#Last night's pan is on the stove
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unashamedly-enthusiastic · 2 years ago
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I don't have an official ADHD diagnosis but this morning I went into the kitchen to make breakfast and within 20 minutes I was painting the hallway
Soooo
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lupadracolis · 2 years ago
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Too late to participate in the poll but it was just over a week from Christmas Adam into the new year. There was a bad storm and a lot of lines came down, as well as lots of the people necessary in the repair process being off for the holidays. We're out in the British countryside and our electricity line came down in a spot where it was only connecting the three homes down our lane to the main line so after they made sure it was safe and not going to kill anyone who touched it it was super low priority.
It was kind of cool all spending time in the living room under piles of blankets, around the fireplace, but god going back up to your frigid bedroom in the dark to go to sleep was Unpleasant.
We get a powercut that lasts several days maybe every few years or so, but will fairly often (like a couple of times a month?) get a power outage for a few minutes to a couple of hours. Sometimes due to work on the line sometimes because of?? other reasons
I've had some interesting conversations about this subject recently (representing perspectives ranging from "losing electricity is a thing that happens???" to "eh, where I'm from we used to have power outages lasting weeks at a time, frequently"), so am just curious what a larger sample might have to reveal!
If you wish to share any details about where you live/your living situation in the notes (country, region, urban, rural, apartment, mobile home, etc.), or the frequency of power outages (regardless of length) for you, feel free.
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pumpkin-n-mc · 8 months ago
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pancakes with cute designs,, when is it my turn
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advisorsage · 1 year ago
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I want to scream
This is entirely a vent post
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screampied · 6 months ago
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plz write a domestic toji fic
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៹ content tags. ៹ fem! reader, pure fluff, house husband toji, reader is pregnant, toji attempting to cook, petnames.
wc. 1.8k
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toji quirks an arched brow in frustration. with a concise glance at his broken watch you bought him for his thirtieth birthday, it reads three am. sighing, the back of his wrist smears a sheet of sweat off his forehead as he gets a good sniff of the cuisine. like always, he stayed up all night, watching those random cooking mom videos on youtube. trying so hard to mimic their recipes and methods but failing anyway. “tch. fuckin’ shit,” he grumbles under his breath, covered in nothing but flour. the sizzling of the pan was quite loud. the smoke detector went off at least four times. he was wearing another thing you bought him. an apron that had the words of ‘kiss the cook’ imprinted near the front in bedazzled little sparkles. “why does it keep stickin’ to the pan.”
as his annoyance grows, he hears familiar little footsteps approach the linoleum kitchen floor. it’s you, his shoulders lower and his mood softens at the sight of you in comfy silk pajamas and a grouchy expression. “toji? ‘s like three in the morning,” and as you take a whiff of the air, you furrow your own two brows. “are you . . cooking?”
“yeah yeah,” he gruffly grouses, going back to whisking the flour. “go back ‘ta bed, baby. almost done. ‘m jus’ practicing.”
“at three am,” you deadpan, a hand rubbing against your plump growing tummy.
so cute, you were a few weeks pregnant yet everything was moving at such an rapid speed. with the way your body was changing so quick, he could barely keep up. toji hears the sass in your tone as you speak and he knows good and well he should be back in bed with you. you wondered why the left side of the mattress felt empty. you waddle over beside him, hugging him from behind. his bulging muscles rub against you and you let off a playful little whine. “tooooji, you need sleep. come back to bed.”
“princessss,” he plays along with a fake pout, his entire hands covered with piles and piles of doughy flour mix. “but ‘m makin’ breakfast for us two,” and with a brief notion of turning the fire down a bit, he utters last minute. “er— three.” and you smile at him not forgetting to include your unborn child.
toji never cooks, it’s always been just you.
it’s not like he was incapable or anything. he’s always found a liking to watching you cook though.
you always prepared him the best of meals, so good that it had his mouth watering, licking the tips of his tongue in sweet sweet relish.
right before you’d got pregnant, you’d pack him the most divine lunches for work, always with such loving care. you’d never forget to leave him a little adoring note or two, wishing him the best of shifts. so the moment you ended up getting knocked up, he wanted to try.
try to do better,
for you.
sacrificing his sleep wasn’t really an issue—he didn’t mind if it wasn’t for you and his unborn baby. and if toji had to learn how to cook simple meals, he’d do that.. despite the struggle it was.
giggling, you stretch your arms over his torso.
“toji . . making pancakes is easy,” you hum, and his muscles relaxes from your gentle touch.
he’s missed you dearly, even though he was only out of bed for at least a good hour now. hearing him swear vulgar curses underneath his breath at messing up the instructions was quite near adorable. peering at the mess in front of you, you take the cerulean blue mixing bowl from him. “you could’ve woke me up if you needed help, you know.”
“i know,” he grumbles, his voice softening a bit.
you pause—toji’s body language seems a bit different. it shifts. he looks a bit ashamed.
once toji turns off the stove, he deeply sighs. “i just wanted ‘ta learn how to cook for us— you know, like as a family. so when the baby’s here, i’ll uh- be prepared. don’t want ya to be doin’ everything, darlin’. y’er gonna be limited to do lots of stuff soon ‘n i jus’ wanna help out a bit more.”
with a smile, you stroke a thumb against your husband’s chin, right near his little scar. “awww,” and there’s an immediate embarrassed scowl stretching against his thin lips.
toji wanting to try more for you made your heart swarm up with a variety schools of butterflies. it flutters and flaps as he spoke. speaking in a soft tone, a thumb swipes a few remnants of flour near the crevices of his lip. “you’re sweet, toji. but i don’t want you stressing out over cooking. ‘s okay, besidessss we can always do it together.”
“eh,” his eye twitches at your smug growing grin. “that’s… not what i meant, mama.”
“don’t eh me. yeah it is, you want me to teach you how to cook like me,” you simper, planting a kiss against the back of his arm. “you wanna learn how to be a househusband?”
toji groans, turning to face you. verdant eyes leer at you for a long time—but he could never stay too vexed at you, you were so adorable, especially whenever you were this enthusiastic.
“that’s not the term i’d use for myself, but i guess,” and he wipes a few pounds of flour off his apron. “don’t worry ‘bout the mess. i’ll clean that up too.”
“i like this new toji.” you tease, leaning up close to press a wet kiss against his temple.
toji buries his hands in his pockets, staring off to the side and trying to ignore the incoming flush setting against his skin.
oh, you had him weak,
weak everywhere—weak in the knees.
he was feeling himself getting soft as the seconds pass. toji couldn’t lie, he was starting to like this new side of his too. he’d never in a million years admit it though. “baby please,” he grunts, switching the sink on to wash his hands. as the water screams out of the faucet, he lathers everywhere with soap before grumbling. “been watchin’ so many of those damn mom vlogs of cooking. was so annoying, wanted to pull my hair out.”
“you could have just asked me for help, silly,” and your arms securely wrap around his beefy body once more. toji’s frame was a lot more broad and built compared to you. he sucks his teeth, leaning into your touch before staring at the kitchen counter. “okay, good. you have all the ingredients . . eggs, flour, milk, umm sugar..”
and as your words continue and you observe his unkempt handiwork, toji clears his throat. “i gave up once the things kept stickin’ to the skillet.”
you let off a pretty laugh that makes his ears twitch. “welllll that’s probably because you didn’t add enough oil or butter to the pan,” and he watches as you grab a nearby stick of butter. you cut near the end part it with a butter knife before spreading it on the middle of the pan.
toji cutely stays quiet, staring intently and taking in everything you’re doing. he’s attentive, he doesn’t wanna miss anything because he’d soon be doing this for you and his soon-to-be baby.
after a few long seconds, you turn on the stove and it starts to sizzle again. “okay, so you mixed the batter, that’s good. now all you have to do is just pour a good amount into the pan and flip it once it’s a brownish color.”
“ehhhh.”
“toji, you wanted to cook so you’re gonna cook.”
“yes ma’am.” he sighs, his tone playful.
some minutes pass before you both finally finish making a fresh, scrumptious batch of pancakes. with your arms wrapped around him, you showed him all the steps slowly. you were patient with toji, helping him pour the batter and mix it. every time he messes up, you’d kiss the edge of his arm, reminding him that he can just try again. he calms down after a while, and you step away to watch him make a pancake of his own. he flips it over, and he has a sly grin—glancing back toward you, hoping you caught that. you did, giving him an encouraging smile before showering him with praise.
it was almost four am and toji was desperately trying to stay awake—you could tell he was struggling to keep his eyes open with how he’s swaying a bit. turning off the stove for the nth time, you set the steaming hot spatula aside before looking in toji’s direction. “we can always eat them when we wake up.”
“we?” he grumbles, combing a hand through his messy strands, giving it a solid scratch.
“yes, we,” and you wrap the heated pancakes with plastic wrap, tucking the undersides of the plate with the material before putting it in the microwave to preserve heat. you then grab onto toji’s hand. “we’re going back to bed.”
with a sigh, he knew he wasn’t gonna win this little spat. toji squeezes your hand back, yet before the two of you could go back into bed, he bends down.
raising your brow, toji gets on his knees before bringing a chaste kiss toward your tummy. “hey little one,” he whispers, rubbing a palm gingerly against the front of your stomach. dark, tired eyes meet yours and he bedaubs a thumb near your the print of your navel poking through your his oversized t-shirt. the cold, frigid texture of toji’s fingertips almost tickles. as he softly runs a finger down the center of your growing belly bump, a bit of flour gets against your clothes. “how are my girls? any cramps or pain i should know about?
girls,
the gender was still too early to determine but toji always pondered about how it might be a girl.
“n- no,” you breathe, moving a few raven strands of hair out of his face. everything felt different, it was as if you were walking with volumes of water stored within you. toji’s always been supportive during your pregnancy, he was trying. he stands up again before kissing the crown of your head. “you still think ‘s a girl?”
“kinda, yeah,” he utters, and a strong arm slings around your shoulders.
toji guides you to bed, not minding your cute slow waddle of a walk. “up we go, c’mon,” and he helps you up the steps, lowly chuckling into your neck at your adorable state. toji was always patient, the moment you finally reach the bed, he pulls down the fat cover so you could climb in. “…. thank you baby.”
“for what?” you slump against the cushioned sheets, slipping off your baby blue socks. toji crawls in beside you, leaning in to switch off the lamp. he still had a bit of flour on his face—and he spots you swiping some of it off with your thumb.
toji groans, acting as if the next incoming sentence was gonna kill him.
“for . . teachin’ me how ‘ta be a good househusband,” he pouts, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. “i love you.”
“i love you too toji.”
“i love ya more,” and he lowers his neck to kiss the middle of your stomach. “oh, ‘n papa loves you also, little one. love my girls so much.”
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nanivinsmoke · 2 months ago
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❥ Make U Love Me
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logan ‘wolverine’ howlett x mutantfem!reader
♪ you’re tired of going places where you can’t scream and shout ♪
tags: featuring the biggest asshole, scott! cheating, a little angst, violence, mentions of blood and death, slight exhibitionism, kissing, edging, dom logan, sub reader, creampie, pregnancy, oral, multiple orgasms, falling in love, etc…
note: heavily inspired by robin thicke’s song with the same title. wc: 4.7k — put my heart into this.
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you were scott’s girl. nothing more, nothing less.
it wasn’t what you thought it would be, well back then at least.
scott was loving when you two first started dating. he would take you out, treat you like a queen, and was very attentive. but, that all started to change when his first love died in the midst of battle. jean grey.
the day she died, is the day your relationship did too. that same guy you fell in love with, turned into the guy you hated. everything stopped. he was no longer the perfect boyfriend, he was more of a royal asshole.
he wouldn’t make love to you, he wouldn’t put you on missions with him and when you confronted him about the change—it would always end in a fight. you didn’t deserve this, you knew you didn’t. but, you couldn’t break up with him. that small piece of your heart wouldn’t allow you.
you knew there was a part of him that still loved you. well, you thought he did. that all changed when you and the crew got the news. jean was alive.
“i don’t want you going after her, scott! what’s so hard to understand about that?” you raised your voice, brushing past your boyfriend and putting the onions you just chopped into the hot skillet—continuing your recipe for tonight’s dinner.
when the professor told everyone that she was alive, scott’s ears perked up and practically begged the professor to let him be the one to go and find her. charles urged scott that it wasn’t a good idea. something could go wrong and she might no longer be the jean we all knew….she could be possessed by an evil force. the dark phoenix.
but, of course scott wasn’t trying to hear that. his mind was clouded with thoughts of the red head. he was still deeply in love with jean. just the thought of her had him going crazy. you knew it and it pissed you off, which brought upon the current argument you two were having now.
“what i don’t understand is why not? she’s one of us! i have to bring her back, with or without your permission!” you turned to him, eyes slowly turning into a deep red; the flames from the stove started to rise—searing the vegetables that sat in the iron pan.
scott started to slowly back up, swallowing thickly as you inched closer to him; afraid of what you might do next. he locked his visor onto the burning food, which he tried to pull your attention on to, but you didn’t budge. that is until you heard someone clearing their throat.
your eyes went back to its normal state and you calmed down once you took a look at logan, who stood there watching the whole ordeal. you looked back at the food and turned the stove off before looking back your boyfriend, “come back with her and see what happens, scott.”
