#if they had actually done something meaningful with it

[marvelthunderbolts]

hey friend! i love your blog already lol. i was hoping you could elaborate on your recent post about bob and how he likely hasn’t had any meaningful relationships due to his drug use in the past.

id love to see some smut with just all out whiney and animalistic bob. just full of desperation. as nasty and filthy as you want!!

diva thank you ! of course i will elaborate on my thoughts about bob from this post.

bob has a kind heart, despite the addiction and the underlying issues that he has yet to address with a proper therapist. if sentry never happened, if thunderbolts never happened, he absolutely would have continued using. most likely until he died in some tragic way. i highly doubt that when he was actively using, he would want to pursue a relationship with anyone, not wanting someone to get caught up in what he was dealing with. he, as the thunderbolts saw in the infamous chicken suit, dealt with the side effects of aggression and paranoia. that, paired with the withdrawals he was most likely going through and actively probably losing his mind because of the drug, did not pair well for anything romantic.

even his friends that he could have had during that time, i like to imagine they were other drug users. some let him crash at their place, but they would just be continuing to use drugs. you can’t make a meaningful relationship like that, especially since his parents weren’t very heart-to-heart with him.

so when the thunderbolts came along and he didn’t have access to the stuff that made him a paranoid or violent person, he was able to form connections with a level head. while the drug ( at the time ) could have increased his sex drive, the come down and lack thereof afterwards was probably fucking with his head when it came to all things sex. because now, for the first time in his life, he was getting horny while completely sober.

and bob has never had sex sober, or any sex at all, depending on how you feel about it. like i said, he was an addict, he would have done anything to get his hands on something ( he went to malaysia with what i assume was the remainder of his money at the time where one can assume what the end goal was going to be if he didn’t find a purpose and/or more drugs ). he’s experienced, but he either doesn’t remember it or the thought of it now makes his stomach twist into a dark pit.

when he does get into a relationship, it’s like a second puberty for bob. he was literally addicted to drugs while still in middle school so i DOUBT he has a normal time with puberty in the first place. and you can be experienced or not on your end, but you still probably know more about real intimacy than he does.

but bob can’t even watch porn after knowing what it feels like to be touched in a way that isn’t harmful. your hands always feel so soft against his skin, the tips of your fingers brushing against the dark curls atop his head in a way that makes his eyes turn soft and legs feel like mush. it can’t be recreated outside of what you guys have together. which means that when bob is horny . . . he needs you.

his need for you is carnal and desperate and hungry, nothing like he has ever experienced before. it’s very reminiscent to him of an actual drug, but there’s no pain attached to those gross memories ( however faint they could be, they tend to blend together ). it doesn’t make him feel gross, but the way that he wants you should be considered gross. he knows you’re a busy person, whether or not you are a part of the new avengers, you have a life outside of him.

but he can’t help it when he watches you do anything, even something as mundane as just reading a book, which you are supposed to be doing with bob. a couple's activity that should be sweet and innocent, but his mind is drawn to the way that your fingers brush against the pages, how sometimes he lick your finger to turn the page properly. how your mouth looks when you take a drink of something. bob has never wanted to be an inanimate object so bad in his life, only so he could be touched by you in the same way.

and you always feel his eyes on you, it doesn’t take long before you pick your head up to finally look at him, to which he is quick to look away. “are you alright ?” you ask, even though you know the answer. he’s squirming in his seat, tugging at a sleeve or the collar of his shirt because suddenly it feels like a thousand degrees in the room you’re in.

“y-yeah ! so good.” he’ll nod, very unconvincingly. he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it, which is a very obvious sign that he is lying. like he feels guilty about it, which he does, but the flush of his cheeks from the guilt mixes with the arousal that is coursing through him. it’s hard to tell what he feels more bad about.

you put the book down to go over to him, gently lowering yourself onto his lap. the warmth from your body is already enough to send him into overdrive. he’s always hesitant to touch you at first, even if he’s looking at you like some kind of living god ( funny coming from the man who is a god when he’s sentry ). you have to place your hands on him, usually starting at your waist so he can get used to it.

noises happen fast from bob, gentle sighs as he squeezes your waist and hips. he can’t believe how lucky he is to get to touch you in this way. you’re his. bob has never had anything that was just his; there was always a limit to something that he had, or he never owned it in the first place. but he knew there was no limit with you, at least, he wouldn’t let there be a limit.

“just look so pretty sitting there.” he murmured out, fingers slowly slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to feel your skin against his hand.

worship. that’s how bob views touching you, absolute worship.

“i’m just reading.” you’d hum out, but bob is barely listening. his eyes are trained on the plush of your lips, his own practically trembling with need. you indulge him, as you always do. he responds to your affection with an intensity always found in him. he always kisses you like it’s the first time. hesitant at first, before he finds where he should put his hands. they’ll eventually move to your face as he cradles it within his palms.

but the heat turns up the more you kiss, because eventually you start tugging on his chestnut curls. or you grip his bicep. or your chest presses against his and he will ALWAYS groan when he feels that. bob is a boob guy, no matter the shape or size. just something so plush and comforting about them that makes his throat feel a bit tighter. “sooo pretty.” he’ll repeat against your lips, because you are. but he has to repeat it, he’ll repeat it every time.

and the more you kiss the needier he becomes. your hands suddenly feel hotter than hell against his and he’s already trying to concentrate on not bucking his hips into yours to relieve the ache in his loins. he wants to be better at not cumming before you, doesn’t want to keep embarrassing himself. you can tell a part of him relishes in that humiliation, though, the way you coo and pet his face like he’s some kind of dog. he always makes it up to you in the end.

and i think because he has never had a relationship like this, because you aren’t just using him and he isn’t using you. he fucks reverently. you aren’t giving him meth after this, you’re just giving him YOU.

which to bob, means more to him than any high he’s ever had in his life.

[milfbrainrot]

i know other people are tired of female characters having stories revolving motherhood but god it is so nice to get stories about it that are actually... written with care? i imagine some of the fatigue around these stories is bc of how it's done with the assumption that all women must be or want to be mothers or it's done without any actual examination of the woman's characterization--and i also get tired of those! but there are so many female characters who specifically do not have or want kids as well these days, so i am glad that we can have a balance of ones who are fine without kids but also ones who are well-written as mothers??? idk. it makes me happy that we can have both, because parenthood will always be a thing, even if some people... equate their own preference of avoiding those stories altogether with automatic misogyny when a story does include it at all.

[roots-symphony]

why did agatha tell lilia the truth about her only being able to steal powers if she’s blasted first if her entire plan was to get them to blast her so she could steal their powers??

[snapbackslide]

if anyone got tips pls share with the group 🫶🫶🫶🫶

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

why didn't they just use franziska for literally all of this.

[dimensionhoppr]

Had a galaxy brain moment the other day ab how mha tries to tackle cycles of abuse n I haven't gotten my thoughts about it together yet but Something about shigaraki and todoroki mirroring each other. hawks and nagant too. The unnamed person at the end and how they mirror shigaraki also and how that whole thing could have hit harder if you know. shigaraki had actually been saved in a meaningful way....idk I'm just making connections....

[polaritydisturbed]

I’ve seen some posts floating around saying things like, “Belinda was always a mom, the Doctor just corrected the timeline,” and I genuinely cannot stress enough how little that addresses the core issues people have with how her story was handled.

First of all, if that was the intention—if the idea was that Belinda was always meant to be a mother and the timeline just needed to be “set right”—they did a poor job of executing it. A twist that major, one that fundamentally alters a character’s identity or arc, requires setup. Foreshadowing. Emotional groundwork. You can’t just spring something that massive on the audience in the last five minutes and expect it to feel meaningful instead of disorienting.

And here’s the thing: Doctor Who has done that kind of plot before—successfully. A great comparison is Amy and Rory. The show literally did the “someone you love was erased from time and the universe needs to be corrected to bring them back” storyline already. And while I’ve got my own qualms with how Amy’s arc was handled overall, that particular beat actually worked.

Why? Because there were signs. The cracks in time. The missing memories. A sense of loss Amy couldn’t place. Little inconsistencies that made the audience lean forward and feel that something was wrong. Not to mention: Rory was introduced before he disappeared. We knew him. We saw his dynamic with Amy. We cared about him. We barely see Poppy in these two episodes, other than "child missing bad" we really have no attachment to her.

Now imagine if we never met Rory. If Amy had been introduced as a fierce, independent woman with no attachments, someone whose refusal to be tied down was a defining trait—and then the show suddenly revealed, in the finale, that actually she was about to get married the whole time to a man we’d never seen, and now she’s a devoted wife. No buildup. No context. Just surprise! emotional transformation. That would feel bizarre, right?

That’s exactly what happened with Belinda.

The final minutes of the finale reframe her not just as someone who once had a child, but as someone whose true self is supposedly defined by that role—and we’re meant to believe that this identity has now been “restored” to her, and we’re told it’s been restored to her as a reward. But it doesn’t feel like a revelation. It feels like a contradiction.

It’s like they wanted to write her as fierce and independent, but didn’t also want to imply that she wanted kids or thought about kids—because society still tends to associate maternal longing or caretaking instincts with weakness, or with not being a “strong” woman. So instead of exploring that complexity, they just didn’t. They wrote her as a fully autonomous character, with no visible yearning or absence, and then stapled a child onto her arc at the end.

And just to be absolutely clear: the problem is not that Belinda is a mother. You can write a fierce, independent, female-presenting character who’s also a parent. Those things are not mutually exclusive. The problem is that the story didn’t earn it.

Writers often avoid giving powerful women maternal traits because they assume femininity and strength can’t coexist—but that’s a separate conversation. The real issue here is that the show never showed us that this part of Belinda was missing. It never laid the groundwork for that emotional restoration to resonate. It didn’t feel like they revealed who she truly was—it felt like they replaced her with someone else.

It’s not that you can’t tell a story where a forgotten child or a missing family is recovered from a broken timeline. That kind of emotional twist can be powerful. But if that’s the story you want to tell, you have to earn it. You have to make the absence felt before you try to fill it. You have to let us sense the missing piece and ache for its return. Without that, it doesn’t feel like a twist—it feels like a contradiction.

And no, Poppy showing up once in The Story & the Engine is not proper setup. If this was truly the intended arc from the beginning, then it needed clues. Give us subtle signs. Let Belinda hesitate when asked simple questions. Let her glance at a photo and seem unsettled. Let her correct someone’s memory and then immediately second-guess herself. Plant a sense of wrongness in her own life that even she can’t quite name.

There’s even a interview with RTD about reshooting the beginning of The Robot Revolution to give Belinda roommates, because he thought no one would buy her owning an entire house by herself.

But if this twist with Poppy was truly planned from the start? Then leave her in that big, echoing house. Let it be part of the unease. Let there be a child’s toy tucked into the back of a drawer she doesn’t remember buying. A room she avoids, too pristine and untouched. A lullaby she hums under her breath without knowing where she learned it. Give us texture. Give us silence that feels too quiet.

Let us feel the shape of what’s missing before you tell us what it was.

That’s how you write a twist that resonates—by trusting your audience to notice the gaps, to feel the ache, and to recognize the truth when it finally appears. Not by pulling a rabbit out of a hat and calling it destiny.

