#I’m definitely doing better now than I was this morning

[moonstruckme]

Hi!! I had surgery a few weeks ago and I’m definitely hitting a wall mentally. I’ve been so sad with recovery and I’m so exhausted and cranky (unfortunately). I was wondering if you could write an emt!marauders or poly!marauders w reader going through that?? Thank you! Your writing has been a huge comfort for me during this time 🩷

Hi lovely! I realize it's been a while since you sent this so I hope you're feeling much much better now! Thanks for requesting <3

cw: post-op recovery, shoulder injury

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 727 words

James enters the bedroom to witness three stages of wakefulness. There’s Remus where he left him, fluffy haired and squinty eyed scrolling through his phone. One of Remus’ hands is toying idly with the ends of Sirius’ hair, who’s still dead asleep next to him, on his stomach with his face pushing into the pillow (James has never been able to figure out how he can breathe like that). Then there’s you, just sitting up with a groan and a sour look on your face. His angel. 

“Here, love.” James sets the coffee he’d brought for Remus on the nightstand, making sure the handle is facing him. Remus’ thanks is croaky with drowsiness, his smile gentle. James says to you, “Morning. How’d you sleep?” 

“Hard,” you mumble. You shrug your one shoulder experimentally, and grimace. “Too hard.” 

Remus makes a sympathetic sound, looking at you over the rim of his mug. “Did you sleep on it wrong?” 

“No.” You sound a tad defensive. “I was on my back all night.” 

Remus hums. “This is what happens when you don’t do your stretches at night, dovey.” 

You scowl. James ruffles Remus’ hair. “Be nice,” he chides. “You could do some stretching now, angel.” 

Sirius makes a disgruntled sleepy sound, rolling onto his side to wrap his arms around your waist. He settles his head contentedly on the plushness of your thigh. “Everyone shut up,” he grumbles. “And stop getting up.” 

“We’re not getting up,” James placates him. “She’s only doing her stretches.” 

“But it hurts,” you whine. 

“That’s why you do your stretches, sweetheart.” Remus gives you a look. 

James can feel you getting irritated. You’ve been recovering from your surgery for weeks now, and you’re growing exhausted not only with all the things you can’t do with your shoulder but also all the things you have to do to build back its strength and mobility. He goes to the dresser as you slump forward into your own lap, hapless. 

“Come on,” he laughs, tossing you your towel. “You can start with the towel one first. That one’s fit.” 

You look up at James. “It is not.” 

“Y’always look good, babe,” Sirius mumbles into your thigh. 

“See? And extra good when you stretch your arms like that.”

“He’s dead to the world.” You roll your eyes, though you’re petting Sirius’ hair fondly. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” 

Still, you sigh and pick up the towel when Remus nudges it towards you pointedly, rolling your neck in preparation. James feels a bit of warmth come to his face (he was only partly joking about how attractive you are when you stretch). 

It’s a bit difficult for you at first, clearly, the result of growing a bit lax about your stretches over the past few days. James can see Remus’ lips press together like he’s physically restraining himself from commenting on it. A low whine builds in your throat. 

“There you go,” says Sirius in a salacious tone. James is beginning to suspect he’s more awake than he’s letting on. “Tell us how you really feel, sweetheart.” 

“This is so pointless,” you grumble. “It’s too lame to do anything.” 

“Don’t say that,” James chides you. It’s not his intention to make you feel like you can’t vent to them, but James is firmly of the belief that ceasing negative talk will eventually lead to an abatement of negative thoughts. “It’s working, you just need to give it time. You’re tons better than you were a couple of weeks ago, right?” 

“If you mean I can pick up an empty soda can,” you say drily, “then yes.” 

“That is what I mean. Empty soda cans are a big step.” 

“It’s a process,” Remus tells you in a more placating tone. “You can’t expect to be all the way better overnight. Especially not if you’re not doing your stretches.” 

You don’t miss the judgment threaded through that last bit, your expression turning sour again. Sirius appears to sense this without opening his eyes. He hugs you around the middle, smearing a kiss over your thigh. 

“You’ll get there, lovie,” says James. “And hey, if it’ll help, I can sit with you while you do your stretches every day. I wouldn’t mind that at all.” 

Remus snorts, and Sirius mumbles something into your skin that sounds like “I’ll bet you wouldn’t.”

[dadbodbuck]

does the swallow dream of flying?

Rating: G | WC: 1.6k | Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Summary:

Tommy calls Eddie after he breaks up with Buck. Eddie has some choice words for him. Coda for 8x06.

{ Read it here on Ao3! }

OR read below!

“Eddie,” Tommy says, voice hoarse on the other end of the line. He sounds—if not drunk, then so heartbroken it sounds like inebriation. “I wanted to—I’m calling to say goodbye.”

Eddie’s not quite sure if he means it the way he thinks he does, but his stomach almost falls out through the soles of his feet anyway. He sits bolt upright in bed, carefully extricating himself away from Buck, who’s doing his best impression of a endoparasite (“A parasite that lives on the skin of its host, Eddie, it’s really fascinating stuff—”) and somehow latched onto Eddie’s waist with an iron grip while also being dead asleep.

What little vestiges of sleep had been clinging to him fall completely away as he steps into his own hallway, quietly hissing, “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I mean—at home?” Tommy says, confused, and okay, yeah, he’s definitely slurring his words a little, “Where else would I be?”

Eddie sighs and drags a hand over his face. “Are you going to be safe? Do I need to call someone?”

“No! No, it’s not like that,” Tommy assures him, “Sorry, I should have clarified. I’ll be okay. This is just… this is it. For us. Since Ev—since Buck and I broke up.”

“From what I heard, you’re the one who broke up with him,” Eddie huffs, “Or did I just spend the last three hours getting snot on my nice white shirt for a mutual thing?”

“This is what I mean!” Tommy insists, “He’s your best friend. I’m—I know I don’t rank that high. I just… fuck, I really enjoyed spending time with you these past six months. It’ll—it’ll always be,” a rough, shaky breath, “I’ll remember it fondly.”

Eddie feels a shocking flare of irritation, and it leads him out onto his back patio, so he knows he won’t wake Buck up. “What the fuck happened, man?”

“I had—I had to end it,” Tommy says, with a shake in his voice like a motorcycle’s death wobble, “It wasn’t going to last. If I didn’t pull the plug it would have broken me. I didn’t want to—I didn’t want it to get to the point where either one of us would get our hearts broken.”

“Really? Because from where I’m sitting, neither one of you sound especially put together right now,” Eddie positively seethes, “He’s fucking gutted, Kinard. He told me—” (“I didn’t know if I loved him this morning, and then he called me Buck and I felt sick. What—what else could it be?”) “—well, he told me a lot that, frankly, I don’t think you should hear from anyone but him. And you don’t even know what you did to him because you ran! You didn’t even try—”

“Please stop,” Tommy says, sounding smaller than Eddie has ever heard him, “It’s… it’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” Eddie snaps.

“For him!” Tommy insists, “For both of us, but especially for him. I’m not the forever guy. I’m not his forever guy, and I’m not yours, either. I just want… I want a clean break. I—I want—”

There’s a sniffle, a choked-off sob, and Tommy says, “I just want to be left alone. It would hurt less if people would just leave me the fuck alone.”

“That’s a shitty excuse, and you know it,” Eddie accuses, “Tommy, listen. I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, I’m saying this because—despite the fact that you’re apparently the biggest idiot I’ve ever met—I care about you. I care about you outside of your relationship to Buck. Or did you forget the fact that you were my friend before you were his boyfriend?”

“So, what,” Tommy says, irritation seeping into his voice, “You want to keep talking to me? I know how that goes. You’ll text me every once in a while, we won’t hang out if Buck’s going to be there, so you’ll lose interest and our fun trips and sparring sessions will be fewer and further between, and it’ll hurt. It’ll hurt worse than this. Why do you think I’m doing this, Eddie? I’m doing this because it’s the only way I can keep myself sane.

“You want to know why? You want to know why I broke up with him? Because I woke up the morning of our anniversary and realized I was falling in love with him. I haven’t been able to eat. I haven’t been able to sleep. I—I realized I would let him do anything to me, and that’s not something I ever want to feel again. So I couldn’t. There—there’s your fucking answer. I broke up with him because a little heartbreak is better than ever letting myself get hurt like that ever again.”

The words kind of prickle at some sense in the back of Eddie’s brain. The anger fades a little, and into something a lot more like concern. “Hurt like what, Tommy?”

“I don’t—I don’t know how to tell someone no once they’re in my life like that,” Tommy confesses through gritted teeth, “Maybe it’s my dad’s fault, maybe Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’s fault, maybe it’s just me. Every relationship I’ve ever been in has ended in me making the same mistake. I stayed too long, I let them—I let them believe I wanted to marry them, or I let them take out their anger on me, or I—I—other stuff. Evan—Buck doesn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right,” Eddie acquiesces, “He doesn’t. He deserves a partner who can communicate openly with him. Which you had been doing. You’re capable of being open, Tommy. You did it before.”

Tommy pauses on the other end of the line. “I—I don’t know what to do, Eddie.”

“Did you want to break up with him?” Eddie presses.

“No,” Tommy says, easy as breathing, “Of course not. I want him around for the rest of my life. But that’s… selfish.”

“And breaking up with him because you don’t want to talk through something difficult and scary is so altruistic,” Eddie counters, “You know, there’s this thing Buck says about love—you don’t find it, you make it. I think he heard it on a scene we were at years ago. From this old gay couple, been together for decades and decades.”

Tommy’s quiet on the other end, and then Eddie hears the hitch of his breath. Tommy is sobbing, silent and restrained, but so hard the exhalation of breath sounds nearly painful.

(“I’m starting to think the curse wasn’t just Billy Boils. Maybe it’s me—I mean, I move into Abby’s place, and she leaves me. I pick out an apartment with Ali, and she leaves me. Taylor moves in, and she leaves me. And now this? I can’t… Eddie, I can’t keep doing this. I’m—maybe I’m just the guy who’s good for a fun time, not a long time. I—what am I doing wrong?”

“Buck, you’re not doing anything wrong. I’m so sorry.”

“Do you think—do you think you could ever fall in love with me?”

“I think if I wasn’t this way, I already would have.”)

“I’m not going to tell you what to do, Tommy,” Eddie says, “But I really think you should talk to him. Tell him where your head’s at. Buck’s really good at—at understanding why you hurt him, and he’s even better at forgiving.”

“I—I—I can’t—”

“You can,” Eddie insists, “So pull yourself together, do some box breathing, get some sleep, and come over to my house tomorrow. I’ll make my hangover cure. I’ll lock the doors if I have to.”

Tommy’s quiet, which Eddie interprets as a fully-blown panic attack.

“If you don’t, I will call Athena Grant,” Eddie threatens, “You don’t want to know the things she’s willing to do for Buck. I’ve seen her break at least three laws with my own eyes.”

This, at least, gets a laugh out of Tommy. “Okay—Jesus, yeah. What time?”

“If you’re not over here by nine I’m sending the cavalry,” Eddie says primly, “And bring flowers. Nobody’s ever gotten Buck flowers before.”

Tommy takes a slow, shaky breath out. “Thanks, Eddie. You didn’t—you didn’t have to do all this for me.”

“Everyone always says Buck has a habit of worming his way into your heart, but nobody ever talks about me,” Eddie grins, “You’re stuck with me now, Kinard. Rain or shine. Even when you’re the stupidest motherfucker on the planet.”

“I’ll text you tomorrow when I’m on my way,” Tommy says, “I’ll—I should go eat some carbs and drink water now.”

“Take care of yourself, man,” Eddie says, “And don’t you ever call me to say goodbye again. Or break up with Buck like that. Also—call him Evan. It’s fucking weird to hear you call him Buck.”

“Okay,” Tommy acquiesces, quiet. “Damn. I was so worried about falling in love with Evan that I didn’t even realize I already loved you.”

“I’m sneaky like that,” Eddie says, “I’ll see you tomorrow—or else.”

(The next day, Tommy knocks on the door at nine sharp. He hasn’t changed out of his pajamas, his hair is a mess, he looks too gaunt and the bags under his eyes could fit a small country. But he’s holding a bouquet of wildflowers.

“I got this one because they’re the same color as your eyes,” Tommy says to Buck, who stands in the living room with his mouth ajar.

“What’s going on right now?” Buck says, eyes darting over to Eddie suspiciously.

“I’m going on a walk,” Eddie says, putting his sunglasses on his forehead and twisting at the hips to pop his back, “Don’t fuck on any of my furniture.”)

[dawn-moths]

there’s a lil noe one shot coming tomorrow for my blogs 2 year anniversary ☺️

[homophyte]

i know this website is in like a mood lately abt looking back fondly and joking about slightly outmoded fandom terms stolen wholesale from asian fandom like yuri (arguably the most innocent party here) n whatever but i will rlly never be cool with the way it transparently fetishized mlm and accordingly i frankly do not ever see myself being at all cool with the word fujoshi . genuinely ironically or otherwise jokingly. honestly it is sort of absurd that there’s some kind of fucking amnesia happening here about the absolutely disgusting ways queer men were and still are portrayed ??? i know it’s en vogue to say many ppl who called themselves fujoshis became trans gay guys but the idea that fact alone like absolves the abhorrent behavior of droves of people is absurd . like trans women are literally leagues ahead on this in talking about how say futanari shit can be important to a lot of ppl in their transitions and yet also is like fundamentally exploitative of transfem bodies and resting on (trans)misogynistic beliefs and ideas. can we really not say yeah yaoi as a genre is and always was fetishizing and is both constituted by and reinforces really shitty ideas about how mens sexualities work (often the same ones which create rape culture) . is that really beyond us for real. to say that a thing we might enjoy causes harm. why does it always have to be that the enjoyment erases the harm.

[tvrningout-archived]

just a wee reminder + an update! i had some personal stuff happen (plus my cold got worse rip), so i may not be particularly active for a few days. at most, i’ll lurk and write offline, maybe try to queue stuff, but i probably won’t be very social. thank you for being patient with me 💜 the update is below the cut; don’t feel obligated to read it, but if you do, know beforehand that it has to do with a family pet.

the vet doesn’t know what’s wrong with my sister’s dog after running a bunch of tests to make sure it’s none of the worst case scenario stuff, but he’s doing a bit better and they’re watching him overnight to give him fluids and antibiotics. i’m honestly relieved and hopeful it’s something treatable ;;;; i just wanted to let y’all know since i talked about it this morning, and i know i’m the kind of person to worry if i don’t hear how things are.

