#ice bath business

[digital--vibes]

Cool Cash Flow: Essential Insights for Success in the Cold Plunge Business

As the wellness industry continues to evolve, the cold plunge business has emerged as a lucrative opportunity for entrepreneurs. The increasing popularity of ice baths for their health benefits has opened up a new niche within the wellness market. To ensure success and a steady cash flow, it's essential to navigate this growing industry with a strategic approach. Here are some crucial insights for building a successful ice bath business.

Firstly, understanding market demand is pivotal. The surge in interest around cold therapy has led to a burgeoning demand for cold plunge facilities. Conduct thorough market research to pinpoint your target audience, which could range from athletes seeking recovery solutions to wellness enthusiasts looking for new experiences. One effective strategy is to combine cold plunges with other wellness services. For instance, a sauna and cold plunge business can attract clients who are interested in the complementary effects of heat and cold therapies. This dual offering not only differentiates your business but also enhances its appeal to a broader clientele.

Choosing the right location is another critical factor for success. Opting for a prime area such as sauna brentwood tn can provide a significant advantage. Brentwood, known for its affluent and health-conscious community, offers a prime market for high-end wellness services. By establishing your cold plunge facility in this desirable location, you can tap into a customer base that values premium health solutions and is willing to invest in their well-being. The strategic location can help drive traffic to your business and establish it as a go-to destination for cold therapy.

Creating an exceptional customer experience is also crucial. Your facility should not only feature high-quality cold plunge tubs but also provide a welcoming and serene environment. Invest in modern, comfortable equipment and design your space to promote relaxation and luxury. Adding amenities such as heated changing rooms, soothing lighting, and relaxation areas can elevate the overall experience and encourage repeat visits. Providing exceptional customer service, with knowledgeable staff who can offer personalized advice and support, will further enhance client satisfaction and loyalty.

Effective marketing is essential for attracting and retaining clients. Develop a strong brand identity and communicate your unique value proposition clearly. Utilize digital marketing strategies such as social media, content marketing, and targeted advertising to reach your audience. Share engaging content about the benefits of cold plunges and the unique aspects of your business. Collaborate with influencers in the wellness industry to boost your visibility and credibility. Promotional offers, loyalty programs, and referral incentives can also help attract new clients and encourage existing ones to return.

Finally, staying adaptable and responsive to industry trends will keep your business competitive. The wellness industry is dynamic, with new trends and technologies emerging regularly. Keep an eye on these developments and be prepared to adjust your offerings accordingly. Regularly solicit feedback from clients to ensure that your services meet their needs and expectations. By staying informed and flexible, you can maintain a competitive edge and continue to grow your ice bath business successfully.

In summary, the key to achieving cool cash flow in the cold plunge market lies in understanding demand, choosing the right location, creating a superior customer experience, implementing effective marketing strategies, and staying adaptable. By focusing on these essential aspects, you can build a standout cold plunge business that not only thrives in a growing market but also delivers lasting success.

[edgarallen-foe]

i want to be loved on.

[aryaryxoxo]

Six Times You and Bakugou Couldn't Escape Each Other (and One Time You Really Couldn't) #katsuki bakugou x fem!reader ⤷ Every year, without fail, your families book at the same resort at the same time—for six years straight. And every year, like clockwork, you and Bakugou Katsuki somehow manage to ruin each other’s vacation. (5k)

Warning: grammar, idk ajsdnkada

Year one

“Sweetheart, slow down!” your father called out behind you as you bolted down the hallway, suitcase wheels clattering noisily behind you. You could hardly contain your excitement for the week ahead. Your parents had promised a stay at a luxurious five-star resort—complete with museums, slides, swimming pools, nature for sight seeing and more. To your ten-year-old mind, it sounded like paradise.

You fumbled eagerly with the hotel room keycard your mother handed you earlier, finally managing to swipe it through the door scanner. With a satisfying click, the door opened, and you stepped inside—eyes widening in awe.

The room was huge. The soft scent of linen and the faint hum of air conditioning greeted you as you took in the two queen-sized beds. One was obviously meant for you, and the other is for your parents, though everyone knew you'd end up sleeping with them anyway. Still, your parents had asked for an extra bed, hoping to make you feel a little more independent.

“Mama! There’s a huge balcony!” you squealed, climbing up on a nearby chair to peek out at the view.

“Be careful, my dear,” your mother warned gently as she came over and scooped you into her arms, holding you securely so you could see better. The sun bathed the surrounding trees in golden light, and below, the pool sparkled like a jewel.

“Dear look, we have a neighbor,” she murmured, pointing to the balcony beside yours.

Later, you busied yourself by placing Mr. Strawberry—your beloved stuffed bear—on the bed near the large window. You carefully unpacked his accessories from your bag: a pair of sunglasses, a pink dress (because Mr. Strawberry didn’t care about colors), and a plastic toy ice cream cone.

“What else did I bring?” you muttered, burying your head into the small backpack to make sure you hadn’t missed anything.

When you finally pulled your head out, you froze.

Standing in front of you, gripping Mr. Strawberry by the neck with a suspicious glare, was a blond boy around your age. His red eyes were narrowed into a deadly squint, locked onto you like laser. You blinked. He blinked back—menacingly.

“Can you give him back to me?” you asked, arms stretched out, trying to sound calm despite the twitch in your eye. “No,” the blond menace replied, with all the audacity in the world.

You took a deep breath. Maybe he didn’t hear you right. “Please give me back.” He looked you dead in the eyes, held the bear tighter, and said, “No. Again.”

Without thinking, you launched yourself forward, diving to rescue Mr. Strawberry from the clutches of the foul beast.

“What are you doing?!” you screeched, tugging at your bear’s paw.

“Why are you in our room?!” he snapped, yanking back.

“This is our room, you jerk!”

“You’re the jerk!”

Kid logic took over, and the war began.

"You murderer!" you cried, grabbing a fistful of his spiky hair and yanking it like your life depended on it.

"OW! You psycho!" he bellowed, still holding Mr. Strawberry hostage.

That was the moment your parents burst out of the bathroom, faces frozen in horror. There you were, their sweet little child, with a death grip on some blonde boy’s hair, while he clutched your teddy bear like it was a hostage negotiation gone wrong.

“KATSUKI! We haven’t even checked into the room and you're already causing trouble!” a voice shouted from the doorway.

All eyes turned to the new arrival—a wild-eyed blonde woman, her fiery stare nearly identical to the boy’s. She stormed over, grabbed the boy—Katsuki—by the collar, yanked the bear from his arms, and gently handed it back to you with a tight, apologetic smile.

“I’m very sorry,” she said with a deep, frantic bow, still hugging her son tightly as he kicked and protested in her grip. “I hope my son didn’t hurt your daughter.”

“Why are you apologizing?! That brat started it!” Bakugou barked, twisting in her arms.

“What brat!?” you snapped, hugging Mr. Strawberry tightly to your chest as you locked eyes with the demon child in a full-on death glare challenge.

“We’re also sorry. I hope our daughter didn’t hurt your son,” your parents added politely, bowing back.

You turned toward them with a look of sheer betrayal.

“What?! He started it! He wanted Mr. Strawberry to die! He was gripping him by the neck!” you defended with the sincerity of someone reporting a serious crime.

“Hah! That’s a stupid name for a teddy bear,” Bakugou muttered, sticking out his tongue and pulling a face.

His mother quickly slapped her hand over his mouth and hissed, “Shut it.”

Your father knelt down in front of you, his expression calm and soft. “Sweetheart, I know how protective you are of Mr. Strawberry, but you could have really hurt him. I don’t think Mr. Strawberry would’ve wanted that.”

That made you pause. You looked down at Mr. Strawberry, then up at the boy who had just been silenced by his mother. His mouth was finally free, and he looked like he had more dumb things to say.

“If he apologizes for hurting Mr. Strawberry,” you said solemnly, “then I’ll apologize too.”

“Hah! As if I will—!”

“Katsuki.” His mother’s tone was deadly.

“...Fine! Sorry!” he spat.

You gave a slow, dramatic nod. “Fine. Sorry too.”

And thus, a truce was declared.

“Again, my deepest apologies,” the woman said, rubbing her temple with a sigh. “The receptionist gave us the wrong keys”

She turned to your parents, offering a strained smile. “I’m Mitsuki Bakugou, by the way.” She reached out to shake their hands with her right hand while still trying to wrangle the wild animal with the other.

She finally set him down when a man’s voice called out from behind her.

“Honey, I finally got the keys!”

A man with slightly tousled brownish hair stepped into view, holding up a new keycard triumphantly. The demon child—aka Katsuki Bakugou—immediately ran over and latched onto the man’s leg like a clingy goblin.

Mitsuki grabbed the card from his hand as he introduced himself as the husband and father. You blinked. This gentle, quiet-looking man was the father of that tiny demon? You couldn’t quite figure out how that made sense. But then again, his mother was currently throwing daggers with her eyes at her own son. Maybe chaos just ran in the bloodline.

“Looks like we’re next to each other,” she said with a small smile, glancing between your families.

That statement made both you and Katsuki whip your heads around to glare at each other.

This vacation was doomed.

Year two

“I’m so excited!” you muttered to yourself, practically bouncing on your heels. Today was the day—you were finally going to ride the big slide. The one that twisted around the resort’s water park. It was so cool, you had to climb three flights of stairs before you even began.

You hurried up the stairs, clutching the wet rail, already picturing yourself screaming with joy on the way down. But just as you reached the second floor, an aggravatingly familiar voice echoed behind you.

“I’m faster than you, idiot!”

That kid. The one from last year. Bakugou Katsuki, aka the bane of your last year vacation’s existence, was charging up the stairs like his life depended on it. 

Was it stupid to race up three flights of slippery stairs, where one wrong step could lead to a full-on cartoon-style head trauma? Absolutely.

Did that stop you?

Not a chance. He ruined your vacation last year (both of you had spent the entire week glaring at each other across hallways, pool chairs, and buffet lines until the day you left).

You took off after him, determined not to let the blond gremlin beat you. The two of you reached the top at the same time, immediately breaking into a loud argument over who touched the top step first.

“I clearly beat you!”

“No way, I saw your foot slip, loser!”

The poor lifeguard attendant looked at you both with all the exhaustion of someone who did not get paid enough for this. After one long glance, she pointed toward the exit.

“You’re both too little for the slide.”

You stared in horror. Bakugou’s face contorted with the rage of a thousand suns.

“What?! That’s stupid! I can ride it! Height doesn’t even matter! I’m ready! I’ve got reflexes and everything!”

The worker sighed, looking you both over with an exhausted expression. “Kid,” she said, pointing directly at Bakugou, “you’re standing on your tiptoes right now.”

Bakugou shot her a death glare, but she didn't flinch.

“And,” she continued, barely hiding the exhaustion in her voice, “you need to be fifteen years old to slide down”

“I’m fifteen!” you insist, trying to convince the lifeguard. You widen your eyes, putting on your best puppy-dog look. Well it doesn’t work because both of you ended up sulking at the bottom of the slide five minutes later—soaked, grumpy, and somehow even more determined to ruin each other’s day.

“This is your fault!” Bakugou snapped, crossing his arms and practically vibrating with rage.

“Huh?! Be grateful we didn’t end up banned from the slide because of your ego! Demon child!” you shot back, pointing at him like he was the cause of global warming.

Bakugou, clearly offended. “What did you just call me?!” He lets out a loud tch and sparks begin crackling from his palms—tiny bursts of frustration lighting up like firecrackers.

And of course, not to be outdone, you activated your own quirk—just enough to make your point. 

“Kids,” the lifeguard said, suddenly appearing between you like a divine referee, placing a hand on each of your shoulders. “Please don’t use your quirks. There are children running around. And frankly, you’re the loudest ones here.”

You both instantly looked away, muttering complaints under your breath. But the battle was far from over.

Year three

You tried not to be paranoid—really, you did. This was supposed to be a good week. You were at your favorite resort, the sun was shining, and everything should’ve been perfect.

Should’ve.

But how could you truly enjoy it when a certain gremlin with anger issues kept popping up every year to ruin your peace?

Not this time, you told yourself. This year, you were going to have a good time. No explosions. No arguments. No Katsuki Bakugou.

That’s why you begged your mother to sign up for the museum tour being held on the other side of the resort. A quiet, educational day. Some mother-daughter bonding. And besides, the odds are in your favor. Day three of your trip and you still haven’t seen him.

“My dear, are you okay?” your mother asked, noticing the way your head kept whipping side to side.

You were scanning the crowd like a wartime soldier, just to be sure there were no signs of blond chaos. You hated to admit it, but every time you spotted someone with spiky blond hair, your soul briefly left your body and rage came in.

Even back home in the United States, you found yourself flinching at the sight of blond, spiky hair in public. He lived in Japan, for crying out loud. 

And yet, every time you spotted someone who even remotely resembled him, your fight-or-flight kicked in like clockwork.

“And this,” the tour guide said cheerfully, pointing to a glass display, “is a fossil discovered along the shores of this very resort!”

You leaned in, relaxing just a bit—until the guide looked past the crowd and said:

“Oh! You must be Ms. Bakugou! Please, please, join the tour. You’re not late.”

No.

No, no, no.

Why.

You turned slowly, clinging to your last sliver of hope that maybe it was just his mom. Maybe she came alone this year. Maybe the universe had some mercy.

But no. Because right there, next to her, stood him. And of course, he was already looking directly at you like he knew this would happen.

You whipped your head back around.

Don’t look again. Don’t look again. Don’t—

You looked again.

And he smirked.

He only muttered two words.

“Mr. Strawberry”

That was it. Just two words.

Oh, you were going to go berserk on a 12-year-old.

Year four

If you asked Bakugou if he loved the beach, he’d tell you he hated it more than losing a fight—because at least that, he could control. He could train harder, fight smarter, blast his way to a win. But the beach? The beach had sand that was somehow always stuck in his shoes, sunburn on his neck, and screaming kids with no sense of personal space.

He’d take a sparring match over this hell they called the beach any day.

And yet, every summer, without fail, his parents dragged him back to the same resort.

He'd complain, scowl, and threaten to blow up the welcome banner—again. But deep down? There was something about this place that kept him from actually going nuclear.

Something he refused to admit even existed.

And right now, that something was in front of him, on the balcony beside his own. Glaring while holding that ridiculous plushie with the equally ridiculous name Mr. Strawberry. It’s so absurd, so laughable, that Bakugou could hardly hold back a snort every time he thought about it. He’d even catch himself smirking in class sometimes, thinking about how seriously you’d defend that stupid bear.

“I guess satan couldn’t reach me so he sent you,” You remarked with a mocking grin, your eyes gleaming with mischief.

Bakugou stared at you blankly, his expression the epitome of unamused. “What did you just say?”

You turned to leave, done with his obnoxious presence. But before you could take a step away, Bakugou's eyes flicked over to the water gun resting on the railing beside him. His gaze narrowed, and a dangerous smirk played on his lips.

“Oh, you think you can walk away without paying for that?” he muttered to himself, his fingers tightening around the handle of the water gun. With one swift motion, he aimed it directly at you.

The cold blast of water hits you square in the back, instantly drenching your pajama and sending a chill through your spine.

You whipped around, face flushed with irritation. “What the hell, Bakugou?!”

He was grinning now, pure smugness plastered across his face. “Satan said you needed a bath.”

You looked at him, seething with frustration, your hand already reaching for something you could use in return. And then it clicked. His stupid mistake.

You grabbed the water gun sitting by your side, fully aware that a little bit of payback was in order. You aimed it at him, squeezing the trigger with satisfaction as the cold stream of water hit his chest.

“Guess you needed one too,” you shot back, a smirk forming on your face now.

Bakugou's eyes flared with irritation, and for a moment, it seemed like he might retaliate with a blast of his quirk. But there was something about the way the water gun had soaked him that made him pause, a little part of him enjoying this.

Damn it. He cursed silently, but deep down, he knew that this—whatever this is—had become a weird part of his vacation routine.

And that’s when it hit him: The universe must really hate him. For the past four years, he’d been stuck in the same resort, rooming next to you year after year. Always just a balcony away. Always.

It was like the universe wanted him to deal with you. And Mr. Strawberry.

And for a moment, the stupid thought flickered in his mind: This summer wouldn’t feel right without it.

“Tch, whatever," Bakugou grumbled, wiping his face with his hand. "This is so stupid."

Year five

“Mom, you know I hate hiking, right?” you groaned as you trudged behind your parents up the hill.

“Dear, I thought you wanted to be a pro-hero?” your mother chirped back. “You need stamina training! And fresh air!”

“Lots of fresh air,” your dad added, already taking a dramatic picture of the tree line like it was the cover of a nature documentary. “This resort just keeps getting better. Look at this view! Million-dollar scenery!”

You did admit—it was beautiful. Rolling green hills, birds chirping, a breeze cool enough to keep your sweat from sticking. Still.

“Great, can we go back now?” you asked, eyes hopeful. Desperate.

Your mother shot you a look. “That’s a terrible mindset, young lady.”

And then—because the universe is an evil, evil thing—a familiar voice spoke up behind you.

“I see you’ve finally taken a liking to hiking, huh?”

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Masaru Bakugou. Which could only mean…

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath. Why not ruin the day completely.

Sure enough, stomping beside his parents, wearing a scowl that could peel bark off a tree, was none other than him. Bakugou Katsuki. He grew around a few inches in height since last year but still the same temper, same explosive aura of annoyance. But this time… he locked eyes with you and groaned like it physically hurt.

“Oh, come on,” he hissed.

Well, at least you could agree on one thing: neither of you wanted to be here.

“How about we all hike up there?” Mitsuki grinned, already locking arms with your mother like they had been best friends since forever.

“Sure!” your mom beamed, and just like that, both sets of parents began their cheerful ascent, chatting like this hike wasn’t a death sentence.

You and Bakugou trailed behind at a very safe distance from each other—until, of course, that peace was destroyed.

“That’s a robin,” you said, pointing to a small bird on a branch.

“No, it’s not. That’s a sparrow, dumbass.”

You stopped in your tracks, horrified. “Excuse me? Sparrows don’t have red chests. It’s a robin.”

“Tch. As if you know anything about birds. You think everything small and fluffy is a robin.”

“Well at least I know what a robin looks like! I did a birdwatching project in 3rd grade!”

“Yeah? Must’ve failed it.”

You were both now full-on bickering, flailing your arms and pointing at birds, while the rest of the group climbed steadily ahead. Neither of you noticed that in the middle of your feathery fight, you'd veered off the main trail.

“I hope that robin poops on your head,” you snapped.

“I hope it’s a hawk and it carries you off,” he shot back.

