#he's putting on his comfort wrist brace

[mekanikaltrifle]

world's shittiest doodle but. I was inspired

Felicitas at home, after a day's work superheroing, come back to his family (seven cats)

[imaginedisish]

Savior Complex (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys! Here is the request I said I'd write. I hope it's what the anon wanted. It's quite long...and maybe a little different than my other Logan works...so I hope you guys enjoy. Inspired (obviously), by "Savior Complex" by Phoebe Bridgers.

Summary: You are willing to give up everything, including your own life, to save your found family. Logan, however, is not willing to let you do that. And he finally shows you why.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!! Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), Oral (f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, friends to lovers, hurt to comfort, mutant!reader, omega!mutant!reader, fem!reader/afab!reader, allusions to death, canon typical violence, cursing, likely some grammatical errors, and I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,549 eeeeeesssshhhh

“Stay down!” Logan yells, his body hunched over yours, shielding you against the trunk of a thick tree. 

You try to push him away. “We need to move!” You protest, shoving at him to no avail. He’s more solid than the tree at your back, firm, unwavering. Bullets fly overhead, swishing through the air. You listen to the sounds of triggers clicking and guns cracking. “I need to get out there!”

Logan presses himself further into you, his chest flush with yours. “You are not going anywhere,” he spits, his eyes trained on you. He’s studying every shift in your expression, every twitch in your shoulders and every flinch you make at the firing of a gun in the distance. 

“Logan,” you say, trying to stand up straight, to force yourself from his hold. You raise your voice. “I’m going out there, and you are not stopping me.” You brace your hands at your sides, ready to use your powers if necessary. “Now is not the time to be the overbearing, protective friend, okay?”

Logan refuses to let up, unleashing his claws and digging them into the tree on either side of your body, caging you in, trapping you in place. “Well, isn’t that just too bad?” He mutters cockily, that shit-eating grin spread across his face. “Because I’m not going anywhere, princess.” 

You swallow, flexing your palms, stretching your fingers down to the ground. “I’ll give you one second to reconsider that decision.” 

He laughs, too self-assured for his own good. “And what are you gonna do—”

“Sorry, bub,” you chide, sarcasm heavy in your voice as you interrupt him. “But your second is up.” You shut your eyes, reaching towards the ground. Thin, black shadows—spirits—slip up through the blades of grass, nipping at Logan’s legs, wrapping around his ankles tightly. 

He looks down as the shadows pull him away from the tree, his claws slipping from the bark with little to no resistance. More shadows emerge, twirling around his wrists and yanking them down to his sides. 

“No!” He protests, thrashing as you step away from him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He cries out, trying his best to break free from the tight hold of the shadows. 

“Using my powers,” you say nonchalantly, putting some distance between you and Logan as you step backward. You smile. “Spirit weaving. Started calling it that the other day, actually!” You’re gloating off now, showing off, manipulating the spirits to tighten around him. 

You can see the irritation on his face—the fury written across his furrowed brow. “Oh! How cool!” He is far beyond sardonic—his voice a mocking jeer. “Now let me fucking go!”

You purse your lips, pretending to consider the thought as you backpedal through the surrounding trees. “Yeah…” you trail off. “I don’t think so. Think I gotta get a head start first.” 

And then you make a break for it, sprinting through the trees, cracking the branches scattered along the forest floor. You can see the mansion in the distance, the government agents rounding up the children. The sight sets off something deep inside you. You can feel the anger in your heart, squeezing tightly, dread filling your stomach. You’ve let go of your hold on Logan, your focus now on something far more important. 

You have to save the school. Your friends. Your family. You’re not an Omega-level mutant for nothing, after all. 

You take a step closer to the school, grass dying underneath your feet as your boots tread along the ground—the bright green blades turn brown as you give in to your anger. Somewhere in the distance, a familiar voice calls your name, but it’s too late for that—too late to stop you now. Your eyes flicker closed and open again, changing colors as your powers take control: your left eye white and your right black—representing life and death.

My dear, Charles is suddenly your head. You must restrain yourself. You must back down. 

“No,” you call out, your voice multi-dimensional, bassy and high, light and heavy. “It is time they learn we are not to be taken advantage of.” 

It is too dangerous, my child, his voice bounces around your mind. Charles works hard to convince you, showing you visions of your death, of the potential consequences of your actions. This is not you. This is your anger. 

“I know what I’m doing,” you protest, your voice echoing across the field. 

The agents watch as you stalk across the lawn, spirits following closely at your ankles like a thick, massive cloud of black smoke. 

Your name rings out from behind you. You can feel the tug of the familiar voice, the desire to turn around and see that face, to hear him call your name again. But you stifle the feelings down, struggling to ignore the way your heart begs to see him—Logan. You can feel yourself caught in the middle, split in two. 

A tear slips down your cheek as you walk forward, closer to the agents. Their guns point at you—hundreds of fingers on triggers, aiming carefully with squinting eyes. You can see they’re no longer paying attention to the children. You’ve given the students their chance—their way out. You can see it in their faces; they know. They’re just waiting for your signal. 

Spirits cloud your fists, climbing into your palms, eager for a fight. You bend your knees, digging your heels into the ground. The grass between you and the government agents has long since died. You can feel the tension, feel the spirits rumbling in the air and in your hands. 

“You wanted a fight…” You pause, your voice a crack of thunder. “I’ll give you a fucking fight.” The spirits whisper in your ears, their hums filling the air. They aren’t dead; they’re drumming, living things. It’s time. Oh yes, it’s time. Go! 

“Now run!” You scream to the children, unleashing the spirits across the lawn. You sprint across the field, black shadows knocking the agents over and throwing them away. You guide the spirits with your mind, directing them with the flick of your wrist and the point of your finger. 

You’re bloodthirsty, searching for the mission’s organizer, hunting tirelessly for their leader. The spirits know what you want—what you need—and swarm around a man at the back of the lawn—the man following the children. 

The spirits pick you up by your knees and your shoulders, lifting you into the air and towards the man. You fall to the ground right behind him. 

You smirk hatefully, extending your fingers toward his ankles. Shadows surge him, threading around his legs, twisting up his stomach, and wrapping tightly around his throat. 

“W-who the fuck are you?” The agent chokes out. 

You cock your head to the side, grinning widely. The spirits goad you along. Tap his little head. You know you want to. Take his life. Go on. Take it. One tap to his temple—that’s all it would take—and his life would be yours. It’s something you’ve never done before, something you’ve been able to resist in the past. But this time, you can’t help it. 

“Who am I?” You repeat condescendingly, laughing manically. You lift your hand, inching closer to his forehead. “I,” you pause, your fingertips brushing against his skin. “Am death.” Your white eye flickers out, turning pitch black. 

This is what the Professor had always been afraid of. 

“Don’t!” There’s that voice again, tugging at your heart. “Please, don’t.” 

You keep your hold on the agent as you turn around. Logan. He’s in front of you now, approaching you slowly. Behind him, spirits wreck the other government agents, sweeping them up, throwing them away, holding them down. The other X-Men fight off the few remaining agents easily. 

“I am going to finish this,” you say, struggling to hold on to your powers. Your hatred and anger fade at the sight of Logan—wearing the uniform he said he never would, his hair a disheveled mess, his hand slowly extending out to you. 

He shakes his head, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “It’s already over,” he says firmly, taking your hand. You turn around and see that the government agent is passed out on the ground, likely from the pressure of the spirits choking his throat. 

“If you hold on any longer, you’re gonna hurt yourself, princess.” Your eyes flicker at the nickname, your grip loosening on your powers. You can feel yourself slipping, fading away. 

“H-have to f-finish the job,” you stutter, fighting against that tear in your heart. 

Logan pulls you towards him, his thumb brushing soft circles to the top of your hand. “Think you already did, sweetheart.”

“N-no, she didn’t,” you hear a voice mutter from behind you. BANG! A gun cracks, and there’s suddenly a stinging sensation in your side. You turn, and the government agent is freed from your hold, his gun aimed at your head now. 

“NO!” Logan shouts, but you ignore him, your powers flooding back to you. The spirits swarm the agent again, winding up his body and holding him in place. The shadows trail up your body too, coming to where the bullet hit your side and pulling the metal shell out. 

You fight through the pain, pressing your pointer and middle fingers to the temple of the agent’s head. “This might hurt a bit,” you mumble, taking a deep breath and stealing his life force. “Just taking retribution.” His veins darken as your wound closes, taking only enough of the man’s life to heal yourself. 

You sigh with relief as the wound becomes nothing. You lift your fingers from the agent’s head, and he slumps down to the ground. He’s truly incapacitated now, passed out cold.

You turn around, and Logan is still standing there. He approaches you again. You suddenly feel overwhelmed and woozy. It was too much, you realize. 

Your eyes flicker again—black, white, normal, shifting quickly, shakily, like power going out in a thunderstorm. “L-Logan,” you stammer, hunching over, your hands on your thighs. He crouches down, letting you lean into him. 

“Hey,” he whispers reassuringly—but you can hear the secret panic in his voice. “I’ve got you.” 

The others call your name in the distance. 

“I did it,” you whisper. 

The spirits disappear from the field, slipping back under the ground. 

Logan’s eyes are glossed over. “Yeah, you did sweetheart.” You fall fully into Logan, his arms wrapping around you, a single tear slipping down his cheek. 

And then everything goes black. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Still in here, Logan?” It’s Charles.

“Yeah,” Logan’s voice is raspy, tired. And it’s close, like you could reach out and strum the sound waves. “Are the kids okay?”

“They’re all safe and accounted for,” Charles says. “And Hank is handling the government side of things. It was an unsanctioned attack.” Silence settles over the room, the pause strained and tense. “She’s going to be okay. You should get some rest.”

“I’m staying.” 

“Logan—”

“I said I’m staying.” And then the door shuts. 

Your eyes slowly open, and you realize you’re back in the mansion���in your room, your bed. Logan notices immediately, standing from the chair next to your bed and rushing to your side. 

“Hey,” he soothes, his hand reaching out, gently cupping your cheek. You lean into his touch involuntarily. It’s an instinct—something you simply have to do. “You’re awake.”

“No visit to the lab for me, huh?” You joke, sitting up a bit as your memories flood back to you. You’re surprised that you don’t feel any injuries or soreness. 

Logan swallows nervously. “You were…” he trails off, his eyes searching yours. “Earlier. All day, actually.” His thumb brushes against your cheek. “Everyone was worried about you.” 

You shake your head, smiling softly. “I’m alright. I don’t feel a thing.” 

But Logan isn’t swayed. You can see the fear in his eyes, the stress in his shoulders. “You should’ve let me hold you back.” He’s serious, his voice firm and steady. “You could’ve gotten hurt…” He struggles to get the words out, his eyes grazing up and down your body. “You could’ve died.”

“Logan,” you mumble, sitting up. “I did what I did because I had to,” you pause, your heart squeezing at the look on his face. “I’d give my life for this family. I would—”

“You’re not giving your life for anything; do you hear me?” He cuts you off, furrowing his brows, his other hand cupping your cheek now, too. 

You close your eyes at the feeling of his touch, the warmth of his palms. “I would give my life to save you.” The words slip freely from your lips. You’re so sure of that fact, so impossibly certain. 

He pulls you closer to him, his hands sliding from your face to the nape of your neck. “I won’t let that happen.” 

“Logan I will always—”

But he cuts off your protests. “Enough of your fucking savior complex.” His voice is shaky now. He pulls you into his chest, and you let him. His arms slip down your back, pressing you tightly to him. His lips are at the shell of your ear. “I am not losing you.” 

The vulnerability of his words shocks you, your breath catching in your throat. “You won’t,” you promise, burying your face into the center of his chest. 

“I almost did,” he chokes out, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. His words kill you, your heart aching at the sadness in his voice. 

You lift your head from his chest, looking up at him as he looks down at you. He’s massive, towering over you. You can smell him on your clothes, on your skin—tobacco and pine and musk. There’s a shift in his expression, in the tension in the room. His chest heaves under his beater. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, your hands sliding up his stomach, trailing over his abs. He relaxes into your touch, the stress leaving his shoulders. He leans over you, his forehead pressing to yours. The contact and the closeness are dizzying, your mind hazy as Logan’s fingertips ghost the sides of your waist.  

He swallows harshly as his lips brush against yours—a whisper of a kiss. “Wouldn’t even give you the chance,” he mumbles. You can feel the charge in the air, the anticipation. There’s a look on his face, and you recognize it immediately. You feel it too. 

Longing. Need.   

His lips capture yours, engulfing you like a fire. His hands slip under your shirt, exploring your skin. He’s breathing you in, and you’re breathing him out. You’re suddenly one extraordinary machine, working together, moving against each other in time. 

Logan pushes you down to the mattress, his lips still on yours, the kiss becoming rushed and frantic. He climbs on top of you, his bare arms caging you in on either side of your head. You spread your legs for him, giving him room to settle in between. You can feel his erection strain against his jeans as he rocks into you. The friction feels good, but it’s not enough. You grind against him, needy for more. 

“Fuck,” he pants between kisses, lowering himself down onto his forearm to close the gap between you. His free hand finds the hem of your shirt and slips underneath, his fingertips trailing up and down your body. He’s still rutting into you, his cock nudging against your needy core. 

You grab at his back, pulling on his beater. “L-Logan,” you stutter, his fingers bumping into the bottom of your bra. You arch up into him, giving him the space he needs to bring his hand to your back and unclasp it. He sits up, quickly pulling your shirt up and over your head, slipping your bra off, too. 

He lays you back down, hovering over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand drifts up to your breasts. He squeezes softly, his thumb tracing over your nipples. “Beautiful,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck, biting your pulse point. “So fucking beautiful.” 

His soft bites turn into kisses, trailing down your neck to your collarbone. He kisses in between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, stopping just above the hem of your shorts. You swallow, nodding frantically as he hooks his fingers into the waistbands of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs in one fluid motion. 

You’re exposed to him—bare. He settles back in between your legs, his mouth just inches away from where you need him most. His breath fans across your clit, a jolt of electricity sparking a fire at the base of your spine. You can feel the ache between your legs growing. 

“Please,” you beg, Logan’s name hanging on the tip of your tongue as you look down at him. He presses a teasing kiss to your clit, his eyes focused on you, on every move you make. “Logan, I need—”

You’re cut off by his tongue—a long, flat stripe licking through your folds, up to your clit. His tongue flits out, flicking lightly before starting all over again. “Gonna take my time with you, pretty girl,” he murmurs against you, the vibrations of his bassy voice coursing through you. Your walls squeeze down around nothing, begging for more, begging for release. “Gonna make you feel good.”

He spreads his palm against your inner thigh, nudging you open for him. His nails dig into your skin, fingers trailing up closer to your core. “Please,” you whine. “Want you.”

Logan’s fingers finally meet your folds, his tongue flicking your clit and pulling it between his lips, sucking softly. “Tastes so good,” he mumbles against you. “So fucking sweet.” Two fingers nudge your entrance, testing the waters, spreading you open slowly. 

You open your mouth to beg for him again, but then he’s thrusting inside you—knuckle deep—his fingers stretching you out. Your walls flutter around him as he pulls out and pushes all the way back in. His swirls circles into your clit, his tongue lapping at you, savoring the taste of you. 

He slides his free hand under your back and to your hip, hoisting you closer to him as he buries his face into your cunt. There’s a hunger in his eyes. No, it’s so far beyond hunger. He’s starving—starving for you and only you. If he could live inside you, he would.

He’s relentless as he sucks your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you. He can feel you shaking underneath him, trembling. His thumb draws gentle, comforting circles along your hip. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he whispers in between thrusts. “Doing so good for me, taking it so well.” Your muscles contract around him at the words, his praises overwhelming you. 

He's getting you there—the fire spreading, creeping in, ready to consume everything in its path. “’M’so close,” you moan, overstimulated and fucked out. Logan doesn’t slow down, his fingers hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. You can feel yourself coming undone, unraveling before him. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he soothes between laps. “Come on my tongue, just like that.” And then you’re letting go, coming around his fingers. Fire washes over you, beat after beat, pump after pump. It hits you in waves, the sensation crashing into you as Logan works you through your orgasm. 

He’s whispering praises as he savors your taste on his tongue. So good, sweetheart. Letting me take care of you. I’ve got you. So fucking pretty. 

His thrusts slow down, gently rubbing at your walls before sliding out. But his tongue is still working at your clit, lapping softly. “Could eat you out for hours, princess,” he says, licking another long stripe through your folds. “Maybe I will.” You can feel him smile against you.

But you need him, need him closer—as close as he can possibly be. “Logan,” you call out, already close to coming again. “Want you now,” you plead. 

He licks one more long stripe before lifting his head. He sits up, staring down at you as he lifts his beater up and over his head. You stare at his chest, the way his muscles flex as he breathes. Your arousal glistens on his lips, his chin. 

He unbuckles his belt and slips it from the loops, casting it to the ground with a loud clank. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans, tugging them down his legs along with his boxers. His cock springs free, and he is so much bigger than you ever imagined he’d be. You swallow at the sight, and Logan smiles. 

He is so cocksure, but maybe he deserves to be. 

He lowers himself down over you, once again balancing on his forearm. His free hand trails up your sides teasingly before resting on your hip. “Gonna go slow, princess,” he whispers, biting your bottom lip and then stealing a kiss. “Nice and easy.”  His hand on your hip disappears, leaving you suddenly cold and empty without his touch. But you know where he’s going—know that he’s wrapping his fist around the base of his cock. You spread your legs for him, inviting him inside.

He nudges against you, sliding up and down your folds, feeling you. His tip bumps against your clit, sending a shiver down your spine as you squirm underneath him. He finds your entrance again, his head slipping in, and then pulling back out. 

His teasing is too much. You need him, more than anything, ever. “Please, Lo. Need you inside—” 

Your words get stuck in your throat as Logan thrusts deep inside you, his cock rubbing against your walls, stretching you out. You moan his name, arching your back, your breasts pressing against his chest. He stays there for a moment, his cock throbbing inside you, giving you a second to adjust to the size of him. But it’s not enough—you need him to move. You lift your hips, searching for more friction. 

Logan pins you down, his free hand stilling you at your waist. “Wanna take my time with you,” he growls, sliding out and thrusting back in. “Wanna feel every inch of you.” He’s setting the pace: slow, but building. Once he’s sure you’re not going anywhere, he lifts his grip from your hip and brings his hand down between where your bodies connect.

He finds your clit again, still swollen and overstimulated, and starts to work slow, gentle circles into it. You’re already close, already almost at that edge. 

Logan’s thrusts become rougher, deeper. He rocks into you, plunging himself down to the hilt as he flicks your clit. He swallows your moans with a kiss, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. You open your mouth, letting him inside. You’d give him anything—absolutely anything he wanted. He never even has to ask. 

“Yours,” you breathe into the kiss. “All yours.”

“F-fuck,” he curses, rutting into you, your words goading him along. “Mine,” He growls, his hips snapping faster, his pace quickening with every thrust. “All mine, pretty girl.” 

And then the confession spills from your lips. You can’t control it. “I love you.” 

Logan pounds into you harder. “I love you, too.” He can’t control himself either. You squeeze around him, the words practically pushing you over the edge. “Needed you this whole time, sweetheart. The whole fucking time.”

You throw your head back, exposing your throat to him. He buries himself into the crook of your neck as he pumps in and out of you, biting down on your pulse point again and then licking away the pain. 

