#Steamed Chicken Thighs

[danielwallis789]

Searching for some tempting delicious recipes for this weekend then have a look at "4 Hour Baguette" recipe. Quichentell has got a variety of veg and a non-veg recipe worth trying.For more delicious recipes visit the website.

[themanwhowouldbefruit]

steamed chicken & brocolli is literally so fucking good and easy and the best thing ever soy sauce hot sauce maybe even some oyster sauce life could be a fucking dream

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

hungry eyes | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick is a great cook, and a chef must taste-test all his meals, mustn’t he? including you.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving), finnick is a munch and a thigh man, praise, swearing, cum swallowing, fingering

notes: i’m so sorry about the long-writing-time-to-short-word-count ratio. i don’t know if i like this ahhh. lmk what y’all think <3

word count: 3.5k

You were passing through the entry room of your house when the front door opened with a slight creak. Stepping through the doorway was Finnick, dressed in a white billowy Henley shirt (he had a few buttons purposely left open and the sleeves were rolled to his elbows) and a pair of dark grey pants. 

His hair was a windswept mess of bronze waves with different strands poking out in various directions, but he somehow made it work. He looked… 

Wow. 

You, on the other hand, were still in your pyjamas, wearing a pair of thin cotton shorts and cosy thigh-high socks. 

As soon as he entered the house, you could tell what kind of mood he was in. Drained. That tended to happen whenever he had to spend the day with his prep team and prepare for an upcoming event in the Capitol. 

His cheerless eyes found yours and you swore a spark of life flickered in them.

“Hey, Finn,” you said. “Are y—oh!” 

Before you could finish, he had wordlessly stepped towards you and collected you in his arms. Your feet left the ground as he picked you up and continued walking further into the house.

“What are you doing?” you gasped.

Your legs curled around his back, your body leaning into his chest so as not to fall backwards. He smelled really nice, like how you imagined sunlight hitting the sea on a warm summer’s day would smell. 

“Making something to eat,” he finally spoke. His eyes briefly flickered to yours. “I’m hungry.”

Well, you did send him off that morning with some of last night’s leftover crab cakes, so he couldn’t have been that hungry. Plus, he was with his prep team. They would’ve had plenty of fancy Capitol-esque food on hand to satiate him.

Weird.

“So that means I don’t get a hello?” you teased.

Finally, a small smile worked its way onto his lips. He leaned forward and pressed his lips sweetly and softly to your own, his hands not-so-sweetly squeezing the plush of your ass as he did.

He pulled back and gave you a mischievous look. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You smiled bashfully in response. “Hi.”

You had passed through the archway into the kitchen, the entire room now being bathed in sunlight from the four o’clock sun. It was the picture of a perfect beach house—driftwood and seashell ornaments, sand-coloured benchtops, and large wooden-framed bay windows.

Finnick set you down on the counter facing the stove, your legs now dangling over the edge. 

“You just had to bring me into the kitchen with you?” you asked.

He was already out of your arms, scouring the cupboards for various ingredients for whatever it was he was planning to cook up. 

“Gotta have something pretty to look at,” he said, throwing a wink over his shoulder.

Warmth crept into your cheeks. “Right. Obviously.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, apart from the clatter of a metal pot being set on the stove and the splashing of various vegetables and chicken stock being thrown into boiling water. Your legs swung lightly as you watched Finnick in quiet admiration. 

Steam wafted into the air, bringing with it a sweet herbaceous smell. You hated to admit it, but Finnick was an unbelievable cook; much better than you were. He was constantly offering to teach you his culinary skills which often led to the two of you spending hours together in the kitchen. Burnt and over-salted meals were a common result. Regardless, you enjoyed the time together.

Sometimes it even led to other things as well… things very unrelated to cooking.

Finnick seemed to hyper-focused on the soup he was stirring; he was being unusually quiet, making you wonder what was going on inside his head. Had something happened during the time he was away?

“How’d you go today?” you asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, humming a vague response.

“Mm,” you copied, wearing a teasing smile.

He shot you a playful look over his shoulder. Then he did something weird. 

His head turned again, and he gave you a double-take, eyes falling from your face and to your legs. Your pyjama shorts had ridden up to the crease where your legs and hips connected, and your thighs were squished together on the counter, the cuff of your thigh-high socks digging into the soft flesh. His eyes flickered to yours once more before he turned back around.

Very weird.

An unexpected wave of goosebumps travelled down your entire body. You swallowed nervously and averted your eyes to your lap. It was absurd how a single look from him could cause you to react so strongly. He had so much power over you.

You crossed your legs, palms flat against the bench top on either side of you for support. The entire room was filled with the sweet aroma of the broth Finnick had made, causing your mouth to water from the mere thought of the warm liquid soaking into your tongue.

He lifted the pot from the stove and turned it off, scooping the contents into two bowls. However, when he turned around and walked over to you, he was only holding one.

“Just glad to be home with you,” he said and offered you the bowl.

“Oh, thank you,” you said, taking it into your hands.

The bowl was hot against your palms and fingertips, almost burning right down into your bloodstream as the golden liquid wafted steam into your face. Finnick’s gaze followed your movements as you lifted the spoon to your lips and finally felt the delicious heat seep into your tastebuds. 

Your eyes fluttered shut as you hummed a noise of pleasure, already craving another spoonful. “Tastes really good.” 

“Yeah?” He tilted his head.

Finnick was gently lifting one of your legs into his hands, massaging your calf through the cotton of your socks. His hand wandered down to your ankle, stroking over it with an affectionate touch before gliding back up to the underside of your knee. You had hardly noticed his affectionate behaviour, too distracted by the vibrant tastes filling your mouth. 

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” you asked half-heartedly, focused on getting another mouthful in.

“Sure am,” he murmured.

Selfishly, you paid his words no mind even though you really should have. You had just lowered the spoon back into the bowl, watching the soup cover the metal when suddenly, your leg was being lifted over the other. 

Now this got your attention.

You swallowed the warm liquid, eyes looking up at him in confusion. He uncrossed your legs, nudging them open with his hands on your inner thighs before he positioned himself between them. Your thighs were now hugging either side of his hips, your grip on the bowl frozen with uncertainty. 

“What are you…?” you began, but then he was gently taking the bowl and spoon out of your hands and placing them on the bench beside you.

“Told you I’m hungry, sweetheart,” he said. He placed his hands on either side of you, leaning in until your faces were inches apart. “Been waiting all day to see you. And these socks…” he trailed off with a sigh, sliding his fingers just beneath the band digging softly into your thigh before letting it snap back in place. “Well, now I’m practically starving.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. God, you were already breathless. 

“Oh,” you whispered.

He bit his bottom lip and kept lowering his gaze to your mouth, looking at you as if you were a grand three-course meal and he was on death row. 

“I just need a taste,” he spoke almost pleadingly. “Will you let me?”

Not a single neuron in your brain was firing at that moment. With the way he was staring at you, how gorgeous helooked, and the fact that he was practically begging to be between your thighs, it was almost impossible to say no. It was also impossible for you to verbalise it as well.

“Please, baby. You’ll let me, won’t you?” he pleaded.

The growing desperation in his voice had you sinking your hips into the counter, feeling yourself begin to ache for him. Of course, as you did this your thighs grew expanded even wider from the pressure and Finnick seemed to like that very much. You could tell from the way his cock left a large print across the front of his pants.

You nodded, speechless.

“You will?” His hands found the sides of your thighs. “Good.” 

Within seconds, he had dragged your body to the edge and collided your pelvis with his. He felt as hard as he looked. You gasped at his eagerness but were immediately cut off by his lips crushing against your own, leading you into a kiss that mirrored the hunger he must have been feeling inside all day. 

His hand moved into your hair, holding you with a firm yet gentle grip. He was leaning into you, moving his lips so assertively that your body had to lean back to get a sliver of respite. You were buzzing with anticipation like electric currents were moving through your veins. If he was kissing you like this, what would it be like when his lips were further below?

He then pulled away to observe you. 

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” he whispered, gently smoothing the hair beside your face.

You leaned into his touch, enjoying the brief tender moment. Your hand moved onto his and gently squeezed as you looked up at him, gaze doe-eyed and full of false naivety. You knew you were only spurring him on.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he said before pressing another peck to your lips. Then he started to go lower. First, he kissed the length of your neck and then the skin above your breasts exposed by your low-cut shirt. “Perfect eyes, perfect lips, perfect thighs.”

He was crouching now, trailing kisses down your stomach which had your fingers weaving into his hair. The descension halted at your upper thighs. His lips left a warm tingling sensation that spread across your skin with each tender touch. You watched him begin moving higher, entering a dangerous region of your inner thighs with lips that were trademarked for trouble. 

The air in your lungs was in short supply now.

“Just so sweet and so…” His fingers slipped into your waistband and pulled your shorts down your legs. The fabric fell from your ankles and there you sat, your glistening cunt bare and reflecting in Finnick’s green eyes. “So wet.”

Feeling nervous due to his penetrative stare, you attempted to conceal yourself and began closing your legs. He tsked and forced them open with two sturdy hands. He continued marvelling at the slick that coated your folds, committing the image to his mind.

“So perfect,” he exhaled.

You were getting impatient now.

“Finnick,” you whined. “Please. Just… Just do some—" 

You inhaled sharply. He had rushed forward and finally connected his warm mouth to your cunt. 

High-pitched breathless moans were already spilling from your lips as his harsh tongue delved between your folds, lapping up the arousal that had leaked out. Your body was restless, which was evident from the way your fingers pulled at his hair, hips bucked into his mouth, and thighs clenched around his head. 

Hunger and starvationwere not the right terms to describe how he was acting. Not at all.

He was insatiable.

Finnick’s shoulders slid beneath your thighs, forcing your legs to dangle over them. His arms were curled around your legs while his hands kept your legs clamped open from the top of your thighs. He suctioned his lips around your clit, the sensitive flesh growing more swollen as the pressure he applied increased.

You placed a hand on the counter behind you to keep yourself steady, keeping the other hand buried in his golden waves. Your head fell back with a loud moan. He was shaking his head side-to-side in a manner that could only be deemed as animalistic. He was eating you out like a fucking animal. Like he was a predator, and this was his kill. 

“Oh, my god!” you cried out.

He moaned into your pussy, tongue dragging from your opening and back to your clit, savouring every ounce of sweetness he could pull from you. A dull pain was coming from your upper thighs and you quickly realised Finnick’s fingers were digging into your skin. Each time your thighs tried to shut, his fingers buried deeper into your flesh. And mixed with the feeling of his tongue lapping you up, it felt rapturously overwhelming.

His tongue began flicking your clit at such rapid speeds that you weren’t even sure a vibrator could replicate it. You were now pulling, no, yanking at his hair all the while your hips were moving closer to his face. The pleasure was so devastating even your body wasn’t sure what to do with itself.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” his hoarse voice vibrated against your clit, “y’gotta strong grip.” 

Your chest heaved as you looked down at him. “Finn, don’t stop.” 

And of course, he pulled back an inch to look up at you. The sight of him between your legs was fucking glorious. A mix of your juices and spit was dribbling down his chin, coating his lips in a shine you wanted to taste. His hair was dishevelled in a way you could only describe as a sex-crazed mess. Oh, and the way his blown-wide pupils were looking at you… like he had a whim to devour you whole right then and there.

“Stop? Who said I was ever going to stop?” He smirked.

Then he leaned in and fell back into his previous rhythm. The heels of your feet dug into his back. He was essentially making out your cunt. His tongue was swirling around your clit and kissing it sweetly, as if doing so offered you any reprieve from the exquisite torment he was inducing. Your stomach muscles were aching in the most pleasurable way, sending signals of pure arousal to your brain that made you feel intoxicated.

“Like fucking sugar,” his voice muffled into you. 

He tongued your entrance, forcing as much as he could inside you. Your walls fluttered with warmth around him and you let out a needy little whine. He flicked his tongue upwards inside you as he slid in and out, thick eyebrows scrunched together as he moaned at your taste soaking into his tastebuds.  

One of his arms unravelled from your thigh and his tongue retracted from inside you. You whimpered in displeasure, only to gasp as something longer immediately replaced his tongue. Finnick’s mouth was entirely focused on suckling your clit, meanwhile, the two fingers he had slid inside you were focused on pushing your body over the edge.

