#and kissing‚ even though you've known him much longer

[cuteandhughesy]

Shatter Me With Your Touch | Anthony Stolarz

summary: your older brother mitch marner has only ever asked for one thing: never, under any circumstances, hook up with one of his teammates. and you're going strong....right until anthony stolarz shows up. (the 3 times you and anthony push the limits of your secret relationship, and the 1 time it bites you in the ass).

[word count] 4.7k

warnings: NSFW! slight age gap | marner!reader | secret relationship | brothers teammate | drinking | swearing | kissing | sexual acts | smut | p in v intercourse | getting caught | mature themes and dialogue | view at your own discretion

a/n: this is purely stemmed of this blurb—and you will be seeing the same scene in this story. I just knew I had to further explore this story line and share this cute and love story! plus there���s never enough stoly!

see my other brothers teammate 3 + 1 series here

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one

your brother mitch marner has always been protective. like the kind of stereotypical protective that makes you want to rip your hair right out of your scalp, and gauge your eyes out anytime you're at the family dinner table and he starts asking your boyfriend a million questions—questions that are nothing but patronizing. honestly, protective doesn't do it justice, unreasonably overprotective is a much better fit.

you're his younger sister, two years younger than him to be exact, and because of that age gap, mitch has always felt the need to look out for you and your feelings—especially when it comes to dating.

and it's not for no reason, because you? you've always been the kind of person who would give the shirt off your back if someone else was cold, and the kind of girl who would think bare minimum behaviour was god sent. you are almost too kind and forgiving. maybe even a little naive.

from a young age, mitch saw the way people took advantage of you and your kindness, and felt that it was his responsibility to keep you safe and out of harms way. when you started highschool—and begun dating and going out—mitch's protectiveness only got worse. no boy was good enough, even when they were. your brother would drive boys away with menacing looks, and what he called 'stern talkings'—which are also known as straight up threats.

high on changing hormones and left feeling trapped, it didn't take long into your junior year of highschool for you to break. you sat both your brothers down—because yes, they were both ridiculously protective—and begged for them to chill the fuck out. you yelled and cried and practically shook their shoulders until they agreed to relax.

christopher was never really the problem, so he backed off instantly. mitch though? he took a little bit of extra convincing. after you got to your knees and pleaded, he had sighed lowly, meeting your eyes before reluctantly nodding. but before you got too excited, mitch had said—"under one circumstance."

and that circumstance? you will never, under any circumstance, date his friends, and you certainly will never date his teammates. obviously, with this new found feeling of freedom and independence that came with mitch’s compliance, told your brother that he'd never have to worry about that.

and for years, everything was going according to plan. your and mitch's relationship grew into a friendship now that he felt he no longer needed to constantly hover over you, and you kept your dating pool out of mitch's circle of friends. it wasn't difficult considering most of mitch's friends where your friends, and you didn't see them in that way. and then when mitch started getting more serious about hockey, he barley went out or had his teammates over at the house—so you never had the chance to met them, never mind get to know them.

you can remember steph, all bleach blonde hair and bubbly grin, would beg for you to join her at the games. small hands pulling and tugging at your arm like an over excited kid in a toy store. but you weren't really interested at that point in your life. you were still a few years younger than them and with your last year of high school being so busy, frankly, you didn't the have time to sit at a cold arena for three hours.

"maybe you'll find a guy," steph used to tease, winking at you discreetly in the dim light of the family living room.

you always responded the same way, "im not into hockey players."

when mitch made it to the nhl, that's when you started going to games more often. your schedule was less hectic and more open, and you always jumped at the chance to spend time away from dorm rooms and frat guys. plus, you got to drink beers that mitch was paying for, and chat with steph about school and boys without the prying ears of your brothers or your parents.

as the years passed, and you and mitch got older, his dating rule or protectiveness over you never wavered. sure, he wasn't as intense as he once was—keeping his cool like you asked him too—but mitch never truly changed. he just became better at hiding it. and now with his life in the spotlight, your brother truly just wanted to keep you safe. from the media of course, but especially from the new group of sleazy guys that are coming in and out of toronto.

much to his relief, you never planned on rebuking mitch's dating rule. you had a job, and aspirations and went out with your own friends and found guys on your own accord. hockey players were long gone in your mind.

but then, anthony stolarz waltzed into toronto with a summer tan and a perfect smile and completely turned your world inside out. anthony is older than you, 6 years older than you to be precise—he's mature, but doesn't take himself too seriously. he's outgoing and sweet and fucking huge. seriously, he could crush your head with his bicep. anthony had introduced himself to you with a playful and intriguing gleam, and it instantly had you feeling…things.

anytime after that, if you were in anthony's presence, you automatically became flustered. it doesn't help that he always chose to sit next to you, and talk lowly to you, and smile at you from across the room. anthony's had all those new faces and teammates to spend time with, and yet he only seemed interested in spending time with you.

and steph? she knew you like him. your sister-in-law is your number one supporter but also your biggest enemy, you swear. anytime mitch or someone else in a room would mention anthony's name, or she would spot you and the net-minder within five feet of one other, steph was wiggling her brows at you and grinning like the devil.

and it's fine, you thought. it's just a stupid crush on a new, older man. you'd get over it. it's not reciprocated. that flurry of feelings you grew for anthony would soon blow over and you won't have to walk on eggshells around mitch anymore—too afraid that if you breathed the wrong way, your brother would find out about your embarrassing crush.

expect it was totally reciprocated, and after too many glasses of wine and access to a private bathroom at some fancy toronto bar after an important win, you and anthony snuck off—giggling like tipsy kids in between kisses and breathless moans as anthony's length slide through your gummy, arousal coated walls.

just when you thought it would be a one time thing—a one night stand that helped get your feelings for anthony out of your system—it happened again in a supply closet during a marner foundation event. and then again in anthony's car after you two went to dinner as 'just friends'. and then again in your apartment, and then his and before you realize it, you are having sex every other night.

and kissing and laughing and ordering in your favourite take out and watching movies together.

in the blink of an eye, anthony stolarz is your secret, older boyfriend.

in the first few months, you're both really good at keeping your relationship under wraps. you set struck rules for yourselves—like standing at separate ends of rooms, no longing stares in each others direction, no dates in public, and certainly no sneaky displays of affection in places where someone could see.

but as you fall more and more in love, it's harder to hold back, resulting in more than risky situations that might as well have you begging to get caught.

—

the chatter flows around you, warm and breezy, the contagious laughter of william nylander and rumbling voice of john tavares familiar sounds where they cut through the chimes of utensils on plates.

your dinner sits in front of you, mostly untouched, but not for a lack of hunger. in fact—you're starving, maybe just not for food. because with anthony beside you, looking extra large and delicious in comparison to the dining room chair he's sitting on—a dining room chair that isn't that small...he's just that big—it’s hard to focus on anything but him.

casually, you stab some of the mini roasted potato's with your fork, keeping your eyes trained on aryne tavares and jake mccabe’s wife on the other side of the table—the latter of the two women talking about some new palates class she's started.

everyone is either listening to her, and if not her, a different conversation that’s happening along the stretch of the tavares’ dining room table. without looking away from the girls, your free hand leaves your own lap, and ever so gentley—as if not to startle him— it finds anthony's knee.

you scratch along the taut muscles underneath his jeans soothingly. teasingly. each pass of your fingers climbing higher up his leg.

and anthony knows what you're doing. he's all too familiar with it. he fights off a smirk and the urge to look over at you, clearing his throat quietly before taking a large gulp of water. you’ve got him all hot and bothered and he’s definitely getting hard in his pants.

you catch the movement out of the corner of your eye and a grin grows across your face. flattening your hand on the top of his thigh, you let your pinky finger brush over his bulge like the little shit you are.

that makes anthony choke on his gulp of water, which gathers the attention of a few of the guys and their significant others around you.

quickly, before you get caught feeling up the newest leaf goal tender under the table, you bring your hand back to your lap—playful smirk never wavering.

"you good stoly?" max domi asks curiously, eyes squinted in a mixture of concern and humour. anthony can only hum while wiping the dribble of water from his chin with the back of his hand.

casually, you rest your chin on your palm—the same palm that was just on anthony's leg. your eyes flicker with something teasing, "yeah, everything okay?"

anthony lets out a short laugh, shooting you a look—a look that others may just think is friendly, but you recognize it as a warning. a wordless demand to behave. it only sends your stomach into a twirling thrill.

"yeah, just swallowed down the wrong hole."

but even still, anthony can't resist teasing you back once all eyes are once again distracted, ring finger slipping under your skirt and passing over your lacy underwear until you're biting down on your knuckles to ensure no sighs slip out.

steph shoots you a look, which makes anthony pull away—sporting a smug grin on his face as he chews the piece of asparagus he pushes past his upturned lips.

two

it's not very often you get tipsy at leaf games. usually you're too busy hiding your face behind your hands in a stressful manner, or entertaining the gangle of children running around the suite. but today, for some reason—and that reason being $1 beer night—you're not just tipsy, you're borderline hammered.

it takes steph a whole 10 minutes to get you out of the suite and down to the tunnel—coaxing you out of there with reassuring words and an amused glint in her eye. because yeah, drunk people are annoying—especially when the other party is sober—but you're so funny and floppy right now that it makes up for the amount of alcohol you consumed.

and when steph manages to finally get you down to the tunnel, and you lean you against the wall, and you stay there...she considers it a small victory. but that all changes when anthony makes his way out of the locker room, looking divine in his dark suit and hair damp from a shower—smile wide and high off a win.

you sigh dreamily, head rolling back against the concrete wall as you watch his movements. anthony hasn't spotted you yet—which is probably a good thing for your sake, because the sight of his eyes right now would send you into cardiac arrest. but then a frown is pulling at your lips. because pontus holmberg pulls his girl into his arms and kisses her, and you just want to act normal and be able to go up to your boyfriend. kiss him silly in front of everyone.

it wasn't uncommon for you to wait in the tunnels with steph after games, especially when you've driven to the rink together. which is the case nine times out of ten. typically after a win, steph would want to see mitch before heading home, especially because mitch likes to go out for dinner after good games.

so everytime you'd be waiting in the tunnels, you'd have to physically restrain yourself from runnning towards anthony. he will always smile at you when your eyes catch—definitely a little too sexy of a smile for trying to be discrete. but that was always it. besides some eye playful eye tag, neither of you ever pushed those boundaries.

not when your brother could walk out at any moment and catch you.

but once again, you're well passed tipsy, and you just want to love up on your man like all the other wags get to do. so before you can even think logically about your actions, your feet are moving, and moving in anthony's direction, heels clicking on the floor as you make your way through the lingering crowd.

and steph doesn't try and stop you. she just covers her eyes with an exhausted hand, blowing a quiet raspberry to herself as she represses a laugh. you told her about your secret relationship with the newest leaf goaltender 4 hours after that team dinner. because like usual, your sister in law read you like a book and had in incline before you even said anything.

anthony's in a casual conversation with morgan, completely unaware of the way your striding towards him—not until you're right in front of him and the defence man.

you wrap your hand around anthony's bicep, blinking up at him with glassy eyes just as you stumble on your own feet. if it wasn't for your hold on your boyfriends arm, you'd be halfway to the floor by now.

"hi," you beam unashamedly, glossy lips tempting him in ways you'll never understand.

anthony swallows, his bright eyes squinting down at you with amusement. he shoots a tentative glance at morgan, who is just stifling laughter like he knows—which, god damn it tessa, because obviously you had to tell her too and clearly she’s told her husband. "hi," anthony parrots after a beat.

"missed you," you slur, pushing up onto the toes of your heeled boots and puckering your lips expectantly, "can I have a kiss?" you hum, body swaying.

anthony laughs shortly, rubbing the back of his neck while he subtly scanning the room—checking to see if anyone is watching. more specifically, anybody who definitely shouldn't be watching. also known as mitch marner, who is one of the many people who still don't know about your relationship.

and for now, you'd like to keep it that way. not that drunk you cares though.

morgan has slipped away from you both now, and there's only a few lingering bodies left in the tunnel. anthony spots steph, now eyeing you sneakily. which means your brother is still here. in the locker room, yeah, but still here.

"we really shouldn't." anthony mumbles, eyes finding your glossy ones again. despite his words, anthony lets his hand wrap around your waist, keeping you against his chest to steady the drunk sway you have going on. slowly, he licks along his bottom lip, words no louder than a whisper, "your brother could catch us."