[rebelfell]

rub one out┃(for your viewing pleasure-verse)

pornstar!eddie x director!reader

a cheeky (pun intended) bit of filth based on part of my blurb series. I was trying to keep the snippets short, but this just kinda poured out of me over the past couple days.

cw: sex work, simulated adultery, oral (fem receiving)

18+, MDNI┃2.8k

Maybe this was a bad idea.

You couldn’t escape the nagging thought as you stepped outside, tightening the belt on your fluffy white bathrobe, tugging at the terrycloth tail and twisting it in your fingers. Your eyes flitted to each member of your crew, all of them in position waiting to get this show on the road.

Why were you so nervous? You’d certainly done this enough times before not to get stage fright. So why did your stomach feel more tangled than the box of electrical cords in Lenny’s truck?

Part of you almost wished it would rain, or the ground would open up and swallow you whole so you didn’t have to go through with this. But the concrete remained solid under your feet, and the sky overhead showed no signs of altering its radiant blue color. Perfect.

It’s gonna be fine, you thought in an attempt to soothe yourself. It’s all gonna be fine.

And you almost believed it would be.

Sammy, who was barely a step up from an intern, had swiftly been promoted once the plan for you to replace your no-show leading lady was set in motion. You weren’t worried about her, though—she was smart and a quick study; she knew all the shots you needed, and she had a good eye.

If you couldn’t be behind the camera yourself, she was pretty much the only one you trusted.

Well…maybe not the only one.

Eddie’s eyes met yours as soon as you stepped out of the trailer. The sunlight hit his deep brown irises, making them glow the color of rich honey. But behind the liquid gold, you could see his own nerves and it made your stomach flip, wondering what he could possibly be nervous about.

“Hey,” he said quietly as he came up next to you. “You good?”

For a moment, you considered lying. Flashing him a thumbs up or shooting him finger guns like one of those tools you used to do this with. But you knew better by now when it came to Eddie.

“Nope,” you chuckled. “I’m kinda shitting myself.”

“Well, that’s just what the guy about to fuck you wants to hear,” he chuckled back.

A real smile breaks through your tense, fake one and a genuine laugh bubbles up out of your chest. Eddie’s eyes shine when he hears it and the sight makes your chest feel all warm inside.

“No, you’re right,” you said. “I’m okay, I just…don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

His plush pink lips pressed into a straight line, his tongue poking out as he licked them. He reached out a reassuring hand and placed it on your shoulder, rubbing it through your robe.

“You’re gonna be great,” he assured, sounding a lot more certain than you felt.

Easy for him to say. He’s a fucking natural.

Even on your best day doing this, you never felt like you were great at it—competent, sure. Maybe even above average. But not great. Not at all the way you felt since getting behind the camera.

You nodded tightly, your hesitation still written all over your face. His eyes scanned over you and he swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. He then leaned in and placed his lips beside your ear.

“You look…really beautiful,” he said.

His warm breath rushed across your neck, the heat coming off his skin making your ears buzz. An explosion of fluttering began in your stomach, like there were butterfly cocoons in your cereal that morning and now they were all hatching.

“We should get moving,” you said, pulling back. “Burning daylight.”

Eddie straightened. He nodded and you nodded back, sliding past him to do final checks before you started rolling. Telling yourself he must have pumped or popped a Viagra to explain away that bulge in his pants that definitely wasn’t there before he came over to talk to you.

The nerves didn’t disappear once you started working, but your body and brain did snap into a kind of performance mode you remembered well.

You started with some still photography for the VHS box art—shots of you in progressing states of undress, your robe dropping off your shoulder, Eddie pulling it open to reveal your body, his hand running up your thigh in a slow caress.

He let it trail all the way up your stomach and chest until he curled his finger under your chin and tipped your face toward his, letting his lips hover just inches away from yours. Your eyes fluttered closed and your heart raced, thinking he might close the gap and actually kiss you—

But after the shutter snapped, he simply let his hand drop and backed away. 

The loss of his body heat sent a chill down your spine and you shivered despite the blazing sun overhead. Eddie’s eyes caught yours, the nearly imperceptible lift of his brow asking, ‘you okay?’ You nodded and another shiver skittered across your skin as you pulled your robe back up.

For the next shot, you climbed up on the massage table and he got into position behind you. His body pressed yours down, your back arching under him as he dipped his head low to take the lobe of your ear between his teeth, palming your exposed breast with his large, strong hand. 

You let your mouth hang open, not even needing to fake the look of desperation on your face. And let yourself believe Eddie’s excitement you could feel digging into the fat of your ass was real too. The little grunts and whines he let out when you wriggled against him certainly didn’t sound fake.

After the photos, there was nothing left to do but move on to the main event. 

You and Eddie reset—him standing in frame, you just outside of it. Sammy panned the camera around, establishing the setting, zooming in on the fountain feature in the pool and then coming around to film Eddie as he snapped a fresh towel and laid it out on the massage table.

From your spot off-camera, it’s impossible not to be mesmerized by the sight. Biceps rippling, tendons in his arms flexing as he smoothed the towel flat. His tattoos stood out even more than normal with him in white slacks and a white polo meant to give the impression of him being an employee of the resort. And the little twist your hair and make-up girl Jael did is something new that only further accentuates the thick column of his neck and his angular jaw.

He’d left off his rings and bracelets, as was typical when he was filming, and you couldn’t help but think about that day in the editing suite. When he’d touched your knee, and you felt the silver ridges press into your flesh. It had jarred you somewhat, how right it felt to have his hand there and how you’d nearly leaned in to meet his lips when you saw his face getting closer.

You hadn’t kissed him that day—promptly removing yourself from temptation in an attempt to salvage some shred of your professionalism. And you (mostly) felt good about that decision. It would have been reckless and destructive and your entire working relationship might have been compromised. You’d made the right call that day, you were sure of it. Mostly…

But today was different. Today, it wasn’t going to derail your career. If anything, your career was mandating you give in to those urges that had plagued you so relentlessly. And that was when it hit you all at once—the realization about as subtle as a train crashing through a wall.

You were going to fuck Eddie.

You’re going to feel firsthand what it’s like to have his face and cock buried between your legs; what it’s like to suck on his fingers and soak them with your spit before he presses them to your clit; what he sounds like when he comes all over your stomach or tits (you can’t quite recall what the script specifies, you just know it’s meant to be outside so he can dotingly clean you up after). 

The barrage of thoughts that storm through your mind are so consuming, you nearly miss your cue to enter the scene. But once you do, you’re rather grateful for the distraction of the set-up dialogue:

“It’ll just be me, today. My husband has a meeting he couldn’t get out of.”

“No, no, it’s not his fault. I got it as a surprise for our anniversary—I should have known better than to book it without checking his schedule.”

“I’m afraid I never know how much to take off for a massage…what do you suggest?”

Eddie answered your last question with a smooth, “Whatever makes you most comfortable,” and a smile so warm it would melt the ice caps.

Giving him a smile of your own, you slowly pulled at the tie of your robe. It fell to the ground in a heap at your feet and Eddie’s dark eyes roved over you hungrily. Now revealed to be completely naked, you feigned some degree of shyness: ducking your head low, looking up at him from underneath your lashes, brushing your hand over your stomach as though to hide it while really drawing his eyes to its plush softness.

“Is this alright?” you asked him with a coy smirk. Eddie grinned, still drinking you in.

“Absolutely,” he breathed. And the raptness in his eyes almost had you believing him.

You took your time getting up on the table, propping yourself up on all fours, letting him (and the camera) take a good, long look at the fullness of your hips before you settled in place. Arms at your side, you took a deep breath as you laid flat on your stomach, relieved there wouldn’t be much dialogue needed for this next part.

Through the little donut headrest at the end of the table, you saw Sammy’s feet as she moved in close—filming tight on Eddie’s hands while he pumped massage oil onto them and warmed it by spreading it between his palms.

Your chest tightened, nerves coiling in your stomach as you anticipated his touch, forcing your body to keep still so you didn’t pull focus.

He smoothed some oil over your skin, starting at the ankles and thoroughly coating your calves. The smell of clary sage filled the air, earthy and warm. And underneath it, a clean and woodsy scent you recognized as Eddie’s soap wafted up to your nose when he leaned in closer.

His fingertips began to knead your muscles, slipping and sliding easily over your skin that was slick with the oil. He made tiny circles with his thumbs, alternating back and forth as they moved in a steady pattern up your calf.

Oh, that’s right…

In all the hubbub, you’d forgotten the whole concept for this shoot was borne on the fact that Eddie went to massage school for real. He’d told you before, after he left his hometown (shit, what was it again? Hawk-something…) that he started collecting different jobs like merit badges.

Just bounced from thing to thing, trying his hand (sometimes both) at whatever life presented. And that included porn. He’d said he only auditioned for that first film he did because someone he’d slept with a handful of times knew a casting director and suggested he’d be good at it.

“He certainly had the dick for it” were her exact words, if you recalled. Strange to think in a way, you might owe that girl your career.

Through the pleasurable haze your mind dipped into having Eddie’s capable hands erasing every ounce of stress you carried in your muscles, you realized he was moving the scene right along while you just lay there humming and moaning with relief at his practiced touch.

He’d lowered his voice to that deep, rumbly register he always used when he was building towards the next phase. His DM voice, as he so affectionately dubbed it. Rough and gravely, yet even and tempered, guiding both you and the audience along on the journey of this fuck.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying…but your husband’s a jackass for missings out on this.”

Your heartbeat picked up in your chest as he moved to your thighs. His fingertips dug into your flesh, kneading it like dough, letting his thumbs swerve dangerously close to your center.

“You deserve someone who puts you first…who knows what he has and worships you…”

One of his thumbs swiped briefly over your puffy lips, and you knew he felt how wet you were.

“You know, I’d never let you out of my sight if you were mine…”

His words dripped slowly and intentionally past his lips, his hands creeping higher and higher up your legs. At last, they slid over the globes of your ass and he groaned as he squeezed one in each hand, spreading you apart to see your center, soaked with arousal that had been pooling there, truth be told, from the moment Eddie had told you how beautiful you looked. 

You heard Eddie’s next line in your head before he said it, “If you really want to relax, I can try a very special technique. I don’t do it for just anyone. It’s a little bit…unorthodox…”

And you were more than ready to take him up on his offer once he delivered the line. 

But Eddie went off script.

Instead of hearing words, you felt the wet heat of his tongue glide through your folds as he buried his face between your spread ass cheeks. Your head popped out of the headrest, letting out a breathy moan of surprise and delight.

The shock on your face was evident as Sammy pushed in close to capture your expression, but so was your pure and utter elation. You’d never felt anything so good in your life…

And it seemed you weren’t the only one.

Eddie groaned loudly as he lapped messily at your folds, his spit mixing with your slick that covered the bottom half of his face. And it was only after a few blissful seconds of eager licking that he even realize what he’d done.

“I’m—mmph—sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—” He panted out in between sinful swirls of his tongue, his he words muffled by your ass cheeks because he couldn’t stand to pull away even a little, even long enough to speak. “I had to taste you…”

”It’s okay,” you answered, voice already wrecked beyond belief. “It’s okay, just keep going—”

The command is directed at him as much as it is the crew, who only panicked slightly. Eddie never did stuff like this and they just weren’t ready.

They got back on track quickly enough, Sammy signaling the boom mic to get as close as he can without dipping into frame in order to pick up every lurid slurp and suck of Eddie’s mouth.

After no more than a few minutes, the fluffy towel under you was bunched in your fists and your hips squirmed as Eddie continued to eat you out like a mad man. His tight grip on your ass cheeks held fast, spreading you wider still so his tongue could probe deeper. The sounds he pulled out of you didn’t even sound human to your ears, let alone recognizable as your own voice. 

But you didn’t care.

However you sounded, however you looked, it was superfluous to what Eddie was doing and the precipice he brought you to. Your orgasm hit harder than any drug, than any physical blow. It had you shaking uncontrollably, reaching back to grip the hair at the crown of his head as your hips pushed back to meet every thrust of his tongue while you rode out your exceptional high.

You felt its tingling sensation spread to every inconsequential inch of your body, like an ocean of fire that crashed over you in wave after wave of scorching pleasure. Drowning you in it.

When you finally found the strength in your limp limbs to roll over onto your back, Eddie’s eyes were waiting to meet yours. You could see on his face how sorry he was, how worried he was he’d fucked up. And you tried to communicate with him in that mind-melding, wordless sort of way you and he always did that it was fine—that people were going to love it.

Cocking your brow at him, dipping into a more salacious tone to really sell the transformation from demure housewife to lusty adulterer, you threw in a little adlib of your own.

“That’s some technique you’ve got there,” you teased him, propping yourself up on your elbows. “My husband’s certainly never done that before.”

Eddie’s sly smile returned, his lips curling as he reached out to grip your waist. He hauled you closer with one jerk, bringing you to the edge of the table so your hips were flush with his. The bulge in his white pants was harder than ever when it pressed against your cunt, and he grinned wickedly when he felt just how ready you were for more. He yanked up the shirttail of his polo and whipped it off his body, tossing it behind him where it landed half in the pool.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he tutted softly, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Tysm for reading! 🛸 comments and reblogs keep your skin clear and your crops watered 🫶🏻

[emmyrosee]

Rintaro and you try to keep your cute affections consistent after Akito.

Being young parents in love, it’s a much easier task on paper, the screaming toddler and said child clinging to your every limb definitely puts the slightest damper on things.

You try to sneak kisses in the hallway, passing each other during dinner, as you both go about your mornings, but it’s just beyond difficult when it comes to a tiny terror running amuck.

One who also seems to get jealous when he’s not included in affections regarding you. No peaceful hugs, no cuddling, and certainly no kisses when your son is around, who quickly toddles his way between you both to get that attention from you, then from Rin.

He loves being the center of attention, the center of your attentions, and while it is more than endearing to you, you can tell it is hitting Rintaro in areas he didn't know were possessive until he has to share you with a tiny, feral child.

And now, standing over a bowl of fruit, when you feel two arms snake around your waist, you melt into the touch, relishing in the attention for as long as you can.

“Hey momma,” he murmurs against your hair. “Going for my run, you need anything before I go?”

“Just my goodbye kiss,” you hum, and he grins as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, and for a moment, you wrap your arms around his neck and forget about the rest of the world. Rin always has that effect on you, it’s amazing, and-

“Dadda no!” Akito whines, toddling over quickly.

Rintaro pulls back and furrows his brows in betrayal, “what do you mean no?”

