And so we're meant to believe that they aren't dating!?!?!?!?

↳User4: Ikr. They make such a good (and attractive pair)

Liked by Lewishamilton

User5: Idk why they hid it. Because if I was dating acadamy award winning actress Y/N Y/L/N, I'd never shut up about it.

Liked by Lewishamilton

↳User6: LEWIS LIKING OMD. That has to be a PR concern? RIGHT!??!?!

Mercedesamgf1: Thank you for all of your support this weekend, glad to see you found the right team to support first time. 🖤

↳ Yourusername: It wasn't difficult when you have a certain Hamilton to convince me!

↳ Mercedesamgf1: 🤨

↳ Yourusername: Yeah Roscoe is the best person in the sport!!!

↳User7: Even admin is suspicious lmao

↳User8: She thinks she's so sly...

User9: I'm just saying if they get together, then their dogs can live together and they can all live happily ever after.

Liked by Lewishamilton, yourusername

User10: Lewis likeing all of the comments about him and Y/N is so unserious yet kinda sweet.

↳User11: Like yeah he wants to show her off and let their dogs have kids as they grow old together (they aren't 100% dating)

↳User12: Awww them growing old together with their little bulldogs is adorable

Liked by yourusername

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Lewishamilton

Lewishamilton: Thank you everyone for helping me to get in that top step once again. Its been really tough the past few years but by putting lots of time and effort in it clearly payed off.

Thank you to all the mechanics for your endless work. Thank you to Toto for putting up with my constant feedback, thank you George for helping defend and let me keep that top position today. And most importantly, thank you to my 'personal cheerleader' Y/N. Who has helped to support me, bring me joy and just be a beacon of hope throughout the turbulent season start. I love you ❤

Liked by Yourusername, Mercedesamgf1 and 5,897,098 others

View all 57,764 comments

Yourusername: Love you Lew. You're amazing🤍

↳ Lewishamilton: ❤

↳User1: Awww they've been hiding in plain sight (everyone knew)

User2: Shut up that is adorable. And I love the Y/N effect. You can't have a photo dump without El

↳Yourusername: Why would you want to? Unless it has Roscoe in (I love that dog sm)

↳Roscoelovescoco: Awww's I's love's you's too's

Mercedesamgf1: Felling left out rn🥲

↳User3: I love you admin

↳User4: Well done admin

↳Yourusername: We love you admin

↳Mercedesamgf1: Aww thanks guys. Love you more!

User5: Whoever would have expected this!?!?!? Me. I did.

User6: Does this mean we'll get Lewis in a blockbuster film

↳ Yourusername: He can sing, he can dance... question is, can he act?🤔

User7: This is such a random pairing. I love it.

↳ Yourusername: You can thank @thelomlyn and @hamm4rtim4 for that

↳ Lewishamilton: Thank you you two

↳Thelomlyn: I think you just killed @hamm4rtim4. Oh my gosh. This is unreal.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading! As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Also my inbox is open if you ever have a request!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton social media au #lewis hamilton smau

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forsworned · 11 days

Note

That Keegan post you made had me clutching my PEARLS! Your use of words was so masterfully done! I really loved the new vocab I learned while reading your work.

Your depiction of the relationship was also so so nice. Very loving and attentive and just so sweet. I could tell they loved one another and had already established boundaries that they knew they shouldn’t cross. The ending was lovely as well, a great way to tie things up.

Thank you for writing it! I’m excited to see what else your lovely brain comes up with!

-🧢

Whispers in the Woods: A Stranger's Shelter ft. OfftheGridCowboy!Keegan Russ

Sypnosis: When Keegan finds you petrified, running for your life from creatures unknown to you in the Haunted Appalachia trails after sundown, he takes you in for the night. Things get a bit crazy...

Warning(s): Mentions of Sexual Content, Violence, Petnames (?), Blood, Supernatural Horror (?), Eventual Smut, Barely Proofread, Reader is 28 and Keegan is 30, Reader is also AFAB

Word Count: 7.5k (enjoy keegan lovers ;)

Author's note: Blue cap anon thank you so much for inspiring me to write for Keegan. Honestly, I really love how this fic turned out and I hope you do too. I am so sorry I took so long to reply to you but you seriously warmed my heart so sosososo much when I read your message. I did not mean to put you on the back burner for this long/ Just know I have put so much effort into this to provide you a solid work so I hope that is a good enough excuse to have such a delayed response. Also so glad that you learned some new words LOL that really tickles me tbh, but I want to work more with the relationship that reader builds with Keegan in general or with any character x reader I write. So please enjoy this :)

edit: i think it's lowkey not living up to my expectations but ummm fuck it we ball

Sparks fly as the firewood in the pit crackles, casting an orange ember over you and the stranger sitting in front of you. His eyes, reminiscent of the cool, blueness of winter are lingering on you, and his heavy, leather jacket drapes over your shoulders to shield you from the chilliness of the early April evening. With his black cowboy hat slightly tilted upward, you note the black bandana covering most of his face, adding an air of mystery to his appearance.

"You really shouldn't be out here." His voice edges a precarious tone, though you cannot determine if it's toward you or whatever lurks in the abysmal woods. Maybe it was both. Your fingers curl around the distressed tanned hide, fiddling with the stitching of the material. A shudder careens through the columns of your spine, goosebumps trail over your skin, and the fuzz across your neck rises briefly.

"Don't look. Don't even acknowledge it." He instructs, steadying his gaze on you as he tinkers with the butterfly knife in his gloved hand. "W-what?" You gasp out, eyes reaming as your quivering vision sets on the embers of the pyre. A sinister presence harks over your convulsing body, heart palpitating out of your tightening sternum. But as soon as it arrives it departs and you're left heaving for the oxygen that was stripped from your lungs.

"I'm not gonna ask you again, what are you doin' walkin' around aimlessly in these mountains?" He repeatedly latches and unlatches the metal object in his hands, his gaze fixates on you. Truthfully, you were lost. When the engine of the old Dodge that you inherited from your grandfather abruptly cut out as you passed through a dead zone, it was all hauling ass from there on out. Classic damsel in distress situation.

Your father and he had both warned you about the Appalachian mountains. How apex predators inhabited the woods, preying on the innocent, ripping flesh apart on sight, or disappearing into the ghastly woods to never return. But, of course, you wrote it off as fearmongering. Never had you experienced the soul-crushing, harrowing existence of unidentified, cryptids lurking within the lacunas of the evergreens.

"My truck it—" You start to say, but the sound of him exhaling loudly cuts you off and you glance up at him with misery strewn across your features. Doe-eyes glimmering from the wetness that was welling in your oculars as your lips tremble. He outstretches his arm to the lantern on the perched log, "I've heard enough."

He begins to get up, extinguishing the flame, smothering it with what seemed to be a bag of salt and you felt fear creeping back into your system.

"Come on." As the pyre's embers fade, the lantern's switch emits a squeak, coaxing the oil flame to life, while the blood-curdling shrieks send shivers down your spine, ringing in your ears. And as if on cue, you cling to his side and he lets out a soft huff, feeling your arm coil around his.