"so?" you huff, pushing even further up his body. clearly, you don’t give a damn. "just a quick kiss." you say, hands flat against his chest, still searching for a smooch. you're too happy on beer and in love to think about your brothers stupid rule right now. you couldn't care less about anything besides your gigantic, sexy boyfriend—who is grinning down at you like you're the best thing that's ever happened to him.

and you are. more than the nhl. more than the stanley cup. more than breathing.

so quickly, anthony leans down, free hand enclosing on the side of your face as he tilts your head up, and connects your lips together. he's just a man after all, and with a pretty girl like you begging and blinking up at him, who's he to say no?

the kiss doesn't last nearly as long as you need it to, and you whine pathetically when anthony pulls away from your mouth. you're not caught, thankfully, and that only makes you want to kiss him over and over again.

"i'll see you later, kay?" anthony whispers softly, talking his hand off your hips once you drop back down to your heels.

you nod, taking your bottom lip between your teeth, "love you." you sing song dreamily.

he smirks, "love you too."

three

to say you and anthony became comfortable in the secrecy of your relationship was an understatement. you were really pushing your limits now, making out in the guest bathroom of auston's matthew's condo like a pair of porn stars—slow, syrupy and messy.

once you told steph and tessa about anthony, it wasn't soon after that the rest of the wags found out—all of them sworn to the upmost secrecy—and in turn, a lot of their men found out as well. which wasn't your most ideal situation, but after threatening to cut their balls off, they seemed to be able to keep their lips zipped.

that knowledge amongst the majority of the leafs roster definitely contributes to the more relaxed approach you and anthony find yourselves in, in regards to your relationship. you tell yourself that's the reason you decided to sneak off to the bathroom today—even though you would've ended up here regardless. anthony is looking way to sexy today to just ignore.

and you? you've been driving him insane all evening with your pretty skirt and top and the perfume clinging to your soft skin—perfume that smells like sex. anthony can't help but trail his lips down your taut neck, inhaling the smell like it's his own personal drug.

the sound of your breathless gasps and mewls quickly has anthony returning his mouth back to yours though. because you're truly irresistible to him. always have been. as soon as your lips are back in their familiar dance, everything else fades away. the distant chatter and rapid heart beats between you—none of that exists anymore.

anthony's large hand slides up the side of your bare thigh, lifting your skirt higher and higher up your leg, while his tongue prods the plump skin of your bottom lip. you allow him the entrance he's seeking instantly, which makes anthony smirk into the kiss.

the counter top is cool under your skin where you sit on top, making your arch away and further into anthony's hold. but he doesn't mind one bit—grabbing at your skin and pulling you even closer, your barley covered core rubbing against his and creating delicious friction.

it's erotic and dangerous and you really should've double checked that the door was locked. because the feeling of dread and anxiety that surges through your boood stream when that bathroom door is thrown open is other worldy.

anthony pulls off of your mouth just as you let out a breathless gasp, both of your heads turning towards the entry way.

"holy fuck—sorry." auston matthews familiar voice has turned high pitched, which can only be a result of embarrassment and surprise as he registers the scene in front of him. and just as quick as he opened the door, the captain is slamming it closed.

silence envelopes the bathroom once again—but you can't hear anything over the blood pumping in your ears. you're both frozen in place—you, on the bathroom counter, legs still spread and lips glistening with a mixture of your and anthony's saliva. and anthony, 5 steps away from you, shirt wrinkled, hair tousled and chest heaving.

once your brain catches up to what the fuck just happened, your quickly slipping off the counter. you stumble briefly, but that doesn't slow you down as you practically run after auston matthews.

you could try and deny it, but your actions speak for themselves. and what auston just saw? there's nothing in the world that you could say that would make it innocent. so that only leaves you with one other option: begging.

thankfully, auston didn't get far, and you catch him easily, fingers enclosing around his thick wrist to halt him. he spins around to face you, dark eyes still wide with disbelief and...maybe a little bit of amusement? it's hard to tell when you're so panicked.

"auston," you start, gaze all but frantic, "please please please, don't say anything about what you just saw to anyone. especially mitch. he doesn't know yet, and if this is how he finds out—"

"hey," auston interrupts with a short laugh. "calm down, you're stressing me out."

you blink what feels like a hundred times and you drop his arm. auston's gaze flickers over your shoulder briefly, eyes glimmering with something unknown. curious, you find the subject of his attention.

anthony is behind you, lips slightly parted as his gaze narrows in on the goal scorer. it's then you understand that look in auston's eyes—it's understanding. it's a promise to anthony's wordless plea.

"don't worry kid," auston says once you turn back towards him, "your secret is safe with me."

+one

the leafs have a rare off day today—only two days before their two week long road trip over on the west coast—which means that anthony had no other plans but to be with you. more specifically, in bed, taking turns with either licking into your pussy until you're making a mess on his tongue, or pounding into you until the headboard is smacking against the wall.

it's very rare that the two of you get to have alone time, never mind getting to have proper sex. so when this kind of opportunity arises, both of you are taking it without a second thought.

you can't complain really. not when your legs are over your boyfriends thick shoulders, his cock perfectly massaging your gummy walls as he thrusts into you. the sounds between you are lewd—slapping and squealing and desperate, needy pants and grunts.

you've gone dumb on anthony's cock as he splits you in two, your jaw slack and eyes glazed as you peer up at him. and anthony fucking loves it. his hand grips your jaw firmly, keeping your eyes trained on him. the pad of his thumb pulls down your bottom lip, slowly, as a smirk grows on his face.

"gunna miss you when i'm gone baby," he pants, movements never faltering, "i'm gunna miss your pretty pussy—fuck."

the only responses you can manage is another drawn out moan and your fingers gripping his bulging biceps even tighter.

—

mitch marner pushes the front door of your place open with his hip, too busy balancing your moms homemade casserole in his hands to open the door properly. it’s your favourite home cooked meal, ready to go in a glass dish, that bonnie marner insisted mitch drop off at yours before making his way home.

his car keys are held tightly between his lips, giving him limited opportunity to make a coherent sentence, but he calls out a muffled greeting to you regardless.

no response.

mitch's brows furrow as he puts the food dish on your kitchen island. he drops his phone and keys beside the dish before spinning on his heels, peering into the living room where you're normally hiding—tucked under some fluffy blanket with a book in your lap.

the books there, open and face down on the coffee table—blanket at the foot of the pink chair—but you're nowhere in sight. a rush of panic washes over your brother. mitch had texted you 10 minutes ago, just as he was leaving your parents, to tell you he'd be stopping by with a mountain of food, but he didn't get a response then.

and then once he got here, your front door wasn't even locked. which wouldn't of been that crazy if you knew mitch was on his way over, but your lack of response has mitch second guessing your knowledge of his arrival.

"y/n?" he calls your name again, spinning around for good measure to make sure he didn't miss you the first time.

it only then does he spot a pair of shoes next to your usual slip ons—shoes that are definitely way to big for you and definitely belong to a man. logic goes out the window in that moment because mitch hums curiously, walking down the hall towards your closed bedroom door.

mitch doesn't even hesitate before turning the handle, "y/n? who's here?—ah, what the fuck?!" your brothers words die on his tongue at the sight of you and his goaltender in bed...together...doing things that make mitch want to bleach his eyes out.

it's bad enough to walk in on a family member having sex, but when the guy pounding said family member just last night was laughing and chatting like nothing was happening, makes mitch fucking shiver. oh god, he literally congratulated anthony on his win last night. little did mitch know the real prize for anthony stolarz was getting to fuck mitch marner’s little sister.

"oh my god!" you shout, wrapping the floral bedsheet around your very naked torso. "get out!"

and mitch doesn't need to be told twice. the bedroom door slams shut—so loudly and with so much force that the pictures hanging on your wall shake. regardless of the door now being shut, mitch covers his eyes with his hand while he physically moans and cringes for extra measure.

"oh my god," his voice sounds from the hallway, all dramatic and whiny. "my eyes."

you and anthony share a look—a look that's a mixture of terror and concern. because not only does mitch now know that you’re together in this capacity, but he's also just seen his baby sister having sex. you jump out of bed, tangled in your bedding, and stomp towards the door.

you don't open it, not yet, but you smack the wood wildly. "mitchell, what are you doing here!"

"I was trying to drop off some of mom's casserole—I texted you! I can't believe what I just saw." the latter party of his scentence trails off, tone low like mitch is saying it to himself. mitch swallows dramatically, rubbing at his face. "I'm gunna puke."

you laugh in disbelief. "you're gunna puke? i'm going to die."

the springs of your mattress creak behind you as anthony gets out of bed. slipping on his boxers, he makes his way towards you—all broad and warm as anthony comes up to stand behind your bare, glistening back. he reaches for you, squeezing your bicep comfortingly.

guilt prickles at your skin, and you take your bottom lip between your teeth as a nervous habit—gnawing your plump skin until it feels sore. anthony kisses your head subconsciously, a gesture that calms you down just enough to enable you to squeak out an apology. "i'm sorry, mitchy."

emotion clogs your throat and it makes your brother sigh, hand falling from his scruff and hitting his leg with a soft thud. "don't cry, y/n."

ever so slowly, the door squeaks open—not fully though, mindful of the sheet covering you—and your head pokes out. your eyes are glassy and your lip wobbles and the protective older brother side of him wants nothing more than to fix this.

"are you mad at us?" you sniffle.

us.

through the slim space between the door and the frame, mitch has a harsh reminder that anthony stolarz is with you—his t-shirt strew across the bench at the end of your bed, his cologne clinging to the sheet around you. hell, mitch can see anthony’s fucking gigantic hand holding the back of your neck softly.

he's comforting you.

mitch sighs reluctantly. because yes, he's not thrilled with this entire situation, but clearly, anthony is a good guy—your brother has a front row seat to that—anthony is a man who clearly cares for you. "i'm more mad about you not knowing how to lock doors than anything else."

you breath hitches, a glimmer of something that feels like hope tickling your heart, "really?"

a slow nod, "yes." mitch's eyes fall over your body, or rather, your sheet, and he shivers again, turning away to give you privacy and himself some fucking peace of mind. "now just...get dressed and we can talk about it."

[differenteagletragedy]

To me, Simon has the dumbest hair 90% of the time because he just buzzes it himself (I cannot believe that man pays money to one, do something he could theoretically do himself, and two, spend time with a stranger). The other 10% it's good -- when he first cuts it, an eighth of an inch of pale fuzz left behind, and when it just starts growing out, that's fine. But a lot of the time, especially when he's at home, he just lets it go.

And you, his next door neighbor, will never not give him shit about it.

"You look so goofy," you tell him when you see him in the hallway, one arm holding your groceries and the other fiddling with your keys. "Just cut it, Jesus Christ."

He rolls his eyes or tells you to fuck off, because you've known each other long enough for that kind of thing. He's lived in the building for years, never having seen a reason to leave, and you've been there for a few yourself. You're friends in the way that you may not call or text or schedule time to hang out, but you can scarcely think of anyone you see more often.

"Seriously," you go on, unlocking your door and speaking louder so he can hear you when you go inside. "It's just like two inches sticking straight off your head, why are you walking around like that?"

"Doesn't bother me," Simon answers, moving to lean against your doorframe and watch you as you put up your things. "Seems to bother you an awful lot though."

Your back is to him while you move around your kitchen, but you can tell he's smirking, and you scoff.

"Yeah, it bothers me. You get a face like that and you go and screw it up with the dumbest excuse for a haircut I've ever seen."

It's not the first time you've flirted with him, or even the most direct time, but it still gives him pause. He doesn't wear his mask when he's not working, most of the time anyway, because he thinks it draws too much attention and he'd prefer to just slip into the shadows wherever he goes. But you seeing him, and you letting him know that you like what you see, it does something to him, every time.

"You cut it then," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're the one so torn up about it, you fix it."

You snort, finally turning back to him, saying, "I'm not a barber, stupid."

"No, you sure seem like a coward though."

A few minutes later, you're both in Simon's bathroom. He's got his shirt off, straddling the toilet so you can reach his head, and you're behind him with clippers in your hand, looking down at him. You've never seen this much of him, never even seen the place where his tattoos stop on his arm, and it's a lot to take in.

You want to take your time, commit every scar, every freckle to memory, but he turns his head, smirking again.

"Told you you were a coward."

Without a word, you turn on the clippers and get to work.

It's not hard, it's just a buzzcut. The hard part is in touching his ears, gently pushing the lobes down to trim around them. It's in sneaking glances over his shoulder to watch his chest as it rises and falls while you work. In trying not to notice the tiniest little hitch in his breath when you lean in closer and rest your hand on his back while you get the hairs on the back of his neck.

The worst part though, is the beauty mark that sits perfectly in the place where his neck meets his shoulder. Specifically, the worst part is the strong, almost uncontrollable urge to bite it.

When you're done, you turn off the clippers and set them on his bathroom counter, then dust off his shoulders for him. Just before he stands, you can't deny yourself any longer -- you won't be able to reach it when he's not sitting so perfectly like this -- and give a quick, soft kiss to the mark.

