#Bubble Peeling Pad

[fairy-angel222]

𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

His tie loosened from the fancy date you two were just on, first few buttons undone with his grip hard on the staring wheel. Veins prominent from the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.

His eyes don’t leave the road when you begin to whimper and whine. Leaned back against the passenger seat as his hand traces up your thigh and your dress, pads of his fingers toying with your clit through the thin fabric of your panties.

You moaned softly, your own smaller hands reaching out to grab his wrist tightly when he skillfully slipped your panties to the side. Thick fingers dancing along your wet slit before settling on the tiny bud.

“Kento...”

Your back arched when he began rubbing small circles, your thighs twitching in need as your little noises of pleasure filled the dark vehicle. Your body jolting with each touch to the sensitive set of nerves.

Nanami only smiled to himself, barely sparing you a glance as he maneuvered each turn back to his home. “Hmm, yes darling?” The pace of his fingers only speeding up as your gasps and mewls increased in volume. Grinding your hips onto his hand when your head fell back against the seat.

“Nngh.. Kento,” You moaned, lips parting in soft pants. “Need.. n-need them inside.”

Nanami’s smile grew into a smirk. “Oh? Is my girl so greedy that she won’t take what i give her?” He teased, chuckling when you pushed his hand further down with a sound of agreement. “You want them inside you darling? Tell me how badly.”

“Really bad, want them in me really bad.”

He hummed, fingers trailing down further just as the car swerved to the right. Nanami taking the chance to slip two fingers into you with ease.

Your grip on his wrist tightened, letting out a string of short cries when he began fucking them into you. Curling them up sweetly into your g spot as you mewled his name loudly. Small tears welling in your eyes as your body trembled. Having already been so close to a prior orgasm.

“F-fuckk. Kento baby— ahh.” You couldn’t control the noises that slipped past your lips, eyes rolling back with ragged breaths as Nanami pressed into all the right places to drive you crazy. His thumb extending upwards to play with your still aching clit.

“You like that sweetheart?” Nanami cooed, shifting slightly in his seat as his cock strained in his pants. His fingers being put on auto mode as he focused on getting you home safely.

He knew your body like the back of his hand, pleasuring you came like second nature.

Especially with the way your glassy eyes rolled back beside him, crying out his name with a shaky moan as you were pushed closer and closer to the edge. “O-oh god.. ‘m gonna cum.” You breathed, toes curling as your body’s sensitivity went up by a tenfold. Nanami’s every touch scorching your skin as you waited for his command.

“Go on sweetheart, cum for me.”

You crumbled.

Body shaking lightly as you messily coated his fingers in your slick. An assortment of sweet sounds bubbling in your throat as your pussy spasmed. Drenching him and his seat when you squirted with a cry.

“Good girl.”

You shivered when his fingers slipped out of you. Your eyes peeling open to see him pulling up into his driveway. Putting the car in park before he finally turned to you, pressing his lips to yours with a groan.

“How about you do that on my tongue next?”

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Christmas Chaos

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: Your first Christmas with the team is one for the books. The excitement of unwrapping gifts turns into delightful chaos. 

Word Count: Roughly 1.1k 

Warnings: Fluff, Mild Violence (threats and roughhousing), Christmas themes, Bucky's red henley (totally deserves it's own warning)

Author’s Note: According to TikTik, tons of people didn't get what they wanted for Christmas; so here’s a little something I whipped up because I’ve been awake since 5 this morning and I have had three cups of coffee. I typed this on my phone, so if there are errors, I apologize. If you like this, you’re welcome and if you don’t, it wasn’t me :)

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Divider by: @strangergraphics 

You wake up to muffled noises from downstairs. You bury your face in your pillow, before looking at your phone for the time. It is too early to be up on any regular day, but today was different. It's Christmas day! Christmas day with your favorite people. You slipped on your fluffy slippers and quietly padded downstairs, rubbing your eyes and yawning softly. 

“Merry Christmas!” you chirped to the team.  

Natasha smiled and raised her mug of coffee. 

Wanda smiled and handed you a cup of hot chocolate. 

Tony was busy arguing with Bruce over an instruction manual, and Steve and Sam argued over who had better gift-wrapping critiques. But as you scanned the room, you noticed. Bucky wasn’t there.  

“Where’s Bucky?” you asked with a small frown.  

“He’s upstairs,” Sam said casually. “Brooding, probably.”  

“I can go get him…” You offered, only to be cut off.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Steve gave you a small grin, ruffling your hair. “Trust us.”  

Wanda passed you your stocking, filled with goodies. The works of small trinkets, candy and chocolate coins.

You grinned as you and Peter dove into the chocolates.

Tony already started complaining about the sugar rush you both would get.

Then, Steve pointed to a large, festively wrapped box.  

“This one’s for you, kid.”  

Your eyes widened. The box was massive, and you crouched down to peel the wrapping paper off. 

“What in the world?” you murmured, pulling off layer after layer. With a puzzled look, you pried it open.  

“Bucky?!”  

The former Winter Soldier was sitting cross-legged in the box, arms tied with rope, a gag around his mouth, and a pretty red bow on his head. He wore a snug red henley and gray sweatpants, looking both murderous and utterly done with life.  

He looked divine, even tied up. Delicious. Marvelous. He could make greek gods envious.

“Merry Christmas, sunshine,” Steve and Sam chorused, howling with laughter.  

Your jaw dropped, and then a giggle bubbled out of you as you knelt by the box. “Oh my gosh, you two didn’t! Poor Bucky!”  

Bucky’s piercing glare snapped to Steve and Sam. He growled something unintelligible through the gag, making them laugh harder. Your cheeks flushed as you gently began untying the bow and ropes.  

“I’m so sorry they did this to you,” you said, smiling softly as you helped him out of the box.  

Bucky’s expression was a storm cloud, but when his sharp blue eyes landed on your sweet, genuine smile, his hardened features instantly softened. 

“Merry Christmas, sunshine,” he murmured, pulling you into a surprisingly gentle hug. The heat of his body and the smell of fresh pine and something distinctly him filled your senses.  

You melted into the embrace, pressing your face into his chest as your arms circled his waist and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Bucky.”  

The tender moment lasted five seconds. Maybe eight, but who’s counting?

Then, he pulled back and turned to Steve and Sam.  

“You two are dead,” he growled, rolling his shoulders.  

Steve and Sam’s laughter ceased as they quickly stood. “Now, Buck, let’s talk about this—”  

But Bucky was already moving towards them, cracking his knuckles menacingly.  

“We’re going to run,” Sam muttered, and the two bolted out of the room, Bucky hot on their heels, shouting threats about payback.  

Watching the chase unfold, you couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped your lips. Natasha caught your eyes as she sipped her coffee.  

“Guess you’re his sunshine, huh?” she teased.  

You bit your lip, cheeks warm as you whispered, “Maybe.” 

Natasha smirked knowingly but didn’t push further. Instead, she was content to watch the chaos unfold as Bucky cornered Sam near the Christmas tree.  

“You think tying me up is funny?” Bucky growled, advancing with a predatory stride.  

“It wasn’t just me!” Sam yelped, using the tree as a barrier. “Steve came up with the idea!”  

Steve, who was inching toward the kitchen in a futile attempt to escape unnoticed, froze under Bucky’s glare.  

“Traitor,” he muttered under his breath, cursing Sam’s lack of discretion.  

“Traitor?” Bucky repeated, catching the word. “You both tied me up like a damn Christmas present and you’re calling him the traitor?”  

You stifled a laugh behind your hand, stepping closer. “Okay, okay, Bucky. Maybe don’t kill them? It is Christmas.”  

“Besides, we did it for her,” Sam pointed at you to soften the blow. “Right, sugarplum?”

“Do not call her sugarplum. Ever.” Bucky warned Sam.

“Bucky,” You called softly, looking up at him.

Bucky paused, looking back at you. 

His sharp glare softened into something almost dopey when he saw your pleading eyes and soft smile. 

With a sigh, he rolled his eyes and muttered, “Fine. They live. For now.”  

Sam exhaled audibly, his shoulders slumping in relief. “Thank you, sunshine!” he called to you, grinning.  

But Bucky turned sharply, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t push it.”  

Sam immediately zipped his mouth,

Steve, ever the brave one, chuckled and clapped Bucky on the shoulder as he passed. “Merry Christmas, old pal.”  

Bucky’s only response was a low grumble of curse before sitting on the couch. 

You disappeared into the kitchen and came back a few moments later, offering him a warm mug of hot cocoa in your hands.

“Here,” you said softly, “Hot cocoa. Consider it a peace offering on behalf of Steve and Sam.”  

Bucky eyed the mug for a moment, then you. He took it without a word, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending a little jolt through you.  

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking a sip.  

You sat beside him, your own cocoa in hand, legs tucked beneath you as you leaned against the armrest. The room buzzed with holiday chatter and laughter, but your attention stayed on the super soldier beside you.  

“I hope they didn’t ruin your day,” you said after a moment, voice tinged with genuine concern.  

Bucky glanced at you, his lips quirking up in a faint smile. “Nah. Nothing can ruin my day when you are smiling at me like that, sunshine.”  

Your cheeks burned and you looked away.

Natasha, who had been observing the exchange from across the room, smirked and leaned over to Clint. “He’s whipped,” she whispered.  

Clint raised an eyebrow, glancing at you and Bucky before nodding. “Completely.”  

Bucky leaned back on the couch, sipping his cocoa and sneaking glances at you. Every now and then, his lips would tug into a soft smile. 

Without a word, he shifted, inching toward you on the couch. He casually draped his arm across the back of the couch, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

You eagerly took the opportunity to tuck yourself into Bucky’s side.

This time, leaving his cheeks burning.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Happy Holidays! Stay warm/cool wherever you're at.

Tell your loved ones that you love them.

And if nobody told you today, I love you <3

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

[oreo-creampie]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐬

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fluff, period cramps, suguru takes a bath with you, they all refuse to let you walk, pouty reader with Kento because I for one am emotional over tiny things during that time and kento being sweet with me would be everything, making s’mores with Satoru, full of kisses adoration and cuddles, for when you need cuddles and a bath, nap and cuddles or chocolate and cuddles

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: Hi! May I request Suguru with a fem aligned reader (if u do write that but if not, gn is also ok!) who is on their monthly cycle? cramps r hell rn and I need some comfort.

Oreo: Hope this helps 🫶🏽 sorry I couldn't get this out sooner, I wanted to do more characters because I've been in the mood for some comfort too

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮

Slowly peeling the covers back, gently lifting you off the bed, cradling you to his chest. “Poor Princess, I hate seeing you like this.” You grimace, furrowing your brows. “Sorry my love for moving you.” Covering your cheek in soft kisses.

He doesn't stop until you’re smiling from the sweet attack. “Got our bath ready, the warmth and water should help ease the flow.” Getting lost in his captivating tender warm chocolate eyes.

“Our bath?”

The softness of his voice soothing. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't hold you when you’re cramping? I was thinking I would wash us off afterward, carry you back to bed.” Kissing his hard pec, resting your head against his warm chest, closing your eyes.

You’ve never had someone talk to you with such gentle kindness, look at you with such adoring love or tenderly touch you until Suguru. “You’re better than I deserve.”

“You deserve only the best, and I'm going to give it to you.” Carefully sitting you down on a towel covering the counter protecting you from the cold. Holding your arms up for Suguru to slip the baggy shirt off.

Lifting you off the counter, steadying you on your feet. “You are the best.”

“That’s why I’m your’s.” Pushing your underwear down, for you to step out of. Kissing above your pubic line, gently rubbing in soft circles where you’re cramping the most. After a year of living together he knows your body well.

Using paper tissues to toss your pad in the trash. Lifting you off your feet, cradling you lowering you into the warm, bubble bath. It's the perfect temperature, the water lapping at the back of your neck easing some of your head’s tension.

The bubbles reaching above your head, you have to make a small space otherwise be consumed whole. “You look beautiful and cozy.” Letting out a gentle sigh, the warmth and muscular relaxer soothing your aches.

“This is wonderful, thank you darling.” Suguru slips his sweats down, folding them up to set on the counter. Leaning forward he whips his feet off in the mat, stepping in behind. Carefully sitting down, pulling you into his lap.

Closing your eyes resting your head listening to the music. His chest rumbles when he sings, “Whatever words I say I will always love you, I will always love you, whenever I'm alone with you, you make me feel like I am free again.” Kissing the top of your head.

“Your voice sounds like heaven. I want to record you singing, I can listen to it to fall asleep when you’re working late.” Looking up at Suguru’s face, he smiling down at you.

The soft curve of his lips, the love in his eyes, this is what it’s like to be treasured by someone. “Which songs do you want me to sing for you my love?”

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

Resting on his chest, eyes closed listening to Kento’s comforting voice reading. “Traveling down the thin winding path, not yet reclaimed by the forest’s growth. Breaking into a small clearing, displaying a partly dilapidated house. Part of the original brick structure standing tall still.” He pauses to flip the page, looking down at you.

Smiling at how you’d fallen asleep on his chest. Grabbing the long thin bookmark you gotten him. Slipping it between the pages, closing the book, setting it aside.

Checking the heating pad, gently making sure it's in place. Carefully lifting the blanket over you, covering you up to your neck. Slipping his glasses off, laying his head down on the pillow behind him. Closing his eyes and enjoying the peace of the moment.

Your cramps had been persisting all morning, at last you were comfortable enough to fall asleep. He loves your soft warm body resting in top of his. The safety in knowing you’re protected, happy and at peace.

The sun has set by the time Kento wakes up. “My love?” Kissing the top of your head. Massaging your stomach and sides. “Wake up I need to get dinner started, I'll get you cozy in the bed with the heading pad.” He peels the blanket back, grabbing the now cold heading pad setting it aside.

Shifting on top of him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Kento carefully fixes the blanket on yo. Wrapping his arm around you, slowly standing up. “What are you craving?”

Pouting whining in frustration, “I dunno! I'm hungry but I don't know what I want. I don't want you to leave me alone.” Cupping the back of your head, swiping his thumb in small circles. His gentle touch soothing your emotional turmoil.

“Take out it is you can look at what you want and take your time there’s no rush. I'll carrying you to and from the door to get the food.” Nudging the bedroom door open with his foot. He knows the bedroom by memory.

Carrying you with one arm, pulling the covers back, laying you down then flicks on the lamp. “We need to make sure we get you something yummy.” Kento kisses your forehead. “Lemme get your heating pad and my phone.”

Kento isn't gone long coming back into the room. He’s beautiful with his blond hair falling across his thin framed glasses. You like them more than his green and silver ones that hide the beautiful dark coffee brown shade of his warm, gentle, tired eyes.

Slipping into underneath the covers, holding his arms out for you to climb slowly onto his lap. Resting your chest on his chest craving the skin to skin.

Placing the heating pad on your stomach, grabbing the near by covers and covering you both. “Comfortiable beautiful?”

𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

You have a wonderful view of Satoru in a tight black shirt splitting open firewood with a wooden axe. You’d insisted a cabin in the woods because you pouted about being around other people was a bit extreme. Now that you’re here with no one else but Satoru for miles around it’s peaceful and necessary.

The view of his arms flexing when bringing the axe through the wood catching your attention. Almost distracting you from the monthly fit your body is throwing from not getting knocked up by Satoru.

Loading the logs into the pit. He points his fingers at it, looks up at the window and smiles. Could he really spark the firepit without destroying the ground around it?

You eyes widen. There’s a flash of light and boom fire errupts from the pit. Arching towards the sky, settling down, gradually getting lower as it consumes the wooden logs.

Blowing off the his finger gun proud of himself. Then vanishing out of site as he comes into the cabin. Slipping back outside covering the bench in several blankets and the throw pillows from the sofa. The bringing out a plate with a roasting stick.

Dipping back into the house Satoru bursts into the bedroom, grinning widely. “It’s s’mores time! Cuddles, a crackling fire underneath the stars your wonderful boyfriend feeding you chocolate you might be cramping but that has to help a little right?

“Can’t think anything sweeter, other than getting some kisses from my Sugarbear.” Satoru climbs onto the bed, hovering over you carefully not to let his weight crush you. Softly kissing your nose, cheeks, forehead and lips. You can feel his smile in the gentle curve of his lips.

Wrapping your legs around him, parting your lips for his tongue. You crave Satoru’s slow, sweet romantic kisses more than air. Slipping your fingers through his short undercut into his fluffy hair.

Squeezing your sides lifting you off the bed. Refusing to break away, he’s lost in your soft lips whimpering into the kiss. Carrying you through the door, slowly sliding his hand up and down your back, cupping your ass.

Pulling away you need to breathe, resting your head on his chest. Shivering from the cool fall air, nuzzling your head into Satoru’s neck, kissing him gently.

“Your kisses are sweeter than any treat I could buy.” Satoru sits down with you straddling his lap. Picking up the roasting fork, its tip having been resting on a plate next to some marshmallow, a chocolate bar and some Graham crackers.

“Cheesy!” Leaning back enough to admire Satoru’s handsome face. Kissing his cheek.

He passes the roasting stick to his other hand. Squeezing your between his arms when he sticks a fluffy marshmellow onto it’s tip. “It’s true! The way you kiss me is so sweet and loving, it makes my heart beat faster every time. I can't stop kissing you, it's getting worse. Everytime I see you I want to cover you in kisses, hold you close and never let you go!”

Oreo creampie m.list

[mariasont]

A Simple Rinse Would've Sufficed - A.H

summary: sweetheart!reader is completely convinced hotch's first aid response is overboard

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader

warnings: dbf aaron hotchner, teeny tiny cut on readers hand, pre-relationship, reader being lil obsessed with hotch

wc: 0.9k

"This really isn't necessary," you murmur, but the words lack conviction, trailing off before they can land.

Hotch doesn't look up. Doesn't hesitate. Just finishes unscrewing the cap on the antiseptic like he didn't hear you—or more likely, he did, and didn't care for the argument.

It was just a scratch. Practically invisible. Nothing to fuss over. But apparently, Hotch is operating under some kind of every minor injury is a security threat policy.

Which felt especially ridiculous considering you'd just walked away from an arrest unscathed. You'd spent the last twenty-four hours proving yourself—running down leads, securing evidence, even keeping up with the rest of the team during the suspect pursuit. You were proud of that. 

And then you got back to the precinct, went to grab a file from one of those awful old metal drawers, and bam. A tiny, inconsequential scrape across your palm. You had survived actual violence, only to be bested by office furniture.

So now you were getting a full medical exam over something that wasn't even visible unless you really squinted.

You shift on the edge of the table, legs swinging, mostly because sitting still feels impossible under his touch. His hands are big—bigger than you realized until now. Strong, but you'd say also careful, the pads of his fingers pressing lightly against your skin as he holds you in place. The sensation sends an unsteady type of warmth curling up your spine, landing somewhere behind your ribs.

"It's barely even a cut," you say, attempting to sound exasperated instead of—whatever this was. "Like, I'm pretty sure I've had worse from opening candy wrappers."

That earns you a look, and you instantly shrink under it.

Not a harsh look, not even an annoyed one—just Hotch's look. That's explanation enough. The kind that makes you feel like you should probably quit while you're ahead, but also makes you realize you're probably not capable of quitting while you're ahead.

So, naturally, you keep talking.

"I mean, I really don't think this requires a whole medical response, sir," you add, the nervous energy bubbling under your skin making it impossible to shut up. You clamp down on the urge to chew your lip, shifting slightly under his attention.

The antiseptic meets your skin with a sharp little sting, and you suck in a breath, fingers twitching like you might actually yank your hand away from your boss.