The inferno acts as a bulwark from whatever is skulking around the both of you in the obscurity of the night as you move through the forest. You catch glimpses of shadows trekking about, seemingly running away from you now. A stark contrast from the previous frantic sprint through the woods in your petite, white frilly prairie dress that was now tattered at the edges and puffy sleeves. Now, you were safe. At least you certainly hope so.

A tiny light enters your line of sight in the distance, and you can only assume that that is his home. But you were still heeding the noises and images being molded in front of human eyes. It was as if the veil was lifted here, a supernatural existence in the vast mountains and woods of the Appalachia. You don't know whether to be terrified or fascinated, but you keep quiet as he silently leads you down the desire path to his home that is etching itself a little more into the horizon.

Approaching the home, you begin to notice the clandestine features of the house. A zephyr sweeps past you and the distinct smell of lavender and sage gently brims into your senses. You visibly shudder as the steps creak under your weight, your arm remains tucked into his own as he fishes out his keys and unlocks the door. Like a gentleman, he gestures to allow you in first and he follows closely behind, shutting it behind him.

"Shoes off at the door." He directs, treading past you as he tosses another piece of firewood into the lit fireplace.

What the fuck?

Is he just not going to acknowledge the paranormal manifestation that incurred upon them just now? The shadows of unearthly skinwalkers who infest the woods, who are prowling out there now as they barricade themselves from the outside? What is stopping them from forcefully intruding into his home?

You finally catch your breath for a moment, still feeling your heart hammering against your chest before you speak. "Are we not going to talk about what we just saw?"

"Nope." He simply replies, from another room and you blink back in surprise. Then it sinks in.

Of course, how could you forget? How can you forget the rules of the Appalachia, that were engrained into you as a child?

If you see something strange in the wilderness, no, you didn't.

If you hear something call your name, no, you didn't.

If you hear screaming in the Appalachian mountains, especially a woman's scream, no, you didn't.

If you feel something stalking you, do not run.

Never, ever, whistle at night.

Never go into the woods at night.

Never leave your windows open at night, even in the summer and honestly, the list dragged on and on and on.

Most of it falls on deaf ears never believing in the legends, and yet, here you are shaken up by things you never thought existed in a stranger's home who found it in his heart to shelter you until what you suppose would be dawn.

A wavering breath escapes you as you take a long gander at the well-maintained colonial home. The timeless and heirloom quality of the home becomes evident upon analyzing the vast array of paintings and framed photographs adorning the walls, each depicting individuals with strikingly similar features—dark brows, thick lashes, and mesmerizing steely blue eyes that seemed to penetrate your soul. You can't quite make out the framed artwork through your muzzy vision, but it's eerie the way you can't quite pinpoint why the face was so recognizable to you.

Exposed wooden ceiling beams motion your eyes to the inherited items and the mounted deer skull above the hearth. The warmth emanating from it felt different, soothing, lulling your quivery limbs. You oblige and kick off your boots, padding behind him as he draws out his gun from his holster and places it on the mahogany table. He removes his cowboy hat, hanging it on the horseshoe hat rack adjacent to the fireplace revealing his tousled short black locks. As he begins to unmask himself, a small gasp leaves your lips, fixating on his newly exposed features. And he was goddamn handsome and unusually reminiscent of someone from your childhood embarked into the backlogs of your memory, but of course, you brush it off.

And although he hears it, he does not acknowledge it as one hand grips the wooden chair and the other runs over his dark stubble. He's pensive. The last thing he needed was some heretic woman living under his roof for Lord knows how long. At this point, he decides that you are his responsibility and he cannot shirk from that for that would be unbecoming of a man like himself and he was raised better than that.

He glances up at the painting of his father above the hearth and you take note of the reflective state. His daddy was the embodiment of a Cowboy. Gentlemanly, charming, nifty, and always genial, providing the best hospitality a person could provide. No way, he'd accept Keegan kicking you to the curb, leaving you out for those creatures to rip you apart. Plus, his father would simply rise from his grave and kick his ass.

"You hungry?" He pays no mind to your lingering, bewitched eyes as he moves to the kitchen and you like a lost puppy trailing behind him. "Got some leftover potato leek soup."

And as if on cue, your stomach growls and he glances at your hand over your tummy. You flush from the embarrassment of your stomach being that raucous. He cocks a brow at you and you can't tell if he's amused or annoyed. Probably both. "Go sit." He points his chin to the table by the fireplace and you pad back to the living room, the tempering sensation of the flames causes you to become drowsy. You loll your head to analyze his stature. His figure towers over all of the antique appliances in the kitchen, muscles flexing as he prepares to reheat the soup on the stove. Rolling up his sleeves to reveal his taut, tanned forearms to open the cabinet and pull out the loaf of handmade sourdough, slicing it evenly and efficiently before tossing it in the toaster.

His form becomes a bit hazy as you lay your head against the top rail of the chair, mesmerized by the allure of his broadened shoulders, and soft pink lips that all by hide the peeking tongue indicating his concentration in preparing you a homecooked meal. Keegan never has guests over, in fact, no one is ever daft enough to come running around this way anyways because locals know better and tourists are too scared shitless to even enter this part of the Appalachia. He likes it like that, away from everything and everyone, being able to maintain his family's ranch that was inherited by him at the ripening age of 18.

His mother moved out to the suburbs because the death of his father was far too devasting on her already weary soul to continue living her days out on the farm. But Keegan doesn't mind it. He handles the livestock with ease, providing care to the birthing cattle, and maintaining the operations of the facilities as a whole to keep his honest living thriving. It's all in a good day's work for him. So caring after you shouldn't be too much of a hassle right?

You're suddenly awoken to the soft clatter of the bowl being set on the wooden table, the savory aroma of potato leek soup, and freshly toasted sourdough bread. He sets a glass of water beside you before he pulls his seat adjacent to you with his food.

"Eat." He orders, waiting for you to take a spoonful of thick soup. You hesitantly lift the spoon before glancing up at him. He blinks back at you, realizing the weight of his indiscretion, and whisks the soup with his spoon before noshing on it as if to tell you that is not poisoned nor drugged. Your other hand takes the bread in between your fingers and he mirrors your actions, claiming a bite from his own and you visibly relax.

The soup is scalding to the touch, but you welcome the sensation when you get a taste of the heavenly whipped soup. Not a single lump, just the smoothest, most savory supping of such a simple hearty soup instantly heartening your disconcerting body right down to your unsteady hand.

"I'll fix your truck as soon as dawn breaks." He flashes a glance before breaking his bread and scooping it into his soup. "Make yourself comfortable in the guest bedroom." He gestures with his hand to the upstairs.

"Oh, I couldn't—" You begin to say, but he will have none of it.

"You're not going out there until the sun's out." He replies simply, as he lifts his glass of water and sips from it. You observe the way his Adam's apple oscillates under his stubbly throat and you swallow thickly when you realize he's gazing at you keenly.

Warmth spreads to your cheeks and your eyes are now following the pattern of the wood grain. "That's…very kind of you."

"'s just the human thing to do." And there is an emphasis on the word 'human'.

