#it’s never to rise up to the occasion or a SHOWER

[tradgedyinwaves]

tw: cheating, car accident

Being John's assistant and girlfriend was hard sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time. Holidays were missed. Special occasions put on back burners. But when he was home, John made every effort to make it up to you. At least, he usually did.

You took care of their paperwork for the most part, submitting their reports once they were turned in with details of their mission. You made a point never to read them. You'd made that mistake once and gotten a first-hand account of how Johnny had shoved a grenade down someone's throat and then stood back to watch.

They were your boys, but that didn't mean they were stable. Simon liked killing people with his bare hands. Johnny liked to watch them explode. Gaz liked to wittle them down to nothing during interrogation(torture).

But your John? Well, he made sure his shots provided the most suffering. Shooting out the knees first, then the elbows, shoulders, spine and then finally the head. He had no issues getting the headshot, but liked to take his time.

With you, though? Oh with you they are protective and gentle. Harm almost never befell you with them around. The worst that had happened since the beginning of your relationship with John (and your indoctrination into their group) was that you'd stubbed your own toe on a chair you hadn't pushed in. It was your own fault really, love.

The team had returned the day before your birthday. What a birthday present, right? Wrong. As you greeted them on the tarmac with warm meals waiting in the car, each one gave you one armed hugs. John was last, pulling you to his side but not saying anything.

You could tell they were exhausted and that something hadn't gone quite right on their mission. They were always extra quiet and morose on those days, usually breaking out of it with a good meal and a decent night of rest.

That wouldn't be the case when you woke up the next morning next to...an empty bed? Usually, the day after he returned, John would sleep in, catching up on the hours of sleep he hadn't been able to get.

And went you puttered out into the rest of the apartment, you would find it empty. Boots, keys, and wallet were gone. Boonie hat missing from it's spot on the hook by the door. Maybe he was just out getting things.

He'd never missed a birthday if he was home and always made it up to you if he wasn't. So you waited. Took a shower, pampered yourself with the new body scrub you'd purchased just for this day.

When John wasn't back even a couple hours later, you headed up to the base as you felt the first prickles of anger rising on the back of your neck. You brought a lunch with you, an excuse for being there on your day off.

"Oh, just bringing Captain Price is lunch. Silly man forgot it again."

And so they let you in. No one questioned you, giving you warm smiles and well wishes. Some even wishing you a happy birthday for which you thanked them.

Stepping into John's office always made you cringe. It was an organized person's nightmare. Papers strewn everywhere, dirty coffee mugs left around sporadically, cigar ash filling the tray but also filtered around it like he was in a hurry. He wasn't like this at home, so you let him have his space at work the way he wanted it.

Except he wasn't in there. Keys and wallet, sure. So you knew he was on base. Leaving the warm meal on his desk, you meandered out to find the gym where you thought maybe they were sparring, getting rid of excess adrenaline from their mission.

No one there. At least, no one who knew where Captain Price was.

You spent the entire work day looking for him and when you never found him, you left the base. You end up stopping to grab a little cake for yourself and a bottle of wine, setting up at the coffee table.

And when you wake the next morning, you're still on the couch and the living room is a mess. And there's still no boots by the door.

So you go to work on your own (when John would normally drive you). You eat lunch on your own (when the entire team would usually join you in the mess hall). You drop off papers outside John's door (when you would normally go inside and leave them on his desk).

And you went home alone.

That was when you noticed some of his clothes were missing as was his duffel. You slept alone that night. And the night after. And the night after that.

By the time the next week rolled around and you'd slept alone for four nights, you were on edge and furiously upset. Not a word from your boyfriend of three years or his team.

And then the calls stopped going through. And the texts. So you called Laswell who was actually one of your best friends at this point, as was her wife.

"They're on another mission, hun. John didn't tell you?" "John hasn't spoken to me since they got back from the last one." "That bastard. I'm sorry. Unfortunately, they're already gone and I can't get you in contact with them until they're back." "I know. Just...tell him I love him?" "Absolutely." You went to work and did your job. When the taskforce was on mission, you were used for general paperwork needs in other departments since there wasn't much for you to do with them gone.

You went home alone and it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

It took another two months for them to return. But you weren't waiting for them on the tarmac. You were up to your eyeballs in new recruit uniform requests and even though you knew what time it was, you couldn't find it in yourself to care much.

Kate had been able to contact John and give him your message, but he never gave her one to return to you. And that had rubbed you the wrong way.

Forgetting your birthday was one thing. Disappearing and not telling you that they were going on another mission was another. But his silence was what hurt the most. Everything had been perfect when he'd left for the first mission.

It was hours later when you laid in bed that you heard the keys jingle against the lock. They wouldn't work, not the ones he had anyways. Knocking followed and you rolled over, throwing your pillow over your head to block out the banging and the sound of his voice filtering through the wood.

It stopped surprisingly quickly and you sighed, knowing you'd have to face him the next day at work.

You did. Sort of. You saw him when you came in, immediately turning to your office when he looked up. You stayed there all day, eating your lunch there and only leaving for bathroom breaks.

Unfortunately, you had some forms that needed to be turned in before you left but they required his signature. You didn't bother knocking as you went into his office, teeth grinding and prepared to be as short as possible. You weren't expecting the sight before you.

Your boyfriend leaned back in his office chair, eyes squeezed shut and grunting quietly with one of his own men between his thick, burly thighs. You could see the mohawk just above the desk, the sounds coming from a man you considered a brother ripping more holes into your psyche.

With a gasp, you dropped the papers and fled from the room, immediately grabbing your purse and fleeing from the building.

You could hear them calling your name, but you kept going. You'd have to find a new job or transfer, but that was a small price if it meant getting away from the only family you had.

But they weren't your family, were they? They were a family on their own. They obviously didn't need you. They leaned on each other in the field and at home. You took care of them, sure, but it wasn't enough apparently.

You got home and packed your bags, leaving behind anything that reminded you of the team or John. You left the keys in the lock with a post it stuck to the door.

"Go to hell, John."

You got back in the car and called Laswell, voice surprisingly even for what was going on.

"I need a transfer, Kate. Immediately." "Whoa, what happened? What's going on?" "He's cheating on me." Calm. Collected. Numb. "Excuse me?" "You heard me. With Soap. Probably the lot of them."

You didn't get to hear what she replied with as a semi plowed into the driver's side of your car.

I just want you all to know; this was supposed to be happy. It was going to end with a cute surprise party and apologies from everyone and nobody died. Oops, sorry.

Alternate Ending

Part Two

[blkkizzat]

WFH!Nanami

Work From Home Nanami = best house husband

a/n: lol this is nanami brainrot while I wait for my Toji fic to get beta'd so I know how dog it is. ETA: FYI, this is a semi-repost of a self-ship collab with a now deactivated account. I repurposed my selfship part to reader and expanded to WFH. cw: smut (pussy pounding, gagging on CAWK) fluff, nanami being the perf husband and male specimen per usual wc: 1.6k

WFH!Nanami doesn’t have to worry about waking up early to go into the office but he still rises with the sun to get his day started and do his favorite thing, which is to spoil you. Waking you up with gentle kisses, placing a hot espresso by the bedside and being your personal snooze button when you tell him 5 more minutes (he is so punctual it will be 5 mins on the dot). 

You will still likely end up strolling into the office late regardless though because knowing you, you can’t start your day until you’re squirting all over daddy. But this is Nanami, he is nothing if not efficient so your early morning romp is definitely in the shower where he can clean you up after in order to get you out of the door sooner, your breakfast is already packed to-go. 

WFH!Nanami love language is acts of service. You never stress about what to do for lunch either because there’s always a Michelin star worthy bento waiting for you next to your keys before you leave for the day. 

In fact, what Nanami doesn’t know is that his bento is famous not only around your office, as your envious coworkers gather round to see what your perfect husband has prepared for you today, but also on TikTok. The ‘KentosBentos’ TikTok account you made has over 350K followers who not only watch for the mouth watering yet nutritious bentos but to also hear you gush over the cute little notes your hubby leaves for you. 

Your top video has over 2.5 million likes and thousands of swooning women in the comments when WFH!Nanami made you an extra special lobster bento for your birthday and left you the note: ‘In all the world there is no love for me if I don’t have yours. Happy Birthday to my lovely wife, whose smile shines bigger and all the more brighter than the sun, moon and stars.’ 

Continuing with acts of service WFH!Nanami always has an equally delicious dinner ready for you when you get home. On days you work overtime and arrive home late, there's always a warm bubble bath waiting for you first. You love to rest with your back laid against Nanami’s utterly ripped torso in the tub while his thick arms envelope you. Relaxing into the safety of WFH!Nanami’s hold, your doting hubby kisses your temple and gives your keyboard fatigued hands a delicate massage. Nanami is nothing but a patient yet active listener while you recount your stressful day at work.

On days when you both get the opportunity to work from home you email WFH!Nanami a meeting invite to block off his calendar for 30 min during lunch. The invite is always titled ‘Ken and Barbie’s Lunch Meeting’. The location? ‘Pound Town’ The time? Noon, sharp!

Of course WFH!Nanami never actually schedules it on his work calendar lest his boss sees the meeting. (Gojo would never let him hear the end of it). As a result, since he never actually has the time officially blocked off, on some rare occasions he does actually get booked for a real lunch meeting at Noon that he cannot reschedule. 

Meeting or no meeting though you are determined to keep your lunchtime dick appointment with WFH!Nanami. A noon dicking is a noon dicking and it’s a non-negotiable for you as you don’t often get to stay home from work! 

WFH!Nanami is focused and poised during his camera-on meetings with his team. Therefore he doesn’t hear you open his office door. Nor does he see you as you drop to the floor with feline grace, hips swaying seductively as you crawl right under his desk. In fact, Nanami does not notice you at all until your soft hands grip his thick powerful thighs and you’re sliding your body up between his legs. Never faltering on-camera, WFH!Nanami’s stiffened jaw and tensed shoulders are the only tell-signs of you palming his rapidly hardening cock under the desk.

WFH!Nanami who tests the absolute limits of the stress ball he keeps handy (usually for tough negotiations) when he feels you press your hot mouth on the fabric covering his dick. You know your stoic husband won't ever outwardly falter when on the clock but you know inside he is a mess. That much is clear to you by the girth bulge straining against his tan fitted slacks.  

WFH!Nanami who knows you are upset about him working through your ‘lunch meeting’, but wishes you wouldn’t torture him like this while he’s on the clock. He can tell you are enjoying yourself though as your sinful little tongue drags tiny kitten licks over the hard bulge in his pants. Soon though you are pawing at his zipper and pulling his girthy cock free through the hole, not even bothering to undo his belt. Taking him fully into your mouth, WFH!Nanami bites his inner cheek, when his boss Gojo makes a comment on how he looks more tense than usual when he should be thrilled after closing the biggest deal of the year. 

WFH!Nanami who takes a long moment to deeply clear his throat before he calmly relays to Gojo that he is very pleased with the win but already thinking of the next big acquisition for their company. Yet Nanami’s voice hitches ever so slightly when your pink stiletto nails dig into his muscular thighs. It fools the rest of the team but Gojo merely raises a brow before cheerily moving on to the next subject. 

WFH!Nanami spares a look downward at you once the work conversation has shifted to see you gazing up at his mouth full of his cock. You wear an angelic look as if he can’t tell the hand that left his thigh and is now slotted between your own isn’t furiously rubbing at your clit. He knows you are pleased at finally drawing a reaction, even a small one, from him while on the clock.

WFH!Nanami whose eyes twitch when he’s closing the call he sees his boss Gojo’s knowing smile and hears the start of the question, “So Nanamin… is Y/N, working from home to–”

WFH!Nanami doesn’t stay to hear the end of the question, quickly exiting the call and ignoring the message pings full of raunchy emojis he receives from Gojo. 

WFH!Nanamiwho is still seated grabs you by your hair and ruthlessly face fucks you as soon as his camera turns off. He forces you swallow all eight and a half inches of him as you gag and slobber around his girth. Your jaw begins to ache but your eyes still roll back into your head with pleasure and you go limp in his grasp. You are willingly allowing your loving husband to turn your throat into his personal cocksleeve as you rub your cunt up against his leg, so close to cumming from the chafing of his slacks against your cunt.

Frustrated and annoyed it isn’t long before WFH!Nanami cums himself. His leg you are riding jerks up into you giving you the extra push you need as you moan around his cock and cream on his leg leaving a wet spot. WFH!Nanami has you choking down his thick seed. His cum and your drool dribble down the sides of your face when he finally slides out of the warm cavern of your throat cunny, leaving you panting as you try to catch your breath.

WFH!Nanami wordlessly wipes your face with the tissues he keeps on his desk and promptly ushers you out of this office, locking the door behind you. You aren’t upset though as you know what's in store for you once his work day is over. The locked door is more to keep him IN, than keep you OUT. Nanami would have to take the rest of the day off if he were to properly discipline you now. You being forced to wait and wonder how long he would take to finish his work was part of the punishment anyway.

You know WFH!Nanami is ready to administer your punishment once he calls you out by your FULL government name “Y/N Nanami!” Tonight is different and there is no dinner nor warm bath for you. Just a tired Nanami, weary of his bosses teasing and ready to take out all his frustrations on his wife’s naughty little cunt. 

Your cunt in question nearly starts voguing in anticipation as heat pools between your legs once you are called into the bedroom. You already know what time it is once you see WFH!Nanami loosen his tie and take off his belt slowly while sternly saying your name once more.

The belt and tie? 

Oh, the belt is used to tie your arms behind you and the tie is now a gag, for having such a filthy cock-loving little mouth he will tell you. It’s not long after that until you are face down, ass up getting pounded into the mattress as WFH!Nanami nearly cracks the headboard with the force he is using to thrust into you. Your cries of “K-Kento!” are muffled into the makeshift gag when a firm slap causes your ass to ripple more aggressively against his pelvis. 

Nanami growls deeply into your ear.

“Welcome to Pound Town, Barbie.”

Any muffled cries for mercy fall on deaf ears as WFH!Nanami is too focused on his retribution for your earlier antics as he continues to wreck your pussy from behind. His heavy balls smack against your clit and your sloppy cunt echos vulgar squelches that bounce off your bedroom walls and erotically ring in your ears. The hand pressing your head further into the pillow beneath you is the same hand Nanami wears his wedding band on. It glimmers brightly even in the dimly lit room.

WFH!Nanami loves seeing his ring and remembering his vows in the moment. 💖

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or graphics, do not translate.

a/n: Nanami brainrot overload (i wfh! lord god when is it my turn, bring me a nanami i BEG) and day 18 without adhd meds lol, finally finished something though. Nerd!Geto and The Nursery ft. Toji is soon I promise!

reblog to get your on WFH!Nanami but comments and likes are always appreciated!

[therealcocoshady]

Hi, coco!

You could make a third part of Eminem x Young Actress Reader, where the reader accompanies him to a game in Detroit and the cameras can't stop focusing on them because Em has never been seen so smiling and affectionate with someone. For the rest you can add what you want. By the way, I love your work and I love that you write about Eminem since almost no one does.<3

Family Game

Eminem x Younger Actress Reader

Part 1 : Daddy’s Spaghetti

Part 2 : Red Carpet Appearance

AN : thank you for your request ! I hope you liked it. I added my own little twist to it 🥰

Ever since your remarked outing at the Oscars, everyone knew you and Marshall were dating, much to your delight. Sure, you would gladly do without the press coverage, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a tiny bit satisfying to have everyone know that Eminem, hip hop’s most eligible bachelor was spoken for, by yours truly, no less. After all, you were not the first (nor the last) public figure to thirst over him and it felt nice to have the “competition” know that they should back off. Especially when you were in a long distance relationship : him in Detroit, you in LA. Sure, you trusted each other and often traveled to make it work but, still, it’s easy to get jealous, especially when both parties are public figures. Marshall was well aware of your status as Hollywood’s rising star and, since he had been your crush for years, you knew for a fact that he has tons of ladies throwing themselves at him. 

In spite of the distance and a couple of jealousy episodes, the two of you managed to make your relationship work, however. Marshall frequently flew out to LA to record with Dr Dre and other artists and to visit you and, whenever you weren’t shooting a movie, you joined him in Michigan. Your relationship was now in the serious state of « we’re both hope at each other’s place ». Your living room table was full of CDs and notepads and his living room was made cozy with your favorite crystals (which he always made fun of), scented candles (which he secretly loved) and fuzzy blankets (which he stole whenever you weren’t around). The whole relationship, despite trials, felt cozy and domestic. And it was made even better by the fact that Marshall had finally managed to ease up. You tended to blame it on the good critical reception after the Oscars : as soon as the two of you had been spotted together, holding hands, Marshall happily gushing about you to the press, both your fans and his had showered you with love and showed nothing but support. Whenever you were positing, fans (most of the time, respectfully) asked about him and they seemed truly overjoyed by the relationship. From what you gathered in the social media comments, they were also dying for the two of you to be spotted together again. Marshall was pretty much an hermit and not the kind to go out and about when he knew he might be spotted but, on one occasion, he had to oblige the fans. 

His beloved Detroit Lions were playing your Los Angeles Rams at Detroit’s Ford Field Stadium and there was no way in hell you would miss the occasion to attend. Knowing how protective of your relationship he could be, you made plans to attend on your own, with a couple of friends who would fly in for the occasion, but Marshall surprised you by actually requesting your presence. 

Don’t you want to go with me ? He asked. 

You mean… on a date ? You clarified. 

I mean there would be other people around, like family, friends and shit but we could be together, he said with a smile. 

You mean you would agree to being spotted with me ?! You asked jokingly. You know I wouldn’t be caught dead in Lions apparel ! 

What I mean is that I’d be proud to hold your hand, even if you’re wearing that stupid Rams hoodie, he grinned. 

Ok, you giggled. As long as I’m not forced to cheer for your team ! 