“Fuck,” you breathed heavily. “Fuck. Oh, f—ah!”

The pads of his fingertips pressed into that swollen spot deep inside you, knuckles prodding your walls as he curled his fingers. He was wildly flicking his tongue over your clit with the added help of his head shaking side-to-side.

You were writhing. Your body had never known such powerful sensations before meeting Finnick. Even after all the time you had been together, you were still trying to get accustomed to how intensely he made you feel. Given that information, you could feel your orgasm rocketing from deep within and to the surface. Flames licked at the muscles in your stomach, spreading like wildfire from your clit.

Finnick looked up at you, and you looked down at him. Look how good I make you feel, his cocky eyes spoke. Your parted lips were dark, flushed with heat and arousal, letting each and every debauched sound echo around the ceramic-tiled room. He plunged his fingers inside you again and your head fell back. You knew he was laughing. You could feel it.

The noises filling the room were pure sex. The sound of Finnick’s fingers squelching inside you, of him sucking and lapping at your pussy, and your whiny half-crazed moans—they were all that could be heard. And then suddenly your body started tensing.

“I’m so close,” you panted. “Finn, I’m—I’m—Fuck!”

And there it was.

Finnick didn’t stop. Hell, he somehow even managed to pick up his pace.

Your thighs clamped harshly around his head; this would’ve worried you if your brain actually had a single thought running through it. Shockwaves of bliss crashed over your body; they consumed you. Your moans came out as choked noises and filthy gratified cries of Finnick’s name as he sucked and curled his fingers in and out. 

You felt him speaking, most likely words of praise to talk you through your high, but you couldn’t hear. White noise buzzed in your ears. Part of you could feel him collecting your juices with his tongue as the built-up tension gushed from your cunt. The other part of you was gone.

At least for a brief period.

When you came back to reality, Finnick was starting to stand back up. His hands were holding both your thighs, keeping them from violently trembling. You stared at him, waiting for the spots in your vision to disappear and the buzzing in your ears to settle. There was nothing you could do about the liquid seeping onto the bench top.

He surveyed your dazed expression, mild concern etched into his features as his eyes flickered between your own. His hand gently cupped the side of your face. 

“You here?” he asked, lightly dragging his thumb down your lower lip.

Sweetness coated the tip of your tongue as you licked your bottom lip. Well, no wonder he enjoyed doing that so much. You tasted really… good.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

He gave you this beautiful dimpled smile, and he dropped his hand once more. His eyes were on yours, gleaming with mischief as he dragged two fingers up your folds, glazing them in a white shine. You were so sensitive that your hips jerked forward at the light contact, causing him to chuckle softly.

You watched as he lifted his fingers to his lips and within milliseconds, you were reaching out to stop him.

His fingers were so thick and long, and with your arousal coating them, it was damn near impossible to deny yourself the pleasure of having a little taste as well. So, with two hands holding his palm, you guided his fingers towards you. 

You eyed the liquid for a moment, hesitated, and then licked a long strip from the base of his forefinger and up to his fingertip. Then, closing your eyes, you wrapped your lips around the length and began sucking. It was a potent taste, both overpowering and lingering. Not bad though. You moved onto his middle finger, this time keeping your eyes on Finnick as you sucked it clean.

His expression reflected something of astonishment, letting out a perplexed chuckle as he watched. With a wet pop, his fingers were out of your mouth. You were holding his large palm and pressing a soft kiss to each of his fingertips, a tender and affectionate gesture compared to the act you just pulled.

Finnick shook his head at you, wearing a disbelieving smile.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence. 

“What,” he echoed your response under his breath. He grabbed your chin, leaning down until you were face-to-face. “You play a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

Then his lips were on yours and when his tongue slipped into your mouth, all that could be tasted was you. That previous animalistic air about him had dissipated; he was gentler now, kissing you in a way that was adoring rather than bordering primal. Not that you had been complaining.

His pelvis was pressed against yours. More accurately, his cock was pressed against your pelvis. Whoever made his pants must have used strong threading. He was so hard that you were surprised the seams hadn’t ripped apart and exposed him altogether. You were surprised but also thankful because undoing his pants was your job. 

Your hands moved to his chest and pushed him backwards. His lips left yours with a displeased grunt. 

“Oh, don’t you worry, Finn,” you said, your hands trickling down his torso. “I’ve worked up an appetite myself as well.”

He looked down at you, eyes oozing with seduction. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

You slid off the counter, feeling his erection glide over your body. The fragrant smell of marinated vegetables and chicken still lingered in the room. You should have felt disheartened about not finishing the mouth-watering soup Finnick had made—or perhaps even the entire pot. But as you sank to your knees and began unbuttoning his pants, you realised there was one thing that was a great deal more appetising. 

Peering up at him through your lashes, you saw him looking down at you with a lazy smirk. 

Your lips stretched into a sinful smile. “My turn.”

[rustedhearts]

keepsakes (boxer!steve harrington x fem librarian!reader)

summary: the heat goes out during an autumnal cold front in your new hawkins home, so you make the most of a cozy day at home.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1995) ✶ the library ✶ ‘tis autumn

✶ roller girl’s pie stand!

tags: pure marshmallow fluff, allusion to smut at the end. akin to old boxer steve from ‘22

hawkins, indiana. october, 1995.

“They said they can’t get out until Tuesday,” Steve huffs, slamming the phone back into the receiver on the kitchen wall.

You groan into the steam furling from the ceramic pot on the stove. “Ugh, come onnnn.”

Steve shuffles into the room with a sigh, thermal-sleeved arms winding their way around your shoulders. They fold together over your chest, guiding you back against him. You let him tuck his mouth into your neck, lips warm, nose cold. You jolt a little when it brushes your skin, giggling when he huffs a harsh breath.

“Mm, I know, angel. But ‘m here to warm ya up,” he mumbles against your throat.

Each of you had enough layers on to keep decently toasty. What you could rummage out of boxes still taped up now sat in a messy pile on your bed upstairs. You hadn’t expected such a cold autumn and thought you had at least a few weeks before you had to break out the winter gear. But now a long sleeve turtleneck sits under a clove-scented 49ers sweatshirt, big and bulky and soft inside like you liked it. Your sweatpants are matching in black color, and you have your hair tied up just like Steve liked it.

He has a white t-shirt under a navy blue thermal that makes his hair seem more chestnut than usual. His sweatpants are grey, the Jimmy’s Gym logo on the top right thigh cracked and faded from wear. You have a pair of his white socks on, and you think it’s adorable that the pair of you have matching feet right now.

Steve presses a noisy kiss to the column of your throat. His hair tickles your chin and makes you laugh again.

“Whatcha got planned today, hmm?”

You stir the wooden spoon through your soup again. “Guess.”

Steve hums thoughtfully, lifting from your neck to squint at the tile. “Hmm, if I had t’ guess, I’d say…reading in that ‘lil window upstairs, pretending you aren’t freezin’ your ass off.”

You scoff, cheeks warming. “N-no…”

“No?” Steve tips his head and kisses your cheek this time. “Saw the book already out. Waitin’ for you. Can’t you hear it calling, baby? All those words you have to read.”

You giggle, squirming in his arms. “Stop, don’t make fun of me.”

You click the gas off and Steve coos, clutching you a little tighter. His cheek is lukewarm when it presses to your temple.

“Aww, my ‘lil nerd. ‘s okay, angel, you know your librarian glasses are so fuckin’ sexy.”

You clutch the handle of the ceramic pot and veer toward the counter, where two mismatched bowls are waiting. Steve gets the hint, matching your steps until you’re moving together. You tip the pot and pour equal amounts of the chicken soup into each bowl, splattering noodle and broth drippings as you go. The window above the sink beside you is beginning to fog with the warmth of the stove. Beyond it, your neighbor’s tree is a vibrant yellow. Shedding pointed leaves across the yard, stuck in the jagged edges of the wooden fence. They gather on Steve’s BMW window, suctioned to the glass with this morning’s rain. The sky’s still a muddled grey, and you have all the lamps and candles lit in the house.

Steve somehow always gets horny in candlelight.

“My librarian glasses? Grab some spoons, please, baby?”

Steve takes one arm from your chest to lean to the left and open the utensil drawer. He gathers two spoons in his hand and nudges it shut, immediately returning to ensure both arms are back in place.

“Yeah. ‘s a good thing, baby, I promise.”

You take the spoons dangling near your collarbone and plop one into each bowl.

“Stevie, can you take ‘em? They’re hot.”

Steve takes a bowl in each hand around your sides and reluctantly pulls away from you. The pair of you whirl around and head for the dining room, a bowl clunking onto a plaid placemat at each assigned seating. Yet as you pull your chair out and go to sit, a pout appears on Steve’s face. He hasn’t even touched his chair.

“What?” you giggle.

“I just…you’re so far away.”

“I’m literally right here.”

“Too far,” he huffs. He swings around and directs his gaze toward the living room. “Let’s go sit on the floor.”

A soft smile touches your face, that glowing warmth gathering in your cheeks again. Oh, something about the cold made Steve so sweet.

“You wanna have a carpet picnic?” You beam.

Steve tips his head back and rolls his eyes. “You and that damn movie—yes, angel, we can have a carpet picnic.”

“Yay, okay! Take the bowls, please.”

He hides his grin against the back of your head when you flounce your way into the living room, forgetting all about the goosebumps and shivers you endured when you woke up to a frozen house this morning. You peel the throw blankets off the back of the couch and lay them on the carpet, smoothing out any wrinkles you know Steve will replace in just a few moments.

The bowls are placed on the coffee table, a folded napkin under each. Steve waits patiently at the corner of the blanket, knowing you’ll let him know when he can join.

The lamplight above you catches and glows on your left hand. On the diamond glimmering on your second smallest finger, haloed with beams of orange. When you lift your hands and pass the flames of the fireplace, amber rays pierce through the crystalline gem.

Steve watches all the while. Watches you move your hands, knowing soon your diamond will rest above a wedding band. In a mere month, just a few short weeks—you’ll be his wife.

The thought alone has Steve sinking to his knees. You whip around to scold him for interrupting your process, but squeak in surprise when he catches your face and kisses you. He smells like cold air and leaves and vaguely of the Marlboro smoked a few hours ago. He smells like Steve.

When he pulls away, you sit back on the blanket and grin. “What on earth was that for?”

Steve assumes the spot across from you, kicking his legs out beside you. He reaches for the soup bowls and carefully places yours near your tucked-in knees.

“What was what for?”

You scrape your teeth over your bottom lip and laugh. “Never mind.”

You turn your attention to the chicken noodle soup and Steve turns back to you. Watches through his lashes as you lift your hands and wipe away wisps of hair on your forehead. Black sleeves curled over your knuckles to keep warm, your fingers appear beneath them in delicate form. He wishes to do nothing but kiss them and stare more at that ring.

“Is it not good?”

Steve blinks, lifting his spoon. Your lips are shiny with broth and oil, eyes rounded in his direction. They catch the fire like your ring and they make Steve swallow hard.

“N-no, baby, ‘s good.” He quickly shovels a spoonful of the soup in his mouth to prove it.

You do a little squirm and smile that makes Steve chuckle. He hunches over his lap to slurp the broth and you wrinkle up your nose.

“Ew, Steven.”

His spoon clinks against the bowl when he drops it.

“Heyyy,” he warns playfully. “Don’t start. There was no attitude at their carpet picnic.”

You giggle. “No, but there was a blowjob if I remember correctly.”

Steve lowers his bowl completely, eyes suddenly alert. “Well, that’s welcome any time.”

Broth bubbles with laughter in your bowl. Steve watches you take small, quiet spoonfuls. When he decides you were only joking and there won’t be an immediate gratification for his Pretty Woman joke, Steve goes back to his soup, too.

Soon the soup is gone and the bowls sit empty on the table. You stretch onto your stomach and place your head on Steve’s lap, allowing his fingers to work over your hair. He pulls it free from its confines and smooths it down. Massages your scalp until your eyes flutter. The flames of the fire rest in dancing orange shimmers on your face.