You begin to play with your soup, scooping it up and letting it fall back into the bowl. "Right." Your voice is soft as you try to block out the memory just moments ago.

He narrows his eyes as if to study you. "What's your name?"

You glance up at him, and you're almost a bit hesitant to tell him. You almost want to lie, but you decide otherwise. "[Name], and yours?"

"Keegan."

"Keegan what?" You press. He raises a brow at you as he chews on his bread.

"Russ."

Russ. An esteemed surname that was echoed throughout your household during your adolescence. Presley Russ was a handsome and genial man who appeared at your father's porch steps every so often, tipping his hat at you with that charming smile and those glacial hues that made your heart jump. He'd invite your daddy out for nights at the rodeo or sipping on Highland Gaelic Ales on the porch from the afternoon til midnight, biding his time between Maryland and North Carolina.

You never quite caught glimpses of his son when you were living out on the ranch before you moved out for college, but you did remember a time when you ventured out past sunset in the abandoned village in the Black Hills you knew better than to be in when your daddy had to travel to Wheaton for the grand opening of his old buddy, Presley's restaurant accompanied by his reclusive son who you never remembered the name of. But for God's sake, who was stupid enough to go treading alone around the same location as the filming of the Blair Witch Project?

But you were a skeptic at best until you heard the unrelenting repetition of your name being called which led you astray, causing you to stumble over your own feet and ultimately collide with a rock that rendered you unconscious. Soon enough, you felt yourself being carried back to your home in the arms of the Russ boy with the hardened steely gaze that intently stared down at the knot forming on your forehead. You had never shut your eyes so quickly and the sound of his soft chuckle, caused you to be even more embarrassed as you were being handed off to your worried parents who were more than relieved and thankful to have retrieved you.

Of course, you had to act like you were unconscious. It was already humiliating enough that you were old enough to know better, but being ferried by a cute boy like you were some helpless damsel in distress was just mortifying.

But that was long forgotten by you in hazy summer days during your teen years before you went off to college and moved out into the city. In reality, you had written it off as a dream, a hallucination concocted by that vivid and graphic imagination of yours. That was always the case with you and the Appalachia. Always the non-believer.

But part of you was hoping that maybe he didn't recognize you after all this time, and yet the way he is staring you down is beginning to feel like otherwise.

"Blair." He suddenly says matter-of-factly as he taps his finger at the table and nods again. "Blair." A small toothy grin creeps on his lips before he chuckles.

Your eyes reaming as your heart drops to your stomach. "What?"

"Black Hills, you're the daughter of the farmer right up in Garrett County."

You feel the warmth blooming on your cheeks. He knew. "I—How do you remember that?"

"Knew you looked familiar." He dives back into his steaming soup. "Was tryin' to figure out where I'd seen that necklace of yours." He juts his chin, pointing to the family heirloom that kisses your clavicle. It had been passed down for generations to the women in your family as a symbol of health, wisdom and longetivity. You feel for the 20k gold pendant with lilac and sage engraved into the soft metal.

He looks as if he's stifling another snicker. "Think you pissed yourself a little when I found you unconscious."

Now that gets you real flared up. The abrupt change in mood was beginning to wrack your nerves. You sigh knowing that at the very least you were in good hands. Familiarity begins to set in as he breaks the ice, creating a more comfortable atmosphere between you two.

"I did not!" You puff your cheeks out at him and he's tickled pink by your endearing, agitated reactions.

His gleeful grin only grows to his eyes. "Now, who willing goes into the woods by themselves when they know damn well what kind of activity breeds over there, hm? Gotta death wish if you ask me, kid."

You open your mouth to say something, but it clamps shut. You don't know whether to be abashed by the way his face lights up like the stars in the heavens above, or by the fact that he remembers that you pissed yourself a little through your favorite pair of khaki parachute shorts in a known marked area where people have gone missing. The stark realization of it being a tangible memory was mussing at your trepidation towards him. But he's teasing you now and it stirs a strange kind of desire in your lower belly as you uncomfortably shift in your creaky wooden seat.

Pushing your bowl away, you avoid responding by guzzling down your water and then calmly placing it back down.

"I'd like to get ready for bed now, if you don't mind."

He jovially raises his eyebrows as he munches on the last of his bread. The smirk still curled up on the corners of his pinkened lips.

He wipes the crumbs off his hands and thumbs either side of his mouth before he gets up, gesturing to you. " 'Course not."

You stand up and politely push your chair in as you track behind him up the croaking staircase. Your body is practically heaving with every step and by the top of it, you're feeling a bit winded. Keegan decides to keep his comments to himself as he ushers you down the grandiose hallway. The walls are painted ivory, and wall sconces are tapered candles on held-up aged tin nailed into the parapet. Hardwood floors are well kept, but the small divots in between the grain quickly reveal the age.

He jingles the knob to what you suppose is the guest bedroom, but it seems to be locked. His fingers fish into his pocket and you watch as he phalanges through the set and then finally picks out the antiquated rusty skeleton key. It's honestly a bit jarring that it requires a key to fasten the door, but at this point, if you're being kept away from the monsters lurking outside you'd be happy to be his little prisoner for now.

He pushes the door and it moans open, though much to your surprise it's polished and orderly. In the middle of the room is a wooden four-poster queen-sized bed, with a princess-like sheer white canopy that surreptitiously envelops the bed. The furniture is a bit more romantic with detailed carved patterns on the bookshelves that line up against the wall to the vanity that sat adjacent to the bed. The carmine curtains that drape over the large window, easily maneuver you to the balcony, and the soft calling of your name beckons you to open it…

A sturdy hand clasps over your shoulder and you jolt as you turn to him. He's shaking his head as he towers over you and you look so goddamn feeble with those damn bambi eyes of yours shimmering in the tiny sliver of moonlight that peeks out from the window. He tears his gaze away to tread over to the window, squeezing it shut with the velcro he sewed into the fabric and reinforces the window shut.

A sharp exhale leaves his nostrils and his eyes are on you again. "I totally can see why you ended up the way you did." He glimpses over your dirtied and frayed dress, skinned, bloodstained knees, and contusions running up and down your legs. God, he makes it so easy to feel self-conscious.

He licks his lips as he hovers his hand over the knob to his right, and signals you over. You begrudgingly stride over and you're just as impressed at the bathroom. From the massive mirror above the traditional wooden undermount double sink vanity to the wine-red clawfoot freestanding bathtub. Little golden trinkets pinstripe the rosy walls with the soft warm lighting of the hanging flowery ceiling light fixtures. You squint your eyes when he adjusts the radiance to a white glow with the dimmer light switch before he opens the drawers one by one.

"Towels, robes, spare clothes, toiletries. Gimme a shout if you need anything else."

You open your mouth to say something and his eyes playfully narrow at you. "—within reason, missy."

Your bottom lip reflexively juts out. You hate to admit it, but you were quite the spoiled child. Never receiving more than a gentle chide from your parents and always silver-spooned to the nines by your grandparents. The truck was an exception. More of a parting gift from your grandfather that was left to you for the sole purpose of memorabilia scored into every inch of the tarnished vehicle. You hope that Keegan is capable of fixing it since most parts were made by discontinued distributors and they were definitely not easy to come by as they were expensive.