During all the time you've known Simon, he's barely responded to your flirting. To you, he doesn't seem interested, and to him, you don't seem serious. But a kiss, faint as it may have been, is different, and before you can register it, he's on his feet, turned and standing over you.

"Hair looks better," you say softly.

He grunts in response, and before you know it, his mouth is covering yours, hot and insistent. It's a heady feeling, having him so close, and before you can get used to it, his hands are on you, first on your waist, then on your hips, then on the backs of your thighs as he lifts you up and holds you against him.

He maneuvers you both out of the bathroom and towards his bedroom, where he unceremoniously tosses you on his bed. You look up at him, letting your eyes trail freely over his body now, going down when you see him place his hands on his belt.

"Not so mouthy now, are you?"

[ervotica]

27. kisses for cover at a party with poly!rosekiller. reader goes to evan to get a guy off you, he makes out with you, barty sees and is like "yay i wanna join" and then just devours you

ahhh i love them! poly!rosekiller x fem!reader, college!au ✩ 900 words

You slip beneath the handsome guy at the pub with practiced ease, dipping under his outstretched arm in an attempt to shake your unwelcome admirer of the evening.

To his credit, he doesn't flinch but rather curls his arm round the nape of your neck, tucking you into his shoulder in one fluid movement until you're mostly obscured. He dips his head low enough to murmur in your ear; his voice is like smooth, dark honey.

"Who you hiding from, lovely?"

"This bloke's been following me round all night," you admit, voice high and breathy. "He's still looking, I think. Will you- will you pretend to know me until he goes away?"

He grins and the sight almost blinds you; crinkled eyes and a soft smattering of freckles across his high cheekbones. Miles and miles of brown skin and a curly blonde mop that sits high on his head.

He really is lovely.

And if you'd met him under different circumstances, you'd be nervous for an entirely different reason.

"Consider it done, okay? No need to fret."

He tips his head lower until his nose brushes yours. You hold your breath in anticipation.

"Let's give the prick a show, yeah?"

Your insides flush white-hot as you wait for his lips to make contact. It's a languid sort of kiss, building in intensity as your mystery man flattens his tongue against your bottom lip. He palms at your neck, angling your face upward until you have no choice but to part your lips and let him lick into your mouth, soft and slow and deep.

You push up on your toes - encouraging him closer - and you feel the corners of his mouth tip up even as he indulges your wordless request.

The kiss ebbs and he pulls back. You bite your lip and try to pretend that he didn't just give you the best kiss of your life.

"I'm sorry," you say, cadence twinged with embarrassment. "I don't even know your name."

He smooths the pad of his thumb over your pencil lined eye and smiles, unperturbed. His expression is softer this time, something akin to fondness lingering in his eyes.

"Evan," he murmurs. "And you?"

"Y/N."

A weight settles at your back and you go rigid, pushing back into Evan's space with a startled gasp.

"It's okay, lovely girl," he placates with ease, as though he's known you for much longer than a few minutes. "This is Barty."

This boy is taller – sharper round the edges than Evan, but no less beautiful. His face is shrouded by thick, dark hair that contrasts so heavily with his pale skin it almost looks unnatural.

"Hi, pretty," he coos. "Oh, she is gorgeous, Ev. The gorgeous ones always love you."

"Hi," you almost whisper. You're suddenly even shyer under Barty's fervent gaze, red-hot at his rapt attention.

He folds at the waist and twirls one of your loose curls between his fingers. From here you can smell his breath, mint and vodka and something sweeter that lingers on the tip of his tongue.

He steps closer, right into your space until you're sandwiched snugly between the two of them.

"Do I get a kiss?" he asks, borderline pleading. Intense, for a man you've just met.

Your throat works around a thick swallow and you look down at your feet, suddenly overwhelmingly shy.

"Um..."

"Don't be jealous, babe," Evan placates, a lithe hand massaging teeny circles into your shoulder.

"I find a pretty little thing snogging my boyfriend and I'm supposed to not be jealous?"

You balk. Your eyes gloss over, and wet and wide and painfully apologetic.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't know. I'm really sorry."

"Shh." Evan loops an arm round your waist and tugs you neatly into his side. "He's teasing. He just wants a kiss, too, if you're willing to give it."

You can't deny that Barty is beautiful – all long, milky limbs and dark features. You nod tentatively.

"Okay."

Evan plants his chin in the juncture of your neck as Barty leans in, long fingers roaming the expanse of your waist with a fervour you've never felt before. Your stomach flips.

Barty's kiss is far more fervid. All tongues and clashing teeth as he angles his head to get more of your mouth on his– as though he wants to eat you whole.

You whine into his mouth when his hand settles on the dip of your spine and presses down, forcing you to arch up into him. There's not a part of you that isn't being touched in some way.

Especially not when Evan trails his lips along your pulse point and begins diligently sucking a bruise under your jaw.

Barty gets you by the nape of your neck and probes his tongue further into your mouth. He's persistent, flicking his tongue behind your front teeth until you gasp and open your mouth wider to grant him more access.

"There's a good girl," Evan says, voice rumbling against your back.

The trail of spit that stretches and bows between the two of you when Barty pulls back to get a good look at you has you feeling faint.

"Can we keep her, Ev?" Barty nuzzles his nose against the soft swell of your cheek.

"What do you say, angel? Can we keep you?"

You're too dazed to answer with more than a nod, curling your own arms around Barty's waist to keep him pressed against you.

[dmitriene]

cw: smut at the end, age gap if you squint, di leon appearance.

mechanic leon scott kennedy, a man well known in the area for his wretched past, as well as the fact that he chose a more comfortable and tranquil lifestyle over becoming an agent many had anticipated him to be, preffering to spend the majority of his time undercarriage, tinkering with broken, unfortunate pieces of iron, cars, motorcycles, and trucks, getting covered in layers of machine oil and grease.

years of military service did him good, even though he is no longer so young, brown hair has darkened and grown out in messy layers, his round, ruddy face has become sharper than a knife, sporting a rough, silvering stubble that gives him a certain charm, he still maintains excellent physical condition and good control over his body, shoulders are broad, tapering down to large, beefy biceps, body is chiseled, displaying every muscle to ogle over, the ribbed tank tops he tipically wears doing well at properly highlighting all contours of his body, fair skin reflecting the intense sun, pale painting of scars that criscross over the arms catch the sunlight.

the thing is, leon is quite aware of his looks and how women react to him, more often than not, without concealing his own qenuine interests beneath a facade of coy smiles and sidelong, appreciative gazes, he's just a man, after all, so he enjoys his modest popularity without compunction, and when you pull up to his workshop with a smoking hood and eyes full of desperate panic, he greets you with a cautious smile and a soft reassurance on his lips, stretched into a smile that balances on a sharp fanged grin, which diverts your attention from the squint of his blue, all consuming eyes, not letting you see the almost perverted excitement there.

your eyes are rounded and nearly shiny like polished glass as tears well up in them, this is a brand new car, and it's unexpected and sudden breakdown cannot but frighten, because the price was big, and the repair itself can end up costing a pretty penny, and you've saved up so hard for it, but all your panicked, nearly choking speech can't help but amuse him just a little, poor, sweet thing you are, so stressed up over an issue he can repair in less than a day, yet he has to confess, leon enjoys being able to soothe you and convince you that everything is good, he won't charge you too much, and you shouldn't worry about the vehicle to the point of crying, just trust him and watch him work.

leon doesn't work for the money, but for the pleasure he derives from seeing young, sweet girls like you entangled in his weight, clothes ripped apart to expose their tender skin, bruised from passionate kisses, throat raspy from pitched keens as he dives down to press his nose into a spot that makes them pull at his hair and legs spread wider, cunt oozing and pulsing, pressed against his eagerly devouring mouth, and when he glances to the side to check where your gaze is wandering, he is not surprised to meet your wide eyed gaze tracing over his flexing muscles, the curve of his hip as he shifts his weight to one leg, rolling his broad shoulders, making you turn away, charmingly embarrassed, and he is not at all surprised, actually quite pleased, to see your thighs clench.

you weren't supposed to end up in your own car, pressed against your own seat, with your legs dangling over leon's shoulders, muscles flexing beneath with the time your toes curl, each jagged exhale turning into a reedy, gasping moan, panting, keening in a quick, capturing kisses he presses against your wide open, round shaped lips, cunt fluttering spread around the sheer girth of his cock, long and throbbing, dissapearing fully into the perfectly tight, sopping heat of your pulsing, clutching hole, hips snapping to bruise, make you feel each thrust, spill down your little whines, dazed on the sensations, head lolling back.

and if you leave his workshop all disheveled and with legs trembling, weak hands that can hardly hold the wheel beneath your fingers, restless in your seat due to the dampness in your panties from the cum that drips out of your still gaping cunt, soaking the thin fabric of your underwear, it's because his service was satisfactory, and the innocently teasing kiss that he plants on your flushed cheek, prickling the sensitive skin with his stubble, means that he will eagerly wait for you to, perhaps, visit him again.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[yanderenightmare]

tomura with hero reader whose quirk he's stolen, rendering them defenseless

Shigaraki Tomura

TW: slight nsfw, implied prev noncon, captive reader, Stockholm syndrome, implied mental break, mental deterioration, disassociation, manipulation, angsty, but also weirdly fluffy? reader is super fragile

gn reader

The chub of your inner thighs is still wet with the act. You rub them together for no other reason than that it feels pleasant. You trace the awful scars on his arm, using his warm chest as a pillow—the sound beating of his heart thumping rhythmically at your ear, a soothing presence.

 He balances a red book atop your crown.

He doesn’t seem very interested in reading it—only regarding it with jaded eyes, a meager scoff then and there before turning the page. But still, even though the book didn’t excite him, it bothered you that his attention was elsewhere. It sowed the seeds of doubt and gave root to way too many intrusive thoughts, sprouting out and spreading like weeds throughout your mind, making your chest curl at the possibilities.

“Do you think I'm ugly?” you have to ask. You have to know, why isn’t he looking at you.

He pans away from the page, beady garnet eyes softening from scrutiny to nonplus.

Your question stunted him—nearly made him believe he’d heard you wrong. Why someone like you would ever ask someone like him something like that seemed beyond all reason. It would be the same if a flower asked gravel.

But then again, you’d become a little ditzy as of late. Or maybe you’d been so for a little while already. It’s hard to say—you don’t talk as much as you used to. You no longer scream either, though that had ceased even longer ago.

You continue to delicately run your finger over the tear where his tough skin meets the even tougher purple tissue as though mapping the damage. There’s a frown on your face. No, not a frown—a pout. 

He thought for a moment to use it against you like he’d done everything else so far. Lie and say yes, tell you you’re about as ugly as he is—gravel—make you fall even further apart than what you were already. But something compelled him to choose differently.

“I think you're the prettiest thing in the world.”

Your pout is sucked between your teeth as you pick yourself up to peer down at him—eyes round and misty and something more, something strange—dare he say joyed?

You're scaring him.

“Really?” you choke out as if you’d been holding back a lump.

He hasn’t known how to treat you lately. You’ve become too soft to handle poorly—too frail to harass and too willing for him to feel the need to. Earlier, you'd even begged him to fuck harder and deeper—even cum inside. Actually, you hadn't veered away from his touch in a while. More like you've been embracing it.

He'd brushed it off as mere compliance at first, a state of meekness, weakened by being touch-starved, something that perhaps developed into a minor case of Stockholm syndrome.

But the way you're acting now—seems more concerning.

“Yeah,” is all he warrants as an answer. Though, he was curious as to yours as he begs the same question, “What about me?”

A smile graces your face then—there’s a comfort to it, a mild and affectionate one, unexaggerated, honest, as you smoothly swing your leg over his lap.

A look like that has no place on your face, especially when regarding him, and yet he finds himself hoping for more. He lays his book aside as you lean forward and doesn't stop you when you cup his face in both your palms.

“As far as I'm concerned, you’re not just the prettiest boy in the world—you're the only boy in the world.” You say it with a kiss, lips just as soft as the words leaving them. It shocks him, though he accepts and gives it back.

You close your eyes, laying your chest against his—he keeps his open to look at you. Observing and assessing.

You’ve truly become a whole other person altogether. A far cry from the tough hero you once were—the one who’d beat him within an inch of his life and leave him to choke on the blood.

“Will you stay with me today?” you ask against his lips—playing with his hair, looping the curly tresses around your fingers.

There’s a neediness to your voice, a certain desperation, a sadness—something lonely and something that reminds him all too much of himself. He feels both a strong urge to reject and soothe it all at the same time.