By the time you both paused for air, the trail was gone… and so were your parents.

“We’re not that far off the trail… right?” you asked, trying—really trying—not to sound as nervous as you felt. The trees looked taller now. The shadows, longer. Even the birds were quiet.

Bakugou glanced up at the sky. “The sun’s about to set.”

You followed his gaze and swallowed. The golden light was fading fast, dipping low behind the mountains. Your stomach twisted.

There was something in his eyes—not panic exactly, but awareness. A shift in the air. Seriousness that Bakugou never had when he was arguing with you. That made your chest tighten.

“…So, we’re just a little lost,” you tried again.

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he looked around, jaw tight. “We’ll find the trail. Just stop freaking out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” you snapped.

You were definitely freaking out.

Bakugou exhaled sharply, adjusting the backpack slung over one shoulder. “Come on. Just stick close.”

“…You’re not gonna leave me if we get chased by a bear, right?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable for a second. Then he muttered, “Only if you slow me down.”

But you caught it—the faintest smirk. And weirdly, you felt just a little less lost.

It’s been what—minutes? Hours? Days? Years? You don’t know. What you do know is you both still haven’t found the trail.

“Eat,” Bakugou said, tossing a granola bar your way. “You need energy.”

You unwrapped the bar slowly, staring at it as if it might somehow give you the answers you were desperately searching for. “I’m sorry,” you said in a defeated voice, your words barely above a whisper as you took a small bite.

Bakugou didn’t look up, focused on his own bar. “For what?”

“If I didn’t argue with you, we probably wouldn’t be here... lost,” you mumbled, the guilt in your chest gnawing at you.

Bakugou’s eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to the ground in front of him. “Don’t be stupid. It takes two people to end up in a heated argument. Don’t take the blame.”

“Wow, so mature, Bakugou,” you replied, chuckling.

Bakugou exhaled sharply, but there was the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, I take it back. It’s your fault.”

You laughed, but before you could reply, Bakugou added, almost as an afterthought, “Next time, don’t follow idiots into the woods. Especially if the idiot’s me.”

And for some reason... that sounded a lot like, “I’m glad you were with me.”

Then you both hear it—the unmistakable sound of voices, distant at first, but growing louder with every passing second. Your heart jumps into your throat as you realize it’s bakugou’s and your parents calling your names.

You finally see them—your parents, rushing toward you through the trees. The sight of them, the sound of their voices. As soon as they reach you, they envelop you in a tight, desperate hug. You can feel their tears soaking into your shirt, but you don’t mind. You cling to them just as tightly, your own tears falling freely.

“Oh my god, we were so scared!” your mother sobs, not letting go, her arms shaking around you.

“Never do that again, sweetheart,” your father chokes out, voice thick with emotion.

But despite the comfort of your parents’ embrace, your eyes instinctively dart to the side. You catch a glimpse of the Bakugou, standing just off to the side. His parents are also hugging him tightly, but it’s Bakugou you’re watching. He’s looking at you, his face unreadable, but his eyes... his eyes are focused solely on you.

Year Six

This was stupid.

Bakugou wasn’t a wimp. He wasn’t some crybaby extra scared of a dumb water slide. He was fifteen years old, damn it. A certified teenager. Practically a man.

He’d been waiting for this. Every summer, he’d glare at the height requirement sign, fists clenched, promising next year would be his year. And now it was. He finally hit the mark. He could go on the biggest, fastest, craziest ride in the whole resort.

So why did it suddenly look... bigger than he remembered?

Bakugou stared at the dark tunnel of the slide. You couldn’t see what was inside. Couldn’t see where the turns were, or how steep the drops got. All you could hear was the echo of rushing water—and the occasional shriek of someone halfway down.

It bugged him more than he wanted to admit.

Because he liked knowing what was coming. He liked control. Strategy. Knowing where to aim, how to move, what to blast. But this? This was just blind falling.

His feet didn’t move.

“You coming or what?”

Of course you were here.

Why didn’t he think of that?

Of course the universe would punish him further by making you the one to witness him scream like a toddler over a dumb slide.

“You scared of a little splash?” you asked with a grin, arms crossed as you stood by the stairs.

“Shut up,” he snapped automatically.

But you noticed it—the way he hesitated, his fists clenched a little tighter than usual. Yeah. He was scared.

Six years of knowing Bakugou—well, “knowing” was a strong word. You only saw him every summer, and most of those memories involved glaring matches, passive-aggressive sabotage, and possibly a near-death pool float incident. Still, you knew enough to read the signs.

“How about I go first?” you offered, stretching your arms like this was some kind of heroic sacrifice. “If I survive, then you’re definitely gonna survive too.”

“Tch. Why the hell would that mean anything?”

“Because I’m better than you,” you said, stepping beside him. “So if I make it out alive, there’s hope for you.”

He rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

You looked at the slide—tall, winding, dark. Then back at him. And for once, you didn’t tease. You didn’t joke. You just said quietly, “It’s not as scary as it looks. You just gotta trust the ride. Trust yourself.”

Then you pushed off, disappearing into the tunnel with a splash and a laugh that echoed after you.

Bakugou stood there, blinking.

He could hear your scream echoing through the slide tunnel—a mix of thrill and victory—and not two minutes later, he spotted your small figure from below. You were dripping wet, grinning up at him like you just conquered the world. Then you threw him the biggest thumbs-up he’d ever seen.

And something about that—your smile, your faith in him, the way you waited—did something weird to his chest. Tight, warm, unfamiliar.

He gritted his teeth, steeling himself. Alright. He could do this.

He stepped up to the edge, heart pounding. This is stupid, he reminded himself one last time. Then, he closed his eyes and took a long breath. When he opened them again, he dove forward.

Instantly, he was swallowed by speed. Flashes of color streaked past, water rushing around him, tugging him down, spinning him through twists and turns. But instead of panic—he felt it.

Freedom.

He was flying, gliding, laughing without meaning to. And for once, he wasn't thinking about winning or training or looking tough.

He was just having fun.

By the time he shot out of the slide with a splash, blinking water from his eyes, he saw you waiting with crossed arms and a smug look.

“You survived,” you said.

He snorted, pushing his wet hair back. “Told you I wasn’t scared.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

But the smile you gave him? That was real. And this time, he didn’t look away.

“Do you want to go down the slide again?” you asked, eyes still sparkling from the adrenaline.

Bakugou glanced at the sky, then toward the resort. “We need to go. Check-out’s at eleven.”

“Oh.” You muttered, trying to hide your disappointment. “Right…”

But then, as always, you bounced back with a grin. “Then see you next year. Whoever slides down the most times wins.”

Bakugou scoffed, pushing himself up the pool, grabbing his towel and slinging it over his shoulder. “Tch. Like hell I’m gonna let you win.”

He didn’t want to smile—but yeah, it tugged at the corners of his mouth anyway.

“Better start training, gremlin.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, and as he walked towards the elevator, something about that moment lingered.

A promise.

Year Seven – After the Vacation

This is why Bakugou doesn’t do promises.

Because he kept it. Day after day, for that entire week, he waited for you at the bottom of the slide. Arms crossed. Scowl on. Towel slung over his shoulder like he didn’t care.

But he did.

You never came.

His mom said maybe you went to a different resort this year—after all, you were from the United States. “Things change, Katsuki,” she said.

But that didn’t stop the sting. Didn’t stop him from looking for that ridiculous plushie. Or listening for your laugh. Or pretending he didn’t check the pool every morning, just in case.

You didn’t come—and that pissed him off more than he wanted to admit.

He could’ve used that time to train. To prepare for the U.A. entrance exam. Not that it mattered—he was going to pass anyway. But still. He wasted time on you.

Now he’s sitting at his new desk, jaw tight, glaring at the front of the classroom as the homeroom teacher, Mr Aizawa flips through the attendance sheet. He doesn't care who his classmates are. Couldn’t care less about some dumb electricity guy or the half-and-half weirdo.

And Deku is here. Great. Just fantastic. He still doesn’t understand how he got a quirk.

His foot tapped impatiently against the floor. And then Mr. Aizawa said—

“Next, we have a student from overseas. Transferred from the U.S. due to exceptional entrance scores.”

The door slid open with a soft click.

Bakugou didn’t look.

He was too busy pretending not to care, arms crossed, scowl perfectly in place. But then he heard it—that voice.

A little breathless. A little out of place. A polite, mumbled “Sorry” to Mr. Aizawa. And then—He had to make sure.

He looked up.

And there you were. Standing in the doorway in a U.A. uniform, bag slung over your shoulder. And then you looked at him.

Eyes squinting. Recognition slowly settling in. Connecting the dots like constellations in the sky.

“…Demon Child.”

The room went dead silent.

Someone coughed. Aizawa blinked. Midoriya looked like he was trying to figure out if this was a villain code name.

But Bakugou?

He’s pissed. Probably.

At you? Maybe. At the universe? Definitely. At the fact that now, for the first time in six years, you’re closer than you’ve ever been before.

But most of all, he’s pissed at himself—because despite everything, despite the hours he spent waiting by that slide like an idiot, despite how you didn’t show.

Seeing you again did something to his chest.

And now? Now you’re stuck in the same hero class.

Fate, apparently, has a damn good sense of humor.

...

A/N: this is inspired by the fact that me and my family went to the same resort every vaca hasjdhajkdha (unfortunately there's no cute guy (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) )

[bbokicidal]

He's The Type... | SKZ

Chris is the type of boyfriend to constantly keep the volume up on his phone in case there's any chance you need him. Even in rehearsals, interviews, etc. his phone is always on his person tucked in a hidden pocket. He knows you'll only call if it's an emergency; But that's the whole point. If you need him, he'll be there.

Minho is the type of boyfriend to cook three meals a day for you - and if you need it, meal prep. He wants to make sure you're always fed well and he knows sometimes it's hard to cook for yourself, and he enjoys it anyway so.

Changbin is the type of boyfriend to keep a blanket, pillow, and extra jacket in the backseat of his car. Just in case you fall asleep on a longer roadtrip or you forget a coat when the two of you go out on a date later in the evening. He wants you to be comfortable above anything else.

Hyunjin is the type of boyfriend to pamper you at least one day a week; Fridays become personal self care days with candlelight baths together, face masks, hair oils, body butters and gentle massages. He's always going to take the best care of you.

Jisung is the type of boyfriend who will carry you whenever need be. Your heels are hurting you after your dinner date? He's piggybacking you to the car. You're on a hike and don't want to jump over the stream? Don't worry, he'll carry you. Too tired to get up after your movie night together? Ji will pick you right up and carry you to bed. He'll even tuck you in and give you a goodnight kiss, too.

Felix is the type of boyfriend who gives you the perfect presents. He's enough of an observer that he knows what you like. You point out a necklace you like one time? He's buying it three months later because he's had it saved to his phone since that very day. He wants you to feel special; He wants you to understand just how much he values you.

Seungmin is the type of boyfriend to send morning, afternoon, and goodnight messages even if he's extremely busy. He checks in to make sure you had lunch, to see what you had for dinner; Sending you selfies when he's boarding planes and taking pictures of Changbin sleeping to send to you. He's always keeping you updated on what he's doing when he's away for the day - or for tour.

Jeongin is the type of boyfriend to always keep things stocked for you in the house. Things like your favorite ice cream, snacks; The next book in the series you're reading is ready for you on the shelf when he notices you're close to finishing your current book; He's always got pads and tampons stocked in the bathroom if you're someone who has a menstrual cycle and if not - he's got them there in case any of your friends need them while they're over.

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥, 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after your husband returns from battle in the riverlands, you share a rather passionate moment together.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: robb stark x baratheon!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.8K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), smut with fluff, lots of teasing and sweet banter, robb is a chronic yearner, hint of dirty talk, making out, hair pulling, wet robb (he was in the rain), unprotected p in v sex, obligatory stark breeding kink, missionary position + prone bone, scratching, biting, robb is horrendously down bad.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: I wrote this because I was rewatching S2 of Game of Thrones and got hot & bothered. End of story. I have a lot of smaller works like this in-progress! I feel like this is not good as my usual stuff but y’know! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

Tides of thunder echoed over tempestuous skies, darkened by a deluge, lightning piercing wisps of veiled cloud, akin to slicing steel. Rain fell in gray sheets, bathing the Riverlands in a bitter chill, encampment blanketed by an assailing squall.

For a sennight, the weather had raged, weeping icy tears onto both Stark and Lannister armies.

Murky were the marshlands of the Riverlands, the Green Fork’s banks now laden with silty earth and sunken grass; still, the deluge persisted without any end in sight.

Despite the sour conditions of the outside world, you were fortunate to remain within the sanctuary of your tent, one shared with your husband, Robb Stark. The King in the North valiantly took to the battlefield, blood hot with the surge of war, desiring to sink his fangs into Lannister footsoldiers.

Worry often stirred within your heart, concerned for his wellbeing — it didn’t begin that way. At first conception of your betrothal, you and Robb began as acquaintances, a Baratheon and a Stark, a byproduct of Robert’s longstanding relationship with the late Lord Eddard.

Sometimes, the sting of discomfort lingered; two youths spouting oaths thrust upon them by their forebears. Now, you often prayed for Robb’s safe return, pleading to the Seven that he would be unscathed, his safety paramount.

Without Robb, you had nothing — no allies, no friends, and no family.

Robb had treated you exceedingly well, his gentleness disarming yet gallant when it came to you, his heart honorable yet steeped in vengeance. He had grown fond of you, if not adoring, and you grew rather attached, in turn.

Thunder snarled at your doorstep, an ugly rippling that shook the skies, made them tremble in terror. A shiver passed through you as whistling gales shrieked outside, your tent well-fortified, but the torrential downpour proved to be a relentless beast, drenching any who stood within its path.

With the hour of the wolf upon you, exhaustion had not yet nipped at your heels, nervousness keeping you awake. It became difficult to seek true respite when Robb was away, and you feared that if you closed your eyes, he would slip from your grasp while you slept.

Busying yourself with menial tasks, you took to reading, swathed in his cloak, one given to you nearly a moon ago; a woodland scent clung to thick pelts. A silken nightgown accentuated your frame, hidden beneath wolf’s fur, your bed something of a refuge.

Candlelight flickered, wavering in the midst of the storm’s fury, an orange glow spreading warmth throughout the pavilion’s interior. A sharp clap of thunder made you lurch forward, gooseflesh icing your spine, grip tightening upon your book.

Concern festered violently within your belly, a volatile sensation, one that brought you not a shred of comfort. It made you sick, worrying about Robb to such an unhealthy degree, but you couldn’t help it — war was cruel, as unforgiving as it was callous, culling sheep to the butcher’s block.

As you turned the page, parchment proved to be a rather uninteresting diversion, more vexing than it was intriguing. If it weren’t for your current state, swaddled comfortably within the furs, you might’ve been pacing, restlessness akin to some plague, haunting your every step.

Rest eluded you, until it didn’t.

Unable to recall when you had drifted off, book splayed open within your lap, your position indicated that you had fallen asleep amidst your worrying. You kept yourself angled toward the tent’s mouth, hoping to see Robb emerge at some point during the night.

The Young Wolf’s victory was hard-fought, an ambush through the thick of dusk, effectively dismantling Jaime Lannister’s host entirely, the Kingslayer now taken captive. Men had been taken in the process, such was the heavy toll of war, a burden he now shouldered as King.

Eager to return to you, Robb moved through the pavilion’s burlap flaps, shouldering past the canvas as he stepped inside, auburn curls plastered to his skull. Soaked to the bone, the warmth of his quarters was a welcome relief, chest heaving with a soft exhale.

Cerulean hues waded through his surroundings, finding your slumbering form huddled within his cloak, brows furrowed even as you slept. Affection swelled within his heart, a sentiment he did not think himself capable of, many moons ago.

With hushed footfalls, Robb silently rustled about, desiring to let you have your rest. As much as he longed to rouse you, he knew the toll this war had taken on you, as much as it did him. Unburdening himself of damp furs, he stepped closer, within arm’s reach of you.

Calloused fingertips lightly traced your crown, as soft as a doe, a threadbare smile painting his rugged countenance as he lowered himself onto the feathered paillasse. In a wordless rapture, he ogled your visage, a thing of true beauty, tresses somewhat mussed from sleep.

Fingers remained tense within his cloak, as if you clung to it even when dormant, cheek pressed against the pillow. He found you enchanting, beguiling — if it weren’t for your Baratheon blood, you might’ve made a bewitching sorceress.

Robb’s warm gaze shifted toward the book, nestled comfortably beside your lap, parchment parted to reveal the page you’d left off on. Each shallow sigh you took exuded sweetness, visage worn with inklings of worry, the rest of it somewhat peaceful.

Beyond the tent, the tempest screamed into the night, washing away the blood of both Stark and Lannister into the Green Fork. Dampened leathers clung to him, soaked through coarse linens beneath, the feeling a touch discomforting.

Auburn curls remained slick with rain, droplets continuing to roll from his temples; carrying with him the scent of petrichor and firewood, tinged with faint copper. As his fingertips graced the soft plane of your cheek, he lightly brushed aside locks of hair, relieving them from your brow.

Stirring from hibernation, a low hum tumbling past your lips, limbs aching with the heaviness of sleep. Robb did not intend to wake you, though it seemed much too late for that, his caress rousing you from what appeared as a deep slumber.

“Robb?” With a groggy croak, your lashes fluttered in rapid succession, brows still creased as you readjusted to your surroundings. To your complete surprise, there he sat, soaked as if he’d been wading through an ocean.

“I didn’t intend to wake you.” Robb’s Northern timbre hung heavy with an apology, thumb gingerly caressing your jaw as you moved to sit. Before another remark could escape him, your arms flung around him, drenched or not, clinging to him in an embrace as hot as fire.

“I don’t care,” Breathless, you refused to yield, nearly crushing him against you, if there were plausible. One palm settled atop the small of your back, the other cradling the base of your skull, calloused digits perusing through your satiny tresses. “I prayed for your safe return.”

He missed you terribly, more than he truly thought possible — Robb yearned for your presence, away on the banks of the Fork, dreaming of returning to you with each clash of steel.

Rugged lips peppered your temples, foreheads brushing against the other as he held you tightly. With each inhale, you breathed him in, fearing he might dissipate from your grasp.

“It was a hard-fought victory,” Ice-laden breath plumed across your brow as Robb exhaled, brow stalwart. “A blow hard enough to knock the wind from Tywin Lannister.” A pang of venom snaked through his words as he mentioned the Lannisters.