"Christ, spoiled rotten, weren't ya?" He ribs, nudging you a bit and you frown at him.

"Was not." You childlessly retort, but the small smile on your face betrays your feeble attempt at contempt.

Fuck, she is so cute. Keegan thinks as he assimilates your hilly yet winsome appearance. Just as cute as he remembers when he was seventeen, ignorant of the malignancy that poisoned his father's lungs.

"Not as much as your daddy spoiled you." You shoot back and cover your mouth with your hands as his brows lift in half surprise and half revelry.

"Blair's got jokes now, huh?" The elicitive nickname indicative of your former years sends another rushing warmth to your face and you begin to shoo him out.

"I'd really like to be clean now, thank you." You cast a scowl his way and he's putting his hands up in surrender as he backs out of the bathroom followed by the bedroom.

"I take it that the lady needs her privacy now." He leans against the doorframe with his hands stuffed into his denim jean pockets that are dusty and darkened with wood ash and the smell of the campfire lingers on his skin.

"And her beauty sleep." You add on, folding your arms. His jacket is still resting over your shoulders and he chuckles at your Hello Kitty print socks. The way your hair was mussed up in the soft glow of the lantern lamp on the night table was starting to arouse him a bit.

Fuckkkkkk, you were so adorable. It might have taken every atom in his body not to bend you over the mattress and spank you for being such a dotty woman before pressing his cock past your velvety folds as he makes you apologize in the form of incoherent, dirty little whimpers.

But the thought is quickly dismissed as it's formed in the sullied cogitations of his mind.

"Good night, [name]." He murmurs in his husky voice yet there is a hint of mischief in his tone that sends a frisson up your spinal column.

"Good night, Keegan." You susurrate, as you slowly shut the door and his expression remains the same as your view of him narrows until it disappears behind the threshold.

"Christ." You mutter to yourself as you begin to get ready for bed, as you feel the rush of collywobbles in your stomach start to well up a craving for the cowboy. The time on your cracked phone screen reads 2:03 AM and a wave of exhaustion crashes over you at the realization. Had you really been out there for seven hours?

The warm water soothes your aching bones and forming scabs scattered across your body as you gently exfoliate your skin. Thankfully, Keegan had enough sense to drop off a first aid kit by your door before you slipped into the bath. You weren't looking forward to the sting of the antiseptic, but you were more than grateful to be alive and have all your limbs attached. As you close your eyes and let the sudsy bath take away your worries, a coaxing voice is entrancing you. At first, it begins as a hushed lull intermingled with what sounds like your name and a bit of white noise that makes your brain all fuzzy and warm, but it becomes audible. Forming coherent luring words that resemble Keegan's deep, raspy voice.

Drown, drown, drown.

And you promptly find yourself submerging into the tub and the stillness of the water is subduing, but something is instigating you to open your eyes. You push away the thought, taking in the tranquility, settling into the comforting sensation of weightlessness. And yet, the feeling is not leaving you. You internally sigh as you move your body to the surface, but you remain dormant. Your eyes shoot open and your blood runs cold.

Above is one of the most fear-inducing creatures that you have ever laid your eyes upon holding you down on either side of your shoulders with slender claws digging into your flesh. It resembles a caribou skull with elongated antlers but its eyes were a violent vermillion that penetrates your soul. Its body was dark, rickety, and harrowing. Bones astute against the matted onyx fur and its tongue hanging out of his jaw like it was ready to devour you. Panic surges through your veins as you thrash about but it drives its talons further into your skin and you shriek out in pain. Water enters your lungs, your heart is stammering at cardiac arrest speed and you're choking out for dear life. This is it. This is how you die and the worst part about it is, you couldn't even call out for hope from the man who saved you just moments ago.

But just as you're accepting your fate, the muffled sound of a gunshot pierces through the air and within seconds the skinwalker is incapacitated and then dead. Soon enough, you're being hoisted out by Keegan's strong hands, as you cling onto him naked, wet, and heaving for oxygen.

Water expels out from your esophagus and you're trembling even harder than you were before when he found you, grasping to him and he's immediately talking you down.

"It's alright, you're okay. You're okay." He soothes, one hand tenderly caressing your soddened hair and the other is gripping your body tight as he pulls you out of the tub. He wastes no time unplugging the drain and wrapping you in a large towel to cover your naked body. In all seriousness, Keegan didn't even take a second to gander at your naked form when he was gathering you out of the tub and he makes that clear that his sole objective was to eliminate the wendigo that trespassed into your sanctuary.

He could've sworn that he had locked up every single opening in the house as he does every single night. It was like clockwork to him ever since his father had shown him the ropes to the place.

"…Kee-keegan." You splutter out as you continue to clutch onto him and your body is saturating him with water. He doesn't care though, that was the least of his worries. Your eyes are reaming and glossy as you dare to peek down at the creature that was seconds away from letting you meet your maker, but there's nothing but ash on the tiled floor.

"It was—" You begin, peering up at his harking steely eyes and his jaw tightens.

"It's gone."

"I don't understand." You shake your head, trying to make sense of what just happened, but the soft clatter of the rifle hitting the bathroom counter delineates your scattered mind. "Oh. But—"

"Get dressed." He softly prompts and you shakily let go of his t-shirt and he hands you an eggshell-colored peignoir as he averts his gaze. He's cognizant of the post-distress and panic you're in, so makes no indication of reallocating himself away from you as you slip on the fabric nor does he provide an explanation for what just occurred.

And to be honest, you didn't want to know. There was nothing more disturbing than the encounter with death in the form of a mutated caribou that leaves you shaken up. Everything just seemed too difficult to wrap your little head around, so let him take care of you.

A fresh towel is on your head, soaking up the wetness tangled into your hair and you relax at his balmy touch.

"Thank you." You mutter as your eyes are cast downward, eyeing the imbued, darkened spots on his nightshirt.

He delicately hooks his index finger and thumb between your chin and lifts it upward as he dabs at your features with the towel. And then it lingers. His intense yet pensive gaze, his stout calloused thumb that is now brushing against your jaw shortly followed by your quivering bottom lip. His jaw ticks.

"I'll sleep in here tonight."

Your heart jumps rampantly against your chest. "What?"

"You almost died if it weren't for me."

"Yes, but it's not—!" You fall short of words yet again and you're tearing your gaze away from him. As dire as the situation was (and it was), Keegan cannot help himself from being just the tiniest bit entertained by your endearing little mannerisms.

"I'm not gonna sleep next to you in bed." He deadpans. Normally, he would let you stumble over your words, but exhaustion is seeping into his bones and even as a noceur himself he was in desperate need of some z's. "The armchair over there quite comfy."

You follow his eyes to the brown leather recliner that was beside the bed and then back to him.

"I'm tired, Keegan." You profess, leaning your head against his chest and he's absentmindedly rubbing circles into the small of your back.

"I know."

Typically, you wouldn't be this comfortable with a stranger but given the unusual circumstances that were currently trying to slaughter your ass, you found yourself seeking solace in him.

