#Blue Linen Top

[tahliafox]

Can't Stop.

Natasha Romanoff x Reader.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Mommy!Nat, choking, spitting, slight clouded consent that turns into clear consent, dumbing down, scissoring.

Word count: 2992

The window was open ever-so-slightly, but every word spoken and every noise made seemed to ring within Natasha’s ears. Everything was you, all her thoughts were just you. She could frame the way you were laying on your stomach on the grass, leaning on your elbows so you could continuously flick the page of the Oxford Classic in your hands. Little stars shimmered in your eyes from the sun, you’d been out there for hours so it had moved to shine directly onto your face - how you could see Natasha did not know, but she was oh so thankful for the clear view of you front on because the tank top seemed to shimmy down just enough to have a clear view of your cleavage, and with your arms pushed together Natasha was practically drooling. The white linen shorts you had on had ridden up as you fidgeted from the itchiness of the floor and she could see - if she looked hard enough- the little indents of grass blades pressed into the sides of your thighs. 

She stared at you intently, drying a porcelain plate with a blue-chequered towel had become a mindless movement- as had everything else dissipated in her brain because,  oh God , your lacy white bra was just peaking above the pretty pink tanktop you were wearing and her mind was spiralling. Your father stood besides you, looking down, talking about something that caused your brows to furrow into confusion and look away from the book you were reading - Roxanna by Defoe. 

Natasha put down the plate that was completely polished at this point, cleared her throat and brought a bitten-red lip between her teeth. If your father wasn’t standing there she would have taken the silver digital camera on the kitchen shelf and started treating you like her little model, positioning you in all the poses that were flashing throughout her mind. Pricks settled in her stomach as the realisation that you still lived with your father sobered her dirty mind. You were a teenager, at only 19. Not even that, you were her best friend's daughter. 

Steve’s daughter. 

She’d only met you last year, why he kept you a secret from her she would never know but it was certainly a good idea. The corruptive thoughts that clouded any rational judgement being able to form in her mind had slowly gotten worse, and worse as she got to know you more. The first time you’d stayed round Natasha’s was practically a test of self control for her- which she’d partially lost from stealing a pair of your lacy, baby-pink underwear and keeping them for activities she hoped only you’d imagine her doing. Not that she’d admit to anyone, but the sheets you’d slept in were never washed, nor used again, and sitting in the same house that you now lived in. The thought of setting up a camera in the spare bedroom was maybe a thought too far in her head…  she only wanted to see you.

After her and an ex-girlfriend broke up she moved away from the tower and stayed with Steve in his countryside retirement house- the fact that you also lived there totally had nothing to do with it. With every week you got more comfortable with Natasha, the naivety of her actions never faded. Consistently testing the boundaries, she’d sit so close to you as you watched a movie, when she’d talk to you her hands always found a way to your thigh, or shoulder, or neck, or any skin she could see. Steve never thought anything of it, after all you were both girls- for all he knew Natasha was much of a motherly figure to you.

Rolling over onto your back, completely abandoning the book in your hands, a loud, exacerbated sigh left your mouth - stopping Natasha’s whirling train of thought.

“I told you I had to go away for the week! I cannot help that.” Steve spoke sternly. 

You groaned and threw your hands over your eyes to finally shield them from the sun. a smile creeped up on Natasha’s face at your teenage ignorance. Your movements seemed to freeze for one second and you arched your back to look at Natasha in the window upside down.

“Natty! Come here please.” You spoke so sweetly, with a menacing grin on your face. She immediately stepped out onto the patio and went to stand in the shade. Steve smiled at her sheepishly, then looked back at you. 

What on earth you were going to ask her, she did not know. Nonetheless, she’d do it with no hesitation.

“You’ll be here to take care of me, right?” You sat up onto your ass and asked, giving Natasha your best puppy-dog eyes. She blushed so obviously, then walked over to stand behind you. You lent back onto her shins and looked up at her as she looked directly at your father. 

“Not quite sure about that, my love. Maybe I'm going with Steve.”

You gasped and lent away from her.

“How dare you!” You stood up. “I cannot be here all by myself, I beg… please you know I hate the dark.” You whispered the last bit only to Natasha. 

And of course, two days later Steve had gone and you and Natasha sat comfortable in the living room watching TV. The idea of going with Steve to visit the squad never even crossed her mind. A movie that Nat had let you pick was playing in the background. Recently, you had been obsessed with Cate Blanchett so you picked Carol. It was an innocent choice, knowing nothing about the movie itself. Natasha, however, knew everything about it… the sheer glee that ran through her when you brought it to her was slightly shameful.

A pale, thin hand slowly stroked a pattern on your thigh, red acrylic nails tracing forwards… then backwards, then down to the inside of your thigh, then back up onto your knee, then over and over again. A soft flutter beat inside your ears, cheeks flushed a continuous red and little breaths kept pattering out your nose. If Natasha had any idea the way her hand was affecting you, you were sure she would laugh at you.

The pattering of the rain on the window matched your heart beat, fast and irregular. Summer showers were common, and you knew that within the hour there would be some thunder. 

Natasha had her hair in a loose bun, pulled through the hair tie and just left in a knot. It was like silk anyways so Natasha probably had no worries of it becoming tangled, you could tell how soft it was from the way little face-framing pieces fell against ivory cheeks. Her freckles seemed to stick out more today from a rosey-blush against her cheeks, when Nat removed her makeup it must’ve irritated her skin a little.

She was sitting there so beautifully, and… God her hand was on your thigh, and you were hardly breathing, and if you could you knew she wouldn't want you, there was no way, and oh my god were you a pervert thinking of her hand like this, and you were wet, so, so wet and she was just sitting there so innocently, so motherly-

“What's up?” the groan of her joints was practically audible as she turned to face you, interrupting your slow cascade into a swoon-induced panic attack. She figured it out, she totally must have figured out what a creep you were-

A soft hand groomed its way through your hair. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”  Natasha soothed, her voice dripping with honey. 

The juxtaposition of an empty house and a motorway in New York was personified by your racing mind and the words coming out of your mouth. Why was it  so hard  to form some sort of coherent sentence? 

Natasha just waited patiently, somehow she knew that something was up, maybe your dad being away freaked you out, or the movie was too much. She tried something that, dear lord, did not help the situation.

The hand that was once stroking your thigh scooped around the underside of both your legs, pulling them across her own lap. She guided your head to lay against her neck, resting her own on top of you. A loving kiss was pressed against the parting of your hair, and in that moment you stupidly wished you were bald just so you could feel the tenderness of her lips against your skin. 

“You don’t need to talk to me if you can’t. I promise I understand, my sweet girl. I’m right here, ok.” as she said the latter of the sentence her hand pulled yours against her cheek, framing her face as to prove that she was, in fact, right here. And she knew you understood by the way you nestled into her without response. 

This stayed fact for a while, your eyes barely staying open as you fell into a comfort-induced sleep.

Natasha was restless watching you. The wrong message had gotten to her head, that maybe her hand on your thigh was not a comforting movement, but something that made you uncomfortable. Pulling you into her, and forcing you to sink into her was the only way she could think of avoiding the possible confrontation. 

Of course, to you, it was not force, nor was it unease you were feeling from her hand, but a heat inducing bother in between your legs. 

Your thighs tightened against Natasha’s chest, and she moved her hand to rest just above your forehead. She fluttered gentle kisses against your hair, then your forehead, then nose. God, your skin was so soft. Natasha’s heart picked up and immediately she was hot. Eyes squeezed tight together and a strained breath was brought through her nose. The vanilla musk of the sweet, innocent perfume that you wore everyday was sucked into her veins. 

She couldn’t stop.

The kisses got wetter, pecking your cheek over and over, so quickly. Her tongue started to get involved, she licked down to the corner of your mouth and pecked there some more. If the older woman's head wasn't absolutely deluded with a sheer need to keep her lips over your hot skin she would be concerned about how rough she was being. 

You were asleep, it kept her going. 

It was finally when she had to shift her whole body to get at you when you were woken up. Something wet and sharp was digging into your neck, your body convulsed away but Natasha was strong, so strong, and there was no way that you could shift away. She was not forceful, nor would she be, but to the older woman you were still asleep. A soft groan came out of her mouth, so close to your ear and you realised what she was doing.

Her teeth were sinking into your neck, and there was surely a hickey there. 

A shrill, scream-like moan came out your mouth, and Natasha whined. Oh god, you were awake. 

She still couldn’t stop. 

Her hands were gripping your thighs, leaving white rings where her fingers were clutching at you. And, god she kept going -licking, sucking, doing everything she could at the grove of your shoulder. The red, blood-splotched mark that she saw did not foster her self control, her mark was on you. On her baby. The moans coming out her mouth were nothing but desperation, dripping with need. 

You had to be dreaming, there was no way this woman was keening into you like she was. Her forehead was sweaty, and there was sweat sticking on her back from the adrenaline that was going through her. Natasha was finally on you, she was all over you and she was not going to get off.

“Natty, what… what are you - oh my god” Her teeth sunk in another spot and your hands gripped into ginger hair, “please, I dont- Nat!” You were moaning in an out of breaths and words and by some miracle she was able to pull away. 

Calloused, rough hands cradled your face. Her sweat-dripping forehead came to press into yours and her eyes were locked shut. She was panting like an animal and all you could do was stare. She’d moved you so you were laying underneath her against the couch, her body locked against yours.

And the movie- oh God the movie was still playing and if Natasha turned her head she’d realise that the scene where Carol and Therese are together for the first time was about to come on and the room would fill with moans other than hers. 

“Baby.” She whispered like a dirty secret. You nodded. “Tell me to stop, baby. I’m sorry. Tell me to stop and I will. You need to tell me”

Her lips started pecking at your lips. You wanted to beg her not too, please don't stop, don't ever stop, but the words didn't leave your mouth. You parted your lips to draw in some air as you were suffocating in the need that was reverberating off of Natasha but all this did was give her the opportunity to properly kiss you.

Her tongue swiped at your lips and her hands squeezed your face together tighter. Another shrill moan hit the walls, but it wasn't you. If anyone was listening to Natasha without realising what was happening, they’d think she was overdosing by the noises she was producing. All she needed was you.

“Baby, you need to tell me to stop.”

Her tongue was in your mouth again and you sucked at it, she could’ve come. 

And she couldn’t help it.

“My dumb, little baby. Tell mommy to stop.” Her voice was so sultry and low. The words were hush against your lips and your eyes closed with a sharp moan. The title hit you and your hands gripped at her biceps. 

“Mommy.” You moaned. She nodded her head and kissed at your mouth again.

“Oh, fuck- baby… say it again.” She moved her hands off your cheeks and started to unbutton the shirt, her shirt, that you were wearing. 

“Please don’t stop, mommy. Please, please, please.” You begged, over and over. She kept nodding and whining. The buttons were too much, so she just ripped the shirt open and got you undressed underneath her. Her hands were on your skin, and she still couldn't stop. She wouldn’t stop.

“My dumb little girl, keep begging mommy. I’ll give you whatever you want, baby. Anything.” 

You kept whining and begging, she had to lean away from you to get her shorts and tank off- you took your underwear off yourself. It felt like forever, but her hands were back on you again and you forgot she ever left. Her words clouded your head, consuming you entirely. 

“Come on, baby. Talk to me.”

You stayed silent, unable to form a thought and Natasha smiled down at you condescending. 

“Oh, is my little angel to dumb to talk?” She cooed. “You just need your mommy don't you. You need me to tell you what to do, huh? Oh, sweet girl.”

She got back on top of you, and oh dear was she wetter than you were. Her cunt pressed against yours and both your eyes shut. Her mouth opened and she started rubbing herself against your pussy. Moans filled the room and you realised it wasn't just yours.

As her hand came and gripped at your neck, you turned your head to look at the television. Carol was going down Therese’s body, going to eat her cunt. You looked back at Natasha and she leaned forward into you, your tits pressing together. Her nipples were so incredibly hard and you could feel them against yours. A gush of wetness came in between your thighs and the older woman could notice.

“You like that, angel.” You couldn’t tell if she meant what you and her were doing, or what Carol was doing to Therese but you nodded. “I’m going to eat you out so good one day, mommy is going to make your body hers.” Your moans started to get shorter and higher as she humped against you faster, a hand cradling the back of your head so your foreheads were together again. “Maybe i'll do it when your dads home , make you all quiet for me. Are you a naughty girl for me, baby?”

You screamed and opened your mouth so she could get one of her hands to hold your jaw open. Her tongue licked at your lips and she spat directly into your mouth.

“Mommy needs to cum on you first, wanna cum in you, baby Oh, i wish i could cum in you, fill you up with me. Mommy needs to be in her sweet girl, make you all mine. You wanna be mine don’t you, all mine. Let mommy think for you.”

You were so close- her words only spurring you on. “Want you to fill me up mommy. Wanna feel you inside me.” You choked out. 

Natasha was close as well, her body was convulsing against yours quicker, and even more desperate. “Cum with me, baby. Be a good girl and do as mommy says.”

Screams resonated in Natashas mind and she swore the orgasm that just hit her like a train would never end. Her teeth marked your forehead as she bit into you to try and curve the sheer overwhelming pulsing inbetween her legs. You were no better off, tears seeping through the corner of your eyes as you came against her pussy.

“Fuck, fuck- fuck. Oh shit, mommy is coming so hard. That's it.” She spoke you through your orgasm, one hand pressing against your lower stomach. “Oh baby, that’s it - keep coming for mommy.”

Your moans slowed down and she wiped the tears away from your eyes. “Such a good girl for me, aren't you? Mommys baby.”

[wyvernest]

soft s3x and grey sweats

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!gf!reader

warnings: smut, tooth rotting fluff, miguel wears grey sweatpants, soft and loving sex, domesticity, unprotected piv

summary: miguel ft. grey sweatpants

A gentle drizzle splatters on the windows of your bedroom, tapping its soft, irregular crystal drops onto the glass only to wake you from your blissful nap.

You had fallen asleep with your head on his chest, invaded by the warmth of his body next to yours, the fascinating feeling of being home with him. You couldn't ever dare to ask for more than that.

With a spine-bending stretch, you step out of the cosiness of the king-sized bed following the realisation of his absence. Leaping down the stairs, you seek the comfort of him being near you like a throat-gripping vice.

You hear the water running, occasionally overlapped by clattering, dishes clanking and drawers being pushed shut.

You step out into the hall of your open-concept kitchen, linen stockings preventing even the subtlest noises of your movements from reaching him through the ambiance.

Your weight on the wooden floor is merely a gust of wind as you sit yourself into the corner of the sofa in order to watch him from up close.

You hug your legs to your chest in an attempt to adapt to the temperature change of the room, your flimsy top and panties doing little in covering your middle.

He hasn't turned to you since you hopped off the stairway. Arrogance tugs at the furthest corner of your mind after having sneaked behind his hyper vigilance, completely unnoticed. You seize the opportunity to study him in the absence of his piercing gaze fixed upon you.

Your eyes linger over the expanse of his broad back, the navy blue, short-sleeved shirt creasing in thin, cascading lines over his shoulder blades as he shifts his weight to his right, bicep bulging when he stretches his hand up into a cupboard.

You're more than delighted to note the easiness with which he attains things normally out of your reach.

Not only once did you call for his help to get you something from any place higher above you, having him stand behind you when doing so, and without fail him making sure to push his groin up against your ass in the process, prompting you to bend just slightly forward onto the board or sink in front of you before the simplest request for aid turned into you, taking him against any surface around the house.

It became quite the signal after a while. Whenever he heard you, 'Miguel! Come here for a second, baby’, his cock would fatten in advance at the sound of the command.

"Should've stayed upstairs, muñeca. I was making something for you." he snaps you out of your reverie, the sleepy raspiness in his voice deliciously running late over the last syllables of his remorseful disfavour.

While still not facing you, it turns out he was well-aware of your presence.

"Don't worry about it. I'll just watch." you excuse yourself, draping your midriff over the armrest, hands supporting your head on the soft cushions as you thaw at the sight of him cooking for you.

He returns to the kitchen island, his index finger mindlessly following the instructions he was mentally revising, before his eyes find you on the couch, scanning every patch of skin you have on display, as if sizing you up for his dessert.

He allows his vision to wash over your silky smooth thighs, your waistline that moulds into the hill of the pillows, the exact same way it moulds so erotically against him when he pistons his hips into yours.

With your pleading gaze inviting, thighs squeezed together in frustration, he is unsure of what to finish next, the pancakes, or you.

Your attention drops to the chubbed, prominent curve of his stiffening cock in his sweatpants, the shade of it nearly obscenely large, evident on the grey fabric. His hand slips down his crotch, lazily palming his dick through the material. You feel the heat pooling between your thighs, yearning growing unbearable.

"I have to let it rest. I'm all yours now." he suggests smugly, and part of you suspects that he had been needing to take you since you decided to flutter your eyes shut on the bed, arms coiled around his waist.

You shamelessly keep your eyes on target as he sets the dough bowl aside, approaching you with a heaviness in his pace that you know oh so well.

His dick twitches ever so slightly in his pants, hardening until its outline becomes lewdly evident, straining upwards into his pants in all its length and girth that ruptures you unforgivingly whenever he stuffs himself inside you.

Before he can even reach the sofa, your eager hands clutch his waist, feeling the rigid muscles underneath his shirt as you start planting gentle kisses down his abdomen, having him shudder at the contact even through the cotton fibre.

Your soft breasts meet his bulge in the process, offering nothing more than a few mere brushes that only rile him up more than he had hoped.

He drops his weight next to you on the cushions as the only way to avoid the urge to pull his cock out and shove it down your throat through your pretty, plush lips. He opts to rest his head back on the pillows, legs spread wide in front of him, taking up nearly all the space next to you.

Not a single moment is wasted before you take his cheeks in your hands, fingertips grazing his rough, barely visible stubble, pressing rushed, obsessive kisses all over his face.

You slide one leg over his, seeking the pressure of his broad, firm thigh to your clothed cunt.

His own hands are quick to grab your waist, pulling you flush against him, your chest flattened on his. His lips find yours through your loving pecks, deepening the kiss he caught you with, swiftly interrupted by a soft gasp of yours the second your ass meets his boner.

You teasingly lower yourself onto him gently, revelling in the feeling of the tip pressing harshly into the thin fabric of your panties.

Letting your hand travel down his firm chest, down his abdomen and over the sizable bulge in his sweatpants, you cup him through the material, applying just enough pressure to coax a groan out of his throat.

His wide thighs involuntarily flex on your sides and he twitches in your hand, a reminder of his force, his size in comparison to you, his ability to have you any time he wanted despite the position, despite your teasing.

His head leans back on the couch exposing his throat, eyes dazed out and fixed on the view of your breasts peeking from under your crop, visibly satisfied with the angle he found. Your boobs, round and soft, ever so inviting for him to knead in his large hands, he thinks.

Warm palms leave your hips to slide up your waist, disappearing under the cotton shirt, idly groping your chest.

You reel at the feeling of his rough, calloused hands on your smooth skin, touching and fondling in all the right places.

His knuckles protrude every now and then through the thin textile as he keeps massaging your breasts, feeling your pulse quicken with each deep breath you take.

Before you can even decide on your next move, you feel the blistering warmth of a splayed out hand on your back, propping you gently as he tilts you to the side, a familiar bow of such a dirty dance that has your thoughts melting out of your brain, your whole existential purpose being resumed to him alone in a matter of seconds.

He lays you down over the length of the couch with such care, such strength that has you submitting mindlessly, wrapping your frail arms around his neck. Legs up in the air, he has you just like he always does. Your blood boils through you, the ignition of nerves only he could ever cause.

He descends upon you, veiling your entire body in his, hands eagerly running over your body, playing you like an instrument that only sings for him, that only he can hold.

You sigh, taking in the scent of him, letting it invade your lungs like inhalants. The visceral musky cologne, with shades of a pine forest that had your thoughts run wild and senses sharpened.

Half lidded eyes accentuate his savagely, crimson irises and dilated pupils, the sheer sight of you under him never ceasing to rile him up bad enough to make him beg for your touch.

You squirm weakly; quickly enough he takes the hint and hooks his thumb around your panties, dragging them down your soft skin, impatience evident in his movements.

You feel the weight of his hard cock on your thigh, head going dizzy at the thought of its girth stretching you open, the thought of the pained groans that crawl out of his throat when he comes, his dick pulsating inside you.

He stills above you, eyes darting over your face, as if searching for something he had just remembered he was missing, a gaze condimented with adoration, curiosity, and a hesitancy you may only interpret as astonishment.

"No puedo creer que seas mía" (”Can't believe you're mine.”) he mutters, barely above a halted whisper, following the realisation of your rather perplexed demeanour when confronted with such antics. ”Makes me think that maybe", he pauses, "pushing through all the shit in my life made me worthy of you.”, he confesses, vulnerable and wounded.

You've caught smudges of this view of his before, only not this categorical. In a way, you find it quite the most heartwarming yet peculiar thing there is to know about him. He seeks the comfort of believing that all the suffering he endured meant something, a sacrificial lamb for him to ultimately earn the limitless love of your embrace, your affections and unwavering devotion.

It wasn’t pride that clawed at his memories of having conquered and survived when so many others didn’t in the same circumstances he faced. It was relief, the relief of a man that swam the ocean to find paradise.

And there you were, silk-smooth, gentle hands cupping his face with such infatuation he did not think possible, looking up at him like there wasn’t anything more beautiful in existence you would rather see.

His heart had inevitably melted into yours; now soldered together against all odds fate could bestow.

”I love you, Miguel. With or without your scars.”, you pull him into a reassuring, promise-sealing kiss, which he softly reciprocates, regaining his confidence and unyielding want.

His lips ghost over your jugular, relishing in the way your exhales halt in your throat, pausing in expectancy as his hot breath excites goosebumps over the satin skin of your exposed neck.

”I love you more.” he teases, lips latching onto your pulse point, lightly sucking hungry kisses down to the valley where your throat meets your shoulder.

Despite knowing how adamant you were about your own love being immeasurable, let alone any lesser than his, he took great joy in dramatically rivalling you on the matter, beclouding your fondness only to start a competition of who manages to sway the other with their words of pure worship and fidelity.

Whether there was another underlying reason for his racing I love you more’s, you do not know. Maybe a reminiscence of his mistrustful, defensive nature, reflecting its last slither of bewilderment into a seemingly innocent insistence that he, indeed, loved you more than you loved him.

How could he not? You had no knowledge of the things he had to do for his job, what it truly meant to risk everything for someone, to risk your life for another.

And he prefers it this way, to have you shielded away from the horror of finding yourself in that situation, from the heartbreak of even imagining the circumstances in which you may decide to give your life for him in all your passion, let alone pondering upon the choice and place the verdict upon your declaration of love, weighing it down in all gravity and seriousness of the pledge. In the depths of his mind, he dreads it, hearing you say, ‘I love you, I would give my life for you’, although he would do so for you without thinking twice.

He dreads knowing that his presence in your life could scar you so that you may have to die for him, that his soul alone could be stained in your blood, even only in hypothesis.

Therefore, he feels far more content thinking that you don’t quite love him as much, thinking that you, as perfect as you are, would not suffer should anything happen to him. That your attachment to him will only ever bring you nothing but joy.

And oh how he brought you joy. Pure bliss and paradisiacal rapture. Even more so when he held you so dearly against him, painting you in doting kisses, marks of which linger on your skin long after he’s departed.

His warm, broad hand sails down over the plushy mound of your breast, indulging in a layover just to squeeze lightly. To drift below; its tender, round shape fitting in the junction between his thumb and index finger; his palm seemingly continuing its travel down your waist before returning unexpectedly, massaging your soft tit after a run down and up your waist, making the butterflies in your belly grow agitatedly.