———
you didn’t come out of your bedroom for dinner that night and neither did he. hell, you barely got any sleep last night—too busy tossing and turning in your bed, thinking about scott and jean together. and when you finally did get some sleep, the sun started to peak over the horizon—a beautiful hue of orange painting the sky.
when you finally woke up, you pulled yourself into a much needed hot shower, before putting on your favorite pair of flare jeans and a cute top paired with some leather boots—heading downstairs to see what was happening for today. the children passed by, running and walking to hangout after class, while you made your way down the wooden stairs—looking for your boyfriend.
you wanted to talk to him about yesterday, hopefully to make peace with what transpired—but it seems like he had other plans when you spotted him holding hands & walking with the newly resurrected jean. and to top it all off, he was wearing a big toothy smile like he was kid in a candy store. oh you were pissed.
they disappeared further into the mansion as you stormed downstairs—eyes darkening while you were hot on their tails, ready to confront them; that is until you were trapped between two big muscle bound arms. “let me go logan!” you tried to free yourself from his grasp, but there was no use. he wasn’t letting you go.
“need you to cool off. don’t need you to go all ‘flame on!’ on them today.” he chuckled and ushered you towards the front door, both of you going towards the academy’s garage and pulling off in his car.
you tossed back your shot of vodka, grimacing at the strong burning sensation, before tapping your glass for more. logan had took you to a bar, so you could drink to your hearts content and stop that flame from igniting within you.
“he’s a fucking asshole.” you spoke, downing your drink again then turning to look at the male sitting right next to you. he nodded in agreement and sipped on his whiskey, letting you vent to him.
“I feel like such an idiot, falling in love with someone who doesn’t love me.”
“his fault he couldn’t see what right in front of him.” you passed, wide eyed, looking at the side of his rugged face while he finished off his drink. what did he mean by that?
“pretty lil thing like you deserves to be treated like a princess, not by someone like him.” his compliment made you press your thighs together and shift in your seat.
“and who’s gonna treat me like one?” you hummed, placing your hand on his arm, pressing against him. it might been the liquid courage that had you feeling so bold, but you knew exactly what you were doing.
logan grunted and smirked, shaking his head before his pretty hazel eyes locked on yours, “careful, doll. don’t know what you might be getting yourself into.”
“maybe i do~” you flirted back, lips ghosting his ears, making goosebumps rise on his skin. you wanted him badly right now. you didn’t care that the two of you were out in a bar, it made no difference. you wanted to take him right here and now.
“let’s play some pool.” he got up from his seat and grabbed your hand, making you sigh in response. maybe you were getting ahead of yourself?
———
the two of you played pool for the next couple of hours. logan was surprised to see that you were really good at the game, even more shocked that you had him on a losing streak. “good thing you didn’t put money on it.” you teased, striking the 8ball into one of the holes, winning your fifth game for the night.
“would ask you to play another game, but it’s time we get back to the mansion. bar’s bout to close.” he pointed out and you took a look around, seeing only four patrons left and the bartenders cleaning their glasses. you pouted and racked the balls back into the middle of the table, before grabbing logan’s hands and leaving the bar.
the two of you stood outside of the car for a bit, logan puffing on his cigar while you enjoyed the night’s cool breeze—mind running rampant with what happened in the bar between you and him.
“lo—“ you began, making him turn his attention towards you—the sight of him blowing out smoke did something to you; everything about the male aroused you. why didn’t you see him like this before? maybe you would’ve been happier with him.
“can i kiss you?” you breathed out, stepping closer to him; body heat overpowering the crisp air outside. “doll….” he began, but you stopped him—not ready for him to reject your feelings just yet.
“I know you felt something in there with me. if i felt it, i know you did. so, kiss me. prove me wrong….” you pulled him by his flannel, eyes sparkling with hope and desire; as they flickered to his lips. he searched your face, before he flicked his cigar on the ground and pulled you in close—his lips melting on yours.
you wrapped your arms around his neck while his hands moved to the middle of your back, before falling to your ass—squeezing the plump flesh through your jeans. as much as he wanted to pull back, he didn’t—you were so addictive, he just had have all of you.
his tongue slipped into your mouth and he picked you up and placed you on the hood of the car—kiss becoming passionate by the moment. the taste of the cigar he just smoked and traces of his whiskey had your mind spinning, and your cunt throbbing. “logannn~”
“i know, princess. smelled how bad you wanted it inside of the bar.” he grunted and his thick fingers quickly unfastened your jean’s button, tugging them down slightly—before he slipped his hand into your pants, rubbing your throbbing clit through your yellow panties.
“shit you’re soaked. he’s never made you feel like this, right?” he grunted in your ear, pulling your panties to the side and finally connecting the tips of his fingers to your aching clit, rubbing it slowly.
“no never, he never made me wet like this—fuck—only you lo~” the sweet moan you let out drove him insane, it fueled him and he couldn’t help but to quicken his pace; making your back arch off the hood of the car. gasping, you reached down to hold onto his wrist, trying to stop his pleasurable torment—but it did nothing. he kept going, making you buck your hips up into his palm.
“so needy. summers is such an idiot for letting this go.” logan moves his fingers down to your sodden hole, palm pressing right down onto your clit, making your body jolt in response. despite the tight confinement of your pants, his hand was able to work wonders on your lower half—pumping in and out of your cunt.
you gushed over his fingers each time it hit your spot. the pressure that was building up in the pit of your tummy was becoming unbearable. you desperately needed to let go, show him how good he made you feel.
“gonna cum—all over your fingers!” you warned, eyes starting to roll back into your head as you felt that feeling you loved so much start to burst. that is, until he pulled his fingers away. your eyes shot opened and you watched him suck your juices off of his digits.
“gotta get you home, doll” he fastened your pants and helped you off the hood of the car; before going to the passenger side, opening the door for you. shooting daggers at him as you stomped your way to the car, you watched as he hopped in the driver seat—ignoring your stares.
you didn’t bother opening your mouth to speak either. too frustrated, tired and horny to talk. so, you opted to lay your head against the window and watched as the trees became blurred on the way back to the mansion.
as logan pulled the car up the school’s drive, you could see the resurrected red head and scott standing outside—their lips glued on one another. you shared a look with logan and shook your head. you didn’t have the energy anymore, it was obvious where his heart lied.
getting out of the car, the two pulled back once they noticed the both of you approaching—scott looking like he had seen a ghost. “baby! i-i—“
“go to hell scott” brushing past them, you slowly made your way to your room—logan a few feet behind. logan looked at scott and just shook his head. idiot.
he just planted you right into his hands, and boy was he going to keep you there.
———
the following weeks started to get better and better for you. getting closer to logan was the best thing to ever happen to you. the two of you would spend almost everyday together, most of the days ended with you finally getting to cum around his fingers and all over his face. you were happier, almost like you were in the beginning before scott ruined it. and he noticed it to.
but, you didn’t care what he thought about what you were doing. he ruined his chances of being happy with you ever again and he knew it.
currently you and logan were in an empty class room, with him between your plush thighs; working a third orgasm out of you for today. small hands were tangled in his soft brown locs—tugging them as you grinded your orgasm out on his face. logan pulled away once you calmed down, his beard and half of his face being covered in your slick—which he happily licked up; well what he could.
he helped you off the table and pulled your skirt up while peeling your cold wet panties off. “these? are for me,” you blushed, watching him put them in his pocket before pulling you close. his hands fell to your rear and those eyes that you loved to get lost in, stared right at you; before he pressed his lips against yours.
you melted in the kiss. your body relaxing as the two of you moved in sync, hands moving across each other’s bodies. ever since that day at the bar, you noticed a change in yourself. a change you slowly welcomed. love. you were falling deeply in love with the wolverine. it was different type of love you and scott had. this one felt like one of those love’s where you could see the two of you grow old and have a bunch of mutant babies.
you wanted to tell him how you felt, how he made you feel, but you were scared. scared that he might reject you. so, you opted for the latter. being his friend with benefits.
“logan, I wanna suck your dick~” you pulled back, eyes traveling down to his noticeable bulge, then back up at him.
“don’t wanna hurt you princess. plus ive got a class in fifteen minutes,” he warned and you smirked, slowly sinking down to your knees. “so? ill make you cum in ten~”.
the clinking sound of his belt being dropped to floor, along with his pants, filled the room. he watched with low eyes as you pulled his fully erect length out—cock twitching when he heard you gasp. you now understood why he never fucked you, he was way too big. there was no way your walls would survive that, right?
your mouth salivated at the sight and you could slowly feel yourself becoming even more aroused. gripping his cock and swiping your tongue over the tip, you moaned at the taste of his sweet precum, before you took him into your mouth. he tossed his head back, loving the feeling of your warm wet mouth around him, while you slowly started to take him even deeper.
his big hands practically flew to the back of your head when he felt you gag around him, once he hit the back of your mouth, slowly creeping into your throat.
“did you just cum? hm, princess?” he locked eyes with you, smelling the familiar scent of your arousal—knowing exactly how you smelled when you came.
you whimpered, still slobbering all over his cock before the grip on your head got tighter and he pressed your pretty little head down harder; nose nuzzled in his bush of brown hairs.
you gagged, but he didn’t give you time to adjust as he continued to repeat his actions—pulling you off of his cock by your hair before forcing you right back on; fucking your mouth to his liking. the more he moved the more arousing it became for the both of you, causing you to relax your throat, letting him fill it with his thick cock.
the sound of you gagging and sucking on his cock along with the smell of your cunt dripping with excitement, had the six foot two man going feral. his pretty eyes fluttered in the back of his head and he forcefully pushed your head deep in his bush— letting out one of the sexiest growls you ever heard as he poured thick ropes of cum down your throat.
the warm sensation had you dripping right onto the classroom’s wooden floors, moaning at his taste before you swallowed. his grip loosened and you pulled back, gasping for air.
“told ya i could make you cum~”
———
finding yourself back into your room, you were scared by the dark figure sitting on your bed; making you jump out of your clothes like a cartoon character. flickering on the light, scott sat on your bed wearing a plain look on his face.
“the hell you doing in my room, scott?” you kicked off your shoes, glaring at the brunette. he adjusted his visor before getting up, towering over you a bit.
“you and logan been really close lately. what’s up with that?” you stared at him before giggling. he wasn’t possibly serious? you ignored him and tried to move around him, only for him to grab you and pull you back.
“grab me again and that’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do. get out of my room and go be with jean. me and you are finished.” you stared into his ruby red colored visor, making sure he got the point. the mutant scoffed and shook his head, “fine. go be a whore for logan, sure he’d love that.”
you didn’t even give him time to react before sending a fire induced smack to his face, causing him to yell out from the painful sensation. he was quick to recover, ready to aim his optic lasers at you; until a fist came flying at him—knocking him to the ground. logan stood there for a minute, taking a look at you to make sure you were alright, before pouncing on scott.
you watched as logan nearly beat him bloody before stepping in, tugging on his black button up—begging him to stop. however, the raspy voice of the professor entered all of your minds, stopping everyone’s movements.
‘the dark phoenix has risen and attacked me. jean grey is no longer with us. teachers, meet me in the infirmary’
logan looked at you and grabbed scott, slinking him around his shoulders, “go meet me in the infirmary. im gonna take him to his room and have hank look after him.” you nodded and practically raced to the infirmary, meeting the rest of the x-men. they surround xavier’s comatose body, talking amongst each other about what was going on, until ororo started speaking.
“the professor was attacked a few minutes ago by the x-men we once knew as jean grey. however, the friend we knew and once loved is now gone and is being possessed by a dark entity. this being is catastrophic and we must stop it before it’s too late—” she paused and took a look at her fellow mutants, before raising an eyebrow.
“where’s scott?”
“he’s out of commission for a while. ill catch him up later.” logan’s arm snaked around you waist, appearing behind you and answering her question. she nodded and continued with the details of the mission, before listing out names of those who would be on it.
you and logan were the main frontmen for this mission. storm had converged a plan on how it should go down, along with a plan b; warning you guys that there’s a slight chance it might end bad. she put her faith in you and the team, before dismissing everyone. the mission would take place tomorrow.
———
sitting on logan’s surprisingly soft bed, you relaxed while he was in the shower. your mind was running rampant about what could possibly happen tomorrow. being that this could possibly be the end, frightened you, especially since you haven’t told him how you felt.
“logan?” you called out, listening to the calming sound of the shower running.
“yeah?” he responded and you got up from his bed and stripped out of your clothes, joining him in the shower. the sight of his nude, wet body was breathtaking. so very breathtaking, that you couldn’t help but break down and cry—sobbing as the warm water painted your face.
those thick eyebrows raised and he immediately pulled you close, rubbing circled on your back; along with rubbing your head. “hey, talk to me. won’t be able to understand you when you’re crying like this, princess.”
you nodded in his hairy chest before pulling back, sniffling. this was the time to let it all out, let him know how you feel.
