#THIS IS A FIST BUMP. GIVE ONE BACK

[ratatatastic]

they are so uniquely cringefail i need to study them

[mettywiththenotes]

Hori killed off the villain trio because he knew they would have screamed the stadium down in the second year sports festival cheering for their heroes

[butchwink]

i got the best and worst booster box ever i pulled three blue eyes. but this was pokemon and it was the fucking duck. quaxlys evolution. i got a bunch of everything cause its a booster box but i pulled three quaquavals. i did it like an advent calendar with my friend. we opened maybe five packs the day we bought it and restrained ourselves for a month and had a pack a day it was so fun pulling these!

the third quaquaval was the rare one but not the gold one and i was so mad lmao it was the second last pack. forreal! and my pulls other than the full art wooper (lets fucking gooo) were shit i wanted a clodsire! i pulled one buying three packs a few days later no big deal lmao but i was so mad at this box.

the last pack had the rare tinkaton. i also got a full art boss's orders too im so happy it was such a funny fucking box in the end i pulled three fucking blue eyes i swear if i saw a fourth quaquaval too early i mightve actually ripped it in half. my problem is I LOST THEM ON THE FUCKING BUS AND LIKE MY WALLET ITS FATE IS WITH THE HUMANS OF OTTAWA AND THE FUCKERS AT OC TRANSPO THAT I TRUST SO MUCH FUCK MY LIFE

[troublcmakcrs]

//i respect literally no one on tumblr except my mutuals on this blog specifically i'm so serious

[shotmrmiller]

there are two modes to simon. handsy and handsy.

handsy is the gentle hold he has on your wrist when you're watching a movie on the couch, his thumb brushing your knuckles, tracing ever bump and curve. it's a cozy arm thrown over your waist, weighty enough to leave your side sore after, with his leg slid between yours while he snores into your ear after a long day's work. the hand on your knee under the table while eating breakfast, lightly squeezing when you ask him if he wants more.

and then there's handsy. his grip tight around the soft of your waist, fingers creating little divots into your flesh as he tries to slow the pace you've set, feeling his climax too close too soon. it's how he fists your hair and maneuvers your head to the side without much effort while you're on your stomach, the light prick on your scalp only adding to the pleasure, as he mutters into your ear if you can give him another one. (guess you'll die, then.)

how he paws at your arse when he's got you on your knees with your face dug into a pillow as he pistons his hips, the occasional slap of his balls onto your clit making your ears ring and calves tense almost painfully, until he pulls you up, his chest and your back slick with sweat and you come with his one hand around your throat and the other jerking little circles on your stiffened pearl.

the two touches are so different from each other, one a tender thing as if he's afraid to hurt you and the other wanting to hurt, but a different kind of ache, the one he will always soothe with his fingers, mouth and cock.

(call him a triple threat.)

whether you like it or not, you've been conditioned. soft and gentle means affection and care, similar to him bussing the side of your head every morning before work while rough and firm means you're about to be ploughed until you're left to soak in a bath to recover from the onslaught.

and you'd been prepared to take this secret to the grave, to not tell a soul how he'd pulled you out of a pool with enough strength to feel your rear shoulder sting and you'd just about moaned in broad daylight. or how he'd moved you out of soap's trajectory during the first meet by the wrist and if you hadn't been wearing a jumper, your peaked nipples would've been visible to anyone.

but naturally, things never go your way. he'd found out in no time and now he uses that knowledge to his advantage. a quick sneaky fuck in price's bathroom during a barbecue starts with a vicious tug of your arm. getting ate out in the back alley of a pub: giving your thigh a squeeze so tight it could bruise while you sip on the swill you call beer.

and every single time he's pulling your pants down or flipping your skirt up, you're already dripping with want.

now to get him to stop manhandling you like that when the 141 are around.

(soap's left like a deer in headlights after he forcibly sat your tipsy arse down next to him because "LT said to keep 'n eye on ye," and a moan had slipped past your lips unbidden and now the girls boys are fighting someone help)

[bwabbitv3s]

It would be hilarious too they draw the wrong conclusion of the few months Batman adjusts to tiny rage child Dick Grayson. Only dropped by for very short periods of time, extra cranky and moody when he does, and then just did not show up for a while. Then when he does shows back up a lot more relaxed it is with a brightly coloured child. One that Superman seems to know and is the only one that does not get the Glare of I know where you sleep when interacting with them. Diana is the other exception to this glare and is quite happy about having cool aunt privileges.

Reality of it is Bruce was trying really hard to juggle having adopted a child that keeps trying to sneak out to find his parents murderer, which said child wants to murder, not letting child know he is Batman, and keeping his normal human persona. This is very had to do without the added commitments to crime fighting within his own city. Add in the League work he does and he was not doing so great at the whole sleep, and normal stuff you need to do before brains start making you ready to bite off heads at the slightest annoyance. Once it got sorted out things mellowed back to normal.

What the League thinks is Batman suddenly got moody and cranky for a couple months before he started showing up less often. Even when he did show up it was for very short periods of time and was extra snappy. When asked Big Blue just says that it is not for him to say and is private. Then Batman shows back up with small child in tow. It only takes an hour before the first joke about becoming a new mom causes an existential crisis.

No correction is ever made and Diana gives Clark a secret fist bump behind their backs of how good his poker face is for acting clueless. As the others try to ask without actually asking the question so Superman answers without actually confirming anything. It is pure gold as the others are too afraid to actually ask in a definitive way.

There should be more Justice League/Superbat fics where most heros arent really sure if Batman is even real or only know him as

"Supermans Demon Boyfriend Who Hangs Around And Can Be Convinced to Help The League Sometimes"

with like full weird off putting batman who sticks to the shadows and moves with all the wicked grace of an executioners axe and definitely an alien comforting but to bright to look at for too long Superman

[kbwrites]

Husband! Nanami with his Pregnant wife

cw: nanami x f!reader, pregnant sex, masturbation, nanami loves his wife nsfw under the cut!

sfw

Once you become pregnant with Kento Nanami’s child you don’t lift a finger.

Even if you wanted to.

This man would be at your beck and call all 9 months of your pregnancy.

You wake up every morning to a big breakfast and a smoothie chock full of all the veggies and fruits you need to stay healthy.

Daily footrubs!

And back rubs.

Says it’s to alleviate your aches and pains, but he secretly loves any reason to touch his beautiful wife.

Don’t even THINK about reaching for anything too high.

He’s rushing towards you, resting his hand on the small of your back as he reaches for the mug.

“Please dear, allow me.”

Dropped something?

“I’ve got it, honey.”

Need to put your shoes on? He’s resting your foot on his knee as he ties your sneakers.

There for every doctor’s appointment. Cries the first time he sees the ultrasound.

Is so patient with you, handling you with such care through your mood swings.

“It’s alright dear, I know you’re frustrated… Come sit down and I’ll rub your shoulders hmm?”

Has no problem waking up in the middle of the night to get you your midnight cravings.

Arguably the perfect husband.

nsfw

He thought it was physically impossible for you to be any more attractive.

But then he sees you drinking a glass of water in the kitchen, one hand resting protectively over your bump in a beautiful flowy dress he had gotten for you.

Feels ashamed at first. He doesn’t wish to bother his darling wife, especially when she’s going through so much.

Resorts to locking himself in the bathroom, rutting his hardened length between his fist and sucking in a breath as he imagines your swollen breasts and belly round with his seed.

Bites back a moan as his cum spills from his flushed tip down his hand and shaft.

He doesn’t get away with it for long though, you’re too smart. It’s one of the reasons he fell for you.

Not giving him time to protest, you grab his large hand and lead him to your bedroom.

He wants to tell you not to worry about him and his trivial needs, that he worries he might hurt you.

All those restraints die in his throat when he sees his precious wife climb on top of him, sliding down onto his length.

“O-oh… darling” he purrs, enraptured by the way your breasts bounce with each movement. He gives them a gentle squeeze, loving how sensitive you’ve become.

His honey-colored eyes glaze over as pleasure washes over him, painting your walls white.

Secretly wondering how long you should wait before he gives you another child.