[iamthatonefangirl]

miss possessive - congressman bucky barnes

okay not my best work, i swear i have like nine drafts i've come up with in a week, none of them good enough to post.

this is inspired by miss possessive by tate mcrae even though i completely lost sight of the song really quickly

part 2

part 3

~~~

you really had no right to be so jealous.

you watched him from across the floor, sipping on your flute of champagne. you'd grabbed it off of one of those waiters' trays as they were walking about the room.

it tasted like shit. you didn't like the taste of wine, and it wasn't even enough to get you drunk.

you knew this kind of event was difficult for him to sit through, but hey, he made his choice going into politics.

you watched as he made his rounds, speaking to various donors and attempting to charm them. you watched as all their wives fawned over your-

no.

you watched as all their wives fawned over him, bringing him in for a hug instead of a handshake. of course they were interested; he was the best looking man here. yes, he was the oldest man in the room, but appeared to be the youngest and was, regardless, easily the most attractive. and all the thirty-some wives of the cranky old rich white men wanted him.

it pissed you off. not that you had the right to be pissed, but. oh well. you're just a girl.

after two flutes of champagne, you watch as one of the donors receives a phone call, leaving his wife with Bucky. ever the gentleman, he would never leave a woman all by herself in a room full of sharks who might try to snatch her up. 

Bucky was very much a different man than he was in the forties, of course. doesn't mean he lost the ability to attract every woman in the room.

you can't stand idly by as she puts his hands all over him, and he can't take his eyes off of her. no, of course he would never go for a married woman. what he did know, though, was that if he pissed her off, her husband wouldn't donate to his campaign.

you roll your eyes and decide it's time for some hard liquor.

you hide in the corner of the room, drinking your much stronger beverage as fast as possible. no, getting drunk at a professional event isn't the best idea, but what do you care. you're not the star of the show.

he is.

he's the brilliant ex-POW who's turned his entire life around in a whole new century. he's the gorgeous soldier who not only survived, but is also electing to do something meaningful with his life. 

he's the star tonight.

he's the star of every thought you have of your future, but that can't possibly come to surface now. it's not the time or place. 

watching him entertain this woman truly boils your blood, but at least you have some actual alcohol in your system now. you no longer feel the need to justify why her hands on his pristine suit makes you want to grab her by the diamonds around her neck and yank her off of him. you can justify your desire to grab him by the tie to pull him away from her and yell at him for not focusing on what's important. 

you bite your tongue. you knew it was all a ploy.

doesn't mean you had to like it. 

~~~

while you stand at the bar waiting for your second beverage of the evening, a man comes up next to you, and the bartender takes his drink order. 

you give him a small, awkward smile as you briefly make eye contact. you're kind of shocked: he's definitely the only man in this room who appears to be younger than 60, Bucky excluded.

you almost startle when he speaks up, introducing himself. Michael, he says his name is.

you turn to actually face him this time. roughly 40, plenty taller than you, and brown hair sprinkled with some greys in there. your perfect type. you quietly tell yourself you're done drinking–no way you're gonna fuck this up. if you weren't so mad about Bucky's new admirer, you might be a tad less inclined to speak to him, but… 

you step closer as you give him a real smile and introduce yourself.

"so, correct me if I'm wrong, but something tells me you're here alone tonight," he begins, indicating to your left hand. no ring. 

you laugh a little. 

"you would be correct," you tell him. "I could say the same about you."

he smiles back at you. it's so beautiful you forget all about your boss and the woman he's now got on his arm as he continues to walk around–

well. you almost forget. good enough.

"you would also be correct."

you explain why you're here, you work for one of the candidates. although, you don't tell him who, exactly. he explains why he's here, one of the patrons. you have to pry the information out of him, but you appreciate it: he's trying to talk to you without flashing his money in your face. it's noble, you think.

you eventually learn he's interested in actually getting to know the candidates' campaigns, not just what they think they can offer him in return for his money.

"you know, I would be happy to learn more about your boss' campaign. from one of the people who probably understands it best," he tells you. you're slightly taken aback for a moment, not aware this was a business interaction. you never even told him who your boss was, so it was confusing, to say the least.

you felt stupid for thinking he was actually interested, for thinking that he was flirting with you.

"oh, of course-" you begin to tell him, but he interjects, "after I take you out, perhaps?"

your smile perks back up subconsciously. so you didn't have it wrong.

"I would love that," you tell him, carefully taking the lapels of his jacket into your hands. you feel his hands come to your waist, and it's like a jolt of energy runs up your spine.

you look closer and almost flip your shit as you see his eyes up close. they're Bucky's eyes. he's not Bucky, sadly, but. 

you're fucked.

"maybe dinner can happen... another time?" you offer, hoping he gets the hint. you realize you probably look like a whore throwing yourself at him like this.

he chuckles. "I've got a room upstairs, if you'd like to come have drinks instead of dinner."

hell yes. you're gonna score tonight, even if it's not with the man you dream about with your hands between your legs every night-

"I would," you say, and bite your tongue. "I just... have to stick around until this thing is over. yeah?"

he nods and steps back. "I suppose I should also do what I came here for," he chuckles. "I'll come find you later?"

you smile and you feel your face go pink. "sounds good."

you can't help the fact that your gaze reverts immediately back to your boss the second the man walks off. Bucky hasn't spared you a single glance all evening, but the second you look back at him this time, you're suddenly staring into his beautiful eyes. 

he holds eye contact with you for what feels like an eternity. his expression is muted, no real emotion showing. maybe... curiosity?

of course he's not going to look mad, or upset, or jealous. you have to stop thinking he'd ever look at you with anything other than pure professionalism.

because he's everything. and you're just a kid, lost in the world, desperately in love with your boss, and everything is fucking falling apart around you.

at least you've got a rich, hot, older man ready to fuck you tonight.

~~~

you kept to your word to yourself and didn't drink for the rest of the night, although you continued hovering at the bar for the semblance of safety it provided.

you continued staring at Bucky for the next two hours. the clingy woman's husband had, in fact, returned and took her away from Bucky. clearly, she was pissed, but tried to hide it. you had to bite back a smirk.

he didn't look back at you once for the rest of the evening.

eventually, the crowd dies down. you realize that now, you have to explain to your boss that you won't be riding back to the office with him, effectively telling him your exact plans for the rest of the night. embarrassing!

you're almost ready to bite the bullet and bid Bucky a good night, scanning the room for him, when you hear a voice from behind you. 

"we still on for drinks?"

you plaster a smile on your face as you turn around to the man standing behind you.

"absolutely," you say, taking his hands. "lead the way."

you begin to follow the man, telling yourself to try and remember to shoot your boss a text to 'not worry about you' before getting your clothes torn off by this man who's currently whisking you away.

you get into the elevator with him, what's his name, you think? oh, Michael, and yank him in hard, crashing your mouths together, putting all of your energy into how badly you need this.

you're startled by the sound of a clanging of metal, ripping your mouth away from the man's and turning to face the noise.

well, apparently, you were too eager and stupid enough to not wait for the elevator doors to entirely shut, because you see now that the noise was a result of Bucky's vibranium arm grabbing the elevator door. he pushes it open and steps inside, eyes piercing daggers through you the whole time.

you stand there, appalled. the man gently pulls away from you, reaching out a hand to attempt to shake Bucky's hand.

"Mr. Barnes, it's a pleasure," he begins. "my apologies for this... less than ideal meeting."

Bucky doesn't even look at the man, eyeing you up and down, taking in your smudged lipstick and the way your dress is slightly out of place.

the man attempts once more to interject. "Mr. Barnes, please, don't worry about her. why don't us men go back downstairs and have a real discussion? I'd love to hear more about your campaign."

wait. why do his words sound like they're throwing you under the bus, almost?

Bucky notices it, too, you realize. he tilts his head in the man's direction before actually averting his gaze to look at him.

"and leave the lady all by herself?" he asks.

"don't worry about that. she's... inconsequential. if you and I can just go back downstairs and–"

"what did you just say?" Bucky asks. you swear he doesn't look like your boss anymore, but someone... else.

the man is taken aback by Bucky's demeanor. his mouth gapes like an idiot.

"you do know this is my assistant, right?" Bucky asks him. the man's face goes pale as the pieces slot together in his head.

"Mr. Barnes, my apologies, truly," he says.

you just stand there feeling more stupid than ever. inconsequential? wow, okay. you almost don't even care that he's dismissing your entire existence, but you can't stand the fact that he's doing it in front of Bucky. you care more about what Bucky thinks of you than literally anyone else, and now? now he's going to see you as a fucking slut who isn't even good enough for a man to commit to for one night.

god, you're pathetic.

"shouldn't you be apologizing to her?" Bucky grits.

the elevator doors open to the man's floor, and he mumbles a sorry under his breath as he runs out.

great. not only do you look pathetic in front of your boss, but you're not getting fucked tonight, either. just great.

the doors shut behind Bucky, who has now returned his gaze to you. you wonder if he's going to press the button to go back to the lobby.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Barnes," you say, swallowing your embarrassment as you stand up straight and adjust your dress.

he just stares at you.

"what?" you ask.

"are you okay?" he asks, and he looks genuinely concerned.

you know he cares about you, you're his assistant, after all. but that's it.

"fine," you assure him, and begin to reach behind him to press the button to take you back down to the lobby.

he gently grabs your wrist before you can.

you look at him, confused. you know your face says it all.

"Mr.–" you begin.

"Bucky," he corrects.

"can I press the button, Mr. Barnes?"

he still hasn't let go of your wrist. you feel stupid for enjoying the feel of his metal hand against your skin, for getting to feel a part of him that's real.

"you know, you clearly picked out the worst of the men here tonight," he observes.

you roll your eyes and pull your wrist away from him before you do something stupid.

"are you kidding? this place was riddled with capitalist billionaires and politicians. like you," you say, smirking.

he chuckles a little.

you can't help yourself, though. can't let it go unsaid.

"clearly you had some interested parties of your own tonight."

he rolls his eyes and finally turns away from you, pressing the button for the lobby. you let out a quiet sigh of relief. being in this elevator any longer, with him? that would just about kill you.

"you noticed that, huh?" he asks.

"who didn't?" you mumble. but of course, he's not just a politician, he's an enhanced, so he hears it.

"look, I knew she was married, I was never going to-" he begins to explain, but you cut him off.

"oh, I don't care what she does in her own fucked-up marriage."

oh my god. what did you just say? did you just admit to the fact that the only reason you did care was because she was fawning over Bucky?

fuck.

the elevator doors open, and you rush out.

you can hear the smirk on his face as he trails after you.

"so, you were really going to sleep with that guy, huh?" he teases.

you stop in your tracks. most everyone has left by now, leaving only you and Bucky in the room aside from the clean-up crew. you turn back to face him.

"can we just go?"

he nods and calls for the car to come around.

~~~

twenty minutes, you remind yourself.

in twenty minutes, you'll have made it back to the office, and you can go get in your own car and take yourself back to your own place and you won't have to be sitting thigh to thigh with your boss in the back of a limo that would totally be hot to fuck in-

he clears his throat, and you turn your head to face him.

"what that guy said..." he begins. you roll your eyes in anger at the reminder. you didn't even care he said it, you just wish he hadn't said it in front of Bucky.

you wave your hand as though waving off the thought, and waving off Bucky's concern. but it doesn't quite work like that.

"you're not inconsequential."

he says it with such a conviction you feel it deep in your bones, in the very core of your being. he sounds so authentic that it almost hurts.

a million thoughts swirl in your head. you could say i know, you could get defensive, you could say thanks, Bucky...

a better one pops in your head.

"how did you know where I was? you didn't see me all evening."

the limo stops moving. the driver rolls down the divider to grumble something about traffic at this hour? before rolling it back up again.

great. now it's going to take even longer to get home to your vibrator.

Bucky sees the interruption as a way to drop the matter. you press it.

"Mr. Barnes?"

"god, would you stop calling me that?"

you see him turn away from you to look out the window, biting his lip and rubbing his forehead. you've now frustrated him, and he's mad at you. this is good. it's easier for you to deal with him being angry at you than him being nice to you.

you know he just wants you to call him Bucky, but you're a smartass.

"yeah, okay, sorry. Sergeant Barnes," you mumble, smirking to yourself.

he about flips his shit. why is he getting so worked up?

"seriously?" he asks, turning back to you. his eyes are blown back, in anger, probably. not lust, like you wish they were. because you're just a stupid kid, and he's just your boss with a lifetime of trauma. you could never understand him the way you wanted to.

"what?" you say, biting your lip as you smile, continuing to tease him.

you swear that for a second, he glances down to your lips.

SHIT!

in that embarrassing moment, you realize your lipstick is still smudged across your face from the moment in the elevator. your heart rate shoots up as you bury your head in your chest, bringing your hand to wipe away the mess of your face, before turning to face the opposite way from him.

you are, well and truly, stuck in traffic. some concert, or sports game, or whatever...

which means you're stuck, pressed up against your boss, in the back of this tiny limo right now, for only god knows how much longer.

you're pulling your phone out of your clutch when he says your name.

you want to lean into the feeling, how smooth it is. how crisp his voice is, how pretty it sounds saying your name, as though he's genuinely paying you any attention whatsoever.

"you're not inconsequential."

it flares your anger, all of it coming up from your gut and into your throat, as you respond.