“No k’mumma!” He commands, jamming himself between the two of you, a tiny palm pressing Rin's thigh to try and push him away from you. You bring your hands up to cover your mouth as to try and hide your laughter while Rintaro pouts his two year old. “My mumma,” he echos, wrapping his arms around your leg.

“Awww honey,” you coo, crouching down to curl Akito into your arms, kissing his chubby cheeks. “My akito boy.” He giggles at the attention, arms wrapping around you. You scoop him up, smiling as he curls against your chest.

“I’m not playing this game,” Rintaro grumbles. He leans down to kiss your head, only for a chubby hand to shove him away. “Akito.“

“My mumma.”

“I do not like this.”

“Hey. You were the favorite for a long time. It’s my turn,” you tease, planting a quick kiss to Rintaro’s cheek, “I’ll give you affection once you get back, he'll be eating breakfast by then, so I'll see what I can schedule you in for.” You send him a wink, and he pouts at your not-so-seriousness.

“You’d better,” he huffs. He looks at his son and sighs dramatically before trying to plant a kiss to his head, but he coos as Akito tips his head to get a kiss on the cheek. “It’s a good thing you’re so cute, kid.”

[r1elle]

atsumu who just gets so annoyed at that stupid plushie on your bed.

at first, he denies it. he denies it because the whole matter is just so above and beyond him.

to be genuinely pissed at some stuffed animal? please. he’s THE MSBY Black Jackals’ Setter. a PRO volleyball player. and most importantly, a GROWN man. being jealous over some sewn up cotton? goodness.

but the nights you had abandoned and turned your back towards him just to unconsciously reach for that plushie and cuddle with it instead began to frequent more than atsumu could tolerate.

hes definitely death threatening that stuffed beast (his own choice of words) the morning after.

is this what those scientists in shows felt like when their own experiments went against them? because seeing that white teddy bear he had prided himself in buying as a gift for your anniversary come and replace him during the hours of your slumber wasn’t really the nicest feelings ever.

so, if you find a rather jolly and humming atsumu sipping his coffee at 8:30 am in the morning, just know that he’s feeling really accomplished and expecting your figure to be the only thing he’s holding from the moment you close your eyes, and up for when you open them once again.

“mornin’, baby. whats up with the upset brows?

oh, but don’t look at how the attic just so happened to have its entrance slightly ajar. unfortunately, doing a clean job wasn’t really in atsumu’s blood that day.

____

“atsumu, have you seen the bear you got me for our anniversary? i’m worried… i cant seem to find it. it’s just.. gone?”

“eh? that big thing? how would it even get lost in the first place?”

“i know.. it’s so weird..”

“maybe yer’ just not looking hard enough, sweet.”

“but how—?……also, why’s the attic open?”

“ya look beautiful, by the way.”

“wh—?”

“just woke up too. so gorgeous. wouldn’t expect less from ya. c’mon, let’s go on a walk.”

“but atsumu, the att—

“i think the tulips you planted finally bloomed. let’s check, hm?”

“i just planted them three days ago—?? hey! atsumu! ats—!!”

well. taking an unexpected walk around the neighbourhood on an empty stomach definitely didn’t make things any better that morning.

——

though, if it alleviates anything within you, perhaps do take note at the horror on atsumu’s face upon the sight of your child dusting off that same white teddy bear she had “found while treasure hunting in the attic!” six years later.

as you make a snide comment (totally not directed at your awfully tense husband), and lead your daughter to washing the now roughed up plush, atsumu couldn’t help but feel as if that bear had been plotting against him, making sure to come back with even more malice for their inevitable reunion. (what a poetic mind, atsumu.)

and so, with no you to hold and to feel, and with no daughter to keep close by,

the bed surely felt colder that night.

stupid bear.

———————————————————————————

shameless plug but if u want more atsumu then.. heheh —> loser tsumu ;3

but yeah i don’t think the atsumu hyperfixation is ever gonna end

[imaginaryf1shots]

Soulmate | Lewis Hamilton Ver.

WC: 4.6K

Summery: You live in a world where soulmates exist, and each person is born being able communicate with them by writing on your own skin.

Warning: one curse, make out session, death of a parent and a dog, not specified age gap.

Masterlist

Lewis Masterlist

Max Ver. , Oscar Ver. , Charles Ver.

Everyone describes finding their soulmate as the best thing that could ever happen to them. Everyone grows up being able to communicate with their soulmate through their skin. Whatever you write will appear on the other’s skin. And once you wipe it off it’s gone from their skin. Only your soulmates writing will show up on the others, it wasn’t uncommon for children to write on obvious places in hopes of finding that love all adults describe, usually parents or adults will make them wipe it away but it still happens.

The marking is a way for you to identify your significant other, a way for you to find them. But the universe decided not to make it that easy. One of the things you can’t share is your name, where you are, and sometimes what you do. It can’t be that easy, you have to work for it, you have to wait for it.

Your markings started when you were just a baby, showcasing that your soulmate is a bit older than you, not an adult but definitely older. Your parents realised that after a while and since you couldn’t write yet, the writings from your soulmate stopped. You remember the first time you decided to write to your soulmate.

You just wrote a simple : Hi.

It only took a minute or so before a Hi was written under yours. It made you break into a fit of giggles. The happiness you had then was unbeatable.

And so you started talking to your soulmate, who is definitely older than you, and he definitely knew it and spoke to you appropriately to your age. Growing up with your soulmate, you realised how determined, kind, and level-headed he is. He’s the one you always go to for advice. He always has your back and best interest in mind. A problem with a friend, you ask him. Can’t decide what to study, you ask him. What food to eat, you ask him. You’ve come to know when he’s sad from the way he wrote and you always found yourself writing encouraging things to him when that happened, or stupid jokes that you hoped made him laugh or just feel a bit better. You always wrote or doodled to each other every day. All soulmates, especially those who haven’t found each other, always carry a pen with them, just in case.

For Lewis, today was different. You’re always doodling, always having something to day to him. So when the morning turned to the afternoon before it was the evening and his messages went unanswered, and he just sat staring at his empty skin, his heart suk. He has never felt so alone since you first wrote that cute Hi all those years ago. Your absence weighing him down.

And so one day turned into two and then three, and as he continued to write, he became ore desperate, hoping for a reply that never came. Worry ate at him, making it hard to focus, and he had to focus he had a race.

Finally, on the fourth day, he got a response.

’I’m sorry I didn’t write to you.'

His heart skipped a beat, he replied instantly.

’are you okay?’

You choked back a sob once you read his words, not reaching out to him, broke you, but you were already broken, already so sad, grieving.

’My mum died’ You wrote as tears left your eyes smudging the ink as it transferred into his skin. ‘I feel so lost.’

The reply from your soulmate came instantly. ‘I’m so sorry love, I’m here for you always’

You clutched the pen, the wight of your grief letting for s second by his words. Despite the distance, you felt his presence, a comforting warmth that soothed your heart.

’I wish you were here’ you wrote your heart yearning for the comfort of his presence. You haven’t met him yet, but you knew he’s what you need right now.

‘I am’ He replied. ‘I may not be there physically, but my heart is with you, always.’

One day, as you stared into the mirror, you found out that you and your soulmates are one of those rare ones. Because you’re one of the least, then 1% that when your soulmate gets a tattoo, it appears on your skin. Thankfully it’s not black ink, but it’s pale lines. It looks like healed scars. Your soulmate had no idea that you’re that kind of soulmates, and you never told him, so as the years went on, more lines started appearing on your skin. Some left you confused, and some left you smiling. You almost told him when he got the tattoos on his hands because some people thought it was scars at first before they got closer to you and realised it’s drawing and lines and writings.

You closed your eyes, imagining him by your side, feeling his arms around you, offering the solace you so desperately needed. Over the next few days, your exchange became your lifeline. Each message from him helped you a little. He was there for every stage of your grief process until you were okay, as okay as you could be and even after that.

You’re always thankful that he hasn’t tattooed his face. You were confused with the 44 behind your ear and the lion on your chest, but there was one tattoo that he got recently that had you raising an eyebrow. The tattoo was near your pelvic bone in cursive. It would be covered by his underwear. It was like a tattoo that only you two knew about, even if he had no idea that you knew about them.

You work for an event firm in the UK. The company has been able to secure a deal with Formula 1 to do some events for the fans in Silverstone. And for once you and your soulmate seem to be in the same time zone, it’s always hard for you to write and the other to be awake at that time. So your mood was good, you felt happy and excited about the event. There was something that made you feel giddy and ready for the event to start. Planning took time and was hard, but you’re happy with the outcome.

The one tattoo that helped you more than you’d think is the big Still I Rise across your back. Every time you felt down, didn’t do well in something you’re doing you’d catch a glimpse of it, and you’d feel better, and you’d try harder.

The first two days went by smoothly, for the four days you were working. You were walking around the paddock with a clipboard in hand, your hands scanning the crowds for something, you don’t know what, or who. But you just had this urge to look around. You needed to focus on your job, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant was about to happen. It was a sensation in the pit of your stomach, pulling you towards something unknown.

You were so lost in thought that you almost missed it. It was a fleeting glance, a glimpse of a figure moving through the crowd, but you saw it, you have no idea how but you saw it, the unmistakable tattoo, ‘god is love’.

Your heart skipped a beat, your hand went to your neck, and you touched where you knew yours was. You blinked, trying to steady your breath and look again. The man turned slightly, and you caught a glimpse of his hand. It mirrored the one you have on your own hand. Looking at his face before he goes lost in the crowd, you frown. You’ve seen him before. You frown and walk in the direction he went, looking around before you stop dead in your tracks. There he was, looking at you. Lewis Hamilton… his poster, of course. The 7 time world champion is your soulmate.

You take out your pen and start writing on the palm of your hand.

’how’s the weather?’

It took him a few minutes, a few minutes of you stressing. Did you imagine it? Was this actually your soulmate?

‘gloomy, what about where you are?’

’also gloomy’ you write back and sigh, you bite your lip and head back to where your boss is, you’ve known her for a long time and she became like a friend to you.

As you were walking, you saw a big screen showing what was happening on stage in another part of the track. There he was, as a strange sense of deja vu hits you. It was like you knew him your entire life. You stared as he laughed and chatted with the interviewer.

You took out your phone as you reached your team.

”y/n, are you okay?” Your boss asked, you nod not looking up. She didn’t believe you and walked up to you. “y/n?”

”I-uh, I think I know who my soulmate is.” You look up at her with vurnable eyes. She frowned.

”That’s a good thing, right?” She asked you, confused by your behaviour, you turn the phone for her to see. There was a picture of hands that held the same tattoos as yours. Her mouth went into an O shape when she read the name of the article that had the picture attached to. “Oh.”

”Yes.” Your voice trembled. “I need to get into the Mercedes motorhome or garage or something.”

”Consider it done.” She said. “I’ll have to make a few calls.”

Your heart was in your throat as you walked to the Mercedes motorhome with your new pass along with your boss. You had finished your work for the day, and she wanted to be there for you. You both walked into the building, the weather in there much warmer than outside, the room was buzzing with staff and guests alike. You took off your jacket and pushed the long sleeves of your shirt up as you felt the warmth of the room. A woman dressed in the Mercedes uniform walked up to you and your boss.

She greeted her, and they both talked. They knew each other from school. The woman then turned to you and smiled. “Welcome to Mercedes, I was told you wanted to come today.”

You put out your hand to shake hers, and she looks down at your hand and frowns. Most likely, she thought you had scars before she glanced closely and realisation hit her. She looked up at you with wide eyes. “I’m looking for someone that I think I share his tattoos.”

”I see.” Her eyes softened as she understood your words, and she noticed your nervousness. “You’re in the right place. Let me see what I can do.”

She led you upstairs where the VIPs were, as you waited, your mind raced. It was a mix of excitement and nerves. You glanced at your tattoos as you traced them.

“Calm down, y/n, it’s going to be alright.” You boss comforted you and pulled you in for a hug. You hugged her back and closed your eyes.

”Excuse me.” A voice interrupted your hug. You both pulled apart and looked at the man in front of you.

”Yes?” Your boss asked, but the man had his eyes on you.

”I’m sorry for sounding rude, but can I see your arms.” You recognised him then, it’s Lewis’ dad. You gave him your hand, and he inspected it, be fore he pulled up in for a hug. “Oh my god, thank you, thank you.” You just let him hug you. He bruptely pulled back and looked at you, his eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

”It’s alright, this is emotional for everyone.” You said, tearing up a bit yourself. The Mercedes woman came back and smiled at the scene in front of her.

”Lewis is in a meeting room going over some data, I think it’s better you meet him there.” She said and glanced around. “More private.”

”Yes, yes, that’s best.” Lewis’s dad said, and you were shooed by him and your boss. You followed her up another flight of stairs to the top level, where the meeting rooms are. She walked into a room in front of you.

“Lewis, there’s someone here who needs to speak with you.” She said, her voice calm and reassuring. Lewis looked up, his brows furrowing as he turned to face the both of you. “This is y/n, I think you’ll want to hear what she has to say.”

With that, she smiled at the two of you and left, closing the door after herself.

”Hi.” You said as you tried to fight the smile from your face but failed in the end.

”Hi.” Lewis stood up, he was walking around the table to reach you when he noticed your arms, he frowned, he wasn’t one to judge but he was surprised to see the scars? He stopped, but you walked a couple of steps closer. He then noticed it, tattoos.

Lewis was stumped. He thought they were scars, and he wondered what happened to you for you to get them. But in a split second, he noticed that they’re tattoos. His tattoos, on your hands, arms, and any part of skin, he could see. He took a step forward, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief.

”Are they real?” He asked his voice barely above a whisper. “Are you… are you really her?”

You felt your throat tighten, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. You took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah, I think so, I’ve been seeing your tattoos on my skin for what seems to be my whole life.”

”I can’t believe it.” He said, his voice soft as a slow smile spread across his face. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.”

As you stood facing each other, it seemed like the world around you faded, and noises from outside ceased to exist. This is the moment you both were looking for, waiting for. You take out the pen you have in your pocket, and as a final point to prove that you are, in fact, soulmates, and your soulmate isn’t just a Lewis superfan, you write on your hand.

’Hi.’

Lewis looks at the palm of his hand and smiles. He turns it to you and there in an identical handwriting his ‘Hi.’

Lewis reached out, gently taking your hand in his, and his touch sending a thrill through you.

”There’s so much I want to say, so much I want to know.” He said, his voice filled with emotion. “But first, I just want to thank you for being there, for walsh being a part of my life, even before we met, when we were apart.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you smiled up at him. “I’ve always felt you with me.” You said as your own voice trembled. “Even when we were miles apart, I knew you were there, and now… we’re finally together.”