It was Joffrey’s head he wanted — golden crown mounted upon a spike, Lannister dead littering the South, wolves howling. The death of Eddard Stark was still an open wound, its sting evergreen, heart continuing to bleed in the wake of such atrocities committed against his family.

Empathy wept from your being, understanding of Robb’s plight, of his desire to purge the Lannisters and avenge Lord Stark’s passing. “I am thankful that you returned safely — unscathed, I should hope.” A sigh creased with worry left you, palms splayed across his chest.

A bemused chuckle escaped him as you surveyed for any injuries, only to find an endless sea of wet clothing and taut muscle — he must’ve been caught within the storm for hours. Caged beside him, you felt such relief, knowing that he was safe. “I am unharmed, I promise.”

“Gods, Robb — you are completely drenched,” An ebullient laugh spilled from your mouth, a heavenly sound that caused his breath to hitch. He smirked in the wake of your innocuous observation, azure hues dancing precociously. “You must be freezing.”

“Better now, thanks to you.” A twinkle of mischief sparkled within his gaze, the adrenaline of battle beginning to dissipate, leaving only a blossoming sense of triumph. Mouths gently sought another, tangling together for a soft kiss, one that roused a flame within his heart.

Wreathed in a thinly-veiled desire, Robb’s kiss echoed wantonly through your marrow, culling desire to the surface. Hands steadied themselves against your hips, reveling at your body, the way you molded yourself to him without a shred of hesitation.

Droplets of dew trickled onto your nose, the remains of the deluge still rolling from his tresses. He felt your smile, tangible against his mouth, thumb drawing circles to the swell of your waist. Still, his lips did not falter, growing with fervency.

It was you who withdrew first, fingertips ghosting over his countenance, over the light dusting of freckles beneath his eyes. From the first glimpse of your husband, you found him captivating, more handsome than any before him.

“You smell of wet wolf,” Tinged with amusement, the gentle lull of your cadence set his nerves ablaze, a huff leaving him as he playfully nipped at your bottom lip. “Robb! You must change!” Weak protests did little to deter your husband, who planted a kiss to your throat.

“As my lady commands.” Teasingly, his teeth scraped over your flesh before he departed, amusement clinging to his expression. It was comforting to return to you this way — despair nonexistent, with a sense of reprieve.

Moving from your bed, Robb went about unfastening his breastplate, prying leather aside, hoping to let it dry sometime on the morrow. It was the dead of dusk, the wolf’s hour, and yet he remained unburdened by exhaustion, instead replaced by exhilaration.

In rapturous silence, you sheepishly ogled your husband from where you sat, wandering eyes finding favor in his toned musculature. Robb was lean and hungry, a man turned wolf, tossing his tunic over the back of a wooden chair.

A generous smattering of freckles blanketed his back, pale flesh like marble, carved from stone. Dusky-auburn hair peppered his chest, like kisses of fire, broad shoulders turned a sculpture through smoldering candlelight.

Even from where he stood, your smitten hues pierced through him, as sharp as any blade, though it lacked such malice. Pearlescent teeth flashed in your direction, a knowing grin as he searched for a dry doublet, bare above the waist.

“You lack subtlety, my Lady.” Robb scoffed, catching you in the act, wolfish teeth around your throat. Words turned to ash upon your tongue, any retort smothered within your mouth, then and there. Instead, your features warmed as if it were a midsummer’s day.

Floating from the bedstead, you stepped forward, retrieving a cloth as you placed it atop his head, attempting to dry his soaked curls. “Perhaps it wasn’t my intention to be subtle, but for you to know that I find you painfully handsome.” With a sweeter remark, he found it difficult to tease you.

Allowing you to lavish him in plentiful sentiments, his frame shook with laughter, attempting to remain lighthearted in the wake of such a monumental victory. “Painfully handsome,” He parroted, a coarse tunic hanging between his fingers. “Is that so?”

As you dragged the swath of cloth over his crown, Robb stilled, chest reverberating with a subtle grunt. He found solace in your embrace, one that remained endlessly gentle, collecting rainwater from his tresses. Thumbs traced circles near his temples, swiping droplets aside.

“I may revoke my compliment if you continue to vex me,” Despite the playful lilt of your warning, Robb withheld a grin, curls now disheveled, partially dampened even still. Draping the cloth over the back of his neck, your wrist became ensnared within his grasp. “Robb.”

“Vex you? I dare not evoke your scorn,” A hint of a smirk betrayed his stony countenance, pearlescent teeth glinting, catching upon a sliver of dwindling light. Calloused digits stroked your flesh, gaze softening as you hid beneath your lashes. “You’re incredibly beautiful.”

A smile as gentle as springtime warmed your features, visage glittering with a thinly-veiled jubilation, heart fluttering beneath your breast. It was the very same smile he’d become enamored with in the beginning of your betrothal.

Robb brought you closer, able to catch your saccharine scent, an amalgamation of honeyed florals. “Is that so?” The tenderness of your cadence was unmistakable.

A low huff rippled through his throat, lips parting in incredulity, admiring both your charming wit and beguiling appearance. Songs would be sung of your beauty, regaled by those you glimpsed you; he found himself to be exceedingly fortunate.

Bewitched, Robb’s lips bridged the distance, already worn thin after he’d coaxed you closer. Mouths became immersed in a mutual heat, a dance of hearts — you succumbed so very quickly to it all, hands clamoring to hold fast against his nape.

A muscled arm slithered around your hips, caging you in against him, physique still damp from soaked garments. Even then, he warmed in your presence, exuding heat of a different breed, one born of desire that lingered within your heart and his.

His mind neglected to linger upon the hardships of war, with little desire to tarry within battle — instead, losing himself within your lips seemed a better fate than many. Awe glistened within your hues, a gaze that held an immeasurable affection, fingers interlaced between his shoulders.

Whatever frustrations he had coiled themselves into his muscle, anguish turned into action, crushing it all beneath the weight of your adoration. It was difficult to maintain any shred of propriety, throat rippling with a grunt as his teeth snagged across your bottom lip.

Steady hands knead eagerly into the swell of your hips, blood singing wantonly as the two of you unceremoniously clamor for your shared bed. Furs kiss flesh, nightgown still concealing your body from him, though it doesn’t seem to last for very long.

“Robb,” A gasp of startlement slips from you, thoroughly enthralled by his sudden blaze of furious desire, mouth as ravenous as a wolf. Kisses trail from your jaw to throat, jugular blanketed in passionate pecks and teasing nips. “Whatever is the matter?”

He knows you tease him, but he’s relentless, burrowing between your thighs as you welcome him with a thinly-concealed glee. “You,” Robb huffs, fire etched into your collar as he lavishes you in endless kisses, hands wrestling with silk and velvet. “A pretty distraction, you are.”

Lacking any malice, you feel his physique quiver with laughter, countenance alight with lascivious amusement. It eases your nerves, giggles tapering off into delighted sighs as he unburdens you of your nightgown, swatting the gaudy fabrics aside.

Gossamer curls around your frame, material dangerously transparent, candlelight casting you waning embers. His breath hitches, a subtle sound that fades as soon as it occurs, cerulean gaze beset by a fervent ardor.

The soft peaks of your breasts pebble beneath your shift, though it is of little consequence to your husband, who eases it down to place his mouth against your chest. A moan draws from your lips, gooseflesh icing your spine.

A strong, firm hand palms at your thigh, roughened digits grazing beneath the hem of your shift, guiding the fabric toward your hips. As Robb lovingly caresses the length of your leg, your hands tangle against his nape, raking through damp, auburn curls.

The scratch of his beard prompts you to gnaw at the flesh of your cheek, a sensation that leaves naught but ash in its wake, arousal beginning to stir within your belly. A wolfish hunger claws at Robb, lips descending upon your breast, lavishing satiny flesh in countless kisses.

Legs shift against him, thighs haplessly squeezing at his leather-clad hips, nails sinking into his skin. A blissful whimper erupts through your diaphragm, taking with it each wisp of air, lungs stinging with exhilaration.

“Robb!” A moan, strangled within your throat; desire screams within your marrow, as violent as the crash of a tidal wave, heat flooding your insides. He has only been with you, and yet he seems well-versed, practiced in navigating your body.

Lips release your breast from his maw, mouth raking fiery kisses through your sternum, teeth piercing soft skin as he trails towards your mouth once more. Hands fly to the leather ties of his breeches, swift and needy, aiming to cement this heated tryst.

Arousal warms your nethers, belly rolling into taut coils of excitement, bodies flush, the space between all but nonexistent. It is all done in some frenzy, nerves crackling with fire as you keep your legs parted, shift disheveled, fabric wrenched in all directions.

The hotblooded fervor of youth prevails, wanton need exchanged between your flesh, all heat and desire. Through the brief clamor of Robb wrangling against leather trousers enough to free his cock, you coax him in for a kiss, his smile palpable through joined lips.

Outside, the deluge continues its torrential assault, winds whipping against sturdy canvas, the onslaught of the tempest providing ample ambiance. A strangled moan pierces your lungs as his cock presses against your petals, swollen head dragging through a time or two.

A breathy ‘fuck’ spilled from his lips, caught between wanton sighs and groans of rapture. The warmth between breath and body kept you feeling feverish, and you hitched one leg around his hips, evoking a growl from your wolfish paramour.

Translucent fabric pools around the swell of your hips, cunt growing slick with your nectar as Robb briefly dips his hand between you, a chuckle resonating through him. As deft fingers rake embers over your nethers, you writhe, unable to mask the choked whine that splits your diaphragm.

“Already?” Robb taunts, more loving and mischievous than cruel, pressing a hot, sharp kiss to the sensitive flesh beneath your jaw. “Didn’t have to touch you for it.” The naked reality of his amorous truth makes you flush, with no retort to make the embarrassment any less.

There is no place to hide from his smoldering stare, merely averting your gaze instead, but he’s swift to intercept, mouth reaffirming its hold upon you. Each kiss is a shockwave, rattling through your bones, bringing with it a fire that demands to be squashed.

“You are cruel.” Your words hold no bite to them, spoken through a partial moan that makes him yearn, ravenous lust festering within him like a plague. Teeth capture your bottom lip briefly, your eyes doelike and permeated by crystalline ardor.

Robb chuffs, the noise possessing a playful lilt as his thumb briefly circles the pearl of your cunt, toying with the clutch of nerves. “Am I?” His Northern timbre fills your stomach with molten heat, coalescing between your thighs as you suppress a hapless whimper.

Through half-lidded lashes, your gaze falls upon Robb with incredulity, lips parting as bliss unfurls from your visage. Any jocular feeling seems to dissipate, giving way to a sudden neediness, his cock incessantly urging against your nethers with wanton desire.

Azure hues burn with lust intermingled with adoration, no longer veiled as it sits heavy upon his rugged countenance. Lips hungrily capture your own, his position readjusting as a firm hand parts your legs, kneading over the plush flesh of your thigh.

Hips lightly rut forward, the friction crackling between flush bodies, evoking a sharp moan from your mouth. A grunt stirs from his chest, akin to the feral snarl of a wolf, ensuring that you’re comfortable before he begins to tilt forward.

A sob of delight wracks through your frame, a shiver slithering along your spine as Robb groans, burying his mouth into the hollow of your shoulder.

As he moves forward, his cock beginning to sheathe itself within your cunt, your nails dig crescents into the nape of his neck, back arching forward.

Carnality consumes you like some blistering fever, sinking its talons into you, as sharp as knives that stab at your belly. Robb’s passion is one you revel in, knowing his appetite is often an insatiable thing, one that you gleefully partake in.

Everything is heated, desirous — flesh to flesh, hearts clawing for one another, limbs entangled. A well-fought victory made his blood run with adrenaline’s cry, coupled with his own ardor for you, something that he no longer is shy in sharing.

Canines nip at the satiny flesh of your shoulder, hot breath pluming over your skin, causing you to shudder as he adopts a sluggish rhythm, allowing you a moment to relax. Digits grip at the auburn curls of his nape, countenance flourishing with inklings of bliss.

“Robb,” A breathy sigh tumbles from your lips, clinging to him as if you were drowning, body aching for him in every way imaginable. His ministrations are deliberate, rhythm drawn-out, intended to torment you. “Please.”

Foreheads brush against one another, his chest stinging with an incendiary want, brows creased in concentration. It is a slow incline, hips rutting against yours, friction simmering, akin to a flame roaring to life.

A low, animalistic groan tears through his maw, sending a cascade of shivers throughout your body, born of a tantalizing excitement. With each sluggish rut of his hips, you feel everything, his cock rocking into you with a rhythm that only seems to climb higher, higher still.

In the wake of war, it is you he dreams of, thoughts constantly torn asunder, between the mantle of an unwanted leadership and being your husband. It is not an easy task, this balance — yet, he finds himself wishing to forsake his kingly duties, if it meant a second spent within your presence.

Sighs tangle together in a heated snare, flesh joining, a fervent heat slithering between bodies. One hand departs from his tresses, reaching for his forearm, muscle taut beneath your fingertips as digits intertwine, now pressed into the furs.

Robb’s grunts are strained with pleasure, intensity building as he seizes your leg, hitching it further around his hips, angle deepening. A blissful cry emerges from your lips, visage contorted into one of ecstasy as the newfound position makes your heart shriek with desire.

“I thought of you, while away,” The husky cadence of his lull stokes a volatile fire within you, belly coiled into knots of excitement. Words plume against your collar, whispered like some fiery brand, emblazoned upon your heart. “Wanting to feel your body.” A growl sent shivers through your spine.

Awestruck surprise rippled through your brow, gaze briefly locking with his own, subservient to the starving rapture that lingered within his eyes. A darkened, auburn beard scratched ragged against your countenance, lips marred by another kiss, enough to rip the air from your lungs.

Candlelight wavered, casting pools of an ember glow across his flesh, now dappled with perspiration and remnants of rainwater. Mouths clashed in a passionate duel, poured with a thinly-veiled desperation, thigh quivering within his grasp.

Rooted within you, Robb’s hips withdrew, enough to rut forward with a sense of urgency, filling you to the brim with his cock. Lewd, crass noises reverberated in the haze of heat that enveloped you, his thrusts gathering in rhythm, becoming more invigorated, ardent. Hands squeezed another, anchored firmly beside your head.

“Gods, I need you,” It was nearly forced from you, choking upon a delighted sob that wretched from your lips, which clamored for his own. A low whimper left you as he snapped forward, letting passion and want pour into each ministration, cock sheathing itself inside of your aching cunt. “Robb!”

Heat persisted even still, gazes meeting with such ardor, causing you to shiver beneath his stare. Arousal permeated between your thighs, slick and ambrosial, the scent of coupling invading your senses.

A shudder wracked him, as sharp as steel as your nethers clenched around him, taking him perfectly, as if you were molded entirely for him. Nails pressed crimson indents into his back, nearly scratching at his pale flesh as he continued to urge forward, cock kissing your womb.

“Turn over.” Filled with a strenuous impetuosity, an urgency that is nearly a whine, you obey with a sudden swiftness, clamoring to move onto your stomach. He does not take you callously, blanketing your body with his own, chest flush to your back.

Fiery lips brand themselves to your shoulder, forehead brushing over your dampened flesh, a moan tearing through your throat as he enters you once more. It is laden with haste, actions done in a flurry of passion, your legs spread apart as he thrusts with a wanton vigor.

Still, your hands are interlocked at one side, the other fisting at the sheets, Each rut of his hips are drawn-out, deliberate; it is a lascivious torture that torments the both of you, cunt tightening pathetically around his length.

It was this intense pace that you so adored, craved — it kept you grounded, made you understand the depths of his growing devotion. A breathy string of expletives flutters from your lips, joined by his cacophony of low grunts, steaming sighs pluming over your shoulder.

Within your belly, a fire stirs, billowing into a blissful oblivion — arousal coalesces between your thighs, a slick ambrosia that only seems to grow. Robb groans, pressing a string of kisses to the space between your shoulders, teeth grazing over unblemished flesh.

Grunts continued to spill beside your ear as he reached his peak, but you were already there. It was a perfect storm of sensations, ones that made you delirious with desire, crying out to the heavens. A sharp moan punctured your lungs, lips agape as your hips erratically rocked into the furs.

Calloused digits flexed against your own, and you met your release with a haze of white, a blinding heat that nearly dazed you. It was sticky and desirous, a union of bodies that had craved another, come to find their respite in such salaciousness.

“Robb!” A sweet moan left you as you reached your pinnacle, and he joined you, hips thrusting forward once more, gentler and steady. A coil of heat began to unfurl within the both of you, bodies constantly shifting against the other, an amalgamation of friction.

With an incessant throbbing, he released his seed within you, painting your insides with a wave of warmth. He kissed your shoulder even still, visage momentarily buried against the crook of your neck, beard scratching ragged along the hollow of your throat.

Lungs burned as the both of you gasped for air, caught within the aftermath, an afterglow so satisfying that it brought some semblance of light to your shared tent. Robb allowed himself to stay sheathed within you for a moment more, lips curling into a smile.

Clinging to composure, he sluggishly tumbled to his back, propped up against the pillows, allowing you to be absolved of his weight. As you reached for your shift, he canted his head to one side, unable to suppress his bemused grin.

“Getting dressed already?” Teasingly, he reached for you, arms caging in around you as he tugged you backward, though the garment was already halfway settled upon your frame. “Hiding won’t change anything.”

Laughter spilled from your lips, tapering into squeaks of amusement as he planted messy kisses all over your neck. “Stop it!” Despite your numerous protests, they seemed to fall upon deaf ears as he eased you against his chest.

With a warm chuckle, Robb decided to let it rest, tugging you into the expanse of his body, feeling your cheek press along his collar. “You are so beautiful,” He murmured, hand moving to idly massage your hip, inhaling a gust of your scent. “Very beautiful.”

“Hm,” A gentle hum fluttered from you, head canting upwards, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Do you think that this deluge will pass?” It was an idle inquiry — this raging tempest had struck a sliver of fear into you, the rain howling outside, a clap of thunder piercing black skies.

“Soon, I think,” Robb’s eyes began to crinkle. “Why? Does it frighten you, my wife?” His teasing was endearing, a persistent banter that had always felt so effortless between you, something lighthearted to remove the edge of frustration. If he did not jest often, he became overwhelmed with anguish.

“No,” You mumbled, wincing at the flash of lightning that pooled through the burlap canvas, earning you a warm laugh from your Northern paramour. “A little, perhaps. That is why I have you to shield me from the storm.” Lips curled into an ebullient smile, and Robb was enthralled.

Beguiled, the Young Wolf planted a kiss to your brow, a comforting gesture. “I’ll keep you safe — I can promise you that.” It was a solemn oath made in the throes of youth, a determination that Robb wore as a cloak.