"god, would you forget it already?" you snap.

shit, shit, shit. you fucked up. you just snapped at your boss, of all people. you try to backtrack, throw out a million comments of "sorry," but that's it, you're getting fired.

you finally look back at him, and he's actually looking at you. like, it feels like he's staring into your soul, seeing all the pieces of you that you're trying to keep hidden from him.

the car begins moving again.

~~~

he watches you, trying to figure you out, as always.

he can't think of a better word for it than the fact that you genuinely amuse him.

he sees the look in your eyes, the way you're desperately trying to cover up the shame you feel over what happened in the elevator. he's trying to be gentle about it, trying to assure you that what the man said was utter bullshit, but you keep shutting him down.

god, and you look so...

no. you're, like, 80-plus years younger than him (he rubs his temples every time he remembers his age) and employed by him. any interest on his part would be purely inappropriate, a gross misuse of his position of power.

and god, his fucking age, man. he shouldn't even be around anymore-

anyways.

you look at him with those fucking doe eyes, going back and forth between anger, and shame, and something else he can't quite pinpoint.

this is probably the worst part of what happened. you're always so unapologetically yourself, but he can tell this man has gotten under your skin.

even if it's not his job to comfort you, he doesn't want you to feel like that. because who you are is perfect. 

~~~

one minute, you're staring into his eyes, trying to read the look on his face. 

the next, you're bracing yourself as the car spins out of control, feeling hit after hit of various cars all crashing into you sequentially.

you don't register it until after it's all over. the way he's wrapped himself around you as though to protect you. his flesh arm cradles your head to his chest and his vibranium hand wraps itself around the back of your neck.

you take a few deep breaths and begin to pull away from him, looking up to his face as you do. his eyes widen in shock as he looks at you. what? what is it?