”Yeah.” Lewis squeezed your hand, he said softly, his eyes welling with tears of his own. “We’re together, and I promise I’ll never let you go.”

You throw your arms around him for a hug, and he doesn’t hesitate before he hugs you back. You imagined being in his arms time and time again. Every time he comforted you, you'd imagine he’s right there giving you a hug. All those imaginations are nothing compared to the real thing. The warmth of his hug, the security and familiarity of it all is different.

It’s all so overwhelming that tears wouldn't stop leaving your eyes as you clutch him tighter. Lewis runs his hand up and down your back.

”I can’t believe I finally found you.” You sob, and it takes a lot for him not to cry with you.

”Me neither, I’ve been waiting for a long time.” Lewis said and pulled back to see your face.

”God, you must’ve waited for a long time.” You say realising that he’s older than you. He’s had to wait for longer. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry you had to go through everything alone.”

”I wasn’t.” Lewis whispers, his eyes holding yours hostage. “You’ve always been there for me, ever since your little Hi, you’ve been there.”

The door opens before you can say anything, and it’s one of Lewis’ engineers. He looks apologetic once he sees the two of you.

”I’m so sorry, but Lewis it’s time to go.” With that, the man ducks out of the room and leaves the two of you alone once more. Lewis hesitates, and he doesn’t want to leave you.

”Go, I’ll be here when you’re done.” You tell him with a teary smile, Lewis kisses your cheek, takes a deep breath, and prolongs his hold on you before he has to let go.

Lewis tells his team to take care of you, you’re given an all access pass for the Merc premises. You watch qualifying with Anthony, Lewis’ dad. He tells you what’s happening, trying to explain it to you as much as possible. You’ve never been a sports fan, so you never stumbled across Formula 1 before. And other than the research you and the team have done for the event, you knew nothing, but it looks like you’re about to know everything.

“He went first, right?” You asked Anthony not taking your eyes away from the screens. You were sitting at the edge of your seat, filled with anticipation and buzzing with the mood of the room.

”Yes, there’s still Q3, but he’s done the fastest lap in Q2.” Anthony explained, and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Taking your pen out, you write ‘you did so well, i’m cheering you on’

Lewis, of course doesn’t answer, but he’s seen your message, and you hope it helps keep his confidence high. Anthony told you about Lewis winning in Silverstone before and how it was in 2020 that he’s done it last. Your ringers crosses as Q3 started, with each lap the track evolved and everyone kept changing position, it was a Mclaren and Mercedes fight, and as the chequered flag was waved and the last cars passed, George went first, before Lewis passed the finish line and taking pole position. The room erupted in cheers, your eyes welled with tears once more, you don’t know all the hardships Lewis went through in his career, but you knew it meant a lot to him. You’ve known when he was at his lowest, and he’s been feeling down for a long time, and you found out why that is. But here you are now, and here you’ll stay.

You write another message after you whip the first away.

’congrats, I’m so happy for you.’

You see Lewis get out of his car, congratulate George, and get weighted before he takes off his helmet and gloves. He looks at his hand and smiles. You feel ecstatic seeing how happy he looks from your words. Anthony pats your hand for a moment. He’s thankful for your presence in his son’s life.

After Lewis is done with his interviews and whatnot, he goes back to his driver’s room, where you’re waiting for him. When he walks in, you imminently hug him, buzzing with excitement.

”Lewis, that was amazing. You did so good, I’m so happy for you.” You say and breathe him in.

”It was all for you, y/n.” Lewis says, and you couldn’t fight the blush from forming on your face. Lewis’s hands cupped your face before he took notice of the tattoo on your neck. He traced it, looking behind your ears for the ones he knew would be there. “did you get all of them?”

”Yeah, all them, I saw most of them get done.” You told him and Lewis’s fingers moved to your. hands looking at the lines he knew by heart.

“Did it hurt?” He asked his eyes, meeting yours.

“Not one bit.”

”Why didn’t you tell me?” Lewis was confused.

”Would you have stopped?”

”Of course.” Lewis answered in disbelief, almost offended you’d ask such a thing.

”That’s why I didn’t tell you.” Lewis chuckled and continued up your arm raising your sleeve with it, until he couldn’t anymore, his touch left you breathless, it was electrifying. You gently turned around and raised your shirt for him to see your back, his biggest tattoo. “I was scared about this one first since it was done in a few sessions.”

Lewis didn’t respond. His eyes were locked onto the skin that’s being exposed to him. From the look of your skin, one would think it’d be rough, but as his hands moved from the bottom of your spin and up your back, it couldn’t be the furthest from the truth. His hands left goosebumps in their wake. You closed your eyes, and your breath shuddered as you let it out. You move your hands up, and with Lewis, you remove your shirt.

Lewis’s hands hover over your bra clasps. You lean back into him, and that was all the encouragement he needs. He quickly unclasp it and watches his tattoo on your skin.

”You know, this shows everyone you’re mine.” Lewis’s voice sounded hoarse, his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed.

”Left your mark on me before we even met.” You said, sounding breathless. You turned around and looked at him, your eyes half closed, your hands on his chest. “Maybe I should do a tattoo of my name so everyone would know that you’re mine.”

Lewis groaned at your words, his hands holding your waist a little lighter. Your hand moved down his chest, feeling his abs before you felt his pelvic bone going down before you stopped.

”I want to know why you have this one.” You bite your lip, stopping your smile from breaking through.

“It was an impulsive decision.” Lewis breathed out and pulled you closer by the belt loops of your pants.

“Well, we have to see who the lucky one is.” You say rearing to the ‘lucky you’ tattoo you both share right next to your private area.

“I can already tell, I’m the lucky one.” Lewis whispered just as his lips tout he’d yours. The kiss was full of love and lust. The intensity left you gasping, Lewis took his chance to deepen the kiss. One of his hands cupped the back of your neck and the other slid to the top of your butt. His lips were warm and demanding, moving with an urgency, he’s waited for this moment for a very long time. Your hands went up to his braids, and you pulled slightly. Your mouths moved in a heated dance, just enough tongue touching to leave you craving for more. The kiss seemed to heat up, consuming, as you tried to memorise each other.

His hand moved from the top of your but up your back, feeling the skin there, and you pressed yourself against him, feeling the solid muscle of his chest, his heart beating hard, matching yours.

Breaking away was hard, but the small breaths you both were taking weren’t enough, and you needed oxygen. “Fuck, what are you doing to me.” Lewis asked, his voice husky and raw.

”Me? What are you doing to me?” You look at his lips red and a little puffy from the kissing you’ve been doing, and you know yours will match his.

“Maybe we should wait until we’re in a more private place.” Lewis says, having the same train of thought as you, he glanced at the door which he hasn’t locked.

“I think so.” You mumble before pressing your lips for one, two, three more kisses.

”Turn around, I’ll help you.” Lewis mumbled, and you followed his words. He hooks your bra and hands you your shirt back. He even helped you pull it down.

Walking out of his room after you’ve both calmed down, no one was the wiser to the make out session you two just had. You went back with Lewis to his house, his family left the two of you to talk, to get to know each other.

So you sat with Lewis in one of his hoodies and shorts, your make up wiped away and just ready for a cosy night.

“What’s your favourite tattoo?” Lewis asked you curious, you hummed thinking about it. You both sat on the sofa right next to each other, Lewis had his elbow on the back of the sofa and his head on his hand, the other one in yours, your legs were over his, it looked as if you were intertwined.

”They’re all unique and there isn’t one that I mind, maybe the Muhammad Ali I don’t enjoy as much.” You say with a giggle, Lewis pats your calf where the tattoo is visible. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s amazing and everything, a legend for certain.”

”But not enough to have him tattooed onto your body.” Lewis adds for you and you nod.

”The one I resonate with the most, is the still I rise one.” You tell Lewis. “You certainly got it at a time when I was feeling the worst and like a fauliar, since you got it whenever I felt like I couldn’t do something I’d look at it and I’d just try again.”

”I’m glad.” Lewis smiles at your words.

”Who’s Coco?” You ask lewis taking his hand is in yours, “My dog, she died in 2020.” Lewis said and you squeezed his hand, feeling bad for him and for brining it up.

”I remember you told me about it, a heart attack right?” Lewis nodded, you brought his hand up so you could kiss it.

”There was so many times, that I wished you were with me.” Lewis confessed, the tones of your voices calm, low and intimate. “I wanted to find you so bad, so many times.”

”I did too, I hate that you spent so much without me.” You tell him and sigh, before giving him a small smile. “But we get to spend the rest of our lives together.”

”We do, I’m taking you with me everywhere.” Lewis says and pulls on your hands making you move that bit closer.

”Good, because I’m not leaving you.”

”Tell us, Lewis, what do you think made you have the last push to win today?” The interviewer, Jensen Button, asked Lewis, who smiled and searched for you between the Mercedes crew. You just emerged between them with a grin on your face, this was all new to you, so you had no idea that you could be at parc ferme and see the podium from there.

”My soulmate.” Was his simple answer, the fans all cheered as Jenson was shocked that Lewis found his soulmate after so long.

”She’s here?” Jensen asked, and Lewis nodded with an unbeatable grin.

”Right there, and I can’t wait to go and kiss her.” Lewis said, pointing in your direction.

”Well, one more question before we let you go and do just that…” Jensen asked the queastion and Lewis was paying half mind to him, he gave a practised answer. “Okay, we’ll let you go to your soulmate.” Jensen put the mic away before he patted Lewis’ shoulder. “Congrats, mate.”

He wasn’t talking about the win. Finding your soulmate is much more important than any race win.

Lewis walked up to you and did exactly what he said he’s do, his hands went to your cheeks, yours to his race suit to pull him closer, before his lips landed on yours.

The camera flashes were blinding as the fans all cheered for you both. What a moment.

Lewis pulled back and pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re my lucky charm. You have to come to every race.”

”I already told you you can’t get rid of me, I’m not leaving you.” You tell him before he was pulled away. He had to go.

You watched Lewis on the top of the podium with the biggest smile, his eyes caught yours and he sent you a wink.

Lewis sprayed the champagne before he raised it up and took a sip out of it.

Here’s to forever.

Vote for the next one

Maintaglist

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03

[reyalvr]

RUMORS!

I KNOW YOU HEARD THE RUMORS, YOU MUST GET OVER TO IT RIGHT AWAY!

synopsis ┊ ken sato- a remarkable name in the world of modern baseball- has graced japan with not only his presence, but also his skills as a key player for the yomiuri giants. from press conferences to media endorsements, it’s clear that his stardom has only intensified from his recent move. but what happens when you, his personal assistant, are left to deal with some more… serious rumors?

genre ┊ chaotic fluff, oneshot

pairing ┊ ken sato x gn-PA!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, ami is not the reporter depicted!

word count ┊ 2.2k

author’s note ┊ hiya! i recently found time to watch ultraman: rising and this fic was just writing itself in my head hehe… happy reading! (p.s. yes… the title was inspired from the new minions song)

THREE MONTHS. That was how long you had known baseball’s darling, Ken Sato. And in those three months, you had undergone every single PR nightmare you had ever conjured up in your mind prior to pursuing your career. You had worked with celebrities before- doing God knows what ‘til the waking hour on their every beck and call. But Ken, despite presenting himself as a laid back man, was an entirely new… experience. 

From the Kaiju attack at his first game under the Giants, to the continuous streak of losses throughout the first half of the season, it seemed like the Gods were against you as you did your damndest to handle the damage control on his reputation. His ego didn’t aid you either- having to spin and twist multiple incidents to get reporters and media outlets off his back. You weren’t exactly sure what it was that kept you from quitting all in all, but the longer you worked under him, the thinner your thread seemed to snap. 

You huffed an annoyed sigh into the cold air, picking up the pace as you jogged along the designated path by the bay. Your days off were scarce- not because of Ken’s schedule, but because of your own decision to be up to date with his spontaneous actions. Despite the rarity of solitude, you always managed to savor your time off. The music played at a mellow volume in your ears, the morning sun starting to warm your surroundings as you watched its rays splash hues of orange across the sky. 

Your felt your watch beep against your skin, signaling the end of your morning run. Pausing by the railing, you leaned against the old metal bars as you checked your stats. You swiped absent-mindedly on the screen of your smartwatch, scrolling once you were sure that everything was in order. There was one thing that caught your eye, though, as you noticed the red notification bubbles on your message app were continuously going up. It was odd, yes, but not odd enough to be out of the ordinary- at least in your line of work. 

Deciding not to bombard yourself this early in the morning, you opted to give everything a once-over once you made it back to your apartment. Whatever it was could wait- you were on your time and your pace. Besides, it couldn’t be that bad. Could it now?

IT DEFINITELY COULD, AND IT DEFINITELY WAS. You pushed on the gas as hard as you could, your tongue poking into your cheek as you continued to drive to Ken’s house. Of all the days that he decided to make perhaps the stupidest decision in his career, he chose today. Doing your best not to see red, you dialed his phone once more. The ringing played throughout your car as you maneuvered through the roads, and you swore for what felt like the umpteenth time that morning when you heard the tone of his voice message. 

Hey, it’s Ken. Leave a message after the beep, and I’ll be more than happy to ignore it! Said his usual arrogant tone playing before the generic beep. You gripped the steering wheel harder, huffing angrily as you sharply turned a corner. 

“Kenji Sato answer your goddamn phone right now! I’m ten minutes away from your house and when I get there, I better not be greeted with your supposed secret love child!” You yelled, pushing the red button once you finished your message. 

Ah yes. The centerpoint of your current rage: Ken’s “leaked” one-on-one with a reporter about juggling baseball and his homelife. Someone on Ken’s staff had sent the article in your shared work group chat, and nearly all of his personnel had directly messaged you about the issue. It was inevitable for celebrities to get into a scandal once or twice, but one on this level would not be an easy fit to overcome. 

You don’t exactly remember what you were doing prior to receiving the messages- all you knew was that you needed to get to Ken as soon as possible. Of course it just be a misunderstanding, hell it could even be a hoax! But knowing Kenji, anything could be possible. You neared the hill of his private property, driving past the gates as the security recognized your car.

You parked haphazardly at the front of his house, your feet stomping into the gravel as you made your way to his front door. His estate had numerous smart tech installed throughout his home, so you knew that each and every one of your moves were either being recorded or observed. You crouched slightly to be in frame with the doorbell’s camera, your anger slightly toned down.

“Ken.” You paused to narrow your eyes. “Open the door.”