“i love you. i love you so fucking bad, logan. you’re all i think about. i think about us getting married and having a litter or two of kids…” he laughed at and kissed your temple, before urging you to continue.
“you’ve been there for me for a while now. you uplifted me and showed me what true love is. and it pains me to know that there’s a possibility that tomorrow could take this away from me.” more tears poured out of your eyes and he cupped your face, kissing away your tears.
logan honestly felt the same. he fell in love with you the moment you joined the x-men. even when you got with scott, he still loved you. he just knew it was fate that the two of you were meant to be. he moved his lips down to your soft plump ones, making you melt on the spot.
the kiss the two of you shared held such passion, that you wished you could stay like this forever.
“i love you too, princess. but, you will tell me this tomorrow; when we win.” he kissed from your lips down to your neck before stopping at the middle of your chest—kissing one of your mounds and holding the other; earning a moan from you.
“in the meantime, how about we get started on that litter?” you giggled and nodded your head, before your back was against the wall with his cock in between your legs—warming up from your heat, while he pinched one of your perky nipples and sucked on the other.
slick started to pool and drip onto his cock as he continued to tease your sensitive breasts, fueling your arousal. “please, baby….don’t tease me—wan’ you inside of me~”
he pulled away from your nipple with a ‘pop’ echoing after, still teasing the other one with his rough hands, a smirk painted on his rugged face. “you sure you’re ready for that, doll?” he asked and you nodded profusely. lifting up your leg, he rubbed himself on your slick coated slit, using your essence as lubricant and then pushed himself into your tightness.
he threw his head back from how you felt, and your walls clung to him; clenching and unclenching around him. the pressure he was putting on your clit, had you cumming prematurely. he smirked and pulled himself out, making you whimper; already missing how he filled you up—even though it was just the tip.
he repeated that process, pushing his cock in and pulling you out, earning more lewd noises from you and your pretty pussy. “logannn, please fuck me already!” he grunted in response and slammed himself inside—filling you to the brim with his cock. you squealed from the pleasurably painful sensation that coursed through you, kissing him to distract you from the pain.
the grip on your leg tightened as he started to pound your sweet little pussy, walls stretching past its normals limits. the more he fucked you, the more your cunt became molded to the shape of his cock. it was evident that you were made for him.
by now, the water had gotten cold and he continued to rut inside of you—cunt coating his cock with your creamy white fluids. he was drowning in your sweet fluids and he didn't need a floatie—he had reached nirvana.
in one swift motion, the shower was off and you were in his arms—legs wrapped around his waist while he was still inside; carrying you out of the shower & over to the bathroom sink. he pulled out momentarily as he placed you on your feet and turned you around, your fat ass facing him; while he plunged right back inside of your middle.
pushing your arch down, placing his hands on your hips—he reached deeper than before, causing you to scream. “dick too big for you baby?” you nodded and he chuckled, grinding himself against you until he started to pound you silly.
you tried to open your mouth to speak, to warn him that you were going to cum, but your mind was too fucked out to process anything; so you let out a sweet moan. “go ahead and cum for me princess. could feel her twitching around me.”
it was amazing how he knew your body so well already and it didn’t take long for you to heed his words, cumming hard on his dick while he continued to make your cunt his. the tightness of your walls squeezing him, broke him and he couldn’t help but to cum buckets inside of you—filling your tummy up with his kids.
the two of you panted, bodies shaking as your orgasms came over you—your head being pulled back so he could press a kiss to your lips.
“i love you, princess.”
———
blood covered the blue and yellow suits the team wore as the dark phoenix made paint out of their blood. the fight wasn’t going so good. some of you were gravely injured, possibly on the brink of death, while some of you tried to catch your breaths; still able to fight.
you looked over at a bleeding logan, worried about the wounds he had received, catching his eyes. “don’t worry, it’ll heal.”
he charged towards the being, claws fully unsheathed, with you and few others following suit; only to be tossed away like peons. you laid there in pain, ready to accept defeat, until you heard the crunching of the dirt nearby. turning your head you were shocked to see scott, staring down the possessed body of his old lover.
scott turned to look at you and logan, and smiled before inching closer toward them. your eyes shot open, you knew exactly what he was going to do. “scott! wait,—“ but it was already too late.
with the help of colossus, the leader of the x-men was tossed over to jean—grabbing onto her before a red flash of light blinded you all. once it cleared, the two were gone. the only thing that stood where they once were, was scott’s yellow & red custom visor.
you sat there in disbelief. you never expected this to happen. yeah, you his guts, but you never expected him to sacrifice himself. better yet, die.
“c’mon doll, let’s go home~” logan’s raspy voice pulled you out of your thoughts, holding out his hand which you gladly accepted. you turned around, looking at where he was one last time, before turning around heading back to the jet.
——
5 months later.
“and here lies the visor that was once used by our leader and hero of the x-men, cyclops. he will be missed.” logan spoke to the new students joining the academy—giving them a tour, stopping at scott’s memorial.
“logan~” your voice called out to him, making him turn his attention over to you—his beautiful pregnant wife. “alright kids, gonna turn this over to our new teacher; ms. frost,” the blonde stepped up with a smile and took over while your husband jogged over to you—kissing your growing belly before moving up to your lips.
“we’re gonna be late! this is the appointment where we get to see the baby’s gender!”
it might’ve started off rough, but you were finally happy and in love.
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noiivvern · 2 years ago
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I love penny but my parents don't like her because 1. she is afraid of my stepfather and doesn't let him pet her ( I think he just walks too loud and it makes her run because she's small ) and 2. my mom leaves food on the counters all the time but penny is a garbage disposal and will eat ANYTHING you leave out
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moonstruckme · 5 months ago
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OMGGGGGGG
the first kiss was so cute!!! perfect!! james was so sweet and gentle w her😍😭😭
can’t wait to see there dynamic from now on
Thank you gorgeous! I held onto this so I'd have something to post this last part to, hope you don't mind <3
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13
roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words
James is buzzing while he makes breakfast the next morning. Golden morning light pours in through the front windows, brightening the kitchen and warming his back where he stands in front of the stove, the buttery smell of pancake batter wafting up from the pan. He’d gone to bed later than usual last night and slept hard but woke jittery, desperate to do something about the commotion in his chest. 
A run hadn’t done it, nor had replaying the previous night in his head, and now he’s convinced he won’t be able to rest until he can kiss you again. It’s your fault, really. Your little sighs, your careful touches, the way you’d tugged at the roots of his hair when he asked you to, like all this time you’d only been waiting for permission. You’ve fucked him. James will never be able to get over it. Now, all he can think about is getting more. 
He’s made more pancakes than a family of five could eat when he hears the stair creak. 
“Good morning,” he says, turning around just as you pad into the kitchen, quiet as a ghost. 
Your eyes are bleary, but they still manage to widen slightly as you take him in, along with the precarious tower of pancakes beside him. You’re in that sweatshirt he loves so much, sleeves hanging limply from your hands and hem hitting just above your knees. 
“Morning,” you say, softer than soft. 
“How’d you sleep, lovely?” 
You shrug, not quite looking at him. “Fine. You?” 
James grins. “Beautifully. You want some pancakes?” 
Your gaze goes again to the stack beside him, and he can practically see the quip brewing in your eyes. Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice. Are you planning to feed an army?
“Sure,” you say in that same quiet voice. “Thanks.” 
James studies you, intrigued. “Great. C’mere, sweetheart.” 
He plates up a few pancakes, keeping one eye on you as he does. You seem disinclined to look even in his general direction, finding distractions with the stove, your plate, the weather outside. 
“How’s this?” He turns around with the plate. You take it cautiously, by the complete opposite end to avoid any possibility of making contact with his hand. James’ heart warms at the way your fingers just peek out from the sleeve of your sweatshirt to grasp the plate. He wants to kiss you until you don’t know what day it is. “Too many? Not enough?” 
“This is good.” 
“Yeah?” He doesn’t let go of the plate. He tilts his head, trying to catch your eye, but you evade him. He has a hunch that if he were to touch your face (and god, does he want to) he’d find it burning hot. “Are you alright?” 
Your eyes flit up to his for a half a second before fleeing again. You hum, the sound tense and pitchy. “Mhm.” 
“You sure?” he asks, matching your soft tone. “Don’t go getting shy on me now.” 
You look like you stop breathing. 
And ordinarily James might feel bad, but post-kiss James cannot be prevailed upon to treat you as cautiously as he ordinarily might. Unfortunately for you, your secret’s out. You’re lovely, you’d said, voice soft and breathy and mere inches from his own mouth, I like having you around. I do. I really like you. Also unfortunately for you, post-kiss James knows things. 
He slips his palm alongside your face, working his hand behind your ear and letting his fingers burrow into the hair behind it. You melt, leaning into the touch. Your eyes meet his. 
It’s grueling work to keep from smiling. “What’s wrong, angel?” 
“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, still quietly but now with more of yourself in your voice. 
“Really? Because you’re acting like we’ve just met.” 
“Don’t you—don’t things feel different to you?” You seem almost distressed, eyebrows hooking upwards just slightly, pretty eyes imploring. Your voice softens again, now more with intimacy than reticence. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to talk with you about.” 
James lets his smile loose, thumbing at the skin behind your ear before letting you go. “We can talk about anything you want,” he says simply, grabbing his own plate and leading you into the living room. 
You’ve got a perfectly good kitchen table but almost never use it, each preferring to eat your meals on the couch. He flops down, careful not to tip his pancakes onto the cushion as he crosses his legs underneath him like you’re at a sleepover. 
“So, have any fun dreams last night?”  
You smile. It’s as heart-stoppingly lovely as always, and James thinks his own probably doubles in magnitude in response. 
“A couple,” you admit. 
“Oh? What about?” 
Your smile goes sheepish, bottom lip slipping in between your teeth as if to impede its progress. You fork clinks against the plate as you start cutting up your pancake. 
James’ brain short-circuits. 
“You were in my dream,” he blurts. 
Your eyes flit up to his warily. “Yeah?” 
“Yeah. It was one of those weird, super vivid dreams where nothing really happens, you know?” You seem to relax a bit. James douses his pancakes in syrup, starting to cut them up as he talks. “We were here, and someone had spilled something on the rug—probably Sirius, to be honest—and it made this huge stain. I’d tried to pour baking soda on it, but the whole box had collapsed and it got everywhere. We were both sitting right there scrubbing with literal toothbrushes, and I think I was worried you’d be upset with me but you were just laughing.” His heart warms at the pseudo-memory, the hazy feeling of contentment that had permeated the dream. The sound of your laugh, exactly as sweet as in real life. “Your hands were totally covered in baking soda, and the rug was ruined, but we were both laughing our heads off.” 
You’re smiling again, a small, knowing thing. “Had you said something to make us laugh?” 
“No,” he says honestly, “I think it was you.” 
James is aware that he’s barely functioning. It’s almost too much to talk and cut his pancakes at the same time while you’re looking at him like that, like he’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen. It makes it both a relief and a disappointment when you drop your gaze. 
“Do you think the stain might’ve been a premonition?” you ask. 
He raises his eyebrows. “How do you mean?” 
You laugh, and he’s instantly spellbound, caught somewhere between fantasy and reality. It takes him a second to realize you’re touching the edge of his plate, tipping it up. James looks down. It had been nearly falling off his lap, his pancakes cut up into tiny pieces and syrup pooled near the rim. 
You look up at him, seraphim with the morning light brightening your features and the hint of a smile playing on your lips. He thinks of how soft they’d felt on his the night before, the way they’d fallen open like welcoming him home. 
“You were almost spilling syrup onto the rug,” you say, that rare and beloved teasing lilt to your voice. “It would’ve taken more than baking soda to get that out.” 
“See?” he asks. “You know how to talk to me just fine.” 
You look surprised, then self-conscious, though not nearly as bad as when you’d come into the kitchen a few minutes ago. He covers your hand with his to keep you from going anywhere. Sets his plate on the coffee table. 
“Can I kiss you?” 
Your eyes are wide. “Again?” 
“Yes, again,” James laughs. “And again after that, preferably. Only if it’s okay with you.” 
You shake your head, looking something akin to bewildered. “Yeah. Yeah, please.” 
He starts to lean toward you, and you meet him halfway. Already, it’s a bit different. There’s no tentative stillness, no slow yielding. Your lips are pliant and eager, parting and closing around his like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Your fingers wind in his hair without instruction, and James responds by placing his hand in that spot you’d seemed to like it so well last night, the material of your sweatshirt soft beneath his touch. You taste like his pancakes, the syrup sweet on your tongue. 
“Keep talking to me,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your lips worshipfully, “okay?” 
Your voice is breathless. “Why?” 
“Because I like you.” He tugs at you, wanting you closer. “And I think I’ve put in the work for you to warm up to me, if it’s all the same to you.” 
You make a tiny, amused sound. “Fine,” you say. You grow bolder, kissing your way up his cheek, the top of his eyebrow, until your nose is nestled in his hair and your lips are caressing his forehead. “Consider me warmed.” 
James grins, unable to help himself. He thinks that becoming your friend didn’t go quite as he planned, but he feels as though he won in the end.