The rain begins again. It comes with a great howling wind, rushing through the trees and shaking colors loose. The house darkens to near nighttime degree. A grey darkness that turns all the candle flames and lamplight in the room warm.

“Will you read to me, Stevie?” you inquire softly.

Steve’s fingers lag in your hair. He shifts, resting back on his palm.

“Uh…I mean—you sure? Y’ know ‘m not very good at it.”

You let your eyes close and smile to yourself. “I’m sure. I love the sound of your voice.”

Steve smooths his palm over the crown of your head, cupping it. With your eyes closed, he’s free to grin down at you and know it’s just for him. Do you have any idea what you do to him?

“Gonna let me up then?”

You hum. “In a minute.”

“Okay,” he murmurs in agreement.

He holds you there a moment longer, watching the fire warm your face; your socked feet cricketing together at the edge of the blanket contentedly.

“Okay,” you say, pushing yourself up. “Now you can go.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he stands. “Spoiled. What am I getting?”

“You pick. I’m gonna bake some cookies.”

Steve watches you bounce back toward the kitchen with both soup bowls. “Well Jesus, have a little faith in me. I know my way around your shelves.”

“Mmhmm,” you hum, setting the bowls in the sink. “You want chocolate or snickerdoo—“

Your words die on your tongue, slipping between Steve’s lips. He pinches your jaw in one hand and holds you still, mouth forced to pucker for his gift. He hums when he nips at your bottom lip, licking at his own when he releases you.

“Somethin’ t’ think about while ‘m gone,” he says, a heavy hand popping across the fat of your asscheek before he turns around.

Steve heads toward the stairs, ascending them while doing his best to crane over the railing and watch your flushed reaction until he no longer can. He immediately walks to your library–much smaller than the one back in California, but somehow it captured the girl he met in this very town better than anything in the sunshine state ever could—and directs his attention to your stuffed shelves.

He has absolutely no idea what he’s looking for, and stands for a while just staring aimlessly at the spines with his hands on his hips. He hears you clink and clang around in the kitchen. The beep of the oven. The slam of the oven door. It’s much colder in the library, and Steve swears there’s a draft in your window seat.

He turns to inspect it, pressing one hand firmly on the cold, foggy glass. As he leans over the plaid fabric of your window seat, his thigh nudges the corner of a leather-bound journal. He recognizes it immediately as the same journal always kept on the bedside table and in the bottom of your purse. It's always next to you so long as you can help it.

When he spins it with his finger, the Polaroid used to keep your last page inches its way to the edge. Steve slowly and carefully pulls it from the pages.

He sinks into the window seat when he's met with his own face.

Six years old now, the photograph is still as perfectly intact as the day it was taken. The flash collects in a younger Steve's eyes, making them appear darker than they really are. The film softens the emerald and violet bruise kissing his left cheek that Steve vividly remembers taking weeks to disappear completely.

He knows immediately where he's standing, where the photograph was taken by the color of the wall alone. The soft ballerina pink, the edges of rosebuds from now-outdated wallpaper. The arched mirror of your vanity rests just behind his shoulders, stretched and puffed broadly with the flex of his arms. Though the muscles are concealed beneath a heavy black sweatshirt, embroidered with his recent champion title.

And in the glossy white border just below his stomach where the photograph completes, remains your handwriting.

My boyfriend husband ♡

"Steeeve? Did you find one?"

Steve quickly clambers to his feet, shoving the Polaroid back into its place in the journal. He grabs the book you had sitting on your rumpled blanket on the cushion.

"Yeah, coming!"

His footsteps clunk down the stairs, and he's met with the scent of warm cinnamon when he finds you in the kitchen, wiping down the counter.

You spin with the rag in hand and a small grin. “Hey, did you find one?”

Steve sets the book on the counter gently. Your eyes turn to inspect the cover, surprised to see one of your “stuffiest” options waiting. Steve hates Dracula, and he hates attempting to read anything written before 1950.

Before you can question his choice, Steve takes a slow step toward you.

“How long do the cookies have?” he asks.

You glance at the timer. “Um…ten minutes, why?”

His hands smooth over your waist, thumbs pressing into your stomach. He grips you firmly, stepping until he can fit his head in your neck again. His response comes in the form of his mouth on your throat—latching on with his hot, wet suction. You gasp, hands flying to touch him: one gripping the front of his shirt and the other tangling in his hair.

He hums, releasing your skin to kiss it gently. He moves down, dragging his nose over your skin. His suction returns to the junction between your neck and shoulder, where the tendons are soft and waiting to be bitten. You jolt with a quiet squeak, grip tightening on his collar.

“St-Steve—“

“Shhh.” He moves one hand from your waist to your chin and tips it away to make room for his head on the other side of your throat. “‘s nine minutes now, angel. Come lay down f’ me so we can make the most of it.”

He takes your hand and leads you to the living room again, and you follow silently. Nearly hypnotized by his softness, tongue swollen dumbly in your mouth.

He takes both your hands to lower you down to the station of your carpet picnic. You thump to your knees, and he follows suit only to lay you on your back with his hand supporting the back of your head. When you’re flat, you blink up at him with bated breaths.

Steve smiles, fingers curling into the elastic band of your sweatpants. The house seems hotter than ever, a flaming warmth coating your body as his touch drags down your thighs with your clothing.

“Don’t worry. Your husband’s gonna take care o’ you, angel.”

[sunnie-angel]

a little something to celebrate 100 followers (and finishing my finals!)

Jason’s thigh shifts under your cheek. The fabric of his jeans is warmed by your combined body heat, worn soft in the way a best loved pair always is. It’s been a long day, a long week actually, but its over now. You’ve made it through though and there’s nothing but a glorious evening free ahead of you now. You’re lying on your side, eyes closed, head pillowed by Jason’s delicious thighs. He was sitting on the couch when you came home, thighs splayed wide open and absorbed in a book. He’d looked so comfy sitting there, it was all you could do to control your descent onto the couch. You’d flopped down, boneless the instant your body made contact with his. Jason’s thighs were just as comfortable as they looked, warm and firm with just the right amount of give. He looks down at you, fond.

“You gettin’ comfy down there sweetheart?” It’s wry, and probably accompanied by a smile, if you could be bothered to look up and open your eyes to see it.

“Mmmhmmm.”

You nuzzle your face further into his thigh, let the smell of detergent and Jason wash away the day. He reaches for something over you, pulls down a soft fleece blanket to cover you with. He drapes it over you, let’s you adjust it the way you like it. He pets over your hair once, twice, then buries his hand it to cradle your skull. There’s a rustle of pages and you know he’s gone back to his book.

You drift there, warm and comforted by Jason’s steady presence. There’s nothing but the sound of your combined breathing punctuated by the occasional turn of a page. You’re not sure how long you stay there, but by the time you open your eyes again the quality of the light has changed. The living room is only lit by the low warm light of several lamps, the sun completely gone down. For the past few minutes Jason’s gone back to petting your hair, finished with his book.

“You back with me yet?”

Instead of answering, you try and bury your face even further into his leg. His thigh just so firm and biteable that you give into the urge and gently clamp down.

“Hey! Okay, we’re both getting up now. You can either wait here on the couch or sit in the kitchen with me but I need to start making dinner.”

He tries to shake you free but you’re not ready yet. It’s not until he bends over to kiss you on the temple that you magnanimously let him go. Turn up to look at him appraisingly.

“Kitchen but I get to be your taste tester and I get to bring the blanket.”

He laughs then, bright and loud. Sweeps you up, blanket and all, and bridal carries you to the kitchen. Sets you down on one of the bar chairs across the counter so you can watch him, and then starts to pull out pans. Gets the black tea and spice chest out of the cupboard and starts digging for the mortar and pestle under the kitchen sink. Chops and peels a ginger root, adds it to the pot with the tea and spices before covering it all with water to boil. He cleans up as he goes, pulling out the ingredients for pasta as the water boils. You rest your head in your hands to watch him work. A few spoonfuls of sugar and a cup of milk go into the pot now. His hands are steady and mesmerizing as they use a ladle to aerate the boiling milk. The kitchen smells amazing, warmed spices and tea filling the air. A steaming mug appears in front of you, as if by magic.

“New spice blend. Let me know what you think.”

Jason winks before spinning back to the stove.The chai is rich and sweet on your tongue, warming you up from the inside out. It’s probably your favourite version yet, but then you say that about every new iteration he lets you try out.

Jason’s multitasking in a way your tired brain can’t quite catch up to. Pasta’s boiling in one pot, chicken seasoned and shallow frying in a pan, and his knife’s flying to dice garlic and cherry tomatoes. He darts forward with a bit of chicken on a fork, gets you to blow on it before carefully putting it between your teeth. It’s plump and juicy, fat adding salt and the basic seasoning doing the rest to make it delicious.

“It’s good. Taste tester approved. The chai and the chicken.”

“Glad to know my cooking meets your high standards.”

He grins like quick silver, hands never stopping their motions. There’s a pesto sauce cooking off with the chicken and its fat, garlic frying up with it. A dash of cream and the colour goes a soft green. The chai’s almost gone now, a satisfying weight in your belly that only makes you hungrier. There’s pasta on another fork waving in front of your face. Annoyed, you snap it up with your teeth.

“It’s cooked.”

A cloud of steam and the pasta’s drained, tossed into the chicken and sauce. Two bowls appear on the counter filled with chicken and pasta, topped with cherry tomatoes and grated Parmesan. You’re not even sure when he had time to grate cheese. It looks so good, your mouth is already watering.

You’re warm and relaxed, still bundled in a blanket, the dregs of chai still in the mug wrapped in your hands. There’s food on the table, good food made with care. There’s a beautiful man leaning across the counter from you, in the apartment that you’ve made a home together. It’s been a long day, but you’re home with the man you love and none of that matters anymore.

[luveline]

I would LOVVEEE shy reader with Hotch. R being a techy desk person, works in the unit but not like IN the unit ygm ygm. Really clumsy and stuttery.. if that makes sense. Please and Thankyou you are the best 💕

ty for your request! cw suggestive (hotch likes ur thighs <3) fem!reader | 1k

"Oh, no," Hotch hears you muttering, your voice a hair's width from distress. "Why? Shit." 

He considers knocking, but he's a little concerned, slipping in through the ajar door into your small office. He grimaces every time he's in here, knowing that while your tiny working quarters are legal, they aren't nice. At least you have a window..

You're under your desk. Bent away from him, you have a triangle of naked skin on display where your blouse is coming untucked from your skirt. Your hands search slowly over the floor, a meticulous left to right that makes him think you've misplaced something small.

"L/N?" 

You jump up fast and crack your head against the desk. Hotch is startled into flinching himself, rushing forward to help you out and onto your feet. He slips his hands under your armpits and pulls you up gently, a familiar grimace falling into place. 

"I'm sorry," he says sincerely, "I didn't mean to scare you." 

"I didn't know you were there," you say, sounding very sorry considering it's all his fault. 

"Sit down." 

He encourages you into your desk chair. You've a hand over the back of your head, cradling your likely tender scalp, your eyes closed tightly. 

"Are you in pain?" 

"It's fine," you say. 

"Does it hurt?" 

His tone leaves no room for debate. You open your eyes like your lashes have been doused with glue and smile at him awkwardly. 

"Stings," you confess. 

"Can I?" he asks. 

You stare at him with your eyes widened. Hotch isn't stupid, he knows that he makes you nervous, and that his touching you is one of your worst nightmares. He knows why he makes you nervous, too, but he's kind as well as perceptive, so he pretends that he doesn't. 

"O-okay," you stammer, "sure." 

He frames the base of your head with one hand to encourage your head into the light. With the other, he parts your hair in search of a cut or bump. He can't see anything yet, but that doesn't mean a bruise won't develop, or a low level concussion. He indulges in some invisible unprofessionalism and strokes your hair down flat. 

"It looks alright. But it won't hurt for you to take it easy."  

You nod hurriedly and then wince. He tries not to give you a told-you-so look, though disapproving seeps into his frown lines anyway. You noticeably wither. Not his prerogative to upset you in anyway, Hotch tries to fix what he can. 

"What were you looking for?" 

"Oh! My SD card, it's uh- uh, it's one of those micro ones." 

You go to ease off of your chair and Hotch hums assertively. 