You ended up attending the event in a private suite with a lot of other people. Of course, his children were in attendance, as well as a couple of D12 friends. You had met everyone previously. A couple of months into the relationship, Marshall had organized a dinner for you to officially meet his daughters and everything had gone smoothly. You absolutely loved them, and same went for the friends he had introduced to you on different occasions. At the game, you were also joined by a couple of your friends, that you not so secretly planned on setting up with some of his. In your mind, there was no doubt that Alicia and Porter were meant to be and the Game seemed like the perfect occasion. It was joyful and everyone was really happy to be here. You were donning your favorite Rams apparel, much to Marshall’s dismay, but that didn’t prevent him from casually holding your hand. 

For how much would you wear Lions apparel ? Your friend jokingly asked. 

Nobody in this room can afford it, you replied with a grin. 

Oh really ? Marshall asked with a smirk. 

How about if you guys get married ? Porter asked. Would you be willing to support the Lions ? 

That would require a HUGE rock, you giggled. But yeah, sure, if we ever get married, I’ll wear Lions gear for all games, except the ones against the Rams. 

Your friends erupted in « oooohs » and « aaaahs ». The rivalry between your two teams was enough to fuel a dozen of conversations but, other than that, everyone around you had to agree that you were kind of the perfect couple. Your best friends always pointed out that Marshall was good at keeping you grounded and reminding you of the things that mattered - besides all the LA glitz and glamour - and Marshall’s circle seemed happy that you encouraged him to go out of his comfort zone. 

He was usually stressed out whenever there were tons of cameras around. It was unsettling to you, at first, because it was part of the job, but as your relationship progressed and he came with you to some events, he seemed to ease up. Still, he wasn’t big on public displays of affection, but you didn’t mind. You enjoyed his company nonetheless and you didn’t need him to kiss you in public or even hold your hand to be happy to be with him. In settings like football games, though, he was himself - the man you knew and loved in everyday life. He could be seen clapping, shouting, cheering… a far cry from the stoic face he arbored on red carpets and magazine covers. And you absolutely loved to see him enjoy himself and have fun. You were enamored with his smile and happy demeanor and you didn’t care too much about the 60 000 other people, you only had eyes for him. Obviously, though, as a Detroit native and global superstar, he was one of the centres of attention when Lose Yourself started playing before the game and everyone started singing/rapping along to the lyrics. Everyone in your group watched Marshall, who was definitely in a good mood. So were you, to be honest, and you couldn’t help but rap along, this song being one of your favorites ever. As the song ended, you could see Marshall sitting right next to you, trying not to laugh. 

You’re adorable, he chuckled. 

What ? You asked with a giggle. It’s the ultimate stadium song ! And my boyfriend is the one who wrote it !!! 

I love you, he simply said before cupping your face and placing a chaste kiss on your lips. 

That was the last tender moment the two of you shared before the end of the game. When your two favorite teams played each other, there was no romantic involvement anymore. It was all betting, taunting and calling each other names. For the first two quarters, the Rams seemed to dominate, which you gladly shoved in your boyfriend’s face, but when the Lions ended up winning, you knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it. Despite it all, and in spite of you being a sore loser, Marshall behaved like the perfect boyfriend and pecked you on the cheek, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you exited your suite. His team winning always put him in a celebratory mood and he was more affectionate than usual, not giving a damn what people would see or think. He even went so far as to kiss your lips. 

Of course, in the following hours, the Internet went absolutely crazy over the pictures of the two of you at the stadium. While some accounts were raving about your outfit (because you did put some effort into making that Sports apparel work !), most of them were gushing about Marshall’s display of affection and how in love the two of you looked. 

« Look at his smile 🥰 » commented one, or « Look how in love he looks when she’s rapping his song 😭❤️ » were a few of the comments you could see under the videos of the event. It was extremely cute and, in moments like these, you felt like the luckiest woman on earth. However, a swarm of other comments started to appear, focusing on… Marshall’s daughters. The three of them were sitting on the row just behind you and they could be seen laughing at your nonexistent rapping skills (all fair, really) and mocking their father’s display of affection. You didn’t take offense at all - you’d been there yourself and you knew how icky it could feel, seeing your parent being affectionate with someone in public, but the press and social media accounts seemed to turn it into a family feud. If the headlines were to be believed, neither Alaina, Stevie or Hailie approved of the relationship and thought you were too young for Marshall. They apparently despised you and saw you as the most evil and wicked stepmother who was more than likely after their Dad’s fortune. Of course, reality couldn’t be further from the truth. Whenever you were in Detroit, you spent a great deal of time with Marshall’s daughters and you considered as friends. So much so that you even made plans of your own, that did not include him. It wasn’t rare for the four of you to have dinner or go shopping. On occasion, they even visited you in California and you soon planned to go on a girls’ trip in Morocco. So, when Hailie showed you the headline on your phone, everyone burst out laughing. 

« Evil stepmother », Stevie chortled. That’s hilarious. 

Is that because of the face you made, Hailie ? When Y/N was rapping ? Alaina chimed in. 

I was making a face because they were corny ! She laughed. Look at Dad’s face on the video. He’s all cute and lovey dovey. Of course I wanted to puke ! 

Marshall rolled his eyes. He was no stranger to his kids making fun of how in love with you he was but, honestly, he didn’t care. For the first time in forever, he was happy and thriving in a relationship. A healthy one, at that. Whenever you were around, he could barely contain his joy and good mood and he often thought he would do anything to make you smile. He hated public attention but he simply loved showing you off and enjoying life with you. However, he had to admit he was a little annoyed by the comments involving your relationship with his daughters. He knew there was no truth to it whatsoever but that didn’t make it less annoying. First of all, he hated seeing his kids’ names in the media, especially if it was negative and, secondly, he hated the idea of lies involving all of you, the people he loved the most on this earth. However, the four of you were grown women and he knew better than to say something so he figured it would be best to wait for it to die down. 

Unfortunately, though, the rumors did not die down and the whole thing got blown out of proportion. It wasn’t only on social media : press and other media outlets got ahold of the story and even dug up some obscure social media posts and took them out of context. They really made it seem like there was hatred between the girls and you were a mean gold-digger who wanted to estrange Marshall from his children. Nothing could be further for the truth though, and you even celebrated the holidays together. After years spent in the public eye, you tried not to let it get to you but it was hard. Even if some of your past relationships had been publicized, this one was on a whole other level and you had a hard time dealing with the scrutiny. Especially when some people were starting to wish for the end of your career with comments like « What a b****. Hope no one casts her ever again 🙄 » or « Hope she enjoys her Oscar because she won’t last much longer in Hollywood 💀 ». You tried not to let your feelings show. Marshall was already annoyed and you didn’t want things to get worse. After all, you knew how overprotective he could get over the people he loved. 

A few weeks went by and the attention seemed to die down around the holidays. You had been with Marshall for a year and a half and it was your first time celebrating together. You would spend the days leading up to Christmas in Michigan, go back to your family in California for the holidays and then jet off to a private Island lent by a friend for some vacation time just the two of you. Marshall would even join you in LA to spend some time with your family who was definitely approving of him. They absolutely adored him and considered him a part of the family. 

In the week leading up to Christmas, you were on Christmas tree decoration duty with the girls while Marshall was letting you do your thing. Hailie had come up with some ornaments as merch for her podcast and you thought it would be cute and funny to take a selfie with one of them that said « Shady or Nice ». You posted it to your Instagram account with some cheesy caption and didn’t pay it too much attention. When you checked the comments, a day or so later, you were surprised at the reaction. What you thought would be a cute nod to your boyfriend and his daughter’s podcast ended up in a shitstorm, with people basically accusing you on sucking up to Hailie to get to Marshall. In their mind, you were a master manipulator. Of course, these were just a bunch of people commenting and the rest seemed rather supportive and happy to see you acknowledging your relationship, something you rarely did on your social media account. Still, you were a little bugged off when you went to bed. 

What’s up, babygirl ? Marshall asked as he laid next to you. 

Nothing, you shrugged. Just these mean trolls. 

What are they saying now ? 

That your daughters hate me, you summed up. And that I’m trying to suck up to them. 

That’s stupid, he scoffed. The girls love you and you know it. 

And I love them too, you know ? You replied. But I don’t know… I don’t like people getting the wrong idea. And I see people commenting about me in their posts and it breaks my heart. 

It’s not your fault, he said before kissing your forehead. Let’s not think about that, ok ? Just focus on the holidays and the great time we’re going to have. 

I’m going to miss you for Christmas, you pointed out. 

Three days, he chuckled. And then I’m joining you in California. And after that… you, me, a private island and your tiniest bikinis. 

You nuzzled his neck and enjoyed the warmth of his embrace, making you forget all of your worries. The next day, you were set to hop on the jet to go back to California and enjoy some family time with your brother and your parents. Before that, you enjoyed one last brunch at Marshall’s place, with his daughters. Hailie got everyone matching ugly Christmas sweaters and you were absolutely moved that she got one for you. You took corny pictures in front of the Christmas tree posing with your boyfriend’s daughters while he was rolling his eyes at your dumb poses. You even got Marshall to pose with you. He wasn’t big on taking pictures but he knew how important these were for you and the girls so he obliged with a smile on his face. A few hours later, you were on the jet, scrolling social media and noticed that Alaina had posted the picture of you, her and her sisters in front of the Christmas Tree with the caption : « Happy holidays from our FAMILY to yours 💕 ». You thought it was the sweetest thing ever that she considered you as family. Of course, trolls were still in the comments, but you tried to stay positive. A few hours later, Hailie updated her last podcast episode of the year, with Stevie as guest. 

So, before we begin this episode, we wanted to address something, she began. 

Family matters, Stevie specified. 

Right, Hailie nodded. You guys have been commenting a lot on last episode’s video and on my Instagram account…

All our accounts, her sister corrected.

Yes. Everyone’s account. It seems like Internet is going crazy about a certain video that was taken at the last Lions Game, so I thought… we thought we should clear things up, Hailie said. I understand that there are always going to be rumors about our family, and we can’t help it at this point, but it’s the Holidays and I don’t my mood to be ruined by negative attention and lies. So… Stevie, do you want to comment on the video ? 

Basically, we were at the game, enjoying some family time and people filmed our reaction to Y/N… our Dad’s girlfriend, rapping Lose Yourself, Stevie explained. And kissing afterwards. And what really sparked the whole thing is the face Hailie made. 

Yeah, I pretended to puke, Hailie giggled. And no, guys, it’s not because I hate Y/N or anything like that, it’s just… we’re a normal family, guys. Whenever you see your parents being cheesy and corny, you want to puke, right ? 

Right, Stevie giggled. So, let’s not dwell on this but for the record : we love Y/N and she is not what people make her to be. We see her as family, you know ? 

Yes ! It’s the Holidays, it’s a family time and we all know I love Shady stories but… nothing Shady here. It’s all love, Hailie chuckled. 

Too much love, Stevie joked. 

This warmed your heart even more. The girls absolutely didn’t have to jump to your defense but the fact that they did warmed your heart and you couldn’t wait to spend some time with them again. You sent texts to thank them and wished them happy holidays, saying you were looking forward to seeing them soon. You also texted your boyfriend, telling him how amazing his kids were and that you loved him and his family. 

MARSHALL’S POV 

Marshall was eating dinner with his daughters when he got a text from Y/N that immediately put a smile on his face. 

You girls are amazing, he said with a smile. 

No idea what you’re talking about, Alaina said with feigned innocence. 

I think you do, he replied with a grin. Seriously, you didn’t have to do that but… thank you. It means a lot to me. 

We weren’t going to let people think we hate her, Stevie said.

Not when she is actually about to become our stepmother, Hailie said with a smirk. 

Marshall immediately let his fork fall on his plate, a look of surprise on his face. 

I… erm… wanted to talk to you about it first, he said. How do you even know… ? 

I found the ring sketches in your office last time I went there, Stevie said. I was searching for one of your old CDs. 

And you had to go yapping to your sisters about that ? He asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Are you really going to propose ? Hailie said with excitement. 

I mean… I’ve been thinking about it, yeah, he admitted. I wanted to make sure you girls were ok with it first but, if that’s fine with you, I’d like to propose to her over the holidays. 

The girls erupted in cheers and immediately gave their blessings, commenting on how they never thought this day would come. Of course, they quizzed him about his plans. 

Were spending a couple of days with her family before going on vacation for NYE, so I was planning on asking for her father’s blessing, he explained. 

Isn’t he like… almost your age, though ? Stevie chuckled. 

It’s a matter of respect, he shrugged. I appreciated when Matt and Evan asked for my blessing so I thought I’d do the same. Can’t hurt to have your future father-in-law on your side. 

And… as for the proposal ? Alaina asked. 

I know it’s not super original but I was thinking of doing it on the private island, over a nice dinner on the beach, at sunset or something like that, he said. 

It’s so cute ! Alaina said. I love it. 

I think my Dad’s gone corny, Hailie joked. 

You think it’s corny ? He asked with his eyebrows furrowed. 

Oh definitely. But she’s just as corny so she is going to love it ! 

One question though, Stevie said. If you guys get married, she’ll move to Detroit, right ? 

That’s sort of the plan, yeah, Marshall said. She’d move for work quite a bit, depending on where movies are shot, but she’d live with me. Why ? 

So… she’d have to turn into a Lions fan eventually, right ? 

I’m counting on it, he said with a smirk. 

Is that why you’re proposing ? Alaina joked. 

Maybe, he chuckled. I swear to God, I’m putting a ban on Rams apparel in the prenup. 

[earlysunshines]

routines and repeats

pham hanni x fem!reader ; fluff

synopsis: you and hanni have a routine, something like that, maybe a little far off... maybe it's not really a routine -- it doesn't really matter because hanni's apart of it.

wc: 2.1k

warnings: none?? ; not proofread

a/n: wrote this in one sitting again muahhaha enjoy thank u for the support and attention and love and jaajksdlfdsal everything for my newjeans fics :-} love u all

you and hanni have settled into a comfortable rhythm. it's not exactly a routine in the traditional sense—nowhere near as meticulously organized as minji's planner of goals and daily tasks, nor as structured as haerin's repetitive art gig schedule. but whatever it is between you and hanni, it's uniquely yours.

but you and hanni have found your own thing, a sort of groove that makes you both content. it's the kind of routine where things just naturally fall into place, where you spend time together without needing a plan, and that's what really matters. 

there's no set list of things to do, nothing is really planned (unless there's a very special occasion), but there are noticeable patterns and repeats of things that happen here and there. 

what matters is that you two are happy with how disorganized and scattered things are because that’s what fits the two of you perfectly. with everything so in order and mapped out, where’s the flexibility? where’s the fun? besides, you and hanni like what you have, and this spontaneous routine brings a smile to your faces at the end of the day.

–

you’ve been together long enough to know that hanni is either taking up most of the space of the bed, or clinging onto you like a koala and breathing into your neck with her mouth half open. despite how stupid she looks while sleeping, it only makes you love her more.

she’s usually the last to wake up and always woken up by you. on weekdays, you poke her cheek after hearing her alarm or shake her up a bit, but she never budges. 

“hanni you have a class in less than two hours…” you mumble, not wanting to be up either. 

“that means one more hour to sleep… please babe.”

“absolutely not. you won’t have time to eat or get ready and then you’ll whine and complain and–”

your girlfriend cuts you off with another groan, slowly removing herself from the crook of your neck with her eyes still closed. you squint at her and smile sleepily, rubbing your eyes before you fix her messy bedhead.

hanni opens her eyes just barely to see you grinning at her, earning a pout from your girlfriend.

“i don’t want to get up.”

“me neither, but you have to.”

“do i?” she frowns as you get up from where you are, watching you lean against the bedframe as you yawn.

“do you want your degree? think about the job you’ll have and the pets we’ll have and our life and–”

“shut up shut up okay! fine.” hanni responds, making you laugh.

every morning, you kiss her on the cheek, forehead, or hand because you two made a pact not to initiate anything lip to lip due to morning breath. at least that’s set in stone; maybe you can be organized if there’s something guaranteed to happen every morning. this small ritual brings a sense of comfort and consistency, grounding your otherwise scattered routine.

additionally, you two take turns showering every morning – usually you’re first. hanni always takes a while longer since she’s fond of warmer water on her skin in comparison to your cold showers as the sun rises. and then you two brush your teeth together, hanni’s usually sitting on the counter glancing at your tired features while you stare into the mirror and hum a small song. 

hanni likes to stay silent and simply enjoy your presence, she’s a firm believer that if you start your day off with something great, then the day can only get better from there.

(she thinks you’re more than great, so everyday is a wonderful day.)

-

hanni usually gets back from her classes about ninety minutes before you head to work, so you use that time to spend together. the afternoon to evening hours are when you miss each other the most, so these precious minutes become your little oasis, a pocket of time where everything else fades away and it's just the two of you, making the most of your time together before life pulls you in different directions.

you're usually either making lunch or catching up on your own tasks by the time she arrives home, something you've grown accustomed to. her arrival marks a familiar cadence in your day, a moment when the energy of the house shifts subtly to accommodate her presence.

you feel arms wrapping around your waist and a head on your shoulder (she has to go on the tips of her toes to do this), you don’t even turn around, knowing it’s hanni.

“hey lover.”

“hello beautiful.” hanni says before kissing your cheek, missing a little and ending up with hair meeting her lips istead of your skin. “missed you.”

“missed you more. how were your classes?”

hanni always says the same thing, or something similar at least. “it was whatever, boring as always.”

“aw, at least you’re back. i’m making rice bowls, go unwind okay?”

“mhm, love you.” she kisses your cheek – not missing this time – and starts for your shared room in the single bedroom apartment. 

it doesn’t take long for her to return, now wearing a different t-shirt (yours), before she's back to clinging onto you while you pack up your lunch box and prepare her meal. hanni eventually ends up sitting on the counter, legs dangling, as she watches you and sings along to your shared playlist. you can't resist giving her a little kiss here and there – just because – since it's impossible not to when she's around.

you hand her the bowl of rice and chicken, a simple meal but seasoned to perfection in hanni’s opinion.

she has her legs wrapped around your waist as she pulls you in, taking a bite of the food you’ve made her and melting. she nods her head, clearly enjoying the meal.

“yeah, this is ass.” 

you scoff as you watch her devour another bite. “right, you’re eating it like the bowl is about to run away from you.”

hanni shrugs. “mid, wouldn’t recommend actually.”

“aw, i guess i shouldn’t cook anymore – ever — since it’s so bad.”