“Can feel you getting close, darlin’,” he coos, his fingers still stroking your clit. Your walls flutter and contract around him. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.” 

Your chests heave together, one single breath flowing between the two of you as he thrusts deeper. You’re slipping, letting go, crashing beneath him. You wrap your arms around his back, pulling him closer. “Lo…” you trail off, unable to form a sentence. 

“Love it when you say my name, sweetheart,” he grunts. “Say it again for me.”

“Logan,” you whine, your legs wrapping around his waist as he fucks into you. You can’t hold back anymore. It’s too much. And he knows. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says, rubbing at your clit. “Let go for me.” 

You do, clenching down onto him, pulling him deeper. He groans at the feeling, his pace faltering as you come around him. You’re melting into the sheets, your muscles tensing and relaxing, white-hot heat spreading across your vision. 

“Fuck,” Logan groans, working you through your orgasm. After a few more slow, languid strokes around your clit, his hand slips from your core and up your body. He squeezes your breasts before sliding his palm behind your back, lifting you up for better leverage. He fucks up into you, pressing you closer to his chest. 

You tighten your legs around his waist, keeping him in place. He knows what you’re asking him for. “Inside?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. He brings his lips to yours as he comes inside you, filling you up. He’s so warm, so solid. You cling to him as he finishes, not wanting to let go. His pumps slow until he’s still inside you. He holds you there for a moment, your foreheads pressed together.

Logan carefully pulls out. He rolls off you and pulls you with him so that you’re lying on your side next to him. He wraps his arms around you, keeping you pressed against his chest. Your legs tangle together. 

The intimacy of the moment suddenly sobers you, and memories of today come flooding back. You can feel the tears brimming in your eyes. Logan notices immediately. 

“Hey,” he whispers, panic clear in his voice. “It’s okay,” he soothes, running his hands along your back. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry…” you trail off, burying your face into his neck. “I’m so sorry for scaring you, for hurting you, for putting myself in danger. I just—” 

“I know,” he interrupts you. “It’s okay, don’t cry. I’m here.”

“I won’t leave you,” you vow. “I promise.”

“Don’t promise,” he says softly. You look up at him, a sad smile spread across his face. 

You furrow your brows. “Why?”

He swallows. “Because I would’ve done the same for you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’d tear the world apart for you.” He pauses. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” You smile, your tears subsiding. You take a deep breath and recall something he had said before. “So, who has the savior complex now?” You joke. 

“Me,” he says back, half joking, but half serious, too. You can hear it—the honesty, the intention. “I’d do anything to save you.” 

“It’s not gonna come to that.”

“But when—” he stops himself. “If it does, I’ll be there.” He pauses. “I will always choose you. Always. Every time.”

Always. Always. Always.

It’s all you can think about as you fall asleep in Logan’s arms. 

[rememberwren]

I finally wrote for Gaz <3 Quick little blurb about BFF!Kyle / fem! reader. You ask Kyle to practice sucking dick. You know. On him. Ft. a rather subby Kyle Gaz Garrick. Part 2 here.

-

The first thing Kyle does after you ask to practice sucking his cock is—

—jerk off. I mean, he agrees. He showers, even though he had showered earlier that day. But in the shower, he jerks off because he knows that if he doesn’t, he’ll be spilling himself into your mouth straight away. It’s hardly the learning experience he wants to give you.  

Erection sated, what he doesn’t do is think about the why. He doesn’t think about the next person, the one you might be trying to learn these skills for. That way only leads to pain, and he’s not interested in the angst tonight, not when he’s got this opportunity in front of him packaged up neater than a gift at Christmas. 

You sit on your heels while he sits on the edge of the bed, naked. For cumming only ten minutes ago, he’s having no problem getting hard, not with the way you look at his cock: a little dumbfounded, a little curious, a little scared, a little excited. 

“It doesn’t bite. At least it didn’t the last time I checked,” he teases. He doesn’t admit that it was only ten minutes ago. “You can touch it if you want. Just stop whenever you want to stop, yeah?” 

Comforted, you reach out and stroke your fingertips along the velvety length of his cock. You trace around the foreskin, down the shaft, even brave enough to gently cradle his balls in your palm.

Kyle loves it—loves turning himself into a statue beneath your touch, loves existing only for your innocent exploration. He murmurs soft words of encouragement beneath his breath, watching as your confidence blossoms like a flower beneath rain. Until you feel bold enough to lean forward and place a chaste little kiss on the head. 

His cock jerks, a quiet moan pulled from his throat at the softness of your mouth. You pull back, laughing a little at the unexpected movement of his cock. You’re moving plenty yourself though: can’t seem to sit still, shifting from one side to the other. Anything to get a little pressure on your pussy. 

“Are you already wet?” Kyle asks. “Just from kissing my cock?”

You laugh again, embarrassed, and cover your face with your hands. Kyle reaches out to peel them away, eager to see your every minute expression. It’s important that he does, he tells himself, so that he can tell if you’re uncomfortable. It has nothing to do with enjoying the way your mouth drops open a little when you stare too long, the way your eyes get heavy-lidded when you breathe in the clean scent of him and his shower gel.

“First lesson,” he says, guiding your wrists back down to your sides. “Anyone ever asks you to suck their dick and you don’t want to, say no. If they insist, kick them right in the balls.” 

“I already knew that,” you huff, rolling your eyes at him. 

“Second lesson: don’t bite it off. That’s the end of the lessons, really. Take it from somebody with a dick, we’re just grateful it’s in your mouth. As long as we get it back in one piece, we can’t really complain about whatever you do to it.” 

Your laughter goes a long way to relaxing that last anxious part inside his chest, the one that is worried he has somehow pressured you into this (despite your insistence that this was what you wanted; that Kyle was the only man in your life you felt safe enough to explore with). When you put your hands on his thighs to brace yourself, kneeling up, he laces your fingers together with his own, smoothing the calloused pad of his thumb across your knuckle. 

“Go at your pace. You’re in charge unless you decide otherwise,” he says, watching as your mouth comes closer to his aching length. Your eyes flicker up to him, the picture you make of pure pornography as you kneel between his thighs like a sinner, holding onto his hands like a saint. 

You place open-mouthed kisses along his length, tasting him, working your way up and down his cock. It’s a test of his restraint to keep still and quiet and let you explore like this, when all he wants is your lips wrapped around him. A bead of precum wells at the slit of his cock and he watches your eyes find it, fingers wiggling free of his own so that you can reach out and drag the pad of one finger through the pearly seed. Your eyes find his, a hint of caution there, like you aren’t sure if you’re about to do something bad—but whatever you see in his face (likely something far too honest, far too open and worshipful)---settles your anxieties. You slip the finger into your mouth and suck it clean, nose wrinkling a little at the taste. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, breathless. “You don’t have to finish me at all, okay?” 

You roll your eyes again. “Gaz. Stop talking.” 

“Shut me up,” he challenges, holding out his hands as if to say, Be my guest. 

You take a deep breath, shoulders squaring. Your mouth opens and then the head of his cock rests against the warm wetness of your tongue. Whose eyes shut first? He couldn’t say. Your mouth closes around him, sucking softly on just the tip as your fingers come to wrap around the base, thumb stroke along the underside. Kyle mutters a curse, sucking in a breath and holding it until his lungs burn. Fuck, your mouth is like liquid heat, the little suckling motions of your tongue soft and sweet as you test out different intensities and pressures. You lean forward, taking more of him past your lips, and he lets out a long, low groan. 

He forces his eyes open, suddenly aware that he is missing it. You’re here, on your knees, sucking his cock like the best girl, and he’s missing it. You’re already watching him, a smile visible at the corners of your eyes. You take him into your mouth until his head nudges at the back of your throat where it turns soft. You gag a little, and he curses again, a sound which has you shifting against your heels. 

You set a hesitant rhythm, head bobbing. It takes you time to coordinate your hand and your mouth, but once you do, it tears a whine from his throat. You keep yourself comfortable, only taking him in to the back of your mouth, but he has no complaints, his belly tight with pleasure, breaths coming shallow and fast. 

“That’s it,” he breathes, reaching out to cup your jaw in his hand, thumb smoothing along the hollow of your cheek as you suck. “So good. Doing it just right, aren’t you?” 

You make a little needy sound, shifting on your heels again. 

“Wet, pretty girl?” he wonders. “You can’t sit still. Is this turning you on?” 

You nod, his cock in your mouth. 

“Show me,” he says, half-delirious with need. “Touch yourself and show me.” 

You remove the hand from the base of his cock and slip it down the front of your leggings. When you pull it free and hold it up to the light, your first two fingers are wet, a line of slick connecting them thin as spidersilk until it breaks while he watches. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. Part of him wants to leave you in pain, desperate for relief, to watch you squirm between his legs like you’re kneeling on hot coals. The other part of him wants to feel the vibration of your moans around his cock, and that is the part which wins. He’s always considered himself a generous guy. “Touch yourself—’s only fair. You’re making me feel so good.” 

You get clumsy once your hand is between your legs. Your other hand holds the base of his cock steady, but he can tell you lose focus on him, the slick sounds of your fingers rubbing against your clit just audible. Sometimes your mouth goes loose and lax around him, tongue aimless. Kyle groans, hips jerking a little deeper into the softness of your mouth, desperate for anything you give him. You’re the one on your knees, but you’re so far in control that it’s almost laughable. 

“Don’t stop,” he whispers, stroking where your lips are split open around him, using the pad of his thumb to feel his cock through the softness of your cheek. “Please don’t stop, pretty girl, just—please—” 

You blink, coming back to yourself a little, and the suction around his cock tightens to a point somewhere between bliss and pain. Though your efforts have been clumsy and the lesson has gone properly off the rails, he can feel his balls drawing up tight against his body, his cock throbbing against your tongue. 

“I’m close—pull off, baby,” he says. 

You stiffen, eyes going wide. He slips in too deep and you gag around him, a wet choke that shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, your eyes slipping shut until your lashes rest on your cheeks, broken little whines filtering out around his cock as you cum on your fingers. 

It’s too much for him. He pulls out just in time, one hand cupped loosely around the head of his cock and the other stripping its length in short, quick strokes as he cums after you, teeth clenching, jaw tight around your name in his mouth. He fills his hand and some slips out between his fingers, dripping down onto your thighs below. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Are you okay?” 

You nod, working your hand free from your leggings. You’re slick all over your palm. He wants to lick it clean. 

“I didn’t pay attention,” you blurt out. 

He stares. 

You continue: “Like, at all. I’m sorry, Kyle, I was so—I was distracted. But I think I’m better now. Can we…can we try again?” 

More cum drips from between his fingers. You squeal and stick your open hand beneath his to catch it before it can ruin your leggings more than they already are. After a lengthy silence, Kyle sighs. 

“Yeah, pretty girl, we can try again. Give me ten minutes.”

[moonstruckme]

Hey bestie!! I broke my neck yesterday so I was wondering if you could do something with EMT!marauders where reader falls or something and so they have to put a cervical collar on her and just a lot of comfort? I completely understand if not and I hope you have a wonderful day!!!

Hi lovely, hope you're doing okay!! That sounds so scary, wishing you the best and thank you for requesting <3

cw: injury, restrained movement (reader has some anxiety around feeling trapped)

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

You wake with hands on your face. 

“Easy—no, don’t move, please. My name’s James, I’m with NHS.” You take a breath, and the head attached to the hands nods encouragingly. He keeps you pressed firmly to the headrest of your seat. “That’s good, just breathe. I’m gonna pass you off to my partner behind you, okay? This is Remus.” 

Another set of gloved hands plants itself on either side of your face, fingers splayed along your jaw. You swallow, and James gives you a smile. You can’t fathom how it reaches his eyes, deep brown and magnified by a set of glasses with thick lenses. You’ve only just woken up and you already feel like you could cry.

“He’s just going to keep your head still for us. Don’t try to move, yeah?” 

You think to nod, but Remus’ grip is tight, and the mere activation of the muscles sends shooting pains down your neck. You gasp. 

“Yeah, don’t do that,” James says. He takes your hands in his. “Can you squeeze my fingers, sweetheart?” You do. “Good. Wiggle your fingers?” You do, but it feels weird. “Good.” James gives your hands a squeeze of his own. His gentleness makes something hot and panicky press at the back of your throat. 

“Alright, this is my partner Sirius.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see another man climbing in the passenger door. He grins at you, flashing canines. “He’s gonna help me put you in a brace to hold your head still.”

“Okay,” you say. Your voice comes out quiet and squeaky, but still James smiles as he opens up the plastic collar. 

“Hey, there she is. Can you tell us what’s hurting you, sweetheart?” 

“My neck.” You try to take a breath. It shakes going out. “And my hands feel tingly.” 

“Alright, that’s alright,” Remus says from behind you. His voice is low and soothing, a bit of rasp to it. “Anything else?” 

“No.” 

He adjusts his grip to let the other two put the collar around your neck, but then his touch is back. It’s starting to feel less constraining than grounding. 

“That’s not bad, all things considered. We’ll have to get you some scans to know for sure, though.” 

“Hold on, is that optimism from you, Remus?” Sirius grins, securing the velcro on one side of your neck. “He must really like you, doll.” 

“Sirius,” Remus says warningly. 

“Just making an observation. Jamesie, can you bring us the backboard?” 

“Yup.” James gives your knee a little pat and disappears from your vision. Oddly, you’re a bit nervous to be without him. 

“I’m gonna get your pulse here,” Sirius says, taking your wrist in hand. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.” 

“He means don’t move,” Remus clarifies. “You’re really doing quite well.” 

The pressure of Sirius’ gloved fingers on the inside of your wrist feels more intimate and vulnerable than it has any right to. You’re suddenly aware that you’re trembling. 

“Thanks,” you manage. “It’s not a hard job.” 

Remus chuckles behind your ear, and Sirius lets out a sharp laugh, looking up at you in surprise. 

“We don’t usually get comedians on these sort of runs,” he tells you, eyes studying your face with something between bemusement and admiration. “Remus is understating things, gorgeous. As far as horrific car accidents go, you’re killing this.” He sets your wrist back in your lap. “You’re definitely in shock, though. Are you afraid of needles?” 

“Um, not very. Why?” 

“No reason.” 

Sirius looks past you, and then James is back on your other side. 

“Hi, sweetheart. Miss me?” 

What’s humiliating is you almost had. You keep your mouth shut, smiling tersely. 

He blazes right past the joke, fiddling with things out of your view until there’s something hard poking into your thigh. “Okay, on Remus’ count Sirius and I are going to lift you so I can slide this backboard under you. Your only job is to keep being good and still for us, yeah?” 

You don’t get to respond before Sirius and James are wrapping their hands around your thighs. And then you’re not sure you can respond. Your breath freezes with the rest of you, caught in your throat, you can feel fingers digging into the soft undersides of your thighs even through your jeans. Remus counts down from three, and their grips tighten as they lift. You hiss as the muscles in your neck and back tighten instinctively, but James quickly slides the plastic board underneath you and they set you down again. 

“That’s it, well done,” Sirius murmurs as James settles his hands carefully on either side of your face. Remus lets go. 

“You doing okay?” James asks you, ducking his head a bit to see your eyes. You hope you don’t look quite so petrified as you feel. 

“Yeah,” you say. 

James’ expression doesn’t change, but his thumb makes a couple of quick, soothing strokes at your temple. “Alright, sweetheart,” he replies. “After this is the easy part, we’re just gonna get you lying down.” Remus gets out of your backseat, squeezing in your passenger door with James to grab hold of your shoulders. James looks to him and Sirius before counting down, “Three, two, one,” and they’re turning you. 

Your neck blazes with a pain that’s so sudden and acute you nearly choke on it, a strangled whimpering sound escaping you as they lower you backwards. Your back meets hard plastic. Soft shushing sounds are falling from Remus’ lips, his grip on your shoulders easing now that you’re in a more secure position. 

“We’ve got you,” he murmurs gently, the way one might to a stray kitten. “You’re alright, love, you did so well.” 

If you talk now you’ll cry. You’re sure of it. So you settle for giving him a watery smile you know isn’t believable, and he returns it nonetheless. 

You hear the ripping of velcro, and then Sirius is standing over you, passing the other end of a strap to Remus. James is still grasping your head. They start placing the straps over your chest, careful, businesslike hands lifting your arms and pulling the material taut against your sides. Your hands are lying awkwardly at your sides, and Sirius pauses to take them, placing them atop your stomach with one folded over the other. Soon your upper half is strapped down. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears.

“What are they doing?” you ask James quietly. 

“They’re just restricting your spinal movement,” he explains. “We have to make sure you don’t hurt yourself by moving, and once they’re done I can let go of your head.” 

“Oh.” You take a breath. “Okay.” 

You know they’re really helping you, just doing their jobs, but even still every tug of the straps feels like it’s restricting your airflow. You feel tight and tense. Trapped. You try to fill your lungs, but it’s useless. 

“Hey.” James’ voice is tender, and you don’t want to look at him but you don’t have much choice when he leans over you like that. You feel like a child, breathing through your mouth to try and keep tears from spilling. “Hey, it’s okay. What’s going on? Does something hurt?” 

You want to shake your head but you can’t, and that makes you cry harder. “No,” you squeak out. 

“Just scared?” You press your lips together, inhaling deeply to try and suppress the next sob that’s trying to break free from you. Down by your legs, you can feel Sirius and Remus moving faster to finish up. “I could certainly understand why. This is a lot, you know? But really, you’re being so great about it. We’re almost done here.” 

You close your eyes embarrassedly, you feel a strap tighten snugly around your ankles, and then James is letting your head go, wiping your tears with careful fingers. Another hand lands on your shin, rubbing soothingly. 

“We’ve gotta keep moving,” James says quietly, “to get you to the hospital, but if you need anything from us you can ask, alright?” 

You hum brokenly. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” He brushes a finger under your eye. You open it, and he gives you a reassuring little smile before looking to Remus and Sirius. “Ready?” 

“Yup.” Sirius’ voice is teeming with faux pep as they snap up the handles of the cot, starting to wheel you towards the ambulance. 

They lift you and all the equipment like it’s nothing, and then the sky is gone and you’re looking up at a plain gray ceiling. You’re working to steady your breathing now, counting both ways. You start to feel better. 

“There we are.” Remus sits down on a bench beside your head, stroking a knuckle over the teartracks his partner didn’t get. Sirius climbs in behind him and starts to mess with something on your other side while James swings the doors shut. “Just keep breathing like that, love. You can relax, alright? We’ve got you.” 

[coco-loco-nut]

Broken Bones

pairing: george russell x reader

summary: George gets in a wreck and you happen to be the surgeon on-call.

a/n: i loved this prompt, i hope you love it ❤️

masterlist

————————

George was enjoying his home race, he was holding P3 with a comfortable lead due to some great defending earlier in the race. Unfortunately for him, mother nature decided to put her hand into the race and have a pop up rain shower come through.

“It should clear through shortly, let’s keep with the softs,” his engineer says, hoping to outsmart those pitting for inters. George says a quick response and continues focusing on the track, especially the dry line. With the rain pouring, he catches a wet line in turn 4, sending the car spinning and into a barrier.

You rush down a couple floors to where you have been paged. Being the only orthopedic trauma surgeon in the hospital and on-call, you have to make haste.

“Is there really no one else to take this?” you ask, looking at the chart that has initial images and the patient information.