"fuck, we gotta get you to a hospital." 

~~~

part 2

part 3

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tagged: @clavedelune

[themistymountainscold]

izzy crying when he is given the leg is just so fucking meaningful

he saw the note, he saw the leg and he realised the crew actually care for him. enough to make him a new fucking leg. he realises he isn't alone anymore, he has people in his corner now.

like this cute ass mother fucking smile, like fuck you can see how much it meant to him. and he literally stops drinking, he stops isolating himself, he hangs out on deck showing off his new leg proudly because others had done something for him.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Eyes on Me

Pairing: Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Luke being a whiny possessive baby, but actually this is all silly fluff and he's just a silly boy who wants all your attention.

Summary: Your relationship with Luke is as serious as it gets and your relationship with his family is as close as they come. Luke can't help but love it, even as he jealously wants all your attention especially whenever his brothers seem to hog it

Notes: Request for @toasttt11, I hope you enjoy it, I went a slightly different route with it but I hope its okay! 🥰

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

You never had a particularly close family. Your family was small, and while you loved them, your family was one of those more aloof types, not so emotional or as close as typical families. The type of family you worried about telling things to in case they made fun of you or told you off or simply didn't listen. A family where they gave presents that were relatively generic because they didn't really know each other. A family where cousins didn't regularly see each other. Luke's family was the complete opposite. Warm, welcoming and large, even his extended family of cousins and aunts and uncles were close. It was a whole different world, but it showed you what family could really look like and what it could feel like.

At first it had been intimidating. To come into this family unit where everyone was so close, where everyone talked and shared their thoughts and feelings without fear of judgement. Where gifts were thoughtful and meaningful and everyone knew what everyone had been up to lately and no one forgot a birthday. At first you'd been scared you simply wouldn't fit in, that you'd make mistakes, forget to do something, offend someone.

Luke had been insistent that you'd fit in perfectly and he'd been absolutely right. His parents loved you, Jim and Ellen immediately treating you like a daughter. Ellen was more excited to see you than her own sons at holidays, always rushing to be the first person to wrap you in a warm hug and bring you inside. Ellen regularly talked to you over the phone and sent you whatsapps to see how you were doing. Jim always had a word of wisdom or a reassuring wink on hand if the boys were getting rowdy and out of pocket. Then there was Jack and Quinn, Jack and Quinn who were the epitome of what brothers should be. They were the first to step in and help you if Luke wasn't around, the first to make fun of you light heartedly for something silly you'd done and the first to add you to your very own group chat with the brothers, Luke not invited, because often you used it to discuss what to buy the impossible to buy for boy. They made you feel settled in the family unit, they felt like real brothers to you, as much a part of your life as Luke was.

Luke was happy about it, of course he was. You were it for him, he was 99.9% certain he was going to marry you, the 0.1% being the off chance that you decided you didn't want to marry him. So naturally seeing you fall in so perfectly with his family, seeing you grow more and more comfortable, the closeness of your relationship with all of them it made him ache with warmth and affection. But, he hated sharing you. He couldn't help it. He'd always shared things with his brothers, clothes, jerseys, toys. Not because he had to, but because that's just what they did. But, you were the first thing in his life that he didn't want to share.

Even now, watching from the doorway of the lake house kitchen as you laugh with Jack and Quinn, there's a sense of jealousy that your attention isn't on him. It's stupid. He doesn't have any worries about you not loving him or preferring his brothers, but he can't help but want your attention on him, can't help but want you to smile and laugh at him, for his brothers to be background noise. It's cave-manish and stupid and he'd never admit to it because Jack and Quinn would make fun of him for the rest of his entire existence...but it's there.

"You're ridiculous, Jack. If you were a worm, Luke would not keep you in a terrarium. He'd throw you out a window, while screaming!" You laugh at Jack, shoving his shoulder as he glares you. He's been adamant for the past 3 minutes that his brother would care for him in sickness and in worm and while sweet, you both know that Luke hates insects, he absolutely hates anything wriggly and crawly, a worm is no exception. Even if that worm was his brother.

"No, no, see my brother loves me and he would keep me in a little terrarium until the day I or he dies and you would have to watch as he gave me all his attention!"

"I'd throw you out the window. Let some bird eat you." You smile as you say it, the bite not there. You both know you wouldn't but the offended gasp Jack lets out is enough to make it appealing to say.

"You wouldn't." Jack's blue eyes narrow on you and you stifle your laugh, arms crossing as you glance at Quinn who's shaking his head at the both of you refusing to get involved.

"You're right, I'd hand feed you to a bird."

"Quinn?!" Jack looks to his older brother, eyes wide like he expects him to intervene and put you on the naughty step or something equally as comical. Instead Quinn simply holds his hands up in surrender.

"I'm not getting involved. This is a ridiculous argument because we all know I'd be the one who'd end up taking care of you."

"Quinn has a point-" You stop yourself short as you feel strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against a warm chest. Luke's chin coming to rest on top of your head as he crushes you against him, his fingers slipping under your hoodie to rest on your waist.

"What you talking about?" It's mumbled into your hair, a quick kiss pressed there. He knows he's glowering at Jack and Quinn, mostly Jack. Jack who's gotten that teasing glint in his eyes at the realisation that Luke's scowl is because his girlfriend is focused on his brother, his stupid, pretty boy brother that all the girls seem to want. You are oblivious to this, leaning back into Luke like its second nature.

"How you would throw Jack to the birds if he turned into a worm."

"Mmm, true." His voice is short, shorter than normal and it makes your ears perk up as does the way he pulls you even tighter against him and a little bit further from his brothers like he's trying to pull you away. You wonder if maybe something had happened that's put him in a grumpy mood even as you look between Quinn and Jack who both seem to smirk at their brother standing behind you.

"Lukey, I'm your brother!" Even as Jack pretends to be offended he's grinning. His little brother is practically glaring at him, eyes just visible above your hair where he's burrowed his face.

"And?"

"Luke!" You turn in his arms, forcing him to look at you and for the first time you see the glower on his face, the sort of look you've seen only a handful of times. The same look you've seen him direct at men in bars who bother you, except this look is very much directed at Jack.

"What? I hate worms!"

"Mm, okay, what if I turned into a worm?" You pout up at him, wide eyes focused on him and he can't help but lose a bit of the glower because your attention is on him now and not on Jack.

Luke's hands find their way to your back pockets, pulling you close against him even as his brothers groan at the unnecessary PDA between their baby brother and his girlfriend.

"I'd keep you in my pocket wherever I went until I could find some scientist to turn you back." He smiles down at you sweetly, all traces of the former scowl removed now that his attention is on you and you brush some of his curls from his face as he does so. His smile only grows warmer at your attention, a sense of puffed up pride that he's got all your attention now, and his brothers have none of it.

From behind you you hear Jack whine, "Why am I thrown to the birds but sunshine over here is kept in your pocket?"

"She's my future wife?" You can't help the bashful sort of smile that overtakes your face and forces it to scrunch up and grow warm at his words. You hide your face in his chest, giddy at him calling you his future wife even when you're not even engaged and unlikely to be engaged any time soon given where you both are in life.

"Oh and I'm just chopped liver?" Jack doesn't even get a response, Luke's too busy staring at you, smiling down at you with lovesick little grin he gets. His hands are still in your back pockets and yours have migrated to hold him around the waist as you look up at him, chin leaning against his sternum.

"Talk to your boyfriend." You look over your shoulder at Jack, who's scowling at his brother like he's been betrayed. You suppose in a sense he has, seeing as Luke has decided you're more worthy of pocket worm privileges than his older brother is.

"Lukey, baby, you can't throw your brother to the birds."

"Why not?"

"Because he's your brother." He's pouting at you like a five year old and it really shouldn't be cute, it should be so annoying that he's acting like this but its not. It's cute, it's playful and you can't help but find everything Luke does endearing.

"But, he's taking all your attention away from me..." His voice is whiny, drawn out and annoyed as he frowns down at you, his hands pulling you even tighter to him like Jack might physically pull you away.

"Is that what this all about? Are you jealous of your brother?" You can hear Quinn and Jack sniggering at the background, you know they'll never let him live this down not until the day he dies.

"No..." Luke looks away from you, a bright red flush crawling up his neck, to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He can hear his brothers making fun of him, but he can't help it. He wants your attention all the time and he hates that Jack had it, even as much as he loves that Jack and you get along.

"Baby, Oh, baby...you know I only want you, right?" You cup his cheeks in your hands, tilting your head right back to look at him. He flushes further, cheeks so warm under your palms that you're a little worried he might grow lightheaded. Made only worse by your sweet voice and softness with him, "Jack's nowhere near as pretty as you."

You giggle at the offended, "Hey!" behind you. But, you know Luke needs to hear it, know he compares himself to his brothers even if he tries not too. He knows Jack has a reputation as the fan favourite with women, the pretty boy, but, God, Luke is so pretty to you.

"Really?" His grin that begins is the one you love most, where his teeth peek out and his cheeks dimple deeply. It crinkles his eyes and for anyone looking from the outside in it is so obvious he is absolutely in love with you, smitten, whipped, completely taken with you. If you were in an episode of Tom and Jerry his eyes would be hearts popping from his head.

"Mmm, no one is prettier than my future husband, honey." You're pandering to him and he knows that, he doesn't care though. Revels in it when you lean up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, grins at Jack over your head like Jack even cares because Jack most certainly does not care that his brother's girlfriend doesn't find him that pretty. In fact, he's glad. How awkward with family dinners be if you did think Jack was prettier?

But, Jack draws the line at the PDA you're starting to display. He draws the line when Luke crashes his lips down on yours in what can only be described as an 'eating faces' sort of kiss, the sort where you're a little worried for each participants health and ability to breathe.

"Eww, c'mon Quinn, lets get out here. Ew." Jack grabs Quinn by the arm and pull him outside, but you're not really focusing on that, not when Luke is ushering you to a kitchen counter and up so that you can wrap your legs around his hips and kiss him easier.

Yeah, he's jealous sometimes that his brothers get along so well with you, but he knows that you're it for him and he's it for you. He doesn't mind feeling a little jealous, not when you remind him so thoroughly that you could care less about Jack or Quinn in anyway that isn't entirely brotherly.

[kurooh]

★ EPISODE 01. GREED

SUMMARY. nothing like new beginnings, right? UA studios is the luckiest second chance you’ve ever gotten! once you’ve met your new manager and signed the last legal papers, you’re supposed to head off to your very first shoot. there, you’ll film your debut and prove that you belong to UA.

WARNINGS. 18+ content, mdni. fem! reader, casting couch, panties used as a gag, dry humping, unprotected sex, blowjobs, dirty talk. wc / 7.3k

▸ RETURN TO THE MAIN MENU!

a document covered in legalese, clauses, and words you’ve never seen before is slid toward you, along with a pen for when you’re finished reading through it. 

“this is the last one,” your new manager gives you a half smile, unsurprised by the confusion that washes over your face. “it’s a form verifying that everything you’ve signed off on is true.”

your eyes drift further down the page, toward the neat signature of his name. shinsou hitoshi, printed beneath a scribble of what appears to be his initials. although you haven’t been with him for more than an hour, you’re already much happier than you were when you’d stepped foot in the building. naturally, as all people do, you compare shiketsu studios and UA side by side. it’s pretty unfair, because of your disdain for shiketsu and lack of experience at UA, but the latter comes out on top.

shinsou sips his coffee. you read through the contract, pausing to squint at some of the last few conditions referring to unprofessionalism in the workplace; here, it’s taken seriously. you were nervous at first, especially with the ball and chain of shiketsu’s scandal dragging behind you, but it never came up. not in the phone call, not in the conversations on the way up to the office, and not once since the paperwork began.

black ink glides across the paper, smooth and formal. with two fingers, shinsou tucks the paper into your file, along with the rest of your necessary personal information. he offers you a wider smile—exhausted at the edges—and easily extends his hand, as if he’s done it a million times before.

your palm presses against his in a firm handshake, and he fixes you with a meaningful look. 

“welcome to UA.”

“more than happy to be here,” you reply automatically, smile making its way through your voice as he leans back into his chair, folding his hands.

“we went over scheduling on the phone, and i set you up for a shoot today, just as requested. i know you’re not necessarily new to the industry, but i’m gonna tell you all of this as though you are, okay?”

you nod, raising your cup of complimentary coffee to your lips. creamer swirls in the middle of it like a whirlpool; each sip is slow and unhurried as you savor the flavor. it’s an ordinary cup of coffee, but it’s the most ordinary you’ve had in a long time.

“it typically depends, but you can expect to be on set for more than two hours today. filming can take a while, and we’ve had talent spend the whole day on one set, just to get everything right. because of this, actors are limited to filming a maximum of three times a week.”

your eyebrows shoot up, but you nod again. “that’s actually a great rule to have.”

“people need time to rest and recover, and plus, the studio’s huge! there’s no need to overwork the same actors. at UA, maintaining work-life balance is really important to us. our films and videos are kind of crazy, but management is everything but. anyway, let me give you my number.”

with his nice black pen, shinsou scribbles his phone number onto a light purple sticky note. it seems to match the color of his long, grown out hair, and you can’t help but wonder what came first. did he like the sticky note color so much that he dyed his hair to match it, or was his hair always purple and he just bought the stationary to match it?

“this is my personal number,” the square of paper is torn away from the stack with a sticky sound, “if something comes up and you can’t make a booking, you call me. if you’re adding people to your yes list and no list, which you’ll do over time, you let me know so i can take care of it and keep track. even if it’s something simple, like you get turned around when you’re walking through the studio, send me a text. i’m your manager. i’m here to help you and make your job easier. don’t hesitate to reach out if you’ve got something going on.”

.  .  . 

noon rolls around faster than you expect it to.

shinsou’s given you all of the details regarding where you need to be, who you’ll be with, and what you need to be wearing when you get there. the dress code is simple—you’re expected to wear a casual, slightly revealing outfit with a matching set beneath. 