For the next minute and a half you swore you could hear some sort of clash and bang from inside the house. You kept your arms crossed, raising your eyebrow from time to time when the clashing seemed to grow louder. After what felt like an eternity, the front door opened slightly. Not all the way, but just enough for Ken to peek out and smile at you- albeit nervously cocky.

The nerve.

“Hey, [Y/N]! What uh- what are you doing here?” He manages to cough out, roughly combing a hand through his hair. “I thought it was your day o-”

“Save it.” You reply, your gaze sharp enough to slice through whatever excuse he had at the ready. You held up your phone then, the article’s headline prominently bolded:

OUT OF LEFT FIELD: Ken Sato Strikeout? Nope! Love Child Home Run!

Ken’s head bent down to get a good look at what you were showing him, and you watched carefully as his eyes scanned over the article not once, but thrice. You let out an impatient hum, your mouth forming into a slight scowl as the both of you stood in silence. With your head tilted to the side, you dropped your hand back down and crossed your arms. 

“Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to start explaining to me what the hell you’ve been up to these past twenty-four hours?” You question, moving past him as you enter the house. 

Usually you would wait for Ken to let you in, but stalling would only hinder you from coming up with what to do next. The article had already been up for two hours, and you halted any statements from being made before you could get an explanation from Ken himself. He quickly tailed after you, nearly stumbling over himself as you stopped at his kitchen. You gripped the marble countertop, closing your eyes momentarily before you turned to face him once more. 

“[Y/N] I swear, it’s not as bad as you think it is,” Ken says as he tries to add reassurance to his tone, but it doesn't mask the lingering tinge of falsehood.

“Oh, really?” You say, your eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Because in the span of two hours I have had thirty news outlets blowing up my- your management team for a response!”

He opens his mouth to speak, but stops again midway when you continue. “The headline I showed you was local. I want you to tell me exactly how and why you were on the phone with a reporter talking about your private life at God knows what hour. Now.”

You can see him swallow, licking his lips after as he tries to form the right words. He blinks a bit before pinching the bridge of his nose, tilting his head up as he lets out a deep sigh. When he opens his eyes he’s still greeted with your restive stance. Still he remains slightly hesitant, but he does end up recalling the remnants of his conversation with a reporter he had met at one of the parties he attended. Ken goes on to explain that he had only seeked out advice. His schedule, his personal life- he needed an outlet. You can feel yourself slowly untense, though you continued to listen to make sure all your facts were straight.

When he finishes his retelling, he puts his hands up slightly- as if he were trying to put you at ease. “I swear, that’s all I said. I thought,” He pauses, his brows furrowing in a way that made you slightly mad at yourself from blowing up at him. “I just thought I could have a normal conversation for once. ‘Guess I was wrong.”

The warm lights cast a sombre shadow on his features, and from this angle you notice the worn out expression painted on his face. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, not to mention the fading bruises from his latest altercation with one of players from his opposing team. In front of you was not Ken Sato, this was Kenji; Simply a man who was thrust into a new life without the needed support. 

“Well, no shit.” You say, finally breaking the silence, you fix your posture against the counter as you tone down the anger in your voice. “Jesus Ken, sometimes I wonder how you were able to maintain your career before me.”

At that he lets out a soft laugh, his dull expression slowly fading. “Yeah, I do too.”

You give him a puzzled look before you reply. “Are you mocking me?”

“No! No, I was being serious.” He says, his smile dropping slightly. “I know I haven’t been an easy task, hell you’re here on your day off for Christ’s sake.” 

You hum at his words, narrowing your eyes slightly as you push yourself off the counter with another awkward cough. In all ninety days of working under Ken Sato, never has the man gotten this sentimental with you. You decide not to linger on his words, your attention going back to the problem at hand. 

“Right, well,” You sigh, whipping your phone out in the process. “I need you to give me the name of that reporter. I’ll get the legal team to draft an NDA breach.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows then, looking at you as if you’d said something odd. “I didn’t make him sign an NDA though?”

You only give him a smile, a hint of confidence plastered on your lips. “I know. I have my ways, Sato.”

“You’re a pretty good assistant, then.” He replies, the corners of his lips going up slightly as he keeps his arms crossed. 

“I’m an excellent assistant.” You correct without looking at him, your fingers tapping away at your phone as you prepare the next steps of your plan. 

Ken can only chuckle in agreement, tapping his fingers on his forearm as he awaits your next set of instructions. Within the next twenty minutes you’ve sent out the necessary details to your team, your legs kicking as you sit on one of his bar stools. He’s stood across from you, leaning on the countertop looking at you intently as you explain the response plan. 

“And lastly,” You say, sliding out your hand. “Give me your phone.”

 His head tilts, the same confused expression on his face. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Your hand curls, motioning for him to hand his phone over. “No, I am not installing a monitor.” You add when you see his mouth open to interrogate you. 

He slides his phone over with a defeated huff, and you open a new contact page on his contacts. “If you need to talk, do it with someone who won’t leak your shit.” You say, sliding back his phone when all your details are settled.

“I have your number though, don’t I?” Ken questions, looking over at the number you inputted. 

“You had my work number. Now you have my personal phone.” You point your finger at him before continuing. “Don’t abuse it. I’m still your assistant.” “Wasn’t gonna, sweetheart.” He says, an amused smirk mixing in with his addled look. 

You quirk your eyebrow at the nickname. You shake your head, hopping off the stool as you make your way back to the front door. Ken follows behind you, hands in his pockets as he watches you leave. Before you can open the door though, you look back at him one last time. 

“I mean it, Ken.” You say, making sure it gets through his head. “You have a problem, tell me. You need a solution, you tell me.”

“I know, I know.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile, nodding towards the door. “Go enjoy the rest of your day off before I start thinking you care about me.”

“I do. It’s my job to care about you, Ken.” You reply, giving him a look before you open the door. “Whether you like it or not, I’m your lifeline. At least until you get rid of me, which won’t be happening for a good while.”

“Oh yeah?” He jests, his cocky demeanor slowly coming back. “‘You so sure about that?”

“Extremely sure.” You’re standing outside now, slowly walking backwards. “Twenty minutes ago people thought you had a secret love child and that you were a terrible father. Now you’re back on the face of KFC as baseball’s darling.” 

He’s taken aback. Was he actually booted off of his collaborations? He hastily checked his phone, scrolling through all his platforms. To his surprise, he was greeted with… his usual feeds. No sight of the article, no lingering gossip. His ads had doubled, his partnerships boosted on the products he had endorsed. He looked back up to say something, but you had already started your car. You backed out his estate, giving him a smile through the tinted glass of your windshield. 

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. You were right. But who was he kidding?

You always were.

[erwinsvow]

knocked up too young and wearing a glittery diamond ring on your left hand, you had settled nicely into the role of mrs. cameron. it wasn’t tough, not a hard position to play in the slightest—rafe, or rather your husband—made everything nice and easy for you.

it seemed like it was his biggest desire come true, making sure you and his little girl were taken care of. he liked it actually, more than he admitted, knowing the two of you were fast asleep in bed when he left for work in the morning, doing nothing but relaxing throughout the day.

in fact, he had decided the second you had tearfully confessed that you were pregnant that this was the sort of life you were meant for, the kind of life he was going to give you. you were so scared, he can remember it like it was yesterday—your watery eyes and wet cheeks, the way your hands shook when you pulled out the test to show him.

“i-i-i’m so sorry, i, i thought the pills were enough, everyone says it’s enough-” you were stammering and crying your way into exhausation, something he definitely didn’t like. 

“s’okay, kid. nothin’ to cry about.” he was formulating his plan already, being proactive in all matters, thinking ahead to marriage licenses and car seats while you stared down at the positive stick in your palm.

“you’re.. you’re not mad, rafe?” the way you look at him, the world stops spinning. why would he be mad?

“hey, s’done,” he says, hands on your shoulders to steady you, bringing you to the edge of the bed to take a seat. he takes the pregnancy test from your hands, looking down at it himself. “it already happened. can’t take it back. no point in cryin’ over it.” 

when you look up with even more tears in your eyes, he’s half convinced he’s said the wrong thing—but it doesn’t faze him, he keeps going.

“hey, hey. what, you thought i wouldn’t take care of you? this is my kid too.”

“i know, i just, i thought you wouldn’t be okay.. with it. having it.” that’s the first and only time he got stern with you through this whole pregnancy.

“hey, don’t talk like that. this is our baby. there’s no question ‘bout havin’ it.” you nod up at him, tears drying as you steady yourself, regain a little composure knowing rafe’s not mad about this little accident. “y’okay now?��� you nod again. “good, call your parents. tell ‘em we’re getting married soon.” 

“wh-rafe!” 

but, like how most things were with rafe, he called the shots and you listened. the two of you got married shortly after, before you were even showing. anyone who even attempted to comment on the hastiness of everything shut up the second rafe stared at them.

you’d be a liar to say you didn’t like it, a fool if you didn’t appreciate how rafe was to you.

he stepped up in every way, better than you could have even tried to put together in your imagination. a place was purchased and had slowly started to become home, with a crib that rafe assembled by himself—though it had taken hours and ended up with the instruction papers all crumbled up in a corner—and baby proofed cabinets and sockets. you laugh watching rafe try to install the baby gate on the staircase.

“you know that’s for when they start crawling, right?” you giggle, a hand on your very pregnant belly.

“shut up. m’being proactive. gonna have no time once she actually gets here and we’re runnin’ around changing diapers and makin’ formula and shit.” 

you’re only a touch surprised with how well-versed he is with all the baby stuff, though you appreciate it more and more since you’re still a little confused and overwhelmed. he makes it all easy, from the pregnancy cravings he runs around to find for you to the pretty pink walls in the nursery. he even satisfies all your other cravings, like around month six when there was nothing you wanted more than rafe's dick in every position you could think of.

when his daughter actually comes into the world, the two of you are a mess of emotions and thoughts, but there’s only one rafe really cares about. when can he give you another one?

it doesn’t take long for him to start trying again—trying to convince you that the two of you can handle two, that little kids need siblings their age. the baby’s only six months old but he’s convinced it’ll be better to have them all young at the same time rather than waiting—at least that’s the line he feeds you.

“no, rafe, they’re gonna be like irish twins. it’s so embarassing,” you say next to him in bed, staring up at your husband. 

“what’s that?”

“when you have two babies that aren’t even a year apart.”

“oh. that’s a thing? good, at least there’s a name for it. i’ll get you a book on it, since that’s what we’re doin’.”

and try as you might, even you can’t resist rafe for long, not when he’s taking such good care of you and just wants to give you another baby with his blue eyes and your pretty hair. you end up in the same position that got you into this whole situation—your knees folded to your chest and eyes rolling back while rafe slams into you. 

“don’t worry, baby,” he breathes into your ear, low and quiet since the baby’s sleeping in the other room. “i’ll get y’knocked up again. won’t have to think about a thing in this world except my kids.”

it’s a shame you get pregnant so quickly—rafe was so fun when his only thought revolved around fucking you full of his cum. 

“well, s’not gonna be irish twins. too far apart,” rafe says, looking at the photos from the doctor’s appointment.

“no, it’s just regular twins.” you don’t think you’ve ever seen rafe so happy.

[fastandcarlos]

Late Cravings : ̗̀➛ George Russell

summary: what baby wants, baby gets, even if she does want it at 3am, much to george's dissatisfaction

You barely managed to walk through the door before George appeared in front of you, his eyes were wide as his hands held onto your arms, studying you closely before closing the door. 

“George, at least let me get in,” you told him, being directed by his hold. “What’s going on? Why do you look so scared?” You questioned, sliding your shoes off and kicking them to one side. 

It was only once George stood still that you could see how nervous he looked. His heart was racing as he finally let you go, brushing his hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, taking a moment to pace and compose himself a little bit once again. 

The fear of stirring in the night and not feeling you there brought a terror that George had never experienced before. He had no idea where you were, terrified that one of his worst fears during your pregnancy had come true. 

“Where were you?” George frantically asked you, “what sort of person just gets up and leaves the house at three in the morning without telling anyone where you’re going first.” 

You felt guilty as you heard the panic that was still in George’s voice, encouraging him to take a seat beside you. Your hand rested against his leg, assuring him that you were there and that you were safe. 

Your free hand reached into your bag and pulled out what you had bought on your late-night adventure, with George’s eyes watching carefully to see many of the things you’d been craving in front of you. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about these and I knew I wasn’t going to sleep without getting my hands on them,” you told him, ripping open the packet of crisps you’d bought. 

“But I could have gone to get them for you, all you had to do was ask,” George groaned, staring across at you as you placed a crisp into your mouth, throwing your head back in satisfaction. 

The thought of waking George did cross your mind, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it, he was peacefully sleeping beside you and you didn’t have the heart to disturb him. 

“You were asleep and with how busy you are you need to rest as much as possible,” you told him,  I wouldn’t have gone if I didn’t feel like I was up to it George.” 

George’s head nodded, he understood where you were coming from, knowing that you wanted to remain as independent as possible, but even by his standards this was a stretch too far. 

“I could’ve sat in the passenger seat and slept,” he suggested with a smile on his face, “at least then I would have known exactly where you were.” 

“But you know where I am now, that’s the main thing, right?” 

George’s eyes narrowed on you, as safe as you were now, half an hour ago he was worried that it was going to be a whole different story. 

“I wish you’d tell me when you’re planning on giving me a heart attack,” George joked. 

“It’s all part of the fun,” you argued, resting your head down against George’s shoulder as you continued to eat. “You know I am just pregnant though George, I’m not incapable.” 

Whilst George was overprotective, you were a little carefree making the two of you a little conflicted. George wanted to know every last detail while you tended to not tell him much about what you were up to, confident you could still take on the world, even if George was a little more doubtful. 

“Maybe going out so early in the morning wasn’t the brightest idea,” you reasoned, much to George’s delight, “I suppose I could have sorted out my cravings in a little bit of a better way.” 

“I know how you get when you’re craving though,” George mused, “if there’s one thing that I know about you it’s that you definitely get whatever you want when you’re craving.” 

You nodded in agreement with him, you were determined with everything that you did, but now you were more determined than ever to do as much as you could for as long as you possibly could too. 

“I don’t mean to constantly be on your case,” George told you, kissing against the top of your head. “I need to remind myself to trust you more, to know that you know how far you can push your body.” 

“I wouldn’t do something if I couldn’t,” you assured, “and as much as you might not believe me, if I need help then I will ask you for it George.” 

The corners of his mouth slowly turned up, “I know you will, and I’ll always be there whenever you need me to step in and help you out.” 