“Big fan?” the nurse beside you asks as you mentally plan the procedure. Most of Britain is basically a fan of the racing driver.

“Yeah. It’s not ethical, but I took an oath,” you tightly smile, beginning the process of scrubbing in.

“You are a great surgeon, you will have no problem keeping the fan part of you out of your mind,” the nurse reassures you. You take a couple deep breaths before heading to surgery.

The procedure goes well, you repair the broken wrist and fix the damage as best you can. Of course, time will finish healing it, but you do your best.

Afterwards you scrub out, finish paperwork, and go home. You won’t need to check in until anesthesia wears off, and that can take a while. You return later in the day, dressed in business casual and your lab coat.

“Mr. Russell, how are you feeling?” you ask, needing to check on your work. You close the door behind you when you enter the room.

“You are so pretty,” George says, still a little out of it.

“Thank you. Mind if I check your arm?” you ignore your blush.

“You look like my wife. She’s a doctor too, soooo pretty,” George babbles.

“I know, love, let me see your arm,” you say gently, sitting beside him.

“What happened?” George asks with a confused look.

“You spun out and crashed into a barrier. It was raining, you were on slicks, and caught a wet line,” you explain, carefully examining the surgical site, removing the splint immobilizing the wrist.

“I know that much. Injuries?” he asks, eyes trained on your wound examination.

“Broken wrist. We are going to brace it rather than cast it,” you check his chart for other injuries noted.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, I love you,” George says, moving his non-injured hand to grab yours.

“I love you too, Georgie,” you whisper, rubbing your thumb over his hand as he processes everything. You note things in his chart, making sure your observations and updates are written down.

“I’m glad you did my surgery, I wouldn’t trust anyone else,” he smiles, you can’t help but smile back. It’s not illegal, but it certainly is borderline unethical to treat your husband.

“I’m happy to hear that. Why don’t I go and see if your family is out in the waiting room?”you hum, needing to stay inconspicuous. Of course, those close to you know who your husband is, but since you don’t share his last name it isn’t obvious.

“One kiss before you leave,” George pouts and you hesitate. “Please, I was just in a crash and your kisses make me feel better,” he pouts. You playfully roll your eyes and lean in, giving him a quick kiss.

“I love you, I’ll be right back,” you reassure him. You find his family and Toto waiting outside in the waiting room.

“Family of Mr. Russell,” you say, calling them to you.

“Y/n, dear, did you do his surgery?” George’s mom asks, a little hopeful.

“I did, I was the only one here and on call. Thankfully nothing too major, he can probably get back into a car in a month if we rehab him correctly. Want to see him?” you ask, knowing the answer. You lead them to his room, but stop Toto before he walks in.

“Y/n-“ Toto starts but you don’t hesitate to cut him off.

“You got very lucky that the broken wrist was the worst of it. Keeping him out on slicks? Are you stupid, a win is not worth more than a life,” you fume.

“I know, I gave his engineers and strategists a talking to. I just wanted to check in on him, but knowing he is in your care is all I needed. I check in tomorrow then,” Toto stays calm, knowing you had to since George was brought in and you needed to yell at someone.

“I, um, thank you. He should only be here another day for observation. I’ll keep you updated,” you recompose yourself and watch as Toto leaves.

“She’s just the best doctor ever. So pretty too, and smart, and really good at surgery,” you overhear George tell his parents, he likely just got another dose of pain meds.

“Thank you, Georgie. You are a pretty good patient,” you smile from the doorway.

“Can you believe that doctor loves me? And she married me?” George asks his mom who laughs.

“You chose a wonderful wife. Why don’t you let her get back to work?” his mom asks, catching your amused gaze.

“Yes, I have another surgery scheduled. I will check on you in a few hours,” you walk over to your husband, giving him a quick kiss.

“I love you so much, I want to have babies with you,” George blurts, causing your face to flame bright red.

“Okay, let’s talk about that later,” you awkwardly say, stepping out of the room.

You are quick to return after your scheduled surgery. You know the nurses rotations and know that they won’t check in for another hour.

“There’s my beautiful wife,” George grins as you walk in. “You look so sexy post-surgery,” he eyes you up.

“Really? I don’t feel like it,” you slide onto the bed beside him, careful to avoid hurting him. You relax in silence for a minute before you address the feeling eating at the pit of your stomach. “Please try not to crash again. I know it’s unavoidable, but the feeling I got when I saw your name and didn’t know how serious the crash was. It… I don’t think I can describe the panic,” you take a deep breath, closing your eyes and focusing on the sound of his heartbeat under you. The cool hospital air is a stark contrast to his warmth.

“I’m sorry, it’s the one part of racing I hate too,” George is unsure how to respond. He looks at the blank hospital wall, as if it’ll give him the answer. “I’ll always come home to you, and I have a badass surgeon to take care of me,” he laughs a little, trying to lighten the mood.

“I can only do so much, like brain surgery? You are on your own,” you grin, happy to let the vibe change.

“You could do it, you can do anything,” George says, he always gets gushy when he’s tired.

“Okay, baby, you should get some sleep. I’ll go home and get you clothes. I will be back tomorrow morning to check on you,” you yawn, also needing sleep. George knows you can’t stay in the room too long, and he wouldn’t want you to stay up in an uncomfortable chair.

“I love you. Drive safe,” he mumbles, tiredness washing over him in waves. You fix his sheets and make sure he is okay before kissing him goodnight and leaving. It feels weird, to go home and not have him there. You burn the rest of your anxious energy by reaching out to some good physical therapists that you know to help with George’s recovery.

Under your watchful eye, he makes a recovery similar to Lance’s, even with you fussing the first few races post-injury. You framed one of his x-rays. George had to listen to you talk about how beautiful it was, you claimed it to be your best work. It allows for a good story when having friends over, and it reminds George to not let it happen again.

[luveline]

Can I request a fic involving a reader with a skin picking disorder, please? I have one that started up around the same time as my anxiety disorder started ramping up, and now my arms are riddled with scars. I've been trying to break the habit for years now, sometimes I do good but sometimes I don't and I'm so self-conscious about it all.

thank you for requesting sweetheart!! fem, 1k

Eddie thinks there may be no better feeling than your hand in his as Eddie lays on your shoulder. You have this thing about your arms where they can get a little sore from picking, so you can’t always let him lean on them. Good thing he takes his super hot babe angel any way you’ll have him. 

“Super what?” you ask. 

“My super hot babe angel,” he says into the top of your shoulder, slouched in the dark, TV burning his eyes. 

“I missed everything you just said,” you murmur apologetically. 

Eddie forces himself to stop laying so heavily against your side and gives you some space. He’s worried he’ll elbow you as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “I asked if you wanted to go to bed, super babe.” 

“Is that what the rock stars are calling their girlfriends?” you ask. 

“Just me.” He clambers off of the couch with a groan. His hair falls in his eyes and he’s too hot for the weather tonight. “I’m gonna brush my teeth.” 

You’d already done yours. You usually get ready for bed in one process where Eddie drags it out all night; you’re in your pyjamas with spearmint on your tongue already, while Eddie’s groggy and overdressed two hours later. 

You go separate ways for a few minutes, the bed squeaking as you drop yourself in it, while Eddie puts his hair up to wash his face and brush his teeth. He takes his shirt off when he’s done, his jeans next, kicked into a pile by the hamper and ready for tomorrow’s laundry. 

“That’s forward,” you mumble, having made yourself comfortable with his worst pillow, the blanket pulled back on his side of the bed in wait for him. 

He rushes into new pyjama pants, eager to slide into bed beside you, though the sheets are a bit much. You’re still in your long sleeve tee. 

Eddie knows what you’re doing. Most summer nights you wait for him to fall asleep before you take off your shirt, too hot to suffer it but too afraid he’ll see your arms. He has, of course, seen them before. He loves them just as much as any part of you, even if you hate them. 

And he wants to see them to know you aren’t going too far. 

“Shirt off,” he says, fingers on your hip. “Come on, super babe. Too hot for that.” 

“Eddie…”

“Take it off, sweetheart.” 

He wouldn’t talk to you like that if he didn’t know you’d say no if you really couldn’t handle it; he’d never force you to show your insecurities, even if he’s seen them and loved on them before. 

You don’t bother sitting up any more than you need to, peeling off your shirt and shucking it onto the floor, leaving you in your tank top. Lengths of your arms exposed. 

He can see the worst of it quickly. You’ve picked yourself bloody at the crook of your elbow and the scar at your wrist is irritated. Your non-dominant arm takes the brunt of it every time, but besides those two cruel places, the rest of your skin is unharmed. Scarred in places, but healed. 

“Look at that one,” he mumbles, taking your arm, his thumb close but not touching the wound. “Does that hurt?” 

“Not really.” 

“Let me get something. You need a dressing–”

“Eddie, please don’t.” 

Eddie likes smiling. He can be pretty moody, but you bring out the best in him. Even when you’re hurting, he has a smile waiting for you, locked and loaded. He shifts in bed so he can lean over you, weight braces on his elbow, his face in his hand. “What’s worrying you so much?” he asks. 

“Everything.” 

“It’s tough.” He blows a breath at your eyelashes. Your eyes shutter closed. “Babe, it’s really tough, but you don’t have to hide it from me.” 

“It’s weird.” 

“It’s not weird, it’s sad. It’s not nice that you feel so worried you start hurting yourself, but it’s not weird.” He leans down to kiss your furrowed brow, but he doesn’t quite get there, nose smushed to your hairline. “You’re perfect.” 

“M’not perfect.” 

“Yes you are,” he says, cupping your face. His hand is gentle, his kiss less so. He hopes it emphasises his point. 

“Your hair is really tickling me.” 

“I can’t go anywhere, I’m sorry. I have to stay right here,” he says, hand trailing down your chest to weave between your arm and side, and then soundly under your back. He doesn’t want a ring or bracelet to snag on your sore arm. “Give me a hug, super babe. Please.” 

You bring your arms up tentatively behind him. 

“I just wanna know when you’re upset,” he says. 

“Sorry. I don’t really think about it, I just do it.” 

“I know, but… this stuff doesn’t bother me. You don’t have to wait for me to be sleeping before you take your shirt off, you have nothing to hide from me.” 

“It’s so stupid.” 

He hates the shame in your tone. “It’s not stupid. We need to find better ways for you to feel better, that’s all.” His cheek rubs against yours. 

He can rebuke your worries all night, but he doesn’t need to. He shifts onto his side to let you hug his chest with more force, your face in his neck, the cold tip of your nose and your warm lips. “I wanna be pretty like you.” 

“You think I’m pretty?” he asks. 

You hum a yes. 

“Even though I always have at least one zit, and all those weird stretch marks on my shoulders, and my hair’s frizzy every day?” 

“None of that stuff matters,” you say, startled. 

“Exactly. None of this stuff matters.” He finds your arm to feel down to the sore scab on your wrist. “I just need you to tell me about it more often. Okay? Deal?” 

You breathe in the side of his neck. “Okay, handsome. Deal.” 

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Seat Belts Save Lives

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You and your brothers get into a car accident, and Dean blames himself.

“Would you put your seatbelt on?”

You rolled your eyes at Sam’s demand and ignored him.

“You know that’s not safe.”

“Eh, leave her be Sammy,” Dean cut in. “We’ve got a long drive, if she wants to lay out back there let her. She should get some sleep anyway.”

You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at Sam as you made yourself comfortable in the back.

“Whatever,” Sam grumbled, reaching for the radio.

“Excuse me?” Dean scoffed as he slapped Sam’s hand away. “You don’t get to change my station, you know the rules, Sammy.”

“They’ve played the same song four times in a row, Dean. I figured you didn’t notice, so I’d give you a hand.”

“I noticed,” Dean said defensively. “I like this song.”

“So did I,” Sam huffed. “But that was before—Dean, watch out! Hey—“

Sam reached over to jerk the steering wheel, but it was too late. The car that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere—on the wrong side of the road—slammed into the side of the Impala. You felt your body leave the seat, your head slamming into the back of Dean’s seat.

And then it all went black.

You awoke to the sound of Dean calling your name. Your head felt heavy, your ears were ringing, and the world seemed fuzzy for a few minutes before your head cleared. Once it did, you wished it didn’t.

Your head was pounding, and slick, sticky red was oozing out of a cut on your leg and your head. Your body felt like it was on fire, and when you craned your neck painfully you saw why. Along with the bleeding cuts, your wrist was twisted at a strange angle, and the Impala’s door was dented in, pinning you down so that you couldn’t even feel your legs, much less move them.

“Y/N.” You could hear the sigh of relief in Sam’s voice, coming from near your head. “Dean, her eyes are open.”

“Ok baby.” Dean’s voice came from down by your feet, on the right side of the car. “I’m gonna lift the door up, and Sammy’s gonna pull you out. I need you to brace yourself, this is gonna hurt.”

“Ok,” you whimpered, your hands beginning to shake.

“Alright, I’ve got her,” Sam told Dean, grabbing hold of you under your arms and preparing to pull you out.

“Alright. One…two…” Dean grunted at three as he lifted the door. The change in pressure sent pain shooting up your legs, and you screamed as Sam pulled you free of the car.

“I know, I know honey.” Sam collapsed in the dirt next to the Impala, hugging you to his chest as you cried. “It’s over.”

The pain refused to subside, and within seconds you gave into the dark that overtook your vision.

…

“She’s unconscious,” Sam said as Dean knelt next to his two younger siblings.

“The ambulance is on the way.”

“Dean, she’s lost a lot of blood.”

“She’ll be fine,” Dean insisted. “She’s gonna be just fine.”

…

“Is she ok? What’s going on in there?”

“She’s still unconscious,” the nurse told Sam. “We’ve finished stitching her wounds, and we’re prepping for a blood transfusion, but her blood type is hard to find.”

“Me, use me,” Dean spoke up. “We have the same type.”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost a lot of blood, too,” The nurse responded. “We can’t risk—“

“I don’t care about the risk!” Dean barked. “Use my blood!”

“I—um…” the nurse seemed unsure how to respond. “Let me talk to the doctor.”

As soon as she was gone, Sam turned to his big brother. “Dean, you shouldn’t—“

“I have to. She could die, do you get that? I have to do this.”

“They can find someone else, I’m sure—“

“You don’t get it, Sam,” Dean sighed.

Sam was angry. “Don’t get it? What could I possibly not get about this, Dean?”

Dean was silent for a long moment before he spoke.

“I told her not to wear her seat belt.”

…

You awoke to an annoying beeping to your right, and a sharp antiseptic smell hanging in the air. You blinked your eyes open, trying to adjust to the too-bright lights. Once you had, you caught sight of Sam sleeping in a chair to your right. You turned to the other side to see Dean sitting at an uncomfortable angle in an even more uncomfortable chair, his head drooping and your hand clutched in his.

When you squeezed his hand, his head popped up.

“Hey baby,” he breathed, a grin splitting his face. “How do you feel?”

“My head hurts.” You were used to ‘sucking it up’ as Sam and Dean did, saying you were fine as long as nothing was broken. But you didn’t have the energy to lie right now; it hurt, and all you wanted was your big brother to baby you and make it feel better.

“I’m sorry.” Dean reached up his free hand and brushed your hair away from your face. “Baby I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you said. “That guy came out of nowhere.”

Dean was about to respond, but stopped when Sam started to stir.

“Hey,” Sam grinned when he saw you awake. “You ok?”

“Been better.” You smiled weakly.

“The doc said you two can leave tomorrow,” Sam said.

“The two of us?” Your eyes turned back to Dean. “You’re hurt?”

“He didn’t get hurt that bad in the crash,” Sam interjected before Dean could speak. “But he lost some blood, and then he gave you some. Docs say he needs bed rest.”

“Which is ridiculous,” Dean scoffed. “I’m fine.”

“You gave blood after getting injured? Dean, are you nuts?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you got rare blood.” Dean tried to deflect with a joking smile.

“Dean.” You remained serious.

“Look,” Dean sighed. “You needed blood, I gave you some blood, it’s not a big deal.”

“You can’t just—“

“I don’t want to talk about it, alright?” Dean insisted. “We’re all ok. That’s all that matters. Now get some rest, ok?”

You said nothing, and Dean’s words made you finally realize just how tired you felt.

Sam leaned over and kissed your head before leaning back in his chair, but Dean stayed right next to you, your hand gripped in his. You felt yourself slowly slipping back into sleep, but just before you gave in to your exhaustion, you heard Dean whisper to you—

“I’m sorry. I’m never gonna let anything like this happen again.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Rainy Season - Part 6

If You Told Me To

Azriel Eris x Reader

Eris has a little chat with Azriel. As Y/N braces herself to face her mate for the first time since leaving him - she calls in reinforcements. Eris calls in one of his own.

A/n: This is the second to last chapter of the series. Chapter 7 will be the final chapter followed by an epilogue. I have been excited to share this chapter as, lyrically, the song it’s titled after is one of my favorites. Enjoy!

Part 5 Part 7

Warnings: Language

The Shadowsinger sat chained in a cell beneath the Autumn Keep. Comfortably lit, temperature regulated, nothing egregious. There was a dark, selfish part of Eris that would not have minded a bit of suffering to befall the male, a little seemed fair given the hell he’d put Y/N through. But Eris couldn’t do that to her. Certainly there was a small part of the mating instinct that would have left her in pain to see her mate - a title he didn’t deserve - hurting.

Eris begrudgingly placed a glamour over her scent that clung to his skin like fine perfume, such a waste to cover it with his own autumnal blend. It was not his place to explain or unveil anything regarding the relationship between them, Eris would have to tread carefully in his questioning.

He almost, almost said “fuck the glamour” and let that intoxicating-as-hell summer storm scent of hers fill the air and marched straight to the dungeons in his sweats and a linen tee, let him see exactly what Eris had been up to all morning. The look on the Shadowsinger’s face would have been so damned satisfying.

Alas, he chose to play the part of pompous High Lord, dressing in the most lordly of attire.

“Well, well, well, what brings you to my humble abode, Shadowsinger? You could have just knocked.”

Azriel snarled through his gag, nose flaring. To put it lightly, he looked rough. His once golden skin paled, dark circles prominent beneath his eyes, and multiple large purple bruises littered his skin.

“Ah, right.” Eris cleared his throat, giving the tattered male before him a disapproving stare. With a quick flick of his wrist the gag disappeared.

“Just let me fucking talk to her.” Azriel growled, his shadows darkening the cell.

Eris inspected his cuticles, refusing to drop the air of irreverence he’d intentionally given off. “Who would you like to speak with, Shadowsinger?”

“You fucking know.” He growled, rage limning each word.

“Say her name.” Eris replied cooly. Needing to make a point to himself.

“Y/N.”

And in that moment Eris realized just how far gone he was in his desire for Y/N. It was dangerous, the fiery rage that burned through his chest at the sacrilege of her sacred name falling from his desecrated lips.

Though Eris refrained from any external display of that inferno blazing inside of him, the slight tick in his jaw must have given him away to the awaiting Spymaster.

Azriel pulled and jerked with all of his might against the chains and Eris was well aware of his power, the entire Autumn Court was. Eris had backup measures in place that - even with his contempt toward the male - he did not wish to use.

“Stop pulling on the chains, Azriel.” Eris commanded.