The meagre shudders of your body underneath his unpredictable and exciting touch, the silent whines that die in your throat as he kisses down the crook of your neck have his cock twitching in his pants, beads of precum gathering on the flushed tip, staining the material. You feel the unmistakable length of it poke your thigh, hard and thick.

"Eres tan buena conmigo" (”You’re so good to me.”) he breathes deeply, voice hoarse with restraint, lacing his words with a poised thread that wraps around your neck, earning him a fractured moan. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

Grabbing onto his massive shoulders for support, delighted with the way his muscles ripple under your soft hands as he continues his attack on your most sensitive spots he knows so well, you press your leg tentatively into his hard-on, an unspoken, considerate request for him to cease the teasing and chase his own pleasure.

“I want you”, you whisper breathily, finding your voice on the last word, accentuating the singularity of your need, the force with which you crave him, only him. “I love you, Miguel, I wanna make you happy.” you declare desperately, planting another suffocating kiss on his slightly agape lips, having him gasp softly into your mouth, a killer whale surfacing above the waterline for a superficial breath before diving back into the depths of the ocean.

He kisses you with such ardour, savouring the addictive taste of your delicate lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth like you hadn’t seen each other for months, like one of those desperate days in which he has his way with you right after he returns from a bone-chilling mission throughout the multiverse.

After ending the kiss with an unnecessarily harsh smooch, he draws back, making you giggle through unrelenting panting. He scans your face, absorbing the image of you, in your most defenceless self, so full of what can only be adoration for him.

He takes in your half-lidded, love-struck eyes, the look he thinks not even the bestest of painters of the world could capture on canvas. The look he thinks would be perverted in blasphemy should it be, even in attempt, recreated on any portrait, any sculpture, any photograph.

He follows the line of your jaw that cascades sharply into the crook of your neck, the only safe place for him to lay his head at night, the place he reveres to place the sweetest of kisses upon, having you either laugh or melt in his arms.

His vision then lands on your sore lips, exhaling the very air he breathes, uttering the same words that echoed in his head out in the field; ‘I love you, truly, entirely and through my whole being. With my body, heart and soul, oh, I love you.’

He dips his head down your waist in reverence, leaving gentle pecks down the line of your stomach. In any other instance, you would giddily chuckle at his ministrations, a chuckle that would soon turn into a hearty burst of laughter, as he knew just the spots to touch and tickle and make you reel in retaliation when play-fighting on a particularly lazy Sunday evening.

However, now, there was no impulse to laugh. You watch him closely as he reaches the crease of your pelvic bone, looking up to meet your gaze.

You feel your face heat up at the sight of him, a strong hand wrapped around your thigh, the other holding your middle.

Satisfied with the moans he successfully drove out of you, breaths getting heavy at the thought of how wet you have to be by now, he sits up on his knees to hurriedly haul his shirt over his head.

His dick grows harder at the familiar picture of you, laid back on the sofa, eyes glazed with drunken want and the remembrance of his feverish touch on you.

Letting your hands roam his chest and firm abdomen while he disposes of the shirt, you curl your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, carefully dragging them down his bulky thighs, eyes widening as his cock springs upwards from the grey fabric, hitting his stomach before ever-so-slightly bending to the right under its generous weight.

You let yourself fall back into the cosy corner of the couch, parting your legs with lascivious speed while watching him stroke his now glistening cock, eyes trained on yours.

A vigorous, bulging forearm anchors next to your head, the other guiding himself inside you. His mountainous shoulders block any view of the room aside from him, and you obey the impulse to run your hands over his biceps, his pecs, his jaw.

You draw in a sharp breath at the contact of his fat tip on your wet folds, rubbing into the dampness at the entrance before breaching you.

You whimper softly, trying to adjust. No matter how many times you have sex, it always takes you time to adapt to his size, to fit him inside you to the hilt.

His forehead rests against yours as he pushes further in, a gentle hand coming to collect a few unruly strands of hair from your face. It stops to cup your fiery, rosy cheek, his thumb grazing your dainty skin protectively, soothingly, before his arm docks symmetrically to the other, beside your head to balance his weight on top of you.

Your tear-welled eyes flutter shut, the dip between your brows deepening and rising into an unspoken plea for a one-second pause. He stops, knowing of your struggles despite your fervent insistences that he may always bottom out regardless of your aches.

He cannot bring himself to cause you discomfort in any way, even under the greenlight of your sincere consent.

“I know, love, I’m sorry.”, he pacifies you, and you’re overwhelmed by his attentive care, starting to rain messy, fatigued kisses over each patch of skin on his face within reach. He returns the gesture in earnest, covering your features in slow smooches.

It calms you, allowing him to push all the way inside your tight cunt, grunting into your temple as you tense around his shaft the moment his tip presses against your cervix.

A loud sigh that swiftly leaves your agape mouth tells him to proceed. His hips start gyrating languidly, his dick exits you only halfway, coated in your juices, before driving back in with a quiet squelch. You throw your head back on the pillows, legs coiled securely around his waist as he makes love to you, laying you onto a cloud of pleasure.

"Ugh, oh-," he groans, his voice deep and rugged, mirroring his own mind-numbing bliss, “you feel so good”. With his head now leaned into your chest, his heavy breaths are hot on your skin, timed with the drive of his hips into yours.

He starts going faster, yet the force of his thrusts still soft. The second he finds the puffy nub of nerves that snaps firecrackers in your lower belly, you grab at the mattress, gasping and moaning weakly. Muted whines are put out in your throat as you close your mouth to swallow a kiss your body had craved to give him.

His shoulders flex under his weight as he picks up more speed, nearing his high and finding the rhythm you know only leads to those desperate grunts that have you coming only from their sound alone.

He pushes into his thrusts, rubbing the coarse hair above the base of his cock on your clit. Your back contorts and arches in response, gifting him an even more delicious angle for the precise rolls of his hips.

You choke on a pained scream that dissolves into your limbs as you come hard, your orgasm washing over you in drumming tidal waves, crashing onto you with every drive of his fat cock into your soft, drenched cunt.

"Oh-- ugh, yeah- so good," he groans into your rose, kiss-marked neck, seemingly taken aback by the force of his own euphoria, as if he had been expecting a gentle current of ecstasy as result of his intendedly soft and gentle session of lovemaking, instead being met a fierce jolt of elation. He stills, holding a breath from erupting out of his throat into a shaky moan.

The bridge of his nose is pressed perfectly into your neck, a sculpture-worthy puzzle of two souls sewn together. His hot palm seeks the feeling of your smooth skin, landing shy of your waist, holding you against him with the firmness of a man who heeds every longing you had ever voiced, who heeds the closeness you had always coveted as you rode the rapids of your orgasm.

The pressure hammers into you in aftershocks, hauling you back down in fading flutters, pulsing into your lower belly as he tenses, pushing his hips flush against your ass with one final blow, releasing into the warmth of your cunt.

You clench faintly at the feeling of his fat cock spasming and twitching inside you, catching on to the last gust of your high.

He groans in oversensitivity, pulling out before carefully placing his broad hand in between your thighs, tenderly cupping your dripping pussy to prevent his come from staining the peppered grey couch. You flinch at the contact, not having fully recovered from the stimulation.

He leans into you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. You turn to him instinctively, unable to find your voice or enough strength in your arms to do anything but gaze up at him with the face he knew so well; the euphoria-painted face you grace him with when his love overflows your body, teeming into your watery eyes.

Sitting up, he unpacks a thin, white blanket from the opposite edge of the sofa, cocooning you into the clean, fresh fabric. You hum in comfort, struggling to chase the warmth of his arms as he tucks the edges of the material underneath the contour of your body.

”Just stay here for a bit.”, he whispers into your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. “ I‘m almost done with your surprise.”

“You want me to help?” you resort to a last-chance inquiry in hopes of finding an excuse to sit beside him for longer, even in the kitchen.

He knows you’re well-intended, but decides to better value the total credit of his courteous offering.

You will most certainly keep the stakes up and stubbornly get dinner ready for him on the very next occasion you find, so he might as well echo your stubbornness and finish his task alone, meeting great satisfaction in spoiling you with the opportunity your body has given him.

“No te preocupes, (Don't worry.) I’ll manage.”

You dramatically reach for him with your extended arms as he heads towards the kitchen. He throws you a sympathetic smile before resuming his cooking, fully aware that a considerable part of him would have wanted nothing more than to rush back into your arms and spend the rest of the evening smothering you into his warm embrace, play fighting you into submitting to his self-indulgent caresses and kisses.

divider by @cafekitsune

spanish translations by @bookished 🤍(tysm!!)

50% requested by @badbitchhour (ik u wanted a wedding night but my brain short-circuited when i tried to write it, it's still coming tho!!! meanwhile made the very soft and emotional lovemaking part til i get around it and start feeling it)

a/n: don't pick on me for the extremely creative! title i wanted to make shit clear from the start. (clickbaiting)

also smut authors try not to use the same words and phrases for every sex scene without using things like 'wand' and 'shaft' (challenge impossible)

[formulawolff]

sunbathing - t.w.

pairing: reader x dbf!toto wolff

word count: 1.3k

warnings: age gap, highly inappropriate flirting and banter, fingering (f! receiving), alcohol use, some light smut for this fine sunday evening, fyi, the reader is in her early/mid 20s in this!,

a/n: the premise of this one came to me as a request! i just want to clarify that this is a slight au, as toto is not a married man in this! i hope y’all enjoy! <3 (also that gif?? omf. i need him.)

bundles of light cast a shine on the waves, the surrounding air tinged with the salty scent of the sea. the only color in your field of vision is blue, the hues ranging from a vivid cerulean to a rich sapphire. above, seagulls glide, dotting the skyline with tiny white specks.

you bask in the warmth of the sun, your heated skin glowing from your tanning oil. situated on the sun deck, you were in the perfect spot to catch some rays, reapplying tanning oil routinely throughout the afternoon.

"everything going okay up there honey?"

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

the voice was none other than your father's.

your father happened to be peter bonnington, one of the top engineers for the mercedes-amg petronas formula one team. he just so happened to be close to lewis hamilton, eight time world champion.

yet, to your disappointment, lewis was not present today. so much for shooting your shot with the devilishly handsome driver.

when you were offered the chance to spend the day on toto wolff's yacht with your family, how could you have refused?

who else gets to spend the afternoon sunbathing on desk of a yacht as it floats along the mediterranean sea?

springing to your feet, you lean over the rail, picking out your father as he mingles with the group, "i may come down and get some water soon!"

"sounds good love!" your father responds, a wide grin plastered across his face. stifling a giggle, you notice the crimson hue tinging his cheeks, flourishing into his neck.

oh god, he was drunk.

well, you all were. at least, those old enough to drink.

for the start of the summer break in the season, mr. wolff had suggested the mercedes families gather together for a day of relaxation and celebration. to your disappointment, there were not a lot of suitors present.

of course, there were quite a few children, some teenagers.

you had met with a few girls around your age, but they were still significantly younger, approximately three or fours your junior. so, to escape from the small talk and chitchat, you had waltzed up to the sun deck, settling in one of the chairs.

luckily, you had brought a book with you, so it kept you somewhat busy.

and to your satisfaction, no one bothered you. no one at all.

an afternoon alone on the deck of a yacht, where no one would bother you but to bring you a few drinks and some snacks?

it was perfect. absolutely perfect.

you couldn't have envisioned a more perfect afternoon.

a flurry of voices catches your attention, but you ignore them. it almost sounded as if there was playful argument. of course, recognized your father's voice, as it was the loudest.

your mom was one patient woman, that was for sure.

with the sun beating down, and the buzz of the alcohol, you couldn't help but feel your lashes flutter, drowsiness beginning to take ahold.

"ms. bonnington," a voice startles you, thick with a heavy accent, "i figured i would run some water up for you."

sitting up in your chair, you clutch your chest as you make out who is standing beside you, one bottle of water in each hand.

it was none other than toto wolff.

with his significant stature and broad shoulders, he nearly towers over you, donned in a thin linen button up and khaki shorts.

with his fluffy brunette hair, and sharp, chiseled features framed by thick lashes, there was no denying that the team principal was devastatingly handsome. toned muscles rippled underneath his button-up, the wind catching the fabric every so often, exposing a trail hair leading up to his navel.

sure, you may have had a teenage crush on one of your father's best friends and coworkers, but surely you outgrew that long ago.

surely.

you felt your heart skip a beat as he eyed you, prompting you to respond.

"oh my god," you nearly stumble over your words, "i am so sorry if i didn't hear you the first time, mr. wolff. i was falling asleep and i-"

"no need for those formalities around here," a soft chuckle rumbles in his throat, "you can call me toto, you know."

"i-i'm sorry," you mumble, accepting the water bottles from his hands, "i've probably been in the sun a little too long. i'm a little scatterbrained right now."

"have you been having fun, at least?" to your surprise, the team principal sits in a chair beside you, "i apologize if you haven't been able to meet some people your age. i thought there would be more girls for you to get along with."

"i've been fine," you shrug, "i'm a big girl, i know how to occupy myself."

as you lay back down in the chair, toto can't help but drink in the sight of you.

fuck, were you absolutely gorgeous.

he relished the way your hair was pulled into a tight bun, emphasizing the bridge of your nose and the fullness of your lashes. your skin glistens under the sun, toto swallowing thickly as his mind wanders.

it was so wrong to look at you this way. absolutely sinful.

yet, he couldn't. he couldn't look away.

"everything okay, toto?" oh god, the way his name sounded so sweet from those plush lips.

"i'm fine," he waves a hand, "i'm just admiring the view. that's all."

you arch a brow, pursing your lips, "the mountains or my ass?"

ever so slightly, you wiggle your wips, cheeks jiggling in response.

"you want me to be honest or do you want me to lie?"

"hmmm," you hum, "i prefer honesty, mr. wolff."

mr. wolff.

in his shorts, he felt his cock throb. instinctively, he shifts in the seat, praying that you wouldn't notice.

however, it's hard to miss.

especially in those khaki shorts.

"see something you like?" you bat your lashes, the corners of your lips curling into a devious grin.

"yes," he leans over, face merely centimeters from yours, "you."

"not like you can do anything about it," you counter, the tough exterior crumbling as you feel a hand gliding along the back of your thigh, squeezing the curve of your ass.

perhaps you did not outgrow that teenage crush all those years ago.

"i can," he smirks ever so slightly, "no one can see up here. if i would have known you were wearing this little number, i would have ran up with that water hours ago."

"what if someone comes up here?"

"they won't," he shakes his head, "they're all eating right now."

"you don't think my father will come looking for me?"

"do you know how intoxicated your father is right now? he wouldn't even make it up the stairs," fingers hook the strap of your bikini bottoms, snapping it against your skin, "so, schatzi, what shall we do?"

"what's on your mind?"

toto cocks his head, the fingers delving between your thighs. nimbly, they lightly trace along your folds, teasing, "oh, if we were completely alone, it would be a far different story. however, i have limited time, and there's a large gathering down below."

"oh fuck," you clamp down on your tongue as a finger circles your clit, juices beginning to trickle down your soft skin.

"you like that?" toto coos, applying more pressure, "you like how wet i make you? you're a good girl, letting me touch you like this."

"toto!" a voice calls from below, "we need your assistance with the radio!"

"jesus fucking christ," the team principal rolls his eyes.

rising to his feet, fingers grasp you chin, tilting your head upwards.

"you should accompany your father to a grand prix sometime. i would love to see your beautiful face one day in the paddock."

"maybe i will," you murmur, flashing toto with a radiant grin, "would you fuck me in the paddock too?"

"oh schatzi, i would do more than fuck you in the paddock. i would make that little pussy of yours weep."

and just like that, you watch as the team principal strolls over to the stairs, shooting you one final wink before disappearing.

biting your lip, you reach for the water, twisting it open.

perhaps you would lean over that rail one more time.

after all, you were starting to get an appetite.

[eumivrse]

BE NATURAL : nanami kento

warning(s) breeding, creampie, mentions of pregnancy, shower sex, spanking, slight hair pulling, biting, a little degradation, reader & nanami are married, aftercare

word count 3,844

author’s note cuz nanami is the master at fucking you senseless then taking care of u after :,)

you aren’t sure what pissed him off, all you know is that kento came home already pent up.

you came out of your shared bedroom with nothing but a towel on— being on your way to take a shower— but you heard the anticipated click! of the door, which naturally made you wanna greet the love of your life. he hooked his finger in to the back of his loafers to take them off, meticulously placing them back on the shoe rack next to the front door. he hadn’t noticed you at this point and something about the underlying tension is stopping you from greeting him with your usual cheer.

after all, it’s rare for him to not acknowledge you considering that you’re his first priority to kiss and hug as soon as he opens the door to your humble abode.

his eyes aren’t visible from the specs he often wears for work, rotating his neck to unravel his tie, wrapping it around his palm as he walked towards the kitchen. he placed his glasses and silk tie down on the quartz counter and he finally took notice of you, walking up towards you without saying anything before resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“what’s wrong?” you lace your fingers through his hair, trying to comfort him, an arm around his back. your husband is never particularly emotional, but at times, there’s days like these where he comes home fatigued like he just fought a war or something.

he sighs, “work.” you give the back of his head small pats, trying to comfort him as best you can.

you ponder, offering, “what about we take a shower together then you can sleep it off? sounds good doesn’t it?” prying about his day will just worsen his stress so you decide to keep any potential questions to yourself. plus, you honestly just wanted to take a shower after a long day of errands, so you’re hitting two birds with one stone.

his meager “mm” in response was enough said.

—

you turn the knob, cold water drizzling out of the shower head. holding your hand out to check the water’s heat, you watch as kento was getting ready to undress, popping out the buttons from his signature blue linen top one by one. he slipped off of it, folding it neatly before placing it on the sink counter. he then slips off his wedding band and sets it on top of his clothes.

you had seen his bare body an ungodly amount of instances, but you never fail to just stare… it’s truly glorious. his broad shoulders along with his subtle six pack, not to mention his arms that you wouldn’t mind being suffocated with. he noticed your darting gaze when he unbuckled his belt and instead of panicking, you just shoot him a meek smile, unaware that the water pooling on your hand is already warm, apparent by the moist on the shower glass.

“baby, i think the water is ready.” he chuckles and you snap out of it, quickly unwrapping the towel around you and getting in the spacious shower. he followed shortly after, and closed the door behind him.

your intentions were innocent, really just wishing to ease your husband’s exhaustion, but kento had something else in mind.

he didn’t think about it until the soap suds trickling down your boobs and ass was seriously turning him on for some reason. you asked if he could put soap on your back because you couldn’t reach well, and of course he obliged. it’s crazy because he’d seen you naked more times than he could imagine, but something about today just made you so desirable.

when you turned around to slather soap on his body, you paused when you noticed that he’s staring at you so blankly. like you were a problem he couldn’t simply figure out. while you were distracted with his cold gaze, he takes the soap from your hand and puts it back in its respective place.

always so thorough, you know just how much he loathed making a mess.

he’s a taller man than you are, requiring you to crane your neck up to see him eye to eye. he guides his fingers to take ahold of your chin gently before tapping at your cheek with a bit of force, enough that it hurt.

“honey, what-“

before you could even finish, your face was smashed against the cold shower glass, kento’s chest trapping you in between him and the wall. you gasped in complete surprise, trying to turn your head to look at him, but he just turned your chin back towards the glass. though you didn’t mind whatsoever, it’s a rare sight to see kento so… aggressive with you, you didn’t even expect it since he came home weary and expected him to sleep it off right after this.

he whispers softly, lips against the shell of your ear, a hand grabbing ahold a chunk of your hair. “no talking unless i tell you to.” while keeping a tug on your locks, his fingers had already sneaked in between your legs, in which you spread in compliance. he pressed the pad of his finger against the bud of your clit, rubbing it ever so slightly. you yelped, palms backed against the glass that you’re being pushed against.

the water trickled down your cunt and on his fingers as he swiped your clit in tight and precise circles to get you aroused. your mind was already going stark, hazed with the thought of what he’s capable of when he’s in this state of mind. his teeth dug into the skin of your shoulders, trailing his bites up to the side of your neck. there was absolutely no way these weren’t going to bruise tomorrow, the pain on your neck mixed in with his fingers sliding into you so suddenly leaving you no choice but to curse out loud.

“fuck, kento- ah-“ the immediate slap on your ass when he specifically told you to not speak left your jaw hanging open. you felt like you were being tossed around with how rough you’re being treated, but you weren’t going to lie: you’re enjoying it to the fullest.

one hand went up to squeeze your breast, threatening to slip out in between his fingers from the silky water, the pitter patter of the shower masking the lewd noises of your cunt. he pinches your nipple, rolling it in between his fingers, and you gasp sharply, breathing heavily.

he rasps, “do you like it when you’re being treated like this, hm?” his voice was low and sultry, tongue grazing up your ear, with you shivering from his warm tongue juxtaposed with the shower’s humidity.

you whimper, “yes, i love it… ‘need more” the desperation lingering in your voice made his cock twitch, if he wasn’t already hard before, he’s definitely throbbing now, a bead of pre seeping out of the slit of his tip. kento knelt down on the tiles, using his huge bulky hands to spread your ass cheeks apart. your pussy glistened with slick, lips puffy, just asking to be devoured.

squirming, you arch your back to give him better access, kento licking his lips then sticking his tongue out to lick a stripe from your clit to in between your drenched folds.

he nuzzled his face in between your ass, lips smacking against the wet heat of your cunt, the tip of his tongue poking on your dripping hole. your moans were bouncing off the thin walls of the glass, kento only encouraging it by teasing your poor little clit with his finger while he feasted in between your legs.

his palms were gripped on your plush ass, massaging them to alleviate the tension out your body from his manhandling. to say that you were struggling to not curse or moan his name was an understatement. you were practically choking on your words, whines that nearly passed as sobs drifting past your lips. kento pulls out for a moment to take a breather, watching a glob of his saliva dripping from your pussy down on the tiles beneath him.

pushing you a few inches away from the wall, he positioned himself so that he could see your pussy from the front. “you taste so fucking sweet, doll.” he slid two fingers inside your hole, velvety walls immediately clenching around them, appreciating every crevice of his thick digits. “pretty pussy so wet f’me,” he reveres in between licks on your clit, each time sending shivers down your spine. he’s babbling at this point, just saying anything in his mind which isn’t in character for him. you’re usually the vocal one, but having him do the talking for once is doing nothing but turning you on— enough that you’re already pushed on the brink of orgasm.

his fingers plunged in with ease, and so far up that it quickly reached your sweet spot, that blended in with the warm muscle of his tongue jostling up against your clit had the corner of your mouth dribbling with saliva. you rock your hips on his face, an attempt on getting yourself off, however he strikes your ass for doing so, harsh enough that you could still feel the sting even minutes after.

he rasps, “do that again and you’re not cumming tonight. would you like that, hm?” you screamed when he smacked your ass again, his fingers plugged inside you never faltering in speed.

you whisper, voice barely capable of spitting out coherent sentences, “no… ‘m sorry kento. i’ll be good.” being unable to discern whether it’s tears trickling down your cheeks or the water from the pouring shower, you just moan in helplessness, cheek resting against the cool glass wall.

a point came where his digits were just in too deep in your poor cunt and his teasing tongue was leaving your clit swollen that you couldn’t hold it anymore. “oh fuck, can’t- i’m- ah—!” a warm stream of fluid dripped down your thigh, your husband licking up every last drop of your slick, kissing your clit one more time before standing back up, this time behind you.

he bit your lower back and dug his teeth up to your neck, leaving you with a trail of love bites. it felt as if he was gnawing at your skin, holding onto your forearm and pinning on your back before he nibbled on your earlobe. you were still coming down from your orgasm, legs trembling, ass cheek marred with the print of his palm. you turn your head, where you meet his eyes. the moment you felt his lips pressed against yours, you immediately succumbed back into his touch.

despite his ravening demeanor, his lips were so gentle as they brushed over yours, his tongue slithering in your mouth as soon as you gasped when he slapped his tip against your sensitive clit. he lets go of your bounded arm and from the corner of your eye, you notice his hand press over the wall, the other guiding his tip, resting his fat cock in between your plush walls. “do me a favor and let me know how good you’re feeling, okay?” he teases, poking the head of his dick against your drooling hole.