When the first splinter of dawn had struck down the black tides of the storm, bringing with it glitters of daylight, he kept you safe, even still.

[glorifiedagents]

A Distracting Fixation — spencer reid

"LOOK AT YOU — on your knees, drooling for it. You need this, don’t you? Need to keep that pretty mouth busy. So take it — deep, messy, just like that. Fuck, you're perfect."

SUMMARY: spencer notices the way you have to keep your mouth occupied.. and offers a better alternative to help your oral fixation PAIRING: spencer reid & fem!reader CAUTION: swearing, oral fixation, unprotected, blowjob, swallowing cum, creampie, aftercare WORD COUNT: 4.7K AUTHOR'S NOTE: not proof read - i love spencer sm

Spencer has been watching you for months, noticing things about you that even you haven’t picked up on. He notices everything.

The way your lips always seem to be occupied with something — a pen cap, your fingertips, the straw of your iced coffee that you absentmindedly swirl between your lips. The way your tongue flicks out to wet your bottom lip when you’re deep in thought, how you drag your teeth over the soft skin like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

He’s caught you sucking on the tip of your thumb absentmindedly while reading through case files, your brow furrowed, lips pursed around the pad of your finger. You only do it when you’re lost in concentration, not even aware of how utterly distracting it is.

Then there’s the gum. The way you roll it between your teeth, lazily pressing it against the roof of your mouth before sucking on it like you're teasing yourself with something you can’t have. He sees the way your jaw moves, the way your tongue works behind your lips, and it makes his cock twitch in his slacks every goddamn time.

But the worst?

The absolute worst is when you’re chewing on something — a pen cap, the arm of your glasses, even just tapping your fingernails against your lower lip, like you’re waiting for something to be put there. And when you’re really not thinking about it, when you’re fully lost in whatever you’re working on, you’ll let out these little sounds. Soft hums, barely-there whimpers, like you’re trying to satisfy some need that’s not being met.

And it drives Spencer fucking insane.

Because he knows exactly how to fix it.

The weight of the case pressed down on you, thick and suffocating, curling around your shoulders like an iron shroud. It had been another dead end, another frustrating attempt at deciphering a pattern that refused to reveal itself. The victims — three so far — had been taken with terrifying precision, their bodies left posed with meticulous care. The UnSub was careful, methodical, deliberate. Just like Spencer.

The thought flickered through your mind unbidden as you sat at his desk, your fingers idly tracing the edge of a case file, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The dim glow of his desk lamp bathed the room in golden light, casting deep shadows across the scattered notes and open books surrounding you. The air smelled faintly of old paper and coffee, the scent of late nights and restless minds.

Across from you, Spencer sat hunched over a file, his gaze scanning each page with the kind of intensity that made it seem as though he was reading something the rest of the world couldn’t see. His fingers moved in that absentminded way they did when he was thinking —drumming lightly against the wood, tapping patterns only he understood. His lips were slightly parted, his jaw tight, his focus absolute.

But you weren’t focused.

You were chewing on the end of your pen, rolling it between your teeth, letting it press against your lips in slow, absent motions. It was a habit, something to keep your mouth occupied while your brain worked, though tonight, your mind wasn’t working at all. Instead, it was wandering — lingering on the way Spencer’s hands flexed when he turned a page, the way his mouth pursed slightly in concentration, the way his eyes flickered when something caught his attention.

You bit down a little harder on the pen cap.

A soft sigh slipped from Spencer’s lips. At first, you thought it was just another noise of frustration — another sign of how little progress you’d made. But then he shifted in his chair, straightening slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was sharp.

“You’re doing it again.”

The words sent a jolt through you, grounding you back into the present moment. Your gaze snapped up to meet his, heart stumbling slightly when you realized he wasn’t even looking at the files anymore. His attention was on you.

You let the pen drop from your lips, blinking. “Doing what?”

His jaw clenched.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, his gaze slow, deliberate and assessing. The air between you thickened, tension creeping into the space that had once been filled with quiet concentration. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way it lingered, dragging over your lips, down to your throat, before flicking back up to meet your eyes.

Then, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his voice dropping into something quieter.

“You have an oral fixation.”

Your breath caught.

A slow, pulsing heat curled low in your stomach, coiling tightly at the casual certainty in his voice.

“I—”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying you. His face was unreadable, but his eyes… His eyes held something deeper, something unreadable and entirely dangerous.

“You chew on pens,” he continued, his tone impossibly steady. “You sip drinks even when you’re not thirsty. You touch your lips when you’re thinking. I’ve watched you do it for months.”

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t the observation itself that sent warmth rushing through your veins — it was the way he said it. Like he wasn’t just stating a fact. Like he had spent far too much time noticing, cataloging, analyzing every movement, every unconscious habit.

“You notice that?” Your voice was softer now, breathier than before.

Spencer exhaled through his nose, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I notice everything about you.”

A shiver rippled through you, your fingers curling against your thighs.

He leaned in a fraction more, closing the space between you just enough for the warmth of his breath to ghost over your skin. “Do you even realize how often you do it?” His voice was lower now, more controlled, each syllable measured and deliberate. “Or how distracting it is?”

Your pulse thrummed wildly.

Distracting.

The word settled deep inside you, igniting something restless and needy.

You swallowed hard, your tongue darting out to wet your lips—another unconscious habit, but this time, you did it under the full weight of his stare. His eyes darkened.

“Spencer…”

The name came out softer than you intended, like a quiet plea.

His fingers twitched.

And then ever so slowly, he reached forward, his fingertips brushing the curve of your jaw. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a sharp jolt of electricity through you, your breath stuttering at the unexpected intimacy.

“I think,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the corner of your mouth, “you need something to keep your mouth occupied.”

The words sink into your skin, lighting a fire deep in your belly. Your thighs press together instinctively, your lips parting slightly as warmth floods through your veins.

He notices. Of course, he notices.

Spencer is a profiler before anything else. He sees the way your body responds, cataloging every flicker of arousal like a scientist analyzing an experiment.

His thumb drags lower, skimming your chin before tilting your face up ever so slightly. His touch is featherlight, teasing.

“If I were to give you something,” he continues, as if he’s simply musing over a hypothesis, “would you take it? Would you let me fill that pretty mouth of yours?”

Heat floods through you so quickly it’s dizzying.

“Spencer,” you breathe, the sound of his name falling from your lips like a plea.

His eyes darken. “That’s not an answer.”

You swallow hard, your throat tightening under the weight of his stare. Every inch of your body is humming, aching, the slow burn of tension winding so tight inside you that it’s almost unbearable.

“Yes,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out. “I would.”

His lips part slightly, his breath faltering for just a fraction of a second before he recovers, his hand tightening just a little against your jaw. He shifts in his chair, spreading his legs slightly, and you don’t miss the way his pants have grown tighter, the clear evidence of his arousal straining against the fabric.

“You’re so good at running that mouth of yours,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over your cheek, down the curve of your neck. “Always teasing, always distracting. But I think we can put it to better use.”

The words send a sharp jolt of arousal straight to your core. Your nails dig into your thighs, desperate for some kind of relief, but Spencer doesn’t give you a chance to focus on anything but him.

His hand slides into your hair, gripping just firmly enough to make you gasp. He watches your reaction, his eyes flickering with something dark and knowing before he tugs gently, guiding you forward.

“On your knees.”

Spencer is already hard by the time you slide off your chair and sink onto your knees between his spread legs, his cock pressing thick and heavy against the fabric of his slacks. He’s aching, barely keeping himself together, and you haven’t even touched him yet.

You press your palms to his thighs, feeling the heat radiating through his clothes, your fingertips digging in slightly as anticipation coils tight in your stomach. The air between you is charged, every second stretching longer, the weight of his gaze burning into your skin like it could set you aflame.

Spencer exhales sharply, his fingers sliding into your hair, gentle but possessive, pupils blown wide, jaw tight with restraint.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, almost like he can’t believe this is happening, like the sight of you there between his legs is more than he can take.

But you’re not hesitating.

Your hands move to his belt, undoing the buckle with slow, deliberate movements, dragging it out just to watch him squirm. His breath stutters, his fingers twitching in your hair, grip tightening ever so slightly as you free the leather and let it drop to the floor with a soft thud.

The tease has you buzzing, tension coiling low in your belly as you toy with the zipper of his slacks, letting the moments stretch, watching the way his chest rises and falls faster, lips parting just slightly when you finally drag his pants down, exposing him.

And Jesus fucking Christ...

Spencer is big.

Thick, flushed, his cock already leaking at the tip, veins prominent along the length, pulsing with every ragged breath he takes. He’s achingly hard, the sight of it stirring something hot and primal inside you, making your mouth water.

“You’re already drooling,” he mutters, voice wrecked with desire, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. He drags it down slightly, just enough to make your mouth part, the tension between you thick enough to cut. “You want it that bad?”

You hum, a low sound of affirmation, nodding as your lips part wider, the heat of him brushing against your cheek, teasing the both of you with the softest contact.

Spencer hisses, his grip in your hair tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “Fucking tease.”

A flicker of mischief sparks in your eyes as you glance up at him, and then — finally — you press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock, your tongue flicking out to catch the salty taste of his precum.

Spencer shudders, thighs tensing beneath your hands, his whole body wound tight with need.

You start slow, dragging your tongue lazily along the underside, tracing the thick vein from base to tip, savoring the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers curl into your scalp. Every reaction is a reward, and you want to drag it out as long as possible.

Then, you wrap your lips around the head, sucking lightly, teasing him with shallow strokes of your tongue, flicking against the sensitive slit, tasting him, moaning softly at the weight of him on your tongue.

Spencer groans, the sound rough and low, his hips twitching slightly forward, like he’s holding back, like he’s trying not to lose himself completely.

“Quit fucking around,” he mutters, voice strained, his hand tightening at the base of your skull. “Take it. Now.”

A rush of heat surges between your legs, your stomach clenching at the command, and you obey.

You sink down, letting his cock stretch your mouth, your jaw already aching as you take him deeper. Your tongue presses flat against the underside, tracing along every ridge and curve, feeling every pulse.

Spencer curses under his breath, his chest rising and falling faster, his fingers tightening in your hair as you take him all the way to the back of your throat, your nose almost brushing his stomach.

You pause there, letting your throat relax, your eyes flicking up to meet his. His chest heaves, his eyes dark and half-lidded, his lips parted as he watches you with barely restrained hunger.

“Jesus fucking—” He cuts off, breath catching when you swallow around him, your throat constricting, your tongue lapping against the underside as you hollow your cheeks and start to suck.

His reaction is instant - his hips jerk slightly forward, a groan spilling from his lips as his body trembles under your hands. His control is slipping, and you can feel it in the way he grips your hair, in the ragged edge of his breathing.

“Fuck, that’s—” His voice breaks, shaking as you bob your head, setting a rhythm that has his cock sliding slick and wet between your lips.

You make it messy, sloppy, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down onto his thighs as you take him deeper, the sensation overwhelming as your throat constricts around him with every pass.

Spencer’s breathing turns erratic, hips starting to move of their own accord, a raw need taking over. He’s close, and you know it.

“You’re so—” He hisses, cock twitching in your mouth, thighs tensing like he’s trying so fucking hard not to lose himself completely, not to just fuck your throat like he’s aching to.

But you want him to.

You press your hands against his thighs, urging him on, and Spencer groans, his hips snapping forward just slightly, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

You gag, throat tightening around him, a desperate, choked sound spilling from your lips as his fingers dig into your scalp, his entire body trembling with the effort to hold back.

“Fuck, I’m—” His voice cracks, breath coming in short, shallow gasps, cock twitching violently against your tongue. “I’m gonna—”

You don’t pull away.

Spencer’s groan is guttural, his entire body seizing up as he comes, hot and thick, spilling over your tongue in deep, pulsing spurts. His thighs shake, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps as you swallow every drop, your throat working around him until he’s whimpering from the overstimulation.

When you finally release him, Spencer slumps back against the couch, his chest heaving, a dazed look in his eyes.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked, his fingers brushing against your cheek, tilting your chin up so he can look at you, still catching his breath.

His eyes are dark, but there's still something hungry lingering behind them.

“You,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, “are going to be the death of me.”

Spencer’s chest is still rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths, his fingers tangled in your hair as he studies you, a flicker of something darker lurking behind his half-lidded gaze. You can see it—the shift from restrained control to raw, unfiltered hunger. He’s not done with you. Not even close.

“Get up,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, rough around the edges with the weight of his own arousal. His fingers tighten in your hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you listen. “Now.”

A shiver runs through you at the quiet authority laced in his voice. You obey, your legs unsteady as you rise, the heat between your thighs unbearable.

The moment you’re standing, Spencer surges forward, one hand gripping the back of your neck as his lips crash into yours. It’s messy— hot, desperate, his tongue sweeping into your mouth without hesitation. You can taste him, the faintest traces of salt and heat still lingering. His other hand grips your waist, tugging you flush against his body, and you gasp at the hardness pressing into your stomach.

Already.

Already, he’s hard again.

You whimper into the kiss, your fingers fisting into his shirt, nails scraping against the fabric as his mouth moves hungrily against yours. He groans at the way you melt into him, his fingers digging into your waist before sliding under the hem of your shirt, dragging rough fingertips up your spine.

“Take this off,” he demands, voice breathless as he tugs at the fabric.

You don’t hesitate. You strip your shirt off in one swift motion, and before it even hits the floor, his hands are on you — palming your breasts through your bra, squeezing just enough to make you arch into him. His mouth leaves yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his tongue flicking against your pulse before sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

He doesn’t stop there. His hands slide behind you, finding the clasp of your bra, and with one deft motion, he unhooks it. Before you can even shrug the straps from your shoulders, he’s already peeling the fabric away, exposing your breasts to the cool air.

You barely have time to register the sensation before his mouth is on you — hot, wet lips wrapping around a nipple, sucking hard enough to make you arch into him with a sharp gasp.

“Spencer,” you whimper, threading your fingers into his hair as he groans against your skin, his tongue flicking against the hardened peak before switching to the other, giving it just as much attention.

His hands are everywhere, roaming over your bare skin, gripping your waist, kneading your hips before sliding lower, curling around the backs of your thighs as he presses you against the desk.

Your hands move with frantic desperation, tugging at his tie, unbuttoning his shirt with clumsy, eager fingers. You need to feel him— his skin, his heat, the steady thrum of his pulse under your fingertips.

As soon as his shirt is gone, you push it off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Your palms splay across his chest, nails raking lightly over his skin, and he shudders under your touch. His lips find yours again, his kiss even rougher this time, all teeth and tongue and sheer, unrestrained need.

Then his hands are at your jeans, undoing the button in one swift motion, shoving the denim down your hips. You kick them off, standing before him in just your panties, and his breath stutters.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to the soaked fabric between your thighs. He drags a finger over the damp material, pressing just enough to make you whimper.

“Already this wet?” His voice is almost mocking, but his pupils are blown wide, his own need barely contained. His fingers toy with the lace of your panties before slipping beneath them, and when he drags his fingers through your slick folds, he groans. “You’re drenched.”

Your legs tremble as he teases you, his fingers moving torturously slow, spreading your wetness before pulling back completely. You make a noise of protest, but it dies in your throat when you see him.

Spencer is watching you with dark, ravenous eyes as he unzips his slacks completely, shoving them and his boxers down in one swift motion. He steps out of them, kicking them aside as he stands before you, completely bare.

He wraps a hand around his cock, stroking himself slowly, lazily, the head already flushed and leaking. The sight of him — so unabashedly aroused, so shameless in his hunger for you — sends another rush of heat straight to your core.

“Get on the desk,” he orders, voice steady but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate for half a second, and then he’s gripping your hips, turning you and guiding you backward until your ass bumps against the wood.

“Up,” he says again, stroking himself as he watches you. “Spread those pretty legs for me.”

The heat between your thighs is unbearable, need pooling low in your stomach as you do as he says, lifting yourself onto the desk, spreading your legs wide, letting him see everything.

Spencer’s breath shudders as he watches, his jaw clenching, his grip tightening on his cock. He steps closer, positioning himself between your thighs, his free hand sliding up your inner thigh, teasing the sensitive skin, dragging his fingertips closer and closer to where you need him most.

Then he grips the base of his cock and drags the tip against your slick folds, teasing you, coating himself in your wetness. You shudder, hips bucking slightly, but he just smirks.

He slaps his cock against your clit once, twice, the sharp sting sending jolts of pleasure through you. You gasp, hands fisting against the desk, body twitching with each stinging slap.

“Spencer,” you plead, your voice breaking.

He groans at the desperation in your tone, gripping your hips to hold you still as he teases you again, dragging his cock over your entrance, pressing just enough to stretch you open — but not pushing in.

Then he leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers,

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

And then he thrusts inside you.

Spencer’s cock sinks into you in one smooth, unrelenting thrust, stretching you open, filling you so completely that your head tilts back with a strangled gasp. Your fingers scramble for purchase on the desk, nails digging into the wood as your thighs squeeze around his waist.

“Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you know there’ll be marks tomorrow. “You’re so goddamn tight.”

He pulls back just enough to drag the thick length of him against your walls before slamming forward again, knocking a breathless moan from your lips. Your body jolts from the force of it, the desk creaking beneath you, but Spencer doesn’t care. If anything, the sound spurs him on.

His rhythm is ruthless - deep, hard thrusts that send pleasure rippling through your entire body, forcing your back to arch, your mouth falling open in a silent cry. Every inch of you is hypersensitive, nerves alight with overwhelming heat, and then...

A sharp slap lands against your breast.

You yelp, eyes snapping open in shock, only to find Spencer watching you with dark, calculating eyes, his palm still hovering in the air. The sting blossoms across your skin, warmth spreading from the impact, and before you can fully process it, he does it again.

The second slap makes your cunt clench around him, a ragged moan spilling from your lips as the sharp sting melts into something heady and intoxicating.

Spencer groans, his hips snapping forward harder, deeper. “You like that, don’t you?” His voice is breathless, edged with something dangerous.

You can’t form words, can’t think past the pleasure consuming you, so you just nod frantically, gasping when he delivers another slap, this one harder than the last.

His free hand grips your jaw, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Say it.”

“Yes,” you choke out, your voice wrecked, needy. “Fuck, Spencer—yes, I love it.”

A smug smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Good.”

Then he gives you no warning before he picks up his pace, thrusting into you with a force that leaves you breathless, your legs wrapping tighter around him as he fucks you into the desk.