"No, sit. Please. I'll look for it." 

You swallow. You're so perturbed that Hotch feels intensely fond and immeasurably sorry for you. He isn't a spring chicken but he can kneel down on the floor next to your chair without any issue. He can tell why you struggled to find the card, it's cramped and dark beneath your desk, and it takes him half a minute to find it. The plastic is cold between his fingers. 

He sits up, and finds he's sitting at your feet, at your knees, eye level with your chest. You're clearly flushed at his position, looking anywhere but him, a tremor coursing down your chest all the way to your knees. Hotch is mature, he's clear-headed, but he can't not notice how your thighs look when they're trembling. 

He cannot be where he is. He tries to grab your chair and he's not thinking clearly and his hand lands half on your stocking-clad thigh. 

You choke on a breath. It's adorable and awful. Hotch keeps his expression neutral though he's feeling anything but, clambering onto his feet with less agility than he'd hoped to. 

"I'm sorry," he says. 

He doesn't have to explain what for. 

"No, it's okay. Of course it is," you mumble. He can pretty much see the steam curling from your ears. 

He holds the SD card out to you. "Here." 

"Thank you, thanks. Um. What did you need? If you– needed anything." You're practically disintegrating. Hotch is feeling similarly.

"Uh–" Oh, he's drinking tonight. "I wanted to talk to you about our VICAP ease of access. You made such a difference when you implemented those changes last month, there's only a few more things I wanted to ask of you. After that I'll leave you alone, you have my word." 

You rush to grab your notepad. Despite your poor nerves, you jot down everything he asks of you diligently. You nod when what he asks sounds easy, and bite your lip when you're not sure. 

"One last thing. Look at me?"

You look up. He measures the size of your pupils. 

"Are you okay?" 

It takes some time for you to catch up with what he's asking, your fingers flexing instinctively toward your head, though your hand stays on the desk. "Yeah. I'm fine. I'm perfect." 

He has to agree. Clumsy and prone to embarrassment, you're a hard-worker with a sweet smile. And, he thinks guiltily, you have very nice thighs. 

"Come and find me if you start to feel dizzy," he says, half-joking, and gets the hell out of dodge. 

He can't get that angle of view out of his head. Looking up at you, your hands pressed to your sternum, your eyes blinking a tad too fast. Respectfully, he hopes he doesn't see you for the rest of the day. He doesn't think he'd survive it. 

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Javi’s Playground✨

A/N: Ahhh I’ve been wanting to write a Javi one shot for a while, and I finally got the inspiration after listening to “Sex & Candy” by Marcy Playground. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for helping me come up with a name and beta read so I didn’t chicken out and not post 😘 This is my first time writing Javi, so I’d like as much feedback as I can get 🥰 I tried my best with the Spanish translations.

Summary: Javi decides to blow off some steam at the strip club, but he doesn’t intend to attempt to take one of the dancers home with him.

Pairing: Javier Pena x fem! reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Tags: smut, flirting, Javi goes to a strip club, alcohol, smoking, unprotected p in v, oral, Narcos era, reader is a stripper, reader has long hair, switching POVs, some Spanish (translations at bottom of doc)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The glow of the amber lights swirl above his head as a crystal disco ball spins slowly, throwing its sparkly essence into the crowded strip club. This isn’t his normal place, Paradise Cove. It’s only a distraction, a secret alcove to let go of any thoughts of drug lords, innocent bloodshed, Pablo Escobar, or any traces of misery he’s been holding on to over the past treacherous year. This was a place for forgetting, relaxing the mind, indulging in mere fantasies he could only wish to grasp his torn hands around. So he’d drink, smoke, and indulge in beautiful women in peace on this lonely Friday evening. 

   The red walls are smeared with flecks of sparkles, and the atmosphere is bursting with energy and dim lighting. The cool glass of amber whiskey sits in his hand as he gulps down another swig, letting the burn coat his insides as he flicks the small lighter and lights up another Marlboro cigarette. He lets the smoke surround him, fogging his vision as he inhales the nicotine and lets it sit there dwindling around him in a blur. Just for a couple of seconds, just enough to take the edge off of his growing migraine. 

   He throws his head back and exhales, blowing the smoke out as the music changes over to a tune he knows. “Sex & Candy” by Marcy Playground starts to play from the blaring speakers, the song slowly slipping through his ears as he sits up just a little straighter in the black leather chair. 

   The crowd hollers when the next girl takes the stage, low whistles reverberating off the side mahogany tables as the volume of the music picks up. He doesn’t realize what they’re all making a fuss about until he looks up and sees you. The most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. Esplendida. 

   You’re so radiant, the way you strut across the stage in your crystal clear stiletto high heels as you spin in slow motion, running your fingers through your thick, long curls as you look over your shoulder and flirt with the crowd. Your legs are so long, the curve of your thighs begging to be touched as you sway your hips side to side and get lost in the song.

   And then there she was, in platform double suede. Yeah, there she was. Like disco lemonade.

   He can’t help but grip the damp glass in his hands a little too tight as he spreads his legs wide and relaxes into the plush leather, his eyes glued to you as you slide down the pole gracefully. He wets his lips as his tongue glides across his bottom lip, his cigarette burning his flared nostrils as he oogles the way you please the crowd with every single move you make across the reflective stage. 

   He watches the way you push the swell of your breasts up with your delicate hands, eyes the tiny black lingerie set that barely covers your porcelain skin, assesses the way the lacy thong skims across the curve of your hips, and nearly drowns on his sip of bubbling whiskey as you bend down and show off the thick globes of your ass. 

   Javi sets the half empty glass of alcohol down beside him on the little sturdy table and grabs his denim clad knee as he sinks his nails into the fabric, trying to hold himself together as he listens to the track play through the massive club, watching the way you keep turning and finding his searing gaze. 

   I smell sex and candy here. Who’s that lounging in my chair? Who’s that casting devious stares in my direction? Mama, this surely is a dream. 

   His brown eyes blow wide every time you turn and wink his way, casually flirting as you flip your hair and bite your lower lip, sending him spiraling as he feels the blood rush to his cock in his tight jeans, feeling just how hard he is now as his thick cock presses into the metal of the zipper. It’s like you know what you’re doing, sparkling eyes penetrating his gaze as you flirtatiously bat your long mascara coated eyelashes and eye fuck him from the glowing stage, making sure he’s getting exactly what he came her for. To feel good, to indulge in his fantasies, to make him think you want him. But customers don’t get to take strippers home. That’s not how this business works, not how it’s supposed to run, unless… 

   You slide slowly down the metal pole, ending up on the floor of the lit up stage as you spread your legs wide and tease him just a little as you play with the straps of your panties and press your heels into the floor, giving him a view that just about takes him out. He leans his elbows against his knees, rakes a hand through his thick mustache as he groans into the palm of his hand while sweat sticks to his tanned forehead. 

   He loves the view that’s on display, loves the outline of your pussy as he swears he can see wetness pooling there in between your legs while you sit there and tease him with the biggest smirk on your face he’s ever seen in his life. Those red, plump lips, those glistening thighs that deserve to be kissed, that pulsing core that begs to be lapped up. He can see it now, you splayed out on his bed while he fucks you deep, bottoming out as you scream his name, claw at his tanned skin as you beg for more. He’d take care of you. God he would. And fuck does he want to. Desesperadamente. 

   He can feel the precum sliding against his thick length, can feel just how badly he wants to palm himself through his tight denim as he watches you fall apart on the stage before him. At this point he has no restraint, can barely sit here and watch as you start to crawl on your hands and knees toward him, hypnotizing eyes that lock on his as he leans forward and unfastens the black tie that clings to his button-up white collared shirt. 

   His eyebrows furrow, lips parting unbelievably as you curl your finger and beckon him to come to the side of the stage, your gaze flicking over his figure as he prays you don’t see the erection that’s begging for some kind of release that’d involve hands, or maybe a mouth, a warm tongue…

   He takes another drag of the sweet nicotine and pushes himself out of the leather chair, slowly trudging up to you as he lets his eyes trail generously over your perfect body. When he finally makes it over to the end of the glossy stage, he sees just how beautiful your eyes really are, eyes that were just eye fucking him seconds ago, eyes he’d love to gaze into while he cants his hips against yours roughly. Eyes he could lost in, swim in.

   You smirk his way, letting your hands run through your tousled curls as you flutter thick eyelashes up at him. He digs into the pit of his denim pocket and pulls out a crisp twenty dollar bill as he cautiously slides it inside the lace of your push-up bra, his fingertips grazing the edge of one of your perky breasts as he groans in response. Your skin is so soft, he thinks what you have underneath the lace will be even softer, divine, delicious. 

   You bite your bottom lip flirtatiously and play with the end of his loose tie, letting the silk slip through your fingertips as he watches in a blissed out daze. You could’ve chosen anyone to target, could’ve had attention from any of the sleazy men in this nightclub, but you chose him. The one with the flecks of honey eyes, the one that couldn’t keep his eyes off you for one second, the handsome stranger who must’ve been new to this place. 

   “You new here?” you ask curiously as you eye his stance, watching the way his eyes seem to light with burning fire every time he even dares to look your way. 

   “Been here once or twice before, but this is the first time I’m seeing you, hermosa.” He lets his dark eyes slide down your body, a smirk curling across his plush lips as he leans in closer, until you can smell the tinge of nicotine lacing through his taste buds. “You sure look good up on that stage, amar. Prettiest thing I’ve seen in a city like San Francisco.”

   “Oh? You like what you see?” you blush as you hang your legs off the end of the stage, just enough to brush his thighs as you feel how strong they are. 

   “Oh, I like what I see alright. Jodidamente perfecta.”

   You feel your cheeks burn bright red, feel your thighs clench up as you see how thick his fingers are, how dark and ravenous his eyes look, how hard he is underneath the fabric of his tight jeans. You don’t ever get this wound up about customers, but something about well dressed, smoldering men makes you want to lose all dignity and throw yourself at him. He must be so good in bed. With the way he’s staring at you, all hot and bothered, he may as well just carry you out of this club. Even if it’s technically against the rules. 

   “What’s your name, handsome?” you ask as you brush your heels against the side of his ankles and watch him tense up under your touch. 

   “Javier. Just call me Javi for short, though. And yours, hermosa?” You tell him your name, your real name, not your stripper name, even if that’s against the rules, too. You clearly don’t care about any fucking rules at this point. 

   “Ahh, that’s a gorgeous name. Telling me your real name, yeah? Aren’t you a little rule breaker,” he teases as he cocks up a thick eyebrow and slides his thumb over his lips as he brushes against his thick mustache. You wonder what it’d feel like with his mouth covering your core, his mustache brushing over your swollen clit as he licks and licks until you come apart on his large tongue. 

   You pull yourself out of ridiculous wet fantasies and watch the smoke fall off his tongue. “I live to break rules,” you tease as you pull him closer, catching the end of his black tie as he’s so close now that you can see the embers of brown flecks scatter across his dark eyes. He’s so handsome, you think you want to go home with him. 

   “That right, hermosa?” he asks as he takes another long drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke away from your face as that smug smirk still encases his playful teasing. 

   “That’s right,” you giggle as you gently curl your fingers over the wrist that holds the burning cigarette. 

   He watches you carefully, eyes full of trouble as he puffs out a breath and fills your nostrils with the stench of whiskey and nicotine. “What do you say, hermosa? Wanna take a tour of my bedroom tonight?”

   You carefully snag his lit cigarette from his outstretched hand and slide it in between your crimson lips, taking a slow drag of the cigarette as he watches you with dark, wide eyes and parted lips that shine with the gleam of amber colored whiskey. You gently blow out the smoke in his face and lean forward as you wrap your manicured fingers around his loosened tie. “You can give me money, yes, but what else? I have plenty of money. What is it that you want, handsome?”

   He grabs the cigarette from your open hand and takes a whiff of the nicotine, letting it blow right back into your face as you smell whiskey, smoke, and trouble fill your lungs.

   “Te deseo…” He says it slowly, meticulously like it’s the most sensual thing he’s ever said to a woman before. You don’t know what it means, but it damn sure sounds like you need to say yes. 