you tug unsurely at your top, smoothing down the ruffles near your midsection for what’s probably the sixth time in ten minutes. it barely moves, looking the same as it did before. anxiety thrums in your chest, tangling itself intricately in your ribcage; the pressure to perform at your best is eating away at you, leaving you with an uncomfortable weight in your stomach and little to no air in your lungs.

again, you try to remind yourself that UA was the one pursuing you, not the other way around. the affirmation is supposed to put you at ease, but it has the opposite effect—if they were after you, they clearly expect the best from you. that thought doubles the weight upon your shoulders, nearly crushing you to the floor like a soda can.

before you can overthink any further, you’re already at the door, hand trembling just above the knob. you can hear the chatter of voices inside, the relaxed tones of conversation. you suck in a sharp breath, quickly running through the information about the shoot in your head; it’s some kind of run-of-the-mill casting couch video with one sero hanta. when he was reading you the details from a printed sheet of paper, shinsou didn’t seem worried in the slightest. he just wore a neutral expression, and reminded you to get there on time.

nausea swirls in your stomach. if you don’t just breathe and walk in, you’ll end up getting sick all over the floor and fired within the hour. you inhale shakily, plastering a smile onto your face as you twist the door open. this is fine.

all heads turn toward you. too many faces in such a small room, with so many cameras and microphones set up around a black couch. you can’t even choke out a greeting before someone’s on his feet, offering you a handshake and easy smile. “there’s the lady of the hour.” 

“that’s me,” you laugh nervously, grasping his hand. the carpet looks dull, the once colorful patterns faded by foot traffic and time. despite its worn appearance, it looks cleaner than one might have expected. you look up at the person standing in front of you, so dazed you hadn’t even noticed you were staring at the carpet. 

“the name’s hanta,” your co-star releases your hand, jerking a thumb at himself. he’s saying something about the camera crew, but you don’t really hear it—you’re more focused on how big he is. he’s a lot taller than you and full of energy, the corners of his lips tugging into disarming smiles that almost make you want to melt. “—this one’s mostly improv, y’know? kinda going for an all-natural video here, and your manager totally thought i was the right guy for the job.”

hanta’s standing in front of you, sounding all nice and friendly when he talks. he almost has the audacity to look a little clueless, like he’s completely unaware of how good he looks. you’ve seen him on camera, watched a few of his videos. at shiketsu, during breaks, you’d sometimes hear his name come up in conversations between the girls. some of them would watch UA’s videos before shooting, just to get themselves wet for their unsightly co-stars. once, you may not have seen the appeal. but now, standing as close as you are to him, you definitely understand it. something electric rushes through your stomach and leaves a sparking hot trail as it descends between your thighs. 

“sounds great,” you say, even though you blacked out at some point while he was talking and only regained consciousness just now. he probably knows a thing or two about you, but you officially introduce yourself nonetheless. “nice to meet you, hanta.”

the director comes over to shake your hand. “like he said, this is supposed to be a very low-key debut. i’ve prepared a small list of things you might want to say, but otherwise, this is mainly improv. if you’d like to take a seat on that couch right there, we can go ahead and get started.”

.  .  . 

you’re on the couch, sitting up straight with your hands folded in your lap. it’s already a few degrees warmer than when you’d first stepped into the room—the fan had to be unplugged, lest it become an annoying noise in the background during filming. a few camera people busy themselves with setting up and situating the microphones and such, while the director looks through the camera at you. 

“hmm. perhaps you could be a little more relaxed? maybe sit back and lean into the couch. we don’t want you to be too stiff, even if you are nervous.”

you’re in the middle of readjusting yourself when hanta clicks his tongue, holding a hand out to motion you to stop moving. “she looks good the way she is. you see nerves, i see confidence and attention.”

the faintest trace of tension curls through the air like dissipating smoke. the two men hold their ground, looking one another in the eye, before the director raises his hands in surrender, exhaling through his nose.

“i suppose i hadn’t thought of it that way.”

someone tells the director something about having set up all of the microphones, while another plugs in a hand-held camera to charge. hanta situates himself in a chair behind the camera, looking like he’s in command of everything, while the actual director sits beside him with a whiteboard and marker.

“you can call cut at any time, if you’re uncomfortable with something. i’ll hold up the whiteboard in case you need any additional guidance or help with lines if you draw a blank.”

“thank you,” you nod at the director and take a deep breath. he glances briefly at hanta, playing it off as though he was just looking toward the camera. “action!”

“so, how’d you hear about us? what brings you to our agency, babe?��

it’s easier to lie, or come up with an answer, when you’re focused on hanta, not the camera. “i’ve seen a few ads online, but i’ve also heard really great things from my friends.”

the girls at shiketsu talked about more than just sero hanta—many of them had little crushes on the UA stars, as well as personal interests in the studio. but with UA studios being a primary rival to shiketsu, conversations remained hushed and secretive. honestly, shiketsu’s downfall turned out to be a success more than anything else; some of the drug addicts could finally recieve help, and the sober talent could look into working elsewhere.

clear and effortless, hanta’s words roll right off his tongue, despite the absence of a script in his lap. he’s looking directly at you, as if the camera doesn’t exist. “i understand you’re looking to work as a model with our agency. could you tell me a little more about what you’re interested in?”

you introduce yourself by name again, face growing warm as you follow his lead. “i’ve done some modelling before, and i took a small break, but i’m ready to get back into it. oh, i’ve never modelled swimwear or underwear before, but i wouldn’t mind giving it a try.”

he smirks, eyes shamelessly raking down your clothed body, as if he’s daring you to strip. “someone isn’t shy. would you mind showing me what you’ve got to offer to our agency?”

it’s acting. it’s fake, and yet, his words make your thighs squeeze together.

you nod, smile wavering. for a moment, you think the director will call for a cut, but he holds up the whiteboard and its instructions: strip down to your underwear & bra.

the jeans are the first to go. denim slides down your thighs, barely catching on your heels, and soon, it’s on the floor. you take care not to move too quickly, too hurried, as you lift your shirt up and over your head. it lands beside your jeans in a pile on the dull carpet, and you’re left in a matching black set.

hanta’s grin only grows wider. “our producers are gonna love you. if you’re interested, i can pull some strings and set you up for a shoot as early as tomorrow. how does underwear sound?”

a genuine smile spreads across your face; you don’t realize how innocent it makes you look, or how much it turns hanta on. oh, and you even sound a little excited! your acting is spectacular, for a newbie. he’s seen your shiketsu videos—trashy, low quality clips of you getting ruined on camera, posted for millions of people to see—and was more than excited to accept this shoot with you. shinsou had let hanta know that he’d specifically requested him for the job because of hanta’s tendency to be easygoing and charismatic with new actresses; at the end of his email, shinsou wrote a note saying that this set-up was him paying off his debt to hanta.

“that sounds great! i wasn’t sure if i could find my groove again, after being out of the industry for so long. could you tell me a little more about the photoshoot or the brand it’s for?”

hanta leans forward, propping his chin up on his fist. “slowww down. i haven’t even told you what i want in return for giving you this job, sweetheart.”

you pout, playing along perfectly. you’re selling this nervous, virgin-turned-slut image really well; hanta’s rock hard, though his slacks do a good job of hiding it. he’d rather have you feel it than see it—the thought of your reaction makes his cock twitch against his thigh. what if he touched you in all the right places, spoke everything you’ve ever wanted to hear into your ear? would you fall apart and forget all about the plot of the video and its loose script in favor of him?

“oh. i didn’t know your offer came with strings attached.”

“it’s just apart of the industry,” hanta murmurs, his eyes hooded with barely restrained desire. he’s so open, displaying his emotions on his face; he looks at you like you’re some kind of dessert that he doesn’t want to keep his hands off of. “anyway, what i want is for you to sleep with me.”

part of your true persona shines through in your breathless response, “i . . okay. yeah. yes, i’ll do it. for the, um, photoshoot.”

hanta draws it out, just for the camera. just because he wants your debut video to do well. definitely not because he’s on the verge of creaming his boxers from excitement and arousal. no. never. (he needs to jerk off more often.)

“that easy, huh? you’re a model, not a pornstar.”

“i could be both,” you say, eyes meeting his in a heated glance.

the director calls for a cut and claps his hands, getting to his feet. he’s going back and forth with two members of the camera crew, and you don’t really realize that the camera’s no longer rolling until hanta’s standing in front of you. tall and broad, his body casts a shadow over you.

your eyes drag up from his waist to his face, where a small grin plays on his lips. “that was pretty good, babe. where’d you learn how to act so well? ooh, and that improv.” he playfully wiggles his eyebrows, and it makes you laugh.

“i don’t know. i kinda picked it up over time, y’know? making porn isn’t that different from making movies.”

“gotcha. i gotta hand it to you, you’ve got—”

“places, everyone! we need to get ready for the next shot.” the director unintentionally interrupts him as he tries to get your attention and hanta’s. he turns around to look at the director, his face souring, but you don’t see it.

“couldn’t have waited until i was done talking?” “we’re on a tight timetable today,” the director replies, voice clipped. “places, please. i want both of you on the couch, so we can edit the last scene to fade into this one.”

you stand, and hanta lays back on the couch, propping his head up on the armrest. the rest of his body is stretched out over the cushions in a not-so-silent invitation for you to take a seat. heat rushes to your face, and you smile nervously, glancing at the director.

“should i take off my heels or leave them on?”

“leave them on for now,” hanta purrs, even though your question wasn’t directed at him. the director nods jerkily, likely put off by your co-star’s penchant for making filming decisions. “sit down and we can start rolling again.”

without kicking him, you swing a leg up and over his waist; now that you’re hovering above him, you slowly lower yourself onto his lap. the contact makes your eyes widen—he’s hard enough to cut diamonds, his cock pressing firmly against you through the few layers of clothing between your bodies.

he sort of grimaces, hands flying to your waist. “mind if i adjust you? your heel’s kinda digging into my leg.”

hanta barely lifts you more than an inch. he moves you forward and slowly drags you back, the ‘adjustment’ nothing more than a ruse to get some friction. the director either doesn’t notice, or doesn’t call it out; he gestures toward you instead, using his hands to motion forward and backwards.

“if you could get on all fours, that’d be great. we’re trying to transition the talking scene smoothly so that you’re already in the middle of it by the time it fades out,” your hips lift up and off of hanta’s lap as you position yourself according to the director’s instructions. “yes, that’s great! now all you’ve gotta do is arch your back and keep it that way until he moves you later.”

“sorry if my heels are poking you,” you tilt your head forward to whisper the apology into his ear, cheek brushing against his. 

his voice is breathy when he replies, “you’re good.”

“action!”

there is a split second where you aren’t sure what to do. but hanta’s hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, and he pulls you in for a kiss. it’s a smooth, fluid action, as if it’s been done a thousand times before. the stubble along his upper lip is rough in contrast with the softness of his lips, which slide hungrily against yours.

hanta tests the limits, running his tongue along the seam of your mouth. breathless, you let him in, moaning softly at the new contact. but as he kisses you, tongue moving with yours, it doesn’t take long for him to get greedy. large palms coast along the planes of your lower back before he starts to insistently push you down, his hips jerking up to meet yours.

“fuckkk,” hanta lets out a broken moan and tucks his face into your neck, breathing you in. then, more for you than the camera, he murmurs, “you have no idea what i wanna do to you.”

what does he want to do to you? would he fuck you with reckless abandon and keep going even when he has to hold your limp body up? what if he decided to sit you on his lap, play with your pussy with one hand, and choke you with the other? you want nothing more than to find out.

“show me what those hips can do, sweetheart.”

you’re already panting. you hadn’t quite realized how hot you’d gotten since the camera had started rolling, or how easily he’d stolen your breath away with those slick kisses. you sit back, aligning your pussy with his cock through all of the clothing, steadying yourself with your palms planted on his pecs. the lean muscle is solid beneath your splayed fingers.

“like this?” it’s a half-moan, half-plea for some praise. hanta answers you with a grind of his hips and a drawn-out groan. he likes it. he likes what you’re doing, even if he doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t have to.

one of the camera people quietly steps toward the couch with a hand-held camera to capture different angles for the video. you’d nearly forgotten about the video, having gotten caught up with your co-star and everything you want to do to him. god, if there wasn’t a camera and a job to do, you’d sit on his face and see if his tongue was more than just silver.

“yeah, you got it,” hanta’s eyes squeeze shut against the indomitable arousal coursing through his body, hot and buzzing under his skin like a live wire.

“gonna give me that underwear shoot tomorrow, boss?”

you swear you feel his cock jump at your words, and that excites you. it’s only your first shoot, and you’re already making waves. how much could your reputation and popularity skyrocket if you were to get him to cum without even taking his clothes off? wicked delight floods your chest at the thought, and you bear down, pressing more firmly against him.

his throat bobs, and you can see the cogs in his head turning while he tries to think up a response. it must be difficult to do so when you’re batting your lashes innocently, acting as though you’re not riding him like a pony. 

hanta makes up a response by the skin of his teeth. even though the director is silently pointing at the whiteboard with instructions, his movements frantic, your co-star absolutely refuses to accept the help. is it pride? is it snootiness? is he just trying to keep up with your improv?

you expect him to show off his desperation, but he flips the script by scoffing at you, like you’ve just said something stupid. “if you think just this will get you a job, you’re sorely mistaken. put in some work, girl.”

the friction is almost too much to tolerate—each deliberate, aching drag of fabric against fabric makes your mind all the more hazy. wetness visibly soaks your panties, dampening the material enough for it to slide too much to one side now and again. hanta notices—of course he does—and it only winds him up tighter, gets him feeling more frustrated.

he smirks up at you, pleased by the concentrated pinch of your brows and the feverish expression taking over your face. this is you putting in work, and it is hot as hell.

“better. i’m slightly more convinced, babe. might put you down as a backup if the main gal cancels.”

your clit catches perfectly on the seam of your underwear and your jaw drops, a moan spilling out of your mouth. it’s louder than either of you expect it to be, and now that it’s out, you can’t seem to stop. one turns into two. two turns into three, and then the room is full of noise that you can’t hear. you can’t even hear anything past your own heartbeat as you chase the ultrahot ecstasy coiling in your gut, the pressure of it increasing with each rough pass of your hips.