“yeah.” hanni giggles after she finishes her bite, smiling at you like an idiot. “it’s whatever, you’re already very delicious to the eyes.”

“oh my god, you piss me off.” you lie, starting to smile and laugh at her. “i love you.”

“i love you more.”

“crazy take but okay.”

hanni rolls her eyes before you get up to finish boxing your lunch, putting it in your work bag and zipping it up. she frowns watching you, not really fond of the fact that you’re leaving her for a few hours.

the two of you always spend the afternoons on the four days that you work together on the couch for a bit, cuddled together as hanni finishes up some work or rereads notes on her laptop. you like this pattern; you adore being near your girlfriend. the warmth of her presence and the simple pleasure of being close make those moments precious to you.

(you don’t care if this isn’t something that would be written on a planner, besides, ‘cuddles at 12:20 sound stupid written out.)

you just like the flow and simplicity of your days. it doesn’t matter, really. as long as hanni is involved and beside you.)

—

your shared evenings and nights vary depending on the day. it’s always unorganized.

sometimes you’re out shopping for essentials, and it’s usually spontaneous, with hanni fighting for her life to make a list and remember everything the two of you need in your shared fridge all within a ten-minute drive. it makes you laugh hearing her curse as she forgets whether you’ve run out of protein for your meals or if you already used the backup conditioner and need a new one. 

on weekends or holidays when time allows, you often find yourselves cozied up together. whether it's snuggled on the couch watching a movie, or out for a quiet dinner or a stroll to some hidden gem haerin discovered, these moments are cherished. hanni's arms wrap around you, her hoodie soon becoming your cozy shield against the chill of the evening, leaving you in just a tank top or a soft t-shirt. the feeling of contentment washes over you as you lean back into her warmth, sighing with a smile, savoring each precious moment together.

other nights, you’re out with your friend group, usually downtown or at one of their apartments. hanni always stays close to you, holding your hand or linking arms with you, while danielle and minji debate over which store to check out or which restaurant is better. even as the whole group— you, hanni, haerin, hyein (if she’s not busy with high school stuff), danielle, and minji— dives into deep conversations or somehow ends up arguing, you and hanni are experiencing and engaging in everything together. there’s almost never a night without her by your side.

but most of the time you’re in bed finishing up school work as hanni finishes her very lengthy nightcare routine, waiting for her to show up at the doorway with a towel loosely sitting on her head with her lips turned up as soon as she spots you.

“took you long enough.”

“hey! you take long too… you’re just always going first– this isn’t fair!”

using exaggerated hand movements, you pantomime hanni's animated way of speaking, complete with imaginary dialogue in the air. hanni flips you off and you pretend to be offended, making the two of you laugh. 

(this is one of your favorite parts of the little routine/groove you two have.)

hanni collapses onto the bed, finding solace in the comfort of your arms. you're engrossed in your laptop, catching up on tasks or maybe just browsing, while she snuggles closer. hanni is very affectionate whether she realizes it or not and it’s apparent as she peppers kisses on your exposed skin, each touch a gentle reminder of her presence and how much she treasures you. even with her phone in hand, she steals these moments to show her love, her lips brushing against your cheek or neck. 

“hey– i just need to finish this! you’re distracting me…” you mutter, which only urges her to kiss you more. “that tickles!”

“finish it quicker…” hanni groans before pressing one last kiss on your lips. you turn to look at her, pouting as you reach to pinch her cheek. she giggles before you flick her forehead. “hey!”

you like to provoke her, she’s adorable when she’s annoyed – even if it’s for a split second.

once your laptop closes and your attention turns fully to her, hanni seizes the opportunity. her kisses shift from playful to tender, each one a testament to her adoration. 

“how was your day?” she mumbles against you.

you kiss her softly before reaching over to turn off the lamp on the bedside table, the table with polaroids of the two of you in a pile on it. “tiring, i was thinking of you.”

“you always are.”

“well now i’m never thinking of you again.” you joke. 

hanni scoffs playfully. you move over to lay down fully, letting out a soft sigh as hanni rests her head on your arm. “what else did you think about?”

“just you, really… i can’t remember anything else. i was thinking about the next time we could have dinner, my coworker irene recommended this place not too far away.”

“mm really?”

“yeah, they’ve got some korean-mexican fusion or something like that.”

you hear her yawn, it makes you smile. hanni feels the soft beat of your heart against her hand, then snuggles closer to you. “that sounds good.”

“you know what else sounds good?” you ask softly.

“hm?”

“you going to sleep and not complaining in the morning.”

hanni giggles quietly as she twirls your hair absentmindly with her finger. “i’ll consider it.”

“sure you will.” you murmur. you move hair away from her forehead before twisting your neck uncomfortably just to kiss her there. “goodnight, i love you.”

“i love you more.”

“uh huh.” 

and perhaps it is some sort of routine, whatever dynamic exists between you and hanni. it may not be as strategically planned as minji's structured days on that planner of hers, or as regimented as hyein's packed schedule after school, but it's uniquely yours. 

you can't quite define it, but the familiar rhythms and recurring moments, even amidst the variations each day brings, have become comforting and essential. 

whether it's hanni's morning grumbles or the shared laughs over unexpected turns, you cherish every part of it. as long as hanni remains a constant in your routine, you’re content.

[thegnomelord]

Locker-room jokes

CW:NSFW MDNI, FTM reader and Gaz, frotting, oral, first times, masc terms (cock, cocklet, bottom growth) this is based off a post I saw somewhere and a talk I had with @embry-garrick . Author isn't trans so tell me if this sucks lol

Guys comparing dick sizes in the locker room is a joke as old as time. You'd never considered entertaining it as it always came off stupid to you. . . yet here you are.

The locker room is thankfully empty except for you and Gaz, the silence buzzing beneath your skin and leaving you awkwardly shifting your weight from one leg to the other. It's not like you two haven't seen each other naked before, God knows some of the communal showers on different bases were little bigger than shoe boxes, but the expectation to do more than just catch a glimpse — that makes you feel naked.

Agreeing to this had been easy, but now that it came time to put your words were your mouth was you realize you were too arrogant; You can't quite make yourself meet Gaz's gaze, eyes flickering from his face to the darkened lines beneath his pecks, to the sparce trail of body hair that disappears down beneath the towel wrapped around his hips before returning to his face, your cheeks burning.

"Oh, is someone nervous?" Gaz shows you mercy by sauntering closer, gun calloused hands finding their place on your hips and thumbs slipping beneath the towel's hem. "Scared you're not going to be able to rise to the occasion?" His voice has a teasing lilt to it as he snickers at his own words.

You open your mouth to speak but you're forced to bite your tongue when Kyle presses against you, chest to chest and skin to skin. He tilts his head back, your noses brushing together. "You know," His lips brush against yours, just a ghost and a promise something more should you listen to him. "You could just quit while you're ahead and save yourself the embarrassment."

Even the miniscule sensation of his lips on yours leaves your body wanting more, your ribs aching to be wrenched open so he can hold your heart in his hands. Damn tempter.

You ignore your body's wants, the knowledge of him testing you making something burn in your chest. "In your dreams." You repeat the same words that got you into this mess, the words that awakened his competitive streak.

You mimic him by gripping his hips and clutching the towel barely hanging around him. But there's a small tremor in your hands, anxiety nibbling on your nerves — You're treading new ground, the furthest you two ever got was drunken make out sessions and heavy groping in bathrooms or broom closets or Price's office that one time.

Kyle doesn't mention the tremble, your actions earning yourself a pleased grin from him. "Ooh, aren't you arrogant." Which is good; it wouldn't be fun if you were a wet rag about it. Kyle's fingers shift to skirt across your sides before gripping your towel tighter. "Tell you what, we take them off together, yeah?"

"Aren't you thoughtful." Your words make him grin, but you nod your head. "Fine—" You grip his towel, the muscles in your arm tensing. "One, two, three-"

You barely manage to say the last number before Kyle yanks the towel off your hips and tosses it carelessly on the nearby bench. You scramble to do the same, your hands suddenly your mortal enemies as you stumble around a bit while you feel his eyes on you before you manage to take his towel off.

Gaz knows he looks good, he's proud of his body, but the way your eyes travel across his frame — from his face to his chest, following the happy trail of sparce hair down his abdomen to his groin where the neatly trimmed pubic hair accentuates the length of his bottom growth— has blood rushing to his cock, has him feeling high as a kite.

He looks you over up and down, both to see your embarrassment grown and because he's pleased by what he sees. His eyes settles to your groin where a bush of hair partly obscures your own bottom growth, glancing between you and himself. "I reckon I'm bigger."

Something about the way he says it, like he's a jaguar that just caught a cayman, sparks something inside you. "Only because you're smooth as a baby's ass." You growl and push a hand between your bodies, trapping your cock between two fingers and spreading them slightly so it's fully on display. "I'm bigger." You can't help but press a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, some of your arrogance coming back.

Kyle tries not to, but a pleased noise escapes his throat — you're definitely bigger, at least half an inch if not more. He's not willing to admit defeat that quickly, but fuck, the change in your attitude is a major turn on.

"Cheater." The accusation would be far more hurtful if he didn't press himself closer, one hand holding your shoulder, the other sliding down to hold his cocklet. "Just gotta-" But he doesn't stop there, slowly stroking the length of it between his fingers, thumb swirling across the tip. "-I'll show you big."

"Now who's cheating?" You snark, using your free hand to hold Kyle tightly so he doesn't lose his balance. You don't stop him, mesmerized by the way each languid stroke has his cock chubbing up a bit more, slick easing the glide as it glistens across his flushed flesh.

"You started it-hah!—" You pick the moment to grind your groin into his, the tip of your cocklet roughly grinding against his and forcing a small punched out noise from his lungs.

"Whoops." You grunt, pleasure starting to simmer in your veins as you grind your cock against his again. "Sorry, just needed to get the right angle." Your tone makes the lie obvious but you can't be bothered to make it sound believable, the combination of shifting of your hips and the slow movement of your hand as you stroke yourself at the same tempo as him has lightning rushing up your spine. "I'm still bigger than you."

"Bastard!" The curse morphs into a short laugh and finally into a moan that bounces off the tiled walls, his head tilting forward to place a sloppy and disorganized kiss on your cheek. Kyle pants against your skin, leaving crescent shaped bruises on your shoulder from how tightly he grips you. "Hold on, I just have to-" He moans again, rocking his hips to meet yours that has the sensitive heads of your cocklets bumping together. "-fuck- fuck- just, give me a minute it gets bigger."

"What's wrong Kyle, failing to rise to the occasion?" You have no idea how wet that smug tone of yours makes him, but with how obscenely loudly his slick squelches against his fingers, Kyle's sure you'll figure it out soon. "Here, let me help you."

It's Kyles turn to be surprised when you push him into one of the stalls, his back meeting the cold tiles of the shower. "What are you planning?" He grunts, a yelp escaping him when you suddenly grab his thighs, picking up and bending him nearly in half until your head's cradled between his thighs and his cock's inches away from your mouth. The years of gymnastics makes the position possible, the numb pain of muscles deep in his back stretching making the pleasure so much sharper.

You blow cold air across his sensitive cocklet, watching it twitch with need. "Relax, just getting a better look." The way his thighs shake when you lick a slow stripe up his cock has your mind buzzing, the needy sound that breaks past his lips sweet as honey to your ears. "I'm gonna help you get as big as you can." It's hard to look away from his cock but you force yourself to look up at Gaz, resting his cocklet against your lips. "It's only fair."

"You-" Whatever he wanted to say next is cut off when you take his entire cock in your mouth, resting it on your tongue for a few moments before you suck. "-oh fuck!" His hands scramble to find purchase on your shoulders, gripping your hair as he hunches over, his mouth right next to your ear so you can head a moan leave him — deep and low and so desperate.

It makes you want to pull more of those sounds out of him. And you do — sloppily slurping on his cocklet for a few seconds only to pull off to lick it, alternating between slow strong swipes of your tongue across his entire shaft to small kitten licks on his tip. Occasionally you pull off entirely to blow cold air across it, keeping him teetering on that edge of pleasure, silencing the sounds of discontent with a few swipes near his hole before taking all of him into your mouth to repeat the cycle.

You don't know what's more intoxicating; You feel yourself grow drunk off the slightly sweet and musky taste of his slick that runs down your chin, the image of his abdominal muscles fluttering and thighs shaking from the building pleasure in his belly burned into your mind, Kyles babbles of "Yeah, like th- fuck, fuck, fuck- that- pleas-hah—" and calls of your name broken by moans and whimpers like the song of angels.

You feel him get closer to the edge, or at least you assume so by the way the grinding of his hips into your face grows erratic, your name being the only word that still clings to his brain as he chants it like a mantra, his fingers shaking from how tightly he grips your shoulders.

Kyle makes a sound like a wounded animal when you suddenly pull off, "-no-no-nono!" He cries, hips still bucking into the air with the need to tumble over the edge of pleasure, tears staining his cheeks as he manages to force out a weak glare. "Wh- why w-gh!- why?"

"We still have to compare." Your voice is rough like you'd been gurgling shards of glass, holding him steady as you lower him enough to wrap his legs around your waist, pressing your bodies together until you're smushing him into the wall.

He doesn't complain as the sudden move has your bottom growths rubbing against one another, and only now do you realize your body is as desperate as his. "Y- ah fuck- yeah right." There's still that fire in him, but now he uses it to grip the back of your skull and mush your lips together, ignoring the taste of himself on your lips. "Just-shit mh!- move."

Kyle's heels digging into your flank makes you rock forward, grinding your cocks together. Your slick mixes together, your pubic hair sticking to his skin and tickling the sensitive flesh of his cock with every thrust. He openly moans into your mouth, licking in and around your open mouth, trying to clean off the slick staining your skin but only making a bigger mess as spit now mixes with his juices.

Kyle feels like he's burning up, like he's just a puddle of please — the pace you set is rough and your kisses are sloppy and desperate and it feels like Heaven. Gaz wraps all four limbs around you tightly yet he still gyrates his pelvis to meet yours, every nerve in your bodies feeling like a live wire as pleasure builds and builds until it's ready to spill over.

"Fuck- Kyle-" You grunt, your fingers leaving bruises on his flesh, his back sliding up and down against the tiles as you increase your pace, every brush of his flesh against yours banging on your skull. "I'm -mhm- close."

"Mh- me too-" He slurs against your lips, kissing you until both of you are gasping for air. "please-please-please-love- make us cum, plea- ah fuck!—" Kyle shouts as his orgasm finally crashes into him, toes curling and head tilting to bite your shoulder in an attempt to silence himself as he cums, hole fluttering around nothing and cock throbbing as slick runs down his thighs.

The pain and pleasure comes for you a second later, you grip him so harshly you can feel his bones groan as you cum too, your hips grinding together to prolong the mind numbing pleasure, your teeth finding his shoulder as you bite down as well.

You don't know how the Hell you're still standing by the time you come down from your high, every muscle in your body straining like you'd just went through a suicide mission. Kyle's no better, shaking like a leaf and completely boneless in your arms, panting into your neck.

You kiss the bite mark you've left on his shoulder, gently bumping your head into his to gain his attention, "Kyle?" You ask, "Are you alright?"

"Fuuuuck lovie," Kyle groans, barely able to lift his head enough to give you a sloppy kiss on the cheek. "That was good." His fingers idly scratch your scalp, the low rasp of his fucked out voice makes your cock twitch half-heartedly but you're too worn out to get aroused again. "Remind me to blow you when I can feel my legs again."

Yeah, he's alright.

A small laugh breaks past your lips and you give him a similarly sloppy kiss. "I will." Somehow you manage to sit down on the floor, Kyle laying on top of you, as content as a spoiled cat.

"Just so you know." He whispers into your ear, his fingers slowly sliding across your sides, thumbs rubbing lazy absentminded circles into your skin. "I want a do-over of this contest." He grins, and fuck, you can't get past how handsome he looks like that. "Maybe in my room, yeah?"

You can't refuse. "Yeah."

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch.6

WandaNat x Raeder

Word Count: 2.4k

Ch. Notes: Rising tensions

Summary: The after math of the fallout between Wanda and her family leads to an all too important business meeting the next day.

An: haha I didn't almost forget to post today... And don't hate me for the next chapter please

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“What um… what number are you guys staying in? Do you know?”  You ask, finally breaking the silence as you arrived at the building.

“220,” Natasha answers for them.

You nod, “I’m in 216, we’ll be right across from each other.”

The ride in the elevator was as silent as the car ride. The anger that was permeating off of Wanda had slightly reduced, but not by much. When the elevator opens, you escort the women to their apartment.

You point across the hall then say, “Well this is you and that is me if you need anything you can always knock."

You attempt to walk away, but a soft grip around your wrist stops you.  Your gaze slowly rises to meet Wanda’s. She pulls you into her and the warmth of her embrace let’s you know that she’ll be alright.

“Goodnight little krolik,” she kisses the top of your head before making her way into her new home.

“She’s going to be ok right?” You ask Natasha and she smiles softly at you.

“I’ll make sure of it lisichka. Go rest, you've had an eventful day. “

Its like her words trigger a yawn from your lips. Exhaustion is finally catching up to you properly.

“Goodnight, Nat.”

Once you go into your condo you sigh. The quiet finally getting the best of you. Though you were exhausted your mind was racing. Car chase, Wanda, Natasha, dinner, it all hit you at once.  Despite your thoughts you attempt to get ready for bed.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand as soon as your head hits the pillow. It’s a text from Dragos calling for a meeting tomorrow at 9am. You put the phone back down and shut your eyes. This would all feel easier to deal with in the morning.

When your alarm rings at 7 am, you are quick to shut it off. Your sleep had been restless, and you feel the previous nights events weighing heavily on your shoulders. Nonetheless you stumble out of your bed.

After you brush your teeth, you throw on a pair of sweats to get your morning run in before the meeting. Usually, you’d do a run followed by a more rigorous workout, but you were short on time.

Your mind is clear as you begin to run away from the condo. Your only thoughts are focusing on your breathing.

Gloom hadn’t yet left the city. Though it wasn’t raining yet you wouldn’t be surprised if it started up later. Traffic seemed light, not a lot of cars were passing you on the road. The cool air was welcomed against your face as your body temperature slowly rose with each stride.