[sh1-n0bu]

hehehehheheheee pretty birb bf

winged bf who pick you up into their arms, gently cradling you as if you were made of glass and the finest jewelry as they tell you to “hang on” before unfurling their wings and taking off into the sky

winged bf who show you the beauty of flying, holding you securely in his arms as you take in the way how the world below you looks so small and beautiful. who only has a gentle smile on their faces as you point out the big apartments and parks where you go to for a picnic date. who only has eyes on you as you admire the twinkling lights of the world under you

winged bf who wrap their wing around you whenever you shiver, even if it was one of those annoying sudden ghost bump things you get out of the blue. he’s still worried, let him worry for you in peace😠

winged bf who plucks a feather out of their wing, gently tucking the soft feather into your hair, or on your jacket — wherever you want. he wants you to carry a piece of him to remind you by even though you regularly steal his clothes

winged bf who allows you to be only person to touch his wings, to care for them, to brush them, to just… well, touch them to your heart’s content really. he doesn’t care if you put the tip of his long feather ends over your lips, mimicking a mustache, he doesn’t care if you want to use it as a blanket, he doesn’t care if you wanna use the ends like a cat toy in front of his face. he’ll indulge in your silly shenanigans

winged bf who sheds at least once a year, filling your shared home with the old feathers. who is either smug about it or is apologetic as he helps you broom the excessive fallen feathers. at this point you could probably make a plushie or some sort of art project from the amount of feathers that he shed. to which he objects, saying these are all old and weakened feathers, offering his wing for you to pluck feathers from if you really wanna make an art project

winged bf who hides the two of you under his wing when cuddling in bed, the added layer of his own extra limb making the scene feel more intimate than it is. as if the entire world is blocked out, just a meager existence passing by as you two enjoy this moment of comfort as his wing becomes a curtain to give you two privacy

winged bf who sometimes gets too sexually frustrated and pent up with your curious hands constantly touching the place where his wing is connected to his back, the skin and muscles there are sensitive, making him jump in his seat whenever you do it to tease him

winged bf who knows that it isn’t your fault. you probably don’t know, you don’t have a wing after all, so you don’t know what it means when someone touches your wing. who only calms your worries with a forehead kiss, usually handling his problems himself

winged bf who lets out a whine into his hand, muffling the embarrassing noise as your hand wraps tighter around his cock. he was way too sensitive than usual and it was all because of your wandering hand on his wings. he probably should have explained it all to you but right now, he found his words escaping him, mind melting into a muddled mess as he finds his hands clawing at your own in desperation

winged bf who mumbles out a weak protest of being “s-sensitive! aaah… f-feels too sen—♡︎ sensitive! y-your haaandd♡︎” as his legs start to shake, staring through teary eyes as you coax out yet another climax out of him. his tip an angry cherry red from the continued torture of your hand, his slit weeping precum over and over again despite having just came, getting hard in your hand embarrassingly fast

winged bf who gets tortured by your loving hands for who knows how many times. his eyes are getting blurry and breathing started to hurt. even more, his dick was stinging, twitching every time your tight fist comes up to the tip, letting go briefly as if to taunt him, touching the dripping slit with the tip of your finger and making him whine loudly before fucking his cock into your hand again and again. this was just pure torture, he wanted to escape and run away but you were whispering such nice words to his ears. calling him your good boy, your angel, how you loved being with your beloved like this… could he really ever refuse you?

winged bf who gets more and more twitchy in your gentle hold as your hand picks up speed, the filthy wet noise of his earlier cum being used as a lube filling the room alongside his loud moans. who begs for you to not to touch his wing as it flutters around, dropping a feather or two onto the floor due to moving around so much. who only lets out a pathetic whimper of a “cuz’ ahh haamgh—! [n-name], please! please don’t—♡︎ d-don’t touch them...? they’re sensitive too aanh haagh mfgh♥︎!!” when you ask him why

winged bf who felt like his skin was on fire. everything felt too much but felt too little at the same time, his cock painfully hard again in your hold the moment you ran the tip of your finger over the bane of it. his muscles were getting tense, a strange sense of feeling coiling around in his stomach as you kiss the place where his wing and back connects, shifting around frantically with a chirp or a preen falling from his swollen lips

winged bf who weakly paws at your hand around his dick, wanting to push it away but chasing right after it with his hips as the strange feeling in his stomach just continues to grow worse. it didn’t felt like his usual orgasm, the way he would just fall apart in your hands. it felt more intense and that scared him. who cries out through loud whines and bitten back sobs that “f-feels weird!! aanhh haah [n-name]—! it mnggh♡︎ feels weird! my c-cock feels unnck haah ahh amhh weird♥︎♥︎!!”

winged bf who throws his head back into your shoulder, hands covering his beet red face as a scream tears through his lips, muscles tightening, body going taut in your arms when you gently bit into the base of his wing, your other hand keeping his wing in place so it wouldn’t flutter and knock you away as he fucking squirts into his stomach, painting his muscles and your hand white. who lets out soft chirps and noises, legs twitching and hands struggle to decide whether to hold onto you or to muffle his embarrassing noises

winged bf who only lets out weak noises and chirps when you try to communicate with him, asking him if he was doing alright and if your angel was with you right now after that overstimulating experience. who immediately hides within his wings the moment a sliver of sobriety hits him, too humiliated to even look you in the face because what was that? and why did he felt… so good?

winged bf who gives you a weak glare that you know isn’t exactly serious, pouting at you and complaining about how you messed up his mind and stuff. who lean into your touch as you push his hair away from him, getting to see the still reddened face and the few tear stains on his cheeks. who grumbles about how you have too much power over him when you chuckle, leaning in to plant a kiss to his pouting lips. who chase after you with a demand for a proper kiss this time

⇨ sephiroth, genesis, angeal, hawks, xiao, venti, angel devil, vash, knives, sunday, simeon, raphael + anyone you can think of!

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.3

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

“Aquaman.” Batman swept into the room, beelining straight for the suddenly apprehensive Atlantean king.

“Batman. What can I do for you?”

“Phantom. Does he pay taxes?”

“Pardon?”

Batman makes a low noise that had Aquaman’s danger senses buzzing.

“Does Phantom have to pay taxes. Towards Atlantis.”

“No…? Why?”

“He wanted money, in exchange for… information, of a delicate sort,” Batman said, diplomatically avoiding the topic of Phantom bargaining for the identities of corpses in exchange for a measly $100 dollars per identity. Like a flea market dealer, that one was.

“You encountered Phantom again?” Aquaman perked up.

“Yes. Gotham’s bay is… polluted.” Batman paused. “With victims. Of murder.”

The entire area quieted as heads turned towards the Dark Knight.

“Yes, I am… distantly aware of Gotham’s waters.” By that, Aquaman gets green around the gills whenever he turns his awareness in that direction. There’s a reason he doesn’t enter Gotham, and the Dark Knight’s ban is only half of that reason. “Ah, but you’re correct. For what purpose would Phantom need mortal currency?”

“Hn.”

“Maybe he needs some stuff?” Flash zipped to a stop next to Batman, feet tapping as he dug into the pile of snacks cradled in his arms. “Us mortals are always coming up with new things, maybe he wants to try some games or something?”

Batman tilted his head down, seriously considering Flash’s suggestion. “It’s plausible.”

“Barry, Barry, Barry. He’s old as hell, right? He probably wants to try the new booze!”

“Hal, my man!” Flash fist bumped Green Lantern, who came up. “You’re back! What happened to John?”

“Dunno. He got called somewhere that way,” Green Lantern waved a vague hand towards the left. “Had to deal with a politician or something from that area.” He shrugged, swinging an arm over Barry’s shoulders to put him in a headlock and stealing a chip.

“Huh. Anyways, would our mortal alcohol even work on a demi-god or something?”

“We should ask!” Hal turned towards Batman. “You should ask if he wants to go for a drink, spooky!”

“He’s a child.”

“He’s been around for more than a millennia, Bats.”

“Informational gathering, right, Hal?” Flashgot out of the headlock, quickly munching on his snacks to stop Green Lantern from stealing them.

“Totally. Yup.”

“…Fine.”

“Wait, are we just gonna ignore that Gotham’s waters are full of bodies?”

“Yes.”

——

“What?” Danny asked, mind half on the bags he’s dragging out of the water and the other half on the essay he has to submit in about four hours.

“Green Lantern wanted to invite you out for a drink.”

Danny turned to the stoic Gotham knight, who had his wrist computer out to log the bodies’ info the moment Danny gave him the information. Some of them even told Danny who murdered them, so Batman could start building cases with solid leads.

Danny’s only twenty. He’s not legal yet but he doesn’t want to give any clues to who he is. How is he supposed to…

Ah!

“Can’t.” Danny shrugged. “I’m not legal. I died when I was fourteen so…” Danny trailed off, speechless at the drowned puppy face Batman was giving him. What the fuck.

“Anyways, fork over my payment.”

Batman wordlessly hands him a wad of hundreds.

“What do you need cash for?” Batman suddenly asked.

“Huh? Isn’t it obvious?” Danny tucked it in. “Material things, obviously. I need a blanket,” because holy shit, Gotham is damn cold this time of year. “Anyways, see you same time next week, litterer.”

“I don’t litter.”

“Tell that to the batarangs I found under the water,” Danny grumbled. “But I’ll stop calling you that if you get a signature from Poison Ivy. I have a friend who loves her.”

“An alive friend?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy?”

Danny snickered and disappeared. He’s gotta cram that essay.

——

“There’s a possibility Phantom might be homeless.”

“Batman, I mean this in the nicest way, but for the love of Atlantis, please stop giving me headaches. It’s time like these I wish I stayed a lighthouse keeper.”

[ashlynlovestlou]

winner winner (ellabs x reader)

꩜ synopsis: abby and ellie challenge each other to see who can make you squirt first.