   Your eyebrows raise as you smile wide his way. “I don’t speak Spanish, handsome. But I think I want to say yes. Wanna indulge me in what exactly it is you want?”

   He takes another slow drag of his cigarette as he smirks your way. “I want you, hermosa. In my bed, underneath my body, so I can fuck you fast and hard. Wanna rip off that lace and devour your sweet pussy until I have you coming apart on my tongue. Wanna make love to the beauty that stole my heart away tonight.”

   Your breath hitches as you gasp out of breath, not realizing you clutched onto his leather belt and clenched your sticky thighs together as slick pools warmly in your lace. You should’ve known he was a handsome menace the first moment you saw him sitting there with his glass of cold whiskey and lit up cigarette. You should’ve fucking guessed. 

   His body is now too close to yours, chest pressed against yours as you stand shakily off the stage and feel just how bad he wants you through the fabric of his tight jeans. You can see that way his dark eyes flick over yours, feel the heavy breaths coming from his broad chest, smell the stench of trouble and nicotine lacing around your wrists as he slowly grabs a strand of hair and whispers your name into the shell of your ear. 

   It’s almost too much, almost enough to get you fired right on the spot until the music suddenly changes to a Rhianna song, signaling it was time for the next dancer to come out. You abruptly pull away from him as you feel the tension sit thick in the air, almost like a fog takes over and you can’t see anything clearly anymore. 

   It’s your time to go, to mingle with other clients, and he knows that, you can see it in the understanding of those big chocolate eyes that stare adamantly at you. You give him a flirtatious wave and brush up against his large arm as you whisper up to him, “I get off in an hour. Meet me in the back.”

   He watches you saunter off, half smiling as he realizes he got the girl. He never misses, almost never gets turned down, but this one he might want to see again. He can already tell he’ll want you to stick around, maybe even make you his. Maybe he won’t have to walk this lonely, overbearing life alone anymore. Maybe…. just maybe you’ll stay. Maybe he’ll let you stay. Maybe for a night, a month, a year, forever. 

   The smell of sweat covered bodies, vanilla scents of sensual movements and whiskey clad tongues fill the room as you move at a slow, passionate pace. His meaty hands and smooth tongue are everywhere, sliding down your neck, pulling your pebbled nipples into his warm mouth, and lapping thoroughly at the slick between your sticky thighs. 

   Your moans come in sync. Elated, deafening, ravenous every time he licks a thick stripe over your dripping core. He groans each time you rake your fingers through his mess of dark locks, your pleasurable moans filling the room every time he pulls your puffy clit into his mouth as his thick fingers curl up into the spongy walls that make you see blinding stars in your vision. He doesn’t stop even after the first time you come for him, spilling all your pent up slick as he laps up every single drop between your thighs. 

   He pulls out another mind blowing orgasm with his experienced tongue alone, and he doesn’t even give you a minute to breathe before he’s splitting you in two with the slick cock that fills you to the brim, bottoming out in you time and time again until you feel him everywhere in your system, like the nicotine and whiskey that fill his lungs night after lonely night. He licks into your mouth, his smooth tongue dancing along with yours until you can’t taste anything but the tang of neat whiskey and toxic nicotine that bleed into your bloodstream, tasting like sweet addiction and danger, a lover in disguise. 

   You’re already close again, almost spilling yourself around his thick cock as he bends your knees back and folds you like an acrobatic so you can feel him deep, rough every single time he snaps his hips against yours and buries his face into your neck with furrowed eyebrows as he sucks and bites against the base of your neck. 

   “Come for me again, hermosa. There you go, such a good fucking girl. Let me feel you again. Squeezing so tight around my fucking cock,” he growls as he guides his thumb down to your clit and starts to circle nice and slow, the pressure building in your spine as you start to let go. 

   “Javi,” you moan as you scratch your long nails down his bare back, clawing at his tanned skin every time he guides his slick cocks inside you, reaching that spongy spot that makes you plead and moan with every thrust of his hips. 

   “Attagirl, hermosa. Tan encantadora,” he pants as sweat covers his glistening forehead. Once, twice, three more tight circles on your bundle of nerves and you’re squeezing his cock, spilling yourself all over him as you moan loudly into his ear as he comes seconds after, throwing his head back as he groans with pleasure as thick ropes of white come paint your insides. 

   He topples over next to you in the damp, twisted sheets and pulls you against his broad chest while his free hand lights a cigarette up while he gets lost in the thick cloud of nicotine and musty sex. While he sucks on the addictive stick of nicotine, his dark eyes wade over you as his lips graze warmly over your sweat covered forehead. 

   “Did so good for me, hermosa. You wanna stay the night? I can get you all cleaned up in the morning, and we can go for breakfast. Maybe eat you out on the kitchen counter while I make you coffee. What do you say, hermosa?”

   You shift closer against his side, sliding your fingers over his glistening chest as his deep breaths fill the void in the spacious room. You flick your eyes up to him and study him, watching the way he inhales smoke and stares warmly down your way, like he’s in a lucid dream just watching the girl of his dreams. “You mean like… you want to keep seeing me? This wasn’t a one time thing?”

   His jaw goes slack as his lips parts open, putting the burning cigarette out on the pale blue ash tray on the edge of his mahogany nightstand. “That’s right, hermosa. A sweet, beautiful, gorgeous girl like you deserves more, and I want to give you that. If you’ll let me.”

   You take in his offer, your fingers threading through his as you crawl over him and graze your swollen red lips against his. “Okay then, Javi. Show me your world.”

   He cups the back of your neck and brings you down to his lips as he slots his tongue between your lipstick smeared lips, pulling you deep into him as you taste every shade of red he can paint you, coating you in desire you’ve only ever dreamed of. 

   He tasted like sex and candy, and you were just getting started. 

If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging or commenting or leaving me asks 🩷

Spanish Translations:

Hermosa - beautiful

Esplendida - gorgeous

desesperadamente - desperately

jodidamente perfecta - fucking perfect

Tan Encantadora - so lovely

Tags: @keylimebeag @sawymredfox @littlevenicebitch69 @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape

@vivian-pascal @msjarvis @amyispxnk @jasminedragoon @burntheedges

@akah565 @princesatracionera @rav3n-pascal22 @604to647 @pedrostories

@syd-djarin @tuquoquebrute @r3dheadedwitch

[trashmouth-richie]

masterlist

eddie x fem reader

chapter summary: how sweet it is, to be loved.

series summary: You were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.

special thanks: to anyone and everyone who read a single chapter or kept up with this series to the end, thank you so much- this story wouldn’t be possible without your support.

author’s note: I can’t believe this is the final chapter for this series, I’m feeling so many emotions right now but mostly just love for Eddie and Tooty and everything in between. Thank you to anyone who has helped me beta ( @sweetsweetjellybean especially!)this story or fan girled with me over upcoming chapters. To any of the very talented artists who have made any art for this series, thank you so very much, each and every piece holds such a special place in my heart. To anyone who is mentioned in this story, thank you so so much, @loveshotzz @chechelia @carolmunson @mopeymopeymouse and everyone else— thank you for allowing me to include you in this series. To everyone who has liked, rb’d left a comment or interacted in any way with this series— THANK YOU. This series has brought such joy & heartache to me, and I’m so lucky to have people enjoy it. 🖤

Cereal

Hotdogs

Bananas

Jelly —grape, not strawberry

Bread

Crackers 

Toothpaste 

Noodles 

Chicken thighs— babe are you making fun of me?

Heartburn medicine

You tap the chewed cap of your pen along the lined paper of a scribble heavy grocery list. Desperately wishing you had x-ray vision to see inside your cabinets and remember what you were in need of, you chew the cap again.

Giggling to yourself every so often at Eddie’s notes on the grocery list. Crossing off items he thought weren’t needed, mostly vegetables he didn’t like. And always making sure you got his favorites. And not, “that healthy bullshit cereal, give me sugar or kill me babe, I will not eat Raisin Bran” 

Peanut butter 

Sunny D

Thyme 

Heavy cream

Basil

Carrots

Onions

Chicken stock

Hey sweetheart can you please get me some candy? I like skittles but you know I love m&ms.. and twizzlers, it’s for the shop. :) 

The lady behind the desk chirps a name again, but you are still racking your brain on what else was needed. The soup you had planned on making tonight would be perfect for the chilly weather rolling in. November was coming in like a lion, ferociously cold and temperatures already dipping below zero. 

Eddie loved your potato soup, so much that he begged you to make it after another long, grisly week at the shop. 

He loved everything you made, even your chili that he doctored up by adding sour cream and Doritos to it. Bon Appetit he would say with a smirk on his lips, a heaping bowl steaming in front of him. 

The clerk behind the desk tutted and huffed, the schedule was getting behind.  

“Tooty Munson! Is there a Tooty Munson here?”

You glance up quickly at the sound of your name, “shit,” you breathe, “here, yes,” you scramble shoving the list and pen into your purse, buried amongst the gum wrappers and a spilled container of tic-tacs. 

The receptionist clicks her papers against the formica counter and holds her nose in the air, as if this job and you were beneath her. 

“He’s ready for you now.”

—-

“…alright, Ed, did ya look o’er those applications yet? ‘Tween you D and Mike I don’t think we are going to be able to keep up everything that we got on the schedule.” 

Wayne’s eyebrows are raised as he looks over the bifocals perched on his nose. He had been scouring over the schedules and the books for the better half of the afternoon since lunch hour—trying to figure out how to swing their overloaded schedule. 

It wasn’t that they couldn’t do the work, they were simply short handed. After Boom closed his doors  in Hawkins, he had recommended to his regulars that they travel to Bridgeport to Master Mechanics to see Eddie and Wayne. Business was booming, and the Munson’s could barely keep up.

Early on, Wayne and Eddie decided they would only be open until noon on Saturday’s but now with the packed schedule, they worked til almost dark every night of the week, including some Sundays.

Wayne rubs his short nails through his scratchy mostly white scruff, “we can’t have these boys workin’ like this, they’ll quit on us before you can slap a tick.”

Eddie was leaning against the doorway, a bottle of Coca Cola held limp in his hand, a greasy rag stuffed in his back pocket. 

“Yeah,” he yawns, stretching out his back, “let’s hire ‘em all, we need the extra hands, or I’m gonna need an extra back.”

Wayne grunts in confirmation. The highlighter squeaks as it’s drug across the phone numbers on the applications, “I’ll call ‘em first thing in the morning,” he straightens up his desk and shoves the papers into a drawer. 

His glasses clink as he folds them up and lays them next to a picture of the newlywed Munson’s. He leans back in his chair, the leather crinkling beneath his worn coveralls, “I’m callin’ it for the day,” he exhaled, staring up at the ceiling, “it’s been one helluva week and I’m shot, tell the boys to go home to their wives.” 

“and you too,” he points, “go take care of your wife, Ed, tell her I hope she starts to feelin’ better.” 

Eddie’s curls bounce as he nods his head, completely drained from the week, shit maybe he was getting sick too? “she went to the doctor today, probably just the flu, Max told her it was going around.” 

“Well then,” Wayne says, standing up and clicking off the table lamp, “take tomorrow off and rest–

both of ya, hear me?” 

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” 

—

Eddie’s tires crunch on the ice and hard packed snow of the driveway, a silent serenity, meaning he is only moments away from holding you in his arms, seconds away from kissing your lips, and if he was lucky, minutes from eating something delicious to fill his grumbling stomach. 

He throws the truck into neutral, killing the engine and tossing the keys around his finger. Tracks from your Jeep tires lead into the garage he had built last spring. A huge project that your friends were paid in beer and a bonfire when it was all finished. 

Thrusting his sore hands into his canvas coat, he ducked his chin into the zipper and braved the asthma inducing gust of wind to the front door as it whipped through his curls. 

The house was oddly quiet, only the hum of the refrigerator making any sort of sound. Usually when he came home you’d be playing the radio, or talking on the phone to Max or Nancy, greeting him with a pop of your head around the wall in the kitchen or from the hallway, the prettiest smile put on your lips. 

“Princess?” he called out in endearment as he untied his boots and put them on the shoe rack. His coatwas already hanging on its hook, usually next to your purse but your purse was thrown onto the arm chair, and your shoes were in the hallway like you had walked right out of them. 