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pellucid-constellations · 5 months ago
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Compliments to the Line Cook
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Pairing: Line Cook!Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel never goes for any of the girls on staff. Cassian can't figure out why—and it's pissing him off.
Word count: 1k
Warnings: None! Maybe some language but I tend to do that with modern AUs oops
a/n: Me 🤝 eventually turning to AUs for every fandom. Anyways I think I'm setting this up for a cute little series thing with oneshots because I am inspired ✨ enjoy!!
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
“Come on,” Cassian scoffed with an exasperated tilt of his head. “She is totally into you.” 
Azriel threw his friend a look, wiping his hands on the apron tied at his waist. “I don’t care.” 
“You don’t care? When’s the last time you got laid, man?” 
“Last night,” Azriel simply replied. He moved the prepped onions from the counter to the fridge. “Not that it’s any of your business.” 
“What? You didn’t tell me that,” Cassian pouted, pausing his spatula on the grill. 
Azriel huffed out a breathy laugh, taking up his post at the prep table once more. “Do I need to tell you every detail of my sex life, Cass? Would that help you get it up? I know you struggle.”
“Hey,” Cassian called out, brows raised as Azriel met his gaze. “Fuck you. Who was it, then?” 
“Well, it certainly wasn’t the barely legal host you won’t stop trying to set me up with,” Azriel grumbled.
“Dude, she’s literally 26.” 
“She doesn't look 26.” 
The order bell ringing punctuated the end of the pointless conversation between the two men. In truth, Cassian knew Azriel would never be interested in the new host who had been giving him eyes for the past week. Azriel was never interested in the hosts or the waitresses or even any of the customers. But he would never share why. 
Cassian had grown sick of it. 
He narrowed his eyes as he watched Azriel grab the ticket off the order wheel. He flicked the paper with a small hum, heading to the stove and lighting the burner. 
“Fess up,” Cassian urged, plating the burger for table 12 before tossing the towel on his shoulder into the sink. “You act all mysterious but I’m not an idiot. All the girls on staff basically throw themselves at you and you ignore them. They go on and on about your tattoos even though I have just as many. Gwyn even had her hand on your chest last week and you brushed her off with that awkward pat thing you do.” 
“The mean waitress doesn’t throw herself at me,” Azriel replied. He had yet to look up from the pan sizzling at his fingertips. 
“Oh shut up. Nesta doesn’t count.” 
“Well, you said all so…” 
“I swear to god, Az, I’m going to hit you right in that pretty face of yours—what the hell are you making?” Cassian interrupted himself, whipping around from the send-out counter to inspect the odd combination of ingredients being thrown in the pan. 
“An order,” Azriel stated. “I feel like you should be working.” 
“I am working, asshole,” Cassian grumbled.
Azriel made a noncommittal sound and slid an omelette from the pan onto a plate. He grabbed a handful of spices from the cabinet above and continued to work on the meal. Cassian’s confusion only heightened. 
“We don’t make omelettes past noon. It’s dinner. Why the hell did you make an omelette?” Cassian asked, trailing after his friend as he pushed past the swinging kitchen door. “And where the hell are you going?” 
“Will your curiosity ever be satisfied?” Azriel droned. “I’m clearly walking this plate out to table eight. Go back into the kitchen. The Walters were just seated and you know they order enough to feed an army.” 
Cassian ignored him, staying uncharacteristically silent as he set the intention to spy on his coworker. He let his feet stick at the entrance to the dining room, giving him a clear view of table eight and the girl with the backpack and laptop taking up its residence. 
Azriel placed a steady hand on the back of the booth, his chest pressed against the girl’s shoulder as he brought the plate around and edged her laptop aside. The omelette was placed down in front of her, but Cassian was quick to notice that she didn’t even glance at it, her face turned up with a grin. 
“Hi, baby,” Azriel greeted, a smile evident in his voice—a smile Cassian could hear from clear across the room. “Take a break. I made you dinner.” 
“From the secret menu?” she asked with a giggle.
Cassian watched, in complete shock, as Azriel leaned down to press a long, drawn-out kiss to her temple. “Always.” 
Cassian had a lot to say to that mysterious bastard.
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seiwas · 1 year ago
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₊˚⊹。 see me through the morning glow | gojo satoru
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wc: 1.0k summary: you and gojo have a slow morning.  contains: f!reader in mind, suggestive if you squint, food descriptions. a/n: unedited, i honestly dk what this is i just really needed to get this out of my system! this is how i cope with 236.
re-uploaded because i accidentally deleted!
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You slip out of bed faced with the promise of sunlight. 
The curtains in your bedroom radiate a glow that bounces off the man lying next to you; it’s soft, near-white, almost ethereal, the color of his skin, hair, and bones. His back is exposed, arm reaching out over the (now) empty space beside him—the crinkles and folds where you once were. 
You’ve always thought your bedroom had good lighting, and now you can confirm why: in the shadows, deepening the line that runs down his spine; in the highlights, guiding your eyes to the pockets of muscle behind his shoulders. 
You look away, trying your best not to stare; the only reason he’s undressed is because of a cold sweat, from the nightmares—and the very need for skin-to-skin, to ground him in your touch. 
On mornings like this, you let Gojo sleep in. 
(Because you’re lucky if he can fall back asleep again). 
It’s slow today—no work, no missions that need you or him. It’s your favorite kind of day, and Gojo’s too (once he wakes up and smells the waffles you’ve prepared, double topped with whipped cream and maple syrup—his special, of course). 
A steady stream of warmth flows through the window to your kitchen countertop, the marble glimmering as light hits. The material was his choice; you don’t care much for glamor but Gojo likes pretty things—you especially, he likes to say. 
The batter is quick to prepare, a recipe you’ve done many times before, so you ladle it into the waffle maker before letting it set on its own. Then, you grab a pan to heat up, spooning in last night’s leftover rice, some soy sauce, and mirin, adding salt to taste, as needed. A standard fried rice breakfast, with a yolk to mix in later. 
The sound of his footsteps are concealed by the sizzles of the pan in front of you, but you’re caught off guard by arms wrapped around your waist, and his chin nestling itself into your shoulder as he nuzzles you. 
He’s still shirtless, you notice, so you inch backwards in case of any oil spatter. 
“Good sleep?” you mumble, certain that he heard you. 
He hums, before whispering, lips tickling the edges of your ear on purpose, pouting, “Not anymore when you left.” 
This man—a giant baby, puffed cheeks with long limbs hunched over you. 
Your big baby. 
Despite his whines, he’s telling the truth, you know, and you feel warm because of it, affection seeping in the cracks between his arms and the kitchen stove. 
You blow on a spoonful of rice before lifting it up to his lips. Gojo’s breakfasts are always sweet, but every time you cook, he looks forward to this: waiting right behind you to be fed over your shoulder.
His review will always be the same, of course, everything you touch turns out good. 
He reaches for the waffle maker with one hand while the other keeps you close, and you plate his little breakfast for him, whipped cream with little hearts drawn in maple syrup. 
You grab a bowl for your rice and sit by the counter, Gojo sitting thigh-to-thigh beside you despite the abundance of space around you. 
You realize then, that Gojo tends to hover. 
Not necessarily in a bad way, just that, he does it all the time—always wanting to be near.  
And for someone so perceiving, practically all-seeing, he doesn’t really have to for him to know what you’re up to, but with every opportunity he has, he never misses a moment to be close to you.
When you wash the dishes by the sink, he stays beside you, shoulder-to-shoulder, even when the sink is wide enough to accommodate him a few inches farther. 
Even the walk to the bathroom has him tailing you, following your footsteps as he traces the footprints of slow mornings with you. 
Your bathroom counter has two sinks, but of course, today, he chooses to stay by yours. 
“Skincare?” you raise a tub of face mask. 
He doesn’t need it, but you love pampering him, so he nods, whatever you want. 
You struggle for a bit (he’s just too tall), so he picks you up by the waist and rests you on the bathroom counter, against the mirror.
He stays in the space between your legs, hands flat against your thighs. His thumb kneads your skin gently, and any other time, this position would end very differently, but there’s a look he’s giving you—all words without speaking. 
And—
“Quit staring,” you mumble, turning shy. You’re about to rub the product onto his cheeks, under his eyes. 
“What, I can’t look at you?” he moves closer, keeping his eyes locked on you as he rubs circles on your thighs. 
“No, you can, but,” you swallow, “you’re looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” his brows furrow. 
“Like that.” you sigh, gesturing to his face. 
“Like I love you?” 
And it is like that. Like he loves you. That’s why he says it so casually. 
Because he does. 
You stay quiet, stunned, before you clear your throat and finish up the final area on his face. 
“Yeah.” you mumble, reaching over to wash your hands on the sink. 
Gojo waits for you to finish before he takes a small towel to dry your hands with it. 
“As if you don’t know.” he scoffs, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. 
He’s right—it’s been said before, but there’s something else in his eyes right now, shiny and devoted, as if this is all he could ever want. As if you, on this slow morning, in this too-big bathroom is all he could ever need. 
But he doesn’t say anything. At least, not what he really means. 
“Not my fault you’re so pretty today,” he adds on, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
It should be funny, that he’s telling you all this with a mask slathered all over his face, but his compliments always speak to the depths of you, even when you don’t expect them to. 
His fingers mold against your cheek, to your ears, down to the back of your head, bringing you closer until he kisses you softly, a gentle peck. 
Bits of the face mask transfer to your nose and you giggle, wiping it off. 
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say.” you joke.
Gojo smiles, that look on his face, “Good for you then, you’re the only one I see.”
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re-uploaded because i accidentally deleted!
comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡
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suguann · 7 days ago
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✎. you aren’t happy about your roommate’s party until you meet the attractive guy down the hall.
tags. fem!reader, future installments will contain smut, age difference, original characters, college student reader, one-night stands, angst, dirty talk, hurt/comfort, size kink, unplanned pregnancy
featuring. simon
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It’s your first semester living off-campus, and Finn is boundlessly enthusiastic about all things that involve cheap liquor and crowded spaces, even more so now that she roped you into being her roommate after promising to split the cost of furnishing an apartment that’s probably too expensive for two undergrads working part-time, low-pay jobs.
You don’t like parties, really. 
Movies and the social connotations surrounding parties have always made them seem like some monumental proverbial chip in your college experience; the real thing, once the bright-eyed shine of trying something new wears off, is more or less a bunch of random people packed into a room like sardines who abate their social awkwardness with alcohol and loud music.
So, no, you can’t exactly say that you enjoy the thought of Finn’s friends (and everyone she hardly smiles at) cramping up your already tiny apartment—especially when one of them is Miller from one of your business classes, who gives you the creeps. 
And leave it to Finn to invite him, anyway.
"Now he knows where I live," you grumble into your bowl of cereal—something probably too sweet and (definitely) full of sugar for breakfast.
Finn shrugs, not at all worried for you, as she pours more sticky orange batter into the hot pan on the stove. "The guy has a crush on you. I think it's cute. And he seems harmless."
“Harmless until I end up in a ditch somewhere.”
You don’t have to see her face to know she’s doing that thing with her mouth whenever you say something she thinks is ridiculous. “If you’d agree to split the Netflix bill, you wouldn’t be stuck watching horror movies. Why do you only own horror movies, again?”
"That's easy for you to say.” You roll your eyes, ignoring her question. “You don’t have to sit by him every week.”
(As if that would ever convince her to change her mind.)
"Ow! Shit!"
You look up right before Finn drops a steaming pancake onto her hand and rushes to the sink to run it under cold water. The mutilated pancake lay forgotten with the others that didn't survive her last several attempts.
"Finn, I think this is unnecessary," you tell her after swallowing a mouthful of cereal. "Can't you do something more practical? Like sticking a note to their door?"
Finn looks up from the sink, her wild, red curls bouncing from the movement. "Oh, come on! Don't chicken out now. I've already made fifteen of these things." She points her pink spatula at the tower of not-quite pumpkin-shaped pancakes on the counter. "Plus, who's going to turn down free food? Now, go put on your costume and hand these out."
You shovel another spoonful of cereal into your mouth, scowling. "I'm not wearing the costume you picked out. It's so...inappropriate."
You’re pretty sure Finn picked out your costume from the dicey sex shop down the street rather than an actual Halloween store—the amount of mesh compared to solid fabric only solidifies the theory.
Finn finally turns the water off and gives you a stern look, amused eyes set under a furrowed brow. "I can find the one you own in the children's section at Costco."
You roll your eyes. "I really don’t feel like flashing my tits to the neighbors while offering them breakfast.”
She grins, wide and teasing. "You have nice tits, though.”
"Yeah, I'm sure the old woman down the hall would love to see her neighbor in the equivalent of a thong and nipple coverings at the start of her day." You don’t think you’d ever be able to look her in the eye again.
"Miss Yado is cool,” Finn says, returning to the stove to continue cooking. “She'll probably just tell you to wear a jacket or something."
You pick up your empty bowl and lean over the counter to put it in the sink. "I didn't know you talked to our neighbors."
Finn shrugs, flipping the pancake in the skillet. "She normally walks her dog while I'm heading to class. I stop to talk to her sometimes when I'm not running late." 