For a small moment in time, you were at peace. Part of you wished to skip the meeting and just take a lazy day. However, that wasn’t an option because you didn’t work in a regular job field. The non-negotiables of your profession were few but harsh. While you knew the Maximoff’s were lenient with you, you never craved to take advantage of that.

When you arrive back to your building, you quickly shower and dress. You had just finished doing your hair when your doorbell rang. Opening the door, you are met by a familiar red head, who seems to be in a better mood than last night.

“Morning little krolik, I come with coffee and a bagel.”

You smile, “The occasion?”

“I was hoping we’d carpool to work.”

You nod a few times, “Of course, just let me grab my coat and we can head out.”

Quickly you grab your belongings and follow Wanda to her car. You quietly munch on the bagel during the car ride.

“No Natasha today?”

She shakes her head, “Papa is still unsure of her role in the company, so he doesn't want her at the meeting.”

“Speaking of Dragos, are you feeling any better from… yesterday?”

Wanda takes a deep breath. You see her hands clench around the wheel and her demeanor shifts slightly.

“I assume the meeting will further address what happened last night,” she speaks flatly.

“Wanda, you have to keep calm.”

You see her jaw clench, “I will reflect whatever mood is brought unto me.”

You shake your head, “You and I both know that nothing gets solved with that kind of behavior.”

“So, what, you want me to bow down and apologize?” The irritation in her voice doesn’t phase you.

“That’s not what I said. I’m saying you can’t get into a yelling match, and you can’t put your hands on anyone.”

“If they were honest with me from the beginning I wouldn’t have-"

You cut her off, “I didn’t ask for an explanation Wanda. I’m telling you something that I know you are already aware of. If you want to head this organization, you have to keep your emotions in check.”

She mumbles underneath her breath. You raise an eyebrow at her childish antics, “What was that?”

“I said, it’s easier to keep my emotions in check when the lies aren’t about you.”

You fumble with your words briefly before speaking, “Well I told you truth, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but- “

“Well, there you have it. If you want to know something about me, it’s best to ask me. However, if I tell you, and you don’t like what you hear you have to deal with that on your own time,” you glance at her.

She chuckles softly to herself, “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to how much you’ve grown.”

You smile, but then it falters as you recall the argument from last night. Wanda had made Pietro and Dragos retreat instantly when mentioning something that revolved around you. You want to know what it is.

“Wanda, what are they hiding from me?”

You can visibly see the woman pale, “Do you trust me Y/n?”

You nod slowly.

She sighs, “When it’s the right time, I’ll tell you.”

You want to argue more, but you don’t. You trust Wanda, you know she has your best interests in mind. So, you fight the urge to be upset for the rest of the car ride.

When you get to the office, the two of you ride straight to the top floor. Dragos, Pietro, and Flora were already there. The room is tense as you both sit across from them. Usually you’d sit by Pietro’s side, but you weren’t going to let Wanda feel alone in this.

“You can disagree with me if you want, but your actions yesterday proved why keeping you in the dark about the situation with Y/n was the right thing to do. You’re hot-headed now, but back then you were even worse,” Dragos looks his daughter in the eye when he speaks.

You can feel the anger radiating off of Wanda’s body and for a moment you think she is going to have an outburst. Instead, she puts her elbows on the table and leans forward, never breaking eye contact with her father.

“We are a family and I thought that we agreed on having no secrets from each other. In this business a secret is the most dangerous weapon that could be used against us. My potential reaction aside, keeping this secret from me is breaking the rules you set in place. Or do the rules only apply to me?”

Wanda’s response was damn good in your opinion. Although she was angry you saw her hands clasping each other for dear life as a sign of restraint.

“Can we just move on from this? It was 5 years ago, and Y/n is fine now,” Pietro tries to defuse the tension.

Wanda shakes her head, “As much as this is about Y/n, it’s also about not respecting me enough to keep me properly informed about our family and our business. It’s unfair for you all to sit here and claim that I’m solely in the wrong. We can’t move on until all parties take responsibility for their part in this,” Wanda holds firm.

It's weird being in a meeting about yourself, but almost having nothing to do with anything being discussed.

“Have you ever considered the possibility that Y/n didn’t want us to tell you?” Dragos states and your body tenses.

“No,” Wanda says nonchalantly, as if his question was unimportant.

“What if she…”

Wanda’s glare hits her father like an ice pick to the back, “This isn’t a hypothetical, papa. If in some universe out their Y/n wanted you to keep it a secret from me, then that would be fine. However, this isn’t that universe, now is it Y/n?”

She doesn’t look at you, but you answer her question firmly, “No, it isn’t.”

“The best way to move forward from this is an apology from both sides. Wanda has just returned and we’ve dwelled on this matter for too long,” Flora stops the argument in it’s track.

You thought it was a civil solution. It would be for the best, but just by taking a quick glance at Wanda you can tell that she doesn’t want to apologize. It was her rigid posture and her hardened eyes. She felt like she did nothing wrong, but you were hoping she would stand down for the greater good.

“Wanda, I’m sorry we intentionally kept this from you. It is not the way we do things around here. Forgive me, docha,” Dragos speaks sincerely as he looks at Wanda.

She doesn’t seem to be budging. You make the judgment call by discreetly placing your hand on her thigh. This causes her to look in your direction and you speak to her with your eyes. Your features are telling her to apologize. You see her posture relaxes and her eyes soften a bit.

“I’m sorry for the way that I acted last night. It was uncalled for, regardless of my feelings,” she speaks with an equal amount of sincerity.

“Good, now that we’ve settled that I’m going to cut to the chase. Natasha, what assets does she bring to the table?” Dragos moves on to business fairly quickly.

Wanda follows his suit, speaking highly of her wife, “Natasha is a hands on kind of employee. She thrives being where the action is and that doesn’t just mean in a fight. She’s a highly trained assassin, her accolades are insurmountable, and there’s quite literally nothing that she can’t do.”

“She can start as head of security, and we can see what she can do from there,” Dragos offers, but even you think the role is undercutting Natasha’s abilities.

Wanda seems frustrated, but she is going to agree to these terms.

You speak up, “I think she should be in charge of field operations.”

“You and Pietro handle the field operations just fine, why add a third?” Dragos questions with curiosity not animosity.

“To avoid things like what happened yesterday with Mr. H. Right now, the way we operate is that Piet comes and gets me when needed and we just go from there. It’s not strategic at all, I’m usually in the car before I know what exactly it is that we’re doing,” you argue your position.

“It always works out,” Pietro fires back.

Your eyes lock on his, “But it could work better. With me running numbers for the company and for our business, I don’t always have the time to sit and plan out these operations. We all know that Piet doesn’t believe in planning. It’s field operations, it shouldn’t always just be Piet and me. We should have men out there with us incase things go south, but there’s never a plan for that.”

“And you think the addition of Ms. Romanoff will add…” Dragos leads off his sentence.

“She’s going to add structure and power by organizing this department into an actual department rather than just Piet and I doing deliveries in car. She’s experienced and we should be using that to our advantage, especially with us potentially being undercut at the moment.”

Dragos ponders, which is a good thing. It means he believes there is something to everything you’re saying.

“Give her a week on field operations and if you don’t see any type of benefit, she can be head of security,” Wanda offers a compromise.

“Only a week?” His disbelief is hidden in his voice, but you know it’s there.

“It’s all she needs,” Wanda says with confidence.

“Alright, that’s everything for today- “

“We’re not going to address the Kingpin situation?” You stay planted firmly in your chair.

Dragos sighs, “I will deal with Kingpin personally.  I had Kate set up a meeting at neutral territory.”

You shook your head knowing what Dragos was insinuating, “You’re trying to have a one-on-one meeting with this bastard? Everyone in this room knows that idea sounds like shit.”

“It’s not an idea, it’s happening in a few hours,” Dragos counters.

“Papa you’re going to have someone tailing you right? You don’t trust him to keep true to his word,” Pietro looks at his father in disbelief.

Dragos’s hand trails through his thick gray hair, “I’ve dealt with Kingpin before. I’ve known him for a long time, and I will be prepared for whatever he has coming.”

“Papa you can’t be serious?” Wanda has features akin to Pietro.

The arguing is about to continue, but then Flora speaks up, “Your father knows what he’s doing kids. Have some faith in him, he’s got a lot of experience for all of you. If he thinks this is the right call, then it has to be. Now, you’re dismissed.”

Suddenly there was no room for arguing with her. You try to keep calm but your feelings on the matter aren’t well hidden as you storm out of the room. Wanda and Pietro leave after you, both with the goal of trying to comfort you. However, their moods weren’t much better than yours.

When it was just the husband and wife in the office Flora let her nerves show. She was unsure about this plan. The lack of support from the group only heightened her anxiety for her husband’s well-being.

“You better prove them wrong Dragos. If anything were to happen to you I-"

The older man is gentle as he reaches for his wife’s hand, in the way he is always gentle with her. He places a kiss to the back of her palm, “Nothing is going to happen to me, moya lybov. I’m going to take car of this business and this family like I always have.”

Dragos wasn’t going to show his nerves. He never did, but to think they didn’t exist would’ve been ignorant. There wasn’t a reality that Dragos saw where the meeting went sideways. It had to go well, or a war would tear across the city. That thought protected him like a bullet proof vest. He was going to protect the industry he worked to build because that was the only option.

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy

[buckybabesonly]

Dirty Little Secret

Summary: You believe Bucky doesn’t even remember your name, not knowing he moans it to himself at night.

Part 2 - Dirty Little Confession

Pairing: Bucky x Female!Reader

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Masturbation (male)

Word count: 1.4K

A/N: Wrote this on my phone lol sorry for any potential errors. Just wanted to get a little smutty post out there. Also - thanks for nearly 400 followers in just over one week of starting this blog! I’m so happy 🥲 Enjoy!

“Hey. Are you listening?”

A pair of fingers snapped in front of your eyes, breaking you out of your reverie. You blinked in embarrassment as Natasha scowled at you playfully.

“Seriously though, did you listen to anything I just said?”

“No,” you confessed sheepishly.

Her eyes followed your line of sight, landing on a certain Bucky Barnes.

“Ah. You started writing ‘Mrs Bucky Barnes’ across your notepads yet?”

You blushed, heat rising to your cheeks. Were you that obvious? You supposed that one would have to be blind not to notice the goo-goo eyes you gave Bucky all the time whenever he was in the vicinity.

He had arrived at the compound just a few months ago, settling in to his new reformed life away from his history as the Winter Soldier. Steve did his best to help him adjust, and from what you could tell, he was fairly quiet and kept to himself.

“He’s kind of exactly my type,” you confessed to Natasha quietly, biting on your lower lip.

“I see. You like a guy with a high body count, huh.”

“Nat!” You exclaimed, slapping her arm as she snickered at the double entendre. “Not funny.”

“Hey, he gave me this.” Natasha yanked up her top, showing off her scar just above the hipbone. “I’m allowed to be mean to him.”

You grumbled in response as Natasha leant closer, cocking an eyebrow. “Anyway, as I was saying, I really need you to help me run some analysis on this equipment we picked up from…”

You shuffled through the compound hallways, a stack of files in your arms. You rounded a corner sharply, almost colliding with a tall, dark figure who sidestepped you neatly.

“Jesus Christ!” Though a collision had been avoided, you squawked in shock nonetheless, promptly dropping the files onto the floor.

“Ah, shit. Sorry,” Bucky said, quickly kneeling down to collect them.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” you floundered, cheeks flushing red. He straightened up and stacked the files on your arms neatly, his long fingers brushing against yours ever so slightly. His eyes met yours as he offered you a half smile, the corners of his lips quirking up.

His irises were a gorgeous, gray blue, and you silently noted that you had never been stood so close to him before. He smelt so good, and he looked even better in his tight tactical gear.

“Thank you,” you stuttered, wanting to kick yourself at how ruffled you sounded. The effect this man had on you was unfair.

“You’re welcome…” he paused deliberately, and you offered your name to him eagerly. He repeated it, and you loved the way the syllables sounded on his tongue.

“See you around,” he said casually before he strode off again, leaving you a flustered mess in the hallway.

Okay, at least step one was accomplished - he finally knew your name, even if he might not remember it.

You sighed, knowing your little schoolgirl crush was going to be the death of you.

Bucky lay in bed that night, as he did most nights since coming to the compound, with his hands down his pants.

He liked to start off slow, usually. On the odd occasion, he would want it fast, his hands working overtime on his cock as he showered, water streaming over his body as he pumped himself to completion. He would cum hard each time, bracing himself against the shower tiles, your name on his lips.

But usually he liked to take his time. Enjoyed painting a picture in his mind, a mental porno in which you were the star.

God, you had been so fucking cute today. Bucky loved watching you squirm, seeing you blush, practically see the blood rushing to your cheeks.

He had playfully orchestrated the encounter in the hallway, able to smell your subtle perfume with his elevated senses (it had the smell of vanilla and sakura blossoms) as you power walked through the compound.

He was delighted when you practically unravelled in front of him just from a simple stare and a sweep of his fingers. He wondered what you would be like if he ever got you in front of him, naked, ready to take his cock.

His hand palmed his semi-hard erection as he settled back against the pillows, eyes closed. He teased himself, fingers gently tapping his dick, pulling slightly at his balls.

Your face was fixed in his mind. He recalled your wide, shocked eyes, your mouth open in a small ‘O’ as you gasped.

He imagined that mouth stretching wider, tongue lolling out, asking to suck his cock. You would be on your knees as he stood over you, feeding his dick into your warm cavern, and you would take as much as you could like a good girl. So eager to please.

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky hissed, pulling down the hem of his sweatpants and freeing himself completely.

His cock was heavy and thick as it lay against his stomach, twitching slightly as his mind filled itself with the most lewd images of you.

Of course he knew your name. He had asked Steve for it after the first few times he’d spotted you, playing it off as a casual inquiry.

He moaned it now as he dragged drops of his pre-cum down his shaft, wishing it was your hands that was wrapped around his length.

Somehow he found it thrilling, the idea of you believing that he had no clue who you were. He wondered what your reaction would be if you could see him now, rendered a horny, sweaty mess as he masturbated to thoughts of you and only you.

He imagined you spread out in front of him, legs wide, panting and begging for him to fuck your tight pussy. He would slap the head of his cock against your entrance, dragging it against your wet folds, teasing.

In reality, he knew that if he ever found himself in that position, he wouldn’t be able to hold back. Hell, he’d be the one begging you to let him fuck you.

“Yeah, you like that, baby?” Bucky grunted, his hand beginning to move at a steady tempo. If he went too fast, he would definitely cum within seconds, and he wanted to make this last.

He imagined being able to fondle your soft breasts, imagined being able use his mouth on your nipples, wanting to suckle on your tits. He imagined being allowed to kiss every inch of your body, from your toes, up the inner thighs, through the valley of your breasts and to your lips.

He would kiss you with passion and fire, tongue searching yours, wet and hot and needy. He would cup his hand behind your neck, fuck into you slowly and make you moan his name into his mouth.

He tried to imagine how that would sound like, high pitched and breathy.

“Beg for me,” Bucky said aloud, his hand moving up and down his cock as he fantasised about it moving in and out of your cunt instead. “God, beg me to cum inside you.”

He bet your soaking pussy would feel ten times better than jerking off alone in his room, but for now, this was the best he could get. He imagined rutting into you, hard, watching you shake under him as you became undone.

“You gonna let me cum inside you, princess?” He groaned, feeling himself reach the edge. He could see you in his mind, touching your own clit, pleasuring yourself as Bucky’s fat cock disappeared inside you over and over and over again.

You would beg for him to breed you, to fill you up, that sweet mouth speaking the filthiest words.

“Ah - ah fuck, I’ll give it to you, you’re taking it all like a good girl,” Bucky gasped, his hand clenching around his thick, veiny cock before he released all the pent up sexual frustration inside.

Creamy, hot ropes of cum spurted out, onto his stomach. He steadily stroked himself through the high, imagining you crying out as you orgasmed, imagining you being filled up with his seed.

He envisioned how it would look as he continued to thrust, you letting yourself be used, whimpering at the over stimulation.

Bucky was breathing rapidly, body finally going lax as his sticky hand released his softening cock. His heart was beating rapidly as he licked his lips, sighing longingly.

One day, he thought, almost a prayer, one day I’ll get to see what you look like when you cum.

Part 2 - Dirty Little Confession

[watchmegetobsessed]

ILLICIT ACTS

A/N: i hope yall are ready, the edging is finally over, but first, it's some jealous harry, bc he is the best.

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: The temptation is higher than ever, especially when Harry has to watch you dance with his possible future business partner.

PART III. TO ILLICIT THOUGHTS AND ILLICIT TEMPTATION

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry Styles hasn’t felt ashamed in a long time. Probably in long years and he would have never thought that a business trip to his beloved Italy would be the occasion that brings him back this unwanted feeling.

He swam for a torturous thirty minutes after you left, not because he wanted to, but because he was so hard he would have not been able to walk out of the water in front of all these people. Even then, he was still semi-hard, it was enough for him to rush back to his hotel room, but by the time he stood under the shower, his cock was begging for relief again.

This alone was enough to make him feel ashamed, but the three orgasms he needed while thinking about you is what truly pushed him into his shameful pit. Not one, not two, but three times he needed to touch himself before he could get dressed without his cock bursting the seam of his pants.

Standing in front of the mirror he fixes the collar of his black shirt, taking his reflection in. What will you think when you first see him tonight? Will you notice that his hair is different now? Are the sunglasses too much? And what about the earring?

Those are for sure too much. But part of him wants to see your reaction to it, because one time he heard you talking to Jenny from finance during lunch and you mentioned how hot earrings could be on guys.

Fuck, this is bad. He can’t get you out of his mind and it’s not just dirty thoughts anymore.

Reaching for his cologne he squirts some onto his exposed neck and chest, his shirt is open enough to give a glimpse of his necklace, something he has caught you looking at on some occasions before.

He checks the time and sees that it’s six o’clock sharp, so he has to pick you up to make it to the restaurant on time. He rolls his shoulders, slips his phone and wallet into his light colored pants and then walks out of his room, over to your door. Fisting his hand he knocks confidently three times and then waits.