꩜ cw: SQUIRTING!!!! , overstim , threesome , smut with absolutely no plot , dirty talk , pet names , spanking , poosay slapping , dom! abby , dom! ellie , sub! reader , tummy buldge , mention of masturbation , this is kinda short i'm sorry

masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜

the three of you had been at this for fifteen minutes already. it happened when you mentioned to them that you'd never squirted before. of course, being the two numbskulls that they are, they took that as a challenge.

so now you were laying on your back in bed, abby between your legs and ellie at your side.

ellie was holding your hand, rubbing your knuckles with one hand and rubbing your clit with her other. abby, of course, was wearing her biggest, longest strap she has, and she's pounding into you while she cradled your head.

pathetic little whimpers we're escaping your lips with each thrust, but all you could do was take it.

"shhh... sh sh sh." ellie coos, "come on baby, you can take more."

abby is too focused to speak, hitting that spot inside of you repeatedly. your insides were probably bruised now, and she could feel you clenching around her.

"she's gettin' tight, ellie." abby says. ellie snickers, pressing down and pinching your clit. you moan and your back arches off the bed.

you flail your legs, trying to close them in retaliation, but abby keeps them open. "uh-uh. keep 'em wide and spread for me, sweet girl. you close, huh? yeah, i can feel ya." her words send you over the edge and you're coming for the third time tonight. your entire body convulses with pleasure, and both girls marvel at the way your face contorts.

"no way in hell i'm letting you win." ellie mutters to abby under her breath, shooing her away from you once your high is over.

she gives your cunt a few firm slaps before impaling you with her silicon dick. she bottoms out in one go, the tip of her dick kissing your cervix sloppily. hers is much longer than abby's, making a little bump in your lower tummy.

"s' too big." you whine when ellie's hand meets your stomach, pressing down on the little bump she made.

"you've got it, sweet girl. come on, baby, come on." she whispers in your ear.

abby chuckles as she watches this all unfold. she let ellie go first to get you nice and stimulated, in hopes that she could be the one to make you squirt. but the way that ellie was slamming roughly into you made her believe that that wasn't going to happen.

"hurts." you groan, eyes closing.

"keep your eyes open. watch ellie fuck you." abby commands, so naturally you listen. you open your eyes to watch her slip in and out of you. your thighs were covered in slick, and your next orgasm was coming.

ellie's pants and heavy breaths only turned you on more, and it was getting harder to sit still. ellie had a shit-eating grin on her face, knowing what was about to happen.

"scream my name, honey. come on, let me hear you." she coaxes, and you gush at her words, doing exactly that. you yelled her name, in contrast to the little whimpers and quiet whines you were eliciting earlier. you'd never felt more euphoric in your entire life. sure, you'd come on your own hands, their hands, their straps, and even their mouths several times. but nothing compared to the tingles you felt on every inch of your body.

the sheets were wet.

ellie entire lower half was wet.

you were wet, laying in a puddle of your own substances.

ellie laughs and cheers, "you fucking squirted!"

abby groans in defeat after seeing the utter mess you made. her eyebrows were squeezed together, her bulky hand in a tense fist. she shook her head silently, as if contemplating punching ellie in the jaw.

but ellie was too busy celebrating to notice, "fuck yeah! i did it!" she says, pecking you in every little crease and corner her lips can reach.

you were too fucked-out to comment on her celebrating, or abby's defeat, for that matter.

"how d'you feel, sweet pea?" abby is first to check on you after ellie disappears to go fetch some towels.

"fucking amazing." you mumble, nestling comfortably into the crease between her shoulder and neck, "never knew it could feel like that."

she chuckles, kissing your hairline, "there's plenty more where that came from. next time, i'll be the one to make you squeal like that, hm?"

you laugh quietly at her words, nodding.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

“The what?”

Danny and Duke had been having a pretty okay day. Duke got a ridiculous packet to complete from his professor, and Danny tripped down the stairs in the library, causing a ruckus that got everyone’s attention.

So yea, everything was going well until they decided to push their luck and go to a new coffee shop a bit further away. It wasn’t the coffee shop itself, but the goons that came out of nowhere to kidnap Tim Drake-Wayne who was getting an order to go, which turned into a gang fight in the middle of the street.

Danny and Duke, along with Tim, ended up sheltered behind a car and missed the opportunity to bunker down inside the shop.

“Well, this isn’t what I planned today,” Tim comments.

“Same,” Danny agrees.

“Maybe we can wait it out?” Duke suggests.

The other two give a look that says that it was not going to happen.

“Rock, Paper, Scissors for peeking,” Danny says, already holding out his fist.

“Bet.”

They look at Duke.

Peer Pressure works and he groans with clear discomfort at the situation.

Duke loses. A bullet whizzes past his head.

“Nope! Nope. Not doing that again.”

Tim rolls his eyes at the dramatics, but with Danny still there he bit his tongue.

“What’d you see?”

Duke looks at Tim like he’s crazy.

“Lots of people with guns,” he answers hysterically.

“Need a hand?”

Red Hood had swung down from the nearest rooftop, hand gun in both hands. He pops off three shots before having to duck behind the car with them.

“Hood, what are you doing here? This isn’t Crime Alley,” Tim asks like they bumped into each other at the supermarket.

Hood shrugs, “Close enough.”

“Oh sweet, can I borrow that?” Danny randomly asks.

Before anyone can question what he was talking about he was already reaching out to take the handgun off of Hood’s thigh.

“Whoa-“

Danny turns to look over the car’s hood and pulls the trigger. Nothing happens.

The others pull him back quickly. He winces at the hard fall to his tailbone.

“Holy crap! Danny!”

“Dude, are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Hey!” Danny interrupts their freak out. “It’s not my fault his gun is broke.”

“The safety is still on, idiot,” Hood tilts his head.

“The what?” Danny asks in genuine confusion.

The three brothers all pause and look at him.

“The safety? On the gun? So there isn’t a misfire?” Tim explains. He was stuck between shocked and judgmental.

“This is why people who don’t know how to shoot shouldn’t touch guns,” Hood says in frustration while reaching to take it away.

Danny pulls it back out of reach.

“I know how to shoot, thanks. My parent’s weapons just don’t have safety things. I’m not used to it,” he grumbles.

“What do you-“

But Danny was already finding the safety and flicking it off before trying again. This time he hits two goons, one in the shoulder and another in the leg.

The batboys glance at each other.

“So,” Hood tries to be casual, “what do your parents do?”

“They’re scientists,” Danny answers, mainly focused on shooting another person dressed in a mask, “but they make their own weapons.”

“Are they by any chance mad scientists? Or borderline rogues?” Duke asks as half a joke.

“Of course not,” Danny answers. Then he pauses to actually think about it. “I don’t think so.”

“Cool. That’s fine.”

**

After that Danny had a few more ‘meet and greet’s with the local vigilantes and saw some lingering shadows around their apartment. They had the weirdest questions about his family.

[writersdrug]

I fully believe that Simon "Ghost" Riley wouldn't want an expensive, lavish honeymoon after your wedding. Of course, if that's what you dream of, he'll do it for you. He'd do anything for the person who loved him enough to marry him, scars and all. You want a beach-front, warm getaway in Costa Rica, filled with sunsets and quiet time by the waves? Say no more, he's looking for first class tickets already. You like the sound of a ski resort, surrounded by snowy alpines and hot chocolates, holding hands on the ski lifts and racing down the hills (you'd beat him every time, he's not one for winter sports)? He's asking if you'd prefer Smuggler's Notch in Vermont, or Vail Ski in Colorado. He'll do it if it's with you. He'll do anything for you.

But ask Simon what he wants, and he'll give you such a domestic answer: two or three weeks, somewhere in the United Kingdom, in a cottage backed up against the woods - preferably in autumn, when the leaves will be orange, the air will be misty, and the soft rain will be just enough to drown out his anxieties. Sure, he'd love to go hiking with you in Lake District, finding a good spot under the cover of the dense trees, listening to the sound of the babbling river and showing off his camping skills - harmlessly bickering with you about how it's not considered camping if you're in a cabin with electricity and running water. He rents an SUV and folds the seats down, throwing a mattress, blankets, and pillows in the back so the both of you can cuddle together while watching the stars.

But really, he just wants to exist with you for a while - as a married couple. He wants to wake up next to you without having anywhere to be at the ass crack of dawn, taking his time to watch the way you breathe so softly, the way you're always holding onto some part of him while you sleep, whether that's your arm wrapped around his bicep, your hand fisting his shirt, or your being wrapped tightly around his soul. He wants to cook meals with you, watch as you sway to whatever music you put on the telly, butt-bumping him as you chop vegetables and he stirs the pot on the stove. He wants to be next to you as you drag him around the rainy streets of Manchester, stepping into every bookstore or plant nursery you pass, eventually landing in a coffee shop and sitting close to each other, talking over a vanilla latte and a black coffee about how wainscoting is a gorgeous addition to homes, and how it's a crime that people tend to tear it down in modern decor. He promises to install some himself just for you, wherever you want it.