“just fuck me already.” you plead, screeching when he pushed his lenght past your hole, pussy squeezing onto him for dear life. he didn’t even hesitate, didn’t even ask if you were holding up okay like he usually does in his loving husband way. but to be fair, he was just heeding to your request.

he groaned when he thrusts into you to the hilt, taking both of your wrists with only one hand to pull you back slightly to reel you in deeper, while the other trapped you in between the sheer glass wall, now completely fogged with humidity.

it seemed like he was taking his time, basking in the warm feeling of finally being inside of you, holding still for a few seconds to appreciate his wife’s snug cunt. after for what seemed like a good minute, he pulled out, then rammed back in, leaving your mouth dangling wide, the slight upper curve of his cock having no hard time to prod onto your squishy g-spot.

“my god, kento… fuck.” you giggled, partly because you’re amused at how multidimensional your husband is despite being together for so many years and also because that hit the spot.

literally.

without a word, he was quick to thrust out and back in, each with a slightly deeper stroke, making your mind go in circles, ass bouncing against his lower abs. you felt like his tip was trying to poke through your abdominal walls with the way you’re arched, wrists gripped back with just his firm hand. the shower was too fucking hot, you can quite literally feel the condensation getting thicker, the sound of the water spraying onto your bodies muffled in your hearing.

he grunts your name, following with a string of curses, “fuck, fuck, fuck… hah—“ the clapping sound of his pelvis slamming up against your feeble body was enough to get him off, fucking into you in a vigorous pace for a few seconds before keeping himself plugged into you, making your whole body jolt forward, boobs pressed against the shower wall. it was all starting to hurt— you felt like putty, yet you couldn’t help but crave more. “kento,” you wince, yelping at the sensation of being so full of just him.

kento lets go of your wrists, so sore as if they were wrung like a damp towel. he pulls out, turning you by the forearm and takes a good look at your face after not being able to do so this whole time.

he’s always so adamant about how he hates clutter. in the years you’ve been married you’ve never seen his office messy no matter how busy or stressed he might be. even the way he gets ready in the morning and how he decompresses before bed is structured.

but with you? oh god, he absolutely strives for it. the mess. the nastiness of it all. your beautiful body adorned with his markings to remind everyone who owns you.

yes, he’s reserved. probably won’t even say anything brash when you tell him about the occasional times you get hit on when you’re out without him, but there’s no doubt that he's territorial. once in a while, he plants a little something on you to show everyone that you’re taken.

you’re just too oblivious to realize why he does it.

he strokes your cheek with the side of his index finger, then lifts your chin to force you to make eye contact. your eyes are glazed over, throat strained with nothing in that little head of yours besides his name and your animalistic desire to get fucked dumb. “i wanna see your face when you cum, is that okay?” he’s much more mellow now than minutes prior, gently rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb.

your mind is empty, responding with a frail “mhm”. you cup his cheek, leaning onto your tippy toes to give him a soft peck on the lips. he smiles tenderly, kissing your forehead before he lifts one of your legs by the back of your knee, leaving your pussy wide open. your wrap your hand around his cock, feeling the ridges of the protruding vein rubbing against your palm as you pump him.

“baby…” he moans, nestling his face in the crook of your neck, pressing his lips on each bite mark littered all over your upper neck and shoulders. you lead his cock back in between your slit, sliding him up and down for lubrication before slipping him back inside you, kento hissing from the tingling feeling of his dick being swallowed whole by your pussy.

your nails claw onto his shoulder blades, as he slammed his pelvis against yours, one hand keeping your waist locked while the other pried your leg open. you glance down to see the work being done on you, huffing when you used two of your fingers to frantically rub at your clit. you watch as his cock slid into you so swiftly, how your tight cunt was so welcoming for him. you see how flexed your husband’s abs are from having to thrust into you so precisely, eyes wandering up to his flushed chest then his brown eyes.

it’s funny because you were simultaneously watching how good he’s deliciously stretching you out amidst the moans and curses under your breath, resulting in a quick exchange of chuckles. “it’s turning me on. watching it, you- you know?” you stutter, followed by a little whimper when you feel that familiar knot in your stomach.

“nn- ‘love it when my princess feels good.” there were so many other things in mind that he wanted to say; how sexy you look while being fucked and how he wishes he could record your face so he could masturbate to it on nights he can’t go home due to a work trip, but kept quiet. you’re too sarcastic to let him get away with saying something so crass, honestly, he was a bit surprised that you even put up with his bullshit when he was slapping you around like some whore.

he pauses for a second, wrapping your leg that he was holding onto around his waist and he pulls on your other, signaling for you to hop on his arms.

you softly retaliate, setting your hand over his, “kento, i’m not light.”

“are you underestimating me?” you should’ve known he wouldn’t have taken no for an answer either way since he forced your other leg around him, your whole weight hanging on his waist. you were hesitant about this, mainly because you didn’t feel comfortable having him carry you, but then all your worries wore off when he squeezed your thighs for reassurance.

“i got you, baby.” he kisses your cheek. you had your arms around his neck, face a few inches from his. the veins from his forearm were prominent as he kept a bruising grip on your thighs.

you mumble, “you’re so deep,” swearing you could feel him in the pit of your stomach. he uses your thighs to propel himself in and out, and he turns around and pins you against the tile wall for a change of scenery. he felt so warm, his tender embrace all while your eyes rolled to the back of your head, chin rested on his shoulder. slight embarrassment rushed through your cheeks when you saw the moist shower glass printed with your boobs and your as well as kento’s hands.

your nasty moans so close up his ear only provided him with more stamina, his hips moving endlessly with the intent of drawing out another orgasm out of you.

nails digging on his back, you yelp, “kento, ‘need to cum.” you use the last bit of your strength to warn him, body manipulated by him, unable to buck your hips.

he pants in between sloppy thrusts, the water sloshing against his thigh as he slammed himself into you, “yes, yes, yes, cum for me, my pretty girl.” he’s mumbling sweet nothings as you let yourself release, eyes closed shut while nearly screaming his name, ultimately pushing him straight at his own high.

“ah fuck yeah,” he grits his teeth, stuffing you full of his hot, viscous cum. he waits a few seconds before pulling out, savoring in the few minutes of pure heaven that you gave him.

kento lets you loose, a little pop! audible as his cock slid out, coated with cum. arms still wrapped around him, he clashes his forehead against yours. “i love you, kento.” you whisper with a dulcet tone.

he smiles, “i love you more,” taking you by the lips one more time, his hands massaging the plump of your waist. you could feel his seed pooling in your stomach, being so filled that some is seeping down your inner thigh.

you unclasped your arms and he turns the shower knob off, walking out to open the bathtub’s faucet. you raise your voice a tad so he could hear through the glass, “what are you doing?”

“starting us a bath, so we can relax before taking a proper shower” he shrugs, reaching towards the mirror cabinet to take one of the bath bombs you’ve been storing.

when the tub was filled, he quietly turned off the faucet and went back into the shower where he proceeded to soak off with you. you help each other clean up, kento placing soft kisses over your raw hickeys while you rinse the intimate parts of your body.

“sorry for hurting you, sweetheart. i should’ve asked before doing something like that.” he mutters in between pecks on your skin.

you reach your hand behind to rake your fingers through his golden locks, humming, “it’s okay… what about your back, though? i’m sure it stings.” you snuck a glance at it when he was turned around earlier and there were two long red streaks, the apparent traces of your nails. although, it wouldn’t be the first time his back would be full of scratches.

“don’t worry about it, it’s a reminder of our love.”

you scoff at his choice of words, “okay, whatever you say, mister. let’s put petroleum jelly on it later.” you’re never quite sure if he’s being real with you or if he’s trying to be funny, but you appreciate it either way.

after cleaning up, kento prepared some strawberries and wine to compliment your bath, placing the platter and the wine glasses on the wooden bathtub tray you purchased a while back, but never ended up using. you light up a candle while he takes off the towel he draped around his waist while fixing up the food. he takes one step on the tub to test the waters, then sits across from you.

you clink your glasses together and after a sip, you joke, “what if you actually got me pregnant this time?” you always kid about being pregnant and he usually pays no mind to it because you’re never serious, but the question struck him differently this time.

he places the glass back on the tray. “then you’re pregnant.” his stoic expression and dry tone almost made it comical.

you roll your eyes in response, “so you’re saying you don’t mind?” it wasn’t like you two weren’t trying, it just has never really been a big factor in your relationship. you wouldn’t be upset if you live the rest of your life with him without children, but at the same time you often imagine how it would be.

“well, i don’t think it’ll be a burden if it ends up happening. plus, i think it’s about time we start a family, don’t you think?” he takes a strawberry and holds it in front of you, in which you lean in to take a bite. you were really just joking, but the sincerity in his response warmed your heart. he never really gave you the impression of a family man, so you didn’t think he would comply so easily.

you swallow before sighing, “so do you think it’s a boy or a girl-“

“don’t push it.”

[tteokdoroki]

the consequences of constellations izuku midoriya ── ᡣ𐭩 ˙ ̟🩰 !!

⋆˙ᝰ about ! you’re in love with your best friend and you’re sleeping with him too… so you count the constellation-like freckles on his back to cope with the idea that he doesn’t love you in the same way. ( 2K )

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. nsfw, suggestive, smut, angst. characters aged up to 20s, friends with benefits, unrequited love, mutual pining sorta, experimental piece, i wanted to play around with metaphors to do with space, fem!reader, pro hero!deku.

how do you always end up back here?

the answer remains a mystery to you, really. out of all the things that human-kind are capable of, their powers and prettiness, their strength and their stamina — even their knowledge used to invent the space shuttle that traverses the wonders of the uncharted starry abyss…and you still end up here. 

you always end up in the same place — amongst the crumpled linen of pro hero deku’s one bedroom condo. it’s high up enough that it just touches the skyline, it dips past the surface of powder blue skies into the inky black canvas of night to which you find yourself falling victim to sinful touches and muted whispers of pleasure.

it’s the same every time; izuku calls and you answer without hesitation — come rain or shine. you’ll often tumble past the threshold of his apartment with regret and pain pushed to the back of your mind because you’d much rather kiss him and taste the cigarette ash on his tongue in the moment than think logically or have some sense about you. in your world, there’s no better feeling in the world than deku’s masterful, scarred hands spanning out against the base of hour spine or napping out your curves. nothing beats the euphoric high you get from his hips smacking against yours almost in tune with the beat of his heart. 

he pulls you into his orbit. he places himself at the centre of your universe. he fills you up both physically and mentally to the point where every inch of your body and every corner of your heart is overcome with a scorching need for izuku midoriya, like you’ve been engulfed by the sun, it tingles at the tips of your toes and fingers to the top of your head. when he moans your name after every orgasm you share together desire lights up within you like a solar flare — you feel special, desired and maybe even loved.

but this is just sex.

it’s always been just sex, especially to izuku.

there’s a risk in allowing yourself to believe it could ever be anything more, and yet, you can’t stop yourself from indulging in this sweet fantasy every time you end up tangled in the pro hero’s expensive sheets. how could you not when he fucks you like you’re the only woman he’s ever loved. 

playing pretend in your head while he sends shooting stars of ecstasy across your line of sight.

shame and regret always hits you like a truck right after — forcing you to deal with the derailing reality that is loving someone who doesn’t want you back and sleeping with them just to get close enough to that feeling of adoration. it’s bad in the morning, but worse at night after deku has cleaned you up with a tender touch and tucked you in for some sleep — rolled onto his side as his own breathing evens out and his consciousness floats away into the depths of deep, empty space. 

you think that he’s still sleeping when the constellations of honey brown freckles on his back begin to blur and your vision swims from unshed tears and you curl in on yourself. claw marks and crescent moons from your perfectly trimmed nails have left their mark on his golden skin, etched between sun-spotted freckles and a collection of faded battle scars — if you look close enough, one might mistake the surface level wounds you’ve left on deku’s body as an attempt at scratching through the space-time continuum to be closer to him. 

izuku stays awake, hoping that you’ll find the strength to get up and leave him so that he doesn’t  have to turn around and pretend to love you again. though, there’s a selfish wish rooted in the back of his mind, longing for you to stay. for you to play make believe for a little longer, to wish upon the North Star and beg for some kind of grace from god — hoping that izuku midoriya will love you some way, somehow. 

he’ll fake it for as long as he can, if it means being the only person to touch you and hold you and kiss you. he’ll pretend to rip every star in the sky for you and breathe false affection past your lips with every kiss if it means he can replace the pain in your lungs and help you breathe a little easier. because in his own twisted way, izuku cares about your feelings…at least to some degree. he’d rather pretend than end things right here, right now. maybe that’s his saviour complex and his instinctual, dire need to save people who doesn’t need saving. 

maybe it’s because this little arrangement has gone on for far too long, to the point where he can’t tell what hurts you or what doesn’t.

when the bulking pro hero shifts beneath the linen sheets, you hand bolts out to grab him — and, as if you’re protecting the embers of a dying flame, a fading star between your fingers, you pull him back into your chest. grasping onto him, holding out for something. you’re afraid that if you let go, izuku will disappear into space’s abyss and you might never get to have him like this again. another selfish wish. this time from you, not from him. 

don’t go. you want to tell him. don’t fizzle away. you want to say. you know that it’s wrong to want to keep someone you can’t, who won’t love you, around. it’s testament to how much respect you have for yourself, how much self worth you have. which, from the looks of it, is little to none. you feel like you might die without izuku, even if what you have of him is so little. a plant with a crane its neck reaching for even the tiniest bit of sunlight to grow… that’s how you feel about izuku’s…affections for you. even if it’s not real love, you still yearn for it and blossom underneath it. even if you should let him go because you love him, you don’t want to.

out of fear that he may not come back. 

when izuku says your name, whispers it into the black hole of the night — he treats it as if it’s made of gold. the syllables heavy on his tongue, weighing it down with a force of gravity. “are you awake?” he adds, despite feeling the shake of your limbs behind him from crying. he speaks slow and tender, the gravel of the early morning still in his voice. 

your breath hitches warmly against his bare back like a mist over his sun spotted freckles. “no.” a dishonest answer that would have given you away instantly had the evergreen haired hero not already been up and listening to you cry. you sound strained, stuffy and he knows your pretty eyes are probably a putrid red and that there’s snot stains left in tracks on his satin sheets. and maybe, if he loved you like he should — this wouldn’t have happened, he wouldn’t feel so much guilt to the point where he feels sick to his stomach.

loving you is dangerous territory, like a trip to the uncharted parts of deep dark space. the concept alone is terrifying enough to send icy blood through izuku midoriya’s veins where he’s usually so hopeful and fearless. if he lets himself, for even a second, fall in love with you — there would be a chance your life would change for the worse, a chance that you wouldn’t be able to bare the long nights without him or the weeks where he’s gone. you hardly see deku now, how would you cope when he’s finally yours but too far away from you to touch. you could be in the same bed and he would still be light years away, galaxies ahead of your own train of thought because he is constantly thinking of who and how to save next.

not to mention the very fact that his existence is a threat to your livelihood, with villains lurking around every corner just waiting for a chance to make the number one weak…

…loving izuku midoriya would be like standing still in the middle of a hurricane on jupiter. 

no one would be able to withstand the largest storm in the universe, not even you, and the strength you find in loving izuku. 

still, you’re a liar and izuku knows it. even if he’s not supposed to. the bed creaks beneath his weight as he rolls over to face you, freckled cheek sinking into the cotton hills on his pillows as he finally sets his emerald sights on you. “you must be dreaming then,” he laughs fondly through his nose when he speaks, bringing a thumb up from underneath the duvet to swipe away your drying tears. the ones you tried so desperately to hide. water doesn’t fall in out space, it drifts endlessly and becomes a liquid with no form. izuku wishes you weren’t crying over him. 

shrugging, you lean into the man’s touch, letting deku cup your cheeks and trace your smile lines that don’t seem so smiley anymore. the early morning moonlight ( the sun has yet to rise ), illuminates the stars in his mossy eyes that practically plead for you to let go, and your heart lurches painfully. he feels sorry for you. “i hope so.” comes your tired whisper. embarrassed and heartbroken, you look away and tuck your face under the duvet — chin brushing your naked shoulders, skin bare and bitten and bruised from the night before. “if i am, i don’t want to wake up.” 

“what happens in your dreams?” capturing your chin between his fingers, izuku tilts your gaze over to him — inquisitive, cautious as if you’re an alien life form and he’s trying his best not to scare you away. he doesn’t quite understand you, why you keep returning to him , only to find yourself naked, vulnerable and heartbroken the next day. 

“you love me back, i think. we’re more than what we are right now.”

bitter selfishness tacks itself to the back of your throat like bile — you know that you’re being unkind and greedy to izuku by voicing your thoughts out loud, begging him for even the tiniest slither of love but what’s worse is the lack of compassion for yourself. the endless torture you inflict on your being just waiting for the number one hero to maybe love you back. 

in away, it makes you deserving of one another. whatever it is that the two of you have is no healthier than a pack of cheap cigarettes from the combini at the top of the road. a nicotine addiction that neither of you seem to be able to quit. humming into the moonlit void, deku brushes a thumb over your streaked, pudgy cheek — tracing the tear stains and the tracks left by the lines in the pillowcase. 

his eyes shimmer like the Milky Way on a clear night as he looks at you, strands of longing twisting within the vibrant green flecks in midoriya’s eyes. it must be lonely for him out there — he’s in another universe of his own and you can hardly compare to or comprehend it. “are you still dreaming?” he asks.

reaching up, you grab his wrist from underneath the covers — feeling his pulse beat steadily underneath the pad of your thumb. “i hope so.” you repeat your words from earlier, lashes fluttering against your cheeks — heart pounding. 

“then i’ll love you how you like,” midoriya agrees, masking his sadness with his signature hero smile. the one he uses to let the people he saves know that everything will be okay. even when it’s not. izuku treats you like a damsel in distress and maybe you are. you need saving from yourself, from him and he knows it. you both do. “at least until you wake up.” 

nodding, you close your eyes and lock off the rest of your senses — listening to only the sounds your steady breathing mingling in your own personal pocket of space. time freezes for the two of you, you don’t know how many light years it’s been before you speak again — but izuku’s warmth is still there, still enveloping you like the brilliant rays of the sun at the centre of your universe. he doesn’t dare cast you out into the icy cold of space. not yet.

“then i’ll try to keep dreaming, i’m not ready to wake up just yet.” comes your quiet voice as you lean forward to press your forehead against izuku’s freckled one.

not yet.

he exhales, deep and sad, but cups your face a little tighter and draws you in a little closer. “me either, not yet.” 

not yet. together, wrapped up in one another, the two of you decide that you'll stay lost in the web of constellations for a little bit longer. 

not yet.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.

[samodivaa]

║drool on dog tags║

Bucky x Reader : They sway in your face during sex... (smut) {request}

There’s nothing more dangerous than a man with charm—and Bucky looks like a deity—a small smile tips up one corner of your mouth as you look in his eyes which are powder-blue and still rimmed with the longest lashes you have ever seen on a man. His mouth comes down on yours without further warning. Not hard or violently or forcefully. But fully, with complete contact. He comes directly to you, seizing your face between his hands, and capturing your mouth beneath his. “I am going to shower, Bucky" 

"Is that an initiation? We can shower later” 

He cajoles, hoping he sounds convincing rather than needy. Tortuously slow, Bucky licks his lips, rolling his hips fluidly against yours. It’s a struggle to swallow back a groan when you bite his lower lip slightly. You are covered only by a towel, his mind running amuck over what the towel is hiding—sexual perversions mix with lust as his mind sees in scattered images of varying vulgarity. Bucky grips your waist and lifts you off the ground with ease, dropping you softly on the luxurious white linen bed, your body fully exposed to him. You lick your lips at the sight of his broad shoulders and an athletic physique that even a jacket cannot hide. Your eyes continue their upward travel to his strong square-shaped face, framed with short brown hair that falls to his shoulders and deep, blue eyes. He disrupts your thoughts by stripping his shirt off, shorts, boxers—letting only the dog tags trail over his chest.

He then craws on top of you and he cannot articulate a word, capable only of an animal sound, a strangulated wheeze that shocks him deeply, enraging him, this sudden loss of the faculty of speech that feels somehow bestial and forgotten. His body hovers above you as he leans down to kiss you. You're perfect when you're underneath him, it's where you belong, beautiful face and pretty eyes lock onto his—your warmth cushioning him, your obedient body lush, your eyes flashing—and all he wants is to ruin you. His lips are once again on your skin, devouring everything he can—licking, sucking, and kissing. He drags his lips up your throat, along your jaw, back toward your mouth before leaning back to let his hips slowly rut against you, length parting your folds and rubbing over your clit, dragging his pre-come up between your lips. You simultaneously release a harsh moan as he buries himself deep with an upward thrust. You are grateful that he doesn't start slow, but slams into you with no remorse, the need for fucking poisoning his mind. Bucky brings both of your wrists above your head and grips them in his metal arm, restraining them from moving—It's a sinful sight each time he buries the length of his cock all the way inside you, shaft slick and wet and glistening when he pulls it out. He loves watching it happen. You make the prettiest noises when he shoves in deep only to pull out and slam himself back inside, his eyes roll backwards as the dog tags make melodious ringing sounds right above your face with every thrust.

“Can you feel my cock slipping in and out…feels good, doesn’t it?”

When you don’t answer in time, he stops and lifts his gaze towards yours. You feel a jolt of some foreign but not unwelcome sensation piercing your body. You look so—slutty. There is something raw and pleading in his eyes that surpasses sexual desire, these fleeting moments of carnal craving—his dog tags continue to whirl in your hot mouth, drool dribbles from your corners on your lips—but your greedy tongue is always ravenous…for anything. It is the dirty, sinful element that gives pleasure to the act of lust, then the dirtier it is, the more pleasurable it is bound to be. He pulls out, only the tip remains inside. 

“Don’t-” you whimper desperately. Without warning, he pushes his whole length. He focuses his attention on your lips. His trusts are slow and his stare makes your walls clench around him.

“Don’t stop?” He chuckles softly, voice going deeper as he picks up the pace and fucks you into the mattress, his thrusts only getting rougher. “Is that what you want? Need me to fuck you till you come, baby?” he mumbles, not looking away from your lips, his gaze devouring you.

He has to take a deep breath. He tries to breathe, trying to avoid cumming, but your filthy mouth rips his soul and hypnotizes his brain—and your eyes, eyes that bare into his heart, making his dick twitch. The wet squelching, your shy moans, the way your walls tighten around cock is enough to make him cum. His dick keeps on slamming into you, the sight of his well-muscled body, covered in a thin layer of sweat, invites you to utter depravity, it is what drives you over the edge. You whimper and screw your eyes tight as another wave of pleasure spreads throughout your body in orgasmic tingles as he pulls his own climax with you. He finally presses his face against your neck as his hips lose any and all sense of tempo and when he finally stills, he holds himself deep inside as he leans back—with every breath, your bust heaves, sweat droplets running between them and attracting his gaze.  But what pollutes his mind even more—is when he pulls the dog tags away from your mouth, sticky strands of spit spilling between your lips and the small metal plates as you share collective gasps of breath. Sometimes, to regain sanity, one has to acknowledge and embrace the madness.