Hotch doesn't even blink. Just presses a little firmer, holding your wrist steady like he already expected you to flinch. "Hold still."

And gods help you, but something about it turns your thoughts into white noise.

It's nothing. Objectively, logically—nothing. Just Hotch being careful, thorough, like he is with everything.

Except his hands are warm. Rough in a way that makes your breath feel a little short, moving over your skin with a level of care that shouldn't make you feel nearly as dizzy as it does.

You blink, zeroing in on the plain, standard-issue bandage he's peeling open—completely unremarkable, completely ordinary. Like forcing your brain to register on the most boring detail in the room will make you stop spiraling. 

"It's just funny," you blurt, because the silence is suffocating, and you're panicking a little.

Hotch gives you a look, not quite questioning but not dismissing either.

You clear your throat. "I mean, you do realize you've done more for this than most people would do for, like, a full-on stab wound, right?"

A pause. Just long enough for you to start regretting speaking at all.

And then—to your absolute horror—something shifts. A flicker of amusement. So quick, so barely there, you might've imagined it.

Oh no.

You'd almost prefer it if he just ignored you. If he shut you down with that infamous serious look he always wore. This, the possibility that you might've entertained him for even half of a second, was infinitely worse.

His thumb smooths over the bandaid, pressing it into place, and your body locks up.

Because he doesn’t move away.

For a second—maybe less, maybe nothing at all—his touch lingers, barely there but there, the warmth of his skin bleeding through the thin adhesive. He’s still holding your hand. His thumb still resting against you, light, thoughtless. Like he doesn’t even realize it.

You should move.

You should say something.

You should not be sitting here, waiting to see if he notices.

Then, as quickly as it happened, it’s over. Hotch lets go, caps the antiseptic, and steps back like it never happened.

"There," he says, so even, so unaffected, like none of this was anything. For him it probably wasn't. "You'll live."

You exhale a laugh—too thin, too breathless—like your brain is trying to reset itself, like you weren’t this close to total system failure. “Well, thank God. I was getting worried.”

He doesn’t react, doesn’t even glance up at you as he secures the first-aid kit back in place. “Check in with Prentiss before you go.”

You nod—too fast, too much—and push yourself off the table, legs feeling weirdly unsteady, like you’ve been sitting too long. That’s all this is. You just need to walk it off.

And then he's gone. You stare at your hand, fingers flexing experimentally. 

“You do realize that was entirely unnecessary.”

You jolt, turning so fast you almost trip over yourself. Reid is standing there, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like he’s studying something under a microscope.

You blink. "I—what?"

Reid gestures toward your hand. “That wound wasn’t significant enough to require antiseptic or dressing. A simple rinse would have sufficed.”

You stare. Your brain is still buffering—half stuck-on Hotch, half trying to figure out how Reid manages to be the weirdest and most correct person in any given room.

"I—uh." You clear your throat. "Good to know."

Reid nods. "Just thought you might find that interesting."

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taglist is closed for now until i can figure out the best way to include more than 50 mentions :(

[specsthesecond]

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°

A gentle brush along your hairline coaxes you from sleep and another against your cheek has your eyes fluttering open. Your hazy eyes take in the orc, lying on his side next to you.

The rough pads of his fingertips lightly brush a few stray hairs back as he takes in every part of your face like he'll forget if he looks away for even a second. The emotions his eyes hold are far too much for you to handle, especially after just waking up from what feels like a rather deep nap. You probably haven't slept that well since the first time you slept against his warm body, except that was in his living room.

He cups your cheek and caresses the cold skin with his thumb. His warm hand brings a shiver to your body and he chuckles before bringing you in closer. He hugs you close in such a warm loving embrace, you have to hold in the urge to push away from the sheer overwhelming affection. You allow yourself to bury your face into his warm neck, breathing in his scent.

Your hands reach out to soak up some more warmth and it's then that you remember he's not wearing a shirt, meaning he slept on your couch without even a blanket or anything covering his upper half. Do orcs just have boiling hot blood or something? Maybe he's part dragon?

The arm he has slung over you is so big and heavy, it's making you feel confined but in a way that isn't making you panic. It's rather nice to be engulfed by him. His legs are intertwined with yours, snugly rubbing together the thick material of your winter pants.

You place your palms on his broad chest, wanting to feel more of him but your fingers meet a scratchy material on his chest. You part from his neck, looking for the strange obstruction, and all the despair you felt just a few hours ago comes rushing back when you see the banged wound on his right chest.

You pull away from him to get a better look, ignoring the displeased grumble from the orc. Worry only worsens when you see the white gauze turning a yellowish orange. You must have slept for awhile if the bandage already needs changing. You sit up, with some difficulty, as your...friend? is very reluctant to let go.

You reach for the medical supplies left on the low lying living room table and waste no time gently peeling the dirty bandage off. As gentle as you can be, at least. The orc under you doesn't seem to mind any pain, the only time he expresses displeasure is when you get up to fetch some water and a cloth to clean his wound again.

Ignoring his melodramatic complaining, you get up and grab the blood soaked cloth off the floor as well as his tunic, which now has dark crusted blood embedded into the fabric. In the kitchen, you rinse both the cloth and tunic in your sink, it definitely doesn't clean all the blood off but it's better than nothing.

On your way back to the couch you see him fidgeting with the stitches and you lightly smack him upside the head, mumbling "Don't touch." He lets out a half grumble half laugh and lets you bring the cold wash cloth to his wound. You gently clean the raw stitched up skin, wiping away any excess blood and plasma that's seeped out. The red of the blood clashes so grimly with his green skin.

While you work, you're keenly aware that the orc is staring at you, very shamelessly. As you reapply the antibiotic ointment and rebandage the wound you can't help your eyes flicker up to meet his. His absolute smitten expression doesn't make you feel good, like it might in any other scenario, it only makes the prickling anxiety in your stomach bubble up further.

When you're done with the rebandaging, you assess your work and only feel shame, you know this only happened because of you. He should at least be upset but he's clearly not and that only makes you more worried.

Crossing the boarder is a crime punishable by death, You put his life in danger multiple times just because you were lonely. You should never have gone back to his cottage, he’d be much better off if he’d never saved your life in the first place.

Your orc looks at you with a questioning expression, worry pinching his eyebrows. You de-tangle from his hold again but this time he doesn't argue, only sits up with concern. You crouch by the hearth and poke at the smouldering fire, adding a log and nudging the flames slowly back to life. You sit on the floor in between the table and couch, grab your translation book and pencil from under the table and think for a moment on how exactly you should word your concerns.

After a few minutes you've scrawled a few choice words in orcish and slide it closer to him so he can see it. It reads,

"Leave. Not safe."

He reads it and pauses for a painful moment, before he looks you in the eyes and shakes his head.

You look at him in disbelief, does he mean he won't leave or that he thinks it actually is safe? Both?

Confused you point towards the Orcish words fro “Not safe” again, trying to get the point across. He shrugs and rests his head on his hand, propped up on his elbow on your couch like nothing in the world bothers him. This makes you far more upset than you’ve been in a while, maybe ever. Why would he have such a frivolous attitude towards his own wellbeing? He saved you, why wont he let you save him.

The anger must show on your face because the nonchalant expression he wore quickly turned to something more concerned. He lifts himself from the couch to shuffle closer to you. He tries to reach for your hand but you pull away, you just don’t want to touch him right now. You can barely look at him without thinking of how he looked bleeding out in the snow, arrow stuck in his chest, he looked absolutely terrified then, why is he acting this way now?

You hear him flipping through pages and the scratch of graphite on paper. He slides over his own torn piece of paper. It reads,

"Not scared"

In poorly written Human Common. You can't help but scoff, who does this orc think he is? He just got shot and could have bled to death, all from just one knight, how could he possibly say he isn't scared of more showing up? After a minute of stewing in your anger and thinking about how to possibly respond to that, you start scrawling up a response. After a few minutes you slide over your own piece of paper that reads,

"Should be. More coming."

He stares at it for a second, looks back at you and then slides over his "Not scared" note again, emphasising his point. You honestly don't know whether you should try writing out an entire paragraph trying to explain this situation to him or if you should just write the word "fool" to get your point across. You decide on just looking at him disapprovingly, pointedly moving your gaze to his freshly bandaged chest and then looking away from him, shaking your head lightly.

It's a long, tense moment before you hear graphite scratching on paper again. You look over to where he hunches over the tiny table, catching him writing the words,

"Can't leave-"

and it only feeds your anger, how can you get him to realise the trouble he's in? Was he always this stubborn? Maybe if you just kicked him out in the snow he'd eventually just walk home, away from you, away from danger. Maybe if you made him leave... Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of paper sliding on the wooden surface of the table, you give an exasperated sigh and look down at the paper.

"Can't leave you alone."

The anger that was just bubbling up, cools into barely a simmer. The realisation splashes you like a bucket of cold water to the face. He's completely right. You threatened a knight with an arrow to the skull and then you just let him go. He knows where you live, he knows no one will even notice if a solitary woman living deep in the woods just disappeared. Not to mention, if they find out you spared an orc (much less fell in love with said orc) instead of killing him for the crime of crossing the border, they'll certainly kill you too, if not worse.

Were you really so troubled with making sure he was safe that you barely even realised how deep in trouble you are? You cover your fatigued eyes with the palms of your hands, heaving a tired sigh. It feels like a ten ton stone has been dropped on your shoulders. What the hell are you going to do now? Your quiet life is completely compromised. Your hands hide the few tears that squeeze out from your eyes but you fail to hide the sniff that leaves you.

You hear your orc shuffle closer promptly after hearing your sob, you let him gently usher you into his arms. You sit in his lap, cradled by his massive frame as he rubs his huge hand up and down your back.

He says something in orcish. It’s a single word said with gentle determination. You meet his eyes, the lack of understanding obvious. He grabs his book and flips through it, fumbling with the book in one hand while the other's still on your back. You hold the well worn book for him as he points towards the word,

"Together"

You stare at it, not really surprised that's what he said. It was rather foolish of you to think he'd just leave you to deal with this situation alone. You two are now deeper intertwined than before, and that was already a lot for you. You'll figure this out together, that’s then only way forward.

You rack your brain for a solution, a resolution, anything but you come up blank. Your orc sighs down at you and runs his thumb across your forehead, smoothing out the tense muscles between your furrowed eyebrows. He leans over the table and grabs the piece of paper that says "Leave. Not safe." He folds the paper so that only "Leave." is visible and he places that paper above the other slip of paper that says "Together".

He then takes a new sheet and then spends some time writing down the words,

"Until safe."

You stare at the makeshift sentence before looking up at him, making sure you didn't misinterpret, his hopeful eyes are all the confirmation needed. He wants you to stay with him until your home is safe again. Your home might never be safe to return to. Does he know that? Does he actually know what he's offering?

He can obviously see the turmoil on your face, he knows you won't just accept his offer so easily. He holds your cheek again, making sure you can't look away and says to you, in orcish, what you're pretty sure means,

"Please, I love you"

You let out something between a sob and a laugh, clutching his hand on your cheek and kissing his wrist as he wipes your stray tear away. He looks at you with such love it pulls more laughter from your lungs, his eyes crinkle with how wide he smiles. You lean up and pull him into a deep kiss, much deeper than the first. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and his hands hold your waist, keeping you close to him, as if that's really needed. One passionate kiss turns into another and another until you're making out only separating when you laugh too much to actually kiss.

You kiss along his cheek and down his neck and his naked shoulder. He runs his massive hands up and down you waist, returning your affections by kissing down your neck, nuzzling you with the blunt ends of his pretty tusks. The feeling of his tusks on your throat makes you let out a pleasured sound you’re not sure you've ever made before, and it shocks you so much you cover your mouth with your own hand. Your orc looks at you with the same shock in his eyes, also mirroring the deep desire simmering just below the surface.

All you can do is stare into his eyes as he stares into yours, breaths heavy, bodies close. This is it. This is all you want.

And then your heart drops, the air is punched out of your lungs and ice swallows your entire body. You see the exact same dread reflected in his eyes and you know he hears it too.

The distant neigh of horses and the clopping of hooves on hard icy ground, getting closer and closer.

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°

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[little-miss-dilf-lover]

oh hi big sis hru just wanted to ask for bucky making out w reader and "choking" reader? ((not really choking, just his hand on readers neck 🧜🧜 need that metal hand inside me

big sis?! AW GET OUT THATS SO CUTE!! salivating bc it’s such a delicious idea. thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

VIBRANIUM NECKLACE.

bucky barnes x fem!reader — smut/ very suggestive

word count. 592

warnings. 18+ bit of a hand kink (self indulgent? no😏don’t be silly) light ‘choking’ (basically just throat holding) mdni

Picking up on hints is something Bucky does best - his prior life as a weapon coming in handy when it came to connecting dots. 

But he didn't need his training when it came to you. Your clues were far from decreet.

He had noticed the recent liking you had taken to his vibranium arm - the longing glances, the touches, that look in your eye when he skims you with his metal fingers. 

There was something so lewd and erotic about it: the coldness of the metal when it touched your skin or just the thought of the sheer strength he could wield with it - just knowing the amount of power he could muster and still be so gentle with it around you.

He noticed it more prominently now. Standing together in the kitchen as you prepped dinner, you on Bucky's side as he chopped the ingredients. His right hand skillfully gripping the knife, his left metal hand holding a potato, keeping it still.

You were supposed to be on peeling duty, but every time you caught a glimpse of his hands, all work got delayed, consequentially leading to him having nothing to chop. So you pass him another peeled potato, watching how he brushes your fingers in the process - his hands purposefully lingering longer than they're supposed to.

Bucky's not an idiot. He could see it clear as day: the way your ears pull back, the delayed exhale in your chest, even the dilation in your pupils. He could see it all. 

You continue watching the smooth, fluid-like motion of his hands - practically ogling him as he drops the cubed produce into the saucepan. You're utterly captivated as you gawk at him, following his every move as he effortlessly glides around the kitchen - watching him place the pan onto the heat to boil.

He gives the potatoes a stir —fully aware of your stares— and turns to face you, noticing that same glimmer in your eye. He takes a step closer and presses a momentary kiss onto your lips, then pulls back, picking up on that hint of desperation across your face. 

So he leans back in, kissing you again and again until it evolves into much more than a few chaste, casual kisses. All of it progressing into something hungrier, eager - heavily making out as his lower half cages you against the counter. His cock chubbing up against your lower tummy.

He tests the waters and decides to use the one thing you've been eyeing up all evening. So he teases his left hand over your shoulder, fingers steadily skimming along until he reaches that part between your collarbone and the base of your throat - a faint, whiney moan leaving your lips in the process. The soft dulcet noise muffling into his mouth.

With your silent agreement, he snakes his palm higher - fingers itching up the sides of your throat until they settled in a light, comfortable grip just below your jaw. His grasp is faint, just merely holding your throat as he deepens the kiss, groin pushing you up against the edge of the counter.

He nips on your bottom lip before pulling away slightly, both of your chests practically heaving from the desperate makeout. He grazes his thumb over your chin, itching higher to run over your bottom lip, the pad outing it slowly - his eyes following attentively. 

"Don't you go anywhere," he whispers, pressing another kiss to your lips - moving away to attend to the bubbling pot.

[nickeverdeen]

Under the Mask | Spider-Man!Vi x fem!reader

Pairings: Vi x reader (romantic)

Type of fic: Angst, Comfort

Warnings: Wounds, you’re a bit toxic at one point

Summary: Vi never told you her hero identity and the way you find out was unfortunately not ideal for either of you.

——————————

The day was unusually quiet. You had called in sick, your body begging for rest after weeks of nonstop work. Wrapped in a cozy blanket, you were curled up on the couch, half-watching some random show while sipping on tea. But the buzz on your phone drew your attention to the news—another classic Spider-Man sighting, this time during some wild rooftop chase.

You glanced at the clock. Vi should have been home by now, but you didn’t think much of it. You trusted her to let you know if anything came up. Still, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder when she’d walk through the door.

It wasn’t long before you heard the unmistakable creak of the front door opening. “Vi?” you called out weakly.

“Hey,” her voice came, a little winded but casual. “Just give me a sec!”

You frowned, shifting on the couch. Something about her tone felt…off. Before you could think too much, you heard the shuffle of her boots against the floor and the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut.

Curiosity piqued, you stood and padded down the hall. As you approached, you heard faint muttering and the rustling of fabric. You gently pushed the door open—and froze.

Vi was standing in front of the mirror, half out of a torn Spider-Man suit, her back turned to you. Her signature undercut was damp with sweat, and faint bruises already marred her toned arms.

“Vi?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

She whipped around, her blue eyes wide with surprise. “Shit!” she cursed, instinctively covering herself with the mask she’d been holding. “I—I can explain.”

But your gaze dropped to her exposed side, where a nasty gash bled through the fabric. “You’re hurt,” you said softly, stepping closer.

Vi stiffened, her lips parting as if to protest, but you were already reaching for her arm. “Sit,” you instructed, your tone leaving no room for argument.

She hesitated, glancing at the torn suit in her hands, then back at you. “Listen, I—”

“Sit down, Vi,” you repeated, guiding her to the edge of the bathtub.

The silence was thick as you carefully peeled the rest of the suit off her, trying not to wince at the various cuts and bruises littering her body. She flinched once or twice, muttering apologies, but you didn’t respond. Your focus was on cleaning and dressing her wounds, even as your thoughts raced.

Once you were done, Vi let out a low sigh, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’ll…take a shower. You probably have questions.”

“Yeah,” you replied, standing and crossing your arms. “I do.”

She looked at you for a moment, guilt written all over her face, before nodding and stepping into the shower.

While the water ran, you busied yourself stitching up her suit. Your hands moved on autopilot, the familiar motion calming you slightly. But the emotions bubbling under the surface—worry, frustration, hurt—remained unresolved.

When Vi emerged, her hair damp and clad in a hoodie and sweats, you gestured for her to sit on the couch. She obeyed, her shoulders tense.

“Vi,” you began, sitting beside her, “how long?”

She winced, avoiding your gaze. “A while.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t want to put you in danger,” she said quietly. “The less you knew, the safer you’d be.”

You let out a sharp breath, leaning forward to press your hands against your face. “I get that, Vi. I really do. But do you know what it feels like to see you come home like this? To find out like this?”

Her hand hesitantly touched your arm. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. I was going to tell you, I swear.”

You shook your head, lowering your hands to meet her gaze. “You should’ve trusted me.”

“I do,” she said firmly, taking your hands in hers. “I do trust you. I just—” She broke off, her voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Your resolve softened slightly at her vulnerability, but the worry still gnawed at you. “You could’ve died today, Vi. And I wouldn’t have even known why.”

“I know,” she whispered, pulling you into her lap. You let her, burying your face in her neck as her arms wrapped around you. She pressed a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring, “I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I promise.”

You stayed like that for a while, the weight of the day settling between you. Despite everything, you knew one thing for certain: you weren’t letting her do this alone anymore.

[risuola]

DO YOU WANT TO STAY? — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

After the painful breakup with Satoru, your friends dragged you out for the party to have you loosen up, but the night went very wrong and very right.

cw: smut, hurt/comfort, unprotected sex, creampie, cursing, mentions of alcohol, brief violence, mentions of blood and very, very minor injuries (like scratches), little bit of post-breakup depression but nothing major; angsty vibes nonetheless, reader discretion is advised — 5,5k words

In the coldness of the dark night, you tried to get to your apartment, kick off those high heeled torture devices you’ve decided to put on earlier that day and just sink into the softness of your bed. Maybe right after washing away the concoction of cologne that lingered all over your figure, resulting from the awful experience that was clubbing with your friends. Fed up with all of the drunk assholes that tried to get into your pants with no shame whatsoever, you left, sending just a short text to Suguru. Resigned after trying to catch a taxi for few minutes, you moved by feet, cussing under your breath for the shoes you wore and if not for the filthy ground that disgusted you, you’d already be barefoot.