He wants to spend quiet nights at home, curled under the blanket on the couch, some random movie playing on the telly and the space heater blowing warm air on the both of you - he's too mesmerized at the way you're twirling the golden wedding band around your ring finger, biting back a smile every time you glance down at it (he has a wedding band too - but he'd never take it on missions. Instead, he has a simple line tattooed around his ring finger for when he has to leave the ring behind). He wants to make love to you, leaving soft kisses and nips along your skin, rolling his hips into you slowly and sensually, losing himself in the quiet moans, whispered I love you's, and the feeling of your nails carving the memory into the skin of his back. He wants to rest with himself inside of you, cradling you to his chest as he mumbles sleepily, "I love you, want to marry you every day of my life..." his rough hand tracing your skin, committing every bump, every curve, every vein to his memory. He wants to fall asleep there, letting go of his anxieties, any thoughts of doubt rolling off of his shoulders when he presses kisses to the back of your neck, his fingers slowly fiddling with the ring on your finger.

You're his quiet. His peace. You're soft sweaters, the sugar cube he drops into a warm mug of tea in his hands, the raindrops gently landing on his face, the smell of earth and pine at the edge of the woods, the sound of wood crackling in a warm fire. You're gentle, even when you're excited and bouncy, smothering him in kisses or forcing him to dance with you on the back patio. He knows you'll both have to leave this solace soon, returning to work like the wedding had never happened, forced to be cogs in the machine of society. But to Simon, each day after this will be a day he's married to you - each day will be a blessing, a reason to thank the universe, a reason to smile as he crosses the threshold of your shared home, a reason to crack his dad jokes outside of missions, a reason to join you on your weekly grocery runs, a reason to buy flowers once a week to replace the previous ones.

You're his peace.

[shouyuus]

to kiss the sun

violet; 5,574 words; fluff and smut, no "y/n", wlw, tribbing, oral (r!receiving), face-riding, fingering (both receiving), switch!vi supremacy, service top!vi, p0rn with feelings (many MANY feelings), morning after vibes, gratuitously fluffy sex, popstar!reader x vi au

summary: the morning after vi shows up at your penthouse, you make good on your promise to show vi a few things you picked up at the brothel; sequel to counting stars

a/n: i didn't know writing smut could make me so soft. vi is needy and we must do our duty to give her everything she wants. thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

─── Ⅵ SHE'S SO USED TO WAKING UP alone that for a second, the empty bed doesn’t feel unfamiliar. and then — flashes of the night before flicker like frames of a still-remembered dream behind her eyelids — your steady, delicate hands, the trickle of bath water like piano music against her skin, the gently perfumed mist that had hung in her chest for hours after that bath had ended.

your lips, her tongue, the promise of a morning just far away enough to forget.

vi shoots up, blinking sleep from her eyes. all her muscles feel sore, but there’s a warmth pulsing beneath her skin that she hasn’t felt in… years. her limbs are heavy, thick still with the honeyed dregs of dreams but the space next to her on the oceanic bed is vast, and the only sign that you’d been there the slightest ruffle of your silken sheets.

she wraps her arms around herself, her mind still swimming with memories of last night, even as a frown creases her forehead.

“don’t worry, i’m not going anywhere. promise.” that was what you’d said — and yet.

a hard-lined prickle works up the back of her throat and vi slumps back to bury her face in a large, fluffy pillow, letting out a groan. she feels like a child, petulant and wanting. but it doesn’t stem the clench in her stomach, the old, viperous voice in the back of her head that whispers —

see? everyone leaves you. always.

and then, from somewhere beyond the closed bedroom door, she hears… singing. and she’s tumbling out of bed before she can stop herself, her toes curling into the soft pashmina carpet, her fingers cold against the doorknob as she pushes through.

she finds you in the open kitchen, your back to her as you prod at something on the stove. the delicious smell of cooking meat hits her nose and immediately makes her mouth water. but she’s held still by the sight — you still wearing the large nightshirt from last night, your pink lace robe slipping off your shoulder as you sway back and forth on your tiptoes.

the lemon-yellow light spilling through your massive windows gilds you in morning-glory gold.

vi lets out a breath she doesn’t remember holding and pads her way towards you, looping both arms around your middle and burying her face in your neck.

“oh!” you gasp, turning slightly, your eyes wide, “i didn’t hear you —”

“i thought —” vi’s voice is cracked and gravely from sleep; she clears her throat and takes a breath, “you weren’t in bed when i woke up so —”

you let out a sound like a tiny laugh, setting down the spatula in your hand as you twist around in her arms. behind you, three fat sausages and a few eggs are cooking on a large flat pan.

“i didn’t wanna wake you up,” you say, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips, “you looked like you were sleeping so well.”

vi sighs, trailing a knuckle along your cheek, even as she tugs you back for a longer kiss, a deeper kiss. one that has you gasping against her.

you giggle as she pulls away, a bit breathless. “and… you were snoring up a storm so —”

vi leans down to bite at your neck, fingers fisting in your hair to tug your head back for more access.

“i don’t snore.”

“wanna bet?”

vi pulls back with a crooked grin before her eyes flicker back to the pan. she swallows.

you turn, reaching for the spatula again.

“how do you like your eggs?”

“uh… not raw?”

you roll your eyes, bumping her with your hip even as she settles herself against your back, her chin resting on your shoulder again.

“i like mine over-easy, but i can make them scrambled too, if you want.” you scoot the sausages towards the side and flip over one of the bubbling eggs, the sizzle of the oil making vi’s stomach grumble loudly behind you.

“i’ve…” vi pauses, ghosting her lips over your shoulder, “no one’s ever really asked me that before so… i don’t… i don’t know.”

your hand pauses as you shuffle the sausages around the edges of the pan. and then —

“okay, then i’ll make one of each, and you can try both! then maybe tomorrow, i can poach a few — those are the really good ones where the yolk is all runny —”

“hey.”

vi twists your chin towards her; the kiss is sweet, but you can taste the fluttering desperation beneath her tongue, as if she’s searching for something within the warm caverns of your mouth, and that if she can just kiss you hard enough or long enough, she might just find it. when she pulls away this time, there’s something flickering in the pre-dawn blue of her eyes.

“vi?”

she shakes her head, her gaze skating along the contours of your face as if you were a painting she’d been trying to memorize.

“i just —” she swallows again, “this… all just feels too good to be true — like… like the whole thing’s a dream and i’m gonna wake up one day alone and —”

you smile as you press a hand to her cheek. “hey, hey — none of that now. the eggs are gonna overcook —” you turn back around to tend to breakfast, even as vi groans and digs her face into the nape of your neck, her fingers biting into the plush of your hips.

“and, it’s not a dream. but even if it were, what makes you think i wouldn’t just find you again after we both wake up?”

vi frowns as she lifts her head, watching as you plate the sausages and eggs, lifting up onto tip toe for the salt and pepper shakers on the shelf. she grins, loosening her arms ever so slightly to let you grab them before she’s pulling you into her again and you’re laughing in her arms.

“ugh. i’m never gonna win with you, huh princess?”

“nope — now help me carry this to the bedroom. i’m gonna pour us some drinks.”

vi watches in muted fascination as you lay out a breakfast tray on your pristine sheets and slot two bubbling glasses of what she’s sure is champagne into the carved out glass holders, and then motions for her to put down the large plate of food. she does, her expression both reverent and amused as you flop down onto the bed and tug the blankets up around your lap, patting the spot next to you.

“c’mon — before it goes cold!”

she slips beneath the covers again, crossing her legs as she watches you reach for your glass, the liquid inside shimmering with pale gold bubbles.

“bon appetit!” you say, grinning at her as you reach for a sausage with your hands. vi’s eyebrows hike up as you bring it to your lips, taking a bite, moaning around it as hot oil slicks down the side of your hand and you lean down to lick it back, the pink flash of your tongue making her stomach twist with an entirely different kind of hunger.

but, she decides, one indulgence at a time — and reaches for a sausage of her own, foregoing the knife and fork just as you had.

it’s delicious, sweet and salty, the fat bursting in her mouth making her shiver as she swallows. she’s never had anything so delicious, anything so truly indulgent. she scarfs down one sausage, and then reaches for another, pausing only to glance up at you. she finds you watching her with a smile and a sparkle in your eyes that looks so dangerously like love it makes her gut clench.

how long has it been since someone’s looked at her like that? like she was beautiful, like she was —

“someone worth looking at?” your words from the night before echos in her ears as she takes the second sausage with a sheepish grin, licking her lips of the oil.

“i can make more if you want,” you say, leaning back and sipping at your drink, “there’s plenty in the fridge, and i’ll make as many as you want.”

vi shakes her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “no, this is —” she reaches for her own glass, gulping down half in a single swig, coughing as the bubbles fizzle up her throat, “this is good —”

by the time she finishes the second sausage, you’re splitting the eggs with a knife and fork, your movement precise, as if she hadn’t just watched you lick sausage fat from your own wrist.