[the-merry-otter]

If you’re on mobile, you may have to click on the images for better quality!

Plain text version with image descriptions is under the cut.

Please note that the image descriptions will be reflecting what I am trying to convey with the photo, rather than the total look of the photo itself. For example if I am trying to describe a dress, the hair colour of the person wearing it will be ignored. This is to reduce the total word count of the descriptions, because I have a lot of images to describe. On this note, I have also streamlined the information as much as possible.

[Plain text description:]

First slide: Mariota’s Guide to 14th Century (Medieval) Women’s Clothing

This slideshow is brought to you by @the-merry-otter on tumblr

ALRIGHT LISTEN UP MOTHERS AND FUCKERS. I’m bored, so today we’re going to be talking about medieval clothing. Specifically fourteenth century English clothing because that’s what I’m good at. (Source: trust me bro I’m a reenacter). Also this is all female stuff - sorry masc leaning folks, I’ll get to you someday!

Disclaimer: this is not completely comprehensive or nuanced in the slightest, it’s just a quick overview guide. Do your own research xoxo.

[Image ID: to the left is a picture of a woman in a light blue dress and a pink hood gazing out at a lake. The hood has a skirt that falls over her shoulders, and there is along thin pipe attached to the back of the hood that dangles to her knees. The edges of the hood are decorated with burgundy crochet. The picture is captioned “beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, literal goals.” End ID]

[Image ID: To the right is a picture of a typical renn faire outfit. It has a white poofy underdress, a black corset, and a brown skirt. There is a red cross drawn over the image. It is captioned “very pretty, but definitely not medieval sorry!” End ID]

Second slide: Underwear (ooh la la)

Now with nasty pocketses

[Image ID: a picture of gollum, from lord of the rings, snarling in disgust. There is a line in The Hobbit where he asks Bilbo what he has in his nasty little pocketses, which is what I am referencing. End ID]

So, corsets, stays, and shapewear in general kind of wasn’t a thing yet. So your underwear was a shift, which was awesome because it was also your pajamas. They were usually made of linen, though some might have been made of cotton is you were rich.

[Image ID: A plain white linen garment laid out flat on the floor. It is a dress that hangs to about knee length, with elbow length sleeves. An arrow points to it with text reading “this is a shift”. End ID]

There is evidence for supportive shifts for busy support, like this one from the fourteenth century!

[Image ID: a second shift, worn by a female presenting person. It is laced up the front, and is a lot tighter and more fitted, especially around the bust. It has straps instead of sleeves. End ID]

There’s also this bra like fragment found in Austria, but that is a whole debate so.

[Image ID: A bra-like garment fitted to a mannequin. It seems to be made out of white linen, coloured with time. The left cup is damaged, and overall the garment looks incomplete. End ID]

Then, over the shift, yet under your main dress went your pockets, which tied on at the waist. Your dresses had slits do that you could get at your stuff without flashing everyone lol.

[Image ID: A picture of medieval pockets. They are upside down teardrop shaped, but the point is flat and is part of the waist ties. There are slits in the side up the top to access the inside. They are cream coloured with bright floral embroidery. The caption reads “these bad boys can fit so many cool pebbles.” End ID]

[Image ID: A young female-presenting person wearing medieval clothing. She has her hands in the pocket slits of her dress. They are just below hip height. End ID]

Third slide: your dress, or the cotehardie. (Pronounced coat hardy)

Over the shift you put your dress, sometimes referred to as either a kirtle or cotehardie. 14th century people started actually form-fitting their clothes more than previous centuries. These needed fastenings, which were mostly lacings (spiral lacings specifically), or buttons made of either metal or cloth, used at the front of the dress from neckline to waist, and on the sleeves from elbow to wrist, with exceptions of course.

(Sidenote: fuck sleeves, all my homies hate sleeves)

[Image ID: a woman in a warm yellow dress to the left of the text. The dress is constructed simply, with a single piece of fabric used for the length of the body so there is no waist seam. The skirt is widened by inserting four triangles, one each at the front and back, and one on each side. The front has buttons made of the same fabric as the dress, that go down to the belt at the waist. The sleeves have similar buttons from wrist to elbow, on the outside of the arm. The woman is also wearing a liripipe hood. End ID]

Dresses seemed to be mostly wool, though I often use linen for mine because I live in Australia and it’s hot in summer and I don’t want to die. Most often they weren’t lined (that is what the underwear was for).

[Image ID: in the top left of the slide is a woman wearing a green woollen dress. It is constructed the same as the previous image, except it has spiral lacing on the front instead of buttons. The sleeves are fastened by three small buttons. She is wearing a simple and veil. End ID]

[Image ID: the top right of the slide shows a woman in a teal coloured dress, similar to the one before. This one has metal buttons at the sleeves and down the front. She wears a veil only. End ID]

The neckline of these dresses was usually round or an oval shape, and some manuscripts have it so wide that it falls off the shoulders slightly.

[Image ID: A photo of a medieval manuscript, depicting six medieval ladies in a row holding hands. The neckline of their dresses is wide enough that the tops of their shoulders are visible. The image is captioned “me and the girls on a Friday night”. End ID]

Clothing was a lot more colourful than the movies would have us believe lol.

[Image ID: Three women, each in dresses similar to the ones before. To the left is a forest green, the middle one is bright saffron yellow, and the one to the right is a vibrant tomato red. End ID].

Fourth slide: Dress two; electric boogaloo

[Image ID: Merry and Pippin from lord of the rings. Above them, meme text reads “we’ve had one, yes”, and then continues below with “but what about second dress?”. End ID]

You could also wear an overdress, which was usually of a contrasting colour and had shorter sleeves.

As well as fashion, they would have been used for extra warmth, and so were usually made of wool.

[Image ID: a woman in a maroon coloured dress like the ones on the previous slide. The sleeves stop just above her elbow, revealing a blue dress underneath. End ID].

Common people would have only owned a couple of different outfits, as fabric was super expensive.

[Image ID: various pictures of women with examples of an overdress. They are all constructed the same as the overdress, but with shorter sleeves that reveal a second sleeve of a different colour underneath. End ID]

A common late thirteenth to mid fourteenth century overdress was the ladies surcoat, which had big holes instead of sleeves.

Belts would have been worn underneath the surcoat.

[Image ID: three photos of women wearing surcoats. They are normal dresses, except there is a large D shape cut out of either side, leaving a large hole from the shoulder to below the hip. They have no buttons down the front. One of the surcoats is made of red brocade, and obviously belongs to an upper-class impression. End ID].

Fifth slide: Hair and headwear

Hair was worn braided and pinned up, with a coif (cap) and either a wimple or veil, or both. The wimple and/or veil were usually pinned to the coif, or secured on a band of fabric around the head.

Veils would be either oval, or a D shape. Wimples were rectangular. A wimple goes under the chin and a veil goes over your head.

[Image ID: a close up of a woman wearing a wimple. It is made of a light fabric, likely silk. The wimple wraps under her chin and is secured at the back of her head. A narrow band of fabric or possibly leather circles her brow, which would have been used to secure the wimple. End ID.]

[Image ID: A picture of YouTuber Morgan Donner wearing a wimple and veil. The wimple wraps under her chin, and the veil is placed on top of her head, draping down past her shoulders. It does not cover her face. Loops of hair are visible either side of her face. End ID]

All the headwear would be made of linen, thin wool, or silk, depending on class. The veils could also be made really fancy by ruffling the front edge or by attaching pearls.

[Image ID: a woman in a wimple and half-circle veil. The edge of the veil that frames her face is elaborately ruffled. The edge of a coif is visible under the veil. End ID]

I ride the bus in my medieval gear a lot because of events, and way too many people think I’m Amish because of my veil. It’s honestly just funny at this point. I should keep a tally.

[Image ID: a woman wearing a St Birgitta’s coif, pinning a wimple at the back of her head. The coif is a simple white linen cap that encloses the head, with a line of lace down the centre of the head. It is secured with a loop of linen around the head. End ID].

[Image ID: a picture of someone with plaits that have been pinned around the head like a crown. It is captioned “you could also pin your hair up like this”. End ID]

Working women might have just wrapped their head in a scarf instead, fuck this fancy shit right?

[Image ID: a woman in a headscarf that has been twisted and then looped around the front of her head. It is captioned #girlboss. End ID].

Fake braids were a thing! Blonde hair in particular was very fashionable, and bleaching or fake braids were sometimes used to achieve that.

[Image ID: two fake braids made of a coarse fibre. They are blonde in colour, and are looped like a hairstyle seen on many of the reenactors. They have white ribbons attached to the top end to help secure them to the head. End ID]

Sixth slide: Cloaks and hoods

These would have actually been two seperate garments! Integrated hoods on cloaks didn’t actually become a thing until the … seventeenth century or so? (Citation needed).

Cloaks were a lot simpler than the typical cloak we think of nowadays. Often they were just a rectangle of wool, or by the fourteenth century, sometimes a half circle.

They were almost always wool as far as I know, and were generally fastened by a cloak pin or buttons.

[Image ID: a metal cloak pin. It is a circle with a small opening at one point. A long pin is attached via a loop, allowing it to slide along the pin. It can fit through the opening in the circle. To use one, you would gather the fabric on the pin, and then slot the circle over the pin and then turn it, so the fabric is trapped between circle and pin. This is much easier to demonstrate than describe. The picture is captioned “these bad boys are the real MVP’s though”. End ID].

[Image ID: a diagram showing the construction of the bocksten man cloak. It is a half circle pieced together by laying strips of fabric together. In the centre of the flat side, a half circle is cut out for the neck. End ID]

[Image ID: a reconstruction of the bocksten man cloak. It is orange wool, and lined with an off-white linen. It is fastened on the right shoulder by three fabric buttons. It would fall to just above the wearers knees. End ID].

Women’s hoods could be short and open, or with a longer skirt and closed with buttons. Liripipe (pronounced leery-pipe) hoods were named for the tube of fabric that dangled off the back of your hood, varying in length. As well as a fashion statement, it could also be wrapped around the neck like a scarf if it got cold.

Hoods were nearly always wool I’m pretty sure, though they were often lined with linen, silk, or cotton.

[General description: a short liripipe hood would be open, with the bottom only reaching your shoulders. They were made from a single piece of fabric that would wrap over your head, with the seam down the centre back of your head. It was flared at the bottom by inserting triangular gores. At the front edge near your face there would be a strip jutting out that went from one side of your chin, over your head, and down to the other side. This would usually be folded back, revealing the lining colour. The bottom of the hood could either just reach the base of your neck, or reach down to just past your shoulders. The former would usually be open at the front, with fastenings optional. The latter option with the longer skirt was almost always able to be fastened up the front with fabric buttons. The liripipe itself was a thin flat tube of fabric fastened at the centre top back of the hood. End ID]

Fun fact, 90% of why I decided to reenact the fourteenth century specifically was because of liripipe hoods.

Seventh slide: Feet (not in a weird way)

Hose were used to keep your legs warm. For women they were usually knee height, and fastened just underneath it with a garter or tie.

[Image ID: a single light yellow hose, belted beneath the knee with a leather garter. The seam is down the centre back of the leg going all the way to your toes, and then around the top of the foot in front of where it connects to your leg. End ID]

Hose usually would have been made from wool, and were cut on the diagonal (bias) of the fabric to get the maximum stretch possible from the fabric. They still were looser than modern tights are though!

Knitted socks were also a thing I’m pretty sure, but I don’t know enough about them. Sorry!

Shoes were simple, usually referred to as turnshoes because of how they were made. Fun fact: the lack of foot support means that turnshoes are similar to going barefoot in terms of how you walk. Some reenactors love it, some hate it, and some are indifferent lol.

[Image ID: a pair of turnshoes made of dark leather. They have a strap that would fasten around the front of the ankle, similar to some modern shoes. The toes are pointed, and it is captioned “pointy toes were fashionable, especially for men”. End ID].

Because shoes were really hard to waterproof, (ask me how I know), and didn’t have solid soles, wooden pattens (pronounced pat-tens) were worn to keep you off the ground while outside.

[Image ID: a person wearing a pair of wooden pattens over their shoes, standing on a drenched cobblestone street. They are wooden platforms with an archway on the bottom, and are attached to the foot with leather straps around the toe, ankle, and around the back of the heel, similar to modern sandals. The image is captioned “ye old crocs”. End ID].

[Image ID: a woman’s leg with the skirts drawn back, revealing the bright yellow hose underneath. It is fastened below the knee with a strip of fabric. She wears a turnshoe with a buckled strap. End ID]

Eighth slide: Accessories

These are a few other items that might have made up a working woman’s outfit.

Aprons would definitely have been used while working. One were just a large rectangle of cloth tucked into the belt, some were smocked to draw in the fabric. They generally stopped at the waist.

[Image ID: a woman in a red dress, with a very light brown apron. It is smocked at the top, and is attached around the waist with a string. End ID].

Pretty broaches and other jewellery existed! There was cheaper stuff made of pewter for the lower classes.

[Image ID: five gold brooches, studded with different jewels and pearls. End ID].

They had a funny sense of humour as well… and they weren’t all prudes.

[Image ID: a pewter broach of a cat carrying a dick and balls in its mouth. It is captioned “you can actually buy these. I know a website.” End ID].

Eating knives were worn on the belt, though it is debated whether women would have carried one. I do because I’m a modern fourteenth century woman.

[Image ID: a small knife with a wooden handle, laying on top of a leather sheath that has been dyed red. End ID]

Belts are a curiously debated topic. Some people reckon that women would have definitely worn them, others say they they weren’t used by women much at all. As far as I know there are depictions of both, so choose what you’d prefer. They are great for hanging stuff on I gotta say.

[Image ID: a coiled up brown leather belt. The buckle and tip are a gold metal, and it has decorative flower studs along its length in the same metal. End ID]

Pretty little purses would have probably been worn. I don’t know enough about them to say anything else though.

[Image ID: two different pictures of reenactors wearing purses. One is brocade and the other a red fabric. They are in the shape of an upright triangle, and both have five tassels hanging from the bottom edge. They hang off the belt with long drawstrings. Unrelated to the purses, one of the women is wearing a gorgeous orange liripipe hood, that is embroidered and dagged on the bottom skirt edge. End ID]

Ninth slide: Fancy Shmancy

There is a lot I haven’t covered, especially in the realm of the upper classes. Here is some of what has been missed. (Buckle up because this section is very image heavy. I will be as concise as possible).

Heraldic dresses! If you are interested, go check out Morgan Donners video on YouTube.

[Image ID: a picture of Morgan Donner in her heraldic dress. One half of the dress is red, and the other is green, except for where it has been cut out by white with an ermine pattern on it. Her hair is unbound and uncovered, except by a small flower crown. It is captioned “Morgan bestie do your hair properly :(“. End ID]

[Image ID: a drawing of two women in heraldic dresses. The first has a blue right half with a yellow printed design. The top left of the dress is yellow with a blue fish, and the bottom left is red with a white fish. Her train is held by the second lady, who’s dress is blue on the right, and white with green birds on the left. End ID].

Fancy headpieces for rich bitches only.

[Image ID: a reenactor doing a high class impression. Her hair is bound up in Pearl studded hair nets on either side of her head like modern earmuffs, with a spiked coronet around her brow. She has a sheer silk wimple on. End ID]

Fancy dagged edged on hoods, sleeves, dresses, etc.

[Dagging description: where the edge has been cut away to make decorative dangly bits. One hood has red leaves around the bottom edge for example, and another just has a pretty geometric pattern. End description].

Brocade gowns! So pretty!

[Image ID: several different pictures of high class ladies wearing brocade gowns of different colours. These are similar to the wool dresses we were looking at earlier, but with longer trains, and often long draping sleeves. There is even a brocade surcoat. End ID]

Fancy sleeves!

[Image ID: examples of different long sleeves. On some, the sleeve is normal until the elbow, and then it falls away to a long strip of fabric that dangles to the ground. Not mentioned on the slide itself is tippets, which was a band of (usually white) fabric just above your elbow, with a thin strip of the same fabric that draped down to the floor. End ID].

Dresses that were two different colours.

[Image ID: examples of dresses that are exactly like the earlier wool dresses, except they are literally half one colour and half another. The manuscript example is a blue and red overdress with fancy sleeves, and the reenactor example is a yellow and green underdress with a red hood. End ID]

And of course, some of the funky fun fabric choices.

[Image ID: a manuscript depiction of a woman carrying a dead bird. Her hood is red and white striped horizontally, and her dress is dark and light blue striped, also horizontally. End ID].

[Image ID: a manuscript depicting a woman talking to a second lady in a chair. The dress on the first has horizontal stripes of white, red, yellow, and blue, repeated, and the second has horizontal stripes of white, pink, and light blue. Interestingly enough the latter colours are very similar to the transgender flag which would make a very cool dress project. Hmm. End ID].

Tenth (and final) slide: In summery

(Small red text below title reads “I hope you have enjoyed” with a drawn smiling face).

Dis you notice all the “usually” “commonly” and “often’s” in there? That’s because I cannot possibly illustrate everything that we know of the time in only ten slides, nor do I know everything, so I have just tried to show what seems to be the most depicted.

Note: I probably even got some stuff wrong by the way.

If you’re interested in this stuff, I really recommend doing your own research now! Hopefully I have given you a good overview of what a fourteenth century womens outfit might have looked like, so now you can go fourth and know what you’re looking for.

If you have any questions about costuming, reenactment, or anything else, feel free to contact me!! I respond on Timblr decently fast ☺️

[Image ID: a reenactor sitting on a log, staring into the distance with a slight smile. She is wearing a grey-blue dress, belted at the waist with a small purse dangling from it. She has a dark blue cape and a light blue hood, that has fallen back to show a ruffled white veil. There is a pewter broach on her hood. A leather turnshoe peeks out from beneath the hem of her dress. End ID]

A list of helpful YouTubers:

Elin Abrahamsson

Morgan Donner

Opus Elenae

Miss Joss (her instagram is more active).

Now go hydrate!!

[Image ID: a woman in fourteenth century garb drinking from a jug. End ID]

[genderlessghoul]

I've been wanting to do this post for a while now so here is EVERYTHING I CAN TELL YOU ABOUT THE GHOULS' IMPERA COSTUMES.

Buckle up because I have a LOT to say about those, this is gonna be a very long one.

The costumes were designed by B Åkerlund, a Swedish costume designer who's worked with Ghost since at least Meliora (that's as far back as I was willing to scroll on her Instagram page lol). B Åkerlund has also worked for many other musical artists such as Lady Gaga, Beyoncé, Madonna, the Rolling Stones, Ozzy Osborne, Blink 182 and Hollywood Undead (information from her own website)

The masks were made by Bob Basset, a visual artists who works a lot with leather. I find his work fascinating, you can look him up on Instagram (nsfw warning, there's a few naked ladies).

Fun fact! The horns are real cow horns. That's the reason some of them have gold tips, to hide the imperfections that come with working with actual horns.

He does have a shop where he sells his items, there's a mask there very similar to the Impera ones. You can also buy Papa's batwings if you happen to have 2500$ lying around!

The jackets are made on the same model as one of Papa's. The back is decorated with a spine-like design made from leather and cording. It's adorned with a few of our classic Impera buttons. Some of the hems were left raw and some deliberate weathering was done to make it look old and worn.

Fun fact! The shoulder pieces are not sewn into the garment, I would assume for easier cleaning. I don't know if they're held by strong magnets or snap buttons.

The vest (my beloved 😩) is made from flocked velvet in a paisley pattern, the front hems embellished with satin piping. It closes in the front with custom metal clasps that are riveted into the garment. The D parts are attached with what seems to me like wide elastic, which would lessen the pression on the clasps when moving around a lot. The back is made from two different types of fabric, I'd have to touch it to be able to tell you what they are. I assume the panels closer to the sides have some mild stretch to them. The top of the shoulders are decorated with Impera grucifix patches.

The shirts were not custom made for the ghouls, altho they were altered. The original shirt in the vintage painter linen shirt from Punk Rave and it is still being sold. Some of the cuffs were altered, removing the ruffles for some of the ghouls, but not all. They were removed for Dew, Mountain and Phantom, Aether's didn't have them either. As far as I can tell, all the ghoulettes still have them.

An unfinished piece of linen serves as an ascot, that piece is decorated with a metal devil skull. The colour of the skull doesn't appear to be consistent between each ghoul, Dew's looks gold almost bronze while Phantom's is a silver-like colour.

Another modification is the buttons, a small portion of them were removed in favor of our Impera buttons. Some of the ghouls have more buttons replaced than others, which is still a mystery to me.

The pants are called Jodhpurs, they were invented in the 1800s as horse riding pants. The wide part at the hips and thighs allowing for better movement. The ones the ghouls wear don't reach all the way to their ankles, they stop a bit past the calf muscle, hidden by the boots. (Yes, the ghouls are effectively wearing capri pants)

The boots are motorcycle riding boots, decorated by a grucifix. Like the shirt, they can still be bought online through the All American Boots website, altho the price tag is... Headache inducing to say the least.

The cape is a piece of costume that was only briefly worn on stage by the ghouls, Aurora being the only one who still wears one. I would assume it gets in the way of playing very easily. The cape itself is made of two fabrics, a light blue satin and a dark grey suede. The two pieces are not sewn together at the bottom, they move freely from each other. The cape is attached on the left shoulder with a harness piece that has one strap across the chest, decorated with a metal buckle, and one under the armpit.

Aight that's it for me, have a nice day byyyyye!!

[babydollmarauders]

1 + 2 = “NOT AGAIN!”

part of the el!hughes au

summary: in which jack and y/n (lovie) are pretty happy, but are even happier by the end of the day.

my fingers tremble as the back of my knuckles graze over the soft and supple skin on the cheek of my three month old, whom rests in his bassinet.

“what are you three doing today?” my husband lounges on the bed, his own hand sprawled on my sweatpants clad thigh; while i sit on the edge of the bed beside him.

“i think your mom is planning on taking El out to the water,” i reply, voice soft as i stare at our son, “and Leo and i are gonna go shopping.”

“shopping?” Jack inquires. the linen sheet falls down his toned stomach as he sits up to look at Elio in his bassinet, whose eyes crinkle when he sees his father.

“yeah, i need new clothes. don’t i? yes, i do. yes, i do.” my tone is squeaky and high pitched as i direct my sentences toward my baby.

the bedroom door squeaks as tiny toddler feet slap against the floor, running into the room and clambering up onto the bed.

“daddy! uncle winny ‘time to go!’” El stitches together through labored breaths, her chubby cheeks red from the exertion of running.

“uncle quinny says it’s time to go?” Jack deciphers her words, pulling the two year old into his lap as she tries to peer into the bassinet.

“mhm!” she hums, much too distracted by the baby that has scrunched his body up and opened his mouth into a yawn.

setting our daughter aside, Jack rises from the bed, hissing when i poke at a bruise on his hip as he stretches out his limbs.

he received that particular bruise as he was tending to Eleanor last night; running into her dresser as he navigated the darkness of her room after she woke up from a bad dream.

“lovie,” he grunts, batting my hand away and stepping back, “how would you like it if i poked your bruises?”

jaw dropping in disbelief, i scoff, “you do! all the time!”

a mischievous smirk spreads across his lips, accompanied by a chuckle, “i know.”

i scoot up the bed, El clambering into my lap and resting her head on my shoulder as i watch Jack bound around the room. from the closet, to the dresser, to the en-suite, and back to the dresser, until he’s dressed and ready to head off to the rink for training.

walking back to the bed, he dips down to peck a kiss to the top of El’s head before pressing his lips to mine in a goodbye kiss. when he pulls away, he turns and leans down even farther in order to kiss Elio’s chubby cheek.