The use of his given name instead of Eris’ typical “Shadowsinger” caught Azriel’s attention and the look alone on the his face could have killed a lesser male as Azriel’s furious gaze met Eris’

“If you fucking hurt her, I will rip you apart limb by limb. I will make it slow-“

Eris cut him off. “Was it those theatrics that won her heart, Shadowsinger? Truly, you bore me.” Eris returned to examining his nails.

“Fuck you.” Azriel growled.

Eris would ask Y/N’s forgiveness later for what he was about to say. At least he’d made an honest effort to keep his feelings for her separate from the situation at hand.

Without missing a beat, the High Lord goaded, “Funny you should say that. Was it not your fucking around that put you in this position in the first place?”

Azriel lost it. Eris couldn’t recall a time in his centuries of living that he’d seen such display of rage. He yanked at the chains with all of his might, his centuries of strength training apparent as the sounds of the rage and the grinding of stone on metal filled the cell. His efforts nearly successful in ripping free from the wall.

“I’ve asked you once to quit pulling, Shadowsinger. You are in here with just cause and will answer as such. You can behave like a civil being or continue the brute act and I will be forced to take matters into my own hands.” With that, fire sparked and was contained within his palm.

Azriel banked slightly at the display and for a moment Eris felt a twinge of remorse as his eyes landed on those scarred hands.

“Spare me your pity, High Lord.” Azriel spat the title with venom.

Eris shook his head, pacing alongside the cell. “Oh but I do pity you, Shadowsinger. Not in the way I hold back my fire given your past circumstances, that is basic decency on my part.”

With a mock bow, he continued,

“What I pity is how you wage such concern over Y/N’s well-being within my palace walls while blatantly disregarding the fact that you are the one who broke her with your own two hands. And now that she has built herself back up shard by fractured shard into something far stronger, even more rare than the shining gem she already was, you appear like a thief in the night. What is your plan, Azriel? Are you here to break her again?

Eris stepped closer to the cell. Flame igniting those amber eyes as he crouched down face to face with the bound Shadowsinger, grounding out in a low, predatory tone. “Because you won’t this time. Diamonds don’t crush under pressure.”

And with that, Eris stood back up, placed his hands in his pockets, that casual irreverence once again masking his features. “And I find diamonds to be quite precious, so I’ll be sure to cherish mine with the tender, loving care that she deserves.”

Azriel seethed, shadows raging violently within the cell. And Eris wasn’t certain but he could have sworn that anger was directed at their master himself.

Eris waited for more violence, for the filth that would spill from his mouth but the Shadowsinger only hung his head low, and to Eris’ surprise, large, salty tears began falling from his face.

Eris said nothing as Azriel sobbed. Why kick the male when he’d already downed himself? So Eris stood and waited. Eventually Azriel looked up again, “Please, just let me talk to her.”

Eris paused, taking stock of the broken male before him.

Just when it appeared to Azriel that he’d deny him, Eris replied. “You are fortunate that your mate is far more benevolent than I, she has agreed to speak with you.”

Azriel let out a large, broken sigh of relief.

Eris only smirked. “But she has conditions.”

—————————

I don’t want to look back on these days, knowing all the things you’d never know if I never said a word and let you go.

“You don’t have to do this, Y/N.” Eris spoke softly.

“I do, Eris. What he did, it’s too much. Too far. If you weren’t the ruler that you are, this might have been treated as an act of war.”

Eris shook his head. “You’re right. What he did is not acceptable by any means. But you, you shouldn’t have to deal with this after all you’ve been through.”

“It’s the right thing to do.” She spoke firmly.

He pulled her in closely, resting his chin on her head, those warm arms wrapped tightly around her easing the bitter cold threatening to frost her heart. “He never deserved you.”

Eris knew a mask when he saw one. Knew them far too well. Beneath the strong exterior she was presenting, his brave girl was nervous as hell.

I don't want to steal you away or make you change the things that you believe.

Eris escorted Y/N to a large meeting space by a roaring fire, sitting her at the head of the table, he to her right. One with a lesser sense of hearing might have missed the increase of her heart rate. That mask beginning to slip.

“Look at me, minx.”

Her glassy eyes met his as he reached forward, his hands enveloping hers. “You owe nothing to anyone. Nobody. Not to the Night Court, to my Court, or even to the Summer Court beyond what Tarquin has contracted you to do, and you especially owe nothing to the Shadowsinger.”

Her lip quivered and he spared her the discomfort of replying right away by continuing, “If it is your choice to hear him out, I commend you. You are far more brave and strong than you realize, and the fact that you are giving him your time today is an act of kindness in itself. Do not feel that you are obligated to comfort him or give your forgiveness.”

Eris lightly placed a broad palm on her chest. “What’s in there points true. Follow your heart, little fox. Do not do or say anything for anyone’s benefit but your own.”

Eris gave her the time she needed to collect her thoughts. His thumb brushed soothing strokes over the back of her hand as she composed herself.

Her voice cracked only slightly when she asked, “Is what I’m doing wrong? Are my conditions too harsh?”

Eris took a moment. Her heart racing like the best of a hummingbird’s wings as she awaited his response. He didn’t want to steer her any particular direction. Obviously, he wanted her by his side. Hell, he needed her by his side, she was as essential as water to him at this point. But her happiness and well-being mattered more than his needs.

He didn’t want her to go back to the Night Court as he knew Azriel would try convincing her to do. A selfish part of him begged to take her hand and bow on his knees before her. He was at her will and would serve her for the rest of his days should she only ask. But she needed to make this choice for herself. She was a summer storm, his little fox, who was he to stop her from flowing whatever direction she willed its winds to take her.

So, he wouldn’t ask her to stay or think of him at all during this meeting with her mate. However, he would emphasize what she likely already knew, that he had already fallen in love with her. That he fell in love with her spirit the moment that filthy string of curses fell from her pretty mouth when they met that first day. He wouldn’t pressure her by speaking those words aloud just yet, but he could show her in the best way he knew how given the circumstances, by empowering her.

“Y/N,” he broke the silence. “I meant what I told you. What you are doing today is brave. You are strong. To face a male who has not earned your time or presence in front of his own family to hear out his side of things, or whatever it is he wishes to say - you are so much stronger than you realize. Do not worry about what he or anyone at this table will think or feel. You hear him out and you choose what is right for you. The only person owed anything today is you and what you’re owed is peace. You deserve the world, fox.”

Those shining eyes of hers welled up. He lifted her chin with a long finger, “No tears, little one. You go in there and you take your power back. I will be out there.” He nodded toward a corridor to the eastern wing of the keep. “If you need anything at all, I’ll be waiting for you.”

She placed a delicate hand on Eris’ muscled bicep. “Eris…”

“Yes, fox?”

“I don’t want to do this alone.”

I want to drink from the words you say and be everything you need.

The creak of an oak door captured their attention. A sentry entered the room, his steps echoing throughout. “High Lord, Lady, the guests are arriving.” The sentry looked to Eris, “along with the guest you personally requested.”

Y/N turned toward Eris, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“Bring her in.” He replied to the sentry, turning to face Y/N. “I thought you may want someone in your corner for this meeting.”

————-

Camila, Y/N’s sister, burst through the door, all bronze skin, bouncing black curls, and smiles. “Sister!!!” She squealed.

Y/N looked to Eris. Immense gratitude radiating from her lovely face. He nodded toward Camila, gesturing to go to her. The sisters ran to eachother, nearly tackling one another to the floor.

Camila giggled, gasping as she fought to catch her breath. “I saw a red-headed male outside with long hair, gorgeous tan skin, a wicked smile, and-“ she whispered not-so-subtly in her sisters ear “worship worthy thighs, handcrafted by the gods themselves.” She dropped the whisper act, continuing, “Oh my gods, Y/N, and a scar over his eye! Giving him that sexy mysterious look that you only ever read about in smutty novels.”

Eris choked as he realized who she was talking about, capturing the attention of Camila. “If I’d known what you were hiding here, High Lord, I’d have ventured over from the Summer Court much sooner.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Camila, but Lucien lives in the Day Court when he’s not at his apartment in Velaris.”

Camila’s mouth dropped into an “O” as she realized who the male was. “Well, onto the next one then. Who else are you hiding around here for me to fall in love with?”

The laughter was broken when the Oak Door opened again, a sentry announcing the next guests. “the High Lord of the Night Court and his general.”

Darkness suddenly overtook the room, and an instinctual part of Y/N caused her to pale. She’d very rarely seen Rhysand’s darkness so adamant, and it was never a good thing. Cassian kept a straight, stoic face, warrior’s stance on full display. This male, this was the Lord of Bloodshed and not the lovable giant she’d known for decades.

She remained frozen, Camila gasping in horror before deciding that she’d rather stare daggers at the brothers of the male who cheated on her little sister. Rhysand took in the room, paying no mind to Camila’s violent glare. When he realized Azriel was not in the room, his eyes landed on Y/N and the darkness immediately faded away. Rhys’ expression softened as he directed his footsteps toward her, opening his mouth to speak, but it was Cassian who yelled, “Y/N babygirl! Look at you!”

The giant male bound right past Rhys, running to her. Leaving no time for Y/N to brace herself as he whisked her up into a bone crushing hug, spinning her in circles. “Fuck, I’ve missed you. Never leave without saying goodbye again.”

As soon as Cassian said it, he faltered, gently setting her back down with his eyes downcast. “I had no idea, Y/N. We only found out the real reason why you left yesterday.”

Eris gave distance to the trio so she could speak with the males, Camila coming to his side. Eris couldn’t help smirking at the glare she gave to the Night Court’s High Lord and Cassian. He leaned in to her ear, his low voice barely a rumble, “I’d never admit this to them but while they are brutes, they’re not so bad.”

Camila only scoffed, waiving a dismissive hand in his direction.

It was true. Rhysand had given her space to heal but regularly sent check-in’s to the Summer and Autumn Court High Lords to ensure her well-being. Both Tarquin and Eris had to swear not to tell her, but Rhysand had contributed significantly to Y/N’s extremely generous salary as emissary between the courts. She didn’t know what emissary’s typically made so she never thought about it, but it certainly was not the substantial amount that she was being paid.

Once Cassian was finished fawning over his “favorite little ass-kicker” Rhys stepped forward.

“Y/N” he said. Eyes roaming up and down her body. She was more filled in and fit than she had been when he last saw her, the radiance had returned to her skin, the light in her eyes shone bright as the stars of Velaris. Gods, he’d forgotten the way his brother’s mate rivaled even the most vibrant of summer sunsets.

She held her chin high, meeting her former High Lord’s violet gaze. Rhys pulled her close and she melted into his arms. Not just her former High Lord but her friend. She knew this. And the warmth of his strong arms embracing her reminded her of exactly that.

That stinging rejection of Azriel’s betrayal had somewhat tainted her view of the Inner Circle’s love for her. They had accepted her into their little family immediately when she and Azriel mated and she thought they’d dismiss her just as quickly when she left.

His breaking of what they had did not change that the inner circle cared for her. Rhys held her close for nearly a minute, burying his face into the top of her head, whispering how sorry he was for not realizing just how awry things had gone with Azriel and Elain. She felt guilty for leaving them.

“Don’t you for one moment regret this, Y/N. You will always have a place in my home but there are bigger things in this world for you.” He nodded toward Eris briefly with a cheeky expression that felt a lot like understanding, approval even.

She swatted at him. “Get out of my head, busybody.”

“It was written all over your face, darling.” He shrugged.

Cassian cut in. “We wanted to come in first to assess the situation. Everyone else is in the entry hall. Are you sure about this, Y/N? You don’t have to see him if you’re not ready.”

Darkness flared around Rhys again as he nodded in agreement.

She stepped to Eris’ side with renewed confidence. “I’m ready.”

Eris commanded his sentries. “Go ahead and bring them in.”

Resisting the urge to press a parting kiss to her forehead, he gave a reassuring brush of his hand against hers and began to step away.

She grabbed his wrist. “Please, stay.”

Her pleading eyes spoke what she couldn’t “I can’t do this without you.”

So, he stayed by her side as they waited for the impending shit show to unfold.

I could be so good at loving you, but only if you told me to.

————————————————-

Tags: @going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime @thegirlinshadows101 @viistrength @grunchwench @starryhiraeth @macimads @feiwelinchen @acourtofbatboydreams @nebarious @haechansleafblower @melsunshine @thegirlintheshadows101 @plsfckmern

[miriellesandthegiantpeach]

A sunbeam across his face is what wakes Tommy. He cracks open an eye and reaches over Buck's shoulder to grab his phone on the nightstand. 8:25 it reads. Fuck. FUCK. He's supposed to be out the door for work in 5 minutes. He's sure he set his alarm for 7:30, he frantically checks the alarm. 7:30pm is what he set it for. Motherfucker.

His cursing and groaning are what wake Buck up, also being jostled by Tommy urgently getting out of bed.

"What's going on?" Bucks asks blearily and rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

Tommy is running around in his underwear scrambling to get his jeans and socks on, his hair a complete mess.

"I'm an idiot and set my alarm wrong and going to be late for work," Tommy explains.

Buck rolls in his side smiling at Tommy, amused at his boyfriend's frantic movements. Buck has learned that time is very important to Tommy; he's always punctual and mindful of everyone's time. He loves that about him. So when time gets the best of him, Buck finds it endlessly endearing.

"It happens, maybe you were just so comfortable in bed with me your body said 'screw it'".

Tommy throws a glare at Buck. "Cute." He definitely puts his T-shirt inside out and backwards so the tag is sticking out at his throat. And Buck is definitely not openly laughing at him.

"Don't laugh at me in this stressful time," Tommy fake demands.

"So not laughing at you," Buck chuckles. He really likes seeing behind Tommy's curtain - seeing what ruffles his feathers and being the one who gets to see all sides of Tommy.

Tommy gets somewhat put together and gathers his phone and wallet, he goes over to Buck still relaxing in bed and braces a hand next to his shoulder. He cups his hand to Buck's cheek as says, "alright, I really gotta go. Bye, baby, I'll call you later," Tommy rushes out.

Buck's eyes widen and catches Tommy's wrist. "What?" Tommy asks, impatient.

"Baby?" Buck asks and at first Tommy looks confused. Oh right - the pet name just fell out. He thinks it's even the first occurrence of petnames between them.

"Yeah, it just slipped, that okay?" One thing that Tommy will never fail to do is check in; it takes over his obsession of time.

Buck feels the butterflies flapping away and his face splitting in a sappy smile, he finds himself doing that a lot with Tommy. He hopes it never never ends. "More than okay," Buck says dazed. "One more kiss for your baby?" Buck's smile has taken over his face by now and Tommy simply cannot refuse.

"Of course," Tommy says against Buck's mouth.

***

Buck is busy simmering the home made sauce he's making for their date night dinner as Tommy walks into the kitchen. Tommy comes up behind him and places two strong hands on his hips. He places a kiss on the free skin of Buck's neck. This haircut leaves more skin exposed and Tommy takes any opportunity to give it attention.

"Mmmm smells amazing," Tommy muses. He didn't know what he did to land such a stunning and funny and smart boyfriend who can also cook, but he's not going to question it.

Buck is hyper focused on the saucepan in front of him judging by the angle of his eyebrows. "Oh hi, honey. Yeah it's almost there."

Tommy's hands tighten on Buck's hips. Warmth starts in his stomach and spreads throughout his entire body. He's made a conscious effort to be present for every milestone in their blossoming relationship, big or small. And this is the first time Buck has called him anything but 'Tommy'. He's basking in this moment and committing it to memory.

He gently pushes and pulls his hands to signal Buck to turn around. "Baby." After a few seconds Buck puts down the wooden spoons and turns around in Tommy's arms.

"Something wrong? Am I cooking something you're allergic to?" Bucks asks, concerned. He's incredibly adorable.

Tommy laughs and shakes his head. "Not at all. You just called me 'honey' and I wanted to soak in the moment."

"Oh, good," Buck says, relieved. He wraps a hand around Tommy's neck and kisses him soundly. "It kinda just slipped out, you know how I get when I'm focused," Buck says and Tommy nods. He loves that he's seeing Buck's little nuances come out. "I'll keep calling you that then," Buck smiles and his eyes are sparkling.

"Yeah, yeah. I'd like that," Tommy says quietly, reverently.

"Good. Cause I like you. I'll call you that as long as you want, honey," Buck says and kisses his cheek before turning back around.

'How about forever?' Tommy thinks. But no, that's too soon.

Not soon enough.

[yovrnewromantic]

PUT YOUR HEAD ON MY SHOULDER

Sleepy Sam needs your help to make it into the motel room after a long hunt. Thinking he’s dreaming, he says some things he means. warnings: drowsy confession. dean leaves to get food as usual. use of y/n. fluff. idiots to lovers. friends to lovers.

"You are so much heavier than you look."

Outside the door of a trashy motel room, Sam has his face buried into the nape of your neck. One of his hands is braced against the brick wall while the other is secured loosely on your waist while you fiddle with the room key.

The entirety of his weight has been on you since you tugged him out of the passenger seat, barely holding him up as Dean drove away under the ruse of grabbing some food. His lazy ass just wanted to make you carry his brother to bed-- not that you could complain, being this close to Sam was heaven.

You've only been traveling with the brothers for a few months, but you couldn't help the gnawing feeling of a crush whenever you looked at Sam for too long. It was like a breath of fresh air, standing beside him in the darkest of moments and feeling safe even though you know you shouldn't.

With a hip on the door, you bite your lip, willing yourself not to think about the position you are in. It reminds you of college-- watching drunk couples struggle to get inside their dorms late at night when they couldn't decide between making out or properly opening the door.

But you and Sam weren't a couple. And he wasn't drunk, just tired.

"'M sorry," he murmurs, voice barely audible and kind. His hot breath tickles your skin. Heat rises to your cheeks and you're grateful that his lanky body has created a shadow over you to hide your blush.

"It's okay," you chide, trying to focus your attention on the tricky lock rather than brushing the hair covering his slow-blinking puppy dog eyes. "Just try to stay awake for me until we get you in bed. Okay, Sammy?"

Softly, he releases an agreeable hum into your shoulder. The vibrations send a pleasurable chill down your back. Goosebumps form on your arms.

The blue neon Motel sign flickers. In the split second of darkness, with pure luck, you finally probe the key into the lock and twist.

Pushing the door open with a harsh kick, you're surprised Sam doesn't completely collapse as you walk. Instead, he holds onto you desperately as you help him to bed.

Blood and grime are buried underneath your fingertips as you maneuver the vomit-beige comforter over top of him, yanking it up past his jeans and to his chest like you're tucking in a child. You can't help but smile down at Sam adoringly. Honestly, you feel like a creep, but when else would get the chance to stare at him so blatantly without him noticing or Dean's tease.

You wrinkle your nose at the clinging feeling of fabric and sweat on your back and reluctantly turn away from Sam to go take a shower. A hand wraps around your wrist weakly yet surprisingly firm. Sam murmurs something in audible, tugging your wrist.

“Hey, sleeping beauty," you whisper, giggling.

His eyelids flutter, barely opening as he sighs when he sees your face, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Y/N.”

“Hi,” you breathe, titling your head at the exhausted and strangely worried expression on Sam’s face. He yanks your wrist, and you stumble, letting out a small curse as you catch yourself on the side of the mattress. “No, Sammy. I’ve gotta shower.”

“Please.”

His little whine has your heart breaking into shattered little pieces. It takes a lot for you to escape his grip, physically and mentally. Pursing your lips, you will the pounding of your heart to calm down.