“here, try the eggs. this is the over easy, and this —” you push two piles of eggs towards her, one bleeding yellow yolk over the fine white china, the other a pile of fluffy sun-colored scramble, topped off with flecks of black pepper and large flakes of white seasalt.

vi scoops up one, moaning around the runny yolk, before shoveling a bite of the scrambled egg into her mouth.

“holy shit — i mean, they’re both really good —” she leans down to scrape up some more, licking the fork clean with a happy little hum.

“is there one you like better?” you ask, and vi looks up, a final bite of egg poised halfway to her mouth. she grins as she sets down her fork and pushes the breakfast tray gently out of the way, tugging you towards her.

“yeah well, sure but… ‘s not like i can focus on that when you’re sitting right there looking like breakfast, lunch, and dinner —” she grazes her lips along the length of your neck, nuzzling into the soft spot right behind your ear, breathing you in like a woman lost. and she is — isn’t she? lost in this paradise you’ve built for her, lost in the feeling of you, the irrefutable knowledge that you’re here, and that you’re here to stay.

“y-you seemed pretty focused c-cleaning that plate just a second ago — o-oh —!”

you gasp as she pins you beneath her, your leg knocking against the breakfast tray, her mouth hot along your collarbone.

“v-vi — the china —”

“mm — fuck — fine —” she pulls away from you, keeping you pinned beneath her with her thighs, thick and strong, clamped on either side of your hips as she twists around to set the breakfast tray on the floor before turning back with a smirk. “there. happy now, princess?”

you nod, smiling up at her as she returns to her single-minded task of kissing your throat, sighing against your skin as she tugs your robe from your shoulders and inches her fingers beneath the hem of your nightshirt.

“c’mon princess — didn’t you promise me you were gonna show me all the other things you learned at the brothel, hm?”

you gasp as she tugs your nightshirt up off your torso, leaving you in nothing but your lacy pink panties, your cheeks flushed, your nipples pebbling in the sudden chill.

“mm… never gets old…” vi says, reaching down to tweak at one of them, grinning as you whine.

“vi… vi, please —” you reach out for her, fingers gentle against her tensing stomach as she groans and leans down to kiss you. but before she can, the world flips and she’s hissing out a breath, blinking in confusion as you rock your hips, sitting astride her now, one palm laid flat against her sternum, the other cupping her cheek.

vi stares up at you, her eyes wide but you can see the way her pupils dilate, her gaze going hungry.

you offer her a tiny, knife-flash grin, trailing your thumb along her skin till it grazes her bottom lip.

“there… that’s one trick they taught me… would you like to see some others?”

vi moans, her head rolling back as you rock your hips down over hers again, her hands shooting up to grasp at your waist, her eyes fluttering shut.

“holy fuck, yeah —” she helps ruck your hips down, fingers digging into your flesh as you reach down to gently tug her chin back down, whispering against her lips —

“eyes on me, violet…”

her eyes flicker open, a soft whimper curling up her throat as you shift your hips down and your clothed cores meet through the layers of fabric.

“want you to watch me when i’m making you feel good.”

“sweet jesus…” vi breathes, her brows furrowing ever so slightly as you reach down to inch her shirt up as well, tilting your head slightly as you wait for her to lift her hands. you toss the shirt off the other side of the bed, breathing out as you feast your eyes on the sight of her, splayed out beneath you, a classical artist’s dream of solid muscle and ink-kissed skin.

“you know, they used to carve statues to immortalize bodies like yours…” you say, pressing a line of unhurried kisses to her shoulder, trailing across her collarbones, down the divot of her breasts, pausing over each nipple, laving your tongue over the tiny metal rings there, warming them on your tongue before popping off and making your patient way down the length of her torso. you trace the shape of her stomach muscles with the tip of your tongue, graze your teeth against the delicate skin right above the waistband of her shorts, eyes always cast up at her face, watching for the minute reactions that she’s always been so generous to give.

“eyes, violet,” you remind her gently as you suck a hickey over her hipbone and her entire pelvis jerks up towards you. she huffs out a breath, forcing her eyes open to look down at you, a pout threatening her mouth even as she chews on her bottom lip.

“shit princess — you can’t — i — it feels too good, i —”

“i know,” you shush, holding her gaze as you shift to slip the shorts from her legs, discarding them over your shoulder with a cock of your head like a curious little bird, looking her over with bright eyes.

“but i’ll stop if you look away again, okay?” you chide, grazing a thumb along her already slickened folds, circling her clit once just to see the way her jaw drops open, her eyes rolling back. you pull your hand away and she jerks up, a hand shooting out to grab your arm.

“sweet fuck, mm — c’mere —”

you hitch an eyebrow, watching her as she tugs you towards her, melding her mouth with yours, the self-same desperation you’d tasted earlier blossoming behind the tombstones of her teeth like words she’s never had the courage to say aloud. all her needs, all her wants, pressed there like flowers between the pages of her story, and you — leaning in, opening your mouth, kissing her back like you’d love nothing more than to see them, to read them, to listen, to learn.

you let her kiss you, and you let yourself be kissed. you let her pour herself into you with her fingers in your hair, and your hands soft against her neck, running soothing circles into the pulse beneath her jaw. when she finally pulls back, your lips are wet, her chest is heaving. there’s a strange, fractured light in her eyes as she presses her forehead against yours and breathes out, long and deep.

“you okay?” you ask.

“mm. yeah… i just…” she sucks in another breath, “i — uh — i’m not the best with patience —”

you laugh, “you don’t say.”

she chuckles, allowing herself to be pressed back into the sheets. you shift your legs, hooking one of her over one of yours, shifting till your clothed cunt presses against her bare one. she hisses, her head tipping back. a second later, you roll your hips down, the friction making the coil in your stomach knot over itself, but your eyes are still fixed on vi, on the trembling expression painted across her features.

“violet… c’mon, eyes…” is all you say, your voice patient hush as you slowly work yourself against her.

she lets out a pitched whine, but she forces her eyes back onto you, the gentle curve of your body as you grind your pussy to hers. she bites her lips at the wetness she can feel collecting there — hers and yours, the way you don’t hide your pleasure from her, the little hitches in your breaths, the pink flush of color washing into your cheeks, even as you swirl your hips, your eyes never wavering from her face as her mouth falls open around a moan.

“shit — god, that’s —”

“good?” you ask, leaning over her, your hair a liquid spill across your shoulders.

she nods, her mind too blissed out to really speak as you reach down to tweak at one of her nipples, tugging lightly on the ring, your other hand splayed out on her stomach, keeping you steady.

“y-yeah — really — really fuckin’ good —” she says, nearly keening as you pull back to tug your panties from you, the sight of your wetness gleaming on the lace making her skin prickle with heat. she lets you wrap your hand around one of her wrists, pulling it up towards you, brushing your lips over her knuckles before pressing two of her fingers into your mouth.

you moan around them, even as she bites her lips, her eyes half-hooded, but she heeds your earlier warnings and doesn’t look away, doesn’t let them drop shut even as you pull her fingers from your lips with a soft pop and bring them to where your still slowly grinding against her.

“show me what makes you feel good.”

“n-ngh — fuck fuck fuck —” vi chants, canting her hips up to meet yours, even as you cup one of her hipbones in your palm to steady her, watching as she presses her fingers to her clit and draws them in small, quick circles, her thumb flicking up to graze against yours.

your hips stutter and you let out a gasp, the heat in your abdomen solid and familiar.

“look so good, princess — mm —” a tiny frown creases her forehead as she quickens her pace, but you tug her fingers away, swallowing her momentary whine with a kiss, replacing her fingers with your own. you mirror her movements, relishing in the way she works her hips up against you, her movements threaded with urgency, her tongue pressing into your mouth as you slip your fingers down the seam of her cunt to dip inside her.

immediately, she keens, jerking you down as her hips ruck up.

“mm… we’re making a mess,” you say, your voice almost teasing as you pull back to smile at her, your fingers still teasing her sodden folds, “but that’s okay — i was going to do the laundry today anyway.”

you dip down, sucking gently at the skin of her neck, slowly fucking two fingers into her, feeling her clamp down around you, her head tossing back into the pillows as you sit back up and cluck your tongue, fingers slowing ever so slightly.

she peers up at you, her gaze hazy and unfocused, her lashes fluttering.

“there’s those pretty eyes,” you say with a grin, before pushing a third finger into her and curling them up.

“f-fuck!”

you press your palm against her clit, working your fingers inside her till she’s scrabbling at your arm, pulling you down roughly to mouth at your lips, whimpering and panting, her breath fanning hot as she holds you to her by the back of your neck.

“fuck, sweetness — i’m gonna — i’m gonna cum —”

you allow yourself a soft moan, nodding, quickening your pace as you dig the fingers of your free hand into her hip, a dull ache building between your own thighs as you watch vi’s lashes flutter.