“No, I gotta go,” he says despite it. He had business.

You hide your face in his neck and continue with your tracing, now on the scrapes striping his throat where he’s raked his nails time and time again. “When will you come back?” Your tone comes out even sweeter, only a murmur mushed against his skin.

It nearly makes his heart twist. “It’s better I don’t answer that.”

It’s funny. Though the thought had struck him, he didn’t gauge any ill intentions. You could be asking, acting, plotting some escape based on the hours of his absence—yet somehow, with the way you nuzzle into him like that, as though you’re pouring your all-too-candid grief into him, he can't sense any other ulterior motive.

“Last time you left at this hour, you came back all beaten and bruised,” you mutter, now with a hint of bitterness—as if you’re cursing whoever hurt him under your breath.

It’s ironic. He sneers lazily, almost fondly, at the old memory. “You’re the one who used to beat and bruise me, remember?”

He’s truly curious if you do. Or if something’s spirited your past life away and left you like this—no longer an aspiring young hero, but something whose only value is warming his bed at night.

You arise, an appalled look of affront upon your face.

“No, that can’t be right,” you very nearly cry, as if the very thought was killing you. “I would never hurt you—I love you too much.”

Apparently, you don’t remember who you were at all.

“Love me?” he all but croaks. It’s a laughable prospect, and yet he doesn’t even smile. There’s something awful in his gut that prevents him. “Don't be stupid. You can't love me.”

Your face doesn’t drop its grimace, only further tears with forlorn outrage. “Of course, I love you!" you insist. "You’re my whole reason for living...”

You look so despaired—wrecked from his dismissal. The tears well quickly then slip down your face just as fast—and yet it isn’t the same crying as you used to. This time, it’s quiet—in wait or in dread as you beg the question, 

“Don't you love me?”

It’s an unexpected one, and it quickly proves to be an existential one—even more so than your unnerving confession. Despite not wanting to, it leaves him to dig through the muck in his head he’d long ignored, down in the dark where he’d tried burying the truth he'd felt oncoming. He'd wanted to deny it, reject it, amend it, simply because it confused him too much to acknowledge—complicated things—changed things he didn’t want or need changing.

He wonders if it’s somehow proof of fate—even though he despises such a concept. That, no matter how much you practice free will, no matter how many knots you make upon the red string, the world will pull and straighten it out, and you’re left to realize you’d brought it all on yourself.

First, he took your quirk, then he took your body—your mind shortly followed—and now it seems he’s managed to take your heart, too. 

There’s nothing left of you that isn’t his. 

There was a time he’d frolic at the thought of having reduced you to such a pathetic ghost in a shell—back then, he’d do anything to destroy you—he’d surely shatter you into a million little scattered pieces if presented with the chance, make sure you were broken for good. 

But that was the old him. Or rather, that was his dream for the old you—the hero he loathed down to his rotten core.

But the pretty misty-eyed thing looking down at him now, aching for his answer, wasn’t that person anymore.

And the truth is, the person you are now scares him more than that hero ever did. 

You were… well, you were the person who warms his bed at night, the person who traces his scars and plays with his hair—the person who wraps themselves around him and keeps him from falling apart when he stumbles through the door into the tiny little room he keeps you a prisoner in. You're his.

This time, his heart does twist. He’s never before spoken the words that dance on his tongue, or if he has, they’ve been long forgotten and come out as dust balls as he affirms them now, 

“Yes. I love you.”

There’s a flash of hope in your eyes, though it just as quickly diminishes—as if you don’t believe him.

Your lip warbles as you confirm it, “No, you don’t.”

More tears run silently down the tracks on your cheeks, gathering at the tip of your chin before dripping upon his chest—each one like a gunshot through something hollow.

“If you did, you wouldn’t go. You wouldn’t leave me here in this room, all alone.” Your nails curl into your palms where they rest atop him. You bow your head as though you can’t bear to look at him, as if it hurts. The next words come out beneath your breath, “How am I supposed to compete with the whole world?”

You’re making him feel like dying. The continuous twists of his heart feel as if you’re about to tear it right out of his chest.

He sits up and lifts your face. It’s strange, even with his two-finger gloves on. He doesn’t think he’s ever held you like this. Though, suppose it’s been a night of many firsts already. And here comes another,

“As far as I’m concerned, you are my world.”

There you are, the one thing he doesn’t wish to destroy.

Your sore eyes become round, then swell with different tears. There’s a hitch in your breath as you sigh through a shuddering sob, throwing your arms around his neck and clinging to him tightly—your body jostling while you rub your wet face into his neck, holding him close for comfort as if you're scared to ever let go.

He returns the gesture, though somewhat hesitantly, wrapping his arms around you and laying his head to rest against your shoulder.

And then, as he holds you—for the first time ever, fear of actually losing the fight ahead strikes him.

He hadn’t much cared about the outcome before. Either he’d destroy or be destroyed.

This wasn’t as simple. As said earlier, this complicated things.

But then again, it was even more of a reason to go.

“But I still have to leave.” 

You part from him—the betrayal in your tone demanding his justification, “Why?”

Suppose, in some ways, this actually made things simpler—as that was a question he had no problem answering.

“‘Cause there are monsters outside…” He rests his forehead upon yours, gazing back into those terribly glassy eyes looking back at him as he speaks to you about your dear old colleagues. “Monsters who want nothing but to take you away from me.”

If only they could see you now, they’d know… you no longer want to leave him.

“So I have to go out there and make sure they have no chance,” he explains, almost like a vow, “You’re mine, and I’ll destroy anyone who says otherwise to keep you that way.”

The way your eyes melt makes him feel all fuzzy. It’s a special type of glee, a victory before the battle even begins—to see you root for him—so deep in love with him that you’ve forgotten you’re celebrating the onset of death to all of your former friends.

They probably wouldn’t be able to take you away from him even if they somehow managed to invade this very room. You’d sooner die than betray him.

And that makes him feel all the more ready for the war ahead.

“So kiss me good luck, and I’ll come right back to you soon.”

♡ SHIGARAKI TOMURA ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[acid-ixx]

i’m kinda curious on whether or not the reader would continue going to college after they go back to the wayne manor. furthermore, i also remember the resder mentioning a small group of friend they had, will they stay in contact with them? how do the family react to them being so close with others? dudhjew i love this series you write so well.

— masterlist !

a/n: phew i finally get to answer asks !! yesterday was insane, me and my family swam on around 5 different beaches so i was outside for more than 12 hours with no wifi and the power keeps turning off in the house due to the weather so that's that. i love writing so this is a bit longer than i expected hehe. oh yeah i forgot to tell yall that in the timeline, the mc may be bruce's third child but they're actually younger than tim as he was adopted later on.

now, to answer. i don't think bruce, as your ever-so loving father, would agree to get you back to college once you're back (kidnapped) in the manor. he wouldn't directly say it, but with your current state of relationship towards your family, with just how much time they have lost not spending it with you, it's a given that bruce, your dad, and your siblings who are feral for any ounce of attention from you, would insist that you take... a very long vacation with just them.

after all, desire is one of the stronger emotions they feel towards you, and they grapple at anything you offer towards them. but they still want you to be happy, no?

so at first, they'll let you go to your classes (though you'd be heavily monitored everywhere. who knows what bad influences scurry the area, right? barbara and tim take turns watching through the live feed of your college) but that's only if, and only if the uni's timetable allows for a flexible schedule with your family after. that means, if you're stubborn enough (which bruce understands, because "bruce! you allow damian to go to school so why can't i?!" and he's willing to give his baby the world after he finally hears them say his name) and still wish to continue the course you're working so hard for, one you had attained a full scholarship for, then go ahead!

though they can't help it when the hours they're supposed to get to know you better are taken away from them. for now, you'll have a taste of freedom before it's ultimately taken away from you.

but until then, you'll have to learn how to balance school life with family life. because even if there would be no more crappy apartment to go home to, even if you actually get a full meal instead of cheap, microwavable oven meals and dollar priced ramen, even if you still get to pursue your dream course— it's undeniable that the moment you leave your uni's doors, you'd be picked up by dick, tim, and even your youngest brother damian fucking wayne driving the car, to be escorted back to the manor strictly after classes. during the night, should you ever overstay for projects, it would be jason who'll greet you and allow you to ride his motorcycle; though that's only permissible if you have updated them a day before that you wouldn't be home before the curfew bruce has set up for you.

sometimes, it's your father who makes an untimely appearance with his well-known persona, brucie wayne. he'll greet all the people who pass by with a teethy smile, his big hand holding your stiff shoulders after he kisses your cheeks as a greeting. if you're out the door with your friends - friends who knew of your history of neglect, who told you they would always take your side - then he'll shake their hand, introduce himself with a charm that makes them question if what you've told them is true.

he presents himself with such an aura that's harmless, as if him and your other siblings who are spying by a bush aren't incapable of taking all friends down with just a punch to their face shall one of them speak up or dare tease you in front of them.

unfortunately for you, even some of your friends would be truly convinced that your father wasn't the same man you've told your lifelong stories about neglect. not when he makes a show of running his hand through his baby's head to comfort them whilst he talks to them, not when he cloaks your shoulders in his own work suit to make sure his child wouldn't feel the chilly weather, not when he takes all the time in his busy day to pick you up from school as he should've done all those years ago.

but who would believe you when it's obviously known by the public eye that bruce loves his child, (name) wayne?

you know it's all fake, and it's scary for you, that he simply was able to make a cover up story to the journalists that his child's lack of presence to the public is him merely wishing to shield them from the disgusting media, no?

now that you're older, he says, he would want to make a show of his undying grip over you, that his gleeming eyes that hold multiple threats towards the people in your campus is simply his overprotectiveness as your father, that if they ever harm you or dare question your family's overprotective nature towards you; they'd be gone by the very hands that sworn to protect gotham.

it's all fake, you tell yourself.

but what isn't false are his intentions to make you feel like you're part of the family now, no matter how much you kick, or fight, or scream; they'll always remind you that you're loved and always will be. it's both an apology and display of affection towards you.

it doesn't matter if your uni is on the other side of gotham, you're always coming home to them and that's final. at least you know they still have an ounce of empathy for you to continue having friends (and a boyfriend that they've no knowledge of, yet), as long as they heavily monitor you...

... what you don't know, though, is that the moment you've fallen into the hands of danger— your father wouldn't hesitate pulling you out of college and instead settling for homeschooling. you have brilliant siblings, after all, and a father who had trained all over the world.

that's why hangouts with friends are unpermitted, you soon discover that only trying to beg bruce to at least be more flexible with your friends would only lead to even lesser chance of trying to find escape in your already stuffy life.

and don't even dare throw a tantrum about preferring your friends over them. if you even go as far as calling one of your friend's parents as an even better parent than bruce could be, that your friends are people you consider actual siblings, then you've guaranteed yourself a one way ticket to being locked up in the manor, permanently; with your father and your siblings, especially damian, trying to prove themselves that, no, you didn't just fucking say that, take it back.

you're going to witness a personal breakdown from damian. because no way do you prefer those scum over him! he's supposed to be your favorite, who are they to take his place?! you love him, you love them, you wanted attention from the family, didn't you?! you wouldn't be able to comfort him because he'd already wear his robin suit, ready to eliminate any of your friends who are younger than you because they don't deserve to be seen as your younger sibling, no matter if you had just blurted that out as retaliation for an argument.

what you had just said is serious, and bruce and dick wouldn't even try to stop that kid from slashing someone in broad daylight; dick choosing to cry and refusing to let you go from his arms as he babbles on about his delusional baby bird, trying his damn best to not let his temper get to him, trying so hard to not choke the ever living shit out of any of your older friends once you confess calling anyone of them your older brother— because him, jason, and tim are supposed to be the only ones you consider your older brothers, babybird!

hell, even tim and babs are already on the monitors ready to give damian each and every one of your friend's individual locations.

bruce especially, would be heartbroken that his child called someone else their father. that's his title. you calling him father, or dad, or papa, or any language that describes him to be your parental figure is the only thing keeping him sane. he hates it when his child only calls him bruce as if to describe a mere stranger, to which he knows he is to you— but it sounds wrong and it furthers the ache in his heart— and it's even worse if you chose to call someone else a father, chose anyone else than him as your dad.

batman is even more cruel in his patrol after your argument, punching the living hell out of any male criminals, picturing your voice playing over and over again calling them your father instead of him— it only makes him perceptive of jason's moral code. because what if you have fallen into the hands of anyone but him before he had come to take you back? he knows he isn't the best, was never there for you until now, but fuck, he needs to make it up to his child, and getting angry at you only worsens your already severed bond with him.

so you may expect a punishment, but it's already punishment towards you when you're now isolated inside the manor with only the presence of your siblings to comfort you throughout the nights where it gets too lonely during patrol time. bruce would have more than an hour long talk with you in his study, forcing you to confess every single thought you have about him and your siblings. he tells you it's all unrecorded, that there's no cameras to watch over your one-on-one confrontation— he just wants his baby's opinion on everything so they could adjust to your every whim, but really, it's all just a matter of them wanting to dive deep into your very thoughts like the invasive creatures they are.

the worst part of it all, is that nobody even dare mentions the names of your friends and their respective family. they listen to anything you say, because you already barely talk, but the moment you mutter about missing them, the topic would be shunned down by something, anything else. whether that'd be damian deciding that his older sibling should paint with him, or dick inviting you to watch him perform his acrobatic stunts.

it's a distraction you know you're susceptible to, because they all wish to take your thoughts away from those scum, as damian calls them, and instead have you focus on them, your actual family. those people are nothing to you, now that they're out of the picture.