Padding in short, quick steps, you dumbly decided to cut the way with the shortcut that led you through the dark, stripped of most lights side-street-areas, the ones that nobody in the right mind would choose at any circumstance, but you were far from the right mind, when your feet felt like they were bathing in their own blood, with skin peeling through each and every step you pushed forward. And you thought you’re being lucky that night, seeing nobody in your way as you strode through the dark alley, before your hopes crushed in pieces as few men twice your size stepped right in front of you. Instinctively, you backed out and glanced behind yourself, thinking that maybe it still wasn’t too late to run back to the main street, but as you did that, the way closed by another wall of muscle. Trapped in the circle of misfortune, you noticed the metallic shine of bats few of them held loosely propped on their shoulders as they measured you out with their filthy eyes, grinning so wildly, you could see their teeth reflecting light even in the darkness of the alley.

“What do we have here, huhh?” one of them spoke and a mixture of laughs and chuckles, huffs and groans followed the question, along with many disgusting comments that made the horny men in the club look nearly innocent, as you thought about it.

“I’m just passing,” you said, swallowing the shake of your voice down to at least look like you were keeping composure, which you definitely didn’t. Resignation began flooding your system whilst the circle tightened around you, invading your personal space, making you feel smaller than you really were and causing your brain to forget all of the self-defense skills you had. It wasn’t much, but anything could possibly be better than just giving up, but you were already broken, doubting that any more damage could make things worse.

Just a month ago, you broke up with your boyfriend of twelve. It was heading towards the first real anniversary of your seemingly joyful relationship when everything crumbled right in front of your eyes, collapsing like a house made of cards. Satoru Gojo was everyone’s favorite – truly, everyone loved him – girls wanted to be with him, boys wanted to be him; students admired him, he was teacher’s favorite with his perfect grades, the know-it-all, the golden boy and even his enemies, that he had a lot of, would give everything to just once wear his skin and be him, be the infamous Satoru. And he was yours, for a year before the bubble burst and everything you tried to build with him shattered, along with your whole world. He was your whole world, you loved him sincerely, with all his flaws that he had quite a few, with all of his charms and wits, all of his handsome looks and every single one worn out, tired picture he hid from the outside world, but you were his inside world so you saw all of him.

When the break-up happened and the ground underneath your feet crushed, leaving you in shock so deep that you bluntly agreed to staying friends, as he briefly suggested in between his venomous spits, considering your shared group of close friends, but it turned out that staying friends after being so close and intimate wasn’t necessarily possible, at least for you. With memories of many nights filled with exploring each other’s bodies to the point of nearly passing out tattooed inside your mind, you couldn’t just watch as he poured his natural charm onto someone else than you so you quickly cut him off, removing his socials from your followings, removing him from your sight and retracting from any group activity with people that you called your friends as well. You couldn’t be in places where he was present, couldn’t see how effortless flirting was for him just days after he became free, how well he was presenting himself when you tried your best not to cry at the thought of him alone, not to say the sight of him with the crowd of thirsty girls at his feet.

It’s been a month and you still felt broken, so broken, in fact, that you were deliberately giving up fight in the threatening situation you found yourself in. It was your fault, after all, to try and cut your way short when you should never step into one of those side-alleys, aware of what Tokyo darkness’ hides. Silently, you hoped to just die here quickly, as you wished many times in the past few weeks, the heartbroken feeling slowly suffocating you inside the walls of your apartment that you trapped yourself in before your friends forced you out to club that night. And you pulled yourself together earlier that day, made yourself look presentable and even put on those fucking heels, determined to drown your sorrows in the sweet alcoholic drinks, to open up to new people, to feel like yourself once again and maybe, just maybe, find yourself a man, even if it’s just for the night because no one could replace Satoru. And you failed miserably, unable to have any fun in the crowded, sweaty space full of swaying bodies and disgusted at the thought of having sex with anyone there. You were never a party nor quickie kind of girl, you only began attending clubs with Satoru as he liked those loud musical gatherings and you found comfort alongside him, with the safe shelter of his protective arms the crowd around you seemed nonexistent and now, as the barrier of his muscles was taken away, you felt almost threatened by the drunk-dazed atmosphere so you ran away, giving in to your self-preservation instincts that clearly wore off when you turned into the alley off the main road.

“What should we do with you, princess?” one man asked, grinning widely and you felt the coldness of his steely bat underneath your chin that forced your head up enough to face him. “Oh, don’t cry, it’s gonna be soooo fun,” another added and it's at this point that you realized that a tear run down your cheek so you quickly wiped it away, wondering if it was caused by the fear or the wave of regret following the rush of memories that just a second ago flooded your system as you tried to recall why you even ended up in that situation, reminding yourself of the post-Satoru depression. “For us, at least. For you maybe not so much,” a laugh reached your ear from the back as you felt a hand gluing itself to the curve of your waist, and you flinched uncontrollably while your whole body was declining you anything above that movement. Cursing yourself, cursing the world around you, you tried to force your muscles to contract again, to move at any direction, to run if you’re lucky. Maybe the high heeled shoes could make for a weapon, maybe you could at least poke someone’s eye out, maybe you could do something, but instead, you did nothing. Squeezing your eyes shut and lowering your head, resigned and slowly agreeing to enter hell that was about to open right before you, you froze once again hearing a pained whine right behind your back. The palm that just a second ago was pressed disgustingly to your body was now gone and you were too scared to look at what happened so you stood in place, hoping that a black hole opened behind you, swallowing the man that threatened you.

“I’ll say it only once,” a voice you heard made your eyes snap open, but you kept them fixed on the ground, convinced that your brain, influenced by alcohol, fear and despair, was making things up at this point. “All of you, keep your hands off of her, understood? It’d better if y’all just run so nobody gets hurt.” You heard it again, you heard him again, the strict tone with honeyed undercurrent, and the shadows consumed your trembling figure as his towering body stood in front of you, effectively creating a barrier between you and the gangsters. You raised your head, your eyes run over the lines of his broad back until they finally landed on the messy head of snowy-white hair that even in the murky area stood out. He looked relaxed, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his varsity jacket and his head tilted slightly to the side. You took one step back but your feet met something that block it – that something being an unconscious body of a man that previously was touching your side. Stunned, you looked forward once again, only to see the scene of calculated violence playing out as Satoru easily dealt with hooligans. With quick, impressive displays of agility and strength, he put down one by one, effectively clearing the way for you to go home, but you stayed where you were until he finally finished the beating.

“Y’alright?” he asked and all you could do was nod when he grabbed your forearm, pulling you to leave the place of danger. Your body barely moved, tensed painfully and you felt the burn spreading along your skin from where his fingers were wrapped around your flesh. Forcing your legs to move, you tried to match his pace as he was leading the way towards your flat, hand still keeping a secure hold on you as he looked forward.

It’s in front of your building when you finally jerked your arm out of his grasp and he looked down at you, almost offended at how desperately you distanced yourself from his touch when before you’d lean into it instantly. Standing there, you finally locked eyes with his crystalline blue ones, that were looking down at you through the light strands of his hair and you couldn’t help but notice they’re longer than he’d usually keep them, crossing the length of comfort – as he used to call it – with the pukes irritating his eyes when below it. His seemingly neutral expression hid some tension, you noticed his brows creasing just slightly and his jaw flexing underneath the light layer of his skin.

“I leave you for what, few weeks, and you’re already getting in trouble?” he snapped rolling his eyes out of habit, but you could tell it was far from his usual teasing tone and he hated the way you were looking at him, or rather, through him. Your ability to see through every single of his little lies never annoyed him more than in this very moment, whilst you two stood awkwardly underneath the block you live in – the same one he used to live in with you, finding it convenient because of the shorter route he had to take from your place to college, comparing to the one he had from his own. “No wonder you’re in hot water when you walk naked through the shadiest alleys available.”

“I’m not naked, Gojo.”

“Gojo, huh?” he hummed in displease and chuckled bitterly at the unfamiliar sound of his last name rolling off your tongue. “That’s what you revoke me to? Not even a ‘thank you’ for saving your dumb ass a moment ago?”

“I don’t recall calling for your help,” you snapped, feeling the sudden wave of anger washing over you, as his words stung just as they were a month ago, but the angry feeling was gone as soon as it flowed in, when you noticed his hands. Knuckles stained in red, glistening in the street-lights as some spots were still bleeding after he punched down a little group of hooligans barehanded. In your defense. “You’re bleeding.”

“Another reason why you should be a little more thankful”, narrowing his eyes, he tried to hide his hands from you but you grabbed one of them and as you examined the damage, guilt began making your eyes wet, your mind unable to bear with the thought of any hurt happening to the man you still love so much it began killing you the second he was gone. Blinking the tears away, you exhaled. “Come inside, I’ll-“

“No need,” he grunted instantly, taking his hand back by force but you insisted, “please, let me at least clean these.”

Satoru started to regret the decision as soon as he stepped into your apartment, with all of the memories hitting him like a brick the moment he looked around the place. It looked all too familiar, everything so similar to how he left it a month ago, he was almost convinced you didn't change anything since that day. A blanket he bought you still hung loosely on the couch back rest, a cup from which he used to drink his morning coffee still was standing on the kitchen counter and even the chair in the living room was still pushed near the sofa, serving no real purpose for you whilst he liked to put his legs up while watching TV, being too tall to fit comfortably on your furniture. Everything felt so similar, like it was his home but now it wasn’t anymore.

“Come”, you snapped him from the trance and he followed you to kitchen island, where you already pulled the first aid kit to dress his injuries. You made him sit on the high-chair, while you kept standing on the ground and as you focused on cleaning his knuckles gently, Satoru could shamelessly analyze your features. Unable to deny your cute concentration, the corners of his mouth curled up just slightly as he noticed your brows furrow when you discovered more and more scratches along his skin. If it was his decision, he would just wash his hand at home and call it, but you always liked to take care of him and he often got home with scratches, sometimes getting them just to be tend by you, making you laugh at the unwise effort. If he wanted more attention from you, he could have asked – you always said, joking that although you’d try, you’re not sure if more attention was even possible as he took all of your mind. Now, as he looked at the precise movements of your gentle fingers, he wondered if he’s still appearing in your thoughts sometimes or have you pushed him out completely.

With a cloth and warm water, you cleaned the blood off his knuckles, revealing many little wounds that although shallow and harmless, will sting like hell when you use the disinfectant so you sighed quietly, already hating the thought of hurting him more. “There was no need for all that,” your voice was quiet enough, that if not for the complete silence of your apartment, he might have missed it. “You just got hurt.”

“And you might have been hurt much more than I am now,” he forced his tone to sound somewhat calm but his insides were burning. How could you say such things? How could you prioritize his well-being over your own, after what he’s put you through.

“I kinda wish I was,” you blurted out, pressing the gauze soaked in alcohol to his knuckles but it caused no reaction, as Satoru looked at you stunned. The words that just left your mouth were sinking in, and he found himself unable to speak.

“What do you even mean?” he forced finally, his voice lower and angrier and you tensed at the sound of his usual soft, melodic tone now stained with rageful undertones. “What do you mean, ‘you wish you were hurt’?”

“Pain that’s physical is easier to bear,” you replied quietly and cleared your throat, changing the subject as you finished wrapping his hands with thin, protective layer of bandage. “It should be good.”

"And what makes you so unhappy that you're that desperate for your body to hurt, huh?" Satoru asked, his face twisting in annoyance. "Surely, it cannot be me." The thought alone, the very idea that he might be the reason for you wanting to feel physical pain just to dull the mental made his insides turn with guilt but his effort to sound unbothered caused you to shut down and step back.

"No," you lied, packing up the first aid kit, looking strictly down. "It's nothing, forget it."

"It's not nothing, I want to know-"

"Not everything can always be as you want it," you snapped, walking away to put the kit where it belonged in the kitchen cabinet, silently hating yourself for the tears that moistened your eyes, hating the heartbroken feeling he fueled so skillfully with his nonchalant speech. You exhaled shakily, "y-you should go."

"Yeah. I think I should," he got up from the chair but instead of heading out, he circled the island in few large strides to catch your shaking hands and pull you into his chest. "But I won't. I need to talk to you. I have to."

"You said everything a month ago. You said enough back then, do you truly have anything to add?", the question rendered you hopeful that he's not going to say anything more because you couldn't take anything more. You were hurt through and through, your soul was crying and bleeding every second of every day since the one that broke you and you knew that you were way too close to the edge to take any more stabs of his sharp tongue and not fall down.

"Yes, I have," he kept you close but you don't fight. With your cheek pressed against his heartbeat and his strong hands secured around your shoulders and back, you kept yours down, hanging alongside your body afraid to touch him because if you’d allow your arms to embrace him, you might never let him go, risking another tear of your soul if he ripped away. "I want to apologize. For everything I did and I said then and now, and any time. I'm constantly talking shit, I don't know – fuck, I feel like sometimes my brain just shuts off. I'm sorry."

"You're what?", stunned, you forgot how to breathe and only whisper pushed through your mouth as you listened to his rambling.

"I'm sorry, y/n, sugar. I'm sorry, I've never... I didn't mean to- I don't know, I don't even know how explain it."

He spoke and your world stopped.

"What does that mean?", you asked, unable to hide the spark of hope that crawled into your voice as you breathed in his scent, absorbing his aura full of familiarity and warmth that you used to bask in every day since you got together. Your relationship always was heavily physical, it was the love language you both shared and you loved the way his hands never seemed to not be touching you, whether it was keeping you pressed against his chest or just smoothing over your hand with his fingers.

"It means I'm an idiot, that's what it means. No one ever I can love like I love you; I can't stop thinking about you, I can't sleep, god, I feel like I can't breathe. What I'm trying to say, uh... Fuck, I miss you, 'kay?"

"But you told me to go to hell", you reminded yourself and him as well, in your head replaying the cruel record that broke your world into pieces. "You told me-"

"I know", he stopped you from talking and you felt his body shifting slightly as his hand found your cheek, cupping it tenderly and lifting it so you looked up at him. Locking eyes with his light blue crystals you searched for the truth but couldn’t see anything. Satoru's heart broke once again when he noticed the intense shine of your eyeballs, wet from tears that you desperately tried to hold back. "That day I was... It was a bad day; nothing justifies it but I wasn’t thinking clearly. That day I hurt everyone around me, you, Suguru, Shoko, I even insulted Mei and she’s hard to hurt. Chain reaction of my stupidity, I ruined everything and as they forgot about it quickly, I couldn't bring myself to face you after what rolled off my tongue. And then I couldn't find you."

"I couldn't be seeing you so shamelessly flirting with everyone around you. I cut myself off", you said quietly, laying your hand over his own pressed against your cheek as his thumb smoothed over the damp skin underneath your lower lashes, wiping the salty residues away.

"I was being stupid," he sighed. His eyes lowered a little to glance over your lips, suddenly unable to resist you, losing the last bits of self-control the longer he looked at you. "It's you that I love, sugar." With that, his head lowered slowly, giving you enough time to push him away if you really wanted to, but you stayed in place, as if you were expecting what follows so he pressed his lips against yours, squeezing the gasp out of your chest and you couldn’t fight him when he was kissing you like he's starved.

The moment your mouths connected made you feel dizzy and you felt your knees buckling underneath the weight of his feeling. Instinctively, feeling you lose your balance, Satoru grabbed you by the hips and lifted you effortlessly, sitting you on top of the kitchen island and wiggling his way in between your legs to keep your body as close to his own as possible. You whined quietly, feeling the cold marble underneath your naked thighs where the dress rolled up. The kiss became messier, burning with lust and longing and you wrapped your legs around his middle, pulling him even closer, already tugging at his t-shirt that realistically you couldn’t take off because of the jacket still hugging his broad shoulders. Gojo read your intentions and pushed the garment off, breaking the kiss just for a second so you could take the black blouse off of his toned body, revealing the light skin strangely clear of any nail marks and love bites that you usually adorned him with and he wore those with pride. Your hands glued themselves to the softness of his flesh, examining the bumps of muscles flexing beneath your touch, and he crashed his lips against yours once again, kissing you messy and teethy as your tongues danced to the fiery melody of desire. Satoru was quick to encourage your dress to come even higher, his hand reached to the back, where he knew a full-dress-length zipper was waiting to be pulled down and he grinned into the kiss whilst exposing your velvety skin completely to his disposal. Wasting no time, he took you closer, smoothing over curves of your perfect figure, squeezing your supple flesh and you melted into the touch of his warm fingers with a soft whine that you couldn’t stop.

Satoru moved down, smearing kisses along your face, through jawline and onto your neck and shoulders and you couldn’t hold back a quiet moan at the feeling of his plush lips sucking spots on their way down. Brushing through his silky white strands, you allowed him to push down the straps of your lacy bra and before you noticed, it was off and on the ground as the man lifted you up from the cold counter, heading towards the conjoined living area and soon dropping you onto the soft couch, following you closely. You bounced slightly off the pillowy seats as he hovered above you, his lips glued to your skin, marking and exploring every inch as he moved down to take care of your chest and you stroked his strong shoulders, scratching them red.

Your body jolted up when suddenly you felt pressure of Satoru’s fingers over your clothed clit, as he rubbed circles over the sensitive bud while his mouth worked your perky nipples. The way his tongue danced around the pebble and how his teeth grazed the delicate skin continuously made you forget your own name, but for him it mattered only if you remembered his. Your mind became hazy, you felt like nothing else existed except for the man above you and you made your way down to unbuckle his jeans, impatiently diving your hand right into his boxers and wrapping your cold digits around his already hardened shaft. His cock was thick and leaking, begging for attention and it sprung out long when you pulled him out the trap that was his underwear. Satoru moaned against your breast, for a moment forgetting about the nipple in his mouth that he was in the middle of teasing, when he felt your grip moving up and down his length just right, spreading the pre-cum over it, and he knew he cannot wait any longer. He raised up on his knees, taking the panties off your body and finally kicking away the rest of his clothes before he fell back over you. His face met yours in another passionate, wet kiss and you moaned into it, as he worked his fingers between your folds, bullying your tenderness shamelessly and forcing many more sweet whines and whimpers from your chest.

“Satoruuu”, you mewled and he grinned at the sound of his name coming from you. “Don’t tease me so much, please”, pleading, you tugged at his hair and he chuckled at the eagerness in your tone. But he knew how big he is and even sleeping with him regularly, he more often than not had to prepare you for the stretch that was Gojo Satoru. “Don’t wanna hurt you, yeah?”, he smiled, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking softly at the pulse and you just wanted him inside, no matter the consequences. “I can take you”, you ensured, “please, ‘toru.”

And what kind of man would Satoru be if he denied a pretty lady what she wanted and if feeling the burn is what you truly desired, he was going to give it to you. Being desperate himself,he stroked his length few times more before he smeared the head along your soaked folds and aligned the tip at your entrance, already knowing he’s gonna see tears very soon. And he did – your cheeks dampened as the burning stretch paralyzed the nerves all along your body and the tearing pleasure waved over your entire existence. Satoru groaned low through his clenched teeth at how your velvety walls were squeezing around his shaft as he slowly bottomed out. “God, I love you so much,” he growled into your ear and your dead-grip on his shoulders softened, letting him know that he’s good to move so he dragged his hips back almost completely, engrossed with the way your tight pussy tried to suck him back. Hot wave rushed through your body, as he began thrusting slowly and purposefully, clawing at one of your hips to ground himself before he loses composure in the way your cunt swallowed him whole time after time. He supported his weight on the other hand on the armrest behind your head, and gven the access to his body, you allowed your hands to wander all over his well-build form, leaving scratches and crescent-moons here and there with your long nails. Your fingers moved on their own, subconsciously tracing over the familiar musculature, refreshing the memory of a body that was burned into your mind. A whimper left your mouth when Satoru rolled his hips into you quicker, picking up the pace gradually and it almost hurt how deep he reached, kissing every sensitive spot inside you and it made your mind go blank of anything that wasn’t him. You smoothed over his flexing biceps, squeezing it tightly when he adjusted the position of your hips to ram his own into them harder.