“That’s why you’re such a fantastic husband.” 

You weren’t oblivious to how lucky you were to have George by your side doing absolutely anything that you needed. He was beyond excited to have a baby, wanting to do as much as he could to help both you and the baby out, maybe sometimes a little too much, although you knew George always meant well. 

“I draw the line at three in the morning,” George then spoke up, sending you a knowing glance. “It’s dark outside and you can’t see where you’re going. No craving can be as important as keeping you safe in conditions like that.” 

“I was driving and my lights were on.” 

“Still,” George sniggered, dismissing your protests. “From now on if you need anything in the night then you can shake and kick me awake, regardless of how sleepy I might look beside you.” 

Your eyebrows raised as George spoke, “I can kick you?” 

“That’s the bit you focus on,” George grumbled, rolling his eyes at you as you threw your crisp packet into the bin. “You got anything else in there, I’m hungry now after all the energy I’ve just exerted panicking for you.” 

“Are you pregnant and craving?” You asked him as his head shook. “In that case then you get nothing, these are mine and mine only.” 

You reached forwards and opened up the packet of sweets that you’d bought, taking one out. Luckily for George you reached across and popped one of the sweets into his mouth, much to his delight. You leant back against his chest as you started tucking in, his arm wrapping around you. 

Despite the way his heart had raced just a few minutes earlier, it was a lot calmer as George noticed the content smile now on your face. He knew that pregnancy was far from easy for you, trying his best to understand your mood and emotions as much as he could. 

“Maybe we should stock up on some of the things you crave,” George suggested, watching your eyes light up. “You know like how people how emergency rations; we could have emergency cravings.” 

“That might not be the worst idea,” you agreed, “but only if you agree that they’re for my cravings and not for you to keep tucking into.” 

“You know what my appetite is like, when there’s food in front of me then I’m probably going to eat it.” 

“Think of it like this, would you deny your child food if you ate the food that is kept in the cupboard for them?” 

“Oh wow, now that is the ultimate guilt trip.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[froggiewrites]

Wanting

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

NSFW

Summary: You have never wanted anyone more than you want Sanji. You don't want to admit it, but as you end up alone together on a new island, the universe seems determined to make you. Warnings: Smut, There Was Only One Bed, Possessiveness (a bit from both Sanji and Reader), Reader really matching Sanji's energy on the horniness here Word Count: 5.6k Crossposted from Ao3

You had never wanted anyone more than you had wanted Sanji.

You hated to admit that tragic, embarrassing fact, but it was true all the same. You wanted him. You had always known you’d liked Sanji, from the moment you met and he threw himself at your feet, knew you found him endearing and silly, but wanting him? That was different. Wanting was real. Wanting was demanding. Wanting had you pacing the deck after yet another dirty dream about your silly little cook, trying to calm down enough to be able to face him at breakfast.

Your bare feet hit the grass of the Sunny’s deck as you pray that this will pass, that you’ll be able to see your dear friend without yearning for him so deeply it threatens to rip a hole in your chest, but every time you close your eyes you can still feel his lips against yours and see his face twisted in pleasure. You huff with frustration, throwing yourself down to lay on your back and stare at the sky. Maybe the morning sun will burn out your retinas and you won’t have to worry about seeing his face at all anymore.

“You alright down there?” His voice is still raspy from sleep, and your eyes shoot open as you use all the willpower you have not to rub your thighs together.

“Sanji!” Your voice is an octave higher than you would have liked to admit. “Hi! Good morning! Um, yeah. I’m uh–I’m fine. Peachy.”

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about his hands reaching down to grab you. Don’t think about how his dick would feel in your mouth.

Fuck. Damnit.

“Are you sure? You’re a little red.” You finally look up to see his face, his hair a little mussed and his eyes softened with concern. You want to kiss him. God, you want to kiss him.

“I’m okay, I’m just, uh. A little hot. That’s all.” You focus anywhere but his eyes, those beautiful kind eyes, because you know if you focus on his eyes you’ll do something you’ll regret. Or maybe you wouldn’t regret it at all, because you’d finally know what his lips feel like.

No. Not now. Not ever. You are not all hot and bothered over Sanji. Not your dear friend Sanji, who is looking at you with so much care it makes you physically ache.

“Do you want to come inside? I can make you something to cool you down.”

You picture being alone together in the kitchen, his practiced hands and talented fingers moving with such purpose as he slices and dices, just to make something to please you. You picture those fingers moving with a different purpose, working for a different pleasure. If you go in that kitchen you fear you’ll do something you can’t take back. “I’m alright! I just need to lay here.” Your voice definitely just audibly cracked.

His face falls a little at the idea that you won’t come with him. You try not to let your heart flutter at the idea he wants you around. That he wants you alone with him. “Alright, well come on in if you change your mind, okay? I’ll do–make. I’ll make anything you want.”

What was that?

Your imagination, surely.

“Of course, Sanji. I’ll let you know if I need you–anything.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.”

You stare at each other for a moment before he turns and walks into the kitchen without even a goodbye, and if you didn’t know better you would think the tips of his ears were red. Surely not, though.

You cover your face and groan, rolling onto your front to block out the world. You hear sets of footsteps pass as your other crewmates wake up and decide to leave you to your misery instead of asking. A small mercy, but one you’re grateful for.

Once you finally manage to drag yourself off of the ground, your thoughts filled with simple, unsexy things like cold showers and paint drying, you make your way to the kitchen for breakfast. You come in only on the tail end of the meal and conversation, hearing Nami’s voice dictating how things are going to go on the next island.

“—need to make sure we aren’t separated. There’s an island-wide curfew, and we need to make sure that none of us break it. We don’t want to risk drawing attention to ourselves.” You can’t see her face but you are familiar with the scathing side-eye she’s almost certainly giving Zoro and Luffy right now.

“Why are you looking at me?” Zoro’s voice is defensive in the way it only gets when he knows whatever he’s being accused of is inarguably true.

Nami sighs. “It’s too early for this. Anyway, we’re going to pair up to make sure no one gets stranded alone on the island just in case we miss curfew. I wrote all of our names on pieces of paper, and I’m going to draw–”

“Why do you get to draw?”

“Yeah I wanna draw! I’m the captain!”

“It doesn’t matter who–”

You tune them out for your sanity as you retrieve your plate from Sanji’s outstretched hands. He gives you a soft, sincere smile that cuts to your core. He looks so wonderful like that, when he isn’t trying to woo you and he’s just being…Sanji.

“I kept it warm for you.” He leans closer so you can hear him over the din of voices behind you. Your eyes are level with his chest, his shirt unbuttoned halfway so you can see his entire torso. You need to look away. You need to stop ogling.

You don’t.

“Thank you,” you murmur distractedly. You don’t know if you’re thanking him for the breakfast or for the clear view of his happy trail.

His chest gets closer, and you feel his warm breath against your ear. “Of course. Anything for you.” He’s so close. You could so easily put your lips against his neck. You could bite him right now, make him make such wonderful noises right here in front of everyone.

“Hey, are you two even listening?” Nami’s annoyed voice rings out from the table behind you.

You both stand at attention like navy soldiers the moment she calls for you. Her tone means business. That silly argument earlier seems like it soured her mood for the entire day.

“Of course, Nami!” Your tone rings false, and she gives you a dour look that you shrink under.

“Ugh. Whatever. Important bits: we’re staying paired up on this island. Be back before dark. Don’t draw attention to yourselves. Got it?”

“Yes, Nami!” You both chorus.

“Great. I’ll start pulling names.”

Your captain pouts. “But I–”

“I’m pulling names.”

“Awww.”

The pairs came quickly: Brook and Usopp, Franky and Robin, Luffy and Chopper, and Nami and Zoro (to Sanji’s audible displeasure). You laugh along with everyone else for just a moment at Sanji’s fit before you realize what it means.

“God, if it pisses you off that much then just switch partners with me!” Zoro’s voice is filled with annoyance, his eye turning to you.

Sanji pauses for a moment, his eyes finding yours, and you can see pure and utter euphoria hit him when he realizes. The fury at Zoro’s suggestion hits a moment after. “No way in hell, mosshead!”

The bickering continues, as it always does, and you try to calm your thoughts once again. A day alone with him. A date, perhaps. You imagine at first walking hand in hand while shopping, stopping in a cafe to enjoy together, and other simple domestic things that make a small lovesick smile make its way onto your face.

And then you remember your dream, hear his lovely voice cry out in a broken whine, and your silly daydreams turn to dark alleys and frantic, fumbling hands taking what they need before you’re caught. You imagine getting to run your hands down his torso, following the teasing trail of hair you saw earlier down, wrapping your hands around him and making him whimper.

You stop your thoughts because you are in front of an audience and are going to lose your sanity if you allow yourself another moment of this.

Sanji and Zoro have stopped fighting, and the crew is pairing off as everyone decides their tasks for today. Zoro has been designated Nami’s shopping bag holder, and his protests fall on deaf ears as the conversations continue without him. You and Sanji will be grocery shopping, of course. He has the list ready to go, which means all you need to do is keep him company and try not to get jealous when he inevitably hits on a stranger. You can do that, grit your teeth and give tight-lipped smiles that hopefully hide the taste of iron on your tongue. Maybe if you’re lucky she’ll reject him, refuse to give him the time of day, and he’ll turn to you as he licks his wounds. He’ll find comfort in you, and you’ll gladly give it. You can ease the sting of rejection as he eases the yearning ache in your chest.

As the crew moves to leave the kitchen, Zoro begins to lean over to you, presumably to make some gruff joke about how miserable your day will be with Sanji, wearing a smug grin hiding the boyish amusement he gets from teasing the man he would never admit is his friend. Before you can hear it, give him a soft laugh and a roll of the eyes, your vision is filled with the soft blue of a slightly unbuttoned shirt and there’s a large, gentle hand on the small of your back.

“I said hands off, mosshead.” Sanji’s voice holds more hostility than you’d expect. Most days even their worst of fights have an air of levity to them that they would never admit, but this has real anger behind it, venom spitting from his lips in a way you had never heard. The hand on your back presses firmly, commandingly, in a way that makes your knees weak. “Let’s go, angel.” His voice softens, then, not filled with the candied sweetness he saves for his usual flirtations, but the type of tender sincerity and affection saved only for a small inner circle you are forever grateful to be a part of.

“What, I can’t talk to her? Possessive pervert.” There’s less anger behind Zoro’s words and more confusion, but you can hardly hear it as the door slams firmly shut behind you. Sanji’s breathing is labored with anger, his shoulders drawn tight, but you hardly notice over the feeling of his fingertips on your back, brushing just above your ass, so close to moving lower. His hand moves to your hip instead, grabbing firmly, not enough to bruise but enough that you couldn’t leave if you wanted to.

“Sanji? Are you alright?” Your voice is hesitant as you try to keep the lust out of it, but he seems to take it as discomfort. His eyes widen, his hand immediately leaving you, and you can’t help but let out a soft whimper at the loss. He, of course, takes this as pain.

“Oh god, darling did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, I–”

“You didn’t hurt me, Sanji, I’m fine. I was just worried about you.” You give him a reassuring smile, teeth only slightly clenched from concentrating on anything other than how strong he felt, on how good it felt to be held, on the feeling that his fingerprints have been burned onto your skin even though the fabric of your shirt.

His face is troubled, his eyes watery from even the idea of hurting you, but he relaxes when you take his hand in yours, gently rubbing his knuckles with your thumb. “I’m fine. I just can’t stand the idea of you running off with mosshead and him getting you lost. He’d probably leave you alone in the woods somewhere.” The words ring falsely in your ears. He hates to admit it, but he trusts Zoro to protect you, no matter the situation. The safety of the crew is one of the few things they’ll always agree on. He does not and would never think Zoro would leave you for dead.

“He wouldn’t do that.”

Sanji goes quiet, unable to bring himself to disagree, to lie to your face a second time. What was he thinking? “Yeah, I…I know.” His voice is weak and strained, but before you can pry further he starts to walk ahead, pulling the grocery list out of his pocket, clearly shutting down the conversation. You stare longingly at his back for a moment, at his broad shoulders, before following in his footsteps.

Shopping is tense, at first, as he tries and fails to calm down, but you eventually find a rhythm. You both fall into each other, a brush of the hands here, a hand on the arm there, the pull so magnetic you cannot help but follow it. Eventually you find yourselves walking hip to hip, you holding his arm, pressing it to your chest incredibly deliberately as he tries and fails to pretend he doesn’t notice. He keeps sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and you revel in the attention, preening under his wanting gaze. Your thoughts are about nothing but him, nothing but his shining blue eyes lingering on your chest, nothing but the hard stops he keeps making so your tits press even harder into his bicep.

He’s looking at you. God, he’s looking at you, no one else. Your chest tightens at the idea it could always be like this, that he could be yours.

Neither of you notice how late it’s gotten until the sun is already more than halfway behind the horizon. You’re reluctant to break the tension as he pulls you closer when you walk past a group of rowdy drunks, but you remember Nami’s warnings and your blood runs a little cold.

“Um, Sanji? Do you know what time it is?”

He checks his watch with no sense of urgency, clearly not grasping the situation. “It’s almost nine, why?”

“Curfew is at nine thirty, isn’t it? And the ship is…” you think for a moment, “about an hour away?”

He stops in his tracks, causing your chest to press against him again. “Ah.”

A beat of silence.

“Nami’s going to kill us.”

“I think you’re right.”

“The marines will notice us if we’re out past curfew.”

“Right again, my dear.”

“We’re fucked.”

“Mhm.”

More silence, stretching further and further as reality sinks in.

“I…guess we should find somewhere to stay?” Your voice is a little meek.

“I guess so.” He tries to keep his tone even, but there’s something almost mischievous behind it, something you can’t place. The ends of his lips twitch into an almost smile before he stops it. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but you pray it’s something perverted. Maybe today he’ll get brave and act on it and you’ll have an excuse to throw yourself at him, give into the feeling you’ve been fighting all day.

You both attempt to find an inn with two open rooms, but the first three are fully booked with drunks who have beaten you to it. The curfew inches ever closer, and you still have nowhere to stay. If you stay on the street and get caught by the marines, you know Nami will kick your ass for alerting them to your presence. She probably already will for how long you’re delaying your journey. You focus on Sanji’s arm resting around your shoulders to ground yourself and ignore the dread creeping in and settling in your bones.

You finally find an inn that will take you, but you immediately run into a problem. Or what you’ll pretend is a problem.

“Please tell me you have availability.” Sanji’s voice is tinged with desperation as the clock ticks down.