“good,” you breath, “cum for me, vi — lemme see you cum for me —”

“oh — oh fuck — princess, i — a*-ah — ah — ah!*”

you fuck her slowly through her orgasm, kissing her slow and languid, swallowing around her whimpers and moans, her hips kicking as you tease your thumb over her oversensitive clit.

“holy shit…” she laughs, letting her head thump back into the pillows as you pull your fingers from her and lick them clean. “that was —” she licks her lips, swallowing thickly.

“the girls at the brothel taught me well,” you say, giggling when she tugs you into her arms, nosing against your cheek.

“they sure did but —” her fingers trail down the length of your body to cup your cunt, “i wanna make you feel good too, pretty girl.”

your breath hitches; your lashes flicker.

“mm… so damn wet, and all for me…” she says, tugging you over her shoulders, spreading your pussy lips with two fingers, groaning at the sight of your slick folds.

“c-can you blame me?” you ask, gasping as she pulls you down over her mouth, her fingers caged around your thighs. you let out a soft whimper as you feel her lick a long strip over your cunt, her nose nudging your clit as she moans into you. “o*-oh —*” you squeak as her tongue pushes into you, and you feel her rocking you down, pressing you against her so hard you’re afraid she might suffocate.

you steady yourself against the wall, reaching down to card your fingers through her hair, the color still darker than it used to be, the roots still inked in black.

vi’s cocks an eyebrow up at you from between your legs, and you can almost feel her smirk before you feel her wrap her lips around your clit to give it a hard suck. you yelp, hips jumping even as she yanks you back against her, fucking her tongue into you so hard your stomach clenches with the pleasure.

“oh — oh — ngh — violet —”

“th-that’s it, princess — so hot riding my face — mm — mmph —”

you rock your hips over her mouth, the bright tingle of heat circling through you, coiling tighter and tighter as she eats you out with a wolfish hunger, groaning into your folds as your pace goes jerky and the pin-prick of pleasure stretches inside you, ballooning out till you’re clenching over her face, fluttering around her tongue as she licks eagerly at your wetness, pooling out of you onto her chin and cheeks.

“fuck, you taste — taste good —” she mumbles, lips chasing your cunt even as you try to lift yourself up, her arms flexing as she pulls you back down.

“w-wait — vi — it’s too — too much —”

you squeak as she sits up, flipping the pair of you to finally pin you beneath her, a lopsided grin on her face, a dark, dangerous look in her eyes as she wipes her lips on the back of her hand.

“yeah? but, i’m still hungry, princess —” she wastes no time in prying apart your legs, swearing under her breath as she sees your pussy fluttering around nothing, her fingers shoving into you a second later, “and i mean — i haven’t been trained at a brothel but — been to babette’s enough times to know a thing or two —”

her smirk is sharp, even though her eyes are soft as she watches you writhe beneath her, the remnants of her orgasm still warm in her veins. a furious, ticking urge is pressing up the back of her throat as she fucks you open on her fingers, a savage want blooming inside her chest.

she wants to see you fall apart for her, over and over and over again, wants to make you scream till your voice gives out, wants to swallow around all your pretty little noises — she wants, she wants, she wants —

and then, a softer, deeper desire creeping up, up through her ribs to pool at the base of her tongue, slick as poison —

she wants you to do the same to her, just as you’ve already done.

the want is so huge it terrifies her, makes her chest squeeze even as she leans down to kiss you again, reveling in the taste of her own name on your tongue, dripping from the corners of your mouth like a hymn or a prayer.

it’s a want so vast it won’t fit behind her ribs — that she wants you. in every single way it’s possible to want a person.

and, she wants you to want her too.

“fuck, princess —” she grits out, pulling away just far enough to watch the pleasure crease your forehead, “you want it? tell me — tell me what you want —”

you’re breathless, exhalant, your fingers curling in her hair as you jerk up against her.

“w-want — want this — want you — violet — vi — vi —!”

she groans at the way you say her name, letting her head drop into you shoulder for a second before she curls her fingers and fucks them into you so hard she feels her forearms strain.

“yeah? tell me again, pretty girl —” she lifts her head to find your eyes, and for a split second, she sees herself as you might — disheveled and wild-eyed but the softness of her features is unmistakable, the way her lips are parted, her brows furrowed as she watches you.

your eyes find hers, and your breath is trembling when you say, in a voice that’s so much sweeter than the harshness of her movements, than the toe-curling sound of your wetness as it squelches around her hand, your slick dripping down her wrist and onto the sheets.

“i — i want you, violet — a-all of you — please —”

“fuck, cum for me princess — i — i want — i need to see you cum for me — please, god —”

there’s a whine high in her voice even as you spasm around her, the feeling of your cunt milking at her fingers making her shiver. her movements slow as time itself seems to unspool around you both, your bodies so much more than the sums of their parts — so much skin and breath, so much honey and rest.

you laugh, an indulgent, tickling sound, bubbling up from you as you breathe, running your fingers through her hair as she slowly tugs her fingers from you.

“shit… you came a lot,” she says, laughing with you as you nod and reach for a tissue on the bedside table and hand it to her. she wipes at her hands first, and then her face. and then, she leans off the bed to grab the plate with the leftover eggs, shoveling them into her mouth.

you lay there, watching her with a bitten-back smile. she pauses as she catches your eye.

“sorry — oops —” a bit of scrambled egg nearly tumbles out of her mouth. she licks it back and swallows, setting the plate back down to collapse next to you. “just… didn’t wanna waste it, y’know?”

you giggle, curling onto your side and resting a hand on her chest, flicking at one of her nipple rings.

“hey. quit that.”

you grin, shifting your hand down to rest against her stomach. she reaches up to cover your hand with hers, your fingers lacing easily as she turns to face you.

“still hungry?”

vi smiles, shifting closer to you on the sheets, the pair of you lying face to face, bodies curled in towards one another like mirrored images.

“nah. think i’m good now. that was a good breakfast.”

you laugh, walking your fingers along the bend of her waist, pulling yourself forward till you’re nuzzling into her collarbone. she opens her arms and loops them around you.

“yeah? good. so, have we got a verdict on the eggs?”

vi hums, considering.

“i like the scrambled ones. but… i thought you said you were gonna make something else for breakfast tomorrow?”

she hooks an ankle over yours and you shift against her, softening into her chest.

“yeah, ‘m planning on making a few soft boiled ones, and a few poached ones. they’re kind of similar, but also super different.”

“yeah? how so?”

her fingers trace soft circles into the bare skin of your back; yours trail absently over the dark lines of her tattoo, outlining the cogs and wheels and puffs of tinted clouds.

you try your best to explain the differences between a soft boiled egg and a poached egg, and it ends with the pair of you laughing, vi shaking her head even as she edges closer to you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“i could listen to you talk all day, princess.”

you crinkle your nose, “careful what you wish for.”

“mm,” vi hums, leaning in till your foreheads touch and her eyes flutter shut again, “thanks, though.”

“hm? for what?”

she breathes in, then out.

“for… all this. for breakfast, for…” she lets her voice trail off as her eyes blink open to find you watching her.

“you don’t need to thank me,” you say, inching ever closer, so close now that she can feel the heat of your words over her skin as you speak them, “i meant what i said last night — whatever’s mine is yours and…” you reach up to cup her cheek, “that i want all this because… i want you.”

vi closes her eyes, squeezing them shut as that soft tendril of desire once against pushes up against the back of her throat. she makes a sound caught between a sigh and whine, pulling you into her, wrapping both arms around you and burying her face in your hair.

“gods… you drive me insane.”

you chuckle against her collarbone, blowing an errant strand of pink hair from your mouth.

“if it’ll make you stay with me then…” your voice is slightly muffled, but vi hears it all the same, feels the rumble of it from your chest to hers, the honesty in them shaking her to the core.

she squeezes you once, long and hard, before letting you go.

“careful what you wish for,” she says, echoing your words back at you.

you smile, a simple thing, leaning up to brush your lips to hers. it’s a soft kiss, one that’s devoid of the pulsing, urgent want of your kisses prior, but for some reason, this one lingers like a prickle on the tongue, champagne bubbles as they filter down your throat, fizzling warmth through both your chests even after you pull away.

“didn’t i already tell you?” you say, bumping your nose to hers, “i’ve been praying for this since the day we met.”

vi lets out a small laugh, nodding, “yeah… you did, huh.”

you tangle your fingers in the long hairs skimming down her back.

“you don’t have enforcer stuff you need to report in for?”

vi groans, rolling her eyes, “i mean… i probably do but…”

you shake your head, “give them a call, ask for a few days off.”

vi’s eyebrows hitch at your words, “and… what do i tell them?”

“that you’re taking a few days off — call it a vacation if you want.”

“huh,” but her lips are already tugging into a knowing smirk, “and what do you propose we do on this so-called vacation of mine, hm?”

you shrug, giggling as she leans down to nip at your collarbones.