The wet, obscene sounds of your slick cunt taking him over and over again fill the room, mixing with your ragged breaths, your whimpers, the sharp crack of his palm against your breasts. He alternates between squeezing them roughly and slapping them, watching the way your body reacts, the way you tighten around him every time he does it.

You’re close, so unbearably close, your stomach tightening, your muscles trembling with the buildup of pleasure. Spencer knows it too.

His grip shifts, one hand sliding down your stomach, his fingers finding your clit. The moment he touches you, your whole body jerks, a strangled moan ripping from your throat.

“That’s it,” he breathes, circling your clit with quick, precise motions. “Come for me. I want to feel you squeeze my cock.”

That’s all it takes.

Your orgasm slams into you like a tidal wave, white-hot pleasure exploding behind your eyes as you cry out his name, your walls spasming around him. Your entire body shakes, thighs trembling as aftershocks wrack through you, pleasure so intense it borders on overwhelming.

Spencer groans, his pace stuttering, his thrusts turning sloppy, erratic. He grips your hips hard, driving into you one last time before burying himself to the hilt, his cock twitching as he spills deep inside you.

A ragged moan rips from his throat, his head dropping forward as his release pulses through him, hot and thick, filling you completely. His fingers dig into your flesh, holding you still as he empties himself inside you, his breath shuddering against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you move, the only sounds in the room your shared panting, the quiet hum of the desk lamp casting light over your flushed skin.

Then Spencer pulls back slightly, lifting his head to look at you, his dark eyes clouded with satisfaction. A lazy smirk tugs at his lips as he drags his thumb along your cheek, his voice a husky murmur.

“Messy girl,” he muses, his tone dripping with amusement as he watches his cum drip from your still-throbbing cunt. “I guess I’ll just have to clean you up.”

The look in his eyes tells you he means every word.

He’s careful as he adjusts, lowering himself down to kneel beside you, his eyes studying you with an intensity that’s no longer sharp and commanding but tender, attentive. His thumb brushes along your cheek, wiping away a bead of sweat, and his gaze softens as he watches you blink up at him, slowly coming back to earth.

"Hey," he says softly, voice still rough but full of warmth, "you okay?"

You nod, your chest rising and falling with each breath as the tension in your body gradually unwinds. Spencer’s hand moves to your shoulder, gently massaging the muscles there, as though he can feel the strain of the night’s intensity. His fingers press into your skin, not with the same urgency they had before, but with careful, deliberate motions meant to soothe.

“Let me get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. He stands for a moment, disappearing into the bathroom, and you hear the sound of water running before he’s back with a damp cloth. He’s gentle as he wipes you down, making sure to be soft around your sensitive spots, taking his time.

Once he’s finished, Spencer grabs a blanket from the couch, wrapping it around your shoulders like a cocoon. He settles next to you, pulling you close, his arms enveloping you in warmth as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispers, his voice full of sincerity. "You did amazing."

Your head rests against his chest, and you can hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. The weight of the night settles into something quieter, more intimate—this quiet aftercare, where words aren’t necessary, but the tenderness in his touch speaks volumes.

Spencer lets you relax against him, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin as you both catch your breath. He doesn’t rush you. He just holds you. When you finally speak, it’s soft and a little hoarse from the intensity of the night.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer simply nods, kissing your forehead in response. “Always.”

And for the rest of the night, he stays close, making sure you feel safe, cared for, and cherished. The outside world feels miles away, the two of you cocooned in your own quiet intimacy, where aftercare doesn’t just mean physical, but emotional tenderness that leaves you feeling loved, even after everything.

[hameesstuff]

"Ink And Ice"

Pairing: Arranged husband ceo! Jaehyun (single dad) x Wife Artist! Reader

Themes: Arranged marriage, slow burn, lots of angsttttt, fluffy end, smut.

Word Count: ~6.2k

Preview: After losing his first wife, Jaehyun swore he'd never open his heart again. After her death, Jaehyun gave all his love to his daughter, guarding his heart from anyone else. Cold and distant, he kept you at arm’s length—until your quiet warmth and love slowly brought him back to life. One argument and night changes everything.

___________________________________________

The Vows You Didn’t Write

The courthouse is silent, cold in its marble expanse. A place where deals are made in signatures, not sentiments. And that’s exactly what today is—a deal. A transaction masked as a wedding.

You're wearing a cream-colored dress, nothing extravagant, but still too soft for the man standing beside you.

Jung Jaehyun.

CEO of Jung Group. A man you’d seen on the news years ago, at charity galas with his late wife. The perfect family. Until she passed away in a tragic accident two years ago, leaving him with their daughter. Since then, he’s worn grief like armor—tailored suits, expensive watches, and a gaze colder than any winter sky.

And now, he’s your husband.

His hand brushes yours when he signs the marriage certificate. No ring. No vows. Just ink.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with,” he says, voice low, businesslike. “I’ll handle everything.”

You glance up. “Except your daughter.”

That earns the faintest flicker of something behind his eyes. Annoyance? Pain? You can’t tell. He doesn’t answer.

Soa. Five years old. A dimpled smile and big brown eyes that don’t yet understand what losing a mother means. She clung to you the first time you met like she’d known your soul in a past life. You don’t know what you did to earn it, but she loves you already.

And it terrifies you more than marrying a man who doesn’t.

The Guest Room Wife

The mansion is everything you'd expect from Jung Jaehyun—coldly beautiful. Not warm. Not welcoming. White walls, minimalist furniture, the soft hum of silence stretching through every corridor.

You’re shown to a guest room. Not the bedroom. Not his.

“This is where you’ll stay,” Jaehyun says, setting your suitcase down like he’s done it for employees at business trips. “It has a private bath. Soa’s room is just down the hall.”

You nod. “I’m not here to make things complicated.”

He pauses at the door. “Good.”

That night, you unpack in silence. You take out your paints even though he never asked what you do, what you love. You work with your hands—canvas, color, emotion. He works with numbers, walls, and contracts.

You barely see him.

But Soa? She starts appearing everywhere.

At breakfast, climbing onto your lap.

At night, asking for one more story, her tiny fingers curling around yours.

In the mornings, waiting outside your door like you’re the sun rising just for her.

And with every laugh, every question she throws your way, your heart sinks deeper. You weren’t supposed to care this much.

One night, she holds your hand and whispers, “You smell like Mommy used to.”

You don’t cry. Not then. But you do later, alone, in the dark room Jaehyun gave you.

Dinner for Three

The first time you all sit down together is a week after the wedding.

A silent dinner table. Glass and granite. A bottle of wine unopened between you. Jaehyun scrolls through something on his phone while Soa chatters about a butterfly drawing she made in school.

“I told my teacher my new mommy paints better than anyone,” she says proudly.

Jaehyun’s hand stills on the screen.

You glance at him, unsure if he’ll correct her.

He doesn’t.

“That’s sweet, Soa,” you reply softly, your voice barely breaking through the weight of the silence.

Later, as you help clean up, you ask Jaehyun quietly, “You’re uncomfortable when she calls me that, aren’t you?”

His jaw tenses. “She barely remembers her real mother. I don’t want her attaching too quickly to—”

“To me,” you finish, sharper than you intended.

He turns then. His gaze pins you to the spot. Cold. Controlled. “To anyone she could lose.”

You understand, but it still hurts.

Because no matter how kind you are, how careful, he’s already decided you’re temporary.

Ink on His Desk

You never meant to leave the painting there.

It was just a sketch—quick, raw, done late one night after Soa fell asleep on your lap. Her curled body in a blanket, one hand clinging to your shirt. You drew her in seconds, as if your hands remembered a pose from another lifetime.

You left it on the kitchen counter.

But in the morning, it’s gone.

And that afternoon, you see it on Jaehyun’s desk—framed.

He doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t look at you. Just signs documents with precise strokes as if nothing in the world has shifted.

But it has.

Because for the first time, your art is in his world. In the center of it. And that means something.

The Argument

It starts with something stupid.

You ask if he’ll be late again—Soa’s been asking for him every night, falling asleep near the front door.

He says, “My daughter is not your responsibility.”

You stare at him. “She is now. Whether you like it or not.”

Jaehyun looks up, cold. “I didn’t ask for this marriage. And neither did she.”

You step forward, voice low and shaking. “Then why marry me at all? Just to have someone warm your guest room and pretend you’re still functioning?”

That cracks something.

His voice rises—not loud, but furious. “Because my mother wouldn't stop. Because Soa needed someone. Because I needed a body beside mine to make everyone think I was still alive. Is that what you want to hear?”

You breathe in through your teeth. “You’re a coward, Jaehyun.”

“And you—” he steps closer, eyes burning, “—you’re a dreamer who walked into hell thinking you could paint over the fire.”

You whisper, “I wasn’t trying to fix you. I just wanted to be seen.”

The silence after is louder than anything.

Then, finally, he whispers back, hoarse: “I see you.”

And he walks out.

But something has changed.

Because this time, he doesn’t slam the door.

The Shift

The next week is different.

Jaehyun comes home earlier. Watches Soa paint beside you on the balcony. Asks questions about your gallery work. Not often. Just a few. But they land heavily.

One night, he stands in the doorway while you read to Soa. Doesn’t say anything. Just… stays.

When Soa is asleep, you pass him in the hall. Neither of you speak. But your hands brush.

Dinner Scene – The Breaking Point

The long dining table was filled with idle chatter, wine glasses clinking, and laughter that felt too forced to be real. You sat quietly beside Jaehyun, his expression unreadable as he scrolled through his phone between half-hearted bites.

Across the table, Minho—Jaehyun’s cousin—hadn’t stopped running his mouth since you’d arrived. His comments were laced with mockery, each one digging deeper beneath your skin.

"So," Minho began again, swirling the red wine in his glass, his eyes fixed shamelessly on you, "how’s the art world treating you? Still painting... flowers and naked women, or just your own reflection these days?”

You froze, your hand gripping the fork a little tighter.

Minho leaned forward, voice dropping to something too smooth, too smug. “Can’t lie, though. The idea of you covered in paint, messy and bare… now that’s a portrait I wouldn’t mind seeing up close.”

The table fell silent. Even the air seemed to still.

Jaehyun looked up slowly, and for a moment, no one moved. Then, without a word, he stood. The chair screeched back violently, and in two long strides, he was across the table.

“Jaehyun—” someone gasped.

He grabbed Minho by the collar and shoved him hard against the wall with a thud. Dishes clattered. Soa flinched where she sat. Shock rippled through the room.

Jaehyun’s voice was deadly low, face inches from his cousin’s. “You ever speak to her like that again, I swear to God—”

“Jae,” you said softly, standing now, your voice breaking through the haze of his fury. “Let him go. Please.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly, jaw tight, hand still fisted in Minho’s shirt. You reached him slowly, gently placing your hand on his arm. “You don’t need to do this. I’m okay. Come back.”

His eyes finally flicked to you—stormy, tormented, and wide with something unspoken. His grip loosened, and Minho slid down the wall, coughing.

Jaehyun didn’t say a word. He just turned, hand brushing against yours for a fleeting second, and walked out of the room.

The house had finally gone quiet. Soa had fallen asleep curled into her blanket, clutching the stuffed bunny you painted flowers on months ago. Jaehyun had kissed her forehead gently, lingering longer than usual, as if needing her peace to steady the storm still curling in his chest.

When he stepped into the bedroom, he found you sitting on the edge of the bed, your robe loose around you, eyes tired and pained.

“I scared you,” he said, voice hoarse. “And I scared her. I—I lost control.”

You didn’t speak, only looked up at him, your silence a gentle kind of patience that made his throat tighten.

He walked over, dropped to his knees in front of you, and pressed his forehead to your stomach.

“I hated myself tonight,” he whispered. “For letting that bastard talk about you like you were nothing. For pretending like I didn’t care, when the truth is—I can’t stand the idea of anyone looking at you the way he did. I’ve been running from this… from you. But you’re the only thing that’s felt real since her. Since everything broke.”

Your fingers slipped into his hair as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish.

“I see you,” you whispered. “Even when you hide. Even when you push me away.”

He looked up at you, eyes shining with something vulnerable and raw. “Do you still want me? After how I’ve been?”

You leaned down, kissed him softly—an answer he didn’t deserve but one you gave anyway.

He rose, cupped your cheeks with shaking hands, and kissed you again, slower this time. With trembling reverence. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was quiet, gentle… like worship.

“Let me love you tonight,” he said, voice breaking. “As my wife. Not a contract. Not a convenience. Just… mine.”

Clothes were discarded in silence, not in heat but in need—skin to skin, breath to breath. He held you like you were fragile and fierce all at once. His lips brushed your shoulder, your chest, your belly, lingering over every inch of you as though memorizing the story you carried beneath your skin.

When he slid inside you, it wasn’t hurried. It was a sigh, a homecoming. You gasped his name softly, hands clutching his back as he moved with you—slow, steady, grounding.

“I see you,” he whispered into your neck. “I want all of you. The stubbornness, the paint-stained fingers, the warmth you gave Soa when I was too afraid to feel. You are my family now.”

Your eyes filled with tears, and he kissed them away as he moved deeper inside you, every thrust heavy with emotion, with gratitude, with aching love he no longer knew how to contain.

When you fell apart beneath him, trembling, your eyes locked with his—and he followed with a gasp, like a man letting go of grief in the arms of someone who brought him back to life.

Later, curled against him beneath the blankets, your head on his chest, he played with your fingers in silence. Then he whispered, “You were never just someone who walked into my life.”

You looked up.

“You’re the reason it started again.”

And when you fell asleep in his arms, you felt it for the first time—not just desire. Not even just love.

You felt chosen.

Morning After

The morning sun spilled quietly through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. You stirred slowly, sore in the most tender way, muscles aching with the memory of how Jaehyun had held you—how he’d loved you like he was finally ready to feel again.

Your hand reached across the sheets instinctively and found him still there.

Jaehyun lay on his side, facing you, eyes already open, watching you like he still couldn’t believe you were real. His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Didn’t sleep,” he murmured. “Just… didn’t want to miss it. Waking up like this. With you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You look tired.”

“I feel…” he searched for the word. “Clean. Like something broke open and I can breathe again.”

Your fingers traced the edge of his jaw, thumb brushing the faint shadows beneath his eyes. “You’re allowed to rest now, Jaehyun.”

His hand slid beneath the blanket, settling on your belly. “Soa has been calling you ‘Mom’ more lately,” he whispered. “She’s never done that with anyone else.”

You blinked, your throat tightening. “She’s… she’s everything to me.”

“I know.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips—soft, slow, sacred. “That’s why I love you.”

The bedroom door creaked open just then, and Soa peeked in, her bunny clutched to her chest.

“Daddy?” she whispered.

Jaehyun sat up slightly. “Come here, baby.”

She scrambled in, crawling up between you, curling into your side like she’d always belonged there. Her small hand reached for yours—and then rested gently on your belly.

“Morning, Mommy,” she said sleepily.

You didn’t correct her.

Jaehyun wrapped his arm around both of you, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head and then yours.

And in that still, sacred silence, with your family wrapped around you, nothing else in the world mattered.

Epilogue:

You watched Jaehyun play with Soa in the living room. The little girl, now six years old, was laughing as Jaehyun lifted her high into the air, her giggles filling the room and making your heart swell. Soa had grown so much in the years since she’d come into your life, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for how seamlessly she had accepted you as her mother.

Jaehyun glanced over at you, his eyes soft with affection, before he made his way toward you. He knelt beside the couch, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple before resting his hand on your belly. "How’s our little one doing?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness.

You smiled up at him, feeling the baby kick softly beneath your skin. "I think they’re just as excited to meet you as you are," you said with a laugh.

Soa sat beside you on the couch, her small hand gently pressed against your belly. “Hi, baby!” she whispered, her eyes wide with excitement. “I can feel you moving!”

Jaehyun chuckled from across the room, watching the heartwarming scene. “She’s already got her big sister skills down,” he said, sitting beside you.

With a laugh, you leaned against Jaehyun, watching Soa talk to the baby with all the love in her heart. It felt like the beginning of something beautiful—a new chapter, full of laughter and family. A new beginning.

The End.

Feedback is welcome ;)

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[sapphicandgraphic]

Sick As A Dog—Chapter 2

Summary: You’re a dog walker. When your favorite clients notice you’re not feeling well, they insist on taking care of you.

Chapter: 2/? In which the healing properties of bubble baths and movie nights are intimately explored!

Warnings: Mostly still fluff and sick!fic hurt/comfort with a couple moments of explicit sexual tension and mutual longing thrown in. Also some allusions to parental loss, family drama, runaway experiences. Reader struggles with accepting help, relying on others.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting and getting in touch to request the next chapter! I worked really hard to turn this around ASAP, and I’m planning to continue this story since it’s striking a chord with people. If you want to show me some love, please subscribe to my Patreon channel — you can vote on what happens next, and get early access to future chapter updates!

Natasha placed her hand at the small of your back, guiding you into the bathroom. Immediately the bright, invigorating smell of eucalyptus and citrus filled your lungs. Tendrils of steam curled up from the hot bath she’d drawn, the humidity soothing your scratchy throat. Even your headache seemed to diminish slightly.

Natasha turned and busied herself at a linen drawer near the sink, retrieving a fresh wash cloth and towel. You eyed the massive freestanding tub longingly. The other woman had already added a generous amount of soap, and there was a thick layer of bubbles. You quickly shimmied out of your bra and boxers, then slipped into the water. The relief was instant, overwhelming.

“Fuck me,” you moaned, sinking down into the warmth.

Natasha dropped the washcloth she was holding, her mouth going dry at the raw, wrecked sound of your voice.

“Uh, I should call ‘Lena,” she stammered, backpedaling away from the sink with none of her usual catlike grace. “Let her know you’re here.”

“Kay,” you said, eyelids heavy. You didn’t notice the pink tint in her cheeks, the way she hurried out of the bathroom. The only thing you cared about was the awful chill in your bones retreating inch by inch, your tense muscles relaxing.

Natasha stepped out into the bedroom and ran a hand over her flushed face. Get it together, Romanoff.

She had just dialed Yelena when Wanda walked in. She was holding a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of ice water. Her dark eyes scanned the room instantly, looking for you.

“Where’s our little wolf?”

Nat pointed toward the bathroom.

“Is she behaving?” Wanda asked, kissing her wife on the cheek. Then she lowered her voice, threading a hand through Nat’s hair and tugging softly. “Are you?”

Natasha barely suppressed a groan just as the line stopped ringing. “H-Hey, it’s me! What? I don’t sound weird. You sound weird.”

Nat glared at Wanda, who just laughed and knocked softly on the bathroom door before stepping inside.