Smearing kisses along your jawline, Gojo tasted your skin with pleasured hums, drowning in divine feeling of your pretty cunt eagerly taking him in, listening to the whimpers and mewls intertwined with little I love you’s that slipped through your parted lips in breathy tones. Warmth began pooling below his stomach as he praised you for doing so well after such long time and you cried out a moan when his hips buckled up sharper and rougher. He was drunk in the godly presence that you were, intoxicating himself with everything that was you – your taste, the scent your delicate skin held, the image of your flushed cheeks glistening with tears that his size caused and those were the only tears he accepted on your face. Beautiful crystals of wetness gathering along your lashes as he split you open with the unforgivable pace he has set, pushing up against every sweet spot inside of you and making you lose every last bit of real-world connection.

Blissful daze suited you and Satoru couldn’t get enough of the sight of your fucked out expression, wearing the same one himself, as his pace stuttered due to the delightful series of twitches and flexes your pussy did around him. Your toes were curling, thighs shaking and it only made him go harder. In a messy cacophony of pants and whines, you managed to unknowingly call his name again and again, ridding Satoru of every last bit of clear-thinking as suddenly, he wanted to hear only that sweet sound of your breathless voice. The voice he’s been dreaming about for the last weeks.

His cock twitched and thickened inside of you, pressuring your sensitive walls even more as he collapsed on his elbow next to your ribcage, sliding his forearm below your arched back and reaching new angles as your hips rolled forward. His fingers curled over your soft flesh as he was slamming his pelvis into your own, his pace became messied, more rushed, as he felt your orgasm approaching. You creamed all over his shaft, the white gathering at the base of it, as your pussy tightened and squelched delightfully in waves. Your gaze was heavy and you couldn’t focus on where your hands were landing as you felt the bliss washing all over your figure. Your thighs were trembling, your nails run over Gojo’s back, leaving red marks that for sure will sting later and you held onto his shoulders for dear life when he picked up the tempo even more, chasing his own release. Smearing wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your chest, Gojo leaned into the dip above your collar bone, groaning and breathing heavily as in few more pushes, his orgasm snapped, rushing hot with his load spilling inside of you. You felt his teeth sinking into your skin right where your neck connected to the shoulder and you couldn’t help but moan once again at the new painful pleasure. His brute pace slowed down, becoming messy and languid and his body fell over you, weighing you down onto the couch. You wrapped your arms around him, keeping him from lifting up, not at all caring about his weight crashing your own. Last drops of his load were squeezed by your walls before he slowly pulled out, exhaling deeply against your skin and you laughed joyfully.

Your voice was tired, your entire body ached from the unexpected activity but you felt happy for the first time in a month, suddenly grateful for your friends to take you out that day. Satoru at first basked in the sound of your chuckle before he joined, overwhelmed by the blissful daze. Both of you were worn off, sticky and completely fucked out and yet deeply satisfied and although still far from good as a pair, it already was much better.

“Fuck, I love you so much”, Satoru breathed out, planting few soft, ghosting kisses over the imprint of his teeth that already began to bruise up, coloring your smooth complexion with reds and purples as the mark was blooming.

“Do you, uh-“, you started but voice died down your throat; you were terrified of an answer. Gathering the strength, you continued, “do you want to stay…? With me…?”

Satoru grinned handsomely as he lifted his head up and your sight met the crystalline blue gaze of his eyes. His white eyelashes fluttered when he blinked, mesmerizing you all over again with the magical look of his features, his cheeks still stained with the faint blissful flush and you looked at his face with hope. “Yes”, he finally spoke and you felt your heart banging against your ribcage, as if it wanted to jump through it and kiss him itself. “I want to stay with you. Forever.”

[harryslittlefreakk]

we could hide away

(late night talking part 4)

Summary: when a photo of you and harry is leaked, your relationship suffers. can you manage to mend it despite hurt and miscommunication?

Warnings: pure angsty, fluffy goodness, smut (oral, f and m receiving)

A/n: thank you as always for everyone’s support on the previous parts 😭🫶🏼 it means the world to me , especially for the very idea that inspired me to start writing again! please let me know if there’s anything you want to see from our babies, any requests etc in general. i don’t know how much i like this part, my head is sooo fuzzy but i wanted to get it out, so edits may be made in the next few days !!

part one

part two

part three

my masterlist can be found here!

The first thing you heard the next morning was the incessant buzzing of a phone. Notification after notification, call after call. You woke up groggy after passing out in Harry’s arms, still fully clothed on top of the duvet. A headache hit you instantly, a cruel reminder of your perfect night. Harry woke up as you peeled yourself out of his hold, stretching your arms above your head before padding over to the kitchen for some water. His eyes were glazed over, still half asleep as he reached over to shut his phone off.

Harry scrolled through the notifications silently, eyes wide as he clicked on screenshots and messages. You placed a glass of water on his nightstand, crawling back on the bed beside him and wrapping an arm around him from behind. He placed a strong hand over yours, fiddling with the giant S ring you were still wearing. “Fuck, I’m sorry baby, gotta take this,” he mumbled, voice raspy and dry, as he slid off the bed and strode out to the balcony, phone to his ear immediately.

You watched as he shut the door behind himself, placing his phone on the table as he paced around the small space, hands dragging through his messy hair. Your phone was tucked under your pillow, completely drained of battery since you hadn’t managed to charge it. You leaned over to plug it in, eyes still fixed on Harry. Whatever he was talking about, whoever he was talking to, it seemed heated. He was fiddling with anything he could find, jaw tensing up as he breathed in and out. “We can talk about this later,” he said, slamming the sliding door behind him as he re-entered the room. He marched immediately into the bathroom, banging and crashing as he went. You walked over to find him slumped over the sink, cold water dripping off the end of his nose and the point of his chin.

You had no idea how to act. You didn’t know whether to comfort him, stay out of his way, share his anger. Whatever this was, was it even any of your business? It was in your nature to comfort, however, so you walked over and placed a gentle hand on his back. “Hey,” you said softly, pushing his hair out of his face with your free hand. “What’s happened?” Harry turned around and gave you a small smile, pulling his phone out of his pocket to show you. You were totally blindsided, your mouth falling open. It was a couple of grainy pictures, Harry and you in the hotel hallway yesterday morning. You in just his robe and some socks, walking down the hallway with his hand pressed against your lower back. You walking into the room, your hands laced together. The photos were captioned:

exclusive: harry styles pictured with a mystery woman in london

He scrolled to the next screenshot, the same pictures, now captioned:

who is harry styles’ rumoured girlfriend? we’ve narrowed it down!

He continued scrolling, showing you at least 25 posts and news articles about the pictures. They were taken from behind, so it wasn’t even obvious it was him, let alone you. Even still, your perfect, private little bubble had burst. “Harry I- I didn’t even know someone was there, how did this happen?” you looked into his eyes as you spoke, searching for some kind of answer or clue as to how he felt. Just as his lips parted, his phone rang again. He listened to the voice on the other end for a few minutes, nibbling at the skin around his fingers. One strong hand pushed through his hair once the call ended, grabbing a thick fistful of curls as he threw his head back, eyes closed. Harry still hasn’t said a real word to you since he woke up, and seemed to be holding a lot back from whoever called him. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to say. It hurt him that people sought to invade his privacy. It angered him that your relationship was at risk of being exposed because people couldn’t resist selling stories about his life. It infuriated him that he now had to spend the day dealing with his management instead of nursing a sore head with you.

Harry strode into the living room to pull his trainers on, grabbing his trademark Pleasing tote bag from a hook next to the door. He slipped sunglasses onto his head, pushing his unbrushed curls out of his face. You lingered on the opposite side of the room, arms wrapped tight around your chest. “Harry, where are y-,” you started, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip as he interrupted you. “Need to sort this out. Y/n, I don’t want to ask but I need t’know. Was this anything at all to do with you?” He asked. You couldn’t believe he was pointing the finger at you. “Harry, no! No. I wouldn’t- I’d never,” you told him, hurt at the accusation. He nodded curtly, then disappeared out of the room, leaving you wounded and alone.

—

You’d decided to head to Joanie’s after Harry left, needing quality time with your best friend. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been around much,” you rushed into your best friends arms as she opened her front door. She pulled you inside, thrusting a pre-made cup of tea into your arms as you slumped in the corner of her ragged sofa. “I’ve been seeing someone,” you started to explain. “He’s been here in london with me, but I think that’s all over now.” You spilled as much as you could to your best friend, twisting the story slightly to keep Harry’s identity secret.

Wiping your hands against your thighs, you stood up, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from your purse. “Do you have a lighter?,” you asked Joanie, scanning the room. You’d never particularly enjoyed smoking but it was just habit for you to have a couple of ciggies when you were sad or stressed. It started when you and Joanie were much younger, newly 18 and enjoying pubs, clubs and boys far too much. Every time one of you had your heartbroken, got rejected at the club or simply drank too much, you needed to share a pack. Now 6 years down the line, it was a dirty little secret you shared, one that Joanie’s long time boyfriend and new husband didn’t even know about.

You sat on the little brick wall outside her house, talking about your plans for the show tonight. “I want to be where we were on Tuesday,” Joanie sighed dreamily, flicking the ash from the end of her cigarette. You smiled meekly in response, dreading even being in the same venue as Harry, let alone so close to him again. “Did you see he was spotted with someone?” Joanie gasped, slapping her hand down on your knee. “I wouldn’t have married Tom if I knew Harry was dating.”

“Oh yes, your marital status is the one reason he’s gone for somebody else,” you scoffed, the pair of you collapsing into each other in a fit of giggles. You were so glad you had your best friend by your side through all of this, even if you couldn’t be totally honest with her. Joanie had always been the perfect opposite to you - the smart to your silly, the rose-tint to your pessimism, the light to your dark. Or whatever way it needed to go. She always managed to oppose your views and feelings, but in a way that gave both of you exactly what you needed. She lifted you up, mellowed you out, always opposite sides of the same coin. You had even spent your teenage years trying to convince school friends that you were destined to be best friends. Joanie was born on the hottest day of that year, and you on the coldest. It took fourteen years for life to bring the two of you together, but you felt as though you’d known her from birth. She was your soulmate, and it was eating up at you that you couldn’t tell her everything about Harry.

—

On the other side of London, Harry was sprawled across an armchair stuffed far too firm to be comfortable, though he knew that was the point. His long fingers were tapping a rhythm across his thigh, his eyes glued to the empty space left by his still-missing S ring. The tan line left behind sent a twinge through Harry’s chest. He regretted questioning you as soon as he’d said it, though he really didn’t know you well enough to be sure you weren’t involved. For all he knew, this could have been your plan all along. Get friendly with Harry Styles then sell your story to make a quick buck. Truthfully, he felt as though he could trust you, wanted to trust you, but he’d been burned too many times to fully count on his instincts.

“You best start explaining this, H.” Jeff’s voice was kind but stern, a cloud of frustration hanging over his head. Harry held his hands up in surrender, telling his manager, “it’s just a girl I’ve been seeing. Didn’t realise I had t’tell you and the world about it.”

“Harry- I’m your manager, for fucks sake. If you’re out doing things that could make a good story, it’s wise to tell me first. You know we need to get on top of things before anything like this happens.” Jeff’s words were now laced with annoyance. Annoyance with Harry, with the situation, with the media. When Harry failed to say anything further, Jeff pushed again. “So? Tell me what there is to tell and I can find a way out of this for you.”

Harry explained as much as he could, leaving out the raunchier details. He started to speak about ‘kiwi girl’ (as twitter had affectionately nicknamed you), when Jeff held up a hand. “I’m gonna stop you right there, H. Do not tell me this girl is a fan.” Harry’s silence and hanging head was a dead giveaway that you were, in fact, a fan. “And I’m assuming this is the same girl you upgraded the night after?” Harry nodded this time, standing from his seat to pace the length of the room instead. Jeff’s head was in his hands, sighing as he half-yelled “rule number one is you do. not. sleep. with. fans,” slamming the tip of his pen into the table with every word.

“It’s not-“ Harry started. “Not like that, I know. It’s never like that, mate.” Jeff finished for Harry, eyes finding the back of Harry’s head. “Listen, let’s set up an opportunity for more photos with a different woman. Make out you’re having a bit of a phase. Takes the heat off, means you can keep playing with your little fuck-toy in private.”

“She’s not my little fuck-toy,” Harry growled, his irritation threatening to explode out of him. “And I’ve been fucking doing it in private. All of it. Haven’t been with her outside the hotel, not since the first night. Haven’t entered and left at the same time, done everything to keep it fucking private.”

“And no one knows it’s this girl?”

“No, mate. No one else.”

The frosted door swung open, Glenne’s high heels tip-tapping across the marble floor with every step. “Harry!”, she beamed, pulling him in for a lingering hug. “Has my lovely husband been tormenting you?” She looked Harry up and down, eyes full of love and care. He chuckled bitterly, his tired eyes following her back across the room to where she perched on the edge of Jeff’s desk. “This isn’t such a big deal, you know.”

“No, seriously!” she insisted as both men scoffed. “It’s hardly a scandal. ‘Young single man spotted with woman’. It’s not exactly the headline of the century.”

“It is when the world finds out she’s a fan. He’ll be tormented by young girls for the rest of his career now,” Jeff told his wife. “So we don’t let that part get out - not unless you’re serious about her, H. Her family and friends might know if you’re spotted together again, but by the time it has to come out, you’ll be off the market. If you’re not serious, not seeing her again, how you met never has to leave this room. Besides, you’ve been tormented by young girls for years already.”

Harry had no idea how Glenne did it. She always managed to find the best solution, easy fixes that passed right under his and Jeff’s noses. “That works for me,” he sighed, the rubber band snapping from around his chest, finally able to breathe fully and deeply. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out quickly, praying it would be from you. It was Anne.

mum: Just got to the station. Think you have a bit of a situation so will see you later !! Xx

“Mum’s here. I need to go, Jeff. Thank you, Glenne,” Harry muttered as he fled the office, holding his hands up in a prayer position. He sent you a quick text as he left, having not heard from you since he’d left you this morning. Harry was relieved to have a plan, but his heart was still heavy. He should have warned you how quickly things can get real when you’re associated with him. He was so used to fooling around with other women in the industry, women who already knew the ins and outs of life with a celebrity. If the world learned your name, your life would be changed irreversibly. He’d seen what it had done to others, how the media had shared their private details, their families details. You might have known it was a risk, but neither of you had seen this coming so quickly. You hadn’t even discussed it, it was far too soon to even think about what would happen when the bubble burst.

—

You and Joanie had ended up in almost the exact position you were for night one, just as she wanted. You were wearing your red outfit today, wishing you’d worn that on Tuesday to match with Harry. Everything came back to Tuesday. A white denim skirt hugged your hips, carefully hand-painted red hearts dotted all over the material. You’d paired it with a bright red off the shoulder top, and Joanie next to you was wearing the same but in inverted colours. You were glad to have her close by your side tonight, glad to have been able to tell her the bare minimum about your aching heart. She’d insisted on bringing a funny sign tonight, desperate to catch Harry’s attention and make you smile. ‘my bestie had her heart broken, can you cheer her up ?!’, the sign read. You would keep your fingers crossed for the rest of your life if it meant Harry didn’t see the sign, didn’t notice you at all tonight.

He seemed more muted than usual, his dances and energy toned down in comparison to his usual self. You wondered if he’d tried to contact you at all today. Your phone had barely charged before you left for Joanie’s, then died again on your way over. You hadn’t bothered to charge it up since, preferring to ignore the internet for today at least. Harry knew where you were if he wanted to see you.

Joanie’s fingernails were digging into your arm, her screams bordering on nutty as Harry pulled his guitar strap over his head, mere feet in front of you once again. His eyes had glanced over you a few times, but he hadn’t noticed you. Either because he didn’t want to, or his mind was elsewhere. “Don’t tell me he’s going to-“, Joanie started, screaming again as the opening chords to ‘boyfriends’ echoed through the stadium. You couldn’t help the tears that immediately welled in your eyes, threatening to spill down your blushed cheeks. You hadn’t even thought about crying all day, hadn’t felt as though you needed to and now it was all pushing to the surface.

Boyfriends

Are they just pretending?

Joanie wrapped an arm around your waist, using her thumb to wipe a tear from your eye. You rested your head against her shoulder, giving a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You weren’t even sure what made you so upset, but your heart couldn’t stop aching now that you thought about what had happened that morning- then it hit you. Harry hadn’t even asked you how you felt this morning, thought for a second how these pictures could affect you. After how attentive he’d been for days, it felt like a slap in the face. Had he been pretending? Did he only want you in his bed, only care when it was your secret?

They don't tell you where it's heading

You kept your eyes fixed on Harry, his dark pupils scanning the crowd in front of him through heavy eyelids. They lingered on you for only half a second, not long enough for anyone to notice but long enough for you to watch his breath catch in his throat. His eyes clouded over, blinking rapidly as he cleared his throat and looked away from you.

And you know the game's never ending

He stepped back from the microphone, signalling to the crowd to sing for him as he turned his back, the gut-wrenching glisten of tears in his eyes visible for a split second.

He whispered something to Sarah as the song finished and stepped closer to the microphone, his rich voice suddenly crooning, “baby, you were the love of my life”. Harry’s eyes looked anywhere except for you, hurt and shame written all over his face. He knew he’d acted like a dick today, from the way he handled the situation with you, to the way he spoke to Jeff, to the way he made almost no time for his darling mum and sister before the show. He needed to make it all alright, most of all with you. He silently prayed that you’d know these songs were for you, feel what he was trying to convey.

He moved over to the opposite side of the stage, turning to point at Jonny’s place when he mentioned it. Yours and Joanie’s faces flashed up on the screen, Joanie waving her sign around like a mad woman while you wiped your teary eyes. You laughed at the sight of the two of you, you made an insane pair. Harry was watching the screen as he sang, desperate to let his eyes linger on you without actually doing just that. He blew a kiss to your general area as the band played out, girls around you screaming. He walked past you on his way back to the main stage, watching you subtly catch his kiss with the hand still trying to dry your eyes. That soothed him a little, lifted his mood just enough to get through the remainder of the show.

—

Harry explained everything to Anne and Gemma after the show, head in his hands as they sighed and groaned at his story. “Harry Edward, you’re a very bad man sometimes,” Anne gasped, swatting at his knee. “You got this poor girl obsessed with you, then you ditch her at the first sign of trouble?”

“Oi, I didn’t ditch her!,” he said, his vibe not too far from that of a petulant teenager’s. “I needed to deal with the business side, needed t’sort out Jeff.”

Gemma placed a hand on Harry’s forearm, “have you spoken to her? Explained it all? Y/n is probably going out of her mind right now, H.”