... you should've chosen to be homeschooled instead of unintentionally getting your friends killed.

[tabiito]

DEBÍ TIRAR MÁS FOTOS I — hard launching with the blue lock boys after a rumour includes: sae, karasu, rin + bonus: shidou note: i've tried to keep fcs ambigious but unfortunately i was to only find fem bodied ones, ima work and make the next part more gender neutral read part 2

Sae Itoshi, who reads the rumour and straight up announces your engagement

Sae squints over your shoulder as your lips part in disbelief over the brazen lies the gossip account has been posting. You feel his hot breath on your bare shoulder, stretching your arm further, knowing he's not wearing his reading glasses which he's left in the villa.

It's a lovely summer evening in Mallorca, miles away from Ibiza, and by some eerie circumstance the beach at your resort is empty, save for the two of you. Your day of sunbathing and reading had been pleasant, however, this preposterous rumour poked through your sanctuary of peace as a friend forwarded it to you.

This was one of many you'd had to endure in your three years of dating Sae (longer, if you'd count the long-distance pining), so it doesn't bother you as much. You know what you were getting into when you set your sights on a football prodigy as successful and good looking as Sae, though he hates how you placidly accept this news with a purse of your lips and a sigh.

He feels offence on your behalf as he spies the hotel staff setting up the candlelight dinner he plans on proposing to you at at the edge of the shore, the Cartier ring you've been eyeing for the longest time tucked into his bag.

Pressing a kiss to the juncture of skin between your neck and shoulder, he ignores the guilt that's creeping up his spine when he tells you to "pay the paparazzi no mind."

He can't help himself to slip his phone out and snap a picture of the scenery before him, you basking in the twilight in your bikini top, a copy of My Year of Rest and Relaxation over your eyes as the blazing Sun sinks into the sea.

The decision to keep your relationship private was a mutual one; in the initial stages Sae didn't want you to be harassed by his legions of loyal fans, and you didn't want Sae, known for his private image to be harangued by reporters when they should be focusing on his performance. You never really talked about reverting this decision, and as time with him flew by, you became an expert at dealing with the baggage that comes with being involved with a celebrity.

However, when Sae feels your incadescent smile against his lips, the band on your finger glinting in the moonlight, the images of the beginning of a shared life flashing at the back of his head, he thinks that you shouldn't have to deal with his baggage any longer; not when the two of you were starting a chapter together.

Later that night, inhaling the scent of the ocean and strawberry margaritas in your hair as you sleep peacefully in his arms, Sae hits "post."

Oliver Aiku, who needs to be defended by you, the only person who he's ever posted

"Ooh, you're getting clocked," you giggle, carding your free hand through his hair and swiping through your Twitter feed with the other. Cracking one emerald eye open, Oliver lets out a weary sigh.

"What now?", he grumbles. "If they've finally traced back all those Barou dating rumours to me just know I've included you in my will."

"'Included'? Am I not getting your entire estate, you stingy old man?", you tease, tugging at his roots. He groans in response, mimicking a ruffled cat who'd just been rudely interrupted from its afternoon nap.

"And no, apparently, your exes have grouped together to do a confessional on you in some tabloid," you chuckle, passing him his phone. You, better than anyone else, know Oliver's complicated romantic past, womanising behaviour and hookup culture fuelled coping tendencies while the two of you pined for each other from the sidelines for years, hoping to erase thoughts of the other by pursuing half-assed relationships.

Not that it worked particularly well, considering you're spending summer break in his apartment in Stockholm simulating level of domesticity you'd taken to a little scarily fast.

Reading out some of the downright malicious things his exes have said ("Really? You'd place sports bets based on their recommendations? No wonder you lost so much cash."), he hears the tinkle of your laughter through his sun-dappled room at some of these quotes, happy at how you were secure enough with him to dismiss these silly one liners as figments of his unscrupulous past.

The truth is that he's really been trying. You've always been too important to him to fuck things up with — the source of his exes' despair of always being "obsessed with texting someone else at late hours of the night", courtesy of different timezones, or being the only person he'd pick up drunk when you'd be in Tokyo. For once, he was nervous about a relationship, treating you with unexpected gentleness.

You've taken many of his firsts, he realises: first proper date he actually planned out, first time sending flowers at two and three month anniversaries, all that corny stuff he never saw himself doing.

He only supposes you take this first and last from him, too.

Swiping off Twitter, Oliver begins poring through your Photos to find a suitable snap from last night when you'd met his friends at the club. Settling on one where he's wearing cufflinks with the initials of your name, he accesses his Instagram from your phone (a safety measure), calmly adding one more post to his limited feed.

Rin Itoshi, who's honestly been itching to do this for a while now

"For fuck's sake," Rin grouses, sipping the water you just handed him. Drenched in sweat, jersey sticking to his back, he'd been grateful when you showed up to give him company as he trained, saying something about "studying anatomy" while pencilling in your sketchbook as he took shot after shot.

Instead, he's subjected to you quizzically raising an eyebrow in the direction of his over-enthusiastic physiotherapist who had a thing for announcing to the public whenever her and Rin were together.

Peeved at the sheer idiocy of the rumour, and irritated at her complete disrespect for Rin's boundaries, with his dislike of publicity well-documented, you were rightfully going to march over and give her a piece of your mind. It wasn't like you'd spend your afternoons in the bleachers of the Parc Des Princes to soak in the sweat, or that Rin would saunter over to you in every free minute to critique your latest doodle — since the day you'd preached at him in the Louvre, everyone from the coaching analysts to substitutes on PXG knew you were a couple.

Rin can practically feel the annoyance radiating off you in an aura unlike the ones that possessed footballers during heated matches. A little pleased with the jealousy something as petty as a gossip column elicited from you, he appreciatively hands you the bottle back and gives your hand a squeeze.

"I've got this."

Though he has to wrangle out the passwords for his social media accounts from his management since he rarely uses them, Rin makes it a point to carefully vet and select photos of you and him during his break. Though he looks comical in some, and downright unflattering in others, he couldn't give a damn less seeing the excitement in your eyes as you lean over the barrier, Airdropping photos to him.

After curating the perfect post, Rin calls for his physio, who practically skips along the grass to the bleachers, but blanches when she sees your unimpressed expression.

"Take a picture of us," he brusquely asks, shoving his phone into her hands, downturned in a sneer. Before she can react, he catches you completely off guard, crashing his lips against yours. Your eyes are shut, but you know him well enough to sense that he's smirking right now. He kisses you a lot longer than necessary for one shot, snaking his hand along your waist for good measure, practically pulling you over the blue barriers on your tiptoes.

You squeak when he lets go, licking his lips ever so slightly as the mortified PT squirms while handing him his phone. "Huh. So you are half-competent at something after all."

Tabito Karasu, who's three months in and knows you're the one

Karasu's a perfect gentleman. Even before you started dating, back in highschool, he'd be one of those quietly chivalric guys who'd hold doors open or jackets above your head if it rained. The kind of guy who'd snatch grocery bags out of your hand despite making a quip about "weak arms." Now, you think that he's a little too perfect.

Things that would be a dealbreaker in other relationships, such as both of your packed schedules, the invasiveness of the internet and the fact that time was not on your side most of the time almost spurred Karasu on to make an extra effort. Your research is going late into the night? He's there to pick you up. You're craving takeout after being absolutely decimated by a physics seminar? He's already wearing his baseball cap and sunglasses, one foot out of the door.

Truth be told, Karasu's a little over-awed by you and your brain He thinks he could spent hours immersed in your world as you ramble on about the paradoxes and theories you're learning, or the cutting-edge research you're contributing to. Though it makes him acutely aware that he has much to learn outside of football, you satiate his curiosity in ways that make him feel that he's the only person you've deigned worth talking to.

Otoya makes fun of him for how whipped he is, and though he hasn't had much experience prior to you other than people just throwing themselves at him, he knows this is more than a fleeting crush. So he goes the extra mile in every little thing, sparing no expense.

The day your finals were over he ringed in the celebrations with you in your dorm, blasting songs he was surprised you even knew the lyrics to. Scaring him with your ability to recite Future bar for bar with him on "Low Life", Karasu feels overcome with an urge hold onto you for dear life. The need to make it exclusively clear to everyone around him that you're the one for him becomes much clearer when a shopping trip turns to an absurd coincidence in the rumour mill, one that's got you all nervous in front of him.

He can't help but feel the dull stab of anger as you, clearly overwhelmed by the opinion of the Internet, spend the day upset. If it's one thing he dislikes, it's when things don't go his way. Instead of complaining about it, though, the words leave his mouth before he can even process what they mean, a rarity for someone like him.

"Come with me to the JFA dinner this weekend."

BONUS: Shidou Ryusei, who never even thought it was a secret

a/n yall im not freaky enough yet to write for shidou but i think the scenario is a really funny one in my head i had sm fun doing this though we got barou n isagi down for pt 2 who else?

[vampcubus]

On the wrestling to grinding w/ best friend Kyo, your head resting on his forearm as he's leaning on his elbow above you, other hand on your hip. Wet kisses trailed up your neck and his hot breath fanning across your cheek. Every now and then there's a particularly rough thrust as he murmurs apologies in your ear. This isn't how he wanted it to go with you but he can't bring himself to stop

:ఌ¨ ♱ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : nsfw, best friend!kyojuro rengoku, fem!reader, modern au, slight size kink, play wrestling -> dry humping pipeline, premature ejaculation. sub!kyojuro implied but the dynamic isn't too prominent in this one.

A TV drama debate quickly turned into playful shoving, which naturally turned into roughhousing, a common practice between you and the man you've known since you could walk. The show is paused in the background, illuminating your bodies in the darkness of your living room as you wrestle on the couch you were previously cuddling on.

You continue to argue over the protagonist's love life, though you put too much weight into a lunge, sending both of you tumbling onto the floor. Ouch. 

“Oof!” Kyojuro grunts, the wind temporarily knocked out of him as his back meets the carpet, and your body follows, falling atop his. 

He rolls over, caging your body beneath his, undeterred by the tumble and you're reminded of just how big he is. He isn't the gangly teen you remember pushing around anymore, but a grown man. It's difficult to reconcile that dorky teen with the pile of muscle he's become. Jeez, when did he bulk up so much? And as you clutch uselessly at his bulging biceps to shove him off you, you can't help but feel him up a little longer than necessary.

Kyojuro's warm weight atop you is all-consuming, sapping the strength from your limbs his body heat melts into yours. Still, you twist in his hold, ignoring the fluttering in your chest to capture him in a headlock. He knocks your arms out of the way, hands sliding beneath you to grip your shoulders, and one of his muscled thighs hooking beneath yours to prevent you from kicking.

You huff, unable to do much but squirm. And squirm you do, never one to give up. 

He loves your fire almost as much as he loves the way you pout when you lose. Before he can gloat, your hips shift over his groin at just the right angle. Kyojuro's bulge is almost perfectly lodged between your thighs, the warmth between them radiating through your clothing. His breath hitches, muscles tensing in response before a violent shudder overtakes him. 

Though he fights to regain control of himself, his cock throbs in his pants, and Buddha he hopes you can't feel him getting hard. You'd tease him endlessly for it, he's sure of it.

Get a hold of yourself, Kyojuro. His eyes pinch shut, cheeks ruddy with warm blood as he feels his body fill with fire. When his golden eyes re-open, he's met with an expression on your face that nearly makes him moan aloud. 

Your brows are twisted in concentration, perhaps to hide how flustered you are by his proximity. Your lips parted slightly, chest heaving from the exertion of your scuffle. Buddha forgive him, his body moves without thought, hips rutting against yours. His swelling erection drags deliciously over your clothed cunt, eliciting a deep rumbling groan that vibrates his whole chest.

Your nails prick into his back, leaving behind red crescent moons on his skin and fuck that feels good too.