hanta just watches you, eyes tracing your face like he’s trying to memorize everything. past all of the flushed skin and sweat, there is a sort of reverence buried in his expression. he counts himself lucky to be the very first to see you like this—one could argue that you’re no virgin, and you’ve been in the industry for a couple years, but your experience means nothing. you’re a good actor both in unscripted conversation and on the set; in many of your shiketsu videos, you didn’t look like this. you did a good job of faking orgasms and taking weak dick, and now you’re finally enjoying yourself. only ten minutes in and you’re starting to gasp, mouth running too fast for your brain to keep up.

“oh, oh, i’m gonna cum,” hanta’s hands are still on your erratic hips, and he’s guiding you straight to heaven as you begin to lose your rhythm, “fuck, hanta, i-i’m cumming.”

you probably weren’t supposed to say his name, since he never actually introduced himself in the video. but when you’re saying it like that, who is he to give a damn about the plot of a porn video?

you look gorgeous when the euphoria shatters you, hitting you so hard you fall onto his chest, shuddering as the aftershocks rock your body like little earthquakes. hanta holds you close, and out of the corner of his eye, notices the director’s whiteboard and the black writing scrawled across its surface. 

it reads break?? and all hanta can derisively think is how kind the bastard must be.

there’s a beat of silence. no response from hanta, and you’re still slumped against his chest, trying to regulate your breathing. his hand strokes over your back, fingers slipping under your bra straps; you came all over him—he can feel something wet seeping through the front of his pants—and he barely had to lift a finger. it’s a major ego boost, of course. without saying much, he can tell you’re really interested in him . . good, he’s definitely making number one on your yes list.

“cut!”

the camera stops rolling in the nick of time. it doesn’t catch the way his face darkens, and neither do you. his eyes narrow at the director, but he doesn’t say anything aloud.

with a soft sound, you push yourself up and off of his chest until you’re sitting up straight again. your eyes have glazed over with a noticeable desire for more, but the director steps forward before either of you can do anything off-camera.

“are you both doing okay? i’ve got a few bottles of water if either of you need some.”

“thank you,” with a polite nod and dazed smile, you start to move off of your co-star’s lap. water sounds pretty good right about now, honestly. a sip of cold, right out of the fridge water might just give you another orgasm. 

hanta moves faster than you do, his hands securing you in place. his grip is solid, preventing you from moving any further. “we should finish the scene first.”

not standing far from you, the director eyes hanta and raises a brow. “it’ll take less than two minutes. a quick break would benefit both of you anyway.”

quite literally, you aren’t in much of a position to say anything. the refreshment can wait ten or fifteen minutes, right? it’s better to deal with it later, if it’s this much of an imposition.

hanta’s dark eyes narrow, “water’s not going anywhere, is it?”

the director almost frowns, but he backs off and gets behind the camera again. you watch as he drinks some of his own water, his eyebrows furrowing when the erased whiteboard is handed to him by a member of the camera crew.

“eyes on me, babe,” your co-star draws your attention back to himself with a gentle hand cupping your jaw. when you look at him, his face is devoid of any negativity; his expression is calm and curious, like he didn’t just butt heads with the director of the shoot. still, you find yourself leaning in close, skin prickling when his breath ghosts against the shell of your ear. “you ready for the next scene?”

heat floods your cheeks. are you ready for the next scene? you swallow, nodding. “yes. yeah, i’m ready. i’ve been ready.”

“action!”

you take the lead, and hanta follows suit. he grinds you down on the bulge straining through his clothes while your hands waste no time slipping under his shirt and hiking it up. the only time either of you pause is when he sits up to pull his shirt off of his head; it goes smoothly, giving you a great view of his upper body. 

lean musculature defines his entire torso. his chest looks like something you could take a bite out of, and his waist—god, his waist—is slender, shaped on either side with the sharp curves of a v-line. a dark smattering of hair trails along his lower abdomen and descends past the waistband of his pants. you’d be lying if you said your mouth wasn’t feeling particularly empty at the sight; he notices the hunger in the way that you’re looking at him and he chuckles, lips curving up in a half smile.

“like what you see, huh?”

you make quick work of his belt before hooking your fingers into his waistband and dragging his pants down his thighs. “shouldn’t i be asking you that?” you mutter in reply, buzzing with impatience. finally, his god damn boxers are off. you yank them right off his ankles and toss them to the floor, glad to be rid of them. 

hanta’s cock nearly looks as good as it felt. thick, long, and curving to his left, it looks like quite the mouthful. you’re staring at it with this bright look in your eyes, and he swells with pride. yes, he knows he has a great dick, but this just inflates him even more. but then, almost apprehensively, your hand wraps around the base of his cock, and he sits up straighter.

“i wanna – uh, is it okay if i just give it a try?”

it strokes his ego, literally. 

hanta nods, fighting back the instinct to push your head down. he really shouldn’t be this damn excited. it’s just a blowjob, something that he’s had plenty of during his time at UA studios. he’ll split his focus, so that he’s outwardly paying attention to you while he inwardly names cities in japan so that he doesn’t cum too quickly.

you’re nervous, at first. silky soft and pretty pink, your tongue experimentally laps at the head of his cock. his precum tastes salty, and the faintest tinge of smoke makes its way to your tastebuds before the flavor dissipates entirely. 

one of the crew members silently steps closer, holding onto a large camera. he tilts it in a way that gets the premier angles of this slow, unhurried act of sin. hanta drags in a breath when you wrap your lips around the tip and lightly suck before sliding further toward the base, little by little. the grip of your hand loosens as you take in more of him, letting his cock fill up your mouth.

sendai.

his palm cups the crown of your head, fingers making their way into your hair and curling tightly. you’ve begun bobbing along his cock, almost clumsy as you try to develop a rhythm that works for you. firmly, you start to stroke the lower half of his cock, compensating for the inches you can’t quite fit into your mouth.

yokohama.

thin and permeable, the fabric of your panties is completely soaked through. since you’re on all fours with your ass up as you suck him off, it’s safe to assume that the person holding the camera is zooming in on the wet spot between your thighs. hanta’s heavy on your tongue and sliding even deeper with each movement of your head; tears of both strain and delight gather in your eyes. 

nagoya.

hanta may be struggling. he might be finding it very difficult not to tremble against the sheer glory of your mouth, and the city counting method might actually be failing him. if you were to just sit up and ask him what city UA studios is located in, it’d take a minute for the answer to load in his brain. the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, making you gag; everything tightens deliciously around him, and he lets out a moan, fingers winding tighter in your hair.

osaka.

you’re struggling to breathe as the pace increases, growing a little sloppy. each stroke is fast and filthy, better than it has any right to be. you glance up, looking past the tears gathered on your lashes, to see his head tossed back over the armrest while he chews on his lip. the sight of him is a reward and motivation to push yourself a little harder—he doesn’t look that far off from letting out a whine or two. a particularly breathy moan spills out of him before he can muffle it with the back of his free hand, and the sound goes straight to your clit, making you moan in response.

toky—oh.

something salty gathers faintly in the back of your throat, and hanta drags you away, willing his eyes not to roll back when your front teeth graze along the length of his too-sensitive cock. he yanks you off of him with a sticky pop and his eyes meet yours. it’s a clash of lips and teeth and whatever in between when he pulls you into a kiss, releasing the tight grip he’d had on your hair.

you had him on the ropes there.

nobody gets him that close with just their mouth.

fuck, he’s really gotta start jerking off more. or film more scenes with you—but he doesn’t think he could ever get used to that mouth of yours.

operating based off of the director’s hand motions, the guy with the camera steps back to film from a different angle. hanta’s sitting up now, his eyes closed as he pulls you against him, all without breaking the kiss. breathing is close to impossible now, but it doesn’t matter in the slightest when he’s pulling your panties off you.

well, almost.

it’s more difficult than it should be to divest you of your panties, and hanta’s not in the mood to stop so you can properly slide them down your legs. so, he tugs until the fabric gives with an agonized rip, and then tears them right off you. because your bra is easier to work with, it doesn’t meet the same fate; your fingers bump into his as you hustle to get it off.

“god, fuck,” hanta lets out a sigh once you’re finally just as naked as him. his hand finds its way to your bare chest, where he lightly squeezes you. not enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. “tits like yours are my favorite, sweetheart. can’t wait to see ‘em when you’re modelling.”

he sees the confusion pass over your face. “just fuck me,” you say, hips swinging toward his cock. part of him wants to make some stupid quip about the whole modelling script, but it’s time for him to do what he intended to do since the very moment he saw the news about shiketsu studios’ shutdown.

with a short and out of breath laugh, hanta lifts you up. this time, he moves you, turning you around so that your back is facing him. instead of being face to face with your attractive co-star, you’re now looking at the director, who’s quietly doodling on the whiteboard to give you at least a shred of privacy. also, the camera is positioned directly in front of you and capturing your every movement, along with the hand-held being moved around the room for closeups.

“lift your hips, baby. i want you on your knees for a sec,” hanta’s voice is in your ear, guiding you in the right direction. your bare pussy sideswipes his cock on the way up, and the anticipation bubbles up in your chest like carbonation in a shaken soda can. there was so much foreplay, so much buildup, that every second now feels like it’s dragging past much slower than it actually is.

his hand is wrapped around his spit-slick cock, keeping it straight and steady for you. he doesn’t even have to say anything and you’re already sinking down, arching your back as his cock slides into you. it’s a tight fit and an even tighter stretch—each inch punches a gasp out of your lungs and leaves you breathless, shaking against him.

“mhm, y-you got it,” hanta tries his best to keep the stutter out of his voice and fails, but you’re too caught up to notice. for some reason, you’re torturing yourself by sitting down as slowly as you are. he supposes it’s something to be thankful for, though. if you were to just drop yourself down on him when he’s still not over the sensitivity from your mouth, he might end up cumming and ruining the entire scene. but would it really be a bad thing if he had to re-shoot this with you?

maybe there’s a wire or two crossed in your brain, because you start pulling up. yes, up, and away from his cock. he thinks you’re going to pull off when you barely have the tip left inside you, but then you do the very opposite—you sit back, dropping yourself all the way down.

“holy shit,” hanta half exclaims, half groans. he wraps an arm around your middle and feels your heart pounding out of your chest as you struggle for breath. incoherent mumbles and whines slip out of your mouth, nothing that he can understand, but he just presses a kiss to the nape of your neck and looks to his left, then right. he reaches for your now tattered panties and offers them up to your mouth. he’s planning to make you scream, and this might prevent your sounds from being picked up as background noise on the videos of anyone that may be filming nearby.

you bite down on the panties, hips twisting impatiently on his cock. he’s both filling you up and stretching you out, but neither sensation is enough. you won’t be satisfied until he fucks you so hard you forget this is being filmed.

hanta’s hands come up under your thighs, and he holds you firmly, slightly pushing you up. the muscles in his arms pull taut, stretching with the effort, and he looks good. slick with sweat and flushed all the way down to his chest, with the cherry on top being that divine look on his face when he’s really enjoying himself.

you want to see him so badly. you almost want to call cut so someone can move a mirror in front of you, but you’d be lost in your own world and fucking by the time they came back with it.

“keep looking into the lens, babe. i want all of this on camera, and i’m pretty sure you will too.”

low and quiet, his words make their way to your ears. what he’s saying isn’t loud enough for the microphones to pick up, but it’s clear that something’s going on, with the way you nod feverishly in response.

it isn’t slow, and it isn’t controlled.

with about as much grace as that of a wild animal ready to mate, sero hanta begins fucking up into you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to have you. his cock bullies itself deep against your cervix and stretches out your cunt in a way that renders you speechless. a graceless sob tears out of your throat, just barely muffled by your wet panties, and it only inspires him to go beyond.

clap, clap, clap.

your ass is bouncing off of him with each and every vigorous thrust. because you’re facing forward, you have no choice but to look into the camera as he fucks away any coherent thought you could possibly have. embarrassment over having sex in a room with people you don’t know watching and filming you? gone. nervousness about your raunchy debut at UA studios? nowhere to be found. all of it vanishes into thin air, until the only thing left in your empty head is the echo of his name trembling on your tongue.

stars shoot across your vision, glowing and golden as he fucks you into oblivion. hanta’s panting, his ragged breaths hot and balmy against your back. his heart is pounding out of his chest like he’s running on the treadmill at the gym, but he grits his teeth against the exhaustion setting in and shifts his hips.

“oh, shit,” your mouth falls open in a sob, back arching hard in his grasp, and he smiles. “right there—oh my god, d-don’t you dare stop.”

“looks like i found it, huh?” the cockiness makes its way through his voice, and if you weren’t falling apart right now, you’d roll your eyes before retorting something back.

wetness pours from your soaked cunt and makes the slide of skin against skin all the more filthy. there’s enough to dampen the couch, but neither of you can bring yourselves to care about it. thick and curved, his cock is lodged in all of the places you could possibly want it; each nudge of the tip against your cervix is controlled, just barely, but you can feel the strain of restraint behind it.

god, just the thought of him destroying you this much while also still holding back is enough to push the tears over your lashline. they run down your cheeks in crystalline trails, and you must be audibly crying now, because hanta chokes out a groan, tipping his forehead against your shoulder.

“i’m gonna—fuck, i can’t, i’m so close,” your head is falling back, teeth clenching around the ruined panties, and impending euphoria surges through you like a cresting wave. at this point, teetering on the very precipice of something big, you’ve stopped making sense. hanta can almost make out what you’re babbling through the panties; each word is broken and choked thanks to the change in his rhythm. instead of holding you up and fucking into you that way, he’s decided to drive his hips up and pull you down onto his cock; each thrust hits much harder than it did before. “p-please, hanta, you’re gonna make me cum—!”

that’s right. 

he’s going to make you cum, and he’s going to make you cum hard.

he yanks the panties out of your mouth and drops his hand from your chest. hot with intent and moving quickly, his fingers make their way down toward your clit, where he begins to rub it. twisting and arching—a little like you’re possessed—you gasp as it all starts to become too much.

“go ahead, sweetheart,” hanta murmurs into your ear, no longer caring if it’s picked up on the video or not, “tell them. tell everyone that’ll see this who’s fucking you this good.”

your breath escapes you when you sob out his name again.

teeth sink into the slope of your shoulder, but you’re too lost to feel the sting. this time, when he speaks, his voice is husky with conviction and acidic desire. “i want to hear you cum all over me, okay? ugh, fuck, if this wasn’t your first goddamn shoot, i’d—”