"Let's get you into bed."

And soon he's leading you back to the bedroom, his hand is still on the small of your back as you walk on wobbly legs. He peels off the comforter and you sink into the mattress feeling like royalty in your crisp, clean nightgown, in your large princess-like bed, surrounded by plush pillows as the light in the lantern flickers. It casts shadows over his dashing features. The flame turns his glacial eyes into a soft apricot and an expression flickers over his visage—concern.

He's harping over your safety and the intruder that happened to bypass his heavily guarded home. No tripped wires, no movement detected on his cameras, and not to mention not a single sound was made until he heard your thrashing in his room across the hall. If he hadn't been there in time—

"You saved me, though." You drone, shutting your eyes as you tuck yourself into the cotton sheets.

His hardened glare softens at your words and how you look at ease now. A testament to your full, unshakeable faith in him. God, you were so quick to trust, it honestly scared him a little for you.

He scoffs. "How can you be so sure that I wouldn't hurt you?"

"Because your father would resurrect and beat the absolute shit out of you if you even dared to think about harming me." You state with a sly smirk on your face.

Keegan's expression briefly falters before he lets out a snicker, acknowledging the truth in your bold proclamation. "Crafty little critter, aren't ya?"

You giggle as shift under the sheets. It's almost a bit disturbing how you are seemingly fine and brushing off the situation. "Maybe."

He peers down at you for a moment and the welcoming feeling of your radiance starts to crawl into his chest. Almost like you were right where you needed to be, in his home, in his bed under his safeguarding. He wants nothing more than that. It's almost a bit perturbing how you are seemingly fine.

"Go to sleep." You mumble.

"You go to sleep."

"No, you first,"

"Who else is going to shield you against creatures of the night?"

You pause for a moment. "Good point."

He smiles as he walks over to the armchair, gun propped up against his left leg as he sits to face you. You're already curling up in a ball, and your chest rises and falls at a tranquil pace.

"Good night, Blair." He feels his eyes drooping as his vision becomes bleary.

You chuckle at the idiotic nickname. "Good night, Cowboy."

The remnants of tiny, foolish smiles are left on your faces as you drift off to sleep in your respective spaces. The last passing thought that crosses your mind is Keegan's tender gaze and his fingers brushing against your lips. Keegan wonders what is making you so giddy before the world around him fades out.

As morning breaks, sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the room. The spring breeze wafts into the wisps of your hair and your eyes flutter open. The seat in front of you is now empty and the balcony door is wide open, and yet you're calm as you rise out of bed. Birds are chirping and the incessant droning of cicadas buzzing loudly against your eardrums is merely white noise when you recognize the low rumble of your truck's engine pulling up. There is an urgency that surges within you and soon you're sprinting out the door, and the heat of the cobblestone stings at the soles of your feet but you don't care.

The engine cuts and Keegan climbs out of the truck, sleeves rolled up in his army green henley, and he's wearing a clean pair of relaxed, light-wash jeans that skim the leather of his Tecovas. He peers up at you with wintry hues, tipping his hat, and in that instant, you're transported back to your childhood—Mr. Russ, tipping his hat with those same eyes and that glorious smile that always made your heart race.

The resemblance was both striking and uncanny, but damn, you were totally not complaining.

"Mornin', little lady. You're up quite early." He puts his hands on his hips and he's no longer the stone-faced, vendetta-filled Cowboy that you met last night. He's your friendly Appalachian Cowboy who provides you the sweet, sweet southern hospitality with a charming smile and a bit of a North Carolinian twang that sets your groins on fire.

"Mornin', Cowboy. Fixed my truck, did you?" You lean against the French iron wrought railing with your ruffled hair and white nightgown, rippling in the slight draft that carries the healing scent of sage and lavender. The fabric forms around your body and Keegan notices how it traces the outline of your curves and how the sun is hitting you just perfect enough for you to look like a literal angel.

But it's still the unrelenting, disconcerting feeling that creeps up on him when he looks up at you so unbothered, airheaded with that buoyant grin on your face. Was it really just a facade?

"Fixed it good enough for you to get back on your way." He turns from you to the truck and then back to you. "By the way, where were you headed?"

"Back to the old man." You cross your leg over the other, waiting for his response. He watches as the skin of your legs peeks out from under the peignoir and it's a bit enticing.

"I didn't contact him if that's what you're askin'" His hand acts like a sun visor to block the light out of his sensitive eyes to take a good gander at you.

"I would hope not. Don't need to send him into cardiac arrest." You joke and you see his shoulders shaking a bit, suggesting a chuckle.

"Made you breakfast."

"Yeah?" You simper, leaning a little more against the railing.

He can't help the way his grin broadens as he peers up at your flirty form. "Careful now, can't have you comin' back home with a broken neck, can we?"

Shit. Shit. Shiiiiit.

Goddamn him and his pretty face. He's already heading inside as you're locking in on him, but Keegan isn't one to give you the satisfaction. He'll play the long game and he'll enjoy every minute of it. From the way you're sitting next to him at the table with your dress bunched up to your thighs to the way you sensually lick your spoon covered with cream and he's internally chuckling at the mess you've made on the corners of your lips, feigning gullibility to get a rise out of him. Admittedly, it's hot. He wants nothing more than to lick your fingers clean and sloppily kiss your sweet cream-laden lips.

Mmmm.

He doesn't say anything. Just enjoys his breakfast and keeps his gaze lowered like a gentleman. The company of a beautiful woman is enough for him on a fine Sunday morning like this.

You can only wonder what he's thinking as you act like a giddy schoolgirl who's trying to get the attention of her professor. Not that you had a significant age gap with Keegan, but in his original line of work there was a massive lapse. Being a retired Marine had probably mentally aged him over give or take 10 years would have been your best guess. And leaving the farm to his cousins in his absence probably impacted him even more, well, according to your gossip girl of a father at least.

He made trips down to NC every so often to check on his favorite, reclusive cowboy, sometimes tending to his facilities when need be. You never tagged along though. In your mind, you were a city girl who didn't mind dressing up as a cowgirl if she saw fit. So coming down from your city job, in the comfort of your sweet loft that overlooked the NOVA skyline didn't exactly make you miss the Appalachia trails.

Still, it is nice being back here with a somewhat familiar stranger in a home you had only seen the outside of because, for the majority of your life, you had so desperately tried to force out the rural in you. Call it toxic, but leaving the mountains always felt like the haze had lifted from your brain. It was unsettling to be here for too long.

"You're nervous."

You glance up from the runny eggs that you have been working on for the past twenty minutes. You give him a sheepish grin. "This place makes me nervous."

"Itching to go back to the city, huh?"

That elicits a small chuckle from you. "And what do you know about me?"

"Well, according to your father," He says in a knowing tone and you narrow your eyes at him as he gives you a coy smile. "you love the city too much to move back."

"I don't think I'm too good for it. Here, I mean."