She expected to find you lounging in the tub, but you were nowhere to be seen. The surface of the bathwater was still, ominous. She called your name, moving quickly across the room. In an instant, her hands were outstretched, ready to plunge into the water. But then your head resurfaced. You flicked your hair out of your eyes, surprised to see Wanda standing so close.

“What?” You coughed.

A small crown of bubbles adorned your wet hair. Water trailed down your smooth skin in rivulets, gathering between your lips. Your pink tongue darted out, licking the beads away, and Wanda felt her heart flutter at the sight.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head slightly.

“You thought I drowned in a bathtub,” you accused, feeling a twinge of exasperation in your foggy brain.

Wanda twisted her mouth to one side, like she was trying not to laugh. “Maybe,” she admitted.

“Y’know,” you said, petulance creeping into your voice. “This ‘little wolf’ managed to survive for the past 24 years without anyone’s help.”

Your headstrong claim was slightly undermined by the mountain of suds around you. A rubber ducky wouldn’t have been out of place. But Wanda kept this particular observation to herself.

“So,” she said instead. “You heard that.”

“I’m delirious, not deaf.” You eyed her curiously. “Why little wolf?”

She knelt beside the tub, leaning against the ceramic edge. “First, take these,” she instructed, depositing a couple of pills into your hand. “They should reduce your fever and help with the ache in your muscles.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “How did you know…”

Wanda just smiled that mysterious smile of hers. You accepted the medicine gratefully and took a drink of cool water.

”I can’t remember how it started exactly,” Wanda murmured. “I suppose it’s because when we first met you…you seemed a bit of a loner.”

You ducked your head, considering this assessment. You tended to keep your guard up around new people. Not unfriendly…just careful.

“Wolves are actually pack animals, you know?” Wanda continued, reaching out to grip your chin, drawing your attention back to her. “They need each other to survive.”

She held your gaze for a long moment. You felt a funny ache in your chest that had nothing to do with your fever. Something warm and tender was rising up, something long dormant. The way Wanda was watching you—so patient, like your trust was something worth waiting for—made your heart flicker with hope, longing.

Before you could think of what to say, Natasha came back in the room. She waggled her cell phone. “Yelena wants to talk to you directly,” she said, perching on the edge of the tub beside her wife. “Claims she needs proof of life.”

Wanda stood up, drying her hands on a towel.

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” she announced, ghosting a hand over Natasha’s bicep. “You’re on lifeguard duty.”

Her wife winked at her, then handed you the phone.

“Hello?” You braced for Yelena’s usual tirade.

“So it’s true,” she said. “You’re shacking up with my sisters.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting a blush. “They kidnapped me, alright?”

Yelena laughed. “That’s not what I heard.”

You glared as Yelena recited her sister’s version of events. “I didn’t faint,” you hissed, flicking water at Natasha. “Stop telling people that. I just…lost my balance or something.”

“You don’t remember, because you were unconscious, because you fainted.” Yelena’s flat voice rumbled through the phone speaker, sounding far too smug.

“Whatever,” you sighed. “The point is, I’m fine now. Just waiting for the storm to pass.”

“Do me a favor,” Yelena said, exasperated. “Just let them spoil you for a bit, okay? Enjoy the high thread count and the gourmet food. It’s one of the only real perks to being in this cuckoo crazy family.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Instead, a silly smile worked its way across your face as you processed her words: being in this family. Something about that phrase felt so good, so right.

“This bubble bath is really nice,” you finally muttered, realizing the silence had stretched on a beat too long.

“Bubble bath?” Yelena repeated. “Are you in the big tub? Come on, Nat never lets me use the big tub!”

You winced, handing the phone back to Natasha. “I may have said too much.”

The older woman held the phone away from her head. “You’re breaking up, ‘Lena! We’ll call you later! Gotta go.”

Nat ended the call and sank down beside the tub, running her fingers through the warm water to check the temp. Then she reached out, playing with a strand of your hair, gently twirling it around her pointer finger.

“Want some help with this?” She asked.

The question caught you off guard. You blinked, slowly, brain catching up to her words.

“Sure,” you said.

Natasha leaned over, grabbing a shampoo bottle and lathering a dollop between her hands.

“Sit up,” she instructed.

You complied, giving her better access. Nat gathered your hair to one side and began massaging the base of your scalp. Your eyes slipped closed and you sighed as her fingers threaded through your hair. Nat swallowed. From this angle, she couldn’t help admiring your broad shoulders. Then she glanced lower, where the swell of your breasts was just visible above the bubbles.

The older woman cleared her throat. She cast around for a conversation starter.

“Where did you grow up?”

You didn’t open your eyes, and for a moment Natasha wondered if you had drifted off. Then finally you answered.

“Middle of nowhere.”

A non-answer. Natasha followed your lead and didn’t press. A few more seconds passed in silence before she tried a different approach.

“What brought you to New York?”

You laughed, a humorless hollow sound that made Natasha’s skin prickle with alarm. “I came here to disappear.”

She stilled, processing your quiet confession. Something about the statement rang piercingly true, and she got the immediate impression that you hadn’t meant to say it at all. Her suspicion was confirmed when your eyes snapped open a second later.

“Sorry,” you said. “Fevers make me talk too much.”

But it was more than that. Something about the warm bath water and Natasha’s patient expression made you feel safe enough to keep talking.

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

You gathered a few bubbles between your hands, playing idly with the suds.

“I watched a lot of movies when I was a kid,” you said. “All the characters were always running off to New York. The place where anything could happen. You could get a fresh start, reinvent yourself. So when I was sixteen I bought a bus ticket and never looked back.“

Natasha’s hand stilled.

“Sixteen? How did your parents feel about that?”

“No idea,” you sighed, eyes slipping shut again. “My mom died when I was born, and my dad...”

Blamed me. Hated me. Couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me. You swallowed, fighting not to be dragged back into memories you had worked so hard to forget. Natasha’s hand slipped down, gripping your shoulders and massaging you gently, like she could sense your turmoil. You groaned in appreciation as she kneaded the tender muscles carefully.

“He wasn’t around a lot,” you finished. Natasha could sense there was more to the story.

“That must have been hard,” she murmured.

“Nahhhhhh.” Your objection elongated into a moan of pleasure as she hit a sensitive spot. “I liked the freedom. No one to answer to.”

Natasha could just picture you at sixteen, arriving in Port Authority with nothing but a duffel bag and a desire to prove everyone wrong. Clearly you were street smart, resourceful. But the city could be a hard, unforgiving place for runaways. She felt a sudden irrational wave of panic for that young girl. Who would notice if she got hurt, got lost along the way?

Natasha shook her head, told herself she was being silly. After all, you were right here. Safe and sound. All grown up. Still, she wished she could somehow reach back in time and protect you.

Natasha rinsed your hair, careful to avoid getting soap in your eyes. Then she started massaging conditioner into your scalp. You leaned into her touch.

“Feels so good.” Your voice was barely more than a whisper. “Thanks, Nat.”

Natasha smiled, still focused on her task but hanging on your every word.

“You’re very welcome,” she said. “Little wolf.”

When your hair was finally clean and detangled, Natasha stood and brought you a towel, a white fluffy robe.

“Dry off,” she said. “I’ll find you some fresh clothes.”

She disappeared into the bedroom as you reluctantly climbed out of the tub. Your skin was soft and warm from the hot water. Almost immediately, you started shivering again. You toweled off quickly and pulled the robe on, luxuriating in the soft fabric.

The late afternoon sky had darkened with even more storm clouds, and the bedroom was bathed in soft amber lamp light when you joined Natasha. You looked around properly for the first time. A king-size mattress dominated the center of the room, but there was also a lounging sofa tucked beneath an enormous bay window on the far wall beside a book case.

It wasn’t until Natasha emerged from the walk-in closet carrying black cashmere joggers and a matching hoodie that it clicked. You weren’t standing in a guest room, as you had originally assumed, but in their bedroom. Where they slept. Where they…

An image suddenly flashed through your mind, of Natasha between Wanda’s legs, worshipping the other woman with her mouth, her fingers, her tongue. Wanda’s head thrown back, face slack with pleasure, auburn hair fanned out across the pillow. You tried to ignore the flare of heat in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” You blinked, realizing Natasha had just said something.

She gave you a worried look.

“I said, you’re a little taller than Wanda, but I think these should work.”

Natasha hung your towel and robe up in the bathroom while you got dressed. The clothes were a perfect fit, extremely soft against your tender skin. Plus, they smelled like Wanda’s perfume. Sandalwood and bergamot.

“Ready?”

Nat wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you downstairs. You would normally have shrugged her off, but as soon as you hit the landing, a wave of exhaustion jackknifed through your body. It was actually a little frightening to feel so weak, and you clung to her arm.

“We should take your temperature,” Nat said, feeling the unnatural heat of your fever still rolling off your back.

“Kay,” you said, leaning against her more heavily with every step. She deposited you carefully in a chair at the dining room table.

“I think there’s a thermometer in the medicine cabinet,” she said. “You’ll be ok for a second?”

You laughed despite the pain in your throat. But the look in her eyes was so sincere you couldn’t bring yourself to tease her. “Yeah, Nat,” you said. “I’ll be ok.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. She pointed a finger at you. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You leaned forward, closing your tired eyes. “I wound’t make it very far.”

Natasha ducked into the hallway.

“Wands?” She called, rummaging in a closet. “Where’s that thermometer?”

The other woman appeared a few moments later, insinuating herself into the search. “Let me,” she said. “You set the table and serve dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nat purred, smacking her wife on the ass as she walked away.

Wanda found the thermometer and made a beeline for the dining room. You were hunched on the table, head bowed slightly, eyes pinched together. She frowned, and immediately dimmed the overhead lights.

You blinked, looking up at her gratefully. “Thanks.”

Wanda didn’t say anything, just watched you with those owlish eyes—like she could peer into your soul. She pushed the damp hair off your forehead. You gravitated toward her feather light touch, feeling your stomach flip pleasantly at having her undivided attention.

“Open,” she said.

Your lips parted automatically and she placed the thermometer in your mouth.

“Good girl.”

For a second you stared up at her, dumbstruck by how beautiful she was. The kind of beauty that armies went to war for. The kind of beauty that heroes and gods braved the underworld for. And here she was, absently playing with the baby hairs at the nape of your neck, like she had nothing better to do.

Natasha appeared a few moments later, breaking your feverish reverie. Guilt and shame instantly gathered in your chest. They were married. You had no right to be pining like a puppy dog at their table, looking for scraps of affection.

“Dinner is served,” Nat said with a smile.

A wonderful aroma—salty, savory—drifted into the room with her. The large serving dish in her hands was steaming slightly. She set it down and began ladling the hearty stew into bowls. Then she carved a loaf of bread into slices.

The thermometer beeped and Wanda withdrew it from your mouth. “101.4,” she said with a frown.

Natasha sat down across the table. “I think we should call him.”

You picked up your spoon, stomach growling. “Call who?”

“Careful, sweetheart,” Wanda cautioned as she took the seat directly beside you. “It’s hot.”

You blew on the spoonful of stew dutifully, looking to Wanda for approval. She nodded and you took a bite.

The broth was rich and flavorful with a little undercurrent of spice. You tasted carrots, peas, celery, chicken, and some type of noodle. It instantly soothed your scratchy throat, spreading warmth through your chest.

“Strange?” Wanda asked, tucking into her own food.

Natasha nodded, tearing her bread into pieces and dunking one in her own bowl.

“What’s strange?” You asked in between bites.

Wanda chuckled. “Not a what, a who.”

You furrowed your brow. Sometimes it felt like these women spoke their own secret language.

“I’ll see if he has any availability tomorrow,” Natasha said, reaching for her phone. Before she could send the email, a weather alert illuminated the screen. “Whoa, flash flood warning for lower Manhattan.”

As if on cue, a clap of thunder rolled overhead. “Guess you’re staying here tonight.”

You felt your stomach tighten anxiously.

“No, I should go,” you said, reluctantly pushing back your unfinished bowl of food as your appetite failed. “I’ve taken up enough of your Friday night.”

Wanda leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of wine as she regarded you with a thoughtful gaze. For the first time, it occurred to her that maybe she and Nat had read this whole situation completely wrong. “Do we make you uncomfortable, little wolf?”

Her tone was quiet, curious.

“What?” You nearly choked on your water. “No, of course not! You’ve been so generous, made me feel so….”

Wanted. Loved. Safe. You clasped your hands in your lap, afraid you’d say something you might regret, and you missed the look that passed between Wanda and Nat.

“I just don’t want to overstay my welcome,” you said shakily, trying to reign in your emotions.

Wanda reached out, tracing a finger along your jawline until you raised your head and met her gaze. “That would be impossible,” she said firmly. “Do you understand?”

Her gray, piercing eyes seemed to pin you to the chair. You swallowed, wanting to believe her.

“I don’t understand,” you admitted quietly, because that was the truth. No one had ever offered to take care of you like this, unconditionally. “But I believe you.”

Nat’s lips quirked into a hopeful grin. “So you’ll stay?”

You nodded.

Wanda tucked your hair behind your ear, clearly pleased. “Good,” she said. “Now, do you think you can finish your dinner?“

You glanced at the half-eaten bowl uncertainly. Your hunger had vanished.

“Stomach kinda hurts,” you said. “Sorry.”

Wanda looked torn. On the one hand, she guessed (correctly) that you hadn’t been eating enough lately. But she also didn’t want to pressure you.

“Just a couple more bites,” she encouraged. “You need your strength, milaya.”

When you didn’t move, she picked up your spoon and scooted her chair closer to yours. “For me?”

You couldn’t deny her anything when she asked so sweetly. “You don’t play fair,” you groused.

Wanda laughed. “Is that a yes?”

You nodded, and she brought the first bite to your lips. Letting her feed you should have been humiliating. But pride required energy, and you had precious little of that.

Wanda smiled. Getting to baby someone who was usually so self-reliant was a special privilege, one she didn’t take lightly. Especially considering she didn’t know when you might indulge her like this again.

Natasha watched you both from across the table. There were dozens of things she loved about Wanda. But it was this—her ability to be firm and gentle in the same breath—that always left her speechless. It was like a superpower.

Wanda wiped the corner of your mouth with her finger. You scrunched up your face at Nat, trying to look threatening. “Not a word to Yelena,” you managed hoarsely.

Natasha grinned. “Our secret,” she said. “Scout’s honor.”

When Wanda was satisfied you’d eaten enough, she sat back and sipped the last of her wine. The sound of rain on the roof created a pleasant white noise. Your throat was a little less scratchy and your headache had receded. Maybe the meds had finally kicked in. The delirious fever feeling was still there, making your emotions spike and dip in unpredictable patterns. But with a full belly and a warm bed waiting upstairs, you felt a deep sense of calm and safety descend over you.

Natasha checked her watch.

“It’s still early. Why don’t you two go get comfy on the couch?” She stood up to clear the plates. “I’ll clean the kitchen and then we can…watch a movie?”

Wanda hummed noncommittally, looking at you. “I don’t know,” she hedged. “Someone looks pretty sleepy.”

“Not sleepy,” you insisted. “Wanna watch a movie.”

Natasha could tell you wouldn’t last long, but she wasn’t ready to let you out of her sight. She looked at Wanda. “Please?”

“Only if I get to pick the movie.” Wanda arched a playful eyebrow at her wife.

Natasha rocked back on her heels, considering. “Deal.”

The sofa was big and obscenely comfortable. You sank into the middle section, cushioned by several pillows. Wanda tucked a blanket around you, scolding Oscar when he leapt up and laid across your body protectively.

“He doesn’t know he’s not a lap dog,” she said, shooing him away.

“I don’t mind,” you laughed, scratching his ear.

“I know you don’t mind,” Wanda said. “But he’s not the only one who wants a cuddle.”

“Well in that case,“ you said, heart leaping at the chance to cuddle and be cuddled by Wanda Maximoff. “Get lost, Oscar.”

You gave the dog a gentle shove. He turned and licked your hand once, then moved to the far corner of the sofa and curled up in a ball.

Wanda sat down, pressing her body close against you. She fiddled with the remote, tracing her hand up and down your arm absently. The feeling of her fingertips gave you goosebumps.

“What do you like?” Her words hung in the air, open-ended. She could be talking about movies. Something told you she wasn’t.

“Whatever you like,” you replied instantly. The answer worked for either question.

Wanda’s gaze flickered to you, her smile shifting ever so slightly from fond to flirtatious. “Is that right?”

You nodded, not sure you could formulate words with the full force of her gaze leveled at you. Your faces were just inches apart, so close that you could feel her warm breath on your neck.

She looked away first. It felt like a pause, not an end, to your conversation. Wanda shifted, placing one hand on your upper thigh and giving you a gentle squeeze. You relaxed against her, letting your head fall onto her shoulder.

She scrolled through different movie titles until you saw Dirty Dancing and pointed. “Please? It’s one of my favorites.”

“Excellent choice,” Natasha said, entering the room balancing two mugs of tea and a big bowl of popcorn. “Nobody puts baby in a corner!”

Wanda wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Who is putting babies in corners?”

“Wait,” Nat said, grabbing a handful of popcorn and wedging herself in on the other side of you. Her warmth made you shiver pleasantly. “Have you never seen Dirty Dancing? How did I let this happen?”

Nat lifted the edge of the blanket, pulling it over her own legs as well. “I made you a special tonic, little wolf,” she murmured with a wink. “Honey, lemon, ginger, and a dash of cayenne pepper.”

You curled your fingers around the mug, taking a sip. “Thanks, Nat.”

“Course,” she said. “Now, are you comfortable? Need any extra pillows? Blankets?”

“No,” you laughed, burrowing against her side. “I’ve got the perfect pillow.”

Natasha smiled, settling her arm around your shoulders. She caught her wife’s eyes over your head, blew her a quick kiss. “Perfect Friday night right here.”

Wanda rolled her eyes at the other woman affectionately. “You’re such a softie,” she teased.

“Just press play, woman!” Natasha barked.

You could feel your eyelids drooping before the title credits even finished, but that didn’t bother you. You’d seen Dirty Dancing about a hundred times. The last thing you heard was the rumble of Natasha’s soft laugh as she explained the Borscht Belt to Wanda.

“Yeah, baby, like the soup,” she said.

You fell asleep with a smile still on your lips.

——————

Taglist: @lizziescutiepie @lizzieslover129 @tvseries-writings @natascharomanoff21 @boowhobabe (If you want to be added for future chapters, just leave a comment!)