He undid the buttons of his work blues, letting them hang at his waist like a mechanic cape. Socked feet trudge down the carpeted hallway, you must not be feeling any better, probably too exhausted to make it out of bed.

But Eddie was wrong.

You were perched on top of the comforter, coat still on but unzipped staring at the door waiting for his arrival, fuzzy socks on your wiggling toes. 

“Hey, handsome,” you said, trying to keep your pitch even. 

“There’s my girl,” his velvet voice wrapping around you like a hug as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for your left hand and kissing the finger that adorned the prettiest ring he’d ever bought, “how’s my beautiful wife?” 

It had been five months since you said I do. A June wedding in your own backyard, filled with friends who had served as family for years, gathered by your sides. 

“I forgot the potatoes,” you say blankly, a weird little smile on your face. 

Eddie sits down next to you, rubbing your thigh back and forth and letting out an exhausted yawn, “That’s alright, I can make us some grilled cheese if you’re up for—”

“I was looking at my grocery list, and couldn’t remember what I’d forgot.”

Eddie’s confused, but wants to reassure you that its no big deal, he’s a grown man he can certainly make supper for himself and his wife. “Sweetheart it’s okay, don’t beat yours—“

“Can’t make potato soup without potatoes.” And this time you laugh, kind of whimsically and in disbelief. 

His brows turn inward, still he just keeps reassuring you that everything is fine, “It’s okay Tooty, seriously. Let me go make you some—”

And for the third time tonight, you interrupted him, “doctor said that’s normal.”

He’s exhausted and is honestly more confused than he would like to admit, “what? The flu?” 

“No, no. “ you say, a twisted little smirk on your face, “forgetting things, throwing up in the morning, being exhausted… totally normal.” 

“Babe?” He moves to touch the back of his hand to your head, wincing when he realizes that he’s probably freezing.

“I was so scared the last time,” you whisper, teary eyed, “terrified.. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but now—.”

Eddie reaches for your cheeks, holding them softly, his eyes searching yours, desperate to figure out what the hell is going on, “what am I missing here? It’s normal to have… the flu?” 

“No, it’s not the flu,” you finally admit, looking up at him and rubbing the back of his hands with your thumbs, 

“Eddie, I’m pregnant.”

— 

You could fill an empty pool up from the tears that sprung from Eddie’s eyes that night. He was overjoyed, holding you tight while he wept into your hair. Kissing your belly and whispering to the baby. Small streaks of tears flowing down your swollen skin and the faded scar across your lower belly. 

Each month that ticked by, Eddie’s worry only doubled. 

The day after you had found out, he woke early. Watching as your chest rose and fell as you slept soundly in the original mock up of his hellfire shirt.

It was threadbare, cotton worn so thin it was practically see through— but you claimed it as your own back in the early days of your new relationship, hands on your hips and the infamous pout on your lip as you playfully argued with him about how it was now yours. 

Dusk painted the diamond covered ground from the fresh snow over night. Falling as delicately as his lips allover your skin. Soaking up the dainty noises from your throat when he carefully slid into you, tears spilling from both of your eyelashes, love filling the room more sweetly than it ever had before. 

The soft cotton of the blankets hugged your curves, and he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he gazed down at his beautiful— now pregnant— wife. 

His sweet Tooty, carrying a gift more precious than gold. 

Kissing your cheek—he dressed quietly, scribbling a note on the bedside table about going into town for a bit, but to just relax in bed until he got home. 

-

You were having a dreamless sleep, not even sugarplums could dance in your head with the overwhelming exhaustion that your body was trying desperately to catch up from. 

Something cold then silky smooth brushed against your cheek, and a velvet voice sang a little good morning greeting into your ear. Your loving husband. Pressing sweet angel kisses behind your ear and on your eyelids. 

Your bedroom was lit with the glow of a warm sun in the afternoon light. Playing a yellowed hue of warmth across your comforter, pulling the caramel color from Eddie’s curls and making his eyes look like a dreamy cup of coffee swirling with creamer. 

His lips hug yours, both smiling into one another. Heart swelling more than your toes would in the months to come. 

C’mon, got a surprise for you, princess. 

The spare bedroom that was once a room for band equipment, then Max’s bedroom for almost a year before she eventually moved in with Gareth and Will, now held storage, was completely organized, and held a wide array of items. 

A crib, brand new and still in the box, a pack n play, a swing, every box of diapers ranging from size 1 - 5, baby gates, outlet covers, fancy locks for cabinets and drawers, rubber bumpers for sharp corners and edges of tables. 

A bookshelf full of baby books, how to’s for new parents, nursery rhymes by mother goose, books suggesting baby names and their meanings, and a guide on how to quit smoking. 

Tucked into the corner of the room by the bookshelf and near the window, was a rocking chair. 

 “Eddie,” you gasp, running sleep from your eyes, “wh-what is all of this?” 

He’s smiling ear to ear, trying to curb his enthusiasm a tiny bit. “I might have gotten a little carried away.” 

Turning towards the shelf you see a plastic sack, full of candy and bubble gum, and mints. “Edward Joseph Munson.” 

“Don’t scold me, mama,” he jokes, grabbing onto your hips and kissing your hairline, “I’m just spoiling our baby.”

God you loved this man, he’d break his neck to give you the world. He was the most loving husband, and now you got to see him step into a new role. One completely foreign to you both, only have shared the idea for a few moments before it was ripped away. 

You lean into him, holding him tight and working your nose into the crook of his neck. “You’re gonna be the best dad, Eddie.”

He doesn’t hide the tear that slips down his cheek, just lets it slide and collect under his chin, his voice is quiet when he asks, “you really think so?”

“I know it.”

—

Wayne and Karen followed behind the new family in his pickup all the way home from the hospital. They were going to stay for a few days, help you both get adjusted to life as parents.

Karen and Nancy had filled your freezer with casseroles, soups and fresh bread. It was a hot July day when you were scheduled for the c section, and when it was all said and done four days in the hospital was more than enough and you were ready to be at home, snuggled up with your new family. 

It was a battle of which Munson man could shed the most tears. Eddie and Wayne were both wiping away tears for hours. Overjoyed with emotions that everyone was healthy. 

“No you don’t,” Wayne said as you reached for the back door to grab the diaper bag, “you go right inside and get comfy, get them legs up!”

You do as your told, leaving Wayne, Eddie and Karen to carry the load in. The hospital stay was overwhelmingly sweet, but you knew Eddie was itching to get back to normalcy, still not liking the way he felt cooped up in the hospital even though it had been years since you both had the horrifying visit. 

Bags and suitcases are carried in and set into your master bedroom to be unpacked later, bottles and diapers are stacked and put into their respectable places. Karen starts warming up the chicken casserole she had prepared earlier that day. Wayne fussed around with the new dishwasher that he and Eddie had installed the month prior. 

Throughout the commotion you had fallen asleep, legs propped up in the recliner, but you woke to the sound of the front door closing, and there he was.

Eddie was holding them both, large hands cocooned around their swaddled little bodies, crooked into each of his arms. Something he was nervous about but slowly getting the hang of, the nurses told him he was a natural, and Wayne wept into Karen’s shoulder when Eddie introduced the twins to their grandpa. 

His normal obnoxious voice was murmuring low and quiet like a soft lullaby so as not to stir awake the sleeping little babies. 

He looked at them both, adoration and tears springing into his eyes. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. How he could have helped make something so small and delicate, he wouldn’t understand. But, he didn’t need to. 

A boy, born first— with his dark eyes and brown hair, and later the little girl, almost identical to his Tooty, and just as stubborn, both already wrapped around his fingers.

He murmured their names, and caught your eye as he said it, a smile so wide on his face that you were sure new dimples would bust through his cheeks, and you only heard the end of what he was saying. 

If you would have told yourself five years ago that you would one day own a home, get married to and have twins with Eddie Munson, you would have laughed on the spot. That loud mouth jackass of a guy you had once regretted letting move into your home, had moved right into your heart and never left. 

The demons inside you both were finally at bay, finding solace in one another in more ways than you had thought possible. Being loved by Eddie was everything you had thought love should be like. 

And you pinch yourself to make sure it's real, and each and every time, it is. 

“…babies,” he says, a smile on his lips and tears in his eyes as he looks over at you, his family, “we’re home.” 

The end

♡tag list: @dashingdeb16 @emxxblog @pretendthisnameisclever @mommybaby-witch @eddies-acousticguitar @tlclick73 @figmentofquinn @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @whenshelanded @micheledawn1975 @3rd-conchord * @leelei1980 @browneyes8288 @emilyslutface @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiesxangel @elegantkoalapaper * @str4ngergirlw0rld * @corrodedcoffincumslut @nailbatanddungeon @crybabyddl @zenathebeautiful @astela17 @taintedcigs @bettyfrommars @munsonsuccubus @munson-blurbs @hollandweather @serasvictoria @steviesgrl @curiositydooropened @ashyyboyy @urlbitchin @sllooney @lame0o @ali-r3n @bangaveragewhitewine @b-irock @enam3l @luxaeterna13 @manda-panda-monium @elthreetimes @joejoequinnquinn

[cottonlemonade]

Overprepared

word count: 947 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: University!AU Kuroo x chubby virgin!Reader

genre: suggestive fluff, humor, no descriptions of the act™

warnings: mdni, one time swearing, suggestiveness

synopsis: it’s your birthday and you decide you’re ready to take the next step with your boyfriend (chaotically)

You sat at your kitchen counter, watching open mouthed as your boyfriend cooked. You were skeptical at first when he told you he wanted to make you dinner for your birthday but to your great surprise he seemed to know what he was doing and... It was pretty darn attractive.

There he was, chopping and stirring and flipping, wearing a clean black apron over well fitted jeans and a black shirt and wielding your chef’s knife as if he had never done anything else in his life.

When he turned around to ask you something he caught you biting your lip and gave his signature cocky grin.

"Seeing something you like?"

"Not gonna lie, this might be the hottest thing you've ever done.", you noted, popping a stray piece of shredded chicken into your mouth.

"Well, now you know why I love watching you cook.", he winked.

You looked at him incredulously. "You are always this turned on when I cook for you?"

He shrugged. "Basically yeah. But it's also really relaxing at the same time. It's weird.", he booped your nose, before feeding you a spoonful of steaming broth.

"Too salty?"

"Mmmh. No, it's perfect!"

He beamed and turned the heat off.

"Then, my birthday girl, dinner is ready."

He plated up and carefully pushed your bowl across the counter.

You toasted with an ice cold capri sun and started a discussion about whether or not cereal could be considered a soup.

Once dinner was over and your kitchen cleaned again, you sighed happily.

"So.", you flung your arms around his neck and stood on tip-toes.

He kissed your forehead, "What do you wanna do first?"

"Super Smash Bros?"

"You read my mind."

Since your roommates were gone for the weekend you decided to have Tetsurou sleep over. He had done so many times before but besides the occasional make out session it had always ended rather innocently, both of you too shy to make an actual move. But today you felt ready.

Tetsurou came out of the steaming bathroom wearing his usual sweatpants and t-shirt to find you on the couch in a little pink pajama set he’d never seen before. He grinned and plopped down next to you.

"You still have", Tetsurou consulted his watch as you climbed into his lap, "82 mins of birthday left."

His hands wandered over your plush bare thighs, making you shiver and shift in his lap.

You kissed for a while, his hands restlessly roaming over your soft body, feeling a jolt in his lower abdomen whenever you gave a quiet moan or gasp when he touched you somewhere you liked.

He was sure you could feel him pressing against you, when you rolled your hips like that, and that made him braver. His touches and kisses became deeper and more forward, but he was ready to retreat at the first sign of discomfort.

You pulled away, panting slightly, your lips blushed.

As you adjusted in his lap a strap of your tank fell off your shoulder but you made no moves to fix it. His mouth felt dry and he swallowed.

You put both hands on his shoulders and sat up straighter, your neck oh so tempting in front of him.

He looked up into your eyes, slightly hidden behind strands of still damp hair.

You moved again, unmistakably grinding against him, making him suck in a harsh breath and you smiled.

"You sure?", he asked quietly.

You nodded.

"If you want me to stop at any time, you tell me, okay?"

You nodded again.

"You, too."

He scoffed and kissed the tip of your nose, "Sure."