"Didn't say that. The Appalachia isn't for everyone." He butters his toast and then munches on it and soon it vanishes into his mouth. The night before is washed away from your memory, but Keegan loses track of his thoughts as he stares at the leftover jagged lines embedded into your skin from a creature that he knew you wanted to forget. A glance at his watch and he's up, wiping his hands and mouth with the serviette that was on his lap before he places it on the table. "You ready?"

"You got somewhere to be?" You raise your brows, not quite ready to leave yet.

"Matter o'fact I gotta date with an employee from Tractor Supply Co in about an hour, and it's thirty minutes out."

"New livestock?" You sip at your coffee.

A sad smile graces his lips. "Yeah, my last eldest cattle just passed away a few weeks ago."

You frown. "I'm sorry."

For a moment you swear you saw him get teary-eyed, but he quickly shakes himself out of the grief, grabbing his keys as he downs his glass of ice water. He stops himself for a moment as you get up to push your chair in and he can't help himself from tracing his fingers over the claw marks on either side of your shoulders. You shudder from the remembrance and his touch.

"[name]," He starts to express but your mood sours.

"Stop."

His expression falters and so does his hand as he lets it drop to his side. You didn't want to remember any of it. He notices how you clutch onto your necklace and he drops the subject.

"Your trucks waiting." He takes your hand and deposits the keys into your palm.

You give him a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you."

You begin to approach your truck and you feel relief washing over you as you run your hand over the tarnished, rusted hood of the Dodge before you open the driver door. As you climb in you notice that all your belongings remain untouched. Scattered cassette tapes, polaroids, and the little Hawaiian girl that swayed with every movement still plastered onto the dash. The leather seats seem to have abrasions, revealing the cushion beneath, but you write it off as a bear maybe deciding to try and access your vehicle after you had abandoned it.

"…[name], ….[name]….!"

You're snapped out of your stupor, recollecting your thoughts as you glance over at him leaning his body against your truck. "I checked the vehicle, it's all clear for you to go. Should make it back alright."

"Why wouldn't it be if you fixed the engine?"

The look you give him is blank, free from concern and any worry that may have been left on your face from last night.

He nods, pushing his hands into his jean pockets. "Right, well, it was nice seeing you all grown up."

That provokes a reaction. Heat is rising to your cheeks and Keegan is standing there looking cool as ever as he takes off his hat and wipes the sweat off his brow before putting it back on.

"Thank you." You say with more feeling, only your eyes acknowledging the horrors of last night. And that's enough for Keegan.

"You take care now." He tips his hat with a good-natured grin and you snicker at his little cowboy bit.

He waves to you as you back out of his driveway and you glance over from your rearview mirror as his towering figure disappears and so does any anamnesis from the evening prior. Or at least, you told yourself that.

And that was April. Months have gone by and Keegan doesn't exactly expect you to keep in contact. He's even surprised to hear a, '[name], says hello, by the way.' from your father during their weekly check-in.

And he definitely does not expect to see your truck in his driveway when he's coming back from milking his cows for the day with his new set of eyes that's in dog form, wagging her tail in anticipation as she sits.

"German Shepherd, eh? Suits you." You simper at him, leaning against the pillar of his home with glossy lips, and a cutesy red paisley swing dress that just barely covers your thighs. Your boots are hardly broken in as they dig into the grassy field and your hair is a little disheveled in an endearing way.

"Name's Miley." He peels off his gloves, shoving them into his back pocket. He's completely taken aback by your sudden presence, though he's not one to complain about a pretty lady showing up at his door.

"Hey, Miley." You coo, holding your hand to her and she's immediately reciprocating your energy tenfold as she jumps up and down, causing you to giggle and pet her soft fur.

Keegan doesn't even need to say anything as he glances down at the German Shepherd and she's already sitting on the ground between you two.

"Miss me?" You ask, coyly.

"Could ask you the same thing, Blair." He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you suspiciously. Something was off.

"I was just in town."

"Uh huh."

It doesn't take long before the act drops and distress is carving into your features. Lips are trembling in fear as your eyes begin to water.

"Something's been following me, Keegan." Your body naturally falls against his chest and his breath hitches a bit at your contact and the smell of your perfume wafts into his senses.

Fuck.

mini taglist: @keegansshark @soapsgf @milkteaarttime

#call of duty #call of duty imagines #keegan p russ #keegan p russ x reader #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ smut #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod ghosts #call of duty ghosts #call of duty smut #keegan x reader #cod keegan #keegan russ #keegan smut #eventual smut #alternate universe #cod au

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ovaryacted · 29 days

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AYO THE MOMMY ASKS GOT ME IN A FLUFFY MOOD!!

(Tw:pregnancy, labor & delivery)

Ok first things first. You tell him you’re expecting a lil’ baby, he 1) cries. And 2) panics because he doesn’t know if he’ll be a good father and 3) ultra panics because he deals with bioweapons, mutant causing viruses and other biological nightmares, what if that shit passes onto his kid???

Dude is WIRED for weeks until he finds out that the baby is healthy. No weird biological mutations at all. Just a baby. (Side note, kinda sad, he misses the first ultrasound photo because of a mission and probably cries)

When you start showing a baby bump, he absolutely gets thrown in love all over again. He always loves his s/o but something about seeing them round with HIS baby just flips a switch in his head.

First time he feels baby kick? He’s amazed. He’s never felt anything like it. He’ll start kissing your baby bump and probably crying. (I can imagine he cries a lot during your pregnancy. Probably more emotional than you tbh)

When you go into labor, he does a good job at pretending to be calm. He’s internally screaming, panicking and feels sick the entire time, but he doesn’t show it. He holds your hand and lets you squeeze it as much as you need. The dudes been shot, stabbed and smacked by monsters, he probably doesn’t even feel it if you crack a finger.

When he hears his babies first cries, he lets out the shakiest, sob and laugh ever. It’s a noise of relief, pent up fear, and happiness all at once. The sight of the baby getting put on your chest is permanently seared into his mind. I’m talking core memory.

And when he gets to hold his baby, another core memory is created. Seeing their lil nose. Their lil face. Hearing their lil cries. Again, he cries too.

Leon demands paternity. At least a month to be with his s/o and child. What’s the government gonna do? Fire him? He’s one of their, if not, THE best agent they got. They fire him, they’re down a fucking legend.

I’m gonna say, I feel like Leon is so….in a honeymoon phase, he completely disregards himself for you and the baby. You need to sleep and heal after giving birth, so Leon takes 100% care of the baby until you’re physically able to. The problem? He forgets to sleep at all, and damn near passes out after like, day 4.

He catches himself, so the baby ain’t hurt, but the dumbass at first goes “man….i need to sit down. Maybe get some water” but the moment he sits down he clocks the fuck out.

The baby cries and he wakes up again, but this time, it’s you holding the baby, cooing and soothing them. The sight alone makes him emotional again.

I just have a lot of feelings about dad Leon.

-angsty anon (enjoy another thesis)

AWEE YES DAD LEON THOUGHTS! I know you sent me this a little while ago but I still wanted to answer because I absolutely love thinking about Leon becoming a father and how devoted and protective he becomes. Bye, I'm going to cry.