“call me if you need anything,” he speaks, gathering his gear bag off the top of the dresser, “i love you, girls.”

“and you too, Leo!” he hastily adds as he leaves the room, just in time for his brother to call from the bottom of the lake house steps.

“Jack! let’s go!”

“i’m coming!”

**

a smile twists at my lips as i watch my toddler cuddle up to her grandmother, her eyes trained on the princess movie that plays on the living room tv.

“hey momma,” i start, catching Ellen’s attention as i pass by the couch, “i’m heading to put Elio down for nap.”

“okay, honey.” my husband’s mother nods, “i’ve got Eleanor, why don’t you go ahead and take a nap too?”

“yeah, maybe.” i shrug, “thank you.”

with the three month old in my arms, i climb the stairs, turning into Jack and i’s room at the top of the steps.

in a post-feed haze, Elio’s eyes are struggling to stay open and alert, rather crossing and fluttering shut before he pries them back open. the sight makes me smile softly, gently transferring him to the bassinet by the bed. almost immediately, his eyes fall shut and tiny little snores fill the air as he finally drifts to sleep.

i sit on the edge of the bed, admiring the infant in his little blue onesie as his fingers twitch in his sleep. and in a motherhood haze, i quickly lose track of how long i’ve sat, just watching him sleep.

“you get the snoring from your father.” i whisper, a loving gaze in my eyes as i scan his face.

“he does not! you snore like a freight train!” i hear from the doorway, my head snapping up to look behind me and finding Jack stalking into the room; closing the door behind him.

“okay, we both snore.” i concede, watching as my husband sets his gear bag back in place upon the dresser and strips down to get in the shower, “but i do not sound like a train!”

“no, you’re right.” he remarks, “you sound more like a helicopter.”

“i do not! i snore like the delicate angel that i am.”

“angel? yes. but snorer? also, yes.” Jack chuckles.

“we get it, i snore.” i huff, “how was training?”

“it was fine. i just need a shower and a nap now.”

i suppose he should enjoy naps while he can. it’s easy enough for him to have one right now.

“did you go shopping?” he asks, disappearing into the en-suite before i hear the shower water turn on.

“yeah! lemme show you what i got!” i leap from the bed, swiping the shopping bags off the floor by the bedroom door.

“shower fashion show.” my husband states, “i’m sweaty and i’m not about to listen to you complain about how bad i smell.”

“good idea.”

he hops in the shower as i bring the bags into the bathroom, dumping the contents upon the counter. and for the next fifteen minutes, i’m in a flurry of quick changes and listening to his comments of ‘oooh’ and ‘i like that’ and ‘you look so good in that, lovie’.

“use my conditioner.” i tell him as i step into a new article of clothing, “your hair is getting dry from the lake water and the sun.”

“copy that.” he calls out, and i turn around just in time to see him squirt a dollop of my expensive conditioner into his palm.

“okay, last outfit!” i announce, and he turns his head to look at me as i twirl.

“that’s pretty.” he comments amidst rinsing the product from his hair.

“hey, babe?” i study myself in the mirror as i speak, turning to the side. my heart races, and i’m fairly certain i can feel it knocking around against my ribcage as Jack hums in acknowledgement as he turns off the water, “does this skirt make me look pregnant?”

i watch his reflection in the mirror as he steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist as he studies my figure.

his brows furrow, face pinching in confusion as he analyzes my stomach; a small tummy left over from Elio’s birth nearly four months ago, “no?”

“‘cause i am.”

his entire body goes rigid in the mirror, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

“say that again?” he chokes out, and i finally turn to face him as an anxiety ridden smile plays at my lips, tears gathering in my eyes.

“i’m pregnant.” i repeat, “again.”

Jack steps forward, wet hands plastering to my hips as his eyes dart between my stomach and my face.

“you’re sure?” he questions, receiving a nod in reply, “but we’ve only- the once- and i-”

“the once is all it took,” i shrug, resisting the urge to gnaw at my lip in worry, “i went to the doctor today before i went shopping, just to confirm what the test said a few days ago…. i’m 10 weeks.”

“three kids,” he breathes out, “oh lovie, how are we gonna do this?”

“with a lot of help from your parents and luke?” i tell him, but it comes out as more of a question than a statement. “how are you feeling?”

he blinks a few times before finally looking me in the eyes, pulling me flush to his dripping chest, “happy? scared? excited.”

“yeah?” my smile widens into a grin as his forehead drops against mine.

“yeah,” he reiterates, “we’re having another baby.”

Jack grins, his hands snaking down my hips until he reaches the crease between my ass and my upper thighs. lifting me up, my legs wrap around his waist as his lips crash against mine.

he steps forward until my ass rests on the counter, his lips trailing away to leave open mouthed kisses down my neck.

my breathing picks up, my heart pounding as my fingers sneak into the hem of the towel around his waist.

it’s at that moment that a faint cry echoes into the bathroom, alerting us that Elio has awoken.

“better get used to that, stud,” i laugh as Jack pulls away, a whine escaping his lips as he throws his head back in complaint, “because we’re gonna be getting interrupted a whole lot for the next eighteen years.”

**

“hey, Quinny,” i call out from the living room couch as he stands from his seat, glancing over as he hears my voice, “are you going upstairs?”

“i wasn’t planning on it, but i can?”

“can you grab Elio’s pacifier? there should be one in his bassinet, but if not then there’s some in my nightstand.”

“yeah, be right back.” Quinn jogs up the stairs, waving his hand up in acknowledgment when i call out a thank you.

the entire household is lounging in the living room, a child friendly movie playing on the tv. Trevor, Cole, and Luke build an intricate castle out of blocks with El, whilst Jim and Ellen sit on the other side of the couch, with Jack sitting beside me, and Alex sitting in an arm chair. Adam, Luca, Mark, Ethan, and Dylan all sit in chairs that they pulled in from the dining area, laughing at the sight of their friend taking building blocks with his niece very seriously.

“Trevor, stop. if you put that block there, it’s gonna fall!” Luke huffs, knocking the red block out of Trevor’s hand and onto the floor.

“you’re gonna teach baby Hughes bad things! stop hitting!” Trevor argues, making Cole roll his eyes as he continues building another wall of the already ginormous castle with El.

“your uncles are silly,” Cole tells El, tone serious and no baby voice in sight, “we don’t argue, do we? you and i, we make a good team.”

“she’s two, of course you get along with her!” Trevor grunts, “but if you were paired with mr. hot hands over here, you’d argue too!”

“i’m only hitting you because you won’t listen!”

the entire living room full of people is practically teeming with laughter at the scene on the floor.

“WHAT THE HELL!”

everyone freezes, the room falling silent as we all turn to watch Quinn bound down the steps.

his face is paler than usual, his eyes wild as he glares at my husband. my eyes dart around, scanning his stiff form. my body tenses as i see what’s clutched in his hand; the ultrasound photos from my doctors appointment just this afternoon.

i forgot i stuck them in my nightstand drawer. fuck.

holding them up, he glares at his brother, “NOT AGAIN!”

“hey! it takes two!” Jack pawns our small son off to Ellen, leaping from the couch and holding his hands out in front of him in attempt to placate his older brother.

“you really cant keep your hands to yourself, can you?” Quinn gruffs, “that’s practically my little sister! the poor girl can’t catch a break!”

“she’s my wife! and that night was her idea!” my cheeks flush as he announces our escapades to the room of our friends and family, “how were we supposed to know that would happen?!”

“well you’ve already had two! i think you should know by now how it works!” Quinn hisses.

“okay, can we just calm down?!” i snap, standing from my seat and facing Quinn.

“you two should be using protection,” Alex mutters from his seat. shaking his head, he looks over at Trevor and Cole, “i swear she gets pregnant every time he breathes on her.”

“shut up,” Jack growls, glaring at his best friends as they all snicker.

“you’re pregnant?!” Ellen shrieks, making Elio twitch in her arms. she looks down at the bundle in her arms, her voice softening “oh sorry, sweetheart.”

“we weren’t planning on telling anyone yet.” Jack sneers, eyes glaring daggers at Quinn.

“but yes,” i smile, looking around the room as i begin rubbing my husband’s shoulder in attempt to calm him, “we’re having another baby.”

“the last one for awhile, i hope?” Trevor questions, an eyebrow raised, but he cowers when i glare at him, “what?! the rest of us can’t keep up!”

“the last one ever.” Jack announces. “we’re not planning on having anymore. we decided a long time ago that we’re a ‘three and done’ kind of family.”

“yeah, alright.” Luke scoffs, “we’ll see how that goes.”

“can’t we all just be happy?!”

everyone’s eyes dart to me as i stomp my foot, tears welling in my eyes as i begin to feel overwhelmed with all the chaos and panic that’s filled the room.

“Jack and i are happy. we’re having another baby. that’s that! there’s no more discussion to be had!” i cross my arms over my chest.

suddenly feeling very immature for my outburst, i plant myself back onto the couch, taking my baby back from Ellen and focusing on his sweet little face to calm myself.

the room is still silent, everyone still staring at me as Jack lowers himself back down onto the couch beside me.

“hey,” he coos, “it’s okay. i’m sure they’re all very happy for us. right, guys?”

a chorus of ‘yeah!’s and ‘congratulations!’ fills the air, and my body relaxes into Jack’s embrace.

“i’m sorry, i overreacted,” Quinn sighs, crouching down beside the couch in order to look into my eyes. his hand splays across my knee, “you guys make some pretty cute kids, i can’t wait to meet the next little one.”

“yeah?” i murmur, looking at my brother-in-law.

“yeah. i just got a bit scared because you just had Elio and i’m worried for your health.” he explains, “but i promise that i am happy for you guys.”

“please don’t worry, Q,” i tell him, “my doctor says it’s completely okay and that i’m healthy. there’s nothing to worry about.”

“okay. as long as your doctor says you’re good.” he amends, and i nod.

“well i’m not good!” Jack huffs, “i’d like an apology!”

Quinn rolls his eyes, “i’m sorry, Jack.”

“not forgiven.”

“are you sure you want another baby with him? he’s acting like a child.” Luke remarks.

looking over at Jack, i smile as he grins innocently at me, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the top of Elio’s head.

“yeah, i’m sure.”

[scealaiscoite]

.☽༊˚ a hundred assorted prompts

¹⁾ raspberry lip gloss

²⁾ pajama bottoms

³⁾ a silver lighter

⁴⁾ fresh honey

⁵⁾ flushed cheeks

⁶⁾ a fogged-up mirror

⁷⁾ the imprint of a belt buckle on skin

⁸⁾ helium balloons

⁹⁾ a broken cocktail glass

¹⁰⁾ old playing cards

¹¹⁾ chipped green nail polish

¹²⁾ a brown leather wallet

¹³⁾ bullet holes in a wooden wall

¹⁴⁾ seashells lined up along the curve of a spine

¹⁵⁾ beaded curtains

¹⁶⁾ pomegranate seeds

¹⁷⁾ a carabiner heavy with keys

¹⁸⁾ fresh-cut orchids in a pottery vase

¹⁹⁾ vending machine cigarettes

²⁰⁾ an out of date map

²¹⁾ a creaky wooden gate

²²⁾ a minifridge stocked with budweiser and paracetamol

²³⁾ snapdragons growing between pavement slabs

²⁴⁾ smudged yellow eyeshadow

²⁵⁾ slept-in braids

²⁶⁾ library books that’ll never be returned

²⁷⁾ a pink-tiled shower

²⁸⁾ a honeybee on a linen shirtsleeve

²⁹⁾ burnt popcorn

³⁰⁾ watching an eclipse from bed

³¹⁾ a black lace bralette

³²⁾ a tattered patchwork quilt

³³⁾ blue raspberry bubblegum

³⁴⁾ a rusted fishing rod and a dried-up lake

³⁶⁾ the taste of whiskey on someone else’s lips

³⁷⁾ rose-scented candles burned down to the wick

³⁸⁾ crescent-shaped coffee stains on a wooden tabletop 

³⁹⁾ odd socks 

⁴⁰⁾ a loose thread on a jumper sleeve

⁴¹⁾ warm sheets on cold skin

⁴²⁾ amber-tinged perfume

⁴³⁾ gold jewelry 

⁴⁴⁾  a calloused palm against a soft cheek 

⁴⁵⁾ a busted headlight

⁴⁶⁾ sunrise from a jail cell

⁴⁷⁾ hand tattoos that weave around fingers

⁴⁸⁾ coconut shampoo

⁴⁹⁾ a doorbell sounding in the middle of the night

⁵⁰⁾ ladybugs crawling across a headstone

⁵¹⁾ grass stains on blue jeans

⁵²⁾ a loaded saddlebag

⁵³⁾ a dusty wine cellar

⁵⁴⁾ a bikini top draped over a bedpost

⁵⁵⁾ snow in july

⁵⁶⁾ dirt-red mountaintops

⁵⁷⁾ goosebumps in a heatwave

⁵⁸⁾ an empty dinnertable

⁵⁹⁾ a fresh manicure and bruised knuckles

⁶⁰⁾ zombie movies

⁶¹⁾ bitten lips

⁶²⁾ dark eyes full of tears

⁶³⁾ a soft cast in summertime

⁶⁴⁾ stale coffee in paper cups

⁶⁵⁾ frozen peaches on a black eye

⁶⁶⁾ acrid smoke

⁶⁷⁾ bound hands

⁶⁸⁾ animal tracks

⁶⁹⁾ unwound vhs tapes

⁷⁰⁾ cartoon plasters

⁷¹⁾ lipstick marks on shirt collars

⁷²⁾ silver bangles

⁷³⁾ sharing a coat in a downpour

⁷⁴⁾ fields with grass at waist-height

⁷⁵⁾ daisy chains up to your forearm

⁷⁶⁾ rolled-up shirtsleeves

⁷⁷⁾ the smell of bleach in a dark room

⁷⁸⁾ a shared sleeping bag

⁷⁹⁾ a new haircut

⁸⁰⁾ swimsuit tanlines

⁸¹⁾ perfume clinging to a pillow

⁸²⁾ lollipops dangling between lips

⁸³⁾ a badly-timed grin

⁸⁴⁾ old books

⁸⁵⁾ tongues stained from slushies

⁸⁶⁾ waking up in a hailstorm

⁸⁷⁾ dying sunflowers

⁸⁸⁾ colourful sunglasses

⁸⁹⁾ the last pew

⁹⁰⁾ tall, rattling windows in a storm

⁹¹⁾ six missed calls

⁹²⁾ sticks of incense burned down to the last

⁹³⁾ bunk beds

⁹⁴⁾ matching sets

⁹⁵⁾ ruined mascara

⁹⁶⁾ a boxing ring

⁹⁷⁾ stained glass windows

⁹��⁾ fairy forts

⁹⁹⁾ a cluttered bedside table

¹⁰⁰⁾ a hangover in the evening

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Domestic Life

Summary: Glimpses of your relationship with your wives.

Warning: pregnancy and pregnancy symptoms, mission injuries, small amount of angst, fluff

Word count: 7.6k

Note: All italicized parts are flash backs

You were up when the door opened and the sound of little feet entered your room, but you pretended to be asleep. “Be quiet,” Evan whispered. We don’t want to wake mommy.” You wouldn’t classify it as a whisper, but it was quieter than your daughter, Olivia.

“Then help me up,” you heard them struggle to climb onto the bed and felt the blankets move as Olivia used it for leverage; you grabbed it so she wouldn’t fall. Opening your eyes slightly, you watched your daughter, who was the spitting image of your wife, crawl over to you. You moved quickly when she was close enough and trapped her underneath the blanket. Her squeals and laughter echoed in your quiet room. It made the loneliness disappear. “Livie, help me. Help!” It was easier for your son to climb onto the bed and hang off your back. You let go of Olivia, and she was able to free herself.

“Alright, uncle, uncle,” you laughed and lay down on your back, your kids on both sides.

“Are they coming home today?” Olivia asked. You nodded and ran your hand through her long brunette hair. It was rare for your wives to go on missions. They were only used to provide advice, but sometimes, they were needed. It never got easier, and it still filled you with anxiety. You knew it wasn’t easy for them to be away from you and the twins.

*

It was a slow day. Well, every day was slow, but today was unbearable. It had to be the heat. Even if people had car problems, why would you leave the air conditioner? You were surviving on lukewarm water and a hand-held fan. The guys in the back weren’t doing much better, surrounded by cars and tools.

The bell ring startled you since you weren’t expecting anyone to come through the front door. A girl around the same age as you walked over to the desk. Her dark hair was pulled into a bun, and her blue eyes were striking. You noticed a few things. Right away, you knew she was not from here. You knew everyone from your small town and the surrounding area. Second, she was wealthy; her wristwatch was more than you made in a year. “Well, hello, stranger,” you said with a smile. “I don’t think I know you.” She looked down at the outfit she was wearing.

“Do I look that out of place?” You shook your head.

“I just know everyone in this small town,” your final observation was that she was attractive. “What can I do for you?” The stranger leaned against the desk.

“I’m having some car trouble, and you guys are the only mechanic,” which was true. It was good for business.

“Pull your car up to the garage, and I’ll have the guys take a look at it,” she thanked you and ran out the front door, almost tripping on the welcome mat. You chuckled and walked to the back. To your surprise, the guys were already pulling in a black BMW, and a blonde stood beside it. She offered you a small smile and turned her attention to the brunette when she approached her. It was unfair how attractive they both were. The dark-haired stranger was wearing a white linen top with faded blue jeans. Her pair of high-top Converse shoes were well-worn. Now, the Blonde wore a yellow plaid skirt and a long-sleeved shirt tucked in. You were shocked that she was wearing a long sleeve in this heat.

While the guys were looking at the car, you offered them water and a place to sit in the area with an AC. You were practicing good customer service not because you found them attractive, not at all.

Their names were Kate and Yelena, and they were passing through on a business trip. The guys said that their transmission needed to be replaced. They blamed the heat, but fixing it would take a few days. Maybe it was a little selfish that you were happy the car would take a few days to fix. You enjoyed your time with the duo every time they came in to check on the vehicle.

You liked Yelena’s dry humor, accent, and the small smile she would give Kate. Kate was cute when she stumbled over her words and was easy to fluster and blush. You knew they would be on their way once their car was fixed. Their time here was limited.

Months passed, and you still thought about the Blonde and brunette. What were they doing? Was Kate annoying Yelena with her music choice? Did they make it safely to their destination? They consumed your thoughts even in such a short time they were in your life.

On a busy day at the shop, two familiar faces walked up to the desk with your go-to coffee order and smiles that still made your heart flutter. Five months after they left, they returned to ask you on a date. It was the fastest, yes, you said.

*

“Mommy, I’m hungry!” Olivia wined. She had Yelena’s appetite; she was always hungry.

“Well, we can’t have that,” you smiled. I’ll start breakfast if you two take the pups out,” the twins agreed and were quick to climb out of bed. You were slower getting up, stretching when your feet touched the ground, and brushing your teeth. By the time you walked into the kitchen, Fanny and Lucky were chasing the twins outside, and their dog bowls were filled with food.

Now, it was your turn to uphold your end of the bargain. You decided on scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast with jam. A simple breakfast that you’ve prepared so many times.

*

Long distance took a lot of work. It consisted of video chat dates, constant text messages, phone calls, and longing to be with your partners. It was a unique balancing act, especially since you were dating two superheroes.

It lasted two months. One day after work, you stumbled into your apartment expecting to find it empty. However, Yelena was there raiding your kitchen. “You have no food,” you jumped at the sudden voice. “Do you not eat”? You stared at the Blonde, your heart pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears. “I expected you to be happier to see me,” she smirked.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, quickly dropping your bag and closing the distance. You hugged her tight, finally feeling at peace after a long day.

“I missed you,” she said simply and kissed your forehead. “And I want to talk to you about something,” a rush of anxiety passed through you. “All good, I promise. Go clean up while I figure out what to make for dinner.” As you headed to your room, you heard her mumble, “She is as bad as Kate.” That made you smile.

Yelena was able to make a pasta dish. It was better than the TV dinner you were going to heat up in the microwave. Over dinner and a bottle of wine, Yelena asked you to move to New York City. There was nothing holding you here. Your mother passed away, and your father left you when you were five years old. So you agreed. You put your two weeks in and packed up your apartment to move to the big city.

You met their dogs, which you’ve received so many videos and pictures of, started your new job while going back to school, and fell into a routine consisting of you waking up first, making breakfast and coffee, and starting on any schoolwork that needed to be done. Yelena and Kate would do their superhero duties while you went to work. You tried to routine who cooked dinner, but Yelena was the better of you three.

It was a big adjustment for you, but you enjoyed it.

*

While you were loading the dishwasher, the doorbell rang. You racked your brain on who it could be and dried your hands to turn on the tablet connected to the security system. Your wives were a Black Widow and the former CEO of Bishop Security, your home had the best security system. Smiling, you saw who was at your front door. “Olivia, can you get the door for me?” You called and continued to load the dishwasher. Your daughter huffed but stood up from her spot on the couch. You counted down until she figured out who was at the door.

“Auntie Nat! Auntie Ria!” she yelled, and you heard the grunt of your sister-in-law as Olivia threw herself at her.

“What is your mom feeding you?” Natasha questioned. “I feel like you are getting stronger every day.” The door closed behind them.

“Mama is teaching me how to fight!” Olivia told her aunts. You dried your hands and joined the group in the entryway.

“Against my wishes,” you smiled. Evan was already dragging his cousin, Nicholas, outside, and you had enough time to ruffle his hair as he passed. “Not that I’m thrilled to see you guys. I wasn’t expecting company,” you said, giving the couple a quick hug while Olivia dragged their youngest, Lauren, outside to join the others.

“We thought we’d surprise you,” Maria said.

“Are you hungry? I just made breakfast.” Natasha shook her head.

“We ate before we came over,” the three of you walked out to the back porch to watch the kids and dogs run around. The sight made you smile. “They are coming home today, right?” You nodded.

“I’m not sure when,” you looked at the redhead. “I got a text from Kate right before you guys came over. Things are taking longer than expected,” you rested your hands on your stomach and played with the wedding ring.

“It’s going to be okay,” Maria tried to reassure you. “They will always come home to you and the kids.” You knew that. They promised before every mission that they would come home. Natasha placed her hand on your shoulder and squeezed it.

You were jealous of Natasha and Maria. They were fully retired from active missions and spent their free time training newer agents. They would be fine and come home.

*

One of the hardest things about living with Kate and Yelena was seeing the effects of their job firsthand. It was easier to hide it from you when you lived miles away. No matter how late they got home, you checked over them and helped clean every cut and bruise. In the beginning, they found you on it, but they learned it was for your benefit. You needed to make sure they were okay.

You pushed Fanny and Lucky as you walked into the apartment. The dogs could smell the treats in your bag. “Guys,” you laughed. “Back up,” you managed to set your bag on the chair. They sat without a command, their tails wagging so fast they could generate wind to power a city. You pulled the treats out and handed them to them. They took off to their beds to enjoy it. Not even your phone ringing disturbed them. It was Natasha.

You remembered how terrified you were when you were introduced to the Black Widow. She was intimating and was looking after Kate and Yelena’s heart. If she needed you, Natasha would text you. She never called. Your heart leaped into your throat. Kate and Yelena were on a mission, not Avenger duties. Kate was helping the Black Widow free Widows who were still under the Red Room’s control. “Hello,” you answered.

“Don’t panic,” it sent you deeper into a panic as you sat on the couch.

“Natasha, that did not help,” the redhead laughed. “Are they okay?” She sighed.

“Bruce is looking them over now. Kate got them to the compound before she passed out,” Natasha explained. “They both haven’t woken up yet.”