“One sec. I’ll be back before you know it, I promise.”

There's a pregnant beat of silence as you force your feet to move rather than stay looking at Sam -- you don't know if you'll be able to look away if you keep staring. The quiet is filled with the idle clapping of your shoes and the small creak of the bathroom door as you take one half-glance back at Sam before you step past the threshold, slowly shutting the door as to not make any noise and wake him from his oncoming slumber.

Then, you hear it, muffled through the white-painted wooden door. They're small and sound slurred together, but you hear them and you're unsure if you're the one dreaming.

“I love you.”

For a brief moment, you’re frozen in place, making eye contact with your wide eyes in mirror where you’re holding your breath. The bathroom door whips open, silver handle knocking against the eggshell white motel walls.

Pulse in your ears, you exit the bathroom, breathless. “What did you say?”

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

The three words ring in your ears like a new form of tinnitus, forsaking your traumatic days and replacing them with something much scarier.

You feel pale as a ghost, but you can feel the heat in your cheeks, as stark contrast to the blasting AC that was determined to freeze your bones.

Immediately, your gaze finds Sam, begging him to respond.

The tips of his eyelashes are prodding into his cheeks, his lips gaping. Chest rising and falling in even breaths. He’s asleep.

“No, no, no.” You rush to the bed, not even flinching when your knee bumps into the corner of the frame. Leaning over Sam, you repeatedly pat his cheek, urging him to wake up. His skin glows pink under your feverish touch. “You can’t go asleep on me, Sam! Wake up.”

He sits up, eyes darting around the room, confused, voice rasping with sleep, almost raw. “What?”

One look at your face and he’s placing a hand gently on your forearm. It sets your skin on fire. “What’s wrong?”

“Say it again,” you demand. Say it to me so I can say it back.

His brows furrow. “Say what again?" His thumb starts to rub circles on your arm. Sam looks so beautiful you feel like you might die. "What happened, baby?”

Baby.

Your stomach flutters. Swallowing, you plead for your throat to wet so the words will come out without burning. “Say you love me.”

His eyes widen, the whites of his making his hazel eyes stand out even more, the raw lighting in the motel makes it looks like hearts are forming in the highlights of his eyes.

His lips part, head tilting, and his eyes flickering across your face, as if he's trying to commit you-- this moment -- to memory. They pause at your lips then they're back at your eyes.

“I love you.”

Instantaneously, your lips find his.

His find yours.

The kiss is helpless and sloppy. Each of your lips plump and lazy with sleep, tongues peeking for a taste, hands searching for anything that would provide stability. Somehow, you make your way into his lap, arms thrown around the back of his neck, hanging onto the headboard.

Sam breaks away from you, but not for long. Forehead resting against yours. Him panting. “I thought I was dreaming.”

You cannot stifle a giggle, pecking his lips, relishing in how his chase after yours. “Yeah? You dream of me often, Sammy?”

“When I’m lucky.”

i’m gonna be honest, i’ve only watched like ten episodes of spn and read a bunch of ffs so if this inaccurate i’m so sorry. But these puppy eyes have been haunting me

forget this in my drafts tbh

[varpusvaras]

None of the Queens are devoted tea drinkers, not in a way that they would have strong opinions on how to drink their tea, aside from what to not put in it (Roy still gives tea with milk a very long stare even if he doesn't say anything).

It's about more than just liking tea as a drink, though. It's about the process of making it, the practised routine of it, the feeling of simple, grounding safety it brings.

It's also about the company.

It's just past five in the morning. Dinah is still up, sitting at the kitchen isle. The house is quiet.

She must've dosed off a little, because she notices Jason in the kitchen only when he is already in there, putting water in the kettle. He has Roy's hoodie thrown over his shoulders, and he says nothing as he puts the kettle on and starts to silently go through the drinks cabinet. Most of the tea in there is his, so he picks through the variety with ease.

Dinah comtemplates telling him to go back to sleep. They've all gotten back home just a couple of hours earlier, after running back to back missions, first on their own and then together. Jason has a rather nasty looking bruise stretching over his brow and temple, and Dinah knows that he hoodie is hiding a wrist brace beneath it.

She doesn't say anything. Everyone has a hard time falling asleep after being up and running for so long from time to time. Today, it's her and Jason. It's nice to have someone with you when dealing with that.

The kettle clicks. Jason takes out two mugs and pours water over the teabags. Dinah watches as he mixes in a good spoonful of honey to the other mug, the spoon clicking softly as he stirs.

He then takes both of the mugs and brings them over, setting the one with honey in front of her. He then sits down, a couple of chairs away from her, and looks at his own tea.

"I heard from Barbie that you were with the birds earlier", he whispers, his voice a little rough with sleep that will not yet come. "It's chamomile with honey. Helps with a sore throat."

Dinah takes her mug. It's warm against her hands. The morning is not cold, but the warmth is comforting, anyway.

She takes a sip. It's soft and sweet, and the taste of the honey stays for a bit after she swallows.

"It's good", she whispers back to him. "Thank you."

Jason hums, just as soft and sweet as the tea. From the corner of her eye, Dinah can see his lips turn up ever so slightly, before he hides behind his own tea. Dinah smiles as well, before taking another sip.

[shomatoriashi]

10/08/24; 08:00pm

shouma toriashi x fem.reader

warnings: potentially ooc, since this is the first time i’ve written for a new character ♡

the needle-like rain felt pelting against your umbrella was what ultimately pushes you forward, making your once casual stride break into an almost frantic run.

after classes, you already made plans for yourself, wanting nothing more than to head towards your favorite diner to grab some takoyaki and a large bowl of tonkotsu ramen. you had spent weeks studying for a brutal exam, and the moment you had completed it, you had decided to reward yourself with lunch at your favorite restaurant.

of course, you knew about the forecast calling for rain, the weatherman stating that there would be a downpour that would last until late into the evening hours.

but did you let it stop you?

hell no.

priding yourself in being diligent and well prepared, of course you packed your umbrella with you. with the taste of the fluffy and warm takoyaki coupled along with the comforting and smooth texture of the ramen so close within your grasps, you found yourself running even faster towards the destination.

your boots were felt pounding against the slick streets, with you running across the sidewalks with an eagerness that may have been a bit too much for you. as you turned a corner, you felt the soles of your boots suddenly slide forward due to the slickness of the street, making your eyes go wide when you began to lose your balance. you brace yourself for the incoming impact, clenching your eyes shut as your body began its steady downward descent-

only to have a harsh pressure felt pulling at your wrist, preventing you from face planting into one of the shallow puddles. you wince in slight pain, feeling a large hand encircle around your wrist as it pulls you back up into an upright position. the force of such a pull makes you lose your grip on your umbrella, and you watch as it rolls away from you with an almost forlorn expression.

the sound of someone clicking their tongue makes you finally face your savior, and you found yourself losing all train of thought when you saw him for the first time.

a bored expression was seen within his deep, brown eyes, and you notice how he wore a hoodie that covers his ebony locks of hair. thin lips were wrapped around a lit cigarette, and you watch with a sense of curiosity as he takes a drag of it.

with you no longer at risk of falling flat on your face, the young man lets go of your wrist, not saying a word as he continues to smoke his cigarette. still blatantly staring at him, you knew that you had to have looked like a gaping fish and struggled to find the right words to say.

as you massaged away the ache felt against your wrist (where he had grabbed you to keep you from falling), you decided to test the waters and introduce yourself and tell him your name. after your brief introduction, you added, “ah… thank you, for helping me back there.”

the boy remains utterly silent, giving you a curt nod in response to your words. by now, you felt a strange sense of awkwardness filling at your chest. a part of you wanted to move away from him, to simply take his silence as a hint that he was not interested in having any interactions with you-

yet the more irrational part of you (mainly your heart) wanted to continue basking in his presence and the strange… soft and tranquil beauty he seemed to exude. with your heart and mind seeming to assess the pros and cons of staying and leaving, you take a moment to take him in.

he was tall, and was incredibly lanky, which made you wonder if he was eating properly-

and that was when you had an epiphany.

“hey… would you like to join me for lunch?”

finally, the boy gives you something other than an apathetic expression. one of his eyebrows was slighted lifted in question, with him taking one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it aside. he allows the pelting rain to put out the embers, facing you when he speaks for the first time. “you want me to have lunch with you?”

you could feel the heat travel up to your cheeks upon finally hearing his voice. dear gods, it was achingly deep, and you swore you could feel the quality of his voice vibrating through you. trying to keep your expression neutral (and failing), you try to hide just how flustered he made you feel by nodding.

“y-yes, it’s the least i can do for you, since you pretty much saved me from making an ass out of myself earlier.”

he didn’t smile at you (at least, you didn’t think he smiled at you), but there was a slight movement seen within his thin lips, and you could have sworn that it was turned upward a few millimeters. his expression remains neutral as a gentle huff was heard coming from him.

“you see… i was going to head to this casual place that serves the best takoyaki and ramen… so, are you cool with joining me?”

he doesn’t say anything to you, and you watch when he steps closer to you, remaining close to your left. his body language was telling you that he would follow you, and you give him a beaming smile as you nod at him.

knowing that this perfect stranger had taken being closed off and introverted to the extreme, you remain silent, simply basking in the way he kept his casual pace with you. you were grateful that the rain had somehow managed to simmer down to a light drizzle, making your walk to the restaurant a bit more bearable.

a few minutes later, you see your favorite diner and step into the establishment. the waitress greets you, and you tell her that you’d like a table for two. she gives you a nod, leading you to a table near the back of the restaurant. as you get situated, the waitress asks if you’d like to see the menu, which you deny. you look over to your savior and ask, “would you like a menu?”

you watch when he lets down the hood of his hoodie, revealing his full features to you as your felt your breathing hitch a bit in response. with his features no longer hindered by his hoodie, you could see the extent of his chiseled face, taking in the way his dark eyes met with yours. he holds your gaze, and you prayed that your cheeks wouldn’t automatically heat up at the mere sight of him, watching as he gives you a slight shake of his head. “no, you can order for me, too.”

with a smile, now filled with excitement when you look at the waitress and order some takoyaki, a large bowl of tonkotsu ramen, and a coke for the two of you. she smiles and nods, writing down your orders before heading off into the kitchen and alerting the cooks.

as you sit across from him, you play with the ends of the napkin, sneaking glances at him. the lingering scent of his cigarette coupled along with the faint, minty scent of his cologne that seem to waft off of him made you incredibly hyperaware of him. desperate to know his name, you tried to think of something to say in hopes that he would tell it to you.

“u-uhm…” hearing your stutter, the young man looks back up at you, maintaining his blank expression. “s-sorry, i just… i didn’t get your name and-“

“toriashi shouma.” he answers you, his voice still remaining flat and bored as he pushes up the sleeves of his hoodie, revealing intricate designs of koi fish tattoos. you were mesmerized by the sheer amount of color seen on his arms, admiring the beauty of it.

“are those tattoos the only ones you have?”

shouma shakes his head. “no, there’s more. i’ve got a bigger tattoo on my back.”

you hum, clearly interested in what he had to say. “when you got those tattoos, did they hurt?”

he gives you a shrug. “not really, i’ve been through worse.”

the way he said those words so nonchalantly makes you a bit of a double take. he’s been through worse? like what?

however, you purse your lips, not wishing to pry into shouma’s life when he barely even knew you. there seemed to be an awkward silence settled between the two of you, and you were grateful when the waitress returns with your food.

she sets down your order first before doing the same with shouma, giving you both a slight bow before leaving you both alone. your mouth was already watering at the delicious scents wafting off of the takoyaki and tonkotsu ramen. grabbing a pair of chopsticks, you clasp your hands together and murmur, “thank you for this meal.” before digging in to your food.

you go for the takoyaki first, basking in its fluffy texture along with the savoriness of the sauce. you eat two whole takoyakis before working on your ramen, grabbing a manageable portion before slurping up the delicious morsel. you didn’t say a word to shouma, allowing the young man to watch you eat with fervor with a bit of fascination and curiosity in his gaze.

after waiting a few minutes, shouma begins to eat his own meal, following your lead when he takes a few bites of his takoyaki before working on his bowl of ramen. you each enjoyed your meal in silence, the prior awkwardness now melting away thanks to the delicious taste of the food.

half an hour later, you finished your meal and began to drain the rest of your coke, feeling happy that shouma had finished his meal, too, leaving his plate and bowl completely empty. when the waitress returns, you give her your card, telling her that you’d take care of both bills.

shouma frowns at you, and he seemed ready to protest at you paying for his meal when you held up a hand to him, “it’s okay, i don’t mind. like i said, consider this as being a way to show my gratitude for you.”

his lips seemed to twitch once more, “for saving you from making an ass out of yourself?”

“yes, absolutely!” you began to laugh, feeling happy that shouma seemed to loosen up a bit. after a few minutes spent waiting for the waitress to return, she comes back with your card in hand, allowing you to sign the receipt before leaving the restaurant.

shouma remains close to your side, walking out of the restaurant with you before stopping when you stopped. you meet his gaze and give him another kind smile, “thanks for having lunch with me.”

he simply shrugs, “why are you thanking me? i should be the one thanking you, since you’re the one who invited me and paid for everything.”

you could feel your smile widen at shouma’s pragmatic response. “i know that, but still, i enjoyed your company.”

the sincerity of your words succeeds in making shouma’s eyes go wide, rendering him unable to say anything else in response. even when you weren’t sure if you would ever see him again, you knew that you would cherish this memory.

“well, i have to head back to my place and finish a paper. i’ll see you around, shouma!” giving him one last wave, you begin your trek back home. with shouma now left alone, he remains rooted on the spot, not daring to move until your figure was no longer in his line of sight.

turning away, shouma reaches into the pocket of his jeans, extracting another cigarette as he places it into his lips without lighting it, trying to comprehend what this strange warmth was as he could feel it radiating from his chest and towards his extremities-

feeling like sunlight against his skin each time he thought about you.

end notes: me when i saw shouma for the first time “oh no, im in trouble… im falling for his gorgeous and badass demeanor.” 🫠🫠🫠

there are no inserts for him on tumblr, and i will gladly accept the fact that i am the first writer to write for him and start the tags for him. lmao which means i get to call dibs on him, jk,,, unless???

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[writtenbymoonflower]

Hey! I love your writing! I swear I feel like I’ve read Avery thing because it is so good🫶 I absolutely love the way you write the boys and their personalities, truly my favourite!

I was also wondering if I could request a fic? Feel free to ignore. But can I request a poly! Marauders comfort fic kind of based on my day rn😭today I had to get glasses after sooo many years of not needing them. And I bough a pair but hate the way I look in them. Came straight home and cried about it, which turned to not feeling good enough in general.

Hi sweetheart! thank you for requesting! i'm so sorry that happened, i hate my glasses too. i hope you are feeling better, you're absolutely gorgeous and glasses can't change that. gn!reader x poly!marauders

cw: insecurity, swearing

1k words

You were staring into the mirror, switching between taking your new glasses off and putting them back on. When you took them off, your head began throbbing and your vision blurred. When they were back on you winced painfully at your appearance in the mirror. A mix of insecurity over the way the frames looked, and the new clarity you had in seeing your face. It was like putting the glasses on had opened a Pandora’s Box of insecurity. Now, no matter if they were on or off, you couldn’t stop picking apart your face. 

You set the glasses on the counter, scrubbing your watery eyes with the heel of your hand and wishing you never had to see yourself again. Remus found you in the bathroom, face pinched painfully and sniffling as you covered your eyes. 

“Dovey,” He said, fear creeping into his tone. “What’s happened, huh?” He shuffled over to your side, spinning you around to face him. His large hands were braced on your shaking shoulders as you hid your face in your hands and whined in a way that made his heart clench. He went to pull your wrists away from your face, which was when you spoke up.

“No, no.” You held fast, keeping your hands firmly in place. 

“Are you hurt? Why won’t you let me see you?” This whole situation was clearly making your usually calm boyfriend's head spin. He was at a loss, not wanting to become aggressive and scare you more, but also needing to get to the bottom of whatever was happening. He settled on tucking you into his chest and cradling the back of your head as you cried. You sniffled sadly into his knit sweater as two sets of feet padded across the carpet, stopping in the doorway of the bathroom. 

“Fuck,” Sirius said. Remus would’ve scolded him, if it hadn’t required him to pull away from you. “What’s going on?” He placed a hand in the middle of your back, eyes roving over you for a source of pain. James was equally distraught, but he handled this kind of thing best. He had a way of pulling guarded information out of people. 

“Baby, what’s got you crying so hard?” You lifted your face from Remus’ chest, still looking down to shield yourself. Remus tried to tilt your chin up, but you were being unusually stubborn. 

“Let me look at you.” Remus said, knocking his knuckles under your chin. You just shook your head. James turned you so all three of the boys were in front of you and tried to make you look up again, but you held fast and James was too scared of hurting you.

“Why won’t you let us see you, sweetheart?” James probed. Something in his gentle tone just broke you further, making you want to spill your guts. You relaxed enough for James to make you look up, red-rimmed eyes and glossy features making him want to cry as well. 

“Baby,” Sirius gasped. You breathed as deep as you could, trying not to cry worse as Remus used his sleeve to wipe at your wet cheeks. You were doing okay, until a wave of pain ripped through your head, making you grab your temples and whine. James cooed, familiar with the feeling and reached for your glasses. 

“No, I don’t want them.” You choked, miserably. 

“You’ve gotta wear them, lovely. Or your headache is jus’ gonna get worse.” He smoothed your hair away from your face, but you still wouldn’t let him put them on you. 

“Why don’t you wanna wear your glasses, baby?” Sirius questioned. 

“I hate them, they make me look so ugly. Like a fly or something.” You cringed wetly. Remus inhaled sharply, grabbing you to hold you again. 

“Is that what's made you so sad?” He whispered, kissing the top of your head as you nodded against his chest. James pouted, wanting to cry. 

“Wait,” Sirius cut in, sounding incredulous. “Is that why you wouldn’t let us look at you too?” James looked shell shocked and Remus’ face was pinched. You nodded again. 

“Sweetheart,” James pulled you from Remus’ grasp to have you look at them. He held your face, looking at you with too much love as we wiped your cheeks again. You were still wincing, uncomfortable from all the attention. Sirius turned your face to see him. 

“You’re breakin’ our hearts, sweet thing.” He smiled sadly at you. “Can’t believe you would think that.” He stroked your jaw with his thumb, pity covering his features. James let you go so that Sirius could have his turn loving on you. He held your gaze, letting his fingers roam over your features. “My baby, you’re so pretty. So, so fucking pretty. There’s nothing you could do to make us think otherwise. No reason to ever have to hide yourself from us.” He glanced over to Remus, wordlessly asking for the glasses. You tried to shrink away, but you were stopped by his hold on you. 

“You’re gonna hate them.” You warned, giving up on winning this battle. Remus scoffed. 

“You really think some glasses are gonna stop you from being gorgeous?” He asked like you were being silly. “Do you think that James is ugly? Do you think that we think James is ugly?” He looked at you accusatory. 

“No! Of course not!” You looked at James, floundering to make sure he wasn’t hurt. He just smiled at you reassuringly, placing a hand on your shoulder to placate you. 

“See, if you can love me with mine, then hopefully you can see that we love you with yours.” James rubbed your back as Sirius slid the frames onto your face, leaning forward to kiss your nose. 