 The woman working the desk seems exhausted, having clearly dealt with much worse customers than yourself earlier. “Is a queen bed okay?”

“A queen bed, like singular?” You put on a good show of acting confused and a little upset, hiding your giddiness well.

“Oh, are you two not–” Her eyes are lingering on where you’re connected, your arms wrapped around his. “I’m sorry, I assumed–well. Um. We only have one room left, I assumed you would want to share it.”

“One room?” Sanji’s voice gets a little loud, and a stranger would mistake this for anger or upset, but you can hear excitement in his tone. He glances at you again, at your face, at your chest, at your legs, admiring you for just a moment, certainly imagining something that would make you flush. “Only one room?”

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can do. We really only have one. If that doesn’t work–”

“It works.” You both speak quickly. You pretend you don’t see him visibly fist pump when he thinks you aren’t looking. He pretends he doesn’t see you excitedly rock on your feet, a visible twinkle in your eye. The woman hands you a set of keys, and you’re both off.

As you walk to the room, you talk around it, pretending you both aren’t absolutely thrilled by this turn of events. 

“I can’t believe they only have one room. I know it’s busy, but this place is massive. It’s hard to believe it’s fully booked.” You try to sound annoyed, but a giggle makes its way into your voice as you imagine being tucked into the single bed with Sanji’s arms around you.

“It’s ridiculous. And with only a queen bed? Not even two twins? Or a king? It’s the most inconvenient it possibly could be.” He can’t fight his smile when he says only a queen, as he imagines both of you having nowhere to run except into each other. He could cry at the idea of having an excuse to hold you close, to feel you pressed against him with your head resting on his chest. It’s so domestic he could pretend it was real.

You both perfectly match each other’s steps in this liar’s dance even when the door closes, even when there’s not a single person to call you on it but each other. You cannot admit that you want this, out of fear that it might shatter the feeling of giddy excitement surrounding you both. You cannot put to words what is happening, lest you make it real. Real has worries attached to it, questions of the future and what this all means and what it changes. If you stay quiet you stay in the dream, where instead the only thing you have to think about is the pounding of your heart and the comforting heat of another next to you.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he says, visibly upset by the idea. He has to offer you the choice, he is a gentleman, but his eyes are pleading for you to deny the idea and welcome him into your bed.

“Don’t be silly, Sanji. You don’t need to ruin your back, there’s plenty of room for the both of us.” You leave out the internal pleading for him to come closer as soon as humanly possible. He can’t know how you may be even more desperate for him than he is for you.

“You’re an angel, my dear.” His smile now is genuinely affectionate, filled with a fondness that makes your chest ache. He looks younger like this, unburdened. “Well, let’s not wait, hm? I bet you’re exhausted.” His hands reach for the buttons of his shirt, and you watch, enraptured, as he slowly undoes each of them, revealing more and more of his body to you. You’ve seen it before, due to his favor for open silly Hawaiian shirts, but you can’t help but swallow at the sight, eyes never daring to look away. He’s so beautiful. He’s so strong.

You wonder if he could break you.

You wonder if you could break him.

He slips the shirt off easily, his hands moving down to his belt, the clink of the buckle sending a shiver down your spine and breaking you out of your trance. You can’t let him undress while you stay fully clothed. It’s rude. You let your hands slide down to the hem of your shirt, swiftly removing it, and he stops in the middle of unbuttoning his pants to stare, jaw slacked. You can see him grow hard at the sight of your chest as his eyes bore holes into you. His gaze is burning, his pupils blown out, his breathing growing heavy.

“Sanji?” You reluctantly call out to break the spell, not wanting your masquerade to end quite this soon.

“Yes? What is tit–it?” His eyes haven’t moved a centimeter, honed in on where your breasts spill over your bra.

“You’re staring.” You keep your tone teasing. His eyes finally trail up to your face, where he finds a twitching smile as you try to hold back your giggles. His expression shifts from lustful to lovestruck as his eyes soften and his smile widens.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, breathlessly.

“So are you.” His smile widens further as he finally looks away from you, suddenly bashful. His cheeks are flushed slightly pink, and you finally break and huff out a laugh. It isn’t seeing you half naked that gets him, or the idea of sharing a bed, or the lustful thoughts he’s certainly been having all day. It’s a simple compliment, not even a particularly good one, that flusters your dear cook. It makes you want to take his face in your hands and place kisses all over it, with a tenderness that would make its way under his skin, marking him as well and truly loved. It makes you want to drop to your knees and worship him, take him into your mouth and not stop until he’s utterly spent and crying from the overstimulation. It makes you want him, in every meaning of the word.

But you don’t want to break the illusion yet, still a little nervous about being the first to step over the line, so instead you slide your thumbs beneath the waistband of your jeans and quickly step out of them. You make your way to the bed, making a show of throwing yourself onto your back, bouncing a little as his eyes eagerly take in the movement of your breasts, your thighs, every inch of you. After allowing him a moment to admire, you shift to pull the blankets over yourself, tucking yourself in. You’re going to play your part. But you’re allowed a moment of fun. You look up at him, doe eyes blinking and arms outstretched welcomingly. “Sanji, aren’t you coming to bed?”

He pauses for a moment, his eyes turning to your face, and in that moment you swear you can see into his head. You see dreams of the two of you intertwined, not sexually, but just…together. You see his head resting against your chest, eyes closed in absolute bliss. You see the soft sunlight of the morning bathing you both in gold, warming you to your bones. You see a different scene, the two of you in a more intimate embrace, bodies pressing closer than you thought possible, hips moving and hands everywhere, a tender moment that almost feels like worship. You see an entire life together, every little moment, and you see Sanji’s eyes fill with tears at the idea of it.

He rips his pants off, practically diving into the bed with you, and his arms wrap around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He buries his face into your chest, nosing between your breasts, and somehow still keeping up this silly ruse, he mumbles, “This bed’s pretty small. Guess we’ll have to get even closer.” He pulls you tighter, and you’re almost sure he can’t breathe from how much he’s pressed his nose into your skin. You giggle, and you can feel him smile against you. He places a kiss right against your sternum, gentle and affectionate, before pressing one up slightly higher, then one higher than that, as he makes his way up to your neck. His facial hair rubs against your skin, the ticklish feeling making you laugh even more. He places one final kiss where your jaw meets your neck before pulling up to whisper in your ear. “Can I please kiss you? I think I’ll die if I don’t.”

“Please do,” you whine out. He doesn’t wait another moment before your lips crash together, teeth briefly clacking together in his excitement before it softens into something more tender and intimate. He groans softly into your mouth, lips parting, welcoming you in. You gladly accept, and he fully pins you beneath him and you explore each other’s mouths.

His hands slide underneath you, one pulling you upward into him as the other fumbles with the clasp of your bra. The moment it releases, he swiftly tosses it behind him, breaking your kiss to stare at your chest. His mouth is slightly agape as he pants, eyes wide, taking in the sight. He looks as though he wants to speak, but nothing comes out. The silence stretches out as he takes in every inch of your breasts, before he eventually reaches a shaking hand out to brush his fingers against your skin. He lets out a quiet breath of awe. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. A goddess. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You took the words out of my mouth, Sanji. This is a dream come true.” Your voice is quiet with the vulnerable admission, and his eyes leave your chest to meet yours.

“You dreamed of this?” He sounds like he really truly can’t fathom the idea.

“Dozens of times. Almost every dream I have is about you. Last night I–” You stop yourself in embarrassment, face flushing.

He leans closer with an intensity he usually saves for battle. “Last night? You dreamed about me last night?” His eyes are boring into you, stripping you bare, staring straight into your heart and soul.

“Yes,” you softly admit. “I dreamed about you last night. About this. The real thing is so much better.”

“Oh god,” he breaths out, before he kisses you again, hard and fast. His hands envelop your tits, groping and squeezing. You can’t stop yourself from keening into his mouth when his fingers brush against your nipples, and you can feel him grind against you when he hears. His hardness presses against your bare thighs, showing how badly he wants you. He grabs at you like you’ll disappear between his fingers, fade away like all of the dreams that have been haunting you.

Another pinch at your nipples makes you cry out, and you pull back, begging, “Sanji, please, more!” You want to feel his fingers inside you, his tongue, his cock. Any and everything he could give you you want, and you feel so sure that he would gladly let you take it. He would give you the heart out of his chest if you asked.

He moans as his bulge rubs against your thighs again. “Fuck, of course, angel. Whatever you want.” He slides lower, and you feel his fingers slide along the fabric covering your slit. He carefully traces a path up to your clit, lightly pressing against it through your panties, making you suck in a breath. His eyes travel between your face and his fingers, taking note of your reactions.

He eventually slides off your panties, letting out a soft noise of appreciation once he’s able to see all of you. He leans closer, mumbling something you don’t quite catch, before his mouth is on you.

“Ah, Sanji!” You cry out in surprise, your thighs clenching together, and you can feel him moan against you at the pressure. His tongue moves expertly, which you suppose makes sense; Sanji is a man who knows how to appreciate a good meal. His hands reach up to grip your thighs, not to pull them apart, but to pull you even closer, hooking your legs over his shoulders as he dives further into you. His nose brushes your clit, making you keen again, and you can feel him smile against your cunt. 

You feel a familiar tension building in your gut as his tongue shifts to your clit and he inserts a finger, then two, then three inside of you, curling in a come hither motion that makes you see stars. You get noisier and noisier as the coil tightens, and Sanji only grows more enthusiastic with every moan and cry he manages to pull from you. His hips are grinding desperately against the mattress beneath you. Your thighs continue to tighten around his head, and you worry you’ll crush him, but you imagine that’s the way he’d want to go.

With one final flick of Sanji’s tongue and push of his fingers, you come unraveled around him, nearly screaming his name as you’re hit with white-hot pleasure. His fingers work you through it, only stopping when your thighs go slack around him and you let out a soft whimper. He crawls up to see your face, to see the evidence of his work, and you can see he’s absolutely covered in your wetness, his facial hair soaked in you. His pupils are blown out, his eyes nearly entirely black and looking nearly maddened with lust. He kisses you, and you can taste yourself on his lips.

“Please, please let me feel you. I need to feel you around me. Please.” His voice is ragged as he pants, a whine behind it as he begs to fuck you.

“Please,” you whimper back.

His fingers hook below the waistband of his boxers, and he slides out of them slowly. His cock stands proudly, long and thick, leaking precum. He gives you no time to admire it, swiftly lining it up with your entrance and slowly pushing himself into you, moaning into your ear at the feeling.

“Darling, you feel heavenly,” he groans. He sits still for a moment, giving you time to adjust and just enjoying the feeling of you tightening around him. “I could never have imagined how perfect you are. The dreams never did you justice.” You try to move your hips, but his hands are holding you still. You let out a whine, pathetic and wanton, and his lips tug into a smile. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Yes, god, yes.”

He pulls himself out slowly, before reentering a little faster, the next time a little faster than that, increasing his speed bit by bit until he’s relentlessly pounding you into the mattress. He mumbles endless praise for you that gets lost between his moans, only allowing you to make out princess and tight and perfect. The room is filled with these small praises and the sound of slapping skin. You lean up to kiss him, but he doesn’t let you, instead staring intensely into your eyes, determined to see your face when you cum.

He watches your face as your orgasm grows closer, his hips speeding up and his fingers reaching for your clit. His gaze is loving, admiring, nearly worshiping, and his words at some point turn into a prayer: for you, for him, for what you’ve created here in this room to last long after the door opens and you return back to a life where this becomes real. Your orgasm hits you harshly, making you cry out, and he watches enraptured as you come apart around him. He tries to keep his pace steady, but his hips stutter as he cums inside of you, filling you with warmth.

He stays like that, cock inside of you, eyes locked onto yours. The only sound in the room is your heaving breaths, the only sensation either of you feel is the warmth of the other grounding you here.

“I think I love you,” he murmurs. “Can I say that? Can I make it real?”

You wrap your arms around him, pulling his head to your chest, cradling him there. “Please do. I want it to be real. I want you. I love you.”

He adjusts, pulling out of you, crawling up slightly to fully make his home in your chest. His shoulders shake, and you hear a sniffle. You don’t say anything, simply running your hands gently through his hair, across his cheeks, down his back.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.” He nuzzles his face even deeper into you.

“I think I’ve wanted you just as long, even if I didn’t realize it.”

“I adore you.” His voice is thick with emotion, and you think maybe this confession is deeper and more difficult than his first. 

“I adore you too, Sanji. You’re one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met.”

You sit there, basking in each other’s presence, enjoying a world where this gets to be real. You drift off to sleep peacefully, with the reassurance that when you wake this won’t just have been another troubling dream. Nothing is more real and grounding than his arms wrapped around you, his leg thrown over you, his lips still lightly pressed against your skin. You know you’ll see him tomorrow, shining brilliantly in the sun, and walk back hand in hand. You still dream of him, but the lovesick smile he gives you when you open your eyes is better than any dream you’ve ever had.

[starkwlkr]

Omfg I need like early on in the relationship between Hugh and marvel!reader where their relationship isn’t public and their papparazzi of them on set together coz they’re visiting eachother and everyone’s thinking xmen X mcu when in reality it’s just them together dating

no spoilers! | hugh jackman

an: ok since their first son was born in 2000 (it’s canon idk what date but it’s canon now lol) and the mcu started in 2008 I’m going to change a few things JUST TINY THINGS like the mcu being in development early on and marvel actress!reader being casted in the early 2000s. does that make sense?? idk this is fanfiction

2005

Getting a call from Marvel was something you never expected. Like many people, you grew up reading the comics and watching the tv shows. But now you had the chance of a lifetime. You were being offered a role in the first movie in the Marvel cinematic universe.

After having a meeting with the marvel executives and your manager, you were asked to keep the news of your casting a secret. The media was already wondering who was going to portray what heroes on the big screen and your name was being thrown around.

While your relationship was still a secret, you often visited Hugh on set of X-Men with Alex and Reese. You tried to keep your little family from the media as much a possible. You would watch Hugh get into his costume and do his stunts. You were always amazed at how much fun it would be to portray a superhero and now you were finally going to be able to.

A few months after you met with Marvel, you found out you were pregnant with your third baby. A girl. Thankfully you weren’t set to film yet since the film was still in development. When it was finally time to film ‘Iron Man’, you were more than ready. Your kids were a bit older so they finally got to watch you beat up bad guys like their dad did.

It was during the filming of ‘Iron Man 2’ when your secret was finally revealed to the world. You didn’t really know how it even happened . . . Your guess was that paparazzi somehow snuck in. Hugh was always careful when visiting you on set. Rumors were already circulating on the internet about a potential X-Men and Avengers team up. It didn’t help that Hugh was sporting his signature Wolverine hair when he visited the set. At least the kids weren’t with you.