“I think her phones off, we haven’t spoken all day,” Harry sighed. He didn’t have the words to explain to himself, or his family, why this felt like a much bigger problem than it was. Why his heart was so much heavier than it should have been for someone he’d only known for 4 days. “It’s getting late now, go and get some rest darling. See if you can reach her tonight, you’ve got us all day tomorrow.” Anne rose from her seat, tugging on Harry’s wrists to get him moving. She pulled him in for a cuddle when he stood, knowing a mother’s hug can make the biggest problems seem smaller. He held her tight, taking a deep sniff of her floral, earthy scent. She smelled like home. It always seemed to calm him down.

“You did amazing tonight, my special baby boy. Love you so much, we can’t wait to get some proper time with you tomorrow,” Anne said, a radiant grin spreading across her face. She never wanted to see him torn up about anything, hated watching him fall in and out of love every so often, healing the hurt and heartbreak he wore so well. But having her little boy in her arms was more than enough to warm her heart.

—

Harry knocked on your door, feeling sheepish. He was usually far too stubborn to trail back with his tail between his legs so soon, but this was different. You hadn’t done him wrong, hadn’t bought him anything other than joy. You were the innocent pawn in someone else’s game, a game that he hadn’t realised could, and had, hurt you both. He let the gift bag he held fall to his side when you didn’t answer, his clenched wrist going limp.

He knocked again after a few minutes, and again a few minutes after that. He couldn’t hear anything inside, but that didn’t mean you weren’t in there. He turned on his heel, deciding to head back upstairs, hoping he’d at least get a text from you before he slept. Then he saw you, trudging towards the door, eyes fixed on your phone screen. Your hair was hanging down your back in a messy braid, the t-shirt Harry had loaned to you on Monday night engulfing your slender frame. You looked up as you got nearer, brown eyes locking onto his. Stopping in your tracks, you felt the wings of a thousand butterflies knocking against the inner walls of your belly, heart beating like a ticking time bomb. The hallway was silent, the weight of a thousand things you wanted to say to each other but couldn’t find the words to say hanging over your heads. “Hey,” you smiled, reaching for your keycard. “I just went to get some food, is everything okay?”

Harry let out a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding, stepping forward to wrap you up in his arms. Your bodies melted into each other, your hands splayed against Harry’s back, cradling him so tight you thought you might never let go. “Everything’s okay,” he mumbled, pink lips spreading into a warm smile. Holding onto each other, just being close, was enough to make it right.

You let the two of you inside, unpacking your food onto the countertop as Harry lingered behind you. “I got sushi, there’s enough for two if you want to stay,” you offered.

You both sat on the bed to eat, giggles cutting through a peaceful silence as you watched reruns of the Office. Harry’s fingers found yours after a while, his thumb tracing shapes on the back of your hand. “I got you something,” he told you, standing up to grab the gift bag from where he’d left it.

Your eyes were wide with curiosity as you untied the white ribbon, pulling a handwritten note from a tiny envelope.

‘heard you got your heart broken. thought this could cheer you up’.

You shook your head as you read it, a deep blush creeping up your cheeks. “I told her not to take that sign,” you laughed. “I tried to tell her a bit this morning but it’s a little hard to explain.” Harry grinned, “it was sweet. Though I bet she’ll be mortified if she knows she told me I broke your heart.”

A dark green velvet jewellery box sat in the bottom of the bag, slimline and dainty. You looked up at Harry, as if unsure this was for you. “Open it,” he smiled, words coming out small. Inside was the most beautiful necklace you’d ever seen. A tiny chain, the perfect shade of gold to complement your other jewellery. At the bottom of the chain sat a tiny H, studded with imitation diamonds. You bought the box closer to your face, fingers tracing delicately over the elegant design. “H,” you whispered, totally taken aback by the gift. “For Harry,” he smirked. “Do you like it?”

You were stunned, your mouth trying and failing to form words. All you could do was keep tracing over the pendant, eyes glancing between the necklace and the man sitting in front of you. “I love it, Harry. I really do,” you eventually managed, grateful tears filling up your eyes. You set the box down beside you, closing the distance between you and Harry. He held a warm hand to your cheek, pressing a gentle kiss to the end of your nose. “Turn around, let me help you put it on.”

He secured the chain around your neck, peppering soft kisses across your back. “It’s beautiful Harry, really. I can’t thank you enough,” you sighed, fiddling with the H as you spoke. You leaned back against his chest, turning your head slightly to nuzzle against the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry baby, I really am,” he spoke. “Didn’t mean t’rush out on you in such a hurry.”

“Harry, it’s f-“, you interrupted, wanting to put the whole day behind you now that you had him back. “It’s not fine. Didn’t like you seeing me so pissed off, I wanted to get away and sort it all out. But I hurt you.” He was speaking softer now, his voice gentle. “You didn’t Harry, I was confused that’s all. I didn’t know what any of this meant, for you or for us.”

“And I should’ve spoken to you, got on the same page so we could handle it together.” You pulled away from him as he spoke, turning your body around to face him again. You could see the shame etched into every line on his face, the way he’d beaten himself up all day showing in his eyes. You rested your hand on the side of his neck, thumb stroking the sharp edge of his jawline. “You got it sorted though?” you asked. “All sorted, princess. Had to tell everyone everything though. Even told my mum,” he smiled meekly. “Yeah? Told her how pretty and perfect I am?” you grinned, fluttering your eyelashes. “Told her you’re the prettiest girl in the world. After her of course.”

He really did think you were the prettiest girl in the world. Especially now, in his t-shirt, wearing his initial around your neck. Your hair was messy, your skin fresh. The evening light seeping in from the window was illuminating you from behind, giving you an angelic glow.

“Have you showered?” you asked him. “Yeah. But I’ll have another one if it means more time with you,” he grinned, already yanking his hoodie over his head.

—

You were taking turns under the water, laughing and joking as you manoeuvred around each other in the small space. “Give me a kiss,” Harry smiled. “Since when have you asked for kisses?” you laughed, poking at his chest. “Don’t know if I deserve one today.”

“Lucky for you, I can’t deny you any,” you said as you leaned towards him. He held onto the back of your head as his lips met yours. His lips were as warm and as soft as they’d ever been, the tickle of his hot breath sending sparks down your spine. Your tongue darted out of your parted lips, licking a trail across his bottom teeth before slipping into his mouth. Harry moved his mouth to your throat, suckling on your wet skin. “Gonna mark you up, show everyone you’re mine,” he whispered. He ran his tongue over the bruise he left behind, before continuing to kiss down your body, pausing to nibble on your perky nipple. He licked a circle around your belly button as your hands found his wet hair, shifting your body to lean against the tiled wall.

“Open up for me,” he asked, nose nudging into the space where your thighs met. He rested back on his heels, admiring your pussy. “So perfect, my sweet girl,” he drawled, fingers tracing up the inside of your thigh. His warm face was so close to right where you needed him, mouth so close that his tongue could reach out and have a taste. His mouth was watering at the sight of your arousal wetting your folds. He couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to taste you, wet his face with your juices, have you screaming as you came on his tongue.

You were whimpering as soon as Harry’s lips made contact with your pussy, his tongue lapping into your folds. He was eating you like he’d been starving, like your pussy was the first and only thing he’d ever be allowed to enjoy. His nose grazed over your clit as he licked at your entrance, sending your hips bucking into his mouth as the bundle of nerves lit on fire. He chuckled at your body’s reaction, murmuring a slurred, “need daddy to give you more?” You tugged on his curls in response, breathless and unable to speak. He moved immediately to focus on your clit, his lips wrapping around your button as he sucked and popped. He moaned against you, the vibrations shooting pleasure deep into your core.

You’d never found much pleasure from someone’s mouth, yet Harry’s was taking you to places you’d never been before. Your back was arched off the wall, fingertips buried so deep in his hair you could pierce his scalp. Your eyes were grainy, the hot steam from the shower swirling around your head. You felt like you were in a trance, moans and incoherent words slipping out of your mouth uncontrollably.

Harry gripped onto the back of your thigh, steadying himself as he pulled his mouth closer into your entrance. His tongue was licking deeper into you, one finger rubbing circles around your clit. “Harry,” you whimpered, feeling your legs begin to buckle beneath you. Your orgasm rolled over you in waves, your body so limp yet so tense under his touch. His tongue kept fucking into you, his hard cock twitching between his legs as you screamed out a strangled moan. You pulled one hand out of his curls, gripping onto the shower caddy to keep yourself from collapsing. Your head was spinning, stars all you could see as Harry rode you through your high. Between the water dripping from his hair, and your juices drenching his face, Harry thought he could drown. He’d die happily here, nestled between your legs, lips attached to your perfect pussy for eternity.

He pulled away after a moment, pressing a kiss to your sensitive clit before standing, pulling your weak body into his arms. “Always do so good for me, baby girl,” he cooed, pushing the wet strands of hair off of your forehead. He could get drunk off the way you looked post-orgasm, your cheeks flushed and pupils blown. The way your mouth never fully closed and your breasts jumped as your chest heaved. Harry got a kick out of knowing he did that to you, he bought you that pleasure.

His cock bumped against your hips as he helped you out the shower, your hands all over each other as you pushed him towards the granite countertop. “What’s bought this on?” Harry smirked, not used to seeing you take such an active role. It had been established pretty early on that Harry was a giver, all he wanted was to pleasure you, and you had no problems being a taker. But his cock had been calling out to you for days, begging you for a taste. “Where you going?” he asked you, head tilting to the side as your hands slithered down his body, your knees hitting the tiled floor. You stayed silent, pressing kisses up the inside of his thigh. You bit down into the fleshy part near the top, quickly licking over the teeth marks. Harry shuddered as you nipped at his skin, repeating the move up and down both his thighs. You suckled at the skin next to his base, leaving your mark. A perfect little purple bruise, a matching tattoo.

You looked up at him as he reached down to swipe his thumb over your bottom lip, his butterfly tattoo seemingly flapping its wings as he breathed in and out. “Gonna stuff daddy’s cock into that pretty little mouth?” he rasped, his thighs tensing as you hacked spit into your palms. You stroked his member up and down, up and down, again and again as you pressed swollen-mouthed kisses to his thick tip. Holding a hand at his base, you licked a line down the underside of his shaft, then took his tip in your mouth hungrily. He was far bigger than you’d ever had, and you were unsure of how well your usual tricks would work on someone his size.

He whimpered as you took him further in your mouth, your warm cheeks tightening against his length as you sucked. Your hand moved up and down the inches of him you couldn’t manage to take, swirling your heated tongue around his head as you pulled him further out. “Knew you could be a good little slut for daddy,” he drawled, gathering your dripping hair and using it to guide your head up and down his cock. He kept his free hand steadied on the countertop, mouth dropping open as you popped off of his head and moved your mouth to his balls. Harry threw his head back as you suckled at his sack, rolling your tongue against the soft, sensitive skin. Your hand continued tugging against his length as you worked, your nose bumping the underside of his foreskin. “Fuck baby, give me more, please,” he groaned, wrapping your long hair around his fist. You switched your hand and your mouth, fondling his balls while you stuffed his cock back into your mouth. You looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as you took his member further than you had before, reaching as far as you could before gagging against his head. His hand tugged at your hair somewhat involuntarily as your throat closed around him, a choked moan squeezing out against his tip. Your eyes were red, tears brewing above your lower lashes. “Taste so fucking good daddy,” you told him, mouth moving up and down faster now, humming in appreciation as his cock twitched in your throat.

Harry had never seen you look so sexy, not when you took his cock so well, not when you were coming on his tongue. Like this, stark naked on the bathroom floor, his cock lodged between your perfect swollen pout, this is what he wanted to remember. Have the image etched in his brain forever, see you like this every time he closed his eyes. His balls felt heavy in your hand, loaded with the cum he couldn’t wait to shoot down your pretty little throat. “Fuck, princess. I’m gonn- gonna come if you keep doing that,” he warned, his voice deep with lust. You moaned against him, keeping your lips wrapped tightly around his girthy member, your perfect H pendant swinging against your chest as you bobbed back and forth. You splayed your free hand against his thigh as it started to shake, looking up his body to see his abs tensing, his pecs twitching as you bought him close to climax. “Come for me daddy,” you whined against him, words muffled by his cock taking over your throat. He pulled his head down to his chest, eyes screwed tight and jaw slack as he came violently, thick cum splashing against the back of your throat. You swallowed around his head, ribbons of cum flooding your cheeks. You moved the hand cradling his sack to stroke his length, riding him through his orgasm. His hips jutted towards you, your hair wound tightly around his clenched fist.

His grip eased up as he came down from his high, darkened eyes opening to look down at you as you removed your mouth from him completely. You had his juices dripping out of your mouth, eyes threatening to spill over as you wiped them with the back of your hand. “Never seen anything so pretty in my whole life,” Harry smiled, rubbing the curve of your neck.

You dried yourselves off, fluffy towels soothing your aching, exhausted bodies. Crawling into bed still naked, you and Harry faced each other, whispering sweet nothings as you kissed over each others faces. He fell asleep before you, one arm draped across your chest, hand still cupping your jaw. Your phone lit up with a text from Joanie,

J: everything ok? you happy?

You snapped a selfie, Harry’s strong hand barely visible in the pitch black room. You sent it to her, captioned simply, the happiest

part five

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[floofyroro]

Unbelievable

Pairing: Crosshair/f!Reader

Words: 1538 (oneshot)

Tags/warnings: NSFW, 18+ interact only, newly established relationship, morning sex, vaginal fingering, grinding, slight nipple play, Crosshair creams himself but that's because we love a good simp, soft aftercare, fluff, bliss on Pabu

Summary: Crosshair wakes up next to you expecting a lazy morning. You have other plans in mind, much to his delight.

A/N: Surprise! Although I'm still on a social media break, I decided to post this while I have the motivation. I've never posted anything NSFW before so I would love feedback. This one is short and sweet. Let me know what worked or didn't work. Reblogs & comments are much appreciated.

Read on AO3.

The feeling of warm, supple skin pressed against his chest makes him stir with confusion. 

It takes his eyes a moment to focus, so he rubs at them languidly, relishing in the way his muscles stretch and wake with each slow movement. Now bleary-eyed, he blinks down at the blanketed form who’s seemingly glued to his front, acting as an inadvertent space heater. 

Despite the morning fog slowing down his brain, Crosshair is delighted to realize that you’re a cuddler. Even while conscious, you seemed to gravitate towards him, always reaching out to hold his hand, or wrap an arm around his torso, or even perhaps comb your fingers through his short hair. He’ll never tire of this newfound desire to be touched constantly by you. 

It’s what makes him close his eyes again, forcing his vision away just so that he can focus precisely on how you fit perfectly against him. 

You’re both on your sides facing each other, the crown of your head in the crook of his neck. An arm is draped around his torso and your legs are tangled with his. 

Maker, you’re adorable. He thinks he could get used to this. Waking up each morning with you, sharing your warmth, feeling safe and protected. 

When he kisses a soft kiss atop your messy head of hair, it’s what causes you to stir. A soft, almost inaudible hum bubbles from your throat and that’s when Crosshair feels it; he’s harder than a crash landing on Kamino. 

It presses against your stomach. Your skin gives when he tries to angle himself away from you but then you’re adjusting yourself back to him, pressing against his erection. 

This feels… too good. 

The desire simmering in his navel is what puts him on high alert. He stays still, trying to figure out how to cool down without waking you up. Maybe he could try to peel himself away from you by—

You stir again. This time, turning away from him (thank the Maker) but only to roll over onto your other side. And then, most devastating of all, you push your ass back.

Onto his erection.

A low, soft moan hits his throat.

You have to be awake. You can’t be doing this unknowingly. 

He tests this hypothesis by reaching an arm over your chest and resting a palm atop one of your breasts. Another ribbon of desire shifts low in Crosshair’s belly at the sensation of your nipple pebbling beneath the calluses of his palm.

You sigh, as if content. 

He… isn’t sure what to do next. Maybe you are still asleep. Maybe half-asleep at best. 

“Morning,” you murmur softly, your voice barely audible.

He presses against you in greeting, relieved. “Good morning,” he says, his breath hitting the shell of your ear. “How’d you sleep?”

“Blissfully,” you reply. “You?”

“Probably the best sleep I’ve had in ages.”

You hum again and arch your back slightly, the sensation going straight to his cock. “I wonder why.”

Yeah, you definitely know what you’re doing. 

The palm on your breast begins to lightly squeeze, massaging in a slow, languid circle. He loves the way your flesh gives under the pads of his fingers, and when he brings his thumb and forefinger to pinch gently the nipple, your moan makes him throb.

He props himself up on an elbow then, careful to keep the contact between your lower bodies, and he leans in to press a kiss at your temple. 

His lips leave a trail of want down to your jaw, and that’s when he feels you tremble. He experiments, rolling once against your backside which earns him another appreciative noise from your pretty lips. 

Another roll of his hips, all while coating your neck in hot-mouthed kisses. At the juncture of your neck and shoulder, he nips once with his teeth and you shudder, your breath hitching up an octave.

“Cross…”

“Hm?” He wastes no breath; heat spreads across his chest, lust pooling in his core as his hands continue their ministrations across your breasts, enjoying how your breath hitches with each slow pinch.

“In me,” you moan. “Need you in me.”

Fuck. He’s a goner.

He’s remiss to leave your chest, but his hand begins its journey across your stomach, smoothing over your skin with ease and anticipation, until he reaches the thatch of curls below your navel and finds your heat. 

One finger glides past your clit, splitting and sinking down into your soaked folds in one fluid movement that has you releasing a string of pretty curses in your mother tongue. 

It’s a sweet noise, the whimpers that pair so well with the wet, back and forth motion of his finger inside you. With how aroused you are, he decides it’s time to slip in another digit, and you clench around him with renewed vigor, welcoming the stretch. 

As he begins to plunge into you, his hips resume their undulations, and he silently thanks the Maker for your incredible ass. Your cheeks part easily for him as he seeks out his satisfaction, uncaring of how dry his cock is against your skin. The roughness adds to his haze of pleasure, especially when you meet him with each thrust. 

Eventually, when your moans rise in pitch, he decides to crook his fingers just so and thumbs over your clit. It proves to only add to the frequency of your whimpering, the sound going straight to his cock as he tries his best to circle around your swollen nub.

He rubs and presses gently, alternating in pattern. When his name comes out like a strangled gasp and your walls clench around him like a vice, it’s too much for him. His hips falter once before he continues to grind, again and again until the tension snaps and he’s painting your back with thick ropes of pearl-white spend, letting out a ragged gasp as his climax overtakes him.

The strokes of pleasure coursing through his body leave his mind whirling, with the more complex concepts like time becoming irrelevant. He lays limply against you, slowing his shallow breaths by syncing with your own, his chest brushing against your upper back. 

It takes more effort than he cares to admit to lift his head and press soft, lazy kisses atop your head. Your eyes flutter closed as he peppers you with these small doses of affection, a small smile sprawling across your mouth.

“You are unbelievable,” you murmur.

He huffs, a smirk breaking across his features. “You love me.” 

“Yes,” you admit. 

It still doesn’t feel real. Those words shouldn’t be directed towards him but in this moment, with the evidence of his spend between your perspiring bodies, he doesn’t grant his anxieties the berth they usually occupy. 

Instead, he forces himself to peel away from you and begin the arduous journey to the refresher. The floor is stark against the pads of his feet, the cold sensation gradually bringing him down from the high he experienced only moments ago. 

He returns with a damp cloth and lays his hand onto you hip as if to ask for permission. When your head tilts, he gently prods your legs open once more to begin wiping away any remaining residue. 

You’re both quiet as he cleans, and he takes his time, watching as your skin shifts and gives with the soft amount of pressure he applies. Eventually, his free hand trails back and forth on small areas of your body, massaging in absent circles as he works. 