“Nat, I-”

“I know,” she cut you off. “Maria is already on her way to get you and the dogs. Pack a bag, and I’ll see you soon, okay?” She nodded.

“Okay, I’ll see you soon,” you hung up and stayed frozen on the couch. You knew you needed to get stuff together—clothes for you, your schoolwork, and food for the dogs. But you couldn’t move. You reran the last conversation you had with them in your head. It was quick, maybe five minutes, because you had to walk the dogs before going to work. You didn’t tell them you loved them, and maybe it was too late.

*

Luckily, Natasha wasn’t in the mood to converse as she led you down to Med Bay. Your mind was spiraling, and you were barely holding it together. “They look a lot worse than they are,” she warned you before opening the door. Honestly, you felt nothing. It was like a calmness washed over you. They lay motionless in the beds next to each other with wires connected to machines. You locked all your emotions into a small box and tucked it away. Because if you felt anything, you would break. Maybe Natasha was talking. Perhaps she explained the list of injuries that Bruce and Helen had to fix. It was all white noise to you. “Come find me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” the door closed behind you. This world wasn’t normal to you. That the girls you loved with all your being put their lives on the line for strangers. It made no sense to you. You slumped in the chair between their beds and grabbed their hands. You hated how cold their hands felt; they usually would be so warm against yours. “Hi, my loves,” you whispered. “I’m here. I’m right here and not going anywhere.”

Natasha made sure you spent only some of your time by their side. You had to take breaks, and you were not in the position to say no to the Black Widow. So you took care of yourself because you knew Kate and Yelena would give you an earful if they found out otherwise. It was rare you were at the compound, so it was nice to get closer with the other members of the team. They helped keep your sanity as each day passed, and their condition was the same.

You were outside with Wanda, sitting on a picnic blanket and reading a book. Sometimes Lucky or Fanny would bring a ball over, and the witch would use her powers to throw it. “I’m jealous,” you told her. “My hand would be covered with drool.” Wanda laughed.

“How are you?” She asked. “Has Helen figured out why they haven’t woken up yet?” You shoved your bookmark into the spine of your book and closed it.

“I’m okay?” you questioned. There was this numbness that surrounded you. It felt unreal that they were hurt. With all the stories they told you, they seemed untouchable. “I just miss their hugs.” You missed a lot of things—their touch, the sound of their voice. Wanda smiled.

“They’ll come back to you,” she said. “It’s gross how much they talk about you.” You felt your body heat up but rolled your eyes. They always promised they would come home.

For the past few days, you slept in their bed. Now, it seemed lonely and cold. You walked down to the med bay and sat down in the chair. “I hope you know I will wait forever,” you whispered. “And I love your teammates, but it’s kind of lonely with you two. The world seems a little too quiet.” You felt a few tears finally fall down your cheeks. “Just come back to me whenever you are ready.”

Delete Created with Sketch.

“Do you think we should wake her?” The voice was muffled.

“That can not be comfortable,” that was Kate. So, the first voice must have been Yelena��s. “We know she can be moody when she sleeps in a weird position.”

“Not moody,” you grumbled, but Kate was right. Your neck was already starting to hurt. You heard laughter.

“Are you sure about that, Princess?” Slowly, your eyes opened, and you blinked a few times to see your girlfriends awake. They were awake—alive and awake. Kate chuckled. “She has that same dazed look on her face like when we asked if she wanted to be our girlfriend,” you thought they were messing you up at first.

“You’re up,” you said. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah-” you didn’t give Yelena time to finish before flinging yourself at the Blonde. She grunted at the impact. The dam broke. The feeling of her heart beating against yours caused a sob to escape. “Sh, dorogoy, sh,” Yelena cooed and kissed your temple. “I know, I know.”

“Thought I’d lost you both,” you heard Kate climb out of bed and sit beside Yelena. Her hand rubbed circles on your back to help calm you down.

“We’ll always come back to you, sweetheart,” Kate said. “You are stuck with us. Forever.”

Forever. That sounded nice.

*

It was Maria’s and your job to make lunch while Natasha distracted the little ones outside. You decided on something simple: a ham and cheese sandwich, slices of watermelon, and chips. It was also a meal that could make you nauseous. “Yelena told Natasha you were getting another dog,” Maria said while cutting into the watermelon. You groaned and threw your head back.

“I told her she could get another dog when she fully retires. I am not taking care of three dogs and three to two kids,” you wondered if Maria caught your mistake. She laughed.

“Have they said when they’ll be done?” You shook your head. They loved the lifestyle. You wondered if they loved it more than the family they had back here. You caused a lot of fights. But you couldn’t dwell on it or answer Maria’s question; you heard the distinct sound of Olivia’s squeals and hurried footsteps.

“Mommy! Mommy!” She ran into the back of your legs. “Auntie Nat said she would eat me,” you laughed.

“Oh yeah,” you said, continuing to make sandwiches. “Why is she going to eat you?”

“Because she’s hungry!” She answered like it was the most obvious thing. “And she said you were taking too long to make lunch,” that bitch! Maria laughed at her wife’s antics.

“Go tell Auntie Nat that if she eats you, she won’t get any lunch.”

“Okay! I love you!” She cheered and ran back outside. You shook your head, smiling fondly. You loved your little family and couldn’t wait to add to it.

*

You always wanted to be a mother and experience the feeling of bringing life into the world. Maybe it was your good relationship with your mother before she passed. However, you were scared to bring it up to your girlfriends. Their relationship with their own mother was complicated; one was in jail because she was working with the tracksuit Mafia, while the other was responsible for controlling her and other Black Widows. So, it was a little complicated.

You wanted to bring it up to them, and if they hated the idea, you would make peace with that. Yelena put the finishing touches on dinner while you poured some wine and set the table. You were going to ask them tonight. Someone brought in a baby at work today, and your mind began to create fantasies of Yelena and Kate with their children. You knew they would get mothers with how they interacted with the Barton kids, and Morgan made your ovaries explode.

“Princess,” you felt Kate’s arms around your waist. “Where did you go just now? I’ve been calling your name.”

“Sorry,” you smiled. “Long day at work.” She kissed your neck.

“You know you could always quit,” you rolled your eyes and pulled away from her embrace. You grabbed two glasses. “You’d make a sexy housewife,” you chuckled.

“You’d have to make me your wife first, Bishop,” you sent a wink over your shoulder and walked over to the table. If they knew you were distracted, they didn’t bring it up. They talked about their day and filled in the empty silence. You felt Yelena’s hand on your thigh, feeling the cool metal of her rings on your skin.

“Alright,” the Blonde said. “What’s going on?” You sighed and swirled the wine around in your glass.

“Do you guys want kids?” Yelena’s hands tightened her hold on your thigh. “If you don’t, that’s fine. I will completely respect that, but I’ve been wondering and thinking and-”

“Princess,” Kate cut you off. “Breathe,” you nodded, and you felt Yelena’s thumb dig into your skin to help you calm down. “Do you want kids?” She asked when you calmed down slightly.

“I want whatever you want,” Yelena said, shaking her head.

“That’s not what she asked, detka,” you sighed and leaned back. You placed your hand on top of Yelena’s.

“I love the life we have right now,” you admitted. “But I’ve always seen myself as a mom,” you glanced at the dogs who were eating their own dinner. “To children who walk on two legs instead of four,” your joke got a laugh out of two girlfriends. The two heroes looked at each other; they could always talk to each other without using words.

“We’ve been wondering when you’d bring it up,” Kate smiled.

“You are not very subtle when you watch us with the Barton kids,” your face flushed at Yelena’s teasing tone.

“Answer mine,” you whispered. “Do you guys want kids?” Kate took your free hand and played with the ring on your finger.

“I think we are ready to expand our family,” you looked at the archer and then at the Blonde, who nodded.

“I need to hear you say it, dorogoy.” Your Russian wasn’t good, but you loved the smile on Yelena’s face when you tried to speak it.

“I would love to start a family with you two.”

You decided to carry since it was impossible for Yelena, and Kate was actively training and going on missions. For the first try, you agreed to use Kate’s eggs and a sperm donor who matched Yelena’s features. The hardest part was keeping it from your friends and family. You went to a private doctor in the city. Each day during the process, you became more and more grateful for Yelena and Kate.

In the first round, you had your hopes up, and it broke your heart when you got your period. The second round hurt, but it didn’t sting as much as the first one. Yelena and Kate were tempted to call it off by the third attempt. They sat the emotional toll it was taking on you. You blamed yourself. You were the problem on why you couldn’t get pregnant. You asked for one more try.

It was Wednesday. Yelena met with Sonya, and Kate had lunch with Fanny and Greer. You were walking home after your manager told you to take a half day. All day, you felt off, like a nagging voice was in the back of your head. It made you second-guess everything. Luckily, your boss knew what you were going and allowed you to go home. Before you entered the apartment, you stopped at the corner store and bought two pregnancy tests.

The dogs greeted you when you came home and sniffed the brown bag to see if you had anything for them. You apologized and promised to get them something next time you went out. Walking into the bathroom, your stomach twisted with anxiety and fear. Should you have waited for Yelena and Kate? What if it was positive? Or worse, negative. Your heart couldn’t take it. Still, that uneasy feeling crawled in your stomach. So you opened both boxes and read the instructions. It was easy: pee on a stick, place on a flat surface, and wait 5 minutes. Easy. When you were done, you placed them on the counter and washed your hands.

It was a mistake to take them. You were being silly and dramatic. As you were about to throw away the tests, you heard the front door open, followed by the dogs greeting your partners. “Princess?” Kate called out. “Are you home?” You thought about staying quiet, but you left your bag downstairs.

“Bathroom,” you said. “Upstairs.” You closed the door and leaned on the wooden door, keeping the results locked away. You heard the footsteps of both Yelena and Kate as they walked up the stairs and into the bedroom. “Hi,” you forced a smile, but they looked at you with concern.

“What’s wrong, data?” Yelena asked. You sighed.

“I got sent home because I wasn’t feeling right, and I stopped at the corner store to get two pregnancy tests,” their eyes widened.

“What did the test say?” Kate asked. You shrugged.

“I panicked and left them on the counter,” Yelena chuckled. “Don’t laugh at me,” you frowned. The Blonde took your hand and led you to the bed.

“I’m not laughing at you,” Yelena reassured you with a kiss. “Tell us why you panicked.” Kate knelt in front of you.

“If it’s negative, I don’t think my heart can take it,” you sighed. “I want this to work so bad, but what if it’s me? Maybe I’m the problem,” the archer shook her head.

“This is not your fault,” she said. “We knew this was going to be difficult.” Yes, you knew it would be challenging, but it felt impossible.

“I just want to give you both a family,” you felt tears form in your eyes. Yelena pushed your head down on her shoulder and kissed your head.

“We are a family, baby. You, me, and Kate.”

“And Fanny and Lucky. We can’t forget our favorite troublemakers,” Kate teased. You smiled and whipped away your tears. “Do you want me to go check the tests?” You hesitated but nodded. You were too anxious to move, but also you felt very comfortable against Yelena. Kate stood up and kissed you softly. “No matter what it says. We love you,”

“Love you too,” you whispered and watched Kate enter the bathroom. Yelena played with the hair at the base of your neck and hummed a simple tone. It was soothing, and you slumped into her. For the first time all day, you felt that nagging presence disappear. It was impossible for you to notice it with Yelena so close to you.

“Do you think she got lost?” Yelena mumbled in your ear. You giggled and slapped her softly on her leg. Finally, Kate came out with the tests in her hand.

“Positive,” she said. You stood up quickly, looking at the tests in her hand. She was right. Both read positive.

“I’m pregnant,” you said in disbelief. Suddenly, you were engulfed in the arms of your girlfriends. You felt their tears on your skin. You were going to be a mom. Finally.

*

“Thank you for stopping by,” you said and hugged Natasha. “I appreciate the distraction.” You separated from the redhead and watched Maria strap in their very sleepy kids in the car. Carefully, she closed the car door and joined you and her wife on the front steps.

“So, when are you going to tell them?” You titled your head at Maria’s question.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” you said. Natasha rolled her eyes.

“You do realize you are trying to lie to two former Avengers,” you rolled your eyes. You managed to keep your first pregnancy a secret from them. You wondered if they were still a little bitter about that.

“When they get home,” you gave in. “I took the test two nights ago,” Maria was the first to pull you into a hug, carefully, and whispered congratulations into your ear. Once Maria was one, Natasha took her wife’s spot.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For loving her and giving her a family.” You felt overcome with emotions, so all you could do was nod. You watched the couple get into their car and leave. Walking back into your house, Evan and Olivia were asleep on the couch. You loved it when they came over because they made nap time easier. Carefully, you picked up Olivia and Evan and carried them into their room.

What Natasha said to you wasn’t the first time she’s said it. The first time was when you told her about your pregnancy. The second was when she met her niece and nephew. Then at the wedding and now again. Still, it made you emotional.

You felt honored to love Yelena and be loved by her. It was your greatest accomplishment.

*

Yelena and Kate were more nervous than you as you lay on the medical bed waiting for the doctor. “I love you both,” you started. But you need to calm down, or you will go wait in the waiting room.”

“Sorry, Princess,” Kate kissed your forehead. Yelena’s leg was still shaking as the doctor came in to perform the ultrasound. It was a big day, so you understood where the anxiety was coming from. It would be your first time seeing your son and/or daughter.

“Alright, are you ready?” The doctor asked. With your consent, she lifted your shirt and put the cold gel on your skin. You shivered, which caused Kate to laugh at you. You glared at the archer. “Looks like we have a healthy baby,” she showed you and your girlfriends that was developing.

“It looks like a little alien,” Kate commented. Yelena scuffed, hitting the archer on the arm.

“Do not call your son or daughter an alien,” you smiled at the Black Widow.

“That leads me to the next question: do you want to know the genders, or will it be a surprise?” You planned on having a gender reveal party planned by Laura once you told her. Wait. Pause. Genders?

“Genders?” You questioned. The doctor smiled.

“Congratulations,” she smiled. “You are pregnant with twins.” Twins. Twins?! You weren’t having one baby but two. The doctor explained that twins were common throughout the IVF process and that you looked at your partners to see their reactions. The news shocked them, but you could see the excitement and relief on their faces. You were healthy. The babies were healthy. That was what mattered to them.

*

Keeping a secret was hard, especially one as big as this. Since Clint was fully retired, you saw the man less than Natasha and Maria. However, the Bartons liked to take trips to the city, which resulted in big family dinners. This time, Natasha and Maria were hosting. You walked up the front steps with a salad in your arms. “Are you excited?” Kate asked.

“Nervous,” you said. You were going to tell all of them today. It wasn’t going to be a big deal. Yelena was going to tell her sister and Maria, Kate had Clint, and you would tell Laura.

“We have to do it as soon as possible,” Yelena rang the doorbell. “Natasha already suspects something.” She was a Black Widow; that was not surprising. Nathaniel opened the door and hugged Kate and Yelena tight. You were in charge of the salad, which was tactical. The youngest Barton liked to show his affection with tight hugs, and your girlfriends were highly protective of you. You ruffled the boy’s hair and walked into the house.

Laura was in the kitchen while Clint, Natasha, and Maria prepared drinks at the bar. “Good luck,” Kate mumbled and kissed your temple. Your girlfriends said hello to Laura before joining the others. You placed the salad in the fridge.

“How can I help?” You asked.

“Can you measure out some flour and grab the baking soda?” Laura smiled. You nodded and got the ingredients she requested. You worked in silence, but your eyes kept glancing at your girlfriends. Kate gave you a thumbs-up.

“So, I was wondering if you have any leftover baby stuff?” You asked as you mixed up the dry ingredients. Laura thought for a moment, held tilted to the side.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “We may have donated a bunch. Is your job doing a donation?” You smiled and shook your head.

“No, I was asking for us,” you shrugged. Laura froze while mixing the wet ingredients with the dry as if her brain was trying to piece together what you said. Before she could say anything, you heard footsteps rushing over to you.

“You’re pregnant?” Natasha questioned. You nodded. It surprised you when the redhead pulled you into her arms and hugged you. “I can’t believe you kept it from me, you bitch.” You laughed at her comment.

“Careful, sestra,” Yelena warned. You rolled your eyes at her protective nature. “She’s got two in there.”

“Twins?!” Laura exclaimed.

“Twins,” you repeated. The day was filled with congratulations, celebrations, and so much love.

*

Sighing, you stood in the kitchen with the refrigerator door open. You were hungry, but you had no idea what you wanted. The twins wanted the strangest combination of foods. Kate and Yelena were saints through it all - the morning sickness, the odd late-night cravings that required them to leave bed and go to the store. “Oh,” you touched your stomach as you felt a kick. “Well, hello there,” you smiled. “I was wondering when I would start feeling you.” It was the part you were the most excited about feeling your little ones. It made it feel so real. However, seeing some of the videos of hand prints on people’s stomachs did scare you.

“Princess, who are you talking to?” Kate asked, walking downstairs.

“Come here,” you held your hand and closed the fridge. You took Kate’s hand and placed it on your stomach. “Just wait,” you smiled. It took a second, but soon, you felt a kick. Kate’s face lit up in surprise.

“Is that-” You nodded. “That is so weird,” you chuckled, and another kick. “I think they like the sound of your voice.”

“Maybe they like yours,” her eyes went to yours, then to your stomach.

“Hi, little ones,” Kate whispered. I’m your mum.” You smiled and blamed the pregnancy hormones when tears ran down your cheeks. I’m so excited to meet you and teach you how to hold a bow and arrow. Don’t cause your mom too much pain, okay?” You put your arms around her neck and pulled her into a hug.

“You are going to be a great mom,” you said. She hugged you back.

“So are you.”

Delete Created with Sketch.

“Lena,” you called for the Blonde. You wanted to go for a walk, but you needed help putting on your shoes. “Yelena,” you said again. Kate was meeting with America at the Sanctum with Stephen. So it was you, Yelena, and the pups. The Blonde was upstairs preparing the room for the twins. The plan was to stay in the apartment until the twined turned one. Looking for a new home while pregnant and preparing for newborns was tiring. Sighing, you stood up and walked up the stairs—one hand on your belly and the other on the railing. You found Yelena on the floor of the twin’s room. She was midway through building a rocking chair. However, she was flipping through one of the parenting books she bought when the doctor confirmed you were pregnant.

She was lost in her own world, unaware that you were standing in the doorway. You let her sit there, but she stared at the same page for a few minutes. You made your presence known. “Baby,” she finally looked up.

“Dorogoy,” Yelena stood up and rushed over to you, her hands resting on your stomach. “Are you okay? Is it the babies?” You shook your head. You looked at your girlfriend, taking her face gently in your hands. There were dark bags underneath her eyes. How long has she been struggling, and you missed it?

“I’m fine,” you said. “What’s wrong, baby?” Yelena hesitated.

“Nothing,” she lied. You frowned and brought her into your arms for a hug. Her body was tense against yours, but soon she slumped into you.

“Tell me what’s going through that pretty head of yours,” you softly spoke. Yelena stayed quiet but it was okay. You would hold her as long as she needed, even if your back started to hurt. Finally, she mumbled something you missed. “What?” You questioned. She repeated herself, but still, it was hard for you to hear. “Baby, I can’t help if I can’t hear you,” you pulled away from you.

“What if I’m not good enough to be a mom?” She asked. Your heart broke. “I have done many bad things,” you knew some of those ‘bad’ things. You never saw them as bad. She was forced to be a pawn, and she was trying so hard to remove all the red. “What if I hurt them? I can not -” she shook her head. You felt the twin’s kick. They could sense Yelena’s emotions. You took her hand and placed it on your stomach.

“They are causing quite a commotion in there,” you smiled. “I think they can sense their mama is upset.” Yelena laughed, tears freely running down her cheeks. She kept her hands on your stomach.

“I love them so much already,” she admitted.

“I know you do,” Almost every night, Yelena would rest her head on your stomach and speak Russian to them. It was your favorite part of each day. She made sure to make meals that were safe for you. Whenever you needed a message, Yelena was the first to volunteer. “You take such great care of me and the babies, Lena. You are going to be a great mom,” she opened her mouth to argue, but you shook her head. “You deserve this life. You deserve to have a family and to be happy,” you wiped away her tears. “I know you will protect and love these troublemakers with your entire heart.”

“What if I mess up?”

“Then you mess up, but we will mess up together,” you kissed her softly. “Now, my back hurts. Do you think I can get a message?” Yelena chuckled, a smile finally on her face.

“Your wish is my command, my love.”

*

Delays were par for the course. At the beginning of the relationship, dates were missed or had to be rescheduled. You spent nights worrying sick because the mission took longer. When you received a text from Yelena that they were going to be home late, you understood, but it broke Olivia and Evan’s hearts. It was why you caved when they asked to stay up late after dinner to watch a movie. They lasted halfway through Frozen 2, and you were quick to follow them to sleep.

You woke up to your kids being moved, and you immediately grabbed them. “Easy, Princess,” it took a moment for your sleep-induced brain to see Yelena holding Olivia. “It’s just us.”

“You’re home,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. Kate smiled, and you couldn’t help but fall more in love with her.

“Go to bed, baby,” Yelena said. “We’ll put the little ones to bed.” You nodded and kissed your kids before heading to your room. You sat at the foot of your bed and waited for them, stretching your neck. Sleeping on the couch always put a strain on your neck. Yelena was the first in the bedroom. Her hair was wet, and she wore one of Kate’s tracksuits. They must have stopped at the compound before heading over here. “I missed you,” she admitted and kissed you softly. Kissing Yelena was your favorite. It was hard for the Black Widow to vocalize her feelings, but the way she kissed you said enough.

“I missed you too,” you smiled. “Are there any injuries?” She shook her head. “Promise?” she twirled around in a circle. You saw nothing, but she looked tired. “Do you want me to braid your hair, or do you want to go to bed?”

“Can you braid it? Kate is not good at it,” you smiled and nodded. She went into the bathroom to grab the supplies you needed. Kate came in while she was there. Before you could ask if she was okay, she kissed you. Kate was always an aggressive kisser when she came home. It took your breath away.

“Hi, baby girl,” she said. You smiled.

“Hi, Katie,” the archer rolled her eyes. The Black Widow came out of the bathroom with a hair brush and a ponytail. You moved to the center of the bed so she could sit before you. Kate kissed Yelena before going into the bathroom herself. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” You asked, sitting up on your knees and beginning to brush her hair. She hummed.

“Tired,” she whispered. “And I missed you and the twins,.” You wanted to say you missed her too ,and the twins were heartbroken when they were delayed. But that wasn’t going to help.

“Your sister and Maria came over,” you told her. “Someone told them we are getting another dog,” you chuckled as Yelena tensed up.

“I do not know who told them that,” she said. “Maybe it was Livie,” but it probably was Olivia. You knew she would join your wife’s agenda no matter what it was. You kissed her cheek and finished the braid.

“Princess,” you looked at Kate, and your eyes looked at the pregnancy test in her hands. “Is this real?” You wanted to say you would never joke about a positive pregnancy test after the hell you went through the first time, but you nodded.

“I took the test two days ago,” you said. Kate’s blue eyes filled with tears. Yelena stood up and took the test from Kate’s hand.

“It worked?” Yelena’s voice cracked. You nodded.

“Much easier than the first time,” your vision began to blur with your own tears. The Blonde moved to hug you, and you felt her tears against your skin.

“We are getting a new four-leg child and one with two,” she said. You pulled away from her.

“Yelena Belova,” you sternly said. “I told you we are not getting a third dog until you fully retire. I am not taking care of three dogs and three kids by myself.”

“Could be twins,” Kate said, laying behind you in bed. She placed her on your stomach underneath your shirt. Goosebumps form on your skin. You loved the feeling of Kate’s hands, warm and calloused.