“See? Absolutely gorgeous.” The pale boy praised. James turned you to face him, eyes swelling with fondness as he grabbed your face in his hands. 

“Holy shit!” He exclaimed. “I love them!” They had all known that you were getting glasses, but they hadn't seen them yet. You shied under his love. “You look so fucking precious.” He cooed, turning your face to let Remus see. “What do you think, Moons?” He leaned down to kiss your cheek. 

“Perfect.” Remus smiled softly, making your own spread across your face. 

Maybe they weren’t so bad.

[fckmebarnes]

eighteen plus <3

guys, lawyer!bucky having you dressed in just a dress shirt of his and a tie loosely hanging around your neck as he has you standing - his fingers knuckle deep into your cunt during a call

like you’re pussy is actually soaked down your thighs and into his dress pants, his leg keeping our spread so he can fuck you.

“your pussy sounds so wet, baby.” he looked up at you as your hands are bracing yourself on the top of his beak behind you. the wood digging into your spine, your toes curling into the carpet.

his eyes were hooded as he looked up at you - it seemed like he completely forgot he was on a call. not that he really needed to speak, but the way he stared you down felt, primal.

he couldn’t keep his eyes away from his knuckles disappearing into your pussy, the way it stretched so beautifully as he added a third with your arousal soaking down his wrist

“bucky…” your voice was hoarse from the little speaking bucky want you to do. he just wanted to hear the wet sounds your pussy made echoing in his office. he grinned up at you, his thumb pressing gently on your clit as he curled his fingers and slowed his movements

“what is it, baby?” his voice was low but clear. you knew he wanted you to beg for him to let you cry. but you couldn’t, your voice was stuck in the back of your throat mixed with the sounds of his finger slowly curling inside of you

“buck i…” you felt your eyes prick as he growled softly under his breath, loosing his patience.

just what you wanted.

he pulled his fingers quickly out of yoi and before you had a chance to whine at the absence, he turned you around and pushed you over the table. he leaned his body weight against you as he pressed his clothes cock against your ass and his fingers found their way to your dripping hole once more

you could only smell bucky, smothered by the way his skin felt against yours. the warm heat pushing thru the thin cotton and making your cunt pulse.

he pushed his fingers slowly into your hole as he grabbed the tie that was loosely around your neck. his nose nudge the back of your neck, up to your ear before he bit your earlobe. you let out a soft whine as he tugged on the tie, if he was doing it up for you backwards.

it was choking you at a comfortable pressure, making your bead feel spacey, but your body buzzing with anticipation. “good girl,” he murmured softly against your ear as he felt your cunt start to drip from the tie being tight around your neck and bucky crushing you

without warning, he pushed his three fingers back into your cunt and you let out a soft moan. you gripped the edge of the desk tightly as he fucked you on his fingers, his cock throbbing against your ass. you could feel a wet spot on his slacks pressing against your skin

you let out a choked whine and you could feel your orgasm creep up on you. the pace bucky kept his fingers he knew you were close. or else he wouldn’t he pressed his thumb against your clit, and put his lips against the shell of your ear.

“what do you want baby? beg daddy for it.” he was clear, you felt your body heat up as he kept his quick pace, the sound of his fingers slapping against the wet mess in between your thighs from your dripping cunt.

you bit your lip, a sigh leaving your lips as you felt your tears prick your eyes from your orgasm approaching. he saw a tear roll down your cheek, smiling he lean in and pressed a soft kiss against it, making your cunt clench.

“speak slow now, i don’t want to miss when you cry.” he murmured softly against your skin.

“please, need to cum i…please….please…!” yoh couldn’t think of anything else except to say the word please. you needed the realize, your body was tense with emotion, needing the release and only bucky was able to give that to you.

“mm…sound so pretty choking back tears, begging to cum. you think you deserve it?” he was testing you, seeing if you would cum without his permission - without him saying so.

but you were a good girl for him.

“yes, sargent.” your voice was a bit hoarse from the constant pressure of the tie. he noticed and let the pressure up a bit, pushing his cock further into your ass as he smiled.

you always knew how to get what you wanted when you called him that title.

“you’re so good to me, baby. cum for me. mark me as yours.” you let out a moan as you were given the release you needed, making a mess all over his hands and down his wrists, staining his slacks.

your legs shook as your orgasm rippled through your body, and all you felt was bucky’s strong arms wrap around your middle after he pulled his fingers out. he pulled you close against his chest as he sat down with you.

you felt his cock press against your aching and soaked cunt. you couldn’t help but wiggle your ass a little bit, his fingers gripping your hips.

“careful, honey. i have one more meeting then i am all yours.”

[souperbloom]

in through the out door. [A.I.]

title snatched from the led zeppelin album of the same name

🪴roommate!Ash x reader

cancelled plans and a Saturday night in with your roommate, Ashton, brings you to make some rash decisions. ones that you don’t necessarily regret.

a/n: i’ve been obsessed with the roommate trope since this has been sitting in my drafts. i’ve been working on this one for so long im absolutely in love with roomie ash he is my golden boy

heavy inspo from @badomensbaby (i’m obsessed with you)

the gif i put is exactly the ash i pictured for this but feel free to picture whatever era you’d like :3 cocktail chats!ash is vERY GORGEOUS TO ME!

this is a long one, brace yourself. thinking abt making roomie ash into a series— let me know!

CONTENT WARNINGS: fluff n’ smut!, brief mention of smoking, playful banter/pet names, oral (f/m!receiving), size kink (kinda), pnv/riding, praise kink.

WORDCOUNT: ~10.3k

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Stars glistened in the velvety pitch black sky while the pale moonlight trickled down to illuminate your apartment balcony. A perfect summer night, somewhat dictated by cancelled clubbing plans, had now left you stranded.

Okay, stranded may be a bit harsh. You suppose ‘unsatisfied’ was a slightly more fitting word to describe the scenario you had been left in.

The cancelled plans in question prompted a late night hang out and smoke session with your long time friend and roommate, Ashton. Also known as, the biggest pain in your fucking ass.

"Heads or tails?"

Ashton was a homebody. Occasionally stepping out of his comfort zone in order to entertain the people he loved, Ashton was no stranger to making quick celebrity appearances at social gatherings. But he was also no stranger to dodging plans and making excuses to stay home and rot.

So when your old friend Luke had texted the two of you in a group-chat saying that plans had gone awry, Ashton had no complaints.

"Why are you asking me that?" you chuckle towards your slightly dazed roommate, sitting crisscross in your wicker patio chair.

"Don’t ask. Just pick. Heads, or tails?"

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek for a moment, watching as Ashton tosses a quarter mindlessly in and out of his palm.

Watching the coin occasionally catch the lighting of your balcony made you wish it was some sort of disco ball or strobe light. But then again, there was no possibility of you changing the events that unfolded well over two hours ago, so it was in your best interest to just forget about it.

"Hm. Heads."

"Heads?" Ashton echoes, sitting up slightly in his chair to take a hit of the joint you were splitting.

"Yeah, heads. Don’t know why but— I just feel it."

With an eyebrow raised, he shrugs, before tossing the coin up into the air and catching it with his other hand. He slaps the quarter onto the inside of his wrist; but the up side remains covered by his palm.

"Heads, right?"

"Yeah. Heads. That's what I just said, dumbass."

His side glance to you indicated that your blunt insult had rolled right off of his shoulders. He took in an exaggerated deep breath before removing his palm from the coin.

"Tails."

"No shit. You’re lying. Show me."

Ashton chuckles and picks up the coin, showing you the tails side of the quarter; the side it had landed on.

"You had a 50/50 shot and you blew it. What are the fucking odds of that?"

Slightly annoyed by this stupid game of chance, you scoff. "Did you really just make a big show of that to make me feel stupid?"

"I wasn’t trying to make you feel stupid. Then again, it’s not my fault that you are—"

You cut him off by shooting him an icy glare. A watch your mouth kind of glare.

"—Sometimes. Not all the time."

"That’s what I thought… Now, pass it. You’re hoggin’ the shit."

Begrudgingly, Ashton does what you had asked of him. He ashes the joint into the ashtray before extending his arm across to you. You pluck the stick from between his fingers with a satisfied smile, before taking a pull yourself.

Ashton’s mannerisms, although mildly annoying, had become somewhat of a comforting thing to you. You appreciated the way he always did the things you asked him to; despite occasionally putting up a fight about them. He was also very kind when need be— a shoulder to cry on, an open ear to listen. You lucked out in the friend department, and you couldn’t have been any happier with the outcome of the game of chance you played when you asked him to be your roommate.

The second bedroom of that two bedroom apartment could’ve gone to anyone. But Ashton jumped at the chance.

Now that you thought about it; it was kind of like a coin flip. 50/50 odds of success.

"The sky is so fuckin’ clear tonight. I feel like I’m tripping or something."

You shake your head, briefly knocking you out of your Ash-induced space out, "Nah, I see it too. It’s like, so clear, that it feels like it shouldn’t be— y’know?"

Ashton turns to face you, biting back a teasing smile. You return the glance as well. "What? Why're you making that face?"

"Be honest with me. Do you think about the end of your sentences before you say them?"

"You’re such a dick!" You chuckle, knowing full and well that whatever you had just said indeed made zero sense, "I thought you were too blitzed to notice."

"I’ve got the tolerance of a 100 year old tortoise. Nothin’ gets me that blitzed anymore."

"That’s a you problem then. Personally, I could take one wrong hit and be knocked out for the rest of the night. Depends on the day, really."

These kinds of meaningless conversations were, sometimes, the best part of your day. With yours and Ashton’s lives being so seperate, despite living under the same roof, it was nice to have someone to talk about nothing with.

He was like a palette cleanse. The calm amidst the chaos.

Although, to describe Ashton Irwin as calm was quite a generous compliment.

"How ya' feeling right now? Since it depends on the day, according to you."

Taking his question with careful consideration, you stretch out your legs and arms, before rising to your feet. A blissful sigh falls past your lips while your limbs fall limp, the joint still dangling between your fingertips.

You glance over at him to catch his attention, but he had already been watching.

"I feel fucking fantastic."

"Good to hear," Ashton agrees, "Me too."

"Oh yeah?" you challenge, walking over to the balcony and leaning your elbows onto it to look off and speak into the distant sky, "What’s got you feeling so good?"

There’s a brief silence that falls over the balcony. One that’s unbroken; eerily quiet, with nothing else but the rhythmic summer sounds of crickets and cicadas.

Your brows furrow at this deafening pause, bringing you to look over your shoulder back at him.

He was still just staring at you.

With hooded eyelids and a passive smile, Ashton’s eyes traipse down your body, a glimmer within them that made a pit form in your stomach. A glimmer that you hadn’t really noticed until right now.

Maybe it was the lighting from the patio, or the mix of moonlight and a foggy head; but he looked— different.

The way his button-down hung loosely off of his shoulders, displaying his sharp collarbones and assortment of stacked necklaces. The way his arms tensed each time he reached up to fiddle with the necklaces in question. It was all putting you into a— compromising headspace.

His posture was relaxed, yet you sensed a bit of urgency in his eyes. You weren’t quite sure where to place it.

The reaction you were having to these small details of his demeanor were making you sick to your stomach; it felt right to break the silence.

"You gonna answer my question? Or are you just gonna stare at me?"

Ashton shakes his head and reverts himself back to eye contact. He blinks a few times, rolling his lips inward as he continues to tamper with his jewelry.

"What? What did you ask me? M’sorry— Maybe I am a bit higher than I thought."

You turn around completely so that your back is pressed against the railing of the balcony, giving him your full attention. "I asked what’s got you feeling so good… Guess I just answered my own question."

"Oh," Ashton mumbles, sinking deeper into the cushion he was resting on, "Yeah."

You quietly clear your throat at the awkwardness, due to how evident and absolutely mortifying it felt. Ashton’s gaze had long left yours and was now staring out into the sky, following the stars while he drummed his fingers mindlessly against the wicker.

Something inside of you was doing summersaults and whatever it was felt oddly new. It was awfully strange how you couldn’t seem to pull your eyes away from him, not even for a second.

You didn’t even want to attempt asking yourself why suddenly, out of the blue, your roommate and closest friend of 5 years was now looking like a meal ready to be devoured.

It’d be too complicated.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

Ashton interrupts your slight mental turmoil, his voice low and authoritative.

"Uh—"

"You were looking at me. Don't do that."

"Oh, so you can look at me, but I can't look at you?"

Your brow furrows, crossing your arms over your chest as you glance down the light hitting the pendant of his necklace.

"It's impolite to stare," Ashton taunts, "And now you're looking at my boobs. How dare you."

"Shut the fuck up! I was not 'looking at your boobs.' I was looking at your fuckin' necklace. God you're such a jackass."

"I hate to break this to you, but someone who wasn't staring at my tits wouldn't get so defensive about it... I don't mind, y'know. With a rack like this, it's hard not to stare."

Ashton pokes his tongue out through his teeth, cupping his pecs with his hands as if he was trying to show off his 'boobs'. You try your hardest not to laugh, suppressing it by chewing on your bottom lip and shaking your head.

"If it makes you feel better," Ashton starts again, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees, "I stare at your ass all the time."

"You—" your breath catches in your throat, taken aback by his admission, "You what?"

"Okay, shit, don't look at me like that... Now I feel judged."

"I'm not judging you," you chuckle, "I just— didn't think my ass was worth staring at. Plus, I always thought you were more of a boobs kinda' guy."

The tension between you was heating up now, boiling and bubbling over like water on a stovetop.

"Oh, I am. Trust me. 'Stare at those too."

"Ashton!" you squeak, hiding your face in your hands as your cheeks warm pink.

"What?! We've lived together for how many years now? Can't fuckin’ blame me."

The game of ping-pong happening in your head was getting harder to ignore. It could've been the very small amount of weed you'd smoked, or the fact that you've been bored out of your mind since your plans had gotten cancelled, but Ashton was starting to look different.

Very different.

You weren't sure where to step with your next choice of words, but at this point, you really had nothing to lose.

"Is this you finally admitting that you're attracted to me?"

"Hm. Maybe," Ashton replies casually, a bit more casually than you'd anticipated.

"Maybe? Explain."

"Well, you are beautiful. I believe I've told you that before."

Your eyes widen at his compliment, feeling like you were shrinking by the second. "I thought you just said that to shut me up that one time..."

"I may have said it to shut you up but, I did mean it. I'm an honest boy... Notice how you remembered? That's gotta be good for something."

A chill runs down your spine, followed by a genuine, tried-and-true smile. You and Ashton had gone through so, so much together. Breakups, fights between friends, natural disasters; it was easy to let the little things slip past your mind.

But you'd never forget the time he called you beautiful.

"You know Ash, I've never noticed how attractive you are when you're not being a pain in my ass."

Ashton's lip twitches up into a smirk, as if his head had just travelled to where yours has been this entire time.

"I'm flattered. Being a pain in the ass is one of my major selling points."

"Consider me sold," you tease, rubbing your arm as the warm summer breeze flows through the balcony. You watch Ashton's eyes narrow, as he studies your body language with intent. There's a brief pause in time; and Ash seemingly shakes himself out of it with a puff of his chest.

"Ugh, I'm fucking bored," he grumbles, tossing himself back onto the throw pillows.

You nod in agreement, biting your tongue. The next thought to cross your mind was in territory you had vowed to never explore. But it was late, you were pining for something else to do other than stare at him while the tension only continued to grow thicker.

As you said, you had nothing left to lose.

"Me too... wanna fuck?"

Ashton's eyes widen as the world around you just— stops.

"What?"

Oh, shit.

"I— We don't... We don't have to. It— was just a suggestion."

Ashton licks his lips, his face morphing as if attempting to process the words that had just left your mouth. You could already feel the sweat rolling down your temples, beginning to regret having asked him at all.

"You’re fucking with me, aren’t you? Yeah, you’re fucking with me…"

You shake your head, having already dug yourself this deep… Why not go deeper?

"Mmmh, no. I’ve actually thought about it a few times. Honest."

"Oh my god," Ashton chuckles, momentarily ceasing your rapidly beating heart with its playful air, "you’re such a loser."

"Calling me a loser after I’d just asked if you wanted to have sex with me… Real’ charming."

Your cheeks were hot and your lip was now twitching with anticipation. In an attempt to ease your mind and regain some of your composure, you put the joint out in the ashtray.

It may or may not have also been an attempt to step closer to him.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he scrambles for recovery, “I didn’t mean it like that, I just— If you’ve thought about it before, why haven’t you said anything?"

"Oh god, can we talk about that another time? If I told you every instance in which I’d thought about having sex with you, we’d be out here all night."

You were feeling slightly more at ease now after reverting back to your playful energy, although the subject matter was still making you sweat.

Ashton’s eyes were wide and somewhat bloodshot, akin to how late it was, and now due to the information bomb that you had just dropped onto him. You felt bad for hitting him with it all at once but, if you’d kept it in any longer, you might’ve exploded.

"Would now be a good time to admit that I’ve thought about it too?"

You trill your fingers against your thigh, now with a pit in your stomach, "Yeah, probably. I guess it’s honesty hour."

"Awesome, awesome," Ashton hums, taking in a deep, shaky breath.

"…Well?" You couldn’t bear to leave the question hanging in the air for any longer.

"Well what?"

"Do you wanna fuck me or not? The offer might expire if you take any longer to answer."

In a hurry, Ashton stands up, wiping his palms on his jeans and adjusting his belt. He looks at you, frantically.

"I mean, shit— yeah… Yeah, I’m down. Fuck it. Why not?"

A small smile spreads across your cheeks as he steps closer to you, "Good, good… Now, don’t make me fuckin’ regret this.”

Without giving you any time to process what exactly had just happened, Ashton is barreling towards your legs. He wraps his biceps around your thighs before tossing you over his shoulder, leaving you to dangle with your face and arms hanging above the ground.

"Ash, what the fuck!" you squeal, whacking his back with your hands as he makes it a point to tear open the screen door and start running you through the apartment.

"You told me not to make you regret this!" he giggles, nearing towards, from what you could tell by looking at the floor, his bedroom.

"That didn’t mean to fuckin— oh whatever!" You huff, slightly out of breath, as Ashton fumbles with the doorknob. He kicks the door open, and you laugh at his eagerness.

"How’s that for a grand entrance?" says Ashton, as he lifts you again to lower you down sideways onto his bed.

"You scared the shit out of me!" you chuckle, regaining your vision as you had become somewhat dizzy.

"My bad. ‘Thought that move would boost my sex appeal."

The two of you laugh for a moment as Ashton gets situated on his bed. He sits with his back nestled against the headboard and you watch sitting at the foot of it, unsure of where to go next.

Once he’s all settled into place, he looks at you with a warm smile before patting the top of his thigh. "Have a seat."

"Don’t mind if I do."

With that same smile still plastered onto your face, you crawl over, and straddle yourself onto his lap. His hands remain stagnant at his sides, as do yours. There was an odd feeling swirling in your chest that came along with the closeness, but you couldn’t describe it.

"This is weird. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to your face before," Ashton comments, his eyes wavering as they scan the features of your face.

"Yeah… To think that we’ve been roommates for 5 years and haven’t even kissed. Our self control is truly remarkable."

"Well, if it’s still honesty hour, I’d like to add that I’ve thought about that too."

Ashton swallows. You could feel his hand jittering around down by your calves as he moves the other up to cup your waist.

"Thought about what? Kissing me?"