He reaches behind you and has to be a bit more forceful with scrubbing away the opaque remnants of himself that dripped down the side of your back and onto the bed sheets.

“I’ll change the sheets,” he says, breaking the silence as he presses the soiled rag against the linens. A hand reaches to stroke the side of his torso and he doesn’t hold back the shiver that snakes up his spine. 

“S’okay,” you say. 

He shakes his head, staring a second longer at the slightly reddened skin on your back. He didn't think he scrubbed too hard. But the rag itself is rather coarse. Guilt pangs in his chest at the sight and he vows to find a softer alternative for you in the future.

Crosshair pulls back and bends down, lowering himself to a kneel at the side of your bed so that he’s at eye level.

“How do you feel?”

Your lips curl at the corners of your mouth. You bring a hand to caress his cheek. 

“Loved.”

It stops his breath. Yes, he thinks. You have no idea.

“You are,” he breathes, slowly leaning in to capture your lips with his own.

Your sweet taste is always incomparable to anything else he has experienced before. He has to tamp down the newfound rise of flutters in his stomach; only you can provoke such a response from him, causing him to wonder about just how much stamina he really has. Chances are that you probably wouldn’t want—

“C’mere,” you beckon, wrapping your arms around his neck, tugging him to rise from his knees.

As you wish, he thinks. 

He decides he’ll soon find out. There’s no rush this morning anyway.

Masterlist

Unbelievable - Tori Kelly feat. Ayra Starr

[jellybonbons]

Roommate Antics: Need a bra?

Pairings: Leon Kennedy x reader, Chris Redfield x reader (platonic), Rebecca Chambers x reader (platonic)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 words: 1.1k 🎥 main story 🍿 series masterlist

AN: proofread by rose <33

Audiences: @roseglazedlens @laceycoffins @emilykolchivans @naomisaki @burgandylover @getosbeloved @angelstargel @delulusimps

You shuffled wearily through the corridor, your fluffy slippers softly padding against the wooden floor, still half asleep. The closer you drew to the kitchen, the more enticed you were by the aroma of sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs, mingling with the sound of the bubbling water from the electric kettle. Entering the kitchen, you found Rebecca bustling about, expertly preparing breakfast for herself.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she greeted with a warm smile, her eyes bright with morning energy.

“God,” you squinted your eyes at the radiant aura she was emitting. “Morning,” you replied with a yawn.

As you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, Rebecca glanced over with a playful grin. "Rough night?"

You nodded, reaching for a mug to pour the hot water. “Yeah, spent the night reading the novel you recommended. I couldn’t put it down.” Then you added cold water to the mug, balancing out the hot-to-warm ratio. You took a sip, the warm liquid easing you into wakefulness as you watched her expertly flip the bacon in the pan.

“It’s good, right?!” she said excitedly, her eyes lighting up.

"Seriously, I stayed up way too late," you replied, setting the mug down. "But it was worth it. The plot twists are insane!"

Rebecca beamed, flipping the last slice of bacon. "I told you! Just wait until you get to the ending. It's mind-blowing."

“And what are you doing up so early? I thought weekends were your sleep-in days,” Rebecca chuckled.

“Forgot to turn off my morning alarm,” you said, taking another sip of your drink. “Woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. I might nap later to make up for it.” 

Rebecca laughed softly. “Sounds like a plan. Want some breakfast? I made plenty.”

You nodded, grateful for the offer. “Sure, thanks Rebs. Breakfast smells amazing.” 

After thanking Rebecca, you joined her in placing the plate of bacon and scrambled eggs on the dining table, the delicious aroma wafting through the air. Sitting down together, Rebecca poured herself a cup of coffee while you went back to the kitchen to fetch some toast to accompany the meal. As you buttered the toast, you couldn't help but notice the quietness of the apartment, prompting you to ask about Leon and Chris.

"Hey, where are Leon and Chris?" you inquired, curious about the whereabouts of your other roommates.

Rebecca glanced up from her plate, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “Oh, they’re out for their morning run,” she replied casually. “They’ve been doing that every weekend lately. I think they're trying to get in shape or something.”

“Typical,” you chuckled, shaking your head slightly as you returned to the table with your toast. The apartment felt unusually serene without their usual banter or the sound of Chris's laughter echoing through the walls.

“At least more bacon for us,” Rebecca said with a mischievous grin as she took a satisfying bite of her crispy bacon.

You nodded in agreement with a smile, but then the jingling of keys interrupted the quiet.

"Speaking of the devil, looks like they’re back from their run," Rebecca groaned loudly, her playful annoyance evident in her voice.

As if summoned by Rebecca's groan, the front door swung open, and in walked Leon and Chris, both flushed and sweaty from their morning exercise. Leon's usual stoic expression softened into a smile when he saw you two at the table— especially you, with your bags under your eyes and hair slightly dishevelled.

"Morning, slackers!" Chris greeted cheerfully, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and taking a long swig after taking his sneakers off.

"Morning," Leon replied with a nod, a faint smile quirking his lips as he peeled off his sneakers.

As Leon and Chris settled in, you couldn't help but admire their athletic bodies, a result of their consistent morning runs and gym sessions. Your gaze lingered on Leon, noting the way his sweat-dampened shirt clung to his defined chest, accentuating every muscle with each movement. 

Then, as you observed the contrast between their well-built torsos and your own, a thought crossed your mind. "Y'all need a bra?" you quipped, breaking the comfortable silence and drawing laughter from Rebecca. 

Chris, in mock horror, quickly covered his chest and gasped dramatically. "Pervert!" he exclaimed, feigning offence. "I worked hard for these pecs, okay?"

Rebecca smirked at Chris's antics, shaking her head playfully. “Please, you love the attention," she scoffed, reaching for another slice of bacon. “Cause you’re an attention whore.”

Amidst the laughter, you noticed Leon’s cheeks taking on a faint hue of pink, his stoic demeanour momentarily faltering under your teasing remarks. His reaction only added to the amusement, prompting a grin to spread across your face as you exchanged playful glances with Rebecca and Chris.

Chris feigned hurt, clutching his chest dramatically. "Me? An attention whore?" He shot a mischievous glance at Leon. "Unlike some people who get flustered over a simple compliment," he added with a grin.

Leon rolled his eyes, though his cheeks were still faintly tinged with colour. "I'm not flustered," he insisted, his tone mockingly defensive. "I just don't appreciate being objectified first thing in the morning."

Rebecca laughed, reaching for another piece of bacon. "Aw, Leon, it's all in good fun! Plus, I think you secretly love it," she teased, winking at him.

Leon sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. "Yeah, yeah. Just wait until I start commenting on your outfits every morning."

"Okay fair," you replied with a smirk. "As long as you admit that deep down, you love the attention just as much as Chris does."

Chris grinned, nudging Leon. "See, even they know it. Just embrace it, man."

Leon chuckled, finally relenting. "Fine, fine. But next time, at least buy me dinner first."

You raised an eyebrow, smirking playfully. "Is that an invitation? Because I know a great place downtown," you teased, leaning in slightly.

Leon’s eyes widened for a moment before he caught on to your playful tone. His cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, but he quickly recovered, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well, if you're offering, how can I refuse?"

Chris, shaking his head and looking between the two of you. "Seriously, man? Right in front of my bacon?" he said, feigning exasperation.

Leon laughed, finally relaxing. "Hey, bacon and dates can coexist," he quipped, reaching over to grab a piece from the plate.

Rebecca chuckled, handing Chris another slice of bacon. "Here, maybe this will help you cope with the trauma."

Chris accepted it with a mock sigh of relief. "Thanks, I need all the help I can get with these two flirting right before me."

You rolled your eyes playfully, taking another bite of your toast. "C’mon, Chris. You know you love the entertainment."

Chris chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't forget to invite me to the wedding."

“Chris!”

“Shut up!”

[astralnymphh]

╒═✰❝how the shadow shrouds❞

⋆' a smut teaser

⋆' . subtop/loser!ellie x dom!reader

⋆' content; drabble, blurbs, mature themes, smut, loser ellie, reader has a borderline dominatrix moment(at least in the actual fic), degrading (g), subtop ellie, painslut ellie, hair grabbing (g), voyeurism (e. aware + consenting), edging (g), slight dacryphilia, begging kink

⋆' a/n; this is merely a teaser piece for volume 2 of my tps series, so expect this to be short and not fully detailed. I just couldn't go without writing a teaser specifically for this chapter cuz it's such a hot idea.. this will be much more erotic in the actual fic.

"u're such a fucking loser, ellie williams."

those words wormed parching on her ear, the tepid cider staining your lips carrying a warm scent into her nose that made everything so woozy in her senses.

her ears parched because now, her boxers were sappy with arousal. pretty pussy pulsing on the couches' padding by your signal.

"am i?"

her reply duels you. pomegranate cheeks dulcified in brown sugar spots, hot to the touch, grazing against your own, limpid of any redness. you found esteem in the newfound control your voice held. ellie's pupils read like a palpable message, 'i want you, that bad.'

that bad. that bad being the way you gathered the short burnished hair of her scalp between your folded knuckles, tossing her down to a kneeling position with one gripe tug, her chin pressing the plush of your belly pouch. glossy pup eyes praying for that fierce grip you bear.

ellie us limited to the floor, and your looming shadow shrouds her.

yet, you would only give her half of what she longs for.

a stammer of her whispers stick a film of hot breath over your womb, "please– please, let me fuck you.." her slobbering lips shine, snailing strings of spit that tether to her tongue.

"what did just I say? hands in ur' fuckin' pants."

her mild adams apple bobs with a hitched swallow, hesitant tears brinking the shoreline of her bottom eyelids.

"yes ma'am," muttered ellie breathily, plopping her head down to observe her large hand undoing her pants.

"ey-" you wrap and pull her jaw up, forcing her to gaze up, sternly adding, "fucking look at me." your fingers dimple her skin and drag with reddening ripples.

now, her flexing hands halfway submerged in her unzipped jeans, rubbing discoid motions under her cotton boxers. the slick pools over her fingers, causing raw wet sounds to slosh from beneath the fabric of her boxers.

you could barely hear that shit, though.

the fingers tangled in the thicket of her rusty locks thrust her head back, stretching that elegant neck of hers even more. a choked 'guh.' bubbles from her chords.

"i wanna hear how wet y'are, show me." your cold request capers your throat and wisps out like a gravelly snarl.

the suffuse of blush clots her facial features, skin fermenting with a heat. like wildfire, her arousal spreads infinitely, spilling a heap of moisture to prune up her fingers more than they already were.

a gruff gulp is heard, "uhuhh~" and her other hand peels the waistband of her boxers forward, sounds of smacking wet folds carrying into your ears so deliciously. fuck.

"love it when' y'uh watch me.. mhhgmm, fuck baby, fuhhckk." moaned ellie, verde rings rolling halfway behind her dreary fucked–out lids, red puppy eyes.

the ravine between your upright stance and her pitiful kneeling one immerse your eyes in a beautiful perspective. balled paw messily stroking her achey, strained clit brings a bang of toe–curling pleasure to lash over her cunt, rising up her body.

she wasn't going to cum. not on your watch.

"stop."

her heavy eyes puff and shut, scrunching her brows, gently swaying her whole body up on her knees with each long rub to her clit. she doesn't listen to you. she keeps going. mumbling incoherent 'fucks' like an invocation over her purrs. what a greedy fucking loser.

"said' stop, d'ya hear me?"

the mitt in her hair heaves her crown up harshly, shoving her face plumb to your exposed navel, meek hands grip your thighs.

the tugged tenderness elicited in her scalp excited her further, confessedly – lewdly.

"can't come till i tell you to, kay?" your fingers wane from her scalp, caressing a beeline down her face 'till your index and middle nudge her lips, slipping the tips in, "suck, 'n finger yourself."

"baby, i chn't –" her whine pitches up, spitting your fingers out, "please put ur' hands on me – shhit, fuck!"

hard rubber tip of your boot found itself hiked up against her entrance clad in the jeans inseam, rolling your ankle in circular oscillation.

her entire body rattles, trembling at the mercy of your foot. eyes drowned out. mouth slack agape. soaking slit swallowing up the boxer fabric your foot pushed up. back arching convexly, plowing her rapacious clit on the bulbous edge.

"y-yess.. yesyesyes–" chanted ellie, fucking lost from consciousness.

unluckily, you chuck your foot away.

"no- nono, mhhn– i need'ju.." her mouth latches forward and hungrily nips at your thigh, frustrated at the loss of pleasure with salty tears dripping off her jaw, "I'll make you feel good– please.. nghh-"

so fucking hot.

you chuckle, "see? a pretty fucking loser, poor baby."

ellie just nonscensically rambles, ignoring you, "could fuck you s'good – scchlp," she sucks drool from her spluttered lip, "fuck eachother.."

this girl is antsy as fuck.

♡

that's all y'all get for now 🤣 wait for the rest!!

[beanmachine69]

Backseat | Carlos Sainz x Reader.

Content Warning: SMUT!!! PURE SMUT, MINORS DNI!!

(blurb, because i couldn't control myself)

-

"Oh, you're taking it soo well." He cooed, fingers still pumping in and out at a relentless pace. Your wet sounds filling the confined space you were in.

It was hot, it was so hot you could feel his sweat mix with yours as it dripped onto you. You could feel the sweat between you and the leather seat. You didn't really care, the pleasure being too distracting for you to even attempt to care.

You could feel it again, the desire climbing higher in you, the need bubbling in your stomach. Your legs were going to give in soon, you knew it, his fingers felt too good, pumping in and our and in and out and in and out and in and out- till he abruptly stopped, earning a whine from you as your back involuntarily arched up.

"Enjoying this a bit too much, hm?"

He brought his fingers to your mouth, hooded brown eyes locking contact with yours. He did this so often, it was practically second nature to him, almost odd when he didn't do it. But he was earlier this time, he didn't let you finish before he made you taste yourself.

The heat and darkness of the car, the proximity at which you two were at, the heavy breathing, the sweat, the pants, the abrupt pause of pleasure was all too much. You took his fingers in, moaning as he thrust them in your mouth like he would thrust his dick.

"Carlos, please." You begged, his fingers still in your mouth when you'd finish sucking them.

A smirk was his reply, his lips crashing on to yours, replacing his fingers. His hands grabbed on to your waist as he deepened the kiss, letting his tongue invade your mouth. He needed to taste you in your own mouth.

Your hips thrusted upwards, needing some contact. Despite being crammed with him in the backseat, you still felt like you needed more of him, every inch of him practically. You could feel his hands move from your hips, thrusting on to your upward jutting hips with his own, practically dry humping you.

You could feel it, what you wanted so desperately, you could feel it through his jeans, each aggressive thrust making him hiss a little at the contact. His hands were on your thighs now, peeling them open as he let his right hand find it's way back in you, making you moan even louder.

His lips crashed back into yours, tugging at your lower lip when he pulled away. He let out a few shushing noises, reminding you that you both were fucking in the back of a car in a slightly busy parking lot.

His ring and middle finger returned to the original pumping pace, while you felt the pad of his thumb press circles on your clit.

You couldn't contain the moans you were letting out, they sounded practically pornographic. His face was so close to yours, you could see, in the dim light of the car, how his eyes sparkled as you moaned his name.

"Good girl, just like that." He whispered, not attempting to muffle your moans with his own mouth anymore. He liked hearing how good he made you feel. The car was tinted and wasn't his signature car, so why care if anyone from outside heard what was happening, not like they'd care. Plus, he was too engulfed in making you feel good, he had lost sight of rationality. Your moans deafening him to any sense or logic.

It was building up again, that familiar feeling, bubbling in your gut. He leaned lower to kiss your sweaty neck, sucking and nibbling on it as you came closer and closer to your high. He nudged your head with his own so he could gain access to the spot between your ear and jaw, clamped his mouth on it, and began sucking.

It didn't take much long after that till you felt your high wash over, eyes rolling back, legs shaking under his, hips thrusting upwards, mouth left agape and whimpering his name like a sinful prayer.

He moved his mouth from your neck, slowly pulling away slightly as he let his fingers slip out of you. His eyes on your face, watching as the pleasure dazed over your face. He watched as your plump lips mumbled his name, how your eyes looked over at him through half shut eyelids. He could feel your chest heave against his, in an attempt to catch your breath.

He loved watching you cum. He loved it, he loved how fucked out you looked, how your brain would be empty of all thoughts, your mouth full of his name. He loved the way the sweat on your forehead would keep your hair messily in place, he loved how your hands would wander over to his chest, to his back, pulling him for a kiss. You looked so sexy to him, he could barely restrain himself.

His wet fingers made their way to your mouth again, gently slipping in as you sucked them clean, swirling your tongue around his fingers like you would his dick.

He pulled away, pulling your dress back in place and squirming his way back to the drivers seat.

"Come on cariño, we have to go home." He chuckled, turning back to you, "I have things I want to do to you."

.

.

.

A/N: I'm sorry if it was bad or abrupt, just a thought that popped in my head lol, this man makes me feel things.

[rachalixie]

a/n: tiny drabble about minho and an egg. i think chan ghost wrote this. anyways.

minho has this superhuman ability to make your cute aggression flare up so much that smoke comes out of your ears. like when he laughs, the real kind of laugh where he can’t control the sounds coming out of his mouth and his teeth are on full display behind wide lips. or when he pads towards you in oversized clothes, fluffy socks on his feet that look kind of ridiculous, and drops his weight right on top of you so he can snuggle into the crook of your neck.

or right now, as he’s trying and failing to peel a boiled egg. he’s frowning at it, a deep scowl on his face and narrowed eyes trained on the tiny fragments of eggshell that simply refuse to come off. his tongue pokes out of his mouth, a flash of his front teeth glinting out as he carefully peels back a larger piece, only for it to break off and leave him adorably defeated. 

you have to take a moment to control the emotions bubbling out of you as you look at him, push back your wonderment of how someone can be that freaking cute while doing something as mundane as peeling an egg. or, failing to peel an egg in his case. how can this man, a usual expert in the kitchen, struggle with something so simple? if anyone else showed this kind of incompetence you would get irrationally annoyed, but with him you hope he never learns how to do this on his own because what would you do if you never got to see this again?

you take the egg from him gently, fond smile permanent on your features as he looks at you with a shiny pout. he drops his hands to his lap in defeat as you peel back the shell in expert motions, tucking your fingers past the membrane and sliding the egg right out of it’s protection. you hand it to him, ignoring the little voice in your head that tells you to shove it right into his mouth so that his cheeks puff up in fullness, the urge only growing when he beams up at you with a fragile thank you. he nibbles at the egg, tiny bites and little munches accompanied by soft noises and you have to look away from him before you do something rash.

later, you’ll tease him for it, sharing egg-flavored kisses as he tries his best to defend himself. but now, you’re content to watch him enjoy his prize.

[amethystarachnid]

15. A Handcrafted Gift – The reader makes something special for the character—something unique and meaningful that reminds them they’re cared for. How does your character react? Can you write this with Tony Stark for me, please? Something for their first year anniversary (one idea)... but it can be whatever you think it's the best ❤️

CHRISTMAS SECRETS

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.3k

ᯓ★ Summary: on the 25th of December it will be y/n and Tony's first anniversary and y/n wants to make something special, handcrafted by her, but hiding something from Tony stark (who almost lives at her apartment given of often he's there) is very difficult, especially when he knows something's up, and he isn't scared to use some smooth talk and kisses and stuff like that to convince her to tell him what his gift is. 