Leon gives me the impression that he will be anxious throughout his partner's pregnancy. He'll become more overprotective if he isn't already, and the hovering habits will start to show very early on. He'll be attentive to your needs, but will almost smother you out of concern. Asking about whether or not you took your vitamins, if you slept enough, if you needed something from the store, if your cravings were satisfied.

Sometimes it does annoy you, but it's really just the influx of hormones pumping through your body. You reassure him constantly, reminding him that he's a good partner and he's doing enough, and you know his worrying is a good thing because it means he cares that much.

I also see him wanting to be nearby constantly, like a shadow, and Leon is just always there. He doesn't let you do any of the labor at home, he wants you to focus on sleeping, eating well, and being healthy. The last thing he needs is for you to be stressed out or unhappy because he knows that isn't good for the baby, and he also doesn't want to piss you off because he's been warned about how cranky a pregnancy can make someone. He does the laundry, cooks, cleans, helps you out with your nesting and always has a reassuring hand somewhere on your body, mostly on your lower back.

He's there at every appointment no matter what, he's not missing it for a second. But if it's really a hassle and he has to go on a mission, which you support and fully understand, he'll tell Hunnigan to keep a close eye on you or for a close friend to go with you during your appointment. He just wants to make sure you're not entirely alone.

Once your belly expands and his T-shirts no longer cover most of your body, Leon is all over you. There's something about seeing you so full, waddling into the kitchen and looking into the fridge for a snack that makes him smile and happy. He's also the type to always want to have a hand on your belly, even in his sleep, and likes to run his thumb over the dark line that goes all the way down your abdomen. I like having this headcanon that whenever the baby moves too much and is kind of giving you a hard time, he puts a soft hand over your stomach and gently talks to them until they calm down. Leon has this natural calming presence that is very much needed during your pregnancy, and you tease him about how your baby will be attached to him the moment they're born.

But oh the moment you go into labor? It's all hands on deck. He's been prepping for this, reading books on pregnancy and childbirth, wanting to be your rock in the process but when you tell him your water broke, his mind doesn't work. He'll be the type to say "Don't panic!" as he's panicking and you have to remind him to take the hospital bag he's prepared months in advance.

The birth itself is a harsh and grueling process, but Leon helps you see it all the way through. He does not leave that hospital room, doesn't let the nurses kick him out, and stands his ground as your advocate. You're both scared at the thought of welcoming a whole new life into this world, and he's right next to you, holding your hand and whispering words of encouragement and praise in your ear.

Leon hates seeing you scared, hates seeing you hurt, but it really is all worth it the moment he hears that shriek of a baby's cry fill the room. It's the most beautiful thing he's heard, he doesn't care if the high pitch of the violent scream makes his ears hurt. For the first time in months, he feels like he can breathe again.

Seeing this bundle of joy all wrapped up in a pink blanket and pink beanie makes him cry, that new baby scent he's heard so much about before fills his nose and his chest aches from so much love. He doesn't need to verbally tell you that he's proud of you, that he's happy, that he loves you. It's written all over his face and from the way he can't seem to take his eyes off his daughter, he knows what this different kind of love feels like.

Leon Kennedy is a selfless guy, and every time he glances at his baby, he sometimes sees flashes of Sherry when she was younger or even Ashley when he went to go save her in Spain. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but that same urge to protect this life with every fiber of his being comes in full force.

He thinks he develops a new level of fear and paranoia, taking over damn near every duty that was involved in raising a child. He wants to help you recover, allowing you to get your sleep and your physical strength back as he takes care of your baby girl.

He does everything at the expense of his physical health. He can't sleep most of the time and wants to be ready for when his daughter cries at 2 am until his lack of sleep starts to beat his ass after two weeks. Sure, he's on parental leave to help you out and to bond with his child, but you often find him fast asleep in the rocking chair, neck craned at an awkward angle that will irritate him later on. You come towards him and wake him up, his body jolting awake and ready for whatever threat comes his way until he blinks and sees you.

"Is she okay?", he says groggily, dark circles around his eyes and his hair an unruly mess. It was sweet seeing how the first thing he wondered about when he woke up was his daughter.

"Yeah, she's alright, still asleep. You should go to bed baby, I can watch her", you tried to get it through to Leon that he needs to rest too, not just you and your child.

"I could use a nap", he caves, standing up with a groan and rubbing the back of his neck the way you expected him to. Despite being half asleep, he gives you a sweet kiss on the lips and walks out of the nursey. "Wake me up if you need me", he mumbles before leaving the room entirely.

You don't wake him up, not for a couple of hours at least so the migraine that's pulsing in his head wears off. Leon doesn't care if his body goes on complete shutdown, anything you both need, he'll be there ready to do whatever is necessary to make your family dynamic function.

#ovaryacted asks #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #resident evil fanfic #resident evil imagines #resident evil drabble #ovaryacted thoughts #ovaryacted drabbles #girl dad! Leon #I'm emotional #₊˚⊹ ♡ ─ angsty anon

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minispidey · 9 months

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I need to hear your most out of pocket HC about your fav Oscar characters that there really isn’t much evidence for but you feel in your soul is right. Can be fluff or nsfw!

For example:

I think Nathan actually likes to be topped and degraded. Do I have any evidence for this? No. Do I know in my pussy gut that I am right? Yeah 😌💅

OUT OF POCKET HCS.

OSCAR ISAAC character headcanons

Content warning: just some real filthy shit. Uses female body descriptions. Breeding kink A LOT. Mentions cheating but doesn't get cheated on.

Characters: Nathan Bateman, Marc Spector, Jonathan Levy, Steven Grant, Miguel O'Hara.

Words: a lot.

Not beta read.

Requested by: @boredzillenial

Author's Note: i wish i could've written more bUT MY BRAIN IS JUST EXPLODING. Btw, thank you for requesting! Reblogs and comments are appreciated 💅❤️

MINORS DNI

I swear. Nathan Bateman's head... you know exactly what I mean. LISTEN YOU SAID OUT OF POCKET SO HERE'S THE FANTASY: just... just grinding on it, your clit getting stimulated by his shaved head— he's not completely bald so I'm saying that if you caress his head, it'll still feel prickly.

Oh but imagine... breeding kink Nathan (tbh just in general i think all oscar characters would have a breeding kink)

Slow strokes, in and out of you. Nathan holding you still— not even in bed, he just wanted to fuck you in his office while idk doing research, but you were just standing in the corner of his office doing god knows what and he's accusing you of seducing him. And now here he was, his research forgotten and fucking you on his seat.

"Hm? When are you gonna learn your lesson that you can't just strut into my office and expect me not fuck the shit out of you?"

"N-Nathan, I wasn't even doing anything-"

"Shh... this'll be your punishment, okay?"

But at the end of it, just cuddling while he worked... but cockwarming him.

"Keep my cum in. Don't wanna waste God's seed, right sweetie?"

"Nathan, just shut up."

The moment you told him to shut up, something awakens in him.

"Slap me."

"Are you crazy?"

"Love, sweetie, honey bunny... please slap me."

Lets you ride him in your own pace for once, and he tried to stop himself from grabbing your hips and slamming you down on his cock.

"Naughty naughty..."