"Mhm… It was that Fourth of July party with Luke and them down at the beach— a few years ago. I was drunk out of my fuckin’ mind… May or may not have rambled to Luke and Cal about how badly I wanted to kiss you on the pier."

"Drunk words are sober thoughts," you grin, feeling more comfortable with his weathered palms grazing your skin. "But that’s kinda’ sweet. I didn’t think you had it in you to be that sweet."

"I feel like if I did it with no buildup it would’ve been awkward as shit. But, I appreciate the compliment."

You scoff, finally feeling enough confidence built up within you to rest your hand on his neck. "Ash, after all the shit we’ve been through, I don’t think anything can be awkward between us."

"Well, I guess this can be added to the list of ‘shit we’ve been through’, yeah?"

The frantic, nervous energy around you had begun to settle, pooling onto Ashton’s plus grey comforter. You gaze around the room, taking in all of the details you would’ve never noticed if it weren’t for a moment like this.

"Nice place you’ve got here," you comment, your eyes darting around at the various band posters and random findings scattered around Ashton’s off white walls. Stolen street signs, pushpins serving as necklace holders, birthday cards from yourself and whoever else celebrates with him. It was all so unapologetically him, and it was making you feel a bit sick.

Ashton chuckles at your apprehension, beginning a slow rhythm of drumming his fingers against your hip. "Why’re you acting like you’ve never been in here before? Is someone nervous?"

"Nervous? Me? No, never. I’m as cool as a cucumber," your lip twitches, your hand traveling from his neck down to rest onto his bare chest. "Although I must say, your chest is fucking hairy."

"You sure you’re not nervous?"

"What makes you think I’m nervous?" You cannot seem to pull your eyes away from the necklace pendant sitting between his pecs.

"You like to say random shit when you’re nervous. I know you a lot better than you think, bubs."

You freeze at the nickname, the one Ashton had lovingly coined you with a few years back; it seemed different coming out of his mouth now, speaking on the fact that you were inches away from his face and straddling his lap.

A lot of things felt different now.

"You’re right, shit. I’m sorry… I swear I’m not usually like this I— I’m normally a lot sexier—"

"Is it different ‘cause it’s with me? Because we don’t have to do this if—"

"No—" you cut him off abruptly, shaking your head with a reassuring smile, "I want to. I wanna’ do this. With you. It— it was my idea after all. No backing out now."

The rhythmic tapping of his fingers on your hipbone had turned into a gentle, soothing rub. It was oddly relaxing, the way his fingertips felt brushing against you.

It had even distracted you enough not to notice how his resting hand had traveled up to your waist to match the other.

"So… do we just— go for it?" Your voice comes out a bit shakier than you’d planned.

Ashton’s lips weave into a straight line, a sardonic look in his eye, masked with obvious amusement. It was clear he was entranced by your awkward charm.

"I dunno’. I didn’t really think this far ahead."

That comment earns a smile out of you, you whack his chest gently which is proceeded by a soft ‘oww’ from Ashton.

"We should stop talking. Maybe that’ll help," you suggest.

Ashton nods, his eyes fixed on your lips as he pulls his own to the side, "I like that idea… Any idea to get you to stop talking is a great idea to me."

"Fuckin’ dick," you tut, watching that smile of his turn into something a bit more wicked, "Maybe if you stopped being an asshole, I would’ve kissed you by now."

"What’s with all the ‘maybe’s? Maybe this, maybe that… You’re all bark and no bite. That’s what it sounds like."

"Or…" You trail a seductive finger down to the first fastened button of his shirt, "…Maybe you’re nervous too, and you’re stalling."

Ashton shifts beneath you, adjusting his hips to meet yours and suddenly the feeling of his body is threatening to pull a soft whimper from your throat. He notices the subtle notch in your brow, and the way his touch affects you.

Oh, who are you kidding. Nothing about you goes unnoticed around him.

"Not stalling, no. Just wanna make sure your head doesn’t pop off your shoulders from how fuckin’ nervous you are."

You don’t respond to his comment. Instead, you just fiddle with his shirt collar, your mind already racing at the thought of the events threatening to unfold. Despite your timid manner, Ashton speaks again.

"Bubs, if you wanted me to take the lead, you should’ve just said so."

There was something swirling in the pit of your stomach now, that tension from before reclaiming its rightful place above your heads. You tilt your head to the side and admire his plump, rosy lips; the shades of fern and honey spilling into his irises and making them shimmer.

This newfound infatuation was becoming an issue.

Without another word, and no sense of anything else to do, you lean in slowly. You could feel as Ashton holds his breath the moment you start to tilt your head forward. But rather than closing the space between your lips and his, you place a quick kiss on his cheek.

You pull away. Ashton chuckles.

"That was cute."

"Shut up," you mutter, heat instantly rushing to the apples of your cheeks.

Ashton then leans in as well, that same, agonizingly slow speed in which you did, and pushes a gentle kiss onto your cheek.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"How would this be making fun of you? I’m just reciprocating what you’re comfortable with."

At this point you can’t seem to control the way your words are just falling from your mouth, "Well, I know I’ve kissed your cheek before, I think— it was probably a really long time ago. I thought it would be easier than to just go for it all at once. Because then if I did, I’d—"

Just as you’re rambling on and on about everything and nothing at the same time, Ashton places his index finger onto your lips, smushing them together and instantly shutting you up.

"Y/N. Please. Stop talking."

You pout, feeling him switch that index finger to a thumb, and use the rest to cup your chin. He drags that same thumb down your bottom lip, slightly parting your mouth and drawing a very, very quiet whimper out of you.

"Let me take the lead, alright? You trust me?" he asks, eyes earnest and longing.

"Mhm," you reply, melting like ice cream on a hot summer day.

"Good," he hums, satisfied, still holding your chin loosely, "Now c’mere."

It felt as though there was an entire galaxy of stars and planets behind your eyes and you pinch them shut, leaning in to finally bridge the gap between your lips and his. The first touch felt like a flame igniting in your chest— the taste of him a lot sweeter than you’d imagined.

And you’d imagined this a lot more than you’d ever admit.

He hums into you, that hand once stagnant on your hips now wandering up and down your sides. The kiss itself was slow, yet the fervor behind your wordless exchange was picking up pace. And fast.

You couldn’t even process how quickly the kiss began to deepen, his tongue now exploring and tangling with yours.

There was something deeply satisfying about kissing Ashton; like an itch you were just dying to scratch. You felt so comfortable in this satisfaction, enough to lace your hands around his neck and up into his cleanly cut curls.

Your hips were working on their own time, subtly grinding down into his crotch and creating friction that just felt like heaven. It was an indescribable feeling.

Ashton pulls away suddenly, leaving you to stammer slightly and a small sigh to slip past your throat.

"I’ve gotta get this off of you," he comments, tugging at the hem of your tee.

"Ditto," you smile, wordlessly beginning to undo each button of his shirt, as far as you could reach.

It was now a frenzy of undressing one another; soft giggles and glimmering smiles with each article of clothing removed until it was down to his boxers and the underwear you had blindly picked out of your drawer this morning. But despite the unfortunate pair of briefs, Ashton’s fond gaze remained.

"If I knew this was happening, I would’ve put more effort into picking out my shit this morning," you say, reclaiming your place on his lap.

"It doesn’t matter to me, bubs," he quips, taking his broad palms and cupping your ass above your underwear, "They won’t be on for much longer."

"You’ve got quite the mouth on you Fletch," you giggle, taking in how obscenely he was biting down on his bottom lip, "Might have to put it to good use tonight."

Before you could blink or even think of another word to say, Ashton is cracking down his palm onto your asscheek, echoing a loud, playful smack.

"Way ahead of you, smartass."

The kiss from before picks back up in a frenzy, like it was some competition of who could bite the shit out of each other’s lip faster. You loved the energy that he was exuding; his demeanor and playfulness still remaining the same while driving you absolutely up the walls in arousal all at once.

"My God, you kiss like an angel—"

The words tumble past Ashton’s lips and knock into yours, the compliment instantly reddening your cheeks.

"You’re just saying stuff. Stop being stupid," you whine, feeling your decorum slipping through your fingertips as they traced circles up and down his jaw.

"I’m not saying this all to humor you, you know. As I’ve said a million times, I’m an honest man."

"You’re really beating the shit out of that dead horse, Ash. How many times in a night are you gonna call yourself honest?" You can’t help but giggle, overwhelmed by the feeling of his skin.

"If you’re gonna call my bluff, then I’m gonna’ keep reinstating the fact that I’m honest. Humble brag."

You puff your lips, swatting him on the chest and letting his silver chain catch onto your finger, "Whatever."

Ashton pauses all movements for a moment, examining your face. You could see his pupils and how they doubled in size the moment they reached your collarbone.

"Wanna start pickin’ up the pace here. I’m getting quite frustrated."

"Sexually? Or are you frustrated with the fact that your roommate is super fucking hot?"

He scrunches his nose, a dimple poking out at the bridge of it, "You say I’ve got a mouth on me but— it seems like you learned from the best.

"The walls in this apartment are pretty thin," you admit sheepishly, half embarrassed, half aroused, "I hear everything."

"Is that right?" he quizzes, his hands slowly traveling down your waist to the tops of your thighs.

"Yup. I hear it all."

Although you had never pictured yourself and Ashton to be presented with a situation similar to the one you were in now, a flutter taps through your chest as you recall the many nights you’d spend with your head buried in your pillows. Attempting, and failing, to drown out the sounds of Ashton’s late-night callers.

"And how does that make you feel? Does it— bother you?"

As his question trails off, you feel his hands creeping closer to the inside of your thigh. The sensitive skin that hadn’t been paid any attention since the last time you’d landed yourself a hook-up, a few months ago.

"N-no. Doesn’t bother me. Not that much, at least."

"Well if the sound of my headboard smacking against the wall doesn’t bother you, it’s gotta make you feel something, no?"

You didn’t want to lay out all of your cards, or give him the opportunity to use this shared experience against you in a moment of weakness. If you were more honest with both Ashton and yourself, you’d tell him that the feeling you get when you hear those animalistic noises could only be described as curiosity. Fascination.

And a dash of jealousy.

"I’m indifferent," you shrug, ignoring that wandering hand of his, "I turn my music up louder when I know you have someone over."

"Ah, but you see. That’s not what I hear. You’re as quiet as a mouse when I’ve got company around. Seems to me like maybe you’re interested in what you’re hearing. Or maybe— you’re listening."

Your jaw falls agape at his brusqueness, "Am not! I would never that’s— that’s fucking weird!"

He seemed to be growing fond of how uncomfortable he was making you, but that feeling faded away when his face melted into a smile.

"I’m just messing with you. I couldn’t give a shit if you were listening. Although, the thought of it is creating commotion in my lower half— the more I think about it."

"You’re such a loser," you chuckle, "Put that lip you’re giving me to good use and just kiss me instead."

With no complaints or comebacks, Ashton obliged. You hated how redundant it felt to keep leaning back in for that same kiss over and over— but a part of you couldn’t help it. After thinking about what it would be like to kiss your best friend, and now getting to actually experience it:

You’ll never look back again.

In a daze, you dismantle Ashton’s lap. You aren’t sure what brings you to do this but it’s explained by how quickly he was able to aid you in slipping out of your underwear. The two of you giggle, you smile into the kiss, all of the endearing little things that made kissing him so worth it. You even managed to fully switch places without letting your lips disconnect.

Not even for a second.

"I really like kissing you." Ashton reads your thoughts, as he does quite frequently.

"Me too," you breathe, staring into those glittery sage eyes as they bore into you from above.

“We should just kiss for forever, maybe.”

“Oh my God,” a giggle slips past your lips, “I’ve bewitched you.”

The warmth of Ashton’s body on top of yours was compensating for all of the corny, seemingly lovesick nonsense the two of you were spewing. His laughter alone made tiny little goosebumps surface across your arms as you hooked them around his neck and let your fingers get lost in his curls.

“Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered,” Ashton begins to hum a familiar tune, his voice rich like dark chocolate and flying in through one ear and right out of the other. You can’t help but laugh, overcome with emotions that you haven’t felt in quite a long time.

“You know, I always forget that you can sing.”

He ends his brief song by burying his face into the crook of your neck, starting an eager trail of open mouth kisses down to the base of your throat. His body moves sultrily in tandem with the rhythm of his kisses, his head nearing towards the valley of your breasts.

“Can I kiss you here?”

His eyes perk up to meet yours, momentarily drawing you out of blissful sighs. He uses his index finger to point at your chest, awaiting your permission.

“Mhm. You can kiss me theeere….”

He follows orders. You decide to play along.

“And you can kiss me heeeere….” You move his index finger towards the top of your left breast, pointing at your nipple.

Ashton’s gaze flickers with a pinch of excitement, lips hovering over towards where you had directed him. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his parted lips to engulf your nipple, and begins to suck on it gently.

That first wave of euphoria rips through your body as he works away at you, his tongue swirling around the bud with purpose. You knew he was a boobs guy but shit, you didn’t know the extent of it. His other hand finds the breast that he had left unattended, massaging it delicately as he teased you with his tongue.

"Jesus Christ, Ash—" your sentence is broken off by your breath getting caught in your throat as he grazes your nipple with his teeth.

A satisfied hum leaves his chest, and he briefly pulls away.

“Can I leave marks on you? Please, God that is so fuckin’ sexy.”

“Mhmm. Sure, do whatever you want, just—"

The moment your permission hits his ears, he’s biting down on the top of your breast and drawing harsh breath from your throat. Surely he’d leave a hickey or two in his trail.

Ashton continues his path of love bites, all of them turning a deep mauve the moment his lips leave the surface of your skin. You thrum in amusement, happy with the pretty douses of color and silently pleading for more of them.

“Fuck,” he mutters, taking a moment to admire his handiwork and trailing his thumb across a particular hickey left on your chest, “I did quite a number on you, didn’t I?”

“Everyone’s gonna make fun of me, I hope you know.”

“If they have anything to say about my artwork, they can take their questions up with the artist, m’kay?”

Ashton’s body was nearing dangerously close to where you were pulsing for him the most. You toss your head back into the pillows when Ashton leaves a few more kisses beside your navel, he was moving awfully meticulously and a part of you was growing impatient.

“Ashton—” you croak out, watching his lips meander down to the top of your thigh as he slots himself between your legs.

“I know, bubs. I know. Getting a bit needy now, aren’t we?”

“Oh Christ, Ash, don’t say it like that,” you attempt to hide your flushed cheeks behind your hands, “I’m not that selfish.”

Ashton doesn’t allow your expression to be hidden, so he takes it upon himself to reach up and pry your fingers away from it.

“Mmmm, greedy. Is that a better word?”

You scoff, “God no, that’s even worse.”

“Desperate?”

“Fuck no.”

“How about you give me an, ‘Ashton, I need you’?”

He smiles the moment his hands come in contact with the soft skin of your inner thigh. Maybe he thought distracting you with jokes and mockery would help put your mind at ease.

“Your impression of me is shitty.”

“I disagree— I think it’s spot on,” he defends, settling into his stomach, “Unless, you wanna prove me wrong.”

“And how would I do that?”

“Well, you’ve gotta say it. Duh.”

You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to grab ahold his taunting face as he hooks his arms around the backs of your thighs. He’s now face to face with your core and quite honestly, you don’t think you’d ever been this wet before. Not for anyone.

Hm.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a low groan, “—Excuse me for being vulgar but fuck, you’ve got such a pretty pussy.”

His words make you bite down on your lip, and your tongue; the chokehold he had on you in this given moment was beyond doubt. You couldn’t find any semblance of a thought to give him, so you just moaned in delight.

“Can I taste you? Please? I’ll make you feel so good— God, you’re just dripping for me, aren’t you?”

“Ashton—” you warn, not entirely sure if you were warning him, or yourself.

“Are you gonna say it?”

“For fuck’s sake,” you roll your eyes, sick of the pestering and condescending questions, “say what?!”

“I’ve been between your legs for less than a minute and you’ve already forgotten what I’d asked you to say! You are unbelievable.”

You could feel the warmth of his words with each breath he took radiating onto your skin, and the thought of him refusing to just indulge you was making you want to bitch and moan.

“God you are so annoying,” you whine, “can’t you just—”

“Just what? Eat you out ‘til you’re begging me for mercy? Is that what you want?”

“I’d prefer that instead of sitting here with your head between my thighs while you argue with me, yeah! This is kind of unfair!”

Ashton tuts softly at your whining, clicking his tongue with a shake of his head. His cheeks lift into a sinister smile as he drags his fingers along the tops of your thighs.

“Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this but, life isn’t fair. Not everybody gets what they want, y’know?…”

Ashton’s new game of hard to get, easy to slap was making you seethe. You didn’t think he’d take your typical, platonic bickering into the bedroom. Especially in such a high stakes situation.

But you figured out this mental game he was pulling fairly quickly, when he gazed sharply into your eyes and muttered these words:

“…And if you want it, you’ve gotta fuckin’ beg for it.”

His eyes flickered with challenge while yours continued to flutter at him with hopelessness. Desperation, at best. You never thought you’d be begging Ashton for anything more than something as mundane as washing the dishes—

But hey, life is strange.

“Ashton, please—” his words are getting to your head the more you think about what his felt like between your thighs, “I need you.”

“Say it like you meeeeaannn iiiit.”

His mocking, singsongy tone could’ve earned him a crack to the jaw on any normal day. But now, he was slowly creeping his hands towards the most sensitive portion of your inner thigh. Enough gentle touching from him could’ve sent you into orbit right then and there.

“Ashton, I want you. I— I need you.”

He cracks another menacing smile, fingertips digging into your flesh and leaving etchings in their place. That face of his was a tell all: this was the end of the beginning.

“Atta’ fuckin’ girl.”

Immediately, Ashton’s head tips down, his tongue dragging slowly across your folds in a motion that sends electricity bolting through your veins. You pant slightly, the sounds you were sure he was listening for trapped somewhere in your larynx.

He repeats this taunting act, eyes closed in bliss. So you take it upon yourself to bury your hands into his curls and pull a moan from his chest.

His skilled tongue was unrelenting, showing absolutely no mercy as he moved it around your clit. You became more confident in the sounds you were making, letting whimpers fly past your lips as you tugged at his curls

“Mmmhhh, fuck,” you groan, hoping your words would pull some sort of reaction out of him. On cue, Ashton’s head pops up slightly, and he makes it a point to replace that nimble tongue with his fingers.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly, twirling one of those curls around your finger as his makes circles around your clit.

“Mmm, yeah you fuckin’ do… Mind if I get a little rough with you, bubs?”

You blink slowly, watching him stare you down through hooded eyes that were complimented by sun kissed cheeks and freckles. There was no way you could say no to that face, especially since he’d asked so politely.

“O—okay, yeah. That— that’s fine.”

“You sure? Don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Jus’ say the word and I’ll slow down—”

“No— God, no. Please, don’t slow down.”

The words came out of your mouth faster than you could process them, sweat instantly beading across your forehead as Ashton’s face lifted into a smile. Something sinister was behind that damned smile and always had been.

You’d just never really picked up on it ‘till now.

That smile of his faded away between your thighs and the sounds of your heartbeat were quickly drowned out by moans and cries. Ashton dove back in to indulge in you, locking his biceps around your legs and pulling you tight.

“Holy shit Ashton— You— Fuck!”