you cum all over him with a noisy keen of his name, and it’s the only thing on your tongue as you ride it out, slumping back against his chest. he follows shortly afterwards, spilling hot and thick inside your pussy. 

hanta wishes he could just lay here with you on him, but his eyes open and he ends up looking straight into the camera. standing behind it is the director, holding up the whiteboard and some directions that he couldn’t care less about. instead, he presses a kiss to your temple, almost smiling at the way your body twitches in response.

he has definitely made number one on your yes list. 

good. he hasn’t gotten his fill of you yet.

hanta smirks as his eyes run over your exhausted, spent body. then, he looks into the camera, holding you close and spreading your thighs to showcase the mess between them. 

“looks like someone’s officially secured her first photoshoot.”

[hot-patootiee]

All fluff, omg so much tooth rotting fluff. You will get cavities from reading.

On A03

Their relationship was tentative at best.

Eddie had made out with a bruised Steve Harrington after he and Billy got into a fight. Eddie had looked at his lips for a second too long to be fully heterosexual and BAM! Kissing. (No Eddie wouldn’t tell him this was his first kiss.)

The details Eddie got were hazy at best, but Steve’s concussion could be the cause of the vague details.

It’s not like they were necessarily close. Emotionally, not physically.

Eddie sometimes worried that Steve’s queerness was something that would soon be blamed on the concussion.

But faithfully, every day, Eddie received a scrap of paper with either the location of a bathroom or empty classroom.

He’d go there, mildly expecting being jumped for being queer, but instead Steve would jump out at him and press him against the closest wall. He’d pull up on the underside of Eddie’s thighs and sometimes sit him on the sinks or the empty desks.

Eddie almost felt like Steve’s girlfriend. He had heard whispers about how he’d meet women in bathrooms for a little midday makeout session.

They obviously couldn’t be seen in public, but in their private spaces, Steve would nose along Eddie’s neck. Breathing him in and tasting him like it was all he wanted.

It was enough to give a guy mixed signals.

Steve was like king jock (not anymore, but still) guys like that didn’t engage in actual meaningful homosexual affairs.

It wasn’t until Eddie was given a time and date, accompanied by the location Skull Rock.

He was again suspicious, like any queer in a small town.

He nearly shat himself when he was tackled by a laughing Steve Harrington. They rolled over a few times on the leafy ground. Eddie’s panic rapidly faded into awkward laughter as he noticed there was nobody else.

“Heya Teddie!” Steve laughed out, a distinct tinge to his voice as he tried out the new nickname on his tongue.

“Heya Stevie!” Eddie mocked, finally laughing in earnest.

“Sorry we can’t meet in public. Kinda kills me that I can’t show you off.” Steve was nosing along Eddie’s neck, seeming most at home tucked as closely to Eddie as possible.

“Yea.” Eddie replied in a stringy tone, suddenly breathless at the implication of Steve’s words.

“I got this ready for us instead.” Steve gestured towards skull rock, but Eddie couldn’t see it yet. He had to wait until Steve was done peppering kisses up the side of Eddie’s face. Eddie’s face scrunched, a little ticklish at Steve’s quick kisses.

When Steve pulled away, Eddie was released of Steve’s weight, allowing him to look at what Steve had previously been gesturing to.

And oh my goodness.

What sat at the base of skull rock was a picnic. There was a plaid patterned blanket, little throw pillows, fucking candles, and a goddamn rose in a little vase.

So maybe Eddie had missed a few obvious signals that he and Steve were dating. But holy shit, even in his best dreams it was some guy in a dingy bar or an alley. He had never even allowed himself to imagine being dated.

It was a strange and new idea that Eddie found himself quickly falling in love with.

“Thought four months was long enough without an actual date.” Steve laughed self consciously, evidently nervous at his mistake.

“Nah, it’s no problem.” Eddie shrugs, unable to tear his eyes away from the FUCKING PICNIC BASKET.

Steve pulls Eddie up off the ground and guides him over to sit on a little strawberry printed throw pillow. It’s so goddamn sickly sweet that Eddie feels warmth pulse in his chest. His face was hot and red as he got a closer look at the setup.

There were little sandwiches, cut into precise triangles. They didn’t even look store bought!

He could see a little thermos and strawberries peeking out of the basket.

Instead of wine or any sort of booze, there was a large pitcher filled with apple juice.

Steve finally sat himself down too, right next to Eddie, letting their thighs press together.

Steve pulled the food from the basket. Unloaded carefully cut apple slices and grapes.

“Seedless.” Steve clarified. Eddie was suddenly struck with how closely Steve had been paying attention to him. His childish preference for seedless being carried with a sort of intimacy he wasn’t used to.

Eddie couldn’t help it. He kissed Steve, who was in the middle of still unloading the basket. The thermos he was holding clattered to the ground as Steve quickly hiked his leg over Eddie’s and pushed Eddie down onto the blanket.

A sudden snap interrupted the moment, making Eddie tense. But Steve just stroked his cheekbone gently.

“It’s okay!” Steve comforted, before kissing Eddie again.

Steve’s refusal to pull away struck Eddie like a knife. His chest felt so tender, like his heart was visible and the gravity of such a small gesture sunk into his bones.

Even when they stopped kissing, Eddie couldn’t bring himself to let go of Steve. He met Eddie’s inability to let go with a laugh and pulled him up with him, leaning back slightly to extract the small sandwiches.

Steve turned back and Eddie’s eyes were full of tears.

“What’s wrong?” Steve probed, but Eddie couldn’t speak. He choked, unable to talk as tears began to carve rivers down his cheeks.

Eddie was crying, and his chest was heaving without his consent as he buried his face in Steve’s shoulder.

Half formed words choked out from Eddie’s throat. Each emerging wet and unrecognizable from their original intent. In the absence of words, Eddie shook his head, hard, attempting to indicate that there was nothing wrong.

“Are you okay?” Steve questioned, his hands coming back to Eddie’s face and trying to wipe away his tears. His calloused hands rubbed over Eddie’s cheeks gently. It was an awkward angle as Eddie’s face was still half buried in the side of Steve’s neck.

Eddie couldn’t help, but cry harder. He had never dreamed of feeling so revered and cared for that all the warmth was bubbling up from his chest and spilling out of him.

Eddie is nodding through the tears, but Steve still doesn’t seem fully convinced. He just rubs Eddie’s back as his crying putters out.

“ ‘m sorry. It’s just really nice.” Eddie finally manages to choke out. “Never thought I’d get this.”

And Steve’s heart just breaks a little at his words. He was just dating Eddie how he’d date anyone else. Concocting intimate dates to really get to know someone. Stolen moments during the day when scheduling won’t allow contact.

Steve hadn’t known that just because Eddie was a man, it’d be different.

He’d tried to make this date a little extra special to make up for his inability to take Eddie to a diner or movie theater. But he didn’t expect this response.

When they trade kisses during the date, it still mildly tastes like salt. As they eat, it changes, the salt gives way to strawberry and chocolate.

.❤️❤️❤️.

I swear even completely out people still flinch away when someone comes in the room. Like holy shit, you are a lesbian and everyone knows, why tf do we have to jump away from each other when someone comes near.

[mrsimpurity]

kiss the cook! - satoru gojo

pairing: satoru gojo x fem!reader

cw: smut (mdni), established relationship, birthdays and presents, unprotected p in v, kissing, fluff

it’s a perpetual battle.

every single year, he overdoes himself. it’s present after present and you can’t compete.

satoru gojo is the king of birthday presents.

the anticipation which used to precede your birthday had now turned into annoyance.

satoru gojo is generous to a fault. it’s no secret that his debit card has no limit when it comes to you. it’s definitely not something that you had complained about.

that was of course, before he started battling with you.

it was hard for you to come up with an idea for a birthday gift to start with. what was this man not in possession of?

on the very first birthday of his since you two started dating, you decided to be sentimental.

you had meticulously planned out the gift, spending pretty much all of your savings on executing the whole thing.

for around two months, you had managed to capture photos of satoru in various endearing, yet simple moments - while he was sleeping, cooking for you, brushing his teeth. you had purchased a polaroid camera for him in advance and placed the gift inside an adorable box, together with the photos which you had taken of your boyfriend.

his reaction could be mistaken for the one a person would have if they had just been gifted a brand new audi.

the expression on his face and the tears of joy he shed were priceless and you were convinced that you were a genius for coming up with this gift.

that was, of course, before your birthday came around.

“sweetheart, i have something to show you.”

you sat down on the couch after an exhausting birthday dinner, settling down in satoru’s lap as you noticed him turning on the tv.

during the day, he had already spoiled you with various kinds of jewelry and clothes, so you really weren’t expecting anything from him other than a movie to end the night.

needless to say, you were left dumbfounded.

during the thirty minutes in which the short movie was running, you were trying to think of the words you could possibly utter in response to what your boyfriend had done.

this man had found your secret journal and contacted sofia coppola to direct a movie based on a short fiction you had concocted on a random thursday.

“there’s actually no way you did this.” 

all satoru could do was display his proud grin as he watched you sit in shock and try to comprehend the lengths he had gone to just to make this happen.

…

three years later, you had practically given up. it was impossible for satoru not to outshine you, so you had simply stopped thinking of expensive presents to give him, rather opting for small and meaningful things, sometimes books, even.

so for this year’s birthday, like the genius you are, you decided to gift him a “kiss the cook” apron. it was an adorable idea, not just because satoru loved to cook (and was truly an amazing chef with an insane sweet tooth) but because you had gotten a matching one for yourself with a text in the same font - “the cook’s helper”.

the aprons were customised and quite expensive, but it was all worth it when you saw satoru’s eyes lighten up at just how sweet your idea was.

when your birthday came along, you were left quite surprised. being with satoru had undoubtedly left you quite spoiled (in many ways).

that’s why when the evening rolled around, you were confused at why you still hadn’t gotten your present. 

“hey, i’m back!” satoru interrupted your thoughts, walking through the door after claiming he had forgotten something in the car.

“hey.” the tone of your reply was obviously sad and your gloomy expression only made your boyfriend curse himself for waiting the entire day to gift you this.

“thought i’d forgotten, huh?” he teased, handing you a simple black box with a red bow.

you were intrigued and hurried to open your gift as satoru plopped down on the couch beside you, eager to witness your reaction.

“bang the cook”

it was safe to say that you were speechless. the vulgar writing on your customised gift was not even remotely close in sweetness to the one on the apron you had gifted satoru.

“are you fucking kidding me?” you turned to face your boyfriend.

it was hard to keep your cool when he was trying his best not to burst at the seams with laughter.

you weren’t ungrateful, truly. to anyone else, it might have seemed like you were expecting another pair of keys to a brand new rs7, a dress embroidered with swarovski or a trip to monaco, but the two of you knew that you were just plain mad at how idiotic his choice of gift was.

“you expect me to wear this around the house? it sounds like i’m a cheap whore. or like i work at hooters both as a server and as a chef.”

satoru loved how adorable you looked when you were angry. that was the sole reason he had gifted you this - the need to see your furrowed eyebrows and your clenched fists.

and your adorable fussy pout which he fucked off your face the following morning.

“there. is this how you want me?” you were naked, save for the amazingly stupid apron from last night. 

“bang the cook” was splayed right across your tits and your little act of defiance was all your boyfriend needed to quite literally sweep you off your feet and sit you on the kitchen counter, lips smashing against yours. his tongue entered your mouth with fervour, nothing short of rough and possessive.

you moaned against his mouth involuntarily, not really trying your best to fight him off but biting his lip just to show him that you’re still pissed.

the action makes him chuckle, only riling him up even more. his hands are on his belt quick and in just a moment, your apron is lifted up, your wet cunt on display as satoru wastes no time in slowly sinking his cock inside you.

it’s never easy, taking him. he’s big, always needing to coo at you, calm you, run his fingers down your sides as he slowly inches his cock inside.

his mouth is hot at your neck, at your jaw, on your mouth, swallowing your sweet whines as his thumb rubs at your clit, helping ease the pain of the sheer stretch.

”there we go, baby. thaaat’s my girl.“ satoru says as he bottoms out, starting his pace with shallow thrusts.

the bounce of your breasts is addicting to him and so are your nails which are scratching the entirety of his back and marking territory.

“wanted to be fussy all night.. this is what you get.” he hisses out, picking you up with a strong hold on your thighs as his thrusts speed up. 

his cock is so deep inside, you can feel him in your tummy as your legs wrap around him, only pulling him closer.

satoru thrusts up into you like he’s never been hungrier for more, hands holding you up tightly, undoubtedly leaving a mark.

your moans are delicious and they only make him go harder as your orgasm approaches. 

“can feel you getting close, baby.” satoru barely groans out as your pussy flutters around him, gripping him like a vice.

your orgasm suddenly crashes over you and you close your eyes, relishing in the way the tip of his cock rubs up against that sweet spot inside of you.

“so fucking tight.” your boyfriend says as your walls clench around him, pussy still fluttering from the aftershocks of your release.

he cums not long after, filling up your sweet cunt as he spills inside you and slowly places you back down on the counter, peppering kisses on every inch of bare skin he can get his lips on.

satoru pulls out spreads your lips apart, watching his cum leak out of you as you let out a soft whine at the intrusion, still sensitive.

only when he sees you’re stuffed full of his seed does he pull your apron down and fix it up for you, pressing one last kiss on your lips, softer and gentler.

“happy belated birthday, baby.” satoru says as he reaches inside the pocket of your apron, pulling out an 18-carat bulgari engagement ring.

“will you marry me? and let me bang the cook for the rest of our lives?”

“you fucking asshole.” you murmur with a small smile, spent, arms wrapping around him and head sinking down in the crook of his neck in defeat. 

“yes, satoru. i will.”

and even though his birthday was a month ago, he feels that this was the best gift you could have possibly given him.

[firelilyfox]

Summer Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Summary: You and Bucky got invited to stay for a weekend with Sam and his family. When the two of you get some alone time on the boat, the summer heat brings out some confessions and butterflies.

Warnings: just very much fluff and a heart-eyed Bucky

Wordcount: 1k~ish

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„You know what is a great movie?“ Sam asked. „Jurassic Park.“ 

His nephews nodding heavily and their eyes were wide with excitement. Jumping up from the couch and started pretending to roar like dinosaurs. 

Their mother Sarah cringed. „You can’t be serious. That’s not a movie a grown man should choose as his favorite.“ 

„I never said it was my favorite. I said it is a great movie“, Sam replied. 

„And what is your favorite movie?“ You asked him. 

Sam hesitated. A crooked smile crossed his face. „Jurassic World.“ 

Let the bickering begin. Sam and Sarah started to argue about movies and the two young boys continued to play fight as dinosaurs. 

Just Bucky stayed quiet. He had a peaceful smirk on his lips, watching his found family laughing and talking about giant lizards. You and Bucky were dating for a couple of weeks now and it was the first time he introduced you to one of his best friends. Well, Bucky would never admit that him and Sam were close friends - only coworkers - but you knew him better. He truly cared about these people. 