“Oh?”
She shoots you a wry grin over her shoulder. "You'd know the neighbors too if you didn't scowl all the time."
In response, the corners of your mouth tip down. "I don’t scowl."
"Now, would you go change? These are getting cold." 
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Several minutes later, you come out of your room wearing the same costume you'd worn the past two years. Finn pouts when she sees you forwent the one she had picked out. However, she doesn’t do more than shake her head and shove a handful of food containers full of pancakes into your hands.
“You’ll be fine. Just remember to smile,” she tells you before the front door closes behind you.
You start on your end of the hall, going door to door and handing out the small containers. The whole time, you’re wondering why Finn couldn’t do this herself, considering you’re hardly a people person as is. Thankfully, nobody seemed too annoyed about being bothered on a Saturday morning—only one neighbor shut the door in your face before you could say anything.
But it’s fine. You’re not going to let it ruin your day. Plus, you only have one person left.
There’s a small pit of nerves in your stomach when you knock this time—half expecting another door to the face. What you don’t expect, however, is the tall and imposing guy who answers.
Who also doesn’t appear to be any less annoyed.
Your mouth opens and closes helplessly, all words stuck to the back of your tongue, watching as stray water droplets drip down from his wet hair and travel down the side of his face before dispersing into the dark stubble lining his jaw.
You stare. And stare. Eyes, most likely, bugging unattractively out of your head.
How did Finn never mention the super hot neighbor who lived six doors down the hall?
He gives you a once-over, and part of you suddenly wishes you’d gone with Finn's costume instead. Only because here, at that moment, you’re willing to admit that maybe the one you have on looks like a six-year-old picked it out—especially when this guy, who is way out of your league, scrutinizes it for a second longer, mostly your frilly crew socks. 
"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice low as if he hasn’t been awake for long.
You blink, mild embarrassment rushing through you from the sudden realization that you’ve been standing there and saying absolutely nothing.
"Hi, um, I'm your neighbor from down the hall. My roommate and I are throwing a Halloween party, and we're inviting people in the building." Annoyance slowly melts off his face.
"Thank you,” heavily tattooed arms cross over his broad chest, and he leans against the door frame (and you definitely don’t stare at how his biceps seem to strain against his black t-shirt). “But I think I'm getting a little old for parties."
The corners of your mouth tip up in what’s the beginning of a smile.
"Okay, sure. You're, what, twenty-five?"
It’s a stupid joke, and for a moment, you panic, afraid he’d been unimpressed, but then his lips quirked slightly. "Not quite. Nice costume. Let me guess, fairy?"
"Witch, actually. I’ve always gone with something more original," you babble and bite your lip before you can say something else.
"It’s cute." 
Cute?
You’re unsure if you should feel elated that he thinks so or self-conscious—that he might be making fun of you—so you settle with a mumbled “thanks.”
"So, what's with the container?" he asks, nodding toward your hands.
"Oh, um, my roommate thought she could bribe people with food to come to the party." Truthfully, it’s to prevent potential complaints from the neighbors, but you decide not to mention that part, although you think he knows by the way the corner of his mouth subtly lifts.
You give him the plastic container and watch as he stares into it with a furrowed brow. "It's a... pancake?"
"Er, yeah. My roommate likes to go above and beyond for everything."
"What's it supposed to be?" he asks, glancing up at you.
"Um, a pumpkin..."
You look between him and the container and find Finn had accidentally mixed up her presentable pancakes with the throwaways. And the pumpkin shape is...well, it isn't.
"Ah, I see," he nods, his slowly drying hair falling onto his forehead. "That makes more sense."
You can’t stop the giggle that bubbles to the surface. "You think you can do better?"
"Yes, actually," he grins back, all cocksure, with a flash of white teeth. "Maybe I’ll bring some over some time."
"I won't tell her you said that." However, you can't wait to rib Finn later.
"Right, it probably wouldn't make a very good first impression." Then he sticks out his free hand, "Simon."
You shyly shake it—ignoring the little skip in your chest at how big his hand is compared to yours—and tell him your name, too.
His eyes flicker down to his watch, and he curses under his breath. "Well, it was nice meeting you. But I have to finish getting ready for work."
Only then do you take note of the tactical pants and heavy boots he’s wearing.
When you meet his gaze again, you find amusement there, and you consider, with a new rush of mortification, that it probably seemed like you’d been openly eyeing his crotch. 
You clear your throat, the back of your neck feeling hot, and you pointedly pretend your voice doesn’t hitch when you breathe a soft, tremulous, "Okay, sure.”
"Tell your roommate I said thanks for breakfast."
"Yeah, I'll tell her. Um, I guess I'll see you around." No longer able to make eye contact with him, you turn away and begin walking (though it’s probably closer to running) toward your door.
And you definitely don’t look over your shoulder to see if he’s still standing there.
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You spend most of the party hanging out near the front door, quietly hoping Simon might show up—even though it seems unlikely. After all, he did mention that he’s too old for parties, and a small, insecure part of you wonders if it was his polite way of turning you down.
"The guy was running late,” Finn had tried to reassure you. “I'm sure he was thinking about how to beat expressway traffic before the lunch hour rush hit. Not about the crazy lady in a witch costume running away from his door."
That was the initial deciding factor between your witch costume and the one Finn’s been trying to force you into—only so you don’t have to hear another person call you cute just to seem nice.
And leave it to Finn to jump at the opportunity to help you get ready, though she nearly freaked out when you popped into your joint bathroom with an old tube of mascara that you rummaged out of your nightstand.
"Do you know how many germs are probably on that thing?" Finn’s nose scrunched up as she threw it away in the waste bin near the toilet. "Please tell me you haven't used it since you bought it?"
You had rolled your eyes. "Probably not."
Finn sighed, then smiled. "Luckily for you, I own more than a crusty mascara tube." 
You were about to argue, but when Finn told you to sit on the toilet lid with a dangerously sharp liner pen, you’d clenched your jaw instead, unsure what you were more scared of when Finn brought the pen close to your face: that your friend might potentially stab you in the eye or that you’d come out of the bathroom with raccoon eyes.
Thankfully, when Finn finally finished, neither was the case, except the number of looks you’ve been receiving anytime someone stops in the kitchen to get more drinks is something you hadn’t anticipated—especially when one of them happens to be Miller.
You’ve been avoiding him and his overly bare chest from the moment he walked through your front door. It grew more challenging after Finn left your side (the traitor) to talk to a guy you’ve seen her hanging around with on campus a few times. 
And with the apartment feeling smaller than it already is, you’re only option is to blend in with the group hanging around your kitchen island.
You’ll be fine, Finn said.
Right, you think as you adjust the scanty tube top under your mesh shirt, trying to cover more of yourself with what little fabric you have at your disposal, and you wonder if it’s too late to change—
A knock at the door makes you perk up, regardless of how noisy the room is, with eardrum-shattering music and loud college students. You pull it open, expecting to see Simon on the other side, only to be disappointed when it’s one of Finn’s friends and her girlfriend instead.
"Hey, Roma." You realize you probably sound rude and attempt to give them your best smile—which is more or less a grimace.
Roma smooths out her extremely short referee-style dress. "Sorry, we're late! I couldn't remember where you lived. There are way too many blue apartment buildings around here..."
Everything she’s saying goes in one ear and out the other when you spot Simon stepping out of the door to the stairway across the hall. You hold your breath, waiting for him to look up from his phone.
But he keeps walking.
"Uh, yeah," you say distractedly before speeding up the conversation. "Hey, Finn is in the living room, but I'll see you guys inside, okay? I need to do something."
You step around them to catch up to Simon, which you learn isn’t easy in heels. So you call his name, hoping he hears you and smiling when he turns toward you. And you don’t miss how his gaze trails down your body slowly.
It makes something inside you quiver as you nervously play with the short hem of your skirt.
“Hey,” he says, sounding every bit as tired as he looks—his shirt from that morning now wrinkled with bluish hollows under his eyes—though he tries to hide it with what you think is an attempt at a smile.
And your cheeks burn because you feel guilty. 
"Hey," you repeat dumbly. 
Your eyes lower as his smile melts into one of faint amusement at your lack of tact. You fidget, shifting from one foot to the other. Maybe, you think, you should have let him walk into his apartment before you could embarrass yourself further today.  
After a moment, you meet his gaze again. 
"Uh, I just wanted to see if you still wanted to come over…But I imagine you're probably not up for it, so I’ll leave—"
Simon surprises you when he shrugs his shoulders and says, "Sure."
Your mouth gapes, unsure if you heard him correctly. "Wh-what?"
"I just need to shower and change, and then I'll be over. Okay?"
"I... yeah, okay," your nod is shy, trying not to betray eagerness.
A lazy grin stretches across his mouth. "Nice costume, by the way," he disappears into his apartment before he can witness how his words make you flush.
And you walk back to your apartment feeling a little more floaty than when you left.
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heich0e · 2 months ago
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rintarou's sheets are scratchy.
they're new, and haven't yet gone through the wash enough times to properly soften. they haven't been slept on enough times to be fully broken in. you know he bought them because you always used to tease him about his old sheets: faded with some holes in them—a mismatched fitted sheet and top sheet in two different shades of blue, unbefitting of a grown man making grown man money.
so, he got new ones.
these new sheets are green, in the exact shade you like so much—the one you always point out when the two of you are walking in the park near your office on your lunch break. he sent you a picture of the package when he got them home, fishing for praise you refused to give him for doing the bare minimum. they're nice sheets, though. expensive, organic cotton with a high thread count.
but right now, they're scratchy.
and they're irritating you as you lay tangled up in them, the top sheet wrapped around your waist like a belt and twisted around one of your bare legs. you must have been tossing and turning a lot in your sleep, because when you properly rouse from your slumber to take inventory of your surroundings, the first thing you notice is that you're practically knotted into the stiff, new cotton.
you extract yourself from the blankets, stumbling a little towards the door in a fog, and make your way from rintarou's bedroom in the direction of the kitchen.
"oh," rintarou perks up once you appear around the corner, his eyes bright when they spot you. "you're up."
you shuffle around the kitchen counter towards him, your head heavy and pounding, your mouth dry. you feel nauseated, and without thinking, you slump against him with your forehead pressing into the valley between his shoulder blades. you're confused. you're hungover. but he's warm, and smells like laundry detergent. suddenly you feel a little less queasy.
"what's going on?" you grumble into his back. you peel yourself away from him, blinking slowly, and sweep your gaze around the room to get a better sense of things.
suna holds up a frying pan and a whisk. "i'm cooking!"
you blink again. "okay?"
it's not what you meant when you asked him your first question, but rintarou simply smiles. he has an almost puppy-like personality when he gets like this—you can almost picture ears atop his head and a tail wagging happily as he stares down at you.
"how'd i get here last night?"
rintarou freezes, but only for a moment. he quickly turns his back to you again to continue on whatever misguided culinary adventure he'd been attempting before you woke up. "you were pretty drunk."
"my seniors kept egging me on," you complain, rubbing your forehead as the hazy memory surfaces from the night before. it was a company dinner you couldn't get out of, and it had quickly spiralled out of hand. "i don't even remember leaving."
rintarou laughs a little. but he still won't look at you.
"suna."
he doesn't turn, whisking something you can't identify but that you're almost certain should not be whisked in a bowl in front of him on the counter.
"suna." you repeat yourself again.
suddenly, a wave of nausea overtakes you.
no.
no.
you pat yourself down in search of your phone, but the attempt is useless. you're dressed in one of rintarou's t-shirts and boxers, neither of which come equipped with any pockets, and your phone is nowhere to be found. you whip your head around in search of it, but don't spot it anywhere in the immediate vicinity.
"hey—" rintarou finally looks at you when he senses your alarm, and his tone mirrors your own panic. "don't—!"
you swipe his cellphone off the counter in front of him, using the passcode you'd managed to weasel out of him a few months ago to unlock the device and navigate to his call log. you take off running as you tap your way through the various screens on his phone, but he's quickly in pursuit of you—leaving whatever he'd had on the stove to burn like he world's saddest funeral pyre.
"stop, stop!" rintarou is faster than you are, and has longer legs, but even by the time he catches you, you've already found what you're looking for in his call history. he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you down onto his sofa with him in the living room, and the two of you land in a tangle of limbs against the cushions, your breathing laboured.
"i didn't make this call, did i?" you ask meekly, pointing at a brief call in the late hours of the night prior that sits at the top of his call history. it's from your number, but you're confident you hadn't been the one to dial.
rintarou pouts a little bit, avoiding your eyes. after a moment he shakes his head. you groan, rolling over on the sofa underneath him and hiding your face in your hands.
"i wasn't even there long, i promise," rintarou says, his voice impossibly close because of the way the two of you are sprawled across the sofa. his breath is warm against the column of your throat when he speaks.
you refuse to look at him.
"i didn't even say anything embarassing."
you still don't budge.
"i made sure to thank your coworkers for calling me to come get you and everything."
your hangover has been overtaken by your own mortification, a horrible heat creeping up your face to accompany the taste of bile in your throat. you've been so, so careful not to let your relationship and your career overlap thus far. so cautious about introducing rintarou into parts of your life that would make it even harder to face if or when the time came that he wasn't around anymore.