He hears you shuffling around inside and his pulse quickens instantly even though he hasn’t even seen you. But then the door opens and he realizes that he was a whole different man just a second ago.

The moment he lays his eyes on you, it feels like all the air gets knocked right out of his lungs. You have a black dress on, the top is like a corset, pushing your breasts up just enough to plant the most obscene thoughts into his mind that would haunt him not just tonight, but for the rest of his life. There are those thin, almost nonexistent straps running over your shoulders and he can already imagine himself snapping them with his teeth. From underneath the top the silkiest looking fabric runs down your hips, taunting him with what’s hiding underneath and how badly he wants to put his hands… and mouth on it. The skirt reaches to your mid-thighs, leaving most of your deliciously soft looking legs uncovered and his thoughts immediately snap to an image of having them on his shoulders as he—“

“Earring,” he hears you say, eyes focused on the dangling cross hanging from his left ear. He catches your chest rising heavily and he doesn’t miss the way you run your tongue over your lips.

“Too much?” he asks with a smug smirk. You shake your head. He offers you his arm and you hesitantly, but lock a hand around his bicep as you pull the door closed behind you. This one touch sends a shiver down your spine and Harry feels a fire igniting inside of him.

Walking towards the elevator you both think about the same thing. You’re fucked.

Fabio and Vittore knows all the best places, so you never doubted they would choose the right one for tonight’s outing as well. The place is called GINO’s, during the day it’s a fancy restaurant and then after about nine in the evening it transforms into a bar that has a dance floor as well. It’s classy, tasty and probably way too expensive for your budget, but you’re not paying tonight.

One drink follows the other after dinner, the four of you are having a blast and with the Trevisani brothers present the gut wrenching desire you’ve been fighting is somewhat easier to contain. Harry still looks fucking delicious with his open shirt and dangling earring, but it would be way harder if it was just the two of you.

You were afraid of what it would be like to face Harry after what happened on the beach. How could one go on after what you experienced? But it seems like Harry has forgot about it, because not even the slightest sign of discomfort could be seen on him all evening.

What’s more, he’s been giving you looks that get you flustered, it doesn’t seem like Harry found what happened earlier awkward at all, his darkened eyes often wander to your dress and he watches your every move, always making sure you have everything you need.

The music is in full blast by 10 pm, people are dancing in front of the DJ’s setup, the lights have been dimmed and there’s alcohol everywhere.

Fabio Trevisani is exactly how you imagine a true Italian man. He is in his thirties, thick, dark hair and beard, golden skin and nice charm, he has them all. He’s never scared to bring some flirting into his words, he has definitely given you a few hints that he finds you appealing, but you’ve been just ignoring these. He is a handsome man, but not the one you truly want these days.

Tonight, thanks to all the drinks, you feel a lot looser and open to Fabio’s flirting, for some reason. With Harry on your left and Fabio on your right, your attention is torn between the two directions, but while Harry is more quiet and reserved, Fabio likes to take the lead and keep you entertained, making you laugh with his jokes and getting you flustered by his compliments.

“Amore mio, vieni a ballare con mi!” Fabio begs you, taking one of your hands. You notice Harry stiffening beside you, but all you can do is laugh in confusion, since you have no idea what Fabio just said.

“What?”

“Dance with me!” he translates his request, already standing up, tugging you towards the dance floor. You don’t have much chance to protest, you find yourself standing from your seat and following him into the dancing crowd.

Somehow it’s no surprise that Fabio is a great dancer. With all the booze in your system, you can’t help but laugh as he keeps twirling you around, pulling you against him, dipping you back, he does all the moves he knows.

He keeps flirting with you, though half the time he is talking in Italian, it’s more like funny than hot for you right now, you’re just enjoying the moment.

That is right until you spot a pair of familiar green eyes that appear more like black as Harry approaches the two of you through the dancing people.

Your stomach drops to the floor as he moves towards you like a hungry tiger, but you manage to keep moving to the music, Fabio dancing right behind you with his hands on your waist. When Harry finally reaches you, he leans to Fabio’s ear and you wish you could hear what he says to him, because a second later Fabio’s hands slip off your waist and you catch him nodding at Harry before he leans over to you.

“Thanks for the dance,” he says, trying to talk over the music. You don’t even get to reply, the crowd swallows him and you’re left there.

With Harry.

When you turn around you find him standing there, his eyes practically swallowing you up whole. He steps closer, hands finding your waist and with one swift movement he turns you around, pulling your back against his chest and you can’t help but gasp when your ass meets his groin, for the second time in a day.

Everyone around you is moving to the rhythm while the two of you are standing still, only Harry’s hands moving from your hips to your stomach and even through the corset you can feel his fingers digging into your flesh.

“Did you enjoy dancing with him?”

His mouth is right next to your ear and you swear you could feel his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he talked.

“Yes,” you breathe out, but you couldn’t even recall a memory of Fabio’s dancing even if your life depended on it. Not when your body is melting against Harry’s hard chest and you can feel every bit of warmth that radiates from him. When you feel his nose bury into your hair and his hands slip just a tad bit lower on your body, you lose control and let your head roll back to his shoulder.

“Do you want me to bring him back so you can keep dancing with him?”

His hips start to move finally and he makes you move with him, all while your chest is rising and falling heavily, giving him the best view of your cleavage from above, he can’t tear his eyes off the way your breasts curve so deliciously, how your soft, exposed skin shimmers from the thin layer of sweat, he wants to lick you up from where your top starts up to your jaw. He is dying to taste you, your skin, your lips, your pleasure…

You shake your head at his question, your hands snapping to his hands on you, covering them with a desperate urge to keep them planted on your body. Not that Harry ever plans to take his hands off you.

“Do you want me to stay here with you, Y/N?” he asks, his nose running down the side of your neck as he breathes in your sweet scent.

“Yes!” you gasp, when his hips move forward and once again, you can feel his hardening cock pressing into your ass.

He groans behind you when you push back against him more, his cock throbbing already and he can only hope no one will interrupt this moment. You’re swaying to the music, your head is still resting on his shoulder and maybe it’s the booze or maybe it’s just your uncontrollable desire for him, but your courage bursts and as you hold his right hand you tug it up on your body, over your stomach and then your chest, you feel his shaky breath on your heated skin and his fingers hook into the top of your corset. If he wanted to, he could just tug it down and bare you in front of his greedy eyes, but he is way too possessive, if another man laid eyes on what he thinks of as his, Hell would break loose and Harry would be probably thrown out of here.

So instead, he just enjoys that tiny inch of extra skin that he can feel underneath the top of your dress and he gives in to the temptation and presses his lips to your neck, his tongue meeting your skin, finally tasting you.

“Fuck,” you moan at the sensation and your other hand flies back, fingers dipping into his hair and you give him a rough tug that earns you a bite from him.

Harry is seeing red. His hands grab onto your hips and twirls you around confidently, arms locking around you so tight not even a pin could fit between the two of you. Your wandering hands run up his biceps, over his shoulders, arriving to the base if his neck and you comb your fingers through his hair from the nape of his neck, grinning wide when you feel his chest vibrating against yours from the groan that escapes his mouth.

He leans back, just enough to press his forehead against yours and you know he is fighting his last restraints, this is the moment that will decide it all, if you go further or step back behind the safety of your boundaries. You’re ready to give in, you were always ready, so it’s fully just on Harry.

And right when you think it’s going to happen someone bumps into you from behind and it’s like the bubble has been popped. Harry helps to steady you, but when you look into his eyes you can tell he has pulled back.

Disappointment washes over you as you move back, putting a bit of distance between the two of you. It looks like his mind is racing and you’d die to actually know what he’s thinking about, but he remains silent and you’re back to square one.

The rest of the evening goes by in a blur. At one point you go back to the table, have another drink and you listen to the men talking while you keep just reliving the moments with Harry on the dance floor.

Harry appears to be confident and over what happened, but in his head he is screaming. Mostly at himself for not giving in, the temptation was painfully cruel, he was so close to snapping and taking what he’s been fantasizing about for so long, but when you got pushed it was like his consciousness were awakened and he realized that he was playing a dangerous game.

He truly thought he made the right decision when you moved back to the table, but when he saw you so zoned out and the disappointment on your face was obvious, he wished he could go back in time and do the opposite.

It was past one when you left the place and parted ways with Fabio and Vittore, heading back to your hotel that was only a ten minute walk. Now you’re walking side by side and the silence is deafening.

Still drunk on the alcohol and the scene with Harry, you get into the elevator with a pouty look that doesn’t fly over Harry. He is staring at you as the elevator moves up and the tension rises in a blink of an eye, for a second you think he’ll break now, but then the elevator stops with a soft ding! and you walk out with a new wave of disappointment. Because if he didn’t give in before, there’s no way he will now.

You reach your room and swiping the keycard you open the door. You step inside and turn around, seeing him standing there with his hand hidden in his pockets as he stares back at you with an unreadable look.

“Well, good night, Harry,” you breathe out and he nods at you in reply, there’s a second long pause before you move to close the door.

Right when the lock is about to click closed, Harry snaps a hand against it and pushes open again. You suck on your breath as the door flies back and it reveals him, his darkened gaze practically lighting you on fire. There’s half a second of hesitation, it’s like in the elevator, but this time it ends up completely different.

It happens so fast, yet your body reacts instantly. Harry moves inside with one swift movement, he grabs you by your face and kisses you so hard you forget your name, your past and present. Everything is gone, it’s just you and him.

Harry pushes you against the wall and kicks the door closed, all while his mouth devours yours, making up for all the times he chose not to. He licks into your mouth, hips pressing forward to show you just how hard he is already and you can only hope this time you’ll get to feel him inside you.

You move further into the room, bumping into the bathroom door, a chair and then you end up pressed against the desk, your legs open, welcoming him between them. You take just one moment to breathe and you’re about to pull him back, but he stops and you’re afraid he’ll end this dream way too soon.

“Y/N, I want your consent,” he rasps out, breathing heavily.

“You have it, you have anything you want!” you beg him, clawing at his chest, trying to pull him back onto you, but he is still resisting.

“No. I want you to say it loud and clear that you want this, that you want me. I can’t… I can’t have you wake up and freak out about what we’re about to do.”

Fuck, he is so insanely hot even when he is asking for your consent like the gentleman that he is. He knows that you’ve drunk and he would never take advantage of you. The drunken buzz has cleared out of your mind mostly, the walk home did wonders and you can answer him confidently with certainty.

“Harry, I want you. I wanted you before and I will want you in the morning. You have my consent.”

He draws in a deep breath with his eyes closed and when he exhales, his gaze finally finds yours and you know there’s no going back from now.

He throws himself at you as if he’s been starving for months, his mouth attacks your lips, he bites and sucks while his hands work to push the silky skirt up, revealing more of your legs. With his hands he urges you to wrap them around his waist and when you do that, he lifts you up with ease, moving over to the bed and throwing you onto the mattress, following you instantly, the weight of his body pinning you down. He buries his face into your neck, licking his way down to your chest and then he finally makes his fantasy reality when he takes the strap of your dress between his teeth and pulls on it just hard enough to make the string snap. A surprised gasp slips through your lips and then you can’t help but chuckle when he snaps the other one as well.

“Insane. You’re making me insane, Y/N,” he groans against your chest, his hands desperately trying to rid you of the dress, but it’s a bit tricky.

Pushing on his chest you make him kneel up and you follow him, turning around you show him the row of clasps in the back. He unhooks them in two rounds, the corset becomes loose around you, allowing it to fall and pool around your waist. Harry’s arms snake around you from behind, pulling you against his chest, his hands groping your breasts in an instant.

“Oh fuck!” you moan, head rolling back to his shoulder as his mouth kisses along your shoulder and neck, his hands exploring your body relentlessly. Arching your back you push your ass back and it meets his groin, the outline of his cock bursting through his pants. Reaching back you palm him, give him a few squeezes, feeling him up and he involuntarily thrusts into your touch.

Harry releases you just enough so you can get rid of the dress, leaving you only in your lacy thong, while he is still fully dressed, so you take over control for a bit and turning around you snap his shirt open, buttons flying around the room. You surprised not just Harry with this but yourself as well, but you don’t dwell on it long, while Harry shrugs his shirt off you work on his pants and moments later he is sitting on the mattress in front of you in only his underwear. You climb over to him, mouth finding his as you settle on his lap and he moves forward, laying you onto the mattress, his hips pushing against yours and you can’t stop yourself from grinding against his bulge.

“Oh God,” he breathes out and matching your movements he starts thrusting forward as well.

Reaching down his hand slips under the lacy fabric and he cups your wet and heated crotch, his palm pressing against your clit just right.

“Fuck, you are so wet. All for me?”

“Yes! Harry, please!”

“Please what?” he asks against your lips, his hand teasing you between your legs.

“More! I need more!”

You catch a pleased smirk on his lips before he pushes two fingers into you, making you gasp for air when they curl inside you and then move out, just to do it over and over again. His palm is drenched already and it feels like you’ve been drugged when the heel of his palm presses against your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

In the meantime his clothed cock is now rubbing against your thigh, he is seeking relief too as he keeps grinding against your, looking for any kind of friction.

“Harry, I need… I want your cock, please!” you beg, barely able to form words.

“Patience, I want to taste you first.”

“No, I need you to fuck me already!”

“Just one taste, baby, I’ll be quick,” he promises as he pulls his hand out from between your legs and sitting back onto his heels he drags your thong down your legs, throwing it across the room before pushing your knees apart, taking one quick look at you all spread out in front of him before he leans forward and latches onto your clit with no mercy.

He keeps his word and doesn’t spend too much time with his face buried between your legs, but he makes the most of it, licking and sucking, fucking you with his tongue. When he comes back up and kisses you and you can taste yourself on him.

You work together to rid him of his last item of clothing and when you see his cock spring free from its restraints your mind blanks and all you can think about is choking on his dick. Harry doesn’t protest when you sit up and then settle so you can kiss the leaking tip while you wrap a hand around the base. The sounds he makes when you take him into your mouth are proof that you’re doing it right. Each time you go down you try to move lower and lower, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can, your eyes are watering and your spit is dripping down his cock, but it’s exactly what he wants, to see you struggle, because he is so big but you’re just so eager to please him. He cradles the back of your head and when you’re down one time he gives your head a gentle push, just enough to reach your limit, he can feel you gagging and he keeps you there just one second longer than you would have stayed on your own before letting you come up for air. When he sees your face, your teary eyes, puffy lips and glistening chin he pulls you in by your neck and kisses you rough, pushing you back onto the bed so he can get on top of you without clothes this time. He groans when you reach down and wrap your hands around him, teasing him some more.

“Condom?” he asks and your first reaction is a disapproving cry.

“Wanna feel you.”

“Are you on the pill, baby?” he asks, a moan slipping through his lips when you move his cock so the head pokes at your clit.

“Yes. Please!”

Normally there’s no way he would have sex without a condom, but he is just as desperate to feel you fully as you are so he lets himself have it this one time.

With one last kiss he sits back onto his heels and hooks his arms under your legs, pulling them up, onto his shoulders like he has imagined it so many times before. Kissing the inside of your ankle he grabs his cock with a steady hand and positions himself before slowly pushing in, his dick filling you up, stretching you out perfectly until all of him is inside you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans stilling, closing his eyes for a moment before he looks down at you. There’s endless passion in his gaze, but there’s something soft too. Before you could figure it out he starts moving and you lose the ability to form coherent thoughts.

At first he starts off kinda slow, but as he can feel you getting used to his size he starts to pick up his pace and soon enough, he is pounding into you. It’s sloppy and rough at the same time, you’ve turned into goo and he is the one holding you together. Soon he switches the position up and comes down on top of you, your feet hooking behind him, allowing him to go even deeper.

He keeps kissing you, praising you, telling you how good you are in every possible way.

“My good girl, taking me so well.”

“You were made for me, Y/N, you feel so fucking good.”

“Look at that pussy, gripping my cock tight and delicious.”

Every time he speaks up you can only just moan in reply and tighten your hold around him.

When he pulls back you cry out in protest, but he just chuckles, helping you up and onto all four, his hands circling your ass cheeks, fingers digging into the flesh before his cock finally pushes into you from behind. You try your best to match his rhythm, but he is definitely doing all the moving, you can barely hold yourself up at this point. When Harry notices how much you’re struggling he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you up so you can lean back onto his chest, giving your arms a break as he fucks into you. You wiggle around for a bit until you can turn your head enough to lock your lips with his.

“Harry, I’m so close,” you moan into his mouth and it just makes him go even harder and adding to the sensation one of his hands move to your clit and you’re convinced he is trying to kill you.

“Come for me, baby. I want to feel you come on my cock,” he pants.

His words push you over the edge and you come, hard and loud, tightening your walls around him, which tips him over as well. He pulls out just in time, his cum squirting onto your folds and lower stomach while his orgasm washes over him in waves.

With your hands on his thighs you let your head fall forward, trying to catch your breath and Harry kisses you between your shoulder blades, pretty much doing the same. When he moves back you lean forward until you can put your arms down onto the mattress. You hear him walk into the bathroom and soon he returns with a damp towel, gently cleaning you up so you can finally flop onto the bed comfortably.

He throws the towel to the side and lies next to you, in all of his naked glory and though you feel like you have no energy left, you just want to stay awake for as long as possible and drink in the sight of Harry Styles in your bed.

“We should talk about it,” he murmurs softly as he reaches out and runs his hand down the side of your face.

“I know,” you agree.

“In the morning,” he adds and you nod. He then pulls you closer, into his arms and you happily curl up against his side as he pulls the covers over the two of you. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and you fall asleep listening to his steady breathing.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[captain-hawks]

Spicy sleepover with Shoto Todoroki in the back of a car 👀

coming undone

shouto todoroki x f!reader

Your job as pro hero Shouto Todoroki's personal assistant becomes marginally more difficult when he's hit with a Quirk that disrupts his body's temperature regulation abilities—particularly when you have few other options at your disposal in the back seat of his car.

wc: 2.5k

c: 18+only, pro hero!shouto, semi-public sexual activities, dry humping, lap grinding, fingering, coming in pants

SPICY SLEEPOVER — PART V

“Right there,” Todoroki exhales roughly, the leather seat groaning beneath him as he shifts. “Keep it there.”