“mmm… how does staying here, sleeping in, and eating through my favorite recipes sound?”

vi pulls back, her expression flickering through several channels before settling on a mix of cautious and hopeful.

“are… you sure? you — you don’t have like… famous-person stuff you have to do?”

you laugh, “nope! not for a week at least. and… i’ve got a few really good bottles of wine in the cellar i’ve been meaning to try.”

“the cellar?”

you grin, “go make the call.”

vi pushes herself up, carding a hand through her hair and rubbing at her temples. but she glances back at you, her fingers still linked with yours. you glance down at your hands before giving her a squeeze.

“go on, i’ll still be here when you get back. i promise.”

vi leans back down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“promise?” she asks.

you nod, leaning up to kiss her properly, pulling away only when she tries to push you back into the mattress. you shoot her an exasperated look as she tugs on a shirt and nearly trips over the breakfast tray, glancing back at you from the bedroom door.

“go. i’ll be here,” you say again. and vi gives you one last lingering look before slipping through the door, leaving it swinging behind her.

a few seconds later, you hear her voice as she says —

“uh hey, it’s me. can you connect me to the warden?”

taglist: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 - join the taglist!

[suguann]

He has a feeling that the new girl running the front desk at the gym is going to be a problem—a distraction disguised in a gym uniform polo and khaki pants.

It starts with you smiling too brightly as he walks in one morning, all teeth and that little twinkle in your eye that feels like trouble when you scan his membership card.

“Good morning, Mr. Riley.” 

“It’s just Simon,” he tells you as he takes his card off the counter. 

The following day, it’s the same, except Johnny is there to make it worse.

He nudges Simon with his elbow. “She’s kinda pretty, huh?”

“Say it any louder, and she’ll hear you, mate,” he grumbles.

Simon’s not blind; of course, he knows you’re pretty, but he doesn’t have time to commit to anything outside of work—even if you smile at him like you’re happy to see him and how he’ll think about it later: on missions, at his desk, during morning runs. His head is nothing short of woven webs with thoughts of you stuck in the middle.

Honestly, it’s that you—

(You try to make small talk with him every morning, and Simon is starting to think it’s just for him because on the days he doesn’t come alone, you merely scan his card and go back to reading the open paperback book on the desk.)

It’s weird because it’s almost like you—

(He bumps into you at the supermarket and makes a dumb joke about carrots that makes you laugh. It makes him a little tongue-tied and awkward afterward because he realizes he hasn’t talked to a woman outside of only wanting a quick fuck in a really long time, but more importantly, he wants to hear it again. 

Instead, he tosses potatoes in his cart and walks away.)

He tells himself it means nothing, or not how Simon wants it to.

You’re just…he’s not even sure; acquaintances? Maybe more than that, but less than friends. Somewhere in that odd in-between phase where he only knows bits and pieces but not the whole picture.

Sometimes, he wishes—

(Simon doesn’t know what he’s doing the first time he invites you to meet the guys from work on a night out. He’s dated around a few times and had his fair share of hook-ups, but this isn’t like that. His palms are sweaty, more than usual, and no amount of wiping them on the thighs of his jeans keeps them dry.

Then you walk into the bar in a dress that’s probably too light for early spring in London—even though he stares appreciatively at the long expanse of your legs as you walk up to the table—and he wishes he wasn’t introducing you as his friend.)

But you—

(A new development happens after you slip him your phone number on one of the gym’s business cards—it’s weird that we don’t have each other’s numbers, so message me sometime or whatever—and he messages you ‘hey’ right before he leaves for a mission a few days later. 

It slowly shifts and changes over time.

You start sending him texts in the morning. Never an actual good morning text, but of the dogs you take on walks, the sunrise, the new flower box in your window. Somehow, it’s better.)

You really are—

(His house feels too hot, and he’s distracted from the movie by how close you are, how your leg drapes over his under the blanket, fingers fisting into his sweater at his stomach that clenches. An ache that grows, throbbing, spreading from his abdomen to his groin.

It feels monumental—something more than the gentle touch to the elbow to squeeze by each other in his entryway earlier or giving you his jacket that night at the bar—a tilt of the axis that makes the messy pieces fall neatly into place. 

He must be staring because you glance up at him, smiling, and the sound from the TV turns into white noise in the background.

“Can I…would you—fucking hell,” Simon runs a hand through his hair. “Can I kiss you?”

When your lips press against his, and his hands are pulling you onto his lap, where you settle hotly against his dick tenting in his jeans, he wonders why neither of you has done this before. Just kissing—him licking the seam of your mouth, and you panting his name.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” you mumble, lips brushing his.

“Me too,” and he fists his hand into the hair at your nape and pulls you back to his mouth.)

“I knew you’d be trouble,” he tells you one day, glaring at the bloke further down the bar who tried making a swipe at your ass before Simon showed up, towering over his shoulder with your fruity cocktail in hand.

“Oh, yeah?” you giggle, leaning into his side.

“Yeah,” the corners of his mouth quirk, though he hides it when he presses a kiss against your temple. “A real pain in my ass, love.”

“But yours.”

This time, he does smile. “Yes, but mine.”

Masterlist

[fastandcarlos]

The Fan Meet : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: it's your one chance to meet and make an impression on max verstappen, but not even you could imagine what happened next

His smile was wide as Max glanced along the line of Red Bull fans who were waiting at the signing. It just so happened as he looked, you were at the front of the queue, lost in your own thoughts as you stepped forwards and were greeted by Yuki. 

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Yuki smiled, taking the photo that you had in your hands that you had been given for them to sign. “I hope you’ve not been queueing for too long.” 

“It was worth it,” you chuckled, struggling to stay composed, especially as you heard Daniel’s laughter coming from the seat next to Yuki. “I’m a huge fan of yours by the way, you’re one of the funniest drivers on the grid, especially all your radios to the team.” 

“Some of them are pretty embarrassing looking back now.” 

Your head shook, “it’s what makes you such a good character to have.” 

Yuki smiled appreciatively back across at you, signing over his face on the picture. Once he had the lid back on his pen, he slid the picture to the next driver along. Your heart raced as you stood before Daniel, struggling to believe that it was really him stood before you. 

Daniel quickly signed the photo before smiling across at you. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself, I’m sorry that you had to see Yuki before you got to see the real main event.” 

“Really? Because I’ve not actually seen Max yet.” 

Daniel’s eyes widened for a second at your joke before chuckling, impressed that you were able to give back to him as good as he gave out. He nodded as he applauded you, reaching out with his fist, giving you a fist bump in admiration of your joke. 

“I’ll give you that one, although I’ll admit I’m a little bit hurt I’m not your favourite.” 

“You’re my second favourite if that counts for anything,” you assured him. “I have to say though, I’m really hoping that we’ll see you in a seat next season.” 

“You and me both,” he agreed, letting go of yet another of his signature chuckles. “Thank you for supporting me, hopefully I’ll be able to see you cheering me, and Max, on in a race soon.” 

You hummed in agreement as you moved across yet again, glancing to your right where Max was sat, almost forgetting that Sergio was now before you. “Yet another signature for you to do.” 

“I don’t mind it,” Sergio chuckled at your comment, signing your photo for you too. 

You were unaware that your sarcasm hadn’t just reached Sergio, but the man sat beside him too. Max’s eyes flickered across to see who made the comment, smiling when he realised it was you, the one he had spotted earlier on stood at the front of the queue. 

Unbeknownst to you, your conversation with Sergio wasn’t just between the two of you, with Max listening in too. His smile was wide as you gushed to Sergio about how big of a Red Bull fan you were, impressing them both with your knowledge. 

“You guys don’t deserve the hate that you get,” you suddenly told Sergio. 

“When you’re as talented as we are, you tend to be able to ignore what everyone else is saying.” 

Your eyes lit up at Sergio’s response, it was clear how well the boys had all been trained, knowing the right answer to give to shut down most questions. As you went silent, Sergio signed your photo before signing it across for Max once you were there.  

“I’m going to put you on the spot now, who’s your favourite driver?” Sergio asked, looking across at you expectantly, folding his arms across his chest. 

You looked briefly at Max, noticing how his eyes slightly panicked, moving to look back at the fan in front of him. When you looked back at Sergio, you could only offer a weak smile, a smile that let him know that he most definitely not your favourite driver on the grid. 

“You’re a close second,” you very quickly defended, “but I’ve got to say that the man next to you might just take the number one spot, only because he’s been at Red Bull for longer though.” 

Sergio nodded, understanding where you were coming from. “I guess I’ll let you have that one, I’ve just got to stick around for longer and make sure that I catch him up, right?” 

Your steps were nervous as you moved along, struggling to believe as you looked up that Max was the man before you, struggling to bring yourself to meet Max’s eyes. 

Luckily for you, Max had a wide smile on his face too that immediately made you feel a lot more relaxed. Max signed over the Red Bull card that you had before leaning over the table, sitting himself closer to you. 