Kyojuro murmurs a slurred apology, dipping his head down as his shame paints his cheeks red. Even as he apologizes his hips won't stop, and the feeling of his warm breath on your throat makes you shiver. The shock of the realization that your best friend is humping you leaves you gaping stupidly, and for some reason, you don't tell him to stop. 

You don't punch his shoulder and laugh it off, only stare with widening pupils as the blond all but ruts his hardness against you like an overeager puppy. Why is this so hot? Wrong in many ways obviously, but it’s intoxicating nonetheless to see him unraveling this way. And God, his cock, even through his joggers you can feel how thick he is.

“Kyo,” you began, a protest on the tip of your tongue but your breath hitches as his lips meet the tender flesh of your neck. "K-kyojuro, what are you doing...”

“I can't stop. I'm sorry, I unnnh,” Kyojuro nearly whines, his hand sliding down from your shoulder to grip your hip as his enthusiastic thrusts start to shove you across the floor. "You feel so good.”

“Don't say things like that, idiot,” you hiss, though even as you scold him, you can feel yourself getting slick. His leaking tip nudges your clit just right and you can't stop the soft sound of approval from escaping, nor your legs from locking around his bucking hips. "Fuck, don't stop.”

His cock twitches, aching against your pussy as your perceived acceptance of his desperate act sends him into a frenzy. His weight presses further onto yours, trapping you between his heavy body and the floor. When you toss your head back, his forearm cushions it.

“Love you. Love you – ohh.”

This isn't how he wanted this to go, how he's always imagined himself confessing his feelings for you. But he can't deny either of you this maddening friction, every single rational thought stolen away by your gasping moans.

“Can feel how big you are. Shit, c’mere.”

Your fingers wind in his flaxen hair, gathering it in your fist close to his scalp and tugging his head away from your neck to slant your lips over his. Your clumsy kiss is electric, all he’s ever imagined it would be and not enough all at once, and his hips stutter against yours. He shakes all over, eyes rolling back with a choked cry into your mouth as he abruptly cums in his pants.

“Sorry, I’m… fuuuck,” he whimpers against your lips, the feeling of your tongue slipping past his parted lips forcing another spurt out of him. “Ah. Hmm, wow.”

His half-lidded, apologetic gaze meets yours, a bead of sweat dripping down his hairline.

“What the fuck,” you start, half-chuckling half in disbelief of what just happened. His face burns with the humiliation of not only humping his best friend like some pervert but also blowing his load from you kissing him, like a loser. Before he can apologize again, he takes in your dilated pupils and the way your hips still undulate beneath his heavy weight. “That was so hot.”

In his post-orgasmic haze, he can only groan in response, pressing his face into your shoulder.

“And pathetic,” you teased, and for some reason his softening cock twitches. And of course you notice, because he’s still slotted against your cunt, which is no doubt a sloppy mess of your own slick beneath your clothes. You hadn’t cum, but you hardly care, still on cloud nine from simply watching your favorite person unravel.

“So cruel,” he huffs, nipping at your shoulder in retaliation. 

“You like it. A bit too much apparently– yeowch!” another, harder bite follows, and you erupt in giggles as his thick digits dig into your sides, tickling you. “Touchy. Now are you gonna get up and let me fuck you properly, or are you too tuckered out, pretty boy?”

The way he scrambles off of you and starts pulling at his clothes is way too cute.

[hawnks]

Takami Keigo doesn't want to see you.

Of course, he's too well trained to say it in so many words, but when he 'forgets' his session this afternoon, you get the message.

Unfortunately for him, you're stubborn. You show up at his apartment in the dormitories, ring his bell until your fingers numb.

Only then does he crack open the door, just enough for you to catch his forbidding smile, a caustic gleam to his eyes. "What can I help you with, this fine evening?"

"You missed our appointment," you say pleasantly. "This is the third time."

"Oh, must have just slipped my mind," he says with a dismissive little wave. "I'll catch you next time."

The door slams in your face.

Being so curtly dismissed by a top ranking officer should probably send you into a panic, but the stats you pulled up for him after his no-show are even more concerning. This is quickly turning into an emergency, and unfortunately it's your job on the line if he succumbs to corruption.

Who would blame the second most powerful Sentinel alive, when there's a feckless guide as a scapegoat.

"I'm going to ring the bell again," you say, loudly.

After a moment of silence, you think he must not have heard you.

Then the door swings open. "Fine," he snaps.

You follow him to the living room, watch as he drops himself on the couch with a sigh, eyes squeezed shut.

You'd never known guiding to be this much of a chore for Sentinels. Most of your roster is rather clingy and covetous of your time. None of them has ever been late to an appointment with you.

"Well?" he prods. "Get on with it."

You hesitate. The tension he seems to be holding will make this a lot more difficult, strenuous for you both. "Do you maybe want to talk for a bit? Or I could put on some white noise."

He opens his eyes just enough to give you a cutting look. "No."

You surrender with a sigh, coming to sit next to him on the couch. Every Sentinel prefers contact a different way; some want you to hug them, pet their hair, a few have even asked you to kiss them, fuck them, though you've never fulfilled that type of request, your boundaries in this job too firm for it.

You want to ask him what would make this easier for him, but you're sure waiting any longer will only set him off. So, delicately, you take his hand.

The first draw is always the hardest, the corrupt energy being nullified by your own. Some outside force reaching in, invasive despite the relief.

Takami flinches.

You go slower, a soft steady ebb, pulling the poison from him in silken thread.

His hand relaxes in yours.

You reach deeper, welcoming the full flood between you, warmth and light suffusing you both. And it feels how it's supposed to -- natural.

When your watch chimes, signaling the sessions end, Takami blinks out of his stupor. He'd melted during the thirty minutes you worked on him, body curled toward yours, face falling onto your shoulder.

He pulls away swiftly, shocked by his own willingness to lean on you.

You rise, marking off the details of your appointment on your tablet. "I can come back tomorrow, to finish up. You haven't been guided in a long time, so I couldn't get it all in one session. Does 2pm work for you?"

He's not prepared for the question. "Um. Yeah?"

You mark that down as well, then see yourself out.

It takes three more sessions for you to fully clear the corrupted energy from his body. In his haze he admits to you the reason he's so standoffish to Guides, why he dodges his sessions with such fervor.

"It's never felt good. Always felt like I'm being held down, trapped. Made me feel antsy, nervous." He buries his face against your throat, inhaling deeply. You'd started off just holding his hand again, but now he hugs your entire arm against his chest, your fingers twined. "It's not like that with you."

"I'm glad, Mr. Takami," you return. "Please don't ignore my emails from now on."

As you make your notes, you ask him his availability for next month.

He blinks at you. "You're not coming back tomorrow?"

You check your calendar. You'd had to push back several of your regular appointments to make room for the past few days. "I'm booked solid for the next two weeks, at least."

You glance at him, taking in his appearance, his general well being. You reach a hand out to cup his cheek, urging him to meet your eyes. He startles, first, before leaning into your touch.

"You seem fine," you decide, pulling away, already heading for the door. "I'll contact you later about our next session."

He trails after you, linger at the precipice as you take the elevator back down to your floor.

...

He never ignores you emails, after that.

In fact, he sends many of his own. He gets your phone number, somehow. Some days he shows up with coffee, or snacks, sits with you on the couch while you eat.

He's always touching you during those times, brushing hair behind your ears or straightening your shirt collar. Mostly he just holds your hand, playing with your fingers or clutching it in his own lap.

You don't guide him during any of these impromptu visits, too weary from the rest of your overfull schedule -- but you've heard of this type of attachment from other Guides.

Sentinels tend to imprint on guides they have a decent connection with. Part survival instinct, part status seeking. A Sentinel without a guide is doomed. A Sentinel with a high match-rate is likely to be stronger than their peers.

But that's the thing about un-bonded Sentinels, they're always on the lookout for a better Guide, their perfect mate.

Takami is overly attached to you now, but it will pass.

...

Or so you thought.

You're sent out into the aftermath of a battle that rocks the city. Dozens of Sentinels pushed themselves to the breaking point, on the brink of corruption, about to turn into the very monsters they fight to suppress.

You spot Takami in the midst of the wreckage. Exhausted, but giving you a shakey smile when your eyes meet. He limps toward you, so glad to see you, so ready for the safety and warmth of your arms--

Someone calls your name. Urgent, an emergency. Another Sentinel with no one to take care of them.

You turn away from Takami, and you go.

He'd fought hard, but his body has grown used to the abuse over the years. He's in bad shape, but it's not life-threatening like some of the others you help today.

It's hours before you can see him.

Slumped on a curb, hands folded neatly in his lap. Like he's been waiting so patiently for you this whole time.

You come to your knees before him, letting him take your hands, draw you closer. "Why didn't you go to another Guide?"

Surely he could have found someone else, despite the chaos of the scene. If not you, one of the high ranking Guides, slotted exclusively for S-rank Sentinels.

He looks at you, trembling, confused. "I don't want another Guide."

When he asks if you'll hold him, you do. You take him in your arms, let his weight settle on you. Feel his warmth all around you, his breath against your shoulder.

"And I don't want you to guide anyone else," he murmurs.

You stroke his nape. "I know. I'm sorry. You'll find your Guide soon enough, and then you can have each other all to yourselves."

His grip tightens. He braces you against him -- instead of a heady tightness, you're constricted.

"I already found my Guide," he whispers into your throat.

Then he bites.

[httpuckdrop]

closer – ws2

when you say you want will close, it's not enough to have him just next to you.

pairing: will smith x reader

genre: smut/fluff, established relationship!au

word count: 0.9k

warnings: very light smut, cockwarming

author's note: happy birthday sweet sweet boy <333 i was supposed to post a longer smut but i didn't have time to finish that aaaaaa :( anyways! hope you enjoy and hope you have a lovely day celebrating this wonderful holiday 🥰

you're already fast asleep in will's bed when he comes home.

it's much later than he had hoped, but there was an issue at the airport delaying the team from coming home. he hadn't expected you to be up waiting for him, but there's still something in his chest that tightens at the sight of you under his covers, body curled up and eyes fluttered shut.

he toes off his shoes with the grace of a man who's done this far too many times, before dropping his bag by the door, careful to not make any sounds – and then he screws up anyway by slamming his toe into the bed frame and hissing out a curse. he instantly prays that you won't have woken you up, but you've never really been a heavy sleeper. "will?"

your voice is thick with sleep, honeyed and slow, and his heart flutters at the sound of it. "sorry, baby," he whispers, already bowing down to kiss your cheek. "go back to sleep."

you hum, eyes unable to stay open for more than a few seconds at a time. "get in here. missed you so much." will just chuckles but obliges, pulling his sweatshirt over his head and stepping out of his jeans as quickly as he can before slipping into bed next to you. his hands reach for your sides, pulling you flush against him.

"missed you, too," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. you grunt in disapproval, though, signaling that it wasn't enough, so will laces his lips with yours instead.

will should've known from the moment your lips touched his; he should've realized what kind of mood you're in. instead, it takes him until the moment you bite down on his bottom lip and your hands wander south, fingers tracing the hem of his boxers, for him to understand your intentions.

he can't help but chuckle against your lips. he says your name in a tone that makes it sound like a warning, yet you don't care. "you're barely even awake, you don't have enough energy for this."

you whine. "but i want you." you give him your best puppy eyes. "i need you. need to... feel you close."

"i'm already pressed up to you, i think i'm plenty close."

you let out yet another impatient sound. "need you closer. need to know that you're here. spent two days without you… so i need you as close as you can be."

and that's when it clicks in his brain.

it's not sex you want, no lovemaking or quickie. it's not an orgasm or the sexual aspect of it that you're seeking; it's the intimate aspect. the reminder that he's real and yours.

and there's nothing in this world he'd rather do than reassure you of that.

he kisses you again, lips already parted and tongues brushing tongues. it's slow and warm, your mouths melding together like that's what they were made for. your fingers skim across the slight stubble of his jaw before brushing through his curls, hand settling at the back of his head.

when his hands move down to your hips, he isn't surprised to find that you didn't wear any underwear to bed. he merely smiles, running his fingers down the front of your thighs and then the insides. his face parts just an inch from yours, breathing heavily against your lips as he lets two fingers trail along your slit. "do you need me to..."

you open one eye to meet his gaze as you shake your head, or as much of a shake you can manage with your head nuzzled into the pillow. you're too tired to waste any time. "just need you inside me," you whisper.

will doesn't waste any time, pulling his boxers off and throwing them off the bed. one hand settles on your hip, helping guide you forward and sliding you down over his length.

a deep sigh leaves your lips, mixing with the groan slipping past will's, and he soon withdraws his cock before bottoming you out again. he stretches you out so deliciously, making your head tip back and giving him full access to the skin of your throat.

in these moments, you realize how strange it is that you're able to go on with your days without having him inside you. like this, you feel complete instead of empty; like your last puzzle piece has slotted into place.

you clench around him involuntarily, enveloping him in your warmth and sending a shiver down his spine. will trails kisses down the side of your neck and slips his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. he could just as well push you onto your back and fuck you silly now – but your breath is so steady, your eyelids too heavy, and he knows that it won't take long before you're out. this is all you wanted right now, anyway; maybe something more could happen tomorrow morning, but as of right now, this is enough.

his mouth find yours one more time and it's gentle enough to lull you into a sweet slumber. the last thing you have energy for is a murmur, a soft "love you, will" against his lips. while you might not hear him say it back, you feel it through your body; your heart responds by drumming a little more steadily, your skin tingling where he draws idle patterns along your skin. and you surrender to sleep with the knowledge that will's heartbeat beneath your palm is for no one other than you.