And he truly cared about you. 

„We should get outside. The heat seems to cook your brain, or what is left of it.“ Sarah jokes. 

„Very funny. But actually I wanted to suggest the same. The boat still needs some cleaning and I really have to get some things done in the city.“ 

„Well I don’t have time for the boat. Me and the boys have an appointment with their dentist.“ Sarah said frowning. 

That’s when you quickly exchanged a look with Bucky. He shrugged in approval. „We could do the cleaning.“ 

Sam looked at his absolutely-not-bestfriend. „Nah, we can’t expect you to do that. You two are our guests and on vacation!“ 

„Ah it will be fun.“ Bucky replied while walking over to you. His hands landed on your hips, gently tugging you in a hug from behind. You sunk into his arms, leaning against his strong chest and let your body relax a bit. 

Sam raised a eyebrow. „Yeah fun … remember to not make the boat dirtier as it is now. Or at least clean it up after you’re done.“ 

A pillow hit him on the back of his head, followed with a meaningful look from his sister with raised eyebrows.

You didn’t mind the joke. Because the only thing that was on your mind, was the way Bucky was holding you. His arms wrapped around your frame, his hands pressed against your stomach, while his thumb drawing little circles. The way he brushes a soft kiss on your temple. 

The ease you felt made you look forward to spend the rest of the day with Bucky. Even if you have to clean a boat. And oh lord there was much to do. You two spend the entire day and evening with polishing the walls and scrub the floor. 

The heat was merciless but had some good features that came with it. Because it didn’t took long until Bucky got rid of his longsleeve, leaving him with a simple black T-Shirt. It was hard not to look at him. Risking a glance every other minute, admiring his frame and his strength. Bucky noticed how you reacted and smirked every time he caught you looking at him for a bit too long. 

When the sun was setting and the air cooled off a little, the docks slowly went silent. Just some fisherman getting the last things done, before returning to their homes. Gentle waves rocked the boat in a peaceful rhythm. 

„Did anyone ever tell you that you look beautiful in the moonlight, love?“ Bucky sat down beside you on the wooden bench, that was directed at the ocean. 

You chuckle. „I doubt that someone other than you would say something so old school and so romantic.“ 

His blue eyes crinkled at the outer corners, as a smitten smile parted his lips. „I’ve heard being old school is a good thing.“ 

„It is indeed a good thing.“ You raise your hand to cup his cheek. His stubbled chin felt rough under your fingertips and you felt him lean into your touch. 

His eyes close for a second as he took a deep breath, like he wanted to suck up every ounce of you scent. Of the sizzling feeling on his skin under your touch. When he opened his eyes again, the blue shone like the sea itself. Making your heart skip a beat. He was just so beautiful. 

„You have no idea what you do to me“, Bucky mumbled looking at your lips. „The only thing that I can think about all day and all night, is you.“ 

Your throat tightened. And that treacherous eyes of yours started to tear up a little. 

„You are just too perfect to be true.“ Bucky cupped your face with his palms, his fingers gently touching the soft skin beneath your ear. „And I know you want to protest against that … I can see it in your eyes“, he chuckles softly. 

He caught you red handed. You’re closing your mouth again, the protest of not being perfect in any way dying on your lips. 

„You are perfect to me.“ Bucky adds. His eyes darting to your lips again and back up to keep your gaze. „I think I'm in love with you, doll.“ 

A soft gasp broke out of your throat, as Bucky pulled you into a kiss. His lips touching yours with softness and desperation, mixed with passion and … love. He admired you with his mouth and his hands. 

You melted into his touch, desperate to getting closer. „I love you too, Bucky.“ You whispered between two kisses. 

Suddenly you lost contact from the bench beneath you and find yourself sitting on his lap. Each leg on one side beside his. Bucky holding you with care, like something more than precious. His fingers stretched on your back, digging into your skin, just a little bit to show you how much he desires you. The way your hands get lost in his hair made him groan. You tugged it slightly, just to mess with him. 

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Thanks for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙 (but please don’t copy my work)

Bucky Barnes Masterlist 🦾

[cheriladycl01]

Down Under - Daniel Riccardo x Reader SMUT

Plot: Daniel had always dreamed of the day seeing his wife in a pretty wedding dress, but not for the reasons most would think.

Warnings: eating out, oral (fem receiving), 18+ minors dni

Here you were walking down the isle in your large white wedding dress looking down where your husband stood with his best man and fellow groomsmen. He hadn't noticed you yet where he was talking to his best man Lando. Max, one of his groomsmen nudged him, shurgging his head over to you. His eyes met yours just as the music started playing for you to walk down the isle too.

Tears brim his eyes, he'd always seen you as the most beautiful girl in the world, but today you were etheral and he wanted to burn this image of you into his mind and keep it there forever.

You make your way down the isle, holding your dad's arm who also has tears in his eyes. All thats on your face is a huge grin, excited to be Mrs Ricciardo after this. You loved Daniel with all your heart and being able to share a last name with him was special to you.

"You're the only man i trust with her Daniel, i hope you know that. Look after my baby" you father says, before placing a kiss on the side of your head. Daniel smiles at your father a solid not to him.

"Always sir" Daniel says, before glancing over you seeing just how magnetic you looked up close.

You guys shared your vows, you had both done very meaningful vows for your actual wedding that you'd more than likely repreat in 10 years, then 20 and 30. You would save the laughter for at the after party where the maid of honor and best man, and some family members would to also say some words for the pair of you.

"You may now kiss the bride" the officiator says and you shake your head.

"Nope, i may now kiss the groom!" you grin and cup Daniels face pulling him down and in for a kiss. It's lasts for a while until you feel Daniel's grin widen.

"Nope, i'll listen to him" Daniel grins, pulling away and dipping you into the typical bride kiss. Your both giggling against one another as you do, the crowd below cheering and whooping.

"Come with me" he whispers in your ear, gripping your hand.

"Alright folks, if you all head into the barn i'm going to get Mrs Riccardo into something a little more ... breathable and then we'll see you out for the after party!" he grins, before taking your hand and walking you away. Everyone starts to leave while Daniel walks you into the chalet you guys had rented.

Before you know it, the minute you guys get into the home you were hoisted up onto the nearest counter, your large puffy dress bunching up around your hips. Your in fits of giggles as Daniel tries to work out how to step in between your legs but is sort of restricted.

"Daniel what are you doing!" you laugh looking at him.

"Need you so bad, wanna fuck you for the first time as my wife" he grins with that cheeky look in his eyes.

"What?" you burst out laughing.

"Please, need you" he groand trying to bunch up your dress around you.

"We dont have time!" you laugh, holding him at bay by his chest.

"Just, just a quick little taste. I'll be so quick" he says, sliding his hands down before getting on his knees.

"Daniel!" you gasp at the crudeness. But before you know it he's under all layers of your dress, teasing a finger up your thigh touching the garter of your white lingerie. He plays with the fabric before flicking it against your skin making you gasp. You feel his nose, and the bump run up along the silk covering you.

"Danny" you gasp, moving your hips forward and wrapping your legs around him, resting them on his back and shoulders.

He doesn't say a word, not that you'd hear it muffled under the ruffles and multiple layers of your dress, but you feel your panties pulled to the side and his wet tongue tease you.

His nose gives the perfect amount of pressure on your clit a moan coming from you. You would normally have a hand pulling at the curls of the hair, but with no access to it they gripped the edge of the counter.

"Oh fuck, please" you moan feeling the way he's moving against you stimulating every place that possibly needs it. You can feel his nose pressing agaisnt you. Your hips jut against his face and your can finally hear some slurps that he's making as you rock agaisnt his face.

You feel the coil build in your stomach as Daniel's licks are relentless against you.

"Omg please please please" you cry out your knuckles white from the grip on the table. Daniel's finger enters, his tounge moving to play with your clit, gasps coming from you and your head drops back.

He reaches a certain part of your spongey walls that makes your lurch forward grabbing his head through your dress with as gasp as your legs tighten round his head and start to shake.

"Omg" you gasp as he helps you through your orgasm. He ruffles up, finding his way out of the big puffy dress and the sight before you once his head pops up is one you would be happy getting all to familiar with.

He was there, your juices covering his chin and his curls messier, face flushed red from the heat.

"Been waiting to do that for years" he sighs, leaning his head against your thigh.

"Years? You've been dreaming of marrying me for years for the sole purpose of what? Eating me out in my wedding dress?" you laugh out loud looking down at him.

"Right, lets get you out this dress now" he says, avoiding the question while helping you up despite the wobbly legs and heels combo that isnt helping. You couldn't help but giggle as he carries you up the stairs to the master bedroom where your body-con white dress was laid out by your maid of honor.

Daniel helps you take off the dress and just looks at you in your underwear.

"Gods, i cant believe this is what i get to see for the rest of my life" he says, running his hands along your waist. He helps you get into the dress despite his wish to ravish you on the bed behind the pair of you, but knows that people are waiting to celebrate the newly weds.

"Every day" you grin holding the side of his face before he pulls you into a kiss.

"I love you"

"I love you too"

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[asterafroditis]

𐔌 . ⋮ be my valentine? ♡ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Third Years x gn! reader

𓏵 1026 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff, a bit ooc(?)

First Years are done! Second Years are done, too! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

I think Cater would act like Valentine’s Day is just another excuse to flood Magicam with cute posts and aesthetic gifts. He’d play it off like it’s all for the fun of it, saying things like “Gotta keep up with the trends, y’know?” But deep down, he actually cares a lot about making the moment special for you.

His gift would be trendy and well-presented, maybe something sweet with a cute aesthetic, but if you look closer, there’s an extra personal touch—something that shows he actually put thought into your tastes. If you bring it up, he’ll wave it off with a playful grin, but there’s a rare moment of sincerity in his eyes.

"Aww, you really think so? Heh, well, I guess I did put a little extra effort into this one. Don’t get used to it, though! You’re just lucky I’m such a generous guy—ahaha!"

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I think Trey wouldn’t make a big fuss about Valentine’s Day, but he’d definitely prepare something nice for you. He’s the type to keep things warm and genuine—no flashy gestures, just something that shows he cares.

His gift would probably be a homemade treat, something classic and comforting. He’d hand it to you with an easygoing smile, acting like it’s nothing special. But if you compliment his effort or say it means a lot to you, you might catch the faintest dusting of pink on his cheeks before he clears his throat and chuckles.

"Glad you like it. Don’t go expecting fancy things from me, though—this is just how I show appreciation. Besides, sweets always taste better when they’re shared, right?"

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I think Leona would act like he couldn’t care less about Valentine’s Day. He’d scoff at the idea, calling it a “pointless holiday for lovesick herbivores.” But despite all his complaining, he still finds a way to acknowledge it—just in his own Leona way.

His version of a gift is low-effort on the surface, like tossing a small trinket or snack your way and mumbling, “Here. Don’t ask questions.” But it’s too perfect to be a coincidence—it’s exactly what you wanted or needed. And if you press him about it, he’ll groan, pretending to be annoyed, but his tail flicks behind him in amusement.

"Tch. You’re overthinking it. Just take it and don’t make a big deal out of it… Hah? Smirking at me like that—what, you want me to spell it out for you? Keep dreaming, herbivore."

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I think Vil would treat Valentine’s Day as a day of refined elegance. He’s not interested in cheap, over-commercialized romance, but he does believe in meaningful gestures done correctly. If he gives you a gift, it’s going to be high-quality, well-thought-out, and suited perfectly to your tastes.

He presents it to you with effortless grace, watching your reaction with quiet satisfaction. If you gush over it or tell him he’s being too generous, he’ll smirk and tilt his chin up, as if to say “Well, of course.” But there’s something softer in his gaze, something unspoken yet sincere.

"Naturally, only the best will do. Did you really think I’d give you anything less? Hmph. It would be embarrassing if my significant other had poor taste, after all."

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I think Rook would treat Valentine’s Day like a grand performance. He wouldn’t just give you a gift—he’d turn the entire experience into something poetic, dramatic, and entirely him. You’d probably receive a beautifully wrapped present along with a handwritten letter overflowing with romantic prose.

His excitement is impossible to contain, and if you get flustered, he only leans in closer, drinking in your reaction with an adoring smile. There’s no need to question how much he cares—he makes it very clear.

"Ah! The look of delight upon your face is a sight more dazzling than a thousand sunsets! Mon trésor, it brings me endless joy to bestow upon you this humble offering of my affections! Ahaha! Do not look away—your blush is exquisite!"

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I think Idia would panic at the thought of Valentine’s Day. He’d overthink it so much that he’d almost consider ghosting you until it was over. But after an entire night of agonizing over what to do, he’d finally settle on something—probably an item related to your interests, carefully selected after hours of research.

Of course, he’d struggle to actually give it to you. He’d probably send it through Ortho or leave it somewhere with an awkward note. And if you dare bring up how sweet it is, he’ll go into full meltdown mode.

"I-It’s not a big deal, okay?! It’s not like I stayed up all night picking it out or anything—ahaha—oh, Great Seven, this is so cringe, I wanna bury myself alive!"

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I think Malleus would find Valentine’s Day fascinating. It’s a human tradition he’s never properly experienced, but once he learns about it, he takes it very seriously. He approaches it like an ancient ritual—deeply thoughtful, highly ceremonial, and just a little too intense.

His gift is something extravagant—maybe a rare artifact, an ornate piece of jewelry, or something imbued with a hint of his magic. He presents it with all the solemnity of a king bestowing a royal favor. If you tell him he didn’t need to go all out, he looks genuinely puzzled.

"Why would I not? This is a day to express deep affection, is it not? A mere trinket would not suffice for one as precious to me as you."

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I think Lilia would be completely unpredictable about Valentine’s Day. One year, he might go all out with the most extravagant (and mildly terrifying) gestures—singing dramatic love ballads outside your window at 3 AM. The next, he might hand you something utterly chaotic, like homemade food of highly questionable origin.

But beneath all his mischief, there’s sincerity. If he gives you a genuine gift, it’s something deeply personal—maybe an old keepsake with sentimental value or a charm infused with protective magic. And if you call him out on how sweet he’s being, he only grins.

"Fufufu! Did I surprise you? Valentine’s Day is so much fun! Now, come, my dear—shall we dance under the moonlight, or shall I prepare another culinary experiment for you?"