"are you embarrassed of me?"
his question makes your chest ache. the way he says it twists the knife.
you lift your face from your hands and peek at him over your shoulder. he's so close that your noses almost brush.
"no." you mean it.
the anxiety in rintarou's gaze eases. he presses closer.
"you sure?"
you narrow your eyes at him. "depends. were you wearing that awful yellow track suit?"
rintarou laughs, all breath, and then dips down to kiss you softly. you want to complain that you haven't even brushed your teeth yet, or that you kind of feel like you might be sick, or that whatever he was trying to cook is on the brink of burning down the building. but you don't. you just let him rest on top of you. you let yourself enjoy it.
when he finally pulls away, rintarou has a somewhat sly smile on his face.
"what, rin?" you ask him gently.
"just wondering if now that i've met your coworkers you're going to let me come visit you at lunch, or if you're still gonna make me hide in the park."
"i like the park," you pout.
because the park is green, the colour you like so much. like rintarou's scratchy bedsheets. and his eyes.
"okay, okay," he laughs, pressing his forehead against yours. "i like the park, too."
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dearharriet · 9 months ago
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Sunday-Side-Up; James Potter 🍳
summary: you’re worried on the morning after a hookup with your friend, james
word count: 2.3K
warnings: pg-13 smut, sexually implicit content, fem!r, beefy/gym!james, pre-relationship, getting together, hurt/comfort(ish), fluff
note: this is technically an addition to sunday, another gym!james fic that I wrote, but u can read it as a standalone if u wish! u can find the request here
An egg simmers and pops in the buttery pan on the stove, mirroring your calamitous heart. It’s all you can look at. A rogue explosion of butter lands on the skin of your hand, but you hardly even flinch, just staring and staring at the pristine yolk in its sea of bubbling white.
Back in your room, harbored by your stuffed animals and rumpled sheets, is your good friend, James. Though you aren’t sure if you could call him as such anymore, considering the less-than-friendly activities you’d partaken in the night before.
How had you let yourself cave like that?
Outside, the sun is calmly rising, paying no mind to your frivolous human thoughts. It scores over the trees surrounding your apartment and lands sharp and warm on your cheeks. You ignore it as best you can, putting all the early energy you have into protecting the little sun you’re cooking.
Your attraction for James was never much of a secret, nor was his for you, but you always assumed there was nothing to be done about it. He’s one of your best friends and most coveted confidants, and losing him includes losing the other two of him, too. It was a silent agreement, you thought.
Until last night, of course, when he’d finally broken and asked to kiss you over a box of takeout.
“I really can’t stand to be alone with you and sit on opposite sides of the couch and pretend that that’s normal,” said James, one hand fisted over his knee. “I feel I’ve gone mad, a bit, trying to dance around this.”
You’d have liked to say you found that a little bit dramatic, but you felt the same way. Being with James was like walking on eggshells, sometimes. Even though you felt quite at home with him, there were still boundaries to maintain. You constantly had to double back, to reel yourself in before you said something too flirty or touched him longer than was necessary. It was exhausting and disappointing. You were tired of being disappointed.
So upon your permission, James had followed you to your room, and he hadn’t held back.
You can’t say you regret it, but you’re certainly worrying. There’s reasons you had boundaries in place, reasons that both you and James resisted the magnetism that pulls you together, and they’re all in the wind now.
If you lost James, lost your friendship…
Carried away with emotions, you push at your fried egg too hard, shaking the buoyant yolk out of its membrane.
“No,” you whine, gripping the offending spatula in your hand. It’s all you can do to watch the yolk seep over the crispy whites surrounding it, spilling onto the hot pan with a sizzle.
“What’s a’matter?”
Your eyes whip over to the kitchen entryway, finding James in a sick state of undress, a pair of boxers low on his hips and glasses crooked where they perch on his nose. Like he’d gotten up to find you before getting dressed, hardly remembering he’d need glasses to do so.
You tell yourself you’re projecting, returning your greedy gaze to the sad situation on the stove. James’ broad chest and muscled thighs creep into the back of your mind for safekeeping anyway.
He comes up behind you, peering easily over your shoulder to gauge what the problem is.
“I broke the yolk,” you tell him, as if it’s not obvious.
James grunts darkly, as if to agree that this is a very grave occurrence. Still, his voice is as comforting as it is gravelly when he responds.
“Well, flip that one and it can be mine. I don’t like sunny-side.”
Turning to glance up at him, you frown. “I thought you did?” You could swear you’ve seen him eat his eggs that way before.
Lips pursing in a shy almost-smile, James relents. “Well, yes, I do. But not strictly. I’ll eat whatever—‘specially if you make it.”
You turn your frown back to the pan, saying nothing. James takes the moment of silence to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling your back flush against his bare chest. The sleep shirt you’d thrown on feels thinner than the broken yolk membrane, letting all of James’ warmth strike you right in the heart. It’s almost too much for you to handle.
Correction, it is too much for you to handle.
Reaching down, you peel James’ hands off of your torso, wincing the whole way through. He backs off, easily taking the hint, but when you glance his way he looks befuddled.
“Um.” James averts his gaze to the floor, clearly knocked down by your rejection. “Have I misread something?”
“No, I’m sorry, I—“
You sigh, realizing this discussion needs more attention than you currently have to spare. In quick movements, you flick the stove burner off and move the pan to one that’s not hot, and then you turn your full effect on James.
Standing in front of you, undressed and muscled and reproachful, James looks embarrassed beyond measure.
“It’s nothing you did, James, I just—I’m not sure last night should’ve happened, is all.”
Picking at your lips worriedly, you await his response, but it’s nothing like you expect. You thought he’d turn sly or charming, convince you that it was worthwhile. James’ eyes blow wide and concerned instead.
“You didn’t want to?” The dread in his voice is thick, knocking you back with the sheer force of it. You almost reach out to comfort him, but think better of it.
“James, of course I did, yes. I wanted to.”
James’ broad shoulders relax from their anxious hunch, but his guarded posture still remains.
“What, then? You didn’t enjoy it?”
You huff. “No, James. Will you stop putting words into my mouth? Of course I enjoyed it, it was—“
You pause, trying to describe exactly how it was, but then shake the entire thought off, realizing you’re getting sidelined. James looks hesitantly amused at your clear flush, the short reminiscing enough to fluster you.
“It doesn’t matter,” you assert. “We can’t do it again.”
“We can’t?” James asks, but it sounds more like a challenge.
“No, we can’t. It’d be irresponsible. There’s a reason we held off on this, and you know it.”
“I know why I held off,” says James, and he’s stepping closer, to your dismay. “Why did you, sweetness?”
Your heart lodges in your throat, set off by his name calling and proximity. Bum pressing back against the counter, you suspect the only way to ward James off now is with a long, pointy stick, threateningly waved back and forth.
“Because,” you start, mouth dry, “it would ruin our friendship.”
A laugh booms forth from James’ throat, making you dizzy. You can’t help but watch his chest shake with it, his boxer elastic slipping ever-so-slightly lower, revealing more coarse hair and golden skin.
“Well,” James says, calling your attention back to his face, “I should hope so. I don’t want to be your friend, love. I thought I made that clear last night.”
You open your mouth and then shut it again. This time, you don’t redirect your thoughts as they amble back to the way James touched you last night, to the overwhelming sensation of finally having him, of being had.
James’ hands find purchase on the counter behind you, caging you between his arms, and you’re sure he knows exactly where your mind’s gone.
“Is that what you want, hm?” he asks, voice rasping with pure desire. “To be friends?”
You swallow. James’ heady scent is spilling over you in waves, which you typically have no trouble with, but you're not prepared for your smells to waft off of him, too. One night in your bed and he’s covered in you, head to toe. You can’t deny how much you enjoy the thought.
He’s so fit. It’s all you can think about with his tanned chest in front of your face, his big arms skimming yours. You know James likes the gym, but you never expected him to look like this.
Now that you’ve touched him, it’s like a dam broke inside you for good. It’s all too easy to reach for him, brushing light fingertips over his soft stomach and his v-line, the happy trail that’s bewitched you.
Finally, your hands push up, up, up his chest, over his pecs and shoulders until you’re looking into his expectant gaze. Had he said something?
“No,” you mumble, voice distracted. “No, I don’t want to be friends.” An incredulous laugh escapes you. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” James repeats, grinning like a child with candy.
You run your hands down his front again, intoxicated with the feel of him under your fingers.
“I guess I’m just a little worried about how this will change things,” you tell him, anchoring yourself to his waist. Pulling him closer.
“It doesn’t have to change anything, if we don’t want it to.”
That makes you smile a bit, his talking about the two of you like a pair, a unit. Still, it’s misguided.
“That’s a bit naive, don’t you think? I mean, something’s changed.” You make a point to emphasize the state you’re both in, the proximity.
James grins wickedly. “Well, that’s the good stuff, love. I only meant we don’t have to tell Remus or Sirius, at least until we’re ready. We don’t even have to go on dates, if you don’t want. We can just be like really, really good friends.”
This simultaneously makes you want to laugh and cry. Your expression settles on what is probably pensive, or indistinguishable.
“I’d want to go on dates…,” you mumble, suddenly feeling very bashful.
James’ whole demeanor seems to flip on its head. Before, he was feigning casualty, like he’d be down for anything. Now he’s all business, locked in on you.
“Yeah?” James asks, his voice unbearably tender. His hands abandon the counter for your hips, kneading the soft skin hidden under your sleep shirt.
“Yeah,” you confirm, breathless. “James, I want this to be more than sex.”
Brows furrowing, James levels you with a curious look.
“Is that what this is about? You think I only want to shag you?”
Embarrassed, you start to shrink away from his examining eyes, only to remember he has you cornered. You settle for the alternative and shove your face into the crook of his neck, groaning.
“Don’t tease me about this, James. Not this.”
“Not teasing, lovely, no. I only want to understand.” James' hand takes up in your hair, spinning it around his fingers and releasing it again and again. His voice is a calm wash now, quiet and raspy. “Is that what had you so worried?”
Reluctantly, you nod as best you can without braining yourself on his jaw or yanking your hair in his grip. James clicks his tongue.
“Can I have a look at you?”
His hand encourages your head back carefully, until his hazel eyes have yours pinned under them, like moths under a kitchen glass. Your face fits between his palms, hot-cheeked and sensitive, hoping he’ll say something to make you feel like less of a fool.
“D’you know why I didn’t try to do this before?” James doesn’t let you answer, bulldozing right through with a nervous sort of energy. “It’s ‘cause I knew I didn’t deserve you. I mean—what?”
You can’t stop your laugh. You’re doubled over into James’ shoulder again, laughing like a prick while he’s trying to be vulnerable with you, but honestly, could you blame yourself?
“What are you talking about, ‘not deserving’ me? You’re so bizarre.” You pull back from him, rosy and amused. Despite being made fun of, James seems to be in light spirits, smiling along with you.
“What’s so bizarre about it? You’re gorgeous and funny and good for me and I don’t deserve it.” He shrugs. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”
“I’m good for you, am I?” you repeat oddly, feeling admittedly tingly and giddy from his admission.
“Well, yeah, love. You make me happy.” James’ voice drops a decibel, dangerously sweet and whispered close to your lips. “Even when you’re laughing at me while I tear my chest apart to make you feel better.”
That only makes you laugh again, and this time James presses his smiling mouth over yours.
You soak in his kiss, coaxing his bed-warm body as close to yours as possible until you’re two sides of the same coin. James pushes his hands further up the back of your shirt, relishing in the expanse of bare skin there, and you take his bottom lip between your teeth in response.
Heaving a sound between a laugh and a moan, James takes his bitten mouth down your throat, laving over marks he’d left mere hours before.
You tilt your head, happy to give him more access, only to find your sorry abandoned egg where you’d left it.
“Oh, we forgot about breakfast,” you stress, reaching for the stove with no real purpose. James catches your hand to bring back to your scene together.
“Forget about it,” he mumbles into your skin, “I’ll cook you som’thin later. Right now I want you back in bed.”
You hum, easily agreeing, though you can’t help your other needs, even as James hikes your legs up and around his waist.
“A sunny side egg, please? With jam on toast?”
Laughing into your mouth, James walks you both out of the kitchen blindly.
“Yeah, pretty girl, whatever you want.”
He aims for another kiss, hot and barreling fast around the corner into carnal, but you pull back one more time before he can get carried away.
“And James?”
“Yeah?”
You can’t believe how handsome and strong he is, or that his strength and good looks are quickly becoming yours to enjoy. Splaying a wide hand over his cheek, you make sure he catches the full weight of your next statement, sweetly murmured into his reddened lips.
“You make me happy, too.”
James’ responding smile outshines the rising sun.
+
thank you for reading! xx
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lionneee · 1 month ago
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What a marriage
English is not my first language, please be kind
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Part 1 -> Part 2
•Warnings: fake marriage, arranged marriage, smut, piv, kissing, cheating, degradation.•
Modern!Husband!Aemond x Wife!Reader
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She didn’t know if she should have been happy about how her marriage with him has changed.