[moon-ttokki-x]

hiii i see you hav angst fics, do uu write character death? if u do then can i request a reader death one and how the members react to it? totally okay if you can’t lolz

ok so this is the angstiest thing i've ever written . . . proceed with caution bc it gets quite intense >< it was a nice release though, i haven't been feeling too over the moon lately, so it helped me a little <3 also blurry header for added angsty vibes . anyway here you go, love~

don't go, please - skz hyung!line x reader

pairing: ot8!skz hyung!line x reader

summary: skz hyung line reactions to when you d*e.

genre: so so heavy on the angst i cannot stress that enough, kind of dark, mentions of not eating, depression, anxiety, reader doesn't really exist in this fic, sad skz which hurt me to write, mentions of pushing people away, unhealthy obsessions, loss of passion and interests, just really heavy grief themes

a/n: you can't expect me to get a request like this and not write the angstiest, most gut-wrenching, heart-breaking shit anyone has ever read . . . anyway suffer . div by @carnage-cathedral

if this content makes you uncomfortable, please skip it . the last thing i want is to make people upset, so don't read this if it's triggering for you. proceed with caution and be safe, my loves <3

skz masterlist

Chan who goes silent when he hears the news. Doesn't talk, doesn't move, and then gets up and leaves, walking endlessly and aimlessly through the streets until the members have to physically stop him. Doesn't wail or cry, doesn't make a fuss. Becomes less affectionate with everyone around him because physical affection reminds him of you; your hugs and kisses and your hands playing with his. Loses his leader attitude, becomes quiet and introverted, and can't seem to find as much passion in being a leader for his team like he did before. Is wary around everyone he's ever known, pushes people away like he did when he was a trainee. Sits in his room most days; is hardly ever seen, and when he is, he's looking at a little polaroid photo of you, clutched between shaking fingers as he wishes for you to come back.

Minho who immediately shuts himself away, refusing to see or talk to anyone. Spends all day in his dorm room, just sitting and staring placidly at the wall. Relives every single moment you've ever shared and wishes endlessly that he could have spent more time with you. Doesn't feel like dancing much anymore, and any remnants of energy he might have had when you were still here is gone. Becomes bitter and angry, harsh towards his own members. Even loves his cats a little less; most of his memories with them are ones shared with you, and they're far too painful for him to relive. His emotions dry up like a dead, shriveled plant and disappear, his teasing personality evaporating with it.

Changbin who goes radio silent over the phone; hangs up immediately after and can be heard throwing up from distress in the staff bathroom. Is taken sick for a week due to the shock, and doesn't eat much throughout. Ends up throwing all of his still-to-be-given-to-you love letters in the trash, along with the diamond ring he was planning to give you the night of your anniversary. Quits producing music; his words don't flow as smoothly as before, even when he rarely feels like talking to anyone. Permanent eye bags take place under his eyes as he goes online, clicking out of his gym membership. Doesn't want to touch any of your belongings, it's too painful, and quits working out due to the lack of energy in his body.

Hyunjin who choked out a terrible, wailing scream and tore out his hair when he found out what happened; begged his members for it not to be true. Spends all day just staring out the window; is no longer afraid of anything, and finds nothing but icy numbness and a deep blue sadness taking root in his heart. Covers the walls of his room and art studio in pictures of you; splatters the walls in scarlet red and peachy pink, and then splatters himself in the same shades. Can't find it in himself to paint for much longer after that; doesn't cut his hair or paint his nails anymore, because that was always your job. Sets fire to his sketchbook and puts the ashes of it in a jar; then sets it on his top shelf and tucks the rest of his supplies away. Is no longer able to find any beauty in the world, not if you aren't there with him to see it.

a/n: i'm not writing a part 2 unless someone requests it

[dyns33]

Family's fever

I have so many, sooo many, Alfie and his wife stories waiting to be posted.

It was only pain.

For a moment, Alfie wondered if he had died and gone to hell, where his body burned and caused him a martyrdom such as he had never known.

The first time was during the war. Between the trenches, the bombs, the fighting, it had completely destroyed his back, and it had never healed. As if he had stayed there. Maybe it would have been better.

A panting breath was heard on his right, but fatigue was stronger than his survival instinct. So Alfie remained motionless, waiting for the intruder to strike.

It was impossible to tell how much time passed, until a light made him wince, immediately soothed by a cold, damp cloth placed on his forehead and eyes.

"My poor darling, you are even hotter than yesterday."

The soft voice and the hand caressing his cheek almost made him forget the torture he had been living for several hours, at least enough for him to find the strength to move his eyelids enough to see what was around him.

First, he discovered that the danger blowing was a dog, which barked happily at seeing him awake, resting its big head on his hand.

The animal seemed familiar, like the room, but Alfie's foggy mind forgot his questions when he laid his eyes on the woman who was now sponging his sweaty neck.

"… I'm dead."

"Not yet, Alfie. But if this continues I'll call the doctor, no matter what you say."

"Doctors are quacks."

"Like you've been telling me since you caught that cold. And yet you did send one to my house when I was sick."

"I couldn't leave such a beautiful angel to die."

"Ah, maybe you're feeling a little better, you're talking nonsense again." she joked, massaging his shoulder.

However, Alfie wasn't joking, and he didn't understand why his angelic vision didn't take him seriously. He was very serious.

Never in his entire life had he seen such a beautiful woman. If he could have gotten up without crying out in pain, he would have taken her hand to kiss it reverently, before apologizing for having the impudence to touch her without permission.

Maybe she wasn't entirely wrong about his fever, because he laughed, repeating that he really was saying ridiculous things.

Obviously he was mumbling his thoughts without even realizing it. Or maybe it was madness. Alfie had always been a bit crazy, and being stuck with his brigade in the middle of the bombs hadn't helped matters.

His mind was still lucid enough to see the wedding ring on his angel's hand, though, and to know what it meant. Of course, such a woman was married. All the men had to grovel at her feet, begging her to be their wife, and one of them had been given the privilege of being chosen.

"Lucky bastard."

"If I make some soup, will you try to eat it ?"

"Anything for you, видение рая."

"Good. Thanks for finally being reasonable."

"I'll need strength to question your husband." he sighed, patting the dog on the head as it came closer to lick his face.

"…Excuse me ?"

"I wouldn't kill him, I wouldn't want to hurt your tender heart, but I have to check that he deserves you. And if he's not worthy, I should train him until he is."

"… Okay, I'll call the doctor. Cyril, stay here."

Obeying his mistress, the dog guarded the sick man despite his protests and pleas. Alfie would have liked her to stay by his side a little longer. There was no hope that he would see her again.

He frowned when a small man in his lab coat entered the room, putting his briefcase on a table and asking him a lot of questions. Damn doctor.

The man only got his attention when he turned to the angel and called her "Mrs. Solomons.", which made him frown even more.

Hmm.

Alfie knew only three "Mrs Solomons", his grandmother, may she rest in peace, who had always hated being called that, his poor mother who was no longer of this world either, and his sister who had long since taken the name of her stupid husband.

Even if he was not well, he could still recognize these three people, he was certain of it.

"He talked about having a discussion with my husband."

"Mr Solomons often speaks about himself in the third person… As he often speaks to himself."

"I agree, but could the fever be playing on his memory ?"

"You are me wife ?"

The sad smile she gave him as she came back to sit next to him seemed like a sufficient answer, but Alfie couldn't believe it.

Him, married to this perfect being ? Impossible, there had to be a mistake. Someone was playing a joke on him, there was no other explanation, or the devil had decided to punish him for all his sins by torturing him with a twisted scenario, mixing pain, sweetness and vain hope.

But Alfie didn't really believe in this bullshit, and he didn't see anyone suicidal enough to play such a trick on him.

"But why are you married to me, love ? Did I threaten you ? Did your father have debts ? Would I have become rich ? No, an angel like you doesn't marry an old fool like me even if he is rich."

"Maybe I fell in love." she sneered, capturing his attention enough for him to let the doctor take his pulse on his other arm.

"Ah ! I tricked you, my poor treacle ! I blinded you and made you sink into madness to have you. Damn me ! I mean, I am honored that you love me, even if using such subterfuge to have you is terrible."

"I knew exactly where I was going, don't worry. Doctor ?"

"He is simply exhausted by the fever and his back, which makes him delirious. But he will be better soon, I will write you a prescription."

Still not convinced that he could have married the one who was called Y/N, Alfie stared at her with wide eyes in silence, captivated by her every move and accepting everything she asked of him, wisely eating his soup, taking his medicine and letting her change his soaked shirt.

He thought he was going to have a heart attack when she entered the room in her nightgown, lying against him, her head on his shoulder.

"Try to sleep, okay ?"

"But if I sleep, you might disappear." he whispered like a child.

"My sweet idiot. I promise to be here tomorrow morning, sleep now."

As promised, Y/N was still there when he woke up, noticing that his fever had gone down and his memories had returned.

She gently mocked the event when he had fully recovered, and even though he claimed not to see what she was talking about, unable to not make the pout that always betrayed him whenever he tried to hide something from his wife.

Alfie was not ashamed of having been sick. He was still human. He wasn't ashamed of saying strange things either, because it wasn't a change from his usual behavior, nor of falling madly in love with Y/N ​​again, which was perfectly normal.

What he didn't like was the expression on her face when she realized he wasn't joking when he said he didn't know who she was.

"I was worried, you know."

"I know, love. Sorry."

"You really need to stop covering up all over London when it rains."

"Tell your brothers to stop making trouble all over London and I can stay in my office."

"At least this time you were a decent patient. All the other times, you were impossible to hold, refusing to stay in bed and not scare the doctor away. Do you have to take me for someone else's wife to listen to me ?"

"Of course not." he mumbled, pulling her closer. "Other times, I was only able to handle myself, you didn't need to waste your time on me."

"I never waste my time on you, Alfie."

Ah, Y/N. His sweet love. Of course he had taken her for an angel fallen from the sky. That was kind of what she was, even if it wasn't God but Thomas fucking Shelby who had put her on his path.

No doubt her brother was still as shocked as he was that she could have fallen for the idiot he was.

Even in good health, Alfie sometimes wondered how he had done it, how fate had been able to give him such a gift.

"Stop mumbling nonsense, Ollie is waiting for us outside."

"Yes, мой ангел."

Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile, guessing what he had said and taking his hand to urge him to leave their house, because she knew very well that if she gave him time, he would have pulled her even further onto the couch, and they would have been very late.

[mikaela-the-slut-expert]

uhnmm….. I dont know if this is where I do a request but could you do needy bottom dottore if you’re ok with it 👉👈

Needy

Dottore x gn!reader

Have not written in a hot minute!!!

Warning I didn't know what gender you preferred so if some of it seems aimed towards a certain gender I apologize I found it a little difficult to make it gender neutral but you can always request me again to make another version! I will happily do so! 😁

Slight/ very ooc!!?

____________________________________

Dottore is known as the cruel, crazy doctor. The banished student, and heretic of the Akedemyia. The cold, and erratic 2nd harbinger of Snezhnaya. Frightening rumors surround him like a shroud of mystery. So who would've guessed such a terrifying man would be such a needy one in bed?

Of course you don't mind! You're Dottore's lover how could you possibly dislike it? When you guys first got into a relationship, sex was not even brought up. It took so long just to get a few kisses! He's a very professional man so he tries to keep his pda in check.

As a lover, you have no complaints. He's devoted to you, loves you. He'd do anything for you, and kill for you. Dottore is a very surprisingly good lover, and you adore him. During his work he can be more stiff. To others he is cold and arrogant, smart, crazy, and frightening. In bed though? Different story!!!

🧪needy bottom Dottore was a surprise but not one you were going to take for granted.