[dilf-c0nn0isseur]

farmer's daughter

logan howlett x fem!reader

MDNI! 18+

!includes!: primal!logan, heavy on the breeding kink, kinda sorta dubious consent, older!logan with younger!reader(LEGAL!!!), lumberjack farmer logan with his boss's daughter

wc: 1,040

a/n: naturally, the first fic that ive written after being busy asf and not being able to write would be a lumberjack logan breeding kink smut. sorry not sorry💗also i definitely did not proofread this

---

His eyes followed you as you made your way up from the pond that was on the many acres of land that your family owned. They selfishly drank in your half-naked body in that tiny little red and white checkered bikini you adorned. He cursed under his breath when your hands grasped the middle of your bathing suit top in fists, an attempt you made at wringing out the dripping water from your previous evening swim. 

Logan knew it was wrong. There was an underlying guilt that laced his perverted thoughts while he fantasized about you, his boss’s daughter. Such a young, sweet thing, you were. Always offering him a glass of iced tea when you knew he had a hot, grueling day at work out on your father’s farm. Even sweeter when you decided to graciously bless his eyes and traipse about in barely nothing but a skimpy little bikini that he knew you wore just for him.

That guilt was pushed far away and forgotten in the back of his mind when your family was out of town and he was able to take you in your bed, any trace of innocence left in the farmer’s daughter stolen. It had become routine for the two of you, like second nature; when your parents left town to get things sorted out for work, he was finally able to have you like he always daydreamed about while enduring a hard days work on the farm.

This was one of those days and you made it clear with the obvious show you had put on for him as you finished your swim. And that’s why he now had you pinned in your bed, bikini long forgotten on your bedroom floor. 

“Tryin’ to distract me by wearing close to nothing while I’m working?,” he accused while thrusting you into your bed, your body rocking up and down against the sheets with each unforgiving snap of his hips. Logan’s voice was a low, husky growl next to your ear and you whimpered, legs wrapping around his waist in attempt to somehow be even closer than you already were. “Needed me to fuck you so bad you had to put on a little show in that skimpy little bikini of yours, huh Bub?”

His degrading yet sultry words made your pussy clench around his cock, eyes rolling back into your head. “Yes I- oh god, right there!- needed you to fuck me,” you whined and cried out incoherently. Your inability to even form a full sentence only deepened his desire to defile you, to make you his. His teeth nipped at the tender skin below your jaw and he sucked there, earning a sharp yelp from you. You knew that would leave a mark that you’d have to lie and cover up to your parents when they returned home, keeping you and Logan’s dirty little secret safe and hidden away. 

“Looked real pretty,” he drawled against your skin, the compliment an antithesis to his previous degrading comments. “Prettier like this, though.” He propped himself up with one arm to take in the site of you writhing beneath him, tears of pleasure and pain threatening to escape the corners of your eyes. Logan’s praise made your orgasm build up in your belly and he sensed it as your pussy choked his thick cock. His other hand slid between your bodies and pressed on your lower abdomen while he thrusted up into you and hit that sweet little spot deep inside of you that you were convinced only he could reach. You cried out and fell undone beneath him, your nails raking down his back leaving angry red marks that healed over and disappeared as quick as they were made. “That’s it, just like that princess.” He planted sloppy kisses along your jaw and neck as you rode out that heavenly high of your orgasm. 

With you still shaking from pleasure and overstimulation, Logan swiftly flipped you over so that you were face down and yanked your hips up to meet his where he sunk inside of you again, making you cry out his name. Your fingers dug into the bedsheets while he chased his own orgasm, the world nothing but a blur around you. The sounds that filled your room were nothing but filthy as his his slapped against your ass and your former orgasm made obvious with the wet noises that came from your pussy with each thrust. 

“I’m gonna fill this sweet little pussy up, y’got that?” He grunted as he drove himself into you from behind, strong fingers digging into the plush of your hips. 

“Logan-,” you struggled to speak, interrupted by your own moans. “Not on the pill.”

A low groan erupted from him at your words. That primal urge that he harbored deep down stirred, the risk and control that came with impregnating you taking over all of his senses. He did not slow down or pull out like you expected him to, rather he increased his intensity and used one hand to keep your face buried in the mattress. “Don’t care,” he growled. “That’s better for what I’m about to do to you.”

“Wait!-“

You were cut off by a loud groan and the warm feeling of his seed spilling inside of you. You broke down beneath him and moaned into the sheets, the dirty feeling of his cum filling your pussy erasing any worry you had. Logan continued to drive his cock inside of you, the head of it slamming angrily against your cervix in attempt to push his cum as deep as possible. You rocked your hips back against him and yelped as you pushed him even deeper, blinded by your own lust and need for him. He thrust himself into you one last time before slipping out of you, only to replace his cock with two fingers, pushing any cum that leaked out of your sore hole back inside of you, making you twitch at overstimulation. 

Finally, Logan removed his fingers and collapsed next to you, pulling you in. He brought his hand to your mouth and parted your lips with his fingers, letting you taste the mixture of yourselves that glistened on them. “Atta girl."

[theonottsbxtch]

MISSION PISS OFF YOUR BROTHER | LN4

an: this was also a 2k celly thing i forgot to write/post i apolgise. enjoy a crack fic lol

wc: 585

request: can I please get a crack fic of lando and piastri!reader getting caught (I’m tryna thing of something outlandish here) stealing Oscar’s helmets or even something as petty as his water bottle just for fun and to get a reaction out of him 😭😭 and then obviously returning them lol

It started, as most stupid ideas did, in the McLaren motorhome kitchen at approximately half past bored.

Lando was leaning against the counter, sipping a sweet iced coffee he didn’t even like, and she was sitting on the worktop like she owned the place, legs swinging, staring into the fridge with the kind of intensity usually reserved for pit strategies.

"Do you reckon he’d notice?” she asked, head tilting. “If his bottle's missing?"

Lando raised an eyebrow. "Oscar?"

She gave a solemn nod. “He’s got that one he always uses. The white one. Bit scratched at the bottom. If I took it, he’d spiral.”

There was a pause, long enough to pretend they were considering not doing it, and then Lando grinned. “What if we take it... and leave clues. Like a ransom.”

She gasped, eyes lighting up. “With photos. Mysterious locations. Emotional manipulation.”

“You’re sick,” he said, admiringly. “Let’s do it.”

The first disappearance went unnoticed.

They’d expected a full investigation, maybe even a team-wide email. Instead, Oscar simply grabbed a different bottle and carried on like an emotionally stable person. Rude.

So they escalated.

Next to go: the helmet. Not his main one, obviously, they weren’t lunatics. But one of the perfectly-polished, display-only helmets that sat proudly in his driver’s room like a shrine to aerodynamic symmetry.

She stuffed it into a McLaren tote bag. Lando filmed it. He provided the soundtrack, mission: impossible theme hummed very badly.

They left a note behind. If you ever want to see your lid again, bring three oat biscuits and an honest compliment to Bay 3. No funny business.

By the time Oscar walked in and discovered it missing, Lando and she were hiding behind a storage crate nearby, watching on the CCTV screen above their heads like two deeply unserious goblins.

He stared at the note.

He blinked.

Then, slowly, he turned and said, “Are you two, are you actually mental?”

Lando almost gave them away by snorting.

Oscar didn’t follow the instructions, of course. He didn’t negotiate with helmet terrorists. So, naturally, they upped the ante again.

Helmet selfies began to appear around the garage. One of her wearing it while dramatically holding a banana like a gun. One of Lando pretending to cry while holding a sign: "He just wanted to race :("

They even Photoshopped one of the helmet in a bubble bath. It was disturbing. Artistic, but disturbing.

Oscar's eye twitched when he saw it.

"Right. I'm done." He stood up mid-lunch and declared, “I want my bloody helmet back. I don’t care if I have to call Zak.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Lando said, emerging from behind a curtain with the most guilty face imaginable.

Oscar pointed at him like he was summoning thunder. “Try me.”

Eventually, they returned everything.

The helmet was pristine. The water bottle had only a little glitter in it. Barely noticeable.

“Why do I let you in my life?” Oscar muttered as he inspected his things like they might be booby-trapped.

She beamed at him. “Because I’m family, and Lando’s too fast to catch.”

“That’s not even.” He stopped, looked at the bottle again. “Is this… lavender-scented?”

She shrugged. “Therapeutic.”

Oscar sighed the long, pained sigh of someone who realised this was his reality now.

Lando, who had somehow managed to stick googly eyes on the side of Oscar’s helmet mid-conversation, high-fived her behind his back.

It was, they decided, a mission well executed.

As Oscar has still not found the banana photo taped inside his locker.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @geauxharry @hzstry @oikarma @chilling-seavey@the-holy-trinity-l @idc4987 @rayaskoalaland @elieanana@bookishnerd1132@mercurymaxine@obxstiles @dongyeonssimp @gr4cier4cie

[humpster35]

How they would react to you after rough sex📝

Dom! Matt

~Matt’s voice would calm you down and his arms would immediately be wrapped around you, holding you close

~He bought a mini fridge that contains snacks and water

~Before you guys had sex he would ask you if you wanted to go to the store with him to pick out a a heating pad or cooling pad(depending on what exactly you guys do)

~Matt would run a bubble bath(color coded) to help ease the soreness in your legs and hips.

~He would read to you while you’re in the bath, occasionally kissing your forehead

~Back in the room, he already set up the clothes you would be wearing

~He always buys rags to help clean up(iykyk) and he keeps them in the second drawer of his desk

~If he’s used two or three condoms out of a pack, he would go to the next box because he has germaphobia(i have this irl)

~Some comments he would make would be like “Oh baby.” In a cooing voice as he sees your flushed face. Another one would be “You took daddy’s cock well didn’t you sweetheart? hm?” While he kisses your face.

~Matt’s so proud of how well you take him everytime so he rewards you by letting you choose what activity you’re gonna do the rest of the day

~He lets you hold mr wrinkleton once you’re all dried off

~He would tap your thigh and give you a stern talking to after sex(especially if you’ve been bratty)

~If Matt notices your throat is slightly bruised or even just red a little bit, he would lose his tough guy attitude and just kiss it.

~His kisses are deep and slow. You can feel the way his tongue moves inside of your mouth, as if he’s trying to complete you.

~Matt would have rough sex with you, whenever. He’s very dominant, hes just quiet.

~If you misbehave then that’s five days without cumming.

~Spanks you and makes you say you’re grateful to have him doing this to you

Dom!Chris

~Chris would be extremely soft

~He would make jokes about how your legs look in the air while you wait for him to clean you

~Once you’re cleaned, he would pick you up via bridal style or throw you over his shoulder

~Chris is very clingy and would wanna bathe or shower with you

~His happy demeanor would immediately reassure you of what you guys just did together

~Chris would be more a soft dom than Matt, he would only do rough sex with you on some occasions because of his size

~He would put you on a nice cozy fresh love hoodie that he made sure to hang over a heater. If it’s hot however, you guys would be wearing matching tank tops

~Chris would hold his phone up next to you ear as he raps a song that’s playing, and you’re brushing your teeth

~Lots of ass smacks

~He kisses your stomach as if you were already pregnant because in his mind, everytime you guys do it,there’s a chance.

~Chris wouldn’t drive anywhere without you, if you said your legs are still sore then he would just uber eats you guys food

~Chris would actually show how clean and neat he can be. He would make sure to tidy up the room and spray, he knows how much you like to keep it clean and he wants his room to be a more safe haven after an intense session like that.

~His back would be all marked up from your nails and he would lay on his stomach so you can massage his back and apply ointment

~If your wrists are bruised from how hard he was holding them, he would pepper them with kisses. Then he would gently rub ice on them and make sure you’re okay

~Chris is a big hugger. He would hug you to death, he loves holding you in his arms because he knows that he’s responsible for you.

~His eyes would give you an answer before you even ask something. So if you asked Chris if you did a good job, he would simply send you a soft smile and nod with big eyes.

~He wants you to smell like him even after you bathe. He would spray his cologne onto the hoodie you’re wearing

~Chris would only have rough sex with you at night because he knows that you have other business to attend to in the morning.

~Chris would take your phone away from you if he suspects you’re watching porn

~Chris feeds you food if notices you trying to act bratty and not take care of yourself

~As he’s fucking you doggystyle, each thrust into you he would ask you to say something positive about yourself.

tag list:

@passionfruitchris @liaisbroke @lifecansmd @chrissonnyangel @seeing-stars-today @mattsweethart @mattspillowprincess @bluestriips @billieslittlecumslut @bernardsbendystraws

[writtenapoiogy]

consumed by flames; jacaerys velaryon

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x f!reader

summary: bathtub funtime 18+

word count: 2.0k

warnings: nsfw. 18+, smut, MINORS DNI, porn w lil plot, bathtub sex, jacaerys is a pleaser, jacaerys loves wife!reader and creating heirs, fingering, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, slight a little more than slight choking, breeding kink, slight dirty talk.

a/n: briefly proofread yet again it is 1am almost 2 and i've been up since 5am yesterday but i had to get this out 😁

You and Jace had just come back from a ride on Vermax. After the war, life on Dragonstone had been peaceful for a short while. Sometimes you wish you and Jace could lock yourselves away at Dragonstone and just kick everyone else out. That sadly, was not possible.

It had been a couple of months since Queen Rhaenyra took her rightful seat on the Iron Throne.

Which means the two of you were also still newlyweds.

Due to the war, You and Jacaerys had to wait to wed, which was dreadful for both parties. Once Rhaenyra had her coronation your wedding ceremony soon took place.

Within the two months since You and Jacaerys spent half that time at the Red Keep enjoying the celebrations and helping get Jace’s younger siblings settled in.

Nearly every day following your wedding, you and your husband had laid together. Every time better than the last.

You and Jacaerys had only been back at Dragonstone for roughly two weeks. The first week was spent wrapped in each other’s warmth. The smells of sex never leaving your chambers. Jacaerys was a man on a mission. He constantly wanted to please you. Teasing you till he knew he was the only one that could satisfy you the way you craved.

After that pleasure-filled week, everything sort of died down. You and Jace had been busy with the tasks of being the Prince and Princess of Dragonstone. A weight you were not expecting to be hit with.

Your handmaiden had drawn you a bath to rid you of the sweat and scent of smoke that seeped into your skin. You were about to take off your robe and step into the hot water when your husband walked through the door.

“Jacaerys?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in your husband clad in a robe. “My husband, if you also wish to bathe I am sure we can get someone to draw you one aswell.”

It just dawned on you that this was the first time You and Jace had been alone in almost a week. Alone. Alone without one or the other being asleep. The stresses and demands of the day taking a toll on one of you or, sometimes, both of you.

“I do not wish to bathe alone.” He glided over to you and began to untie your robe. “I do miss my wife.”

Jacaerys ran his hands down your sternum after loosening the knot. You took a deep inhale feeling his fiery touch against your ice-cold skin.

“I keep my bath water quite scalding, my love. I do not wish to harm your skin.”

Jacaerys looked at you with a smirk. “You know the words of House Targaryen. I am Fire and Blood. Warm water will not harm me.”

Jacaerys was right about one thing. He was Fire and Blood. Everything he did set you ablaze. From the way he spoke to the way he looked at you. Oh, gods, and his touch. It was like his hands were made of molten lava. A beautiful contrast to your frigid skin. His warmness brought a sense of comfort to you.

“How could I forget.”

Jace’s lip twitched into a smile. He loved you with his entire being. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky. He placed his lips on yours in a sweet soft kiss. “Let me help wash you.” He spoke against your lips

“As you wish, my prince.” You stole another kiss from him. Missing his soft lips.

He pushed your robe off your shoulders and watched it cascade to the floor. You breathe in a sharp inhale as your body gets overtaken by the chill in the air. Your nipples harden and Jace cannot take his eyes off of them, even if he tried.

He offers his hand and you gladly take it. He walked you over to the tub not letting go till you had both of your feet in the water. Jace went to grab the new lavender soap that was imported specifically at your request.

As he walked back towards you, you couldn’t help but notice the tent in his robe. Seeing that made you feel an ache deep inside of you. An emptiness that you need to be filled.

“Just lean back, let me take care of you my sweet.”

Jacaerys wet the bar of soap and lathered it onto his hands. The sweet and calm scent engulfed his sense of smell. He set the soap down and began washing you. He started at your neck and shoulders slowly and firmly massaging the soap into your skin

He did this across the entirety of your body. Jace’s touch brought your body aflame. He was avoiding the parts of you that craved his touch, intensely. You let out a low whine when his hands ran down your side lightly passing over the sides of your breasts. The slightest brush and this man had your body consumed by flames.

You heard a light chuckle from behind you. “Do you find something amusing, Husband?”

Jacaerys shook his head, “Not at all.” He placed a wet kiss on your neck, inhaling your lavender-infused skin. He ran his hands back up and cupped your breasts this time, you couldn’t help but moan.

“Jacaerys…”

And his hands went back down this time spreading your legs apart and you felt the air leave your lungs.

“Jacaerys..”

He was dragging his hands close to your heat. It was right there. And just when you thought he was going to help dull this ache, he withdrew his hands, again.

“Jace, please. You know what I crave. Why are you withholding it from me.”

“Because it is fun.”

You could feel his sly smirk against your neck.

“Say please.” He demanded, his hands cupping your breasts and tweaking your nipples. He was making it incredibly hard to focus on anything.

“Plea-.”

“In High Valyrian.”

He had been getting you to learn High Valyrian. Something about you knowing his mother tongue made him swell with pride. It made him feel as though it would make your family stronger once you have children.

Also, he found it very very hot.

“Kostilus.”

“Hmm, that’s my girl.” Jacaerys brought one hand to your cheek turning your face to his, to take your lips in a fiery heat.

As soon as his mouth hit yours, your own fell agape. You craned your neck desperately wanting to feel his tongue against yours. Oh, how you both missed this. Feeling so needy for each other. Your tongues lapped at the other. You let out whines and whimpers into his mouth.

His right hand stopped toying with your nipples and slid down to your core. Jace rubbed light circles against your clit, eliciting a moan from deep inside your chest. His hand that was on your cheeky slowly slid down your throat till he wrapped his long fingers around it. This made you break away from the kiss. His amber eyes had such a dark look in them. As if you too lit him aflame.

Feeling him around you like this made you dizzy. Engulfed in his smell. In his heat. The fire in his blood.

When Jace thought you had had enough torture he slid two digits into your entrance, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“Fuck, Jace.” Your head lulled back onto his shoulder. You kept eye contact with him. Jace felt some precome leak from his throbbing cock as he looked at you like this. Spread out for him. Slowly grinding your hips down on his fingers. He added a bit more pressure around your neck. Watching as your mouth fell open, you tried to get some more air in your lungs. Solely depending on him for your air, for your desires, for everything.