She always woke up sore, tired, and had trouble walking.
Aemond was still a ghost during the day.
Not at night.
She screamed as she leaned forward on the bed, making him slip out.
She was panting and sobbing, her face pressed against the mattress, her knees bent at the end of the bed. He was standing behind her, panting as well.
He growled and grabbed her hips, pushing her back, but she whined and got up on all four and tried to crawl away.
“Get back here.” He snarled, grabbing her ankle and pulling her right back. She quickly got back on her knees, but before she could try to move again, he grabbed her by the back of her neck and pressed her face back on the mattress.
You whined loudly as he pushed right back into you, his cock filling you up again, the pleasure was mixed with pain and overstimulation.
“I’m gonna keep you here until your cunt will be able to make me come.” He panted as he resumed his thrusts, hard and deep, picking up the pace in short time.
You screamed against the mattress, the sound muffled by it, as you clenched your hands on the covers.
“Fucking come!” You moaned as you felt another orgasm threatening to wash over you. You didn’t know if you were going to be able to take it, again.
“If you'd shut up, maybe I will.” He slapped your ass as he scolded you, grabbing your hips again and starting to thrust harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping loud in your bedroom.
You scrambled on the mattress again as your hands clenched harder around the blankets.
You tried to clench around him, trying to make him come before you could reach another orgasm, and when you felt him moan you finally knew he was really close.
You tried to clench again, trying to hold back your orgasm, but it was hard with the way he was merciless pounding into you like you were a fuckdoll.
He moaned again and let go of one of your hips.
“You’re gonna come first.” He grunted, you didn’t need to turn around, you knew he was smirking. You groaned loudly and your back arched as his fingers brushed against your clit, and that was all you needed to come again.
Your walls clenched hard around him as your fluids covered his cock, again, getting even more wetter.
He thrusted a few more times, then, he pushed all the way in and stayed there as he came too with a low moan.
You let out a sound of relief as he pulled out, and collapsed on your bed as he walked out of your room to get on his own.
So the last thing she expected as she prepared lunch, was for him to come out in the office to join her in the kitchen.
“I have an event tonight.” He said as he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he looked at her. “And you’re coming with me.”
She turned and looked at him, raising one of her eyebrows.
“Dress, shoes, hair and makeup.” She turned to look at him. “None of those are prepared for an event.”
Aemond rolled his eye and scoffed.
“Dress and shoes are in your room, I already bought them. Makeup and hair whatever, you’ll look good anyway. Be ready at six.” He pushed himself off the doorframe and walked closer, inspecting the pans on the stove.
“Bring me a plate when you’re done. I’m in my office.” Said that, he walked away.
She gritted her teeth in annoyance.
It might have sounded like a compliment, but to her, it only felt like another confirmation that he didn’t care about her.
She stared at the spot where Aemond had stood, her hand gripping the wooden spoon a little too tightly. 
He didn't even ask if she wanted to go.
Her frustration simmered as she returned to stirring the sauce. She hated the way he treated her, as though she was just another accessory in his life. 
She glanced toward her bedroom, the thought of the dress he'd already picked out for her prickling at her pride. 
Not even the decency to let me choose that. 
With a sigh, she finished preparing lunch and plated his portion, setting it on a tray. She stared at the plate for a moment, her irritation flaring once more, before taking a deep breath. Confronting him wasn’t going to do anything but start another argument. She wasn’t in the mood to battle with him, not today.
Carrying the tray to his office, she knocked gently before entering. Aemond sat behind his desk, his eye glued to his computer screen as he typed rapidly. He barely glanced up when she set the plate in front of him.
"Thanks." He muttered, his tone neutral, devoid of any real appreciation.
She stopped but didn’t turn around, after a moment she resumed walking out and closed the door behind her with a little more force than necessary.
Back in her room, she found the dress laid out on her bed. It was stunning, she had to admit that much. Midnight blue silk, with a sleek silhouette that promised to hug her body in all the right places. The shoes, a pair of delicate, strappy heels, matched perfectly. It was clear Aemond had spared no expense, but that only made her feel more like a decorative piece for him to show off.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the dress. A part of her wanted to rebel, to refuse to go, to show him that he couldn’t just control her like this. 
With a sigh, she stood up and headed to the bathroom. She’d go to the event. She’d wear the dress and the shoes he’d picked, and she’d play the role he expected her to. But that didn’t mean she had to enjoy it.
She walked down the stairs, ready, and she found Aemond dressed in a suit, his head bent down as he looked at his phone. 
She sighed and quickly reached him.
“I’m ready.” She said dispassionately. “Let’s go.” Aemond raised his head to scan her body, and hummed with a single nod.
She clenched her jaw at his disinterest, and followed him as he opened the door, walking straight to his car.
They drove in silence, the tension thick between them. Aemond kept his eyes on the road, one hand casually resting on the steering wheel, the other tapping idly against the gear shift. She stared out the window, watching the city blur past, the weight of her resentment pressing heavily on her chest. She couldn’t shake the feeling that, for him, she was just another checkbox on his list for the evening, a trophy to flaunt at his side.
The event was at a luxurious venue downtown, a large gala hall lined with sleek black cars and finely dressed people. Aemond pulled into the valet station, and the car stopped. Without a word, he got out, tossing the keys to the valet before making his way around to open her door. His hand extended toward her as she stepped out of the car, his touch cold and formal.
“Stay close." He murmured as they entered the hall. She nodded, though it wasn’t as if she had much of a choice. 
Inside, the room was filled with the elite, men in tailored suits and women in shimmering gowns, mingling beneath chandeliers that sparkled like stars. The air buzzed with the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses.
As they moved through the crowd, Aemond’s grip on her arm tightened slightly, a signal to stay at his side. He greeted people with ease, his voice smooth, his expression composed. She remained silent, smiling politely as introductions were made, her mind drifting in and out of the conversations around her.
Time passed slowly, she had to pull out one fake smile after the other, trying to make small talk with the wifes as Aemond spoke with the husbands. The way he spoke to others with charm and ease was a sharp contrast to the way he treated her. Here, in this world of polished surfaces and false smiles, he was the perfect gentleman. 
As they moved toward a quiet corner, Aemond turned to her, his eye scanning the room. “You’re doing fine." He said, as though it were a performance she had to perfect. There was no warmth, no genuine praise, just the acknowledgment that she was fulfilling her role.
She bit her tongue, swallowing the retort that threatened to spill from her lips. Instead, she took a slow breath and looked away,grabbing another glass of champagne.
She was surprised when she saw Aemond walk away from her, this time without dragging her with him. 
She watched as approached a woman, a beautiful woman. He took her hand and kissed it, he talked closely to her, too close.
Did he forget he is married?!
She clenched her jaw tightly as she shot the rest of the champagne in the glass.
As the night dragged on, the crowd thickened, and Aemond became more engrossed in his conversations. She found herself drifting to the edges of the room, standing by the bar, always with a glass of champagne in hand as she kept looking at Aemond and that woman. The laughter and chatter around her felt distant, like a world she didn’t belong to.
And she hated it.
He didn’t even introduce her to the woman. All the husbands had to see his precious, younger, beautiful wife, but not her.
The warmth of the champagne fizzed in her chest, but it couldn’t dispel the cold knot of jealousy twisting in her stomach. She forced herself to look away, taking a deep breath to calm the rising tide of emotions. Aemond’s laughter echoed across the room, too bright, too carefree. She felt like a stranger in her own life, watching him charm this woman who was clearly enamored by him.
Another glass of champagne appeared before her, and she took it without thinking. It was easier to drown her frustration in alcohol than to confront the feelings swirling within her. As the bubbly liquid slid down her throat, she scanned the room for anything to distract herself. The crowd was a blur of elegance and sophistication, all laughing and mingling as if the world outside didn’t exist.
But here she was, standing alone, feeling like a ghost haunting her own marriage.
Without thinking, she moved closer, wanting to hear what they were saying. Aemond leaned in closer to the woman, his voice low and intimate. “You should join us for dinner next week. I’m sure my wife wouldn’t mind.” He said. 
The words hit her like a slap. A wife who was just a footnote in his conversation, a mere afterthought. The woman laughed, a light, airy sound that felt like daggers to her heart. She couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Excuse me.” she interjected, her voice sharper than she intended.
Both Aemond and the woman turned to her. The playful atmosphere of their conversation evaporated instantly, replaced by a taut silence.
“Someone wants to talk to you.” She said, her voice steady, though her insides churned. She met Aemond’s gaze, and she saw a flicker of hate on his face.
“I just have to finish with Floris.” He replied, an edge creeping into his tone.
Floris.
“They seemed impatient.” She lied, not wanting to admit how deeply his interaction with the woman had affected her.
Aemond’s expression shifted, a mix of annoyance and anger. “Fine.” He narrowed his eye, as if he perfectly knew that she was lying.
Floris cleared her throat, taking a step back as the tension between them grew palpable. 
“Talk to you later, Floris.” He nodded at her and grabbed his wife’s arm, dragging her along with him as she gave Floris a spiteful smile from behind her shoulder.
He pulled her outside, in a quiet spot in the garden, turning her forcely to look at him.
“What the hell was that about?” Aemond’s voice cut through her, his tone filled with anger. 
“What was about what?” She replied, feigning to not know what he was talking about crossing her arms defensively. “Can’t I have my husband all for myself? This is one of the rare moments you talk to me, after all.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke the last phrase. Aemond gritted in teeth, the struggle to contain his anger was clear in his face.
“Is it your empty cunt that is talking?” He hissed as he took a step closer. “Or just some basic, pathetic jealousy?” Aemond smirked cruelly as he looked down at her. “I wasn’t flirting with her,” He scoffed, his voice low but firm. “She’s just a colleague. It was nothing.”He sighed as he looked down at her with a hard glare. “This is how it works. I have to network, to meet people in this world, and sometimes it looks more personal than it is.”
“Yeah, it was obvious how personal you wanted it to be.” She clenched her jaw as she narrowed her eyes.
“Shut the fuck up.” He growled. “You were the one who kissed another guy right in front of me just a few weeks ago.” He hissed as he took a step closer, towering over her. “So just be a good wife, and smile.” He passed his hands through his hair. “Don’t make me angry.”
She clenched her jaw tighter. She didn’t want to be a stupid doll by his side. She was tired of all this, tired of faking so much. She was tired of pretending she wasn’t stuck in this marriage.
“No.” She hissed. “I’m going home.” She turned her heels and started striding away, but she didn’t manage to get far, Aemond grabbed her arm again and started dragging her to a nearby building, a hotel, probably the owners of the venue where the event kept going.
He walked in with her and stopped in front of the receptionist.
“One room, king bed, one night.” He said as he pulled out his wallet.The receptionist glanced between them with a smile, then she quickly gave the number of the room and the key.
Without much more words, Aemond strode towards the elevator, grabbing her hand tightly.
She stood awkwardly beside him as he pushed the button for the floor, and watched the display with the numbers changing, his hands in his pocket.
He almost seemed calm, peaceful.
She was in trouble.
As soon as the doors opened, Aemond shoved her outside the elevator, then in the hotel room as soon as he opened.
She stumbled inside, glaring back at him as she stepped back, putting some distance between them.
“No?” He snarled. “No?” He quickly stepped closer, grabbing a handful of her hair,. “Who the fuck do you think you are, mh?” He tugged downward by her hair, forcing her to bend her knees. “Get, On your knees.” He growled as she pushed her down completely, until she was forced to kneel.
He looked down at her, his gaze dark and angry.
“My sweet, little wife wants my attention?” He mocked her. “Because she is jealous of a colleague?” He almost laughed. He took off his belt, and unbuttoned his pants.
As she looked down, she could see that he was already getting hard.
“You have my attention now.” He said, an amused, sadistic grin on his face. “And I am going to give it all to you, wife.” He pulled down his pants and boxers just enough to let his cock spring free from its confines, the tip only inches from her face.
It was the first time she got to see it clearly. She had stolen glances from time to time when he walked naked in her room, but because of the darkness or because he didn’t give her time to, she never really saw how beautiful and big it was.
“Come on, suck it.” He wrapped his hand around his thick, long cock and pushed the head against her mouth.
Oh, hell no.
She glared up at him, keeping her lips pressed together, and he growled at her defiance. He tilted her head back and bent down.
“I’ll force it down your throat.” He threatened.
“How, if you can’t even get it in my mouth?” She smirked. Aemond snarled and pulled her back uo.
“You’re useless. Can’t even suck a cock properly? Why am I even keeping you?”
“Then divorce me, so I won't have to see your stupid, hateful face anymore.” She hissed as she pushed him back with a newfound force, driven by her anger. He landed back on the bed, and he quickly rose on his elbows, his eye full of hate for her.
“Oh, you’d like that, uh?”
“Yes.” She raised her dress and sat on top of him, pushing him back on the bed.
She never rode him. She was never on top.
Every time he came in her room, he just pushed her on her stomach and fucked her from behind, controlling everything.
Not this time.
She pushed her panties to the side, and grabbed his cock, squeezing it in her hand, making him twitch beneath her as he inhaled sharply.