"Sweetie, please... fuck, you're driving me crazy here."

"Aw, don't you wanna cum in me?"

"F-Fuck..."

He fucking whimpers.

"God's seed shouldn't be wasted, right?"

"I'm never letting you be on top again..."

Marc... oh my Marc. I have a mini series coming soon for the Moon Knight boys where Reader is has such a huge crush on Steven, and becomes his girlfriend after confessing. She meets Marc when he fronted, hates him so much and wants to punch him, but he has the face and body of her boyfriend and didn't want to hurt him. Maybe like an enemies to lovers with Marc and Reader, and Steven being happy that they're getting along. Jake will come later to me idk yet.

Imagine just going to bed in one of his shirts. Drives him CRAZY and the next thing you know, your sleepiness disappears as he fucks into you, just in a brutal pace. He loves groping you, breasts, thighs and all. If you're plus-sized/ chubby, he would hold your waist and giving you a squeeze here and there as he fucks you into oblivion.

Would top a lot but he loves it when you ride him and you get overwhelmed by his size.

"Come on, just a few more inches in."

"Marc... too big..."

Size kink applies to all the Moon boys. Well, because they share a body and uses one dick.

Marc just loves pressing against you. He's pretty experimental with the positions. Aftercare with Marc is just heavenly. Bubble bath, washing your body with a loofa. But then he gets turned on again and fucks you in the bath.

You could exist and just breathe, Marc will get turned on (like Nathan tbh).

Jonathan Levy... ugh dilf. An actual one. Expect a long one (tw: mentions mira)

Usually it's the teacher-student love affair with this guy (tbh real) but seriously you can treat him better than Mira.

Something about you keeps driving him crazy to the point that Episode 4 and 5 of the show didn't happen 💅💅

He sees that you're absolutely nothing like his ex wife. And he loves the breath of fresh air. You loved all the things Mira hated about him.

Jonathan loves it when you cup his face and just stare into his eyes. Loves it when you pack him his lunch and put in notes. Brags about it a lot with his co-workers.

Just imagine being in love with him since childhood, being broken hearted when he married Mira, but one drunken night he realized he shouldn't have been chasing after Mira and turned to look at you. You finally had him.

His daughter adores you. Jonathan sees you being so good with children and he immediately goes "I want one with you."

Breeding kink dude. This guy obviously has one. He loves children. (Personally i would give him a football team because he deserves it) when you do get pregnant, he would be so caring and attentive. You're pregnant with his baby so obviously he would spoil you non stop. He would just smile at you whenever you get mood swings and start to get annoyed when he chews too loud.

Just a lot of fucking. Shower, bed, walls, even inside closets. He just adores you. He couldn't believe he was so blind not to see how much you've loved him and he would spend the rest of his life making it up to you.

"Jon, too tired..."

"Need you so bad, hun... just a few more, please? Wanna cum in you again..."

Mira hates you, but since you're you, you always one-up her and you two may or may not have gotten into a fight and Jonathan found you more attractive since then.

You become possessive of Jonathan whenever Mira's around, but Jonathan actually finds it really hot. Expect more than one round of sex with him on those days.

He never cheats on you even if Mira keeps pushing it. You were one of a kind, Jonathan knew how broken-hearted you would be if he did. Jonathan would purposely treat you like a lady in front of Mira, 100 times more than he usually does (which is impossible he already treats you so well)

Just... you make him a better person. You got him on a leash. He's not going anywhere.

Also he definitely loves risky sex. House filled with guests and you two are in the bathroom. He would even make you moan loudly that it'll annoy Mira who is passing by the bathroom. You enjoyed it when Mira's pissed off. You just hate her so much.

Steven oh Steven. Just imagine trying to seduce Steven, and he's just clueless and continues to ramble on about Egyptian history and all, but you're trying to fuck him.

You want him to clear his table of books and just slam you on the table to fuck you. You go back to reality and he's smiling innocently at you as he kept talking.

You just hear nothing. His voice sounded muffled to you as your eyes scanned his face and stops on his nose... his nose.

Big noses. What Doja Cat said.

"Steven."

"Yes, love?"

"I want you to fuck me right now."

Soft sex with Steven. He doesn't want any position but missionary. He loves seeing your face.

Breeding kink? Yes. You all know this by now.

Falls silent when he cums, eyes rolling to the back of his head. It feels so overwhelming but so good. Loves filling you up to the brim.

Sometimes when you leave a pair of panties out, he would fight the urge to jack off to them. He just misses you so so much.

When you come back, he would push you against the wall and attack you with kisses and hickeys.

He also buys you a matching Koala plush keychain for your keys.

Sometimes you just want him to fuck you mercilessly, just slam you around and use you. UGH IM SCREAMING.

And back to the nose thing, he definitely let you grind on his nose at some point.

"C'mon, love... wanna taste you..."

Something about him nerding out just turns you on. You would suck his dick while he's talking. Even after cumming, you don't stop. You love seeing him overstimulated.

They say home is where the heart is. But god do you love the english 💅💅💅

Did he restrain you to his bed at some point? You told him to. And it unlocked a kink.

But do you know what kink Steven would have? Worship. Take it or leave it.

Messy kisses, his light colored shirts are stained with your lipstick. He ends up with his neck filled with hickeys. His back is scarred by your nails.

Risky sex? Fucking in the museum bathroom. Steven looked so hot behind the gift shop that you couldn't help it. Steven's dad material too, talks to kids really well.

So yeah that's when your breeding kink appeared. You wanted him to get you pregnant. He would be a great father.

"Cum inside me, Stevie. Fill me up."

Loves sucking on your tit while groping the other. He wants to make eye contact with you as much as he could while he does it.

Bree- *gunshots*

This one is obvious though. He has a breeding kink and wants to get you pregnant.

Let's pretend Gabriella's alive here and he sees how good you are with her. He wants to have a bigger family with you.

"Gabby said she wants a sibling..."

Yeah. That's when you know, non stop breeding. Even when you're not even ovulating, he just fills you up. He wants to get you pregnant and see how good you look pregnant.

When you start lactating even before you give birth, he'd suck them out. He didn't want to waste good milk.

He treats you like a gentleman but at the same time you want him to slam you down and fuck you.

He's an old fashioned lover boy, romantic dinner and flowers. Gabriella has a babysitter while you two go on a date. She thinks you two are really perfect for each other. She draws you two a lot and you put them on the fridge.

"Daddy, I saw mommy kissing Spider-Man."

You two choked on your breakfast. Miguel hasn't told her yet about him being Spider-Man. He looks at you and smirks.

"Oh, did she?"

Prepare for a long night of degradation. Pulling your hair and jackhammering into you.

"Such a slut, huh?"

"Dumbass, you're Spider-Man. You can't call me a slut for kissing my husband."

He just fucks you harder. Miguel does get tired easily and lets you ride him.

Just... yes. And yes, he does bite you.

#across the spiderverse #miguel smut #miguel o'hara smut #moon knight smut #marc spector smut #steven grant smut #nathan bateman smut #moon knight #ex machina #scenes from a marriage #jonathan levy #minispidey requests

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