“If you knocked me up with twins again, I might divorce both of you,” you teased and rested your body on Kate, melting against hers. Yelena crossed her legs and took your hand. She looked lost in thought. You squeezed her hand, and she looked at you.

“This was our last mission,” she told you. “We are missing too much here, and I do not want to fight anymore.” You were proud of how well you kept your excitement masked. Part of you believed that the only thing that was going to stop Yelena and Kate from going on mission was an injury or maybe even their death. But she was right. She deserved it. They both did.

“I guess I can make room for both of you,” your body shook from Kate’s laughter. The Blonde rolled her eyes and laid her head on your stomach. She kissed it and mumbled something in Russian. You glanced at Kate over your shoulder, and she smiled fondly at the Blonde.

“I love you both,” she said.

“Love you too,” you weren’t expecting a response from Yelena as she was fast asleep, a protective hold on your stomach.

Sometime in the future

Soft kisses on your shoulder drew you out of sleep. You tried to ignore it, but your lips traveled up your neck. “I know you are up, Princess,” you felt Kate’s breath against your neck. “We have a busy Saturday morning. Lena is starting breakfast.” You groaned and burrowed your face deeper into the pillow.

“I wouldn’t be so tired if someone wasn’t so needy last night.”

“If I remember correctly, you weren’t complaining,” you heard the smirk in her voice. You rolled your eyes and climbed out of bed, stretching your hands above your head. You felt her eyes gaze over your naked body.

“Can you keep your hands to yourself if we shower together?” It was the fastest you’ve seen her get out of bed.

*

“I thought I was going to have to call the Coast Guard,” Yelena teased as you entered the kitchen. You kissed her cheek.

“Don’t be jealous,” you pinched her back, and she yelped. “So,” you poured yourself a cup of coffee. “What’s the plan of attack?” You asked. Saturdays were always busy in your house. With five kids, four dogs, and a cat, it seemed everyone needed to be somewhere. Soccer bags needed to be packed, paint brushes to be washed, and pointe shoes needed new ribbons.

It was hectic, and sometimes you felt like you were pulled in a hundred and one directions, but you had your wives by your side to help. “Are you listening?” Yelena smiled.

“Yes,” you lied. She gave you a pointed look, which you ignored, and wrapped your arms around her waist.

“Incoming!” You heard Kate yell, followed by your three oldest running down the stairs. This was normal. Your home was loud, crazy, and chaotic but full of love. You burrowed your face in the crook of Yelena’s neck and kissed the skin you could reach.

“Thank you,” you whispered against her. “Thank you for loving me and giving me a family.”

[classicpixels]

Diana’s Coastal Summer Lookbook

For summer, Diana is in love with wearing linen materials, striped patterns and pairing whites with baby blues.

dress | lv bag | flats

shirt | shorts | sandals

sunglasses | top | loewe bag | pants

shirt | pants | sandals

Credits | @charonlee @theslyd @jius-sims @ooobsooo @serenity-cc @bananasimss @dallasgirl79 @platinumluxesims @arethabee @rustys-cc @simcelebrity00 @ratboysims

[shycoconutt]

It seems when it comes to Nanami Kento, your body has a mind of its own.

Because here you are standing like an idiot, with a brown bag containing various warm pastries and a cup of black coffee, alone in his office in the early hours of the morning, feeling like you’ve fought and won many battles but are currently losing the war.

The war that was once your past and now, to your dismay, is your present too.

The sun has just barely peaked over the mountains, a warm orange glow cascading through the windows of Jujutsu Tech. Placing your offerings on his large wooden desk, you can’t help the exaggerated sigh that escapes your lips.

What has gotten into you.

The entire walk from your apartment, to the bakery, then to work at 8 o’clock in the morning was spent mumbling and grumbling to yourself.

Whatever happened to keeping your distance? Standing your ground? Huh? So what if today’s his birthday? So you happen to know his order at his favorite bakery across town, who cares? Huh? Hello? Are you listening to me—

You probably have a red mark on your forehead from how many times you slapped yourself on the way over here.

Truth is, you know it’s dumb, but the thought of not one person wishing Kento a happy birthday or giving him a gift today makes your stomach hurt. He only just reinstated himself as a sorcerer a couple months ago, and it’s highly likely that no one else but you remembers the importance of this summer day.

Your face warms slightly thinking about teenage Kento and that stupid party hat Satoru forced him to wear for the duration of your class singing him happy birthday. He stood there like an emotionless toothpick. It was hilarious.

Smiling to yourself, you grab a pen and a single sheet from his notepad laid out on his desk and scribble a few words before leaving it there and exiting his office.

~

“Ino,” you yell from your seat on a bench at the sparing field, “you gotta keep your fists close to your chest in a defensive position when fighting. The reason you keep getting knocked over is because you’re leaving yourself wide open.”

With your arms outstretched over the back of the bench, you lift up your head to feel the warm sun rays on your face. It is a hot one today, and you somewhat regret telling your students that you would be working on combat outside all day.

Your decision came mostly because they need the practice, but partly because you know it’s easier to avoid Kento this way.

Five hours into the day, however, you know you have to give your students a break.

“Okay everyone,” you say, clapping your hands together, “why don’t you all take an hour for lunch and then meet back here. When you get back, each of you will take turns sparing with yours truly.”

You giggle at the mix of excited gasps and disappointed groans from your students. They know you won’t go easy on them, and that only excites a select few.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Though, to make up for it, I stashed some goodies in the fridge for you guys in the rec room…”

You blinked and your students were gone, only leaving a small trail of dust in their path. Feeling content in your solitude, you go back to basking in the sun, the soft noise of running water and chirping birds lulling you into a state of relaxation.

You about jump out of your own shoes when you hear someone softly clearing their throat behind you.

Looking over your shoulder, your eyes trail up the stone steps before you lock on a broad figure standing at the top of them, slicked back honey blonde hair threatening to tousle in the strong breeze.

“May I join you?”

No. Nope. Get lost.

“Uh, sure!”

Damn it.

Scooting over to one side of the bench to make room, you nervously fidget with your hands, suddenly very interested in the state of your cuticles.

In your peripheral, you notice he’s dressed lighter than usual. Instead of the tan suit, blue long sleeve dress shirt combo, he has on a pair of brown slacks with a linen tan short sleeve dress shirt. He looks really good.

Then again, he always looks good. Ever since his return, it was no surprise to you that his everyday wear was so formal. Nanami always had an affinity towards proper aesthetics. He holds himself at a higher standard than most and always feels morally obligated to do the right thing.

But, sometimes there is no right or wrong, sometimes the right choice for you is the wrong one for someone else, sometimes the right choice is the easier choice, the one that hurts less.

As he moves to sit next to you, you feel yourself hold your breath.

“The kids flew by me on the way here practically foaming at the mouths,” Nanami muses.

“Yeah, well, I bought them some candy and snacks from 7/11 this morning cause I walked past and knew I would be putting them through the wringer today. It’s honestly the least I could do. They’ll be hurting pretty good later.”

Nanami hums all-knowingly, smirking to himself.

“If memory serves me right, there were plenty of nights back in the day where I would have to take hours-long episome salt baths just to be able to fall asleep that night after a training session with you.”

You can’t help but smile and hum in amusement.

“You never were the best at hand-to-hand. However, once you started bringing blades and shit into the mix, I did often fear for my life.”

“I would have never hurt you, you know that,” Nanami scoffs.

“Yeah,” you pause, “at least with your blade anyway.”

You feel the air still around you. Nanami now leans himself back on the bench, lifting his hands behind him to support his head.

“Hm, I suppose I deserve that.”

“Sorry, I shouldn’t…”

“However, what I do not deserve is your kindness,” Nanami states, staring at the field in front of him.

“Hm?”

“You bought me my favorite breakfast today, isn’t that correct?”

You turn to him now, feeling a warm blush rise to your cheeks.

“Yes.”

“And this is the most we’ve talked in a long time.”

“I suppose.”

“I half expected you to yell at me to go away.”

“I thought about it.”

Nanami smiles at this, turning to look at you for the first time, amber eyes looking down softly into yours.

“Thank you, darling. I loved it.”

The genuineness of his words swallow the world around you. You feel your heart lurch, and it’s painful.

Sitting here, so close to his form, you feel like you are two magnets. You wish you could just let go—let yourself give in. You want so badly to fly across the seat and have him absorb you. All of the empty parts of your soul are vacant because of him, and he could fill those crevices so easily, right where he once was so long ago.

You give him a sad smile, reaching your arm out, you bring the palm of your hand gently to his face, letting your thumb graze the skin of his cheek.

“You’re welcome, Kento.”

You allow yourself to touch him like this, but this is as far as you can go, at least for right now. Something you know he understands.

“Hey! Nanami is here!” Ino’s voice brings you out of your trance. You look up to see your students gathered together with all of the snacks, candy and drinks you got them in their hands. You quickly pull your hand away from Nanami so they don’t see.

You beam up at them.

“What are you guys doing back so soon?”

“Well we saw all the stuff you got us and decided it wouldn’t be right to eat all of it and not share some with you. You’re out here working hard too!”

“Aw, thanks you guys,” you smile, “Actually, you know what? This is perfect!”

Leaping up from your spot, you grab Nanami’s hand and gesture for him to stand up with you. He complies reluctantly.

“We can all share our spoils with our BIRTHDAY BOOOOOY!”

Nanami glares at you like you just told them his deepest, darkest secret. You give his hand a small squeeze before letting go, smiling up at him devilishly.

The kids are a blur as they gather around him, practically suffocating him with their enthusiasm. You watch as he battles any signs of joy as they jostle him around.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY NANAMIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!”

[saucymunch]

megumi x reader one shot fluff slightly suggestive megumi fluff secret relationship

it was a hot summer day. the sun was almost ripping through the students black uniforms, and everybody just wanted to take a nice bath and go inside the air conditioned building.

"hey! you can't just take my water bottle kugisaki!!!" yuji whined, doused in sweat from his duel with maki.

nobara finished her swig of yujis fresh cold water, "oh come on! you're not gonna let a woman die of sun poisoning, are you?" she complains, throwing his bottle back to him, as itadori huffed.

you and megumi had just finished your spar, with you winning, as always. "nice to see the two of you interacting for once!" gojo snuck behind the two of you, as he snaked his arms around the both of you.

nobara and yuji walked over. "yeah! you two are always avoiding each other like the plague." yuji laughed.

"now that i think about it, are you two even friends?" nobara cocked her head to the side, placing a hand on her hip.

you shuffle your feet to step away from gojo's grasp. "oh, i don't know." you breath out, clearly uncomfortable as your gaze moves to the dirt.

megumi simply looks to the side, mumbling something about how they need to mind their own business with a big scowl. gojo chuckles, and gathers all the students.

he passes out water bottles as he explains to everybody that they were now free to do as they please, even allowing them to go off campus if they wanted for the next week. gojo was set to be out of town, and all of the upcoming missions had been assigned to yuta, who was back in town. it was now the second and first years unofficial and unexpected summer break. the students thanked their white haired sensei and all headed back to their dorms.

as you were walking back, you made sure to walk behind everybody, to talk to megumi.

"hey, you gonna go see your parents over break?" he inquired, lightly bumping your shoulder.

"nope! was planning on just spending it with you." you whisper the last part, making him blush a bit.

the sun was bright orange, finally deciding to set. it was a humid hot afternoon.

"we should go to the onsen. gojo gave me two coupons. plus, nobody's gonna be there since it's so hot out." he suggests, almost reaching for your hand to hold, before realizing he couldn't because you were out in public.

the two of you continued walking towards the dorms, keeping a safe distance from the rest of the vibrant students, who were all discussing what they should do with these rare off days. you could see maki and inumaki cheering, clearly exhilarated. you also could clearly see kugisaki and itadori bickering over what movie they should watch.

"sounds perfect, meet you outside of your dorm at six?" you ask, smiling at the spiky haired boy.

he nodded contently, and the two of you split ways.

after packing a backpack of onsen necessities, you changed into a white linen tank top, as well as blue striped linen shorts. grabbing your phone, you texted fushiguro that you were on your way.

and before you knew it, the two of you took the train to a quieter and more rural area of town, where rice paddies began showing up.

"wow. we must've come far if there are rice fields! it's so refreshing being off campus!" you inhale and exhale deeply, smelling the the countryside while stretching after stepping off the train, as you let go of fushiguro's hand.

megumi lets out a small laugh, seeing you so excited.

"come on, it's this way." his soft hand grabs yours, and you happily follow him, giving him a kiss on his cheek.

his eyes widen, and his cheeks flush as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

"be careful, what if someone sees us?" he looks around, worried.

"pffft. there's only grandmas and grandpas near us right now. no way we'd run into anybody! unless you just don't like my kisses, fushiguro." you huff out.

the two of you are walking down a dirt road up a mountain. the sun had already set, and a few lantern lights lit up the trail.

"you know that's not what i meant. i just wouldn't be able to stand the endless teasing if they found out." he says, already fuming at the thought of it.

"mhm." the onsen was now in sight. it was rather large, and looked perfect. you could see the steam rising behind the bamboo trees and wall.

"now quit calling me fushiguro, i don't like it." he says, letting go of your hand to show the elderly lady his coupon.

"and you two know this is a konyoku, right? perfect for couples or large groups of friends!" the old lady smiled as she informed and handed the two of you the passes.

megumi nodded. "thank you, ma'am." he replies.

you both walk to the lobby, where you both part ways briefly to change. this onsen specifically was unisex,

and allowed you to cover up with a body towel in the water. you wrapped the thin towel around your body, clipping it into place, as you slowly walked out of the changing room, careful not to slip. your eyes landed on megumi, and he smiled as he signaled for you to come over. the onsen pool was outside and large, and steam filled the air. more steam than usual made it hard to see. since it was night, the few lanterns on top of the large stones lit up the area, making it almost romantic. you were prepared for the entire date to be gross as it was already so hot and humid out, thinking the hot steamy onsen would make you feel worse. instead, the warmth of the water as you dipped your toe in, the sight of your seemingly perfect boyfriends face, and the refreshing and slightly chilly summer night time breeze had cured your aching muscles and melted away your worries.

megumi had a towel draped over his waist. you fully submerged your body into the hot water, holding your towel in place. megumi watched in awe, as you slowly waded through the water to him, his small smiling growing, as the ends of your hair got wet.

"oh! could you tie my hair up, please?" you asked, holding out your hair tie, with a grin.

megumi rolled his eyes, taking the black hair tie. "i don't understand why you like it so much when i touch your hair." he says gently, as he meticulously pulls your hair into a bun.

his large hands run through your hair as he finally ties it.

you hum in satisfaction. "just feels good."

the two of you sigh, finally relaxing after weeks of endless missions and not being able to properly spend time with each other. every time you want to see megumi, it meant sneaking around after hours. it was exhausting.

"so nice how nobody is here. you were right, no one comes to the bathhouse when its hot out, especially at night." you commend him with a kiss.

after a few moments of silence, you speak up.

"you know, it wouldn't be all too bad if we just- told them." you suggest, as megumi pulls you closer, his toned arms wrapped tightly around your stomach area concealed by your towel. his chin was resting on your head.

"i would. i would if the people in our lives were somewhat normal." he sighs out.

"now that i think about it, i can imagine the endless teasing." you exhale out, feeling megumi's hands slowly start to move under your towel, as he feels the skin of your stomach. it's not even sexual, just pure love.

"i missed touching you. i almost forgot how you felt." he softly smiles into your neck.

you're hugging his left arm, rubbing circles on his bicep with your thumb, as you unwind.

"i wish this was forever." you breath out, completely lost in his eyes as you straddle his lap, placing your hands on his shoulders.

"we will be." he locks lips with you, completely closing the gap between you both.

his soft lips are now kissing you. completely enchanted by each other. pure euphoria floods the both of you, as your hands are tangling and running through his already messy hair, making it even more disheveled. megumi is slipping his hands under your towel again, hands spread wide, but only touching your back and sides, careful not to touch anywhere too intimate, but craving every inch of you. the two of you forgot to breathe, didn't want to.

your reminder to breathe was here, as you and megumi heard the screen door from the changing room open, while you were still straddling his lap, hands still tangled in his black hair, his hands still under your towel, gasping for air, hoping the dense fog would hide your swollen red lips and obvious messy hair.

"why did we have to come to an onsen in the middle of june, itadori? we could've gone shopping!"

but folks, you can only sneak around for so long, and fog can only be so dense.

nobara dropped her tin cup of water, the cup hitting the ground with a loud clang.

her mouth hung open, eyes wide.

"f-fushiguro. and y/n. kissing." itadori points, mouth also hung open.

you quickly pushed yourself off of megumi, fixing his hair, and he tugged your towel, moving it back to place.

you moved to sit back next to megumi, leaving an honest distance between the two of you.

"nobody will believe you two." megumi blurted, squinting his eyes.

itadori simply stared, still processing everything. nobara's eyes grew ten times larger, anger fueling her bones when she realized megumi was right. nobody would believe them. the two of you were so bland to each other at school! you barely talked to each other! people thought you hated each other. were they even friends, people thought.

so on the train ride to the shopping district the same night, which nobara and yuji had to tag along, when you and megumi sat next to each other behind nobara and yuji, you both snickered at nobara's anger. the school had just recently took everybody's phones for a short period of time as a punishment, so she couldn't even take a photo for evidence when every time she looked back at the two of you, you were snuggled up next to each other, or kissing. she fumed and cussed you both out when she wasn't able to take a picture and or video of when megumi carried all of your shopping bags, when he had lovingly put your hair up, when you had cupped his cheeks to kiss him publicly for the first time, when he held your hand so tight he didn't want to let go, when you bought matching keychains and matching sneakers for you both, when he constantly had a stupidly big smile every time he looked at you.

she was happy for the two of you of course. it was just mind boggling. yuji was pretty chill with it all. the occasional, "i thought fushiguro hated everybody on this planet" but nothing bad.

when they had reached campus to return to their dorms, they all stopped by the common lounge.

you and megumi simply laughed at nobara's attempt to try and convince the second years and gojo of what they encountered today. "i swear, they were making out in the onsen!" she whined, desperate for evidence.

but nobody believed her. there was no way. until, satoru had projected a video onto the tv.

"the old lady at the front desk of the onsen was kind enough to lend me some security footage. it was a clothed onsen after all, so cameras are allowed~!" gojo snickered, seeing megumi's face heat up.

the video was a minute long, of you and megumi going at each other, it was evident his hands were sneaking under your towel, your hands tangling his hair, your lips locked onto his.

the video even had sound, which sounded rather inappropriate.

megumi tackled gojo, wrestling him to turn the video off, and the rest of the student watched in awe. nobara was manically cheering, screaming "i told you so" at the top of her lungs over and over again. yuji was covering his eyes, saying he "didn't need to watch it twice", and you were prying megumi off of gojo, who was shrieking for help.

[laylaplease]

Warnings — SEX POLLEN, dub-con, Master x Padawan, power imbalance, intoxication, abuse of authority, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions of pain, brief nipple play, brief fingering, degrading if you squint, pet names, praise, swearing...

Word count — 3.3k

Notes — Thank you, Anon for the request! This is the first time I write a fic this length, I hope it's enjoyable! I truly hope I didn't miss any warnings; it's currently past 3am and my head is fried.

“You know this is completely unnecessary; you are overexaggerating…” Anakin complains as you wrap a thick linen rope around his wrists, securing your master in place. “I swear, I’m fine. Look,” He leans forward, putting his face on display. So close, you could feel his soft breath on the tip of your nose.

You inspect his eyes, deep blue eyes with slightly dilated pupils; if it were somebody else, they wouldn’t have seen a difference, but you… Oh, you were different. You knew his eyes a little bit too well for just a Padawan, and you were certain: something was wrong. You could sense his heart pumping blood through his veins a little bit too fast, his irregular breathing, you spotted things he failed to notice about himself. Maybe all those stolen glances at his undeniably gorgeous face and broad body will pay off, giving you something else than just fantasy material for all the lonely nights.

“No.” You reply bluntly. “I’m sorry, master.” You tie a last knot around his wrists. You wanted to explain; tell him all the things you sensed were different: the way his gaze twisted when landing on your body, the way he squirmed just slightly as you bind his limbs together, the way he… Smelled. It wasn’t just a regular Anakin scent, no. It was sweeter, almost milky, and it made you want to burry your face into his skin, so naturally, you could never reveal your reasoning.

Anakin sighed, leaning his back against the remains of your spaceship, his tied hands resting on top of his lap, hiding the slowly-forming tightness you both failed to notice. He could swear everything was perfect. Well, aside from the fact that you both were left stranded on an unknown planet and after hours of wandering in search of life and help, you ended up back at the crash site. 

“You realize I would never hurt you, right?” He stares at you, visible annoyance present on his features. “There is nothing wrong with me, I didn’t even touch anything unknown.”

He was right; he touched nothing. He… Inhaled it. And (un)fortunately neither of you knew.

“I know….” You look into his eyes pleadingly, trying to convince him to stay put in case he goes on some kind of rampage that your whole body senses is coming. You wanted to deny your gut feeling, but the gleam in his eyes told you it was a bad idea. 

Time passes slowly, and Anakin is growing more and more impatient as he watches your failing attempts to fix the transmitter and possibly reach someone. 

“Give me that.”

You stare at him from a short distance, thinking whether it’s smart to approach him, but your doubts are quickly wiped away when that sweet scent reaches the inside of your lungs with the help of a soft breeze. You stand up and bring him the broken device.

Anakin grabs your hand instead and pulls you down to your knees in front of him. Your face meets his with a surprised stare, and before you can complain about the invasion of your space, he speaks. 

“When I tell you to do something, you do it. Fast.” His stare is intense, and he holds your hand tightly in his restricted grip. “Got it?”

“Yes, M-master.” You stutter, stunned by his sudden change of demeanor; you can’t even move. And the worst part is that he smells even better this close.

“Good girl.” He keeps staring into your eyes, grasping your hand as if he doesn’t intend to let it go. “Maker, you are such a pretty thing, I could tear you apart…” He contemplates out loud, his words surprising the last part of his sane mind as he’s becoming more and more vulnerable to foreign planet’s drugs.

“What?”

He slowly frees your hand, swallowing a lump in his throat. He’s starting to feel it —  pants failing to hide a very prominent arousal, mouth watering at the sight of your cleavage, you look fucking scrumptious; and he needs to devour you. He snaps his head to the side.

“Sorry.” Anakin mutters, seemingly regaining some of his senses. He shifts on the ground as you stare at him dumbfounded, not only because of his sudden vulgarity but also because the outline of his dick was now very visible and your eyes couldn’t help but glance. 

“Master?”

He groans. “Don’t say that.” He shamelessly palms himself in front of your eyes as if he were in pain from how tight his underwear was. “Don’t call me master. Not now, sweetheart.” His voice softens just for a moment.

“Master, are you okay?” You deny his request. Involuntary. Maybe because it was a habit, or maybe because some part of you really wanted him to get unbearably hard for you.

He yanks you towards himself with his sluggish grip. Tied hands wrap around your throat, and he hisses. “I fucking mean it. You call me that again. I’m going to bend you over this wreck of a spaceship and bruise your insides until someone finally comes and gets us off this forsaken planet.”

If you weren’t surprised before, you are now absolutely bewildered. You pushed him away, landing on your butt and quickly crawling reversely to create some space between yourself and the animal that possessed your master’s body.

Anakin stood up and leaned himself against the wreckage as if trying to fight something that’s been trying to claw its way out of his body. His back turned to you, shoulders rising up and down repeatedly as he struggled to speak.

“Go. Now.” He groans, trying to hold his panting in.