Despite the borderline pornographic noise crawling its way up his throat as his head tips backward, white and red strands of hair falling across his forehead, it’s most certainly platonic—the steady pressure of your hands on his exposed chest, his black button-down shirt wholly undone. 

There are ice packs between your palms and his bare skin, angry swirls of stream hissing from the place where they meet.

Your job has been fairly simple for the past year, being pro hero Shouto Todoroki’s personal assistant. He’s a kind, fair employer that doesn’t want for much, if anything at all—to the point where oftentimes, you have to force him to pass along tasks you should be the one doing. You’re fairly certain that the only reason he even put up a job posting for an assistant in the first place was at the insistence of some of the shareholders at his agency. 

The easy, amicable friendship that you’ve found along the way—a byproduct of the large amount of time you spend together—has likely been the one thing that’s kept him from phasing out the position entirely.

But this past week has been difficult, to say the least.

Regardless of his constant tenure amongst the top hero ranks, even he has met his match on occasion. Unfortunately, the match in question this time around was an unstable, overpowered ice-wielding villain whose Quirk had a rare, unfortunate side effect. Finding a weak spot in Todoroki’s defenses when his body began to tip over the edge of overheating from the massive amount of flames flowing out of him, the villain managed to dig its claws into Todoroki’s internal temperature regulation, throwing his body’s equilibrium entirely off kilter.

The effects are expected to fade within the month, but for the time being, Todoroki’s been mostly out of commission as his body temperature rapidly rises and drops without warning. As his assistant, you’ve been by his side nearly round the clock since the incident.

By and large, you like to consider yourself an utmost professional. Because despite the fact that Todoroki continues to dominate social media’s unofficial “Most Eligible Pro Hero Bachelor” poll (something which he wasn’t even aware of until you told him one night over take out food in his kitchen), you’ve managed to avoid your body and mind’s subjective opinion on the matter.

Despite the way it seems as if he shares more with you than anyone else in his life as of late.

Despite his complete and utter avoidance of matchups and dates with no explanation other than, “I’m not interested.”

(Despite the frown that flitted across his face when you laughed as you told him someone at the agency asked you out several weeks ago.)

Despite the fact that sometimes, it feels like the soft, relaxed smile you’ve come to know so well is one reserved just for you.

But your patience and self-preservation have been put to the test like never before as of late—particularly during the moments when Todoroki begins to overheat. Twice already, you’ve had to help him out of his clothes and into an ice cold shower, half of your body getting soaked in the process while you helped him stay upright. 

Which is an issue you find yourself faced with now after he insisted he’d be able to make it through a brief appearance at tonight’s hero gala. 

At the very least, he managed to make it up onstage for the few remarks at the podium that he was slated for, but once he returned to the empty seat beside you at your table, that’s when things went south. Quickly picking up on the telltale signs of his body temperature rising as you took one glance at his flushed skin, you hardly made it out to the parking lot with a handful of ice packs you’d begged the kitchen staff to give you before he was collapsing in the back seat of his car. 

Pointedly ignoring the bead of sweat that seems to be teasing you as it drips precariously down the side of his taut neck, you ask, “You okay?”

Exhaling slowly, he reaches out, his hand brushing against yours as he goes to take one of the ice packs from your grip, moving it to his forehead instead, where sweat-damp strands of hair now lie in a messy heap.

You firmly remind yourself how wrong it would be to mull over how ungodly attractive he looks in this moment as he sits there beside you with his thighs spread wide, chest heaving. 

“I think—shit,” he grunts, dropping the ice pack to the floor as a full-body shiver begins to wrack through him.

While most waves are either one extreme or the other, sometimes, his body instantly bounces from cold to hot—or vice versa. 

Quickly removing the ice pack you’re holding as well, you shove it to the other side of the back seat and quickly lean forward to the front of the car to swap the air conditioning setting to heat. When you look back at him, you frown. “I didn’t bring any blankets, but maybe this will…”

You start to shrug off your cardigan, but Todoroki reaches a hand out, placing it gently on your forearm.

“It won’t…can you just…” he trails off, his blue and gray eyes staring into yours as he tries (and fails, miserably) to suppress the way his limbs have begun to shake from the chill. Glancing down at where his fingers are still resting against your skin, cold as ice, he shakes his head, letting you go. “Nevermind.”

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he’s suggesting. And while you’re appreciative that he’s respectful enough of your professional working relationship to backtrack the thought, the scope of your job has already exaggerated such fluid boundaries over the past few days—what’s another line crossed?

You begin to shift, and Todoroki’s eyes go wide as he exclaims, “You really don’t have to—oof.”

Before you can lose your nerve, you slide into his lap.

With his chest to your back, Todoroki doesn’t seem to know what to do at first, his hands hovering awkwardly at his sides. 

“It’s fine,” you huff out, voice coming out a bit higher than you mean for it to as you grasp his wrists and wrap his cold arms around you.

Both of you sit in silence for a moment, save for the occasional chattering of his teeth, and you hope he’s not looking in the rearview mirror to see the way your eyes are scrunched shut as you try to resist the urge to mentally catalog the way your body fits against his. 

“Thank you,” he finally says, voice a little rough. 

Though his limbs are still ice against yours, you can feel him begin to relax just a fraction as the combination of your body heat and the warm air blasting through the vents up front begins to defrost his chilled extremities. 

“I feel like the shower was worse than this,” you joke, if only to lighten the moment as you remember the sight of the endless rivulets of cold water cascading down his broad, bare chest.

The warm scent of his cologne that clung to the t-shirt he insisted you change into after you ended up halfway drenched yourself.

But as he exhales, a lukewarm huff of air tickling the back of your neck and your body unintentionally sliding deeper into the cradle of his hips as he shifts slightly, you know you’re lying.

This is far fucking worse.

His hand twitches against your chest as he shivers, and you inhale sharply when his thumb unknowingly skates along the skin just beneath one of your breasts, the thin fabric of your dress doing little to dampen the sensation. 

“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with all of this,” he sighs, voice taking on a remorseful tone. “I could put you in an easier position somewhere else at the agency, if you want.”

Turning your head sideways, the corners of your mouth tilt downward, brows furrowing. “You think this is going to make me want to quit?”

He shrugs, and you bite the inside of your lower lip to stifle the indecent noise that threatens to burst up your throat as his forearms press into your sides. “I would completely understand.”

“You’re going to have to fire me if you want me gone that bad.”

“Never,” he quickly replies.

You smile. “Dumping ice cold water over your head and wrapping you up in five layers of blankets could hardly be considered a difficult job. And this—this is perfectly fine. You’re kind of comfortable, you know.”

He rolls his eyes. “I can feel you starting to shiver, too.”

Shrugging, you flippantly wave your head. “This is still way more fun than that date I was supposed to go on tonight.”

Todoroki stiffens a bit beneath you, swallowing audibly. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t go.”

Given that you’ve yet to even admit to yourself yet that you’d rather spend time with Todoroki than anyone else, you simply reply, “I knew you were going to need me here tonight.”

Head falling back against the seat once more, he sighs. “I feel like I always need you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you let your gaze fall toward the windshield as you weakly respond, “I’m the one that has to force you to stop doing everything yourself and give me work to do half of the time.”

Todoroki’s quiet for a beat, and you can see him flick his gaze up to the roof of the car from the reflection in the rearview. “Because I don’t want to let myself—”

You blink several times. “It’s okay to depend on me, that’s my job.”

His voice sounds strained when he answers. “It’s more than that.”

It’s a battle in and of itself to resist the urge to fidget in his lap beneath the ministrations of your rapidly galloping heartbeat. 

“I want things that I shouldn’t want,” he exhales, voice low and careful.

Briefly, you begin to wonder if perhaps you’ve succumbed to hypothermia.

Carefully, you place one of your hands over his. Todoroki stills, his shivering limbs falling quiet beneath your touch. 

“Do I get a say in this?” you ask, lacing your fingers together.

He inhales sharply. “I didn’t think you—”

“I’m good at my job,” you shrug, finding the courage to turn your head sideways to look at him again, your body moving in his lap in the process.

And it’s then that you feel something hard pressing up against your ass.

“You’re very good at your job,” he confirms, the last few words dissolving into a groan that he can no longer stifle.

Letting yourself relax further into him, you angle your face so that your noses are nearly touching. “I feel like there are easier ways to get warm.”

He leans a little closer, the scent of mint gum lingering on his lips as they skirt near the periphery of your own. “Are there?”

You nod, subtly pressing your backside down into his front. “Science would shame us for not trying.”

He groans again, his mouth brushing against yours. “I think you’re right.”

This time, it’s Todoroki who rocks his hips upward, slowly dragging his cock against the divot between your ass cheeks. And when you finally let out the breathy, keening moan that you’ve been holding back, his lips crash into yours in a messy, hungry, sideways kiss. 

Your hypothesis very quickly proves itself correct as Todoroki grinds against your ass, blazing heat flooding your body and flaring white-hot in the pit of your stomach as he groans into your mouth, your spit-soaked lips slotted together in the best messy approximation you can make of kissing at this awkward angle. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, hands roaming across your front to grasp your breasts. 

Shrugging down the straps of your dress and bra, you let your tits spill out, and Todoroki’s hips stutter as his fingers begin to knead your bare, supple skin. 

“Want you to feel good, too,” he breathes out, and the gravelly state of his voice alone leaves you whimpering as he begins to pinch and tease your pert, sensitive nipples.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to resist the urge to touch yourself, particularly when your aching, dripping cunt is right within your own reach beneath the skirt of your dress. Sliding a hand down between your legs, you writhe under Todoroki’s attentive touch as you feel how soaked your underwear are.

“Can I—”

His chin is on your shoulder, his eyes focused on where you’re currently stuffing two fingers into your panties and moaning softly as you slide them through your creamy slit. You can practically feel the fresh wave of arousal that leaks from your quivering hole at what he’s asking.

“Please.”

Todoroki lets out a satisfied, relieved sound as his hand makes its way down your chest, quickly replacing your own inside of your underwear. His hips grind up against your ass harder as a near-feral groan rumbles in his chest while he drags three fingers through the sloppy mess your folds have become.

“You’re so wet,” he pants, struggling to get the words out fully as they die on a groan when he slips two fingers inside of you.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, your body drenched in a burning wave of pleasure as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, thrusting a finger in and out of your cunt while he drags his thumb over your swollen clit.

“So fucking warm,” he breathes out, teeth caressing the soft juncture between your shoulder and neck. 

“Are you?”

He plunges a second finger inside of you, and you spread your even legs wider in his lap, choking out a moan as he makes a point of fitting his fingers inside of the hot, tight, soaking wet warmth of your pussy, still rutting his hard cock against your ass all the while. 

“You are.”

A scorching whip of pleasure snaps sharply inside of you and bursts open wide, flooding your veins with a euphoric, intoxicating feeling that leaves you trembling and gasping and moaning as he finger fucks you through each cresting wave of your sudden climax.

“Shouto,” you whimper.

His hands slide to your hips, gripping you hard as he brokenly moans, dragging his cock up and down your ass in firm, hurried strokes. You can feel it when he tips over the edge of his orgasm, his thick cock pulsing as he comes in his pants, breathing hard.

With one hand grasping the back of the driver’s seat, you turn to look at him, a fond, excited, and dizzying wave of warmth blooming in your chest at how entirely undone Shouto Todoroki looks—lips slightly parted as his chest heaves, eyes alight in post-orgasmic bliss, a dark stain of cum seeping through the front of his pants.

“Warm enough yet?” you ask coyly.

He tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly as his mouth curves upward in a smile that makes your heart leap. “I think you should stay at my place tonight, just in case.”

[gladiatorcunt]

Literally begging you to please write more Patrick Zweig x Reader fics 🥵🥵

cw: 18+ MDNI, afab reader, hints of patrick x art / patrick x reader x art, consensual and accidental somno, gross patrick, hint of breeding kink, college era ish, mention of ass play, unedited

Tired Loser Bf!Patrick who hikes one of your thighs over his, pressing up against you and sinking back into your already wet pussy. It’s so early in the morning, but sometimes he gets in a mood where he just needs to go lose himself in your cunt even if you’re not contributing. You hum and snuggle further into the silk pillowcase, relishing in the too tight grip of your plush love handles and the sloppy sounds his balls make against your ass. You hardly spend any time together due to his career rhat’s been on a bit of a decline, so you’re more than happy to be his toy if that’s what makes him feel like he’s worth anything. Like he can only find meaning in the warm walls of your pussy, and ass, on occasion.

It’s either this or quick fucks on the counter or kitchen table, both of you nearly clawing at each other in desperation to all but consume the other. Sometimes it’s softer, slow thrusts angled to perfectly hit the right spot every time as he trails open mouthed kisses along your collarbone. Patrick offers to take a shower after coming home sweaty and disgusting but you always say that you prefer him like that anyway. He whines pathetically for a kiss for you and for him from a best friend you’ve never met into your neck and pounds you harder. Your eyes flutter half open at the impact, the grunts behind you and the thick weight moving in and out of you being the only things you can comprehend.

“Glided right in, didn’t even have to finger you or anything.” He moans too loudly for sleepy sex at 5 in the monring. “Always so ready for me, just how i like you.”

“Uh! Uh huh-“

You sigh and nod into the pillow, lazily throwing your ass back on his cock as he fucks you. His pace is so fast that you’re worried he might throw his back out, it’s so frantic and desperate, like he’s trying to stab your guts and leave a permanent mark on you from the inside. You zone in on his heavy breathing, he grinds his length deeper inside and lifts one of your ass cheeks just to watch it fall and jiggle back into place. It’s almost like he’s on the court, eyes watching the ball like a hawk and giving you the most toe curling punched out sounds when he hits it. His precision and raw enthusiasm has you gasping.

The sun’s not far off from rising, so you give up on getting anymore meaningful rest and drown in the intense smell around you. Sweat, slick, old almost acidic cum from when he bred you in his sleep, take out containers from last night that haven’t been thrown away, sharp and piercing autumn air, Patrick’s horrific axe body spray, your much more pleasant cherry blossom body wash. His thrusts send you rocking up the bed, tits swaying back and forth in the mess of tangled thin sheets. Your still half concious but he fucks you like he’s been awake for hours, eyes wide and crazed and brow furrowed like he needs so much more of you than he thought. He moans two names after quick sucks to both of your nipples, one for each. Yours and that same best friend’s.

The red cap Patrick has stashed away in the nighstand collects dust like a skeleton in a closet. There are sessions where he won’t, or maybe can’t, cum unless you cry and whine for that best friend too. You don’t even know who you’re begging for another cock to steal your voice and ravage your throat, but you do it and take note of the euphoric shout that rattles all the way out of Patrick’s chest, the all too pleased sigh into the valley of your breasts. You don’t ask in the shower or in bed, the buried sadness he carries like a chain gives the impression that the abscence is not his choice. Might be a nice birthday present, a reunion.

You wake up more as he goes insane with his fucking, his arm restrains your thigh and pulls it up so high you can feel the muscle stretching. He doesn’t communicate beyond feral grunts and something primal between a growl and a whimper, making sure you can really feel his thick cock bullying your poor pussy beyond repair. You never mind, in fact some days it’s you who wakes Patrick up by bouncing on him like a cock starved slut. You like when you can’t forget what he’s done to you, when you can raise your head to admire the new necklace of bruises. It’s not like he’s never gentle with you, but you don’t feel ashamed for loving him how he is. The jagged edges and aching need to belong somewhere, to someone.

Sometimes all a relationship needs to work is for the people involved to be the same, deep down or surface level. You take whiffs of his pubes that are too deep to be normal apprection for your partner’s body and he eats his own tangy cum out of your puffy pussy like it’s God’s gift to humanity, spitting the left over jizz and additional saliva into your ass hole and slurping that up too. But in the here and now, he’s fucking you without a goal or an end in sight, heavy balls wetly kissing your lower body with no assurance of being emptied. It could be hours before Patrick lets either of you cum, like it’s one of his games that more closely resembles a heated battle to something that looks and acts like death. Evenly matched, no one being stronger than the other.

So you give him the point and drift off, messily tongue kissing him back and lulling yourself to the chaotic rhythm of his thrusts. Outside, it starts to softly rain, the ambience of the moment softening both of your hearts. You put effort in a real kiss, only for a second, whisper an ‘I love you’ and wait for a resounding ‘I love you too’ before shutting off your brain for the time being.

[tradgedyinwaves]

alternate ending of this

Being John's assistant and girlfriend was hard sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time. Holidays were missed. Special occasions put on back burners. But when he was home, John made every effort to make it up to you. At least, he usually did.

You took care of their paperwork for the most part, submitting their reports once they were turned in with details of their mission. You made a point never to read them. You'd made that mistake once and gotten a first-hand account of how Johnny had shoved a grenade down someone's throat and then stood back to watch.

They were your boys, but that didn't mean they were stable. Simon liked killing people with his bare hands. Johnny liked to watch them explode. Gaz liked to wittle them down to nothing during interrogation(torture).

But your John? Well, he made sure his shots provided the most suffering. Shooting out the knees first, then the elbows, shoulders, spine and then finally the head. He had no issues getting the headshot, but liked to take his time.

With you, though? Oh with you they are protective and gentle. Harm almost never befell you with them around. The worst that had happened since the beginning of your relationship with John (and your indoctrination into their group) was that you'd stubbed your own toe on a chair you hadn't pushed in. It was your own fault really, love.

The team had returned the day before your birthday. What a birthday present, right? Wrong. As you greeted them on the tarmac with warm meals waiting in the car, each one gave you one armed hugs. John was last, pulling you to his side but not saying anything.

You could tell they were exhausted and that something hadn't gone quite right on their mission. They were always extra quiet and morose on those days, usually breaking out of it with a good meal and a decent night of rest.

That wouldn't be the case when you woke up the next morning next to...an empty bed? Usually, the day after he returned, John would sleep in, catching up on the hours of sleep he hadn't been able to get.

And went you puttered out into the rest of the apartment, you would find it empty. Boots, keys, and wallet were gone. Boonie hat missing from it's spot on the hook by the door. Maybe he was just out getting things.