🧪Needy Dottore begging and moaning for more

🧪 Dottore digging his nails into your back because he just needs you to hurry and fuck him hard and deep?

🧪Needy Dottore begging and babbling for you to let him cum because he needs it so so badly, and you love him don't you? So you'll let him?

🧪 gets impatient if you're too slow or too gentle so he'll start fucking himself, and moan like a slut to get your attention.

🧪 Dottore after a long work day when he just wants to get all those calculations and experiment thoughts fucked out of him

🧪needy, needy Dottore clinging on to you, begging for your touch because he needs to not think for a while, the work and annoying coworkers stressing him out?

🧪sharp, pointy teeth biting down on your shoulders or arms when the pleasure becomes too much to handle

🧪needy Dottore asking you to keep going even though you've made him cum like thrice, and he'd gladly give you an aphrodisiac if you need help with stamina

🧪Dottore bringing your hand to his throat asking you to choke him, throw him around a little, manhandle him, like he knows you can because he doesn't want gentle sex right now he want it rough, and sloppy?

🧪needy Dottore asking for you to scratch him up or bite on him like a chew toy during sex because he wants your marks to last and doesn't mind a little blood, in fact it excites him?

🧪needy Dottore sobbing, babbling "I'm sorry" when you won't let him cum because he was snippy with you today and he can't take it anymore, he just needs to cum! Dottore swears up and down and promises he won't have an attitude anymore, even though you know he will.

____________________________________

This was very short, but I haven't written nafw headcanons for Dottore like ever this is my first time! So I know it's short and I hoped you liked it, if you want more y'all just tell me and I'll try making it longer!

[sebscore]

Can you write something with Kimi in his Alfa Romeo seasons and driver!reader? I miss him so much :(

GIDDY GOODBYES 

pairings: raikkonen family x driver!reader

author's note: is this inspired by that cute antonio and kimi moment in abu dhabi '21? Yes. i miss him too :((

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''You want to swap helmets later?'' Kimi asked her, the sound of screaming and applauding fans surrounding them as they stood on the moving bus. 

Her eyes widened as the question left his lips, surprised that the Alfa Romeo driver would want to do the tradition with her. ''Uh, yeah, sure. I would love to.'' Her slightly open mouth turned into a bright smile. 

''Rianna has been asking for you the entire week so you can see her then as well.'' The Finn grinned. The female driver had been Kimi's daughter's favourite driver since the girl had started attending the F1 races. 

Y/N chuckled at his words. ''I'll bring some merch for her and Ace.'' 

''Really? That's very sweet, they'll like it a lot.'' Kimi appreciated all the time she would spend with his kids, knowing the joy it brought to them. 

''I love spoiling my fans,'' she smiled, ''as long as I get like a cool helmet from you, though! I'm very particular about my collection.'' 

The young woman was known for all the helmets of other drivers she had received over the years. She had proudly shown them off in a livestream after someone asked about the drivers she had swapped helmets with, even admitting she had to buy several extra shelves to store all of them. 

''I was told, I'll do my best.'' Kimi laughed, recalling someone from the Alfa Romeo team telling him about the driver's special collection as soon as he informed them about his desire to swap helmets with her. 

The Iceman didn't disappoint, gifting her one of his more unique helmet designs of the season with a short, but sentimental message written on the side: ''You've proven them wrong. Keep going. Stay smiling.'' His signature penned under it. 

Y/N had written a longer goodbye: ''Thank you for all the great races you have given us. It was an honour to share the track with you these last years. Good luck with your ice cubes, Iceman :)'' 

They mumbled a ''thank you'' towards each other as they handed one another their helmets, reading the messages with soft smiles on their faces. The pair posed for a picture together, their own respective team's photographers and Kimi's wife, Minttu, snapping a photo of them. 

''I'm gonna miss your silence.'' Y/N chuckled, causing others to do so as well. 

''I will miss your loudness.'' Kimi retorted, having everyone laugh even harder at his blunt and witty response. 

The Finn reached out to her with his free arm, initiating a hug with the young woman. She was caught off guard. The man had never offered her an embrace before- their physical interactions only going as far as a fistbump. 

She accepted, wrapping her own free arm briefly around him and resting her hand on his back. Kimi patted her own back a few times. 

The pair pulled back, satisfied smiles on both their faces. The Alfa Romeo driver crouched down next to his daughter. ''We will see her soon, okay?'' He reassured Rianna, who didn't take her eyes off the female driver as she absentmindedly nodded to what her father was saying. 

''You can visit me and we can eat a lot of food together.'' Y/N told the small girl. Rianna smiled brightly at her words, nodding her head. 

''Say bye bye to Y/N.'' Kimi whispered to her. 

Rianna stepped out of her father's arms. ''Bye bye, Y/N.'' The little girl skipped over to her, jumping into the older woman's embrace. ''Bye bye.'' Y/N kissed the side of Rianna's head, touched by the youngest Raikkonen's love. 

As the girls pulled apart, Kimi picked his daughter up- facing his, now, former competitor. ''Have a safe trip home, okay?'' 

Y/N nodded, appreciating his concern. ''You guys too.'' 

Minttu stepped forward, also offering the woman a hug. ''We wish you the best next season. We'll continue to root for you.'' She smiled, stating her support for the female driver. 

''Thank you so much, and have a nice Christmas together.'' Y/N said to her, appreciating that their family would continue rooting for her. She also high-fived a shy looking Robin who clinged to his mother. 

''We'll call, okay?'' Kimi mimicked a phone with his hand, looking at her. She nodded her head, delighted the man wanted to continue having contact with her. 

''We will.'' 

[malereadermaniac]

Serial Cheater ~ Mako x Male Reader

This takes place somewhere along season 2 - Mako having just broken up with Korra and chatting to Asami again You are a core member of team Avatar! word count: 750 - Short fic! Sorry lol m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI

Even though Mako is the kind of guy fan girls swoon over, most people would say that he's pretty down to earth

Your friends wouldn't describe Mako as flirty or as a serial romantic

But for the entire time you've known the muscular fire bender, some things have stuck out to you - most notably that he is, in fact, a flirt and a serial cheater (on accident)

Mako never actually means any harm to the girls he dates, but you have noticed a trend in his dating patterns of dating drop-dead gorgeous girls with a little overlap between them

It may just be the law of attraction - maybe Mako is just a magnet to romance and he can't help it

But it's most definitely a fact that if an opportunity is presented to the police officer, he takes it

And that is exactly what got the both of you into this situation

Mako and you were hanging out, Korra away somewhere on avatar business and everyone else at their respective jobs

The two of you were just chilling in Mako's apartment, having ordered take-out and drinking some new companies mass-produced rice-wine

As conversations drifted from one to the other, Mako started to vent about his highly active love-life

Being a good friend, you listened to the tall police officer - nodding along to assure him that you're listening to his ramble about his feelings for Korra and also for Asami

You of course throw in a joking comment or two at Mako's adulterous nature, but all in all you listen to his problems and offer your comfort

And your comforting and caring nature, mixed with the alcohol in Mako's system, was what resulted in your current situation

That being you on Mako's lap, making out with you handsome friend

Yes, you broke the kiss initially

Yes, you said you two shouldn't do this because of your close friendship with both of Mako's love interests

Yes, Mako begged for your warm, soft lips and for your comfort

And yes, you gave in...

Even though Mako was just yapping on about kissing Asami less than 24 hours ago, his chiseled face and warm brown eyes drew you in like an inescapable black hole

As the two of you made out, clothing started to make its way off of your body - the air in Mako's apartment becoming hotter and stuffier

But as your nude chest rubbed against the handsome man's pecs, a knock of the door forced you two apart

"Mako? Hey I wanna... talk about earlier!" you could hear your dear friend's voice shout

Asami was behind that door, and you most certainly didn't want her to walk in and see you and her not-so-boyfriend-boyfriend getting it on

You and Mako struggle to get off of one another and desperately reach for your clothes to cover up

You head to the bathroom to hide and dress back up as Mako let's Asami in to talk

You over-hear the two as you wait in your friends' tiny bathroom

Their conversation had ups and downs, but it definitely ended in an up

You peaked out of the crack between the door frame and the door, watching as Asami and Mako kissed goodbye

As the front door shut, you open the bathroom door and lean on the frame

"Sooo... looks like you really just can't help yourself" you say with a smirk to Mako

The tall man chuckles as he walks over to you

"Heh... yeah, I guess so"

"I don't think you deny being a playboy much longer, haha..." you joke

Mako holds you head up with his soft hand to make you look him in the eye - Mako's height being emphasised

"Shut up... and what if I am?" Mako half-lids his eyes as he focuses on your features

And while you know that it's a dick move on your part, breaking Asami's and even Korra's trust, you couldn't help but push your lips against Mako's

Your hands rest on Mako's strong chest, his tongue slipping past your lips as his masculine hands slip onto your waist

"That's what I'd do if your were... Hmhm~" you laugh after breaking from Mako's warm lips

The two of you laugh as the strong man picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck

As Mako makes his way to his bed, all thoughts of guilt float out and away from your brain

[lottiesgrl]

𝗱𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗿𝗵𝗶𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗼𝗻 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀

cw: n/a

༊*·˚ rhiannon has wanted nothing more than to live a domestic life with someone for longer than she can remember. she's spent many hours on the couch, a bowl of ice cream in hand, watching some cheesy rom-com and wishing more than anything that it was her in a happy, domestic relationship instead of all the people around her.

༊*·˚ despite being in a relationship before, craig was... a less than ideal partner. the most romantic thing he ever did for her was pay for takeout dinner for the two of them and then fucked off to go watch football.

༊*·˚ all rhiannon wanted was someone who cared about her, someone that she could share her life with who loved her as much as she loved them. and that's when you came into her life. ever since you've known her, you've always treated her with a kindness that no one else has. even when you weren't together, you always went out of your way to make sure that rhiannon was alright and that no one at your job treated her too badly. it's the nicest she's ever been treated, and even though she wouldn't necessarily consider herself romantic, she truly thinks that you're the one.

༊*·˚ she loves it when you go on walks with her, especially when she's walking tink. you've caught her a few times taking her out and you always offer to tag along with her. every time tink sees you, she jumps up on your leg, barking and yipping until you give her a little scratch on the head or below the chin. rhiannon always jokes that she has competition for who loves you more, and she might just be right.

༊*·˚ also... it's a bit silly, but sometimes rhiannon actually gets jealous of how much attention you give tink. you'll be sidled up next to her watching a movie, your hand pulling away from hers to pet tink as she jumps up into your lap, and she'll pout at you, heartbroken that you'd choose her own dog over her. you give her a kiss on the forehead, reassuring her that you didn't love tink more than her.

༊*·˚ she also loves to have tink settle your dillemas. when you're stuck on where to go out to dinner, she'll hold out both her hands, and whichever hand tink chooses is where you end up going. she also gives tink a little baby voice and often uses it to win the argument that she loves your more. it's so cheesy, but you think it's adorable, so you play along with it every time.

༊*·˚ rhiannon is a chronic clothes stealer. whatever is in your closet is hers, and vice versa. you notice your favorite sweater isn't in your closet, or a pair of your lounge pants is missing, or your t-shirt is gone, and you've all but forgotten them until you notice her decked out head to toe in your missing clothes. you can't bring yourself to care, especially when she's bringing your shirt to her face, fingers curling around the collar and inhaling your scent.

༊*·˚ she's especially notorious for stealing your clothes when you're away from a long time - even if you're going into work and she stays home, you'll find her wrapped in your sweater while watching tv or taking a nap on the couch.

༊*·˚ you always think she looks gorgeous, but she's so especially beautiful when she first wakes up. her hair is all mussed, splayed out on the pillow around her, and she's blinking away the sleep in her eyes. it takes her a good amount of time to properly get up, but you can't complain - it gives you more time to admire her and trail a finger across her jawline, admiring the way the morning sun frames her features.

༊*·˚ she absolutely loves cooking for you! her dad taught her how to cook when she was younger and she used to cook for him all the time, but since he's passed, she hasn't been able to cook for anyone. she'll go all out every time she cooks - candles on the table, glasses of wine, special tablecloths, and her family's expensive cutlery. you assure her that she doesn't have to do all of this for you, but she makes it clear that she does all of this because she wants to.

༊*·˚ rhiannon is such a big movie fanatic. i'd like to believe that her dad left her an extensive movie collection, and there's nothing she likes more than to curl up on the couch and watch a movie. she'd be soooo happy if you shared her love with movies, and movie nights are a common occurrence in her household. you'll spend your evenings with a bag of popcorn and rhiannon in your arms as she shows you all her favorite movies.

༊*·˚ she's just such a sweetheart that wants nothing more than to live a domestic life with you. and maybe kill the people that wronged her, but don't we all?