He kept pumping his fingers into you a such a slow murderous pace. You don’t know how he does it but he had you shaking on the verge of your climax in mere minutes. You were squirming, moaning his name and a litany of curses. You pulled your hand out of the bath water and threw it into his curls. A guttural moan left your lips when the pads of his fingers hit that soft spot deep inside of you.

You came around his fingers with a deep mewl gripping and pulling his hair in the process. The act caused him to whine in your ear. It had been too long. He kept pumping his fingers into you bringing you down from your high. He removed his other hand from your neck and was rubbing you anywhere his hand could reach as he whispered in your ear in High Valyrian. Telling you how good you did.

Somehow in your daze, you understood him.“Get in here with me, please. I wish to feel your skin against mine.” You breathed.

Jacaerys is quick to shed his robe. He pushed you forward slightly and climbed in right behind you. He situated you so that he was able to rub his cock threw your folds. Your chest pressed against his back. You sigh at the feeling of his warm body against yours.

You began to rock your hips, feeling his cock rub through your slit with ease. You heard him breathing heavily in your ear.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You tried to speak and tell him how desperately you craved for him to be inside of you. But all you could do was babble. The sensation of his tip as it hit your clit over and over again.

“I know, you do not have to say it. Gods, I know.” Jace lifted you up just enough to position himself at your entrance. He swiftly wrapped his left around around you and slowly eased you onto his cock.

You both gasp when he’s fully seated within you. The head of his cock mushed against that spot again. He somehow always knew how to get to it. Jacaerys, with one hand on your ass cheek and his other wrapped around you, slowly lifted you before he slammed you back down on him. A whimper left your lips, your hands flew to the sides of the bath to prepare yourself for his onslaught.

Even when he was going harder or faster he still managed to fuck you with so much love and tenderness.

Jace began slow. Let you get used to him inside of you again. His pace, which quickened by his third deep thrust, had you saying his name in a tantalizing prayer. He kept going constantly hitting your gspot over and over again. The repetition. The mere torture against your most sensitive spot had you reeling.

Water splashing.

You two moaning each other’s names.

And the smell of lavender and sex was all-consuming to the both of you.

You didn’t know what kind of sounds were leaving your mouth nor did you care. Right now all you cared about was that your sweet husband was finally back inside of you. Pleasing you the way you loved. The way he always does.

Your hips bounced with his movements out of pure instinct. “Jacaerys. Please.” You didn’t even know what you were pleading for at this point. But he did. He coaxed you into your second climax of the night. This one hit you hard. Drenching him in your release. You could feel yourself pulsating around his cock. Begging him to come inside of you over and over again.

Jace groaned at the sensation of you coming around him. “Oh you’re gonna look so perfect when my seed takes. When you get all plump from having our heir inside of you.” He kept pumping into you. His thrusts now getting erratic.

“Yes, Gods, please.” You said in a satisfied gasp.

Even his seed was hot. As he came inside of you, you felt his searing essence flow into your cunt. You bore yourself down on him. You wanted nothing more than to keep all of him come inside of you. You wanted to give him an heir. You needed it. You needed his seed to take. The thought of you carrying his child mixed with the feeling of his come leaking out of you had you coming again.

“Fuck.” Jacaerys leaned his forehead against your back as he caught his breath. “We should take more baths together.”

You chuckle, “Oh but how will we ever keep clean, my prince.”

[ourdawnishotterthanourday]

Tit For Tat [M] — Kim Mingyu

✧ Better think twice before you play ✧

Plot: Picture this… your boyfriend enjoyed his ice cream a little too much and you decide to clean up the mess he made. 

🎥 Starring: fem!reader x boyfriend!Kim Mingyu (SVT) 🎥 Genre: light SMUT [+18], established relationship 🎥 Word count: 0.9k+ 🎥 Warnings: swearing, exhibitionism, grinding, nipple play, orgasm denial/edging 🎥 Notes: I am a little later than usual but it’s here, voilaaa 💜 🎥 Shout out: thank you @nothoughtsjustfic my lemon drop for reading it through for me!!!

♡ REBLOGGING AND/OR FEEDBACK WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED — DON'T BE A STRANGER PLS ♡

Set The Scene Masterlist —  Masterlist

God, he's so fucking messy. 

That was the thought that ran through your mind as you observed your boyfriend with fascination from your spot beside him.

The two of you'd had a busy week at work so you decided to spend this warm and sunny Saturday lounging by your pool in the garden. And while you had been reading for the majority of the afternoon, Mingyu had gone for a swim and was currently recovering from said activity with a cold sweet treat that had you more than a little distracted from your book.

The man was greedily licking at his ice cream as he laid on one of the lounge chairs, seeming completely oblivious to the fact that half of the cream-colored substance was steadily dripping down his fingers, or that you were ogling him like a piece of meat. 

Mingyu was a messy eater, always had been, but you didn’t mind it at all. In fact, it was one of the things you adored about him so much. However, not once had you thought that the sight of him eating so messily was arousing. But then again, he was half naked with all his perfectly defined muscles on display and still slightly wet from the pool, and the way his mouth was moving around his ice cream reminded you of something else — something you very much wanted him to do to you. 

Yeah, you definitely couldn’t tell that you were ovulating. 

You finally had enough when some of the sticky cream landed on one of his pecs and he didn’t even bother to remove it. It was almost as if he was doing it all on purpose. 

So you put down your book and got up from your own chair, not even giving him a second to process your approach before you were sitting in his lap, legs on either side of him to trap him in. 

“Well, hello to you too.” Your boyfriend licked the ice cream from his lips as he took a moment to admire the revealing bathing suit you were wearing. 

“You know you're fucking messy, right?” You hungrily eyed the bit of ice cream that was now slowly making its way towards his taut nipple. 

His lips formed into a sly smirk. “Not my fault the ice cream is melting faster than I can eat.”

You raised your eyebrows and released an amused snort. “I somehow find that hard to believe, Mr. Kim.” 

“Too bad,” he responded, making sure to keep his eyes locked with you as he finished the remainder of his ice cream. “Are you going to help me clean up, though?”

You bit your lip, unsure if you wanted to leave him hanging or give in. But as he raised his sticky fingers to your lips, you could no longer resist the temptation.

Your lips parted almost automatically, taking in two of Mingyu’s fingers while you ground yourself against his hardening dick. 

“Fuck, baby. You look so hot with my fingers stuffed in your pretty little mouth,” he groaned, placing his free hand on your waist to help guide your movements. 

The combination of the sticky ice cream hitting your taste buds and the delicious constant pressure against your clit had you absolutely delirious with desire. Your tongue danced around his fingers with skill, sucking lightly here and there to tease him for a bit until you decided to move on to the next best thing. 

You released his fingers from your mouth with a loud pop, sending your boyfriend a mischievous grin while your hands reached for the chair handles. 

“Holy shit!” Mingyu exclaimed when you suddenly pulled on them, forcing him to lay completely flat without warning. 

“That’s better.” You chuckled, leaning down to hover your lips over his. 

Thinking you were about to kiss him, Mingyu closed his eyes, head lifting slightly to meet you halfway. Only you had other plans, so you avoided his lips and ducked your head, trailing a path of wet sloppy kisses along his neck all the way down to the part of him you had been eyeing for a while now. 

A hiss left Mingyu’s mouth as your teeth scraped over his sensitive nipple. Satisfied with his reaction, you did the same to his other nipple, making sure to lick up the trail of ice cream that had formed before clamping your lips around the hardened peak. 

As a result of your administrations, Mingyu had turned into a whiny mess beneath you, his breathing heavier than a minute ago and his hips frantically bucking against yours as you used a mix of teeth and tongue on his nipples to bring him closer to his high. 

He was exactly where you wanted him to be. 

“I’m about to fucking c-cum, shit!” 

As soon as the words had left his mouth, you were up and gone, letting a devilish grin cover your features. 

“What the heck? Where are you going?” a clearly confused Mingyu protested, reaching for you only to realize that you were already too far away. 

“Now you know exactly how I felt this morning.” You gave him a pointed look, referring to when he thought it was fun to edge you again and again, only for you to finally get your release after an hour and a half of torture. 

“Really? You’re seriously going to leave me hanging like this for that?”

You nodded, crossing your arms to emphasize your point. “Sure am. Serves you right.”

“Are you sure you want to play this game?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he slowly got up from the chair, his dick now visibly straining against his swimming trunks.

“Are you?” you challenged, forcing yourself to back up the closer Mingyu got.

He smirked, his eyes sparking with heat as they devoured your body from head to toe. 

“Bring it on, baby.”

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[miumiaoomyzi]

: how i think svt would be like when they're sick and you're the only one to take care of them

warnings: none.

genre: pure fluff.

notes: this is genuinely just a hunch of my thoughts on what svt would be like if they were vulnerable, please don't take it seriously. :)

seungcheol — honestly, he pretends to be so cool about it. 'oh a fever lol anyways' and a few seconds later he's suddenly on the sofa groaning and whining about how terrible his life is. and everytime you'd feed him porridge, you'd always do the airplane thingy. "here comes the airplane woooo!" "i am NOT a child." then proceeds to consume the whole spoon. he's such a cutie ugh.

jeonghan — enjoys your company so much. he ended up pretending to be sick for a whole ass week just to get off work and bathe in your glorious presence and hospitality even though his fever has already gone away a day after. "babeeee could you please fetch me the remote?" with big eyes and a slight pout. you always fall for it and he's genuinely so happy everytime you do.

joshua — could barely function normally cuz his fever is almost sucking the life out of him. voice, hoarse. mind, dizzy. body, sore. and he keeps repeating "love if you ever get sick i'll treat you ten times better." you just hum and nod, smiling at the stuff he keeps blurting out so randomly. he's literally fusing with the bed he can't get out cuz his body is sooo sore and weak. you feel so bad for him you end up staying at his side until his fever dissipates.

jun — pretends to be fine. like literally. "babe do you wanna get these slippers?" "omg look at this super cute reel about cats!!" he tries to hide the fact that he is NOT feeling well and is actually almost close to passing out. he even tries to eat spicy shit to relieve the feeling but it fails everytime. you end up finding out about his condition and basically grounding him to his room. and suddenly he constantly whines about his condition as if just earlier he wasn't wheezing over ig reels.

hoshi — absolutely ADORES it whenever you take care of him. blurts out random shit about his eternal love for you everytime you're near. "baby i wuv yu 🥺" out of NOWHERE. and he's giggling for no reason too. constantly asks for kisses despite his condition almost like his only motive is to get you sick w him so you two would be matching. and everytime you leave the room he starts whining SOOO LOUD. he even starts huffing, pouting, like the "hmph!!" typa shit LMAOO i love him sm

wonwoo — tries everything he could to make you not find out about his little fever. he keeps saying to himself "i can take care of myself" and the moment you show up to his door he suddenly crumbles and collapses into your arms. and ngl he had the LONGEST fever you've ever encountered. it lasted for almost a week which meant you had call off work for 5 days. you sometimes pull up those fruit sensory videos on your phone and he actually watches them. he sometimes even giggles. and he constantly frog blinks too omg hes so cute wtf.

woozi — stays in his studio claiming he's busy. and when the members found out about his fever they'd immediately tell you about it. "no i don't need help." even though his face is clearly red, snot almost running down his nose, limbs shaking and his eyes are genuinely pleading for care. he has his whole body covered in a blanket and only his eyes are visible. he looked so cute you ended up taking a picture and moving it to one of your folders dedicated to 'uji stolen pics'.

dk — genuinely he's just on low battery the whole time he's sick. he's not laughing nor cracking up any dumb jokes. just smiling fondly at you whenever you do something to relieve/lift the effect the fever has on him. and he can't stop staring at you too. just a weak, frail "thank you :)" whenever you feed him warm soup or replace his ice packs. and he's always ALWAYS asleep whenever he has a fever. like he was asleep until afternoon you actually almost panicked thinking he was dead. almost like he's recharging.

mingyu — immediately messages you "babe i'm sick :(((" and now you're running to his place like your life depended on it and it did. when you arrived he was genuinely a MESS. his hair is tousled, eyes are half-lidded and his lips are always in a pout. AND HE KEEP WHINING. even if you feed him soup, massage his legs, give him comforting words he is STILL whining. although deep down he really appreciates your care for him :( it's just he can't handle the fever and has to resort to letting out his suffering through random noises.

minghao — another one of the hiders, doesn't want you to find out thinking he can take care of himself. he keeps hiding his immense migraines and the sore feeling in his body. ends up making it obvious which leads to you to the rescue. and for no ABSOLUTE reason, he keeps trying to kiss you. claiming that kissing you would make him feel better and they do! just not on his fever though. he's also very sensitive and tends to resort to being glued into his bed. didn't care when you found out he was sick he NEEDED your help.

seungkwan — "this stupid fever." he genuinely needs a shoulder to lay on. he keeps grumbling about the problems his fever is causing and he DID rant about the problems. just with alot of pauses and stuttering. ngl you were surprised when he was quiet. he tends to be quiet during his vulnerable times even though he wants to let out the loudest whine ever, he thinks you might be annoyed (you wouldn't). during these times he could freely rant about his problems. and half of them included soonyoung LMAO

vernon — tries to isolate himself but no he's not going anywhere cuz you refuse. watches cat epic fail videos while he's sick cuz it's his only escapism. when you finally arrived, his screentime was cut extremely short. just wants to be by your side and he really enjoys your company :) although he is STILL trying to be nonchalant about it. "no i'll feed myself." then proceeds to do anything but feed himself. he keeps squirming too and bonus, HE CAN'T SLEEP. so you have to pull up asmr videos.

dino — honestly it's super normal to him on how you're taking care of him as if your life depended on it. you even have 3 checklists dedicated to relieving his condition. he also almost cried cuz the pain in both his head and body was too much for him to handle :( poor chan. despite his fever, he clings onto you alot like a koala. 'fever? dgaf next.' typa shit 😭

[angelicgirlmj]

an angels guide: sunday reset routine

hi angels! at the end of a busy and long week you need to prioritise taking care of yourself, your mental health and your space. i like to save sundays to be a ‘me’ day, a day where i indulge in self care, cleaning and preparing myself peacefully for a busy week ahead. resetting your space and self can be an intensive routine (think thirty minute youtube videos of someone deep cleaning their house) or just simple and short (having an early night). this is my more aspirational reset routine, on an ideal sunday i will do all of this but some days i may negotiate and do a little less. hopefully this post inspires you to take care of yourself and your space.

space ˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

open your windows, let air circulate.

wash bedding, pillowcases, towels and any face cloths.

light candles or incense to make your space smell good.

polish any mirrors and windows.

declutter surfaces or desks (put everything away and back into its place).

fold clothes and ensure wardrobe/drawers/clothes storage spaces are tidy.

wipe down surfaces.

clean any hair brushes, makeup brushes etc.

throw away any rubbish from bins or around you.

plan meals for the week ahead. look at what is in your fridge or cupboards and clear anything expired.

play calming playlist or playlist themed around the atmosphere you want to create in your space.

water any plants.

get new flowers/rid of old flowers.

plump any pillows, refold blankets and make your space cozy and safe feeling.

body ˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

apply hair oils + hair mask and leave to soak in for the day.

do yoga/stretching in the morning.

drink a glass of water first thing.

eat nutritious meals that will allow your body to feel good.

go on a walk or exercise.

have bath/shower.

do full body exfoliation - scrub off dirt and grime from past week.

shave (if you shave your body hair).

apply deep, cleansing body washes and give self a massage of sorts.

drink tea/matcha.

clean teeth, floss, mouthwash and oil pull twice.

apply body oils, body lotions/creams.

finish day doing light stretching/yoga.

face ˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

do full am and pm skincare routines.

ice face.

do gua sha routine.

apply a face mask.

tweeze/tidy eyebrows if that is a preference.

use a lip scrub or exfoliator.

gently facially exfoliate.

give self brief facial massage.

apply any spot treatments or specialised skincare.

mind ˚₊‧꒰ა ꣑ৎ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

meditate in the morning.

journal and plan week ahead.

read at least one chapter of a book.

watch a comforting/relaxing show.

ensure all school work or anything similar is complete or at a point where it needs to be.

do something for yourself (paint your nails, colour, make something, bake etc).

plan ways to stay on top of any goals set.

set weekly goals and targets.

have an early night.

be off devices by eight if possible.

spend time with a family member or friend.

spend some time outdoors.

drink plenty of water.

thank you for reading angels! i hope this post is helpful and you have a relaxing and productive sunday. all my love, m.

[hiddencloudboi]

🔞 18+ only MDNI 🔞

☆ pairing: blue collar!country!rafe cameron x black!male!reader

☆ taglist: @starboye @gayaristocrat @b00tyliciousbabe @ghostking4m @multireese

Unlike your husband, you originally came from an old money family and they were very open with their disapproval of you having a relationship with him. They looked down on him – for coming from a poor background, for being a blue collar worker.

But you were madly in love with this beautiful man who was so unlike the snobby, shallow men in your family's social circle. Rafe was rough around the edges but kind, sweet, protective, and honest. He had actual substance and personality unlike these trust fund guys who rely on their family name.

And Rafe knew you were out of his league and that your parents didn't like him. He did have some insecurities that he couldn't provide a lavish lifestyle he felt you deserved but you always assured him that you were just happy to be with him.

When he finally proposes, it's with a cheap ring and he says that he knows he isn't a rich man but he can't imagine life without you. Rafe doesn't even get to finish his speech as you are embracing and kissing him, telling him yes over and over. He was the happiest man in the world.

But your parents weren't happy. There were arguments and tears. They refused to give their blessing to this union, partially because they had plans on you marrying the son of a business partner who came from the right pedigree.

You refused to back down, even when your father threatened that you would be disowned if you chose this path. You choose your relationship with Rafe, so he makes good on his threat by legally disinheriting you and having his estate attorney call you just to inform you.

But you have no regrets as all of the riches and prestige could never compare to the happiness, laughter and passion that Rafe brought you. It takes a bit of adjustment going from living in a mansion to a trailer, but you take it in stride.

Rafe's job as a construction worker is physically demanding, leaving him feeling drained most days. But opening up the lovingly homemade lunches you pack for him with cute little messages warm his heart. Coming back after a hard shift to an immaculately clean house and a delicious meal waiting on him makes Rafe fall even more in love.

You treat your man like a king. Serving him an amazing dinner and homemade desserts and ice cold beer. Asking him how his day was and telling him what you've been up to. You massage his shoulders and feet, maybe run a bubble bath for him.

By the time you two reach the bedroom, Rafe is ready to have his way with you. He will make sure that your legs are like jelly and the neighbors all hear you screaming his name.