He'd never missed a birthday if he was home and always made it up to you if he wasn't. So you waited. Took a shower, pampered yourself with the new body scrub you'd purchased just for this day.

When John wasn't back even a couple hours later, you headed up to the base as you felt the first prickles of anger rising on the back of your neck. You brought a lunch with you, an excuse for being there on your day off.

"Oh, just bringing Captain Price is lunch. Silly man forgot it again."

And so they let you in. No one questioned you, giving you warm smiles and well wishes. Some even wishing you a happy birthday for which you thanked them.

Stepping into John's office always made you cringe. It was an organized person's nightmare. Papers strewn everywhere, dirty coffee mugs left around sporadically, cigar ash filling the tray but also filtered around it like he was in a hurry. He wasn't like this at home, so you let him have his space at work the way he wanted it.

Except he wasn't in there. Keys and wallet, sure. So you knew he was on base. Leaving the warm meal on his desk, you meandered out to find the gym where you thought maybe they were sparring, getting rid of excess adrenaline from their mission.

You could see from down the hall that the lights in the gym were off. Strange, it was the middle of the day and there was almost always someone in there.

When you pushed the door open, you were greeted by the lights flicking on and a small crowd of people screaming "Surprise!" in your face. Your hand came up to press against the center of your chest, face splitting open into a wide smile.

The room was decorated in balloons in different shades of your favorite color. Streamers connected bunches of balloons and there was even a cake and some presents set off to the side.

John approached you and wrapped those big burly arms around your waist, lifting you into the air and spinning you with a rough laugh. "Happy Birthday, dove! Did you like your surprise?" He set you back on your feet but didn't release you, giving you a crinkled smile.

"I loved it. Thank you!" You leaned up and kissed him, John meeting you midway and growling softly against your lips.

"Oi! Don't hog the birthday girl!" Kyle exclaimed, coming over to pull you from his Captain's arms to get his own hug. "Happy birthday, sweetheart! You're not too mad at us, I hope?" He stepped back and looked down at you with those warm eyes of his.

"Not at all. Just next time? Don't make me think you hate me," you turned back to John with a soft glare to which he had the decency to look ashamed.

You were quickly joined by Simon and Johnny, the latter of the two crushing you in a hug where Simon gave you a small nod and a smile (you think it's a smile based on the way his balaclava moves). Even Laswell and her wife are there and you couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

Everything was right again in your little world.

I hope that was a good apology for the angst of the other one. Just a super fluffy little thing for my little shrooms.

[jolalibrary]

12. stormy sky

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter twelve of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.6k chapter warnings: anxious!reader. allusions to bad mental health day/sadness. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: this one is dedicated to all those who sometimes just need a day, a hug and a love. i see you, and i love you (notes at the bottom).

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

It wasn’t often you felt the storm coming before it arrived.

At times, it was kind enough to make itself more obviously known than on other occasions. Sometimes, it just happened, almost beyond your control—a feeling that wells up inside, leaving you in a funk for a day or two.

An unexplainable force that commands you to smile outwardly but crumble inwardly.

Then, you rise again the next morning, or in a few, completely anew—like nothing had ever happened.

Occasionally, it rides in on unexplainable sadness that follows you like a rain cloud, spreading out into swelling grief that chokes you from the inside out. Other times, it would be a headache that bloomed behind your eyes into something uncontrollable, unmanageable, that only settled with bedsheets and darkness.

As soon as the email appeared in your inbox, you felt the latter. It throbbing, pulsing—beginning somewhere between your second to final nerve.

Things shifting; a wave forming. One which rose inside of you when you weren’t aligning with the person you were working with. It growing. Swelling. Expanding inside of you to the point you were sure it was going to dislodge bone and deform you forever. The words on the screen slowly blur, barely discernible as sentences and not just another paragraph of failure.

You knew this could happen. From time to time creative visions weren't always going to align. A thing you reminded yourself of regularly, routinely. Telling yourself it in the shower, mirror or as you make your third coffee past midnight.

It never does lessen the sting, though.

Just like now, when your hand can't seem to stop slamming the lid of your laptop shut, or when you find yourself nervously nursing your lower lip between your teeth, a bubbling sensation begins within. Your mind fractures, allowing a flood of negative thoughts to pour forth, corroding, spewing and slathering itself over everything good.

You clutch at your phone, feeling the rubber of your case. Not even thinking; not even checking the time—just calling.

And hoping.

Waiting.

As soon as you hear his sunshine-like voice say your name and 'Are you okay?' (practically spoken as one word), you feel yourself take a breath.

Becoming aware, only then, of how damp your cheeks are, that your hand is shaking as he repeats the question, more gently, less dunked in worry.

Surprisingly, it feels easy to say no. To unravel silently to him as he asks you a question you rarely have been asked: 'Do you want to talk about it or something different?'

It’s small, a simple thing. But your heart swells. Your shoulders unlodge themselves from your ears and your spine softens, making the choice, all with far too much ease. Taking in the sound of his voice as he clears it, you hear him ask lowly and gruffly if you're comfortable before he begins explaining how he has a non-permanent tattoo of a creature on his arm.

Not a dinosaur, Rainy. Not even something born or created from Jurassic Park—and how he was worried that due to its placement, people would think Harold’s had become rougher, more dangerous business.

“Dangerous?”

You swear you hear him shrug. “People might see me, all tattooed up and think the worst of the place.”

Giggling, your fingers massage your head. “Where is it?”

“Guess.”

For a brief moment, like when light shines from behind the clouds, you grin. Guessing, naming body parts you know it couldn’t be, but only to hear his laugh—bathe in the joy that he can only summon, rinse your woes in it in the hope tomorrow you wake lighter.

“Ass.”

“They’d definitely think Harold’s had fucking changed if my ass is out baby.”

Smirking, climbing into bed (his advice, one you happily took). “I think I’d visit more. It’s peachy.”

Peachy he scoffs, but you swear he’s grinning. Adjusting the t-shirt as you lie down—one of his, stolen (with permission) from the drawer you’d made for him, taking in the scent of him, all musk, wood and man as you welded it with the voice as you discover it’s on his cheek.

“How are you going to explain that one?”

His laugh flows down the phone, meeting your ear as you lean against your pillows, trying (with all that you have) to almost convince yourself that he was here—and not streets and streets away.

Morning, guess what doesn’t come off with soap and a scrub? A monster.

Hope you slept okay, baby. Can bring a coffee round on my break. Can even see if I can sweet-talk a larger one for you. Put it in a flask.

Rainy, you awake?

Baby I don’t mean to worry, I bet you’re fine, just busy caught up in doing work, but just let me know you’re okay.

I have the spare key still from that delivery. If you don’t want to see me, tell me.

You’re not sure of the time—drifting on wood out at the sea of your own making. Having done so for a while.

Distantly aware of the passing of time. That it was no longer 3 am, which had been the last time you'd last checked the time. The sun is far too bright through your curtains; desperate to claw its fingers in and yank you from your sheets.

It doesn't, can't.

Instead, you're floating; lost somewhere between awake and asleep—only being disturbed, rocked from it, at the sound of your front door opening. The stiffness of the door, the squeak of a floorboard. All things which should fill you with alarm, but barely make your head move.

Because it's thumping.

Pounding.

Too much stuffed in there to do anything but lie there. Split at the seams, the rest of you shaken like a snow globe.

It crosses your mind—briefly—that if they were here to rob you, they’d find very little to take. If they were here for you, they were most definitely mistaken. Your eyes struggle to stay open, even if your ears are tuning, trying to twist to each noise, only relaxing when you hear the intruder mutter fuck.

Because you know that fuck. Know the exact voice as though it lives in your head with the one that wouldn't quiet at 3 am.

For the most part, you have to admit Frankie is quiet. A skill he likely gained from his former life, the one where it was a necessity. He just didn’t know your home. You only being able to tell he’s here from the little things, like that he’s not completely aware your front door gets a little stuck when it’s really warm and that some floorboards are looser than others.

In the same way, he doesn’t know that if you open your partially shut bedroom door slowly, it groans like it’s being personally offended—

“Mierda.”

You’re sure you croak a Hi Frankie.

You think it anyway; wanting to give an invitation to come closer, to move further in as your eyes try to focus on the money tree named Moana. With each blink, the leaves slowly come into focus as you begin to adapt to the brightness cast in by, what you now assume must be the afternoon. Blinking when you see him crouch down, all soft curls and silky brown eyes.

“You worried me.”

Swallowing, struggling to shove the dryness back, you clear your throat. “Headache.”

He’s gentle, slowly placing his palm on the side of your head, thumb brushing over the skin above your brow as he shifts in his crouched position. “Worse than that time you told me about?”

“About the same.”

It’s quiet, the way he answers with okay. Thumb doing a final swipe before you hear a pop of his knee as he stands, a mumble of Be right back, baby before the floorboards creek and you can hear him opening and closing cupboards in your kitchen. With a sigh, you close your eyes briefly, being roused by a gentle breeze caressing your cheek to find he'd returned, a glass of water in one hand and a crinkling packet in the other.

“Do you want to get in?”

“Sure,” he says, in the familiar deep voice—as you shuffle with ease.

Not daring to lift your head, to move too quickly or violently. The mattress dips as the bed groans when he throws his feet up, sliding into the warmth you’ve been creating for hours, finding his eyes—how that worry is still there. It swirling, likely mixing with the gold flecks and deep browns you admire every chance you can get.

You worry you've spoiled them, tainted them. Made them swirl with sadness caused by worry. And the thought makes your insides hum, as though someone has plucked all your strings. The twang of it trying to mix with the other emotions you don't feel equipped to unpiece.

“I’m s—”

“Don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says, firmly. Not accompanied by any smile.

A thing you know he means when he asks you, voice wrapped in satin, if you can take a sip for him. His arm slides around you, trying to pull you close as you do more than that, but rather consume, drain, and finish the glass.

When you hand it back, you think about the fact that a you with your head not coming apart might have teased him, might even throw your leg over his and asked him if he thinks sex gets rid of migraines like it does headaches. But, the words catch, stick and clag to the roof of your mouth.

Something rising, the emotions you’d shoved down trying to weave up. Climb. Stick their spikes into your oesophagus and crawl out your mouth. That is, until his palm spreads out, the width of his fingers sliding further up and along your spine. The act aiding you, guiding you to take a measured breath. One that stammers, hammers. One that floods inside of your chest, rising and rising like it wishes to crash against a beach and take everything to shore—

But, then it eases, calms.

All being gobbled back up, calmer waves lapping as you shift, seeing him lit by muffled, golden yellow. Listening to his heart, the breaths he takes as you try to follow them—even the scratching of his beard as he tucks himself closer and asks nothing, except silently, to be here.

Eventually, when you stop counting seconds, the quiet is broken—not rudely, or unnecessarily, but just with: “What can I do?”

“You’ve done it.”

Turning to see him—to find the gaze you know will already be on you. To look at the face you think of and have truthfully only wanted to see, there. You begin to explain, letting it all unravel, it unspooling from your tongue. Maybe sharing too much, like that no one you’ve dated has shown up like this before, and that you don’t ever expect him to do it again.

Shifting closer, as you continue talking, eyes closed to not aggravate what is trying to lessen, as you add extra context, sharing what happens, that you’re okay—but that sometimes you’re not. Statements, mainly. Likely broken sentences you somehow mash into paragraphs. Filling in the gaps, from the last weeks to now, to the email and then the call. How it happened—

“Maybe it’s because I’m happy.”

“Hmm?”

Shrugging gently against him, your chest fills with air before you exhale it in one long drag through your nose. “Maybe because I’m happy, my work isn’t that good.”

“Maybe.” His fingers find your chin, turning your eyes to his. “Or maybe he’s got very high expectations and the two of you just aren’t a good fit.”

Chewing your lip, you lower your gaze. “Yeah, maybe.” Unconsciously turning into the palm resting on your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek as you dare yourself to find his eyes. “I really hate people sometimes.”

Snorting, you feel his lips press to your forehead. “Let me tell you about this fucking asshole who tried to tell me the white paint he was buying wasn’t white.”

You press yourself closer to him ready to listen, hand sliding across his middle as you grasp more of his shirt, finding the smallest smile trying to crack through.

The next time you wake it’s to the smell of breakfast.

There's humming too, occasional words floating from the kitchen through the open door of your bedroom.

A coy smile already tugging across your cheek, the storm having waned, moved to the distance. But still, you test to see if it's safe as you lift from the pillows—sleep rubbed from your eyes as you spot the crumpled side of the bed. See the empty glass you’d drank before he held you, the jacket he’d been wearing when he’d showed up impromptu folded on the floor near the dresser.

Then, the grossness hits. The awareness that your skin feels claggy and awful, shuffling your feet from the bed, all the way to your bathroom.

His t-shirt peels from you with reluctance. The sadness eventually glides down the drain as the water falls down your skin—stepping out feeling refreshed.

Smiling as you head down the hallway, not forcing a smile as you slide your hands around his waist, fingers moving under the band of his tee, as they stroke over soft, warm skin and the dark hairs that swirl across his middle.

“Thank you,” you say, the words so large you hope they land with the weight you intend them to.

He turns and kisses you, whispering a don't against your minty mouth. Hovering for a moment there, before his mouth finds you again, more hungry, more laced with words as he presses you against the counter. Nowhere to go as he tilts your chin up. “You're worth showing up for, Rainy.”

You swear your heart triples in size as you bury your face in his tee and grin something stupid against him as he continues to sing whatever is playing out loud on his phone.

Do we need to go furniture shopping before or after you put the shelving in?

Probably before in case we need to order things. How’s your mini project coming along?

Well, I followed this tutorial by this very handsome man, and it seems easy to do, but my kitchen shelf isn’t straight.

Did you follow all of the instructions?

Now why would you assume I didn’t?

Because it sounds like you didn’t make sure it was level, baby.

Rude.

But did you?

I may have assumed that my eyesight was good.

How many holes do I need to fill in?

Oh, just the one.

In the wall.

Oh. Eight.

Since the moment he picked you up, you've been buzzing with excitement, just as you have been all week since he told you where he was taking you.

A skip in your step when you locked your door, the sun warming your skin in the short walk to the door he'd opened for you. Remembering how he teased you on the phone last night—you made a Pinterest board of what it could look like?—as you sat cross-legged on the couch, listening to him, shaking your head at the camera.

He handed you the coffee—brewed and made by him—only when you were seated. Another thing you were also sure had added to the swirling excitement in your stomach.

The drive, thankfully, hadn't been long. Undoing your belt when he kills the engine, his palm pressing down on your knee.

“No plants.”

“Are you asking me, or are you telling me?”

Leaning across the centre of his vehicle, he pulls your lips to his. “A very polite ask.”

“You don’t fancy your own Benedict or Henry?”

The tip of his nose touching yours, “I really don’t.”

You suggested other names as the two of you walked to the store's entrance, hand slotting inside his. Only silencing from your torment when your footsteps echoed softly against the glossy tile floors—blending with the rumbles of distant, murmured conversations, phone rings and furniture being rearranged.

Suddenly, the two of you were enveloped in the scents of polished wood and fresh upholstery, a scent you’re sure you used to like, but now really freaking loved.

Because this place is nice. The soft glow of overhead lights bathed the showroom in a warm, inviting ambience—casting a gentle spotlight on each carefully curated display. It was a scene straight out of a home decor magazine—every homeowner's dream.

"C'mon, Rainy," he coos, guiding.

Adding a soft this way from the back of his throat, becoming aware of his fingers brushing over the back of your jeans—along the pockets, along the expanse of your ass as you eye him, finding that same shy smirk that could explode into something more devilishly and ridiculously hard to resist.

A thing he already is without trying.

A thing which worsens when his arm comes around and keeps your side flush to his as the two of you make the way to the rows and rows of desks.

It makes sense to begin here.

To choose the ‘centrepiece’ of the room—as Frankie had explained on the drive—because everything has to fit around it. A thing you’d teased that you thought he was good at making things fit. To which he’d, playfully, replied that he was good, but he wasn’t fit-a-desk-and-a-dresser-an-armchair-and-shelving-good. A thing you'd promptly argued.

Stepping from his side, fingers brushing over the top of one, you glance over at them all. How they’re all vying for your attention, each with a unique allure. From sleek modern to rustic wood.

Catching Frankie's eye and with a mischievous grin, you take a seat behind one of the desks.

“Frank DIY’s office, how I can hammer you a good time today?” you say into the faux telephone, “Oh, I am sure Mr Morales would be able to… bend over and get himself in—I mean, you in.”

Frankie shakes his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as you get up and sit behind another, typing on the desk as a keyboard, pretending to stare at the unplugged monitor that had no computer with it. Then moving to another, one with a desk mat and no other items than a plant that looks chewed by tiny teeth, before pulling yourself on the wheels behind one with drawers and a keyboard but nil else.

“Oh, hello sir. Your 2 o’clock is here.”

“Is that right?” he asks, folding his arms. “What am I doing for this appointment?”

Smirking, fingers poised over the keys. “They wish to know how to check if a desk is stable. For two people.”

You hear him take in a breath. Lips threatening to spread into a smirk before he clears his throat. “To work at?”

Shaking your head, you grin.

“I’ll have to call my assistant in. She’s a handful, bad with drilling, but, she can help me.”

Laughing, almost hiccuping from it, he stares down at you—palms still very flat against the desk—as it fades and spreads into a smile that hurts your cheeks. “There it is.”

“There’s what?”

“My smile.”

Eyes widening, you snort. “Your smile?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Mine.”

Rolling your lips, standing from the wheely chair, you raise your brows. Moving around the edge, fingers dancing along the wood until you’re standing perfectly in front of him—eyeing him, as always unable to take your eyes from him.

“I think I like this one,” you add, running the tips of your fingers over the smooth surface of the desk. “There’s no price though—or sizing.”

Frankie glances at it, eyes flicking from each of the sides as he likely does math gymnastics. “You’ll have a lot of space for your dresser—the butterscotch one.”

“You just know that do you?”

“Grab a measuring tape and I’ll confirm it,” he grins.

Hand on hip, you arch a brow as Frankie's laughter fills the air, but you can see it in his eyes, the challenge.