Ashton does nothing but hum in delight. If only you could see his smug expression beneath the valley of your breasts, but you were glad his mouth was occupied by something other than being a sarcastic piece of shit.

You were thoroughly enjoying how knowledgeable he was of you already; he picked up on all of your signs right away. Obviously, he knew you like the reflection in the mirror and he knew just how much you enjoyed the gentle suckling at your clit and occasional nips on the insides of your thighs.

“Ash,” you pant out, weakened by his tongue, “I’m really fuckin’ close—”

“Hm? What?”

As your stomach bubbled over and made it feel like your insides were coming to a boil, he just fucking stops.

“Why’d you stop?!” your voice was rather whiny, “What the fuck?!”

“Oh my God,” Ashton chuckles at your desperate verbiage, watching your pussy twitch inches away from his face, “You are such a brat. I stopped for like, two seconds.”

“You fucker! I was so cl—”

Before you could even finish your thought, Ashton is dipping back into you roughly. He swiftly unhooks one of his arms from your shaky thigh and slips a finger inside of you, working it in tandem with his tongue to cross you over the finish line.

You yelp, his actions catching you by surprise. As punishment for letting you think he’d edged you, you reach down and dig your nails into his shoulders. Faint red lines start to appear across his tanned skin and his body tenses up, back muscles flaring angrily.

A smile spreads across your face while your eyes roll back into your head, Ashton working circles around your clit with his tongue while fucking into you with not one, but two fingers. He was determined to make you cum, even if your sharp, baby blue nails were leaving cat scratches across his shoulder blades.

“—Ashton, fuck!”

One last shout of his name for good measure had you hurling over the edge. Right as your orgasm is in full throttle, those dreamy jade eyes pop up to meet yours. You make it a point to stare back into them, giving him a show with your pouty, swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

“Oh my god, holy shit— what the fuck,” you sigh. Both Ashton’s fingers and tongue had come to a slowdown, riding you through your high like he was on your back with a saddle. You giggle at the blissful feeling, letting it be known that you were grateful for the attention he had paid to you with a pat to his now sweaty forehead.

“Where the hell did you learn how to do all of that?”

Ashton finally lifts his head up with a smile, still gently caressing your thigh with that calloused hand of his as his face drips with your arousal.

“A magazine.”

“I think that was the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my fucking life.”

As shameful as it was to admit such a thing, Ashton didn’t seem to mind the compliment. You watched in real time as his cheeks turned rosy, not long before he shook his head to brush you off.

“That means whoever you’re sleeping with must really fuckin’ suck,” he comments, shrugging as if it were nothing.

“Hey,” you defend, “it’s not my fault they suck.”

Although this conversation was bringing you back down to earth in some aspects, every other piece of it felt so damn domestic. Romantic. Comfortable. You were able to run your fingers through his hair and push the rogue curls out of his eyes without fear of judgment.

“It kind of is, bubs,” Ashton was now making his way out from between your legs to join you back at the top of the mattress, “You’ve picked some real winners.”

His tone oozes sarcasm but that post-orgasm headspace made anything that left his mouth attractive to you. You giggle softly, dismissing him with your hand as you watch him get comfortable and prop his head up on his arm.

“Oh my God, remember that one guy with the fucking digeredoo? I’m sure he was just— phenomenal in bed.”

“Okay well, playing an instrument takes a lot of skill. Plus, he was hot and bought me a milkshake after the bar. How could I say no?”

You and Ashton were now side by side once again, his eyes raking across your body and sneaking glances down at your wet lips as you spoke. “If that’s all it takes to win you over, maybe instead of laying here next to you I should be out waiting in line for a milkshake.”

“Fuck a milkshake,” you scoff, turning yourself to face him and mirroring his position, “I could lay here all night.”

“Really?” Ashton’s eyes light up. You didn’t think you’d find that endearing but then again, here you are, lying next to him after he’d just whipped you through space and time.

“Yeah. I mean, what else is there to do?”

“I could think of a few things,” he trails off, glancing you up and down, “Round one barely even started. Just sayin’.”

You bite your lip while gazing at him through hooded bedroom eyes. He now seemed to be mesmerized by the small bit of mascara that had begun running down the side of your cheek, stuck on the little black streaks before he took his thumb, licked it, and tried to wipe them off.

“Ash, ew,” you pull away, “Why’d you do that?”

“Oh please grow up, my head was just between your fuckin’ legs.”

“Fair point,” you puff, face still scrunched at him before you flop onto your back with a sigh.

There’s a brief pause between the two of you as you stare up at Ashton’s ceiling fan. He stayed still by your side, taking his index finger and tracing small shapes on your shoulder.

“Damn, was it really that good? Like, ‘stare at my ceiling fan and ponder your life’ good?”

You glance over at his big, needy eyes. His face still flushed with sweat but his gaze telling you more than he ever could. “What’s wrong with pondering life? You wanna go again?” you ask, knowing the answer already.

“Well, yeah. That sure as hell beats staring at the ceiling. But only if you’re up for it. ‘Wouldn’t wanna kick you while you’re already down, y’know?”

“Why are you treating us hooking up like a sporting event?” you chuckle, capturing his hand in yours and rubbing circles across his knuckles.

“It kind of is one except we’re like— playing on the same team… and we both win every game.”

He glances down at your hand with a smile and all you could do was laugh at him through your nose, “You’re fucking stupid.”

“Mmmm, I know.”

In no time, your lips are back on his and he’s pulling you into his chest. The cool metal of his necklace pendant brushes between your breasts and reminds you of what started this whole endeavor. His hands roam your body, every single dip and curve until the only thing he could reach for was something he was already familiar with. You smiled into his mouth, simply because you could.

“Your lips are like sugar,” Ashton grumbles, his words knocking into your teeth as he brushes a lock of your hair out of your face.

“Thanks. Cherry chapstick.”

Ashton’s lips are eager, the kiss is red hot; you’re so ready to experience him fully and that excitement is proven by the quickness of you knocking him onto his back and sliding over to mount his lap.

“I think I like you better from this angle,” Ashton coos, running his hands down the tops of your thighs while you’re straddling his hips.

“What, like I don’t look good from every angle?” you tease back, feeling more confident in your prowess and sexual nature.

“Something about you on top of me— holy shit. If I could take a picture of you right now all fucked out n’ messy…. I’d get it framed and hang it right above the fuckin’ mantle.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, Fletch,” you run your finger down his chest and make the conscious effort to grind your hips down into his groin, “Sex looks amazing on you.”

“You’re such a little minx,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes, “it’s almost painful to look at you right now.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

You couldn’t pull your eyes away from Ashton’s plump lips. God they were just so— inviting. If it were socially acceptable to skip the whole sex part and stare at him all night until the sun came up, you absolutely would.

Not that there were any methods to Ashton’s madness, but after hearing him speak so highly about how he performs in bed, you kind of wanted to find out more for yourself.

“Sure, why not. Y/N, you make my dick hurt. Take that how you will.”

“I’m honored, actually. Thank you Ashton.”

Your voice is sultry, pulling your words like soft taffy and making sure they sounded just as sweet. You wanted him to get a taste of this more demure side of you, and also make sure that he never forgets it.

Not many more words are exchanged before you’re dipping down to kiss the center of his chest. Right next to the necklaces that had you tongue tied out on the balcony. He groaned at the action, hands traversing up your thighs and towards your ass to give it a tight, reassuring squeeze.

A few more kisses down the line lead you to the top of his naval. You planted another feathery kiss right above it, for good luck, and shivered as his hands moved with you down his body.

“Oh, I know exactly where you’re headed, bubs. You think you’re slick,” Ashton tries to hide the pillowy shades of pink that fell against his cheeks when your teeth grazed the band of his boxers. But all you could do at that moment was smile.

“M’ not doing anything wrong, am I?” you ask, eyes wide and doe-like as you slip a finger beneath the fabric to tease at his happy trail.

“No no, nothing wrong…” His words trail off, getting lost somewhere in the room. He tosses his head back and you watch those caramel curls just flop against the pillow.

Truth be told, you were intimidated by Ashton. But only in the moment where he’d taken off his jeans and was left in his underwear. You stared down at the sizable bulge, eyes still wide, wondering what was hidden beneath that red and black checked plaid.

You take a moment to let him adjust to your new position, and run a gentle hand across where the fabric hilled. He was hard, really fucking hard. Almost twitching out of the slit in his boxers.

“Ahh, shit—” Ashton hisses at the contact.

“Sensitive?”

“You could say that, yeah.”

When you take his length out fully, you stare at it for a moment. Gazing down at its size and realizing now that all the sounds you’ve heard through the drywall of your neighboring rooms may not have been an exaggeration.

“Holy shit—” you catch your tongue, biting back a smile as you take him in a fistful.

“What?”

“You’re really fucking big.”

The corners of Ashton’s mouth tug up into a catty smile, his tongue jutting out to wet his bottom lip before letting out a satisfied sigh.

“Say that again for me, please—?”

“Don’t test your luck, Fletch.”

After taking a moment to find your confidence back, you slowly ease his leaky tip into your mouth. Ashton hums on contact, body tensing and muscles contorting beneath you as you start a slow rhythm of bobbing your head up and down.

“Fuck,” he whines, brushing the hair that had fallen rogue out of your face, “Look at me. Please— fuckin’ look at me.”

Your attention snaps to his desperate plea and you find his face through your messy hair. His lips were parted, forming a perfect, angelic expression that looked like he was floating on a cloud. When the eye contact meets, those O shaped lips melt into a smile.

“Yeah, just like that,” he praises, watching you take his cock fully down your throat and bat your eyelashes as if it were no big deal, “Keep goin’, keep goin’— God you are just perfect, aren’t you?”

Something about Ashton’s merciful compliments made your core throb even more so than when his head was nestled between your thighs. You loved the way those pretty praises sounded rolling off his tongue, and were now just as eager to hear what else he wanted to say.

“Can y’ take it all?” He asks, knowing damn well you were too occupied to reply.

The only sound you could muster was a weak ‘mmmhf’, before you’re ducking your head down completely to the point where the tip of his cock was knocking into the back of your throat. He moans, you moan; it’s a cadence of obscenities. “Oh my God, Y/N. Hooooly shit—”

You keep your head down for as long as you could take it, swirling your tongue around his length and drawing yourself back up to his tip.

“Ahhh, shit— I can’t— No. Come up here. Come up here right fuckin’ now.”

Ashton grabs your head, gently yet effectively pulling your mouth off of his cock. A trail of saliva follows your lips, your face now burning up as you wince at the lack of him filling your throat.

“I need to fuck you,” Ashton continues, his mind working faster than his body at pulling you up to be level with his face again and getting you straddled onto his waist.

“God, please do— I don’t think I could’ve waited much longer.” You admit, with not a single lick of shame, knocking your sweaty foreheads together as he blindly reaches over at his side into his nightstand.

“You like that, huh? You like it fast n’ rough? I knew it, I knew you did—”

“We’re a lot more alike than you think, Ash,” you breathe out, interrupting your own thought to press a rushed kiss onto his cheek, “You just gotta start paying more attention.”

Eventually, Ashton finds a condom in his drawer and slams it shut with his elbow. He holds the packet between your hurried faces, taking the corner of it to his teeth and ripping it open in one motion.

“I didn’t even have to ask,” you bellow, giggling softly as he hands the condom to you to do the honors, “What a gentleman.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” he rolls his eyes and watches you move down to place the condom where it needed to be, “I’m a gentleman regardless of circumstance.”

After successfully getting the condom onto him, Ashton was back on cloud nine. His face came to a pinch when you lent him a few warm up strokes and shifted back to line him up with your entrance.

“You are so goddamn sexy, Y/N,” he mumbles, gazing at you with hungry eyes.

“Really? Tell me again.”

As he opens his mouth to follow your instruction, you sink down onto his cock without warning. A gasp chokes at your larynx as the feeling of him filling you up fogs your senses.

“Ohhh, oh my—”

You’re grasping at straws to say something, slowly swiveling your hips and feeling his length twitch inside of you like the missing piece of a puzzle. Ashton’s hands fly to your hips and stay there, squeezing you tightly enough to leave bruises in the place of his fingertips.

Your motions start off slow, the two of you in momentary shock at the overwhelming sensation; but Ashton doesn’t stay still for very long. He wants to know what you look like when you ride him, how those tits he’s always catching himself staring at bounce as you sway to the rhythm that he claims.

He snaps his hips up into you for the first time, which makes you cry out, a bit louder than anticipated. On instinct, you cover your mouth with your hand to muffle the noise. But Ashton wasn’t having that either.

“Scream for me, baby. I know you want to,” he muses, through bated breaths as his snapping hips become relentless, “Scream my fucking name.”

Although Ashton referring to you as ‘baby’ caught you a little off guard, you could do nothing else but oblige to his request. You whine, you grunt, you moan, calling out and watching it echo and bounce across Ashton’s off white walls until the only sound left in the room was his name.

“Atta’ girl, yeah. You fuckin’ like that? Yeah you do. Look at’ ya’.”

“Ashton, oh my God. Fuck me— harder.”

Your command makes his grip on your hips tighten, “Harder?”

“For the love of God, yes. Fuck me harder!”

The sounds of slapping skin and Ashton’s shaky old headboard banging against the walls seemed to drown out any more of those obscene noises; but your senses were heightened enough to the point where you could hear them all loud and clear. You toss your head back, hair wild and unkempt as the two of you find the perfectly rough rhythm of your hips.

“Ashton, holy shit—”

“Yeah baby, yeah, that’s it— cum for me again. Fuckin’, shit—”

Ashton’s greedy hands fly right up to your chest. He takes your breasts in a handful as you ride him, allowing you to ride yourself all the way through your second and final orgasm of the evening.

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips as you watch his release, in almost perfect unison with yours. His cock twitches inside of you once more and leaves you feeling sensitive, a bit worn out. But you didn’t care about the fact that you’d felt like you’d just run a marathon.

All that mattered was that you felt closer to Ashton than ever.

“Jesus Christ, Ash,” you moan out, dropping your hands to his chest as you lift yourself off of his cock.

“Mmmf—” he winces at the loss of your pussy clenched around him, his next words a bit strained, “it’s a good thing we don’t have any more roommates. You’re like a fuckin’ tornado siren.”

And there was the Ashton you knew and loved; back with a witty comment to top off the evening of multiple orgasms and your new discovery of a praise kink.

“Charming, Ash. Real’ fuckin’ charming.”

Giggles and more banter filled the space around you as Ashton offered to get you cleaned up. He ran through the apartment, naked, collecting up the necessary ingredients for the perfect aftercare session and making sure you had everything you needed to feel comfortable in the aftermath.

“Think you’ll be able to walk right tomorrow?” Ashton chuckles, his knee dipping down into the mattress as he hands you a glass of water.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“Well, to answer that question, I’ll be fine. Someone’s gotta carry you around if your legs don’t work, right?”

You laugh at him, swatting his bare shoulder and taking a sip of that ice cold water.

The rest of the hour was pure, unadulterated bliss. You hadn’t even bothered to check the clock whilst Ashton cleaned you up with a warm washcloth and basically dressed you in your sleep shirt and pajama shorts. You were just happy to know that he was willing to take care of you, whether it be as a friend, or a hookup for the night.

The two of you laid side by side in bed, talking about life, in a philosophical and stupid sense; basically anything and everything before his head plopped down onto the pillows like it were made of bricks.

“Ugh, now I’m bored,” he whines, fighting a smile as he gazes into your wide eyes. Ashton was always one for a callback, but this one seemed oddly intentional.

You look back at him with challenge, running your fingers through his loose curls and dragging your index finger across his sharp cheekbone “You know what you should do?”

“What?”

“You should go get me that milkshake.”

⊹ ₊ ⟡ ⋆

[luveline]

ooh yay okay short blurb idea!! stevie comforting anxious!reader with back rubs? I feel like he gives the best calming back rubs ever!!! need him to help me w my anxiety :( 🤍🤍🤍

It's not that Steve's presence alone can stave off your anxiety, he's not a miracle, though he is miraculous, but it doesn't take long without him to fall into unhappy thoughts. He leaves to shower and you worry about everything one ache at a time, hands braced on your knees, begging your body to just let it go this time. Just this one time. 

You listen to the shower running, glad for the noise to hide your breath as it begins to wind, but Steve is quick. A minute later he's turning off the water, and a minute after that he's propping open the door to the ensuite to let out the hot air. His hair is still dry. He only wanted a refresher after the hot weather. 

You squeeze at nothing, your hands aching from the scrunch and unscrunching of your fingers. Steve must sense it, your quiet hurting, because he looks up with that resigned concern already lining his mouth, lips pulled down into an unfortunate frown. 

"Hey," he says, pulling the last sock on, "I'll be right there." 

The distance between you is relatively small and huge nonetheless. "It's okay," you say. 

You're wheezing. Steve's eyebrows furrow, and he grabs his glasses off of the night table as he sits down beside you. They slip down his damp nose and fog a little from the heat of his skin, which is a nice distraction until you realise it's a distraction. 

"Can I touch you?" he asks quietly. 

You nod quickly. Sometimes the panic is too much, and anyone's touch feels like a burn, but right now it's the one thing you want. Steve slides right up to your side, thigh to thigh, elbow to elbow. He slides the arm closest to you behind your back to hold you, and the other comes over his lap to your leg, where he squeezes the soft fat of your inner thigh. 

"What is it?" he asks. 

"I think…" you breathe in until your chest feels like it'll pop. "An attack." 

"Okay," he says, pulling you that last bit closer. You're like one person.

You lean forward away from him without thinking. Steve doesn't follow, but his hand tracks a heavy weight on your back. He starts to draw as he usually does when this happens, long fingers and a soft palm roving up the length of your spine and down again, filling the dip of your back as his voice melds to a whisper. "It's okay. We have to ride it out, that's all. You know that already. Keep breathing, babe." 

You cover your face with your hands. Steve makes a small sorry sound and takes your wrist, pulling your hand from your mouth.  

"Just breathe, honey." 

It's not easy. Not as simple as just, but you breathe. Steve's hand is dutiful and loving as it goes, tracing the same path over and over again. He whispers every now and then when you hold your breath or show signs of cracking, and when your eyes fill with tears his touch turns especially tender. 

People forget how full of love Steve is. He wants to love people, even if he does get annoyed at everything. Everything, and yet never at this. This is where his patience lies. 

Your back starts to feel ticklish from his touching. It works better than intended, one uncomfortable feeling replacing the other slowly. Steve puts his second hand on your chest to feel your pulse, his pinky finger sliding under the neckline of your shirt. He counts under his breath. 

"Good," he murmurs, pulling out his hand. "Good job, baby. You're okay." 

The attack ends, the shaky aftermath begins. You feel weak from hyperventilation, hands still shaking. Steve wraps you up in his arms now you're in no danger of suffocation to hold you together, pulling your face to his neck, his cheek turned from you as he sighs in relief. "You're okay," he says again. "That was a sudden one, huh? You okay?" 

You manage a soft laugh. "I thought you already decided." 

"It's two different okays." He rubs the top of your shoulder with his thumb, leaving warmth in his wake. "I know from your heart that you're okay, but are you okay? You know. What do you need me to do?" 

You hug him weakly. "Nothing. I don't need… Thank you, Steve." He's done more than you could ever ask for. 

"You're welcome," he says, kissing your cheek twice, his words warm and quiet against your skin. "Don't mention it. Just glad you're feeling better."