“You look much better than me,” Hugh looked at your costume. He couldn’t stop staring, it was starting to make you weak in the knees. “at least you get comfortable suits. Remember the black suits from X-Men? The most uncomfortable shit ever.”

“The kids thought you looked cool.” You reminded him.

“Okay, that makes me feel better.”

As you and Hugh talked, some paparazzi were secretly taking photos. All they could think about was how well they were going to get paid for the exclusive photos. The X-Men joining the mcu? That was big news!

When the photos were published on every magazine, you couldn’t help but laugh. What a way to reveal your relationship. You definitely didn’t want to share the news this way, but you also didn’t want to lose your job.

“Maybe in a few years it’ll come true. You, me, X-Men and the Avengers.” He told you, giving you your morning coffee. The kids were still sleeping so you and Hugh took advantage of the quiet morning. You set the magazine down on the table and drank the coffee.

“It would be nice. Imagine what the kids will think. Mom and dad beating up the bad guys together,” you smiled at him. He took the opportunity to give you a kiss. As he pulled away, you whispered to him. “or it could be me kicking the wolverine’s ass.”

You and Hugh’s characters wouldn’t share the screen until 2024 when Deadpool & Wolverine premiered. Your kids were more than excited to see their parents fighting together.

@kellyxo1 @barnes70stark @ru-kru @flyestvenustrap @evasmlp

[theemporium]

[1.7k] an early morning birthday treat for your boyfriend hours before the rest of the world needs either of you. (smut)

we are gonna ignore the fact i accidentally hit the post limit yesterday and pretend i actually posted this on his birthday

.

“Good morning, birthday boy.” 

Oscar let out a small hum of acknowledgement, a small smile working its way onto his face but he didn’t bother opening his eyes. Instead, he wound his arm around your waist and tugged you down until you were collapsing down on his chest. He sighed happily, nuzzling himself further against you whilst you wiggled in his embrace. 

“You’re ruining your birthday,” you commented, trying to nudge his arm away so you could sit back up. But Oscar didn’t budge a bit.

“It’s my birthday,” he grumbled, his voice still laced with sleep and his accent coating his slurred words a little thicker than normal. “I get to choose what we do and I choose sleeping.”

“That’s boring,” you retorted, twisting in his hold until you were facing him. You reached a hand out, pushing his hair back until you got an unrestricted view of his face squished against the pillow. 

“I happen to like boring birthdays.” 

You snorted, smiling fondly as you leaned down to press a kiss on the tip of his slightly scrunched nose. “You’re not even going to ask what I planned?” 

“If it includes leaving this bed before I have to head to the track, then I’m not interested,” Oscar mumbled, letting out a sigh as your nails began to scratch along his scalp. “I’m quite happy here. Very content. Very happy birthday boy.”

“And if I said your birthday plans start in bed?” 

Oscar paused for a moment. “I’m listening.”

You grinned, lightly poking his cheek until his eyes slowly fluttered open. “Hey.”

He flashed you a lazy smile. “Hi, baby.”

“Happy birthday,” you murmured before you leaned down, pressing a soft but lingering kiss on his lips. 

“Definitely happy,” he hummed in response, huffing a little when you pushed his shoulder so he was lying on his back. “You’re awfully bossy this morning.”

“You like it,” you teased, throwing one leg over his body until you were settled on his lap. In seconds, his hands were on your waist like the reaction was instinctive. 

“Maybe,” he replied, though the light pink painting his cheeks gave him away. His thumbs lightly swiped along your hip bones, slowly pushing the material of your (his) shirt up until he was met with bare skin. “I have to be at the track by ten.”

“It’s only seven,” you retorted.

“That means we could have had a solid two more hours of sleep,” he pointed out, his eyes still a bit bleary from sleep. He was just grateful enough that one of you remembered to pull the curtains shut last night. “You know, cuddling is good for dopamine and stuff.”

Your lips twitched. “Dopamine and stuff?”

“You woke me up five minutes ago, give me a break,” Oscar grumbled, squeezing your hips to emphasise his point. 

“I know something else that would be good for your dopamine and stuff,” you said, grinning a little as you leaned down to peck his lips. “Something for the birthday boy.”

“You keep saying that but—oh shit.”

You watched his eyes flutter shut, his grip on you tightening as you rolled your hips against his. You ducked your head down, lips pressing chaste, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and neck as you felt his skin flush under your touch. You felt his thumping pulse pounding, could feel the way his body was reacting to you. 

It was fucking intoxicating. 

“Do you still wanna go back to sleep?” You questioned, your voice teasing and a little patronising as you nipped the skin just below his ear.

“Nuh uh,” he breathed out, shaking his head in response. “This is good. This is better.”

You grinned against his skin.

And maybe it was still-half-asleep brain or maybe Oscar just didn’t want to assume, but he wasn’t really expecting more. It was still painfully early for either of you to be awake right now, especially considering how late you had managed to get to the hotel. And he was honestly more than happy to have this, to have his girl on top of him. To have your hands and your lips and your pretty words. To just have you. 

He wasn’t thinking about where it was leading, he was just stuck in the present moment of you, you, you.

His brain hadn’t even fully caught up until your kisses started moving lower, until a few chaste kisses along his collarbone started to move further down his chest. 

“Babe,” he rasped, his head still a little fuzzy with sleep as your breath fanned over the muscles of his stomach.

“Shhh, relax f’me, Osc,” you murmured between soft kisses, fingers tugging the edge of his boxers down as the urge to mark along his v-line overwhelmed you. 

“I—” But the words were lost in the back of his throat as the heel of your palm pressed against the bulge in his boxers, your lips mouthing at the sensitive skin along his hips. 

His eyes fell shut, his head digging back into the pillow as he let himself enjoy every single inch of his body that was being touched by you. The way his hips bucked against your hand, the front of the fabric already wet and stained with precome as you marked pretty bruises on his pale skin. The way your body settled between his thick thighs, nails grazing along his skin until he was squirming and whining underneath you. The way every cell in his body was just so, so responsive to you. 

A guttural moan escaped the back of his throat as you mouthed along his clothed cock, licking a thick strip over the fabric of his boxers as he helplessly buckled beneath your touch. He didn’t think a single thought in his head was about anything but you. He didn’t think he wanted to think about anything else but you. 

Your fingers curled around the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down his legs and throwing them somewhere off the edge of the bed, neither one of you all too bothered where it landed. Instead, you took his hard cock in your hand, not wasting a second before you sucked the tip in your mouth, lapping at the small beads of precome that were already leaking.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he breathed out, his hips bucking further into your mouth but your other hand kept his body planted on the mattress. 

He was fucking helpess. 

He was fucking helpess and he didn’t give two shits about anything other than you. 

There was a vague voice in the back of his head reminding him that it was early, that they had neighbours, that those neighbours were colleagues of his. But it was a passing thought at best for Oscar as he squirmed and wiggled and writhed beneath your touch. It was a problem for future Oscar to deal with. 

And it wasn’t often Oscar was vocal, not like this. But he was sleepy and caught off-guard and, fuck, your mouth just felt like heaven wrapped around his cock. He couldn’t help himself with the whimpers and moans he let out, your name like a mantra as it left his lips on a broken loop. 

Because Oscar Piastri was a weak man when it came to you. 

And when he lifted his head off the pillow to finally look down at you, he about lost whatever semblance of control he had left.

Your hands were placed on his thighs, your nails digging into his skin but the pain was biting and welcomed. Your cheeks were hallowed around his dick, a mix of come and drool leaking from the edges but it just made his stomach twist with a deep desire that he knew would haunt his fantasies for months to come. Your lips were red and swollen, your eyes were glossy and hooded and, fucking hell, the second he met your gaze, it was over for him. 

His hands were gripping the sheets of the duvet beneath him as he came, the pleasure white and hot and overwhelming in every sense of the word. He felt it all over like a hot flush, dancing along his nerve endings and racing down his spine as his body bucked upwards to be closer to you, your mouth, your everything. He was distantly aware of the little whiny noises he made as he came, the ones that were half muffled as he buried his face into his pillow as his orgasm washed over him whilst you lapped at his sensitive cock. 

He couldn’t really find it in himself to be embarrassed when he finally turned back to look at you, seeing you slowly lick your fingers clean from the cum that had leaked out your mouth with a huge grin on your face.

“You’re a menace,” was all he managed to breathe out, throwing his arm over his face to try and recover from mind blowing orgasm and the sight of you shamelessly tasting him. 

“Happy birthday,” you replied cheerfully, crawling back up the bed until you could press a chaste kiss on his cheek before nuzzling yourself against him. “Good start to twenty-three?”

He huffed out a laugh. “I think you might’ve killed me.”

“At least you died young, pretty and satisfied,” you joked, feeling his chest rumble beneath you and it made your stomach twist with something quite like delight. 

“And in love,” he added, his words a little slurred and his cheeks burning a little at his own cheesiness. But it still made you grin.

“I love you too, Osc,” you murmured back.

“I was talking about those sushi rolls we had last night, but yeah I love you too,” he murmured, letting out a short pained noise when you pinched his side. “Ow! What happened to birthday boy privileges?”

“Those ended with the blowjob,” you retorted. “You’re back to normal Oscar now.”

“Hm, that seems a little unfair,” Oscar commented as he wound his arms around your body, hugging you close to his chest like the two of you could melt into one person. 

“Tragic life of being twenty-three,” you teased.

Oscar smiled. “Thank you, seriously.” 

You laughed, lifting your head to look at him. “Did you just thank me for a blowjob?”

The sleepy smile returned. “Yeah, pretty sure I just did.”

“Never beating the polite cat allegations,” you said, lighthearted and sweet and joking as you leaned down to kiss him. “Never change, birthday boy.”

“Never in a million years, baby.” 

.

[baeshijima]

— “hands off! i’m taken!”

for the first time in your drunken daze, you don't recognise your own husband.

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 983 wc, fluff, (attempts at) humour, mentions/reference of alcohol consumption

A/N : neuvillette is in pain (emotional) while you are in pain the morning after (literal).

it’s not often neuvillette finds free time amongst the seemingly endless piles of papers on his desk. when he does get some free-time, he always makes sure to treat you out to the places you most recently show interest in. however, these evenings out more often than not result in you having one too many drinks. (“it’s a rare evening date!” you would tut, waving a finger at him while your free hand holds the wine glass.)

he worries for you and your health after all, and he most definitely doesn't want you to experience these so-called "hangovers" you bemoan about as he coddles you through it all the mornings after.

and so what better way to help prevent such a tragedy than by putting a stop to it prematurely?

“hands off! i’m taken!”

…or so he thought.

regardless, that doesn’t change the fact neuvillette now stands in the middle of one of the (now quite humid) private rooms in the upper floor of hotel debord, clutching his stinging hand close to his chest while staring at your huffing form in a mixture of hurt and shock. he blinks once, twice, thrice as he slowly begins to process your words — or, lack of.

“pardon?”

“i said,” you stress, narrowing your gaze at him as you begin to sit up, “hands off! i’ll have you know i’m happily married to the loveliest, most beautifulest man in teyvat and i don’t need some… some meddlesome old creep trying to get in between that.”

were this quite literally any other day besides one you were drunk on, neuvillette would be jumping for joy over the moon (metaphorical… probably) and documenting this moment in his diary he keeps safe and secured in a locked drawer under his desk, positively cooing and sighing in pure adoration at your adorable self.

(he also doesn’t have the heart to tell you beautifulest isn’t exactly a real word, but he’s flattered all the same. and it makes you that much more adorable in his eyes.)

alas, this isn’t any other day. no, instead it is a day which marks his drunk spouse being unable to identify their own husband, and your intoxicated words render him silent. 

now, don’t get him wrong, he’s glad you are, for a lack of better words, raring to defend your marital status and honour when intoxicated. however…

‘meddlesome old creep’? is that how he appears? he thought he looked quite dashing this evening, what with the way you sang his praises after he got himself dressed and questioned if you were actually married to one another.

then again, he supposes it’s still accurate to say you’re still questioning whether or not he is your husband. just not in the joking manner you initially did.

seeing how you’ve begun to grow a little restless with his prolonged silence, neuvillette awkwardly clears his throat and begins in what he hopes is a tone which masks the minor betrayal your words caused. “i’m glad you feel that way about our marriage, mon cœur, but—”

“stop!” neuvillette’s mouth instantly ceases movement. “how… how dare you, a stranger, call me that! just who… who do you think you are? my husband?”

“actually, i am.”

you blink at him. “you’re what?”

“i am your husband. neuvillette.” in all honesty, he doesn’t know why he’s nervous. perhaps it’s your scrutinising gaze causing him to sweat, taking him back to the first days when he could finally put a name to the emotions you brought out from within him — ones which have never weakened, but only seem to grow stronger as the days pass by. his hands clam up, and he’s glad you can’t see him wiping his palms against the fabric of his clothes from where you sit. even when you’re drunk, you tend to remember the most random moments. more often than not, they end up being in some relation to him.

(neuvillette laments the times where you only remembered his brief loss of composure.)

after a few more agonising seconds of staring, you speak up once more. “you’re lying.”

there are many things neuvillette wishes to say in response — such as showing your wedding rings, pulling out the small polaroid of you both nestled within his inner coat pocket, recalling the first day you met, the first day you talked, the first “thank you” you ever said to him, the first—

quickly, he snaps himself out of this spiral. just in the nick of time too, for you open your mouth to say something else. “my neuvillette is cute and lovely and pretty and everything a person could only dream to have.”

is he not cute right now? is he not lovely and pretty right now? is he not everything a person could only dream to have right now? what makes the him through your drunken lens so different to the him in your memories?

against his better judgement, he decides to ask the big question.

“then… may i ask what i am?”

“a liar.” and, as if to rub salt in the wound, you add, “i don’t like liars.”

neuvillette feels as though he could cry.

(when you awoke to a pounding headache the next morning, the last thing you expected was your husband brooding on the edge of the bed, his back facing you as he mumbled something along the lines of, “i would lie for you… not to you…” though it was a little hard to tell amidst the incessant pitter-patter of rain against the window.

despite racking your brain in an effort to figure out what caused him to be in such a state in the first place, the only things you remembered from last night were him wiping his hands on his clothes, as well as him looking as though someone slapped him across the face.

yeah. perhaps it is best you don’t tell him that.)

mon cœur = my heart, which can be read as my sweetheart/other half/life, etc.

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