“Anakin?” You rise yourself from the ground and take a step towards him, hesitating to move or speak more.

“Fucking RUN.” A growl slips from his throat; you’ve never heard such an animalistic sound coming from him. It wasn’t an order; it was a warning, a head start for you. And if there was a perfect time to listen to his advice about doing everything he’s telling you — that was it.

So you do.

You feel the wind blowing through your ears and burning your throat as you try to get away as far from Anakin as possible. Your pulse is thudding rapidly, your limbs are shaking, and yet your insides are throbbing, aching to have relief from the extreme arousal created by your master’s primal behavior and the image of his hardening cock imprinted in your head. 

You turn your head slightly, glancing behind you, expecting to see Anakin making his way towards you, but instead you are greeted with the sight of nobody. Anakin’s nowhere to be seen. You look around, panting heavily, trying to spot movement somewhere between the trees. You fear him and what he could do to you, but the fact that he’s gone frightens you even more. Your master could never hurt you, right?

“Master?!” Your voice echoes through what seems to be an empty grove of an unrecognized planet. The only sound you can hear is your own breathing, and you realize how loud it is, how easy it is for any predator to hear you. Anakin's hunt was simple when his prey served herself on the plate before him.

A gust of wind passed through your ears at the same moment as Anakin’s hands gripped you from behind and harshly pushed your quivering body against a tree nearby. His wrists bruised red from the rope, which he seems to have torn apart. Your vision blurs for a moment from the force he’s grabbed you with. His lips press on your ear.

“I told you not to call me that, you stupid girl. Now look what you’ve done.” He whispers into your ear as his bulge presses against your ass. 

“A-Anakin-” You whimper, miserably trying to push him off you but instead just creating more friction on his already painful core.

His hand snakes into your robes, grasping your breast roughly, making your back arch. It’s hot and desperate to tear your flesh apart. And it feels so so good. So pathetically good that you almost feel like you’re the one taking advantage of him and not the other way around. He toys with your nipple, rubbing it between his fingers as his free hand grabs onto your thigh and presses your body onto his clothed cock.

“S’ alright, sweetheart… Your body’s so perfect…” He sinks his teeth into your neck and pulls on your delicate skin. “I’m so sorry—fuck—Sweetheart… I can’t stop-” His soft voice was a complete contrast to his forceful grip on your curves. His hands boldly groped you, kneading every bit of your body he could reach — all while grinding himself against you like an animal in heat.

“No- You can’t,” You whimper, trying to fight him and your own desire. “Anakin!” You gasp in pain when he presses your body into the tree, bruising your cheek.

“Shhhh… ‘s alright, just let me—” He pulls your robes, his hand making its way down your stomach, cupping your dripping heat. He inhales into your neck. “Don’t be scared.” He shushes your whines.

And it’s not like you’ve never imagined Anakin fucking you; you have. Way more than you should have, and yet you were shaking in fear, especially knowing that he was under the influence of something wicked.

“No, master-” You gasp as he inserts a finger inside you, wasting no time before fucking you with his hand. “S-stop-”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” He whimpers into your shoulder as your walls clenches around his digit. He slips another in. “What a perfect cunt… I’ll fucking ruin it." It was almost as if Anakin’s alter ego was overtaking his normal self — the one who would never dare to touch his Padawan like that, to taint her precious body with his pathetic touch.

“Ah!” Your back arched into him involuntarily. It was wrong. So so wrong and yet deep inside you never wanted him to stop, not when your walls spasmed around him for a sweet release. 

“That’s it, good girl, come here.” He pulls his fingers out, making you pulse and whimper at the lack of pleasure. He quickly lands you both on the ground, spreading your thighs apart for himself. “Look at that,” He bites his lower lip. “And you say you don’t want it? You’re fucking soaked.”

“We can’t-” You whimper yet again. “You wouldn’t- Ah!”

He grins as he slaps his cock against your clit, rubbing it up and down your entrance as the wet, slippery sound reaches your ears.

“I’m going to fuck you one way or another, so you just might as well enjoy it, after all…” He leans on top of you, lining the crown of his cock with your hole. “…master knows best.”

He slides in with one swift movement, filling you to the brim as you claw his back with your nails. He’s big, way bigger than his fingers, forcing your walls to stretch wide open to welcome both his length and girth. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust much when he pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, earning a loud whimper from you.

“Pretty girl…” He coos, stroking your cheek as he repeats the movement more urgently. “Master’s cock feels good, hm?”

It did, Maker; it felt amazing. Every vein bruised your gushing hole just right as he thrusted into you, long and powerful strokes, head hitting your cervix at the perfect angle to make your toes curl. Each time his sack slapped against your ass, an electric sting flashed through your cunt, forcing a pathetic moan out of your mouth. Your vision is so blurry from how hard you are rolling your eyes back, you don’t even see how Anakin comes forward and presses his lips onto yours.

His kiss is starving, depraved of you. He tries to say something, but it’s pretty incoherent, muffled by your saliva mixing with his. He tugs on your lips, sticking his tongue far up your mouth, smearing spit over your chin. His teeth clash against yours every time he attempts to reach into you deeper, as if trying to devour you from the inside out.

“Fuck,”—thrust—”So…”—thrust—”Fucking…”—thrust—-”Tight-” He moans into your mouth, and you swear you can feel his whimpers inside your body.

Anakin props himself up on his forearms — each on the other side of your face. He snakes his fingers into your hair, making you look at him.

“Look at me, baby. Look at me, and tell me you love it. Beg me to fuck you, come on, baby…” 

He’s a mess, and he’s messing you up too; he wants you to plead, but there is no reason to; he’s already balls deep in you, abusing parts of your body nothing and nobody has ever reached before. 

“M-master…” A feeble whimper is all your body can muster when your whole lower half twitches from pleasure. “…Stop...” You claw on his chest, trying to push him off, maybe because you know how sick it is to allow him to turn you into a drooling cockslut, or maybe because you don’t want to cum so fucking soon.

“What’s the matter, angel? You wanna cum, yeah?” A wicked smile spreads across his face, as if he were listening to all of your thoughts while you laid there spread open. “Yeah? Your little cunt can’t take master’s cock at all, hmmm?” He mocks you, and you know you deserve it, for one reason or another.

His filthy words and a couple of powerful strokes are enough to have your juices coating his whole shaft as your back arches and hardened nipples rub against his chest. The orgasm he’s giving you blinds your mind; it drowns out every other noise that’s not his moans of pleasure or your wetness spurting around him.

“Thought so.” He laughs in your face, gripping the backs of your thighs and pushing them up — his cock still inside you, soaking up all you had to give it. “That’s alright, angel, it’ll hurt less now that you’re all stretched out and drenched.”

“N-no…” You cry when he adjusts your position to reach deeper into you, seemingly not even caring that your soaked walls are still aching from him fucking you over the edge just moments ago. “A-Ani…” It’s a bittersweet pleasure — the way he keeps going through your body desperately, trying to push him out and stop the ache inside of you.

“Look,” He releases his grip on your thigh and grabs your chin. “Look how perfect your little cunt is…” He slides all the way out and slowly pushes back in, his pubic hair tickling your skin. “As if it’s made to take me.” He forces your head to look down between your bodies and admire the mess he’s creating.

The more he sees you struggle to look without squirming, the more precise his movements are. He angles his painfully thick cock to scratch your spongy insides, your throbbing cunt squeezing him enough to force delicious grunts out of his mouth. 

Your eyes are blurry from the tears you didn’t know formed; you blink rapidly, attempting to catch a glimpse of Anakin’s face. You were self-evident about the desperate mess he’s turned you into, drenched in sweat and cum, your body sore and bruised, it was obvious, however, you didn’t expect Anakin to be as disheveled as well. His lips were apart, soaked in spit, the blue of his eyes barely visible from the expansion of the pupils, dirty locks sticking to his forehead, your master looked and, quite obviously, behaved like a brute beast devouring his prey. And yet, he was angelic.

Your idealization of Anakin was the root reason why you resisted digging his eyes out with your nails and putting up a violent fight against him for corrupting your body inside and out. Because, essentially, Anakin is still your master. The one who teaches you, the one who tends your wounds, the one who is now currently fucking you over your second orgasm with no mercy in his bloodshot orbs. And honestly, you are starting to genuinely enjoy it. 

“Just like that, pretty girl, keep squeezing me…” Anakin presses his lips against yours, forcing his tongue in and making you answer his desperate kiss. One of your legs is stretched up painfully, foot dangling over his shoulder, while the other almost involuntary wraps around him and makes sure he’s plunging deep into you with no chance of escaping. “Good girl, that’s it,” He moans into your mouth, “I’m going to cum, yeah, s’ like that, let me fill that tight cunt.”

“P-please…” You reach for his head, grabbing him by the roots of his hair to lock your lips back together. “Master- fuuuuuck!” There it is again — you are cumming all over his cock, slurping onto his tongue while milking him to his own orgasm. You can barely see or make sense of your surroundings; all you know is that he’s pounding you into oblivion, and you love every second of being stretched out for your master to use.

Anakin is grabbing your body, toying with your flesh. Even when his dick starts to fuck long threads of his thick cum into you, he can’t stop frantically abusing your body in every way possible; grabbing, biting, kissing, and fucking all come at the same time, sending your body into a sensory overload, and you can swear you are about to lose your mind and die right there and then.

But there is no time for dying, not when you realize Anakin has emptied himself deep inside you and yet is nowhere close to stopping. His cock, still hard, surrounded by the mix of your and his cum, is slamming into you with sensual yet forcible strokes, making it seem like you can taste the sourness of his release in your mouth. 

“So needy, going to make sure to fuck it deep in you, angel.” He whispers into your neck, you can’t help but whimper and dig your nails into his shoulder blades in hopes of him easing up on you, but he only pulls his face off your shoulder and greets you with a filthy grin. “If I knew how beautiful your fucked-out expressions and little whimpers were, I would have devoured this pretty pussy much earlier…”

“M-master…” You cry out for help, for pleasure, for him. Everything ceases to exist except Anakin. His expression softens just for a moment. He settles his cock inside of you and reaches out to wipe the mess of drool and tears from your cheek.

“It’s okay, my sweet Padawan." He whispers, his hands gently caresses your hipbones in a subconscious attempt to soothe your aching muscles. Anakin leans down to kiss your lips one more time. You can feel his whole length throbbing and begging for friction while the wetness of your releases seeps down your cunt. “I know you can take more, yeah? Just like when we train, alright? You want to stop…”—Thrust—”But I’m the Master…”

Your eyes roll back when your sex is rewarded with a glimpse of more pleasure, a little promise of what he can give you if you just enjoy it like he’s commanded you. So you buck your hips into him, seeking yet another release.

“There she is…” Anakin’s deranged expression makes its way back between his perfect features. To your surprise, he swiftly pulls himself out of you, which makes you whine from the lack of fullness and feeling of the mix of liquids trickling down your body. “Let’s see how useful your other holes are, mmm?”

And with that, you know — whatever he’s infested with still has yet to wear off.

[sceletaflores]

Advantage, Duncan.

pairing: stanford!tashi duncan x fem!reader

summary: tashi duncan doesn’t get on her knees for anyone, but she did for you. after that night she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d let you slip away from her.

—or: tashi needs you to understand that she doesn't give a fuck about patrick.

word count: 2.7k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, girl kissing, oral (fem!receiving), fingering (only barely but fem!receiving), somewhat public sex (in a locker room lmao), cheating but not really, love confessions kind of, lowkey manipulative!tashi but barely, patrick getting shit on like always, porn with a dash of plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: back on my wlw cheater bullshit! so glad to be here! i centered this whole fic around a locker room sex scene. it just sort of spiraled into this cause you know i love being messy. once again no one requested this i'm being selfish lmao but i need more tashi fics on my masterlist! hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Tashi’s sneakers squeak quietly as she makes her way back to the locker room. Sweat drying on her brow and adrenaline still buzzing in her veins despite the match being over. It was an easy win, Northridge had been slipping down the ranks the longer the season went on and the girl had a shit backhand.

The first thing Tashi did after shaking hands and posing for pictures was text you. She left the locker room door cracked open for you. The thought of you sitting there alone waiting patiently for her behind that door made her almost giddy enough to skip the rest of the way down the hall.

This was something like a tradition for you guys now, meeting in the locker room after her matches. Something that started a little after the two of you met a couple months ago. It was the last tournament she had before the fall semester started. The court was owned by some snobby Northern California country club that your dad happened to be president of. He stuck you in the ball crew for the summer so he could watch you keep you busy and make sure you stayed out of trouble, joke's on him. 

You were the first thing she noticed the second she stepped on the court, but how could she not? You in your cute flowy linen shorts and matching white top. A light blue visor strapped to your head. Tashi immediately got why guys have that primal, desperate urge to impress pretty girls they just met. She showed off more in that match than she had in a long time, running the girl on the other end of the court ragged.

Tashi wanted you to notice her, to see how dominating she was, to be impressed by her. Every time she hit a perfect shot, her eyes would dart to you, checking if you were watching, and you were. 

You were practically gawking at her, eyes all wide and admiring as your head snapped back and forth with every smack of the ball. 

It was perfect, you were gravitating towards her more with every new set exactly like she wanted you to. By the time she won you were watching her with stars in your eyes, gaze trailing after her every move like you were a sunflower and she was the sun. And even though lots of people have looked at her that way, you were the only one she looked back at. It made Tashi’s skin buzz with something she’d never felt outside of tennis. 

She was swept away for pictures and press before she could talk to you, but there was a party later that night thrown in honor of the players at the club's banquet hall. Tashi was standing at the bar when you slid up next to her, introducing yourself with adoration swirling in your eyes and a shy smile on your glossy lips. Tashi let herself smile right back as she shook your hand for a little longer than normal.

Two hours later and she had you in one of the hall’s many bathrooms with your Dior dress hiked up around your hips and her tongue on your pussy. She can still remember every detail of that moment. The fruity notes of your perfume, the way you tasted, how sweetly you moaned her name with your voice so breathy and desperate.

Tashi Duncan doesn’t get on her knees for anyone, but she did for you. After that night she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d let you slip away from her.

Now, as she pushed open the locker room door and saw you sitting on the long bench in the center of the room, just like always, she felt a surge of possessiveness and longing. The sight of you waiting for her, so patient and devoted, made something dangerously close to love burn hot in her chest.

“Took you long enough,” you tease, standing up to greet her. You’re wearing one of her shirts, DUNCANATOR stretched across your chest in blocky red letters.

She dropped her bag at her feet, quickly crossing the room until she was close enough to pull you into a tight hug, burying her face in your neck. She was still sweaty but you didn’t care, arms coming up to wrap around her shoulders.

“I missed you,” she murmured, her voice a little too intense, her grip a little too tight. 

You laugh, your hands giving her shoulders a tiny squeeze. “It’s only been like an hour, Tash.” 

An hour felt like a whole year to her at this point. Tashi hated being away from you, hated not knowing what you were doing, who you were with, what you were thinking. She wanted to be the center of your world, just like you were so quickly becoming the center of hers. Steadily elbowing tennis inch by inch just to try and make enough room in her heart for something else. 

Tashi pulled away from you, taking a second to scan her eyes over your face. You were so beautiful, so perfect and sweet for her. She raised her hand to cup the side of your face, thumb swiping across the skin of your cheekbone a few times. You were flushed from sitting out in the sun, skin warm and soft to the touch.

She leans in without thinking, pressing her lips against yours. You taste like coconut lip balm and Pepsi. Tashi’s hand tightens its hold on your waist, pulling you in impossibly closer. She felt you sigh contently against her lips, lazily kissing back as easy as anything. Tashi felt like if she focused hard enough, that she could feel your heartbeat pounding where your chest met hers.

She swipes her tongue across your bottom lip, her hands making their way down to the small of your back to slip her fingertips under the waistband of your shorts. Your lips parted the slightest bit before you were pulling away with a small whine, pushing off her shoulders to create distance between the two of you. Tashi let her hands fall from your body as you take a small step backwards, immediately missing the warmth you took with you.

She was confused by the sudden shift in your mood until she saw the look on your face. The absolute picture of guilt, your brows furrowed enough to make a tiny crease in the middle of your forehead with your lip drawn between your teeth. Your eyes are droopy and sad as you wearily gaze at her from a few feet away. Tashi suppresses the overwhelming urge to sigh, brow raised as she stares back at you, waiting.

“I…” you trail off, wrapping your arms around yourself slowly. “I actually needed to talk to you, Tashi.”

‘Here we go.’ She thinks dryly, internally rolling her eyes. She can already tell she’s going to have to talk you down, again. She really should have expected this, you bringing up Patrick, you’ve done it enough times to be a trend. It’s been so long since the last time you said anything she was hoping you finally dropped it, apparently not.

Tashi doesn’t respond right away, just tilting her head slightly as she watches you. You shuffle uncomfortably in place, your eyes looking anywhere but her. She can see you take a steadying breath, trying to hype yourself up before you speak again.

“This is wrong,” Your voice is unconvincing, meek and soft. Tashi would laugh if she didn’t want to hurt your feelings. “What we’re doing, it’s wrong. It’s not fair to poor Patrick.”

It’s almost funny, how genuine you're being, how bad you truly feel for Patrick.

Poor, poor Patrick. Yeah fucking right. 

‘Poor Patrick’ is on tour right now probably sticking his dick in anyone that’ll let him. He’s nothing. A momentary lapse in judgment when you and Tashi went a few weeks without talking. She was hurt and vulnerable, two things she’s not used to feeling. She needed to feel in control of something again to stop her from going crazy, Patrick was easy enough.

When the two of you started talking again, she shut that shit down immediately. She was reminded of what a monumental waste of time Patrick is and pushed him to the furthest, most unimportant corner of her brain. She didn’t need him anymore, not when she had you again.

Tashi finally lets out a small sigh, more out of impatience than exasperation. She steps closer, her gaze hardening. "You really think he cares?" Her voice is low, controlled, but there's an edge to it. "Patrick doesn't need your pity. He's fine. He always is."

Your eyes widen at her words, the guilt on your face deepening. "But—"

“No.” Tashi cuts you off sharply, jaw set stubbornly. “Listen to me, Patrick is nothing. He’s just dick. He’ll never be more than just dick.” She takes another step towards you, closing the gap you made. “He doesn’t care about us, about this.” She motions between the two of you, her voice raising slightly as she speaks.

You swallow hard, arms tightening around yourself defensively as you stare at her with watery eyes. 

Tashi's whole demeanor softens, the anger draining from her body at the hurt look on your face. She would never speak to you like that, it’s just Patrick that really pisses her off. He’s not even here and he’s still managing to fuck with her. She steps even closer, her hand reaching out to gently lift your chin, forcing you to look at her. 

Your name falls from her lips, warm and wrapped in velvet, her thumb traces along your bottom lip slowly. "We have something real," she whispers fiercely, grip tightening on your chin just a fraction. "Something he could never understand. Don't let him ruin that. Don't let him ruin us."

You nod slowly, eyes big and shiny with unshed tears. It’s not good enough, Tashi can tell that you’re still apprehensive. You’re still worried, still guilty even with her reassurance. She can’t have that. If she doesn’t get you to drop this, you’ll let it consume you enough to try something stupid, like leaving her. Tashi refuses to let that even be an option.

If she can’t convince you with words, she can convince you through her actions. 

Tashi needs to drive home the point that sparing Patrick’s feelings isn’t something you need to be worried about, clearly tough love isn’t going to work on you. If she has to get on her knees to help make you understand, then she will.

She leans in slowly, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your breath catches slightly, held for only a second before you finally relax. Not completely, just enough for her to feel it. She keeps going, dragging kisses from your cheek up to your ear.

“Patrick is nothing compared to you.” she whispers directly into your ear, dropping your chin to start sliding her hand slowly down your front. “You’re so much better than him,” her hand stops at the hem of your shorts, tugging the button open with one sharp yank. You gasp sharply, hand flying up to grip her bicep tightly. Your eyes flick to the door, open and unlocked, but you’re not pushing her away, not trying to stop her. 

Tashi leans down, trailing kissing across the soft skin of your throat. “You’re everything.” She slips her hand into your shorts and down the front of your soft panties, her fingertips barely graze the slick skin of your pussy before you’re moaning.

“Fuck.” your hand squeezes her arm tighter, nails digging little crescent moons into her skin as she slides her index finger through the wetness gathering at your entrance. 

You’re so wet, completely drenching her hand in seconds. She teases you, barely pushing her finger past your tight hole as she licks a dirty stripe up the center of your throat. You whine, a desperate, too loud noise that bounces off the walls. Slowly, she breaches your entrance, sinking her finger up to the knuckle in the tight warmth of your pussy.

She watches you, takes in the needy look on your pretty face. So worked up for a single finger, so desperate for it that your hips cant down to get her deeper inside you. The wet squelch of her finger thrusting in and out of you sounds even dirtier, amplified by the room's echo. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Her tone is soft but final, like she’s stating a fact. She stares at you as she fucks her finger faster in and out of your fluttering pussy, gaze intense and unwavering. You stare back like a deer in headlights, silent except for the sharp pants falling from your slick, parted lips. That’s okay, you don’t need to do any of the talking anyway.

Tashi nips at the sensitive skin of your collarbone once before she’s dropping to her knees on the cold concrete. Her greedy hands gripping the waistband of your shorts and yanking them down your legs roughly, your lilac panties quickly follow. You gasp sharply, the cool air of the room hitting your bare pussy. “Tash-” 

Tashi cuts you off, leaning forward to slip your clit between her lips. You throw your head back, your loud moan echoing through the room. She swirls her tongue over the sensitive skin of your clit, exactly how you like it. You’re already so worked up, she knows this won’t take long.

Her mouth works you over expertly, licking and sucking and mouthing hungrily at your dripping pussy. She teases the tip of her tongue along your clenching hole, so desperate to be filled by the strap sitting in a old box on the highest shelf of her closet. Her thighs clench at the thought, you bouncing on her dick, wrecked and spent on the sheets of her bed. She pushes the idea to the back of her mind, you always have later for that. Right now, she’s focused on making you come on her tongue. 

Tashi can tell you’re getting close. Your breathing changes, gets heavier, even more little moans and whines falling from your lips each time her nose presses against your clit just right. Your fingers slide into her hair as you start to roll your hips, chasing her mouth. 

“God, Tashi–!” Your thighs shake on either side of her head, hands twisting her hair in your grip roughly. “Shit, yes–fuck! I’m gonna come–” Your hips start to grind against her tongue even faster as you got closer to the edge.

Tashi lets you use her face to get off, her hands sliding up and down the side of your thighs soothingly as you come. She works you through your orgasm, her tongue sliding along your sensitive skin until you’re physically pulling her away.

Tashi presses one last kiss to your hip before she stands, pulling your shorts and panties back up your legs as she does. You’re still trying to catch your breath, leaning up against the lockers as she buttons your zipper for you. Your face is flushed and sweaty, your eyes are glossed over and hazy. She smiles, giving you a soft kiss with your release still coating her lips and tongue. You kiss back regardless, slow and sweet like molasses. 

Tashi pulls away first, giving your cheek a quick tap before stepping away to pick up her bag up off the floor. “Come on,” she offers you her hand, nodding her head towards the door. “Let’s go get frozen yogurt.” 

You smile, making your way across the room to slide your hand into hers. Tashi goes to push the door open, but you stay in place, tugging her hand back. When she turns to face you, there’s a look on your face she hasn’t seen before. “You’re everything too.” 

Your tone is so sincere, so genuine that she feels her heart grow three sizes. Your eyes sparkle as you stare at her like she’s a God. It’s exactly what she wanted. She smiles, giving your hand a hard squeeze and finally dragging you out of the locker room.

Duncan: Game, Set, Match.

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