“Get it yourself, Morales.”

Pinching your ass, he walks around it. “I’ll remember that.”

Shaking your head, he snaps a photo of the desk—staring at his screen to check it before locking it. His hand offered to you.

“Chairs?”

Leaning close, voice dropping, you—all velvet-like— whisper, “Your face not on offer when I’m working?”

Pink spreads up his neck, tongue clicking against his teeth, he smiles. Grins. His fingers tighten around yours as you’re sure his eyes actually sparkle. “From the way you weren’t able to form sentences last time, not sure you’d get much work done.”

The chairs, for how colourful and varying they were, felt less fun than desk shopping. Most of them were out of reach, high up on shelves—having to assess whether they were as comfortable as they looked or if it was a lie. A game that got less and less fun the more you trailed.

Frankie, likely guessing your joy was wavering, grabbed a basket at some point—allowing you to peruse the mini plant aisles and other decorative things. For your shelves, he said, for the shelves, you replied, grinning, even as you grabbed a particularly wiry cactus you named Cisco.

“You think you’ve got at least one of everything in here?”

Fake laughing, your elbow confidently finds his side—hearing a gruff huff from him. “Almost. I just need—”

Eyes spotting it, body moving all of its own accord as though the required item had been lit under a spotlight and heaven-like noises had begun playing. Fingers gliding over each, brushing over fleece fluff that left marks of your touch, to more knitted, firmer types, too many choices all to be shared at, contemplated.

You feel it before you see it. Pain flaring from your side as your head whips—meeting the disgruntled face of another shopper, the end of their cart still firmly against your side as though somehow, you were the one who was required to move. Even after he’d practically rammed the cart into you.

“Hey man, watch it,” Frankie says, arm sliding around you, pulling you close.

The smallest of gaps made, created, between yourself and the offending cart. The pain throbbing, the embarrassment simmering, as you fight rubbing the impacted sight as it continued to pound, hearing:

And maybe, if you had looked across, you would have seen the man scoff—observed the expression that made Frankie tense even more protectively next to you You would have noticed why his usually soft smile shifted into a thin line as a storm brewed inside of him before you heard:

“She's the one in the way.”

An adult-like response if you've ever heard one. A thing you shake your head at, but reach your hand up to touch Frankie's chest, tapping lightly as you watch him visibly swallow whatever had been about to come out of his mouth. Instead, he mutters a few choice curses under his breath, shooting a silent but determined look to the person as they mumbled the most pathetic apology known.

But, you didn’t, don’t.

Because, if you had, you'd have missed the way it all vanished when his eyes met yours. How it was erased, wiped all clean. Every affliction on his face, from the hardened eyes to the twitch of his nose, slipped away back to its recess.

“You alright, baby?”

Not one blame placed on you; not even a thought to do so, as his knuckles brush your cheek.

“I’m fine, Butterscotch. It's nice to meet protective you, though.” His eyes shifting from you quickly, the deepest of reds flooding his ears, you flatten your hand to his chest. “I appreciate it.”

Meeting your stare, he swallows. “You sure you're okay?”

Biting the inside of your cheek when his palm, warm and spreading heat, begins stroking over the offended area, you nod. Grinning.

Because if anything, you're pretty sure you might be in love with him.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

notes: i've drip fed rainy's difficult client for a few chapters now, as well as her little wobbles with anxiety. i know this isn't everyone's experience, but i think we can all relate to those days when getting out of bed just feels hard. i hope you're all okay, and just know i'm always here. no one is ever alone when the grey clouds are overhead, even if they clouds hope to make us feel that way. ily all, jo.

[imagines--galore]

||A Nonverbal Confession||

Summary: Your boyfriend assumes you are fast asleep as he slides into bed next to you. He ends up confessing what he thinks is a secret. Little does he know, you’re awake, and more then aware of what he just said. Or didn’t say.

Pairing: TASM! Peter Parker x Reader

Rating || Genres || Warnings: K+ Romance. None I guess.

A/N: Well you guys voted and this is what I wrote! Hope you enjoy it!

You had promised to wait up for him. It was something you always did before he went out on patrol. It was more for your peace of mind. You honestly couldn’t sleep unless you knew he was back, sleeping beside you, safe and sound. That night though, he had run a little late, and you had greeted him bleary eyed and a sleepy smile on your lips. Peter had told you to go to sleep on numerous occasions, to which you had refused.

You knew of his identity as Spiderman before you had started to date. It was a complete accident. You had been preparing to go to sleep in the apartment right next to Peter’s when he had accidentally stumbled into your place and yanked his mask off. And since he was a little banged up from a recent run-in with law-breakers, you had decided to help him as much as you could to clean up. And even helped him get clothes from his apartment so he wouldn’t have to wander the halls in his ripped up spider-suit.

That was a long time ago, and you were now living with him. The ritual of your staying awake till he came back started very early on, and you had carried it into your dating life as well.

“Running a little late there Parker, I was starting to get worried.” You stated with a huge yawn, slowly walking past him. As you went, you reached up to playfully pet his cheek. Peter gave you a pout, having been hoping for a kiss. “Well keeping New York safe is never an easy job.” He stated, following after you, dropping the mask, which he had removed as soon as he stepped into the apartment. “I suppose so.” You mused, dropping onto your shared bed and snuggling into the softness of the mattress and many many pillows you kept on your side. Peter made to lie down next to you, but you held him back by holding out your leg and playfully pressing your foot against his stomach.

“No way am I letting you get into this bed with the entire city on you Spider-boy.” You stated firmly. “I changed the sheets yesterday.” Peter grumbled under his breath, playfully grabbing your ankle and giving it a tug. You shrieked as you nearly slipped from the bed, throwing your boyfriend a glare as he quickly disappeared into the adjoining bathroom. He only just managed to close the door to avoid getting a magazine thrown in his face by his sleep-deprived girlfriend.

“Bully!” He heard you through the door. Chuckling softly to himself, Peter quickly stepped out of his suit and into the shower. He made quick work of washing himself, wanting to get into bed. It hadn’t been a tough patrol, but he was tired, and he had to get to work in the morning. But mostly, he wanted to catch a few snuggles with you before you fell asleep. And once you were asleep, even the devil couldn’t wake you. Well he could, but he would wish he hadn’t. You were very particular when it came to your beauty sleep.

Pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms, after quickly drying his body, Peter stepped out of the bathroom. Only to freeze at the threshold because of the sight that greeted him.

You were asleep, that much was clear to see from the steady rise and fall of your chest. What he hadn’t expected was for you to be snuggled against his pillow, nose almost buried in the fabric. As if you had fallen asleep while.....a sweet blush stole across his cheeks. Well he shouldn’t complain. He was always burying his nose in your neck and inhaling your scent. What was to stop you from doing the same.

Despite his protest of you always staying awake when he went on patrol, Peter couldn’t help but adore you for it. It just warmed his heart, to know that you cared about him so much, that you worried about him and his safety. Sighing to himself, Peter climbed into bed just behind you. It wasn’t his normal sleeping place, but once the scent of your shampoo slowly registered in his mind, he wasn’t about to complain.

Your shirt, or rather his shirt, had ridden up while you had been adjusting to find a comfortable position. His warm gaze drifted from the back of your head to the exposed skin. Slowly, he reached out, splaying his hand across the soft skin of your back. His hand was warm, so you barely even felt anything as you continued to slumber. First his fingers began to stroke along your skin, but when you gave a little shiver and seemed to curl into yourself, he opted to trace non-nonsensical patterns against your skin.

Slowly the patterns began to take shape in the form of words. He traced your name, over and over, before moving to tracing whatever pet-name he had called you since you had begun dating. Since you remained asleep, and he ran out of nicknames, he started to spell words he associated with you. Any positive adjective that rose within his mind, he traced every single one.

And once he finally ran out of those, and his brain began to drift off into slumber-land, Peter Parker poured his very heart and soul into tracing those three words into your skin, hoping those words would be somehow branded into your heart and mind. That you would know just how much he adored you.

What he didn’t know, was that you had only dozed off, and when you felt his hand against your back, you had stilled, wanting to see what he would do. It had taken a little while, but you had managed to comprehend what he was tracing against your skin. A sleepy smile pulled at your lips as he continued his little game, your heart swelling with more and more adoration for your boyfriend. It was when he traced those three words into your skin that your eyes snapped open and you went completely still. He didn’t notice, having pulled back to get to sleep himself. But you wouldn’t let him sleep without saying what you knew he deserved to hear. 

Seemingly satisfied, Peter gave a small sigh, reluctantly pulling his hand away from your skin, and pulling the blankets up to cover you. He shifted into a more comfortable position, but his movements seemed to have stirred you awake. You shifted, slowly turning over. Despite your eyes being closed, your body seemed to gravitate towards him. Peter gladly helped you adjust against his chest, wrapping an arm around your middle as you finally settled against him.

“I love you too, Peter.”

He had been about to fall asleep, his eyes had closed almost completely when he felt you speak those words to him, your breath warm against his bare chest. Peter made a move as if he were about to speak, but a quick press of warm lips against his skin had him stilling. “Go to sleep Spider-boy, we’ll talk in the morning.” If it were possible, you snuggled deeper against him, slowly drifting back asleep.

Peter gave a soft laugh, his lips dropping a sweet kiss to the top of your head before his eyes closed, and he fell asleep as well.

[reveluving]

OMG!Graves and shy wife are the definition of Gomez and Morticia Addams!!!PLEASE AND THANK YOU ❤❤❤

THIS THIS THIS!!! Swooning because one; Gomez & Moticia and two; Graves and his eternal love for you 💗 >>>

Includes: mentions of s~mut (minors DNI!) & tooth-rotting fluff!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

Even though I, myself mentioned the Gomez-style arm kisses bit, I actually see it now.

You; a soft-spoken respectful, possibly even an iconic sweetheart who looks at no one but her husband with sparkles in her eyes?

Graves; a proud, brazen and successful rich man who adores his wife like no other? 

Maybe even Kai as Thing? 

I see the vision.

Always making a habit out of kissing your hands, one or both, just the back of it or up your arms like his life depends on it. Or twirling you around before trapping you against his chest or any surface with a cocky smile, feeling your body up shameless as he not whispers, but downright speaks the naughty things he wishes to do with you like he’s reading off a poem book.

Feeling your body heat up against his the more he speaks.

Always having a gift ready for you, whether in a box or a simple bow. Doesn’t matter if there’s an occasion, nor does he only spoil you when he leaves or returns from his work. Deliveries aren’t uncommon, though he prefers actually giving you the surprise himself. To see the corners of your lips twitch as your eyes twinkle at his thoughtfulness. He’s gifted you plenty of things, spoiled you on numerous occasions, but he’ll never grow tired of your reactions. 

He supports your work or interests like no other, because who doesn’t love seeing their beloved happily living their life? 

If you think he doesn’t talk (read: brag) about you to his friends or better, the people he knows who are jealous of him to have you as his dearest wife, then you couldn’t be any more wrong!

One can only imagine how many times he’s woken up before you, complimenting your features, your loyalty, your nature, and just you being his in general. 

Like bro.

He’s undoubtedly blinded by your beauty, indeed!

And your touches.

Ah, your touches.

Your gentle touches contrast with his—not exactly rough (unless you ask for it), but more so experienced, confident, unafraid. A constant reminder of his unabashed character, the lack of suppression or patience he has when it comes to showering you with his love. Something he didn’t know he had in him, nor did he ever have the chance to give it. 

Your touches either make him melt like a hot knife through butter or really, just get a rise out of him, even from anything as little as your fingers caressing his stubble, trailing your nails along his chest in the morning or even a little boop on the nose. 

Now, you don’t need to hear it from me that Mr Graves is also… experimental. 

Positions that’ll have you scream out his name like a prayer, or sex toys to elevate your already extreme level of pleasure. He’s always ready to offer it all, to be at your service, whether to have you squirm and writhe under him on the finest sheets, or tell you how much an angel you are, how the world has gifted him the greatest treasure of all. 

And God knows how different his life may be, how he may be without you by his side.

In the words of Mr Addams himself; “To live without you, only that would be torture.”

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[valdomarx]

It begins, innocently enough, with a carton of orange juice.

Roy has never cared for the stuff, but Jamie is round at his house at 6am every morning after training, and he loves it. Roy figures he might as well make breakfast for them both while they're there, so the next time he's at the supermarket he picks up a carton and shoves it into the fridge.

And there's really no point in Jamie going home to shower before team training, is there? That would be a waste of everyone's time, so he showers at Roy's. Soon enough Roy's bathroom is full of expensive hair conditioner and elaborate skincare products and the inevitable cans of Lynx which start to crowd his shelves, but whatever.

And then Jamie starts turning up for weekly Lust Conquers All watch parties, and it's not quite clear how that happened. Roy wouldn't admit it on pain of death, but he likes having an excuse to watch the show and having someone to bitch about the terrible contestants and the unfair eliminations with.

And Jamie is right there, so it would be rude not to offer him dinner, wouldn't it? Roy likes to cook, and it's just as easy to cook for two as for one. Then suddenly Roy's kitchen cupboards are full of Jamie's favourite brands of soy sauce and Tabasco and rice cakes, but that's okay because at least now Roy can keep an eye on his diet.

And when Jamie is round and it's getting late and they've got 4am training tomorrow, he might as well stay the night. So what was Roy's guest room becomes Jamie's room. And if, on occasion, when they're both knackered from a hard match and ready to pass out, Jamie collapses into Roy's bed, tucked up next to him, snuffling and cuddly and infuriatingly, wonderfully Jamie, then that's no one's business but theirs.

Roy keeps finding bright orange joggers and graffiti-covered hoodies in his laundry pile, but Jamie still complains of having nothing to wear, so Roy tosses him one of his old Chelsea shirts. Then somehow Roy's entire cupboard full of old kits becomes Jamie's wardrobe, and Roy gets kind of used to waking up to find Jamie in the kitchen, making coffee, with KENT printed across his back.

At some point it's been weeks since Jamie was at his place, and Roy caved ages ago and gave Jamie his own set of keys, and it would be odd, frankly, for him not to be here, in Roy's space, sprawling on Roy's sofa and eating Roy's leftovers, and dropping his feet into Roy's lap with that ridiculous grin that makes the corners of Roy's mouth twitch upwards involuntarily.

"Marry me." Roy blurts it out, some instinct rising up directly from the very centre of his chest and exiting via his mouth with no input whatsoever from his brain.

"The fuck?" Jamie blinks at him, slowly, like he's approaching a wounded animal.

"Oh." Roy thinks fast. "It's a joke. Because you're always here, right, and we spend all this time together, and we're practically married." He forces what he hopes is a jovial smile. "Haha?"

Jamie gives him an odd look. "Riiiight."

Roy fiddles with the TV remote, then glances over at Jamie, then looks away again, then looks back. Jamie is still staring at him, a look of utter bafflement on his face. "I mean." Roy's leg bounces anxiously. "Unless... ?"

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

i absolutely love the prompt you have "I'm pretty sure we almost broke up last night" cause major swiftie and I will only read that like she says it in stay stay stay so can you pretty please to conrad x reader with that prompt when you get the chance tysm take ur time

Silly little one I forgot I started writing a week ago

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

The best relationship advice your mother ever gave to you was that you should never leave a fight unresolved or go to bed mad at each other. You and Conrad had been pretty good at doing that…until last night. 

To be fair, the whole situation had everyone on edge. 

After his exam, you and Conrad emptied his dorm and hit the road. He had slept less than five hours last night so you kindly offered to drive while he caught up on sleep. Everything was going well, until you accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up in a totally different place. You tried to get back on the right road, but panicked when you couldn’t figure a way…then Conrad woke up, grumpy and still tired, and started criticizing your driving skills.

To add to the situation, rain and thunder decided to join you. A little rain and thunder didn’t scare Conrad, but they decided to close the highway, forcing the two of you to stay at a motel for the night. 

You showered and changed out of your wet clothes, while Conrad did his own thing. When you came out, he was there, in his pajamas, taking out extra blankets from the closet and setting them on the floor. 

Getting what he was doing, you stopped him. ‘’You’re not sleeping on the floor. Don’t be ridiculous.’’ 

You had a fight, but you weren’t that mad at him. He just struck a nerve. 

Conrad's tired eyes met yours, but he didn’t say anything as he moved his pillow to the bed. He drew back the covers and laid down, his back turned to you. 

A knot formed in your stomach, hurt, and you turned off the lamp, plunging the room in the dark without exchanges of ‘goodnight’s. Rare were the occasions where you and Conrad were sharing a bed and alone, but instead of taking advantage of it, you were caught in an uncomfortable silence where neither of you found sleep. 

You tried to close your eyes, but couldn’t. So you listened to the loud rumbles of thunder and the tapping of the rain until your eyes couldn’t stay open. 

Just as you were about to fall asleep, Conrad spoke. 

‘’What I said earlier, I didn’t mean it,’’ he said in the quiet of the room, knowing you weren’t asleep either. ‘’I’m sorry. You’re not the worse driver I know.’’

A tired smile twisted on your lips...and you felt yourself drifting to sleep. 

When you woke up, the morning light seeped through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the motel room. The rain from last night had finally subsided, meaning you’ll be able to get back on the road and go home. 

Beside you, Conrad was still sleeping. You watched him for a moment, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his dark hair fell over his forehead. It might sound dumb, but you missed him. 

You heard a muffled groan, getting excited as Conrad slowly stirred. His eyes blinked open, struggling to adjust to the daylight coming from the window, and you chuckled. You didn’t think of drawing the curtains all the way last night. 

‘’Morning,’’ you greeted with a soft smile, brushing hair from his face. 

"I'm pretty sure we almost broke up last night," he said, his voice a little deeper from sleep. 

You rolled your eyes. ‘’You’re exaggerating.’’ 

Conrad sighed, looking up at the stucco ceiling. ‘’We had this big fight over something so stupid—’’ 

‘’Real relationships are not perfect, Con. Even the ones who seem perfect aren’t. They fight with their partners and that’s totally normal. We’re not gonna break up because I didn’t pay enough attention and took a wrong turn. That’s ridiculous.’’ 

There was a silent pause, then Conrad laughed.

—

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