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The soft hum of Christmas carols plays from the small speaker on your kitchen counter, mingling with the scent of cinnamon and pine. Your apartment glows with the gentle light of fairy strings and the flicker of candles, a haven of warmth against the December chill outside. You’re seated at your dining table, fingers nimble and focused as you work on Tony’s gift, the details etched in your mind since October finally coming to life. A faint smile curls on your lips as you imagine his reaction—a rare moment of speechlessness from Tony Stark, the man who always has something to say.

The project is ambitious, maybe overly so. Handcrafting a personalized keepsake for a genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist isn’t exactly straightforward. But you’re determined to make this first anniversary one he’ll never forget. Each brushstroke and detail feels intimate, a piece of you poured into the gift. You pause to sip your cocoa, glancing at the clock. The late afternoon stretches long ahead of you, promising hours of uninterrupted work. At least, that’s the plan.

Your peaceful bubble pops with a sudden buzz at the intercom. You glance at it, your heart skipping, and then rush to cover your work with a throw blanket. The clatter of your chair echoes as you step back to assess your hasty camouflage. Decent enough, you hope.

The intercom buzzes again.

"Hey, Y/N," Tony’s voice drawls, his tone warm and teasing, even through the crackly speaker. "Open up, would you? I’m freezing my nuts off out here."

You exhale a laugh, your chest tightening. Of course, he’d show up unannounced. He always does. Padding to the door, you press the button to let him in, smoothing your sweater as if that’ll somehow erase the slight guilt of hiding something from him.

Moments later, his presence fills the doorway. Tony’s bundled in a dark wool coat, a scarf loosely draped around his neck. Snowflakes cling to his messy hair, and his grin is lopsided, that infuriatingly charming mix of boyishness and arrogance. "Miss me?"

"Always," you say, leaning in to brush a quick kiss against his cheek. His cologne—a heady mix of spice and something distinctively him—lingers as he steps inside, shaking off the cold like it’s a minor inconvenience.

"You’ve been hiding," he remarks, his sharp eyes scanning the room with a casualness that doesn’t fool you. "No calls, no texts. Almost like you didn’t want me to come over."

You roll your eyes and shut the door. "Or maybe I’ve just been busy, Stark. Not everything’s about you, you know."

He smirks, peeling off his coat and hanging it on the hook. "Oh, but it is, sweetheart. You’re just too modest to admit it."

His gaze sweeps over the room again, lingering on the table for a beat longer than necessary. You follow his line of sight and curse inwardly. The blanket isn’t lying as flat as you thought.

"You redecorating or something?" he asks, sauntering toward the table. His fingers twitch like they’re itching to peek under the cover.

"Nope," you say quickly, stepping into his path. You plaster on your most innocent smile, which you know he sees right through. "Just, uh… rearranging some stuff. It’s nothing."

He stops, close enough that you can see the glint of mischief in his eyes. "Nothing, huh?"

"That’s right."

He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "You’re a terrible liar, Y/N."

Your breath catches, but you manage a nonchalant shrug. "And you’re terribly nosy."

"Fair. But it’s part of my charm." His hands settle lightly on your hips, thumbs tracing idle circles. "C’mon, tell me. What’s under the blanket? You’ve got that look—like you’re plotting something."

"It’s just… some stuff for work," you lie, cringing internally at how weak it sounds.

"Work?" He quirks an eyebrow. "Sweetheart, you’re not even convincing yourself."

You’re about to retort when he dips his head, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to your neck. The heat of it makes your resolve falter, and he knows it. Damn him and his unfair tactics.

"Tony," you warn, though your voice comes out softer than intended.

"Y/N," he murmurs against your skin, his tone all mock seriousness. "What are you hiding from me?"

"Nothing!"

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression a mix of amusement and suspicion. "You’re a terrible poker player, you know that? If we were in Vegas, you’d be broke in thirty minutes."

"Good thing we’re not in Vegas, then," you quip, trying to sidestep him. He blocks you effortlessly, grinning like the cat who’s about to eat the canary.

"Let me see." He moves toward the table again, and panic rises in your chest. You dart in front of him, arms outstretched like a human barricade.

"Tony, no."

He stops short, tilting his head. "No?"

"No."

His grin widens. "Now I really have to see."

"Tony, I’m serious," you insist, trying to sound stern, but the laughter bubbling undercuts your tone.

"And I’m curious," he counters, his hands sliding into his pockets as he studies you. He’s clearly enjoying this far too much. "This is cute, though—watching you scramble. What’s the big deal? Is it a new boyfriend? Should I be jealous?"

You snort. "Yes, Tony, I’ve replaced you with someone who doesn’t try to weasel secrets out of me every chance he gets."

"Sounds like a boring guy. You’re way too smart for that."

"Exactly. So why would I date someone who can’t take a hint?"

He laughs, his shoulders shaking, and for a moment, you think you’ve deflected successfully. But then his gaze sharpens, and he nods toward the blanket. "So, what’s under there?"

The shift in his tone catches you off guard. It’s softer now, less teasing, but no less persistent. He steps closer, his warmth radiating as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze.

"You don’t have to tell me," he says, his thumb brushing your jawline. "But if it’s important to you, I want to know."

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You bite your lip, torn. Telling him would ruin the surprise, but keeping it a secret feels like trying to hide sunlight behind a curtain.

"It’s nothing bad," you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I know that," he says gently. "You’re not exactly the supervillain type. But you’re being… weird. And as someone who thrives on weird, I’m intrigued."

You exhale a shaky laugh, your resolve wavering again. "It’s just—"

Before you can finish, your phone buzzes loudly on the counter, the sound breaking the moment. Tony glances toward it, then back at you, his expression unreadable.

"Saved by the bell," he says, though his tone carries a hint of disappointment.

You take the opportunity to step away, grabbing your phone to answer the call. As you speak, you glance over your shoulder, watching him lean casually against the table. His eyes linger on the blanket for a moment before shifting to meet yours, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

This isn’t over. You can feel it.

You end the call and turn back to Tony, who’s still leaning against the table like he owns the place, which, to be fair, he nearly does with how often he’s here. His eyes are on you, twinkling with mischief, but there’s an undercurrent of curiosity that you know won’t go away anytime soon.

“So,” he says, crossing his arms and tilting his head. “Where were we?”

“Where I tell you to mind your own business,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light as you walk over and nudge him away from the table. He lets you, but not without a knowing chuckle.

“Sure, sure,” he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll drop it—for now. But don’t think I’ve forgotten, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing the blanket-covered project and subtly moving it toward your bedroom. Tony watches you with amusement, clearly aware you’re up to something, but he doesn’t press. Not yet, anyway. You shove the whole thing into your closet, burying it under a pile of sweaters for good measure. He can’t find what he doesn’t know exists.

When you return to the living room, Tony’s kicked off his shoes and is sprawled on the couch like he’s lived here his whole life. One arm is slung over the backrest, and he’s scrolling through something on his phone, his face lit by the faint glow of the screen.

“You staying?” you ask, arching a brow as you lean against the doorway.

“Obviously,” he says without looking up, his tone casual. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I left you all alone on a cold December night? Besides, I’m invested now. Can’t leave until I crack the case.”

You snort, walking over to pluck his phone out of his hand. He protests weakly but lets you do it, his gaze flicking up to yours with a grin. “You’re not cracking anything.”

“We’ll see.” He tugs you down onto the couch, pulling you into his lap with ease. His arms wrap around your waist, warm and secure, and you feel the tension of the day start to melt away. “Missed you, you know.”

“I saw you two days ago,” you point out, though you soften at his words.

“Two days too long,” he says, nuzzling your neck. “You know how I get. Can’t go more than 48 hours without my favorite person.”

Your heart flutters despite yourself, and you lean back into him, letting the moment linger. His lips brush against your shoulder, and you sigh contentedly, your earlier panic about the gift momentarily forgotten.

The evening unfolds with an easy rhythm. You throw together a simple dinner—pasta and garlic bread—while Tony hovers in the kitchen, stealing bites and offering unsolicited commentary on your cooking techniques. He insists on setting the table, which mostly involves him putting plates and glasses in all the wrong places until you shoo him away with a laugh.

Over dinner, the two of you talk about everything and nothing. He tells you about the latest project at Stark Industries, his words animated as he sketches out ideas with his hands. You tease him about how many times he says “game-changer” in one conversation, and he retaliates by stealing a piece of your garlic bread. The sound of your laughter fills the apartment, blending with the faint hum of the Christmas carols still playing in the background.

Afterward, you settle back on the couch with a bottle of wine, the two of you nestled under a blanket. The city lights twinkle through the window, casting a soft glow over the room. Tony’s arm is draped over your shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm as you talk.

“So,” he says eventually, his voice low and playful. “Are you ready to tell me what you’re hiding yet?”

You groan, burying your face in his chest. “Tony, drop it.”

“Can’t,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It’s against my nature. You should know that by now.”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, though there’s no real heat in your words.

“And yet, you love me,” he counters, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin.

You glance up at him, your gaze meeting his. The warmth in his eyes makes your heart ache in the best way, and for a moment, you forget why you’re even trying to keep something from him in the first place.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I do.”

The smirk fades, replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring the moment. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, and for a while, the rest of the world fades away.

When you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re not off the hook, you know,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“I figured,” you say, laughing quietly.

The rest of the night passes in a comfortable haze of laughter and quiet moments. You put on a cheesy Christmas movie, and Tony spends most of it making sarcastic comments about the plot, though you catch him humming along to the songs more than once. By the time the credits roll, you’re curled up against him, your eyelids heavy with sleep.

“You’re staying the night, right?” you murmur, your voice muffled against his chest.

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” he says, his hand brushing through your hair. “Not when I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Your heart swells, and you tilt your head to press a kiss to his jaw. “Good.”

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “You’re cute when you’re sleepy, you know that?”

“Shut up,” you mumble, though you’re smiling.

As you drift off, you feel his arms tighten around you, his presence a steady anchor. Despite his relentless curiosity, you know he’ll respect your secret—for now, at least. But you also know this is Tony Stark, and he’s nothing if not persistent.

Tomorrow, you think with a small smile, you’ll just have to be a little more creative in keeping your secret safe.

The morning light filters through the blinds, casting golden stripes across the bed. You stir slightly, still cocooned in the warmth of the blankets and Tony’s arms. He’s awake—of course he is—his head propped on one hand as he watches you with a soft smile. His other arm is wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close, his fingers idly tracing patterns against your hip.

You mumble something unintelligible, burrowing deeper into the pillow. Tony chuckles, the sound a deep rumble in his chest. He leans down, pressing a feather-light kiss to your temple.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs.

You groan in protest, pulling the blanket over your head. “Too early,” you mumble.

“For you, maybe. For me, it’s the perfect time to ask a few questions,” he says, his tone teasing.

You crack one eye open, squinting up at him. “Don’t you dare.”

He grins, devilishly handsome in the morning light. “What? I can’t help it if I’m curious.”

“Tired,” you mutter, trying to bury yourself back into his chest. He obliges, pulling you closer, but you don’t miss the way his hand moves in gentle, coaxing strokes, as though his touch alone might loosen your sleepy resolve.

“Y/N,” he says softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “What’s under the blanket?”

“Hmm?” you mumble, half-asleep.

“The blanket,” he continues, his voice a velvety murmur. “What were you hiding yesterday?”

“Not telling,” you mutter, more coherent now, though you still sound groggy.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he coaxes, his fingers brushing along your arm. “Just a little hint?”

“Nice try, Stark,” you say, your voice muffled but amused. “Still not telling.”

He sighs dramatically, flopping back onto the pillows. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re relentless,” you retort, a small smile tugging at your lips even as you drift back to sleep.

By the time you fully wake up, Tony’s no longer in bed, though the faint sounds of movement from the kitchen suggest he’s taken it upon himself to make coffee—or at least attempt to. You stretch lazily before throwing on a sweater and making your way out to join him.

Sure enough, he’s at the counter, wearing a shirt that definitely belongs to him but somehow ended up in your closet. He’s already sipping a mug of coffee, and another waits for you on the counter.

“You’re up,” he says, turning to greet you with a smile.

“And you’re already drinking my coffee,” you tease, taking the mug he’s prepared for you.

“Guilty.” He winks, leaning casually against the counter. “But in my defense, it’s not stealing if I made it.”

You take a sip, humming in approval, and he looks entirely too pleased with himself. As you sit down at the small kitchen table, he slides into the chair across from you, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischievous glint.

“So,” he starts, resting his chin on one hand, “about this little secret of yours—”

“Tony.”

“What? I’m just saying, I’m very good at keeping secrets. It’s literally in my job description.”

“You mean the job where you tell the press everything about yourself?” you ask, arching a brow.

He feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart. “I don’t tell them everything. Just the stuff that makes me look good.”

You roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “Nice try, but the answer’s still no.”

The day unfolds with the same playful banter. After breakfast, Tony changes into another outfit he’s left behind—a testament to how often he’s here—and the two of you head out to run a few errands. He insists on carrying the groceries when you stop at the store, though he spends most of the time sneaking extra snacks into the cart while you’re not looking.

At one point, as you’re walking back to the car, he leans down, his voice low and conspiratorial. “You know, if you told me what you’re hiding, I could help you make it better. Two heads are better than one, right?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Nice try, but I’ve got this.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m very good at surprises. Have you seen my resume?”

“Oh, I’ve seen it,” you reply, grinning. “But this one’s all mine.”

Back at the apartment, the two of you spend the afternoon decorating the tree. Tony insists on making it “high-tech,” suggesting LEDs that sync to music and other ridiculous ideas. You veto most of them, though you let him tinker with the lights just to see him light up with excitement.

Later, as you’re putting the finishing touches on the ornaments, he sidles up behind you, his hands settling on your waist. His lips brush against your neck, and you shiver, though not from the cold.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “If you tell me, I’ll stop asking.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” you reply, your smile evident in your tone.

He laughs, spinning you around to face him. “Okay, you’re right. But you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

The rest of the day passes in a blur of laughter and shared moments. When the sun dips below the horizon, you find yourselves curled up on the couch again, a movie playing in the background while Tony’s hand rests on your thigh.

At one point, he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that starts slow but quickly deepens. His hands slide up to cradle your face, and for a while, all thoughts of his relentless curiosity melt away. But then he pulls back, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Still not gonna tell me, huh?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.

You laugh breathlessly, shaking your head. “Not a chance.”

He groans, burying his face in your neck. “You’re killing me, Y/N.”

“You’ll survive,” you reply, running your fingers through his hair.

As the evening stretches on, his attempts to charm the secret out of you become increasingly creative. At one point, he peppers kisses along your jawline, his hands roaming over your sides as he murmurs promises of “no judgment” if you tell him. When that doesn’t work, he tries distracting you with a massage, his hands firm yet gentle as they work out the tension in your shoulders.

“Tony,” you warn, though your voice is softened by a contented sigh. “This isn’t going to work.”

“Isn’t it?” he counters, his tone playful. “Because you seem pretty relaxed to me.”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, though you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

“And you’re stubborn,” he says, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “But I like that about you.”

By the time the two of you crawl into bed that night, he’s still no closer to cracking your secret. But as he pulls you into his arms, holding you close against his chest, he seems content to let it go—for now.

“You know I’ll figure it out eventually,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“Good luck,” you reply, your voice laced with affection.

As sleep begins to claim you, you feel his hand resting lightly on your back, his presence a steady comfort. Despite his endless curiosity, you know he won’t push you further than you’re willing to go. And for that, you love him even more.

The apartment is blissfully quiet, save for the soft hum of Christmas music playing from your phone. A few candles flicker on the counter, casting a warm glow over the room as you work. Your hands move quickly yet carefully, the finishing touches on Tony’s gift finally coming together. It’s taken weeks of planning, hours of trial and error, and more than a few late nights, but now it’s done, and you can’t help the swell of pride that blooms in your chest.

The gift—a handcrafted, personalized piece that speaks to Tony’s love of tech and your shared memories—rests on the table before you, gleaming in the soft light. It’s small but intricate, with hidden details only someone as brilliant as Tony would appreciate. You’ve designed it with him in mind, every element a reflection of how much he means to you.

Just as you tie the final ribbon on the wrapping paper, your phone buzzes on the counter. You glance at the screen, heart skipping when you see Tony’s name pop up.

Be home in 10. Mission wrapped early. Miss me?

A pang of panic flutters through you as you glance at the clock. He wasn’t supposed to be back for another few hours, which would have given you plenty of time to hide the gift properly. Now, though, you’ve got ten minutes to make sure he doesn’t find it—or worse, that he doesn’t unravel the entire surprise.

Grabbing the gift, you rush to your bedroom, your heart racing as you shove it into the deepest corner of your closet. You pile a few blankets and boxes over it for good measure, muttering under your breath about Tony’s impeccable timing. By the time you hear the sound of the elevator, you’ve just managed to close the closet door and smooth your hair.

The door swings open, and there he is—Tony Stark, looking every bit the part of the hero who’s just come back from saving the world. His hair is slightly tousled, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder, and his trademark smirk firmly in place. But his eyes, warm and familiar, light up when they meet yours.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “Miss me?”

“Always,” you reply, walking over to greet him. He pulls you into his arms without hesitation, his embrace warm and grounding. The scent of his cologne lingers on his skin, mingled with the faint metallic tang of the suit he’d undoubtedly just peeled off.

You tilt your head up, and he kisses you softly, his lips brushing against yours in a way that makes the world fade for just a moment. When he pulls back, his gaze lingers on your face, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Something smells good,” he says, his eyes flicking toward the kitchen. “Were you baking without me?”

“Not baking,” you say, stepping back to give him space to shrug off his jacket. “Just… working on something.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and Tony’s brow arches in interest. “Working on something, huh?” he repeats, his tone instantly suspicious. “Let me guess—it’s the same ‘something’ you’ve been hiding from me for days?”

You try to play it cool, shrugging casually as you walk back to the kitchen. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s none of your business.”

He follows you, leaning against the counter with a knowing smile. “You know, the more you try to hide it, the more curious I get.”

“I’m aware,” you say, rolling your eyes. “That’s why I’m not telling you.”

He narrows his eyes, studying you like you’re one of his blueprints. You know that look—he’s piecing something together, and he’s far too clever for his own good. His gaze drifts toward the living room, where the remnants of your crafting supplies still sit on the table. You mentally kick yourself for not clearing them away sooner.

“Hmm,” he hums, pushing off the counter to walk over. He picks up a stray piece of ribbon, turning it over in his hands. “You’ve been busy.”

“Tony,” you warn, your voice a mix of exasperation and amusement.

He looks back at you, a glint of triumph in his eyes. “It’s a gift, isn’t it?”

You cross your arms, leaning against the counter with a sigh. “I’m not saying anything.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, his voice dropping into that low, persuasive tone he uses when he’s trying to get his way. He steps closer, the ribbon still dangling from his fingers. “You’re killing me here.”

“You’ll survive,” you reply, though your heart skips when he’s suddenly so close.

He sets the ribbon down, his hands coming to rest on your hips. “You’re really not going to tell me, are you?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the “p” for emphasis.

His lips twitch with a smile, though there’s a hint of frustration in his eyes. “You’re too good at this.”

“I’ve had practice,” you tease, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “And you’re predictable.”

“Predictable?” he echoes, feigning offense. “I’m the least predictable man you’ve ever met.”

“Sure,” you say with a grin, leaning up to kiss him quickly. “Whatever you say, Stark.”

The playful tension lingers as the evening goes on. Tony changes into something more comfortable—another outfit he’s left here over time—and the two of you settle in for dinner. But even as you laugh and talk, you can feel his curiosity bubbling beneath the surface. Every now and then, he throws out a casual question or a sly remark, clearly testing the waters.