Out of nervousness you stretched out your smallest finger.

"Pinky promise?"

Tetsurou bit his lip from laughing again and curled his pinky around yours.

"Pinky promise."

You stood up and your finger still holding on, you led him to your bedroom.

"Shit, wait, the condoms are in my bag.", Tetsurou cursed and wanted to get up from your bed again but you stopped him.

"I gotcha covered.", you said coolly and opened your bedside drawer.

A little while after you had started dating and when make outs became a more frequent thing, you had made a trip to a drugstore around the corner and stocked up on contraceptives.

Since you were unsure about the judgment of sizes in different brands, and seeing as you had never bought condoms before, you had grabbed a pack from every size just to be safe.

He grinned and took a look into the drawer, then frowned and picked up a pack.

"XS? Really?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know what I was going to be working with."

"But XS!?"

"Oh, I'm sorry that I didn't study your crotch or held up a banana for reference or ask Kenma for help.", you said sarcastically.

“Why Kenma?”

You just shrugged.

“Are there rumors?”

“Fskdjsf - do you want there to be rumors?”

“I mean to be fair, I could do a lot worse than him. Like you for example.”

“Oh, now I see. You don’t want to have sex. Gotcha. My bad.”

“Tch, at least Kenma would know it’s not XS…”, he muttered.

“Babe, do you maybe have something to tell me?, you snorted.

“I'll show you XS.", he said with a mock grumble.

And then grabbed the largest size.

"Kuroo Tetsurou, if this slides off, I will laugh at you forever.", you said sternly.

You looked at each other.

After a few seconds you lifted your brow to underline your point and with a small huff he took a size smaller.

"You better believe I'm not gonna be gentle with you anymore now.", he lied.

[kraeted]

COINTAINS: sawamura daichi + fem reader + minors do not interact + fluff + suggestive content

PART OF THE FIRSTS SERIES | daichi comes home to you for the first time after being in a long distance relationship

When Daichi came home to you for the first time, for a moment he had forgotten you moved in. Instead of stepping into a dark, soulless apartment, he was met by the living room’s light illuminating the hallway wall, the many different aroma’s of your cooking and the distant sizzling of chicken being fried. It only took a moment more for the realization to set in and even with the exhaustion of his workday wearing him down, a smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

Daichi found you in the kitchen, at the stove with your headphones on, completely oblivious to his presence. He leaned against the doorframe and his smile grew wider, watching you softly sing and sway to your music. You had gotten comfortable, wearing a hoodie he wore the day before and a pair of black shorts he hadn’t seen before. He was finally able to experience all of you and live the candid moments the long distance had robbed him from.

“I’m home!” He said for the first time and although it sounded foreign, nothing felt more right.

You perked up and turned around as you pushed your headphones behind one of your ears. “Finally!” Your face lit up and you quickly turned down the heat of one of the pans on the stove, before skipping over to your boyfriend.

With you starting your new job two weeks later and no friends in the area (yet), there wasn’t much to do besides doing chores around the house and getting familiar with your new neighborhood.

“Welcome home.” You took his face into your hands, pulling him into a kiss.

Daichi embraced your waist, pulling you closer and deepened the kiss with a hum. It was easy to get lost in your touch. The years of yearning and finally having you made him long for more.

He moved his hands down your body and grabbed a hold of where your ass and thighs met. You let out a giggle in surprise when he lifted you off the ground, your legs wrapping around his hips.

“Missed me that badly, hm?” You asked amused as your arms encircled his neck.

He kissed the side of your face. “Been thinking,” he slowly worked his way down your jaw, “about you,” to your neck, ignoring your chuckles and squirming, “all day.”

“You’re going to have to think about me some more,” you pulled your face away from his affections and nodded towards the stove, “I need to finish cooking.”

“It can wait.” He stared at you through half lidded eyes. “Just turn it off.”

The unashamed lust in his eyes, the faint cologne still clinging to him, the way he wanted you— it was tempting, he was tempting, but nothing would come in the way of making your first meal together absolutely perfect.

You kissed him once more and quickly pulled away. “Give me a few more minutes.” You told him, lowering your feet to the ground.

“Alright.” Daichi smiled softly. For you he could wait forever.

He let go of you and you walked back to the stove. You grabbed a fork from the counter and beckoned him over. “You need to taste something for me.”

“I’ll never say no to that.” He joined you at the kitchen counter, quickly washing and drying his hands.

You dipped the fork into one of the three pans, wiped off the excess sauce of the meat against the side and blew on it until the steam dissipated. You held it out to Daichi and he took it in his mouth. You watched him closely as he chewed. You could tell he wasn’t used to the foreign flavors, his face twisting with surprise and curiosity. Ultimately, he nodded approvingly.

“Good, isn’t it?” You grinned. He opted not to speak with his mouth full, but his reaction was confirmation enough. “It’s that recipe of my mom’s I told you about. It’s nothing compared to hers, but still pretty good.”

“If this is nothing, I need to try hers.”

“We should visit her together next year,” you suggested, dipping into the pan to get a piece of your own, “she barely cooked for me anymore before I left, but when she has someone to impress she’ll go all out.”

Daichi leaned against the counter with a chuckle. “She sounds just like my mother.”

You laughed with him, recalling the first time you visited his mother years ago. Daichi was just as surprised by the amount of cooking his mom had done as you were. You ended up with the leftovers, which you ate for the rest of the week.

You lowered the heat on the meat even more and blew on the piece on your fork, closing the pan to let it simmer. You sighed satisfied at the burst of flavor melting against your tongue. As you chewed, you walked up to your boyfriend and swallowed.

You hooked your fingers through Daichi’s belt loops and held his gaze with a smile. “We have about,” you paused and feigned a calculation, “let’s say, ten minutes before it’s done. You think that’s enough for you?”

Daichi failed at suppressing his smile and leaned forward, your lips only an inch apart. “That’s plenty.”

[luvsfics]

DAYS LIKE THIS — stranger things

PAIRINGS: eddie munson x gf!reader

SUMMARY: after a long day of cuddling and sex, you decide to treat your man with dinner and even more attention.

WARNINGS: afab reader. mentions of sex. eddie not wanting to eat his vegetables.

WORD COUNT: 0.5k

The smell of baked chicken and fresh roasted green beans filled the trailer. You stirred the potatoes that were boiling in a pot of water as the sounds of your boyfriend, Eddie, strumming his guitar in his room filled your ears.

You were dressed in a long sleeve shirt of Eddie’s and a pair of thigh highs to keep your legs warm. The subtle sore feeling of your cunt made you think about earlier that morning when you and Eddie went round after round in his bed after Wayne left for work.

The oven timer rang, alerting you out of your thoughts to pull out the chicken from the oven. You grabbed a worn out oven mit from the drawer and grabbed the pan of chicken and placed it on the counter to rest, then you pulled out the steaming hot green beans, which were covered in garlic salt and pepper.

The potatoes were fork tender, you drained the water and doctored them up with milk and butter with some salt and pepper. You took your potato masher and mixed all the ingredients together to make some mashed potatoes.

After everything cooled, you plated up the food for the three of you. You covered Wayne’s plate with foil and stuck it in the microwave for him to have when he got home.

“Eddie!” You shouted down the hall as you brought him his plate.

“Yeah baby?” He called back. You opened his door to see him strumming his guitar shirtless with a pair of sweats on, his tattoo on display for you to see.

You smiled at your handsome boyfriend as you sat on his bed next to him.

“I made you dinner,”

“aw, baby…thank you…I’m starving!” He laughed.

You scooped up some potatoes on the fork and held it up to his mouth for him to eat. He willing ate them off the fork and groaned at the taste of the creamy mash.

“Fuck baby, you make the best mashed potatoes..” you giggled at his compliment.

He laid his guitar on his torso and opened his mouth for another bite of food. You playfully rolled your eyes and cut up the seasoned chicken breast and fed him a piece.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said with a smile as he chewed his food. You pressed a soft kiss to him lips, not caring if he was still chewing.

You picked up a few green beans with the fork and held it up to him again. He grimaced at the sight of the vegetable, “yeah, no.”

“Eat your damn vegetables, Munson.” You shoved the green beans into his mouth, he unwillingly ate the vegetable with a pained expression.

“The things I do for you..” he swallowed.

“I rocked your world this morning so you should do this for me.”

“I rocked your world, honey.” He sassed.

You rolled your eyes and shoved some mashed potatoes into his annoying mouth. He laughed as he swallowed them.

“I love you, baby girl.” His words brought a smile back to your face.

“I love you too, picky boy.” You placed a hand on his cheek and a soft kiss on his lips. Nothing felt better than this.

[echobx]

Rafe and reader, she has bad cramps and he tries to help by running her a bath and massaging her uterus. Major Fluff please

author's note: I'm so hoping this is fluffy enough even though I added some tiny tiny smutty bits •~• it's a really short blurb but I hope you like it anyway

warnings: cockwarming (unprotected), other than that it's pure fluff

“Rafe?” you ask, your body soaking in the hot water as you look up at him through teary eyes. “Yes?” he turns back around, a concerned look on his face. “Please stay. Don't leave,” you whisper, and he steps from one foot onto the other, thinking before coming back over to the tub. Kneeling down, he traces your nose and smiles softly. “Where do you need me, love?” His voice is deep and almost seductive, but you know he just does it to sooth you, to calm you down. “Here,” you claw at your stomach. The steaming hot water was helping with the cramps, but it wasn't doing enough.

He undresses before you, taking his time and watching you bite your lip and a faint smile playing on your lips. You still can't believe that he's with you, that he chose you of all the girls he could have. “In front or behind?” he asks, and you point at the space in front of you. “Fuck,” he hisses as he places his left foot in the water. “You’re boiling in there, babe, like, chicken soup.” “I'm not a chicken in soup,” you pout, and he steps in fully. “This will impact future generations of Camerons,” he sighs and sits down, hissing quietly until he's fully emerged and has grown accustomed to the heat. “Those future generations will be fine,” you giggle and move closer to him, sitting down on his thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist. “You think so?” he smiles and rubs his hands over your hips. “M-hmm,” you hum and lean your head against his. “Does this feel better?” Rafe asks with a soft voice. His hands are on your hips, thumbs rubbing circles on your lower stomach. “Yes, thank you,” you sigh into him, placing a soft kiss on his lips.

“I heard sex helps with cramps,” he whispers in your ear, and you pull away to look into his blue eyes. “Not happening, Cameron,” you shake your head no. “So you rather have bad cramps than use me? By all means,” he feigned innocence. “You're unbelievable,” you laugh, and he kisses your lips again and again. “I'm your impossible, baby,” Rafe whispers against your lips, bringing you in closer and kissing you deeply. His long, breathtaking, toe curling kisses cloud your mind, and suddenly you can't even remember why you are in the tub. He has successfully rewired your brain yet again, and this time he needed nothing more than to kiss you for it. “Maybe,” you mumble, kissing him again and slipping your hand down to grasp his hard dick. You lift your hips just enough to let him slip into you and let yourself sink down again. The feeling of his hard cock filling you out is numbing the pain even more than the kisses and hot water, and it makes no sense to you, but you like it. “Told you,” Rafe smiles and kisses you again. It's a long bath, full of kisses and gentle rolls of your hips.

The water went cold long ago when you're still in the tub, completely entangled and Rafe is whispering sweet nothings to you, holding onto you and making sure you're the most comfortable you've ever been. He makes you cum with soft touches and loving kisses to your lips, neck, and temple. It's the most intimate he's ever been with you, slow and gentle and only caring what you need. He makes you feel a million times better than you have ever felt, even when you don't have to deal with your debilitating cramps.

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

can we get a fic where r is a nurse or med student and she just had a terrible terrible day at work and steve just comforts her? ly <3

i know nothing about the medical world so forgive me. kinda basing this from a breakdown i had after orientation for my job then texting a friend for some help.

masterlist

silence. peace and quiet after a twenty-four hour on call shift. no beeping monitors, no patients getting angry with you, no messes to clean up; just you sitting in your car letting your brain melt. and then the tears started to sting, face pinching to withhold yourself but letting the floodgates free. your breathing was labored and your head was getting fuzzy, you hoped no one was a witness to your breakdown.

fingers death gripping onto your leather steering wheel, head falling forward and almost hitting your horn. you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to take deep slow breaths, needing to steady yourself before making the thirty minute drive back to your apartment where steve was waiting for you.

steve. with his name popping into your head you reached into your bag, pulling your phone and flipping it open then pressing one to speed dial the landline. the dial tone rang twice and then you heard his voice.