“Thank you for coming to see us today,” Max chimed, making you feel at ease. His voice was softer than you imagined, although he’d probably spoken to hundreds of people already, he still managed to sound so enthusiastic. 

As you relaxed, you allowed your eyes to meet Max’s. “Thanks for being such an awesome driver,” you responded, unaware of the way your comment made Max’s heart race. 

“It’s easy being a good driver when we’ve got such great fans,” Max responded, unable to turn his eyes away from you. “We’ve got some great people around who are always cheering us on.” 

As the conversation seemed to quickly came to a close, Max quickly thought of something else that he could ask you, not wanting to let you go just yet. You went to go and pick up the photo so that you could head off, but Max held onto it first, his grip firm so that you couldn’t slide it out from underneath his hand. 

Your eyes narrowed on Max, looking in confusion as to why he wasn’t letting you go. “There’s a queue behind me,” you reminded Max, only for his shoulders to shrug. He wasn’t fussed about holding everyone else up, not when he wanted to carry on talking to you. 

“They can wait,” Max replied, taking you by surprise with how much he didn’t care. “It’s important that we give you an experience to remember, not just say hi and goodbye again.” 

“Well, I appreciate that,” you replied, your voice still full of nerves. “I’ve been to these things before and the driver never really gave me the time of day, I wondered why I bothered.” 

He didn’t pay the same attention to every fan, but there was something about you that had him. Under the table, his leg was bouncing as he tried to stay calm, relieved that you couldn’t see how nervy Max was. 

As Max continued to talk, you were disturbed by the feeling of staff standing closer towards you. You knew that you had exceeded your time, but Max still kept talking, not paying any attention to the warnings that the staff were sending him that he needed to cut things off. 

Finally, as one of the senior staff members whispered into his ear, Max nodded. He turned the photo around and wrote on the back of it, handing it back to you once he was done. “Don’t look at this until you’re somewhere safe,” he carefully instructed. 

“I can do that,” you smiled, placing the photo into the pocket. “Should I be worried about what it is that you’ve just done?” 

“Not at all, I hope you’ll love it in fact,” Max chimed, waving goodbye to you as you walked away from the table. 

You darted through the crowd of fans as you headed back outside, finding a spot where you could sit alone. You pulled the photo out of your pocket, turning it around to see what Max had written, unable to hide the smile on your face as you did so. 

It was lovely to meet you, my fans are special, but you just had such a spark. I’ve attached my number, if you want to meet again, just the two of us, just give me a call. Max x 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓����𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[bi-writes]

Simon would never argue with MOB, that’s a given. And defending her honor??? Maybe it’s leaked that Mrs. Riley is in fact a Mail Order Bride for who knows where doing who knows what and let’s just say someone spreads that rumor around base and it gets back to one Lieutenant👀👀

mail-order bride

cw: graphic depictions of violence, a little smidge of dark!simon, misogynistic language (18+)

"here to see your husband, mrs. riley?"

you smile, shuffling in the chair. the woman who greets you is always here with a happy disposition, even when she's drowning in paperwork and the telephone on her desk won't stop ringing. she looks a little stressed today, but she gives you a smile anyways.

"yeah," you smooth your hands down your jeans, looking around. "told me his day would be slow, so i thought i'd bring him--"

you're interrupted by the sound of intense laughter and loud voices. the front doors open, banging against the wall practically, and a group of soldiers move past you. you fiddle with your purse, smoothing your thumb over the leather, but when you hear the subtle laughter and whispers still around you, you look up.

you make eye contact with several privates. they're whispering in each other's ears, but once they notice you're staring, they laugh a little more and make continue into the building. some of them look over their shoulder at you, and you look down to see if something is wrong with your outfit. when you check to make sure no tags are sticking out and that you haven't worn two different shoes, you just try to shrug it off, tucking your hair behind your ears and tapping your foot anxiously against the linoleum floor.

"okay, he's ready to see you. you know where it is by now, right?"

you blink, nodding, and then you swing your purse over your shoulder to walk over.

there's a game playing in the rec room. they've got banners up for their teams hung on the walls and streamers in different colors, and there's lots of men cheering and whooping in the room. just as you pass by the door, you squeak as you bump right into two laughing men, stumbling a little as they try to right themselves.

"fuck, sorry--" one of them chuckles. you frown a little but try to smile, moving to shimmy past them.

"is that her?"

"who?"

"didn't ya hear? lieutenant bought her off some sort of fucked-up catalog. heard she's real expensive."

you whip around, your lip trembling, and your shoes squeak against the floor as you stare right at them. one of them is smiling from ear-to-ear, and the other is laughing to himself.

"where did you hear that?" you ask.

"everybody knows, love," he winks. "so how much is it for a night? maybe we can do a group rate."

"e-excuse me?" you whisper, and he leans his arm against the wall, trapping you there.

"we heard all about the...program. thought maybe if we asked real nice, maybe we'd even get a discount."

"i don't know what you're talking about," you spit at him. "whatever you think this is, you're wrong. now get out of my way--"

"how much? how much did he fucking pay?"

"oh, mate--mate, you have to stop--" his friend tries to warn him, smacking him on the shoulder, but he glares down at you still, in your face, accusatory.

his face goes from smug to absolutely terrified when he's grabbed from behind. the hand that cages you against the wall is gripped by a gloved hand, twisted at an unnatural angle, and you flinch a little at the sound of his wail when his arm follows it's motion and a sickening pop echoes in the hallway.

his screams are suddenly drowned out by the cheering from the football game. someone scored maybe, but the man underneath simon screams, too, terrified as your husband mounts him like a fucking horse and slams his face against the floor.

it's like watching an artist. he paints his surroundings in flecks of red, the occasional clatter of a tooth falling at their feet, and you tilt your head to the side as you watch simon fist that man's hair and makes him eat whatever that floor is made of. he's in agony--that much is clear, from the way he shakes to the terrified look in his eyes, the pleading he sends your way as he asks for mercy.

when simon lets him go, he collapses onto the ground in a fit of bloody coughs and groans. his arm hangs from his shoulder limply (surely it's been pulled out of its socket), and his face is unrecognizable. you think his eyes were blue, but you can't tell anymore. they're red now, pupils blown wide, and he keeps moaning between broken teeth, "didn't mean it...i'm sorry...i'm sorry..."

simon kneels, leaning over him, and he grips the front of his uniform and pulls him up to sit, making him cry out from the pain. he tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, and he drops his voice low.

"dunno where ya heard all tha' shit," simon mutters. "ain't true."

"n-no, sir--"

"i didn't say you could fuckin' talk," simon continues. "and if ya do again, i'll make sure ya can't." when he says nothing, simon tsks. "maybe ya wish ya could even afford my wife, mate. but ya can't." he tugs him a little closer. "'m gonna make ya an example. 'm not done with you. you are going to eat a fuckin' bullet from me, mate, but it won't be today. it'll be someday." simon presses his masked mouth to his ear. "but if i hear anyone else repeat wot you said 'ere today, i'll do it sooner. and you should know better than t'run...because i will find ya. wherever ya go." simon jostles him, and you swallow as he cries, trying to pull away, "now say thank you t'my wife. say thank you, because if she wasn't 'ere, i'd put my fuckin' boot in yer mouth--say it!"

"thank you! thank you!"

you simply blink as simon lets him go finally, standing, and as he walks past you, he grabs your hand roughly in his and starts to walk. you look over your shoulder as he tugs you along, and when you look back, you intertwine your fingers with his.

when the door closes behind him, simon slumps in his chair. he grips his mask from the back of the neck and pulls it off, burying his face in his hands. you set your bag down and kneel in front of him, putting your hands over his.

"simon--"

"wot the fuck is wrong with me?"

"simon--"

"i-in...i...i fuckin' lost it--"

you pull his hands off his face gently, cupping his cheeks. the eye-black smears a little around his eyes. there are no tears, but his eyes are watery as he stares into yours. his hands are shaking, and he palms his thighs to keep them steady.

"it's okay, simon," you whisper.

"i didn't want you to see me tha' way," he shakes his head. "violent. aggressive. fuck, i must've terrified you--"

"i'm not scared," you say softly. you smooth your thumbs under his eyes. "no one...no one's ever done anything like that for me before." you meet his eyes, and he leans a little more into your hands, bending low to get closer to you. "maybe he deserved it."

"i would...i would never--"

"shhh," you quiet him gently, shaking your head. "i know. i'm not scared of you."

you lean up, putting your hands on his knees and getting up just enough to get into his lap. you close your eyes as you kiss him softly, hugging him close, soothing him with a soft hand on the back of his head.

"you didn't do anything wrong, simon..."

"it's okay, baby..."

"i love you."

you know it isn't true. you're lying, somewhat, but it doesn't feel like a lie because it feels good. sick of being smaller, sick of being stepped on, sick of letting other people not be held accountable for the things that they do.

just this once maybe, you can let someone bleed. for misunderstanding you. for judging you. for not realizing there is a thing attached to you that bites and tears apart.

the world is a terrible place. and maybe you are simply just owed.