“So,” he says at one point, leaning back in his chair with a glass of wine in hand. “This thing you’re hiding… should I be worried? Is it dangerous? Explosive, maybe?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s not dangerous.”

“Explosive, then.”

“Not unless you decide to blow it up.”

He smirks, taking a sip of his wine. “Tempting.”

After dinner, the two of you end up on the couch again, Tony’s arm draped over your shoulders as he fiddles with a remote to adjust the lights. The room glows softly, the Christmas tree twinkling in the corner.

“You know,” he says, his voice casual but with an edge of mischief, “if I just looked around while you were in the shower or something, I’d probably find it.”

You shoot him a look, sitting up slightly. “Don’t even think about it.”

He grins, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Good.”

“Not yet, anyway,” he adds under his breath.

“Tony!”

He laughs, pulling you back against him. “Kidding. Mostly.”

The playful back-and-forth continues late into the night, his questions becoming more creative—and borderline ridiculous—as he tries to trip you up. But you stand your ground, refusing to let him ruin the surprise you’ve worked so hard on.

Eventually, he sighs dramatically, resting his head against yours. “You’re lucky I love you, you know.”

“I know,” you say, smiling against his shoulder. “And I love you too.”

As you drift off in his arms, you can’t help but feel a sense of triumph. The gift is finished, the secret intact—for now. But with Tony Stark, you know the game is far from over.

The 24th of December arrives in a flurry of excitement, the crisp winter air carrying with it the smell of snow and the faint sound of carolers in the distance. Your apartment is aglow with festive cheer, the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree casting playful shadows across the room. You’re in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner, while Tony, predictably, has made himself at home on the couch, scrolling through his tablet with one hand and nursing a glass of mulled wine with the other.

You glance at the clock—7:45 p.m. Dinner is almost ready, and you decide it’s time to move the gift from its hiding spot. Tony’s been suspicious for weeks now, but he still hasn’t pieced together the full picture, and tonight is the night to finally set the stage for your surprise.

Quietly, you slip into the bedroom and head to the closet. Your heart races a little as you uncover the box, carefully wrapped in festive paper with a ribbon you painstakingly tied just so. It’s perfect, and as you carry it out to the living room, you feel a mix of pride and nervous anticipation.

Tony glances up as you reenter the room, his brows lifting when he sees the gift in your hands. You ignore the way his gaze sharpens, walking calmly to the tree and setting it down right next to the neatly wrapped box he’d placed there earlier.

When you turn around, he’s already halfway out of his seat, his tablet forgotten on the cushion beside him.

“So, it is a gift,” he says, his tone triumphant.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “What else would it be?”

“I knew it,” he declares, striding over to the tree. He crouches down, his fingers brushing the edge of the paper as if he might unravel the mystery right then and there.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn, folding your arms and giving him a pointed look.

He glances up at you, a boyish grin spreading across his face. “But it’s Christmas Eve.”

“It’s not Christmas yet,” you counter. “You can wait a few more hours.”

“Four hours, to be exact,” he says, standing up and crossing his arms in mock indignation. “And you’re really going to make me suffer through all of them, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you say simply, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

The battle begins in earnest after dinner. By 8 p.m., Tony is back on the couch, his glass of wine refilled, and his focus fixed entirely on you. His earlier attempts to deduce what you were working on pale in comparison to his newfound determination to get you to crack.

He starts off slow, his tone casual as he gestures toward the tree. “You know, I’ve got a pretty solid track record of opening presents early. Just ask Pepper.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Good for you. You’re not breaking that record tonight.”

He huffs, placing a hand over his heart. “Do you hear that? That’s the sound of my spirit breaking.”

“Your spirit will survive,” you reply, your voice light but firm. “Midnight, Tony. Not a minute sooner.”

He groans dramatically, leaning his head back against the couch. “You’re a cruel woman, Y/N.”

The hours tick by, each one marked by Tony’s increasingly creative attempts to persuade you. At 8:30, he tries bribery, offering to cook dinner for a week if you let him open it early. At 9:00, he switches tactics, leaning close and murmuring sweet, persuasive words against your ear, his lips brushing your skin in a way that makes your resolve waver—if only slightly.

“Tony,” you say, laughing as you push him away. “You’re not playing fair.”

“All’s fair in love and Christmas,” he counters, his grin unapologetic.

By 10:00, he’s practically begging, sitting cross-legged in front of the tree and staring longingly at the gift. “Just one peek,” he says, holding up his thumb and forefinger to demonstrate how small a peek he wants. “I won’t even unwrap the whole thing. Just the corner.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“It is tonight.”

At 11:00, he tries reverse psychology, dramatically declaring that he doesn’t care what’s in the box and doesn’t want to open it at all. You roll your eyes, laughing as you call him out on his obvious bluff.

“Fine,” he says, standing up and pacing the room. “You’re good. I’ll give you that. But the clock is ticking, Y/N. Midnight’s not far off.”

By 11:45, he’s abandoned all pretense of subtlety. He flops down on the couch beside you, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you. His head rests on your shoulder, and his voice is soft but laced with mock desperation.

“Please?” he whispers. “Just this once?”

You turn to face him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. His brown eyes are warm and pleading, and for a moment, you almost—almost—consider giving in.

“No,” you say, leaning down to kiss his nose. “But nice try.”

He groans, falling back against the cushions. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re relentless,” you reply, smiling as you snuggle into his side.

When the clock finally strikes midnight, Tony’s impatience reaches a fever pitch. He all but dives for the tree, grabbing your gift and holding it up triumphantly. You laugh as he tears into the wrapping paper, his excitement contagious.

Tony’s hands linger on the unwrapped box, his expression softening with curiosity and something more vulnerable—an unspoken gratitude for the care you’ve poured into this moment. Inside, nestled within protective foam, is your creation: a custom, miniature arc reactor-inspired keepsake, its polished metal surface glinting under the tree’s lights.

But it isn’t just a replica. You’ve painstakingly designed it as a fusion of his world and yours. Around the glowing blue center are intricate engravings: constellations marking the night sky on your first date, subtle notches forming coordinates of the spot where he first confessed he loved you, and a delicate frame inlaid with a looping pattern—your initials and his intertwined in Morse code.

The piece is mounted on a solid base, its underside inscribed with a quote from Tony’s favorite piece of literature, “Part of the journey is the end.” But in this context, it’s no farewell—just a testament to the continuous journey of your relationship, one you’re building together.

Tony cradles the gift, the glowing core reflecting in his eyes. “Y/N…” he begins, his voice barely above a whisper. For a moment, he seems at a loss for words. His fingers trace the engravings, pausing at the Morse code. When he deciphers it, a faint smile curves his lips. “You did this? All of it?”

You nod, a mix of pride and nervousness fluttering in your chest. “I wanted it to feel like us. Something… meaningful.”

He turns to you, setting the piece down with the reverence it deserves before pulling you close. His hands cup your face, and his eyes are searching, warm. “Sweetheart, this… this is unbelievable. I mean, I’ve had some fancy gifts in my life, but this? It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

You laugh softly, touched by his sincerity. “I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me. I wanted to show you.”

“You didn’t just show me,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You knocked me off my feet. You always do.”

For a moment, you both sit in the glow of the tree, the gift gleaming between you. Then, with an almost childlike excitement, Tony springs to his feet and grabs the package he’d set under the tree earlier.

“Now it’s my turn,” he says, handing it to you with an eager grin. “Open it.”

You hesitate, partly to tease him, but mostly because his anticipation is contagious. Finally, you tear into the paper, revealing a sleek black box embossed with gold lettering: Van Cleef & Arpels.

“Tony…” you begin, your breath catching. This isn’t just a gift; it’s a statement.

“Keep going,” he urges, practically vibrating with excitement.

Inside, nestled on a velvet bed, is the most exquisite necklace you’ve ever seen. It’s delicate but striking, a white gold chain with a pendant shaped like a starburst. The center of the star gleams with a brilliant diamond, surrounded by smaller stones that shimmer like captured starlight. It’s timeless and beautiful—elegant in a way that mirrors his perception of you.

He kneels beside you, gently taking the necklace from the box and holding it up. “I saw it and thought of you,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Not because of the sparkle or the price tag, but because it reminded me of how you light up every room you walk into. You’re my north star, Y/N. You always find a way to guide me back when I need it most.”

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “Tony, it’s… it’s beautiful. I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything,” he murmurs, brushing your hair aside and clasping the necklace around your neck. His hands linger on your shoulders as you reach up to touch the pendant, your fingers brushing against his.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper, turning to look at him. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he interrupts, his tone firm but full of affection. “Because you deserve it. You deserve everything.”

The weight of his words settles over you, and for a moment, there’s only silence—comfortable, full, brimming with the unspoken love that defines your relationship.

Then, in true Tony Stark fashion, he breaks the moment with a teasing grin. “So, we’re both amazing gift-givers. I guess this makes us a power couple now, huh?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I think we were already there.”

“Well, it’s official now.” He pulls you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you. “But seriously, you’ve outdone yourself, Y/N. That arc reactor? Genius. How’d you even manage it without me noticing?”

“Trade secret,” you reply, smirking.

“Right,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “And here I thought you loved me enough to share your secrets.”

You grin, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Maybe next year.

[norman-fucking-reedus]

So… Scud riding fem!reader’s strap-on?

YES YES YES YES YES FUCKING YES

UGHH When I tell y’all Scud fucking LOVES to ride. It puts so much power into his little hands he doesn’t even know what to do with himself

FOR THE FIRST TIME IN FOREVER IM GONNA ACTUALLY WRITE THIS OUT BC yall dont even understand the way this consumes my brain. Bottom Scud is for life I’m sorry hes my baby and my baby deserves to be fucked

“Fuck I almost forgot what the apartment looks like!” Scud sighed heavily as the door creaked out, kicking off his shoes and stretching as he walked over to the couch, dropping himself down onto it. You shut the door behind yourself and toe off your own shoes, leaving them in a messy pile right next to Scud’s.

You peeled off your coat and hung it up, keys following suit before you padded into the tiny kitchen “Do we have any food?” You groan as you open the door, fridge mostly empty and stuffed with mainly leftovers.

“We can get some takeout, fuck, I’d kill for a burger right now” Scud spoke as he moved onto the floor, banging on the shitty TV to boot it up and plugging in his PS2 controllers. “We don’t have enough money” You frown slightly, walking into the living room and plopping down on the couch, legs on either side of Scud’s head. He almost purred contently when your fingers began scratching his scalp.

Scud easily turned into putty at the faintest touches, slumping against you as you massaged his head. “Mmh, can we smoke a bowl?” He muttered, and you’d be crazy to deny.

“I think we only have a little left” You said as you leaned over the arm of the couch, grabbing a grinder and Scud’s bong. You tapped whatever remains were left in the gringer into the small glass bowl, reaching down to fish out the small bag you bought to better preserve the bud. “When’s Blade paying us again?”

Scud shrugged, fingers tapping and flying against his controls as he played some fighting game, leaning himself comfortably against your leg as he spoke. “Hopefully soon. I should asked for a raise” You stick a few sticky nubs into the grinder, twisting it around a couple times until it was finely grinded up into keef.

“Like he’d ever give you one” You snort, snatching a lighter and half dranken waterbottle off the coffee table. You pour the rest of the water into the bottom of the bong, sticking the long bowl inside and holding it steady by the long neck, gapping your lips through the whole at the top, flicking the lighter and bringing the flame down onto the small bowl on the side, inhaling until the water started to bubble and smoke started to form, swirling up and filling the long bong, your lungs shortly after.

It was a huge hit, the smoke turning a slight yellow color as it was built up and burning your chest where you held it in for a few seconds, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Hey no fair!” Scud snapped his head around and pouted at you, because he wanted you to shot gun that right down his throat.

“I’ll give you the next one” You comb fingers through his hair as he whines softly. You bring the flame back down to the bowl, inhaling and watching the yellow-ish smoke form inside and climb up into the neck, down into your lungs.

You held it in for a few seconds as you tilted Scud’s head back, pressing your slightly agape lips against his and exhaling your hit into his mouth, smirking softly at his tiny moan as he inhaled.

Scud sighed around his exhale, staring up at you from his upside down position. “What?” You mumbled, cupping his face with a small smile. “That make you happy?”

He nodded, leaning up to kiss you before turning his attention down to the bong in his lap, not wanting to knock it over. You handed him the lighter, and glanced over at the clock.

“We should just order a pizza” You murmured, rising to your feet and stepping around Scud who was mid-rip. He followed you with his eyes, taking a massive hit and coughing out, exhaling a huge cloud that fogged up your small living room more. “I thought we didn’t have money?” He croaked out, beating on his chest a little.

As he said that, you rummaged through your purse, fishing out your wallet and opening it, raising a brow. “I’ve got ten bucks”

Scud pats his pockets, digging through them and pulling out a few crumbled ones. Better than nothing. You took the bills out his hand and grabbed the landline, plopping back down on the couch as you clicked through the numbers, eventually landing on the local pizzeria.

Stoned, showered, and stuffed, you watched with half lidded eyes as Scud needily bounces on your strap, loud moans and whines coming from him.

“Feels so fucking good, mommy feels so fucking good, want her to fuck me so hard” Scud babbled, sobbing as he totally fucked himself stupid, fingers curling into the cushion of the couch. You watched, rocking your hips steady against the small vibe pressed to your clit, throbbing from all Scud’s sweet little sounds. “You don’t need my help pretty boy, you’ve got it” You coo, sliding your hands across his hips, running them up his shirt and wrapping them around his throat, squeezing tightly. He wheezed out a gasp, clenching around you and whimpering the best he could in your grip.

You pulled him down for a hot and sloppy kiss, Scud breathlessly panting into your mouth as his back arched, rolling his hips down and up against you. He was a complete mess, choking on his moans and grunts as he started to ride your dildo harder and faster, rocking his hips back and whining desperately. “Good boy. Ride me like the dirty little whore you are, hear how disgustingly wet you are for me baby?”

“Y-yes, love b-being so wet for mmngh!–mommy, always s-so ready for her” Scud gasped out his words, your grip around his throat still so blissfully tight that he was starting to become lighthead, shifting himself a little before grinding back down, a loud and choked off whimper tearing from him. “There! Please, please fuck me there- need mommy to fuck right there” Scud desperately cried, bouncing on the spot with all the strength in his body. You gripped his hips and thrust up into him, Scud heaving a groan as he caught his breath. You ruthlessly pounding into him from underneath, watching Scud’s pretty face twist and turn in pure pleasure.

His fingers tightly gripped the couch cushions, toes curled and his head rolling side to side, so utterly destroyed. “Ohh fuuck” He bit down on his spit-soaked bottom lip, loud moans and whimpers escaping past anyway. Each hard jab of your cock was sending him flying off the edge, his own cock twitching and oozing a mix of cum and pre-cum, the tip turning a cherry red as it start to swell up, painfully hard.

“Gonna cum aren’t you, Scud? Or do you need mommy’s help with that too?” You ghosted your hand near his cock.

Scud trembled like a leaf in your lap, “Can’t do it by myself– I can’t–“ sobbing as he pushed back against your thrusts, the head of your strap bumping the bundle of nerves inside him. “Need mommy to help, need her so bad” He rambled, continuing to rock back against you. His face was soaked with tears, sweat, and drool as he was almost riding you again, loud drawn out moans tearing from his chest as each snap of your hips took him further and further. “You poor little thing, begging for help cause you can’t get yourself off on my cock?”

You started to slow your hips, rocking into him at a quick but lazy pace. Scud whimpered and desperately pushed back against you, chasing the blissful build of his orgasm. “Hnnghh– I need- I can’t- Ughhh fuuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” Scud was so entirely gone, so very far gone. It felt like there were a million bees buzzing against his body, tossing his head back with a loud, broken and shaky sob of sheer pleasure, only a few more hard bounces before his jaw went totally slack, eyes rolling into the back of his skull as his untouched cock spasmed and twitched lewdly as he came, warm shots of white painting his shirt and landing on yours.

Scud slumped down against you, dropping his head onto your shoulder breathlessly and overfucked. He twitched slightly, and whined when you slipped yourself out, leaving his hole to feel uncomfortably empty.

You combed fingers through his hair, kissing his sweaty face and holding his limp body flush against yourself. “Wanna go to bed?” You whisper, kissing his cheek and letting your lips linger there. Scud nodded, but groaned when he realized that meant he had to get up. “Comfy” He mumbled, snaking his arms around you and squeezing, burying his face in your chest.

"We need to change, babyboy" You kiss the top of his head, feeling his sticky cum starting to seep through the fabric of your shirt. Scud whined, arms tightening.

You sighed, tired, high, and a little hungry again. Scud was starting to feel really heavy in your lap, pressing his whole weight down onto you. The clock in the kitchen ticked, and an idea crossed your mind, grunting as you pushed yourself up onto your feet suddenly, Scud flailing and scrambling to wrap his legs around you, eyes wide at the change in position. "Bed" Was all you said, hoisting him up and carrying him into your single shared bedroom.

When you went to drop your boyfriend down onto the bed, trying to get him a clean shirt, he tugged you down with him, rolling you onto your back and straddling you once again, staring down with a flushed and needy face. "Wanna go again, wanna ride mommy again" He huffed, grinding back against your strap. His skin burned, and the fabric of his shirt was uncomfortably sticking to his skin, leading him to pry it off, tossing it somewhere in the room.

You did the same, nothing wrong with sleeping naked, and moved a hand down to steady your dildo, holding it so that Scud could lower himself down, drawn out moan leaving his lips. Being so full of cock made him happy, especially when he could feel the hot drag of silicone against his walls.

Scud lifted himself up and almost immediately dropped back down, a shaky groan coming from his chest as he wasted no time eagerly bouncing his hips against you, whole body on display. You ran your fingers across his bare legs, up his jutting hips, and across his tattered belly, tickling his scars under your soft touch which made him giggle. He wasn't really one to feel insecure. Your fingers danced across his sensitive nipples, a tiny whimper in response.

“Such a spoiled little brat, aren’t you?” You coo as you watch Scud’s nude frame grind against yours, his cock bouncing and smacking against his abdomen. Scud whined and nodded, rolling his hips. It was true that he was very spoiled as saying no to him was genuinely the hardest task of your life. You could deny him, but never flat out refuse. In the end, Scud always got what he wanted, and right now, he really wanted to cum again, leaning down to needily kiss you.

You took the chance the place your feet on the bed, thrusting upwards into Scud who moaned into your mouth, gasping against you as you pounded into him. “Feels so good, mommy makes me feel so good” He slurred out breathlessly, moving to bury his face in your soft tits. He whimpered as you nailed his sweet spot, his cock rubbing against where it was sandwiched between your bodies.

Scud simply moaned and clung to you, dragging his tongue over one of your nipples and sucking it. Each rough snap of your hips lurched him forward, his hums vibrating your tit and his cock leaking all over your stomach.

He groaned and squirmed ontop of you, his hands squeezing the squishy flesh of your chest, pressing his face into their warmth. “Gonna cum, feels so good ‘m gonna cum” Scud babbled, his words muffled. You pressed his front closer to yours, making him rut his tender cock against you which each hard thrust. It was all that Scud needed to totally fall apart, whimpering out sobs as ropes of cum spurted from him, landing on both your stomachs.

You dropped your hips and completely pulled out of Scud, running fingers through his hair when he whined at the loss. “You made a mess of us both, Scud”

“M’sorry, just felt really good” He mumbled, head now pillowed on your chest, one of his hands mindlessly fondling a soft breast. “Can we take a bath?”

You smile softly, even though you had both just showered an hour ago. “Only if we make it bubble one”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★