“harrington residence.” just those two words from your husband lifted your sorrows for a moment, allowing you to calmly speak into the receiver. “hi honey.” a sigh of relief before a wet hiccup followed.

you could hear the concern when steve asked, “hey, you off? need me to pick you up?” already knowing you had your car with you, but also knowing you would be exhausted to drive.

you shook your head even though it wasn’t seen, “no, no. just… just wanted to see if you needed anything?” closing your eyes as the welling tears continued. “want something for lunch? was gonna stop by-“

“it’s fine, honey. i already cooked something for you. just get home safe. i love you.” and he didn’t hang up right away, waiting for you to respond back. a croaked “i love you,” then quick to press the end call button. you took deep calming breaths, five in five out, before starting the engine and cutting the radio off.

you kept to the speed limit, sometimes going three over or even five under causing people to honk and speed past you. you didn’t have the energy to care about their pissed stares, just counting the stop lights until you hit your block, rolling into the complex then pulling into your parking spot.

your bones felt like liquid as you gathered your bags and drinks, locking your car then heading up the one flight of stairs. a quick left then past three doors and you stood outside yours, number 736, a lovely floral reef circled the peep hole.

with a heavy hand you slid your key into the lock, turned the knob and was greeted to the warm lighting and laugh track blaring from the tv. the lingering smell of mac and cheese with some baked chicken and steamed veggies caused your stomach to gargle.

“hey pretty.” steve’s smooth voice slid into the hallway with you, his hands reaching out to take your load off your shoulders.

he made sure to keep your belonging organized and hang your coat on the rack. he knelt to the floor and helped tug your sneakers off your aching feet before ushering your further into the apartment to the couch.

reruns of your favorite sitcom light the room as steve leaned in to press a tender kiss on your left temple, eyes closing in contentment. “i’ll be back with our food.”

steve was gone less than five minutes and you could feel your eyes growing heavy as each second passed, head lulling to rest on the back of your couch. you smiled and chuckled low at a joke you already knew, but it still tickled you pink.

“kept it in the oven to stay warm. hope it taste good, i followed the recipe for the mac and chicken, but you know me.” steve set the two plates on the small table covering your feet. “how’s my girl doing?”

he rested a palm to your left thigh and rubbed over your scrubs comfortably. you took a deep inhale before sighing out, “draining.” the one word sufficient in summarizing everything.

steve hummed, “sorry. but luckily you’re taking the next two days off. how about we just rot in bed for one day and then be slightly adults the next day. how’s that sound?” his browns eyes darkened and shaded with the flickering light.

leaning your head onto his right shoulder and fighting sleep you yawned out, “sounds perfect.” the laugh track and commercials becoming your white noise.

[sturniololoco]

Could you do a little sister fic where they find out she’s in an abusive relationship? (Maybe Chris goes to fix his hair and she flinches)

Toxic

Sturniolo Little Sister (SLS) x The Sturniolo Triplets

warnings: toxic/abusive relationships, flinching, etc.

Note: This is based off of a couple different requests, but I’ll put them at the bottom just incase so there’s no spoilers!

SLS/N’s POV

I love him. Don’t I?

That was what I was thinking on my way back from Luke’s house today.

He kinda snapped at me before I left today, which was normal, but what really threw me off was when he smacked me on the leg, hard. It caught me so off guard, so I started crying, which only made him even more upset.

It was my fault, I’m too sensitive. I should have just agreed with him when he was talking to me the first time. I should have just-

“Someone’s quiet today. What’s on your mind kiddo?” Matt asked me, breaking my train of thought. He picked me up from Luke's house today, and we were now headed home.

“Uh-yeah, yeah I’m fine.” I say, as we pulled up to the house.

-

Nick made chicken Alfredo pasta for dinner tonight, and I could smell it as soon as I walked through the door.

“It’s about time you slow pokes showed up! I’m hungry!” Chris wined, banging his fists on the table like a child. Nick smacked him lightly on the shoulder, rolling his eyes as he set plates of steaming pasta in front of us.

-

After about two hours of eating dinner and talking on the couch, I decided to call it a night and head to my room to shower. I grab my towel and turn on the water to warm it as I undress.

I pull down my cargo jeans, but I find a big purplish-red mark on my thigh, right where Luke had hit me. The mark had a big blue circle in the middle, probably from his ring. I didn't mind the pain though, I was being too sensitive.

It's kinda like I have a piece of him with me now, I thought.

-

My shower was done and my hair was brushed, but I couldn't help feeling like something was wrong.

I should call Luke and apologize.

I went to his contact and FaceTimed him. No answer. I tried one more time. I heard the line pick up, but before I could start talking, I heard a voice that wasn't Luke's say,

"He's busy." Then ended the call.

I stared blankly at the screen, so many thought that I did.'t even comprehend going through my brain.

Who was that? Why was she with him? Does he have a sister? No.... Is he...is he cheating on me?

I feel tears well up in my eyes at that last thought. I quickly wipe them away, clearing my throat, thinking,

"What is wrong with you?! Do you know what he would do if he knew you thought of him that way?! You are so disloyal! You don't deserve him!

I pinched myself, hard, right next to the bruise from Luke.

He's probably just busy like she said.

-

I woke up the next morning to a text from Luke, and I immediately felt relieved.

Luke❤️: Picking you up @ 9 be ready

I sent him a thumbs-up and began to get ready, throwing on some leggings and a crew neck. I put my hair in a ponytail and threw on some mascara, then walked downstairs.

"Morning SLS/N!" I hear my brothers say. Nick had some bagels laid out. I quickly grabbed one and threw my Uggs on while eating it. As I finished I stood right by the door and stared out the window, waiting for Luke's truck to pull up.

I wouldn't wanna make him wait!

-

I shouted a quick, "Love you boys," to my brothers before climbing up into Luke's truck.

It reeked of perfume, one that I would never wear.

His Mom must have been in here recently.

"Why do you look so sloppy today?" Luke asked me, looking my outfit up and down as he pulled away from my house.

"Oh, I just thought-" I began to say, but Luke grabbed my ponytail and yanked my head towards him, shouting,

"I didn't ask for you to talk back!"

I quickly apologized and winced at the pain in my head. He let go of my hair and rubbed the side of my head. I leaned into his touch. he chuckled then let go.

-

I've been at Luke's house for about two hours, but all he's done is play his video game while I sat pretty on the bed, hoping for some of his attention.

"Luke?...Hey Luke?" I began to say his name hoping he would notice me.

He muted his mic and slammed his headset on his table, briskly walking over to me.

He crouched down in front of me, and just when I thought he was about to give me the attention I'd been waiting for, he smacked me on the side of the face.

"What is wrong with you? Can't you see I'm in the middle of something really important right now?" He yelled in my face. I feel the tears well up in my eyes I mumble an apology.

"Oh my gosh, now your gonna start crying like I'm the bad guy! I-" He started to yell again but was interrupted by a call. He pulled out his phone, checked who it was, and then answered it while stepping into the hallway.

-

Luke came back into the room, slipping his phone back into his pocket while saying,

"You need to get your brother to come pick you up. I've got someone coming over soon." He said, before going back to his game.

I quickly gathered my things and went to give Lke a goodbye kiss, but then thought better of it.

I called Matt as I walked outside and sat on the curb. He picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, can you come pick me up?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't ask questions.

He did.

"Why" Matt asked.

"Oh he-uh... had a meeting he forgot about and doesn't have time to pick me up," I said. It wasn't a complete lie, he was meeting with someone.

-

As Matt and I drove out of his driveway, a white jeep pulled in. A blonde girl, with long fake lashes and nails, stepped out of the jeep and walked inside.

-

My brothers and I got Pizza for dinner tonight, so we decided to watch a movie while we ate. I had changed into some PJ shorts and one of Chris's hoodies for the occasion.

I was in between Nick and Chris on the short part of the couch, drinking a Pepsi. As I was reaching to put the can on the coffee table, I accidentally spilled it on the floor.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chris put his hand up. I immediately crouched down, putting my hands over my head to avoid being smacked. I waited for the contact to hit but it never came.

I look up to see all my brothers staring at me with shocked and confused faces.

"Did-did you think I was gonna hit you?" Chris asked me, reaching a hand out to help me up. I cursed myself for flinching at that too.

"I-I...Well-you see I" I began to say but Nick cut me off.

"I need you to be honest SLS/N. Is Luke hitting you?"H said, giving me an I already know kinda look.

"N-no! He loves me, there is just a little love tap! He-"

"Then what's that giant bruise you've been pretending not there from?" Matt questions me.

I look up at him. And then it dawns on me.

Luke has been hitting me. And cheating.

At this I break down into tears, finally letting all of my bottled-up emotions out. Chris leans down and picks me up, bringing me into his lap and cradling me.

"Shh, your okay. Your safe here with us. We won't ever let anyone do this to you again. we gotcha kiddo." Chris says into my ear softly. Matt and Nick scoot closer and join us.

-

My thoughts change.

You never deserved him? Ha! More like he never deserved you. He used you, hit you, abused you. Fuck him.

All of these thoughts finally added up, and now they will never change, because my brothers will always be here for me.

"We gotcha kiddo."

So Sorry this took so fucking long! Here are the other requests! And I'm sorry if the story didn't completely line up with what you were asking, but if you drop another request I can try and mak a whole new one with that just by itself!

[callmearcturus]

Recipe: Garlic Cream Chicken

this is like mostly for my reference bc my mother just told me "I don't care what you have to do, put this recipe down somewhere so you remember" so that is what I am doing

ingredients:

chicken (breasts for ease, thighs for flavor, doesn't matter)

fresh thyme

lotta garlic

garlic Better Than Bullion

white rice

green beans

regular whipping cream

what to do:

Throw rice into rice cooker, set it and forget it.

Season the chicken with seasoning salt and garlic powder. Oil the saute pan and put it on medium-high, put the chicken in, leave it the fuck alone until that side gets that maynard reaction going on. Flip the chicken, turn the heat down to medium.

Dice up a lot of garlic cloves. Looking for probably around 3 aggressive teaspoonfuls.

Once the chicken is maynard-y on the other side, remove from pan and put aside to rest.

Add some oil to the pan, scrape up the fond, add in the garlic and cook for like 2 or 3 minutes, don't let the fucking garlic burn, nothing is worst.

Add like a teaspoon of garlic BTB and like a cup of water. Toss in some sticks of thyme, let that simmer down.

Prep the green beans to your liking, either by doing a steam or just nuking them in the microwave for a bit, don't overcomplicate it.

Once the stuff in the pan tastes super good, add in the whipping cream at the edge of the pan to avoid curdling. I had the tall narrow carton, I added like a third to a half of that. Sauce shouldn't be too pale, it'll lose the flavor. Better to taste test then add more cream if the sauce is too aggressive than to add too much at the start and ruin the sauce.

TAKE OUT THE THYME STICKS DO NOT FORGETTTTTT

Slice the chicken. Add the chicken and all the juices from it sitting into the pan, leave it on medium-low. Let everything warm up in the sauce. Add some parm if you feel like it but not too much or the sauce will break.

Plate up, cheers.

[thelcsdaily]

Kung Pao Pork

The perfect blend of salt, sweetness, tang, and fire makes kung pao chicken a Chinese takeaway favorite. You can customize the recipe to your liking when you cook the dish at home. Adjust the amount of chiles to suit your family's tastes; you may also use cubed chicken thighs, breasts, or ground pork, as I have done here. You can even replace the peanuts with cashews or walnuts. For this kung pao pork, be sure to prepare some steam rice and any desired vegetables before heating up your wok. As with many stir-fries, it comes together quickly and is best enjoyed hot. Furthermore, remember to activate the exhaust fan on your stove because frying dried chilies can release smoke.

“One of the very nicest things about life is the way we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing and devote our attention to eating.” – Luciano Pavarotti