“Fuck, careful.” He grunted, raising her dress from him, so he could get a clear view of her cunt sinking on him, enveloping around his cock, squeezing it and wetting it.
She bit back a moan as she slowly sank down, trying to take him all. 
It was strange to be in a different position, on top, controlling.
She finally sat down on him with a long sight. Aemod’s hand flew immediately to her hips, but she slapped them away and pressed her hands down on his chest with force.
“I’m on top.” She groaned as she slowly started to move up and down, briefly, making his cock barely slip out of her.
Aemond started to thrust his hips up, trying to control the pace, but she sat down, making his efforts futile.
Amend growled and slapped her ass as he sat up.
“You think that just because you’re on top you’re in control?” He growled as he squeezed her cheeks in his hand. He laid back down, bringing her with him, his other hand flying to her ass, grabbing a handful of the skin. “No, wife. No.” He started to thrust up his hips quickly, his feet raising on the bed to help him thrust harder, faster.
She let out a moan, unable to hold it, as her eyes rolled in the back of her head. Aemond moved his hand from her cheeks to the back of her head, grabbing a handful of her hair, pulling her head back, forcing her to arch her back so her tits kept jumping up and down in front of his face, threatening at every movement to spill out of the cleavage.
He grunted and let go of her ass to pull down the cleavage and let free her tits, eagerly taking one in his mouth, suckign hard on her nipples.
She managed to look down, and seeing him sucking it hard, with neediness on her boob made another string of wetness coat Aemond’s cock.
“A fucking baby-” She mocked him as she panted, a smirk playing on her lips. 
Of course Aemond grew furious at the mock. He pulled away only to slap her breasts.
“Such a hypocrite. Like you didn’t just get even more wet. Slut.” He laughed as he thrusted harder into her, bullying her sweet spot, that his cock seemed to aim on itself every time it entered her.
She hated it, how easily it was for him to pleasure her.
“Like you don’t get hard on being hated.” She spit back, string to move her hips as well, the pace increasing as she squeezed him inside her, trying to bring him close to the orgasm.
“God, I wish I had never agreed on marrying you –” She groaned as she felt another pull at her hair, her back arching even more.
“Considering how much time you put on your hair, I thought you would have been way more careful on the other’s.” She mocked him. He suddenly sat up and grabbed her ass tightly.
“So talkative, wife.” He smirked. “Are you trying to turn me on to show me that you’d be better than Floris?” He grinned, amused by her attitude. 
She clenched her jaw as she glared daggers at him.
“I don’t need to prove myself. I am better than her.” She clenched her jaw as she looked at him.
Aemond hummed, looking at her in silence for a moment, unmoving.
“Surely her cunt is not as tight as yours.” She didn’t even have the time to register his words or get angry because he stood up, taking her in his arms, and he started to thrust his hips again, slower, but with much more intensity and hardness.
“Fuck –” She gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck immediately, to secure herself from falling. Aemond chuckled.
“Scared to fall, wife?” He clenched his jaw as he sped up the pace, making her jump on his cock.
“Fuck you. I’d bring you down with me.” She hissed, her nails digging in the back of his shoulders.
“I’d come.” He grunted as his head leaned back, a moan escaping his mouth.
She looked at him with a hint of surprise.
Surely he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t. He hated her.
Her thoughts got quickly washed away by a wave of pleasure. She didn’t even realize she was so much on the edge.
She looked at him as he straightened his head, his singe eye meeting hers, filled with affection.
She tightened her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, moaning loudly as she hit the edge, the pleasure washed over her, shaking her from the insides.
“God – Yes –” He moaned as her walls sucked him in, squeezed him, wetted him even more, turning the sound of his last thrusts squelched, louder.
He came hard, emptying his balls deep inside her with a low grunt. He stepped back, until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, then he let himself fall back, keeping her close to his chest.
They landed on the mattress with a tud. 
‘I’d come’, his eye full with affection.
She sat up on him and looked down at his face, placing her hand on his cheek to turn his gaze to her.
It happened for a brief moment, but she saw it, right before his gaze hardened as his usual stoic face.
“I hate you.” She said between pants looking down at him, watching for a reaction in his face, a confirmation that he felt the same.
“I hate you too.” He turned his head to the side, diverting his gaze, looking somewhere ahead of him.
She nodded to herself, then she moved back down on his chest, resting her head on it.
His heart beated so fast and loudly.
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moonlight-prose · 2 months ago
Note
this one from the touch-starved prompt list w logan 😩🫶:
when the other holds onto their waist briefly as they're passing by and it just send chills down their spine
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don't mind me
a/n: i need you to know this is pure softness and i am swooning at the thought of how sweet it is. logan is such a gentlemen (cue his words in the wolverine about being old fashioned) and just this thought of him being gentle with the reader, but also respectful. i'm dead. i'm also attached af to this dynamic and would be so open to exploring more with these two. i see the logan here as dofp!logan (especially at the end with that shirt).
summary: you refused to admit that you were smitten with the man who melted your otherwise intelligent mind. you were however...horrible with subtlety. luckily the same could be said for him.
pairing: logan howlett x reader
word count: 1k
warnings: none, fluff, logan howlett is a tease, blossoming of a relationship.
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Chaos remained the baseline state when it came to life at the mansion. You couldn't find a way to escape something so natural—a piece of your existence that settled in close to your heart. You liked hearing the children's voices raise in pitch the more excited they got. You liked being showered in hellos as you passed through the halls.
You'd even grown fond of the way you always somehow found yourself stuck in this particular situation. Standing in the kitchen, searching for food, as Logan attempted to make his way through the busy environment.
Few things made you smile the way seeing him in the mornings did. Mussed hair, eyes glazed in partial drowsiness, as he sought for the largest mug tucked in the back of the cabinets. A gag gift from Scott with the claim that the Wolverine needed a cup that could handle him.
(Neither of them would admit it, but the gift remained Logan's favorite piece in the house. A staple in his usual rushed breakfast.)
"Have a nice night?" you asked, attempting to keep your gaze from dropping to his chest.
The white beater he wore never seemed to get old; you absolutely didn't mind seeing him in it at the start of your days.
He grinned, polite and gentlemanly and never anything more. There came days where you wondered if the tension you felt hanging in the air was merely a figment of your imagination. Possibly a delusion to help you cope with such early time slots and late night papers to grade.
"I heard you down here last night."
A grunt rumbled from deep in his chest as he took a sip of coffee large enough to scald his mouth. Screams filtered in through the open doors, quickly followed by a group of kids ready to rummage in the cabinets you both occupied. Which meant your short allotted time with him would soon come to an end, forcing you to pick it up tomorrow morning.
"You want something to eat?" Nodding to the stove with a pan coated in leftover burnt bacon (Scott's attempt at cooking for the kids), you watched Logan's face screw up slightly.
Who could blame him. You wouldn't eat it either.
"Coffee's fine," he mumbled, pouring another helping before small hands were shoving open the door to a variety of cereal. "Gotta get to my class."
You nodded. "History. Right."
He hummed, entirely aware of what occurred inside your chest. How you fidgeted slightly with the watch on your wrist, your eyes unable to remain stuck on his for longer than a few seconds at a time. Logan wasn't an idiot. He understood the tells long before you would dare to admit them out loud.
Clearing your throat, you set your now empty mug in the sink—shifting out of the way to give the students more room. Though the mornings began with enough chaos to keep you on your toes, it was seeing Logan that put you on edge.
The emotions that rifled through your mind mere moments after stepping into his proximity. You began to wonder if there was a way to fix this. Put a stop to how you pined (rather pathetically) over a man who clearly held no interest. You had half a mind to ask Charles for assistance—knowing full well you'd never get over the sheer mortification.
He might laugh—ask if you were in your right mind—but he'd never hold it over you like the others.
But that predicament would have to be settled at a later time. As of two minutes ago...you were late for your first class. The lecture notes were still buried in a stack on your desk; you made a mental note to pick them up on the way.
"Have a good class." Offering a smile, you moved to step out of his way.
Only for the timing (and quite possibly the universe itself) to lead towards you stumbling back from three students barreling towards the kitchen.
His hands latched onto your waist, steadying your movements with a soft grunt, and you tried your best not to choke on your spit. That sound. His touch. You wouldn't make it through the day without those small aspects of him entering your mind—distracting any viable insights you might have had on astronomy as a whole.
Did he have any clue what he did to you?
Or was he merely toying with you on purpose?
Glancing over your shoulder, you caught the small grin that appeared on his face. Barely there yet bright enough to punch a hole right through your chest. He stood tall behind you. A wall you could very well fall into without any worries. That alone left you clutching for some bits of your sanity—whatever remained now sparse enough to be considered laughable.
You tried not to think about the skin you caught small glimpses of in training last week. The sight haunted you for a week—fraying the edges of your mind and turning you to mush. For fucks sake you were a professor. You held enough intelligence to keep Charles Xavier on his toes when wrapped in conversation.
Yet Logan fucking Howlett managed to undo everything that made you the person you were before him now. He muddled what aptitude you had and rendered you entirely dumb.
Some days it left you seething—desperate for a chance to get back at him.
Other days you longed for its familiar warmth.
"You alright there bub?" he rasped, hands still pressed to your hips.
Fighting against your own mind, you plastered a smile on your lips—hoping he might ignore the flutter of your heart. "I'm fine! Thanks for that."
"Have a good day," he replied, his palm brushing the base of your spine as he stepped around you.
Chills clashed with a bewildering heat and curled around your stomach, teasing you with the prospect of his touch somewhere else. You watched his grin deepen, eyes dark with something you'd never before witness from the Wolverine. Want.
"Yeah..." You sucked in a breath, flustered beyond what you could contain in your own body. "You too."
He ducked out towards the hallway long before you had a chance to melt into the floor. A small chuckle resounding in the small confines of the kitchen. Slamming into your chest with enough power to leave you winded.
On your rush to the classroom you finalized your decision.
You'd make that meeting with Charles after all.
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inthemiddleofmae · 7 days ago
Text
morning embrace - paul mescal x reader
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summary - paul comes home after a run to see you making breakfast
word count: ~670
a/n: someone might have watched gladiator ii and fell in love all over again with paul then wrote this instead of writing their uni essay...hmm i wonder who that is!! here's something short n sweet i wrote to make up for the serious lack of paul/lucius fics :(
the london sky was rosy and cloudy; it was 7am on a thursday and the sun was still in the process of rising. you had the perfect view of the city out of your kitchen window, and every time you cooked in here, you reconfirmed in your head that you and paul made the right decision buying the flat almost 6 months ago. though the two of you hadn't lived there for long, it was already home.
the radio was on, as usual, and was playing quietly in the background. the sizzling of eggs and mushrooms on the frying pan quickly overpowered the vocals of a song you couldn't quite recognise.
the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the last remnants of the lavender incense that you burned before going to bed last night. this was the first thing paul smelt when he came through the door, with a slight slam and vibration alerting you to turn around. it was then that the smell of breakfast hit him. beads of sweat trickled down his thick, slightly quivered brows - evidence of his long run through the park.
"morning, love," you greeted him, your voice barely coming through the bustle of the kitchen.
paul, still catching his breath, offered a contented smile. his eyes, however, showcased a hunger not satiated by the run alone. you smiled, looking into his eyes before turning back to the stove to gently stir the almost ready mushrooms.
paul approached you and you could feel his eyes on the back of your head. the smile on your face, still present, grew even wider as you felt his larger, sweaty presence lurking over you, taking a deep inhale of the aroma coming from the pan.
"smells amazing," paul murmured, his nose now pressing gently into the curls of your hair. his voice felt like a gentle caress against what was now the morning quiet, with all other sounds falling into the background, leaving only the intimate space you both shared.
"i aim to please - especially hungry runners." you replied, a teasing glint in your eyes.
though his chest was already lightly touching your back, a magnetic pull seemingly drew the two of you even closer together. paul's arms encircled your waist, and you quickly turned the stove off, for you had expected to be distracted now that you were in the arms of your lover.
“thank you.” paul whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to the nape of your neck, making you all flustered and warm inside.
as the aroma of the now finished breakfast continued to fill the air, you turned around in paul's arms to face him. your eyes met first in a silent exchange, then you tilted you head up so your lips could meet - a fusion of passion, the sweet taste of morning, and the slightly salty taste of his sweat.
your soft fingers traced gentle patterns on paul's ever so damp chest as the two of you embraced each other, savoring the rare, quiet morning together. with your busy 9-to-5 job and paul’s demanding acting schedule, moments like this didn’t come often. but with paul on a short break and you having taken a few days off, you were determined to make the most of it. the kiss deepened as the pair of you smiled into it and slowly swayed to the melody in the background.
“you stink, paul.” you whisper after he hesitantly breaks the kiss, both of you bursting into a soft laughter.
“fuck off,” he says playfully, his arms still around your waist. “how about i eat the beautiful breakfast you made me first, and then we can both get in the shower?”
“well i’m not gonna say no to that.” you say as you raise one of your hands and begin admiring his bearded chin.
with one last peck, paul releases his hands from your waist and reaches above you to grab two plates. you can't help but feel content.
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